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Stuck in a coffeeshop during a winter storm, the policeman Clint Kendrick settles a teenage lover's quarrel between the barista and her football-star boyfriend.

You know how I sometimes write bittersweet stories about mostly decent people? This is not one of those. This is about a wolf conclusively demonstrating where deer sit in the food chain by putting an upstart buck in his place. Know what you're getting into before you start reading :) this is a it's-just-porn story :3 Set in Cannon Shoals, during the same storm as "Take the long way home."

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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"Riders on the storm" cycle:

1. Take the long way home
2. The tough guy
3. All along the watchtower
4. The Oregon rain

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"The tough guy," by Rob Baird

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"They say they're feelin' the storm all the way up to British Columbia. Bad out there?"

The question had been directed at Clint Kendrick -- like he cared, and like they were at a bar instead of Stach's Grounds. Warm, if slightly shabby, it was the oldest coffee shop in Cannon Shoals. "Ain't great, no," the wolf said.

"Last time it got this bad, was near winter 'fore we'd cleared out the storm damage." Clint didn't know the otter who was speaking; he looked like he could've been a fisherman, but in the Shoals that wasn't saying much.

"I know. Deal with it later, I guess. For now, I'm just happy to be out of it."

"It's not that much. Just a little rain and stuff." This was the opinion of a young buck in a lettered jacket -- he had to still be in high school -- who volunteered an opinion nobody had asked for. Cocky idiot. "Heck, I thought we'd still be practicing. I wanted to."

Clint rolled his glinting yellow eyes. "It's a force six gale, and getting stronger. Ain't much worth bein' out in that for."

"What, afraid of the wind, copper? I've seen worse, and I didn't get so sensitive about it. Come on..."

The wolf decided that the best course of action was to ignore him. Wasn't worth picking fights. He'd gotten off the graveyard shift at the station and spent the day helping some of the waterfront businesses secure their windows -- all he wanted to do now was go home.

Ordinarily he would've walked the half-mile back to his apartment. Now, with the wind and all, it seemed the height of foolishness. He'd get one of his friends to drive him back when the coffeeshop closed, which wasn't that far off.

Until then he was content to pick slowly at a muffin and sip at cooling coffee nearly as black as his fur. Also, to watch the lone employee at work: a young doe with a nice rack and big, soft eyes. He'd only ordered the muffin to get her to bend over, but it was more than worth the price of admission.

She drifted back over to him. "Anything else, Mr. Kendrick? Before I close down?" It was, after all, about that time: most of the other patrons, the otter included, had left, choosing to brave the weather. It was only him, the server, and the buck.

"Guess I'm good..."

"Did you like the muffin?"

He'd split it down the middle, and one half was completely untouched. The other half at least had signs of damage from the wolf's teeth. Marionberry muffins were the shop's signature dish. "Pretty tasty."

"Not good enough to finish it, I see..." She had an impish, teasing smile -- the kind of smile that clearly netted plenty of tips. "Eyes bigger than your stomach?"

"That'd be hard," the buck from a few seats down scoffed. "Wait 'til you start serving donuts."

Jesus, you fucking shithead, don't try me. He was only doing it, Clint felt certain, because he was safe. Maybe late at night, on a desolate street trying to start something with a cop would end badly. In a coffee shop, with the two of them sitting at the counter having a drink? What was the risk? "You're not... looking for trouble, are you?"

"He's just being silly," the barista said, and patted the wolf's paw. "Did you still want to work on the muffin, Mr. Kendrick?"

The doe kept her hand over his, looking at him oh-so-goddamn-cutely and awaiting his answer. "Nah. You want the other half?"

Her head tilted. "Really?"

"Wouldn't want it to go to waste. Besides, it's free food..."

"Is this how you tip?" she asked with a giggle. "I dunno, I did skip lunch..."

"See?" He spun the plate to present her with the undisturbed half. "I cut it with the knife, even. Didn't use my paws or nothin'."

"Yeah? No wolf germs, Mr. Kendrick?"

"Nah, I'm clean."

She licked her lips, eyeing the muffin, and plucked one of the marionberries from the plate. "Very gentlemanly of you!"

The buck -- Clint realized that they must've been a couple, from the way he'd stuck around when everyone else left -- shook his head. "You don't need that, Tay."

"Skipped lunch, though..."

"It's all carbs. It's not good for you."

Clint snorted. "Yeah, you a doctor now? Christ, Professor Paleo, let her have a goddamn muffin in peace." No. Calm down, Clint. Remember what the chief said... "Ah, I mean -- it would just get thrown out, otherwise."

"Then throw it out, Tay. Why don't you shut this place down and we can leave?"

The doe's name, according to her nametag, was Taylor. Her fingers wavered uncertainly on the chunk of muffin she'd broken off. "It's already mostly done... are you ready to go, Mr. Kendrick?"

Clint looked over his shoulder, at the torrential downpour of what the radio had called a 'strengthening typhoon.' "Guess I ain't gonna stay dry no matter when I leave."

She gave in to the temptation of the muffin, and took the opportunity to use him as a shield for the buck's disapproval. "You don't have to go."

"Might as well, though. Gettin' late. You are closed, after all."

"You're not keeping us," the girl said. "And with the weather like it is..." She didn't have to finish: major storms were rare, but the Pacific was not to be trifled with when something had made it angry.

The other kid was less persuaded. "If he's got places to go..."

But he didn't, not really. Officially, although he was still in uniform the policeman was off-duty. And pretty much everyone in Cannon Shoals was smart enough to have headed inside and boarded up their windows; the station itself was quiet. "I don't," the wolf admitted. "You sure you don't mind?"

"No, not really," she reassured him, and the doe had the kind of servile bubbliness that made it believable. Besides, it gave her an excuse to finish his leftover snack.

Clint shook his head at the driving rain; he'd been planning on walking home, as he usually did, but that was across town and hardly seemed worth it. "Thanks."

"No problem. You want another cup?"

"Sure."

Her boyfriend was far less chipper about the ordeal. "Get me one, too." The order had just the hint of an edge, like he was trying to assert himself.

Kids. Clint Kendrick was long since out of high school; he had no desire to get involved in their drama. Ignoring the buck's crossed arms, he checked his phone. Dan Hayes would be getting off duty in an hour or so -- they didn't live particularly close to one another, but he was sure Hayes would be willing to drop him off.

Taylor set his mug of coffee on the counter. "There you go! No cream or sugar, like before. What about you, Jordan? The usual?" When the buck nodded, she filled the mug with milk and added a few cubes.

Stach's Grounds wouldn't have passed muster in Seattle, Clint guessed, but the strong coffee was plenty good enough to keep a man awake. It was also good enough to be drunk straight, if you weren't a goddamn pussy. No accounting for taste, though.

She made some hot chocolate for herself. Then, her job done, Taylor propped her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. The metal of her thin bangles caught the light as they slid from her wrists down along her soft fur.

"Nice flair."

The doe had nice big ears, cupped and round like leaves. She didn't seem entirely to have grown into them. But it was a cute look, particularly when she flicked them so shyly. "You like them? My uncle's work."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Hammered Colorado silver. My uncle's a jeweler. He even goes and finds his own silver and stuff. Hey, you want to see something else?"

Clint didn't know the first thing about jewelry. "I guess?"

"Really?" Taylor set her mug down and reached carefully into her shirt. She pulled from it a pendant, secured on a fine-linked chain. "He made this, too. Go on, take a closer look."

Taking a 'closer look' meant getting near enough that he could smell the doe's perfume, and the scent of coffee and hazelnut on her apron. "Alright..."

"No, take it. See the letters?"

The object was made of silver, too, rippled and patterned from the hammering. He could feel the doe's body heat lingering between his fingers as he turned the pendant over. "No? What am I lookin' for?"

"It's got a quote written on it!"

If this was true, Clint's vision wasn't good enough to pick it out. He tilted his head, stretched out to get a bit closer -- and heard Jordan grunt. "She can just tell you, how's that?"

"Don't be mean, Jordan."

"Hey, who's being mean?" The buck sounded a little bitter, nonetheless. "I'm just trying to figure out whether he needs to taste your necklace, that's all."

Taylor sighed, and took it back from the wolf. "Sometimes, you know... I was just trying to show him Uncle Howard's work. Somebody ought to appreciate it. You didn't..."

"Yeah, he was definitely appreciating something."

Just sit down, be calm... think happy thoughts. Meditate. "It's a nice necklace," Clint said. "That's all. He must be a good jeweler."

"He is. Oh, goodness, I hope he's safe, though -- he lives up closer to the hills. The road washes out really easily. You ever see it this bad?"

"Not often, no."

"Me either." She was looking past him at the window: the rain was so heavy it was hard to see across the street, and the harbor light's glow was all but invisible. "Pretty wild..."

"Yep," Clint agreed.

"You're from the Shoals, aren't you?"

"Born and raised."

Taylor smiled. "Me, too."

"Really? Haven't seen you before."

"I just got the job two weeks ago! Mom asked Ian if he needed any help. Do you know mom? June Sutton?"

Clint nodded. He didn't know them personally, but Eric Sutton's boat had capsized earlier in the year and he'd needed to be airlifted to the hospital. "Yeah, of course. How's your dad doing?"

"Better. He's pretty much recovered, thanks."

"Remember that was pretty rough."

She nodded, a bit theatrically -- her head moving in a broad arc that ruffled her ruddy hair. "Yep. I was in school when we got the news... Jordan drove me home. He even missed the game on account of it. He's on the football team, you probably knew."

The wolf hadn't actually divined that, although it explained the buck's muscles and his letter jacket. Together with his slicked-back hair, the effect was somewhere between idiot greaser and idiot going as greaser for Halloween.

It was hard to figure out who he intended to be impressing with the look. Even in Cannon Shoals the high school sports program was too small to care about. But Clint did the polite thing, and nodded. "Go Captains."

"It was still pretty scary," Taylor said, continuing with her story. "But you know what gets me? Everybody was so nice. Not just Ian. You cops, the guys at the IGA... Father Noyes, he was really helpful to my mom." She clasped her mug of hot chocolate tighter, and sighed. "Good people, here."

That was what they said, at least. Clint, who had never spent more than two straight days outside the town apart from camping trips, had no evidence to the contrary.

Half an hour of conversation later, Taylor had joined him on the customer's side of the counter. None of the things she wanted to talk about were particularly substantial -- the storm, the town, her plans for Halloween -- and the wolf wasn't quite certain why she seemed so bubbly about the whole thing.

Neither, from his increasingly sullen demeanor, was Jordan. Clint had the feeling that his presence was going to provoke an argument sooner rather than later. When he checked his phone, though, there was a message from Dan saying that he'd been delayed.

"You can stay," Taylor said. The rippling glare of lightning added its own opinion of the suggestion. "Especially if it's starting to do that."

"What, thunder? You think he can't handle a thunderstorm?"

"I'm sure he can handle it," Taylor rolled her eyes, giggling either at her boyfriend's obstinacy or the wolf's storm-weathering abilities. "But I think it's polite not to send him out in one. I'll make some more coffee. The same? Black?"

Clint nodded.

"Make mine black, too," Jordan added.

It was, Clint felt, just about the stupidest way possible to show off. The buck was making a singularly poor impression: who the fuck postured over a goddamn coffee?

She'd finished pouring their refills and was just opening her mouth to speak when lightning struck again. This flash was brighter: nearby. Taylor shrank back, closer to the wolf -- almost touching him, and close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body by the time a rolling crash of thunder shook the coffeeshop. "Oh, goodness!"

"Just lightning," he told her. "We're safe inside."

Jordan was looking at the two skeptically. "But shouldn't the police be, like, outside?"

"What?"

He gestured to the door. "Cleaning up storm damage or something?"

"Storm damage? Get over yourself."

The buck shook his head. "You said you were going to go home, I thought. And now you're saying you can't? "

Fuck you, Clint thought. You and your fucking 'storm damage.' But Chief Pacheco had been getting on him about his temper, so the wolf tried to remain calm. "Well, maybe when it gets a bit nicer I'll -- the hell?"

The bridge of his muzzle was suddenly wet. Taylor looked over at him. She reached out to tap his muzzle with her finger, brushing it dry, and then tilted her head back to follow the drop to its source. "Skylight," she explained.

"Is it open?"

"Probably just needs to be latched tighter. That's what Ian said yesterday when it was leaking. It screws down, but it's a pain... oh, hold on."

Taylor scampered off; he heard rustling, and a few thumps, and then the doe returned with her arms wrapped awkwardly around a tall stepladder. Turning her eyes back to the ceiling, she set the ladder into position. She had not checked to make sure that it was stable, though; Clint took the initiative, nudging the ladder's feet until it no longer wobbled.

"Oh. Thanks!" She smiled, and then clambered up a few steps, until she could retrieve a long pole that hooked into the skylight's latch. She twisted the tool experimentally, frowned, and tried again. It appeared to take some degree of effort.

"You want some help?" Clint offered.

"It's okay." Taylor grunted, putting all her young muscles into the device. Her foot wedged into one of the steps for leverage. "Can you hold the ladder, though?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Jordan scoffed. "Of course he can."

Jesus. Get the fuck over yourself. "You're welcome to if you want, kid."

"Kid? Who are you calling --"

"Jordan," Taylor huffed. "Please."

"Are you gonna help or not?"

Jordan didn't answer Clint's question, so he continued steadying the ladder while she worked. At last she finished turning the screw, and leaned back to inspect her handiwork. Her head tilted first one way, then the other. Satisfied, she reached up to put the tool back in place -- then momentarily lost her sense of orientation.

He noticed it in a little surprised jerk of her body, and by the time she'd realized it enough to let out a startled cry Clint had already put up a paw to steady her. "Careful..."

"Thanks," she said, with a relieved gasp.

"Yeah." He'd caught Taylor just above the hip, and what with her stretched out enough to pull her t-shirt up his black fingers were splayed against bare, sienna fur. Not like he'd had a choice, really, but it wasn't entirely appropriate and he started to pull away as soon as she had her balance back.

Before he could, though, Jordan spoke up. "What are you doing?"

"What's it look like? Helping."

"Why don't you back off?"

Keeping his paws fixed in place, one on the ladder and one on the doe, Clint turned to look over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You heard," Jordan replied. The buck's arms were tightly crossed, and he'd tilted his head slightly forward to raise the profile of his antlers. "Back off."

"Jordan, it's okay."

"Tay, seriously," the buck snapped. "Get down already, anyway. And you, what the hell? Get your hand off her."

Clint did not. Instead, he considered his options. They were just teenagers; dealing with Jordan was not worth his time. There was no reason to escalate the situation. He could just walk away. Be nice and calm.

"Hello? Hand off."

"Shut your fucking mouth," Clint said.

"What?"

"Hey. Guys." Taylor slipped away from Clint's paw and, still holding the tool, she hopped gently back to the floor of the café. "Calm down. It's alright."

Jordan ignored her, fixing his eyes on the wolf. "You should go home."

"No! C'mon, Jordan. He doesn't have to. He was just helping me."

"Like hell he was. The way he was looking at you?"

There were lots of ways to be the bigger man, and Clint was rapidly losing patience with the ones Chief Pacheco's self-help books advised. He kept his muzzle uncurled for one last attempt. "Maybe I should let her fall next time?"

"Maybe you shouldn't feel up my girl, mutt. You think I'm scared of you?"

The thought hadn't even crossed the wolf's mind. And ordinarily, his uniform was enough to discourage the more stupid among the civilian populace. "What, are you lookin' to be?"

It was the wrong reply, and a bald challenge to the buck. Jordan bristled and pushed himself roughly from the counter chair, landing on his feet with a dramatic, heavy thud. "I suggested you go home. This time I'm not suggesting. Back the hell away from my girl, and get out."

"Jordan..."

"No. I'm not going to have some power-tripping dog think he can do whatever he wants here, Tay. He can walk home. You give these guys an inch and they just -- I mean, you gotta stand up to them."

Even if he'd wanted to take the kid seriously, his bluster was too much. Between the lettered jacket and his glare and his thick-muscled arms he looked like a fucking caricature. Clint's snorting laughter dripped the derision that came from facing down a West Side Story extra.

"You think I'm funny?"

Clint smirked. "No."

"I'm serious."

"Yeah. When you're a Jet, man, you're a Jet all the fuckin' way."

He saw Jordan's hands bunch into fists. "You want to take this outside?"

Take it outside? Christ. It was like he'd wound up in a particularly dumb after-school special. "No," Clint said, and returned to his seat at the counter. The black wolf turned slowly, and gave a heavy sigh so Jordan could know just how tired he was of dealing with the buck's attitude. "Here's what gonna happen. You're gonna sit your ass down, and you're gonna grow the fuck up, and you're --"

"I don't need to do shit."

Clint raised his voice and carried on: "gonna finish your coffee and stop trying to play tough guy."

"That's not a bad --"

Taylor didn't get a chance to finish before Jordan took two steps forward and shoved the wolf with both hands. Even prepared for it, the buck was strong enough that Clint found himself briefly off-balance; he had to grab the counter to keep from being knocked to the floor.

But then he was on his feet, facing the fuckin' dumbass with an exasperated glare and an expression that should've warned the kid off -- had he not been so fucking oblivious. He had both fists up, waiting; when Clint didn't oblige him he finally swung, and the wolf stepped back easily. "I'm not in the mood. You sit down now and we can --"

Jordan lunged. He had youth on his side, and the kind of muscles a compensating prey animal picked up on the football team -- but he was still a young, hormonal idiot, and there was nothing his coach could've done to fix that. He fought like he'd learned it from the movies.

And Clint did not. When Jordan came for him again, head lowered, the wolf twisted to let the kid's substantial momentum carry him straight into the counter. He grunted, with the wind knocked out of him, and Clint jerked his knee up sharply to catch him just above the belt. The buck doubled over; an elbow to the back was enough to send him to the floor.

"Stay down," he ordered sharply.

Instead, Jordan started to struggle back to his feet. Too young to know when he was outclassed, and too proud to do anything about it even if he had known. Well, that was his problem: Clint brought his boot down heavily, and the buck grunted and collapsed.

"I said stay. The fuck. Down." Just in case, of course, he had the handcuffs ready. While the poor bastard was still stunned Clint hauled his arms back and cuffed his wrists together. "What kind of special fuckin' stupid are you? Pick a fight with a goddamn cop..."

He straightened, and caught sight of Taylor. The doe's eyes were wide, and her big round ears had pinned. "What..."

"He do that often?"

"No..." she murmured. "Just... sometimes..."

Clint shot her a look. "The fuck kind of answer is that?"

"Sorry, uh... um..." She was still in shock -- of course, then, the fight had taken all of twenty seconds and now her idiot of a boyfriend was a panting hulk on the floor. "That time of year? In the fall..."

Oh, of course that's it. Of. Fucking. Course. "Really, Jordan?" His voice was scathingly dry, scornful enough that it cut through the buck's daze. "You see any fuckin' antlers on my head, dipshit? You thought I was gonna fight you for her?"

His legs kicked until he found enough purchase to roll onto his side and fix the wolf in a glare he hadn't earned the right to employ. "Fuck you. I saw the way you --"

"'Looked at her,' yeah, yeah. I know; you said."

"Well?"

What was he expecting? As far as Clint was concerned, the buck's decision to brawl had ended any need for decorum. Learning the proper relationship between wolves and deer was a good life lesson, anyway. "Taylor, get over here." He pointed at the floor next to him.

Uncertainly, the girl obeyed. Glancing between Clint and Jordan, she finally clasped her hands before her apron. "Ah... yes?"

He wasn't sure how far he really wanted to take it, but as long as she was there the doe was at least worth another glance. This time, he lingered, and he was keenly aware that Taylor wasn't doing much to dissuade him.

"The hell are you doing?" Jordan asked.

"Tryin' to figure out what part you thought I was lookin' at." She did have a nice figure, delicate with cervine grace. She'd knotted the apron to keep it from smoothing her curves. He could just about imagine the feel of that nice, yielding flesh in his paws. "You go for the tits, Jordan? That your game?"

"You motherfucker." He kicked again, toppling a chair over but failing to get to his feet. "You fucking --"

"No?" Licking his muzzle, the wolf let his gaze drop a bit. Her skirt was a nice stopping point: it was long enough to pass for demure, but not long enough to properly conceal her shapely legs nor demure enough to make the twitch of her little tail any less provocative. "Spin around for me, Taylor."

She, also, didn't seem to know how far he was planning on going. The girl hesitated, so Clint gave her a helping paw to nudge the process along. When he touched her side, her ears flicked. "Look, uh..."

"Not in the mood," he interrupted. Taylor took a deep breath and twisted in a slow circle that hinted nicely at her pert, round ass. Clint and Jordan could both see it, but only the wolf was in a position to do anything. He grinned: "That it, stud?"

"You've made your point," he hissed.

"Have I?" The wolf took a step forward; at the sound of his footfalls Taylor halted, her back to him. He put a paw to either side of her hips, low enough that it gathered the fabric of her skirt when he moved upwards. The doe tensed, rigid... but she didn't stop him. "Ain't sure, you know..."

"You've made your point," Jordan repeated. This time the tone was sharper, though, and aware of its own weakness.

"Well, now... the way I see it, I guess I did fight you for her..."

"Don't you dare." Jordan finally managed to get his knees under him, wobbling unsteadily upright.

"And I kinda... well. Won, didn't I?"

"Leave her!"

Rumbling thunder masked his mocking laughter, and by the time it had faded the moment was gone. Instead, Clint shrugged. "Make me."

Jordan's attempt at a tackle was more ambitious than effective -- he lurched, and grunted a bitter oath when the policeman's boot sent him back to the floor. "I'll fucking kill you! I'll fucking --"

"What?"

He was in an awkward crouch: on his knees, with his nose jammed into the floor. "If you touch her, I will fuck you up."

The touching line had already been crossed, clearly, but the teen was too addled to be thinking straight. Clint rolled his eyes and let Taylor go. Grabbing one of Jordan's antlers, he pulled the buck upright. "Try that again?"

"Don't -- make me -- do --"

The wolf switched his paw to the other antler, and used it to slam the hardheaded deer into the counter. "Look," he growled sharply. "I get that you're young, and full of hormones, and dense as a fuckin' post."

Jordan reeled, but started to struggle again as soon as his wits began to return. "You don't... you don't have any right to --"

Another impact thumped a bit more sense into him -- Clint hoped. If nothing else it shut him up. "Yes I do, stud. You know why? You know what the food chain is, you dumb little James Dean fuck?"

"What?"

"Food chain. Now, I'm a wolf. I know what I eat. What about a deer? Hm?"

"Well --"

"You don't know?"

"I --"

"Fine." Clint held him in place with one paw on the buck's antlers, jerking his zipper open and undoing his belt with the other. "Let's find out, shall we?"

"What are you..."

"What's it look like?" He shoved his trousers down with his briefs, revealing a jet-black sheath with a bit of slick red flesh already exposed. "Go on."

"I'm not going to --"

"Yes, you are." Clint slammed him into the counter again, and the buck whimpered. Guess that's why they got those hard fuckin' skulls. "Go on."

"I --"

He opened his mouth to protest, and so Clint pulled his head down to force the tip of his cock between the buck's lips. "Go. On. And if I feel teeth, you're losin' 'em."

Jordan shuddered at the taste of the other man's half-stiff prick in his mouth, tangy with canine precum and thick with the wolf's musk. He tried to pull back, but Clint held him in place until he started to get the right idea.

At last he felt the deer's tongue press against him -- a nice, strong tongue at that. "There you go. See?" Judging by the pressure he was trying to spit the wolf out -- but at least it was progress.

Clint rocked his hips gently to help Jordan along, sliding his stiffening length over the tight pressure between the man's unwilling tongue and the roof of his mouth. The assistance was less than appreciated: the buck kept struggling, until a warning jerk on his antlers reminded him of the consequences and he settled down.

Besides, nothing he could do would keep the wolf from swelling ever-thicker in his mouth, until his cock was at its full length and more than stuffing his maw full. A good several inches still bulged in front of the buck's soft nose.

For the moment Clint was content to let that wait. He used his grip to guide the buck in a steady, bobbing pace that Jordan fought with decreasing resolve. At last he was carrying it on his own, slurping messily over the wolf dick that muffled any protests he might still have had.

Clint patted his cheek rewardingly. "Wasn't so hard, tough guy. Ain't all that good at it, but hell. You'll learn. Like it, don't you?"

The grunted reply seemed less than enthusiastic.

Clint snorted, and rocked his hips sharply to bury his cock all the way in, tip grinding against the back of the buck's throat. Jordan choked and fought a little, so he held himself there for a few seconds before pulling back. "Try again. You like it, don't you?"

Taylor hadn't bothered to intervene; he glanced over at the doe to find that her attention was locked on the wolf's crotch, watching him work smoothly into her boyfriend's maw. When she saw Jordan nod, his surrender complete, her eyes widened with the slightest hint of a telling smirk.

He filed that away for a few seconds so that he could dwell on the feeling of warmth sliding wetly over his shaft. The lack of excitement would've been a bit of a downer, but it drove home his prey's capitulation and that was good for some enjoyment all on its own.

"Now... ain't gonna lie, stud," he told the hapless buck. "Think yer girl was bein' a bit flirty. What with that necklace and all. Could leave well enough alone but... well, you can't, so what do you say I fuck her for ya?"

Unsurprisingly, the notion put a little fight back into him. Jordan shook his head, dragging the heavy, thick cock sloppily over his puffing cheeks. His knees worked, trying to push himself to his feet.

"Aw, tough guy." The wolf snickered at the attempt, let him struggle for a second more, and then growled to bring an end to it. He grabbed his antlers with both paws and tugged Jordan down sharply, crushing his nose into the wolf's crotch.

With no leverage and a mouth full of wolf meat there wasn't much for Clint's conquest to do. He thrashed as the older man thrust roughly, fucking his cock into the buck's muzzle until the last resistance was finally gone and his shoulders sagged limp.

"Thought so." Clint tugged himself from the defeated whitetail, leaving him gasping and panting at the floor. "Stay gold, Ponyboy."

Taylor saw the wolf's attention turn. She saw the look that glinted in his eyes and the heavy shaft that swung between his legs. The doe's ears flicked, and she seemed to finally be apprehending the logical consequence of everything that had come before.

"Turn around," the wolf growled.

She turned around.

At least one of them understood how prey were supposed to behave. Clint licked his muzzle, and when she glanced over her shoulder at him he bared his teeth in a hungry grin. "Hell, you want it, don't you?"

Past the point of denial, she nodded. Her eyes were locked on his, all wide and lash-fluttering, but the evening's teasing had put the lie to her coyness.

So he decided a nod wasn't quite good enough. "Say it."

"I... I do want it, mister wolf."

"Say it so tough guy here gets a fuckin' clue."

Taylor looked to her boyfriend, then back at Clint. She swallowed and took a breath before desire forced the admission. "Give it to me, please. Like... like he can't. I... I don't care what he thinks anymore. I need you."

"Wanna see whatcha been missin' out on, y'mean?"

"Yes." She practically whimpered it. "Show me how a wolf treats his... his prey."

He raised his paw and made a downwards gesture with the flat of his palm. Taylor bent forward, bracing herself obligingly against the counter and wriggling her hips slightly to help him when the wolf tugged at the hem of her skirt to guide it over her curvy butt.

The panties came with it, and she stepped free of both smoothly, widening her stance as she did so. He had the perfect view of her sleek russet pelt. Long, graceful legs drew his eyes all the way up, until: "Get that tail up."

She flicked it playfully, hiking it aloft like a flag. The soft cream of the underside was the same color as her inner thighs and it framed the delicate pink of her lips like a less than honest promise of innocence.

"Aw, good fuckin' god," Clint growled deeply at the sight, whatever qualms he'd had banished instantly. He stepped behind her and grasped his cock, lifting the eager tip until it nudged against the deer's slick, wet warmth.

Taylor let out a whimpering cry as his first jolting thrust pushed a few inches of the wolf's cock inside her. The clinging vise of her silky folds gripped him like a fist. "You're -- I don't think you can..."

He rolled his hips, pushing further into the doe's snug body. "It'll fit," he grunted. "Think you're the first bitch to ask that?"

"But --"

With a throaty snarl he grasped her haunches in both paws and tugged her back as he thrust forward. There was a brief tug of resistance at the sheer size of it before the wolf's cock sank all the way in, slicked by her boyfriend's saliva and his warm precum along with her own juices.

There was still the knot to be dealt with, but he'd cross that bridge when he fuckin' came to it. He gave her a quivering second to adjust before pulling away and plunging back into her, the force of it lifting her rear up a few inches.

"Fits, don't it?" he growled hoarsely.

The doe turned to look at him, her big eyes dark and wide. "Kinda..."

Clint thrust again, watching as a jolt ran up the doe's slim spine and her eyes rolled back for a moment. "Better?" He took her moan as something like a useful answer.

Wouldn't have mattered, anyway. Two more steady thrusts and he gave in to the need to start fucking her properly. Their hips clashed as he pounded into her, slamming the girl's tender folds full of pulsing, hot wolf dick.

His teeth gritted with the effort of claiming her, rutting her tight young cunt in swift strokes that left her squealing. His paws dug roughly beneath her t-shirt, bunching it up as he slid along her short fur to find her swaying breasts. He squeezed the supple flesh in ample pawfuls, groping possessively -- and Taylor squirmed and moaned for him.

"God, you're fuckin' good," Clint told her, pawing at her chest. A quick sideways glance showed him the two still had an audience. The wolf growled his laughter. "Like the show, Jordan?"

The buck couldn't seem to look away. From the floor he would've had a perfect vantage point to see the big man slamming into his girl -- the bulging crimson wolf cock splitting her open as he rammed himself home, all the way up to the knot.

Every time it slid into her the doe's white tail flicked and hiked higher. "Hell, stud, your bitch does have fuckin' great cunt... lookin' forward to knottin' 'er..."

Taylor glanced over her shoulder. "Are you really gonna?"

He made his point with a swift jerk of his hips. "Fuck yeah. Show tough guy over there how it's done. You too." Good, eager slut that she was, Taylor didn't object. "Nothin' like -- like gettin' a knot stuffed into 'em to give a bitch somethin' to remember."

Now, as his knot pumped in and out of her, the doe was whimpering at his every thrust, her stance weakening. She shifted, leaving one hand to brace herself against his fierce thrusts while the other slid down to rub in urgent circles that had her bracelets jingling merrily. Her mouth opened: gasping, panting; begging huskily.

Suddenly the gasps faltered; Taylor held her breath and then keened a deep moan, bucking her trembling hips into the wolf plowing her from behind. "Yeah, cum for me. Show me how much you like that wolf cock..."

She could only manage monosyllables, and since she didn't feel like talking Clint had to do the job of looking over at Jordan. The buck's ears had lowered. His mouth gaped.

Clint grinned viciously. "She's a good little fucktoy, ain't she? Ain'tcha, Taylor?"

Again her inability to form complete words spoke volumes. Clint grunted and started to pick up his pace. He felt her lock up again, quivering and rippling on his shaft -- and the end was so desperately close he could no longer hold back.

He leaned over her, putting his teeth against her ear. "Here y'go. 'S what you wanted, right?" Lifting his hips so the swell of his knot ground into her put the emphasis where it could be nice and clear. "Someone to fuck ya like a dog?"

"Yes," she finally managed, but she still squirmed when he tried to push his knot into her where it belonged. "L-l-like a bitch."

"Good bitch gets tied by her alpha," he growled.

"But..."

His feet dug in as he forced himself up and inside her, her lips bulging as she tried to take the fat, heavy tie. "Good bitch knows to beg for it."

Taylor shuddered and strained as the big wolf bucked against her rump. The doe clenched her teeth and grabbed desperately for the counter, but he wasn't about to be denied and they both knew it. "Tie me, alpha," she wailed.

"Better!"

Clint wrapped his arm around her waist as the quick, feral thrusts fought for entry. She pushed back: "Please! Fuck your knot into me! Do it!" And then a yelp -- almost a bark -- he thudded solidly into her and though his reflexive humping pulled and tugged he was thoroughly trapped.

"Good girl. Oh, fuck -- good girl," he groaned, and bent forward over her as his rapid, confined strokes forced him to the edge. His jaws snapped at empty air once. Twice. "Here it comes, bitch. Here it -- mmf!" He found the scruff of her neck and bit down to muffle the sated groan that seemed to rise all the way from his buried cock.

Taylor went completely rigid, either at the bite or the jets of scalding heat he was suddenly pumping into her. She managed a surprised gurgle that Clint barely had the time to process before her pussy locked tighter still on this twitching cock, spasming to draw the warm seed from him as he flooded her.

His teeth stayed locked as he voiced his claim to the doe in deep grunts, primal and instinctive. Taylor could only shudder in his grasp, taking a load that should've been her boyfriend's. He felt a warm pressure on his balls -- her fingers caressed and squeezed his sac gently, wonderingly, as it clenched with the spurts of creamy wolf cum spilling ever-deeper inside.

It was a good minute or so before he had the presence of mind to let go. It turned out he hadn't broken the skin, although if he'd been worried about marking the deer her reamed pussy would more than do the job. At some point.

"You're not stuck, like... forever, right?"

"Wouldn't you just hate that?" Clint snorted, and patted her fluffy tail. "Does raise a question, don't it?"

"Oh?"

"You thought it wouldn't fit..." The wolf stretched his burning muscles, and looked over to where Jordan sat on the floor, staring blankly. "Here I heard deers was supposed to be packin'."

Taylor swallowed. "I don't... well, we never... uh..."

"Did you not, then? Huh. Fancy that." He was speaking in the buck's direction, and received a telling glower in reply.

"Will he be... okay?"

"Yeah. Probably."

"What if he's not?"

"If he ain't?" Clint let his paws come to rest along the doe's hips and, with Jordan watching, he gave her a firm squeeze. "Call it storm damage."