Secrets in the Back Row

“No, come on. I don’t want to get in trouble.”  said the big bull jock. For his wide set horns, and wider set shoulders, the meat-packed twenty something looked positively on edge.  His companion, a lithe, bulgey, short and perky otter seemed utterly unphased by the  bull’s reticence.

“Come on, what are you worried about? It’s not like anyone is gonna know,” the otter whispered into the big buffalo’s ear. The buffalo, for his part, looked nervously around at all the people. 

“Sure they could, any one of them could.” 

The otter looked around, too, then crossed in front of the bull, moving to his other side. While he did, though, his paw grasped that long, thin, stiff ridge that tented down from between the bull’s legs, towards his left knee. Everyone else - and on the opening night of Must for Trust 8, there were quite a few everyone elses - didn’t pay  the two a single mind. 

“See? They could, but people have a tendency of ignoring things, things that don’t fit in with what they want to see.” The otter snickered up to the big bull, sneaking another sliding grasp along that thin prick. 

“Yeah but that... doesn’t mean it’s okay!” the bull hissed back to the smaller otter. The poor bull, who was holding two giant cardboard cups of soda and one gimongous tub of super buttered popcorn, could do nothing to resist the sometimes-furtive, sometimes-lecherous gropes of the otter. But, really, nobody seemed to care, except him. The two moved showed their tickets to the ushers, and then strolled down the dank, grungy red carpet of the movie theater, towards the one showing their movie. 

The theater was populated, not stacked or packed but nicely fleshed out with swarms of dudes eager to see Van Ethanol kick butt on the main screen. Nobody seemed to care about the burly tiger in a cute pink rabbit fursuit sitting in the middle of the back row. Hell, nobody even seemed to notice him. He sat there, glancing occasionally at the antics of the generally college age crowd, smiling his secret little smile. 

Nobody else really sat in the back rows, not at movies like this. Chick flicks, sure, horror movies, definitely, but in action movies everyone wants to be up close to the action, right in front, where all the excitement is. They don’t want to miss a single CGI-saturated second of explosions and body parts. Which, really, is perfectly fine, for the tiger.

But this story isn’t about the tiger, really, is it? No, it’s about an otter and a bull, two horny lads who decided to sit in the back row of a theater. Well, an otter who wanted to sit in the back row, and his big bully-boyfriend who was coerced into sitting with him.

The lights went down, and cell phones were turned off all over the theater. Drinks were slipped into holsters, popcorn wedged into empty seats, and in the middle of the back row, the tiger put on a pair of floppy pink ears, on a headband. Anyone who *had* been able to notice the tiger before? They suddenly couldn’t. oh, there were a few who could - sure there were - but this was a rated R movie, which means those few who could, couldn't’t. They just weren’t old enough. 

Off to the right in the back row, an otter peered around the darkened theater. Up above on the screen, trivia questions were being replaced with advertisements for Furry Fodder 9 : The Mask of the Troll.  The otter’s fingers were busy with his boyfriend’s zipper, though. The bull - let’s call him Jack, shall we? - let out a grunt as he felt fingers tugging and manipulating that bit of straining fabric. His erection had been teased and taunted the whole ride to the theater, and rubbed and brushed against through not only the ticket line, but also the concession stand line. He was sure his left sock was soaked with the lazy dribbles and drools of almost syrupy bull pre that his body instinctively produced. The otter was right, though - nobody had seemed to notice. The threat that someone might have, though, that he would have been caught, unmasked, ridiculed made the beefy  jock all the tenser and leakier.

He grabbed a handful of kernels and focused on the fascinating preview for some sort of haunted toaster movie. A wolf was seducing a vixen in the kitchen. Flash to toaster. The wolf strips off her clothes. Flash to empty spot where toaster was! Jack stuffed more kernels in his mouth, as he felt cool air rush in, through his open fly. Where did the toaster go? He peeked to the right, but there was nobody else in the back row but him and the otter. He glanced to the screen - the wolf was on top of the busty vixen. He thrust down! Then looked confused.
“You got a metal twat?” the wolf asked, and the screen went dark. A wolf howled. On the screen, in dripping blood red letters; “THE SINGER”. A quick flash to a frantic looking doberman, shouting into a webcam. “It’s SET TO BAGEL!!”

Jack shook his head, and looked down, and gasped. His cock was jutting straight up from his crotch, bobbing a bit and saying HowdieDoo to the big bovine. And his boyfriend’s paw had gone in for more. The bull groaned as his big brown balls were tugged out from inside his pants, first one, then fishing in for the other and tugging it out too. His sac was thick and almost leathery, with a white dappling that went down between the two. It made it look like he had a constant cum stain on them. They flopped out, over the edge of his seat, just tottering there like two miniature footballs. Well, not THAT miniature, they were heavy and proud and potent after all. That webbed otter paw moved into the popcorn, letting the bull just stick out in the open like that. 

Well if he was going to be out in the open, so was Bill! The bull reached over, in the dark, planning on bypassing the popcorn and instead grabbing the otter’s zipper and yanking it down.Then reaching in.. and pulling HIS dick out, too! Only he was too late. The otter’s zipper was apparently already down, for as the bull reached in to grab it, he got a pawful of thick otter cock instead. Whereas the bull had a long, thin cock, the otter was thick, uncut... and yeah, long. Not a ten incher like the bull had, certainly, but definitely a butt-pleasing eight or so.  And now it was in Jack’s hand. He urmed, glancing around again, but nobody else was looking... so he pulled that loose, thick skin down, hearing the soft ‘slick’ of the foreskin peeling away from the otter’s glans. 

Then that warm, webbed paw wrapped around his own smooth skinned shaft. Bill, it would seem, was only eating that popcorn to get to all that greasy butter that coated it. His fingers were sliding easily over the bull’s long slender shaft, stroking it up and down. On the screen, a preview for what had to be a chick flick seemed to just be a sequence of shots of girls crying. 

Jack really didn’t care. His eyes slitted, he ground his fingers into his boyfriend’s hot cock, and started jerking him off. The weight of his nuts kept them pulling down away from his groin - their own weight sort of ‘locking’ them on the other side of the edge of his chair, so that when bill reached over to slather his cock tip in buttery ottery snugness, and he felt his groin tighten, they kept where they were, keeping him from blowing his top too soon.

Reading this story, you may have noticed that Jack didn’t see anyone else sitting in the back row with him and Bill. But, having read this, you would be saying, “Waiddaminnit! There was a TIGER in the back row! In a pink bunny suit! What gives? Is he an hallucination?” Nope. A hallucination is something you see that isn’t real. That tiger was exactly the opposite. And he was still in the back row. Not where he had been sitting, no, he wasn’t there. He was actually, currently, crouching right between the two lovers, his pink furry bunny costume getting sticky soda stains on its knees as he hid there. The two floppy bunny ears peeking over the back of the chair behind him like a radio antenna. 

The tiger placed his wicker-weaved basket he had brought to the side, and reached to his left. Two fat bull nuts were doing a little samba dance over the edge of the chair. Big, proud, heavy nuts - as Jake already thought about earlier. The tiger wrapped his fingers around the taut neck of that scrote, strangling them lightly, and pulled down. The bull stared at the movie screen up above. His nuts throbbed with heat and life in the tiger’s white-velvet-lined rabbit paws. 

The tiger reached to his right, and found a thick otter trunk being slowly stroked, instead of the expected nutsack. He sighed, and pushed the trunk of that otter dick in towards Bill’s belly, angling it away from his nuts. Then pushed that zipper further apart, and dove down with his three fingers not pushing that dick away. Like some kind of crane game, they blindly groped and pinched, and then pulling up again, he smiled as he found himself with a bit of furry skin pinched between them. 	 

The skin was, in comparison to the skin in his other hand, very soft, loose, flexible. He pulled up more of it, the anchored skin bristling with a peachy sheen that glimmered with the reflection of the movie screen up above. More, and more, and then the tiger blinked in surprise. What looked like a furry softball had just flopped over the edge of the otter’s pants. He let go of the skin and dick with that paw, and grasped that big rounded nut in his palm. 

It was one nut, yup. 

The two males didn’t realize that they were being fondled by a psychotic tiger in a pink bunny costume.  There was a reason why, of course, but they had no idea what that is - or even that they would have a reason to think there would be a reason why they couldn’t see what they didn’t see. So even though the tiger’s fingers worked and rubbed their scrotums, tugged and squeezed their balls, and kneaded those thickly-laden cords that led up from those balls through those scrotums and into their body, they were completely oblivious. 

Which the tiger knew, obviously. 

That second softball was pulled loose to dangle with the first over the fly of the otter’s pants, the  two jostling for space in the limited, cramped quarters between the sleek otter’s thighs. The tiger was petting over them, just rubbing and stroking them like one might a luxuriously furred kitten in one’s lap. In this case, though, the kitten was petting someone else’s lap. Regardless, those nuts were being savored. Fingers caressed the plump fatties, slid up, curled around the neck of that long scrotum, and pulled down. They were winched and milked down low, the scrotum bulging tightly with their mass. Back to the bull, then, fingers working and pinching at the cords in his long smooth brown nutbag. The two dudes were jerking each other off, as the tiger, hidden and invisible, toyed with them below.

Jack was tingling from head to toe. Lust, anticipation, the nearly overwhelming feeling that he was being watched, even though he wasn’t, it had his cock harder than he had ever felt it. The otter’s butter paw stroked it, firmly, up and down, milking blobs and oodles of his precum out. And Jack was living up to his namesake, too, groping and grinding his big rough calloused fist over Bill’s cock. The two were squirming, toes squirming in beat up sneakers, butts clenching and grinding down against the cheap foam stadium seats they were plunked down in. Both of the males were getting close, it was just a matter now of who was gonna get their rocks off first. Jack looked over at Bill, groaning in lusted heat, and the otter curled his whiskery muzzle up in a grin.

“Come on, babes, lemme see your milkshake,” Bill taunted. The bull was tempted to reach down and give the otter’s nuts a squeeze - he was sure that would get him off - but instead he leaned over and kissed the otter. Right on the mouth. His thick clumsy tongue pushed into the feisty otter’s short muzzle, over his hot, slick little tongue, pushing through his tonsils and he casually licked his tongue down into his boyfriend’s throat.

Bill came, first. But Jake got his rocks off, first. The tiger had been twisting them, rolling one fat rounded egg over the other, again and again as they two taunted and teased each other. When the bull leaned in for the kiss, the tiger gave those twisted testicles a tug, and with a soft wet sound, similar to cardboard ripping, the bull’s whole scrotum came off in his paw. The tiger grinned up at the two, who were too busy snoggling to even look down. 

Then he noticed - well, smelled, first, then saw - that the otter’s uncut cock was throbbing, thick white streams pulsing out over the bull’s fingers. The tiger had planned on sucking on those fat nuts, nibbling them right off of the otter’s loins, but time was of the essence. He unsheathed his claws, and grabbed Bill’s nuts up high. Grabbed, pulled. His cock flared thicker, tighter. Even if Bill didn’t realize what was going on, his body on some level did. Those claws pierced through the top of his sac, like shark fins through the surface of the water, and the tiger carved right through. The two softball sized nuts knocked and rubbed against each other, dangling along his forearm as he held up the prize. One in either paw. He gave each a lick, and then settled them down in his basket. 

On the screen, there were previews for some new thriller movie. A serious looking badger in a trench-coat standing in front of a gaudy porn shop. A newspaper with horrid headlines: “Four horses maimed by unknown figure”. The tiger stood, moving over to a couple of wolves in rugby shirts, as the preview continued on screen. “They call him... Konu.. Konu the ravenous...” said a scared looking zebra, on the screen. Blood drooled down his legs. The tiger chuckled; there were far worse things than hungry badgers in the world.

Two hours - and seventy five previews - later, the bull and the otter were lazily strolling out of the theater. Almost to a tee, Everyone was strolling. Not jumping or bouncing, like you’d expect after such an action packed movie, but lazy, sedate. Sated. The two boyfriends strolled arm in arm around each other, just enjoying the air, as the other males who had been in the theater casually, easily went to their cars and drove home. The two were actually about to step off the curb, into the parking lot, when they both felt a hand on their shoulders. Turning around, they saw a rather... intimidating, large, brutal looking tiger. He had a pink bundle of cloth under one arm, and an Easter basket full of that green plastic straw.

The bull smiled lazily at the tiger, gesturing. “Dude, you already missed it. Easter was, like, two weeks ago?”

The tiger nodded, “Oh, I know, but the Easter bunny never rests.” He held up the basket, as if that explained everything, then smiled at the two. “I saw what the two of you were doing in the theater.” Instantly the boyfriends blushed. The otter stammered.

“Naw, naw, it’s cool. Let’s just say I ... I liked what I saw.” He chuckled to the two. “I was wondering if you would like to come back to my place? I wanna show you something I can do that I’m pretty sure neither of you have experienced before.”

Jack looked at Bill, unsure. Bill looked back. Normally, both of them would have instinctually said no. But tonight... tonight there just didn’t seem to be as much of a reason not to. The theater orgasms must have really drained the two. They were mellow as marshmallow pie.

“Umm... well... Depends...” the otter said, slyly. “What exactly is it you want to do?”

The tiger grinned, stepping off the curb with his new found friends. “It’s a trick my cheetah friend showed me. It involves both of your dicks, and my mouth. It’s half deep throating and half...” He laughs, “Well you’ll just have to see.”

And the three went and had an unforgettable night.

Now I know what you might be thinking. There’s no such thing as Easter Rabbits. That’s very true. For adults. For the sane. For the jaded. Or rather, there Are Easter rabbits - but not in the realm you can see them in. You see, when the grown up, rational, logical mind is faced with something that negates that logic, that rationality, that maturity, it forces the rational mind to protect itself. It simple doesn’t see what it is that would force it to change. Doesn’t feel what would force it to see. Doesn’t hear, smell, or taste either. The sensations are there, but the mind itself completely ignores them. So for Bill, Jack, and sixty two other fellows at the opening night movie for Must for Trust 8, the experience of being castrated by a tiger in an Easter bunny costume was completely lost. They each found out, later, of course, six unique and startled screams of shock and embarrassment and loss as they realized that they had been unmanned without even realizing it. But at that point, such an occurrence was hardly big news - it had been going on for two weeks previous already. 

(lens flare)The End.... ?(lens flare)
Yeah right, like it could possibly be the end. Not until Santa Claus tries to step in. And we all know what happened to Santa last time he tried something...