FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

It was the crunching of fallen branches and leaves behind him that caught the lynx's attention first. He paused where he was, half-crouched behind a bush in his search, and perked his tall, tufted ears; as usual, the jingling of all the piercings in his left briefly muffled the other noises and distracted him, but still he waited. This was always the risk of heading out after dark, he knew, but that was just the thing: the flowers which he sought tonight, lovely pale yellow like the light of the moon, bloomed only on nights like this one, with the spring giving way to summer. These particular flowers served as an important reagent in various spells and rituals he had learned from his time growing up in the area, and apart from that, they also brewed into one of the most delicious teas he had ever had.

Nothing more came, though, other than the sounds of insects and night birds, and as such the lynx let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd held and returned to his search. He clutched his cloak more tightly around himself as well, holding against the slight chill of night. That was one of the biggest differences between here and the academy further to the south, a lovely limestone jewel among the endless sands of the Maldethi desert.

Still, though, he had grown up here, and those six years in the desert had done little to change his inborn comforts and preferences. Part of him enjoyed the slight bite in the nighttime air, and how he could feel it through his cloak and fur; part of him liked the moisture, the humidity always present here; part of him liked the shock of his daily bath in the river each morning, as opposed to the sweat-houses back at the academy.

Then, of course, all of him enjoyed the scenery and surroundings, the constant chatter of the living forest around him, the sensation of the moist earth beneath his footpaws. Finding none of the flowers down here he straightened up, stretched his arms over his head, and continued on, eyes working the best they could in the moonlight that filtered down through the treetops far overhead. According to the texts he had read, the blooms of the flowers gave off a pale light of their own, but he had yet to actually see this particular trait. Not to say that he had never found the flowers before: his first night back here he had discovered a small cluster of them growing out from beneath a rock along the bank of the river.

That night, though, he had had a lantern with him, as he hadn't yet learned the layout of this part of the woods. Not a regular lantern, of course - even now pushing his way between the trees and through the low-lying shrubs the lynx began to feel the need for another one, and after another moment, sighed and stood still to put it together. It was a little trick he had learned in his first years down at the academy, and one that had served him quite well in many different occasions: he paused, concentrated for a second, felt the so-familiar subtle currents in the world around him... and then, with a small tug and pull the feeling of which had also become familiar through constant careful practice, the lynx tied together some of those faint strands, pulled them tight, filled them out with power from deep inside himself - and then had to turn his head away from the result.

This was the main secret he had learned in his six years at the academy. The discovery of such an ability had inspired him to leave home to learn more about it in the first place, and then those years had honed and enhanced that ability in him: hovering a short distance ahead of him was the same lantern, a complex yet for him simple and easy interweaving of magical threads of Fire and Air, all pulled from the world around him. His talent lay in Fire in particular, granting him a superior ability and dexterity with that type of magic to the point where he could wield it practically without thought or exertion.

The lynx held the lantern close for a moment and then pushed it out between the trees and over his head, as he had done so many nights before. It cast the forest around him in a warm yellow-orange glow, the shadows stretching out and twisting around him, the sounds of startled woodland creatures pulling his ears this way and that. He smiled, satisfied, and continued onward, keeping his eyes down towards the ground for his target.

You're something special, Lannon, the archmage had told him upon his arrival. You have a gift the likes of which this school hasn't seen in decades. And, oh, the look on your face tells me you know exactly what I'm talking about. Why don't we-

_ _

Another noise behind him pulled Lannon out of his memories. Yet again he froze in place, ears swiveling around and eyes wide to pull in the intricacies of the shadows out beyond the range of his lantern. The light faltered a bit and then resumed its constant strength: there was no way to properly tie off magic like this to maintain itself, and as such he had to push it to the back of his consciousness, the concentration constantly there in the background. It wavered again as he looked through the trees, trying to split his attention into maintaining the light and seeing what, if anything, was out there.

At first he saw nothing, of course. He hardly ever did. There was nothing there, and then suddenly, there was, the giant, lumbering shape of the thing seeping out from the clusters of trees like a shadow taken form, misshapen and abnormal, something that shouldn't quite be. As usual the first sight of it sent a sharp shock through the lynx's body, this time forcing him to almost completely drop the weave maintaining the lantern.

It had been only a few days ago when Lannon had first seen the thing crawling through the woods out here, some terrible monstrosity that had so deeply shocked the villages on the borders of the forest. There had been tales of something like it throughout his childhood growing up here, but these tales had grown and spread to the point where he had even heard about them in his time down at the academy, over a month's travel away by the quickest transportation. That had played a large part in his decision to return home, in part to investigate and to more properly test out his freshly-honed abilities and skills in a realistic, natural environment, and...

And, well, that's what I got, he thought, slowly making his way backwards away from it. This time it did not shy away from the pale light cast from his lantern, instead tromping forward over the fallen branches and leaves, one giant forepaw reaching out to grip the trunk of a nearby tree. Claws as thick as two of Lannon's fingers held together sheared easily through thick summer bark and the flesh of the tree beneath, the beast using that as leverage to pull himself forward. Lannon took another step back, slowly, carefully, and still nearly stumbled over a revealed root.

"Gods-"

_ _

The lynx waved his arms, wobbled where he stood, and then tumbled backwards onto his rump, the mulch and debris of the forest cushioning his fall while the thing still approached. It was, or had at one point been, a wolf much like the ones in his village, and at the academy, and everywhere else in the world: this was clear in the shape of his head and muzzle, the angle of its shoulders, and the general arrangement of its body. Everything about it, though, was just slightly off: it continued forward, steps slow and heavy and determined, its progress allowing Lannon another good look at it.

From the single bright yellow eye glowing with a light of its own, directly across from the one clouded over with a cataract from an old wound; to the tattered ears, one torn off halfway up; to the suspiciously clean scar curling around its neck from one side to the other, like a collar; to the bulging muscles beneath unkempt fur, over the shape of bones cracked and forced into unnatural shapes and positions, stretched out, tightened, somehow strengthened. The closer it came, the more Lannon could pick up the deep rumble vibrating in its throat, pulsing out and sharpening as its black lips curled back to show sharp yellowed fangs the likes of which he had almost never before seen.

His heart fluttered in his chest and the lantern failed, and this time, the weave dissipating, it did not return. For a moment Lannon saw nothing, his light-blinded eyes struggling to find purchase in the dimness of night... and then he blinked, pulled himself back, shook his head, and looked up again, finding himself face to face with that sharp, angular muzzle, those teeth so, so close to his nose and whiskers.

The beast huffed, its hot, humid breath puffing around the much smaller lynx's head and awareness and for a moment clouding both. Such hunger, such power, such... Lannon reached up and wiped at his muzzle, then froze in place as the movement caused the werewolf's snarl to pick up again. A thick, glistening glob of saliva dripped down off of its curled lips, hanging heavily in the air between them for a moment before splashing and sticking to his upper thigh, soaking quickly through the fabric of his cloak and pants beneath.

"Wait," Lannon said, quietly. Its tattered ears flicked in recognition of his voice. "Wait, I-"

But, of course, it wouldn't listen to him. A sharp bark sent the lynx's ears flat against his head and snuffed his voice in his throat as quickly as it made him try to scoot back, but one of those powerful forepaws on his other leg held him tightly in place. He squirmed, still trying to pull away, while keeping his gaze firmly on the beast's muzzle. That single yellow eye flicked from his face down to his chest, then to his leg as he tried to move, then back up to his muzzle... and the black leather nose twitched again and again, tasting his scent, committing it to memory, picking it apart and identifying all the little pieces.

For a moment its grip lightened. Lannon paused where he was, took in a nearly-imperceptible breath, and then put all of his effort into pulling away and running. The slickness of the forest floor and the weight of that paw, even just resting against him, provided more than enough of an obstruction to interrupt him, though, and the farthest he got was to roll over and try to move away, only to end up facedown against the mulch with the ankle of one leg compressed between that paw and the forest floor beneath him.

He looked over his shoulder again, heart still pounding in his chest, to see the dark shape of the creature coming forward and above him, the weight from that paw moving from his ankle, to his thigh, to the center of his back. It moved just as comfortably on four legs as it did on two, though the angle of its spine and shape of its arms showed that two was its "natural" posture. All of these were things the lynx had noticed and noted down in his previous encounters with it, sparse and short as those encounters had been.

This time was already far closer and more personal. He squirmed in place, yet again trying to free himself, yet instead just felt that huge paw press him more firmly into the ground. This time the beast's breath wafted down over him from behind, making his ears flick with the slight tickle from the currents of warm air; he felt it sniff at him, first his head, then his neck and shoulders, and then the center of his back; then felt a heavy _plop_with another drip of saliva settling along his shoulder blade, and then another in the small of his back.

This is it, he figured, letting himself go limp. Weakly he kicked at its chest and shoulders as it lowered itself along his body, hot sniffling breaths puffing through his cloak, already splayed from his fall, and lifting his shirt underneath. Just like I'd feared. Gone between the teeth of the very thing I came out here to study, and... and...

_ _

And his thoughts faltered in his mind, then, when that muzzle touched against his lower back and then scooted a little further down, those breaths centering this time right at the base of his little nub tail. Lannon jerked with the sensation of hot humidity piercing right through the fabric of his pants, then did so again when the thing's tongue flicked out and curled up over its nose, catching the underside of his tail as it went.

Again he glanced back. That yellow eye flashed up to him and remained there, one of the beast's paws still on his back while the other held his leg in place. It lowered its muzzle again and then this time, more tenderly, carefully, almost deliberately, took the waist of his trousers in its sharp, jagged fangs, and pulled. Lannon yelped and clawed at the ground as he was lifted up, then felt himself suddenly fall back down when the material tore and shredded between those teeth. The cool yet humid air of the forest night slid in and caressed his suddenly bared lower body, only to give way to the much hotter, much wetter breath of the beast above and behind him, still puffing out across his body, varying in its intensity and pace but always, always there.

Fear flashed through the lynx's body and yet again he squirmed to get away, still to no avail. For a second it just held him there, the pressure against his back heavy and solid while it kept his head close to his lower body. Then, also slowly, it lowered down further until that breath tickled and trickled down along his tail and rump, and down his inner thighs as well. Lannon twitched and jerked, trying to move his legs in a way so as to kick it, but instead just succeeded in putting himself more on display for the thing, especially once the other of its forepaws came down and pinned his leg to the ground.

Then it leaned in and closed the distance, its cold, wet nose touching right against the base of his tail, twitching a little bit with its short, stiff whiskers following. Lannon immediately froze, knowing the danger of being in such a position. The lips parted, the jaws opened, the breath wrapped around him; it tickled over sensitive skin and fur, puffing and swirling, moving with the wolf's investigation of this lynx spread beneath him.

Then, finally, the tongue came, too. It was just a small flick at first, something feeling like an accident, but it still made Lannon jump and gasp, then again when it did so a second time, and a third... and then it made him shiver and have to suppress a different sort of noise at the fourth, the broad, strong muscle sliding up between his thighs, slurping over the back of his sack and dragging up along his puckered tailhole.

"Wait..." he breathed again, but then found his voice taken from him beneath another deliberate lick. The beast adjusted its position a bit to lean in over him and come down from above, its upper jaw braced against Lannon's lower back and lower between his thighs so that its tongue could easily swirl and slurp and dig, tasting every little inch of the cat.

He tried not to move for fear of getting a feel of those fangs, too, but everything else going on, from the movement of the tongue to the rhythm of the breath, and the thick stickiness of the gathering drool quickly rolling down between his legs and pooling beneath him... Lannon rested his head down on an arm and gritted his teeth, trying his best to keep quiet. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling to him, by any means - during his time at the academy, his partners Sariya and Emnis had both treated him to something like this, sometimes with one on one side and the other on the other, or one _after_the other, or once or twice, both at the same time - but the sheer size and strength of the tongue, and its remarkable dexterity against both of these other traits, made him squirm and shudder in entirely different ways from what had been racking his body just a few moments ago.

Why is this happening? he thought, then gasped again and let the beast spread his legs. The tongue curled down beneath his sack and sheath, wrapping forward, lifting him away from the moist earth, and then dragged back up towards his tailhole again. What did I do to... to...

All coherent thought dripped away from him just as those thick strands of saliva dripped down his legs. A low rumble issued from the beast's throat as it continued to lean in over him, the broad tip of its tongue pushing and pressing at the pucker of his tailhole, coaxing its way in, easing deeper. Lannon gasped again and reflexively lifted his hips, his little nub-tail hiking as much as it could. The beast adjusted in turn as well, removing its heavy paw from the lynx's back and instead seizing one of his legs with it, partially lifting him off the ground and over its shoulder so that it could more comfortably dig into his rear.

"Ah-..."

Thick strands of saliva rolled up his body from between his legs, matting his fur and hanging down in heavy ropes as it went. The steady, cloying scent of the beast's breath washed down over the lynx, further muddling his senses and awareness; his legs repeatedly twitched and then went limp again, muscles straining back against the thick tongue pressing its way into him, entire body still thrumming with the knowledge that he was prey, if not the specific type he had first thought. The other paw came up and mirrored the first, lifting his other leg over the thing's shoulder, spreading them apart, and then settling in towards his middle back to hold him there in that odd, awkward position, his muzzle sideways against the earth and his lower body stretching up into the air for it to dig down into.

There was a slow rhythm to it now that it had found its point of focus: its jaws remained parted around his lower body - briefly the image of it crunching down flashed into his mind, to be quickly shooed away; he could feel its teeth right beneath his belly button, and then also around his body along his back - while its tongue worked and flexed, alternating between pressing in against his tail and slurping down just beneath his rim.

Is it the taste? he thought, the ideas and theories falling through his awareness like grains of sand amid everything going on. Lannon felt himself lifted a little further and scrabbled at the ground for something to hang on to, and then melted beneath the sensation of that tongue pressing deeper, the tip pushing in through intentionally-relaxed muscles. Is it the noises and movements it's getting out of me? Or is it, perhaps-

Another shiver shot down through the lynx's body as its tongue continued to squeeze into him, filling him with an also-familiar slick pressure and pleasure. Lannon clawed at the wet earth and let a shuddering sigh trickle out between his parted lips, his legs straining over the wolf's shoulders in an attempt to work himself further back onto the exploring tongue.

The tension gathered there, built, grew, and then drew back out of him, another fat glob of sticky drool oozing out and down the back of his sack, then along the underside of his hard length. The fear just made the pleasure that much sharper.

-or perhaps, it knows what it's doing, and what's going on?

_ _

The more Lannon thought about this, the more it seemed to be the case. It was in the way the beast manipulated his body, pulling the smaller lynx up into the air to dig its tongue deeper and then lowering him back down so that it could taste his length and sack as well; it was in the way it dug its tongue into his rump, wriggling and sliding, slow and careful if such a thing could be said of this wolf. It felt almost as though it was searching for something inside of the lynx - and maybe it was: when it pressed that tongue downwards toward his front, when Lannon felt it dig around in his innards and when he thought he might almost be able to see it writhing inside his belly, it squeezed ever more groans and moans and gasps out of him. And, interested, the wolf drew its tongue back, swallowed, let a heavy huff of breath out across the lynx's rump, and then dug in again, repeating that same motion in that same place.

Then again, and again, and again, each time with Lannon squeezing more tightly around it, his teeth gritted and body shaking. _This_part was certainly a new feeling, at least in part: he could feel himself push closer and closer to his peak already at the end of that tongue, each time it angled forward and down and squeezed its way into him. His legs kicked in the air over the wolf's shoulders, more out of an excess of energy than an actual want to get away; a moment later he squirmed and managed to wrap them around its neck, and used that as leverage to pull himself up and back. The growl in the beast's throat turned back into a satisfied rumble, its sharp fangs repeatedly teasing at sensitive skin through his fur with the churning of its lower jaw and its tongue, buried as deep as possible inside the lynx's rear.

It shifted once more and Lannon gasped again, and then - he clawed at the earth again, only his muzzle, upper chest, and arms remaining on the ground. His entire lower body from his groin to his midriff was caught between those devastatingly sharp fangs, everything in between dripping and soaked with sticky saliva, the heat of its hungry breath swirling around and pressing against him, his hard shaft twitching and throbbing against the same gums that held those so-sharp fangs against his belly and back.

From this angle it took only a little effort to turn his head and look behind him. Sure enough the werewolf sat upon its haunches, toes of its huge hindpaws spread for balance, muscles bunched and tight even in its relaxation: its huge arms kept Lannon elevated with ease, one clutching his midriff and the other still around one of his legs. Its chest rose and fell in the same rhythm as the heavy puffs of breath wafting out beneath the nub of his tail, while its throat worked and pulsed with the movement of its tongue against and inside the lynx. Then, a bit lower, showing against the smooth blacks, browns, and ash greys of its fur...

Lannon's eyes fluttered shut with another deep pulse of that tongue, forcing a throb and a glob of pre out of his length and down his belly. Against the fur of its belly, thick and heavy and hard to pull his gaze from, twitched its own length, lovely rich red peeking halfway out from its plump sheath, its full and heavy sack resting against the earth beneath it. When it drew its muzzle back, swallowed, and then lapped up along Lannon's spread tailhole, that half-revealed shaft gave a little twitch and throb and grew again, just a little bit.

So it does know, he concluded, and closed his eyes again. Try as he might to squeeze his muscles and clench, they wouldn't quite respond how he wanted, especially in this position - and then even more so when that thick tongue sank right back into him, immediately refilling him with that delicious pressure and sensation. His fingers splayed between the leaves fallen along the ground, his toes curled, his legs squeezed around the back of the beast's head and pulled it in, wanting that tongue deeper, deeper, until he thought he might be able to feel it pushing its way up into his chest as well.

It didn't get that far, of course, for a few reasons. One of these was that Lannon felt that peak suddenly rush towards him, quick and powerful and inevitable. His claws dragged through the moist earth and he bucked, then did so again, and again, each time jerking himself backwards onto the werewolf's tongue, with his forward rebounds shooting out progressively faster, thicker spurts of his load, coaxed on solely from it filling his rump, until he had nothing more to give. Panting and shaking, the hands-free orgasm having drained him in more ways than one, Lannon let his legs go limp over the beast's shoulders and allowed his muzzle to slide unceremoniously against the earth beneath him, lips parted so he could breathe with at least some semblance of normalcy.

Even in the encompassing, exhausting afterglow Lannon was still kept aware of the huge thing behind him, through its grip on his leg and body and the slow trickle of those strands of saliva, dripping from his stretched rump and down between his thighs. It held him in place for a moment before letting him drop rather unceremoniously down, causing the smaller lynx to sprawl halfway across the ground before he managed to pull himself forward, up, and then over onto his back.

Still, though, he kept himself balanced on his paws beneath his body and lifted his rear, not wanting any of the sticks and leaves to stick to his more sensitive parts. For once he found himself completely unafraid of his current position, half-naked with his cloak hanging off his body, the lynx staring up at the still-slavering muzzle of this admittedly horrid monstrosity. Its wide tongue flicked out and lapped over its dripping chops, granting him a nearly-full view of the sharp fangs that had just been squeezing against his back and belly, threatening to snap at any second even while it satisfied its other hungers underneath his tail. Lannon shifted; his body responded with a vague throbbing of his pulse and stretched muscles, thoroughly slickened, quite exhausted.

The young mage met its eyes - its eye - and held it, then brought his own paw to his muzzle and wiped away some of his drool that had gathered there in response to the attention. The bright yellow of its gaze flicked from his down to that paw, then over his chest, then down, and then quickly back up again - and then before Lannon could respond or prepare anything, suddenly the beast lurched forward towards him. He scrabbled back along the earth, thumping his already-sore rump to the ground and then immediately lifting back up; he craned his head back to see the wolf's unkempt form come in from overhead, and felt a heavy paw press into the soft soil on either side of his body; he expected to feel that hot, thick drool drip down his forehead at any second, to have those sharp fangs graze down over his skin and pierce in...

But what he got instead was a brief pressure pushing him back down against the ground, a low rumble from the powerful chest above him, and finally, a much bolder, much hotter pressure settling against his belly and chest.

Each of his few run-ins with this monster so far had been like this, with Lannon's heart rapidly bouncing back and forth between mortal fear, vague apprehension, distant excitement, and then back to fear, although this was the first time that pure, deep arousal had found its way into the mix as well. The scent hit him right after the weight and warmth did, a strong, rich, familiar musk that wafted up and clung to his nose and throat even without him needing to open his mouth. Lannon had had a couple of encounters with someone back during his academy days, certainly more of a playmate than a partner - Scott had been a tall, stout wolf, hailing from the far southeast highlands rather than the northwestern mountains that the lynx knew most wolves to come from, but still, his scent had been similar to the one currently wrapping its hot, sticky fingers around his awareness and further dulling the pounding of his heart.

Similar in its own ways, yet still so different. The lynx adjusted his position once more, spreading his legs to allow that heavy heat to settle more comfortably alongside his softening shaft. The beast's was of course much more formidable, at least three times as wide around and longer as well: it was still half-sheathed and already its tapered tip pushed close to the end of where Lannon's length would rest along his belly, had he been fully hard. The wolf gave a small thrust and another growl, grinding its even heavier sack forward against the lynx's. He had to squirm beneath the extra weight squeezing in against him.

"Okay, okay..." he breathed, leaning forward a bit. The wolf's aroma surrounded him, that musk mixing and combining with its natural aroma, the inimitable sting and spice of a hunting predator muted by the cloying grip of the forest. "I get it. I know what you want."

Another theory of his was that the beast could understand his words, though as of yet he hadn't been able to spend enough time with it to tell. The lynx reached forward and let his paws over just above that wide shaft, the knowledge of what he was about to do and what he had just done settling in and squeezing around his thoughts. His body still thrummed with the remnant energy of his own orgasm, forced to that point from the slavering tongue still hanging down between sharp fangs and parted lips over his head... and then he realized, without much surprise, that the interest and arousal still remained.

And the ever-present fear of imminent death, of course, again brought to the forefront of his awareness with another drip of saliva between his ears. That was what spurred him to close the distance, first resting his fingers along the side of that shaft and feeling its intense, slick heat, then dragging them up towards the tip. First one paw and then the other, caressing its length, slowly coaxing it further out of its sheath; at one point Lannon was rewarded with a small spurt of watery pre across his bellyfur, slightly startling him. The lynx chuckled, licked his lips, ran a finger through that puddle, and brought it to his muzzle.

Lannon spread his legs again and lifted up, loving the sensation of those heavy balls against his own, and the intense heat of them radiating out between his thighs. With the taste of the werewolf sticking to his tongue and filling his muzzle he then wrapped both of his paws around its girth and stroked, slowly, deliberately. His fingers could hardly intertwine around it, and the more he rubbed against, the more they spread apart: the beast began to follow the rhythm he set, pushing its hips forward and back between his thighs and dragging that heavy sack across his body as it went.

The lynx clutched that large shaft against his belly and lower chest in both paws, at once imagining what it might feel like sinking up inside of him right after the tongue had left. Now that it had worked itself up, each thrust came accompanied by another burst of pre up across his chest, sometimes spraying so far as to splash across his neck and chin; Lannon lifted his head and leaned down a bit, trying to see if he could catch some of it in his maw. The length of it meant that, even sitting up as far as he could, he could only barely flick his tongue across the tip.

That was enough, though. Another pulse and throb beneath his fingers, the pads slick and greasy with arousal, and he tasted more than felt the next burst spray out across his tongue and into his throat, rich and salty, a bit bitter. Then again, and again, quick and fast like a feral dog's, the beast's length jumping with each throb. Lannon let it paint his muzzle and chest while he continued stroking, one paw running its length while the other pushed back down to the skin of its sheath, thick and supple, hot and wet.

It was easy for him to dig one, two, three fingers inside, finding the bulge of its knot and coaxing that free from the grip of its sheath. The natural sticky slickness clung to those fingers afterward, stringing heavy strands of musk through his fur and between his pads; he swapped out the positions of his paws and brought that one to his muzzle, swirling his tongue between his fingers to get a taste of that wetness. Above him the werewolf continued thrusting, continued growling, continued slavering in its lust and need, pushed further and further by Lannon's attentive paws.

He didn't need to adjust his position at all to run his paws down to those balls, heavy and dense, each one filling up both of his cupped palms. The lynx hefted each of them for a moment while the beast continued to thrust over him, until a more urgent growl brought his attention back to the matter at hand - or, really, the matter across his chest compressing his breathing a bit. So he returned his focus there, one paw sliding smoothly up to caress the tip while the other played along the back of the beast's knot and then forward over it, fingers following the lines of veins in the skin and then down to the underside, lifting it up and away so those spurts of pre emptied across his shoulder and the earth beside him instead of his muzzle, most of his fur already soaked through with its piercing scent.

Past that point the beast picked up the rhythm towards something more like what Lannon had expected, based on its feral state: its forelegs spread around his head and shoulders while its hind legs pushed his knees further apart; it lowered its body down, grinding its scent, its weight, its heat more strongly across his body; and it thrust its hips forward and back, quick and hard, pressing Lannon further down against the ground with each one. The lynx swallowed and, mouth just barely open, squeezed his paws as tight as he could, one near the tip and the other rubbing behind the knot, still unswollen yet pulsing with its approaching finish. If he wrapped his arm around it a bit, he could clamp its shaft between his palm and his body, giving it something to push into close to his muzzle - and he couldn't help but play at the thick skin of its sheath when he could reach it, fingers pressing and digging in beneath hot, wet flesh, gentle and careful in their touches yet still confident and deliberate, just as Scott had taught him wolves enjoyed. A tongue would be better, of course, but there would be no way he could turn himself around at this point, and besides - he didn't enjoy the thought of this foot-long shaft down his throat as much as he liked thinking about it pressing up beneath his tail.

Above him the beast's breath fractured and shook with tension and urgency, these same feelings clearly evident in the shivering in its body and the stronger, longer pulses through its shaft, powerful enough that Lannon nearly couldn't hold it back down. He spread his legs further and lifted up to press himself against the monster, wanting to feel that tension as deeply as he could: he pushed its sheath back and wrapped his fingers around the spot behind its knot, still nearly unable to do so all the way around, and tugged; he played his fingers over the tip and then pushed down along the shaft, following the contours in its form, then squeezed right above the knot as well; he squeezed his eyes shut and made sure to close his mouth, beginning to feel the way that tension balled into itself and vibrated, growing, tightening, shivering - until it all suddenly burst out.

First drool, then pre, and now its load, sprayed out across the small lynx's chest, his shoulders, his neck, his muzzle, and certainly the ground behind and past him, based on the sound. One spray, then another, and another, each one thick and heavy yet still somehow watery in its own way, almost entirely coating his front in the way its girth jumped and pulsed in his paws; overhead the wolf grunted and growled, its entire body seizing up with the intense sensation of its finish. It nearly doubled over the lynx a few times, each one riding the wave from another burst across the side of his muzzle, until finally that delicious red length bobbed and bounced before his eyes with only a few dribbles of thick, milky white leaking out from the tip, trailing their way down towards its now swollen knot, easily the size of both of Lannon's fists held together.

Himself soaked, exhausted, and still quite aroused, the lynx finally dropped back down to rest on his elbows, letting the werewolf's thick shaft hang heavily down across his chest and belly as it leaked out the last of its load in a series of small yet still forceful throbs. Above him its chest heaved with tense breathing, its legs still spread for balance; Lannon stayed there for a while, reaching one paw forward to run a finger along its length, and then after a second of thought started scooting downwards.

A small grumble and snort from the thing above him briefly got his heart to pounding again but he carried on, working his way further down beneath its body until the heat from its shaft tickled at his cheek and muzzle. He made no effort to move his head away from it, of course, and instead let himself nuzzle along its slick side as he went, further still; the lynx braced his paws against its thighs to pull himself down further, head tilted to run his nose along those veins in its surface, against its bulging knot, then back beneath, the rich spice of its scent right from the source washing over him again, making him curl his nose and flick his whiskers again and again and again.

He could feel it looking at him, and not only through the shift in its position and balance. It was certainly watching him, and for once the mage welcomed that. He closed his eyes, swallowed, licked his lips, and then moved forward the last half-inch needed to close the distance to the thick, wet wrinkle of the lip of its sheath, pulled back around the base of its shaft. The lynx pursed his lips forward and kissed there, then again, and then slid his tongue out and forward to curl beneath that skin, sliding easily into the velvet pouch.

Another twitch and throb made him turn his muzzle away for a second, but before long he had put himself back in place there, both paws hefting the thing's still-heavy sack, fingers rubbing and rolling over its balls inside. Lannon breathed its scent, rich and hot and sticky, and tried to swallow. He had to do so a second and third time for the way it clung to his tongue and coated his tongue, and already he could feel it matting down the fur of his cheek. He shivered and sighed, his breath already tainted with its musk wafting back over his muzzle, and then dropped one paw to run it between his own legs again; he dug his tongue in as deep as it could, its supple skin easily conforming and allowing him in. A second later Lannon let out a small grunt, feeling himself pushed deeper into that sheath by a huge paw against the back of his head. He shivered again and pulled in one more breath before his nose slid down into the gentle squeeze of its sheath, the slickness of its body sliding smoothly around him. It coated his lips, it clung to his fur, it filled his head...

...it stung a bit when he pulled his muzzle away from his pillow beneath him, the puddle of drool having half-dried between the fur of his cheek and the fabric underneath his head. Lannon swallowed, throat dry, and looked around: he was in his hut in the forest, the same place he had awoken every day for the past two weeks, almost. There was no scent of werewolf clinging to his muzzle, no scrapes or scratches from tree bark, fallen sticks, or thick claws anywhere along his body; the lynx, after a moment, reached back and slid a paw up under his tail... and found that he could not actually slip the whole thing into there, and neither was there a remnant slick-stickiness of gathered saliva.

The arousal remained, however. A quick flick of the blankets revealed that to him quite easily, and if he couldn't have the heavy load of the wild beast across his body, it seemed like he still at least had one of his own, pale white streaked across the fur of his belly and fabric of the blankets, almost completely dry. Lannon sighed, reached up to rub at his head, and after a while longer managed to pull himself out of bed and into the relative chill of the early morning room.

The padded wood desk chair stung when he sat down upon it, bare rump meeting cold wood when he imagined he had just experienced a frighteningly-hot tongue there instead. The thought and memory sent another shiver up his back and throb between his legs; the lynx ran a paw down between his thighs to indulge himself a little bit, while he reached for his journal with the other.

Day 12

Morning

_ _

This time I dream of the beast himself, haunting me even when I cannot see him. However, the details of the dream are not important. I believe I may see him again later in the day. The task is becoming easier with each passing day, and perhaps soon, I will have something to show for my efforts.

_ _

It's a matter of persistence, I believe. I am almost there.