Honeypot
This is an older story - thought I might as well upload it, though I've never been 100% happy with it. Critique is always welcome!
Reynold sat alone in his dinghy office, looking out of its single grimy window as he tapped his fingers against his desk. He looked at his reflection in the window - he'd not trimmed the fur on his chin since his last razor broke, and his beard was slowly pushing up against the boundaries of "gruff" and into "homeless" territory. His stomach growled. After a month with no cases, the reality of his situation was starting to dawn on him - he'd sunk the last of his cash into a stupid dream with no future.
The career move had seemed like such a good idea at the time - set up an unassuming Private Detective office located on the second floor of an outdoor mall, fill it with Film Noir dirt and a thick oak desk, and solve crimes for a living.
Reynold was something of a dingo-of-all-trades, and had discovered he possessed a knack for being able to earn people's trust. He'd made a good living selling insurance until the company went broke last year, and after months of unemployment he'd pooled together the last of his money and decided to open up a detective agency, just like in the movies.
He reached down, and pulled out the large top drawer of the desk to reveal an expensive bottle of golden whisky. Just like the office and the desk, he felt that a good bottle of whisky was an essential part of the detective motif, and he'd sunk the last of his savings investing in a prime bottle of 1940s liquor.
He was about to pour himself a glass when a shadow passed by his window. Reynold thought nothing of it, there were a few shops next to him and the shapes outside were usually passing him by without a second thought. Moments later though, a knock came at the door. He placed the bottle down on the desk, adjusted it until the light hit it for effect, and put on his best detective voice.
"It's unlocked."
The man who entered was a tiger, quite short but dressed in a sharp suit that cut a neat image against his ragged fur. He had an air of obvious nervousness about him. Reynold looked him over, trying to analyse his potential client using the methods of Sherlock Holmes, hoping to make a strong first impression. The fur on his wrists still bore the indent of a watch, likely indicating that he was having money problems and had been forced to pawn it. Finally, he noticed a smudge of ink on the tiger's paws, a telltale sign of a man who was not used to writing being forced to take quick notes. Reynold leaned back in his chair, and nonchalantly summed up his conclusion.
"Greetings. You've travelled some distance to find the people responsible for your lost fortune? A most cunning and vile robbery."
"What?" The tiger spoke timidly.
"No need for surprise, it's a simple enough observation. Your suit shows me that you're a man of wealth, whereas your unkempt fur tells the story of the sudden shock of losing your worth. You left your office quickly after hearing the news, rapidly scrawled the address of my office, and knowing that I was the only one who could help you, pawned your watch for the money to travel here." Reynold leaned back in his chair, trying not to look too smug as he watched his client's expression go blank.
"I'm Bob. From Bob's Motors? We're across the street from here."
"But... your watch?"
"It was broken," the tiger said, pausing awkwardly "I was getting it repaired. At the shop next door. I noticed your sign on the way back."
Reynold felt an obvious flush coming on as his cheeks heated up, desperately trying to regain his composure and carry the conversation on.
"I... see. Even the best detectives have to make some mistakes to uncover the truth! Ha! What's bothering you?"
"Richard Montague. He's stealing all my business. Undercutting me! He sells cars so cheaply that he must be making a loss. It has to be a front for something, and I want someone to find out what and get him out of my hair for good."
Reynold leaned back in his chair again, pressing his fingers together in a triangle and finding his detective voice once again.
"Intriguing."
Three nights later, Reynold had covered the wall of his office covered in the little information he could find on Richard Montague. He was a bear, early 30s, looked like he went to the gym frequently but still had a bit of a gut. He owned a business on the outskirts of town selling used cars, and had enjoyed a fair amount of success from his trade.
The excitement of his first ever case was strong, and he was sure there was something sinister waiting to be found. Bob was right, Richard was almost certainly losing money from the sales of his cars, indicating that the entire business was likely a front for something much darker. The local news was littered with stories painting him as one of the most beloved business owners in town, a saint who never cheated his customers and gave a portion of his earnings to charity. This too was suspicious - by Reynold's count, Richard was giving more money to charity than he even earned.
The information was too limited, however, and Reynold always stopped just short of finding something definite that he could pin on the guy. He knew he had to get into Richard's office - there had to be some record of where the money was coming from. Pouring himself a glass of whisky, he picked up the phone and dialed the only person he could turn to for a lead.
He only ever spoke to his brother when he needed something - he was the more grounded in reality, and he'd always been there to help him out. In truth, he felt bad for being so demanding of him, but what choice did he have?
Once the pleasantries were out of the way, he got straight to business - Authur was probably expecting it anyway, no need to beat around the bush.
"I was wondering if you've got any dirt on Richard Montague. He owns a car dealership on the edge of town."
"That's police business, you know I can't tell you that."
"So there is something? This is my first case" Reynold asserted, a tinge of desperation edging into his voice "I need something to look into. Just a hook."
He heard a long, deliberate sigh from the other end of the phone. "Look, you didn't hear this from me, but if you want dirt on Montague you look in the Red Light district. We picked him up a few times hiring rentboys, but he always buys out the press so nothing gets published. Good?"
Reynold swished the whisky around the sides of the glass, performing for an imaginary movie camera. "Perfect."
He took a sip from the glass for effect, and the fiery spirit took him by surprise. He forced himself to swallow, wincing as the burning sensation travelled down his throat. He'd never tried whisky before. He didn't like it.
Reynold looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He'd studied the clothing of the areas that Richard was rumoured to frequent, and put together an outfit he felt would best suit his target. He'd chosen a tank top with a low cut neck showing off his chestfur, and to accent it, found the tightest pair of shorts he could fit into. He felt his nuts complaining with each step he took, but he knew he was well endowed and the blatant outline of his large sheath was sure to turn a few heads, even with competition.
He considered himself to be straight as an arrow, but he had to admit - he made a good gay whore.
When he got to his spot, he did his best to blend in with the other workers without drawing too much attention to himself. If the rumours were true, Richard indulged his vice every weekend without fail, taking his whores back to the dealership - offering a perfect opportunity for Reynold to grab some evidence.
As the evening dragged on, most of his fellow whores had been picked off, taken as passengers to cheap hotel rooms around the city. Reynold studied the faces of the men who pulled up, sinking back into the darkness when he saw a face he didn't recognise. He was doing a good job of maintaining his cover, and didn't want to be put in the awkward situation of having to turn down a trick.
He'd almost given up hope when an unassuming silver car pulled up alongside him. He glanced inside to see a bear, idly stroking his crotch as he cast his eyes over the workers. Reynold felt his eyes on him, and watched as the bear's gaze moved downwards to his crotch, before looking back up and making eye contact.
"You. In."
It seemed like an agonisingly long journey for a simple trip across town. Reynold sat in the passenger seat, keeping his gaze down as neon lights and streetlights passed overhead. He wasn't really sure how prostitutes were supposed to act in this situation, but assumed that keeping a low profile was the smart choice.
Eventually, Richard pulled up outside his dealership. Despite the late hour, the lights were still on, and his "client" quickly showed him to the office on the top floor leaving the doors unlocked, much to Reynold's joy. He glanced around, scanning the office for anything that looked suspicious before Richard sat down with a heavy thud in his office chair, speaking for the first time since Reynold had climbed inside his car.
"Nothing better than a blowjob from a well-hung whore while you work the accounts. Get to work." He gazed straight into Reynold's eyes.
A flash of fear hit him. It was all moving too fast - he was banking on being able to get what he needed before he was expected to "work". There was nothing nearby he could grab and make a run for it, and his mind raced for excuses.
"I... my mouth's dry. Can I get a glass of water?" Reynold stuttered out, trying to convince the bear to leave the room. The obvious anger that flared across Richard's face was instantly terrifying, but when the bear spoke he did so with an icy cool tone.
"I'm paying you to suck my cock, not take you on a date. Get under my desk and GET TO WORK."
Reynold couldn't see another way out of it - he'd dug himself too deep, too fast, and he actually feared for his safety. Which would be worse? Being attacked, even possible killed, or...
Reluctantly, he kneeled, and shuffled his way under the bear's desk. He grimaced slightly as he saw that Richard was already out of his fly under the desk, his short but thick cock pointing insistently upwards. He'd never even seen another man with erection before, and here he was, inches away. Without risking a look upwards, Reynold swallowed his pride and put the tip in his mouth.
At first he simply sucked on the bear's cockhead, trying not to grimace at the foreign taste and completely unsure of what to do. He scanned through his brain for images of every porn film he'd watched, and tried to cross-reference them against the time in high school that he'd gotten entirely too drunk and let Jessica blow him in the bathroom of a house party.
He swirled his tongue over the bear's impressive head until he felt confident enough to lower his muzzle downwards, the thick smell of the bear's musk filling his nostrils as his nose tapped gently into his crotch. This elicited a low moan from his client, which Reynold took as a good sign. He began to bob along the length, pressing his tongue firmly against the shaft as he withdrew, and hitting his tip with the flat of his tongue as he pushed downwards again, measuring the bear's reactions and altering his motions accordingly.
The went on for a few minutes until he felt a firm paw on his shoulders pushing him back, and Reynold was filled with terror that the muscular bear was wanting to take things even further. Thankfully, he simply unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them to the floor before sitting down again, motioning to his brown-furred balls. Reynold was overcome by sheer relief. He buried his muzzle in the bear's massive nuts, the thick cock resting against the bridge of his nose as he lapped the orbs, matting their fur and encouraging further moans from his client.
Still making notes on his paperwork with his right hand, Richard started stroking himself with his left, his paw a blur over his veiny shaft. Reynold saw the light at the end of the tunnel and carefully slipped one of the bear's balls into his maw, tracing the sack with his tongue and sucking softly. He switched sides, lapping softly until he felt the hefty balls tense noticeably, and seconds later he felt a strong paw pulling him upwards.
Richard had stopped stroking himself, and his cock throbbed in the air achingly. It only took the dingo a moment to catch on, taking the thick shaft back into his maw and flicking his tongue intently against the sensitive flesh. Moments later, he felt hot, sticky cum shooting against his tongue, pooling in his cheeks as the bear orgasmed, humping against his muzzle with what seemed like involuntary motions.
The thick, musky taste of cum was almost too much for him to handle, but he knew better than to try to spit it out. Once he was sure the bear had emptied his balls, he braced himself, and forced himself to swallow. With a gentler motion than expected, Richard pushed him away from his cock, which throbbed satisfied in the air between them. Reynold had hoped that he'd mellowed out after his orgasm, but this hope was dashed when Richard grabbed his semi-hard cock, stroked it until a few more drops of cum appeared, and then made a point of using his cock to paint a line of cum over the bridge of the dingo's nose.
"You missed a bit." He said, with a god awful smug grin on his face. Reynold took a guess that the cum meant that he'd been marked as the bear's property, at least in Richard's mind. "Stay there, boy. I need a piss after that."
With those words, he walked off down the hall, still hanging out of his fly. Richard saw his chance - all notions of shame washed from his thoughts, he grabbed the stack of accounting papers that Richard had been working on, and headed towards the door of the office. Making sure the way was clear, he worked his way quietly back to the unlocked door they'd entered by, and then without looking back, ran faster than he ever had before.
He didn't stop running until he was safely back in his flat, and locking the door behind him, he tore off his hooker outfit and made a beeline to the shower.
Three days had passed, and Reynold once again sat in his office, awaiting a 3pm meeting with Bob, the man who had started it all. The papers he'd stolen from the office hadn't conclusively proven anything, but they definitely showed a lot of shady money coming into the business from sources that he couldn't trace.
3.15. Where was he? Reynold was about to pick up the phone to call him, when the door to his office swung open. His heart almost stopped, and he sat there frozen in time as Richard walked in, calmly sitting himself down in front of the desk.
"Good afternoon, Reynold." He spoke, an impossible air of calm in his voice. "Did you think I wouldn't find you?" Reynold just sat there, scared, and lost for words. Richard placed a brown envelope on the desk, and motioned for the dingo to open it. Reynold felt a hot blush run over his cheeks as he saw the contents - a series of photos, showing him muzzle-deep around Richard's cock. He flicked through them, unbelieving, from the first suck to a choice photo of his face smeared with the bear's cum.
Richard gave up on waiting for a reply and continued. "I have cameras, Reynold, and I have dirt on you. Luckily for you, I also have use for you. So unless you want the whole world to see your pretty little muzzle like this, you should now consider me your only client."
Reynold couldn't think of anything else to do. He nodded.