Feels Like Home
Recently I got inspired to write a twincest story as a gift for a special wolf who's particularly fond of twincest as a theme. It turned out to be just the thing to bring back my drive to write; creating sexy stories for a boy you love is a splendid way of reviving your inspiration. Anyway it features Basil, the coyote from my previous story 'Hooked,' and his twin brother Berkeley, who reunite to quarantine together during the present COVID crisis and enjoy a long-overdue reunion.
Feels Like Home
When my twin brother Basil and I were children we were as inseparable as all twins are or ought to be, always together, sharing every drop of life, keeping nothing from one another, and letting never a day pass without expressing the deep undying affection we felt for one another. It was always thus, from the time of our first memories up through childhood and adolescence and high school, but when we were both in university I got it into my silly ungrateful head that to really know and discover myself I had to take a step outside my comfort zone by experiencing life not as one-half of a whole but as a singular individual; in other words, away from Basil. The result of this strange rebellion against myself was that I went away and for several years I saw very little of my twin.
Now I scoff and shake my head and wish I could slap some sense into that younger version of myself, a coyote experiencing, I suppose, his own version of that crisis of identity faced by so many young people, but in a manner perhaps more destructive and painful than most, to himself and to others. My mind and motivations then are as beyond my powers of explanation as they are inexcusable; it's a credit to Basil's deeply forgiving heart that he forgave me the hurt I caused him then. But even in our deepest transgressions he and I could never hold anything against one another long.
In winter 2020, while I was living in New Zealand, a country in which I'd worked the last two years, I came to three realisations: first, that I wanted to go home to Hawaii, the state I had grown up in. Second, that if I had learnt anything in a few years of globe-wandering, it was that the interblending of personality and identity and soul my twin and I had was a strength; no singular identity was necessary. Thirdly, and most importantly...I missed my twin. Different homes and different lovers came and went, but my heart was with him.
Needless to say, Basil was ecstatic; it was what he had always waited for. We bought my ticket shortly before the coronavirus pandemic flared up; I was lucky my flight wasn't cancelled. On a rainy afternoon in early April I flew out of Queenstown and turned my muzzle towards home.
My flight came in in early afternoon, and as the plane circled Oahu, drawing ever closer to the spec of green amid the Pacific's vast blue expanse, I watched from my window-seat, my heart in my chest, seemingly pounding harder with every thousand-mile drop in elevation. Below, on that verdant island, my twin waited for me.
It had been a 12-hour journey, including a layover in Auckland, but I had slept not a wink. Strange perhaps that here I felt like an infatuated teenager meeting his internet boyfriend for the first time, when the boy I was about to reunited with was the one I'd spent more of my life with than any other person. But after being apart so long, knowing as never before just how much I missed and needed him, even spending a few more moments apart felt beyond bearing. From nosetip to tail my body fairly vibrated with tension, my body already tingling with anticipative joy of his embrace, my nose, safely wrapt up in silk scarf as makeshift mask, twitched in memory of his scent.
The following hour rushes by in a haze of memory, though it was so recent ago. I suppose in my excitement I was beyond savouring the joy of anticipation, wanting the interval window past, ready to be with him again, able at last to share together the blissful relief of knowing it would be a long time before we were again parted. I know the plane circled and landed, I waited impatiently as the passengers ahead of me departed - there were, owing to the crisis, fewer of them than normal, I worked myself through customs and a maze of airport corridors as quickly as I could, stopped briefly at a bathroom, and made for the arrivals section. People and signs and scents and noise faded to a blur as my eyes and nose and ears sought out the particular aroma of features, so similar to my own, which signified one special coyote.
In the end we saw each other almost at the same time, the moment I walked through the arrivals door. He had parked himself almost as close to the door as he could without being a traffic hazard, and at the moment our eyes met his ears were perked up, nose twitching, as he sought me amongst the crowd. In the same instant our tails both burst into frantic wagging, we flung ourselves into each other's arms, and hugged like our lives depended on it.
For a moment or two we could not bring ourselves to break apart from one another; the relief of being once again in each other's arms was too much. Our muzzles nuzzled around each other's shoulders, filling our noses with that similar but just barely distinct scent. His arms around me felt stronger before, maybe slightly more muscled. As we hugged, wordlessly - for words are never necessary for twins to communicate - I slid a paw down his back and gave his butt a quick squeeze. We have never been very particular to surroundings when it comes to being affectionate.
Finally we did pull back, and touched noses, gazing into each other's eyes, and exchanging a soft subtle kiss (we have never been the kind of lovers who mash muzzles in the way people kiss in movies; sweet soft singular kisses seem to mean more somehow). As we pulled out of the kiss Basil's face broke into a lovely smile. 'I can't believe you're finally back.'
'Neither can I.' My tail was beating a steady tempo. 'It's long overdue.'
He squeezed me tight again and we kissed and then headed off to baggage claim, paw-in-paw.
It's interesting that given both my twin and I can be chatterboxes with other boys we're super close with, lovers or friends, or with our younger sister, when alone together we are often fairly quiet. This is because we are so attuned to each other, our minds more extensions of one another than distinct entities, that verbal expression is not always necessary for us to community; shared glances, carriage of tails and ears, shifts in scent, spirit shimmering within dark brown eyes, and most importantly, that kind of shared sixth sense unique to twins, suffice more than enough. From very early childhood Basil and I discovered it was perfectly natural for us both to arrive at the same conclusions without verbal consultation, or to sense the other's mood or feelings or preferences without being able to say precisely how. It's just the way twins are made.
For this reason as we made our way through the airport we said very little. Now that we were no longer caught up in the rapture of embrace I could feast my eyes on him, noticing little details and distinctions. Like me he had on a mask, a bandana, as did many of the travellers in the airport. The clothing was same as always, T shirt and shorts; we are neither of us overly particular in choice of dress, preferring subtlety over fashionableness. But he was a little more muscular than before, or at least the pale blue material of his shirt seemed slightly more strained, and his arms a bit more toned. His hunky painted dog husband, Edward, must have been getting him to work out more lately. Around his neck he was wearing a little necklace made of tiny seashells threaded on twine, with a shark's tooth in the middle. I thought it was cute.
If I have failed to make it clear beforehand, we are twins of the physically identical variety, although I had now lived out of Hawaii long enough to make it somewhat easier to pick us apart, as Basil's fur was much bleached by frequent exposure to the sun. Other than that I'll avoid any lengthy physical descriptions outside of context; stories in which the narrator expounds too long on his own physicalities invariably come across as egotistical.
We might have been teenage lovers on our first date, for all the stolen glances and squeezes of paws shared as we sought out my bags and made for the exit. The emotions were much the same for both of us, a deep relief, a joyous contentment. All about us the world might be balancing on brink of chaos, at mercy of villain and virus, when every glance at social media might carry with it news of some new political calamity, advertising the deeds of despots and deaths by disease, and yet, within our own personal universe, an amazing calm prevailed, as within the eye of a hurricane. All was as it ought to be - we were each of us together with our twin!
The moment we had got into Basil's car the reserved decorum of ecstasy vanished instantly and we hugged tight again, nuzzling firmly against each other. My paw slid down his chest, appreciating the firmness, to gently knead my pawpads over his crotch. My tail wriggled ecstatically against the dash of the car.
He was already a little hard, and I squeezed lightly. 'I missed your dick.'
Though my face was nuzzled into his neck, drinking in the comfort of his scent, I could hear the smile and smirk in his reply. 'I missed yours too. And your butt.' He dragged his claws down my back, making my fur stand up on end even through my shirt, and grabbed my butt firmly.
Somewhere from within my throat a happy sound escaped. Some boys are just naturally adept at physical affection and some boys learn your body the way a cartographer learns maps, but the touch and caress of a boy who knows your body as though it were his own - cause it is his own; a boy who has studied your body from childhood, is beyond compare. The way my twin's paws worked over my butt made every fibre of my body tingle, as surely as my searching fingers, tracing the outline of his erection, did for him. I nibbled gently on his neck, feeling him shiver beneath my dragging fangs, grinding my own crotch against his as he massaged over my butt. The sun beat down on the roof of the car; people walked past it; somewhere a siren blared; his car smelt of coyote and painted dog and wolf and potato chips and pineapple, but we might have been the only people in the world, for all concern we gave to anything outside ourselves.
We were both of us fully hard by this point. I bit down on his neck again, slightly harder this time. Feeling his cock throb within its prison made me want to feel it sliding into my muzzle, but really I wanted to 69 with him, our favourite position, and that would be rather cramped in his car. His tender fingers wandered over the back of my head, every claw sending off sparks. Reluctantly I pulled back, pressing my nosetip against his, my eyes drifting upwards over the long vaguely orangey furred muzzle to meet his.
It was too much, the emotion shining out from us, and we both instantly burst into giddy smiles. Basil's eyebrows rose just a little. 'Home?'
'Yes please!' I leant in and we kissed gently, and with a final subtle grind of my hips against his crotch, extracted myself from his lap and slid into the passenger seat.
'Home' in this context now meant not our parents' house, which is in the interior of the island, but the apartment Basil and Edward rented in Ewa Beach, a neighbourhood vaguely northwest of Honolulu. Personally it's not among my favoured locations on Oahu; it's on the dry side of the island, whereas I like rain. But given Edward spent much of the salary he received as a naval officer either on his boat, on the frequent trips he and Basil took, or on the band the two of them had founded with our sister - and given Basil rarely had a consistent job himself - housing in a more exciting part of the island was beyond their means. They shared the apartment with a white wolf, Chase Pitt, who was Edward's best friend, apparently the first fellow gay crewmember he'd met upon being assigned to the US navy destroyer on which he served. I had been there a few times previously but never for lengthy stays.
When I'd first sheepishly admitted to my twin that I was ready to come home, his response had been almost instantaneous: 'come live with us! Where better to quarantine, than with your twin?' At the time I was, though very much wanting that exact outcome, uncertain. The apartment was small, it had only two bedrooms, and while Edward had never been anything but gentlemanly towards me, I wasn't sure how my brother-in-law would take to having me around full time. But Basil insisted he'd already cleared it with Edward:
'Having not one but two cute coyotes around is hardly anything to complain about,' the painted dog had told Basil. 'And having him home is what you've always wanted.' (Actually I'm told Edward quipped that the only thing he'd ask for in return for me staying there was getting to fuck me; like many boys, he found the idea of fucking twins hot. Edward's a very good-looking dog himself, and Basil & I have always liked sharing other boys together, so naturally I had no reservations about this arrangement).
He wasn't wrong. As children we twins had always taken it for granted we'd always live together; being apart for any length of time was inconceivable. If we talked about places we might want to live, or our dream house, or any particular detail of a future life, it was always with the assumption that these were shared dreams. We could conceive of nothing we would not want to share.
Invariably this also meant sharing the boys we were attracted to. But more on that in a bit.
As we drove home, weaving through Honolulu traffic somewhat lighter than usual, I kept a paw in his crotch, fingers curled around the half-mast within, my head leant on his shoulder, while his own right paw rested on my hip. After so long apart - we had least seen each other in October, but it felt like longer - we did not want to let go of one another even an instant. Through the windshield I watched Honolulu pass and fade, contentment welling up within me, on fairly even tempo with my rising libido. My twin's head leant to the side, rested against mine.
From a very young age Basil and I have always been very physically affectionate together. Growing up we always shared a bedroom, first from practicality, although later, when as pre-teens our parents half-heartedly inquired as to whether we'd prefer individual bedrooms, we rejected the suggestion as ardently as they expected we would. But where other small children steal out of bed at night to creep into their parents' bedroom and crawl in against their mother's comforting presence, we early on fell into our own nocturnal habit, wherein once lights were out and goodnight had been said to our parents, one or the other of us would slide out of bed, cross the few feet that separated us, and snuggle up next to his twin. We were simply always happiest and most at ease when we were together, in one way or another.
Our parents inevitably found out our habit of sharing a bed, but in alignment with their particular detached, non-interferential parenting style, they merely thought this cute or as further evidence of their good fortune in being blessed with children who got on well with one another. So it came that over time, both our parents, and later our younger sister, came to think of it as perfectly natural that we preferred to share a bed.
When we'd left the airport he'd put on music, an alternative girl-band mournfully lamenting the self-destruction of their lovers by drugs and alcoholism, or eulogising the saving graces of suicides, while outside a plane droned by overhead, lei-clad tourists, unwisely still vacationing, scurried over a crosswalk, and a light breeze brushed the fronds of palm trees. Soon we were passing Pearl Harbor, the base at which Edward is stationed, though he was away at sea presently. I asked if there was an update regarding his ship's scheduled return to port.
'Not so far as I've heard.' He did not say more because he didn't need to; having grown up as the children of an air force officer, we know well that dates are invariably undependable in the military, and even more so in midst of a pandemic. In fact only two days before my flight Edward's destroyer had had its first confirmed case of coronavirus; it was then yet uncertain how precisely this would be handled.
What this meant for us, given Chase was also at sea, was that we'd have the apartment to ourselves for a time, two twins alone with just each other to entertain ourselves. Needless to say, we'd have no difficulty whatsoever in finding ways to stay busy. My cock twitched at the thought, and suddenly I felt decidedly impatient to get home and out of my clothes. And even more importantly, get my twin out of his.
Stirred by such visions, I traced a claw firmly over the trapped outline of Basil's shaft. I knew that cock as well as I knew my own, every detail of its length and shape and feel and scent and taste; after all I'd had it in my muzzle or butt probably more than all the other boys I'd ever been intimate with put together. Over the next week or two or three we'd be helping that number grow exponentially. Nuzzling him again, I huffed 'I can't wait to fuck you.'
He grinned that happy coyote grin that our species pulls off perhaps better than anyone, nuzzled me back, and humped his crotch up encouragingly. 'I can't wait for you to fuck me.' We had not necessarily discussed who would top who first, nor was I particular as to who did, besides which we both knew it was inevitable we'd both be fucking each other a great deal starting today, but it felt good and right asserting that certainty aloud just the same. There is always a certain thrill to telling your twin you want to fuck him; it comes as naturally as saying 'I love you' to one's mate.
We were now nearing Ewa Beach.
I don't precisely remember at what age exactly Basil and I started exploring each other. Or perhaps it's that in memory it feels like a period, an era or chapter, more so than a singular event. But whatever the timing, for us that pre-pubertal self-discovery, the time when children become curious about their own bodies and notice differences between others, was never a singularly, inward-focused experience but a shared one, because we those curiosities were just as much present for one another as for ourselves. We were already starting to touch each other and compare different parts of our bodies - as much as comparisons can be done when you look so alike one another that only your immediate family can tell you apart - as pre-teens, and had our first kiss around the same time. At some point afterwards, when we were maybe eight or nine years old, I remember watching a teen movie featuring a Labrador protagonist whose main goal in life seemed to be getting a girl to kiss him, after which Basil turned to me.
'Berkeley?' His big coyote ears, which seem even larger on pups, were cocked sideways in the way they did when he was getting thoughtful.
'Yeah?'
'I don't think I want to kiss girls.'
I considered that. 'I don't think I'd like to either.'
His tail twitched against the couch. 'I only like kissing you.'
'Hey, and I only like kissing you!'
We were so innocently adorable and cute together, I'm sure, and with a start like that, it was inevitable that as we grew older our intimacy and closeness would reach even deeper levels.
It was a warm and humid day and I was panting, despite the air conditioning, by the time we pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building. Basil switched off the engine and squeezed my hip, we nuzzled, and pulled apart, opening the doors at the same time.
Lest the image I have painted of our island home be by error oversensationalised, a further clarification - the neighbourhood in which the apartment lay was not in most respects one fitting the romantic conception of Hawaii. Yes, the occasional palm tree, if usually of a smallish size, stood in yards or on street corners; yes, the houses were often of the low bungalow sort common in these islands; yes, the ocean was only a short walk away, but on the whole there was little to suggest 'tropical island paradise' about the place; it was not the sort of neighbourhood Hollywood film directors choose to film dramatized portraits of Hawaii. The streets were in a vague sense of disrepair, lined by dusty parking lots under a web of power lines, over a sleepy neighbourhood that had neither overt attractions nor overt detractions: it was simply dull.
The apartment building itself was a nondescript three-storey affair painted a very vaguely pinkish colour. Edward's unit was on the third floor; Basil and I stretched, took my bags from the backseat, and I followed him up the stair, and waited while he fitted his key into the lock.
As we stepped into the door I was greeted by the soothing click of ceiling fans and the scent of big masculine males, painted dog and wolf, signs of Edward's and Chase's presence even when they themselves were gone. Basil dropped the bag he was carrying onto the sofa, set his keys on a coffee table, then spun round, dropped to his knees, and nuzzled affectionately into my crotch. I huffed, letting my bag slide to the floor, and dragged my fingertips through the top of his mane and down his neck, simultaneous with his own motion sliding both paws up my hips to grip my butt.
From here on there was no rush; we had all day - all week - all month? to enjoy ourselves, so I simply relaxed, tired though my legs were, and enjoyed his subtle nosing against my dick, gradually stirred back into a state of half-arousal. Scratching through the fur of his head showed off the way the sun-bleaching works; the fur within was darker, like mine. Like me - there is always something incredible, even if you've done it a thousand times, in being intimate with a boy who looks exactly like yourself. You can almost imagine you are being intimate with yourself - and in a way you are, because in truth twins are extensions of one another, two halves of a whole, one soul split between two bodies.
Below me Basil's tail wagged freely, always an immediate betrayal of a canine's mood, as he nudged over my increasingly-obvious erection. My eyes drifted upwards over the sofa and coffee table, imagining all the surfaces my twin and I would be fucking each other over in the near future. The thought that we'd quite possibly be spending more time fucking each other than anything else made my cock throb, earning me a butt squeeze and a drag of Basil's fangs across my crotch. He glanced up, wearing an adorably mischievous and eager smile.
'I think we're a bit overdressed.'
When Basil & I were just starting to go into puberty, our physical explorations and curiosities took new directions.
It wasn't that we hadn't already extended studious glances or touch to each other's nether regions; we had. But in early adolescence our curiosities began to centre themselves in ways they hadn't before. We still slept together, but now our paws roamed each other's bodies to linger between one another's legs, and frequently we'd wake up at night grinding on each other. This is the age at which most boys typically start pawing themselves, and given we shared everything, naturally we talked about it together. Of course it was thus only expected that the first time we each tried the new activity, we did so sitting side-by-side on the bed, stealing curious glances at each other's inexperienced testing strokes. Somehow, though they looked exactly the same, both of us felt even more fascinated by the other's dick than we were with the new sensations in our own.
After we'd both cum, sitting there with drippy chests, our noses twitching as they filtered the new scent, I proposed an idea. 'Next time can I paw you and you paw me?' It was a natural innovation - we had tried something new, after several days planning and discussions - in our meticulous way, we had talked over the paw experiment thoroughly beforehand - and could now adapt it personally to our own preferences. The longer I watched my twin paw himself, the more I'd felt tempted to reach out and take hold of his shaft myself. This desire was matched by a growing curiosity to feel his own fingers curl around my cock.
Basil's ears perked. 'That sounds amazing!'
I grinned. 'I really wanted to touch you this time.'
'And I wanted to touch you!' Our tails thwapped the bed, we grinned like conspirators who've just discovered a new secret, and impulsively kissed each other, vaguely aware our bond had deepened to a new level.
But in reality our mutual pawing was to be short lived, because we discovered something even more fun later that very same day (of course we waited barely a few hours to try it again; when you've discovered something new you like, why wait to enjoy it thoroughly?).
Now that there was no more need to remain clothed, we wasted no time in shedding layers. Or rather my layers, as he set to unzipping my jeans and shucking them down my legs in the same time I was removing my shirt. 'Cute undies,' my twin remarked, pressing his muzzle and fangs teasingly against the all-the-more-obvious bulge in my blue underwear. As response I thrusted my hips a few times, rubbing my bulge against his muzzle, and received a smirk in response, just before he tugged my underwear down too. We both like cute underwear and have dozens of them, but they aren't a fetish for us in the way they are for some people, and as such usually come off quickly.
Almost immediately he took my cock into his muzzle and practically swallowed it, right up to the hilt. Though I'd half-expected this, the involuntary gasp came nonetheless, feeling his muzzle close over me entirely, his nose pressed into the downy fur just at the base of my sheath, sniffing eagerly, or as best he could when my cock was mostly cutting off his air. He held position for just a moment, and then dragged back slowly, tracing his flattened-out tongue soothingly along the underside of my shaft in a most refreshing way. From within my own throat a low unf produced itself.
Over the last fifteen years or so Basil has given me probably thousands of blowjobs, but having my dick sucked on by my twin is something I'll never ever tire of; the thrill of the ten thousandth time his muzzle closes over my shaft is no less exciting than the first. That day I was particularly sensitive and needy, not having cum for a few days, so the way he teased me, drawing back just barely enough to keep my cock from falling free, with my tip resting on the tip of his tongue, then pulling me back into his muzzle at such tantalising slowness that it was all I could do not to buck my hips and hump his face forcefully; as it was, I couldn't help unffing again, as my fingers rubbed one of his ears gently. Liking having your ears rubbed or nibbled isn't rare by any means, but we coyotes seem to be particularly inclined towards it, maybe because we have such big expressive ears.
He eased back down my shaft with the same aching slowness, muzzle tightened over me, his tongue curled up at the edges as to fit perfectly to the contour of my cock. After all, he knows it better than anyone. The playful ease which with he muzzled me was an old habit of ours; terribly pleasant for the recipient, but also allowing the giver to draw in his twin's scent slowly during descent. One of the many thrills of being intimate with your twin is getting to savour the scent of his crotch. In fact I had specifically avoided showering the last three or four days as a particular treat for Basil's nose; my guess, from what sniffs I'd got of his scent so far, was that he had done likewise. When you're a twin, you know what your twin likes and needs by nature; there's no need to ask.
Down and back eased his muzzle; my breathing tightened, my cock twitched, and his tongue curled neatly around my tip, licking away the pre his administrations were inducing freely. This feels like home, I thought, back where I wanted to be, with my twin's muzzle on my cock. Smiling with relief and satisfaction at this pleasant conclusion, I watched his muzzle rise and fall. His eyes flicked up and met mine, a shared smile, or as much as he could smile with a mouth full of coyote cock; at any rate it was one of those shared smiles that made my heart feel that fuzzy butterfly feeling, an ecstasy of love and togetherness, which has at its heart a deep gratitude, that he loves you and you love him.
By that point I was eager to get Basil out of his clothes and get my muzzle on his cock, to pull us together and feel his naked body against mine, and to mate, but his muzzle felt so good I couldn't help savour it just a little longer. So I put just a little more firmness into the paw holding his head, a steadiness more than a caress, to hold him in place, and started thrusting.
Though we both often take more submissive roles when playing with other boys, between ourselves Basil & I have no defined dom or sub context. From the time our intimacy took on a sexual element neither of us ever felt inclined to tip the scales in any particular direction; we both topped and bottomed on fairly even frequency, we both liked receiving and giving each other blowjobs with equal enthusiasm, and we did not, either physically or mentally, attach a specific dominant or submission context to any position or rôle. As twins we were equals; we just loved each other and loved showing it physically. But that didn't mean that our enthusiasm couldn't take avenues others might interpret as dominant, like holding your twin's head in place while you throat-fuck him. Which is why I proceeded to do then.
Though above average, we don't have exceedingly large cocks, but that I've always thought as of as being an advantage given it makes lengthy muzzle-fucking of the kind we liked much more sustainable. Under my paw's firm grip I could feel Basil relax, perfectly content in having his muzzle humped thoroughly, while I drifted into the comfortable bliss of his muzzle's caress. My thoughts settled, simmering down into a consoling trio of I'm home - this feels amazing - I love my twin; invariably some of life's happiest moments are those in which your mind stops its relentless spin and relaxes into a satisfied savouring of the moment, when all your being becomes pure experience: it is in such moments you are most alive.
For me, those moments always come when I'm with my twin.
I humped his muzzle blissfully for five or ten minutes, every thrust like electricity along the overstimulated skin of my cock, feeling my balls swing heavily, noticing how his tail had gone still, as his focus centred entirely on pleasuring me. Somewhere far away I could feel a pressure building, all the pent-up tension and joyous indulgence of his sweet muzzle edging me closer to a climax I would consider, if it happened now, somewhat premature. So with a final thrust, I pulled back, leaving a parting droplet of pre on Basil's tongue, and extracted myself from his muzzle.
He swallowed and smiled up beautifully at me, his tail wagging. My own tail matched his in enthusiasm. 'Wanna 69?'
Given our natural curiosity and affections for each other, it was perhaps inevitable that the physical exploring of one another Basil & I had undertaken with first eyes, then paws, extended to include our muzzles. Our first shared blowjobs happened the very same evening after the first paw-off; the fun and excitement of cumming for the first time being too irresistible not to try again, we couldn't wait. We'd been cuddled up together in bed reading - both of us were bookworms from an early age, and we frequently read books together - when my thoughts turned to our fun earlier, and to the exciting prospect of pawing off Basil. Inspired by such thoughts, I'd started idly rubbing at myself, when reaching up to scratch my muzzle, I caught a glimpse of my own scent.
By this point Basil had noticed and stopped reading. I held out my paw, gesturing towards my crotch. 'I smell kinda good down there.'
He leant forward, and I thought he was going to sniff my paw. But instead he dropped down to the bed and sniffed around my crotch. His nose, brushing against the base of my cock at the point it met my balls, sent a burst of delicious tinkling, a foreshadow of things to come, radiating through me.
My twin wagged his tail. 'You do smell good!' he announced, glancing up with excited smile.
'I wanna smell you next,' I said, but Basil had dug his nose into the downy fur of my crotch again, sniffing curiously.
It was all the stimulus needed for a hormonal pubescent coyote; my cock began sliding out of its sheath almost immediately.
I watched with excited fascination as his eager sniffs continued to produce this encouraging effect, feeling my twin's nose twitch over my balls, around the base of my sheath as it scrunched up, until his nosetip prodded the base of my cock. The sniffing ceased; his head cocked, ears twitching in the way they did when he was thinking, eyes evidentially drawn in on my dick. His tongue lolled out, and licked tentatively up the underside of my shaft.
'Oh' I gasped, swallowed, watched my cock throb once. And then my twin pulled my dick down, and opened his muzzle.
Very quickly we learnt there are much more exciting things than masturbation.
Basil was much too inexperienced at the time - though it took neither of us very long to learn - to bring me to cumming with just his muzzle, but between that and a helping paw, it did not take him long to make me cum. 'I wanna taste it,' he said beforehand, and accordingly there was no question, then or ever after, as to whether I came in his muzzle or not; I did, and he cocked his head and swallowed as his face took on a curious expression, testing the taste.
'That was amazing!' I enthused with wagging tail, and needing no encouragement or permission, I sprawled across the bed and nosed my own muzzle into my twin's crotch. He was already very hard.
After that we sucked each other off nearly every day. Possibilities seemed endless; with usual teenage hormonal horniness we found no end of opportunities to get our muzzles over each other's cocks. Cuddles could very easily turn into blowjobs; prodding with erect dick while in bed, whether accidental or intentional, could very easily result in the erection's owner receiving a muzzling; requests for assistance at cumming were always welcomed with enthusiasm. We took to showering together, showers in which washing off was invariably followed by one or the other or both of us receiving a blowjob. Of course living in Hawaii we went swimming and snorkelling in the ocean frequently, and quickly discovered that out in the water, where from a certain distance people can see only your head, above the water, it was more than easy to slide your paw inside your twin's swim shorts and feel up his cock. When alone together we were always sniffing about each other's crotches, having immediately become fond of one another's scent, and quickly developed an equal fondness for the taste of one another's cum. Before long we both arrived at conclusion that cumming in your twin is an important and necessary element of the ideal day with him.
*It's a conclusion we still believe today. *
'Yes please!' his tail wagged all the harder.
I finally stepped out of my underwear and jeans, which had been slung around my ankles while Basil was sucking on me, as he quickly pulled his T shirt over his head, tossing it aside carelessly as he reached for my paw, leading me towards the bedroom. As we did so my other paw was on his butt, reaching to playfully pull down his shorts and underwear, so that he laughed, stepped out of them freely, and accordingly lead me in the bedroom with both of us in equal state of undress. I could extend time describing the bedroom, but what would be the point, that's not the focus, and besides which in such moments one's focus isn't on the surroundings, the furniture or décor or the view from windows; it's on the cute boy you're about to mate with. Even your nose seems to shut down at such times; the only thing you can scent is him.
As we sprawled across the bed, he scooted his butt closer to my own face, playfully tapping his dick against my muzzle, and then dropped down onto the bed, so we found ourselves ideally positioned, each with his face in each other's crotch. Gripping his thigh with a paw, I dug my nose against the base of his crotch. 'You smell so good.'
I've said it to him a thousand times before, but when your twin smells divine, it's natural you'll not be able to stop telling him so.
'_You_smell so good,' he returned, giving me one sniff before he tilted his muzzle and slid my cock back inside it. I couldn't reply cause I'd already done the same to him.
69ing is an incredibly dynamic pairing; your senses are constantly torn between focus, experiencing at the same instant the joy of a tender muzzle caressing your dick, and at the same time the taste and feel of another boy's cock on your own tongue. But it's not distracting; rather double the fun. The moment Basil had my cock in his muzzle again he'd resumed that teasing slow rise-and-fall motion with which he'd got me so worked up earlier, which, given my cock had lost none of its stimulation in the brief minute or two out in the open, quickly had me again lulled into bliss. For my own part I tilted my head up from the bed a bit to get the best angle over his own needy erection. My nose full of his scent, a scent I'd missed so much, I felt with relief the familiar sensation of his shaft against my tongue, tightening my mouth gently over him, as I drew him in and out, from tip to base, and back. He had been leaking already while he was sucking on me by the front door, and I'd barely started working his cock before it was dripping pre on my tongue, yet another thing I'd missed; the scent of him, the feel of him, the taste of him, the whole of him: my twin.
Seeing his butt as we walked into the bedroom had got me vaguely excited to fuck him; it always feels wonderful doing so, I'd not topped in a long time, and there's no one I love topping more than my twin. But with his sweet and tender muzzle again sending tantalising spirals of feeling down my cock, the temptation and need to cum tapped naggingly at my mind, coupled with instincts to hump and thrust, a disinclination to stop. Basil was holding nothing back, mouthing over my erection as though he were truly worshipping it, cliché though the porn-story term is, somehow still getting me in his muzzle all the way up to the base, and making every inch of my dick feel on fire. I believe I've mentioned my twin knows my dick better than anyone else - a benefit of which is, his blowjobs are rivalled by none.
For a time I distracted myself with his cock, putting yet more eagerness and enthusiasm into my own sucking. The thrill of having your twin's dick in your muzzle never subsides, the taste of him, especially when he's excited enough as to keep preing; the realisation of just how hard and eager he is, all because of you; the happy sounds emitting from his throat, muffled though they are when he's busy loving up on your own cock, all overshadowed by the unignorable reality that the boy whose cock you're sucking is your twin, the boy who knows you better than anyone else, the boy you've been with all your life (and more? If anyone is bound to find or reunite with one another again and again across lifetimes, it must be twins. It has to be so; without one another we could not be fully ourselves; we cannot wholly exist). The boy who is half of you, or simply is you. As I hinted earlier, for all intensive purposes Basil and I are essentially the same person, which is why having sex with your twin could quite reasonably be called the same as having sex with oneself. I suppose that adds an additional thrill to it.
This is why 69ing is our favourite position: it is the absolute best position for twins. Looking at your twin is like looking in a mirror; it is to look at another and see yourself reflected back. For Basil and I this has a physical element, but it would be equally true with twins who aren't identical, because the likeness isn't entirely physical; in fact the physical identicality isn't perhaps even the most important part, it's the duplication and blending of your minds, your hearts, your souls, so thoroughly you may question whether they exist independently or are shared or are one entity shared between your two bodies. In one of his books Plato relates that in ancient Greek mythology it was held that all people were originally creatures with two faces, four arms, four legs, but that in order to curb their power, the gods divided them in two, and cast them into eternity to forever search out their missing halves.
To be with your twin is to feel that you are finally whole again.
Basil & I have been lucky in feeling that way all our lives.
Because of this physical and inner likeness between us, 69ing seems like the prefect position, both of us fitted together in a way mirroring the other, a perfect symmetry, each of us affectionately nuzzled into the other's crotch, our twin's cock in our muzzle, showing and receiving our love for one another in equal passion. It was another of our early discoveries, in those explorative teenage years.
After those first blowjobs, our first tastes of the pleasures two boys can share together, Basil & I were both constantly searching out new things we could try together. It was around this time we both came to a subtle recognition that we were gay, though more in recognition that we were attracted to other boys than as assertion that what we did together ourselves was gay. It simply seemed natural to us that twins would love each other and want to show that love physically regardless what their taste in other people might be.
According to this we both fell into habit of reading lewd stories or looking up art of boys being sexual together, not so much because we derived any overt pleasure from the media itself, pleasant though it might be, so much as because it gave us ideas of things to try together. Thus we learnt of 69s, or of various places outdoors or in semi-public settings we might want be intimate. Otherwise we have not ever been overly kinky. But it's always seemed rather sweet to me, if I take an outward perspective on my relationship with my twin, that we sought out porn or erotica specifically to get ideas for new things to experiment with as twins. Whenever one of us located some new position or concept or theme we'd be bursting with excitement to show each other, an excitement met in equal measure by knowing our twin had been searching up ideas of his own. 69ing, whether sucking dick or licking butts, was naturally our greatest discovery at the time.
The suitability of the act to twins as lovers was immediately apparent, and from then on, if we were at home alone for awhile or otherwise had privacy and space to lay down, it was our preferred way to give and receive blowjobs. Where other boys in early teens might spend much of their time surreptitiously searching up porn on the family computer and self-consciously pawing off in the bathroom, for Basil & me our preferred means of lewd entertainment was 69ing. If ever we felt bored, it was perfectly natural for one or the other to ask 'wanna 69;' neither of us ever said no. It wasn't even entirely dependent on whether or not one or the both of us was horny, we enjoyed it nearly as much when in more relaxed states as when our libidos were raging, because we loved each other, and sharing intimate loving moments was never not wonderful.
Given how good and right our shameless affection for one another felt, it is probably not surprising neither of us felt any concern whatsoever over being gay, nor did we suffer any negative response from coming out, in which case I am well aware we are highly privileged compared to many gay boys. When we became consciously aware of it we felt as though this was something we'd always known inside, both about ourselves and about each other; it just took conscious recognition to make it official. Being gay seemed natural, almost expected; it was simply the way to be.
At the same time, I have to smile at how innocent we were in the beginning. We did not know many openly gay people at the time, and in those years, recent though they may seem, gay people were somewhat less visible then than now. Bush was in the white house, gay marriage seemed a distant dream unless one lived in Massachusetts, gay men were silly caricatures with which comedy movies and sitcoms were stocked, or the kind of people who liked dressing in drag. It's very silly, and moreover unfortunate, that our community can or was simplified down to such parametres, but as children we had simply been innocent of the possibilities of love. It wasn't so much our parents' fault; they were then and have always been very open-minded, liberal coyotes, but the military circles in which Dad worked were still then under the shadow of DADT, and while Mom did in fact include gay characters in her novels well before it was fashionable to do so, we did not read any of her books at that age, and though she talked about the plots often as she composed them, any references to gay characters failed to leave impression or memory upon us.
Just the same, there inevitably came a time when the truth of our preferences was too obvious to ignore, and after this we started taking notice of other boys more than before. But as with anything else we enjoyed or took interest in, our attraction to other boys was a shared affair; if we fantasised about finding ourselves in bed with a cute boy, it was always with the assumption that we'd do so together. We knew we wanted to meet other cute boys and be affectionate with them, but in our imaginations and discussions this always took form of sharing the other boy between us, rather than seeking him out individually. Sharing lovers or boyfriends seemed, to us, perfectly natural for twins.
Accordingly we used to spend many hours talking over the kinds of boys we found appealing, or what scenarios we might get up to with them. Whether we were hiking through Oahu's rainforests, swimming in the sea or lounging on a secluded beach, relaxing naked together in our bedroom or making cookies in our kitchen, invariably our conversation would turn to cute boys, and all the things we would do with them together. Some of our childhood notebooks are sprinkled with lists of various fantasises we intended to fulfil together. The world being full of boys, there seemed no limit to the adventures twins like us could get up to with them.
In these ways, 69ing endlessly, researching new ways we might explore our intimacy, fantasising together about other boys (some of which fantasises became, in time, reality), our early teenage years were passed.
Though the serenity of the moment, entwined with my twin, savouring the taste and feel of his cock even as his own muzzle's caress made my own shaft throb, had lulled me into a state of contented bliss, again most happy to surrender to the immediate moment, the insistent need and desire to cum kept tap-tapping in my mind, a presence one can overlook but not entirely ignore. Between his first blowjob and the 69ing Basil had been sucking on me long enough I suspected his muzzle was, if not presently sore yet, at least likely to become so soon, and while there was not necessarily any rush, my need to cum was now filtered together with a growing desire to mate. Wonderful though 69ing and blowjobs and rimming and cuddles can be, it's when mating with your twin that you feel most deeply connected to him, and after not having been able to mate with Basil for over six months, I was beyond waiting any longer.
Deciding I'd cum in Basil's muzzle meant that he'd be yiffing me first, awareness of which made my tailhole tingle in anticipation. If, of course, I didn't make him cum beforehand. His cock was amazingly hard, so much so I had to alter the angle of my head as my tangle slipped over his glans. Something about it sent a delicious spiral of ecstasy down my spine and to my brain - the thrill of having your twin's cute cock in your muzzle never fails to take affect. I'm just as fascinated with Basil's dick now as I was when I first tasted it fourteen years ago.
Thinking about it made my own cock throb more, and before I knew it my hips started gently thrusting, driving my arching shaft along his silky tongue, a little deeper. It was that kind of moment when something clicks and you know, even if you can't quite feel the orgasm coming yet, that it's time to cum. Besides, I was ready for him to fuck me, anticipation of which was getting me all the more worked up, if his delicious blowjobs weren't enough already. Now having put aside any thought of holding back, I worked myself into a steady rhythm, thrust-thrust-thrust, without letting off on my own tongue's tender massage over my twin's cock. My nose twitched, full of the scent of his crotch, which is often in itself enough to get me hard; he just smell so good down there.
My climax arrived in the way cumming invariably always does when Basil gives me a blowjob; not as something hovering in the distance which I cam feel coming from a long way off, as happens when I'm fucking him, or when he's fucking me, but almost out of nowhere, a sudden burst of intensified feeling. I half-gasped over his dick, then went on sucking as before, but my hips bucked a little and thrust deeply into his muzzle, holding the position as my throbbing cock emptied itself into his throat. Muffled whimpers half-escaped my muzzle or huffed through my nose as I felt the delicious contractions grip my shaft, my ears folded back, my tail frozen stiff in the grip of feeling. Meanwhile my twin, experienced cock-sucker that he is, calmly held position and swallowed it down drop by drop, without breaking his muzzle's gentle grip over my shaft. As my orgasm died down I gradually slowed my own rise and fall over his dick, until we both rested, panting, holding each other in our muzzles.
After a moment Basil released my drippy cock and licked his lips, his tail tapping the bed. 'Good boy!' The tone was playful, not an expression of dominance so much as a good-humoured acknowledgement between equals. I could feel the velvety lap of his tongue against my satisfied shaft as he licked away another trace of cum.
With other boys, and especially if I'm pawing alone - something which for me and Basil both often has a bittersweet or even depressing aspect to it - it sometimes happens that after cumming, my interest in sex temporarily wilts as the clasp of arousal falls away, new priorities taking hold. But with my twin, cumming very rarely ever has the slightest effect on my drive; I can cum and find myself in the moment after just as excited to fuck or suck his cock or kiss his tailhole as I was beforehand. In that sense climax is probably not always even the appropriate term for the orgasms we give each other. Perhaps it would be more correct to call them crests, as in the crest of a wave, from which one can drop down, and rise up again.
Accordingly having reached my crest made no effect whatsoever on my eagerness to love up on my twin, and barely a minute or two after the intensity of feeling in my cock had been to fade into afterglow, I was already seeking out new means of reunion. Steadying my paw on Basil's hip, I let his erection slide free of my muzzle, and gently rolled him onto his back, then lifted my leg high and carefully eased myself over him, till I lay atop him with his junk below my face, and mine above his. I nosed at his balls, appreciating the silky smoothness of the ultra-thin fur covering them, then craned my neck lower, as in the same moment I slid my arms, palms up, underneath his legs, spreading them just slightly as my sniffing nose reached his tailhole.
My twin wasted no time in completing the 69 again; his muzzle had already nuzzled itself into my butt. We are just as fond of rim-69ing as we are of 69ing with dicks in muzzle, both being exceedingly fond of each other's butts, and in any case slickening your twin's tailhole is as lovely a prelude to breeding him as is him sucking your own cock. I shivered gleefully as my nose pressed against his hole; he smells as fine there as does his crotch. As my lips parted and pressed inward, my twin kissed my tailhole as sweetly as we had, not so long ago, kissed one each other's muzzles.
As earlier, we were a perfect mirror image of one another. Under my lapping tongue his cute tailhole relaxed keenly, welcoming my balanced lick-lick-lick, and his own eager kisses over my tailhole were a electrifying foreshadow of what'd soon follow; first his finger, testing with lube, and then his cock. His tongue's firm licking had a searching element to it, not necessarily that he was trying to tongue-fuck me, but definitely working to loosen and relax my tailhole for what was to come; not that either of us, both fairly stretchy by nature, typically had any difficulty accommodating the other's dick. Generally though for both of us, as we kissed each other sweetly in that most intimate of ways, the emotions flowing were very alike those felt as we sucked dicks, taking joy in being back again close up with a beautiful boy you love very much and who is your twin; who is you.
Maybe it sounds arrogant to say so, given the physical similarity between us, but I've always believed Basil is beautiful. Not handsome or attractive, beautiful. There's a beauty in his long neat muzzle, in his watchful dark brown eyes, in the carriage and bushiness of his tail, in his slender form and narrow waist, in the particular curve of his jaw or the perkiness of his ears, in the way his fur lays very smooth and close against his body in some places and sticks out jauntily in others. I don't have any particular sexual interest or excitement in feet in the way some people do, but I think my twin has beautiful feet, and there's something perfect about the length of his fingers or the size of his claws or the angle of thumb away from paw. His cock is so pretty, just right in every way, and below the eye-catching slope and descent of his back, his butt arches out just right, it's beautiful too, and I never tire of groping or kissing or fucking it.
Feeling about my twin as I do, a cascade of emotions, joy and love and blissful gladness, rushed over me, as it does every time we're together, a kind of ecstatic gratitude in where I was, a relief that after much time apart, I was back where I was meant to be. Here I was, kissing his butt joyfully, home in the state we loved, with nothing to do but spend a few days or weeks fucking each other endlessly - there was much reason to celebrate. Which I did by licking away at his tailhole with ever-more enthusiasm.
Rimming is another thing, like blowjobs, that my twin and I half-discovered, except in this case I licked his butt first. It wasn't too long after our initial discoveries of the joys of blowjobs, and one afternoon, having just been casually sucking on him while we watched a movie, I started sniffing downward over his balls, I often did, never tiring of his scent, except this time, after tenderly lifting his balls with my snout, sniffing deeply for a moment behind them, I continued on sniffing downwards. It wasn't the first time we'd taken an interest of some kind in each other's butts; already we'd started groping each other, or using one another's butts as pillows, and given our fondness of each other's scents I suppose it was only a matter of time before this curiosity extended to each other's butts. Basil glanced over at me with interest, as my nose tested his hole. For a moment or two I drew in his scent.
As fond of oral affection as we were, the conclusion my mind arrived at is not surprising. 'Hey, roll over,' I instructed.
My twin promptly obeyed, his tail wagging, and arched his butt up. 'Do I smell good back there too?'
'Yeah, really good!' I yipped. Now his butt was perfectly posed before me, tail swung to the side, though still swishing happily. My eyes zeroed in on his tailhole. Of course this wasn't the first time I'd looked at it, but now with the new ideas inspired, my curiosity was ever-heightened. 'Your butt is so cute.'
'Like yours,' Basil said, and his tail swished so hard with puppyish glee that I had to grab it and hold it out of the way with one paw in order he did not obscure the centre of my attention. Then curiosity got the better of me, and I sniffed him deeper there, with better access, and dragged a testing tongue over the soft pink skin of his tailhole.
As with sucking dick, one try was all it took to make clear that licking butts was amazing. I ended up rimming him for awhile that afternoon, after which he was naturally eager to explore my butt, and from then on we licked each other's tailholes nearly as often as we gave each other blowjobs, whether 69ing or otherwise; simply another sweet and intimate way we could pass time, show our affection, express our twinness.
Taking such interest and appreciation in each other's butts, and feeling about each other as we did, it was only a matter of time before we decided we wanted to fuck each other.
Sometimes Basil & I have gone near an hour or more rimming each other, but on that particular day, craving that deepest of connections that only mating can truly provide, already worked up by my first orgasm and now with his tongue's caress making my butt crave something larger, there reached a point where all I wanted was to feel him on top of me. So I gave his tailhole a final sweet kiss, turned my head, and without rolling off of him, said meaningfully, 'I want you to fuck me.'
His tail thrashed the bed, and he extracted his muzzle from my butt. 'Good cause I can't wait to fuck you!'
Now I rolled off of him, and we spun round and embraced and I pushed him down on the bed, nosetip-to-nosetip again, we kissed, arms circled round each other, and both felt so happy our hearts might've burst from overload of elation. Below me his body felt firm and perfect, his muzzle was open just a little, eyes dancing; love shown out from him, love of the kind so fiercely obvious and heart-felt it makes every part of my body tingle, love full of desire for me. 'I love you,' I said, and he said the same back at me, and we kissed again, still soft and simple (personally I find French-kissing rather gross), and I ground my crotch against his still-obvious erection, which was poking me in the belly. And we nuzzled up against each other and I nibbled his ear and he grabbed at mine, and our paws worked over each other, and then he rolled me off of him and grinned at me, reaching for the bottle of lube on the bedside stand.
Unable to stop smiling, I rolled back onto my front, spreading my legs, butt arched up just slightly, to give him the best access in applying lube. My twin was sitting on his knees, popping up the cap of the lube bottle. Folding my arms, I rested my head, closing my eyes, waiting calmly, until the familiar cold kiss of his lube-slickened finger brush against my hole, and swirl, and press gently inward.
Basil fingered me for under a minute - as mentioned I am fortunate enough to be possessing of a naturally stretchy tailhole. My tail wagged three or four excited swishes before I swept it aside, angling my head back to watch him slickening up his cock, which glistened prettily in the dull afternoon sun streaming in from the window. 'I missed your butt so much,' he huffed, gripping one butt-cheek affectionately as he scooted himself into position behind me. I felt him start to settle himself over me as with one paw he angled his cock downward in alignment with my tailhole.
'I can't wait to show you just how much I've missed yours,' I smirked. And he pressed inward.
When Basil & I first mount each other we neither swiftly thrust into each other nor go stopping inch by inch to gradually adjust; we simply sink slowly but steadily inward, until hilted. It was intensely comforting, then as always, feeling him slide into me so perfectly that he seemed to be fully immersed before I even realised it, feeling him lower himself atop me, hearing his low huff of relief closer now above my ears. My butt seemed to open up for him as though we were made to fit together (because we were); it is very rare for us ever to experience pain when we mount each other; even after an hour-long fucking the soreness, if any exists, is usually marginal. I heard him sigh happily as he drew himself back slowly with teasing precision until he'd nearly pulled himself free, then slide back in just as steadily. From there his gentle thrusting shifted into even, steady glides in and out; something about those slow strokes made me feel marvellously good, made me crave him, made me arch my butt up further off the bed, to assist him at getting deep within me.
There are times when mating with another boy when your connection feels so perfect that it seems your bodies blend together and become one, and almost immediately I felt that way being fucked by Basil that afternoon; I almost always do when mating with him. Gradually he'd worked himself up to faster thrusts, humping me properly, letting out the occasional low _unf_just like I did when he was muzzling me. My head arched back, watching his face, concentrated on his thrusts yet not too much not to give me a soft smile. God, he was beautiful. And now, now I felt truly at home, now I felt back where I came from, where I belonged. Here was where I belonged, underneath my twin, or atop him, but in either way, when one of us had his cock fitted perfectly into the other's tailhole. It felt now like his cock had been perfectly crafted to fit my butt.
Basil was going faster now, getting further and further worked up, and I too contributed, pushing back firmer into his thrusts. We kissed, without him breaking his pattern in the slightest, and he nibbled on my ears, making me yip and unf_and breath harder. He was thrusting into me hard, and I knew that he was probably so needy he'd be cumming soon, and a part of me wanted him to fuck me longer (we have gone three hours sometimes) but another part wanted him to cum; a myriad of sensations simmer through me, mind and heart and body linked so wholly that thought and emotion and feeling become one and blend into each other and I felt so very deeply _alive, as alive as a boy can be. I guess that's to say I felt love, because if there's anything that symbolises love for my twin and me, it's mating; when we're fucking each other, saying 'I love you' aloud, sweet and appreciated though it always is, is kinda redundant, cause everything you are together in that moment can be condensed down to love.
There's no better way to say I love you to your twin than to mate with him.
Naturally then in that moment I felt marvellously loved and full of love for him, and gloriously happy. His hips were slap-slapping into me, above me his ears had folded back, eyes half-hooded in concentration, making low whimpers or unfs_more often now, signs that he was likely getting closer to cumming. And I was ready for it. He reached and threaded the fingers of one paw through mine, and tightened his grip, thrusted hard into me, and I thought, _I am home...
I read a memoir once written by a husky notable for being the first woman to win a particular long-distance marathon. In her book she described the emotions running through her head as she stood panting in the finish line, amid the flashing cameras and the cheering spectators, mind trying to process the truth of it, I have won, I have done what I was intended to do: if I died right now, it'd be okay.
There are moments in life like that, moments of such monumental happiness, contentment, and belonging that one thinks, if I died now, or if the world stopped spinning on its axis, if time froze and this moment lasted for forever, for all eternity with nothing beyond, it would be okay. This is the moment, the instant, the reality, so perfect as to be an ideal infinity. Whether all people experience such moments as these I can't say; personally I doubt it, but Basil & I have been blessed in life, because we have shared many such moments. We each feel that way every single time we mate with our twin.
That was the state we were in when my twin thrusted forward harder than ever and dropped downwards, gripping onto me, holding my body up firmly against his own, and he whimpered and yelped and I did too and I waited for his knot to slide into me, but it didn't, though I could feel it pressed firm against my hole, as his cock throbbed. His arms seemed to tremble as he held me tightly. He had thrust his muzzle in against my neck, panting shaky breaths into my fur, breathing heavily from his passion and exertion. I squeezed his paw, content in the moment to say nothing, to move nothing, to do nothing, because the moment was good enough, laying there underneath my twin, the boy I loved, with his cock deep inside me, showing his love by cumming in me. My eyes closed; my tail relaxed against the bed. Bliss.
Only when he lifted his nuzzle to nuzzle lightly at me did I remark, 'that sounded like it was a real good cum.'
I could hear the smirk and pleasure in his voice. 'It was so good, I think I'm gonna have to cum in you again.'
My twin and I started fucking each other in our mid-teens, and once started, we became perfectly addicted to it. Addicted to each other's butts, you might say. When we started I believe I fucked Basil first, though naturally the next time he topped me, and after that we switched fairly regularly. It was the natural progression of all our previously-discovered intimacy, the epitome of closeness with another boy, especially when that boy is your twin, and even before the first time we had talked of mating for some time beforehand. We felt like we'd discovered the most amazing thing in the world, and were blessed for having each other to share it with.
'I think I wanna do this every day,' I sighed happily as we lay knotted together afterwards.
Basil nuzzled closer to me and squeezed my paw. 'Me too.' His ears pricked up thoughtfully. 'Actually, I kinda wanna do you as soon as your knot comes out.'
My tail thwapped the bed as a shiver of anticipation spiralled through me. 'Yes please!' I couldn't wait to find out what his dick felt like inside me, or for him to discover how fun being inside your twin is.
After that we mated pretty much every day, often twice so that we both could cum inside each other. It simply seemed natural and right to us that twins should cum inside each other every day; how better to say 'I love you?' Other teenagers entertain themselves with video games or movies or porn or sports or friends, and while Basil & I certainly were not without interests; we played chess and read books and swam in the sea and surfed and shared time alike with our sister and parents and friends, it can't be denied that we spent a significant degree of our free time mating. It wasn't that we were nymphomaniacs, rather we just loved each other so much, and enjoyed the intensified perfect sense of togetherness always present when we were bound together, that it seemed only natural to want to spend as much time as possible held close together, one of us with his cock thrust deep in the other's tailhole. We cuddled more than ever, and even if watching movies or reading books or studying homework, invariably one of us would be sucking the other's dick, or using his butt as a pillow, or laying an affectionate paw on some part of his twin. But it was fucking we liked best of all.
At this point I should perhaps address a question which is perhaps, if annoyingly so, very likely to come up in respect to relationships like ours. Many people, had they heard our story, might have asked whether we considered our bond to be something to hide or feel shameful of or that we were breaking some kind of taboo. I can be honest: such thoughts did not even occur to us or cross our minds.
Not long ago I read a biography of a lesbian writer who had grown up in Edwardian England, and who, later in life, explained that when as a teenager she first started developing feelings for other girls, it seemed nothing extraordinary, nothing out of the norm, perfectly natural. She had never been told about homosexuality; no one had ever told her such feelings were wrong. In her innocent adolescent way she assumed it was normal for a girl to love another girl. Only as an adult did she learn that the feelings and relationships began then might be considered socially controversial.
That story makes for a good comparison with my twin and I, because when we were children, and later teenagers, always affectionate with one another, always loving, and gradually taking that affection to new levels, it never occurred to us that what we were doing might be considered scandalous or taboo. The concept _incestuous_meant to us only reproduction between closely related individuals, such as was once the custom among European aristocracies or the pharaohs of Egypt; we were rather innocent that our own love might be classified as such. While we kept much of our affection to ourselves, we did so initially less from feeling we had something to hide than from a sense that it was something of ours alone, our own private paradise. Being as close as we were, being twins, we thought it perfectly natural that we should love each other and mate to show it; we took it for granted that all twins did so. In fact when we first started talking about other boys we found attractive together, we discussed the possibility of meeting with other twins; given we felt twins to be in some ways the same person, two pairs of twins must then be equal to two ordinary people.
Only much later on did we learn that some people might judge our love, but even then we gave that not much more concern than we did the thought people might judge us for being gay. We both very much believe it's the most natural thing for twins to mate, and that those who haven't before are missing out on the depth of closeness they could be experiencing. It's one thing to say 'I love you' to your twin, but fucking him and cumming him is something truly magical.
Anyway, from then on it was very rare for Basil & I to ever go more than a day or two at very most without mating. It could happen anywhere; in any part of the house if we were alone, or in the backyard, in the forest on hikes, on secluded beaches, in the backseat of our car, or bent over the hood, in a movie theatre, in clothing store changing rooms, in the locker room shower at school or in empty classrooms, and any number of other places. Over time we became skilled at finding places to fuck regardless where we were, and got into habit of keeping lube in our school backpacks and in the car or remembering to bring it along anytime we went on an outing likely to include mating. It was never simply a bedroom affair, as sex is for some (mostly straight) couples.
We never planned things either, our love-making has nearly always been spontaneous. Sometimes if we're out somewhere one of us might say 'wanna fuck?' or 'I think this is a good place to fuck you,' but oftentimes, especially when we're at home, if one of us decides he wants the other's butt, he just helps himself to it, same as he'd help himself to a blowjob or rimming. With our twin connection as deep as it is, verbal communication is just not always necessary, and neither of us are ever not in the mood for mating.
Having a twin and mating with him are simply just the most amazing things in the world.
As Basil said the words he humped me playfully, and I understood why he hadn't knotted me. Cumming twice without putting out is something we do from time to time, usually on occasions when for the one topping is particularly worked up, maybe from not having cum for a day or two. It's always super hot, and given he'd not been inside me that long, I was immediately pleased at the prospect of having him inside me longer. As I said; oftentimes when mating with your twin you wish it'd never end; that his cock could stay inside you forever.
'Good, cause I'm not ready for you to pull out yet,' I said, pushing my butt firmly back into him.
I felt a shiver of happiness quiver through him, and he gave a gentle thrust and kissed the top of my head. 'It feels so good being at home in your butt again.' He had started pushing himself up off the bed, getting in position to resume humping me.
The moment felt so perfect I closed my eyes, head still rested on folded arms, whispering 'it feels so good being at home beneath you.' My twin was doing his slow teasing strokes, dragging himself back and pushing forward in a way that made his cock's silky-skinned head caress the rim and entrance of my tailhole, a soft gentle motion I craved and which intensified my desire to be bred all the more. In such moments as these there's no need to think about what's happening to you; you simply feel, feel your body embrace your twin's cock, feel his hips glide against yours, feel that intensity of sensation when he hilts deep within you, feel your own cock twitch half-erect beneath you (I often leak pre continually when Basil is fucking me), feel your twin's pleasure in the occasional _unfs_and happy sounds he makes, and most of all feel the deep love between you, which your coupling and the pleasure brought about by it symbolises. It feels as through every thrust, every kiss, every caress of his cock or muzzle or hips or paw against your own says: I love you, and I know you love me.
For a while we kept up that rhythm, those long deep slow teasing thrusts the which he did so well, the kind that leave no doubt in your mind that you are most definitely a bottom, or in our case, switches. It felt like I had never left, had never lived in Alaska or New Zealand or England or the mainland, like we still had never let more than a few days pass without mating. Home, always. I still had my butt arched upwards and pushed slightly back, as one does to show his top how much he desires him, and held the position even when Basil pushed himself up erect and grabbed my waist, holding me very rigidly in position as he started putting a little more force and speed into his humping. If his cock had lost any of its stiffness after he'd cum, that was certainly regained now; he felt as hard and aroused as ever.
Now that he'd cum in me once already there was no rush at all; we were both content to let it go on and on however long felt right. No need for words; Basil was focusing on holding me still and keeping his thrusts deep and precise, and I lost in the contentment that was being on the receiving end of him, my twin. Twin coyote boys content to spend the entirety of their afternoon fucking each other, as is natural. Now that he had himself in the right rhythm he'd gone back to making the occasional whimper of pleasure, while I huffed and whined when his dick pressed or stroked me in the right way, or sometimes not just from physical intensity as from the joy and happiness of the moment, when you feel so happy you cannot help vocalising.
We went on like that for twenty or thirty minutes; the time invariably blurs together when mating with your twin. He'd started dragging a paw, fingers outstretched, down my back, claws raking through my fur and down my spine in a way that made my whole back tingle, making me all the more noisy, little shivering whimpers that trickled out of my muzzle slowly in even time with the descent of his claws. My head arched back; his dick arched as it sloped downward through my by now well-lubed and stretched tail. He sighed and whimpered, perhaps getting closer to cumming. With every stroke I could feel his knot, long-swollen now, knocking against my entrance.
On his next thrust though he pulled entirely free. 'I wanna look at your pretty face while I cum,' my twin declared, smiling down at me, reaching to help roll me over onto my back. We don't mate front-to-front quite as often as from behind, but it's still a position we both enjoy a great deal, and very intense for the bottom. I lifted my legs high, resting one on either of his shoulders, as he realigned his cock with my tailhole; after nearly an hour of mating, he slid back in effortlessly. As he hilted he leant down, I raised my head, and we kissed softly, eyes and muzzles saying 'I love you' so thoroughly no words were necessary.
When he started humping again I could tell he wanted to cum and could feel it in the distance, there was a particular vigour to his thrusts, or to the expression on his muzzle. I watched his face, marvelling at how pretty he was, this beautiful coyote who was me and yet also distinct; as best I could anyway, when every thrust pushed buttons deep inside me, making me whimper again as my paws clutched at sheets. My ears folded back even as his own did, our bodies once again reflecting our similarity as we were the both of us drawn deeper into the feeling. He was going hard at me now, holding nothing back, deep and fast, and then he huffed and whimpered and yelped and his eyes screwed up, fucking me with such speed and fury my own eyes went shut, my fingers curled round a fold of sheet, and his aching knot finally popped through my stretchy hole and lodged itself within, as he claimed me for the second time in the last hour.
If there's something more perfect-feeling than being tied with your twin, I don't know what it is.
He panted over me for a moment or two as his whimpers died away, while I adjusted to the presence of a hard coyote knot inside me, and then lowered himself down, hugged me tight, and gradually rolled me over - feeling a knot rotate inside you is a feeling beyond describing - until he was again facing my back, and we relaxed into the bed together with his arms round me, his muzzle tucked over our shoulder.
The moment post-cum in which you lie knotted together in each other's arms is one of my favourite moments when mating with another boy, particularly my twin; you both feel sated and refreshed and loved, like you've just fulfilled your purpose, like you're where you belong and have done what you're meant to do. Life might have its trials and challenges, you may have worries and unsolved problems, responsibilities you need to fill, all the various on-going affairs of life, but in the moment all is well; you can forget the world, and know that all that matters is each other, secure in the knowledge you are twins and you're together and you're in love and you've just fucked each other. I felt my twin's arms around me, his muzzle resting on my shoulder, his cock still giving the occasional flex and throb within me, and loved him so much it felt my heart could burst.
There were I wanted to be, I felt so at peace, full of feeling of belonging, of being at home, that all the delayed weariness of travel and exertion caught up with me, and I drifted gradually off into a contented sleep, dwelling on the blissful reality that I was home with my twin, where I belonged.
Feels like home to me
Feels like home to me
Feels like I'm all the way back where I belong.