Backroom Deal

- Horndog D -

Just my luck. Three degrees colder and I could be walking home under the first snowfall of the season. Imagine soft, white flakes spiraling through the air as they float down to a fluffy carpet of ice crystals that compacts with a satisfying crunch under every step. But nope. Instead of a picturesque winter postcard shot, the temperature hangs teasingly above freezing, just cold enough to make my fingers numb and every raindrop sting like the clouds are dumping galvanized nails.

What I need right now is a nice, bubbling hot tub to slide into. Better yet, I'll take a glass of something that'll warm me up from the inside. Should've packed an emergency flask.

Up ahead, an SUV speeds down the highway on my side of the road. It's one of those giant, gas-guzzling tanks that takes up a whole lane width and then some. Don't do it, man. The paint is a gleaming forest green, the stock "outdoorsman" color, so freshly-waxed clean one look tells you the tires haven't touched a speck of dirt since they rolled off the factory floor. Don't you dare. The guy's coming up way too fast when the glare of his high beams overtakes my vision.

"Don't you fucking dare!"

The car accelerates through an ocean-sized puddle to send a wave of water up over the sidewalk, half of it falling over me. I swear I can hear laughter belting out of the cab as the car races past. The way my luck is going, Speedy McShithead probably doesn't even see the middle finger I aim at the back of his yuppie wagon.

As if I wasn't drenched enough, now I've got not-quite-freezing-cold water soaking through my fur along the seams of my jacket. My jeans are saturated to where I could piss myself and no one would be able to tell.

I really need to start carrying a flask.

Another four blocks up the street, the rain only falls harder. It occurs me for the hundredth time that I should've taken Alto up on his offer to give me a lift home, except that was back when the light drizzle felt refreshing and I had no idea my phone's battery was on death's doorstep. After four hours of rehearsal with the band, I was too revved up to consider any mundane details of the trip home. Music has this way of making you impervious to fatigue, filling you up with a kind of energy that comes in such absurd abundance it feels inexhaustible. An infinite high. Then the adrenaline wears off and suddenly a six-mile walk in a downpour is the worst idea you've ever had.

I turn the corner onto Grohl Avenue and spot a familiar sight I'd forgotten exists. Glowing letters that spell out THE BULLPEN bleed light across a mostly-empty parking lot submerged under half an inch of water. I recall driving past this little tavern at least a dozen times, but I've never been inside. My elated cry of "Sanctuary!" comes out loud as a whisper against the heavy growl of pouring rain.

Closer inspection reveals a layer or ten of grime coating the building's exterior. Not that I'm picky. I can't complain anyway, not with the tinted windows reflecting the image of a drowning victim. Alas, jackals do not look sexy when wet. Runny eyeliner gives my face the look of something between a two-buck whore and an emo kid on his first day of high school. I try to wipe away the excess until the dark smudges around my eyes turn into horror movie insomniac makeup. Much better.

The interior of the place... Man. Dated wood paneling covers fucking everything from the track lights down to the solid-color hospitality carpet splattered with a rainbow of stains. A couple flat-screen TVs show replays of football games while a third plays some movie, the dialogue of which is impossible to hear over the generic pop singles blasting out of speakers around an empty karaoke stage. And of course—of course—there's shelves of dust-gray plastic sports trophies and framed team photos on every wall.

Eight stools sit in a line along the bar, seven of them empty and one topped with asscheeks and a wide tail belonging to a badger. He and I seem to be the only patrons save for an elderly couple of gophers hunched over a table in the corner. The badger acknowledges me with a vaguely friendly nod when I claim a spot two stools down. His tired expression and protruding gut make him the perfect accent piece to a place obviously a ways past its prime.

"What'll it be?"

The question seems to come from nowhere for the few seconds it takes the bartender to step out of a camouflaging orange light and float over with arms crossed over his chest. He stands with a drill sergeant's rigidity, staring down at me over the broad slope of his bull terrier face.

Caught off guard, I throw out an order for a Scotch and soda. Watching the guy pour the drink, I can't help but wonder if he owns the place or if the name being a pun on his breed is just a funny coincidence that haunts him every minute he spends at work.

The badger turns toward me with an elbow on the counter. "A Scotch man, huh?"

"I have a craving for a Gold Mine," I admit, "but I'm not the kind of asshole who'd order one in a place like this."

The badger chuckles, then takes a long swig of his beer before retreating back into silence.

A rocks glass plunks down in front of me a microsecond before the bartender says, "Five bucks." I hand over a ten and ask for four back. Instead of thanking me for the tip or even giving an appreciative bow of his torpedo-shaped head, the guy palms down the change wearing one of those just-give-me-a-reason looks. You know the look. You see them all the time on people with too much anger they're never allowed to vent. Go play a violent video game sometime, will ya.

With nothing decent to watch and Chuckle Pup firing a laser beam death stare into the side of my skull, I decide to explore the place. The old gophers look catatonic, possibly taxidermied. Everything else tells me there's a health inspector somewhere who is at this very moment sipping champagne inside a mansion bought with bribe money. I pass a pair of ancient video poker machines on my way to a skinny corridor with a sign promising an outdoor smoking area. As long as it's covered, I'm willing to endure the cold if it means the chance to drink my glass of battery acid away from the blaring poptastic torture tunes.

Just before the exit, the hallway branches off to a "billiard room" as advertised by a neon sign above the door. The room is what you might call cozy, just big enough for one pool table, a few chairs, and a couple of people totally not doing anything else in the world but unmistakably having sex.

Huh.

It feels like the proper reaction here is to either look flabbergasted into the camera or do a spit take. Only problem is there's no camera and you don't spit out whisky, no matter how cheap it is. Instead, I just stand in the doorway like some kind of pervy voyeur and watch a possum sitting on the edge of the pool table get a blowjob from a doe between his legs. She's bent over at the waist with her back bowed between her shoulders and ass, her short gypsy skirt riding up enough that I can see the crotch of her underwear stretched tight over a ball of knuckles.

Pay me no mind, kids. I'm just standing here drinking my drink, not judging anybody. I know how it is. Someone has the heat cranked up in here way higher than it needs to be. It's that sauna kind of heat—that moist, sticky, jungle heat that seeps into your blood and transforms you into something wild. Every movement and breath has a weight to it, and every urge becomes a need. Take a couple of healthy twenty-somethings, put 'em in this kind of heat with some alcohol thrown into the mix, suddenly a little touching leads to a little kissing leads to a little more touching... We've all been there.

The possum and I lock eyes when I step into the room and set my empty glass on a chair. I wonder if he prefers to be called a possum or an opossum, or if he even gives a shit. The deer stops what she's doing without really stopping, just staring back at me with her boyfriend's cock bulging out her left cheek. I keep quiet and examine a rack of pool cues on the wall, keeping everything in limbo. These two want to know if I'm here to spoil their fun. For me, the hard part is not smiling.

Staring one eye down the length of an ever-so-slightly warped cue, I let the tension build. The doe adjusts her stance, her hooves scraping against carpet worn down practically to bare subfloor. She's getting impatient, and that right there tells me everything I need to know.

I shelve the cue, walk straight to the table beside the possum, and thumb a quarter down on the side rail with an audible click. "I got next."

Just like that, the mood's changed. Now we're all friends, leaving the happy couple free to pick up where they left off. And damn. The way this guy squirms his ass against the green felt under his pants, the deer with her face in his lap must have quite a talent for giving head. With her legs spread out beneath her, it's even easier to see her panties undulate with the movement of her left hand going to work on her pussy. Above her, the possum lets his head fall back and whisper-shouts, "Holy shit, Latty."

Everything feels hot in this tiny room with the exposed ductwork above our heads funneling heated air to the rest of the bar. The thermostat has to be near a door with ancient weather stripping that lets the cold leak inside. In this moist heat, every piece of clothing sticks to my fur like wet papier-mâché.

Fuck it. So long as everybody's cool, I may as well get more comfortable. My jacket slips off unnoticed, but the sound of my belt unbuckling draws attention. "Don't mind me, I'm just getting out of these wet clothes." I flash the couple my most innocent smile and slide wet jeans off my legs. "They'll dry faster draped over the back of a chair."

I suppose I'd be more convincing if my boxers weren't tented by this diamond-hard erection, but hey. We're all friends here, right?

If I'm a third wheel, nobody seems to mind. The way this deer cutie goes to work on that cock in her mouth, slurping up and down with little porno moans every few seconds, you'd think she was putting on a show. And as for her co-star, you've got to ask yourself what kind of guy just sits there with another dude stripping down to nothing not five feet away, staring at his girl's upturned ass with a hard-on capable of pounding rivets though a steel I-beam. Lord knows the last thing I want to do is creep on anybody. One word from either of them and I'm gone.

Just one word. One glare.

Come on, now. You won't hurt my feelings. Tell me to fuck off before these undies hit the floor. Three... Two... One... Last chance.

You can't fool me that easy, kids. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you two get your fire stoked having an audience."

The possum licks over his lips, probably thinking about the lips sucking his dick like a melting popsicle. "The first time we had sex," he says, "was in the bathroom at Club Topaz during a Firelock show. After that, we did it at Racehorse Joe's, Hideaway, and in a balcony booth at Millennium Pagoda."

"No kidding?" I say. "That place is pretty exclusive."

The possum nods. "Yeah. Laticia flashed the bouncer so he'd let us in." He stiffens up, his voice stalling like the memory brought a little quickie pleasure rush. He lifts one shaky hand with three fingers extended. "We did it in the booth right over the dance floor. Three times."

"Hot damn. You guys are a kinky-ass couple of freaks." I must look like the world's hugest hypocrite right now, shaming strangers while jerking off in front of them. But it's only hypocrisy if you consider being a kinky-ass freak a bad thing. "Name's Devlin, by the way."

"I'm Gary," the possum says, "and she's Laticia."

The deer waves her backside hello.

"Glad I got to meet you, Gary and Laticia. I really dig the show." This is probably a bad idea given the way my luck's been going tonight, but there's no way I can leave it at that. "You guys ever give any thought to some... audience participation?"

"We've... talked about it," Gary grunts out, inhaling fast when Laticia swallows him down to the balls. She pulls off a few seconds later, noisily slurping up cords of spit hanging off her lower lip, then turns to give me a good once-over for the first time. One enormous blue-gray eye moves up and down my body, the other hidden behind a cascade of dirty blonde curls. A Milky Way galaxy of freckles spreads across the middle of her face, right over the inverted black triangle of her tiny nose.

God damn. I could karate chop a limestone boulder in half without using my hands.

Laticia climbs halfway onto the table, moving in for a private powwow with what's-his-face. Gary. Their whispers are probably something about boundaries and trust and real heavy relationship stuff, but all I can think about is being sized up, quietly rated on a one-to-ten scale based on how well I fit their previously-discussed threesome fantasies. "Just so we're clear, I'm fine watching," I tell them. "But if you want to offer up a front-row seat, I promise I'll keep watching from there."

Some more whispers before they both turn back to me. Laticia's glossy pink lips curve into a smile and say, "Deal."

Check it out, my luck is all turned around! I don't even mind getting soaked in the rain or probably poisoned by the asshole bartender.

Gary wrestles his pants and briefs off before Laticia swallows down his cock again. Bent at the waist, she flips her short-short skirt up over her ass and pulls her underwear to one side of her absolutely drenched pussy. Just the touch of one finger against the slick warmth of her lips makes my head swim. I trace a fingertip up and down the divide of silky soft perfection. "Holy shit, it's like Niagara Falls back here."

Laticia moans something into Gary's lap, making his face scrunch up like she just hit his favorite spot. "Ah...! She gets really wet when we—n'aah—do stuff in public."

The porno sucking noises pause long enough for Laticia to pant, "That's his fault." She means the possum.

If he gets crushed by a piano and struck by lightning on his birthday, Gary will still be the luckiest son of a bitch to have ever walked the face of the earth. I know that much when I lean down for a taste of his girlfriend. Close your eyes and you could be eating the world's juiciest peach. Just my tongue sliding between the puffy folds of her sex and this girl is practically gushing. Nectar of the gods. I get greedy and dive into the middle of the white heart shape covering her ass, licking harder and deeper, drinking down the heady fragrance of feminine musk.

Maybe four minutes going to town at the pussy buffet is all I can manage before my train threatens to leave the station without me. I slip the doe's panties down her thighs and grab her ass, stopping myself right as I'm about to slide in. Relax, relax... I want us both to savor the bliss of that first penetration.

Slow, smooth, the sheer visceral rush of skin against skin, thousands of nerve endings all crackling like a sky full of fireworks. My cock sinks deep enough to gently bottom out and all I want to do is keep going. My nuts squash up against Laticia's fingers tweaking her clit, that extra little bit of stimulation making my stomach do cartwheels.

Kill me right now. Blast arrows into my heart and set me on fire. Nothing, nothing, nothing can top how incredible this feels.

"Oh god, Latty," Gary groans. "Oh! Use that tongue, babe." He puts both arms on the table behind him, his shoulders and elbows quaking. "Oh yeah. Ohhhh fuck, I'm so close..." The way he says it, you know he's trying to hold back. I like this guy's attitude. The show must go on!

Trying to catch up isn't even a challenge. Every buck of my hips makes the deer's ass jiggle even as I'm spreading it apart. I rub my thumb against the patch of bare flesh under the fuzzy white dollop of her tail, marveling at the way it makes her anus clench and unclench. The cutest little girl butthole you've ever seen. Laticia grabs my other hand and pulls it underneath her, under her shirt to the swaying orb of her left breast. I work her bra out of the way and squeeze a palmful of soft, supple warmth. It's almost embarrassing how close I already am to blowing my load inside her.

By now, the room absolutely stinks of sex. Gary's eyes are clamped shut as his bald tail whips against the pool table like it insulted his sister. Under the noise of slapping and Laticia's hungry moans, I pick up another sound coming from behind me.

Well, well. Look who it is. On a chair in the corner, the badger sits fully clothed except for his dick jutting up out of his fly. He's beating his meat to the rhythm of our fucking, looking on with the gleeful concentration of a kid watching candy being made.

Not to sound conceited, but it's pretty obvious it's me he's eyeing. His expression says he'd love to take Laticia's place. What's the story, fellah? Too shy to hit on me, or were you hoping somebody more handsome would eventually wander in? Either way, you're welcome to sit there and pull your pud as long as you want. Bark out a few catcalls if you feel like it. These two aren't the only ones who enjoy having an audience.

It's amazing how much you can get across with just a grin and a wink.

As awesomely kinky as it would be to watch the badger as I finish, I'd be breaking a deal. My attention returns to Gary. Sweat dripping off his nose, footpaws clenched up like fists, he is beyond ready to blow. No wonder. Despite not lacking in the size department, he gets the full sweep from his lady friend, her head nodding a continuous yes as lips slip from root to tip. Give this guy a medal for holding out this long.

"Huhhh, g-gonna cum!" The possum seizes up, everything tensing as Laticia freezes on the head of his cock, one hand cupping his balls while the other holds my hand against her racing heartbeat rippling through a globe of tit flesh. I can hear the contractions of her slender throat as she drinks down Gary's load.

I do my best to tune out the sharp smack of my pelvis hitting her ass, having arrived at that glorious brink where anything can set you off. All you can do is ride the edge for as long as possible, waiting for that final push past the point of no return. It could be anything. The way your partner moves, a sound they make, some fragment of a half-forgotten fantasy flashing across your thoughts... Through deep breaths, I just keep pumping. Somewhere inside all the wafting smells of sweat and musk, I catch a whiff of Laticia's hair. The faint scent of shampoo—a piña colada cocktail so sweet I can taste it in the back of my throat. The next instant, I hilt the doe and shoot her full of cum, busting so hard I almost lose my balance. Everything below the knees goes numb. All I can do is hold onto this gorgeous young creature and surrender to the onslaught of orgasm.

The best sex is when you don't even care how you look, when you don't hold anything back. Let go. Just let the waves crash over you until they pull you out to sea.

Reality morphs back into focus with Laticia shivering under me. Her middle finger vibrates against the button of her clit, trying to initiate liftoff. She pants hard into Gary's crotch, his slowly wilting penis smearing jizz across her cheek. I give a few more short, quick thrusts to help her along. Half a minute later, she launches into high orbit. The sensation of her pussy squeezing down on my spent cock is too intense to be what I'd call pleasurable, but it feels amazing in a different kind of way.

Milky dribbles escape from between our joined bodies with the slightest movement. When I finally will myself to pull out, long, creamy strands melt out onto the floor. The sight of such a delicious creampie leaking out of that perfect ass is an image I could stare at for hours. My cock twitches and oozes out a few last drops of seed.

Laticia climbs up onto Gary for some wet, sloppy kissing. Put a gun to my head and I might begrudgingly admit these two are pretty cute together. Having lightened the load in my balls makes it easier to spot the lines of that shifting barrier between love and infatuation—if only slightly.

Back in the corner, the badger is still jerking off. He's been such a good sport throughout all this, I feel like he deserves a reward. Tail hiked, I bend over and flash him a nice full moon ass shot.

"Oh, what the FUCK!?"

Whoops. Mr. Bartender stands in the doorway, the look of raw, seething hatred on his face just murdering the awesome vibe we had going. Only the badger lucked out; positioned safely outside the bull terrier's line of sight, he scrambles up and shoves his hard-on back into his pants as quietly as possible. The bartender fumes wordlessly for a moment, then spins around and marches down the hall loudly vocalizing his intention to call the cops.

That's our cue to wrap it up. The three of us grab whatever clothes we can and charge half-dressed toward the exit. As we run past him, I toss my boxers to the badger. Call it a consolation prize. I like to imagine him using them as a cum rag for a few sessions, maybe starting in the men's room down the hall. On any other occasion I'd offer to help him out, but some stunts are a little too crazy for even me.

I make it outside a step behind Gary and Laticia, back out into the pouring rain. The smoking area is enclosed on all sides, but a little teamwork is all it takes for us to scale the fence. Then we're running on water, splashing through puddles across the parking lot toward a lonely sedan parked near the street.

"Mind if I bum a ride?" I ask.

Gray fumbles for his keys, saying, "Sure, fine!" Good thing, because I wasn't planning on taking no for an answer.

We're still breathing hard a mile down the road, jittery as an espresso overdose from the thrill of the insane shit we somehow just got away with. "This is the first time we've ever been caught," Laticia says between gasps. Her hand dips under her skirt and goes straight for her sopping pussy. "Holy shit, we could've gotten arrested."

It's hard not to laugh from the giddy excitement. "You never forget your first time outrunning the cops. Hey, I don't live too far from here. You guys want to crash at my place for a bit?"

Silence.

"I... guess we could...?" Laticia looks at Gary, who just screws up his face like he's smelling something unpleasant.

Never say I don't know how to read a room. "Or... If you guys want to have some more fun, I know another bar not too far from here. I hardly ever go there, so it's no skin off my nose if I get blacklisted. If you two are willing to risk it, I mean."

Laticia whimpers with her fingers working her cunt and says, "Deal!"

"Let's do it." Gary steps on the gas and makes a right turn at the intersection where I tell him. Keeping his attention is a chore with Laticia openly masturbating next to him. "God, you're so damn sexy," he tells her. He leans awkwardly over the gearshift to kiss her, trying to keep one eye on the road.

From the back seat I say, "Hold up, this seating arrangement is fucked. Switch with me."

We do a Chinese fire drill at the next red light. I figure it makes more sense for me to drive since I know where we're going. Besides that, the sound of two incredibly happy people making out behind me is gratifying. And, if I'm being honest, kind of hot.

Can you just be along for the ride when you're the one in the driver's seat? Absolutely. In fact, I'd say that describes a decent percentage of the experiences we have in life. I wouldn't even call it a bad thing. That feeling like the wind picking you up and whisking you off somewhere new is exciting, freeing. Especially with the rain beginning to let up and the lights of the city twinkling into view at the crest of a hill.

Buckle up, folks. The night is young and rich with possibilities.