M A R A N A T H A by Osfer
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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