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[TRIGGER WARNING]

by H. A. Kirsch

Copyright 2016

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Disclaimer: The title of this story is not intended to belittle people with stress reactions to traumatic situations. It’s intended to be descriptive of the transgressive nature of this story and a hint to the plot conflict. If you are actually triggered by things that would probably be in a story called “TRIGGER WARNING’, you should probably stop reading. That includes gay sex, potentially non-consensual sex, sexual violence, blood, sweat, slimy cum-slicked wolf dicks, the asshole wolf that the dick belongs to, leather, bondage, stalking, sneaky uploading of clandestine asshole wolf videos to the internet, wholly unnecessary guns, drug use, and loquacious anthropomorphic wolves who say ‘fuck’ way more than is necessary. If being triggered arouses you, well, you should probably keep reading this story.

Also, this is a work of fiction. You probably shouldn’t do anything described in it, or at the very least, think really long and hard about it and have a very verbose negotiation session with the other person.

Come to think of it, just think really long and hard about it. Preferably while masturbating, by yourself, in a dark room, until you ejaculate from the exciting yet crushing shame of your disgusting immoral fantasies, you goddamn fucking pervert.

---

Pt. 1 -- Suck

Where I grew up, we didn't have these animal people.

Okay, they’re all over the fucking place, but there really weren't any in my exact community. It was kind of a small town, some farms and factory stuff. Small towns in the age of the car and the internet weren't really as small as they used to be, so obviously there were wolves and cougars and shit whenever I went to the county Wal-Mart and a constant barrage of them on TV and the internet. But in a general sense, you saw way more humans than wolf-men and pacing cats by a long shot.

Since there weren’t many hybrids around, and since I was kind of afraid of them, and since my parents really thought they were fucked up, they turned a little exotic for me. Only a little, though. I wasn’t too interested in exotic stuff at first. I was just into dick. Sucking dick, to be specific, although I’ll take dick in just about any way it’s offered. And in a small town, you have to be careful, so I didn't do much taking other than outside of the loading dock at the area high school on practice nights. It all bottled up inside.

Then it was off to college. I decided, and I mean my parents kind of goaded me, into pre-med. That meant CNYU, and that meant Lainsville, NY.

Here's a secret about Lainsville. It's supposed to be one of those renaissance cities, springing out of nowhere after the fall to become a vibrant cultural and economic center, aided by proximity to some bigger place. In Lainsville’s case, that bigger place was Albany. Anyway, Lainsville: It's a nice place, but it's full of fags. Not just any fags, either. The dirty perverted kind who walk their 'pets' on leashes, and I don't mean quad pets.

After college, instead of going to med school, I ended up working as a research assistant at a pharma company. It was absolutely not glorious and absolutely full of spreadsheets. You want to know what you can do with a dick after you use spreadsheets all day? Anything. You’ll do anything for a dick in your face. I would do anything for a dick in my face.

So I got one of those smartphone apps where you put a picture of your dick and a profile that says you're a hot stud looking for some daddy to treat you like a dirty boy, and it tells you where people are around you. I turned off the part that told people where I was, so, you know, no one would stalk and rape my ass. I just set my location as Lainsville.

I didn't take a picture of my dick. I smartly took just a picture of my mouth. I always kept some stubble on, because I didn't want to be a twink that looked like he shoots blanks because he's still in middle school. I let my mouth hang open a bit, not a lot. Maybe like I was a bit stoned or something. I made sure my face wasn't in the picture, because I didn't want people to really care about my face, and I made sure my neck and collarbone were in the picture, because that's where you put the pearl necklace. Duh. And I threw a dick pic in with me wearing my cowboy stage gear, because that was leather pants and cowboy boots and gay guys love that shit.

Stage gear meaning... okay, so I played bass in a country rock band for a while. We were halfway between real country and Hank Williams III, so it was kind of punky but not like someone screaming over overdistorted rockabilly. Let me tell you something, country performers wear the gayest shit ever. Leather cowboy hats, shiny-ass shirts, skin-tight leather jeans, expensive cowboy boots... you wear that stuff around a place like Lainsville and you'll accidentally all the dicks. The only way you could be more flamboyant would be to wake up Chaldean.

So, my profile was on for all of ten minutes and I already had so many notifications that the little screen for them on my phone had filled up and I had to scroll through it just to see the clock. Most of them were the typical, "yeah boy I wanna fuck that pussy mouth of yours" and stuff, which honestly were red herrings. I'd already learned that some guys just like to waggle theirs out over the internet while they sit at home in their stained underwear jerkin' it. The rest were probably those straight-acting guys who want to pretend they don't like other men and that they're doing something dirty.

Then I saw this one guy, when I decided to browse through the listing. His name was listed as, "Hawk". That sounded sexy. Not like FuckYoPussyHole69. I swear that was real. If I wanted a pussy, I'd get a sex change.

"Hawk" did not have his face in his picture. Instead, he had a carefully photographed collection of parts of his body, all clad in opulent black leather. That was pretty nice. There wasn't much else to his profile, only a listing of what he would and wouldn't do. He wouldn't poop on me or make me bleed, and he would do just about anything else. Okay. Sure.

I messaged him. "Need a hand?"

He messaged back: "You think I want a handjob from you? Your hand's not in the fucking picture."

I'd already put on my leather pants, in anticipation of going out to a club if I struck out with this newfangled way to get into sexual trouble. The nice thing about leather is that when you start leaking precum out of your stone-hard erection when some leather-daddy tells you something smartass, no one else knows about it. You just get all musky and wet inside and feel embarrassed all by yourself.

Oh, the message. "Well, my mouth is, so I guess you'll be fucking that tonight."

It took about thirty seconds for the next message. While I waited, I did nothing else. I sat hunched forward, phone cradled in my hands, heart pounding, cock throbbing, staring at the picture of some unfaced person holding the handle of a flogger with a glistening leather glove. Fuck, dear god, holy shit, he'd probably try to do _that_ to me. As long as I could put his dick in my mouth. And, message: "Here's the deal. You tell me your address. I send a courier over to you to give you a hotel key card. You come to the Bell Tower Hotel, which you can't miss because it's fucking fancy as shit. It'll be the penthouse. I'm not fucking kidding around. Go let yourself in and there'll be a little bit of instructions. I'll be there later tonight. You'll get the card at 9:30." It was 8:45.

I figured this guy was one of three things:

-- A psychopath

-- Some kinky fag with a case of obsessive anal compulsive disorder

-- The hottest person I would ever meet.

My cock wanted number three, so I messaged him my apartment address. And I waited.

---

He really sent a courier, a regular bike messenger type. He really sent me a key card, and it was for the Bell Tower hotel. It really was fancy ass, and he really was on the penthouse floor. And the frosting on this sex brownie was that he really wasn't home and there was a lascivious note.

"Put this on. Kneel and wait." Beneath the note was a black neoprene hood. It had a single hole for the mouth and chin, and tiny pencil holes to breathe through at the end of the formed nose.

I kneeled on the floor and stared into dark nothing. The hood smelled like vaguely chemical rubber and that hot, tart smell of sour spit, mixed with a much more aromatic and musky smell that proved I certainly wasn't the first person to wear it. It was intensely hot. I could feel everything from my hugged face down to my toes, but I could see nothing and smell only some other man's ripened sperm and a third's spit. I was so dumbstruck that I only slightly registered that my ankles were starting to hurt from how I kept my feet.

A long while went by, and then the door lock whirred and clacked open. I didn't even react. I wasn't really a person, just a mouth and an anonymous blind face. Someone came in, and they were wearing boots, a rich hollow clunk against the thin red carpet. Leather, as it squeaked.

No introduction, just a rustling sound, a grunt, and then something mashed against my lips. Wet, male, profoundly musky, uncut. I had barely moved my lips apart when it stuffed right in and a hand grabbed onto my head. A solid minute of mouth-fucking that ended with a hot plop as he yanked backwards just when I was getting into the rhythm of sucking just at the end of his thrusts so he pulled out against the hot slap of my cheeks.

"Over here," he said, and he had an astonishing inner city brogue. I could only imagine what he looked like; probably a mobster. A mobster in all leather. He smacked my head in the direction he wanted me to go, so I went. A chair. In front of it. He sat down with a protracted creak and then started touching my face. "You know what? This was a real good idea." His fingers dipped into my mouth and I suckled on the leather. He took them out and stroked up my cheek, and I still felt it as a strange tingle muted by the neoprene. "Go on. You can find it. Your mouth's a fucking dick magnet, isn't it?"

I put my hands on his thighs and stroked the leather, but mostly just held on. Then, without touching him, I went for his cock again. Of course I found it. I suckled the cum slobber off the tip and then started to work. He stopped playing around with my hooded head and just sat there, grunting every now and then, almost chuckling a few times. I intentionally let the big, musky shaft slop out of my mouth so I could wetly slurp back over it. I intentionally made squelching noises as I lipped and bobbed.

Then I started to go deep. His cock curved downwards a little so there was none of that square peg, round hole nonsense. It just went right down my throat. I didn't really have time to gag, until I tried to swallow. Then I had to do it over and over to keep from gagging. I pulled back off and huffed a little air, grunting just as I bobbed back down so that the sound would get cut off as his cock strangled me.

It never occurred to do anything to his balls. I could have, but that deep-throating was serious business. I clung onto his leathers as he grabbed at my head and started enforcing the steady, nearly suffocating rhythm. I drooled so much that when I finally jerked back and gasped for air, I could hear the wet splat of some spit landing on something.

"Why don't you take that fuckin' hood off?" He said, and let go of my head.

I reached back, unzipped, and pulled. Holy shit, a wolf! I actually fell backwards onto my ass and almost came in my pants as the leather wrestled around over my slimy hardon.

He wore tall black engineer boots, shiny like the ones motorcycle cops wore. Tight black leather pants whose button fly hole made like a cockring around his dick and balls. Fancy black belt with a rectangular chrome buckle that had a wolf head inlaid with some fancy black stone shit. Black leather motorcycle jacket, zipped up just under his pecs. No shirt on underneath, so that ruff of fur where neck meets pecs could puff out. Tight leather riding gauntlets from his fingers up his arms. And, nothing on his head save for a few gold earrings. Just a black lupine face with a rotten feral grimace up one side, and an up-curved toothy smirk up the other. And his tongue was black, just like his leathery uncut tool. It was huge, almost a foot long, and slick with my spit.

"You got some kind of fuckin' problem?"

Of course I should have known! His balls were velvet-furred but I just hadn't touched. His voice had that slobbery rend to it from having to waggle a tongue around in that un-cheeked muzzle. I didn't even know _how_ they talked, much less so intelligibly. "What? I don't, it's just a... it's a surprise," I said. "Your picture."

"I want freaky leather-slut guys, not people who want a pretty face. You're not done sucking my dick."

When he reached for me, I got right up. "Uhh. I'm not really sure about this."

Smirk went to angry, brows furrowed, nose pointed, ears down. I'd seen dogs do that before. Right before they tried to bite me. "What a load of bullshit. You were giving me the best fucking blowjob I've ever had. Now I know why there are fucking whorehouses full of you skinbags. You don't swallow or some shit?"

I couldn't get over his face. His wolf face, talking to me, not just over There at the store buying Wolf Things and talking to Wolf Friends. "I just, I'm not used to... I mean, I just moved here, I'm from a small town..."

He lunged forward and grabbed me. "If you're gonna be a fucking pansy-ass dick about sucking a wolf's cock, well, you know what? Out."

It's not like he threw me out of the hotel suite into the hallway, hard enough that I slammed into the wall and fell over. It's that I didn't know what was going on and he was strong, and when he shoved me out the door and let go, I tripped over my own cowboy boots and fell into the wall like a dumbass.

He slammed the door behind me, and that was that. He didn't even get to cum. Poor wolf, I guess.

---

Pt. 2 -- The Hawk

Poor fucking wolf, indeed. I was the one who got bent out of shape. The next day, I realized that I’d been a total dipshit. That wolf guy was probably the most badass person I’d ever encountered, and I told him I was scared of wolves and couldn’t suck his dick. Not in those words, but that’s what he thought, and that’s why he kicked me out of his fancy-ass hotel room.

I laid low for a week. During that week, I couldn’t help but keep thinking of him. All that black, gleaming leather. That big, delicious black dick. Those fangs, his fur, his goddamn yellow wolf eyes, and the rotten smirk on his face that belonged on some fairy-tale Big Bad Wolf.

That presented a problem. Here’s a story: When I was a little kid, my mom took me with her when she went out to a convenience store late at night. She didn’t have a sitter, and my dad was working the graveyard shift. She had me wait in the car. When she came out, two guys jumped her. They mugged her. I think, and this is going on the recollection of a four year old, they were going to rape her. They only failed because the store owner came out and threatened them with a shotgun.

They were wolves. I didn’t forget it. Every time I saw a wolf, I had this funny quiver inside, this bolt of primal fear, this big fat knot of bad bad bad BAD BAD BAD.

I grew up and eventually realized that it was stupid to think that animal hybrids were monsters, because if they were monsters, they were all over the place, and that meant Earth was overrun by monsters, and so they probably weren’t monsters any more. They were people, which was obvious, especially because the president was one of them, at least for a few years.

I couldn’t shake that feeling, though. That awful scared but excited feeling. Especially towards wolves.

Friday night, the Friday after my stupid faux pas, I loaded up that hookup app and located that wolf guy’s account. His handle was: Gunslinger45. He hadn’t blocked me. Maybe he didn’t put my actual human face with my account. Maybe he just didn’t care. I’d thrown myself out as much as he kicked me out.

“Hey, sorry I was a dumbshit last week.” Send.

A few minutes later: “This is that human guy who you had go to the hotel and wait for you.”

I waited an entire hour, because I was an idiot and didn’t hear the notification. “You better be sorry,” was the reply. I bit my lip.

“Yes Sir.”

About ten seconds after I sent it, I got another reply: “Call me ‘Sir’ again and I’ll rip your fucking face off. I can’t stand that bullshit. What’re you doing? Right now.”

Bad bad bad bad bad. “Apologizing to a wolf and sitting around my apartment.”

“You still disgusted by the thought of a big, bad wolf sticking his nasty wolf-dick in your face? I bet you’re so disgusted by it, you can’t stop thinking about it. You can’t wash the disgusting off.”

That horrible bad get-away feeling was morphing into intoxicating gleeful excitement. If he was mad at me, he was one of those guys who just won’t let it quit and keeps making himself madder. If he wasn’t mad at me, he was flirting with me, and I wouldn’t let that quit. “I’m wearing a pair of cowboy boots,” I lied. I was naked.

Then I put them on for real.

“I didn’t ask you what the fuck you were wearing. If you really want to apologize to me, you can do it to my face. Right to my face. Not to any other fucking part of my body.”

“Okay, sure. So where do I meet you?”

“My house.” And then he sent me his address and a gate code. “If you’re not here in an hour, I’m not gonna let you in. I’m not fucking kidding, that’s a temporary code.”

Two things. A) Gate code? B) This was such a bad idea.

---

I didn’t have any trouble finding the house, or at least the driveway. The subdivision was just past a state park, and wound through the woods. I couldn’t see most of the houses, but the ones I could see were worryingly huge. I had no experience with rich people, and I was driving a battered old Accord with no hubcaps.

His was the driveway second to last, and the gate was just off the road. I entered in the code he’d given me, and with five minutes left of the hour, it chimed and “OK - ENTER” appeared before it rolled open. I drove on.

It was a really long driveway, and it made an S curve through trees that blocked the line of sight. The trees ended in lawn, and there it was. The Wolf’s Lair. It wasn’t nearly as big as most of the other houses, one of those square modern houses you see in real estate ads. It didn’t make my shitty car feel any better, but it did make me feel less weird that I’d be getting out of it while wearing leather pants and cowboy boots.

I went to ring the doorbell but a speaker next to it crackled before I could even hit the button. “Fuck, you really are that guy,” he said, and the door clunked. It opened to a black wolf in a leather business suit and the fanciest riding boots I’d ever seen. “Nice car,” he dismissed, then stepped back out of the way.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“Eh, I dunno, maybe it was some weird joke or something. I’ve got some messed up friends,” he said, and ushered me into the house. It was square on the inside, too. Very, very square. Disarmingly square. I grew up in a nice old house with rustic wooden everything and a bedroom with a slanted ceiling. This was a house where you could do a line of coke off everything. “You want a drink? I promise I won’t put roofies in it, yet.”

Hard stone floor tile made for a nice boot clop, from both of us. Fancy black wooden floor made for a nice boot clop, from both of us. It was distracting, more so because the house was quiet otherwise. If anyone else lived there, they weren’t home. There wasn’t even any background music. I peered around as he led me towards the kitchen. “Uh. I dunno, maybe it’s not a good idea to drink before playing, right?”

“Whatever, more scotch for me,” he said, and stepped behind a serving bar, then produced a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a glass. I watched, and stared. He was wearing black leather gloves, and hadn’t taken them off to pour a drink. Black leather suit jacket, with alligator? Crocodile? Something scaly and black-cherry-colored for the lapels and collar. Black leather pants that looked like fitted jeans, and those boots. Riding boots on top, cowboy boots on the bottom. “You sure you don’t want any? Bet it’ll be the most expensive drink you’ve ever had.”

“What makes you think that?” I said, or rather mumbled, while I stared at his boots. I wanted those boots. They were the most amazing boots I’d ever seen. I now had crushing boot lust. The only thing in the room were his gleaming, black boots, complete with chains around the ankles-

Clunk, went his drink glass onto the bar top. “Hey, my face is up here,” he said, then picked it up and swigged from it. More like he splashed it into his mouth and licked it up before it fell out.

He had no shirt on beneath the coat, and it wasn’t worn closed. Most of his torso was trimmed like a fluffy dog in summertime, but his neck and upper chest were full-length. He had nipple piercings, brass rings in each nub.

He was also a fucking wolf. A wet-lipped fucking wolf, who was drinking already. “Uh. Well. Okay, sure, but-”

“You’re a fucking pansy ass skinbag, you know that?” He produced another glass and poured it, still wearing his gloves. Fancy, glossy, black, and perfectly fitted. His black clawnails came out of little holes in the ends of each finger. “Wanna know how I think this is a top shelf drink for you? Because you drive a banged up old car, you’re wearing cheap leather pants with fucking seams at the knee, you have a regular shirt on, and your pretty-boy driving gloves probably came from a Pakistani shop at the fucking mall. Drink.” He scooted it my way.

I peered into the glass. Whiskey. I sniffed. Definitely whiskey. I downed the whole thing at once. Fucking whiskey, but kind of subtle compared to overly strong stuff or watery garbage. “Do you always treat your houseguests like this?”

“Nah, sometimes I fuck them before I let them get this far,” he shrugged, then poured another glass for himself and just walked out of the room. “Before you start following me like a puppy, and wouldn’t that be fuckin’ funny, since you’re not a fuckin’ puppy at all, huh? Take your clothes off. I mean everything. All of it. Then, bring your boots-” He turned just before going out of sight and gave me the nastiest yellow-eyed wolf stare possible, “-Only your fucking boots, and come see me in the lounge downstairs.”

I had zero experience doing kinky things with other guys. Okay, actually, point one experience: I’d put on a neoprene hood and sucked a stranger’s dick in a hotel room. This situation was not like porn. It was more like the setup for some predicament torture horror movie. His house was kind of cold, and it gave me the creeps. It wasn’t sterile, but it was clean; it was so masculine even the refrigerator looked like it was an immovable object against an unstoppable force.

“You having trouble taking your clothes off? Did your fucking slave owner forget to give you the keys to your chastity belt or something?” The wolf called out from elsewhere.

I ditched my clothes, grabbed my boots, and went out the same way he had. Luckily, the hallway was only roomed on one side; the other side overlooked a big walkout downstairs area, with an actual full bar setup, leather lounge couches, an enormous projection screen, and fancy patio doors out to barely-lit greenery in the back yard.

I felt stupid walking down the stairs naked. Stupid enough that I started feeling horny because of the shame. My dick filled up but didn’t get hard.

He was on one of the couches, boots up on the glass coffee table, crossed at the ankle, leathered arms up on the back of the couch, scotch glass precariously tilted as it hung from his gloved fingers. He watched me as I came down the stairs, like he didn’t really care about what I was doing, but he never took his eyes off me, either. It was like a wild animal was staring at me.

“Boots. Hand ‘em over,” he said, as I came over onto the shag rug in front of the couch. I dumbly handed them over. He let one slide off next to him while he set his drink down on the ottoman and turned my boot over in his hands. “I probably told you my name’s Hawk, right? Or maybe, you can call me Hawk. You can also call me Mister Wolf. If you call me Sir, well, I said I’d bite your face off, didn’t I?”

“Yes s- Yes, Mister Wolf.” It was hard to actually say the words. It sounded so dumb and tacky. I smiled, because I was trying not to laugh. I also flushed.

“I’m not gonna bite your face off,” he said, and pulled a gun on me instead. The holster must’ve been under his coat.

“Holy fucking shit,” I immediately put my hands up in front of me and crouched. I think my balls might have pulled up. My asshole closed for business.

It was a big gun. A big, long-barrel revolver with an ebony grip.

“Wanna know why my handle is Gunslinger45? Well, look, I have a fucking gun. Also, The Gunslinger is my favorite movie, ever. You ever seen it?”

Was he even saying words? “I, uh,”

He knocked the revolver out of the gun, peered into it. “I’m also forty five years old, which is a coincidence now since I’ve had that handle for a while. It’s the caliber of this fucking elephant gun. See?” He held it up - I could see through all the holes, except one. He took a bullet out of it. “454. This is a hunting gun. Not really practical for waving around in people’s faces. It’s fucking heavy, and really fucking loud.” He put the bullet back, then carefully turned the revolver and slapped it back into place. “If you do anything stupid, I’m gonna pull the trigger. That means you get five stupid things before I give you a new fuckhole. I’ll make sure to put it somewhere you get to enjoy it before you’re done with, too.”

Then he put it back into its holster.

“Jesus christ, you’re fucking insane.”

“You think I’m kidding? That’s a real bullet. Or maybe it’s a blank. Wanna play stupid and see whether I’m lying? I don’t think you do.” Then he stood up. Despite having been in the house for fifteen minutes, I just then realized he was fucking enormous compared to me. He seemed to be a head taller than me, although maybe it was the boot heels, or the ears.

He kept talking. “That gun’s the same gun that The Gunslinger - that would be the fucking wolf in the movie - used. It’s not just the same kinda gun, or the same model gun, but it’s the exact same fucking gun. It’s not even a prop; the director bought a real gun. I got it at an auction. Why am I telling you this? Because it fucking scares the shit out of you. And you’re tough enough that you didn’t actually shit, or else I’d have to clean the carpet and that’d be at least three stupid things on your part.”

“Okay. Okay, I won’t do anything stupid,” I said, then stared down at the ground. At his boots. “Mister Wolf.”

He guffawed. Or barked. Or bark-guffawed. Those boots came around the table with the slowest cowboy swagger possible.

“Why don’t you have a seat right there? On the floor. Since you’re already staring at my boots and you’ll be that much closer, huh?”

I sat.

Then, he went right back to where he started and sat back down on the couch. No boots on the coffee table, this time. “Oops, guess I faked you out. Now that you know I’m a wolf, and that I’m fucking crazy, what else do you want to know? Wait, wait, I’m ahead of my fucking self. How about you tell me something about you? Like what’s your name?” He picked up one of my boots and looked closer at it. He sniffed at the instep, then the sole, then stuck his muzzle inside the shaft and huffed a few times.

Boots were my only kinky outlet. I’d worn boots as long as I could masturbate. Whenever I gave a blowjob, if he was wearing a pair of boots, I always put a hand on one unless he told me to use two hands for something else. The boots he was holding were my first pair, probably fifteen years old at that point, and seeing him go at them like a curious dog just about broke me inside. “Uh, my name’s Mark.”

“Okay, well Mark, for the rest of this evening - no, until further notice - you’re just Human. Got that, human?” He tossed me my boot. “Put your boots back on. Maybe that’ll warm you up a bit.”

I pulled them on. The evening was certainly exciting so far, but it wasn’t yet fun. “Do you want to, know anything else?”

“Yeah, let’s see, how about something you don’t like? I already know a couple things you do like. You like sucking dick. You did a real good job last week. I’ve been kinda pissed that you didn’t finish, but I’m not gonna take that kind of shit from anyone. You also like boots. I can tell you like those ones you just put back on, a whole fucking lot. You wear them all the time. You jack off in them. You jack off on them. I can smell. They stink of you. In a good way. But that’s two things you like. Gimme a don’t.”

“Let’s see,” I said, and tried to feel normal, despite sitting crosslegged naked on the carpet in front of some potentially evil or at least unhinged leatherwolf, “I don’t like bleeding, barfing, babies, or uh,” and tried to squeeze out another b, “Bitches? I’m pretty gay.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. I can handle a little blood, but I’ll respect that. Yeah. So what’s your real opinion on wolves? You said you didn’t think you could do this, which I think meant ‘finish sucking dick’, but I have a pretty human dick. Only thing not human about it is the color. You’ll never see anyone with a dick this black that isn’t also furry.”

“It was a really good dick, too.”

“It is the best dick you’ll ever suck, Human. But you’re fucking surrounded by lions and tigers and bears all the time, so what’s the fucking deal with me being a wolf?”

Oh shit, this is that negotiation thing you do before a BDSM scene. Duh, Mark! “I’m not sure it’s a fun story to tell people, but I’ve always been kind of weird about…. hybrids?” I waited to see if the word upset him or not. It didn’t. He just picked his glass up, absently poured the rest of the liquor into his muzzle, then licked it clean and put it back while I talked. “There weren’t a lot around where I grew up. Like way upstate. More upstate than here. Almost Pennsylvania upstate. And… this thing happened, and it kind of made me not dig wolves.”

“That’s too bad, ‘cuz I’m a wolf.”

“Yeah, and I also uh, I dunno. Maybe I internalized it a bit.”

“So you hate yourself? You’re not a wolf.”

“No, I mean, that was scary, but if I think about it on my own, it’s hot.”

“Ahhh, so you’re not fucking stupid, but you’re kinda fucking smart. Get up here. I give you permission to sit next to me, Human.” Every time he said the H word, he put the full brunt of his intoxicatingly deep Brooklyn accent on it, enough growl that it turned into something a bit corny.

I got up and sat next to him.

“Oh, this is gonna be great, bare ass on leather,” he laughed, and put his arm down around my shoulders. Leather. Leather everywhere. “So after feeling bad that you gave me really bad blue balls, you decided to apologize. Well, I’m gonna accept that apology.”

“Thank you, Mister Wolf.” He had started to touch my shoulder when I talked. His hand slid towards my neck. His hand, his claws.

“Watch the supplication. Lean on it too hard and that’ll be a stupid thing, eh?” He patted me on the cheek. I didn’t know what to do, so I just sat. “If I do something stupid, you say the word ‘orange’. Then, I’ll stop doing the stupid thing. If you say orange twice, I’ll fucking eject that tape and we’ll back up to the surface, you got that?”

The mixed metaphors made me a bit dizzy. I reached over and put my hand on his thigh. Strong, leather.

“Ahhh, you’re warming up, huh? Look at that, the human’s touching the big, bad wolf.” He spread his legs, pressing his thigh to me. I felt along a bit closer to the inside. “How ‘bout touching me with the other hand, maybe on my face, or chest or something? You ever touched a wolf before me?”

“Not on purpose,” I said. “I’m serious. And I’ve even been in Lainsville for like, five years.”

He grabbed my hand and put it on the side of his face. “Here, pet me. I’m a good wolf. I’m such a good wolf,” he drooled his voice into that obnoxious patronizing tone people use for their pet dogs. I petted him. Furry, kind of rough, just like a big dog. He licked my hand and I pulled it away, but he pulled it back towards his neck. I petted his chest; still rough, still furry, but not like a dog at all. Like a big, muscular, strong man. With fur. I tweaked one of his nipples and he growled so I let go. “No, that’s not the kind of growl that says stop, that’s the growl that says ‘I just grabbed a toy, or you just rubbed my belly.’

I rubbed his stomach, and it was just as hard and muscular as his chest. He grunted and growled again, and the sound rumbled out of his throat more than rattled off his teeth like a snarl.

Then I rubbed his groin. He was big. I knew that already, but the grip reminded me. Then he grabbed my wrist and pulled it away. “Huh? I thought you…”

“You are here so that I can blow your mind. What do you really think about leather?”

“It’s hot. I used to wear leather pants and stuff on stage with the band. I played bass in a country rock band in high school.”

He grinned so hard I thought he was going to eat me. “Country rock band, huh? So it’s not just cowboy boots, it’s cowboy everything?” I tried to move my arm and he held me still. It hurt just enough to make me stop trying. “Go upstairs and get into my bedroom. It should be pretty fucking obvious which one’s my bedroom. It smells like wolf, and looks like a place some sex-lord shithead like me would sleep. I’ll be up in a bit. I gotta change and find a few things.”

“Are you serious? Just go around your house by myself? I could totally steal your stuff-”

“If you steal anything, I’m gonna eat your face off.”

He let me go and I high-tailed it out of the lounge. Yes, Mister Wolf.

---

His bedroom was just as ostentatious as the rest of the house. The bed was enormous, a king bed, with all black linens. The comforter was some plush black microfiber soft thing, almost like velvety fur, and the bed was inside a big black-curtained canopy frame. I walked in and some dusky prostitute-red mood lighting started up without having to touch or say anything.

I bet he’s going to put something else on, I thought. I could hear some faint banging around and rummaging elsewhere in the house.

I bet this is the worst idea I’ve had in a long time. He had a fucking gun. He still has a fucking gun. He pulled a fucking gun on me!

Somehow, despite how bad it was supposed to be, I don’t think I’d have wanted anyone else to pull a gun on me. This Hawk guy was more than hot. His mere existence warped the rest of the world to be less hot. He was a singularity of badass. There was no way he was a real person, but here I was, in his house, in his bed.

I could hear him coming back down the hall. Clop-jangle, clop-jangle. I dare you to put on a pair of cowboy boots and spurs and walk around and not get a hard-on in whatever you’re wearing for pants. I dare you to keep from getting hard when you’re naked except for your boots in a stranger’s bed, and you can hear him coming like it’s a duel. He certainly had the gun for one.

“You know what, Human? You remind me of some other guy I know. This zebra dude. Kind of dresses like a punk, but that glam rock kind of punk, biker jacket, tight jeans, overly flashy cowboy boots, dyed his fucking mohawk, always sort of prances around,” he said, and then walked into the room like he owned the place. He had a bunch of things in his hand and he tossed them at me. It was just leather. “You wanna know what it really is, though? I mean the outfit, yeah, that’s kinda you in your fucking leather pants and cowboy boots - but those are some real fucking boots, not just rockstar faggot bullshit. But what really gets me thinking about him? Go on, put that shit on.”

Leather chaps, very sturdy but very glossy black leather, tough but supple, with a five-button snap belt and slightly higher hips. In the cowboy world, those are ‘shotgun chaps’, because your dick sticks out like a shotgun when you strap your bare ass into them. No, actually, because they’re straight down the legs but the hip flare looks like a gun stock.

My boots had a pretty fancy stitching pattern, sawtooths and filigrees, some brown mixed in with the black. The feet, though, only black, heavy-duty leather, a real stacked heel with a spur shelf. Real cowboy boots. All that fancy went up under the cuff of the leather chaps, and boy, did it look sharp that way.

A leather vest, pretty cowboy in cut, but too small to put on without chains between the buttonholes, and I wasn’t at all fat. Maybe a bit on the skinny side, but I tried to stay muscular so my chest didn’t sink in. It hugged everywhere just right. It even made me look like my chest was a bit more beefcake than lean steak.

Gloves. Black, leather, full-hand. Fitted, but not skin tight. Wrist-length. Strangling gloves, you know, like in a thriller movie where some guy in black sneaks out from behind a curtain and grabs the dashing actor by the neck.

I was kinkier than I thought, and hard as hell. Hard enough that when I nudged my cock, the foreskin rolled back and got stuck behind the head, like it wanted to show off. I sure did.

Meanwhile, the wolf. He had the same type of leather chaps, but he also had leather pants underneath, with a drop-front panel between the spade of the chaps opening. That leather was bulged and almost puckered in at the edges from the strain of his own dick. He also had a gun belt, which was loaded with bullets and that same anus-puckering sidearm he waved at me earlier. A black leather vest, worn with nothing under it, buttoned in front instead of part open, barely holding in his much bigger chest. He also had a black leather jacket, which looked like a cross between a blazer and biker jacket. His hands were clad in gauntlet gloves, bell-cuffed riding wear was as much form as function. The final touch: a black leather hat, a bit creased and rough-curled, with a hatband that had teeth in it for decoration. They looked canine, but not so big as a wolf’s.

“What do you-” I started to say, as I slid up off the bed to stand up, but he stepped up and shoved me back down with a dismissive nudge, then walked around in front of the bed to pace.

“That zebra you remind me of acts like he doesn’t really want it, like you’re going way too far, but he also acts like he’s desperate and he’ll do anything. I got a feeling you’re exactly the same way,” he said, then rushed me by all but pouncing into bed. “I waved that big, scary gun around in front of your face earlier, and you look like you just walked into the wrong fuckin’ party. But you’re also wearing some leather I just handed you, and spreading your fucking legs around me while I pin you down to the fucking bed, like you really want it.”

I was n… yes I was. I tried to squirm away at first, but when he caught my wrists with those ungodly amazing gloved hands, I bucked my knees around and ultimately spread them apart, hooked a booted leg around one of his as he clambered atop me. He growled and struggled until he had me straddled hard. His boots mussed up the fancy blankets on the bed, and they were just as gloriously badass as the ones he wore earlier.

He got his muzzle so close to my face that not only did I feel his breath, but his fur and whiskers bristled against my skin and made me twitch from the itchiness. “Urngh, you don’t have to hold me down, I’ll let you… I’ll suck you off, you can fuck my face, you can fuck my throat, I’ll even lick your boots.”

That made him perk his ears. “Yeah, like I just fucking said,” he huffed, then abruptly pushed up off me and let go of my arms. I reached out for him but as he stood back up, he hauled a boot up and stepped on me. I grabbed for it and he stepped down harder, twisted. I broke out in a sweat as he ground the sole against my chest, and loosened my grip, then stroked the leather instead. He really eased up then. I got the message, and fondled his boot like it was something else of his. “When I take my boot off your chest, Human, you’re gonna sit up and take my dick out, make me remember why I let you almost suck me off all the way before throwing your indignant pale skinbag ass out last week. Get it nice and wet, because it’s gonna have to go up your ass next.”

He pulled his boot away and I reached after it, sitting up to no avail. I reached for his groin, and he pushed that towards me. I groped at his bulge through the leather and my sweaty racing-pulse trepidation was replaced with absolute indulgent hedonism. “Leather is fucking awesome,” I actually said out loud.

“Yeah? Did you hear what I just said?” He growled, and this wasn’t a playful growl. His cock throbbed under the leather, and I just had to pry that flap down while At The Same Time knowing that I really shouldn’t. He was wearing nothing beneath it except an urgent erection that burst out into my gloved hands, made extra turgid by a flashy chromed steel cockring at the base of his shaft and balls. No wonder he’d been so amply stuffed in there. “Say it back to me.”

“You’re going to fuck me,” I said. “Uh, can’t I just,” and I leaned down and kissed his cockhead while looking up at him. Unlike him, I had no hat in the way. I pulled off with a plop.

He grabbed my hair. “Aww, is it too big? Say it. There’s nothing a big, bad wolf likes more than to hear some hard-dicked skinbag fucktoy whimper that his cock’s too big to fit.”

“I don’t really get fucked, I mean, I’m really into oral-” I was kind of serious, but he was absolutely vicious. He pushed me off his cock and pushed two of those gorgeous gloved fingers into my mouth, far enough that he actually shoved them down my throat. The rest of his hand grabbed my face and pushed me back onto the bed - I desperately scrambled to follow, too shocked to gag. It was only when he pulled out that I convulsed, mouth flooding with drool that I then choked down between breaths.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just treat your ass just like I just treated your mouth. I’ll work it open real good, stretch your fuckhole until a fucking horsecock would fit up in there. Plus, if you’re really worried, well, I can take care of that, too.” He wiped his fingers off on my newly-vested chest, then took something out of the inside of his riding jacket.

Drugs.

“Now before you shit yourself in fear, this isn’t something hardcore,” he said, rolling his eyes and putting on a sarcastic tone. He peeled open the edge of the foil pack and took out a weird little gauze-covered ampule. “You know what poppers are, right? Well, these aren’t them. That stuff’s fine, but this is even better. This is Erosene. You know what Heat and Rut are, right? That nasty illegal aphrodisiac shit that went around big a few years ago? This is like that, except slick and commercialized and you don’t fucking shoot it up into your cock. You sniff it. For the next half hour, you will fuck anything that has a hole. You will put a fucking hole in something just so you can fuck it. Do it a few more times, and then it won’t work again for a day or two. Isn’t that sweet? What’s the bad side, huh? There isn’t, unless you don’t like helpless blind orgasmic lust.”

After he finished speaking, he snapped the ampule between his fingers and the purple gauze turned dark. Then he climbed into bed with me.

“You gotta be fucking kidding,” I said, and scooted away. I knew what poppers were, and envisioned the migraine of my life coming up just when things were getting good. Also, he was going to drug me, what the fuck. “What the fuck, is this some kind of hybrid shit, what the fuck’s it gonna do to me?”

I put my hands up, grabbed at his arm as he grabbed for me, turned away and started to climb out of bed. He muzzled me with the hand holding the ampule. It was cool and smelled like a menthol cough drop. I tried not to smell it and pried at his arm. He held me tighter. “Oh, you’re gonna play this game, huh?”

He pinched my nose shut and I couldn’t fucking breathe at all. Instead of struggling, I froze.

It worked; he let me go, at least partly. Not the hand with the ampule of Erosene, or whatever it was called. Menthol and leather. His gloved hand kind of stank, in a good way, musky and leathery. That menthol smell wasn’t as strong as it first seemed, but then I realized that it was making my nose actually numb.

I gave up and took a breath, and he let go of me completely. He was so hard that his cock had slobbered precum down to, and then off of, his balls. It hung there like clear snot before it ended up brushed off onto my chaps-clad leg. Then, he did the same thing as he did to me, muzzling himself with his hand, sniffing hard, then taking it away. The ampule was no longer wet-looking.

“I can’t believe you just, what is that stuff? You just dosed me?” It wasn’t doing anything yet, and the numb feeling was already going away.

“One, it’s no big deal, it’s not even as rough on you as poppers. Two, you oughta be seeing why right about now.”

My heart raced, a little more than it already was racing, then a little bit more. More of a pound, like when I got stoned. “Do you know this works on humans? I mean seriously, does it…” the pounding didn’t escalate. What did escalate was that ‘I-absolutely-fucking-need-sex-right-now’ sensation that comes from a hit of poppers before the skull-pounding headache sets in. With a hulking black leather-clad cowboy wolf hovering over me, there was no way I couldn’t think about sex, endless rushing fantasies of sex, an entire gang of raider cowboy wolves raping me in the desert and keeping me for their oral sex slave who could also shine a pair of boots with his fucking tongue. “Fuck.”

“If you don’t want me to do something, remember what you should say? Remember what the word is?” He grabbed my hand all comforting-like, and I gazed into his wild wolf yellow eyes.

“Yes, Mister Wolf.” Orange. Wait, did I just say it?

His creaking leather bulk descended on me again and I vainly pushed, prodded, stroked, grabbing, and finally pulled at him as he came down against me, dick to dick, snarling wolf teeth and yellow eyes in a pool of dark, brimmed by his fucking toothed hat. I thought was moving to shove his cock into me and I tried to grip at him with my knees and twist him away. He was spreading me apart, all right, but so he could take two fingers and start pushing them at my asshole.

“Wait, wait, you have to slick them up, god, what… the…” I was holding a bottle of lube. I’d squirted it all over his fingers. I’d squirted it all over his cock. I was stroking his cock, milking and squeezing silicone dick-grease all over his big, black, throbbing and dribbling wolf-cock using a pair of gloves he’d made me wear. I wanted to do it. I had to do it. He slid into me, that drooling feral snarl making him grin so hard I thought I’d cum from fear, those slippery fingers reaching and twisting and finally nailing me in the prostate so hard that I peed a little.

He leaned down and licked it up, a puddle of precum and a tablespoon of piss that was just about to run off onto his sheets. He licked it up like a dog, black tongue - black fucking tongue! - washing over my skin. That made me feel like I was going to cum, and then he prodded me again, and that did as well. Like I was going to, but not like I was cumming.

Whatever that shit he had me sniff really was, it made me so horny that I felt like I was hallucinating everything, deep in the midst of a screaming fantasy. He was licking me, biting me, gnawing at me, sniffing - I pulled and pumped and tugged on his cock so well that it made a sloppy wet noise and slicked my up hand even beyond all the lube.

Plop! Hawk pulled his fingers out and I quaked, almost cramping up inside as my anal muscles reacted just a little too late to keep him finger-banging me like a teenager. “You ready yet?” He growled in my face, then grabbed my head and made me nod. “Good boy.” Then he flipped me over and pried my asscheeks apart with both hands.

“No, you can’t fuck me yet! I’m not ready!” I bleated, and tried to crawl away. Into the headboard. I knew it was there, and I didn’t really want to stop him. Any actual concern I had about the situation was long gone - I guessed that he’d like me to act like I didn’t want it, and I guessed right. As soon as I moved about six inches, he pinned me down again, and I felt his cock slap against my ass. “No! Lemme go! Lemme GAAHH! MRRH! MMFPHG!” He clutched a hand over my mouth and pulled back. That stopped me struggling because it felt like he was going to rip my head off.

He thrusted back and forth, then grappled with his cock and squeezed it so it aimed true. I twisted around as he had to focus on sticking me with it, and just in time to see him lurch forward as the head popped through.

“Owww fuck!” I yanked his hand off my mouth and pounded the bed. He immediately pulled back out.

Then he leaned down and sniffed my ass like a dog. Sniffed it, then sniffed harder, then tongued at my asshole. It quivered and I gagged as the sensation sent a disgusting shudder up my spine. Fuck, a rimjob, fuck that, he didn’t know where my asshole had been, I did and wouldn’t have licked my own ass. Then he growled, shoved me back down, and stuffed the head in all over again. “Wait, wait, I just argh!”

“You want a gloved hand over your mouth again? Or maybe you want a couple fingers in your mouth to suck on and distract you? I know you like sucking on things,” he huffed, then shoved two fingers in my mouth before I could ask. I reared my head back, and that reared me back on his cock. I clenched down and it hurt, and bit down on his fingers. Not hard, just enough to keep them from shoving into my throat. Then I got the crazy idea to push his cock out, and all that did is let him shove half the thing up inside me. I nearly howled around his fingers, not from pain, but because the crushing pressure on my prostate made me orgasm over and over and over until I wondered if I was having a seizure.

“Oops, wrong fucking hand,” he laughed, drooling on the back of my neck, and when I twisted to try to pull away from his gloved fingers, he just fucked my mouth with them and bit me on the neck to keep me still. Having such a big dick shoved into me didn’t hurt nearly as much as I’d expected. Maybe that Aero-shit worked like poppers and made me all sloppy. He huffed and growled and held me down with an arm folded across my shoulders, while he kept fucking my mouth with his fingers. “But you don’t care, huh? You’ll suck anything. You’d suck a real horse if I rode in on one,” he said, took his fingers out, and I went after his thumb as it grazed past my lips. He smacked me and stuffed those same two back in. He could have dipped them in nuclear waste and I’d still have blown them.

He started pushing deeper and I got a deep-seated sensation of No Go. He must’ve felt it too, because he kept jockeying left and right. “You son of a bitch, I’m gonna shove my dick in your ass far enough that you can spit my cum out when I’m done with you!”

No no no no no NO URGH! I pushed back, then jolted forward and he slid out. It felt like he was pulling a sausage out of my ass. One of those big, girthy summer sausages that had no business being up anyone’s asshole.

“I get it. You wanna look me in the face. You wanna gaze up at how pretty I am,” he laughed, then grabbed me by the boots and flipped me onto my back. Then he split them up and apart and crashed down on top of me, clapping a hand over my mouth before I could yell out. More sawwing and grinding and ragged point-nosed snarling, and he stuffed right back in.

About five inches, and he hit my prostate. He hunched back and lurched forward again, and nailed it a second time. I stopped trying to fight him off and he pinned both wrists down with a big gruff and a huff, like a big pet dog smacking the floor before snapping at a toy. He was just smacking at the floor with me in his grip, and the floor was his bed, and there was a slimy mess all over my back now, and he was a cowboy wolf monster pounding me like a blowup doll.

I started cumming all over myself, for real, at least ejaculating. It sloshed out all over my stomach and chest and I coughed as the spasms crawled up my spine.

He laughed in my face and took one splat to the chin. “That’s right, I’m fucking the cum right out of your sloppy fuckin’ asshole, Human.”

Then the waves hit me in the head and I’m pretty sure I screamed. He just kept going, fucking into me like a lupine machine, and I orgasmed so hard that I flailed around and punched him in the face. He reared back and unplugged from me, then grabbed me by the chin and neck. He clambered forward and I blew more cum out that got slathered in between us as my muscles finally clamped down hard without a pummeling dick in the way. That pummeling dick shoved into my face and splattered my lips with musky cum, then pushed through them and blasted my tongue.

I sucked and gagged and swallowed and then realized what he was doing and spit a mouthful of spit and wolfcum back out onto his shaft. He just laughed and drooled on me while he shot and shot and shot. It slicked my chin, ran down my neck, puddled in between my collarbone horns, then ran down my ribs with that awful wet-willy tickle.

“Now what do you fuckin’ say?” He grunted, and let go of me, then backed off. His cock kept throbbing and pulsing, dribbling cum out that hung like snot from the end. He eventually pulled the streamer of it off and flicked it out of the way.

“Thank you, Mister Wolf,” I croaked.

He paced aimlessly about the room, then dropped into a leather guest chair and sat like a smug drunkard, black cock drooping so attractively over his thigh. My own dick flopped into a puddle of my own seed on my stomach.

I felt what might have been the first instance of true and absolute peace, for a glorious half minute or so. Then, when I moved, it set off an aftershock where I almost orgasmed and gagged on my tongue. I sat up and felt electric prickles crawl over me, and then I was just sitting on the bed, exasperated.

I looked over at Hawk. He was licking his fingers, black tongue scooping up the creamy remnants of someone’s orgasm.

I lurched out of bed. “Bathroom, bathroom, you fucking, in my mouth,” I gagged, and bolted into the bathroom as he pointed his fingers. I managed to stay under control, but drool hung out of my mouth as I was too afraid to swallow. There, on the sink, was a bottle of whitening mouthwash. I guzzled a mouthful and swished it around, then erupted in foam and coughed it all over the sink and mirror. “Fuck, sorry, fuck, what the fuck happened?”

“I fucked you, dumbass,” Hawk snorted from the other room. “And then you sucked my dick clean, kinda. If by ‘suck’ I mean, you mouthed on it and then coughed up a load of jizz all over me. But whatever.” He sounded completely blasted. Then I heard a scritch, scritch, and some weird sucking sounds.

I toweled off whatever looked messy and staggered back to the bedroom doorway. Hawk was stuffing a big cigar in his mouth, a huge leathery red-brown thing that looked like a comedy prop more than something you’d put in your real mouth. “Wow.”

“Guess that shit works alright on humans, huh?” He blew smoke out, then reached over with a boot and kicked at an air cleaner until it lit up blue and started consuming the smoke. “See what I mean about it being kinda mild? I mean you don’t wanna do it again, right? You’re all done for a good while.”

He puffed hard enough to make the cigar crackle - I swore I heard it over the whoosh of the air cleaner - and I got weak in the knees. I dropped down next to him, and started to kneel to put my head down… but once I got down there, I realized I was over his boots. I clutched down onto one and kissed the toe. Still… fuck… still on it… There was some wolf spunk on the black leather, and I kissed it clean. “You’re… you’re a wolf god.”

“Aww, how nice of you to finally compliment me,” he chuckled, voice turned dark and weird by a mouthful of smoke. “I’m the best fucking wolf there is.”

“Yes,” and as I said, Mister Wolf, he said it along with me, rolled his eyes, and then pushed my face away from his boot. “C’mon, get up and sit on the bed, shake the fuck out of your brain before you fall asleep and drool something else on the floor.”

He helped me up and I sat down on the edge of the bed. Suddenly, that last echo of sex was gone, and I was very, very tired. “I can’t believe I did that. I mean, I know I did it, I just… that was fucking something else. That stuff is dangerous.”

Hawk shrugged with a squeak of leather, then ashed his cigar before puffing again. It smelled like chocolate. Chocolate and cigar smoke. “In my admittedly short experience, and based on what I’ve heard from other people, it’s not so much that you do stuff you wouldn’t normally do, but it’s like hallucinating really good sex that’s actually happening. Guess that means you’d let some wolf stranger fuck you bareback and then go ass to mouth.”

My stomach flopped.

“So what happened that made you kinda weird about wolves, huh? Like did a pack of ‘em eat your kitty or somethin’?”

I leaned back and stared up at the top of the canopy bed. It wasn’t just a decorative canopy. There were hooks and chains discreetly hanging up in the darkness. “My mom got mugged by two wolf guys. They jumped her in the parking lot while I was waiting in the car, pulled knives on her, stole her money, and were… gonna do that to her, too. The store guy came out and ran them off.”

He chuffed. “Do that, huh? Guess she was the lucky one.”

---

Pt 3 --- The Hole

The worst thing about that evening with Hawk wasn’t the way he treated me, or how he so callously trampled on my crushing childhood memories. It wasn’t even waking up next to some wolf in the morning and wondering what happened; I obviously hadn’t hallucinated everything as I was smeared with dried spunk and I could feel a breeze up my ass. He was a greedy sleeper of a wolf, too, taking up enough of the bed that I ended up crowded against one side with a tail across my hip.

The worst thing was having to put my own leathers back on to go home. My stupid, seam-at-knee cheap shit leather pants, my Pakistani leather, that’s like Indian cheap leather but they kill the cows themselves or something.

When I got home to my computer, I had a message from Gunslinger45. “Don’t worry, I don’t have anything, and you’re human anyway. Nice apology, by the way. Really felt good.”

That gaping feeling spread from my asshole to my entire being. There’d been something in me, something bottled up, and I’d released it. Now it wasn’t there. He’d taken the wind out of my sails. He’d discharged my batteries. He’d… done something else with an ill-conceived metaphor.

For the first part of the week, my sexual fantasies were drained from me. Starting about Wednesday, that trend completely reversed. I had a dream where I looked in the mirror and I was… well, I couldn’t see myself, exactly, but I knew that I was a wolf. I woke up yelling enough that the neighbor banged on the wall between apartments.

I started thinking about Hawk. About his teeth and eyes and fur, about his leathers, about his cock, about his gun. As if he could somehow tell I was thinking about it, my phone started buzzing when I was in an all-hands meeting at work.

I’d added him to my friends list on that stupid hookup app, which apparently bypassed Do Not Disturb mode. “Answer your fucking phone,” the message said.

Then the screen lit up with the completely silent phone call. I didn’t recognize the number. How did he get my number. Luckily, the all-hands meeting was mostly a bunch of informative bullshit that would be sent around in a powerpoint, and people were already dropping off to go to more important client meetings. I snuck out and headed for the work gym locker room. At that time of day, especially with the all-hands, no one would be in there. I just barely answered it in time.

“I’m at work,” I hissed.

“Oh yeah? This reminds me of something I did to a fox once. You married?”

“I’m sorry, what? And how did you fucking get my number?”

“Are you fucking married?”

“No, I don’t even have a boyfriend. I don’t even have a roommate.” Before and after I spoke, I listened for the sound of anyone coming in. No one.

“Real loner, huh? That’s probably why you spent the night cuddling me like a fucking pillow. Since we’re trading information, I’m basically fucking married, but it’s an open relationship. He lives in town because he’s always rushing into the fucking TV station for weather shit. He does the weather on TV. Maybe you’ve seen ‘im. Also, I got your phone number because you unlocked your phone to look at bullshit and then fell asleep, so I grabbed the number. Figured it’d come in handy.”

I turned red and broke out into a sweat. “Asshole.”

“Figured you’d like a call now and then. Wolves check up on their fucking territory, you know? You oughta go shopping, get yourself some nicer leathers. I’m not gonna just give you stuff. Just because I have a bunch of money and own a fucking sex club doesn’t mean I give out Rolexes and leather fuck gear.”

“You own what?”

“You ever heard of The Pit? Kinda hard not to, not tooting my own horn, but anyway, yeah, I own it. I even have a fancy-ass penthouse apartment office at the top floor of the building where I lure unsuspecting fuckboys and screw them stupid. But not you. I’m not gonna do that to you. You’re better than that. You were traumatized by wolves as a kid. I’m gonna treat you fuckin’ special.”

Did he have any idea what he was actually saying? It wasn’t really a funny ha-ha cool-story-bro kind of thing. It was my mom. “You’re still an asshole.”

“In fact,” he continued, “I don’t even want you coming by the club. If I hear that you showed up, if I see you on a fucking security camera, if my fucking big-boy buck bouncer tells me some skinbag in smelly leather pants and bratty black bangs is rubbing his dick in the line for the door over the thought of meeting up with me, you’re really gonna get it. I’ll let you imagine what ‘it’ is, and it’s probably not gonna be the kind of fun you’re lookin’ for.”

The door to the bathroom opened up and I hung up. He immediately called me back and I bashed the “I’m shitting” text message response. So he kept texting me.

“Have fun jerking off in the bathroom. We should get together again. Drug shit optional, that stuff knocked your ass out.”

---

Friday came and went, then an entire second week, and no more wolf messages since the bathroom incident. I didn’t go shopping for more leather, yet. It was money, and I wasn’t exactly rolling in it after college. I might have gone to school at CNYU, but I’d been pre-med, not actual-med.

After work, I stopped in a coffee shop because I was nodding off. I’d been sleeping poorly. It was the dreams. Wolves. All kinds of wolves, really. Regular wild ones, looking at me from around trees, glaring at me as I went around the mad landscapes of the dreamworld. People-wolves. That Wolf. Wolf attacks, wolves licking me, turning into a wolf, eating a wolf, a wolf eating me.

Every time I saw a wolf in public, I noticed him. Not her, usually, just him. Was he wearing leather? Boots? Was he black? None of them were Hawk. I was in a fucking wolf hole.

At the coffee shop, I sat there drinking my overpriced coffee and texting a friend like a teenager.

“So I met this wolf guy…”

“Oh yeah? I thought you thought they were creepy.”

“He’s totally creepy. I met him on a hookup app because his profile pictures were all this badass leather stuff and I didn’t know he was a wolf.” “But then he kinda revealed it after I’d already almost finished him and I blew him off.” “So I went to say I’m sorry and he drugged me with this Erosene stuff and fucked me until I couldn’t remember my name.”

“Holy shit dude are you fucking kidding??!!” emoji of a syringe, emoji of an eggplant, emoji of a white-frosted donut with sprinkles.

“I mean I let him do it, kinda, I mean the idea was to let him do whatever, I mean I guess I think wolves are really hot while they’re also really creepy.” I broke out in a sweat across my forehead. Really hot, really creepy.

Someone started a fuss at the counter. A hybrid, a coyote, male, maybe my age, hipster clothes. Something about how expensive his coffee was, or maybe the milk wasn’t right - I couldn’t quite hear and whatever the complaint was registered as instantly stupid. I decided to film it clandestinely to get my mind off of wolves, and also because my friend had been sending me all sorts of stupid videos and I felt like I should reciprocate for once. “Hey lookit this shit that’s gonna happen, someone’s being a brat,” and pretended to keep texting as I sent a stream to my friend.

The next person in line stepped up behind the coyote, from where he’d been hidden by the sugar station and some decorations.

It was Hawk. It had to be. Black wolf, check. Tall, check. Ridiculous amount of leather, check check check check, so many checkmarks that the pen rips through the fucking paper. Heavy-duty motorcycle jacket with quilted padding on the elbows and shoulders; long gauntlet gloves with buckle straps around the wrists; leather riding pants with more quilting on the ass; harness boots that came up above his knees with a bit of a fancy flare.

He exchanged a couple unheard words with the coyote, and then grabbed him by the scruff. That made the smaller canine squeal but also drop his arms to his sides.

“Let’s make a deal. I pay for your coffee, and you shut your mouth. Wait, let’s make a better deal. I pay for all of our coffees-” He gestured back towards the line, “-because you’ve fucking pissed me off and held up the fucking line and made all these shits here listen to your goddamn fucking whining for the last five minutes. How’s that sound?” He took his wallet out, pulled some bills out with his teeth, then put it back into his jacket. He set the bills on the counter, and a few people in line laughed nervously. I couldn’t see how much money it was but someone said, “Shit, he’s not kidding.”

Hawk swiped up the cup of fancy coffee next. “Now, this is your coffee, right? Glad you got an iced coffee. Don’t want any fucking lawsuits on my hands. Now open up,” and he let go of the coyote’s scruff and grabbed him by the jaw. Then he sloshed it into the coyote’s open mouth and let go. Instead of causing a fight, the coyote stood there, mouth hanging open, coffee pouring out over his teeth and down over his shirt, completely dumbfounded. “Now get the fuck out of here before you do something even more stupid than piss me off.”

A few more seconds of gawking, then the indignant coyote stormed out of the shop. A few people applauded, a few others laughed. The wolf gestured for the barista and they handed over a towel. He wiped his gloved hand off, then dropped it on the floor and scooted it around with his booted foot. He bent down, grabbed it up, then handed it back over the counter in exchange for his own cup of coffee and a flabbergasted look from the barista. Then he went to cream it up like nothing had happened.

I sent the video to my friend, with the text caption: “You’d do whatever he said, too.”

“Omg what the fuck just happened?” came the reply.

“That did, I’m at the coffee shop, that’s the wolf guy. He just showed up and laid waste to that coyote and shit he’s looking at me.” I put my phone flat on the table and nervously smiled. Mid-creaming, he had turned and spotted me, then turned all the way around and shot me a glare. A smirking glare. Come to think of it, he always smirked up the left side of his face even when he had no business making any kind of expression. At least in my limited experience.

Then, coffee in hand, he walked right straight up to my table.

“Uh, fancy seeing you here?” I said, and tap-tap-tapped on the back of my phone. Meanwhile, it buzzed, then buzzed again, then buzzed again. Lots of messages. My friend was probably losing his mind. I was about to lose something else.

“You’re the reason I stopped in here, Human,” he said, making sure to pronounce the dreaded H-word through his teeth with enough of a growl that I could feel it resonate in my phone case. “I saw you through the fuckin’ window.” He pointed behind me. Anyone going by would have known it was me.

“Good, I thought maybe you, uh, I dunno.” As I spoke, he didn’t sit. The only thing he did was upend his coffee and slurp from it as it glugged out the little drinking slot in the lid.

He looked around, like he was checking out the place for someone else. Then he looked around me. My eyes went where his did - was something wrong? Was he seeing if I had something with me? “Follow me, Human.” Then he turned away and stalked off towards the back of the shop. Towards the restrooms. Oh shit.

I got up and followed, tossing an empty cup in the trash, quickly checking my phone. My friend was sending text after text. “Omg he poured it all over the guy lol!” “And there wasn’t a fight? Holy shit wow.” “That’s some wolf. I’ve seen him in the paper, he runs a sex club or something!”, my friend gushed. I put my phone back in my pocket.

Hawk did not duck into the bathroom. He kept going. The hallway went past some storage room, then towards a door that had a fire exit sign. It was propped open a tad to let a breeze in, so no alarm sounded when he bashed it open. The door opened out to an alley; the wolf looked left and right, then stepped down and out.

“Are you serious?” I followed. You couldn’t see the street at either side, thanks to a construction dumpster on one side and a jog in the alley on the other. He walked across, ignoring me, and picked a spot in the corner of a loading dock across the way that no one would be able see into unless they walked right up. “Shit, you’re serious.”

“I don’t wanna listen to you talk, Human. That dumbfuck made me throw his coffee in his meat hole and it made a fucking mess. Look at my boot.” He pointed, I looked. There were a few inconsequential spatters of gray on the black leather. The endless, black leather. Right in front of him was a shallow puddle, presumably of water. “I suggest you do the smart thing and clean them up, and not the stupid thing and make me mad.”

I dropped down to my knees. Fuck, the puddle! Cold, dirty water started soaking into my jeans. I put my hands down and then my face to his boot and kissed one of the splotches up. Not just coffee and cream, but a caramel latte. Up above me, I heard him slurp, swallow, lick his chops. I kissed again, at another spot. Then another. After a few more pecks, flushed and aching under my tight jeans, I just went all out and licked. His boot leather tasted like boot leather, maybe a little shoe polish, maybe more than whiff of gassy exhaust. Up close, those glorious fancy boots were dulled on the insides of the ankle and calf - hot exhaust pipes?

“God damn, I never get tired of this shit. As long as you don’t call me Sir and hand me your own fucking leash, I could do it all fucking day,” the wolf sighed, then patted his jacket down and then fished into a pocket.

I looked up. “Yes, Mister Wolf.”

He grunted hard through his teeth, then pulled out a cigar - a much more modest one than the night at his house - and a torch lighter. “See? That’s pathetic in a hot way - not the annoying way I was just talking about - but you also are kind of a smartass, you know? Like you know what the fuck you’re doing.”

I am worshipping a wolf guy’s amazing biker-pirate-cowboy boots in the alley behind my favorite coffee shop. Actually, I was listening, but when he spoke and then started toasting the end of his cigar, I went back to his boots. Cigars smoke for a long time. He didn’t mean, kiss my boots, faggot. He meant-

“Take off your shirt. Not your pants, don’t take your dick out, don’t take my dick out. You think I’m that kind of wolf? I’m worse than that kind of wolf. Spit shine and buff them, both of them, all of them. Meanwhile, I’m gonna relax and watch your half-naked ass do it.” Hawk stepped over away from the puddle, then sat down on an old shipping crate. I wouldn’t have sat down on it, and I was just wearing some cheap discount store jeans.

I huffed and sighed, then scooted over and then pulled my shirt off. Why did I pull my shirt off, in public, although very limited public, to buff a wolf’s boots? Because it made me so excited, and also, because I deserved it. As I realized that, I got very, very cold, but still dutifully spat, licked, kissed, and then buffed the black leather, starting at the toe and moving up the massive, extremely tall shaft.

When I reached the top, I looked up at Hawk and he looked back down at me. “You think I’m kidding? Hey, I was gonna tell you something on the phone, wasn’t I? About someone you reminded me of. Not that zebra guy, unless you also ejaculate when you get your ass beat hard enough, and like to prance around in a corset and purple lipstick.”

I shook my head and laughed. “No, s… Mister Wolf.”

He let out a big, rising growl, then slapped his thigh and grinned. “Remember, don’t do anything stupid.”

I actually knew how to spit-shine a pair of boots. I did it to my Olathes every so often, and it took quite a while. I didn’t do that in the alley. I just got the leather wet, then buffed it with my teeshirt. “You were telling me?”

He leaned back and puffed on his cigar a few times. “When I first got really into all this nasty shit, like we’re doing here, I was a stupid young wolf and got this fox at my job wrapped up in being my little sex toy. I mean, he wanted it, and I thought it was great fun, and then I found out he was married, and left his wife because of it, but then got fired from my job (along with me) for misusing company property for inappropriate relations, and so basically I ruined a guy’s life. You remind me of that guy. You sure you aren’t married or anything?”

“I am really sure. Did my asshole feel like a married asshole?” I finished buffing one of his boots, and moved to work on the second one. I tried to lean down to kiss it, but he grabbed me by the shoulder, then stretched his cleaned leg out underneath me. Right into my groin. My heart skipped a beat and I leaned against him, groaned a little. I focused on the shaft of his left boot, while his right boot focused on rubbing my dick.

“Your asshole is making it hard for me to keep my promise of not shoving anything into any of your holes right now, Human.” Then, this time, he couldn’t resist and chuckled after saying that word.

“You don’t even know where I work, and I can’t get you fired because you own your own job. So I think we’re okay,” I said, welling up with enough confidence to run my mouth. I also put a bit more elbow grease into buffing up his boot. This one had received less splatter than the other, and it went a bit faster if I actually hocked and spit instead of just licking.

“Whatever. Lemme take a look at that job you’re doing,” he said, and then grunted and stood up. I stayed put, straddling his leg like a dog. He pulled his foot up and stomped it down on the crate, then rocked his foot around. “Nice, considering the circumstances.” He made a beckoning gesture towards my shirt-wielding hand, and I handed the fabric over. He buffed at a spot at the upper cuff, then tossed my shirt into the puddle I’d just been kneeling in. Then he grabbed me by the hair, leaned me back, and stepped around and away from me.

Wind thoroughly out of my sails, I ended up sitting on my ass up against the crate. Hawk walked a few paces away, then stopped and turned, like he was surprised I was still sitting there.

“I got an idea. You ever been to Black and Silver Leather? Go there. Have a look around. Put together an outfit. Go tonight, and talk to the tiger working at the counter. Tell him a wolf sent you. When he asks you which one, say, ‘I think you know who I’m talking about’. You’ll get a discount. They close at eleven. Don’t blow all your rent money, though. Just enough of it to feel a little antsy. It makes it more real.”

Then he really walked off, in absolutely no hurry. He knew how to move. He knew how to walk in a pair of boots, how to twist his hips just the right amount, how to keep his shoulders up and back but not look like a walking robot. He even knew what to do with his tail so it didn’t curl like a husky or just flop there behind his ass.

I wondered what it’d be like to have a tail. It made the prospect of going home with a soaking, filthy teeshirt a lot more bearable. I didn’t follow him. Following him would have been a stupid thing to do, and I knew what that was going to get me.

---

Black and Silver Leather was the most overwhelming place I’d ever shopped. It was every single conceivable fetish gear and clothing item, in one place, with none of the fat. I’d been to San Francisco and visited the vaunted Mr. S Leather, and while that was probably the largest fetish store ever, the largeness made it kind of like a Las Vegas buffet.

B&S, as the sign had filigreed above the door, was a bit more like some old-timey hardware store or general store, complete with the ‘uneven creaky floor’ and ‘hand-written signage’. The racks were just as impractically high, and the top shelf items were quite possibly legitimate medieval torture devices. However, the quality of the merchandise was fucking insane. None of that Lion’s Den highway porn store garbage; top shelf kink gear and eye-popping clothing.

Needless to say, I had no idea where to start, so I ended up in the basement. That was where all the actually sexual gear was located, so you really had to know what you were getting into before you were assaulted by dildos that would be uncomfortable in a draft horse.

And there it was. At the darkest back corner, propped up like a suit of armor, was a wolf. It wasn’t really a wolf. It was more like some kind of bizarre BDSM taxidermy experiment crossed with a suit of leather and steel armor. The head was a mask and helmet, equal parts “Winter is Coming” and nerdy steampunk cosplay. The rest of the body was made up of various pieces of gear, posed over some sort of mannequin inside, but it was that mask that did it for me. It was a beast, but a beast whose outfit was completely made out of sex, so much that even his face was an anonymizing mask hood.

“Hi! Need any help finding anything?”

I just about jumped out of my boots, then actually coughed out a slight yelp when I turned and saw who was talking. A giant fucking tiger. “Uh. Well, I’m trying to put together an outfit, and… well… I got kind of distracted, I guess.”

The tiger was wearing a pair of leather shorts with a double-zip front, a top that looked like an athletic spandex shirt that had been cut off below the ribs, and calf-high military boots. Despite the slightly aggressive attire, he had a stupid grin on his face and his tail was trying to curl around the support post next to him. He had to be at least seven feet tall. “Cop, biker, cowboy, club slut, or something extra crazy like rubber drone or sci-fi fireman? If you want that crazy rubber stuff, I can point you in the right direction but we’re not really the place for it.”

I really didn’t know what I wanted and felt embarrassed now that I was on the spot. “I dunno, as much leather as I can wear, while also being kind of… show-off exposed? Does that make sense?”

The tiger rubbed his chin, then turned and headed upstairs. “Well, for a start, I don’t think you want to strut around as a dildo…” He said, and barely fit through the creepy cramped staircase back to the main floor. “First, chaps. Hot, coverage, and you can fuck all you want while you work up a sweat,” he said, then nudged me. “Get it, you sweat, uh, okay. Anyway-” He gestured with a fingerless-gloved hand at a rack of leather chaps, “Start there.”

I dumbly went through them until I found a pair I kind of liked. They were a lot like the ones Hawk had me wear, but without the high cowboy sides, and they zipped tight down the legs. Presumably, they’d fit me, if I read the measurement tag right.

“Next, for the top, I totally know what you want. It’s a little… mmmh,” he growled, and then reached up to the second row of shelves and took down a leather garment. “But it’s just what you said.” He handed it over. “The biggest problem might be that if you aren’t shaped just right, it just doesn’t fit. There’s this guy who does totally custom stuff, his name’s Oscar, but he’s kind of terrifying and really, really expensive.”

It was, basically, a pair of shoulder-length leather gloves and some leather wrap that went around the sides of the chest, with a buckled strap harness making a ‘bulldog’ strap across the chest, with three more straps across the abdomen. “Okay. So wh-”

“Do you wear hoods?”

I had never - wait. “Uh. I kinda got into trouble the last time I did.”

“Good trouble or bad trouble?” He looked cautious and a bit concerned.

“Not bad but I think I’ll pass. Besides, uh, I’m not sure if my cowboy boots are gonna go with these kind of chaps. Especially not with this thing,” I said, jostling the upper body wear.

“Gotcha,” he said, pointing both enormous kitty-cat hands together and pointing at the Wall of Boots. It had a sign that said that, in pretty gothy hand-painted yellow script. It was, in fact, a wall of boots. A few pairs of cowboy boots, but a lot of pairs of motorcycle, riding, and fireman’s boots. About half of them looked to be used, but all in fantastic shape. “We have the best consignment gear anywhere in the entire country. You can make an appointment and go upstairs and your eyes will fall out of your head. So will your dick. I mean, out of your pants. Anyway.”

I scanned the racks and was very thankful I’d worn particularly clutching underwear. So many boots. A pair like Hawk’s, just as excessively thigh-high but more burly, were tagged with a walloping $800, and they were used. There were quite a few pairs of riding boots, not all nearly as expensive, and I found a pair in my size.

Just like that, I was making a big financial commitment because a wolf told me to get rid of my stinky cheap leathers. “So, how’d you hear about us? I haven’t seen you here before, or at The Pit on demo nights, so-”

“Oh, I’m not new in town,” I said, while I stuffed my card into the reader. “Just kind of stretching my legs. Hey, this wolf sent me here.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you know exactly who I’m talking about.” I felt like an idiot actually saying it. The tiger just lit up and jabbed at the register computer, and suddenly, my bill was 45% cheaper. “45%? That’s a weird discount.” oh my god a forty five percent discount what the fuck.

“That fucking wolf said, and I quote, ‘You set up my fuckin’ special discount at 45% because I’m not giving HALF of something to whatever faggot uses it.’” He put on a deep, gruff voice while he quoted Hawk. With a grin on his face. The kind of grin that your wingman gives you when he’s succeeded.

“Well, thanks!”

“Enjoy wearing it!”

Unbelievable.

---

I got home, fully intent on trying on my new outfit. I hadn’t tried it on at the store. That had seemed pretty stupid, but in terms of numbers, I had pretty typical measurements. Plus, the whole thing had happened so fast, and spending money is just so enjoyable. I broke out in a cold sweat as I realized that half of my day had now consisted of doing things someone else asked me to do that were humiliating and expensive.

Then the doorbell rang. No one ever rang my doorbell, one of the many benefits of living in an apartment, along with listening to people have sex next door and hearing the toilet gurgle when someone ran the garbage disposal upstairs.

I looked out the peephole. I could not afford an apartment with a fancy electronic door lock, so I had to shove my face up against the door where someone could stab me with an icepick.

Holy shit, it was the wolf. “Hey, you there? I could hear you come to the door. I can fucking smell you, Human.” While I gawked in worried disbelief - how did he know where I live - he flipped me off with a gloved finger. An italian leather driving glove, to match his fancy suit jacket, leather pants, and I presumed the tall cowboy boots from our second meeting. No shirt, just like then.

I unlatched the door and opened it on the chain, then looked out. “How did you find my address?”

Holy shit he pulled a gun on me! Actually, he pulled it out, stuck his arm partway into the door, and used the gun to unchain it. “I’m a bad wolf. Nah, I was checking your ID out while you were asleep, to make sure you were eighteen. I figure maybe I should have done that beforehand, but you looked old enough.”

I could have just bashed myself into the door, shutting it and probably breaking his arm. Instead, I backed away. He walked in and leveled the gun right at my face, the same big-penis hunting revolver he’d bragged about at his house. I continued to back away, until I tripped over an end table and fell onto the sofa. He pounced atop me, pinned me down, and when I opened my mouth to scream since the door was still open, he stuffed the barrel into my mouth and cocked the hammer back.

“Remember what I said the other night, Human? Until further notice, this gun is all about you, and you just did two very stupid things.”

WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO and I couldn’t move, not in the slightest. I’m not sure I could even breathe.

CLACK. “Number one: you filmed me giving that poor, misguided coyote a bad time at the coffee shop, without my permission. Which is too bad, because I would have let you if you’d asked, or you know, were doing it right there in front of me. I’m not stupid. I saw you holding your phone like you were pretending to text someone.” Then he cocked the hammer again.

CLACK. “Number two: you sent it to your friend, I presume, who then posted it on the internet, whereupon it was fucking retweeted and retumbled and refuckingwhatevered all over the goddamn place, and then sent to me by not less than ten people I know personally. I also wouldn’t have minded this, again, if you had asked me the fuck about it. Luckily scruffing a coyote and sloshing his bullshit coffee in his bitchy whiny face isn’t exactly gonna ruin my stellar reputation. Now, when I pull this metal dick out of your mouth, you’re gonna stay put. You move, and you’ll have an all-new reason to be afraid of wolves, not to mention just two more chances to avoid a new fuckhole.”

He pulled it out, and I did not move. I did, however, breathe.

“Good.” Then he walked over, shut the door, locked the deadbolt, and slid the chain back with a note of finality. “I was intending to come over here an’ talk to you about your little purchasing spree at the leather shop just now. And I think I’ll still do that. But, I think maybe you oughta think over your behavior a little bit.” As he said this, he started going through all of my stuff. Going through, but taking nothing. He stirred things around with his boot toes, opened and closed anything that opened and closed, and even left the living room. It was a horseshoe studio so while I was out of sight, I was hardly out of mind. He opened the utility closet, and practically barked. “Aha!”

“I think you’re maybe a little, uhm, maybe you don’t need to go around - what the fuck are you doing with that?” I scurried into the corner of the sofa as he came around holding a big spool of ethernet cable. I did not need a big spool of ethernet cable; a friend had given it to me when I said ‘I need some cat5 to plug my computer in’. That’s what I get for having nerds for friends.

Hawk dropped it, pulled a good twenty foot section up, and then chewed through it. “I said, you need a little time to think about what you’ve done. So I’m gonna make sure you stay put. You get it yet? Do I have to fucking just come out and say it?” He climbed back atop me, then rolled me over and started tying my wrists together. This was not hasty hogtying. Wrist cuffs turned into coil after coil, practically mummifying my arms behind my back. Then, it spread around my upper body as he pulled me right up to lean against the cushions.

I was shellshocked. One second, I was gleefully coming home to slide into a new outfit and enjoy myself, and the next my mouth tasted like blued steel and gunpowder while some fucking wolf tied me up.

“I didn’t hear the fucking word, so you know, I’m not gonna quit this. You want me to stop, you know what to say.” He paused. I said nothing. “Alright then.” He harnessed my chest, which kept my arms from moving around too much, not like I could actually move them anyway. Next, my ankles, which he put together but without some fancy mess of cord going up my ankles. Instead, he pulled my knees up, then roped them together, then roped my thighs to my calves, leaving me bent over and sideways on the couch. “There we go. You’re not going fuckin’ anywhere. Oh, wait, I forgot the best part.”

He chewed off more pieces of cable, then pulled a couple of hankies out of his jacket pocket. He stuffed them into my mouth - which I stupidly opened for him - and then wound the cable around and around my head until it made a wrist-thick bit pulling the hankies into my mouth. They smelled like leather, male musk, and cigar.

“There. Perfect. Now try not to do anything else stupid for a while,” he said, then swiped my keys up from the door table and left.

I lay there, sideways, uncomfortably tied up on the couch, dumbfounded. Seconds ticked by. He didn’t come back in; in fact, I could hear him opening the stairwell door at the end of the hall and letting it slam shut, like everyone did.

I couldn’t breathe. The gag held my mouth open far enough that it pushed my jaw back, and the cord and fabric shoved my tongue back, and I struggled and whipped my head around and started pouring sweat and completely lost it.

No, I really could breathe, it just felt like I couldn’t. I managed to struggle my tongue out beneath the cabling, although he’d knotted it hard onto my head.

After perhaps five minutes of dizzy confusion, the panic reached an apex. Helpless, bound up, and locked into my own home, I had to remember what really happened with the wolves.

We pulled up in the car. “I’ll only be a minute,” she said. It started to rain. A pickup truck pulled up, black, a bit battered, lifted, big knobby wheels. The door opened and two wolves jumped out. A third stayed in the truck. They weren’t very discreet; one was in a black hoodie and jeans, while the other had a camo jacket. They didn’t cover their faces.

They ran into the store and some commotion started happening. I sank down so no one saw me. I knew something bad was going on, but I didn’t know what at the time. I know now. I can’t un-see it in my head. I can’t stop remembering. Some shouting, then the store clerk came into view, then careened back out of the way and fell onto the floor. He’d been hit with something.

One of the wolves ran out clutching the drawer from the till and threw it into the truck’s open window. The other came out chasing after my mom. He grabbed her and tried to throw her into the truck, but she wasn’t going to give up that easily.

I couldn’t open the car door. I tried, and tried, and tried. I was too young to realize I couldn’t open the back door from the inside because of the child lock, nor did it occur to me to just climb over into the front, plus outside was scary shit. Maybe they couldn’t see me in the car, because they started trying to attack my mom right there against the side of the truck. They managed to rip her shirt off and were literally fighting over her pants, flailing and kicking and screaming be damned. They must’ve thought the clerk was down and out.

She tried to bite one of them when they grabbed her by the face, and ended up with clawmarks across her cheek. They slammed her face into the side of the truck, then tried to smash her head through the window. She crumpled to the ground, writhing around.

I lost it and screamed and wailed and pounded on the window with my little fists. Both wolves turned towards the car. Then they came after me. If the door hadn’t been locked, I don’t know what would have happened.

My mom was down, but not out. Two things happened at exactly the same time. One was that the clerk had gotten up and was now carrying a shotgun, although he looked confused and leaned in the doorway. He lifted it, barely. The other was that my mom tripped one of the wolves at just the wrong moment. The shotgun went off and shattered the windshield. I was behind the front seat, so I was fine. The tripped wolf bashed his face into the hood of the car, then staggered away. His comrade helped him into the truck, and they sped off.

She was never really the same. The scars on her face weren’t really noticeable, but she never went back to work. She became a housewife, still was. My dad said she had a head injury, but not to talk about it because it made her depressed. I didn’t talk about it. I didn’t even really remember it.

Until now.

If I’d made a fuss earlier, nothing would have happened to my mom. The wolves would have come for me, instead, and then the store clerk would have shot them. Because I waited, terrified, silent, my mom was permanently kind of weird and I was an asshole.

I was so stunned that I started sobbing without any sense of shame. It almost felt good, an orgasmic cry, until I calmed down and the gasping spasms came. Then clarity: I was tied up, in my own home, and the wolf was coming back for me.

I rolled off the sofa and onto the floor with a bang. Sorry, downstairs neighbor.

Next thing: figure out step two. What could I do without use of any of my body parts?

I could dial a phone! My phone was on top of the coffee table. I started to squirm and worm around on the floor until I could kick at the leg. A few good jolts and I moved it six inches with a kick and the phone toppled backwards off the edge. It landed on the floor. Screen up. Don’t get my wrong; I was terrified of what was happening, and what would happen, to me. But my phone had landed screen up, and that meant I could use it with my nose.

I could forget about what had happened to me; I now had a very simple but very difficult task to focus on. I pressed the home button with my nose, then flicked my head on the screen. Slide, to unlock. Each little success made me tingle. Despite the terror of a wolf with a gun and a big enough dick to make it worth my safety, I was tied up and squirming around on the floor like one of those actors in a kink porn. Groan, grunt, huff, mrrrrffh, mmrfn! Nnrrgh! Nrfph!

I pressed hard on the phone icon and the favorites popped up. Fully aware that I could have also swiped the other way on the unlock screen, gotten the emergency keypad, and pressed 9-1-1 with my sweaty nose, I instead was about to dial my friend Marty, my willing accomplice in this whole mess. I’d filmed Hawk; Marty had just spread it around.

Then the door opened. Hawk strode right back in and closed it behind him, carrying a tall brown bag. “Hey, talk about perfect timing,” he said, crouched down, and took the phone away from me like he’d meant to do it all along.

He pressed the screen, then held the phone up to his head. I could hear faint ringing. My heart pounded so hard that I felt my hands and feel go cold. I broke out into enough of a sweat that I could feel the beads of it running down my forehead and onto the carpet.

“Hey, is this Marty? I bet you think this is your friend Mark, being that it’s his phone number and picture, but you’re actually talking to a wolf.”

I could barely hear his response. “Oh really?” No Marty, no, no no no. Do not engage.

Hawk turned his yellow eyes to me and glared. “I bet you know exactly which wolf this is, and I bet you know exactly why he’s calling you. I’m paying your friend a visit and giving him a good reason why not to spread around my bad behavior in the future.”

I decided to play along. “Naaahh, haaaallph!” That made Hawk snort, and he stepped on me. Literally, lifted his boot and stepped on my face.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s just hungry. We’re gonna have dinner,” Hawk said, trying to sound as completely casual and yet family-business thug as possible. He started fishing things out of the brown bag. Takeout cartons, with the logo of the BBQ place down the street. He set them down and crouched down towards me, grabbed the hanky-gag, and yanked it out of my mouth. Then he nodded his head towards the phone.

“Yeah, he’s just uh, visiting. We’re gonna have barbeque,” I said, and barely glided through without a stammer.

Hawk stood up. “See? You don’t have anything to worry about, Marty. I hope you have a nice night,” the wolf said, then hung up. He turned that nasty lupine stare back on me. “You’re pretty fucked up, you know that? Look at you. I know you’ve been fuckin’ crying. I can see it in your eyes, you’re all wet and puffy and you’re making that sniveling cough whatever. But. You’re trying to dial your friend, not the police, and with your fuckin’ nose like this is some escape porn or somethin’.” He took his gloves off and tucked them into his jacket, then shrugged out of the leather jacket and hung it up by the door. He came back over, shirtless, and took out some ribs. He tore one off and started eating it. Like a wolf, complete with swashes of his black tongue and a grunt of eating pleasure.

I deserve this, I thought. I deserve everything. Especially from a wolf. I started to heat up with aroused embarrassment as I watched Hawk eat.

“Oh, you want one?” He dropped his mostly-gnawed rib onto the floor in front of me, then reached down and yanked the gag out again. He went back to eating. “So what was it, the profound sense of helplessness, or was it like when you get tickled so much you tear up, or what?”

He looked down at me, and I looked back to the rib. Then I squirmed and moved over the foot or so, and grabbed it in my mouth. I actually bit off a piece and swallowed it. Oh please fucking let me outta this shit, I thought. “I was remembering something.”

“Yeah? What was it?” Gnaw, slurp, lick, swallow. One, two, three, four ribs, then he pecked at some collard greens with a fork. Like this was a normal conversation (it wasn’t), at a normal dinner (I was eating ribs off the floor), with a friend (I was his sex slave).

“That thing I told you about,” I said, and waited. He looked down at me for a long moment, then went back to eating.

“I don’t wanna fuck your mom, so you don’t have anything to worry about. I do want to fuck you, which is why I already fucked you before, and why I’m tying you up to fuck you again. Unless you got a really hot outfit, and you should put that on instead, to show me that you know how to spend a wolf’s money. Fuck, I sound like a sugar daddy. Lemme assure you, I am-”

“Can you actually untie me? I mean, I don’t want to say… it… but I want to eat, for real.” I sputtered the words out as I exhaled, and immediately felt a little better.

Hawk shrugged, set his ribs down, and then started untying me. After a few moments of struggling with the knots, he pulled out a hunting knife from his boot and sliced me free. Then he dropped it back into his boot shaft. “Wasn’t that something, huh?”

“You’re an asshole,” I said, and moved to stand up. I immediately grew wobbly and lurched onto the sofa. My hands and feet tingled and throbbed with overstimulation as the nerves woke back up.

While I groaned and whimpered back to normal sensation, the wolf put together a plate of food. Brisket, ribs, cornbread, greens. Real barbeque. He handed it over; I tucked in for real and felt a strange glow come over me. The pleasure of relief. “Yeah,” he shrugged. “I had this little thought when I saw that video, of exactly what I was gonna do when I ran into you next because of it. And I kept thinking about it, and then I had to do it so I could stop thinking about it So I came here and tied you up and left you squirming around on the floor while I went out and got something to eat. Now, I’m sitting in your living room sucking meat off bones like a fucking wild animal. Was it worth it?”

“I can’t believe you did that to me. Are you crazy? You can’t stalk people. I could have called the cops!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t. You weren’t. And in that split second, I knew you were kinda into this whole thing, so I just fucked around with you. Won’t you have a lot to talk about with Marty, huh? You gonna tell him everything? Or are you gonna just tell him the parts that make me sound like a fucking terror? Yeah, do that. I’m a Wolf. What are wolves, right? The big, scary fucking terror beasts snarling in the woods and eating your precious sheep.”

Wow. “You’re still crazy.”

“And you still liked it,” he shrugged, then mopped at his face with a napkin. “You know I’m still gonna fuck you, right? When you’re done eating that, go put on your new outfit. Go in the other room. I fucking swear, scout’s honor, pinky swear, whatever, I’m not gonna do anything but sit around out here. Maybe I’ll kick back on the couch, put my boots all over your coffee table so you can lick where they stomped to remember me…”

I tried not to be a pig, but I was really hungry, and eating felt really good. An entire side of my personality was blossoming like a flower in the sunlight, and it was a side I didn’t really know if I wanted. After he’d abused me, he fed me, and that felt so, so good. So rewarding. I didn’t speak, and just ate.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for this kinda guy, I mean you’re kinda strapping. I would have thought you were on top all the time. Going around, shoving your sweaty dick in guys’ assholes, lots of grunting and profanity, the regular-ass gay fuck shit that goes on.” Hawk talked while he ate, which was more gross than it usually was, seeing as he didn’t really have cheeks the way I did. “I guess I attract headcases.”

“I’m not nuts, didn’t we talk about this before?”

“Yeah, but I talk a lot, so I probably repeat my fucking self. You finished stuffing your face?”

I put the plate down and felt actually ashamed of myself. “I guess.”

“Good, now remember what I just asked? Go put on that fucking outfit. I subsidized your fucking fetish so I wanna get some return on my investment.”

I grabbed up the bag of gear and stomped off into the bedroom. Which wasn’t really more than another part of the apartment, separated by a big closet wall. I stripped and started into the leather. If I had been feeling completely torn up inside before, and then uneasily put back together, I might as well have forgotten about everything as I slid into the new, black hide.

The chaps were tight. Barely fit tight. Properly fit tight, too, but I guess I didn’t expect them to hug my legs all the way to the ankle. I put on the new boots next, which were a bit the opposite - they were a little loose in the calf, but not weirdly so. They also felt amazing. I immediately got a hardon and took a few prancing paces back and forth in front of the mirror.

“You get new boots, too?” Hawk called out. “Those don’t sound like cowboy heels. Not like I’d mind you in your regular horseshit stompers, but you know me so far, I’m a sucker for a nice pair of boots.”

“They’re okay,” I responded, lying to hopefully surprise him a bit. Next up: the… top part. It was as fussy to put on as it looked, especially since I had to buckle a strap just below my shoulderblades, on my back. Sliding my arms into the glove portions, though, was almost orgasmic. I felt plain ol’ giddy over the sight and feel of glistening fine, black leather sliding up my arms. The straps took the feminine opera-gloves look and gave it some authority. Grr, look at my man assets carefully kept exposed by all this leather. It actually pushed my pecs out forward a little, which made me tingle. Hawk was going to play with my nipples.

I walked back out, trying my best to saunter in a sexual way. I still felt nervous enough to dip my head. Clop. Clop. Clop. Wow, those boots were something else. They had marching taps, metal plates on the soles. I’d seen them but hadn’t quite realized the implication until I walked on a hardwood floor. “I’m gonna piss off the neighbors,” I chuckled and scoffed.

“Oh, fuck,” Hawk growled, as he made eye contact. He was in fact reclined back on the sofa, with his flashy boots crossed at the ankles. He would have made a great Han Solo. He was still shirtless, and actually relaxed. Until he saw me. Then he perked up, agitated enough to pull his boot up and clomp the instep down over the edge of the coffee table, as if to shove it away. He just rocked it there. “Don’t you put your hands around your dick. Lemme see how you feel about wearing that hot bullshit,” he growled, rising up further, enough that his shoulders even lifted. Threat.

I took my hands away and lifted them slightly, like I was about to raise them in deference to the police. My cock throbbed, and actually ached as it stiffened up even harder. I wanted to wince. Instead, I tensed up and the shaft bobbed.

“That’s what I thought,” he gruffed. “Grab my gloves from over there, bring ‘em over. Then come and sit.” He gestured to his lap. “On my fucking lap. Around it. You know, facing me, straddling me, that kinda thing.” His lap had a very big bulge in the slick black leather.

Somehow, I was more aroused than the time at his house. This time, no drugs, except the natural endorphins from having a god-damned good cry while tied up and gagged on my own couch. Nothing could mask my sheer embarrassed arousal. I grabbed his gloves and gently felt them over as I held on and carried them back. I was just moving my hands towards him when he snatched them out with a rough grab, then stretched them onto his hands. He patted at his thighs, and I looked down. Then I sank and straddled around him. So, so hard.

He shoved two gloved fingers into my mouth. I gagged a little and bucked my head back, then realized what he was really doing. I tongued over the musky leather, then kissed at it. He pulled them out, then stuffed them back in. I squirmed and ground forward, rubbing my cock against his groin, against the smooth leather. My bare chest and abs slid against his fur and I actually mewled.

“In case you were wondering,” he started to say, then pushed me back until I was bolt upright, then even bent back a little. I reached back and held onto his knees, and settled. He didn’t keep pushing. Instead, he just fucked my lips with his leathered fingers, while he grinned a snarl at me and reached for my chest. “The reason you like this kinda shit is because you’re all fucked up about having been, I dunno, subjected to harsh treatment, in the past. It hurt. It hurt you. And now, when I do it to you, I’m only doing it because you want me to do it. And because you want it, well, then it just feels good.” He started to roll my nipple under his finger and thumb. I winced that time.

“Careful,” I huffed his fingers out of my mouth, “I’m really sensitufhh,” he pushed them back in, then kept rolling. Not hard, a little bit of a stroke, but mostly a deep massage. It was literally too much stimulation and I moaned out around his fingers. He let go and moved to the other one. That was also too much, but now my first nipple was tingling in the relatively cool air, and from his firm attention. I wanted him back on that one - and then when he did, it was again, too fucking much.

“You think I can’t fucking tell?” He stroked over the leather straps that crossed my chest, the edge of the leather over my shoulder, then down my long-gloved arm. He pulled it forward, and eventually, I had to lean up and towards him again. He put my hand on his furry chest. “Maybe I’m not gonna fuck you. Maybe I’m just gonna sit here and you’re gonna give me a chest rub. Maybe even a… a belly rub,” he said, and used a voice that dripped with patronizing ooze like someone talking down to their pet. “After all, a wolf’s just a big dog, right?”

“You’re not a dog,” I said, and reached up with both hands, then started to rub and knead at his chest. The leather over fur made a surprisingly delicate sound, and just like me, he had sensitive nipples. I squeezed at each, and he thrust up against my lap. Then he stroked down my forearms, leather on leather, and moved my hands away from his nips.

“That’s right.”

“You’re a wolf.”

“That’s even more right,” he growled. I could feel him throbbing under the leather.

“You’re the best wolf,” I offered.

Hawk scoffed, but I could feel him tense up and press forward again. “Aww, compliment me enough and I might cum in my pants. But you’re not gonna make me cum in my pants. You’re gonna take my dick out.”

I dropped my hands down and ground my cock against the leather as I pried his fly open. “Can I suck it? Please? Mister wolf? I really want to suck your cock. You have a great cock. I’ll swallow it, I’ll kiss your balls, I’ll do whatever.” I let the shame drive my words. Shame made me beg for forgiveness. Forgiveness from a wolf meant ‘only’ a blowjob.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he growled, then pushed me off to the side and moved to stand up. He just dodged towards one end of my couch and sat back down, then directed me down next to him. “I had this whole thing in mind about getting your cum all over me because I’m a filthy animal - actually, you know, I was just gonna fuck you - but now you wanna suck me off? Fine, whatever.”

As I got into position, he slid his gloved hands over my body and pulled me up close, using my fancy pauldron-gloves and their buckled straps as leverage. I’d opened his fly, but hadn’t taken his cock out, and it was too big to bundle up in front and pop out on its own. I reached over and into the dark opening, felt around, and pulled his black meat out. Then I arched my back and pressed my face to the leather and-

Gah! I recoiled for a moment, and the wolf responded by grabbing my hair.

“You don’t like the smell? I had to enjoy myself after our little encounter earlier. I couldn’t think straight. If I came over here like that, you’d have a fucking sore ass in more ways than one by now.”

Hawk had clearly enjoyed himself by jerking off, shaking it off, and stuffing it back into his pants. His cock was actually slimy with leftover cum, and gaggingly rank with the smell of it. “No s… Mister Wolf. I love it, it was just-” and I silenced myself by pushing the slimy head into my mouth and pulling back off with a wet slurp. Then I swallowed, and repeated the action, letting my lips squeeze his cockhead the same way someone pulls a bite of ice cream off a cone without digging their teeth in.

Just sucking wasn’t enough. I needed to be used by his cock. I was just a pair of holes and a hot body. I rolled onto my stomach, then arched my back up against the back cushion of the sofa, so I was looking down towards his cock instead of up towards his torso. Then I pushed back over his cockhead and kept going down. It slid along my tongue, prompting me to gag when it reached the back. It stuffed into my throat hole, and I gagged again, silently now that I couldn’t breathe. I kept pushing, and his cockhead pushed down my throat, fur tickling at my nose. I couldn’t smell anything, of course, because I couldn’t breathe at all. I pulled back and drool flooded down his cock, against my gloved hand as I squeezed at the base. I gasped and panted for breath, then kissed the mess off his shaft and went all the way down again.

“I could take this all day, you know?” Hawk groaned, and used his hand to stroke my hair more than to force me to do anything. “I shoulda made you suck me off in that back alley. I can still smell the filth on you from you kneeling at my boots. First I think you’re racist, and then I find out that you’re actually all fucked up because you watched some shitfuck wolves jump your mommy when you were a kid. That’s what it is, right? You’re gonna do anything to me to make sure I don’t fuck you up.”

I felt used and disgusting with his cock down my throat, and I could feel my cock straining, throbbing. I was going to cum, just like that, no drugs, not even being touched. Swallow, gag. Swallow, gag. Swallow, GAG - no matter how much I wanted to be used that way, my body physically decided to almost throw up.

“Hey, I didn’t say to quit it,” he growled, and made me look up at him. I could feel my nose running. I could feel spit all over my chin.

“I was… I just ate…” I legitimately complained.

“Don’t fuckin’ talk back to me,” he snapped, and slapped me. A real slap, too. It left my cheek stinging and me shocked. He moved again and I instinctively flinched back. “Oh, what’s the matter? Not having fun anymore?” SMACK!

I cringed and cowered away, gloved hands up to stop him. He swatted and grabbed for me, snatching one hand away and slapping me on that side. My heart started to race and I felt a cold sweat pour down my back, the gross sensation of my gorge rising replaced with the animal need to panic and escape. We tussled, him serious about trying to hit me again, me serious about getting away from it. The next smack was more of a brute hit against my face and I yelped, then tried to jump away. He launched after me and plowed me into the floor, my head bashing against the leg of the coffee table.

“I shoulda left you fuckin’ tied up. Tied up and hobbled like a pig, or squirming around on all fours like a dog. I coulda put your dinner down on the floor. I bet you like that idea.”

I scrabbled at the floor, but I couldn’t really get much purchase. I may have had a studio apartment, but it had hardwood, and I was wearing slick, fancy leather gloves. Also, he stood on my back between my shoulder blades and pressed hard enough that my fingers started to go numb.

I craned my head back. He was grabbing up the cabling he’d tied me up with. “No, no, come on, I’ll suck you off, I said I’ll do anything!”

“Shut up,” he growled, and twisted his boot against my spine. He stepped down hard enough that I exhaled with a squawk. Then he crouched down and yanked my arms back, then started roping them up.

“No! Lemme go! Lemme GO! I’m fucking SERIOUS!” I really got loud and instantly regretted it; what if someone actually called the police? What would Hawk do if they actually showed up? In my panic, I suddenly created the entire scenario in my head. Hawk would hide me in a closet, gag me with something disgusting. He’d talk to the police and shrug and say he had no idea what was going on, it must’ve been a really loud movie or something. He’d close the door and come back for me, fangs drooling wolf spit, cock slobbering seed. No, the cops would be on his side. He’d have friends who were cops. They’d take me to jail and put me in a holding cell and take turns raping me, hitting me every time I sobbed.

And they’d all be wolves.

My panic and rage and excitement made my ears ring. I felt distant. Hawk roped my arms back up, just like before. I started to sob, half from the terror of being restrained again, half from a sense of emotional release that was actually welcome. I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. I couldn’t say no. I had to prove I could take it. I had to take it.

Hawk grabbed a dish towel from the kitchen, then wiped my face with it. My face burned, more than it should have from embarrassment, and I felt fresh tears well up. He wiped again, then balled the towel up and stuffed it in my mouth. “Spit it out and you’ll really get it,” he said. “That’d be a real stupid thing to do. You know what you get when you do something stupid.”

The towel tasted like salt and copper. Shit, I was bleeding. It must’ve been from the coffee table. I did not try to spit it out. I didn’t dare.

The wolf crouched over my back, then scooted back and kneeled around my rump, then slid his legs back even further and let his slippery cock slap down against my bare ass. My spit was probably drying by now, but his cock was slobbery with precum, so much that he started pushing it in without any other preparation. It hurt, but not enough to say the word. He could thrust mostly because he was uncut. It still hurt.

Abruptly, he yanked the towel back out of my mouth. “Don’t fucking say anything,” he snarled, then tossed something in front of my face on the floor. It was food, ribs from dinner, and they landed with a splat. “Go on. Have a bite.”

I could barely see, my eyes were burning so hot from my sobbing tears, my right eye additionally burning from sweat and blood drizzling down into it. I tried to squirm forward and could barely get close to the meat. I stuck my tongue out and only pushed it away. No, no, no, come on… I stretched my neck, but it just wasn’t enough. Hawk kept pounding away, and I slowly scooted forward. I finally managed to grab on with my teeth.

“Shit,” Hawk snorted, and suddenly stopped thrusting. I could feel his cock twitching inside my asshole, and after five or so twitches, he exhaled with a big huff that sprayed wolfspit on the back of my neck.

He pulled out and I felt him pump the last few all over my ass, and that was it. I was done. I whimpered and quivered and ejaculated all over the floor, then curled up as soon as he was no longer atop me.

I still felt distant, like something was wrong, like I was drugged, like my body was just a thing and my mind was somewhere else. Hawk wrestled me up onto the couch, then pulled my boots off. “Shit, shit,” he huffed, and kept stripping me down. He tried to get the shoulder-gloves off without untying me, then kept swearing as he undid the cabling. Was he trembling? He slapped my face, but it was just a light pat. “Hey, you alright? Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He marched me into the bathroom, turned the shower on, and waited until it was steamy before pushing me in. He undressed, leaving a pile of leather on the floor, then got in with me and started to scrub me with a lathered-up loofah. With my third-party perspective, it was almost funny, and I chuckled a bit.

“What’s so funny?” He growled.

“I don’t know,” I sighed. All of a sudden, I was back in my body again and I leaned against him. Wet fur was kind of gross, but he was sturdy and rubbing me with the loofah and it all felt too good.

“You alright? Lemme look at that again,” he said, and soaped over my forehead. It stung. He hosed me off with the handheld nozzle, then kept going with his face against mine. “I didn’t mean to fucking chuck you into the coffee table. You know, that leather stuff you had on was kinda slippery on the couch, I guess? Just looks like a scrape.”

“I came when you pulled your dick out. I think it was from the… food thing. I was, I don’t really know,” I said, dumbly.

“You’re a mess, you know that?”

He was actually worried about me. Despite what had just happened, I felt calm inside, as warm as the shower. “I’m okay. That was really insane. I guess, I guess I like getting roughed up. Yeah.”

He was dead serious about looking after me; once I was all cleaned up, he rooted around for a first aid kit under the sink.

“It’s really okay,” I said, and looked at myself in the mirror. I had a bump on my forehead with a big scratch through it, and a little bit of fresh blood when I poked at it. My eyes were bloodshot and raccooned from crying, and I had wicked five o’clock shadow. “How come you didn’t pull the gun on me again? You said I did something stupid.”

He dabbed at me with an alcohol pad and I pushed his hand away. “There’s a fucking time for everything, you know? And I had this little voice in my head saying, don’t push it, asshole.”

“I’m fine, I really am. I kinda feel good, actually. Like I untied a knot I had in me.”

“Hah, getting fucked by a wolf with a human dick makes the human say shit about knots,” he mused.

“Huh?”

“Dog dicks. Knots. You know, like a - oh yeah, I forgot, you used to hate hybrids so you don’t play with dog dicks. They have this weird thing that gets stuck inside you while they cum. It’s a knot, you know, tied together? Dog guys have ‘em but everyone else has people dicks. Fuck if I know why.”

I nodded, dumbly. “Anyway, uh, thanks. That was fun. Marty will have a fit when I talk to him next.”

---

Marty’s reaction, which was pretty frantic but we ended up laughing about it, was small potatoes. Hawk had loosened something inside of me. I’m sure there’s some kind of metaphor about a dyke and loose stones and fingers or something like that.

Knowing the root cause of something in myself that I hadn’t even realized was there - that was a weird kind of power. Power corrupts, even when it’s your own power over your own body. Being attacked by wolves was a fear I’d tried to suppress for years. Feeling guilty for what happened to my mom was something I tried to ignore. Once it was all laid out end to end, I felt free. I could feel better about myself if I threw myself to the wolves and let them beat the snot out of me.

If power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. The entirety of my life to that point was on one side of a line, and the rest of my life was on the other. I was beyond the pale. I could probably list metaphors for the rest of my life, but I had more pressing matters.

I needed to do something about my sudden obsession. I couldn’t stop thinking about the incident. I couldn’t stop squirming around in bed, covering my own mouth, stuffing socks in it, roughing my hair up. I couldn’t stop being the stupid skinbag victim to a wolf, to a pair of wolves, to a pack of wolves, and I couldn’t deal with it only being in my head.

I needed to do something stupid.

Hawk had told me not to go to the club he supposedly ran or owned or lorded over or whatever wolves do when they possess their territory. I might have gotten a forty-five percent discount on my ridiculously flashy leather outfit, but it was still expensive, and lying around jacking off to a wolf’s filthy boot stomping my teeth out of my skull while wearing it was not exactly a good use of my salary.

Instead of a mere coat room, The Pit had kind of a locker room. You had to pay to use the lockers, but you could go in, change out of your street clothes and into your peacock leathers, and stuff everything away into a secure metal bin. In front of everyone else who wasn’t comfortable wearing leather out in public. And in front of the security attendant, who actively made sure no one had sex in the locker room.

The front bar. Somewhat dim, throbbing with a combination of almost-porn-music and conspicuously chosen classic rock. A long bar, real drinks, men, leather, and predominantly fur. The bouncer at the front door outside was a strapping buck with a black goatee and cowboy boots, and the biggest dick bulge in his pants that I’d ever seen on anyone, anywhere. The bouncer on the inside was a black bear. The staff either wore black muscle shirts or kinked-up outfits. The only humans were a group who were sitting at a table and eyeing everyone around.

Some slightly fat rottweiler started talking to me while I waited for my drink. “You see those shady-ass skinbags over there?” Maybe he didn’t like humans. Maybe he didn’t like me. Maybe he was gonna start a fight - The Pit, so far, looked like the kind of place that catered to bar fights. Bar rapes. Extended back-room bar torture sessions.

“Yeah?” I decided to side with him, and drank my entire drink at the same time.

“Only come here to wear fur coats. You one of those?” This rottweiler looked like the baddest-ass biker that ever existed. His spiky leather had spiky leather on top of it. The only problem: he had a terrible lisp and that bitch-face affect that gay men sometimes get.

“Oh no, I like leather.”

“Mmm. Good boy,” he said, and smacked my ass hard enough that I snorted Long Island Iced Tea all over the bar. “Now look at that mess,” he tsk’d, and then pushed in front of me and slurped it all up.

Bar fights were going to be the least of my problem, which was sad, because I wanted that rottweiler to shove my face in the urinal and flush it.

Saving face from snorting my drink, and also because that table of ‘skinbags’ had gotten up and wandered there as well, I headed into the back room. Pool tables, appropriately hipster-retro arcade games, and table booths that were almost - but definitely not - private. A lot darker than the front. A lot more manhandling and groping.

The humans had already mingled in, apparently meeting some people they already knew, or people who were eager to engage them in whatever they wanted. The humans all wore club leathers, leather pants and vests and harnesses, all sort of generic and just slightly mismatched. They paired up with fox, wolf, some sort of exotic horned creature, and a bull. Meanwhile, everyone else gave them a look and then went back to grinding or drinking or playing an intense standoff game of pool.

Since I was the follow-up, no one paid any attention to me at all. That left me to get a good look around. While the back room looked even rougher than the front, on close examination, it was calculated roughness. Everything was meant to look badass and tough and roughly black-painted. The Pit wasn’t sleazy because it was a shithole: it was sleazy because gay leathermen probably didn’t like sparkling clean bars.

I knew all that from being inside for about five minutes, if you didn’t count strapping myself into my opera-glove pauldrons and my dick basket.

Someone else slapped my ass and I jolted against the unused pool table. The slapper didn’t let go of me. “You here to get this ass smacked or fucked?” The speaker was a big, slightly sweaty, very cowboy-leathered chocolate brown bull. He had horns that went forward, a little gray on his muzzle, and he frowned. He also had no codpiece, and his big floppy dick just swayed around between his legs.

“Does everyone here push people around?”

“You new here? You got awful fancy leathers for some guy who’s new.”

“Well, not in town, but I’m new here. Uh, actually, I sort of know the owner and-”

“Now you wanna get this pale bare ass of yours walloped on or stuck like a pig?” The bull continued feeling me with his leather-gloved hand. “You got all them fancy straps on, I can’t tell if that’s prissy fantasy elf shit or you’re some crazy hard-ass.”

Holy shit, this bull smelled so good it was unbelievable. Leather, male, and sex, with a hint of wet hair but nothing like a wet dog. “Spanking me is nothing compared to what I want,” I said, and immediately regretted it. No, actually, I just got harder. The thought of doing something worth one of Hawk’s bullets was just too hard to resist, especially since the lupine wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

The bull just laughed and gave me a pat to the butt, then a pat to the shoulder. “We’re gonna do a B-D-S-M show downstairs. You wanna get one of those letters?”

“Why uh, why me? I mean there are those guys-” I tried to indicate to one of the humans who’d been around, but I had to look. Only one was left, and he was in the process of getting fucked - right there bent over his booth - by a tiger in firefighter gear.

“All they wanna do is pick fur outta their teeth. I wanna find someone who wants to get all roped up an’ tied down an’ scream good. You got that look like you know what you want, not that you’re jus’ some fur slut.”

“Is that actually offensive? I mean, I love to suck dick, and you have a great dick. I’ve never seen a better… dick…” But it was too late. He was leading me downstairs, and I was going with him.

First downstairs: a dance club, dominated by a sizable floor that was pumping with fur and long-dead animal flesh, along with skull-hammering deep house music. No time to dance, though. We had to go deeper. This unnamed bull had designs on me, and my heart was pounding with an over-liquored long island and desperate, reckless lust.

Second downstairs: Now this was more like it. Whatever had been in the sub-basement had been serious industrial machinery. Some of it was left, probably whatever wasn’t actually worth anything to anyone. A lot of big pipework and some large pump-like things which had been ad-hoc modified into all sorts of weird pieces of furniture or places to be… attached. There was a fetish gear and sex toy shop run by a grinning fox and a human guy in a leather dog hood. There were private rooms that looked like actual solitary confinement cells. It smelled like sex and spilled beer and piss.

At one end of the creepy pump room, a few other hybrids had collected on a raised ‘stage’ area, where they had a headstock, a whipping cross (I don’t know why it’s a cross, when it’s really the letter X but without a middle in this case), a couple small tables with various bottles on them, small public address speakers, and a rack of implements. Floggers.

The bull took me there.

In the time it took me to actually get from one end to the other, there were more people in the room. More animals. The humans from upstairs? Nowhere to be seen. I was the only one, sole skinbag in a sea of dangerously attired animal Men.

The deviant excitement of what was about to happen - I was going to be in a public demonstration! - masked a more serious emotion: terror. Hawk had raised my bar for handling intense fetish situations, but those had been private, intimate. This was a jeering room full of slightly to completely drunk hybrids.

Two wolves came up onto the stage, from either side of me. I froze up, even retracted in on myself. I looked between them. The gathering audience suddenly shut up, then laughed as the lupines grabbed for me. Wait, wait, but I couldn’t say anything.

“We are going to flog you, human,” one of the wolves said. He and his partner were attired identically, although he was ashen gray and the other had more smatterings of brown. Both had intense leather gear, riding boots and riding breeches, leather muscle shirts, long bracers, tight black gloves. “Are you good with that?”

“Yes, please,” I said, feeling meek but somehow belting it out for all the room to hear. They both got ahold of me and steered me up against the whipping cross. It was surprisingly comfortable, since I could lean forward into it and get a good pectoral stretch.

They turned music on, and throbbing electronica swelled into the room. It was kind of dark. This wasn’t just deep house music; it was darkwave. I think we negotiated a safeword; I frankly didn’t care. It wasn’t really going to get out of hand. They had to keep it mild enough to appease the whole audie-

WHACK!

That fucking hurt. “Ohhh, fuck you!” I yelled, and wrenched at the leather straps that kept me spread-eagled standing up. It really, really did. The thought of them doing it again didn’t hurt; it made a surge of pleasure go down my cock.

Both wolves had floggers. The gray one had a sturdy but flexible leather paddle. The timberwolf had a short single-tail flogger. They clutched each in a hand while helping rotate the whipping cross so it was perpendicular to the audience and I was staring right at a wall. The timberwolf stepped in front of me, then whipped me in the pecs with his whip. It wasn’t a cracking lash, and it wasn’t really that hard, but I still wasn’t expecting it and it immediately stung. A split second later, WHACK! Across my ass again, hard enough that the paddle strap hit my chaps leather.

On the whole, they weren’t at all rough enough. After those first sharp smacks, they seemed to back off, making more of a show of it than actually walloping me. My endorphin rush made me hungry, and I writhed into the cross restraints, trying to fuck my crotch forward so that whip wouldn’t go across my leather thighs but instead my bundled up cock and balls.

“You’re a greedy skinbag,” the gray wolf said, burnishing my ass with the paddle as I flexed it and tried to fuck the other wolf’s whip.

“C’mon, keep hitting me!” I complained. Back in my head somewhere, I thought, maybe I shouldn’t put up a fuss. Two wolves are beating me with stuff in public. That’s good enough. But it wasn’t good enough. Just one stiff drink and my fucking filter was shut off completely.

“You have an attitude,” the black wolf said, turned his whip around, and shoved the phallic handle into my mouth. It, along with the rest of the braided flogger, was made of fine leather. I tried to twist my head away from it at first, then made a fuss, then let it in. I don’t think he was expecting me to resist and actually shoved; it went all the way back in and gagged me. He pulled it out and I tried to suck on it to keep it in my mouth, but since it wasn’t entirely solid, that sucked some air in and the lupine pulled it back out. I kissed the butt end of it.

“Gag me. Stuff my mouth with something big and nasty,” I huffed. A couple of the people watching in the front row chuckled, turned to each other to say something private, or maybe they even yelled it - the music was pretty loud, but not aimed at me. “Or, or,” I looked around the room as much as I could, to the other ‘assistants’ or staff members, to the crowd, to the bouncers. “Put a fucking hood on my head. So I can’t see who’s doing what. So I can’t fucking-”

“You really have an attitude,” the black wolf said, and stopped petting my bare ass with the flogger. Both wolves started unstrapping me from the whipping cross, while a third ‘demonstrator’ perused the front crowd and selected that same slightly fat dog from upstairs to come up on stage.

“Wait, wait, what huh? Is that it?” I looked around again. More talking between people. A couple head-shakes. What was going on? Did I do something wrong? I felt a bolt of shame, and it wasn’t the cock-hardening kind that I’d so recently found I craved.

I had spent all of five minutes being flogged in front of a crowd, and now I was being replaced by someone - some thing, as he was a dog - more interesting. The only reason I didn’t throw a fit was that I was too dizzied by the crowd. The room had a tall ceiling, but the people and weird machinery made it close and hazardous. I didn’t get out of the way fast enough, though, and the wolves escorted me completely off stage.

Right into Hawk. “Hey, you forgot what I fuckin’ told you, huh?” He was in yet another outfit different from the ones I’d seen previously. Black leather fitted pants that were laced up the sides, but no fur spilled out of the varying gap. The laces were made of fine-gauge metal chain. Knee-high boots that were buckled up the front, like a pair of tall Doc Martens with straps instead of laces. I think the boot style was called a ‘grinder’. A leather torso harness that framed his abs and criss-crossed his chest, worn underneath a leather vest that looked like something out of a punk biker’s closet. Studded leather bracers. Black fingerless gloves. And the final touch: an officer’s cap.

“Wow, you look like a wolf Ron Halford or something,” I said, but took half a step back. Breakin’ the law, breakin’ the law…

He wasn’t alone. He had two bouncers with him, the bear from inside the front door and the buck from outside. Both were bigger than he was. Additionally, the buck looked like someone had transplanted a horsecock into his groin and stuffed it down his pant leg. Hawk didn’t really look like he needed the help, though. He’d just brought it along for the intimidation factor. “I’ll forget you just compared me to some limey old fart metalhead. I told you not to come here.”

I shrugged. “Well, you know, it was hard to resist, and uh, I wanted to get my money’s worth-”

He grabbed me by one of my pauldron-glove-thing’s front straps. The downside to a harness: it had a handle. “Obviously, you have an attitude problem, or else one of those guys-” He pointed a black clawnail over towards one of the non-participating staffers on the stage. “Wouldn’t have have radioed me about some disobedient human. I had a funny feeling inside, and it wasn’t just some wolf urges this time.” One of the staffers was helping the gray wolf pull a very long rubber glove onto his arm. The rottweiler, meanwhile, was tits up in a fuck sling and squirting lube all over his ass.

“Look, I just, I mean they were flogging me and I wanted more, so I piped up about it, what’s the-”

Hawk pulled me up so close that I could smell his breath. He smelled like a cigar and mint eucalyptus mouthwash. He grabbed into my chaps’ coin pocket and pulled out the locker key. “You,” Hawk pointed at the bear, “Throw him out back. You,” now the buck, to whom he threw the key, “Bring his stuff and throw it out back too.”

The bear grabbed onto me and put me in an arm lock behind my back. No no no no! “Hey you guys don’t have to throw me out, I mean I’ll walk out, you can just escort me?”

The crowd had evidently seen this before, as they parted into a gauntlet and gawked at me. I swung my head around, trying to see where Hawk was. He was stalking along behind the bear, shoulders up, tail in that weird sideways S that meant ‘wolf business’, I think. The gauntlet closed up pretty quickly, since up on stage, the dog who’d lapped up my snorted-out long island ice tea was now getting a whole gloved hand right up his ass like it was a mere finger.

Meanwhile, the bear pushed me back the way I came, and then further, through a “STAFF ONLY” door that led to a rough storage room and then a service elevator. Both Hawk and the Bear came in with me, and stood there, bear holding me in the armlock, Hawk looking like his usual smirking self.

“Uh, was that all part of the uh, show?”

“Nope,” Hawk said.

“So you’re really throwing me out.”

“Are you stupid or something? Oh yeah, I forgot, you like being stupid.” He did not reach for his gun, but I looked to see if he had it on him. He didn’t appear to. That made me feel a little bit safer.

After going up two floors very, whirringly slowly, the bear pushed me through a short hallway and almost up against a fire door with an alarm bar. Hawk stepped up, stuck a key into it, and turned.

The bear pulled me to the side, heaved his leg up and kicked the door open with a tremendous bang. Then, if that wasn’t enough to startle me, he literally threw me out the door. It was more of a punch that followed through, but I still toppled off my feet and hurtled against the ground. I managed to tuck up and roll a bit, but it hurt and covered me in grime. Not to mention the scrapes it put on my brand new leather gear. First blood, and now this.

I had the wind knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t even really sit up. I just stared up at the disgruntled bear and the enthusiastically enraged wolf. After a few moments of seeing whether I’d run away, Hawk stomped over towards me, reached into his vest, and pulled that fucking hunting pistol out of a holster I couldn’t see. Fuck. “You remember the deal, skinbag? Six shots, five of them empty chambers. That means two more and you’re done for on the third.”

He pointed the gun off to the side, absently waved it around, and Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. This was not part of the show downstairs.

“Oh, that got your attention? Your real fucking attention, not your fucking attention-seeking behavior? See, there’s a difference between basking in the attention that naturally comes your way, which I’m so fucking good at doing by now, and trying to get people to pay attention to you. That’s just kind of sleazy.”

He crouched down over me and shoved the gun in my face. No, against my face. Against my mouth. Into my mouth! It went all the way back to the back of my throat and I gagged. I twitched one of my hands, and then reached up to grab his wrist.

Hawk stepped on my wrist, and pulled the trigger again. Clack!

I started to see spots. Oh my god, he was going to fucking kill me. In order to keep from gagging again, I had to tense up like I was swallowing, and then I couldn’t breathe.

“Now. Let’s try this again. I don’t want you coming around here any more. You got that? I don’t think I even want to see you again. I had a bad feeling about you, but I kinda went with it, because you’re hot, and I have this kinda thing for humans that I ignore since there aren’t so fucking many of them around here, and I enjoy new and unique experiences.” While Hawk talked, the bear just stood there, arms crossed, boots shoulder-wide apart, a stern but somewhat bored look on his face. Like he’d seen this kind of crazy fucking shit before.

Hawk pulled the hammer back with his half-gloved finger, a little squeak of leather and a click. My gut crawled and churned with a sensation that felt a lot like someone had grabbed my dick and rubbed the head very hard, the squealing discomfort of a banged elbow. I was seriously going to die.

“I think you’re fucked up. But maybe, I’ll be lucky, and you won’t be too fucked up. So what’ll it be?” Then he slowly put the hammer back down and pulled the gun out of my mouth.

I stared up at the dark sky above the alleyway. I could see clouds going past.

“Oh, course you’re fuckin’ his mouth with a gun,” someone said, a voice I’d heard only a few words of. The buck, who had the most flagrant redneck Louisiana accent I’d ever heard. He’d returned with my duffel bag, unzipped it, and set it down. “Like you ain’t got ‘nuff dick already.”

“Hey, why don’t you go back inside before you trip someone?” Hawk said, giving the buck a flippant look. Then he turned his attention back to me, staring me down as he stood up and off my wrist. My hand started to throb as blood rushed back in. “Get up. Put your fucking street shit back on. You can’t walk around town with your pecs sticking out of that leather shit. Someone’ll do the wrong thing to you.”

The buck snorted with an impressive sound, like some high-pressured air thing popping off and hissing around. Then he turned and stormed back inside. Hawk, meanwhile, holstered his sidearm and crossed his bracered arms in front of his chest.

I sat up and started to put my clothes back on. I didn’t bother taking anything off first; my new leather outfit was sleek enough that I could get everything on atop it. Fun was no longer part of any equation. I had, apparently, legitimately fucked up. And Hawk was doing the worst thing possible for someone in my state. He was being seriously stern, instead of just roughing me up. I wanted that. I needed that. That’s why I’d come out to the club in the first place.

Throughout all of this, I kept my eyes off Hawk, away from even his boot toes or the tip of his tail, definitely not making any eye contact.

“Good. No more stupid things, huh? Now get out of here,” the wolf growled, and I turned to leave, bag in hand. I got about ten feet when I realized something was very wrong. I patted my right thigh. Nothing, except pants and my leg.

“You stole my fucking wallet!” I hissed, then turned back and dropped the bag, then stormed after Hawk. While I’d been avoiding him, he’d nicked it out of my pants. He pulled it out of his vest and held it up high. Since he was taller than me, I couldn’t reach it.

“Nuh-uh, you gotta do somethin’ for me.” Then he reached into his vest. I squealed and tried jumping for the wallet, but he backed up and withdrew… some little white thing. “Remember this?”

“What the fuck is that? I don’t know, is it a tampon? Are you saying I’m a pussy?” I had a vague idea that it was not a tampon.

“You really are fuckin’ crazy, you know that? At first, I thought, this is a hot guy, you know, you were in that hood kneeling there in a hotel room, for me to come and throat-fuck. That was a head-trip. What if you were some psycho? Or just ugly?” He uncapped the thing and came at me with it.

“Look, I got outta your stupid club, alright? And you’ve humiliated me for the-” I had to think both in my anger and because I actually had to tally our encounters, “Fifth time.” I tried to fight him off, but not very hard. I knew what it was. That tampon could be holding one of two things and both of them were going to fuck me the hell up.

Hawk managed to grab me and faced me away, holding me around the chest. He was hard as a rock against my ass. I squeezed at his cock and he growled, then roughed me up a little harder as he shoved the thing against my nose. “But, you know, after you told me that thing about how those wolves that jumped your mommy should have jumped you instead, I thought, great. Another one. So here’s the deal.” He squeezed the end of the thing, and it sprayed my nose like an allergy spray. “You don’t come back to my club. You don’t try to talk to me. You especially don’t fucking come after me. And I won’t give you any more shit with my big, overcompensating handgun.”

“You ha-have a really nice cock,” I said, breath catching not because I was scared, but because the stuff he’d sprayed into my nose tickled and made me almost cough, then sneeze. It was not poppers. It was that fiendish Erosene stuff again. My nose felt like I’d put one of those cough drops inside of it.

“No shit. Now get the hell out of here. Go find some fucking wolf to fuck you up the right way, ‘cuz I’m gonna do it all wrong.” He threw my wallet in my face.

I turned and hurried out of the alleyway. I crossed the street in between cars, then headed for another alley. Not for any particular reason, except I knew what was coming. I’d just about made it in there when the sexual rush hit me. It’s not that I didn’t remember where I was and just wandered aimlessly for the next ten minutes; it’s that I could only think of one thing, and that was finishing what those wolves at the club had started.

I came to a bit of my senses and realized that yes, I had intentionally wandered into the worst depths of Lainsville. It’s generally a decent town, but everywhere has somewhere that just fucking sucks. This was that somewhere. Deep in the mess of the industrial parks, there was no housing. Next to the industrial parks, there was housing no one wanted to live in. By the looks of the street, there were abandoned row houses and walk-up apartments, a few even burnt out. A reminder that the New Renaissance had its own victims, or some historical bullshit.

I didn’t know exactly where I was, but that was fine. I just needed to look like I didn’t belong, had something to steal, and-or was someone who deserved being a punching bag for social disenfranchisement.

Standing in one place didn’t work, but walking did. I turned a corner and immediately spotted some unsavory-looking people on the other side of the street. They were looking around too much, which in my limited experience, meant that they were looking for something.

They were also wolves. Leave it to humanity to fear an animal so much that they domesticate it into man’s best friend; when almost everyone had to become animal-people, what did a lot of them choose? The same vicious beasts.

I proceeded forward on my side of the street, checking that my bag was still there, that my wallet was still there, that my phone and keys were still there. Yes, all my expensive items were still on my person. The two wolves - both male, both dressed more rakishly than the surroundings deserved - kept coming towards me.

They split up, one crossing the street in front of me, one continuing on until he was past me, then crossing as well. Now they were on my street. Garden-variety mutt grey wolves, none of the white or black pure colors like the one who’d just kicked me out of his club and dosed me with an aphrodisiac.

I couldn’t think of anything else but the two approaching wolves. Part of me was legitimately terrified, but the head-rush of the Erosene pounded that fear into submission and just let it fuel my forced arousal. I’m sure the wolves could smell me. I’m sure they could see my hardon in my pants. They could tell I dressed too fancy - even in just jeans and a shirt - for the area. I couldn’t tell what group they belonged to. They didn’t have that ostentatious oversized clothing and unlaced workboots of the gang banger community, nor the fancy dress of the traditional mafia. Maybe they were sports bros? They moved like they were intoxicated, but not trashed, loose but very intent on zeroing in on me.

Finally, I couldn’t take it any more. If I didn’t do something, they would meet up with me in the middle right on the open street. There wasn’t anyone else around to care, but that was too much. I decided to abort my plan and duck into an alleyway.

One of them lunged and grabbed for my bag; that spun me around right into a fist to the face. I reeled back and staggered, clutching at my face, bag discarded into their grip. One of them took it; the other tackled me and we struggled our way down the alley.

“Lookit this faggot! He don’t know where he is,” that one said, eventually crowding me behind a dumpster. I held my arms up so he wouldn’t hit me in the face again; he whipped me around and bodychecked me into the wall. Burning pain erupted from my face.

“Shit’s empty,” Wolf Two said, and sounded irate as he fussed with my bag.

Wolf One got my wallet out of my pants and went through it. I had started out the night with some cash; he took it and pocketed it. It wasn’t very much. I made some kind of sound and he abruptly dropped my wallet and smashed my head against the wall again. “Shut the fuck up! You’re a faggot, aren’t you? You think we’re gonna make puppy eyes at you and lick your dick or somethin’?”

“Lemme go, just take my money,” I mumbled.

“Shut up, shut up!”

He was practically foaming at the mouth and started punching and kicking me until I sank down against the wall, curled up into a protective ball. I stayed curled, and he stopped beating me up. My foremost thought was, holy shit, I’ve really fucked up this time. But it was mixed horribly with, this is so unbelievably hot, and it wasn’t just the sexual delirium of the Erosene, which was starting to wane anyway.

“Hey, fuckin’ help me, hold him down or something,” Wolf One hissed, and his friend came over.

“I dunno man, I think this guy’s actually a f-”

“No fucking shit, alright? Hold him down!”

You probably think that you would fight back if someone started doing something awful to you. Maybe you would. Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d be too stunned or paralyzed. Maybe you’d just wait and see if they’ll go away. Maybe you’d play dead. I played dead, but only because the Erosene made me want to just take whatever happened to me.

Wolf Two held me down, while Wolf One swore under his breath and patted himself down, then pulled something out. A condom. Then Wolf One got his cock out. Black, uncut, but with a big PA. This made Wolf Two pause. “Hey man, what the fuck’s up with that shit on your dick?”

“Feels good and shut up or I’m gonna shove your face up his fucking asshole!” Wolf One snarled again, tried to tear the condom open with his fingers, then gave up and used his teeth. It was slimy and black with a nipple tip, and he rolled it on. It didn’t quite make it all the way to the base and it was tight. Hawk’s cock was probably a little bigger, though. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You want a big fucking cock up your faggot asshole,” Wolf One growled at me, drooling all over himself. Maybe he was on the same stuff I was.

Wolf Two went back to haphazardly restraining me, which wasn’t too hard. I just couldn’t put up a real fight. Wolves were attacking; I had to take it.

“C’mon, take his pants down, shithead,” Wolf One said, and punched Wolf Two who growled but complied. I struggled as he grabbed around front, but it just made him pop the jeans fly easier. He got them down to my thighs, as far as they’d go, being kind of tight with the leather chaps on beneath. “Whoa! Lookit this shit! He’s fuckin’ asking for it!”

Then he was on me and in me, and it hurt. Even Hawk, as rough as he was, had fooled around with me enough and buttered me up. This was sudden - I didn’t even realize what was going on until after the thick crown of his dickhead pushed inside. I yelled and Wolf Two pushed my face into the concrete floor of the alley to shut me up.

After a few moments, It still hurt, but not tragic, emergency-room injury hurt. Burn, ache, cramp, but it also felt so good, even with that stuff wearing off. This wasn’t Hawk in all his unpredictable wolf-ness going after me. These two were total strangers, two aggressive street punks, two confused horrible wolves. In his urgency, Wolf One grabbed my shoulders and held me down while he humped into me, and as he moved forward, his cock angled down inside and hit me in the prostate.

“Go through his fucking shit already!” Wolf One barked at his friend.

Wolf Two looked confused and let go of me, then fussed with my bag. “Man, I already said it’s empty, you got his fucking wallet-”

Wolf One was already ignoring him as he pounded into me. That condom was slippery enough that I stayed uninjured, at least up the ass. Instead, I was going to cum. I started breathing harder, faster, groaning and squirming under his grip. I struggled hard enough, trying to pull off, and Wolf One punched me in the back of the head, bashing my mouth into the concrete and splitting the inside of my lower lip. I tasted blood and pushed it out of my mouth, all over my face.

I was going to cum, I was going to cum, I was going to cum-

“Hey!” Someone yelled, and Wolf One stopped thrusting. I quivered and tensed uncontrollably. I couldn’t see who was yelling. “Hey what the fuck are you doing to him?!”

“Jesus fucking shit,” Wolf Two said, and dropped my bag. Wolf One started thrusting again, and I went over the edge. “Whoa, what the fuck dude? This guy’s a real faggot, look at him, seriously bro, fuckin’ look!” Wolf Two punched Wolf One and wrestled him off me. I rolled to the side, spurting seed all over my chest.

Clack. But not the clack of Hawk’s gun. A different gun-clack.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Wolf Two yelped, and then the two of them ran off down the alleyway, leaving me to lie there in a puddle of my own semen and blood and whatever else was all over the alley floor. Nothing hurt. Warm afterglow ran through me and I closed my eyes.

“-alright? Hey man, hey, come around, hey, that’s it,” the same urgent voice from before. I saw the ground, then a battered parked car. I felt like I had to sneeze and held up my hand, but stopped when I saw that it was streaked with blood and more was dripping down onto it. I tried to stand up and move, but then all the pain I hadn’t felt before rushed back in and I sat down on my ass with a thud. “Okay, okay, I’m gonna call 911…”

I reached out and weakly swatted the samaritan’s hand. “No, no, I’m fine.”

The guy laughed nervously. “I’m pretty sure you’re not fine.” He was perhaps middle aged, mildly handsome, human, and dressed shabby-chic. “I’m guessing you have a broken nose, a few cuts, your eye’s swelling shut, and you coughed when I nudged you in the ribs. And… and those guys… those wolves... “

I hadn’t passed out due to a head injury. It must’ve been some momentary lapse. I could remember everything, even though it felt like it had happened so fast. Delirious, wandering, desperate, BAM. I sighed. “Finally.”

“Finally? Finally what?”

I tried to stand again. I could indeed stand, and only a few more drops of blood fell out of my nose. Half of me felt like it had been hit by a truck, and when I tensed up just right, my asshole cramped up like I had an overwrought case of hemorrhoids. “Nevermind.”

“Seriously, I think, I mean, those guys just… for real…” The guy couldn’t seem to quite say what he wanted to. He also had a gun sticking out of his pocket.

“Put that away, if the cops show up or something,” I pointed. “Look. I wandered over here because, because, because I have a really bad habit now. A bad fixation. I got what I was looking for. So, just get outta here, alright?” The more awareness returned, the more I felt profoundly stupid and irritated that I had to talk to someone. “Wait, why’d you even bother to do anything? People die out here and they just get left on the ground.”

The guy laughed, this time a bit less nervously. “Now that’s pushing it. And I didn’t want to see some wolves wreck some young punk. What’s wrong with that?”

He looked familiar, and I squinted. With both eyes. “You look familiar.”

He turned red but smiled. “Uh, well, it’d be weird if you recognized me but I guess I’ve done some interviews. You won’t believe me if I tell you.” He then took his shirt off, took his undershirt off, and handed it over to me. “We should get you cleaned up, if you’re not gonna go to the hospital.”

I mopped my face with the shirt. It stung and burned. Then I wiped my spunk off my chest. “I’m sure you wouldn’t believe I just came from some wolves jumping my ass, so we’re probably even.”

“They were kinda lame, they didn’t even steal your stuff,” the guy said, and peered into my bag. Amazingly, my gear was still inside and not strewn all over. “I mean, it’s probably worth something, at least to someone. I know people who would pay over list price for all this leather gear.”

It was my turn to laugh, and then cough explosively. “Really.”

“Yep. You’re looking at the CEO and head producer of Underworld Video.”

Underworld Video. Underworld Video. “Oh.” I snorted and broke out in another coughing fit. “Oh! No way.”

“Yes way. What luck, huh? I mean, normally, I’d be filming that kind of action, although with a full set of releases, compensation, a first-aid responder…”

“I could use some of that last one right now,” I joked. And coughed.

“Yeah, let’s uh, a shoot’s finishing up so I can take you back and get you cleaned up.”

---

Underworld was nearby, at the edge of Bad Town, where there were legitimate industrial businesses. At first glance, it was an old warehouse, old enough to be historical. There was even a plaque stating that the building was from the 1800’s. It was old enough that it probably had spent a hundred years with only humans toiling and sweating inside.

Outside, plaque-y old building.

Inside, a cross between whatever the building had been before Underworld bought it, and sex. Underworld ran a website and a magazine. Despite the implosion of print journalism, it was still possible to distribute insane sideways filth in sex shops, and nothing was more insane or sideways than Underworld. Even the straight guys I used to hang out with in that punkry band would gawk at it when we’d stop at a Lion’s Den. One of them made a bingo game out of what weird shit we’d see in it.

“A bingo game, huh? You ever win?” Clark said. Clark Rally. What a weird name.

A shoot was indeed finishing up, and there was indeed a medic, who was also one of the grips. He was asian, with highlighted spiked hair, and a muscle-tee that said, “Kung Fu Grip” and had an action figure’s plastic toy hand on it. He was cleaning me off with betadine. “Tell me why your last name’s spelled like a road race.”

Clark laughed. “Oh, that’s from a couple generations back. It’s supposed to be Raleigh, like the town in North Carolina, but my great-grandfather was illiterate. Or just weird. Your turn.”

I squinted and it felt like my face was on fire again. It hurt, but it also made me feel alive. “Let’s see. Football gear, business suit, mud, duct tape.”

“I remember that! The photog we sent tried to strangle me when he got back, because he got all muddy. He’s this insane cat - I mean cat, cougar, not jive cat - who I wouldn’t work with because he’s fucking insane, except he’s the best fetish photographer since Mapplethorpe. All this shit?” Clark gestured around the big lobby space at massive blowups of completely insane situations. Torture, brainwashing, fluid play, even some sort of satanic ritual, all rendered in eyeball-popping flashy photography. “That guy. Jay, how’s he look?”

“Fine, just banged up. Bruises and cuts. You get your head slammed hard enough you forgot anything?”

I played back the entire situation. “There was just one short moment, but uh, I think I just kind of browned out. Like when you cum really hard and nod off to sleep instead of getting a kleenex.”

Jay looked at me with a head-cock that said, “Girl, really?” Then he shrugged. “I’ll refrain from offering a medical opinion and say you oughta go to your real doctor tomorrow, how’s that sound?” Then he packed his things up.

“So, I’ve got an idea. If you really like what you said you like, how about you get paid for it?” Clark said, and paced while he talked. A few other people walked past him, apparently on the way home. He addressed each of them. Only a couple were human.

“You want to film me getting attacked by wolves.”

“Exactly.”

“Like attacked how far? I mean beat up for real? Or just.. situations?”

“Well,” Clark said, and made a few odd facial expressions. The more I saw him, the more he looked like he was in the middle of a manic episode. “However far you want to let it go. We can put blood in a video, we just need to do aftercare shots and stuff like that.”

The desperate voices in my head said, Yes Yes Yes! The sane voices in my head said Maybe You Shouldn’t Indulge This Interest. The accountant voice in my head said, You Think Your Day Job Is Boring And Soulless. “I’ve never been in a porn.”

“There are two kinds of porn. Weird porn, that looks amateurish and is focused on the fetish specifically. Not a lot of acting there, but we’ll try to get people to play up anything they can play up. And the usual sort of hardcore porn, where everything is up to eleven. We don’t really do much of that. We do truck driver inflation crossdressing porn.”

After a long period of no one leaving, a final guy stalked into the lobby. He wore a motorcycle jacket, black jeans, harness boots, fingerless gloves, and a fur coat. The living kind. At first glance, he was a wolf, but there were several things wrong. No real mane ruff for a start, and his ears were too tall.

“Hey, Rex, c’mere a second,” Clark said to the canine, then turned to me. “Wanna do an audition? It’s easy. Rex here will fuck your mouth, and you suck him until he cums. I’ll watch.”

“Is this an audition or are you just horny?”

“Oh, I’m asexual, I don’t fuck people and I jerk off by myself.”

I gave him a look. Rex helpfully chimed in. “He ain’t kidding, this guy’s a voyeur or somethin’ but he never gets involved or jacks it in the bathroom here even! I’m always sniffin’ him to try an’ catch him but no can do.” Rex had a really strong Boston accent, but also talked like he was mostly stupid.

“Are you only part wolf?” I looked up at Rex.

“Half wolf, half German Shepherd. Which is funny ‘cuz I’m Greek, not German, but whatever.” He took out his dick like he was going to go to the bathroom. I shrank back. “Whoa, easy there.”

“Don’t pee on me. I mean, not right now. Bruce Lee here just finished cleaning me up.”

Jay gave me a rotten look. I shrugged. Rex made a gesture my way, then the two of them nodded and Rex lunged. He grabbed me by the shirt and shoved me off my ass and onto the floor. Then, despite him wearing biker boots on a polished hard floor, he scooted me along until he could shove my face into a potted plant. It wasn’t a real potted plant, so there wasn’t real dirt in it.

“I thought you were gonna fuck my mouth!”

“Yeah, but then you made a stupid joke,” he said, pulled me back from the plant, and let go of my shirt. I tried to prop me up and he punched me. I turned my head at the last second, so it mostly stunned me and I went back down. Rex hopped atop me. “C’mon, anyone can suck a dick, but how many guys can take a punch on purpose? It’s not that stupid movie where the guy beats himself up because he’s a loser. It fuckin’ hurts, don’t it?” I nodded, and he closed in on me with his cock. Black, uncut, but also not very human. The head was scalloped and pointed, and it swelled severely at the base before narrowing back to his furry groin. “How about I cum in your mouth, then you spit it out and I lick it up while it drools out?”

“Okay su-”

He hit me again, more than a slap but less than a punch, a hard cuff across the face. When I winced, he grabbed my jaw and pursed my lips apart, then stuffed his cock in. “You better be glad I didn’t cum yet or your mouth’d go fuckin’ raw. I’m just pickin’ up my paycheck. Hah!” He tasted like he hadn’t showered. Not really in the good way; he’d fucked someone within the last day or so.

I started to slurp and suck on his shaft, and he rewarded me by whacking me across the face, an action that wasn’t even a slap or a punch but just an instinctive lash-out and hit. I recoiled but started sucking again.

“Hah! Lookit this guy! That was a bite test, if he bit me, I’d break his neck.”

Clark finally spoke up. “Let me remind Rex, and everyone, that we don’t make snuff films.”

Rex didn’t seem to care; he was only concerned with getting off in my mouth and hammered it hard enough that I just tensed up and let him at it. He went all the way to the back and then a little further; I only gagged the first few times. After the first few, I just felt like my throat was going to break open.

The wolf-dog grabbed my throat and choked me, then made his own gagging noise as he started spraying into my mouth. Almost as fast, he pulled out and kept jacking off, spurting seed through my open lips until it hit my chin, then just dribbled out of his shaft.

I did exactly what he said; I started pushing it out of my mouth so it slopped over my lip.

“Oh fuck, he’s doin’ it!” he laughed and pointed, then got down and hungrily slurped up the mess as I shoveled it and some spit right out of my mouth. Clark and Jay winced, but I just kept at it. “Oh fuuuck, guess I hit him kinda hard, and you said he got beat up before here or something? You’re a fuckin’ mess!” he laughed, then hit me on the back with a smack and walked off as he tucked his cock back in. He completely ignored the gathering as he walked away.

I grunted. Aside from the shock value, I felt a strange wave of bliss, a post-orgasmic kind of shudder. I looked down; no more wetness in my pants. An existential kind of orgasm. Yes, this was what I wanted… except my mouth tasted like bleach and pennies. I spat on the floor. It was pink. That must have been why Clark and his cameraman looked so suddenly put off.

I gave them two thumbs up.

---

Pt. 4 -- Ruffed Up

“You sure you wanna do this?” Asked the sort-of-wolf. “And where’s the fucking camera guy? I thought they said he was fucking top shit.” He was a sort-of-wolf because he was half German Shepherd. It was kind of hard to tell, except for the ears. He had big ears, too big for a wolf. He looked like a biker thug, black leather jacket, jeans, roughed-up boots. He couldn’t stay still.

I nodded. “Yeah, I can totally do this. It’s awesome. Didn’t you see the reel I turned in?”

Rex was his name, and he looked up, then lit up with a big, toothy wolfish grin. “Oh yeah! Yeah! Like that Fight Club movie! You beat the fucking shit out of yourself! That’s intense. Is that how you jerk off?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes. So anyway, you know, don’t really break me. Like don’t shove my face through glass or anything.”

“Trust me, I know how to fuckin’ fight. I used to do MMA. Got kinda pushed out of it by uh, some problems.”

We were in an abandoned medical clinic. I think it was even an abortion clinic, although there wasn’t anything to really indicate that any more. Much of the signage had been taken down or defaced beyond recognition. Some of the medical equipment was missing, while the entire waiting room full of chairs and magazines was untouched.

“Where’s the fucking camera fuck, god dammnit!” Rex started stomping around, and kicked a shoddy chair out of the way. I started wondering if maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I’d seen Rex in a few porn films already; he was one of Underworld’s star performers, although he downplayed it by claiming that he really just needed a job and fucking was easy. Like Hawk, he acted like he was someone else all the time, but unlike Hawk, Rex’s brand of alpha male behavior was more like an adult-sized puppy. And, according to the producer we were both working with, Rex would literally do anything asked of him without making a fuss.

A door slammed somewhere else in the facility and someone hurried down the hall and into the waiting room. A red fox in jeans, tennis shoes, and a digital camera with a big ring hot-light around the lens. “Okay okay, I’m here, don’t eat me!” He said, and started fussing with his camera. “By the way, I’m Todd, nice to meet you…” The fox came up to me for a handshake.

“Ohhhh, fuckin’ Todd, this is gonna be great!” Rex guffawed, then kept moving between his feet.

“Okay, I’m rolling, if you guys wanna do any-”

Rex punched me. A real punch. A serious, massive punch. I crumpled down and he toppled me over a chair, then went for another one. Did it hurt? Fuck yeah, both of them left me dazed.

But that’s what I get.