Part 4:
I came to slowly.
Warmth. Fur. The steady rise and fall of breath behind me, a thick forearm draped over my waist. I blinked blearily into the sunlight spilling across the bed, brain sluggish, every muscle sore in ways I didn’t know I had muscles.
My arse ached.
My cock was still damp.
And I was the little spoon.
Tucked snug into Owen’s chest, his body pressed along mine like we were built for it. I could feel his heartbeat against my back. His soft breaths at my neck.
And gods help me — it felt… good.
Safe.
He stirred as I shifted, mumbling, “You awake?” voice all hoarse and boyish and unsure.
“Barely,” I croaked. “Where’s Callie?”
“She had an event,” he murmured. “Showered. Left early. Said you were… wonderful.”
I blinked again, piecing it together. My knot must’ve slipped free while I was out cold. I reached back instinctively, paw brushing his hip.
“You stayed.”
He nodded against the back of my head. “Didn’t wanna leave you alone. You passed out hard. Scared me, honestly.”
There was a long pause. I felt him swallow.
“She—uh—she was dripping,” he added, voice going quiet. “When your knot came out. Gods, Comac. I’ve never seen so much. It was just… flowing out of her.”
I didn’t respond. Just let the silence stretch. Let him hang there in his awkward wonder.
Then he said it.
“I… I did something.”
His breath caught. I felt him stiffen behind me.
“I didn’t plan to. But I was just… fuck. Watching your cum leak out of her. I couldn’t stop staring. And then—” He broke off, blushing so hard I could feel the heat off his face. “I spread her legs.”
He paused.
“I ate it.”
I blinked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“You like the taste?”
Another beat.
Then, soft as a secret, I heard the wet sound of his tongue dragging across his muzzle.
“More than I want to admit.”
I turned in his arms, rolling to face him. His ears were flat. His eyes wide. He looked terrified — and hard. His cock pressed against my thigh, not even trying to hide it. I was half-hard too, already leaking again without realising.
We just stared for a moment.
Then I reached out and pulled him into a hug.
He sagged against me like he’d been waiting for permission to breathe.
We lay there like that, cocks hard and twitching against each other, our muzzles close enough to feel the heat.
“Is Callie still in the house?” I murmured.
“No,” he whispered.
And I kissed him.
Straight Comac, the panty-sniffing mutt who got fucked full of his best mate’s cock, leaned in and kissed Owen — soft, slow, filthy with the taste of his own seed still on the shepherd’s lips.
And fuck me… it felt right.
We kissed again.
Soft at first. Careful. Like we were both afraid the other might vanish if we pushed too hard. His lips were warm, a little swollen, still faintly salty. Mine parted without thinking. Our noses bumped. He huffed a quiet, nervous laugh against my mouth.
Then it deepened.
Tongues brushing. Testing. A soft groan slipped out of him when I sucked gently on his lower lip. He answered it with a whine, pushing closer, chest pressing to mine. I tasted spit. Heat. Him.
My paw slid up his back, fingers sinking into his fur, pulling him in. His hand found my hip, then my arse, careful at first — then bolder. He groaned into my mouth when he felt how sore I still was, how sensitive.
Our cocks brushed.
Both of us sucked in a breath at the same time.
We started grinding, slow and needy, red hard wolf cocks sliding together, slick with pre. The friction sent sparks straight through me. Owen moaned — a real sound this time — and clutched at me like he needed the contact to stay upright.
The kissing turned messy. Tongues sliding. Lips sucking. Spit stringing between us when we pulled back just to breathe. I nipped at his muzzle; he shuddered. He thrust up instinctively, cock dragging against mine, both of us panting now.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
I felt his forehead press to mine. His breathing was wrecked.
Then, so quietly I almost missed it, he asked,
“Will you fuck me?”
I leaned back just enough to look at him.
“Are you sure?” I asked gently. “It hurts like a bitch at first.”
He swallowed. Ears flicked. Nervous. But his cock stayed hard, leaking between us.
“But… did you like it?” he asked.
I paused.
Really paused.
I felt the ache in my arse — the soreness, the stretch, the dull throb that said you were fucked hard. I breathed through it. Let the memory surface.
Then the other memories came with it.
The way my body lit up when he hit that spot.
The pressure of his knot grinding into me.
The overwhelming, dizzy pleasure of being filled — of knowing it was him.
I met his eyes.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I did.”
He nodded, like he’d needed to hear that more than anything.
“Would you do it again?” he asked. “Take my cock up your chute? Get fucked by your best mate?”
Another long pause.
I searched myself — not my body this time, but my chest. The fear was still there. The shock. But underneath it was something warm and steady.
I nodded.
“I would,” I said. “I’d let you do it again right now if you asked. Soreness be damned.”
His eyes went wide.
Then he whispered, rushing now like the words had been trapped too long,
“I’ve wanted you to fuck me since the first night we met. That frat party. I’ve always wanted you.”
My breath caught.
“Owen—” I started.
He shook his head, cutting me off, voice trembling but determined.
“I was so afraid of that part of myself that I buried it. Pretended it wasn’t there. But after today…” He swallowed hard. “I can’t anymore.”
I looked at him, really looked — this man I’d known for years.
“Have you always been bisexual?” I asked softly.
He nodded.
“Yeah. Checked out lads in gym class. Pawed off to them back home. But it was always just… fantasy.”
I nodded slowly. “So I’d be your first.”
He met my gaze, dead serious.
“Yes, Comac. I want you to take my virginity.”
A beat.
“The only one I have left.”
And gods help me — my cock throbbed at that.
I looked at him for a long moment, still holding him, noses close, our cocks sticky between us.
“Have you ever… played with your hole?” I asked, quiet but firm.
He flushed instantly. Bright pink blooming under the fur of his cheeks and ears.
“I—uh—just a bit,” he stammered. “Some fingers. In the shower. You know, when I was… cleaning. And, well—”
He trailed off, too embarrassed to finish.
I didn’t let him squirm out of it.
“Tell me.”
He squirmed anyway. Squirmed like a mutt caught with his paw in the treat jar.
“I mean… sometimes… when Callie’s away for a tournament,” he mumbled, not meeting my eyes, “and I don’t get to go with her… I’ll sneak into her drawer.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“I grab the Slick Paw™. And one of her… toys.”
I couldn’t help it. Smirked. “Which one?”
He bit his lip, blushing so hard he looked like he might combust. Then, still under the covers, he leaned over, paw reached out behind me, fumbling blindly toward Callie’s bedside drawer.
He popped it open with a soft click and rummaged around for a second.
Then, sheepish and bashful, he held it up.
A thin, bright purple vibrator. Shiny. Sleek. Barely longer than a paw and clearly well-loved.
My grin widened.
“Grab the lube.”
Owen’s breath caught.
But he nodded.
And moved.
Owen settled onto his back after passing me the tube. His head resting on the pillows, legs parted just slightly — nervous, but willing.
I knelt beside him and let my eyes wander.
He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. His red cock rested against his belly, hard and twitching, the base slick with pre. His chest rose and fell quick and shallow. But it was his arse that drew my attention.
I leaned in closer.
“Y’know,” I murmured, letting my paw trace gently down his thigh, “it’s not that different.”
He blinked at me, flustered. “What isn’t?”
“Your hole,” I said plainly. “I’ve eaten plenty of pussy. Rimmed my share of lady tailholes. And this…” I leaned in further, thumb brushing the soft fur around his pucker. “This isn’t far off.”
Because it wasn’t.
And yet — it was.
Different.
Not just anatomy. Everything. The context. The meaning. The fact that it was Owen—my best mate. My mate. A bloke I’d shared pints and match nights with. A bloke whose arse I’d never once thought I’d be staring at, lips inches from his ring.
Still, I dove in.
Didn’t give him time to squirm or protest or overthink it. Just nosed in deep, tongue dragging slow and firm up the seam of his taint before landing square on his hole.
He yelped — soft and surprised.
It was musky, earthy, and warm, but not unpleasant. He’d worked up a sweat getting knotted earlier and his scent was heavy back there. I clenched instinctively, remembering the emptiness inside me — how raw and open I still felt. A flicker of jealousy rose unbidden.
A quiet little voice in the back of my mind whispering: wish it was me again.
But then I heard Owen.
A soft, breathy moan. Then another.
“Comac…” he gasped, paw covering his eyes like it would somehow hide the blush spreading to his ears. “Oh gods…”
And just like that, the ache faded.
All that mattered now was making him sing.
So I ate his arse. Voraciously.
Tongue flattening against his rim, pushing, circling, dragging slow spirals over the muscle until it fluttered and twitched for me. I gripped his thighs and pulled him closer, tilting his hips up, burying my snout between his cheeks like I was starving.
Every lick made him gasp. Made him squirm. He tried to hide it, but his hips kept jerking up into my mouth, like he couldn’t help chasing the feeling.
I sucked around his hole, letting the tip of my tongue push in, then draw back, teasing him open until he was panting and leaking again. His cock throbbed untouched, twitching helplessly against his stomach.
He was so fucking receptive.
And I was so far gone.
I reached for the lube and warmed it between my paws first, watching Owen the whole time. He was still sprawled open for me, chest rising and falling, eyes half‑lidded already from being rimmed so thoroughly.
“Relax,” I murmured. “I’ve got you.”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “I trust you.”
That alone made my cock twitch. I slicked the toy up generously, coating the thin purple length until it shone, then set it aside and used my fingers first — just to spread the lube, just to make sure he was ready. His hole clenched instinctively at the first touch, then softened again when I leaned down and kissed his inner thigh.
“Easy,” I said. “You’re doing perfect.”
When I finally pressed the tip of the vibrator to him, he inhaled sharply.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”
I pushed slowly. No forcing. Letting his body take it at its own pace. The toy slid in a little, then stopped, then eased further as his muscles learned to open. Owen let out the softest, most broken moan.
“Oh… that’s—”
“Wild, right?” I said quietly. “How your body just… figures it out.”
He nodded, eyes squeezing shut. “I’ve never— I mean, I tried, but it never felt like—”
“Like this?” I finished for him.
He whimpered. “Yeah.”
I worked the toy in and out gently, just a couple of inches at first, watching his reactions closely. The way his pucker hugged the toy. The way his thighs trembled. The way his cock leaked steadily now, pre beading and then spilling freely onto his flat tummy, leaving a glossy trail down his fur.
I realised I was leaking too — thick drops of pre soaking into the bedding beneath me as I watched him come undone.
“You’re so responsive,” I murmured, half to myself. “Look at you.”
The toy slid deeper now, smooth and unhurried, and Owen’s hips lifted on their own to meet it.
“Oh gods… Comac…” he breathed, voice wrecked.
I smiled to myself, pride blooming in my chest. This shy, brilliant wolf — blissed out, trusting me completely, letting himself feel something he’d never known how to reach on his own.
Then I angled the toy just slightly.
Pressed it forward.
Right where Callie had taught me to aim.
Owen’s breath caught in his throat.
“There,” I said softly. “That’s the spot you’ve been missing.”
Before he could respond, I flicked the switch.
Low. Gentle. A quiet hum.
Owen yelped — sharp and startled — then immediately melted, back arching, mouth falling open as the sensation crashed through him.
“F‑fuck—what—what is that—”
I held the toy right there, not moving it yet, just letting the vibration do its work, watching his hole flutter and grip around the shaft as his whole body shuddered.
“That,” I said, grinning, “is why you’re never going back.”
And gods help me — I couldn’t wait to feel that squeeze around my own cock.
The toy pulsed gently in my paw, humming against my fingertips as it buzzed inside him, buried deep and pressed firm against that magic spot. Owen moaned like a song, long and open-throated, his whole body trembling with the effort of not finishing too fast.
I smiled. He wouldn’t last. Not with what I was about to do.
I turned the dial — just a bit — and the low hum intensified. A deeper vibration. Thicker. The kind that traveled through your bones and made your balls ache.
Owen gasped, hips jerking, back arching up from the bed.
“Oh—gods—Comac—”
I didn’t answer.
I started fucking him with it instead.
Slow at first, watching the way his rim clung to the slick shaft each time I pulled back, then gripped greedily when I pushed it back in. He was so responsive now. Loosened, eager, ruined and grateful for it.
My free paw slid up his belly, fingers combing through the wet patch of fur just above his groin. His cock twitched under my touch, flushed dark red and glistening, angry and needy.
I wrapped my paw around it and stroked.
Owen howled — loud and shaking and unfiltered.
“FUCK—I can’t—Comac—oh gods—please—”
His knot had already begun to swell. It pushed free of his sheath in slow, steady pulses, rising like a buried promise finally surfacing. Big. Heavy. Veined and firm.
I slowed everything down.
Toy barely moving now — just deep, buzzing. My strokes softer, more deliberate. I stared at that knot like it was something sacred.
And without even thinking, I leaned in.
I could smell him. Deep wolf musk, thick and warm, the same scent that had filled me not long ago. The same knot that had locked inside my guts and pumped me full of his pups. My tongue flicked out before I even realised it, tasting the base. Salty. Alive.
I remembered how it had felt — the pressure, the invasion, the snap of being sealed. The feeling of heat spreading through my stomach, my whole body clenching around his cock while he bred me. The way I’d passed out from the sheer fucking magnitude of it.
I licked again.
Slower this time.
I wrapped my lips around the knot and sucked gently while I stroked his shaft and fucked that toy into his ass, inch by inch, watching the way his hole spasmed around it. Worshipping the same cock that had turned me inside out.
Owen was incoherent now. Mewling. Leaking uncontrollably. His paws clenched the sheets. His eyes were wild.
I wanted to ruin him.
I wanted to make him understand what he’d done to me.
So I licked again — deeper now, tongue dragging up the bulging underside of that knot as I pressed the toy hard against his prostate and pumped it slow and firm.
And Owen… screamed.
Owen’s body seized like I’d hit some sacred switch buried in his core.
He cried out — loud and garbled, voice cracking somewhere between a scream and a sob — legs trembling, paws scrabbling at the bedding like he was being electrocuted by pleasure alone.
And then he exploded.
His cock bucked in my paw and sent a thick, white arc shooting straight up — high, fucking high — the first blast catching him right across the muzzle and forehead with a wet, obscene smack. His eyes went wide, stunned, as another rope followed, thick and strong, splattering his chest in hot strings.
“FUCK—” he shouted, head thrown back, chest heaving.
More shots followed — again and again — painting his throat, soaking into his fur, leaking across his flat belly and dripping onto my wrist. The air reeked of sex. Of cum. Of spent wolf and the pure, wild high of release.
I watched, stunned.
Watched this blushing, stammering mutt unleash a fountain from his cock — and all because of me.
Because of my mouth.
My paw.
My fucking focus.
And something… shifted.
Curiosity bloomed. A low hunger stirred.
I looked down at that glistening red shaft — thick veins throbbing, knot swollen, tip still twitching — and leaned in.
My lips wrapped around it, slow and deliberate, just as another load surged from the tip.
It hit the back of my throat like molten salt.
I gagged. Nearly pulled back. It was foul — thick and hot, too thick, like syrup gone off. The taste slapped me: sharp, metallic, animal. It coated my tongue instantly. Bitter. Musky. With a burn behind it that curled up into my sinuses and made my eyes sting.
I almost pulled off.
Almost spat it out.
But I didn’t.
I held.
Let the second pulse hit. Then a third. The warmth flooded my mouth, thicker now, heavier, and I felt it spread — coating my teeth, clinging to the roof of my mouth like glue. It dribbled under my tongue, slipped toward my throat, and I swallowed on reflex.
That was the moment.
The second it slid down, I felt it.
My whole gut clenched. Not in disgust now — in need.
I moaned. Around his cock. Around his knot.
Because it was disgusting.
But also… fucking addictive.
Like my body had no idea what to do with this filthy, salty, shame-heavy gift — so it just wanted more. I couldn’t stop tasting it. Couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every breath filled my nose with the heady stink of his cum, and every swallow made me hungrier.
I wanted to gag again. But I also wanted to drink.
I started sucking.
Slow and steady. Tongue dragging up the underside of his shaft. Toy still pumping in and out of his hole in rhythm, keeping him trapped in that ragged, overstimulated high. My free paw slid under his balls, massaging slow, working his whole body like I was milking him — because I was.
His cum just kept coming.
I swallowed again. Then again.
The next load coated my tongue in ropes, thicker now, stickier, almost chewy. It clung. Reeked. I could feel it dripping down my throat, settling in my belly, hot and heavy and wrong.
But I didn’t stop.
I kept going. Letting him breed my mouth like he’d bred my guts.
And somewhere in the back of my head, the thought rose — sharp, fucked up, and true:
These are my godsons.
His pups.
Flooding my gut in reverse. Sliding down instead of settling in. Swallowed into warmth and held close.
I moaned again.
I was leaking like crazy. My cock hadn’t been touched in minutes, but I was dripping onto the bedding in thick strings. Loving it.
Gods, it made me smile.
Because I was proud.
Because I was starving.
Because I wanted every last drop this mutt had to give.
Owen didn’t stop cumming for what felt like ten fucking minutes.
Every time I thought the stream would slow, his cock twitched again, and another lazy gush would spill into my mouth or across my tongue. My jaw ached. My throat burned. But I stayed there, lips sealed, throat working.
I took it all.
Finally — finally — his cock stopped pulsing. The stream thinned to a dribble, then stopped altogether. His hips dropped. His chest heaved. His whole body trembled like he’d just run a fuckin’ marathon in the sun.
I pulled my mouth off with a soft, wet pop and wiped my muzzle with the back of my paw.
Owen stared up at the ceiling, pupils blown, cum-slick chest rising and falling.
“Holy fuck,” he breathed.
I smacked my lips and grinned. “You taste good, mate.”
He blinked. Turned to me — dazed — and leaned up.
And then he kissed me.
Soft. Messy. Tongue brushing past mine as he tasted himself on my lips. The kiss deepened. Slowed. We stayed there, locked together, sharing heat and breath and seed, until we both groaned from how good it still felt.
When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “That was… amazing.”
I nodded, smiling, still dazed myself.
Then he looked at me, eyes darker now, more focused. More certain.
“Now fuck me,” he said. “Stud.”