Porn Street: Snowstorms Suck

"Suckin' dick is like the most fun you can have with a dick." ~ Blinkie Hoggs (Three Little Victims!!!, Impractical Pig, Concubine Swine 8: The Porkening, Hook, Road Head Hog)

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What a convenient fucking time for the Tundratown Weather Control Bureau to go on strike: right in the middle of the worst winter storm in Zootopia's recorded history.

We've been snowed in going on four days straight here. More than two-thirds of the city's without power, and it's only through dumb luck that Pack is close enough to Flock to be on their grid otherwise we'd probably be in the dark too. Zootopia hasn't seen panic on this scale since Bellwether's reign of terror. And worst of all, it's been eight hours since my last hit -- which is seven hours and fifty-nine minutes too long. "Climbing the walls" is an understatement -- I'm going through straight-up withdrawal. I've tried everything I can think of to take my mind off of it, but if I don't get my fix right fucking now, I'm going to kill someone. Probably Marty.

Definitely Remmy.

Fortunately, it seems I won't have to wait too much longer -- the faint, familiar sound of my door locks being picked is enough to fill me with an overwhelming sense of comfort.

"Thank god," I mumble to myself, plucking yet another destroyed ink pen from my muzzle and tossing it in the trash. I hastily rise from my desk chair and sprint for the front door just as it swings wide open. "Took you long enough. I was starting to get worried."

"I'm a professional," Charlie replies, shaking some water loose from her fur. Behind her is what appears to be an oversized ice chest with a makeshift rope handle. "A few feet of snow posed little challenge."

"A 'few feet'? Charlie, it's piled so fucking high out there that a giraffe wouldn't be able to see over it. How the fuck were you even able to get out of the building, let alone get to a store?!"

"...not every giraffe," she replies with a cryptic nod -- as if that somehow answers my question. Lifting the lid of her ice chest, she pulls out a hefty paper grocery bag. Peering inside the cooler, I see a stack of foam containers with the Bug Burga logo emblazoned on them along with a few cartons of smokes and some other, less-easily identified contraband. Clearly I'm not her only "customer" tonight.

"Well either way, you're a fucking lifesaver. What do I owe you?" I ask, my mouth already watering as she sets the bag down on the floor, pushing it toward me with one foot.

"You don't owe me anything," she replies with a curt wave.

"I don't ride for free, Charlie. Just tell me how much they were and I'll gladly pay it." Charlie's not half the swindler she thinks she is if she can't tell how desperate I am. I'm so excited I'm actively trying to avoid dancing, but I've got an image to maintain here. "If you won't take my money at the very least let me give you my employee discount at Pandora's when it opens back up."

"Unless yours stacks with my own, I'm afraid that wouldn't be particularly beneficial," Charlie deadpans as I stoop to pick up the bag. "Nevertheless, the offer is appreciated. If you want to be of help, consider making a donation to your local library. After all, Marty was instrumental in obtaining these."

I pause, my paws inches away from the grocery sack.

"Marty," I repeat flatly.

"Certainly. He was the only one of us who could fit through the convenience store's air vent," Charlie replies as she trundles off down the hallway with her payload, where Cormo's already outside, dancing in place like a kid needing to take a leak.

...fuck.

Narrowing my eyes, I finish collecting the heavy bag and step inside my apartment. Setting it down on my counter, I carefully open the sack, cringing in anticipation of what I'm going to find inside. The pungent smell alone is enough to nearly knock me over. I upend the plastic-wrapped mass of purple onto the counter, glaring at it in disgust.

Of all the fucking flavors to get me, and he goes with the one that tastes the most like fucking cough syrup. Who the FUCK even sells a six-pound bag of grape lollipops, anyway?! A little fucking variety would have been nice. Still, any port in a storm -- or in this case, a snowstorm. I can always get more in a few days when the roads are cleared. Ripping the bag open, I tear the wrapper from one of the lollipops and poke it in my maw, savoring the huargh blech kaff nope no no uh-uh no good oh god oh god i'm gonna be sick i'm REALLY GONNA BE SICK

Projectile spitting the offending candy out onto my floor, I dash over to my sink and run my muzzle under the tap, coughing and sputtering. My mouth tastes like I've just fellated a gas pump. Once I've finally managed to drown the noxious taste, I turn my head to look at the bag of lollipops.

SWEET-N'-TASTEE LOLLIPOPS
Goodness Gracious Grape Flavor
"A delicious sugar-free treat!"

Sugar-free.

Marty, you DUMBASS. What have I EVER done or said that would lead you to believe I take my candy sugar-free?!

Flipping the bag over on its side with a wooden spoon, I grimace as I skim the list of ingredients. Isomalt, citric acid, artificial flavors, a myriad of unhealthy-looking dyes, a few other ingredients I'm struggling to read let alone pronounce -- and aspartame. I groan aloud as my suspicions are confirmed.

On top of being the one flavor I can't stand, Marty got me six fucking pounds of lollipops made with the only thing in the world I'm allergic to.

Sweeping the inedible pile of sweets into my trash bin, I collapse against the counter in frustration, paws clasped to my head. I know to the average person it looks pathetic for a grown woman to be addicted to candy.

There's worse things in this world.

Still, if I don't have something sweet in my mouth soon, I'm not going to get a fucking lick of sleep. And if I don't sleep, I'm not going to be able to get any work done at my side job tonight -- and until Pandora's out of therapy, I can't afford to miss a single night. I'm not about to ask Charlie to go back out there in that fuckmess again, especially after she literally risked her well-being to do me a favor completely pro bono.

Then again, there is THAT... and as much as my ego says "don't do it", I see no other option. Straightening myself up, I smooth a few wrinkles out of my dress before heading for my door.

The majority of the Pack's code is unwritten, but it's well-known by everyone who lives here. (Well, almost everyone -- a certain stubborn, recent arrival notwithstanding.)

Most newcomers and outsiders focus only on the negative, but one of the benefits of membership is the "needs" system. It's simple in both theory and practice -- make your need known, and hopefully someone else will meet it for you. No strings attached, no expectation of recompense. Sure, there are stipulations -- for one, "needs" are reasonable, realistic expectations. Not frivolities. You don't ask for a brand new sports car -- but if you need groceries, diapers, or money to pay your water bill, the Pack will find a way, even if the Alpha himself has to pull his wallet to cover it.

Part of why the system works is that humility and submission goes a long way in Pack hierarchy, which is also part of why our cotton ball man-child catches so much guff from everyone -- he's got his head so far up his own ass he could wear himself as a woolly hat. Contrary to public opinion, the Pack isn't some kind of serfdom, where the Alpha's our king and we all pay him tribute. If anything, the Alpha's less of a king and more of a leader -- the captain of the ship looking out for the safety of his crew, rather than the ruler driving his slaves to produce more bricks with less straw. Even so, a leader needs to know he can rely on his followers' willingness to be led in the first place.

If anything, one could argue that the "needs" system is some kind of secret test of character.

While I'll gladly chip in to help whenever I can, I've done everything in my power to avoid relying on the Pack myself, and I'll be the first to admit it's purely out of pride. Despite what you may have heard about me, however, I don't consider the less fortunate to be acceptable targets for ridicule. Pride and arrogance are two different things entirely.

That said, I do make it a point to be self-sufficient. I have my own apartment and a steady, above-board income. I'm hardly wealthy, but I can afford small luxuries like eating out and new clothes. I stand on my own two feet with my head held high, and nobody helped me get to where I am. I didn't receive an inheritance, a handout, or a government check. I scrapped and fought every step of the way to get here by myself.

So I want you to understand what it means to me as a person when I say that I'm willing to throw all of that carefully-cultivated self-image away for a bag of lollipops.

Progress, Avo. Baby steps.

Looking up at the door I've arrived at, I take a deep breath, will myself to calm down, and clasp my paws in front of myself. I'm trying not to look as high-strung as I'm feeling. Glancing at my reflection in the name plate, I settle into what I hope looks like a natural smile before knocking. Kind of wish my tail wasn't frizzing out -- I always get the weirdest looks when it does.

A couple of minutes pass before the door clicks open and a muzzle as white as the driven snow outside pokes its way out of the gap. The second its owner catches sight (or scent) of me, the door closes, unlatches, and re-opens all the way.

"You look like hell," Al says by way of greeting. Aaaand I'm off to a flying start.

"Good to see you too," I deadpan. It's about as congenial as I'm feeling right now.

The first thing I notice is that Al's wearing nothing but a pair of flannel pants. With his shirt off, I'm starting to get a good look and realize that a few of my conceptions about him were wrong. Not going to lie -- I know he's strong, but I always kind of figured him for having a little bit of a beer gut. Now, however, I'm realizing that I was sorely mistaken. His isn't the body of a couch potato -- it's the physique of someone who arm-wrestles bears on mountaintops for shits and giggles.

"What're you doin' here, Avo?"

"Boy, this is embarrassing." I admit, I'm trying not to stare. Or sniff. His musk is REALLY strong tonight. "I, uh, ran out."

"Ran out," he echoes, running a paw through his headfur, flinging a few drops of what I'm assuming is water. Did he just get out of the shower? No, but -- the smell... "Okay. Ran outta what? I've got plenty of food and toiletries, just tell me what you need."

"I, uh..." Fuck, I'm so lost in those abs that I've forgotten the name of the thing I'm addicted to. "Uuhhh. Small, tastes good, fits in your mouth, you suck on it, um..."

He raises an eyebrow at me, and I realize that -- oh my god, I just pulled a straight fuckin' Cormo. Excuse me while I just slink back to my apartment and find a ceremonial dagger to run myself through with. Won't be but a moment, tops.

"LOLLIPOPS. I'm out of lollipops," I finally blurt, covering my eyes with a paw. Lord, take me now. "Boy, good thing I remembered the name, otherwise I'd look like a complete fucking idiot right now! That could've been REALLY embarrassing for me, ha ha!"

Al lets out a low chuckle, motioning for me to follow him inside.

"Don't worry about it. I had a feeling something like this would happen," he says as we step into his apartment. I notice his kitchen floor's lined with foam coolers and grocery bags. "I picked up some extra essentials when I heard the freeze was coming through. Milk, bread, cold cuts... bottled water, TP, some canned soup... oh, and these."

Rummaging around in one of the sacks, he pulls out a large bag of "kiddie mix" candy -- like the kind you'd buy and fill a bowl with for trick-or-treaters. To my unending relief, there are lollipops in there.

"Oh my god, these -- wait, these aren't sugar-free, are they?" I ask as he hands it to me. I anxiously fish around inside and pull out a juicy-looking cherry sucker. "I'm allergic to aspartame."

"You are? That's good to know, actually," he replies, reaching for a notepad by his phone and jotting something down. "But no, you should be fine. I got ones WITH sugar just in case Phil started to slip into insulin shock."

"Phil? Who the fuck's Phil?" I ask, shredding the wrapper and jamming the candy into my mouth. I'm fully cognizant of the fact that this is the placebo effect speaking, but I can already feel the tension lifting as I work my tongue along the ridges of the lollipop. This is, by far, the happiest I've been all day.

"Wolf that lives next door to the twins," he replies, folding his arms and leaning against the counter.

"Oh, THAT asshole," I reply. "He's not part of the Pack, though...?"

"I don't care," Al grunts. I give him a nod, dropping the issue. If that's his word on the matter then it's good enough for me.

Al watches with interest as I recline against his counter, sifting through the bag and separating out the lollipops from the rest of the bubble gum and chocolate. Once I'm satisfied I have enough to hold me off for a few more days (even if I have to ration them out), I reach into my wallet and pull out a Hopson -- more than enough to cover even ten bags this size -- and press it flat against the table.

"I don't want your money, Avo," he says, looking down at the cash. "Everyone has needs. You know how this works."

"It's not me paying you," I reply, tearing a paper towel off his holder and wrapping the candy up in a neat little bundle. "Look at it as I'm paying into the system in advance -- to help out the next mammal who comes to you with a 'need'."

"...fair enough, then."

A sort of awkward silence hangs in the air between us. I'm not really sure of what to say, and he's not really volunteering anything either. I reach down and smooth my frizzy tail out while he just sort of stands across from me. He looks kind of like he's... fidgeting? Uncomfortable?

Al, nervous? THERE's a thought.

"So, uh... how's Velvet?" I ask, grasping for literally anything to talk about so that my visit isn't just begging for candy and then bolting off into the night. "I imagine you've gotta be worried about her in all of this, right?"

"Actually, she's overseas for a month." He rubs his temples, exhaling heavily. "Some kind of training thing for work to do with pred-prey relations -- not exactly sure. New mayor insisted on it."

"It's probably good that she's not here, then."

"...I guess."

"When did she leave?" I inquire, turning the stick over in my mouth.

"'Bout a week ago."

All of a sudden, it clicks in my head -- no WONDER his musk is so fucking strong. Now that I've got a moment of clarity and my wits about me again, I look him over anew in the dim light of the TV screen. His flannels are unbuttoned, and that wasn't water in his fur -- I can tell by the smell now that it's sweat. His eyes are red, with thick bags hanging underneath them.

"Oh," I murmur, crunching the last little sliver of lollipop up before tossing the stick in the trash. "Oh yes, I see."

"See what?" he grunts, but it doesn't quite sound like him.

"I'm not the only one with an insatiable craving."

"Avo, no offense, but I'm too tired for your cryptic shit. If there's nothing else--"

"What was it you were saying just a few minutes ago? 'Everyone has needs'?" I ask, pointing below his waistband. "You're wound up tighter than a drum, aren't you."

"What? No! That's not the same thing at all," he growls. "And if you're implying that I'd ever even CONSIDER stepping out on V--"

"Not at all, not at all," I reply smoothly. "Never. Perish the thought. But, um -- surely she can't expect you to go a whole month without needing to, you know. Vent a little pressure...?"

I can see a bit of blush underneath his fur. His bloodshot eyes begin to bulge as his paws knot into fists. Still, even though he's trying to look angry, I know Al better than he thinks -- I've seen enough of his dominance displays with Betty to have an idea of when he's really pissed off and when he's just trying to get you to leave him alone. I've found the weak point in his armor.

And hey, if I'm being honest, I wouldn't mind a little action myself.

"Avo, you need to leave. Right now," he orders, gesturing to the door.

"Look, I work in a sex shop. I've seen this sort of thing thousands of times before," I argue, dropping the facade. "There's no shame in admitting it."

"I mean it, Avo! You got your candy, now get the fuck out -- I'm not going to have any deviant crap in my apartment!"

"Hey, let's not be hasty," I reply placatingly, holding up both paws. I pull my cell from my skirt pocket and thumb through my contacts. "Tell you what -- why don't we ask Velvet herself?"

"You wouldn't," he says, the color draining from his face as I dial Velvet's number.

"Velvet Roe," she replies pleasantly, picking up after a mere two rings.

"Oh fuck me," Al breathes, covering his muzzle with a fist.

"That's the idea," I whisper back before raising my voice. "Ms. Roe, it's Avo! I'm awful sorry to bother you while you're out of town."

"Oh, you're no bother at all! How are you?" Velvet chirps. "I heard about the snowstorm -- sounds horrible!"

"It is, sure, but I'm hanging in there. I trust you're having a pleasant trip?"

"I am, thank you!" she says. "What can I do for you, Avo?"

"Actually, I'm calling about Al," I reply as he stares at me in a mixture of horror, anger, and panic. I set my cell to speakerphone, laying it on the counter with a smile. "I'm at his apartment right now, and he seems a bit -- I don't know, pent-up?"

"Pent-up," Velvet echoes before sighing audibly. Al's got both of his paws pressed to his head, pupils the size of pin dots right now. "...oh, that stubborn...! I knew it -- I told him to take off work and come with me, but he wouldn't hear of it. I was all set to pull some strings with the city and get him a vacation and everything!"

"Perfectly understandable," I reply. "I swung by his apartment to borrow a few essentials because of the storm -- and he just seems kind of addled. Out of sorts, really. Bit red in the face?"

"Ohh, I've seen that look a thousand times," she says. Yeah, me too, Velvet. The clinical term is 'being horny as fuck'. "He gets that way sometimes. Avo, I'm sorry to impose on you, but -- would you PLEASE see to his needs for me while I'm away?"

Al's pupils are the size of pinpricks right now.

"I have no problem helping out," I answer. "Are you sure you don't mind, Velvet?"

"Not at all -- that's why I'm asking you! My Al's a good man," she insists immediately. "He's shy and old-fashioned. He'll give you a hard time about it, but you're going to need to be strong and stand your ground. It's for his own good."

"Absolutely."

"So many people lean on him there, you know?" she continues. I grin as Al looks like he's visibly trying to retract into his chest -- looks like I'm not the only one inadvertently relying on the Remmy Cormo playbook tonight. "If he's stressed, that'll reflect poorly in his duties as the Alpha."

"Yes ma'am," I reply. "Well, I don't mind then -- as long as you're okay with it. I'd never willingly go behind another woman's back -- that's not my style."

"You bitch," Al mouths, clearly embarrassed.

"It's the truth," I whisper back with a shrug.

"Absolutely, and I appreciate the fact that you spoke up and said something," Velvet says. "Knowing Al he'd sit over there and stew on it for days."

"Sure," I echo.

"I'm going to drop pretenses with you for just a moment," she whispers, her voice dropping to just barely audible over the speaker. Al and I both lean in, looking at the phone. "Milk every drop out of him."

"Come again?" I ask, eyes going wide.

"I know it might be a lot to ask, but please -- if you're willing, use your tongue to pleasure him. My big boy LOVES oral sex."

"Ms. Roe, that's -- oh, that's so DARING," I girlishly titter before muting my phone and bursting out laughing. "Oh my GOD!! You have the cutest fucking girlfriend!! She knows I work in a porn store, right?!"

"I am going to drop-kick you out the fucking window," Al groans, burying his face in his paws as my cackling ascends to Ozzy-tier laughter.

"Oops. I'm afraid I'm going to have to run -- our next seminar starts in twenty minutes and I still have to stop at the cafe for lunch," Velvet says. "I'm relying on you to do a good job, Avo -- thank you so much for being honest and bringing it to my attention."

"Not a problem, Ms. Roe. Safe travels," I manage, tears streaming from my eyes as I hang up. I'm never going to let this one go.

He knows it, too. Defeated, Al stumbles over to his couch, staring blankly ahead at the weather report on the TV like a broken man. With a smile on my face and a spring in my step, I trot over and reach for the TV set's knob to click it off before grabbing a pillow off the couch and laying it at his feet.

"Right then, 'big boy'," I grin, stripping my dress off and kneeling onto the pillow. "You heard the lady. How about I 'use my tongue to pleasure you'?"

"...you're horrible, Avo," he mumbles as I tug his waistband low.

"Well," I smirk, "we'll see if you change your tune in a few minutes."

He grumbles something inaudible, and with a final tug I bare the Alpha at last.

"Holy shit, Al. Good length, EXCELLENT girth... lovely vein pattern, too. No wonder you're the Alpha," I fawn, marveling at the piston between his thighs. Cupping it in my paws, I gently pat his 'head' before giving it a kiss. "Telling you now -- Pandora would pay a king's ransom for a mold of your dick."

"Ain't happening," Al huffs, clenching the armrest and cushion tight as I begin teasingly licking at his tip. "This is just a one-time thing."

"Shame. If you change your mind, let me know," I respond. "Now -- let's see if you last longer than that lollipop did."