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Hopefully, it'll be relatively frequently, but I ain't being paid for any of this shit, so be fuckin' patient for the next chunk ya dingdongs. Of course, what better way to start the story of a sexually deviant dragon off, than with some good old-fashioned furry porn, right? Okay, it's not the whole first chapter, and I'm sure I'll get yelled at for it, but if Attack on Titan can pull this shit and not get anybody complaining, so can I.\n\nEDIT 20180112: Noticed a little hole in the plot as I'm writing the next chapter, so I changed a couple small things that would make the next piece flow much better. Not really sure why I'm bothering to make a point about this, but if the site is gonna let me do this, I might as well own up to my mistakes, eh?", "description_bbcode_parsed": "This is the first chapter of Stoned at the Laundromat, an ongoing series I plan to release whenever I have time to make it. Hopefully, it'll be relatively frequently, but I ain't being paid for any of this shit, so be fuckin' patient for the next chunk ya dingdongs. Of course, what better way to start the story of a sexually deviant dragon off, than with some good old-fashioned furry porn, right? Okay, it's not the whole first chapter, and I'm sure I'll get yelled at for it, but if Attack on Titan can pull this shit and not get anybody complaining, so can I.

EDIT 20180112: Noticed a little hole in the plot as I'm writing the next chapter, so I changed a couple small things that would make the next piece flow much better. Not really sure why I'm bothering to make a point about this, but if the site is gonna let me do this, I might as well own up to my mistakes, eh?", "writing": " Every single morning, I have a specific routine I like to stick to as best I can. By now, I’ve learned not to take this routine too seriously though, because there could always be some off-chance event that throws off my mojo. Better to not get my hopes up for being perfect every time. Fortunately, this morning was one of the easier ones, seeing how it was my day off.\n I felt myself struggling to arise from a dream involving myself driving a car (of course), and rather skillfully, if I do say so myself. Of course, it was a dream, so I drove quite recklessly as well; swinging out the back end from side to side like a Group B rally car. I have this dream a lot, now that I think about it, but it’s never quite the same from one instance to the next. More often than not, the car I’m driving is an amalgam of several others. This time, it was very clearly a new Ford GT painted in electric blue, though the interior looked straight out of a first gen Miata. It was different than usual in other ways too; I was driving off-road this time, and in the early afternoon, which was new. Just as well, the cars I normally find myself behind the wheel of in these dreams are never this expensive. Typically, it’s something much simpler like an old Mustang, a CRX, or a Jeep Cherokee crossover.\n I opened my eyes to see the lucky dream catcher I had made back in May tacked into the ceiling tile above me. I turned my head over to the right, eyeing up the little white alarm clock reading 1:12 PM in bright red digital numbers. [i]Early again,[/i] I muttered to myself in the back of my head as I rolled back over to look up at the dreamcatcher again. Every morning I take a moment to do this; focus on the trinket, and use it as a reminder to plan out the whole day in advance. “Is my mind free of any chaos?” is always the first question to pop up, and in order to answer this, I have to first assess the state of my environment; take note of any garbage or loose clothing on the floor, and plan to banish that chaos from my world as soon as possible. I thought back to last night, and how in my intoxicated state of hysteria after coming home from the Christmas party with my parents and a number of family friends, most of whom we knew from the church in my hometown, I had expressed little care to actually aim for the trash can when tossing away my used tissues. I turned on my side to peek over the edge of the mattress. Sure enough there they were, scattered about the immediate area surrounding the can and my little pine wood night table. [i]I wonder if it would be prudent to move that somewhere else,[/i] I pondered.\n Still drowsy as hell, I rubbed the sleep stickies out of my eyes to begrudgingly sit myself upright. I took a deep, heavy breath as my vision began to readjust, but I had to stop myself part-way through as the phlegmmy wheezing somewhere in the deepest recesses of my lungs and their bronchioles made itself more than apparent as it rumbled and bubbled up. Instinctively, I began to cough violently, feeling the immense vibration rippling throughout my entire respiratory system. The sensation rocked itself ever so forcefully and sent wave after wave of pain up my spine and lungs as my body did all it could do to reject the foreign entity. I covered my muzzle with my left fossa and, with my right hand free, reached over and pulled out a tissue from the purple box on the end table before allowing myself to hack up and spit out the nasty slime into the paper. With a sigh of relief that the episode was over after a good minute, I folded up the tissue and tossed it over into the aluminum mesh waste bin. Three points off the backboard.\n I leaned down to reach into my denim tote bag laying at the foot of the night stand and pulled out the green-and-white pill bottle containing my allergy medication. I pressed on the lid and turned it anticlockwise to break the child lock and reveal the drug inside. With at least thirty some-odd pills still in there and no sense of worry for needing to get more any time soon, I stuck in a finger and dragged one out, and popped the tiny caplet onto my long, pink, dragon tongue and swallowing it dry. The piece travelled down my throat and into my stomach smooth enough to not need it, but nevertheless, I brought myself to my feet, grabbed the empty blue plastic cup I had used last night, and yanked the bedroom door open much harder than usual only to be met with a blast of freezing cold atmosphere slapping against my bare naked scales. It sent a shiver from my feet on the icy cold tile floor of the kitchen all the way up to the base of my neck, but I ignored it and twisted the faucet handle open to run water through the filter. I then put the cup underneath the stream, holding it there to let it fill up.\n As the water level began to rise, the cold hit me once again, this time much harder as I was forced to just stand there and bear it. After filling the tall glass to its brim, I took a hefty swig for an extra precautionary measure, forcing the pill the rest of the way into my stomach. I don’t need any hydrophilic pill getting stuck to my esophageal lining and potentially being acidic enough to burn right through it.\n I retreated to my room with a glass half-full in tow, and gently shut the door behind me. I set the cup down on the table after taking one more sip before bending down to switch on the space heater to full power. The little box at my feet began to wind up slowly, steadily getting faster and louder until reaching a steady whirring idle and blowing hot air right at my shins.\n The heat impacted my scales harshly, but being the cold-blooded dragon that I am, it felt incredibly welcoming and soothing nonetheless; so incredible I decided to reorient the machine and clear some space in front of it enough to plop my naked body down in front of it and warm up. I sat myself up in a lotus pose, folded my fingers together in my lap, curled my long, thick tail all around myself to lightly touch its tip to its base on the floor, and shut my eyes. I allowed the warmth to wash over my entire being as I began to recite my mantra:\n [center][i]Clean space, clean body, clean mind… Clean space, clean body, clean mind… Clean space, clean body, clean mind…[/i][/center]\n I took a slow, gentle breath expecting more wheezing to knock me into another coughing fit, but there wasn’t any. [i]What a nice surprise,[/i] I thought. [i]I guess the withdrawal sickness is finally starting to go away.[/i]\n It had been quite some time since I had last smoked up, but today was the day where I’d finally take another hit, and I couldn’t have been more excited for it. Being such a heavy smoker and doing it every day, as soon as I stop being high all the time in favor of actually working and making money, it makes sense that my body would freak out and make me think that I’m sick; mimicking flu symptoms for three days straight. Throughout this half-week-long period of withdrawal, not only were the nerves under my hide riddled with hypersensitivity and a non-stop tingling sensation due to a sudden drop in THC, but my diet had essentially consisted of nothing but water, hot tea, ramen noodles, and menthol cough drops, which I think I’m beginning to like… Or maybe it’s just the withdrawal playing tricks on me, and my brain thinks it’s getting high on it, now.\n I sat back on the grayish-white carpet, leaning against the edge of my bed while taking in the relief of warmth, or at least that was what I had intended to do. Instead of resting myself gently against the mattress, I fell backwards, hitting the back of my head against the black, polished metal bed frame before impacting the ground with a distinct thud.\n “Shit,” I groaned while clamping my hands around the back of my head to cradle the damage. Rolling my body from side to side, trying to bear the trauma, I opened my eyes again to see that I had fallen nearly a foot and a half into the space between the mattress and the floor, where I keep my childhood toys, art pieces from school, extra sheets, and seasonal clothes that don’t work well for winter time in clear plastic bins. Though sharp and twinging as it was, the pain was drowned out by another sensation. With my face screwed up and my teeth clenched, I lifted my head up to look down at my lower half to see that the space heater was now at peak temperature, and was blowing hot and strong right into my open crotch. I had noticed as well that the tip of my pink member had begun to poke itself out of its slit. “Mmmmrr hey buddy…” I murred quietly as it began to grow.\n I sat myself back up again, this time being sure to simply lean up against the bed instead of make myself judge distances while still half asleep. “We really going for an early one?” I asked my penis as its large, soft barbs began to swell and throb along with my heartbeat. With my body fully supported by the bed, I reached over to find the bottle of Dr. Blue’s lavender scented body oil I apparently had accidently knocked onto the floor in the middle of the night, and flipped open the cap. It certainly did smell nice…\n My knot was now exposed and full of blood, my thick barbs were pulsing, and my tip had begun to leak. Playfully, I imagined the nine-and-a-half-inch phallus answering back, “‘Guess so,” as I poured a generous amount of oil onto my left hand. With all set and ready, I took hold of my cock and began to stroke it slowly, making sure to hold the base of the tip extra tight as to tickle the sweet spot, just how I like it.\n I set the bottle down next to me and sighed deeply, my piece throbbing and twitching even harder as my pace had already begun to quicken a little. I thought strongly about Beth Karina, my favorite actress from [i]Quarry in the Cosmos: The Next Generation,[/i] an 80’s sci-fi television series I often found myself watching as a teenager.\n I closed my eyes and pictured her long, curly black hair that she always kept tied back, her snow-white fur and cute, little pink nose. In this image, her tall and fluffy ears were perked and ready to listen as they always seemed to be on-camera with her long, poofy tail sprouting from her shapely rear end. Her wide hips would swing from side to side as she walked towards me, her double-D breasts hanging free and bouncing with each step. I often like to fantasize about my own additions or modifications to the anatomy of whomever I happen to be thinking about while pawing myself off, and this time was no different. I gave Beth a slightly-above-average-sized, tapering penis with bright pink flesh to match my own. It had little feline barbs encompassing the head and shaft along with a pair of appropriately-proportioned testes held within a tight sac that matched the rest of her fur underneath. Much like her mammaries, her kitty cock swung about with every step; certainly substantial, though still small and innocent enough to reach that level of realism I’m so fond of. As she would come nearer, her bright green, shimmering eyes would get right up to mine as they would close, while her tiny, fragile, feline lips pressed against mine. We would kiss passionately while she straddled herself over my tan belly and crotch as we lay right where I was in reality.\n She was a rather tall panther, much like myself; were we to stand back to back with each other, we’d be nearly the same at almost six-foot-seven, though I’ve always felt she would beat me out by a smidgeon. Her midriff was pencil thin, so I always thought her she would be light as a feather relative to my 180-pound bench-press. I imagined her on top of me, breathing heavily as she sat herself down on my throbbing, dripping cock. She would begin to ride it hard and slow, having a constant, steady rhythm as she purred rather audibly right in my ear while she nibbled it a little. The thought of ear play caused my pawing hand to quicken its pace as it rubbed the oil all along my member, coating every last bit as I started to drip more of my pre.\n Beth would moan as I could hear her whimpering, “Oh god! I feel you getting close! Please… f-fill me up!” while I thought about holding her hips tightly with both hands and thrusting hard up into the warm, slippery cunt she hides just under that sac I fabricated. Laying on my back, I would support us both with just my feet and shoulders while holding my pelvis nearly a foot above the ground to pound against her, both of us panting heavily. I would begin to growl a little, invoking my primal instincts to dominate as she squealed loudly, her pussy squirting all over my crotch while her dick would twitch and shoot little ropes of thick, white cream onto my chest and face as I popped my knot inside.\n Just then, my climax struck me harder than a moped doing thirty on Goldenrod Ave, making my eyes burst open and my long, sharp, white footclaws dig into the carpeted floor I laid upon. I let out a grunt of pure ecstasy and bliss, “F-f-fffuckk…!” I tightened the grip I had on my cock as much as I could and slid my grassy green hand down to hold the very base of my knot, tickling the inside of my slit a little for an extra boost, which sent my hot semen shooting up and out of my member high into the air before landing back into the same spot Beth’s had landed: right between my bright yellow eyes. Another wave of my cum spurted out, arcing even higher this time and landing somewhere that at the very least wasn’t on me. Another spoo shot onto my ear, and another hit my chin. My sandy-colored chest and belly started to gather more and more of my white hot seed, as wave after wave of pleasure rocketed throughout my entire being. Finally, the peak began to subside, and the rapid squirts of semen turned to a slow, steady, gentle trickle that poured from my tip. I ran my thumb and index finger up the shaft from base to tip, restraining the urethral tunnel all along the way and squeezing out every last bit of seed I had left to give.\n I took my hand away and allowed the limp member to flop over to one side. Apparently my right leg had tensed up so much while my eyes were still closed, my knee had planted itself upright. I felt the spoo that had hit my little snoot horns, and the bridge between my eyes beginning to lose its warmth, having been exposed to the slightly-warmer-than-before-but-still-fairly-cold atmosphere, so I stuck out my tongue to give it a lick and clean it up. It tasted much sweeter than usual. [i]Probably from the pineapple last night,[/i] I thought to myself, taking a moment to recall the plethora of fruits that were present at the dessert table last night next to all the cookies, cakes, fudge and chocolate pudding.\n I looked down to admire my work a little and sighed quietly after clearing my throat, once again feeling the wheezing, “Well, Mr. Penis, you’ve done it again. You’ve made me a goddamn mess.” It seemed like Mr. Penis was satisfied with the additional chaos he had placed in my presence, because he had already begun to shrink and was halfway retreated back into his warm cave.\n As I continued to look over the mess all over my belly, I scooped a little more cream up with two fingers on my clean right hand to give it another taste. Just as sweet as before, and even a little warmer with the space heater blowing on it this whole time. I purred quietly as I failed to resist the urge for a third taste before laying myself back against the bed again. With my dick safely tucked away, I felt the pressure in my loins build up rather suddenly as if it had simply been there the whole time, but was overshadowed by the feelings of arousal.\n [i]Should I...?[/i] I had half a mind to just let loose right there all over the carpet in front of me. I still had yet to do that in this apartment. [i]Maybe just a little… I’ve been drinking a lot more than usual to help the sickness go away, so it’s not like I would have to worry about smell or discoloration very much…[/i] I paused for a moment, mulling it over and trying to weigh all the odds as I stared down at my slit, the pressure building slightly more; It was starting to become a bit hard to tolerate, now. I finally said aloud, “Fuck it.”\n I readjusted myself to be sitting on top of my tail while I moved the electric heater out of the way as to not short it out, and after ensuring I had plenty of free, open space in front of me, I began to relax. I allowed my eyes to close, and started letting my mind and my muscles wander away from reality. With a deep, low sigh that had a slight hint of a wheeze that wasn’t nearly enough to make me rebound into a fit, but surely enough to notice and act as a reminder of still being partially ill, the muscles in my bladder began to let go, and a small, gentle stream of pale, almost clear urine began to trickle out of my slit. I felt the warm liquid flowing over and through the scales surrounding my nethers, onto my tail, and down onto the carpet underneath. I opened my eyes to see what was happening, and was rewarded with an actual stream that began to grow very steadily. My cock had decided to stick its head back out a little like it always does when I pee, and since the tip was poking past the folds of my slit, there no longer was any resistance to stop the stream from flowing freely. It tinkled gently farther away, splashing onto my tail. This whole time, I had been holding myself back from really relieving myself and marking my territory, but after reaching down to pull the folds of my slit back slightly, the urge to release kicked in immediately.\n What was merely a gentle flowing stream had suddenly become a hard-spraying fire hose. In a short, powerful burst, my piss shot out across the room, nailing a crate stacked on a shelf that contained a number of various folded pairs of pants. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” I almost shouted, attempting to muster all my available strength to close the floodgates. Doing so began to cause the internal pangs I always felt when I missed my mark and had to hold back for a moment to re-aim and land the stream in the toilet water, and this was made even more of an ordeal due to the fact that I wasn’t standing up.\n Finally, I managed to stop urinating and then stared glumly over at the crate, trying to see how bad it was. I felt a surge of disappointment and anger at myself before the moment came where I concluded that the clothing in that crate was all things that didn’t fit, and had meant to donate but never got around to. From my place of naughtiness in which I still sat, I could see the one spray-dyed tee-shirt I had bought last summer off a street vendor down the shore for a buck-fifty, but never wore again because it had shrunk so much in the wash that only a child could ever fit into it it. I had put it there nearly two weeks ago when I reorganized my bedroom. However, despite coming to the realization the crate I had just urinated on contained only things I cared nothing about, I still thought it best to save the rest of my supply to be dealt with in a more progressive manner.\n The truth was that I did enjoy both the idea and the actual effects of indoor scent-marking, though the long-term relationships I had with my housemates mattered just a bit more to me. Had this been my own house with which I could do as I pleased without having to worry about angering a landlord downstairs, I wouldn’t have minded soiling the rest of the carpet at all, though in retrospect it would seem more prudent to renovate the room to have hardwood flooring first before treating it like a den. It didn’t help much either that my roommate had a much stronger sense of smell than I, what with being a wolfess and all. You’d think a canine wouldn’t care, or might even do it themself, but not this one. No, she abhorred any form of traditionalism, and it was often a conflict that she and I would face as we went about our lives together. “You’re just like my dad,” she had once said to me when we first moved in together when she caught me marking the outside of my bedroom door.\n I took a glance over at the clock that sat on the night table above me. Slightly blocked by the edge of the table itself, I could just make out the time: 1:21. [i]I really ought to figure out a way to make myself last longer…[/i] I thought. I stood myself up and walked over to the full-body mirror to see what kind of damage I had dealt myself having been so out of touch with reality the previous night. As expected, my typically grass-green face had a few patches on it where pimples had begun to sprout up. I almost ran my left hand over my muzzle to stroke it and see if my beard needed a trim before realizing it was still slick with oil and cum. I pulled it away, and combed my focus over my seed-ridden body. The vertical slit concealed my wang rather well, though often times I felt like I would enjoy things a bit more if I had external genitals. The thought of my naughty bits flinging about every which way while dancing was certainly an intriguing one, and it would be more convenient to mark my territory without having to coax my tip out enough to have an unobstructed urine stream.\n From this angle, and with the long mirror that rested against the wall and floor in front of me, I looked a bit thinner than I really was due to the distorted image. I took a gander down at my light brown belly, comparing what I saw in reality to what the mirror showed me by rubbing it, and my face fell a little as the differences hit me. I looked back at the image in my mirror and hunched over with a scowl, deliberately making myself appear even fatter and uglier before straightening back up and chuckling to myself. I flicked away my bright red hair that dangled in front of my eyes a little before running my fingers through it like a comb, trying to work out some of the tangles that always formed while I slept.\n “I miss being cute,” I said, remembering how much smaller I used to be. Without the dance classes or any gymnastics running my life outside school, years ago my teenage body was free to impulse-eat for a long time. Now the results frequently plagued my existence, acting as a constant reminder of how royally fucked I was, and likely would be for the remainder of my life.\n With a swish of my tail, my front still covered in semen, and after picking up one of the towels I kept folded on the little coffee table next to the mirror as well as my phone, I turned and peeked my head out the door I now held ajar. My ears flicked around every which way as I tried to see if I could hear anyone around the corner. It seemed the coast was clear, and I yanked the door the rest of its way open and ran for it. With footsteps so light that even a mouse might miss it, I tip-toe-skipped my way through the kitchen and the living room, doing my best to use the towel which I had now unfolded to cover my lower body from any potentially prying eyes before sealing myself inside the tiny bathroom with a click of the door latch behind me.\n Alone, I never a had a worry on my mind, though when it came to showing off my exposed self to other animals, I could only describe myself as… well, naked. I know that there are animals who walk around naked all the time, and after stepping into the white porcelain bathtub and opening the small window with a fake stained-glass decal stuck onto it, I was reminded of this right then and there as I saw a rather large bear down on the ground across the street. I peered out from my little peeky-port on the second floor of this multi-family house, completely hidden by the shadow of the window frame as I rested my chin on the window sill, staring down at the bear and scanning over his dark brown furred body as he moseyed his way along. It was hard to see whether it even was a he or not, and I figured that fact may contribute to his confidence to walking around naked, or perhaps it could simply be because he knows that not a soul in existence would dare criticise him for it.\n Still staring like a child at a restaurant and watching his rump jiggle a little with each step he took, I quietly uttered, “Okay, Guenevere,” before my phone made a ding noise, signaling that it was ready to accept a command. “Play some Gorillaz on YouTube Music,” I told it.\n Sure enough, it answered back, “Okay, check out this Gorillaz station,” and the music began to play a very steady beat with a bass, snare, and high hats, which I immediately recognized as [i]Superfast Jellyfish[/i], from the [i]Plastic Beach[/i] album. The bear began to make his way up the stairs to the train platform, now hidden from view behind a concrete wall dug into the hill. I straightened back up and looked down at myself again, seeing how large my gut was, and internally chastising myself for having it. I slapped my belly just to watch it jiggle, and it did just that, further cementing my disgust.\n [i]I don’t know how he does it,[/i] I thought. I bent over to flip on the water, and it flowed heavily from the tap just below my knees. After running my hand under it for a moment, it began to warm up to a suitable temperature, and after pulling the knob built into the tap, the water suddenly stopped, redirecting itself to flow from the shower head above me instead.\n As I felt the water impact my upper back before running down and around the base of my thick dragon tail, I shivered from the residual cold leftover water still in the pipes before it was cleared out by the hot steamy fresh water. I stood up, looked to the ceiling, and closed my eyes, basking in the warmth as I thought back to earlier. Remembering my little, “accident,” aroused my dick to poke out a little again, and I instinctively reached down to touch it. Almost about to rub another one out, I stopped myself and thought it better to relieve myself instead, like I had planned. It wasn’t uncommon for my to mistake the need to pee for the need to cum.\n Keeping my scaley hand over the head of my cock, now fully erect, I let the sound of running water and the feeling of being wet overcome my inhibitions as a strong, powerful stream began to spray from the tip right into my palm. I sighed deeply and kept my eyes closed as the feeling of relief sent a shiver from my feet to the middle of my spine while urine squirted hard at my fingers. I stepped back and pumped my hips at the air, taking my hand down to simply hold and aim the shaft. My stream exploded upwards like a park fountain, hitting my chin and face, so I stuck out my tongue to have a sample; still musky and salty, though not quite as much so as normal from all the extra fluids I’ve been drinking to get over this cold. I leaned back against the white tiled wall behind me, and let my bladder empty itself as I observed my pee arc high and proud, watching it mixing with the shower water and flowing down the drain. Nearly a minute had passed before my stream of piss weakened, and when it did, my cock had shrunk back down, now receding once again. With a gentle purr, I slid a finger in after it for a little tickle, my mouth slowly widening to a soft, toothy smile.\n I brought myself back to reality and listened in to the music playing softly just outside the curtain on the floor; it had just finished up the first chorus line. Starting to fall into the rhythm, I tapped my foot and shook my tail along with each tick of the metronome, entertaining my innate tendency to never stand still. I often couldn’t help such things, having done it out of impulse since childhood, though it wasn’t as if I cared in the seclusion of the shower. With this notion of movement and progress now embedded into my immediate mindset, I began to perform the regular activities of maintenance, like exfoliating my scales particularly on the shoulders, and massaging my scalp with the peach-scented shampoo and coconut conditioner I liked. Two cycles of cleaning later, I had completely rid my body of chaos, so I flipped the tap off and tore back the curtain.\n By now, the song had ended, and was now playing something much quicker, quirkier, and quieter, a song I had never heard before. Paying little attention to it was fairly easy, seeing how bland and uninteresting the drumline was, not to mention consisting purely of computer-generated instrument voices. I picked up the brown towel I had allowed to fall to the floor in a bundle before using it to dry my hair first. Thirty seconds later, I had made my head dry enough to push the hair back and out of my eyes and take a look in the tri-folding mirror which had only fogged up in a small chunk along the top of it due to the window being opened.\n Staring back at me was a face of confidence in only one’s work ethic, and practically nothing else. This was the face of an animal that has too much support, and is ridden with guilt because it. This face may have held a smirk on the outside, but on the inside was fear; nothing but fear, nerves, and the insecurity of never having been able to hold a job for more than a month, and it isn’t as if that would change any time soon given that I had only just started my current vocation. I speak of this face only in terms of what you, the reader, would interpret. In the moment, I merely saw myself looking back before checking to see if my beard needed trimming, but that’s the point of using past-tense for a first-person narrative, isn’t it? Needless to say, with no need for any further personal grooming, and after having dried the remainder of my body, I flung the towel over my shoulders and opened up the door into the outside world, where all I would be thinking about until around dinner time would be of the second question to pop into my head every morning, “How can I overcome resistance today?” I would answer this call to action by way of sitting down to do my work despite the lack of a paid shift to attend to. I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted, but I knew that if I didn’t work in some form or another, that tomorrow would only mean falling out of my cycle, and sinking down all over again.\n As the door creaked open, and the cold living room air hit me, I turned to step around my blue couch and head back to my bedroom only to be met with the wide-open eyes of Ivy, my wolfess roommate, who spoke with a sneer and her phone in her hands as she sat cross-legged on the couch, “My, my, Serrano I never knew your junk was on the inside!”", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "     Every single morning, I have a specific routine I like to stick to as best I can. By now, I’ve learned not to take this routine too seriously though, because there could always be some off-chance event that throws off my mojo. Better to not get my hopes up for being perfect every time. Fortunately, this morning was one of the easier ones, seeing how it was my day off.
     I felt myself struggling to arise from a dream involving myself driving a car (of course), and rather skillfully, if I do say so myself. Of course, it was a dream, so I drove quite recklessly as well; swinging out the back end from side to side like a Group B rally car. I have this dream a lot, now that I think about it, but it’s never quite the same from one instance to the next. More often than not, the car I’m driving is an amalgam of several others. This time, it was very clearly a new Ford GT painted in electric blue, though the interior looked straight out of a first gen Miata. It was different than usual in other ways too; I was driving off-road this time, and in the early afternoon, which was new. Just as well, the cars I normally find myself behind the wheel of in these dreams are never this expensive. Typically, it’s something much simpler like an old Mustang, a CRX, or a Jeep Cherokee crossover.
     I opened my eyes to see the lucky dream catcher I had made back in May tacked into the ceiling tile above me. I turned my head over to the right, eyeing up the little white alarm clock reading 1:12 PM in bright red digital numbers. Early again, I muttered to myself in the back of my head as I rolled back over to look up at the dreamcatcher again. Every morning I take a moment to do this; focus on the trinket, and use it as a reminder to plan out the whole day in advance. “Is my mind free of any chaos?” is always the first question to pop up, and in order to answer this, I have to first assess the state of my environment; take note of any garbage or loose clothing on the floor, and plan to banish that chaos from my world as soon as possible. I thought back to last night, and how in my intoxicated state of hysteria after coming home from the Christmas party with my parents and a number of family friends, most of whom we knew from the church in my hometown, I had expressed little care to actually aim for the trash can when tossing away my used tissues. I turned on my side to peek over the edge of the mattress. Sure enough there they were, scattered about the immediate area surrounding the can and my little pine wood night table. I wonder if it would be prudent to move that somewhere else, I pondered.
     Still drowsy as hell, I rubbed the sleep stickies out of my eyes to begrudgingly sit myself upright. I took a deep, heavy breath as my vision began to readjust, but I had to stop myself part-way through as the phlegmmy wheezing somewhere in the deepest recesses of my lungs and their bronchioles made itself more than apparent as it rumbled and bubbled up. Instinctively, I began to cough violently, feeling the immense vibration rippling throughout my entire respiratory system. The sensation rocked itself ever so forcefully and sent wave after wave of pain up my spine and lungs as my body did all it could do to reject the foreign entity. I covered my muzzle with my left fossa and, with my right hand free, reached over and pulled out a tissue from the purple box on the end table before allowing myself to hack up and spit out the nasty slime into the paper. With a sigh of relief that the episode was over after a good minute, I folded up the tissue and tossed it over into the aluminum mesh waste bin. Three points off the backboard.
     I leaned down to reach into my denim tote bag laying at the foot of the night stand and pulled out the green-and-white pill bottle containing my allergy medication. I pressed on the lid and turned it anticlockwise to break the child lock and reveal the drug inside. With at least thirty some-odd pills still in there and no sense of worry for needing to get more any time soon, I stuck in a finger and dragged one out, and popped the tiny caplet onto my long, pink, dragon tongue and swallowing it dry. The piece travelled down my throat and into my stomach smooth enough to not need it, but nevertheless, I brought myself to my feet, grabbed the empty blue plastic cup I had used last night, and yanked the bedroom door open much harder than usual only to be met with a blast of freezing cold atmosphere slapping against my bare naked scales. It sent a shiver from my feet on the icy cold tile floor of the kitchen all the way up to the base of my neck, but I ignored it and twisted the faucet handle open to run water through the filter. I then put the cup underneath the stream, holding it there to let it fill up.
     As the water level began to rise, the cold hit me once again, this time much harder as I was forced to just stand there and bear it. After filling the tall glass to its brim, I took a hefty swig for an extra precautionary measure, forcing the pill the rest of the way into my stomach. I don’t need any hydrophilic pill getting stuck to my esophageal lining and potentially being acidic enough to burn right through it.
     I retreated to my room with a glass half-full in tow, and gently shut the door behind me. I set the cup down on the table after taking one more sip before bending down to switch on the space heater to full power. The little box at my feet began to wind up slowly, steadily getting faster and louder until reaching a steady whirring idle and blowing hot air right at my shins.
     The heat impacted my scales harshly, but being the cold-blooded dragon that I am, it felt incredibly welcoming and soothing nonetheless; so incredible I decided to reorient the machine and clear some space in front of it enough to plop my naked body down in front of it and warm up. I sat myself up in a lotus pose, folded my fingers together in my lap, curled my long, thick tail all around myself to lightly touch its tip to its base on the floor, and shut my eyes. I allowed the warmth to wash over my entire being as I began to recite my mantra:
    
Clean space, clean body, clean mind… Clean space, clean body, clean mind… Clean space, clean body, clean mind…

     I took a slow, gentle breath expecting more wheezing to knock me into another coughing fit, but there wasn’t any. What a nice surprise, I thought. I guess the withdrawal sickness is finally starting to go away.
     It had been quite some time since I had last smoked up, but today was the day where I’d finally take another hit, and I couldn’t have been more excited for it. Being such a heavy smoker and doing it every day, as soon as I stop being high all the time in favor of actually working and making money, it makes sense that my body would freak out and make me think that I’m sick; mimicking flu symptoms for three days straight. Throughout this half-week-long period of withdrawal, not only were the nerves under my hide riddled with hypersensitivity and a non-stop tingling sensation due to a sudden drop in THC, but my diet had essentially consisted of nothing but water, hot tea, ramen noodles, and menthol cough drops, which I think I’m beginning to like… Or maybe it’s just the withdrawal playing tricks on me, and my brain thinks it’s getting high on it, now.
     I sat back on the grayish-white carpet, leaning against the edge of my bed while taking in the relief of warmth, or at least that was what I had intended to do. Instead of resting myself gently against the mattress, I fell backwards, hitting the back of my head against the black, polished metal bed frame before impacting the ground with a distinct thud.
     “Shit,” I groaned while clamping my hands around the back of my head to cradle the damage. Rolling my body from side to side, trying to bear the trauma, I opened my eyes again to see that I had fallen nearly a foot and a half into the space between the mattress and the floor, where I keep my childhood toys, art pieces from school, extra sheets, and seasonal clothes that don’t work well for winter time in clear plastic bins. Though sharp and twinging as it was, the pain was drowned out by another sensation. With my face screwed up and my teeth clenched, I lifted my head up to look down at my lower half to see that the space heater was now at peak temperature, and was blowing hot and strong right into my open crotch. I had noticed as well that the tip of my pink member had begun to poke itself out of its slit. “Mmmmrr hey buddy…” I murred quietly as it began to grow.
     I sat myself back up again, this time being sure to simply lean up against the bed instead of make myself judge distances while still half asleep. “We really going for an early one?” I asked my penis as its large, soft barbs began to swell and throb along with my heartbeat. With my body fully supported by the bed, I reached over to find the bottle of Dr. Blue’s lavender scented body oil I apparently had accidently knocked onto the floor in the middle of the night, and flipped open the cap. It certainly did smell nice…
     My knot was now exposed and full of blood, my thick barbs were pulsing, and my tip had begun to leak. Playfully, I imagined the nine-and-a-half-inch phallus answering back, “‘Guess so,” as I poured a generous amount of oil onto my left hand. With all set and ready, I took hold of my cock and began to stroke it slowly, making sure to hold the base of the tip extra tight as to tickle the sweet spot, just how I like it.
     I set the bottle down next to me and sighed deeply, my piece throbbing and twitching even harder as my pace had already begun to quicken a little. I thought strongly about Beth Karina, my favorite actress from Quarry in the Cosmos: The Next Generation, an 80’s sci-fi television series I often found myself watching as a teenager.
     I closed my eyes and pictured her long, curly black hair that she always kept tied back, her snow-white fur and cute, little pink nose. In this image, her tall and fluffy ears were perked and ready to listen as they always seemed to be on-camera with her long, poofy tail sprouting from her shapely rear end. Her wide hips would swing from side to side as she walked towards me, her double-D breasts hanging free and bouncing with each step. I often like to fantasize about my own additions or modifications to the anatomy of whomever I happen to be thinking about while pawing myself off, and this time was no different. I gave Beth a slightly-above-average-sized, tapering penis with bright pink flesh to match my own. It had little feline barbs encompassing the head and shaft along with a pair of appropriately-proportioned testes held within a tight sac that matched the rest of her fur underneath. Much like her mammaries, her kitty cock swung about with every step; certainly substantial, though still small and innocent enough to reach that level of realism I’m so fond of. As she would come nearer, her bright green, shimmering eyes would get right up to mine as they would close, while her tiny, fragile, feline lips pressed against mine. We would kiss passionately while she straddled herself over my tan belly and crotch as we lay right where I was in reality.
     She was a rather tall panther, much like myself; were we to stand back to back with each other, we’d be nearly the same at almost six-foot-seven, though I’ve always felt she would beat me out by a smidgeon. Her midriff was pencil thin, so I always thought her she would be light as a feather relative to my 180-pound bench-press. I imagined her on top of me, breathing heavily as she sat herself down on my throbbing, dripping cock. She would begin to ride it hard and slow, having a constant, steady rhythm as she purred rather audibly right in my ear while she nibbled it a little. The thought of ear play caused my pawing hand to quicken its pace as it rubbed the oil all along my member, coating every last bit as I started to drip more of my pre.
     Beth would moan as I could hear her whimpering, “Oh god! I feel you getting close! Please… f-fill me up!” while I thought about holding her hips tightly with both hands and thrusting hard up into the warm, slippery cunt she hides just under that sac I fabricated. Laying on my back, I would support us both with just my feet and shoulders while holding my pelvis nearly a foot above the ground to pound against her, both of us panting heavily. I would begin to growl a little, invoking my primal instincts to dominate as she squealed loudly, her pussy squirting all over my crotch while her dick would twitch and shoot little ropes of thick, white cream onto my chest and face as I popped my knot inside.
     Just then, my climax struck me harder than a moped doing thirty on Goldenrod Ave, making my eyes burst open and my long, sharp, white footclaws dig into the carpeted floor I laid upon. I let out a grunt of pure ecstasy and bliss, “F-f-fffuckk…!” I tightened the grip I had on my cock as much as I could and slid my grassy green hand down to hold the very base of my knot, tickling the inside of my slit a little for an extra boost, which sent my hot semen shooting up and out of my member high into the air before landing back into the same spot Beth’s had landed: right between my bright yellow eyes. Another wave of my cum spurted out, arcing even higher this time and landing somewhere that at the very least wasn’t on me. Another spoo shot onto my ear, and another hit my chin. My sandy-colored chest and belly started to gather more and more of my white hot seed, as wave after wave of pleasure rocketed throughout my entire being. Finally, the peak began to subside, and the rapid squirts of semen turned to a slow, steady, gentle trickle that poured from my tip. I ran my thumb and index finger up the shaft from base to tip, restraining the urethral tunnel all along the way and squeezing out every last bit of seed I had left to give.
     I took my hand away and allowed the limp member to flop over to one side. Apparently my right leg had tensed up so much while my eyes were still closed, my knee had planted itself upright. I felt the spoo that had hit my little snoot horns, and the bridge between my eyes beginning to lose its warmth, having been exposed to the slightly-warmer-than-before-but-still-fairly-cold atmosphere, so I stuck out my tongue to give it a lick and clean it up. It tasted much sweeter than usual. Probably from the pineapple last night, I thought to myself, taking a moment to recall the plethora of fruits that were present at the dessert table last night next to all the cookies, cakes, fudge and chocolate pudding.
     I looked down to admire my work a little and sighed quietly after clearing my throat, once again feeling the wheezing, “Well, Mr. Penis, you’ve done it again. You’ve made me a goddamn mess.” It seemed like Mr. Penis was satisfied with the additional chaos he had placed in my presence, because he had already begun to shrink and was halfway retreated back into his warm cave.
     As I continued to look over the mess all over my belly, I scooped a little more cream up with two fingers on my clean right hand to give it another taste. Just as sweet as before, and even a little warmer with the space heater blowing on it this whole time. I purred quietly as I failed to resist the urge for a third taste before laying myself back against the bed again. With my dick safely tucked away, I felt the pressure in my loins build up rather suddenly as if it had simply been there the whole time, but was overshadowed by the feelings of arousal.
     Should I...? I had half a mind to just let loose right there all over the carpet in front of me. I still had yet to do that in this apartment. Maybe just a little… I’ve been drinking a lot more than usual to help the sickness go away, so it’s not like I would have to worry about smell or discoloration very much… I paused for a moment, mulling it over and trying to weigh all the odds as I stared down at my slit, the pressure building slightly more; It was starting to become a bit hard to tolerate, now. I finally said aloud, “Fuck it.”
    I readjusted myself to be sitting on top of my tail while I moved the electric heater out of the way as to not short it out, and after ensuring I had plenty of free, open space in front of me, I began to relax. I allowed my eyes to close, and started letting my mind and my muscles wander away from reality. With a deep, low sigh that had a slight hint of a wheeze that wasn’t nearly enough to make me rebound into a fit, but surely enough to notice and act as a reminder of still being partially ill, the muscles in my bladder began to let go, and a small, gentle stream of pale, almost clear urine began to trickle out of my slit. I felt the warm liquid flowing over and through the scales surrounding my nethers, onto my tail, and down onto the carpet underneath. I opened my eyes to see what was happening, and was rewarded with an actual stream that began to grow very steadily. My cock had decided to stick its head back out a little like it always does when I pee, and since the tip was poking past the folds of my slit, there no longer was any resistance to stop the stream from flowing freely. It tinkled gently farther away, splashing onto my tail. This whole time, I had been holding myself back from really relieving myself and marking my territory, but after reaching down to pull the folds of my slit back slightly, the urge to release kicked in immediately.
    What was merely a gentle flowing stream had suddenly become a hard-spraying fire hose. In a short, powerful burst, my piss shot out across the room, nailing a crate stacked on a shelf that contained a number of various folded pairs of pants. “Are you fucking kidding me!?” I almost shouted, attempting to muster all my available strength to close the floodgates. Doing so began to cause the internal pangs I always felt when I missed my mark and had to hold back for a moment to re-aim and land the stream in the toilet water, and this was made even more of an ordeal due to the fact that I wasn’t standing up.
     Finally, I managed to stop urinating and then stared glumly over at the crate, trying to see how bad it was. I felt a surge of disappointment and anger at myself before the moment came where I concluded that the clothing in that crate was all things that didn’t fit, and had meant to donate but never got around to. From my place of naughtiness in which I still sat, I could see the one spray-dyed tee-shirt I had bought last summer off a street vendor down the shore for a buck-fifty, but never wore again because it had shrunk so much in the wash that only a child could ever fit into it it. I had put it there nearly two weeks ago when I reorganized my bedroom. However, despite coming to the realization the crate I had just urinated on contained only things I cared nothing about, I still thought it best to save the rest of my supply to be dealt with in a more progressive manner.
     The truth was that I did enjoy both the idea and the actual effects of indoor scent-marking, though the long-term relationships I had with my housemates mattered just a bit more to me. Had this been my own house with which I could do as I pleased without having to worry about angering a landlord downstairs, I wouldn’t have minded soiling the rest of the carpet at all, though in retrospect it would seem more prudent to renovate the room to have hardwood flooring first before treating it like a den. It didn’t help much either that my roommate had a much stronger sense of smell than I, what with being a wolfess and all. You’d think a canine wouldn’t care, or might even do it themself, but not this one. No, she abhorred any form of traditionalism, and it was often a conflict that she and I would face as we went about our lives together. “You’re just like my dad,” she had once said to me when we first moved in together when she caught me marking the outside of my bedroom door.
     I took a glance over at the clock that sat on the night table above me. Slightly blocked by the edge of the table itself, I could just make out the time: 1:21. I really ought to figure out a way to make myself last longer… I thought. I stood myself up and walked over to the full-body mirror to see what kind of damage I had dealt myself having been so out of touch with reality the previous night. As expected, my typically grass-green face had a few patches on it where pimples had begun to sprout up. I almost ran my left hand over my muzzle to stroke it and see if my beard needed a trim before realizing it was still slick with oil and cum. I pulled it away, and combed my focus over my seed-ridden body. The vertical slit concealed my wang rather well, though often times I felt like I would enjoy things a bit more if I had external genitals. The thought of my naughty bits flinging about every which way while dancing was certainly an intriguing one, and it would be more convenient to mark my territory without having to coax my tip out enough to have an unobstructed urine stream.
     From this angle, and with the long mirror that rested against the wall and floor in front of me, I looked a bit thinner than I really was due to the distorted image. I took a gander down at my light brown belly, comparing what I saw in reality to what the mirror showed me by rubbing it, and my face fell a little as the differences hit me. I looked back at the image in my mirror and hunched over with a scowl, deliberately making myself appear even fatter and uglier before straightening back up and chuckling to myself. I flicked away my bright red hair that dangled in front of my eyes a little before running my fingers through it like a comb, trying to work out some of the tangles that always formed while I slept.
     “I miss being cute,” I said, remembering how much smaller I used to be. Without the dance classes or any gymnastics running my life outside school, years ago my teenage body was free to impulse-eat for a long time. Now the results frequently plagued my existence, acting as a constant reminder of how royally fucked I was, and likely would be for the remainder of my life.
     With a swish of my tail, my front still covered in semen, and after picking up one of the towels I kept folded on the little coffee table next to the mirror as well as my phone, I turned and peeked my head out the door I now held ajar. My ears flicked around every which way as I tried to see if I could hear anyone around the corner. It seemed the coast was clear, and I yanked the door the rest of its way open and ran for it. With footsteps so light that even a mouse might miss it, I tip-toe-skipped my way through the kitchen and the living room, doing my best to use the towel which I had now unfolded to cover my lower body from any potentially prying eyes before sealing myself inside the tiny bathroom with a click of the door latch behind me.
     Alone, I never a had a worry on my mind, though when it came to showing off my exposed self to other animals, I could only describe myself as… well, naked. I know that there are animals who walk around naked all the time, and after stepping into the white porcelain bathtub and opening the small window with a fake stained-glass decal stuck onto it, I was reminded of this right then and there as I saw a rather large bear down on the ground across the street. I peered out from my little peeky-port on the second floor of this multi-family house, completely hidden by the shadow of the window frame as I rested my chin on the window sill, staring down at the bear and scanning over his dark brown furred body as he moseyed his way along. It was hard to see whether it even was a he or not, and I figured that fact may contribute to his confidence to walking around naked, or perhaps it could simply be because he knows that not a soul in existence would dare criticise him for it.
     Still staring like a child at a restaurant and watching his rump jiggle a little with each step he took, I quietly uttered, “Okay, Guenevere,” before my phone made a ding noise, signaling that it was ready to accept a command. “Play some Gorillaz on YouTube Music,” I told it.
     Sure enough, it answered back, “Okay, check out this Gorillaz station,” and the music began to play a very steady beat with a bass, snare, and high hats, which I immediately recognized as Superfast Jellyfish, from the Plastic Beach album. The bear began to make his way up the stairs to the train platform, now hidden from view behind a concrete wall dug into the hill. I straightened back up and looked down at myself again, seeing how large my gut was, and internally chastising myself for having it. I slapped my belly just to watch it jiggle, and it did just that, further cementing my disgust.
     I don’t know how he does it, I thought. I bent over to flip on the water, and it flowed heavily from the tap just below my knees. After running my hand under it for a moment, it began to warm up to a suitable temperature, and after pulling the knob built into the tap, the water suddenly stopped, redirecting itself to flow from the shower head above me instead.
     As I felt the water impact my upper back before running down and around the base of my thick dragon tail, I shivered from the residual cold leftover water still in the pipes before it was cleared out by the hot steamy fresh water. I stood up, looked to the ceiling, and closed my eyes, basking in the warmth as I thought back to earlier. Remembering my little, “accident,” aroused my dick to poke out a little again, and I instinctively reached down to touch it. Almost about to rub another one out, I stopped myself and thought it better to relieve myself instead, like I had planned. It wasn’t uncommon for my to mistake the need to pee for the need to cum.
     Keeping my scaley hand over the head of my cock, now fully erect, I let the sound of running water and the feeling of being wet overcome my inhibitions as a strong, powerful stream began to spray from the tip right into my palm. I sighed deeply and kept my eyes closed as the feeling of relief sent a shiver from my feet to the middle of my spine while urine squirted hard at my fingers. I stepped back and pumped my hips at the air, taking my hand down to simply hold and aim the shaft. My stream exploded upwards like a park fountain, hitting my chin and face, so I stuck out my tongue to have a sample; still musky and salty, though not quite as much so as normal from all the extra fluids I’ve been drinking to get over this cold. I leaned back against the white tiled wall behind me, and let my bladder empty itself as I observed my pee arc high and proud, watching it mixing with the shower water and flowing down the drain. Nearly a minute had passed before my stream of piss weakened, and when it did, my cock had shrunk back down, now receding once again. With a gentle purr, I slid a finger in after it for a little tickle, my mouth slowly widening to a soft, toothy smile.
     I brought myself back to reality and listened in to the music playing softly just outside the curtain on the floor; it had just finished up the first chorus line. Starting to fall into the rhythm, I tapped my foot and shook my tail along with each tick of the metronome, entertaining my innate tendency to never stand still. I often couldn’t help such things, having done it out of impulse since childhood, though it wasn’t as if I cared in the seclusion of the shower. With this notion of movement and progress now embedded into my immediate mindset, I began to perform the regular activities of maintenance, like exfoliating my scales particularly on the shoulders, and massaging my scalp with the peach-scented shampoo and coconut conditioner I liked. Two cycles of cleaning later, I had completely rid my body of chaos, so I flipped the tap off and tore back the curtain.
     By now, the song had ended, and was now playing something much quicker, quirkier, and quieter, a song I had never heard before. Paying little attention to it was fairly easy, seeing how bland and uninteresting the drumline was, not to mention consisting purely of computer-generated instrument voices. I picked up the brown towel I had allowed to fall to the floor in a bundle before using it to dry my hair first. Thirty seconds later, I had made my head dry enough to push the hair back and out of my eyes and take a look in the tri-folding mirror which had only fogged up in a small chunk along the top of it due to the window being opened.
     Staring back at me was a face of confidence in only one’s work ethic, and practically nothing else. This was the face of an animal that has too much support, and is ridden with guilt because it. This face may have held a smirk on the outside, but on the inside was fear; nothing but fear, nerves, and the insecurity of never having been able to hold a job for more than a month, and it isn’t as if that would change any time soon given that I had only just started my current vocation. I speak of this face only in terms of what you, the reader, would interpret. In the moment, I merely saw myself looking back before checking to see if my beard needed trimming, but that’s the point of using past-tense for a first-person narrative, isn’t it? Needless to say, with no need for any further personal grooming, and after having dried the remainder of my body, I flung the towel over my shoulders and opened up the door into the outside world, where all I would be thinking about until around dinner time would be of the second question to pop into my head every morning, “How can I overcome resistance today?” I would answer this call to action by way of sitting down to do my work despite the lack of a paid shift to attend to. I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted, but I knew that if I didn’t work in some form or another, that tomorrow would only mean falling out of my cycle, and sinking down all over again.
     As the door creaked open, and the cold living room air hit me, I turned to step around my blue couch and head back to my bedroom only to be met with the wide-open eyes of Ivy, my wolfess roommate, who spoke with a sneer and her phone in her hands as she sat cross-legged on the couch, “My, my, Serrano I never knew your junk was on the inside!”", "pools_count": 1, "title": "Chapter 1: What I Do", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "text/rtf", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "4", "name": "Sexual Themes", "description": "Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "t", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "8", "views": "952" }