M A R
A N A T H A
Copyright Osfer, November 2004
All rights reserved.
May only be distributed for free.
May not be altered in any way.
Contains material of an erotic and homosexual nature which
may be illegal to read in your country, state, province or region.
The author takes no responsibility for transgressions on the
part of the reader
Comments welcome at osfer.kesh@gmail.com.
Available on paperback in 2006
Mail the author for information, join the mailing list or visit Osfer.com!
~ Enjoy. ~
Chapter II -- As Told By Owen Zelazny
My footpads are aching like a motherfucker by the time I get
to where I'm going. I know there's plenty of people who like to go bare-pawed
and they're probably used to it, but the hard, rough pavement is really
starting to hurt my feet.
It took me close to an hour to get to the corner of 45th and
McCullough, where Malloy lives. It's starting to get busier on the streets and
the people in this part of town aren't as obsessed with minding their own
business as the slums we call Bricktown, so I'm feeling really out of place in
my raincoat. I cross the street, not bothering to look around since there's no
traffic yet and beat on the door of the pawn shop under Malloy's apartment.
"Hey! Open up!"
"Fuck off and die!" comes a voice from inside.
It's high-pitched and screaming. I wince at the thought of having to face
Anezka, the lioness who owns the pawn shop, when she's pissed off like this,
but the times are desperate. I bang again.
"Come on, open up! `s Owen!"
There's silence on the inside and then the sound of the
door's bolt being opened. Anezka, all of sixteen years of age but tougher than
me and Malloy put together, opens the door with no clothes on.
"Owen," she says sweetly, wrapping her arms around my neck in a tight
hug that forces me to stoop down. "Malloy's out looking for you. He was
worried sick," she says, walking into the dark, scrappy pawn shop. From
behind the counter, a tall wolf is pulling his pants up, looking sheepish.
"Hey, stud, I'm not finished with you," she snaps at him. "Pick
me up at eight and booze me up and I"ll let you try again, got it?"
The older wolf mutters something to the effect that he
understands and pulls his plaid shirt back on and as he passes me on his way
out we make brief eye contact: it's the wolf from the Dive's bathroom. His eyes
widen in surprise and he nearly falls over himself as he hurries out the door
and slams it shut behind him.
"You wanna finish what he started?" Anezka asks,
and you can never be quite certain if she's joking or serious, and if she'll be
offended if you get it wrong. "You charge twenty-five bucks, right?"
"Love to, Nezzy," I say, pulling off the raincoat
and tossing it aside. "But I got a bit of a problem. Think you can look at
it for me, maybe?"
She looks at me quizically as she pulls her clothes on --
black latex pants and a stretchy lycra tube top. Pretty damn hot, for a chick.
"If Li'l Owen's sick, you should have a quack take a look at him. I'm
nowhere near as good with meat as I am with metal."
I waggle my eyebrows at her as I walk past her, through the
open vault-like door into the pawn shop office, separated from the shop
entrance by bullet-proof glass and a rotating compartment so items can be
exchanged between the customer and the shop owner. "That's just it,"
I say and plonk myself down on the counter in front of the glass, unbuckle my
leathers and flash her a good look at that thing on my dick.
"Whoa," says Anezka as she takes a seat in the
swivel-chair in front of me, pushing my thighs apart. She grabs my balls and
lifts them up, ducking her head low to look at the metal band around them. Then
she drops them and pulls over one of them magnifying glasses with a light in
`em, stuck on a mechanical arm, you know the thing. She positions it over my
groin. "Lean back on the glass, relax. This is going to take me a little
while."
She kicks of against the desk and slides her chair over to
one of the metal cabinets behind her, opening one. She dumps the toolbox she
pulls out of there next to me and rummages inside. "How did you end up
with this?" she asks, producing some kind of sensor probe. She holds the
main unit in one hand, turning the dials on it till the little LCD screen reads
0.00 and then touches the probe at the end of the cable to the metal thing,
first to the top, then to the little ridge below it, then along the side.
"Some weird readings... Seems to emit a faint signal when I bring the
probe near it..."
"So, can you tell what it is?" I ask hopefully.
Anezka glares up at me, lifting an eyeridge. "It's a
fucking cock-cage made of metal, what does it look like? Here," she adds
and waves a screwdriver in front of my face. "Bite down on this."
Fuck. This is gonna hurt. Still, Anezka knows her stuff, so
I take the screwdriver's handle between my jaws, and not a moment too soon.
Anezka grabs my nuts and squeezes them fucking hard and it feels--well, if
you're a guy you know how it feels. It feels a wee mite peculiar, you might
say.
It's while I'm sitting there, gnawing on a screwdriver
whining like a fucking puppy, gripping the edge of the counter with
white-knuckled fists that the door opens again and somebody comes in.
"Hey, Owen! There you are! You lettin' Anezka blow you again? You really
ought to stop giving that girl discounts or she'll never learn how to hook a
man. She's a lioness, for fuck's sake, she needs those skills."
Anezka's head comes up from my groin, shooting daggers at
the dog that just walked in. "I'm not blowing him, cockbitch. Do you
recognise this?" she asks, beckoning him over. Giving me a concerned look,
Malloy walks into the office and closes the door behind him. It slams closed
really heavily, the room even shakes when the door bolts in place.
"Ooh, nice toy, man. What's it for?" he asks as he
spots the gleaming metal between my thighs, kneeling down next to Anezka to
take a look.
She tugs even harder on my balls, pulling them to one side.
I'm trying to inhale through my clenched lungs so I can't even groan to let her
know how much it fucking hurts. "It's not just for show, look. See the
ring around his nutsack? There's pins sticking into the skin." A portion
of the wooden rim of the counter splinters in my grasp and both of them look up
at me. "Shit!" says Anezka, letting go of my precious danglers.
"Sorry, I forgot I had them.."
I cover my groin with my hands and bend over and heave deep,
deep breaths and wipe the drool from my lips. "That's okay, Nezzy, but if
you wake up in an alley with one of these on your clit, I get first dibs
checking it out." She sticks her tongue out at me and starts putting her
tools back in the box. "Hey, wait, aren't you gonna take it off?"
She shakes her head and I give her my puppy eyes. "No,
really. This is some high-tech stuff you've got there, some kinda nifty alloy.
There's nothing I can do short of taking all your bits off, man. You'll just
have to pray that it's got some kind of unlocking system. It's a good bet that
it does, that black glass plate at the base, just above your balls, looks like
it could be a biometric sensor." Malloy and I look at her all goofy-like,
both of us unintentionally canting our heads like dogs do when they're
confused. Malloy's a dobie, so for him it's natural, but it's a little
embarrassing for me. "Fingerprint scanner."
"Solved!" says Malloy and claps his hands
together. "All we gotta do is get the guy who put this on you to stick his
thumb on there, Bob's your uncle. So, Owen, where do we go?"
I puff up my cheeks and blow some air out, swinging my legs
back and forth beneath the countertop. "I've kinda lost some memories,
dude. I checked the date on my way over and I've got a gap in my head of about
three days."
"You sure?" Malloy asks, showing no signs of
greater than usual surprise, grabbing my balls again as well as the metal
thing, giving it a few tugs. It feels none too comfortable, but I let him check
me out. He's got a keen mind, Malloy has, and sharp senses. It can't hurt,
having him take a look, even if it, you know, hurts. "I saw you just last night
in that Chinese eatery. You called me up and said you were feeling horny like
nobody's business and if I could maybe get you something to dull that a bit. I
scrounged up some paxadril from my buddy the apothecary and you dropped three
capsules while we were having dinner, but even if you took more than that, pax
isn't something you can OD on. You told me not to ask and that you'd explain
later." Malloy stands up and leans forward, putting his hands on my
thighs. He glances over his shoulder to see Anezka putting away the tool box
again. "You for real with the amnesia thing, mate? You know you don't need
to fool me, even if Nezzy can't know," he whispers, sounding a little
hurt.
"I'm for real, bud. I don't remember having dinner with
you and I don't remember how I got this. I'd tell ya if I did," I whisper
back and I feel all warm when I see him smile at me. I don't have many friends,
and nobody I trust as much as Malloy, so it's good to know we're still on the
level.
"That's all I need to hear, pal. We'll figure this
out." He pets me on the cheek and smiles, then reaches down between my
legs again. "Here, let's see... It couldn't be that simple, could
it?" the dog says, his thick English accent always thickening when he's
genuinely surprised at something. He reaches down and presses his thumb against
the black glass plate. Anezka comes right on over and all three of us watch as
a green line appears at the top of the glass plate, moves down to scan Malloy's
thumb. Then the whole plate glows red and then the whole goddamned world goes
red as a bright flash of pain spreads from my groin to every nerve in my body.
It lasts only a fraction of a second but it's enough to faze me and when I
recover, breathing hard, I see Anezka standing a pace away from me, rubbing her
bare belly and Malloy right up against the side wall, clutching his abdomen,
doubled over.
I think I kicked them, maybe, out of reflex. "Er, sorry
guys," I mutter weekly, folding my ears and looking down at my groin. The
metal casing feels warm and there's some faint smoke coming off the ring around
my balls.
"Meh, you kick like a girl," says Anezka and
lightly punches me on the arm, licking her chops.
Malloy tries to put a brave face on his situation, but it's
clear I got him right good. It kind of makes me proud and sorry at the same
time and my ears do a funny up-down dance that I just can't seem to stop.
"Okay, guess I'm not authorised to give you back the use of your dick. Try
it yourself, Owen. Nezzy, stand back."
I bark at him, glaring. "The fuck! D'you know how much
that hurt?"
"Can't say I do, mate, but you can risk another jolt or
you can live with that thing on. Let me ask you, though..." Oh, fuck, here
it comes. He's got that assholey grin he gets when he knows he's got an
undisputable point he's about to make. "Have you taken a piss yet?"
I look down at it, at the smooth metal surface covering the
top of my sheath and briefly I have a vision of the Sisters back in school
explaining how our Lord Jesus Christ was crucified and how the Romans would
bind crucifixion victims with a rag around their genitals, prohibiting them
from urinating so their bladders would burst inside their stomach cavities and
they'd suffer infection-fevers during their time on the cross.
"Fine," I say, baring a fang at the self-absorbed dog who knows when
he's right and really likes to make a point of it.
Blowing out a breath and snorting in a fresh one I brace
myself. Malloy and Nezzy each take a step back to stay out of kicking distance.
I press my thumb to the pad, upside-down by necessity, but the thing seems to
recognise it and the green scanline moves from the bottom of the panel to the
top, then the panel turns blue and I get ready for another jolt... Instead I
feel something weird in my dick, something warm and there's a soft click and
both Anezka and Malloy dart forward to inspect my groin as the top cap of the
metal encasement pops open on a hidden hinge, revealing, sadly, not the rim of
my sheath but another metal surface. Exccept this has two little spouts on
them, each with a spiral striation around the base for something to screw on
to. "What the fuck?"
"Looks like this is how you're supposed to piss,"
says Anezka, ever the engineer. "Standard five-millimeter bolt required,
I've got a few hoses with that kind of fixture. Why are there two,
though?"
"Piss and cum, at a guess." Malloy fingers the two
nozzles. "So with these he can just let loose?"
Nezzy shakes her head, scratching her smooth, gold-furred
neck. "The nozzle is a pressure-valve. If he lets it flow now it'll just
blowback, or worse." I look at her with concern. What's blowback, when it
happens in your bladder? And what's worse than blowback? "Screw on a hose
and the valve unseals. It's just a question of figuring out which is
which." She goes off, tail swaying over those latex-clad thighs and
returns with a small black rubber hose. "Here. Go into the bathroom and
try it out."
I accept the hose with more than a few mixed feelings on all
of this. I'm used to humiliation, it's my bread and butter, but this... Malloy
isn't helping either, the dog's got a fist pressed to his lips and doing a
piss-poor job of concealing his giggles. "Right, my dignity and I are
gonna take a piss and you can fuck off while I'm doing it," I say,
buckling up my leathers before I hop off the countertop and walk through the
door at the back of the small shop office.
Some among you may be interested in hearing the details of
what happened in the bathroom, but I'm just not interested in talking about it.
It's an unsavoury subject and not fit for kids' ears. Suffice to say, both
Malloy and Nezzy heard me howl when I fixed the hose to the wrong nozzle first
(whatever blowback is, it's really bad) but when I got it right and realised
just how much I needed to go... It sounds weird, but it was the best piss I
ever took. I deposited Holloway and the junkie's cum while I was at it and
flushed it all away, my usual bathroom ritual, eventually stepping out into the
hallway feeling somewhat refreshed.
"Finally done?" asks Malloy, who's just coming
down the stairs past the door to Alice's room, the stairs leading to his
apartment. I smile wryly at him and turn my head to hear Nezzy's voice coming
from the shop proper. She's on the phone with someone, prattling away.
"No, it's got it's own power-supply. What? How the fuck
should I know? Nuclear battery, zero-point energy, a fucking warp core, I don't
know. Listen, you fuck, if you ever want a chance to make up for that really pitiful
ride last weekend you'll fucking well find the fuck out who could fucking
engineer something like this. Fucker," she adds sweetly and hung up.
Malloy grinned and pats me on the shoulder. "Nice
leathers, by the way. Where'd you get `em?" he asks, pulling on a
snug-fitting leather jacket. "Actually, I think this'd look better on
you," he decides and pulls it off again, handing it to me. "It's not
mine, anyway. I got it off some Heat-head who didn't have enough cash to buy a
hit and gave me this instead. Great fucking deal, I think."
I accept the gift without question. We've known each other
long enough that we can skip the `No, I can't possibly' -- `Please, I insist!'
rigamarole. "Polar bear, was he?" I ask with a smirk and Malloy slaps
me on the shoulder, understanding, then, why it looks like the jacket and pants
go so well together. "I'm gonna take a shower, if that's okay?"
"Course," he replies. "I left my door open
for you. And, er, Owen? Do help yourself to the soap," he says in a soft,
low voice, tapping the side of his snout conspiratorially as he gives a sniff.
I must smell pretty bad, for Malloy to comment on it. I can't tell, myself, but
then, my sense of smell's been a little off since I woke up in that alley.
"I'm going to go down to the Dive, see if I can piece together where you
went after you left that night, and to the Dong Ma to see if anybody remembers
what happened to you after I left you to your meal yesterday. Chill out, I'll
be back soon."
I nod to him and grab him by the crotch as he passes.
"Two freebies every Monday for a month if you help me figure this
out," I say to him without any funny looks. It's the closest I can get to
telling him how much I appreciate having him on my side without going all sappy.
Besides, Malloy's a good fuck and has a damned nice cock for sucking so it's
not like it'll be a chore. He gets what I mean and nods, giving my hand a hump
before he pushes past me, heads through the pawn shop office and yells a
greeting to Anezka on his way out.
I bound up the stairs and push through the door at the top,
thoughtfully left open by my canine friend on his way out. I let it fall closed
and locked and throw the jacket over one of the wooden chairs at the small
square dining table, quickly stripping my pants and tossing them on top of the
jacket. With every passing second I can feel a desperation for cleanliness
growing within me. Worry kept it at bay until I got here, but now I'm here,
with my friends helping me, I can relax. And I can't relax until I'm clean.
Shit, man, I let beggars bone me and not even for money!
I head into the bathroom and slide open the shower cubicle's
frosted-glass door, turning the heat up to the max and close the door while I
wait for the hot water to pump its way up from the boiler in the basement. From
the cup on his sink I pick the `guest toothbrush', the one he lends to the boys
he brings home sometimes. He has a thing for chicken, does Malloy. He'll go for
more mature meat like me, but `there ain't no beatin' a boy's bum', as he likes
to say.
The toothbrush gets covered to suffocation by toothpaste. I
even forget to screw the cap back on the tube, I'm in such a hurry. It tastes
sweet when I shove it in my mouth and start brushing, which probably means I've
had rancid breath all day. Great. There's steam coming from the shower cabin
and I yelp with glee, throwing open the door and turning the cold water up till
I'm pleased with the temperature and dive under the streaming water with the
toothbrush and foam still in my mouth.
Oh, heaven... I continue brushing with one hand and run the
other through my hair, over my chest, over my belly... and over that fucking
metal thing on my groin. I snap the lid back over the nozzles, no sense in
letting any water seep back up my tubes, and focus my attention back where it
belongs: on the joy of washing.
I do the whole thing. Singing, dancing, brushing my teeth
again, washing my hair, shampooing my body fur -- it's not easy to get a good
lather going when there's water streaming on you, but I'm resourceful and
limber so I can reach most parts of my body to give them an up close and
personal scrubbing. The only exception is my dick, but I do my best there too.
I lather up my balls and, biting my lip against the pain, I squeeze them and
pull them to the side as I pull the showerhead off its hook and hold it
upside-down next to my balls, letting the water course up into the encasement
through the gap I make with this little bit of self-inflicted genital torture.
While I'm doing it, I have the odd thought that there are probably folks out
there who'd interpret my little adventures sitting on the pawn shop's
countertop as C&BT, rather than the R&D that it was.
When I'm satisfied I've cleaned inside the metal cocktrap as
much as I can I hang the showerhead back up and spend some more time revelling
in a nice, warm shower and give myself an extra soaping-down as an excuse for
the delay, focusing on the underarms, between my buttocks, my balls... They've
had a rough time of it and they ache a little, which reminds me that the ache I
felt all over my body when I awoke in Bricktown is still there, lurking under
my reverie. Almost the very second I realise this, the brass pipes that form
the water-system in Malloy's apartment give a sudden groan and the spray turns
cold, a trick I really hate. All the warmth of the last half hour, mocked with
a spray of ice-water that'll leave me to dry nice and chilly instead of warm
and happy.
I turn off the water with a shiver and give myself a good
shake to clear the worst of the cold water from my fur, splashing droplets
against the frosted glass walls of the cubicle and when I step out, I pick up
one of the three fluffy bathrobes hanging on the coat-rack I once helped Malloy
drill into the tiled wall of the bathroom. I remember asking him why he wanted
that rack for the bathrobes, instead of just having a tray for towels like most
people. He just shrugged and said he didn't believe in towels. And to stop me
from asking any further he slapped two pulled two tenners out of his wallet and
had me suck his dick for a while, which is a trick he pulls sometimes. But I
never give in. That is to say, I go down on him, sure, and that shuts me up
long enough that I usually forget what I was bugging him about. When I say I
don't give in, I mean I don't give in to the temptation to tell him to fuck
off. He's my friend and I can tell him that, but when there's money on the
table, he's a John and I'm a hustler. To me, at least. I take my work very
seriously.
I enjoy it, sometimes, too, don't get me wrong. Just because
in all the sex I've told you about so far it sucked to be me don't mean it's
like that all the time. Sometimes it'll be months where I go home with a
different guy twice a night and never have enough fun to even get hard,
sometimes there'll be a spell where every guy I service has me at full-mast for
the whole length of the ride. Which, I know, is kinda unprofessional. And when
they really insist I can keep myself from getting hard by pumping out a few
loads beforehand or wearing a ball-clamp to distract me, and even when I do get
hard I don't let myself cum unless the client explicitly asks for it. So don't
go thinking I'm just some slut. I'm a hustler. I'm a pro.
Sometimes there's just somebody that really does it for me,
though. There's this businessdude that comes to town sometime, dark-brown
stallion. Comes to town every couple months. He's some high-falutin' dude at
Sargasso Holdings and has a nice office at that company's building. Whenever
he's in town he calls me up. He can be pretty rough, and amazingly creative. He
really gets off on making me feel humiliated and he'll always find a way, even
if it's something embarrassing like making me wear a twelve-inch butt-plug and
a cock-ring under a tuxedo while he takes me out to some schmancy restaurant. I
don't know what it is about him. He's a big, strong, sexy stud who could snap
me in one hand and Malloy in the other, but I don't usually go for guys like
that. And there's plenty of people that get off on treating me badly and they
never get me hard. There's something about him, though. Something about the way
he treats others, or the way he sees himself that makes that arrogance so sexy.
Another guy that always gets me going is Alice. He's not
exactly a girly-boy, although he's pretty small for a lion his age and he's got
that slightly femmy build feline guys have before their mane starts to fill
out. His name's actually Alei but everybody calls him Alice because, well, it's
funny and the kid can't do much about it. He just turned fifteen and he's a
sexy little thing. He's Anezka's brother, both of them hail from Czechia
originally. Their folks sent Nezzy over when she was nine to live with family,
who turned out to be religious freaks and after she ran away and ended up in
Maranatha, me and Malloy really hit it off with her, coming from such similar
yet wholly different backgrounds.
Alice was only sent over two years ago, so he still has an
accent to his English, but he'd heard from Anezka that the aunt and uncle he
was supposed to live with were freaks so Nezzy got me and Malloy to pick him up
from the airport before the aunt and uncle could pick him up. Odds are, they
hadn't even driven to the airport because he still occasionally calls his folks
back home and it seems that the aunt and uncle call now and again as well,
claiming that he and Nezzy are living with them, an illusion they're all too
happy to support so their folks won't worry.
That stuff don't matter, though. What matters is, he's a
hot, hot, HOT little number. He turned to hustling when he got here, claiming
he'd already slept with a couple of guys for money back home. He's a smart kid,
Alice. He's the only hustler I know, of any age, who saves money in the bank.
Because he's so young he can charge more than a hundred bucks a ride, so now
and again when he has a `big' client to sleep with, he'll rent my services for
a few hours beforehand to warm him up. The poor little tyke's so tight he
sometimes still cries when he gets fucked, so when he thinks it's going to be
particularly hard he'll call me up and I'll drop by his pad, a tiny room in the
attic of a really sweet elderly couple and I'll spend a half-hour easing into
him, just making out and having a good time, and fuck him for another ten
minutes before pulling out and giving him a ride to his John.
I asked him why he hired me, cutting a fifth out of his
earnings when he could just use a dildo instead, and I tell ya, my heart melted
when he looked at me with those pretty eyes and that beautiful smile and told
me that he liked having the memory of me on top of him, so he could carry that
over and pretend I was mounting him instead of the John he was servicing. It
made him more enthusiastic, which the Johns obviously appreciated. For his
birthday I gave him a ride that lasted all afternoon, for free, and I came in
him twice. Until then, I don't think I'd ever shot a load in that pretty kitty.
You should have seen his face when he felt me shooting in him, he hugged me so
hard...
I digress. So yeah, Alice is on the complete opposite end of
the spectrum from that businesstud, I think his name's Ferrum, or maybe that's
just his last name. Right in the middle of that spectrum, though, is my buddy
Malloy. He never bottoms and he never asks me to cum, so I never do. I never
give him feebies, either. It's just sex for sex' sake, you know? The way
straight teenagers'll jerk each other off. But I love it. It's because he's the
odd kind of selfish, in the sack. Most guys are selfish because all they care
about is feeling good, feeling better than their sub.
Not Malloy. He's selfish because he knows whoever's under
him is there because he likes submitting. He's got enough of an ego that
anybody looking for respect from him will turn away in disgust, so by the time
somebody accepts Malloy's beautiful black cock under their tail they like
feeling like a bitch. And he respects that. Not by being considerate, and not
by being civil, but by accepting what the sub's willing to give and making use
of it, making use of them. When he wants to have sex with me he puts money on
the table and tells me what he wants from me, makes me do what he thinks he'll
most enjoy because he understands that it's important for me that he feels
good. It's important for me because I'm a pro and it's important for the boys
he beds because making a guy like him feel good makes them feel desired, makes
them feel sexy and gives them some semblance of self-value that'll keep their
chin up when they have to go back to school and to the torments of the jocks
the next day.
And as I'm thinking of all this, I've made my way over to
the bed. It's in the middle of the apartment -- what Malloy calls a `flat' --
since the place is basically a studio with a bathroom separate, always looking
like it's just recently seen some sex. As it does now. I sniff the black satin
sheets as I climb onto the double bed and roll over, trying to scent who it was
Malloy bedded. Young and feline -- maybe Alice? No, older than that.
My sense of smell is still off, especially as I find myself
catching scent of Malloy's semen...
I'm back in his `flat', back on that night a few weeks ago.
I can see myself standing up from the couch, accepting three tenners from
Malloy and putting them on the table. I roll off the bed and take a seat in a
chair as I watch the ghostly vision of myself climb on the bed on all fours,
tail flagged high before he rolls onto his back in a coy posture, stroking his
chest, rubbing one foot over the inside of his other thigh.
Malloy, fully clothed, climbs predatorially up on the bed
and slinks between my ghost-self's thighs, pressing that impossibly hard body
down on top of him and mock-humping him between the legs before he climbs
further, humping his groin my other self's belly, then his chest, his chin and
finally... My other self's hands come up and grabs Malloy's balls in one hand
and his swelling sheath in the other. I can't hear it, but I know it's
happening. From where I'm sitting I can see Malloy's back, my ghost-self's face
hidden, although I can see the dobermann's muscles tensing and I can see my
other self's ears bouncing as he bobs his head, so there's obviously some
quality fellatio going on.
Personally, I always find it hotter, in porn and in life, to
watch a blowjob without seeing the dick going in the mouth, but to see
everything else, preferably the facial expressions of both. It's so much more
suggestive, really lets you focus on what these guys are feeling rather than what
you're doing. This is a little bit of a problem because the urge to get hard is
quite strong, and I have the distinct feeling that if I start to pop a tent my
dick-cage is going to get really uncomfortable, and I've had quite enough pain
down there for one day, thank you very much.
Malloy's whispering something that I can't hear. He's a
talker, that dog, always chatting during sex. In that regard, he's a lot like
that Ferrum stud in his expensive Armani suits who always insists on discussing
what I'm feeling when he puts me through my humiliations. Malloy's powerful
muscles move under his fur and my other self splays out comfortably on the bed
as they both enjoy a nice, slow muzzlefuck.
And then I hear a noise from downstairs and the vision's
gone. It sounds like someone forced open the door, I can hear the little jingly
bell bouncing over the floor. In a shot I'm out the door, leaving it open
behind me. I don't think about the fact that I'm naked and wet with an open
bathrobe streaming behind me like a cape, I don't think about grabbing a knife
from the kitchen-unit to use as a weapon, all I think about is that somebody
might hurt Anezka and that I'm going to fucking kill them if they fucking try.
"No, I don't know any Owen, so you can just fuck
off," is what I hear Anezka say when I burst in the office door and see
her standing at the counter in front of the bullet-proof window, locking eyes
with the big, brutal bull standing on the other side of the glass with a
fierce-looking shotgun in his hands. She hears me come in and her shoulders
sag. I really shouldn't have come down, I realise. "Although, now that you
mention it," Anezka continues, covering her face with her palms because I
came in and blew her denial, "Yes, yes, I think it's coming back to me
now. Owen, you say? Sexy, twenty-something hustler wolf. Yes, I know him. Ah,
there you are, Owen. This gentleman was looking for you."
"You," growls the bull, his voice sounding tinny
and hollow of all but his malice as it blares from the intercom's speaker.
"Come with me and no funny stuff, got it?"
Anezka looks at me scornfully and my tail droops, more at
the thought of having disappointed her than whatever it is this bull has in
store for me. "I don't suppose I can get my clothes first?" I ask,
gesturing at the thin grey bathrobe I'm wearing, which I thoughtfully tie
closed. "It's mighty chilly out there, and I just took a shower." The
bull simply taps the top of his wrist with the muzzle of his shotgun as if to
indicate his watch. "Guess not." I walk over to the vault-door that
separates the pawn shop from the office and all of a sudden it's like the
lights go out and there's a blinding, lightning-strike pain that shoots through
Li'l Owen.
When it's over, I'm backed up against the wall, both hands
in my robe, hugging my groin and Nezzy's hand. "You zapped me with that
thumb pad!" I yell at her, wanting to add `bitch' or something, but I know
that if I do she'll zap me again. Looks like I'm not the only one, though, since
it seems that the lights did indeed go out and are now flickering on and off
while the office is filled with a tinny, metallic arcing noise. I let go of her
hands and with the sweetest smile you've ever seen on a lioness she traipses
back to the window, reaches under the counter, flicks a switch... The lights go
back on, the arcing noise stops, there's a thump and when Nezzy turns the wheel
that locks the vault-door's bolts it opens inward and the bull's unconscious
body spills into the office.
With some considerable effort, she and I manage to drag him
through the door and into the hallway, past the bathroom, thumpety-thump him
down the stairs to the basement and finally we clap his wrists in some
industrial-strength manacles that Nezzy just happens to have lying around, as
she puts it. Attaching the manacles to a thick steel cable, we use an
overhanging winch as, well, a winch and suspend our bull upright, with his
hooves an inch above the ground. Nezzy goes and secures the chain's end to one
of the thick water-pipes jutting out of the basemen's spare concrete wall while
I wrap some more chains around the bull's ankles and tie them firmly together.
Just then, I feel him twitch and then grow calm, but from
the change in breathing I gather that he's just woken up, pretending now to
still be asleep. He thinks he's being smart, the stupid lug. "Hey,
Nezzy," I say, flashing her a wink before I turn my attention back to the
bull, dressed in a black bomber jacket, a Maranatha Marmots' t-shirt and rough,
faded jeans. "How do you wanna deal with this dude?"
Nezzy gets the idea, but like she does with sex, she takes
it way, way too far. "Power tools, I think. Start with sawing his horns
off to make sure he knows we mean business, then crack open a book on abattoirs
and see how you can best slaughter oxen." My jaw agape, I shiver at the
sheer brutality of that beautiful young lioness' mind. So does the bull.
"Ah, so you are awake. What's your name, bull-boy?" she asks, swaying
her hips as she walks back over to him, seductive as the night itself.
"That's none of your fucking business, missy," the
bull slurs, his muscles clearly weak from the jolt they received when Anezka
electrified the vault-door and electrocuted the bull who was turning the latch
at the same time. "Now stop being silly and get me down from here. I'll
take your friend with me and I won't say this happened."
I try to offer a retort, but Nezzy's ahead of me. "You
won't say this happened at all, will you. After all, you don't want all your
friends to know you were beat by a girl, do you? I think I'll call you..."
Anezka strokes his chest, running her hands along the ridges of the studbull's
truly gargantuan muscles, slowly sliding her hands down. "I'll call you
Beef. Would you like me to suck your dick, Beef?" she asks him, stroking
his chin with one hand and tugging his zipper down with the other.
The question catches the bull off guard. I'm standing there,
slack-jawed, impressed beyond all reason by Anezka's display. "Uh,
sure," the bull stammers, clearly unable to mix his commitment to his
orders with his desire for the sexual favours this gorgeous young lioness seems
to be so freely offering. She pulls his zipper down fully, the bull's
underpants spilling out in a tent masted by a cock that's thin in relation to
the bull's body, but no less impressive for it.
"Owen," Nezzy says and the bull snorts, going
wide-eyed. "Beef wants a blowjob. Suck him, would you?"
Both of us look at her, wondering if she's serious. She
gives a nod and, hesitantly, I slip to my knees, careful to pad my knees with
Malloy's bathrobe and start to unfasten the buttons of the bull's bulging
boxers. He snorts and trumpets, tugging at his bindings in protest. "Hey!
You get that faggot away from me!" he yells, and I get where Nezzy's
going, now. Leave it to her to figure out a way to make a guy not want to get
some head. The bull's dick springs out of the fly of his boxers, thin like most
bovines, glistening with preseed. Before I give myself time to think about it,
I take it in my mouth and start giving a nice, quick blowjob to a guy who came
looking for me with a shotgun.
"Now, don't you drop a load, Beef... That'd make you
queer. You don't wanna be queer, do you?" she asks as she strokes his
cheek with one hand, raking the other hand's fingers through my hair. "You
want to blow your load in a girl, where it belongs. Maybe I should let you
shoot in my pussy? Would you like that, Beef?" Her voice is so sweet, so
calm, so girlish and the only other sounds in the room are the bull's hot
grunting and my loud slurping.
Giving head to guys who might want to kill me is one of my
least favourite sexual acts. It's something mister Ferrum might order me to do,
seriously fucked up. But I can give a blowjob with my eyes closed and my hands
tied behind my back (in fact, I've done just that on more than a few occasions)
so I have no trouble giving this Beef a perfunctory suck-off.
"All you have to do is tell me what I want to know and
I'll have Owen spit your dick into my mouth. He'll go away, you'll get a ride
and I'll let you free, everybody wins. So what's your name, who do you work
for, and why do you want Owen?" The bull doesn't respond, his massive body
quite tense by now, starting to sweat. The chains jangle loudly. "Ooh,
close to cumming, are you? Ease up, sweetheart," she says to me in an
almost mothering tone and pushes my head right the way down, forcing me to take
this guy's cock down my throat and keep it there, my nose stuffed in his open
fly. "Come on. Tell me what I want to know."
The bull blinks a few times, furrowing his brow.
"And... and you'll... I can fuck you if I tell you? You'll let me do that,
no rubbers?" he asks, still doubtful. At least he's considering the offer,
though. Damn, Nezzy's good. I just wish her plan didn't involve me snorting
breaths from this bull's pubic hair. Anezka nods and the bull relents, at which
point Nezzy releases her grip on my head and I start bobbing again, slower this
time, to keep the bull on the edge without risking to send him over it.
"Quincy... Quincy's my name... Please, get him to stop," the bull
pleads with his low, crude voice but Nezzy, smiling, shakes her head and nudges
my shoulder. I start pumping my muzzle faster, threatening to pull him over the
edge. I've got a good reputation for this sort of thing, my Five Minute Blowjob
is a popular favourite among the lunch-hour crowd. "Sharpish!" he
yells and I freeze in mid-suck, looking up at the towering bull as he yells
that name. "I don't know why, I swear it, but he told me to get this
hustler wolf back."
"Back?" I try to say, but when you've got half a
bull's dick in your mouth words tend to come out funny. Anezka nudges me again
and I get back to work as she interprets for me. "What do you mean by `back',
Quincy?" She pulls off her tube top, exposing the firm, supple swell of
her golden-furred breasts, stroking her hands down her flat belly. "Come
on, Quincy... Tell me what's going on and I won't make you blow your load in a
faggot's mouth, and let you squirt in a nice, tight pussy... Did I mention I'm
only sixteen?"
The bull's eyes almost pop out and he rubs his knees
together, groaning deeply. His heavy, dangling balls draw up against his chin --
this guy's ready to pop. "He was over at Sharpish's place a last night,
some kind of deal! Sharpish was going to pay him a lot of money, but then he
ran away and he sent all of us out to find him!"
"How many did he send? Who are they?" Nezzy yells,
but then the bull convulses, yelling panicked obscenities, he heaves and my
mouth is flooded with a gush of warm, watery semen that dribbles out and down
my chin almost immediately because there's so fucking much of it. instinctively
I try to swallow, but then I remember who it is I'm blowing and, disgusted, I
spit out my mouthful of dick and sperm and roll away to avoid the long, hard
squirts of semen, spitting on the floor. The bull, exhausted from the torment
Anezka visited on him and thoroughly confused about what just happened, passes
out, swinging back and forth on his chains, shrinking cock still spurting.
I stand up, wipe my lips and walk around the back of the
bull, heading over to Anezka. She pulls her top back on and grins triumphantly.
"That went well. Sharpish works for McIlwain, right? He'd have the stones
to get something like your dick-cage made, or imported, or something. Getting
him to unlock it is different, though."
"Nezzy, where the fuck did you learn to do that?"
She shrugs, scratching her round, tufted ear and smiles that
deadly smile of hers. "School," she answers simply.
"I don't even want to know. Will he be all right tied
up down here?" I ask, rubbing myself warm under the bathrobe. "I need
to put on some clothes." Anezka nods and licks her lips and I have the
sneaking suspicion she'll be taking advantage of this poor, hapless thug, so I
leave her two it and run up the two flights of stairs and back into Owen's pad.
Thank gods the door didn't fall closed when I left. I pull
the leather pants on and man does it feel fine. The insides lined with
something that keeps your fur from rubbing up the wrong way, which is just too
fucking awesome, and the beauty queen in me thrills at the thought of how well
the seat cups my fine, firm ass. I spend a moment just appreciating it, running
my hands over the taut, smooth, warm-to-the-touch black leather. I'm kinda
jealous of Malloy, for getting to fuck a piece of tail as sweet as this. I
don't know anybody who comes even close to having as fine a behind as me --
okay, so Alice comes real close, a though which causes unnecessary discomfort
in the cage on my dick, so I stop thinking about that and open Malloy's closet
to fish out the least expensive-looking item of clothing, a thick grey tank top
with a stripe across the chest at nipple-height. Nice. Shaking out my hair,
appreciating the quality of the conditioners that Malloy has in his shower
despite the fact that his own fur's so short, I tug on the leather jacket and
an old pair of Malloy's boots (another perfect fit) and just as I'm about to
walk out the door, the phone rings.
It might be Malloy, or it might be any number of
acquaintances we share. I pick it up one-handed, the other arm thrusting into
my new jacket. "Malloy residence," I sing-song, feeling kind of
stupid when I do it.
"Owen? Is that you?" a soft young voice asks,
heavy breathing sounding like static over the phone line. "Owen, you must
help me, they've got--" I can hear the thick accent and my heart skips a
beat, but before I can say anything I hear a shout over the other side of the
phone. "Jezismaria, they found me, please, Owen--"
And then the line goes dead and I feel cold again. That
sweet voice had sounded so panicked, so hopeful and fearful at once. The caller
ID screen shows no number and I have to stop myself from ripping the fucking
phone off the wall and throwing it out the window. I lean against the sink for
a few seconds, clutching my stomach. I feel a little sick. More than a little.
I zip up my jacket, straighten myself up, take a deep breath and walk out of
Malloy's apartment, slamming the door behind me. As I walk down the stairs I
can hear the muffled sounds of the bull's lowing and Anezka's mad cackle and I
figure she's got everything under control, so I walk out the office, close the
vault door and bump into Malloy as I exit the shop.
His car's parked on the curb, which means he's in a hurry.
He's mighty protective of his busted up old `vette, which he swears he'll get
fixed up as and when he's got the money. He started from the inside out and got
the engine block replaced six months ago and now he's saving up for a fresh set
of paint. "Owen, mate -- great threads, really suit you -- I went to the
Dive, and you've gotta hear this--" Without meaning to I let out a snarl
and give the dobermann a hard shove in the chest, sending him staggering back
against the door of his car. "What the fuck?" he asks, canting his
head at me, halfway between confusion and anger.
"I don't care about the fucking Dive, shithead. Alice
is in trouble." I want to hit him. I want to hit the old lady walking
along the other side of the road. I want to pick up something heavy and smash
Malloy's fucking car and then I want to find whoever it was that harmed a hair
in Alice's mane and do everything all over to them. "He called your phone
and asked for help but the line went dead and there was no caller ID..." I
rub my eyes with one hand, holding my stomach with the other and look up to see
Malloy staring at me with fire in his eyes.
"Owen, mate, I love you like a brother but if you're
yanking my chain I'll break your fucking legs..." I avert my eyes, and
shake my head. This is no joke. Malloy's hands squeeze into fists and I can see
he wants to hurt me or anyone as much as I do right now. He raises his hand as
if he's about to smash his car's windshield but manages to stop himself and
walks around the hood. "Get in," he says, starts the engine and guns
it the second my door slams shut.
"Where are we going?" I ask him, pulling on my
safety belt. I usually complain about his mad driving style, but now, while
he's driving double the speed limit inside the city and still accelerating down
the road, dodging the sparse two-lane traffic with lazy ease, I can't bring
myself to care.
Malloy's eyes are focused straight ahead, all his ego, all
his arrogance drained from his face leaving a sallow desperation as painful as
my own. "Ritz. At the Dive, the barkeep remembered seeing you head off
with a big stallion in an expensive suit and when I asked if they'd seen anything
else out of the ordinary he said that Alice went home with some ferret in a
trench-coat."
I snarl and punch the dashboard. "Sharpish. Alei knows
better than to trade with that low-life... So why are we going to the
Ritz?"
"After I fixed you up with some pax at the Dong-Ma
eatery, turns out, Sharpish and his fellas walked in and shooed out all their
customers, even told the owners to fuck off. But the last thing they remembered
seeing is a horse in a suit and a red tie coming out of a limo parked at the
corner of the shop--" I grab the steering-wheel and give it a sharp yank,
the car screeches and shudders and turns to the right while it continues with
its momentum and I let go just as we start heading down a side road, with the
sound of horns and screeching tyres behind us. "What the fuck?!" he
yells, trying to keep the car under control.
It's a miracle there's no police sirens coming after us.
"I know the horse you're talking about. He takes me to a room at the Ritz
whenever he calls me, but after he's done with me, he leaves. He lives in his
offices, far as I know. So we should head to the Sargasso building. I know the
code for the service entrance. Once we're inside I'll get inside, `distract'
the guard and you can slip in." Malloy grins at me and I have to admit, I
get the joke, even in our stressed-out state of mind. "Into the building,
stupidhead. Try to be inconspicuous and I'll meet you on the sixteenth
floor."
The rest of the drive is quiet. Both of us have only one
thing on our mind: Alei, in trouble, somewhere. I don't want to imagine what's
happening to him. Even if he's just being kept in a room, he must be so scared.
Those fuckers are going to pay... I look over at Malloy every now and again,
who's focusing on keeping us on the road, getting to Sargasso Holdings as
quickly as possible, and I can't be certain, but his eyes look a little
bloodshot and a little watery.
"Unbutton your shirt and look sexy," I whisper to
Malloy as we turn the corner to the service parking garage of the massive,
gleaming Sargasso building. I unzip my jacket and use the rear-view mirror to
check my hair, getting it nice and loose. Malloy stops at the entrance
checkpoint and rolls down the window as the guard in the booth, a bored-looking
panther, speaks into his microphone. "Entry code?"
Malloy shoots me a worried glance, but I unbuckle my
seatbelt and lean against him, sliding my arm around his broad shoulders. The
guard seems to notice this from the corner of his eye and I see him straighten
up as I press my cheek to Malloy's, running my hand up the inside of his thigh,
over his groin and onto the bare, hard abdomen visible between the open flaps
of his shirt. "Entertainment for mister Tiber Ferrum," I announce and
Malloy joins me in presenting the guard with a pair of slutty, pretty-boy
smiles. I always thought Malloy would make a damn hot sub if he wasn't such a
top-man...
The guard waves us through and presses the buzzer, which
drops the barricade and raises the beam at the entrance of the underground
garage. We drive down and when we park, I notice how dreadfully out of place
the Corvette looks among the cheap, boxy Hondas and Hyundais that clutter up
the service garage. "I thought you were going to blow the guard while I...
slipped in?" Malloy says as we slam the car doors shut and I lead the way
to the elevator.
"This plan just came to me, man. Figured it'd be
faster, and we don't got much time," I reply. I can't bring myself to
laughing, as much as I'd love to lighten the mood. The elevator arrives, spare
and small, serviceable enough for the janitors and waiters that make use of
this garage, leaving the larger one for guests and employees.
"Good plan," says Malloy and steps into the
elevator with me, pressing the button for the sixteenth floor. "So, what
are we expecting up there?"
To be continued.
Available on paperback in 2005
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