Homewrecker
This one is a doozy! You can thank Teiran for a good chunk of this story, I highly doubt it would have been finished without his help! Don't read if you're under 18 yadda-yadda. Art by Donryu.
"Gosh, I can't believe this place is in our price range!" Abigail clapped her paws in glee as her eyes danced along the crown molding. She was like a kid in a candy store, visually devouring the finishes and built-in shelves from behind her librarian glasses. The petite corgi woman was a precious little thing, her small size accentuated by the hugeness of her pregnant belly. She was an easy client. Anything within her budget that had hardwood floors and enough bedrooms got her tail wagging, but something about the way she giddily waddled from room to room told me that I'd struck gold on this one. My intuition paid off when I heard a gasp coming from the hall just off the kitchen. Abigail had found the downstairs powder room.
They don't call me the "King of Real Estate" just because I'm a lion.
I find her sitting on the toilet, marveling the novelty of the tiny bathroom tucked under the large staircase to the second floor. "Now what's so great about a powder room", you ask? Well, I say, it's all about the simple elegance. Not only is it the perfect guest bathroom in the sense that it's small and easy to clean, but by omitting the useless eyesore that is an unused bathtub, it saves time and valuable living space. Tell me, what is the purpose of a bath on a level with no bedrooms? Dust collection. Powder rooms are the opportunity to make a statement to your guests. It's a stage, and decorative towels and hand soaps are the actors. It's the difference between Soft-soap hand pumps and sea shell shaped bars in a little dish. How they decorate a powder room says a lot about a homeowner. If anyone is serious about entertaining or leading the ideal, suburban, capitalistic American lifestyle, I recommend they invest in the beauty that is the powder room.
I could see that Abigail thought the same way I did when she pulled herself up with a firm paw on the wall-mounted, oil-rubbed bronze hand-towel rack and turned to me with an ear-to-ear grin. "It's perfect, Dean," she marveled. She wasn't talking to me, but to her husband lingering in the hall. The beagle, who I knew to be a very doting spouse, mumbled something in non-committal agreement. I caught my well-dressed reflection in the bathroom mirror smiling as I looked out at Dean. "Just think! Enough rooms for all the boys, and a yard to play in! We'll take it!"
Dean's face fell as his wife said those words. Knowing that I had yet another success under my belt, I beamed like the Cheshire cat as I told Abigail I'd draw up the necessary paperwork. Just as I was showing the happy couple out, her phone rang. It was the corgi's mother, and Abigail was more than excited to share the big news. With a bubbly "excuse me" and quick kiss on her husband's cheek, she waddled up the stairs to look at the bedrooms that would soon house her litter. I turned my head to Dean, only to see his tail tucked between his legs. Jesus Christ, he was hilariously miserable.
"I hate to say I told you so-" I spoke with a rumble that did nothing to cover my smug words.
"Don't fucking start, Jonas." Dean cut me off, looking like he was on the verge of tears.
"You came to me, you little prick. Don't forget that." I grabbed him by the collar of his abysmal JC Penny sweater and hauled his lips into mine. He wobbled on the tips of his toes and whined into my mouth. A low growl and my tongue down his throat shut him up good. I used my superior size and strength to man-handle him around to the front door, pushing him up against it I showed him who was the king around here and claimed his muzzle as my own.
It had been eight years since I'd done that. The tightness in my boxers reminded me of how much I missed it.
Then Dean managed to pull his reluctant, yet quietly needy lips from mine, I noted with amusement that he tasted like the microwavable breakfast sandwich he'd eaten that morning. His mouth, still connected to mine via a tricky saliva strand, trembled as he tried to gather his thoughts. His words stuttered like the engine of his 2003 Ford Explorer on startup. "F-f-fucking asshole," he stammered, the inside of his ears glowing red. I loved it when he talked dirty. "I'm not doing anything until we fucking close!" His voice was hushed, despite how livid he seemed. After all, his precious and very pregnant wife was only a stone's throw away.
"Oh please," I couldn't help but scoff, "Your wife is sold, and I've never lost a house before. Consider this cookie-cutter, suburban trash yours."
"Because you're what, the 'King of Real Estate?' Do you think that's fucking clever, Jonas? Because you're a lion? Or because you are and always have been the biggest fucking narcissist?"
"It's actually because I have the biggest cock," I sneered at him, using my grip on his sweater to swing him into the powder room. He hit the wall with a thud which knocked the air out of him. I pictured him regretting the nights he spent lazing on his couch watching Law & Order reruns (and the slight paunch it gave him over the years) as I closed the door behind us. With him gasping, it was easy to bend him over the pedestal sink and grind the bulge behind my pressed suit pants against the ass of his dime-store dad jeans.
"I have spent my entire career negotiating, Dean, so naturally I've gotten pretty good at it. Your previous offer was to pay me five percent commission compared to my usual fifteen, and to let me sodomize you if I found you and your bitch wife a house before she gave birth. I'm inclined to accept these terms, but I have a feeling you're in the mood to renegotiate. Care to make me a counter-offer?"
Dean was panting and whining like he'd ran and lost a marathon. The beagle was trying his best to struggle free, writhing within my grip. It was more than was evident to me just how much the former twink had let himself go. Even so, I couldn't remember my dick ever being harder, throbbing delightfully as his ass squirmed against me, precum surging into my boxers with every twitch. It ached to feel the heat of the dog's asshole, hell, it almost could despite four layers of fabric between its target.
"I'll pay you eight percent and jerk you off!"
"A lowball offer?" I openly laughed at that one and gave him a quick jab with my hips, forcing his muzzle into the sink's faucet. "Try again."
"You piece of shit!" He barked. I leisurely rolled my hips against him, making sure he felt just how ready I was to seal the deal, and he reconsidered his offer.
"T-ten percent and I'll suck your dick, just don't fuck me man, just please don't fuck me," his head dipped into the white porcelain basin, and I thought I heard him sob a little. His tears probably fell directly into the drain, if that wasn't a funny metaphor for his life I didn't know what was. But I sighed, realistically knowing that his wife wouldn't be on call for too long; anal was out of the question in the first place. Still, Dean didn't have to figure that one out. My scare tactics were enough to double my payout and earn myself a cushy blowjob, so I couldn't complain. I guess you could say I drive a_hard_ bargain?
Relenting, I took my paws off of him and let him straighten up. The mutt sniffed and wiped at his watery eyes. God, it was hard to see how pathetic he'd become. At least when I met him he could take a dick with some fucking confidence - like a man. You'd think he was a feral that took a shit on my carpet the way he was cowering to his knees, but I held my zipper rather than a rolled up magazine. I pulled down, the only thing louder than the metal prongs slowly splitting away were my rumbling purrs. Dean used to unzip me with his teeth, now he just looked sullenly at my erection as I unceremoniously tugged it out myself. His expression dampened further, like he came across an ex he hadn't seen in years.
I wouldn't be surprised if he felt that were the case, judging by the way he used to lust after my dick when we were dating. He'd take his time, feeling up every vein and ridge. His tight, sleek beagle body might have lost its youthful shape, but as his muzzle suddenly got to work I realized he never forgot how to handle a man's dick. Dean laboriously lapped and caressed my shaft until it was rock hard and leaking every time he licked the underside. Until we split, he probably counted licks instead of sheep when he went to bed at night. I'm not going lie to you and say I don't have a huge cock - because I do - but it's not worth dreaming about.
Maybe I'd have to be a bottom to understand?
Anyways, long story short, he looked real fucking sad now. Even so, he managed to bring himself to go through with it, easing his droopy face to the very tip of my dick as he curled his lovely, broad tongue over his teeth and let me slip in that pretty muzzle of his. It cradled the first couple of inches and coated my foreskin with his spit. This led into him sinking his snout over most of my penis, the breath from his nose tickling my pubes. I shivered, yowling softly in surprise. Dean definitely hadn't lost his tender, slutty touch, and his mouth polished my hard dick with all the skill he'd learned as a former go-go boy paying his way through college. His head bobbed and slurped along my hard shaft, a paw wrapped around the base to hold my dick steady as he muzzle-fucked himself on it.
"Damn, Dean," I cooed, "You must have missed this." I let my big paw come down between his ears, noticing the urgent pace he was going at. He was aiming to finish me off quick, but had jumped the gun and started to gag when I retaliated and yanked him down farther, forcing him to take all of my dick at once. The dog pulled back, his jowls flapping as he coughed - which was a very interesting sensation on my cock, I might add. Having learned his lesson, he dived back into it with a bit more of the enthusiasm I expected.
I leaned my head back and sighed with pleasure as the beagle's mouth moved with a steadier rhythm now. Dean's lips made a tight ring around my thick cock that slid up and down, sliding my foreskin back and forth, the back of his throat tickling my tip each time he took me as far as he could. I remember when he could take me balls deep, and did so every weekend. Part of him must have too, because more than once he gagged himself trying to relive his cock sucking glory days. His eager, desperate desire for my dick had led him to be my bitch for almost three years while we were roommates in college.
But Dean wasn't a twink queer-boy anymore, he was married man who was about to be a father. His wife was walking around upstairs, right above our heads, and yet he still choked himself as he fucked his face on my dick. Which I will admit turned me on even more. My breath was coming in ragged gasps now, my whole body tensing up as his throat stroked my dick just the way I remembered, like he was trying to milk my balls dry. That's what I missed about the little slut.
And he missed me too, since he obviously couldn't live without the best dick he'd ever had. Nobody could resist me or my charms. It didn't matter if it was at the club or in the office. After all, Dean didn't have to ask me to be his real estate agent, offering his ass up in exchange for a ten percent reduction in my fees. He didn't have to be there, in that fancily decorated powder room, gagging himself (more than) willingly on my dick and cupping my drawn up balls, about to unleash a mighty load. No, Dean wanted this even more than I did. In fact, I knew the perfect way to ensure the beagle got more than what he bargained for on this real estate deal. Good customer service are my watch words after all.
Carefully, I slipped my phone out of the pocket of my jacket, turned on the camera, and focused on his face as the little beagle slut's muzzle bobbed up and down my fat cock. I snapped several discrete pictures, and almost laughed when I realized that he was crying. Probably tears of joy at finally getting to be his true self again. He'd left himself go and crawled back into the closet, pretending to play happy family, and now he had the dick he'd been dreaming of back again. Between his jowls where it belonged.
Well, tears weren't the only thing that would grace his muzzle that day. I started recording a close up video of the beagle's face as I prepared for the big finale, gripping the base of my dick with one paw and stroking rapidly to push myself over the edge, the tip of my cock still in his mouth so his talented tongue could lick my slit until he earned his reward. The beagle did just that, whimpering as he cupped my balls as they began to jump, and my dick flexed in my paw, spurting out the first wave of jizz for the bitch to swallow. After coating his tongue with my taste, I pulled the tip of my big cock from between his hungry lips and painted his red and white blotched face with steaming lion cream.
Dean fucking moaned for it.
The camera caught every hot throb of my dick, recording in HD video every rope of my seed as it splatted across his face in long strands that clung to his short fur. Dean panted openly, his eyes going half-lidded as he looked up in bliss, mouth wide open to catch my load. He took every drop of it better than most porn stars, making a show of it not only for me, but for the camera he didn't know was there.
Fuck, it felt good to mark Dean as mine again.
The sound of my boastful roar of pleasure deafened the tiny room we were in, rattling the tasteful décor on the walls as I dumped the content of my nuts in the pup's eager muzzle. I'm shocked the sound didn't bring his wife running, but the gift of gab must have kept her glued to the phone. A sneer split my lips as I finally take time to appreciate the huge load of cum I shot across his face and tongue. "Worthy of the king," I thought to myself. I had saved up for two weeks in preparation for when I took my payment, and it was worth damn every drop. Dean, always the trooper, held his mouth open so I could see it all, the thick cum coating his tongue and tear-stained cheeks.
He knew better than to swallow or get up before I told him to, so Dean stayed there on his knees, panting through his open mouth, paw working...
I blinked in surprise, leaned back, and focused my cellphone's camera on the furiously jerking paw between the dog's legs. He had his fucking dick out the whole time! The tip of his much smaller cock was even rubbing at my patent leather shoe. The little fucking slut, I knew he was still a fucking faggot! An old cock hound can't learn new tricks, I say, only turn them.
My dick stayed rock hard as I adjusted the angle of my camera, capturing the beagles cum splattered face, the shaft of my dick, and his own furiously stroking paw as I lifted my shoe and pressed it between his legs against his hefty balls. "Open your eyes, Dean." I commanded.
Dean did, saw the camera, and the little faggot came in that instant, his knot throbbing and his nuts spilling their load across his new bathroom floor as he stared with lustful shame into the camera lens. I stared into his eyes on the screen, recording every moment of his humiliation. He finished with a low whine, unable to look away or close his mouth, his whole body shaking as he squeezed out the final drops of his orgasm and whimpered my name, his plea gargled by my lukewarm cum, "Jonas... please..."
I quickly stalled any negotiation by sliding my fingers past his lips and into his gaping maw. I felt his throat clench around my digits as they pushed my seed further into the hot passage, forcing him to swallow my load. The camera caught his bobbing Adam's apple perfectly.
"Next time I see you, you better be lubed up and ready to bend over, because when you're finished dotting your i's and crossing your t's on the paperwork, I'm going to fuck you right then and there across the table. And you're going to blow your load across my commission check. Understand?"
Dean nodded and blubbered, "Yes, Jonas." The tears were flowing freely down his face as his ears turned red-hot with shame. Looked fucking amazing. Picture-worthy, even. Above us, the pitter pat of his wife's paws moved from room to room. I stopped filming, and with a ping my phone let me know the file was already up in the cloud. That sealed the deal as much as any mortgage contract. What choice did he fucking have? His ass was mine if he wanted to keep this house and his little, farcical life in the suburbs.
Then, just before I ducked out of the powder room to clean up, I glanced up in the mirror, it just clicked then. I turned on the camera again and took the hottest selfie in the world bar-none.
I couldn't help but to admire the picture discretely as I checked on Abigail upstairs to make sure she was still blissfully unaware and dreaming of the move-in day. I kept her busy, parading her about the bedrooms, spouting interior decorating jargon. Dean would have to thank me for giving him the privilege of time to clean himself up.
It really was a divine picture. I had perfectly framed the shot so it showed me standing regally (as always) in a fancy three-piece suit (the only kind I own), with the meticulously decorated powder room serving as the perfect backdrop. My dick, gleaming with spit and a charisma all its own, Dean kneeling before it, his flushed, tear-streaked face covered in contentment and my cum.
And to think I even got paid to do it.
Clichéd as it is - It's good to be the king.