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You take a breath of the springtime air; you smell pines and water. You can't quite see the waterfront from here, but the forest takes up most of the horizon. If the small house was a little older, it could be on a 'small-town Europe' postcard. Hell -- maybe it would be, given a few years and a better angle.
"You think we can get it in one last load, Nate?"
You pull your head out of the clouds and look in the open hatch of the Peugeot.
"Probably," you say. Lyudmila nods, stretching back to her full height.
"Load me up, then."
You shift the remaining boxes and items around in the back of the little car. You have to crawl partway in -- it's small, but you and Lyudmila managed to fit quite a lot inside. The car is hardly modern, its headliner and fabric stained by time. The paint has faded, and the radio is a bit finicky. But the heart of the car has served the two of you well.
You catch Lyudmila stretching when you turn around. It's her car, so she insisted on driving. Her stature is a little at odds with the compact vehicle, something you think this little road trip revealed to her. You don't bother asking if she'll consider a replacement. It'd be hell on your finances, you've got no idea what the used market here is like, and she's attached to it.
"Did you smell anything funny in there?" you ask her as you load her up with belongings. She grimaces.
"Yeah. Don't think they did a thorough cleaning."
You grunt and send her off with the bulk of the hiking gear; most of it being designed to pack up tight is convenient. You take another look at your new home while she walks up the steps, her tail swaying softly. The price was cheap, especially for the area. The neighborhood around the single-floor house seems nice. The yards are tidy, streets well-kept, and half the people you passed by actually waved. It makes the older building seem like even more of a steal, even if the siding has seen better days. Neither of you have had a tour, since Lyudmila only just got her position at EuroSpace Aeronautics recently. Hopefully the off-smell will be the worst of your problems.
You gather the last bits of your belongings and gingerly close the trunk. The first step onto the walkway gives you pause. The faded facade of the building seems to loom over you as the situation finally sets in. Your wolf girlfriend got a job in a far-off city, and the two of you bought a house together. It was tiny, a bit under the weather, but still a full-on house.
You and Lyudmila are serious.
You chuckle. The years have just slipped by -- both with her and without her. It all seems to have happened so fast. A gust of wind makes you shiver, your shirt wet from sweat; there'll be time for reminiscing inside. The space-heater makes you sigh in comfort. Lyudmila gives you a knowing smile from across the room.
"That all of it?" she asks, coming over to help you unload.
"Yep. Just gonna have to get the furniture from a thrift place or something."
"We may want to wait," she says with a frown, "I think that smell is mold. Best to take care of it before we shove stuff against the walls."
You groan, but nod.
"Any ideas where it's coming from?" you ask, glancing at the bed. "Last thing we need is for the one piece of furniture we managed to bring getting moldy."
"I checked this room, I think it's fine," Lyudmila sighs. "Still surprised we didn't have more trouble with that thing..."
The bed in question is under a pile of boxes at the moment. The two of you managed to tie the box spring and mattress to the roof, covering the whole thing in a tarp to shield it from the rain. It wasn't easy, but it's the one piece of furniture you really need.
"Good," you say, surveying the mess one last time before looking at Lyudmila. She hardly looks like an Instrumentation Officer; the baggy sweatpants and sweatshirt make the Alaskan wolf look more like a college dropout. A weary college dropout, thanks to the patches darkened by sweat. Your eyes linger on the wet gray fabric, darting between the patches on her legs, her underarms, and her breasts. You push the thoughts of arousal down; there's still work to be done. Lyudmila's ears flatten slightly when she catches you staring. She returns your gaze with a soft smile.
"Let's hold off on mold patrol until tomorrow," she says. "We can deal with it in the morning."
"Okay... what do you want to do, then?"
"Rest," she sighs. "Help me with the bed, huh?"
You slide next to her and help clear off the double mattress of boxes and belongings. It's the heavy, awkward stuff, of course. The mattress was the first thing to come off and it's the only raised surface in the whole apartment at the moment. There's no sheets, and after a few words with Lyudmila, you discover that neither of you know where they are. You start peeking into the boxes as you move them, finding little caches of memory and conversation. Clothes, books, Lyudmila's modeling tools. Silverware and special mugs. You and the wolf talk about where each piece will go, the furniture you'll need to look for, and the plan for tomorrow. Then you realize she's stopped.
"Millie?" you ask. "Did you have a specific place you wanted --"
The Alaskan wolf doesn't answer. She's not even looking your way. The wooden box in her hands has her attention, one that you vaguely remember seeing before. It was in a larger cardboard box along with your other belongings -- you imagine she took it out to make moving everything easier. The wood is weathered, the stenciled lettering faded. Lyudmila sits down on the partially-cleared mattress with it in her lap. Her only acknowledgment as you sit down beside her is an arm around your shoulder.
"I -- I forgot I even packed this," she says, running a paw along the rough edges. There's another new smell when she undoes the latches and cracks open the top.
"What's in it?" you ask.
"Stuff from my time in the service," she says. You stay quiet, watching her remove a ziploc of packing peanuts from the top. Lyudmila hasn't talked much about her time as a conscript. It was before she'd come to western Europe, back when she was younger. She didn't hide it from you, but you don't know much about it. All you know is that it was compulsory, and that she'd done something with artillery. She pulls out a few folders filled with yellowed papers. Some are typed, others are handwritten. All of the ink-marks bold and heavy, like the language they're written in.
"Those important?" you ask as she sets them aside, not lingering for very long.
"Not those ones, no. Just entry forms, test results, medical information, those sorts of things."
She chuckles, flipping through another folder filled with more of the same.
"Don't think ESA would accept them. Not sure anyone there would be able to read them."
The wolf goes quiet again when a polaroid comes to the surface. You almost don't recognize her in the photo, kitted out in camo along with a few other service members. They're smiling on some mountain range, the sky a brilliant blue behind them. The earth below is mottled green and brown, hints of industrial machinery dotting the edges of the picture. The only piece you can name is the large artillery battery -- though you don't know what it is aside from a big gun. A small smile creeps onto Lyudmila's face, deepening when she finds a small book near the photo.
"This is from when I was stationed at --" She pauses, ears flattening as she glances at you. "--from when I was in charge of an artillery crew."
The wolf hands you the picture and starts flipping through the small book; the pages are stained and wavy from exposure to water, but the ink has held up over the years. Neat green lines on yellowy tan paper are filled with Cyrillic, sometimes in a standard order, sometimes not.
"And this was my journal," she chuckles. "Doctrine said I was supposed to turn it in, but the monthly inspector never bothered. Just asked if anything happened."
You resist the urge to ask if anything ever did. She paws through the box a little more, and her ears shoot up when she comes across a leather holster.
"...I was definitely supposed to turn this in," she muses, undoing the flap to reveal a bagged-up pistol. You watch as she takes it out and checks the chamber and magazine, both appearing to be clear. She inspects the long slide of the gun, one that you don't recognize. There's a few spots of oil she wipes away with her sleeve, but the blued metal seems fine.
"You going to?" you ask; she roots around in the box a little more, pulling out a small white box stamped '7.62x25mm.'
"Nope."
Lyudmila stares at the gun for a moment before setting it aside with a sigh. You hand her the photo and the journal when she reaches, everything going back into the box.
"You know you can talk about that with me if you want, right?" you say. She offers a faltering smile.
"I know. I just -- there's not much to talk about."
The lid takes a little persuasion to sink into place; her lip curls slightly as she presses down.
"It was mandatory service there, so I did it. Aced my tests, so they put me in charge of an artillery squad. I babysat a few pieces in the mountains. And a few people, too."
A small smile comes back to her muzzle, just for a moment. But it quickly changes back to that frown. The latches clunk into place.
"But now they're gone. Now I'm here. Moving on."
Lyudmila closes her eyes, her head drooping. Slowly, you slip your hand over hers, interlacing fingers and squeezing softly. She leans against you and sighs.
"I'm here too," you whisper. "I-if you need me."
She smiles. Her scent overtakes you when she wraps an arm around you, and her damp sweatshirt presses on your neck. She turns your way with a soft whine to make it a proper hug. You return it as the wolf squeezes you tight.
"I'm glad," she whispers back.
After a few moments, Lyudmila pulls away.
"Let's clear off this bed," she says, "I'm tired."
You nod as she disentangles from you and gets up. There aren't many offending articles left on the double mattress, but experience has shown that the two of you need every inch of space. Finding floor space or something to stack them on is more of an issue. You keep everything in the main room, just to be safe from the mold. Lyudmila grabs your shoulder as you begin popping lids in a search for sheets.
"We can do that later," she says, pulling you up. "Come here."
"Millie, what --"
You freeze when she pulls your hand to her boob.
"I saw you staring," she teases, pressing your hand in tight. "I can't say I'm surprised. A whole day of driving, and an hour or two of working on top of that..."
She pulls you towards the bed, and you've got no choice but to follow. Only when you're sitting next to her does she let you go. Your hand doesn't go anywhere, of course. You massage the soft fabric, squeezing the firm apple beneath it. She looks down at you with a smile, daring you to let loose the pleasured hum that she knows you're holding back. After a moment or two, she lets hers escape as her head falls back.
"Give me that other hand," she says, eyes still closed. You oblige her and cup her other breast, squeezing the sweaty fabric. She hums as you trace her outlines, tucking the sweatshirt in until the curves of her bust stand out. You tuck your fingers underneath, bouncing her slightly. The warmth and sensation of her sweat is what finally breaks you; Lyudmila smiles at your soft moan.
"Knew it wouldn't take long..." she hums. You say nothing as she wraps a lanky arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. Her arms end up around you while you straddle her thigh, your head resting against her shoulder. She moans softly in your ear as you continue your massage. Her breath warms your cheek when she leans into you, her snout over your shoulder. You rub your face into the gray fabric of her sweatshirt, taking in her scent. There's hints of the car, notes of the fries from the fast-food place the two you stopped at on the way here. But it overwhelmingly smells like her, like warmth, musky fur, and sweat.
You gasp when her hand touches your sudden erection. Lyudmila chuckles softly and nips at your ear, her fingers threading through your hair. You struggle to stay still and continue your massage as she begins to do the same to you, her paw roaming over your growing length. A grunt escapes when she begins to squeeze, tucking the fabric so that your member stands out.
"A little taste of your own medicine," she sighs, giving you a light stroke. "How do you like it?"
You stifle a groan. She coos, bouncing her leg lightly beneath you. Her pawpads are firm as they trace your form, finding it twitching and straining against your jeans.
"Millie, please..." you say into her shoulder, getting another whiff of her musk. "We don't know if the washer works or not..."
The wolf laughs. She grabs your waist and pulls you into something resembling a hug.
"Oh, how terrible," she says. "I suppose you're concerned about these sweaty clothes of mine, too, right?"
Your dick stiffens in her paw.
"I thought so..."
Lyudmila pushes you back slightly before you feel soft cotton swish against your face. Then a damp patch is pushed in your face as she hugs you again.
"Yes, isn't that right?" she teases, rubbing her now-discarded sweatshirt in your face. You let the muffled groan fly free now; everything is warm, soft, and it smells like her. She laughs when you grab the garment to press it in harder; you take deep, heavy inhales, feeling her musk fill your lungs. It actually takes her some effort to pry your hands from the bunched-up folds.
"Give me those back!"
She pulls your hands free and presses them back against her breasts, encouraging you to resume your massage. Her tight bra is heavenly under your hands; the entire thing is moist, stretched taunt by the firm breasts beneath. Lyudmila yelps when you squeeze hard.
"Gentle, Hercules!" she scolds. You continue your squeezing and sniffing, exploring the contours of her curves. You can feel the ridges and stitches in the fabric, the tiny, worn buckles. Brushing her fur makes you shiver. It spills just over the top, slicked onto the fabric. It's still soft as you run your thumbs over it and your fingers nestle back to her underboob. The two of you exchange content sounds and touches, Lyudmila's pawpads roaming up and down your form. She pushes at buttons and zippers, but only your shirt ends up slightly undone, your member still straining against the denim. It presses harder when she bucks her thigh beneath you and lays back, pulling you down with her. She hums and shimmies the two of you further onto the mattress. You just continue your soft moans and massage.
"There we go," she says. "We spent all that time clearing this off... may as well use it."
You grunt a muffled response from within her discarded top, still wrapped up in its warmth. She huffs and pulls it off. She smiles down at you, her mane frizzy and glowing in the late-afternoon sun. Her eyes sparkle as she brushes your hair.
"How about I take you to the source?" she asks.
"The sour--" you glance down at her purple bra -- "Yes. Yes, please."
Lyudmila pulls your head into her breasts with a contented sigh. Her musk is even stronger; you nuzzle into her cleavage with a heavy groan, feeling the damp fur and fabric rub against your face. You slump against her and bury your head in as deep as you can. The wolf's arms drape around you gently, while yours run desperately through her now-exposed fur. Her firm muscles are a wonderful contrast to the twin pockets of softness you find yourself nestled between. They heave up around your face as she hums and sighs, stroking you and pulling your shirt away.
Minutes of huffing, rubbing, squeezing and sighing later, Lyudmila starts to chuckle. She bounces her thigh between your legs, much to your developing hard-on's pleasure.
"Sheesh, Nate. You're acting like a horndog!"
You grunt and pull up slightly from her musky valley.
"You're putting my face in your boobs," you say. Millie smiles, running a gentle set of fingers through your hair.
"Oh, I know," the wolf says. "I'm letting you enjoy my big, sweaty, smelly boobs --"
Your hips twitch.
"--but I didn't think you'd start humping my leg from it!"
You bury your face back in her fluffy chest before she can see you blush. Rubbing up against her like that unconsciously certainly wouldn't be out of the question with how excited she makes you.
"You were bouncing your leg," you say into her damp fur. "It's partially your faul --"
The rest turns into a gasp as she bounces her leg again; your whole lower half lights up in pleasure.
"Partially my fault?" she purrs. "You're the one that gets turned on by just smelling me..."
You move to give her a dirty look, but a paw keeps you locked in the wolf's cleavage. Part of you struggles against her, but more of you can't get enough of her. Lyudmila smiles at your low groan, brought on by her rich scent. Your muffled pitch undulates as she slowly strokes you with her thigh, gently bouncing and shifting against your rod. You stifle a gasp when she paws your ass.
"Admit it," she hums, voice dripping like honey. "Tell me you get turned on by my sweat and my scent, Nate."
Her strokes slow to an agonizing pace.
"Admit it, and I'll give you your favorite smell..."
When Lyudmila first found out you had a thing for sweat, it was a little awkward. You were embarrassed, the fact coming out in the heat of an intimate moment. The Alaskan wolf found it a little odd at first, but she's since grown accustomed to it. Even into it -- probably not to being disheveled, but to the reaction it gets from you. She'd tease you with it, turning the heat up high and wearing moisture-wicking shirts when she didn't have work. You'd find her laying fully clothed under the blankets at night. And every time you pulled back the sheets, she'd yank you under and let you bask in her private, pungent cave. Needless to say, this round of teasing wasn't malicious. It wasn't the first and it wouldn't be the last.
Your voice is still shaky when you whisper out your answer.
"I -- I love your scent, Millie. It turns me on..."
"And what about my sweat?" she asks, squeezing her breasts against your face; the damp fur sticks slightly when she lets up.
"I-I love it too."
Lyudmila coos. The wolf's grip on your head loosens until she's just stroking you gently. Her paws shift before you're pushed along her body, nose gliding through her ocean of slickened locks. You know her topography well; you recognize the gentle bumps and the soft pocket, backed by firm muscle. As you come to a stop, Lyudmila's armpit seems to amplify your moan rather than muffle it. Her responding sigh is warm.
Your body nearly goes slack at your first inhale. The wolf's musk is stronger here than her chest, tinged with more sweat. The fluff tickles and sticks to your face. You barely notice her shifting against you, tipping you gently off her body and sliding up beside you. A teasing stroke of your constrained member is the only sensation that overpowers the musk-drunk.
"Wo-ah!" she chuckles, watching you buck at her light touch. "You really do love it down there, huh?"
She clamps down a little on your head, drawing out a grunt of affirmation. Your hands dart roughly to grab her and square up to the side of her body, rub your member on her hips while you take in her smell. The wolf fends you off with ease; her pit hardly even leaves your face.
"Ah-ah!" she scolds, "none of that! No more humping!"
After a few more struggles, you go still. Lyudmila huffs.
"You just lay there on your back, let me take care of everything--"
Your fists clench and a whine escapes as her paw brushes your dick.
"--and hold it in until I tell you..."
You barely last a minute. The Alaskan wolf teases you relentlessly, only ever giving you a single pad or two of her fingers at a time. She doesn't even grasp you. Mere touches of her digits and claws break you. Your breathing pattern is thrown into chaos, your dick throbs and pulses erratically. You almost don't feel the rich sensation of her smell in your lungs.
"M-Millie, please!" you manage. The wolf coos, raking her fingers up your bare chest.
"Already on the edge?"
"I-I've been huffing your f-fur for half an hour now!" you say. "Of course I am!"
You clench your fists as your stinky seductress laughs, tracing meandering patterns on your torso. The sharp breaths of her scent don't help you to control your boner.
"Deep, slow breaths, Nate," she says. "Close your eyes."
The wolf modulates the squeezes of her arm, guiding your inhales. Gradually, her command begins to take. The sweet nothings she whispers change her warmth into something of comfort rather than lust; her scent becomes soothing instead of exciting. The dampness -- well, there's not much you can do about that. But little by little, you regain control of yourself. You find yourself relaxing beside her.
Right up until a paw once more fiddles with your dick. Lyudmila coos and clamps her arm around your head when your groans start up again.
"Calm down," she whispers, fumbling around some more. "I'm only setting you loose. I want to have a little fun with you yet."
It feels heavenly when she loosens your pants. Your belt no longer presses against your head, your button no longer restrains your length in its skyward climb. Your eagerness undoes the first few centimeters of your zipper on its own. But nothing compares to the freeing sensation that Lyudmila brings with a few yanks on your waistband.
"There it is," she coos. She carefully avoids your base as she frees your balls, pulling your pants the rest of the way down. "Grab my boob -- squeeze when you're getting close."
The wolf shivers as you follow her command; the one you give in response to her cupping your dick is much more severe. Even her slight pressure sets your loins alight. Her rough pawpads glide over you with ease, your length slickened with precum. Lyudmila groans as her hand tightens around you.
"Fuck, already?"
Her free hand finds yours, gripping her breast tight. She stifles a grunt or two and undoes her bra; you run your hand over every inch of her freed mounds you can reach, eager for even a tiny form of revenge. Lyudmila takes a sharp breath through her teeth before shoving your hand into place on just one of her tits, pressing it deep into the damp softness.
"Squeeze," is all she says before beginning to stroke.
Even the first one sends cascades of pleasure through you. She goes slow, covering you from tip to base. She pushes gently against every throb and twitch. Your nails dig into her fur as you squeeze her breast, drawing out another hiss and groan. It's a struggle to not buck up into the litany of sensations flowing through you. Lyudmila knows you well, though. She backs off whenever you teeter towards the edge, slowing her pace, loosening her grip. You nuzzle deeper into the pocket of her armpit and flick out your tongue to try and spur her on. The wolf's grip tightens in spasms as you taste her fur; though she might be used to you sniffing around there, the touch of your tongue has always been exciting -- both for her and for you.
The additional sensation of her taste pushes you to the brink. Your pleas are wordless sounds and movements, grunts and desperate twitches and squeezes. Sweat and musk fills your head.
"Alright," the wolf says, "let it out..."
She barely finishes speaking her words before you coat her hand in seed. You feel some spurt between her fingers and spray onto your stomach, the pleasure of release making you see stars. They're certainly not from a lack of air; you savor every pant between moans, trying to slow your breaths to enjoy them more. Lyudmila lets out something halfway between a coo and a groan as she puts on more pressure. It garners some final, shuddering pulses from you, a few last bits of cum coating her hand.
You go slack beneath her pit. The warmth of her fur and the closeness of her body become a comfort once more. Maybe it's from all the moving and lifting, but this session has left you fatigued. You shift into her hand and nuzzle into her scent, pressing your nose lower in her pit; your lips brush against her ribs.
Lyudmila is still sensitive enough that she yelps.
"Hey! Careful!" she laughs. "I'm used to you sucking on my tits, not my ribs!"
You grunt and rub your face into her fur, feeling her jump. The wolf is distracted enough to not object when you tangle her in a hug from the side, keeping your face in her pit. The wetness of her back coats the arm you slip beneath her, working with the mattress to cover your arm in a warm, wet heat. It's enough to make your dick twitch again. But you push the arousal down; you've got to show her how much you appreciate it all. She barely notices your hand gliding along her stomach with all the groping and hugging. The gentle kisses you press to her ribs make her jump and jolt.
Your hand going down her pants elicits a shiver. You feel one in return as your fingers thread through her thick bush, wet locks of fur slipping between your digits. Lyudmila tries to speak but is reduced to stifled whimpers. Her hips are the ones to buck when you rub along the vague outline of her slit. Her sweatpants stick to the back of your hand; whether from sweat or excitement, you're not sure. But you know the sauna-like sensation sends you into a tailspin of pleasure. You groan, getting another whiff of her scented armpit.
"Y-you like that, huh?" the Alaskan wolf manages. She suppresses her shudder when you nod against her ribs. "Hmm... Keep doing it. Sniff me and stroke me..."
Her hand presses down on yours through her pants. She's doing more of the stroking than you, her hips jumping against your palm. You shift against her to get more of your face beneath her arm and hold her tight. Her legs shift against yours as she tries to squeeze your hand, only drawing you away from her entrance in the process, making you cup it. But one finger still presses against the bottom reaches of her folds. You slip it in with a huff, feeling her tighten and squeeze your face into her sweaty scent. Wordless sounds escape her as you guide her hips like a joystick.
Soon, they rise to a growling, panting crescendo. Lyudmila gives your finger one final hump before yanking your hand out of her pants and rolling against you. She drags your face along her bare body as she moves atop you, ignoring your hands and half-muffled protests. Your nose catches on the hem of her single remaining article of clothing. A quick bob of her hips snaps it over and buries you in the damp fabric of her sweatpants. One sniff and you're addicted, hands grabbing her ass and trying to get her to grind down deeper.
The wolf obliges with a rumbling sound, her thighs flexing and rubbing at your chest. The heat, the wet, the dampness is all exquisite. There's no sweat in your warm breaths now, everything taken up by her musk. It's so consuming that you should be afraid of suffocating. But breathing musk is better than breathing air. You drink it in deep, feeling her writhe and thrust above you, her fluids soaking through the sweatpants and coating your face. Her salty taste seeps through onto your panting tongue.
You only slap the Alaskan wolf's ass when you start seeing things other than darkness beneath her. Lyudmila moves off reluctantly, pressing down with one last heavy thrust. The world explodes when she lifts up and shifts, fresh air making her scent tingle along your nose and tongue. You heave and wheeze, grasping blindly for her furry form.
"You good, Nate?" she pants, grabbing your hand and rubbing it somewhere wet. You manage a spluttering nod, the world still a mix of blooming golden hues. The mattress shifts as you blink and rub your eyes; the sound of fabric on fabric fills the air. Lyudmila rubs your cheek and coos. When the world clears, you find her lying next to you on her side with a leg raised. Her sweatpants are nowhere to be seen; the window behind her is awash with the sinking sun, tinges of yellow light frosting her fur. The contrast with her dark fur almost hides her glittering lower lips, protective fur spread wide by a few fingers. Her voice is rich with desire as she commands you.
"Come here."
You crawl to her, renewed. Husky coos escape her as you kiss her lowered thigh, still soaked in sweat and scent. She takes a deep breath when you suck on it. You don't complain when she grabs your rear and pulls you into a sideways 6-9. Then her hand goes to your head, pulling you closer to her heat.
"You want to get at the source of all that scent?" she asks.
"Y-yes..."
Lyudmila closes her legs around your head with a hum.
"Smell, but don't touch."
You keep your nuzzling to her thighs, feeling them rub on the sides of your face. Her intense heat radiates onto your face. You can almost feel her wetness condensating on your skin. And her scent is somehow even stronger than before. It seems more pure, not tainted by the musk of her well-worn sweatpants. You do as she says and huff, filling your lungs with her. Hints of cool outside air mingle with her overpowering emanations.
"That's it," she purrs, a hand going to your dick, "get nice and hard again."
You have no trouble with that order, especially with a paw on your sensitive head. Every breath brings a twitch of your member, bringing it back from the brink pulse by pulse. The wolf keeps a firm hand on you to feel each one. Her pads are already slick from your previous bout of lust. Her thighs begin to rock your head, squeezing and shifting you closer to her core millimeter by millimeter. The closer you get, the stronger her scent; the closer you get, the harder you get. It's not long before your hips twitch against her hands. Lyudmila drops your dick but allows you to thrust, adjusting herself against you once more.
Hot breath washes over your balls.
You squeeze her ass tight, fighting the urge to bury your face in her heat. A desperate groan is inevitable -- especially when she strokes the top side of your dick.
"I think this little fellow might be hard enough," the wolf says. She slowly resists the desires of your dick, stroking slow and drawing it away from your body. Her thighs squeeze when you try to slide forward to her lower lips.
"You're certainly eager enough," she teases, waiting for you to back off. You let out a strained grunt and a few pulses of precum when she pulls your penis away from your hips.
"...but I think I'll have to taste it to make sure."
She muffles your yell with her thighs, drawing you home into her musty depths as her maw closes around your length. Any desire to scream is gone. Now all you need is to bury your face in her and devour her. The way she's clamped down on your dick says she feels much the same. You help each other with clamping thighs, rolling hips, and curled fingers, slowly working out a rhythm of ecstasy. Every bump is bliss, every grind bringing grand sensation. Her musk fills your head and lungs, her taste coats your mouth. Your arms scrabble over every inch of her you can reach to feel her sweaty fur on your skin. The repeated cold taps of her nose on your balls as she takes you all the way in makes your toes curl.
You can tell the wolf's about to cum when she slips and gives you teeth. Your thighs tighten around your head and your limbs tangle with hers. She pops you free with some mumbled apology you can't hear. A hand slips down to your head, pushing you further as she rides harder. You're at the mercy of her bucking hips and strangling scent, unable to move in her grasp. Or maybe it's the lightheadedness that's doing that. You push through either way and give her your tongue, circling, thrusting, lapping.
Lyudmila howls as your face is flooded and your tongue constrained. Your whole head throbs with every wave of her orgasm, her legs tightening and her claws digging into your ass. You almost miss your own release, only noticing when you feel a hand massaging your balls. You hug her hips and press deeper into her damp heat despite your lack of air. The wolf parts her legs to hear your panting groans, and the hints of oxygen make her sensations all the more vivid. You dig your hands in when she sucks on your head to draw every last drop out.
Gradually, you relax onto her thigh, panting into her heat while she plays her tongue along your tip. Each flick brings a wave of pleasure and a weary moan or twitch. Your grip around her hips loosens and your nails let go. You stroke the modest curve of her rear before working your way up, rubbing at the base of her tail. Lyudmila lets out a soft groan as you massage the patch of warmth. Her tail pats gently against the mattress as you thread her sweaty fur between your fingers.
"Millie, please," you whimper. "If you keep licking like that, I'm gonna cum again...."
"Why would that be a problem?" she asks. You ball your hands again as she changes to rubbing her furry snout against your length.
"I'd cum on you, and we haven't tested the shower."
The wolf snorts, letting you go.
"I thought you enjoyed my stink. My sweat turns you on, remember?"
You grunt and pull away, getting your bearings. You shift around to lie beside her right-side up. The wolf is smiling in the dying gold light of the sunset. There's traces of precum on her chest and muzzle; she grabs your hands when you wipe them away, locking you close to her.
"I could miss and cum on the mattress," you say, lazily kissing her nose. She snorts gently before kissing you back.
"Nah. I can handle it."
"But some might miss or spill."
"What, you don't think I did a good enough job this time?"
"My point, Lyudmila, is that we should get up and clean this mattress."
The groan she lets out is almost pitiful.
"Nate, we're not doing that," she says.
"Or at least put sheets on it. We just rolled all over it."
The wolf gives you one last smile before pulling you into her mane. You don't resist the hug, wrapping your arms around her in return.
"Yes," she whispers. "If we sleep on it like this, it's gonna smell like us."
You breathe in, and tighten your hold.
"Fair point."