Open Invitation (Pt 3 of The Woods)
#3 of The Woods
"Open Invitation"
Part 3 of "The Woods"
by H. A. Kirsch (Hawk)
Copyright 2007
This is the continuation of my series, "The Woods", featuring the misadventures of a human named Adrian. Feedback is appreciated - leave a comment, vote, email to h a w k at g mail . com .
A shout out to Siphedious for helping me edit this story, both for proof-reading and "omfg this doesn't make sense"-reading.
I don't think you can really understand the significance of looking under a door and seeing your
former boss fucking a random fox hybrid.
The foul mouth-taste of watching someone have sex, the thrill of watching without them knowing, the
gut-rotting realization that you know them, then the screaming irony of the dominant being someone
you feared so thoroughly that it made you aroused.
During the week after the Leather Room Incident, I started going crazy. Any quiet moment quickly
became a recap of Sean's leather-clad violation of the fox named Arjen. Was his name even Arjen? I
swore I'd heard that. I felt tugged in two directions: rebirth of my old fears and anxieties
towards the dog who used to write up my evaluations, and a growing morbid curiosity.
First, the fear.
Work was good for my fear, because work kept my mind occupied. Some people become distracted by
their own thoughts and can't work, but I always was the opposite - under the hawk glare of Sean
Ashton, I would work myself until I was so tired I literally passed out.
The Woods was a much more pleasant environment, mostly because there was no one under me whose
duties I could absorb. I simply did what I was told. When I ran out of things to do, I could go home
- I was salaried so it didn't matter much. That left me with varying amounts of free time. The week
after my big inspection project, the week after I saw Sean and The Apparently Dutch Fox Named Arjen,
I was idle a lot.
Without work, the folds of my brain were idle hands1. Each day I went home and immediately went to
sleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night. I would try to watch television while feeling
like someone was looking over my shoulder, my heart would start to race even though I was sitting
stock-still, and the things that my mind's eye started to see... I guess it was good for my art,
though.
Now, the morbid curiosity.
I had a lot of magazines. In fact, clay paper was the single most abundant thing I had in my
apartment. Magazines are fucking heavy, and moving them was a huge pain that took an entire U-Haul
truck.
Whenever I needed to embark on a true project, I tried to glean inspiration from actual visual
images. What better place to get images than magazines? The Internet doesn't count - I need to tack
things up around what I'm working on. You can't tack the Internet up. 2
Getting massive amounts of magazines wasn't very hard. All it took were a few choice online
classifieds and I was rolling in them. Thanks to a few creepy friends from art school, there was a
small subset of completely whack periodicals. Goth culture mags, hardcore fetish mags, magazines
for the wannabe-assassin, horror and sci-fi fan mags. By fetish, I meant magazines that weren't even
pornographic, just weird.
I didn't have a particular project in mind, except the mural - always the damn mural - but I
compulsively flipped through magazines looking for leather. I snatched a three-ring binder from work
and started tearing out pages of anyone male and wearing leather, and when that binder was full, I
got another, and another. The Leather Room Incident had been the previous Friday - by Wednesday, I
had three binders full of pictures that collectively represented the image Sean portrayed from my
perspective.3
It was such an obvious thing to look at, all that polished hide. The absurdity of wearing animal
skin on top of animal skin, the metaphorical power that only leather commanded. I wasn't sure how I
felt - I loved seeing it, but I wasn't sure if it aroused me.?4 The interest was beyond new, so new
that I didn't know what I felt, maybe I didn't even feel anything except a lust for information.
That lust led me straight to the first and only friend I had made so far at The Woods. John didn't
count - I'd known him for years.
Rake was a slender rail of a wolf who worked for Grounds Maintenance. He was the landscape engineer
for the entire complex, which sounded boring but was taken to surreal extremes in the inner garden5
that lay just outside my apartment.
He was Finnish and gangly, apparently part Ethiopian Wolf or Cape Dog (he didn't know which), and
quick to tell everyone to call him "Rock" because he hated how his name sounded in English. He was
also skittish and would start and end conversations so abruptly that I was convinced he was
autistic.
My search didn't really lead me to him. Apparently he led himself to my Facilities cafeteria lunch,
swiping a forkful of macaroni and then ducking under the table. He rose until his ears peeked out.
"Rock, what the hell are you doing?"
"I don't like it when people see me steal food."
"So don't steal food." I fiddled around with my pilfered lunch; I unexpectedly lost my appetite,
thanks to an unappreciated flash of Sean's dog-dick sliding out of the fox's throat.
"You look funny. You were just staring off into space. Do you see ghosts?"
I shrugged. "Not ones that are dead."
"Now you're being weird to me! You have to tell me what you saw."
I didn't want to, but I did. Rake had a demure little metal series of rings on a necklace. Sometimes
they were an even pink, sometimes they were a pastel rainbow of painted metal, and today they were
black-blue-red-blue-white-blue-black or some combination like that. I vaguely knew that was
something like BDSM pride. Oddly enough, I learned that in art school. What the rings said was that
Rake wouldn't completely flip if I told him. "Fine. I'll tell."
"Well?"
I shrugged, played with my hair. "I don't know how. I don't think words really work, capture the
reason why this has been bugging me."
Rake shrugged and proceeded to truly wolf down half of a sandwich. Hybrids apparently reserved their
four animal skills for eating. "You're an artist? So make an art?"
I snatched his napkin and fished out a pen. "Don't say I didn't warn you. I saw this the other
night, while sneaking around, investigating something I found at work. While I was inspecting."
Rake shrugged and looked away while I started sketching. He'd done it before, when I was writing
something. He said he couldn't stand watching someone write, draw, compose, create in any way. It
made me wonder how he managed to get through design school.
I don't like to render exactly. As a result, the sketch was a sketch taken to extremes, lines and
curves and shading existing as disparate pieces whose spaces merged together to make up exactly what
I wanted. The Scene of Removal. The Kiss of the Hand. The Cloth Mugging. The Head-bang. Four panels
of a little comic hastily representing dog and fox in a very private and raw situation. I dashed off
the last few lines and spun it around in front of the wolf - the napkin floated on a little cushion
of air and he slapped it flat.
"Hmm."
"That was somewhere inside the Willow uh, wing, I guess. Private clubs and meeting space, my ass.
That's not a meeting."
"I don't want to talk about this here, it's such a sacred place for food. Why don't you come by
after work?"
My ears turned red. "Sacred place for- What? You asked what I saw! That's what I saw last week! It
was crazy, I was hiding in this room and I looked under the door! That dog, he-"
Rake pulled one of his little conversation-enders and got up, chucked his sandwich wrapper in the
trash, and left.
Rake The Wolf lived as far away in the employee-riddled Ash wing from me as possible. I knocked on
his door and he answered naked. "I'm about to shower, come in, you can watch the telly or whatever."
He loped off down the hall, giving me plenty of time to look at his tail and ass. Nice ass, for a
scrawny mutt wolf. Dogs gave me hives, but I really sort of liked wolves. Canine purity?
I sat down on the couch. I could have flicked on the TV, but I already watched enough at my own
place. His living room was indistinct, minimalist Geek Chic. The coffee table was a piece of glass
resting on two gutted PC's, the sofa the reclining bench from some Econoline van, the end tables
squat ancient minicomputers.
On the glass was a pile of magazines. The top one was in Polish, some sort of architecture monthly.
Being Polish, it looked typeset with the keyboard randomized. It was interesting for a few pages,
until I gave up looking at word soup and put it down6. It seemed to be some sort of architecture
monthly, typeset with the keyboard randomized. The next one down was in Finnish - no surprise there.
I was just getting to something dark and weirdly foreboding in English when the hiss of the shower
stopped. In just a few seconds, out came Rake, wrapped in a towel. The room immediately smelled of
wet fur. Luckily, I actually sort of liked the smell.
"So I guess it's normal to walk around naked, huh? I'm a dumb-ass, I used to kind of avoid hybrids a
bit. Didn't want to have any stupid embarrassmen-"
"Well, I feel like naked is fine, but I have on boxer shorts now. Besides, I don't think you really
would mind me naked, after drawing those disgusting pictures," he unwound the towel and wound it up,
then made it into a tight coil around an arm. He headed straight into what I assumed was some sort
of den. After he didn't come back out or say anything, I followed.
"How do you know that? Maybe I'm straight as an arrow. You asked me what I saw, so I drew it. I can
draw all kinds of stuff."
"You're not straight as an arrow. You got a hard-on."
"What? If you tell me you could smell it, I'll fucking towel-whip your ass," I snorted. "Were you
looking or something?"
"I could see it, I snuck a peek under the table." Rake busied himself at his computer, or I should
say his plural computer. He had about nine of them, with three different screens. The room had a
small air conditioner sitting in the corner, vented somewhere, whirring away happily. It was still a
little warm.
"What the hell are you doing?" I am a computer dunce.
"Checking my email. And a render, the system kept locking up and I need it done for a concept
presentation tomorrow."
"Fun. I had to go to one of those the other day. So, uh. Why am I here? You wanted to talk to me
about what I saw? Are you some kind of shrink?"
"I can tell you where you were, exactly. I should not be doing this, but frankly I don't care much
for silly rules. You were here." He whipped up what looked like a pen, an old FM radio antenna whip
sliding out with a slap, and pointed to a map he had on the wall of the entire Woods complex. The
head knob pointed to part of Willow, a room that said TLR1.
That didn't sit well with me, and my stomach stirred. "Okay. What's that?"
"I can't tell you what TLR1 stands for, because I can't, or someone will get mad at me."
" This is just creepy." I started to think about what the abbreviation could stand for. The obvious
answer couldn't be the real one.
"You were inside of The House of Stars, which is a private series of clubs, like everyone says. They
are clubs for people with a particular tendency, specifically the tendency towards you, and your
tendency towards me."
I blinked.
"You do have a tendency towards hybrids? Am I mistaken?"
I'd told him about John after we first met. I had tried to be pretty general in the story, not just
saying, 'I used to be dating this girl and now I'm getting fucked in the ass by a dog who embodies
my worst fear.' "I don't think one time counts as a 'tendency', Rock." I didn't need to tell Rake
about the second meeting with John's dick.
"That's all I can say. I don't know who that dog was, or the fox."
"The dog was my ex-boss."
"Mmm," the wolf said, and just looked away. "Now, do you like that kind of thing, what he was
doing? Maybe what he was wearing?"
I shrugged. "It's kind of interesting. I guess I always liked that Gothic stuff, dark things,
whatever."
"This is why you're here. Come on, let me show you something."
We ended up in Rake's bathroom, which looked quite nice and average, although it had two doors.
"It's supposed to be a dressing room, I think you call it, a walk in closet with two doors, but I
have made it into my cramped little 'study'." Rake opened the door next to the towel rack, and I saw
a wide room, almost as big as the bathroom itself. Each side was flanked by leather garments and
gear, not clothes but things like hoods, shoulder-length chemical gloves, gas masks, something
awfully similar to head screws7. Against one wall under some...riding harnesses?...was what looked
like a small gymnastics horse. On the other wall was a rack. As in, to be put on the rack for
torture. Either Rake made a lot more money than me - which wouldn't have been surprising - or he ate
ramen noodles and peanut butter for food.
"Shit."
"It's not a lot, really."
I leaned up against the door frame. "So, uh, you like this kind of thing?8" Next to my foot was a
wood bar with eye-bolts in each end, and one sticking up from the middle. I lifted it up.
"Oh yes. Do you know what that is?"
I twirled the wood. "A stick."
Rake took it and stuck it behind his neck. Then he held out his arms and draped his wrists over each
end. "You clip it onto cuffs, and a collar, and then you can't move."
I started feeling a pit growing inside of my stomach, the beginnings of a panic attack. All that
seemed to be growing on Rake was a serious bulge in his boxer shorts. "Oh."
Rake led me through the miniature dungeon and closed the far door behind me. The new room was
obviously the bedroom, much less sexually disturbing and much more atmospherically interesting. The
walls were flanked with some sort of black fabric with movie posters covering them. Almost all of
them were in the explosion of consonants and broken-keyboard language of Polish, and they were true
works of art. Imagine taking a movie you knew well, say, "Jaws" and making a poster without really
knowing what the movie was about. Classic unsettling Slavic art.
The bed was insane, the mattress a horrific array of red blood-spattered murder scene, the box
spring exposed in its shabby paisley-sided glory. The foot and headboard were parts of a
wrought-iron gate from somewhere, with ring attachments welded on. The posts went up to the ceiling
and made a kind of cage with black curtains drawn up tight against them, and rings welded down the
four corner bars.
"Pinch me. I'm in the horror geek's lair." I found the whole thing amusing in a strange way. I may
have even seen a photo of the room in some magazine I'd been clipping earlier in the week.
"Haha, it's the bed, the worst part hmm? It's a print, I had it made by a friend, quite clean. I
just did the linens." Rake stepped over and sat down on the bed, then reclined. "I suppose it's nice
if you enjoy it rough and filthy, wouldn't really see the stain."
Another pang hit me, leaving me sweaty and hollow inside. I wandered over and sat on the opposite
edge, staring at the wall. "I don't think I can take this. I feel weird. Kind of like something's
crowding my head inside, a little dizzy."
Rake smiled and rolled onto his stomach, sprawling his arms out, black nails digging into the
sheets. He hiked his rump up a little, pulling his knees up and in under him. "You don't have to
take anything. Or really, you know, I don't understand that in English, you take someone by fucking
them, but being fucked, you're taking it. I think I mean the second."
"You want me to fuck you?"
The wolf shrugged. "You don't have to, at least not now."
"I really can't." How could I fuck him? He probably wanted to be hurt and chained up. That was way
beyond me. I stood up and wandered back to the dressing room dungeon. Something in the room didn't
quite belong - an odd contraption that looked like a two or three gallon water cooler jug with the
bottom cut off and a trumpet mouthpiece glued into the cap. I picked it up and looked it over.
Rake came up behind me. "Oops, I left that there? I can't really put it anywhere else."
"A gravity bong, huh? Nice."
He grinned. "I use it to get high sometimes, it makes me enjoy being dominated. Salvia, which is
hard to really do right. You have to make it very hot and hit a lot of it. Makes your skin crawl,
makes me so hard, and I'm uh, helpless."
"Hruh." I set the makeshift pipe down."Does that stuff really do anything? I tried it once. Just
felt kind of dizzy."
"Hit it very hard, then go lie right down in the dark. Very interesting. Do you want some? I have
quite a lot." He was digging in his clothes hamper, and pulled out a gallon zip lock bag packed with
dark hashed leaves.
"Holy shit. Well, okay, sure."
I paid Rake despite him not wanting to take any money The night ended with Rake probably having blue
balls and me sheepishly carrying a grocery bag back to my apartment, thirty dollars poorer.
I almost got through Friday without noticing The Invitation. The day was rough - someone tripped a
gas detector in one of the hallways. He had to be carted away delirious after huffing propane.. It
was a very strange sight, someone hauled out of his apartment like a rag doll, quickly shuffled
off. The entire scene quieted to nothing in less than five minutes.
It was rough because I had to preside over 'check in', which meant bringing the alarm system to
equilibrium and checking every single sensor through the five computer systems. Did I say I like
computers? Because I don't. Anyway, after a day of fiddling, I had totally forgotten about the
invitation a strange cat had handed me during a very nice dinner with a friend. It was only when I
was putting a shirt back into the closet that it fell off the top shelf.
I shrugged and tore it open. The card was small and plain white, and simply said, "The House of Moon
and Stars." Inside: "You are invited to Beginnings on Friday, September 14th, at 9 pm. RSVP before
7, text 458879. Clean or dirty welcome. Dress for a night under the stars."
What a weird thing. I remembered the swanky young snow leopard coming over to my table as John took
his leave, slipping me the invitation with a completely catty look on his face.
I stepped out into the hallway and peered at the microwave: it was 6:45. I dug out my phone and
fired off a message to the number on the card. A few moments later, a message came back saying,
"Reserved #25. Keep this msg & bring your phone!"
What's done is done. Was I scared? Sure I was scared. I had no idea what the hell was going on,
except that it involved the same general area that was privy to The Cock Removal. It was very
possible that Sean Ashton would be at whatever this Beginnings party was, it was very possible he
would see me, it was very possible that he would know me by my god-damned _smell_ because every
long-nose was...
I had to wear something. "Dress for a night under the stars." I certainly knew how to dress for the
night, but stars? I ended up with: loose black dress shirt, black jeans, studded belt, and my, "Oh I
bought these?" black snake cowboy boots. I added a necklace just for the hell of it. I was thin
enough to leave the shirt undone part way and not look like an idiot.
When the time came, I was fashionably late. I wasn't quite sure where to go, but at 9:20 I meandered
down to where Willow started. Sure enough, there was just a simple door with someone standing next
to it - oddly enough, a human.
"Show your reservation."
I got out my phone and held it up. The human nodded and opened the door. On my way through, he said,
"The late one always has a good time."
I was scared half to death. I wasn't sure if I was getting into some sort of hardcore bondage club,
or entering a brothel, or what exactly The House of Moon and Stars was.
Inside was a very pedestrian hallway with a coat check, then fire doors opening into a swank
nightclub. It certainly qualified for hidden gem status - globe arched ceilings in three areas, a
stainless steel bar with up-market stools, an immense liquor selection, a spread of tables, booths,
couches and even beanbags off in some corners, and three doors at the far end. One door had the
familiar male bathroom pictogram, the other just had a picture of a door opening, and the third had
what looked like a little plate of steaming food and an 'Employees Only' sign under it. There
wasn't any sort of 'back room', unless that was beyond the Door door. No one was going in there.
The crowd was ample but not over-packed, perhaps because it seemed to be an invitation-only party.
The crowd was also at least half human, if not more. There was a good spread of dress, from the club
boy end of things up to a few Armani suits, and an age spread of at least 18 to 50. The one thing
that seemed constant is that everyone was wearing more expensive clothes than I was.
There was a digital clock on one wall, the top displaying the time, the bottom a countdown. It had
eight minutes 'to go'. I thought that was unusual, shrugging it off as I made my way to the bar for
a drink. The bartender wanted to see my reservation, then smiled. "This one's on the house," he
said, fixing up my brandy stinger. The bartender was also human. Maybe Rake was right.
I took the drink and made my way over to a couch, settling down for some people-watching. The party
had to be a tourist affair, since the only humans to come to The Woods were... tourists. Rake's
words kept hanging around. He'd said the whole thing was for humans who like hybrids. So was this a
sex party? Why didn't they hand out condoms and lube packets at the door? Pre-moistened towelettes?
The countdown was approaching the thirty second mark, and the lights started to dim down, along with
a swell of electronic sound. I could deal with that - very concert-like, and the darkness made me
feel a bit more comfortable. As the room darkened, the hybrids seemed to thin out in number. I
spotted one of them who looked familiar, a leopard in club khakis and a silver shirt, making his way
towards... somewhere. I really couldn't see; it was a dark blur.
At the ten second mark, the darkness was punctured by spots of light on the ceiling.
Stars.
The concept probably seems immensely stupid, but as the 'stars' brightened, mixed in with a couple
of shooting stars and the rising moon, it really lent a neat atmosphere. They were real planetarium
star charts, at least the one for the area I was in. Each of the three room-areas had an arched
ceiling, and each had a star field. There were a few oohs and ahhs, and the room started filling up
again. At the drop of 9:30, heavy ambient trip-hop started up, courtesy of a slowly-lit DJ off at
the far end from the doors.
My inhibitions were broken; I was scared, but I didn't want to leave, too intrigued by all the
effort that'd gone into the party. That, and I really, really, really was hoping something dirty
would happen. If I was going to be invited somewhere really messed up, I wanted to get my messed up.
I didn't want to go home empty-handed.
Something touched me on the shoulder and I whipped around. I heard a faint tink of nails against
glass, and someone shuffled behind me. "Jumpy, huh? Sorry if I scared you." The voice was familiar.
"Sneaking up and touching someone, at some weird party? Naw, that's not scary." I craned around. It
was the snow leopard, still in the silver shirt, but with sleek black pants on now. The pants were
spotted slightly, this faintly ghost-gray of inverse florets. The pants were almost shiny, in a
different way than the shirt, an almost velour black. "Hey, I know you. You gave me the invite. Uh.
"
He didn't offer a hand, but he did start stroking my neck. Not so much with his finger pads, but
letting the soft fur on the backs of his fingers and hand glide on the skin. It was more than nice.
"Yes, I'm Tad. And you're Adrian, right?"
"I was when I woke up."
"I'm glad you came." He leaned over and licked me across the lips. Now, his tongue was rough, but
not like a four cat's. A subtle sort of fine bump, like real dull sandpaper. "You look a little
sick, like you're sulking." He leapt over the back of the couch and settled down next to me like
nothing had happened. He smelled like vanilla.
"I get that a lot. This is overwhelming. What is this place, and why am I here?"
"That's life." Tad smiled, a sweet, knowing smile.
"What?"
"That's life. Why are you here? That's what life's about. Finding out why. I can tell you sort of
why you're here. Someone 'recommended' you. I can't say who, because I don't know. Well, I can say
it wasn't that dog you were eating with. It could have been because you were eating with him. It
could have been me, but I wouldn't say (even?) if it was."
John didn't seem the type, considering his lazy approach to relationships, or the lack of. He was
never the type to try to set me up with people. "That makes me feel better. But now... who else? I
don't really know anyone else." Oh, but I did.
"Mmm. This doesn't usually happen. Most people who come here... know. So you get it, right? Look."
Tad pointed around. Almost every human was paired up with a hybrid in some way, whether it be
one-on-one, or some other combination. "This party's for the newcomers here, to introduce them to
what we do."
"And what do you do?"
"We please humans."
I beamed a little, inside, for being right. I also felt like my intestines were dying. "I see. "
Obviously Tad knew about John. John wouldn't have told anyone... unless I was wrong about him. Rake
knew, but didn't seem like he would tell anyone. On the other hand, he was candid about parts of The
Woods he wasn't supposed to talk about. I kept trying to sort out what happened, over and over- how
Tad found out, whether it was a lucky guess because I was having dinner with John or, or, or, or or
or or or. I probably stared off into space or turned funny colors because Tad lightly stroked my
chin so I was facing him again.
"You seem like you need to relax a little, or at least have more fun. I bet you're a wallflower out
on the floor, huh?"
I shrugged. "I go to clubs for the music, not to shake my scrawny ass, yeah."
Tad had this sort of knurled bullet-shaped object around his neck. He unscrewed it; the bottom was
hollow and rattled a little. "Are you dirty already?"
Spike of fear. "Dirty? No, I showered before-"
He put a finger-pad to my lips. "Dirty, as in, already rolling, flying, diving, crashing, burning,
tripping, in a hole..."
"I had some pot when I came home, but it's gone now. What are-"
He had two small things out of the end cap and put them in his mouth. "Mmm. C'mere." I shrugged away
from him. "No?"
"Not yet. Uh, I'll take it though.." I held out my hand, and he put the pill in it. I wasn't sure
what to do, so I pulled out my wallet and stuck it in the coin pocket, then put the billfold into my
front pocket.
Tad snagged a waiter and ordered drinks, something fruity like a southern iced tea. Then he smiled
at me again.
"What if I'm a cop?" I shifted in my seat.
"You're not a cop. You don't dress like one." He ran his fingers down my shirt, then slipped them
inside. The cat let his black nails (hybrids usually painted them) down my pecs, then right between
them, towards my navel. It made me huff and squirm.
"I could be an undercover cop. I could be a vice cop."
"You look more like you'd be a dealer. Expensive boots, flashy white shirt, snug pants. Maybe a
hustler. Wouldn't that be ironic? Maybe that's why you don't want any drugs." He put his hand on my
belt buckle, but distinctly not on my package. I was starting to wish he'd just grab good and hard.
"Are you a prostitute?Am I going to pay you for the pleasure of having sex with a hybrid? I can, uh,
get that for free so I'm not sure why I'd pay."
The drinks arrived, and Tad slurped off his. "First time's free. Drinks tonight, any assistance we
can give you." He tapped at the amulet, "Any fun you have. It's just like getting hooked."
"I'm flattered. Do you really think I'm into this?"
His furred hand went down onto my leg and I watched it, grasping and lightly tugging down my thigh.
Gray fur against black cotton. I casually did the same, and found that his pants felt like velvet.
Very nice. He was quite muscular under them.
"You smell like it. I bet you hear that a lot. You don't smell scared, like you're going to leave. "
"If I was 18, I'd be running out that door right now, and probably jerking off in the bathroom while
swearing under my breath." I didn't mean to say all that, and covered my mouth. I quickly swiped a
couple gulps off the southern iced tea.
"I'm not wrong about you." Tad started stroking my neck, then my jaw. It made my spine want to
shimmy out of my back.
I spread my legs apart, and Tad responded by dipping more into my inner thighs, stroking and
squeezing. He leaned over/forward and licked at my neck, which almost hurt, then worked his way up
to my lips. I ended up feeling red-faced and absurd, tongue pushing out to meet his. I'm sure the
whole room could have been staring, but I really didn't care. The thought just made me excited. The
whole problem with this encounter was that Tad was really, really attractive. There couldn't be a
less harmless way to introduce a human to the pleasures of the, uh, fur. Canids can get shaggy, plus
you know me and dogs, but cats were apparently a sort of uniform plush. He smelled so nice, looked
nice, and despite being immensely forward, I really didn't mind. Soon, he was straddled onto my lap.
I looked up at him. He responded by stroking my chin.
"Hi. Isn't petting a cat on your lap supposed to relieve stress?"9 Tad lightly took my hands as he
spoke and put them just at the edge of his shirt's waist cuff.
"Those kind of cats don't..." I didn't really know what to say, so I fiddled with his shirt there.
Under it, more fur, and the weird bump of familiar human muscle under it.
"If you don't want to do this here, we can go take a room. There are plenty of them back there."
I knew what was back there already. I hoped it wouldn't be *that*10 room. "Uh, do what?"
"Whatever you'd like. If you just want to cuddle up next to a big cat, that's fine. You're very
attractive though. You shouldn't waste it."
I usually waffle back and forth between acknowledging that I am attractive, and thinking that I look
sullen so people compliment me to make me feel better. At the moment, I wasn't sure which it was.
"Well, I guess we could. I don't really want everyone out here watching."
By this time, there were quite a few animated conversations between couples, not to mention necking,
and even - I swear - a pair of ears poking up from someone's lap. Tad stood up and took my hand,
then led me across the club to the Door door. In turn, it led to a series of hallways that looked
very much like a hotel. They were fairly narrow, like they'd been squeezed in later.
My fears of suddenly finding myself in "The Leather Room", or the room where Sean had violated that
poor fox, vanished when we entered a small duskily-lit hotel room of sorts. There was a sofa, a
chair, a very well-trimmed bed, dresser, several full-length mirrors, and even a bathroom. I kept
thinking to myself, 'I'll just go along with this cat and see what happens'.
"Well, here we are. If you want to freshen up, you can use the bathroom there..." Tad pointed, as he
draped himself onto the sofa.
I went to take a peek. I actually had to piss, which was nice timing. There was a jacuzzi tub with a
shower, a sleek toilet, a sink. The shower had a strange tube-shaped contraption on the end of a
hose. I looked at it, trying to figure out why a hand-held shower head was so funny-shaped, when I
realized what it was. To keep myself distracted from the thought of having my colon irrigated by a
snow leopard, I fished out the pill and chewed it up. It tasted horrible - probably not chewable,
but whatever. I downed a couple glasses of water to wash the taste out.
When I came out, Tad was completely naked, drink in hand. He was also very, very erect, not to
mention wide-eyed like a cat ready to pounce. "Hi again," he said, with a rumbling sound.
"What's with that? Aren't you rolling?" I pointed to his crotch. It was eye-catching, not just
because an erection always is. He was jet black.
"Mmm, I took something else too. I'm so hard. So... since I haven't scared you off-"
"Hey, maybe this is like Pretty Woman. Maybe I'm going to make a respectable cat out of you instead
of having sex."
He shook his head and smiled. "Richard Gere got a nice blow-job from that street-walking tramp. So,
Adrian, have you ever been fucked?"
I sat down on the couch, not at the far end, but not smushed up against Tad either. " Yeah."
"Ever given a guy a blow-job?"
I nodded again, and picked up my drink.
"Fucked a guy?"
I shook my head, having a few sips. I was still thinking that I'd just politely decline, maybe go
lie down in the bed, maybe go home, conjure up some stomach problems, mention that I had some kind
of disease-
Tad swung himself over and right into my lap again, straddling like before. His cock poked at my
shirt and left a damp splotch. "I bet you'd like to do something about that. You don't have to do
anything, you can just lean back against that nice, soft couch while I ride you."
Well, if you put it that way... "I, well." He was palming my crotch, lifting my belt buckle with a
clank, then unzipping my fly one tooth at a time.
"You didn't close the door while you were using the bathroom. You have such a nice cock. Just like
the rest of you, I don't want it to go to waste."
It really happened so fast. I didn't even get naked, I just had my fly opened, my cock stroked
between finger pad and fur. Tad took my drink and set it aside, then kissed me. He was really
careful, his tongue startlingly rough but delicate, teeth sort of 'chewing' at my lips. He took one
of my hands and guided it up behind my head, just below the back of the sofa. There was a little
caddy there, and I grabbed something. It was a bottle of lube. "Passion Oil", it said.
"Oh, that's stupid, that's like Thai pussy tightening cream," I said with a half-hearted chuckle. I
opened the cap and dribbled some down on the head of my shaft. The stuff really was oil, vaguely
sweet smelling. It felt warm.
"Mmmmm..." Tad purred, or growled, or whatever it was that leopards did. He took the bottle and
puddled the stuff onto my cock, then quickly shifted forward, hovering over the length, letting it
poke at his asshole. Warm wasn't really the right word. Tingly? The stuff was more than *just* oil.
Without any kind of foreplay, he just started letting his weight press down.
I'd fucked someone in the ass before. Sandy. She liked it, especially while using a toy in her
pussy. It was familiar- the impossible snugness, the 'pop' as the head fit inside, the crushing
grip. Crushing in the best way. Tad arched his back and leaned away from me, grabbing onto my knees
as he sank down, cock rising out of his crotch.
He didn't ride hard, and he didn't have to. Tad was a constant fluid motion, sometimes urgently
flexing and thrusting forward as he pulled off, sometimes gradually moving down until I was so deep
that it felt like I was hitting something. That point made the leopard flash his fangs each time.
I was so close the whole time, pressing back into the couch, shocked and overloaded by the surreal
warmth around my cock, the hyper-sensation. And always the fur, hands brushing my shoulders, chest
brushing chest as Tad leaned forward to work heavy and fast. I kept having moments where I wondered
what I was doing, why I was letting some almost literal stranger ride my cock in some back room, and
a hybrid no less...
Tad stopped suddenly and took the bottle, squirting oil on his cock. He seemed surprised that he
didn't have to tell me to grasp and start milking. What was I supposed to do, let him do all the
work? There was something so viscerally good about tugging and stroking a nice, ample cock, and the
color - it was the blackest black, shined up by the oil. Tad started to arch and lean back again,
rump shoving - ramming - down against my lap, then let out this completely inhuman yowl. His cock
jumped in my hand and showered my chest with seed. A really gross kind of wet rush, almost like he
was pissing all over me. He milked my cock hard and when I came, it felt like I was being squeezed
up out of my head.
The squeeze ended with a sickening plunge back to reality. My chest was sticky, shirt spattered with
seed. Tad pulled off with a slick wet sound, leaving my cock glistening and thankfully clean. The
cat settled next to me and started licking my chest clean like I was a kitten.
"I uh, I should probably go."
Tad looked up with a hmm. He looked like a cat ready to pounce, eyes just black holes in his head.
"Awwwr. I hope you aren't upset or anything."
"No, this is just not what I usually do. I can't just cut myself loose."
Tad fumbled around the room as I got up and pulled my pants up. The cat came back over and gave me a
firm, lingering grab between the legs. He leaned in to kiss me. The same rough, wet tongue and pull
of lips, fur against skin. "I hope you come back. I think you'll like it here. If you go out and
turn left, go all the way down to the exit sign, then just go out, you'll be back into the rest of
the uh, resort."
"Thanks," I said, and ducked out.
As I was walking down the duskily-lit hall to the exit, I wondered if maybe I was giving Sean too
much credit. Seeing him at The Woods in such a compromising position was unexpected, but at the same
time I was trespassing. Who knows what people do in their spare time? I sit around and paint shit on
the walls of my apartment and get baked off my ass. John's a budding pastry chef in his spare time.
My mom makes miniature carvings out of rocks in Alaska nowadays. Besides, my terrible phobia of
dogs kind of fizzled, although I still felt very creeped out around them.
As soon as I was through the exit, I was back into the well-lit corridor of The Woods. It was night
and day, one world on one side and one on the other. In the light, I was in a place people lived in,
relaxed in, got away from life in. In the dark, it was a world where humans satisfied their
questionably-moral desperations for animal hybrids.
I was lost. I had no idea where I was. My phone had a map, but the entire area that The House of
Moon And Stars took up was just one big empty space. I wasn't sure if I'd come out on the left,
right, back, or where. I was also feeling the effects of the pill. The light was solarized and extra
bright, the breeze from the ventilation tickling my skin. I could still feel the after-pang of
climax between my legs.
After ten minutes of wandering, I ended up close enough to home that I could scurry back and seclude
myself in my apartment. I took a hot shower to wash the mess off my chest, and practically orgasmed
just from the water spraying against my head and back. Leftover Thai takeout was extra delicious,
but all I wanted was to drink water.
Tossing my clothes in the laundry, I found the other item that Tad had hid in my pants. A plastic
baggie with a whole bunch of brown stuff that looked very leaf-like, Closer inspection revealed the
brown stuff as dried mushrooms. I'd done that sort of thing before. It wasn't something that'd be
smart along with Ecstasy.
I ended up drawing. I had an old lined notebook left over from school that I dug out and started
doodling in. First I captured the entire experience with Tad, then I went on to expound on cats,
then drugs, then random doodles, then fell asleep some hours later.
I woke up around 2 in the afternoon the next day. For about an hour, I lay in bed, until I had to
take a piss so bad I was actually dripping as I stalked to the bathroom. Everything about the world
was wrong. I looked in the mirror and I saw a ring-eyed sunken-cheeked pale goth loser. I fell
asleep in the shower. Food tasted like worthless crap. I had no idea what happened, but whatever it
was was a total bummer.
One of every vitamin I had went down the chute, and I shuffled into the living room to look at the
mural-in-progress. Despite my condition, I found myself working on it. I was filling in some
carnage, a scene of destruction and unfortunate terror. It involved foxes. At some point, I fell
asleep on the couch.
I woke up to someone licking my ear. "Holy shit!"
John leapt back, though looked completely unsurprised. "You really shouldn't leave your door
unlocked. Someone could come in and steal all of your stuff."
"Fuck, John, what the hell are you doing?" Luckily he wasn't naked. Bermuda shorts, Hawaiian shirt,
sandals, necklace. Typical weekend dog. "I don't have any stuff that's worth anything."
He sat down on the couch like it was his own. "Okay." He looked around. "You have all those porn
mags, and that weird picture. Someone could come in and masturbate."
I chuckled, just barely. "So why'd you come in? Are you gonna masturbate?"
"Actually, I knocked a whole lot and no one answered. I just happened to try the door, and it
opened. You look dreadful. Are you sick?"
"Partied last night a little."
"Do tell," the dog grinned, reclining back, arm out roughly behind me as I sulked.
"Do you really want to hear the whole story?" I got a nod. "Fine. So I got this invitation to
something last week, while we were eating dinner. You stepped out and this cat came over and gave it
to me. Snow leopard.. those are the plush gray ones, right? He said not to open it until next
Friday. Well, yesterday was next Friday. It invited me to some kind of club party over in Willow. I
went. It was this thing where humans go and meet up with hybrids for some hot fucking. The cat.. his
name's Tad.. we went off and, uh. He was really set on seducing me. I think he was paid for it. Not
by me, but by someone. Isn't that weird? So we ended up... " Somehow, I just couldn't say it to
John.
John just looked at me. Cocked his head a little. Slowly grinned.
"What? What? Is it funny?"
"I never would have expected you to end up there. That place is a bloody whorehouse! I guess it's
not so bad that you didn't pay anyone-"
I shrugged. "A slut's a prostitute you don't have to pay." I felt my ears burn red as I thought
about something, about the dog telling me he was going off to party with someone the last time I'd
seen him. I hoped I didn't let Tad ride my dick as some kind of revenge.
"Mmm."
"So what're you doing here? Do you want to fuck me again?"
John did the canine equivalent of pursing his lips. It looked like he was chewing. "Well, yes I do.
But that's not why I came over. Was just sort of bored, figured you might want to do something."
"Well, I do. I wanna piss." I got up and did my business. When I came out, John wasn't on the couch
any more. "Hey, I really had to piss. I wasn't being a jerk."
When I looked into the bedroom, John was sitting on the edge of the bed, naked. "I think you ought
to come to bed. "
"Yeah. Are you sure you don't want to fuck?"
"I really think you're obsessing about me fucking you. Are you going to be anti-phobic now? Lie
down."
"So why are you naked?"
"Well, I'm going to lie down in your bed . Preferably next to you."
Red-faced, I took off my clothes and sulked in-between the sheets. John immediately embraced me from
behind, and it was a welcome warm press of fur. I could feel his sheath prodding at me, but it
wasn't particularly hard. I imagined it hard, and sprouted my own erection. It just made me want to
curl up and hide. "So. Wait, you want to cuddle?"
"Don't you ever want to lie down next to someone? You had Sandy. Girls are all cuddly."
"Well, I don't know. I guess."
"Stop talking and take a nap. You look like death."
There was a very long pause, and I thought John perhaps had fallen asleep. I gently moved a hand
around to touch him on the thigh, and he responded by moving a hand to my stomach. "John? Did you go
fuck someone the other night?"
He yawned and shifted a little. "What? No... do you mean my little business party? That was getting
some bloody old codger drunk. Ungh, I wouldn't have had sex with him even if I wanted it."
"Oh." I felt stupid for assuming he'd gone off to have sex with some random client. Then I felt
stupid for going off and having sex with a random leopard. Then I felt a weird gnawing in my
stomach, as I realized that I'd gone along with the entire Tad situation without even thinking.
Then, I realized I'd gone along with John again without even thinking.
"It isn't like we're married," he said softly. "But I really think you ought to just get some rest.
Stop thinking so much."
I mumbled a sound. I felt heavy, like some weight was lifted off me, and then I became the weight. I
fell into sleep like I was falling down a bottomless pit.
I have a problem. I've had it since I was about 13 or 14. Sometimes, I don't remember going to
sleep, or I don't remember waking up. I used to think this was normal, but after talking to some
friends in school, I found out it wasn't. Complete blackout. Nothing ever seems to happen that's out
of the ordinary, but I just forget I went to sleep. I'll wake up and not remember getting into bed,
or I'll be in the shower or eating some cereal and wonder how I got there.
I don't remember actually falling asleep that afternoon. I certainly don't remember John leaving -
he did leave a very nice note saying that he couldn't wake me up and had to leave - and somehow, I
ended up in the bathroom with my head hanging over the toilet.
I had a headache that was so bad, I thought I would throw up. I'd had migraines before. Very
occasionally, usually related to... I don't know, a virus or something. This was a disorienting,
dizzying headache but not a migraine. I didn't throw up, but the headache never really left.
While digging for the painkillers in my sock drawer, especially some possibly left-over Vicodin from
when I had my wisdom teeth removed eons ago, I found several bags. One was Tad's little illicit
gift. The other was the much larger gift of divining sage from Rake.
I don't know exactly why, but I had the intense urge to trip on the Salvia and see what happened. It
just welled up inside.I took the bag out and set to work11.
Smoking Salvia is like smoking pot, except you have to get the Salvia twice as hot. That means
holding a flame to it continually, so it glows nearly white-hot as you inhale. Thus, you have to
use a water pipe or your lungs end up like those gross PSAs they show you in school. You know, "this
is your lung on cigarettes," and hold up some charred liver or whatever.
I managed four straight bowls of the green plant of the gods or whatever it's supposed to be, before
I realized something was happening. Total time, one minute. Pot sneaks up on you, teasing you with a
little numbness until it whacks you with a pounding heart and vertigo. Salvia sneaks up on you like
a truck with all its air-horns and light racks blaring. I managed not to spill the pipe before I
blundered around the room and fell into bed. I felt like I was being forced to lie down, like the
world was rushing past me and I was that guy in the Memorex tape commercial, with a bong for a
lowball tipped over, John sitting on the floor with his tongue and ears blown back like a hound
sticking his head out of the car window. The image was so funny it made me laugh, a dull kind of
bark. It didn't sound like my voice at all.
Within two minutes, I had gone from looking through my sock drawer to spiraling away, a literal
spiraling sensation. My skin retracted, I felt it creeping like a change coming over me, like
something was happening. I felt like my sternum wanted to meet the ceiling, a profound rotation,
endless microopsic spin. I was moving towards something, towards a vision, a very particular vision.
It was something I'd seen often before, something that was part of me at this point, the start of a
dream. I was dreaming while awake. I could think so clearly, yet I was so lost in whatever I saw. I
was thinking and feeling at the same exact time, progressing into a room. Lit with windows, wood
floor, expensive, like a mansion. Deja vu. I've been there before. I've been there. I've been there.
But where? It wasn't anywhere. It wasn't my parents' place, it wasn't Uncle Mike's, it wasn't
anything. It was just the room, the room I'd dreamt about forever.
Someone was talking, and I couldn't quite understand what they were saying. I knew, and it made me
anxious, more and more anxious the longer they talked. In the room was a chair, a high-back black
leather chair, and I was slowly moving towards it. As I got closer and closer, the voice was more
distinct, more obvious, more clear. I still couldn't understand it. It was muddled, the familiar
sort of hybrid muddled muzzle mumbling but it was no language and every language all at once.
I crept up on the chair and was looking close at the leather, then down the side, down towards the
arm. There was a hand there, gloved, black leather. Expensive, very very expensive, very fine.
Italian, lamb probably, fitted, custom, whatever. Absolutely gorgeous. Average sort of hand, kind of
thin, bony, actual shape distorted by the leather, smoothed and emphasized into a very caricature of
a hand. I knew that hand, too. Oh, I knew that hand. Where did I know that hand from? Let's try to
figure out. John? No, he never wore gloves really. Sean? No, Not12 Sean. Me? Not me either, mine
were bigger.
I kept moving closer, closer and closer, this relentless march. I figured I'd soon be moving through
the leather fibers, then some molecules, then atoms, then whatever atoms are made of, then quarks,
then those weird little strings that supposedly vibrate and create entire universes. No. None of
that. I saw claws. This hand had claws, black claws pricked out of the ends of the gloves. Drummed
slowly on the arm of the couch. No one had claws like that, not any hybrid, no human... I was
leaning down/in to kiss the hand, kiss the knuckles. It wasn't erotic like I expected, a very sort
of odd non-feeling. I felt it inside my chest somewhere, not on my lips.
Head down, the chair turned. "Stand up." I heard the voice. Wow, it was weird, smarmy and vaguely
British, not like John but like some sort of horrible joke, like a cartoon character, someone who
would suddenly break out into a jaunty song at the drop of a hat.
I stood up and I saw the occupant of the chair. No one. It was a gaping black hole. Not even black,
just nothing. Like a blind spot in the eye, like when you do that trick where you look at two dots
on a piece of paper right and one of them disappears because there's a spot in your eye where all
the nerves are and you can't see from that spot.
I woke up. I didn't know if my eyes had been closed, but now they were very open and I was very
lying on my bed, flat on my back, arms and legs just there, out, like I was making a snow angel,
making a sheets angel in my nice white sheets. I was lying in my bedroom, coming down off of a trip,
a very short trip.
I couldn't breathe. Or rather, I was breathing, but I couldn't do anything about it. I was
paralyzed, completely paralyzed. Move your arm, Adrian! Move it! Wiggle, toe! Wiggle! No, you can't
do it! You can move if you need to, but you're not going to move! You're going to lie there like
when you were hypnotized that one time, thinking, "Boy this is dumb, I can move whenever I want,"
but you're just not going to do it.
Someone started coming into the room. I know this, it's an alien! It's going to anal probe me! It's
John, the bastard, he just wants to get off! It's not John. First thing I saw coming through the
door, the hand. The gloved hand, with claws. Next thing, the arm, the rest of the glove, some sort
of coat, expensive, maybe a cloak, the glint of a top of a tall boot, more body. The body is
followed by a tail, a big bush of a tail! Silverish with a black splotch, oh no! It's a fox! Black
ears, grayish everything else, that smudge of black on the end of a snout, a sort of grimace smirk,
fox fox fox! I don't know any foxes! I only know of that one who got fucked in the mouth by Sean and
that's not this fox!
"Obviously, you don't remember me, Adrian. That's a shame." Like Sean, just not Suthun'. Talking
down. Why do people talk down to me? "You know me very well. You spent so much time with me, and
then where did I go? Your little foxes out there on the wall-" the fox pointed out of the bedroom.
"Are what is left, burning in their terrible agony as you lie here a failure, forgetting your place,
where you should be. I'm here to remind you of your place, Adrian."
The fox was coming closer. I inexplicably had a hard-on, but it was so nonsexual. It was like having
one in your sleep, your body simply does it, skin crawling. It was the drugs! The damn drugs! The
plant is poisoning me! The fox was going to touch my dick! No, he wasn't touching it. He felt my
arm, and it was real, a real gloved hand, warm and dry and smooth moving up my skin, to my shoulder,
across it, inside my shirt, and then my shirt wasn't really there, just threads, just little pieces,
just that black gloved hand moving to my chest, over my head, and then his hand was pushing into my
chest, pushing into my chest, into my heart, into my blood, INTO MY BLOOD-
Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Aras. That would be ahrrrrras, if you like to have a
pronunciation guide. Very Spanish, but yet so simultaneously British. I am from neither place.
Adrian's apartment is terribly boring. Every apartment in this part of The Woods is the same as it,
the same layout, practically the same furniture. All identical. He adds his little touches, like the
mural, the poorly made bed, the pile of magazine clippings. Does he show that to people who come by
for tea, or to smoke the marijuana? It's unsettling. All those strange men, clipped out of context
so they're just leather-clad characters floating around a dadaist collage.
Now his closet, his closet is very interesting. Adrian has a very telling closet. He has very
average clothes. Polo shirts, khakis, a suit, ties, jeans, tee shirts, some Carhartt work gear for
tromping around in back rooms.
He also has very un-average clothes. A slate gray London Fog trench coat. Numerous 'club shirts'.
Reverend's coat - I believe he was wearing that at the concert the night he found his asshole
violated by a very fine piece of dog cock. New rock boots, over the calf. A bit too clunky, but a
striking statement. Cowboy boots, fancy black snake-skin. Very Steven Segal.
I went through his closet, looking for something to wear. I wanted to assemble a nice outfit, in
order to accomplish my first order of business for the night. There wasn't much to work with. Black
jeans, New Rocks, snug black shirt, the trench coat. Simple, effective.
Adrian knows a wolf named Rake. That's pronounced Rah-kay, or something similar. Supposedly Finnish,
but who really knows? Rake likes dirty things, like getting high, being trussed up, and all sorts
of other things that are hinted at by all the devices of lewd use he has. I decided that Rake was
going to show me what he likes.
Rake opened his door naked, like so many hybrids enjoy doing. "Oh, hi there. Pardon, I was doing my
exercises-"
I pushed past him and went in. "I think I should just tell you what I want." I stopped and turned
around. The wolf backed up, tail slapped against the back of his leg, and bumped the door shut. "I'm
here to torture you, fuck you, or both."
The wolf's ears melted downwards, until he had them flatted. "Urr, I am sorry, I have to use the
bathroom." He quickly rushed past and into the bathroom. I expected vomiting, but instead there was
just a tremendous pour of urine and a groan. While he was solving his nervous bladder, I made my way
through his bedroom into his miniature dungeon. Dungeon Lite, perhaps.
Oh, the rack. I wanted that. The rack was going to be used. But first, gloves. I riffled through his
collection of leather gear, selecting a nice pair of long-cuff, skin-tight gloves. They weren't
quite my size, barely fitting on my hands, taking a nice tug to get them on with a little squeak. As
I flexed my fingers under the glossy leather, I turned my head and saw him standing at the opening
to the dungeon, ears pinned back to his head.
"I thought-" he started to say, then stopped as I balled my hand to a fist.
I stepped into the center of the dungeon and whacked my head into something. "What is this? Is this
for hanging disorderly wolves?" I reached up and fooled with the offending object, an enormous metal
spring-clip on a chain strong enough to hold a car. I clicked my newly-gloved finger into and out of
the latch.
Without saying a word, Rake walked over to his rack of restraints and selected a hand-suspension
unit. It looked like a pair of two heavy leather mitts with open thumbs and a thick metal ring at
the top of each. He slid his hands in, then held them out for me. I latched the cuffs closed, and
Rake lifted his arms up, backing over to the chain. He whacked his hands backwards until the rings
bashed the latch open and trapped him. Then he nodded over towards where the chain came down through
a ratchet pull on the wall.
"What did you do to deserve this?" I asked, and pumped the ratchet until Rake's arms were taut.
"Nothing, Sir..." he said meekly. I pumped the handle again, causing him to make a face. Then again,
until he was standing on his toes, muscles strained under his fur, lips pulled back. "Please, please
don't hang me up!"
"Answer my question if you want to be spared. And I mean that only figuratively."
"I came all over myself while working out! Lying on my b-back makes me so hard!" the wolf barked.
Blowing his load didn't seem to make him any less horny, his very non-lupine cock standing out. Rake
was very impressive.
I didn't stretch him any further - it seemed nice to have him barely touching the ground, not
swinging like a hung corpse. I reached over to his cock and felt along it. "You played with this?
Did you do your crunches while giving yourself a blow-job?" I gave the swollen, hooded head a hard
slap. Rake winced and woofed. I did it again, and found clear ooze all over my fingers. I shoved it
up against his nose, until he snorted. "I think I just discovered what you like."
"No, please don't, please don't," he whimpered, ears pinned to his head, tail tucked in hard enough
that it was brushing his own balls. I left him alone and went through his toys again. One drawer
seemed to be all floggers. Those rubber strand things, crops, a full bull whip, and a very heavy
leather paddle sort of thing. Long, narrow, and studded with rivet spikes on one side.
"Do you want to be muzzled? I'm sure you have that available in here." I came back over and tapped
his balls with the spikes. Rake winced backwards, lost his footing and all the muscles bulged under
his fur. I felt up over them, over his upper arms, chest. He was starting to quiver, the sensation
muted by the snug leather on my hands. I twisted the flogger and started slapping his cock back and
forth, harder and harder until there was a rather loud, wet smack. Rake's expression changed to
horror, lips curling back, eyes wide.
"Stop, stop, I'm going to come!"
I stopped mid-swat. His cock was bulging, the skin slowly rolling back from the head, pre dripping
off in a long strand. As I left him there, his cock jerked a few times, tensed up, then slowly
relaxed, its owner breathing hard.
"Interesting." I went through more of his toys, pulling out a metal bar with shackles at either end.
It appeared to be screw-threaded at the middle, and when I twisted, it unscrewed and grew longer. I
shackled one of the cuffs to his ankle, then started telescoping it. It stopped at over twice the
original length, and I hooked up his other ankle. The spread made it so he was dangling now, the
wolf whimpering and hitting my face with his tail. I went over to the ratchet and released it, the
wolf slumping down to his knees, split apart. I ratcheted up until he was bent-kneed and shaking,
then returned to his backside. "Will I get the same reaction here?" I slowly felt over the trimmed
fur, stroking up inside the cheeks, feeling the tense of muscle. I stroked deeper, probing his
asshole, fingering it. Then a switch of hands and a swift crack. He barked.
"It t-turns me on Sir, I can't help it! Please don't flog me!"
"You begging sack of shit," I snorted, and started to plainly hit him with the flogger. It was very
substantial, there may have even been a strap of metal between the leather in the middle, but after
a few swipes I was making it bend. The fur damped the sound, making it into a dull thud with a dry
swish of fur on leather.
This act made the wolf so hard his cock stopped drooping down, his pre-cum running down the shaft
until it dripped off the fur of his balls. Really, I didn't expect anyone to be so messy. It made me
hard too, and I took it out. I felt like any touch would set me off, just carefully skinned my cock
back and forth while beating Rake's ass. I slowly started working up from his ass to his lower back,
the wolf's grunts turning into yelps. He flinched and jerked, the shackles rattling at both ends,
whispering and pleading in what I presumed to be Finnish.
I went back to the ratchet and dropped it again, until the wolf's arms were down in front of his
head, shoulders heaving as he breathed, or perhaps sobbed. I wasn't paying attention. I stood behind
him and put a boot between his shoulders, pushing the poor wolf down until his chest was on the
ground, arms stretched up over his head. He helpfully kept his ass up in the air.
"What's this? You need to be fucked?" I probed a few fingers into his hole, finding that it was
surprisingly wet inside. "Did someone come in you before I came over?"
"I f-fucked myself while doing my squats," he mumbled.
That got him another hit from the nasty flogger, except I used it spikes down, and on the back of
his head. He barked and spit on the floor.
Adrian had a tendency to watch porn mostly out of curiosity, so I'd seen plenty of bare backing
videos. I snorted a few times, then spit all over the head of my cock. It was awkward, crouching
like that, but I managed to get on the level and forced myself into the wolf's hole. He was not
tight at all, snug but very accommodating. He groaned as I sunk in, mumbling again.
"Speak English, you dog," I said, and hit him again. He barked and tried to pull away from my cock.
"Why are you so mean? You aren't-"
Fucking with my cock out my fly wasn't working so well, so I took off my belt. With the lack of
anything better to do with it, I strapped it around his muzzle, pulling upwards on both ends like
handles, straining Rake's back. His asshole snugged up, tighter and tighter with each stroke in,
until it started to pump around my cock. The wolf shuddered and groaned, wet slaps of seed hitting
the floor in front of him. It was distracting, knowing that he was shooting off, so much that I
wasn't even aware I lost my own load of seed until I pulled out and found it dripping from my
slicked cock.
Adrian's body was running out of steam.
I took my belt back and put it on, no words exchanged between the wolf and I. Off came the
suspension brace, Rake slumping down onto his hands, muzzle hanging low. He languidly undid the
spreader shackles, then simply slinked off into his bedroom.
I took my leave. No reason to stick around after that sort of thing. Goodbye for now, Rake. Dream of
your abuse.
Sleep. 13