(1.5k+ words) Collecting Gold

"Collecting Gold"

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Sonic could feel the dirt cake onto his gloves as he gripped the windowsill for stability. Thrust-thrust-thrust. His eyes rolled backed into his head, enjoying the rhythmic slam against his body, relishing in the sweet pain of his fur being tugged.

Only two hours prior, Kamala had texted him: how's it hangin? That morning he had collected a good chunk of gold rings on his run so he was hangin' pretty darn well.

Sonic, aware of Kamala's intentions, swam up to the bait and bit down with every tooth. It's hanging pretty well, he texted back.

They met up in Kamala's AirBnB, a small but uppity colonial, perfect for momentary shelter before her speaking engagement—a middle school gig and a solid-B video op, gesticulating about expanding one's dreams before young minds.

The secret service patted his fur down in the foyer where Kamala got the pleasantries out of the way.
"Did you find the place all right?" She was standing against the door frame to a very cushiony living room, brocaded and stiff.

"Sure did," he said and the agents, arms back at their sides, gave an approving nod to the Vice President.

With a swing of her arm, a finger pointed, a gentle smile, Kamala gestured to the stairs, saying, "Let's go."

The room was a small grommet, low, slanted ceiling, not a problem for Sonic or Kamala who was just past 5 feet, but the tightness of the space spoke to the countdown of it all; the Vice President of the United States had little time on her hands.

It could've been a sewing room or simply a place for storage as there were only wooden folding chairs and a dark wicker basket surely full of something that would hint at the room's designed purpose, but at that moment, it had a new purpose, it was to be a refuge of fuck.

"In front of the window, Son," Kamala said, twirling a finger, using his nickname from grade school. She only called him that when she was speaking directly from a place of "real," without politic pretense—friend to friend, hand in hand.

Sonic, with a wry smile, nodded and stood in front of the room's only window which came up to about his nose, making him feel tall as he looked down into the backyard, manicured, simple hedges, little flowers.

"Beautiful yard... You know, I was so excited when you texted me this morning," Sonic said, poking the mood with useless chatter, chatter he knew Kamala hated once it was just the two of them. She wasn't cold, she was just busy and he, too, wasn't one for small talk, he just liked taking the piss.

Kamala moaned a small, warm sound of acceptance; yes, she heard him, but no she would not allow any smarminess to get in the way of her nut.

"You still like it the same?" Kamala asked. She started running a hand through his fur which was unlike her; they both usually kept things pragmatic. Sonic took this to be a calm before a raging storm.

Sonic heard an unzipping—the starter's pistol raised.

"Same as always, Kam," Sonic said with a smile. "You know I really missed you—"

Without another second, Kamala lifted his tail, sticking two lubed fingers inside his pink anus.

Sonic's eyes opened to the hilt, taking in the sea of green outside the window. He coughed, "Woah, two for the money, huh?"

"Too much?" Kamala leaned in, strands of hair falling in her face.

Still smiling, Sonic shook his head and those two fingers started working in and out of his pipes like the tools of a determined plumber.

He shivered, feeling somewhat tense since sex hadn't knocked on his door since Tails got drunk under the mistletoe. And boy, did it lead to a white, sticky Christmas.

Sonic unclenched and those two fingers wiggled deeper into him as if looking for lost treasure. "Keep on proddin'" Sonic said, the heat rising in his cheeks, his heartbeat quickening, and that tube of his, currently two-fingers stuffed, coaxed for more.

And then Kamala's ring finger joined the dig. "Ooo!" Sonic growled against a sting that gave to a wave of pleasure.

"Still good?" Kamala asked.

Sonic turned around with a wink and a smile. "Three certainly is company." He adjusted his hands on the window to steady himself, knowing that the Big Dig was imminent.

"You sure did get a bump in pay, we've—AH" The three amigos hit his prostate, bullseye, direct hit. "We've...never had to rush to the last dance."

Kamala spoke into his ear again, her fingers maintaining their job. "Well, Joe and I are really trying to focus on education and if I was a workaholic before...you know how it is—how many rings you get today?"

"12,000"

"Oooph!" Kamala cooed; Sonic could sense her smile. "12k and the sun's still high? See, we've always been go-getters!"

"Is Joe a go-getter, would he let you stick three fingers up his ass?"

Kamala's pinkie joined in with a small shove and Sonic yelped.

They both chuckled. "That's! How Joe likes it!" Kamala twisted her free arm to reveal a watch. "Oh, we've got to get going! Turn around and slick me up!"

Her fingers slipped out of Sonic before he turned on his heel to behold the unsheathing—an 8-inch cherry red strapless strap-on popped out of Kamala's falling trousers.

"It's new and it vibrates like the most devastating earthquake," Kamala said, looking down at her lover, licking him off her fingers. "But... it's looking a little dry."

Sonic flicked it once with his tongue then backed off, smiling his mischievous, slanted smile, but Kamala stared down unfazed, eyebrows raised—the show needed to get on the road.

Looking back at the cherry phallus, Sonic felt a churning inside. Everything about the moment, the smallness of the room, the mustiness of its scent, and the space shared with an old friend who could, and was about to, fuck him like a blacksmith takes to iron took his sexual hunger to a place of death-starving. Then Sonic consumed the entirety of the 8-inch dildo in his mouth and pulled back, leaving pools and strings of saliva to coat and aid the coming event. He repeated the engulfing. Consume. Release. Swivel and suck. Sonic whined throughout the process.

"That's it," Kamala said.

A knock sounded at the door.

"5 minutes VP," said the voice from the other side.

And before a second passed, the strap on began to vibrate and Sonic understood to turn around and ready himself for nirvana and annihilation.

"I like you," Kamala said softly to the back of Sonic's neck before kissing it. This was her signature line before penetration and hearing it, now for nearly 40 years, Sonic always felt like he was being enveloped in something silken and sweet smelling that had the power to kill.

And then buzzing rod speared into Sonic, crawling further and further. Clearly the warm up had worked on his tunnel because soon Sonic could feel Kamala's soft bush make contact with his fur.

The thrusting began, mixed with moaning, and saliva, neck biting, hair pulling, and staggering steps to keep from falling over.
Sonic could feel the vibration in the back of his teeth and to be plowed by such a close friend, so succinctly, his body known to her, it all felt like home.

And Sonic enjoyed the feeling of being used, now by the second most powerful person in the United States, depending from where you're looking, and he submitted.

In seconds or minutes, but less than 5, Kamala, based on her cries, was on her 3rd orgasm when she began pulling all the way out of Sonic and thrusting back in. This was making Sonic, fully hard, leak all over the rustic floorboards in spatters. On the next pull out and pound back inside, Sonic's head bumped the pane of the small window, but he felt no pain only limitless acceptance and joy—the Creator could take him and he would know to go.

His brain felt foggy and buzzy, the dildo was inside there too then, again, his head knocked the window.

Kamala began to moan deeper and her legs started shaking, near-buckling and tapping against Sonic's body. She was soaring to Mount Olympus and paddling the River Styx but not without ringing the bell one last time.

Sonic's head now rhythmically banging against the glass, and feeling gooey and ghost-like, ready for release, he reached for his erect, aching penis until Kamala's hand slapped it away—his member was also hers.

She then rested against Sonic's back, her hot ragged breath filling his ear, and Kamala began milking his dick, a quaking, dripping thing, ready to burst. And the dildo pulled out of him, lingered for a second like a hungry, vibrating bee, then plunged into him, all 8 inches. Kamala screamed and crumpled. In her hands, Sonic exploded. And against the window, Sonic's head bust through and he tumbled his famously tumbling roll into the air and out onto the wide, green garden below, spraying archs of twisting, globular jizz the whole way down.

Sonic landed and collapsed on the warm grass, his body spent and heaving. He raised his head, looking up at the window. Shading his eyes from the sun, he could make out Kamala zipping up her pants and brushing herself off.

"You all right, Son?"

"Never—never better!"

Kamala paused before the broken window pane and smiled, spent, incredulous, and very giving. "That was something." A small but bold remark from Kamala post-coitus; she clearly cared, always had, in her own way.

"We break glass, baby," Sonic said and let his head fall back into the grass.

Catching his breath, staring up at the deep blue sky, Sonic wondered how many children Kamala might inspire with her imminent speech while he was out collecting his own gold.

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