HUNTER-KILLER (M/M) (Pt. 2 of The Wolf Thing)

[A still-unnamed human sees a wolf for yet another public tryst. This one goes very differently.

A sequel to "The Hour of the Wolf": https://www.patreon.com/posts/hour-of-wolf-m-m-16424469 ]

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Every time I saw the wolf, it was roughly the same. 

Until it wasn’t.

Instead of contacting me on a Wednesday morning for that same night, I got a message Friday evening.

Instead of the same attractive gay leather-boy outfit he requested, he asked: “Tonight. Same place. Last empty out. Wear something I can fuck you in.” No other explanation or request, no detail description, no color requirements.

I had been wanting the wolf to fuck me ever since I first made contact, ever since I first heard of the concept of the rare and enigmatic lupine-human freak leftovers from the previous era of war games. Now, this wolf was going to Cum In My Ass and I was as close to literally vibrating as possible for a healthy young male.

First, the outfit. This was very important to the wolf, I guessed, as he always specified it even though it never changed. 

I selected a pair of black leather pants that had a posing pouch front that could snap off entirely, and a back zipper with a cock-friendly zipper guard. They just barely fit me, which was the best fit. I knew what the wolf liked, and that was leather, so I added a pair of bar chaps over top, tight fitted legs with inside zips for a sleek look, a small spade opening in the front, butt-bubbling back hole, and the iconic seven-snap front closure. 

The outfit was also very important to me. I enjoy leather very much.

For my shirt, I picked a black leather polo-style short sleeve shirt that had a rawhide-laced V neck which would never fully lace closed. It was meant to show male cleavage. It worked, even as slender as I was. 

For gloves, I picked a pair of older Damascus D302 police search gloves, which I had worn and used so much that they were probably gross to some people. They certainly smelled of my dick. Army Wolves, I assumed, liked smelling things as much as any other natural canine.

For boots, now that was a bit of a problem. I just wasn’t a top. I wasn’t dominant. I loved boots, but this wolf was the top, the dominant, the uber-wolf. I couldn’t stomp around in high-shine Chippewa motor patrol boots if I was just going to let him blast inside me. I finally decided to wear my black cowboy boots, steeply raked heels betraying their purpose as fashion and not tough riding gear.

For drugs, because I always got high before meeting the wolf, I traded my usual high-test edible cannabis for a tab of acid. I wanted to experience the glinting highlights and sultry squeaks of a six and a half foot leather-wolf in mind-altering trip format. I ate it an hour before the designated time.

I took a ride-share to the train station, which made for some awkward small talk as the driver was curious about my outfit and destination but I was in no mood to explain that “I am a horny faggot looking to get his ass reamed in an empty train station by a fucking army wolf wearing five thousand dollars of leather.” Also, I had started to come up in the car.

The acid was a mistake. 

I got on the train and the glaring lights felt like torture-room lighting from a gritty thriller movie. When the lights snapped down dim as the train started to move, I jerked in my seat. The corridor lights flickered and made the train car look like it was the inside of some squirming, undulating worm ferrying me through the bowels of industrial doom machinery. 

I couldn’t sit still on my acid-quivering hamstrings and it made my leathers creak constantly, the sound surely audible in the empty train car over the din. Usually, I was so aroused I couldn’t see straight. Now, I was in over my head and terrified.

The train car, as usual, was not literally empty. The wolf sat near the front, but this time in a front-to-back seat instead of a side seat. He faced the front. I could only see his ears. They looked like demon horns. This is wrong. This is all wrong, I thought.

The lights snapped on full strength as we approached our station. As usual, I got off first, walking out of the machine torture worm onto the empty train platform. The residential area fed by the station glimmered like a city in constant motion. The dark wood next to it looked like an empty space, devoid of light, devoid of anything, except fear.

I heard the train start up, a loud warning chime and “THE TRAIN IS NOW DEPARTING - PLEASE STAND BACK”, followed by the grinding and whirring of the motors. I spun expecting to see the wolf stalking his leathered way around the station building to the dark, unoccupied, un-camera-seen other side where we usually met. 

Instead, he walked past the building and down off the platform, in the opposite direction of the parking lot, in the opposite direction of the access road, in the opposite direction of the glimmering El Dorado subdivision. He was headed for the deep dark grove of trees.

I stared after him. Something was definitely wrong, but I found it hard to place, or perhaps hard to accept. At first glance, he was the same wolf: tall, clad in black motorcycle riding leather but turned up to the height of gay leather-folk authority fashion, fur a collection of dark feral grays. 

The wolf began down the nature path without me. After quite some paces, he stopped and turned his head over his shoulder to glare at me, still somewhat lit by the platform lights. One of his eyes glowed, not the iridescent reflection of a wild animal, but a dull iridescent and fast-flickering red glow. My tripping mind served up like one of those camera autofocus things, or an LED car taillight when you flick your eyes fast. He stared at me and did not move further. THIS IS ALL WRONG, my tripping brain screamed.

I ignored it.

I swallowed and started to follow, boot heels clacking against concrete down the steps to the path, then a muted thud as I walked onto the trail. The wolf turned away and continued on. The closer we got to the wood, the more I could see. Interminable darkness gave way to tall trees, ghostly gray shapes, a lack of filled-in underbrush. Pine woods, at least near the roads and station. “Pine Ridge” was the station name, matching the subdivision that we were definitely not headed towards. The station held a connection to the world, an emergency phone, a blue light and a triangle and an exclamation point and some way to be saved. Never mind my cell phone with its GPS and enhanced 911. That security phone was a beacon. I was headed away from it, into danger.

And the wolf! Something was terribly, physically wrong with the wolf. One of the mostly empty inbound trains clattered past behind us, the usual counterpart to the outbound train that we had rode to this last outpost of suburbia. Its headlights provided a shimmering, dancing illumination of the wolf. His gleaming leather was missing on one of his arms. Instead, there were flicks of gray fur, but also flicks of light. Anything that reflected or produced light in any way was unbelievably interesting thanks to the LSD. I had hoped that while he was frotting against me and growling like a dog with a chew bone, I would be hypnotically entranced by the sensations as I marched towards orgasm. Instead, the trip shock turned the leather-wolf into a collection of parts that I did not want to approach. He had turned into the Shrike sent back through time to punish me.

Wherever we were going, it was a long walk. I could hear the wolf’s leathers as I gained on him, although I hung back from getting too close. He was uninterested in the fact that I followed, save for the stare that prompted me to start back at the station. The night was partly cloudy and comfortably cool, the result of a weather front that sent low clouds scurrying across the sky. If I looked up through the trees, the miasma was incomparable. The moonlight that shone through to illuminate things made the forest come alive, literally alive and moving. Acid never did much to my actual thought processes, just the way I perceived everything around me and the buzzing anxiety of the body high. I knew that the lonely wood appeared more visible than usual because my eyes were dilated like saucers, and that the motion was just tricks of light, but it appeared as if everything was parting away from the stalking wolf. 

He turned off the main nature trail onto a smaller hiking trail that was scarcely a footpath and we bumped up over some small ridge and down towards a burbling creek. There was a slight clearing by the bank, a grassy area that would have been verdant in daylight but was ghostly gray in human night-sight. 

The wolf stepped off to the side, and pointed to the grassy spot. Then, for the first time after 52 other weekly visits for specific and constrained fetish-sex play, he actually spoke. “Kneel. There.”

It wasn’t so much that he spoke, as the words came out of him. Sound, in the shape of words. A playback. A recording. Think of someone you know speaking you to directly in person, there with you. Then imagine they were speaking into a small P.A. Speaker, as if at an event. His voice was that second sound, not the first. 

I followed direction and dropped to my knees. It hurt, as I did it dramatically thanks to the acid delirium. I put my hands behind my back. I knew he wanted me to suck him. That was obvious. He was going to fuck me in the ass eventually and what better lube than slimy thirsty hungry desperate faggot spit?

He stepped up and pulled something from his pocket. It looked unthreatening at first, until I saw the metal prongs at one end. He jammed it against my neck and it felt like the worst orgasm of my life. Everything exploded into jarring vibrational sensations. It felt like electrical sexual stimulation, the buzz and vibration straight into nerves, except it went into my spine and down out my ass and up through my skull. I fell over sideways, gagging, stunned as if I’d fallen onto my back and had the wind knocked out of me. 

I thought I was going to die. It was the physical equivalent of ego death from too much acid; I couldn’t feel my body at all, and what I could feel was pain. It ebbed away after some seconds, leaving me with the entire body version of waking-limb pangs, and then the worst part: an endorphin rush that made me question whether it really did in fact hurt. 

The wolf turned away and started doing something. I couldn’t quite see what he was doing, but I could get a much closer look at him even if only by moonlight. I confirmed that one of his jacket arms was truly missing. It was a different jacket from his usual, still a classic Perfecto slant-zip motorcycle style, but with zip-off sleeves whose metal zippers ran around from armpit to deltoid. His right sleeve was gone, leaving his arm bare in the fur.

Some of the fur was missing, as was the flesh beneath it. Where there should have been bloody gore was instead what looked to be metal and wiring. Acid made light on the shiny components impossibly interesting to my addled brain, but I was still there enough after the drugs and the shocking that I realized that no human or animal-person should look like that. 

The wolf turned around with vines in his hand. He had been pulling them off of a nearby shrub. He crouched down and started winding them around my legs, knotting them at my ankles, then my knees. I let my head thump back against the grass and dirt and stared up at the clouds racing past. This is not really happening. 

He dug his boot under my side and rolled me onto my stomach, then crouched down on my legs and repeated the same ad-hoc vegetation bondage with my arms. Something felt wet and slimy on me, but I didn’t dare open my mouth. I didn’t even dare struggle. 

I looked over my shoulder and the wolf pulled out the device again. I changed my mind and struggled. “No, please, don’t do that again!”

He pulled up the back of my leather shirt and jammed it against my lower back, right against my spine. This time, instead of brain-scrambling electrical pain, the heavy buzz felt like it was crawling. It gave me the most intense sexual head-rush I had ever felt. It was better than poppers in a plastic bag full of nitrous. 

“Keep your mouth shut unless I ask you to talk, and I might do that again,” he said. 

I kept my mouth shut. He did not jolt me again.

I felt disconnected from my body. I was still well in the throes of acid, vibrating and buzzing and sweating, tense-jawed, very much awake and alert. I squirmed my legslike someone who couldn’t sit still. I tried to understand what was happening. Everything was wrong and different. I contemplated options as fast as I could; maybe I was hallucinating completely, maybe it hadn’t been acid, maybe I was asleep and dreaming, maybe I had woken up in another dimension somehow. 

I looked back over my shoulder at the wolf, and this time he did not come at me with the stun device. My eyes were yet more adjusted and I could see everything a little more clearly. His outfit was dusty and scuffed, his pants were heavy-duty motorcycle riding pants instead of gleaming and squeaking fetish gear, his boots were simple harness boots tucked up underneath, and none of that mattered at all because of his arm, and even more because of his face. 

The reason one of his eyes had glowed in the dark was because it absolutely glowed in the dark. It also was not an eye. Most of that side of his face had been damaged in some way, the fur missing, underlying equipment exposed. His eye had to be some kind of camera, and the dim red glow scintillated like the red static seen when looking recklessly into a laser pointer.

My disbelieving, saucer-eyed stare prompted no reaction from the wolf, at least facially. He climbed off me, grabbed me by the boots, and started to drag me. He pulled me a good fifteen feet to where a tree stump jutted thickly amidst the lumpy heaps of tree root at the bank. Then he manhandled me by the arms and I got the message after a few moments, and twisted so that I ended up sitting against the stump. 

He stepped up against my face, leather pants and bulge crammed against my cheek, head twisted to the side. Then he backed off and started to unbutton the leather. He pried the hide apart and reached in, then dragged out a demonic sex nightmare of a cock. I confess that I had never seen an army wolf’s cock before, as they were so uncommon that it was a surprise to even see one at all. My attempts to find pornography featuring them had come up dry, despite the amount of fantasy animal-people porn held in the clutches of the internet. This wolf’s cock was black, with a tapered and sloped head that came to a tempting dull point, a well-defined glans ridge, and a bulge at the base before it narrowed and joined his body. 

The wolf stepped forward again and the shaft smacked my face. Despite all of what had and was happening, I couldn’t resist kissing it. It was not, in any way, any kind of living flesh. I recoiled. “What’s happening? You can’t, you can’t tell me that, that you’re him. The wolf. The wolf that I-“

He grabbed my lower jaw in his gloved hand, fingers clutching beneath the chin, thumb shoved into my mouth, and pried it open. He leaned down and got very close. He did breathe, although there was an odd hint of a grind to it at the moment. “I’ve had a very bad day,” he said, and his words definitely were emitted somewhere inside of his head from a speaker. No person’s voice sounded like that. “But I’m still going to fuck you.”

I tried to raise my hands up to push him away, but the vine bindings made me raise my shoulders only. “But you’re him? The wolf I meet on the train?”

“The wolf you meet on the train fifty-two times in a row. One whole year. I think you deserve a cock in your ass by now.” When he spoke, part of his face, running from the damaged eye socket down along one side of his muzzle, didn’t move. The effect was monstrously unnerving. 

I gasped my mouth open and he stuffed it with that rubbery, contoured, fake cock. Despite the texture, it throbbed somewhat like real flesh. I loved cock, and so I loved his in my mouth, even though it was so clearly unreal. In the back of my mind, I wondered, maybe if he likes it he’ll shock me in the good place again, and felt like a dirty pathetic louse for thinking it.

He grabbed me by the collarbone and slowly plungered my lips and plowed against my tongue. In the process, because he grabbed me with his damaged arm, I got a very close look at the inner workings of his forearm. It was not a costume. At one point, I thought I could see entirely through to the other side, although it was only moonlight outside. I closed my eyes and focused on his cock. I still loved it. Every movement he made was a racket of leather squeaks and strange huffs and were there mechanical sounds too? I hadn’t heard them ever before, but he had been entirely covered with fur before. 

Every push of his went deeper and deeper until the tip of his cock tickled the back of my throat. I tilted my head forward and pushed it the rest of the way in, and he responded by pushing forward and shoving the entire thing in. The bulge at the base struggled to fit through my lips without hitting my teeth. He pumped into my throat and I just sat there, taking it, gagging and swallowing on him, unable to utter a single sound. 

Just like he had with his fingers before, he pulled out before anything bad happened and I gagged openly and gasped for breath. I opened my eyes and his shaft jutted before me, smeared with spit and throat slime. The wolf reached through his lapels and pulled a black condom from an inside pocket, then tore the packet open in front of my face. He slowly unrolled the slick rubber over his shaft, which throbbed again beneath it. I couldn’t fathom exactly why he was doing it, since he was obviously a monster machine wolf, but I had to admit that it made for an attractive display.

He left me for a moment, and grabbed a short stub of wood and another smaller vine. He returned to me and shoved the dirty wood against my lips. When I recoiled, it ended up going in anyway lengthwise like a horse bit. He then wound the vine around it and the back of my neck, keeping it in place. It tasted as dirty as it looked. Then he pushed me over to the side and tilted me face-down over one of the root humps at the side of the stump. The ground next to my face looked like a seething mass as the moonlight flickered against it. I closed my eyes.

The wolf felt around my rump and pulled the back zip down, then pried the leather apart. Anticipating the personal fantasy version of these events, I’d lubed up considerably at home, and there was still plenty of slickness in and around my hole. He skipped the anal foreplay and just kneeled behind me, leaned forward, and started rubbing his sheathed tip against my ring. He leaned further and it spread me open easily, although the shaft was very firm and quickly hit near my limit. My groan just prompted an electronic snort from him as he worked the head in and out of my ring. 

I was actually being fucked. There was no fantasy, no dream, no delirium strong enough to make me think that an actual cock shoving into my asshole was all in my head. Preparing at home had definitely been a good idea, because just the slightest twinge of pain announced the thickest part of the wolf’s cockhead. That strange, barely-human shape was made for anal sex. 

The wolf wasn’t violent about it. He was brutish but still enjoying the ride, even if his groans of lust came out of some apparatus inside of him. Every few moments, he shifted what he was grasping, pulling my hair, my shirt collar, the vines holding my arms behind my back. With my face pressed to the ground, turned to the side, body humped up over a cock-crushing tree root, I had been relegated to being a sex-toy for a cyborg monster.

He slid in roughly past the crown of his glans and the shock made me clench up, which made my prostate hug up hard against the synthetic cyber-skin of his werewolf cock. He tugged back and I convulsed, slobbering around the makeshift bit-gag stuffed in my mouth, while my tongue swiped against the dark and bitter earth ground into the wood. 

The sounds from behind me lulled me into anal bliss, a headspace that I welcomed with coruscating hallucination arms. The wolf had always enjoyed making his leather gear creak and shuffle as he moved around, the mark of a true fetishist. While he fucked, he fucked like he needed to make sure I knew it. In between leathery sounds, he grunted or huffed, the sound a strange mix of actual breath huff and computerized hash. Every little thing that wasn’t quite normal became all he was. Metal and wire and plastic and lasers and a werewolf dildo from some internet fandom as a tool to batter my asshole into putty. 

A prostate orgasm snuck up on me and the forest exploded around me, fireworks screaming from behind my eyes, yet ultimately just a little unsatisfying in the way that only a cock stretching your hole can be. I wanted to clench but instead I just convulsed and cramped against his ever-thrusting shaft. 

“I’m not done yet,” he snarled and slowly accelerated, until that locking bulge on his cock started grinding at my ring. I lurched backwards to keep him from hammering me too hard, and instead pushed it in. Then I came for real, howling into the bit-gag as the guttural bolts of pleasure sent me squirting the inside of my leather pants. 

Just like all the times before, the wolf orgasmed with only a low feral growl and the intense shoves of climactic thrusting. He pulled out and I laughed, muffled as the reflex made me writhe and roll over onto my side. Thanks to the continued body-rend of the LSD, I developed a pubic cramp and writhed in delicious agony and a few prostate aftershocks, before I finally calmed down. I was facing the creek and the forest on the other side. 

Everything was so amazingly beautiful. 

I rolled over and tried to sit up, but found myself unable, still bound, still gagged. “Mrrfh.”

“Hold on,” the wolf growled, and walked back into view. My moment of arboreal revelry ended with his ghastly hotel-scene-Terminator partly-blasted face. Then he pulled the condom off and let it drop to the ground with a very wet splat. He then stepped over and swiftly removed the gag from my mouth.

A wave of psychedelic vertigo hit me as I breathed freely and I sank back onto my side, watching the river flow upwards as trees grew sideways and the moon shone from the left. It was a fitting ghostly end to a very strange evening.

Then the wolf shoved the cold metal electrodes of his shock device against the base of my skull and turned it on again. I blacked out.