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Whisky and Huskies

Even in an age of motorways and no-frills airlines, it's pleasing to think there are still a few furs out there who enjoy the romance and comfort of the sleeper train. I've always loved these trains, shuttling up and down the spine of the country night in, night out. There's nothing like it: joining the service far in the North, watching from a private berth as some of the most stunning scenery in the country (and indeed, the world) rolls by, then turning in for the night, waking up a few hours later in a whole new city, ready for the day ahead. And not a traffic jam, nor a security check, nor a crowded airport terminal in sight. Perfect.

Everything is catered for. Some furs head for their cabin straightaway. Or, if they like, there's the restaurant car. Then there's the lounge where furs can unwind, maybe with a tipple or two from the bar before they turn in.

That's where I come in. Now of course I help out elsewhere on board, be that with preparing cabins, welcoming our guests, and in the morning greeting them, bringing their breakfast and seeing them off when we arrive. But it's in the lounge where I'm most at home, at the bar. Well, what can I say: I love meeting furs, getting to know somebody else, and seeing the world from an entirely different point of view. And sometimes, just sometimes, you meet someone whom you get to know very well indeed.

Another day was coming to an end aboard the train. As usual, my evening was spent behind the bar. To be honest very few guests come by late at night, so things are usually very quiet by the end. That night was no exception. At the far end of the cabin two Dalmatians, the only others in the carriage, rose and headed for the exit. They both laughed, sharing some joke I was too far away to hear. The automatic carriage doors slid open, and they headed for their rooms, the bar plunged into silence save for the steady clack-clack of the train's wheels. With the Dalmatians gone I nipped over to clear their table, before heading back behind the bar.

Rain lashed the windows outside, the countryside shrouded in pitch blackness as our train rolled through the dark. I checked my watch. Ten minutes to midnight. Of course, we were supposed to stay open until midnight, so I settled down for ten minutes of... doing absolutely nothing. The train clattered, passing over a point or something, rattling the glass bottles behind me.

As I was about to flop onto the bar, the automatic doors slid open. Perking up, I straightened my shirt and waistcoat and collar, ready to greet my next customer.

A heavy clipping reached my ears. Hooves: pretty uncommon these days. Then he entered. A goat... or maybe a sheep. No, definitely sheep; but different to any sheep I had ever met before. Tall and powerfully-built, his long fur white at first glance, but from certain angles you could tell it was greying. Deep golden eyes; long ears, tinged pink inside; and adorning his head, two thick spiralling ivory-coloured horns, curling around his ears and marking him out for certain as ovine rather than caprine. Late twenties I'd say, so my age or maybe a few years older. Plain grey suit, jacket and trousers, with a white shirt and burgundy tie. Suddenly a picture in an old travel book jogged my memory, and finally let me match face to species. Dall sheep. So an American species... very unusual. But it wasn't just his species that took me by surprise: it was the dignity with which he strode through the bar. Very handsome. Particularly for a prey species. In fact it was only once he was stood at the bar, a warm smile on his muzzle, that I realised that I was staring.

"Good evening."

British. That surprised me. His voice was rich, baritone, impeccably Queen's English. Clearly well-educated. But I didn't have time to reflect on this. Just yet.

"Good evening sir. Would you care for something to drink?"

He gazed at the bottles behind the bar studiously, furrowing his brow, stroking his chin with a cloven hoof. I watched and waited while he perused the display behind me. After a short while he faced me, asking which whiskies we had to offer.

I smiled. Of all the liquors and spirits I have tasted, whisky is my passion. Back at home on cold rainy nights like those, whenever I have a glass of whisky to paw, I'm a happy dog (and whenever I have a bottle, I'm a very happy dog). I led him through our list, picking out a few of my favourites. Bruichladdich, Bowmore, Glenmorangie... Or, if he fancied something special, I always had my bottle of Laphroaig. Single malt, eighteen years old, its peaty welcoming tang giving way to a swirling oaky taste, which lingered on your tongue before dissipating in hints of smoke, like the morning mist over Islay itself. Well, this ram clearly had time and money to spend, and so I was delighted when he accepted.

Turning my back, I picked the Laphroaig from the shelf and took down an empty glass. It was ridiculous I know, but just then I couldn't take my eyes from him soon enough. But why was that? My paws were oddly tense as I busied myself with the whisky, unstopping the bottle and pouring him a dram. I concentrated as best I could, watching the golden liquor pour into the little glass, its peaty and smoky scent soon reaching my nose; but it was hard keeping a level head, my mind filling and clouding with both the aroma of whisky and the thought of the ram. His eyes, golden amber and misty like the glass now in my paw. And his smile, warm and welcoming like the taste of liquor on your tongue.

Facing him once more, I set the glass before him, swapping it for a pawful of coins. I turned to the till, gazing at him out of the corner of my eye whilst he sipped on the whisky slowly. Change in paw, I asked him for his opinion.

He simply smiled, and nodded his approval.

We talked and talked. About whisky of course, and naturally I asked about his favourite. He told me the story of how, on a walking expedition far out in the Highlands, he chanced upon a tiny distillery, owned and run by a wizened old red deer stag and his wife, producing barely a hundred bottles a year. They spent a good hour in each other's company, he told me, before heading to the deer's cellars, where they offered him a glass of their ten-year single malt to try. "Like taking a sip of ambrosia itself," he recalled with a fond smile.

We also spoke about our lives. I began, telling him of my love of machines, steam engines in particular; and how, even with money tight, I still dreamed of becoming an engineer, finally getting my degree before setting to work, paw to the forge. Okay, that did sound a little twee, but it still brought a smile to his muzzle. As for the ram, he was good company, and in good spirits even for such a late hour. He told me about his job, about the travelling it entailed, in this country and across the Continent to meet with clients. It can be lonely I know, living that kind of life, travelling alone, never having anywhere to settle and relax. Well-paid yes, but lonely.

I offered him a top-up; and with a nod of his bearded muzzle he accepted. Drink refreshed and money exchanged, he swirled his glass with a sharp breath. But this time, he did not drink straightaway. Instead he set his glass back on the bar, and leant across to me, those deep amber eyes now locking with my own. A step backwards. He beckoned me closer.

First to hit me was his scent. In fairness he was a sheep, and cologne only goes so far towards disguising that gamey, unmistakeable scent of ram. It filled my sinuses, and that much I expected. But the sharp tingle up my spine when I inhaled again, I certainly did not expect.

He asked me what time I finished, and I glanced at my watch. Twelve twenty. Wow, had we been talking all that time? I heard him chuckle, and glanced up as he motioned for me to come nearer still. I swallowed. A quick glance around the lounge, but still, only the two of us. I took a breath, then leant closer to him, my chest fluttering. His muzzle rested by my ear, his breath in my fur tingling and warm with whisky.

"Right husky, let's stop beating about the bush. There's only one reason I'm here with you this evening, and you know what that is. And I'm game."

I swallowed hard, my throat drying out. Pulse quickened even more, thrumming behind my ear. My muzzle quivered as I tried to formulate a response, any response, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like denial. But I have to admit, he was a handsome animal. A handsome, dirty-white, beast of a sheep. Yes, I did want this, pretty much from the start. And to my shock, not only did the ram know I wanted him, but he was happy to oblige.

"So, finish up here, then meet me in room F3. And take your time, husky: we have all night."

Knocking back the Laphroaig, he rose from the bar, turning for the door without so much as a second glance my way, his short tail twitching to the beat of his hooves. As soon as the carriage door slid closed behind him, I flicked off the bar lights, quickly clearing up behind the bar and pulling down the metal shutters. I certainly didn't want to be caught by anyone now. Then, with the lounge finally empty, I followed the way the ram left, out of the lounge car and into First Class.

A narrow corridor ran along the carriage, wooden cabin doors the full length on the left hand side. Now I'm pretty slightly-built even among huskies, but even I'd have trouble if I bumped into anyone down there. One problem of building across five feet of track, I suppose. Luckily though, nobody was around this late at night and so, following the numbers on the doors to the left, I slipped down carriage F, careful not to make a sound, well aware that everyone would be sleeping at this hour. Except for a certain ram in Cabin 3, that was.

His door was wooden, unremarkable, no different to the dozen or so others in this carriage save for a small number '3' on the left, by the door handle. Casting a nervous gaze left and right down the carriage, I reached up to rap his door... and froze.

Did I really want to go through with this? Thirty minutes ago I didn't even know the ram; and now here I was, outside his door, ready to throw myself into his cabin and into goodness-knows-what-else. Maybe this whole plan was a mistake. Yes he was handsome and all; but he was at least twice my size, never mind a completely different species. God, was I really this desperate? I was under no illusion about what was on that ram's mind. And once I was through that door, I would be in no position to resist (quite literally maybe).

But I had to go through with it. Partly because I'd effectively propositioned the ram. But also, if I'm being brutally honest... I was curious. Curious about just what that hefty ram could do to me, how rough an animal he really was. In my mind he appeared, aroused, luring me closer... and something in my mind clicked. A hard shiver swept through my fur, and my paw was already rising to the door once again.

Two knocks. I waited.

No reply. Maybe he didn't hear. Yes, or maybe he's ignoring you because he's changed his mind or he was never serious or whatever and maybe you'd best head back to your own cabin before somebody sees you... I shook my head, focusing as best I could, clenching my paw, considering my options and finally giving the ram a silent ultimatum. One more knock. Then I'm gone. My paw was trembling as I reached up yet again, when a now-familiar deep voice called out.

"Come in."

Swallowing hard and biting my lip, I tried the door. Of course it gave with no resistance, swinging open noiselessly and letting me shuffle inside. His cabin was airy, brightly-lit, quiet and comfortable. The bed stood to the left, the window ahead of me with a wash-basin underneath; and to the right, hanging up on a rail, the ram's selection of suits, about three on a quick count. It was comfortable, yes, but small. In fact I soon realised, once I was locked in here, alone with the ram, there would be nowhere to escape.

And now, having run out of other objects to survey, I had to glance up and acknowledge the big ram himself. And even at the first sight, my breath quickened. His bottom half remained covered; but his chest was bare, athletic and white-furred, his strong arms folded across. Broad shouldered, with the beginnings of definition around his stomach. Quickly I stared down at the carpet, trying my hardest not to meet those glowing yellow eyes; but all the while I could feel his gaze, burning, tingling the fur behind my neck. My ear flicked, hearing him growl gently on each slow exhalation. He was eyeing me; I could feel it. Calculating, in that grass-munching mind of his, the best way to stroke me, buck me, wring every last drop of pleasure from me. And you know what? I loved it. Knowing I can lower even the proudest and toughest of furs to mere beasts at the flick of a husky butt.

Still, for me this was a whole new experience. A whole new species, in fact. I had heard that sheep were rough, and very, very quick. Not that I minded that, of course. Too much.

"Shut the door."

Daydreaming again. I closed the door, kicking it shut behind me with a solid clunk. At once he unfolded his arms, and with a soft huff he took a step closer. Licking his lips, he took a second step, then another, slowly breaching the no-furs-land between us, until his muzzle was just inches above mine. My breath grew short, my ears splayed as I stared up at those massive horns of his, thick, deep-ridged and sharpened at the tips; and I felt myself quiver at the thought of the damage that they could do. One blow from those horns would be all he needed. I looked at my claws. This was never a fair trade-off from the start.

"Now. I suggest we keep this quiet. We have other guests on this train, after all."

His hoof crept under my chin, hard and smooth, lifting my head upwards. For a second I resisted, but one more thought of those horns and I relaxed, letting him guide my muzzle upwards until our eyes locked. And with that look, I was his right then.

He was leaning down into me, his muzzle just above my nose. His breath washed over my muzzle, sweet and warm, tinged with liquor. His expression was the same as before; bright, confident, ears perked and smiling warmly. Myself I must have looked foolish there, standing limply and quivering slightly as he rested one hoof on my shoulder, the other by my side. He drew near, tilting his muzzle and parting it. Oh God. Very briefly I hesitated as it occurred to me just what I was going through with. And he's not even a canine. He's prey. But that sheep was so handsome, and by then his muzzle was a whisker away. With my heart thundering in my chest I had no option but to oblige, opening my maw and waiting, waiting those final rapid heartbeats until our muzzles met and locked together.

He was rough. At once he began to growl, smothering me under a rippling bulk of white fur. I closed my eyes ready to submit, but suddenly I yelped as I felt myself lifted (yes, lifted!), then yelped again as my back bumped into the solid door; and by the time I opened my eyes, my paws were dangling above the carpet. At this point there was nothing I could do, other than to dip my ears and slit my eyes as my jaws pursed into a desperate hungry moan, right into his muzzle and his thick snaking tongue. Still I gave as good as I got, wrapping my muzzle and tongue right around his, circling my paws over his back, pressing harder as his hooves roamed more freely. God, just to feel those hooves wandering down my sides. Cold and firm and teasing; so different to the soft-padded paws of your average fur.

He wasn't overly muscled, just nicely in shape. But damn was he strong. Excitable too, every stroke or twitch from me matched with a rapid buck from him. Damn, if he's this tactile even with his trousers on, how hard will he be when he has a mattress to grind me into?

The world, the train, the cabin, every atom of the world melted away in that embrace save for me, the ram... and that muzzle. Tongue, flat teeth, broad nose; he offered it all and I accepted without hesitation, swallowing it all hungrily, greedily; as a bouquet of earthen tastes filled my muzzle, knocking my brain silly as they saturated my head. For every taste which I could name - fresh mountain grass, the rich malt of the whisky, the oak of the barrel - there were a dozen which I could not place. They lingered in my maw, long after we parted, as I licked my lips, panting and whimpering.

Down to the floor I dropped, landing on my paws with a soft bump. I couldn't help but break a smile that at least his breath was as ragged as mine. We locked eyes, and I nodded for him to continue.

In a flurry of paws and hooves we entwined still further. Our warm winter fur blended together, bronze from me, white from the both of us, and our breaths mingled in hot streams. My hind paw twitched as one hoof held me to the door, and the other came to the front, peeling away my waistcoat before snapping open each of my shirt buttons in turn. More boldly now, I nipped his neck with a snarl, letting him feel my teeth against his throat, just as a little reminder that I was the predator. And judging from the little snarls he gave back, I'd say he rather liked that. Still, my own control was slipping away, my paws now roaming all over his bare back. His fur was long, thick, and it took a great deal of stroking and meandering before I could feel the firm flex of ram muscle. Only then could I grasp him and feel with my own paws his form, that tough hardy body primed for a lifetime's climbing in the peaks. I pressed with pawtips, and he jolted, planting a few gentle pecks on my muzzle, whilst my paws continued their lazy exploration, down his firm back, into the small and to the base of his tail before gliding one paw round to his front, scritching his stomach and drawing forth a few chuckling growls. Then, mustering all my courage, my paw finally fell to his suit trousers. This was my first time with a ram, let alone a Dall sheep ram, so I had no idea what to expect next. But already there, grinning as I clutched that sizeable bulge, I had a feeling I would not be disappointed.

His hips bucked, grinding hard against my paw. There was my cue. Quickly I snapped open the clasp, hearing a little grunt in my ears and feeling him heave forward as my paw slipped in. Gently I shuffled around, glancing him with the back of my paw before I gripped him, letting myself accustom to the contours of a new species, a new mate... a new partner. He swelled in my grip, nowhere near full arousal of course but already giving me a nice good pawful to work with. That's something I never get over: feeling my paw and claws around another male for the first time. So warm. So alive. The clearest, most intimate sign two mates can give of their closeness and trust.

To the symphony of huffs and growls ringing above my ears, the ram's arousal swelled still further. My paw also gripped at his weighty balls, rolling one of them tenderly between pawtips. Without waiting my other paw hooked at his belt loop, sliding his trousers and underwear down his thighs. With a shuffle they fell to the ground, and he stepped out of them before kicking them aside. He too busied himself with my own clothes, wasting no time in slipping my shirt from my shoulders, then tugging at my own trousers, hauling them downwards with my boxers, leaving nothing but my black leather collar around my neck.

All movement stopped at that moment. I clung to the ram, as the reality of the situation dawned on me. A naked husky. A gorgeous naked Dall sheep. And rolling through the blackness of the world a tiny sanctum, all our own.

Another jolt from the tracks jarred me back into focus. I glanced upwards, quivering, just in time to see him lean right into my ear and whisper.

"You're hard, husky."

My cheeks were burning. Time and again I told myself: relax, enjoy this. But still I tensed, even as he smiled, glancing a slow lick right down my muzzle.

"It's alright. It's just you and me here."

Our clothes lay in a pile by the door, far and away the least of our worries now. Up at the ram I glanced once more; and down he stared, exuding an air of utter dominance, snarling, leering at me as though ready to slam me with those huge horns the second I resisted him. I flinched as I spotted a hoof reaching in my direction, but only gained a dry chuckle in response as his hoof slipped to my side to lock the door with a sharp click. I swallowed hard.

He didn't speak, just gazed at me piercingly and gestured to the bed. Like every other cabin, his had a simple fold-out bed. A thin mattress, plain white duvet and pillow, nothing fancy. But those beds are surprisingly comfy, I must say. Just as well.

At first I had planned to slink over to the bed, spread myself prone on the sheets and just leave myself at the ram's mercy. But I thought, why submit myself so readily? This herbivore is mine for the night, so let's make the most of it.

Forepaws planted on the bed, gripping the bedsheets with my claws. Back arched as best I could, with my head tossed backwards, ears nicely relaxed not perked, muzzle agape, tongue protruding in a thirsty pant. Left hindpaw planted firmly on the ground, my right kicked behind, showing off the pink pawpads. And my tail, thick and bushy, curled up behind me, giving him a full view of everything I had to offer. Husky-butt. White-furred balls. And the centrepiece, my tight canine sheath, a couple of inches of husky length already sneaking into view.

I shot him a quick glance. Wide-eyed. Puppy-eyed. Far too innocent considering what we planned to start in a few mere minutes.

He was against the door now, leaning back. Not moving, just staring. His own length, fully unsheathed, stood in full prominence against his white pelt, thick and tapered and much longer than a canine's. A furry sac twitched underneath, heavy, pendulous, the thought alone of what lay swirling in those ram balls making me shiver. Water pooled in my muzzle, under my tongue, as I drank him in and savoured the sight. "Eyes forward, little husky." I wrenched my gaze away, swivelling my ears backwards at the slow 'thump... thump...' of approaching hooves. There was little I could do now, besides stare at the wall in front of me, quivering as the shadow of the horned beast drew nearer.

His steps fell silent. Outside the train rattled along regardless, wind and rain still battering the carriage, wheels clattering in the distance. And inside, our breath cut through the air, heavy, heated.

He gripped my right paw. A sharp snort of breath, hard against my pawpad, before I heard him inhale and sniff, tightening his grip and making me bite my tongue. Suddenly I grinned, feeling a wonderful broad wet lick straight across my underpaw, immediately followed by another, then another. Again and again he worked over my paw with his thick tongue, my panting growing thirstier and my sheath tugging tighter, when suddenly warmth and wetness engulfed my paw.

Just feeling that tongue, stroking all over my paw, snaking between the toes, wrapping and curling right round my pawpads, tickling and matting my fur, heat and wetness all at once... it took all my resolve not to flex my claws in his muzzle. Breath caught in my throat, in a shrill whine, and my forepaws quivered in sympathy. He nibbled my paw, like a true sheep, nipping gently at each tender toepad in turn and making me whisper gently... 'yes...' before with a final slow lick he released me. I whimpered as my paw fell to the ground, wet and tingling as it pressed against the dry carpet. Cocking my head, I watched him reach into his wash bag, rattling the contents before removing a tube and unscrewing the cap. Oh, just seeing another mate pulling out that clear-blue tube... it never failed to make me shudder. Good on him for being prepared though, the dirty sheep.

Coolness hit my tail; I jumped, clenching up before I heard a hard growl, and I relaxed. Then the big ram massaged my rear, swirling his hoof in small circles, closer and closer to my tail before I gasped as one cloven digit slipped inside, digging right in. Then, with his entire hoof, he penetrated me. And my, he certainly knew what he was doing, twisting that hoof nice and slow, pressing just hard and deep enough for me to rise onto my toepaws, my mind growing hazy and my cock harder the whole time. He even coaxed a little murr from my throat as he pulled out.

Suddenly I lurched back, gulping hard as his hoof hooked through my collar, hauling me up into his chest. His other arm snapped across my body to hold me close. More slowly now, he leant his head across my shoulder, his hot liquor-laced breath streaming against my neck. Already I could feel him against my rear, hot and blunt, brushing against my fur, his hips rolling and bumping slowly as his hoof slipped from my collar and down my back to gather my tail out of the way, with each of his slow deliberate strokes bringing him ever closer to his target. Sighing and shaking we rocked and jostled together, my hips and back hitting solid sheep muscle, our little ministrations guiding him closer still to that blissful point of contact, each of us growling and grinding and writhing in unison until finally, finally, we found our target...

He slammed forward, filling me to the hilt in a single thrust, that thick ram cock grating my insides raw. And boy did I shout, eyes snapped open and lips curled back as I shuddered and let forth an agonised howl. He was ahead of me though, arm in my muzzle to muffle my protestations as we bent over onto the duvet, the big ram crushing me underneath his weight. I bit down, shaking and whimpering for my life, tears pricking in the corner of my eyes at being suddenly so full of sheep. My mind was a blur; I wasn't even thinking about my teeth carving into his flesh, only the ram carving into mine. He only grunted louder and held firmer anyway, even as I heard a little crunch and a drop of blood hit my tongue. For a moment we lay still, the big ram's weight pressing me right into the bed. He flexed inside me. I moaned louder into his arm, feeling for the first time just how much sheep cock was buried in me, ten inches at least. Vaguely I felt myself being propped up on my elbows onto the mattress, the ram nestling his huge weight into my back, his arms hooked under my shoulders, and his hips rolling back. Inches of Dall sheep reeled out of me, making me whine like a puppy. And then, suddenly, the massive ram slammed into me, hard. Again I whined, even sobbed gently. My tail was on fire, stretched and filled by that massive ram. Once again he hauled out, grunting hard; I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth in anticipation before he ploughed back in, deeper than ever, and my eyes snapped open. It still hurt like anything; but now another sensation appeared, new and far more pleasurable, as the ram hit something deep inside me. The pleasure built for a few seconds, stronger and stronger until suddenly my whole body ran hot, a hungry murr escaping my muzzle. It felt good. Yes, there was no denying it: it felt good. He noticed too. Now he gripped my shoulders, withdrawing a little before giving a rapid buck. Again I murred. And now that his forehooves had proper purchase, he could use his massive shoulder muscles. And so, without any warning, the big Dall sheep ram withdrew one final time before slamming into me, hard, time and time again.

Now, I've had a fair few partners over the years. But none were anywhere near as rough or as quick as that sheep. The closest in terms of speed would be that rabbit I saw for a few months back in college. He was always a shy little thing in public, short and twitchy like your average bunny; but God, did he hammer me silly a few times! Still, even he couldn't compete with the fearsome bucks that this ram was managing: just so powerful, all the power coming from his shoulders and hind legs, knocking all sorts of incoherent moans and calls from my throat. My own length, too, swelled as the ram rutted me into the duvet beneath, tearing a harsh whimper from my throat. I scarcely believed I could whimper so high. But that big ram was just so bestial, every single one of his assaults sending a spark crackling through my fur. And with the friction on my own length, sandwiched between the bedclothes and my fur, it was too much. Oh God, I needed to come! But no sooner had my paw crept to my length than it was pulled away. "You come when I say you can, and if you come before, I stop. Got to love a horned-up husky," he chuckled. I whimpered pitifully, pleading, but to no avail. The ram just kept battering me, grunting as he tupped me even harder.

I wish I could have seen his face throughout this. That dirty bearded muzzle of his, thrown back, racked and twisted in complete unadulterated bliss. But I had to be satisfied listening to those ecstatic growls, feeling the bucking against my tail... and now also smelling our musk, ripe and unmistakeably male, husky and Dall sheep, a thick fog hanging in the stale air-conditioned air.

His cock, slick from the lube and the copious pre-cum he was depositing, ploughed into me deliciously and wetly. With each of his thrusts he hauled me backwards, drilling me into the bed as we bounced together, ploughing his cock straight into that mass of nerves deep inside me and blotting out the entire world. I stood right on the brink, a rapid succession of my repressed grunts echoing around the cabin. And with my cock sandwiched under two animals and cocooned by the bedsheets. I guess the ram took pity on me then, as just then he growled at me, just a single word. Come. That was definitely as much as I could take, and everything finished for me then with a sudden wild yowl. I felt myself swell, bucked helplessly, and then like a freight train the climax hit, a second vicious howl tearing through my throat as husky cum surged through me, straight into the bedspread, soaking through the sheets and clumping up my stomach fur as I yelped and yelped without a shame in the world, lost to a ferociously hard climax.

My tail... it hurt so much. Around me the bed and cabin bucked and juddered, though whether that was due to the train, or the big buck still claiming me, I could scarcely tell. Outside, ten train carriages clattered over the tracks. Somewhere above, the ram bellowed in triumph, victory, knowing that this husky was well and truly broken.

Indeed, the Dall ram was a wild animal now. He couldn't have been going long, two minutes if that. But as he gripped my shoulders tighter, shuffling his feet and snuffling loudly, I could tell he was already approaching something spectacular. True, his assaults were less directed now; but for power and sheer ferocity nothing before could match them.

Finally, his breath grew hoarse by my left ear and his grip on me tightened, breaking into some really harsh growls, my whole body starting to shudder at these wonderful hard growls against the nape of my neck before suddenly he jerked, letting forth a magnificent stuttering bleat, stopping moving completely for a few moments until he clutched me tight and rocked, not erratically as some do, but powerfully and direct, buck-growl, buck-growl, an all-too-familiar liquid warmth spreading through my lower body. He circled his hips against mine a few times, and the whimpers had escaped my muzzle before I could even process them. He bleated wildly, each victorious bleat accompanied by another surge of ram cum. I could feel it now, dripping down my balls in thick runnels, soothing my tail, even while he kept hammering me wildly. Then with a deep hearty sigh he collapsed onto my back, clutching my sides, motionless save for that glorious ramhood twitching as his semen spilled forth.

Gasping for breath, I lay beneath him spread-eagled, blissfully numb, my eyes slitted, the corners of my muzzle pinned back in a triumphant grin. So I was far beyond resisting when a strong white-furred arm wrapped around my midriff, hoisting me onto the bed. I lay sideways, sunk into the mattress, with the sheep nestled behind me, back and butt and knees locked into mine. I just hung, limply, like a soft toy, utterly drained and unable to stop whimpering, my fur utterly soaked in semen.

I felt so dirty, once the afterglow began to subside. With a chuckle he hugged me tightly, hoof gliding through my neck fur, whispering softly in my ear once more.

"Did you enjoy that?"

I nodded.

"You enjoy being a messy little husky?"

Nod.

He licked my ear. I flinched.

"You're pretty good, by the way. And I'm sure you'll agree we needed that. Both of us."

The massive ram, who just two minutes ago was screwing me witless, was all but gone. In his place was a docile, peaceful sheep, stilled by his very own afterglow. I thought about starting another conversation. But already I could hear the sheep's breathing slowing, and craning my neck I saw his head nestled into the pillow, eyes closed, a smile of complete satisfaction on his face. I could feel him too, softening and sliding out of my ruined tail, further and further until with a hearty growl, the ram's huge cock withdrew for the last time.

Suddenly the emptiness hit me. This wasn't right. We had mated, and of course it felt good. But something still felt wrong. I lay there for a while, ruminating, whilst the delicious scents swirled before my nose. Husky musk and ram musk. His rich cologne. And of course my Laphroaig.

All I could think was that... I didn't have to do that. I mean, I'm not a pup any more. Any time I could have just stood up and left. Back to my own cabin, away from that sheep where he couldn't find me. But I didn't walk. I let him use me, claim me as his own. One more husky. Just one more lonely little husky, there for a single night then tossed aside.

He was warm, certainly, right to the end, when he glided those hooves through my chest fur and nestled over my back, snuggling close for the night ahead. All the strokes in the world, though, couldn't quell the desolation I felt, laying curled on that bed, clutched tightly by the big Dall ram. Not that the encounter wasn't hot, far from it. But ultimately it was a hollow, meaningless mating. We could have mated and mated, driven each other to orgasm after orgasm all through the night. The result would have still been the same. Spilled semen, and sore bodies. And tomorrow, he would still be gone. So why did he do it? Maybe it had been a while since his last straight-up screw. Maybe he even had a partner, somewhere some lucky ewe (or even ram) who could feel every contour, every ravaging thrust of his, and twist their body with his any night they wanted, now and forever more. But what did it matter? He had used me, made me some plaything for a few cheap minutes.

Doubtless, by the way he draped his arm over my shoulder, drawing me into his soft-furred body, and nuzzling the nape of my neck with a deep exhalation, he wanted me to stay at least that night. But I couldn't stay there. I just couldn't. Yes I felt terrible, tearing myself from his embrace. But I had to.

First, lift his hoof. The same hoof which, just moments ago, was dug into me. I held it in both paws, my closest look yet at his sturdy cloven feet, the little dewclaws behind and the two parted toes in front. Perfect feet for gripping a mountainside... or a husky, I suppose. I ran a pawtip along the edge, reminding myself how it felt pressing into my body. Briefly I considered scenting it, but just then I heard him stir. Freezing, I waited until his breath grew gentle, signalling his drift back into sleep. Then, across the bed I slid, feeling for the floor and wincing as I straightened up. My fur was a mess, coated in sticky ram and husky fluids. And these trains didn't even have showers! A quick wash didn't help much, and I still had to put on some clothes before I left; I didn't exactly have a choice there. Shirt, trousers... God, it was sticky. Then tiptoeing across the cabin, I clicked the lock quietly as I dared, and opened the door, stepping back into the corridor, and pulling the door closed behind me with a sigh.

The worst part was the scent, all around me, thick and musky. It radiated from me, the musky reek of a randy ram. Like a guilty teenager with marijuana smoke on his jacket, any fur even slightly savvy could have smelled that cum, and worked out what had happened to me. I still thank my stars that nobody saw me scurrying through the train, along to the end of the carriage and ducking into the toilets. Stripping off as quickly as I could, I washed and scrubbed, soap and water, brushing down with a good pawful of paper towels. That took care of the stickiness, and most of the smell. Regardless, an extra-long shower in Town tomorrow was a given.

I was still wincing as I got to my cabin, opening the door just a crack, slipping inside and closing it, before sneaking through the darkness to my bed. Luckily for me that fox-boy Kit, who I share a berth with, was asleep when I got in. I know Kit, I can tell when he's really asleep and when he's just pretending. Not that he'd rat me out, anyway. Little Kit, always acting so grown-up with his copies of Vixen magazine. Shirt and trousers kicked aside, I clambered into the bottom bunk, flopping down. There I lay, on my back, with only my thoughts, the rattling train and Kit's gentle breathing for company.

What had happened, between me and the ram that night, it was still soaking in. Just what did I think I could achieve from it? It wasn't just a chance to yiff the first willing fur through the door. I'm not that hedonistic. Maybe I just deluded myself that he actually cared about me. But he didn't. He doesn't. Sure, he could bring my body to the most mind-numbing of climaxes. But we were on a train. In a few short hours, he would step off into the City, and carry on with his life, never to be seen again.

But then... his arms around my body. Warm gentle breaths behind my ear. Why did it feel so good, so natural?

*

Morning tasks were routine enough. Bringing the guests breakfast, clearing the lounge, that sort of thing. I've had plenty of hairy 'nights before' anyway, so I just carried on as normal as possible. I swear Kit was paying extra special attention though, especially at the way I was walking... but I digress.

Few guests actually leave their cabin in the morning, however, until we arrive in Town. That leaves us a little time just to wait for our arrival. So, once breakfast was sorted I took a seat in the lounge car, watching the dawn breaking from the window as it streaked the sky in gold and ink and indigo. The night rain had long since cleared, flat fields and villages passing by in the early morning light. Sometimes I looked to the bar, where the ram sat last night. I don't know why; it didn't bring any closure. Nobody spoke to me either; there was little they could say anyway.

An hour later, we arrived. Staff took positions, ready to welcome passengers to the capital and thank them for travelling. No prizes for guessing where I laid in wait. As the train glided to a halt under the arches of the station roof, I swung open the slam door to Coach F, stepping out onto the platform. The station was abuzz, the morning rush-hour just getting underway. The sound of chattering and trolley wheels filled the entrance hall a short way off, and at every platform a train laid in wait. An announcement for a local service echoed around the terminus, while elsewhere an engine roared and a column of smoke drifted out of the station.

He was the last to emerge, a fresh suit mantling his rugged form, a tattered brown suitcase clutched in his hoof, his fur all washed and groomed, and fresh aftershave on. As though nothing at all had transpired in that cabin the night before. And just think, not one other fur knew he carried lube with his businesswork.

"Good morning." He was curt, understandably so now our fellow guests were awake and about. Good morning I replied, in as normal a voice as I could manage. He stepped off the train as I held the door open. Then deftly he slipped something into my trouser pocket, whispering that he thought I 'might want this'. Paper; it rustled when I moved. I didn't look at it straightaway, mind you. If it was what I thought, and if anyone else was watching, it would have looked pretty suspicious.

By the time I glanced up he was already walking, a short way off down the emptying platform. All of a sudden he paused, with an about turn in my direction.

"By the way, your little message on the web forum was right. Whisky and huskies. Two of the finer things in life."

By Ziegenbock