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It was a day in early June. The weather was warm, of course, but not as warm as I'd expected. Summer's heat hadn't yet fully arrived.

Colt was on his back, all four of his legs up in the air. His tail wagged, showing his happiness. He rolled around, rubbing his fur on the grass, using the warm grass and the firm ground to massage his back.

The air was full of the smells of summer grass and dog. More specifically, the smell of feral, canine semen floated in the air. Soon, the scent would evaporate and rise up and away. But, for a moment, it lingered. I had just masturbated Colt to an explosive orgasm. His seed was on the ground, splattered and spattered. As the feral dog lay there, on his back, I watched as his red cock retreated back into the sheath.

For a few minutes, or (probably) longer, the two of us stretched out on the grass, with the sun high overhead. Eventually, Colt fell asleep. He rolled over, on to his side, and he slept, looking the very picture of contentment.

It was just the two of us, living in that house - two canines - myself, an anthro Rottweiler, and Colt, a feral Cane Corso. We were alone, and somewhat isolated. The house sat in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a tall fence. Best of all, the entrance to the long driveway was kind of hidden - it was hard to see it from the road. A few weeks ago, I had piled up a huge pile of branches and I'd made that driveway impossible to see from the road.

It had been six months since society, and the government, had collapsed.

And this house was where I'd chosen to live. I'd wanted to be alone, solitary, away from all the chaos.

Behind the house, there was a stable for horses. I suppose you could call it a barn. I chose to call it a stable. The family who used to live here owned feral horses - there were eight large horse stalls, plus a hayloft, and a small office, out there in the stable.

**

As Colt slept, I went into the stable, to wash my hands. Afterwards, I wandered around. I'd been meaning to check for any possible damages or issues. The family who used to live here had moved out in - January? Or maybe December, right after the collapse. The house and the stable sat empty until I moved in, back in April. There'd been so much snow in February, and rain in March, and no one had been here to keep an eye on things.

There was an office, out there in the stable, and a private bathroom. There were - as I mentioned - the stalls. The place smelled like feral horses. Well. I'd never been around feral horses, so, I had no idea what they smelled like. However, I liked to imagine that the smell of the stable was - indeed - the smell of the horses who'd been living out there. Perhaps I was right to make such an assumption. Perhaps not.

At the back of the stable there were living quarters for the stablehands. Is that the word? Someone who works taking care of horses. Stablehands? There were bunk beds, and a large table with chairs around it. There were shelves and dressers. I liked to imagine those workers lounging around those quarters after a long day taking care of the horses. Playing cards, or stretched out on one of the bunks, or just chatting with each other. I liked to imagine, as well, that all of the stablehands were male. There was a bathroom, which was accessible only through the living quarters, and that bathroom was obviously designed for males. The urinal was one of those "trough" urinals, and it was big enough for four males to use all at once, at the same time, comfortably. There were two toilet stalls, which didn't have doors. The bathroom was wide, and spacious, and clean. Across from the toilets, there was a shower area, which had four showers mounted high on the wall. The showers were far enough away from the toilets - no one would get splashed while sitting in one of the stalls.

And I wondered - sometimes - where those stablehands had gone. The family had taken their horses with them when they'd moved out. Had the stablehands gone with them? Or had they gone off to be with their families, wherever they were?

After all, after everything fell, a lot of folks had traveled - had left home - to be with family members who lived far away.

Shit. I'm getting distracted. Writing down whichever thoughts, whichever things, wander into my mind.

I checked the windows of the stable, looking for holes, and and I checked the doors, and I looked up at the ceiling. If there holes up there, would I be able to see them? I told myself I should just go up on the roof and check.

I'd already decided that I was going to try and live there as long as possible. I liked the house, I liked the stable - or barn, call it what you will - I just needed to make sure they were in good shape.

**

I went into the stable's office, and I started going through the drawers of the desk. No reason, just curious.

Colt came into the barn, then, silently. I'd never met a feral dog who could move so quietly. He came up to me, as I sat there in the chair, and I patted his head. His fur was incredibly warm - probably, from his nap in the sun.

I think his name made sense. I think - but I don't know - that the family who'd owned the house, the stable, and the horses, had also owned Colt. They'd made their living raising feral horses, so, it made sense that they'd name their dog Colt. Who knows, maybe they had other dogs named, I don't know, Mustang or something. Pony, perhaps.

However, why had they left him behind? Had it been an accident? Or had they taken him with them, and then he'd run back to this house? If they had left him behind - then why? How could anyone leave any dog behind? And Colt - Colt was such a great dog, so friendly. He looked fierce, but he didn't act fierce.

He was a big dog, and he looked like a dog you didn't want to go near, much less mess with. However, that was just his appearance. He was actually very friendly, very nice and affectionate.

He was a feral Cane Corso. I think. Or, perhaps, he was half Cane Corso. I think his ears were different from a typical Cane. And his tail - it was rather long, and very nearly curled, which I think is different. I could be wrong.

The internet had been knocked out, of course. By the time I moved into this house, the internet was gone, and so I couldn't simply go online and look up images of the Cane Corso. I could've walked into town, I suppose - and gone to the library. Gotten my info the way folks used to do, before the internet. However, the town was getting more dangerous. There were some folks still living there, that was true, but, there was pretty much no law enforcement at all. It was getting dangerous to go anywhere unless you were in a large group.

Digressions, digressions.

Colt's fur was jet black, but he had a big splotch of white on his chest. He was tall, and his body wasn't thick or bulky. He was lean and muscled - his muscles were large, and looked powerful. He had a fairly large head, a big nose, and a long muzzle.

I'd gotten used to having him around. I enjoyed his company, and I think he enjoyed mine. At night, when I went to bed, he slept on the floor right next to the bed. Part of me worried that his former owners would come looking for him - and if the family who used to live here had owned him, well, they would know just where to look, wouldn't they?

I'd chosen this house partly because it was so well hidden. I'd wanted to be alone, no other anthros for company. And yet, I was grateful Colt was there. Like I said, he looked fierce, but he was a sweet, friendly dog.

**

As June ebbed and began to fade, and July approached, the weather got hotter and hotter. When Colt went out to the fenced-in yard, he preferred the shady spots under the trees. We began to play "fetch" less, probably because of the heat. Colt still enjoyed fetching sticks and tennis balls, but he would tire of the game fairly quickly. The heat probably exhausted him. We'd play fetch, then he'd drink a huge amount of water, and then he'd look for one of those shady spots. As for me, well, I'd grown up in the north, where summers got warm, sure, but the temperatures rarely climbed above 80 or so.

I wasn't used to summers in this part of the country. Just walking through the yard, my fur would get damp with sweat.

Another digression - feral dogs don't sweat, do they? I think I read that somewhere. That's why they pant. Panting is their way of cooling themselves down. Or have I remembered that wrong?

Yet another way we anthros changed, as we evolved into anthros. We have hands and feet, and we sweat.

And we worry about things.

July 2nd came and went. I almost didn't realize what day it was. I'd found an expensive watch somewhere, and I'd started using that to keep track of the days. When I realized it was the 2nd, I mixed myself a drink and I went wandering around the yard. Colt followed. July 2nd is, of course, Founders Day. In the past, before the collapse, every year on the 2nd, everyone got drunk, no one worked, and everything shut down. Would this year be different? After all, no one had jobs anymore, or offices. Would folks still celebrate? There'd be no parades, of course. I raised my glass in a silent toast, standing there, as I was, in the yard under the hot sun. Colt looked up at me.

Later that day, as evening approached, Colt seemed restless. He fidgeted, he paced. Instead of his normal routine of going out to the yard for a while, then going back in and finding a nice spot for a nap, he went back and forth - for a while, he went outside, then back in, then back out. Back and forth.

Eventually, he came up to me and sat down. His cock was perhaps halfway out of the sheath. He was, indeed, restless - a very specific kind of restless. Well, we'd been here before, he and I, and so I knew what to do. I knelt down, and I stroked his fur, and I reassured him. He moved in closer. He looked into my eyes, and he fidgeted, restless and horny. More of his cock slid out, pointing down towards the floor.

I took him in hand, so to speak - I gripped the shaft, and when I did so, Colt humped his hips forward, once, a single time. His knot emerged from the thick sheath. I began masturbating him. As my hand traveled up and down the shaft, Colt stood still, mostly, but his large body quivered. Soon, semen began to emerge, and I sped up my stroke. The big feral dog panted, and he started humping my hand. It felt like he was getting fully erect. I inhaled the smell of his fur, and the smell of his semen, and I felt the warmth of his body heat. More semen came out, and it looked like he was at the point of his orgasm where his ejaculate had the most sperm.

Eventually, I gripped his knot, firmly, with my free hand (hoping to give Colt the impression, or feeling, of being "tied" - who knew what it actually did, but Colt certainly didn't mind). The big feral went still, he stopped humping my hand, and the rest of his semen pumped out. Of course, "the rest" of his semen was quite a lot of semen . . . as always, I marveled at the quantity of it, as it emerged and spattered down to the floor. The remainder of his orgasm probably lasted a long time - but we were both enjoying the experience, and when something feels this good, you just don't measure time.

When he was done, I let go, and Colt shivered and panted.

Colt licked my face, and he licked my hand, as he always did after I helped him get some release, some relief.

That night, as I went to bed, Colt varied his routine, just a bit. Instead of curling up and immediately going to sleep, he stood by the bed and stared at me for a moment. I almost felt like he wanted to jump in bed with me, and I wasn't sure how to respond. Then, the big dog curled up on the floor. He rested his head on his front paws, and soon he was asleep.

**

That night, I had a dream, and in the dream I was walking around a large lake. A Labrador with yellowish fur was following me, for a while. He vanished, then reappeared up ahead - a dozen or so feet up ahead on the path I was walking along. He stood there and looked at me, and he was beautiful.

When I woke up, I thought about a memory I hadn't thought of in ages. When I was fourteen, I spent the summer at my aunt's house. Most days, restless, I'd go swimming in the lake. Most days, her neighbor's dogs would show up, and sometimes I'd play with them. One day, the Labrador jumped on my back while I was kneeling down to pick up a tennis ball. I wasn't on all fours, or anything, and I was wearing shorts, but it felt like he was trying to mount me. Startled, I stood up, and the Labrador stood there, staring at me. I dared myself to get a closer look, and so I did (after I glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby) - I knelt down, again, and I looked at the dog's underside. His penis wasn't out, it was still firmly in the sheath. So, I told myself, he wasn't trying to mount anything, he was just playing. As dogs do. My fourteen-year-old self felt relief, but he also felt . . . curiosity? As the rest of the summer rolled on, he would swim in the lake and he would watch his aunt's neighbor's dogs, and he would wonder about certain things . . . And then he - I - grew up, and the memory of that day got shelved away with all the others. Brought out, now and again, examined once in a while. But, for some reason, by the time I was living in the house with the stable, I hadn't thought of it in ages.

**

About two weeks later, Colt's restlessness - let's call it that - returned. He paced, and he couldn't get comfortable in any of the shady spots out in the yard. The day's heat had been fierce, but as Colt and I went inside, late in the afternoon, clouds began to roll in. I wondered if it was going to rain. I also wondered if, perhaps, we'd get a break from the heat.

In the living room, I spread a thick towel out, on the floor, and I sat down next to Colt. I stroked his fur, and I reassured him, and he moved in closer to me. So far, so familiar. This time, however, instead of standing there, passive and waiting for me to take care of him, Colt began to sniff my fur. Casually, at first, then more intently. Soon, his nose zoomed in on my crotch. He'd never done that before. When I'd first met Colt, I'd assumed he would do that, because (being familiar but not that familiar with feral dogs) I'd assumed that all dogs did that. However, he never did, not until that restless day somewhere in the middle of July, with the heat finally breaking and the clouds rolling in.

And he seemed so curious, too, so curious about whatever it was he was smelling down there. Acting on instinct, acting without thinking, I lowered my shorts and my underwear, and Colt eagerly began sniffing the parts of me that had - so far - remained hidden from him. He inhaled my masculine scents, his keen nose drew in the rawest (and most secret) smells that my body produced. I was shocked when his tongue darted out and licked my testicles, then my sheath. A rush of pleasure went through me, and my penis began to emerge. He licked that, too. I put my hands on his head, and I said something, who knows what, probably good boy, good boy.

He kept licking until I reached down and pulled up my shorts and my underwear.

I'm writing these words down years after that day with Colt, in the living room. I could not have explained then, nor can I explain now, why I returned my shorts to their natural state, why I denied Colt's sweeping tongue.

True, before society had collapsed, I'd started turning into a hermit. I'd been getting more and more solitary. And I'd stopped dating, and I'd stopped going to bars. I had assumed - back then - that those changes were temporary. I was taking a break, I told myself, taking a break from males, from sex. And then the world fell apart, and I chose to live alone.

In other words, I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . I'd built a solitary life for myself, a life without connections to others . . . And perhaps some part of my brain felt like letting Colt explore my body would be the same thing as establishing a connection with him?

Perhaps.

If that's true, if that's what some part of my brain was thinking, that day in July so long ago, well, it was a foolish thing to think.

Colt and I had already established a connection. I'd been trying to live without others, but I'd brought Colt into my life. The feral dog and I had become friends, of a sort.

Feral dog and anthro dog, we had built a friendship. We had a connection, so why not let him run his tongue where he wanted to run it? Why did I pull my shorts back up?

Well. It's also true that I wanted to focus on Colt's pleasure - I wanted to relieve the big feral of his restlessness, I wanted to help him feel better, by getting him off. I did not want to bring my own pleasure - my own needs - into the mix. In other words, this was about Colt, not about me.

That's probably what I told myself, as I pulled up my shorts, as I thus blocked the tongue and ended the waves of pleasure that might've, who knew, drowned me.

However, I think I also told myself - either consciously or unconsciously - I also told myself . . . as I reached out for Colt's penis (which had slid gracefully from the big sheath) . . . that there was no reason to completely deny myself pleasure. I meant to masturbate Colt, as I had before. Indeed, I started out doing just that - sliding effortlessly into the familiar rhythm, my hand closed around the thick shaft. I began to stroke it. As the rest of Colt's maleness emerged, my hand sped up, and soon it was going up and down the shaft. So far, so familiar. And then I changed things. Why completely deny myself, some part of me whispered, and so . . . I ducked my head under the big feral, as he stood there, and I started sniffing around, as I masturbated him. The scents were powerful. Going further than I ever thought I would, I ran my tongue along the circumference of the knot. Colt shivered, and he thrust forward. The tastes on my tastebuds mingled with the scents in my nose. Curious, exploring, somewhat shocked at what I was doing, I used my tongue to explore his furry orbs. Colt began humping my hand faster. The first part of his ejaculation, the part that was low in sperm, was coming out. I ran my tongue down the shaft of his feral penis, and then I licked, gently, at the subtle veins that ran along the tapered tip. Curious, I tasted his spunk - I rolled it around on my tongue, swallowed.

I think I imagined (looking back on the day this happened, I think I know what was going through my mind) . . . I think I imagined taking things further - I imagined going down on Colt, blowing him, taking him in my mouth. However, I worried about how fast he was going to hump and thrust, and I worried about the size of him. In other words, I was thinking when I should have been doing.

I did not take him in my mouth.

Instead, I continued to masturbate him. I watched, as more semen shot out and soaked the towel. I sped up my hand, and he sped up, too, as he humped my hand faster and then faster. Soon, I was gripping his knot, and the remainder of the dog's semen poured out . . . Colt's big, furry body clenched up then relaxed. For some time, we stayed close together. I held his knot until his orgasm was finished.

**

As Colt slept, I tried to take a nap. I couldn't. I tried to read, but I could not focus on the words. Eventually, I gave up. I went out to the stable, and I went to the room where the stablehands had lived. I went into the bathroom, with its big urinal, the bathroom for the stablehands. I liked to imagine a group of anthro males, using this space together, living together, working with the feral horses, together. I sat down on one of the toilets and I started masturbating. I thought about males I'd known - some I'd dated, some I'd slept with, others I'd lusted after. I thought about my imagined group of stablehands.

However, I could not finish until I thought about Colt.

I thought about how it felt, holding his cock in my hand. I thought about how it felt, his tongue on my balls. I thought about him, the big feral, and thinking such thoughts brought me to my climax.

**

That night, the moon and the stars were hidden behind clouds. Somehow, the air was just as hot as it had been during the day. I had planned on sleeping on top of one thin sheet, on the bed. However, as I stood and looked down, at the bed, with Colt standing close by, I realized I wanted something else. I went to the closet and, after some searching, I pulled out an old, thick blanket. C'mon I said to Colt, and he followed me to the living room.

There, I spread the blanket out on the floor. Colt looked up at me, curiosity in his eyes. I went back to the bedroom, for the pillow, which I'd forgotten. Back in the living room, I stretched out on the blanket, on the floor. I looked at Colt, who seemed uncertain. I said It's okay, come and sleep next to me, and I patted the blanket. The look of uncertainty went away, and Colt came up to me. I got comfortable, stretched out on my side, head on the pillow. Colt sat down, then he curled up next to me. He nestled his broad back up against my chest.

As we fell asleep, together on the floor, the rain began coming down.

**

And so Colt and I built a routine, a life together. I repaired whatever needed repairing - both the house and the stable. Colt would follow me around, every day, as I checked everything on the property, making sure things were as they should be. I gathered up firewood, for the coming winter. I gathered up food - mostly cans of food for me, and cans of feral dog food for Colt. Once or twice, I went off to other houses, to gather whatever food I could find in those empty places.

After meals, I would read, for a bit, and Colt would sit or nap next to me.

When the weather wasn't too hot, the big feral and I would play fetch, in the backyard. There were days in August where we would nap together, out in the yard, under a tree. Some days, I grilled steaks or burgers, for both of us - we still had electricity, and the empty houses nearby had fridges full of such things.

Whenever Colt got restless, I would use my hands and my tongue to bring him relief (once or twice, I did put his cock in my mouth, and always I'd run my tongue anywhere and everywhere, but I would rely on my hands to get Colt off). Some days, he wouldn't be restless, but he would come up to me, anyway, to let me know he needed me.

Every night, we would sleep curled up together on the blanket, on the living room floor, furry bodies entwined.

Like I wrote earlier, we had a connection, the two of us. We'd built up a friendship, and it felt good.

Somewhere in the middle of September, the power went out. I'd been waiting for that to happen. Honestly, I had assumed it would happen much earlier than it did. The weather was cooling, by then, but I wasn't worried. We had a fireplace in the house, and a potbelly stove in the barn. I felt like we'd be alright through the winter.

And then, towards the end of September . . . there came a day . . .

I was lying down on the couch, reading. We'd just had lunch. Colt came up to the couch, and he stood there, looking at me. Absently, I reached out a hand, to pet his head, to scratch his chin. I knew he didn't need to go outside, because he'd just been out there. I thought he wanted some affection, some attention. I continued reading, and I continued to absently stoke Colt's fur.

He didn't sit down, or lay down, and so - eventually - I wondered if he needed a certain kind of attention. I set the book down, and I sat up.

There was a look in the big feral dog's eyes, and there was - I suddenly realized - a feeling rising up in me - no - wait - it wasn't just a feeling, it was also a need - and it rose up inside me. Well, and of course, that need had always been there, hadn't it? I'd just been submerging it.

I took off my flannel shirt. As I took off my socks, Colt simply stood there, in the same spot, and he seemed so . . . calm. Not fidgeting, not anxious. He seemed confident, too. It is sometimes easy for an anthro dog like me to figure out what a feral dog wants. Sometimes, yes, sometimes it isn't easy. That day . . . that day I just knew.

I put my hands on his big head, and I stroked his long muzzle. Acting on instinct, I quickly kissed the top of Colt's head. It was time, I knew, to do, and to feel - it was not a time for thinking, for worrying.

I want to make sure I say this . . . I needed Colt. I didn't need someone, in general - someone, or anyone. I felt a strong need for Colt, specifically. I felt a very strong physical desire, and it was a physical desire aimed at Colt specifically.

Yes, we'd built a connection, yes - we'd built up a friendship, anthro dog and feral dog, myself and Colt, and now my feelings for him were going beyond friendship . . . My feelings for him had probably gone beyond friendship some time ago, but I'd been in denial about that. I'd been submerging my feelings.

In other words, it wasn't just a physical desire that I was feeling. I felt love, too, a strong and powerful love - for Colt.

Stroking the fur on his head, I licked his muzzle, and his tongue darted out - soon, our tongues were touching, and soon after that they were wrapped around each other. We kissed, and I held him close.

I was certain he wanted me the same way I wanted him.

I'd seen it in his eyes, but, of course, I could've imagined it. I could've seen what I wanted to see. However, like I said, I just knew. I looked into his eyes and I knew what he wanted.

I stood up, then, I rose from the couch with all my strong feelings of need and desire welling up within me. I felt nervous, and lustful, and my stomach was quivering, and a shiver ran through my entire body. I also felt relieved - at last, I'd reached the point of just going for it - I was going to feel, and - at last - I was going to act on those feelings.

Colt watched as I took off the t-shirt I'd had on underneath the flannel.

I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, and then I slid my jeans and my underwear down all at once. I stepped out of them, and there I was - naked in front of Colt. I looked around, and soon I found the old, thick towel - I placed that on the floor. I was going to offer myself to the big feral, who was my friend and also - in some way - more than a friend.

It would be his choice. Colt would get to choose whether or not to take me. He could have me, if he wanted me - and it would be his choice.

I knelt down, on the towel, and Colt came up to me. I stroked his face some more, and I ran my hands up and down the fur on his broad chest. He licked my face and he licked my armpits. I looked into his eyes, and then I buried my face in the splotch of white fur on his chest. I inhaled his scents, which were powerful and masculine. I breathed in the smell of him, and I rubbed the fur on his sides and stomach. All the the while, Colt licked my fur, anywhere he could reach. And then, I put myself in position.

I got down on my hands and knees - on the towel, next to Colt. On my hands and knees, legs slightly spread, and I looked at the big dog. He immediately began sniffing my ass. He wagged his tail, and he sniffed, and soon he shifted, he went and stood directly behind me, positioning himself for better access. And then - suddenly - his tongue was inside me, quickly and easily it snaked inside me, and the wave of pleasure that rolled through me . . . was intense. Colt was now standing completely behind me, facing my ass, and he worked his tongue inside, deep as he could get it - soon, my rear was sopping wet, and my cock was getting hard, so hard. I moaned, and spread my legs further, allowing Colt to get as close as he could, as he rimmed me.

And then his tongue slid out, quickly, and he mounted me, as I braced myself, on my hands and knees, there on the towel, my stomach fluttering and my cock vibrating. With his paws on my hips, Colt thrust forward - once, then again, quickly. His impressive cock jabbed into my butt, hitting the cheek, and then hitting the crack. He thrust forward again, powerfully, and this time I felt the tapered tip of his cock hit my balls. A fourth time, he rushed forward, and this time he found what he he was looking for.

That tapered tip breached me, went into me - Colt's meaty, red cock penetrated me, and then Colt pulled back, a bit, and then he thrust forward, getting more of himself inside me. His shifted his front paws, a bit, getting them in a better position on the front of my hips.

So far, I hadn't felt any pain. What I did feel was a wave of lust and pleasure that almost made me orgasm. I loved the feel of Colt on top of me, his fur on my fur. His body was so warm. I felt heat radiating off of him.

Colt began fucking me with those short, sharp thrusts that feral dogs prefer. Humping, thrusting, he pushed himself forward while at the same time he pulled me towards him. He sped up, then sped up some more, as he humped and thrusted, and there was so much energy and passion . . .

I hadn't been with another male in a long time. I began to feel some pain, as Colt penetrated me, his big cock spreading me open. His cock was thick, too, as well as long - if he'd taken his time, gone slowly, eased his way in - gotten me used to the size of him, in other words - there would've been much less pain. Obviously. But, I didn't mind. Just as obviously, a feral dog does not take his time - he will get his canine cock inside you, fast as he can, all at once if possible, and it will fill you more than anything has ever filled you, stretch you open in ways impossible to describe.

I would not have wanted him any other way.

I wanted Colt, and I wanted him to be himself. I wanted him to fuck me the way a feral fucks.

Besides, there was pleasure as well as pain. There was an intense pleasure. I was barely aware of how stiff my cock was, how full my balls were - as the pain and the pleasure rolled through me, electrifying my nerves and making me feel light-headed, I focused on the pleasure, I let it lift me up and take me, the way a swiftly-flowing river carries a boat downstream.

Looking back on that first time with Colt, I know it didn't last very long. Well, the tie lasted, of course - but, before the tie . . . Colt probably didn't fuck me (humping and thrusting with those short, sharp thrusts) for very long. However, I've chosen (subconsciously, no doubt) to remember it as something that went on and on, on and on, for quite some time.

It just felt so good, so, I'm not surprised I remember it that way. And yes, to be sure, it felt good because - how could it not feel good? A feral's thick cock, pushed inside, ramming and penetrating, sliding in and out . . . Well. It also - I have to say this - it also felt good because it was Colt. Because of how I felt about him.

He had me, and it felt good. We already belonged together, and this - what we were doing, together - this was what our mutual feelings had led to.

He leaned forward, eventually - he pressed his chest to my back, and he thrust forward with all he had. I could hear him breathing, and I could feel drops of saliva coming down on me.

His knot went inside. That thick, swollen, knot penetrated me, then, suddenly and powerfully.

The pain was searing and unavoidable.

However, the pleasure was equally as intense.

My orgasm was the hardest I'd ever had. Looking back on it, I suddenly, now, realize it was the first time I came without either myself or someone else touching my penis. Colt gripped me tight as he could, and I gave myself to him completely. I thought about how his semen was pouring into me. I felt his saliva coating the fur on my neck, my shoulders.

We were tied together for some time. When he - eventually - began to withdraw, I clenched around him, keeping him inside me. I was hoping I could get him to wait a bit, wait until his knot wasn't quite so swollen. I also wanted the feeling - the sensation - of having Colt inside me last as long as possible.

I knew we'd do this again, and I was already looking forward to the next time.

Afterward, after he tugged his penis out, and I collapsed down to the floor, Colt cleaned me up, a bit. There was a mixture of semen and sweat on the crack of my ass, and Colt licked it up. We kissed, again, and I hugged him tight as I could. He curled up next to me, and I wrapped my arms around him.

As we fell asleep, I realized that I was no longer worried about the future. Whatever it held for us, we'd face it together.