Bottom's Up
This was a gift to a very close friend done some months ago. Because, respectfully, it was his, I did not publish it as his request for a time. Since then we've seen fit to allow it for public viewing.
Irving and Mirage are both © Himself. You can find him and his great works here: https://irving.sofurry.com/
Bottoms Up
A Gift
By The Brain of Lazarus
A man has no place in the cold.
Lo, he had sought to escape every since creation was able to creep away from its icy bite. Seek the stone, sun, and fire, was evolution's law and teaching. Man had spent its time upon earth trying to escape the ruthless ache of winter, to the point where snow and frost was a passing fancy, a cheery holiday memory.
No place. And yet, great places amongst the world still had to mind winter's hoary antics. This young night in Boston was no exception. Quite the opposite, the northern city was famous for a lot of things; history, culture, victory. But cold? Oh it snuggled the below zero temperatures like a lifelong friend. For the uninitiated it was a stern smack on the face, a welcome party with all the chagrin and grit of a loathing grandmother.
Young Irving Cohen, of course, was caught in the midst of it. The Alsatian shepherd was no novice to snow and sniveling rain but there were simply days where he wanted to turn it off. This dreary evening was laden with miserable, uncaring chills laced with the lecherous gnash of rain. It hardly mattered where you from, it was the type of conditions that scattered all warm-blooded creatures safe to their huddle. Even safe under the luxurious coat of shepherd fur, pub hat and long, autumn shade coat, his shields could not keep at bay the gnaw of a downpour.
His ears flicked at the hustle of a Boston night. Nose sniffed, nipped by rain. The streets were black and glossy with the malformed reflections of city lights painted in their wake. All the while young Irving was waiting for his bus, pampered by a hateful drizzle, eager to escape the outside clutches. He simply wanted to crawl back to his cozy apartment, sip a stout and nestle off for the weekend. This was the coldest time of the year and lord knew snow was approaching, and he wanted to be locked inside while nature decidedly ransacked the streets with white.
No place in the cold.
He really needed warmth and comfort after a day like this, too. Head of the photo department for Ramshire Daily, he was asked to go out and take some "splendid and illustrious" shots of the city for the new year covers. Most of the other journalists were out or interns, and with time of the essence, Irving had to slop together as many dynamic shots as he could during a rainy, cold day. Much worse was reports of this being an all week rainy harassment, so the Alsatian shepherd was shangheid. Needless to say, going for dynamic photos in unpleasant weather made for a horrid combination.
Grunting in discomfort, he shivered, the approach of bus mulling over the droning spatter of water drops. The ride home was pleasant at least, a quick cinema of the world while being toted home. He was eager to exit however and get to his apartment, climbing the lofty steps as he began to undo his jacket, shaking off the wetness in primal fashion.
He reached door twenty-one, unimpressive but sturdy oak, and made his way inside, audibly shutting out the world and giving off a relieved sigh.
His ears flicked.
Odd. The Alsatian shepherd thought he heard a noise and. . . yes, there it was again. Glass rumblings from his kitchen?
His mind was dulled and numb from the day, so the obvious hadn't stuck out. Some time prior, say several weeks, he'd had a run in with a mare. A lovely lass draped in white with rolling satin-black hair, big and busty as the day's end. Their encounter was nothing short of a rough, delightful romp, as, to put it bluntly, he'd had his good fill of mare pussy that night. Since that time they'd become easy friends, with lavish benefits.
In this case, the mare, also known as Ms. Midnight, host of a sensual late night radio program, had made herself comfy by rummaging through Irving's fridge. "Mirage," her handle most of the time scuffled lightly through the ice box in search of ale and stouts.
All the while the young shepherd cautiously approached his pale lit kitchen, wondering in part if a trespasser was about. As he neared, yes, there was a stranger, but came in form of a massive white mare rump wiggling and shaking about as Mirage diddled about the fridge. Her puffy puss of black was notably visible, taunting in succulence as her massive rear bounced about, as the lady of the night had decided upon the attire of nude.
"Um." Cohen was notably dumbstruck, he'd just taken to ridding himself of the uncaring cold and was now greeted with a face full of fat ass. His mind sprawled with a concoction of reactions from disbelief to approval to desire.
Body shimmying out of the ice box, Mirage perked up and stood erect as she lightly turned to the hound, a fine Langtson's Ale in hand. Her big busty bosoms jiggled softly, tipped with midnight tents that glistened from the fridge lights.
"Oh, Irving, didn't hear ya' come in," she intoned, closing the refrigerator door. Twirling at full attention now, her chesty mantle crashed and smacked together as the mare nonchalantly cracked open the amber bottle, taking a sip.
"Er, yeah," responded the canine, "I got in a sec ago. . ."
The busty gal took a long slow draft of the ale. "Mhm. Hope you don't mind, let myself in. You had a few leftovers so I helped myself,"
In other scenarios Irving would likely be very put off that someone shuffled through his things, more so his creature comforts, but Mirage made a convincing argument otherwise. With her tits that is.
Irving had met her only recently, so her bluntness was a characteristic he was still adjusting to. Not that he complained about the current scenario, or her wanton disregard for aggravating social red tape, he just hadn't mastered the art of unmastering the arts.
"Oh, not a problem, Mirage," he replied with a half smile. "Should be a good bit in there, you know. Have as many as you want."
Finishing up a few more swigs, the pearl coated horse set aside the now empty bottle.
"Thanks, but I'd rather move on to the main course, yanknow? I'll help myself to you, in the meantime."
The apartment warmth was thawing his thoughts, but the Alsation didn't quite understand. Until of course the mare stepped forward and pressed palm upon his loins, rubbing digits along the lining of his crotch.
"Wha-"
Kissing him on the neck, Mirage began to unfasten Irving at the belt, laughing sultrily.
"Come on now, you walked inside and saw a naked girl with a fat ass and full tits. What did you expect was going to happen?"
Irving cleared his throat, watching those devlish digits unfasten and unhinge him as the warmth of apartment air met his exposed legs, then briefs, then. . .
"Ahh, there, someone was kept up," teased the big bottomed lass, the mare slipping to knees, yanking down the last of tethers as the hound was bared to the seductive devices.
Being a hybrid sort from previous experimental injections, one might say the Alsation was a perfect fit, his exposed cock not that of hound, but equine. It had shifted to a deep ebon color and pulsed in the rubbing palm of Mirage as she giggled, watching him loosely, a much larger flank of flesh, heftier in girth and circumfrence.
"Uh, well," Irving trailed off. He wasn't going to attempt to stop anything, he'd be out of his mind. Said mind however fumbled with the right words.
Suffice to say he thought it practical to get comfy, beginning to undo his own jacket as the sly mare licked her lips, and proceeded to lightly lap at the crown of his girth. A free hand began to stroke his veiny prick, rolling over and about it quick, successive motions to stimulate the hybrid malehood at full attention whilst her plush lips wrapped about the tip, kissing it with a lewd suckle.
"Gnn..." mumbled the canine, disposing of his stiff upper attire.
The groans of the shepherd male coaxed her on as the large fronted female slowly bobbed her head, tightly choking the hefty width of the mast as they stroked and draped every hot inch. She'd release the engorged flank with a loud 'pop,' rubbing and caressing the inches upon her chees, slowly roving it about as she gazed up whorishly, smacking the ebon root upon visage. Her oral chamber would then pursue the shepherd stones, suckling and smacking as the erect mast rested over head as she rolled the jewels about on tongue, jostling them about as they began to glisten with saliva.
The white coated mare continued to stroke the seething shaft with silky palm, coaxing warmth and stiffness ever more as the crown drooled with pre. As if a perverse conductor, big thick rump wiggled here and there, massive cheeks echoing with fleshy waves, an enticing sight as young Irving felt himself loosen considerably, groaning and twitching with every touch.
"Nice relief mm? Bet it's good to come home and have a fat assed girl start sucking your cock, right?" intoned Miss Midnight, using though sultry, blunt sweet-nothings.
"Nmf, now that you mention it," he replied, starting to boil with comfort as the twist of tongue lapped and slid upon his girth.
Petting through her hair and scratching ear, the hound hybrid watched the busty lass service his flank as a sudden assail of quick head motions slipped along the weight of his mast. Those soft worshipping lips dragged endlessly over the flaunt of his pulsing rod as a series of slurps and loud gulps emitted from Mirage's oral chamber, shoveling the ebon meat into her choking, warm throat.
Irving was audibly enticed now, his testes wet with dribbling pre and saliva mingled together, his heavy mast pummeling into that needy throat. As he'd noted before, those lusty words and loud, wanting moans from his cock being sucked upon were started to stir his more released side. Why be prudent at this point? Not everyday he waltzed into his apartment and had a beautiful woman slobbing his knob.
At this point the Alsation shepherd switched gears, hungry momentum starting to take over. He gripped Mirage's hair tightly, enough to assert control but not hurt, and swung his loins into her throat.
"Gmmhmf!?" a surprised and intrigued yelp emitted from Mirage's full orifice, as she glanced between the hound and his hot massive pike.
Grunting, he began to pound her face with the roll of rough hips, his flesh mashing into the horse throat with renewed, virile enthusiasm. Each piston grind caused heavy testes to smack into her lips, sending splurts of saliva and pre all about, whilst Mirage gagged and coughed a bit with each swift thrust. Slobbering streaks of lipstick formed on the ebon groin, tracest of incandescent violet painting the veiny prick.
In a sudden, abrupt motion, Cohen hit his stride and the sweltering, pent up orgasm came bursting through him in ragged, violent motions. Mirage noisily gulped at his shaft as her massive tits wobbled and bounced together, jiggling with each throw of lower body, as whit hot issue covered her inner maw and throat, dribbling down in rivers of perverse juices, pooling onto the apartment floor.
With another sloppy, loud pop, liquids dripping freely, the mare stroked at the still throbbing and eager shaft, giggling.
"I knew you'd come around," she said, wiping her lips a bit and standing. "But let's take this somewhere else, eh stud?"
Clearing his throat, shaft still visibly dripping and glistening with the mix of fluids, Irving nodded.
"Compelling argument," he said in light huffs. "Lead the way then Mirage."
She sauntered over to the bed with her thick white ass wiggling and bouncing with each step, crawling into the silky frame and swerving her finely curved body on backside. Her thick thighs and slender legs spread as her smooshy, plump black puss showed out mischeviously as the hound looked on, wobble-walking in obedient desire. Irving's shaft still sprang with his virile stiffness, more so with the fair titted lass beckoning him over with digit.
"Dare I use such a terrible pun, but, I think it's time to ride the pony, stud,"
Irving nodded in agreement. He gave a short 'heh' and followed suit with the mare, slowly clambering atop the bed til he propped up on knees, overlooking the mare with fat sloshy tits and shimmering midnight gate. The Alsatian, taking the helm this time, sidled closer til his crown was pressing against the satin plumpness, tip stroking at the nether cleft as it greeted with hints of warmth and wetness.
"Nnnmf," he grumbled, his tip greeted by the eagerness of wet mare puss at his crown, as she grin.
"That's yours you know. Allll yours," she chimed, her thick breasts wobbling as she gestured to her nether cleft. A bit bleary eyed, the hound glanced at that inviting tunnel, cupping one of those juicy sacs in rough palm.
"I'll be sure to give it a good tow then," he replied hoarsely, breath drawn with desire and want.
No sooner did he finish his words that the Alsatian plunged himself deep into the mare mirth, the clenching, juicy suckle of her puss wrapping neatly around his loins, the hound giving a low, needy grumble as his groin was engulfed in warmth. Mirage did the same, letting a low moan escape her lips as her delicious thighs wrapped around male waist, tugging him in to the hilt as plow met earth. Sloppily, without thinking, Irving gripped her lips with his own and gave her a tongue bath of a kiss, she returning a favor as a series of drippy, virile smacks dripped from their oral meeting.
He grabbed her nips through the bite of his maw, suckling loud as his rough tongue whet itself upon the nubile nubs, slathering them with saliva as his hips worked in conjuction, rolling forth as he sucked. Mirage let out long, slow moans, loudly incurring more as her sloshy mantle bounded and wiggled with each of Irving's hungry mouth tugs, the smack of hip to hip audible throughout his apartment.
"Mnnn! Fuck me right!"
Seeping desire escaped the hound as his hybrid mast plunged into the oasis of puss, warm black lips coddling the cock as he escalated his pace. Faster his body threw itself, back arched as the Alsatian lifted himself with arms, diligently but forcefully pounding and plundering the gates he so craved. Nectar splashed and spilled into the sheets, his burning need overhwelming, a stifled release that had been pent up from the day's strain
"Mine!" he growed, nipping at Mirage's neck as his peak finally shuddered and shot forth, that fat full assed mare peaking in union as seed and honey mingled together, juices dribbing down the soft supple rump cheeks of the horse, their bodies damp and drowned with desire.
Slowly and hazily the two ceased their motions, the hybrid hound falling into that squishy grip of enormous mare rack.
Petting his neck, the mare whispered.
"Let's do this again tomorrow," she intoned. Irving mumbled and shook his muffled head.
"Cnff. Hff wrk."
The busty bosom'd mare laughed.
"Not tomorrow you don't!"
A man has no place in the cold. Rather buried in the mountain tits of a fine assed lass with his belly full of ale and his loins lacking desire.