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The moon rose proud among the low, mist-like clouds floating ominously over the somber, strong trees of the ancestral forest. It bloodied the horizon in a potent forewarning of the events to come. The ancients called this special autumn evening the Hunter's Moon, or the Blood Moon, for the early lunar rising granted the hunters much useful light to finish and bring back their quarries. In this day and age, however, we knew it by a different name.

For our modern tribes, this was the Iron Moon.

The ancestral forest hosted many a dangerous creature -- its only shared law was the rule of the hunt -- but none were more lethal than the wolves of the two great tribes: the Blackpaws and the Huntclaws... in other words, us.

I let the low, rhythmic rumble of collective growls carry me along with the invigorating smell of fresh soil, while I stood with my paw over the leather-armored chest of our tribe's previous champion. The night-furred wolf initiated a movement; I kept him in his place under me with a sudden, harsher push, and moved my blade under his chin. When he felt its sharp tip, I saw the thirst for battle leave his grey eyes, replaced by the shame of a defeat that he couldn't conceal. This fight had already sculpted quite a few red scars into his chiseled abdomen, both arms, and his lower left leg. Knowing that it was over, and that he couldn't pretend otherwise, he finally raised his arms in capitulation, waiting for me to decide whether I would spare my prey or not.

Technically, I didn't have to, but he was the Blackpaw champion. He was a glorious fighter that had triumphed over the Huntclaws in the Iron Moon ritual two years in a row. Besides, he was a member of my own tribe. Of course, I would spare his life. But tradition had to be respected. He couldn't be the champion anymore. The hierarchy had to be clear for all witnesses, including him. This honor belonged to me, now, and he had to let it go.

I held the strong wolf in this humbling position of defeat until he swallowed his pride, and accepted the simple fact that the rules applied to him as well. He lowered his ears and whimpered obsequiously, acknowledging that, here and now, he was prey, just like our previous champion had done for him, two years prior. Satisfied with his tribute, I released him from my underfoot, and crouched to offer my arm. With a solid grab onto my blue fur, he accepted my help, and I lifted him to his paws. With low muzzle and droopy shoulders, the black wolf bowed and left quickly, his self-respect still understandably hurt. The Blackpaws encircling us let him pass, and growled higher in pitch and volume, to salute the new champion.

At last, after years of training and honing my skills, the honor of fighting the Huntclaw warrior for the domination of our tribe would be mine!

On the day of the Iron Moon, the great wolf tribes gathered in these small plains flanked by mild rolling hills, right at the edge of the ancestral forest, for our sacred home could not be defiled by wolves fighting against wolves. It was Blackpaw or Huntclaw; only one could be the alpha tribe. For two such powerful warrior factions such as ours to do open battle would've marked the destruction of both groups, without question. The Iron Moon had been the solution. Each year, during that day, both tribes gathered to pit their best warriors and hunters in combat against each other, until only one was left. When the moon was high, those two champions fought for the supremacy of their tribe during the coming year. Being the dominated tribe was not enviable. Resources in the ancestral forest were limited, and the pain and humiliation of leaving kills and territory to rivals, whenever hunting grounds overlapped, could have crushing consequences, and weakened a tribe tremendously over time. The Huntclaws resented us ardently for beating them and forcing them into the role of the subservient wolves for two years in a row, but for all of their bloodlust and madness, they were honorable, and respected the Iron Moon ritual.

Naturally, they had a new champion as well -- or chosen hunter, as they called them. I'd heard that he was bolder, and even wilder than the other Huntclaws, which was difficult to imagine. No matter. I had no intention of letting my people down. In fact, the greater the challenge, the better. I yearned for a real fight; something to get my blood boiling, and allow my warrior spirit to soar. If it increased the risk of my defeat, then I accepted that. There was nothing more disappointing than an empty victory.

I placed my shield on my back, picked up my jagged sword, and walked away from my kin, slowly, only followed by our priest. I listened, but the Huntclaw side of our temporary camp was just as muted as ours. Their chosen hunter's preparation was probably already completed. For them, this involved lots of holy chanting, and violent howls, to summon their chief deity: the Hallowed Seeker. We Blackpaws also worshipped the master of the hunt, but not to the exclusion of the other gods. We were civilized.

With a simple gesture, our priest invited me to remove my weapons and armor, and to meditate on a stump, to reconnect with our most natural state and instincts. I was left to focus, naked, while the evening darkened, and the moon rose higher. When the priest returned, he carried a torch, a small bag, as well as the strong, high-quality leather armor I would use for the duel. It was good; my own equipment had been perceptibly damaged by the day's previous fights. When I was ready, he encouraged me to contemplate myself. The firelight made the white fur of my muscular chest and abdomen appear gold. The rest of my blue fur was deep and dark, even under the flickering flame. I saw what he wanted me to see, and I felt prepared.

-- You have the power. You have the skill. You are the proud warrior of the Blackpaws, said the priest.

And then he begged the gods, throwing his arms to the night sky.

"Let no weakness touch this warrior!" he implored.

From his small oily bag, the priest produced a dark, ink-like paint, which he smeared over his hands, and used to paint my white paws up to my calves until they were pure black. The paint stopped in a sharp, well-defined line.

"You are ready, but be mindful: so will be your enemy. Root yourself in the faith of your kin, and banish fear from your heart. Your foe will fall, and submit in the name of his tribe. For our sake, show no mercy."

The priest got up.

"The time has come."

I dressed up, putting on my loincloth of studded leather strips, the new armor, and I picked up my sword and shield, more thrilled than I'd ever been. I'd been a fighter for all of my life, but this battle was special. There would be no greater foe than the one the Huntclaws would throw at me; no greater honor than defeating him. I couldn't wait to discover his style, what he would do, how strong he would be, what armament he would use! I couldn't wait to feel locked in the flames of battle, and to be forged by it! I couldn't wait to sense that only one path remained: the struggle to overcome. The beautiful and terrible poetic simplicity of it called to all warriors. Only we understood it truly. It had nothing to do with violence. Of course, the Huntclaws might view it a bit differently. They considered themselves to be hunters first.

They heard the call of blood.

As I walked away from the Blackpaw side of the encampment toward the central no wolf's land, I met fewer known and friendly faces, eager to lend me their aid in spirit. In this empty space of beaten dirt lay no huddled tents around campfires. Only the arena sat in it, by itself in the twilight. I walked further along its rounded wooden wall, driven by an impulse to seek seclusion. By our side's entrance, lit by torches, my kin were quietly moving in to take their places in the old makeshift coliseum to witness the ritual. I placed my hand against the wall, to feel the lumber's texture under my clawed fingers, and I looked to the Huntclaw side. Their tents were bigger and rougher, more chaotically spaced out, and decorated with bones and skulls of their prey and enemies, as if they couldn't tolerate even a temporary camp without trophy adornments. I tried to see them by their fires, but all I made out were a couple of bulky outlines moving here and there; most of them were also on their way for the final event.

I was about to turn back when my sharpened senses informed me of the foreign presence. An unknown scent... heavy footsteps... I distinguished only a shadow, but as he moved closer, I became certain that he was the one.

The Huntclaw looked ferocious and brutal. He moved slowly with an aggressive, permanent crouch, obviously ready to pounce and slash his huge black claws at any moment. He could've been taller than me without his predatory stance; it was difficult to judge. Just like me, his fur grew longer in a brown mane at the top of his skull, but his was much thicker and darker than even the rest of his also brown hide. When he stepped to the side to circle around me, I saw that it ran all the way along his wide back to his tail. He wore no armor, only an iron shoulder guard that descended in overlapping slates to his right elbow and, hanging from a robust red-leather belt, yet more overlapping iron slates hung between his legs. His yellow eyes stared at me without the least hint of discomfort. I didn't like his nasty grin. He considered me like prey. I found it disrespectful, but I answered his wordless challenge nobly, returning his gaze, adopting a more grounded stance. His grin widened at my lack of fear.

-- We are to fight, I said.

No answer.

He appeared annoyed that I'd dared speak to him, or perhaps that I'd tried to make him speak when it wasn't necessary -- he really didn't seem all that big on the whole talking thing.

"I'll take you down," I added, because it was true.

Now, that did prompt a reaction.

-- Huntclaw don't care what prey think, he snarled.

On this, he turned and left, uninterested in a battle using only words. On that, I couldn't disagree. Meeting my rival had pumped me up. He really did deserve to be put in his place, and I hungered to strip him of his dignity in front of our two tribes, as he'd lie humiliated and tamed by my superior martial talents. We'd see how long his wild and arrogant behavior lasted, then!

I hurried and rejoined my side, where I was cheered and welcomed with flattering smiles and bows, as well as respectful back pats from the higher ranking members of my tribe: the wisest priests and leaders, as well as the best warriors and hunters. Becoming the Iron Moon champion represented a significant boost in status for anyone, but it could be brief. It all depended on this next, final fight.

As was tradition, I entered the arena last, after both tribes had settled in and were prepared to watch, for there could be no contestation of the results of this battle. Everyone had to bear witness to the ritual. At the other end, my rival did the same. I thought at first that he was unarmed, which was absolutely insane against an armored opponent, but as we neared the center of the arena, I saw that he wore some kind of minimalistic chain gloves with sharpened, deadly steel claws, which would allow him to fight in the natural style preferred among his tribe. The crowd was silent -- as it was supposed to be -- in respect for the duelists who were risking not only their lives, but their honor. Two priests stood among the audience, one on my side, one on my opponent's. Because the original Iron Moon ritual had been proposed by a Huntclaw leader, they always went first.

-- The Huntclaw chosen hunter! shouted the priest, designating the brown wolf.

The wild beast raised his steel claws, palms up, and unleashed a drawn and dreadful howl to awaken the Hallowed Seeker in himself. I must admit, even I experienced a bit of a chill, hearing it.

-- The Blackpaw champion! responded our priest.

I joined my brethren in a single, brief, but powerful collective bark: a warning, and a symbol of our unity and precise martial training that literally shook the arena.

The battle had begun, but something wasn't right. My enemy was _still_bare-chested. I hated it. I was no pup who needed to be handed an advantage! Using the point of my sword, I cut my armor's straps at the shoulders, and removed it. The hunter was amused, at first. He laughed, and looked to his kin in shared mockery at the idea that I might expect the fight to be too easy, but almost immediately, he looked to his own shoulder guard. Any trace of amusement left him when he realized that, then, _he_had the unfair advantage. Irritated, he grumbled, shaking his head, and threw the piece of equipment away, knowing exactly the way I felt.

After that, however, it was game time.

We advanced on each other. I studied my enemy carefully over my raised shield, holding my short sword tip-first at its side to block and lunge at the same time. It wasn't the most impressive stance, but, on this day, results mattered most. And it was efficient.

Irritated by my defensive approach, the huge brown beast made his first error, and did exactly what he shouldn't have done. He charged straight into me, and slashed. The sheer power of the blow startled me as I blocked. I had to brace myself, plunging my paws into the dry soil not to lose any ground, but I immediately punished him with a quick stab into his brawny left arm. Blood was already drawn.

The Huntclaw bounded backward out of my range, so I stepped quickly to keep the pressure, moved my shield aside to make room, and launched a follow-up attack from over the shoulder. He dodged again, but this time, he didn't move away. In fact, he dove to my left flank, aiming to shred my calf into bloody ribbons with a single swipe of his death-like claws. I'd just stepped into his zone, and scrambled with a cold shiver, barely regaining my balance in time to move my leg away, and avoid the crippling wound. I almost fell on my ass right then and there, while he let his weight carry him naturally into a roll and up to his paws, safe and away from me.

I shook my head to regain focus, realizing that there was no room for mistakes against this opponent. His weapon choice allowed him to maneuver unhindered, and his strikes were unforgiving.

The wolf's insane grin widened while he crouched in preparation for his next attack, without so much as a glance to his wounded arm. Had he done this on purpose? I had no time to meditate on it, because he immediately committed to doing it once more, charging while preparing a slash with his healthy arm. I grounded myself, blocked, and stabbed again.

He didn't strike.

Instead, he crashed into me with full force, shoulder first. I heard his victorious growl, as I saw the claws from his two hands close around my blade, which merely grazed his abs. He tugged it so violently that I was thrown forward, and almost lost my weapon. I dropped my shield to seize it with both hands. He had no intention to release it, but I hadn't exactly planned on giving him a choice. In a swift rotating movement, I plunged my head and shoulders under my arms, and rose to face away, with my arms bent behind my skull. Sending an effortful shout, I heaved on the sword with my full, unyielding strength. I was absolutely astounded at how much might was required to dislodge my weapon; metal on metal hardly offered much traction to that monstrous lupine, yet the delicious burn of exertion filled my arms as I powered to extract my blade from his grip. With a deafening screech of sliding metal and a blinding shower of sparks exploding over us both, I freed it, and leaped ahead of me.

The crowd gasped. They weren't supposed to, and they hadn't done it on purpose, but they truly hadn't expected the fireworks. Neither had we, for that matter.

Breathing heavily, I spun to face my opponent, but he hadn't moved. He stared at his empty hands, and then back at me with a genuinely puzzled look. That was when I examined my sword. Massive, dark, sinuous furrows had been dug into the flats of my steel. I saw them, and laughed. Astounding. The crowd on both sides obviously agreed with me, looking to their neighbors with gaping maws and amazed eyes.

The chosen Huntclaw, on the other hand, turned sullen. I wasn't sure why, but he appeared... disappointed? Resentful, even. I lifted my blade above my shoulders, close to my head, pointing to him, in what my people called the Hornet Stance, prepared to stab deeply or slash with a simple twist of my wrist. That wild spirit of a wolf ignored the threat heartily.

With a short howl, he charged, clawing savagely left and right. I ducked and dodged with flowing motions, punishing every failed strike until his arm and chest fur was matted in thick dark blood. The wounds were superficial, for I was careful not to remain in one place too long, and had little time for heavy swipes, but they added up. With the fifth dodge, I struck his left hand, hard. A small chain holding his gauntlet protected his limb, but it also broke, and his artificial claws fell. He backed off, and I regained my stance, untouched, with a cocky smile.

His resentment was gone, replaced by rapturous viciousness. I understood. He'd thought that I was finished without my shield, and it had angered him. He was roused to have been proven wrong. This fight thrilled him as much as it did me. For two seconds, we communed, focused on our respective, clashing paths toward decisive conquest. We knew this had to come to an end, however. Fights at this lethal echelon of prowess and strength didn't usually last more than two or three attacks and counterattacks. This had to conclude, lest we seem not to be trying hard enough.

We prepared for the last round. My foe was weakened, panting, and half disarmed, but I didn't take it for granted; he could've been faking, and his natural claws were almost as dangerous as the steel ones, without protection. My aggressive defense and superior range had worked flawlessly thus far. I was winning, but the tide could yet turn. I'd taken my initial lesson to heart against such a dangerous creature.

No mistakes. No underestimating.

He was feeling the pressure too. I sensed it in his bared fangs, in his wrinkled snout and heavy breaths. I'd lost fights before, during my years of training. I knew how it felt to be outmatched, to be stuck. That was where he was. He did the only thing he could do, and tried again. This time, I moved to attack as well, readying my sword.

We ran into each other like immortal spirits, who wouldn't have to bother with such trifles as physical bodies, wounds, and mortality. I struck from the right with fury, and he was weakened. We were close, and I saw it in his eyes. He flinched.

Digging in the soil, he suddenly turned his attack into an instinctive and awkward attempt to block with his remaining steel claw. My weapon slashed deep into his pectoral before he managed to stop it, twirling his claws around it. He groaned. That was a serious wound. I'd won. He'd still be able to fight, but not well enough to prevail. We both knew it was over -- I finally saw the shadow of fear among his traits -- but he struggled to push against my blade even then. His other hand joined his first. He was strong. I could slip away at any moment... but I wanted to know how strong. I decided to test our respective powers before I broke him, and made him grovel low at my black paws.

My other fist closed around the grip of my sword, and I shoved in turn. The blade moved in the wound, and he squirmed, increasing his efforts. I deployed all of my might, gathered any energy my body could provide for this challenge. I couldn't help but gasp at the colossal effort. Our rock-hard bodies moved ever closer together, but the sword remained immobile between us. Painful fire wracked my entire being as the muscular stress became too much. I laughed. That was my maximum. The blade should've been budging. The heavy brown wolf's focus was perfect as well. The blade began to move back toward me. I couldn't give anything more. He truly was vaguely stronger. I smiled inside. My curiosity had been satiated. It was my superior skills and strict warrior training that had won the day.

I felt the non-gauntleted hand close above my right wrist. I reflexively pulled to slip out.

I couldn't.

I saw his excited grin at the call of my blood. I'd gotten too close, and he'd managed to push my sword far enough to have time to switch his hand's position to grab me. And as I'd just discovered, he was slightly stronger. There was a name for that sort of thing.

Mistake.

In a twist of metal, while he maintained my hand in place, the grip of my sword flew away. A slash at my side sent me to the ground, as hot-red blood stained my blue fur, gushing out of four red streaks. I barely had any time to feel pain, because it was replaced by the Huntclaw's crushing weight over my back. I jerked my head to the side, attempting to glance at his crazy eyes hovering over me. Unstoppable, his frenzied natural claws reached around my neck, gripped my throat, dug around it, and ripped it out.

Or rather, I waited for it to be ripped out. I confidently expected it. I could almost feel it, but he was patient. His self-control was greater than I'd believed. I tried to push his weight to the side, but as soon as I began, the grip tightened and his sharp claws started piercing my flesh. The pain was unbearable. I desisted.

Everything was silent. Why wasn't anything happening? I tried to look around. The brown wolf kept me in place, but I succeeded in stealing a look at the crowd. They were all frozen; the Huntclaws in savage joy, the Blackpaws in pained humiliation. I grasped, then, that I'd lost. I'd lost. It was unimaginable.

-- Beg for life.

I sensed his hot breath over my snout. He was right. The rules were clear. He absolutely didn't have to spare me. The hierarchy had to be unambiguous. I knew the rules applied to everyone, but now that it was _my_dignity and honor about to be stripped away, I discovered that I didn't really have any intention to obey those rules in this situation. It wouldn't be graceful and gentle like when I'd accepted my brothers' surrenders. It wasn't good to be defeated under the Iron Moon...

"Wolf admits, blue wolf be no ordinary prey."

My ears were pulled back to straighten my chin.

"But he still prey. Prey begs."

If I refused to submit any longer, I'd be put down. My remains would be roped to a pole for transport, like any catch. My head would be mounted on a wall in the Huntclaw village, and my skin and claws would be offered to their chosen hunter. I didn't want my legacy to be a doormat, and the pathetic expression on my severed head to be a subject of mockery for eternity.

I whined.

"More! Crowd no hear! Show them!"

With a last shove into the soil, my head was released. I closed my eyes, lowered my ears, wagged my tail slowly in deference, and whimpered in supplication for all to hear, while my vanquisher sat over me.

Mean spirited taunts and savage cheers exploded among the Huntclaws. Their priest rose and shouted:

-- The Blackpaws beg like prey! The Blackpaws are broken! Huntclaws are alpha! Leave subwolves! Leave in disgrace!

My tribe left under thrown insults and taunts, beaten and dishonored. The coming year would be rough, and they had to organize for it. They didn't have to stay for the rest of the ritual, and watch me be reduced into a symbol of their humiliation and surrender. The Huntclaws gloated, and began to laughingly chant:

-- Shame! Shame! Shame!

Now came the moment when the victor would take possession of me, and use me however he wished, as long as it was degrading... Tradition had to be respected.

The wolf on top of me dropped his remaining gauntlet. With a huff, he gripped my nape. I was lifted knee-high, and carried roughly around the arena. The Huntclaws roared in amusement, for I was held too low to stand, and struggled to follow, crawling on my hands and knees like a mindless doggy. Being dragged like this disturbed much dry dust, and I coughed. My dominator kicked me down, flat on my belly again, and kept me there with his leg on my back. Meanwhile, he bent and picked up my nearby sword, and used it to cut the straps of my studded loincloth. He tore it off, and held it up briefly, only to throw it aside next to my sword. All of my stuff was his property, but it didn't seem like there was much of interest to him in my gear.

Stripped naked, I was pulled up by my tail, and a new kick made me draw my knees under me, displaying my firm blue rear. The sight of my tight tailhole prompted many new excited shouts and jeers.

I could barely hear the order given by my conqueror.

-- Stay.

I didn't want to behave like a tamed animal, but what could I do? It was happening so fast, and I was all alone, abandoned in the middle of these insane Huntclaws! Worse yet, if I defied them, I'd further dishonor my entire tribe, and I preferred not to think of how they'd punish me if I gave them the slightest excuse. I remained in place, paralyzed in gut-wrenching embarrassment, while the brown wolf walked around me and crouched. He stared into my green eyes. I wanted to beseech him not to humiliate me too much, but that didn't appear likely to work. As he'd said, nobody really cared what prey thought or felt, and the Huntclaws harbored massive bitterness about those last two years. My debasement entertained him. His sharp black claws gripped my lower jaw.

"Open."

I thought I knew where that would lead, and I couldn't do that. I gently shook my head, hoping that only he would see my apologetic look. I wasn't trying to be defiant... I just couldn't do that. It didn't inspire him a lot of mercy. Sharp tips of his claws entered my nostrils, and pulled up agonizingly. In shock and panic, and to protect my sensitive nose from further damage, I followed the victor's movement, and opened as wide as he wished. The crowd guffawed at how easy it'd been to make me comply. The sound crushed any pride I had left, made worse when I saw myself keeping my muzzle open for the top wolf when he released it. He presented his open hand to me.

"Lick hand."

What? Why did he want me to-

He shoved his palm into my mouth, holding the back of my skull with his other hand, and pressed horribly hard until I began to lick dutifully to relieve the tension in my jaws. It tasted like sweat, dust, and wolf. What else could it possibly taste like? He held me like this while I lapped his hand. As I obeyed, licking continually, he diminished -- thankfully -- the pushing behind my head. Instead, he took a fistful of the longer brown fur between my pointy ears.

"Blue wolf learn his place, now," he said to everyone.

Abundant spittle was dripping from his furry hand when he took it away. He turned it upward, to preserve the saliva in it, and went around me, still keeping me in place with his other clawed mitt. With vicious approbation from the public, I was violently bent forward, low on my elbows. I felt the large hand covered in my cold saliva slap between my spread cheeks, and slide mercilessly from the base of my balls to my tail.

With this vulgar and utterly inefficient act of lubrication, I was prepped for use. I sensed the metallic garment covering his crotch pulled up, and rest on top of my bum at the same time as his fiery large cock poked my anus. The tip began to enter me. I yelped. The wolf's savage hands clutched around one of my outstretched thighs, and over my shoulder, for effortless handling of my body... and leverage to pound me as vigorously as he wanted. I shivered, and he caught it. He snickered.

"If you be too frail to take real wolf, say it. Huntclaw show mercy, maybe."

On this, he made me his. It chafed, but I was used to dealing with pain, as a fighter. He shoved with his impressive weight, repeatedly, going gradually deeper up my rear, keeping me immobile and controlled with his might and the threat of his claws against my flesh.

I was deaf to the mocking howls and nasty comments of the Huntclaw tribe. My sight -- the sight of a large and strapping Blackpaw warrior forced into abject sexual compliance -- was liberating to them, after two years, and they let their malice flow. All I heard were the loud shocks of the hips thumping my butt. My only sensations were that of being invaded by something foreign and hurtful, and being perfectly controlled and contained. I'd never known such crushing helplessness. All of this was much worse than the actual pain in my disciplined ass. I tried to resist requesting leniency, because I refused to grant my conqueror the added satisfaction of knowing that he might also overcome the limits of what I could endure. That scared me terribly, but after several minutes of this degradation, I heard myself emit a weak yap. The claws dug even deeper in my flesh.

"Ask."

I faltered, and he reamed my asshole with more force.

"Wolf thought you like words," he scoffed.

Compelled to put my meek request into real words, I whispered:

-- Please be gentler with me...

The brutality increased.

-- More loud! Crowd no hear!

He pulled on my head fur to exhibit my throat and my feebleness while I repeated for everyone to hear.

-- Please be gentler with me!

-- Blue wolf too frail for Huntclaw! he proclaimed.

The rest of his tribe, unsurprisingly, loved it. I feared that it would only increase his cruelty, but I was wrong. My alpha mellowed down, and significantly so. He released my head, leaving my snout to hang lowly, and wrapped his powerful arms around my arms and chest. Safe and secured in his grasp, my back was brought tightly against his torso, and he reclined to a sitting position with me spread over him. I heard his grunt, and figured that he was close to a finish, but he maintained the subdued pace while humping up into me with his hips.

In this new position, I toiled hard not to gaze into the crowd as my limp penis and balls, faintly swaying up and down while I was sodomized, served as an amusing spectacle for them. A renewed, longer, higher pitched groan, combined with a sudden rigid grip on the side of my buttocks, informed me that my Huntclaw was achieving satisfaction with me. I felt the initial, pressurized hot spurt deep up my rear. Instantly, the world tipped over as I was implacably pinned down face to the ground again. The top wolf extracted his pulsating dick with a soft hiss, in order to also mark my cheeks and lower back with his plentiful seed.

He finished ejaculating, and just held me down there, under him, wholly subjugated. There was a moment of quiet. One hand landed possessively over my left shoulder blade, but nothing was said. The other hand remained over my rump, and pressed downward until I lay completely flat for him. It was time for him to choose my fate.

"Blue wolf will follow and serve."

The tribe approved. It was the expected decision. It would've been cruel to execute me after I'd accepted to suffer the entire submission ritual. Now, I would be carried back to the Huntclaw village to live among my exultant enemies as a trophy. Until the next Iron Moon, I would be made a living emblem of my tribe's defeat and disgrace, and of the Huntclaw dominion. This reduction into ignominious servitude would also represent a reward for their chosen hunter, as I would belong to him entirely. I remembered how we'd treated the two last beaten Huntclaws as honorless, lower than low slave wolves, rarely missing an opportunity for a quick laugh at their expense, or to set them to boring or demeaning chores. I had little doubt that the wild ones would be any kinder than we were, after two years of oppression.

The event was over. The wolves began to leave, to prepare their return journey home. Two "smaller" hunters showed up with their hunting gear. The immense brown wolf allowed his kinfolk to help him pack up his new property. They roped me strictly with multiple loops around my abdomen and arms, hobbled my legs with a length to prevent ease of movement, and also tied my muzzle to deny talking or biting. They passed one final length of rope around my neck, but as they were about to lead me away, my new owner silently moved his hand toward the leash. He preferred to bring me back himself. The hunters shrugged and gave it to him. I preferred it as well. If this was the way it had to be, then, in this specific situation, it seemed desirable for my captor to act possessively over me. I didn't want to get shared around...

He chuckled, seeing me -- the Blackpaw champion -- like this, bound, nude, and visibly creamed under my tail. I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at anyone. He tugged on the lead to get me moving. All I could do was to try keeping up the pace with my ridiculously shortened steps. It was sad and absurd, and it provoked the irrepressible hilarity of the other wolves.

I stood around like a fool while the temporary camp was dismantled, and soon we were underway. When we entered the ancestral forest, keeping the pace went from very difficult to impossible with my restrained legs. My leash holder stopped, turned to me, and with a good smack to my ass, made me walk in front of him. I set a pace I could manage and he followed, undoubtedly with a very nice view of my bum, which, from this moment on, he would be able to enjoy -- and climax in -- whenever he wished.

I traveled toward my fate, reflecting. Even after the year was over, it would be arduous to recover from this, in terms of social hierarchy among the Blackpaws. Knowing this, it would be aggravating to watch from my place at my alpha's heels, as he unavoidably shot up through his tribe's ranks to a position of leadership and respect while I'd learn to be a dominated joke. In fact, it would downright suck.

Strangely, despite everything, I preserved a certain amount of optimism. There'd be another Iron Moon, next year, and I could've won this one. I should have! I could regain my honor, then... That was assuming that my new master would allow me to continue to hone my warrior skills and keep in shape, of course.

I briefly sneaked a peek at him, behind me. He appeared pleased to have me for himself. I suspected that he understood my value, and I'd seen the exhilaration coiling his spirit while we fought. He wouldn't back down before a decent battle; I was certain of that.

Hmmm.

I'd wait a bit, and then I'd bring it up with him in a few weeks.

I'd ask reeeeal nice.