In the end
This is my first story on here. I hope you guys enjoy it; I know I'm not much of a writer but never hurts to try. I'm going to try and stick to the format of a journal. I haven't ever done this before and it's new to me so if it's not exactly to it then I do apologize.
April 3, 1917, Boston, Massachusetts
My life has thus been a troubling one. My name is Kurtsa Shilton. My parents are dead and I'm living with my Aunt Abrea and Uncle Gerdel in the Americas. I do miss my parents, I'm told they were beautiful and friendly people, My moms name was Saphire after the prized gem, and my dads was supposedly Anubis, although I still do not believe my father was named after an ancient god, it was late one night, on the eve of the coming year. Strange men had been reported in our land but we did not believe it. They came to our house; while I sat on the floor my father opened the door. I heard yelling then something loud and my father fell. My mom screamed and another loud noise and then she to fell. I sat trembling on the floor while a strange object was pointed at me. The men in red began to argue in a tongue I still have yet to understand. The one with the object was about to fire when the other shoved him out the door. I crawled to my mom who still laid there and sat beside her. Being of only a few months old I figured she was just sleeping. Wasn't till i was shipped to my aunts house was I finally told the truth, before then I was merely told they would meet me in my new home. I originally come from what my aunt calls British Egypt. I do not know what this means. I haven't a clue who the British even are, when i ask, my aunt gives me a dirty look and speaks of them as they don't deserve to be talked about. It's also grimy here, very dirty, the factories are making my fur blacker then it should be, and it seems no amount of bathing gets it off. My Uncle says that I'm hallucinating and that my fur is just fine. I don't like the clothing styles neither, nor the people. Although i did meet this very fascinating male by the name of Isaiah. He's a tall, very slender, and yet somewhat muscular canid. His fur seems to even glisten in the blackened streets of Boston. My uncle says people like him are trash, the 'wealthy' form of society as quoted by my rambunctious cousin. I do not belie this to be so. Isaiah seems to have taken a liking to me, being new here I figured it was ok to wear my standard loincloth, Isaiah, while chuckling, quickly ushered me into a strange building. I've been forced to wear ridiculous clothing of dull colors. Completely contrast the yellow and black of my fur. Cheetahs aren't meant for such clothing. I sit here now; at what is called a, dersk, or at least that what I think my cousin said, he has a very rich Italian accent. For now the journal shall be closed for later use, I hope to speak more of Isaiah after i learn more of him.
April 4, 1917, Boston, Massachusetts
This one will not be long at all. Isaiah says I must hurry and get dressed. My english, or what I'm told it's called is very poor still. So he either said out or pout, I'm not sure, most likely out. Either or he says I must dress quickly and fancily, whatever that means. He tells me that we are going to something called a 'theater'. I do not know what a theater is. My aunt and uncle have grown irritated with my constant lingering with Isaiah, but what do they know, he makes me happy....I think.
April 5, 1917, Boston, Massachusetts
I haven't wrote in sometime so this may be the biggest i have yet written. In recent days it seems as although the gates of the underworld have tore open and spewed their vile fumes into the hearts and minds of the people of Boston. My aunt and uncle expelled me from there home and Isaiah seemingly graciously took me in. It is strange living in his home. So much furniture, so many rooms, I sometimes get lost. Although he only took me in on one account, I am to here by sleep in his quarters only. I'm to be his personal as he called it 'maid' but more likely term to be used is slave. He has also changed; he seems to me to be more violent then as before. I sit here now with a bruised eye. Just last night he pulled something that just astounds me. For now i know why my aunt and uncle referred to him as trash. I was sleeping; he yanked me onto my stomach. I hadn't a clue to what was going on. He lifted my loincloth for which he says I can only where for my clothing. I got scared for then he lifted my tail and pushed something against my rear between my cheeks. I yelled, told him no, told him whatever he's doing to stop. All he did was grind that thing between the cheeks until something else became hard and I turned to finally look and my eyes widened. Once he was fully erect, his shaft throbbing with a passion for release. I could see it in his eyes and smell it in his musk. That musk I have yet to get out of my nose even a day later. It was so powerful for such a slender male. I felt his throbbing meat slam deep into my puckered tail hole. My inside churning and my tail hole tearing. I cried as my rear was repeatedly assaulted. My tail hole clenched down involuntarily only making it worse for me and more pleasure full for him. His laughing taunts me. Menacing in its nature, just like his smile. He had continued on, my tears, my cries of immense agony, the blood from my ripping hole and the white of precum mixing. My body had quivered in fear and my cheek fur matted down with the constant flow of tears. He thrusted harder and harder with each push. Driving his shaft deeper and deeper into me until finally the most extreme pain i had ever felt, the pain of his knot being slammed ruthlessly into my tight tail hole. He moaned loudly, as if howling to an unknown moon and his wild bucking and his jet of release, my bowels filled and his cumm seeped out over my cheeks, eradicated his lust. I could hear his panting and his feel his cock still aroused as it sat inside my bowels. He woke me up through the night and would begin to ravage my body again, and again, and again. By morning my fur was smeared in cum, my bowels covered in his seed, I cringed at even the slightest touch. I still have trouble sitting and walking. My clothes always end up with blood in them, as I have not truly healed. I am ashamed of myself as well, for i to found release in such a terrible incident. It is not to the thought that i was ravaged unwillingly, but to the idea that I had been yiffed by such a large and delicious throbbing....dear lord what is becoming of me? Isaiah, dear sweet old Isaiah, what have becometh of thee? The love that i once knew tarnished, my compassion ruined. Oh Isaiah how could you do this to me? Did I mean nothing to you; do you find enjoyment in my torment knowing you broke my only heart? I end it here now, i shall write again but not for while, farewell journal, if you see me at all.
April 6, 1917, Boston, Massachusetts
I have had it hear now. Isaiah has gotten much worse and is now even taking his anger out on a young wolf named Tidal who he was recently taken on as a housemaid as he leaves to go to...somewhere. He wouldn't tell me. He said i had no RIGHT to know, well what does he know. I have decided it was now time to leave, leave forever, never come back. I write this journal in the day for we leave at night, if the night is within our favor. Mine and Tidals adventures are just about to begin. I am very eager for this, i forced him to pack saying that Isaiah wanted him to go with him, and I'm ready with what little belongings I own. We leave tonight....pray for me journal, i know you cant really but...its better to have a home thinking there's some sort of pray out there. I know not what is going to happen...the future looks bleak, but whatever happens, know this my journal; nothing will hurt my new wolf friend. His innocence will not be taken from him like it was from me.
April 7,1917, Salem, Massachusetts
Favor was with us, it was amazing, the streets of Boston were swarmed with human and fur alike with howling and hollering. It was a spectacle to see, they spoke of some war. Apparently while I was in my captivity at Isaiah Manor a series of events were played out that plunged the United States into a war. Wars are indeed bad but it seems now that it played some good as it gave Tidal and me the perfect opportunity for escape. We head now for New York, New York, a nice merchant by the name of Gordon, an old friend of my Aunts. Shockingly enough for he's a human. Here in Salem has agreed to fund our ride on a metallic thing called a train to go there and extra money to find a home while we get on our feet. Apparently a couple years back furs had saved his life, so now he figured this was the opportune moment to repay the favor. I'm not very happy about the idea of riding this metallic beast, however, if i must i must. The locals had heard word from Boston that our Isaiah was furious to come home and see his two slaves 'missing' so put out a bribe for people to return us. Once again we sought aid from the man who gladly took us in and hid us. We snuck to the train station in Salem in dark trench coats and were off. I only fear that his bribe has reach New York, for we know nobody there. My worries have obviously seeped there way into Tidals mind so even now i hold him in my arms as i write to keep him calm. Who would of thought that id be so worried over my young friend. He's rather cute when he sleeps; he looks so blissful and carefree as we now leave the train station. Yes I'm writing this on the train, it seemed only fitting. I can see Gordon in the distance; he looks troubled, although I do not understand why. It is a great feeling journal; we are heading to start a new life, to begin anew, to once again find joy in something. My fears are many, but my hope, oh my hope is what keeps me going now, its all i have left and I will be damned if I let anyone take that away from me.
Thank you for reading my story, I hope you liked it, give me feedback so I may know if it was good or not and what I need to change the next time.