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[18+]“Live for Love” by Holly A. Morrison (read by Takom)

[18+]Jacob is in therapy, and also in a gay bar. Chad is at the other end of the bar, and also in Jacob’s fantasies. Unfortunately, confidence is not in Jacob.

Today’s story is “Live for Love” by Holly Anne Morrison, a master pornsmith offering bespoke adult stories to the discerning population. See her other work in Fur-miliar Places, by Thurston Howl Publications, and its sequels.

Read by Ta’kom Ironhoof, the Equine Charmer

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https://thevoice.dog/episode/18live-for-love-by-holly-a-morrison

Transcript
Speaker:

Today's story concerns adult subject matter for mature listeners.

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If that's not your cup of tea,

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or there are youngsters listening,

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please skip this one

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and come back for another story another time.

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You’re listening to Pride Month on The Voice of Dog.

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This is Rob MacWolf,

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your fellow traveler,

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and Today’s story is

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“Live for Love” by Holly Anne Morrison,

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a master pornsmith

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offering bespoke adult stories

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to the discerning population.

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See her other work in Fur-miliar Places,

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by Thurston Howl Publications,

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and its sequels.

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It is a common accusation that we are irresponsible, in our relationships,

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that we are shallow,

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motivated only by base desire,

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that we rush into cheap flings and casual sex.

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To which one might answer,

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and what’s wrong with that?

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Or one might answer,

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not at all, a multitude of us have (when the law allows us)

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years-long, decades-long, lifelong relationships.

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Some of us do both at the same time,

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what’s wrong with that?

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But the real answer

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is that our haste,

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our apparent lack of careful, sober, responsible planning

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is not out of flighty unseriousness:

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it is out of grave seriousness.

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We are not rushing.

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We are refusing to waste what precious time we have.

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Read by Ta’kom Ironhoof,

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the Equine Charmer

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Please enjoy “Live

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for Love” by Holly A. Morrison

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“Hi, mind if I sit here?”

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He’s too close to me already.

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Move on by, keep going,

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plenty of fish in the sea,

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you don’t need to bother yourself with me.

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I don’t say that.

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My therapist would be angry with me if I said that.

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No, that’s not right,

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Jim wouldn’t get angry at me,

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but he would remind me that I’m sitting in this bar for a reason.

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“Sure,” I say, trying a smile.

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It sits weirdly on my muzzle

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and I drop it almost immediately.

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Oh, god, what must this hunk think about me?

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He’s a horse, a good head taller than I am

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—that’s not saying much

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—with rich black hair starting to turn silver under his chin.

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A long mane, not quite salt and pepper

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but it will be, neatly braided, frames a long, muscular neck that connects to broad shoulders

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and well-defined pecs under a

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maybe-one-size-too-small t-shirt.

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His eyes are glacier blue

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and shimmer in the bar’s dim lighting.

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He’s smiling—no, grinning at me,

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but it’s not unpleasant.

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What’s he doing trying to chat me up?

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A whole bar full of eager guys who would love to have some attention from Muscles the Horse

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and he’s here talking to some

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average height, could-be-more-average weight lynx hiding in the corner with a glass of liquid courage

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I haven’t been able to imbibe enough to actually benefit from.

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“I’m Chad,” he says,

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still grinning broadly.

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I want to kiss him.

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More than that, I want him to want to kiss me.

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I blink. Wait, Chad?

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Really? “Yes, Chad, really,”

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he says. Shit, he can read minds!

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“No, I can’t read your mind,”

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he says. “You just have a really expressive face, and it’s

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not hard to guess.

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It goes with the name.”

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He offers me his hand.

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“What’s yours?” “Jacob?”

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I ask. I don’t know why I ask,

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I know what my name is.

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We shake. His hand is warm,

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his grip is firm but not painful.

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This is a guy who shakes a lot of hands.

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“Nice to meet you, Jake,”

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he says, dropping into the seat across from me.

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“You come here often?”

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“Ah, no,” I confess. I’m staring into those ice-blue eyes.

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They’re like crystal.

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Oh, god, I’m staring.

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I hastily lower my gaze to my drink, struggling to keep my ears from folding back.

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He touches me on the forearm,

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his fingers so gentle and kind. I resist the urge to place my hand on his.

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I resist the urge to pounce him across the table.

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“If I’m making you nervous,”

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he says, his voice low so that it won’t carry through the bar,

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“I’m sorry. I just thought you could use some company.

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If you’d rather I left you alone,

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just say the word.” I want to say something,

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anything. I want to tell him to go,

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I want to ask him to stay.

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Part of me is tempted to tell him I’m no good at people

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and he should just take me to his place.

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A larger part of me wants to run screaming into the fall night.

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It takes all my courage to look up at him,

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to meet his eyes.

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His smile is sad.

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“I understand,” he says.

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He gives my paw a little squeeze,

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then stands and heads to the far side of the bar,

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settling onto a stool between a bear and a blue jay.

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Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck! I blew it,

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absolutely tanked it.

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Shit, I might as well go home and resign myself to a life of loneliness.

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Maybe I can take up knitting

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—a blanket’s about as warm as a boyfriend, right?

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I find myself eyeing my drink again.

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The ice has all melted and the pale amber drink looks more yellow than anything now.

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I take a hesitant sip. Eugh.

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I count to three

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and then down the whole glass.

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It burns my throat and makes me cough,

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and I clap a hand over my muzzle to try and stifle the sound.

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I’m just making a complete ass of myself here, aren’t I?

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Okay, the important thing is not to spiral out.

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I take a few deep breaths,

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then slip my phone out of my pocket and shoot a quick message to Jim.

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He’ll know what to do, I’m sure.

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Or at least he’ll have some good advice.

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Or something. I become aware that I’ve been staring at my phone for a solid ten minutes.

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I shove the phone back in my pocket

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and cast about the bar looking for something else to stare at.

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My gaze alights on Chad.

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He’s got an arm around the blue jay and they’re cackling about something.

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I wish he had that arm around me.

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I can just imagine that comforting weight on my shoulders,

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the warmth of his closeness.

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I wonder what it would feel like to rest my head on his shoulder.

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I could wrap my own arms around his waist

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and just lean in against him.

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He’d dip me down, just a little,

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muscular arms keeping me from falling

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as he presses his lips to mine.

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I can almost taste him.

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What would a night alone with him be like?

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He’s a big guy, but he seems so gentle.

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Would he take me back to his place, or want to go to mine?

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His, I decide. He would hire us a cab,

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because obviously he lives somewhere on the waterfront.

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A big high-rise with a view of the ocean.

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Obviously, we’d fool around in the cab.

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In my imagination,

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the cab driver turns up the easy listening station he’s got the radio tuned to,

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to drown out the soft moans and gasps as Chad kisses me.

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I can nearly feel his big, warm hands on me,

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untucking my shirt.

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His fingers play through the fur on the small of my back,

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tickle up my spine.

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By the time the cab pulls to a halt outside of the ritzy condos I imagine Chad lives in,

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I’m shirtless. The cab driver gives me a wink as

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Chad takes me by the hand and rushes us into the building.

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I don’t bother daydreaming the ride up the elevator,

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and I’m mildly surprised that we’re both naked as we get out on his floor.

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I imagine myself holding my clothes in front of my crotch

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as Chad fumbles his keys out of the jeans he’s thrown over his shoulder.

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I stare at his crotch as he unlocks the door.

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My imagination goes wild with his equipment:

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his half-hard cock, poking out of his sheath,

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is absolutely massive,

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while his balls looks like they might take both hands to play with.

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And I really want to play with them.

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Chad gets the door open and our clothes disappear.

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He drops down on his couch

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—it’s leather, of course

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—legs spread wide.

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I become aware that I’m rock

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hard, and I don’t mean the imaginary me in imaginary Chad’s imaginary apartment.

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Back in the real world,

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I hunker down and cross my legs as best as I can.

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I feel hot. I fold my ears back to prevent the blush creeping up them from being too obvious.

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A glance back over to the real Chad,

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Chadly Perfectassington,

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and watch him for a moment,

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nodding at the bear like he’s a bobblehead.

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He’s so attentive,

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leaning forward in his seat,

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head tilted ever so slightly,

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ears pointed forward.

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Is he just a great listener,

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or is the bear the single most interesting person on the planet?

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“For you, kitten, I’ll be the best listener in existence,”

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says the imaginary-Chad in my head,

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and I nearly choke.

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I forgot that I had left that daydream there.

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I imagine him wink and buck his hips invitingly,

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making his massive cock bounce at me.

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The blunt, equine head has a pearly drop of precome balanced on it

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like some sort of art photo.

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I imagine myself kneeling down in front of him.

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I don’t have much experience,

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and I’m forced to imagine him tasting like my ex

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—a little musky, a not entirely unpleasant hint of sour

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under the remnants of the most aggressively mediocre body wash money can buy,

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a touch of vanilla. Mm.

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No. It’s my daydream,

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he can taste like whatever I want.

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Fuck it. Chad is cherry flavored.

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And not that cheap

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cough medicine cherry, either.

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He’s like those secret lollipops that only rich people know how to buy

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and which cost a hundred bucks each.

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Perfect. In my head,

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I have no trouble taking this mountain of horse dick,

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burying my nose in the thick

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bush of fur where his sheath joins his rock-hard abdomen.

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I’ve never deepthroated anyone before,

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but for imaginary-Chad, it’s not a problem.

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I can feel every inch of him sliding into me,

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and there are a lot of inches to feel.

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He gives an appreciative moan

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and rests his hand on the back of my head,

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not forcing me, just a little extra bit of affection.

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In the real world, I bite my tongue to avoid moaning myself.

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Careful, Jakey, can’t let anyone in the gay bar know you’re fantasizing about going down on a guy. They

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might think you’re a homosexual.

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With a sigh, I evaluate my life choices.

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My drink is empty, and I can’t sit here forever.

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The way I see it,

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my options are to sneak out of here and hope no one notices that my jeans have gotten significantly tighter over the past few minutes,

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or interrupt Chad,

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apologize, and see if he’d be willing to take another chance with me.

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I pull my phone out and check it.

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Jim hasn’t even read my message.

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Clearly, I can’t stay here with no drink staring at my phone all night.

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I shove it back and stand,

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square my shoulders, and march towards Chad McStudley.

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He starts to turn towards me and I find myself veering to the far end of the bar,

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near the jukebox.

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The bartender, a scrawny rat with

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artful geometric designs dyed into his pale fur,

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nearly invisible tattoos under that,

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and piercings in a lot of places I didn’t know you could safely pierce,

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raises an eyebrow at me.

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“I’m not serving you another whisky,”

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he says thickly. Does he have two tongue piercings?

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“Why not?” I ask, pretending to be affronted.

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At least now I don’t have to bother ordering another.

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“Because I saw the face you made when you drank it, cutie,”

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he says, pulling out a glass.

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“And I’m not wasting good liquor on you

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if you’re not going to appreciate it.

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You don’t drink much,

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do you?” “No,” I admit. “I just…

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well, my ex, he was the drinker.”

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“Ah,” says the bartender.

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He doesn’t press any further,

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but works his magic and

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presents me with a mysterious, coffee-colored substance

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topped with nutmeg.

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I take a sip—it’s thick and sweet,

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like a chocolate milk,

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though it’s definitely not a kid’s drink.

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“Brandy alexander,”

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he tells me when I look up at him.

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“Now, it’s against the sacred bartender code to give advice,

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but you look like you could use some.”

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I sip my drink and cock my head at him.

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“I can see you making moo eyes at Chad.”

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He nods his head towards the horse,

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now in a heated argument with the bear.

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I can’t hear him over the sound of the jukebox, blaring out

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some 80s prog rock.

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“If you want a serving of that beefcake,

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you need to go and grab it.

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If you don’t take your shot now, someone else will.”

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The bartender inclines his

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well-pierced head towards the other end of the bar,

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where Chad Six-packsingly is sipping a beer.

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His friends have vanished somewhere and he’s sitting alone,

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nodding his head along to the music.

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“He’s leaving the day after tomorrow,”

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the rat says, leaning across the bar to whisper to me,

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or at least a good approximation of a whisper,

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considering the music.

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“Three months, to design state of the art water reclamation systems for the desert.

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He will be literally on another continent,

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and this is your one opportunity to give him something to think about for those three months

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other than desalinization or

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whatever.” “Why?” “What?”

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“Why?” I repeat. “Why me.

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Why not literally anyone else in this bar.

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Shit, why not the bear he was drooling over?

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Chad is the sexiest guy in this bar,

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which is, incidentally, filled with beautiful men,

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so why in the world would he want to take me home?”

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The rat raises an eyebrow.

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Well, he raises a lot of metal that hide where I assume an eyebrow exists.

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“Well, one, he already showed interest in you,

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so you know, everything else aside,

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he’s willing to give it a try if you are.

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Two, you need to get some self-esteem, cutie,

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you’re a pretty good catch yourself.

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Three, that bear is his straight brother.”

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I raise an eyebrow this time.

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“Adopted brother,” the bartender adds with a shrug.

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“He’s only in here to hang out with Chad. Trust me,

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I’ve tried to take that ursine hunk home enough to know.”

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He gives me a little shove.

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“Go on! Go get that deep, human connection that we all crave with another person!

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Or at least get laid! Shoo!”

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I take a deep breath,

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glance at my phone

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(no messages, dammit, Jim, where are you?),

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down the rest of my cocktail,

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and stand up. Chad catches my eye and smiles.

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Even at this distance I can see how beautiful his eyes are,

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and the smile threatens to turn my knees to rubber.

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Or maybe that’s the alcohol.

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Regardless,

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I screw up all my courage and start making my way down the bar.

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On the jukebox, Steve Perry is telling me how much he wants me home,

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and I take it for a sign.

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Chad has swiveled around in his chair,

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still grinning, and I open my mouth to say…

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I don’t know what. Hi, I guess?

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Before I can say anything,

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a jackal built like a rhinoceros strut-waddles between us.

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Wagging his tail, I get an

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excellent view of an ass that looks like it was carved from marble,

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in what is either the world’s tightest leather pants or a heretofore unknown spray-on clothing.

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The jackal leans his elbow on the bar and starts to tell Chadward Goodboyfriend how they were made to be.

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On the jukebox, Open Arms segues into

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Love Is A Battlefield,

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and I recognize it’s time for me to beat

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a hasty retreat. I can’t make myself meet Chad’s eyes as I slink into the night,

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grabbing my coat from the rack near the door as I escape.

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It’s cold and clear out,

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the bright stars sparkling overhead.

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The chilly air knocks some sobriety into me,

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but all that does is make me feel even more miserable.

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I take stock. I could walk home,

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but there’s nothing waiting for me there,

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and the hobby store won’t open for hours, so I can’t even start learning to crochet.

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Just go home, sit on the couch,

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watch late night television until I fall asleep.

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That’s pretty much it.

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Some stock. I check my phone.

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Nothing. Jim must be asleep.

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He probably went to bed before I worked up the courage to step foot in the bar.

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I don’t want to go home.

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I get the feeling, the way one does from time to time,

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that sitting alone would be the worst for me.

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I don’t want to spiral out.

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I wanted to get laid,

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but best laid plans of mice and lynxes, I guess.

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My house is to the left.

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I turn right and trudge down the lonely street,

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past a block of closed stores,

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until I find myself at a little park,

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not much more than a tiny lawn,

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some benches, and a couple of statues of great inventors, or something.

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I plop down on one of the benches and look up at the sky.

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The little sliver of moon had already set hours ago,

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so it’s just me and what stars are visible past the dim glow of

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light pollution. Well,

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if I can’t go home with someone,

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at least I’ll have the naughty fantasy in my head.

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I close my eyes and try to pick up where I left off.

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There’s imaginary-Chad, stretched out on the leather couch,

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on full display, giving me that lovely come-hither look with those gorgeous glacial eyes.

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I daydream climbing into his lap and his embrace,

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his hands on my waist,

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my arms draping around his elegant neck.

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We kiss and I let his tongue explore my mouth.

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I imagine feeling his thick manhood pressing up against mine,

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rubbing against the soft fur of my belly.

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I can almost hear the sweet, soft sound of his little gasps and moans as we press together.

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I reach between us and grab his cock.

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It’s almost too big for me to wrap my hand around, but soon

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I have him panting and whining.

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He breaks the kiss and lifts me bodily off his lap

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to lay me down on a soft blanket under the open sky,

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bright stars twinkling over us.

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Imaginary-Chad lays down on top of me

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and I obediently wrap my legs around his waist,

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ankles locked just above his tail.

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There’s no preamble in my fantasy

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—Chad Strongdick has the head of his cock under my tail,

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and then he’s inside of me.

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It’s a good thing imaginary-me doesn’t need lube.

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In the daydream I throw my head back and let out a long moan of pleasure

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as he presses all the way inside of me,

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his balls resting on the base of my tail.

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In the real world, I lean back on my bench,

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staring vaguely up at the sky,

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and let out a long,

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quiet sight. My breath frosts in the air.

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In my daydream, Chad is holding onto my hips

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as he bucks into me nice and slow

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—never mind how he’s holding himself up as I dangle from him.

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Physics has no place in my horny imagination.

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I pull my coat a little tighter closed,

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both to shield against the chill and

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also so no one passing by things I’m a creeper,

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sitting on a park bench at night with a huge erection.

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Back in the much more pleasing world of my imagination,

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Chad is rocking his hips into mine,

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making me bounce off of his

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thighs before he pulls out,

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and then back in.

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My brain interrupts my fantasy to remind me that I could have had something very like this in real life,

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but I chickened out,

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and now some brick-house jackal is probably exploring Chad’s willing and eager body.

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I grit my teeth at the thought.

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In my fantasy, Chad stops and looks down at me funny.

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I ask him what’s up,

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but he’s ignoring me.

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He pulls out, neither of us fulfilled,

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and stands, leaving me on a blanket that’s suddenly much colder than it was.

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And there’s that fucking jackal,

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even more muscular in my mind.

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“Hey, bro,” he says, in a voice that belongs on a movie trailer narrator,

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“Hope you don’t mind if I cut in.”

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He gives me a wink,

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and then takes Chad’s hand and

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the two of them, buck naked, skip off into the sunset to have hot muscle-guy sex.

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Shit. Cockblocked by my own imagination.

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I, the real me, that is,

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I let out a sigh and stand.

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There’s no help for it.

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If even my brain is uninterested in fucking me,

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it’s time to pack it up and go home.

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I’ll order some yarn online.

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The flaw in my plan reveals itself as I trudge back the way I came,

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cold, dejected, and depressingly sober.

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I can’t go home without walking straight past the bar that was the setting for tonight’s complete

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and utter failure.

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The bartending rat is leaning against the wall next to the door as I pass,

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smoking a clove cigarette.

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It’s like he came straight out of a goth music video.

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He raises an eyebrow

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—possibly setting off several local metal detectors

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—as I come close. “There you are,”

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he says. I consider pretending not to hear him, but it’s hard to work up the energy to be that awkward.

and again:

I slow and shrug.

and again:

“Chad was looking for you,”

and again:

he says in that

and again:

offhand manner that people use

and again:

when they’re expecting a huge emotional reaction.

and again:

I stop. “He was?”

and again:

He grins. He definitely has two tongue piercings.

and again:

“As soon as he realized you’d left.

and again:

It took him a minute to escape from Xander,

and again:

but he seemed really upset you took off.”

and again:

“Xander’s the jackal?”

and again:

A nod from the rat.

and again:

I swear I can hear his piercings jingle.

and again:

“No one knew where you’d gone,

and again:

but Chad decided to go look for you.”

and again:

He snubs out his cigarette and glances nonchalantly down the road.

and again:

“Oh, look, there he is now.”

and again:

The big horse is shuffling down the sidewalk about a block away,

and again:

head down and ears back.

and again:

Poor guy looks half-frozen.

and again:

“Oi! Chad!” the bartender shouts,

and again:

with more lung capacity that I expected.

and again:

Chad looks up and the rat waves both arms like he’s flagging down a rescue plane,

and again:

then gives me a wink before disappearing back into the bar.

and again:

Chad runs—actually runs—to me, hooves

and again:

skidding to a halt as he draws within a few feet.

and again:

“Ah,” he says, suddenly awkward.

and again:

“Hi.” “Hi.” Well, time to screw this up again.

and again:

“Did Jim give you good advice?”

and again:

How the hell does he know Jim?

and again:

“I… how? What?” Chadly Beaustud looks a little baffled by my reaction.

and again:

“You were just talking to him?

and again:

The bartender, his name is Jim?”

and again:

His teeth are chattering

and again:

“Oh!” I feel a flush creeping up my face.

and again:

“Sorry, I thought you were talking about someone else.”

and again:

“Oh, yeah, no. He’s a friend, sort of.

and again:

I… look, I hope I’m not

and again:

pushing things too much but—”

and again:

I cut him off. “Take me

and again:

home.” “What?” “You’re freezing,”

and again:

I say, taking a step closer.

and again:

My heart is beating so hard I worry it’s going to explode.

and again:

“So I want you to warm up.

and again:

I also want to spend more time with you.

and again:

So, take me home.” He doesn’t take any more urging than that,

and again:

which is good because I’ve used up my allotment of assertiveness for the month.

and again:

We don’t talk much on the walk,

and again:

but he does slip an arm around my shoulders.

and again:

It takes all of my concentration to keep my eyes forward.

and again:

He’s solid, but not so solid as to be uncomfortable to lean against,

and again:

and a part of me just wants to drift away.

and again:

As it turns out, he does have an apartment,

and again:

but it’s closer to city center than the waterfront.

and again:

We don’t rip our clothes off in the elevator,

and again:

but we do hold hands,

and again:

and that’s just as good.

and again:

No sarcasm, there.

and again:

I really just enjoy it.

and again:

He lets us into his apartment and then busies himself with the honest-to-goodness record player while I explore a bit.

and again:

His apartment is nice, if a little sparse,

and again:

and he really does have a leather couch.

and again:

It’s older and a little more worn than the one in my imagination,

and again:

but it looks soft and comfortable.

and again:

A futon in the corner next to the stereo holds a couple of neatly folded blankets

and again:

and, very shortly after entering, my coat.

and again:

The view, though, is worth anything else.

and again:

The big windows look out over the city.

and again:

His apartment is higher than any of the other buildings in the area,

and again:

at least on this side,

and again:

and you can see all the way to the night-shimmering bay.

and again:

“Like it?” Chadbert Goodbody asks as he flops down on the couch.

and again:

He is, disappointingly,

and again:

still wearing his pants.

and again:

“That’s why I got this place.”

and again:

“It’s amazing,” I say.

and again:

I offer him a shy smile,

and again:

but then find I’ve run out of words.

and again:

Ugh, why is this so difficult?

and again:

I try to imagine what Jim would tell me. My brain conjures the disembodied voice of Jim the Pierced Bartender instead of Jim the Soothing Therapist, because of course it does.

and again:

“It’s only awkward because you’re making it awkward, cutie,”

and again:

the Jim in my head tells me.

and again:

“Just drop trou, and tell him you want him to bend you over the couch and have his way with you.”

and again:

Helpful. “Ah, look,” says Chad,

and again:

looking down at his hands.

and again:

He looks as awkward as I feel.

and again:

“I think you’re really attractive,

and again:

and if you want to do something today,

and again:

I’d love that, but I really don’t

and again:

want to push you into anything you’re not comfortable with.”

and again:

I kneel down in front of him and look up into his beautiful glacial eyes,

and again:

taking his hands in mine.

and again:

I open my mouth and

and again:

no words come out,

and again:

because I, apparently,

and again:

really want to sabotage myself.

and again:

I take a deep breath and try again.

and again:

“I just got out of a really bad relationship,”

and again:

I confess. “And I’m still trying to learn how to ask for the things I want.”

and again:

Deep breath, Jakey.

and again:

“But I want you.

and again:

I really do.” He gives my hands a squeeze,

and again:

then pulls me up until I’m sitting in his lap.

and again:

The stereo is encouraging me to lay back in my dreams.

and again:

“You got it, Stevie,”

and again:

I murmur. Chad raises an eyebrow at me,

and again:

and I suppress a giggle.

and again:

“Sorry, never mind.” “If you’re going to do whatever my music tells you to,”

and again:

Chad says, his arms sliding around my middle and pulling me close,

and again:

“expect to have to get down tonight very often.”

and again:

My retort is lost in a kiss,

and again:

and I let myself melt into his arms.

and again:

He must have had some gum or something,

and again:

because his lips and tongue are minty.

and again:

I slip my fingers into his braided mane,

and again:

marveling at the silkiness of his hair.

and again:

In response, he squeezes me a little closer.

and again:

Under my hips, I can feel him getting hard.

and again:

One of his hands slips down to squeeze my rump,

and again:

and I give him a little squeak in return.

and again:

Well, if that’s how he wants to play it,

and again:

who am I to argue?

and again:

It’s a little awkward to shift enough to get my hands between us without having to vacate his

and again:

very comfortable lap,

and again:

but with a little determination,

and again:

I get his pants undone

and again:

and down around his knees without having to break the kiss.

and again:

I can’t tell which one of us is panting harder.

and again:

I can tell that my imagination wasn’t too far off

and again:

when I stick a paw into his boxers to free his cock from its silky prison.

and again:

He’s massive. I could sit here and admire it all

and again:

night, but what would be the fun of that?

and again:

I lean in close. He smells so clean,

and again:

faintly floral with an undertone of something almost leather.

and again:

I give the head of his cock a little lick

and again:

and he rewards me with a whole-body shiver

and again:

and a happy moan. That’s all the encouragement I need to take his blunt tip into my mouth.

and again:

He’s delicious. Not rich-people-lollipop delicious,

and again:

but sweet and a little bit salty

and again:

and not remotely like drugstore body-wash.

and again:

I slide down as far as I can,

and again:

wanting to take all of him,

and again:

wanting to draw out more of those

and again:

wonderful sounds he’s making.

and again:

I’m doubtful of my chances of burying my muzzle in his crotch,

and again:

he’s just too giantic.

and again:

But I can get a good portion of him into my mouth.

and again:

I wrap my hand around what I can’t get into my muzzle.

and again:

Gently, carefully,

and again:

I start to stroke him up and down,

and again:

feeling the texture of his cock with fingers and tongue.

and again:

He’s satiny over steel,

and again:

and so hot that I’m half afraid of getting burned.

and again:

Chad places a hand on the back of my head, right between my ears.

and again:

It just rests there,

and again:

comforting, not possessive or controlling.

and again:

I start to bob my muzzle on his length,

and again:

cupping its underside with my tongue.

and again:

“Oh, god, Jakey,” Chad breathes as I pull back enough run my rough tongue over his tip.

and again:

He’s leaking pre into my mouth

and again:

and it’s just as tasty as the rest of him.

and again:

Well, if this is what the appetizer tastes like,

and again:

let’s see what the main course is like.

and again:

I start moving my paw faster on his cock,

and again:

while my free hand reaches down to fondle his balls.

and again:

He jumps when I run a finger over his sack,

and again:

then actually squeals when I cup it.

and again:

I have never met a guy with such sensitive balls

and again:

and I promise myself to take full advantage of this fact.

and again:

I glance upward to see poor Chad is blowing hard,

and again:

head thrown back.

and again:

One arm is flung across the leather couch,

and again:

hand clenching the cushion.

and again:

His other hand remains just as gentle as ever,

and again:

those fingers slowly working their way into my fur.

and again:

I pull back again, just his tip still in mouth

and again:

as I take several deep breaths through my nose.

and again:

I can hear the leather squeaking in protest

and again:

as Chad digs his fingers in further.

and again:

Before I can think better about it,

and again:

I dive down. Chad slides into my muzzle, deeper and deeper

and again:

until he bumps against my uvula.

and again:

I shiver and fight back against my body’s reaction

and again:

to having something roughly the length and width of a semi-truck

and again:

crammed down my throat.

and again:

I try again. He’s leaving for three months.

and again:

If I don’t manage this now,

and again:

I might never get the chance again.

and again:

On the third try, my body gets the message,

and again:

and Chad Thrustwood slides down into my throat.

and again:

He makes a sound that I don’t believe can be transcribed in any human language.

and again:

My hands have gone still while I was focused on deepthroating my stallion,

and again:

and I remedy that while I work on pushing my muzzle even further down.

and again:

I can only make it about halfway

and again:

before I have to pull back to take a breath.

and again:

All the while, one paw is stroking his shaft mechanically,

and again:

aided by an embarrassing amount of drool,

and again:

while the other tickles and teases over his balls.

and again:

I recognize my mistake a split second before Chad orgasms.

and again:

The first shot hits me square in the face,

and again:

instantly soaking into the fur of my cheek,

and again:

while the second splatters over my muzzle.

and again:

I get him back in my mouth before more of that precious seed is wasted.

and again:

It’s got a mild, almost

and again:

fruity flavor. I didn’t know a guy could taste so good.

and again:

It takes a few moments for the firehose of come to slow and stop,

and again:

and then I collapse backwards.

and again:

Both of us are breathing like we just ran ten miles.

and again:

Another moment passes before Chad works up the energy to open his eyes.

and again:

“Oh, Jake, I’m so sorry,”

and again:

he says, ears pinning back as he spies the mess he’s made of me.

and again:

Frankly, I don’t mind,

and again:

but it is pretty cute to see his concern.

and again:

“Don’t worry about it,”

and again:

I tell him. It might be my imagination,

and again:

but my voice feels a little raw.

and again:

I hold my hands out to him

and again:

and he pulls me up into his lap.

and again:

“Though I might borrow your shower.”

and again:

He pulls me into a fierce kiss, first.

and again:

On the stereo, Stevie Nicks is fading out as she promises that feelings remain

and again:

even when the glitter fades.

and again:

A little on the nose,

and again:

but who am I to argue?

and again:

When he’s done kissing me—which is, I might note,

and again:

well before I’m done kissing him

and again:

—he shows me to the luxurious shower.

and again:

Sadly, he seems too embarrassed to offer to share it with me,

and again:

and I can only push so far in a night.

and again:

After the shower, I feel clean, refreshed,

and again:

and still pretty horny.

and again:

I leave my clothes in a pile and wrap a towel around my middle to see if Chad might want to show me his bed.

and again:

I bet it has silk sheets.

and again:

In the living room,

and again:

Chadwick MacMuscles is stretched out on the couch,

and again:

humming along with the stereo.

and again:

The singer is promising that love is just one inch away. “I dunno,”

and again:

I say, “Pat Benatar has not given me the best advice tonight.”

and again:

Chad opens his eyes and grins at me.

and again:

It’s the same grin he used at the bar,

and again:

maybe mixed with just a hair of leer.

and again:

I don’t mind. “You don’t think we live for love?”

and again:

he asks. He springs up before I can respond to give me yet another kiss.

and again:

A guy could get used to this.

and again:

“If you don’t like it,

and again:

I could show you something else?”

and again:

Maybe tonight is my lucky night.

and again:

“Whatever you want, handsome,”

and again:

I tell him. He offers me a wink,

and again:

then grabs the stack of blankets off the futon.

and again:

Then he grabs my paw

and again:

and leads me towards the back of his apartment.

and again:

And then he leads me to the fire escape.

and again:

I give him a quizzical look,

and again:

and a meaningful nod towards my lack of pants,

and again:

but he just grins wider and waves me up.

and again:

It’s gone from chilly to frigid outside,

and again:

but my interest is, as they say, piqued.

and again:

Besides, letting my anxiety get to me hasn’t gotten me anywhere tonight.

and again:

Fuck it. I follow him up the fire escape,

and again:

wearing nothing but a little white towel.

and again:

For whatever reason,

and again:

the escape goes all the way to the roof.

and again:

Someone has set up a little garden,

and again:

and the shed and air conditioner box create a natural wind break.

and again:

Chad lays down a couple of the blankets,

and again:

then wraps us in the other,

and again:

and I find myself resting my head on his chest

and again:

as we stare out over the quiet city.

and again:

“Thank you,” he murmurs into the top of my head.

and again:

“Thank you,” I reply.

and again:

“This has been quite an evening, Chad…

and again:

ah, hey, what’s your last name?”

and again:

“Strondick,” he says with absolutely no hesitation. I pull back to

and again:

stare at him,

and again:

my hand landing on a bottle of something tucked into the blanket.

and again:

Chad laughs. “Just teasing you.

and again:

It’s Tabari.” “Pleased to meet you, Chad Tabari,”

and again:

I say as I pull the bottle out.

and again:

It’s a large container of lube,

and again:

because of course it is.

and again:

I raise an eyebrow at Chad.

and again:

He actually blushes,

and again:

and shrugs a little.

and again:

“No idea how that got in there.”

and again:

“Well, it seems a shame to have carried it all the way up here without using it,”

and again:

I say with perfect innocence.

and again:

My towel finds its own way out of the blankets before I start undoing,

and again:

for the second time,

and again:

Chad’s pants. I’m getting good at it.

and again:

It doesn’t take long for Chad to shed the rest of his clothes,

and again:

and then I’m rubbing lube over his dick.

and again:

I have to be careful not to overdo it,

and again:

as much as I’m enjoying playing with his shaft.

and again:

I have big plans for it.

and again:

He kisses me as he lays me back into the blankets.

and again:

I shift and wriggle until my legs hook over his muscular hips

and again:

and then I cross my ankles behind his back.

and again:

My own erection is bumping against his rock-hard stomach.

and again:

One of his arms slides under my back, lifting me up.

and again:

I reach down and take his shaft to guide it under my tail.

and again:

We moan in unison

and again:

as his tip presses against my entrance.

and again:

A gentle application of pressure

and again:

and then he’s inside of me.

and again:

I shudder and stiffle a cry as I adjust to his girth.

and again:

Chad tucks his head against my neck,

and again:

shivering himself as he holds still,

and again:

waiting for me squeeze my thighs around his middle

and again:

to signal that I’m ready to continue.

and again:

He goes slow, working himself inch by inch into me,

and again:

never rushing, never forcing.

and again:

Sometimes he stops completely

and again:

and pulls back to give me a chance to catch my breath.

and again:

By the time his hips are brushing against mine,

and again:

I’m little more than a quivering ball of feline jelly in his embrace.

and again:

He’s so incredibly thick

and again:

that I’m amazing I can even take him all.

and again:

I feel so wonderfully, completely full.

and again:

“Ready?” he murmurs into my ear.

and again:

I nod—I don’t think I can talk any more.

and again:

With that same aching slowness,

and again:

he pull himself out about half way.

and again:

Pushing back in is easier this time,

and again:

and then the cycle repeats.

and again:

By the sixth or seventh time,

and again:

it’s not longer a push,

and again:

but long, hard thrusts into me.

and again:

I feel every inch of him,

and again:

and it takes all of my strength to keep my legs locks around him.

and again:

I let the rest of me melt into the blanket,

and again:

staring past Chad

and again:

at the moonless, starry night.

and again:

Up here, above the streetlights,

and again:

it’s easy to get lost in the stars.

and again:

He shifts a little between thrusts, and then again,

and again:

and then suddenly his blunt cock is gliding over my prostrate on every stroke.

and again:

His arm tightens around me,

and again:

pulling me close to him,

and again:

and my own dick is sliding against his washboard abs.

and again:

It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before,

and again:

well beyond my ability to put into words.

and again:

All of existence fades down into the feeling of Chad in

and again:

and around me and the expanse of bright stars above our heads.

and again:

I lose track of time.

and again:

I might even have lost track of myself.

and again:

I become aware that Chad has stopped and is staring down at me,

and again:

breathing hard once again.

and again:

I still can’t make myself make words,

and again:

but I give him a quizzical is-there-a-jackal-here look.

and again:

He smiles at me and says,

and again:

“You’re purring.” I touch my own chest.

and again:

So I am. I rock my hips to remind Chad that we’re in the middle of something.

and again:

He chuckles as he leans in for a kiss,

and again:

working his hips against me once again.

and again:

It’s not long after that that I find myself coming,

and again:

splatting both of our chests with my orgasm.

and again:

Involuntarily, I spasm around Chad,

and again:

causing him to shudder.

and again:

His breath is becoming rougher, harder,

and again:

and I do my best to buck against him, encouraging him.

and again:

It doesn’t take much encouragement.

and again:

With a snort, he slams into me hard enough to cause me to bounce.

and again:

I swear I feel him getting even harder somehow,

and again:

and then he’s pressing himself to me as tightly as he can.

and again:

There’s a moment of perfect peace

and again:

and then I can feel him filing me with his seed.

and again:

It’s like I’m being pumped full of molten lava,

and again:

and I mean that in the best way possible.

and again:

I never knew I could feel this warm,

and again:

this complete, this utterly full.

and again:

Chad is bucking into me again,

and again:

working his seed even deeper

and again:

as he keeps adding to the load inside of me.

and again:

My strength gives out completely,

and again:

my legs dropping to his sides as he finishes with one last thrust,

and again:

hard enough to make me give a little involuntary mrrp noise.

and again:

Chad does his best not to collapse on me, and he

and again:

mostly succeeds. We’re still joined at the hip,

and again:

and that’s okay by me,

and again:

and it takes some maneuvering to roll onto our collective side.

and again:

I burrow my head down against his chest,

and again:

still purring deeply,

and again:

and am ready to just snuggle when there’s a strange musical chime from somewhere in the blankets.

and again:

And then another,

and again:

and another. It’s like being bombarded by elevator muzak.

and again:

Chad sits up as best as he can and rummages through the pile

and again:

until he pulls out my coat.

and again:

He reaches into a pocket and retrieves my cellphone for me.

and again:

There’s a dozen new messages from Jim

and again:

—the therapist, not the bartender. “I’m so

and again:

sorry, Jacob, my phone was on silent and I didn’t realize,”

and again:

it reads. I glance at the others,

and again:

then toss the phone onto the blankets and snuggle back in.

and again:

“I’ll deal with it later,”

and again:

I murmur, before I fall asleep in Chad’s arms.

and again:

This was “Live for Love”

and again:

by Holly A. Morrison,

and again:

read for you by Ta’kom Ironhoof,

and again:

the Equine Charmer.

and again:

You can find more stories on the web

and again:

at thevoice.dog,

and again:

or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

and again:

Happy Pride, and Thank you for listening to The Voice of Dog.

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About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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Khaki