FSE

Furry search engine

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"Think he's dead?"

"No, no, that little cut wouldn't kill anyone - "

"That's not very little. Could be infected."

"It isn't. Look, he's got a pulse."

Lewis wakes up to something warm and scratchy on his neck and a cold, gnawing pain in one leg. His eyes flutter and then remain shut when he hears the voice from his side, low gruff things. The finger against his neck withdraws, and he hears a grunt from a figure close to him. Whoever they are, they don't sound friendly - don't panic, don't panic. Keep still, keep still, stay dead.

"Does he, now?"

"Perfectly alive."

"Okay, then let's fuckin' go - "

"What, don't want to patch him up?"

A pause, and a low groan from someone a bit further away. "Do you absolutely have to?"

There's a low, rolling laugh, in a tone rough and deep. Two heavy hands land on his side and pull him onto his side, exposing the tear in his pants and the gash running down the side of one leg. He remembers something in waves and bursts from the previous evening - he was walking on a ridge, he'd stepped sideways on something and tumbled off the side of it, some stone had torn into the flesh of his leg on the way down, he'd stumbled around trying to get up and find his way back to camp as the sun set, panic set in -

The heavy hands hold him in place, someone's face pouring hot, heavy breath onto his skin around the wound. "I'd say - the poor little thing got the gash somewhere, got disoriented, got lost, sat down for a bit under this cliff, and then, you know... maybe blood loss, maybe exhaustion."

Lewis' eyes desperately want to open, and it's all he can do to stop them from twitching or moving about, busy weighing his options and trying to place the two things in front of him.

"If it was blood loss, he'd look a lot worse for wear. He's probably fine."

"Hand me my bag."

"Oh, come on, man -"

"Just hand me my goddamn bag."

There's some muffled footsteps, something's tossed through the air and caught much closer to him, and the hot breath nears his leg again. Unable to resist, his eyes twitch and flutter open a tiny fraction before he regains his senses and pushes them closed again, enough to catch only a quick image of his rescuers.

In front of him, in that second, are two figures illuminated by early morning light: huge things, humanoid and tall and lanky with arms that are longer than they ought to be, bigger than they ought to be, and with more muscle than they ought to have. There's a vaguely canine profile above a wide, sturdy neck, silhouetted against the open sky behind one of them - the closer one is kneeling next to him, close enough to make out a short, clean black coat of fur and the individual claws on each of his fingers as he rolls a length of cloth around the palm of his hand - gnarled, long, vicious fingers, the back of the hand covered in the same fine hair.

Lewis quickly closes his eyes before either of them can look over, cursing his idiot curiosity. He tries to keep his breathing under control and stop the fight-or-flight response that his body desperately wants him to drop into. He listens closely for movement, praying they didn't notice him, and that the one dressing his wound doesn't feel his heartbeat increasing.

By some miracle, nothing happens. The other wolf seems to pad off, grumbling to himself impatiently, while the other one quietly works on his leg. Claws scrape against his skin lightly as the wolf rolls up one of the legs of his pants, wrapping some long length of cloth around it tightly. There's something on it that stings over the wound, and Lewis twitches at the sudden sensation, prompting a sudden silence from both of the wolves. He hears the closer one move up to where his head is resting.

"Poor little thing."

His voice is smoother, fawning. The other one mutters back, faintly - "I don't understand your, uh. Unhealthy fascination with them."

"You don't think they're anything interesting?"

"Not in the way you're interested, honestly - "

The closer one cuts him off, so close to Lewis' face he can feel his breath against his neck. "I think they're, mm - adorable, almost. Maybe they can be of use. Haven't you ever thought of keeping one around - you know, as a pet, or something?"

"What a fucking nuisance that would be. They'd die in the winter."

The low, growling laugh feels like it's right over Lewis's mouth, letting out hot, wet air against his skin. "Oh, come on. I think it might be fun. Teach him tricks or something. Gets so boring just trying to hide from them - why not try letting them in?"

"I am _not _letting you bring him back with us."

The wolf next to Lewis sighs, a long and dramatic show of his disappointment. He can feel the beast looking him over like a piece of meat, in the same way someone would look over a chicken whose neck they're about to wring for dinner, close enough to feel the proximity of the wolf's muzzle to his face. And then, without warning, he opens his mouth and lets out his canine tongue, dragging the whole thing across Lewis' face from chin to forehead. He pauses - and then repeats the motion again, a bit to the side. Lewis struggles to seem unconscious through his state of panic. He doesn't want to be this thing's pet, or talk to it, or deal with it, not when he felt so close to getting out of this fever dream alive.

The wolf mutters with a little taunting lilt in his voice, quiet enough that only him and Lewis can hear. "Still didn't wake up, I guess." Lewis' breath freezes up in his chest - the wolf knows, the wolf knows. But he can hear his quiet footsteps across the dirt, padding over to the other wolf. They talk quietly to each other in a low murmur that Lewis can't hear, and his idiot curiosity gets the better of him again, opening his eyes.

He was in the shaded hollow of a ridge, several meters high, lying on his side on a bed of dirt and leaves, facing out towards the forest and the two huge bestial figures facing away from him. He can get a better look at them in the early morning light. They both look identical at a distance, impossible to tell which one is which except by the tone of their voices; they're both in short, thick black fur, not long enough to conceal the musculature underneath. Their proportions are subtly different from that of a human, with longer arms, wider shoulders, and thicker, digitigrade legs that end in paws. Muscle ripples over their arms, bulging at their biceps in service of the fierce talons that come out of their fingers - made for shredding, grappling, speed and reflexes. He can't make out much of their heads but the two ears pointing up from the back - and he can't help but notice that whatever makeshift loincloths they're wearing don't conceal their dicks from behind. Even at a distance, he can see them from behind, long and fat and hairless, hanging down between their legs. He's momentarily struck by it, until he spots one of them starting to turn around and his eyes clamp shut again.

A deathly silence falls over the whole place again, until one of them breaks it with a quiet word to the other and he hears them both padding off. Lewis keeps his eyes closed for what feels like ten more minutes before he dares open them, and lays perfectly still for another ten before he dares get up.

Standing up, his leg feels all right. He was probably just exhausted from getting lost and picked a bad time to pass out. He licks his lips, thinking of how thirsty he is, and realizes that the taste of the wolf's spit is overpowering every other sense in his mouth - the feeling of the tongue across his face lingering for far longer than it should have, dried onto his skin.

He makes it back to his camp without much of a problem. The morning light means it's a cinch to climb the small ridge he'd passed out under and get enough elevation to spot landmarks he remembers. He wasn't even that far off; a thirty minute walk brings him back to the small, sheltered clearing where he'd pitched his tent and left the rest of his supplies.

The day passes uneventfully as he tends to his wound, sets his water to boil over a fire, and goes over his maps, trying to remember what he'd seen the previous day. It ought to focus his mind, but it doesn't - even after washing his face he swears he can still feel the wolf's mouth right up next to him, the feeling of his hot wet breath going up through his nose. He can't get away from the smell of the wolf, like the spit on his face won't wash off, and it's a heady, heavy scent that distracts him every few minutes

The wolf had to have seen him awake. It was obvious. Lewis was freaking out visibly, and the wolf was right there in his face. But he didn't do anything -

Lewis realizes he's made an idle, distracted mark in ink right through the center of the place he was delicately drawing out from memory. With an angry curse, he crumples up the paper and tosses it into the fire, starting again.

He can't sleep. He is going over every instant he spent in the shade of that cliffside with the two wolf-men, thinking over and over why they did what they did, and why the one that insisted on dressing his wound got so close to him. It might be nice to have one as a pet. He mouths the words to himself, and does it again, like there's some hidden meaning there he can't decipher - and then he realizes he's been at it for more minutes than he cares to think about, and turns over, and tries to sleep.

Whenever he tries to sleep he dreams of them, and wakes up frustrated and angry with himself - but trying not to think about it has the predictable effect of compounding his thoughts back onto themselves.

Days pass, and his leg heals. He finishes the maps he'd intended to finish. He does not stop thinking about the wolf or the spit all over his face.

He's packing up the camp and he's ready to spend his last night there, knowing if he leaves by mid-morning he can likely get back to civilization before it gets too dark, without having to make camp again. Without his maps to distract him his thoughts tend naturally to the pair of wolves, going over every instant he was watching them, every detail of their bodies, even though something in the back of his head is telling him to throw it away and continue on as if it had never happened; hot breath on his neck, powerful body over him, muscles rippling as they paw away at his leg, wrapping his wound. The tone of the wolf's voice as it taunted him. Syrupy smooth, but low, like it knew he was awake.

He realizes he's crept his hand into his pants and has gripped his cock under the palm of his hand, now at half-mast and rising, giving him enough pause to sit down on the bag he was packing his equipment into and gawks at his own arm. He makes some kind of embarrassed grimace when the enormity of it freezes him up for a moment in mute terror; but then he wrenches down the front of his pants to let his dick hang loose in the air, pumps his hand over it at a decent clip and leans back. He thinks of the strange, possessive tone the wolf spoke in, the way he pushed his tongue over his face, the silhouette of both of them against the sky and their cocks hanging down below, breathes in the scent of them that won't wash off his face -

snap

A noise rings out in the bushes behind him. Lewis' eyes grow three sizes and he stuffs his dick back in his pants, hurriedly swooping into his tent. He tells himself it's for safety, not because he was embarrassed at being caught with his pants down thinking about -

He cuts himself off and presses his head into the pillow, frustrated, determined to get some sleep.

When he wakes up, he finds he's come while he was unconscious, all over the inside of his pants, even though he doesn't remember what he dreamed about. He lays stiff as a board on top of his sleeping bag and stares through the ceiling of his tent with his brow knitted, one hand balled into a fist at his side, angry at himself, angry at the wolves, angry at circumstance. There's too many curious thoughts scratching at the inside of his skull, and he can barely muster up the will to start walking back towards civilization - and after a long internal debate, he shuts off any conscious thought in his head and sets off, without packing up his tent, back towards the ridge the wolves had found him at. The part of his brain screaming for him to turn around gets marginally quieter with every step.

Lewis finds the ridge without much effort, through paths he remembers from the day of the encounter; he finds the place where they stood in front of him, and the dirt he was lying on when the wolf licked his face. There's some residual smell of them in the air, something earthy and wild and distant that he swears he remembers from their breath, but it must be his imagination. They're long gone, after all - they must hide from people, one of them said so. They're not going to let him find them.

And then smoke rises up, in the distance, where nobody ought to live. Something inside Lewis' chest jumps and does a somersault, shaking with anticipation, and he starts off towards it at a brisk pace, mind completely clear, all doubt purged and replaced with a low, shimmering excitement.

It takes most of the day to get there. The light is fading when he finds where the campfire was, a little pit not much more than a bunch of cinders at the top of a hill. The ground around it has been tamped down by motion, at least a few people. There's some old stumps and logs strewn around it in a circle in some kind of impromptu seating arrangement. Tired from the trek, he paces over and collapses onto one of them, facing the fire with his head hung low. He's still trying not to think about the wolves, or why he's going in the direction he's going, rationalizing the decision and thinking it over more times than is useful. Then there's movement in the shade of the trees ahead of him and he jolts back up onto his feet.

The wolf comes out of the other side of the clearing, head tilted at a slight angle and sharp eyes watching Lewis like a hawk. He's got some firewood tucked under one powerful arm, and he approaches the fire with calm grace as Lewis stands frozen and shaking. The logs are flung onto the fire in a spray of sparks and embers, jostling the last remnants of the flame onto the dry wood and letting them catch. The wolf mutters down to Lewis: "I was wondering if you'd show up. It took you so long I was thinking you might not make it."

Lewis furrows his brow, mouth hanging open to respond. This was definitely the wolf that dressed his wounds; something in the tone of his voice and the way he moved confirmed that. He was maybe a few inches under seven feet tall, towering over Lewis' paltry 5'10'', and there was even more definition to him up close from the front. Through the fur he could make out a sheet of pectoral muscle, a line of abdominal muscles, everything shaped and chiseled into a perfect hunting machine, just enough to give power without being bulky or overburdened. The only thing he wears is still a loincloth, something ragged and nondescript across his waist, just barely big enough to conceal what Lewis knows is there. Every movement that the wolf made up close was smooth and intentional, incapable of fault, and precise.

Lewis burbles out, "You were expecting me - were you?" His voice is high and scratchy in comparison.

The wolf laughs. "You came, didn't you? Sit down, sit down." He puts out a hand, claws extended, motioning for him to sit.

Lewis does, immediately, still gawking over the wolf's form. "I could've been headed this way already."

"Well, you weren't. Why would you be? There's nothing out here." He pauses. "I admit I was banking on you not realizing that anyone like me would have absolutely no use for a fire."

Lewis freezes up again. He hadn't quite thought of that. "Uh."

The wolf laughs again, low and throaty, combing the ground for a stick and prodding the fire with it until the flames catch properly and throw them both into flickering light. Lewis stares in the momentary silence, not realizing quite how much he's looking over the wolf's body and how much the wolf is noticing, a silent grin peeling his lips back over fierce, sharp teeth.

"So why did you come all the way out here?"

Lewis stares and starts to form an answer that gets stuck in his throat.

"Hello?"

"Oh. I, uh - I was curious."

"About what?"

"Uh, about what - what you were doing here, why you were here - I mean, if you're known about, I've never heard of you."

"You walked into the wolves' den, miles and miles away from home, because you were curious?" Another flash of the teeth in a wide grin. Lewis is silent and hesitant, rearing back.

The wolf continues, prodding, teasing, voice ever low and syrupy: "Are you sure, that that's the reason?"

"Why else?"

"Well, you were thinking of something when you were touching yourself back at your camp a few days ago."

Lewis's face turns a bright red, somewhere between anger and discomfort, and his mouth hangs open towards the wolf. He puts out one finger on one hand in admonishment: "You - you fucking pervert, you had no right to - to..." He trails off as the wolf starts to chuckle again, walking around the fire towards him.

"Now, then, I wasn't a pervert just for watching you - I didn't _know_that's something you would decide to do. You just did. And I don't hear any denials in there, either." Lewis watches the wolf as he walks around the campfire, half of him wanting to run away as fast as he can into the fading evening light and half of him imagining punching the hulking beast in front of him in the throat. He opens his mouth to retort but again nothing comes out; the wolf stands with his arms folded a few feet beside him, waiting with all the infuriating infinite patience of someone in complete control of a situation. Lewis feels his heart beating in his neck.

The wolf mutters out, more slowly - "So, please tell me, since you_really_ aren't in a position to lie about this, not on _my_territory: why did you come all the way here?"

Lewis gulps and forces himself not to think. "I was - curious."

"You were - curious."

"Did you plan this from the start?"

"Oh, as soon as I realized how you were looking at us."

"How did you know - "

"Oh, believe me, we knew. You thought you were so slick, it was just - adorable."

"..."

"Did you realize you held your breath a little bit when I mentioned it might be nice to keep one of you as a pet?"

Lewis breaks eye contact, looking down at the fire, trying to push every desperate thought out of his head. It's getting late - it'll be twilight soon, and it's long past the point of ever getting back. He pushes his hands into his face, trying to hide the blushing and praying he doesn't inadvertently confess anything else he doesn't want to be known. The wolf pads closer, leaning down to him.

"So, what's your name, you poor little thing?"

"Uh - Lewis. I'm Lewis. What should I call you?"

"Whatever you want, really. It doesn't matter a great deal."

He's close enough to see every muscle in the wolf's body when he finally looks up, nearly eye-level with his crotch. Something about the sight from this proximity hits off that sense of giddy anticipation deep in his chest. There's something inherently majestic in the way he's built, something powerful and otherworldly - there's a scent to him as well, not that of just any dog, but something that makes Lewis think about earth and mud and blood and strange, primal parts of the human brain. He finally speaks up.

"In that case - what are you?"

"Does that matter?"

"Why, uh, why wouldn't it?"

"It doesn't matter to you, I think."

"You look quite incredible."

Lewis is immediately shocked that he let the words out of his mouth as the wolf smirks a long, toothy smile and walks around behind his poor captive audience. "And you want to see more?"

"I don't know, you said having one of us around might be - fun."

Lewis pretends to himself he didn't just say that until he sees the look it made on the wolf's face, a deep and wide and unsettling smile that stretches all the way across his muzzle. He takes a few steps back. The smug just radiates out from his fur.

"I did say that, didn't I?"

"I - "

"So you want to have some fun, is what you want."

Lewis turns around to view his form in the flickering firelight, mouth half-open and starved for words.

"Or, if you were really just 'curious,' you can leave right now. You found me. I won't stop you. Go ahead." The wolf motions to the path he came in from, and Lewis looks down it. The voice screaming at him to leave is at full blast, but he doesn't move, doesn't budge, doesn't get up, just stares. The wolf is patient, and they remain there for what feels like an hour before Lewis finally gets the nerve to look back at him, at those sharp yellowed eyes that won't stop looking him over like the wolf's next meal. He clears his head, and pushes words out of his mouth without thinking just to say something:

"I - I guess I'll stay."

The wolf stares back for a minute, and then rears back and lets a huge, fierce laugh out of his chest, blasting the clearing with sound that echoes off of something far away. It's loud enough that Lewis winces and feels his pulse quicken in his neck again, but he's too transfixed by the display to consider running; that screaming, hesitant part of his head is silenced under the sight of the wolf's body curling back to shout that laugh out.

The wolf's bellowed laugh softens to a chuckle as he looks Lewis over, up and down, one claw tapping on the side of his bicep as he thinks over how he's going to treat his new guest for the night, and his tone takes on a less cordial, more commanding component, like a switch has been thrown with Lewis's admission, and something unsaid by Lewis is now obvious to both of them. The wolf mutters: "Stand up."

Lewis stands up quickly, turning to face the wolf, who beckons him over. He stands a few feet away from the beast, still gawking, face full of badly hidden want that he hopes the wolf can't see in this light, and one hand balled into a nervous fist.

Still grinning, the wolf runs a claw down the edge of Lewis' shirt. "Strip. Down to nothing."

Lewis stares at the wolf, eyes wide. The wolf shrugs, and motions to the exit again. Lewis wants to scream and run, to take advantage of every opportunity he's being given, but he doesn't and he isn't sure why his legs are failing him. He stands perfectly still until it's obvious he isn't leaving and then he reaches for his shirt.

It comes off first, and then the belt he was wearing, and then his shoes get tossed aside - all under the wolf's watchful visage, whose arms are folded like a drill sergeant judging a recruit. Lewis only hesitates when he tucks his fingers into the buckles on his pants, worrying before he pulls them down; but the wolf lets out an impatient grunt, and he pushes them off of him quickly, his undergarments coming off at the same time. He steps out of them and leaves his clothes there, a pool on the floor under him, the wolf nodding his approval and slowly beginning to walk around him. One monstrous arm stretches out to drag the tips of his claws across Lewis' bare back, around his shoulder, over his pectoral muscles. He's fit from weeks on end of living in camps and walking across long distances, but he's not terribly big, which appears to be just what the wolf wants. He realizes the wolf is evaluating him, constantly, and he hears the words again in his head - "Wouldn't it be nice to have one as a pet" - but he shudders and clears the words from his memory. He's too jumpy, hands balling into fists at his sides. The wolf ends up in front of Lewis and looks him over again, gaze ending up on his twitching fingers. "You don't know what do with your hands. How cute."

"Well - should I do something?"

"No, no, don't worry. I'll take care of that for you."

His tone is hospitable as he pads over beside Lewis and grabs his undershirt from the pile of clothes discarded on the ground in one hand. The claws pierce easily through the thin fabric and a little force shreds it into strips. Wordlessly, huge hands grab Lewis' wrists from his sides and carefully push them behind his back, wrapping them together in a length of Lewis' ruined shirt and tying them uncomfortably tight. Lewis grunts and tries to strain against them in protest, but they don't allow for any amount of give. He notices in the back of his mind the whole thing going straight to his cock, now open in the air and starting to get erect.

The wolf smiles toothily as he moves back around to Lewis' front and admires him greedily. "Better."

One large, furred hand goes up to cup Lewis' decent-sized junk. The claws are just fractions of an inch away from his skin, but the long fingers are adept at manipulating it. Lewis blushes a deep red again as the wolf's hand starts idly rubbing his balls between a few fingers, rolling them around while the thumb presses down on Lewis' cock. It isn't long before he starts to get hard in the wolf's grasp, much to the wolf's delight.

"Oh, you're eager. Is this what you had in mind, coming all the way up here?"

Lewis stammers. "I - well, I might have had a thought, but nothing - I didn't know."

The wolf laughs to himself. "Oh, you knew, you knew." Without warning, out comes the wolf's tongue to lay a long, purposeful lick all the way up the underside of Lewis' cock and another back down. Lewis takes in a long, shaky, nervous breath, and the wolf returns to a sneering grin. "I'm positive you knew."

Lewis rears back his shoulders and shudders, a breath shaking into his lungs as he stares down in disbelief. His hands twitch at his sides, not sure what he should do with them. The wolf looks up at him, one ear twitching behind his head as his grip on Lewis's sack becomes tighter, squeezing it between two long, gnarled fingers. His voice is smooth and taunting again: "I'm sorry, did you not like that?"

Lewis furrows his brow. He liked it, and he knows that it shows in the way his cock is sticking up eagerly into the wolf's grasp and the way he can't look away from the eyes pointing up at him. The wolf looks like he's on the verge of laughter at all times.

"I didn't tell you to stop."

The wolf lets out a deep snort of laughter as his grip gets tighter, pulling down on Lewis' balls with a quick jerk of his hand. "Aren't you a smart-ass?" Lewis tightens up and lets out a hiss, pulling again on his bound wrists. The wolf nudges lightly at the head of Lewis's cock with the end of his muzzle, chuckling.

"So, again, I do want to know. What did you come here for, Lewis?" The wolf drags his name out, gradually pulling down more and more on his cock until his claws are dangerously close to bare skin.

"I didn't - "

"Oh, didn't you?"

The wolf stretches back his neck, showing off his teeth and the power in his upper body. Lewis gawks; it's an impressive thing, the hulking frame of him, and the way his muscles push and pull under his fur.

"I think you rather like the way I look."

"I - I suppose I do."

"You wanted to get a closer look?"

Lewis pauses. "...Yes."

"At what, exactly?" He pulls down hard enough on Lewis's cock to make him yelp again, straining to stay upright.

"Your - your body."

"My body?"

"Yes."

The wolf smiles and lets go of Lewis' cock, stretching the fingers on that hand, in a tone thick with mock surprise: "Oh, was that what you wanted?" He takes a few steps back as Lewis stares over his body again with growing urgency. "Look at you, blushing again."

Lewis' hands jump to his face as if to cover it up. For a moment he's staring at the wolf and wondering how it can possibly tell, with the sun disappearing behind the horizon and the only light in the area a flickering fire that he's turned away from; but he takes a long look into the wolf's eyes and realizes that they can see a lot more than he can in this light. Instantly his nakedness snaps into a different light in his head, and the wolf's calm gaze seems all the more possessive.

The wolf clears his throat, and one hand goes down to the cloth wrapped around his waist, barely concealing his dick. He stretches out his fingers and grabs the meat of his cock in the palm of his hand through the cloth, lifting it up towards Lewis in apparent deep thought. "Well," he says, "I suppose if you want my body, come over here and warm it up for me."

Lewis freezes in place.

The wolf looks over at him, expectant. "Unless you've changed your mind."

Lewis's mouth had been open, without realizing it, and the sight of the wolf gripping himself in front of him turns out to be too much to bear. He steps forward shakily, his cock bobbing in the air in front of him and still wet with the wolf's slobber, and ends up falling onto his knees in the grass right in front of the wolf's crotch. He's stopped thinking about how he looks, and now he looks nothing but eager and greedy. The wolf looks down with a pleased grunt, relinquishing his grip through the loincloth and staring. "Go ahead."

It takes Lewis a second to realize that the wolf isn't going to lift his cloth for him, spurring him to action. With his wrists still bound behind his back, he has to use his teeth to reveal his prize; he gnaws on the cloth, trying to pull it free of the crude knot it's in, but only succeeds in pulling it awkwardly around the wolf's waist. In his frustrations he ends up with his face buried in the wolf's fur right above his crotch, and the smell gives him pause - a musky, heady scent, of power and sweat and flesh. He stays there for a second with his eyes wide, drinking it in, while the Wolf calmly slips his hand into Lewis' hair, tousling it about and then gripping it by the roots. "Did you need help?"

Lewis hates it, visibly. His jaw steels at the tone, at how helpless the wolf presumes him to be, and at the lack of control he has, and at his own idiocy for getting himself into this situation. Some part of him manages to reply.

"Doesn't it look like it?"

The wolf tightens his grip on his hair, head tilting. "Mm?"

Lewis yields. "...Yes, please."

The wolf speaks in a tone usually reserved for encouraging dogs, drawing out the word: "Good."

Lewis turns beet red again as the Wolf uses his other hand to deftly undo the knot and let the cloth fall to the ground below him. He turns his attention away from the Wolf's face and is suddenly struck by the dick hanging in front of him; it's a deep, dark color of flesh, veined and hairless, fat all the way through like a sausage and at least nine inches long. The smell is even stronger here as Lewis runs his eyes over it, getting what he can of it in the flickering light. The view of it he'd gotten from behind that day at the ledge didn't do it justice, because up close and in person it's overpowering in its presence, obnoxious and pushing all else out of its way. As the wolf's grip on his hair steadies him, he pushes himself to take the dangling head of the cock into his mouth all at once, running his tongue under the head.

It tastes the same way the wolf smells, earthy and captivating. His tongue coasts the edge of it as he struggles to get more of it into his mouth, instantly craving more and shutting off the rest of his brain. He fits as many inches as he can get into his mouth comfortably, eyes closed and pressing forward until he thinks he can feel the fur of the wolf's crotch brush up against his nose. Above him, the wolf's eyes are wild and big, excited and pressing. His mouth lolls open, and his free hand floats down onto Lewis' shoulder, caressing his skin with the palm of his hand and dragging the very tips of his talons as pin-pricks down Lewis' side.

The huge wolf cock starts to get hard in Lewis' mouth, much to his delight. Little sounds start to muscle their way out of his throat as he feels it stiffen and push out, struggling to keep as much of it past his lips. With a little encouragement from the wolf's hand gripping his hair, he starts bobbing his head up and down the length of the shaft with long flexes of his neck and chest, needy groans coming out from deep in his chest. The wolf, to his chagrin, doesn't even bother to egg him on, not rotating his hips into him or letting out any audible signs of satisfaction more than a pleased sigh; he only stares down, grinning ear to ear, muttering - "Eager, eager, eager, aren't you? You've done this before?"

Lewis doesn't bother trying to reply. A bead of precum builds on the tip of his own cock, and he tries to get to it before remembering how tightly his hands are bound behind his back, growling. The wolf notices the attempt and roughly caresses Lewis's hair again: "Shh, don't worry about that."

Lewis almost stops, and part of him tries to pull off of the wolf's dick and get up, but he won't; he can't, and he isn't sure why or what's stopping him. It's the way the wolf's holding him, the smell and taste of him, and the towering bulk above him that makes him want to fit more into his mouth. He tries to push himself all the way down to the base in one fell swoop, carefully, with his eyes all the way shut, but he doesn't quite make it before it hits the back of his throat and the ache in his jaw takes over.

The wolf laughs down at him, low and throaty. "If that's what you want, I could bend you over a stump or something and try to fit into your throat. But that seems a bit excessive. I think you did a fine job." With a swing of his hips he slowly pulls his cock free of Lewis' mouth, despite his protests, and lets it rest up against Lewis' cheek. It's even more impressive at full mast, the veins popping out, a shallow curve pointing upwards, slick and shiny in the moonlight covered in pre-cum and Lewis' spit. The wolf's hand claws through Lewis's hair ferociously, rumbling his approval. Lewis stares, dumbfounded at what he's just done, and starts to struggle to get up, pushing up into a faceful of fur and stumbling backwards.

The wolf laughs that long, heavy laugh again that echoes off the trees in the lonely clearing and fills up Lewis' skull. The grin he gives is easily visible even in the fading firelight, bright sharp teeth piercing the murky dusk. Lewis stands under him, staring up, not sure what to do with his body since his mind is going nowhere at sixty miles an hour. The wolf bends his hulking body down to meet Lewis eye to eye, his tongue an inch away from licking over Lewis' skin.

"What are you so embarrassed for? You seemed to quite enjoy that." His voice is calm and collected, no matter how excited Lewis gets, and it only makes him more frustrated.

"Not your - I'm not your fucking pet."

"What? Oh, Lewis, Lewisss." He comes so close Lewis can feel his breath again across his face, and the scent of his mouth is as powerful as it was that day in the hollow under the ridge. "When did I say anything about that?"

"The day you found me."

"Oh, when you were 'passed out?' Silly me, I'd forgotten completely." The wolf's maw opens and his tongue falls out, tracing a path up Lewis' face deliberately, leaving a trail of his slobber behind. "But I don't want to do anything you don't want to do. That wouldn't be any way to treat a guest."

"I'm not - I'm not..." Lewis chokes on whatever he's about to say next.

"Not what? Not enjoying it? Not happy you came? Not really into men?"

Lewis freezes up, and the wolf's eyes sharpen at some change in his features that he can see through the dark. One of the wolf's huge clawed hands floats down beside him and rests on Lewis's ass, squeezing down gently like he's testing a piece of meat. Lewis is dumbstruck as the wolf's tone gets even quieter, turning into a low growl:

"Bit strange to suddenly let pride get the better of you now. But if that's what you want, mm - just say the word."

Lewis looks down and catches a glimpse of the wolf's bloated cock hanging in front of him. He comes close to asking to be set loose, very close, with a word forming in his mouth, but then he swallows it down and pushes his thoughts into gear. What he ends up saying, which sounds like it's coming from very far away, is strained and hoarse:

"Just - oh, god, come on."

The wolf's ears perk up immediately. "I'm sorry?"

"Please."

The wolf chuckles a gust of hot breath into Lewis' face. "I appreciate your decision to be polite for once, but - what is it you want?"

Lewis blushes again, gritting his teeth. He's finding it increasingly hard to be angry at the wolf, who gives him so much leeway, making it impossible for him to rationalize the events of the night as anything but the sum of Lewis's own decisions. He could've packed up when they'd found him, he could've not let his lust get the better of him at camp, he could've not trekked of in search of them, and he could've left at any point after seeing the wolf in person, but he didn't. The fact that he didn't pounds in his head with his heartbeat, unbearably loud.

"Fuck me."

The wolf grins again, wide and obnoxious. "I'm sorry?"

"Just - fuck me, please, isn't that why I came? Stop playing around, stop teasing, just - do it."

Lewis's eyes push all the way open in shock, a sharp breath shooting into him after he realizes he's sealed his fate. The wolf teases at his lips with his long tongue again, a low hum building in his chest. For once, he doesn't tease.

"Go, get on the ground over there by the fire. Present yourself."

Lewis steps back, open-mouthed and exhausted, hands still tied hopelessly behind his back. Without hesitation, he walks over to the soft earth in front of the fire, now mostly a pile of embers, and awkwardly clambers on his knees, falling forward. He ends with his forehead down against soft, damp grass, his knees bent under him, and his ass pointing up and out behind. His cock, still hard and aching, drips a bead of precum under him. He wants to touch it and he wants any kind of friction on it, but he doesn't ask.

"And to think maybe twenty minutes ago you were so reluctant and proud."

The wolf walks over, agonizingly slow, to get down on his knees and grab Lewis by the thighs, his huge hands pressing into flesh. He lets out a guttural "Good." and rushes forward with his mouth open to push his long tongue into Lewis' ass. Lewis lets out a muffled yelp at the sudden sensation, muscles tensing. The wolf is remarkably thorough, holding Lewis's ass open for him so he can get as deep as he can without his teeth accidentally sinking into Lewis's back. Lewis shudders at the onslaught, and lets out a long, shaky breath as the wolf finally pulls back, having slathered Lewis's ass in his slobber. The wolf quietly takes his huge cock in one hand.

"Tell me, Lewis. You've done this before?"

Lewis weakly tries to nod, before realizing that his head is stuck against the ground. "Yes. Just a few times." He thinks of strange late nights camping, strange conversations, strange wants, long nights out in the open in the middle of nowhere that he didn't dare tell anyone about, and someone he hasn't heard from in years.

"You enjoyed it?"

Lewis pauses. "Yes."

"Then you'll just love this."

The wolf's swollen cock head rests up against Lewis's exposed asshole, and Lewis freezes in anticipation. But it doesn't go in; it just lays there, rubbing back and forth through the spit. Lewis's bound hands flex in their restraints, furiously trying to move. It doesn't work. The wolf's grip moves to the ass, holding the cheeks apart with the great padded palms of his hands.

Lewis mutters out before he can stop himself - "Please."

The wolf complies. With a long, smooth drag of his hips, he pushes forward until his cock head pops open into Lewis's ass, to a long, scratchy yell from Lewis. Chuckling, the wolf leans forward to run one hand through Lewis's hair possessively again, growling low under his breath. Slowly and steadily, he pushes further in, a fraction of an inch by a fraction of an inch at a time, gauging Lewis' comfort by the strain on his face and the sounds that push their way out of his throat whenever he goes further in.

It feels like a lot longer than it is before the wolf's hips finally come up even with Lewis's. Lewis had fucked like this before, but never with someone so well-endowed; the wolf stretches him tight and sore, makes the muscles in his ass twitch, and hits a spot inside him that makes him shake and see stars. When Lewis realizes that he has the wolf's cock totally inside him he takes in a shaky, overjoyed breath at the incredible fullness, and the wolf chuckles as it bends down over him, pressing his muscled body across Lewis's spine.

"Mmm. I knew you were worth it."

Lewis doesn't have the capacity to respond, eyes closed and mouth open as his forehead presses a hollow into the soft earth beneath him. The wolf gradually pulls back, with a hiss from Lewis as the space is vacated and his muscles struggle to react. When only the head of his cock is left inside, he pauses and pushes forward again. Lewis tries to relax and let him in easier, his breath quickening and heart pounding, nerves racing; but, god, it feels incredible.

They continue like that for some time, with the wolf not speeding up too much and Lewis letting out increasingly desperate sounds every time the tip of the wolf's cock hits home. He relaxes, gets used to the feeling of the huge thing inside him taking up room, and the wolf lets out an approving grumble. After even longer, the wolf starts to make noises, the first things that suggested an amount of lust on his part all night, and he speeds up. The grips on Lewis's ass turn harder, almost enough to bruise, and the wolf bends his body so close to Lewis's that their heads end up next to each other. The wolf's hot breath invades Lewis's head again, and the heady scent drives him more and more up the wall. He mutters something incomprehensible and needy that the wolf seems to pick up on.

One of the wolf's hands leaves Lewis's ass and presses along the side of his body until it gets under him, and finds his long-untouched cock. The wolf plays with it idly, like a toy; gripping the balls between two fingers, letting his padded palm lightly stroke the shaft until Lewis, desperate for more attention than that, squirms in his powerful grip. It's only after a long series of begging sounds and more indecipherable words that the wolf acquiesces and takes Lewis's cock into the palm of his great hand, stroking it up and down quietly, slick with its own pre-cum.

And after a long time Lewis realizes that the wolf has finally sped up properly, and is ramming his cock into him with smooth, long strokes fast enough to make his head spin; every movement of the wolf is fluid and graceful and strong, his muscles bulging and working like pistons in a machine over him. The scent of their sex floods his senses, the wolf's sweat and his own turning into a thick, heady aroma that clouds his head as he tries to climb towards release inside the wolf's ferocious grip. The wolf lets out a long, loud growl and suddenly pauses while he's fully buried in Lewis, who looks over to him curiously; but then the wolf draws back suddenly and slams into him, hips against hips in quick, jerky movements, once, twice... eight times, each drawing increasingly surprised yells from their recipient, before he finally comes with a long howl right next to Lewis's ear. Lewis feels the wolf's warm seed shoot into him and freezes, breath catching in his throat; the wolf notices, and pumps his heavy hand over Lewis once, who comes as if on command, spraying himself across his abdomen and over the wolf's hand. They stand there, soaking in their own juices, before the wolf collapses next to him.

Lewis's mind is blank for a good long time, eyes closed with his face sideways across the grass and his asshole still stretched wide open by the wolf's softening cock. Then he feels movement; the wolf's head rising up behind his, huge clawed hands petting Lewis's body and running through his hair.

"Thank you so much for stopping by."

Lewis's reply is weak and dreamy: "I'm glad I did."

The wolf grins. "Yes, you seem to be, don't you?" His tone is still low and smooth and frustratingly possessive but Lewis doesn't seem to mind any more. With care, the wolf removes his weight from the poor human's back and draws his cock out, a string of cum leaking out of Lewis with it. Wordlessly, he extends one claw and slices through the thin bond of cloth holding Lewis's wrists together, and they fall next to his sides.

Without asking permission, when the wolf stands up, he reaches his long arms under Lewis and picks him up against his chest like he doesn't weigh a thing, nestling him in a cradle of muscle and fur.

"It's a bit late for you to go back. Might as well stay the night."

Lewis mutters something in agreement, but the wolf is already carrying him out of the clearing in the other direction, the way he came.