Stockholm (M/M)(Pt. 9 of "Under The Devil's Eye")
#9 of Under the Devil's Eye
Stockholm
Pt. 9 of "Under The Devil's Eye"
by H. A. Kirsch
Hawk stood at the window and looked out into the back yard. It sloped faintly, probably down to a
drainage creek. The part closest to the house contained a patio, elaborate garden, and a fountain.
Everything had a white patina on it from the snow as small prickly flakes fell in the cold
early-morning air. Lainsville was getting a white Christmas.
Peter Norsten was celebrating the white Christmas tied up in his own bed, mouth stuffed with a
rubber ball, hands and ankles pulled behind him, eyes blinded by a fur-lined blindfold.
"You have a nice yard," Hawk said, leaning one gloved hand on the window frame. As far as he could
see, none of the neighboring houses could see up into the second floor. If they could, they'd see a
black canid shape silhouetted by the room light.
Peter snapped out of some kind of reverie and whimpered. He struggled against the cuffs, metal
clicking, leather squeaking.
"What's wrong?" Hawk asked, moving towards the bed with the slow clunk-scrape of boot heels. He
couldn't resist the urge to make a racket when moving around in them, and it stiffened his cock in
his leather breeches.
Peter's sightless head swerved around, then started flicking the muzzle down towards his midsection.
The fox's cock had long since gone soft, leaving a dribble of leftovers on the sheets. It was
nothing compared to the drool puddle from the gagged-open muzzle.
Hawk stared. At first, he stared just because he had no idea what Peter wanted, and no interest in
hearing the litany that would surely fall out of the fox's mouth when the gag came out. Then he
stared because he realized what Peter needed, and what it was going to involve. "I'm going to take
your ankle cuffs off, and I'm going to walk you to the bathroom. If you try to kick me or do
anything... don't." The wolf leaned down and touched the fox's ankle again, prompting an electric
jerk from the fox. He undid the carabiner keeping ankle to ankle, feet to wrists, and left it fitted
through the fox's hands behind the lower back. Peter stretched and groaned with the crack of knee
joints and lower back. He still twitched when Hawk helped him sit up, resisting slightly as he was
helped to his feet, then eager to move forward.
The black wolf led the fox into the master bathroom and parked him in front of the toilet. The fox
simply stood. "What's the matter?" Hawk growled. "I'm not going to let go of you, so if you're
piss-shy, you get to stand here until it forces its way out." That didn't work, so Hawk turned the
tap on. Peter just whimpered. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you..." he looked at the
arm-cuffed fox and Peter's dangling, uncut dick. "Oh, you don't want to make a mess. How
thoughtful." Hawk reached around and cradled the fox's cock between thumb and two fingers, rolled
the skin back. Peter inhaled, back curving, chest filling out, and then he let out a profound groan.
His piss blew into the toilet to the tune of several prostate-ached whimpers, mimmicking the wolf's
earlier grunting.
Hawk's cock throbbed in his leathers again. Situation notwithstanding, helping a helpless fox piss
himself empty was a turn-on the wolf had enjoyed several times before. Peter ruined the erotic
moment by grunting and swiftly turning around, sitting on the toilet with a thud. He whimpered
again, muzzle tucked down, hands trying to steady himself. He pleaded several times, and Hawk
returned the little sounds with a snapping snort. "You're gonna have to do it with me standing right
here."
Peter sighed and leaned forward, rocked slightly as he sat on the toilet, then his stomach hunched
tight and he grunted. Hawk's reward was a profound splash and a groan identical to the one Peter
made when withdrawing from Hawk's cock earlier. The fox repeated the ordeal, then leaned back.
"Okay, time for a shower. I'm going to uncuff your hands. Clean yourself off." Hawk helped Peter
stand, then made a face as he looked into the toilet. Not only had Peter emptied himself, but Hawk's
lack of orgasm was plainly evident - no big creamy slime in there. The wolf flushed the toilet and
pushed Peter into the shower tub, then removed the cuff carabiner.
The fox didn't fight - he just turned the shower on, then blindly groped for soap. Hawk stood at the
other end of the bathroom, watching Peter scrub himself down, even going as far as the cock-washing
that the wolf had watched so many times so long ago. As the wolf stared on, he felt a sinking
feeling inside. It just wasn't the same.
Peter lathered up, then rinsed off, then shut the water down and stood bedraggled. Hawk swiped a
towel off the rack - monogrammed with a 'P' - and then started drying the fox. "I'm going to put you
to bed now. We'll see how you feel in the morning. Maybe I can take that gag out. Maybe I can let
you have a look around." With the towel still wrapped around Peter, Hawk started moving the fox
around. The dressing room held a linen closet, and Hawk retrieved a couple of comforters and wrapped
them around the fox, turning him into a pair of black ears sticking out of blankets.
Hawk's first inclination was the basement, but he felt too strange inside to try taking the fox all
the way down there. He didn't even know what _was_ down there. Instead, he pushed Peter into the
study and forced him onto the day bed. The wolf worked the carabiner back into place, leaving the
fox hogtied and bundled into bedclothes. The wolf left the room and shut the door, then stalked down
the hallway to the master bedroom. His heart pounded in his ears, blood surging everywhere, eyes
tunneled down to a dark view of everything in front of him.
Off came the coat, lurched onto a sitting chair in the bedroom. Hawk went straight for the fox's
laundry hamper and started digging. Shirts, pants, a skirt, panties. A sniff of the silky fabric
gave Hawk a strong blast of musk, but _not_ Peter's, not even male. The wolf wrinkled his nose and
kept on. He finally located a pair of stretchy exercise shorts, cool and damp and reeking of sweat,
exertion, and the rank sexual stink of an uncut male dick.
Shuddering with need, the leather-clad wolf stripped his fly open and took his cock into glove hand,
reclining onto the bed with Peter's shorts draped across his face. He held the material to his snout
and breathed in the male vapors, groaning as he worked himself off. It didn't take long,
half-smothered by the hard press of fabric, intoxicated by the vulpine male smell, and desperate to
unload the ache of seed inside. As he started to jerk and twitch, Hawk took the shorts down to his
cock and thrust into the slinky material, wet splurts of seed making an audible squelch into the
fabric and glistening as it came out the other side.
Disgusted, the wolf threw the shorts back into the hamper and yawned. He leaned back on the bed,
planning to think through just what he was doing, but he fell asleep instead.
Hawk woke up in a stranger's bed in a stranger's house. The smell surrounding him was wolf musk, fox
musk, spit and semen, and then a pervasive Other smell that he couldn't identify. Groggy, he felt a
vaguely familial twinge, almost comforting. Female. Fox. The name Melinda appeared in his head, and
the wolf sat up.
The opulent bedroom was alien to him. The spot on the sheets next to him had a dried drool puddle,
beige against white, and then a darker precum stain next to it. Hawk was still clad in his leather
gear, with come stains on his thighs and a splatter of it on his stomach where his dickhead had
flopped in the night. He felt slightly hungover and hungry, mouth frothy.
Melinda was Peter's wife. Peter Norsten. Hawk rubbed at his forehead, then stared down at his gloved
hands. He climbed from bed and stripped down, then trudged into the bathroom for a hot shower.
As he soaped up, he remembered Peter showering at school. Then, he remembered Peter showering
blindfolded, handcuffed but not restrained. He remembered Peter shitting, pissing before that,
accepting Hawk's dick until orgasm, crying as he was... shocked inside... Hawk wasn't a stranger to
that kind of play, but only ever did it out of the sheer alarming allure of doing something so wrong
to someone. During all the remembrance, Hawk's cock stayed drooped and skinned over the tip.
The wolf dried off, then took the damp towel and buffed his leather gear clean. He sat in the
bathroom, all brass and marble and tooled metal mirror frames and expensive tile, and slowly put his
clothes back on. The act of sliding leather onto his fur wasn't something that stimulated him now -
it left him feeling full of dread, like it meant he was headed out to do something, to enact
something, to enforce something he didn't want to enforce. Only he _did_ want it. That's why he was
in Peter's house, fifteen years after first 'meeting' the fox.
He slung his coat on, slipped it off, slung it on, stared in the mirror, turned. He finally disposed
of it onto the king bed and stalked down the hallway of the silent house. There were really no
decorations - Hawk couldn't figure that out. Maybe Peter was depressed without.. without them
over... the wolf shook the thought out of his head and opened the study door with a yank and clomped
in.
Peter awoke immediately, head jerking upwards, then settling back against the comforter. Still
blindfolded, muzzle matted and damp with drool, still hogtied. Hawk winced and headed over, quickly
undoing the carabiner from the ankle cuffs. Peter stretched and whimpered, then sat up with help.
Hawk helped him to his feet and walked the fox around the house, very slowly - Peter either didn't
want to or was unable to move quickly. Hawk felt like he was moving an invalid around.
The wolf stopped in the kitchen and pulled one of the chairs out. Despite the rest of the house, the
kitchen was flawless and modern, Swedish and full of square angles and warm spotlighting. Hawk
nudged Peter into the chair and the fox thankfully sat down, hunched over, a splat of drool landing
on the table. Hawk frowned again and gently took the blindfold off - Peter's eyes just stared at the
table. He took the gag out, and the only thing that came out of Peter's mouth was a much larger
splat of drool.
"Hmf," Hawk swiped up a dish towel and mopped it up. "You need to eat something."
"Water," Peter whispered.
"Same difference," Hawk said. He rooted through the cabinets until he found the glasses and took one
out, then filled it from the fridge. He set it on the counter, and then had an idea. It made him
shiver, made him feel sick, but then he remembered who Peter was, what he'd done back in school.
Hawk took out a shallow bowl and filled it from the fridge. He then set it in front of Peter, took
his own glass, and guzzled it down.
The fox stared at the bowl, then up at Hawk.
"Yeah?"
"I... I can't..." Peter huffed, and leaned forward. Despite his proclamation, the fox managed to
bend over using the edge of the table to lean on. "This is so humiliating, why are you doing this to
me?" Despite his complaint, he touched his muzzle to the bowl of water and started licking. Hawk had
long since learned that hybrids were missing the under-curl reflex, and Peter made a mess of the
table before closing his eyes and just slurping.
"You think I don't know how humiliating that is?" Hawk said, leaning with his hip cocked out, one
hand on the end of the table. "I could make it ten times worse. I could throw scraps on the floor
for you. I could spill water there and lick it up. I could fill your bowl with my piss. Be glad
you're getting nice, cool, fresh water at your own dinner table."
Peter scuttled the last droplets and then sighed with a puff. He looked bedraggled despite the
previous night's shower.
"I need to eat. What the fuck do you like for breakfast?" Hawk said, pushing off the table and
moving to the fridge. "Answer me. I'm asking you what you want to eat. Isn't that nice enough?"
"I don't know, maybe some eggs."
"Try being a little more specific-"
"Okay, fried, sunny side up, but with the... with the tops steamed a little?" Peter kept his eyes
down, ears tilted to the sides. "Two, I guess. And some bacon. Toast." The fox's requests grew
quieter with each item.
As Hawk took the items out of the fridge, he turned and looked, then frowned. He turned back and
slid his gloves off, then set them out of the way on the counter. He grabbed for a cast iron pan and
started it up. "Why don't you decorate your house for Christmas?"
Peter waited almost a minute to answer. "No one but me was going to be here this year. It didn't
seem worth the bother. This... this is a historical neighborhood, and there are so many rules."
"Christmas is for kids," Hawk said, facing into his task at hand. Bacon first, then eggs. "I don't
have any kids. Your son is what, almost in high school? He's going to start paying attention to
girls and what brand of jeans he needs, not Christmas and toys."
Peter stared at Hawk, hard enough to clue the wolf in. Hawk turned his head around and stared right
back, then turned to the food once more. Once the bacon and eggs were done, he pan-fried some toast
in the leftover butter, then cut it into strips. He got out two plates and sat down, one plate in
front of Peter and one in front of himself. He started eating, while the red fox just stared at his
food. "Can't I... can't I use my hands?" The plaintive question went unanswered, even ignored, as
Hawk just devoured his egg by putting the bacon on a strip of toast, then stabbing it into the runny
yolk.
The fox started to breathe hard, then deepened it until his ears wilted, then swallowed and leaned
down. A toast strip was first, tore off with a few nips, then eaten. Bacon started the same way, but
he dropped a drool covered piece which landed with a splat on top of an egg yolk. Hawk stopped
eating and stared on. Peter's face wrinkled and his ears tipped further to the sides, and he pushed
his muzzle down into the egg and chewed it up, leaving a wet smear on the end of his snout. His urge
to eat took over until he'd gotten the last piece of egg up, then went to lick at the plate and
sputtered instead. The sound first came like a chuckle, then a little cough, and then a sniff. When
he looked up again, his eyes were burning red and watering.
Hawk stared back, heart pounding, then set his fork down with a clank and got up from the table. His
intention was to grab a clean dish towel, but Peter misread the violence of the upstart and started
to outright sob. The wolf returned and bundled the towel up, then went to dab at the fox's wet
facefur. Instead, he realized that half the mess was food, and looked at the towel. He snorted and
snarled and spit, then did it again. Peter cried out as Hawk brought the spit-wet fabric up towards
his face, but Hawk overpowered him and ground out most of the eggy mess, leaving just a sheen of oil
from the butter on the damp fur. He then buffed everything with the clean part of the towel. "If it
worked for ma, it'll work for me, I guess," he said, then patted Peter on the shoulder. The fox
swung his head around and gave Hawk wide, curious, post-sob eyes.
The wolf pursed his lips and frowned, then swallowed, then leaned down in and gave Peter a hug. He
rubbed the fox's head over into his shoulder, allowing some real fur from his bicep to brush, then
stood back up. Peter's eyes followed him, the fox's muzzle parting in confusion. Hawk disappeared
down into the basement, and soon Peter was looking around nervous.
When Hawk reappeared, he passed Peter and headed upstairs. He returned again, in a flurry of heavy
boot stomps, this time swathed in his opened leather trenchcoat. He picked his gloves up from the
kitchen counter, then skinned them on, eyes fixed on the seated, arm-bound fox. Peter grew panicked
and started to struggle against his chair.
"Please, no, I'm sore from yesterday, I can't do that again... for... a while," the fox said, ears
folded flat to his head, lips pulled back in a grimace that made his whiskers even sweep back.
"You're going to come downstairs with me," Hawk said, and stepped over, grasping at Peter's upper
arms. The fox fought even as he stood, first trying to beat the wolf back with his shoulders, then
just trying to pull away. The wolf just dragged the fox along, and Peter kept fighting until Hawk
shoved him front-first into the stairwell. Then, Peter groaned and hurried down the stairs with wolf
in tow. The basement was partially finished, and Hawk pushed him along through the rec room area,
then down a small hallway into the utility room. The room had been cleared with boxes all to one
side, and a wood chair pushed into the middle of the room.
Hawk stepped over and sat in the chair, careful to keep his coat outside his legs. He planted his
boots flat on the floor, gloved hands on top of his leather-clad knees, body erect in the chair. "I
want you to get down onto your knees, then onto your chest, then come and kiss my boots."
Peter managed to sink to his knees, but stayed stock still, back arched, body tensed until even his
tail stuck out straight. "I can't...." he finally said. Hawk grunted and stood up, then came over
and removed the carabiner from between the fox's wrists. He brought them around front and fixed the
ring again. It wouldn't be too hard for Peter to remove it, but the fox seemed to be completely
unaware. Hawk sat back down, and this time Peter came over and knelt again. The fox bobbed
downwards, lifted up, then looked up at Hawk before he sunk fully. The fox took a quick slurp of the
leather up over the instep, then sat back.
"Down on all fours, and kiss my boots. That wasn't a kiss. No... don't kiss them. I want you to
clean every inch with your tongue. Of both boots." Hawk stayed stock still, staring down at the fox.
Unbeknown to him, the single dangling light bulb projected a massive horned effigy of Hawk's head
near where the wall met the floor.
Peter stared at it, then wrinkled his face at the prospect of licking further. He closed his eyes
and started giving the leather broad strokes, stopping every twenty or so in order to hang his mouth
open for more spit. Over the space of a few minutes, his muzzle worked from the toe up to the
instep, around the sides, back over the heel, and was moving up the wolf's boot shaft. He reached
the top cuff, then sat back. Hawk stared him down, until it jogged Peter's memory and the fox's eyes
dropped down to the other boot. Peter swallowed and set about repeating the entire action. Once
finished, Hawk stood up and walked over to the laundry machines, then took a towel and buffed the
damp or drying streaks into a warm gloss on the boot leather.
The wolf then stepped over and crouched next to the kneeling vulpine, one leather-clad arm around
Peter's back. He leaned in, even stroking at the opposite jaw to ensure Peter looked his way. "How
long are you here alone for?"
Peter nearly closed his eyes. "Until Sunday night. The... flight comes in at seven."
"No one else is going to come by until then?"
The fox's eyes closed all the way. "No."
"And you don't really have to do work today. No one's going to fire you. You just don't want to be
all alone without a distraction on Christmas day," Hawk guessed. Peter leaned his head over and
pushed it onto Hawk's leather-covered bicep, leaned his face against the black hide.
"I guess, that's it," the fox said. "Are you the devil?"
Hawk's impulse to laugh lasted so short that by the time his throat went to form the sound, he ended
up gagging and swallowing instead. It wasn't funny, and Peter wasn't being funny. The fox's eyes
were haunted and tired, face slack enough to even part his jaw. "The devil wants you to join him,
against God. I don't. I don't care about God or the devil or any of that shit."
"I've always been, afraid, that the devil would come for me... here, or after I died, after I was
sure I was going to heaven. Even before I... was born again," Peter said, staring at the floor just
inches ahead of one of the wolf's boot toes.
"Why would you care so much about heaven, about hell? You have maybe eighty years here that you have
to live before you get there. What happens if you do everything right and make a big mistake? You
spend eternity being punished for it?" Hawk let Peter go and stood up. "I'll be gone before your
family comes home on Sunday night. There won't be very much trace of me. You can tell them that a
friend came over from work. That's not an eternity."
Peter lifted his head and grew the overwhelmed wide-eye stare again. Hawk gave it back with a
furrowed brow, hiding his own uncertainty. Mostly uncertainty as to what he would actually do for
that amount of time. His unconscious mind was serving up tasks for him, and he was embarking on them
with only a sexual twinge to lead him forward. "What are you going to do to me?"
"Use you. Just like you always used to want. Not the way you were used."
Hawk's definition of 'use' took a more affectionate, but still humiliating turn, after the wolf
devised better restraints. Using a length of ceiling lamp chain he found in the fox's basement, he
made a set of hobbling shackles. The fox's wrists and ankles were all chained together with the
addition of a padlocked belt. The fox could neither remove the belt nor the chains without extremely
concerted effort and probably a chipped tooth or two. Hawk then went upstairs and perched himself on
the family room's leather sofa, while Peter got to curl up in a nest of comforters on the nearby
chaise. As soon as he was lying down, the fox was hobbled further, a length of chain put around his
knees and the wrist chains so he was forced to lie down.
The black wolf, still clad in full leather gear, started reading through various magazines on the
coffee table, then found some science program on television and half-watched it. "I hope you don't
mind this stuff. I can't stand regular TV," he said, and got a little nod from Peter. The wolf
returned to the magazine, ignoring Peter for a good hour solid.
The fox rolled and shifted around, trying to change position without rolling over and facing in the
completely opposite direction. After a short while, he gave up trying to avoid looking at Hawk and
simply stared around at random things like a housepet. When the wolf changed magazines, Peter piped
up. "Do you always wear all that?"
"All what?" Hawk asked, turning his gaze to Peter. Inside, the wolf's heart started to pound again,
and the rising torment just came out in the form of ice.
"All the... leather."
"Yes," Hawk said, and folded the magazine. He sat up and scooted down to the other end of the sofa,
where chaise and shackled fox sat. Peter recoiled slightly, but that only leaned him up against the
back arm of the chaise. Hawk reached for him and the fox further pulled away from the incoming
black-gloved hands, then squirmed and let out a whimper.
"Please don't do this to me," Peter begged, but Hawk didn't heed. The wolf gently stroked the fox's
ears and headfur again and again, gently cradling it even as Peter squirmed and twisted away. The
other hand stroked at the fox's shoulder, then over his chest, then up and down the middle of his
stomach alongside the shackle chains. After resisting for a few minutes, Peter finally let out a
shattered sigh and almost started to sob. The sound was replaced by a light groan and he turned his
head, offering the wolf's gloved hand a firm nuzzle.
"Later tonight, I'm going to make you come again," Hawk said, the words weighted almost enough to be
a threat. "You should have a nap now," he said, and stood, then took the blankets away from Peter.
The wolf loosened the chains, then helped Peter stand. Unsure and slightly limping, Peter followed
along as Hawk went upstairs and then into the study. Hawk stowed Peter on the daybed, then turned
and latched the door with a key he'd found downstairs.
Hawk's plan was open-ended. The wolf hadn't thought anything through - he was going to pay Peter a
visit, and dressed just in case he needed to intimidate the fox. He didn't plan on staying, but once
he gauged the vulpine's reaction, it was irresistible. Not only in a pleasured way, either; the wolf
felt like a moth drawn to a flame. Alzarre's reaction only spurred him on, out of curiosity -
Alzarre was unflappable and almost always encouraging, but not now - and out of defiance to the
guara's dissuasion.
Having no plan meant he had no change of clothes. The leather gear was already starting to get musky
in a mostly pleasant way, and Hawk eventually took the harness off for a little more comfort. It was
a bit of a head trip spending time in so much gear, though, and Peter didn't seem to have any clue
that the wolf was only wearing it out of no options. The fox was simultaneously curious and scared
every time he looked at Hawk, like he genuinely wasn't sure what to think.
Dinner was a repeat of breakfast, with the eggs and bacon switched out for a steak. Hawk had to cut
it up for Peter, and the fox stared at the chunks of meat for several minutes before silently eating
them. He didn't cry again, but did offer a profound humiliated whimper before dredging his snout
through a stack of gravy-swaddled mashed potatoes.
Hawk sat at the head of the table and watched Peter eat the same way as before, even though the fox
was hobbled with his hands available for limited movement. The wolf hadn't said to eat like a dog;
Peter took it upon himself. Hawk remembered what it was like to be forced to trot around like a dog,
how it stimulated his instincts, made him burn with arousal. When he got up to put the dishes away,
he checked the naked fox. Peter's cock was soft, lying against his thigh. Hawk shuddered and went to
the sink to wash everything by hand. When he finished, Peter was still sitting there, staring at the
tabletop.
"What the fuck's that face for," Hawk grunted, letting his dinner whiskey get the better of his
mouth. Peter's dinner whiskey - more of that single malt scotch that had burned so hotly inside an
irish coffee the night before.
"I have to.." Peter said, and didn't finish.
Hawk leaned back against the counter and picked his gloves back up. He slid them on, and Peter's
eyes widened. "You have to what?" Once the wolf was done skinning the leather on, he snatched his
coat up and swung it on again. Peter's knees knocked together and his tail curled.
"I have to go again," Peter said, head nodding forward, eyes closing in shame. When Hawk went to
touch Peter's head, the fox's ears were scalding hot. He gently rubbed at one, then let go.
Hawk tapped Peter on the shoulder, then turned and stalked out of the kitchen, boots knocking
against the hardwood as he made his way across the great room and up the stairs to the second story.
Peter followed behind, a few clatters of chain as the fox moved against the table, everything
clinking slightly as he made his way up the stairs. The notion of a shackled fox following
obediently made Hawk's cock start to ache and swell inside his breeches, and he grappled with it as
he made his way to the bathroom. He stood outside, waiting for Peter to step in, then shut the door.
The fox sat down on the toilet and then flattened his ears. "Are you... are you going to watch?" The
night before, there'd been no complaints, but Peter had been blindfolded and gagged and probably
terrified.
Hawk answered the question by crossing his arms in front of his coat-hidden chest, leather squeaking
into position, boots shoulder-width apart on the tile floor. He stood directly in front of the
seated Peter, and stared down at him.
Embarrassed, Peter's ears sunk and he hunched over, shifting back and forth until his cock flopped
down the hole in the seat. He held onto the front, chains against the seat as he leaned and bushed
his tail around. After an intake of breath, his cock started to spray into the bowl with a hiss and
a sigh of relief from the fox. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his grip on the seat, and
his tail rose up, then bucked a couple of times. After a strained grunt, his tail stuck out and
quivered and a wet plop resonated in the bowl. Peter whimpered and tensed again, his piss
splattering straight into the water, body tensing again before another wet splash. The fox's body
sagged and his ears rose, face slack with relief. He opened his eyes and looked up at Hawk, with an
expression that the wolf read as, "Is this it?"
"Clean yourself off," Hawk snapped, then stepped over to lean on the double vanity, eyes still fixed
on Peter. The fox stood and flushed, then climbed into the shower and sheepishly started to soap
himself off. He didn't try to show off but didn't try to hide either, simply pawwing a bath puff
around his neck, chest, privates, and then scrubbing under his tail. The fox rinsed and then stepped
out of the shower and took up a towel, drying himself to a fluffy damp.
Hawk brought Peter out of the bathroom and into the master bedroom, leading the fox to the bed. He
pointed to the sheets and didn't say a word; Peter sat and then laid down. Hawk opened the
nightstand and Peter started to whimper, eyes closing again. Hawk rooted around - the only other
item he hadn't found before was a fox-sized muzzle, made of firm but supple leather, with a full
head-harness. Hawk took it out and held it up. "Who wears this? You or her?"
Peter didn't say anything.
"I said, who wears this?"
The fox clenched his jaw shut, arched his back and rolled away. Hawk climbed into bed and grabbed
the fox, prompting Peter to fight until he screamed, the glass-cracking wail muffled as Hawk forced
the muzzle sheath onto his captive in a kind of reverse penetration. Once it was buckled in place,
Hawk went at the shackle harness, unhooking the chains and reversing them so that the fox's wrists
were behind his back and shackled down to his ankles, a second carabiner between ankle cuffs
ensuring that the fox wouldn't be able to walk even if he rolled out of bed and stood up. Hawk
ensured that the wrists weren't wedged together, so that they could fit comfortably to the side if
Peter was lying down - even so, the fox's elbows were pulled back and rendered helpless.
"Let's see if this makes you a little more talkative," Hawk said, and withdrew the e-stim prostate
massager again. It was such a slight thing, a little flexible metal rod with a ball at the tip and
an insulator between the two parts. He dribbled lubricant all over it, then brought it over to
Peter. The fox immediately rolled away. Hawk's muzzle cracked into a grin as he watched the fox
present, then turned the smirk into a snarl as his attempts to pry the fox's cleft apart failed. The
wolf growled and prodded the device up against the fox's cheeks, forcing it between them, stuffing
the slippery metal tip into the opening. Peter whined and let out a stuttering noise into the muzzle
sheath, then jerked as the second half of the electrode entered him and the wand turned on. The
fox's tail jerked, hole squeezing up and tugging more of the wand inside, then relaxed, only to buck
and squeeze again. And again.
"Now," Hawk said, withdrawing his cock from his breeches after opening his coat, moving to stand at
the bedside again. He slowly milked his shaft, precum and sweat already producing a wet sound now
and then as glans forced through glove leather. "Now, who wears that? Is it her? Do you tie her up
and muzzle her and come in her sloppy cunt? Or does she strap it on you? Does she do this to you?"
Peter's attempt at fighting against the penetration failed, and his attempts at struggling
afterwards failed as well, due to the relentless gut-shifting prostate shocks. The fox finally
rolled over onto his back, forcing the device in to the full depth, then squirmed and pulled his
knees up, then twisted side to side. Soon, he was breathing deep and hard, cock throbbing and
tensing up from the involuntary sexual convulsions.
Hawk came over and petted at the fox's muzzled snout, then unhooked it. The leather came away with a
huff, as if Peter was trying to blow it off. "Tell me-"
"She puts it on me," Peter said, body still arching, hands gripping and yanking at the sheets and
forcing downwards. "She she puts it on me and she calls me names, and sometimes she even spits in
it, and then, and then she gets on me and rides me real hard, and pulls my face in between her tits,
and then sometimes I'll come just with that, with her... with her cunt working my dickhead..."
Hawk stared into the fox's eyes as Peter looked around the room or closed his. The couple of times
he connected with the wolf, Peter's eyes were blank as he recalled his marital sex - or his imagined
fantasies of it. The wolf's cock stayed swollen due to Peter's reaction to the tale; the actual
content nearly horrified Hawk. The wolf took the muzzle sheath and stuffed his cock into it, then
started using it as a breath-heated warm jackoff sleeve. Peter didn't seem to notice.
"Sometimes I'll come in her and she'll climb up and straddle my chest, and, and make me eat it back
out of her, until she comes, and she almost chokes me with her legs. Or... or I'll, I'll come on her
breasts and, and start to suck it off her tits like milk..." Peter's words ceased as his throat
caught.
Hawk snorted and uttered a curt, "Fuck," then rolled his eyes shut and snarled with waves of
climactic release, cock pumping his seed into the leather muzzle piece. He then slid it off his cock
and approached Peter. The fox was still mumbling, now incoherently, about which parts of his wife
made him come the hardest, when Hawk forced the muzzle back over the vulpine's snout. Peter got out
about three words before he realized he couldn't talk, then snorted the wolf's spunk and coughed
out, forcing it to shove out the nostril holes like snot. The fox then lurched back and let out a
throaty cry, the sound coming broken like sobs; if the fox was crying, it was out of ecstasy as his
cock bucked and splattered his slender chest with lines of creamy, prostate-milked semen.
The wolf grabbed the wand out of Peter's asshole, drawing a whimper from the fox, and then a sigh of
relief as it spared him the massive overstimulation. Hawk didn't take anything else off save for the
fox's ankle carabiner - Peter's eyes swelled to a terrified expression as Hawk forced him out of the
bed with the muzzle still on his snout. Once more, the wolf pushed Peter into the study and forced
him into the doggie bed of comforters that made a fabric puddle on the day bed, then left and locked
the door.
Back in the master bedroom, Hawk felt empty and ashamed of himself. He held his phone in his gloved
hand, scrolling through the contacts to get to Alzarre's entry, wondering if the maned wolf would be
in a better state of mind. Hawk imagined the guara's reaction upon hearing about how Hawk forced
Peter to go to the bathroom, then his mind went off on a tangent about just how unusual it was to
have done that, and how Peter looked somewhat like a cat squatting over a sandbox - complete with
the tail twitching.
Before he could actually call Alzarre, the phone rang on its own and he almost dropped it. The
screen lit up with a picture of a red fox with leather opera gloves on, making kissy faces into a
wide angle camera lens - a complete Facebook trendy teenager shot. The fox in the picture wasn't a
teenager, though, and he wasn't what the caption read: "Whore". In parentheses was the truth:
"Chadrick Fox". Hawk answered. "Hey."
"Haaawwwkk, I'm lonely, can I come over?" Chad put on his best whining voice. "And it's Christmas, I
want to give you a present!"
Hawk's face drained. Of course it was Christmas. The thought that Chad had a present for him made
him worry about just what the fox would have bought him. It probably involved something for the
vulpine to wear while being used by Hawk, or possibly something for the wolf to wear while using the
fox, or it could be a real honest gift in which case he wouldn't know what to do. "You'd have an
empty house, I'm in California." Hawk was not in California. At most, he was five miles from Chad.
"Ohhh, why are you in California?"
"My dad flew me out here. We're having a little.. thing. It's weird. But hey, he actually got around
to paying to see me, only took him about ten years," the wolf said. No, Dad did not pay for plane
tickets anywhere - Hawk was in a stranger's bed, another fox's bed.
"Hmmf! Well, I had plenty of crap at my parents' place. My niece kept telling me she wanted to marry
me! At least she's only six. When are you coming back? I'm soooo horny. You have no idea what I want
to do to you. It's going to be so awesome."
"You've got such a vivid imagination, you little fuck. I'll be back Sunday night." Hawk played
events in his head. While Chad was trying to tease him, he imagined Peter sitting on the toilet and
shitting like a cat again. He started wondering if he actually even liked Peter; the whole treatment
was excessive, but he had to do it. It satisfied him, and maybe somewhere, there was a kernel of
good to come of it...
"Oooh, I'm going to have a big surprise for you!"
Hawk wanted to curl up in a ball. Despite being on the phone and still wearing his leather gear,
despite the scent of sex that wafted up from his foreskin, he rolled onto his side and pulled his
knees up. All the leather gear made it awkward. "Great. Hey, you know, I miss you. L.A's a shithole.
There's too much traffic and everyone's... like my dad. I should have brought you along." Hawk
pictured the scarlet fox tied up and gagged on his knees in a hotel bed, whimpering and pleading to
get off at the hands of a black-leathered wolf. Unlike Peter, the other fox was something Hawk would
truly enjoy. Hawk felt like he was making a complete mistake, at least by lying. "I mean it."
Chad whimpered and something rustled against the phone. "Well, I'll come over Sunday night, okay?
I'll even get a ride, no driving around for the big, mean wolf after a long flight. Okay?"
"Yeah, it's great," Hawk said. "Merry Christmas."
He hung up and clutched onto one of the frill-edged bed pillows, then stared at the wall until he
eventually fell asleep.
The next morning, Hawk sat at the head of the dining table, while Peter slouched at the opposite
end. Breakfast was morning hash with eggs, sausage, shredded potatoes, and cheese. Perhaps in an
attempt to stave off the inevitable mess, Peter shook his head when Hawk offered ketchup. The fox's
arms were still behind his back, and he leaned over to eat very carefully, trying to consume more
than smudge things on his place with his nose.
Hawk stared. At first, it was amusing, even erotic, to see the fox try to eat like a dog again.
Peter's muzzle fur was all matted, though, from a night spent trapped in a leather holster with
wolfcome smeared all over it. When the heat turned on and sent a breeze from the other side of the
room, from behind Peter, it carried the powerful musk of stale and ripened wolf semen. Hawk lost his
appetite and put the fork down.
"I have something to tell you," Peter said, after most of his food was gone down the hatch. He
lifted his eyes up as he said it, and stared straight at Hawk, but nothing intimidating showed on
his face.
"I'm not a fucking priest," Hawk said, gloved hands holding onto the edge of the table like he was
going to push away at any second. "Confessing shit to me isn't going to get you anywhere."
"When someone kept stealing your gym shorts, it wasn't those wolves who hung out with Christopher.
They only did that thing with, with, with the pants once. Then they got bored and did other stuff. I
dunno, they were like a pack or something." Peter sat up, and Hawk just stared on. The fox took a
deep breath. "I mean, it was me."
The two stared at each other for several minutes. Once Peter was satisfied Hawk wasn't going to try
and eat him, the fox continued. "It was after... the woods. I could smell you while you were doing
it, and I liked the smell, and so I wanted to have it more. Christopher.. he would, he would get on
me and come in me, sometimes really fast if he was all riled up after school, and he would just pull
out and leave me there or make me go do other stuff with him, like I mean, social stuff. So when I
was trying to go to sleep, I'd, I'd bury my face in your musky shorts and fuck my p-pillow until I
came, just like when you fucked me."
Hawk just continued to stare at Peter. First, Christopher admitted that he liked the wolf and had
wanted him. Hawk had tried to figure if that was genuine or not, and couldn't quite pick it out.
Teasing often hid a crush, and Christopher could easily be trying to find some way to stick it back
to Hawk after being exposed as a whore. Peter's admission was completely different. Aside from
Hawk's relentless fantasizing about Peter, the black wolf and fox never really interacted aside from
the fateful Halloween. Hawk had never figured out what to say to Peter, and the fox never seemed to
pay him any attention at all. "But you still-"
"That asshole was... he was terrible," Peter said, frowning and tipping his ears out of threat,
anger. "I was really scared of him. I was scared he was going to hurt me. I can't explain it, maybe
you felt the same way about him."
"Did you want me?" Hawk finally asked.
Peter shrugged. "I don't know. You were always kind of weird. You never looked happy, always
scowling around. Those friends you had, I noticed, they approached you. You never approached anyone.
You only got in trouble because you didn't follow the rules, not like you were a brat. Right? I
guess you were kind of mysterious, but I guess I was scared of you."
"That doesn't answer the question," Hawk said, and his hands let go of the table, then started
clenching and fidgeting with each other. For lack of a better posture, Hawk made them into a
triangle and flexed his knuckles. He looked between the black leather and the fox several feet away,
and felt like a character in a movie.
"I said I don't know! I wasn't really thinking about, about _you_ when I would... get off. I just,
it was, it was an association. By the time... I graduated, I didn't like Christopher any more and I
didn't know what I ever saw in him. He'd stopped fucking me, and I stopped wanting it. Once we both
went off to school, that was it. He was in Europe and doing something culturally important, and I
was just doing the same thing my dad did, and my grandfather did. I guess that wasn't good enough
for him, which made me feel a little bad sometimes."
"Now he's a whore. His parents couldn't afford to send him to school any more, but they made too
much money for him to get federal aid, and the divorce wasn't finalized yet. That's what he said.
That's a Catch-22. I know what that's like, it was a big pain for me to be an emancipated minor so I
just dealed on my own," Hawk said. He stood up from his chair and moved to lean back on the kitchen
counter. He was next to a foot stool and idly picked his boot up to stand on it. Peter stared down
at it. "Do you still feel bad?"
Peter shook his head. "No, especially not... when you say that. He's really a whore?"
"He's really a whore. He's still a cocky asshole, except he'll do whatever you pay him to. Nothing
really wrong with that, but I would say that's a fall from grace." Hawk wondered if he'd fallen from
grace. He decided that he hadn't.
The fox slid out of his chair and stepped over to Hawk, then knelt down carefully and leaned against
the counters. He faced the wolf's lifted boot, then sunk as low as he could and started to lick at
the black leather. When Hawk had ordered him to do it previously, the sexual thrill had been boiled
away - it was just humiliating to Peter, and made Hawk feel like he'd won something at the expense
of something else. Seeing Peter do it without provocation - Hawk had simply put his boot on the
stool out of habit - made the wolf's cock pulse in his leathers. He took the opportunity to enjoy
it, stroking at the bulge.
Peter did a poorer job of licking than before, but with his arms behind him and at the sides and
with an awkward angle, it was good enough. He straightened up and looked square at the wolf's
crotch.
"What, you want to suck me?" Hawk said, dickhead swelling so hard that it made an imprint in the
leather. Peter stared at it. "Yeah, well, you're going to, unless you pull your face away." Peter
didn't pull away, so the wolf's gloved hands pried his fly open and dropped his cock out. The length
throbbed and bobbed in front of Peter's face, and the fox sniffed at the head. His nose wrinkled,
but he sniffed again, and again, and then started to lick. The licks turned into nuzzles,
lip-grinds, and then a very loud blowjob.
The fox wasn't very good at it. He didn't have the hang of using his tongue like a wet tube, and
kept trying to suck more than a canid muzzle was made for, producing an endless series of
drool-laden slurps and gags as he swallowed the resulting spit. His tongue squirmed and swirled and
swatted at Hawk's dickhead, finally pushing the skin back and trying to glide all around the rim of
the glans. His thin lips grabbed and forced back and forth, even leaving a tooth to drag against the
flesh. The only reason Hawk didn't hit the fox in the face for the teeth was that his pain tolerance
for cock play was enormously high, and the intense sensation just felt pleasant.
More than pleasant. Despite how poorly Peter gave head, the fox made up for it by being massively
enthusiastic. An attempt to pause him by pushing his head away just had the vulpine growl and return
to the job. The only thing Peter couldn't do at the moment was the one thing that guaranteed Hawk
would get off, so the wolf took care of that himself. While starting down at Peter's bobbing head,
the wolf wrapped his fingers around the base of his black scrotum and started milking the orbs into
his palm. After just four pulls, he lost control and snarled, a sudden and sticky climax pumping a
few jets of seed into Peter's mouth. The fox stopped moving and just stared - his mouth didn't even
close when Hawk pulled back, and the wolf half expected seed to spill out all over the floor.
Instead, Peter swallowed and made a sour face. "That's disgusting," he said. "It's really gross. How
can you do that?"
"You've never tasted it?"
"I eat a lot of fruit, mine's not.. yours is disgusting," Peter repeated.
Hawk snorted and grabbed Peter by the scruff until the fox stood, then forced him along upstairs to
the study. "Time for your fucking nap," Hawk said, cock still dangling out of his leather pants as
he pushed Peter into the room. The fox turned and sat on the daybed, but didn't move to lie down.
Instead, he stared sullen at the floor, muzzle hanging open. "What's the problem?" Hawk sniffed,
hands finally getting around to stuffing his cock back into his pants. "So you didn't like sucking
my dick. Oh well."
Peter drooled and barely caught it. "I.. I don't feel well," he said, then his eyes bugged out.
Desperate, he jumped up and hurled himself across the room, only to trip on his shackles and smash
into the carpet hard enough to knock a jar of pens over on the office desk. Hawk figured out what
was going on just in time, grabbing Peter by his upper shoulders and holding him in front of the
wastebasket so he could vomit. He huffed and groaned afterwards, and Hawk helped him to the
bathroom.
"Great, so I'm not just the devil, I'm a bad cook."
"It wasn't the food," Peter said softly, as Hawk toweled his face. The wolf stopped. "I couldn't.. I
couldn't keep it inside me."
Hawk didn't respond, and only finished cleaning the fox's face. When he led Peter back to the study,
the fox eagerly slipped into the daybed and curled up tight. Hawk stood in the doorway and watched
Peter nestle into the comforters, then sighed.
Hawk's lack of planning not only left him without any more clothes than the leather on his back, but
he had nothing to do. Surfing the internet on his phone was boring, and he didn't dare try to use
any of the other computers in the house. He put his coat back on and wandered around the hallways,
listening to his boots thump at the floor, watching his profile appear and disappear in the various
mirrors and framed pictures. The house was old enough that he felt like a cape would be more
appropriate.
He decided to go through Peter's son's room. He cleaned his gloves off, then carefully started
rifling through clothes drawers, desk drawers, even digging through the closet and getting under the
mattress. What he found was dirty laundry, sports magazines, and then a few porn mags. All of them
were straight, and even seemed to be classy. A quick look at Jared's computer - the password was
helpfully written under his keyboard - demonstrated a much further tend towards classy cheesecake
tittie porn. The more Hawk looked at it, the more it was obviously victorian in spirit. Dark.
Gothic. He reexamined Jared's CD's. Someone was going through a dark phase. So far, at least from
the porn collection, Jared wasn't batting for the other team.
Hawk felt relieved and went to sit in the living room. As he sat in silence, leather spread out on
leather overstuffed furniture, he wondered what the house felt like with other people in it. Would
it feel more like a home or more like a mansion? Did Jared listen to his music loud enough to ring
out through the house? Who sat in the living room, who lounged in the family room, who was in the
kitchen?
The wolf idly pondered the idea of paying the fox a visit when his wife was home, or when his son
was home. It gave him cold chills. He'd never come that close to someone else's life before. The
closest had been Armand, who lost his job due to Hawk and promptly vanished.
Unable to shake the feeling, Hawk put the television on.
After dinner, Hawk led Peter out of the study and into the master bedroom. The fox's ears sank as
soon as he set foot inside, and his body pushed back against the leather-clad wolf's grip. The wolf
forced Peter onto the bed with a hard shove, then sat down behind him.
"I'm going to take your shackles off," he said, and started working each of the carabiners free. It
transformed the hobbled fox from someone who could barely shuffle along to a completely free person.
The loss of bindings made Peter recoil and pull himself up towards the pillows. "Don't worry. I
won't come in your mouth again," the wolf said, slinging his coat off. He withdrew his shirt, then
pulled his boots off, then the breeches. He even slid his gloves off, then tossed them onto the pile
of leathers with a slap.
Peter rightfully picked up on the implication of Hawk removing his leathers and sank into the bed as
the wolf turned towards him. "What are you going to do to me? I'm sorry for hurting you! I'm sorry
for making him hurt you! I'm sorry for helping! I'm sorry I ever came while you were fucking my
drunk ass, because this wouldn't be happening!" Peter's fur ruffled and prickled and his lips curled
back until his nose pointed.
"Do you remember what I made you do when I first forced you into your bed on Friday night?" Hawk
said, straddling naked over the frightened vulpine. "Do it again."
Peter remembered, and didn't. He turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut. When Hawk
lowered himself further, until his swelling cock ground into the fox's slender abs, Peter squeezed
his legs together, knees lifting, then twisting to the side. "Please..."
"Don't beg like that, because I don't know what you're begging for," Hawk growled, pushing his face
down against Peter's, muzzle probing at the side of the vulpine's jaw. The fox started to
hyperventilate, body slowly going weak until his breathing slowed again.
"Please stop," he whispered. Peter kept struggling, muscles tensing, fur shivering, until Hawk
forced a knee in between his and pried them apart, then twisted his own body in between them. Peter
turned his head to look up at Hawk, and found the lupine's black face hovering over his, eyes
determined, brow furrowed. He looked down and saw the wolf's cock head emerge from its foreskin as
the wolf pushed forward slightly, a fat black mushroom plowing against creamy fur.
"I took you out of bondage for a reason. I want you to kiss me. I want you to lift your arms up and
hold me against you, while I..." Hawk said, and then looked down himself. His cock oozed precum, but
not enough to fully lubricate him. "Hrrh. Do it and I'll go from there."
Peter's body slowly shifted and the fox's arms lifted up, then slowly slid around the wolf's back,
fingertips touching through the fur. The vulpine looked away, eyes settling on the nightstand, on
the alarm clock, on the bottle of lube tucked behind it. As he held the wolf, Hawk slowly sank down,
until his body was pressing fully against Peter's. The wolf then sank to the side, no longer
smothering Peter with the overbearing size difference. Peter still stayed looking away, but one hand
gently slid down the wolf's spine to his lower back, then up towards the shoulderblades again. Then
the fox let go and squirmed to the side, reaching over towards the nightstand. He fumbled for the
lube bottle, then withdrew it and upended it into his hand a few times, then let it flop onto the
bed.
"What do you think you're doing?" Hawk said, staring down as the fox took his wet hand and wrapped
the black fingers around Hawk's shaft.
"You lean down and kiss me," Peter said, fingers gently milking at the flesh until the grasp of his
index finger and thumb ground right around the wolf's foreskin-sheathed glans.
Hawk slapped him. The wolf just pulled one arm up and whipped his bare hand across Peter's face,
knocking the vulpine's head over to the side hard enough that a fling of spit tore out of the fox's
mouth and landed in four streaked splats on the face of the alarm clock. While the fox lay stunned
and wrinkle-lipped, Hawk forced between Peter's legs and took his cock back to himself. Peter
realized what was happening at the last second and heaved his knees up, just in time for the wolf's
dickhead to plug right in. Peter's face lurched into a snarl and then a sharp wince, warm socket
squeezing and milking down on the wolf's dickhead. "I said kiss me." Hawk leaned down so that Peter
only had a few inches to move.
The fox squirmed, pinned down by the shaft stuffing slowly further in, and lifted his face with his
eyes closed. The first kiss was just a press of lips to lips, Peter's tight and unfeeling. As he
made skin to skin contact, Hawk's muzzle pulled into a smirk across the side that wasn't being
tended to by fox lips and the wolf let himself sink in over halfway.
Peter's mouth opened in a gasp and the wolf's tongue spilled against the teeth with a slap, then
retreated. Peter recoiled and made a face like he was disgusted, but it melted into a kind of sexual
gape, and his tongue extended out to slide against the wolf's lips. The slightest movement back and
forth in his asshole caused him to buck it tight, only to consciously have to push outwards to ease
the discomfort.
Hawk rewarded the fox's efforts again, tangling his tongue up against Peter's, forcing it into the
fox's mouth and then letting it push out again, overcoming the push several times as he worked
himself deeper. His cockhead knocked up against Peter's inner ring and the wolf gave a few pushes.
Peter gasped and yanked away from the kiss and pulled his hands down from Hawk's back. The wolf
snatched his wrists and slapped them against the sheets. "Don't move, or it's going to hurt," Hawk
said, nosing his muzzle towards the fox's ear, then started twisting and nudging to the side as he
forced harder and harder.
Peter looked like he was going to sneeze, then winced, then cried out with a mewl and a snick of his
teeth. His eyes snapped open as the wolf's dickhead lodged behind his inner ring, penetrated in a
way that made his muscles all spasm and let go. His cock lurched and twitched, starting to throb out
of its foreskin until veins showed along the fleshy reddish length.
The wolf just grinned and let his body sink down to press against Peter's again. His hands slid off
the fox's and gripped at the sheets, then pushed his face against Peter's for a kiss that was as
much bite as it was tonguing lick. "You've never had it this deep, have you?" Hawk said, still
half-grinning, nudging his snout at Peter's until the fox tucked it back and down against his
chestruff.
"His... wasn't long enough," the fox said, face cringing as Hawk shifted his hips to the side. Peter
cautiously lifted his hands and started to stroke the wolf's black sides, up to the ribs, over the
bumps until Hawk snorted and snarled and bucked his cock even deeper. Peter then let his hands slide
up the wolf's pecs, feeling the muscle, even brushing past the nipples.
Hawk narrowed his eyes, cock bucking and tensing as the fox gave him a genuine sensual thrill, then
pulled back until his shaft was halfway out. He nudged forward, then tugged back, then started to
lean upwards. As he nudged forward again, Peter's hand slapped onto his and clutched hard.
"There, there," Peter gasped, cock spitting precum out onto his bellyfur and leaving a wet-dark
streak in his creamy fur.
Hawk shook the grab off and tugged back, letting his dick slide back until it pulled on the fox's
outer ring, then went forward. He leaned back even further and drove his cockhead right into Peter's
prostate, prompting a purely animal sound to come out of the red fox. "Don't tell me how to fuck,"
Hawk snapped.
"PLEASE!" Peter begged, voice breaking in the middle like a desperate sob. Hawk swatted him in the
face again.
"I said, don't tell me how to fuck!" The wolf snarled, then dumped his hips forward until his
cockhead paused and rammed through the inner ring. Peter's toes pointed and then yanked back, legs
fighting and squirming against Hawk's body. The wolf didn't play slow any more, starting to solidly
pump into Peter's asshole. He made sure to tug upwards and even lean back, usually right as his
cockhead drew underneath the prostate, thrilling the fox into producing out of breath gasps and
gurgling sounds. The wolf's eyes rolled in his head as he hung his muzzle over Peter's face,
allowing his gaze to swing out of time with his crushing thrusts. "I always liked how you looked
naked, when I saw you. I still like it."
Peter squirmed and pushed at Hawk when the wolf ground down too hard, grabbed up his flanks if he
pulled out too far, and basically conflicted every action the black lupine made while violating him.
"I..." he said, several times, the sound always dying off as the crush of dickflesh against prostate
sent him silent and gaping in awe.
"What are you thinking about? Are you thinking about your vixen tying you up and smothering your
face in her come-covered tits again?" Hawk said, body still pistoning his cock into Peter's hole.
Hawk expected to hear a whimpered admissal.
Instead: "You... coming in me..."
"Fuck," Hawk snorted, and his dickhead twitched, cock tensing so hard that it drove into Peter's
prostate on its own and prompted the fox to undulate underneath him. Peter's face crossed with the
brow-lifted sneeze of the edge of orgasm. Hawk's lips curled up with his. "FUCK!" He knocked in
hard, stabbed through the fox's deep ring, then buried hard, grunting and forcing up against the
hilt as he shot hard enough to make his eyes squeeze shut and water.
Peter cried out, a wailing fox sound that broke into the rhythmic groans of a powerful climax,
asshole milking the last of Hawk's spunk out as the fox's own cream shot out onto his chest in
sticky, prostate-battered spurts. He sunk back, slender chest heaving under its imaginary weight of
foxcome, while Hawk stayed still inside him. The wolf pulled out in one draw, bringing a shiver and
a cluck from Peter's throat as the length slipped free. He kneeled back, cock hanging out like a
drooping banana. The wolf reached for the corner of a blanket to mop his cock off and one last buck
nudged the shaft to swing upwards, a slimy drool of come pushing from the tip and hanging off.
Peter's eyes followed it, as Hawk wiped his cock clean.
The wolf grunted and sat down, one foot flat on the bed in a half crouch, back hunching forward.
Peter sat up, looked around the room, then carefully mopped his chest off with the other corner of
the blanket. He then scooted over and slid an arm around Hawk's back, then leaned up against the
wolf's side. Hawk's ears perked at the first gesture, and he looked over, but only spoke up when
Peter gave his chest a gentle rub. "What the hell are you doing?"
It didn't dissuade Peter. The fox leaned his head against Hawk's shoulder. "Thank you for doing that
to me."
"How the hell can you thank me? Isn't Jesus going to fucking spank you now?"
Peter sat up and stared at Hawk, then squinted. "You really are the devil."
"I'm fucking serious. How can you fucking thank me for _anything_? I... I've done... all this," Hawk
sniffed, frowning his eyes down at Peter. The fox just shrugged.
"Maybe I'm not cut out for this. Maybe the devil got me already. Maybe it's not worth the fight."
"I don't get this shit. If I have a god-shaped hole, it's been there for so long that I'd feel just
as wrong if I filled it in," Hawk groused and leaned back against the bed. To his horror, Peter went
with him, turning the friendly lean into a much more intimate whole-body snuggle. "I'm a terrible
person. I'm so terrible I can't even keep it to myself."
"It was so hard when my parents died. It was so sudden, it wasn't even helpless, it wasn't even
natural. I thought I was just going to blame God for doing it. How could he let my parents die in
that kind of accident, you know? What's the point?"
Hawk looked down at the top of Peter's head as the fox talked. The vulpine was warm, relaxed, even
tucked in, but the sensation just left Hawk feeling almost empty. "That's the obvious question,
yeah."
"Well, I don't really think God's that simple. Everything has a purpose. You have a purpose, even if
you don't believe in God. Maybe it's science or something, but there's still a purpose for
everything. This world isn't supposed to be easy and perfect. It's supposed to be a challenge, and
if we rise to it, we get rewarded into His embrace. And if we don't, well, I personally think we
only get punished if we do evil," Peter said, shifting slightly as he talked.
Hawk sighed. He almost felt normal, having a meandering afterglow conversation. He barely even felt
annoyed at the topic. "Are you sure you had a hole that God's purpose was supposed to fill? Maybe
something else goes in there."
Peter laughed, pulled the corner of the blanket over himself, then shrank at the sensation of his
own spunk wetting it. He pushed that part away and moved closer to Hawk.
"I'm not being funny," the wolf said, face animal-blank as he looked back over his shoulder. "Maybe
Jesus was just convenient."
The fox deflated against Hawk and rolled onto his back, tucking his feet under the blanket. "If I
lost religion... or if I never found it... I guess I'd fill the hole with... what you did to me.
Just now."
Hawk stared him in the face and Peter shrank back like he was about to bear witness to one of Hawk's
confusing and sadistic mood swings. "You'd rather have that, than your family? Your wife? Your kid?"
Peter sat up. "I didn't say that. I said if I lost religion. I don't think I'm going to. Do you
think you're going to drive it out of me?"
"Settle down. It didn't work. I'm fucking surprised you're letting my come stay so deep in your ass,
considering that both times I've shoved my dick in your mouth, you threw it right back up."
The fox winced. "Can.. can you not be an ass? Just for tonight? Can you stop trying to hurt me? I'm
not losing my religion. I'm not losing my family. But they're not here, and so this is the last time
I get to do this, and I want you to stop fucking it up. I'll never hurt you again, okay?" Instead of
smothering himself against Hawk, Peter grabbed onto the wolf by the shoulder, and by the end of it
was nearly scruffing the black wolf. Hawk took his turn slouching and pinning his ears back. "Just
sleep in bed with me and..." Peter didn't get a chance to finish, but only because he didn't give it
to himself. The fox let go and sank down, then rolled away from Hawk, body tucking back against the
lupine.
Hawk felt a kind of cold panic grip into him, and no matter how much Peter seemed to relax once he
was spooned and clutched up against, Hawk stared at the fox's curled up ruddy form like it was a
foreign object. If Chad was there, the wolf would have felt smugly possessive at having a fox
nuzzling and then falling into sleepy breaths. Peter gave Hawk the impression of a hungry, tired
wild animal that was seeking warmth as the lesser of two evils.
The wolf reached his hand over and gave Peter's side a slow stroke, then drooped his fingers over
the fox's chest. Peter sighed with his eyes closed and reached over, grasping the wolf's arm to his
chest and wrapping one around it. That only made Hawk's sense of confused panic rise up more until
his heart pounded in his throat. He'd broken Peter, something which he always assumed happened to
people after he mistreated them for his own amusement, but which he'd never actually seen. Unlike
vulpine Armand, unlike the prey-headed zebra pony whore Zale, the aftermath of misbehavior was
always at a distance or the individual was messed up enough on their own. Peter didn't seem messed
up. He had a nice job, a nice family, and seemed to be genuinely nice. Now, he was cuddling up
against the same wolf who stared down at him like a fascist prison guard in the bathroom.
Hawk waited until Peter was asleep, then climbed out of bed. He pondered taking a piss, but even
that was too much. In as much silence as he could manage, he pulled his leather gear on - it was the
rustle of the coat that did him in. Peter let out a hiss of awakening and rolled over, eyes
half-lidded as he regarded the wolf.
"Mmm. Where are you going?"
"I'm getting the fuck out of here."
"But it's not even Sunday yet," Peter said, looking over at the alarm clock. He saw the time and the
date underneath it. Hawk saw the dried spots of fox-saliva from when he bitch-slapped Peter for
mouthing off.
"Look. You don't love me. I'm a terrible person. Maybe I _am_ the devil. If I am, then I don't want
you. You have nice things. You can have them. I gave you enough of whatever Christopher didn't to
last you until you're a widower."
Peter's ears swept back and the fox sat up in bed. Hawk interrupted him before he even started.
"I'm going to leave, and when I do, you're not gonna see me again unless you try to come for me.
You'll get your bike parts from some courier guy I work with. I wouldn't come try to see me. I
wouldn't try to call me. I wouldn't try to find out what I'm doing, because you know exactly what
it's going to be."
"Hawk-"
The wolf turned and stalked out of the house, playing up the impression of a haughty house lord
stalking his castle until he stalked out the front door and slammed it. His car was dusted in snow -
he snatched the door open and bolted in even though it meant sitting on melting snow. He didn't even
bother to drive carefully - at the late hour on a holiday weekend, no one was around to see him
drift corners on his way back to the house.
Once inside his own home, nothing was warm enough as he tore his clothes off and stuffed them into
his massive leather-filled wardrobe. He heaved into bed and buried himself under sheet, blanket,
comforter, and duvet cover. Somewhere on the other side of town, Peter was doing the same thing.
Hawk hoped that the next day, when Peter lay down to sleep, it was with his own wife for real
companionship, not with the Stockholm syndrome that Hawk provided.
The wolf let the images of the final day that never happened play in his head, another breakfast
with the fox, another session of boot licking, then something to make Peter cry one last time before
leaving him to his life. Having the upper hand felt like it would have finished something properly
in one world, but what he did finished it properly in another.