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Fast Cars, Black Wolves

by H. A. Kirsch

Copyright 2013

---

My name is Kennedy Aaron. I am a cross fox. Up until a week ago, I worked as the customer relations something something for Central Bank of New York in downtown Lainsville. I rent a house in the north suburbs, and recently got a new roommate named Bradshaw Daly. In another few weeks, the house will be sold by the original owner and we'll have to move.

Bradshaw Daly is an old fuddy-duddy sort of name, which is fine, because he prefers being called Buck. He's a charcoal wolf with red highlights in his headfur, and a red tattoo of a tribal dragon curling around his black, uncut dick. He wears Ed Hardy underwear and muscle teeshirts. I had thought he was a douchebag and predatory misogynist, but it turns out he's more like a naturalist who likes butch women and mincing faggot cross foxes. He works for a company called HiPer Automotive designing and building fancy body parts for cars. If you see a car around Lainsville with ridiculous fiberglas go-fast wings and aerodynamics parts, he probably made it. He drives a customized Camaro SS with a supercharger the size of a jet engine, painted in red and black that matches his fur and penis.

As soon as we fucked the first time, I became a pothead. I'm not quite sure what did it: fucking my roommate who had started off terrifying me; hating my job more and more as they tried to downsize the department into me; or the fact that it made me uproariously horny. Buck claimed he smoked because it kept him from throwing up after smoking a good cigar, but that seemed silly. He also became uproariously horny on pot. He also turned into quite the feral wolf, probably because he was a First.

Of course, we didn't smoke it per se. We vaporized it, which is (legitimately) so much more healthy. Perfect for that after-cigar haze. I'm sure cigars are unhealthy. I'd find them disgusting if Buck didn't look perfectly masculine with one sticking out of his grimacing mouth or wound between two leather-gloved fingers.

I suppose there's also a little bit of costume play involved. Buck plays the part of a douchebag who thankfully only pops his motorcycle jacket collar, and I play the part of some hot little fucktoy tod.

But I had no job, and we'd have to move, and who knows if we'd stay together - we weren't Together anyway, at least not if you believed Mr. Dick Tattoo.

I also lost my car, since I had sold its barely-functioning ass to one of Buck's friends, a coyote who wanted to teach his son how to fix cars.

I also lost all of my friends, as they moved away, or died. That was heavy.

Then I saw the want-ad on Craigslist for a customer support manager at Saran Automotive Group, a chain of car dealerships that made up an entire motor mall near Buck's company.

Buck could let me drive his car to the job interview, and since it was a car dealer, I could buy a car! Friends, hah.

"And it worked! Although I thought he would turn into a ghost when I started driving that Thing," I said, leaning on 'the thing' as if it was some atrocity. In a way, Buck's car really was. It was Awesome, in the more original meaning, inspiring of Awe. Awe, like Greatness, is neither positive nor negative. "I don't exactly have a car right now. I'm sure that's a job interview red flag. However, my roommate works just a few streets over at HiPer Automotive, which is rather convenient." Who was I kidding. Working at a car dealer? Car salesmen make lawyers look like higher forms of life. Might as well just cut loose in the interview.

The interviewer was a fox named Mark. Unlike my black and tawny dark-muzzled self, he was an arctic fox. He left his dress shirt partly unbuttoned and wore no tie, in an attempt to casually draw attention away from his being a snow-white puffball. "The red and black Camaro? I didn't think it was yours - the guy who owns it comes by here to talk shop with one of our mechanics pretty regularly. Big black wolf, kind of like one of those tough-ass guys on a mechanic reality show, all red up here," he dusted through his own head-fluff over those cute little ears.

"Exactly," I said, and wasn't sure if I was winning points for knowing Buck, or horrifying Mark by knowing Buck. "Doesn't quite drive like a dragster, though. If you happen to be turning when you get on the gas, you turn very, very fast. And if you stand on the gas, the supercharger," yes, I could tell by Mark's expression lighting up as he knew what I was talking about! I'd used the right word for once! "Will suck nearby small animals into its gaping turbine hole."

Mark looked tickled as we walked, but then stopped me and his face almost frowned. "I'll be blunt about this job. I need someone in between me and the sales team. I'm in charge of handling all of the customer support and feedback from the sales and service guys. I need more legitimacy, and working with sales people tends to bleed that away. Plus, I think we could probably lean on them for better behavior," Mark said, and stepped close enough that only I would hear what he said, but not so close that it looked like he was getting intimate. It helped that we were walking around the quite cavernous Lexus dealership, headed back to the Honda one where the interview had started. Mark thought moving around made him think better.

"That's a very interesting idea," I said, and caught another gleam in Mark's eye. Not a gleam of physical interest, like the ones Buck got. Just an excited one. "That is the exact opposite of my previous job. They were interested in cutting customer service down to a bare minimum. Quite hard to argue with the one who holds all of your money, I guess. While I might be quite snippy and sarcastic, I don't like rotten customer service any more than anyone else. And certain kinds of it can get quite rotten."

Mark gleamed so hard that I could feel my fur bleaching. "Frankly, I think you're it. One of the other guys I saw today, I could see him in the job, too. But you're just what I need."

I felt nervously flattered. "Well, that's-"

"Of course, you have to get past Mr. Saran," the fox cut in, as he led me back to his office. "I think I can get you in with him tomorrow." His words had some weight now, instead of zealous optimism. "We're having the company barbeque but he swore up and down that I should just pick some damn someone-and have them come down and eat lunch with me. In those exact words. You don't really argue when he says stuff like that. He's like this big." Mark reached up over his head and tipped his white fingers forward. He had his shirt cuffs rolled up so that his fluffy puffy fur didn't balloon out of his wrists. Granted, he was about my height, but he was still describing someone very large. "And he has horns."

"A regular bull," I said, having a vague idea that-

"That's him!" Mark slapped me on the back. "Hey, you mentioned you're in the market for a car. I'm actually not going to just hand you to some sales guy. What kind of car are you interested in?" He kept his arm there for just a few more seconds, then let go. Son of a bitch, Mark was a car salesman who'd been promoted.

"Oh, I don't know, a sporty one?" I said, attempting to act like a bimbo.

"I knew it! Come on, our used guys here get some pretty wild stuff through. We're kind of a car town out here." Mark whisked me out into the parking lot where it was much more gloomy than the luxurious austerity of car dealerships, threatening to rain all day. He picked up one of "the used car guys" on the way, and we headed out to the back few rows. They were in an area where things could be completely chain-fenced off.

I vaguely recognized some of the cars. My father had been a complete car nut, and I dutifully followed him about fixing up an old sports car. I even learned to drive in it. I thought I had escaped everything my father had given me in terms of personality quirks. There was a Civic Type R, like someone had cut an eggshell in half and plastered a wing on the back. A GT-R, even though it was not at all a Honda. An NSX, albeit in surprisingly ragged condition. And then, like a pimp would drive through the country, a metallic yellow-gold Honda S2000 with black and bronze custom wheels.

It was ridiculous.

But it was actually beautiful, a wonderful sweet champagne color, just dark enough and seeming to swell and ebb through the car's curves.

It was a convertible roadster, the epitome of impractical.

But really, I only shopped for myself, and let's face it, I was having my mid-life crisis early. "I don't care if this is almost an Old Car now," I said, gleefully holding onto the steering wheel. "I suppose you're going to let me drive it. If I can drive Buck's car, I can drive anything." You could let the clutch out in first gear and instead of stalling, The Red Dragon would chirp its tires and stomp forward to a full roll. If you gently feathered the throttle, it felt like someone was pushing you from behind. If you stood on it, aside from ingesting local fauna as I mentioned earlier, the acceleration just welled out of nowhere and hurtled you along atop some snarling Ed Hardy underwear tiger.

"You got it," Mark said, and his canine comrade handed the keys to me. "If you try anything, well, then you won't get the job. Mr. Saran will probably be pretty unhappy, too."

"That's creepy, and I will see you in twenty minutes, which incidentally is enough to take a quick spin through the state park!" I said, increasing to a holler as I started the car up and rolled on off. With it being a drop top, I could. It made me feel even more giddy than I already did, having impressed a fellow vulpine and spent the last twelve hours wearing a pair of satin panties colored almost identically to the car that I had just slid into.

The exhaust was quite loud, with a bit of a booming sound to it that gave way to a terrific shriek as the RPM climbed up to 9,000. It was a first generation S2000, with its ridiculous V-TEC shenanigans. This, at least according to some research. Ever since Buck had moved in, I'd suddenly been more interested in cars.

Those engines had little torque so the previous owner had attached a supercharger. Superchargers add more torque with higher RPMs, so while it made it easier to drive around town, revving it up was explosive. It was quite unlike Buck's car, nimble on its own without requiring sheer brute power to dart around, snug and communicative instead of massive, and there were no horrible blind spots because There Was No Roof.

As I tore through the park's twisting scenic drive roads, devoid of people as it was mid-afternoon and no one had much business at a park during the work week, I wondered how I had managed to spend so many years after high school driving a completely boring car.

Back at the Honda dealership, the sales people were waiting for me. Standing outside and having some sort of bull session, more like it, although presumably they were ensuring I returned with the car. I pulled up next to them and shut the car off, then leaned on the window. "I intended to come here to get a job. Seeing as that is up in the air until tomorrow, and my roommate drove me here, and thus I have no car at the moment, I'm going to make myself look even better by buying a car from you."

Mark seemed a little surprised that I was actually interested in buying the S2000. He was further surprised when I simply took out my checkbook, even more when I simply paid the asking price. After an obnoxious hour of fussing around, I had a ride home. A very giddy ride home.

---

I pulled up into the driveway and what was waiting for me? Someone else's car, a boxy Ford family-mover with vinyl graphics on the side. "Bergman Real Estate Solutions". Worst case scenario: I had completely blown the date on the rental buy-out and now someone was coming to evict us. Best case scenario: I had completely blown the date, Buck was home and his car was hiding in the garage, and I was going to get in trouble.

The thought of getting in trouble with Buck, despite the very real housing issue we were having, was stimulating enough that I sat in the car for a few more minutes and claimed it was just new owner giddiness instead of calming down and losing my erection.

I got out and simply strode into the house like I was coming home normally. I wanted to call out as if I was oblivious but I simply had no time - Buck and some other wolf were sitting at the dining room table amidst an array of paperwork. Buck was dressed like Buck, which in this case meant a black tank top and black leather pants. It made him look a bit like a gang banger for some reason, even though it was all properly fitted. The other wolf couldn't have been more different, stock gray timberwolf, about two thirds the size of Buck, and nervously officious.

They were right in the middle of something and Business Wolf looked a bit alarmed to be interrupted by me. Buck, on the other hand, looked unusually bewildered as he stared at a long legal-size document. "Just a fucking minute," he said, not even looking at me, steeled himself, and then signed the document. And another. And a check.

"Oh, what's this?" I finally said. "Are you turning my house into a wolf den?" What a thing to say.

Buck shot me a glare that made standing in one spot in front of a stranger quite difficult without crossing my knees. "Nah. Wait, yeah. I just fucking bought it, so yeah, it'll be a wolf den."

"Ahh, I see," I said, and that quivering sensation - also threatening to excite me - grew so painful that I had to move. Then, like nothing was amiss, I strode off to my bedroom. "Well I bought a car," I said to the air in front of me.

Once safely inside, I leaned back on the closed door and What The Fuck Did Buck Just Say Did He Say He Was Buying The House Question Mark Exclamation Point.

Blazer, off. Tie, off. I felt a little better. Dress shirt, unbuttoned a few spots. After loosening up my interview clothes, the shock felt a little better. I had gone to get a job, and intended to surprise Buck by coming home with a new car instead (albeit with a follow-up interview and a seemingly impressed future coworker.) But no, Buck was not going to let _that_ happen. No surprising him.

I had to do something. I had to see if this was actually a dream or some sort of strange fantasy, or actual reality that Buck was buying the house that _I_ had started renting years earlier and had invited _him_ to come live at by way of a classified ad. I grabbed my empty coffee mug from my desk and came back out.

Buck and Business Wolf were having some little bit of chit-chat, which seemed mostly on the agent's part. Buck wasn't very good at small talk. I passed by as they got up to go to the front door, deposited the mug in the dishwasher (which happened to be clean, but whatever, it was for the casual effect), and then came up on them as they were about to leave. It was time for The Handshake, which Buck used to further jostle the wolf.

Buck turned to look at me. "I just bought the house," he said, and put on that bewildered look again, as if I hadn't just heard him say that minutes before.

"Mmm," I responded, swished my tail, and then sidled up to him. I reached around his chest in a half embrace from the side, stroked the bare part of his ruff, and nuzzled him. "You're the most amazing wolf ever."

Then I went back to my room and shut the door. Buck bought the fucking house. Buck bought the fucking house. Buck bought the fucking house. If I thought the same thought three times in a row, it would become real! That only works in the bathroom mirror, and if you're a teenaged girl.

My room felt small, even though it was the master bedroom. I felt itchy and took my shirt off, then my pants, and clutched up a pillow, waiting for Buck to come for me.

And did he ever. He burst through the door so hard that the knob clanked against the strike plate on the adjacent wall. He was wearing the same leather pants, his cowboy motorcycle boots (a rather dashing pair of black snip toe harness boots that announced his presence with a raucous clop against the hardwood), a straight-zip racer jacket, italian driving gloves, and a red and black do-rag. The design on it wasn't paisely, but was the dragon motif that he had tattooed on his black dick. He was breathing hard, his eyes looked bleary but intensely angry, and he smelled like grassy burnt popcorn. Stoned wolf. "You bought a fucking car?"

"I-" but then he was almost on top of me and I scurried off the bed. "Well how am I supposed to drive to work?"

"You bought a fucking car but you don't have a JOB?"

I backed into the closet. It was walk-in, but only in the sense that it had three walls - it was still closet-sized. "I'm getting a job! I went for an interview at Saran Motors, this customer service thing, and well you know what happens when you walk into a car dealer. Sometimes you walk out with a car! It's not like it's brand new. It wasn't that much." It was more than I would have paid for a down payment on a loan, which actually was quite a lot. So I was lying. "And you bought the house. Did you really just buy the house?" I squeezed the pillow that I'd snatched off the bed with me.

Rrruuh! He grabbed the center of the pillow and pulled. It tore apart, pillow protector and sleeve and all, into a fluff of polyfill. "You fucking humiliated me in front of that wolf guy! Draping your fucking bitch-fox arms around me and kissing me like that! Most awesome fucking wolf, what kind of smarmy bullshit is that? Why don't you fucking stuff your bra next time?" I clasped a hand across my chest but he grabbed it next, then yanked me up to my feet and tossed me into bed. "And what the fuck are you wearing? Are you wearing fucking panties? Were you gonna come out dressed like that if he hadn't left yet, huh?!"

"I, they're for good luck, at the interview, if I can do an in-in-interview in panties under my slacks then I can do anything, I," I shrank back against the other pillows. He climbed into bed almost in a pounce and pushed me back with a big, leathered hand to the chest. I panicked and scurried my hands in front of him, unsuccessfully pressing at his half-leathered chest. "Buck! Buck, stop!" I thought I saw his free arm twitch back. "No! Don't hit me!"

He snarled and paused, making it all the more obvious that he was indeed winding up to smack me. A moment of shock struck his black face, and then he grabbed down on both of my shoulders and started to hump me. His covered dick plowed against the gold satin of my show-girl panties, and against my own helplessly swollen dick. "The most awesome wolf in the world just bought your fucking house. And you know what else he wants?" He growled into my ear, then nibbled at it. It felt nice, and the way he spoke was so ridiculously gruff-suave and yet so stoned as well, with long pauses and a lot of heavy breathing. "Why the fuck do you think I bought this house? Why do you think I picked to live here? I found some cheaper places, just as nice. I like the fox that comes with this one."

I stopped trying to push him off and kneaded at his muscles instead. Buck really was the most awesome wolf ever, at least to me, under him, and that moment. "I thought you were mad at me,"

"I don't know what the fuck I am," he snarled, and did a pushup using my shoulders, cock jamming down hard into the crook between gold panties and tawny thigh fur. "Except I wanna fuck you really bad. Except I'm not gonna do it right now. You're gonna play dressup. That's something you like, right?" He climbed off me and started rooting around in the closet.

I nearly came, right on the spot. He'd never actually had me dress up as anything before, out of the handful or so times we'd fucked up till then. I usually did, but it was of my own initiative, feeling sexy and daring. Grunt, grunt, and then he tossed a leather miniskirt out onto the bed. Grunt, grunt, and he repeated with a purple leather dress jacket - imagine a punk fashion pinup girl from the 1980's. Leather driving gloves, and my dressage riding boots. "Put all that shit on," he finally gestured.

"Are you going to watch?"

He gruffed and leaned back against the door, almost losing his balance as it pushed shut with a clack. "I'm gonna make sure you do it."

"So, yes," I sighed. "Do I keep the panties? They have a fuck hole. Do you know what that is? That's a slot in the back-"

"I'm not fucking retarded, I know what a fuck hole is," Buck growled.

I shut up and did as asked. Miniskirt, which was snug enough to display my lack of birthing hips, but flat-fronted enough to somewhat hide my cock bulge. Boots, which made me wince a little since wearing them reminded me of the last time I wore them, which involved Buck's car and a dildo. Jacket, which I hadn't worn in years and had really only bought because Purple Pop-Collar Punk Girl Jacket was not a common vintage store find. It smelled so leathery.

"How'd you fucking get into this shit, anyway?"

"How'd you get into this shit, yourself?" I shot back. "Or do you just wear leather because it looks tough?"

Buck shrugged and rubbed at his chest. "Got into wearing wading boots and stuff working at my dad's farm. I told you that. Got into bike stuff when I had a bike. I dunno if I give a shit about actual parts, like I don't fucking lick my boots while jacking off or anything. Stuff just gets me hard. Like watching you dress up like a fucking whore. That gets me hard." Now he rubbed at his cock bulge.

Time to see what the damage was. I stepped in front of the mirror. "Oh my god," I cackled. "Too bad I'm from upstate or I'd have something to say to you," I said, cocking a couple poses. Black leather skirt, purple leather jacket, black leather gloves, black leather boots, and if I moved just right, a flash of gold from my ass when the skirt rode up. Trash. Absolute trash. "Bucky, how come ya nevah caaaaaaall me?" I squawked, doing my best to impersonate some shrill downtown girl, and sidled up to-

SMACK!

"Shut the fuck up. If you ever say shit in that voice, I'm gonna smack your fucking teeth out your ears," Buck snarled. After smacking me.

I recoiled, hands up to my face, probably looking like I was being dramatic but actually protecting my face. I fox-whimpered and backed away from Buck. His eyes looked funny when he got stoned - here's a tangent. Buck had wolf eyes, so there weren't really any whites showing. But his irises could change color, usually to some dark ruddy orange color from the usual yellow. Smoking started to do it a little, but apparently getting mad really did it, because he basically had red eyes after smacking me. "Oh. Oh."

Buck lurched forward and grabbed me by the wrist again. "Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna take me out for a little drive in your bitch-ass new car, and then. And then. You know what we're gonna do? We're gonna find some nice little spot and have some private time together."

Private time? "Private time?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna fuck you in the woods like the piece of trash you look like. C'mon."

"You should have made me put on my spike heels!" I yelped, as he pulled me out of my bedroom and dragged me across the house. I tried to pull away once we got to the kitchen, but I just slid across the floor like a recalcitrant housepet on a leash. Riding boots aren't good for walking around, just riding stuff.

Buck was too strong, I was too much of a pushover, and it was really hard to say no to him even if he scared me. My face still stung from that hard, unwarranted smack. "You can't fucking drive a car in heels."

"Oh, like you'd know!" I took the initiative and pranced outside. Right into the pool of light by the garage, where the entire neighborhood would be able to see Kennedy Aaron dressed like an extra from Pretty Woman. "Get me my keys?"

Buck was half out the door, stopped with a snort, and ducked back inside. He showed up a few seconds later and threw them at me, then stomped out and locked the house. "This is my second fucking idea. You'd have loved the first even more but I dunno if I wanna piss off the neighbors."

We got in, or really rather climbed in, and took off. "I'm guessing you want to drive somewhere fun, since you said 'woods', and we're driving a sports car."

"You, you're driving a fucking Honda. I'm fucking wearing it," Buck groused, then against his blow-your-house-down demeanor, almost giggled. When I shifted, his head bobbed. "Shit fuck I'm trashed. Put fucking shake in my vape and now I'm, so what the fuck is up with this car? You're a fucking idiot, Ken. You don't have a fucking job." His change of subject was pitch-perfect, because he really did seem to be too high.

Driving around in the dark with a convertible was a bit more exciting than I'd expected. It was a bit like riding a roller coaster in the dark, save for all the screaming. "I might be getting one. I didn't _intend_ on buying this car," I sort of lied, because I knew it had been at Saran Honda, and had researched it, and decided that it would be foolish. "You dropped me off for a job interview. They just suckered me in by all but promising I'd get a job. Also, I'm about due for a midlife crisis. Losing all of my friends? Quitting my job in a very non-re-hireable way? Losing my house to a WOLF? Now all I have to do is have an interview with Mr. Saran at the company barbeque. That ought to be easy. He's a bull so he won't be stuffing his face with the sales staff, who are all obnoxious apex predators. As usual."

Buck looked very near passing out, or at least very loose. His knees were bent a little, and he had the seat as far back as it would go, which wasn't very much farther back. No back seat, remember. But, despite his ludicrously stoned condition, it looked like he'd stuffed a sausage down his leather pants, and every few seconds he felt his chest. "Mister Fucking Saran? Clive Saran? You met him yet?"

"No. Oooh, hold on, we're approaching the vast wilderness," I said, and turned off the county road into the state park. Perhaps I didn't _turn_ as much as _slide_. I jostled the wheel and let out a jaunty little yip.

"Fucking shit! Are you crazy?"

"There was some gravel there, and yes, I am fucking crazy, letting you convince me to drive you out into the woods while you're baked like a pie and so obviously wound up. If I didn't have to work this-" I clawed at the shifter and downshifted, filling the woods with a howl more befitting a big sport bike than a car, "You almost certainly would have cum in your pants by now."

That seemed to perk Buck up even more than oversteering around a corner. "I don't fucking get this shit, you drove a Hyundai, and not even one of their gay-ass Genesis things or that ugly old Tiger shark what the fuck ever. A fucking Accent. You know what good an Accent is? It has wheels and a fucking warranty. But what the fuck, you didn't even know what your Hi-un-day pissed into the garage floor and now you're rev matching?"

"You talk so much when you're high," I cackled. "Swear so much! Opposite lock!" And I tried a little drift around a corner. I just barely skimmed the gravel on the other side, whew. Luckily I could see headlights coming, if any were coming, and no one was coming. Yet.

"Boy, am I so glad I barely ever let you fucking drive. You'd fucking spin out the Camaro so fast it'd go back in time. So what's the story, huh?" He had to almost yell over the exhaust and supercharger whine. "Shit, is this thing blown too? Why don't you just buy a fucking Ferrari and be done with it?"

I don't want to give the impression that torching around the scenic drive of the Green Ridge Wilderness State Park was some sort of effortless thing. It was terrifying even during the day, a road rated for forty five miles an hour but realistically down to 20 or less on many of the corners. The hills outside of Lainsville were just shy of foothills and the road essentially switched back up and down through them, while being alternately tree tunneled or roaring a foot or two away from bluffs. I was also still unfamiliar with the S2000, so when it seemed like I was pushing it, I was really accidentally going a little too far. Nonetheless, it was a terrific way to take my mind off Buck's plan. "Hmm? I wasn't listening…" I finally said, after navigating one of those switchbacks-past-a-cliff scenarios. In the dark.

"How'd you fucking learn to drive like this?" Buck asked, and I caught him gripping onto the door handle. Hmm.

"My father loved classic cars and sports cars, pretty much just cars worth loving I suppose. He had a Shelby Cobra that he restored and drove around and I'd help him with that, because that's what boys do for their fathers unless you watch too much porn."

"Huh wha?"

"I learned to drive in a Shelby Cobra," I simplified things for Buck.

"Get the fuck out," he said, in a tone of voice that almost included 'bro'.

I spotted a picnic area turnout and pulled into it. There was a chain preventing people from driving into it, but years of circumvention and lax park authorities had carved a path to the side of the bollards. The S2000, being a roadster, fit easily inside. I pulled to a stop on the gravel and got out my cell phone. Picture album, flick flick flick, and I showed it to buck. "That's me, I'm probably about thirteen or fourteen, mugging like an idiot. I was desperately into 1980's stuff then, I think I wanted to be Peter Murphy, that guy from Bauhaus, Bela Lugosi's Dead and all that stuff. Look at that hair!" In the photo, I was sitting in the driver's seat of the Cobra, pretending I was gleefully running people over, while the body of the car was conspicuously covered with soap suds. It was wash day. "My dad said if I could learn to drive in that thing, I could drive anything. No synchro thingies in the custom race transmission, five zillion pounds of torque and high gearing so you can go really fast, really no comfort in any meaningful sense of the term, and it sounded like a freight train played back at 78 RPM."

Grunt.

"So yes, I actually did learn to drive in a Shelby Cobra, and clearly I enjoyed the roadster experience because, tada! Now I have the complement, a screamy pimp-gold Honda. At least there isn't one of those wing things on it, and it's not pink."

I stopped the car and shut off the lights. Bad idea. It was awfully dark. Moonlit, but we were in a state park, devoid of any other lighting. The only artificial lights were the emergency phone stand and my cell phone, and it went to sleep while I had it out. Buck continued not talking, uttered another grunt, and then got out of the car.

"Where are you going? Is this it?"

"Is this fucking it," he snarl-laughed, and sauntered slowly away. "I gotta take a hot piss. I had to fucking down a few shots after that real estate guy left. Had me on fucking nerves the whole time, you know how many fucking numbers I had to stare at? And that shit doesn't make sense."

I leaned on the car door. The picnic area had portapotties but they were opposite where Buck was headed. He stopped at the edge of the gravel and looked over his shoulder. "Get the fuck over here," he growled. "Hold my dick."

"You are _not_ pissing on me."

"Get the fuck over here and hold my fucking dick, what's your problem? I'm not gonna piss on you, we're in _public_!"

I came up behind him and got in the way of his tail, which twitched down between my legs. I reached around and felt for his cock, but found only leather. "You lazy ass," I huffed against his leather jacket, and unbuttoned it. "Buttons, too. Why don't you get lace-up pants-"

"Shut the fuck up, I gotta take a fucking leak!" he snarled again.

I pulled him out of the leather. No underwear. His cock felt so big and floppy, and I couldn't see it, not without craning around him, and the moon was over my shoulder and behind some trees. "Like this?" I was so, so hard. I drooled against his leather jacket, then nuzzled it into my fur so he wouldn't eventually get mad.

Buck seemed to swell up as he inhaled, leather squeaking a little, and then uttered a stifled grunt. His cock surged in my fingers and I could feel a sort of rushing sensation. Piss spattered out onto the ground, then tapered off and dribbled down my fingers. Luckily my punk pinup girl outfit included fingerless gloves. "Pull the fucking skin back, don't you know how to use a fucking dick? You've got your own."

I gently teased his foreskin back, and by this point, he was so hard that if I carefully let go, his cock would throb back into my finger grip from his heartbeat. After another body-swelling inhale, he started to piss again, and his tail jerked against me, then went limp. Another hot rush, this one unabated. I wasn't sure where to aim so I just slowly waved back and forth, imagining that a wolf would want to maximize piss-wetting for some territorial reason.

Buck was so big, not just his cock but everything. Not immense and burly, just tall and ferally built, and he smelled so amazing. Hot leather and hints of smoke and hints of bourbon and that sexual stink that suggested depraved behavior and poor hygiene but didn't come from any observable filth. While he pissed, and it seemed to take forever, I stroked up and down the middle of his chest, fingers bumping over the hem of his stretch tank top and moving between fur and fabric. Finally, a few dick-jumping squirts, and he just knocked my arm off. "Done, get back to the car," he growled.

After being knocked away, I hurried back. Did I mention riding boots are not good for walking around? I almost lost my balance thanks to the loose gravel. I reached for the door handle and instead slammed into the side of the car. "What the fu-HUH!" Then I rolled up over the front quarter panel and onto the hood. Buck had attacked me, but I hadn't even heard him coming. To try to get away, I rolled, but he just rolled me further. I saw his face, and then kept going, as he flattened me forward against the hot metal. Hot! Not too hot, but uncomfortable. The car was still ticking and crackling from the spirited driving.

Then he leaned down in and pinned me in place with that piss-wet, bare dick up against my miniskirt. He groaned and held my arms down, then slid back and forth until it slid up under the skirt.

"Here? Here?! Aren't you f-forgetting something, Buck?"

"Yeah, I got some lube in my fucking jacket somewhere," he huffed, then flattened down against me. Nuzzle, lick, and nip at my ear. "Maybe we could do it real fucking raw. Just some spit."

I tried to wrestle him off, but it didn't work. Buck was too strong, and I didn't really want to wrestle him off, because trying to wrestle him off and failing at it was hotter than just sprawling against the uncomfortably hot hood of my new car. "Please do it the right way? Please?" I got a hand free and tried to thumb at his chin.

He bit me!

"Oww! Fuck, you could take my finger off!" I snapped, shaking my hand. He leaned up and snorted to himself, then started trying to root through his pockets. He seemed to be having trouble even _finding_ his pockets. I was about to offer more help when he froze, ears snapped upright. "What? What'd I say?"

He smacked me in the face, but not like a slap. The smack came with a hard grab and he bore down enough that he banged my head into the windshield with a thump. "Shut up."

I shut up. I heard… nothing, particularly. Some wind rustling in the trees, the far off hiss from downtown Lainsville and the highway that rimmed it and crosshaired it, some loud car in the distance.

"You hear that?" Buck finally hissed.

"Mrfgh," and then he let go of my mouth. "I hear that we're all alone in the wil-"

"Shut UP," he hissed again, "Get fucking down, someone's coming!" Then he slid me off the hood of the Honda and hunkered down next to the side of it. I tumbled to the ground and was about to scrabble up to normal, fuck the polish on my boots, when he yanked me up close by the scruff.

All I could hear, aside from his doubly intoxicating steam train breathing, was the same natural quiet and remote din and someone's car. Getting a little louder, that car was. Not just driving on the highway either, plenty of snarling acceleration and thundering overrun gurgle and all those other things that make driving sporty cars on winding roads fun.

Sport cars on winding roads.

Winding roads.

That car was definitely approaching us, and fast, probably as recklessly fast as I'd been. It wasn't some screaming little rice burner like my new S2000, either, but some hulking beast like Buck's Camaro. Lights blasted through the trees, and not just regular headlights, not just those obnoxious bright blue or purple ones, not even those luxury car projector ones that blind you while driving. This was like the rack on an offroad truck, enough lights that the forest looked like something out of an X-Files episode.

Whomever it was sped by the turnoff into our little secret place, then did an e-brake turn with a screaming roar, barged into the picnic area's drive and skidded to a halt. It was, I was pretty sure, a black Ford Mustang, one of the newer ones that looked like a modern update of the classic muscle car. It certainly sounded like a Mustang, with a tail-wagging rumble as it idled for a few seconds. Then the owner shut it off and got out.

He was a wolf. "Hey. I thought I saw a fucking car driving around in here," he said, and started sauntering towards us. "You broke down? Two kids doing drugs in the woods? Ohhh, that's a fuckin' good one, I hope that's what it is." He sounded like a slobber-mouthed contrabass Brooklyn mafioso.

Not just the voice, but he _looked_ the part. While I've said Buck is a black wolf, he's really more of a charcoal color, extremely dark slate with some lighter colors here and there for timberwolf patterning. You wouldn't say he's a dark gray wolf, you'd say he's a black wolf, but this new wolf who was stalking ever towards our hiding spot was a black wolf. He was so black that in the barely moonlit night, he was an empty hole in space with yellow eyes, white teeth, clothes, and maybe a little highlight sparkle from conditioned fur or earring.

And the clothes! Black leather blazer, black leather gloves, black leather jeans, shit-kicking flat top cowboy boots fit for one of those old west villains, and no shirt. Also fit for a cowboy: a black leather leg holster.

My reaction was to stay hidden. On a good day, I might have thought, oh my god two black wolves to pick from! In my current stirred-up-and-hiding-behind-a-car-while-trespassing state, a guy in a hot-rod with an open carry holster was bad news. Buck didn't have the same thought, and stood up suddenly. "Who the fuck are you?" he barked, and jumped up so fast I thought he was going to jump _over_ my car.

The newcomer stopped and tilted back slightly, stomped a boot backwards, and unholstered his gun. "If I were you, I wouldn't fuckin' jump out at a guy with a gun, you know?" He lifted it up, cocked the hammer back, and drew a bead on Buck. Buck did the right thing and put his hands up. "Nice dick. Nice lack of an erection, too. I point a gun at you and you get hard, you're gonna have a hard time."

I considered pissing myself, but that would have made a sound.

Then he pointed it at me. "And you, I can see your fucking fox ears. That's right. I bet you're a fox. C'mon up, don't be shy. I love foxes. I love foxes more than anything else." This guy was straight out of a movie. I had the misfortune to be party to a mugging once and it was over before I knew what was happening, with my friends broke and bloodied and waiting on a ride to the hospital. This was not a mugging. "You gonna stand up, too? Or did your gang banger wolf here stick your ass to something?"

I popped up, arms up at right angles like I was directing a plane. "Please don't shoot us. We were just-"

"Fucking? I bet you were fucking. Wanna know why that's gonna be a good fucking bet?" The black wolf lowered his gun and used it more like a gesture prop as he stepped up. He would make a bad real villain, because his getup creaked like saddle tack and his boots had ankle chains that gave a prissy little rattle when he heel-clopped. "Because your boyfriend's dick is hanging out and you're dressed like a fucking whore."

"You ever heard of letting sleeping dogs lie?" Buck said, face slowly twisting further and further into aggressive wolf mode. It made his nose point. I'd never seen him do it before.

"That's a real nice dick. I always like a wolf with a big dick. Makes me feel like we have something in common," the black wolf said, now turning his attention to Buck. "You look fucked up. I can see it in your eyes. Must be why you're sagging a little, huh? I bet your fox here can cheer you right up," he kept approaching us, despite Buck's rotten expression. He came around the back of my car, so that put me closer. He reached out and went to curl his fingers under my chin, and I lost it.

"DON'T TOUCH ME YOU MOTHERFUCKING BITCH!!!" I screamed, and both wolves pinned their ears back. Buck had heard it before, but perhaps this new wolf hadn't? Or at least he hadn't been expecting me to do it.

Then he fucking recovered from it, still waving that gun around. My father used to hunt when he was younger and I remember him going pistol hunting, with a revolver that looked like it could take down an elephant. This was essentially the same, foot-long, six-shot revolver, only with a black grip. "You're calling me a bitch?"

Buck continued to look shocked, wound up but in a way that looked like a spring that might spontaneously uncoil. He looked at me, then over at the wolf, and his face simply drained of emotion.

"I like this guy. Look at that face. Now that's a fucking wolf. You, you're a bitch because you just screamed so loud it could crack a fucking rock, you're dressed up like a street-walking whore, and you're probably wearing panties. Let's see 'em." Wave to Buck, wave to Me.

"I'll do whatever you want if you put that gun down, please, Mr. Wolf Sir?" I did not say that with some kind of tremulous voice begging for a pounding. My voice almost broke at the end. Seriously, down, with the gun.

No moment of decision, just a hip-cock and a finger twirl that sent the sidearm into its sculpted leather holder with a heavy fwamp and a little jangle of something metallic. Bullets? Handcuffs? This wolf was urban gunslinger material for absolute positive sure. Then a little gloved-hand twitch, like someone might do in a gangster movie.

I turned away and leaned against the car, reached back, and slowly hiked up my miniskirt.

"Hah, you fucking match your car," he said, and came forward again. I raised my hands and he splayed his off to the side. "Look. I'm not gonna touch you. But you're gonna put on a show for me. You're gonna get your pet wolf off by letting him fuck you." He pointed to me, then turned. "You're gonna cum in his ass. And you're gonna do it with him bent over this fucking car. I know it's his car. You'd never drive a prissy little rice rocket like this."

Buck started getting hard again. He stepped around and got in between me and Mr. Wolf, whomever he was. But he didn't face the black wolf; he started grinding his bare dick against my almost bare ass. I squirmed and pulled away, but slipped up onto the front hood. Not quite so hot now, but still radiating up into my leather jacket and my dick and my face. He seriously hot-dogged me, hard enough that it ground my dick into the hard warmth of the car, hard enough to make me forget that

Someone

Was

Watching

!

"What's your fucking name, anyway? You, the wolf," the intruder growled, as he simply stood and watched. He looked like he could stare a hole in sheet metal.

Buck futzed around in his leather jacket while he crammed his dick against my ass, then suddenly snorted and pulled it out. Not, as I somehow hoped, a condom. A packet of lube, some silicone freebie from one of the sex party nights at a nearby gay bar. He fumbled with it and snapped it apart, and was about to slather it on his cock when the new wolf stepped forward.

"Hey, don't get ahead of yourself. You're gonna spit on your dick and then you're gonna suck it. You like this little back and forth thing I'm fucking doing with you two, huh?" He repeated the point-and-turn gesture as he humiliated both of us, his non-pointing hand now massaging his fly. Leather squeak. Leather squeak. Crreeaak.

Buck grunted and spit on his cock, which took a few tries and a lot of snorting. He finally got enough of a blob on the end of it. Then he stepped towards my face.

I gave him a tongue bath, making sure to slop my tongue up over his spit-wet crown. I didn't swallow; I just let it drool all over his cock. "Is that enough?" I said, and pulled my head back.

"Nah," Buck grunted, then slathered his cock with the lube that was now drizzling out of his left gloved hand.

I reached back to try to help peel my panties down, but Buck beat me two it, hand actually knocking mine out of the way. He plied the fabric down, throttled his cock, then leaned forward. His cock almost stuffed in, but then it skidded out of the way. Oooh, it even smarted a little. Something compelled me to whimper and tuck my ears back. "I don't know if I can take it right now," I said, as I pretended to pretend I was bashful.

"How about you do something useful, Mister-"

"You can call me Hawk."

Buck didn't take the opportunity to return the name. "You're obviously some kinda faggot, since you want me to fuck his ass while you watch. You got any poppers on you?" Unable to stuff his mushroomed dickhead into me, he stuffed a leathered thumb in instead. Much better. That might as well have been a pacifier. I'd never been in a threesome, and I was surprised that having him nudge my prostate in front of a stranger was merely interesting when He Was Nudging Me There.

Hawk stuck his hand into his jacket, for his version of Buck's search. He came out with something that looked white and fabric-like. "You got me. I'm old school. I'm real old school. I know some guy who makes these things, by hand, start to finish. Cooks up the juice, blows these little glass things," and he held up his gloved hand and snapped the item between his fingers. It seemed to grow wet. "And they'll take your fucking head off. Answer my question and he gets 'em."

My black wolf glared. "Name's Buck. That's Kennedy."

Hawk reached over and tucked the wet gauze under my nose. Whew, even a little whiff was a bit of a blast. I took a deep one and Everything Exploded. Pound, pound, pound, and I squirmed and rolled against the car. Another sniff, and I was being fingered, hard, two fingered after a third sniff, then stuffed with Buck's cock before I even knew what was happening.

The bandana-clad wolf groaned and pulled right back out. "Fuck, that's enough, don't knock him out or nothin'," Buck huffed, then put his big gloved hands on My Neck. He didn't choke me, but just stilled me, then moved them outwards to knead at my shoulders. Buck seemed lost in something as he just pistoned into me, thrusting hard enough that I could definitely feel every inch of him sliding against every inch of me. It almost felt wrong, and I mean wrong like broken, not in a moral sense. "Hey, tell this guy what you said to me earlier today," Buck suddenly gruffed, and slid out of my ass. I think I felt some of his precum drool out of my asshole and down the inside of my leg.

This Hawk guy was kind of like if someone had turned Buck up to 11. A big bigger, a bit taller, a bit more muscular, a bit more feral, a bit more body-pierced (three rings in one ear, two in the other, both matching his nipple piercings), a bit less shirted as he had nothing to hide those rings and his carpet pelt from the world, a lot more sneery and smirky, even darker. Frankly, that got me in the mood. "I said that he's the most awesome wolf in the world, I think," I murmurred.

The two exchanged a strange downwards glance, and then Buck leaned in and stuck me again. A little less loose, a little more in control, and the extra tightness just guided him right into my prostate.

Hawk lifted his hand up and stuck it in front of Buck's face, and my wolf took a big sniff from the poppers. He bucked his head away and grunted, looking as disgusted as I'd felt for seven seconds and then his jaw dropped a little. Drool just ran right over his teeth and hung out over his chin, and he plowed me right to the hilt. He lurched against me, pulling and yanking at my shoulders, thrusting me hard enough against the car that I heard a couple pieces of gravel scrape away.

I looked over at Hawk. He gave me a rotten-apple smirk and pulled his dick out. "Oh no you don't! Don't you even think about it, or I'm gonna-"

"I said I'm not gonna touch you. You think I'm that much of an asshole?"

Buck leaned down and jammed his muzzle into the far ear away from Hawk. He seemed almost doggish about it, nuzzling for a moment before chuckling hard. "Hey, you know you got real tight when he came at you like that?" He said, voice booming into my head but probably a mumble to the outside world. Then he got even quieter, just a rushing whisper. "Hope he does it again."

I crammed my hips forward against the hood, suddenly enraged that Buck was such a shallow asshole. No, I was a gaping asshole, and he was about to cum in me. I pulled away and he flopped out like a wet sausage. "Oww! I said I can't take it! I can't take it!" I tried to scrabble away, but really didn't. His cock felt so good when I tensed up on it, tried to draw it in, crushed my prostate against the throbbing rod.

"I'll fucking distract him," Hawk snarled, then came around to the other side of the car. He made a big show out of grabbing his cock as he stepped up, then started jerking off in front of my face. He was pretty loose-hooded until he firmed up, maybe an inch longer than Buck's but not as thick. Watching him stroke his fine leathered hand over that black prick made me whimper and tighten up for an altogether different reason.

"Don't cum on that fucking car. Don't cum on him, either. You keep that shit to yourself. You got that?" Buck snarled, and suddenly turned on Hawk, while he was still stabbing into me. Now, each thrust made him grunt. "You want me to prove it? You want him to shit my cum out when I'm done? Is that what you want?"

Hawk looked a bit taken aback, but his cock spurted enough that it almost splashed into my face. He aimed it upwards and kept milking over the shaft.

Buck went to speak again but then shuddered and buried up deep. Twitch. Twitch. Then he pulled back and slopped out, a few wet spurts of spunk splashing over my hole. Then back in, for the rest of the load, cock pulling the head back and forth. Then out.

"Go on, show him I fucking came in you," Buck growled, then gave me a clap to the ass and stepped back. Creamy ooze dribbled from his wobbling dickhead.

I had most certainly _not_ gotten off yet. I tentatively pushed out a little, and felt something hot start to slip out. Fuck. This was not in the program. Getting fucked in the woods was in the program, getting fucked by a wolf in the woods was in the program, another wolf watching was kind of porn movie, but- Now I felt something definitely run down my leg.

"Fucking shit," Hawk groaned, and stepped back again, back arched, gloved hand milking upwards at his ballooning cockhead. Then he surrounded it with the other hand and sputtered, a few audible squirts resonating inside his open fist. Then one of them escaped and slopped over the edge of his gloved hand like a big snot.

Buck looked stupefied but profoundly relieved after his climax, which was now Running Down My Leg. Hawk just looked more vicious. "That's real nice," the blacker wolf said, then took his hand away and splattered the ground with spunk. "You two have a real nice time," he said, turned on his heel, then stomped back to his car. He didn't even put his dick away.

Did I mention I hadn't come yet? I sat up, scooted off the car, and got about two feet before I felt too dirty with that hot ooze trickling out of me. "What the fuck is this? Is this some kind of fucking setup?"

"I don't fucking know who this guy is," Buck snapped back.

"I don't know who either of you are, and I'm not complaining."

"What the fuck was that about? Are you just some pervert?" This was a serious problem. I almost toppled into Hawk's car with him. "Get me a towel or something, Buck, please?" Buck looked even more stupid now. "In the car, I don't know!" I waved him off.

"I was out for a drive. I saw a car turn in here, a sport little bitch car, and who was driving it? Was that a wolf? No, the wolf was lolling his do-rag around while some Fox worked the pedals. You think I'm gonna pass up an opportunity like that? Well, I didn't do it." He rolled up the window, started the car, then took off. He gunned it out of the gravel lot and showered me with gravel.

Buck crashed into me when he turned around. He was bare-headed now, and his black and red bandana was in his gloved hands. He looked like a dog bringing me slippers.

I snatched it up. "Fine."

---

The drive home was Interesting. Thanks to the poppers, I didn't really have a sore ass as much as a sagging feeling. The stiff ride seemed to amp it up, and it was almost erotic again. Buck didn't say a word until I did.

"Well, was it just cum?"

He looked horrified.

"When I shit your cum out of my ass, in front of that wolf, so he wouldn't SHOOT US, was it just cum? He got off so I'm assuming he's not that disgusting."

Buck scowled. "Yeah, it was just cum."

"Then why did you throw-"

"Do you think I fucking arranged that?" Luckily we were at a red light. I shrank against the steering wheel. Someone pulled up behind us but Buck didn't seem to care.

"Maybe you could protect me?" I questioned back. "Maybe when you get hot under your dog collar and make me play hot fox for you and some asshole shows up, you could scare him off instead of doing EXACTLY WHAT HE ASKS YOU TO DO?"

"I wanted to make you drive us out to a fucking spot in the woods so I could fuck you on top of your car. And apparently, wolves think alike. Haven't you ever heard of a coincidence?" Buck gestured. The light turned green and the car behind honked at us. "Fucking go around! There's no one else here!" That was true. "He had a fucking gun. I don't have a gun. You think I'm gonna jump on some guy with a gun? I don't wanna get shot. I don't want you to get shot."

"I don't believe you! I'm not fucking incredulous, I don't actually believe that you didn't-"

The guy behind us honked again, then a siren blast exploded out of the front grill, along with blue and red strobes. Holy shit, a cop! He then leaned out the window of his SUV. "Oughta ticket y'all asses but it's kinda cute," he hollered. There was no reason to holler - we were out in the middle of nowhere, and there wasn't any traffic. "Watchin' you have your lil' fight. Heard you were fuckin' up in the woods. You mean that woods?" He pointed up and over his truck.

Buck shut down and sat. Maybe someone had trained him never to talk to the police. I will never not talk to no one. "Well, that is rather close by, so maybe it was over there," I said, and shrugged. Buck punched me in the thigh.

"Heard you say somethin' 'bout a gun, too. Someone hold you up?" This particular cop was a black Clydesdale. The hood of his SUV had a gold Albany County Sheriff logo.

Since he didn't seem like he was going to do anything to us, I decided to keep talking. "Some wolf stumbled upon on us, and he threatened us with this enormous hunting revolver, and then he, well, frankly I don't know what I'm going to say for an official statement. Uh. He intimidated us for his own amusement." I slowed down as I realized I was actually throwing that stranger under the bus.

The clydesdale neither looked perturbed at us blocking an intersection, nor particularly officious. He was very clearly driving a Sheriff's SUV cruiser, and wearing a black and gold-trim Lainsville PD uniform shirt. I dated a cop once. He was surprisingly boring. This horse was already interesting. He leaned over towards his shoulder-mount radio, which also leaned him out of the truck window for a better look at us. Me in my purple leather coat and gold panties surely peeking out a little from my miniskirt. The tight seat pulled it up when I sat down. Buck, in his red and black bandana, leather jacket, black undershirt and leather jeans, like some modern version of a greaser.

"You gonna just sit there?" Buck said, slipping back into his post-inebriated lethargy. Even in front of a cop.

"Cal, Sheriff Ross here, you got any reports of fast cars around? Anyone gettin' pulled over for real tough drivin'? Maybe anyone that's a wolf?"

After a few silent moments, the answer crackled back on the radio. "Dispatch here, howdy sir, I got a black mustang gettin' followed by an unmarked, our guy has a funny feelin' about the guy drivin' it. Hold on," a few more seconds of silence. "And it looks like it's some kind of canine drivin' it. Down over in Westford."

"You two have a nice night, think I'm gonna take care of this wolf. Think I know just what he needs," the stallion said, pulled his head back in, and pulled away hard.

We both watched him drive off. No other cars passed by. The state park area was almost deserted when people weren't actively visiting the parks. There were no homes out there, except down at the far west side. Which, aptly named, was where he seemed to be headed. That's where the dispatcher had said some wolf in a mustang had been puleld over.

"There's no way you were involved in _that_, is there?" I said, offhandedly, to Buck. I was serious, but he was still stoned. I didn't want to trip his paranoia. Strangely, cops didn't seem to, either. Suddenly aware of how quiet the night was, I started driving again.

"You're the fox. That wolf said he liked foxes. Maybe you two know each other."

I laughed. "I don't think so."

I really didn't.

---

At home, I took a long, hot shower. I kept waiting for some horrible feeling of dread and regret to come over me, but then what was there to dread? Being fucked in public? By Buck? Under orders by an even more viciously lupine… lupine? That was the stuff of Penthouse Letters, albeit if Penthouse had been for gay men.

No revulsion, no horrible - there it was, a pang of panic. I pulled back the shower curtain. No one there.

I'd lived in downtown Lainsville while going to college, and had really run into my share of rough situations, but -

No, there really wasn't someone there. If there was someone there, it would be Buck. Buck would totally sneak up on me in the shower, but he wasn't.

I turned off the water and crept over to the door. I opened it and listened. I could barely hear some heavy breathing from the other side of the house. Sleep breathing, not any other kind of heavy breathing.

I went to bed full of questions. Was it all a joke? Did Buck know this Hawk guy even though he denied it? Was that a real gun? Why didn't I feel bad about getting ass-fucked in front of a stranger?

When my friends all vanished, I sank into a depression without even realizing it, and only clawed back out when I got the job interview at Saran Motors. I lay awake wondering if I was going to feel the same way, if I would end up fucked up without quite realizing it, if it would haunt me, if I would be able to go to sleep and go to my second interview which was Tomorrow, at some kind of picnic, and everything just buzzed and buzzed and buzzed in my head until I was peeking out from under the covers and staring at the door.

Footsteps. Probably Buck doing something like having a snack. No, footsteps coming to my door. For a brief moment, I imagined The Other Wolf barging into my room, gun drawn, dick drawn, ready to shoot me in some way or another.

Instead, the door creaked open very carefully with barely a click and squeak. Before it opened more than a few inches, I spoke. "Buck, I'm awake. You can't sneak up on me."

Grunt. His muzzle poked in, disappeared, and then the door opened. He looked haggard and naked. "Can't sleep."

"And coming into my bedroom is going to fix that how, exactly? Every time I get you to try to sleep next to me, you get up three minutes after I nod off." I immediately felt better. Buck didn't look belligerent, and he wasn't moving fast. He lumbered across to my bed, then dumped down on top of the covers next to me. "Hey, not on top of the covers! I'm under here!"

Grunt.

"Buck, I'm serious. Don't trap me under here. I'm feeling weird."

He grumbled and sat up, stirred the covers around until they were mostly off of me, rolled over a few times, then just sat crosslegged. "I can't sleep. I sleep like a rock usually. Did we get fucking punked tonight? Is that what happened? That fucking horse cop and the wolf and-"

"Yeah, that police officer was strange. He really did seem to be driving a cruiser though."

"I googled him on my phone a few minutes ago, that's actually the sheriff. Derek Ross. Guess all the big strong men in this fucking town like to play games. That wolf runs some club downtown called The Pit. Looked him up too. Gay fetish BDSM club. I went there once or twice, but I don't do well with bars and clubs. Too many people." Buck hunched over like a melancholy animal. "Guess it's not any more weird than some angry, stoned wolf dragging his pet fox out in whore-girl shit to fuck him in the woods."

I chuckled. "I'm hardly a pet fox and that was hardly in the woods."

Buck didn't seem amused. Each second, he looked more and more pained. "What the fuck am I doing? I bought this fucking house. Was that a smart thing to do?"

I didn't know what to do, so I just sat up with him. Also naked. "Did you ruin yourself financially?"

"Nope."

"Did you actually want to buy this house?"

"I guess. I like living here and I don't like having some weird rental company able to break their contract at a moment's notice. Have some kinda need to have my territory."

If Buck had said that before I knew him, I would have thought he was a jackass. Now it was almost endearing. I rubbed his back. "Do you like me?"

"I made you dress up and go out with me in your little bitch car so I could fuck you. What the fuck do you think?" Buck grunted and almost squashed my hand as he leaned back, then lay down.

Good point. I started rubbing his chest. This seemed to actually accomplish something, as he growled and arched his back, kept his knees up, and started to look stupid. "So I don't really see a problem."

"It's just a big fucking deal. Like buying a car's a big fucking deal, it's just a smaller big fucking deal. You feel stupid after buying that thing?" For all the profanity, Buck started to sound drunk again as I gave him a center-line rub.

I thought for a long few moments. Being next to Buck made me feel better about just about everything, since he was a black wolf who had my best interests in mind, instead of a black wolf who wanted to rape and/or shoot me but was being nice by not doing either. "Not yet. Maybe once I have friends again and want to take them somewhere and realize they won't fit in my car, I'll feel a little forlorn. Or when winter starts, but I'm sure snow tires will be good enough."

Buck eased up even more. I, on the other hand, was terribly hard. "Did you get off while I was fucking you?"

I shook my head. "It all really happened sort of fast, to be honest. No offense."

"I'll let it slide. What thing would make you cum harder than anything else?" Buck perked back up, including downstairs. I don't think he'd showered. Somehow that was just more attractive. "I'm serious. This is a serious question."

"Can I think about it and have you go first?" I felt a bit scared to answer.

He grunted, scowled for a second, but then pushed me over and straddled me. "Remember all that rubber shit I wore while we were pissing on each other? The hip boots and those insane gloves up to here?" He nudged his shoulder with his muzzle, since his big hands were shoved into the sheets to either side of me. He wagged his tail as he straddled and rubbed dick on dick. "If I put that stuff on, had a nice hot piss all over myself, then just slicked up and jerked for a while, for hours, I'd cum like a geyser. I dunno what it is. I just, it just gets me. Maybe it reminds me of when I was a horny kid wearing that shit and mucking out stalls and shit at the farm."

I imagined Buck wearing all that gear and pissing on me. Twitch. Buck wearing all that gear and finger-banging me until I came. Twiiiiitch. Buck fisting me! That didn't happen but imagining it was mind-altering. Buck wearing that stuff and shoveling s- "Hmmf. Well. I think," I stalled, because I didn't really know what would be hottest. Maybe Buck fisting me, but if I said it, he'd try to do it, and that was scary. "I like to play dress-up. And you like to wear leather stuff and maybe play dress-up a little, too, am I right?"

Grunt. Grunt and a dick-thrust. I grabbed onto both of our dicks and tried to move along with Buck, so we both fucked my hand. It mostly worked and felt dirty hot.

"If you dressed up like a pirate and treated me like some kind of fox for hire and raped me, I think I'd cum pretty hard." It was the do-rag. Buck's tendency to wear a bandana on his head as a skull cap made me always think he looked like a pirate.

GROWL. "Be fucking serious," he huffed, and pinned me harder.

"I mean it! I mean it! You would be so hot as a pirate. Those tall leather boots that fold over at the top, swordsman gauntlet gloves, some sort of puffy shirt that's always showing your chest, your bandana, maybe leather pants, and you'd be drunk and crude and you'd use me for a sex toy even though I don't want it." The more I actually verbalized the admittedly silly idea, the more it was actually hot. Thanks to the prostate battering from before giving me aftershocks, I even started to feel close. "Maybe, maybe you could even do that Dread Pirate Roberts thing and wear a black leather zorro mask over your e-eyes."

I couldn't tell if Buck liked the idea or not, because he looked pissed off, and a little focused on what he was doing. Soon he wasn't pinning me down any more, nor using his dick for anything. He was jerking me off, instead of me jerking both of us off. "Thought you were gonna say you wanted to get fisted or something."

The thought of Someone's Entire Arm up my ass made me squeal and shoot off. It didn't even feel that great - edging rarely does for me - but it was a huge relief and a huge mess. He made sure it all piled up and ended in a very audible wet splattering, spunk on spunk.

I lay there, in peace.

"Hey, you alive?" Buck nudged me. I looked up. His cock drooped, skin even a little loose around the tip. He looked a bit concerned.

"Only if you promise to dress like a pirate for me sometime."

He grunted.