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An Evening at the Estate Chapter 4 of "The Woods", by H. A. Kirsch Copyright 2007 You probably want to read the first four parts, or this won't make much sense. Or you could just skim to the sex parts like everyone else. Thanks to Siphedious for editing, providing feedback, and generally pointing out the weirdness in my writing. --- The club called The House of Moon and Stars was a strangely alluring place. There were other clubs, but HMS was the generic 'dance club and meeting place' for the entire red-light part of The Woods. It had a neat vibe.. A place you could go to drink and meet people. Then sleep with them. In strangely arranged high-class prostitution arrangements in the back rooms. I hadn't done anything since Tad. John was visiting his family back in England, and Rake... Rake wouldn't look at me. The awkward Finnish wolf would talk to me, although he seemed a little shaky. He never made eye contact or even looked at my face after that aborted attempt at a hookup in his bedroom. I even offered him his salvia back, since it made me clumsy. The second time I used it, I bashed my head on a bookcase and put a gouge right through that awful sensitive soft spot right on the top of my head. Once or twice, I caught Rake about to say something and then very quickly clap his mouth shut. At first I thought he was going to attack me. I'd seen a really horrible fight involving a couple wolves once, and they clicked their teeth before trying to bite each other's faces off. I asked him about it and he said he was just trying to keep his place. I didn't know what place he was trying to keep. Back to the club.I found myself getting into the atmosphere despite my wallflower involvement. Wednesdays were 'New Moon' according to their unimaginatively-themed calendar. That translated into goth night, but the entire place was always chill, so it was down-tempo goth. Replace razorblades on guitar strings with ambient horror music scores set to some maddening laid-back beats courtesy of the DJ. To offset the genuine creepies, patrons were strongly encouraged to dress for a Halloween masquerade ball. An odd thing about hybrids, at least odd to me, is that they would seem all too ready to play up their animal sides. Both in terms of real animal nature, which could be really unsettling when you blundered into it by accident, and in silly and unfaithful anthropomorphisms. It made for a fun time. Slinky cats with expensive jewelry, fox thieves, cowboy coyotes, tigers in martial arts wares, wolves in sleeveless plaid shirts and torn jeans. Their human counterparts all seemed to enjoy it, too. They never dressed up as thoroughly, but would fawn over the stereotypes. Except me. I just sat around looking sullen. On such a Wednesday night , I was hanging out on one of the plush velour couches with an Orgasm in hand - that would be kahlua, chocolate liqeuer, and amaretto, as opposed to a handful of jizz -, enjoying the swooning dark mood and mind-altering laser show. During a lull in the set, a fox in a business suit came over. Not just a suit. Not a Wal-Mart suit, like the one I had. Flawless Armani, silk shirt, dress shoes that probably cost as much as my poor Jeep did when it was new. A very red fox, very white under the chin and neck, very black hands. Very familiar. My fingers tightened around my drink. "Hey, nice boots," he said, walking by. I had one of my cowboy boots propped up on a knee. In fact, I had a sort of outfit. Black clingy tee shirt, studded black belt, shrink-fit black Wranglers, and the cowboy boots. It all went nice with the black pony tail and the sharp face, I thought. "Thanks," I said softly. The fox kept going, then stopped and backpedaled. "I've seen you around before. You always wear the same thing." That made me grin, but only one half of my face. "What're you supposed to be?" "A Wall Street stockbroker. Buying and selling my way into money without doing any real work. A true fox, preying on the nest eggs of poor cube-farm chickens." He had a very odd accent despite the good English. European, Scandinavian. Dutch? "I'm just a former goth." "You look sort of sad, sitting here all alone. Can I join you?" "Are you a prostitute?" I scooted over so he could have the choice corner seat of the sofa. He sat down, martini in hand. "Oh, no. I just come here because a lot of my friends do. You smell nice," he said, leaning towards me, nostrils flickering. "Like vanilla ice cream." "Someone told me I smelled like milk. So I started wearing this vanilla coconut cologne. It helps. Who wants to smell like milk?" I finished my drink. "I'm Adrian." "Arjen Lucassen." Glee at being right about who the fox was, mixed with the horror that realization entailed. "I thought you sounded..." I almost said 'foreign', then 'European', and then we both said, "Dutch" at the same time. "So you aren't one of the employees, huh? I guess that's cool. I'm still getting used to this place. I mean, I live here. One day I was just invited to come to this little party thing... this little human-fetish deal. Is it a human fetish, or a hybrid fetish?" "Both, really. Complements. Partitions of the same set." Arjen tipped his ears back. "Sorry, I was a math major at university." I laughed. "That's okay. I did a big art project with a mathematician. Kind of eye-opening. He was really nuts though." Arjen was a surprisingly nice person so far. Very mild-mannered. Redeeming, in a way. He looked over at something and my eyes followed. Someone was waving frantically. "Oh no, I just sat down, too. I hate to be mean but my friends are here," he said, pointing a black finger at a pair of foxes. One was a dirty sort of tawny sand, and the other was pitch black. Neither wore any clothes except for jockstraps. "They're going to take me to a different party. I'd invite you along, but I doubt you'd be interested. Well, I don't know really, what sort of things do you like?" "Uh, long walks on the beach and Neal Diamond?" That got a head-tilt out of the fox. "Yuck, no. Maybe beaches, not Neal Diamond. I know what you mean. I'm kind of inexperienced." Arjen grinned deviously. "Okay, well, you probably don't want to come along with us. They may not even let you in, you aren't exactly a fox. Well, I need to be off or they're going to punish me!" He got up and bowed, grinning like a fool, then scurried off to meet his mostly-naked friends. The whole group made their way to the back hallway. I had a very good idea of what was going to happen to him. I pictured Sean mounting his face and prickled. I pictured him tied up, and found that more amusing, but still gut-churning I pictured him barking and splaying his ears as he got his ass tanned. That made me chuckle outright, and then I couldn't stop, and my grin wrenched its way to a lopsided thing. I started feeling dizzy and squeezed my eyes shut, then sagged down to rest my face in my hands. When I looked up, Tad the snow leopard was standing in front of me. He looked absolutely ridiculous. He was dressed as a circus ringmaster, although in all gray, silver, and black. Knee-high polished foxhunt boots, silver breeches, black double-breasted coat with silver buttons, black riding gloves, even a crop and a top hat. I huffed in surprise and laughed. "Oh my god, Tad? That's an awesome getup." "You should dress up, didn't you say you like all that Gothic stuff?" He poked the riding crop at the floor and 'leaned' on it. I didn't recall saying that, but I wouldn't be surprised. I did like it. "Well... where exactly did you get all that stuff, anyway? Don't tell me your closet is full of circus performer outfits. That's fucked up." He laughed and shook his head. "There's a costumer here, you know. You can rent anything. It's really quite impressive. Run by this guy named Erich." "Huh." The idea of The Woods as a resort seemed to disconnect with the idea of costuming. I shook the thought out of my head, since the place didn't make much sense as it was. "Well, are you going to seduce me again?" "No, I have a better idea. I'm going to introduce you to one of my friends! Come on, stop sitting around waiting for people to sit in your lap." He grabbed me by the hand and pulled. "Who paid you to do this?" "Me, I don't work on New Moons. Come on, at least sit around in a VIP booth with me and this mysterious friend of mine..." He led me to the back of the club, where the VIP rooms wrapped around one of the corners. The middle one was largest, and he stopped next to the curtain and opened it for me. Inside the curtain was a weird little space shaped a bit like an L. I'd been in one of the rooms before, and it was designed so people couldn't see in without there being an actual door. Something about fire code. Tad herded me in through the L and into the main part of the room. There was a big wrap-around sofa around a low coffee table. Sitting on the sofa was a small silver fox dressed like a motocross biker. In all red. He was doing something suspiciously like giving a hand-job to his companion, although I only got a short glimpse. His companion was Sean Ashton. I saw the entire scene the split second the light physically hit my eyes, and immediately backed up into the anteroom. "No way, no way, no way," I hissed to Tad. He held on to me. "What's going on?" the cat whispered. "Apparently I never explained to you that I'm terrified of dogs, nor did I explain that I quit my previous job because my boss was a creep and a very scary dog." "Mmm, so?" Tad just smiled. "That's him!" I pointed through the wall. I tried to push past Tad, but heard voices and froze. Voices: "Now, little fox, don't you have somewhere you ought to be?" More voices: "Uh, well.." and a pause. Creaks of leather. "Oh no! Is it midnight already? Shit, I'm going to be late and you know what they do to late foxes... bye, Mr. Ashton!" I turned just in time to see the red-clad vulpine explode into the hallway. "Ooops, hi Tad, hi random human guy, bye Tad, bye human guy!" I needed to sneeze. Cigar smoke? I stifled it with a cough. "What the hell was that?" I said, then clapped a hand over my mouth. "Now, why do I recognize that voice?" The words boomed out of the room. "That sounds an awful lot like Adrian Cooley. Come in, Mr. Cooley." I looked between Tad and the opening that led to the couches and The Dog. Tad poked me. "Come on, he's very nice, just full of himself." "I already know how he is, and it's not nice!" I whispered. I turned red in the face; I was sure the German Shepherd could hear me with those radar-dish ears. "You are fucking insane," I hissed at Tad again, then stepped into the room. Sean Ashton was indeed sitting on the couch, smoking a cigar. I expected to see him sitting there with his huge dog-cock sticking out of his crotch, but aside from being lumpy, it was quite closed. He had one boot on the coffee table's edge, a black-gloved hand resting on his knee. Wrangler-cut leather pants from the waist down, worn over black cowboy boots, held up by one of his flashy dinner-plate cowboy belts. White shirt, buttoned up half-way, bolo tie with a little piece of topaz at the knot. Black leather vest worn unbuttoned. Cigar. "Hey," was all I could manage as I sat down as close to the entrance as possible. "Let me assure you there was no foul play there with that fox. He was just a little excited over the prospects of his little party and wanted to share it with me." To finish the sentence, Sean puffed at his black cigar. "Now Thaddeus here told me he wanted me to meet a friend, but I didn't expect someone I already knew." I rubbed my neck and switched my ponytail from left to right. "Yeah, well, you can say that again." I felt equal parts embarrassment and fear. Sean had never given me the impression that he liked leather. Seeing him in it, again, made me only wonder just how much my fears were really founded. "I take it you're enjoying this place? The Woods, that is..." He waved a gloved hand. I shrugged. "It's a living." "Ahh, so you're the human who's been living here." I flushed and looked down at the coffee table, then the door. Embarrassment at being reduced to, 'the human'. Then, angry incredulity. How could he not know? Everyone else did. It was like I had a sign that said, "Hi, I'm Adrian, the Human Who Lives here!". Tad took that moment to come in. "Geez, yeah. Great that I'm my own conversation piece." "Tad, my boy, how about another round?" Sean lifted up his glass. "How about a little southern hospitality for old friends? A fine mint julep..." The leopard grinned his catty little grin and headed right back out with a nod. I looked Sean in the nose. I should have looked him in the face, but I didn't want him to attack me for staring. My stomach was busy knotting itself up, a pang of nausea mixed with post-alcohol emptiness. I leaned back and looked at the ceiling, the wall, anything but the dog. "Old friends?" "Well, Mr. Cooley, if you were so bent on us remaining enemies, you shouldn't have sat down!" He laughed, a wall-vibrating barked guffaw before he sucked more smoke out of that damn stogie. Maybe it was the alcohol talking - and recent experiences with John - but my vomitous anxiety was giving way to red-faced anger at his smoking. I didn't mind the smell, but it was more the idea of letting an obvious phallic thing stick out of his mouth, the visceral sound of his teeth and thin black lips accepting it, tongue slapping around inside his mouth, all that smoke drifting out between his fangs- I squinted and rubbed my hair back to the tail knot. I wanted to say that Tad pushed me, but didn't. "I dunno. First, I end up here. Then, while I'm having dinner with a friend, I get some invite to a club where humans go to fuck animals. Then I come back! Then I meet you. What's next, a visit from-" The words that were going to come next eluded me. I was going to say them, and then they just vanished from my mouth. Even the memory of them vanished. I didn't know what I was going to say, which made me confused. I felt dizzy. "Hmm?" Sean casually shifted one boot down to the floor, bringing the other up to his knee. I followed it - it made a nice diversion from his smoking habit. "Nevermind, just a little.. tired I guess." "I'm surprised you left out the fact that this club is only for male animals," he said, grinning as the words came out with his teeth holding that black cigar. "Speaking of which, how's your wife? Sandy, is it?" That made me sputter a laugh. "Wife? FiancÈe. Well, former fiancÈe. Ehh, actually, we just kind of said we might want to get married sometime... she ran off. To Europe." The shepherd took in a deep, chest-ruffing breath and let it out as an mmmm. "I can understand that," he said, then sat upright. "As in, I feel your pain, Mr. Cooley. I had my own personal upheaval recently. I don't suppose you ever met Clifford Baker." When I first started working at Anderson Heavy Marine - that would be where Sean brooded over me - after getting out of art school, I was actually kind of pudgy. It was the college food. I started going to the company gym, and one of the plant managers - Clifford, a tiger the size of a house - would gave me pointers. He was nice, except he didn't want anyone to know that. I'd always thought something was up with him and Sean, but I never quite knew... "Huh. Wow. Hope it wasn't a bad break," I said, for lack of anything better to utter. I wanted to get out a zinger, but then, I also wanted to remain alive. "Let's just say our relationship was a little top-heavy, Mr. Cooley." As he talked, the German Shepherd put a gloved hand down on the ankle of his boot. I saw metal chain trapped between black and black, spotted the spur rowel at the back, the underslung heel, the squared sharp toe. A far cry from the modest boots he always tromped around at the office with. I started getting antsy and wished Tad would show up with the drinks. Just as I was realizing what 'top-heavy' meant, I got my wish. Tad showed back up, carrying a serving tray. He had it in both hands, not all tricky balanced on his palm. Down went two juleps, then his own martini-esque drink. It smelled like vodka, apple, and caramel. "Hope I'm not crashing the party," the leopard said, sitting down next to me. He pulled up a tall riding boot and propped it heel-down on the cushion next to me, then leaned on the knee. I found myself looking up the shaft, and quickly grabbed my drink. "Thaddeus, you'll never be crashing one of my parties. Make Adrian here feel a little more comfortable." I looked between the two. Something was happening, and I didn't want to be oblivious of it. I was the center of attention. I didn't mind that from Tad for some reason - maybe it was because he was essentially paid to pay attention to everyone. Nothing he could do to either of us meant anything. Sean, on the other hand, was not innocent. He could have even been paying Tad. The idea made me feel gross inside. Tad started gently stroking my shoulder, my neck, my chest. "So, ah, this is kind of surreal. I have the mad hatter here, and my ex-boss-" "Please, just call me Sean," the dog requested through his cigar and drink. "Okay, well, Sean... I don't really know what to say. I guess," I took a deep breath, turned sensitive by the minty blast of the drink, the room a swoon around me, gloved leopard-hands touching me everywhere except where it mattered most, "I guess I'm sorry for blowing up and quitting." The apology made me giggle. "Apology accepted," he said, and toasted me with his glass. "I apologize for being an overbearing, smug mutt. I've actually seen that on evaluations. I can tell you that thanks to our shift in relationship. The person who made that evaluation was much more of a firebrand than you ever were." I should have been panicking. I should have been excusing myself to use the restroom, crouching on the toilet while my insides turned themselves sideways and upside-down, curling up in the corner at home. Every time the panic rose, I just batted it down with a buzzed swat. I decided to change the subject, partly because Tad's drink was overpoweringly smelly. "What exactly are you drinking?" "Caramel apple martini," he smiled, and offered it to me. I took a sip of it. He was exactly right. No subtlety - it was the sort of thing that you probably got at a chain restaurant. "Huh." "You know..." he said, his black-clad hand moving over my chest. "Maybe I ought to leave you two alone. You know, catch up a little." I wanted to tell Tad that catching up implied we were friends, which we weren't. I was having a hard time thinking of Sean as an enemy though. He seemed willing to make good. Then, my mind swung the other way. He had a thorn in his paw, that was it. But, I was afraid. But, he was Sean Ashton, the person who reduced me to barking out my fear of dogs in the middle of a heated discussion in front of the entire crew at work. But, I was the one who was afraid of dogs. Sean was just the dog. "Well..." "Considering they wouldn't put doors on these little suites, Thaddeus, it might be a good idea. Keep some energetic young man from busting in here, tweaked and looking for a watering hole." Another cloud of smoke out over the table. I knew the reason for why there weren't doors. I didn't want to blurt it out because knowing fire code doesn't make you look interesting. Tad smiled, stood up, and clopped out of the room. He seemed proud to be wearing his silly ringleader costume, plush tail swaying as he disappeared into the hallway. "Be frank, Mr. Cooley. And I call you that because I always call people by what seems best. What exactly was it that really bothered you about me? Besides the canine nature." I brought my drink up, but it was already gone. That would explain the heat of the room and the tingle between my legs that constantly reminded me that I had a cock. "Well... you're kind of, you hover. You'd always come by and see what I was working on. I don't really like that. I don't goof off at work. You'd say stuff too, like a kindergarten teacher. 'Oh, did you paint the sky green? The sky's supposed to be blue.' I mean, not just like that." I flushed. Not a blush, but the heat of liquor. "I always thought you were pretty smug, too. Always telling stories, getting in some sharp word." Another puff from that half-burnt cigar. "Well, now, I will admit to being smug. Go on." There wasn't anything more to go on about, except for the rest of the truth. I fidgeted. "You never said you were, you know. Gay. I mean you really didn't. But you said a lot of things that sounded like... you were making, uh," I looked all over the lounge, trying to figure the right word out, trying not to see the dog's reaction. "Like you were trying to, to hit on me?" Saying it was a sudden explosion of relief, even if it made me embarrassed. At least I said it. Maybe he would just laugh it off. Sean laughed, and it stung me. It was one of those hearty laughs that sounded well-meaning, but was probably just looking down at me. My dominant memory of him was the shepherd towering over me, looking down with a grin, laughing and turning on heel to walk away. "Now Mr. Cooley, I wouldn't do that. I wasn't born dumb. I know where the lines are, I know where to walk. No one would take kindly with one of my kind in that sort of relationship." The stone at the center of my panic finally came out as a pebble. "Oh. Well." I felt like if I hadn't been sitting on the couch already, I would have sat down weak from relief. Part of me told the other parts that, of course Sean the German Shepherd wouldn't admit to wanting to fuck me while he was writing my paycheck. Even if it was the past tense. "Every time you called me into your office," I said, laughing a little nervous laugh, "I wondered if you were going to lock the door and close the blinds. You know, so people wouldn't see when... I guess it seems pretty stupid now that I think about it." Sean was silent for a few moments, a pensive sort of look on his face. Furrowed dark brow, muzzle totally closed, cigar hanging from a gloved hand. Then he quietly said, "I don't think it's stupid at all." I stared him in the eye. "What?" He took a calculated puff off smoke. "Well, if we're going to put things in the past, I'm going to tell you that even though I wouldn't actually have done anything... let's say the thought did cross my mind. Wishful thinking." I wanted to call him an ass, but at the same time, he'd asked me what I feared and I'd told him.. I told him that I was afraid he would try to have sex with me. It was just desserts. I nervously tried to suck the last of the water out of my glass, the ice cubes stuck at the bottom. I jostled it and they all rushed to my face, making me sneeze. One of them escaped and landed on my boot. I pulled it up onto the couch to wipe the water off. Pythons seemed waterproof, but that was while they were alive. The whole motion wasn't something I really thought about, a little tic. When I looked up, the dog was all teeth. "Mr. Cooley, I have to say, you have a fine pair of boots there," he leaned back, his own boot on a knee sliding off to prop on the table again. I looked between it and mine. "Really? I got them back in my senior year of high school," I said, mouth growing sore as I chewed on the ice. "I got them at a garage sale. My mom thought I was crazy. I wasn't you know, into country music or anything." "Would you mind if I had a closer look?" He asked. Against my better judgment, I stuck my leg across the table. Sean leaned over, carefully dangling the cigar out of the way, his shirt opening up to expose butterscotch chest. I'd never had anyone inspect any part of me before, at least anyone who wasn't a doctor. "Mmm. You keep these in good shape. Snake skin's always interesting, very unusual texture.." Then he felt my foot. I twitched inside the boot, but didn't yank away, watching his black-clad fingers move over the black snake. It stopped short of an overtly sexual caress, more like someone inspecting a fine sword. "Well, I guess so. I actually forgot I had them until recently. Thanks." "I happen to be, well, you could say I'm quite fond of boots," the dog beamed, all smug. "I'm sure you probably noticed... these aren't exactly the most common," he hiked up the leather of his pants cuff a little. For the six or so inches, there was just glossy black leather underneath. From the way the hide settled against the rest of his leg, the boot had to be knee high. "They look... fancy." "Mmm. I'm sure you mean expensive, and like all good collections, they're a big pain in the wallet. Really, Mr. Cooley, staying somewhat on topic, I have to say I'm quite find of leather in general. Not the sort of thing you were expecting to hear, I bet." I wiped some water off my chin, using it as an excuse to keep myself from saying something like, "Actually..." All I really said was, "Not really. But I guess I'm not surprised... what with the pants, and uh, gloves and all that." "You like the look?" The answer to that question was starting to sound like 'yes'. My revulsion was transforming into lust. Sean's leather pants didn't leave much to the imagination, and the fact that I'd already seen his cock meant there wasn't much imagination left. "Sure. I guess leather always looks sharp." "Well, Mr. Cooley, you betray yourself," he shifted, then stood up. I was expecting some comment about my smell. "And I'm sure you know what I'm talking about." He sat down next to me, gloved hand tromping onto my shoulder. All I could smell was leather, liquor, cigar smoke, and his meaty breath. "I guess it's more than good, I mean-" "Now, you and I both know how we used to feel when we had to work together. Now that there are no more rules about what one can and cannot do with one's superior or subordinate... maybe we ought to get what we both want." The fact that I'd thought about Sean taking me into his office and locking the door while he pulled something off, the fact that I'd sat red-faced and cowered by my desk after thinking that, the fact that after all that fear of dog crap I just ended up getting fucked by John... everything was one big red herring, sitting there and rotting on the table. This time, there was no stand-in. I wasn't taking care of my fear of someone else by practicing on my Belgian shepherd friend. Sean was the end of the road. I looked down at his crotch, the oddly-shaped lump of his cock pushed off to the side under that smooth leather. It was like looking at John's lap when he wore his leather pants, except this dog was noticeably larger. He reached down with a gloved hand and moved mine over a few inches, then started undoing the buttons of his fly. Soon I was staring down into a dark hole with reddish flesh and tawny fur. I slid my hand inside, watching as my knuckles disappeared, then came into view as relief in the leather. He was big, big enough that it was shoved off to the side. I couldn't actually feel all the way to the end of his cock; the leather was snug enough that it grew impossible to fit my hand in on top of his shaft more than halfway down. I started to pull it out of the pants, watching the tube bulge move and curve. I looked up to Sean's face, and saw him looking up and off, eyes half-lidded, teeth grippedaround his cigar, gloved fingers fondling the tobacco. He didn't care. Of course he really *did* care, or else he wouldn't be erect enough that it was hard to get his dick out of his pants. He let out a grunt and shifted himself as the shaft sprang out, the red meat throbbing and filling up. I wish I could describe the shape better - fat in the middle, narrowing near the head, flaring out somewhat at the very end, the head flat and concave, sloped to a fat and blunt point which held a glistening drop of fluid. Below the middle it narrowed, then widened again with that obscene knot, which barely stuck out of his pants. Without looking at me, he reached down and pulled his balls out as well, letting them sit on the black leather, two gray orbs. The flesh was sweaty and surprisingly heavyweight, and as I felt along it, the fluid spread around to slick it up. It was very much like John's, just so much larger. Quite possibly a foot long, but as artistic as I am, I'm no good at eyeballing numbers. I know it wobbled, so unlike a real dog's. That struck me as an odd thing to notice, getting odder as his black-gloved fingers held around the knot, shook the shaft a little, glided up and down. The display made me feel weak, leaning down helplessly, kissing the wet tip. Salt and meat. I'd never gone down on someone with a normal human cock - although I had played with Sandy's very realistic dildo a few times out of curiosity - but I still had some feeling that I was expecting something different. I took the drooling length in, felt my lips glide down the wet skin, and I just kept going. It poked me in the back of the throat and I choked, pulling away, spit flowing out onto Sean's cock. The dog gripped me by the shoulder and massaged, glove leather brushing my skin here and there at the nape of my neck. I went down further, the head bumping my throat again, and I tried to relax. It slid in, decidedly uncomfortable, lips bumping the fat bulge of his knot. I opened up further and my nose pushed against the leather of his fly, then fur. "Now, Mr. Cooley, you don't have to do *that*..." he said, voice dripping with smirk. He was wrong; I had to do it. I needed to, and I didn't have a clue why. Something had flipped in my head, like a switch going off. Instead of fear and heart-pounding anxiety, I just needed to pleasure him. It was a vaguely distant feeling, mixing up with the weird focus of having a dick in my mouth. I could only handle the deep-throating for just a few moments before I very nearly threw up, but I kept on going, more than enthusiastic. Now and then, I'd make some horrible slurping sound and stop, ears turning red, only to pull off and kiss, suck at the head. I clutched at Sean's leg, feeling the smooth leather, the muscle under it. When I opened my eyes, I was staring down at those polished black cowboy boots. The whole thing was very erotic in a way that I had never experienced, yet so familiar, tempered with the flush of alcohol and resignation. I had feared for several years that some day, Sean would make me do something. Here I was, doing it, with only a little goading and no strings attached. I slowly sunk down, until I was lying on my left side, stretched out on the couch, holding his balls in one hand as I sucked and caressed with my mouth. All I could smell was musk, sweat, fur, leather, and that sour smell of spit. While I worked, he stroked my shirt, pulling it up to feel my chest. It only gave me more of a tingle straight down to my balls, made me suck hard enough that my tongue burned. His hand dropped down, the warm leather unzipping my fly, pulling my cock out, pumping the skin back and forth. My lips slid off his cock-head, just brushing it, kissing at it while I played with the rest of the length. I wrapped my fingers around his knot and started to tug and pump. Sean responded with a sharp intake of breath, then a low grunt, his body stiffening and shifting underneath me. Within seconds, hot salt was spraying against my lips, then into my mouth. I tried to gulp the cloying mess down, mostly succeeding before it was just a trickle. I pulled off, watching the last of his climax push out of that animal dick, and came hard. I squeezed my eyes shut and arched back into his stomach and chest, pushing into his gloved fingers until my cock was sore. When I opened my eyes, his upper thighs were splattered with white seed. I sat up. "Shit. Sorry," I mumbled, the heated and dizzying moment brought back to stinging reality. I started taking off my shirt. "You don't need to clean it up, Adrian. That was my fault," he said, and shifted sideways, pulling a white handkerchief out of his back pocket. He mopped up the mess, then tossed the hanky onto the coffee table. While I had been pleasuring him, I couldn't pay attention to anything else except the feel of flesh sliding in my mouth, the feel of his leathers, the feel of his hand touching my cock and gripping it so hard. As soon as it was done, reality rushed back in, the room feeling slightly claustrophobic, the music rattling in my head, the smells... I wasn't sure what to do, so I groped for my drink and chewed on an ice cube, putting my cock back into my pants. Unlike the shepherd's leathers, there was no easy way to erase the dark, white-rimmed blotches on my jeans. After swallowing the ice, I dumped the rest of the water on my lap. "Oops, I guess I spilled a drink on myself," I said, chuckling out of one side of my mouth. "I'll be completely honest, Mr. Cooley. I was not expecting this.. I was actually thinking of accompanying my friend Arjen to the party that other fox ran off to.. I'd be a third wheel with all those foxes, but on the other hand..." He leaned back and took a few long puffs of his cigar, lazily rearranging his lap. Then he stood up. "I think I'm tired to listening to all that bass from out there. How about you?" I shrugged. "I really just come here for something to do. I don't really like people, but I try, you know?" My stomach roiled somewhat, and I couldn't get the taste of pennies and chlorine out of my mouth. And garlic. I got a full set of dog-teeth in response. "Well now, I suppose you could come along if you want..." "Come along?" My head felt thick inside. "Oh. The party? I think I'll go see what's going on outside." "Mmmhmm. It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Cooley. On much better terms." That made me scowl at the wall as I headed out of the lounge. I spilled out into the club, surrounded by the lush, throbbing beat of some choice down-tempo dark music. I wandered over to the bar and got myself another drink, then wandered back to the VIP area. In the corner next to room I'd just been in, was a big dish couch, and on the couch was Tad the ringleader snow leopard. Sprawled all over Tad was a salon-tan human with tacky bleached and highlighted hair, in a fancy club shirt and PVC pants. Tad's gloved hands were giving the man's chest a working-over, while they very openly mingled their tongues. If Tad had been sent outside to guard the door from people wandering in, he was doing a very bad job of it. The make-out session started traveling downwards, the human opening up Tad's breeches, pink cock sprouting out of the fly, then disappearing into hollowed-out cheeks. I felt a twinge of discomfort, not jealousy, but shock at the fact that he'd do it in public. I wandered around the club, the twinge inside turning into a rotting sensation. Whatever had taken over my head while I was sucking on my worst enemy had cleared like a fog when the sun came out. Tad and the human were not the only couple. On another couch, a large tiger dressed like a sea pirate was very obviously burying himself in a half-naked black man clutching the arm of the couch. There was nothing really visible, but I don't think it was just frottage. Everywhere I looked, something was going on. Subdued usually, scuttled into darkness, bodies oriented so no one really saw anything. I felt hot and unpleasant, realizing for the first time that The House of Moon and Stars was really a sex club, that despite its weird atmosphere, it was just one big piece of foreplay. I'd fallen into its trap two times already, and I felt like the sheer weight of things would crush me if I tried to make it out to the door. I was in a brothel, a whorehouse, a hookup joint. I headed back towards the bathroom, then dodged and went into the back hallway. I knew what I was walking into, but I also had it to get out. The brothel area was surprisingly empty, but if I stopped near any door, I could hear talking at the least. I rounded a corner and burst through what I thought was the door to one of the outside hallways, but found myself exploding into a fairly large room. The inside was nearly all shades of red, even lit in a sort of orange dusky glow. It was full of foxes. Arjen, the two from earlier, the motocross fox, and several others who didn't look familiar. I couldn't quite tell how many, or what was going on, except that it was very sexual. One of them was tied up and being 'tortured', in a very mild sort of way, and the room stank. It smelled gamy, musky, like a zoo. A zoo for foxes. When I had been sucking Sean off, or even John, all I could feel was my lips moving up and down the length of slick, hot flesh. That was the only feeling. Now, with the smell of fox, the only thing that existed was the inside of my nose. It was a terrible, profound kind of deja-vu. There was something So Very Wrong about a room full of foxes like that, something that I didn't understand at all. I saw something in my head to go along with the smell, foxes and metal and the sounds of yowling, barking. Antsiness welled up inside, like crossing a dark basement as a little kid, the kind of excited terror when you make it to the stairs and run up to the safety of the rest of your house. I bolted. I don't think any of them even saw me. I just burst in and burst back out, tearing off down the hallway, making it out the real door into the well-lit interior of The Woods. I felt very sick, my stomach aching, nausea and knots and cramps and everything. I sucked down something stupid like four full hits of pot and collapsed into bed to sleep. I had another dream. The same, recurring dream that had been starting to plague me. The wooded clearing, the metal cage, looking out at a hard-breathing four German Shepherd with a blood-stained muzzle. I found myself saying something, something like, "now your hands are stained black," to the dog. Of course they were black - it was a German Shepherd! Like before, I couldn't see the thing the dog had devoured. I knew if I tried to get closer, something would happen to me, but I couldn't help but crawl out of the cage, nearing the blank void. I looked at my own hands, clad in black leather. The dog was standing there, cock exposed from its sheath, twitching and spitting clear fluid onto the dirt. I woke up covered in bong water, having somehow managed to throw myself out of bed onto the floor, knocking the pipe off my nightstand. Son of a fucking bitch. * * * The next night, Thursday after work, I came out of the shower to find my cell phone blinking. The message? "If you need anything, perhaps nicer clothes, I'm sure my good friend Daven could help you. You'll find him at the far end of Willow." The message was from Sean. I prickled, trying to recall how he got my number. The message was ridiculous, like a line from a video game that offhandedly tells you the next objective. So ridiculous that I had to investigate. The name was familiar. I put some clothes on and wandered out for some dinner and a little investigation. I reached the retail edge of Willow, the only publicly presentable part of what I was coming to know as a very private area. I was gradually figuring out that Willow as a whole was the 'red light district' of the resort. Lingerie and adult novelty shops, the area cordoned off so minors wouldn't accidentally get past the security guards. No one even batted an eye as I walked in. I was definitely right about the name; smack in the middle of the row of shops, across from a fountain, was, "Leather by Daven". It looked fairly unassuming from outside, nothing particular racy, just mannequins in the window dressed in high-end fashion leather. As I stepped inside, I was assaulted by the rich, buttery musk smell of tanned leather. The floor was wood, my New Rocks thumping against it as I walked in. I felt strange, making the slow connection that the sound of a heel on wood was probably intentional. There was as much leather in the shop as in that strange leather room, the end result the same but the context different. Behind the glass counter - which housed expensive belts and gloves - was a weasel with a ponytail and a sharp black suit. Oddly enough, the suit was not leather. "Let me see, let Daven the leather-smith see what fits you," he said, and slinked out, quickly rushing up to me with a tape measure. I froze and lifted my arms like I was being arrested. "Hi? I'm just looking, really," I mumbled. Daven was very weaselly, rail-thin and pointy-faced, with bony slender hands that didn't seem to mind invading my personal space. "Looking eh? I bet I know who you are. A certain proud canine told me you might be coming by." "What? How-" "Adrian, is it? Humans are always the odd ones out around here, especially ones in goth-couture clunky and very old-school boots and a tail-" He flicked my hair. "I dunno, you're measuring me? There's no way I can afford getting anything tailored. I haven't even looked around." I was simultaneously taken aback and amused. Oh, and shit, Sean said something. It made me mad. "I always want to keep a profile, ready for anything, helps me know how to help you, eh?" Daven was not European. I would have pegged him for Canadian, but maybe Minnesota. After a good three minutes of feeling over and groping me, he scurried back to the counter. "Now look, look all you want, try on anything... " I nodded and wandered around. I wasn't sure what I wanted, so I settled into a section that seemed to be mostly pants. Leather pants are a safe bet, especially for anyone who ever goes to a nightclub. The House of Moon and Stars, for instance. Riding breeches, carpenter's pants, shorts, slacks, bell bottoms, vintage, Gothic, cowboy, chaps, biker leathers. I would have felt like a kid in a candy store, except I didn't like candy. This was not Wilson's Made-in-Pakistan Leather. One particular pair stood out precisely because they were so simple. Cut like jeans, glossy and supple heavy leather, jet black with silver hardware, button fly. I held them up to my legs, then wandered over to where Daven was at the counter. "Hey, do you have a fitting room?" I held up the pants. "Mmm, those are fine, very nice for ready to wear, very well made. Right there, those black curtains!" He pointed a slender finger. I made my way over and sequestered myself, ditching my boots and jeans, pulling the pants on. They were lined in smooth leather, something soft and luxurious like lambskin. It was close and warm, but also very exhilarating to pull on. I had to carefully shove my hard-on off to the side, and even then it was plainly obvious. Looking in the mirror, the pants clung to me like a pair of cowboy jeans. I stripped them off and came back out to Daven's counter. "How much? There uh, isn't a tag..." I said, fumbling with the pants. "Well, since you come with a recommendation... two-fifty, even. With tax and all that." I whistled. "Damn." I processed the dollar amount for a few moments, pulled out my phone to check my bank balance, then shrugged. "Why not? Can I leave them here? I'm going on a splurge." The funny thing is, when I first saw how much money I had, I simply processed what I could afford without running out of food. I felt a creeping excitement, and soon I was seeing what I could manage to get with my money. A pair of lambskin ventilated driving gloves, a nearly-medieval black lace-side leather vest, the pants. Daven wasn't anywhere to be seen, and I poked around. I found him up at the front, flipping the sign over. "Oh, I close early on Thursdays. It's my big work day in back, eh?" He grinned at me, holding all the gear like a lost puppy. "You don't have to rush, I won't throw you out. Go, try on some more stuff, see what it all looks like." "Uhh, sure thing," I said, and kept wandering around. I eventually ended up in the changing closet again. What a salesman. I stripped down, then skinned the pants on, taking a moment to tuck the cuffs down over my boots. They barely fit like that; maybe they were supposed to go inside, but my boots looked goofy that way. Then the vest, which fit snugly, sitting just above the back of the pants, the front lapels a little over the belt. And the skin-tight gloves, squeaking a little when I flexed my hands. I smoothed down the vest, and felt a weird quiver inside me. Looking in the mirror, I started feeling a little depersonalized. Like I was looking at someone else. Someone familiar. I could hear Daven banging around up by the register. "Hey there, are you going to pay by credit? I just need to know so I can count down the money or wait..." "Yes," was all I said. The voice was a little dark as I pumped it up to get heard across the store. I was going out of my mind. I wanted to sneak over and drag Daven back into the changing closet. I finally managed to take everything off, pull my own clothes on, and barge out into the halogen spotlights of the store. The otherworldly creeps gave way to the embarrassment of carrying leather pants, a vest, and skin-tight gloves up to the cash register. One minute, I was wandering around "The Woods". Thirty minutes later, I was going home with four hundred dollars in a black shopping bag. By the time I reached the Ash halls, I was trotting, rushing to the door and bursting inside. The feeling was the same feeling you might get if you were afraid of the dark and had to cross the expanse of your own backyard in pitch black. I started feeling sick to my stomach, dizzy and headachey again. I wanted to put on the leather, see what I looked like, do something, jack off, maybe... the final option was in front of me like a blank spot, like I couldn't divine what it was. I stuffed the bag into my closet and lit up, trying to shake my nerves. I was awake before I knew I was asleep. * * * Saturday morning, a phone call woke me up. I knocked my phone off the nightstand, fumbling with it until I realized it wasn't ringing. The MessageBox was. It was this little panel in the wall over the nightstand, the one part of the room that wasn't movable. It replaced any sort of typical phone, and also let me see who was at the door. I pushed the blinking call indicator. "Did I wake you, Mr. Cooley?" The voice was the deep, syrupy drawl that could only be produced by one dog. Mumbled up too, probably thanks to a damn cigar. "Yeah, I sleep in sometimes." "Tonight I'm having a fine dinner, and I realized that perhaps you might like to come by, see my place, have a few drinks. On me, of course." Would I have been more comfortable if Sean charged a cover for his own party? "Uh, dinner? Wait, your place?" "One of my..." he paused and added verbal quotation marks, "...friends is quite the chef. Despite being German, he's taken up good old-fashioned Southern cooking quite well." I was starving. "Great. You remembered that I'm bribable by food. You said your place? Your place? Where? Back in Petoskey?" There was a dark, heavy laugh from the other side of the phone. "No, Mr. Cooley, my place here. I've had a change of career, as well as a death in the family. It just so happens the career brought me to the same place as the inheritance." There was a mansion at the far edge of the resort grounds. I'd overheard the name "Ashton" in reference to it, but I assumed it was something related to the company that owned "The Woods". I must have been in denial, because my bad gut feelings came back. . "Well. That's... unusual." "I can tell you all about it if you decide to come by. I would dress smartly, Mr. Cooley, but I don't have any specific requirements for your company. It would, however, be a shame for you to show up in a pair of battered jeans." "What time?" "5 p.m, maybe a shade later." Sean was definitely smoking a cigar - I could hear him puffing at it. "Well, I'll let you go back to your beauty-sleep," he said, chuckling, and the phone clicked off. Surprisingly enough, I actually fell back asleep. I woke up around three in the afternoon, feeling like the whole exchange was a dream. The message panel didn't lie though - Sean had called me at exactly 11:12 a.m. There was another message, instructions on how to get to Sean's place. I managed to get it onto my cell phone. Dress smartly, huh? I stared at the black plastic bag I'd brought home from the leather store. I wasn't sure what would happen if I went to see Sean wearing black leather pants. I wasn't even sure why I agreed to go to his place. I had to explain it away as the promise of food, morbid curiosity, a lack of getting out of my own apartment... Sean would have wanted me to wear the pants, too. It was his idea to get them. That would be doing what he wanted, but I already did what he wanted. It was even what I wanted, or had to want. As I pulled them out of the bag, my cock throbbed so hard that it hurt. As I pulled the pants on, I didn't even bother buttoning up the fly. I just stood there, looking in my mirror, jacking off red-faced. I got off so fast that it was just a sticky drool onto my fingers. I dumped myself into the shower and tried to distract myself. What to do for two hours? I had a snack - some weird fishy crackers I picked up at an Asian market who knows how long ago - then had a shower, then puttered around at my perpetual mural project. A good forty minutes before dinner, I got dressed and went on my way. Japanese dragon club shirt, leather pants, black snake cowboy boots. I felt like I was running the gauntlet, except no one was there to see me through. In a way, this awful proposition was a breath of fresh air, because I really never left the resort. I just hung around inside, digging through the bowels of the building, jacking off and painting, eating takeout, getting high and sleeping too much. I found myself next to John's door. The shortest way to Sean's home involved walking through much of the actual resort housing, which meant a possible encounter with my friend. I didn't want to be early, so I knocked on the door. John answered wearing an apron; the apartment smelled like meat. "Well, look who's all dressed up for a Saturday afternoon. Get in here," the dog grinned, and tugged me inside. "What's the rush?" I asked, milling around the dog's posh living room, then wandering towards the kitchen. John hurried back to whatever he was doing, which apparently involved a big slab of prime rib searing in a pan. I had no real idea that he cooked until that moment. "Got a bloody good deal on all kinds of meat. I have half a cow between here and Petoskey. Isn't that odd? Who gets half of a cow?" "Huh." I stood around, watching the Belgian shepherd flip the steak over a few times, then shove it into the oven on a roasting pan. Seeing John in an apron was silly, especially since he was completely naked underneath it. I got a nice look at his rump and tail while he puttered. The dog then undid the ties and tossed the apron onto the counter and rushed me. I squeaked and he backed me up against the wall. "Now. You have been quite a lot of scarce lately," he said, holding me against the wall. It was a friendly sort of gesture, like a dog excitedly jumping up on a person, hands on my shoulders. I was so taken aback that I couldn't really do anything except stare at him. He'd always been random, and this was just another example, except his randomness had never involved 'affection' until the end of summer when we had our first encounter. "I uh, I've been busy?" "Crawling around the guts of this place, eh?" He backed off a little, leaning back while pressing his hips up against me, transforming the attack dog into a horny house-pet. "Yeah, I guess. And art. And some other stuff," I said. I felt torn in half, part of me wanting to turn my face away in disgust, the other part wanting to meet his head-on. That part won when he pushed forward, tongue licking at my lips. We were kissing before I knew what was happening, although kissing a dog is hardly like a person. Tongue, teeth, meaty breath. He actually drew my tongue out of my mouth when he pulled back, making me drool and wipe my face. "Taking fashion tips from me too, eh?" He said, indicating my leather pants by giving me a rather solid pull away from the wall by a belt loop. "I thought I'd do something different," I shrugged. "I uh, uh, I don't have a lot of time. I just was walking past. I'm kind of on my way to a dinner party." "Aww, no prime rib for you?" He said, as I squirmed out of his grasp. I was getting hard in my pants, and it wasn't what I wanted. All of a sudden, I actually wanted to be in the company of Sean, and it made me deathly afraid of myself. I didn't want John to see me that way, shrinking into my own confusion. "Anyone I know?" "Well..." "Come on, out with it," he said, petting at my chin before wheeling away and stalking off to the bathroom. He washed his hands, then tossed on a pair of boxer shorts. "Here, I'll put on something, less nerves for you. Keep forgetting you don't walk around naked so much." "I don't know if I should really say. You don't, uh, you don't know him." "Nervous, eh? Is he another dog? Now I'm jealous," he said playfully. That stung a little, but the sting dissolved in an internal growl. My head started to hurt, and I grabbed my forehead, brushing my hair back. "Okay, fine. Actually, it's another dog. You'll never guess. You're going to think this is crazy. It's..." John rubbed at his chin, ears sort of splaying over to the side as he thought, head tilted like a pet someone was talking to. I interrupted his silent guessing. "It's Sean Ashton." He stared at me. "You have to be bloody kidding," he whispered. "It turns out he comes up here a lot?" I said, fooling around with my ponytail. "I ran into him at a, urm, club. He invited me to dinner. I think he wants to bury the hatchet." John stood with a hand on his hip. "Bury it where, in the back of your neck? I thought you hated him! Isn't he why you quit?" "He makes a terrible boss. He's like that teacher in school everyone's afraid of. But I guess he's not so bad outside of work... or something..." I felt myself turning red. I felt like a fool. "Hff. Well, I thought you hated dogs and only tolerated me because, well, I don't really know why. I assumed you were trying really hard." "I was, I was, I hate feeling that way!" I looked around; I had only ten minutes now. "Oh crap, I gotta get going. I don't know what's going to happen if I show up late," I said, then clapped a hand over my mouth. He stared at me. "I think you're off your food or something, Adrian. Don't let him try anything. I remember all those stories you told me about him. This better be some networking exercise." "Yeah, yeah... okay..." I made my way to the door, and gave him a longing kind of look before getting on my way. I felt like someone else's puppet, or like a tragedy waiting to happen with John as my canine chorus. The Ashton Estate, according to my little map, was at the absolute farthest reaches of the Village, where anyone with big money had their free-standing home. It was a fair walk, but nothing too out of the question. There was a rise of a little playing field in front of it, a sort of over-sized berm which led to a fancy Southern garden. When I crossed the berm, I stopped in my tracks. My parents were poor, and I'd never had much money myself. The idea of an 'Estate' was just something hanging around in my head, like having your own jet. The kind of thing that people had in Harbor Springs, big houses in the hills. This was an immense landscaping effort that lead to a pond, a circle drive up to the side of it, a lawn, then a wide staircase for the grand door of a mansion. Something did not make a lot of sense. While Sean was in charge of the facilities department for a fairly big company back in Petoskey, he didn't seem to be the mansion type. The garden continued around toward the side of the house, the lawn narrowing until the garden met up with a patio. I could make out a pair of ears over some landscape flowers, and started in that direction, meeting up with a stone path. The ears swiveled my way. The sight of those radar-dish ears moving my way turned me self-conscious, hesitating and stopping. I could just imagine Sean sitting there, rubbing his undoubtedly leather-covered crotch while he puffed on a cigar... I felt abruptly dizzy, a flash of something in my mind making my knees cave together. I couldn't help it and crouched down, grunting and shoving my head between my knees, staring down at the stone, my boot toes. Thoughts faded in and out. Rock... rock... well, my boots are pretty nice, to be honest... I heard boot clacks coming down the path. "Mr. Cooley, you look very unwell," Sean's voice boomed. I stood up, getting dizzy. "What? Oh, hi. Actually, I just thought I saw something..." There was no avoiding the dog as he walked toward me. "Are you sure you're feeling fine? You look awfully pale." I nodded. "Well, I'm starving. I haven't eaten all day." This was true, and I'd been tempted by John's culinary arts on the way. "You know, starve before the feast?" The large shepherd put an arm around my shoulders, all friendly-like, and guided me back towards the patio. By 'friendly', it was really more patronizing and horrifying. The first thing I thought of when he touched me was how he touched me the other night at the club. "I'm sure we can take care of that. I'm glad you decided to come over, Adrian." The patio was furnished with a few ornate painted metal tables, one of them set off in the open, the others seemingly stored and covered against the far side. The inviting table was a strange kind of marbled green and dark blue, and featured an ashtray with a cigar burning in it, a drink to the side. Julep, mojito, something like that. The shepherd motioned for me to sit, and I took him up on it with a thud. It felt nice to not be wobbling around like an idiot. Looking around, I realized that there was a fox standing nearby, at the edge of the patio. I would have assumed he was a butler by his stance, but he was completely naked. "Uh," I said, and tried to indicate the fox without pointing. "Ahh, I suppose you want a drink. Now, you can have what you want, but Arjen there has taken to the fine Southern tradition of the mint julep very well." "I guess that sounds good. Sure. It's warm out anyway," I said meekly as realization came: Arjen. Of course, I'd seen him the night before... I felt stupid for not recognizing him naked, since that's the way I'd first laid eyes on him. My head felt foggy as I thought about what had happened, like it had been some sort of bad dream. Sean sat and leaned back. "Now Adrian, I apologize for the other night. I realize you may not have been the sort for that kind of scene." I balked and froze. Scene? Which one? "Uh, wait, what scene?" Stupid feeling, again. Did he mean what he did to me after sending Arjen outside to 'keep guard'? "My boy Arjen tells me you blundered in on their little party," Sean said. "Then very quickly blundered out." "Oh, well, I didn't want to interrupt." I desperately wished I had that drink already, but the fox was nowhere in sight. Sean finished his, setting it down with a clunk. Unsurprisingly he was wearing black jeans and one of his pairs of simple black cowboy boots, along with a white dress shirt. The top three buttons were open, showing off tawny chest. "Mmm. I see that you took my advice," he said, yellow eyes looking down straight to the ground, with me in-between. They came back up, his black lips pulled back in a smile. I looked down as well. "Oh, uh, the pants. Yeah, I'd been wanting a pair of leather pants for a while. Just never, you know, made the investment. I thought it was kind of an odd sugg- He cut me off. "I would have to say it was a very wise investment, Mr. Cooley." The dog picked up his cigar, taking a languid series of puffs from it, the ash glowing by the last one. He let smoke curl out from his teeth into a little cloud, then puffed out, sending the cloud up and off to the side like a little mushroom. I tried not to make a face at that display, but I could feel a little hot disgust inside. Show-off, part of me thought. The other part liked it, and I pinned my legs together out of shame. I looked past him in time to see the door open, the nude red fox coming back out with a tray of two drinks. Arjen smiled at me as he set my drink down, then gave Sean the other and went to stand by the edge of the patio. "I don't think pants compare to uh, a mansion, uh, in terms of an investment." I pointed up at the house. Sean swiveled around as he had a sip of his drink. I followed suit in a little moment of social mimicry. The drink was more than strong, a powerful wallop of beyond-fresh mint and whiskey. "Somewhat of an unfortunate story. My father gathered up quite a bit of money and ended up living here. I hear the location was quite cheap at one point, before the housing market came back up. He just recently lost himself to cancer..." "I'm sorry," I said, voice small. I didn't really know if I was sorry... A muggy Indian summer breeze kicked up behind me, rustling everything around. "That's awful." I didn't really know what I felt. For all I knew, it was a lie and he stole the place, won it in a bet, was just staying there as a friend. My own losses had never been that traumatic. "Yes, well, he lived out quite a life. As his heir, I now have a much nicer home than Harbor Springs. It's quite strange. A little unsettling, even. Enough space that your thoughts echo." He alternated between black cigar and drink. Somehow, it seemed a little too easy, Sean suddenly in the same place I was, leaving the same job I left. A voice piped up in my head, the thought a simple, 'And you believe him?' "I guess everyone's in a better place now. Harbor Springs is pretty nice, though. This is kind of a weird place to put a fancy place." "Harbor Springs is crawling with rich half-year tourists and gawkers." He said this quite angrily, finishing on a sneer. "Out here, it's a little more homey." I had a feeling he meant a little more furry; Harbor Springs and Petoskey were tourist destinations, not to mention 'old world', and that meant scads of humans. A dark band sweept forward from behind me, shadowing over the dog's already dark complexion, along the patio stone, up over Arjen. "I think the weather might not like you two sitting outside in it," the vulpine piped up, grinning. I turned around, looking off to the southwest where I'd come from. The sky was a gross black-green color, the sun blotted out by a tall anvil-top cloud, the base of it a greenish charcoal before it met the top of the resort. The weather had been strange so far for early autumn, and the oncoming storm wasn't an exception. I felt a little twinge of panic, seeing those clouds well up. Going back home meant getting drenched, hit by lightning, or sucked up into a tornado. "I think you might be right," Sean said, shifting in his seat, then standing up. He snuck his phone out, an expensive little sliver of black, and peered at it. "Besides, I think we may just be in time for dinner. Klaus will be mighty upset if we let the food get cold. I'm sure you wouldn't mind a look inside, Mr. Cooley." "Sure," I replied, shrugging as I stood up, then following the two canids as they made their way up to the house. Arjen held the door for us, then shut it against another growing wet breeze. The door led to a big sitting room, strangely curved, like a slivered moon, strewn with over-stuffed leather furniture, built out of hard, black oak. The floor was hardwood, an immense oriental rug underneath most of the furniture. Around the walls were pictures, all of German shepherds. I assumed they were family. By pictures I mean actual paintings, except one that looked like it was probably Sean when he was much younger. "We'll be joined by a few of my friends and house mates. Don't worry, I won't be the only one you know." I prayed it wouldn't be Rake or John. Rake just wasn't the kind of person who did well at social situations. If it was John I silently pledged that I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom, and drown myself in the fucking toilet. Then I felt another rush of stupid shame; John thought the meeting of me and Sean was ridiculous. How would he be involved? "This is crazy. I think this room is bigger than the whole house I was born in. I was kind of poor growing up. Well, really poor. House falling down around us poor," I said as I took in the lavish surroundings. The sitting room opened onto another hallway, which immediately led to a much wider room. This one was obviously a dining room: large oak table, carved legs, topped with glass, votive candles on top. Leather-cushioned dining chairs, dark maroon carpet, more paintings - landscapes and one quite ridiculous re-imagining of "The Last Supper" with the dogs from the "Dogs Playing Poker" - and muted wall lamps. There was bread and what appeared to be butter on the table already. The whole room was spotless, floor recently cleaned, table set immaculately for four. It looked like it would easily handle six, so there was quite a bit of room. "Well, I'm sure you're in for a nice little visit here tonight. The food will be out in just a few moments, as..." Sean looked at his phone, "...will be my friend. Please, sit down." I sat down at the end of the table, while the shepherd took the head and Arjen took the spot to the right of Sean. After much motioning from the dog, I took a piece of bread and slathered it with some butter that looked decidedly reddish. It smelled like raspberries and seafood; very odd. It tasted like a fruity crab cake. A really, really good fruity crab cake. "Wow. What is this?" "It has the fancy name of raspberry crab butter, a creation of one of the other foxes. Surprisingly, not Klaus, who I'm sure I mentioned is in charge of the food around here." "Other foxes?" I was too distracted by the food to really let the impact of that do anything. It was like a cat brushing your leg, a statement that just went right over my head. "I'm not the only one," Arjen said, and grinned at me as he sat demurely in waiting. He didn't seem very interested in the bread, while Sean was attacking one of the crunchier rinds like it was an animal. "I see." I tried some of the other butters - one was fiendishly garlicky, the other light and fluffy and strangely floral. "Man, if your bread is this impressive-" Something touched me on the shoulder and I dropped the bread knife onto my plate with a clatter. "Shit!" The toucher was Tad, who had come in while I was stuffing my face. "Hi Adrian," he said with a smile, and sat down to my right. He had on his silvery charcoal pants, no shoes, and a slight sort of vest. I found it hard not to watch his tail move around. "Now, Mr. Cooley, I assure you, we won't just devour the carcass of some poor domesticated swine. I've made sure to invite my more.. omnivorous friend here to keep you company." Sean motioned towards the leopard. "I'm surprised you're here," Tad said. "You looked uncomfortable a few nights ago." He put a hand on mine for a moment. I realized that Tad may have had no idea what I'd gotten into. It was possible that nothing happened between Sean and I, at least from the perspective of a cat too busy getting his cock sucked by some random human trick. "Well, you know, I'm old enough to take life for what it is, not get all caught up in old crap." I caught Sean grinning at me from the other end of the table, an awful knowing grin. Seeing his teeth made me feel rotten inside, but it was a thrilling kind of rotten. The sensation grew worse when I revisited the idea that Tad was oblivious; maybe I wasn't any better than the cat-fetishist he'd been with that same night. Thus began the dinner. On the one hand, it was just food and chatter, much of it taken up by Sean's smart-ass stories and ribbing. On the other hand, it was the best food I'd ever had in my life. The portions weren't incredibly huge, but it was a total feast. Miniature crab cakes, cucumber salad, collard greens, smoked and twice-glazed pulled brisket, Memphis ribs, and individual velvet cakes. It was just enough food to make me feel drowsy, not to mention the sparkling wine that went with it. The experience was helping to turn me around on the dog even more. Despite being pervertedly eccentric, not to mention Down-South haughty, maybe he really wasn't so bad. It didn't help that Sean was attractive, in a brutish middle-aged sort of way. And all that leather stuff he wore... even just the boots I just knew he had on, despite not being able to see under the table. The dog suddenly quieted down the minor conversations. "Now, I think that tonight Adrian might want to stay with us. Perhaps with Arjen... the fox seems to like our guest," Sean said. I stopped chewing. Arjen looked embarrassed but smiled anyway. This was news to me. The fox had approached me at the club, but I hadn't thought much of it at the time. "Aww. I was hoping for another chance..." Tad said, rendering me into a hairless piece of meat. I cringed in my chair. "Thaddeus, I'm sure I can occupy you, or perhaps you could have a round with the foxes." Luckily I still wasn't holding a fork or I'd have dropped it right in my lap. Sean continued. "However, there is some business to take care of first." Business? "What?" I looked between the occupants of the room. Sean scooted his chair back but stayed seated. Tad and Arjen both got up and left, walking out towards the door. The dog lifted a black hand and beckoned to me with a few fingers; I hesitated, then obeyed almost mechanically. I was curious, I was afraid, I was moving without thinking, my head throbbed, something was going on but I wasn't able to put my finger on it. Not only was I acting out of some weird instinct, but I was helplessly aware of it. "I suppose you're wondering why I suddenly have a mansion. I told you about my father, but that was only half the story. Way back in the early 90's, when this whole 'resort'-" he verbally bunny-eared it, "-was still a failed, rotting-out housing development for the burgeoning hybrid class, my father had a good idea. He noticed that despite their condition hybrids were mostly white-collar, and given the chance would hang out with other hybrids rather than humans. He bought up the property and fashioned himself a home in this fine house. The Ashton Real Estate Group now owns five different locations, two of them under development as we speak. Unfortunately, it lost its founder. Fortunately, it gained the next of kin." I had been facing him at the edge of the table, leaning oh so slightly on it so that Sean wouldn't quite notice. When he said that, I instinctively backed up, shoving the table and almost knocking over a wine glass. "You're telling me that you..." "Yes, Mr. Cooley," he said, leaning back in his chair, creaking the wood. "You could say that I own 'The Woods'. I'm very sorry for being misleading the other night. I guess we're really still in the same boat we used to float in." His voice was steadily sinking down into fang-rattling baritone, the same thing that always happened when he got down to business. "In that case, I really don't think I should be staying over here for the night... if you own this place, uh, then isn't that like you're my...?" I started to move away after dropping the suggestion, but Sean lifted up a boot and hooked the instep on the edge of the table, blocking that route. "Adrian, it's not so bad as before. Anderson Heavy Marine had a very clear policy on fraternizing," Sean said, adjusting his belt. "That is to say, it was forbidden. As the current owner and director of Ashton Real Estate Group, I'm quite a bit looser with the rules and regulations." I tried to go the other way, but that route found itself blocked off by the other black denim leg and cowboy boot. I started filling with panic, and not the soul-sucking vortex. I felt like I was going to explode. I thought of how to escape, crawling under, jumping up onto the table, kicking Sean... All he did was lean back and root in a pocket for something. Out came a pair of minimal black leather gloves, those big black hands stretching into the leather, finger by finger. Despite my intention of getting out of there, seeing him flex his knuckles tight into the leather gave my cock a hardening thrill. Looking past the smirking dog, I saw people coming back into the room. Tad, Arjen and two other foxes. One of them was nude and a sandy color, the other a darker red and clad in a straight-zip motorcycle jacket, leather pants and boots. Despite the attire, he walked with flat ears and his little black nose down. Tad and Arjen approached, the other two fanning out and latching the windows down. I backed up against the table hard enough to make it move with a creak. The whole room vibrated, rumbling enough to rattle the silverware. The windows were dark, a few flickers in them. "What, what're they doing?" I squeaked. "There's quite a storm coming, Mr. Cooley," Sean said, as Tad handed him a cigar. I squeezed my legs together, realizing that Tad wasn't just a prostitute, but on one - possibly many - levels he was Sean's boy, or the dog was a pimp, or some combination. "Now, despite the pleasure of seeing your contours in those nice leather pants, I think you should strip down to smooth flesh." I turned as I heard a click. The foxes were locking the windows with padlocks. Oh shit, oh shit... "You want me to take off my clothes? Are you kidding?" "I want you naked. You don't have to do the taking-off yourself," Sean mumbled, as he lit the cigar. Tad and Arjen came up alongside his legs, the leopard tugging my arm, turning me as he felt down to my waist. I stiffened up my whole body, arms pinned to my sides. The snow leopard kept teasing me, stroking the front of my thighs, parting my fly open one button at a time. "You're really hot in these pants, Adrian. Too bad we have to take them off," Tad purred in my ear. Arjen busied himself with my shirt, and I only reluctantly lifted my arms. Who would I be if I put up a fight? Through all of this, Sean just sat back and watched, leaning his chair onto its back legs. Tad continued,"Maybe you could put them back on later..." the cat said with a smirk. Arjen lifted my shirt off, then tugged on the belt buckle that hung over my open fly. No underwear; when he shifted the leather, my cock flopped out I turned red. "Later? You heard Mr. Ashton. I think I have 'later' all taken care of," the fox said with a smirk, unsheathing my belt from its loopsHe looked between Tad and I, then turned to Sean. That bubble of panic expanded inside me, squeezing everything out to my skin, leaving me pressed up against the inside of my own skull. The bubble wasn't empty space; it contained something, something that wanted to get out. Two things, fighting for control of my body. Sean took the belt. "Now, I'm pretty well aware of what you like, Mr. Cooley. I saw how you fingered through all of that gear in one of the playroom closets at The Moon and Stars." The bubble in my head popped when he said that. It left a gaping hole, a sense of submission filling it up. Defeat, resignation. "Did you think there wouldn't be security cameras trained on thousands and thousands of dollars worth of fine, black leather?" He puffed at the cigar, feeling my belt in his hands, doubling it up until it made a big loop, stretching it until the hide slapped itself. "Crouching down on the floor like a little kid outside his parents' bedroom, wondering what all that noise is about." He knew. Of course he knew. He owned "The Woods", how the fuck wouldn't he know!?! He owned everything. Sean Ashton was God, or Satan, or something, he was everything, and I was his newest possession. Tad was still fooling around with me, slowly guiding the pants down to my knees, trying to get them down around the boot shafts. My knees were shoved together, arms limply up in the air. I don't know why I kept them like that; I wanted to pull them down but my body didn't want to. My body wanted to stand me there like I was tied to the ceiling. I saw something in that moment, something weird. A wolf, held the same way. Something about the image didn't compute, so I pushed it out of the way. I replaced it with the real picture of Sean, one gloved hand massaging his crotch, threatening to open it up and expose that big, red, dripping wet piece of meat. I felt my teeth chatter, the submission giving way to anger. I wanted to spit on him but I couldn't unclench my teeth. He was revolting, smug and relaxed and smoking his damn cigar and making me take off my clothes... I was beginning to get the feeling that the complex mess of thoughts weren't random or confused at all, but even that thought was pushed aside by a desire to make sure nothing terrible happened to me. Running away was only the most obvious way to avoid consequences, and the part of me that wanted to do it wasn't the part of me that was really in control at the moment. I turned my head away, my body following. I heard Sean say, "Thaddeus, Arjen, make sure he doesn't try to leap up on that table," as he leaned forward. He didn't remove his boots from the table, leaving him in a precarious position. I knew this because I could still see them, but I didn't dare look at him. The anger faded away, leaving me numb and confused. "Mr. Cooley, I think you would enjoy getting to know my right boot a little better, since I now know you can appreciate such fine things." "I don't. I mean, I don't think I should be-" Something touched my ass and I flinched forward, almost falling onto the dinner table. I ended up with my hands planted on it, sweat creeping down my back. The something touched me again, stroking my ass. I looked back; Sean was teasing my left cheek with the belt. "I wonder, Mr. Cooley, if this is also one of your interests." I thought, _Don't hit me, don't hit me, don't hit me,_ and squeezed my eyes shut. Nothing happened so I started to stand back up. He hit me. It sounded like a gunshot. For a half second I thought maybe it was just thunder, but then the sting started to come. The sound was much worse than the hurt, but it still hurt. I looked over my shoulder, horrified. Sean just coiled the belt, petting it like it was some kind of animal. I sank down to my knees and turned to face the table again, then the polished black leather of his boot. Filled with the excited defeat of submission, I kissed the toe. Flush crept over my face, maybe my back, maybe not. It was so hard to tell. Suddenly, the world was the black denim-clad leg and the black leather, and my mouth, my fingers. I clutched his leg, kissing from the toe to the ankle. I heard Sean chuckle, vaguely noticed that Arjen was messing around behind me, barely registered that the fox was carefully pulling my pants off while leaving the boots on. I don't know how I felt while groveling. I was dizzy and confused, watching it like it was on video, heart pounding. My fingers teased up Sean's pants cuff, along the stitched leather of his boot shaft, the other hand feeling around the heel. It seemed so new, and at the same time, so immensely perfect. And so, so wrong. I stopped only because I felt something licking me. Licking my balls, then up my cock. I looked down and saw Arjen. "You were making a mess on the floor," he said. The boot pulled away and thumped down just an inch from the fox's head, causing Arjen to yelp and pull away. I recoiled, bumping into the dog's other leg. I looked up to Sean. "Arjen, don't play with my boy here. You'll get your chance," the dog growled, leaning forward to pet me. His gloved fingers splayed on my head, slid back to my ponytail, used the grip on my hair to gently urge me forward towards his boot while the fingers stroked the length of tail. A flash of Sandy, my flighty ex-girlfriend, as she got rowdy and pulled on my hair, one of the few times I went crazy-hot in bed. I felt like I was a million miles away from that. Sean stood up, the other boot coming down to the floor with a clop. "Per, I think you have something for me?" I heard more boots, this time the lumpy thud of engineer boots. I looked over to see the leather-clad form of Per walk up, a red and black color-matched fox in riding leathers, red suit and pants, black gloves and boots He meekly handed something vaguely strap-like to the dog, bowed, and then walked back to the door. I got a good look at the other side of his muzzle, and he was missing fur where there seemed to be scars. Sean leaned forward and slid the item around my neck. A collar! I felt like it was constraining the world around me, my insides boiling up again, packed into a thin layer under my skin. Sean then stroked my shoulder, lifted my arm. "Come on, my boy Adrian. I think a there's a little eye-for-an-eye that you're in for, trespassing and spying on me and my prize fox here," Sean indicated Arjen with a swipe of a gloved hand. "You've already had about half of it," he said with a sneer, leading me to the door. I resisted somewhat, the dog shoving me along. It was humiliating, being marched through a monstrous house, past endless doors, naked and erect, dripping and wearing a pair of cowboy boots like a stripper mid-job. We went up a winding staircase, up to the second floor and down a hall, the dog rushing me right into a room. He pushed the door shut and locked it, sliding the keys back into his jeans pockets. "Go make yourself nice and comfortable, Mr. Cooley," Sean said, his voice syrupy and dark as he thumped around the room, rooting about in the wardrobe. I slunk over and sat down on the bed, balling some sheets up and covering my crotch. The room was overly fancy, with a four-post oak canopy bed, carved oak wardrobe and dresser, oriental rug, overstuffed leather sitting chairs, and a bay window. Through the window I saw constant lightning, the splatter of raindrops. I knew what was going to happen, dull realization. I resigned to it. There wasn't anything else to do, or there was, but I wasn't going to do it. This was the end of the road, the end result, the worst and best thing, the hoped-for thing and the thing that had given me nightmares and stomach cramps for years. When I looked away, the only thing I could really look at was Sean. The room didn't seem to belong to anyone; it was impersonal, just a guest room. Sean was stripping down to the fur, cock dangling about in front of him, the swollen knot still wrapped in cream fur. He started replacing his fairly average clothes with the contents of the wardrobe. If he had shuttled me into a guest room, I didn't want to imagine what an actual bedroom contained. There was enough leather in the wardrobe to clothe every person I'd seen that day. Leather breeches, the same cream color as the fur down his chest, bulging at the crotch with a codpiece flap. Knee-high riding boots, just that little bit taller on the sides than at the inner leg, with simple spurs. No shirt. A black leather jacket, high-collared and zipped up the front, collar up. Black leather gauntlet gloves, skin-tight at the hand, cuff halfway to his elbows. Leather officer's cap. The same outfit as before, when I'd spied him and Arjen violently enjoying each other. Just the mere sight made me scoot backwards, and I ended up with my boots up, sprawled back against a pillow. When Sean approached me, I recoiled even further. "Oh my god," I whispered. "Everyone always says the same damn thing," was the dog's white-toothed response. He rummaged in the wardrobe and pulled out a handkerchief, a small blue bottle. I started to see spots. Sean wasn't joking about the repeat performance. I was now Arjen. "You're going to fuck me," I squeaked. The shepherd just dotted the bottle against the hanky a few times, cradling it in a hand as he came over. I turned away and got tangled up in the sheet trying to crawl towards the headboard. Sean grabbed my boots and dragged me over to the edge of the bed. His gloved hands slid up my bare legs, over my ass, up to my shoulders, then my neck. He lifted my head and shoved the hanky under it. There was no reason to really try to resist. I had such a hard-on I thought I would shoot against the sheets, so whether or not I said 'no' or even meant 'no', I was going to come while he fucked me and that said too much. My mouth ended up over the wet spot in the hanky, and I tugged in a breath. It was like trying to breathe through a rag soaked in vodka, and I coughed. My heart started to pound, vision solarized, and a desperate need to be fucked started creeping up inside, following the heat flush of all my arteries opening up. The pound of nitrites turned my nightmarish cold feelings, numb realization and resignation, into a singular pound of lust. All that blood to the head, to my cock and balls, to my asshole, what else was there to feel? It was completely different than when John would have sex with me, those few times. That was a rush, a feeling of teenage urgency. This was being reduced to a sex toy. "You're a fine young man, Mr. Cooley. Nice, slender body, very smooth..." Sean kept feeling me with one hand, the other one opening up his fly with the subtle pop of metal snaps in heavy leather. I craned my head around and saw his gloved hand slowly pump over the swollen red meat sticking out, quickly glistening with the mess of pre-cum that dogs all shared. Something cracked inside me and I felt anger explode, a moment of complete fear and hatred and something else, deja vu so powerful it made me wonder if suddenly I was somewhere else. As fast as it came, it was buried as his teasing hand muzzled me with the hanky again. Huffing poppers like that made my chest hurt, my ears hum and buzz. I stared as he pulled me closer to the edge, then slapped my knees at the side. "Now pull up under there for me..." he growled around the cigar. I did as he asked. Sean was really big, significantly larger than John. If it hadn't been for the poppers, I would have screamed and bled and spit and kicked him in the crotch. With the consciousness-pounding head rush, it still hurt when he shoved in the first time, but much less when he pulled back out and did it again. I trembled and tried to hold myself up on all fours, only so my cock wouldn't spray the sheets. I was terrified that if I came, he'd still keep fucking me until he was satisfied, leaving me torn apart and unaroused to feel every thrust. The shepherd was too gentle at first, the agonizing feeling of flesh slowly moving back and forth, first just moving my own asshole about, then actually sliding in and out. I could hear him breathing hard, mouthing at the cigar, leather squeaking and creaking constantly. He held my ass cheeks, squeezing and spreading them, then feeling down around my sides, up my chest. The slow back and forth tug gave way to a thrust that rammed his knot up against my asshole and shoved me forward off my elbows. I huffed and groaned, drooling against a pillow that I clutched to myself. I think Sean chuckled, but I wasn't sure - he helped me back up to all fours, hunched over the pillow as he pounded into me. It hurt so much and felt so good at the same time. He muzzled me with the hanky again, then dragged me up to my knees, tilting me until I was kneeling, still impaled. "What're you, what're you doing?" I breathed through the stinking cloth, coughing at the horrible solvent smell. My vision was clouding into a purple starburst fringed with yellow, my voice turning deep and hoarse as my throat loosened up. He rammed forward again, then kept pushing, harder and harder. I felt the third gush of blood from the poppers flow down into my crotch and ass, and I felt his knot start to spread me apart. I panicked and started to get faint, head slumping down forward. The size was too big, but I was too loose, and each press forward got more and more of it into me. I tried to fight it, then gave up. The entire world was my asshole, spreading apart and apart and apart until it popped in. Sean clutched me around the chest with a grunt, then forced a knee onto the bed, then another, then pulled me onto his lap as he impaled the whole length inside. It jabbed painfully somewhere that nothing had ever been before, then I felt something pulsating inside. I looked down to see his slick, gloved hand pumping over my cock. I grew tighter and tighter, an uncomfortable ache from that huge knot inside, the pressure nevertheless making me climax with a yell. My body felt like it was trying to clench down and couldn't, my cock pulsing and spitting out thick gobs of seed that drooled over Sean's gloved knuckles and onto the sheets. I swooned and leaned back, until he pushed me forward and went to tug the diminishing knot out. I recalled something about how dogs would get stuck like that for many minutes, and my stomach started to curdle. Either I was blown apart inside, time was slowing down, or Sean wasn't quite that much of a dog, but it took only a minute tops for him to shrink enough to pull out with a wet plop. I slumped forward onto the bed, feeling like someone had shoved their entire leg up inside my ass. The sudden emptiness made me black out for a second. All I could concentrate on was trying to keep the mess inside from leaking out as I clutched at the pillow. My hands and feet felt cold and I dug them into the sheets. I don't know what Sean did next because I dizzily spun away into sleep. It wasn't normal sleep, it was some sort of fugue and stupor from the leftovers of the poppers.

• * * If it sounds like a pattern, that I rush through sex and fall asleep, then I guess I have patterns. I had a dream after that encounter. A very strange dream. A room full of cages, endless cages. Literally endless, stretching off to the vanishing point. I was climbing into one of them, then eating out of a little bowl. The cage didn't even end, it just kept going and going, until there was dirt around the metal bars. I looked outside the cage and I saw a dog standing there, panting. It was hot, very hot, and the dog's drool was going down his muzzle. The fur there was wet with something else, but I couldn't really see what it was. There was something on the ground in front of the dog but I couldn't see that either. Looking at it created a sort of blank space, like nothing was there. The dog was a big German shepherd, and its face was Sean's. My body buzzed and vibrated and I couldn't breathe. I was in bed, wrapped in sheets, blankets, comforter. There was fur nearby. I was breathing so hard, air rushing into my lungs, spraying out, but I couldn't even feel it. I just knew it was happening. I couldn't stop or talk or scream or do anything. Then I was moving and grabbing onto the fur, and I saw eyes, vertical slit eyes. "Oh my god, Adrian, Adrian! What's wrong?" Arjen's mouth was moving. At first, I thought he was speaking another language and I was making it up, but the disorientation wore off in seconds. "What? I don't know-" I looked around. I just saw red. Red comforter, red drapes surrounding. Red fox. "You're here in bed, please, please," he said, and held his head against my chest, ears sagging. "Nothing's going to happen." He was holding me so hard, clinging onto me like I was his mother. I didn't know what the big deal was, and fell back asleep. * * * I woke up for real, in the same bed Sean had.... Actually, Adrian's body woke up, but I don't think he was very awake. I, however, was. I vaguely recalled the confusing mess of waking up, paralyzed inside while Adrian was soothed back asleep by that pretty, wretched fox. Speaking of Arjen... he was next to me, sound asleep. He was half covered by the sheet, his cock out of his sheath and into the air, throbbing hard. His lips twitched every now and then, eyelids flickering. It was a sad sight, sad and slightly exciting, a familiar sort of feeling. Maybe he wasn't so bad. Maybe he was an innocent, just doing what he was told. That wouldn't be the first time someone told a fox what to do around me, or Adrian. I snuck out of bed and into the bathroom, taking a hard piss. When I came back, Arjen rolled over, sleepily looking at me as he stretched. I peeked at the alarm clock; it was three in the morning. "Sorry I woke you," I said, almost a curt whisper, and sat on the edge of the bed. "S'okay," the fox mumbled, sitting up a little. "I woke up from a dream. Are you okay? You had a horrible nightmare." He sounded so sleepy that his English was cloaked in the uneven intonation of a Dutch accent.. "Well, that's fairly common," I said. I looked around the room. My boots and pants were on a chair, the boots polished. They certainly hadn't been that way when I trudged through the dust on the way over. "Now I'm not sleepy at all." "Mmm," the fox said softly. "I could help you fall asleep again..." he said, sitting up, his tail brushing back and forth against the sheets. I looked over and squinted. "Don't you think that's an odd suggestion, after what Sean did to me earlier?" I asked. Arjen splayed his black ears. "I'm sorry. He said you seemed to enjoy it." "Well, I didn't hate it," I said, a little curtly. ",You're here to make me 'comfortable', aren't you?" "We don't have to play if you don't want," he said, rolling onto his side, clutching up the sheet. I busied myself with the nightstand. Jackpot; there was a small hash pipe, a lighter, and a block of something in waxed paper. It was brown and sticky and smelled terrible. Hashish. "Well, I think this will help me sleep, among other things." I smudged off a piece, crammed it into the pipe, and lit up. My throat closed up with fire, my face already humming by the time I coughed the smoke out. "Oh, I must've left that in there. I wondered where it was off to..." Arjen said. I stood up, naked by the side of the bed, and looked at him. He was vulnerable, soft, slender and still aroused. He looked a little intimidated. "If you were hoping for a little fun, I'm not going to disappoint you," I said, behind a dark little grin. Arjen looked at me, then at one of the overstuffed chairs. "I'm a little more fun when I'm baked off my ass." "I see. Well. Can I make a request? Can you put those back on?" He pointed. I went over to the chair, lifting the boots and pants. Arjen nodded, dropping the sheet, practically kneeling on the bed like a begging puppy. I pulled the pants on, leaving the fly undone, my growing erection standing out. Then, the boots. When I stepped back to the bed, Arjen recoiled, sitting back on his rump, then lying down. "I thought that was Tad's thing. He wanted it earlier. Is everyone around here some kind of fetish slut?" I asked, crouching over him. "You could say that, yes," he whispered, stroking his hands over my shoulders. "Wow, I didn't think you would want to do this." "I'm complicated," I whispered back, as the fox drew his knees up. One of his hands took my cock and started milking it until I was drooling enough precum to make the sound of foreskin on cockhead into a wet slap. I was blurred enough to not really care about how abrupt it was that I entered him, the fox letting out a little cry and pushing on my shoulders. When I drew back, he grabbed me. "No, I like it, I like it." "You take it rough? From your... 'master'? That dog has ulterior motives," I said, as I started to thrust. The feeling was so exquisite that every other word had a huff of breath behind it, voice a low drawl. "I have them too. A big secret. I'll tell you what it is if you come all over yourself." Arjen whined at the thought, grabbing for his own cock now that he didn't need to hold mine. He pumped himself feverishly, his other hand sliding down my back to my ass, down the side of my kneeling leg, over my booted foot. By the time he let go, his hole was so tight I thought I was going to scream at the perfect hug around my shaft. The hash overpowered me, and it took me so long, the fox having to stop a few times to keep from making a mess. I was pounding him hard enough to hear the thud of fur against leather and skin, face squeezing up, when I felt him start to milk me. The air suddenly stank of chlorine and salt, white splatters landing on his face, his teeth as he opened his mouth in a strained, silent climax. Mine followed, such a rush that I lost touch with reality, body jerking out backwards and leaving his, cock plowing up alongside his balls to dump its wet load in the fur there. I grabbed him, panting, and clutched down close, rubbing my face against his. "Do you want to hear my secret?" I said drowsily, up into his ear. "Please..." So I told him.