GrowlBoys – Big Cat – Chapter 2 – Furry Business
As Steve slumped into his office chair, he felt his arms pulsing with freshly fueled blood. His palms still burned from the scratchy bar of the weight bench. His massive chest heaved up and down as he caught his breath from his workout. One of the perks of having your own office in your own business: you can do whatever the fuck you want with it. And for Steve, he never wanted to be too far away from his next pump.
Size was everything to him. Being bigger was an obsession. Many saw him as total muscle god, completely shredded and full of the arrogance and attitude that went along with the look. He liked that people were intimidated by him, even feared him. It gave him power. And power was what it took to run his empire.
While he sat in his oversized chair, he decided to count through the previous night’s take. He always got excited whenever he totaled it all up. For every dollar his fingers touched, he imagined the dumb, hot whores he tricked into working for him. Hundreds of dollars a night went into his pocket, all while he got bigger and meaner in his tank top in shorts. This was the life. And he was truly the master of his domain.
Knock, knock! The door to his office seldom made a noise. Even his own staff didn’t want to interrupt him, knowing that he never wanted to be disturbed during a sweat. And for Steve, that can go on for hours. Eventually, though, business was business and his underlings had to make face-time with him. Pulling out the draw of his desk, he placed his neatly sorted cash inside, nestled carefully next to the cold steel of his gun. Can’t be too safe when dealing with those he sold to, whether it was flesh, drugs, or something even more exotic…
“Come in,” Steve’s voice boomed, somehow echoing in his wide, broad chest before bouncing off the walls of his office. There was a tentative turn of the doorknob, almost as if the hand that touched it regretted knocking and considered walking away. This, too, was a dangerous mistake. Only thing worse than interrupting Steve was wasting his time.
As the door opened, Steve saw the brave figure. It was a young man–or whatever the fuck it was. The guy had an amazing body, swimmer’s build, tight, cut abs, and a nicely shaped chest. Where his hips met his legs, the waist of his sweatpants was tied loosely, revealing perfectly symmetrical cuts that plunged down below the thick, weighted fabric. Beneath the folds of his sweatpants was a large bulge, showing that the guy was completely hard. Steve would have thought him a perfect specimen of a man, were it not for his… other features.
His head was that of a dog, some kind of mixed mutt. Yellow eyes, a long snout, a dark button nose and big pointed ears. Luckily, Steve thought, he doesn’t smell like a mongrel. Steve didn’t have much affection for prometheans. Or for anyone, really. He saw most people as the sum of their parts, a collection of holes and cocks. You could either make him money or cost him money. As for prometheans, he thought they were strange, aberrant freaks of nature, an accident of evolution, or maybe just the result of some sick fuck deep dicking the wrong beast somewhere. But still, sometimes they could make for a good fuck. But more importantly, they made him money.
Steve pulled out a cup from his drawer as the dog-boy closed the door behind and walked up to his desk. He knew why he was there and what he had to offer.
“Fill it.”
