FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

She stood against the far wall of the cell, her wrists hanging lazily in worn iron cuffs above her head, suspended by thick, wrought iron chains that were anchored in the aged and cracked stone wall, near the ceiling. Her eyes looked directly at him, showing no signs of fear or concern. In fact, she seemed almost bored with her current situation.

A wolf lady from the far north, she was a little over eight feet tall, dwarfing Bayard's own five foot nine. Each of her breasts was much larger than her own head, her hips almost twice the width of her waist, and her thighs each as thick as a grown man's chest was wide, and perfectly round. Her arms and abdomen showed subtle signs of muscle tone while the rest of her naked figure was plush and amply curved; even her breasts, despite their size and lack of support, were surprisingly full and perky. Thick, scruffy hair flowed down her back and over her shoulders, like the mane of a lion, and her fur was a mix of white and silvery blue, accentuating her piercing, pale blue eyes. Her muzzle was short and her ears large, pointing straight up like a pair of fluffy, cone shaped antenna. Eyeing her from the doorway, Bayard suspected that if she really wanted to, this wolf could probably rip her chains right out of the wall they were embedded in.

And as he stared at her, she stared back at him.

The enchained wolf patiently watched Bayard as he stood in the cell doorway, calm and composed, waiting to see what he would do. Only his deep, steady breathing hinted at his recent exertion from skilfully dispatching the dozen or so shabby bandits residing in the crumbling ruin. She watched as he stared at her, his eyes carefully analysing her voluptuous, exposed figure. She watched as his gaze betrayed the desire within; a lustful hunger to take her, possess and use her, to indulge in every inch of her supple curves. And she watched as he restrained himself rather than move to take advantage of a vulnerable, naked beauty.

Her saftig rear pressing against the old wall behind her, the northern wolf leaned forward, offering herself to the composed adventurer, the chains straining under her full weight. Bayard regarded the wolf with curiosity, staring into her eyes. She didn't look away. Instead, a subtle blush appeared in her cheeks as she quietly waited for him to accept her invitation. Although her expression remained neutral, Bayard saw a light in the captive wolf's eyes, the light of an unbroken spirit in complete control of their life. Briefly the adventurer wondered if she had been put here against her will, or according to it. Either way, she seemed neither put off by his presence and what it meant for the other residents of the ruins, nor distressed by her apparent imprisonment, and she certainly seemed to be in good health, so Bayard permitted himself the indulgence she was offering.

Stepping toward her, Bayard reached out with one hand, palm up, and gently cupped one of the buxom wolf's enormous breasts. Even with his fingers spread out, the diameter of her areola was wider than the full span of his grown hand. He marveled at its size, and the sheer weight of her breast as he squeezed and lifted it, curiously wondering at the number of kilos it must weigh alone. But what amazed Bayard the most was how incredibly soft the wolf's breast was, his fingers sinking into her flesh like he was pressing into the fleece of a year old sheep.

As her chest was experimentally fondled by this new stranger, the naked wolf's blush intensified. Biting her lower lip, she restlessly rubbed her thick, soft thighs together, feeling the familiar sensation of arousal growing between them. However, her own enjoyment of the moment was abruptly cut short as Bayard caught himself getting carried away. Quickly, the adventurer withdrew his hand from her ample chest and composed himself once more, shoving the rising fantasies out of his mind. The briefest flash of disappointment and frustration crossed the wolf's cute face before she too regained control of herself. Looking up at her, Bayard saw only neutrality on her face, and the subtlest hint of a pout concealed behind her stoic expression.

When he began rummaging through his various pockets and pouches, the wolf's head tilted slightly in curiosity. A moment later, Bayard produced an old iron key, something he'd looted from one of the bandits, and with the aid of a half rotted wooden stool, the cuffs around the wolf's wrists snapped open with a satisfying kachink! He then moved to undo the shackles around her ankles but quickly discovered her ankles were not bound. Once again, Bayard found himself wondering if she was truly being held against her will.

As the wolf straightened up, Bayard stepped back and couldn't help but feel just a little intimidated by her incredible size. In the back of his mind, he pleaded with her to be friendly. If she decided to attack, he'd surely get knocked clean off his feet by a single blow.

"Matasa. Thank you," the wolf spoke, nodding her head slightly. Her voice was soft but clear and strong. Now free of her restraints, she stood and watched her liberator as if waiting for him to give her instructions.

"Y-you're welcome," Bayard replied, nodding respectfully in return. He tried to hide the awkwardness in his voice, brought on by his recent indulgence and her intimidating presence. "Let's get out of here, yes?"

The wolf nodded and fell in behind Bayard as he turned to exit the cell. While the adventurer had no trouble passing through the doorway, his follower had to stoop and turn sideways to pass through, something Bayard couldn't help but watch with mild fascination.

Above ground, little of the original structure still stood, having collapsed and been worn away by the elements over many years. But underground, much of it was still very much intact and comprised of four distinct levels, each with a complex network of corridors and rooms that varied in shape and size. Whatever it had been in the past, it was clear the ancient stone building had been used to house a large number of people or goods; perhaps it had been a small castle, or large outpost, or maybe even a major trading hub. Regardless of its past use, the location was now frequently inhabited by bandits and highwaymen as it provided a convenient, easily defensible base to operate out of when preying on the nearby roads.

The cell in which Bayard had found the northern wolf was on the lowest level, a dungeon that had no doubt been used to house prisoners. As the pair made their way upward, stepping over and around the ruins' recently deceased inhabitants, the adventurer noticed that his follower seemed to regard their bodies with almost complete indifference. He saw no trace of aggression or even concern as her gaze passed over them; almost as if she had never met any of them before now.

"Loft," she softly muttered when passing one of the bodies. But that was it.

Bayard wondered what she meant. Had it been the name of that particular bandit, or was it a word of her native language? The adventurer knew matasa, it was an expression of thanks; but loft was not a word he was familiar with.

On the surface, the sun's light was beginning to turn golden as it neared the distant horizon. The shadows on the ground were growing long, and Bayard estimated they only had a couple of hours of good light left.

"It'll be dark by the time we reach the nearest town," Bayard remarked, analysing the setting sun and surveying the surrounding area. "We should camp for the night, and then head out in the morning." He turned to the enormous wolf following him, to receive her response to his suggestion, but all she did was nod as if accepting instructions, leaving Bayard just a little bemused. "OK, then."

Two centuries ago, when the ruins saw daily activity of a different kind, the surrounding area had been nothing but vast, open plains. Since then, the far off forest had gradually expanded its borders and was now threatening to completely overrun the once mighty structure. Here and there, patches of trees and undergrowth mixed with large clearings, marking the outer edges of the slowly advancing forest. About half an hour's trek to the north-west, the treeline all but ceased completely; it was here that Bayard intended to setup camp for the night, before setting out the next day.

While travelling along the well trodden road in silence, Bayard couldn't help but glance back at the voluptuous wolf every so often. Her enormous breasts bounced hypnotically with every step she took, and her curvaceous figure made the adventurer's heart race. Noticing his glances, the wolf wrapped her arms under her bust, lifting and squeezing her soft, round orbs together as she looked at the scenery, pretending not to notice her rescuer's gazes. As intended, this made Bayard's arousal burn hotter, and a bulge began to form in the front of his pants.

Breathing deeply, Bayard looked forward once more, trying to calm himself. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this woman. She seemed entirely unperturbed by recent events, as if they hadn't happened at all, and didn't even appear concerned with covering her nakedness. Again, Bayard found himself wondering how she had ended up down there, and what her relationship had been with the bandits. She seemed to show no sign of anxiety or relief, nor aggression or grief; nothing he'd regularly expect from an attractive young woman that had been held captive by a large group of outlaws.

To break the silence, Bayard decided to discuss with her their options for tomorrow.

"Ranneth is the closest town," Bayard began, without turning around. "It's small, but we can be there by mid day. Fett's March is past that, but still within a day's walk. Larreth is back the other way, and will take almost the full day's journey to reach. But, if we leave early, we can make it before sundown."

Glancing over his shoulder, Bayard saw that his follower's eyes were firmly trained on him, showing that she had indeed been listening intently to his words. After letting his eyes briefly wash over her figure once more, Bayard returned his gaze to the front and continued.

"If you need money for clothing or to travel further, I can spare a few silver coins. Is there somewhere in particular you'd like to go? Would you like an escort?" Bayard didn't think she'd need an escort, but he asked out of politeness all the same. And perhaps a slight selfish desire to find any excuse to stay near to her.

"I'll go wherever you go," she replied simply and immediately.

Her calm and instant reply caught Bayard completely off guard. Stopping, he turned to face her, forgetting briefly about her immense height, and came face to face with her enormous, pillowy chest. Surprised by the unexpected sight, and closeness, Bayard fell back a step before looking up to meet the towering wolf's gaze directly. Her soft eyes stared back at him unflinchingly and a moment of silence passed between them as the adventurer tried to think of a response.

"You don't have to follow me. You're free to go wherever you wish," he finally said, then turned to continue along the road, thinking the matter settled.

But the naked wolf still had more to say.

"You claimed me; I am yours, now. I will go where you go." Her tone was matter-of-fact, as though what she said was an irrefutable truth.

Bayard sighed and slumped a little as he walked, realising where this conversation was going. Although slavery was tolerated in much of the land, it was something Bayard personally abhorred and refused to be party to.

"I didn't claim you; I freed you," he firmly stated.

"You killed my former masters and took me with you. By doing so, you have taken possession of me," the wolf explained flatly.

"Great. I accidentally stole a slave. I don't want a slave!" Bayard declared, a hint of irritation in his words.

"Then sell me," the wolf responded without hesitation. Her tone remained indifferent the entire time, as though her life, her freedom meant nothing to her.

"I'm not selling you!" Bayard growled, anger beginning to show in his words.

"Then I'll sell myself."

Bayard stopped once more, this time in disbelief. There was a resolve in her tone that told him she meant what she said, and the adventurer couldn't fathom what he was supposed to do about it. She seemed insistent on being a slave, and Bayard could see no way around it. If he kept her, he would hate himself for it. If he sold her, he would hate himself for it. If he just left her behind, knowing she would sell herself back into slavery, he would feel partly responsible for allowing it to happen, and hate himself for it.

"But, who can say what sort of selfish, uncaring, abusive owner I may end up with," the wolf was continuing to say. Her tone had shifted, now, to an overly dramatic, mock innocence. She could tell Bayard was a good person, and her words were deliberately chosen to make him feel worse for selling or leaving her, and he knew it.

With a deep sigh, the adventurer resigned to the lesser evil.

"Fine! I'll keep you," he begrudgingly conceded. Had he looked back at that moment, Bayard might've caught a glimpse at the smug smile on the wolf's cute face. It quickly became clear to him that despite her apparent preference to let someone else control her life, this wolf was actually an intelligent and shrewd woman that knew how to get what she wanted.

Starting forward once more, Bayard changed the subject.

"I'll be needing to know your name, then, won't I."

"Whatever you choose, Master," came the wolf's reply, a hint of glee in her words.

Bayard hung his head, already beginning to regret his decision.

"First thing's first," he stated firmly, " don't call me that. My name is Bayard. Second, don't you have a name? What did you previous masters call you?"

"As a slave, my name is chosen by my master. My previous masters called me Meat."

"Well, I'm not calling you that." A minute passed before Bayard asked, "I don't suppose you have any preferences?" A tinge of false hope hung in his words.

The buxom wolf shook her head and replied with a simple "No."

"Of course not," Bayard muttered to himself, his fears affirmed. With a resigned sigh, he added, "I guess I'll... think of something."

The light was beginning to wane when Bayard lead his new traveling companion a small distance off the road. At the edge of the creeping forest, trees were sparsely scattered across the plain, accompanied by only the scantest amount of underbrush, making it an ideal place to camp. The adventurer politely asked his wolf 'slave' to search the area for rocks, twigs, and anything else that could be used to build a camp fire, to which she eagerly agreed and almost bounded off into the shadows. When she returned, Bayard had run a line of string around the perimeter to act as a trip line, and attached it to a small bell on a stick near where he planned to sleep. By the time the last of the sun's light had fled, there was a small, cosy fire was roaring in a ring of stones.

The wolf sat across from her new master, her legs crossed, and watched him intently while he did his best not to stare at her. Bayard didn't feel right 'owning' her, and had no intention of treating her as a slave. But, somewhere in the back of his mind a thought sprang up, what if she decided he wasn't being 'masterly' enough? If she felt he wasn't treating her like a 'proper slave', would she just leave and sell herself? Would he have no choice but to play the part? Bayard found himself growing uneasy at the thoughts beginning to spin in his head and so tried to push them out.

"Why do you want to be a slave so bad?" Bayard found himself suddenly asking.

The wolf tilted her head slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing her face.

"It's all I've ever known," she replied simply, looking Bayard in the eyes. He saw no sadness in them, or even happiness. Only a calm contentedness. "I wouldn't know what to do if I wasn't a slave. My mother was a slave, so I was born into it. She raised me herself, and taught me everything she knew. She taught me how to read and write, add and subtract; and she taught me how to read people, how to listen to them, learn from them, and how to use my body and my mind to get what I wanted." The wolf once more wrapped her arms under her bust, making her enormous breasts lift and squeeze together, as she stared off into the dancing shadows cast by the fire light; but Bayard sensed it was much more of a habitual motion, this time, rather than an deliberate attempt to arouse him.

"I know slavery isn't ideal, and that many slaves are treated poorly," she continued, her tone turning solemn. "But, many people whom aren't slaves live in poor conditions as well, begging for scraps and sheltering in holes just to survive, while others live in lavishness, and often through no fault of their own. So, what difference does being a slave make when the conditions one lives in can be just as poor or lavish as any free person, according to the whims of fate?"

Bayard was surprised by the profound perspective the wolf presented to him. He'd never considered the parallels between slaves and free people. It forced him to look at slavery in a new light, and suddenly he felt as though there wasn't such a difference after all. Everyone had their share of luck, and had to deal with the hand they'd been dealt in life, whether slave or not. Then Bayard furrowed his brow; regardless of a person's lot in life, owning a person was still wrong. They weren't things, and they had the right to make their own choices, for better or worse.

And then it dawned on him that that was exactly what this wolf was doing. She was choosing this life. In exchange for control, she was liberating herself from certain worries a free person had to deal with every day; she didn't need to concern herself with working to earn money to pay for lodging or food, and shifts in the economy were of no concern to her. And if her master fell prey to these issues, she would simply be sold to another master in a more financially stable position. These thoughts made Bayard feel only slightly better about accepting her, but he still didn't like the idea of ordering her around like a meaningless object. She was a person, slave or not, and he would treat her accordingly.

"Then we're going to need some ground rules," Bayard stated, his expression serious. The wolf's ears perked as she look him in the eye, a sign she was giving him her full attention. "First of all, I don't want you suffering in silence, so to speak. If you dislike something, or have something on your mind, tell me."

"Alright," she agreed.

"Second, you're going to work for your keep. I can't afford to just drag you around everywhere and not have you chip in. Can you fight?"

The wolf shook her head.

"Then I'll teach you. Between the two of us, we might just be able to tackle bigger quests, which will mean more money, which will be needed, anyway."

The wolf nodded in silence, paying close attention to her master's words. She didn't really have any qualms with his conditions. If it was what he wanted her to do, she would do it. Besides, she liked the sound of fighting beasts and monsters on quests. Most of her life, the wolf's masters had been nobles and merchants, people with a lot of wealth and very little backbone. This would be a nice change of pace.

"And third... um..." Bayard paused. He had found himself on a roll and had moved on to a third point without really thinking about it. "I don't really have anything for three, right now. But if something comes up, I'll add it. Any problems with all that?"

Again the wolf shook her head, but then she chipped in with her own thoughts, her words confident and serious. "I have a condition for you, now," she informed.

Bayard raised an eyebrow. If he'd been a 'proper' master, he'd probably have slapped her for her boldness and presumption to make conditions. But, her forward approach comforted him, it meant the she was accepting his condition to speak her mind.

"And what is that?" Bayard inquired.

"If you want me, take me," she instructed, a touch of firmness in her tone.

Bayard blinked. He hadn't expected that.

"It's clear as day to me the thoughts running through your mind, when you look at me," her words softened as she smiled, shifting her position slightly to make herself more visually appealing. "If I'm to not 'suffer in silence', as you put it, then I want the same from you. I am your slave, you are allowed to use me as you wish. If it makes you feel better, I will tell you if I object."

Bayard glared at her. That shrewdness was rearing its head again. She used his own condition against him, to force him to let go of his inhibition and take her as she was. Truly she was cunning and he would have to be careful lest she get the better of him. On the other hand, there was a certain logic to her condition. If she was to travel with him from now on, she would most certainly prove distracting, and that might prove dangerous. If Bayard was pent up and distracted by lustful desires for her, it could affect his rational thinking and fighting ability. Would it not be better to regularly alleviate himself of such troubling thoughts and go forward with a clear mind? She was a willing participant, after all, and had said she'd tell him if she objected.

"Alright, fine," Bayard begrudgingly agreed.

The adventurer was once more surprised by the wolf's sudden gleeful expression. She bounced lightly where she sat, making her chest jiggle quite noticeably. Bayard glanced away automatically, but then permitted his eyes to stray back to the hypnotic view of her bountiful breasts and voluptuous figure. Truly she was going to be a handful, in more ways than one.

As the adventurer poked at the fire to stir it up, the wolf analysed him more closely. She estimated him to be in his early to mid thirties, with an athletic figure honed out of numerous years of travel, fighting, and minimal indulgences. Handsome, in an average sort of way, he had a short beard that outlined his soft, angular chin with stubble lining his jawline, making it stand out more than it would if it were bare. His hair was dark and shoulder length, and looked like he at least tried to keep it washed and tidy; as best his travelling lifestyle permitted, anyway. When she looked into his brown eyes, the wolf found a depth there that made her feel like she was going to fall in. She could see a life's worth of hard lessons and experiences in them, along with the the dreams and wishes of a man half his age. By the way he moved and spoke, and the depth in his eyes, the wolf could see that Bayard was a kind and respectful person on the surface, with the wants and desires of any other man kept in check underneath. If life offered him wealth and pleasure, he would probably take it, though not at the cost of something more valuable.

Over a shirt of linen, Bayard wore a vest of leather, along with leather bracers and pants. The leather appeared worn and aged, but well maintained, the sign of many years of good service and dutiful care. On his hip sat both a long and a short sword of standard soldier quality, while a bow of finely crafted, sturdy wood was slung over his shoulder, along with a quiver holding no more than four arrows. An assortment of pouches lined Bayard's belt, some of them soft and tied shut by a draw string, while others were firm and cubic in shape, with a clipped flap on top. The small pack he'd been carrying over his shoulder while walking now rested on the ground next to him; it seemed to contain only the bare essentials, enough to camp when needed to, but not enough to remain far from civilisation for extended periods.

While watching him carefully, the northern wolf noticed that Bayard kept a watchful eye on the flickering darkness that surrounded them. His gaze frequently shifted from one place to another, and never lingered on the bright flame of the camp fire for long, preventing his eyes from adjusting to the sharpness of its light. Like an animal watching for predators, Bayard's head turned this way and that, and the wolf realised that even as they had been traveling, he had been alert and aware of their surroundings the entire time. She wondered if he was even aware that he was doing it, or if it had become an unconscious habit over his many years of adventuring.

Without even thinking about it, the wolf looked up from the bristling camp fire and peered past the youthful trees growing around their little clearing, wondering if Bayard could see as clearly as she could. Even her pointy ears began to swivel independently atop her head, like little radar dishes searching for stray signals. Gradually, the deep night opened itself up to the wolf's senses, revealing numerous little sights and sounds that she had never before noticed. It was a new and unusual experience; having never needed to pay much attention to her surroundings prior, now suddenly the poorly traveled wolf found herself acutely aware of just how alone they were, hours from the nearest town, and a slight chill made its way up her spine. If anyone attacked, it would be only them... no, only Bayard to defend them. She didn't know how to fight. But she would learn. She was determined not to hold her master back; she would become a capable fighter that he didn't need to worry about.

Bayard, meanwhile, had other things on his mind. As he watched for potential dangers lurking in the darkness, his eyes regularly strayed back to her, the enormous, curvaceous, and very naked wolf sitting with him by the fire. He couldn't help but let his gaze linger on her for a moment longer than anywhere else, admiring the incredible size and perkiness of her chest, and the thick roundness of her thighs. He tried not to let his mind become distracted by thoughts of how incredibly snug and soft she must feel to hug, to squeeze, to... Bayard shook his head. But his mind quickly found its way back to thoughts of her. Of her body. Why was he hesitating? He hadn't had any qualms about filling his palms with her body back in the cell. Was it because she had been chained up? No. That wasn't it. She had offered herself openly, and he'd felt no sense that she was vulnerable, despite her restrained position. But, that was before he knew she was a slave, before he knew she saw him as her new master. Bayard feared that he would be taking advantage of her. He feared that she would submit simply because of how she perceived him. But, the buxom wolf had promised to speak up if she objected, so what should he have to worry about?

With a sigh, Bayard tried pushing the doubts and fears from his mind. He needed to trust her, especially if they were going to be traveling and fighting together from now on. She had expressly instructed him to help himself if he wanted her, and even seemed excited by his agreement to do so. Did she want him to 'just take her'? Did she find pleasure in it, in being used like a thing? Certainly this wolf was intelligent, and not a slave by anyone's compulsion but her own. It seemed to Bayard that she was capable of being wilful and outspoken when she wanted to be, so perhaps he truly had nothing to worry about. He still didn't feel right just taking her, though. But, if it was what she insisted on, perhaps he should oblige.

With thoughts of the plush wolf filling his mind, Bayard glanced in her direction once more. He looked at her directly this time, but his indulgent ogling soon ceased when he noticed her attention seemed scattered. Her head periodically twisted this way and that, while her eyes darted here and there like a paranoid animal with a nervous twitch. She didn't even seem to notice him staring. With a smile, Bayard couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. He knew exactly what she was doing for he had seen it before, often from rookie adventurers and young children trying to imitate veterans. It was a skill that couldn't really be taught; like walking, it had to be learned and improved through observation, mimicry, and practice. In time, the wolf would learn to rely less on her eyes and more on her other senses. She would learn to quickly observe and memorise her surroundings, and to use her hearing, in conjunction with her sight, to 'watch' for sounds and motions that stood out.

Letting out another small sigh, Bayard decided it best to simply rest for the night, and to leave his companion to her 'training'. Tomorrow was a new day, and a good night's rest was sure to help clear his mind. As he lay down with his back to the fire, so that the light wouldn't bother his eyes as he tried to sleep, Bayard felt a little more comfortable with his decision to 'keep' the random wolf girl. She had already taken it upon herself to begin learning one of the most vital skills of his trade, so surely she would prove herself to be useful, and not just dead weight.

Not long after laying down, Bayard heard the soft sounds of movement, soon followed by a large shadow blotting out the last of the fire's light, and then a heavy weight pressing down on the ground beside him. Rolling over, the resting adventurer opened his eyes to once more find himself face to face with the enormous wolf's incredible chest. He couldn't help but marvel at the size and shape of her breasts as he had before, and immediately felt a subtle stir of arousal within. Glancing up, however, Bayard saw that the wolf's eyes were closed with her arm resting under her head as a makeshift pillow. She had lain down intimately close to him, leaving only the slightest of gaps between them. It was her way of showing that she wanted him to have her.

Closing his eyes again, Bayard gave in and pressed his face gently between her breasts, letting his senses get swept away by the enveloping feeling of warmth and softness. He felt her thick, powerful arm wrap around his body, holding him close as his palms cupped her natural pillows. Unexpectedly, Bayard felt an overwhelming sense of security snuggling into her warm, soft, massive figure, and soon after found there the boundless comfort of sleep.

When he woke, Bayard couldn't help but groggily squeeze the soft pillows enveloping his head. In the brief moments before remembering where he was and whom he was with, all that mattered to the adventurer was the warmth and softness of whatever he was snuggling into. When he did finally remember, he paused, recalling the night before, recalling his worries, and recalling his resolve to trust the wolf girl.

Breathing deeply, Bayard let himself indulge, filling his nostrils with her scent, and pressing into her chest as he squeezed the enormous orbs on either side of his head. He felt so small against her body, like a newborn child held in its mother's arms, the surrounding world blotted out by warmth and softness. At the same time, Bayard felt a conflict growing within him; on one hand, he wanted simply to snuggle into the wolf's body, let his entire being meld into her fluffiness and warmth, but on the other hand, he really, really wanted to fuck her.

Fortunately, Bayard's decision was soon made for him. As he struggled internally with this dilemma, a powerful arm wrapped around his body and pulled the adventurer on top of the wolf as she rolled onto her back. Bayard was surprised by how quick and easy she had moved him, as though he weighed nothing at all to her; but he didn't have time to dwell on that thought as the adventurer, in a mere moment, found himself laying between the wolf's thick, embracing thighs. Arousal burned like a stoked furnace inside Bayard as he propped himself up to look the wolf in the face. A subtle blush had washed into her cheeks, and a light gleamed in her eyes that, despite her neutral expression, spoke to excitement and anticipation. She smiled softly.

Bayard knew this face. He knew this light in her eyes. It was the same light he had seen in the eyes of eager young girls, and mature ladies seeking a night of pleasure with the object of their fancy. Having been that object on several occasions, Bayard now knew the voluptuous wolf girl had spoken the truth; she wanted this. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted him to use her. She liked it that way.

Fuck it is, thought Bayard, a smirk on his lips.

With the last traces of doubt and fear chased from his mind, the aroused adventurer buried his face into the wolf's enormous breast, his mouth wrapping around her nipple to suckle greedily. His fingers sank into fur and flesh as he firmly kneaded the incredible softness of her body, drawing from her surprisingly cute little moans that blessed his ears as he indulged. Closing her eyes, the wolf bit her lower lip, letting herself become enveloped by the familiar sensation of pleasure as she held Bayard's smaller body against her own. She could feel his erection between her legs, pressing against her naked sex through his pants.

With one mighty hand, the wolf girl reached down and pushed at the back of his bottoms, sliding them down his legs. He didn't object. Feeling his newly liberated shaft pressing against the wolf's plump, moist lips only spurred the adventurer on. Bucking his hips, he let the tip of his manhood slip between the wolf's exposed folds, poking, probing, enjoying the sensation before finding her entrance and delving deeper.

The moment she felt him slide inside, the enormous wolf girl squeezed, her inner walls tightening around his stiffness. At the same time, she let out a low, drawn out moan of approval, further emphasising her desire for him to continue. In the early morning shade, cast by the trees encircling their personal clearing, the adventurer and the slave girl embraced their lust, their euphoria peaking in unison. Bayard pushed as deep as he could, his seed spilling into her, while her inner walls milked him, and her thick legs lifted and crossed, locking him into place.

Panting heavily, as their blinding pleasure began to recede, and clarity of the mind took hold, the two relaxed. Bayard rested his head against one breast, his arms stretched out to his sides to embrace her whole body. Beneath him, her chest heaved steadily, while her heart pounded like a drum. He could feel it throbbing against his own body. It was a curious sensation, and one which Bayard would come to count among his most favourite moments with her.

After gathering themselves, and preparing to set off, Bayard spoke randomly to the wolf.

"I think I've thought of a name."

She tilted her head lightly to one side, curious as to what her new master would name her.

"How about... Anu?" Bayard looked at her with genuine fondness. He had wracked his brains to try and think of a good name, but in the end, he thought something simple would be best. "I believe it means 'wolf' in your language, no?"

The wolf girl blinked. Bayard saw a mixture of emotions in her eyes, surprise, disbelief, happiness, and sadness. In the silence that followed, Bayard thought he had made a big mistake.

"Is something wrong?" the adventurer asked, concerned he had somehow upset her.

"No!" the wolf quickly reassured her master. "No. Nothing's wrong. I... When I was still young, before I was given a name by my first master, mother called me Mi'Anu. Little Wolf."

For the briefest of moments, Bayard thought he saw a tear forming in the wolf's eyes.

"Should I-"

"No! Please, no. I love it. Thank you."

Anu smiled at Bayard, and it was like he was seeing the sun rise for the very first time.