Mr. Smith's Teague.
A wolf purchases a fox slave for absolutely platonic reasons, honest.
This is bigger, longer and uncut compared to my other submissions here! It's some dumb steampunk thing I've been meaning to write and the start of a series, though it looks like that isn't coming in much until later. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. ^_^ As a warning, it contains mention of rape but no actual rape occurs, either described or otherwise. It is certifiably rape-free. Promise!
Two people sat within a horse-drawn carriage. Rain beat down against the wooden roof with such ferocity as to deafen the both of them, despite their equally sensitive hearing. Outside of the enclosed carriage was the driver, of course, who huddled down in his coat and made a futile attempt to keep both warm and dry beneath a flimsy umbrella. The driver was the employee of one of the carriage occupants, a gray and shaggy canine by the name of Nicholas Smith. Mr. Smith had been silent throughout the journey, a consequence of the ceaseless downpour, though the snowy-furred fox he shared the carriage with suspected it was a deliberate effort to make him even more uncomfortable. The dulled, almost perfectly stoic blue eyes of the wolf made it impossible for him to judge with any accuracy.
Of course, the fox - who had been given the name Teague - was inclined to view the wolf in the poorest light possible. He had been acquired much as any other commodity may be. Bought directly from a market after near enough to a lifetime of being maintained like fine furniture or an old article of literature. And much as any old item bartered for and bought, he had not been informed of what his final predicament may be. He could only presume. Housework and labor, perhaps. Or maybe he would be put to work in a more carnal manner. It could be that he was simply sold again for a higher price. He understood that his fur made him a rare, desirable thing; such was why it had been cut and thinned with such preening as to make it ineffectual against the cold.
Teague was doing his best to ignore the brisk wind that wafted in through the cracks of the windows. He found entertaining notions of his assuredly horrible future made the matter somewhat easier. Contempt conjured a sort of heat about his chest that worked to keep the cold at bay. Outside, he saw streets roll by in depressing greyish-blue, all drenched with rain. Chimney-sweeps and newspaper venders all scuttled between shelter, attempting to continue their desperate work despite the horrid conditions. The children knew well that their meals, much like Teague's, would only come as a reward for difficult work. Or would his work be difficult? He was almost afraid to allow himself to consider the notion, but the possibility did encroach in on his mind all the same; what if Mr. Smith, despite his emotionless demeanor, were actually somehow benevolent? No, it made no sense. He refused to allow that hope to fester and grow inside of him, lest it be torn away as his past illnesses had.
His effort to maintain a sour disposition was challenged when he heard Mr. Smith ask, only barely audible over the rain, "are you cold?" The wolf's voice was deep and commanding, a fitting baritone when Teague considered their legal relationship. The white fox looked from the dour scenery to his owner's features. He noted no emotion in them, as Mr. Smith showed none. Even that voice of his felt utterly dispassionate in its monotone. Teague had been taught to be honest all the same, no matter how a question had been asked. It was not his place to employ deceit against his betters (save for particular situations), so he dipped his head forward in a small nod. To his further surprise, Mr. Smith started to squirm his way out of that needlessly pricey jacket he wore.
The wolf offered his clothing over to the fox. Mr. Smith wore only a thin buttoned shirt now, though he appeared unperturbed by the poor weather. The wolf had thicker fur than the arctic fox at the moment, an irony that was certainly not lost on Teague. The fox accepted the jacket without pause and, with some squirming of his own, he worked it on over his arms and shoulders. It felt somehow inappropriate to be wearing such a thing, though he certainly didn't protest. The jacket was indeed warm, after all. Warm and more comfortable than he thought it could have been. Teague found he enjoyed the rich attire, thoughtlessly running a paw along the front of the jacket. Although he couldn't quite articulate such a thing, it made him feel as though his worth had been improved by that of the clothing. He murmured a quiet "thank you," though it was surely not heard over the incessant battery of the rain. The snowy fur covering his paw contrasted with the gray fabric.
The arctic fox became aware that he was smiling like an idiot as he admired the garment. Showing his appreciation certainly wasn't the wrong thing to do, but allowing it to be so... exaggerated, especially when his owner was clearly such a reserved man wasn't what he had been taught. The slip of composure brought about a profound embarrassment. He set his eyes on the cobblestone streets outside again, watching at buildings became infrequent and people disappeared altogether from the roads. They were roaming outside of the city. The idea intrigued Teague, who knew that he must have been born far from civilization. He wouldn't have been purchasable if he were a citizen and so far as he knew, this empire was the only civilization to exist in an otherwise feral world. Another swell of excitement bubbled up in his chest, threatening to provoke another inappropriate smile, though he beat it back down again with renewed thoughts of how he would be degraded into nothing but an inferior being by the wolf that had offered him a coat in the cold.
Mr. Smith had settled back in his seat, allowing his blue eyes to close. What thoughts he entertained were private. Teague could not pry behind the wolf's secretive veil of stoicism. Although the fox was sure to convince himself that the wolf's ponderings were perverse in nature, it did at least occur to him that perhaps Mr. Smith was simply exhausted from the day. If he lived far from the city, it had doubtless been a lengthy one for him. In fact, it occurred to the fox that he might be sitting in the carriage for quite a while, providing the opportunity to admire the countryside before being brought to some dilapidated slave's quarters beside a heated manner reserved only for those born to just the right places in the world. He had heard such places described time and again by the wealthy women who often ventured through the markets, purchasing whatever pretty and useless baubles might have appealed to them. They had never described such places directly to him, of course. It was always an idle complaint about that nasty pen they had by their otherwise lovely, if aging homes. It would be better than the iron bars that he was accustomed to living within, at least.
With Mr. Smith's eyes closed, Teague thought to seize the opportunity to appraise his new owner. The wolf's features were gray as the rest of him, ending with the customary black nose. They were somewhat sunken, somewhat loose, as might indicate advancing age. Teague noticed that the wolf's left ear was missing just the smallest bit, the impression of a bite visible on what was left. The disfigurement left him feeling that little bit more uneasy, though it was very difficult to imagine this placid, emotionless wolf as violent at all. Then again, the wolf certainly had the size to be very powerful. If he were violent, it would undoubtedly be a very bad thing for Teague, who could not fight back both as a matter of class and a matter of sheer physique. Without the jacket obscuring view of them, the arctic fox saw that Mr. Smith's arms were muscular and his shoulders were broad. His paws, which law still across his thighs, were scuffed and scarred about the knuckles. Maybe, with such scars, the wolf was indeed violent. Teague drew the coat in tight around himself. Loose as it was, it fit on him a bit like a blanket and provided as much comfort, though he couldn't understand why.
The wolf dressed as would indicate he classed among the most wealthy of the nation's people. He wore no jewelry, though from how his white shirt reflected what little light was available in the gloomy evening, it must have been woven from silk. The buckle of his belt was gold-capped. His trousers were spun from cotton. As most men opted to, the wolf wore nothing over his footpaws, which were rather wet as a consequence. If he minded, he hadn't displayed such. Around the wolf's neck was a silvery chain, though the end of it disappeared beneath Mr. Smith's shirt. Although he resented himself for the introspective confession, Teague found Mr. Smith almost attractive, in an intimidating sort of way. He had always been inclined toward men who appeared physically powerful, and the wolf most certainly did at that. And with the limited bluish light casting shadows across his face, with the simplistic yet luxurious clothes he chose to wear, Teague couldn't help but reconsider whether he would really be so opposed to being used for sexual purposes. Or perhaps that was his mind prompting him to find some contentment in light of his hopeless situation.
As the carriage rode on and on, it became apparent that Mr. Smith was asleep. Teague watched his fingers twitch against his thigh. The fox couldn't be certain, especially not with the sound of the rain and the wooden wheels against the increasingly rough road, but he thought that he may just have heard the wolf snoring softly. It could well have been what Teague expected to hear, another trick of his mind provoked by his new surroundings and the major change that had been forced upon him. He alternated between watching Mr. Smith and the passing scenery, which had become fields and fields of corn and wheat. Sometimes he made out livestock in the distance, though to his disappointment, it was never near enough for him to really see. A life spent in markets had taught Teague a particular fondness for farmyard animals. He doubted many would understand, but cows were adorable to him and pigs had a certain mischief that he found endearing. Maybe he had been bought to work on a farm? Oh, but why would they want such an expensive slave for that when others better suited were more readily available?
The journey went on and on for hours until Teague finally received the answer to the question of where his life was being led. The carriage rolled to a stop only moments after the rain ceased. A drowsy Teague peered out the window to see a manor that was neither dilapidated nor excessive in size. He couldn't see any run-down little shanty adjacent to it either. The building was constructed primarily of brick, not a rare thing in the city at all, though perhaps less common this far away from it. It had been painted a sort of clay-tan, with maroon tiles covering the ceilings. The manor had two storeys, with windows visible along both. The windows all had shutters that were perfectly aligned despite the harsh winds they were no doubt regularly exposed to. Around the manor was an impressive garden of bushes, trees and a broad variety of flowers. Some of the bushes had been cut to resemble particular things, mostly birds and other animals, though Teague did spy one in semblance of a chair. The vegetation formed a path to the verandah of the estate. The fox slave was certainly impressed with the sight. He was eager to spend time in the garden, should such a joy be permitted to him.
For now, he concerned himself with something more immediate. Mr. Smith was still slumbering in the carriage with him. He wondered if it would be best to simply sit and wait for his owner to wake, perhaps allowing the carriage driver to wake him. Or would it be best to wake Mr. Smith himself? Would he be upset if woken? Would waking him effectively start Teague's confinement to this relatively secluded estate with a horrible incident, or at least a poor relationship? He heard the driver scuttle his way about outside the carriage, the young man jumping off and hitting the damp dirt with an "umph." Good, Teague thought, presuming that he had evaded the dilemma. The driver would simply open the door and announce that they had arrived. Except Teague saw him wandering away through the window, his back set to the carriage. He didn't seem to have any intent on declaring their arrival at all. Damnit. Teague drew in a shrill breath and started weighing the potential repercussions. Mr. Smith, the scarred wolf who towered easily a foot over him, was not a man that Teague felt particularly inclined to upset. It felt that allowing him to sleep would be the best option. He watched the wolf's fingers continue to twitch and noticed, for the first time, that the sleeping Mr. Smith's features had bent toward a frown.
After an hour, Mr. Smith woke. His blue eyes opened slowly and he appeared briefly disoriented. A swift glance out the window established in the wolf's mind where they both were. Teague had lost sight of the driver some time ago and thought to tell the wolf this, but instead he simply remained silent. The wolf cleared his throat and blinked a couple times, evidently a part of the process of donning his stoic visage. Then he reached out a paw and carriage door. He was the first to climb out, his movements direct and strong. He stood by the carriage door and, again surprising the fox, reached a paw up to help with the step down into the mud. Teague reluctantly accepted the paw, his mind of course considering all of the worst possibilities by willful caution. None of them were fulfilled as the wolf simply held his paw and ensured his balance throughout the descent. He released Teague's paw once the snowy-furred fox stood in the mud with him.
With that, the wolf left the carriage as it was and wandered between the orchestrated shrubbery. He went directly to the verandah without any consideration for the beautiful garden before it. Teague, on the other paw, had to pay conscious attention to his own pace lest he lose himself in the flowers and the bush sculptures. Raised in the city, he had never seen anything quite like them. Most of the plants he was familiar with were sold to women in pots. Plants that were too small to decorate or really surround with others as these were. The whole thing felt to him as though it ought to be chaotic overgrowth, and yet it was all clearly controlled. Even the placement of the flowers appeared deliberate and beautiful. When Teague reached the end of the alley, he saw that Mr. Smith had been watching him and no doubt noticed his wonder over the simple plants. Teague dropped his gaze to his muddy feet, embarrassed by his own indiscretion once again.
Mr. Smith only opened one side of the double doors. It was as dark inside as it had become outside, though Teague could make out the first room well enough. It was a broad space with wooden floorboards. Directly opposite them were enormous stairs, which curved ninety degrees to the left as they ascended. The railings were brilliantly carved and, where one was expected to rest one's paw, covered with what either resembled or simply was plated gold. Beside the stairs was a doorway, the door being another wooden thing carved with equal devotion. On either side, the room branched off with archways. The very center of the room was covered with a floral rug. Teague had never seen anywhere so ornamental, his prior home having been a set of iron bars and a tarp for when it was either raining or windy. A place like this was something he only imagined from the gossip of rich shoppers. It was nothing like he imagined, in fact; it was perhaps more grandiose in a tangible state.
"The aptly-named Duskywood Manor," Mr. Smith named it for him. He ushered Teague in first, holding the door for the both of them. His arm was raised to be level with Teague's head, further establishing how very small the arctic fox felt as he ventured into the spacious estate. He clutched his paws to the front of the jacket he had been allowed to wear and surveyed his surrounds with an indismissible sense of awe. He felt something coarse beneath his feet and glanced down to note that it was a mat meant to clean one's footpaws on. He did so hastily, suddenly eager to be further inside of the wondrous building. Mr. Smith followed him, closing the door once he entered. What he said threatened to stop the fox's heart simply by forcing the realization to occur fully. "Welcome home, Teague."
In his excitement, Teague abandoned years of discipline, scolding and lecturing. He spun about and looked up to Mr. Smith, another foolish smile that he would soon be ashamed of showing on his face. He opened his mouth at once but found he was breathless. After a great gulp of air, he asked in an eager flurry of words, "will I be permitted to remain in the main building? It is so incredible," he added the compliment with sincerity. Most he doled out were simply said because it was expected, but he truly meant what he said about this place. Teague loved Duskywood Manor at the very first sight. So much so that, for the moment, he didn't realize that his behavior was presently in violation of the conduct he presumed he ought to follow.
Mr. Smith didn't seem to care. He offered a cordial nod and wandered in by Teague, venturing off through the right archway. Teague followed and felt even more in love with the estate when he saw the hallway's adjoining room. A sitting room with a brilliant fireplace, a great thing constructed of sculpted marble. The mantle was covered with frames, though it was too dim for Teague to make out the images within. They appeared rather small for paintings, however. Above those was a much bigger frame that no doubt contained a more appropriate painting for such a magnificent place. The walls opposite the fireplace were hidden away behind bookshelves, all overflowing with books that honestly made Teague even more disappointed that he did not know how to read. Across from the archway Teague stood under were windows visible through silken maroon-dyed curtains, all drawn back with similarly coloured rope. The furniture of the room was beyond a quality that Teague knew, at least in woodwork; the actual cushions were all covered with fabric as opposed to leather. Another floral rug could be seen before the fireplace. A wooden coffee table was just before the couch that looked on at the fireplace.
Mr. Smith had crossed the room directly to that incredible fireplace. He took a box of matches from the mantle, sat on his haunches and started the lengthy effort to light the dry wood already inside the pit. Feeling bold enough to enter the room after him, Teague shuffled in quietly and moved near enough to observe the curious process. Mr. Smith struck a match along the floor and lit the hay and sticks beneath a pair of neatly cut logs. A fire started quickly enough. Mr. Smith reached aside to retrieve one of the surprisingly mundane fire-pokers, his paw instead bumping against Teague's thigh. The arctic fox blushed and twisted about to fetch the poker for Mr. Smith, who only stared expressionlessly up at the fox. Poker in paw, Mr. Smith went about kindling the flame.
As he watched, Teague found it impossible to keep the question at bay. He simply had to know, "how did you afford all of this, sir? It's so... it's so..." He saw the wolf look up at him, noted what he was sure was a bemused look in the powerful canine's eyes. Teague was sure that the wolf didn't approve of his stammering. Or perhaps his speaking at all. The look was enough to draw the meekness that had subsided beneath wonder back to the fore. Teague dropped his eyes to the floor, noting the shadows that the orange firelight cast. He felt his body tense as he preempted a hostile response. Instead, the wolf's words came in a tone he could almost believe was genuinely meant to be comforting, had it not been so near to devoid of feeling.
"A hefty part of it is a reward for my actions during the war." Teague wasn't aware of any war, though he knew better than to ask after it. It would explain the scars on his new owner's paws, he thought. One did not ask a soldier of his experiences during something so horrible, nevertheless. Mr. Smith went on, "and following that, I have bought a number of news companies, both in radio and in the more traditional paper medium. The latter provides a steady enough income. Steady enough to afford particular luxuries, at least." While he explained his finances, all without sounding too interested or concerned in doing so, Mr. Smith prodded and stabbed at the budding embers. Teague wasn't so interested either, despite his asking. He only wanted to know that such fortune existed as a part of the same reality that he did. Mr. Smith's explanation assured him that this wasn't some ruse or delusion, and so he was content to let it be without puzzling it over further - not that he would have known much more than what he was told, regardless.
When they each saw one of the logs catch fire, Mr. Smith handed the poker back to Teague. Their eyes met very briefly. Teague noted how the orange light cast shadows across Mr. Smith's features, exaggerating the light shade of his blue orbs. Then Teague dropped his own dark eyes shyly, turning about to put the poker away. Mr. Smith stood and once again stood over Teague by a clear foot or perhaps even more. The owner wandered away, moving around the coffee table and settling himself down onto the couch. Teague became aware of a beautiful crystal bottle that shimmered in the firelight, half-full with a brownish liquid. There was a single glass beneath it. While Teague sidled along demurely after Mr. Smith, the wolf asked him, "do you drink? I've only the one glass, but I don't mind drinking from the bottle."
Teague didn't feel he knew how to respond to the question. He hadn't been asked something like that before. 'Do you drink?' His habits were dictated by the actions permitted to him. Most he had encountered thought that these actions ought to all be the direct consequence of his instructions, which literally included when it was acceptable to sleep and eat. Teague had never been offered liquor before, and so he was able to intuit that the answer ought to be "no." Though he added, partly curious over the potential new experience and partly wishing to see where the boundaries with his new owner would lay, "but I think I'd like to try, if that's alright, sir."
"Have a seat," the wolf offered with a nod as he took up the bottle. Teague did as he was instructed, watching Mr. Smith remove the cut crystal stopper. The wolf appeared to notice Teague's interest in the thing, and with what could almost have been a wry smirk, he offered it out to the arctic fox. Teague was immediately absorbed in the thing. He'd seen jewelry more times that he could count. He'd seen fancy furniture, beautiful paintings and all sorts of other marvelous things in the market. Never anything so amazing as this house, of course. And evidently nothing so incredible as the bottle stopper he now held. Teague elevated it to to his eyes, where he peered at the fire through it. With innumerable flat surfaces, the stopper reflected the light through a myriad of directions, creating small spots of orange-yellow along the otherwise shadowy walls. To say that Teague was overjoyed with the novelty would be an understatement. He almost didn't notice the glass of drink that Mr. Smith had placed on the coffee table before him.
The wolf drank straight from the bottle, swallowing roughly a mouthful. Teague heard a vague growl in the wolf's throat before Mr. Smith simply put the bottle back down on the coffee table. When the wolf sat leaning back, as relaxed as he had been in the noisy carriage, Teague interpreted that he had no intention of drinking more. Teague certainly didn't want to seem rude. He reached out and with perhaps a little too much eagerness, he slid the stopper into the bottle, feeling like a gemcutter removing the last imperfection from a now-flawless diamond. Then he took up his own drink. He raised it to his nose and sniffed. It seared his nostrils and smelled absolutely revolting, but he did state that he wanted to try it. And with the stopper now in the bottle, he could hardly propose to simply pour it back in. Teague was aware that the wolf was watching him. Mr. Smith appeared just the tiniest shade amused, which of course embarrassed Teague again. Embarrassed and pressured him. He raised the glass to hips and took a hesitant sip. It scorched his throat and chest as he swallowed it, causing him to sputter.
In what for him seemed an outburst of emotion, Mr. Smith actually chuckled. He chuckled and he set his gaze up at the ceiling. Teague put the glass down on the coffee table with the one paw, the other covering his maw so as to not send spittle flying all over the rich room. Teague thought that he could die, looking so damned foolish in front of his new owner. And he had only been inside the house for a number of minutes, too. At least Mr. Smith wasn't displeased with him at all. Actually, since they entered the house, Mr. Smith had seemed more animated and positive (which wasn't saying much.) Maybe it was his first taste of alcohol rushing straight to his head, however small it may have been, but Teague was starting to feel at ease.
It was apparent that Mr. Smith was content to sit quietly and stare at the thick wooden support beams and bricks that made up the ceiling. Although Teague suspected he should, he simply possessed too many questions to allow it. So while the fox looked about the room, appraising the painting above the mantle (a beautiful young wolf woman with an exuberant smile) and the oddly realistic little paintings that rested on the mantle, he asked, "may I know why you chose to purchase me? If it isn't prying. I wouldn't want to pry, sir. I'm only curious is all - I'd started to suspect that I'd never be out of that cage." Rambling, he chided himself. And, inexperienced with drink altogether, he was fast to dismiss it as the single sip of brandy he'd had and not the usual talkative disposition he possessed when relaxed.
His owner remained silent for such a time that Teague simply concluded he was being ignored. It bothered him, but it wasn't his place to protest. He opted instead to appraise the paintings. Though the small ones possessed a strange style, devoid of color and unusually blurred, he found he much preferred the enormous hanging painting. The wolf woman's smiling face was so excessively cheerful and friendly, it made the room appear more inviting than any of the rich furniture ever could. Had Teague been a different man, he could have even said that she resembled the sort of person he would be attracted to, though she appeared to lack the strength and, well, masculinity that he found most appealing. Teague's assessing of the woman in the painting was disrupted by the baritone of Mr. Smith's voice when he, perhaps on a whim, opted to answer the fox. "I don't tell you this to distress you, so I would prefer you brace yourself. Perhaps have another sip of your brandy."
Interpreting such as a command, Teague took up his glass again. He wasn't fond of the drink, to say the least. He hated the burning sensation and it felt as though it had no flavor at all aside of that inexplicable heat. But he was an obedient fox, a facet of his personality that he had learned to take a sort of pride in. He sipped down more of the brandy, this time preempting the ensuing feeling and only clearing his throat as opposed to coughing as he did earlier. As soon as he felt he could, he put the glass down again, which cued Mr. Smith to continue. "You were going to be raped." What?
Teague thought he felt his blood stop. Despite the burning in his throat and chest, despite the warmth now emanating through the room from the fire, Teague felt his blood freeze in his veins. His eyes drew wide, his head swelled and thought became temporarily very difficult. Surely he had misheard. He told himself again and again that he was always very aware that such was a possibility. He was a slave under the Crown's law. Whoever owned him could use him however they pleased. The merchant that sold him didn't make a secret of that, he even sought to ensure that he could honestly advertise Teague's sexual appeals - not against his consent, which differentiated the matter. No, no it didn't. No, he was being irrational. He did his best to fight his pulse back to an event rate. Mr. Smith must have seen Teague battling with his shock. The wolf reached a paw out and clasped it on Teague's shoulder, causing the fox to tense.
"I heard you mentioned over brandy by a particular associate of mine. I wouldn't wish that man on anybody, even his insufferable wife. You wouldn't have wanted to sleep with him. And so here you are. I've prevented it. Calm down." Mr. Smith felt that it would be best to be honest in this situation. Teague didn't know what he felt. Everything was a muddled mix of loose would-be emotions, all clambering about to reach fruition in his chest. There was some fear of both Mr. Smith and his supposed associate. Most prominent was refusal to accept this as the reason he had been brought to this unfathomably beautiful place. Part of him realized that Mr. Smith had saved him, another worried that Mr. Smith wanted to use him for the same ends. His first attempt to work up the nerve to say something only resulted in a choked little squeak of timid sound, which yielded a gentle squeeze on his shoulder from Mr. Smith.
The second effort was much more successful, though marred with a stammer. "Wh-what happens to me now?" He was afraid to hear the answer, but he knew that he needed to. He attempted to reconcile what may well become required of him. He attempted to soften the blow. This was a remarkable place. He could be very comfortable here, even if he had to do horrible things to remain. He could do that. He knew he could do that. He just had to think of something, anything else. He knew on the way that Mr. Smith was just what he was warned about, that he had been bought as a carnal slave - a toy for the bedroom - and nothing more. Teague kept his eyes up on that painting of the smiling wolf woman and did his best to keep from collapsing under his own terror.
But the dreaded response didn't come. Instead, he felt that paw slip away from his shoulder. Another silent moment stretched on between them. He considered the idea that Mr. Smith was simply reveling in his torment. When finally Mr. Smith did answer, Teague felt he could have died simply from the relief. "I didn't want a slave, truthfully. I find he practice distasteful," the wolf said with no ardent dislike. He found slavery distasteful as one might find purple clogs distasteful, or so his tone might have implied. "But I suppose since I did buy you as a means to keep you from abuse, it wouldn't much more sense for me to abuse you, hm? You're welcome to live here as a companion of mine, I suppose. I'm told I could do with the company. Somebody to read books with would be nice."
Teague looked up to the wolf in disbelief. Mr. Smith had yet to take his eyes from the rafters. He appeared so incredibly calm, as though removed from the situation despite he fear of the slave sitting beside him. Teague found that calm infectious, though it didn't breed so quickly within him. All it did was quiet his nerves just a bit. He still felt as though his body was made of heated wire. That little element of calm allowed him to notice that his paws were trembling fearfully. All of this distracted him from the clear thought that might have made him reconsider the near-protesting reply of "but I can't read, sir," which he cursed himself for the second after he said it.
"I'll teach you," the wolf replied, his calm simply unbreakable. Teague almost fainted on the spot.
Teague was woken when sunlight poured into the room through the open curtains. At first he didn't find his surroundings familiar at all. The exquisite design of the fireplace encouraged him to believe that he was still lost in a dream. Then his memory wandered back through the haze of recently waking. He had been brought here by a seemingly emotionless wolf, brought along in a carriage with horses. His wrists hadn't been shackled like he'd always expected they would be. They drank brandy in his breathtaking sitting room and after a short time, the exhaustion of the hours-long trip got to Teague. He fell asleep, evidently until morning.
What the arctic fox did not recall was retrieving a blanket. Mr. Smith must have covered him up with one and allowed the fire to burn down. The room held residual warmth, but in a building so spacious, Teague suspected that it would become cold very quickly. He could earn some favor if he didn't allow that to happen, or so he thought. He cast the blanket off and climbed up to his feet, noticing that he was still wearing that luxurious coat and his cheap trousers - Mr. Smith hadn't attempted anything last night. Or if he had done something while Teague was asleep, he had done so with such a care to remove signs of its occurrence that Teague simply saw none. The fox was made more comfortable as a result. Mr. Smith claimed to have rescued him from a horrible sexual sort of slavery, and thus far hadn't made any advance of his own. Legally he could demand such from Teague, and physically he could take it. The fox's confidence that it wouldn't occur was building.
Just as he had observed last night, Teague went about lighting the fire. He took the matches from atop the mantle, squatted down on his heels and lit what hay and sticks remained. With the ornamental poker that sat by the fireplace, he started prodding about at the crackling embers 'til what was left of the two logs caught. It wouldn't remain lit for more than a few hours, he suspected, but it ought to have been enough to allow the building to remain warm for a few hours. Proud of the achievement, Teague set the poker away and rose to stand again. Now immediately before the mantle, he saw that those small framed paintings atop it didn't seem to be paintings at all. He could see no brushwork or anything of the sort. They appeared distorted, colourless images from reality. This could mean that they were masterfully drawn, though he suspected otherwsie. There was something very strange about them and it piqued his curiosity. He would have to ask Mr. Smith what they were and how he came to acquire them. But of course, that meant he would have to find the absent wolf.
Teague didn't have to convince himself to explore Duskywood Manor. He had been wanting to, at least in the back of his mind, since he first entered. Without much hesitation, he sidled his way out of the sitting room and back into that enormous entryway. Mr. Smith was most likely up those broad stairs. He'd always heard that the wealthy slept elevated from the ground. Something about escaping the cold of the floor, which was what he understood floorboards to be for, but he supposed that he couldn't reason in the minds of the rich for he would never be rich himself. The temptation to explore the rest of the first floor presented itself and he adhered. He wandered by the stairwell and beneath the opposite archway, which unfolded into an enormous kitchen. He could barely contain his excitement. Cooking was one of the skills he had been forced to develop, and it was perhaps the only one that he sincerely enjoyed. Teague loved mixing the different foods to create new aromas and delicious tastes, even if what he knew to cook with was surely limited compared to what would be available in the estate.
The floor was still wooden. There was a cooler off in one corner, a doorway in another. One wall was lined with an enormous cupboard-pantry. Along the center of the room was a lengthy bench, ended by a stove. On the side of the room directly across from that immense pantry was yet another bench, this one with a sink. Utensils hang suspended from a rack in the middle of the room, some of which he had never seen before. He wandered through the room, examining everything that he could without disturbing anything, coming to stand at the door. When he rested his paw on the handle he felt almost as though it might freeze, confirming his suspicion that it was a meat cooler. He had no intent on wandering into that just yet, so instead he spun about and rubbed his paws together, breathing hot air between them. The floor-level of the building contained a sitting room and a kitchen, both excessive in size. The fox made his way back out into a hallway, content with his new knowledge and eager to cook something for both he and Mr. Smith.
When he came into the entryway again, he considered peeking through the closed door there. He thought that it may just lead out to the back of the house, or perhaps to smaller chambers, but decided against looking. If the sunlight had awoken him, perhaps it had done the same to Mr. Smith, who waited upstairs for Teague to attend to him. The thought worried the arctic fox, who most certainly didn't want to upset the strong, hulking wolf. Teague rested a snowy-white paw on the railing and started to ascend the stairs, marveling at the sensation of his fur and skin gliding along the gold-capped wood. He would be ashamed to confess it, but the thought of being the belle from every story of balls he had ever heard did cross his mind. Of course such wasn't the right thing to think, he scolded himself, as Teague was indeed quite male. Even if he often felt attractions more appropriate for the contrary sex.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he came to a lengthy hallway. Paintings hung from either side, a gallery disrupted only the by three doors along the walls. The hallway ended with another door. The walls had been painted white, a disruption from the typically dimmer colours of the lower floor. They were also wooden as opposed to brick, leading Teague to the conclusion that this room was in the center of the four outer walls of the building, which were all most assuredly brick. The floorboards were covered with a tan carpet that either disappeared beneath or was stapled against the walls, an illusion of the dim light of this windowless passage. The room was somewhat unnerving, in face. The paintings all felt to be watching him, waiting to judge his decisions, while the light was too poor to really allow him to feel any sort of comfort. He felt tension along his back as his muscles made themselves ready to push Teague through swift action should the daunting hallway make it necessary.
Teague approached the nearest door, watching the paintings as he did. Most were of other wolves, though at times individuals of other species native to the empire did make appearances. Usually these were cats or birds, usually smiling as the wolves were, often in a picture featuring either one or a pair of wolves regardless. A gallery of family portraits, Teague suspected. The non-wolves must have been either adopted children or wives that produced no offspring, as indeed crossbreeding was most often impossible. Were their relationship different, Teague might have attempted to ascertain the truth by implying that Mr. Smith had some cat in his genealogy. As it was, the fox was too intimidated by Mr. Smith's impressive stature to consider such.
He reached the nearest door and quietly opened it just far enough to see inside. The morning sunlight pierced the curtains, illuminating another floral pattern with an orange background that seemed to glow. The light spilled out over the room, which appeared made for children. There were toys placed neatly about, including an immaculately carved wooden rocking horse and a number of porcelain dolls. In the corner was a crib, though Teague could see nothing in it through the wooden bars that were its walls. When he unintentionally entertained the notion that perhaps the dolls were watching him just as the paintings felt to be, Teague hastily shut the door and moved away, feeling his fur rise to stand along his back. His tail bristled out as well. Suddenly his curiosity was battling with his diminished will to see whether his body would retreat downstairs to simply wait for his new owner, or whether he would continue on in his explorations to better know the estate that was now his home.
The next door, which was on the opposite side, revealed a room that was somewhat more difficult to see into. There was no sunlight to assist his sleuthing. However, he thought for a moment that he saw a woman in the room and that it would be appropriate to shut the door and knock before introducing himself to who might have been the lady of Duskywood Manor. A closer observation before he went to do so revealed that the woman had no arms, further distressing him, before he realized the daunting figure was a mannequin. And it wasn't alone. Several more womanly bodies carved from polished wood and sculpted porcelain were standing throughout the room, which also contained a loom and other tailoring materials. Each of the mannequins wore a brilliant ballgowns in various states of completion. It didn't seem to make sense at all that the powerful wolf who had claimed an involvement in war would keep such places in his estate. They must have belonged to the lady in the portrait downstairs and her child, who would be sleeping with them in their master bedroom. Or perhaps she was only expecting a child, a notion that certainly excited Teague. One of the things he had wanted to do while living in that cage and tarp was tend to an expectant mother (he had heard they were radiant and beautiful from wealthy woman shoppers.)
The third room, which was well-lit from open windows and sunlight, was far less distressing than the others had been. It appeared mostly empty, perhaps yet to be allotted a purpose. He saw a few empty cabinets, an ivory-topped bench, but nothing else. Prominent abrasions in the rug indicated that the room had contained more heavy furniture in the past, though now it had only the three things. Another blurry, colourless little not-painting sat atop the cabinet. Perhaps needing a moment out of the incessant stare of the paintings, Teague wandered his way into the room and across to the picture. The fox held it between his fingers and carefully lifted it up to better examine it. It was difficult to make out anything precise with how blurry the illustration was, but he saw a canine who may have been his new owner standing beside a jovial-seeming little mouse. Both wore military uniforms, or at least a uniform of some description. Both stood before a sleek winged thing with an enormous steam engine in the front of it. It lent some credence to his owner's claim of being a former soldier.
Teague set the picture back down exactly as he found it, not wanting to leave any sign that he had disturbed things while unsupervised. He understood how advantageous it would be to have an owner that trusted him with some seclusion and liberty. The cage and tarp had never afforded him privacy, which was a thing he had always pined after. He made his way back into the chamber of brushstroke stairs quietly, where the floorboards creaked gently beneath his light footpaws and nobody but him appeared to be blinking. To distract himself from the stares, Teague started to ponder what his owner's relationship with that mouse might have been. Brothers in arms? Secret lovers? He enjoyed the latter notion, though peripherally it would worry him that his owner was indeed that-way inclined and might therefore have that dreaded ulterior motive in purchasing him.
That dread was called into question when he pried open the final door, the one that had been opposite the stairwell. This did indeed lead into his master's bedroom. The chamber was lit with lamplight, casting a dull orange and broad shadows through the room. He saw the wolf move through the chamber in the nude. If Mr. Smith knew that the door had inched open, he didn't show it. His motions were relaxed and precise. Teague stared at him in wonder, that sense of attraction he felt solidified into something he could not deny. Mr. Smith's muscle was clear through his rugged, unquestionably manly fur. Teague could make out the ridges in his chest and belly, all of which were indicative of impressive bulk. There were more scars visible through his fur, some cutting across his arms, others his belly. They added to his allure, Teague felt, ever the one to fall for the strongest male.
Teague's eyes inevitably drifted down along the wolf's body. Mr. Smith stood visible just to the left of the door now, rummaging through something Teague couldn't quite see - perhaps a wardrobe? The arctic fox was more interested in the display of wolfish manhood. Even flaccid, Mr. Smith was undeniably sizable, though it was well-proportioned to the considerable size of his body. It lay atop a nest of fur and a heavy sac, the sight threatening to break down the peeping fox's composure altogether. Though he understood it to be a deviant response, Teague was impossibly excited by the view. He felt his mouth become dry and his claws dig into the wood of the door. Then the wolf looked away from the wardrobe and locked eyes with the fox, inflicting another moment of chilled blood on the little white slave. "You can come in," the wolf stated evenly, his tone belying neither approval nor disapproval with the fox's perverse watching.
Ever obedient, especially when frightened, Teague opened the door further and slipped into the room. He toyed with the front of his master's jacket anxiously, peering down at his feet and noticing the prominent tent in the front of his ratty trousers. He panicked and thought to hide it beneath the jacket, though a brief glance up revealed to Teague that the wolf had indeed seen it. The fox drew his head in and down, almost as though he was attempting to prompt his body into swallowing it up altogether. He anticipated the worst, that his owner would respond with disgust and hostility. The irony was not lost on him, nor how shallow he was. As soon as he saw this wolf naked, he was no longer concerned with being forced into a sexual situation, because he knew that by no means would such a thing ever be forced. The wolf was simply too attractive for that.
Mr. Smith started toward the frightened white fox. He raised one of his enormous paws and set it down on Teague's shoulder. His tone was as warm as Teague had heard it be. The wolf said, "I thought you might be this way," as though content with being correct. He wasn't revolted, it seemed, and so Teague relaxed some. He stole another curious glance up at his owner's face, seeing a smile of all things creasing the wolf's maw. Were they going to kiss? Teague sincerely hoped so, but the wolf simply didn't draw his face nearer. The confusion and arousal that Teague felt fostered a budding frustration. The arctic fox considered breaking out of his place entirely and kissing the wolf, though the potential repercussions far outweighed his desire. Instead he stood where he was, feeling that his eyes must have been pleading for him. Instead of initiating what Teague fantasized could be an incredible experience, the wolf said "I don't mind. I often feel similarly myself."
A confirmation of the possibility, at least. Teague felt his brow furrow and knot. He wrung his paws against the jacket and thought of which response would provoke the act he was longing for. The erection in his pants certainly wasn't fading away, not with this nude, muscular wolf so very near. With every inhale Teague could smell the wolf, a scent of intermingling cigar smoke, brandy and a natural odor that Teague could only describe as pleasant and masculine. Without thinking Teague's tail started to brush left and right behind him, another breach in comportment that he would feel embarrassed about when he wasn't so absorbed with the feeling of a naked Mr. Smith being within his reach, unbothered by Teague's erection and with his own dangling member clearly visible should he peer down again. With a dry throat, Teague conjured the sly confidence to ask, "was I bought because you sometimes feel that way?"
"No," the wolf responded, still calm. His paw hadn't left Teague's shoulder. The arctic fox stole the opportunity to look down again, making it clear that he was disappointed and allowing him to 'subtly' admire the wolf's cock again. Teague felt a throb of excitement as he noticed that it had risen just a little. The fox just wanted to reach out and take it in his paw - it was right there, in his reach. He was too afraid that doing so would provoke this sizable wolf into some sort of discipline. As attractive as he found raw physical might, Teague understood that he could do little to remain safe from it should such be necessary. That was part of the appeal for him, of course, but his own tastes evidently made this difficult. The wolf went on, his tone not reflecting the small display of arousal in his loins. "I bought you to protect you from being molested by a master. Nobody should suffer that sort of fate."
The next reply came intuitively to Teague. Maybe he over-performed it just a little, but the purpose was to make his desires clear all the same. "Not even," he murmured, his eyes slowly rolling up from the wolf's crotch, along his waist and deliciously muscled belly, up to his chest where Teague preempted the nipples ought to be hidden. Up along his neck, over his smiling maw and black nose, up to his patient blue eyes. He didn't need to work to seem meek, as his slow look over the wolf established such a feeling for him. "If I want it?" He saw the wolf's eyes narrow down some. Mr. Smith's smile drew just slightly broader, an expression that the fox found incredibly seductive. Teague shivered beneath the wolf's paw, his tail bristling out for wholly different reasons now. His member ached in his trousers. Were his mouth not so dry, he felt sure that he would be drooling.
"Convince me," the wolf instructed. His fingers pressed gently, rhythmically, against Teague's shoulder. The small act of massage something like a grope in the fox's over-eager mind. The fox considered that perhaps this was an invitation to touch, but he couldn't risk that. He didn't want to put the wolf off, not when he felt that he was so close to drawing what he wanted out of his owner. Or perhaps the wolf was toying with him, attempting to work him up only to dismiss him. No, he would do his very best to convince Mr. Smith otherwise; that his fox slave would be worth taking in the most direct sense. The fox's eyes dropped again and he continued to watch the wolf's shaft, partly because it most definitely pleased him to see it, and partly because he thought it might be an indicator of his success. He felt his tongue slip out and run over his top lip.
Almost breathlessly, the fox started to murmur, "before I was purchased, I was taught how to... please a man with my paws and my mouth. I was taught where to squeeze and where to stroke. I was taught where I ought to lick, and how. To squeeze the base to keep everything going. To follow what I'm told to do." Teague noted some success. The wolf was rising, if slowly. The flaccid member he had thought impressive was starting to swell, though he suspected it wouldn't grow much more. That didn't bother him. It was the biggest he had been exposed to yet. "I love the sight of yours, sir. I can't put to words why, but the look of the whole of you makes me feel so eager. Like I might burst out of my very skin just to have permission to touch you, just to - if it isn't above my place to say - feel you touch me. I've never had anybody inside of me."
"This from the demure boy who was so deathly frightened when I told him he could have been bought for that exact purpose?" The wolf seemed to give in. He lowered his paw from Teague's shoulder, instead sliding it around to the fox's back. The wolf's other arm joined it and he drew Teague in close, pressing their bodies flush. Feeling himself held against the wolf's scarred chest made Teague feel, again, that he might faint. He raised his own paws and buried them in the wolf's fur, one pair of fingers running across one of the the wolf's scars. Although he couldn't deny that he found the marks arousing, as they reinforced the sheer force of the wolf's appearance, Teague did feel a little sorry that the wolf had been wounded in the past. He didn't voice such. He wasn't so foolish as to mention anything potentially bad about the wolf's appearance - not that he perceived any part of it as such.
For a short time, Teague didn't respond. He savored the feeling of closeness, the odd intimacy he felt with this man who had bought him from a market stall. Not only did he consider the wolf's appearance, but actions ventured into his mind as well. Bringing him to such an incredible place, lending him a coat when he was cold. Covering him with a blanket when he had fallen asleep. Supposedly, rescuing him from being the pet of some unappealing married man and rapist. Teague was swooning, lost in the romance he felt in the moment and the tautness he felt against his imprisoned cock until he felt a wolfish paw squeeze his bottom, drawing a quiet yelp and moan from him. He interpreted it as a prompt to answer the question, not just an act of the wolf's rapidly building arousal. "You are very handsome, sir. And kind."
Teague felt the wolf's other paw grasp his bottom, one on either cheek. Mr. Smith kneaded and squeezed his cheeks, using his grip to keep Teague in place as he started thrusting his hips gently against the arctic fox. Teague was at once overwhelmed. He dug his fingers into the wolf's chest and started to moan, his own hips jerking back and forth as well. Their difference in size meant that while Mr. Smith's cock was pressed to Teague's belly, Teague's rubbed against one of the wolf's thighs. Every backward thrust of Teague's brought the wolf's fingers closer to his cloth-hidden opening, where he so desperately longed to feel something. The fox shut his eyes tight and imagined what it would be like, all the ways that he wanted the wolf to take him...
One of these impromptu fantasies started to unfold. He felt Mr. Smith's paws drop from his arse to his thighs. The wolf scooped his fox slave up and reflexively Teague's legs gripped the wolf's waist. They were face-to-face now, allowing Teague to be even bolder and actually initiate a kiss. The fox suspected he was clumsy and he was, though if the wolf minded at all he certainly didn't allow it to show. Mr. Smith's tongue delved into Teague's mouth, exploring his slave thoroughly. Their kiss only broke when they reached the double bed. Mr. Smith dropped Teague onto the mattress, allowing the fox only an instant to acclimatize to his new placement before reaching out and gripping his patchwork trousers. Mr. Smith stripped them off Teague with one forceful tug, leaving the fox nude from the waist down. Teague's erection now as bare as the wolf's, Teague felt a brief sense of fear - would he be inadequate? He wasn't anywhere near so big as Mr. Smith was.
These fears were dismissed by the look of sheer desire the wolf wore. He gripped Teague's ankles and slid the fox nearer along the bed, the control he was able to exert budding even more excitement from Teague. One act that the snowy-furred fox had never experienced was having his cock buried in somebody's mouth, a new sensation that Mr. Smith lowered his head to bestow. The wolf ran his tongue over Teague's balls, up to the very base of his shaft. He rolled it up and up and along, 'til he came to the ridge that connected shaft to head. He spent a moment caressing over that particular spot, almost eliciting a would-be muffled scream from the overwhelmed arctic fox. Then Mr. Smith rolled his tongue over the head of Teague's cock and the fox thought that he might break down into sobbing with the sheer pleasure of the motion. His breath came shallow and with no small effort, though the distraction simply couldn't rob from the new experience.
Then he felt Mr. Smith lower his head down, sucking Teague's cock into his maw. The fox uttered the name of every deity he knew, praising them - and his new owner - for this string of precious moments. His hips started to convulse against his will, thrusting up into Mr. Smith's now-bobbing head. The wolf's tongue felt as though it were everywhere, caressing around his head and the underside of his shaft in particular, though the clearly seasoned wolf didn't seem to miss a single spot. Teague's eyes rolled back into his head and he felt his orgasm, a sensation he was so seldom permitted, building fast. His paws clutched at the bedsheets and blankets, twisting them about in an attempt to keep grounded within his body. His toes splayed out and clenched down as though to relieve some of the pressure welling within his body.
Mr. Smith wasn't content to finish Teague with this alone. A pair of his fingers stroked over Teague's gently bouncing testicles, caressing them like the delicate things that they were, before encroaching below. The wolf pressed his fingers up against Teague's opening, pressing just a little. He massaged the tight, virginal ring of muscle. The sensation was too much for Teague, who felt an absolute loss of control. He cried out some incomprehensible mess of syllables meant to be the name of his owner was he burst a copious amount of his cum into Mr. Smith's mouth. Far from new to this sort of play, Mr. Smith was able to swallow all of it. He allowed the fox's member to lull out of his mouth, but even then he hadn't finished. He started lapping over the doubly sensitive flesh, provoking overjoyed and overstimulated tears from his fox possession. Teague mumbled pleas for his owner to stop one moment, and to continue the next.
The wolf ignored the puzzled begging of his fox. He only stopped his actions for an instant, as he pulled his fingers away from Teague's backside and licked one over. Once he deemed it damp enough, he pressed it against Teague again. "Relax," the wolf murmured, before making such impossible by licking over Teague's spent flesh again. The fox tilted his head aside and started to bite down on the blanket, his whole body yearning out for something, though he didn't know what. He only knew that he couldn't satiate himself and relied on Mr. Smith to do so for him. Then he felt renewed pressure against that passage of muscle, forceful and unrelenting. He intuited that Mr. Smith meant to relax that part of him and did his best to comply, though it was difficult with such tantalizing distractions. Mr. Smith's finger made some progress into Teague and the fox thought that he might lose his mind.
Teague was hard again already, though Mr. Smith refused to stop lapping at his cock. That tongue had been everywhere a million times now, yet it still felt gratifying enough to distract him from the penetrating finger. Mr. Smith intended that; to keep Teague's mind so preoccupied with another sensation that he didn't reflexively resist his first penetration. Slowly, Mr. Smith made his way through Teague's tight canal until his finger was buried completely. Teague hadn't clamped down around him yet, so he curved his finger upward just slightly, pressing his dulled claw against the flesh inside of the fox. Then he drew the finger back slowly, brushing it over that most sensitive part of Teague, eliciting a scream from the fox - who had thankfully stuffed blanket into his mouth.
Mr. Smith repeated the gesture over and over, tormenting Teague's sweet spot. He drew the fox's shaft into his mouth yet again, sucking forcefully now as his tongue attacked the places he had learned to be most sensitive the last time. Teague did his best to keep his hips still now, though he was sobbing with pleasure into the cloth beneath him. It was almost impossible for the fox to possess any sort of control. His hips wriggled though he willed them not to, his head tussled from side to side while he wailed desperately into the blankets. His raised his legs to further expose his backside, his toes clutching at the air as his paws squeezed the blankets. It only took a short while, shorter than before, for Teague to cum again. His arse clutched down around the finger inside of him, pressing that claw up against his sweet spot and making his second climax even more potent.
Once Mr. Smith was done swallowing his second orgasm, Teague felt his whole body collapse. It was only morning and he was already exhausted. He considered slipped off to sleep here, in his owner's bed, for once content with his life and all it had brought him. His afterglow was one of sweet relaxation, disrupted only by the welcome feeling of Mr. Smith climbing up onto the bed and laying alongside him. Teague's eyes were closed, but he could feel the wolf watching him. In his mind's eye, Mr. Smith was smiling with satisfaction and pride, though Teague knew he didn't do anything to kindle pride in the wolf. He didn't show any remarkable sexual prowess by laying on his back and allowing the most wonderful things to be done to him.
Mr. Smith wasn't going to allow Teague to slip off into sleep, though. He still had a fearsome, dripping erection waiting to be attended to. The wolf reached out his own paw and retrieved Teague's, informing his slave of his current state by bringing Teague in direct contact with that rigid cock. Teague's eyes opened and he found his weariness beaten at bay by excitement. He couldn't fathom it, but somehow, touching a shaft that size simply filled his mind with desire and joy. And scuttled up onto his knees and crouched beside it, staring in wonder as he ran his paw from the base to the head, drawing away the wolf's sheathe with every stroke. "I've never seen one so..." The fox trailed off again, running his tongue over his lips.
The wolf chuckled, raising his hands to fold them beneath his head. He closed his eyes and appeared perfectly at peace with the situation, though to say that he was an expressive man would be a stark misapprehension at this point. Teague squeezed the head of his cock tight, then drew his gripping hand down again. His free hand cupped the wolf's balls and started to massage them, very gentle and careful. Teague heard the wolf's commanding baritone again, a welcome sound here in the bed. "Become familiar with it. You're too tight at the moment to take it, something we'll work on." They'd be doing this again? Teague could barely contain himself. His tail was swaying about behind him once more. The last command his owner gave was the most satisfying to him. "Just enjoy yourself."
Peripherally Teague considered that he must have been horrible at concealing his blatant lust, though he dismissed the thought with the decision that he didn't care. He started to stroke the wolf's cock rapidly, his grip firm and tight, as he stooped in and licked over the head. Mr. Smith's breath hitched. Teague's opposite hand continued to juggle the wolf's balls. Teague swallowed the wolf's cockhead into his mouth, where he swirled his tongue over it as he'd been taught to. Teague was aware that his actions must have felt inexperienced and cumbersome to the wolf, who made the experience something unique and incredible both times. Teague learned to repeat the same motions when he was taught, if only because he longed to remove himself from the situation each lesson. He hoped that he could satisfy the wolf - perhaps it wouldn't be a problem, as Mr. Smith hadn't felt his mouth before.
A wolfish hand slowly made its way down to his head, stroking through his snowy fur. The gesture made Teague feel a peculiar warmth. He was accustomed to his former master simply grabbing his head and driving it down on his cock. Teague did feel a slight pressure prompting him down though, making it clear what his owner wanted - but It wasn't a violent command. Teague slid his hand down to the base of the wolf's shaft to keep it steady. The fox slid his muzzle down over the wolf's sizable member, swallowing it down into his throat with practiced skill. He started to bob back and forth rhythmically, keeping time to a song in his head. The scent was a distraction. It was heady and very much like the smell of Mr. Smith's body, if more potent and less diluted beneath drink and smoke. Teague found he adored it. His ministrations were rewarded with muted grunts and drops of precum.
"Squeeze with your tongue," Mr. Smith instructed. Teague was embarrassed that his efforts needed direction, but thankful for it nonetheless. He would have hated to under-perform. He slipped his lips over his teeth on one descent, keeping them there to protect the wolf's cock as he pressed his tongue against the one side. Kneeling alongside Mr. Smith's hip, this meant that the wolf's under and uppersides were uncovered. Teague thought to remedy this by suckling on the cock as best he could, almost as though he were weaning from it. And he was. He wanted desperately to taste more of the wolf's precum and he certainly wasn't disappointed. His efforts were further praised by the wolf's paw, which now stroked down over the fur of Teague's back.
The wolf's hips didn't move as Teague pleasured him. Everything about Mr. Smith, save for his breathing, felt absolutely controlled and deliberate. He even thought to warn Teague, "I'm going to cum," allowing the fox to draw his head back in preparation. Teague, leaning from his owner, leaned his body to the side and circled his tongue about to caress over that little bit of cock where the cap of the head connected to the underside of the shaft. He sucked all the while, as though to pull Mr. Smith's orgasm out of him, which evidently worked. The wolf came with a growl, filling Teague's mouth with more than the fox had expected. Teague spluttered, sending wolf cum over Mr. Smith's hips. He managed to swallow most of it, and when Mr. Smith ordered "clean it up" through heavy breath, he didn't hesitate to lap up the rest.
When that was done, Teague felt again rather bold. Enough so to cuddle up to his owner without invitation. He lay on his side and pressed his front against the supine wolf. He felt Mr. Smith raise and arm and loop it around him, drawing the fox in tight. Mr. Smith was still panting, clearly pleased with Teague's performance, even if it had been difficult for the fox to tell during. Through that bated breath and in the same cordial near-monotone as always, the wolf asked Teague, "would you make that a customary part of your stay here? I haven't a bed for you yet, after all."
Teague didn't have to think on it. He inched up and placed a gentle kiss on Mr. Smith's cheek. "Yes."