An Evening at 'Ricky's'
My first anal vore story
An Evening at 'Ricky's'
A story by Zantesuken
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'The Curious Inquirer' is proud to present another highly intriguing, exotic and erotic tale from our resident writer and investigator Lucius Alma. This week, Lucius explores the deadly appeal of anal vore.
By now, my dear readers, you will have grown accustomed to my adventures. No longer should my exploits and exposés shock, alarm or disgust you, for having written in this publication for some considerable time, I have amassed a veritable treasure trove of the illicit and the erotic. Yet today I bring a report from closer to home - my home city in fact. Some my find it hard to believe that right under our noses, acts of gratuitous self-pleasure and self-sacrifice occur on a nightly basis, but for others it is a mere fact of suburban life. Thus, should the casual consumption of one sentient creature by another either intrigue or excite you, I urge you to read on. For those of you deterred by such tales, I must question you purchase of 'The Curious Inquirer'.
Having recently completed my whistle-stop tour of northern France investigating claims of permanent encasement bondage (published in issue #123), I found an intriguing email sat in my inbox. Not my public one, often filled with advertising, hate mail and invitations to events of questionable legality, but my personal one, reserved for my friends and family. It was from an acquaintance of mine from way back, a bull named Warren of whom I had not heard from in years. He had a pastime that he felt would make for a good article, though his outlining of the premise came with a sense of trepidation. People seem to have issues when it comes to articulating their fetishes, and Warren clearly was no different. His story had merit, so I called him to further inquire.
His voice over the phone was deeper than I remembered, yet it quivered a little as we discussed the details. As he spoke I scribbled into my notepad. This would be a first for me, and while I had seen (and participated in) a great many lurid acts, nothing quite haunted me so grippingly as what Warren was suggesting. Voreaphiles are no stranger to these pages - in our multi-species society predation is always going to be present, and I happen to report on this matter more frequently than on others. Warren did not propose a traditional vore encounter, however; he preferred the more exotic and lesser known anal vore.
For many, the pleasure of having one's backside penetrated, whether by a toy, loving tongue or throbbing phallus, is second to none. For others, the greatest pleasure lies in consuming others alive. It should come as no surprise that these two worlds overlap, and the result is anal vore. The 'predators' do not have to be carnivorous or even large for this practice - the only requirement is that the 'prey' is small. The smaller anthro races like rodents are suited particularly well to this role, and mice were Warren's favoured 'victims'.
The vore house we met in was pleasant enough. Their legalisation had brought a surge of custom, affording this joint in particular a spectacularly luxurious art-deco themed lounge complete with live jazz. Forget your typical brothel with crumbling plaster and torn up furniture. 'Ricky's' (creatively named after the owner) could almost be considered a flagship in modern sexual services, casting off the dilapidated and haggard rags of old and donning a business suit tailored to perfection. This was a profit making organisation; the staff were on a payroll, it paid tax, there were investors, there were advertising campaigns: everything about it felt wholesome and comfortable, from the smiles on the bar staff to the red velvet seating around polished mahogany tables.
Warren, despite his impressive size, had managed to place himself upon a barstool. As I approached I wondered if the singular column supporting his weight would buckle, yet it stood firm. We shook hands (or rather, he swallowed mine into his with crushing force) and exchanged a little small talk before I begun to ask him about his patronage here. A beer or two, combined with the low light and dulcet tones hanging in the warm air of the lounge loosened his lips; the almost shameful embarrassment he displayed in his email was gone, replaced by a welcome confidence, like a critic discussing their subject.
"This is the best joint in town. You pay a little more, but you get treated like royalty." He told me, his naked brown fur glistening with a light sheen of sweat. I too was without clothes, it being the custom in such places. As he spoke I glanced over his bulging body, and contemplated upon how many live meals had contributed to its splendour and girth. Anal vore, he explained, was not about eating in the traditional sense; it was about domination.
"I've been eating live furs for years, but the best kick comes from shoving them up your ass. You don't get to taste them, you don't get a meal out of it, but you get to feel them squirming against your prostate, and that alone is worth the cost. Plus, to think that some poor kid is suffocating in there, makes you feel alive."
I liken this to the argument teachers give about bullies; they humiliate and harm others to prop up their self esteem. Perhaps vore in general is an extension of this to its gruesome finale - the usual predators would certainly fit that hypothesis, but I do not mention this to Warren. Instead I sip my drink and nod politely, listening to him explain the rush, the power. I'll admit I found his assertiveness attractive; my readers are sure to know of my weakness for larger, more dominant figures. I could smell his rich bullish musk rising from his dormant groin. Though alluring, I thought ahead to the creature that would soon be wallowing in that heady scent - would it be erotic for them?
Naked, I could not hide my swelling sheathe, but not that it mattered. Warren was comfortable with my unabashed infatuation, and had I not been there on business I would have been more intimate. He knew I was curious about his body, and promised I would see all soon enough. Soon enough indeed! At that moment a member of staff interrupted, informing us the room was ready. We rose to our feet, both with growing erections, and walked amongst the half-filled tables to the back rooms.
Inside the furnishings were minimal; a double bed, a large wall hung mirror, a bedside table with a clock and a door leading to a small en-suite, fitted with toilet, basin and shower. Altogether it felt like a hotel room, simple and practical. Warren's hulking body seemed to displace the room around it, while I politely slunk into a corner as an observer, ready to take down the events as they occurred. Upon the table next to the clock was the only distinguishing feature of the room. It looked like wrapped box of chocolates tied with a neat ribbon. Slumping onto the bed with his back resting upon the padded headboard, the bull took the package between his hands and tore the wrapping apart, throwing it to one side. He lifted the lid, bringing a devious smile of delight to his thick lips, reaching in and pulling out a 15 centimetre tall anthro mouse.
His deep brown eyes glanced over to me, standing awkwardly in the corner. He patted the remaining quarter of the mattress left unoccupied and cheerily said "Come, get comfortable". I did so, setting myself beside his ponderous bulk, my fur less than an inch from his squeezed upon the bed. He held the little mouse in his palm, looking over its white furred body with lust and hunger. Already his erection was peeping from the sheath; a broad helmet of dark red dabbled with clear fluid. The smell of his body rose with it; thick, masculine and distinctly bovine in flavour. I tried my best to avert my eyes from the thickening spire and place them upon the unfortunate meal.
He appeared healthy, and could have been any anthro mouse on the streets of the city - though most ended up in such situations as this. A smile was painted onto his whiskered face, though his fear was blatant with his trembling paws and softly ragged breathing. At his size, Warren must appear monstrous - heck, even at my size Warren was monstrous - so I could not blame him for his nerves. Yet I, unlike this mouse, would not be taking a one way trip into the bull. Neither of the two spoke, so I filled the silence with a question, asking if the mouse could speak.
When he turned and responded, I do not know what shocked me more. He said it simply and dutifully; "Yes Sir, I can", but whether it was his subdued and dutiful tone or the utterance of the word 'Sir' I could not tell. Warren turned to me with a sly smile, leaning to whisper though the mouse would still hear.
"Cute little guy, isn't he? That's what I like about this place, they train them up beforehand." The bull's hot beer laden breath rolled over my nostrils; at least the mouse would not have to endure that, though with the panoply of odours he would be facing instead I felt I had the better position. Warren was fully erect and clearly wished to proceed. I had no intention of intervening to a great extent, but I felt I had to ask the mouse one question before he was sent down below. I asked him if he was prepared for his unwholesome fate.
"Yes Sir." He responded, his voice cheery yet morose in its undercurrent. "I arrived here two weeks ago, and was placed on the menu yesterday. We're ordered a day in advance, so I was picked very quickly in that respect, but enough time to prepare."
"He sure was." Warren interjected gruffly. "Damn fine piece of meat this one, just the right size too." I asked the mouse if he where he would be ending up in a few moments time.
"Yes Sir, I will be in Sir's ass. I have been told to squirm as to pleasure Sir to orgasm before I pass out."
"And then?" I could not help but ask, morbidly fascinating by this young creature's attitude.
"Then I shall die." He stated matter-of-factly, but he said so with a sigh. I could not help but feel this mouse was once a bright, carefree lad, now drilled - even brainwashed - into this fatal world. Superficially at least he accepted what Warren planned to do and would do his upmost to deliver the goods, but here was a life about to be snuffed in a foul and unearthly manner.
"Not only that" Warren again interceded "but I'm going to shit you out tomorrow when I wake up! Think about that, having spent the night wrapped up in there, sliding out again like a piece of crap." He brought the mouse close to his face, letting the same humming breath waft around the with-furred youth. "That's all you'll be son, crap."
It would have been reasonable for a sane being to collapse in tears or rise to a flurry of anger, but the mouse simply bowed his head in acquiescence accepted the cruel words. Twangs of pity stabbed my heart, yet there was also guilt. I wanted to watch like a twisted voyeur - just as my readers wish to hear - but this was no cause for guilt. Whether I watched or not, whether I wrote or not, the mouse would suffer the same fate, just as countless other did at the same moment across the globe.
"Enough talking." Warren stated, shifting on the bed to fumbling with a clumsy hand on the bedside table. "Time to get Mr Mousy here lubed up." His free hand produced a bottle of lube, grinning wickedly as he unscrewed the cap, dancing it before the mouse jeeringly. Hearty dollops fell upon the mouse's form, the laminar stream from the aperture breaking up mid-air as it fell. The liquid must have been cold, but the mouse did not show it, for his trembling fingers had not settled since he was removed from the box. Almost half of the small bottle was deposited upon the rodent, pooled around his legs and back as he lay in the palm.
"Now I don't take it up the rear often, so you're going to need all of that if you want in." Warren spoke as he worked the thick gel into a smooth even coating, letting a few moments to pass between each remark before taunting his prize with another. For a while it was as if I were not even present. I watched the surreal scene unfold as the mouse was turned into a living dildo, his lithe body now matted in a lukewarm film of slippery lubricant. Again, his expression remained one of passive yet enforced obedience, allowing Warren's bulky hands freedom over his smaller, delicate body.
Finally he was prepared, and the bull shifted his weight upon the bed, spreading his legs and bending his knees, revealing his tight pink pucker to the world. Just as he was applying the finishing touches to his toy, he winked and invited me to scoot between those tree-trunk thighs for a better view of the action. I've seen my fair share of male genitalia before, but those of a bull are always of stunning beauty and staggering proportion. Warren was no exception; his long, sturdy meat was fully extended and pulsing, already a trail of juice was slinking along his richly furred balls, slick with sweat and hanging low with fluidic weight They partially obscured the moist, wrinkled pucker above the tail base, though what was for show was tantalisingly succulent. I suspect the mouse would have an entirely different perspective.
He was lowered with the right hand, brought around the tower of cock and aligned between the legs. A first had wrapped around half his body so that his knees down and chest up were visible, his hands draped over Warren's slick fingers. I loomed over to get a view of his face, still without any change despite the choking stench radiating up. Fresh sweat and buzzing pheromones rose like steam, and beneath that lay the sultry and dark odour of the bull's ass. I could see Warren was a hygienic bovine, but nothing could cover that blistering smell that made me wince. The mouse however showed no concern for these tempestuous currents of male musk.
With the prey in place, Warren used his free hand to splay his left buttock, stretching the valley of furred flesh open before the mouse's expose paws. "Straighten up - arms over your head." He commanded. The mouse dutifully complied, his body becoming taut and linear as if he truly were a sex toy. The bull gasped when the cool, slick paws brushed against his burning hot sphincter. Mesmerised, I watched as the mouse's feet glided around the circumference, leaving a faintly noticeable trail where they passed. The mouse had finally reacted by closing his eyes as he felt his master's flesh upon his own. It was unclear if Warren was teasing himself or the mouse - though soon he grew impatient and pushed.
Silently and elegantly the mouse's legs began to disappear. Warren inhaled deeply as he started and held it as he penetrated himself with the rodent's long tapered legs. Shins, knees, thighs - all vanished with alarming speed and fluidity as if nothing were preventing their entry, the orifice stretching only very slightly to accommodate the streamlined shape. A small quantity of excess lube built up around the rim as the mouse entered making a neat little halo about half ingested body. The waist entered, and now with the stomach smothered by the drooping scrotum I suspected the show may be over rather quickly; but I was mistaken.
A sharp guttural moan erupted from Warren's lips as he exhaled, releasing the mouse from his grip and using it instead to nurse his needy erection. Like a tent peg in muddy earth, the mouse was entrenched; his back lay along the thin tail with his arms still pointed above his head. A single imperative barked down from above: "Now; squirm"
Truly this mouse was a wonder to behold. Immediately he lowered his arms and placed his slimy paws upon the bottom lip of the ball sack. Then, using them for grip, he started to slide his slick body in and out of the bull's rear. Though only a few centimetres of his body appeared and sunk with each thrust, the effect was magnified by Warren's reaction. He moaned, panted and bucked his dribbling tool into his paw, spilling hot pre-seed down his knuckles and over the scrotum. That same trail soon found its way onto the mouse's chest and lips, now being drizzled with the bull's manly essence.
The anus clenched and pouted around the mouse's midsection, trying to suck him in further or push him out when too deep. The powerful muscles inside could not decided what they wanted, the erotic fire of penetration confusing the natural reactions to expel. Like a corkscrew, the little rodent twisted his body has he pressed inward, drawing further illicit moans from his bovine buyer. Many minutes went on like this, with Warren shouting equal measures of encouragement and insult. The bedclothes were soaked with pre-cum, let alone white furred mouse. Hot, billowing waves of potent musk pulsed from the centre of the sweaty action, so that for me the smell was overpoweringly erotic; of bull, of male, of sex, but for the mouse it must have been abhorrent. Painted in lube, sweat, pre and whatever foul mucous lined the bull's rectum, he surely would reek of dirt and filth.
Yet he neither showed intense disgust or any pleasure. With the fervent and eager rhythm his body work to, one might suspect him of enjoying this degrading treatment, yet every time his genitals were plucked out of the intimate tightness they were flaccid. Perhaps his pleasure was non-sexual. I have spoken with vore-mice before, and often they are infused with a sense of longing to fill a predator. Perhaps this is that longing manifested in action. Though to become a sex toy and then discarded? A fantasy I could perhaps understand but not share - though not to say I wasn't enjoying the show.
Warren was close, but he did not wish to blow his load yet. He took his hand from his cock and lowered it to the mouse that he had ordered to stop. "Arms straight again. Take a deep breath." The order came with the authority and weight of a death sentence - I suppose it was, though the mouse did not hesitate to obey. His life had led to this moment, the moment everything he represented; everything he was and could be would end and be turned into one thing: pleasure for Warren. I leaned in close, so that my muzzle was practically planted into those hefty nuts, in a prime position to watch the finale.
Using the mouse's shoulder for grip, Warren once again pushed the elongated little creature into his ass. It was slower this time, for now the bull's tighter and more reluctant depths were being plugged, but the shape and slickness of his toy overcame such qualms. Stomach, chest, nipples, armpits, all was greedily enveloped in one fluid motion, the pouting orifice now coated in a frothy mixture of lube, sweat and something else more unwholesome. Warren plucked his fingers away as the hole rose up to the mouse's chin. The prey raised his head back, allowing the ring to lap at his neck first, rising up over his pointed face like quicksand.
This would be his final view of the world: half of a drooping, glistening ball sack and half of an inquisitive goat's slack jawed expression. The tip of his nose sunk into the cavity, flaring wildly as it took its last gulps of air, however pungent and stomach turning they may have been. The whiskered nose fell into the brown-pink darkness quickly enough, so that only the motionless pointed arms remained. These too were sucked in, the ripples inside unknowable to anyone but the mouse subject to them. Though he was no undoubtedly suffocating in the rank, collapsing flesh, the mouse's arms did not flail or twitch. Like a gymnast's, they remained elegant and poised even until the paws were all that remained of him outside. Clasped together as if in prayer, they sank into the fleshy, moist hole to join the rest of the mouse's ingested body until he would be removed the next day.
And that was the last I saw of that mouse.
I stared at the asshole as it slowly began to relax. Warren let go of his splayed buttock and let it join its sibling, casting the tired orifice into shadow. It was a surreal moment, I felt perhaps it was a dream, but the slickness of the sheets and the tangy aroma of musk were too tangible. Inside that ass, right then, was a live mouse. Was he going deeper? How long would he remain alive? How would he look upon exiting? These are questions I cannot answer, but I, like the reader, can speculate.
It took a moment to realise I was practically kissing that deadly hole, the bull's scrotum perched gently upon my muzzle. Whether he asked me to or not I can't recall, but I was soon sucking down upon that thick, meaty bovine tool, entranced by Warren's power and scent. His moans, his thrusting, his pleasure was so intense I could not have been causing at all, and as he blew shot after creamy shot into my maw I knew that the mouse was still alive, and that he was keeping his promise. Trapped, airless and doomed to a humiliating and degrading death, the mouse was wriggling, struggling, pleasuring the bull with what little strength he had left in his dying body.
For all you voreaphiles, I would heartily suggest a trip to 'Ricky's'. While I remain sceptical about anal vore, the pleasure it brings to some is truly staggering, far beyond the realms of vanilla vore. Still, like most of my encounters, it always comes at the cost of someone's life of freedom. What the mouse's motives were I do not know, but perhaps further investigation could prove insightful - perhaps another visit to Warren...