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Henna Tuhkasaari is a temporal sociologist, travelling back in time to observe the behaviors of people long ago. But things can get a bit lonely, and when the opportunity presents itself... well, that calls for a little hands-on fieldwork ;)

This is simple, unabashed smut. I had fun writing it, and hopefully you will enjoy reading it. Literature it ain't, but hey, it's my birthday and I feel like posting something. Indulge me :3 As always, please chime in with criticism and feedback. Per ardua ad astra, and all that!

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

"Fieldwork," by Rob Baird

---

Sunlight spilled lazily into the valley; a soft breeze rippled the tops of the tall grass, and they bobbed and swayed languidly. Beyond, smoke curled from the breakfast-fires of a village hidden beyond the swell of the hills. It was as nice a morning as you could hope to see, four thousand years ago.

Or was it five?

Henna Tuhkasaari was not, at present, entirely certain. Warm sun, and the languor of recent slumber, had all but sapped her of her wits. She rolled from the soft foam mat that was her bed, getting slowly to her feet, and stretched the sleep from her muscles. Then she took the small wristband of her computer, pulled it over her right paw, and tapped it drowsily.

"Day fifty-nine. Almost two-thirds of the way through my fieldwork, and I haven't yet seen anything worth documenting. I'm really beginning to think Anja was right."

Anja Hedlund was almost certainly not staring at an empty valley, trying to convince herself that primeval beauty made up for an utter lack of promise. Anja was probably at a party, or eating breakfast that was not reconstituted. Or flashriding, or laser-painting, or trading holoscenes with the rest of the cohort.

Or maybe she was just getting up, herself -- glancing over her shoulder at the dozing form of... who was she seeing? Still Emma? No, no. No, it was Joachim whats-his-name, now, the barista at Redfoot's Café just inside the dome on the south side of the arcology at Vasteras. A handsome mutt, with fur short enough to reveal his toned body when he took off his shirt to enjoy the sunshine on the upper levels. Henna licked her muzzle at that memory, and let it linger for a long spell.

It was the quiet that really bothered her. Anja Hedlund was also a sociology student, but she was writing her dissertation on the post-Bretonian commune in the lower levels of the Vasteras arco. Comparing the subtle weave of their laser paintings with the epic murals of the Sixth Epoch -- a noble pursuit, to be sure. But it meant she could talk to people, and go back to her loft every night.

Henna could not. The she-wolf was a temporal sociologist, which she had naïvely considered to be terribly prestigious. This was an error -- just like studying the kinship rituals of early iron age farmers and shepherds had seemed quaint at the time. That's what she'd told Anja: "it's a chance to get out of the arco; see some fresh air. And who else can say they spent three months living five thousand years ago?"

Cloudminded fools, that was who. She wasn't even studying proper, civilized folk -- instead, her dissertation concerned Homo sapiens, furless forebears of the modern world about whom precious little was known. The textbooks had made them seem interesting -- their rise on the harsh African savannah, their fight for dominance in the frozen glaciers of her own Northern Europe; their primitive cities.

As interesting as they might've been, though, she would still stick out like a sore thumb. So she had to stay hidden, and she wasn't allowed to talk to the savage things -- if indeed their language was complex enough to understand. Henna turned the wristband to check the power indicator, and discovered to her irritation that she had forgotten to charge it overnight. Well, that would limit her explorations -- the wristband was what allowed her to travel invisibly.

The blind was cloaked, too; under ordinary circumstances, only she could see it as it hovered four meters over the ground, in the fashion of a magic carpet. It gave her shelter, and let her observe her subjects -- not that there were any.

Now she lowered it closer to the ground, so that she could step off and make her way down to the river at the valley bottom. That was the nicest thing about the location she'd chosen -- bathing herself and then sprawling on the sun-soaked bank to dry off never failed to cheer her up, at least for a few minutes.

The current was swift, and cool; Henna tossed her wristband aside and then strode in up to her knees. Rushing water plucked and tugged at her silvery fur, and her keen ears twitched to the burbling of the eddies that formed about her long legs. She cupped her paws, pouring water over her lean form until she was dripping wet from head to tail, feeling cleaner than she ever had in an ultrasonic shower in Vasteras.

The sun beating down on her made it easy to luxuriate in the crisp water; it was half an hour before she finally dragged herself out, shaking vigorously to scatter little droplets hither and yon. Then she lay back, in the soft grass on the river's edge, and let her mind wander.

Two months in ancient history had meant two months without any meaningful contact and only herself to talk to. Henna did not think of herself as a particularly needy wolf -- and certainly no social butterfly like Anja -- but it was starting to get to her. She ran her paws down her drying fur, closing her eyes and trying to imagine that it was someone else's touch.

Whose? She faltered, and then decided that Joachim would do as well as anyone -- anyhow Anja could scarcely consider it cheating. She licked her muzzle expectantly and let out a breathy sigh. In her mind, the other canine worked his skillful paws down her sides, and through the thick white fur of her belly -- touching her just as she loved to be touched, never leaving her waiting nor moving too quickly.

Yes, and then he would be exploring her shapely breasts -- Henna was quite proud of these, which were just the right size for her limber, wolfish body. His strong, warm paw would squeeze one with the perfect mixture of tenderness and desire; his nimble fingers would teasingly caress her stiffening nipple. Henna gave a soft whimper, and the she-wolf's back took a brief arch as she squirmed in the grass.

Her other paw slipped lower; she parted her legs as her imaginary companion explored the downy fur along her inner thighs, still damp from the river. Then she thought that he should move further up, and so he did -- to find an entirely different kind of dampness. She gasped, gliding the smooth, warm pads of her fingers over the wet lips of her sex and then to her clitoris, teasing gently, never quite touching it -- the whimpering that left the she-wolf's parted muzzle becoming deeper and more pointed.

Joachim was as excellent a fictional lover as she could've desired, and very attentive.

She decided on a whim that he was also quite well-endowed -- not large enough to set any records, of course, but definitely eye-catching. She could see it quite clearly in her mind: his stiff, glistening length crimson against the tawny fur, framed by his muscular torso. She held the picture vividly, imagining him guiding that tapered tip to her entrance, penetrating her for the first time. Her curled fingers worked their way into her body up to the knuckle, and she moaned wantonly.

Her hips lifted and bucked rhythmically as she pumped her fingers swiftly, delving hungrily into her soft, slick folds, over and over. If she tried hard enough, she could even feel the heat of his strong body above her -- though, as the pleasure steadily built, working in warm tendrils from her hips, it was hard enough merely to keep her breathing steady. The dog's thick knot would be starting to build, buffeting her, kicking her closer... closer... god, almost...

Then -- over her growling whimpers, and the wet sounds her fingers made -- she heard voices. In a panic she sat up; her ears swiveled to pinpoint the sounds, which were drawing nearer. Henna swore -- panting, quivering, her muscles taking a moment to respond as she fumbled about for her wristband, pulling it on and activating the cloak.

The voices proved to be a pair of sheepherders, locked in heated argument. She double-checked the computer at her wrist to make sure that the translator implanted in her brain was programmed for their language:

"-- and you know it! The auspices could not be more clear!" shouted one, the rage plain in his voice.

"Nor could you be more blind, if you read them like that."

"Better blind than honorless," the first shot back, spitting an angry oath: "You disgrace our mother!"

Now the other halted. "Say that again, you wretched beast, and be prepared to die for it."

"You heard me. You're a curse on our bloodline, fit only for the carrion-birds."

This was good! Good enough that she was willing to forgive the interruption -- family structure, exactly as she'd wanted to research. The humans were a common primate, native to the area; but she didn't know much of their family relations, and certainly not that they fought so vigorously over them. Wouldn't that be fascinating to write up?

They were bickering on a steep ledge three or four meters above the riverbank; she scrambled up quickly to get a better vantage point. Humans, like many primates, were tool-users; now one of the pair had drawn a sharp knife, and was brandishing it at the other male. If they shared a mother, Henna reflected, that made them packmates -- and yet here they were, ready to fight to the death. How exciting!

The knife, which would've made a nice artifact, never saw action -- before it could the other lunged, and they grappled together fiercely. The fight moved so swiftly she could scarcely follow it -- focusing instead on the sounds: flesh striking flesh, and the combatants' grunts and cries, and the snap and crackle of disturbed reeds, and a low, repetitive beeping.

What?

Henna looked down at her wrist, where a red light flashed dimly. Numbers were counting down. Five... four... three... two... one...

Then the battery was dead, and her cloak disengaged.

She was acutely aware of how conspicuous she was, standing completely naked scarcely four meters from the two brothers. She'd heard that humans had a poor sense of smell, and she was downwind anyway -- but their eyesight was good, maybe better than her own. Before she could react one of them spotted her -- he froze, and this distraction was all that was needed for the other to slam his weight home; they tumbled over the edge to land with a cracking thud on the bank below. The sound of their fighting stopped.

Henna crept forward cautiously, and leaned over the edge to look down. The one who had spotted her sprawled brokenly, unmoving, half in the water; the other was trying to get up. He managed to get to his hands and knees -- then his strength left him and he collapsed.

This was an unexpected development. For various reasons they were not supposed to interfere in the past; now the wolf was not certain how to proceed. If, as they said, she was really capable of causing damage to the timeline, why would they let her go back at all? No, it was probably nothing but urban legend. And yet... she turned over various scenarios in her mind until more compassionate instincts took hold, and she carefully picked her way back down to the riverbank.

The human who had seen her was most assuredly dead; the flowing water was pulling on him, drawing him further in, and when he was facedown in the water that lapped at the edge no breath disturbed the shallows. She considered trying to haul him out, but the current seized him before she could, and he was sucked away, out of sight. No matter -- they were hardly an endangered species, and their vicious fighting would've killed one of the animals anyway.

What had it been over? They had mentioned their primitive spirituality -- but also a sense of honor. She hoped, academically if nothing else, that this might've involved fighting over a mate, as other animals did. She didn't think that anybody had written about a human rut before.

Then she shook her head. Why was she dwelling on the mating rituals of these creatures? That was most unseemly.

But one of them was still alive, and a sense of curiosity animated her. Gingerly, she rolled him over, and examined her first human up close. He had very little fur -- mostly about his head -- and his bare skin was darkly tanned. For an ape, he wasn't terribly unattractive. At least, not physically -- the smell was revolting. Henna sniffed, her nose wrinkling, and decided that his stained clothes were the likely culprit.

When they were removed, the odor proved to be much more agreeable indeed, and she set about cleaning him up to finish the job. Her paws dribbled river water onto his prone form, working the dirt and grease from him and his curiously smooth body. How did they manage to function without fur? Weren't they ever cold?

Even the sheath of his soft penis was hairless, although a quantity of fur did surround it in a thick bush. She stroked at this contemplatively, and her head cocked inquisitively as she felt him stiffen up, almost imperceptibly. Casting a furtive glance about -- they were alone, naturally -- she poked the bare flesh with her fingers.

His manhood was odd-looking, with its wrinkled skin, and she leaned in close to inspect it. Her snuffling rewarded her with the thick, musky scent of his body -- no, not unpleasant at all, now that she thought of it. An untoward thought flickered through her mind. She dismissed it; a moment later it returned, and her eyes kept wandering back, between the man's legs. It had been so very long...

"What I'm about to do is very improper," she admitted aloud to his unconscious form -- and then flicked out her soft, velvety tongue, lapping experimentally at the human's shaft.

Each heartbeat seemed to make him swell a bit larger, until the smooth erection jutted stiffly from him, pointing towards his navel. There was no sheath, she supposed -- just a bit of loose skin around the head of his cock, which she worked down with her tongue to reveal the dark, bare head beneath. She caressed it with her tongue, bathing it in silky warmth. A bead of something wet and salty spilled onto her tongue; she growled hungrily, and kept licking.

Her earlier reservations had long since faded. There was something rather exciting about the thought of what she was doing -- besides which, their argument had interrupted her, and after all they were only simple animals. She took the opportunity to suckle gently right at the tip of his pulsing erection, grinning lasciviously to nobody in particular. Yes, sixty days had been far too long without stimulation...

Then her ears twitched, for the man was groaning as he regained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, and he did his best to make sense of what was going on -- the strange beast crouched over him, her muzzle wrapped about his rigid shaft and her tail wagging. "Wha --"

"Quiet," she muttered.

He stammered, and it was a few seconds more before he could form a coherent sentence. "What are you? Are you a god?"

"Yes," Henna told him, without a moment's hesitation.

"Where's my brother?"

What could it hurt? They were simple shepherds; their quarrel would matter nothing to history. "You were right, about the auspices. I struck him down before he could kill you."

"And now..."

"Now," the she-wolf growled, "as a goddess, I'm exacting my tribute."

His mouth opened to form some further question, but a groan was the only thing that escaped; her fingers were stroking over his length, keeping it at attention. Satisfied that he was done protesting, Henna placed her paws on his chest to hold him in place, and then swung one leg over him so that she could straddle the human.

Looking down, she bared her teeth at him -- this she meant as a grin, but in her present state it was hard for any such subtleties to carry over, and she chose to demonstrate her meaning in actions instead, taking his length between her fingers and guiding the blunt head between her legs. She lowered her hips slowly, forcing his stiff prick up and into her, settling down slowly until her hips were resting flush on his and he was hilted in the she-wolf's moist, hot folds.

The human may have looked strange, but he was warm and pleasantly thick, filling her just so; she growled commentarily to him, and when he raised his hands to run his fingers through the fur of her sides and back she encouraged him with a pleased gasp.

Now the wolf, who was never particularly patient, was not in the mood to take her time; she drew her hips up carefully, rocking down firmly to force him deep inside again. By the third or fourth revolution her pace had settled in -- riding him swiftly, her muzzle parted with her throaty, eager moans. For his part the man's hips bucked up to meet her; their bodies clashed, and his strong hands squeezed her chest firmly, stilling her swaying breasts.

The stimulation was working her quickly back towards the peak that had been so rudely stolen from her earlier. Her thighs were starting to quiver -- it was getting harder to work her hips smoothly, and the movements were growing halting. Her claws raked the man's chest, leaving little welts, and her lips drew back in a snarl.

Her back arched when it happened -- her muzzle lifted, and she howled her raw gratification to the late-morning sky. It broke on her like a rolling wave, drawing her down and back into a roiling sea of pleasure. The human below her groaned, trapped snugly in her warm folds as she squeezed him tightly, gripping him in the rhythmic contractions of her release.

Then she slumped forward, panting like a dog, her tongue lolling. Her human lover's hips continued to work, against the weight of her body, but when this proved to be difficult the world spun, and she found her back pressed into the warm grass.

Taking charge, he pushed into her in deep, powerful strokes that kept her on the edge, working her by heated degrees back towards the pinnacle. She could see the strain on his face as he tried to stave off climax; each time he rocked into her, his slick cock gliding smoothly into her clenching, wet heat, his teeth gritted.

She couldn't quite tell how close he really was; she was waiting to feel his swelling knot for several long, glorious, blissful seconds until it struck her that he probably didn't have one. Instead she took her cues from his strained grunts, and the tensing muscles of his legs and back, and the way he ground his hips into hers, as though consumed by some primal need to be deep inside her.

Then he cried out, groaning an oath to a deity she didn't recognize, and she felt his cock pulse. The human's seed flowed into her in thick, warm spurts, and the feeling was enough to send the she-wolf over the edge again, her spasming pussy milking him for all he was worth, the accompanying howl telling any listener in the valley about their shared triumph.

Finally he lay still, nestling into the thick fur of the wolf's pelt. But he didn't speak until his manhood had softened, slipping from her, and she felt his seed trickling into her fur. "You said that... that I was correct, o wolf goddess? I, and not my brother?"

It was strange pillow-talk -- but then they were animals, after all, consumed by their primitive instincts. "Yes. You were right," she agreed.

"I knew the auspices wouldn't lead me astray," he sighed gratefully. "And now! To have the favor of the gods! What was it, that bid you intercede?"

"It's not important," she chuckled. The worship was a bit much for the little white lie that she had offered.

"Very well, o wolf." He stroked his hands along her sleek flanks, smoothing down the fur. "Still, no one can argue with a goddess -- though I'll... I will have to change the details of our meeting slightly, perhaps."

Henna smiled. "Of course. But who would you even tell?"

"Why, my followers, o goddess. Now everyone will know that this site is blessed" The man caressed her sides, gazing up at her reverently. "I'll order a temple built, and statues raised in your likeness. You and your kind that stalk these hills shall be the honored patrons of our city -- and it will endure for countless centuries under your watch. This I vow to you, o wolf."

Now Henna's ears twitched, and pinned back. "Temple? Aren't you a shepherd?"

"For now, yes," he admitted. "But only for now."

"Then what's this about a city?"

"The hills cry out for it," the man said; his eyes blazed with conviction. "A city to watch over this noble land. A city created by your divine intervention -- how fitting it is that you, consort of the god of war, should summon it into being by striking down an unworthy pretender. A city to stand the test of time, o goddess, and to do my name proud."

The she-wolf swallowed; her eyebrow arched. "Your name, huh? And what is that?"

"Apologies, goddess," the man said, dipping his head in deference. "The manner of our meeting offered no room for introduction. But I, your faithful servant, am called Romulus."