FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

_Toonces, the Driving Cat, the Cat Who Could Drive a Car

If you enjoy the story, please leave a comment!_

---

I'm a bear. It isn't any harder for me to admit that than it is for me to admit that I love dick. One of those things is immediately obvious, though. I don't think a person I've ever met has seen me and asked if I was a fox or something, but the same built body that lets everyone know I'm a bear causes them to think of me as a straight fella. Even the other big tough gay guys I've met were surprised to learn. Hell, after I got with my first few guys back at LSU, I started thinking everyone who could catch a football or lay out a hit must've been gay. That got me into some trouble in the locker rooms, but hell, it got me into a bit of fun, too. And I could dole out the hits when it went sour, so I didn't stress about it too much.

Some guys on the team called me a flamer. I'm about as gay as gay goes, but a flamer? I could bench more than anyone on the team, but I was a flamer? I had a rainbow necklace. Rather understated as far as gay pride merch goes, really. My best friend got it for me in high school, the last time coming out to someone had been at all difficult for me. I liked it. I wore it because it reminded me of good people. That made me a flamer? I wanted to tell them they were ignorant, but you can't let them think they got under your skin unless you can show 'em it's a bad place to be. You need to either put a smile on your face, or a fist into theirs. I usually went with the smile.

When I got to college I started to like coming out to people. It wasn't that I was finally big enough to intimidate people into accepting me. I knew that wasn't real acceptance. I think what it was, I finally realized "real acceptance" wasn't what I needed from everyone. I just wanted them to know I wasn't ashamed. They could think I was a pansy, they could think I was sick, but not a one of them could even begin to argue I was ashamed.

I'll say one more thing about my times on the LSU football team: The star wide receiver got me kicked off the team after I took him out of the Cotton Bowl. Fill in the rest. It's not fun to talk about.

That was only a few years ago. I have a job now, I have things to do. It's boring, it's numbers shit. My job more or less boils down to "Make sure no one's stealing anything from anyone." They say you can fool the police but you'll never get anything by an accountant. It's true, too. It's rarely the laborers you gotta watch for. Half the time it's the guy who hires you.

I haven't caught anyone yet, but they need me here. Literally here. Apparently the one job I'm uniquely qualified to do isn't good enough for them, so they have me on-site at all times to verify time slips and whatever. I don't complain. I get to look out my window and watch muscular, masculine guys doing physical things with their shirts off. I asked for my own office with a window looking at the site. The door locks because I might be doing 'very important business' that 'cannot be interrupted.' There's another 'Fill-in-the-Blanks' puzzle for you.

You've talked to Gunner. He loves to tell that story. I'm practically begging for his "huge, stiff cock" when he tells it, I've heard it enough times. That's not entirely untrue, I won't lie. But he's a man, he exaggerates a little. It's at least a tiny bit of what attracts me to him.

Two things he won't tell you:

He wasn't that drunk.

He practically begged me for a second go after I said I should leave. I gave it to him, of course. I hadn't even smelled dick in about three years since I left LSU. But I was a little sore, so don't give me any shit about wanting to rest after he gave me such a rough ride. Not that I turned him down. The first, second, or third time...

I don't want to tease you. This isn't about that night. That was his night, so if you want to know more about it, ask him. That was the night he got to figure out a few things about how he saw himself as a man, as well as me and others. That was his night to have an attitude-changing experience, and I think after that night he had a certain respect for us homos, even if he didn't really consider himself one yet. It was, by all mean, an incredibly important moment for him. But I was just there getting fucked. That's kind of a strange thing about initiating a new, older top. They're having an experience that is inviting new, perhaps painful feelings that might rend their body and soul into two. You're just getting fucked. It's a special kind of being fucked, yeah. You don't even have to push back. You keep still, and let the fucker work out years of sublimated curiosity on your ass. You can't get any seasoned gay man in the world to fuck you like a guy who's just realized "Shit, guys don't get fucked like girls do." I'm not saying it's the best sex in the world, but you only get to experience it maybe a few times in your life, so you better appreciate it when that luck comes to you. If you can handle it.

But older straight guys... not that he or I would call him straight, now... it's not a complete metamorphosis the first time they take a dip. You want to know the thing? Every 18 year old kid fresh out of high school getting fucked for the first time thinks for sure he's a pure bottom. Every 50 year old newbie finally realizing how great a man's body is thinks he's straight top. Gunner's no different. He was still shy about the whole thing. Feels weird to use a word like "shy" for a guy like him. He could probably snap me in two, even with the big fella that I am... but if you love fucking a man that much, pound his ass every night, and introduce him to others as your boss? He hadn't bought into this "gay" thing part and parcel. He signed up for "fucking another man" and thought his responsibilities ended there. He wasn't going to search out another man to do it with, he wasn't going to think too hard about what it meant. He had easy ass, he was happy with that. In a way, I respect it. I don't think every sexual encounter in life means you have to add another letter onto that GLBTQA anagram. But you don't fuck a guy nightly for a month then call him your "buddy."

That was about what it was, too. He'd been fucking me nightly for a month after I'd gone years without. Good times for Kenny, right? That's me, by the way. I'm Ken. Nice to meet you. Anyway, Gunner thought he had himself a good deal going. He could get off of work each day and fuck the man who hands him his paycheck. You could tell he enjoyed the fact. Hard to miss the satisfaction in a man's face when he shoots a load inside a guy that is, in some way, his superior. And shit, I didn't mind it, I ain't submissive but if that's what gives him the energy to fuck me as deep as he can, I'm fine with it.

But I'm a gay man, not a hole in the wall. I have a dick. Hard to miss it, it's pretty big. I got to asking Gunner every once in awhile, after I think he should be pretty comfortable with another man, when he's ready for me. He never got angry, he never really seemed nervous. He just said, "I was gonna fuck you," then he'd take off his pants and his big cock would flop out, and it was either put up an argument or suck a hot dick. Arguments aren't nearly as fun as sucking dick.

I'm a little passive, though, too. I won't lie about that. I won't take shit from anyone, unless, and I feel like such a high school girl saying this, I think he's hot. And Gunner's hot. Mature muscles. There isn't a thing in the world like him. Young men are made to have good bodies. A matured, masculine body is like an aged wine, though. It appreciates with time. I think the reason is that they become much more honest. You know every muscle serves a purpose, because guys his age don't get buff so they can go to the beach and kiss their biceps. None of the muscles are superfluous, every one is meant for a specific job, every one is necessary, every one is a true testament to a personal strength and not just something to look at in a mirror. I'm fawning a little, aren't I? I fawn a little. I'm a man, but I'm not unappreciative.

I keep getting off track of my story to talk about Gunner's dick or whatever. Let me get back on track. It had been about a month, and Gunner had fallen into a rut, to make a pun of it. It'd been a long day for him and all the other guys, and a good goddamn day for me. A 'lock-the-door' kinda day. The night before, the hometown Stars had gone into triple OT before losing on an own goal. The only reason I was surprised half the guys called in 'sick' was that I didn't know so many people watched hockey. Hell, I woulda too if I had to do anything in a day but sit at my desk and put numbers together into columns. I heard Gunner's knock at the door, two quick and forceful blows, and I let him in.

"The guys and I want an extra hour at lunch," he says it like he expects me to roll over and give it to them.

"That's the foreman's call, Gunner."

"Foreman's a hockey fan, he ain't here. Your call."

"Hmm," I said. He was sweaty, his old and tattered shirt completely soaked. Though his chest wasn't heaving for oxygen, he wasn't embracing the air conditioned room of the office, either. It was like the stress and the labor was just a part of him, something he had taken on like a tattoo or a piercing, as much a piece of his person as his long, angled horns or the ring in his nose. Maybe more so than the ring. He takes that out, sometimes, says he doesn't need a piece of metal to make him look like a man, though you could tell he welcomed the attention it got him from younger women at bars. I took the liberty of losing myself for awhile, pausing long enough for him to realize I wasn't just thinking over his request.

"Didn't your Father ever teach you to call your superiors 'Sir?'" I asked him curiously.

"I don't call anyone that, and no one says it to me either. It's idiotic. You should know I respect you just cause you're another guy trying to survive, and I'll assume the same from you."

I laughed, because I knew he was trying to look tough. He wasn't a blowhard, he wasn't a show-off, but he knew he was a big guy and he enjoyed that image. I don't think I'm quite the same. I know I'm a big guy, not quite as big a guy, and I just like the fact that I can lift heavy things if I want to. I can stick up for myself at the bar if I need to. I could deal with not making old ladies nervous at the supermarket, though. "That makes sense," I said of his philosophy.

"Are you going to give us the extra time?"

"Tell your guys to take the rest of the day off, you ain't getting shit done anyway. But I need you to come back here, then."

He left, and was back about five minutes later.

"Don't think the bar's open 'til four," he said.

"We're not going to the bar tonight."

"What?" He asked incredulously. "You got plans with a lady or something?" He always joked with me about how I didn't even give women a chance.

I bit my lip for a second because I knew I was going to sound like I was playing mind games with him or something. I hate looking like I'm making too much of myself.

"Gunner, how do you think I feel when you're fucking me?"

He laughed. "I think I can say pretty confidently that you love it. The neighbors probably know it just as well as I do," and he chuckled to himself. For a guy so big he seems almost a statue, his chuckle is a little humanizing. Almost a giggle, even.

"I do, I do!" I said, almost as if I was defending myself from my own question. I told you I'm not good at this stuff. But I kept on. "Why do you think I like it?"

"Well... you're gay, and that's what gay guys like." It wasn't a difficult question for him.

"Ah, and Gunner... you're gay too, right?"

He stopped. He didn't look nervous, he looked a little annoyed. "Why do you have to ask me that?"

"You're not?"

"Yes, I'm gay." I don't know if he realized, but I sure as hell remembered for myself that it was the first time he'd actually said it. You could also see in his face he knew exactly where I wanted to take this. "I like girls and guys, so I guess I'm gay."

"Wouldn't that be bi, Gunner?" I was just toying with him, then. I liked it, I had to be honest. Something about being in my office made him just a little bit less quick with a comeback.

"You see any reason why a guy can't be straight guy fuck with men every once in awhile?"

"No, not at all."

"Then I can be gay and fuck with women every once in awhile. I did it for pretty much all my life. I don't see why you gotta make me define it, anyhow."

"Fair enough," I said. I stood up from my desk, which was a nice large, sturdy desk. I'd had a smaller one, just something to put papers on really, but I felt so ridiculous, you know, such a large guy at such a tiny little desk, only a table really. I brought in this old oak one I got as a graduation gift, I felt a lot less ridiculous standing behind it. "Come back here," I said. Gunner stood up and came back. "Turn around and lean forward a little, put your hands on the desk."

I don't want to say I was ordering him to. But it sure as hell wasn't asking, either. It was a lot more like teaching. I was just teaching him how you go about this, and he was a good student even at his age, as he came right back and completed his first lesson. I stood behind him, surveying his broad back, which I'd never quite seen from this angle, close up. His whip-like tail dangled underneath him, twitching with a nervous curiosity, as if it lagged behind the rest of him, all of which knew exactly what was going on. I leaned over him, pressed my body against him, huffed in the heady scent of his long day's work as I unbuckled his belt and let his pants drop to my floor.

I guess when you're working with heavy loads, underwear doesn't do anything but get in the way, cause he wasn't wearing any. I was staring immediately at two well toned cheeks. Mine are big, mine are soft, his are tight and firm. They're big, don't get me wrong, they're appropriate for his size. But they wouldn't jiggle if I slapped 'em, and I didn't dare try.

"Do you want me to take off my nose ring?" he asked.

"Leave it on," I answered as I sucked a finger and, putting a comforting hand between his broad shoulders, slipped it inside his tight hole. He reacted to it like a big boy handles a shot, with a pinch in his face and a gruff low growl in his chest. I curled it inside him, against the pleasure spot he might not have even known he had, and he let out some almost begrudging groans, which he tried to hide in grunts. It seemed like he was still lobbying for his usual position. "You're tight," I told him, as I took my other hand off him to loosen my tie and unbutton my white shirt, though I didn't bother to remove either, just give myself a little room to breathe.

I sucked another finger, and squeezed it in with the other. He flinched a little at that one, then huffed to regain his composure. It was a little unnerving how wordless he was, made me feel a little too much like I was exploiting him, but he was a man and he could take it. I turned my fingers over to curl them downwards, right against that little knot that bottoms love so well, and rubbed against it. He started moaning almost immediately, no longer hiding them inside grunts. "Oh, you're liking it now, don't even try to hide it," I teased as I slipped in a third finger, this time actually getting a "Ohhh" out of him as it too got to working him.

"That's good right there," he said with a tone of discovery in his voice. "You know how to work those fingers, I'll give you that."

"It's not the fingers," I said as I reached around to help his growing dick along. "That's just how it feels, big guy."

"Oh, damn," he said, clenching around my fingers as if trying to squeeze me out, I imagine experimenting to see if it enhanced the feeling at all. He was dripping already, too, the pre collecting in my paw and making his cock slick. It hung half hard, arcing gracefully to the ground under its own weight, while mine strained for freedom inside my slacks. I let it free, finally, and rested it on his ass, resting between the two strong hunks of meat. I was beside myself with excitement already. Even the men on the football team I went easy on. I already had plans for this ass, though. A guy's first time you usually wanna take it easy. Gunner wasn't the kinda guy to take anything easy. He went running into a challenge and jumped.

A got my dick nice and slick, real slippery, slapping it against Gunner's ass just to tease him, just to see if I could make him flinch, and by God the man stood his ground, faced that dick like a firing squad, really. I was grinding myself against him for awhile - I was in no rush, and with Gunner having lost his shirt awhile ago, I was enjoying myself just staring at his body from behind, watching his fingers as they dug into desk as if he was going to leave dents in it, watching his arms tremble so minorly when my fingers had caught a specific spot, or when I had faked him out with a thrust that turned into another long grind.

"You're... pretty big," he said, turning back. He didn't have the slightest look of worry on his face or in his voice. It's like he was just confirming how much he could brag about taking later.

"Bigger than you," I said.

"As big," he corrected me.

"I'm thicker."

"Are you going to talk about it, or prove it?"

That was as close as Gunner would ever get to asking for it. I grabbed him by one shoulder, used the other to steady my cock like a yule log, and heaved my hips forward like releasing all the power in my legs to break him open. I couldn't call it a scream, I couldn't call it a shout, but he was loud. He made a sound like incredible, rapturous release, like this was something he'd been waiting all his life for, just under the surface, percolating for years and years into a need he never really knew he had until the very moment it was satisfied. It as a wordless sorta howl.

"Oh, fuck me!" he said, like an interjection, not a request. He sure as hell wasn't used to using those words in this context, and their new meaning likely didn't process with him. "Jesus," he added, looking back at me, and I'd like to think imagining me for the first time looking a bit bigger than him. I pushed further. It's a long push, for me, obviously, but it was only another short moment before I was buried, and once there, I didn't take a vacation. I pulled out, completely, and split him open again. I shouldn't have. I wouldn't have done that with anyone else. Gunner took it, though. Not exactly with a smile on his face, he didn't do much of anything with a smile on his face, but he took my dick with more enthusiasm than he showed for most things. And with just as much ease. It was almost a little disheartening, not getting more of a scream out of him, more of a quickened breath or a delirious look on his face. But the slight tremble in his thighs was like feeling a waterfall pour over me, it was so refreshing.

And so I fucked him. I fucked him like he should have known to fuck me the first time, before he realized just how much abuse a man can take, and like. I bent him low over my desk, his knees bent so that he was lower than me, and I ravaged him. I slapped my hips against his firm cheeks, I pounded his hole, I slapped my balls (also bigger) against him, and if I had any trouble, I spit on my dick and fucked him harder. I was riding him, hard, fucking him like I wanted to break him, though that was obviously impossible. When I tired of short, pistoning thrusts, I slowed down, pulled my hips back like stuffing a cannon, and drilled deep into him. My desk inched forward. I grabbed his horns, lifting his head up, and drilled his asshole. I pummeled it, trying to fuck him til he was senseless, the way he fucked me until I was practically drooling on the floor, the same way he could tear at my ass until all I could see was white and I didn't come down until I was filled with cum and had his limp cock hanging over my nose, waiting for me to ready him for the second go. But he held his own, remained master of his domain, even while getting fucked over a desk he maintained his same dominating, masculine demeanor that made him so irresistible. He took a dick with pride, and yet, still, he seemed as unrestrained then as he ever was. He didn't moan like that when he fucking me, that as for sure.

When I had been fucking him for awhile, as he groaned and moaned and made sounds he'd probably never once made before during sex, I buried my dick deep inside him and held it in. I let him feel all of it, pulsing inside him, stretching and filling him as much as he could take. I needed a bit of a breather. I wasn't quite the force of nature Gunner was, long and thick and powerful as I might be. By now, I might have been speaking a different language, but he was sitting up, turning around, and looking at me with half-opened eyes.

"Damn, Ken. You're gonna wear yourself out. You're gonna wear me out." I could see bite marks under his lips.

"Yeah," I said. "I tried." I eased him forward, lifted his ass a little in the air, and resumed pumping. Slower, now.

"That feels..." he said, taking a pause as if to savor the sensation for a moment, "Goddamn," he continued onto another tangent, lifting his head and gripping the side of the desk. "Whatever," he said, abandoning entirely his attempt to explain himself. "Just keep pumping, young fella, you're taking care of me a hell of a lot better than I ever coulda given you credit for." He adjusted himself, starting to get a feel for the position, angling me toward the spots he'd enjoyed best. And, putting his hand around his bullcock, he started to stroke himself.

I pumped him for a good while, until he started to really moan. I mean, real, long, soulful moans. Not a moan of physical enjoyment, but of a certain kind of crashing, surging ecstasy. He was feeling it, I was causing it, and we both felt pretty damn good for the fact. I had to pull the moans out of him about as difficultly as I pulled much of anything out of him. But I got it, goddamnit. He was moaning, he was stroking, he was shifting and wriggling his ass beneath me. "Right there," he said, his back ached and his ass off the desk, pressing back against me, "Ohhhhhhh, right there, right there." His moans got louder as he became more comfortable with it, as he felt more natural letting his passions flow as such. They reached a final crescendo, he told me again "right there, a little quicker, go deep, oh yeah right there," and through gritted teeth he shouted in release. He tried to speak again, but he only gasped wordlessly, stammering directions that never came out. I took full control him him. I grabbed him by his horns and plowed him. I fucked him with as vicious and unrestrained thrusts as I've ever loosed on a man. For the first time, it really felt like he was wriggling on the end of my cock, like I'd made him dumb with my dick. He tightened around my cock and his dick shot a thick load straight across my desk, arcing over it, a few drops landing on top, the second jet splattering the dark wood with his seed. "Oh Jesus," he seemed to be saying as he climaxed, the closest thing to a prayer I'd ever heard out of him. He clenched tight around my dick, his hand clenched at the base of his own, and he shook. He shook. I couldn't say it enough times, he shook like a leaf as he coated my desk with his cum.

Like a story, as he was finishing, I was just beginning, the pleasure perhaps of finally seeing that awesome tool blow pushing me over the edge with him. He was still squirting, still clenching tight around my cock, when I started to blow too. I didn't lose stride, and my groans of passion seemed hidden under his, and I shot deep inside him, filled his ass for the first time, broke the seal on that tight little package which had been so long in maturity. I felt honored, it seems ridiculous but it was the only way to put it, honored that I could have been the first one to plant myself in such a gorgeous, perfect ass. I fell onto his able shoulders as I finished, him supporting me now, in a way myself again being the one left speechless and overcome. This time, though, we both were.

He let me rest for awhile, and I guess he was recharging himself, as well. After a time I pulled out and sat back in my chair, looking at the mess of myself I'd made in him. He turned his back to try to see it for himself. He was actually curious about it. He must've loved how I looked with his seed dripping out of me, and wanted to know if he projected a similar image.

"You look good with it, don't worry about it."

"You're pretty good for such a young fella," you know, as if I wasn't the one with years of experience.

"Thanks," I said, stretching my balls out, admiring my own slick cock.

And that was that, essentially. I'd end up fucking him again, though it'd be a little dishonest not to say that our roles hadn't already been established. And I like being fucked senseless. I like being pounded and filled with his cum. I like feeling his body on top of mine, feeling his power in my muscles. But you know, sometimes, and that day wasn't the last time, the big guy needed to get it right back.