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Iron Author

First Time

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Rough First Times

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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Harris gulped, sitting on the edge of the sofa, the big malamute before him towering, striding back and forth. The living room, which belonged to her and not him, seemed too small for her, her dominant form looming, filling up every inch of available space, for she was a good head taller than him.

“Runt, what do you think you can give me?"

He gasped and shook his head, hardly daring to look at her. Maybe he would have been more persuasive about it if his cock had not been hard, tenting out the front of his jeans. The bulge was obvious and he knew she'd seen it, but Mauve was hardly the kind to waste attention on a weak human.

But Harris could not feel bad about going home with the burly, muscled malamute, her fur striking in black and white markings, greedy slices around her eyes. Everything about her radiated dominance, evil, cruelty, confident in the raw semblance of her own power, how easily she could crush him into nothing if she wanted to.

Mauve paused before him, smirking, tipping his chin up with a surprisingly sharp claw digging into the soft space between the bones of his jaws. Shuddering, Harris swallowed a gasp, which only increased the pressure.

“You should never have come back with me from the bar."

Maybe so. But he couldn't take anything back, not when she hypnotised him, snarling, drawing off her shirt if only for her comfort, exposing her breasts in her bra, though it was not as if he would get to enjoy them. That was not for him, the interaction only for the two of them and no more than that, for Mauve to dominate, to take control, to force her will upon him even when Harris had so willingly handed over every ounce of his submission to her.

It was symbolic. But she didn't care about that. She was more comfortable and he was there for her taking, a growl tearing itself from her lips as she slammed a fist into his face. Mauve didn't give him any warning at all as her closed fist sent his head flying, his jaw snapping to the side, head not quite following, though he could only count himself lucky that it was not broken. Fractured, maybe, but a man could live with that, despite the bruising, the thickening of swelling to come.

He groaned, head spinning, but Mauve was relentless, showing off her power, growling, the rumbling strength of it pouring over him, taking over every thought that he had before thought was his own. But that was not true, had never been true, not as she pummelled him, knocking him off the sofa with a slamming punch to his ribcage.

“Weak male! Just what do you think you could offer me? Did you think you were going to get your dick wet?"

She laughed in his face, spitting, spittle flying, some marking his skin, yet his head rung too fiercely to even keep track of that. All he knew was pain, pain throbbing through, taking over every last one of his senses, overpowering him even when there should have been a physical break. He heaved, stomach rolling, yet she didn't allow him any respite on the floor, her hind paw connecting with him.

It was stronger than any human foot – at least in his mind. He had nothing to compare it to as he growled and grunted, curling into himself, though she was not about to allow that. Mauve scoffed and laughed at him, shoving him onto his front, yanking at his jeans, her claws digging in, ripping and tearing, not allowing him to even have his modesty protected at that time.

He was bare, exposed, his skin bruising, but that only egged her on all the more, beating him wantonly, as if she derived pleasure from such an act. He didn't know what was coming, trying to cover his head, but her foot even connected with his skull, sending it ringing, as if his mind was bouncing back and forth off the insides of it.

Nothing made sense, nothing at all, her power raw and her might extreme, raining down what he could only assume was withheld fury, his shirt torn, yet left on him. He didn't need to have that removed, after all, for her to take what she yearned from him. He was just a toy, something breakable, something to amuse herself with for a temporary time, only to be tossed away later without any care or consideration for him.

That was always his place in life.

“Weak runt – you had no business in coming to me."

Maybe that was true, but she'd have her pleasure from him either way, not caring for the bare rise of his buttocks, soft and fleshy and lacking in the muscle that she boasted. Mauve's blocky muzzle curled up at the lips in a smirk as he moaned in pain, yanking his hips up, forcing him onto his knees. He could be positioned as she willed, shaking in pain, and yet it was not as if his arousal had softened in the slightest, the tight pucker of his anal ring calling her attention.

Her eyes glittered. What better way to show a man how small and pathetic he was! He was useless to her, except as a toy that she could use and abuse, throw away once she was good and done with him. Things could be easier like that as he moaned, shaking in place, his head hanging, dipping down, hips rocking back, though even he most likely did not know what he was doing.

What Harris did know was pain as she groped his arse, though it was not the moment that he thought it could have been. It was not lewd or erotic as he panted, his cries breaking into a long, drawn-out howl as her fingers squeezed into his backdoor entrance, the hardness of his cock softening for a heartbeat of a moment.

“What, too much for you?"

She mocked him, driving her paw deeper, squeezing her fingers together, her fist not clenched but fingers folded together. There was no other way that she would get all of them inside, yet it was with a show of raw, brute strength that she spread him open, forcing her paw deeper and deeper, his howls breaking, stuttering, shuddering in gasp after gasp.

Pain. It swamped him, the stretch unbearable, yet her free paw clutched and him, holding him where he needed to be. Somehow, her arm was around his neck, tightening, cutting off his ability to breathe freely, choking and spluttering, his head swimming as he hardly knew where to look, what to do. There was no stopping her, his consent wavering, dipping between what was and what might have been, his expectations falling by the wayside?

Arousal… There was something of it there, though he didn't want to think of it, panting and heaving, his stomach churning. His ribs exploded in pain as she twisted him and he wondered if there was a bone grinding over the other, a haze of pain bearing through even as his cock twitched.

“Little bitch… You fucking deserve this."

Did he? It was hard to say, nothing the same as it had once been. His chest heaved, lungs straining, throat tight – and, still, her paw buried itself deeper and deeper into his arse. It seemed to pummel him like her fist slamming into his stomach, punching deep, straining harder, stretching him out, a sleeve for her pleasure, though it was not a dick that he would take with his inclinations.

His shaft ached in a way that was neither pleasure nor pain, stifling him, panting, licking his lips where there was no moisture in his mouth to do so. Did he like it or not? It was impossible to say, impossible to do, helpless to everything, her power overruling him, dominating everything that might have otherwise been.

It had never been meant to be. It was never going to be him fucking her and yet his first time had come with a crude snarl to it that sank its teeth into his soul and never again let go. He heaved as her fist finally popped into him, up past the wrist, the explosion of the stretch inside him coming with an odd popping sensation.

Had he thought that already? His mind followed the same patterns over and over again, though he could not get out of them, not as she fucked him as if her fist was a cock. Mauve laughed and laughed as she threw her head back, relishing in his weakness, her dominance coming naturally to her, thrusting and pounding, his body hers to play with. His backside closed around her, weakly trying to push out the invader of her fist, though there was nothing he could do about it.

There was nothing he could do about the will of a female who was more powerful than he could ever hope to be.

“Go on, think you'll come? Beta male… Not even that, are you?"

Her words rolled over him, pouring insults, pinching him, her claws driving deep into his skin, bruising. There was even a drop of blood there as his chest took the brunt of it, tearing through his shirt, showing skin, the red marks, the welts that would not fade so easily. The marks that she left on him would scar in places and yet he would find himself cherishing them all the same, curious for more.

It was funny just how that curiosity would lead him down a bad road one day, but, well…one could say too that it was a fate already written in stone for him.

He barely knew what was happening to him, only the overwhelming wash of pain, the strain, the power of her fist grinding into him. He was even treated to the bulging muscle of her arm, how it bunched and pulled, her strength impossible to deny. That was why he'd been attracted to her in the first place and yet all that had happened since had been to his detriment, simpering down, twisting and turning, locked in and helpless to a situation that had been of his own orchestration.

His cock spurted, dribbling a weak load of cum at some point… But he hardly noticed. It was a non-event, something that he didn't even see as the main event, her thrusting grind powering through him. She slammed her fist in and out of his weakened anal muscle as if it was nothing at all, laughing at him, mocking him. Dimly, he caught a few words as to how pathetic he was, how she could break him, use him, but it didn't matter to him. He'd given her what she needed and maybe that was all that was required of a weak-minded and weak-bodied human before the might of a malamute femfur in power and rut.

Her need, however, was satisfied in spending her dominance, however. She didn't need to get off to take a pride and pleasure from him, from demonstrating her power, grinding her fist back out and wiping her paw off on his skin. He blinked, on his back, her looming muzzle filling his vision, the blocky nature of it not allowing him to see anything else, not ever again. It was her that he would crave forevermore, all in more ways than one.

Thus, his path was set.

Mauve chuckled throatily, the sound deeper and more formidable than any cry that he would ever make. His arse ached, everything ached, blood trickling…a tiny bit of it, somewhere. Sensations blurred and muddied together and, still, he caught her raised fist, a threatening push, as if she was going to strike him again.

“Tell anyone and I'll snap your neck like a twig."

Harris shuddered, lips moving, no sound coming out. She snarled.

“Yes…"

It was the only answer he could give. For, if she'd have him, she'd be back for more.