Good Boy
Good Boy
Whyte Yoté & Tym
There is a knock at the door. It echoes through the house, resounding particularly loudly in the silence of the library. A voice comes from the antique wingback: "Ah, that must be him." The voice is followed soon after by a tall jackal, lithe and fluid in his movements as he rises from his seat to answer the door. On his hand a signet ring glitters as he reaches for the lock and knob, opening the door slowly, with purpose.
Caught by surprise, the white coyote on the other side stares. It was only a momentary lapse -- he drops his eyes almost immediately -- but it is enough to let him see his new master. Tall and thin, the jackal is colored normally, with shoulder-length headfur. His ears and tail are oddly long, the former perked up with mild interest, the latter (which looks as though stolen from a unicorn) swishes idly around its owner's ankles. He is dressed in a be-tailed tuxedo with a silver waistcoat and matching bowtie.
"Well, boy, it seems you managed to make it on time...more or less...ten minutes late; tsk, tsk...I will have to remember that later... Well, at least you show the proper deference for...oh, how did they put it? 'A creature of your rank'... Yes, for such a creature you are surprisingly intelligent. Now, come in and take your clothes off. Fold them, mind you. Messy slaves, or rather, untidy ones, do not deserve certain attentions from Sirs. Good boy. Here." and with that he takes off his own collar, proffering it to the coyote (whom, he notes, must have some wolf blood in him), "put this on...no; hold still, I will put it on for you. Good doggy."
He pats his new pet's head with a light skritch added for good measure. "I thought we'd better start a little more on the slow side and, seeing as it's a lovely evening, the rain has stopped, and we're miles from anyone, I thought you might like some 'walkies'. Would you like that? No," he says, changing his mind and putting his fingers on the coyolf's lips, "don't speak, not yet. Yes, on second thought, you'll go whether you like it or not; I'm being far too lenient with you."
Somewhat abashed, the pet looks at the floor, not saying anything, but also not looking at his Sir.
The jackorn gently lifts his chin with his manicured paw, their noses almost touching. "You shan't do that again, shall you?"
The poor coyolf looks away, unsure whether or not he should speak.
"Well? Nod or shake, you know better than that..."
He shakes his head emphatically.
"Good boy," says the jackorn, patting his head. "Now, about your walkies: I want your forepaws up the whole way. As to high stepping, I will let you decide, as I'm not quite sure yet which I prefer. Understand?"
The pet nods.
"Very well then." He takes a leash from the hall table, clips it to the coyolf's collar, and leads his 'puppy' through the house and into the garden. "Be careful. It just rained, so the path is muddy in parts. I wouldn't want to have to wash you now, would I?" His eyebrow is cocked, and his eye twinkles.
The coyolf allows himself a small smile, and dutifully trots alongside his master.
The jackorn drops the leash, leaning back against a tree. "I want you to walk from one end of the path to the other, eyes forward, not looking at me...consider this a test, boy. Pass with flying colors and you shall be rewarded..." He crosses his ankles, unconsciously trying to hide the small tent that's begun to form in the pants of his tuxedo.
The coyote straightens his stance, looks ahead the same fashion, tail lax, eyes unmoving, until he reaches his Sir's feet and stands erect, waiting.
"Good boy," the elegant jackorn mumbles. "Very good boy." He paws idly until he realizes that 'good boy' is standing there before him. He straightens up a bit against the tree and clears his throat. "Well then, I want you to do that again, but this time go to the other end too, and do the entire set twice. In addition, I would like to see some high stepping."
The white canid nods, not daring to look up, and sets off again at a slightly faster trot, lifting his forepaws up to ribcage level, head held high and straight. When he reaches the end of the path, he turns around and returns. He repeats the set, never faltering, never slowing, only thinking of the task at hand: to serve Sir.
"Slower, boy. You're not in a race..." he chuckles softly to himself.
The coyolf looks ahead, silent.
After a moment the bespectacled jackal sees his pet standing in front of him, the barest sheen of sweat glinting on his bare fur in the starlight. "Ah, so I see you have finished. Good boy." He goes behind and licks a line across his shoulder-tops. "Your taste is good, pup. I shall enjoy partaking further of your 'banquet', but that is for later." He takes hold of the leash once more and begins walking again, but not before reaching around and pulling the coyolf's fluffy tail.
He jerks involuntarily, but stifles a surprised yip for fear of repercussion.
Softly he says: "Good boy. Be careful, I think I see a patch of mud ahead. I wouldn't want you to fall in now, would I?"
He shakes his head and sidesteps the puddle.
His plan foiled, the jackal jerks the leash so that the coyolf falls in, while he sidesteps the splash. "Oh, now look what you've gone and done. Now I guess I'll have to clean you off. Bad puppy," he says with a grin and licks his lips as he watches the mud drip off his pet, coating his fur, plastering it to his body. "You look good in brown," he chuckles. "Perhaps I should dress you like this every day, eh? No, no need to say anything. Just hold still..."
The coyote obediently remains silent, stationary and dripping, with his head down.
The jackorn bends down, his paws on the coyolf's thighs, takes a short lick from each kneecap: "hmmm. Interesting flavor, but a bit earthy for my taste." he licks his own palms.
The still-dripping coyote shakes slightly from the chill of the mud...or perhaps from Sir's tongue.
"Well, I can see you're getting cold..." he looks up from where he squats. "Yes, you are getting cold." He stands up. "Never fear, pet, Sir is looking out for you. There's a nice hot fire in the sitting room, there is a shower just off the mud room, and nice, warm, rough towels. Come on, heel boy." He tugs the leash gently and begins walking back to the mansion.
His pet stands, fur matted and dirty, and follows, looking forward to getting clean, dry, and warm.
The masterful jackorn slows down, giving the leash another gentle tug. "Come on, boy, you lead. My neck is starting to get a crick from having to look back at you. Just follow the path; it leads right up to the mudroom steps. As to your tail, you may lift or lower it as is your pleasure..." He continues to himself: "I know I spoil him...but he's a good pet..." He clears his throat, "Well? What are you waiting for?" He gives leash a small snap, jingling the collar.
The overgrown puppy steps up his pace, walking slightly ahead and to the right of his owner, wanting to glance back but not daring, looking ahead and raising his tail up and over his back, curling it around itself once, knowing he's no alpha but feeling like it anyways. Just pretending.
"Ahh, I see you're enjoying yourself, my pup. One small problem: why did you cross over? You know I am a southpaw. Why would you stand on the right side?" He snaps the leash again. "And keep your tail up..." He reaches down and starts to paw himself slowly through the fine fabric of his pants.
The coyote mentally slaps himself for his disobedience and crosses back, oddly liking the jerks of the leash (and his Sir), making sure to keep his tail raised high.
He snaps the leash again, a little harder, "Not so fast. I want to see every muscle move...or do you want me to jerk your leash again? Eh?" He does so, with a little more vim, actually jolting his pet's head back a bit. "You may loose your tail, now: I wish to see it move along with the rest of you."
The coyolf gasps as his airway is blocked momentarily, relishing the flow of blood to his head. He smiles a little and slows his pace, lowering his tail so it swishes metronomically behind his furry rump in tune with his stride.
The jackorn lets out a shuddering gasp and mumbles, "I'll need to get you a treadmill...slower," he says aloud as he jerks the leash. "We're almost there, and I want to savor this. I said slower." He jerks it again, even harder this time, almost knocking the coyolf off his footpaws. "I want you to accentuate every motion, concentrate on each muscle group, and deliberately put them to use. I will let go of the leash, but I want you to keep walking, but slowly." He leans back against a tree, his fly undone, sheath and balls hanging out. He rubs slowly with his right hand, not wanting to over stimulate himself and soil his pants -- not yet. His left hand rubs up and down his chest, feeling the muscles through the shirt, vest, and coat, reveling in the feeling of paw against fur and paw against fine cloth against fur, not to mention the sight of his dutiful pet. Slowly pink emerges from his already full sheath and his right hand slows instinctively, not touching it, not yet. He keeps his eyes locked on his pup, his breathing slow and ragged. He shouts: "When you get to the door, I want you to get down on all fours, like a good doggy, and wait for Sir to open the door for you, understand?"
The slave nods his head and pauses, concentrating on doing exactly as he is told...then he walks slowly, feeling every muscle expand and contract into position, knowing just how it will look, feeling his sheath stir at the treatment but holding back and letting it swing heavily beneath his belly...approaches the door, drops onto his forepaws and sits, staring up at the doorknob with his tail wagging.
The master sighs, regretting it ending so soon...when he almost slaps his forehead with realization. He calls out: "Boy, come back. I want you to do that again, both towards me and back to the door. You may look at me as you walk, and I want you to let your arms swing. No, not swing. Make them do it, focus on their muscles too, and don't forget: right arm with left leg, left arm with right leg. I shall have none of this pansy-nalling about, bouncing your hands off your knees and suchlike. You shall walk tall and proud, like the animal of good breeding that you are, low though such an animal that may be..."
He turns to face the coyolf and stands, slowly, bringing his head up to meet his gaze, with a tiny -- but not insubordinate -- smile...and walks, carefully, arms parallel to his body, balancing with his legs, being sure not to swing his hips too much but making sure his tail is in full view...He reaches his owner and looks up at him, arms at his sides, his expression neutral.
"Good boy." He springs forward and kisses the stunned coyote on the lips, their cocks brushing, his arms thrown over the other's shoulders. He breaks the kiss, stands back, and looks down at himself: "Well, I had intended on giving you a bath, but now it looks as though I'll be needing one too. Perhaps a shower would better suit us...well, no matter. My pet, you may forget about my last command. I cannot contain myself any longer: I need to touch you." He throws his arm about the other's middle. "You may walk naturally now. Holding his left hand towards the coyote's right, across their two fronts, he asks: "Would you hold hands with me? I am feeling generous, so I shall grant you a boon: anything you want, and you may speak to ask it, as long as it does not subvert the order of things as regards owner/pet relationships. In other words, I will not be your pet. I cannot believe I could even think such a thing...me, a pet!" He chortles. "Ah, well, love does such things to the brain..." The jackorn uses his right arm, which was behind his pet's back, to swing him around and pull him in close, facing his owner, but far enough away so that they can still look into each others' faces, the pet looking up, the owner down, as it should be.
The pet looks into his master's eyes, love shimmering at the edges of his own, nothing coming into his mind save for one overwhelming fact: "I ask nothing, Sir...only that you grant me the favor of letting you do whatever you wish - nothing more, nothing less."
The jackal stands, taken aback, and truly doesn't know what to say; he blinks back the beginnings of a sob. "Right, then. Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" He walks slowly back to the house, with the coyote close at his side, his hands holding on tightly, as though afraid to let go. He does let go one hand to open the door and close it behind them. "The wash room is just through that door. Start the water, but don't get in. I want you to stand there and wait for Sir." When he hears the water start, he begins undressing: first he undoes his bowtie, then the cufflinks, and then removes the top hat. He puts the cufflinks and bowtie inside the hat, and then sets them on a shelf. Next the coat is unbuttoned and hung up, followed by his vest and shirt. Wearing only his pants, he calls out: "Boy, come here." He sits on a stool.
He walks up obediently, feeling awkward at standing over his master, but does so anyway...looking into his eyes, not able to look anywhere else; he kneels down in front of Sir, paws at his chest, leash in his mouth.
"Good boy." He pets his head, stops, runs his fingers through the short, spiky headfur, skritches the base of the coyote's right ear, removes the collar, coils it and the leash, and places them on the shelf. He turns back to his pet: "Take my shoes off, boy. They go in that rack behind you. The socks go in that bin."
The coyolf undoes the laces carefully, pulling each one off the foot gently so as not to cause discomfort, marveling at how they slide effortlessly into his finger-pads. He sets them in the rack behind him, then pulls each sock from the toe and the heel, careful not to stretch the fabric, and puts each in the bin.
"Good. Now you may help me off with my pants and undergarments. The pants are to be hung along with my shirt, vest, and coat. The boxers go in the bin with my socks." He holds his arms out, takes a shoulder-width straight stance and looks at the coyote, waiting.
The latter licks his lips, and goes for the fly of his master's pants, undoing the button, then drawing the zipper down slowly, eager to see what's inside. He pulls the pants down, pausing as Sir steps up to aid him, leg by leg. He folds the pants delicately along the creases, and hangs them along with the other garments. But then he pauses, looking at the boxers, licking his lips again anticipatorily, then hooks the claws of his index fingers into the waistband's elastic. He pulls down, stealing a longing glance at what's right in front of his muzzle, pulls the boxers off and they join the socks. He sits back on his heels, head cocked to one side.
The jackorn sighs. "Good boy." He shifts his weight nervously, never having been fully undressed before anyone before, and clears his throat again. "Shall we go get cleaned up?"
The slave looks at his master, forcing a hidden a smile of relief and gratitude, speaking in a tiny voice: "Yes, Sir."
The jackal looks down at his property, nods and gestures to him to go ahead.
The coyote turns on all fours and pads over to the washroom, preferring the low stance, tail held neutral. He sits on his haunches in the shower, facing the doorway, and waits.
The master smiles at his silly pup and follows him into the spacious shower stall. "You might want to stand. There's a jet opening not inches from your muzzle..."
The coyolf stands and faces the jackorn.
"Good, now: let's get you clean, shall we?" He begins rubbing him down, brushing off any mud that hasn't already washed away, paying no apparent special attention to any yiffy bits, merely doing a thorough job. That done, he stands and pushes some waterproof buttons on the shower wall behind him. Various and assorted jets begin to pulsate and flow, some moving, others switching off and on in some complex preset pattern, or perhaps just randomized. He stands there, his arms about the other's torso, his head on his pet's right shoulder, just standing, breathing, letting the jets do their work. Eventually he pulls away and looks into his eyes.
The coyolf looks back, and can't help a smile from spreading across his muzzle. The water's so warm, his master's so warm, everything's so relaxing...He wishes he could pause time.
The now-soggy jackal continues standing there, holding him at arm's length, trying to read into his eyes, not looking away, hardly even blinking. He continues to stand even after the water shuts off, does not notice as the room begins to chill, and their fur along with it. It is only when his pet shivers involuntarily that he is snapped out of whatever thoughts he was thinking. Silently, he pads out of the shower, takes a large, cream-colored towel off the warming bar, and returns with it to the coyote's side. He pushes down the slave's hands as he reaches for it to dry his master off. "No; stay, boy," and he proceeds to dry him off, gently at first, but then harder, firmer, roughing up the fur, going against the grain, fluffing him out. He stands back, still dripping, to admire his poofy handiwork and chuckles: "I suppose I'll have to brush you down, won't I?" He begins to walk out of the room, feels for the first time the water dripping from his long headfur onto his chest, stops and turns around. "Oh, I suppose I'd better let you dry me off, hadn't I? Nice and firmly, now. There's a good boy."
The coyote takes the towel to his master, wiping him down as well, but making sure to go with the grain so as not to rough the fur...that is not for a pet to do. He finishes with the tip of his tail, making sure to clench the towel around the tuft to soak up all the remaining water.
The once-again regal jackorn shakes involuntarily, sending a last few droplets throughout the washroom; he smoothes back his headfur, taking a hunter-green silk dressing gown off a peg behind the door and puts it on. "Very well, this way. Oh," he stops and turns around. "Are you hungry, pup? Would you like a treat?"
The pet shakes his head. "No thank you, Sir...unless you deem it necessary..."
"Very well, then. Follow me."
The white coyote walks behind him, feeling the air flow around his naked body.
The jackorn takes off his robe, "Here, hold this." He begins walking again, tail slowly swishing. He stops and turns towards one of the doors in the hallway. "This is the library. You may go in here, but only with my permission, understand?"
He nods silently, never breaking eye contact with his master.
"Good. So long as you do not neglect to replace whatever you borrow exactly from where it came, I will not be stingy with my permission. No one will ever accuse me of owning ignorant slaves, of that you may be certain." He opens the door and walks in. He scans the shelves, apparently looking for one book in particular.
The coyolf cocks his head, curious as to the tall jackal's intentions.
"Ah." He plucks a tiny volume from a tall shelf, handling it reverently. "Poetry. A rare collection of Shakespaw's Sonnets." He returns to the door, placing a hand on his pet's shoulder, gently pushing him ahead, book clutched in his right paw.
The handsome coyote walks ahead, guided by his owner.
The dune-colored jackal continues walking as the hall gently curves, opening out into a large room with a blazing fireplace. "This is the study. That chair," he points to a burgundy leather wingback, "is mine. Understand?" He sits down and begins reading. "You will find, in that cabinet behind you, my stereo system. Please turn it on. You may then join me here," he gestures at his feet.
The coyolf saunters to the stereo, tail swishing behind him, and turns the knob. After the music comes through the speakers, he walks back to his master and sits at his feet, on his haunches, ears perked. The finale of Saint-Saëns' "Carnival of the Animals" begins dancing through the room. The pet taps his foot with the tempo, closing his eyes and smiling a little.
The other is already very much into his book, his left hand idly twitching in time with the music, as if it wanted something to skritch.
His dutiful pet notices his hand tapping and puts his chin on the arm of the leather wingback, hoping to get an errant swipe of a claw.
His paw just brushes the coyolf's eartip, which jolts the jackorn a little from his reverie. He recovers his aplomb quickly though, moving his arm so that his head is right under the claws. He then goes back into his book, paw skritching absentmindedly.
The satisfied pet relaxes his head and hangs a half inch of tongue out, murring happily and placing a paw on the edge of the chair, careful to sheathe his claws.
Suddenly, the disc changes and Schubert's "Unfinished Symphony" begins to waft over the sound system, its intense, plaintive, yearning strains giving him pause. "...Do you...do you wish to do me a great service?" He closes the book and places it on the chair's arm. Dropping out of the chair, he kneels in front of his pet and clasps his paws in his own.
The coyolf looks quizzically back to him.
The jackorn sits, gazing expectantly into his eyes.
"Sir?" He cocks his head, confused and a little worried.
"...If so, then mount me, please! However you choose, just so you tie with me. I wish to be a part of you, and oh, how I wish it...but I am not worth it. I am a cruel and sadistic owner, not even deserving of the title 'Sir.' Of course, I know that others have done worse, but I have mistreated you in so many ways, so many small offenses, so many liberties taken where none should ever have been..." He stifles a sob. "Please, take me, make me yours, make me pay for my ownership. Just don't let me be alone any more." His once-strong voice fades, cracks. He bows his head and breaks into quiet racking sobs; turning away, he buries his face in his paws, not wanting his 'pet' to see his shame, nor how he has fallen. He mutters: "I-I do not deserve your devotion, and my love is not good enough for one such as you...you-you are free to go. I release you of your servitude." He thinks on how he found him, just the other day, at an estate sale, wearing a black mourning collar for his last master. How he bought his new pet on the spot, sent him to the veterinarian for checkup and shots. How he mistreated him right from the very start. "I shall have the documents drawn up in the morning. I-I shall give you half of all I own, though by rights I should give you everything and sell myself into slavery, but no one would have me, of that I am sure. What does it matter...I shall do so anyways. Tomorrow I leave everything to you, including whatever miniscule payment you might get from my sale. I do not deserve any of this." He gestures angrily at the room, the house, and its estate, slowly turning. "I do not deserve you..." He bows his head again, but there are no sobs this time, only a deliberate silence.
"S-Sir...I..." He clasps his distraught master's paw tight, not quite knowing how to react.
"No...no. I-I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you."
The white coyote looks at him, at the lowly creature he has become in the last few moments. "Yes, Sir, you do. I am, and continue to belong to you. See?" He points to his collar, trying to smile reassuringly.
"Y-you mean that?" He looks quizzically at his loyal slave, not knowing quite what to say.
He dips his head, a little embarrassed. "Truth be told, Sir, I felt something when you were browsing at the estate sale. True, I was devastated by the loss of my last owner, but when you glanced at me over his effects, I didn't feel like crying anymore. I didn't even feel like being sad. I'm pretty sure he would have liked me to find a nice master such as you, and I count myself lucky that you took the time and thought to acquire a humble dog like me. But still, I feel...something...your eyes, every time I look into them," he lifts the jackal's chin up so he can look at him, and shivers violently. "See? Just now. I don't know what it is, but I do know I don't want to think what would have happened if you hadn't come by." He bows again, fearing he's spoken too frankly, waiting for Sir's reaction.
The latter starts to smile again, regaining a little of his proud bearing. He lifts his pet's chin and gazes into his eyes. "I think I'll keep you," he says with a grin.
A smile crosses the canid's wolfish muzzle, a little smugly, and he dares to reply, heartened to see his master happy again: "I think I'd like that."
The jackal grins even wider, "Did I say you could talk?" He grabs the back of his pet's head, pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss.
"Hmmmpff!" The coyote gulps and utters a muffled cry as he is embraced, then moans a little before becoming silent, bending slightly into the kiss, letting his master lead, enjoying the closeness, wetness and raw emotion radiating from within him. One paw clutching the jackorn's shoulder.
He pulls back. "Yes, I will keep you...very close to me." He leans forward, but not into a kiss: instead he whispers into his pet's ear: "I love you."
He gasps, taken by complete surprise: at never having heard the words before and at their utter truthfulness. He collapses back, sitting on his ankles, muzzle agape and tears gleaming in his eyes.
The jackorn leans forward, kissing him softly on his forehead. "You are mine, and I will take care of you because, no matter what you say, you are too good for me, and I will never forget that...ever."
"Oh, Sir..." He throws his arms around his master in a silent sob, the tears flowing freely and staining their fur, the only sound being his labored breathing and shaking muscles. "I think...no...I do love you. Yes..."
The jackal clears his throat nervously, still a little embarrassed in retrospect at his outburst. "Ahem...well, boy, I think now would be a good time for me to show you where you will sleep, now that you are with me..." He grips his beautiful pet's shoulders as he stands, holding him to himself. He pushes him away to hold at arm-length. "Or would you rather sleep standing here?" He says with a grin.
The slave shakes his head, yawns at his master's mention of the word 'sleep', and stands, waiting to be led.
"I thought as much." He grins again, then stifles a yawn. "This way, boy." He leads him down another hallway and into the bedroom. He gestures at the large dog bed at the foot of the four-poster. "This was going to be for you...but, seeing as I am totally and absolutely in love with you, and against any better judgment I might add, I think it would be more apt if you sleep up there," he gestures at the bed, "With me..."
The coyolf grabs his owner's shoulders, questioningly, looking down. "...Are you sure? I mean, it's...me..."
"That is exactly why I am sure...as sure as I have ever been. Here, you look tired." He swoops down and picks up his sleepy yote, one arm under his knees, the other behind his back, hefting him bodily to the bed. He places him gently on the right side, then walks regally to the other side, lying down beside his adored and adoring pet.
The "puppy" giggles at the new attention, and smiles as he's laid down. He turns to face his master as he lies down next to him, idly tracing patterns on the comforter.
"So, does my puppy know any tricks?" He quirks an eyebrow, grinning. "I order you to have your way with me, whatever you want. Tonight, I will let you play Master, just do not let it go to your head."
The new 'Master' rolls onto his stomach, thinking, his tail wagging lazily above him.
"Now, do your worst...well, your best," he giggles uncharacteristically.
"Hmmm..." He skritches his chin, then looks at the jackal beside him, feeling as an equal but still knowing his place. "Sir, may I ask a question?"
"Yes," he giggles, "Master."
He smiles at the term, but shakes his head. "I will always be a pet, not a Master. Please give me the respect of my proper moniker; I have no desire to dominate you. But my question is..." he blushes under his white fur, "...did you mean what you said earlier, about wanting to tie with me?"
The eccentric jackal smiles fondly, his eyes moistening. "Yes, my pet, I truly did. And I still do."
The coyolf grins broadly, and leans over to whisper into his master's ear: "I am yours to command, Sir. I will do whatever you ask of me, even if it means taking you. I live to please, and I-" he hesitates, the words still seeming foreign. "I love you. Instruct me, Sir."
"Take me, then. Please." He is not quite sure what to feel, his eyes beginning to tear up, but smiling too. He nuzzles his love's neck to whisper in his ear: "I want this, I need this -- you. I need you, more than anything, I need you." He pulls back to look into the coyote's honest, adoring face. "Just having you beside me...I feel satisfied in a way that I have never felt before...But I want to be truly one with you, but only if you want. I will not force this."
The dutiful slave brushes a tear away from his master's eye with his claw, makes as if to wipe it on the bedspread, thinks for a moment, then suddenly licks it off
The jackal smiles at him. "So, what is it to be, boy?"
He shudders, tasting a little bit of his owner. "I'm feeling it again...that same feeling I had when you saw me for the first time. I now know what it was: lust." He puts a paw on the jackal's thigh, rubbing up a little, nervous. "And I like it. A lot. I want to make you happy, even if," he suddenly gropes his master, then pulls away, "It means I take you."
He shudders at the touch of his beautiful pet. "Then take me..." He looks up nervously, "Um, there is just one thing...I have never done anything like this, not with anyone, not a single soul. I've been alone my whole life...so I need you to tell me what to do. I-I don't know what to do, so you -- you tell me what to do."
"Well..." He gropes again, more courageous this time, and keeps his paw there, squeezing in time with his owner's heartbeat. "We'll get there, but I think you need a little attention first." He bends over and licks the jackal-sheath quickly.
He shudders. "Ooh, do that again."
The coyote shifts down on the bed, his muzzle close to the jackal's sheath. He licks from his navel all the way down to his balls, returns to the sheath, and nibbles gently with his canines, feeling his master harden immediately under his attention.
"Aah...yes...no, wait, what? Ooh..."
He nibbles some more, then takes his fangs and hooks them underneath the sheath, which is easy being as two inches of pink already poke out. Slowly, carefully, without his paws, he unsheathes his poor master, watching as he humps lewdly into the air at the friction, exposing his knot and letting him free.
"Oh!" He tries to control his wayward hips, then looks down at his slave, and himself.
The playful coyolf smiles back up at him and the absolute bliss on his face, however clumsy it looks, pawing him slowly to get the juices flowing. "Do you know what it feels like to have a muzzle milking at your groin, Sir?"
"Uhhh...no, I can't -uh- say that I do."
"So much for that." He grins cheekily and turns around, his tail in the randy canid's face, swishing lustily over his rump, and takes the head of Sir's cock into his muzzle. Flitting his tongue over the slit, feeling the incendiary heat of the raw, turgid flesh, he begins sucking slightly.
The jackal gasps, then opens his eyes, looking at what is right under his nose. Still breathless from the on-going ministrations, he leans forward and takes a lick, just a taste.
The pet grins and goes further, bobbing down towards the knot, relishing vicariously through Master's pleasure, one paw roaming his chest, the other on his balls, squeezing along with his heartbeat, ever so often moving lower.
The poor jackorn cannot stop shuddering. He grabs the coyote's hips and pulls him closer, beginning the pleasant task of rimming: sticking his tongue in, just a little. "Mmmm, you taste -unh- good, boy."
The slave pauses at his owner's groin, feeling the new sensations at his hole, lifting his tail higher to give better access. "Th-thank you, sir "
The jackal blows gently on hole before him. He says weakly: "Did I tell you to stop?"
He grins at his master's attempt to maintain control, and mouths around his cock: "No." Blowing hot air on its tip, he goes down all the way on him again, encouraged by the tongue in his rear.
The jackal grips his arms even tighter around the upside-down waist of his dear pet, pulling him closer, licking and kissing and snuffling. "Murrfgrrlfff."
The coyote moans and hums in a low register each time he bottoms out on the knot, rumbling his throat around his owner's shaft...jacking his sheath at intervals, and caressing that sensitive spot between scrotum and tailhole. "Mmmmmm..."
He rests his cheek against the coyolf's rear, taking a break. "Oh...," he pants softly. "You...are a good boy."
The coyote hollows his cheeks and pulls off, sucking hard to get the most friction as possible...turns to face his loving lord, keeping his rear facing him, eyes glowing with lust and prowess: "Get on all fours...Sir."
"Uhhh...yes...slave." Reluctantly he releases his hold, rolling under the coyolf onto his paws and knees, tail draped over his shoulder. He whispers: "Take me...now."
"Yes, Sir." He shivers as his master crawls under him, licking his lips at the exposed crevice in front of his face, climbs onto his knees, and strokes the small of Sir's back, down to his tail, feeling the fur bristle there....spreading his precum along his length, making it nice and slick.
The once-eloquent jackorn doesn't move, can't think...letting his body and instincts have their way.
The coyolf growlrumbles and strokes the other canid's back with both paws as he rises up to meet the waiting entrance. "Hold still, Sir...this might hurt, but you'll forget about that soon enough." He places his paws on the jackal's hips and touches the tip of his dripping member to the tailhole, circling the rim to moisten it.
The jackorn shudders involuntarily. "T-t...take me. I'm scared, but I know you won't hurt me." He whispers: "I love you...take me, now...please."
"Alright then, Sir." He covers the jackal's back like a true canine, balancing on his feet, lifting the other's long tail to stretch him a bit, and pushes with a grunt. "Oh, Gods...that's hot..." A couple of inches go in, and he pauses, some for his master, but mostly to keep himself from going over.
His master's back bends from the weight. "Urnhhh." He screws his eyes shut, biting his lip.
The coyolf feels him trembling beneath, tense and tight...then forces another couple of inches in, past the second ring, and the rest slides easily into his hot ass...only the knot remains, and he composes himself and lines his hips up to thrusting position, grabbing the jackal's cock from above and giving it a couple of jerks to ease the initial pain. "Ready?"
He grunts, his eyes still closed. "Yesss...please, don't...hump me...just...uhh...hilt?"
The masterful slave turns the jacking into a steady rhythm, rotating his wrist as he pumps the cock, unmoving. "I am."
"Uhh..." His conscious mind shuts down, now operating on pure id. His hips begin to help his servant, moving opposite his thrusts, using his muscles, loosening and tightening.
The white yote grins and lifts his head, feeling the jackal pulling at him from the inside, tongue out and panting, knowing he's been broken in and happy it's so soon...starts thrusting into him, matching his movements, gripping the jackorn's balls with his left paw and letting him hump his other paw.
His master is beyond thinking, just being. He grunts, already getting close.
The coyote begins hilting again and again inside him, knot bumping against the hole, stretched to its maximum, only thinking of the heat and pleasure radiating from his groin, and the pleasure he's giving to his owner...continues his stroking of his canine member, feeling the jackal's heart race through the cock's network of veins, feeling it tense up and spurt little bits of pre onto the bed sheets below.
He whispers plaintively: "I-...I'm...unhh -and spurts his load between his arms, onto the pillows in front of him. His mind clears for an instant as the coyolf pauses, he stares wide-eyed at the pillows. "Wow...uhn," he grunts as the humping begins anew.
The coyote thrusts slowly, surprised at the warm, copious liquid on his paw, still dribbling down between his fingers, and takes his left paw from his master's balls to his back, petting him in encouragement...almost brought over by the sudden tension of his tailhole, then bends over, paws on the bed at his master's sides, and humps quicker, in short strokes, banging his knot against him slightly each time to prepare for the tie.
The jackal grits his teeth, eyes scrunched. His mind returns to auto-pilot and his hips return to countering the thrusts behind him.
The coyolf's pleasure builds fast and furiously, brought on by almost cumming twice before...it's only a matter of time before the knot sinks in and the tightness overcomes him. "Uuunghh...Sir, please d-don't move..." He continues to yiff, feeling for the right moment...
The other canid's body obeys, not moving, holding as still as is caninely possible-
The pet pumps harder, feeling the first inch, then more, and finally, on one deep thrust, the entire knot go in, sliding against the resistance and tying the two together...the thrusts become shorter, and faster, with the restricted movement, and soon enough the friction drives him over the edge and he stops, trembling above, pushing as far into the jackal's tight hot hole as he can go, feeling nothing but pure pleasure as orgasm rips through him and his coyolf seed coats the jackal's insides well, the only sounds heard being feral grunts and sharp gasps.
The topped jackal gasps at the scalding seed, almost collapsing beneath his dominator, but manages to lock his elbows and steel his buttocks, which clamps further on the knot within.
The coyote keeps tensed until the last shot has entered his love, then his knees give out on him and he rolls back and onto his right side, taking his master with him, still tied tight, pulsing away and panting, mouth dry, eyes glazed, body spent.
The jackal, who manages to squeeze a few more spurts from his already spent testicles, moans: "Th-...thank you...."
His pet can't reply at first, only pants some more and nuzzles his master's neck violently, biting and licking at the same time. "You-you're welcome, S-*pant*Sir..."
The jackorn reaches behind, trying to do more than just petting his love's side, but can't quite reach. He tries to spin around...
"Ow!" Still tied, the coyote jerks, and then helps his master spin himself around. They lay face to face...looking into each other's eyes; the coyolf sees something changed about his master, and is glad for it. "Sir."
He gazes lovingly into his pet's eyes. "Thank you, boy. This means so much to me..."
The pet looks down, blushing and proud at having pleased his master so. "You're welcome...I guess. Anything for you."
The jackal wraps his arms and legs around his darling coyote, curling his tail around the other's, putting his head on his shoulder; he sighs. "I love you. So...how long do we stay like this?"
The coyolf puts his nose to the jackal's, breathing on him, and closes his eyes, flexing a little, feeling..."About ten minutes or so. I didn't hurt you at all, did I? It must feel better now, because you look happy." He smiles.
"Bad boy...that's not long enough. I say it should be at least half an hour." He laughs whole-heartedly.
"You know I can't control that, master." He thrusts a couple of times, just for fun. "I'm sorry, nonetheless."
He looks into his pet's eyes. "I do thank you, with all my heart. I don't know how I can ever repay you, but what have you to be sorry for? This is the happiest day of my life, and I truly mean that."
"I'm sorry for not being able to tie for longer. But no matter; I can work on that. All you need do to repay me is return the newfound love I have for you. I don't believe I've ever been happier, either. What I'm feeling I've never felt before, so it's got to be good. Doesn't it?" He brushes the headfur out of his master's face that has fallen in the way, and looks past his eyes, reading his beautiful soul.
Sitting, the jackal looks right back into his. "You have my love...What's mine is yours, and that includes my heart."
The coyote can't think of anything to say, deflating slowly, the afterglow fading into a low pleasurable heat, starting to say things many times but stopping, sighing, then... "Ditto."
The jackal, for all his loving fervor, starts to doze off. "Can we-" he yawns. " Can we do this tomorrow night?"
"Do what?" He too is succumbing to fatigue.
He chuckles and leers at his love. "This...could we do this every night?
"Whatev--" he yawns, tongue curling, maw stretching, "whatever you say, Master."
"Tomorrow, then. Good night."
The coyote's eyes have closed, his breathing slowed. "Good...night..." he whispers, drifting off to sleep.
The jackal props himself up on his elbow, just looking at the canid sleeping peacefully beside him. He smiles and growls to himself. He lies back down on the pillow, his snout inches away from his love's, feeling the gentle breath against his whiskers and moustache. As he gazes at the coyolf's face, a small tear traces its way gently down his face. He smiles to himself, muttering two words before he allows his eyes to close and his mind to slow: "Good boy."
~|Fin|~