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still read these. If you do, bear with me on the non-pornographic parts (such as the interlude). I care deeply about writing them.\n\nPictures are of the dragon ferret, an original creation of mine, present in one of Charlie's fantasies.", "description_bbcode_parsed": "The "long awaited" next chapter, in which Dalia and Charlie share some brief but saucy fantasies of theirs with each other, and Dalia finally presents Charlie with "The Trials", a game where they will dare each other to do worse and worse things.

I hope people still read these. If you do, bear with me on the non-pornographic parts (such as the interlude). I care deeply about writing them.

Pictures are of the dragon ferret, an original creation of mine, present in one of Charlie's fantasies.", "writing": "[u][b]Intermezzo - The Pilot[/b][/u]\n\nCharlie was dragging himself to bed. He felt long drained. And still he felt like he was being tapped. He was a bottomless well, from which the universe could keep on taking. [i]Take, if you so please![/i]\n[i]What gives? [/i]\nNothing bad had happened. Nothing [i]that[/i] bad.\nExcept. There was the look of disgust that Miguel had let slip before he walked out the door yesterday. It had been directed at himself, right? Or was it at Charlie?\nThere was the customer at work today who kept calling, crying that a product Charlie had recommended had made her daughter lose all her hair.\nThere was Dalia. Who he had had a lot of fun with. But would he ever look into her eyes… and feel that she looked as deep into his as he would into hers?\nBad thoughts. When they were seeming to pile on top of one another, it was best to… reboot.\nHe emptied his mind. And he slept.\n\nDarkness fell and the six governing forces inside Charlie stepped up. They were not all equally old, but all felt they had a duty to leave their mark on the vessel they resided in.\nThere was Envy, the youngest. A gruff bully, looking like an equal winner and loser of many a backyard scrap. He had been with Charlie since he felt the spite from working a dayjob.\nThere was Melancholy. A soft-spoken, misunderstood kid, looking like a rebel too tired to fight. He had been with Charlie, since Dalia was sent away.\nThere was Lust. Slick as oil, rowdy as a schoolgirl, with the looks of one who could tear a devoted family father from his vows. She had been with him since he discovered porn.\nThere was Reason. Clean and neat, calculated, looking like he knew what numbers lay behind Charlie’s every decision. He had been with Charlie since he could count.\nThere was Kindness. She was pure white, a queen, and she was reminiscent of his mother. She had been with Charlie since he learned what home and a warm embrace was.\nAnd finally, there was Ambition, who was Charlie’s spitting image, clad in a pitch black suit. He had been with Charlie, since Charlie first felt a thought, telling him to reach out for attention.\nAmbition, ever the leader, adjusted his collar and dejectedly looked them over. “Our efforts… to keep Charlie in motion seem to yield… mixed results.”\n“We had two days of high spirits,” Reason said, flipping through his notes. “Then we hit bottom again. We’re somewhat behind the prognosis on Dalia’s return.”\n“Maybe we should… call her again…” Melancholy said.\n“Yes!” Lust chimed in, her voice seeping through the gathering like honey-tinged whiskey. “We’ve had a bit too much Christie as of late. It’s been nice, but not [i]perfect[/i].”\n“Dalia?” Kindness injected. “We should be calling his mother. She has his best interest at heart. We’ve been neglecting her.”\n“Just as good!” Lust agreed. “Didn’t she say she wanted us to put babies inside her? Ambition, surely there’s a goal for you right there.”\nAmbition huffed. “Is that what it’s come to? We won’t raise the child. Daisy will ruffle our hair, and compliment us. But where is the monument to us?”\n“Always with the monuments,” Envy said. “Spiting the usurper will be your monument. The dog who is boning her. When we see him, we will know, ‘he is raising a child not his own’.”\n“There will be a bittersweet longing,” Melancholy said. “An unfulfilled connection. The child will look our way… and never see the truth of things.”\n“Chips and scraps,” Ambition said. “Why live, if not for closure? We will forever be halfway there… we need something bigger.”\n“What?” Lust said, raising her voice. Everyone but Ambition trembled. “What exactly would be big enough? Halfway there? We will be halfway where, exactly? Don’t you think it is time for a change of pace? When have we made Charlie the happiest? When did the velvet sensation of accomplishment wash over him?”\nThere was a long silence.\nReason turned a page and jotted down a few notes. Finally he spoke. “When you were at the forefront, Lust. You’ve kept depression at bay.”\nAmbition waved her off. “Lust. We have allowed you to taint his passions, but there is a journey and a destination, separate. His ambitions to captivate Miguel were not only for the sake of sexual release. Envy and I saw Miguel. And we decided that he was unconquered… and that he was owed to us.”\n“You are naive,” Lust said. “To think I am secondary. You have failed, Ambition. You have tried too hard. Since your inception, you wanted Charlie to be a[i] sensation[/i]. But in that, there was never a path good enough for him. In your sky high hopes, you kept treading water, until exhaustion set in... Nothing is ever big enough. So. Allow me to… slither in. Fill the void. To try my hand at it… To take charge.”\nThe six sets of eyes stared each other down. There was a tension, as Ambition considered whether to step back.\nBut he was not one to admit defeat.\n\n[u][b]Chapter 5 - Bargaining[/b][/u]\n\nWith my blood pounding, I step up behind my nemesis. I’ve had an insurmountable amount of work dropped on me just now, and I need to find a way to navigate without crashing. “Max,” I say, with a stiff jaw.\nI’m certain he’s been in the same call for five minutes, and he’s in absolutely no hurry. “So yeah, if you press the button down half-way, there’s actually a third setting…”\nThis is [i]not [/i]the time to be dallying. “Max!”\n“Which actually detangles curly fur, without tearing it. Might be exactly what a pretty poodle like you needs.” [i]Flirting? How in the hell is his brain firing on those cylinders?[/i]\nI’m about to call again, but he holds up a hand to stop me.\n“Yeah, sorry, one of my coworkers is pestering me. Yes, nothing else I can help you with? Good. Glad to hear it. Yes. You too. Have a great day, bye.” He ends the call and turns around on the chair with ease, as if I’ve just entered an office that I don’t earn enough to be welcome in. “What is it with you? Can’t hang up on the customers early. Can’t give them the time needed to finish the job.”\nI keep my cool, even having to look at his fat mule snout. “You have to pick your battles. We have twenty calls queued up, and I’m ashamed to say it, but I need your help.” My own brain is melting. Might be that tearing his head off would save me from collapsing on the spot in frustration.\nHis eyebrows are raised lazily. His ears always arrogantly pointed like flagpoles.\nI try breathing in deep, but I fail. “The Heartache Curling Iron that we just shipped like a thousand of… We just got an email from the supplier that there is faulty wiring in at least a third of them. Apparently it’s so much of a fire hazard that someone at the factory was already hospitalized…”\n“What’s this got to do with me?”\nI blink, trying not to lose my trail of thought. “We need to pull a list of all the customers who ordered one. We need to figure out which one’s shipped. Stop the ones we can. Email the customers… I don’t think we could feasibly call them all. Though they’re likely to call us…”\n“What do you want [i]me[/i] to do?”\nI hiss. “Get the list, while I write up a draft for an apology mail… If you could check with the shipping department, see what information they need. We need to get package labels for return shipping. And...” My breathing is getting away from me. “I need some help coordinating, man.”\nHe rocks from side to side on his chair for a few moments. Then he rolls his head, humming as if considering it. “Sorry, man, no can do. I have a fat list of callbacks I need to make. In like, an hour, maybe.”\nI can imagine my white fur turning red. “We’re off in an hour!”\n“Well then! Guess it’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.”\nAs if I were never there, Max turns on his chair, facing the computer once again.\nI want to throw things. I want to [i]fuck[/i] something. Rape it, even. Rape something he loves. [i]God![/i]\nI turn and head towards May’s office. I’ve been putting up with this for far too long. “May!” I catch her on her way out the door. “Do you have a moment?”\nShe stops. “Can it wait?”\n“Yes,” I say, somehow almost winded as I stand before her. “No. I don’t know.”\n“Fine… what is it?”\nI shake my head, trying to decide where to start. “We’ve got to talk about Max. He’s… obstructing the workflow.”\nShe frowns, confused.\n“He turned me down on the whole curling iron situation… Blew me clean off. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t care [i]at all[/i]. Has [i]callbacks[/i]? Pisses me right off, shitting all over our work. He wants to do it tomorrow...”\nShe shrugs deeply and glances at her watch. “[i]Can[/i] it not wait until tomorrow…? Does he not [i]actually[/i] have callbacks?”\n“I mean maybe… I…”\nShe sighs gently. “Did you hear out any of your other, very kind coworkers, or did you just ask Max because you want to be angry?”\nI stand blinking. I can feel my eyes watering.\n“Listen. Charlie. Do [i]you[/i] care about your work?”\n“Yes… what… of course I do?”\n“No, I don’t believe you.” She crosses her arms. “Why would you? It’s selling fucking shampoo to girls with brains the size of walnuts. You [i]obviously [/i]have more self-respect than that.”\n[i]Do I really?[/i] She’s in an odd mood. It’s kind of hot. But even through my persistent libido, I can’t focus on the way her hips impose on me. Her flaring nostrils are like a furnace.\n“So when you stand here, having a meltdown, maybe it’s not the damn curling irons that are the issue. Maybe Max has the healthy approach. Maybe you need a breather.”\nI’m frozen a moment before I nod.\n“Go home, Charlie. Take a long shower. Call a friend. Watch some TV. And tomorrow, I want you to ask yourself ‘am I well enough to go to work?’ If not, get yourself a therapist. Please.”\n“Fi… Fine...” \n\nI called my mom, and asked if we could get some family time. I made sure she didn’t take it in a sexual way. Though I wouldn’t mind dirtying up her tits, if we find a moment. It’s been a while.\nSo she arranged another family dinner, saying that since we live so close, we might as well make it a regular thing.\nHer, Bryce, Dalia, and I are gathered around the table. My depression is the topic of choice, and I hate it with a passion. I suppose I should be glad I can find a passion for something.\n“I don’t believe in therapy,” Bryce says. His drooping ears seem to weigh his slow words down even further. “What you need is a good, long fishing trip. Take some time away from everything. Get some quiet from all those phones and computers.”\nI groan faintly, though his words aren’t entirely without wisdom. I do subject myself to a lot of noise.\n“Sure,” Dalia laughs. “Bore the depression to death, will you?”\n“I’m not sure Charlie is your mark for a fishing partner,” mother says. “Try asking Miguel, maybe?”\nMiguel isn’t here yet. He’s running late for one or another reason.\nA part of me dreads what will happen the moment he recognizes me. Another part of me is kind of giddy. But then, of course, I’m just very tired for the most part, and can’t actually bring myself to be too invested in Miguel’s reaction.\n“Maybe I would like to go fishing,” I say, and the words seem to make a gentle perplexion run through the girls. I notice Dalia’s eyes dart between me and Bryce as if wondering whether I’m toying with the thought of bedding the graying dog. I cringe and shake the notion off me. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But now it has… and those things are like ticks.\nMiguel’s entry saves me from pondering further. “Sorry I’m late, guys,” he says as he strides through the door. The gathering greets him. His long legs seem to betray his usual composure as he makes his way to his seat. I breathe in, and the scent of his body heat reaches me. I exchange a knowing look with Dalia, seeming to say, [i]There certainly is something about horses.[/i]\nHe’s panting. “The bus never arrived. Called the company. They say it passed me. Lying goddamn idiots. I thought, what the hell, it’s twenty minutes out, might as well just jog it. I’m sorry, if I’m sweating, I...” Miguel freezes as he sees me, sitting across from him. I can tell something like ten thoughts pass through his head, which is probably a lot to him. He narrows his eyes, then widens them, which I assume means he knows where he’s recognizing me from.\nI lift my fingers from the table and give him a subtle wave.\n“Uh, Miguel,” mother says. “You’ve met Charlie, right?”\n“Hi,” I say.\n“Yes, uh,” he blinks. He starts seemingly distracting himself by pouring food for himself. “We’ve met. Last time I was here. Yes, I remember.”\n“It’s like you’ve seen a ghost there, my man,” I chuckle.\n“Just winded.”\n“So, Miguel,” Bryce says. “What do you think of therapists? Don’t you agree that, say, a fishing trip does more for mental health?”\nMiguel shakes his head to himself with a blank stare. “Therapists? Therapy? I think people should… get to be who they want to be… I don’t think you should be put in a box just because… you say something… do something… act like… not normal. Say, I’m cool with whatever. People tell you that there’s something wrong with you, you should tell them to... go take a hike. Nothing wrong with… Nothing wrong with being g-...”\nHe stops himself, and though the rest of the table looks like he handed them all Rubik’s cubes, I can imagine where he was going.\n“We were, uh,” Daisy says tentatively. “...talking about depression. It’s the plague of the nation. Every other person is seeing a therapist.”\n“Ah,” he says. “Ah, I see. That’s got to be like… all of the therapists, right? But… that would make… every other person a therapist.” He blinks to himself, and I'm on the verge of correcting his math. “I don’t… why would fishing help? My uncle says it’s something wrong with the brain. Like an illness...”\nI lean back and clear my throat. “Not half wrong,” I say, and intentionally I lather my voice in honey, narrowing my eyes at Miguel. “Depression is a lack of serotonin in the brain, likely around the frontal lobe, the part of your head that deals with choice, reasoning, and emotion. With less signal power, the brain simply has trouble communicating with itself. Thoughts slow down, you have trouble connecting abstract concepts. For instance, action-reward relationships. You stop doing stuff because you want to and the worse it gets, the more everything feels like… a chore.”\nAs I talk, I stretch my legs beneath the table and accidentally touch my toes to Miguel’s shins.\n“But just because it’s... chemicals, it doesn’t mean you have to treat it with chemicals. Body and mind are intricately woven together. Ask anyone how their bodies have reacted to stress. You will get a [i]ridiculous[/i] list of answers. Nausea. Gallstones. Hair loss. Erectile dysfunction. You name it. Works both ways. A fishing trip isn’t a half stupid idea in a world where people can convince themselves they have [i]wi-fi [/i]sickness and have to be hospitalized from the writhing pain of being in a room with [i]evil waves[/i].”\nI am dead sure that no one has ever snuck[i] gallstones[/i] into a flirt before. It hardly matters, Miguel likely heard one in three words. I just wanted him to watch my lips move. The white fur glistening in the lamp light. He remembers how deep he was inside me. He remembers loving it.\n“So,” I say, retracting the toe that had been an inch from going up his pant leg. “Should we go fishing? A [i]boy’s[/i] day out?”\n“I uh,” Miguel says. “I need to go to the bathroom.” He gets up and walks out, with more certain steps than before.\n“Okay,” Dalia says, shrugging. She gives me an intrigued look. “Is wi-fi sickness really a thing?”\n“It’s a thing in people’s heads. The mind is a powerful thing.” Though I know it’s rude, I get up to leave. I’ve got to say, the trap thing has done a lot for my confidence. “So, I’m full. I’m going to go for a cigarette.” I can tell Bryce is about to give a “fatherly scold”, but mother stops him with a hand over his.\nI go to the bathroom with the locked door. I put my ear against it. I’m hoping to hear evidence of Miguel rubbing one out fiercely, thinking it the only way of getting me out of his head.\nAll I hear is faint breathing.\nI shrug and hesitate a moment, before I tap it. “You alright in there?”\nHe audibly shudders. “Y… you.”\n“Yes, me. I was wondering if you were alright. Left quite in a hurry there.”\n“I’m just… confused.”\nI sigh. “How quaint. Want me to come in?”\n“Come in? Are you kidding me? I’m in the fucking bathroom.”\n“That’s a no, then?”\nA space of silence follows, before Miguel gets up. He turns the lock and opens the door. I keep eye contact with him, as I slither past him, wearing my most tantalizing smirk.\nI cross my legs leaning against the sink. “So, how have you been, champ?”\nHe’s looking down, hands in his pockets. “I’m going to be real, man. I have cheated on girlfriends before. Never really felt this bad. I really like your sister. But...”\nI keep my tail waving, knowing it’s distracting him. “But you want to know whether you’d rather that she was a boyfriend…?”\n“I don’t… know, man.”\n“But you’ve been thinking about me, yeah?”\n“Yes…”\nI see through his pants that he has an erection coming on. “So, what if you try again? Maybe it will make it easier to… decide?”\nHe looks me up and down. He crosses his arms, as if deeply suspicious of my ulterior motives. I turn around and lean easily against the mirror, as if studying my reflection. I arc my tail, presenting my rear with care.\nIn the mirror I see him step closer. He puts a palm on the small of my back. “Fine,” he says, sighing. “Could you… do the… hair…?” He nods towards me. “And…”\nI figure he wants me like he remembers that night. “I don’t really walk around with a makeup kit in my back pocket. Even if I wanted to dig through the cabinets here… The whole family’s out there, waiting for me to finish my cigarette. If you want to do something, you’re going to want to do it quick. So it’s me. As I am. As a boy.” [i]Or you keep it in your pants until you can come by my place later[/i]. But I want it now, so I don’t say it. Hopefully, he does too.\nHe undoes his pants.\nI suck in a sharp breath of air. I’ve always wanted to do the “adulterous quickie in the bathroom” arrangement. I just thought I’d be on the other end of it.\nI unbutton my pants, so he has no issue pulling them down. Putting my cheek against the mirror, I reach back and spread my ass for him. I feel him lay the weight of his dick on me. \nI hiss as he has trouble entering me. It hasn’t been too long, but it feels like staying in shape for him could be a full time job.\n“Can you…?” Miguel asks, as if he doesn’t remember how deep he went last time.\n“Dig in,” I say. “Hurry.”\nHe doesn’t need to get told twice. He leans in and I bite down. I feel a rush of cold through my muscles as he slips inside. I push my palms against the mirror and my mind goes blank as we collide.\nWe both groan, straining to not let our voices echo down the halls. I stretch my arms, purring my satisfaction, as he hunches over me, letting me feel his body heat. He humps hesitantly. I feel as if I have more control over my body’s feedback than I ought to.\n“Faster,” I whisper, focusing on not tightening up, letting him go deep. “No reason for the long-winded gentleman act.” \n“Stop,” he says, staggering. “Saying smart-ass words. Distracting.”\n“Call me a faggot.” I motion my hips against him, slithering my tail against his chest. “You know you want to.”\n“Stupid-ass faggot,” he echoes. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”\n“Then get it over with. Put your horse-genes in my asshole.”\n“My jeans?” In the mirror I see his blank stare, overcome with confused enthrallment. \n“Just cum, you idiot.”\nHis eyebrows signal annoyance as he takes on a rapid, almost nervous pace. I fight to contain my Cheshire grin, threatening to surface through the rocking motion.\n“Where… where do you want it.”\nI groan audibly. What’s a boy got to do to be treated like a girl? [i]Don’t you usually just take what you want? So because I’m a boy, I get to decide? You sexist pig. [/i]“Your call,” I yelp, certain that the depths he just went to has me at a volume that the dinner party can hear.\nHe opts for inside. I like to think he didn’t have the surplus of thought to change course.\nWhich was preferable, probably. Less cleanup. Though I would have liked to feel [i]dirty[/i]. He spurts, heaving, emptying his lungs, in tandem with his throbbing dick.\nWe stand panting stupidly against each other for a long expectant moment, before we gather ourselves. Finally Miguel pulls back, stuffing his dick into his pants, fixing his zipper with almost shameful, drooping motions.\nI’m distinctly focused on the sensation of fluid shifting inside me as I straighten my back. “You should get back.”\nHe nods, and before I’ve caught my breath, he’s out the door.\nI smile at my mirage, relishing my seductive wiles. I sigh and move to sit on the toilet. I’ve been a good kitten, I’ve deserved my orgasm too. I start stroking my perfectly hard dick, just moments from the limit, in spite of not being touched until now. I slow down. I reach back and touch my fingers to the hole Miguel just exercised. I lift my fingers to my tongue.\nAnd as I taste the sweetness of the horse’s cum, I let myself finish, staining my clothes and fur after all. \n\nDalia and I have gone to the garden, and looking over the stream, I ponder on my life and how it’s not as terrible as it seemed earlier today. She’s claimed a branch in the tree above, I’m comfortable seated on the hanging bench below her.\n“God,” she says, frantically messaging on her phone. “You’ve gone and absolutely ruined my boyfriend.”\nWe invited him to come have some air outside, as it would have been odd for Dalia to leave her boyfriend behind. But he opted to “rest” inside, which noticeably struck everyone as quite unlike him. \n“How so?” I say, chuckling.\n“What do you think, doofus?” She chuckles back with sarcastic emphasis. “He writes ‘[i]I think I might be gay[/i]’.” He still thinks Dalia doesn’t know about him “cheating”.\n“Sorry,” I say, trying to keep a straight face.\n“You’re not sorry at all,” she says, snorting. She starts typing with all the speed of a social butterfly. “[i]Just. Because. You. Saw. A. Boy. In. Tights. And. You. Kinda. Liked. It. Doesn’t. Make. You. Gay[/i].” She sighs. “[i]Bi. Tops.[/i]” She puts away the phone.\nShe leaps to the branch below her, her limbs a flash of pure agility. She hangs on to it by her knees and drops down, head hanging just beside me.\nI look into her eyes, pondering at the upside down cat giving me an oddly perplexed look. Her tail wavers with the grass and the leaves in the summer’s warm wind. “So Charlie. My boy. Charlienator. Chicky Diggy.”\nI blink. “Huhwat?”\nShe swings down in a sweeping motion and lands beside me on the hanging bench, sending it rocking. She leans back. “You owe me big time for letting you steal my boyfriend. [i]And[/i] sleeping with your fat friend.”\n“I certainly do…” I had been meaning to ask her about that. I haven’t seen or heard from him since the night at Christie’s. I had half expected him to send me a bragging text, first thing.\n“You will, and I quote, do [i]literally anything[/i] in return. Now I know people haven’t been kind to the word ‘literally’...” She rolls her eyes, alluding to my usual affinity for words. “But did you mean that?”\nI’m considering whether I should be nervous. She has an odd way of keeping me superpositioned between comfort and anxiety. “I mean… Yes… I guess it depends…”\n“Nope.” She shakes her head matter-of-factly. “Doesn’t depend. Literally anything. It means whatever I want.”\nMy heart pounds harder. On one hand, what have I gotten myself into? On the other, I’d likely trust her with my life, regardless of whether it’d be a smart decision or not. “Let’s see about that… what do you want, then?”\nShe wears a crooked smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fair. I want… to make a bet.”\n“A bet?”\nShe crosses her legs and lets her eyes rest on the stream’s running water. “Do you feel like there’s no point to your life? Like we’re at a… dead end? That we’re just… waiting for the rest of our lives to happen, and then it’ll be over?”\nI sit back and swallow a lump in my throat. I might not have been able to put it better myself. “Maybe.” Where is she going?\n“How about you and I take some risks? Step near the edge. Get to feel like we could lose it all?”\nI narrow my eyes. “Go on.”\n“Three dares.” She holds up three fingers. “I dare you. You dare me. We have to swear to do exactly what the other says. And it can’t just be something gross. I know you. It has to be dangerous.”\nI nod, quickly wrapping my mind around the proposal. “So like… involving other people?”\n“I mean,” she says, shrugging. “If you can make it dangerous without involving other people, I’ll let it pass.”\nI keep nodding to myself for a good, long moment. She looks expectantly at me, as I try to stifle my excited heartbeat. I consider slacking my upright tail, but she sees through me regardless. There would be no point in playing chicken with her. “Alright,” I say. “You’re on. Who goes first?”\n“Obviously me.”\n“Why you?”\n“Come on. I’m nobly making us both parts in it. [i]You owe me[/i].”\n“Fair.”\nShe smiles satisfied and silence falls. I’m expecting something, but I’m not sure what.\n“So,” I say. “What’s the dare? It feels like you’ve thought this out.”\n“I haven’t, actually,” she says musingly. “I have ideas. I’ll land on one in a bit.”\n“Ah.”\nA response from Miguel chimes in. She sighs again, before fishing out the phone and reading aloud. “[i]I did something bad. We need to talk[/i].” She shakes her head, exasperated. “See. Absolutely broke him. This doesn’t sound like the horse that [i]pulled[/i] me into his bedroom while his girlfriend just barely wasn’t looking. He just has a regular old sexual fantasy, and that fantasy happens to involve a boy. If people weren’t so fucking hung up on sex being the be-all, end-all of their identity.”\n“But isn’t sex ‘[i]the greatest adventure[/i]’ to you?” She likes it exactly because of what it does to people.\n“Hrmpf.” She seems to ponder on a response for Miguel. “Can I just tell him that I know about you two already and that it’s cool?”\n“You could,” I say easily. “But. Are you betting on him being stupid enough to not deduce that you’ve been fucking left and right?”\n“Three. Three meager boys besides him. Allow a girl a smidgen of sex, would you?” She leans back, closing her eyes, knowing perfectly well that I’m about to note that three is well beyond the zero Miguel was expecting. “Right. Right. I will stay my hand.”\nI chuckle. “You were hoping to get in on us doing it,” I say. “You’re jealous. Sadly, I think he’s a bit too innocent to corrupt to that degree.”\n“Yeah yeah,” she says, tossing her hand dismissively at me. “I will try to act surprised when he confesses. We’ll [i]work through it[/i], yadda yadda.” She types her answer. “[i]Sure. Honey. Whatever. It. Is. Don’t. Worry. About. It. Love. You. See. You. In. A. Bit[/i].” She gives me an interrogative look. “You don’t think he’s corruptible? You can’t imagine him having a fantasy of a threesome?”\n“A threesome involving [i]siblings[/i]?” I wince. “I’d believe it if you slapped the universal vindicator ‘step-siblings’ on the fantasy, maybe.”\n“You know,” she says with a careless air. “As I was living out the [i]Ugly Bastard Fantasy[/i], your friend Rory said [i]‘I bet you are as screwed up as your brother[/i]’. In a way that almost sounded like he’d taken you to bed.”\nI frown. Certainly, he and I are friends exactly because of that. “What’s your point?”\nShe scoots in and touches her shoulder to mine with a light purr. “Maybe wanting to take siblings to bed isn’t that uncommon.”\nI blink. “You think Rory wants to [i]do[/i] me?”\nShe shrugs. “I’m not saying he doesn’t want to do you.”\nThe image fills my head. For a long uncomfortable moment. But also an intriguing moment. I shake it off. Save it for later. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Has he been blowing up your phone?”\n“Eh.” She crosses her arms and swings her legs, brushing against mine. “He knows I have Miguel. Once a day. Less than expected.”\n“Yeah,” I say, having hoped he wouldn’t get clingy. “Sorry, about that. Are you answering him?”\n“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. We’ll see.”\nI lean in and bite at her ear, only briefly glancing back to make sure no one is watching us from the house. “What,” I whisper. “The [i]ugly bastard[/i] fantasy was only good for one go?”\nShe giggles. “He’s so [i]basic[/i]. Fuck my pussy, cum on my face. Where’s the [i]panache[/i]?”\nI laugh back. And Miguel is, what, the swashbuckling Jack Sparrow? I’m sure a horse cock alleviates the need for [i]panache[/i]. “Ah yes, your grand adventure needs [i]flavour[/i].”\n“I don’t say it enough.” She runs a finger through the fur on my cheek. “But no one paints out a [i]fantasy[/i] like you do. The ‘adventures’ we have had are ones for the history books.”\n[i]Ah yes[/i]. I couldn’t believe anyone has come close to making her do the things I’ve made her do. “Agreed. I have been cooking up some new ones. If you would care to listen in.”\n“[i]New[/i] ones?” She stares incredulously. “Seriously? Aren’t we a good few years from wearing out the ones we’ve already got in stock.”\nI lean back comfortably. “I gueeeess. But these ones are better.”\n“Newer, you mean.”\nI hold up a finger insistently. “[i]Better.[/i] I’ve been a right poet, wouldn’t you know. We’re talking scenarios. [i]Acting. Drama.[/i]” I’ve been practicing allowing [i]contrivance[/i]. Fantasies where it’s alright to pretend.\nShe gives me an impatient look, but ends up sighing in surrender. “If I can counter with some of my own. I’ve been getting inspired, [i]wouldn’t you know.[/i]” Her mockery is music in my ears.\n“Sure. We’ll take turns. I’ll go first.”\n\n[i]Picture the wild west. You, a rich farmer’s daughter, bows, flowing dress, and a soft wide-brimmed hat. I, the scoundrel terrorizing the countryside, unshaved, bullet holes in my cowboy-hat, yet my full black-and-white tail sweeps with noble pride.\nI meet you in your garden, luring you out with sweet romantic words. \nI kidnap you for the ransom money, I gag you, savoring the muffled sound of your words and the tears in the corners of your eyes. I tie you up, no care for your dress, one step short of tossing you onto a railroad.\nI fuck you because I can, and I’ve never had a pussy as soft as that of a rich man’s daughter. I share you with my gang, you’re tossed over a barrel in an abandoned barn, hollering men taking turns trying out your holes. They cum on your dress, your hair, and you sit back crying in the corner.\nNow, as the days pass, you catch a severe case of Stockholm syndrome. The pampered life at home bored you, now exposed to the pleasures of sex, you need less and less coaxing to fuck us. You lean into it, you start asking to be used as relief, when we come home tired from pillaging. \nThe ransom money comes. But you don’t want to go back. If you go back, it’s no more outlaw cock. We take the money and run, the two of us. We travel together, always throwing witty comments at each other. We rob trains, banks. Once the dress is worn down, you get jeans and a cowboy hat like mine.\nWe ride into the sunset. End scene.[/i]\n\nDalia nods reverently. “How picturesque. Always nice with a rape-into-surrender fantasy. A bit along the same lines, I was thinking…”\n\n[i]I’m abducted by aliens. You’re an alien. A sexy alien. Don’t laugh. I know you’re better at words than me. Biker Mice from Mars sort of deal.\nI’m locked in a single spot. Can’t move. I eat there, sleep there. In what looks like a… medieval stock. I’m livestock.\nYou experiment on me. You stuff things up my butt. Bigger and bigger things. In my head, it’s... comically big things. You see how deep you can go. How long I can choke, before I need to breathe. There would be oral injections. Through tentacle-like tubes. Imagine the sound. Gulp, gulp. The substances are intoxicating, I would lose any semblance of resistance, limply nodding along. \nThen I would be bred. But I suppose with you being aliens. How would that work?\nI guess you would kind of… lay eggs in me. My womb. My mouth and ass too. Make me a living incubator. The feeling of… something foreign inside me. It’s kind of interesting. I know, I know, it’s weird.[/i]\n\nI make wide eyes, taken aback. “Interesting, sure. Eggs. Never considered that. Going to have to… wrap my mind around that one. Don’t worry, try this on for weird...”\n\n[i]Picture the wondrous land of Perennia. Daliana, pigtailed aspirant magician in skimpy clothing, lives with her boyfriend. Life is beautiful. Except. He suffers from erectile dysfunction. Her spells don’t work. He’s somewhat annoyed that she can’t just be satisfied with his[/i] love. [i]She wants to vomit. \nShe takes him to a witch in the woods. There is only one potion that can help him. The main ingredient happens to be the semen from the dragon ferrets that the witch keeps in her backyard. A lithe, long-necked creature, with a heavy, furred, yet lizard-like tail.\nShe’s told she can just “milk” them, which she tries her hand at, timid at first. But the creatures are eager and they push her to the ground, mounting her. They fuck with animal fervor, stretching her to her limit, filling her with copious amounts of semen. [/i]Comical [i]amounts, if you will. The boyfriend watches in stunned silence, as she doesn’t fight, but valiantly realizes she can drain more by stroking them gently, tossing against them.\nStaggering inside, she places herself over the cauldron, letting loose the precious ingredient from inside her. It slides out in curtains and bubbles as it collides with the mixture.\nThe boyfriend is reluctant to drink the potion, but is spurred by the need to prove himself after the show before. He gulps it down, and soon after… they[/i] make love.\n[i]But from now on, she might have more of a fancy for the making of the potion than the results of it. And it might be that the boyfriend will learn to associate cleaning the residual cum from her holes with a harder dick.\nEnd scene.[/i]\n\nDalia holds back a smile. “So what, you’re the boyfriend or you’re the dragon ferrets?”\n“Uhhhhh, both?”\nShe shakes a finger at me. “Uh uh. You can’t just… have it all.”\nI shrug. “Sure I can.”\nShe jabs at my shoulder. “What if you could only be one?”\nI hold back, a sight uncomfortable that she’s forcing me to admit it. “Boyfriend.”\n“Don’t be embarrassed.” She laughs. “I have a cuck-fantasy cooking as well…”\n\n[i]Okay, so, picture, if you will, the two of us at a concert with one of those... teen metal bands made up of raggedy wolves. We all wear shaggy black hair, pierced lips, studded wristbands. You’re head over heels for the lead-singer, I think he’s kind of a dweeb.\nConcert is great, lots of sweating and ringing eardrums. Afterwards, you want to get backstage, you stand yelling with the rest of the fans, I go outside to smoke. I run into the bassist. He offhandedly lets me know I can get backstage for a blowjob. I’m like, whatever. I suck him off in the shadows, swallow his cum.\nBackstage, we do some drinking and some hard drugs, before I remember to bring you.\nStarstruck, you’re pulled in from the screaming crowd. You find the lead singer grabbing me, licking me, all like “This your girlfriend”? And you’re like “Yes?” And he licks me on the neck and I’m like “Stop it, you dweeb”, but he doesn’t, and the drugs have me thinking[/i] whatever.\n[i]We party on and you reluctantly do drugs with us. Not talking much, you’re suddenly faced with the muscular, gay drummer who says “You have to suck dick to be backstage”. He forces you to your knees and shoves his dick in your mouth, and behind him, you have to watch the others undress me. They slap me around and dick me down. They use all holes at the same time. They cum on my tits. They pour a dash of coke on them too, having me lick up both.\nThey say I’m their new favorite groupie. They say I have to be broken in. \nThey piss on me, like the dogs they are. And like an addict whore, I just lie, numbly taking it. Through the drugs, I’m like, yeah, makes sense, piss away. The drummer is like, sure, I gotta go to, and pisses down your throat.\nWe top it off with me wringing my piss-soaked skirt over your head, as your mouth is full of dick.\nSo hooot.[/i]\n\n“Easy there, tiger,” I say, raising my eyebrows at the hand that Dalia just shoved into her shorts. Not that I don’t feel the looming need to masturbate, but glancing over my shoulder, I loathe that men can’t really be inconspicuous about it.\n“What, don’t act like you don’t want to see me [i]get fucked up[/i].” Her eyes are closed, her mouth hanging open. Her sharp canines drip with saliva.\n“Alright,” I say daringly. “Alright. You want [i]fucked up[/i]? Buckle up, sweetheart…”\n\n[i]My boss, May, a strict horse with a warm sense of humor, has a framed photo standing on her desk. “Who’s this?” I ask, picking it up, as I’m one-on-one with her. \n“My daughter, Sally Moxy,” she says. “Just turned nine. Gets good grades in school. Likes to draw frogs. She’s an absolute sweetheart.”\nShe’s got deep, blue eyes. Round, soft cheeks. A long, blonde braid, thick and pullable. A denim dress, short enough to catch glimpses of her underwear, with no extraordinary finesse. I nod respectfully and set the picture back down.\nNow, by pure chance, I once saw her walk home from school. All alone. She passes by an area close to dense forest.\nNow you and I could place ourselves in the bushes. It wouldn’t take a lot of rope to keep her in place. We could gag her before she could scream. We could drag her to an abandoned cabin.\nAnd do whatever we want...[/i]\n\nDalia’s eyes shoot open and she gasps, her hand shuddering against her crotch.\nI smirk. “...Such as feeding her her favorite cake and helping her with her homework.”\nDalia sits breathing rapidly, arching her back. Her tail, usually a graceful curve, flickers, lost and confused. I see a wet stain spreading through her shorts.\nI lift my eyebrows at the melodramatic display. “Are you alright?”\n“I... came…” She sighs before turning her eyes to mine. “That got a little[i] real[/i] there, Charlie.”\nI second-guess myself as I do best. “Do I need to apologize?”\n“No,” she says, chuckling faintly. “Don’t ever apologize.” She retrieves her hand from her shorts and slides in close to me. “Anyhow, I know what the first dare is.” \nI focus on her fingers, the sunlight glistening in the wetness. “Oh. Let me hear.”\n“My first dare… is for you to masturbate at work. At your desk. Watching porn. You need to get me pictures.”\nPublic masturbation? Where getting caught would definitely have me lose my livelihood? “[i]Multiple[/i] pictures?” I ask, pondering. “Isn’t one enough?”\n“Like, I need to know you started and finished there.”\nI gasp, overly affronted. “What, you’d suspect me of cheating?”\n“Of course not. But it’s my dare. I decide.” Her grin is almost punchable. “So how about it?”\n“Honestly…” I waver my head, already scheming. “I expected worse.”\n“Good. Don’t you worry. Worse will come.”\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Intermezzo - The Pilot

Charlie was dragging himself to bed. He felt long drained. And still he felt like he was being tapped. He was a bottomless well, from which the universe could keep on taking. Take, if you so please!
What gives?
Nothing bad had happened. Nothing that bad.
Except. There was the look of disgust that Miguel had let slip before he walked out the door yesterday. It had been directed at himself, right? Or was it at Charlie?
There was the customer at work today who kept calling, crying that a product Charlie had recommended had made her daughter lose all her hair.
There was Dalia. Who he had had a lot of fun with. But would he ever look into her eyes… and feel that she looked as deep into his as he would into hers?
Bad thoughts. When they were seeming to pile on top of one another, it was best to… reboot.
He emptied his mind. And he slept.

Darkness fell and the six governing forces inside Charlie stepped up. They were not all equally old, but all felt they had a duty to leave their mark on the vessel they resided in.
There was Envy, the youngest. A gruff bully, looking like an equal winner and loser of many a backyard scrap. He had been with Charlie since he felt the spite from working a dayjob.
There was Melancholy. A soft-spoken, misunderstood kid, looking like a rebel too tired to fight. He had been with Charlie, since Dalia was sent away.
There was Lust. Slick as oil, rowdy as a schoolgirl, with the looks of one who could tear a devoted family father from his vows. She had been with him since he discovered porn.
There was Reason. Clean and neat, calculated, looking like he knew what numbers lay behind Charlie’s every decision. He had been with Charlie since he could count.
There was Kindness. She was pure white, a queen, and she was reminiscent of his mother. She had been with Charlie since he learned what home and a warm embrace was.
And finally, there was Ambition, who was Charlie’s spitting image, clad in a pitch black suit. He had been with Charlie, since Charlie first felt a thought, telling him to reach out for attention.
Ambition, ever the leader, adjusted his collar and dejectedly looked them over. “Our efforts… to keep Charlie in motion seem to yield… mixed results.”
“We had two days of high spirits,” Reason said, flipping through his notes. “Then we hit bottom again. We’re somewhat behind the prognosis on Dalia’s return.”
“Maybe we should… call her again…” Melancholy said.
“Yes!” Lust chimed in, her voice seeping through the gathering like honey-tinged whiskey. “We’ve had a bit too much Christie as of late. It’s been nice, but not perfect.”
“Dalia?” Kindness injected. “We should be calling his mother. She has his best interest at heart. We’ve been neglecting her.”
“Just as good!” Lust agreed. “Didn’t she say she wanted us to put babies inside her? Ambition, surely there’s a goal for you right there.”
Ambition huffed. “Is that what it’s come to? We won’t raise the child. Daisy will ruffle our hair, and compliment us. But where is the monument to us?”
“Always with the monuments,” Envy said. “Spiting the usurper will be your monument. The dog who is boning her. When we see him, we will know, ‘he is raising a child not his own’.”
“There will be a bittersweet longing,” Melancholy said. “An unfulfilled connection. The child will look our way… and never see the truth of things.”
“Chips and scraps,” Ambition said. “Why live, if not for closure? We will forever be halfway there… we need something bigger.”
“What?” Lust said, raising her voice. Everyone but Ambition trembled. “What exactly would be big enough? Halfway there? We will be halfway where, exactly? Don’t you think it is time for a change of pace? When have we made Charlie the happiest? When did the velvet sensation of accomplishment wash over him?”
There was a long silence.
Reason turned a page and jotted down a few notes. Finally he spoke. “When you were at the forefront, Lust. You’ve kept depression at bay.”
Ambition waved her off. “Lust. We have allowed you to taint his passions, but there is a journey and a destination, separate. His ambitions to captivate Miguel were not only for the sake of sexual release. Envy and I saw Miguel. And we decided that he was unconquered… and that he was owed to us.”
“You are naive,” Lust said. “To think I am secondary. You have failed, Ambition. You have tried too hard. Since your inception, you wanted Charlie to be a sensation. But in that, there was never a path good enough for him. In your sky high hopes, you kept treading water, until exhaustion set in... Nothing is ever big enough. So. Allow me to… slither in. Fill the void. To try my hand at it… To take charge.”
The six sets of eyes stared each other down. There was a tension, as Ambition considered whether to step back.
But he was not one to admit defeat.

Chapter 5 - Bargaining

With my blood pounding, I step up behind my nemesis. I’ve had an insurmountable amount of work dropped on me just now, and I need to find a way to navigate without crashing. “Max,” I say, with a stiff jaw.
I’m certain he’s been in the same call for five minutes, and he’s in absolutely no hurry. “So yeah, if you press the button down half-way, there’s actually a third setting…”
This is not the time to be dallying. “Max!”
“Which actually detangles curly fur, without tearing it. Might be exactly what a pretty poodle like you needs.” Flirting? How in the hell is his brain firing on those cylinders?
I’m about to call again, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
“Yeah, sorry, one of my coworkers is pestering me. Yes, nothing else I can help you with? Good. Glad to hear it. Yes. You too. Have a great day, bye.” He ends the call and turns around on the chair with ease, as if I’ve just entered an office that I don’t earn enough to be welcome in. “What is it with you? Can’t hang up on the customers early. Can’t give them the time needed to finish the job.”
I keep my cool, even having to look at his fat mule snout. “You have to pick your battles. We have twenty calls queued up, and I’m ashamed to say it, but I need your help.” My own brain is melting. Might be that tearing his head off would save me from collapsing on the spot in frustration.
His eyebrows are raised lazily. His ears always arrogantly pointed like flagpoles.
I try breathing in deep, but I fail. “The Heartache Curling Iron that we just shipped like a thousand of… We just got an email from the supplier that there is faulty wiring in at least a third of them. Apparently it’s so much of a fire hazard that someone at the factory was already hospitalized…”
“What’s this got to do with me?”
I blink, trying not to lose my trail of thought. “We need to pull a list of all the customers who ordered one. We need to figure out which one’s shipped. Stop the ones we can. Email the customers… I don’t think we could feasibly call them all. Though they’re likely to call us…”
“What do you want me to do?”
I hiss. “Get the list, while I write up a draft for an apology mail… If you could check with the shipping department, see what information they need. We need to get package labels for return shipping. And...” My breathing is getting away from me. “I need some help coordinating, man.”
He rocks from side to side on his chair for a few moments. Then he rolls his head, humming as if considering it. “Sorry, man, no can do. I have a fat list of callbacks I need to make. In like, an hour, maybe.”
I can imagine my white fur turning red. “We’re off in an hour!”
“Well then! Guess it’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.”
As if I were never there, Max turns on his chair, facing the computer once again.
I want to throw things. I want to fuck something. Rape it, even. Rape something he loves. God!
I turn and head towards May’s office. I’ve been putting up with this for far too long. “May!” I catch her on her way out the door. “Do you have a moment?”
She stops. “Can it wait?”
“Yes,” I say, somehow almost winded as I stand before her. “No. I don’t know.”
“Fine… what is it?”
I shake my head, trying to decide where to start. “We’ve got to talk about Max. He’s… obstructing the workflow.”
She frowns, confused.
“He turned me down on the whole curling iron situation… Blew me clean off. Doesn’t care. Doesn’t care at all. Has callbacks? Pisses me right off, shitting all over our work. He wants to do it tomorrow...”
She shrugs deeply and glances at her watch. “Can it not wait until tomorrow…? Does he not actually have callbacks?”
“I mean maybe… I…”
She sighs gently. “Did you hear out any of your other, very kind coworkers, or did you just ask Max because you want to be angry?”
I stand blinking. I can feel my eyes watering.
“Listen. Charlie. Do you care about your work?”
“Yes… what… of course I do?”
“No, I don’t believe you.” She crosses her arms. “Why would you? It’s selling fucking shampoo to girls with brains the size of walnuts. You obviously have more self-respect than that.”
Do I really? She’s in an odd mood. It’s kind of hot. But even through my persistent libido, I can’t focus on the way her hips impose on me. Her flaring nostrils are like a furnace.
“So when you stand here, having a meltdown, maybe it’s not the damn curling irons that are the issue. Maybe Max has the healthy approach. Maybe you need a breather.”
I’m frozen a moment before I nod.
“Go home, Charlie. Take a long shower. Call a friend. Watch some TV. And tomorrow, I want you to ask yourself ‘am I well enough to go to work?’ If not, get yourself a therapist. Please.”
“Fi… Fine...”  

I called my mom, and asked if we could get some family time. I made sure she didn’t take it in a sexual way. Though I wouldn’t mind dirtying up her tits, if we find a moment. It’s been a while.
So she arranged another family dinner, saying that since we live so close, we might as well make it a regular thing.
Her, Bryce, Dalia, and I are gathered around the table. My depression is the topic of choice, and I hate it with a passion. I suppose I should be glad I can find a passion for something.
“I don’t believe in therapy,” Bryce says. His drooping ears seem to weigh his slow words down even further. “What you need is a good, long fishing trip. Take some time away from everything. Get some quiet from all those phones and computers.”
I groan faintly, though his words aren’t entirely without wisdom. I do subject myself to a lot of noise.
“Sure,” Dalia laughs. “Bore the depression to death, will you?”
“I’m not sure Charlie is your mark for a fishing partner,” mother says. “Try asking Miguel, maybe?”
Miguel isn’t here yet. He’s running late for one or another reason.
A part of me dreads what will happen the moment he recognizes me. Another part of me is kind of giddy. But then, of course, I’m just very tired for the most part, and can’t actually bring myself to be too invested in Miguel’s reaction.
“Maybe I would like to go fishing,” I say, and the words seem to make a gentle perplexion run through the girls. I notice Dalia’s eyes dart between me and Bryce as if wondering whether I’m toying with the thought of bedding the graying dog. I cringe and shake the notion off me. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But now it has… and those things are like ticks.
Miguel’s entry saves me from pondering further. “Sorry I’m late, guys,” he says as he strides through the door. The gathering greets him. His long legs seem to betray his usual composure as he makes his way to his seat. I breathe in, and the scent of his body heat reaches me. I exchange a knowing look with Dalia, seeming to say, There certainly is something about horses.
He’s panting. “The bus never arrived. Called the company. They say it passed me. Lying goddamn idiots. I thought, what the hell, it’s twenty minutes out, might as well just jog it. I’m sorry, if I’m sweating, I...” Miguel freezes as he sees me, sitting across from him. I can tell something like ten thoughts pass through his head, which is probably a lot to him. He narrows his eyes, then widens them, which I assume means he knows where he’s recognizing me from.
I lift my fingers from the table and give him a subtle wave.
“Uh, Miguel,” mother says. “You’ve met Charlie, right?”
“Hi,” I say.
“Yes, uh,” he blinks. He starts seemingly distracting himself by pouring food for himself. “We’ve met. Last time I was here. Yes, I remember.”
“It’s like you’ve seen a ghost there, my man,” I chuckle.
“Just winded.”
“So, Miguel,” Bryce says. “What do you think of therapists? Don’t you agree that, say, a fishing trip does more for mental health?”
Miguel shakes his head to himself with a blank stare. “Therapists? Therapy? I think people should… get to be who they want to be… I don’t think you should be put in a box just because… you say something… do something… act like… not normal. Say, I’m cool with whatever. People tell you that there’s something wrong with you, you should tell them to... go take a hike. Nothing wrong with… Nothing wrong with being g-...”
He stops himself, and though the rest of the table looks like he handed them all Rubik’s cubes, I can imagine where he was going.
“We were, uh,” Daisy says tentatively. “...talking about depression. It’s the plague of the nation. Every other person is seeing a therapist.”
“Ah,” he says. “Ah, I see. That’s got to be like… all of the therapists, right? But… that would make… every other person a therapist.” He blinks to himself, and I'm on the verge of correcting his math. “I don’t… why would fishing help? My uncle says it’s something wrong with the brain. Like an illness...”
I lean back and clear my throat. “Not half wrong,” I say, and intentionally I lather my voice in honey, narrowing my eyes at Miguel. “Depression is a lack of serotonin in the brain, likely around the frontal lobe, the part of your head that deals with choice, reasoning, and emotion. With less signal power, the brain simply has trouble communicating with itself. Thoughts slow down, you have trouble connecting abstract concepts. For instance, action-reward relationships. You stop doing stuff because you want to and the worse it gets, the more everything feels like… a chore.”
As I talk, I stretch my legs beneath the table and accidentally touch my toes to Miguel’s shins.
“But just because it’s... chemicals, it doesn’t mean you have to treat it with chemicals. Body and mind are intricately woven together. Ask anyone how their bodies have reacted to stress. You will get a ridiculous list of answers. Nausea. Gallstones. Hair loss. Erectile dysfunction. You name it. Works both ways. A fishing trip isn’t a half stupid idea in a world where people can convince themselves they have wi-fi sickness and have to be hospitalized from the writhing pain of being in a room with evil waves.”
I am dead sure that no one has ever snuck gallstones into a flirt before. It hardly matters, Miguel likely heard one in three words. I just wanted him to watch my lips move. The white fur glistening in the lamp light. He remembers how deep he was inside me. He remembers loving it.
“So,” I say, retracting the toe that had been an inch from going up his pant leg. “Should we go fishing? A boy’s day out?”
“I uh,” Miguel says. “I need to go to the bathroom.” He gets up and walks out, with more certain steps than before.
“Okay,” Dalia says, shrugging. She gives me an intrigued look. “Is wi-fi sickness really a thing?”
“It’s a thing in people’s heads. The mind is a powerful thing.” Though I know it’s rude, I get up to leave. I’ve got to say, the trap thing has done a lot for my confidence. “So, I’m full. I’m going to go for a cigarette.” I can tell Bryce is about to give a “fatherly scold”, but mother stops him with a hand over his.
I go to the bathroom with the locked door. I put my ear against it. I’m hoping to hear evidence of Miguel rubbing one out fiercely, thinking it the only way of getting me out of his head.
All I hear is faint breathing.
I shrug and hesitate a moment, before I tap it. “You alright in there?”
He audibly shudders. “Y… you.”
“Yes, me. I was wondering if you were alright. Left quite in a hurry there.”
“I’m just… confused.”
I sigh. “How quaint. Want me to come in?”
“Come in? Are you kidding me? I’m in the fucking bathroom.”
“That’s a no, then?”
A space of silence follows, before Miguel gets up. He turns the lock and opens the door. I keep eye contact with him, as I slither past him, wearing my most tantalizing smirk.
I cross my legs leaning against the sink. “So, how have you been, champ?”
He’s looking down, hands in his pockets. “I’m going to be real, man. I have cheated on girlfriends before. Never really felt this bad. I really like your sister. But...”
I keep my tail waving, knowing it’s distracting him. “But you want to know whether you’d rather that she was a boyfriend…?”
“I don’t… know, man.”
“But you’ve been thinking about me, yeah?”
“Yes…”
I see through his pants that he has an erection coming on. “So, what if you try again? Maybe it will make it easier to… decide?”
He looks me up and down. He crosses his arms, as if deeply suspicious of my ulterior motives. I turn around and lean easily against the mirror, as if studying my reflection. I arc my tail, presenting my rear with care.
In the mirror I see him step closer. He puts a palm on the small of my back. “Fine,” he says, sighing.  “Could you… do the… hair…?” He nods towards me. “And…”
I figure he wants me like he remembers that night. “I don’t really walk around with a makeup kit in my back pocket. Even if I wanted to dig through the cabinets here… The whole family’s out there, waiting for me to finish my cigarette. If you want to do something, you’re going to want to do it quick. So it’s me. As I am. As a boy.” Or you keep it in your pants until you can come by my place later. But I want it now, so I don’t say it. Hopefully, he does too.
He undoes his pants.
I suck in a sharp breath of air. I’ve always wanted to do the “adulterous quickie in the bathroom” arrangement. I just thought I’d be on the other end of it.
I unbutton my pants, so he has no issue pulling them down. Putting my cheek against the mirror, I reach back and spread my ass for him. I feel him lay the weight of his dick on me.
I hiss as he has trouble entering me. It hasn’t been too long, but it feels like staying in shape for him could be a full time job.
“Can you…?” Miguel asks, as if he doesn’t remember how deep he went last time.
“Dig in,” I say. “Hurry.”
He doesn’t need to get told twice. He leans in and I bite down. I feel a rush of cold through my muscles as he slips inside. I push my palms against the mirror and my mind goes blank as we collide.
We both groan, straining to not let our voices echo down the halls. I stretch my arms, purring my satisfaction, as he hunches over me, letting me feel his body heat. He humps hesitantly. I feel as if I have more control over my body’s feedback than I ought to.
“Faster,” I whisper, focusing on not tightening up, letting him go deep. “No reason for the long-winded gentleman act.”
“Stop,” he says, staggering. “Saying smart-ass words. Distracting.”
“Call me a faggot.” I motion my hips against him, slithering my tail against his chest. “You know you want to.”
“Stupid-ass faggot,” he echoes. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Then get it over with. Put your horse-genes in my asshole.”
“My jeans?” In the mirror I see his blank stare, overcome with confused enthrallment.
“Just cum, you idiot.”
His eyebrows signal annoyance as he takes on a rapid, almost nervous pace. I fight to contain my Cheshire grin, threatening to surface through the rocking motion.
“Where… where do you want it.”
I groan audibly. What’s a boy got to do to be treated like a girl? Don’t you usually just take what you want? So because I’m a boy, I get to decide? You sexist pig. “Your call,” I yelp, certain that the depths he just went to has me at a volume that the dinner party can hear.
He opts for inside. I like to think he didn’t have the surplus of thought to change course.
Which was preferable, probably. Less cleanup. Though I would have liked to feel dirty. He spurts, heaving, emptying his lungs, in tandem with his throbbing dick.
We stand panting stupidly against each other for a long expectant moment, before we gather ourselves. Finally Miguel pulls back, stuffing his dick into his pants, fixing his zipper with almost shameful, drooping motions.
I’m distinctly focused on the sensation of fluid shifting inside me as I straighten my back. “You should get back.”
He nods, and before I’ve caught my breath, he’s out the door.
I smile at my mirage, relishing my seductive wiles. I sigh and move to sit on the toilet. I’ve been a good kitten, I’ve deserved my orgasm too. I start stroking my perfectly hard dick, just moments from the limit, in spite of not being touched until now. I slow down. I reach back and touch my fingers to the hole Miguel just exercised. I lift my fingers to my tongue.
And as I taste the sweetness of the horse’s cum, I let myself finish, staining my clothes and fur after all.

Dalia and I have gone to the garden, and looking over the stream, I ponder on my life and how it’s not as terrible as it seemed earlier today. She’s claimed a branch in the tree above, I’m comfortable seated on the hanging bench below her.
“God,” she says, frantically messaging on her phone. “You’ve gone and absolutely ruined my boyfriend.”
We invited him to come have some air outside, as it would have been odd for Dalia to leave her boyfriend behind. But he opted to “rest” inside, which noticeably struck everyone as quite unlike him.
“How so?” I say, chuckling.
“What do you think, doofus?” She chuckles back with sarcastic emphasis. “He writes ‘I think I might be gay’.” He still thinks Dalia doesn’t know about him “cheating”.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to keep a straight face.
“You’re not sorry at all,” she says, snorting. She starts typing with all the speed of a social butterfly. “Just. Because. You. Saw. A. Boy. In. Tights. And. You. Kinda. Liked. It. Doesn’t. Make. You. Gay.” She sighs. “Bi. Tops.” She puts away the phone.
She leaps to the branch below her, her limbs a flash of pure agility. She hangs on to it by her knees and drops down, head hanging just beside me.
I look into her eyes, pondering at the upside down cat giving me an oddly perplexed look. Her tail wavers with the grass and the leaves in the summer’s warm wind. “So Charlie. My boy. Charlienator. Chicky Diggy.”
I blink. “Huhwat?”
She swings down in a sweeping motion and lands beside me on the hanging bench, sending it rocking. She leans back. “You owe me big time for letting you steal my boyfriend. And sleeping with your fat friend.”
“I certainly do…” I had been meaning to ask her about that. I haven’t seen or heard from him since the night at Christie’s. I had half expected him to send me a bragging text, first thing.
“You will, and I quote, do literally anything in return. Now I know people haven’t been kind to the word ‘literally’...” She rolls her eyes, alluding to my usual affinity for words. “But did you mean that?”
I’m considering whether I should be nervous. She has an odd way of keeping me superpositioned between comfort and anxiety. “I mean… Yes… I guess it depends…”
“Nope.” She shakes her head matter-of-factly. “Doesn’t depend. Literally anything. It means whatever I want.”
My heart pounds harder. On one hand, what have I gotten myself into? On the other, I’d likely trust her with my life, regardless of whether it’d be a smart decision or not. “Let’s see about that… what do you want, then?”
She wears a crooked smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fair. I want… to make a bet.”
“A bet?”
She crosses her legs and lets her eyes rest on the stream’s running water. “Do you feel like there’s no point to your life? Like we’re at a… dead end? That we’re just… waiting for the rest of our lives to happen, and then it’ll be over?”
I sit back and swallow a lump in my throat. I might not have been able to put it better myself. “Maybe.” Where is she going?
“How about you and I take some risks? Step near the edge. Get to feel like we could lose it all?”
I narrow my eyes. “Go on.”
“Three dares.” She holds up three fingers. “I dare you. You dare me. We have to swear to do exactly what the other says. And it can’t just be something gross. I know you. It has to be dangerous.”
I nod, quickly wrapping my mind around the proposal. “So like… involving other people?”
“I mean,” she says, shrugging. “If you can make it dangerous without involving other people, I’ll let it pass.”
I keep nodding to myself for a good, long moment. She looks expectantly at me, as I try to stifle my excited heartbeat. I consider slacking my upright tail, but she sees through me regardless. There would be no point in playing chicken with her. “Alright,” I say. “You’re on. Who goes first?”
“Obviously me.”
“Why you?”
“Come on. I’m nobly making us both parts in it. You owe me.”
“Fair.”
She smiles satisfied and silence falls. I’m expecting something, but I’m not sure what.
“So,” I say. “What’s the dare? It feels like you’ve thought this out.”
“I haven’t, actually,” she says musingly. “I have ideas. I’ll land on one in a bit.”
“Ah.”
A response from Miguel chimes in. She sighs again, before fishing out the phone and reading aloud. “I did something bad. We need to talk.” She shakes her head, exasperated. “See. Absolutely broke him. This doesn’t sound like the horse that pulled me into his bedroom while his girlfriend just barely wasn’t looking. He just has a regular old sexual fantasy, and that fantasy happens to involve a boy. If people weren’t so fucking hung up on sex being the be-all, end-all of their identity.”
“But isn’t sex ‘the greatest adventure’ to you?” She likes it exactly because of what it does to people.
“Hrmpf.” She seems to ponder on a response for Miguel. “Can I just tell him that I know about you two already and that it’s cool?”
“You could,” I say easily. “But. Are you betting on him being stupid enough to not deduce that you’ve been fucking left and right?”
“Three. Three meager boys besides him. Allow a girl a smidgen of sex, would you?” She leans back, closing her eyes, knowing perfectly well that I’m about to note that three is well beyond the zero Miguel was expecting. “Right. Right. I will stay my hand.”
I chuckle. “You were hoping to get in on us doing it,” I say. “You’re jealous. Sadly, I think he’s a bit too innocent to corrupt to that degree.”
“Yeah yeah,” she says, tossing her hand dismissively at me. “I will try to act surprised when he confesses. We’ll work through it, yadda yadda.” She types her answer. “Sure. Honey. Whatever. It. Is. Don’t. Worry. About. It. Love. You. See. You. In. A. Bit.” She gives me an interrogative look. “You don’t think he’s corruptible? You can’t imagine him having a fantasy of a threesome?”
“A threesome involving siblings?” I wince. “I’d believe it if you slapped the universal vindicator ‘step-siblings’ on the fantasy, maybe.”
“You know,” she says with a careless air. “As I was living out the Ugly Bastard Fantasy, your friend Rory said ‘I bet you are as screwed up as your brother’. In a way that almost sounded like he’d taken you to bed.”
I frown. Certainly, he and I are friends exactly because of that. “What’s your point?”
She scoots in and touches her shoulder to mine with a light purr. “Maybe wanting to take siblings to bed isn’t that uncommon.”
I blink. “You think Rory wants to do me?”
She shrugs. “I’m not saying he doesn’t want to do you.”
The image fills my head. For a long uncomfortable moment. But also an intriguing moment. I shake it off. Save it for later. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Has he been blowing up your phone?”
“Eh.” She crosses her arms and swings her legs, brushing against mine. “He knows I have Miguel. Once a day. Less than expected.”
“Yeah,” I say, having hoped he wouldn’t get clingy. “Sorry, about that. Are you answering him?”
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. We’ll see.”
I lean in and bite at her ear, only briefly glancing back to make sure no one is watching us from the house. “What,” I whisper. “The ugly bastard fantasy was only good for one go?”
She giggles. “He’s so basic. Fuck my pussy, cum on my face. Where’s the panache?”
I laugh back. And Miguel is, what, the swashbuckling Jack Sparrow? I’m sure a horse cock alleviates the need for panache. “Ah yes, your grand adventure needs flavour.”
“I don’t say it enough.” She runs a finger through the fur on my cheek. “But no one paints out a fantasy like you do. The ‘adventures’ we have had are ones for the history books.”
Ah yes. I couldn’t believe anyone has come close to making her do the things I’ve made her do. “Agreed. I have been cooking up some new ones. If you would care to listen in.”
“New ones?” She stares incredulously. “Seriously? Aren’t we a good few years from wearing out the ones we’ve already got in stock.”
I lean back comfortably. “I gueeeess. But these ones are better.”
“Newer, you mean.”
I hold up a finger insistently. “Better. I’ve been a right poet, wouldn’t you know. We’re talking scenarios. Acting. Drama.” I’ve been practicing allowing contrivance. Fantasies where it’s alright to pretend.
She gives me an impatient look, but ends up sighing in surrender. “If I can counter with some of my own. I’ve been getting inspired, wouldn’t you know.” Her mockery is music in my ears.
“Sure. We’ll take turns. I’ll go first.”

Picture the wild west. You, a rich farmer’s daughter, bows, flowing dress, and a soft wide-brimmed hat. I, the scoundrel terrorizing the countryside, unshaved, bullet holes in my cowboy-hat, yet my full black-and-white tail sweeps with noble pride.
I meet you in your garden, luring you out with sweet romantic words.
I kidnap you for the ransom money, I gag you, savoring the muffled sound of your words and the tears in the corners of your eyes. I tie you up, no care for your dress, one step short of tossing you onto a railroad.
I fuck you because I can, and I’ve never had a pussy as soft as that of a rich man’s daughter. I share you with my gang, you’re tossed over a barrel in an abandoned barn, hollering men taking turns trying out your holes. They cum on your dress, your hair, and you sit back crying in the corner.
Now, as the days pass, you catch a severe case of Stockholm syndrome. The pampered life at home bored you, now exposed to the pleasures of sex, you need less and less coaxing to fuck us. You lean into it, you start asking to be used as relief, when we come home tired from pillaging.
The ransom money comes. But you don’t want to go back. If you go back, it’s no more outlaw cock. We take the money and run, the two of us. We travel together, always throwing witty comments at each other. We rob trains, banks. Once the dress is worn down, you get jeans and a cowboy hat like mine.
We ride into the sunset. End scene.

Dalia nods reverently. “How picturesque. Always nice with a rape-into-surrender fantasy. A bit along the same lines, I was thinking…”

I’m abducted by aliens. You’re an alien. A sexy alien. Don’t laugh. I know you’re better at words than me. Biker Mice from Mars sort of deal.
I’m locked in a single spot. Can’t move. I eat there, sleep there. In what looks like a… medieval stock. I’m livestock.
You experiment on me. You stuff things up my butt. Bigger and bigger things. In my head, it’s... comically big things. You see how deep you can go. How long I can choke, before I need to breathe. There would be oral injections. Through tentacle-like tubes. Imagine the sound. Gulp, gulp. The substances are intoxicating, I would lose any semblance of resistance, limply nodding along.  
Then I would be bred. But I suppose with you being aliens. How would that work?
I guess you would kind of… lay eggs in me. My womb. My mouth and ass too. Make me a living incubator. The feeling of… something foreign inside me. It’s kind of interesting. I know, I know, it’s weird.

I make wide eyes, taken aback. “Interesting, sure. Eggs. Never considered that. Going to have to… wrap my mind around that one. Don’t worry, try this on for weird...”

Picture the wondrous land of Perennia. Daliana, pigtailed aspirant magician in skimpy clothing, lives with her boyfriend. Life is beautiful. Except. He suffers from erectile dysfunction. Her spells don’t work. He’s somewhat annoyed that she can’t just be satisfied with his love. She wants to vomit.
She takes him to a witch in the woods. There is only one potion that can help him. The main ingredient happens to be the semen from the dragon ferrets that the witch keeps in her backyard. A lithe, long-necked creature, with a heavy, furred, yet lizard-like tail.
She’s told she can just “milk” them, which she tries her hand at, timid at first. But the creatures are eager and they push her to the ground, mounting her. They fuck with animal fervor, stretching her to her limit, filling her with copious amounts of semen. Comical amounts, if you will. The boyfriend watches in stunned silence, as she doesn’t fight, but valiantly realizes she can drain more by stroking them gently, tossing against them.
Staggering inside, she places herself over the cauldron, letting loose the precious ingredient from inside her. It slides out in curtains and bubbles as it collides with the mixture.
The boyfriend is reluctant to drink the potion, but is spurred by the need to prove himself after the show before. He gulps it down, and soon after… they make love.
But from now on, she might have more of a fancy for the making of the potion than the results of it. And it might be that the boyfriend will learn to associate cleaning the residual cum from her holes with a harder dick.
End scene.

Dalia holds back a smile. “So what, you’re the boyfriend or you’re the dragon ferrets?”
“Uhhhhh, both?”
She shakes a finger at me. “Uh uh. You can’t just… have it all.”
I shrug. “Sure I can.”
She jabs at my shoulder. “What if you could only be one?”
I hold back, a sight uncomfortable that she’s forcing me to admit it. “Boyfriend.”
“Don’t be embarrassed.” She laughs. “I have a cuck-fantasy cooking as well…”

Okay, so, picture, if you will, the two of us at a concert with one of those... teen metal bands made up of raggedy wolves. We all wear shaggy black hair, pierced lips, studded wristbands. You’re head over heels for the lead-singer, I think he’s kind of a dweeb.
Concert is great, lots of sweating and ringing eardrums. Afterwards, you want to get backstage, you stand yelling with the rest of the fans, I go outside to smoke. I run into the bassist. He offhandedly lets me know I can get backstage for a blowjob. I’m like, whatever. I suck him off in the shadows, swallow his cum.
Backstage, we do some drinking and some hard drugs, before I remember to bring you.
Starstruck, you’re pulled in from the screaming crowd. You find the lead singer grabbing me, licking me, all like “This your girlfriend”? And you’re like “Yes?” And he licks me on the neck and I’m like “Stop it, you dweeb”, but he doesn’t, and the drugs have me thinking whatever.
We party on and you reluctantly do drugs with us. Not talking much, you’re suddenly faced with the muscular, gay drummer who says “You have to suck dick to be backstage”. He forces you to your knees and shoves his dick in your mouth, and behind him, you have to watch the others undress me. They slap me around and dick me down. They use all holes at the same time. They cum on my tits. They pour a dash of coke on them too, having me lick up both.
They say I’m their new favorite groupie. They say I have to be broken in.
They piss on me, like the dogs they are. And like an addict whore, I just lie, numbly taking it. Through the drugs, I’m like, yeah, makes sense, piss away. The drummer is like, sure, I gotta go to, and pisses down your throat.
We top it off with me wringing my piss-soaked skirt over your head, as your mouth is full of dick.
So hooot.

“Easy there, tiger,” I say, raising my eyebrows at the hand that Dalia just shoved into her shorts. Not that I don’t feel the looming need to masturbate, but glancing over my shoulder, I loathe that men can’t really be inconspicuous about it.
“What, don’t act like you don’t want to see me get fucked up.” Her eyes are closed, her mouth hanging open. Her sharp canines drip with saliva.
“Alright,” I say daringly. “Alright. You want fucked up? Buckle up, sweetheart…”

My boss, May, a strict horse with a warm sense of humor, has a framed photo standing on her desk. “Who’s this?” I ask, picking it up, as I’m one-on-one with her.
“My daughter, Sally Moxy,” she says. “Just turned nine. Gets good grades in school. Likes to draw frogs. She’s an absolute sweetheart.”
She’s got deep, blue eyes. Round, soft cheeks. A long, blonde braid, thick and pullable. A denim dress, short enough to catch glimpses of her underwear, with no extraordinary finesse. I nod respectfully and set the picture back down.
Now, by pure chance, I once saw her walk home from school. All alone. She passes by an area close to dense forest.
Now you and I could place ourselves in the bushes. It wouldn’t take a lot of rope to keep her in place. We could gag her before she could scream. We could drag her to an abandoned cabin.
And do whatever we want...

Dalia’s eyes shoot open and she gasps, her hand shuddering against her crotch.
I smirk. “...Such as feeding her her favorite cake and helping her with her homework.”
Dalia sits breathing rapidly, arching her back. Her tail, usually a graceful curve, flickers, lost and confused. I see a wet stain spreading through her shorts.
I lift my eyebrows at the melodramatic display. “Are you alright?”
“I... came…” She sighs before turning her eyes to mine. “That got a little real there, Charlie.”
I second-guess myself as I do best. “Do I need to apologize?”
“No,” she says, chuckling faintly. “Don’t ever apologize.” She retrieves her hand from her shorts and slides in close to me. “Anyhow, I know what the first dare is.”
I focus on her fingers, the sunlight glistening in the wetness. “Oh. Let me hear.”
“My first dare… is for you to masturbate at work. At your desk. Watching porn. You need to get me pictures.”
Public masturbation? Where getting caught would definitely have me lose my livelihood? “Multiple pictures?” I ask, pondering. “Isn’t one enough?”
“Like, I need to know you started and finished there.”
I gasp, overly affronted. “What, you’d suspect me of cheating?”
“Of course not. But it’s my dare. I decide.” Her grin is almost punchable. “So how about it?”
“Honestly…” I waver my head, already scheming. “I expected worse.”
“Good. Don’t you worry. Worse will come.”
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