Wolf Play pt. 2 - The Hawk (M/M)

It's time for the next piece of my upcoming ebook. This is a mid-range draft - I'll be doing a bunch of final editing and whatnot. 

Pt. 1 - https://www.patreon.com/posts/wolf-play-pt-1-m-18958050

---

That wolf guy was probably the most badass person I'd ever encountered, and I told him I was scared of wolves and couldn't suck his dick. Not in those words, but that's surely what he thought, and that's why he kicked me out of his fancy-ass hotel room. 

I laid low for a week. During that week, I couldn't help but keep thinking of him. All that black, gleaming leather. That big, delicious black dick. 

Those fangs, his fur, his goddamn yellow wolf eyes, and the rotten smirk on his face that belonged on some fairy-tale Big Bad Wolf. Every time I saw a wolf, I had this funny quiver inside, this bolt of primal fear, this big fat knot of bad Bad BAD. Everywhere, including: my job; the doctor’s office; the Department of Motor Vehicles; my calculus class in high school.  

I grew up and eventually realized that it was stupid to think that animal hybrids were monsters, because if they were monsters, they were all over the place, and that meant Earth was overrun by monsters, and so they probably weren't monsters any more. They were people. I couldn't shake that feeling, though. That awful scared but awfully excited feeling towards wolves. I tried not to think about exactly why, but it was always there. 

Friday night, the Friday after my stupid faux pas, I had nothing to do and decided to spend the evening being a lazy bum in my apartment. Choice music, choice weed, and a high chance of watching some choice amateur fetish porn. It’s always the best when it’s real people trying to have real fun. 

Someone called and I looked down at my smartphone. A phone number, a local one, but no name. Not blocked, just not in my contacts. I declined it and went back daydreaming. The same number called again several minutes later. And again. And again. I answered it on the fourth time. “I don’t appreciate being disrespected,” came a dark, husky Brooklyn accent. I blanched out of panic. 

“I’m sorry, who is this?” I lied. 

“Don’t fuck with me. You know who this is. I went to all the trouble of setting up some nasty fuckin’ scenario with you turned into a perverted cock-sucking object and what do I get? ‘I can’t finish because you’re a wolf.’” 

I couldn’t say anything and just held the phone, listening to noise from the other end. I felt like I waited forever but it was probably just half a minute.

“That’s what I thought. And I’m not gonna let you forget it. Are you in the middle of doing anything?”

I continued to nearly gag as my mouth went frothy dry. “I’m just hanging around at home.”

“You’re going to come and finish what you started.”

Then he hung up.

---

I didn't have any trouble finding the house, or at least the driveway. The subdivision was just past a state park, and wound through the woods. I couldn't see most of the houses, but the ones I could see were worryingly huge. I had no experience with rich people, and I was driving a battered old Accord with no hubcaps.

It was a really long driveway, and it made an S curve through trees that blocked the line of sight. The trees ended in lawn, and there it was. The Wolf's Lair. It wasn't nearly as big as most of the other houses, one of those square modern houses you see in real estate ads. It didn't make my shitty car feel any better, but it did make me feel less weird that I'd be getting out of it while wearing leather pants and cowboy boots. I figured dressing the same as the week before would help mollify his predatory lupine tendencies, or some other bullshit mental nonsense. This was an entirely new reaction to wolves. Instead of avoidance, I was helplessly drawn in.

I went to ring the doorbell but a speaker next to it crackled before I could even hit the button. "Fuck, you really are that guy," he said, and the door clunked. It opened to a black wolf in a leather business suit and the fanciest riding boots I'd ever seen. "Nice car," he chuffed, then stepped back out of the way to let me in.

"Were you expecting someone else?"

"Eh, I dunno, maybe this is all some weird prank. I've got some messed up friends," he said, and ushered me into the house. It was square on the inside, too. Very, very square. Disarmingly square. I grew up in a nice old house with rustic wooden everything and a bedroom with a slanted ceiling. This was a house where you could do a line of coke off everything. "You want a drink? I promise I won't put roofies in it, yet." 

Hard stone floor tile made for a nice boot clop, from both of us. Fancy black wooden flooring also made for a nice boot clop, from both of us. It was distracting, more so because the house was quiet otherwise. If anyone else lived there, they weren't home. There wasn't even any background music. I peered around as he led me towards the kitchen. "Uh. I dunno, maybe it's not a good idea to drink before playing, right?" What do you mean, you think this is some weird prank. I’m the one who blew you off once because you’re a wolf and came back the second time because… because… and my mind drew a blank as to exactly why I was coming back the second time.

"Whatever, more scotch for me," he said, and stepped behind a serving bar, then produced a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a glass while I stared. He was wearing black leather gloves, and hadn't taken them off to pour a drink. Black leather suit jacket, with alligator? Crocodile? Something scaly and black-cherry-colored for the lapels and collar. Black leather pants that looked like fitted jeans, and then those boots. Gleaming smooth riding boots on top, point-toed and heeled cowboy boots on the bottom. We didn’t have many wolves back home but we sure had cowboy boots. "You sure you don't want any? Bet it'll be the most expensive drink you've ever had."

"What makes you think that?" I mumbled, while I stared at his boots. I wanted those boots. They were the most amazing boots I'd ever seen. I now had crushing boot lust. The only thing in the room were his gleaming, black boots, complete with chains around the ankles-

Clunk, went his drink glass onto the bar top. "Hey, my face is up here," he said, then picked it up and swigged from it. More like he splashed it into his mouth and licked it up before it fell out. He had no shirt on beneath the coat, and it wasn't worn closed. Most of his torso was trimmed like a fluffy dog in summertime, but his neck and upper chest were full-length. He had nipple piercings, brass rings in each nub. 

He was also a fucking wolf. A yellow-eyed, white-fanged fucking wolf. A wet-lipped fucking wolf, who was drinking already. "Uh. Well. Okay, sure, but-"

"You're a fucking pansy-ass skinbag, you know that?" He produced another glass and poured it, still wearing his gloves. Fancy, glossy, black, and perfectly fitted. His black clawnails came out of little holes in the ends of each finger. "Wanna know how I think this is a top shelf drink for you? Because you drive a banged up old car, you're wearing cheap leather pants with fucking seams at the knee, you have a regular shirt on, and your pretty-boy driving gloves probably came from a Pakistani shop at the fucking mall. Drink." He scooted it my way.

I peered into the glass. Whiskey. I sniffed. Definitely whiskey. I downed the whole thing at once. Fucking whiskey, but kind of subtle compared to overly strong stuff or watery garbage. "Do you always treat your houseguests like this?"

"Nah, sometimes I fuck them before I let them get this far," he shrugged, then poured another glass for himself and just walked out of the room. "Before you start following me like a puppy, and wouldn't that be fuckin' funny, since you're not a fuckin' puppy at all, huh? Take your clothes off. I mean everything. All of it. Then, bring your boots-" He turned just before going out of sight and gave me the nastiest yellow-eyed wolf stare possible, "-Only your fucking boots, and come see me in the bedroom at the end of the hall."

I didn’t budge.

"You having trouble taking your clothes off? Did your fucking slave owner forget to give you the keys to your chastity belt or something?" The wolf called out from elsewhere in the house. 

I ditched my clothes, grabbed my boots, and headed down the hallway. 

---

His bedroom was just as ostentatious as the rest of the house. The bed was king-sized with all black linens. The comforter was some plush black microfiber soft thing, almost like velvety fur, and the bedframe was inside a big black-curtained canopy. There was a desk and chair, another sitting chair in the corner, and a large carved-wood chest at the foot of the bed. Everything was made out of ornate carved dark wood, completely opposite the fancy squareness of the rest of the house. 

I walked in and some dusky prostitute-red mood lighting started up without having to touch or say anything. A sliver of regular light bled into the room from the closet, along with the noises of rummaging. 

“You there yet? Here. Put this on.” The door opened and one of the wolf’s gloved hands threw out something black. I let it slap to the floor and then walked up to look: it was a leather vest, with metal chains to keep it closed. “And these.” He threw something else and I scrambled to catch them this time: black leather gloves with a wrist-length gauntlet cuff. 

I picked up the vest as if it were a snake and turned it carefully over. Nothing was amiss; it was nice leather, glossy but finely textured. I slung it around my shoulders and it hung attractively, but it wouldn’t close all the way. I fiddled with the thin chains across the front; it was properly sized and simply meant to be revealing in a masculine way. I pulled the gloves on, and they were tight, but wearable. The glossy leather hugging my shoulders and chest and hands was a definite nice sight. 

“I uh, I guess I should introduce myself? My name’s Mark,” I said, and slowly approached the door, very aware that my semi-hard cock swang between my legs. 

Half of the wolf appeared, gloved hand clutching at the door frame, face all angry toothy grin and brow-cut yellow eyes. “Nice to meet you, skinbag. You see that bed? Go lie down in it. You ever done any bondage?” He disappeared and kept rummaging. Leather squeaked and some metal bits rustled, there was an occasional thunk, and the wolf muttered and swore indistinctly. 

I climbed into the bed, and as I hunkered forward on gloved hands and knees, I realized I was shaking. I sank forward, which didn’t stop me shaking, but let me at least spread against the soft blanket. “Uh, well, no,” I called out. 

“If you wanna get out, you say ‘Orange’. If you can’t say something, you just grunt three times real fast. You got it?” 

My heart flopped in my chest. “Yep,” I said, trying to sound cool. My mouth was getting frothy. I rolled onto my back and felt a slight tingle of glee at putting my heels up in someone’s bed. 

“Don’t worry, it’s just gonna be a little bondage. Just for the thrill of it.” He walked out of the walk-in closet and shut the door behind him, then continued his approach. He had indeed changed outfits, from leather business suit to cowboy. Not modern working cowboy; not be-stickered rodeo cowboy; not gay porn cowboy. 

A black leather cowboy hat capped off his head, the waxed leather attractively battered but not damaged. Much of his upper body was swathed in a black leather long coat with blazer lapels and fitted sleeves. Wide-cuff leather riding gloves glistened over his hands and hid half of each sleeved forearm. He wore the coat open, which exposed a black leather cowboy vest buttoned up over his chest and abs, partly obscured by an X chest harness made of rifle-bullet bandoliers. He wore black leather riding jeans with a precipitous bulge, the same wolf-head belt buckle he’d greeted me with at the door, and black leather shotgun chaps that were held across the waist with a simple basketweave belt and buckle. The chaps were rawhide-lashed snug just below the knee, tucked into tall stovepipe boots. No fancy leatherwork or even any stitching adorned the boots, just burnished black leather and concho-studded spur straps for a pair of clanky spurs. The final accoutrement was a serious black leather gun belt which sagged down his right thigh under the weight of an enormous six-shot hunting revolver with an ebony wood grip. 

“You recognize this shit?” He stood for a moment and spread his hands out, pushing his hips forward. I said nothing. “You watch movies?” I continued to say nothing. I couldn’t say anything to someone dressed like him, and especially not a wolf. 

He snorted and swaggered his way towards the bed, leathers filling the room with a chorus of squeaks and creaks and the slow clop-jangle of spurs. He pulled something off his left hip, a simple pair of metal police handcuffs. He twirled them several times on a finger, then came up to the side of the bed. “The Gunslinger. That movie came out when I was in, oh, middle school? Spaghetti western done by a transgressive Italian porno director who was tired of listening to men with shaved heads groan and say ‘fuck’ in six languages.” Somehow, despite talking like he was from New York City, Hawk’s voice was just perfect for a leather gunslinger. “Your typical punitive vengeance movie, except every single shot was as much gay leather porn as you could make without actually showing a single sexual act. Gimme your hand.” I didn’t give him my hand, so he leaned over and grabbed it, then snapped one of the cuffs on it, then spun the chain once around one of the wooden slats of the headboard. “You gonna be helpful and put the other one in there for me, or do I gotta come around the other side?” I continued to stay as frozen as I could be while still breathing.

He came around and repeated the motion of grabbing my arm and shoving my gloved wrist into the metal cuff. “Obviously, that movie was right up my alley. I’d never seen anything like that. I wasn’t into leather until I saw that movie. And now that I’m a responsible adult, I can pay to have his costume replicated, so I can take revenge against the stiff-dicked skinbags who can’t tell if they wanna run away screaming or scream while I’m fucking them in the ass.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, and I genuinely felt it. “You don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry, isn’t a kind of fruit,” he chuffed, then unholstered his gun. “And what’s a gunslinger without his gun? This, is a Ruger Blackhawk. Get it?” He flicked his wrist outwards and the cylinder popped out with a clack. “I’m not supposed to do that with a revolver, it’s bad for the action, but there are all kinds of things I’m not supposed to do and that hasn’t stopped me much.” He twisted the gun around - I could see that the cylinder was completely empty. 

I really, really wanted a drink of water. I was pouring sweat and frothing at the mouth and god dammnit, I was really hard, too. I squirmed in place, arms forced up over my head, and fingered around at the cuffs. They were not ‘safety cuffs’ for fun sexy play time, but keyed with a lock. Even wearing gloves, I couldn’t sneak my wrists out. 

He pulled one of the bullets out of his bandolier harness and slipped it into the cylinder, ratcheted it a few times, then flicked his hand inward to snap it back in place. “We’re gonna play a game. You know how Russian Roulette works, right? You put in one bullet, spin the cylinder randomly, then smack it back in and pull the trigger at your head.” Thankfully, he did not mime doing this. “Then, if it doesn’t go off, you hand it over and the next guy spins and pulls. That way, no one really knows who’s gonna get it. This is the opposite. You have five chances to ‘get it’ before you just get it.” He sighted me and pulled the trigger with a hollow clack.

I couldn’t even react, it happened so casually fast. My heart flopped a few more times and I saw spots. My cock sagged, only to throb again. “I s-said I’m sorry!”

He climbed onto the bed haphazardly, one hand down to the blanket, one knee down rammed right into the side of my ribs. “You don’t even know what you’re sorry for yet. That was for bailing out before I could blow my load in your quivering mouth.” Clack. Now his gun was about two feet away. “That was for doing it because I’m a wolf.” Now the barrel was close enough to my face that I could smell the oiled metal and tang of spent powder. This was not a prop gun. “Open your mouth.”

I lingered just a couple of seconds and he started to pull back. I immediately popped my mouth open and he twitched, then reached forward and pushed the barrel right into my mouth. It scraped my cheek, banged several of my teeth, and then prodded me right in the throat. I gagged and nearly retched; he just held it steadier. 

Clack.

“That was because you didn’t fucking help me tie you up. You get how this works? You make a mistake, you get a warning. You’ve got two warnings left before the big bang, skinbag.” He pulled the gun out, showed me my throat slime all over the first inch of the barrel, then wiped it off on my cheek. I crawled over with gooseflesh. Noticing the shudder, Hawk dropped the barrel to my adam’s apple and drew it down my chest, and withdrew it before it could touch the chains holding the leather vest shut. He spun it around his gloved finger and dropped it back into the holster, then snapped it in place. “Maybe, it was just bad luck, trying to cum in your mouth like that on our first date. I’ll try the other end. I bet you like that all the way, even if I’m a wolf.”

I dared not speak as he climbed fully into bed and moved to straddle over me. His leather coat fell to either side, hiding me from the reflection in the carefully-placed mirror on the adjacent wall. His black tail rose up between the tails of the coat, swayed, then sank out flat. He kneeled around my thighs and kept them pinned together while he rubbed at his groin bulge, then slowly worked it open. The fly buttoned like traditional jeans and the material hugged him snug enough that he had to reach in and drag his cock out. There it flopped, black and uncut and sweaty and just as jaw-dropping as when I’d first gagged it down in a hotel room sight unseen at first.

“You’re awful quiet. Am I gonna talk to myself all night? Say somethin’ nice about me. And no ‘Sir’ unless you wanna use up one of your warnings. Mister Wolf, please.” 

I licked my lips to try and keep them from cracking and burning. “I really like your outfit.”

His lupine face turned from dastardly grinning to a pleased frown. “See, I knew you had it in you. Now, let’s see, what do I gotta do before I fuck someone…” He climbed off me and leaned over towards the night table, then withdrew a bottle of lube. Clutching the bottle into his big, gloved hand, he also pulled open the drawer and pulled out a black condom in a clear wrapper. He drizzled some of the lube onto his shaft, then tore the packet with a nip and a snarl, and started rolling the condom on. The reservoir tip bloated like a black nipple as he skinned the latex on down his shaft, and he then pinched it before squirting more lube over the shaft. “You have a pornstar asshole or do I have to work it real slowly? I don’t give a shit which, I just wanna do the right thing. You know what that’s like, don’t you?” He patted his holster.

Hawk wearing a condom made me feel less like I was suffering from sleep paralysis during a wolf nightmare - which I had fairly often - but I still felt like perhaps I shouldn’t say anything and just take it. “I… fuck me, I deserve it.” I decided to try the tactic of going all in. If I was going to feel fucked up inside, I could wear it on my sleeve like a slut and tickle his fancy. 

“You deserve it, huh? You think you’re entitled to a wolf dick up your ass?” He grabbed my booted ankles and spread my legs out and up, then tucked in and started rubbing his sheathed cocktip against my asshole. “You skinbags fuckin’ live and die by your wolf fantasies, lemme tell you that. I knew one guy who wanted me to walk around on my toes ‘like a real werewolf’. Real werewolf. I’m a real wolf, and I don’t need to turn back into a fuckin’ smelly naked human.” 

He pushed the head in, and suddenly I wasn’t swimming in my complicated emotions any more. “Please, Mister Wolf, I can’t r-run away, all I’m good for is getting fucked and you’re h-horny for-”

He covered my mouth with a gloved hand. It smelled like his cock. “Don’t gimme that shit,” he gruffed, and his cock slid in another couple of inches, then dragged all the way back out. I stared up at him, brows pursed, leather stink coming in on every breath. He pushed in again, then dragged back out, a wet sound of lubricated latex squelching as my muscles convulsed around his cockhead in each direction. He belatedly took his hand away, then folded my knees right to my torso and bore down to support himself. He didn’t thrust as much as dig around, like he was trying to find something. Whenever he found it, I twitched, or my breath caught. Soon, he was grinding my prostate. 

I don’t really remember what happened. I can remember how it felt; I can feel aftershocks inside my prostate and up my cock every time I think of that first half-bound fucking, but I just don’t remember what exactly happened. I do remember when I started to orgasm and could feel my muscles clamping onto his cock and it was Just Too Much so I pushed him off. He responded by pulling the condom off and splaying his hand atop my head, fingers digging against my scalp stubble just enough to keep me still. He milked and squeezed at his slippery black shaft and held it up towards my mouth, then blasted a long rope of spunk all over my lips and cheek. He tensed and groaned hard, shaft pausing before bobbing rhythmically from the full brunt of his climax, gout after gout of it washing over my face. Even as he climaxed, his cock sagged, until it was bent down as a very gentle right-angle and slobbered onto my pecs. Several streaks splashed against the borrowed leather vest, and I stared at them.

Hawk uncuffed my hands and pulled the cuffs away, then half crouched next to me. “Hey, you need a hand?”

I blinked away the dazed, post-orgasmic confusion and started to sit up. The tension in my pelvic muscles really got me and I twinged and sank back. Hawk lowered his muzzle and grinned unevenly. “I think,” he started to say, and then gave me a pat to the vest lapel up over my shoulder and climbed off the bed to strut lazily across the room and into an attached bathroom. “That you gamed me. Give some wolf blue balls and he’s real sure to come after you.” He emerged with two towels and tossed one to me. He started to scrub his cock with the other. 

One end was wet with warm water, while most of the towel was dry. I mopped up the mess from the leather vest, and my chest. “No, I’m really weird about wolves.”

“You’re gonna be really weird about it now that you’ve gotten your asshole reamed out by one. You shoulda seen the look in your face. Like you were staring at God. Or the devil. You look good in that vest. Off with it. Gloves too.” He turned to face me and made a beckoning gesture with his fingers. 

“I’m not kidding,” I said, and undressed again. I even took my boots off, so I could get my leather pants back on. I headed out into the hallway to get them and he let me without a word. When I came back, he was sitting in the bedroom’s sitting chair, looking contented if a little tired. I pulled my shirt on as I came through the bedroom door. “You probably don’t wanna hear about it,” I said, continuing my previous train of thought.

“We’ll see about that. You better get out of here. I gotta get my shit together and go into town. It’s a work night.”

The spectre of what had just happened lifted. We were now just two people. “Work night?”

“Yeah. You know, work. A job. Hopefully you have one. I don’t play sugar daddy without a very steep favor in return. Me, you wanna know what I do?”

“I’m a sales engineer,” I said.

“Nice. I own a sex club.”