by Kyell Gold
“Oh. Okay.” Amir brought his paw to Fin's wrist. “I'd...like that, yeah.”
Impulsively, Fin dropped to Amir's side and pulled the fennec against him. “Mmm,” he said. “Well, okay then.”
Amir draped an arm over Fin and ruffled the fur down his spine, around the base of his tail. He smoothed fur over the curve of Fin's rear. “We don't have to do that all the time.”
“Let's worry about next time when it happens.” Fin's tail thumped the bed.
Amir's claws teased down under his tail, brushing his tailhole there. “Sounds okay with me.”
They held each other a little while longer, paws teasing between each other’s legs, until Fin couldn’t wait any longer. He kissed Amir’s nose, said, “Be right back,” and ran to the bathroom.
He brought a condom and a towel back with the lube, the little bottle already open as he got back to the bed. He rubbed the slick jelly under his wagging tail while Amir unrolled the condom down over his shaft. “Can I have a little of that?” Amir asked, his latex-covered shaft bobbing ready between his legs.
“Of course.” Fin squirted more into his paw, but instead of moving to Amir's held-out paw, he wrapped his paw around Amir's shaft and slid it up and down, gripping the small swell of Amir's growing knot at the base. The fennec squirmed, spreading his legs and closing his eyes. When he started shuddering, Fin slid his paw free. “Okay, I think you're slick enough now.”
Amir cracked one eye open. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.” Fin eyed Amir's knot, wondering how much bigger it would get. But he wanted it, he knew that, so he lay back on the towel, spreading his own legs and curling his tail to one side.
The fennec rubbed a paw along Fin's stomach, down the ivory fur and over into the brown fur of his hips. “I've, uh...” He let his fingers glide over Fin's erection and slight knot, down to his sheath and sac. “I mean, I've only ever done it from the back.”
Fin turned toward Amir. “We can do it that way, too. If you want.”
“I've seen pictures, just never, y'know.” His paw closed around Fin's shaft. “But I'm up for trying.”
Fin reached out to stroke Amir's hardness with his slick paw. “Clearly.” He smiled. “Just kneel between my legs, like this...” He guided Amir to the right position and lifted his hips, tightening his stomach and resting his feet on Amir's thighs. “And I think you can figure it out from here?”
Amir arched his eyebrows and nodded, leaning forward. The tip of his erection pressed under Fin's tail. The fennec looked down, panting, and stopped. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Fin wrapped his legs around Amir's waist and pulled the fennec in closer. He forced his muscles to relax as Amir, taking the hint, pressed his hips forward. The pressure of the fennec's shaft increased until it slid inside Fin with a warm, familiar intimacy.
It had been a while. The only sex he’d had lately had been with Hayward, and Hay never let anyone else bottom. The mild soreness went away almost immediately, replaced with a warm glow rippling through his rear. Fin arched his back and held Amir's wrist with his dry paw, while the slicker one rested on his shaft. “Still okay?” Amir asked.
“Yes.” Fin squeezed with his legs, tugging Amir closer, and the fennec took the hint. Fin relaxed as the wide shaft drove further in, all the way up to the swell of the knot, and then pressing that inside, until the fennec's muzzle was just over Fin's chest. Amir was biting his lip and his body was trembling again. Fin squeezed his wrist until the brown eyes met his, and he smiled. “Feels good,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” Amir gasped. He pulled out and then thrust back in, good and quick, and Fin started stroking himself so Amir could just focus on fucking him. Because the dusty-yellow muzzle had lifted, the brown eyes now unfocused, and he was thrusting harder. His whole body felt taut and quivering against Fin.
The swift fox was getting pretty close himself, but not quite that close. He slid his paw along his shaft faster, trying to catch up. He angled his hips up, with a little more tightening of his stomach, and that helped; the back-and-forth of Amir's shaft became more electric, the press of his growing knot a spike of pleasure each time it pushed its way in past Fin's muscles.
The fennec was gasping, thrusting, his paws gripping Fin's chest fur. Fin closed his eyes to focus, but he still didn't beat Amir to the climax. With a high-pitched moan, Amir thrust all the way into Fin, his knot full and tight, his hips jerking, and the clutch of his fingers was almost painful. Fin kept his legs wrapped around the slender waist, his own arousal surging with each shudder of the small fennec above him and inside him. He watched the muzzle hanging open, perked his ears to the yelps, so familiar and yet different this time. He could not only hear them, but he could feel them in the warmth of Amir's paws, in the sliding thrusts inside him.
Amir's paws slid down around Fin's chest; his body sagged against the swift fox's taut stomach, moving with the rising and falling of Fin’s panting. Fin’s own hips squirmed, his knot tight and hard below his strokes. He clenched around Amir's shaft and knot, feeling every inch of it and eliciting another squeak from the fennec, his climax approaching, building. It crested slowly, as his paw moved faster, until his back was arching up all the way into Amir's stomach. The warmth spread outward from his groin, making his fingers and toes and tail tingle, and then he let out his own moan as the pleasure exploded through him, spattering his stomach with each jerk of his paw. He gasped, stroking until the pleasure subsided, and then collapsed on the bed.
The fennec fell on top of him, still pressed securely inside. Fin wrapped his free arm around Amir's back, keeping the other tight around his still-pulsing erection. Amir's arms dug into the bed under Fin's shoulders, pulling him close.
They lay together, panting, tails brushing past each other. Amir's weight felt nice on Fin's stomach, and though his shaft was getting a bit uncomfortable inside Fin's rear now, pulling that big knot out would've been worse. He just relaxed and focused on the smell of Amir, the sound of his panting, the wiry body in his arms. And the discomfort faded away, like his worries and doubts. His body felt pleasantly tired, and Amir's presence around him was soothing.
9. Commend yourself for something you did well today.
“Can I stay here?” Amir murmured next to Fin's ear.
“Sure.” Fin squeezed him. “You can stay as long as you want.”
“I have to go to class,” Amir said. “At ten. But until then.”
“I leave for work at eight.”
“Mm-kay.” Amir nuzzled Fin's cheek. “That was really good. Really good.”
“Yeah.” Fin rubbed his muzzle back, his tail wagging. “You feel so good.”
“Who needs Hayward, huh?”
Fin laughed, bouncing Amir on his chest. “Aw, don't be mean. He did introduce us.”
“I'm not being mean. I just mean...I don't think we need him to go on dates any more. I'd like to start seeing you. Just you.”
A different kind of warmth spread through Fin, from Amir's warm fur down to the black tip of Fin's tail. It felt like going on his first Hay date and having a good time, like moving to Gateway by himself and getting a good apartment and job, like picking exactly the right gift for his boyfriend in college, like all of that rolled into one and then multiplied. He closed his eyes and pressed his nose into Amir's fur, between the large ears. “Mmm. Me too.”
10. Tomorrow will be a good day.
The Prisoner’s Release
Here you have my first published story (Heat #1 and #2). It was later released as part of a collection, “The Prisoner’s Release and Other Stories,” which was nominated for an Ursa Major award in 2007, but at the time of its initial publication it got little notice.
It is significant, though, because it has spawned three novels (and counting). I have written more words about Volle than about any other character (though Lee and Dev will catch him sometime in the next year). The novels “Volle,” “Pendant of Fortune,” and “Shadow of the Father” (about Volle�
��s son) have all won Ursa Major awards for Best Novel, and when “Volle” won in 2005, I was truly shocked. I did not think a novel with explicit sexual activity (and there is probably more in “Volle” than the plot warrants) could win an Ursa. But when I started writing, I set out to prove that you could include explicit sex in a book and still have a meaningful plot and story. So I guess I’ve made that point.
“Volle” takes place before this story, though it does not specifically tell how Volle ended up in prison, and reading this story will not ruin that one. “Pendant of Fortune” takes place after, and “Shadow of the Father” (which is very light on the sex and heavy on adventure and stabbing) takes place some sixteen years after that. The world is called Argaea, and it is one that I doubt I will ever leave. In the following pages, you will see its birth.
[return to TOC]
Part 1
Volle raised his head at the creak of the door. Something was different, and in prison, something different could be very good, or very bad.
The grizzled skunk guard he’d called “Limp Stripes” after the kink in his tail had been the only creature he’d seen for the past month, ever since the rat (whose name he knew: Dereath Talison, junior Minister of Defense) had given up interrogating him. Dereath’s interrogations, though sometimes very painful, had provided something for him to brace his will against. The last of the physical injuries had healed; Volle wondered whether Dereath was just waiting for that to begin another round, or if boredom was his new tactic. The regular appearances of the mute skunk had been his only diversion.
Today, the guard who stepped into the windowless cell wasn’t Limp Stripes. He was a young white wolf, white all over except for a little streak of black down his left hip that Volle could see clearly because he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
And he was gorgeous.
Volle stared at the clean lines of his abdomen, nice and tight under his short white fur, up the well-defined chest, and over to the arms that showed muscle even when hanging relaxed at his side. He looked at the streak of black fur, where it disappeared into the olive-drab guard pants, and at the strong legs that filled out those pants nicely.
This can’t be real, he told himself. This is a fantasy I’m having. I’m delirious. Next thing this creature will say is that he’s here to rescue me.
A glance at the shapely muzzle did nothing to dispel that fantasy. The wolf’s expression was carefully neutral. He’d done nothing since closing the cell door behind him except stare back at Volle. Now he slowly lowered his paws to his pants, and started to unfasten them.
Oh, Fox, thank you for this wonderful dream.
The wolf’s snarl finally dispelled Volle’s fantasy. “That’s right, you fox filth. You should’ve talked under the lash. Now you get to be my plaything.”
So that was how it was. Volle watched the pants slide to the ground and stared at the thick white sheath. He could smell the wolf’s arousal now, and he thought he could even see a red tip emerging from the top of the sheath. Below the sheath, a full white sac swung around gently as the wolf worked his pants off. His legs were just as perfect as the rest of him: well-muscled and trim. He didn’t have more than a couple ounces of fat anywhere on him.
Watching Volle, the wolf moved a paw to his sheath and started to stroke it. “Yeah, stare at it, fox. I’m gonna …stick this in every hole you have, and when I get tired of those, maybe I’ll make some new ones.” The words rang hollow; more like a speech he’d memorized than a genuine threat. He was obviously working himself up to it, Volle noted, trying not to get too involved in watching the wolf masturbate. If he’d been here on his own to rape a prisoner, he’d have been fully erect and bursting out of his trousers.
That image made Volle’s own sheath stir. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but apparently there were some forces powerful enough to overcome the oppressive cold, dark, and filth of the cell. He shifted to conceal it and watched the wolf’s member extend and harden. This is a move by Dereath, he told himself. Counter it. But he couldn’t distance himself completely, and even as he thought, he found himself getting hard. Well…maybe that would be useful.
The wolf hadn’t noticed. He was staring at Volle’s muzzle and licking his lips—an obviously forced gesture that almost made the fox chuckle. His eyes were distanced enough that Volle was sure he was fantasizing about someone else. Probably a young bitch he knew. Certainly not a filthy, emaciated fox in shackles, even if he were into bondage.
Finally, the wolf dropped his paw. He let Volle have a look between his legs, then stepped forward with a menacing grin. “Ready or not, here I come.”
Volle let his muzzle hang open. “Oh, put that in here, big boy.” His voice was rusty from disuse, but he thought that added a certain something.
The wolf stopped. He looked uncertainly at Volle, registering for the first time that the fox was aroused too.
“Come on, please. I bet I can fit it all in. It’s pretty big, but I like that.”
“You don’t understand, fox. I’m going to put this wherever I want. I’m raping you.”
Volle hid a grin. “Oh, okay.” His paws were shackled to a single chain that was fixed into the wall, so without much difficulty, he turned over and got onto his paws and knees. His muscles protested, but he forced them through the motions. He lifted his tail as far as he could, which was just enough to give the idea. “I like it there, too.”
The wolf didn’t say anything, but Volle could hear him breathing. He heard two more steps, and then felt a strong paw on his tail, lifting it up. He was sure his bare, soiled rear was not a very appealing sight or smell. Turning his head, he gave the wolf an encouraging smile. “Go ahead,” he said. “It’s your duty, after all.”
He was pleased to see that the wolf’s erection had slid back significantly into his sheath. The wolf looked at him and held his tail for another moment, then threw it down with a curse and stalked back to the door.
Volle turned back over and watched him pull his pants on, admiring the nicely shaped rear and the white fluffy tail. The wolf kept his back to him and left the cell without a backwards glance. Volle heard the familiar click of the key in the lock, and then all was quiet.
He sagged back against the wall. Was this a one-time ploy or a first salvo? It was a good shot, whichever it was. Dereath, obviously, was behind it, but Volle didn’t want to give the rat too much power in his mind, so he imagined a cadre of faceless tormentors who knew just what he was attracted to, and exploited it expertly. Unbidden, visions of the perfect white body with the one distinguishing black streak came back to him, standing in front of him aroused. His sheath, which had lost its arousal, swelled again and he felt his member pushing to get out. He tried to keep it down—the bastards had shackled his arms and legs so he couldn’t give himself release—but he couldn’t get the image out of his head. In his mind, the wolf was smiling, walking towards him with a sway in his step so that his lovely long shaft swung from side to side enticingly. Volle could see the soft white sac, the sheath above it stretched to its limit, and the red slick length protruding from it, as though they were all inches from his muzzle. His tongue flicked out; he panted, moaned, and realized he was uncomfortably hard.
The vision in his mind smiled, standing astride him, and lowered that rump onto his erection. He could feel the warmth, the tight embrace, but it did no more than increase his frustration. With a cry, he rolled over and pressed into the cold stone floor, rubbing back and forth. It eased some of his tension, but it also hurt, and he realized quickly that he would never come to climax that way. Panting, he lay there, listening to the trickle of water running through his cell, and then forced himself to turn back over and look around.
From the far left hand corner of the cell, he could see another set of shackles on the right hand side, empty and rusted. His movement was extremely limited, but he could reach the narrow channel running down the middle of the cell where his drinking water flow
ed; further down, that was also his toilet. In the center of the ceiling was a small black hole from which he fancied he could feel a breeze sometimes (when the door was open), and beneath that, suspended from a chain, was a small torch whose smoke disappeared up into the blackness. In the center of the far wall, the only door to the cell stood, closed and locked.
Apart from him and the shackles, the only other thing in the room was the plate they’d put his food on. It was formless glop that always tasted like stale bread mixed with dirty water, and he had to lick it off the plate because they wouldn’t give him any utensils. Not after the incident with his first guard, a careless rat whom Volle had named Slacker.
He’d only had the two guards; he was not a normal prisoner and Dereath undoubtedly wanted to limit association with him. In fact, the lack of any other contact made Volle wonder whether anyone but Dereath knew he was in here. He hoped he’d see the wolf again. Besides being attractive, he was young and easier to manipulate than Limp Stripes, who did his job with mechanical precision, or Slacker, who just didn’t care. Streak, that would be a good name for the wolf, with his undressing and that cute black streak down his hip. His sheath throbbed with the thought of the wolf, and he sighed. The best thing he could do was to go to sleep, and hope that a dream would bring him the release he couldn’t give himself.
It didn’t, of course. His sleep was black and dreamless, as it had been for the several months or so he’d been in prison. And in the morning, Limp Stripes was back with his early meal, taking the empty plate and setting down the full one without a word. He replaced the torch, as he did every morning (Volle didn’t know if it was really morning outside; morning was when he got a new torch), and then left.
Volle ate the small portion of food, which tasted faintly of bean paste today—a treat—and tested the shackles with a series of arm and leg exercises. He had tried to do them every day, though his strength was definitely declining; the last time he’d been out of the shackles had been the last time Dereath had tried to question him. This day, for variety, he practiced turning over on all fours, in case the wolf did come back.