No CGI (male) 3
Story by Tagenar on SoFurry
{It's always a good sign when your over-muscled dinosaur boyfriend wants you to meet his friends.}
No CGI (male) 3
by tagenar (https://www.furaffinity.net/user/tagenar | https://tagenar.sofurry.com/)
{It's always a good sign when your over-muscled dinosaur boyfriend wants you to meet his friends.}
“I'm sorry, ma'am," you say into the receiver. “Visiting hours are Monday through Thursday from ten to six, and then Saturday from noon to five. ... I can't make an appointment. You need the visiting department. I can connect you. ... I understand your frustration, ma'am, but I cannot make the appointment. That is a different department. Let me connect you to them. ... You won't have to call back. I can transfer you to visiting. ... No, ma'am, I can't make those appointments, but I can transfer—"
Finally you tap the receiver and dial the proper extension to transfer the call. You take a breath.
The phone rings again. You pick up, hoping it's not the same lady.
“Corrections Facility, how may I direct your call? ... You will need a guest pass for that. I can have the forms mailed to you. You will need to submit a copy of your photo ID and proof of address. ... A bank statement or a utility bill. ... I understand it's an inconvenience, but this is procedure. ... I'm sorry, sir, but there is no way to obtain one immediately. All of it goes through the State of Ohio. ... It will not impact your credit score. ... My supervisor is off today, but if you call back tomorrow— ... Sir. Sir, do you still wish me to send you the forms? All I need is an address and they will be there within five business days. ... Sir— ... Sir— ... There is nowhere else to transfer you to. It's all through the mail. I can't issue the pass, but I can send you the forms. Do you wish me to send you the forms? ... Sir— ... Sir— ... I understand your frustration. ... Sir-"
*
Lunch break. You have never been to the prison cafeteria inside the more secure area. Only the breakroom for administrative staff, which requires less security.
You only have a Hot Pocket for lunch. It's filling enough for you to survive until you can escape for the day. You eye the phone on the wall. One of the secretaries is using it. It's the only phone that's safe to make personal calls on, as an outgoing number to the dinosaur district may very well alert someone on a monitored line.
Finally she is done chatting with her husband or boyfriend and hangs up. As soon as she is gone you get up and pull the paper from your pocket. You dial R's number.
Answering machine.
Now that you think about it, you never asked him what he does for money between acting jobs. You wonder if he has a day-job.
“R, it's ___. I had a great time last night. I'm up to meet again if you want. Anywhere. Just name the time and place. Bye."
You hang up, and for a brief instant you realize you just called a dinosaur, and you are hard thinking about him. You smile and take a seat again. Still a few bites of the Hot Pocket left.
When you return to the desk, your coverage has a line of eight people waiting to be checked in and cleared for legal visits. A small group wants to do a math presentation to a bunch of inmates. You can't imagine why, but their papers are in order except for one detail, and they do not want to hear about this detail, even as you explain you will get in trouble with your supervisor if this detail is not fixed...
The next person in line hasn't filled out any of the paperwork, but he demands to see his daughter. He also hasn't made an appointment with the visiting department.
It's a long day.
*
One message on your answering machine when you get home. You hit the button.
<Hey, ___. It's R. I'll -e at the clu- again around five. -ight -e -eeting a few friends. Find -e if you're up to it. [_Growl.] I told the- a-out you. They -ant to -eet you, too.>
You were hoping to meet him at his place again, but the club sounds really, really, really nice right now. You change out of your work clothes and into something more casual but not certainly nothing to draw attention to yourself. After all, you are not trying to pick anyone up.
At about six, you are once again until the dim neon and UV lights. Normally you only come here once a week, so this is a bit of a splurge. You scan the room and instantly recognize the orange scales. R is with two dinosaurs, at a booth that has no table. R and one of the other raptors are lying across the seats. The third is lying where the table should be, facing the other two. You walk straight through the crowd, ignoring the twinks swinging around the poles.
R sees you approaching and waves. The other two raptors turn to you. The one lying on the floor has solid white scales except for the yellow circles around his eyes. The one sitting on the booth has dark green scales with white stripes up the fingers and along his flanks.
You assume the other two are male, as this isn't usually a place women come. They have a club of their own a few streets over.
You stand among them. The other two theropods sniff you from a distance.
“This is ___," R says, tail thumping the seat. “[M]eet X." He gestures to white scales, lying on the floor. “And E." He gestures to the green-scaled raptor occupying the rest of the booth. “I tried to get the[m] [p]arts in Jurassic [P]ark, too, [b]ut the [b]est I could do was _Carnosaur_."
“Carno-what?" you say, feeling a little intimidated having three sets of predator eyes on you.
X speaks from the floor. “[b]-[m]ovie [p]roduced by Roger Cor[m]an. Terri[b]le story, and the cine[m]atography [m]ade us look [b]ad, [b]ut it [p]aid."
E speaks next. “I read the [b]ook after [p]roduction wra[pp]ed. It's [p]ul[p]. It's the sa[m]e [p]lot [b]ut it [p]redates Jurassic [P]ark, and all the dinosaurs do is run around eating [p]eo[p]le. [M]akes me [w]onder if Crichton was a ri[p]off. The [m]ovie doesn't even do half of what the [b]ook did. We were there! We could have done all of it, [b]ut the writers gotta [f]uck it up."
“A Holly[w]ood tradition," R says, bumping noses with E, who licks him in return.
R pats the seat between himself and E. “They know your eyes are o[p]en, so don't [b]e shy."
You step around X and sit in the middle of three dinosaurs. Now you can tell exactly how big R is compared to “normal" Utahraptors. X seems lanky by comparison, and E looks pudgy around the belly. You are so used to R's abdominal muscles it never occurred to you raptors might not have them.
Six eyes are on you. Three noses are scenting you. You wrap an arm around R's neck, and he lowers his head to your lap. You stroke him like a cat, and now you feel you belong here.
“Did he tell you I'm a paparazzi spy trying to dig up dirt on celebrities?"
E and X huff and shake heads.
X: “No, [b]ut I wouldn't [b]e sur[p]rised."
E: “I don't have anything. [b]est I can get is B-[m]ovie roles. I was this close to stardo[m] once though. [W]as in a su[p]erhero [m]ovie. Cor[m]an did _Fantastic Four_. [W]as so a[m]azed they let [m]e [p]lay the villain. I should've known it was too good to [b]e true. [M]ovie never got released."
“Someone did The Fantastic Four?" you ask as R nuzzles your crotch and scents you through your pants while you stroke his scaly head.
“It's an ashcan [m]ovie," E replies. “Don't think it'll ever see light of day. I had lines and everything as Doctor Doom, and it hasn't landed [m]e any other [p]arts. Fuck the[m]."
R is undoing your pants and squeezing your cock. You are almost certain it's bad manners to do this in public, but nobody cared last time you went down on him. X and E are looking on, eagerly straining their necks forward. R pulls your dick out and makes a gesture with his head.
X stands up, and E rises from his seat. R lifts his head from your lap, opening you up to the other two. Both raptors hop halfway over you, bracing themselves on the back of the booth. You have a full view of their underbellies, and they are pushing their hips toward you so you can see their slits. Neither of them is dripping.
R is tapping your leg with his claws. “Oh, look at that, two eager slits. I [m]ay have told the[m] how [m]uch you like [m]ine."
“Bastard," you say. “Bu-u-u-ut..."
X and E move in close. Their undersides are all you can see, and their slits are inches from your face. You reach under both of them and feel between their legs. Their scales hang a bit looser compared to R's, and their muscles do give to the touch, which makes R seem even more of an outlier.
Something hits you.
Scents.
No visible lube—clearly they are not as horny as R—but something nonetheless. It's not quite the same as R's slit but it's familiar.
“Oooh that's..."
You take a lick of E's slit. His legs buckle, and the tip of a cock peeks. You then take a lick of X's slit. He keeps composure, but his tip also slides out.
“That's weird," you say. “R's smell feels thick. The two of you seem... leaner. Not sure how else to say it, but..." You take a few more licks of each of them. At first you think you are going to give head to two dinosaurs at once right here in public, but just as their dicks are sliding out, both of them hop down and stand before you, claws folded, looking at one another and then at R.
X: “Shit, you weren't kidding!"
E: “This one's eager!"
R rubs your cheek with his head as he fondles your dick, hiding it from view with his hand. “Told you. ___ is the real deal. We fucked for hours last night. I think I'll kee[p] hi[m]."
“I [w]ould," says E.
X bumps noses with you. “___, you are a freak. Hu[m]ans can't stand our slits. Your eyes are o[p]en? You can see us everywhere?"
You smile as you bring R's muzzle up to yours and kiss him lightly on his orange muzzle. “I watched the news today. TV in the breakroom is set to NBC. I saw dinosaurs walking in the background of a few city parts. You know, where they're interviewing people on the street."
X lowers his muzzle and scents your cock. R parts his fingers so he can smell it better, and then X rises to eye level. “[M]ost of the [p]eo[p]le at this club re[m]e[m]ber us as hu[m]an. Nice to [m]eet a [m]a[mm]al who can see."
X lies on the floor again.
E rubs noses with you and then roosts across the other end of the booth. “What do you think, R? Should we let hi[m] see the co[mm]unity stuff?"
R gives your dick a discreet lick and then covers it with his hand again. “I think he'll see it anyway. I have a feeling he'll be at my [p]lace a lot."
You let your hand wander down to his shoulders, solid granite compared to the dinosaurs you just felt up. “I was hoping to meet you at your place. God knows nothing's happening where I am."
You notice Lawrence walking by. He is wearing nothing but a bow-tie and a pair of shorts today, obviously trying to make his gym membership pay. You wave. This booth has no table but it does have a few surfaces on top of the booth for drinks. The gymrat human approaches the booth, arms and chest in motion and delicious. You wonder how this looks from his point of view: a human with his dick out between three raptors, one of whom has more muscle on him than an action hero.
“___," Lawrence says as he stands just beside X. “I see you've met some of our other guests. Tell me, are your eyes open now?"
You laugh. “I'll never look at Ghostbusters the same way again. Martini, please. Same as yesterday."
Lawrence nods. “I can do that. Anything for you guys, or will you be having _him_?"
Three distinct growls, R's other hand wrapping around your back, and now you feel E's hand on your thigh.
“[b]ottle of olive oil," X says. “Not the cooking stuff. The good shit, and two glasses. S[p]litting it with E. [P]ut the [m]artini on [m]y ta[b], too." X turns to you. “Any hu[m]an that eager to [w]ork [m]y slit deserves one on [m]e."
You try to reach out to him but you are not sure what the proper reply is. Petting him seems condescending, but it's all you can do from here. He opens his mouth and bites your fingers, just enough to feel his teeth but not enough to pucker the skin. You smile. Perhaps it was the correct response, for X releases your hand, licking his lips.
“I'll have a [b]arolo," R says. “Whole [b]ottle."
Lawrence gives his arms and chest a quick flex for you and maybe for the dinosaurs, and then retreats.
You turn to R. “You drink wine?"
“Nah, I don't drink. I just sniff."
“Sniff?!" you shout.
R huffs in your face. “I like how wine s[m]ells. Drinking it does nothing for me. Dinosaurs don't drink alcohol. Eating [p]lants gets us so[m]ething like the sa[m]e effect."
“You're just going to _sniff_ a barolo?"
R nuzzles you. “Are you a wine ex[p]ert?"
“No, but I know a barolo is not something you just sniff."
“Tell you what then. I sniff. You lick. And I have a fridge at ho[m]e full of wine you can drink for [m]e after I get high off it."
“You do? Where?"
“It's in the kitchen. You didn't see it?"
“No, I missed it."
“I'll show you [m]y collection later. I only have three [p]ricey [b]ottles. The rest are good for huffing and nothing else."
“You really just sniff it and...?"
“I toss it. Once it loses its s[m]ell it's no good to [m]e. One thing I love about hu[m]anity. You [p]roduce things that s[m]ell a[m]azing."
X curls his neck. “I'm [p]artial to candles. I [m]ust have a cou[p]le hundred lining the floor. Every scent you can i[m]agine. I never light the[m]. They fill my flat with so [m]any s[m]ells, and they feel like ho[m]e."
E then relates how he is partial to automotive smells. He was drawn to them as a hatchling, hanging around garages and oil change places. That's how he got a job as a mechanic. He liked the smell of oil and gasoline so much he decided to make that his career.
They ask you what your home smell is.
You waffle for over a minute, unsure how to reply, when your drinks arrive. Lawrence makes a big show of opening R's Italian wine, using every single muscle in his arms and chest to pull the cork and pour the first glass. He always earns his tips. In fact, the whole reason this place started offering wine was because of Lawrence, so he could show off. Sure enough, people started buying wine.
Lawrence also makes good martinis, and you are impressed with R's oversized glass. R sniffs it, and you can see his slit leak as a direct result. You ask for the glass and you inspect. You are no expert on wine, but you know the difference between a pinot noir and a barolo, and this is indeed tart and astringent. You take a sip and confirm it is good wine. R knows it, too, and he has more words to describe what he's getting out of it. Most of the words are in his native language, which you have never heard before.
R sniffs his wine as if to consume it by inhaling. Then he passes it to you to sip. You almost forget your martini, and you suspect it's a bad pairing, but you notice the raptors are inching closer. You take sips of their olive oil. It's tangy and smooth, certainly not for cooking, and you wonder if it was made for dinosaurs to drink. If so, shouldn't that be promoted on the bottle?
The more they drink, the more they lapse in and out of their native language as you feel three sets of claws on your dick and you are nuzzling three different muzzles as they tell you what it's like to work for Roger Corman.
Their scents are different, and you realize it's because all three of them are dripping.
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4539730.James\_L\_Steele