FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Scent of pavement and brick almost always wet with the fog of the city, acrid bite of automobile exhaust and some passing gentleman's cigar; the ever-present puttering, nearby or far, of one of those automobiles on its way by atop little snatches of conversation from groups of people all around, from a door to a corner restaurant cracked open to allow in the cool air and let out the myriad aroma of fresh-baked bread, rich herbs, shrimp and oyster if this were a nicer part of town, tuna and sardine otherwise. The courier kept his ears perked and nose lifted to the air to drink in everything that he could, as much of the vibrancy and culture that always seemed to waft around like some benevolent ghost, door to door and corner to corner, lingering about his shoulders and clinging to his fur even after he'd finished is assignments for the day. And he loved it. Today, he was just getting started.

"Baton Rouge... I could not stand the stench," a friend had written to him once, "that constant reek of urine and rotten fish and rust. Always there like a haze over a pit of garbage. And the people! How can you stand the people? Brash and rude and loud! You are an angel among lepers, Rufus. I can't say I have ever once seen you frown..."

He still had that letter, kept in the top drawer of the nightstand beside his bed back home. Sometimes he would read over it again, just to remind himself how tenuous the border between enjoyment and distaste was: this friend had once loved this city and his job and his life, too, just like this courier - Rufus by name, though he preferred Ruby - did. He wished he would never get to that same point, though; being a German shepherd, he was a work dog, so how could he not love these things?

A glance down at this morning's package, a small, tightly-wrapped flat box that could fit in his palm, affirmed his thoughts. Down two more blocks and on the right: it would be the shop of a watchmaker. Small place, cozy, close - not one of those big-name shops with the fancy light-up signs hanging out over the sidewalk in front of them, not one of the ones advertised in playbooks or in magazines. Ruby's father actually had a watch from this maker, a nice silver-alloy pocket piece that he still carried around with him; a paw lifted to his shirt pocket confirmed that, yes, it was still there. It would be a good way to introduce himself.

One detriment that often came as a result of his eagerness to finish his daily jobs was that he didn't always look where he walked - and as such, when he stepped off the sidewalk and into the road to cross it, his boot _plump_ed right into a shallow puddle of water, thick with mud that clung to the hem of his pants legs. That would be two cents at the laundromat that he'd have preferred not to spend, but - so it went. He sighed, shook his leg off as best he could, and then continued across, slowing down for one of the boxy automobiles to swerve lazily around his path.

Beside the door to the shop hung a brass bell with an attached ringer. Were he a customer, he could just wander right on in and do his business, but - official etiquette required him to ring and wait for an answer to ensure he did not leave a possibly-private package waiting unsupervised in an unlocked building. Through the fogged window beside the door, he could see a large form bent over one of the work tables - which lifted its head in response to the ringing and then, a moment later, gave a reply in a low, gruff voice:

"Come in."

A thin haze of tobacco smoke hovered around the interior of the shop, swirling in small, tired eddies when the door first opened and then closed again behind the courier. The floor itself was elevated from the ground, a few steps leading up from the entrance to a sturdy and glossy-finished hardwood floor that matched the desks, the tables, the adornments on the walls. Ruby kept the package firm in both paws as he made his way in.

"Good morning, sir," the young shepherd said, with a tip of his cap. The shop owner, a big dog - some sort of shepherd as well; Carpathian, it looked like, with the general roundness and thick fur - "I've got a package here fer ya. Are you - ah - Marcel-"

"Yes. That's me." The bigger shepherd looked up over the rims of his spectacles, a tiny screwdriver clutched between his teeth. He rolled it to the other side of his mouth while Ruby made his way over, and then set down whatever tool he'd been holding to extend a paw out. "...Ah, good. I'd been expecting this to come in tomorrow, but today is even better..."

Cinnamon-amber eyes flicked back up to the younger dog, who stood a foot and a half away from the other side of the table. He used to have a bad habit of smiling and wagging his tail whenever his recipients acknowledged him, but had since been trying to break that after a few unpleasant responses to the so-called uncouth display.

Marcel set the package down without unwrapping it and pushed it towards the edge of the table with a pair of blunt-clawed fingers, never taking those eyes off the courier in front of him. "What's your name, son?"

"Ruby." He knocked the bill of his cap up with a knuckle and gave one of his brightest grins, though it seemed to falter beneath Marcel's sharp gaze. "Sir."

"Your mother did not name you Ruby." As he spoke - and kept those eyes on him - the Carpathian slid open one of the drawers beside him, and briefly rummaged through it... then a moment later dropped a few coins onto the table. "For your trouble."

Ruby quickly counted them up, one, two, three... that would be more than two weeks' wages. What was this watchmaker's game? "Sir! Thank you! You're - really too kind-"

Marcel's chair creaked as he leaned back in it. His shirt, button-up, came up over his thick-furred belly a little bit. "And your name?"

"Rufus, sir." He made his way over and swept the coins into his palm, then slid them into his back pocket without bothering to count them more carefully. That would be rude, wouldn't it? "Oh, I - before I forget, I wanted... wanted ta'... here we go..." ...and he reached into his pocket to take out the pocket-watch, holding it from the glimmering metal chain.

Marcel lifted an eyebrow. "Is it broken? Do you want me to fix it?"

"No, no, sir, I - it was my father's. I don't know where he got it from, but - mind if I sit? - but he passed it on to me, and... it's a piece o' yours, ain't it?" Ruby lounged back in the little wooden chair across the table for a moment, and then scraped it forward across the floor to move closer. "Look. Take a look."

It took a few moments of the older shepherd looking it over front to back, at the face, at the interior of the cover, but sure enough the light of familiarity soon shone in those eyes. "Ah, yes. I've made a lot of watches in my time - probably since your father was half your age - but I'll always remember this one. Back face of the cover inlaid with mother-of-pearl from the river mouth down south, front face a recasting of an etching a friend of mine did..."

"I always thought it looked like a tree that got hit with a lightning bolt."

"Good. That's what it is." Marcel held the watch by the chain and let it swing for a few seconds; Ruby watched it arc back and forth, back and forth, the bigger shepherd's muzzle and eyes visible behind it. When the watchmaker then stopped the movement by closing it in his paw again, Ruby had to blink and shake his head to refocus his vision. "There was one near where he lived as a pup. Watched it happen with his own two eyes - and it took out some poor wolf sitting on the bench underneath."

"Ah! Wolves." Ruby leaned back in his chair. Under his weight, the back of it strained and stretched against its screws. "That reminds me - sir, I just wanna thank you for being a real kind sort of gentleman. Last fella I delivered to, a wolf - see, that's what reminded me - was just downright rude. Glarin' at me, half-snarlin', didn't even thank me." He reached back and placed a paw against his back pocket. "You can bet he didn't tip me, either. We're in the middle o' the twentieth century, I thought - 'course I didn't say - and we've still got some people what act like savages... if not for laws, I tell ya, he probably couldn't've resisted pinning me and biting me - looked like he was just having a right sour day..."

Something about that caught the older shepherd's attention. Ruby could see it in a sharpening of his gaze, in how those eyes flicked up from the watch one more time and settled on his own muzzle. He hadn't seen it before, or maybe it was just the angle at which the light came in, but - there was certainly some bright yellow in those eyes now.

"Savages..." Marcel breathed, and reached over to pick up the screwdriver that had previously been between his teeth. The chain of the watch jangled quietly on the desk. "You know, son, we're not so different. Wolves and dogs... shepherds-"

"Well, sure. That doesn't give me a pass to bark at someone I don't like, though, does it?"

"Maybe not. It also doesn't lift that choice from your mind, though. It's always there." One of the screws clattered against the top of the table; Marcel poked at it with the screwdriver, lifted the watch up to peer more closely at it, and then started setting it back into the hole. "We'll both know that you're lying if you try to tell me you've never wanted to lash out at someone, son. Never wanted to growl, or spit, or bite. Maybe it was when your father was being rough with you when you were little. Maybe someone wronged you. Maybe you just plain didn't like someone. That right?"

From outside came the whining call of an automobile horn, followed by indistinct shouting. Ruby's ears instinctively flicked back in that direction. "I have."

"And it's funny you mention resisting." The older shepherd sat back for a moment to pick another cigar out from the box in the drawer beside him. Muffled words, the acid flare of a match, some soft crackling... and then a puff of that acrid smoke out into the still air between the two of them, enough to make Ruby's nose and whiskers twitch. He must have just finished one before the courier arrived: Marcel swept the diminished end of another cigar into that same drawer. "Like that's what sets them apart from us. The blood is still there, you know."

"The blood?" Without moving his muzzle, Ruby focused his eyes on the watch, held up by that chain. Since his father had given it to him, the hinge of the cover had always been a little loose; now, though, it remained firmly shut after whatever the watchmaker had done with that screw. The rippled silver tree embossed on the front caught that light coming in through the windows and glinted brightly.

"That's what sets everything apart. Them from us, us from each other. The blood. There are those who would taste of it, and those who would do anything to keep it from being spilled. But the want is not what determines that; as I said, the want is always there. It's the choice for one, the resistance against the other. There are those who obey, and those who obey."

Ruby swallowed. That cigar's smoke carried a vaguely floral quality to it, something bittersweet underneath the bite of char of fire and tobacco. For as little of the chain that Marcel had given slack to, the watch certainly seemed to swing slower than it should, gradually tilting one way and then the other, reflecting the light back and forth, back and forth across the courier's face, periodically stinging his eyes. The bright silver made it seem like that light came from inside the watch itself, rather than from the windows behind him.

"You might not realize it, but you resist every day. Every minute, maybe." Marcel went on in his low, rumbling voice, faintly palpable on both the air itself and through the material of the desk, the floor, the chair. With his other paw, he briefly took the cigar out from between his lips and gave another puff of smoke, oddly cool in the younger shepherd's nose. "A lot of it, you're probably not even aware of. That's just the way things have always been, the way you're used to... so you've stopped actively choosing, and just started obeying how you think you're supposed to be."

There was something else, too, something on each of the Carpathian's exhalations... scent of blood, of meat, sweet and metallic. He must have had... mutton, was that? Ruby just hadn't been able to pick it up before. Outside's cloying stickiness of rain had remained ingrained in his nostrils for a while.

"It would be easy to say that those who obey their inborn tendencies are the savages: no complex thought, no judgment. But it's not that simple. What are you when you always toe that line of blood, between choice and obedience? Isn't that, frankly, what it is to be? Especially for you and I, son, being shepherds. We obeyed the commands, we guarded and protected, and we resisted the call of the blood. But God strike us down if we claim that our mouths never watered for it."

Odd how that watch seemed to retain its force and period while it swung, how it seemed to come back up to the same point with each repetition... and Ruby had stopped interpreting the words as coming from Marcel. They were just there, hanging on the air like the tepid smoke, dancing quietly with his own thoughts. He'd long since lost the track of just what it was that the older shepherd spoke of, but he could still hear and feel those words and their meaning.

"It would be easier, you think, to sometimes... forget about all of that. Everything you have to do, everything you're expected to do, and just... obey. Wouldn't it? There's something in you that relishes the idea of relinquishing control and choice, and something in you that's terrified of it. So what if you were to silence that latter something, and instead..."

Ruby blinked, slowly. Why was he here, again? He couldn't really remember, but - this dog here, this big Carpathian shepherd, was telling him something really important. Something that he had to listen to. He could remember that much, at least.

"...let me do the thinking and the choosing for you. That would be easier. All of this living, and working, and resisting - it's all worn you out. You're tired."

The younger shepherd tried to brace a paw against the arm of the chair to stand up, only to find out - it was armless. "Hey," he slurred; had he had too much to drink or something? "I'm - kinda dizzy. Would it be okay if I - if I head home? I'm... really tired..." His legs wouldn't really support him once he did managed to get up, and he had to keep both paws on the edge of the desk. Marcel breathed out another smooth puff.

"Sit down."

He sat down. Maybe it would be better if he didn't move too much right now. Besides, there was something about this Carpathian that made him feel safe and comfortable... like the aura of a father: Ruby wouldn't have to worry, because Marcel would take care of everything. There was the glimmer of the light from the watch, back and forth; the glare of citrine eyes, yellow amber, sharp; the dim glow of the end of his cigar, slowly creeping its way back, brightening a little with each breath.

"It's a little harder to stray to the wrong path when there's someone keeping you on a tight leash, isn't it?" Gradually, the swinging of the watch began to slow... until it just hung there at the end of its chain, twirling gently in the same eddies of air that curled the exhaled smoke. A second later, Marcel wrapped his fingers around the piece and closed it in his paw, to lower it back down to the desk in front of him; and still Ruby's eyes remained fixed in the spot where it had previously been.

It was _imperative_that he stayed here to listen to whatever this older dog had to say.

"Rufus?" The Carpathian's mouth twitched after he said the name. "My Ruby - I have something I would have you do."

Quietly, dreamily: "Yes?"

"On your knees." The scraping of both chairs across the wooden floor as Ruby did as told, and as Marcel himself moved back a little. This work table was one that had an open space through from one side to the other, and now that he had lowered himself to this level, he could see that the older shepherd wore no shoes. It _was_his own workshop, after all. "Come forward. Scent is an integral part of the canine identity, wouldn't you say?"

Down here lingered the cool haze of savory wood, rich and old, along with the acidic character of the reddish finish; a sharper version of the cigar's smoke, dry and still; and then the undeniable slightly-sour smell of his footpaws, strengthening as he continued to pull himself closer without being overpowering... the shepherd didn't even have to say it, and Ruby already knew what he was to do. Blunted claws scraped over his nose, callused pads bumped against his lips...

"That's another thing that may be out of your conscious control. Enter a new place, a new building, a new district of the city, and the first thing you do... lift your nose to the air and taste deep of it, pick out everything you recognize and everything you don't. This is how it's always been."

His voice sounded muffled and muted by the top of the table separating them. Ruby squeezed the bottom of that footpaw under his fingers, feeling the way the older shepherd spread his toes around his nose and the end of his muzzle. That scent had been thoroughly ingrained into the short fur there, atop and between his toes, wonderfully warm... again and again he breathed it in, whiskers twitching, to then let it back out between parted lips across the underside. When he licked his lips and swallowed, his tongue flicked up against and dragged between those toes, the broad, flat flesh sliding easily into the smaller space.

"The smell of blood, the smell of fresh flowing water, the smell of wood and stone. Your home, your city, as well as your own, and those of your dreams. Things you know deep within yourself, things that catch your attention even without you noticing. And you enjoy them."

Enjoy them... Marcel kept his toes spread for the younger shepherd to work his tongue between, dragging it up along the underside of his footpaw and flicking it over the rough pads. Every now and then one of his claws would catch on his tongue and scrape a little bit, rough without being painful. He took that sourness into his throat and swallowed it down, the scent and taste themselves faint, distant, but still certainly there, to his canine senses. That was what he spoke of.

"You're mine now. So it's only natural that my scent becomes one of those. You can already feel it, can't you?"

There was just - _something_about it, though, that made the younger shepherd pull himself up a little, that caused each exhalation of breath to pick up a note of growing desire. Just as the heat and scent of Marcel's footpaw grew and strengthened on his muzzle could Ruby feel his pants grow a little tighter as well, a warm, delicious sort of discomfort that made him want to reach down and rub at himself... but he didn't dare. He hadn't been told to.

"I asked you a question." From above, the rustling and jangling of a shirt being untucked, of the buckle of a belt being fiddled with... "You would do well to answer."

"Yes, sir." The scent of his own breath wafted back towards him once the words had made their way out of his maw, lips still half-parted in his nuzzling and licking. There wasn't _much_room down here under this desk, but - it was what Marcel wanted, so he had no right to complain.

Between those toes, past the ruffles of the Carpathian's clothing and the movement of his paws, Ruby watched him finish undoing his belt, open his pants, and lift himself up off of his chair a little bit, just so he could slide those pants down... and with a forefinger and thumb, he angled his thick, half-hard uncut length down towards the shepherd between his legs. Then, he rolled that sleek skin slowly back, held it there for a moment - even now Ruby's nose twitched with picking up that heavier, deeper musk - and slid it forward again.

"To claim territory to the_savage_, as you would say..."

His eyes remained on that glistening flesh visible through the wrinkled skin, though his tongue continued to press and drag between spread toes. Marcel had mentioned the aroma of arousal, and down here, Ruby could very clearly pick up both his own as well as the older shepherd's, similar in their roots but each with differences characteristic to its owner.

"...would entail scentmarking. Sometimes the subtle and gentle, with the brushing of a shoulder against a tree trunk, sometimes more obvious, as in hiking a leg on a subordinate. I want you to wear my scent thoroughly on your muzzle and tongue. Understand?"

Another lick, right up along the pad of his biggest toe, and then - Ruby crawled forward a little further into the space opened once Marcel spread his legs. That scent, as well as the older shepherd's natural musk, strengthened even more as his muzzle approached his open pants, furred sack and gently-throbbing shaft out in the air before his nose. His foreskin drew back on its own as he continued to harden up. "Yes, sir."

"Dig out my scent, my musk of the day, and wear it yourself. Enjoy it."

Didn't have to tell him_twice. The younger shepherd lifted himself up with such eagerness that his head bumped against the underside of the table and his ears had to remain folded back. Marcel's mostly-covered head had a slick wetness to it, one that slid easily across the surface of his nose and lips: it was a powerful scent, sharp and cool, heavily masculine. His nose wrinkled a little bit at the sudden tang, but, _God - Ruby couldn't help but nuzzle up against the side of the offered cock, dragging the ridged rim of the foreskin back a short distance before pursing his lips against the head and touching his tongue to it.

Deep breath in through his nose, pulling in the aroma, holding it for a moment, and then letting it out, all the while he dragged the tip of his tongue over the rim of his foreskin and lapped off the slickness that had gathered there over the day. One paw at the base of the older shepherd's length kept him in place, heavy meat hanging limply out against Ruby's lower jaw while he worked, slowly sliding that tongue underneath the skin and digging it in... there he could feel the warmth, the heat, even the taste, more powerfully than before.

It was a kind of bittersweet saltiness that overpowered everything else, flowing out over his tongue as soon as he'd swallowed it down and clinging to the back of his throat. The deeper he pressed his tongue under that skin, just as slick on the inside as he'd expected, the stronger he could both taste and smell it on his own breath, coming out in shivering exhalations.

"Important to know your place..." -throb; that foreskin tightened a little bit around his tongue with Marcel's cock continuing to slowly grow- "and just where it is you walk on that blood line between choice and obedience." Another loud scrape of the older shepherd's chair further back across the floor, and - he stood up, leaving Ruby on all fours under the table with his tongue hanging limply out of his mouth and that strong scent lingering on his upper lip, just as fresh as from the source every time he breathed in.

"Stand up."

And he did so. As soon as he came to his full height - which would be a good few inches below that of the Carpathian in front of him - he found himself squeezed back against the table, the large shepherd leaning over him, leaning into him. Sharp amber-brown eyes locked his gaze while that big paw that had previously held the watch now worked easily at the fastenings of his own pants, and finally relieved that tight growing pressure... to bring his own musk to mix in the air as well. Marcel's whiskers twitched.

"Not to say that obedience is a bad thing, though. In fact, I think it fits quite nicely for you... look at your face, your muzzle, your eyes. You're enjoying this."

He was enjoying it. A small shiver vibrated through his body; Marcel had taken the younger shepherd's length, twitching hard and drooling slick pre through the end of his foreskin, in his paw and brought it up against the end of his own. The Carpathian definitely had more on him when it came to both length and girth - Ruby could feel it, but still he kept his eyes focused on the muzzle directly in front of his, mouth twitching with each little jolt of pleasure coming from the squeezing of the paw around his cock and the pressure of Marcel against him. The way he moved, the way the other shepherd rolled their heads against one another... Ruby could feel his foreskin sliding back, only to be brought forward again by that same paw.

When he'd curled his tongue under Marcel's just now, there had definitely been a good amount of stretchiness, some easy room. The way this shepherd pinched his own skin and brought it forward, how he kept Ruby's head on top of his as he did so...

"Enjoy it. A pup like you came out of a sheath like this. Now, you're going to go back in."

Without him consciously doing so, his fingers tightened on the edge of the table against he was being squeezed, and the warm pleasure reverberating through his body made its way out between his lips in a quiet moan. With only a little bit of difficulty, Marcel rolled his foreskin up over Ruby's head as well, keeping him tight and warm against himself, and then - and then squeezed his finger and thumb on the rim to keep him there. There was the combined slickness of his natural musk as well as the younger shepherd's saliva, being spread over them both with Marcel's slow, gentle thrusts.

"That's it, boy. I'm getting my scent all over that length of yours. And when I'm done with you, you're going to be my territory. Everyone will know to keep off my property."

Ruby had no choice but to stand here and let him do it. But, then, he didn't want to do anything else: even though Marcel had finished his other cigar when he'd been under the table, its smoky bite still hovered on his breath every time it washed out over the younger shepherd's muzzle, his nose already tingling with the sting of masculinity and arousal, his own musk having been drowned out by the bigger male. The steady back-and-forth, back-and-forth movement against him - he could feel the Carpathian's weight on top of him, squeezing him even more firmly to the table - kept his tail twitching and his lips parted, every thrust forward rolling his own foreskin back beneath Marcel's, each tug back bringing it back over his head again.

"You can feel it, can't you?"

The words tickled at the fur inside his ear. Marcel's entire body swayed with his movements, tantalizingly slow.

"What your blood wants. You want to take things into your own hands, you want to bring yourself finish. That's something else inborn, something else that's in all of us. You're already getting close, aren't you, son. Give in to your blood."

Ruby's body acted on its own accord, his hips moving forward against Marcel and into each of the older shepherd's thrusts, forcing the older shepherd to tighten his grip around both of them. With him in control of how he humped into the stretched foreskin, he could really feel the warmth of the old dog's sheath. Marcel remained leaned over him, his breath puffing out across the side of his muzzle, building speed slowly like a locomotive, while Ruby's was more irregular as his biology took over. Just as the other shepherd had said, he could feel the growing pressure of his approaching climax, bright and hot through his length and in his abdomen.

His thoughts fell apart even more than they already had, words and images tumbling over one another and mixing together. There was only the driving force behind his actions, the dull pulsing feeling that he could only recognize as desire, his will to obey now just as strong as his desire to thrust - the words of the older shepherd inseparable from his genetic male imperative to hunch forward into the warmth.. Just as Marcel's paw tightened and kept him firmly buried within his foreskin did Ruby put more force into his movements. Urgency, and want, and arousal, and_need_, all coursing through his veins and making him squeeze and clench.

Nothing else existed; or at least, none of it mattered. He'd been given his commands, and by God, he was going to obey those commands. That's what Marcel wanted of him, and frankly, also what Ruby himself wanted. He wanted to obey, to listen to that deep, rumbling voice and carry out what was asked of him; he wanted to obey, and to enjoy, and to- to...

"You may release, boy."

-and his whole body shook with one final shuddering moan, his load spurting out into and ballooning the older shepherd's foreskin around him, hot and wet and sticky, until he finally released his paw from around them. Then, Ruby could feel his own seed roll out down along his underside, and - heard it drip against the hardwood floor from the end of Marcel's head, now coated in the slick cloudy-white liquid. The younger shepherd dug his claws into the wood of the table while drooling out the last of his orgasm. Marcel snapped his fingers, and Ruby's eyes looked down for the to watch the thick tip of Marcel's cock bounce slowly in time with his heart.

"I'm... sorry, sir."

"You made a mess down there, boy. You should take care of your messes, now shouldn't you?"

This time when he dropped down, the scent that swirled around his sensitive nose was mostly the flat, metallic tang of his own cum, heavy as it continued to drip out of the older shepherd's sheath tip. Ruby gingerly flicked his tongue against the skin kept bunched, lapping off the slickness there and swallowing it down, before he started to dig it back in underneath. Instead of just letting him work, though, Marcel's big paw came down and closed around the younger shepherd's muzzle, holding him in place there with his lips pursed against the warm skin... and then he started to rock his hips, slowly in, that same skin rolling back against his lips and dragging across his tongue.

All he had to do, then, was keep his lips tight and his tongue moving. The watchmaker set the rhythm, his pawpads loose under the boy's chin, just enough force to keep the head at the right angle. At this angle, the Carpathian thrust slightly downward into his throat, almost forcing his tongue to remain against the bottom of his mouth to either cup his shaft or flick across his frenulum.

Other paw braced against the table, enough weight and force put behind each thrust that the joints creaked and squeaked above Ruby... his inexperience and Marcel's girth kept the older shepherd from burying his length in his throat, but still his rougher pubic fur, thick with his scent, tickled at his nose.

With those fingers squeezing his muzzle shut, Ruby could feel Marcel's cock in the bottom of his mouth, pressing right back against those fingers. Thick, throbbing length; slick salty pre drooling out onto the back of his tongue; rich musk in his nose and the back of his throat - skin rolling back and forth over saliva- and cum-slickened head, hot and firm-

Marcel didn't give much of a warning. A little bit of a hitch in his thrusting, a tightening of his grip, and then: heavy load spurting out into the back of the courier's throat, saltier than he'd expected, thick and slick. Again and again he swallowed it down, the spurts palpable in the bottom of his jaw, and still it continued to come, Marcel churning his hips forward and back as he continued to unload into the younger shepherd's maw. As he came close to finishing, he released his muzzle and moved back, to let the last of that cum ooze out over his lolling tongue and drip down along the underside of his chin. Marcel's foreskin, originally rolled all the way back with his orgasm, started to lazily come forward again, and then stopped with another throb.

"...And with that," he panted, falling back into his chair. Ruby came forward and lapped at the end of his cock, eyes half-lidded and focused, but sightless. "You've already made your choice. That's the way it goes: sometimes it happens without you consciously realizing it. That's obedience. You follow the choice that your blood makes; not the choice of your mind."

Lap, lap, lap. Ruby swallowed down that taste again. He could smell it strongly on his upper lip.

Bright amber-brown eyes glittered from above him in the light that filtered in through the windows at the front of the shop. Marcel flicked his tongue out over his lips, and swallowed. "You won't have to worry about that ever again, son. You'll leave it up to me to think for you, and to make those choices for you. As of-" Here, he picked the watch up off the table, opened the cover, looked at the time... tick, tock, tick, tock- "-about fourteen minutes ago, you've been mine. And you're going to stay that way."

That silver-alloy watch continued to resolutely and precisely tick away the seconds, one after another after another, slightly out-of-sync with the big clock standing beside the opposite wall. The room was quiet enough that Ruby's ears could pick up the quiet rhythm.