Smoke Break

The young rottweiler knelt behind the stack of empty wooden crates, glaring indignation at the greying shepherd looming over him. A flick and spark, and the end of a thick cigar flared to orange life, jutting out from between the older canine’s teeth.

“This one ain’t for you to suck on.” The black lips muttered around the cigar dismissively as he pulled a mouthful of air through it and rumbled deeply, savoring the taste.

The rottweiler lowered his eyes to stare instead at what he had been offered before the other dog lit up: a heavy tube of fuzz hanging out of the opened V of the shepherd’s unzipped coveralls. This one’s angry red tip glistened instead of glowed in the night air and its scent easily overpowered the smoke from above.

The cigar glowed hotly with another puff, and the shepherd exhaled luxuriously over the kneeling dog’s lowered muzzle. “Don’t make me smoke alone, pup,” he quipped condescendingly.

“Fuck you.” The rottweiler snarled for a moment, but reached up and groped a meaty paw around the sheath, guiding it to his lips and shoving his muzzle onto the drooling red cocktip.

The old dog dug his teeth into the end of his cigar, grunting at the sudden surge of sensation as the rottie attacked his swelling cock with a tongue as broad as that blocky little muzzle of his. His sheath was yanked back without ceremony, the pup’s paw splaying out against the fuzz of his lower abdomen to make room for the hungry muzzle following after it.

The shepherd pulled the cigar from his muzzle, inspecting the column of ash that balanced on the tip with satisfaction before lowering it toward the eagerly bobbing head beneath him. “You’ve got a filthy mouth on ya, boy.” He growled, tapping off the ash against the bridge of the boy’s muzzle and earning a gurgle of surprise for his trouble.

To his credit, the young rottie kept to his work, hungrily diving his nose flush against the musky fur at the base of the rolled back sheath, shivering as the hot ash trickled over the sides of his muzzle. The old bastard could be a real sadist sometimes, but only until he got his rocks off.

And from the healthy twitching of the fat shaft buried in his snout, that was only a few deft flicks of the tongue away. Another night he might have pulled back and relished the frustrated twitching of that saliva-slick prick in the cool air. God knows that fucker deserved it--but tonight he slurped hungrily at what was offered with no regard for what was fair.

The shepherd huffed smoky breaths as his paws gripped behind those floppy bobbing ears and yanked the boy into his thrusts. Each pointed movement smattered more stray ash over the young dog’s head, but the distraction was forgettable in the face of that well-practiced cock dragging past his lips. He flicked his tongue at the tip when it shoved by toward his throat, his paw fumbling inside the coveralls to finally grope tight around the two damp orbs. He jabbed his stubby middle digit behind them, rewarded with a satisfying swell of the shaft against his lips.

He drank loudly. There was no need for discretion back behind the warehouse after hours, and if he tried to keep his gulps quiet he wouldn’t be able to keep up with it all. Though, the rottie admitted to himself, he hated letting the cranky fella know how much he needed it in his belly. He suckled with a pitiful whine when the spasming ebbed, but felt his head shoved back by those forceful paws, popping the spent dick free of his grasp.

“Open that hole of yours.” The voice above him snarled, though left him no time to respond before a bitter-tasting thumb hooked against the boy’s lower jaw. He complied as his maw was tugged open, hanging his tongue out over the invading digit and staring up at the commanding shadow above him.

The cigar was little more than a smoldering stub when the shepherd plucked it from his teeth, grinning darkly. The boy’s tongue still glistened with the remnants of his seed, and he lowered the stub to wag it in front of the younger one’s nose. The rottie wrinkled it away and shut his eyes from the acrid scent.

“Aw, don’t be like that.” The old dog chided. “I told you I didn’t like smoking alone.” His paw hovered a moment longer before flicking the remnant of the cigar into the pup’s open muzzle and clamping it shut around it.

The rottie winced at the heat and coughed from the sudden smoke filling his senses, crumpling to his forepaws and tonguing the hot ember around between his teeth. It cooled quickly as the mixture of spunk, spit, and ash covered his senses, his eyes and nose watering while the other dog held him in place with an unyielding grip.

“That’s a good little ashtray.” He vaguely heard above him before the grip released him. He didn’t dare spit out the soggy husk and he didn’t dare look up, staring at the pavement while he listened to the zipper of those coveralls close up and the dog’s work boots plod back toward the warehouse door.

“Oh, and your smoke break’s over.”

- - -

Art created for Kashra

Short story written by Kashra

This was a lot of fun to work on together with Kashra. It's been awhile since we've worked on something together, and it was refreshing and familiar at the same time. It helps that he and I have similar taste.

Kashra is also a fantastic writer, so I was excited to pair up our creativity, and I think it turned out really awesome. I'm really glad I got to do this with him.

We played with a few angles, as those on Patreon saw, and we were pleased with all of them, but I think we chose "the right one" to pursue. I'm really happy with this piece, and Kashra seems to be too, so this is a 'win' in my book.