Boys Only: Working 6 to 9 Preview! (Patreon)

With any luck, you'll be able to purchase this new anthology at Furfest 2021...so enjoy this appetizer!

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It wasn’t the first time that Resin was presented with a less than favorable option: taking whatever job he could get, whenever he could get it meant that he’d been through the worst of the worst when it came to coworkers and management.

In this instance, he didn’t think he had a case to file a proper workplace grievance…not when he knew there would be plenty of evidence of how much he enjoyed his new position before the day was up.

“I’m starting to think you two prefer me because I put up less of a fuss,” Resin theorized. “You’ve both complained about how fussy the ladies can be when it comes to getting your posture and penetration just right, after all.”

“And all we have to do to stop you from complaining is give you something to suck on,” Thomas confirmed. “Not that we ever need to stop you from whining…just from getting us caught.”

Resin felt a pair of thick, massive paws wrap around his wrists with ease: he was pulled from his knees and carried by the pair of naked bulls, into the back of the expansive barn…to the hidden gem that was long forgotten behind the hay bales.

“Speaking of not getting caught, it’s probably a good thing they store this thing in the back of the barn, isn’t it?” Murphy asked. “You closed the door behind you, right?”

Nodding as he dangled, Resin tried not to act excited about the fact that a pair of bulky men were carrying him off to have their way with him, but if there was no one around that cared about his lack of dignity, he felt no need to keep up that kind of effort.

He knew the bulls weren’t going to brag about their conquest: their whole scheme would go up in smoke if they did.

“Made sure it was closed nice and tight,” Resin nodded. “You sure those hay bales are blocking all the windows?”

“Stacked ‘em myself,” Murphy confirmed. “And checked from the outside when I was done…the only way anyone’s gonna see what’s going on is if they’re hiding up in the lofts…and I don’t think anyone’s dumb enough to invade our personal space.”

For having such concern about their own space, the bulls had no concern for respecting Resin’s privacy: a pair of stereotypical overalls were all that the feline wore to work, and buttons flew as the straps over his shoulders were yanked free of their clasps, ruining his uniform and giving the feline an overt reminder of just how brutal they could be, when they felt like it.

“You…y-you guys know I have to pay for those, right?” Resin asked, stammering more at the display of strength than he was at the fact that he was left stark naked by the loose garment falling from his fur. “Like, that’s…t-that’s gonna come out of my paycheck.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Murphy suggested. “You’re getting paid to suck me off, anyway…not like you really need overalls for that.”

“So you’re saying that you’re gonna pay for those to be replaced?”

Murphy snickered as he and Thomas lowered Resin down stomach first, onto the bench of the breeding stockade. His arms and legs were too small for the straps to work with their proper holes, but there was plenty enough slack in each of the leather holds that they could be wrapped around a second time: starting with his legs and moving up the back end of his body, they made sure Resin wouldn’t be able to budge, just in case he started getting cold feet.

Much as they doubted he would change his tune, there was a first time for everything, and neither bull was ready to give up the ghost just yet.

“You make sure there isn’t any evidence of what I’m about to do to you, and we’ll talk about you getting a bonus,” Murphy answered. “For now…open up, kitty: you look awfully thirsty for some milk.”

Resin would have rolled his eyes, but he already knew his throat was going to be sore the next day.

Throwing in that extra, sarcastic gesture would have left him without a voice.

“Believe it or not, most cats don’t drink milk at all,” Resin argued, trying to keep his sarcasm as light as he could. “I’m the exception; not the rule.”

“Pretty sure he was talking about his cum, anyway,” Thomas jabbed, taking his posture behind the orange tabby and chuckling.