Dawn of the Final Day
Most of Friday was gone, and Francis was still tired. As much as he wanted to spend the morning in the hobby store, he thought it best to avoid it until after Monday. Against his better wishes, he went back to his apartment (his actual apartment this time) and rested his head. Hopefully, this time, there wouldn’t be a bipolar manticore trying to kill him or fuck him. Which he wasn’t sure what he dreaded more. The line only skewed as he dreamed, returning to that apartment, to that bed, in its bright green bedding and lavender-scented throws.
Her purrs rumbled through the room, cut off by her trills, her moans, her gasps as he stole her tongue into his maw. She wasn’t so passive as to take it, though. Jessica wrenched back, slurping his into her mouth, passing by those incisors, softer than his jagged rows. Her claws dug into his back, drawing blood as he ran a hand down her breasts, tugging, teasing at their bright red tips. Her leotard was ripped apart, all the way to her lower folds, the hair around them soaked to the point of being black.
Her tail, its end, whipped and flicked this way and that, shooting straight up when she yowled, all the while grinding on his lap. For its sake, the muumuu was left behind, but he still had his boots on, firmly planted on the ground on the right side of the bed.
Jessica broke the kiss, growling, but he could still hear her purrs rumbling through it, growing as she kissed down his front. She slid off of him and before his turgid member, twitching, feeling her hot breath against. He tensed, fighting hard not to flinch as she pawed up to it. Her claws scratched at each other, while her soft, furry digits wrapped around that hard rod, stroking it. He reached down, stroking her head, making her purr louder as she continued to tease and rub it.
The first trickle of pre appeared on the tip. Jessica trilled, and moaned as she opened her mouth, lapping from the base up to it. Her tongue was coarser than a normal woman’s, but still so soft, tasting, swirling around that head. Her hands squeezed, slow, going up the shaft until another dollop appeared, licked off as well. Again and again, the languishing tease, the single drop, all while she stared into his eyes.
Francis was not a patient man, though. He had places to be, others to do. He gripped her head with both hands and pushed her mouth down onto it, making her yelp... then trill. She didn’t break eye contact, even as tears well in them, even as her hands abandoned the shaft. Inch over inch, she gulped it down. She gagged a couple times, but that only spurred him on. It wasn’t long before her throat bulged with it, and it was a question of what was louder: her moans, or the slaps and gulps into her maw.
She shoved herself away, though, hissed, and pushed him back on the bed, clambering on top. She reached down, stroked his member again, getting another drop of pre, then raised it to her lips, licking them clean. She sucked each finger as if her life depended on it, tears streaming down her cheeks, moaning, while her hips rocked against his member, as the little love bud there thrummed.
Francis gripped her waist- but she was already ahead of him, rising... and plunging down on his member. Her moan turned into a yowl, and her focus was gone, lost to lust. She slammed hard, down onto his member again and again, her folds squeezing his rod like a vice, drinking him in. Her voice only grew louder, her yowls higher, longer as she rode him –especially when he grabbed her tail. He lost track of how many times she came on him; only that his legs were soaked in it.
Francis stood, but that didn’t slow her thrusts. In fact, that seemed to only rally her more. Her claws dug into his back, into the scars for his folds, while her heels and their back hook clung to his legs, forcing him to buck in as she shoved against. Even as he turned around and laid her on the bed, she pushed up, gushing like a geyser as her voice started to hurt his head.
Which why not make it worse by thrusting, himself?
When he started, the bed thundered and cracked from the force. The masks on the walls shuddered, with some simply falling off. The weakest links. The face she made as he did would have almost been comical if it wasn’t for the sounds coming out of it, bringing to mind a mix of a howler monkey and a very angry cat. Gone, returned to her malevolent glare as he reached back and removed her claws from... everywhere. He tried to remove his rod, but her folds clamped down on it. Until she realized what he was trying to do. She giggled, purring again, gone as he thrust into her again. From behind.
Her back was arched, her head pressed into a throw pillow, biting it, THANKFULLY muffling her yowls as he slammed into her. But she was not going to be outdone; her rump slapped down, matching him blow for blow and then some, all the while her tail continued to lash out –until it was restrained again- only to be let go; “ear rape” didn’t even begin to touch the sounds she was making now when he did.
“C...c...cu...cum...cum,” she spluttered out, and let go of the pillow as her wish was fulfilled. Her tail stuck straight up, twitching as did her lower lips, drinking every drop he was giving her. He couldn’t even try to pull out, her legs locked around his waist, keeping him there. She looked back, mewling, purring-
Gone, as somebody thundered on his door. Thank. God.
He groaned, rising out of his bed, and grabbed the- pair of sweat pants and red shirt off the chest of drawers. Where he left the muumuu... There was a note.
Why did you even have this?
Because I was a dumbass, he thought, and groaned again as the door kept thundering. At least he was smart enough to take his shoes off this time; made slipping on the sweats easier as he stumbled out while putting them on to answer that wretched entrance. It was Plank, far too late.
“Hey,” she said. “Thought I’d stop by and tell you I got in contact with Eve.”
“She said that the oversight with Miss Strip was unfortunate but that she would find a way to get you a permit if you wanted to start working at the hobby store immediately-”
“How did she know that!” He pinched his brow. Right. Why wouldn’t she know that. Of course Beatrice would call to check... He snorted, shook his head, and looked back up at Penny. “And if I didn’t?”
“Wow. Are you really going to turn down a job right at your front door?”
“That’s exactly why I should... What is Miss Strip’s condition?”
“If Eve was to be believed, her body rejected her arm.”
“She lost an arm? How?”
“A seinai flipped her shit when she told her that, ‘a mantis is not a good daycare manager’.”
“I mean... I can’t really argue with that.”
“I couldn’t, either! It’s why when Louis told me, I didn’t give it any thought.”
“Miss Strip... So, they are going to detach it, get it ‘cleaned’, put her through a round of antibiotics, then try again. She’s going to be out another month-”
“Well, if there’s nothing that can be done about it, I guess I have to go without a job.”
She growled, and shoved her staff into Francis’ chest- and he finally noticed what she was wearing that day. She had on a black, leather jacket, which had a ring of fluff at the top. Under it was a white tank, embellished with a necklace of a lion. Her pants seemed to be a strange mix of skinny jeans and sweats, with chains hanging off of them, while she wore a pair of black boots reminiscent to hi- The fire was back on her staff.
“Are you listening?” She exclaimed.
“No,” he said, and pointed at her get-up. “So who are you trying to dress up as today?”
She backed up a step, the flames on her staff cold, as pale as her face.
“Beatrice sort of let it slip. She simply told me your real name wasn’t that long malarkey. From there? I simply put the pieces together.”
She... cleared he throat, and a bit of warmth returned to her cheeks.
“Yes. Fine. You caught me. I’m a cosplayer... Is that a crime!”
“No. Not at all... but why did you latch so hard to that first one?”
“Have you ever read it?”
“I don’t even know what it is.”
“Oh. Right. You don’t strike me as the literate type... Anyways, to explain it simply: The main character’s powers in that book and my own are so much alike that I can relate to him. He’s so suave and cool yet dorky and short-tempered. In a world that utterly hates him, no less-”
“Hey. No one hates you.”
“I-I’m not saying anyone does, ass! I’m saying it for him... I liked his fashion sense, too- a-an-anyways, I’ve s-said my piece, so I’ll be going to the Academy now-”
“Now? It’s Saturday.”
“You don’t know? Classes run from Monday to Saturday. We’re on the Japanese standard.”
“That’s great for the Japanese, but last I checked we’re on American soil! Do you remember what happened the last time the Japanese tried to fuck with Americans on their turf? This is some bullshit!”
“Don’t take it up with me. Talk to Lilith or Eve about it. Until then, I’ll see you bright and early Monday.”
She left, running for the stairs, while he leaned on the rail, watching the line of cars, the swarms in the sky descend upon that school. Hating every last minute of it, every last speck that dared to touch down in that place on this day. This was America, dammit! We worked hard to earn at least two days of rest a week. To give this simple itch at the educational level spelled doom to the rest. How long would it be before businesses were allowed to go above forty hours a week without offering overtime? How long before the lowered wages THEN offered “overtime” pay which was the original pay but now they should be “grateful” to make that much. The fact 9.95 was above minimum in this state was depressing to find out –by two bucks, no less! Yet these people were expected to be grateful –he was expected to be grateful for such an offer!
He growled- turned to chuckles as the bar under his hands, that railing... simply... snapped off. He lurched forward a step, but only the one, looking at that broken segment in his hands, at the bar at the bottom jutting out, making a T. He steadied himself, aimed the bar for the hole once more... then slammed it back into place.
A bit too well.
The concrete under cracked, and that part of the walkway collapsed down onto the next floor. Taking him with it. Dust billowed around him, chunks of concrete still pattering down around him, but... he finally let the bar go. He eased himself off the rubble, and climbed back up to his room, retiring for the rest of the day.
Tried to, at least.
A few hours had passed. Francis was sitting in the living room, his steel case open, trying out a mix of the two decks when three, soft pats came to the door. He groaned, back popping as he stood and trudged to the entry, looking through the peephole. There, on the other side, on the fixed walkway, was miss piggy. She looked anxious, squirming in place, clenching her wrist before her. Her bright smile was missing, which was a shame; it would have been brighter than her red dress. Thankfully, it returned as he opened the door- and saw that she wasn’t alone.
“Hey there,” Ezra said, popping her head around the frame. “We were wondering if you were still here. We stopped by yesterday.”
“Yeah, sorry. I sort of passed out in the wrong apartment. I had a late night with the owner of the hobby store and ended up in another girl’s bed.”
“O-oh,” Dixie said, her smile gone again. “I didn’t realize-”
“He doesn’t meant it like that, Dix,” Ezra interjected, shaking the girl’s shoulder... and shooting Francis a hard stare. “Right?”
“Yeah, no,” he said. “The owner was trying to persuade me in getting a job there so played cards with me for SIXTEEN HOURS... I was so exhausted that I went left instead of right at the steps.”
“Then how did y-” Dixie began. Answered, as he shoved his fist through the door.
“These things are cheap as Hell.” He pulled his hand out, splinters and shards falling in his wake. He shook most of them free, still grinning at them. “So what brings you to fine-ass ladies here? If this is for a quick round of tapping, I gotta warn you: I’ve been getting real good at it.”
“Huh!” Dixie blurted, and her pink face turned crimson. She shook her head, her curls bounding as she uttered soft snorts. “N-n-no. Nothing like t-t-that.”
“At least, not this time,” Ezra said, winking at Francis. Which only made Dixie’s face burn brighter. “We’re here to have lunch. It’s only fair since I cooked for you last time.”
“Oh, wow. It was a lot of effort to toss a few meat pockets into the microwave... I take it you ladies want a five-course meal.”
“You read my mind. Doesn’t that sound lovely, Dix?”
“W-what? B-b-but we d-don’t have that kind of time-” She spluttered out. And started backing towards the stairs. “I-in f-f-f-fact, I d-d-don’t think we have t-t-time right now-”
“Dixie chick,” Ezra said, and pressed firm on the orc’s shoulder, “goading” her back to Francis’ lair. “It’s Saturday. Ain’t nobody wants tutored today. You know that.”
“W-w-well yeah, b-bu-”
“I mean, she could tutor me,” Francis cut in. Making her face light up again.
“Yeah. I haven’t been in class all week. God knows I’m gonna need all the help I can get.” He leaned out of the door, towards that pig, just as he did... a week ago... It’s only been a week. IT’S ONLY BEEN A WEEK! WHAT THE HELL? He kept composure though, and chuckled by her ear, blowing on it. “You and me, all alone, in a quiet area... Can I rely upon your... assistance?”
He thought she would literally jump out of her skin when he tugged on one of her curls. Instead, she only leaped five feet into the air and let out the cutest of squeals, making the two of them guffaw. Ezra shot Francis a dirty look again, rolling her eyes as she settled her friend’s gibberish. The drachen, meanwhile, wiped the tear from his eye then stepped back into the house, turning and heading into the kitchen. It took some... persuasion, but the pig girl’s feet finally clomped into the apartment. As did the centaur’s. Though Francis would have preferred to eat in the kitchen, given Ezra’s physique, the two continued into the living room, where one of the couches groaned under Ezra’s bulk.
“Ah, so this is what you meant by ‘tapping’,” he heard her call from the other room. “Won’t lie. Didn’t take you for a duelist.”
“Eh. I’m more a collector, truth be told. Though Beatrice thinks I have real talent with it.”
“Who’s Beatrice,” Dixie asked.
“The owner of the store. She lulled me downstairs and used me for hours; if anyone knows if I have potential, it’s a girl who pushed me to my limits. Physically and... mentally... Pizza sound good?” Thank you, blessed fairy friends! I love you all so much!
Indeed. On the top of the frozen meats, there were four boxed pizzas. Three of which were four-cheese, with the last being meat lovers.
“Sounds good,” Ezra answered. “Just no meat.”
“Not a problem... But yeah. She thinks I have true skill. I just wanted the art.”
“You have an eye for it?”
“Not really, but it reminded me of my father’s work.”
“Your father?” Dixie said. “He was an artist?”
“A metal sculptor. Made a pretty penny off it.”
“That’s actually really cool,” Ezra said. “You think he can do me one? What does he usually make?”
“He made fantasy creatures, sometimes comedic twists. One was a roc playing an eletric guitar in the middle of a sick lick. Flat black tongue waggling, bandanna on its head; it was the literal roc bird.”
Laughter emanated from the other room, which only made his chest ache.
“Well, the next time you talk to him, tell him I want a... oh... how about an orc and centaur riding into battle in full plate.”
“Ez,” Dixie whined.
“That sounds badass,” he called in. “Would the orc be on the centaur’s back?”
“Or a dragon’s front,” Ezra teased, which garnered another “Ez!” from a very squeaky orc.
“Well, if I see him, I’ll let him know his work is in your hearts. Don’t plan on dying anytime soon though so you might be waiting awhile.”
Pin. Dropped. There wasn’t another sound in the apartment aside the soft hiss of the oven as he opened it. He could hear every crumb of the pizza slide onto the board it was wrapped upon, the pizza cutter slowly spin and crunch through it, then the soft scrape of the plates against one another as he put four slices on each. He meandered into the living room, handed them the plates, then went back into the kitchen to prepare the next, fighting hard not to laugh at their shocked, mortified faces.
He sat at the table, cracking open a container of orange juice, and guzzled half before he heard any form of eating in the other room.
“I killed him, by the way,” he said, chuckling. “When I was only twelve.”
“Okay!” Ezra bleated, and her hooves thundered on the floor. “Thank you for lunch, but I think we should be going. Isn’t that right, Dix?”
The poor girl didn’t even have a chance to answer. She was little more than a white flag, being waved by the fleeing centaur, both of them green in the face as they passed and saw him waving. He stood as the hooves thundered down onto the street, and stepped out onto the pathway, watching that centaur sprint all the way to the Academy and up its steps, while the orc clung on.
“Sweet girls,” he said, and his stomach rumbled. He went into the living room and collected the food off their plates, downing it in four bites before he resumed waiting for the next. “Let’s see if they come back.”
He chuckled... but his chest ached far more, longing for them... But his week of exile was coming to an end. After Sunday, he would have to return to that wretched place. Who knows? Maybe if he’s lucky, he could get a month next.