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"Special Delivery"

by H. A. Kirsch Copyright 2012

---

Who am I? Lightning round description, go!

My name is Zale Sterling, and I'm a zebra-pony. My dad was a Zebra, and my mom was a Pony. Well they're not dead or anything, so they still are both. I was born in Australia and moved to the United States when I was a kid. I play guitar and was gonna be in a band and get totally famous and so I spent my college money and pissed my parents off and the whole thing crashed and burned. With no money, I decided to become a prostitute, because sex is fun and everyone gets off on getting blown by horses since we can actually do it with lips and tongue instead of just tooth dragging. Then some wolf kept me as a sex slave in his house (and paid for all my food and clothes there, and bought me a fifteen thousand dollar guitar, holy shit!) and turned me into a kinky freak. Then I got out of there and worked in a brothel, and met this oh my god iconic cranky business-lion. Then he decided to keep me as a perpetual mistress, sort of, even while he had no other partner and fell in love with me, and I fell in love with him.

Tada!

So who am I now? I work for a national guitar store franchise as the sales manager slash senior sales person. I live on that business lion's property, in the gardener's house slash guest house. (He's kind of rich.) I'm good buddies with this odd fox who's really into science fiction movies and TV shows, in _that_ kind of way.

But really, most of the interesting stuff that happens to me happens because of that wolf, and that lion.

---

About twenty minutes after closing door lock one night, the store manager came over to me. "Hey Zale, I got a special job for you."

"And I have underlings!"

"And they're gone for the day. Look, I have something that I promised I'd hand deliver. Well, actually, I promised you'd hand deliver it." The store manager was a coyote named Bart. Bartholomew T. Harris III, actually, if you went by his official name badge. Awfully complicated name for a guy who runs a big-box guitar store.

I rolled my eyes. "That's not going to work out well. I have a motorcycle. You want me to hand deliver something in pieces? Or maybe you want to pay my cab fare?"

Bart grunted. "Look. This guy ordered an NS Omni Bass. It just came in. He showed up right when I was shutting the doors and I said sorry, we just can't open back up. He got all asshole wolf on me and said, I quote, 'Then you fucking deliver it to me.' He then gave me three hundred dollars and a business card. I said fine, fine, I'll send the sales manager, he's going home anyway. And you're going home."

"I don't have a car! Bart, you're an idiot." Talking to the manager like that wouldn't get me fired. I'd figured that out a year or so earlier. I got my cell phone out.

"Fine, fine, give me the receipts from a cab and I'll pay it. Whatever. He told me that if we didn't get it over there tonight, we'd regret it. He looked like the kind of guy that you didn't want threatening you. Real tough. Kind of mafia tough."

Guitarists and the like tend to dress in all manner of clothing. Telling me someone looked mafia tough didn't mean anything - for all I knew, he could just be kind of anal and always wore a suit. Plus, an NS Omni Bass was no vicious rock instrument. It's more for the jazz set, kind of like an upright bass.

I really should have taken everything Bart said as a warning. Tough asshole wolf, dressed like some mobster guy, plays upright bass. Has four thousand dollars to blow on said electric upright bass. This all meant something. Bart was somewhat oblivious; when I'd stepped in to go to the bathroom one day, Harley had showed up and Bart had occupied the lion with a couple of sales people. This after many conversations talking about the unmistakably cranky, business-dapper lion including a cell phone picture to demonstrate the lion frown. Bart had just assumed he was some rich lawyer who wanted a pearl-inlaid jazz guitar, not the ur-Lion that I had blatantly described.

Pardon the guitar talk. This is what happens when you're the kind of guy who can't make it in a band so he has to sell guitars.

Anyway, I solved the current problem with my phone. I called my friend Mike, this weird Russian Silver fox. He dyed his fur red so that all the silver parts were dusky, like a backwards red fox. He's the sci-fi nerd. He's also an extreme gear fetishist and into BDSM. "Mike, I need to borrow your car."

"Michael is currently occupied," a voice said, artificially hollow and patronizingly emotionless. "Is this Zale?"

Oh god, Mike's creepy boyfriend, Aras. He was also a fox, I think. You know how there are those aliens in sci-fi stuff who have some kind of full enclosure suit on all the time? Like a gas mask space suit SWAT team thing? Well even if you don't watch too much TV like I did as a kid, that's a good enough description of Aras. All the time. Even in public. "Aren't you using a phone? Can't you just read - yes it's Zale. Go ask him if I can borrow his car. Like right now. It'll just take a little while. He doesn't even use it much anyway. He was complaining about that all one afternoon."

"One moment," the voice said, and then the line went silent but not dead. Bart looked over at me, impatient. I waved him off, flicked my mane at him. "I will leave them on the front table for you." "Thanks, uh," and I hung up. Aras was beyond creepy, but if he asked Mike to do something, he'd do it with this funny look on his face. Maybe he'd brainwashed the poor guy, I dunno. It all seemed harmless enough. I turned back to Bart. "You get whatever ready, I'll be back in a bit. There better be something in this for me."

I didn't give the coyote chance to respond; I just stomped into the back room, put my riding gear on, and then took off.

---

Mike lived only ten minutes away, in a former duplex. He bought both halves, and turned the house into this strange sort of chimera. He lived in one half, played or collected in the other, and had this kind of unsettling space-ship-infirmary dungeon he'd built over the last year or so. I rang the doorbell and waited about thirty seconds. Then I gave the knob a clandestine turn. It opened.

I walked into the living room and Aras stepped out of a shadow. I froze, snorted, and then when he moved, let out a completely reflexive whinny.

"If your friend was not indisposed, he would find that very exciting. For the time being, he is excited enough," Aras said, then motioned to the coffee table. Yep, full enclosure suit, complete with a 'fox' gasmask hood respirator helmet mask thing. On the table were a set of Honda keys.

I picked them up. "Hey, uh, thanks. I hope you two have fun tonight, I guess. I'll try to bring the car back soon. My boss is making me deliver something and I want to get a suck-up raise."

"Yes, we will definitely have fun. Good night, Zale," Aras said, and then started walking towards me. He backed me out the front door, bowed slightly, then closed and latched it.

Weirdo. I parked my bike next to his in the driveway and got in his car. It was a functional, even kind of well-kept, old-school Accord. I felt a bit silly driving it in my riding gear, but what else was I supposed to do?

Back to the store, and I pulled up in back to collect the shipping box and an invoice from Bart. "You gonna hook me up?"

He laughed. "I'll think of something. Trust me. I have a few new connections, might be able to get you some pro-bono mixing work or studio time or something."

I may have failed at being in a totally kickass rock band as a sweet lead guitarist, but I was starting to gather a little internet following of guitar nerds. I got in the car, got out my phone and started plugging the address into my phone.

The name. Harold Kirsch. No way. That wasn't possible. It couldn't be - but the address was his. I knew it well. I'd lived there for a year. It was That Wolf.

Sometimes, when I get overstimulated, I get this urge to kind of lean back and flail like mad. I assume it's a horse thing. I did that and immediately knocked Mike's radar detector out of his passenger visor.

I fumed and steamed, literally steamed up the car windows because the damn aircon didn't work, but I drove off to deliver the package. It was my job, although for the indignity of having to go see That Wolf in a professional context, Bart better have a platinum-record producer ready to let me twiddle his studio knobs.

I wound up into the slight, forested hills on the other side of town, then turned down the private driveway with the right number. There it was, a modernist house in all dark square wood and glass, like some sort of architect magazine spread. His cars were out in front of the garage, getting some fresh air or something. A customized Mustang GT, a huge original Hummer SUV, and some sort of James Bond-ish 1970's supercar thing. Rich people.

I pulled up behind the one that looked the most useful, and parked the Accord there just to be an ass. Then I walked the package up to the door, set it down with a huff, rang the bell, and waited.

Within a minute, boots clacked up to the door and then it swung open. The swinger: a seemingly towering black wolf wearing a black leather suit jacket, black leather pants, black cowboy boots, and black gloves. The only thing not black was his yellow eyes, and his white teeth. Those two things formed an immediate amused smirk. "Hey, this is great. They deliver horse meat right to my door now," he said, then stepped away back into the house.

"Are you serious?"

"You gonna deliver that package?"

I sighed and stepped into the house. I set the box down on the stone tile foyer floor and then kept going, motorcycle boots clomping right onto the fancy-ass rich dark flooring.

The wolf looked down, but the transgression just made him grin more. "Let me guess. You're mad at me. Every time I see you, you're mad at me about something."

"You, you, you came over to see me to apologize about keeping me as your sex slave and you ended up raping me!"

He laughed. "And now what, you have Stockholm Syndrome or something? Look at you, walking in here when I fucking ask for it."

"Well, yes, Hawk. I am mad. You've fucked up my evening. I was going to go home and be a slob and now I have to listen to you run your smart mouth off!" I crossed my arms. I couldn't help being a brat back. If he'd been someone else, I'd have been just kind of cross. But his hyper-asshole attitude just required fire for fire.

Hawk took his coat off and hung it on a guest coat hook. Underneath it, he wore only his black fur. "If you're so mad, how about you hit me?" He then fisted his hands up, lifted his shoulders, flexed up his chest, and stood his ground.

"Now there's no way you're serious," I said, and gawked. He'd been working out. When I first me him, he was intimidating because he was over six and a half feet tall, a good half foot taller than me. Now he was doubly intimidating because he had the lupine muscles to back it up.

"I'm proud, and you're wearing gloves with carbon fiber knuckles. Hit me in the chest. Go on, just fucking punch me. Just one-"

"God, shut up," I snorted, and clocked him in the pec. It almost hurt my hand, and made a loud plasticy thwap even as I pounded him in the fur.

He grunted and smirked. Then he grabbed me by the partly unzipped riding suit. I couldn't stand to walk around in it without taking it down to my ribs - riding leather is meant to save your ass when you hit the pavement, not run a marathon. I'd unzipped it without thinking, and now he had a handle. He grabbed, then stomped me backwards until I hit the foyer wall with a thump. It pushed some of the air out of me and I stared wide-eyed at him, even flared my lips.

"I've fucking missed you," he said, then closed the distance by grinding his crotch against mine, gloved hands still clutching my black and blue Z-Stripe suit leather. It had to match my black and blue mohawk, duh. His muzzle came just inches away from mine, hot breath washing over my nostrils, and then moved up to growl in my ear. "You don't have a car. Whose car is that out there?"

I reached up and started to pry at his clutching hands, but somehow ended up holding onto his fists from the outside. My hands felt like they were kind of powerful in those armored gloves, but Hawk's dressy leather was completely unyielding. Oh god. "Uh, it's this fox's."

"You stole a fox's car? As a fox lover, I don't know what to think about that," he said, playing deadpan, but letting his rattling slack-jawed Brooklyn accent rasp down at the end.

"It's my friend Mike's. He lives kind of near where uh, Guitar Planet is."

"You think I don't know whose car that is? He fuckin' works for me, kinda. I give him this spot for his custom rubber fetish work in the basement of The Pit. He gets business, I get more patrons. See? Predators can work together. Thank you very much for giving me the white glove treatment with my new bass," he said, easing up and off of me as if he'd suddenly changed his mind. White gloved. My gloves were white and black, natural zebra patterning.

"Are you going to do something bad to me? You kind of threw me against the wall..."

He smirked, then just wandered off into the rest of the house. He flicked his hand to beckon me along. "I'm gonna make you dinner. Unless you have something else going on this evening?"

I followed him. "I don't have anything going on." He stopped halfway to the kitchen.

"Take that leather shit off. You'll wear what I want, if and when I want it. And you're all alone tonight? No big lion to fuck you to sleep?"

I turned red-eared and snorted. I also started to strip out of the suit, right there. Instead of staying to watch, he just turned and stomped away. Well fuck. "You're an asshole."

"And you probably got an erection when you saw my name on that delivery. So what reason do I have to clean up my fucking act, huh?" He was apparently serious about dinner. Serious enough that he got out vegetarian things first. I was pretty casual about taking off my riding gear because I still had some clothes on, if an underarmor shirt and boxer briefs counted. Athletic spandex didn't really feel like clothing.

I cautiously entered the kitchen and leaned out of the way as the wolf started to cook. "You were mean to me. I thought you were gonna kill me back there. Or you wanted to act out a scene from a movie, but if this is Fight Club, whose house are we in?"

"I'm a wolf," was the only response. Apparently, he was making me thai pineapple rice with leftover takeout rice. Fair enough.

"Harley is having some kind of business night out. I can imagine how much fun that is, intimidating customers and giving them enough martinis to calm their nerves or whatever it is that he does."

"Are you really trying to make small-talk with me?" Hawk asked, over his shoulder. He was no longer wearing his gloves; he'd made a neat slightly-crossed pile of them on the counter. I think he'd knew I'd look at it. He was kind of responsible for my leather fetish.

I shrugged. "It's a defense mechanism."

"You know, when I first met you, you didn't talk much. You just kind of sat around and looked pretty. Now you sit around and look prettier and run your mouth off." He turned and leaned on the counter as everything sizzle-combined on the stove. "This whole thing is a fucking coincidence. At least as much as, I wanted to buy a nice bass, and you happen to work for fucking Guitar Planet. I was giving the store manager or whatever a bunch of shit just because he seemed fun to fluster, and then he sucked up real hard and dropped your name. So what was I going to do, just ignore it? I'm not going to ignore the chance to lure you into my fucking house instead of letting you go home and sign your fucking name in your diary with "Benson" instead of "Sterling"."

Ouch. That stung enough that it made me laugh, like when you bang your elbow on something. And when a horse laughs, it looks goofy and toothy enough that Hawk's smirk turned to a sputtered chuckle when he saw it. "I don't think Harley would ever want to marry me."

"Lions are difficult. Firsts are difficult. I know both from experience. Sit down and look hungry," he growled, turned around, and plated the pile of pineapple, random asian veggies, and fried rice. Hawk never seemed like the kind of person who would cook for themselves, but he always could. "Well, sit down and fucking eat, I guess."

I ate. It gave me a great excuse to stop opening my big mouth to talk. Hawk made his own dinner, which apparently involved a salad and steak. And nothing else.

"You used to cover your accent up. You sounded like you were trying to be Californian. Now you just sound like an Aussie," he said, almost a yell over the roar of his vent fan and the hot crackle of steak on a frying pan. Eek, meat.

"That's because I _am_ an Aussie."

"You better be glad I know how to cook vegetarian food. I don't give a shit what it is - if it's dead, I'll cook it into something." Hawk pulled his steak off the pan and put together the salad. "Look, there's really no big plan to this. It was a fucking coincidence. It's entirely possible, you know? Destiny, it's like a kind of karma. You earn it."

I stared. He almost made sense, except he didn't. He sat down across from me and started devouring his steak. Hawk could look pretty genteel if he put his mind to it, like when he answered the door. Sleazy and a little mediterranean, but his outfit cost fifteen thousand dollars if he was to be believed and it looked every penny the part. In the kitchen, half naked and putting his pants and boots into harm's way, he was half animal. Shoving steak into his mouth, he was maybe two thirds animal. He even kept his muzzle down when he looked up at me, like a wolf who's startled while eating.

"Thank you for dinner," I said, and put on the most mockingly meek expression, muzzle tucked down, hand reaching up to palm through my mohawk. It's just always 'there!'.

Hawk put his fork and knife down with a clank, then turned his snout up for a tipped-up cowboy smug look, complete with some grease and drool in his muzzle-fur. He wiped it off in a completely autonomic motion, just fwoop! All clean. "I know that look. That's the 'ugh, I don't eat meat', look. That's because you're a fucking horse. You stand around in the fucking grass, belching and dragging your horse balls against the fucking shrubs. Ever wonder if that's why Harley likes you? If everything goes to shit, at least he'll have a few weeks of fresh meat real close at hand."

"Dude!" How disgusting! Too bad I blurted out the surfer speak instead of the tarty little comeback.

He stood up and swung around the table, lower body seeming to move far more than his upper body, head and arms coming straight for me. I reached up and he just brushed my hands aside, then grabbed me by the jaws and kissed me. Lips and tongue and teeth all crashed into my face, and I flared my lips back, then puckered them, then opened up. All that wet wolf-tongue rammed into my mouth and for a second I thought he'd somehow reach all the way to the back. The thought of deep-throating someone does not make me gag. It makes me almost ejaculate. Actually doing it frequently does. Scout's honor.

But it all tasted like meat. Meat and _blood_, because it was a very rare steak. Practically just seared. I could still see it on the table out of the corner of my eye, oozing and red. Now some of the juices were in my mouth. I wrestled away. "Oh my god, I don't care how horny you are, that's awful! I can't do that! Meat makes me sick!"

Did he show any shred of concern? No, his tail fucking wagged over his leathered ass and he smirked so hard I could hear it, literally hear the wet sounds of lips tightening and curling back from his white teeth. "You're just a horse. Not even a good one; you can't follow directions. You're still wearing fucking clothes."

"What?" That did not really compute. The sudden shift. "I'm serious, it makes me, look I'm sweating, I'm all q-"

Right as real sweat broke out on my face, down my neck like a racehorse from the bolt of quivering stomach from the horrific stench and taste of Meat Things in my mouth, Hawk grabbed his hand into my boxer-briefs waistband, pulled up and out, and slid me right off the dining chair onto the floor. "You love to play the victim," he snarled, and stepped on my chest. Not really heavily, but I froze like an ice cube. "My victim. I told you to do something and you blew it just because I'll do this to you. And if you really don't want me grinding my boot sole into your striped fucking chest, then you can kiss it and make it all better."

I stared down at his boot. That wasn't hard - it was inches from my face. A very nice cowboy boot, simple black leather but shaped as a flawless male archetype. Then I leaned my head down and tucked my chin in against my chest. I pursed my lips out and just barely grazed the leather. I even grunted a little, then looked up. Like I expected, Hawk didn't get enraged. So I pushed it harder. "Please, Mr. Wolf?"

"Son of a bitch," he snorted, eased up on me, turned and stepped off. "Take off the rest of that fucking eye candy you're wearing and wait for me in the living room." He then clomped out of the room and walked to the far end of the house. His bedroom. I felt both excited and worried that I wasn't being dragged in there with him.

I went to the living room and took my undergear off. Just naked, right down to the floppy black balls. I sat on the sofa and those horse balls got a taste of the relatively cool leather and I let out a nice, big horse sputter. Then I piped up. I hadn't seen Hawk close his door; he'd just stepped into the room. He'd be able to hear me. "You're just like Harley. Making me sit around like a dog while you plan some sort of embarrassing thing for me to do."

"Embarrassing? That implies you don't like what I'm going to make you do," he yelled back, voice wobbled as he did something strenuous. Then there was a thump.

"And it's always the same sort of thing. A trap. You set some kind of trap for me and then I fall in it."

"You're being facetious. That lion and I are plenty alike, but we're plenty different."

We were having a conversation by yelling back and forth from his living room to his bedroom. It disarmed me. "You know, when you stop being some sort of overheated stud, you're actually kind of okay."

Stomp. Stomp. This wasn't just stomping - this was practiced, calculated, black knight stomping. Sizewise, Hawk was easily bested by Harley in just about all dimensions (save for his penis, where the wolf almost excessively won.) But attitude-wise, whatever Hawk was doing as he came down the hallway would have made Harley look like a gigantic kitten. It was so intimidating that I actually looked away from the opening to the room, like it was going to be too bright to stay focused there.

When I looked back, all six and a half feet of black wolf was standing there, wearing the most ridiculously amazing (amazingly ridiculous?) outfit I had ever seen him in. It was basically a leather suit covered in more leather armor of various kinds. Polished engineer boots with these boot gaiters (fancy shin guards) that had diamondplate steel inlaid on the front. Some sort of pants with armored leather insertions like a motorcycle suit, and a codpiece pouch swollen with very natural packing. More and more leather, including a sculpted chest piece and this amazing set of shoulder epaulet armor that put mean spikes where someone would casually pat their hand. Gauntlet gloves with supple leather for the hands and tough armor leather for the long cuff, inlaid with that same diamondplate steel. The keystone of the outfit was a sculpted leather mask worn on most of Hawk's head, although it covered only the top of his muzzle so the bottom was free for opening. It made him look even more smirky and glare-y and mean.

The final touch: a fucking Cape. A black cape made out of lambskin on the outside and black satin on the inside. No one wears a cape anymore. Capes are for superheroes.

The whole thing was really, really impressive. Hot and impressive. Intimidating and hot and impressive. But, I couldn't help but sputter and chuckle when he stomped out in the gear.

And he backhanded me across the face. The actual gloved hand slap was really kind of hot, I mean in hindsight it was really hot. At the time, it stung and made me instantly flush. But he accidentally caught part of my jaw with his gauntlet bracer and it felt like someone hit me in the face with a piece of metal. Probably because he _did_ hit me in the face with a piece of metal. "Oww! That's dangerous!"

He grabbed my mane. "You will respect me. You will worship me. You will start by worshipping the ground I walk on."

"Yes, Mister Wolf," I said, and it came out all mocking but I wasn't trying to, I swear!

He threw me to the ground using my mane. Horse manes are pretty tough. You can ride a quad horse by pulling on its mane and you won't hurt it. I didn't realize that someone could really do that to a hybrid, though, and fell to the floor with a hand slap and a grunt. I stared at his boot, but he moved it out of the way. "The floor, pony. Kiss the _floor_."

I looked at the floor. It wasn't dirty beyond a smidge of dust. Hawk kept a tidy house. I swallowed and looked down, then quickly mashed my face against it and kissed. I even put in a little slurp so he'd hear it. My heart started to pound as I worried if he would do something mean to me just because, but I also grew so hard that I kind of hoped he'd do something mean.

"Now, kiss my boot." He delivered it like some kind of epithet or invective or other fancy word, like he spat it out at me, and his voice rang in the room. I reached over and huddled over his foot. I'd seen some costume gear before, thanks to Mike and his crazy collection, and this was not regular costume material. Movie costumes are actually poorly made if they're actual props - they only have to look good on screen. This was made to look good with your face two inches away while you were sucking leather. I sucked. I licked, tongued, kissed, rubbed, and stroked the back of his leg with my bare hands. He growled and growled, but when I looked up, the un-masked part of his face had his smug, enjoying smirk.

I started working up his boot, moving from the regular foot up that armored gaiter part, and he didn't chastise me or otherwise try to stop me. Until I accidentally thrust my bare dick against his leg. Then he all but kicked me backwards.

"Clean that off. I didn't say fuck my leg. You're not a fucking dog. Lick it clean, then start on my crotch."

"Yes, Mister Wolf," I said again, dick still hard, heart still pounding, face spitty and sweaty because he'd come within like an inch of crushing my balls with metal plate. I did what he asked, licking all the precum drool off his boot leather, then moved up to his thigh. There wasn't really any armor on his thighs, aside from strap-laden leather that formed the 'suit' part of what he was wearing. And his codpiece - it was beautiful. It wasn't one of the kind that forces your dick and balls downward - it easily accommodated a wolf erection and looked quite inappropriate for public use. I started kneading at the leather, careful not to pop it off, and leaned in to suckle at the tantalizing shape. I started polishing the very knob end of it and he grabbed me by the mane again. "No, no, I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Downstairs. Go into the laundry room and kneel over the drain."

Whaaaat? Cold sweat again, and my cock sagged. I knew where this was going.

"NOW!" He used that armorplated arm to knock me right off my knees and onto my ass.

I got up and ran downstairs. I really ran, too, like if I had turned and if his walk-out patio door had been open, I would have bolted through his rec room and out into the back yard and across his whole plot of land before he even was down to the bottom of the stairs.

But no, I ran into the utility room and kneeled right there over the drain. I put my hands on my knees, then on the floor, and I hunkered over a bit to look pathetic. I felt kind of pathetic, so it was a good fit. Here I was, with my life all together, and this fantastic lion stud who sometimes made me sleep with him and let me live in his gardener's house, and I was hunkering over the floor drain in some asshole wolf's house waiting for him to-

Hawk stomped his way downstairs, then stormed into the room. He looked like he would smash through the doorway but he shouldered through and there was nary a scratch of leather armor against wood. He'd done that exact thing before. He stepped up to me and tore his codpiece off with this snap flurry and tossed it out of the way. It landed on the washing machine.

"Hands behind you. Fucking sit on them if you have to. No touching. I don't want you making a mess." His cock hung down, turgid but not really rock hard. Big, black, uncut, the head like a mushroom with just the tip peeking out of the skin, like one of those mushrooms that probably shoot spores out. Oh god, that wasn't very sexy. My dick sank again, and I did what he said and kneeled on my hands.

The wolf then just grunted and lifted his cock by the very base, and inhaled enough that his leathers creaked. I wondered if his shoulder armor harness would just explode off him. Instead, a giant slug of precum sprayed out and splashed me on the thigh, followed by wolf piss. Awful wolf piss, too. Dark and yellow, probably the result of meat and vitamins and alcohol and smoking cigars. He could have done a lot with it, but instead, he literally pissed on me like I was a tree and let out one of those big guttural snorts that some men make when they get bladder relief. Every so often, the stream would wimp out, and then gush forth again, followed by another one of those deep relief grunts. Finally, no more piss came out, and a little just dribbled off the tip.

I leaned forward and engulfed his cockhead and started sucking. Just like I'd expected, he was almost disgusting under that foreskin. Not stale semen like Harley always did, but stale precum and dick sweat, and he ate plenty of stuff like meat and garlic that made it taste profoundly... awesome. I half expected him to hit me, but he just stood there and chest growled. He didn't even thrust beyond this subtle little shove now and then. He just stood with his gloved hands on his hips, boots wide apart, and I blew him hard.

Not using my hands put me in a weird zen state. The only things in the world were my mouth, and his dick. I even closed my eyes and just savored it, how I could hear him move slightly or grunt or breathe harder when I did something he liked, and how he went a little softer if I did something that wasn't interesting.

Hawk's cock was long enough that if I nuzzled into his groin, his dickhead and an inch or so of shaft not only stuffed into the back of my throat, but actually went down. I did it, and kept doing it, over and over. It made me gag and slobber and almost throw up, but I could swallow hard and keep everything at bay. Plus, deep throating turned me on, so I just kept going and going and going until I felt like I was going to shoot. Oh god, I couldn't shoot on him. He'd get mad. I pulled my head off and gasped, and slobber poured out of my mouth over my chin.

"You son of a bitch," he snarled, and his cock simply aimed there at me and twitched, twitched, and then hosed me in the face with semen. He'd been holding back. It was like one of those freakout videos on the internet, where guys inject saline and just build up so much spunk. It was like squirting a ton of mayo out onto your sandwich. It was like squeezing some white glue bottle really, really hard. All over my face, all over my neck, all over my chest.

Not gonna cum, not gonna cum, not gonna - and then I shut up, because I was huffing that out loud, eyes closed, dick tingling like it was going to explode any second. I barely, barely bit it all back.

I opened my eyes, and Hawk was just standing there, physically looking angry but with a kind of slouch to his stance underneath all that leather gear, cock dribbling onto the floor. He inhaled, and then snorted it out and looked around the room. "You're a fucking mess," he growled. "Go take a shower."

"But I'll, it'll get all over the-"

The wolf snarled and stomped past me, then opened a door. It led to... a full bathroom. The basement had one, for people partying in the rec room and ostensibly other play. It wasn't particularly nice, just a shower stall, toilet, and sink. Much less fancy than the rest of the house. "Go take a shower," he repeated.

"Yes, Mister Wolf." I turned and bolted into the shower, then closed the door. No wolf came in after me. I started the hot water, then hopped in and nickered from the serious hotness. Ouch. After I got it started, I put everything else aside and concentrated on a nice, hot shower.

Midway through the hot shower, I had a sudden pang of loneliness. I was taking a shower to clean all the messy wolf cum and piss off my pelt, and no one else was in there with me. Harley certainly wasn't. Mike wasn't, and that one gave me kind of a long pause because I didn't usually think of the fox as someone I'd want to cuddle with in bed or anything. He was a cool guy to hang out with, because his super deep vein of perversion didn't make him anything other than earnest. He wasn't all broken.

And, of course, Hawk wasn't showering with me. He wasn't even in the same room, barking orders at me or shooting a hose all over me or doing something degrading like that. He was... somewhere else in the house. I was all alone.

I stepped out of the shower and toweled off, then wrapped a towel around me. My only clothes, underwear and a leather motorcycle suit, were upstairs. I stepped out of the bathroom just as Hawk settled down on his knees to scrub at the floor. He was already partly wet, and the floor was drenched with water and soap. He was wearing only a pair of battered black jeans.

"Ha ha, I finally have you fucking trapped," he said, without looking at me, or without any real emotion to his voice. Oh, it was a joke, I get it. He busied himself with the floor. "Stay put for a minute, I'll rinse this all off when I'm done scrubbing my piss outta the concrete."

"Aren't you going to make me do that?" I said. I felt suddenly cocky. That gaping pit of loneliness hurt enough that I guess my mind just filled it in with something.

Hawk shrugged and scrubbed. Seeing all that dark fur and muscle actually doing something was supremely erotic all of a sudden, and it wasn't just because I hadn't cum yet. Or maybe it was. Maybe it was seeing him without all of that pretentious leather gear he liked so much. He wasn't even wearing boots. "What, make you wash the floor? That's no fun. I just fucking hosed you down. That fucking _hurt_ a little inside, all that fucking cum."

I leaned back against the bathroom door. "I guess you never did that before, really."

Hawk got out a utility hose and started washing the floor down, sending swirls of soap sud down the same drain that I'd hunkered over before. "What the fuck is it with you, huh?" He then hung the hose up and turned to leave. "I think you wish you never left here or somethin'," he gruffed, then headed into the nicer part of the basement.

I followed and got wet feet. Oh well. I tiptoed. I imagined I was wearing my hoof boots. I have people feet, but Harley bought me these hoof boot-chaps that are, well, they're exactly that. In Hawk's basement, I was only nude under a towel. "It's kind of a nice house."

"Kind of?" He gruffed, and went to lean on a bar stool at right angles to the big picture window into his wild back yard. I was worried at first, but there were no lights pricking the darkness outside. It may have been a rich neighborhood, but it was rural.

"It's so brutal inside. Isn't that an architectural thing? Brutalism?"

"Nah, that's all that concrete stuff. Like the library downtown. This is straight up modernism. Dark modernism. You know how useful it is to have a house that's all dark, sumptuous wood and granite and stonework? Guess who's over here a lot. A fucking red fox. Guess who else is over here a lot? A fucking zebra. Those show up real nice in all this dark shit." Hawk went around the bar and took a cigar out of a humidor, then spent most of his words toasting it with a lighter. He was both extremely casual and extremely serious about preparing it.

"Are you saying that you have an unyielding dark house so that you can stalk people better?"

He threw me a big, toothy smirk and put the cigar into his snout. In the corner, so he could puff at it. He wasn't trying to be a badass, though, seriously enjoying it and looking off outside instead of continuing to berate me. "I have an unyielding, dark house, because I am. Think about what you'd build for a house if you could do anything you wanted. Now, imagine what kind of person I am, because I actually did it and this is it. This is me on the inside. You go to hump the leather couch and gouge your leg on the coffee table."

Oh my god, we were having an actual conversation. I walked up behind him, at first explaining to myself that I wanted to see what he was looking at. But then I realized I wanted to walk up behind him and embrace him. So I did. I wasn't too coy about it - I just stepped up and slid my arms around his waist. He immediately growled, then reached down as if to pry my arms away. But then he puffed at his cigar, and settled. "If you were really that bad, you wouldn't let me do this to you."

"If I were really that bad, I'd make you do it."

I didn't try to grab his groin. Who was I kidding? He'd just shot on my face. I could still smell a hint of piss in the air. I just gently crossed my hands in front of his abs, and relaxed up against him. He was tall enough compared to me that I got to nuzzle up against his shoulder blades and what are those, delts? His were really tough. "You don't have to. Can I stay here tonight?" Fine, fine, I said it.

Instead of acting shocked, he just spoke a little distantly. "What about your little foxy friend, huh? You took his car."

"I'll call him and tell him what's going on. I'll need him to give me an alibi anyway, not like Harley will even be awake when I get back or realize I'm not there. We don't live in the same house."

"You realize what you just said to me? You just fucking planned to cheat on your kitty-cat boyfriend, to me," he said, turned around, and pointed to his chest in a general Me way.

After all that relaxing, and with my feigned shock when he got all uppity, I let the towel drop off my waist. Black horse cock, right out in the open. "Are you seriously going to give me shit about wanting to spend the night, in your bed, with you? You were so desperate for it, you raped me the first time you fucked me!" He really kind of did. And every time he moved just a certain way near me, I felt this horrible panic come over me. I mean I could blow him and that was one thing, but that feral flinch? Oh god, oh god, and he just did it.

"Sometimes, I wonder if I'm some black hole that's sucking all the perverts into one fucking spot," he snorted around his stogie, and pushed away to go upstairs. "Come on, call Mike up and then come to bed.

I felt slightly jilted, but also weirdly triumphant. Okay, sure. I'll go upstairs and fish my phone out of my riding leathers and call him up.

Hawk, on the other hand, went to brush his teeth. While it had been a plump cigar, it had also been a short one.

This time, when I called Mike, I got the fox himself. "Hi. Enjoying my car? Merging's getting a little fun."

"I'm out in the woods. Sort of. No merging out here."

"Out in the woods? Aren't you delivering some kind of package? That's a lot of delivering. Your job's weird." He sounded alert, but with a stoned edge.

"Yeah, about that. It was a very expensive bass, bought by someone who would buy and play a very expensive bass." Having not really understood the level of Hawk's bass-playing-ness, I assumed that Mike would know as he sort of worked for the fucker. Instead, just a little silence, and a dull, 'uhm'. I huffed and rolled my eyes, like he could see me. "I'm at fucking Hawk's house."

"Hey! I have not fucked you yet! And don't tell me your mouth counts!" He yelled, suddenly, from the bathroom.

"Did you hear that?"

"No?" Mike said.

"Good. Look, I'll bring your car back in the morning. You can ride my bike. You can even sniff the seat if you want. Or fuck it or whatever you like to do. And if Harley calls, tell him I'm over there for the night because I got really baked and passed out watching Star Trek: Voyager re-runs."

"You hate Voyager," Mike giggled.

"Well, Harley doesn't know that. The last time I watched anything with him was when we were at the opera in Sydney and he jerked me off right there in the balcony seat. Just keep my cover, okay? You know how these guys get along with each other."

"Hey," Hawk yelled, this time from the bedroom. Fuck me for leaving my stuff so close to it. "Harley and I are good friends. We're even doing this First Dawn shit finally. Business partners."

I didn't really know what he was talking about. "Anyway, thanks Mike."

"I didn't agree to it yet. I didn't even really agree to it the first time. Well, I sort of did. I think. I thought it was a dream or some kind of hallucination. You really borrowed my car to take a bass guitar over to Hawk? What've you been doing there for hours? It's almost eleven thirty at night. Did he fuck you again?" Mike said, as if he hadn't just been talking to me for several minutes.

"Only sort of."

"Well, okay. I'll just tell Harley whatever won't make him madder. Bye," and he hung up.

A strange piece of tension suddenly left me. I hadn't even realized it was there. I wandered into the bedroom, and there Hawk was, now completely nude, cock and balls swaying and dangling in front of him as he closed up his hamper. "You done with that fox?"

"He's really weird. But he's a nice guy. He said no problem, plus he'd take care of Harley if he shows up."

"That cat would fucking bat Mike around like a mouse."

"They actually get along pretty well. Mike lived with me for a while a year ago. He was having some rough times."

"No shit," Hawk said, and said it more like, No Shit! instead of No shit, asshole. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed. It was freshly made. Huge king mattress, black sheets, black blankets with gold trim, black pillows with gold trim. The sheets appeared to be satin. Despite how fancy it looked, he tucked himself down half-into the linens with all the grace of a dog.

I followed. I felt a little awkward, especially because it was very quiet. I always slept with a fan on, and Harley had some sort of air cleaner thing that made a loud purring sound. Hawk grunted and rolled over, then touched some thing by the side of the bed where his phone was charging. The room lights suddenly dimmed and turned from illuminating to moody. Purple moody. "Purple? Really?"

"Give it a bit," the wolf huffed, and rolled over slightly. I wasn't sure if I should roll over and cuddle him, or face away and make him spoon me, or suck his asshole or what. Luckily, the pillows were at least comfortable. So were the sheets. Satin was very sensual. Why would a male zebra pony know anything about satin? That's left as an exercise to the reader.

He was right about the purple. It was very pleasant, not as cold as blue, not all swelteringly trashy like red. Having been a prostitute for a while, let me tell you, johns love colored lights. They also like beaded curtains. I had one tell me it was 'really Taxi Driver'. Yeah. Except I have a dick and I'm not twelve.

And I didn't have to worry about what to do, because I fell asleep. I sleep in the dark. Having a light on was like lying down on someone's sofa while hanging out, and that always knocks me out in a second. I guess I was tired after a long day at work, and having to run around, and running into Hawk, and having his cock run my mouth through, and of course all the carbs from the food... but out I went. Inches away from a wolf who, at one point in my life, gave me literal nightmares.

I don't remember really what I dreamt about that night. It was generic and pleasant. I do remember waking up and rolling around a little, and then suddenly realizing that I was in bed with Hawk.

And he was awake. "You doin' alright?" He said, half propped up on his pillow, as he reached out and gently nudged my shoulder.

An immense electric tingle ran down my spine, through my guts, and right to the tip of my dick. It filled up and flopped over as I rolled onto my side to face him, and cuddled up against his chest and hips. I palmed across those furry mounds, then reached across and stroked the muscle up through his armpit and over onto the opposite shoulder. "I think I'm in love with you."

He didn't seem startled, except that he stayed very quiet, for a very long time. Minutes. I didn't try to push it. I just gently cradled myself up against him. It was so immensely erotic, because he was such a wolf, but he was Such A Wolf. I thought about that meaty taste of his mouth when he'd kissed me earlier, and I curled up tight with a shudder that he probably attributed to my desperate hard-dicked cuddling.

"Do you love me, or are you just in love with me? There's a big fucking difference," he finally said, words slow with the oppressively silent late night air. The mood lighting had long since turned off, and the room was only lit by the dim night light from outside. It must have been a full moon. I looked over at his charging phone. It was three in the morning. It was the Hour of the Wolf.

He continued, sitting up slightly further, one knee pulled up to offer him leverage to do... something a wolf would do. "For instance, I love fucking around with you. I love having you over. I love fucking you, I love humiliating you, but I don't love you." He said this without a hint of joke in his brusque, gruff voice. "I love my fox. He's my boyfriend. He's not here right now, but that's because he works nights and normally so do I. But I'm fucking away right now because of that, and you're thrusting your fucking cock into my leg." As he perked up further awake, his profanity filters must have turned off before the rest of his intelligence did.

Then he started to roll over onto me. I immediately put both hands up on his chest. "Well, I don't love you either," I said, and leaned on the L word so hard, "I mean you're a big asshole. Look at you, luring me here using my fucking job, making me dinner, then putting the fucking black dick screw to me!"

He pulled my arms apart and pinned my wrists down at my side. "Every time I fucking touch you, it's like you're scared half to death. And you're so fucking hard, too. Why is that? How is that possible, that you're so fucking enraged by my mere existance that your cock starts to leak like a faucet when I just do this?" He leaned down and licked across my lips. His tongue and breath no longer reeked of meat. Instead, they were cigar smoky and full of that gamey funk that happens if you sleep with your mouth open. Neither were at all disgusting compared to Dead Cooked Flesh.

And he was right, at least about my cock dribbling. He was also heavy, and strong, and rude - his big black hands crushed my dark wrists until my hands just started to tingle. "Oww, look, can't you humiliate me more comfortably?"

"Comfortable?" He did let go, and seized my nipple rings. Oh jesus christ. "I remember the first time I fucked you. You want to repeat that? If I'm not mistaken, and maybe I am, maybe I'm just so turned on, but you even cried a little." He pulled and twisted, then let his fingerpads tug off the rings. I made the cutest little nicker you've ever heard. He continued downard, completely ignoring my cock. Instead, he spread my legs apart and pushed my knees up.

Here it comes, I thought, and my heart started to pound. I remember how I'd felt when he'd come into my new bedroom at his house, the first night he'd brought me to stay. It was early in the morning, perhaps the same time, and he simply had barged in and fucked me, pupils blackholed by something. Cocaine? Ecstasy? It didn't matter. He fucked me and then came on my chest and left me there and I think I did cry a little. And now he was gonna do it again, but this time he wasn't drugged, he was going to do it completely sober and-

He started to lick my ass. It wasn't super soft, and it wasn't urgent wet slurps like a dog might do, but it was enthusiastic. He really wanted to do it, and it felt amazing. It was like the softest, most slippery asshole massage possible. He even added his fingers now and then. "Hey, reach over there and grab me some fucking lube."

Yes Mister Wolf! But I didn't say it. I think. I just reached over and grabbed the first thing that registered as 'Bottle'. It was indeed a bottle, and I opened it up.

"Hey, gimme that," Hawk suddenly snorted and came up for air from my asshole. Do I even need to explain how it feels to have like eight inches of squirming black wolf tongue caressing your asshole? Horses have great assholes, and wolves have great tongues. But he came up and grabbed the bottle away. "You in the mood for something extra big or what?"

Huh? "What do you mean extra big?"

"You grabbed the fucking poppers, not the lube." Then he opened the cap and grabbed me by the mane. "Here." He pushed it under my nostril.

Extra big, extra - oh. Oh shit. I sniffed, mostly because that's what my horsey sense wanted to do, even though my human sense knew there was a bottle of fucking poppers. So I sniffed. "Ungh, why can't that stuff smell nice?" 3, "Like vanilla or something," 2, "Ooh, that'd be dangerous. Then everyone would do... oh." 1. I sank back against the sheets. He did the same, and then set the bottle aside and got the Tool Grease. I kid you not, that's what it was called. It looked like silicone lube when it came out onto his black flesh, when his bare fur-and-padded hand grabbed and milked it all over that droopy uncut mushroom-headed monster.

Hawk leaned down in and kissed me again. He nudged my lips apart even further, licked my teeth, my lips, my tongue when I stuck it out. My heart pounded and my head roared, and more importantly than both uncomfortable sensations, I was suddenly desperate to be fucked in the ass. "Don't do anything mean, don't fist me, please, you can fuck me however you like, I'll even put on panties or something, I swear, please? Please? Be a nice wolf. I want a nice wolf to fuck me and pull out and cum in my face. Not a mean, angry one."

"Do you even know what you just fucking said?" He growled against my mouth. And pushed in! I hadn't even noticed, I'd been too desperate to get him to be a regular person. "You'll do anything. That's what I really love about you. I can pull your fucking mane," he did just that and I reached back to clutch at his arm, then grimaced because Holy Shit His Entire Fucking Cock Was Going to Go In. And oh hell did I want it.

"I can spit in your fucking mouth," he gruffed, then pinched my jaw open and cleared his throat, then spat a big wad of saliva right in. It was kind of a heavy spatter instead of a blob - I mean, you need lips to spit - so it went all over my lips and even on my chin. "I can pull my dick right out and shove it back in your fucking pony loose asshole," and he did _that_, which was a serious event even with the blasting haze of anally-loosening poppers.

"I can do whatever the fuck I want to you. And you'll take it. And you'll love it. And sometimes you even ask for it," and this sick, sick look came across his face. Not sick like he was ill, but like he was having the most profoundly heinous idea physically possible. Then he just looked like he was gonna eat me and started to fuck my asshole with his cockhead, over and over. He didn't move much, swaying back and forth, big hands clutching onto my chest and shoulders. His hips moved about twice as fast, and more than once his cock skidded away past my asshole, the anal version of that moment when you let the dick flop out of your mouth and you moan a little and slurp around until you 'find it' again and suck it back down.

And more and more and more, and it all ran through my head like a heart-pounding freight train. He hit the right spot. He hit it once, then again, but not again. "Oh please, do that again, and don't fucking stop. Please? Hawk?" I reached out and grabbed his hand with both of mine. That made him snort and pull completely out. "What? Really? Did that-"

He pinned me flat and stuffed that meat-chewing snout in my ear. "I'll finish in your ass if you promise to help me do something later this week," he huffed, and he sounded slightly crazed and urgent. I could feel his cock squirming and throbbing like a snake. Oh god, if it went off, it'd squirt all over my chest. I whinnied a little. "Was that a yes?"

"No, tell me what it is first, you big fucking asshole!"

He pinned me harder, big hands on my wrists, curling around them, knuckles fisting into the bed as he held me fast. "I'm gonna play a prank on someone and you're gonna help," he tried again.

I desperately wanted to stroke his shoulders and coo something into his ear, because that probably would have gotten his goat and it felt kind of naughty compared to just giving him the eye. But I didn't. Because he was holding me down and helpless. "On _who_?"

He smirked, and it was the horrible murderous one that went up one side of his face like he was too screwed up to smile like a normal person. "Who do you fucking think?" Twitch. Dick slobber.

I went limp. Limp everywhere. My jaw dropped and stayed dropped long enough that my tongue felt like it was turning to cotton. "Yes," I said, dumbfounded as much by the fact that I was saying yes, as I was that Hawk wanted to play a prank on Harley and wanted me to help. I fantasized about things like that.

Hawk chuckled, nosed down against my neck, and eased up. He throttled his cock and put it back in. He didn't gently caress my quivering ass pucker with his glorious sweltering cockhead or slide in like someone plowing a spoon through warm butter. He put it back in like he was plugging a toaster into an electrical socket. But he plugged that fucking dick in and it crammed right into my prostate so hard that I dribbled a little pee out onto my stomach. I didn't really get hard again, but who fucking cared? Not me!

"You are going to love what I want to do to him, too. I'm going to break off the fucking stick up that lion's ass, carve it up, and use it to cut him the fuck down," he growled into my ear, while he started to thrust. Gentle, almost grinding more than thrusting, just enough that his cock started to slip back and forth instead of just dragging my guts around like a sock. He went to grab for my cock but encountered that musky wet patch on my abs. He said nothing, rubbed his hand back and forth over it, then grabbed me over the muzzle. "I don't want to hear anything else out of you."

After a second or two or ten or something of gasping into his big, clutching, piss-wet hand, my cock filled right back up and then fired off hard. I am pretty sure I howled something that sounded mostly like a terrified, pained, "Oww!" but I did it while ejaculating hard enough that it audibly splashed against dry fur. One of his thrusts literally squeezed the mess out of my prostate, prompting a doubly-long squirt right onto my chest. But then, the next thrust hit me in a weird way and it just stopped. "Hey, hey, I'm not done!" I yelled into his hand.

"I said shut up!" he snarled, and smacked me. Hard. Like it made my lip bleed hard. Then he pulled out and hosed my asshole with a long shot of his own semen. "You feel that? You fucking feel that? That's what you get for agreeing to my fucking plan!" Then he crammed back in and bucked hard, pounding me as he milked his orgasm out into my quivering, stunned asshole.

He calmed down stroke by stroke, until he simply hung over me. I shifted and his cock slopped out, leaving sperm to ooze down onto my horsetail. I felt like I was a massive cavern instead of a squirming asshole. Hawk grunted and sat down on the bed, hefted his cock up, then whipped it downwards to send a blob of final spunk down to the floor at his feet with a thwap.

I hadn't really cum, so I still felt catty. I couldn't ask him to finish me off, even though he acted like he'd merely gotten what he wanted. "Are you really serious? Can't you tell me what you're going to do?"

Hawk chuffed and grabbed my thigh with a slap. It was only to steady himself. "Look, even if I get your goat with something, I'm doing it to get _his_ fucking goat. I think that's some collateral damage we can both handle, huh?"

"That makes me feel a lot better," I groaned.

"Oh, and getting fucked by me doesn't? Why don't you go home. Go home and wait for your big studly lion to come home and completely fucking ignore you until he suddenly demands that you suck someone else's cum out of his smelly dick, or something equally disgusting?"

Do _what?_ "You're an asshole."

"You love assholes."

I had to get out of there. I didn't even feel scared. I just had to flee. I had to run. I had to escape, but mostly just run. I couldn't run, literally, I was out in the woods, and zebras aren't meant for woods. They're meant for plains and savannas and hot sweltering places that are full of lions. Wolves are meant for the woods.

I could put my riding leathers back on, and drive Mike's car back to his house. I figured I could just park it and put my keys in his mailbox and take my bike back. I kept the keys to my bike. Mike's cool like that.

When I arrived at his house, someone came to the side door and looked out. As a sillouette, they were black ears and a black body. As they opened the door and stepped out into the security light, they actually were black ears and a black body. All of the above were made of rubber. "Would you like to come in?" he asked, voice muffled but somehow clear, like through a telephone. A little synthetic, but he breathed. And come on, he couldn't be a robot for real.

I rolled my eyes. "How do I know you aren't just Mike in a weird suit? I've never seen you two in the same place at the same time."

Aras held the door open and made an ushering gesture into the house. "Michael is sleeping on the sofa in the living room. Perhaps you should not wake him. I will gladly take the keys to his car if you prefer being polite to brash."

I walked in, but I also dug the keys out of a zip pocket. Clomp clomp clomp. I tried to be quiet, but horses aren't exactly stealthy on hard surfaces. Well, I had people feet, but I mean, motorcycle boots, duh. Just a few steps away from the doorway arch, I heard that waking-up sniff and probably the cutest yrrwrl of sound possible from a fox.

"Hey," Mike groaned, and looked positively bedraggled. His mohawk ruff was literally sticking up, his ears looked droopy, and his eyes were sleepy and bloodshot. "Oh hey Zale. What're you doing here? It's still night out. I thought you were staying at Hawk's place."

I shrugged. "I ran out of wolf tolerance so I decided to just bring your car back and go home." I produced his keys and jangled them. He held his red hands up and I tossed them over. He caught them and clutched them to his chest as if making really absolutely truly sure he had them.

"That's too bad. Or that's good. Or something."

"Did I wake you up?"

"I guess, but it's okay. I always wake up this time of night. Hour of the wolf and all..." He set the keys down on the coffee table and reclined on the couch.

"You're a fox."

"No, it's like, before dawn but after the deepest midnight, or something. The hour of the wolf. You've never heard that before?"

I shrugged again. The idea of wolves getting a whole hour all to themselves, every day, right when everyone was trying to sleep? That gave me the willies. "I should probably get going-"

"Wait, uh, can you do me a favor?"

Deadpan look time. "Are you serious?"

"No it's not a bad thing, just uh, could you come over Thursday? Just like so we can hang out? We totally haven't hung out much since I got really cracking on this business thing, and I know you're the sales manager or whatever, and Harley probably occupies you when you're not doing that." Mike sounded embarrassed. He looked embarrassed too, with his ears flattened.

I looked around. Aras was nowhere to be seen, at least in the living room or dining room. I wouldn't have put it past him to hide behind something, but I also didn't care. "Like, just you and I?"

Mike nodded.

"Sure. I'm between projects at home, anyway," I said, which made me feel kind of depressed, because I really _was_ between projects.

The fox's embarrassed look melted into sheepish but very pleased. "Okay, thanks," he said, with the kind of relief in his voice that usually came from taking an urgent hard piss.

"Now, I'll be off to end this crazy night the right way, by going to sleep." I waved, and then reversed my way out of the house. Aras was waiting for me and opened the door. I didn't say anything to me when he closed it, and I didn't bother saying anything back.

I just climbed on my bike and rode home for real.

---

Early dawn, I woke up to a warm glow of sunlight into my bedroom. The previous night didn't occur to me, or if it did, maybe I repressed it. I just basked in the warm sunlight, squirmed against the big lion nestled up behind me, and wait a minute, big lion nestled - Harley was in bed with me.

I went to arch and utter some sort of sultry, sleepy invitation, and instead got a big leather-gloved hand clamped over my mouth. He really silenced me, too, as I bleated out some meaningless Muunhgh sound into that tight leather grip. It almost, but didn't, get my nostrils too.

"You were with _him_ last night, weren't you, Mr. Sterling?" Harley said this down into my ear. At first, maybe it wasn't Harley behind me. Maybe Hawk had followed me home. Maybe it was someone else. But then the voice, the deep baritone husky enunciation that always dipped down so hard into patronizing syrup that it sometimes just got stuck there.

I can't talk, "Mrrphghh, unnh runfnhg!" I reached up and clutched at that apparently black-gloved hand. The other one reached up and clapped down on it and pried my fingers off. That let me sneak in and get everything off of me. "Which one? Which who? What? I was at Mike's house!"

The hulking lion growled to himself, and let out the Mmmhh grunt that meant he was finding some sick inner pleasure. He took one of his hands back and snorted, then slobbered all over the fingers. I actually only heard licking, but I knew he'd slicked them up with spit when he plowed them right up into my asshole. It hurt, but not as much as it shocked me to full erection. "You do not smell like that fox," Harley growled, and shifted around behind me as he scooped around inside with those two thick, gloved fingers. Whenever they bumped my prostate, I kicked a little. "You were with Hawk."

He pulled his fingers out and I gasped up and then deflated a little as that abrupt intensity made everything else feel a bit bland. I nickered out into the room and the sound flecked back at me from the walls.

Harley grabbed me by the mane and pulled, just hard enough that I reared back and stayed stiff, cockhead plowing around in the sheets. Then the lion pointed both those fingers and shoved them up in front of my face. They were smeared with semen, amongst some other slime. The smell, aside from musky, was unmistakably wolf semen.

"I'm sorry," I said, desperately breathless, and immediately cradled his hand from the back and slurped down over those fingers. I had a good, deep slurp and suck over the leather, then tightened my lips and pulled back off them. I swallowed. I licked and tongued and lipped against them, or rather I made all those motions and he started twisting and stroking around with them, finally thrusting into my mouth with his much cleaner fingers. I actually did that. I did it.

Harley didn't respond with anything more than a deep rumble of a grunt. He took his hand away and then rolled me flat on my front. He pinned me down, straddled over my ass, and snorted again. This time, a long drool of spit oozed out of his mouth, hung down, and splashed onto my anus. Oooh. It was kind of cooling off by the time it hit there!

I fucking licked wolf spunk and ass muck off Harley's fingers and it proved that I really had been at Hawk's and that if he-

"You are very smart not to deny it, Mr. Sterling," Harley said, and his cockhead banged on my asshole, squelching against the spit. Thump. Smack. Nudge. I flexed outwards and he pumped right in through, and let out a nearly purring possessive gruff. "I wanted to reach you, but on a lark, called your friend the fox. He was more than happy to assuage my concerns at your location."

What a little Bitch! Unh! That made me mad, and that made me cramp, and it really hurt. It ached. It ached so hard that I felt like I had to pee a little, and maybe I did, a little, and then my cock ground around in it as Harley penetrated me like he was slowly stirring a can of paint. I was actually sore from Hawk's treatment, but also slick enough that he really went in pretty easy. Was his cock already slippery? Had he jerked off just an hour ago? I'd never have heard it, not how far my apartment was from the main house. Or could Hawk have -

The wolf did. He came in me so much that it worked just as good as lube, even hours after the fact. Undoubtedly my riding suit probably had some wolf semen ground into the lining. That would be wonderful when - Oh fuck, Harley hit right there - it would be wonderful when I inevitably saw the wolf - FUCK right THERE! - again, later that week - I started to sob and clutched onto the pillow.

It wasn't crying like out of emotion; it was like banging your elbow. It was a reflex. I whinnied and sputtered and punched and pulled at the pillow and tried to buck up and back as Harley's hips plowed me flat into the bed.

When I had first met Harley, he would have already blown in me. He had a bit of a hair trigger. It was a lion thing, I guess. But slowly, he seemed to be gaining self control. Now, he could fuck me hard, and last. And he did. "When I first met you," he started to say, voice as cold and patronizing as always with only a hint of thrust-jostling on the vowels, "I wanted you because you were a prostitute and I could use the same hole that many, many other men paid good money for. But now, things are very different, Mr. Sterling. Do you know why that is?" And he ground to a stop.

I peed a little. Not right then, but I could smell it. I really had peed. In my own bed. Thank god I put a mattress condom under the quilt. Harley slowly squirmed in me, but otherwise just held my shoulders and waited for me to reply. "Because I don't charge any more?" Fuck you, Zale, you just have to put on the limp when the lion's coming after you. Wait, did I really just equate being penetrated by Harley to being stalked by a real lion as food?

"Because," He said, and started to grind into me. "You did not have a choice as to who fucked you when you were for hire. Or if you had any choice, it was simply to weed out the bottom-barrel men who are better served by toothless five-dollar blowjobs in the back alley." He somehow managed to use his entire body weight to plow that turgid dick into me, into my prostate, while barely moving. It felt disgustingly natural and intimate, compared to the brash big cock-smacking thrusts that made for a good show-off. "Now, you have the choice. You can choose from me, that wolf, and perhaps Mr. Jasek. However that choice may make you feel, Zale, I get my choice too, and it is not on top of that wolf."

He punctuated That Wolf by blasting me inside with ten ropes of seed. I counted. He'd been saving it up. When he went often, it came out like a throbbing trickle, sort of like lava bubbling out of a small volcano. This was krakatoa. A whole day's worth. He pulled out of me like some guy in an action movie angrily retrieving his dagger from some unfortunate victim, and I felt it overflow a little bit out onto my tailbase.

And I still hadn't cum. Not quite. A drool forced out here or there, but he just hadn't - no, I hadn't let him. I'd held on. I was waiting for something. I made myself wait for it, even though I really wanted to lose it. I needed something. I needed to be humiliated.

Harley could have curled up next to me and fallen asleep. He had done it, many times, betraying his feline maleness by taking a sound cat-nap while I felt the spunk congeal in my horsehair. Instead, he grabbed my cock and started to milk it. I stared at that black leather glove as it dragged my flesh a little, then glided over it, fingers bumping up into my flare. "Mr. Sterling, I want you to describe what that wolf wore while he fucked you."

"Uh, he was naked while he actually fucked me in the ass, like you just did. But earlier, he, he put on this crazy outfit." I pictured Hawk in that outfit, nearly a leather body suit with additional armor, as if he were some sort of fetish armored knight. I stared and stared and stared at the mental image.

"Are you going to elaborate for me, Mr. Sterling?" Harley asked the question while working my cock, keeping me on the boil.

"It was like this body suit, all black leather, heavy stuff like those fancy leather-daddies wear, but then with all this spiked and tooled black armor stuff. His boots and gloves had these diamond steel plates as armor? Sort of? It was like he was from a movie, or something, and the mask! He had a mask, this cowl thing on his head and then a mask on his face, and he looked Evil. He moved like he actually was some kind of amazing super badass."

"And what did that 'amazing super badass' of a wolf do to you, Mr. Sterling? He certainly did not fuck you in the ass - undoubtedly he saved that for later, while he was merely in his own fur, closer without all of that leather enclosing him from the world."

You dirty lion, reading my mind and humiliating me. "He made me go kneel over the floor drain in the washroom in the basement and then pissed all over me, he just drenched me, it was like a horse pissing, all over. In my face, on my neck, right down here," And I reached a hand up to trace over the center of my chest. Harley scowled down at me and started to pump at my flare. That did it. I'd tapped out the target, and then fired: the first shot was like someone had gotten one of those squeeze bottles of mayo you have at a diner, and just squeezed it really really hard. The first shot was all jelly and white and slathered my chest, and each after it got wetter and wetter until the final few squirted out onto Harley's fingers like piss.

I pretty much yelled through it. I just grunted and groaned and felt like I was going to sneeze, and then just whinnied and yelled and held my mouth open enough that drool oozed out onto my chin and down my neck. It was that good prostate milking cum, heavy and tight, leaving hot streaks all up and down my chest. I reached up and immediately ground it into my fur, instead of reaching to clean it up. "Thank you, Harley," I murmured.

"Mmnh," he chuffed, then turned and sat down beside me with a hard whump. He reclined and let his tail tuft idly flip back and forth against my leg. "Do not be upset with your friend. I can be intimidating."

"I'm not upset. If you told me to lie about where you were and he came and asked, I'd probably tell him. Unless you were doing something really, really bad. Like illegal." I looked down at his cock, pleasantly half hard, slick with cum and spit. I leaned down and started to slurp it clean. So what if it'd been in my ass? It was my own ass. And the fingers earlier, what could I do now? Accept my fate. The lion let out a massive groan as I slurped his foreskin-hooded dickhead in between my black lips, then another curdled grunt as I swirled my tongue down into that hood and licked up-

Fox cum? I pulled off with a plop, and let a whole blob of semen slide off my tongue, down my lip, and then right off onto the sheets with a splat. "Why does your cock smell like Mike's cum?"

"Because I intimidated him. As a reward for the truth about your activities, I allowed him to try something on me. It was... unique."

Hawk's voice rang out in my head. "Why don't you go home. Go home and wait for your big studly lion to come home and completely fucking ignore you until he suddenly demands that you suck someone else's cum out of his smelly dick, or something equally disgusting?"

Someone's... "Are you completely bent? You do the most insane stuff, Harley. I don't believe it. I just... you came his..."

Harley did not act smug. He only acted tired. Now, belatedly, he turned and leaned his head onto me, and closed his eyes with a gruff. While I contemplated the rudeness of him falling asleep on me, he fell asleep.

Unlike when I had the opportunity to lie in bed with Hawk earlier that night, I didn't want to get up and leave and run away at all. Not one bit.