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The big wolf drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter, waiting for his call to come in. His wife and kids were away for the whole weekend visiting the grandparents on her side of the family - while he, being a teacher at the local high school, had to stay at home in preparation for the upcoming final exams. Friday he had gone to bed early and woken up late Saturday morning, and on Sunday tomorrow he'd have to go in to make sure everything was in order. That's why he planned to enjoy his free time today while he could.

In fact, he'd been working on organizing this thing all week. His usual go-to contacts were busy, which seemed a little odd, considering one of them usually dropped everything to help him out, but in the end that didn't matter. He'd found someone else, someone young but experienced enough, and who was willing to join in today. Honestly, he'd been a little surprised that this person had agreed to the whole thing, especially after the wolf had outlined what was going to go on. A few of the others had already shown up, and now waited in the living room talking amongst themselves.

Finally, though, his cell phone on the counter lit up and started vibrating, and in another few seconds he had hit the button and lifted it to his ear. The same somewhat-timid voice he'd heard before came through on the other end:

"Gordon?"

"I told you to call me Mr. Bronson." That wasn't a personal thing. He just wasn't used to people younger than him referring to him by his first name. "Where are you?"

"I'm... outside, actually." Folf, this one's profile had said, and 26 years old, which would make him the youngest of anyone else so far... not to say that today's plans were something that happened particularly often around here. Only every now and then, sure; it was rare that everybody's schedules lined up to allow them all to arrive. Four had come so far, and with the foxwolf, one-half of the main attraction, here too, that meant there'd be only three more to wait for. That is, if Bronson didn't get impatient. "I think so, at least... there's a lot of cars here, G - I mean, Mr. Bronson..."

"I also told you what you were getting into before all of this..." and then the wolf realized that he hadn't yet learned the fellow's name. He had invited him over earlier in the week to test out his 'resolve', among other things, in preparation for tonight - which meant that the foxwolf's mouth had been mostly occupied. Bronson was glad to learn that this one was well-prepared - he found nothing more infuriating than an overeager boy who couldn't actually handle what he said he could. "So don't tell me you're dropping out now?"

"No! No, no, of course not."

On his way through the living room, Bronson lifted a paw to the guys. So far there were two German shepherds sitting side-by-side on the couch, a big Arcanine in one of the recliners, another wolf by himself on the other couch, and then Bronson's pet dog, a mutt named Marvin, lounging around on the special rug in the middle of the room. He was the_other_ half of the main attraction.

"No... what?"

The conversation among the others died down, and all eyes fell upon him. After a moment of brief confusion, though, this foxwolf gave him the right answer: "...No, sir." During one of their practice times together, Bronson had told him to call him that. He took it right up, after a bit of practice. Everything they had done took a bit of practice, but this foxwolf seemed to know what he was doing.

"There we go. Here, I'll let you in. Some of the guys are here already, as you know. They may want to get a good look at you."

As he went over to the door, he heard one of the other guys get up out of his seat, followed by another pair of footsteps behind him. "Who'd you get this time, Gordon?" the Arcanine asked; the older wolf dropped his phone back into his pocket and clicked the deadbolt open.

"You'll see," he said, paw on the knob. "I think you'll all like him. I sure as hell do."

"God_dammit_ - so you've already gotten to him, then?"

"Of course! Had to make sure he was - up to the challenge."

"We all know you're harder to swallow than that damn dog of yours..."

The Arcanine trailed off, then, as Bronson opened the door - to bring into view a mid-height foxwolf, dressed in loose shorts and a t-shirt that showed the rust fur of his arms and chest. Warm blue eyes reflected the porchlight, and his ears perked up a little upon seeing the familiar wolf through the threshold.

"So-" The Arcanine said suddenly, squeezing in beside Bronson. "This is him, then? What's your name, kid?"

The foxwolf took a brief moment to look the firedog over, and then swallowed and met his eyes. "Rachen. Gordon - ah, Mr. Bronson invited me over to-"

"Yeah, yeah, we all know. Come in. We've been waiting."

Rachen honestly didn't know what to expect. He had been nervous about meeting Bronson for the first time earlier this week, but... well, there was just something about the way the old wolf did things that kept him coming back, that made his ears and tail perk up whenever he saw a message from him. When he woke up one morning to see the _"Hey, I'm organizing something with some friends - want to come and entertain?"_message, his mind had gone wild with the possibilities, and then when Bronson had clearly outlined everything...

He shoved his paws into his pockets in an attempt to hide his slowly-growing bulge. That had started as soon as he'd gotten a whiff of Bronson's scent upon the door being opened, but - now, as he walked between both him and this big Arcanine, their scents mixing and the heat of their bodies palpable on both sides of him... hell, it felt like his sophomore year of college all over again.

"Ah! There he is!"

Another unfamiliar voice, pulling the foxwolf out of his thoughts. In the living room there sat one German shepherd half-lounged across the couch, his pants already unbuttoned, while another shepherd rifled through the refrigerator in the nearby kitchen. But, then - sitting there in the middle of the room was the mutt he'd seen the last few times he had been at this house, practicing for tonight. Again, his pants tightened.

"This is Rachen," said Mr. Bronson, in his steady, gruff voice. Rachen had placed it as the voice of a smoker, and yet, he had never once been able to pick up the respective odor in Bronson's scent... but, then again, he'd only gotten a good taste of the wolf's musk between his legs. "He graciously offered his muzzle, his rear, and his body for our entertainment tonight."

That much was true, at least. Bronson had told him what the plan was, and thinking about everything he'd previously done with the wolf, Rachen could only think to accept and volunteer himself. Now, standing here, he could feel the nervousness of doing such a thing for a group, but... well, as the wolf had so succinctly put it when he'd pushed Rachen's head down into his lap on a public park bench, that's part of the fun.

"Harold!" called the shepherd on the couch. The other one perked his ears. "He's here!"

"Shit, really? Well - let's take a look at him!"

A warm, heavy paw on his shoulder, pushing him further into the center of the room. The dog - Marvin, Rachen thought his name was - lifted its head. Then, the Arcanine again: "The others are gonna be sorry that they're late... who are we waiting on, Gordon?"

Rachen remained standing in place, then, as the big wolf came around to his front, paws running along the lower hem of his shirt. He'd felt those fingers all over him already; now, having them just barely trace along his fur... "Just the brothers, and then someone for me. That's it."

"The brothers?"

Those paws started lifting his shirt up. Rachen's ears dropped back as a natural reflex upon being stripped in front of these strangers - the other German shepherd now leaned against one of the walls, and the Arcanine had taken his seat again - but, he had to admit, he did get a bit of a kick out of it. At least it wasn't out in public, where he could get arrested... and, here, he could let Bronson take over and do everything for him.

Well. The foxwolf shook his headfur out after his shirt was lifted off of him, and then failed at suppressing a shiver upon Mr. Bronson dragging his claws down the front of his chest. He couldn't do _everything_for him, that was. His eyes fell upon Marvin a short distance away, who had sat up; at this angle, he could only barely see the dark tip of his plump sheath between his hind legs, and the equally-plump sack resting against the floor beneath that. A small bit of reddish-pink flesh protruded from the end of that sheath.

"Yeah." For a brief moment, Bronson's eyes met his - and then one of those paws lifted gently up between his legs to give him a firm squeeze, while the other started at the button of his fly. "Those_brothers. Oh - what's _this we've got? Already excited, huh?"

"Jesus Christ - come on, Gordon, quit stallin'... you've already gotten more than a good look at 'im, so let us_have _our turns..."

Rachen's shorts dropped loosely to his ankles. Today he had purposely elected to not wear underwear: the cool air of the house traced its fingers through the fur of his upper thighs, of his sack and sheath, and along the revealed flesh of his cock, making him shiver slightly. The Arcanine flicked a broad pink tongue out over his lips, yellow eyes running the length of the foxwolf's body; meanwhile, one of the German shepherds swallowed, and slid his paw into his pocket.

Mr. Bronson's paw settled on his shoulder again - thank God; Rachen wasn't sure what they expected him to do, standing here not a full minute after arriving and already totally naked - and spun him around. Then, in another second, the foxwolf was being bent down with one of the bigger wolf's paws on his back and the other lifting his tail up, showing him off to the other guys in the room.

"Down," the wolf growled, and put a bit of force into his paws. Rachen lowered himself down first to just his knees, and then to all fours. He kept his tail raised. Last time Mr. Bronson had ordered him "down", he had ended up with a thick cock under his tail pounding him into the carpet... "Show 'em the position you're gonna be in."

"Oh, damn," purred the other shepherd, "I like that view... you given that rump a taste yet, Gordon? Little bitch looks like he'd like you."

Rachen swallowed and swayed his hips to the side. As more time went on, he found himself enjoying this position more and more, even with these strangers eyeballing him and no doubt doing _things_to him in their minds. Hell, it was kind of flattering. Besides, Bronson had lowered down to his knees with him, and know knelt just in front of the foxwolf's muzzle; if he were to lean forward just a little, he'd be able to touch his nose to the button of his pants.

"Oh, come on, Harold. You know I don't do that-"

"Hah, but your dog does!"

-And then Rachen jerked forward upon feeling something cold and wet press up against the base of his tail, followed by a warm, smooth sensation across his tailhole pucker. It didn't stop, though: again and again it came, and he quickly realized that it was Mr. Bronson's dog with its muzzle under his tail, sniffing at him and dragging its tongue up along his tailhole. Slick, smooth, deliciously warm and moist... Rachen found himself gripping at the rug underneath him and squeezing his eyes shut, wishing for that tongue to press in deeper, to push its way inside him instead of just dragging along his rim. He actually forgot about the others in the room until he heard the noise of a pants zipper undone.

"You've got a real good one here, Gordon..." one of them said - he couldn't tell by the voice. The dog's - Marvin's - whiskers tickled at his rump, and every now and then that tongue would come down along his sack a bit, making him arch his back and squirm a little more. With each lick, only adding more slick saliva to his rear, the sound of it increased a little as well - schlp, schlp, schlp... "Look at 'im. Christ, I wish I enjoyed being licked that much."

The foxwolf swallowed again and pressed his rear back against the feral's muzzle, loving how the dog seemed to understand and press his tongue in a little deeper. The tonguework had coaxed his cock further out of his sheath, to the point where every clench resulted in a sweet throb; not much longer, and he'd be dripping pre all over this nice rug.

"'Ey, Rach," said another of them. The foxwolf perked an ear. "Once Marv is done there, why don't you - eh, why don't you... turn 'im around and return the favor?"

As if understanding what had been said, the feral's licks receded in intensity until it was just that cold nose pressing up under the base of his tail - and then that, too, stopped, and the foxwolf had to take a moment to steady his breathing before leaning back on the balls of his feet. He could feel Marvin's slick animal saliva rolling down his rump, could feel it run down and drip off his hanging sack, and - God, the warmth of it along his pulsing tailhole... this wasn't something he was likely to think about doing on his own, but - after all of that, and after being told to do so, he turned around, made eye contact with the mutt (who wagged his tail; a glance between his legs showed that he, too, enjoyed the licking somewhat), and then reached his arms around, one paw lifting up under the feral's hind legs and tail.

"Don't worry about - cleanliness." Marvin's ears perked at hearing his master's voice, behind him on one of the other couches. Rachen was surprised to see how easily the feral let his rear be lifted in the air and turned around, to face the foxwolf. "I made sure to give him a thorough bath earlier today. Besides, you won't be the only one who'll've had his tongue under my dog's tail..."

Marvin allowed his tail to be lifted with no complaint, and as Rachen tugged him back towards him, he actually spread his legs a little. Such a sight: the fur of the dog's body melded to a lighter tone along his haunches and behind, and then darkened again - before giving way to slightly-rough skin in a vaguely diamond shape around his tailhole, folded skin pulsing gently with his heartbeat, and underneath which hung his sack, swaying in rhythm with his breathing.

Maybe it was his own arousal, or it was the pressure to obey put onto him by all of these eyes watching him, but - Rachen kept the dog's tail up with one paw, the edge of his thumb pressing against that warm skin, and then leaned forward. The front of his muzzle fit rather nicely against the feral's rear, and he kept his lips pressed against the rim of Marvin's tailhole for a moment, feeling the way it pulsed and twitched, taking in the heat and the gentle musk. A folded pucker rather than a ridged one - that was another difference between feral canines and their two-legged counterparts - and, also, a lot more yielding to his tongue than the latter. Rachen flicked his tongue forward, traced it along the lines of the dog's pucker, and put a little bit of pressure behind it... and felt the flesh squeeze around him, felt the slick, tangy heat of the dog's tailhole as he managed to slide his tongue into him.

His paw naturally made its way down from Marvin's tail to this flank, fingers stroking and squeezing at the flesh of his leg as he continued to dig his tongue into him. Nose pressed firmly up against the base of his tail, lips around the dog's pucker, tongue churning in and out, in and out of his slick warmth... without another thought, Rachen moved his other paw down and closed it around his own length, pushing his sheath the rest of the way past his knot. After this, he did the same with his other to the feral in front of him, bringing it down to caress the dog's warm sack first before moving forward and finding the bulge of his knot hidden under the supple skin of his sheath. It always amazed him how smoothly a feral dog's sheath slid over the flesh of his cock - and here, he could just barely feel the warmth of pre rolling down his fingers, as well as his own saliva dripping down his chin.

With his jaw starting to get sore, the foxwolf moved back a little and switched his focus to just dragging the flat of his tongue up over the feral's tailhole, now pulsing and twitching even more than before. He could feel all the tension in the dog's muscles with each twitch, and when he moved back to swallow or to run his tongue over his lips, his saliva, now thoroughly coating the dog's rear - probably quite a bit like his own rump; he took a moment to move one of his paws down under his own tail, and squirmed at the ease with which he could slide a finger up into himself.

However, in his distraction, Marvin apparently got bored and started pacing around - but, when Rachen opened his eyes again, he looked forward at the dog standing sideways and just starting to raise one of his legs.

"Oh, shit," mused one of the guys - and then there was a knock on the door, "now it's gonna get good... Gordon, get the door? I don't wanna miss this..."

And he just barely had time to close his eyes before the stream of sharp piss started. It splashed down atop his muzzle, hot and rich, and quickly made its way down his chin, across his lips, over his nose... a powerful scent quickly washed over him, making him wrinkle his nose and recoil in something like disgust, especially as that scent turned into a taste as soon as he opened his mouth and felt the salty liquid course over his tongue - but, his movement backwards allowed the feral to continue marking him, now more thoroughly along his chest and stomach. The heat and moisture dripped down his body, soaking into his fur as well as wafting up into his nose and making him realize the depth of what was going on... even after probably three showers, he'd still reek of fresh dog piss.

Thing was, though: all of that liquid warmth felt damn nice coursing over his hard cock, tracing along the rim of his sheath, rolling down and dripping off the bottom of his sack. He lifted himself up a little to allow it to pool on the rug underneath him, and then settled back down - directly into the puddle that had gathered, warm and slick and musky. Almost without thinking, the foxwolf brought his paws up along his chest, pressed his fingerpads into the moist fur, squeezed some of the piss out and further down his chest...

He hadn't even heard the front door open and close, but then - suddenly, there was Mr. Bronson standing in the threshold to the entry room with an African wild dog, both looking very alike, standing on either side of him. Rachen would have blushed, had Marvin not hiked his leg up a little higher, turned further to the side, and spurted out the last of his piss directly across the foxwolf's muzzle, a considerable amount of the rich, salty liquid spattering across his tongue and making him cough and splutter. But, there was nothing he could do about it other than swallow - and, God, that only made the taste even more powerful. It was salt, and musk, and sharp-edged bitterness, burning at the back of his throat and tongue, and stronger than the scent hovering up from his soaked body, already strong in itself.

"Oh, good lord," said one of the wild dogs. "Came in at just the right moment, huh? Hey - isn't that gonna ruin the rug?"

"No, no, don't worry about that," said Bronson. Coughing fit resolved, Rachen brought his paw up to wipe at his lips - which only ended up getting his mouth even wetter, as his paw had received quite a bit of the deluge as well. His hard cock still throbbed between his legs. "That one's specially made. Bottom is waterproof - watertight - whatever you wanna call it. An' it's been through worse, so. Just gotta wash it off after."

Then, the Arcanine again: "Have the boy clean it off with his tongue!"

"Rachen."

The foxwolf lifted his head and looked at Mr. Bronson. He had lowered it down a little to focus on the feral's cock, as Marvin had lowered his leg back down and now stood in front of him, as if waiting for him to do something more.

"Get my dog off, will you? Use your paw and your muzzle. I want to see his load streaked across your face - and then we'll let that soak into your fur, wait 'til you reek of dog piss and cum all over, and _then_have him fuck you. Sound good?"

Instead of giving a voiced response, the foxwolf instead got directly to work, pushing Marvin down to his side with one paw while rubbing at his sheath with the other. The feral seemed to understand and obeyed, lying down beside his puddle of piss and then rolling partially over onto his back, bringing into full view his plump sheath and the full sack underneath it - and Rachen briefly rubbed the dog's belly before moving that other paw down to cup that sack, rubbing and squeezing gently as he brought his cock out into the air. A small bit of bright yellow piss clung to the end; steeling himself, the foxwolf swallowed, licked his lips, leaned down...

...closed his lips around the tapered end of the feral's cock, and sucked it off. As soon as he did this, Marvin started thrusting forward, letting his length slide out of his sheath and further into the foxwolf's muzzle. Thicker than he'd anticipated - and virile, certainly: already he could both feel and taste the repeated jets of pre, again and again across his tongue, the inside of his cheek, the back of his throat. He kept his paws where they were but squeezed the base of the feral's sheath a little more firmly, rubbing and holding right above his knot - which only made him push forward with more force.

At the edge of his vision, he could see the others standing up and moving around, trying to get a better view of the action. Rachen shifted a paw down to his own cock again, the feral's piss covering him providing a slick, sticky lube, just as his saliva did for the length between his lips. Marvin lay on his back with one leg up in the air, squirming and writhing on the rug underneath him as he repeatedly thrust his hips forward, spurt after spurt after spurt - and Rachen could feel each twitch, each throb, each contour and every vein along the dog's cock, as he steadily moved down on it.

Marvin's knot had already fully formed, so now, the foxwolf pushed his sheath back past it and squeezed underneath, tugging gently up. The tang of sharp piss on the back of his tongue had not gone away, but rather had mixed with the now-dominating taste of the dog's pre - or cum, now; he honestly couldn't tell - but, he had to continuously swallow down the sticky fluid, or else it would drip out of his mouth.

"C'mon," said another voice that he hadn't heard before - that must be the other wild dog. "Let's see you wear that cum. White splotches, just like me..."

So, he obeyed. After moving down and pressing his lips against the bulge of the feral's knot, Rachen moved back, swallowed one more time - and held his maw open, letting the fast, energetic spurts of seed empty out across his shoulder, his neck, his chin, his muzzle. Again and again it happened, and again and again it startled him - the heat of it as well as the force behind it. Finally, though, the spurts died down in energy, as did Marvin's thrusts.

That done, the foxwolf leaned back again, settled into the puddle of dog piss that still remained underneath him, and began stroking himself again - but shortly felt a large paw close around his wrist from behind, keeping him from doing so. He squirmed, and then felt warm breath on his neck.

"What do you think you're doing, hmm?" growled Mr. Bronson into his ear. "We can't have you getting off. After all, you're our bitch for tonight. Didn't you know? My dog here marked you all_over. Claimed dominance over you, and _I've claimed dominance of him. So that means you're at the bottom, and we can all do whatever we want..."

The wolf raised his muzzle towards the Arcanine, who pumped his fist into the air and stood up. As he approached, he worked at opening the fly of his pants - and then, with his other paw, Mr. Bronson held the foxwolf's mouth open.

"Now," he continued, his gravelly voice grating at his ear, "you're going to swallow every drop of this. Okay?"

Rachen didn't get a chance to respond. When he next looked up, his eyes fell upon the thick, uncut length that the Arcanine held out of his pants, angled down towards his muzzle - and then another stream of hot piss started, landing directly upon his tongue.