Addiction - Chapter Five: Southern Boredom

Story by Rufus01 on SoFurry

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#5 of Addiction

As promised this is chapter five. Finally, you get to see some action. Again, this novel does more than just depict sex, it's goal is also to show Dustin and Alex to becoming meaningful friends, and to show such a friendship becoming a realistic, intimate, unorthodox relationship. Really, a relationship is about discovering a person, and I wanted to show rather than tell about that happening. Just because you grew up with a person, doesn't mean you know them. That takes time. One does not bone their family members so quickly.

This is a work of fiction that will contain graphic incest between consenting adult characters. All characters are 100% fictional. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

This week Alex takes Dustin up on his offer to go for a jog. Underway she learns certain things about her brother, as well as her other siblings that may be disturbing to some. Alex, the perpetual tagalong still wants to mimic her brothers, even if it puts her in an awkward situation. She ends up enabling something she probably shouldn't have, and in doing so, discovers her sexuality. Will what happened damage their fledgling friendship? Was this a one-time evet, or will there be a next time? Will she explore her sexuality and the feelings and sensations she observed? Stay tuned for next week's chapter of Addiction.


Chapter Five

Southern Boredom


Rufus Quentin

November, 1989

I think I owe an apology to anyone who knew me before I turned eighteen. I went through the phases of snot-maggot, tag-along, nuisance, and most recently, bitch. I feel sorry for my brothers for having to put up with me, especially since I never gave them a moment of peace. I admired them, each one. When I wore one's patience down to the bone they would just send me off to the next one. That's what I would do every day. I would cycle through them all and pester them just to never feel alone. Without a mother figure and only a father who either had to work or sleep my brothers took over those roles and each shared part of the burden. I'm gracious that they made me what I became today. Even with my mistakes things could have been so much different.

I never left them alone. Whenever they went somewhere, I had to come along. Whatever they did, I had to do it too. This one time when I was just nine they all decided to go hunting for rabbit and squirrel. I hated the idea of killing an animal, but because that is what they decided to do, I had to do it too despite my reservations and their pleas for me to stay home. They knew they could never talk me out of anything though. After my persistence they caved and handed me a small .22 rifle and taught me the basics of gun safety and marksmanship. Out in the forest on a cold fall day just before dawn we all huddled together, our barrels pointed out at small clearing, waiting with visible breaths puffing out our nostrils for the long-eared bandits to begin their morning rounds. We all tensed when we saw the first one hop along. Nathan, our eldest bade us to hold our fire. When the hare bounced close enough we fired. I heard the five pops on my right and left. Dust shot up around the bunny that immediately began racing off. Only I had a bullet left in the chamber. I considered deliberately missing my target, but the desire for approval outweighed my disgust. I took aim, giving my barrel sufficient lead, and pulled the trigger. The rabbit summersaulted a few times and flopped to the ground. I got it. I couldn't believe it.

My brothers all cheered me. I'd certainly won their respect. They all put down their guns and raced over to the site of the kill. I followed them, walking, not running. The rabbit was wounded and still breathing. They offered me the kill, insisted that it was my honor. Brandon brought a miniature souvenir baseball club for such an occasion. I felt the tears welling in my eyes. The whole scene became fuzzy. I remembered the adage 'boys don't cry' and did my best to follow it, swallowing my tears, banishing the overwhelming remorse to my belly, but I refused to take the club. That's where I drew the line.

"It's okay. She's just a girl," my eldest said, offering the stick to Daniel, the second born, instead. "You do it."

After all I did to impress them, to convince them I was one of them, I was still 'just a girl.' That's when I lost it. I couldn't hold back the guilt for the life I'd ended, indeed so pointlessly. I had to watch through blurry vision as Daniel ended the little creature with one swift blow.


September 19, 1998

When Dustin came to my room on a Saturday morning, just as I returned to my desk with my first cup of coffee, still wearing my PJs and having yet to wipe the dust from my eyes, I agreed to his invitation without fully processing the magnitude of what he asked. A run, he suggested. Sure, I said, taking a sip and contemplating the delusions of grandeur of me running through the forest like the wind, burning off that pesky layer of squishiness clutching my midsection like a parasite. When he came back fifteen minutes later, offering me two fresh foot-paw wraps, which he recommended made the run easier, it all started to sink in exactly how foolish I'd become. He was serious about bringing me along and he was serious about it happening now. I had second thoughts as I bound my ankles, but lured by the promise of one day attracting some handsome young fellow with svelte curves, I padded down the stairs wearing my old track gear and joined my brother by the door. I was such an idiot. I was winded before I even left the driveway.

I couldn't call it my shining moment. I tagged behind my brother by an order of several dozen yards. He tried to stay side by side with me for as long as he had the patience for it, but after my second and third lapses into a walking pace he decided to leave me behind. After way too many breaks to count and cheating by walking uphill, I made it to the fort, our pre-agreed upon destination. A normal jogging pace would'a put it about fifteen minutes away. I think I made it in a good twenty-five, which I still felt pretty proud of. My brother sat on one of the fallen longs. A bottle of water waited for me beside him. I crashed beside it, interrupting my panting to thirstily take a swig.

"Exhausted?" My brother asked.

"Yea," was all I could really say.

"It gets easier."

"Uphill kills me," I panted, doubled over, bracing myself on my knees.

Dustin chuckled. "Keep it up. You'll see why I do it."

"How's your paw?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Eh," he uttered. "Starting to heal. Can actually move it." He wiggled his fingers effortlessly to show me, "Starting to throb now after the run. Might need you to rebandage it when we get back."

"No infection?" I asked. I saw that he flinched when he moved his paw. A cut that deep doesn't heal in a few days. I didn't believe a word he said. Guys do that. They lie when they're hurt. Defense mechanism 101. I'd have to do a close inspection when we got home.

"None yet," he said and fell silent for a moment. He squirmed where he sat as if excited about something, as if holding onto something he felt ready to let burst. "I thought about it and I might have a solution to one of your problems." Dustin said, kicking his backpack which rested on the ground between his foot-paws. "Not sure how you're gonna like this though."

"What is it?" I huffed between swigs of water.

Dustin sighed, "Like I said, Keep an open mind. This is how the rest of us made it through our teens. I'm actually a little reluctant to part with 'em."

"Tell me," I demanded.

"Well, you asked for it. Check this out," he said, unzipping his backpack and slipping in his bandaged paw. He built up the suspense for a moment, looking at me with perked ears as his paw fumbled around inside. Slowly but surely he pulled out a small stack of glossy covered magazines.

"Oh my god," I said, somewhat delighted, noticing the cover image of a busty, bikinied feline. "Porn! Where'd you get these?"

"Well, this one I bought when I turned eighteen. That's the first thing I did, first thing in the morning. I went down to the gas station and picked up cigarettes and porn. All the others are older. Our brothers would funnel them to me starting when I was twelve. I ended up inheriting their whole collections when they moved off to college."

"Eww, used porn," I said, not letting the fact that all manner of male grossness probably stuck to the pages from keeping me from picking up an example and paging through it. "Why didn't I get any?" I said, deeply offended that my brothers passed me over on something like this.

"Shit, sis," Dustin said in a tone of voice as if he were explaining the most obvious thing in the world to me. "Well. We just figured you weren't into naked girls and vaginas. At least we hoped you wouldn't be."

"And if I were into that would you still accept me?"

He rolled his eyes. "For all I care you can slobber all over every pussy on earth if that's what makes you happy and I wouldn't give a rat's ass."

"Well thanks, I guess," I said.

"You into pussy?" He asked.

"Are you into cock?" I counter-questioned.

He shook his head and reaffirmed the question. "Would you ever do a girl?"

I thought about it for a second, "I've considered it before. Part of it is kind of a hot idea. I could probably do it once or twice, but I don't know if I want to end up with a girl. I don't know how that whole thing without cocks works though. Would you do a guy?"

"Naa," he said.

"Even a hot guy and you got to be on top?"

"Not my cup of tea," he said.

"Even this guy?" I said, pointing at a random nude male on one of the pages.

"Nope," he said, "doesn't do a thing for me unless he's burying that knot of his into a bitch. How about these?" He continued, changing the subject and opening up another magazine full of open-vaginaed female pin ups in various stages of exposure. "Which of these do you like?"

"Well, I'm not a lesbian but I know what's beautiful," I said, flipping through the wrinkled and dog-eared glossy pages at a litany of slutty women. Every page had a feline, canine, mare, or the occasional doe on it accompanied by a short biography and list of likes. Once in a while I'd see a more exotic species taking her bikini top off or tugging her slip aside to show off what her kind's genitalia looked like. All had that 'come-hither' look on them, with parted lips, a visible flick of a tongue dashing over their muzzles. I chuckled as I perused through the magazine, commenting "fake, fake, acting, touched up, over-the-top, ridiculous," with every page I turned. Only after the centerfold section towards the back in the amateur pages did I find anything interesting. It was only a half-page image with no commentary, obviously taken in someone's home. She was a bull terrier with her kind's large rounded muzzle and wide, deep-set triangular eyes. She had a figure similar to mine, muscular for a lady, plus-sized, with a little bit extra on her broad hips, average breasts, small ones if you compared hers to the rest of the women in the magazine.

She actually looked like she belonged there, as if she posed for a boyfriend or something like that. The look she gave the cameraman seemed much more natural than all the rest, as if this weren't the first time she bared it all for that person, as if she wanted to be seen by him or her, as if this constructed moment were part of some greater foreplay, a moment in a story I wanted to keep reading. She lay relaxed and reclined on a sofa, her arms crossed behind her head. Her legs were pressed together and her knees up, reminiscent of some 1950s vintage pin-up. The pink of her skin shone through her very short fur around her muzzle and down her belly which I thought seemed very arousing. You couldn't see her slit from the perspective, but precisely that made me want to see it, made me imagine what it would be like to be that cameraman and to be an actor in the story that took place once he put the camera down.

"This one," I said, pointing at her, whatever her name was.

"Her?" He asked.

"Yea," I confirmed and picked up the magazine, trying to figure out more about the photograph.

"She's kind of funny looking. Where does her muzzle stop and her head start?"

"I like the funny looking ones," I said, a little offended that my brother disqualified her so quickly, especially based on looks alone. "All the other ones are fake."

"You can't even see anything in that picture."

"Can't you imagine it?"

"I'd rather see it," he said.

"If that's the case, if you could have any women in any of these, which would it be?"

"That's easy," he said, reaching into his backpack and producing a few more magazines I hadn't even seen yet. He seemed to know exactly where to find what he looked for. A moment later I stared at a centerfold of a luscious rough collie similar to us sitting by a fireplace. The warm glow surrounded her, rendering her white fur a fiery orange. She too had that tempting sultry look to her, her paw rested upon her pubic fur and her fingers parted her lips, leaving nothing to the imagination of what collie vagina looked like.

"A collie? Really?" I asked, glancing down at the image of the girl and her prominently displayed sex. All she needed were those two glowing signaling batons from the airport and the fuck-me expression would have been complete. It seemed a bit creepy how similar she was to us. She had a little more black and brown in her fur than we did. I still couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy.

"Why not?" He said.

"Don't you want to like, diversify?"

"Why shouldn't I be attracted to collies? Isn't it only natural that I'm into my own breed? A lotta guys are."

"You sound like grandpa."

"Hey, I'm not about preserving genetic purity or anything like that. It's just preference. Just like you prefer She-Hulk-McBony face over there."

"Hey," I said, slugging my brother in the shoulder.

"Oww," he recoiled and slugged me back just as hard. "Sorry," he continued, "I didn't know you had a crush."

I slugged him again. "I don't have a crush. Just try to be more considerate."

"It's just porn," he said. "These girls knew guys would be doing the nastiest things to their pictures."

"Have you ever done it to these?"

He looked at me as if I had just seriously asked what two plus two equaled; the dumbest question in the world.

"Okay, okay, I get it. You paw off like crazy." I said. I really didn't like thinking of my brother as a sexual being, though I pretty much expected all my brothers to have done their fair share of masturbation in every room of the house. I'd smelt their laundry baskets. I knew.

"And how," he said, nodding. "Do you?"

"It doesn't work that way for me. I don't have anything so easy for me to whip out and tug on."

"So you've never masturbated either? You're a virgin and don't even paw? How do you keep from exploding or, like, jumping the first guy that walks by? If you were a ferret you'd be dead."

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

"Do you or don't you?"

"Not in the way you do."

'You haven't."

"Okay," I said, "I've never played with myself in the way you do. Not to get off."

"Have you ever?"

"Once? Maybe in a dream," I said.

"Girls can have wet dreams?"


"What did you dream about?" He asked in the persistent form of curiosity he usually had. I knew I'd betrayed too much already and that there was no point in resisting.

"I don't remember exactly. I recall being chased, but in a good way, a fun way like in a game of tag, where you want to be caught. It was a guy, I don't know if he was based on anyone I knew, more of an invention. He pounced me somewhere around our backyard, but you know, different like it always is in dreams. Sometimes it would be a kiss, or some nudity, a touch, and I wake up with something inside me twitching. I thought I'd pissed myself I was so wet. First happened when I was twelve or so and I've been getting them since, but just two or three a year. They're rarer now that I'm older. I think I only had one this year."

"Hot," Dustin said.

"It was actually kind of scary at first."

"Happened to me too," he said, "but I've only gotten like two or three and I haven't had one since I was like fourteen."

"What did you dream about?" I asked.

"Sex," he said in a matter of fact tone. "But you have gotten off?" He asked again.

"I guess. It's weird and fleeting, but I think what I woke up to was an orgasm."

"I kind of feel sorry for you," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Don't you miss it?"

"Why should I miss it? I haven't had it yet. Does a person who's been blind all their life miss seeing?"

"Don't you wish you could have it, I mean?" He corrected.

"I do," I said honestly, "but I'd rather wait for the right person to come along."

"Doesn't mean you can't masturbate."

"Maybe if the mood strikes me I will," I said, ready to change the subject.

"Speaking of which, do you mind if I..." he trailed off not saying what I knew he implied.

"Aww, come on," I said, almost ready to get up and walk away in disgust. "Now?"

"Sure," he said, "I've done it here a lot."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," I said looking around as if expecting to find myself sitting in dried cum.

He just chuckled. "You can try it too. Maybe that'd ease off the pressure on you if we did it together?"

"Dude," I said, even more grossed out than before, "I'm your sister! What do you think we are? Cubs?" I stood up, feeling a wave of anxiety rush over me. I knew my brother wasn't predatory, but I still felt the unease as if he was capable of something wrong and reckless and I needed to be afraid.

"Sorry," he said, not wanting me to walk off, "it's just a suggestion. I've actually done it a couple times with some of my friends, I mean, next to my friends, even Nate and Dan. They did it too. Here."

"That's gay," I said, crossing my arms and flattened my ears, my tail swishing with an apparently irritated twitch. One thing I learned from my brothers is when intimidated, play the macho card, that's precisely what I did. Even as I conjured up a hard heteronormative exterior I found myself wavering inside, trying to subdue the surprise I felt at hearing our upright brothers were involved in this quasi-incestuous escapade, some teenage sexual release. I didn't know what was worse, my brother treating me like one of the living sex-dolls in his magazines, or me having been kept in the dark about my brothers doing something without me. Was I jealous?

"It ain't gay," he barked out in full accent.

"It's totally gay. Its pound me in the ass gay. It's Appletini and Zima gay." I said, lowering the timbre of my voice and reaffirming my dominance.

It felt funny to watch him grow flustered. You could almost see his facial expressions tick as he tried to counter with some sort of explanation or plausible reasoning. "Hey," he stammered, "it's mostly just about bonding, I think. Plus it's not like any of us looked. Besides, where else were we going to do it? The house was full, you were everywhere. This was the only place we could go where we could do it without being caught."

"Bonding. Sure. If that's what you want to call it. I think you looked. Which one of you guys is biggest?" I said, now goading him. It was funny how I could turn things around and put the power back into my own paws. Apparently I'd found a sensitive string. He sat there squirming like a guilty cub, eerily reminiscent of how I remembered him all those years ago, goofy and not fully grown into his body.

"So what?" He said, trying to play the whole thing down. "It's what guys do. Nate, Dan, and even Brandon were doing it before me. When I was old enough they gave me some of these," he hinted at the magazines, "and let me join them. Couldn't do this at home, lord knows you'd run in and get traumatized or something."

"Probably would have," I said. "Eww," I shivered, the mental image being too much.

I watched my brother begin to gather his magazines, collecting one by one as if there was an order to his stack. He seemed to have taken my reluctance as a negative answer, as well he should. As I saw him visibly ashamed for having asked for too much. I tended to the complex swirl of thoughts circulating through my own mind. All the recent talk of sex with my brother, with Bryn, and that catastrophic failure with Gareth had left me thinking, 'what if I was missing out?' If there was one thing I hated in life, it's being left out. I hated it when my brothers left me out. It would leave me seething if they ever went out and did something, like going to town, playing touch football, or hanging out up at the fort without me. For better or worse they left me out of something else because I was a girl. It would have been my first sexual experience, something innocent and safe, even if weird and rather incestuous.

"Okay," I said, unsure why. Part of it was resignation, I guess, the other was some sort or curiosity or desire for some sort of compensation for being left out. I think I just wanted to feel some proximity to something erotic, not necessarily participate, but just have it around me to compensate, to experience for just an instant what it would have been like if I had been born the other gender.

"What?" He asked, as if he didn't hear correctly.

"Go ahead. I'm gonna sit out on this round, but if this is what you gotta do, it's what you gotta do. Besides, you poisoned my mind already with the mental image of you jerking it. If you don't do it now, then you'll probably be doing it the moment we get home and I'll somehow have to distract myself from the knowledge that you're down the hall playing with yourself."

"You sure?" He asked, "I mean, I'm cool with waiting, or maybe you can go home and I'll follow when I'm done."

I sat back down next to him, giving him a little bit more room than before for privacy, should that be possible. "I'm cool with it," I said, still feeling uneasy, but somehow rebellious. If my presence would have ruined it for my brothers all those years ago, I'll let my presence ruin it for Dustin. "Oh, and I want some of these," pointing at the buffet of porn magazines, "I don't care which ones. Anything you're done with or don't like. I just want my inheritance."

"Fine," he said and sat there for a minute as if unsure what to do with himself, like a dog that caught the bumper of the car he was chasing. "You sure this is okay?" He asked again.

"I don't care," I confirmed. I reached out and picked up a random magazine from under the stack and began to page through it, pretending I was oblivious to what ever happened beside me. I listened to my brother shift in where he sat with a degree of uneasiness in me, unsure of the wisdom in inviting him to do as he pleased. I heard the jingle of his belt buckle and the fabric of his jeans rub down his fur as he tugged his pants down his thighs. The text on the page became unreadable lines; the naked ladies became blurs of glossy color. My attention, despite the cautions of my inner voice, focused just to the left of me.

I saw my brother's sheath poking upward between his thighs, not the fuzzy bump I had to catch a glimpse of when Dustin was a cub and decided pants weren't his style, but a fully grown, mature version thereof. He hiked up his T-shirt a little, exposing some of his pubic and belly fur. Before he got to work he lined up a few of his favorite magazines and opened them up to pages he seemed to have memorized. Only when he appeared satisfied with the assortment of slutty expressions and splayed female genitals did he reach for his own. His left paw wrapped around his sheath, fingertips pressing into the fur to touch precisely the areas he knew felt best. His thumb repeatedly brushed over his darker-skinned sheath-slit and his paw irregularly tugged on his white furred tube, rubbing himself upon what we both knew resided within.

It didn't take long for his cock to poke out, though just the tip at first, his canine point and glans. That part got extra attention, taken into his paw almost as soon as it peeked out. I turned the page on my magazine, still acting like I was oblivious to everything happening in his lap. My eyes however strove to focus on the pinkish-red rod growing into my brother's paw. I knew it was courtesy not to look, but I couldn't help but find my nose turning slightly in his direction, my eyes peering over the bridge of my muzzle to see precisely what happened between his thighs. He didn't seem to be in it for all out pleasure just yet. His paw idly stroked his growing length and tugged his sheath a little faster in one moment and a little slower in another. His other paw flipped the pages of one magazine or the other, changing the stimulation should one pussy become too dull for him.

I squirmed a little bit when I felt the unexpected happen. It started with a shiver. Then the skin beneath the patches of my darker fur along my scalp and spine prickled as if an invisible paw caressed me in a smooth and sensual way. Worst of all came the tingling, the peculiar itch between my legs as if some internal toggle switch had just been clicked from off to on. Then I felt the need, the longing to have something, anything within me or at least pressed firm against my sex. I tried to shrug it off, but the longer I sat there, the less I could ignore it. I was getting aroused. That mental voice of mine cursed because she and I both knew that the sight of my brother pawing turned me on and not any of the supposedly beautiful men and women in the magazine in my paws did.

Soon enough my brother held his full length in his paw, or at least I assumed that was as big as he was going to get. Though I refused to estimate a numerical value in inches to his size I was impressed with that I saw. It certainly looked like he could have used both paws and there still would have been a bit extra poking out. I realized I was watching. Yea, I was shamelessly watching, hoping my brother wouldn't notice the tilt of my muzzle toward his lap. Now this was the first time I've actually seen a hard dick before, at least in real life. Yea, sheath was a pretty common sight growing up in a house full of boys. You really couldn't avoid an accidental glimpse now and then, but I'd never actually seen a guy hard.

I peeked over now and then between glances at various magazines. I noticed his knot starting to show, that almost mythical bit of canine I'd heard about through gossip, the existence of which I hadn't confirmed until high school anatomy class. Seeing it in person reminded me of its symbolism along with a plethora of warnings I received from multiple parties to never to let one of those things slip inside my body, at least not until marriage. I felt conflicting emotions as I watched that firm, smooth sphere take shape. I felt a thrill, a certain curiosity in witnessing for the first time in my life the presence of something I only knew from pornography and equally clinical anatomical illustrations. Part of me, the accursed home of my admittedly repressed libido, wanted to feel something like that knot, filling the aroused emptiness between my legs. The other rational part of me felt disgust in me for even contemplating it, begging the question why on earth anyone would want that inside them.

After a while I noticed my brother using his free paw to occasionally grip and stroke his knot while not flipping pages in his magazines. His dark-pink venous length began to glisten in what I assumed was pre, confirming the existence of the substance I'd also only ever heard about in rumors. The fur on his fingers became damp with that stuff as his increasingly swift and eager paw-motions vigorously spread it down his girth. I couldn't crane to see what he was doing with himself without making it obvious I was staring, but it was pretty clear to me that that part was of particular interest to him and presumably crucial to his ability to climax. He began to pant, huffing out his open muzzle. The muscles in in hips violently flexed, bucking into both his paws.

Were I not already a voyeur in my brother's little spectacle, his gasps would have gotten my attention. He finished with a sigh. The last blurred movement of his paws seemed to have been successful in coaxing out an orgasm. Dustin's movements came to a sudden halt. His paws jerked down to the base of his shaft and reaffirmed his hold on his knot. Luckily for me and my perspective, an upward buck sent his cock-tip up through his paws and out of his lap. I could clearly see the visible top few inches of his length start to twitch ever so slightly, even under the firm grasp he had on himself. Spurts of thick white liquid, quite obviously his cum, shot out of his tip a second later, arching with some distance onto his belly, where it clung to his fur in globs. I was seeing something I definitely shouldn't see, and lord knows could never unsee, my brother with his pants down, holding his erect cock, unconcerned with the fact that he was getting his own genetic product all over himself. Only when the spurts began to taper did he begin to move again. He exhaled and panted. His paws resumed their work tugging on his arousal, milking the least energetic pulses of semen from his knotted member.

With his work finished he reclined against the log and panted, staring upward at the forest canopy. His crotch was rendered a sticky mess. Sperm still oozed from his tip, down his shaft and onto his matted paws. Lines of that stuff weighed down his pubic fur and lower belly. The scent hit me a moment later. I could definitely smell it. That acrid male musk hit my powerful canine nostrils and had that disturbing olfactory effect. My mind began to associate that scent with parts of the house that belonged to my brothers. Memories of them in their teenage years began to surface, made slightly less innocent now that I knew they had certain hobbies. The scent had a certain pheromonic effect on me, reminding me of my own unattended arousal. I felt a strong urge to slip my own paw down my boxers, but resisted. Even if I were to go through with it my needs would have to wait.

Maybe my brother noticed I was looking at him or maybe he just started feeling self-conscious at having just masturbated to conclusion in front of his sister. He covered himself up, hiding his spermy cock between his legs. He reached into his backpack and located a bandana of all things which he wiped his paws with and then his belly. He ended up just working his semen further into his fur, leaving his pubic tufts stiff as if he'd spiked them up with fur-gel. I had to interject when he stuffed his cummed up bandana back into his backpack.

"Really?" I asked, speaking to my brother who still had his pants down and a softening erection tucked between his legs.

"What?" He said, with that wide eyed look of guilt.

I reached into my own backpack and brought out a large, clean sandwich bag. "Here," I said, "stuff it in this," which he did. "I can't believe you were about to put that in your backpack with all your stuff."

"Why?" He said, hiking up his pants a little, his knotted cock making it impossible to zip up.

"It's gross," I said.

"Have you been watching me?"

"A little," I said, stretching the truth. "Is it gay when I do it?"

"No. Just fucked up. Think of the bro code."

"I'm not your bro," I giggled.

"Still fucked up," he said.

"Your idea."

"I know, but can I have a minute?"

I nodded.

Dustin got up and hiked up his pants, his belt jingling loose as he stood. He turned his tail to me and fixed himself. In some weird cow-boy-esque, bow legged, swagger he walked a few paces to a nearby tree. At first I didn't think he would dare do it, but he did. My ears perked in the direction of the faint trickling sound and sure enough you could see it pooling down at the roots of the tree between his legs.

"Oh come on," I protested, "I'm right here."

"Nothing new," he said and nothing more. I had to watch him finish, growing more uneasy at the sight of him peeing than the sight of him pawing off. His tail jerked as he finished. He turned around before he tucked himself in, flashing the last bit of cock-tip I'd see for the day as he worked his knotted, semi-firm member back into his boxers. "Downside to being a guy, you can't hide it," he said. "Knot usually takes a half hour or so to go down."

"Gross," I said, "Why are you even telling me this?"

"One of these days you're going to have a boyfriend and you're going to have to put up with shit worse than mine."

"Oh god," I said. "Did you happen to see contact info for that bull terrier chick from the magazine."

"Gonna lez out?"

"Starting to look preferable."

Dustin got to work sorting his magazines in whatever order he had them sorted. I got up, stretched, feeling the arousal between my legs. Every step we took on the way back home seemed to make it worse, a weird slickness in my stride with every step. I found myself wobbling, somehow deriving little sparks of pleasure just from the walk. When we got home we parted ways without saying much beyond a 'see ya later.' I made a bee-line to the bathroom, mistaking some of that turned on feeling for a full bladder. I waited out the tortuous half-hour hike since we left our fort, deciding just this once to be more lady-like and not relieve myself like my brother had in front of me.

When I tugged down my shorts and boxers it became obvious what the problem was. The entire front of my boxers appeared wet. My pubic fur also soaked through to the skin. The scents of my arousal hit my nose immediately, warranting an immediate shower. Worst off, it was still there, the feeling, the screaming temptation to touch myself, to press something, anything against me. Was I actually turned on by Dustin's show? No. What caused this then? The porn? No. Was it all the sex talk? Perhaps just the proximity to something sexual? Perhaps hanging out with my brother reminded me that I too was a being with needs. Was I repressing them? I reached down and with a trembling fingertip and I allowed myself to brush the glistening sliver of my sex. A faint pleased tingle like a whispered thank you emanated from between my thighs. Terrified I recoiled, got up, and stepped over to run the warm water in the shower. Whatever I just felt needed to be questioned, just not today.

Addiction - Chapter Four: Scar Tissue

Addiction Chapter Four Scar Tissue By: Rufus Quentin September 16, 1998 Dustin burst into the kitchen on a warm afternoon in mid-September heaving a heavy cardboard box which he promptly and gracelessly let crash onto the breakfast nook table. I...

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Addiction - Chapter Three: Mr. Death's Head

Addiction Chapter Three Mr. Death's Head By: Rufus Quentin September 10-12, 1998 It was sad but true. A week after school started it felt as if the summer never happened. I walked through the halls of my high school as if I hadn't left them for...

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Addiction - Chapter Two: One hundred seventy-nine

Addiction Chapter Two One hundred seventy-nine By: Rufus Quentin September 1, 1998 It was far worse than we thought. As soon as the diagnosis came in, I knew things would be bad, but this exceeded my expectations. Nothing could have prepared us...

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