Seven Days
The writer gets a new chair. It has a wolf tied beneath, with his head upon the seat, maw open. The writer sits down and begins to work. His chair soon has further changes.
A police officer investigates an incident of someone left outside, tied to a pole, unable to see or hear anything.
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Seven Days, by AnotherAperson
Day One:
The two servants told the writer when it was ready. He followed them, and they took him to a new chair in his office. At the bottom, the slave's muzzle opened. The writer sat down, and his tail kept him pressed against his hole.
He was heavy. The slave didn't complain. He slid his tongue inside, as the writer made himself comfortable.
The seat felt nice, and the tongue hot against his prostate. The writer told the two servants to bring him something new tomorrow. They nodded and left. Only then did the writer pull his desk forward, and write.
We found a bound wolf. His arms were pulled back behind the pole, keeping in place, while the rest of his body was wrapped in a black, plastic material. Everything was covered except for his nose, allowing him to hiss for air. His tail wagged slow and heavy behind.
The material was taut over his body, and it showed every form and contour of his body. It made his dick clear. It showed his erection, and each desperate throb he made as we approached. He didn't react to us, or the sirens of our car. He looked numb to everything.
Day two:
The writer sat back down at his chair. He waited until the tongue prodded into his ass, before calling the servants. They brought another slave forward. They sat him between the writer's legs, then reached for his muzzle and pulled a plugged dildo from his throat. The slave gagged. And despite his gaping maw being his only distinguishable feature from the black material, they knew he was crying.
The servant's tied him onto the writer's cock. They threw a blanket over the writer's legs, then bowed and left the office. The writer moaned, and pulled out his pen and paper.
The wolf startled as we released his arms. He seemed to notice that there were actually people around him. He struggled as we pulled him out towards the car.
We restrained him, then slowly cut the material in a circle around his neck. The stuff was thick, and it took a long time, but once done, we could pull away the 'mask', and reintroduce the wolf to the world.
He cried when he could see and hear again. We didn't know whether that was because the light stung, or because he was free. At some point, his erection had faded.
Day Three:
The writer wanted more than pleasure; he wanted entertainment.
The servants kneeled a slave at the end of his desk. Only his cock showed: throbbing in the air.
The writer got to work. Every time he needed a quick break, he watched the slave writhe. His struggles grew throughout the day, as the immobility and deprivation became agony. The writer sometimes stroked their cock erect, only to watch it throb, sink and soften again.
There was a large build-up of pre-cum against his desk when his writing finished. But regardless, he was grateful; he'd got a lot done that day.
The wolf spoke little about what happened. He cried until he got home to his husband. That wolf seemed to find the scenario more exciting than terrifying. He smiled too much, then closed the door in our faces once his sobbing partner was inside. We could still hear the crying through the door.
The investigation disappeared. With the wolf's lacklustre memory, there were no clues apart from the material he wore, and the night he was taken. Though all of it was according to the husband. The officers went back to their lives.
Until one day, when it happened again.
Day four:
There was a rearrangement. The writer felt comfy and entertained, but he noticed that the room was too cold.
The cock-slave was pulled away from his dick. He had a dildo pushed back into his throat, and was sat on the writer's dick, instead. The servants then tied him in place, forcing the thick cock to spear into him.
It became warm again, though the writer imagined that the ass-slave was still cold. He imagined he hated the rearrangement, but nothing else changed because of it. The chair rocked throughout the day, and always the tongue lapped at his ring.
More appeared. Always somewhere in public. Always teary-eyed, erect, bound and deprived. They all reeked, and blinked often.
The officer would write their slim stories down, then take them home to their grinning partners. Afterwards, he would go to his car and masturbate. The space now stunk because of it, but mostly thanks to the unwashed material left behind.
The case grew clearer with each wolf, and line of cum within the car. The officer soon realised that all the wolves mentioned the same road, regardless of how vague they spoke about it.
He smiled and touched himself again.
Day five:
He wanted more.
More slaves were added to the chair over the course of hours. Two had their snouts pressed under his arms. Another pair focused on his nipples. Some on his feet, his legs, his neck. Soon the chair became an oven of worshipping slaves. The whole structure groaned under the weight of so many bodies.
It was silent except for the dragging of dried, worn tongues, muffled moaning, and the scratching of his pen on paper.
Beneath it all, the ass-slave kept going. His tongue had never been as deep. The writer tensed around it as he wrote.
The officer watched the street from his darkened car.
A paw-holding pair of wolves walked by. One was grinning as they chatted. As they walked along the road, he suddenly frowned, and pulled away to pat down each of his pockets. He exchanged a few words, then ran off into the night. His smile reappeared.
The other wolf was left alone. He watched him go, tail limp, ears low. He turned to continue, before a material-covered figure appeared. They gagged and dragged the wolf away into a van, before starting its engine.
The officer reported everything, and followed the vehicle.
Day Six:
The writer waited outside the study door. He stayed hidden, and watched the servants prepare the slaves for another day of writing.
The ass slave had the most attention. He'd been there for the longest. They stroked his muzzle, rinsed out his mouth, then massaged his strained body.
The other slaves kissed him on the head, or brushed their smothered heads over his to show support. But it was hard when they were all numb to their environment. Neither felt much from the contact.
He was fastened in place at the bottom of the chair, while the rest stood waiting.
The driver said nothing during the interrogation, but the husband did. He broke and told them everything. It meant that when he was released, he was no longer smiling. Not as his partner broke up with him. The driver didn't either, as he was given a court date, before being taken to prison.
Though still, the mood was high. The officer was smug as he got back to his musky car, and touched himself again.
His hand stopped as a paw appeared from the backseat, and forced a large gag into his mouth. He soon lost consciousness, and remembered little.
Day Seven:
The writer hadn't written anything. Nothing of substance, at least. The slaves were too distracting, but now they were gone. And without them, he could think. He realised the room was warm with or without them. He realised a tongue was more uncomfortable than a regular pillow. Without the tongue, he was able to start his book about writing. About the distance between the familiarity of home, and the alienation of the unknown. Complicated and weird.
The two servants left him alone. Then outside, they giggled to each other about what they would try next. Their dicks dripped with arousal.
The police found nothing with the evidence given. Even as they unravelled their officer, tied in front of their own station, they had nothing. The officer said little. He only wanted to stretch his limbs.
Once out, he knew where to go. He could still taste him on his tongue and feel his hands.
Two servants stood outside the door. They rubbed themselves and said nothing. The officer stripped naked, and they parted and opened the door for him. The officer heard moans from inside, and went in. They closed the door and led the way, and the officer followed.
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