Out of Hand
The door didn't want to open. That alone would have been a decent enough excuse to go home, had the heavy wooden door not creaked open when someone from inside leaned their weight against it to make their exit, going so far as to politely hold the door open for the fox to make his entrance. He coughed on cigar smoke that wafted in a dirty haze over the tavern, most of it drifting over from the bar area where a clutch of bodies had wrapped itself around a TV to watch and curse the local high school football team. The lights were dimmed to combat the dull glow of the old TV, and the fox had stumble around for a moment while his adjusted to the smoky darkness. He bumped into a waitress and frantically checked his expensive blue button-down shirt for stains, finding only a few drops on the silky blue tie his wife had bought him last father's day.
It was hot. No one was huddled together for lack of warmth, certainly. Space was limited, but scanning the room, the fox couldn't recognize the face he was looking for. Maybe he didn't actually work here? Maybe he's changed a bit from high school? It hadn't been that long, and he recognized a few of his other old classmates. His freshman year gym partner was behind the bar serving drinks. The class valedictorian was hustling pool in the back. He wondered if they recognized him, too. He definitely hadn't grown any since high school, so maybe no one saw him lost in the crowd. Maybe they only saw him as another suit with a middle-management job, wandering into the wrong place by accident. His insecurity tugged at him suddenly with that thought.
He wanted to leave. His stomach churned in an uneasy mix of tension and acrid air, and the intermittent jeers from the bar made him wince. He felt a needling sensation in his gut, but he chased it. He straightened his back and his tie and smoothed the pleats of his dress pants, all disheveled after the drive straight from another late night at work. He breathed deep, despite the smoke, and let out a defiant huff. He was sorting the papers of his mind, putting them back in an orderly stack with a lead paperweight on top. He would still have his dignity afterwards. There was no shame in any of this. He had to find the wolf that'd been worming through his life for the last ten years.
A waitress pointed out a lone wolf sitting to himself at a table in the back. He was sucking on a cigar, staring blankly at nothing, a barbaric aura around him that cut into the fox's halo of apprehension. The fox sunk back a few steps. The wolf was even bigger than he had been in high school. Just as tall, of course, but wider. Muscles that were precocious in adolescence were grown to full maturity and were straining the fabric of the tight black top squeezed around the wolf's body. He didn't look any brighter. His fur looked as if it had been stained brown, and his eyes were drains where light didn't escape. He was slouched back in his chair, leaning it back onto two legs, looking up at the ceiling as if it interested him much more than anything found on the floor of the bar. He exhaled smoke without moving the cigar from his gritted teeth, and wafts of it floated over to the fox and filled his nose. It was distinct from the rest of the barroom smoke. It was more pungent. It made his eyes water.
A moment's trepidation was broken by the wolf shouting over to the fox to take a seat. There hadn't been any indication that the brawny fellow had so much as seen him standing there twisting his tie in his paws, but being called to now, the fox could only immediately take a seat across the small table from the wolf. The wolf learned the fox remembered him, but had to admit his own memory hadn't been quite so keen.
"You-" the fox blushed and cleared his throat, looking down at a half-empty bowl of peanuts, "You used to bully me a lot in high school."
"I used ta' bully a lotta people. A lotta 'em are at the bar over there. You know it's funny, after ten years when they see me they always expect an apology or something. But look at you, you gotta tie, you got some nice pants on ya, you must be doing pretty goddamn well for ya'self."
"Well I didn't c-c-come for an a-apology," the fox stuttered. He hadn't stuttered since high school. "I came for, well, I..." He steeled himself. "Do you remember Sarah White?"
The wolf chortled in that raspy voice, puffing another cloud in the fox's direction, a wry grin spreading across his face to clear any ambiguity when he said, "Can't say I knew her intimately, but I know a few guys here who did."
The fox's head swelled with a sudden rush of lusty agony. He drummed his fingers on the table in restrained anxiousness, calming himself. This was all in the plan. It may feel weird, but this is all a part of the plan. He had a hold of the situation. He had everything in his grasp, though he hadn't expected the wolf to be such a foreboding figure. Nostalgia had softened the edges a little in his mind, and now the full recollection of just how brash the wolf had been before came flooding back to him. But it was still all in his grasp, and closer than ever before.
"Well, she's, uh, my wife now."
"Oh," the wolf said, as if he'd already forgotten what he'd said only seconds earlier. Or, more like he hadn't noticed he'd said it in the first place. He took a swig of beer. "You did good, I'd fuck 'er."
The fox swallowed, but it didn't make it past the lump in his throat. This was already moving a little quickly. He suddenly felt very small, very hot... Very much where he wanted to be. He burned inside, his head full of helium, having trouble even seeing straight. He felt light.
"That- that- that's interesting, you see, she uh-" he swallowed his words. He beat himself, trying to force his tongue to make the sounds, but his body rejecting his desires.
"What?" The wolf ordered brusquely, chewing his cigar. He squared himself to the fox, in the way he used to intimidate the same diminutive species back in high school, showing his broad chest and muscular arms. The fox wheezed when he saw them, thinking about the abuse those same arms delivered back in high school. The arms that planted the seed of hunger for dominance in him that had infested his soul since. He had always felt the need to be shown his place, an incurable desire to be degraded and used. And it was all the wolf's doing. The fox didn't quite realize it; it was too subtle to be truly detected, but it was there. Every time he closed his eyes and dreamed of being bound and spanked, it was the wolf's doing. Every time he begged his wife to peg him, it was the wolf's doing. Every time he panted at a woman's feet, prone before her, pleading to be exploited, it was all thanks to those two years of high school when the wolf ingrained in him that overwhelming need for debasement. Neither knew this, but it soaked them regardless. The wolf would never even know how responsible he was for the fox's continued humiliation even beyond high school, but he was about to learn his responsibility for continuing it even further.
"What?" The wolf demanded again.
"She-..." he gulped. "She still thinks about you."
The wolf grunted, non-committal. He still didn't get it. "Really now? Ain't that a thing, after all these years," the wolf reflected. "Maybe I'll have to stop in some day and give your wife a visit." He winked and chuckled crudely, nudging the fox's shoulder from across the table. The fox stammered and again felt a queer rush.
"Oh, yes, um," the fox loosened his tie a little, baking in the shirt that was beginning to soak in his sweat. "In a way, that's why I'm here. She'd love, erm, she'd enjoy it if you..." The words caught in his throat.
"Quit spittin' all over the table and just say it, fer cryin' out loud."
"She'd like for you to..."
The wolf's eyebrow rose.
"Visit her," the fox spit out, italicizing it and leaving the words, much less vaguely than he had intended, hanging there.
"Visit her."
"Visit... her. Yes," the pause again denied the fox of his desire to keep the real discussion of the matter private until they could possible talk in a more secluded spot. He blushed too deeply and found spot below the table to stare it. It just happened to be the bulge in his pants.
The wolf leaned in close and absent-mindedly exhaled a stream smoke of into the fox's face. He smiled, showing his pointy pearls. He leaned in next to the fox, his grinning muzzle right next to the fox's ear. His voice gained a tenor the fox recognized immediately. "Your wife wants me to fuck her."
The fox shook at the words as if they're penetrated him. He felt as if he was shrinking into his seat, the wolf getting larger with each passing second. He didn't say a word, but the wolf continued.
"She had 'nuff of your little pecker and now she's been begging you to bring in the big dogs? That how it is, eh?"
The fox's chin threatened to break his ribs as it sunk further and further into his chest. He still stared at the same spot, the bulge growing bigger. He worried someone might see it. He worried the wolf might see it. He wanted to tuck it under his belt and hide it, but he know that would only draw attention to himself. So he simply forced himself to stare at the helpless tent in his pants while the wolf spoke of fucking his wife. He managed a feeble nod to the wolf's question.
"Just like ooooooold times, right buddy?"
That one stung, more than he'd expected. The fox even whimpered, painful memories of a woman on his arm Tuesday, on the wolf's Thursday. Then the inside of a locker. Then torn papers. Then gym class. Oh, gym class, all four years with the same wolf who only got bigger every year -- someone in scheduling must have hated him. He knew had had earned it, though. The fox had hit puberty earlier than all the other boys, and for a few short, glorious years he was the big dog. The wolf he remembered being a runt and one o the easier targets. Then the wolf grew, too. He didn't stop growing. Soon the fox was just another target for a vengeful bully.
"Right up the ass, maybe, ohhhh, I'll stretch her wide open," the wolf was speaking loudly now, boastfully. It reverberated in the fox's ear, echoed inside him, images immediately coming to mind. Sarah bent over the table, shouting in pain, the husky wolf behind her drilling with senseless vigor. He whined low to himself, still staring at the bulge in his pants, at the center of which was a small wet circle. He nodded again.
"And you'll be right there watching me," he sneered, his voice raspy and his breath stinking of cigar smoke. The fox's muzzle suddenly shot up, meeting the wolf's yellow eyes with his.
"I never said that! I never-" the fox realized he was shouting, and lowered his voice, "I never said I wanted to watch!"
"But you're gonna."
"But-"
"But you're going to," the wolf said much more sternly. Any smile, sadistic or otherwise, disappeared.
"...O-of course," the fox mumbled, almost too quietly to hear.
The wolf's smile returned, triumphant now. "Manny!" he suddenly yelled in the direction of the bar. "Manny! Mind if I cut out early tonight? I'm working on a deal. What? This guy wants me to fuck his wife! What?" He shouted louder, enunciating each syllable while indicating the one he meant, "I said this guy wants me to fuck his wife! You don't mind? Ok!" Laughter echoed over the sounds of the TV, derisive, mocking, whether or not they thought the wolf was serious.
The fox wanted to melt into his seat. His whole body felt like jelly. He didn't even want to turn to see the eyes staring at him. He didn't even want to try and play it off as a joke. He just wanted to sink under the table and be alone with himself and his dick, which stood firm in spite of his horror. He couldn't have felt any anger toward the wolf. He almost felt like he should try, but too powerful was the indescribable and sublime sensation washing over him. It was a discomforting feeling, but he didn't suppress it. Rather, he fed it, forcing himself to think of all the eyes trained on him right now, them, too, thinking of the things that wolf would be doing to his wife. Now they were all a part of it, too. The room was filled with it. His shame may as well have been the smoke in the air, which seemed to have permeated him, made all his fur stink with it.
The wolf's paw wrapped around him, grabbing him by the fur on the back of his head and pulling him in close. He wasn't making an effort to whisper now, and a few curious parties from the bar had begun to congregate around them. The fox shut his eyes. He wished for a tablecloth and thanked God there was no tablecloth. Everyone could see. Everyone could tell. The wolf went on.
"You're gonna watch. And you're gonna help. While I'm fucking her you're going to eat my ass, lick my balls, whatever. Then after I cum inside her you're gonna suck everything out or risk having a little one a'me pattering around your nice little home."
It was suffocating. He breathed deep, his frail chest heaving under his damp shirt. He wondered if his newfound audience could hear, and if they knew what he was nodding his head to. He wanted to cry. He wanted to tear his pants off. His dick was straining against the cotton fabric and his balls hurt. He wanted to give the wolf his contact number, drive home finally, and be pegged by his wife. He felt so embarrassed that he was being handled by this wolf, people recognized him, he was sure of it. People saw him at the grocery story. People came into his office. They knew his name, they remembered him from class. And now here they saw that same fox, ears back, whimpering and shaking, nodding to another man's wishes to fuck his wife raw. All while a steadily growing wet circle soaked his pants.
Finally he spoke. He didn't move his head, he didn't open his eyes. This words were barely audible and the wolf had to ask him to speak up. "I... I thought I was just going to watch or w-wait. I didn't think I was going to have to do anything more than watch, or sit in another room and wait." He felt numb.
"Well now what fun is fucking another man's wife if he's not eating your ass, too? Hell, I know you're straight, that's what makes it fun! With your tongue deep in my ass I'm sure I'll be able to build up a load big enough to fill up that pussy to the brim."
The fox throat was dry. His licked his lips and fought back a gag reflex. Eating out. That's what they made the little guys do to the big guys in prison. But even then, their wives were still safe at home, unaware of what was happening to their man. He would be right there, only feet away while she was plowed by another man.
"Then, like I say," the wolf's lips pressed against his ears, as if he was telling an intimate secret, "You're gonna eat every drop of my cum out of that bitch while she cleans off my dick. And you'll tell me how much you love it."
It was too much. The fox convulsed in his chair, his foot tapping wildly against the floor as he tried to collect himself, straining his eyes shut against the images he suddenly wanted out of his head but couldn't be put away. It was all too much. It was more than he'd expected, and it was affecting him in a way he'd never felt before or could have prepared for. His lower body tingled, his dick pulsed. Everyone watched. The wolf laughed. His wife moaned in his thoughts and he thanked the wolf for how good his cum tasted. Visions of the massive body of stained brown fur smothering Sarah on the bed, plowing recklessly into her, danced in his head. They mingled with memories of the same wolf stuffing him into lockers, pulling his pants down in gym, and stealing his girlfriends. The weary period afterward where he developed his lust for humiliation came to his mind next, nights where he'd sit alone in his room and masturbate to the same thoughts of that wolf's endless bullying. It all came together, and it all let loose. He felt he was about to cum, spasms nearly shaking him from the chair, until a paw grabbed his prick tight, preventing anything. A stained brown paw was pinched around the bulge in his pants.
"Don't ever say I didn't do anything for you," the wolf said, patting the broken fox.
"I-" you might think the fox had just stepped out of a freeze if he weren't drenched in sweat, "I won't." He tried to get up to leave, but the strong paw wouldn't relax. The wolf had him caught by the dick and wouldn't let him go. The wolf's fox curled up under him, a fragment of instinct, but obviously did him no good.
"Just a minute there, buddy," the wolf growled. With one paw the wolf unbuckled and unzipped the fox's pants, who was confused but subservient. "You see, for me, there are these kinds a'folks I wanna fuck." The meaty brown burrowed into the fox's briefs and grabbed hold of his cock and fuzzy balls. The wolf laughed. "So this is why your wife's looking for a good time," he said with a wink. The fox was crushed. He felt battered and beaten in every aspect, and this was the last straw. The wolf couldn't do a thing more embarrassing. He'd already told the entire bar he was going to fuck the fox's wife. He'd already brought the fox near to orgasm while people watched the sad little businessman whimper and whine. Now this bully was feeling his small package and telling the whole world about it.
The wolf continued.
"You see, at the bottom is dykes. That's about as low as it gets, but just a step above is straight women like your darling little wife. I can give a woman a good throw now and then, usually give 'em the ride of their lives, as I'm sure I'll be doing to ole' Sarah. Next up is gay dudes, the guys I usually go for because they're slutty and easy and will beg for your cum like it's cherry flavored. But," and here the wolf tugged hard on the fox's bits. The fox thought he meant for him to lean over, but another vicious tug made the fox yelp and reconsider, realizing then that he was being pulled under the table. He submitted, slipping under the table and emerging at the other side with his head in the wolf's lap, looking up into a malevolent grimace. "But at the very tippy top is straight guys like you. Hell if I know why. All I know is I can't get 'nuff of 'em, but wouldn't you know it, not very often do you get a straight guy in a situation where he'll suck your dick. But I think I've got a winner right here, boy-o," the wolf taped the fox's nose.
The wolf paused for a minute to light a new cigar, the old one only a smoldering nub. The fox may have used the time to ponder what the wolf was saying just then, if only every corner of his mind weren't occupied trying to process the litany of feelings and sensations soaking through his blood and coursing in his veins. All his acts of abasement had been innocent. At home. He had climbed out of his shameful desires just as soon as he'd cum and the leather was put away. But he wasn't at home. He was in a strange bar surrounded by strange people and he couldn't cum. He couldn't release all these tensions that smothered him, and now were drowning him. If only he could cum he could crumple to the ground, recoup his senses, and sulk silently out the heavy door back to his home. But so long as his balls ached and his cock quivered erect, pouring pre into the wolf's paw, he couldn't move. The wolf had him chained. The wolf didn't need a paw on his prick. He could leave to get a beer and come back and the fox would still be in that same spot, ready for more, fearing just that, and waiting for the sweet release that would free him to just go home.
If the fox was confused, his dick was resolute. It didn't waver. It didn't question. It simply stood firm, short and curved like a crooked smile, and oozed like the overflow pipes of a dam. It refused to cum. The fox could have cum. Everything around him had only made him want to cum, and only a few moments earlier he felt he could have, until the wolf's paw grabbed his cock and claimed it. Now the cock seemed to be in on it, too. The fox was unsure, but his cock had made its final decision. He'd be staying so long as his dick, the wolf's now, would make him.
He looked around, needing to see which of his old high school friends were watching and laughing now, cackling and wallowing in their schadenfreude. He saw no one. He looked back and forth and behind him, wondering why there was no one there. They were still entranced at the bar, the crowd quieting as the game wound down but not even looking in his direction. How couldn't they have circled around them and drunk in, with mad glee, the suited fox being put in his place? Nobody had wanted to see it? Nobody had been intrigued? He was surprised, but moreso he was surprised by himself. He could have almost heard their laughter and calls. He'd imagined it all. It had all been the wolf again! The wolf had driven him so low the fox was inventing ways to demean himself. In his own mind! The wolf was there too! He felt surrounded now by the wolf's essence, as if every joint and nerve and cell was infected with the wolf's malevolent whims. He realized his paws were empty. He was taken under. There was nothing to do now but wait to be let go.
Quite a lot to think about it only the few seconds it took the wolf to light his cheap cigar.
The wolf was wearing black denim. The fox's paws rested on the wolf's knees, where the tough material had faded and softened, and his nose pressed against a cold metal buckle -- a bottle opener, of all things. A sprinkle of ash fell onto his nose, and again the wolf looked back down on him, as if he had just noticed the fox prone at his knees.
"Forgot where I was... Oh, right. Straight guys. You know why you straight guys are so much fun? Because when a straight fella wraps his lips around your cock, you know he's yours. Gay guys will complain if you try to do this or that and 'oh that hurts' and 'I'm not ready for this.' But a straight guy, the moment that tongue tastes precum, he's a ragdoll in your paws, and there ain't a thing in the world he won't let ya do." The wolf had his paw wrapped around the fox's muzzle, as if he had to keep him from speaking. The fox nodded, barely, although the wolf hadn't asked a question. It was habit now to nod to whatever the wolf said. "I'd shake your paw on this little deal a'ours, but I don't want to see you get cold feet the moment you see me about to tear that wife a'yours in half. 'Sides..." The wolf leaned down and forward slightly, a sneer plastered across his muzzle. "You and me both know why you want me to do it, don't we bitch?"
A realization like a blinding light hit the fox. He felt dizzy. His vision flooded with black as all the blood seemed to drain from his head, and for a moment he couldn't see a thing, not even the visions in his head, as he became preoccupied with something he'd never thought he'd ever be faced with. He'd always wanted to be cuffed and spanked, or shouted down with vulgar insulting names. Those were degrading things with a woman he loved. This, though, was a degrading thing with a person whose existence he'd cursed and spat at for years, at once both a stranger and a blurred, unhappy memory from his past. His vision returned. However long he was lost, it had apparently lasted just enough for the wolf to slip his pants down, enough to let his soft meat flop out.
He had snuck peeks in gym class. Now his nose was almost touching it. Water must have been cold in the locker room. The spongy dick hung over massive balls, gleaming with a thin film of slimy sweat, the wiry dark fur at its base looking like fine bristles. The scent hit him next. He'd never known musk before, and now the straight fox was assaulted by that distinctly male stench, cloying, sticking in his throat. It actually reminded him of the cheap cigars the wolf kept in his lips. Foreskin. The fox had always wished he'd had foreskin of his own, and here he found another thing the wolf had that he did not. The head was clearly defined under it, fat, the rim bulging the tight flesh that kept it hidden. He could see the cock's slit in the spot where the foreskin didn't cover. The whole thing was black. Not like how anything is black, like how a chimney flue is black, as if the blackness wasn't just a hue but something caked on and dirty, an impression made stronger by the wet sheen to it. He thought this because of the rest of the wolf's body was tarry brown, save for the thick shaft in front of him. As if it had been specifically colored that way. The balls too, the fluffy sack stretched thin to accommodate the massive balls. Like golf balls shoved into a tea bag. They didn't sag, but clung tight to his body, unmoving and as intimidating as the now-swelling dick.
He smacked and licked his lips. They were dry. His tongue was dry. His mouth was dry. Then they started to water. Soon his lips were dripping wet.
The wolf slapped his cock against the fox's nose, which had an effect like a jockey whipping a horse. It was almost instinctual how quickly the fox leapt upon the black host, feeling it in his mouth and on his tongue before he could even realize his movements. What was he doing? He wasn't gay! Why had he leaped so naturally to it, then? Why did he hate the taste of skin on his tongue? His tongue fought against itself, extending to lick what it could before retreating in horror at what it was doing. Had the wolf made him love cock? Or had the wolf merely made himself too desirable? Why was he as scared as he was? Why didn't this frighten him even more? Why did the cock feel so natural wrapped in his lips but taste so revolting? He wanted to bite it and rip his muzzle away. He dared not. He wanted to shove every inch into his throat and weep with joy. He refused to. He wanted to suck the sweat from the wolf's furry balls and he couldn't possibly stand the agonizing wait for the pre to touch his tongue, perhaps fulfilling the wolf's prophecy. So what did he do? He did as he was told.
He tasted pre. The wolf was right in what he'd said earlier. The fox drained of trepidation, attacking with all the lack of skill he had, slobbering and sucking and licking with gallant fervor. His tongue caressed and teased it in a direct challenge to everything he thought he had ever felt. Every long lick, every hungry suckle, every touch of the hooded prick in his mouth made him feel smaller. Made his own cock feel more prominent, as if it were growing in relation to him. It made him feel more helpless, it made him feel much more used, it made him feel both important but able to be tossed away at any minute. The tidal wave of thoughts and emotions and feelings and the flow of hormones and the shock of nerves and the gush of juices and the locking of his mind in an increasingly tighter knot of all these things combating tirelessly for attention and dominance over his body and soul...
The wolf squinted toward the TV and ate peanuts. He rolled his eyes.
"Hey, are ya suckin' dick or eatin' lollipops?" Then, head lifted and glaring towards the bar, out of sight of the fox. "Hey! You gonna turn around or are ya gonna join him under there?" The wolf growled at an apparent onlooker, who hurriedly glanced away, taking a few other curious bodies with him. They stared surreptitiously from the bar, though, casting sideways glances as the improbable but unapproachable sight.
"Shouldn't someone tell them to go in the back or something?" "What, you wanna do it?" "Hell no!" "Yeah, me neither."
The fox became vaguely cognizant of the eyes on him again, and this time he confirmed it. He saw their beady eyes staring back into his, looks of disgust. He couldn't stand it. They should either all leave or circle around him and watch. Why could they only glance from the corners of their eyes? He thought of everyone stepping out the front door and leaving him to his private shame. He envisioned them all joining in, cocks slapping him from every direction, shooting and soaking his fur. He could have dealt with either. It was the sly wink of recognition that he was there, but refusal to act on that fact, that filled him with guilty anxiety and apprehension. And yet even that only seemed to make it all the more thrilling.
He was a bad little fox. He was a disgraceful little fox. Goddamn was he ever a horny little fox. He tried to deep throat now, but he gagged and coughed, surprised at how quickly his throat convulsed around the brutishly thick intruder. He felt his jaw stretch as the mammoth girth grew inside him, making him feel like a balloon slowly inflating until it seemed like it would pop, but inflating more still. He strained his muzzle to fit the length in, drooling on the chair with his mouth hung open. He took a pause from it, stroking it in his paw as he sucked the meaty orbs in his sack into his muzzle, making the fur shine with his spit like dew.
The wolf was unimpressed. He grabbed the fox by his nape and now shoved the small shaking bitch back onto his cock, making him gag anew on it. The wolf was loving it, almost too much. He hated the fox. He remembered as much from high school, though he didn't fully remember why. It was the suit that rekindled it. Uptight bastards in suits had been behind every bad turn in his life since he could remember. A bastard in a suit called him into detention. A bastard in a suit turned down his loan. A bastard in a suit evicted him. A bastard in a suit never called him back after an interview. Always bastards in those well-pressed shirts and perfectly pleated pants. Now he had his own little bastard in a suit. His tie was hanging in a puddle of his spit. His shirt was nearly soaked through with sweat from the wolf's relentless cruelty. His pants were stained with precum and wrinkled, the insignificant dick poking out of them like a cowardly rodent. And then he was going to go to this suit's home and fuck his wife. It's a damn good thing the fox didn't come in wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.
"C'mon now, suck that dick like there's a promotion in it you little shit!" The wolf erupted savagely, reaching down and grabbing the fox's tie and yanking on it like a leash to pull the quivering fox further down his dick, choking helplessly. The fox wanted to cum, still. Never did he think he could be brought to this. Never did he expect his little meeting to go this far. When he thought about it, how simple his plan had been and how awry it had gone, he wanted to cry. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be under a table sucking the cock of a man he hated all his life while insults were thrown at him. He shouldn't have a crowd of people staring at his dick and feeling pity for his wife. His clothes shouldn't be ruined. He should be at home reading a newspaper. He should be masturbating at his computer. He should be in the privacy of his own home, his domain, where he ruled. But he was under a table in a smoky bar trying not to gag on a dick that was thrust into him with increasing rage. He still wanted to cum. He couldn't bring himself to touch his prick, though. If he would only cum he'd be free of this wolf's control over him. He'd be able to stand up, wipe off his chin, tell the wolf that the deal was off, and walk away having kept whatever shred of dignity he could have saved. He knew he could do it. But he didn't. He kept his paws off. The wolf had made him want it.
And that was that. That truly was the final gambit. The wolf hadn't taken anything from him. The fox had given it up freely, with only coercion and shame driving him to do it. The wolf had boiled all the fox's lingering doubts and insecurities and stirred them so deftly that the fox wasn't even aware of what was going on. His emotions had rolled and boiled with them. He was anxious. He was lustful. He was fearful of derision. He was secure in his submissiveness. He was guarded in his last defenses of personal freedom. He was enraptured in full servitude to the wolf's whims. He was terrified of the consequences. He was impatient in meeting them. He was on the verge of crying, of cumming, of laughing, of running away, of vowing never to leave the wolf's feet. It all averaged out to this. It all canceled each other and the only remaining action was immobility, to simply wait for the wolf's next request and decide then what to think about it, if he could decide at all.
He belonged to this wolf, and he didn't even have anything the wolf wanted except his submission, and he'd gladly given it. He wasn't even gay. Even with the cock rammed down his throat, his nose buried in wiry brown fur at the base, he didn't lust for the cock like the lusted for the need to be put down so thoroughly and powerfully. He relented.
The chair the wolf sat on screeched loudly as it scraped across the floor, the wolf grabbing the fox's head and shoving his long, thick dick into his gullet. Then the fox tasted it. It came suddenly, with no warning from the wolf who wouldn't dare imply he was enjoying this straight boy's first sloppy blowjob anyway, and the taste of it made his mouth tingle. His spasming throat backwashed the slimy load back up into his mouth where he held it on his tongue, in whatever space the pulsing cock didn't occupy. His own cock jolted as if to orgasm, but even still it wouldn't release him. The cock slipped out as quickly as it had gone in, thin ropes of sperm sagging between his lips and the fat, retreating cockhead, and immediately a paw wrapped around his muzzle. He nearly gulped, but another paw grabbed his throat. The fox reeled in momentary terror. Until now the wolf hadn't been physical like this, not intentionally trying to hurt him, and suddenly now he couldn't breathe and couldn't swallow the tremendous load swimming in his muzzle.
"Don't spit it out. Don't swallow it just yet." He leaned in closer, knees splayed to let his gut push low as he bent at the waist. "You taste that? Is it coating your muzzle just yet? Swish it around a little for me."
The fox obeyed, reluctantly, eyes wide. His cheeks bulged slightly from the liquid within.
"Remember it. I don't want you to ever forget it. You make sure you get every little bit of down to memory. From now on, whenever you fuck your wife, as long as you live, until you're old and have to pop fifty viagra just to get that sad little prick of yours up, you're going to taste that. You'll taste it when she's blowing you, you'll taste it when she's fingering you, you'll taste it until you're asleep five minutes after. And you'll thank me for it. You hear me, bitch? If I'm dead you'll pray to God or the Devil or whoever you need to but you'll thank me for it. Alright?"
The fox nodded, the terror sinking away to a crushing sense of universal defeat.
"Swallow."
The paw around his neck let go and the fox gulped immediately, the wolf's entire load slithering down his throat in that single swallow. Every synapse in his brain fired, and the wolf's words sunk into him, in his heightened state of passion and awareness, became a part of him. He already knew it was true. He already knew the wolf had wedged himself into the fox's being, stretching the walls of the space he'd already had inside and giving himself some extra room. He looked down at his leaky, puny cock. It felt congested. His balls ached. The wolf's paw came into his field of vision and grabbed the dripping bent rod again, using it to pull the fox up from under the table. The wolf had finally stood up, too.
"Now take me to where that fine wife of yours is waiting for me. After I get through with her she ain't gonna never be able to feel this sad little dick a'yers again."
His ears shot up again for the first time. This had been all about her, he'd forgotten completely. The fox's thoughts had all been focused between him and the wolf, and somehow the wolf's words hadn't quite resonated as real. Now they sunk into him and his face dropped.
"N-Now?"
"While my dick's wet," he said snidely, tucking his member back into his pants and zipping up.
The fox's stomach knotted. His sense of decency came back to him and he tried to pulled his pants up, but the wolf's paw clamped around his prick, encasing it completely, prevented that. He coughed on his words. Nothing seemed like it could stop the determined wolf's march into his bedroom, but the fox still couldn't march along with him. He stood frozen.
"C'mon, Suit," the wolf ordered, annoyed and pulling the fox by the dick. He stumbbled, nearly tripping over his feet, his knees locked. He wanted to plead with the wolf, tell him that today was just a discussion, that he wasn't ready, but the words wouldn't surface. He calmed his nerves. He focused every ounce of concentration he could muster, trying to push through the mad lust still boiling in his system, still trying to defy the stiff cock wrapped in the wolf's paw. He stood for a moment, stared down by the dark eyes, and readied himself for his burst of defiance that would put a stop to this whole crazy thing, and allow the fox to leave with what little remaining self-respect he had.
"But-"
And that was it. The wolf shut him up with a firm squeeze that made the fox squeal like a girl.
"Gimme your keys," the wolf ordered. The fox surrendered them, and continued to hold his pants up to cover his ass. The wolf led him out past the stunned barflies, staring in disbelief at the hulking wolf and the slight vulpine stumbling along behind.
"I'm working Tuesday?" the wolf asked, on his way past.
The bartender nodded.
The wolf didn't answer. The door swung open easily in his paw, and out they marched into the early evening.