Delivering the Eggs
So, I may be in the egg business, and I may be a rabbit, but please, please don’t call me an Easter bunny. Just — first off, there’s more to me than just a holiday. And anyone over the age of five who calls me a ‘bunny’ is just asking for a kick in the ass. May as well call a rampaging boar ‘piggy’.
Sorry, it pushes my buttons. It’s just a side job, and I do the same work in summer and autumn and winter, all right?
When people think about Easter eggs, they think of pastoral scenes, or at least egg hunts in suburban backyards, but here in the city they need ’em too — and not just for Sunday afternoon.
I’m thankful for that, at least — the eggs, after all, do come every day, though my regular customers are…definitely not what most would expect.
My ringtone went off as I got an order on my delivery app, and I brought up the map to confirm it.
I was surprised to find an address I didn’t recognize — by now I had built a pretty stable clientele for the post-holiday season. I brought up his profile to see who I’d be dealing with.
René was burlier than most of my usuals; brightly-colored eggs were a stereotypically feminine interest around here, so were mostly enjoyed by folks trying to present as stereotypically feminine. The polar bear pictured, though, looked more like one of the dads I’d occasionally see wanting to treat their daughters.
Most of them didn’t know what they were getting into. (Unlike feminine people, who generally know where eggs come from.)
Still, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
He lived in the cheap apartments down by the waterfront, where the noise of boat horns echoed off the buildings at all hours. I showed up at the wrong place, at first — it was that kind of building where the numbers weren’t all in the order or place you’d expect — but the second door labelled 331 was answered by the bear, dressed in a white A-shirt and Spongebob boxer shorts and looking surly.
“I’m with EggSell,” I said. “You had an order?”
The surliness darkened. “I asked for a guy.”
Not a dad, then. Just one of those.
“I am a guy,” I said. “Please.”
“Oh,” he said, his face reddening a little. “Sorry, uh, sir.”
“It’s all right,” I said, hoping it would be. “Is it all right if I come in?”
“Sure, sure.” He stepped aside and let me in.
The bear’s place was not well cared for; like the rest of the building, peeling paint and discolored ceilings were prominent in the background, behind the clutter of the room — piles of junk mail, dirty clothes, boxes of cabling, all overlaid with the pizza boxes that’d been growing René’s belly for who knows how long. The place smelled faintly of pepperoni.
“Uh, my bedroom’s over here,” he said, still a little blush on his cheeks. “Um. If I understand right what you offer…?”
He followed me into the room he indicated. “Well,” I said. “Are you comfortable talking about what you want?”
It’s funny to watch a big man squirm. “Uh,” he said. “What’s the alternative if I’m not?”
I took off my shirt. “Then I’ll have to figure it out by exploring, won’t I?”
He only gawked for a moment before taking his off as well. “Uh. I guess it’ll be an exploration for the both of us.”
I sighed. The nature of the job was hard enough for someone like me, even before adding clients, but those moments when they just don’t get it — those little bits of friction adding up over the course of…well, forever — wear on you after a while.
“Don’t stretch yourself on my account,” I said, leading him to the futon that served as his bed. “We’ll start with the eggs and go from there, all right?”
“All right,” he said, immediately interested again.
I tried not to watch his reaction as I slid my pants off, but I could still hear him grunt when he saw my junk.
“You just got done telling me you were a dude.”
Argh. “You ever have someone who only knew your name say, ‘oh, it said “René”, I thought you were going to be a girl?’”
His ears reddened a little. “The girl’s name is spelled different…”
“Yeah, but you can’t tell by hearing, and some people can’t spell. They can’t tell who you are by your name. And they can’t tell who I am by my body. All right?”
His expression was blank — I wished I could say ‘I could see the gears turning in his head’, but I’ve never been able to see that in anyone. (I still hope that’s more my lack of perception than the alternative.)
“I’m not asking you to ‘get it’, bear, just — you didn’t order me here for a dick or manly pecs anyway. You wanted eggs, and I know there’s something about eggs that just turns you on, so how about we talk about eggs instead?”
The eagerness that lit up in his eyes every time I said the word ‘egg’ cut through his hesitation.
“Tell me something you like about them,” I said, reaching a paw down in front of me as I started to lay.
“Oh — don’t cover it!” he said, “I…do want to see them come out…”
I moved my paw.
He brought his muzzle close — not close enough to touch, but enough to get a view as the first egg started making its way out.
“I like…just the softness and the smoothness of them… I could rub them all over me,” he said. “I like — I like to jerk off on them and — ” Here he hesitated and blushed very red, but the egg, bright green, had begun to crown — he gasped a little and his paw flew to his crotch as if pulled by a magnet. “I like to jerk off on them and — and pretend they’ll hatch…like maybe like they’d hatch into more eggs…”
There was a time I might have laughed at that, but I’d met a lot of fetishists by now and — well, far be it from me to keep people from being who they are.
As the egg cleared my body, René took it into a paw big enough to make it look tiny, shucking his boxers off with the other. “I like — I like to feel them under my rump…or feel them, rrrf…inside me…”
The green-and-blue–striped egg was being introduced to the precum dripping off his cock.
“Well, buddy,” I said, as each new egg built up within, “You’ll have enough soon to satisfy all your wishes.”
A solid blue egg, an orange one with red stars, and a pastel polka dot one spilled out onto the mattress.
His glee as he scooped them up to his chest almost made the day feel worth it — until he had to go and open his mouth again. “Hey mis…ter,” he said, stumbling on the ‘s’ just long enough to be grating before catching himself, “Um…can you help put one…inside me?”
I took a moment, but nodded, and he turned to lay with his back against the wall, legs spread.
“Erh,” I said, “Wouldn’t you like to get on all fours for that?”
His blush returned. “Oh…no, not in there…” He slid his finger around the head of his cock, to highlight his intention.
“Oh,” I said. Even without having the equipment myself, I knew it was kind of daring to squeeze something so fragile into so narrow a space. But when a guy knows what he wants… “New to me,” I added, “But I’ll do what I can. Just let me know what I need to do.” I shut my eyes. “I’m sure it could be painful if I get it wrong.”
“Just bring it here.” He squeezed some lube in, intensifying the smell of sex, and let his finger slide into what was clearly a well-practiced piss-slit. “Narrow end first. Slow. Let it loosen me up a bit at a time — if you just push it in I can stretch enough, but it’ll be too tight for the egg. Slower — yeah, just like that — ”
The slippery egg covered in stars went in without much trouble, making his dick bulge out.
His eyes widened as he considered the possibility, but I already had the polka-dotted one at the tip of his cock, swirling it in that pool of lube and pre at the opening of his stretched-out urethra.
He shivered under me and gave me a quick nod, as if fearful to commit.
I pushed it in, slowly, carefully. About halfway in it started to push the egg that was already inside further down. His dick didn’t have much length left — if I tried to feed it any more, it’d have to go deeper into his body. Or maybe right into his scrotum? I bet he’d like to have a couple of my eggs alongside his own —
I took a deep breath and tried to shake off some dysphoric thoughts, next egg in hand. René misunderstood my hesitation, though, just whispering ‘do it’ as he rubbed the side of his cock that wasn’t bulging with eggs.
The guy knows what he wants…
I rubbed the green-and-white egg around the rim of his slit, which had gaped open enough to show the pastel of the egg within. As I tried to push it in, though, I met resistance — whether because his body was unable to take more or because the eggs were facing too much pressure I couldn’t tell.
I tried to stop, but that pressure was doing a number on the polar bear: his mind was lost in lust as he begged me not to stop, begged me for more.
Trying to stay cautious, I just rocked that egg in and out of his cock’s tunnel, pushing till I felt the pushback and then easing off, but eventually it was too much for him.
I pushed harder, and he gasped out in unmixed pleasure, his body shuddering as if he’d climaxed, but half a second later he was whimpering out for ‘more, more, more’.
I gave him more. It was only a little push more. But just under his moans of pleasure was the sound of an eggshell cracking.
Only that little push more, and his dick started to throb with orgasm.
Only that little throb, and with a much louder crack the lowest bulge in his cock collapsed as the egg burst open, cum and albumen flooding up to mix with the pre and lube.
He felt it, to be sure, to judge by how he screamed out, but in a moment it was clear he was not feeling the shards of eggshell as pain — the first ‘fuck!’ was followed by ‘fuck yes’ and continued gasps of pleasure.
Oh well. Now that the way was clear, I slid the third egg the rest of the way in.
The poor bear passed out, overloaded.
I left the remainder of his egg order on the bed beside him, got dressed again, and left.