<<8PM. Cockbuster Video. Downtown. Back Door.>>
The old abandoned video-rental store, an appropriate enough venue. No action up front, all in the back, where no lights can be seen. You think back to what's been promised for tonight, and find yourself wondering how they've set it up. But then you simply remind yourself that you'll find out when you get there and leave it at that.
It's a twenty-minute drive for you, plenty of time.
You spend the entire drive conscious of your erection and fight to keep from touching yourself. It's more difficult than other party nights, perhaps because you've been purposefully abstinent the past week. Or perhaps because you can see that black, hungry hole in your mind and you remember the schluck-schluck-schluck sounds you both made as you bred him last time. You had been number 23 then. Tonight you're number eight. Tighter for the win.
You pull up to the back of the building having shut your lights off well before then. A dozen or so other cars already occupy the lot, though there will be many more by the end of the night. A grubby rhino in mechanic's overalls takes your twenty and reminds you of the rules: no pictures with faces, no texting, no loud talking, no cutting the line, no clothes, wait until the first round is over before depositing subsequent loads.
Taking your #8 ticket from the dispenser, you look around and see a few familiar faces, along with a few nervous-looking new ones. Drinks in paws, they chuckle through forced smiles while trying not to check out one another. They're failing.
By the end of the night they might be fucking each other; that's how these things go sometimes.
Then you see him, the reason you're here, swinging gently to and fro, one paw on his belly while the other is busy fingering his hole. They're about to begin, and you're glad you got here in time to watch from the start. Something about seeing that white fur gradually turn yellow, only to show up again next week just as pristine as before.
He grasps your already-hard dick as you pass by, giving you the smolder that sent you over the edge last time. His fingers come away wet. He uses it to further lube under his tail. You know he wouldn't mind if you just slipped him the tip for just a few seconds, but you don't want to be banned. You crave it that much.
So, Number 8 it is. You had better queue up.
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