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Thrill Me.

By Ellery Aristocrat

Part I

"So what're you into?" He'd said.

Its always the same. Every night, with every encounter, one of the same set of questions always come forth, all in an attempt to pick me up. If it isn't one thing, then, sure enough, its another.

'Hey, you come here often?'

'Damn, you are lookin' fiiine!'

'Nice lookin' ass, brother.'

'This isn't where I parked me car, ahah ha hah ha!'

'You down with your man being a bit older?'

'How're you doing?'

'Having fun tonight?'

'How big're your feet? Are they nice and sweaty?'

'You wanna get out of here and whip my balls some, back at my place?'

The list goes on. I've encountered all these lines, and many others, many a time, sometimes once in an outing, sometimes several, whether I'm with friends at a restaurant, or at a club. Its always, always the same. They come on strong, they come on easy; they come on up front, or they try to hold off, like they're organic, like they want things to happen naturally, but they all want it to happen, and they want to do it all over me.

Tonight, its Mister What-Are-You-Down-For?

No subtleties, no 'hey, my name is...' nope, just, 'what would you like to do when we inevitably have sex?' 'What outlandish fetishes do you get into, and how soon can we go do them?' That is what this question means to them. Well, I guess it wasn't always about the perverse fetishes, but when you've done this as long as I have, you inherently know which ones are going to call you by their mother's name - even if you're a boy - and this guy, I was sure was one of them.

I really don't know how I know these things about people, this guy in particular doesn't look the type at face-value, his fur all smoothed and groomed, his blazer open slightly at the top, collar casually flipped. He had this wily smirk across his fucking mug, and a friendly glint in his eyes. But it is in those eyes that I can see it, hints of his intent shine through about the edges, a flicker so small and quick, I wondered briefly if I imagined it. Sadly, my intuition is always right on these things. He wanted a submissive nymphomaniac to subjugate to his ardour and god knows what else. What luck have I, for tonight, that sex-o-maniac was to be me.

I sighed and leaned forward on the bar counter, cradling my glass with both paws.

Why do I keep coming here?

Even after ignoring him a few moments, he was still there, looking on expectantly.

"Oh, you know," I finally replied in as dry a tone as I could. "Stuff."

I knew this 'fuck off' attitude would get me nowhere, but, still, I find it is best, for, from behind his eyes I am irrefutably the exact embodiment of what he was looking for in a lay. I always am to them, and he'll take any signal I give as part of some game he has to play to get into my pants, just another part of the great hunt.

"Yeah, what kind of stuff, babe?"

"As I just said," I drained my glass, wincing as the mixture went down bitter. "Stuff."

He chuckled a smearing, smirking chuckle. He was liking this game.

"I like stuff too."

"Well, sir, I am glad to hear it."

"Sir. I like that."

"Bet you do."

I swivelled around on the bar stool, twirling the opposite direction of where he stood so that I didn't have to spare any needless glances at him, and looked out at the dance floor. In my peripherals, I could still see him, and he was closer now.

"Yeah," he said in a low voice. He probably thought the music drowned him out, because he didn't even try to mask the throaty prowl of lust within it.

I felt him shift closer to me, placing his arm against the bar, at my back, and his pungent cologne filled my nostrils. Still, I maintained my forward leer, paying no heed to him. Sometimes if I stay stock-still like I've become some deaf-mute, they'll piss off and go someplace else.

I could feel his eyes raking me up and down, the lust and sexual thoughts he imposed on me like a mangy paw, groping me all over. I fucking hate these creatures. He leaned closer, still.

"Here, lemmie buy you another drink, loosen you up," he murmured into my ear, and then, before I could say anything, he called to the barkeep, "Yo, two Blow Jobs, down here."

I felt my face harden, my eyes growing colder. To hide it from the dark-furred dog at my side, I glanced back at the bartender, craning away from him as far as my stool would allow.

The tender was a very happy-go-lucky fellow, all gold fur and floppy ears. He was new, and I didn't know him, so he didn't know me - which meant he didn't know better than to actually let these perverts buy me drinks. I sighed again as he placed the two shots on the counter before us. I watched as the horn-dog forked over a twenty and told the bartender to keep the change with what would come off as a charming wink.

My eyes lingered on the pup behind the counter for a minute. To him, I must seem like a complete ass, the way I treat these people. They come up, all smiles and clever lines, and I turn them down cold and hard, because he wouldn't know what its like in this club, or maybe even this town, to put up with this shit constantly.

I almost blushed at the way the blonde dog's eyes perked up when another patron made some flirtatious remark. They had a genuine glimmer about them, and I liked them, he must think all these people to be stand-uppish. If I wasn't so jaded and guarded, I might've even allowed myself a smile at his charm and ignorance. But, then I turned to Mister What's-Your-Fetish and that was fast spoiled. He held out the drink. I regarded it warily for a second, hating the fact that he'd bought it. Hating the fact that he'd think I'm buying into his little fancy... hating that it was part of the imaginary game he thinks I'm playing with him.

But, its booze I didn't have to pay for, and the new guy didn't know how to make anything satisfying with gin. I hated myself, but I reached out for the shot.

"Uh-uh!" He tutted, twisting the shot away from my paw. "You gotta take it in your mouth, foxy babe, like this."

He proceeded to fit his shot in his lips, and, holding it there with his teeth, tipped his head back, the contents vanishing down his throat. He then gave me a smirking smile that he probably thought made him sexy. I reached again for the drink, and his face turned almost to a pout.

"Here, let me." He reached in and made as if to place the drink in my mouth. At the last moment I slipped the drink from his paw and downed it, keeping my paw firmly wrapped around the glass the whole way. I set the spent shooter down on the counter, and, arranging my face as cold as I could, looked him square-on.

"Thanks," I said flatly.

"Not a prob, babe."

Call me babe one more time and you'll choke on your fucking shots, I thought.

"So, is that any better?" He said, whispering directly into my ear. A younger me would be reeling with thrills and heart-flutters by this.

"I need a smoke." I said, and rose instantly.

I crossed the floor at a heavy pace, feeling almost sickened by that man, and relished in the brisk air as I broke out into the smoking pad. As I fished around for my pack, I turned to see the horn-dog had followed me, his own smokes out and at the ready.

"Allow me," he said smoothly, tapping out two cigarettes from the pack.

"No, thanks," I said, withdrawing my own crumpled packet from the back pocket of my pants.

I lit up, and leaned on a veranda's support pillar, looking off at the small crowd, at the puffs of blue smoke that coiled off into the night. My stomach turned over as I felt the dog's presence all-to-close to me again. A step or so closer and he'd be pushing me over.

"My name's Elron, what's your name?"

"Mark Fucking Twain," I said in midst of a sigh.

"You're a funny one."

"Am I?" I said dryly.

I took a long drag off my cigarette, and exhaled loudly.

"So," he whispered into my ear in a husky voice, layered with lust, excitement, and to my pleasure, a touch of frustration. "I gave you a Blow Job, why don't you give one to me?"

"Oh, fuck off," I groaned, moving away.

He pursued, again coming up behind me, well into my personal space.

"I'd much rather fuck on." He said, the frustration becoming more and more apparent in his voice.

"Leave me alone, dude," I muttered, throwing my cigarette aside and making to go inside.

He caught my arm, and came in close, his chest pressing into mine as he arched over me. I knew I was taller than him, how he managed his poise, I don't know. There was a domineering, alpha look in his eyes now.

"I don't think you want me to do that," he said through tight lips.

At first it seemed like it was an angry display, but then those lips parted into a thin smile. His eyes were glassy, dilated. He was drunk, yes, but there was a hunger in them, a kind of thrill to them. He loved the way I played his game.

"Let go."

"Yeah, you like this," he told me, his voice wavering with his need, assured this was still part of the chase. He pressed his hips forward gently, and I could feel his erection pressing into my thighs.

"I said let me the fuck go," I growled.

"No," he said, as if it was preposterous that I ask him to do so, his look of certainty wavering. "C'mon, man."

I threw my arm out, loosing myself from his grip, shot murder at him with my eyes, and stormed off, back into the club. I sat at the end of the bar, next to some fat geezer, where Elron would be hard-pressed to get at me, and ordered a shot of whisky.

I downed my shot, and asked for another, this time a double. The pup gave me a kind of wary look, glancing searchingly from my face to some point behind me. I had half a second to wonder what it was when I felt him behind me. I groaned and turned back to face Elron.

"Hey," he started, a tentative look about him.

I angled my features into something reproachful.

"Look, I'm sorry, babe, if I, like offended you..."

I turned my gaze away, trying to block out the blathering, loosing a small sigh of exasperation, when I noticed the bartender's ears were cocked in our direction.

"... You think we can start over? I'm Elron, babe, what's your name?"

I thought for a moment, then turned to him.

"Look, Elron, you can call me Stevie Nix for all I care, I'm not going to go home with you, I'm not interested in doing whatever it is you want to do. Please leave me alone."

I turned back to the counter and asked for a Manhattan in a rocks glass after downing my double. I payed no attention to whatever Elron did after that, and he was gone by the time I took to looking about my surroundings again.

Then, after about an hour or so, I noticed the geezer next to me was starting to eye me up a bit as I nursed my second (or was it third?) Manhattan, and I imagined he was working up the courage to say something to me. I stifled a sigh, drained my glass and rose, making for the bathroom on the opposite end of where I sat. Inside, I stood at the stall, swaying a little as I loosed myself from my pants. I suppose, in a sense, it felt good to have taken care of the Elron situation in such a polite manner. It disgusted me, on some level, to have treated him with such civility, but, I imagined the bartender thought I was less of a dick now, so that was good. I finished my piss, shaking the last few drips from my penis.

"More than three shakes is playing with yourself, young man," a voice next to me said.

I hadn't realized there even was somebody next to me. I looked up at the source, surprised, and found it to be the geezer from the counter. I stared at him for a second, and followed his slowly gyrating arm down to his paw, which was gently kneading the head of a very fat dick.

God, it has been a while since I've taken anything that thick, the thought just shot through my head, out of nowhere. I caught myself biting my lower lip gently. Just look at it!

"Like what you see, pretty boy?" He said, a smirk crossing his eyes; a different kind of smirk than that fuck-off, Elron; a less despicable kind. I narrowed my eyes, and shook my head vigorously - it was still despicable, though.

Shit, I think I'm drunk, I thought, for I couldn't interpret anything about his eyes.

"I'd say by the looks of things you do," he continued, a playful glint crossing his gaze. He glanced down at my genitals, pleased, and i felt, to my horror, my cock hardening.

"Shit," I mumbled, reeling myself in as quickly as possible, leaving the restroom in a haste, without even washing my paws. I staggered out onto the smoke pad again, and slumped against the brick wall next to the door, fumbling around for my smokes, again - where the hell did I put them?

I found them, and smoked, glaring at the ground in front of me as it wavered to and fro. Why did I buy so many drinks? I leaned there, feeling stupid and infuriated for a while, until my smoke was spent, and then smoked another. I had calmed down when I entered the club once more. I stared at the counter. The geezer was back in his corner, chatting with the bartender.

I remembered the size of that dick, and wondered if the pup'd be able to resist its allure. I marched straight to the counter (well, as straight as I could manage) and asked for a strawberry daiquiri with no alcohol. I sat on the opposite end of the old fur, and didn't spare a glance in his direction. I waited out most of the night in awkward contemplation; I wanted to just go home, but something kept me there, at the stool, in proximity to that pup, the thought of that big penis still on my brain. It was one of those images you get in your head that just won't go away, and I didn't like the idea of that old, gross man doing things to the dog with it.

I knew I would not have fucked him, regardless of how engorged my member became, for that, I reasoned, was merely a kind of natural reaction. Much later on, as he was getting ready to go, I stole a glance at him. He was not attractive, and I reasoned he probably smelt like fish or some other unpleasantness - that could've just been the booze talking, but I was satisfied that I wouldn't have done anything with him at the very least. By now, I had consumed several other virgin drinks, and not had to endure another prick trying to pick me up, so the night was wrapping up rather well.

Another hour later, as I was starting to sober up, I looked up from my glass as I felt the bartender come close.

"So, what is your name, anyhow?" he said.

"Huh?"

"Well, by your attitude to the folk here, I'm guessing your a regular, so I guess I ought to know your name, eh?"

I stared at him blankly for a minute. There was no secret agenda about him, nothing nefarious or sickly about his open gaze - maybe a hint of embarrassed curiosity - but he came off just as genuine as earlier.

"Roman." I said.

"Ah, I see," he replied. "I take it you prefer to be left alone when you're around, huh?"

"I guess," I said, twisting my glass back and forth between my paws.

He was quiet after that, and turned after a moment to leave me be.

"What's yours?" I said in a low voice, not really intending him to answer. I hadn't realized that the music had stopped by now, though, and it wasn't there to mask my tone.

"Taylor." he said, turning back at me, then paused expectantly. When I didn't go on, he said, "Well, we're closing up now, so if you want anything, now's your last chance,"

"No," I said after a pause of my own. "I've already had enough, I'm good."

"Okay, I have to go out back and clean up, can I trust you not to steal anything?" He said with a smirk.

"You can."

He gave me a small smile, meek compared to the flashy grins he'd been doling out all night, and left. I sat there, staring after him for a while, my head swirling in thought. I stood up, and turned to the exit. All the staff were busy cleaning up, and another employee I was more familiar with came in from where Taylor had left and began wiping off the counter. She gave me a curt smile, and payed me no further attention. She knew my ways well enough to give me space.

I left as I felt my lip curling up.

Outside, I paused and lit a smoke. I smoke menthol cigarettes, I prefer the taste they leave in my mouth, and back when I used to be a regular here, the first time around, I used to have a phobia that people would think I was gross because my mouth tasted like tobacco, so now its just part of my habit. This place had affected my life in many ways. When I finished, I started down the sidewalk, my pace much more stable now that I was coming around. Ahead, at the end of the club's gaudy brick architecture, I saw a door open, and heard someone from within calling out a farewell. Then, a few meters ahead of me, Taylor stepped out of the club and started walking down the street the same way I was. I followed behind him at a fair distance, and he didn't look back once.

He had changed out of the club's casual dress-uniform and was wearing a light jacket, with tight-fitting pants. He walked into the orange glow of a streetlight, and I could see that they perfectly clung to the contours of his figure, accentuating a firm rear. I couldn't stop myself from looking him up and down. I felt my chest harden.

Before Taylor would reach the next streetlamp, thus coming into view again, I'd have to cut across a small alley behind the club, a shortcut on my walk home, and I wouldn't be able to get another look at his ass. I suppose that was just as well. Still, I felt a strange sensation, a sinking, at the thought.

I rounded my turn, my head down, and began my saunter along the gravelly path. I sensed movement ahead, however, and perked up. A figure was just a few paces ahead of me, and I froze. They did the same, and I saw their head poised in my direction. They had something bright in their paw, a small glowing object, probably a cell phone. The light from the lamps in the parking lot behind the club caught their face, and I recognized Taylor in their pale light. He looked apprehensive, nervous even.

I took a few steps closer, into the light.

"Don't be afraid," I said. "Just me."

"Oh," he said, his voice not at all reassured. "Hey, its you."

"I'm not gonna mug you," I sighed. "I live down this way, its just a shortcut I take to get home."

"Oh," he said again, pocketing his phone. Must be one of those people who can't walk and text. "Sorry... I - I didn't think."

"Its okay," I murmured, taking a few steps closer. "I must come off as quite the creep, sitting there, glaring all night like some... well, creep."

He smiled a crooked smile, and looked away.

"Well, I wouldn't say that," he said.

I moved in closer, tentatively, wanting to be nearer to that perfectly untarnished air of his.

"I'm really not such a cynical prick, you know? I just don't like the pervs ya get around here."

"Oh, I didn't think..." he looked up at me, his eyes glowing in the pale light of the parking lot. The lamps bore very pure bulbs, and their rays were pearly white, making his fur gleam like silver, his eyes like gems. In those well-lit eyes, and without the pretence of professionalism between us, I could see much more; much further. What I saw was so genuine, so playful, and yet so scared. That kind of youthful fear, that uncertain complexity that you see in a virgin. He was like the new bloods, the ones all the creeps flock to, and corrupt. It was almost precious. Almost. This wasn't, like, some Hollywood moment, this was a parking lot in an alley.

Still, he looked very... fair, in the light.

"What did you think?"

He looked up over long, dark eyelashes, his eyes shining in the night.

"Uh, I dunno..." he mumbled, his brilliant eyes stuck to mine. I have this power, you see. Nothing supernatural, of course, I'm not some vampire, or illusionist, there's just something about me that makes people flock to me, and, subsequently, want to fuck me. I'm one of those guys who can make your knees weak when I'm near. I'm not impressed by it, and I don't like talking about it to people, it makes me seem like a narcissist. But it was, considering my wanton past, a sorry fact. I could see in his eyes that my toxin was already making his blood surge, his head swim. I guess I didn't need to say anything more.

He was mine.

"Um..." he continued.

I stalked closer, as a predator crept on its prey.

"Shhh..." I said, taking a floppy ear into my paw.

"Oh," he moaned. I stepped in closer, moving my other paw to his hip, and then gently, easily I merged my lips with his.

"Oh!" Taylor cried. "Roman!"

I moaned, deep and primal_,_ above him.

He lay below me, his legs spread abroad, resting on either side of him, god, he was he ever flexible! He'd melted into this adorable shape as I'd entered him, shifting his weight back on his shoulders, propping himself up to meet me, and his legs just kept moving aside, his skeleton not hindering him. His arms were angled out on either side of him, pulling at the ends of the pillow unconsciously. With each thrust I pushed him back into the headboard harder, and harder.

"Oh, god!"

"Yeah," I growled, leaning over him and pushed my hips into his.

I wrapped a paw around his throat, and started squeezing, pumping my ass down on him harder, faster, rougher. The juicy slickness of his ass was so tight it hurt to fuck him this fast, but I didn't care, I had to do this. I started clamping down harder on his neck, and I bit his nipple.

"Ow... ow... oh... fff..." he was cooing.

I growled, and arched my back up, looking him right in those gorgeous, beautiful eyes. My own eyes became hard, cold. I hauled out all the way save for the very tip of my head, and slammed into him as fast and hard as I could, pain searing up my shaft. Fuck, fuck, he was tight. I saw a small wince flicker across his face. I reared back again, and held my position, just inside his tight entrance. I leaned in and kissed him hard, grunting and biting at his lips as I did. He kissed back, moaning and biting, his teeth sinking hard into me.

What the hell?

I tasted blood, whether it was his or mine, I don't know. His ass would have relaxed by now, I gave him a hard look and rammed in again. He took in a hissing breath, and I again curled my paw around his neck, gentle at first, then harder. I began my ritualistic rhythm of pulling out, waiting, and slamming. Gaining speed with each smash, squeezing and releasing with each thrust, and watched as his eyes became more and more... well, I couldn't quite peg what was in them. There were so many things, pain, confusion... and, there!

I slammed deep, driving him up the bed a ways.

Submission.

I had became his master, he'd given in to me, yielding to whatever I wished and yet, there was still something about him I couldn't quite interpret, my mind was too turned over to my own lusts.

Damn, I thought as I ploughed into him. I haven't been this hard in ages.

I began to clamp down harder on his neck, and he didn't protest, he didn't raise a paw to bat mine away, or struggle, he just let me. I could probably have killed him right there, if I'd a mind to, and he'd've let me, he was so confusedly turned over to this, so resigned to me.

What was it? What was he feeling, what was in that eye? Was it trust? Was it some kind of pain, or sorrow? Did he want to fucking die?

I stopped my power-pumps, let go of his neck, arched up again and pushed his shoulders back with both paws. My dick was growing soft, and I leaned in and bit his neck, growling with frustration. He hooked his legs behind my back and pulled them tight, leveraging himself up with me, making his tailhole more accessible.

"Oh..." he murmured.

I leaned back, raking my free paw across his chest some, and looked at him. His eyes were closed, and his face was pained. The way he was skewed up, mouth hanging open in a half-grimace, eyes clenched, brow furrowed, sent a pang shooting across my chest. One paw I had dug into his side, nails drawing small slivers of blood from him, my other had him pinned, with all my weight pushing on it, and my cock, I roughly hauled in an out of him with a savagery. Yet, his legs were tightly locked around my back, pulling himself up for more, his cock I could feel against my belly, barely erect at all. I'd spat in his face, I realized, and he still was arching up for more. My heart faltered.

"Fuck!" I growled - or, thought I growled, it sounded more like a whimper. I couldn't contemplate his infuriating actions any more, my mind blanked out and I cringed over him, every muscle in my body clenching. I was cumming, my whole body catching fire in orgasm. My head hurt. My chest was heavy, pained, at first anyway. Then, as the agonizing episode subsided, I felt my body relax and ebb into a warm sensation.

I became aware of the lips gently kneading my own, and I became aware of what I was doing all of a sudden. My arms were wound tightly around his back, my body arched to compliment his own poise, and my lips were gently kissing his own. I jerked back suddenly.

"Fuck."

I untangled myself from him, and reeled over so I was sitting on the side of the bed, panting a little, my fur drenched with sweat, lube, and semen. He must be new in town and everything, his house, I just now noticed, was filled with unpacked boxes. The bed, I realized was just a mattress.

"What?" Taylor said from behind me. I reached down and fumbled with my jeans for my smokes and lighter. "Wasn't that good?"

"What the hell was that?" I said, my voice like stone, and lit up, despite his stuttering of displeasure.

"What do you mean?" he stammered, his voice small.

"For fuck sakes, Taylor," I said, pulling my socks on. "I was treating you like crap, and you were just letting me. Like, I'm pretty sure I slapped you when we started, and you just soaked it all up!"

"But I just thought that's what you liked..." his voice cracked. I looked back, and saw that his features were stricken, ruined. The happy-go-lucky demeanour was gone, and his eyes were shining with hurt. I appraised my handiwork; he lay on his side, his legs curled up close to his chest, his fur was matted and displaced, his side was bleeding softly where I'd dug in, his lip was also bleeding a little. He was satisfyingly riddled with uncertainty and vulnerability.

I struck my feet into my pant legs, hauling them up, and threw my shirt over my shoulder.

"I don't like anything, anymore, Taylor," I cast one last look about him, and left.

Outside, I pulled my shirt on with some difficulty, having a lit cigarette in my maw, and started off towards home. It'd take me a good hour to walk home from here, but some things just can't be helped, I guess. Although, I must own, I couldn't stop myself from taking one last look up to his abode. He watched me in the dark, from a window. He had donned a grey bathrobe that wasn't quite done up all the way, and the soft curve of his neck that led to his shoulders were borne to the light of the street. He was still desecrated, and yet he was so beautiful. I stole off into the dark, taking a specific route where the only light to expose my face would be the sharp glow of my cigarette, and there, in the shadows, whether I was aware of it or not, I despaired.

Its always the fucking same, every time I lower myself to this, every time I give in to my compulsions, they always end with an emptiness. Whether its when I feel like I'm going too far, or like I was wrong in initiating something, as with this past instance, they do something that brings on that vacancy; even after I'd selected poor, innocent Taylor, and deflowered his perfect aura, I find myself devoid of any pleasure of it. After becoming everything Taylor would get from this town, sparing him the agonies of its course, all I have is more indifference, another jade for my weary crown.

And still I felt nothing.