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For Skruf

After Team Tryouts

Skruf headed down the dark windowless corridor, a hurried bounce of the paw in each of his steps. His new football coach had asked for an urgent meeting, and he certainly did not want to be late. He was not expecting a summons to the coach's office this soon, after a single practice session. The brown-and-grey furred husky quickened his pawsteps while brushing and scratching through his fur, neatening it as best he could. A broad grey stripe started between his ears before running right down his neck and back. This fur in particular always tended to ruff up no matter how much Skruf tried to slick it, especially after sports practice. Well, he had freshened up as best he could before this meeting, and that would have to do.

It was late Saturday afternoon. Downstairs in the college athletic center, every hall and gymnasium was filled with students in their sports practices. However the second floor was nearly silent, save for the buzz of dim strip lights overhead. The husky's short breaths echoed around this hot, airless corridor. Doors ran along one side, marked with the names of the college coaching staff. He whispered the names to himself, before coming to a sudden halt outside one office. He double-checked the name - "Professor B. Harvin" - and swallowed hard, clutching his paws together. Here goes then. Time to find out what the coach wanted from him. He stepped up, took a final deep breath, and raised his paw to the door. Three firm knocks. Skruf waited in silence, giving his fur a final brush-down.

"Come in."

The voice inside was low and burly. Skruf brought a paw up to the door handle with a long breath in... and a sharp breath out, He turned the handle, slowly and cautiously, opening the door just a crack before the handle flew out of his paw and a hefty figure blocked his view. A wall of musk hit the husky's keen nose, and he turned his gaze upwards, swallowing hard at the sight before him. In the door frame stood Coach Harvin, former professional quarterback, and now Director and Head Coach of Football at Oakmount State College. The bull stood at least six inches taller than the husky, even without taking into account those thick, curved, dangerously sharp horns adorning his crown. His pelt was glossy and black, except around the temples and around his eyes where the fur greyed. He still wore his tracksuit from practice earlier, which covered any definition he might have had, but did nothing to hide his sheer bulk.

Skruf tried not to flatten his ears. "Afternoon, Coach."

The bull nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you for stayin' late, Skruf. Please, come on in."

His accent had a thick dose of Kansas or Arizona or one of the western states - Skruf hadn't been stateside long enough to recognise the differences. The bull's voice was deep, as always, but also quiet. Too quiet, in fact, for such a large man. He held the door open, and Skruf made his entrance while biting his tongue. He turned his muzzle up, right, left, taking in this gloomy and musky-smelling room which few students ever had reason to enter. Football was a major part of life at Oakmount, and Skruf had expected a rather grander office for its head coach. In the end though, it was small and cluttered. The coach's desk stood to the left, with papers and training plans strewn across it. A worn office chair was tucked under the desk, with a plastic chair on the other side. Footballs and sports kit were stacked against the walls, much of it hornet-yellow and emblazoned with a snarling puma, the college's mascot. Skruf found it remarkable how the bull could even move around this office, let alone work here.

"You're welcome to take a seat, you know."

Skruf spun around to face the bull. With a nod and slight bow of the head, he shuffled in front of the plastic chair and lowered himself into place. Coach Harvin closed the office door and clicked the lock shut. Skruf gulped and froze, watching the black-furred bull circle his desk with slow, measured hoof-steps, swaying his tail tuft and tapping one forehoof on the wooden desk as he went. Each of his breaths was tinged with the trace of a low bovine grunt. He rolled his chair back, dropped himself into it, and pulled up to the desk. He crossed his arms on the table, and Skruf just about kept from dropping his jaw. Each of the bull's arms was easily as thick as his thigh. Now of course Skruf was a tough dog himself: his sled dog ancestry gave him an advantage, and years in the gym and on the sports field had refined that raw canine athleticism. But one-on-one with the bull... well, that contest would be over the second it started.

Coach Harvin stared at the canine with sharp green eyes, chewing, giving deep snorting breaths. He cracked open a can of energy drink, gulping down half its contents in one. Then he growled and plucked a few stapled sheets off his desk, thumbing through them with his thick hooves.

"Skruf Husky. Born and raised just outside Birmingham in England. Athletic and confident even when you were a pup, you took up football when you were eight, and at the age of thirteen you won a scholarship to Rowlands School, one of the top schools for football in Great Britain. There, you excelled as the team's wide receiver, eventually becoming Captain of the school team and leading your school to the English Schools League title two seasons in a row... congratulations. And I must say it's a pleasure to finally meet you. Welcome to Oakmount State."

He laid Skruf's file on his desk and stretched out one massive hoof. The young husky reached up slowly, clutched it and shook, gripping tighter once he realised Coach Harvin wasn't going to crush his paw.

"It's not every day we get an English fur enrol in our school, let alone one who plays our kind of football. It's usually soccer for you folk, or I suppose cricket in the summer... yeah I know about British sports. But you caught my eye, Skruf, ever since your letter came through last fall, telling me you were applying for Oakmount. And then when the college told me that you'd accepted your offer, I had to find out more. What makes a young dog from England leave his home and all his friends behind to travel to another country? That's the sign of a dedicated sportsfur if ever I saw one. So I had a quick web chat with Coach Mackay... he's the one who suggested you apply here, isn't he? Of course he's an alumnus, one of my first students too... but you knew that already. Yes, he told me all about you, praised you to high heaven, told me about your exploits with the school team, and told me how you were, in his own words, the team's 'lynchpin'. Well, with a resume like that, most college coaches would give their right horn to get you in their team. And I was certainly looking forward to tryouts this afternoon, so I could see how you play, and where you'd fit best in our team. And I have to say... I was disappointed. You were out-tackled more often than not, and that's to be expected when a lot of guys on the field are a hundred pounds heavier than you. We make 'em big in America, as you know. But on top of that, your running was poor, and your catches... of course I'm not expecting a touchdown every time someone passes you the ball, or even for you to beat the defence every time. But in your position, you have to make the catches. That's the whole reason you're out on the field. I expect to count on one hoof the number of times that my receivers fumble their catches, and today Skruf, I simply lost count. Remember pup, you're not in England any more. We do care about football in our country... and at our club in particular. Now of course you're a freshman, and of course it's your first time in America, and you're missing your family and all the rest of it. I understand that, kid. I hated my freshman week at Oakmount so much that after four days, I walked right out those gates, got in my car, and nearly never came back. But we're not having this lil' meeting to talk about your homesickness. We're here to talk about the future of Oakmount football, my job... and your career."

Skruf just sat, across the desk from his coach, wide-eyed and lost for words. Football was the very reason that he had come to Oakmount. Sure today's tryouts were tough, and Skruf expected to make a few mistakes, what with this being a whole new team for him. But he didn't expect to be this far behind his fellow students. This was unbelievable. He had done everything right, and had years of footballing behind him, and yet everything fell apart the first time he stepped onto an American gridiron. The bovine had taken one arm off the desk, and from his seat, Skruf thought he saw the coach slip one hoof down to his crotch.

"I've got one goal this semester: to win our conference. And to do that, I need to pick the very best players for my team. And I tell you now, with this year's crop of players, we have a real fighting chance of making the National Playoffs for the first time in Oakmount's history."

The bull may have been focusing straight ahead, but his hoof was certainly not staying still. Skruf could hear the rustle of the bull's trousers. That made him gulp.

"And I need every single one of my players, disciplined, and ready to give their all for the team."

There was now no mistaking what the bull was doing under his desk. The pleasured growl rumbling in the big bull's chest. The slow sweep of his arm. Skruf clenched his paws together, feeling his neck fur raise on end.

"I... I'm ready, Coach. I'll do anything for this team. Maybe there's some way... some way that I can show you?"

The bull ruffled his snout. "Yeah?"

He rose from his chair, and Skruf gasped at the sight before him. The result of the bull's hoofing was clear to see underneath his tracksuit: a fearsome tent in his loose trousers. Skruf mumbled and stayed rooted to his chair, watching the bull make a slow circle around his desk.

"What did you have in mind, puppy?"

In those few split seconds, the coach circled his desk and now stood towering over the seated husky. Each of those breaths trailed into a low bovine grunt, every one tinged with lust, and that arousal of his was going nowhere, all lewd and hard, with only thin fabric separating it from the husky's nose. End of the fourth, now or nothing. Before the bull could continue, Skruf made his move and gripped the bull's erection. Both furs held their breath. The office fell silent. Wide canine eyes tilted upwards, but the coach's face remained stony. The husky splayed his ears, his paw frozen around the bovine's length. It twitched in his paw. Skruf took a good feel of it. It was rigid, and just a little thicker than Skruf's own endowment. He slid his paw up to the tip, past the bull's stomach, and rubbed the tapered end between two claws. Still the bull stood solid, his breath unwavering, one eyebrow raised at the young husky. Then, Skruf's paw descended to the bull's thicker base, rubbing just above his bovine sheath, watching as the bull's pants tented into an even more threatening bulge. His paw crept lower still, cupping the bull's heavy testicles. Through the soft loose-fitting fabric, Skruf stroked and massaged those weighty orbs, rolling one of them around in the coach's slack pouch. Each was a heavy pawful, and the young canine couldn't even begin to imagine how much bull milk they contained. Although the bull was aroused, his face remained steely, breath coming in gentle huffs through his broad snout. Skruf brought up his second paw to tackle the weighty bull, but Coach Harvin intercepted Skruf's paw and guided it up to his waist, the bull's hoof only disappearing once Skruf had tightened his claws around the bull's waistband. The husky paused, swallowing, staring up at the bull with icy blue eyes. He nodded, and carefully as he dared, he pulled the waistband of the bull's tracksuit downwards and away, along with his jockstrap, sliding both of them down solid strong bovine haunches. He was caught on his tracksuit top, and so with nervous paws, Skruf lifted the tracksuit top up and away, exposing the bull to the open.

He was big. As befit such a muscled animal. Skruf sat, mesmerised, staring at the herbivore who stood impressively aroused before his nose. He reached around to the bull's behind, in an attempt to pull him closer. But Coach Harvin stamped his hind hoof and the husky flinched his paw away. The bull smirked and took hold of Skruf's chin, rubbing underneath, then to one side, and then to the other, teasing the canine with surprisingly tender hoofstrokes. The husky felt his breath and his eyelids flutter, and he tried to keep focus, but already he was melting into that solid hoof and those wonderful scritches. The bull's voice dropped to a drawling dirty whisper, laced with arousal, and Skruf clung onto his every word.

"Look at that. Like a lil' puppy dog. You know I love it when students are willing to learn from me."

Skruf wisely stifled an indignant growl. So it turned out he was spot on about the coach's interests. He had seen the way the bull watched the boys on the field, during a tackle or even when their backs were turned. Each of the bull's glances lingered just a second longer than it needed to. No doubt the bull had been eyeing him up during practice as well - probably staring at his curled-up husky tail. Men love an easy target.

"Take off your top."

That command was little more than a tight-jawed growl. The big Western bull licked the corner of his lips. Skruf scowled, but not for a second did he consider disobeying an animal twice his age and nearly twice his size. He felt for the zip on his old school team jacket, unfastening it and slipping it off his arms. Then, taking the base of his shirt, he lifted it up over his ears and dropped it to the floor. He heard an approving murr, and grinned a little to himself. Skruf had spent years on the field and in the gym honing his body, and now that his bare chest and tight abdominals were on full display, perhaps the bull could see how a slim husky managed such strong tackles. For a second though he sat still, waiting for Coach Harvin to finish his inspection.

"Now... get on your knees."

At once he slid forward in his chair and dropped off it, landing on his knees before the coach. And this time, he kept his focus dead ahead. He drew his nose into the bull, like a bloodhound to the quarry. Then, he nudged his pointed snout deep into that crotch, taking his first sniff and scenting the bull's fine mist, rubbing on that leathery pouch to collect the scent on his nose. The bull's nethers were drenched in musk, and as Skruf grew accustomed to the scent, he ran his nose right up to the bull's tip, feeling the first clear drops of bovine fluid drip onto his muzzle. He rolled his eyes upwards, watching the hefty bull grunt and grasp himself, his own eyes locked down on this obedient, subservient little canine.

"This is what you wanted, right, dawg?" the coach sneered, dragging out his words in that hazy Western drawl. He rubbed himself on Skruf, marking the dog, and the smirk on his muzzle curled even wider. Skruf wanted so badly to snap, to bite and to wipe that smile off his face, but after a sweeping glance of the bull's forearms and thick dagger-tipped horns, he decided against it. Instead Skruf closed his eyes, just in time before wetness splattered on his face and covered one eye. He shuddered, feeling the bull's precum soak into his fur. Unable to blink his eyes open, his other senses sharpened, and his keen canine nose filled with the sweat and musk of a burly middle-aged bull. He wrinkled his nose at the raw unwashed scent, and his neck fur bristled when the bull's rigid flesh brushed and smeared over his muzzlefur, marking the side of his face with more bovine musk. He backed off a few inches, but a hoof snapped to the scruff of his neck. A forceful grunt filled the office and the bull teased the husky's maw with stabs of his tapered length. Skruf clenched his teeth together, breathing through his nose and inhaling the stale, musky air. He shuddered in the bull's solid grasp, feeling that bovine fluid smear through his muzzle fur with each stroke.

"You'd better open up, pup. You felt my balls. Everything in those big boys is either going down your throat or in your pelt. I know which one you'd rather have. Or, do you wanna leave here with bull cum in your hair?"

Skruf pointed his snout up, blinded, fighting back a whimper. Warm meat rested on his nose, the bull's liquid trickling over his muzzle.

"No, but..."

Silence. The husky's ears flattened. The bull's erection slipped off his muzzle. He sensed the bull shift, closer in, and soon the bull's hot stale breath rustled his ear, sending a shiver down to his tail. He just had to say 'but', didn't he?

"You wanna be on this team, don't you, English?"

"Yes coach, yes!" Skruf answered without pause.

"Then you will listen to what I say, and you will open up that muzzle of yours."

Skruf tried to think of something, anything, to get out of the situation, but his mind drew a blank. Eventually he blurted out: "You can't do this!"

"Why not? If you remember, you were the one who started pawing and groping me. Now why did you do that? Because you wanted to make a deal with me, to get on this team? Oh, I know there's more to it than that. See, I know all about your interests, Skruf. How you used to sneak into your school locker room after hours, hide in a corner and just paw, breathing in your teammates' musk. Oh, you thought nobody knew? Your teachers know all those little secrets. And Coach Mackay was ever so eager to share that little fact with me. God damn, that boar is twisted. You're just fortunate that your new coach shares the same interests. So here you are, Skruf, with an honest herbivore only too willing to indulge your fantasies. The question is: are you willing to follow up your offer? I know what you're going to choose. Because I know what's happening in your mind right now. After all, husky, that hard-on of yours is a dead giveaway."

The young husky stopped his breath, feeling his heart hammer in his chest. He reached a quivering paw down, and failed utterly at suppressing his gasp. Up above, Coach Harvin gave a snide chuckle. There, together, husky and bull hung, two hard animals locked together in this stuffy and cluttered room. Of course Skruf could still leave, or at least try to leave. But what then? Could he live at this college for eight semesters without playing a single quarter of football? Could he, with all good consciousness, walk past those sports fields each and every morning without feeling a twinge of regret that he blew this one opportunity? Unthinkable. The next four years, maybe his whole sporting career, rested on him honouring his half of this pact.

I'm not going to whimper, I'm not going to whimper...

He nosed inwards, sniffing, and glanced his broad tongue up the final two inches of the bovine to pinpoint the tip, before curling his tongue around it. Coach Harvin exhaled, and as he removed his hoof, the husky wrapped both his paws around the bull, one rubbing the bull's heavy package, the other gripping the rigid base. The thickness he could manage. But the sheer length of the bovine shaft... even with both paws wrapped around it, there was change to spare. For a few seconds he knelt still, clutching the bull in both paws. Then, parting his maw, he rose up on his knees and dived straight down, engulfing his coach with his husky muzzle. Inches of bull meat speared upwards. They nudged the back of his throat, but still deeper he dove, breathing hard through his nose, tackling and swallowing every new inch of hung bovine. He embedded three quarters of the bull's erection in his maw and throat before be started to struggle. He swallowed, he drooled, he stuffed down another half inch of the bull, gulped down half an inch more... and then he came up for air, panting, but still resting half of the animal on his tongue. Reaffirming his paw-grip, Skruf sealed his muzzle tight around the bull's shaft, pressing his fluttering husky tongue to the meaty flesh, getting a proper taste of the bull's shaft and his salty precum. And then he began, lifting muzzle and tongue off the bull and falling straight back down, twisting and bobbing around the bull's meat from every angle, lavishing his coach with rapid little gulps and licks. He focused on breathing through his nose, trying his utmost to block out the waves of bull musk and the bull's fine choice of language.

"You've done this before, haven't you husky? Yes you have, I can tell. You're damn good with your muzzle. Fuck... haven't had a blowjob off a student quite like this for quite some time. Mind you, none of them would be anywhere near as skilled as you. It's such a change to find a pup who just knows when a guy's horny, and how to get him off."

It was disgusting, it was degrading, but Skruf barely flinched at the coach's lewd words. Besides, the coach was right. He did know how to use that muzzle of his. From the meekest of housecats to this huge bull, male after male had sung the husky's praises as he led them into rapture with little more than his paws and muzzle. He always aimed to leave an impression, and here with his new coach, that counted more than ever.

And now it was the bull's time to capitulate. He gave a long satisfied rumble, and Skruf screwed up his eyes even tighter, tensing and bracing himself as the bull throbbed hard in his muzzle and unloaded on his tongue. Liquid filled his muzzle in a single gush, all silky slick and musky. Skruf barely had time to register the sharp spurt before the bull grunted and withdrew, dragging himself along the length of the husky's tongue. The second the bull was free from his maw, the husky bent forwards panting, coughing, bracing his paws on the mud-caked floor, with drool and bovine fluid dripping from his tongue.

Please tell me it's over.

"Thought we'd better take a break before you got a muzzleful of bull cum. Oh yeah, all what you just swallowed... that was just my precum. I'll just give you a second to imagine the size of my load."

Coach Harvin wiped Skruf's face dry with a towel, and the husky blinked his eye open. He smiled at the coach and licked his messy muzzle clean, swallowing before the taste could accumulate. He was about to stand up when a meaty hoof clapped back to the nape of his neck. The husky went limp. Coach Harvin hoisted the dog up, onto his paws, before tossing him crashing sideways onto the desk, chest-first, scattering papers and knocking the bull's energy drink to the floor. Dazed, he lay still, sprawled out across the coach's desk. Hooves took hold of his sports trousers, dragging them down to his knees, leaving his curled tail and husky-butt on full display. Seconds later he could hear heavy grunts, right behind him, even more lewd and aroused than before. He dared not resist. His heart pounded between the desk and his chest, but he lay still, letting Coach Harvin grope his firm huskybutt, spread it open, and snort hot breath straight up his naked tail. The bull tightened his hoof-grip on the canine and breathed in deep.

"Mmm... that smell never gets old."

With a firm swat to the husky's rump, Coach Harvin rose up and away. Skruf winced at the hard keratinous crack to his rear, tensing and relaxing while the pain subsided. He heard rummaging, and he craned his muzzle over his shoulders, seeing only the back of the bull as he pored over a shelf on the opposite wall. The bull cried, "Aha!" and Skruf turned his head straight back, staring at a crack in the wall which was the perfect height for a bull's horns. Three slow hoofsteps clipped behind the husky. Skruf braced himself on the desk, one forepaw, and then the other, not daring to move a whisker. He felt a whimper prickle in his throat, and he choked it back. Behind him he heard the bull's breath, low and grunting, and he tensed up, resisting the temptation to claw furrows in the coach's desk. Suddenly a slick hoof touched his tail and he gave a shrill yelp, but Coach Harvin stifled him with a hoof atop his muzzle.

"Oh that's cold!" Skruf mumbled through a sudden shiver.

"Yeah. Sorry if you were expecting lube. But if someone else found lube just lying around my office, I'd have some explainin' to do. This here is sports cooling gel. It's not quite the lube that you're used to, but it gets the job done. Oh don't give me that look. You were damn good with your little muzzle, and I know you've done even more than that. Hell husky, judging by the feel of ya, I bet you've already found someone over here to harness you up and fuck you into next morning. I just complimented you about your blowjobs, by the way."

"Th... thank you?"

"Thank you what?"

"Thank you, Coach."

"Pleasure."

The bull worked the gel right up under the young husky's tail, digging the tip of his hoof into the canine's spread hole. The herbivore was snorting, louder than ever. Suddenly the hoof slipped free. The tube of gel dropped to the floor. And then the bull sprang, battering down onto Skruf who reacted with a sudden pained yelp. Any lingering doubt that the husky had about the bull's strength disappeared the instant the bull's hooves clasped around his waist and that solid torso and gut pressed into his back. Every muscle on the bull was toned, solid, flexing and working to drive the bull through some powerful humps. Skruf bit his bottom lip as the bull's huge haunches rolled into him. His thrusts were steady for such a large animal, but fearsomely powerful. And what was more, the bull's erection was now lodged firmly between his rump cheeks, harder than ever. God this bull was dominant. He took one hoof to the husky's hip, tilting it upwards so he could grind on the husky's rump and drip a long trail of precum along the husky's back, his deep ungulate grunts filled the office. Then he shuffled back, just enough so that he could thrust himself straight onto his target. The husky gasped, scrunching a nearby sheet of paper in one claw, trembling and just waiting to be claimed by the big black bull.

"Get ready, pup. This bull ride lasts a lot longer than eight seconds."

Skruf took in a deep slow breath while Coach Harvin thrust hard, shunting both husky and desk a good six inches forward. Skruf breathed as deep as he could before he froze, gulping, and even whining a little while the bull kept thrusting, slowly, deeper into his husky rear. Now he could feel that burning pain spreading in a ring while the hung bull stretched him open. Most men had hilted by the time his lungs were full. But the bull just kept thrusting, a lewd squelch from his gel-slick length as he buried himself inside the husky. How could the bull be so big? The husky lay there, trembling, while inches of pedigree bull drilled into his husky rump, stretching the young canine ever wider. The bull's hoof pressed on his shoulder, crushing him against the desk. He could feel the bull, twitching, deep within him, almost up to his stomach. And then, Coach Harvin began, mating the young canine with blunt pounding thrusts, forcing a breathless yowl from the wide-eyed canine. Of course Skruf was strong and athletic, but with at least three hundred pounds of bovine muscle weighing on his back, he could barely move an inch. Skruf had already squared off with the bull earlier in tackling practice, and so he knew full well how tenacious a beast the Coach was. Still, even that could not prepare him for the depth and utter rawness of his oldest, strongest, and by all accounts most bestial partner ever, who stretched the young dog right out across the desk. No animal had ever ground so deep into him. He bore his teeth and focused on his breathing. At least the bull wasn't making jokes about 'tight ends' and the like. Still, if he expected the big bull to be steady and lumbering, he was sorely disappointed. Coach Harvin had decades of athletic experience behind him, and now he was using every pound of his raw muscular frame to pound and claim this husky, a true breeding bull, mating him with a constant roll of those powerful haunches. The bull wasn't holding back, either, and soon he had leant over, teasing Skruf's neckfur with hot bovine grunts which grew louder and harsher as he bucked harder and harder before he lunged, knocking the husky forward another foot amid a cacophony of creaking wood and clattering hooves. Skruf winced and clenched his tail, tight as he could around the bull, his tough body stretched under the bovine's weight, and he moaned through his teeth as a liquid warmth kindled deep within him and spread lewdly through every fibre of his fur and down to his toe-paws. The sled dog wanted to howl, ever so desperately, but with the hoof pressing down on his muzzle he could only muster a throaty whine. Up above him meanwhile, the bull held still, tense, grunting through his teeth, his eyes closed tight and his nostrils flaring. He kept his bovine length buried, filling that scorching canine rump with every spurt of his hot bull milk. Then with a casual grunt, Coach Harvin unsheathed himself from the husky in a single stroke which made Skruf screw his eyes shut and choke back a howl. Coach unhanded Skruf's muzzle, and instantly the canine broke into desperate pants, drawing in deep gulps of the stale musk-filled air. Bull semen trickled from his wide clenching tailhole, running over his husky balls and down his thigh. He cocked his head sideways, dropping his tongue onto the coach's desk. He reached underneath to feel himself: hard and dripping, but no, that was just precum, and his knot was also yet to swell. He would have to wait until he was back in his room before pawing. The bull meanwhile had adjusted his clothes and now stood beside the husky, his forehoof propped on his desk and chatting as though nothing had just happened.

"Ya know something? I like you, English. You're calm, you're measured, and that counts for a lot especially in the final seconds of the game. You're also confident, a little too quietly confident for my liking, but confident nonetheless. So I have made my decision. Skruf, I would like to offer you a place on the team as our wide receiver."

The husky held his breath. "R... really?"

"I will show you everything I know, and we will work on your passing and catching. But even then, I can only take you so far. In the big games, it won't be me out on the pitch, Skruf. It'll be you. And you have to want this. So prove yourself to me, husky. Keep proving to me how much you want to play for Oakmount, how much you love football and how far you want to take your game, and there will be no stopping you. And in the meantime...congratulations."

"Thank you coach," he replied, while lifting himself off the desk. He winced when he stood up straight, but that discomfort soon subsided. He smoothed down his chest fur and stuck up a paw to shake, but the bull waved him away.

"Right, get your kit on. I've got something else to show you."

Oh? Skruf swept his shirt and jacket off the floor, threw them over his shoulders, and tugged up his pants. Coach was already waiting for him by the doorway. Husky and bull emerged into the corridor, and the coach locked his office shut. He pocketed the key and made for the stairs. Skruf followed the bull back through the labyrinth of corridors up on the second floor. They took the stairs down and carried on through the athletics center. There were still plenty of students around, even at this late hour: an aerobics class was just getting underway in the fitness studios; and a white-furred goat strode past, pulling a kit bag on wheels. He wore a black-and-yellow jacket, marked 'Oakmount Fencing'. He nodded at the pair, and Skruf nodded back before the goat continued on his way. Hopefully one day, they would get to chat.

The husky and the bull turned a corner, into a narrower corridor. Skruf knew where they were heading: all the home locker rooms were found down here. And sure enough, Coach stopped outside a door marked 'Locker Room 2 - Men's Football'. As football was a priority sport for the university, the team was fortunate to have its own locker room. Coach opened the door and held it there, nodding at the canine.

"In your own time, freshman."

The husky slipped past him, around the partition wall and into the locker room. The lights were off, dim twilight filtering through some high frosted windows. Skruf peered through the gloom, his ears and nose twitching. Scents and smells greeted the husky from all corners: rich masculine musk, deodorant and sports sprays, and off to the side came the damp mildew of the showers. He shivered. The door swung shut, sealing them inside, and Coach Harvin loomed over the young dog's shoulders.

"In you go, then. Your team-mates are waiting."

"Wait, what?"

In the darkened locker room, three figures stirred. One sat on a bench, another appeared from behind a corner, and one emerged from the showers. Skruf knew who they were. Just as Coach Harvin had promised, three senior members of the Oakmount football team were lurking in wait for him, each of them in varying states of undress. At practice, they were falling over each other to meet 'the English kid'. However, judging by the men's three arousals, Skruf was pretty sure they hadn't stayed to hear his accent again.

"What do you think, English? Your team-mates have very kindly offered to stay back and welcome you into our team."

Clearly, a simple handshake no longer sufficed. Now, Coach Harvin addressed the three male beasts loitering around the room.

"Thanks for staying behind, boys. Y'all know Skruf, our friend from the old country. Turns out that he wants to join our little team. So I say it's only fair we give a dog a proper welcome. Show him how much we want him on our team."

One of the figures, another canine, gave a slithering chuckle. Skruf took a nervous step backwards and hit the bull's solid gut. He span around, staring up open-muzzled the big bovine who simply waved him away.

"Go on then, freshman. Looks like Kinley wants to meet you first."

Kinley was a Dall sheep, the team's star quarterback, white-woolled with spiralling horns that dwarfed even Coach Harvin's weaponry. While he still wore the top half of his football kit, complete with padding, his bottom half was stark naked. He sat cross-armed, solid-shouldered, silent and smirking, watching the husky make his slow approach. His earthy musk reached the canine's nose from six feet away. Skruf tried to ignore how shallow his breath had grown and focused instead on trudging nearer - right paw, left paw - closing the space between himself and the ram. He dared not look the ram in the eye, instead staring down at his bare shaggy-furred legs, spread wide, with the sheep's swaying sac and chubby flesh hanging heavy and slack between them. The ram rubbed himself, growing two or three inches plumper in his paw. And Skruf was on his knees before the sheep had even spoken, his breath shaking and his muzzle ajar. Kinley was quiet at the best of times, and this time he didn't need to say a word. In an instant Skruf set about his task, grasping the sheep's furry sac in one paw and the sheep's flesh in his other, teasing the big guy with warm husky breath and rolling him about quite roughly within his paws. That garnered a snort of approval, and the Dall ram heated in the husky's grasp, coating the dog's uppermost paw with a shot of sticky sheep pre. Skruf opened his drooling maw and prepared to pounce, but the quarterback was quicker, blocking him with a hoof to the muzzle. Strong arms wrapped around the canine's waist, lifting and spinning him, before dumping him on the wooden bench, leaving four dog paws dangling in mid-air. Wordlessly, Kinley dragged Skruf to the end of the bench, hitching his hoof through the husky's pants. He snorted, yanking the pants over the husky's butt, legs and hindpaws, before tossing them aside. Then he swung one powerful leg over Skruf, straddling him and leaning over with a hungry huff, ram balls resting on his stomach. Skruf braced his hind paws on Kinley's gut, but he failed to move him even one inch.

A sniffing muzzle peered in from the side, grinning and pointed and canine. That would be Fernando the coyote, the Pumas' defensive captain. Skruf was still surprised that a coyote would play football. Weren't coyotes supposed to be scrawny things? Fernando wasn't, at least.

The coyote slunk south. He sniffed and sniffed, a prairie wolf on the trail, one paw circling near the husky's bare rump. Suddenly Skruf tensed and let out a gasp as a slender paw toyed with the husky's claimed entrance. That paw dug in harder, coyote claws slipping into his tailhole, drawing a wavering moan from the young dog. He watched the coyote bring two slick claws up to his snout, sniffing them deep.

"Dios mio, would you look at that? I thought I smelled bull cum when you came in here. Looks like this husky boy's all ready. That will make things easier for you, right Kinley?" The Dall sheep simply nodded.

"You two can keep his dirty tail. I'm gonna be fuckin' this pretty little muzzle of his."

Another hoof lifted the husky's chin, odd-toed this time. Chuck, the fiery mustang running back with his wild copper mane, now straddled the bench, right above the prone husky's head. A thick horse cock hung slack above Skruf's nose, already longer than the husky's full arousal, with two leathery stallion balls completing the set. He held his chest high, and with his free hoof he massaged himself, braying under his breath as he worked himself to full arousal, longer and thicker with each full-length stroke. Skruf could do little else except stare, straight up, at that equine length, the head swelling into a fearsome flare which swelled and flexed with every downward stroke of the horse's hoof, while a lazy string of precum dripping from the glans.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"Nope." The stallion shook his mane with a sly whinny. "And I bet you thought he coach was hung, hey? Well I've got something even better to wrap your muzzle around."

"Your neck," Skruf whispered, just a little too loud. Chuck smirked, clicking his tongue.

"No hun, my cock. In case you're wondering, yeah, I am the biggest guy in the club. The whole club. Oh and for the record, most guys who deepthroat me end up just short of half way. That's round about here, where my medial ring is. But you've already taken Coach Harvin tonight, haven't you? Congratulations, hun. After taking all those inches of red hot bull cock, I reckon a sexy curlytail like you can take me easily... or most of me anyway, heh."

The horse's crotch was hot. He grabbed hold under Skruf's chin, tilting it back and flashing a wicked flat-toothed smile. Now Coach Harvin himself loomed overhead, the black bull's erection already at full length again. Hearing the husky gulp, Chuck whinnied and shook his mane, slapping himself on his belly and flicking his stallion fluid over his stomach and the husky's face.

Skruf's paws were shaking. His eyes darted from one man to another, bull to ram to coyote to flaming stallion. With so many buff men and so many combinations, the young wide receiver had no idea what was about to happen. He expected the boys' coach to take the lead first. However in the end, it was Chuck who stroked behind Skruf's ears and whispered those all-important words to the husky.

"Welcome to the team."

By Ziegenbock