Fuck
"Fuck",
by H. A. Kirsch
Copyright 2008
Warning: features gratuitous sex, usage of both F-words, the demon weed, and a little old-fashioned choking. Oh, and it has Strake in it.
Strake's hangout was a bar called "Carolan's". It was a bar first, anything else a distant second. Situated in a ghost town, the only reason the bar existed was because of the biker gang that had taken over the otherwise abandoned buildings. The bar's owner worked at placating the men, buffering the situation with just enough clientele from outside that it was only as suspicious as any other seedy biker bar.
Strake was seated at the bar, hulking over the knife-etched wood while the rest of the room bustled behind him. Profanity, the occasional yelp or snarl as someone got pissed off at someone else, the clack of pool balls, the endless grind of heavy metal. No one paid the siberian cat much attention, but he looked anything but forlorn.
He finished a bottle of beer, literally pouring it into his mouth, then taking the bottle and chucking it into a recycling bin behind the bar. "Malley, hit me again."
The bartender, an alarmingly skinny wolf, sauntered over. "Strake, what'd I hear you say earlier. You were just stopping in? Putting a few back before going home?"
The tiger lifted his shoulders inside of his leathers, body seemingly inflating beyond its normal bulk, denim creaking on top of his leather jacket. "Yeah, what about it?" The cat looked much more animated, lips curling back. In the process of snarling, he drooled all over the bartop and one of his black-gloved hands.
The bartender snatched up a towel, then wiped the bartop right over Strake's gloved hands. The cat growled, the wolf seemingly unaffected. "Strake, kitty-kitty, you're thick as a brick. You guys give us a lot of money. If you go home drunk and wrap your hulking piece of shit around a tree, that's one cat's less income for me."
Malley had special rights to talk like this to the cat. Strake growled and got up, then kicked the stool. The impact of metal-plated boot heel onto the stool rung made a terrific bang, the chromed circle denting in. Several people looked up; Strake just glared at them as the cat stomped towards the door. The bar had a wood floor; the cat's boot falls were hard enough that some glasses rattled above the bar. "You think you're my maw or somethin'? Go fuck yourself, Mally."
"Uh-huh," the wolf said, busying himself with the endless task of toweling beer glasses. The cat stood there, tail lashing behind him, elbows out, muscles contracted under his creaking leathers.
"You can go use that beer bottle I jus' chucked at you," the cat tried. Mally continued to look unfazed. With a snort, the cat turned away and stomped towards the door, glaring over his shoulder at anyone who accidentally made eye contact.
Just before he reached the end of the bar, Strake was stopped as someone stepped off their stool right at the end. The figure wasn't familiar; a horse, milk-chocolate brown and almost exactly the same eight feet tall as the siberian tiger. The horse had on a ratty faded denim jacket, a pair of painted-on cowboy jeans, and dusty black cowboy boots. "Howdy," the horse said, nodding his broad jaw. He lifted a beer.
Strake just huffed and shouldered the equine out of the way, bee-lining for the door. The cat burst out into the night, letting out a snort of displeasure as he found that it was raining. Hard drops splattered against his leather jacket, the sleeveless denim over it, the bandana covering his head between his ears. He got a few steps towards where his bike was soaking in the rain when he heard the door bang behind him. The horse came out, and put a big hand up onto the cat's shoulder.
"Well now, that's pretty mean," the stud said.
Strake slapped the hand off with a wet smack and snarled. "What th'hell are you, some kind of faggot?" Strake kept on towards his bike. He straddled onto it, kicked the engine over, then pulled his helmet off the back peg and fitted it over his head.
"Doubt you're gonna complain about that!" the horse yelled, as Strake walked the bike back, then tore off, bike nearly powersliding into the rest of the heavy metal before the tire caught and launched him off into the night with a roar.
Strake's bike weaved through a few potholes on the private drive, then came to rest under a shoddily-built parking overhang across from an old drive-up motel. Some of the doors were boarded up; others had bikes or battered vehicles parked in front of them. He climbed off and was about to cross to the building, when headlights cut beams through the rain as someone turned off the main road into the parking lot. The lights pulled next to the cat's bike. Strake's wet hackles lifted up.
It was a big truck, Ford F-350 pickup, extended cab, rattling diesel. He'd been followed. The cat tried to remember a truck behind him on the road; he couldn't. The possibilities - such as headlights off in the dark night rain - didn't occur to the tiger; He just felt stupid and angry.
The truck opened up, engine shutting off, then lights. The horse from the bar stepped out, wincing slightly as water poured through a hole in the shoddy parking cover onto his head. "Nice place you got here," the stud said.
Strake grunted, and crossed the lot, letting out a yowl and a grunt as he planted a foot into a pothole with a splash. He slinked up to the door, unlocked it, and was about to stomp inside when a hand appeared to the left, holding the frame. The cat spun and hiss-spat. "Why th'hell'd you gotta follow me, asshole? Get outta here 'fore I find my sawed-off." The cat slammed the door, then turned to latch the knob. The metal twisted in his hand, and Strake lept back.
The door blasted open, horse clenching the knob, barging in and backing up to shut the door. "Lemme get the light for you," he said, and slapped the wall, hand sliding up and whacking the light switch. The room filled with dingy light, a bar bulb's fixture at the wall long since ripped away. There were two rooms, the other too dark to see into. The doorway between them looked like it was literally knocked out by someone's fist, plaster cracked where wood was stuck and glued, making a tilted frame. This room had a counter with a sink and a half-assed electric stove, a half-fridge, a table made of a telephone cable spool, folding chairs, and an old TV on cinderblocks in the corner. Right next to the front door was a bathroom.
"Figured you didn't wanna talk, so maybe we don't have to talk." The stud walked around, hands stuck half into pockets, sniffing. He made a face; the place smelled as awful as it looked. Uncleaned kitchen, dust, smoke, liquor, and the hot smell of male tiger musk.
"You're gonna get your fag-hole punched in with a broke-off bottle, hawsie," Strake growled, punching a bare fist into his other hand.
"Aww. I'd be damn scared, if I knew which part of my big self was my 'fag-hole'," The brown horse said, grinning. He peeked into the bathroom, barely a closet with a toilet and shower wedged in, no sink. The horse pushed past the tiger, straight into the cramped space. He proceeded to open his pants up. "You ain't doing anything to me... Strake, is it? Nah, you're not gonna do anything like that. I know why. I heard about you." The folds of the horse's sheath came out, cockhead pushing out as the mottled black and pink length dropped out like a snake.
Strake stomped up to the door, then stared at the cock display. His tail lashed, hitting the wall with a thud.
"What the hell'd you hear, faggot?"
"You're just as much of a fag as me, that's what," the horse said, starting to piss. It dumped into the bowl, the initial blast enough to flush the standing water down the pipes with a glug. The horse then leaned over, looking into the shower. "Name's Darren. Word gets around, and I got a big ol' idea about what you like. How about when I'm done pissing, you get in here and wash your asshole out real good."
Strake's hackles lifted up again, followed by his shoulders. The cat tore off his bandana. "What?"
"I'm not dumb, I saw that... thing in the shower. Get that damn wet shit off you and come wash your shit-hole out," Darren bellowed, flushing the toilet with a boot-kick, then pushed out of the bathroom. He barely fit through the door. The horse then went into the other room. "I'll get myself good and ready." The horse hadn't even put his cock away, the length dangling between his legs as he moved. Strake's eyes followed the black shaft until it wasn't visible anymore.
The white tiger was completely dumbfounded. Every situation he was in had been roughly the same; he was bigger than everyone else, and they would either piss themselves when he clapped a gloved hand into the other palm, or try to fight and get put in their place by a hard fuck or ten. This horse did whatever he wanted. It made Strake hard as a rock in his packed jeans. There wasn't anything left to say, so the tiger did as suggested.
Strake stripped off his heavy boots, jeans, the saddle-weight chaps. Then he tossed his two jackets in a pile, blocking the bathroom door from opening in. He fondled himself in the mirror for a moment, then started up the shower. After the room fogged up, he climbed in and took the metal enema tube, shoving it inside himself as he bent forward, grunting as pressure built up until it all rushed back out the hole when he pulled it aside.
He thought about the horse who had followed him home, and his hole squeezed up enough that he yelped and let the nozzle slide out, followed by a rush of water. The horse was going to be huge when hard. His dick was a foot long soft, already. Strake had rarely ever wondered if he could take something. It felt like a challenge he had to win, especially when the other player was a cocky fucking plant-chewing horse.
When he cranked the shower off, he could hear the floor creaking outside the door. Grabbing a towel and trying to wipe his fur down, he put an ear to the door. He could hear the flick of a lighter, then a hiss and a low bubbling, then an explosive hacking cough. Strake yanked the door open. "I ain't said nothin' 'bout you blowin' through all my stuff!"
The horse took another hit from the two-foot bong he was holding, this time holding it better. He set it aside, then sprayed smoke out his nostrils, braying for the last bit of a breath. "Shiiiiit! I oughta join a fuckin' biker gang, get me some better weed. Maybe you need t'suck some of this up your big ol' mouth and get calmed down."
Strake contemplated the idea. He knew how he acted when stoned; mewling and rubbing on things like a kitten was not the way he wanted to look. "You got a lot of damn nerve bustin' in, takin' my pot like this, orderin' me around like I'm some kinda whore you picked up." Despite his anger, Strake was hard as a rock.
Darren stepped up and grabbed Strake's swollen, hooded cock in his big hand. "Look, kitty-cat. I'm a big guy. I like to fuck. You're a big guy, you like to fuck. You got a problem with fuckin' down the food chain or something? Let's just have a little fuck. No eatin' me, I know how you meaters get sometimes."
The tiger's knees thumped together as his cock surged, precum dribbling out of the head. "Uh-huh," he said dumbly, ears burning red inside. Then he shook his head and grabbed Darren's wrist, wrenching it off his cock. The horse was still fully clothed. "Ain't you gonna get out of all that stuff so you can do your 'lil' fuck'?"
Darren started backing up, hands rubbing at the open fly of his jeans. "Well now, who's gonna do who first, huh? You got your ass-hole washed out, let's bend you over. All naked and shit already."
Strake growled, hackles raised. He tried to push past the horse, hoping to simply dump himself onto his mattress. Instead, a big hand clutched at his shoulder. "Hey, what the hell? You said you wanted to f-"
The equine turned Strake and crushed body to body, broad muzzle pushing at the tiger's snout. The tiger was unprepared for the horse's dark, rubbery lips, growling as they tugged at his chin and muzzle, then parted to let a tongue slide out. The horse let go of the cat's hard shoulder, that hand moving to grab the ruff of fur on the side of Strake's face, head canting as he made for a wet kiss. The other hand dropped to coerce the white tiger, closing around the cat's fully-grown erection. The horse's broad fingers forcefully played with the foreskin, stroking the thumbpad into it, sliding around the sensitive glans. Strake immediately mrowled, ears back, mouth opening up for the thick, probing tongue.
The tiger moved to grasp at Darren's cock, but the horse smacked his hand away. "Nuh-huh," Darren snorted. "Not 'till you go uh, lessee..." the horse swooned a little, hand loosely pumping at the tiger's cock, using it as a handle. "Not until you go strap those nice leather chaps and boots you got, back on."
The cat hmmfed and shoved Darren out of the way, having to elbow the horse in the stomach to get him to let go of cockflesh. Strake stomped into the bathroom and grabbed his gear, stepping into the chaps, snapping them around front. When he turned around to grab his boots and sit on the can to pull them on, he nearly jumped back into the shower. Darren was standing there, in the doorway, fondling himself. The cat hadn't heard him approach, despite Darren's heavy boots. Strake wasn't used to that kind of attention, not so overtly, and not from someone as burly as the stud. He tugged his boots on, buckling the straps at the top, fingers sliding around to make sure the chaps were seated.
"Gimme that coat of yours," the horse snorted, unbuttoning his own denim jacket. Underneath, nothing except chocolate brown fur, hard-wrought slabs of muscle, and two thick nipple rings. The horse tossed it behind himself, then leaned on the doorway.
Strake leaned over, looking the horse in the face, then picked at the coat. "This? You wanna wear my jacket, freak?" He lifted it a little, then set it back down.
Darren rushed forward into the bathroom, shoved a boot toe under the leather, and whipped it upwards. He caught, fumbled, caught again, face twisting into a stoned, idiotic grin as he pulled it on. It was a tight fit, zipper not quite able to close up, leather creaking with even the slightest breath from the horse. "Aww damn, this feels hot. You got a nice set of gear. Now let's go get you on the bed in there, complete the outfit, if you uh, you know, get what I'm talkin' about." Darren was fully erect, black shaft standing out at least sixteen inches, drooping from the weight of the flared mushroom head.
The horse turned and made his way into the bedroom, body moving slow, swaying slightly as he stomped. He seemed interested in wearing the coat, feeling at it, adjusting it. Strake came up behind him, hackles rising, feeling the irresitable urge to jump the equine and bite him, forcing himself on the horse...
The brown stud turned and grabbed Strake just as the cat was shoving himself forward, the sheer force of the aborted pounce toppling the horse backwards to the mattress. As soon as the springs bottomed out, Darren rolled to the side, sending Strake onto his back. The cat snarled and fought, kicking at the horse, but Darren was almost an exact match.
"Why the hell are you fightin', kitty-cat? You went an' washed out your asshole for me. You suddenly changed your mind when you saw this lil' thing?" Darren drawled, eyes burning red where there wasn't an iris or pupil. The horse had his cock in hand, stroking up to the head, veins showing out, a drool of precum pushing out and running down the underside of the flare, then over his knuckles. Darren let go of himself, grabbing for the tiger's boots, just barely able to close his fingers around the ankle as he hefted and splayed them apart. The stud then lifted, hauling Strake's rump right off the mattress, dragging the cat to the very edge. Strake stared up at him, face an angry kind of snarl, ears pinned back. The cat didn't fight, though.
"C'mon, get it over with already," the white tiger grumbled, tail slapping back and forth.
Responding to the question, Darren let the tiger go. "Well, you hang on a sec," he said, and stomped into the other room. Flick of a lighter, another hard bubbling hit from the bong, and a delayed cough. Then, banging around in the cupboards and a sniffing nicker. When the horse came back, he was still erect, mottled cock standing out thick and glossy. Too glossy; his cock was oiled up. Strake sniffed at the air. Corn oil.
Without another word, the equine came back to the bed and kneeled down. The tiger helpfully pulled his boots up again, lifting the dirty soles to point towards the ceiling. Darren straddled around the tiger's rump, pushing his jacketed chest at the tiger's leather-clad thighs, then stuffed forward. His cock-flare slapped at the side of the cat's tailhole; a second thrust popped it straight in. Strake yowled and punched Darren square in the jaw. The horse kept on, putting a good eight inches straight through.
"Aww, now this is pretty, seein' you in all that nice leather, boots stickin' up. Don't mind me, I like a good look down at some guy's treads while I'm sticking his hole." Darren looked from boot to boot, big hands fondling the dull-glossed, dirty, damp leather. He tugged his cock back out, unplugging the head with a greased plop, then just teased it around the hole. "You gonna tell me to put it back in?"
"Fuck, asshole, don't make me say that shit," Strake struggled, hands grabbing up at Darren's arms, trying to reach for the horse's shoulders. He swatted at the lapels, clutching onto the leather of his own coat stretched over some other man's chest. Darren just puffed himself out, pushing into the cat's eager grasp. The horse kept teasing his cock around the cat's pucker, denting it in and pulling back before it pushed through. "Okay, okay, shit, put your damn cock back in my ass-hole," Strake growled, looking to the side.
The horse complied, popping the flare back through, then letting his body momentum finish the job, denim smacking up against leather. Strake yowled and bristled up the neck, tail puffing out from the ache inside. He'd never had anything so deep. "Aww, you got yourself all tight-assed over seein' me put on your heavy-ass leathers, huh?"
"Shut up, shut up an' fuck me!" the cat snorted, drooling all over his muzzle. Despite the pain of penetration, and the embarrassing situation, his cock was leaving strings of precum in his abs, over the belt of his chaps.
No more talk from Darren; the horse simply started to thrust, a forceful rhythmic pounding that had Strake squeezing his eyes shut, muscles quivering around the invading stallion's shaft. The stud's hip-thrusts were brutal, unable to even get half of his cock in and out each time, shifting from hilting to tugging the flare against the cat's rings every few thrusts.
Without warning, Darren went to pull his cock out. The length popped out, pulling a loud rowrl from the tiger. "What th'hell man, put it back in!" the cat growled. Without any more than a stoned grin from the horse, the desperate tiger grabbed onto Darren's jacket lapels and yanked him down. "What the hell, you can't fuck stoned or somethin'?"
Darren slobbered all over Strake's muzzle, tongue pushing at lips, lips squeezing at the cat's tongue when it came out. Darren held the cat down by his shoulder, the other broad hand guiding himself back in. He shoved through with a hard stab, locking muzzles with the cat when Strake yowled in startled pain. There was nothing romantic about the kiss; it was all tongues on teeth, teeth on teeth, struggling and biting and chewing.
With nothing to do, that guiding hand grabbed Strake's cock instead. Darren pulled his muzzle off Strake's. "You cats come fast, huh? That really true?" The horse kept pumping forward, unevenly now that he had to do three things at once.
Strake's cock answered the question; now that well over a foot of cock was pounding up into him, his cock couldn't withstand the slightest touch, not to mention the heavy, fisting grab of a big horse's hand. He shot immediately, cock spitting seed up onto his abs, the tiger letting out a startled rowl as his climax spurted out before pleasure even had time to build.
Darren's cock pulled almost out, then lurched back inside, the stud pounding in and out through the hole, each punch forward making the cat squirm. After four or five rough penetrations, Strake dribbled urine out onto his fur and screamed, then kicked the horse in the chest. Undaunted, Darren just kept at it, punching his flared cockhead up into the hole. Strake tightened up, the flare swelled up, and after another three rams, it simply wouldn't fit, the flared dickhead skidding to the side down over Strake's chaps leather. The brown horse throttled his cock, the length bucking and firing all over Strake's chest, seed sticking in the fur, then sliding atop the slick mess to hit the cat's neck, running down along the striped fur onto the bed into two puddles on either side. The horse brayed, loud enough that Strake folded his ears back, the horse's rows of square teeth showing behind shuddering lips.
The horse then looked like he was going to faint, and - cock still bubbling up with seed - backed up until he literally fell backwards into a run and hit the wall by the doorframe. Some of the plaster had bubbled away from the wall, and shattered with a crack. When Darren moved away, grunting as he gripped onto the doorway to steady himself, the paint fell to the floor. "Aww fuck, oh man, that was hot, so damn hot. When you fuckin' kicked me, whew! Shoulda told you I was a dirty faggot," the horse said. He then stalked into the kitchen and ran the sink; Strake could hear gulping.
"Fuck, was that it? That's all you're gonna do?" Strake grunted, getting up. He grabbed one of his stained pillows and wiped himself mostly clean, fur still damp with a little piss and a lot more horse semen. "You drive all th'fuckin' way here and you just creamed me like a pornstar? Shit."
The horse came back into the room, still wearing Strake's leather jacket. The straining erection was gone, flaccid cock swaying back and forth, dribbling onto the floor. He was carrying the bong. "Bake yourself a cake, kitty-cat. I'm gonna clean out my shit-hole. Bet you wouldn't mind a round on top, huh?" He held the tube out, sloshing it hard enough that water came out the airhole in back and dribbled down his hand.
Strake took it with a growl, then started to talk, but Darren was already making a bee-line for the cramped bathroom. The cat took the bowl and unscrewed it, looking to dump it out. It was freshly packed, and he almost tossed twenty dollars of gold hydro into the trash. He fired up and stuffed himself with smoke, then set the bong aside and pushed up onto his boots, tromping around. He whuffed smoke out as he dug into a ratty couch that had been installed next to the bed, finally locating a battered silver mobile phone. He dialed.
"'Ello," came a familiar voice on the other line, noise in the background, a few clanks of glass. "Be quick, I'm on the job."
"I ain't gonna be anythin', you shit-eating scrawny-ass sack of dog bones."
The voice just laughed. "Hah, well, guess you got your little gift, huh?"
"Mally, you fuck, why th'hell'd you tell some horse I was a fag?" Strake quickly got dizzy, and sat down on the bedroom couch, head throbbing as the smoke worked its way into his bloodstream. In the other room, the shower turrned on, a loud rush, then a clunk of pipes and a much quieter splatter, a few bangs, a grunt.
"Well, you know what? He came up to me, and said, 'You know anyone who's available? And I don't mean girls.' I said, well, this isn't really that kind of biker bar, horsey. So he said, 'If you don't tell me, I'm going to go up to each one of the guys here until they either tell me, or beat me up. And I ain't getting beat up.' I can't work with this kind of crap, Strakey. I don't care if half of you guys *are* fags, some guy going around, hitting on everyone? And a fucking horse, all those wolves and cougars and shit? No way. Not gonna end well. You're a slut, I offered you up."
The cat growled into the phone, hand squeezing the casing until it creaked with distress. "Piece of shit. Aren't fucking wolves supposed to be loyal?"
"Yeah, to other wolves. You must be thinking of dogs. They're loyal to anything that scratches their ears. So what, did he fuck you already?"
Strake hissed into the phone, recalling what had happened. Then, as the drug swirled his senses, he started getting hard again. "God damn, yeah he fucked me." The cat grew antsy, despite the headrush of being stoned. He stood up, pacing around the bedroom, staring down at his stained mattress and jumbled sheets. The mattress was bare, sheets just haphazardly tossed onto it, bumpy surface stained with dark marks from drool and spunk. There was a weird, butterfly-shaped stain on it, newly wet. The horse's seed had made the pattern as it drooled off the sides of the cat's neck, then ran around back to add a little imprint. Strake's cock stiffened further at the sight, so much that it ached. He stomped into the 'living room', heading for the closed bathroom door.
"Did you fuck him?" The bartender asked, over the phone.
"Nope."
"One sec.." the phone said, and there was just the hiss of silence. It was more like half of a minute. "Okay, so, are you gonna?"
Strake ignored the phone, listening closely to the sound from the bathroom. He could hear water splashing, then the sound stopped, followed by a hushed groan. Then, a clank of metal and the sound of water, the rushing intensifying in the lewd sound of outpouring, a much louder brayed groan. The horse was definitely doing what he said he would. "Mally, that guy's a pervert an' he's a cocky son of a bitch," The cat whispered into the phone. From behind the door, there was another round of 'cleansing', that rush of water and a loud nickering groan. Then, the shower kicked back on full blast. "Bet you told him all about me, huh?"
"Well, you know, he tips pretty well, unlike some people..."
Strake hissed again. "Fuck you!" The cat stood up and barged over to the far side of the 'kitchen'. The horse had gotten the best of him, and now he had to get him back, or he was going to be stuck in a position he couldn't handle, a carrot-chomping stud plowing him whenever the horse felt like it. "Mally, now you're gonna tell me what he told you 'bout himself, 'cuz I'm gonna put him back in his place when I get on his back, you got that?"
There was a pause. "Well, okay. But since you're a jerk, I'll just give you a hint."
"Wha?" Strake said, squinting his eyes, then rubbing at them.
The wolf grumbled on the other end of the line. The sound of water running, a few clanks. The wolf was probably doing dishes in a lull of business. "You're baked off your ass again, aren't you? I haven't told you yet. Think about all the ways you could make a guy panic while... fucking him, right?" Mally was not at all interested in the same things as Strake and some of the gang. "Think what you could do to him while you were, uh, doing him from behind, that would freak him out, uh, make him fight. And he doesn't like biting. Don't bite him. He punches hard. He decked a fox halfway across the room a few days ago. Guy tried to yank his wallet. Bite him and he'll probably knock your head off. Think about what'll make him all wide-eyed and terrified, for his fucking life. Can you figure that out?"
Strake thought. Nothing came to his mind, except the thought of his cock plowing into the horse's freshly-cleaned asshole. Then...
At that moment, the shower stopped, then the rustle of toweling, then a hand grabbing at the door. Strake clapped his phone shut and tossed it onto the kitchen counter. When the door opened, the horse came out, naked from the waist up, otherwise still in jeans and boots. The horse was in the process of pulling his belt back through its own buckle. The cat's inspiration suddenly appeared and he stood up, rushing to stop the horse from putting his belt on. He grabbed one of Darren's wrists, the other hand grabbing for a shoulder and backing the horse up. Unfortunately, Strake was in full disorientation and crashed into the stud, running him back until the horse's rump whacked the kitchen counter, head banging one of the cabinets shut with a clap. "You ain't gonna put your pants back on, after you finished washin' your ass-hole out," Strake growled. "You're gonna go and slick my dick up with whatever the hell you got yours wet with." Strake yanked Darren's belt out of its loops.
Darren shoved Strake back a foot, then rubbed at his head. "Oh, you want me to get your dick all ready, huh? You mean this thing?" He gave the cat's straining, curved hardon a hard slap, knocking the shaft hard enough that the foreskin rolled back behind the fat head. The horse grabbed for a bottle of oil that was standing on the counter, still uncapped, and just flicked it at the cat, splattering his cock and abs. "There y'go."
"You fuckhead, now I'm gonna get all fuckin'..." Strake growled, immediately rubbing at the mess in his fur. He stopped dead as Darren seized his cock, pumping the slick oil over the swollen shaft, fingers tugging the foreskin down, bare pad against greasy flesh. Strake nearly fell over backwards, leaning hard on the counter. He grabbed at the horse's belt loops and dragged. "C'mon, I'm gonna put a few loads in you, show you how cats fuck," he grunted, and started dragging the horse into the other room.
The brown horse went and pulled his fly down as he was pushed towards the bed, kneeling down forward as he pushed his jeans down. He struggled the denim down over the tops of his boots, leaving it bunched around his ankles. "Oh, gonna do me like I'm a cat in heat, huh? Mrrowr!" the horse tried to imitate, the sound of a cat in heat coming out about two octaves too low. He flicked his taped-up tail around, slapping Strake in the chaps leather.
The white tiger bent down and spat on Darren's asshole, then started teasing it with a couple of fingers. Instead of much resistance, they just pushed right in, the horse tensing and lifting his head in a heavy, shuddering snort. "Well shit, someone gets fucked a lot, bet you get whole gangs of guys like me grabbin' you and pushin'."
"Horses ain't got tight assholes like you cranky-ass meaters," Darren grinned, looking over his shoulder.
Strake paused for a moment, looking down at his glistening cock in one hand, the belt he was holding in the other. Which would go first? He lifted the belt, and Darren's eyes went wide. "Oh, we'll see about that."
"Oh man, oh man, oh man, don't beat my ass," the horse whinnied, ears flinging back. Strake looked under him; the stud was hard as a rock already, head dragging along the bare bumps of the worn and dirty mattress.
"I ain't gonna beat nothin'," he said, and stepped forward, cockhead nudging up against the pucker. Strake was used to a little work, so when he shifted position, kneeling against the edge of the bed, his cock sunk right in and he lost his balance, falling against Darren's back. The horse brayed and tensed up around the invading length, tail beating Strake in the chest.
The tiger had an instinct to thrust, thrust hard. It was difficult to quell it, especially stoned. He started grinding, up to the hilt, leather squeaking as his thighs flexed against the stud's bare, damp pelt. He leaned up, pressing down on the horse's back, fur against fur, muzzle hitting an ear. "Some wolf told me all about you," he said, a low growl, the horse instantly tensing. It wasn't quite true; Mally either didn't want to say the real dirt on the horse, or wanted Strake to figure it out, but the big cat had a good idea.
"Aww fuck, aww fuck, what'd he tell you, what'd he tell you," the horse brayed, body shifting and jerking, back arching as he tried to rear up and throw Strake away. Each attempt to buck upwards just made Strake counter by pistoning forward. After a few rough thrusts, Strake tried to quiet the horse down by seizing onto the back of his neck. Darren just brayed and bucked harder, finally throwing Strake's head back, stunning the tiger enough that his cock slid out.
Strake shook his head and took the stud's own leather belt and brought it up around the horse's neck, tucking the tail end through the buckle. "Gonna collar you up and have a bit of a ride," the cat growled.
Darren tried to kick at the floor, boot heel banging against the shoddy faux-wood paneling, boot sole scratching at it. "No way, man, no way, no way, no way-"
Strake was nearly shaking as he grabbed onto the belt and tugged. Darren's body strained, muscles bulging out under his chocolate pelt, the horse bucking forward. Strake had to thrust to keep from losing the snug hole around his shaft. He pulled harder, and the horse immediately grabbed at his neck, wheezing and snorting, drool coming out of his terrified mouth.
One of the stud's hands grabbed at the belt, trying to give himself room to breathe, chest heaving as he coughed and wheezed. The other hand dropped to his cock, slapping the meat, starting to pull hard at the still-oily shaft. Strake looked around. "You like this kinda thing, faggot?" Strake snarled, and gave in to his instincts. He started thrusting hard, cock grinding back and forth in the much-tighter hole, thighs smacking against hamstrings, jolting the horse enough to shake muscle around under the equine's pelt. The tiger started to snarl and huff, feeling the inevitable itch of climax coming, but it faded back. Too stoned to shoot yet. He clutched harder at the belt, both hands holding onto it, holding tight enough that Darren's back was straight horizontal, the horse's own weight choking him.
"Urrrh, I can't come, I can't come! You better make yourself tighter, or fuckin' shoot off, or somethin'," the cat snarled, lurching against the strangled horse, beating away one of the broad hands when it came up to try and force him to let go. "Keep your fuckin' hands off me, you got me once, I get you once," he hissed.
The horse's hole snugged up, the stud groaning raggedly, hand slapping the head of his cock, beating the length upwards to smack the head against his abs. In just a few smacks, his length was bucking and literally spraying out across the bed, at least two splatters hitting the wall with wet smacks, dribbling down the paint. The horse's hole clenched hard, enough that Strake got just a handful of thrusts in before letting out a chest-rumbling roar, cock exploding inside the horse's hole. As the tiger shot, he let go of the belt, the stud's upper body falling to the mattress with a spring-creaking thump. Then he stepped back, cock pumping out onto the horse's hole, hamstrings, bunched-up jeans, and one of the boot heels.
Darren lay on the bed, gasping, pelt messed with sweat, face damp enough that when he twisted his head against the mattress, it left a dark smudge. "Oh god, oh fuckin' god," the equine shivered. "You ain't light about that kinda thing. Shit, I woulda just, I woulda just liked a little, you know, maybe grab my neck a bit."
Strake shrugged, having to sit down on the bed, hunched over. His climax was over, cock going uncharacteristically limp, although it nearly burned through the center with tingling afterglow. "Ain't usually stoned when I fuck. So you're a big jackass, goin' around, hittin' up my buddy back at that bar for what I like. Puttin' on my coat like that. Then lettin' me choke you without yankin' my head off. Don't know what to think of you."
"What's that supposed to mean?" The horse panted, lazily pulling his jeans up.
"You a tough guy, or you a pussy? Looks about half and half, could go either way."
Darren looked thoughtful for all of a second. "I like to fuck." He stomped into the other room, found his denim coat, and swung it on. "Least I know where you live now, in case I need another go-round." The horse strode for the door.
Strake opened his muzzle to talk, but when a word came out, all it did was bounce back from the far end of the other room. The horse was gone. The tiger recapped what happened in his head, and his cock started to stand out again, quickly curved up and drooling despite nothing touching it. The images flickered through the big cat's head: choked horse, seed spraying out against the wall, the snug but not crushing grasp of a tailhole, then the big horse in a tight leather jacket, the stud's huge cock invading Strake's hole like a fist..
The cat sat there, spread apart on the bed, furiously pumping his cock, ears back as he dwelled on the first part of the evening in private. He shuddered and just before came, let go and sat. Then, he pushed his mind back to the horse straining there, jeans bunched up around his boots, sweating and wide-eyed as he hung from the belt, the cat's hand throttling white spurts of seed out as he put things back the way they ought to be in his mind.