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Unintended Consequences

By Otteronymous

The sickly-sweet smell of tobacco, body oil, and shame wafted through the strip club air as Erik sucked down the last of the tequila bottle and soaked in the sin that surrounded him. The drunk stallion heaved the fire from his lungs as he slammed the bottle on the table, his drunken clumsiness causing him to knock over the half-a-dozen beer bottles already placed there.

Stumbling to his feet, the once proud footballer turned middle-aged house dad fumbled at the bottles rolling off the table, desperate to salvage his dignity as the world-weary patrons glanced at the paunchy stallion through slatted, tired eyes.

"Oh, don't worry about that, hon," rang an angelic voice. "We get this all the time, just let ol' Honey handle that for yah."

Erik looked down to see the 4' rabbit deftly snatch the bottles from the ground and toss them to her platter. Even as he stood 7' tall, staring through booze-addled eyes, Erik marveled at her features. That tight, bosom-boosting corset, those hip-hugging, bow-festooned panties, and that smile...Oh god, that beautiful, inviting smile.

Erik's mouth was agape as he stared overlong at the smiling little sex bomb beneath him. God, how he wanted her. Wanted her smooth little paws all over his soft but once godlike form. Her tiny paws and eager tongue grabbing and groping desperately at his cock, eager to worship and please.

The waitress tilted her head, aware that she was in the presence of a newcomer. They always stared way too long, and the club's booze-font of Happy Hour didn't help anyone's manners, even if it did help the flexibility of their wallets.

Erik, his mind 2 steps behind after a few liters of booze, caught himself and rambled off an apology.

"I....I'm sorry about that. I...I didn't mean to spill all over your--"

"Oh, think nothing of it, hon. Stuff like that happens all the time." Honey interrupted, her million dollar smile on full display. "Just keep on enjoying yourself, and if you still feel bad, feel free to kick the girls on stage a little extra."

Erik gazed longingly at the stage as she spoke, mesmerized by the spectacle of beautiful, naked felines dancing and sliding off poles. The girls' svelte, perfectly groomed pelts shimmered with stardust glitter as they bent to their toes, putting their perfect, plump bits on the display for the drooling audience, urging them to pay just a little bit more in hopes that they may be so lucky as to have them for a night.

"Not that you need any encouragement," Honey said, eyeing the stallion's khakis and the rather substantial endowment inside as it hugged his thigh down to his knee. "A girl might be rather flattered to catch the gaze of such a well-equipped stallion," she added, her deft patter all too effective at buttering up patrons to burn the last of their hard-earned cash in hopes of going home with anything other than a hard-on.

Erik's face went flush. It had been years since he had received a compliment on his stallionhood from anyone, let alone a woman. For years, he had gone to bed next to his darling, if somewhat cold, wife, her sexual libido supposedly having tanked after the birth of their second child.

"Sorry, Erik. I'm just not feeling it tonight," was said so often it may as well have been a bedtime chant rather than the empty placating that it was. She had her kids, a comfy home, and a once proud stallion to manage it all. What need did she have for sex anymore?

Erik burned with anger at his wife, at himself, and at the world. Was it too much to ask for a blowjob every month or two? Why did he allow himself to be so thoroughly tamed? And why was he here, desperate, if only for the imaginary thrill, of being able to cheat on the mother of his children?

"I...I'm sorry ma'am," he mumbled, the urgent pressure in his bladder offering a convenient exit from this all-too-inviting Gomorrah. "I...I need to go use the bathroom."

"Sure thing, hun. Just outside the club and to the left. Gotta keep em outdoors so we don't get any funny smells throwing off the girls."

Erik lugged his thick frame towards the exit as fast as he could, desperate to relieve his soul and bladder from the sirens song of the club.

---

Sitting in the corner, Clyde chewed on his toothpick, eagerly eyeing the clearly out of his element stallion who was nervously making his way out. The weasel gave a toothy grin as he chucked away his toothpick; he finally had his catch for the night.

With an ease garnered from years of experience, Clyde left his $40 tip at the foot of the stage, bestowing the beautiful woman with extra not for the show they put on, but for the prey they had so dutifully worked up for him. It was an easy con, tip the strippers, tip the bar, and the bouncers couldn't care less that a faggot came to their club to eye the males rather than the paid merchandise.

Clyde slid $50 out of his vest and palmed it to the bouncer. It had been awhile since a mark this ripe for the picking showed up, and he wanted to make sure that all traffic to the bathrooms outside was diverted away, giving him all the time he needed to enjoy himself.

The slender weasel drew in a deep breath of the evening air, his pace slowing to match the stumbling, drunken stallion that he tailing outside. "Perfect," Clyde thought to himself as he sized up his mark. Drunk, flustered, out of place.... and clearly horny, this would be like fishing with dynamite.

Clyde had seen countless sad-sacks like this one over the years. Problems at home, wife going cold, too tied up with the fear of a messy divorce to attempt an affair, but too decent and honest to just hire a hooker for the night.

He had eyes on the stallion from the moment he walked in, and he fit the bill perfectly. Clyde mused that it certainly didn't hurt that the bastard drank enough to drown a small family of moles, so he probably wouldn't' have to 'ease' the desperate fellow's remaining inhibitions with his flask spiked with 'party favors'.

Erik stumbled into the bathroom, his mind growing fuzzier as the last of the tequila hit his system. The stone-drunk stallion dragged himself into a stall, pulled his pleated khakis down to the ankles and pissed like the former race-horse he was. Erik gave a contented sigh as relieved himself, the feeling of his emptying bladder causing a warm feeling in his loins as he fumbled with the substantial endowment in his paw.

Erik closed his eyes as he forced the last drop out of his bladder, the room beginning to spin from the booze. The stallion stabled himself against the wall with his free hand while still cradling the underside of his thick, 15" length with the other. He had spent the last 3 hours with a constant hard-on, and his cock was begging him for release. With a loud sigh, he began to grudgingly stroke his shaft, his massive length growing longer and thicker as he began the same tired routine of draining his blue-balls solo.

Erik's stroking came to an abrupt stop as he heard a light tapping on the other side of the stall wall.

"Hey, uhhh, buddy. How you doing over there?"

On the edge of a booze-fueled blackout, Erik shrugged off his immediate desire to hike up his pants in embarrassment and bolt, and instead responded.

"Taking care of business, bud. I suggest you mind your own."

A response! Clyde knew how to handle step two like an old pro.

"Woah there, partner, just, uhhh, wondering if you need some help is all."

"Wh...what do you mean?" Erik said, lightly stumbling and bracing himself harder against the wall.

"Just, uhh, wondering if you want some help getting off....maybe, uhhh, maybe a blowjob or something like that."

Erik's mind was 3 steps behind now, forgetting to trigger his instinct of outrage and disgust.

"I...I ain't no queer," he said, his speech slurring as the booze continued to metabolize.

"Hey! Me neither, bud. I'm just a dude out here, getting worked up by all the fine-ass women because I'm tired of my wife constantly giving me the cold shoulder. I was just thinking, since we're both here, I could at least help one of us get off tonight."

Erik felt his cock go harder in his hands. The idea was of course completely asinine, but to Jose Cuervo, even the babble of a half-assed con-artist sounds like Socrates.

"I...I don't know, man." Erik slurred, leaning his massive frame against the stall wall, his hazy vision zeroing in on the massive glory hole carved into it. "Just doesn't seem right from a dude."

Clyde dug into his vest and pulled loose his booze flask, his words smooth and metered as he slid it under the stall to the stallion, silently cursing the loss of his expensive designer drugs.

"Hey, don't think of it like that, man. You can't see me, and I can't see you. For all you know, I'm just one of those dancers with a bit of a husky voice. Just take a few swigs of bourbon, put your meat through the hole, and let me take care of you, bro."

Erik knelt down and picked up the flask, noting the small, slender legs and lower body of as weasel before standing back up and chugging down the contents. Erik's vision bled into a Technicolor haze as the weasel's cocktail flowed through his system, cutting loose his inhibitions and higher brain functions.

Finding himself much more eager, Erik lined up his now 20" cock with the glory hole, the stallion giving a drunken giggle as he spoke.

"You...you gonna be able to handle this much meat, little weasel?"

Clyde's comparatively miniscule member grew hard at the sight of the monstrous amount of meat that was jutting through the wall, the stallion's challenging words like ambrosia to his sexual desires.

"Oh, don't worry, buddy. I can handle it just fine."

Without wasting another word, Clyde pawed and massaged the stallion's massive cock, the sensation of his eager paws driving Erik to loudly chuff with delight. It had be sooooo long since any pair of paws graced his shaft that weren't his own, and he was hungry for more.

With no physical way to actually place the gargantuan cock into his maw, Clyde lick and stroked its great length, the weasel's eager tongue slathering the great length as he ran his narrow face against it, worshiping every inch of the turgid, musky pole.

Erik's groaned with pleasure, his thoughts all but gone, save for the joy of having his stallionhood worshiped like it was when he was a High school stud.

"More..." Erik moaned, "Give me more!"

Clyde smiled as the straight stallion begged for more. He loved when the poor straight boys broke down, putting themselves at the mercy of a cock-sucker like him. His technique and his drugs were working their magic, the poor, pent-up pony was putty in his pre-cum soaked hands.

Clyde eagerly worked his tongue into Erik's gaping cock-slit, the weasel's snout lightly burying itself into the bulbous flare as he slathered the inside of the stallion's cock with glee.

Erik chuffed hard. The previously unknown sensation of having his piss-slit probed was madness making, the sheer pleasure driving him into a lustful fury. Erik began thrusting his hips into the wall, encouraging the weasel to dig a little bit deeper and scratch the insatiable itch of lust that was growing deep in his cantaloupe sized balls.

Clyde sputtered as his face was wedged into the stallion's cockhead, the horse's copious amounts of pre-cum filling his mouth and splattering on the dingy, tiled floor. Clyde's irritation was palpable as the horse bucked back and forth, driving the weasel's snout in and out of the mewling pisslit like a sounding rod.

"Hey, buddy," Clyde choked out as he pulled his head free from the horses cock. "Just calm down over there, and let me work my magic. Just, you know, be still."

Erik rested his hips against the wall, desperately waiting for the weasel to return to his duties. Clyde, brushing off the embarrassment of losing control of the situation, began to lick at the horse's cockslit again, teasing the poor horse for his insubordination.

Erik's knees twitched as the weasel continued, his brain on the edge of blackout as the drugs danced with the alcohol in his system, bringing the poor, teased stallion to the edge of consciousness and patience. "Just one, monstrous orgasm," his mind told him. "And then we'll let you rest."

Clyde eagerly groped at his own member as he worked his muzzle back into Erik's slit, the weasel's focus on his own pleasure making him ignorant to the fact that Erik was unconsciously moving his hips away from the stall wall and drawing Clyde closer to the gloryhole, in his lust, Clyde was unaware that he was moving forward, inch by inch, to keep up with the horses flared cockhead.

Erik whinnied, the itch burning in his loins as they begged for release. Years of celibacy, hours of teasing by beautiful felines, and now his only means of release refused to dig deeper for his pleasure. Taking control for the first time since his marriage, Erik drove his hips hard into the stall wall in an attempt to get the weasel to be less stingy, and scratch his undying itch.

Clyde's eyes went wide as the cockhead pulled back away from his muzzle, only to come roaring back with a vengeance. The weasel barely had time to scream as the bloated cocktip rammed into his muzzle, the slick, musky cocktube enveloping his head down to his shoulders.

"Hnnnngggggg," Erik bellowed, the weasel's head and neck bloating his cock as they were eagerly slurped up, the sensation of stretched urethra flooding him with pleasure unknown.

"More!" Erik's drug addled mind demanded. "MORE!"

Erik began to fuck the wall hard, his cock eagerly glomming over the svelte weasel like a hungry snake with each violent, desperate buck of the stallion's hips.

Clyde panicked and howled as he felt his hips begin to slide into the stallion's squelching, undulating cock.

"What the fuck are you doing? Stop! Stop you fucking psycho!"

Erik heard nothing as he huffed and panted, sweat rolling down his chubby frame as his cock bulged and wriggled with more and more of the once prideful weasel, his body desperate to get him just a bit farther in, the sexual itch seeming to move deeper into his cock as the stallion unconsciously rammed the weasel down his cum-coated meat-tube.

The slick, sticky darkness filled Clyde's nostrils and mouth, dragging the now helpless weasel closer to his tomb with each sickening, sopping squelch of the horse's hungry dick. Clyde bucked violently as the tip of the stallion's cock slithered over his ankles. "This isn't happening!" His mind shrieked, "Kick harder! If you get him to cum, he'll slide you back out!"

Erik howled as he felt the heavy wriggling deep in his cock, the weasel's desperate fight only serving to drag him faster and deeper towards the stallion's hungry, needy sack. Erik bucked hard enough to work the screws loose on the stall wall, desperate to scratch the itch before his mind completely blacked out from the booze, drugs, and pleasure.

Clyde began to sob as he felt his tail tip slurped up by stallion's cock, dragging him away from the cold, squalid bathroom and into the hot, squelching tube before dumping his worthless, slender body into the stallion's eager nutsack.

Erik roared as he felt the itch in his nuts finally satiate, his once hefty nuts ballooning to the size of exercise balls as his testicles greedily wrapped around their delicious meal with manic pleasure. Erik stumbled back from the gloryhole as his vision went dark, the stallion flopping onto the toilet seat in exhaustion, his freakishly bloated balls spilling comfortable across the cool tile as Erik blacked out on the spot.

Clyde weakly bucked and fidgeted inside the stallion's distended scrotum, the oppressive heat combined with the vise-like clenching was squeezing every last ounce of fight out of him. As the stallion's nuts slowly kneaded and tenderized him, eager to break the weasel down into cum, Clyde whimpered and sobbed. He spent the last few years of his life bringing straight men to their knees with his twisted con and his drugs, and now he was going to be nothing but a thick batch of hot horse seed. Clyde shuddered as his world went dark. "I...I deserve better than this..." he sobbed with his last breath before finally giving in to the stallion's hungry, voracious nutsack.

---

Erik awoke in the dingy bathroom with a splitting headache and an aching, throbbing nutsack. With a pained groan, the stallion sat forward, clutching his dazed head in his paws.

What...what the hell happened last night? He thought to himself, disoriented by his filthy surroundings. "How the hell did I end up here?"

Before Erik could gather his bearings, his morning wood sprung up, the massive cock giving him a tap on the snout as it jutted to attention. Erik's balls ached as he wiped the grogginess from his eyes, the over-ripe watermelons that were his testicles sat fat and heavy on the floor, having churned the weasel into a thick, burbling soup of cum in the middle of the night.

The need to relieve his blue-balls ran dominate in Erik's mind. He didn't know why his nuts they were so grotesquely swollen, and at this point, he didn't care. His balls screamed to be drained, and he couldn't deny them any longer.

With vigorous paws, Erik jacked the entire length of his massive shaft, the bulbous head flaring and his weasel-saturated nuts pulling up tight as he goaded his throbbing length to dispense its creamy load. Erik panted as he felt the pressure as the base of his taint; his ducts swelling painfully tight as they began to fill with an enormous load of former weasel.

Copious amounts of pre-cum spilled out of Erik's flared head as he desperately pawed at his turgid stallionhood, his paws sliding faster and harder as the semen coated and lubricated the shaft, bringing the poor horse painfully close to release.

Erik clenched his eyes shut as he felt his balls pull up tight and his cock flare, his massive, powerful balls groaning in relief as they began to pump gallons of liquefied weasel into the shaft, delighted to dispense with their former meal and bring him back into the world in a more fitting form.

Erik howled as he ejaculated like a fire hose. Stream after thick, goopy stream of former weasel blew into the stall. Erik's cock throbbed and undulated as it pumped gallon after gallon of hot, sticky ropes of cum onto the walls of the stall, coating nearly every inch of the surface with creamy-white semen. Erik panted and shuddered as his cock continued its release well into the 20 second mark, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he lost all perception, save for the glorious pleasure brought about by his dam break of an orgasm.

Erik leaned back in bliss, forcing his bloated, pumping cock to spray its last creamy gallon of cum onto the ceiling. With one final pump, Erik's thick cock gave a light burp as it shot out the weasel's undigested vest, the ejaculating force spackling it onto the ceiling as the thick, sticky cum clung to the surface, the fluid thick and vicious, refusing to drip down but rather hang like thick, white stalactites.

His unrepentant orgasm having subsided, Erik came crashing back to reality and his crushing hangover. The stallion looked over the cum-saturated room and his anxiety grew. Panicking, he hiked up his khakis--now ill-fitting due to the extra plumpness in his balls--and made his exit.

Vague, hazy memories of last night rolled through his head as he slogged through the thick, white semen on the floor and fumbled for the stall latch. All the beautiful girls....something about a weasel...and the vestigial feeling of getting the best blowjob of his life. Flustered and nervous, Erik nearly ran out of the bathroom, desperate to get home before his wife and kids returned from vacation, praying he would be able to simply forget and repress whatever it was that happened last night.

As the sound of Erik's car starting up outside resonated through the cold, tiled bathroom, the thick spackle of cum that coated the ceiling let loose of the weasel's vest, causing it to fall to the ground with a wet, sloppy plop. The once thick, heavy ropes of cum were breaking down and becoming more liquid, causing the walls and ceiling to drip and ooze with the runny remains of the weasel as it deliquesced into a less viscous form.

The once proud, talented con-artist was nothing more than gallons of spent horse seed on a soiled bathroom floor. He would be missed by no one, save for the disgruntled janitor's mop that would surely be greeting him soon.

-End