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Inclement Weather Conditions

(www.furaffinity.net/user/bur)

(fabulousmoose.sofurry.com)

© FabulousMoose

Marc watched the flight attendant roll the large metal box of snacks and beverages down the narrow aisle. She busied herself by handing out snacks to the passengers seated ahead of the still sleepy human. Tiny packets airline food and drinks were passed across the rows while the heavy airplane hum drowned out quiet conversations. When she finally reached his row, the polite attendant had to lean slightly past the large snout in the aisle seat next to him. Marc offered her a cordial smile. He hated the middle seat.

"Just a water, please." he stated as they made eye-contact.

Marc elbowed the gently snoring mastiff next to him in the gut. The canid grunted.

"Hey, Wyatt. Do you want something? They won't be coming back around."

Wyatt opened his eyes, giving Marc a quick glare before turning to the aisle and requesting a coffee. “Black, please, and thank you." The canid accepted the steaming cup and held it up to his face. He blew on the liquid gently.

When boarding their plane early that morning, the pair had compared tickets and found out they were in the same row. Wyatt had the window seat and Marc had the aisle. Some very insistent whining from the large canid and descriptions of long limbs and "appendages" unfit for the window seat had convinced Marc to give up his own coveted space. The man had insisted that the whining was unbecoming of a 50-something year old mutt. Wyatt just laughed and sat down in triumph, forcing Marc to climb over his lap and two seats over. The dog had grinned devilishly as Marc straddled the dog's lap to step through.

When the cabin door closed, the extra seat in their row was empty and the two realized that no one was coming to sit between them. Wyatt patted the middle seat and wordlessly encouraged Marc to slide over next to him. The old dog had then promptly fell asleep.

"You know it took you all of two seconds to pass out once we were in the air. And your tongue was hanging out while you were sleeping." said Marc. "Almost got drool on me."

Wyatt grinned, leaned over, and stuck his tongue out at the man. It almost hit Marc in the forehead.

He let out an exasperated sigh while the old dog chuckled. "Gotta stay young at heart, little human. The world's too depressing for anything else."

"You were all business and no smiles yesterday when the flight got canceled." Marc countered. "Almost lit into me for accidentally grabbing your tail, too"

"Yes, well sometimes the world catches up to you, and you want to bite the first person to pull your tail. But everything worked out all right! I mean, I was all smiles last night." Wyatt said. "And I think you were too once you decided to stay."

Wyatt reached over and placed his over-sized paw on the man's crotch, squeezing gently. Marc sucked in a quick breath and turned to the mastiff who was grinning like a fool. He quickly moved the dog's paw from his lap to his leg but couldn't help himself. Marc relinquished his frown for a smile.

"You're incorrigible." He sighed.

Wyatt barked out a laugh. "And endearing as hell according to my ex-wife!" He snorted. "Although maybe she shouldn't be my benchmark for personal redeeming qualities anymore. Those may no longer apply."

The two shared a chuckle then sat in silence for a little while. Wyatt sipped on his coffee as quietly as his canine lips would allow, and Marc listened to the hum of the plane. Soft mewling cries of a kitten erupted from somewhere behind them along with the shushes and soft words of the parents, which quieted relatively quickly.

Wyatt folded his tray table down and set his cup in the small indentation. "So, what's the plan once you get back to Carthage?", he asked.

"I guess it's back to normal. The conference was fun, but I've got to get back to school and work and all that." Marc replied somberly.

Wyatt squeezed the younger man's leg gently. "You don't sound excited about that."

Marc was lost to his thoughts for a moment. "Well, I'm not specifically unhappy about it. It's just a lot. Keeps me almost too busy sometimes. This trip was a nice escape for a bit, but now it's 'nose to the grindstone', ya know? I'm sure you've got a lot of work to do when you get back."

The canid nodded. "Yup. Lots to do, but that doesn't mean you can't have fun in the meantime. Which, speaking of, why don't we go out and grab some grub sometime? That, or I can treat you at my place, but no pressure."

"I think I'd like that." said Marc.

Wyatt grinned and turned his hand over in Marc's lap, wiggling his digits. "Gimme your phone. I'm gonna put my number in it. You're gonna call when you need a break." The words almost sounded like a command, but Marc could tell there was a more of a fatherly suggestion to it.

Marc slid his ass down in the seat so he could fish around in his pocket for the phone. Once it was in hand, he double tapped the screen and entered his password. He tapped the contact app and set it in the open paw still resting in his lap.

Wyatt pulled the phone up close to his face and started tapping slowly, using his big fingers to carefully select the numbers on the small screen.

"You need to get a bigger phone, squirt." He scrunched up his face and kept typing.

Marc laughed. "Hey it's not my fault you're super-sized. Maybe you need daintier fingers." The mastiff scoffed and finished typing in the numbers. Marc watched as the dog backed out of the contacts app and selected something else on the screen.

Marc started to protest. "Hey now, what're you doing? Don't be going through my…"

The old dog reached down and pulled at the front of his trousers, tucking the phone in the open space. Marc heard a little shutter sound and there was a quick flash of light that was muffled by the canid's khaki slacks. He looked around to make sure no one else had seen.

"What the hell, Wyatt? He spoke in a forced hush. “Someone's gonna see you taking dick pics on the plane!"

Wyatt laughed and handed the phone back. There was a large fuzzy mass on the screen and Marc clicked out of the camera app immediately. He blushed and forced the phone back in his pocket. Thank goodness there wasn't someone else in their row.

"There's something to remind you of my size, pup." He continued to giggle like a child while Marc sank in his seat and became even redder.

There was a ding overhead and a short announcement saying the plane was beginning its descent. The flight attendant passed back by with a trash bag and then didn't reappear. The two sat quietly for the rest of the flight, but Marc didn't mind when the old canid placed a large paw back on his leg and left it there.

---

Two weeks later, Marc strode out of Dr. Steiner's office after a late night and was met with a wall of water falling from the heavens. The dark sky lit up a few times with explosive light, illuminating the dreary parking lot with only a handful of vehicles left waiting at this late hour. A muffled silence followed the flashes and then a boom rang out suddenly, reverberating in his ears. He pulled his keys out and held on tightly, steeling himself before lurching forward and making a bee-line for his old beat up Jeep.

'Spartan' was a word he'd used to describe his vehicle before, as well as 'utilitarian'. It was old, with manual locks and windows, a no-frills stereo, and more miles than it really had any right to have, but it got him from A to B and that was what mattered. Once safely inside, he wiped off the rain from his face and turned the key in the ignition. It was slow to start tonight but eventually sputtered to life.

It had been a long day, but Marc tried to ignore the strain he felt in his eyes. He kept them focused on the road as the Jeep pulled out of the parking lot and started the thirty minute drive home. The rain pelted the windshield with an incredible ferocity, even as he traveled ten miles under the speed limit. He pulled onto the highway slowly, red taillights moving by at a slow pace, and he carefully kept his eyes peeled for any issues in the distance.

After slowly accelerating until he was finally moving along at a reasonable pace, there was an odd noise that sounded like a 'pop' and his driver-side windshield wiper froze in the middle of the window. The rain immediately obscured his view and he fought the urge to slam his breaks in a startled reaction. Instead, he kept a white-knuckle grip on the wheel and leaned over as far as he could to try and see out of the passenger side. Marc kept one foot barely on the accelerator and clicked his turn signal on while frantically scanning for vehicles to his right. He pulled himself over to the side of the highway while his heart tried to beat out of his chest. The thumping continued even after he came to a stop.

Marc turned his hazards on and stared at the wiper sitting in the middle of his windshield. He gaze bored into the glass as if keeping his eyes fixated on the damn thing would make it start moving again. After a minute or two of wishful thinking, he turned off the car with a frustrated sigh and gathered his phone, turning on the flashlight. With an air of caution, he turned in his seat briefly to look for approaching headlights. When they appeared far enough away, Marc stepped out in the downpour. It took all of about 30 seconds to realize three things: First, the wiper wasn't stuck, it was broken. He moved it to the base of the windshield, out of his field of view. Second, he couldn't see squat with the flashlight from his phone. Finally, he was already drenched to the bone.

He bolted back for the dry interior and let out a frustrated groan once inside. Shirt, pants, shoes… everything was a soggy mess. He looked out into the dark night and gripped the wheel, gauging whether or not he could crawl along the edge of the highway slow enough to still see what was in front of him.

"Guess it's gonna take me an hour to get home now."

When he turned the key in an effort to get underway, the Jeep simply offered a sad grinding noise followed by emptiness. No hum of the engine, no rumble and vibration of the frame, nothing. He tried again with the same results.

"DAMN IT." he cried.

The tired, wet, and frustrated man sunk back in his seat and held a small pity party for himself. Today was just the day that wouldn't end. He wanted to be home in his bed so bad. Or any bed. Just not here, in this car, on the side of this highway, with cold fabric stuck to his skin and thunder booming outside.

He turned around the inspect the rear window and saw the faint yellow flicker of his hazard lights reflecting off the rain. Even though he was stranded, the car was at least visible. So that was a plus.

Marc grabbed his phone and started looking through it for options. His folks were at least two hours away, maybe more in this rain. Dr. Steiner was a nice man, but Marc wasn't sure if he would answer his phone at this hour. In terms of close friends who he could ask for a rescue, well, he told himself there weren't any on this side of town. As he was thumbing his way through the contacts, he came across a familiar name, hesitated, then hit "dial".

The phone rang long enough that Marc began to suspect he would be sent to voicemail, but suddenly there was a click and a gruff voice responded.

"Hello." It came out as a disinterested statement. Marc feared he had the wrong number.

"Uh, Mr. Samuels? Wyatt? This is Marc, uh, Marcus King."

There was a shuffling noise through the line and suddenly the voice was much more present and alert.

"Well hey there, son! Good to hear from ya. Been a couple'a weeks. To what do I owe the pleasure?" said the canid.

Marc sighed in relief and filled the old dog in on the situation like he hadn't been silent for two weeks. They spoke to each other like it had only been yesterday that the two had shared a hotel room together. Marc explained his car wouldn't start, he was stranded, it had been an awfully long day, and he was soaking wet. He hoped it wasn't a weird request, but could he get a ride home?

Wyatt didn't skip a beat. In an instant he was asking Marc questions that sounded like he was reporting an accident to 911. Where was the car and which exits was he stuck between? Could his car be seen from the road? Is he in a safe location? Once he had enough info, he reminded Marc to stay in his vehicle and added, "Hang tight, son." He'd be there in 20 minutes.

Marc sighed in relief and let himself relax slightly for the first time that day.

---

It took a little bit longer than anticipated due to the storm, about 30 minutes, before a bright light illuminated the interior of the vehicle. Marc turned around to see the headlights of an over-sized pickup truck pull up directly behind him, but due to the rain and darkness, he couldn't make out if it was the old mastiff or another passerby. In less than a minute from the arrival of the truck there was a 'tap, tap' on the driver side window. Marc turned to see a dark shadowy figure covered in an extra long rain jacket with a flashlight motioning for him to roll down his window. He cracked the window and heard a familiar voice.

"Rescue party is here, son! Grab your stuff and come hop in the truck!" With that, Wyatt gave a big toothy grin and turned around to head back.

Marc grabbed the only bag he had with him, turned off the hazard lights, and braved a few more seconds of rain before climbing in the truck and being greeted with gentle heat and an overly cheery old dog. Wyatt took his bag and set it in the back seat before handing him a towel.

"Boy, you picked the wrong night to get stranded, I'll tell you what! It's coming down like I haven't seen in years." Wyatt gave the man another warm smile.

Marc sighed as he dried off the bits of skin and hair that weren't covered in wet clothing. "Sure didn't expect my car to pick tonight of all nights to shit the bed."

"Well the good news is ya still had my number! Here's the bad news, though: storm is raging and doesn't look like it's gonna let up until at least morning, maybe later. Flash flooding all over the city and they're telling people to stay indoors and off the roads. They're even shutting down some areas that are underwater and detouring folks telling 'em to stay with family, friends or find a hotel. So I'm not even sure we're gonna be able to get across town to your place." Wyatt frowned and watched his passenger closely.

Marc stared out the windshield at the torrent. "Well, shit."

A heavy paw landed his shoulder gently and Wyatt spoke again.

"Lemme take you back to my place. We'll get ya outta those wet rags and you can sleep there for the night. In the morning we can call someone to get your car towed, and if the roads are clear, I'll get you back to your place. How's that sound?"

Marc turned to face the mastiff. "Thanks, Wyatt. I mean it."

Before he could get anything else out, the canid's paws were on the wheel and the vehicle was moving. "It's settled then. You just get comfy and we'll be there in no time! Hopefully before all that rain you brought in with you soaks into my seats." Wyatt winked.

The drive back was slow and steady. The two passed the time with some idle chatter while the quiet twang of a country music station played in the background. Wyatt explained he had simply been watching T.V. when he got the call. Marc's day had been punctuated by grumpy patients and complicated by short staffing. Marc apologized for going MIA after they had spent time together. He hadn't called or texted over the last two weeks, not out of disinterest, but simply due to a busy schedule. Wyatt didn't take offense, in fact, he seemed genuinely happy to have been the one Marc called when he was stranded. The two carried on the conversation and Wyatt said he wanted to know something. He was curious if "the photo" was still around. Marc laughed.

"Now that you have my number, call me," he said.

The canid looked puzzled but quickly re-dialed the recent call while keeping his eyes closely on the wet road. Marc's phone buzzed and lit up with the incoming call. He held the phone up for Wyatt to glance at. On the screen was the canid's name, number, and a slightly blurry picture. At first glance it was difficult to tell exactly what was in the photo, but if you looked close enough, there was a furry mound of flesh with two large orbs tucked underneath it.

Wyatt barked out a heavy, genuine laugh. "You put that as my photo if I call!? Oh Lord, that's rich!" He continued chuckling.

Marc grinned. "Well I didn't have another picture of you, so I figured I needed to put it to some use. Just gotta make sure no ones looking over my shoulder if it pops up."

Wyatt continued his snickering as he pulled into a short driveway of a modest one story home. He drove forward to a covered carport and stopped the vehicle. "Well we'll have to get you a better one than that at some point." he mused. "Anyway, we're here. Let's get you inside."

The two stepped out of the truck and Marc followed Wyatt closely into the house from the covered space outside. They stepped into a small, well-lit room that had linoleum flooring, storage shelves, and a combined washer/dryer. Marc removed his shoes while Wyatt dried his bare footpaws on a heavy doormat and pulled off the large raincoat. He had a simple white t-shirt on and sweatpants that hung loosely on his hips. The old dog had obviously been lounging at home when he got the call and hadn't bothered to change before stepping out to pick up his marooned friend. Marc appreciated that the canid had obviously not wasted any time in coming out to get him.

Despite the raincoat, the bottoms of the sweatpants were soaked in rain and Wyatt shucked them off with ease, tossing them in the washer immediately. He turned to Marc now in nothing but the white t-shirt. He hadn't been wearing any underwear.

"Alright son, strip down and we'll get your clothes washed and dried for tomorrow." he said.

Marc stood still for a moment then rolled his eyes at the canid. He started pulling the scrub top off and then untied the string of the bottoms. He muttered under his breath, "old man in the locker room again…". Wyatt's ear perked slightly.

"Oh, don't give me none of that. Get your skivvies off." Wyatt responded.

Marc held up his hands in defeat then stripped down and tossed the wet clothes in after the sweatpants. He still had the towel from the car and used it to mop up the residual wetness clinging to his body before wrapping it around his waist.

"Do you have a pair of shorts I could borrow? Not that I don't want to fit in with the nudist colony at Camp Samuels, but I would be more comfortable," he joked.

Wyatt was the one to roll his eyes this time. He bent over and ruffled through some clothes in a nearby pile, and Marc watched his fuzzy rump closely. There were a few quick tail swishes and the dog came up with a pair of workout shorts.

"My son was over here yesterday to do some laundry. These are his, so they'll be a little big, but they'll probably fit better than anything I could lend ya."

He tossed the shorts to Marc who sniffed at them discreetly. They smelled clean but there was still an unmistakable odor to them that reminded him of Wyatt. He dropped the towel and slid them on. The back fit a little funny due to the access space for a tail, but it wasn't open enough to be uncomfortable, and Marc felt marginally better being able to cover up to some degree. They did hang a little loose, but he tied them up in the front and was done with it.

Wyatt sauntered out of the room with his tail swishing gently behind him and disappeared. Marc followed after and found the old dog in a well stocked but simple kitchen.

"You had dinner yet?" he asked. Wyatt reached into the pantry, pulled out some bread and then went rooting through the fridge for some meat and cheese. The basic makings of a sandwich were laid out on the counter promptly.

"Don't got a whole lot right now, but you're welcome to whatever's there. Once you get what you like, join me in the living room." he said. He gave the smaller human a quick pat on the ass and stepped out of the way.

Marc was left with all the ingredients he needed for a quick dinner. The dog was no frills, but inviting, and Marc wouldn't have wanted it otherwise. He never wanted to be one to impose, and it was actually sort of nice to be treated like an old friend or family member without having to go through the formalities of being treated like a guest.

Once he had prepared a small meal, Marc plated it and grabbed a soda from the fridge. He carried both into the living room and found Wyatt, still pants-less, lounging on the sofa with his paws up on a small coffee table. The dog turned his head as he came in and absentmindedly scratched at his fuzzy package. The remnants of his own dinner were on the table, as well as papers and documents that Marc assumed had to do with work.

The room was modestly sized with a large flat screen TV that was currently displaying a generic crime drama, a giant comfy looking couch worthy of the canid's size, as well as other furniture that seemed accommodate large non-human bodies. The room smelled nice, but Marc couldn't make out any candles or scented items, meaning Wyatt kept his place clean and it had a simple, natural aroma. There were pictures of family members that Marc couldn't hope to recognize on the wall, but he did see one photo with four happy looking canids at what appeared to be an amusement park or fair. There were two young pups grinning from ear to ear while holding cotton candy, a female with a quiet but confident expression, and a younger Wyatt, probably 30-40 pounds ago.

Marc took it all in then carefully held his plate while he sunk down into the couch next to Wyatt. The dog put his arm around the man's shoulder and Marc munched on his sandwich quietly while unashamedly using the canid's fur to try and push away the cold that had seeped into his bones from the wet clothes.

"Smells like 'Eau du bachelor' in here, Wyatt." Marc said. He picked up his sandwich and took a bite.

The canid lifted his nose in the air and sniffed a few times. He then turned his head down and snuffled his way around Marc's neck and armpit, forcing the man to lift his hands and hold on tight, lest he drop the food.

"Smells like me and just a little bit of you now. You smell like sweat and a doctor's office," the dog replied.

Marc pushed the thick, cold nose away with the hand holding his sandwich and the mastiff took a bite thanks to the opportunity. Marc scowled and pulled his hand back, protecting the rest of his meal. Wyatt just chewed happily and swallowed.

"Hey, it's my house, therefore I'm entitled to what's in it!" said Wyatt.

"Oh is that what you think?" replied Marc.

"That's what I KNOW, son. If it's in my home, I get to claim it for my own. House rules." The canid grinned devilishly and put his paw around the man, hugging him close. Marc just smiled and let the dog hold him, not wanting to arguing with his logic.

---

The pair spent an hour or two watching whatever was on the TV. There was a mixture of crime dramas, cooking shows, and random sitcoms that provided distraction but nothing substantial. Marc had gotten comfortable against the canid early in the night, but he seemed to be even closer now with bare skin pressing tightly against fur. The mastiff had practically enveloped him and Marc found himself leaning against Wyatt, feeling his body rise and fall gently with every breath.

While they were sitting quietly and cuddling on the couch, there was a sudden clap of thunder and the room was thrown into darkness. Both were taken by surprise and the sudden shift left Marc completed blinded for a moment. He wondered if Wyatt could see better than he could. He knew feline bipeds didn't have any trouble in the dark.

Wyatt's grip tightened around Marc slightly and they sat in silence, both wordlessly waiting to see if the power would come back on. When it became apparent that it might take more than just a few minutes, Marc sat up slowly and stretched, turning his neck left and right and emitting several cracks and pops. Wyatt's ears perked up and he raised his paws to gently massage the man's neck in the dark. The human practically hummed at the touch and melted back into the large leathery paws as the pressed gently on his muscles.

"Jeez you're tense, son. You need somethin' to loosen you up," said Wyatt.

Marc mind flickered to just how Wyatt has "loosened him up" at their last encounter, but it left his brain just as quickly with the feeling of paws on his shoulders and neck. He just hung his head and let the canid work, grunting in the affirmative but not using his words at the moment. It had been a long two weeks and he really was tense, but there was no changing that. Normally he would just ignore it, take something like ibuprofen or Tylenol and keep going.

He felt the paws slide away from his skin and Wyatt stood up with a quiet old man grunt. "Stay right here for a second," he said.

Marc leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes in the darkness as Wyatt walked away, disappearing into what he assumed was a bedroom. He heard a closet door open and some odd noises as if the old dog was setting something up. After a few minutes, there was also the faint flicker of light bouncing off the walls through the open door and an aroma of a candle wafting in from another room. The smell was earthy and pleasant, but not overpowering. Marc assumed it was made with canine noses in mind.

Wyatt emerged a moment later and collected the man from the couch, pulling him out of the pillows and leading him into the adjacent bedroom where the scent was coming from. Marc followed closely, holding the old dogs paw and saw a foldable padded table set up in the middle of the room. A candle on the dresser provided slight illumination. A few bottles with labels that he couldn't read from the doorway were sitting on the corner of the same piece of furniture and there was a small lockable case next to them.

As they entered, Wyatt draped a sheet over the bench.

"Are we in a massage parlor now..?", asked Marc.

"Well, you seem tense. Really tense. So, I figured why not? I'm no professional, but I can at least help you relax a bit. Work out the knots, loosen you up." Wyatt looked at Marc with a slight hint of nervousness. It was a side of the dog Marc hadn't seen yet. It was sweet.

Wyatt continued. "I've only been able to use this thing once or twice, so why not? I think it's the perfect situation."

Marc had never received a real massage before, let alone one from a non-human, but he decided to go with the flow. He quickly slid off the shorts and Wyatt took them silently. He climbed up on the table (definitely not made for the human frame) and laid down on his stomach. His face fit gently into a headrest and he could see Wyatt's footpads as the dog walked around to the head of the table, coming to a stop in front of the man. A single large paw came down to rest on Marc's shoulders and his body tingled slightly at the touch. He was excited.

"Comfortable?", asked the mastiff.

Marc nodded silently and felt goosebumps raise up on his skin as Wyatt slid a paw down his back and across his buttocks; his paws padded around the table again. He heard the faint 'pop' of a bottle being opened and then set back in it's place. There was a slickening sound as Wyatt rubbed the substance across his paws before they came back down to rest on the man's shoulders.

Marc felt small compared to the paws of his counterpart. The initially tough paw-pads that lined the inside of Wyatt's palms were now slick and smooth. There was a gentle pressure against his back and paws slid effortlessly as the canid began to press and knead them into human skin.

Marc's eyes closed and he exhaled heavily, letting the canid work all over. The paws started around his neck, massaging the muscles with a firm grip. One paw was enough to grip his entire neck, but Wyatt used individual digits to work from either side, finding muscle layers and following them to their endpoints and then flowing from there down to his shoulders. There was a rhythmic push and pull of pad against skin.

Eventually, Wyatt gripped one shoulder and worked his way down Marc's relatively slim arm, paying attention to every inch as he slowly slid his way down to the man's hands. Once there, the giant paws engulfed them, pressing gently into his palm, sliding over his digits and massaging from the wrist to the tips of his fingers. He changed sides and repeated the same on the other arm.

Marc realized at this point that he was practically moaning as the old dog touched him freely. It was inherently intimate but not sexual, although Marc could feel pressure in his groin as he hardened while laying face down. It was a natural reaction, he thought. That was all.

When the movement of pad against skin became tougher and just before the slide of the two against each other became rough, Wyatt would head back to the bottle and reapply oil. He slowly moved down the length of Marc's body. Pads pressed firmly against shoulders then shoulder blades, then spine, and then lower back. Wyatt took his time and didn't rush. It was as if this was just as enjoyable for him to grip and pull and press against Marc.

When he reached Marc's backside he skipped it briefly and Marc almost whined from the anticipation. A single nail trailed over the gentle hill of the man's ass, tickling and teasing the skin. Marc heard a quiet "Not yet.", as if Wyatt was talking to himself. The dog moved further south and those giant paws pressed against his thighs, encircling them and gripping sensitive skin below his groin that was not used to touch. Marc spread his legs slightly without thinking to allow more room for the canid. Wyatt continued his course down to calves and then feet.

The old dog spent some time at Marc's feet. The strategy never changed, with those firm, strong paws following muscle and tendon and bone in a way that felt natural and easy. He lifted each foot in turn, gripping and massaging around the heel and up to the toes.

Marc was lost in the feeling at this point. He knew he was moaning but didn't care, and he began to think to himself that he could let Wyatt go on forever. While Marc was entertaining the idea of a never ending massage, Wyatt switched directions and began to move back up his body. Those two large paws caressed and pushed and manipulated muscle until they came to rest gently on Marc buttocks. They pressed into the tender flesh and kneaded it gently, one paw on either side working independently until a slick digit slipped between the cheeks. The paw slid down his crack fully, cupping the gentle curve and massaging the tender ring of skin underneath.

Wyatt pulsed his digit with careful pressure against the ring, pressing against it and allowing the slick oil to coat the skin. Marc began to breathe heavily, unable to keep himself from pressing back gently against the invading paw, matching pressure with pressure. He turned his head now to look back at the canid as he worked and saw that Wyatt was naked. There was no longer a shirt covering his torso, just the fur-covered body that was leaning over the man as he worked. Marc saw the canid's sheath was swaying; the plump tissue was slightly exposed with a bead of fluid resting at the tip. As he leaned over Marc, a small amount slipped away and fell to the table, leaving a stringy trail that still connected with the dog's body. It seemed Wyatt was lost in the activity as well, despite being the one in charge.

Mark lifted his rear end slightly and felt the wetness now apparent underneath him. The paw between his cheeks slid lower and gripped his package, rolling the orbs between his digits and stroking the flesh. Marc felt the mastiff shift slightly and a heavy breath hit his ear before a gentle nibble pulled at his ear lobe. Wyatt had leaned over and was still tall enough to keep a firm grip on the human's backside while he whispered in his ear.

"This is the part where you get a happy ending if you want, pup." he said quietly. "Only if you want it. If not, I'll finish the massage and that'll be it."

Marc couldn't imagine stopping now. He unconsciously ground his groin against the paw that still rested there, wrapped between his legs. "I'll do whatever you want after all that, handsome. I haven't felt this relaxed in ages." Marc replied.

Wyatt huffed happily in response and began to remove his paw. "Put your head back down and ass up," he commanded.

Marc did what he was told and placed his face back in the headrest while lifting his ass up slightly. As soon as his position changed, he felt a firm grip wrap around his hanging package and a few warm breaths of air on his taint before a cold nose pressed in between his cheeks.

Wyatt wasted no time invading the space. His lips parted and a tongue flicked out, coating the skin in saliva as it swept up from beneath to finally press against the ring of flesh that made Marc twitch and moan in response. The old dog pressed harder, his snout spreading the man's cheeks as the tongue lapped at and lubricated the entrance before pressing in gently.

Marc moved suddenly and gripped the table as the pressure from behind forced him forward. The paw underneath him gripped tighter and tugged gently, not to the point of pain, but as a device for control. It was a gentle reminder holding the man in place.

Wyatt slurped and tasted the man, coating his backside with copious amounts of drool, massaging the passage with his slick tongue as he probed and licked and pushed. Finally, he pulled away and took a deep breath, licking his lips and releasing the man from his grip.

"Stay right there," he said.

Marc stayed in his vulnerable position with his face down in the headrest as he felt the canid move away. There was motion over by the dresser where the candle and the small box were kept and then a small 'click' could be heard as the box was opened. Wyatt returned a moment later and placed a paw on the man's rump.

"Be still, boy.", was all he said before a cool smooth surface pressed between Marc's cheeks. A tapered tip began to enter him slowly. A gentle but persistent pressure was being applied from the canine who was standing next to him. Marc began to squirm slightly as the pressure began to increase from a slight invasion to a fullness that required work to insert. Wyatt paused and Marc tried to turn his head to look back. He could only see the canid next to him sporting a modest erection but not what was being inserted into him from behind.

"Push back son, you can take this. Especially if you're gonna be sitting on my knot in a bit."

Marc blushed and took a deep breath before pressing backwards. He felt himself spreading slowly and began to wonder just how wide he was going to get. Suddenly, the pressure eased and the object slid the rest of the way in, situating itself inside of him as a wide base kept it from inserting completely.

"Good boy. The plug's in, now flip over for me." Wyatt said.

Marc did as he was told and turned himself over to lay on his back. As he did so, there were occasional rushes of pleasure as the plug filled him and pressed haphazardly against his prostate.

Wyatt grinned mischievously and moved to the head of the table. He stood tall over Marc and spread his legs, straddling the man's head. The canid's sheath swayed as he moved and when he settled into place a thick glob of pre-cum dropped down onto Marc's cheek. Wyatt gently wiped his thumb through the liquid and slid it into Marc's mouth who licked it up happily.

The mastiff then leaned over the man and Marc's vision became full of thick furry sheath. It was heavy on his face, and Marc took a deep breath, inhaling the scent. Flesh pressed against his mouth and spread it open while the canid's thick member began to slide past his lips. A salty taste flooded his senses and Wyatt began to grind back and forth, not pressing too far, but still giving Marc a full taste of his manhood. The canid braced his arms on either side of the table as he humped forward and then retreated in waves.

Wyatt moaned and moved a paw to Marc's chest. He leaned against the man and continued to hump forward until he was fully hard and his sheer length began to make the angle difficult to manage. He slid back and pulled Marc with him slowly until the man's head was hanging off the edge of the table. The dog placed a paw under Marc's chin and throat, tilting it backwards and then invading his mouth again, pressing in as far as he could manage. A single paw rested over Marc's neck and that rod of flesh slid directly into his throat and back out again, leaving a trail of precum as Wyatt forced himself into the man's open maw.

Despite his efforts, Marc was unable to take the full length and sputtered, prompting the mastiff to pull out and simply slide the tapered head in and out while the man recovered. Marc was licking and lapping as much of the salty fluid as he could, all while squirming with pleasure, unable to forget the plug still lodged deep inside of him.

Eventually the leaking flesh was pulled away from the man's mouth and Wyatt lifted his head up, raising him gently to a sitting position. Marc was hard and throbbing, his own member leaking profusely from the treatment and the stimulation from either side of him. Wyatt helped Marc move, wrapping an arm around his back and then one under his legs as he lifted him from the table. He carried the man around the table and set him on the bed.

After setting Marc down gently, Wyatt climbed up beside him and rested on his back at the head of the bed. His size was as impressive as ever and his erection stood tall between his legs, not to be outdone by the two large orbs that Marc just knew were ready to burst.

Wyatt beckoned the man to come closer. "Come here, son."

Marc did as he was told and moved up the canid's body until he was straddling the old dog. Wyatt reached up and wrapped a still soft paw around the man's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Marc leaned forward, greeting the mastiff as their lips and tongues pressed against each other firmly. As they were locked in the embrace, Wyatt reached back behind the man and began to tug gently at the plug that was still lodged deep inside. The pull against flesh made Marc gasp, and he exhaled in pleasure as the dog continued to grasp it firmly. With a gentle pull, the plug slipped out slowly and stretched him open on its way out, just as it had on the way in.

Marc felt a distinct emptiness as the toy was removed. Wyatt placed it out of the way and reached back behind the man again, easily slipping two digits inside the welcoming hole and wiggling them freely. A third digit slipped in after that without much resistance and the old dog smiled again.

"Well done, boy. You ready for the real thing? I don't' think I can wait any longer and I just want to fill you to the brim." He smirked.

Marc looked down at the dog and grinned as well. "Well I think it's the least I could do after that session." he replied.

Marc reached back and gripped the throbbing, leaking member underneath him. He guided it to his hole and inserted it gently before sliding down the tip with a groan of satisfaction. His hips continued to sink as the tapered flesh forced it's way into him and spread him open. Wyatt gripped the man's hips and pressed him down as far as he could go until Marc's ring met with the bulb of a knot.

"Oh fuck, that feels so good." Wyatt moaned. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed as he slid into the human. Once the majority of the canid's length was inside, Marc began to rock his hips and slide back and forth, forcing the cock in and out of his hole as far as it would go. He ground his hips against Wyatt's and could feel his own cock leaking out onto the belly fur of the older male as he rode that thick length.

Wyatt kept his paws gripped firmly on Marc's hips as the two pressed flesh to fur and he began to hump up into the motion, meeting Marc's descent with his own upward thrust. Marc was in heaven and the two were a mass of fluids, moans, and motion.

They stayed like that for what seems like ages. Marc rode the large cock like a pro, assisted by the original toy that had spread him open and prepared him for such a formidable tool. The stimulation was intense as the skin slid against skin and precum and spit acted as an ever present lubricant. Wyatt never lost his grip on the man as he rocked in rhythm and moaned, leaking like a faucet in to the man that was on top of him. His large furry orbs bounced as he pressed into Marc, and the two stayed locked like this in perpetual motion and bliss until the pleasure boiled over.

Suddenly Wyatt began to press hard. His hips bucked impatiently and his cock began to hammer more forcefully into the man who was speared on that fat length. Marc honestly tried to press back into the mastiff, but he was starting to feel weak in the legs and he was struggling to keep up with the rhythm of the old dog underneath him. It didn't matter to Wyatt. The dog moved his arms to Marc's shoulders and began to press the man down harder, forcing his knot up against the tender flesh. He used his motion with the force of gravity to try and lock himself inside, to claim his prize.

Marc moaned in pleasure and Wyatt responded. With a sudden gush of stimulation, Marc clenched down on the cock lodged deep inside him and came between the two of them, splattering cum on fur as he erupted. In that moment, Wyatt pulled the man down to his chest and rolled them onto their sides. Marc became a little spoon enveloped by the big mass of fur and sex that was holding on to him and he felt the pressure build to the breaking point before Wyatt finally entered him fully. The knot slipped past his defenses and made him feel more full than the plug ever could.

Wyatt continued to pump ferociously into the man at this point. The knot slid in and pulled back, never leaving his body, but milking his prostate as it spread his walls wide. With a grunt, the old dog began to release, and Marc could tell he was pumping seed in with every thrust and with every groan. The dog's paws gripped the man tightly as he spilled himself inside and pulsed forcefully.

Marc was breathing heavily against the canid as he finally began to slow down and the orgasm began to subside. When Wyatt stopped thrusting, Marc ground himself back against into the dog's body, eliciting a happy moan from the canine throat.

"Naughty, naughty" came a low-rumble. Marc felt a hot tongue lap at his neck and received a nibble on his ear for his efforts. The man moved his arms down and gripped the paws wrapped around him tightly as the two rested against each other. Marc could feel every small movement of the canid that was still inside him, and he knew that his insides were full of the seed of his lover.

There was no witty banter as the two drifted off to sleep with the rain pounding on the windows, just an overwhelming sense of relaxation and comfort from the man who was wrapped up in those furry arms and legs.

---

Marc woke up to the snore of the large mastiff next to him. At some point during the night, Wyatt had dislodged himself, and Marc could tell it had left a mess behind. They were both under the covers with cool skin pressed up against warm fur.

Marc let himself drift off in the dim light of morning as he lay next to Wyatt. He felt amazing, but there was no mistaking the leftover scent of cum and massage oil. He would get up when he felt like it and see if he could borrow a towel from Wyatt to take a shower. He knew the dog wouldn't mind.

As he was laying quietly next to the snoring bundle of fur, he thought he heard a soft click and creaking noises from the other room. In his sleepy state, it didn't really register in his brain, that was, until he heard the sound of cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen and the unmistakable smell of coffee.

He turned to Wyatt and shook him gently. The man whispered as quietly as he could into the big dog's floppy ears to get him to wake. Wyatt mumbled slightly and smacked his lips before opening his eyes and wrapping Marc into a big bear hug. A thick sheath plump with morning wood pressed between his legs.

Marc pushed against the embrace firmly. "Wyatt, there's someone in your house."

The old dog laughed sleepily. "Yeah, goofball. It's you."

"No!" Marc whispered with urgency. "There's someone ELSE here!"

Wyatt wiped his eyes with a giant paw and began to sit up in the bed as a set of footsteps made their way down the hall. Marc froze in place as the door to the bedroom swung open and a silhouette formed in the doorway.

"Hey, dad, did your power go out last night? Looks like some of your lights were on this morn…"

The canid in the doorway locked eyes with Marc and stared at him. Marc covered himself quickly with the bed sheets.

Wyatt sat up and crawled out of bed slowly, obviously unconcerned with his nakedness. He yawned and reached back to scratch his ass before addressing the two others in the room.

"Oh! Hey, Jackson. This is Marc. Marc, this is Jackson. He's my son."