The Pirate and the Playboy (pt. 4 of the Buck and Kennedy stories) by Hawk

The Pirate and the Playboy (pt. 4 of the Buck and Kennedy stories)

Hawk, Costumes, Forced, Fox, Gay, Leather, M/M, M/M/M, Sex, Wolf, Wrestling, intimidation

#4 of Buck and Kennedy

Buck and Kennedy continue having fun with each other. Their fun is enhanced when Kennedy gets Buck to play dress-up, and when another wolf butts in on the fun.

FYI, this isn't massively edited.

The Pirate and the Playboy

by H. A. Kirsch

Pt. 4 of the Buck and Kennedy stories.

I used to rent a house with some college friends of mine. They continued to grow up and further their careers and moved out one by one, leaving me living alone. That wasn't so entirely bad, as foxes aren't exactly pack animals, but it was financially wasteful. I got a roommate, but he turned out to be a nasty almost-black wolf named Bradshaw Daly. His nickname: Buck. His clothing style: aggressive douchebag, by way of Ed Hardy and trendy jeans.

I was scared of Buck. He acted like a predator around me, and even though he was bisexual and clearly trying to date some biker she-wolf, knew I would fall prey to him. He had an obnoxiously customized muscle car and smoked cigars and smoked weed and stalked me around the kitchen.

I was so scared of Buck that when he decided to buy the house I was renting out from under the rental agency, I didn't move away.

I'm just kidding; I stayed there because I loved him. And because I wanted to get him to dress up like a leather fetish pirate. Work with me here.

Buck was in the back yard, digging. He appeared to be planting bulbs. Fall was coming, and I'd heard that was when you were supposed to plant them. Squirrels always dug mine up, but I have a black thumb when it comes to anything alive that isn't furry and black and lupine. When it came to those things, I tended to end up on my back in a green haze with semen oozing out of one or more holes.

"Well, I have good news, and bad news," I said, trying to surprise him.

"Bad news first," he said, and didn't bother to look at me.

I should have known he'd try that. I crossed my arms and stared down at his jeans-clad ass. It really tensed up hard as he bent over. "I forgot to look for a pirate costume for you to wear."

He jerked and spun his head around. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

I put my hands on my hips. "You know what I'm talking about." That got a 'you have to be kidding' deadpan stare. "Don't play ignorant parent. You agreed to it. You asked me what I really wanted and I said I wanted you as a pirate. You said that what you really wanted was some sort of odd rubber fetish fantasy."

"I want to fist you wearing all that crazy shit I have," he reiterated. "And do a lot of watersports. And maybe wrestle in the mud."

"Yes. That. Well, anyway, the actual news is, I got the fucking job. I also got a free lunch. And Mr. Saran is really something. I mean that in a global kind of way, not just impressive in his business, but in... everything." Mr. Saran was a suspiciously masculine bull who ran a car dealership network here in Lainsville. I was going to be the new customer service coordinator, a job hopefully less shitty than it was at the bank I used to work at. Car dealers weren't exactly famous for being ethical places to work.

"That sounds fucking suspicious."

"No, nothing happened at all. I just seriously impressed him. I think I have the attitude he wants to project. Someone who's obnoxious enough to get attention, and slick enough to get results. There is something a little odd about the whole thing, but I do enjoy having a job again." I bent down and handed him another bulb. "Wait, let me put it in the hole for you." I had a sudden compulsion to do what I just said, and plucked the plant bulb out of his work-gloved hand, then dropped it into the hole he'd just made with a divot. "There we go."

"Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?" He stood up and crowded me back to standing, lest I shrink away and fall over. Buck was quite tall, about six and a half feet, furred in charcoal black with silvery touches here and there. He dyed his headfur red, causing the patterning to bloom out as a douchebag-youthful style decision.

"I got the job! I'm excited! Being excited makes me happy, and I'm not quite used to being outright happy so it's very... elating," I gestured. I really was such the fop. Everyone will talk to a fop. Genius bull.

Buck grunted, and went back to planting.

That meant he was elated, too.

My first day of work wasn't particularly exciting. It was mostly just HR paperwork and some 'getting to know the place' tours. And by place, I mean all the places. Saran Motors was one of those car dealership empires. There was the Brushton Motor Mall, which included Saran Honda, Saran Chevrolet, Saran Subaru, Saran Ford, and Saran Mazda. There was, a few miles away, Saran Acura and Saran Lincoln. There was Import Experts, which sold upper echelon boutique new and used cars. There were two body shops, and one generic mechanic. I got to visit all of them, which was enthusiastically boring.

It didn't quite take a full day, and rather than mill around, I took it easy and went to visit Buck at his job. Since I didn't have any local friends any more, maybe I could mooch off him now that I was being forcefully thrust into the Car Stuff fold.

HiPer Automotive looked kind of like a tire shop. One corner of the building was a greenhouse sales floor, while five garage bays took up the remainder. The main sales guy, and the only one not wearing a mechanic's uniform with stark black and white embroidered name badge, was a coyote named Pat. He looked familiar.

"Hi, welcome to HiPer Auto," he said, as I sauntered in.

"I'm not quite a customer. Is Buck around?"

Pat perked up. "Oh! Are you Kennedy?"

"Yes, Ken please," I said. Pat nodded and went to peek into the back area.

I looked around. Wheels. Shocks and struts. It almost looked like a tire store on the inside, save for displays featuring just about every other car part one might want to replace or customize. And then, the waiting area, dominated by a strange beast. Someone had taken a fairly recent Honda Civic and cut it in half lengthwise, then modded half of it to look like a garish multi-colored tuner car straight out of a street racing movie. Big aero wing in the back, extra body parts, carbon fiber and livery stickers everywhere.

"He's right in the middle of spraying a mold. That'll be a while. Uh, so you'll have to wait. Is that your Honda?" He pointed outside.

"Is that yours? It looks half done," I said, and pointed to the car on display.

Pat beamed so hard, I thought his ears would explode. "It totally is! I'm kind of an art guy, like I know I'm at the register here but I do a lot of art stuff, all the graphics for our ads and stuff, I do custom spray work, and I said hey, you know what would be cool? Demonstrate how awesome we do stuff! Here's your mom's Civic, here's your mom's civic as far as it'll go! Check this out," he said, and hurried over, then opened the hood. Underneath, half of the engine bay looked normal, and the other half was full of painted and chromed piping, more livery stickers, electric-colored wiring. "You know what's even crazier? It actually runs. We take it to car shows for advertising."

"Interesting," I said. I probably didn't sound interested. I half was - my in depth knowledge of cars was fairly limited to restomodded 1960's AC Cobras driven by middle-aged fathers, and my extremely new-to-me ride.

"We totally tuned your car. Like did you just buy that? The guy who had it before was a dog and I'm pretty sure you're not a dog," Pat said, and leaned on the car very carefully.

I nodded. "Yes, and I just got a job from Saran Honda, too. Well, from everything Saran. I'm some sort of customer service liason now. That's the fancy resume word for 'the wall you throw shit on to see if it sticks'. They're quite adept at selling cars. I went in for a job interview and came out with a used sports car."

"So we do a lot of Asian tuner kind of stuff around here, I mean we'll do anything, look at Buck's ride," Pat almost rolled his eyes, "But there's just this huge, huge market for Japanese and Korean stuff. It's amazing. Like here, check this out," he said, and waved me over. Why not? I followed him to a computer station set up in the middle of the shop. "This is totally my doing. I went to school for 3D design shit. I'm totally selling myself up but you gotta see this."

What I saw, was a computer. He launched some application called "THE AMAZING CAR" and a relatively boring window came up. He typed in "Honda S2000" into a search field and a few results came up. One of them looked just like mine. He clicked on it and it filled part of the screen. "That appears to be my car."

"No, this _is_ your car," he said, and picked something else. It suddenly turned gold. "Like this really is your car, we set it up for that dog guy. Wanna get a carbon fiber hood?" He poked around in some palette of car parts on screen and the hood rematerialized with shimmery black. "Want a scoop?" More clicking, and an intake scoop. "NACA or ram air?" He toggled between two checkboxes and the scoop went from a real scoop to some sort of lopsided hole.

"This is quite involved," I said, as he started doing ridiculous things to my virtual car. "Perhaps you should start with something more modest. I don't think I need a-" I squinted at the screen, "Drift wing."

"That thing's supercharged, right? So here's a good addition. A little more power, a little," Pat made a pinching motion in the air, "And a lot better sound. Bam, tuned equal length headers. They'll look like fucking snakes under the hood, they maybe rice the sound up just a little, but we set up the exhaust however you like. Deep, raspy, throaty, snarly, as much as you can get out of one of those little K20's."

I bobble-headed. Sure, that sounds exciting. Was I buying something? Help? The back shop door opened and Buck came in, safety goggles on his forehead.

"Pat, drop that fox," Buck grunted, then ditched the goggles onto a holder by the door. He smelled somewhat disgusting, like chemicals and paint. "The hell you doing here, Ken?"

I shrugged. "My options were watch people sell cars, which I find somewhat painful-"

"Great, you got a job at a car dealership, enjoy being a fucking masochist," he cut in.

"Ahem, or I could come here and watch you be a wolf."

"You could watch me glass a mold. That's exciting. Not really, although it's kinda cool. You take some funny lookin' thing and spray it with this fibery shit and then wait a while and pull it apart, and there you go, a new fucking bumper for your mom's old Civic that you can scrape on every fucking driveway in town. Is Pat here bugging you? Pat, don't sell my fox TRD stickers."

This was apparently par for the course since Pat just grinned and went back to the register. Good timing, since some customers had floated in. Even in mechanic overalls, Buck looked hot. Mean, no nonsense, but hot. I started feeling stuffy under my shirt. "He was showing me this thing, where he made my car look ridiculous. That's pretty impressive." But ridiculous.

"We don't fuck around here. Heard you talking about headers. You gonna put equals on that thing? That'd be nice. Tuned header-back with high flow cats and unequal dual outlet. That'd sound hot. Nice and loud, everyone would hear you coming, even when you're driving."

"Thanks," I said, and stared daggers at him. One of the customers, a vixen in a pink shirt and garish green baggy pants, was talking to Pat about something something STI something. The customer's friend, another male coyote, was eyeballing some poster ads. It was the exact 'girl shopping, man bored' part, except the girl was shopping for rally-spec performance upgrades.

"You oughta hang out with Pat. He's kind of a loner," Buck said, apparently loud enough that Pat could hear. "He loves your S2000. He'd probably marry it."

"I think my car's already married."

"You're the second fucking owner, you get sloppy car seconds," Buck rolled his eyes. "You wanna get indian food? I'm hungry for some Murgh Makhani."

"Butter chicken? I'm hungry for some black wolf." Surprisingly, no one else looked our way at that.

"Yeah? We oughta track down that other wolf guy, then you can have two fucking helpings. I gotta go check on shit back here. You sticking around or you wanna go drive your little bitch rocket around?" That made the vixen look our way. Buck had already turned away; I made a 'ha ha can you believe this guy?' mime and looked uncomfortable. She seemed to accept it.

I laughed. "That's a terrible idea. But I will go for a drive. Call me when you get off!"

"You'll know when I fucking get off," Buck said, and slammed the shop door shut.

A lightbulb suddenly turned on in my head, nullifying my irritation at Buck. An awful lot of coyotes in here. Coyotes. "You're the guy I sold my old car to," I finally said, to Pat.

He beamed. "Thought you looked familiar! Nice step up."

"Well, I'm going to go and do something for a while, until Buck's ready for me." I waggled my eyebrows and curled my tail around to stroke it. Pat looked slightly broken. I waved, and left.

Track down that other wolf guy.

Track Down That Other Wolf Guy.

Oh Buck, why did you have to say that?

The first few days of the job were mostly training. I went from various HR induction tasks to actually shadowing a few of the salesmen, which was rather unnerving. Buying a car is terrible, on purpose, and it's not just the salesmen at fault. Mr. Saran hadn't lied when he said the dealer's allocation was based on customer service feedback. The intention was lofty, an attempt to produce better customer ratings and thus higher rankings by punishing those with poor service. The reality: sleazy salesmen who ask for five star ratings so their children could eat.

Well, it wasn't quite that bad. They definitely made it known, though. That had to be the wrong way to do it.

The weekend after, Buck went on a trip.

"Where are you going?"

Grunt. He was having a snack in the kitchen, and stopped to offer me the answer.

"It must be lovely there this time of year," I said, and got _my_ snack. A cream popsicle. I licked at the tip a few times, then nipped off the orange coating and tongued at the white inside.

Buck stared at me. He just stared, until I'd bared the stick inside and was coiling my tongue around it. "Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" He huffed. "I'm going to this race with some of the guys at work. Chad, the guy who's been building that project car, entered it into this amateur race. It's a PR thing for the company, you know?" I didn't really know but didn't want to start an argument.

I looked at the popsicle. "I'm having a little treat. And I can't believe I just did that," I said, and bubbled up to a near squeak. I felt, for lack of a better description, foxy. I stepped up behind him and reached around his upper body. The wolf was wearing one of his tight muscle-snug undershirts. I pawed around it, then pulled it up, then pawed around at his bare chestfur. He gruffed and leaned against the counter, put one hand down, then looked back at me. I gave him a licky kiss and then held up the popsicle.

He bit it in half.

"Nooo, don't do that, you can't eat the stick inside!"

He gave me a flat look, chewed and tongued at it, and the splintered stick fell out of his mouth onto the counter with a faint little splat.

"I'll miss you," I said, and reached down to give him a squeeze. He pinned my hand to the edge of the counter. "Wow. You're hard. I guess you'll miss me, too."

"If you think I'm gonna fuck you right here," he growled, and trailed off.

Five minutes later, I was wearing a pair of stiletto-heeled thigh boots and opera gloves. Buck leaned up behind me and I felt his bare dickhead nudge my asshole. "Perfect, knew I'd have fucking problems because you're a short little bitch." Supposedly, the heels were because he didn't want to bend over at some awkward angle. Because that's the first thing one thinks about when ordering one's boyfriend to get naked and dress back up.

I looked over my shoulder. Buck was drizzling olive oil on his cock. Extra virgin. I giggled. "I'm not _Italian_, and neither are you."

Grunt. Buck set the bottle down, then picked up a different one. Poppers, of course. What gay male ass pig didn't have a poppers bottle in each room of the house to facilitate gay sex? Well, I didn't - he'd brought them out of my room along with the boots and gloves. He took his bandana off, soaked a spot in it, and then came at me with it. I let him grab me around the muzzle and reached up to pet his bare hands, then inhaled. Urrgh. They could at least make them smell better-

AND HE SLID RIGHT IN!

I pawwed at his hand with my gloved one. He didn't budge. My heart pounded, my vision swam, and I huffed out against the wet cloth enough that I could feel it puff away and then suck back.

"I'm not gonna take this off your pretty little face until I cum in your ass, bitch fox."

Then he started to thrust. Thanks to the loosening fumes, he barely needed any warmup, and he was serious about it. Very hard, very urgent, enough that it dug my thigh into the counter and hurt. If he'd been using the ultrapure poppers from my sudden encounter with The Other Wolf, I would have passed out.

"Mmm, Buck, you ASSHOLE! You fucking ASSHOLE!" I groaned into the cloth, slapped at his arm, and writhed around. It was about half real squirming, and half helpless desperate movements facilitated by a thick dick stabbing my asshole while I swooned.

He grabbed _my_ dick and stuck his muzzle against my ear. "You're not gonna do anything stupid this weekend. You got that? No fucking around, no playing dressup in your fucking bedroom, nothing. You're not gonna cum 'till I get back, and I'm not gonna cum 'till you get back. You understand me?" Then he nodded my head, using his poppers-smothering hand.

I squealed and pounded on the counter with one hand, then came so hard that it physically hurt. I pulled off Buck's cock and he slapped me, but then shot all over my asshole half a second later.

He dropped the rag and I crumpled against the counter. He was already gone, washing himself in the bathroom. Sure thing, Mister Wolf, I won't do anything bad while you're gone.

I wanted to see Buck dressed up like a pirate. It seemed perfect to me. Everything about the way he acted seemed perfect for a pair of swashbuckler boots, a romance-novel-cover shirt, swordsman's gloves, and of course the bandana. He wasn't very dramatic, so he wouldn't be Jack Sparrow or anything. If we lived in the time of fantastic pirates, Buck would be a pirate. We actually live in the time of Somali pirates and Buck wouldn't fit in there, but I didn't think rogue disenfranchised militias were very hot.

I'd even told him that I wanted it. His reaction had been to scoff at me, but then he fooled around with me afterwards so it had to excite him.

I couldn't just go buy him something at a costume store and surprise him with it. I wanted something high quality. I had a feeling he wanted the same. Plus, I would have to get him on board to go for tailoring.

I had no real idea where to buy a leather-fetish pirate costume. Despite years of playing dress-up, mostly for myself, I tended to buy real clothing for whatever purpose. A police uniform? I actually bought one from a uniform shop. Riding tack? A saddlery shop. Women's clothing? I actually had to make an exception there and buy things from a company called Male Image, because while I'm sassy and diminutive, I hardly look like an actual woman. Flat male chest, straight male hips, and of course, cock and balls. Like any good skinny guy, mine were rather big, and regular panties are not meant to cover over anything sticking out.

Buck had told me not to do anything sexual until he returned. I had agreed, because it sounded titillating. But thinking of sexual things to do while he was gone made me instantly think of another wolf. Another black wolf. That made me feel guilty, not only because it was disobedient, but because that other wolf had left an echo in me. I tended to think about him at random times over the last few days, and it always gave me a start.

It didn't help that Buck had mentioned The Other Wolf at lunch the other day.

That Other Wolf ran a fetish sex club. Surely he would know where to find a pirate costume. Surely visiting him on my terms would erase the nearly-non-consensual torment he'd put us through, if you can call being fucked by one's boyfriend in front of someone else 'torment'.

So I got dressed up. I didn't have anything Leather Culture to really wear, but I did have a leather corset, a fluffy blouse, leather opera gloves, a leather miniskirt, and my thigh-high spike boots. There was even still some wolf and fox cum on them; I cleaned that off, of course. Fox Whore seemed to be a good enough choice. I'd seen plenty of those 'caught at the bar' pictures in the Freak Town Herald, with twinky guys in harnesses showing off their bubble butts while they hoisted Bud Lites.

Off I went.

The Pit was on the last block of the gay district downtown. Unlike some of the other bars, it actually looked nice from the outside, although the front windows were completely blacked out as was common for bars. Bass throbbed from somewhere inside, and a bouncer stood by at the door. He was a buck with a goatee and sideburns, a "The Pit" staff shirt with torn sleeves, and cowboy boots. He gave me a dirty look as I paid cover.

"You're gonna get your ass done fucked up in there," he said, "Dressed like that."

"Well what do you think I'm here for? Intellectual discourse?" And I slipped on in.

The Pit was simultaneously what I had imagined, and not. Dark, reeking of leather and fur and sweat and alcohol and Male Sex, a main room with a bar and tables and some kind of Demonstration Area featuring Middle Earth torture equipment, a back room with pool tables and a few sketchy arcade games and booths that were almost but not completely private. And of course, men. But as much as it was a meat market, this wasn't the 1970's, and the clientele seemed happy enough to socialize without staring daggers at each other. That seemed reserved for the greymuzzles in leather Nazi uniforms and bike gear.

There was no sign of the Other Wolf.

I went downstairs. Immediately downstairs was a dance floor, the source of the throbbing music, DJ'ed by a black jackal in gaudy Eye of Ra goth makeup. Tables and another bar rimmed the floor, and I'm pretty sure someone was actually rimming someone else at one of the tables. Clearly, public sex was par for the course. The Pit indeed.

But wait, there was more! Below the dance floor was another level, probably the sub basement for the building. Instead of being off-limits and holding industrial mechanical bits, it was full of people and ancient industrial mechanical bits, and frankly terrifying.

A whipping cross, a sawbuck, stocks, a bondage chair. Those things were upstairs in the main room and were really not very scary. The things in the sub basement were much weirder. Several private rooms with actual medical exam equipment in them, a room full of old equipment that looked like water pumps which was being used for some sort of gang-bang scene, a locker room where I could actually count semen splatters.

That was just too rough. Buck was my kind of rough. Buck would fuck me over the kitchen counter. Buck would not strap me to an institutional restraint table and anesthetize me. I hoped not, at least.

Fuck me over the kitchen counter. Oh fuck, why did Buck have to go play with his toy cars over the weekend instead of fucking me over every piece of furniture in my, err, his, err, our house?

"Hey, looking for something?"

I spun around to face away from the Creepy Cellar, and faced into a rather large room that was half filled with shelves and display counters. Sex toys, leather clothing, rubber clothing, and some things that surely violated the Geneva Convention. In the middle of it, dressed in an outfit that looked like a motorcycle racing suit but clearly made of sculpted and armored rubber, was a strange fox. If it weren't for his fluffy tail, I wouldn't have known quite what he was, a dark black with red tips in his fur, a red mohawk between his ears. He'd spoken.

"Is this a store or something?" I wandered closer. Unlike the alarming rooms behind me, the idea of a filthy store was a bit fun. Clearly a store, since everything had price tags.

"Yep. MJ Custom Rubber, uh, that's my thing, my name's Mike, I make stuff like this," he gestured to his body with his armored-knuckle hands, "And my business partner and I sell all this stuff here. Horny drunk guys will part with their cash, let me tell you."

"Interesting. Do you do leather?"

"I sell it, but I don't make leather stuff. Sorry."

I cocked my hip and crossed my arms. "Hmm." I pondered asking this odd fox for the name of a leather crafter, but then The Other Wolf appeared in my mind and I tucked my tail. "I'm actually looking for someone. The, ahh, owner of this place."

He perked his ears up. "Hawk? I don't know if he's even here today. Here, let me call him, what's your name?" The fox took one of his gloves off and took out his cell phone, then started dialing before I had a chance to really say yea or nay. "He probably isn't gonna want to see you. He's particular."

"Uhh, Kennedy," I said.

The fox apparently made a connection. "Hey, you here today? Yeah, this is Mike. Yeah this is really Mike, my dog didn't take my phone again," The fox looked at me, then pointed at what I had thought was a display 'puppy cage'. Someone was in it. Someone who, as far as I could tell, was human and wearing a rubber puppy costume. "Someone's here looking for you. Yeah I know. Yeah. I know. I know. He's a fox named Kennedy. Oh, uh, sure. Okay." The fox hung up and looked a bit bewildered.

"Is that good or bad?"

"He's here, and he wants you to come up." The fox bent over and opened up the cage, then led the puppy-guy out. Then he helped take the guy's hood off, and his entire demeanor changed. "Can you watch the shop for a bit? I have to play security guy and take this guy upstairs," Fox said to Human.

"Sure thing," the guy said, as if he hadn't just been cooped up in a cage. He took the fox's place by the register. The fox gestured to follow.

One minute, I was in the middle of a haunted house for willing torture victims. The next, a sex shop. The next, a freight elevator. "I get the feeling I was... led down here," I said, as we started going Up There.

"Oh?" The fox perked up. I had trouble thinking of him as a person with a name. I think it was because of the outfit. "I think that's intentional. At least, I wouldn't be surprised. Hawk's kind of particular when it comes to atmospheres. This place used to be a lot more rough. It was shady because it was shady, not because it was made to be that way. That jackal guy who DJs upstairs helped him redecorate. The guy does haunted house design for a living. Can you imagine that? That's a thing! I'd make monsters that grab people with their monster hands." Michael was very excited to talk about things.

We emptied out into a rather posh lobby. What originally had been a reception area was now a private lounge, as evidenced by the placard that read, "Private Lounge". The fox led me over to the office door that led away, and opened it up. "He said just go in," he said, and stepped back.

I expected to come across some wolf sitting at his desk, smoking a cigar, stroking a white cat, plotting something. Instead, another lounge. This one looked like someone's entertaining living room at home, albeit upscale and distinctly leathery. There was a small wet bar. I closed the door, and waited. "Hello?" I finally called out, and peeked around. "I'm not stupid enough to start wandering around so you can pounce out of nowhere and molest me."

Clop. Clop. He emerged from another part of the building. Cowboy boot heels, followed by the requisite squeak of leather boot on leather pant, a little jangle from almost tacky boot chains. Very measured. Very careful. The strut of someone who knew how to move for body language purposes. I had a roommate once who could do exactly that. He'd been a drama student, a rather good actor.

Really, he was quite the wolf. "Is that how you always dress, or is it only when I'm around?"

"You don't have much to judge that on, Mister..." I tried to lead him to speak. Since he wasn't charging me, I walked across the sultry red carpet and leaned on one of the sofas.

He joined me, gestured to the couch, then sat down in a finely leathered high back armchair. "I told you to fucking call me Hawk. See? I have a good memory," he said, then gestured to his head. He was smoking a cigar. Not the same brand Buck usually smoked but some dark chocolate leathery-looking thing that was, if my memory served me right from the other night, as long and thick as his cock.

He was wearing the same outfit as when he'd crashed our outdoor-fuck party. Tall cowboy riding boots, fitted leather jeans, a chrome belt buckle with an onyx wolf head inlaid beneath the surface, a leather blazer with a bling-bling expensive black cherry alligator lapel and collar highlight, black leather riding gloves, and no shirt. His chestruff seemed to puff out a little, which seemed simultaneously wild and cutely domestic. Like a housepet dressed up for halloween. Much more of a wolf ruff than Buck, who trimmed quite a lot. Horrifying, acid yellow eyes, and a face with a smirk even when relaxed. "And your name's Kennedy."

"Of course you'd remember that. Mike," why did I just use the fox's name? "Just told it to you on the phone."

"You like his little shop down there? He still have the freaky shit out front? I love freaky shit. I own this whole fucking place. Dungeon to dance floor to bar to fucking brothel downstairs from here. Sometimes, if I'm real fucking quiet, I can hear 'em having fun." He smoked his cigar like a mafia don. He sounded like one. Inner-city NYC thug. The newspaper article about him and the club from a year or two earlier had quoted him as being from Brooklyn.

I felt a bit stunned. He wanted to talk business? I tried to remember. "I was a bit distracted by that, that dog of his."

"I can always tell a person by how they react to that puppy play shit. You called him a dog - the guy's a fucking skinbag! You're a filthy, filthy fox." Hawk crossed one of his boots onto his knee. "And you got nice, nice fashion sense. The fuck you here for?"

I slid off the arm of the sofa onto the cushions and sprawled backwards against the leather. He smirked at me. Maybe a sneer. Maybe he could see through the posturing. "Not to get fucked. I need a favor. A little help with something."

"I don't fucking owe you a favor," he snorted.

"You, Mister Wolf, came out of nowhere and held my boyfriend and I, at gunpoint, while you jerked off. While you jerked off to him fucking me. While I shit his cum out of my ass." I sat up and pointed to my chest to make sure he knew who I was talking about, successfully transitioning from call girl to Cranky Fox.

He didn't miss a beat, leaning forward to point at me. "And you just came to my fucking job and social-engineered your way up into my office, dressed like a slut. And don't tell me you're not dressed like a fucking slut. Corset? Thigh boots? Opera gloves under that short-sleeved fucking puff shirt? Gimme a break. You need a dick in you like I need to put one there." He really said that.

"Do you remember Buck, my wolf?" Yes, Buck was _my_ wolf. As opposed to this wolf, who was _not_ my wolf. "We had a discussion about what would get us off harder than anything. His was some weird thing about wearing wader boots and pissing on himself, which fits because frankly he's into that. He's kind of a freak in private. Mine was him wearing a pirate outfit and fucking me. Not something from a halloween store, not something for a stage play, some fancy leather thing that makes him look extremely hot."

That appeared to disarm Hawk. He went from glaring and pointing to almost letting his cigar flop out of his mouth. "Uh-huh."

"And I don't know where to buy something like that. I presume someone _makes_ something like that around here, or else this place wouldn't be full of as many leather freaks as it appears to, or else you wouldn't be wearing _that_."

"Yeah? Where'd you get all that shit?" He leaned back again.

"Wherever I could find it. This isn't exactly strange attire. It's garden-variety Girl Sexy."

He took his cigar out, licked his chops, and put it back in. Buck never really did anything like that. He smoked like he was playing poker. This wolf smoked like he was in porn. "So, your wolf, Buck. You want me to go surprise him or something? I don't do well with other wolves. I hate fighting, but nothing'll get me fighting faster than another fucking wolf. Only reason nothing happened with you around was, well, you were around."

"I want to dress him up like a pirate. Like the kind of pirate who would come to your fine little establishment for a good time. And I think that requires a leather tailor, and I don't know any. Also, I wanted to come here and give you shit in person, just to see if I can."

He looked unflapped. "Can you?"

"I'm not sure. How stupid is my request?"

"I know a guy," he said, leaned to the side, and reached inside his coat. I saw the handle of a gun. Not that monster revolver, but a handgun nonetheless. If I had any inkling of being aroused, it went right away. He only took out a metal holder, and withdrew an actual business card. That was a little weird. "Here. He's kinda old fashioned, hence the fucking business card." He got up and handed it over, then sat back down. He easily could have sat down next to me, but he returned to the chair. Good boy.

The business card was exceedingly simple, both in overall design and quality. Definitely no "American Psycho" moments of carefully embossed fonts. "Oscar Veselý, Leathercraft", and then an address. No telephone number, no website, no email, no Twitter, no Facebook.

I stood up and pocketed the card in my skirt's little money pocket. "That wasn't so hard, was it? We spent all this time and you smoked down two inches of your cigar just to hand me a business card." I started for the door.

Hawk got up, but didn't try to stop me. He just closed in. "What, you're just gonna leave?"

"Did you think I was here for something else? You must have me mistaken for someone else," I said, and put hand to knob.

He lost his smug smirk, but kept the uneven muzzle gap. It had to be one of those pleasant deformities some people have where they always smile or frown. "You remind me of two people I know, at the same time, and while that should scare me, most of the shit that scares me ends up getting me off."

"Not this time," I said, and left.

When Buck came back from his little car trip, I neglected to tell him about visiting Hawk. Partly because I thought it might make him mad, partly because it might make him want to give Hawk a piece of his mind, partly because I wanted to see both of those things happen, and partly because I wanted to spring the costume surprise on him. Somehow. It seemed a bit hard to surprise someone with something they had to be tailored for. I'd figure it out.

I had a more pressing issue than costuming. Buck had told me not to cum, and I hadn't. As a result, I really, really needed to get off. I tried to downplay it and just did some work around the house.

I kept having a strange idea, though. The shed in the back yard was unnecessary, since someone had remodeled the house to include one as part of the walk-out basement. Buck had decided to fix the mud pond that formed near it, and now it seemed like an actual building.

I started thinking about turning it into a little sleeping cabin. A completely private place away from anyone and anything else that was on the property. I didn't want to get away from Buck. I just imagined that getting away from everyone would be fun. Maybe Buck would even like it. Maybe he'd want to fuck there. He would definitely want to fuck there. It could be a fuck cabin. Merely going into the cabin would mean that the person was ready for sex, and-

"Hey," he said, and scared me out of my shoes. To keep me from flying forward, he even grabbed me. For a second, I squealed. Wolf, black wolf, grabbing me, gloved hands even! He simply pulled me back, looped an arm around me, and stood next to me. "How's the shed look? I think it looks like a shed," he grunted, regarding where I had been staring blankly.

I twisted around, curled my tail around him, but acted like I wanted to recoil in horror. "What are you doing? Are you being nice to me? Are you going to start wearing an apron?"

"I have a rubber butcher's apron. It's pretty messed up when I wear it with those boots and gloves. You know, the rubber shit," he said, like he was talking about a car part he'd installed that day. "I uh decided I'd do that thing with you."

Since he was serious, I stopped pretending to be horrified. "I'm looking at the shed because I think we should make it into a sex shack. Or a meditation shack. Cabin. A little meditation cabin, where you meditate on a dick in your ass. Does that sound nice?"

"You fucking didn't hear me," he chuffed, then snickered and paced around. He was dressed to go somewhere. Motorcycle boots, black jeans, some kind of loud camp shirt, black tanktop, leather racing jacket, driving gloves, bandana. "I wanna do that thing."

"There are a lot of things. You'll have to be more specific," I said, and followed him.

"That pirate thing."

"You mean you want to go get fitted for a custom pirate costume, just for me?" I clasped my hands together. "I'm actually excited, this isn't being a snarky little bitch. Right now? I suppose we could call that guy-" Oops.

Buck looked stupid. "What guy?"

"Oh no one! No one at all. I'm not sure where we could get such a costume..."

Buck squared my shoulders with his hands. "Are you talking about that wolf?"

"No! No, not at all. Really not. I erm, found a place that makes this sort of thing, actually."

"Course you did," he growled. "Go upstairs and get in my car, before I change my fucking mind," Buck said, and made it obvious I should go myself.

I felt nervous, that old anxious sick feeling I'd get while Buck was around, when I knew he was planning something, when I knew he was capable of sudden bouts of behavior that I couldn't quite predict. There was no surprise in the car, though, just the smell of leather and a vague hint of burning rubber. That must have been from his 'drift' race.

Buck entered the car and dumped into the driver's seat, then prodded the Red Dragon to life. If it was my car, I'd have actually put that as the name on the side, in airbrush work. Luckily, I did not feel the same way about my Honda.

"So where's this guy's place?" He growled, and the car growled back, ushering us out onto the road. Buck barely moved while driving. The accelerator certainly didn't need any real touching.

I took out the business card and waved it in front of Buck's phone. It scanned it and started navigating us there, into the heart of downtown Lainsville.

"This isn't some trick and that's gonna take us to see that fucking wolf, is it?" Buck asked, after a few miles of rumbling silence.

"No, it's some guy named Oscar, apparently."

"How'd you find out about him? You do some internet searching or some boring shit like that?" Buck looked so lazily authoritative while driving. He pushed himself back into the seat and kept both hands on the wheel.

Should I tell him, or should I not? "Well, funny story, I decided to go see that wolf-"

"You ASS!" Buck turned and snarled at me.

"I didn't fuck him! I didn't even, well I probably touched him while getting this business card, but I looked him up and went out and crashed his little lone-wolf party at that club. Did you know he has a penthouse apartment at the top floor all to himself? I'm sure he uses it like a love nest. It smelled like a brothel. Anyway, I teased him by simply being a fox and got this leather tailor guy's name."

"You didn't cum?"

"No! Why would I go over to see that guy and cum? I'm not stupid. I'm absolutely positive that he wanted to fuck me." I squeezed my thighs together. What would Buck do if Hawk fucked me? "Anyway, you saw how he dresses. Wouldn't you trust him in matters of the dead flesh?" When I get excited, my brain gets excited too. I've heard some people get stupid when they get an erection. That must be blissful.

"No."

Well then. Buck's GPS led us to a basement shop in the fancier part of town, where all of the hipsters and fashionistas went to their wine tasting bistros and boutique shops. His particular shop didn't seem to be very fancy.

It was a retail establishment, so we could just walk right in. Instead of racks of ready to wear clothing, the room was full of dressed mannequins, creaky hardwood floor, and a few sultry oriental rugs. Some of the outfits were ready for fashion-plates, but almost all of them included a significant amount of leather. By the time we had reached the back they were almost alarming, practically movie costumes for science-fiction/fantasy villains who wore sculpted armor and militaristic jackets.

There was only one other person in the shop, and he was behind the glass counters of accessories. He wore a prim dress shirt, a green apron, had numerous earrings in one of his ears, and was a polar bear. He looked busy with something in a large three-ring binder.

"Hey, I wanna buy something," Buck said, after stepping right up to the edge of the counter. That prompted the polar bear to look up.

"I don't sell things," the bear said, "I make them."

Buck grunted. "Then I want you to make me something." It was a very Harrison Ford moment. I tingled inside.

"Better. What do I make for you?" The bear seemed progressively more interested in both of us.

Buck scratched at his neck. "I wanna look like a pirate. It's this little bitch's idea," he said, and suddenly grabbed me by the scruff. I had to stand close or else it hurt.

The polar bear's reaction was to grumble at me, then look back up at Buck. "This is not a costume shop." He had a rather heavy Eastern European slavic accent.

"Really?" Buck said, and let go of me. Oof. Then he waved over to one of the nearby mannequins. It looked so villainesque that I thought I recognized it. "That looks like a costume to me. I don't see people wearing that on the fucking street."

"That, is for a television series, so yes, it is a 'costume'." Oh! I was right! I loved all the outfits in that show. Some fairy tale thing. "But I make things for you to wear. I make them to mean something. Will dressing as a pirate mean something to you?"

Buck shrugged. "It means he's-" And he jostled me again, "-Gonna cum harder than he ever has while I fuck him in it."

Time to roll my eyes and turn away. Buck had graduated to embarrassing me in-

"Good answer. You have passed Oscar's quiz," the bear said, and opened the pass through in the counter. He went over to a cabinet and took out a few things.

"Who's Oscar?" the wolf gruffed. I smacked him on the shoulder.

"Whose name is on the door? Who is standing here in front of you? I am Oscar Vesely. I do the best leather work in this filthy place." He swept his arms out and turned a little.

"Sure, okay," Buck huffed. "So what-"

"I must measure you," Oscar said, and brandished a tailor's tape. "Stand on the platform." He pointed.

Buck looked at me, shrugged, and started to take off his jacket. I was saddled with all of his clothes. He stopped with only his leather pants left on.

"Take off more, I have to be accurate. You are a big wolf."

"What? There's a fucking window right there," Buck pointed at the front of the store.

Oscar turned to me. "If this outfit does not fit the wolf right, will you still be happy?" He sounded slightly irritated all the time, and had a bearish scowl on his face, but the intent was clearly friendly maliciousness.

Buck had that Wild Wolf look. I thought for a moment. "Probably not, no. It has to be just right." I have to watch some slavid polar bear measure Buck's dick. In public. I just had to.

Snarrrrrrrrrl, but it had to be a play snarl, like a domestic dog makes while playing with a tug rope. He didn't do anything aggressive, and just started taking his leather pants off. Oscar's reaction: "Yes, big wolf." He then attempted to measure Buck.

"Hey what the fuck?" The wolf snorted, X-crossed over his groin, and stepped back.

"Do you dress left or right?"

"What does my cock have to do with this? Seriously? Is everyone in this town a fucking pervert?"

"You're one to talk, piss-wolf," I huffed, and made sure to stay back in case he went nuts.

The bear instead showed him a piece of paper on his clipboard. It looked generally like a male humanoid, with all sorts of call out lines. "Fitted clothing must accommodate your body. Or do you want them pushed up inside?" Oscar made a juggling gesture with his hands.

Buck huffed and crossed his arms, and allowed Oscar to handle his cock for a measurement. Seeing that black tool with its red dragon tattoo flop around in some stranger's hands in a clothing shop was so surrealistic but so porn video, too. This was turning out to be the best idea I'd ever had.

Then it was off for all the other numbers. Once Buck saw that the bear was actually serious, he simmered down, although he looked increasingly displeased after every passing second.

"So how exactly is this going to work? Do you have some sort of design?"

"I will make the design now," Oscar said, and took his clipboard back to the counter. His shop certainly wasn't busy; no one else stopped in and we had been there for over half an hour already. "Please stand there," he said, and pointed to an X on the floor. Buck, now at least back in pants and boots, stood.

Within perhaps a minute, Oscar created a sketchy block shape of Buck. Within another minute, it looked much more wolfish. "You say you want to be a pirate. What are your colors? Black and red? I see red dragon on your cock, your hair has streaks, the bandana... red and black are good pirate colors. Aggressive, angry, but sensual. Red rose petals on the bed, red light district. Black is power, black is dark, black is hard. And leather. Is that right?"

I looked around and spotted one of those fantasy outfits. "Like that. Except a pirate, not some spandex-legged foof with a sword and a British accent. I wear the spandex leggings in the house." All of a sudden, I was thinking of Buck fucking me in that store. Maybe Oscar would have to go to the back, and I could put on some sexy outfit and Buck could-

"Do you know what real pirates are?" Oscar said, and paused his doodling. He seemed upset?

"They're, uh, Somalis with assault rifles and nothing to lose? You know-"

"You want the pirate everyone wants, not the pirate they get. Fair enough. Fox, what do you wear while wolf dresses up?" The bear went back to drawing. While it didn't exactly look like Buck, it looked like a stand-in, and the outfit was surprisingly hot.

"You mean to tell me you can just draw something and make an outfit out of it?" Buck said, looking increasingly grouchy from standing still.

"Is more than that, but this is the idea. Fox, answer the question."

I thought. "I was thinking perhaps a slutty prostitute. The kind of woman who would willingly go with a pirate. I'm sort of into that kind of thing. The wearing women's clothes part."

"No, you are pirate too. Wolf captures you, and has his way with you. Maybe you find a wolf pack."

"Excuse me, are you trying to tell me what to do in the bedroom?" This situation had turned ridiculous. Was it a setup? "Buck, do you have a wolf pack?"

Buck shrugged. "Can I move now?"

"Yes, move," Oscar said, and flurried at the drawing with his pen. "Here." There was a wolf in some sort of leather coat, some sort of leather vest, swordsman's gloves, leather breeches, and fold-top boots."Who is buying outfit? Now I give you," pause, "Sticker shock."

I wagged my tail again and again as I looked it over. I shrugged to his words. "This whole thing was my idea, so I might as well." Oscar led me into a back room and fussed with his computer a little, then showed me a screen. "Oh, that's a lot. Well. There's room for doing everything once in life," and I got my bank card out.

Oscar wasn't exactly a good salesman. He was more like a person who did what he did. That seemed respectable, so I was happy to give him money. Unlike, say, a car salesman. But who was I kidding - I'd bought a car on a whim when I didn't even have a job, from the people who were hopefully going to employ me.

We did it, or at least started it. Buck didn't say anything on the way home.

My job quickly became surreal. It was obvious Mr. Saran wanted me around, because even though I traveled to all of his other dealerships, he kept me at the Honda one where his office was. We didn't really interact much, but when we did, I could feel something radiating out of him. I could smell it. It was sex.

Not to mention the suspicious firing of the guy who got me hired, the day I started work. I kept intending to follow up with Mark The Arctic Fox, and kept letting each opportunity slide. Aside from Mr. Saran's imposing "I'm going to fuck you but I'm not going to say I want to or really do anything much except walk into the room" attitude, the job was actually fairly decent.

It turns out most car salesmen are assholes because they get fired if they aren't. A few are genuine sleazebags, because that's how sales works. You have to be sleazy. You do what you have to in order to land the sale. Mark must have sucked a lot of bull dick if he convinced Mr. Saran to make things reasonable for employees and fight back against the stupid holdbacks from the manufacturers, but even that couldn't keep him from being fired. What if Mr. Saran thought I could do it better?

One day, leaving work, I noticed a commotion going on in the back of the holding lot. The used sports car people were always doing random things back there; Mark's absence didn't seem to throw them off much. They'd sold me the S2000; maybe they figured I was just one of them.

I was just about to step into my car when someone pulled up next to me, driving a black wedge. Not a Ferrari wedge, or maybe more importantly not a Lamborghini wedge, because Lambo likes their 1980's-cum-Batmobile cockrings-I-mean-cars. An unidentifiable wedge, and I had been all over car stuff lately.

Someone stepped out of The Wedge, which conspicuously made only a hissing whirr. A black someone. A black wolf. Oh no.

"Now this is probably the best timing I've ever fucking had," the wolf said.

"Hawk."

"Where?" He looked around. "I don't want a bird fucking shitting on my car. I just washed it. Again, after it rained yesterday." He kept talking without letting me cut in. "Let's see what these rice junkies think about something weird and classic and not very sporty and fucking English, huh?"

"What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?"

"I don't need to stalk you. You'll come to me. It worked last time," he shrugged, inside his leather coat. Blazer, black, with some sort of reptile for lapels, leather pants over cowboy boots. The same general thing I'd seen him in both previous times. So dashing, yet so ridiculous. All that black, sumptuous, fancy, authoritative leather.

Outside, I stayed foxy prick. Inside, I started to curdle and repeated myself. "What are you doing here?"

He reached over with a leather-gloved hand and patted the shiny black roof of his car. "Showing off my Lagonda. Not the new flashy and legitimately good one, but the old and fucking ridiculous one. Let me count the ridiculous ways," he growled, and started using his fingers. "Carbureted malaise-era V-8. So what if it's an Aston Martin; it wasn't any good new. I took it out and put in some turbine-electric shit. Four-speed slushbox. Also took that out, because turbine. Electrical system made in England: fully resto-modded so it'll run for more than ten minutes before a light goes on or off. Leather interior: of course I fucking redid _that_."

"You would. You actually go around in public dressed like this?"

"I _am_ this," he huffed, then stepped over to my car. No no no no no. I tried to close the door but he got in the way. "How'd your wolf-puppy's pirate outfit come out? Have any rated-R fun yet?"

"Say another pirate joke and I will murder you," I said, and he scowled.

Then he put his arm around my shoulder. He smelled like leather and cigar smoke and dick. So he smelled like Buck, except somehow completely different. I liked Buck's smell more. "You foxes are always so uppity. So I'm serious, you get that outfit for him yet?"

"No, I did not get it yet, I don't know when I'm getting it, probably in half a year considering how anal-retentive that polar bear was, and what are you doing?"

"I'm getting close. You smell nice. You smell like you've been wearing slacks and a dress shirt and yelling at people all day. Plus, you're a fox. I love foxes. How about you gimme a little kiss?"

NO NO NO NO, but of course I barely managed to push him away before he leaned down and, arm around my shoulders, gave me a nuzzle and lick across the snout. In my attempt to dodge away from the asshole wolf, I stared straight at a few of the sales guys, who could see me from where they were fussing with a barbeque by a row of six sparkling vintage Supras.

One of them, a perk-eared Belgian Malinois, had his phone out. Oh please, this is getting ridiculous. Was he taking a picture? He was definitely texting.

I pushed Hawk away. "Go let them gawk at your English car penis and let me go home."

He laughed and shrugged, then got back in his car. "Whatever," he said through an open window, and then whirred on towards the gathering.

I wasn't out of the parking lot when my phone rang. "I heard you were making out with another wolf," said Buck, sounding energetically grouchy.

I bristled and banged on the steering wheel. "God dammnit, he showed up to some sort of car meetup at the dealership in his ancient-ass Aston Martin and got all up on me because I smell nice, and then kissed me on the side of the face, and we were not making out, and it was not my idea, and I pushed him away!"

"Yeah, I got the fucking pictures, you know Kalen works there, right? He helps out with the powertrain shit at HiPer? The police dog? He sent me some pictures. I'm gonna give that fucking wolf a piece of, rrrh, something." Then came a loud thwap noise over the phone. "I got a fucking package today. You know those security camera things I put around the house?"

Buck was slightly overzealous about security now that he owned our house. We had a security system with integrated fire, freeze, and flood alarms, security cameras, remote-lock gates, and computerized lighting. I think it might be a wolf thing, controlling one's territory. "Did they throw it again?"

"No. I can't read who it's from, but I'm not expecting a fucking package. Did you order something?" I could hear him panting. He was losing his shit.

"Settle down, Bradshaw." GROWL! He did not like me using his actual first name. It was fun. "No, I haven't bought anything-" I was trying to drive slow enough that I could hear Buck over the wind noise, but when I realized what was going on, I pulled over. "Oh."

Over the phone, I heard a loud growling sound, but it wasn't Buck. Then a big WHUMP and the sound got quiet. "Hurrgh, bye," Buck snorted, then the phone hung up.

Instead of driving slowly and sedately and legally, I overcooked every corner on the way to our subdivision. I had to beat him home. Unfortunately, I got nailed by horrendous traffic on the few miles of highway that I had to take lest I want a very leisurely granny-drive.

I showed up and opened the garage. No, dammnit, the Red Dragon was parked in there! I suppose I could have used some sort of phone app to find out when he showed up to the second, but that was Buck's territory. Literally.

There was also no sign of a package on the front porch. Buck must have gotten it already. I stormed around inside and went up to his closed bedroom door. "How did you get home so fast? How? I know what's in that box, Buck. You can't just hide in there. Are you being secret? Are you being ashamed? You're really hot when you're ashamed of something, come out and be ashamed in front of me and I'll make you very, very happy." I was almost about to cum in my pants and that would have been a terrible waste.

Grrrrowrl, and then some random vague noises inside the room.

I sighed. "Come on, don't be completely ridiculous. Of course I'm selfish but you do realize that I bought you that outfit, so you could wear it, for me."

Buck's cellphone slid under the door. It was showing a picture of me and Hawk making out. Of course, any fear that I had of being caught in some actual clandestine romantic moment (which did not happen at all!) evaporated when I saw the expression on my face. I might as well be getting kissed by an overzealous and drunk uncle at Thanksgiving. My story was clearly the right version of what happened.

"What's that supposed to mean? Are you just showing that to me? Obviously you're changing outfits in there or you'd talk to me. Or are you being all anti-social?"

"I've been home half the fucking day," finally came a growl. "I was just playing on the phone with you. Did that wolf seriously just show up at your job?"

"Yes! Do you think I'd invite him over? I only went to his den of debauchery - really, have you been to The Pit? It's impressive - I only went there because I figured, well, who else would know the most about that sort of thing? And it turns out, this fox who works for him is probably more perverted-EEH!"

I was leaning on the door, and Buck opened it inwards from inside. I ended up falling on my hands and knees, and I instinctively made for the center of the room to climb up onto what was surely a bed.

And he was gone. Somehow, I had managed to get past Buck and climb into his bed without taking one look at him. "This is completely stupid. Why can't we be normal people who buy each other dinner at nice restaurants? Why do you have to play hide and go seek and do drugs and drive a stupid muscle car while I prance around in panties and taunt every wolf in a ten mile radius?" That wasn't really true. Aside from Buck and The Other Wolf, I didn't really go after wolves much. I climbed out of bed and went to look for Buck.

I could hear him moving around, but I could also tell he was trying to be silent. There was just no way to avoid the creaks and squeaks of whatever he was wearing, but at least he wasn't stomping around.

"I don't get it. You were just going to have a conversation with me, and now-"

SHING. Have you ever heard that noise? It's usually made by something sharp dragging against something else that's sharp. Here is a list of things that can make that noise:

Sharpening a knife with one of those knurled sharpening rods. Trendy culinary sorts love to do that in the kitchen.
Guillotines. Eeee.
A sword coming out of its holster. An actual sword, not some kind of sexual double-entendre. This was the source of the actual noise.

I turned around, and then jumped back. It was indeed a sword, which had just come out of a holster. A very long, slightly curved sword. Perhaps a katana; I'm not a sword expert. He had it just inches from my head, and it wavered more than I would have liked. In his other hand, he had a bottle of Kraken spiced rum. What else would a pirate drink besides rum? What else would Buck drink, but the most badass (and legitimately good) rum I could think of? What else would be getting him somewhat drunk already?

"Oooh! A sword!" Of course Buck was now a pirate but that sword was something I did not expect. Buck was not one of those sword guys. They're always the ones who are wolves wearing wolf tee shirts and looking like their mom just dropped them off on the way to the gym to occupy them for a while. "That's quite dangerous-looking. You shouldn't stick it in my face."

Growl. I looked Buck in the face. Yes, an angry black pirate wolf holding a sword.

Growl! I felt the sword brush my fur. No, it brushed some of it off. It was sharp, and it shaved a patch off the left side of my muzzle. My poor fox whiskers! "Buck that's a real sword get it away from me what the fuck are you doing!" And I crabwalked backwards across the bed until I hit the wall with the back of my head.

Then I really looked at him. Fear was quite big in my mind; it always was around Buck, but he had a real sword and I could feel where it had scraped my skin. It was razor sharp. The outfit trumped that very real thing with a very fantastic, in all senses of the word, look.

Leather breeches with attractive side laces down the thighs, a muddy worn-in deep brown color that looked fit for a burnished saddle. Black leather boots that came up well to his thighs but were meant to also fold down if desired, and made an attractive and iconic and leather-worshippable way to stand on the floor. An amazing tooled black leather vest that also did a nice job of framing his grabbable chest. Buck was such a wolf. He had a black and red bandana tied around his head as a skullcap with the tail of it dangling behind as if he were a highwayman marauder. He had long black leather swordsman gloves, which were like slightly rougher gauntlets that also could fold forward. It was surprisingly rakish.

And the coat. The red leather coat with a black leather dragon inlaid in it, complete with orange fire breath, carved and sewn in out of fine leather. Double breasted with brass buttons. Designed to be worn open or closed, for maximum kink fashion impact.

"There was a fucking card in there, that said just, "DRAGON OF THE SEA"," he said, and only lowered the sword because he was taking a drink. I continued to cower wide-eyed. "What the fuck are you surprised at with the sword? I've had this sword for years."

I twitched my bush tail against the bed. "What? Really?"

He stepped over to his desk, set the rum down with a clump, then reached up and put the sword up on a holding plaque on the wall. It still barely looked familiar.

I continued. "I don't like coming in your room, I'm afraid you'll find out and then interrogate me about why I did it, and then come terrorize me and make me orgasm all over something important so I have to lick it off, and I suppose that's not much of a reason not to do it anyway?" I leaned forward, a bit dizzy. "My god, you're beautiful in that."

He thankfully left the sword where it was and half-sat on the edge of the desk. Fuck that other wolf; this one's mine. I was quite hard in my dress pants and rubbed at the tent; Buck looked at me, chuffed his lip up, squirmed in place, and had a swig of rum. "I guess it was a good idea," he said, and looked down and to the side, like he was actually ashamed. "Go put something sexy on and join me out back on the patio.""

I got up and hurried into my bedroom. Something sexy! Something sexy for Outside! My heart pounded, my cock dribbled as I got out of my pants, and I couldn't stop my ears pinning back to listen to whatever he was doing around the house. Mostly walking around, surely enjoying the badass sensation of stomping in heeled boots and looking like a rakish swashbuckling movie villain.

I selected something sexy. A leather corset, which I could slip into like a pair of briefs by this time. Thigh-high stiletto heel boots, which thankfully I had practiced walking in whenever my old housemates weren't home. Long opera gloves, again made of leather. A leather short skirt, which would not keep me modest if I did anything other than stand straight up. I turned the top of the boots down, and the suede inside stood out rough above the otherwise shiny black leather. Good enough.

I went to sashay out of my bedroom, but the doorbell rang. I froze in a terrified startle, and then as my heart shuddered, I felt an immense sense of disappointment. The same kind one feels while having to interrupt sex for something otherwise legitimately important. Fuck that.

Then I saw Buck storm out of his room and through the dining room, then into the living room. His room was next to the garage and could see whomever was on the front porch. He had this sword drawn and had left the bottle of rum behind. He looked drunkenly ferocious.

"I don't fucking believe this! Kennedy, are you fucking around with me?"

"Do you mean with you, or on you? Who's at the door?" That came out way too sing-song-y, but I was really just clenching my throat and it squeaked out.

"Who do you fucking think is at the door?"

Pound, pound. I really had no idea. Probably some cable internet sales- oh no.

I stayed right where I was. "Are you kidding me? He's at the door? He must have followed me here!" Or asked someone at the car dealer where I lived. Which one of my coworkers would tell him that? Surely Kalen, although he was on Buck's side. The wolf wasn't on mine; he turned to me and shot me a glare that would break glass. "I swear, Buck. Really. He's such a tacky asshole. You're at least genuine about being tough." That was a real compliment. Buck just scowled more.

Pound, pound. "Hey, you know I can fucking hear you two talking through the door. You wanna keep complimenting me or you wanna open up?" That booming urban drawl could only belong to one jet-black wolf.

"I think you should open the door. At least you have that sword," I said, and clung onto the corner of the bedroom hallway in a scared-sex-kitten pose.

Buck yanked it open. Yes, Hawk was standing on the front porch in his mafia hitman finest. As much as it was too much, it was also appropriate. He wouldn't have been the same wolf in a mere fabric business suit. "You."

Hawk walked right in. Now that was a calculated move. "Where's your fox? I gotta congratulate him on fine taste. Kennedy, that your name?" He called out, and just happened to have not looked my way yet. I let him turn to face me before I spoke.

"Yes, Sir," I said.

He immediately bristled and scowled. It wiped the lopsided smirk off his face, and it looked so much like Buck's sour expression. I had come to think of it as some First thing. Seeing them next to each other was amazing. They were, oh, this will sound quite strange, but two different steaks cut from the same meat. This one is rare and bloody and expensively visceral. This one is well-done but still immensely well-flavored and worth the money. Ink black and fancy, charcoal black and Fancy. Brooklyn profane, and semi-rural gruff.

And I was afraid of both of them.

"Don't ever call me that. You call me Hawk, or you can call me Mister Wolf. But not-" Buck whipped Hawk in the snout with the sword and the wolf stiffened back, ears splayed, face twisted up. "The fuck?"

Buck parried or thrusted or whatever one does with a sword, and made Hawk step backwards against the wall, with the tip of it jabbing him in the chin. The way he moved suggested an instant fear of being run through. That fucking sword. Who has a sword these days? People have guns, or baseball bats, or those taser guns. "I don't know what to think of you. You ambush us in public and make me fuck him in the ass on top of my car. Do you know what he already did with my car? Kennedy, tell him what you did with my fucking car."

"Hey, this is a real fucking sword," Hawk complained, completely taken down a peg up against the wall. It didn't make him look less viciously lupine; a scared wild animal is as dangerous as one with his wits about him. Just like Buck.

"Fox, answer the question," Buck growled, to me, but as he kept a watchful eye on the gloved-hands-up black wolf.

I came closer, suddenly so aware of the ridiculous heels I wore. I couldn't not move sensually, unless I wanted to flail or fall over. "I stuck a dildo on the bumper, hunkered down, and fucked myself on it. The car kind of rocked back and forth on the tires, and so when I did it right, it was like his car was fucking me."

"He did that, and then you made it worse. You helped him get this outfit, but then you had to stalk him back here. Tell me what you're here for. Tell HIM what you're here for, you motherfucking wolf." Buck's speech devolved into an actual drooling snarl at the end, and he took his sword down to get face to face with Hawk. He pointed at me.

"Uhm, I'm sorry, but what's going on here? You're really rude, barging in here like this. You could perhaps ask me if you could come over, when you see me at work, while you're stalking me," I said, to Hawk, before he could talk. "And I'm not being catty. The neighbors are bad enough." My neighbors are another story.

"I'm here to fuck you," he said, right to me. Then he turned to Buck. "I'm here to fuck your fox, and I'm also kinda curious to see what this whole pirate outfit is all about." He then looked up and down. "Oscar's a fucking genius. I'd let you fuck me in that. Son of a bitch," growled, eyebrow spots up, gloved hand reaching for Buck's leather coat.

I suddenly burned so hot, so possessive. I rushed up towards the pirate wolf. Towards my wolf. He blockaded me with his sword arm and I shrank well back, tail between my legs. "I know you want to get your fox paws all over me. Well, you'll have to wait. This wolf wants to fuck you. I want to give him what he wants, my way." While Buck growled and gestured with That Goddamn Sword, he was just inches away from Hawk's face and the other wolf wrinkled his nose. I can only imagine it smelled like rum.

"Aha, so it was a plan all along-"

Buck ignored me and grabbed Hawk. "You, take your coat off. Hand it to the fox. He'll take care of it." He shook the wolf by his lapel and let go. The stunned black lupine did as directed, although he left his gloves on. "Gloves too. That's right; just the leather pants and boots. I want to watch a Wolf fuck him, not just some guy in leather."

Hawk handed me his coat; it was surprisingly heavy, and radiated his warmth and smell. The black cherry lizard that made up the lapels and collar was the real thing. What a fashion statement. Then he handed me his gloves, which were just as warm and musky. With his coat off, he looked quite the wolf, short cropped fur just making the mane ruff and backs of his arms that much more lupine. Buck was just the tiniest bit taller, and seemed just a little thicker, but they were both Wolves. I took the leathers over to the coat closet, hung the coat up, and tucked the gloves into a pocket. "I don't see why he can't wear gloves while he's over here."

"He wants to fuck my fox. So he's gonna have bare hands so he can feel everything I want him to." Buck sounded crazy. He was clearly drunk, not staggering but walking with a big, confident loose stride. I could smell it. I could hear it in his voice. "Go get in your bed. He's gonna do it in your room." He aimed it at me.

"You heard him," Hawk said, after a long pause where I didn't budge.

"Shut up," Buck snarled, then grabbed Hawk by the scruff. The other black wolf lifted his arms and haplessly grabbed at Buck. "You heard me," he snarled my way.

I hurried back into my room and climbed onto the bed. "Am I really going to get fucked? I did this when I came home and you just tried to skewer me with that sword." I couldn't help it. I wasn't really going to be fucked by a stranger in my own bed. This was just some sort of big hot game plan. Buck would swoop in and cock block Hawk and they'd have a little snarling match and I'd get an ass full of wolf cum from my wolf. My wolf.

"You. Go get in bed with him. Be nice about it. Give him a nice kiss. You, fox, you make sure you give him a nice one back." Buck kept using that sword like he should have been using his penis, gesturing between us.

Hawk didn't look like he wanted to do it. Holy shit, this wasn't some sort of goofy joke. He'd really showed up on his own, and Buck had really gone nuts and was going to make him fuck me. The half-naked black wolf climbed into bed and came up towards me on all fours. He may have been hesitant, but he looked hesitant like a wild animal. It was just like Buck when he was wolfing out. I was some sort of prey thing and he was going to come and eat me up.

He reached forward and stuck his hand up under my leather skirt. When he grabbed my dick, I gasped and squirmed. I stayed hard, tingled, swooned, but frankly, that was all involuntary. What I _thought_ was, "Oh god, I can't really do this."

I just couldn't say it.

He kept jacking me off under the leather, ears now perked and forward, rotten smirk plastered across half his face. "You look real good in this shit. Your wolf oughta be proud he's got such a gorgeous fox to come home to." I was slobbering precum all over, so intensely turned on but so almost repulsed. Buck could see the look on my face, and he glared back. He also adjusted himself; those pants were fitted just right to let me know he had a stiff one.

"Pull the skirt up. That way, we can both watch." Buck came around to the side of the bed and loomed over both of us. Me, and Hawk.

I leaned up and turned Hawk's face back to mine. "Hi. Remember me? You're supposed to kiss me," I said, conjuring up as sleazy and tawdry a bedroom voice as I could. Hawk looked blank and feral towards me. I leaned my head up a little and licked him across the snout. "Like this."

WHACK! I didn't know what hit me at first. I just flinched and scrunched up my face as the left side stung. Buck looked awful and sour, then started to lift That Fucking Sword. He and Hawk exchanged dagger looks.

Then Hawk turned and pounced away from me, right onto Buck. He actually got to a crouch on the bed and sprang for the other wolf. That knocked Buck right flat onto his back with a big guttural huff. Buck then quivered in place, gloved hands clutching at air as if he couldn't breathe. Poor thing had the wind knocked out of him.

Hawk pinned him to the floor by his shoulders. "Mmm, guess I don't have to strangle you just yet," he snarled, then let out a yelp as he rolled out of view from me and there was a hard thump. Buck gasped and launched himself back at Hawk and they rolled around on the floor, punching and snarling and Biting. I'd never seen anything like it.

The sword. It lay on the ground, and they'd scooted away from it in their pummeling fur-ball. A leathery fur ball. I hurried to the edge of the bed and picked up the sword, finally keeping it away from Buck for good. At least, that was my intention.

I had seen someone get beaten up before. That was vicious and terrible and traumatic. This was not that. This was more of a wrestling match, albeit between two oversexed wolves in very expensive leather clothing. At the very least, I wanted to save Buck's outfit from being ruined before he had a chance to enjoy it. If you are thinking that I really wanted to save it so that I could enjoy him in it, you're also correct.

On the other hand, it was amusing to watch them wrestle around and growl and swear and act like wild animals. They were fighting over me!

They were fighting over me. "Guys, you don't have to-"

Then Hawk grabbed the sword out of my hand. I wasn't really brandishing it properly. I was really holding it quite limply, because it was a Fucking Sword. I would have done the same to a gun. Which, by the way, Hawk was carrying in a hidden holster that was not so hidden any more.

Before I knew what was happening, he had Buck pinned to the floor on his back, with a sword up against his adam's apple. "I came over here to see you in your pretty little pirate costume, and I also came over here to see your fox. I came over here to fuck your fox, and I'm gonna do it my way. I'm not gonna fuckin' do it with you breathing Kraken down my fucking NECK. You understand me?"

Hawk took the sword away from me because I was a foolish little foxy and was too busy gawking at all the action. So I took his gun away while he was busy being a genuinely bad person.

Click.

"This is a single action revolver. A very big single action revolver. That means that now that I've cocked it, if either of you do anything more stupid, I will shoot you even faster," I said. "Also, it's Hawk's gun. Well? Does it feel good? Now put the fucking sword down and get out of here! No one's fucking me! No one's playing stupid games where they turn the tables and get revenge for some weird-ass wolf's fucking felonious bullshit he pulled out in the middle of fucking nowhere a month ago! Okay? I am not a fucking toy! I'm not a thing! I'm not some sort of, some sort of prey object, some little bunny rabbit, although I know both of you like foxes a lot and that is very fucking unnatural for wolves! I BOUGHT THAT FUCKING OUTFIT FOR HIM WITH MY OWN GODDAMN MONEY!" I started shaking the gun, because I was shaking.

Hawk pulled the sword away from Buck's neck and put his hands up. "Don't be a fucking idiot."

"I'm not a fucking idiot! I have two more things to say and this isn't one of them yet! Number one! I used to shoot guns with my dad as a kid. Number two! I can't remember how to put the fucking hammer back, goddamnit!" Then I set it down on the bed.

"Wanna see something scary?" The black wolf said, picked up the gun, put it to his head, and pulled the trigger.

CLACK.

The startle hit me after the fact, and everything got spotty. Buck, on the other hand, fainted and hit his head on the carpet with a thump, then rolled it a few seconds later and made an awful snorting sound.

"You think I'm gonna carry a fully loaded revolver on me? You think I'm stupid? I'm not stupid. I'm from fucking Brooklyn. I keep one bullet in it and the chamber only rotates one fucking way. That way, if I actually need to shoot someone, I can, but I'm not gonna do it unless I need to. And I don't wanna need to. You can be very fucking sure of that." Then he reached back and put it back into the hidden holster. "You get brownie points for taking a gun from a fucking wolf. You're some fox. I'd buy you a drink but Jack Sparrow here probably drank the rest of it."

Buck sat up and grunted, then got to his feet. "I only had three shots of it. I'm not gonna stagger around the house drunk with a sword. That's a real sword."

"You wanna tell me why you have a real fucking sword?" Hawk crossed his arms and stood there.

I, meanwhile, put my face into my hands. "I wasn't kidding. You should leave," I said, in a small but serious voice devoid of any trademark bitchiness.

"You want me to leave? You put my coat away. You go bring it back," he said, head over his shoulder, still cross-armed. Buck stood up and resumed his usual non-pirate stance, which paradoxically worked better as it made him look actually disgruntled and not cartoonish. "As for you, answer the question. I'm sure we both want to know. Your little fox toy here was pretty wide-eyed about it."

I did not budge.

"I'm not going to buy some stupid fantasy sword and hang it on the wall. I'm going to buy a real sword. So I did."

This anticlimactic answer seemed to sate things a bit. Hawk no longer was trying to attack Buck. Buck was no longer trying to force Hawk to fuck me. I was no longer completely terrified. I did go get Hawk's coat, though.

He took it from me and slung it around his shoulders. No shirt. What a wolf. I caught Hawk thinking the same thing, because I knew the stare he was giving the other lupine. He gave it to me often enough.

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna fuck you. You don't want to fuck? Fine. I don't do real nasty shit any more. I grew up. You know what's more fun than forcing people to do what you want? Finding people that'll do what you want because they like it. That way, you don't actually have to put any real work into it. You can just sit there and talk shit at them and they'll suck your cock until it explodes while they put their effort into crying for you." Hawk then headed for the door.

I let him grab the doorknob before I spoke up. "I might have overreacted a little bit back there," I said, and held my tail in front of my skirt. My leather skirt. I tingled a little even if I wasn't exactly hard any more. "I mean, you did give me that reference for Oscar guy."

"Are you saying he doesn't have to leave? This isn't your house. It never was. You rented it. I own it now," Buck said, or rather, he grunted.

Hawk turned around and looked between us. "You gonna let him talk to you like that?"

"Yes. He's my weed dealer and frankly, I think I need to get baked off my ass after all that."

Buck grunted again.

I suppose the fun thing would be to end up as the fox meat in a wolf sandwich. And technically, I did end up in bed, between two wolves. However, they were both fully dressed, very stoned, and talking to each other with me in between them.

"I gotta say, that fucking Polack bear did a number on your fucking outfit," Hawk said. "It's real nice. That's fucking amazing. I can't do pirate shit. I leave that to Al."

"Al?"

"Yeah, this maned wolf."

"What the fuck's a maned wolf?"

"Ever see some some fox and think jesus, that's a big fox, really fucking tall, all legs and arms and bony stuff, but he has a wolf tail instead of a fox. You ever see that? You can't have both at the same time, it's the wrong species or something, so it's not a fox. But if you call him a fox, he gets real pissed off. He's kinda bratty. Kinda like your fox," Hawk said. He didn't have a shirt on. I wanted to touch his chest.

"Hi, I'm right here," I said. Just for good measure, I clung onto his arm. Hawk's arm. Buck gave me a dirty look.

"Yeah? And you're a fox. I think this worked out pretty well. I got to go show my weird-ass car off to some people. Then, I got to come over here and help you jack off to your little cuckold fantasies, I got to get in a fight, I got to put a gun to my head and scare the fur off your fucking tail, and now I'm stoned off my ass. All for free." Hawk gave me a look that said he wanted to fuck me but was too languid to move.

"Yes, I am indeed a fox."

"You're a messy looking fox. Not one of those pretty european red ones."

Hmmf. I turned to Buck.

Grunt. Of course.

"You know I'm dating a fox, right?"

"Of course you are! Why wouldn't you be cheating on your boyfriend with another fox. In front of that fox's boyfriend! Because that fox's boyfriend is trying to force you to do it!"

Hawk cut in before I could deploy my attitude. "That was a fun little wrestling match back there. You're a real physical wolf. You fight a lot? I know support groups for that shit. For that first shit."

It was like playing tennis! With wolves. Buck looked completely aghast when I switched back to him.

"What? How do you-"

"You fuckin' blurted it out while we were getting high from your bike pump or whatever the fuck that thing was. I run the First Dawn chapter here. You ever hear of a guy named Harley Benson? He's the business brains behind it. Also, in case anyone gives me any shit, he'll go stare at their houseplants and make 'em wilt. That lion could make a rock bury itself back in the ground."

"I don't need a support group," Buck said, and his voice was very small. Uh-oh.

"Yeah, well, just playing yenta. You know I didn't know until I was in my twenties? My dad didn't fucking tell me. He didn't tell my mom, either. He says he didn't even know himself. I don't think that's possible. He's kind of a jackass."

"It certainly runs in the family," I said, to try and break the tension. Buck snorted.

Hawk shrugged. "Thanks for breaking that shit up. I'm a bad wolf," he said, equal parts sputter-chuckle intoxicated mock-shame and actual admission. "I really have a fucking boyfriend. He's even on TV. He's a fucking meteorologist."

Buck's hurt wild animal look faded and he cocked his head like a dog. "Meteorologist?"

"You know, forecasts the fucking weather?"

"I'm not stupid. It's that foxcast guy, right? Chad or something? He's so foxy his last name's Foxx with two x's? He's so adorably corny and he won some award for the hurricane coverage? You're dating that guy?"

Hawk smirked, although he seemed incapable of making any other facial expression. "What about it?"

"I bet he's a slut, too."

Oh, wolves.

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