A shower.txt
Fantasies of what could have been, what is almost, and fantasies of what will never be
(Warning contains Yiff so no minors, but that can?t stop them can it now huh?)
By Masterwolf
Ya?know that cold prickly feeling on your back that makes your fur stand on end?
The one traveling to your tail, feels as if spirits of long past linger where you stand?
Making you wish for warmth or another to hold, someone to comfort in the emptiness your soul
It?s the feeling I get every time I imagine I?m with furs of my kin
Or of other cousins long ago
Someone to hold, someone who thinks the world shines out my tail hole, wags theirs at the very sight of me
But the cold doesn?t fade, it lingers; water the essence of compassion, a reprieve to the ice that pricks my fur, leaving rime across the tip of muzzle
So I strip down to my wolf-hood, feeling more of that prickle across my sheath. Noticing the usual tip poking its way through, quickly stepping through the curtain, and turning the hot water full blast are all routine by now, I have it down to a science. Hah ha, HA, a SCIENCE
The water scalds my skin but I don?t care, it feels good. My mind drifts, and I?m lost in a sea of fantasies. Fantasies of what could have been, what is almost, and fantasies of what will never be. So I begin the usual method of pleasures of the flesh, self-pleasure.
I start slow, dreams a nagging flashback. My cock slowly increasing in length, developing its knot. My instincts tell me to pick up the pace, but I don?t want to. I love this feeling; I want it to last. But I do because the illusions disappear if I don?t. And I love those more
I go full force with my motions, the hot water dull warmth on my skin and fur trickling steadily down my tail. Now I?m lost in my imaginings, oblivious to the world. While the pleasures are unique, each new one is better than the last.
But alas it has to end. I shudder and Ahhhah, one, two, three, four, five, no eight times before I tamper off and sounds bring me back to reality. The cold-water hum of the shower, and the doings of others all sound like swords in my heart and it hurts. But I go back each week to the same routine of dreams and fantasies. It gives me comfort to know that these illusions do not judge, nor do they reject me for they are Fantasies of what could have been, what is almost, and fantasies of what will never be