Vices Grip

This erotic story features anthropomorphic (furry) characters, intelligent humanoid beings with both animal and human characteristics.

"Vice's Grip"

SHORT STORY

Among the verdant expanse of farmland there stood a secluded barn. A weathered structure that had been around for generations, now long-forgotten by time and man alike. The heavy heat of midday beat down upon its roof and the surrounding lands. This heat; this exhausting, sweltering heat...

Nearby the sounds of labourers hard at work echoed. Heavy grunts and cries as servants worked and bosses barked orders. Large, animalistic figures roamed the fields. Their bodies tall and strong. Standing and striding on two legs like the smaller humans directing them. Beasts of burden made in man's image.

As the sun reached its zenith, the call rang out: "BREAK TIME!" A clatter of downed tools and the exasperated groans of their users filled the air. Today had been particularly rough, what with the fierce heat. The humans left the fields one way, their two-legged beasts the opposite -- both retiring for a brief while; seeking food, water, shelter, or perhaps more.

* * *

Vice had already put in a full day's work -- having been up before dawn in service to the human-owned farm -- and was feeling it. The tall grey creature -- an anthropomorphic stallion, walking upright with the proportions of a powerful male -- trod along a lonely side-trail that went from the fields to a copse of trees that bordered the farm. The air was thick with the scent of earth and manure, the sensations fading the further away he got. Each beast like him tended to the crops as required by the humans; in totality creating a well-oiled agricultural machine. Vice's kind (the equine, the bovine, the canine; the

animal

) broke their backs with gruelling physical labour, whilst their strange owners busied themselves with the work of thinking. Planning. Controlling.

The anthro stallion neighed. He didn't understand what went through his masters' heads. All he knew was how to do a good job when told to. It was as if he was built-for-purpose: muscles rippled beneath sleek grey fur, each one defined with an artist's precision. His mane flowed down his shoulders, darker than his coat. Every inch of him had been honed by years of hard work and rigorous exercise. However, even someone as chiselled and fit as he needed respite from the endless toil.

Vice's ear flicked. A fly buzzed nearby. He swatted it. There was a clanking, jingling sound as the trappings of his bondage jostled -- the many straps of a harness wrapped around his body, belted and ringed. A leather bridle bit deep into his equine mouth. A tight black thong strained to contain (let alone conceal) his mighty endowment. His adornments creaked softly with each movement, a constant reminder of his servitude.

Sturdy hooves clomped loudly on the dirt path as he passed by the first trees belonging to the copse, dry dust rising in his wake. He craved neither food nor water -- those base needs had been sated earlier. No, what stirred within him was something far more primal, more profound. And as he turned the corner and spotted the empty barn he knew he would get it.

* * *

The weathered wood and faded paint of the barn blended seamlessly into the landscape. Tucked away. A haven for fleeting moments of solace amidst the farm's relentless activity.

Vice pushed open the barn door, hearing it creak with a protesting groan. He huffed as he applied his strength to the heavy door, forcing it to swing wide and give him access. The interior was draped in shadow, smelling of old hay and forgotten memories. A sliver of sunlight cut through the opening he'd made, casting a spotlight on dust motes stirred up by his entry. The gloom of the stale interior welcomed him. Here, he knew he had privacy.

Vice closed the door behind him, drawing deep breaths as he stepped forward. His hooves clopped on the rough-timbered floor. Alone, he began to strip off the trappings of 'civilisation' that so irked him: the harness unhooked, the bridle spat out. Each item fell to the ground with a soft thud, revealing more and more of his furred flesh. Relishing the freedom of movement their removal afforded him, Vice sighed and stretched. Hard-capped fingers fumbled with his thong, pulling it down and letting his massive equine cock and heavy, pendulous balls swing free.

He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. He stood there, naked, his powerful body speckled with what little light came into the barn. His attention turned to his cock -- the thick, veiny appendage hung flaccid against his thigh, awaiting his touch. It twitched slightly as Vice's gaze fell upon it.

The stallion let out a low whicker -- a sound filled with longing and desire -- before striding further into the barn, eyes scanning the dim interior. Taking in every decrepit nook and cranny.

He found his favourite spot: a worn, smooth wooden saddle-stand that had seen better days but provided just enough give to make it comfortable for his large frame. Settling onto it, he leaned back against the rough wall and closed his eyes. It pressed back against his broad rear. The sensation was grounding, real...a reminder that he was alive, that he was here now and not lost in some ethereal dream.

Vice spread his legs once comfortable, and reached down between them. His hand wrapped around his length, thick fingers surrounding the base, feeling the pulse of life within. The barn rumbled with a low groan as he began to stroke himself -- his cock fast becoming erect. Vice's hips rose to meet each slow, measured tug. It felt exquisite. The friction of calloused palm against sensitive flesh was nothing short of divine...the smooth glide of his fingers at play...the tightness of his grip...the heat of his own body...the pressure building with each upward stroke. He could feel every vein, every ridge, every pulse of blood flowing through him like a river coursing through a canyon.

Swelling...swelling...his cock growing harder and longer until at last it stood proudly at its full length -- a testament to his arousal.

The stallion's ears flicked back as he lost himself in the rhythm, the world around him fading away. He threw his head back in ecstasy as he lost himself in self-pleasure. The barn filled with the sound of his ragged breathing, the slick slap of flesh, and the occasional staccato grunts that escaped his lips. He could feel the pre-cum beading at the flared tip of his cock, lubricating his strokes. Making his hand glide effortlessly over his engorged length. His balls tightened, drawing up closer to his body as the pleasure mounted within him.

His hand worked faster now, pumping his cock with increasing urgency. His other hand found its way to his sac, cupping the weathered flesh gently before rolling the tender orbs between his fingers. This dual assault sent blissful bolts of lightning shooting up Vice's spine -- causing him to gasp and buck, like a rutting beast caught in wild abandon.

Vice's movement's grew faster. More urgent. His breath increasingly ragged. He could feel it building -- that delicious tension heralding the oncoming storm. Muscles tensed. Back arched as the came closer and closer to the precipice. The release he so desperately needed.

The loud slaps and grunts continued for another minute or two, keeping him on the edge of orgasm. Vice knew he would need to leave soon. To return to his work. His kind were given little rest. Little reward. Little of anything -- save what they could steal away in small moments like this. Periods of personal pleasure, eking out what they could as the great millstone of life ground them down.

His body tensed suddenly. Every muscle taut as a bowstring drawn too far and held there. And then, with one final stroke...

All the air left his lungs, a guttural cry ringing out aloud before turning hoarse and raspy. Thick ropes of equine cum shot forth -- propelled across the barn by his powerful convulsions, which shook his body with the force of his climax; each wave of pleasure wringing another wheezing cry from his lips. His seed, launched far and wide, splattered all over. The wooden barn floor was painted with sticky white patterns that traced erratic arcs and lines. Each jet of seed staining the weathered wood with glistening proof of his virility. His release was staggering -- in volume and distance. The furthest splash reached even the far barn wall (at its narrowest and thus closest point, but still something to boast about).

The pungent scent of male essence consumed all. Rich and potent. A musky testament to Vice's pleasures. He continued stroking himself through his orgasm. Milking every last drop from his shaft until he was left spent and panting. As the last dregs of his seed dripped from his member, Vice braced himself against the wall. A fine sheen of sweat bathed him -- his fur matted from his over-exertion, his muscles trembling as if he'd just run for miles beneath he scorching sun.

With a satisfied moan he released his tender flesh, allowing it to bob gently between his legs.

As Vice's heartbeat slowed and his breathing returned to normal, he took in the sight of the barn floor and its walls, now adorned with his cum. A smile played at the corners of his mouth; the stallion grinning as he surveyed the salty fruits of his labour. His alone-time in this forgotten place had been productive, and he would cherish the feeling of divine release until the next time he could afford to come here.

Vice stood up. His whole body ached, from both the farm-work and his fervent masturbation. From head to hoof he felt each twinge and minor pin-prick of pain assail him, until he spent some time stretching the worst of it out of his system. His dick flopped about as the stallion ran through a series of exercises. Then, he gathered up his discarded 'clothes' (if you could call them that).

With a final glance at his surroundings, Vice bent over and slid his thong back on. Next, his harness was hoist up and strapped back on, its strips and belts tightening and squeezing his muscular form -- reasserting the constricting presence of his masters. Finally, Vice reattached his bridle, biting down against the bit in frustration at the fact he'd have to wear this for the rest of the day.

Making his way toward the door, Vice let out one last sensual groan as his delicate member brushed against the fabric of his thong. He stepped out into the sunlight, pausing for a moment to appreciate the scenic, natural beauty of the world despite his travails.

Then, with a shake of his mane and a tired half-neigh, Vice set off back to the fields.