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It was nearly eight PM, and Monica Richardson was just frustrated enough to think of calling her husband to ask why he wasn't home yet when she heard his car in the driveway.

"About time," the snow leopard muttered to herself as she turned the heat on the oven back up to cooking temperature. It didn't matter how used she was to Lawrence's erratic hours, since the very fact that they were so unpredictable meant that having dinner ready when he got home -- as he preferred -- was virtually impossible.

The front door opened and closed while Monica threw some oil on the pasta she'd finished half an hour ago and kept warm in an attempt to hide the dryness it had developed. A moment later he joined her in the kitchen, already loosening his tie and with a faintly disgruntled twist on his muzzle.

"Hell of a day," the middled-aged tiger grumbled to no one in particular and without looking at his wife. He did, however, lean down to grant her a perfunctory peck on the cheek on his way through. "Seemed like that meeting would never end."

"You work yourself too hard," Monica presented her rosette-patterned cheek to him for the kiss while she busied herself with chopping vegetables. It was an exchange they'd had many times before, at least once a week.

His back to her by now, Lawrence only grunted his reply. He was already at the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a scotch. Only when he'd taken a sip from it did he return to the kitchen, suit jacket off and with it some of the tension he'd brought with him. "I know. What's for dinner?"

"Chicken Piccata." She paused in her chopping and turned to him with a frown. "Could you at least call next time? You told me you'd be home by seven thirty."

A momentary look of annoyance flickered across his face; a slight squint to his eyes and his ears going back a fraction before returning upright. When he spoke, though, it was with only a hint of it. "I said around seven thirty."

She made a face. This wasn't an argument she wanted to get into, not right now at least. "I suppose," she said, turning back to her chopping.

She could hear the clink of his glass being placed on the counter top and, a few moments later, felt him slide up behind her and put his paws on her slender hips. By reflex she tilted her head to the side, his muzzle nuzzling alongside it to fit between her jaw and shoulder.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured into the hollow of her neck, giving her a kiss. His paws teased her skirt up a few inches, his cool, dry nose tracing up along the line of her throat. "It's just we've been working on this deal for weeks now, you know how it is."

An investment banker for the last eight years, Lawrence Richardson was only an accountant working on the last of his degree when they'd met. Monica, the pretty little diminutive snow leopard, had just finished high school and was getting started on planning for her own college career with an eye for design while they dated, and within a few months -- and much to her parent's chagrin -- they'd moved in together right about the time she started classes.

Much to her parent's delight, marriage followed less than a year later. And what had been a plan for an advanced degree stopped after her bachelor's, by then any need for her to get a job for them to make ends meet having since disappeared. Lawrence had landed a job at a good sized investment firm, the money was coming in, and after moving into a larger condo downtown homemaking for Monica became something of a full-time job. She took occasional freelance projects on the side, enough to keep her from succumbing to the ennui of solitude once the condo was straightened out, but it straddled the line between hobby and career, never quite teetering all the way into either one.

"I know how you are," Monica murmured, putting the knife down and leaning back into him. She reached back to squeeze his leg and exhaled, going up on tiptoes to press her backside against his crotch and giving a little roll of her hips. "You know, if-"

At that moment the beeping of the kitchen timer went off, their half-closed eyes opening to signal the interruption of the developing mood while Monica giggled and Lawrence looked petulant. He stepped out of the way, picking up his tumbler and leaning back against the counter to watch her.

"What I was going to say," she said as she took the steaming pan out of the oven and putting it on the stovetop with a clatter. "Was that if you came home earlier, maybe we would have had time to do more than eat. It has been a little while, you know."

The same grunt as before, neither agreement nor disagreement as he took a sip. "About that," he said. "I have something I wanted to talk about."

"Oh?" She was busy portioning the warmed pasta onto plates into neat piles.

He was quiet a moment longer, before turning to head into the dining room. "It can wait."

She glanced at him over her shoulder at his retreating back, and shrugged.

--

Later, as they were finishing their meal, Lawrence sat back and wiped his mouth with a napkin. A half-finished bottle of wine was between them, Monica taking a sip as she picked at capers on her plate. He cleared his throat, and she raised her eyebrows. The meal had been largely held in silence until now.

"I was out with some of the guys after work yesterday," he said. "And ran into someone."

"Someone?" Monica looked faintly confused.

"Yes. You remember what we discussed a few weeks ago?"

She still wore a questioning expression although she knew now what he was talking about. "Ye-es?" She couldn't keep the suspicion out of her voice.

"Yes. I was thinking they might be... Suitable for our needs." He couldn't keep the slight evasiveness out of his.

Monica took a breath and let it out, sitting back in her chair as they stared at each other down, both carefully neutral in their expressions. 

The Conversation had started out as an unpleasant one, with Monica expressing her concerns about their growing lack of regular intimacy and Lawrence -- always the cagey negotiator -- somehow guiding the conversation from the problem to a proposed solution to his skeptical wife. She wasn't quite sure how they arrived at the part where the talk turned towards suggestions of what he called creative ideas, and what she called them having sex other people. 

Not as an escape, he had been careful to reassure her, emphasizing that it wasn't by either of them a lack of interest in the other. But any relationship needs novelty to stay fresh. And one way of introducing that could be some kind of 'swinging' as he called it. Couples did it all the time, he had said, and with great success.

The conversation had continued to be unpleasant, especially when she pointed out that she didn't feel any particular urge to have sex with anyone but him, and that just as many couples -- if not more -- managed to inject some novelty into their relationships without including third or fourth parties. He hadn't liked that answer very much, and it led to some rather pointed back and forth with Lawrence accusing Monica of puritanical stubbornness and Monica trying not to say what she was thinking - that he was looking for an excuse to justify his wandering eye and slowly waning interest in her. 

Arguing had turned into sniping, sniping to repentance, and repentance to some relatively satisfying sex on the couch with their clothes strewn about the floor like in the old days when they'd first met. And somewhere in there, while he knelt between her legs and with more care than usual made love to her, she may have admitted to perhaps being willing to entertain the idea. She always did have a difficult time holding her resolve in such circumstances, he knew. And she knew that he knew, but had given in anyway. He'd not brought it up since.

Until now. "And what's her name?" She made no effort to hide the sharp edge to her tone.

Lawrence smiled smoothly, as if he'd been waiting for that exact question. "His name is Ethan."

Now her eyebrows really did shoot up, momentarily flummoxed. "I... What?"

"His name's Ethan," he repeated. "He works there, at the bar. In the evenings at least. Seemed liked quite a pleasant fellow, actually. We spoke for awhile before getting to the subject of relationships, and when I told him what you and I had decided, he offered his help."

"You just... Told him? Lawrence!" The thought of her husband and another man discussing this at all was alien and unpleasant. It was one thing to know that men talked about sex together, another to hear about what she imaged was mostly vulgar boasting. She didn't want to think of what they talked about before getting to the offer he was making now.

Lawrence sounded mildly chiding. "Sweetheart, how else did you think we were going to find anyone? Craigslist?"

Monica crossed her arms stiffly. "I suppose... No, I suppose not. But I didn't expect you to just out and ask some random stranger you met in a bar, either! " She looked down at her plate, brow knitted.

The tiger got to his feet, coming around behind his wife and putting his paws on her shoulders to massage gently, his tone dropping. "Sweetheart." He used that word in so many different ways, and to mean so many different things. "We discussed this, remember? And you said you thought I would want this to be a one-way street. I just wanted to prove to you that that's not what I had in mind, by letting you go first." He gave her a squeeze, leaning down to nuzzle at her hair. "I was just thinking about you. It's supposed to be a surprise."

She was quiet for a few seconds before looking sidelong at him over her shoulder. "And you're ok with this? With me and... Someone else?"

"Well," he said quietly, kissing down along the back of her neck. "I won't pretend the thought of you and another man isn't an entirely natural one, but it's only fair. And he does seem like a decent guy with no ill intentions. He's even done this before."

Monica looked faintly incredulous. "Done what before? Had sex with other men's wives?"

"Mmm-hmm," he murmured into her fur. "With their consent. I told you this sort of thing isn't really that rare. Apparently he knows another couple for whom this kind of arrangement's worked out perfectly. I promise you, if I had any doubts about him I wouldn't have even brought this up with him, or suggested it to you." His paws had stolen around beneath her arms, just cupping her breasts and caressing them from below.

"I just don't know..." She felt herself wavering, what little resolve she'd had starting to give way. "When we talked about it, I thought it was just something we'd do someday. Not now."

"This is someday, Monica," he murmured, massaging her breasts more firmly now, hefting them and pushing them to her chest. In spite of herself she let out a quiet sigh. Damn him.

"Lawrence-"

"Shhh. I'll tell you what," he said smoothly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Just meet him, have him over and meet him. If you two don't hit it off, just send him home and we find someone else, someone you're more comfortable with."

"You don't want to be here?" She could hear her voice getting quieter. Her husband's paws felt good. What would someone else's feel like?

"I thought that'd be easiest for everyone." He murmured while mouthing at her neck, fangs grazing her throat and lips brushing her fur. "That way you two can get to know each other and see if you want to do this at all. You never know, maybe he likes his girls overweight and unattractive, you'll just be too beautiful for him."

She sighed, heavily, feeling herself get warm and just a little bit moist. "Oh, Lawrence, I don't know... I don't even know what he is."

His voice was muffled by her fur. "A wolf, or something.  Not just some mutt. Don't worry, I wouldn't just let any mongrel have his way with my wife..." She could hear the slight smile in his voice.

Monica closed her eyes, leaning into the embrace and feeling a little shiver (a thrill?) run through her. She hadn't until now seriously considered the possibility that the end of the conversation - and her reluctant agreement - could result in another man touching her. Past the shock, the thought of it was less unappealing than she would have anticipated. "And if... I don't want to do anything?"

"...You don't have to," he finished for her. "I told him that, no expectations. Just a meeting." He'd let go of one of her breasts now, his paw stealing down her belly towards her crotch.

She took a breath and let it out in a soft shudder. "I can't believe I'm letting you do this," she said resignedly.

"Anything for my baby," he whispered, his paw finding its way to the wet warmth between her thighs and bringing a quiet whimper from her. His grin that she couldn't see was ear to ear.

--

It was after three o'clock in the morning, and Tokuda Oshii just wanted to go to bed.

The staff in any sufficiently large club had its own cliques, and each of those had their own after-hours traditions. The bartenders got drunk. Managers counted the money - you could imagine them cackling like Scrooge McDuck over their piles of gold. Valets and coat check girls sat out front, smoking and talking about all the hot tail they got a glimpse of that night. And the bouncers sat out back, smoking and talking about all the hot tail they got that night.

Toku participated in this almost-nightly ritual out of a sense of obligation, an awareness of the fact that if he didn't he'd be considered a stuck-up asshole who think he's too good for everyone else. Those kinds of guys tend to not have their backs covered when shit got rough, so it was for self-preservation as much as it was to keep a feeling of camaraderie with the rest of the staff. Sometimes it was all right, low-key bullshitting and bragging, like fishermen telling about the whoppers they almost caught that day. And sometimes Ethan was there.

"I'm tellin' you, man, this bitch looked like she was fuckin' sixteen years old," the foul-mouthed wolf was bragging around a cigar. "Barely fit around my dick, too. I'm hammerin' away at her and hammerin' away at her, and it just ain't goin' no deeper." He punctuated the words with jabs of his hips, grinning while the other guys laughed. A few anyway. They were used to his antics, real or imagined.

"She had her ID and all so I figure my ass is covered, but no way was she twenty-one. Her boyfriend's all, she just looks young, they all look like that, and I'm like-"

"They are," Toku rumbled absently. It got all eyes on him; the squat akita wasn't the talkative type, and he had a voice that carried. When he spoke, folks tended to listen.

"Huh?" Ethan squinted at the dog, unfazed. "You say somethin' there, ol' dog?" His voice was casually challenging. It had to be, in this crowd.

"They do all look like that. She's a kendavi." The akita looked back at Ethan levelly, his voice with none of the bravado the wolf's had.

He didn't need it. He was bigger, older, and was generally known as the kind of guy you brought in to defuse a situation rather exacerbate it. More than one seemingly inevitable fight had been headed off with just an appearance from the burly canine, suggesting something reasonable that the customer might want to do instead of going a round or two with him. Rarely insulting, often even friendly, he had a knack for making a guy think it was in everyone's best interests to calm down, sober up a little, and maybe get a taxi home.

"What the fuck're you talkin' about? A what?"

Toku sighed inwardly. "A kendavi. That dingo with her was trying to tell you at the door, but you were too busy looking at her tits to notice. They're small, look pretty young pretty much forever. You know, like us Asians." He grinned.

Ethan didn't, scowling. "Yeah? I just figured he was trying to give me a line to get her in the door." He turned to the towering form of the lion sitting a few seats down, who had his hands clasped over his belly and was slouched in his chair, looking like he was trying not to fall asleep. "Richard. Yo, Richard, wake up. You saw her, whaddya say?"

Richard cracked an eye and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. He was probably the only one of the group less talkative than Tokuda. "Don't know. Never heard of a kendavi before."

"Yeah, but you went back there, right? After me? You didn't have a go at her?"

"Nah. She was gone by the time I got back there." He closed his eyes again sleepily.

"Yeah, whatever." the wolf gestured with one paw as a kind of punctuation, pointedly not catching the akita's eye again. "Whatever she was, I'm telling you, this bitch was somethin' else. So I'm tryin' to stuff it all in 'er..."

Toku tuned it out, rubbing his forehead with his paw. He had no interest in picking a fight with the asshole anyway, he was just hoping he'd shut up. It had been a long night - he'd had to throw out the Kendavi-thing's boyfriend after catching him sucking some guy's cock in the bathroom, the little shit complaining all the while about selective enforcement or something. Given the choice, he preferred to be the silent, looming not-quite-bad-cop, and having to actually take someone by the collar and toss them into the street left him feeling like he'd not done his job properly.

"...fuck his wife. WANTS me to, can you believe that shit?" Ethan was saying.

"Another one?" one of the other bouncers said, a younger coyote, his as eyes wide as if he was attending storytime at school.

"Yeah, and that ain't the half of it. You ain't gonna believe this shit. So this suit comes up to me, right? Looks like a banker or something. I'm just sitting there, over at Goals, you know that sports bar? I'm working over there, he comes up to me and starts telling me all about this hot little bitch of a wife he's got at home. Even shows me a picture of her, and goddamn if she ain't just the prettiest cat I seen, he ain't even lyin'. Snow leopard, I think. Anyway, at first I got no goddamned idea why he's tellin' me this. I barely met him and he's talkin' about what a great fuck she is, and I'm thinkin', whatever, dude's prolly just drunk." 

He took a drag on his cigar, pausing for effect before continuing, using it like a conductor's baton to emphasize parts of the story. "Turns out, he got her to agree to let 'em both fuck around, not even cheatin'. Calls it like swinging or somethin'. But see, problem is he don't want her to fuck around, and there just ain't no way she's gonna let him do it unless it's equal and all."

"So he says -- and you ain't gonna believe this shit -- he says to me, how about you meet up with her. I'm thinkin' there's gotta be a catch, right? So I ask him and he says, nah, no catch, 'cept that she don't go for guys like me. I'm like, whaddya mean, guys like me?" He gestured to himself with an expansive grin and exaggerated, faux indignence as everyone but Tokuda laughed appreciatively.

"He backs off real quick after that? Says no no, that ain't what he meant, just she's kinda got a stick up her ass, and not the good kind. So he tells me, look, meet up with her, sit around, talk for awhile. If she don't go for it, ain't no big thing, just worth a shot right? If she does -" He gestured with the cigar. "He said, fuck 'er 'till she's blue in the face. But the thing is, make her fuckin' hate it. Can you believe that shit? Wants me to fuck her so she don't want it. Try to get her take in the ass, fuck her mouth 'till she chokes, whatever. No kissin',  not too rough, no doin' her bare in the snatch, other than that go nuts. Dude actually wants me to fuck 'er so she don't wanna get fucked no more, not by anyone 'sides him anyway. Can you believe that?"

The coyote piped up again. "So are you gonna?" You'd think he was talking to a rock star. Probably was his idol, Toku thought sourly.

"You kiddin' me?" Ethan took another drag on his cigar. "I tell him buddy, you need pussy wrecked, I'm yer huckleberry. Dude's gonna call me up sometime this week, and ol' Ethan don't ever turn down a shot at pussy. And if it's helpin' him get some on the side, I figure it's just helpin' a brother out." He shrugged with that same grin again. "Plus, he gave me fifty bucks just to try. No fuckin' shit, this suit's payin' me to try and nail his wife. I don't even gotta fuck her, just try. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. Hell, I woulda done it for free."

The other men just shook their heads, growling their incredulity and jealousy with half-hearted encouragements while the coyote stared adoringly. Toku just rubbed his eyes and tried not to make any sour comments. The wolf seemed to be winding down, which usually meant the night's tale-telling was over and he could finally go home and get some sleep.

Ethan looked at his watch "Speakin' of, time for me to get me some grown-up pussy," the wolf announced, getting to his feet. "Got a date with that one tonight, Mary-Anne or whatever her name is. Gonna be up all night." It was enough to signal the end of the night's tale-telling as the other guys got up, slinging jackets over their shoulders and heading for the back door.

As Toku lumbered to his feet and turned around to do the same a paw landed on his shoulder. He looked back to see Ethan standing there.

"Hey buddy, hold up," the wolf said, too quietly for the others to hear. "Why you gotta be like that?"

Tokuda just looked at the paw on his shoulder, then back up at Ethan.

"Relax. Sorry," Ethan said with an exaggerated lift of his paw, showing it open-handed in a kind of surrender gesture. "Just, that whole Kendavi thing and shit. Why you gotta be such an asshole all the time? You just tryin' to make me look stupid in front of the guys?"

Toku gritted his teeth, careful not to let it show in his jaw muscles. "You don't need any help from me."

"Fuck yeah I don't," the wolf muttered, tossing his butt on the ground and grinding it under his bootheel. "Look, just 'cuz I'm gettin' some don't mean you gotta be givin' me shit all the time." 

Toku found a growl in the back of his throat he hadn't felt coming, huffing under his breath once or twice to get it under control before he answered. "Look, you fuck who you want, alright? It's got nothing to do with that. You wanna take half hour breaks to bang some bitch out back you do it. Just don't be expecting me to cover for you, and don't expect me to listen to you going off about it later. You understand?"

Ethan scowled again, bringing up both paws palms out again. "Sure, buddy, whatever. Just lay off, alright? You don't gotta make a big thing outta everything."

"Fine," the dog growled through teeth gritted so hard he could hear them creaking in his head. Why did the wolf annoy him so much? He didn't care. "Fine. And don't touch me again."

The wolf's scowl darkened further; Toku assumed his hackles were up. "Whatever, man. Say hi to Rosie for me." With that, Ethan turned, snatched his coat off the back of one of the chairs, and stomped off.

"Asshole," Toku grumbled to himself, picked up his own coat, and headed the other direction.

--

It being a warm night, Tokuda was in no rush to get home. Walking down the city streets he felt himself calming down considerably, to the point where he was practically strolling after a few blocks. Halfway home and halfway through telling himself he shouldn't have let the wolf's antics get to him in the first place his phone jingled an incoming message. Only when he dug it out of the jacket pocket, past some unfamiliar items (cigar cutter, lighter, a few rubbers, some gum) did he realize it wasn't his phone. Or for that matter his jacket.

"You have got to be shitting me," the dog said out loud, looking at the phone and seeing an unfamiliar background. Same model, different phone. The background left no question as to whose it was, since it was unlikely anyone but Ethan would have a picture of his own motorcycle as the wallpaper. The new message light was blinking, but for now he ignored it.

With a disgusted sound he swiped the unlock -- no pass code, apparently -- and punched in his own phone number. He resumed his walk home while listening to the ringing... And ringing... And ringing.

"Goddamnit." With his improving mood now ruined he hit the cancel button, remembering only now that he'd had his phone on silent while working. No point in leaving the ringer on when he couldn't hear it in the club anyway, it just wore down the battery. He shoved the phone into his pocket.

A few blocks later and he was home, keys jingling in the lock of his apartment while he let himself in. Modest and spartan in both size and decor, the second floor studio boasted little more than a bed, sofa, and a cheap television for furnishings. A few low-light plants near the windows wheezed in the clogged heat of the room, wilted from getting sunlight only during the late afternoon but still providing at least a slightly more lived-in feel to the room. 

Tossing not-his jacket on the bed, he pulled his shirt off over his head and rolled his shoulders, head twisting one way, then the other to crack noisily each time. He caught a look of himself in the mirror behind the closet door and paused. Age had been relatively kind to him, making bulky rather than saggy the parts of him that had once been lean - although keeping active probably helped with that, too. He'd never managed washboard abs, and although he was a lot further from them now at 37 than he was at 27 (or for that matter, he thought, at 17) his upper body along with the rest of him had stayed solid and sturdy; he'd been described as 'strapping' as recently as a few weeks ago - although that had been by a guy at one of the clubs trying to figure out a way to get in without paying a cover. Flattery was still technically a compliment, especially if it's from a guy trying to suck your dick.

Regardless, his size and stature made sure he always had jobs in his line of work -- mostly intimidating people into behaving -- that paid enough to keep him satisfied in the standard of living he was accustomed to. After giving himself a faint and meaty slap on the chest he headed, shirtless, into the kitchen to dig out a beer. Popping the top off with a claw and taking a swig, he was just starting to think about whether he wanted to jerk off before going to bed when the phone in his pocket beeped a new message tone again. This time he reflexively pulled it out and punched the unread messages button. Maybe it was Ethan.

There were two messages, both from the same person, neither of them Ethan.

Suit: Got Monica to say yes. How about tomorrow after lunch?

And:

Suit: Don't tell me you're backing out. I already paid you, remember?

He stood there regarding the phone silently for nearly a minute. Apparently the wolf hadn't been lying after all.  Not that he'd assumed he was; Ethan was the type who seemed to draw people like this guy like a magnet. The 'last one' the coyote had referred to earlier had been an old school friend or so he said, and the one before that... They all ran together after awhile, especially since he hadn't bothered to listen. But there had been more than a few.

Toku, on the other hand, was usually uninterested in that kind of conversation with a stranger in the first place. Which isn't to say he hadn't had his share of married tail, it just usually wasn't husbands coming to him looking for him to 'help out' with their eager wives. 

Another minute went by. Anyone looking at him would have seen just his usual neutral expression, without a hint of the gears turning in his head. Eventually he lifted the phone closer to his muzzle, squinting at the small screen and typed in a message.

You: Yeah. You gonna be there?

He took another swallow of his beer, thinking and waiting for an answer. The phone beeped.

Suit: No, I told you how this would go. She'll be home alone.

He paused and thought some more. Carefully he typed in another message.

You: Did you tell her anything about me?

Suit: Just your name. You going to do this or not? Because I want my fifty bucks back if you're not.

He could feel his dick hardening in his pants, absently giving it a squeeze. There was a faint smirk playing at the edges of his muzzle now.

You: I'll need your address.

Then, after a moment's hesitation, he started typing again.

You: You sure about this?

The wait was longer this time.

Suit: 6487 Biltmore, #437. Yes. She probably won't even do it. Doesn't matter as long as I gave her the chance.

He weighed his next words before typing. What would an asshole say?

You: If she does, I get to fuck her though, right?

Suit: Yes. For chrissakes use a rubber if you do. And don't kiss her. But I don't think she will.

He finished off his beer in one long series of gulps, belching under his breath as he typed in the response.

You: Hope it's worth it buddy.

Looked like pawing it was off the menu tonight.

--

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

This is what Monica was thinking to herself as she flitted nervously through the condo, mindlessly picking up things that weren't where they belonged, only to put them somewhere else they didn't belong, tidying rather than cleaning. Her normal reaction to impending company was to try and make the place spotless, but that was when it was friends of business associates of Lawrence coming over. For this, cleaning up too much seemed... Wrong, somehow.

It was close to one o'clock, around the time that Lawrence had said that the... guest was coming around for a visit. When she'd asked him why he didn't give her a specific time he just said he hadn't thought to, much to her frustration. After a light and early lunch -- she wasn't very hungry anyway -- she'd spent the next half an hour trying to think of what to wear. She had no idea what the appropriate clothing for meeting another man for sex was, especially when sex wasn't even a certainty. Dress too provocatively and she might as well she go down on him the moment he came in the door. Too conservatively and she was going to come across as a frigid bitch. Which maybe wasn't the wrong thing, she thought - at least then she could start out seeming like she didn't want it and go from there.

In the end she'd settled on something in between - A pair of shorts and a tank top that was neither too tight nor too revealing. It wouldn't hide her body but wouldn't exactly put it on display, either.

One o'clock. Technically 'after lunch' now. When she'd pressed Lawrence for details on Ethan he said only that he was older than her and repeated what he'd said the night before - that he seemed 'nice'. How old? Not too old. What color was his fur? Didn't check. He was so light on the details, in fact, that she'd started to wonder if he'd actually met anyone at all.

Wouldn't that be a nice surprise, she thought. The doorbell will ring and it would be Lawrence standing there, wearing something unusual for him.  Jeans and a t-shirt, maybe. He'd be pretending to be someone else, someone she didn't know, this 'Ethan' person. They'd never done any sort of roleplay before, but maybe this whole swinging thing had all along been a ruse, an opportunity to inject some excitement into their sex life. 

In fact, the more she thought about it the more she was convinced this was exactly what was going on. It would explain why Lawrence -- who she'd known for years had quite the wandering eye -- hadn't done what she expected, which was suggest he 'go first' or that they have a three-way - with another girl, of course. The prospect that it would be him, playing the part of a lurid stranger visiting her while her 'real' husband was away at work, calmed her considerably. So that by the time the doorbell rang she practically danced to the door to answer it, throwing it open.

Her breath stopped. There was no mistaking the towering form of the canine standing in front of her for Lawrence, unless he was on stilts. And had stuffed his pelt with cotton. The... akita (she thought it was an akita, at least) regarding her with an almost sleepy expression looked to be about twice the size of her husband, although that was probably an illusion brought on by the shock of seeing so much dog there, filling up the door frame. Wearing simple and clean jeans, boots, and a black t-shirt tucked in he looked like someone who didn't feel the need to dress flamboyantly while still maintaining a sort of clean-cut, mature style, like a construction worker who wasn't on the job that day. She had to look up to see his face at all.

"I said, are you Monica?"

It was only then that she realized she'd been standing there for nearly half a minute and that the dog had already spoken to her once. She blinked - finally - and let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Y-yes... Yes! Sorry." She was still standing there, gaping.

"I'm T... Ethan." The dog had a gravelly baritone of a voice, even when speaking quietly. "Your husband sent me."

She blinked a few more times, rapidly. "Yes," she said dumbly, then stood there for another heartbeat or two before the world snapped back into focus. She blinked. "I'm sorry, I'm being rude... Please, come in." She stood aside, trying to control her breathing.

"Thanks." He stepped past her and into the condo, looking around as he did. Under his arm, she only now saw, he carried a six-pack of what looked like imported beer. After take a few steps in and a polite distance from her he turned around and considered her.

"I was't sure what I should bring," he said simply, holding up the six-pack. "But I figured something."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Monica closed the door and forced herself to approach him, gingerly taking the beer from his enormous paw. It felt heavy. "Th-thank you, that's very... Nice of you. Did you want to sit down?" She gestured towards the living room area with an elbow.

He glanced towards the living room, then back at her. "Sure, thanks." 

As he headed in, the further he got -- now that he wasn't looking at her - the more she was able to collect her wits, stumbling towards the kitchen and putting the beers in the fridge.

"Did you want one?" she called, belatedly. Pull yourself together, Monica.

"Sure." She could hear him from the living room, but not see him.

With unsteady hands she pulled glasses from the freezer. First one, then on second thought two, although she rarely drank anything but wine. It seemed more polite to join him. After emptying the bottles into the glasses she came back into the living room to find the Ethan, his boots off and placed neatly by the sofa, sitting with one ankle resting on one thigh. He looked huge even just sitting there in repose.

"Thanks," he said when she handed him the glass and went around the small coffee table to sit,  on the couch opposite the one he sat on. No use giving the wrong impression right off the bat, she thought.

They sat, regarding each other in silence. It lasted long enough it would have been creepy if he hadn't seemed so relaxed, sipping his beer and looking around, craning his neck when he glanced back to look at the pictures of them on the mantle. Her and Lawrence's wedding picture was there, big and framed in the middle, both of them looking radiant.

"Nice place," finally broke the awkward silence.

"Thank you."

If there had been a clock ticking in the room you could have heard it. The dull sound of a bus driving by on the street a few floors down hummed and faded. More minutes passed while she tried not to stare at the floor. The feeling was uncomfortably close to how she'd felt in high school on her first dates, obligated to say something with no idea what she should.

The dog took another swallow of his beer, his attention having settled back on her. "You know, if you want me to, I can leave." He didn't sound bitter or upset about it, nor was it phrased as a question.

She coughed as she tried to take a sip from her own glass, the bubbles tickling her throat and the sharpness of it making her tongue tingle. "No! No, it's all right. I don't mean to be... Like this. I'm just not sure what we're supposed to be doing." She gave a wan smile.

"Getting to know each other." He put an arm up on the back of the sofa, settling into it. "I think."

"I thought we were supposed to have sex." The words popped out before she realized it, her eyes widening as she realized what she'd just said. A blush raced up her cheeks to her ears as she ducked her head. Why did I say that?!

"Want to?" He took a gulp of his beer, looking at her levelly throughout the lift, tip, and swallow.

The blush deepened. She considered her answer much more carefully this time, deciding eventually on honesty. "I don't know yet."

The dog nodded amicably, looking thoughtful, but didn't offer anything else by way of response.

"Why don't... You tell me something about yourself." She struggled not to stare while still looking at him. She wasn't usually the type to be intimidated by large guys, but at this moment she felt small, vulnerable. And, she had to admit, fascinated. "Lawrence didn't tell me much."

"All right." Toku took a swallow of his already half-gone beer. "My name's Ethan, but you knew that. I work as a... Well, I guess you'd call it a bouncer, although they have fancy names for it now. I keep things from getting out of hand at places where people like to get out of hand. I live in the city, single."

"That's very... Interesting," she said lamely. "Have you always done that?"

"Since I was old enough to, yep. Suited me."

"I see." She bit her lip.

"You?" 

Bedroom eyes, she thought. That's what he has. She'd never seen them up close like this before, or at least ones she'd describe as such. Lidded and heavy, without being too lascivious. She still felt warm although now she wasn't sure if it was still the remnants of the blush or not.

"I'm... Monica. But I guess you knew that too." She gave a little forced laugh. "I'm a, I guess I'm a graphic designer some of the time, but a housewife mostly. She forced herself to take another drink of her beer and fought to keep from grimacing at the taste, forcing another small laugh instead. "I live here."

He cracked a small smile, more an acknowledgement of her joke from the look of it rather than genuine mirth. "I figured. Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Of course." She was grateful for something to continue the conversation, already feeling her silent shyness creeping back into it.

"You said this was your husband's idea. Me coming over here, I mean."

Monica nodded. "Mm. Yes."

"Why'd you say yes?"

She gave a small laugh. "Oh, I don't know."

"Yes you do."

That brought her up short, her airy attempt at deflecting the question abruptly shot down by the immediate and pointed answer. "Pardon?"

His voice was the same deep rumble it had been before, only now more trenchant. "Even if you'd said yes when you talked about it, and again when he told you I was coming over, you haven't thrown me out. How come?"

Monica felt a blush rising to her face again. None of the answers to his question were comfortable: That she'd initially said yes in the heat of the moment. That her husband had done his usual fast talking to get her to agree to this specific visit. And, she had to admit to herself, that she now found the prospect of following through on her husband's plans more appealing than she'd have expected.

"Why does anyone do this?" She hoped her answer didn't sound as evasive as it was.

Toku shrugged a bit. "Different reasons. Some guys get off on it, other guys doing their wives and they play along. Some women want to get back at their husbands for something. Some of them just want to have fun, or do things their husbands won't."

"Like what kind of things?" she heard herself say. The warmth in her cheeks was stronger now.

"I wouldn't know what your husband does." He took a swallow of his beer. "Do you have something in mind?" 

The look he was giving her now made her fidget. "No. Nothing... Specific, exactly." What did he look like without a shirt on? What did he taste like? "Why do you do it?"

He didn't hesitate. "Because I like to fuck beautiful women." He took another swallow of his beer in her momentarily surprised silence. "And you are certainly a beautiful woman. But you didn't answer me."

She hid her embarrassment by taking one of the last sips of her beer, having to swallow hard to get it down past the lump that had reappeared in her throat. "I wasn't lying," she said into the glass before looking at him. "I don't know why I said yes to Lawrence before. He can be very... Convincing." She felt a pressure in her chest, words (or at least sentiment) trying to get out she couldn't bear to let free making her heart pound. "But that isn't why I didn't tell you to leave."

One eyebrow went up expectantly, but he didn't say anything.

She took a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a sort of sigh. "Do you want another one?" She asked desperately, noting the dog's empty glass.

"Sure. If you're having one." He didn't press the point.

She got to her feet unsteadily, heart still hammering in her chest, and collected both glasses. As she headed into the kitchen she heard the creak of the couch as the dog got up and followed her, heavy footsteps on the carpet getting louder. By the time she'd made it into the kitchen and fetched them from the refrigerator she looked back over her shoulder to see him standing there, propped up against the doorframe. 

Giving him a weak smile she turned around to retrieve fresh glasses out of the bottom of the side-by-side freezer, bending over to get them. She'd already collected them both when, after a sort of half-grunt came from behind her.

"Don't worry about it."

She looked back over her shoulder to see him staring unashamedly at her ass. He didn't even bother to drag his gaze away until making sure she saw it. She didn't straighten up. The awareness that she was putting on a show -- and now, not inadvertently -- had her heart pounding again.

"I like it from the bottle anyway." He wore a slight smile now, more genuine than the one flicker she'd seen earlier.

"Oh. Ok." Only now drawing herself back up she closed the freezer door and used the opener to pop the tops off both. It took effort to force her feet, one after another, to approach him and even more to hold out the bottle to him. "Here."

He took it from her and she retreated to the counter a few feet away, leaning her back against it nervously while she sipped her own.

"You have a very pretty ass."

He said the words simply, a lewd compliment in most circumstances, but she knew it for what it was: a test. With just a few simple words he was putting her on the spot and giving her a chance to either dive in or dodge away, an advance that wasn't an advance.

Warmth spread through her whole body now, rushing through it in a shudder and reaching her crotch so strongly she had to resist the urge to touch herself. And with a small, shy smile and two even simpler words she chose. "Thank you."

"Show it to me." His expression didn't change, although the feeling in the room did.

She ducked her head, looking at the floor. The schoolgirl feeling was back but this time brought on by timid excitement rather than obligatory conversation. No man, including Lawrence, had ever spoken to her like that. It wasn't a request and it wasn't convincing. It just was. Uncertainly, and with her head still inclined, she slowly turned around, shuffling her feet until she was facing the counter. The same counter she'd been standing at the day before and hundreds of days before that, preparing dinner. She looked back over her shoulder, aware of how that must look but wanting to see his reaction.

The akita had his paw on his crotch, massaging a lump there that only now she allowed herself more than a fleeting glance at. The weight of it sagged the front of his jeans, an indistinct swelling that she could see shifting and swelling in his oversized grip. It was such an obscene thing for him to do, such a stereotypically male reaction that her first reflexive reaction was disbelief. Only when she'd had a moment to consider it did she realize it was turning her on, the fact that the sight of her, fully dressed and just bending over the counter, was enough to have a man -- this man -- groping himself.

"C'mere." 

Her gaze dropped for a moment, unintentionally coy. She was aware of her reactions without being in conscious control of them; for a brief, hysterical moment she imagined what a porno movie of this would look like: The shy but willing housewife, the crass houseguest making unseemly demands of her. Turning, she shuffled towards him, eyes as glued to his crotch as his had been on her ass -- so much so, in fact, that she purposefully looked up at him, just briefly, so she didn't appear too fascinated. She stopped directly in front of him, paws clasped in front of herself.

The dog took a languid swallow of his beer and put it aside, freeing both his paws. While she watched with growing trepidation he unbuckled his belt, popped the button on his fly, and tugged his zipper down. And with a practiced, confident ease he shoved his paw down into his underwear and hauled out the thick, uncut black length of his half-hard cock and flopped it, along with his balls, over the top of his underwear.

Monica held her breath for a heartbeat, letting it back out again in a gasp. Before she could think about it too much she reached out and took it in her paw, hefting the weight of it and instinctively stroking it one, twice. It felt too heavy, surging larger in her grip as she sank down to her knees with another one of those nervous glances up at his heavily lidded eyes reassuring her without saying a word. She knew what was wanted -- expected -- of her, and opening her mouth the small snow leopard swallowed the first few inches of the akita's cock.

Flavor and texture exploded in her mouth with a sharpness she hadn't expected: Salt, a faintly bitter tang that was similar to that of the beer, soft and smooth warm flesh against her lips. She hadn't realized just how alien it would feel to suck someone's cock that wasn't her husband's, everything about it unique and thrilling. With a soft moan muffled by the fleshy length she closed her paw as far as she could around the ample length that she didn't have in her mouth and began to suck and mouth at it, skinning back the foreskin. She'd never seen in person (or for that matter tasted) an unsheathed cock before, the shape wholly unlike Larwrence's tapered, narrow one. It was dry to the touch until her watering mouth slickened it, the skin loose around the rapidly stiffening core. It had a defined, spongey glans that quickly swelled to rub against her tongue and palate, squished down by the pressure until a pulse of blood surged it into a plug threatening to gag her.

The enormity of what she was doing hit her next. With alcohol numbing her senses, she only now thought of the fact that she was on her knees, in her own kitchen, and sucking on a cock in her mouth belonging to a man she'd met only less than an hour ago. The fantasies running through her head while they'd talked hadn't prepared her for the feeling of actually doing it.

It felt exhilarating.

Reaching up with her free paw she tugged his underwear and jeans down a few inches, just enough that it wasn't biting up underneath his balls. No longer supported underneath, the full weight of all of it sagged heavily and from above she heard a strained sort of 'Hrf', enough to have her lifting her eyes back to him, mouth full of dick.

The dog was smiling with half his muzzle -- a smirk, really, and one that didn't go away when he picked his beer back up to take a swig. Even just that one nonchalant gesture was astonishingly hot to see, the towering form of the canine looking as if he had been expecting her to do this all along. Almost without a thought his paw landed on her head, making a half-fist and feeling her hair tugged between his fingers as he began to guide her, slowly working her muzzle up and down on his cock.

Lawrence never, ever did something like this. Blowjobs to him seemed like something of a nuisance, a necessary precursor that only lasted long enough to get him hard, and certainly never with any authority. At first frightened he was going to choke her she let out a quiet whine through her nose, but after a few bobs of her head it was evident he wasn't trying to do more than make sure she knew what he wanted, and she busied herself with her paws, lips and tongue on the pace that he was setting. Her jaw ached; he was fully erect now and with proportions that literally put her her husband's to shame, throbbing she could feel first in her paws before reaching her mouth surging through it.

Next to her ear she felt as much as heard a buzzing. His paw tightened his grip in an unmistakable signal to keep going while he dug the phone out of his pocket. He's going to answer it!? Oh my god! Expressionlessly he picked up the phone, punched a button, read it -- a message. While he did he paused with his dick lodged in her muzzle deep enough to make breathing difficult. He read it, glanced past it to her with his smirk widening ever so slightly, punched a few more buttons, then (apparently) punched in a short reply.

--

Lawrence sat in the afternoon budget planning meeting half-listening to the droning of one of his co-workers in front of a projected powerpoint slide. He looked at his watch - nearly two PM. By now the asshole of a wolf had probably been there, pissed off his wife and left frustrated as he'd planned. 

It was hard to believe he'd managed to find someone so perfect so quickly. Horny and dumb enough to be willing to take money to fuck a stranger's wife, attractive enough to make it plausible that he'd picked the guy in good faith, and enough of an arrogant prick to turn Monica off in an instant. There was still a chance he'd managed to clumsily seduce her enough to maybe get his dick out, but chances of that her slim -- his wife was proud enough to bristle at the kind of chauvinist the guy obviously was, and she'd have no qualms about throwing him out as soon as he'd shot off his mouth enough to make her think he was disrespecting her.

He glanced across the table at the new intern they'd gotten in two weeks ago. Young, pretty little mink, and spent an awful lot of time coming by his office since arriving here. Seemed to him just like the type who knew what it took to get ahead in a competitive field like investment banking, especially for a girl. Grabbing his Blackberry up off the table and making sure it was out of sight of the guys on either side of him, he punched in a message.

You: How'd it go?

He returned his attention to the presentation while holding the phone under the desk, waiting. Dumbshit was probably already home and beating off by now.

His phone buzzed, and when he pulled it out to look at it he froze. It was an MMS, with a picture of his wife, on her knees, with a fat cock crammed -- yes, crammed -- into her mouth, a fist from out of frame holding her in place by her hair. Her eyes were closed; it wasn't even clear if she knew her picture was being taken. It was clearly from the vantage point of the suckee. 

Ethan: Your wife gives great head.

A flash of jealousy rushed through him, far more intense than he'd expected. It left him feeling burned out and rough, his breathing coming in heaves.

Ethan: "Gotta go."

"...Mister Richardson?" a voice was saying. He looked up to see the room staring at him, his boss's expression unpleasant. He held his breath.

"Sorry... What?" he hurriedly locked the phone.

"I said, the floor is yours. I do believe you're the next presenter?"

"Yes... Sorry. Message from my wife." Lawrence got to his feet, forcing himself to calm down.

There was a knowing chuckle throughout the meeting room. "They can be difficult, can't they," his boss said with a smile.

"Yeah," he said with more of a tautness to his voice than he wanted. "They can."

--

Toku finished the message and pushed the phone back into his pocket without comment, a tug of his paw and a push back down signaling that it was time to get back to work. She did, willingly, and with renewed effort now, sucking and slurping on the bulky cock for all she was worth. He was working her over faster on it now, no longer leaning back against the counter but standing with both feet planted on the floor and hunched over her. Short humps drove his erection in to meet her mouth, always pulling up short when the fat head crammed against the entrance to her throat. 

She tasted precum, the source, she knew now, of the bitter flavor she'd tasted when she first had started to go down on him and one she'd already come to associate with him. He was breathing faster now too, shaking as each huff was forced between clenched teeth. Is he going to? Right here? The breathing got louder, becoming grunts, and where her fist clenched the weight of his balls bumping against her wrist faded away as they pulled up.

The first splatter in her mouth surprised her and she choked, shoulders heaving and a dribble of his semen spilling from her lower lip. Frantically she began to swallow, both to clear her muzzle and to fight the sudden urge to cough as a flood of slick seed spilled across her tongue. I'm swallowing another man's cum! she managed to think, the thought alone sending a surge of heat through her so overwhelming she actually felt her panties get wet, down between her burning thighs. More of the sticky stuff poured into her mouth as he stopped thrusting and held her in place with his now-tight fist in her hair, unloading purposefully -- that was the only way to describe it -- into her gulping muzzle.

Too soon the gushing pulses faded, a shocking amount of the stuff still in her mouth until she'd managed to swallow it all. She didn't know men could produce that much, let alone from a blowjob, and it left her stunned and dizzy. She could feel it queasily in her belly, or maybe it was just the beer. At least she imagined she could.

When she looked up at him, the dog was just opening his eyes with the smirk on his muzzle having been replaced by a lazy, satisfied smile. When his paw fell away she took the hint and popped her mouth off to lick her lips reflexively, having to swirl her tongue around the outside of them to get at it all -- and even then she could feel it on her chin, too embarrassed to wipe it off. She needn't have worried; he did it for her. With his paw on her chin and his fingers touching the underside of her jaw, his thumb pushed gently through the dribble, upwards, and (oh my god) into her mouth. It stayed just long enough for her to suck it clean before pulling free, his claw catching on her lower lip and tugging it down just a bit before letting it snap free.

After admiring her a moment longer he held out a paw for her and she took it, getting unsteadily to her feet. Her weight didn't seem to have any effect on him at all; she might as well have been holding onto a rock for support. He was still smiling, standing there with his still-hard dick jutting out of his jeans and leaking a slow drool of semen down the frighteningly large spire. Getting a look at it, she wasn't sure how she ever got it in her mouth in the first place.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said simply.

Monica looked up at him, then down his cock. With a dirty thrill she reached out and swiped her finger through the drip, tracing a line down the underside of his spit-slick dick, bringing it to her lips and looking back up at him she as sucked it clean.

"You're welcome," she said around her finger.

The akita's grin was much wider now, approving. She could feel the excitement giving way to a heady giddiness that was some part beer and some part the illicit thrill of thinking about what she'd just done. She giggled spontaneously, covering her muzzle with a paw and feeling dampness.

"I should... Clean up," she murmured, the laughter dying in her throat and feeling sheepish. She could still taste him strongly on her tongue.

The dog's nose flared, and that smirk was back as if it had never left. "Sure," he said. "I'll be in the living room." And without even buttoning up, holding his jeans up by one paw and his beer in the other, he strolled out of the kitchen. 

She took a moment to compose herself, wiping off her muzzle with the back of her paw -- sticky, and not with spit. Evidence of her infidelity. Far from the array of negative reactions she was afraid she'd have at this point, she just felt... Alive. Eager and wanton, only now aware of her own arousal so strong it was keeping her knees feeling wobbly.

She opted for water, leaving her opened and untouched beer on the counter as she poured herself a glass and ventured cautiously back out in the living room. She wasn't sure what should happen next. What's polite when you've just given someone you don't know a blowjob in your own house? Tell him to leave? She didn't want him to leave.

He was on the couch again but instead of his ankle on his leg he was sitting slouched, knees splayed and -- she realized with a start when she got close enough -- his pants still open. He wasn't soft, although he wasn't hard either, the chubby black snake flopped against one thigh. When he heard her footsteps he turned to look over his shoulder at her, following her with what was again that sleepy countenance while she practically tiptoed in. She didn't sit, fidgeting on her feet.

The gravelly rumble in his voice now was practically enough shake the walls no matter how quietly he spoke. "Your husband didn't tell me you were so good at that." 

Monica took a sip of her water, clutching it in both paws afterwards. "He doesn't... Like it as much."

"Huh." The dog scratched his belly, lifting his shirt a few inches to show a packed stomach. "Not too many guys don't like getting blowjobs. But you like giving them, don't you."

She blushed again, for the first time since their conversation before. "Yes. A lot," she said.

"You liked sucking mine?" Monica made a move to the couch, intending to sit down, but he stopped her. "Don't.  I want to look at you."

She blushed harder. Her panties were soaked. She hadn't noticed before because of the warmth, but standing in place now she could feel it slickly between her legs. "Yes," she answered his question, and took a drink of water.

"He as big as me?"

Monica paused, biting her lower lip. Then she shook her head. She had been trying unconsciously to avoid the train of thought that was trying to force its way into her head: inevitable comparisons between the undeniably more masculine canine and her husband. Cock size she couldn't help thinking about, but she'd never considered herself obsessed about that, although she'd never seen one in person that large, either, let alone tasted one. The rest -- physical stature, the way he spoke to her, the easy confidence he had in the kitchen, the smoldering, smoldering gaze he had now -- those reflexive judgements she'd been trying to keep tamped down. It was getting harder to, and she suspected it was going to get a lot harder before this was over.

"Does it bother you that I'm asking you?"

That one she had to think about for a moment. Much to her surprise, she shook her head again. 

His smirk widened, almost imperceptibly. "Take off your clothes." This time, as in the kitchen when he wanted to look at her backside, it wasn't a question.

She blushingly did so, putting down her glass on the coffee table before she got started. The shirt came first, tugged up from the hem until her fingers found the underside of her bra and pulling them both off in one smooth motion over her head. He made an appreciative grunt when her breasts were bared, much like the one in the kitchen, watching her with a gaze she again would have expected to find uncomfortably intense but didn't. Without thinking about it she turned away to demurely hide her chest -- despite the fact that he'd already gotten a good view of them -- and popped the button on her shorts.

She slowed down a little now, feeling some of her boldness returning with the same thrilled swell of dirty excitement as before. Rather than take the shorts and panties off both at once, she let the shorts drop on their own to pool around her ankles, leaving her clad in the black cotton panties and nothing else. For removing those she plainly lingered, hooking her thumbs into the waistband, making sure her ass was turned fully towards him and slowly, teasingly pulled them down. Her tail was kept tantalizingly low, hiding most of the middle as she bent over to work them over her thighs, past her knees, around her ankles, and finally, bent over at the waist, stepping deliberately each ankle out of them. Her tail she let just naturally go up and to the side, giving him a full view of her rump.

Monica looked back at him as she straightened up. He was sitting just the same as before, knees splayed, but with the full erection he'd been sporting before now held tightly in one paw while he slowly fisted himself. His phone was sitting on the sofa cushion next to him, just going back to sleep with the screen flickering off, but he was paying not the slightest bit of attention to it -- instead, his eyes bored into hers with a hunger that she could almost feel, even from a few feet away. She'd never in her life had a man look at her like that before, like he didn't just want her, but starved for her; and like he knew -- not hoped, but knew -- that he was going to have her.

"C'mere," he said, with a slight toss of his head. It was the exact same tone he'd used in the kitchen, with the exact same meaning. As he did he leaned forward where he sat, taking his own shirt and pulling it up and off over his head, giving her the first bared view of any of him that wasn't head, arms or cock.

Holy shit, she thought. He was older than she'd first guessed, she could see that now, but it wasn't a disappointment. He was built, strapping even, with a body that probably needed both genes and hard work to get to where it was and stay that way at what looked like the onset of middle age. The salt and pepper in his whiskers should have given it away, but the it was only now that she thought he could be old enough to be her dad. The thought had her mouth dry.

Monica tried to make it seductive, but she had a difficult time not stumbling when she approached him, any hopes that she'd be less intimidated with him sitting proving vain. No, that wasn't right she realized -- it wasn't that she was intimidated, it was that she wanted him, so much that she felt all the symptoms of breathless lust masquerading as fear. That hungry gaze of his was egging her on, fueling the wetness she could feel slushing between the fur of her thighs, the dancing lashing of her tail and the easy grace of stepping in front of him. And then, one knee after the other, straddling his broad thighs.

Her paws looked far too small where they came to rest on his chest. He'd let go of his cock while she climbed up and his own paws (looking too big, almost comically so) rested heavily on her thighs and massaged their way up and down, slowly, through her lush rosetted pelt. From this height she was looking at him almost eye to eye, up off her ankles, able to watch in detail as his gaze traveled lecherously down the length of her naked body and back up. Like he owns me, she thought.

When his muzzle tilted back up it was the most natural thing in the world for her to lower hers and meet him in a kiss that seemed to arc between them before their lips touched. The akita's were shockingly soft -- she'd never kissed a canine before -- and with a startled sound from her his tongue pushed into her mouth, making passionate what had started out tender while his paws tightened around her hips. Her whole body shuddered and went weak, feeling as if she was melting into him. Her knees splayed and her paws balled into fists against his broad chest, sinking down until the searing heat of her sex came to rest on the barrel of his cock, sliding wetly between her lips until she could feel the throbbing of it against her sex.

His tongue was even softer than his lips, warm and wet and long and pushing into her muzzle rudely until she was almost sucking on it; she wrangled hers around it in a fruitless effort to match his intensity. When she hesitated he pulled her down, seating her so firmly against the broad underside of his dick and thrust upwards, sliding it through the folds of her cunt with a soft wet sound and a sensation so intense she almost climaxed right then. It had the intended effect as her eyes rolled back behind closed and fluttering lids and her slight indecisiveness fled, replaced with an abandon she didn't know she had.. 

Without consciously meaning to she found herself bucking slowly against him, in counterpoint to his slow, languorous humping. The first few slides forward and back felt wonderful, but once he was good and wet -- her entire crotch was soaked by now, smeared there by her own dripping and his cock sluicing between -- it was nothing short of ecstasy, rubbing directly over her clit better than fingers ever could. He was fully hard (Lawrence never got hard again this fast!) but seemed in no hurry to do more than he already was, his heavenly lips and tongue inexorable and possessive as they worked over her muzzle.

Monica could feel it now, a tingling that began at the base of her spine and a dulling of her senses. Her limbs went alternately taut and slack, her whole body feeling as if it were pulsing, throbbing like the immense dog cock between her legs but stuttering each time it swelled and receded. Swelled, a little further each time, receding each time to more intense than it was before. She kissed him ferociously, smaller muzzle opening and closing in time with the pulsing through her body... And like a slow rolling wave washing over her, her climax hit her. All her muscles seemed to be stretching at once; she curled over him and pulled at his wiry chest fur, screwing her eyes shut and clenching her jaw.

It was something infinitely more fervent than pawing could evoke and it left her gasping for breath, tiny little gasps followed by tinier inhales. It reverberated through her, ping-ponging from her head, to her crotch, to her toes and back up, following that pattern of the buildup to it but now with a knife-sharp intensity. Her body moved of its own accord, hips rolling forward while his drew back; the ridge of his glans on its way by felt like she was being nipped exquisitely she was so sensitive, and with the soft, desperate exhale of a need being fulfilled she sat down onto him.

It was far from effortless, her sex already clenching and quivering even before the dog's girthy length spilled into her. There was no pain, just an overwhelming sensation of pressure that started even before she'd managed to work the head into her and continued as he slipped up into her. The kiss broke; he was growling but she didn't -- couldn't -- care, arching her back and pushing herself upright away from him. She wanted him, all of him, inside of her while her climax was still bashing at her senses, using her light weight to greedily envelope thick inches of his now rapidly throbbing erection, shivering as it met resistance, paused, and surged into her. She was dimly aware of him hunching upwards, meeting her eager rolling and bucking in haphazard counterpoint, the last few inches forced into her by his grip on her hips pulling her down onto him.

Slowly she opened her eyes, and like a camera coming into focus her vision clearing to see the ceiling, unaware until now that her head was thrown back and her mouth open. Dazedly she lowered it, jaw still agape, to see the dog looking at her with a smug smile but his eyes -- those eyes -- boring into her with a heat stronger than the one between her legs. Even with his cock entirely impaled inside her he was blatantly drinking in the sight of her; she had the unmistakable feeling that he'd been doing it the entire time, through her orgasm and all through her impaling herself onto him. One paw, calloused and rough, came to her cheek; she turned her head into it and nuzzled with her eyes drifting half-closed again, riding him slowly in slow grinds of her hips.

"You're beautiful," he growled, voice thick with tension and lust. For all his apparent self-control it was that voice that belied his own concentration, his chest rising and falling to force it through a constricted throat. He humped into her more slowly now to match her own slower pace, occasional tightening of his jaw or twitch of his muscles giving further evidence of his own enjoyment. 

Monica blushed, mouthing at his palm and grazing her teeth over it. She felt restrained by his paw on her, unable to lift away but unwilling to anyway. It felt so good to have him there, with the lingering glow of her orgasm simmering inside her along with him; it didn't matter that he was no longer rubbing directly over her clit anymore. Now it was an entirely different kind of pleasure, one that had her urging her hips faster to feel the thick length of him stirring within her. 

"Ooooh, god, Ethan," she breathed into his palm, all lips and teeth. "It feels so good..." She didn't even care if her heard her.

"I know," came his rumbled reply, giving her a harder thrust that jolted through her more than just the physical impact of it.

Her eyes went wide for a moment before closing tightly; she was squirming in his lap, clutching at his chest as she leaned back. She'd always laughed at lines like 'touching me in places I've never felt before' in romance novels, but now she had some idea what it meant. It wasn't just the feeling of another man's cock in her, it wasn't just an unfamiliar position or even just someone bigger than her husband's. It was even just unique. It was just... Better.

They made love like this for long minutes, her hips alternately gyrating and moving up and down, feeling her thighs start to ache until she leaned into him, resuming the kiss they'd started before she came. Even now it felt as if the lasting vibrations of still rang through her, kept alive like a tuning fork being struck repeatedly by the brutally thick cock she rode so ardently. His paws explored her from hips to breasts and beneath them, lifting them against her chest, claws dragging over her nipples (she almost came again from that alone), reaching down to dig his thumbs into her hips and his fingers into her ass, pinching them between.

She felt him move and reflexively broke off the kiss, smiling a sultry smile down at him. His return smile carried with it more intent, and he held her hip tighter. The mountain beneath her shifted, rolling to the side and bringing her with it; she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her muzzle in the scruff of his neck. They were at first at first a tangle of arms and legs until she'd managed to get her thighs all the way around his hips, and soon Monica found herself on her back beneath the hulking canine, arms still looped around his shoulders and body pressed into the sofa cushions.

She could feel him bringing his knees up ponderously, first one, then the other, his entire frame moving upwards over her until her arms were above her head, her face in his damp chest and hips curled upwards. Smothered exquisitely she started to say something, something passionate and sexy, only to have her air abruptly forced from her in a huff as he drove forcefully into her. With gravity and muscle propelling him the impact was bone-jarring and her jaw clenched as the ripple effect of that thrust rattled through her.

Only to be interrupted by another, and another, and another still, each hunch of his hips coming an instant too soon for her to catch her breath. She was almost frightened now by it, whatever restraint he'd had -- by necessity from the position, or simple self-control -- seemed relaxed or absent entirely now as he picked up the pace, wet squishing and meaty thumps providing the soundtrack to his lovemaking, joined quickly by her growing whimpers and cries and his grunted breath. He had one paw beneath her neck, clutching him to his chest and belly while he hammered at her and she unwound her arms from his neck to grab at his shoulders, hanging on for dear life.

Every time she tried to cry out another whumpf of air came out instead. She started to panic and didn't know why, her feeble and half-hearted attempts at resistance like trying to beat back a freight train, left with only crying out louder. Then the crying became squeals, then the squeals became howls muffled by the thick pelt of his chest, and then she was cumming. Oh god, she was cumming, so hard her head pounded and her body twitched and jerked mindlessly and her eyes rolled back in her head. The climax she'd been fighting so hard against without even realizing that's what it was ripped through her and kept going -- it may have been one long one, it may have been a string of them all in rapid succession, either way it left her mindlessly kissing and mouthing at the dog's chest, using him to try and smother her squeals while her head swam drunkenly. 

They didn't fade so much as she began to feel numb and her limbs tingled as if she was drunk; with the numbness came a slow return to her senses, aware now of the akita slamming himself into her, the sounds of his lovemaking gradually getting louder, clearer. His grunts had become snarls she could feel resonating as if through a wall with her ear pressed against it and his chest heaving in great, bellowing breaths. Monica realized she was speaking, pleading with him into his chest to finish, to breed her,  to claim her, to cum in her oh god please please cum in me. She told him she was his, his bitch, his little girl, his whore, that she would do anything if only he'd breed her.

They lasted for endless minutes, a buildup that seemed to be perpetually quivering on the edge of giving way and an assault so relentless she couldn't even remember how long ago it had started. Without warning those growls hitched along with the rhythm and his thrusts became short, rapid, and punched up into her brutally deeply. Throbbing hard and larger enough to make her grimace came a moment before she felt the first spurts of warm, sticky seed flood her, satisfying a need so deep she could only groan incoherently her thanks. He never stopped thrusting, a gnashing, drooling beast over and in her, snarling his unmistakable triumph as jet after abundant jet of his spunk soaked her cunt. She could feel it drooling out of her, the obscene sound of it pumped in and back out by his pistoning dick staining the couch beneath her until she felt her backside dampen from it.

Somewhere in the midst of it Monica came again, realizing it only when she her senses returned to find his hammerblows having slowed to a slower and more deliberate humping; he had, she realized, been expertly helping her orgasm last the way he stirred and ground his dick into her, slushing through the load he'd dumped into her -- was still dumping into her. She stretched beneath him with a smile on her muzzle from ear to ear, every muscle and nerve tingled.

The thrusting slowed to a halt and the dog panted, slow and open-mouthed, tongue lolled -- she should just see it from her vantage point him. After a time he carefully raised himself up on his arms and dipped his head to look down at her; not at her face but past, to where he was obviously admiring the sight of his cock still wedged within her. She was his conquest, he left no doubt about that.

And she loved it.

"Th... Thank you," she breathed, turning her head to the side and still writhing where she lay. She couldn't seem to hold still.

"Hell yeah," Toku grunted, sounded winded, rearing up entirely now to sit back on his ankles, one leg on the floor since he didn't seem to fit on the couch. He watched her for awhile, squirming luxuriously with his softening dick massaging her insides until he slipped free, with a soft pop.

The akita fell back onto the couch, slouched against the arm, and grabbed his beer to drain the remainder of it in one long, gulping slug. He seem to have already caught his breath, although his chest still rose and fell quickly and it was her turn to admire him now, reaching down and feeling herself -- no, fingering herself -- while she did.

He was flecked with sweat, brow dripping with it, chest matted. His cock was still mostly hard from the look of it, sopping wet and leaking onto his broad thigh. Sperm, his sperm, leaked past her fingers; her crotch was soaked with it along with her legs, the sofa, and even her belly. She felt at once both full and achingly empty, the void where his cock had made its way into her as as acute as its presence had been. Blearily she sat up and fumbled around for her water; eventually he had to get it for her with a heavy chuckle, and she drank deeply.

"How many?" he asked. His voice sounded thick.

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, trying to clear them of sweat and watering. "Hmmm?"

"How many times I get you off?"

Monica took another swallow of water, feeling parched. "I d-don't know... F-five? Maybe five, or six..."

He chuckled, and it had a swagger to it. "Your husband ever done that?" 

She gulped more water, considered lying... But she could see from the look on his face he already knew the answer. He kept looking at her when she hesitated, pinning her with that gaze until she looked away.

"No."

They stayed there like that for awhile longer, sometimes talking, usually silent, reveling in the lingering and steamy warmth of their orgasms. She'd always rushed to clean up after sex; now, she felt as if she wanted to be drenched in the smell and feel of him for as long as she could.

Late afternoon sunlight was streaming in the windows by the time he suggested a shower that she only reluctantly agreed to. The awkwardness was gone now and she followed him willingly in, on her knees and back to sucking his cock to hardness before they'd even turned the water on. He took her again there, up against the side of the stall, slower this time with one rough paw beneath her thigh to hold it aloft and the product of their last lovemaking leaking down her thighs while his cock filled that vacant space within her he'd carved for himself. His climax was gentler too, growls hoarse and hungry into her ear until her head turned and muffled him with an open-muzzled kiss, begging for his tongue to invade her this time and feeling his hot breath in her mouth when he came. When he finished they washed up unhurriedly, soaping each other as much for the embrace as for cleaning.

They only made it as far as the bedroom before he was at her again, arms around her from behind and paws on her breasts to stop her from picking up her clothes, mouthing at her neck. Whatever exclamation she was going to make about his virility was lost when he pushed her onto the bed -- their bed, her and Lawrence's --  and mounted her doggie-style, planting his paw on the back of her neck. Another long string of choking orgasms later, after he had pounded at her for what felt like it must have been an hour -- How can he keep up for so long?! -- he unloaded in her again, mashing her face into the comforter and practically bending her spine backwards with the ferocity of it.

Finally, it was over. Monica was left flattened on the bed, a whiskered muzzle kissing the back of  her neck, and the thick cock inside her slurped free of her sore and aching cunt. The room reeked of him; of wet dog and sex. She lay there breathing slowly, slowly sinking to flat on her belly.

After a few minutes -- or longer, maybe? -- she rolled over and stretched her arms above her head lazily, opening her eyes to see the akita next to her on his side, head propped on one arm and watching her with a faint smile.

"That was..." She stretched again, back arching. "God. I don't even know what to say."

Still smiling, he leaned over her and gave her a long, open-mouthed kiss, one paw stealing down between her legs and to the mess he'd left her there. She arched her back again, moaning into the kiss, but just as she'd begun to squirm he pulled back with both muzzle and paw, lifting the latter and inspecting it. Wetness dripped from his fingers.

"Your husband's gonna come home soon," he said eventually, wiping it off on his leg.

Monica mmm'd, non-commitally. She still felt floaty.

He gave her another kiss then, a short one this time, and rolled over and off the bed. His clothes were in a pile he had to dig through before getting dressed, and Monica drifted onto her side to watch him in amusement.

When he'd pulled his pants on he paused to regard her, looking like he was considering something. Still shirtless, he glanced around and grabbed a pad of paper and pen from beside the bed while she watched him with mild, distracted curiosity, and wrote something onto it.

"Here," he said, tearing off the paper and holding it out to her. A phone number was scrawled on it.

Monica took it without getting up. "Doesn't Lawrence have it?"

His lips quirked in something like amusement. 

"Not this one," he said.

She gave him a slightly questioning look.

"You ever want another ride, you call me. Not him. You. Understand?"

A little thrill went through her, and she nodded.

Apparently satisfied, he pulled his shirt on over his head, tugging it down over his impressive chest. Once dressed he leaned over her, gave her a good, long kiss and left the room without further comment. A few minutes later, she heard the front door open and close.

What a fuck.

--

Lawrence Richardson strode up to the doors of the elevator in his building, a scowl wrinkling his feline muzzle.

This isn't how it was supposed to go. That asshole of a wolf was supposed to make a fool of himself, not of him. Not of him. Sure, he'd told the son of a bitch he could fuck her, but he didn't think he actually would. She wasn't interested. His Monica, his wife goddamnit, defiled by some fucking wolf. He was growling with every breath, muttering under his breath.

The elevator doors opened and he tried to charge in, nearly running straight into the occupant trying to leave. A snarled epithet died in his throat when he had to look up to see the canine's face. Way up.

"Whoa, buddy, where's the fire?" the akita said with the easy grace of someone who didn't have to shout to make himself heard. There was a flash of... Something. It looked almost like recognition, flickering across the dog's face before it went back to neutral.

"Sorry," Lawrence muttered bitterly, ducking his head and squeezing past. When he punched the button and turned around the dog was watching him from the other side, and as the door closed he thought he saw him smile.

"Stupid fucking-" grumble grumble his thoughts went. The mutt fucking stank, too. They let anyone move into this goddamned building these days.

Up the interminable ride to his floor the elevator hummed, the lingering stench of the canine in the car souring his mood even more. By the time he was jamming his key into the lock he had already rehearsed a million cursed tirades in his head, every one of them ringing hollow. How could he be angry now? He'd invited the bastard over to do exactly what he did. All his plans, that intern he'd been fantasizing about fucking all day, or at least until that first text message, fucking ruined. 

The condo was a mess. Empty beer bottles in the kitchen and on the coffee table. His traitorous wife's clothes were strewn around the couch and the room still smelling of sex muted only by the humid heat of a recent shower. Reflexively he looked around on his way up the stairs - no condom wrappers, no used rubbers. God damn him. 

As he stomped up the stairs he slowed. For all he knew the brute of a wolf was still here, in his bed. Right now, just a few feet up, fucking his wife. The pause it gave him he at first mistook for anxiety - he was no cream puff, but the wolf was a bouncer for chrissakes. But it also gave him time to fully experience what was tearing at him, and with a shock strong enough to stop him in his tracks he realized something. He was aroused.

And not just somewhat, either. Standing there frozen, one paw on the rail and one foot on the step above the other, he rolled the thought around in his head: What would he see when he went in the door? Would he be there? Would his dick be in her? Would she be on top or bottom? What if she was blowing him? That alone sent a shiver up his spine and surged his hardon -- he was hard!? -- in his slacks; the thought of his wife on her knees sucking another man's dick. 

Mechanically he began climbing the stairs again, starting to feel sweat soak through his undershirt. He didn't hear anything, but the walls were thick, that didn't mean anything. Steeling himself, he flung the door open.

There, on the bed, was Monica. His wife was bare naked on her back on the bed, one knee drawn up and her arm behind her head to prop it up. Her expression was... Satisfied. Not frightened, not ashamed, not contrite, but pure, unadulterated (hah!) satisfaction. Sperm still dripped from between her legs, her lips were wet; her hair stuck in clumps to her forehead.

His heart began racing, blood rushing in his ears. The little slut!

And before he knew what he was doing he was striding across the room, suit jacket torn off of his shoulders and kicked aside when it got tangled around his feet. Blind with raw, feral desire he tore his belt open and his fly apart so hard the zipper snapped; only his suspenders kept his slacks up around his hips and kept him from falling flat on his face. Still, she didn't look frightened, letting her knee fall to the side and bare her crotch, her filthy, defiled crotch to him and her eyes challenging him with a sultry smile. She might as well have been saying it. Yes, we did. What are you going to do about it?

His erection ached so hard it was like he'd been punched in the gut; he had it out and free of his underwear in seconds flat. He didn't bother to undress further, either, climbing onto the bed and between her legs, planting a paw on her chest and pushing her back roughly enough to make her grunt. He fell clumsily into her, head ending up in the next to her neck and hips bucking until his cock found its mark and squelched into her like he had a thousand times before. Only this time, someone else's warm spunk bubbled around his dick when he did.

She was loose, looser than he'd ever felt before. He didn't care. She'd gasped when he penetrated her, clutching his shoulder and digging her claws into him through his dress shirt as he began to fuck her frenziedly and over-eager, like he was a teenager again, like he neither knew what he was doing, nor cared.

He'd never felt so alive in his life.

--

The next night, Tokuda was out back of the club, puffing leisurely on a cigar -- the tiger had good taste, and he'd helped himself to the humidor in the living room on his way out. Flipping through messages on his phone he grumbled to himself for neglecting to have sent himself any of the things he'd sent Lawrence before he gave Ethan his phone back. And as if on cue, the back door practically exploded open and the wolf stormed angrily through it.

"What the fuck is this shit?" he snarled, and jammed the phone in the dog's face. It was open to the text messages, a half-dozen tiny thumbnails of a pretty little snow leopard woman in various states of debauchery, on all fours, sucking a cock too big for her muzzle, on her back with that cock between her tits, licking spunk off the head. All sent messages. Below it was a text message from the same recipient that said only,

Suit: She said she's going to call you this week. Can I watch?

Toku smirked around the cigar, taking his sweet time before removing it from between his lips.

"Looks like someone had a good time," he drawled. "Tell him no, by the way."

"You fucking son of a bitch," the wolf snarled, looking for a moment like he was going to do something remarkably stupid, lunging forward until his head was less than a foot from the dog's. Toku didn't flinch, challenging without moving a muscle.

Neither did the wolf, although he still looked like he wanted to. "That was my score, you fucking prick!" He stabbed a finger at Toku's chest. "My score! You don't do that shit!"

"Pretty sure I did." He took a laconic drag on the cigar and exhaled it over Ethan's head. "You gonna try to tell me you wouldn't've done it to me yourself if you had the chance?"

Ethan's paw balled into a fist. The akita didn't move. 

"Shit!" The wolf whirled away, paced a few steps one way, stopped, looked at the akita, and paced a few steps the other before stopping again. 

"Shit." He sounded resigned now although his teeth were still gritted. He looked at the dog, then at his phone still in his hand. Scowling, he shoved it into his pocket and dug a cigar out instead.

"Got a light?" he muttered.

Toku tossed him a zippo. Ethan sparked it, took a few huffing drags on his stogie and tossed it back.

"She any good?" he eventually said, after a long, lingering silence.

Toku looked thoughtful, drawing on his cigar. "Yup."

"Shit." Ethan said again, and slouched against the wall. He gave a sleazy and rueful grin. "Aw well. Guy was an asshole anyway." 

"You aren't kidding."

They stood silently, just standing and smoking.

"Kio's comin' by the club tomorrow night," Ethan said after awhile.

"That kendavi bitch?"

"Yeah," Ethan said. They tossed their cigar butts on the ground, heading back inside, the wolf in the lead. "You feel like havin' a go at her?"

Toku grinned. "Sure."

"Yeah, well fuck you," Ethan said.

The door clicked shut behind them, Toku's chuckles drowned out by the thumping of the music.