According to the tourist guide of this proud yet sinful city, Bugsy Brown’s was one of the less reputable gentlemen’s clubs hidden within the sprawling shambles of the old city centre.
In keeping with the aesthetic appeal of ‘Den of depravity and sin’, Bugsy’s offered a more traditional experience for the less discerning customer, replete with quintessential features such as; thick velvet drapes, nicotine smoked windows, sultry lighting and an atmosphere thick with mood too make even the most angst-ridden Will-o-the-wisp choke under the oppressive ambience of the club.
It should be noted; omitted from the blurb of the travel brochure, that mood was not only an inflexion relating to the residual emotions of a specific space, but also a brand of feminine fragrance distilled from the sweat of a sexually repressed Lillm force-fed an abundance of exotically sweet fruits.
Most nights, you could find an Oni clad in an ill-fitting black suit leaning nonchalantly beside the door like a wolf lounging in the shade of a tree, regardless of the hour you happened to pay a visit. Slow seductive music and raucous laughter composing a sirens song of temptation from behind the thick, heavy wooden doors while garishly pink magical letters frazzled away above the entrance to surreptitiously proclaim ‘ B-B-B-B-Bugsy B-B-Browns ‘.
No one could remember a time when either ‘B’ had worked without stuttering in and out of existence and had earned Bugsy’s the unfortunate nickname Porky Pigs. This opinion should not cast aspersions upon the beauty or sensuality of the women working there. In fact, any patron would be pleasantly surprised to find their hostess very accommodating, no doubt contributing to the infamy of the establishment.
Tonight, however, Bugsy’s was eerily silent. The gaudy facade tarnished beneath a foreboding miasma. It’s weathered doors listed drunkenly from their hinges while sickly bubble gum light reflected in the hollow splash of a gutter spewing out into the alley.
A tiny pinpoint of light flared fiercely in the night, almost joyful in its brilliance before extinguished by the encroaching dark. Almost imperceptible in the shade of a building, shy of the sputtering light and sheltered from the incessant drizzle, loomed an imposing shadow framed against the gloom of the early morning mist that looked suspiciously like Danielle. Not that I had taken the time to admire the Minotaur’s shapely silhouette, but I doubted there were many women in the city over seven and a half foot tall who also possessed a similarly impressive rack.
Considering the alternatives laid out before me, I gingerly flashed my headlights before slowly pulling level with the mouth of the alley.
Truth be told, I was only vaguely aware of what I was even doing here and could only hope I wouldn’t be mistaken for some creepy kerb crawler prowling through the streets looking to take advantage of a monster girl down on her luck.
Looking back through Chasity’s string of mildly incriminating confessions, I had literally no lead with which to locate the Manticore. Save the blatant admission that; ‘she was steaming’ and ‘it was raining’. This brought the suspicion Chasity had been forcibly ejected from her establishment of choice and currently wandering the streets in search of her hole. Any hole was a goal according to the promiscuous Manticore, and even a letterbox would suffice as an outlet for Chasity’s pent up sexual aggression, providing it possessed an invitingly soft-bristled draught excluder with which to tantalise her turgid todger.
Like a Tomcat lording over its territory, Chasity had urinated, slept, pillaged and fornicated in almost every street, doorway, cobbled back alley, nook and cranny of the old city centre. The once moderately sized granite homes for the curds who had risen just above working class had now become cramped multiple occupancy apartments for a bustling student population ripe to be exploited, and Chasity had been no exception during her youth.
Once Chasity had matured from her debauched adolescence and emerged as a lustful young woman, Bugsy’s had become a regular haunt for the blossoming Manticore, going so far as to work the door when she wasn’t galavanting offshore on some far-flung adventure. The reprieve serving as a distraction from her mundane, day-to-day life while allowing her to vent her frustrations on unruly customers with the added bonus of knocking off the hostesses out of business hours, and even one of the bouncers.
Shrill wind barged its way through the passenger door, clamouring past a cursing Danielle and offering the evocative aroma of sweat, nicotine and lightly spiced perfume before hefting a well-placed kick into my teeth. Late winter’s frigid fingers tickled down my spine, stealing away the warmth I had carefully cultivated as the light in the cab cast a sickly yellow glare on my face. Suppressing a shiver, I turned down the music. The Prodigy’s ‘Fat of the Land’ thumping through the speakers, keeping me buoyant during the ungodly hours of Sunday morning.
“S’up.” Danielle’s informal greeting was almost carried away by a gust of wind, bringing with it a burst of icy rain that sprayed across my neck, only to trickle down my back. Fuck! Even I was willing to admit it was cold. Jackets weren’t usually necessary until the mercury dipped into single figures (Celsius, I’m not a complete fucking idiot). A belief that found me enjoying a surprisingly comfortable skiing holiday with a Yuki-Onna. Never once leaving the chalet thanks to a pulled muscle. The fact she helped me ‘pull’ that particular muscle multiple times a day didn’t deserve mention.
Despite the obnoxiously inclement weather dripping from her rakish fringe, Danielle carefully laid a slumbering Francesca onto the back seat like a precious antique and gently closed the door. Mouth hanging open, my offer of help dissipated in a puff of breath as I struggled and cursed off my jacket before throwing the garment over the cute bundle of fur. A smart person would’ve taken the seatbelt off first.
My mental ineptitude was likely a symptom of sleep deprivation, and possibly an overindulgence of dairy products resulting in calcium-induced hallucinations more commonly referred to as ‘Cheese Dreams’. But the fact it was after three o’clock in the morning was the most plausible and sensible conclusion. In the past, this ungodly hour was usually witnessed from within the clutches of whichever aggressive woman had laid claim to me by the end of the evening. Sometimes slung over their shoulder like a prized trophy, but often looking up into their lust-filled eyes as they ground my hips to dust. Hobbling around for the next two days was considered a small price to pay when compared to the pleasures on offer. However, there was an uncomfortable disparity when it came to Chasity and Francesca’s intoxicating affections.
Come to think of it, the desire I received from my mistresses was often like a stupor. Waking in the morning with the sour taste of the evenings exploits coating my tongue. Painkillers would do little to ease the dull ache of our antics while I wondered what exactly I had allowed to be poured into my body, and if the shame would stain my underwear.
Regardless, an ember of affection filled me with a familiar, welcoming fuzz as I watched the cute little twitch of Francesca’s nose before she snuggled deeper into my fleece with a soft mewl of joy. Her tail idly thumping out a rhythm of contentment upon the back seat, dislodging Daemon Lord knows how many years of dust into the cab. At least, I lied to myself that it was only dust.
Why had I never tried chasing these cute little mutts before?
My eyes narrowed. It may just be a trick of the light, but I would swear that was chilli sauce in Francesca’s hair?
Safer not to ask.
No such care was given to Chasity. The Manticore carelessly bundled into the back like a belligerent sack of soiled laundry who fell face-first into the headrest of the passenger seat. Her vile curse leaving a damp smear on the upholstery. The option to tumble into the cab with a sliver of grace never presented itself, clutching a polystyrene replica of Pandora’s box in one paw; though the contents were no less apocalyptic, and her limp, frothing tail in the other. My eyes already stung from the offensive levels of hot sauce slathered over what I assumed would be a Hass’ Saturday Special (mystery meat) Kebab. They claimed it was lamb, but the slowly rotating cylinder of grease could be anything under all those spices.
Finally, Danielle opened the front passenger door and ducked into the cab. She somehow managed to squeeze her voluptuous bulk into the seat while her curled horns tore at the lining of the roof.
“A’right?” Danielle flashed a cheery grin in-spite of her sodden appearance. Water dripped from her fringe as an alcoholic miasma shimmered through the air like a mirage.
Daemon Lord, her breath could strip paint! I found myself fighting the urge to check my eyebrows hadn’t been singed. It had been bad enough having Francesca pencil in my eyebrows after a playful Chasity found herself in possession of hair clippers and a bottle of Absinthe. Which was nowhere near as embarrassing as the half-arsed attempt the Manticore made of trimming my pubes into the shape of a heart, but looked more like a retarded elephant.
“Before we move,” I gestured in Danielle’s direction with a lazy wave, “I don’t accept cash. Just sexual favours.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll pick up the tab.” Hitching a thumb over her shoulder, Danielle rattled the seat backwards and settled into the chair. Now able to stretch out those long, toned, semi-furred legs. If her skirt creased up just a little bit more… There was a squawk of disgruntlement as Chasity was squashed like a ripe tomato. A very angry, growling tomato.
“If she feels generous, the Manticore might even give you a tip.” Danielle grinned, catching my gaze wander along those gorgeous thighs. Daemon Lord! The very thought of being pinned between that valley of invitingly contoured muscle gave me a chubby and an unhealthy appreciation for topography.
“It’s what Chasity does with her tip that worries me. ” I returned an awkward smile, trying to look at the Minotaur without feeling like a pervert. Every strip of clothing seemingly designed to accentuate her pleasing abundance.
“You do know I’m a happily married woman.” There was a glimmer of amusement in her dusky brown eyes that didn’t quite reach her whore-ish red lips. Muscular arms folded beneath the mass of luxurious flesh of her tits, both biceps and breasts bulged as Danielle quirked a bushy eyebrow in my direction.
Wait. Was she wearing makeup? For some reason, the very notion seemed perverse, and I was reminded of the idiom; tits on a bull. Though in Danielle’s case, the description was almost poetic. Like Chasity and Francesca, Danielle was a naturally attractive woman with plenty of charm. A lot of which was virtually spilling out of her dangerously low cut top. The garnish of makeup invited the same emotions I felt watching Chasity splurge ketchup over her lobster.
“Just means I can look, but you can’t touch.”
“I can’t tell if Chasity rubs off on you, or you on her.” Whether she noticed, Danielle idly stroked her wedding ring as if appraising its worth. And a detestable fragment of my soul sparkled with excitement.
“Well, we actually prefer to circle up and rub-off each other. Though I usually lose when we play soggy biscuits.” There it was again, a glimmer of laughter from the Minotaur. Never could understand that woman.
In the same way, I couldn’t understand joggers. Sneaky little buggers prancing about at all hours in full-body condoms and their bobble hats. They always found the dead bodies.
Unwilling to instigate a tantrum should I insist seatbelts be worn, I pulled away, believing I remembered where Danielle lived.
Behind me, Francesca snored and whimpered in her slumber, occasionally kicking Chasity as she lived out her dreams. Aside from the mild annoyance of being casually assaulted; the Manticore casting a black scowl towards the Kobold whenever a stray foot threatened to spill her ‘snack’, Chasity noisily slurped, smacked and belched her way through the contents of her nasty, chilli soaked kebab. Dismay kicked me in the back of my head, drawing my attention to the horrifying fact Chasity was using one of her envenomed spines to skewer the highly suspect lumps of meat.
A sense of foreboding permeated the dank air, allowing anxiety to creep over me. Razor-sharp talons glinting in the moonlight (or at least the dull sodium glow of street lights, but that failed to capture the imagination) as an ominous shadow loomed from behind. I felt uneasy when Chasity was quiet; relatively speaking, like the building charge of tension witnessed within the eye of a storm, knowing there could be a horny Manticore lurking behind with a wickedly pointed surprise.
Not wanting to get caught perving again, I glanced in the rear-view mirror, hoping to ease my anxieties revolving around what the Manticore was up to, only to be confronted by a disturbingly lewd sight that merely shifted the weight of discomfort from my gibbering paranoia across to my already overburdened libido.
The polystyrene box had been discarded, replaced by the sleeping form of Francesca dragged across the back seat. Chasity had pulled out her stiff cock and was idly poking at the Kobold’s face, hoping to coax a blowjob out of her. Passing lights briefly highlighted the damp sheen of Chasity’s precum smeared across Francesca’s cheeks.
Words escaped me as I silently turned my attention back to the road while pretending I hadn’t seen a thing. As an afterthought, I cracked open a window, hoping the fresh air would ease the sudden wave of heat rolling through my body and dampening the crotch of my tracksuit bottoms with sticky desire. At the very least, it would help mitigate the sting of my eyes and the cloying scent of alcohol. Ignorance was undoubtedly bliss in this case. Or so I thought…
Just because I couldn’t see what was happening didn’t mean I wasn’t painfully aware of the erotic display going on behind me. I could just make out a mumbled gulp and a grunt over the mutter of the window followed by slow, suggestive slurping. A content groan from Chasity all but confirmed my suspicions.
Daring to look in the mirror once again, I watched with voyeuristic fascination as Chasity bobbed Francesca’s mouth along the length of her cock. The Kobold still passed out despite being used as a masturbation sleeve, coating Chasity’s barbed meat with glistening slobber while she sucked and mouthed in her sleep. Fair to say I felt just a little bit jealous, trying to remember the last time I had gotten sucked off in the back of a car.
There was a soft whine from behind. My attention was drawn towards the rear-view mirror in time to catch sight of Chasity hilting herself into Francesca’s mouth.
Chasity rolled her head back, squirmed in her seat and uttered a low throaty moan that harmonised with my own arousal as she ground herself into the Kobold’s unresisting mouth. Francesca must have been thoroughly minced to accept such punishment without a whimper. Having been in that position many times, I understood the brutalising excitement of having Chasity take charge during a blowjob.
On and on Chasity growled and thrust. I knew how amazing Francesca’s cock sucking felt. The exquisite squelch of her throat squeezing around your cock as she greedily gulped down every spurt you bestowed, and I envied each and every climax that shuddered through the Manticore’s body. Content her passions had nursed for long enough, Chasity gradually eased her cock from Francesca’s mouth. Strings of seamen enriched slobber clung to Francesca’s gluttonous lips, only for Chasity’s cock to spring free with a pop, and smack the Kobold in the face as it bounced back like a pendulum. Pulling the still slumbering Kobold a little closer, Chasity ran her paw through Francesca’s silken hair, whispering obscene affection. At the same time, her viciously red todger continued to twitch and bounce, patting Francesca’s cheek with wet, petulant slaps.
Even the open window struggled to mitigate the familiar stench of Chasity’s semen. Yet somehow, Danielle had failed to notice the live porn show going on less than two feet behind, or the fact my tracksuit bottoms were tented by an envious rager. Far too engrossed by the phone perched in her large hands. Heaven forbids she should miss out on some socially significant update by some wanker she probably didn’t know.
The way I saw it, social media was for narcissistic people who were unable to shut up even when they were on their own. Spewing out a constant deluge of shit like an overflowing sewer pipe. This time, however, I was grudgingly glad of the distraction. Not having to face Danielle leer at my shame.
Discreetly trying to tuck away my erection, lamenting my decision of going commando, it wasn’t long before I had pulled up outside what I believed was Danielle’s house and dropped off a thankful yet worryingly friendly Minotaur.
Had she not been married, I would’ve taken the calloused hand resting in my lap and her sly, suggestive grin as an invitation. Maybe she wasn’t as oblivious to Chasity’s lewd spectacle, nor the prominent chubby proud in my trousers, despite my best efforts of concealment. Danielle left me with a hug, a quick peck on the cheek, the glorious sight of her jugs jiggling in my face and a faint whiff of perfume before ducking out of the pickup.
Unhappy at being bundled into the back of the cab like a sack of dirty laundry; though judging by the odour of her alcohol saturated T-shirt and tattered jeans it may be a fair comparison, Chasity decided she’d be more comfortable upfront. Asking me to pull over would have been far too simple, believing it would be an excellent idea to clamber over the recumbent Francesca curled at her feet and slip gracefully into the passenger seat.
Instead, there was a loud whimper as Chasity tread on Francesca’s otherwise happy tail before she whapped me in the face with her wings. Twice! This was followed by the unwelcome attention of her dripping vagina; leaving a warmth of zesty pussy juice smeared across my cheek, as Chasity almost toppled forward into the footwell with a curse. It was hard to tell if smacking your face off the dashboard in a spray of spittal could be considered lucky when compared to a mouthful of damp, dirty carpet with your arse sticking up in the air.
Considering the self-satisfied grin flashed in my direction once the Manticore finally settled into the seat, Chasity seemed to be no worse despite the splatter of saliva dripping down the radio controls. Wiping pungent juices from my face, I sniffed my fingers before licking them clean, intrigued by the briny undertones of Vodka. The smell and taste of a woman were a welcome change from the usual stench of spunk I had grown accustomed too. I struggled to admit it was an aroma I had come to grudgingly appreciate, though some remnants of heterosexual pride still found it deeply disturbing.
It didn’t take long for Chasity’s paw to find its way into my lap after mistakenly fondling the handbrake and almost causing us to drift through a set of traffic lights. Much to the indignation of the taxi driver behind. Never did like those cock bags.
“Ooh! Someone’s gotta chubby.” Chasity trilled playfully, fumbling around in my trousers like a blind prostitute in a fish factory before finally pulling my cock from the scant safety of my tracksuit bottoms. Without hesitation, she started to gently tug on my todger, curling her furry fingers beneath the ridge of my bellend while massaging my shaft between her squishy paw pads. Her touch may have been clumsy, almost aggressive in its lust, but nevertheless, her fur was warm, soft and ever so inviting, if a little bit sticky.
“How’s ’bout a little cash-in-hand, hmm? Or maybe…” Chasity knew I had a hard-on for her pussy, and the Manticore giggled as she guided her bumbling tail towards my crotch with her free paw. I watched hungrily as the lewd organ dripped thick musky nectar; eager to feel the fleshy fuckhole sucking around my cock as it dropped like ripened fruit and engulfed the gear stick with a wet, greedy schlup.
“Aw, come on! How am I supposed to change gear?” Completely ignoring my protests, Chasity beamed a cheeky grin, leaning in towards my crotch as she licked my cock with a long, lazy purr. Any objections I may have had caught in my throat like one of Francesca’s stray hairs. The fuzzy textures of Chasity’s feline tongue were pleasantly rough yet luxuriously tender. Like wet, silken Velcro twisting around my shaft. Chasity gently peeled back my foreskin with her lips, and I uttered a second gasp as the barbs that adorned her inquisitive tongue tickled and rasped against my bellend before sucking me into the embrace of her mouth.
By fuck, I’d forgotten the intimacy of Chasity’s kiss, and I found myself gingerly resting my hand on the Manticore’s head as I allowed myself to melt into the sloppy warmth of her mouth. A girlish, submissive Chasity was a rare prospect I was happy to exploit, and I gently pinched and teased her cute, tufted ears between my thumb and forefinger as I ran my fingers through her damp hair.
“Good girl…” Mindful of the fragility the capricious Manticore held between her teeth, my pale voice encouraged Chasity towards greater depths of desire. Slobber bubbled around my shaft as she savoured every inch of my manhood and noisily bobbed, slurped and gorged herself upon my cock. Pinpricks of pleasure prickled my member as her cute little canines scraped against my throbbing flesh.
Contrary to Chasity’s usually crass demeanour, she gradually warmed to the intimacy and tenderness of the moment. Carefully adjusting her position, Chasity snuggled a little closer, rubbing her cheek affectionately against my stomach. The fur of her mane caressed my arm like a delicate lovers touch. Her paw tucked comfortably between my thighs, and she even managed to clumsily fondle my balls as her giggles vibrated through my shaft.
I tried to coax her quivering tail into shifting up to third with little success. My pleas were met by loud delightful smacks and a few burbles of spit from both offenders. Hangover or not, Chasity was going to have fun cleaning the gunk out of the gear stick later in the day. Despite the fact coasting along in second gear was just asking to get pulled over by the police, I found myself in no particular rush, relaxing farther into the Manticore’s slobbery kiss. Most people cruising so slowly at this early hour were instantly highlighted as up to no good. Trying to explain this to the police may be an exciting turn of events. If it came to that, all I could hope for was a constable with a sense of humour, if not adventure.
All too soon, a familiar tingle began to itch within my balls like the glowing embers of a guttering flame, but first I wanted to feel her lips clamped around the base of my cock. I pushed down on Chasity’s head, prompting the Manticore to take my cock to the back of her throat, which she greedily accepted with a loud watery purr.
Daemon Lord, judging by the warmth of endorphins that blossomed down between my legs, it felt as if Chasity was away to receive a monster load of cum! The situation inspired an exhilaration I hadn’t felt since Francesca had slipped a buttery finger into my arse and lightly stimulated my swollen prostate. Mind-blowing pleasure clouded my senses until all I could perceive was the caress of the Manticore’s tongue as it slithered along the underside of my shaft in a swirl of saliva. Fully enveloped in the warmth of her mouth, Chasity started to hum a familiar song in between blissful gulps of saliva.
“Awww, Chasity!” My voice fractured with a laboured sigh, and I nipped her ear a little firmer, teasing the velvety fold between my fingers as Chasity’s disjointed melody flowed into a purr of contentment. Slobber oozed past Chasity’s soft, sensuous lips she had wrapped around my shaft, pooling around the base of my cock as warmth trickled down my aching balls.
Imprisoned within the back of her throat under the duress of torturous delight, Chasity endeavoured to swallow the excess saliva that sloshed around my shaft. Wet, greasy muscles squeezed and squelched around my dick as Chasity’s ribbed oesophagus sucked on my glans before she snorted, gagged and a surge of hot vomit erupted around my cock before spraying across my crotch.
“Fuck’s sake Chasity! Do you not chew your food!?” Admittedly, not the most pressing concern clamouring for my attention, but what else could I say when half-chewed lumps of gristly mystery meat stewed in caustic bile were floating around my cock? If being chundered on wasn’t bad enough, the volatile concoction of Vodka, stomach acid and chilli sauce escalated from scorching tingle to searing pain as my bellend and urethra screamed in a chorus of agony. Coughing, spluttering and belching into my T-shirt, Chasity retched a gurgling hiccup as her tail convulsed, ripping the pickup into neutral as we stalled to a juddering halt.
Everything lurched forward, the seatbelt hugging my chest protectively as Chasity cracked her head off the steering wheel with a comical toot of the horn. Amid the carnage, Chasity continued to hack and curse as if she had inhaled a jellyfish as I opened the door and rolled out into the street.
“Fuck, fuck! Shit, bastard, slut! ”
My cock bounced, slapping my stomach as I dashed towards the passenger door while flicking globs of vomit onto my T-Shirt with contempt. With a strangled cry, I threw open the door, only just managing to drag most of Chasity’s bulk from the cab before she heaved a horrible gurgling boak and spewed all over my trainers.
To think, I could be home, curled in bed, sheltered in the tranquillity of Francesca’s blanket. But no~oo. Uncouth humility was a virtue bestowed upon me by a benevolent God who viewed my meagre existence as the punchline to her crass and tasteless pantomime. Much like the Carry On films Chasity and Francesca loved so much.
“Well, that’s just effing marvellous!” Time slowed in a moment of perplexed serenity as I surveyed the steaming slurry that spattered my clothing before bright, searing pain permeated my disbelief.
Anger, disgust, maybe even a sliver of deplorable delight jostled my emotions as I left Chasity dangling face-first out of the passenger door like the wretch she was. Hot, greasy revulsion clung to my thighs, its filthy nails tearing at my flesh, and I wasted no time dropping my trousers around my ankles as I cursed, hopped and waddled towards the nearest puddle, desperate to douse my indignant tonker.
The relief was fleeting, light rain blended with the tears running down my face as I threw away what little pride remained and thrust myself into the puddle, humping the pavement as I thrashed my todger in the mud. Sweet icy water quenched my searing meat, leaching away my bitterness and pain until my erection had shrivelled like a withered chipolata.
Balls-deep in my newfound lover, I selfishly refused to surrender her tender embrace and continued to hunch over the puddle for longer than could be deemed polite or socially acceptable. The anticipation of release mingled with the arousal of mild pain as my distress gradually washed away, evoking the memory of a nettles corrosive kiss upon my tender flesh. People may stare in disbelief, whisper she was shallow, say it was nothing more than a one-night stand. But at this moment, this puddle made me feel like no other woman ever could. Save maybe Francesca’s dainty paws and a tub of medicated moisturiser, but that just made our affair sound sordid and debased.
Wrung-out. Weary. Battered beneath a tirade of emotions. Exhilarated and shamed in equal measure. The smouldering desire that wracked my body reminded me of how I had collapsed in a quivering heap, subjected to my first explosive orgasm at the mercy of Chasity repeatedly pounding my prostate. Her fluffy balls slapping my arse joyfully as she dumped her thick, hot load deep into my guts. Tears of shameful joy streaming down my face as Chasity’s spunk dribbled between the cleft of my arse. A disturbing yet worryingly satisfying memory that left me unable to look at a cream bun without a tickle of arousal.
Pulling off my trousers, T-Shirt and trainers, I stood bollock naked in the street, surveying the ruined mess with a deepening sense of disgruntlement. No doubt my tracksuit bottoms would have a sizeable pale splatter staining the crotch. The black fabric already beginning to fade into a pastel orange courtesy of Hass’ ‘Just One Fucking Drop’ sauce liberally ladled over Chasity’s Kebab. My T-Shirt resembled an unimaginative attempt at a tie-dye and as for the trainers…
I left the bundle of soiled clothing at the side of the road, almost skipping back to the pickup in a camp, cock bouncing prance. My feet slapping the pavement as small stones dug into my soles. There was a fresh puddle of lumpy puke splashed beneath the Manticore who hung out the door like a used condom. Sliding back into the driver seat, the leather felt uncomfortably sensual against my rain-slicked skin. Lost in the abyss of self-pity, Chasity ignored my exasperated pleas to get back in the cab, her ears telling me to ‘get tae fuck!’ with a few arrogant flicks. Growling under my breath, no longer finding her mischievous behaviour cute, I hauled the groaning Manticore back into the cab by the scruff of her neck, tangling my fingers into her sodden mane where she slumped further into the seat. Chin resting against her chest as a groan escaped her moistened lips.
Sadly, her tail had yet to release the gearstick, acting as an anchor and preventing the weight of the Manticore falling face-first into the pavement. Pity. Maybe a faceful of tarmac would make up for a lapful of vomit? Managing to coax the appendage back into second gear after much threatening, cursing and brandishing of an exceptionally hot cigarette lighter, we pulled away with a bone jangling judder. Looking over my shoulder, Francesca happily dozed away in the back, oblivious to the unwinding farce. Cute little snores and the occasional whimpers from the Kobold the only sounds in the cab, gently easing my frustrations as I set back out into the night.363 Views