Work Text:
Arrin awoke to the unmistakable sound of someone urinating a few feet away. His head felt like it had been cracked over a rock, and the sunlight beaming in through the trees pierced right through his eyes and into the back of his brain. The rest of his body fared about as well.
“Too much drinking last night, yes?”
The voice, belonging to the man who was still relieving himself, brought back a whole night’s worth of memories on its dark, uvular accent. Wine. The bonfire. More wine. Sex. Roasting meat. More wine. More sex. Something that tasted like wine but was a hell of a lot stronger.
Arrin let his eyes adjust to the sunlight. “Should I be accustomed to people urinating next to me while I sleep? Honest question.”
Tören let out a deep, hardy laugh. “Well, after your little welcoming party slowed down, you just found a hammock and crashed into it. We don’t normally sleep outdoors, so I figured if you’re going to sleep where I normally piss, I can wake you up while I piss.” The native westerner, bladder empty, shook off his penis and returned it to the folds of his hipwrap. “We would have offered you a room in the common house, but I’d rather not rouse a drunk from his sleep.” He finished off his comment with a wink, insuring Arrin knew he meant no harm by the remark.
Arrin’s grasp of the Thanish language was decent, but the hangover rocked the mental bridges between his language and theirs. “I feel like a terrible diplomat. Getting drunk on my first night with the locals.”
Arrin made a cautious side-eye at Tören, who was leaning against a birch tree. “I didn’t do anything improper last night, did I?”
He scoffed. “Only if you count not joining in the festivities! You Easterners are so uptight.” Arrin cautiously righted himself, the earth wobbling under him slightly. “What do you mean, I was drunker than a—” the rest of the night drifted into focus. By the end of the night he was the only one around the bonfire still wearing his clothes. “Oh. Yeah.”
Tören took a swig from a flash of water tied around his waist. “You want more than cursory respect around here, you’ll have to fit in. Otherwise it might look like your government doesn’t approve of our ways of life.” There was that sly wink again.
Arrin braced himself against a tree as he gingerly pulled himself from the hammock. He was immensely thankful for the serene, permaculture woods that the Thanish folk called home. He could tell it was late in the morning, but the still-present sound of bird calls and fluttering leaves quieted the unhappy churning in his stomach. “You know a lot about politics for a dog trainer, Tören.”
The local stretched languidly in the morning sun, muscles rippling under his gently tanned skin. Arrin was suddenly thankful that most Thanish men restricted themselves to a linen hipwrap that barely extended to their knees. “Your arrival has been the talk of the town for months!” He beckoned the diplomat onward, now that he was on his feet. “Come, there’s still time for breakfast. You need some liquids in you!”
Arrin found his legs, and after checking to make sure he could stay vertical, realized he had another basic need to take care of. “I think some liquids need to come out first.”
Tören raised his hands, encouraging the foreigner to make himself at home in that regard. Arrin looked around, the forest of skinny birch trees too thin, and the ground too flat, for any real privacy.
Tören smiled. “Something, something, being an uptight easterner, fitting in for the sake of some delicate economic diplomacy…”
Arrin got the picture, and rolled his eyes before unbuttoning his pants and emptying his bladder right in front of his diplomatic escort.
The Thanish village that he landed in was the model of a traditional western hamlet: a few dozen homes nestled in the woods, cut in two by a healthy burbling river, with all roads leading to the town smokehouse where most of the villagers took breakfast.
Arrin collapsed onto a straw cushion on the bustling floor of the smokehouse, after which Tören handed him a cup of tea and sat down next to him.
Before he even arrived, Arrin knew that smokehouses were the thumping heart of Thanish village life. The bar in the corner served drinks—whatever was appropriate for the hour and day—while people traded, socialized, and ate around the fire, which was currently host to a slow-cooking elk that would be ready in time for dinner. The tea was minty and floral, and quickly warmed his unhappy stomach. Tören downed his in two swigs.
Arrin let the scent of cooking meat and brewing tea work deep into his lungs. “Whats your plan for today?”
Tören leaned back, conspicuously scratching his balls through his hipwrap. “Check on the dogs. Shower. Get you to un-fucking-wind, hopefully.”
His creative cursing tripped up Arrin’s grasp of the language. “Un—oh. And how do you suggest I unwind, exactly?”
Tören gestured out towards the smokehouse’s crowd of locals. “You tell me, fancy foreign diplomat.”
Arrin put aside the impossible changes—Thanish folks’ broad cheeks, tanned skin, light hair, occasional flourishes of of tattoos crawling out from muscled arms and thighs—until it was obvious. The clothes. The men had a simple hipwrap tied off at the waist, and most women wore the same, a few wearing shawls to cover their breasts. The Thanish proclivity for nudism and generally casual attitude to matters of the flesh was the first thing he noticed upon arrival yesterday.
Arrin groaned.
“Like I said! So uptight!” Tören reached into his shoulder bag and pulled out a red-and-tan hipwrap, same as the one he was wearing. He chucked it into Arrin’s lap.
“I can go find an outhouse and change, I guess. Might need help putting this thing on.” He unfolded the fabric, glancing between the square sheet of fabric and the elaborate folds worn by the local men in the smokehouse.
Tören raised an eyebrow, followed by that knowing smirk. “Outhouse?”
Arrin scowled. “You’re—what’s the word? Testing me? Pushing me off the deep end?” He didn’t know if there was a word for hazing in Thanish. “Can I seriously just strip down here? There’s twenty people here, easy.”
Tören took a long swig of his mulled wine. “People do it all the time in the winter. The hunters come in soaked in rain, strip down, hang up their wraps by the fire to dry while they eat dinner.”
“Seriously?”
“On my grandmother’s grave!”
Arrin sheepishly stood up. He hadn’t changed his clothes since yesterday, and a small part of him was more than happy to strip down. After his black overcoat and vest, he unbuttoned his shirt, making sure no one was giving him the what-are-you-doing stare. He tried to pull off his pants and underwear as quickly as he could, which seemed like a good plan until, completely naked in front of dozens of people, he realized he had no idea how to put on the hipwrap.
Tören smiled. “Shame you didn’t join in the fun yesterday. Look at you. Bigger than I am.”
Arrin felt his cheeks turn hotter than the smokehouse fire.
“Anyways! The hipwrap.” Tören guided him through folding the garment. “Fold it at the corners—yeah, then again about a third of the way down, now tie it off—there!”
Arrin sat down the moment the hipwrap was tied off, whipping his head around to make sure no one found him out of the ordinary. Business continued on as usual, and no one gave him more than a passing glance.
“See, that wasn’t so bad.” Tören said. “We’ll make a local out of you soon enough.”
Arrin felt his hands shaking. “I guess that wasn’t so bad. You just, uh, live like this, don’t you?”
Tören nodded. “We think you’re the odd ones! All those clothes must be a nightmare in the summer.”
“You get used to it, perhaps.”
Arrin downed the rest of his mulled wine to calm his nerves. “So, how did you get into dog training?”
“I liked being around dogs, I’m good at it, and I couldn’t pass up a chance to play my part in
our national pride. Plus, they make good companions on long, lonely nights. What about you? How did international diplomacy come calling?”
Arrin shrugged. “My dad did it, and much to my dismay, I discovered I had the knack for the academic side once I got to university. Made sense to follow in hist footsteps.”
“Ah, the safe choice, then.”
Arrin nodded. “For some definition of safe. If I’m being honest, which I might as well since you and half the town have seen me naked, this is my first assignment outside the country.”
Tören stifled a chuckle. “You chose quite the trip for your first time off the leash!”
“I was told you’re all very laid back! Low effort but high stakes. Perfect mission for a product of nepotism, I assume.”
“We are laid back!” He slapped Arrin on the back, hard enough to elicit a grunt. “Just
need to have you match our energy!”
Arrin caught his breath. “It would appear that way yes.”
Tören leapt to his feet. “The sun won’t stay in the sky forever! I have the dogs to check on. You should come, the elders listen to the trainers and hunters.”
The dog pens sat at the edge of town, in a rare portion of cleared-out fields demarcated by
wooden fencing. Arrin was blown away by the sight—the king’s favored horses had less roaming space than the two-dozen or so dogs that the village cared for. The arrangement made sense, of course; the reputation of Thanish hunting dogs was unrivaled. It was that reputation that brought him here on the king’s orders.
Tören hopped over the fence, beckoning for Arrin to follow. A few of the nearby dogs bounded up to him, tails wagging and snouts burrowing into his paws for treats. He made sure to give each of them a generous helping of affection as he waded through the sea of canines.
The dogs were massive, scarcely smaller than the fully-grown wolves Arrin had seen back home. Unlike wolves, they had the coats of herding dogs—patches of woodsy light brown, muddled with white and black. Arrin experimentally reached his hand out to one of them, the animal leaning forward to nuzzle her paw into his palm. She licked Arrin experimentally, tongue eager and warm.
“See? They’re very friendly.”
The dog dragged his tongue up Arrin’s hand. “Not what I imagined for a hunting dog.”
Tören beamed pridefully. “They do more than that! Hunting, companionship, tracking missing kids who get lost in the woods. We train them for all sorts of things.”
One of the dogs moved its muzzle from Tören’s hand to under his hipwrap. “All frisky and it’s not even noon! Same, same.”
“Friendly indeed.” Arrin quipped.
Tören nodded contentedly. “You sleep with your dogs back east?”
Arrin blinked. “What? Sleep with?”
The dog continued to sniff around between Tören’s legs. Arrin caught the unmistakable sound of an enthusiastic dog tongue.
“Looks like he’s in the mood to keep going.” Tören undid his wrap, throwing it over his shoulder. He was sporting a healthy erection, a clear bead of precum already building at the tip of his uncut penis. The dog quickly got the message, licking him clean. “You know. Sleep with. Fuck.”
Arrin stood stock-still, that practiced diplomatic expression—neutral but welcoming, yet still professional—straining under the sight unfolding three meters away from him. “No...not really.”
Tören let out a sigh, the dog pleasuring him as he leaned against the fence. “Your loss! Can’t get a dog pregnant, and vice versa.”
“You...do this often?” Arrin tried to match his escort’s casual attitude.
“Every day. All the dog trainers do. Keeps us and the dogs sated, strengthens our bonds, and you don’t need to keep ‘em separated during mating seasons if the dogs are draining themselves in people instead.”
Despite his shock, Arrin couldn’t deny that he was starting to tent his hipwrap. The obvious stirring underneath his sole item of clothing spurred him to justify his own arousal. Was bestiality even illegal back home? He was more than familiar with jokes involving lonely farmers and their cows. The dog, licking enthusiastically, certainly didn’t mind. Nothing wrong with a dog happily licking where he wanted to, surely.
Arrin heard footsteps trudging through the grassy field behind him. Another trainer, around Arrin’s age, leaned against the outside of the fence, throwing a quick nod to Arrin on the way.
The trainer put a hand on Tören’s shoulder. “You’re giving him quite the introduction. Don’t think they do this out east.”
“His first introduction was the bonfire last night. He put down quite a bit of cherry cider.”
The cider. That’s what did him in after two drinks. Arrin tried to keep the jovial tone he had refined over the years, in spite of his combined arousal and confusion. “I can speak Thanish, you know.”
Tören motioned at his friend. “Arrin, this is Thïrir; Thïrir, Arrin. I brought him into the fold with the dogs...what, two years ago?”
Thïrir nodded. “Two years to the month, or there about.” The younger trainer groped his obvious erection under his hipwrap. “I refilled the bowls this morning, while you were tending to your foreigner friend. You gonna let him lick you to completion?”
Tören nodded, then turned to look Arrin dead in the eye. “He’s proving fun to tease. I figured we’d keep him guessing about how much fun we have until tonight.”
Arrin’s gaze darted between the two dog trainers. “Tonight? What’s tonight?”
Tören smiled, biting his lip as his dog brought him closer to completion. “Nightly get-together. You’re invited this time.”
Thïrir motioned at the obvious and growing tent between Arrin’s legs. “Considering how much you’re enjoying the show, you’ll have tons of fun, trust us.”
Before Arrin could ask for any kind of clarification, Tören threw his head back and let out a deep breath as he came onto the dog’s muzzle. The canine stepped back, licking the few sparse ropes from his face. Tören, freshly sated, pulled down his hipwrap from his shoulder and tied it back around his midsection.
He winked at Arrin, as casual as anything as he dressed himself. “We should get you freshened up and then ready for the elder council.”
Arrin rubbed his straining erection through his wrap. “I don’t think I’m in any state to meet anyone of importance.”
“Hence the bath! Or you can rub one out, up to you.” He hopped over the fence before turning back to Thïrir. “Can you hold down the fort while?”
The other trainer was already freeing himself from his hipwrap, one hand on his erection as he beckoned over another one of the dogs, before responding in the affirmative.
Arrin desperately tried to push his erection against his stomach as Tören lead him towards the waterfall that doubled as an outdoor bathhouse.
“Either rub it out or let it be! It’s perfectly natural, you see erections around here all the time!”
Arrin took the advice and let his hands fall to his sides, persistent erection flopping awkwardly in front of him.
The outdoor baths, one of many, was only a stone’s throw from the village center. Unsurprisingly, anyone walking behind the smokehouse could see the bathers, but this bothered no one.
The falls where as beautiful as they were spacious, the rocks that carried the water down from the river and into a shallow pool rendered smooth and glistening by the centuries. The nearby birch trees made it to the water’s edge, where the villagers had nailed polished wooden planks into the stone.
The pool itself, shimmering and warmed by the morning sun, was host to only four other people, most idly soaking as they rested against the rocks. Tören cast aside his hipwrap for the second time that day, placing it over a raised wooden dowel made for that purpose. He gently lowered himself into the water, dunking his head under while Arrin quickly undressed and followed him in.
Tören emerged, shaking the water from his shoulder-length brown hair. Arrin’s erection finally abated, and he casually sat on a smooth rock that allowed the water to reach his chest. After a night of hard drinking and a morning that had sent all the blood down between his legs, the slightly chilly, burbling water was precisely what he needed.
“So, about the dogs…” Arrin said, hoping his friend would finish his thought.
“What about ‘em?” Tören ran the water through his hair.
“That’s just...normal here?”
He dipped under the water one last time to wash his hair away from his face. “Of course! Why wouldn’t it be?”
Arrin opened his mouth, closed it, then realized he didn’t have a good answer, considering everything he had seen. “Just surprising, that’s all. What do you normally do with them? I—sexually, that is.”
The trainer leaned against the rocks, resting his hands behind his head. Arrin observed that he was remarkably attractive, fit and toned from three decades of outdoor living. His sandy blond hair fell over sharp lines of his face as he pondered Arrin’s question. “A better question would be what don’t we do. My first time was with the dogs.”
Arrin blinked. “Seriously?”
He scoffed. “The dogs are the cornerstone of village life in this part of the west. Aside from the jobs they have with hunters and forest rangers, taking an animal as a lover has all sorts of benefits. Teen pregnancy has never been a problem here, for example.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Tören waved his hand dismissively. “And that’s not even getting into how much fun dogs are to roll around with. Your cock didn’t lie. You like the idea.”
Arrin was taken aback by the trainer’s sudden vulgarity, but he couldn’t refute the statement itself. He bit his lip shyly, acutely aware of how unexpected his reaction had been. Part of him insisted it had just been the sight of the trainer’s naked body, but he felt the stirring between his legs return as he pictured Tören’s ropes of semen spraying across the dog’s black-and-brown muzzle.
Tören cackled. “I know that face. Don’t worry, we’ll all show you around tonight.” If he noticed the renewed arousal between the diplomat’s legs, he didn’t mention it.
“So—with the animals, it’s not just the trainers?”
He shook his head. “By their second year, we know which dogs will go on to become hunting dogs, and which won’t. Those that don’t make the cut are sold off the to rest of the village as family pets. Most choose to bed them at one time or another, and curious teenagers are encouraged to do as much. No risk of pregnancy out of wedlock, or diseases. The merchants have their horses, and the farmers have their animals as well. I prefer my dogs, of course, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that mares are wonderful sexual companions.”
“Have you ever slept with a woman? A man?”
“Of course! Plenty of times, on both counts. My first time was with a lovely bitch, as I mentioned, but my second time was with another boy who was working his way up to trainer, just like me.”
Arrin remained quiet for a moment, absorbing the entire conversation. His father hadn’t told him about this, nor the director at the embassy, nor the king. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed it all to be some elaborate practical joke. None of the books he had absorbed in university covered “the subject of a potential trade deal are also common sex partners among the locals.” Sex partners that look awfully appealing he added to himself, almost against his will.
He must have been lost in thought for longer than he realized, as Tören decided to continue the conversation himself.
“Mulling over your meeting with the elders later?”
Arrin bolted up. Yesterday he was told it would be today, but he was pulled to the bonfire and drinks shortly after. “Is there a time I need to meet them?”
Tören shook his head. “The village elders have a open door policy. After breakfast until dinner. You have plenty of time.”
Arrin started to pull himself out of the bath, looking around for what he might find in a bathhouse back home—a rack of towels, perhaps a fire to dry himself—to no avail. “Is there a—” “Just drip-dry, friend. It’s not like you have all those fancy clothes you might ruin.” Slightly annoyed but unsurprised, he pulled himself out of the pool and shook himself off like a feral dog before reaching for his hipwrap.
The village meeting hall was across from the smokehouse, distinctively wide compared to the nearby residences, with a slightly steeped roof built from mossy thatching and hewn birchwood.
The village center came to life at midday—children darted through the cobblestone streets, hunters hauled an elk carcass to the smokehouse, traders barked at each other from the stables. If you replaced the wooden buildings with stone, and added a great deal more clothing, it could pass for any intersection in the King’s City back home, Arrin observed. Perhaps people are more alike than unalike after all.
Tören pulled aside the elkhide covering and beckoned Arrin inside. The house was a single room, cleaner than most in the village, with the scent of resin and pine incense wafting pleasantly through the building.
There was a mercifully small wait—the only other visitors to the council being an elderly woman discussing the damage to her roof after a thunderstorm, and a merchant who left a brief warning in the meeting notes regarding bears just off the trails leading to the northern villages.
When it was his turn, Arrin stepped up to the finely polished wood floor that separated the meeting area from the rest of the building. The five elders sat on a raised bench, not unlike the courtrooms back in his homeland. The effect was less imposing somehow—no goofy outfits or sour grimaces, just a light yellow sash in addition to the traditional hipwrap.
After Arrin sat down and crossed his legs, unsure how much he should pull down his hipwrap that threatened to slip up his legs and expose him completely, the elder on the right spoke first. Tören stood in the back of the room by the door, foot tapping excitedly.
“It has been a single day, Arrin-of-Riverfall, how have you been fairing at our home?”
He bowed awkwardly before speaking, since he saw the merchant before him do it. “Everyone I’ve met has been exceedingly friendly.” The most truthful statement he had made in his career, that. “I have learned much in my day here, and I have no reason to be anything but optimistic about my time here.”
“It looks like you’re already fitting in, I see?”
Arrin stifled a nervous laugh. “Tören was kind enough to lend me a hipwrap.”
Tören beamed.
The elder in the center spoke up. “Your king has offered us a considerable deal of money for only three of our hunting dogs; as we told him, such an exchange would not be about mere money. Thanish dogs are known around the continent, and we take great pride in raising them. To sell them for any price would be an exceptional act. We would like to make sure our dogs, and their training is treated with respect.”
“I can assure you—”
Another elder interrupted him. “Actions speak louder than words, diplomat. You’re here for two weeks correct?”
Arrin nodded. “That can be extended as needed, of course.”
Then before your stay here comes to an end, Tören and Ästhen, head of the hunters, will report to me. If they feel as though a foreigner such as yourself is capable of respecting and embracing our traditions and how we raise our animals, the king’s proposal can proceed unhindered. Does that sound reasonable to you?”
It was unorthodox, to say the least. No, such a statement was insufficient. Arranged marriages are unorthodox; the unspoken implication that he would have to bed a dog in order to keep his job was bordering on madness. “Of course it does.” Arrin conjured his most sycophantic voice. “I look forward to learning more about your customs and animal-rearing in the coming days.”
One of the elders towards the right of the room let out a playful chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll learn much, young diplomat.”
Tören pounced on him the moment he left the elders’ chambers. “You did great! See, this whole thing will go over as smooth as a mare in heat.”
“Quite the local idiom.”
He broke into a toothy grin. “Well, a mare in heat is pretty smooth, if you catch my drift.”
“I think I catch it, yes.”
The rest of the afternoon was, by Arrin’s metrics, delightfully boring. All the time he spent in university started to bare fruit; the village’s chief administrator of sheep herders wanted to talk about any potential tariffs should trade open with the outside world, and one of the elders sweet-talked him into an extended lunch at the smokehouse to talk politics. By the time he was done he had downed half a bottle of wine and the sun was drifting towards the rolling green forests that walled off the villages of the west from the rest of the world.
After a brief dinner he wandered back towards the dog pens with a mix of trepidation and anticipation; he hadn’t had the time for self-pleasure since before the week-long journey to the village, and Tören’s canine-assisted masturbation had re-ignited a pit of desire somewhere in his stomach. Sex flowed free and clear during his welcoming party last night, and perhaps one of the hunters, or dog trainers, would be amenable to such a thing.
The villagers had warmed up to him as well; the side-glances and odd stares replaced by the same polite nods they gave each other, although perhaps slightly more reserved. As he darted across the field to the dog pens he wondered if it was mere familiarity, or his acclimation to local culture by way of the hipwrap. It has only been a day, but he had come to appreciate Thanish style—the warm spring weather was perfect for wearing a single item of clothing, and it made urination much more convenient. After a few hours, he had become largely desensitized to people flashing him whenever they sat down.
Tören bounded up to him the moment he reached the fencing for the dog pens, a tankard of
wine already in hand. “Good! You made it back here before sundown! The hunters just got back, and you have...many people to meet.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected the barn attached to the dog pens to be like, but it was shockingly homey. A large open room, centered around a crackling firepit—a welcome addition, as Arrin felt the first tinges of nighttime cold—occupied equally by dogs, trainers, and the hunting party that fed the smokehouse. They had set up a few improvised benches, made from planks of wood and tree stumps, in a circle around the firepit, which was home to a cooking flank of elk and fruit skewered on a metal pike. The sweet, smoky scent filled Arrin’s lungs.
Tören put a hand on his back and guided him towards the firepit, where he took a seat next to Thïrir. The hunters, six of them, men and women, were already naked. If they hunted in such a state, or if they were simply less reserved, Arrin did not know.
“We have a new friend to welcome into the fold!” Tören announced, raising his tankard in a preemptive toast, “Well, for the next two weeks at least. But I think we should show him an example of Thanish hospitality, no?”
Tören then proceeded to take him on a whirlwind introduction of everyone in the barn. Junior hunters, senior hunters, dog training assistants, administrators and everyone in between on the hierarchy. He only caught two names, the rest lost in a tangle of Thanish vowels: Enrën, the chief of the hunting party, and Hassir, the newest member of the village dog trainers. As much as hated to admit it, he only caught their names by virtue of their physical attractiveness; Enrën, completely naked, was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Intense, muscular, confident, with shining blond hair she kept up in a loose bun. If she, or anyone else, noticed his tenting hipwrap, they didn’t say anything.
“So, Arrin!” It was one of the administrators of the dog trainers, a dashing and fit man who probably two decades on him. “Tören tells us you don’t fuck your dogs back home?”
Arrin eagerly took a swig of the wine Tören handed him—liquid courage, how he needed it—before he responded. “No, we, uh, don’t.”
Tören scoffed. “Gods, you are backwards. You haven’t lived until you’ve emptied your balls into a needy dog!”
A round of cheers from the men. And a few of the women.
Enrën leaned back to down a tankard in a single swig. “Most of them are in heat right now, should show our little guest, instead of tell him.”
Another round of cheers, this time from everyone.
Hassir waved her hand. “Haven’t even had dinner, and we’re already gonna start fucking?” Tören quickly undid his hipwrap and called over one of the dogs that was circling the edge of the bonfire, the beast clearly hoping for scraps. She had beautiful white and black fur, her summer coat just beginning to come in.
The dog leapt over the bench, her muzzle nuzzling his bare crotch as he ran his hand down her spine. Tören was already hard, stroking himself as the dog spun around and lifted her rump in his direction.
Arrin, despite himself, was so erect it hurt. His breath felt heavy in his lungs, the blood rushing to his cheeks. He hadn’t felt like this since he lost his virginity, and he wasn’t even doing anything.
“Are you really going to...fuck her?”
Tören nodded.
Arrin had never seen a dog’s vulva up close before, but the sight was mesmerizing; black, puffy, and vaguely triangular, the edges of her folds glistening with arousal. Tören pressed two fingers into her, all the way to the knuckles, which elicited a backwards step as the dog egged him on.
“In heat and begging for cock.” One of the administrators remarked with a grin, hand down his hipwrap. “Just like a good dog.”
Tören wasted no time. He pulled his fingers out, slick with the dog’s fluids, and hilted himself inside her in one one slow, steady thrust. Still sitting on the bench, he moaned happily as he leaned forward, his hands gripping her haunches. The dog pressed back into him, tongue lulling out of her muzzle.
A few of the people around the fire cheered. Arrin was forced to spread his legs and let his erection tent his hipwrap, lest he ejaculate into his thighs from the pressure alone.
As Tören started a pace of languid, bestial rutting, the mood spread to the rest of the bonfire, and the few remaining hipwraps started to come undone, brightly colored fabric giving way to a circle of erections and spread legs. Enrën had started to subtly masturbate as she watched Tören.
The dog’s spade-shaped vulva gripped him tight every time he flexed his hips backward, as though her body was begging him to stay inside her.
Arrin’s mouth turned dry. Whatever doubts he had about the act were drowned in a sea of hormones and desire as all the blood rushed to his other head.
“You want that, don’t you?” Thïrir had ready brought over another dog, this one slightly larger, with a splotches of brown and black on her muzzle. The dog licked at his erection as he fingered her, three of his digits buried into that black, sopping entrance.
“Yeah.” It was the only statement that made it through the fog of arousal in Arrin’s brain.
“Male or female?”
“What? Oh, uh, female.”
Thïrir took the dog he was currently playing with and brought her over. The dog seemed as needy as he was, her rump raised and tail lifted to the side to expose that glistening, puffy vulva. Arrin practically ripped his hipwrap off.
“How should, I, uh, do her?”
Thïrir sat back down on the bench, stroking himself as he looked around for another nearby dog. “That girl has had two litters, and taken just about everyone in this room. Vaginally and anally. I fucked her three times in a row last week and she took me to the hilt every time. She’s wet, loose, and needy. Be loving, but she can take you.”
Arrin knew he wasn’t going to last more than a few thrusts in his current state, but he didn’t care. He lined himself up, one hand on her rump, and gently pushed into her.
Bliss. The sopping, urgent heat of her body washed across him like he had been plunged into a warm bath. Some animal instinct buried deep in the recesses of his brain told him to hook his hands around her rear haunches and just fuck like a dog.
By the second thrust, he knew he wouldn’t have the stamina for it. When he pulled his hips back his movement was slow and careful, nearly tumbling over the edge of orgasm. He looked down to see his shaft glistening with her wetness, the head swallowed by her twitching, swollen spade.
Thïrir had already found himself another dog and had already buried himself inside her. He sat with his rump leaning against the bench, gently thrusting into her. “Not gonna last long, eh?”
“No.” Arrin panted.
Across from him, Arrin heard the unmistakable sound of Tören reaching his climax. The trainer had his hips pressed to the dog’s rump, head lulling back as he emptied himself inside the canine.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, just enjoy the moment. I didn’t last more than a few pumps the first time I fucked a dog.”
Arrin took him at his word, and the next time he thrust forward until he felt the dog’s fur on his crotch, he came. Two weeks of pent-up need released across him in waves. A few people around the fire pit cheered him on as he emptied himself inside a canine for the first time. First of many, he told himself.
When he pulled out, the dog stepped away, semen oozing from her sex as she turned around and licked him clean. He was achingly sensitive, but the sensation of a dog tongue on his balls was pleasant enough that he didn’t mind. He collapsed back onto the bench with a exhausted pant, semen still dripping from his softening erection, which the dog quickly lapped up.
Thïrir was taking his time, thrusting into his dog slow and steady. “Get it now?”
Arrin nodded wordlessly. “Yeah...I get it.”
Another round of cheers.
Thïrir beamed pridefully. “Well, that’s one item off your checklist.”
Arrin raised an eyebrow. “There’s a checklist?”
“Well, unofficially. You can’t just empty your balls into a dog once while you’re here. We have to do anal, with a male dog. And a female dog. And not to mention mares.”
Enrën scoffed. She was sitting back with her legs spread, a dog licking deeply at her sex. “Give the poor man a break. He’s not going to catch up to us in a week.”
He wouldn’t, but he was starting to feel like he might as well try. “Is anal next on the list, then?”
Thïrir took a moment to respond, the trainer finally reaching his orgasm. When he pulled out, the mess he left behind was considerable. “Up to you. We have all night, and two weeks after that.”
After a few minutes, the decision was made for him, when the dog that Thïrir had just finished with bounded up to him and thrust her rump into his face. Her vulva, slick and wet with her own fluids, oozed with her bipedal partner’s semen. His erection re-ignited in moments. Sloppy seconds with a dog it was.
After dinner (and a third round of sex with an eager dog), the trainers provided Arrin with a
proper bed in the barn, in a dormitory loft not far from the firepit, next to where Enrën and Tören had decided to call it a night. The day had been long, and three successive orgasms had left him drained, in more ways than one. He took a piss outside, collapsed in bed, and fell asleep within seconds.
The next morning, Arrin was immensely thankful to wake up without a hangover. Enrën was already gone when he awoke—to his slight disappointment—but Tören was still in the bed across the room, combing his hair.
“You slept like a puppy.” He said, morning wood on proud display. People here rarely slept with their hipwraps, he discovered. The sight also made Arrin very aware that he was in a similar state.
“Good sex will do that, I suppose.” He sat up in bed, stretching out. “Anything you’re planning on dragging me to today?”
Tören shrugged. “It’s early, and my only real job is whisking you around. Could take care of our other morning needs.” He gave his foreskin an unsubtle tug.
“I’m certainly amenable to that. Dogs again?”
“Of course!” Tören sat up, put two fingers in his muzzle and whistled. A few dogs trotted in, tails wagging. He stepped over to one of the canines, letting the animal nuzzle his erection as he gave him a few encouraging headpats.
Arrin, sitting behind the canine, noticed it was a male dog this time. “In the mood for something else?”
The trainer grinned. “You got dog cunt three times last night. About time you felt some dog ass around you.”
“Is, uh, ass that different?”
Tören ordered the dog over to Arrin with a flick of his wrist. “Oh, very much so.”
The canine bounded up to Arrin, tail wagging, nose sniffing inquisitively at his crotch. Arrin bent down to peek under the canine’s tail, unsure of how to proceed.
Tören pulled over another male dog. “Takes a bit more foreplay with the boys. Here, let me show you.”
Tören reached between the dog’s legs and wrapped a hand gently around the animal’s sizable, swinging sheath. “Gotta get ‘em worked up first. Wouldn’t wanna get buggered unless you also get off, would you?” He shot the diplomat a playful wink.
Arrin presumed the dog was accustomed to such contact, because he started to thrust the moment Tören wrapped his finger’s around the animal’s sheath. The dog’s hips pumped forward with quick, urgent thrusts, red tip of his erection quickly growing around the trainer’s hand.
Arrin had never seen a dog’s erection before, and the sight was no less titillating than all the other animal anatomy he had seen. The dog was huge, bigger than himself or Tören, his erection fire-red and twitching as it sprayed clear semen onto the floor.
“There, now he’s ready.”
Tören grabbed a clay bottle that rested by his bed, and upturned it onto his hand. Olive oil. He spread it on his erection, before gently moving the canine around to lubricate his rump, slipping three of his fingers in, all the way to the knuckle. “Pretty sure you know what to do from here, friend.”
No kidding. The male dogs were just as acclimated to attention as the rest, and the canine quickly came to a full erection once Arrin squeezed his sheath. Arrin made a mental note to see if perhaps he could swap positions with the canine later. After he rewarded his feral partner with a few humps into his paw, he borrowed the bottle of oil, lubing himself up. The dog, sensing what was coming, shifted his tail aside and raised his rump to meet his partner. Arrin awkwardly fumbled around the dog’s rear, dripping the oil over his anus.
Tören hadn’t bothered to wait for him; the trainer was already balls deep inside his canine companion, and thrusting happily. “He’s been taking cock for years, don’t worry. Just slide your fingers in there.”
The trainer was right—the dog’s rump was remarkably practiced, and took Arrin’s fingers without resistance. Arrin, his erection dripping and begging for attention, wasted no time. He pulled his fingers out, gave himself a few quick strokes for good measure, and gently hilted himself inside the dog’s rear. Tören wasn’t exaggerating. The dog was wet, hot, and delightfully tight.
As he was expecting, Arrin didn’t last more than a few thrusts before finishing—the feeling, and the sight of the dog’s rear spread around his erection, quickly brought him over the edge. He cursed quietly under his breath as waves of pleasure washed over him, his balls emptying pleasantly into his animal companion. He pulled out and collapsed onto the bed, basking in the afterglow.
Tören lasted a bit longer, grunting loudly as he came.
“Breakfast?” Arrin said.
Tören nodded, patting his canine sex partner on the head. “Sure. You still need to meet the folks at the horse stables too. How about it?”
Arrin raised an eyebrow. “Can’t say no to that.”