FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The date is August 21, 2010. Exactly one year ago, chapter one of my popular series "A Change for the Better" was submitted and posted on Yiffstar.com. One year later, that website is now Sofurry.com, and it is only fitting that I submit chapter one of the sequel series "Autumn Tactics" on A Change for the Better's one year anniversary. If you haven't read A Change for the Better, it is suggested that you read it before reading this. Thank you for your continued support.

WARNING: The following story contains violence and death (not in yiff), guns, minor-hyperphallic (13-14 inch cocks), huge balls, tons of cum, super-hot Male-on-Male relationships and sexual activity, and badassery. If you are opposed to these things (for whatever reason you'd be opposed to badassery xP) then you are advised to at least skip those parts, even though they're a big part of the story. Trust me though, you'll want to read this. It's awesome.

* * *

The black SUV pulled into one of the parking spaces across the street from the brown brick building. Four figures exited the unmarked vehicle and stood firmly on the pavement, their heavy light-brown trench coats falling to their ankles. They all wore black sunglasses and brown scarves, except for one; the one who exited the passenger door. He didn't have a scarf. The four ominous figures strode quickly to the front of the building, the three with scarves side by side in front of the one without.

The building they were approaching was the Flagstaff Inn, a local pub that was famous for being extremely fur-tolerant. It was a modest establishment that set fair prices and had a friendly staff. The owner and bartender, John Flagstaff, was a sixty-something white veteran who lived with his wife and had three kids, all grown. He was friendly with people and often offered discounted or even free drinks to anyone who was a few dollars shorter than they thought they were. His bar reflected his homey attitude. Neither he nor his family had any enemies. No one saw it coming.

The three men in front all drew their scarves up to cover their mouths. "Remember," the one behind them said, "only furs."

The two men on the left and right sides kicked the double doors open wide and the three in front stepped into the pub. Up until this point everyone had been drinking, watching sports, and having a great time. A group of college students (two pale humans, one very dark-skinned human, and an otter) sat at a table in the far corner, conversing about school, their jobs, and, of course, getting laid. Three middle-aged male men, two of them pale humans and one a brown-furred grizzly bear, sat at the bar watching a football game and yelling at the players as if it would make a difference. At least a dozen other patrons sat at tables and talked with each other, most groups involving at least one fur.

Everyone heard the bang as the doors were knocked open and everyone turned their head, furs and humans alike. No one said a word as the three men in front reached into their trench coats and drew large, fully automatic weapons, each one different from the other. Screams of pain and horror accompanied the symphony of death that the firearms' roaring barrels produced. Ten seconds and two hundred rounds later, the three lowered their barrels and parted, allowing their fourth member to enter the bar.

He drew from his trench coat a Norinco remake of the Winchester Model 1887, one of the few lever-action shotguns ever manufactured. He expertly spun it around his hand, cycling the action and chambering one of the twelve-gauge shotgun shells. He looked at the scene of the ruined bar before him through the night-black lenses of his sunglasses. Almost every fur in the building was dead, save a Siberian husky who laid bleeding and choking on the floor. Five bullets had entered his stomach; three had gone all the way through, two still remained. The man walked up and stood next to the husky, who choked and coughed up blood, his paws over his stomach. The man didn't even have to move his arm; the shotgun was already pointed at the ground and was now aiming directly between the husky's eyes.

He looked down at the dying creature and studied its juvenile face, blood running down from the corners of his mouth. His face remained emotionless as he looked the husky in the eye. "I shall end your suffering," he blatantly stated, "for I am kind." And with that he pulled the trigger and sucked the life out of the twenty-two-year-old canine who had just finished college the week before. The assailant's arm kicked up slightly with the recoil of the twelve gauge shell. The bar remained just as silent as it had been when the group had first arrived. The only sound in the building over the next few seconds was the metallic click of the lever-action shotgun being twist-cocked around the man's middle and ring fingers, followed by the soft clang of the empty plastic shell casing hitting the floor.

The man looked up over the crowd again. Not a single human had been injured. Not a single fur was left alive. The three college students were shaking various body parts of their deceased otter friend - his forearm, his head, his shoulder - as if trying to revive him. The men from the bar stared in shock and horror at the bleeding corpse of their bear friend. Two white-skinned human girls, both college-age, bent down beside the husky who the cloaked man had just murdered in cold blood. They began to cry, not in sadness for the loss of their friend (not yet at least), but in horror for the sight of his mangled face which the point-blank shotgun had torn to shreds.

The shotgun-wielding man, the leader of the group, stepped up to the bar, around the corpse of the bear, whose two friends backed away in fear. The leader picked up one of the glasses of scotch, careful to avoid the bear's glass (lest he be contaminated by the mutant scum), and quickly chugged what remained of the amber liquid.

Meanwhile, the three men by the door were getting nervous. "Rook," one addressed his leader, "we must leave soon! The police will be here any second!"

The leader of the gang, for it was Rook himself, set the glass down and, with the same hand, brushed a few strands of his mahogany-brown hair from his sunglasses. He reached back into his trench coat and drew a small metal box. It was a tape recorder, loaded with a prerecorded message. Rook turned to one of the burly men from the bar. "Make sure the police see this," he said before setting it on the bar counter. The man only looked back at Rook with fear and said nothing.

Rook began to walk away from the bar. When he was nearly to the door, one of the men in the bar, a sixty-something pot-bellied man who, up until this point, had been happily conversing with an orange fox, gained enough confidence to confront the man who had just ordered the execution of so many innocent civilians. He stood from his seat, shaking slightly, and pointed his right index finger at the back of Rook's head. "You!" he shouted, his left hand balled into a tight fist. "You killed my niece!" Rook seemed to not hear the man, an act which only succeeded in making him angrier. He seemed to snarl as he cried, "She was going to medical school!" He was now crying as he yelled. "She was going to help people! She deserved to live more than you do!"

Rook slowly turned around to face the man, peeling off his dark sunglasses. Deep, beautiful brown eyes glared back at the man; an ironic feature to accompany Rook's violent nature. "Sir," he said over his shoulder, "the last thing your niece deserved was life." Rook turned, put his sunglasses back on, and continued to the door.

The man grew angrier, his face now visibly red. "Y-You will pay for saying that!" he roared and began to approach Rook, hands balled into fists by his sides.

Rook had had enough. He whirled around and sighted the lever-action shotgun in between the middle-aged man's eyes. "Sir," he said, the sight of the gun making the man jump and raise his hands into the air, "it is my goal on this mission to avoid the loss of human life." Rook stared down the sight with his sunglass-covered right eye at the middle of the man's face as he said this. "Please don't make me fail at that goal."

The man peacefully backed off, hands in the air and face having lost all color. Rook returned his shotgun to his side. The four men replaced their weapons within their light-brown trench coats and left the bar, leaving the rest of the patrons to weep over the loss of their loved ones. The burly man whom Rook had instructed to hand the tape recording to the police looked at the corpse of his bear friend for a moment before picking up the tape recorder and hesitantly pressing the green button marked "Play." The icy voice of Rook began to sound through the device's small speakers. The audio was clear, and the message was short and obvious: "My name is Rook. We will attack again."

* * *

I slowly swung my legs out of bed once I had fully awoken and had gathered enough strength to move. I flexed my lupine toes on the dark hardwood floor, my claws lightly taping on its smooth, laminated surface. I yawned, stretched my grey-furred arms over my head and finally slumped over in a tired slouch, my eyes close and my mouth wielding the slightest of smiles. After a few moments of sitting on my exceptionally soft mattress, I opened my golden eyes, stood, flexed my arms over my head a second time, and, once again with that familiar tired slouch, shuffled my way to the dresser, my paw pads brushing softly against the floor.

I began picking out my clothes for the day and, having selected everything, stood up, set the bundle of clothing on top of the dresser, and looked forward into the mirror above the drawers, staring at the image of myself clad only in a pair of deep blue lounge pants. Despite being the first fur to ever exist, I was a rather plain wolf. I was twenty-one years old and just starting my fourth and final year of college. My heavily toned body was dominated by grey fur, with white on the insides of my ears, my muzzle, chest, abdomen, and groin. My nose, claws, and paw pads were black and surprisingly smooth; I made a daily effort to take care of them, and I found it to be surprisingly easy.

[Author's Note: a picture of Chris can be found in my art gallery, for those interested]

My gaze shifted to the top of the dresser where two picture frames sat side by side to the left of the light wood dresser. The first picture had been taken many years ago, when my adopted brother Scott Newman and I were at the beach with the rest of my family. The picture contained Scott and I back when we were still human, both of our shirtless chests tan and toned, each with an arm around the other's shoulders and leaning in towards the camera. I smiled as I reminisced the day. I recall getting sunburn on the back of my neck.

The second picture, although more recent, had still been taken years ago. It had been taken a few months after Scott had helped me find my sexuality and he and I decided to become boyfriends (I would like to remind the reader that my family had adopted Scott, so we weren't real brothers). Scott had leapt up onto my back and I held him up as best I could until the picture could be taken. I recall my arms being extremely sore after supporting my quite heavy brother, but it was absolutely worth it to capture this image forever.

At this point my thoughts shifted to Scott, or, more specifically, the attack on him that had occurred six months ago. A tear came to my eye as I recalled hearing the news that my brother had been shot in an alleyway while walking home. I had been called on my cell phone by the hospital receptionist. When she told me that Scott had been admitted to the emergency room, I fell to my knees, unable to speak for several moments. I remember pacing the waiting room for hours, unable to sit as I waited for news of my boyfriend's condition.

Finally the doctor came out; was it hours or minutes? I couldn't tell. He told me that Scott was unlikely to make it. I cried to myself. I cried into the shoulder of someone I had never met before; they knew I needed someone to hold and had gladly volunteered. He was a twenty-something white-skinned human male waiting for news on his wife's knee surgery. To this day, I do not know the gracious man's name. When my mother arrived, I cried into her shoulder instead.

At first the thought of moving on couldn't sit with me. I couldn't grasp the idea of dating someone else, but after the first few days and vigorous twenty-four-hour coaching from my family, the idea of settling down with a different male didn't seem so farfetched. "Maybe Scott isn't 'the one', sweetie," my mom had said, quite distraught herself but clearly wanting to help me. "You fell in love once and you can do it again." I was suddenly snapped back to reality, back to the dresser, to the photos, to the mirror, to Friday morning, when I felt a pair of white-furred arms snake around my waist and squeeze me close. I smiled weakly. Thankfully, "moving on" had never needed to be part of the equation.

I felt him press his head against my back. "Morning, beautiful," I heard him say behind me.

I smiled and twisted around in his arms, wrapping my own around his neck. "Who you calling beautiful?" I asked with a slight grin.

Scott play-rolled his eyes and pressed against my chest, resting his chin just beneath mine. "Only this absolutely drop-dead gorgeous hunk of wolf named Chris Ellis."

I smiled widely and licked his nose. "You're the beautiful one here, babe."

Scott pressed a finger to my lips, silencing me. "Honey, shush," he said. "Please just take the compliment for once in your life," he said with a smile.

I smiled. "Thank you, babe."

He closed his eyes and rested the left side of his face against my chest. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

I rested my chin atop his slightly-damp head. "Already showered, Wolfie?" I asked.

He giggled and rubbed his face against my bare, light-grey chest. "Hehe, yup!"

I looked down at him. "How the hell do you get up in the morning with so much energy?"

Scott backed up slightly so he could look into my golden eyes with his brilliant emerald-green ones. "Simple," he said matter-of-factly. "When I open my eyes and see this beautiful piece of wolf sleeping next to me, I feel like I could take on the world."

I grinned and nuzzled the side of his face. "Too bad you always wake up before me," I said. "Maybe if I was able to look at you sleeping like you do to me, I might have more energy in the morning."

Scott smirked back at me. "Well, that's why God invented coffee."

I threw my head back and fake-moaned to the ceiling. "Awwww but coffee is sooooo much more boring!" I stomped my foot lightly on the floor in a playful fit.

Scott giggled at my act. "Don't worry, love," he said to me with a luminous smile. "The school year starts in two weeks; then we can both wake up together like we always do during the year."

"I can't wait," I said with a smile.

He smiled back. "You hungry?"

I licked his nose. "Starved."

He wrinkled his nose at my lick and giggled before saying, "Alright, I'll get breakfast going."

Scott slipped away from me and began walking towards the bedroom door, completely shirtless. His fur was white as the purest and most radiant of light, except for a black splotch on the back of his right hand, which Scott had covered up with white highlights so he looked "more pure" as he liked to describe it. He was about a head shorter than me, which we both loved. His tail wagged happily as he walked away from me to get us a meal. I was unable to keep from smiling at his beauty and, as he disappeared through the doorway to the kitchen, I called, "Thank you, beautiful!"

I showered and dressed and joined my boyfriend in our small kitchen in our college dorm. By the time I was clean and dressed Scott had already set out a plate of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon on the kitchen's small island countertop. I smiled and licked my chops before saying, "Hope breakfast didn't get too cold while I was gone."

Scott swallowed a mouthful of eggs and said, "Just set things down a minute ago. You're fine, hun."

I sat at the counter and began eating. "So," I said, poking some eggs with my fork, "what do we have going on today?"

Scott blushed and smiled innocently. "Weeeeeell..." he said, stretching the word 'well' for emphasis, "you do know what today is, right?"

I smiled playfully. "Friday?" I said sarcastically. Of course I knew what day it was. How could I forget the birthday of the love of my life?

Scott rolled his eyes playfully. "Cute, hun," he said plainly.

I giggled. "Anything you want to do to make today special?"

He smiled. "Hmm, well maybe at eight-"

"I wouldn't make any plans after seven," I said with a sly grin. "You never know what might happen."

Scott giggled and picked up a slice of his bacon. "If you say so babe," he said before popping the strip into his mouth.

* * *

Seven o'clock dawned on us before we knew it. We had spent the day touring our college and were quite satisfied with its layout. Layman-MacLeod University, also known as LayMac around campus, was located just five miles north of the Vermont/Massachusetts border (on the Vermont side, for those who don't know), and was fairly recent; the facility had just been opened five years ago. The buildings and appliances were sleek and modern, giving those who resided there the feeling of highest-quality living. Our room was designed to be used by a single person and featured a single bedroom with a queen-size bed, a small kitchen and dining room, a modest living room, and an office with two desks; one for each of us.

Right now, Scott and I were hand in hand as we strolled towards tonight's destination. Scott raised his eyebrows when he saw the building. "This is the place?" he asked excitedly.

"Yep!" I said with a smile. "This is the place." A large neon sign reading, "The Black Light" stood above the doorway along with a flashing pink neon outline of a busty longhaired girl shaking her hips and holding onto a bar. It was a large, windowless building; probably an old warehouse converted into The Black Light bar and nightclub. I smirked at my boyfriend's happily-surprised face and opened the door for him.

The first room we entered was a large open space that was submerged about ten feet into the ground with a catwalk around its edge and with what appeared to be a massive lava lamp marking its center. The luminous tube contained a floating liquid which slowly shifted between red, green, and blue light, and had to be at least fifteen feet in diameter. A series of strobes and lasers assisted the lamp in illuminating the massive room and gave the place a very rave-like atmosphere. Surrounding the lamp was a massive bar which spanned the lamp's entire circumference, save a small entryway facing the back of the building. Around the bar was a massive pit teaming with the partiers of the city; men and women, straight and gay, humans and furs alike let their bodies succumb to the music and to each other. Many of the younger, thinner males were decked clad only in baggy tripp pants and a pair of boots, leaving their upper bodies available for whoever happened to be walking bye. The females did the same, only they were wearing bras (arguably some of the smallest bras I had ever seen). From the moment you walked in it was obvious; this was a place where people's souls came to leave their bodies and to join each other until the later hours of the night; the place was open from seven PM till two AM on weekdays and seven PM till four AM on weekends.

My head habitually started to bob back and forth to the smooth beats of a song I quickly recognized as "Intothinair" by a band called Mocean Worker. Scott grinned widely and dragged me quickly by the paw into the mosh pit. He looked around, as did I, at the hundreds of people dancing the sweat out of their bodies to the powerful, moving baseline. Scott turned to me and winked before he began to grind his chest erotically into mine to the beat of the electric music. I grinned and put my paws on his hips, joining him in his dance. We didn't last very long before we were happily interrupted by a pair of familiar faces.

Scott yelled in surprise and braced himself on my chest as he felt a figure leap up onto his back. The mystery-person wrapped his legs around Scott's waist and his arms around his neck in a quick piggy-back ride before leaping off. Scott instantly whirled around, fist clenched, ready for a fight, before he saw he saw his attacker's face. "Jordan!" he happily cried.

"In the fur!" the leopard exclaimed. "And whiskers, and all that other good stuff!" The feline was clad in an orange tee-shirt, a pair of black cargo pants, and his signature black beanie. A green glow stick hung limply around his neck, swaying back and forth as he rocked side to side with the music.

A pair of bare, black-furred arms wrapped quickly around Jordan's waist, followed immediately by the black head of a very familiar wolf. "Attacking the birthday boy, huh babe?" the wolf asked Jordan.

"Oh, please, Ace," the feline said playfully, wrapping his arms up over his head around the wolf's neck. "That wolfie can handle anything, especially me."

"Hey Ace," I said my greeting to our long-time friend and Jordan's boyfriend.

"What's up Chris?" Ace answered. He then looked to Scott. "Happy birthday, man!"

"It is now!" Scott replied happily, his tail wagging behind him.

"Did you guys snag us a table?" I asked Ace.

"Yeah," he said, "it's towards the back. Russ, Trent, and Jay are there waiting."

Those who thought that up to this point Scott's eyes couldn't get wider are mistaken; he lit up like a Christmas tree at the mention of the three names. "Russ, Trent, and Jay are here too!?" he shouted over the music with a gleeful smile.

Ace grinned. "Yup! C'mon, I'll show you." On that note Ace led the three of us through the dense crowd to an area in the back of the building covered with scattered tables reserved for the few partygoers who actually had a desire to do more than dance. We cut surprisingly quickly through the crowd and before I knew it the four of us were joining the other three members of our party.

Russell Adams was a short twenty-one-year-old timber wolf, about five-foot-nine, thin and tone. His long fur was a brilliant shade of mahogany brown with a lighter creamy shade on his muzzle and eyes, his chest, and his groin. He was dressed in a white tee shirt with a pair of black jeans. Over this he wore a black hooded sweatshirt with thin, grey, horizontal stripes placed about two inches apart worn loose and unzipped. He was fun, outgoing, and knew how to have a good time. In fact, it was originally his idea for us to come here for Scott's birthday! We had met him our first year of college and had been friends ever since.

Trent Bradshaw was twenty-two years old and one of the best looking tigers I had ever seen. At six-foot-six, he was nearly a head taller than his boyfriend Russell and the dominant one in the relationship. His fur was white with black stripes and incredibly soft. He was also very muscular (I once saw him bench-press more weight than I could count) and incredibly handsome. I met him through Russell and our friendship took off immediately.

Finally, for those of you who don't remember James "Jay" Collins from the first series, Jay and I struck our friendship in the fourth grade and have kept it lit to this day. Jay is straight as an arrow and the only thing he loves more than girls is naked girls. He, like the rest of us except Trent, was twenty-one years old. He was human, and enjoyed dressing in plain colored tee shirts and long pants. Right now he was following this habit; he was decked out in a plain navy-blue shirt and tan cargo pants. He had also added a semi-casual black sport coat. At this moment, however, he was also nowhere to be found.

"Hey," I asked, "what happened to Jay?"

Trent flicked his head to his right. "Take a guess," he said, his voice deep and masculine.

I looked in the direction he had motioned and immediately spotted Jay off to the side of the crowd. His six-foot form was pressed into the wall, and the slightly-shorter form of a pale human female was pressed against him. Her hand ran under his shirt and fingered his slightly-defined six-pack abs. His hand was up her shirt as well, only a bit farther, fingering something completely different. They were, of course, in the middle of a fiery kiss. I rolled my eyes. "Did I even have to ask?" I stated, summoning a round of laughs from everyone.

The song changed, and one of Scott's favorite songs, "Raver's Fantasy" by Tune Up, started to blast through the dark building. Scott's wide smile returned to his face and he turned his head to look at me over his shoulder. I smirked and started to sing along with the song. "This is my melody and it's just a raver's fantasy," I took his paw in mine, "'cause I know if you're in love with me tonight..."

"We'll rave it through the night!" we both sang in unison.

* * *

The night burned on and so did we. The seven of us pushed our bodies to their maximums, using more energy than we thought we had in us. Eleven o'clock came and went, followed by twelve, then one. Our celebration continued uninterrupted until around ten after one.

I left Scott for five minutes to get a drink at the bar. I returned to our table and noticed Scott talking casually to a human girl when her boyfriend and a comrade of his decided to intervene. "Hey," he slurred angrily at Scott, obviously drunk. "What do you think you're doing with my girlfriend?"

"Rick-" the female started, but Scott cut her off.

"We were just talking," he said to the large man before turning back to the girl. "I'm sorry about this. It was nice talking to you." He turned to leave, but the boyfriend wouldn't leave it there.

"Hey," he said, "don't just walk away from me! That was my girlfriend you were hitting on!"

"I wasn't hitting on her," Scott said coolly over his shoulder. "We were just talking." The man wouldn't buy it.

"You better apologize," he demanded.

Scott turned around. "I have nothing to apologize for. I can talk to whoever I want to."

His face turned into an angry scowl. "Typical smoker, never following the ways of the world. Don't you know humans are smarter, stronger, faster, and just plain fuckin' better?"

Scott rolled his eyes and began to walk away. This only angered the man further. "You're gonna regret ignoring me..." he said softly, almost to himself. He strode quickly behind Scott and snaked a hairy arm around his neck in an obvious attempt to choke him. Now Scott was angry, too.

The man never got to complete his attack, for he was grabbed quickly by the collar of his shirt and had his head violently smashed against the table behind Scott, who lay over him forcing his stomach into the table and held his wrists together behind his back in a painful lock. "First off," Scott growled softly into the man's ear, "don't you EVER call me a smoker. And second, I suggest you get out of here before we make a scene. I don't EVER want to see your face back here again, you hear me?" The man didn't respond. Scott lifted him slightly and then slammed him hard onto the table a second time. "I said, DO you hear me?"

The man winced under Scott's grip. "Yeah," he growled, "yeah I hear you."

"Now apologize."

The man scowled. "I'm s-sorry."

Scott gripped tighter on the man's wrists. "Mean it, shit bag."

"I'm sorry for attacking you, and for calling you a smoker!"

"Good," Scott smiled, releasing the man. "Now you may want to go to the hospital to have your nose looked at." At hearing this, the man brought his hand to his nose, noticing that he was bleeding. He promptly ran from the building and was never reported as seen again at the Black Light.

The small crowd who had gathered to watch the event quickly dispersed, most of them pleased that the offender had been given justice, a few with scowls of disgust on their faces. Scott smirked, straightened his leather jacket by tugging on the corners, and walked coolly back to our table. He was assaulted with questions from the rest of our party where he quickly informed us of what happened. We all growled in disgust as we heard that Scott had been called a smoker. "Smoker" was an incredibly prejudice name given to furs after a few Rook-wannabe teenagers had lit one of their furry college counterparts on fire. His fur quickly burned off and he died on the scene amongst the rowdy laughter of the arsonists. The boys were arrested and taken to court, where they were almost immediately dumped onto Death Row for the torture, mutilation, and finally homicide of an innocent college student.

Eventually two o'clock reared its head and we all went our separate ways. Scott and I left the Black Light and started the walk back to our dorm room holding paws. "I'm sorry that bastard ruined your night," I said to him.

"Oh, stop," he replied. "He didn't ruin my night. I had a great birthday."

I grinned widely and said, "What do you mean 'had'? We're not done here."

Scott's eyes widened slightly and he looked up into my eyes. "Oh?" he asked. "What do we have left to do?"

I smiled and bent down to kiss his forehead softly. "I think you know."

* * *

I slammed Scott's body hard against the kitchen wall. I stood in front of him, facing him, our chests pressed together, our breathing labored. My muzzle was resting on the side of his neck. I panted softly, my eyes narrow slits as my chest heaved against his. My sheath swelled to the size of a soda can. I could feel myself getting hard. It wouldn't be long now.

I felt his paws run over my back, up underneath my shirt, stroking my lower back up to my shoulder blades as he lifted my shirt up my body. The shirt slowly came off and as soon as it was clear I mashed my jowls hard into his, pulling him into another fiery kiss. The kiss lasted for several seconds as I worked his leather jacket off of his body, followed by his shirt, adding to our growing pile of clothing on the floor. As soon as his long-furred white chest was as naked as mine, he rushed forward, grinding his defined pectorals and six-pack abs against mine. His arms coiled around my waist as he licked slowly at the space between my pectorals. I murred loudly at the feeling of his tongue. It was going to be a great night.

Scott dragged his tongue up my chest and neck until he reached my mouth. I smirked down at him and opened my maw slightly, twisting my head so our muzzles could come together. Our tongues danced in each other's maws, grazing over teeth and flesh, our saliva slipping between our mouths. Our breathing became labored, our tails wagged, our paws roamed, our sheathes stiffened. I felt him growing hard against my leg. I smirked. "Someone's getting excited," I cooed.

"Damn, Chris," he said between labored breaths, "you turn me on like a light."

I giggled softly at the feeling of his pants bulging towards me. "I can tell," I said as I started to play with his belt buckle. "Hmm... we should probably get rid of these before they rip."

He giggled and started fondling with my own equally excited yet slightly larger bulge. "I could say the same to you," he said, squeezing my significant sheath. "Damn, babe, how do you fit so much dick in your pants?"

I chuckled. "I could ask YOU the same thing! You're not exactly small yourself, Hun."

He grinned and started undoing my own belt. "You're bigger."

I smirked in victory as his belt finally came apart and I went to work on his button. "You're still over a foot long," I smiled.

"Yeah, but-" he never finished his sentence, for he was cut off by a massive groan let loose from deep in his chest. I had finally fished out his package, and the feeling of freedom was ecstatic. My left paw gripped loosely around his soda-can-sized sheath while my right gently played with his billiard-ball-sized orbs. He leaned back against the wall, his pants still around his waist but opened completely, his package hanging loosely out the front.

I smiled as I took the tip of his sheath into my mouth, suckling gently on the tip. Scott let out a groan of euphoria as his tip was quickly released from its furry shelter. I promptly began to suckle long and hard on the tip, drawing more and more of his massive red shaft into my maw. I pulled off when he reached six inches in length, letting his wet shaft slop out of my mouth. I moved lower and took one of his huge balls into my mouth, unable to fit them both at once. He groaned out loud as his cock, now laying down the center of my muzzle, spurting short strings of pre across my forehead and between my eyes. I closed my eyes lustfully as the taste of his sac quickly filled my mouth.

About thirty seconds passed between me freeing Scott's sheath and him completely hardening across my face. His thirteen inch shaft lay across one of my eyes, the tip rubbing against my ear as I released his huge ball from my mouth. I stood up and pressed my body against his, sandwiching his thick, pulsing length between our furry abdominals. The stimulation our fur provided to his cock didn't help with keeping us dry; his cock continuously spewed small strings of pre against our chests, making our fur stick together slightly.

Scott giggled slightly as he wiggled his ass, making his pants slump to the floor, leaving only his boxers hanging onto his waist as his huge cock and balls hung out the front. I smirked and quickly drew down the undergarments and he kicked both them and the pants to the side of the room. He grinned and resumed his work on my pants, quickly releasing my belt, undoing the button, and unzipping the front. The garments dropped to my ankles and I stood in a pool of cargo pants as he yanked down the strap of my boxers, stopping briefly to admire my blood-red tip poking out of my soda-can sheath. "I can't believe I got such a handsome guy," Scott said.

I blushed and replied with, "I should be saying that, babe." I smirked and grabbed hold of his three-inch-thick rod between our bodies, the entire surface of which was still slightly moist from being within his sheath.

Scott smirked. "Let's do this already," he said, and with that he took a hold of my swollen sheath and began to rub gently. Even his slightest touch was euphoric for me, and in a matter of seconds I was fully hard. A combination of both my height and the overall length of my shaft ensured that my cock rested gently across Scott's body, ending between Scott's pecs. He smiled softly and leaned down to plant a firm kiss on my thick cock head, being repaid by a shot of pre against his jowls. He smirked and licked the salty fluid away from his lips, looking up to my eyes when he was done. He smiled, leaned against me so my cock head rubbed into his chest, eliciting a hefty groan from me, and whispered in my ear, "Fuck me hard."

That was all the permission I needed. I picked him up under the arms and spun around, slamming his body roughly but not painfully against the stainless-steel fridge. The metal was cold against our naked bodies, the feeling against his back making Scott's thirteen inch pole spit a wad of pre onto my chest. I lifted him from by between his legs and he braced himself by leaning against the fridge and propping his arms against the granite counter tops. He looked so hot in this position, bracing himself against the counter and the fridge as I held him up by his legs, exposing his pink tail hole to my throbbing fourteen-inch shaft, his cock head pressing into his pectoral due to the angle and drooling copious amounts of precum into his fur. When it came to precum, Scott was a fucking fountain. He created enough pre in one orgasm to compensate for two full orgasms, sperm and all. In my eye, it was one of his best features.

I growled excitedly and pressed my pre-slick length against his tail hole. "You ready?" I asked. I was answered by a gently nod. I felt him relax in my arms and recognized this as him being prepared. It was now or never. I decided it was now.

With one short thrust I forced the first four inches of my shaft deep into Scott's ass. Four down, six more until the hilt. I felt Scott tense up with pain; he got looser the more we did it, but it always started with pain. I stopped and held my lover perfectly still, waiting for him to calm down. When his breathing relaxed and his body loosened, I decided to carry on. My cock slid farther into Scott's tail hole, traveling two more inches, then another two, then finally the last too. Scott was sitting on my four-inch-thick knot.

He let out a groan of relief. This was where the pain left and the pleasure came. "God, Chris..." he moaned. "Your first ten inches are sooooo amazing..." I felt him try to lift himself up off my cock before plunging back down.

I panted loudly as I pulled my hung shaft a few inches out of Scott's body, quickly pushing them back in a moment later. Scott gasped and his thirteen inch length fired a string of pre over his chest, landing on the fridge door. I growled sensually and pulled out again, this time farther, and pushed in again, this time faster. Scott let out a long groan. "Uhhn... C-Chris..."

"Ah..." I groaned. "Ah, fuck, Scott... you're so tight... no matter how many times we do this you're so..." I pushed in, "fucking..." I pulled out, "TIGHT!"

Our movements became more in tune, our breaths more in sync, our fucking more sensual. We groaned in unison as the sweet spots on both my cock and his prostate connected, pleasuring both of us in different ways but of the same degree. We were both thoroughly soaked with Scott's pre by now. My cock slid in and out, riding in a full eight inches of wolf shaft, waiting for the perfect moment to tie us together and push us over the edge. Scott's hung shaft seemed to float in the air, spitting pre over us as he bobbed up and down over my shaft. Scott and I, the fridge, the floor; it was all coated in a thin film of pre-seed.

Our fucking never lost its rhythm, never became erratic, even as the speed and strength of my thrusts increased immensely. After about five minutes of straight penetration, I knew the time had come. Scott's tail hole clenched tighter around my shaft and I felt my billiard-sized balls start to pull up to my body. Once again, it was now or never. Once again, I decided it was now. With one final thrust, my knot imbedded itself inside Scott's tail hole, leading us both to orgasm.

We both cried out howls of pure orgasmic pleasure as our balls pulled up to our bodies. We hung there, perfectly still, suspended in this moment. In that half-second period, we could each feel the cum build up in the base of our shafts. Then it came; the slow, torturous feeling of cum slowly dragging itself up your shaft. It's like you can practically feel that tight, first wad of cum burning its way up your dick, climbing up your urethra like it's never going to get there. That first jet felt like it would never come, but it finally managed to crawl its way up my fourteen inches of solid, blood-red wolf dick and reached my opening. Then the first euphoric wave hit and the first six-foot jet of cum left my body.

I screamed out loud as the first rope of scalding cum left my body, splattering deep into Scott's innards. Scott cried along with me, groaning in ecstasy as his cock shot up a thick rope of cum that went straight up a few feet before showering back down on us. This was followed by a second jet from the two of us, then a third, a fourth, a fifth, and so on. For almost twenty straight seconds we stood there as our massive balls emptied their loads into and onto our respective lover. Scott became so full that some of my enormous load leaked out past my knot and slid down the slick red surface of my cock, the pearly-white fluid traveling to the bottom of my balls and dripping onto the floor.

After I had fired sixteen long, hot ropes of cum into my lover and he had fired fifteen to coat us entirely, I wasted no time in pulling Scott's chest against mine and stumbling the two of our exhausted bodies into the bedroom, plopping our sticky selves onto the bedspread. "I love you..." Scott breathed softly.

"I love you too, Hun," I replied.

Scott snickered softly. "We've gotta clean up the kitchen tomorrow..."

I smiled. "I'll take care of it," I said. "You sleep in, babe. You deserve it."

His eyes struggled to stay open. "Good night," he whispered.

"Good night, Scott," I whispered back. "Happy birthday." And with that the two of us gave up the battle to stay conscious, our chests pressed together as we dozed off into a comfortable sleep that would remain uninterrupted until twelve-o'two tomorrow.

* * *

My first somewhat horrific piece :3 Hopefully no one was TOO disturbed by the beginning.

This story's soundtrack (please take the time to listen to the music; I post it here for a reason):

1) Intothinair - Mocean Worker: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XakkEPDwB0I

2) Raver's Fantasy - Tune Up: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8CVR_VGh58

Now for a VERY important note:

I, Drayne_the_Wolf, will provide ONE STORY COMMISSION FREE OF CHARGE to any digital artist who will do a drawing for me! The picture I want is simple; just a wolf and a husky yiffing in bed, both characters male. The drawing MUST HAVE A BACKGROUND, BE IN COLOR, and BE DRAWN DIGITALLY! If you are an artist of skill, let me know via PM and I will look at your gallery to decide whether or not I want to use you. Also... this drawing is a gift for a very special person in my life, so please, I'm asking all you artists to help me get the best gift ever for him. Thank you for your support with this matter.

That's all for now folks. As usual, comments, faves, votes, etc. are all welcome and greatly appreciated. Please let me know what you thought of the music! I'll have more stories for you all soon enough!