I had found the perfect place for my office in the new house. There was a dropdoor in the ceiling of the hallway on the second floor, just outside our chambers-- for the first week of our moving in, I giggled every time David called them "your chambers"-- and if you pulled it down, stairs slid out and upstairs was an A-framed attic space just perfect if I would be spending most of my time seated. Even better, it had a pair of near-the-floor windows that hinged outwards and opened on the courtyard.
By now, in our fourth week here, we'd probably fucked in every room in the house except the office space. But we weren't here for sex today; instead, we had decided to unpack our personal nooks and I was here to work on mine. I had set up the desk next to one of the windows while he worked on the window itself, checked it for drafts that the dropdoor was supposed to handle.
I worked on the desk and made sure that all the little knickknacks that I kept in my old desk had a home in the new one. Fine paper, hand-made pens with titanium-platinum nibs, fabulous inks all went into one drawer; I still found time now and then to hand-write a letter to somebody. It seemed to be one of those rare and special things-- a physical letter, handwritten by me and transported at ridiculous cost across the galaxy was a newsworthy event on some worlds. There were days when I wondered how I became comfortable with that role.
Another desk held, surprise, hand towels and a bottle of lubricant. Yeah, even in here. A third held my fixer book and other uPadd devices that I might want or need. And the big one at the bottom I just left empty. It was an old desk, deliberately physical and material, although by now I'd embedded miles of nanowire and circuitry under its brown oak facade. As a touch I had a desk lamp with a fake limelight but an authentic green-frosted conical shade, embedded in one corner on a swing arm. I was sometimes tempted to acquire reading glasses I didn't need just so that I would "look right" if someone came and found me while I worked up here.
I turned to get another box and knocked a bottle of ink off the table. "Damn," I said aloud as it rolled underneath. I bent over and peered down.
"Now, that's a tempting pose," Aaden said.
I chuckled and reached for the bottle. It had rolled close to the middle, but my desk isn't that big so it was easy to grab. "You'll get your chance later," I told him as I pulled my arm back and stood up. Something sharp struck me in the head. "Ow!"
"Are you okay?" he said. He put down the tool in his hand and knelt down next to me.
"I think so," I said. I looked up to spot what I had hit with my head. "Yeah, I'll be okay. I just wasn't expecting the folding desk lamp."
He laughed. "You'll live."
"Probably," I said. "I'm not bleeding, am I?"
He got onto his knees and bent over my hair. He parted it with his fingers. "Where did it hit? Right here?" I pointed with my hand, and he gently pried sheafs of hair apart until he was satisfied that I wasn't about to die on him. Unable to resist the temptation, I touched his thigh gently with my hand and ran it up until I hit the hem of his shorts, then slid my way further up.
"Just what you need right now." I found his cock, soft and idle in his shorts but already starting to grow with desire. "Aren't I?"
He growled appreciatively. "Fah, yes."
"So, am I bleeding?" I asked him.
"Good." My hand slid along the underside of his cock, my fingertips brushed his dangling testicles and disturbed the fur I found there. "You're getting hard in a hurry."
"You do that to me," he agreed.
"I'm going to have this room to myself for a long time. Do we really need to fuck today to keep our promise that we'd do it in every room before others moved in?"
"We will if you keep that up," he insisted.
"Hmm," I said. I pushed up one of the cuffs of his shorts so I could see the head of his cock. I bent over and licked it. I was still a bit dizzy from the blow to the head I'd just taken, or maybe that was lust. Either way, it was what I wanted right now-- Aaden's cock. I couldn't imagine anything I might have wanted more right at that moment. I licked at that tempting head with my tongue, caressed a glans so silky smooth that my tongue almost (almost!) interpreted it as slime. But it was a heavenly, delicious kind of slime if that's what it was. It was dry and savory and heady, perfumed in the way the cock of a sweaty melskunk ought to be.
He growled and put his hands on my head. "Murr," he sighed. "That's it, man. Play with it."
"If I'm gonna play with it for real, we should get you out of these pants." I pulled at the clasp and dropped it to his knees to revealed the whole of his crotch. I dove for that handsome hunk of meat and wrapped my lips around the shaft of it as I pressed down, pressing the head to the back of my throat. I did not gag. I don't know that I could gag on his cock anymore.
He groaned and held himself up against the edge of the desk. His legs trembled as I helped myself to his cock, as I slid my mouth up and down the length of that amazing hunk of meat. He reached down with one hand and held the back of my head, encouraging me to take more. I dove onto the arching mass of it until it poked down the back of my throat, and I found the gag reflex still there, held at bay by sheer force of will. As I pulled off his cock, the head of it slid over the trigger point and a hard shudder rippled through my chest, but I had it under control.
I dedicated myself to his cock. I could feel spit dribble down my neck, generated by the hunger, the desire, the action of his cock in my mouth, in my throat, my eyes up against his belly. His balls slapped me under the chin. Goddess, I had a hard-on like steel inside my own shorts. I wanted to fuck him.
But not yet. I slipped a hand up between his thighs, grabbed his testicles with one hand as I redoubled my efforts on his cock. It tasted so good, like skin, like meat, like sex. The taste of his pre-cum swished over my tongue as I pulled back until just the head rested on my lips and I teased at the opening, then pushed back down until my nose was buried in the thick patch of fur above his cock. His body was taut now, ready to come even as slipped fingers up the cleft of his butt and found the tiny, wrinkled opening of his asshole. I explored those wrinkles with my index finger, slipped one finger dry into his ass, up, up until I found his prostate gland. I touched it only gently, working my finger into him as much as possible.
Both of his hands were on my head now, guiding my rhythm. He wasn't holding back anymore. He had decided he was gonna give me his come down my throat and he was gonna fuck my mouth. That massive shaft battered the back of my throat. I closed my eyes and rode out the waves of pleasure and held back the stirrings of dizziness as he struck again and again at my gag trigger. He battered at my mouth. His balls swung at my chin, the counterbalances to some anthrpomorphized battering ram having its way with me. "Yeah," he shouted, "yeah, yeah, fuck your mouth, fuck, fuck... fuck!" He came with that exultant cry, my mouth flooded with the bitter flavor of meat-eater semen. I let him finish with three or four more short jabs and then backed off just enough to get my throat clear, then took the deep breaths I desperately needed. My nose was stuffed, but I managed. His cock pulsed on my tongue, clearly shot. I looked up at him. He laughed. "How do you do that?" he said.
"Dedication," I said, my voice thick with the effort. I swallowed again and again. I couldn't clear my throat. He handed me one of the towels out of the drawer, then the water bottle I'd brought up earlier. "Thanks."
He waited until I had drunk my fill, then closed with me and kissed me hard. "You're so hot," he said.
"And you're hotter," I said. I nuzzled him gently, our cheeks against one another, held each other as we leaned against the desk. My hands, with my really even thinking about them, slid down his soft-furred back and over the heavy ridge of his tail, then down between those solid blocks of muscle that are his ass to the hidden opening I'd penetrated earlier. I heard a soft sound from his throat, almost a whimper but even quieter, as if he had been unwilling to let it loose. "Yes," he gasped.
"I want to fuck you," I said. I pushed him down towards the desk, onto the desk, onto his back, until he fell over. He caught himself on the edge of the desktop. His butt hung over the edge of the desk with just enough room for his tail to dangle to the floor. I dropped down to my knees to look at the gateway to my kind of paradise. Between those solid cheeks I could see his black, wrinkled asshole, and he tightened it momentarily to wink it at me.
I buried my face in his asscheeks and pressed my tongue up against that orifice. The smell of his sweat and the tiniest hints of mephitinael ancestry mixed in with that pure testosterone-derived pheromone scent hit me full force even as the solidity of his muscular ass pressed his soft fur against my cheeks. Every cell in my body reacted to the presence of those smells, and the signal being sent to my brain was unambiguous: Fuck! Now! I pressed my tongue against that twitching asshole, inwards, against his assflesh, up into his body as far as I could go without getting a nanotech tongue lengthening. He tasted fine. He tasted like a mel should taste. His whimpers grew in intensity. "Yeah, yeah, oh fah, oh fuck, eat my ass, eat my ass." When he talks dirty it makes my hair prickle with need.
He was wet enough with spit, but I fumbled with my left hand for the desk drawer, found the bottle of lube, and spread it my aching hard cock. I stood and pressed the head of my cock to that willing orifice and without a moment's hesitation he let me into his body. I sank the length of cock into his guts and then just stopped there to run my hands through the fur of his belly, that long, black fur. His smile showed me how ready he was, his hands reached up to touch mine.
I pulled back and slammed into him again. He moaned softly, his hole tight against the base of my cock. Inside, he was slippery and warm. His guts held my cock but only gently, stroked, teased me even as I fucked him. I thought I was being gentle, but the desk disagreed as it bucked against us. I held onto his thighs, pushed his legs up against his chest, and watched my cock disappear over and over up Aaden's ass. On each withdrawal, I pulled out enough that the head slid up to the opening, got its firm moment of friction, the plunged back into those manly depths. He moaned with each thrust, his cock grew hard despite being so soon since his last climax. I could feel my own coming. It started as a tickle in my scrotum, spread over my balls and my cock, spread to every square inch of my skin that was in any way in contact with his fur. It flared through me, my cock jetted come up his ass over and over, hot splashes of fluid into his guts. He jerked his own cock as fast and hard as he could, his body suddenly tightened, his asshole constricted around my softening cock, and then he came too, shooting come up onto his fur.
I was standing on my toes. I relaxed them, and my knees threatened to buckle. "Fuck," I gasped. I reached down for him, and pulled him up into a sitting position, where we held one another tight in our affirmation of our desire for each other. I loved him. I wanted him. And I knew in that moment that he shared that love and desire for me.
"You were awesome," he whispered.
I laughed. "Awesome? Now there's a word I haven't heard in a while." I had that curiously complex sensation that he had broken the mood somehow. I didn't mind. I still loved him. I leaned my head back to find his muzzle and kiss him. Our tongues met and wrestled gently. "We've made a mess of my desk."
"But we've properly inaugurated the room," he said.
"Yeah," I said. I kissed him again. "Thanks."
"Always my pleasure," he said. "Let's get cleaned up."