Furry Dominants

It’s cold.  Everything is cold - the air that draws your flesh into goosepimples, the metal table at your back, the cuffs around your wrists and ankles that refuse to warm from your body heat.  Even the soft, chittering echoes that whisper at the corners of the room, beyond your sight, are cruelly chilly.  His hand is cool when it slides over your thigh, fine-boned and delicate, hiding the awful strength that left purpling bruises scattered across your body.

His hand reaches your hip, and something else touches you… something sharp and bristling with hairs that both poke and tickle, something that makes you shudder and turns your stomach.  Your thighs won’t close against the restraints.  If that chitinous limb touches you any more intimately, you think you might vomit.

His eyes are deep, blood red.  There are eight of them.  Something alien moves behind his teeth when he talks, shifting like hidden chelicerae.  He smiles at you, and you close your eyes against the sight.

“Oh, no.”  His voice is as delicate as his bones, soft and accented with a wealthy lilt.  “That won’t do.  I can’t assess you properly when you do that.”  His tone chides you, and you just want to curl up and hide from the horror of being awake.  Then those slender fingers are on your face, prying your eyes open, and you see a glint of silver that slams adrenaline into your throat.  You hear yourself screaming as if it’s someone else, struggling in vain against the clamps holding your head in place as the tiny metal hook pierces your eyelid.  That cold air rushes in and surrounds your twitching eyeball, dries it, and drives you momentarily insane with the desperate need to blink.  Blood seeps from the wound and reddens your vision as you tear up.  His face blurs, but you can still count the long, segmented limbs stretching over you - one, two, three, four, five, SIX …

The skin at your eyebrow is pierced.  When he lets go, your eyelid is held wide open, and you can’t close your eye no matter how you move your head.  Your heart pounds like war drums in your ears.  Your blood rushes like the surf, and you can’t breathe, you can’t see; you’re going to drown.

“Shhh,” he whispers, and a soft chitter underscores his words.  “Now, now.  We’re just getting started.  The eyes are the window to the soul, have you heard that?”  His fingers touch your other eyelid, and you choke out a cry of protest.  This isn’t happening.  This CAN’T be happening.

As he slides another hook into your flesh, his voice caresses your ears like fine silk.  “Don’t worry, little one.  We’re going to have so much fun together.”

The bellow that echoes off the labyrinthine walls makes your stomach fall.  Air comes thinly - you’ve been running for what feels like hours, and the pursuit never seems to fall behind.  Another sound reaches you; heavy, bellows breathing, and the soft clop of split hooves on broken flagstones.

The creature that rounds the corner holds an ax bigger than you are.  Its proud, forward-sweeping horns still have bloodstains on them.  Breath steams from its pierced nostrils, and gore mats its fawn-colored fur.  Swinging between its legs, a bulbous black cock glistens with its own lubrication, uncut and as thick as your forearm.  

You find the strength for one last desperate sprint.  Braying, it follows you, and its steps shake the ground.  Dodging at random between twists and turns in the maze, you hear the distant roar of a crowd.  When it catches you, you think, it will kill you, and then they’ll REALLY go wild.

A wall appears out of nowhere, and you skid so hard you hit the ground and scrape your hands raw.  Dead end.  Is there time to backtrack?  Even as you think it, the shape of the minotaur fills the corridor.  It approaches, and the weight of its steps turn your knees to water.  You close your eyes, waiting for the ax, or maybe the horns, waiting for the pain.

The ax hits the ground.  Before you can process that, you are seized by immense hands, strong enough to rip your arms out of their sockets.  You are spun, shoved against the nearest wall.  Your clothes are torn from you, and the crowd roars in the distance.  As the beast presses up behind you, hot and musky, grunting as it shoves its erection clumsily between your thighs, you realize your fate is not to die.  It is to be owned, conquered, and claimed as spoils.  You can resist if you like.  It makes no difference - this monstrous cock is your life now.

It’s true, you couldn’t help staring when he emerged from the water.  His auburn hair, his sun-kissed skin, all that muscle… you’re only human.  And he isn’t, you can’t help but notice as he mingles with the others at the party, effortlessly comfortable in his swimsuit, barefoot, a beer in hand.  The wolves you recognize welcome him as an equal, as pack, and the feral light in those tawny gold eyes catches the firelight.  Still, there’s something intoxicating about the soft trail of hair that vanishes beneath his waistband, about the lazy power in his shoulders and chest, that playful smile…

The wolves can see into the infrared, you’ve heard, so both hands come up to cover your face when he appears at your shoulder with a drink.  Your blush must be visible from space.  He laughs, and there’s a gentleness in it that reassures you even as he coaxes one hand down and wraps it around a beer.

“I’m Rain,” he says, and for a moment you can’t remember your own name, caught in the animal gleam of those eyes.  He smiles.  “It doesn’t look like your people are here… can I keep you company?”

He can do a whole lot more than that.  You’re sure he can smell the want on you.  But he’s a gentleman, disarming your anxiety, teasing you a little and keeping his hands to himself… right up until you press against him hip to hip, and your breath catches when his arm slides around your waist.

“Want to take a walk?” he murmurs, and from the look in his eyes, you know exactly what you’re in for.

Yes, you respond, and his grip tightens, darkness swallowing you as you slip away into the woods.  

You repeat it when he pushes his knot inside you, strong arms holding you as you undulate in his lap.  Yes, yes… OH, please, YES… coherence slips.  You beg him not to stop, and his chuckle rumbles against your cheek.  

“No worries,” he growls against your throat.  “For a sweet little thing like you, I can go all night.”