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Lightning - 6 - Saturday
🕑 Added 2023-10-29 23:28:55 +0000 UTCTrevor gets to explore Castleton on his own, only to spend a very special evening with the fearsome panther Fitch.
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The Wednesday evening drunken conversation with Lane made Trevor feel slightly better. The hairless cat didn’t seem concerned with Fitch, though Trevor also wondered if perhaps Lane and the others were oblivious, or if it was because Fitch was truly not interested in pursuing them in that way. The maned wolf didn’t feel like he was particularly pursue-able, and had no idea how much he did or didn’t telegraph some of his idle ideas and fancies. It didn’t seem to cross his mind that his neighbor Marshall had definitely pursued him: the cheetah had very specific interests and a forceful attitude, and they had been excited teenagers, and excuses kept coming to mind.
Thursday came and went with nothing worrying, although Fitch continued his stalking and staring. The trio including Trevor worked on more battery experiments, most of which were to try and map out just how a compass would deflect when near an energized wire. Using a handheld compass and lots of patience, they managed to provisionally prove that Petrie’s theory of a spherical field of magnetism was entirely wrong, and it was more like a stretched out bundt cake.
They also continued to have the worrying problem of the battery exhausting itself no matter what experimentation they made. Trevor continued sneaking closed-eye looks at it, watching the blue colors swirl about in the jars and wiring. The more he looked at it, the more he noticed subtleties, like how one could study a drawing or painting and pick up on more and more nuances over time. The most interesting one is that he started to see very subtle orange coloring in places where there was energized charge or flow, and that it didn’t combine to make green as he would have expected, the way that paint colors mixed.
Friday was yet another day of busy work, most of it involving the supposed secret of the steam drive. It started a large argument, because Altius and Fitch knew about it and hadn’t told the others. The device apparently was an expensive prototype and thus more dangerous than it should be, and yet there was definitely less danger being out in the alley in a shed with a cement brick wall in the way. Trevor had simply no real understanding of what a steam drive was actually supposed to do to help them, and was too worried to ask. Worried of sounding dull, and also worried intently about the fact that Saturday was the day after Friday, and that he was going to have to pay Fitch a personal visit, no matter what for.
The Galean medicines had completely knocked out his traveler’s sickness, and that meant that Friday night, he could load up on dullweed smoke to try and fall asleep. It worked for half the night, before he was awakened by a ruckus next door. In his groggy delirium, he couldn’t remember whose apartment bordered the wall behind his headboard; whichever of Lane or Petrie, they very clearly had a woman over and were very enthusiastically mating. To make the mystery worse, the woman was the one making the bulk of the noises beyond thumps and bed squeaking.
I have to go and see that dreadful panther in the morning and now I have to listen to this? Trevor was not particularly interested in women, a thought that bothered him often in the context of where he sat in life. Back home, he was a loner, and being uninterested in women was just another thing to add to the ‘There’s Lightning, he is a freak of nature’ bucket. In Castleton, he had no idea what was or wasn’t acceptable in that area, and he grew anxious thinking about how little of the actual city he had experienced in an entire week.
It was hard to not be irritated and aroused by the sound, though; they were clearly having a good time, and imagining someone having sex the next room over let him fill in the blank with what was happening. With his ear to the wall, he could even hear the wet smacks he’d heard when Helena had a suitor over, and he’d peeked in at the inn rooms back in Potterston enough to have seen just how vigorous penetration made such a racket.
“...oh, oh like that! Squeeze them like you’re milking me!” The unseen lady coo’d, and Trevor had to wrap both of his bony hands around his muzzle to keep from sputtering with laughter.
“My lady, you’re insatiable! Hold on, let’s try this way… ahh, it’s hard to reach, you know…” Trevor’s eyes went wide. Ferrin, that’s Petrie’s voice! And Petrie’s stature, I suppose. Several creaks and thumps ensued, and then the lady offered an orgiastic moo that in no uncertain terms came from a bovine humanid and not just someone making a joke. The vigorous creaking, thumping, and plungering slaps resumed.
The maned wolf felt slightly rotten as he had assumed Petrie would have found difficulty with romance, being so short and oddly proportioned. I suppose I have no idea how large he is between his legs, and he certainly is willing to go along with things. After a climax that featured more mooing and a few gruff barks, the din settled down and the pair uttered each other’s names with the faintest sound of wet kissing. I don’t think she’s a lady of the night, they aren’t supposed to kiss, are they?
Despite the erotic mismatch, Trevor had to fall back asleep with a firm erection and a wet spot of preseed in his sheets. He managed to forget about the day to come long enough to sleep until daybreak again.
—
Trevor dressed in the morning and put on a judicious amount of his cologne, then set out to go two doors down to Fitch’s apartment. After about fifteen minutes of staring at his doorknob and then grasping it with a hand so clenched that he couldn’t turn it, he growled at himself, took a few breaths, and went out.
He knocked on Fitch’s door, and there was no answer. He instantly felt the heat of embarrassment rise up - what if the ass had just told me stuff to mess with my head? - and was about to turn away when the view port opened. His door had one, while others had a small sight glass.
“It’s fucking early,” Fitch’s eyes said.
“Ahh, you wanted me to come over,” Trevor returned.
Fitch growled several different ways. Just like at his workshop, his nose appeared in the slat, and he sniffed. “It’s fucking early,” he repeated.
“Well when-”
“Hrrr, come back… come back… at sundown. Yeah.” He sounded legitimately groggy and disgruntled, beyond his usual demeanor.
“Oh, o-okay, yes, see you then,” Trevor said, and the slat slammed shut. Now the burn of embarrassment turned into frustration. Oh what a lout. Stringing me along. His stomach rumbled, and he decided to make good of the fact that he was awake by exploring to see what Castleton had to offer that was not industrial stench and grime.
Feeling bolstered by the temporary rebuff and the angry tension that he was surprised to have, Trevor decided to go against recommendations and see what was so terrible about the harbor. He soon wished he had worn his cloak, even despite the weather, as numerous people stared at him as he walked by. They probably have no idea what this thing is walking about, tall and lanky, dark gray fur with such an obvious scar, an eye patch! Trevor thought, and found that if he kept his shoulders up and stared at the sidewalk, he at least felt standoffish enough to fend off the looks. I’m dressed all wrong, no one wears tall boots around here, they all have naffy big trousers and leather shoes or sandals. What about the dirt and manure in the streets? I really do look like a feed-store clerk, he thought, looking in the window of a general store as he passed by.
It would have been impossible to actually walk into the harbor and fall off a pier by accident, as Lane had described previously. The harbor was set down much lower than the rest of the city, and the area where the roads and sidewalk terminated made for a square with sculptures and greenery. It didn’t seem so bad, although when he stood at the overlook there was little good view. The waterfront was entirely taken up by piers and dockage, small skiffs and dinghies, larger fishing ships, and even a few enormous tall ships surely used for trade. The sea breeze brought with it the caustic stench of fish processing, and when it backed off, the river smell returned. What a mess, he thought. What a huge, glorious mess. I suppose big and filthy go together. Everything in Potterston would fit in just one block here, and there are so many blocks I can’t even see to the end of a street except out to the waterfront. There was an interesting area attached to the harbor, walled in to the extent that he couldn’t see into it. I wonder what’s in there…
He decided to continue exploring, checking how much coin he had, and decided to follow his nose to where there was less and less smell. He wound up in a nicer neighborhood, though he still looked different from everyone in terms of dress. People in the city seemed to wear a lot more clothing, despite the season, and it was surely more fancy. This quarter - signed as ‘Old Quarter’ - featured the more dapper attire that Altius wore, though not as riotously colorful. He had never seen such a variety of boots, either. He found it distracting to watch people’s feet as they wandered around, clad not just in laced field boots or heavy mud and muck wear, but ladies with heels and frills at the top cuff, men whose boots sometimes went up to their thighs with one or both cuffs rolled down, laced insteps, laced to the brim, buckled and buttoned and smooth as polished black fireglass. Now instead of feeling too fancy for the work district, he felt like a feed-store boy.
Oh no, is it obvious? He sighed to himself as he became self aware, chewing on one of the breaded hard eggs that the panther had eaten the other day and which he had just bought absently from a vendor. Was I staring at Fitch’s boots? Was that what gave me away to him? He stares so hard, I can’t return his gaze, that’s crude, where else am I supposed to look? Then, This egg is fantastic. Where do they put all the spices? And the inside is green, yet it’s good and not spoiled or overdone. Then, just as he had finished it, a thought bubbled up amidst his sartorial fantasizing: don’t Caroyans lay eggs? He felt off his food immediately, and found a vendor selling low ale to wet his throat and perhaps forget a little.
Instead, he found a vendor selling ridiculously colored liquid in glass bottles, which he had seen about the streets. The vendor was a hyena, and wore an alarming amount of jewelry on his neck and wrists, and even atop an intricately layered headwrap with ear holes. His sign had, “Etrek’s Erek” written in Common, and then several entirely inscrutable languages below it.
“Hi, uh, what exactly is this?” Trevor asked, walking up.
The hyena grinned ear to ear and leaned over the front of his stall. “I am Etrek,” he pointed, “And this is Galean Erek. And you are not from this city. You are a maned wolf from my land, and yet you wear country night cologne from farms around here. Here, try,” he said, and poured some of a scorching pink liquid into a small glass, then presented it.
Trevor sniffed at it. The smell was somewhat off-putting, like badly-brewed beer with spices under it. Then he slurped it down. That note was buried by a fruity flavor that he had never tasted before, and a slight effervescence. “Is this alcoholic?”
When he set the glass back, the hyena quickly poured a dash of some strong liquor into it, swirled it, then threw it over a shoulder while uttering a syllable. “No, it is spider-fruit, it ferments into vinegar, open casks.” He had the same general accent as the rhino at the apothecary. “Western spider fruit,” he pointed at the pink one, “Shadefruit,” he pointed at one that was simultaneously purple and green as if mixed without combining, “And low spider fruit.” He pointed to a pearlescent blue one. “Five cents, each. If you return bottle to anyone who sells, you get halfcent back.”
Trevor stared at the blue one. He closed his eyes. While it looked like the color of the charge he had seen during the electrical experiments, with his eyes closed, he saw nothing. “I’ll try that uh, low spider fruit one.” He withdrew some coins, and then paused. “Three cents.”
The hyena rattled off something in Galean, then paused, “Apologies, ahh, uhh,” he seemed surprised that someone had negotiated. “Three and halfcent.”
Trevor was thirsty and intrigued enough to hand over the money.
“Where do you learn that, no one barters with Galeans, here they have so much coin they throw it in the streets. Back home, is rude to leave worth at the first value.” The hyena turned, reached into a crate, and pulled out a bottle that had a wax plug at the top. He sliced around it with a fingernail and tapped the bottle a few times; the plug scooted up and came out with a pop, and some fizz came out over his fingers. He flicked it over his shoulder and handed over the bottle.
Trevor took it. “Oh, a friend of mine told me about it,” he said, and was mostly correct. “Good day!”
Not having tasted the blue drink before buying it, he was surprised that it tasted exactly like a very strong sour apple, and was immediately refreshing as an after-meal drink. He continued wandering around the Old Quarter, where he saw more apparent Galeans than he expected, and also one other maned wolf. A woman, she wore quite a lot less clothing by volume than most other ladies Trevor had seen, with a breast wrap that was layered the same way the hyena’s headwrap had been, and an asymmetrical skirt that had jewels woven into it. She wore boots only in the barest sense of the word, sandals with thin leather straps up her legs like very open wicker weaving.
She gave him a look and paused walking, turned back, and spoke a stream of Galean.
“Uhh, I’m sorry, I don’t speak…”
Her ears perked up and her tail lashed about, and she let out a small guara bark. “What a thing! Common and firehearted and not from home!” Then, rather indignantly, she turned muzzle and continued on.
You dullhead, maned wolves are plentiful in Gale, it’s probably where your scrawny ass is from, he chided himself. Trevor had no idea who his birth parents had been or where they had been from; when he was younger, he had tried to get Helena to look into it, and either she was truly unable to help, or unwilling to tell the truth. Her attitude at the time had been frustrated, so he assumed unable.
He sighed, and continued wandering about, sipping at his bottle of blue refreshment.
—
Castleton was so large that he feared he would get lost, and he wandered about enough that his feet began to ache. After having a small lunch at something he had never seen before - a ‘cafe’ - he spent some time in an attractive floral park and managed to doze off for some time before a young child bumped into him on a bench and awakened him.
The sun was now sinking quickly. The city was on a general slope, much easier than the hills where the namesake High Castle sat, and from his vantage point he could see the ‘transportation depot’ where he’d arrived, as well as the general area where he needed to return.
Once he actually made it back to his ‘neighborhood’, the sun was down behind buildings and someone was lighting the street gaslights. Sharyn’s was picking up in business, though there were no lights on in Lane or Petrie’s apartment. There also were none on in Fitch’s, however the curtains were also a darker color and perhaps blocked it out.
He knocked on the door again, and once more, the view slat opened. Fitch’s eyes peered out, disappeared, the slat closed, and he unlocked the locks. “Still early. I’ll allow it,” the panther said. “Come in.”
Trevor’s worry caught up with him as he walked through the door. The inside of the apartment was not at all like his own. It was the same layout, though it seemed very dark inside - the walls were painted a different color, a darker orange. There were several candles lit, in addition to the main gaslight. The place absolutely, overwhelmingly stank of leather, like a tack shop on a hot summer day. The living room had a couch and chair to sit on, however there were several mannequins set up, adorned with leather finery the likes of which Trevor had never seen up close.
Fitch himself was likewise attired. A black leather tail-coat, similar to the fabric ones Altius wore; a red leather vest with ornate stitching and tooling; black leather breeches with not just a drop-front but a pouch straight out of high-society paintings; tall black riding boots with mock spur straps made of chains and brass conchos; and forearm-length narrow swordsman’s gauntlets, the hands tight and fitted like dress gloves.
Trevor didn’t know what to say, so he just looked Fitch up and down. The panther glowered, then slowly formed a grin, the terrifying toothy one from earlier in the week.
“I’m surprised you came. You looked terrified this morning. Your tail was between your legs when you walked away.”
Ungh, was it? “I… spent some time walking around the city. I’ve never really been to much of Castleton before.”
Fitch grabbed him by the shoulder and leaned in, up onto his toes with a squeak of boot leather. He then sniffed. “You’ve been hanging around Galeans. That awful fruity stuff.”
“I thought it was quite nice,” Trevor frowned.
“You would,” the cat growled, and let go. Before Trevor could respond, he stepped back towards the kitchen and instead took hold of a door knob for a door set in the wall. “Your kind are from Gale, aren’t they.”
Maybe I’m not so dull, and hey I don’t have a door like that.
“Well? My workshop is in the next apartment over. I bet they told you it was storage. That was smart. I don’t like other people explaining for me.” Fitch opened it and went inside, leaving the door open. The leather scent was even more profound as it wafted in.
Inside, instead of the internals of an apartment again, there was one large room with only stairs for the second floor remaining. There were several wooden tables and they were covered with hides and items in various states of completion. More hung from hangers, on mannequins, or were set in wooden shelves. It was heavily organized, similar to the store room at the laboratory, though the space was absolutely packed. The kitchen area was bare of a counter and shelves, though there was still a small stove and the water sink. That area had a few pairs of boots in it; Trevor vaguely remembered something he had heard about steam-forming of firmer leathers.
“This is impressive,” Trevor said, looking around. “I guess I’d heard you… you m-make clothing, in addition to the s-stuff for the laboratory.”
“Turn around and strip,” Fitch growled. Trevor bolted around, to find the panther standing with a long measuring tape dangling from one gloved hand, and a notebook with attached pencil in the other. “Is that a problem? You can leave your linens on.” When Trevor continued to stand frozen and ears up: “I have to measure you. I can’t use just my eyes.”
“Oh, oh,” Trevor whined, and started to feel panicked. He pawed at his shirt, barely unable to unbutton it, and finally got it off his shoulders. Fitch stepped around behind him and tugged at the collar, then slid the arms down Trevor’s arms. The maned wolf shuddered and clasped at the front of his pants, covering himself, before he shakily undid his belt and unbuttoned the opening. Oh no, this is like if Marshall were huge and not such a brat.
“Sit,” Fitch said, and crowded him back until he was forced to sit on a leather-padded wooden bench. “Your boots. Take your boots off, or you can’t remove your pants. Are you off again?”
Trevor lifted a leg and Fitch grabbed it, one hand under the heel, the other untying the top of the laces. Instead of just working the boot free, he slowly unlaced the entire shaft. “Uh. No, I’m just, I don’t know.”
“You don’t lace your boots right. I’ll fix that for you, later.” Once Fitch was done, he cradled the top of the foot and rocked the heel loose, then slid it off. Trevor haltingly presented his other boot, and received the same treatment. Fitch bundled the laces up and set the boots aside, together.
Once his boots were free, Trevor slid out of his pants, leaving just his linen undershirt and drawers. There was nothing he could do to convince his cock to behave; so much as a glance at the intimidating leathered panther, and the shaft throbbed. He took a deep breath and sighed, then stood up, and tried moving it around under the fabric. Without the grasp of his deerskin pants, it made a crude and obvious tent.
Fitch didn’t immediately seem to care. As soon as Trevor stood, he started measuring him. “Arms out. Arms to your sides. Arms up, right up to the ceiling.” Trevor did the latter and banged his fingertips there. “Careful. You’re tall. This tenement has low overhead.” Whatever aspirations Fitch had inside his head, he truly did get thorough tailor measurements of Trevor, including forehead, jaw, neck, glove width and finger length.
“Is… is this what you wanted?” Trevor finally asked, still erect, and making a wet spot at the tip in the fabric.
Fitch stopped and stared. “What do you mean?”
“Just to measure me?”
The panther stood straight, and set his notebook down. He started to slowly step back and forth, pacing in a shallow arc. “I already said, I can’t just look at you. Didn’t you hear me? When I cornered you on that tree stump? You writhed there like a scared mouse. You eat mice, at least in the wild old days. I am going to make you an outfit. One outfit, free of charge. If you want more, you pay like everyone else.”
Trevor blinked. “You just want to make clothes for me?”
“Look around you,” Fitch hissed. “I work with that egglayer because I have a compulsion to make things, and he always needs things made. I work at this because it’s me.” He thumbed at his chest. “I want to make you an outfit because I want to see you in it.”
Trevor truly didn’t know how to react, and whined softly into his teeth.
“What did you do today, you wandered around the city?” Fitch resumed pacing, tail busily moving about behind him. When it whacked into something, he fluidly grasped at it for a moment, as if to chide and restrain it, before letting it go. “How did it feel? What happened?”
“I went to the harbor, and then I had one of those eggs I saw you eating, and some of that… that blue stuff I got from a hyena, and then I wandered some more, went to the park, fell asleep like a naffy dullhead-”
“How did it feel? You know what I mean.”
Trevor winced. “Everyone was staring at me. I look like a freak. My… m-my eye patch, and I’m so lanky, and I just… you said I look like a feed store clerk. Even the rough people around here dress differently. I saw a Galean maned wolf and she was, well I don’t know. Not just a feed-store clerk.”
Fitch chuckled darkly. “Stupid me for saying that, now it’ll be stuck in your head. You’re dark-fur, just like me, and that means firehearted to people. It doesn’t matter that there’s no fire pits to burn in forever, you think that’s real? It’s not real. There are no gods. Do you think gods would let people sail over to another set of rocks and tar over the lizard-people there just to make more bullets? I’m talking about the First Caroyan war. Wouldn’t you rather people look at you and stare out of fear, or out of lust, or out of awe, rather than disappointment and distrust? Or ignore you?”
Trevor’s erection started to fade, and his lip quivered slightly. Fitch was too intense: the maned wolf didn’t know how he should feel, and coupled with the overwhelm in his head he started to tear up. He rubbed at his face, then had a big inhale. “I don’t know. I guess. I didn’t ask for any of this. I was b-born dark-fur, and my parents threw me away, and I got adopted by a lout of a general because his wife was a fox and wanted a child and felt sorry, and she had her head caved in during an in-incident, and he didn’t even really want me so he gave me to her sister. And I don’t know why I got hit by lightning! It was just a storm! They happen all the time! Why me?”
“Stop asking that question. The answer won’t help you. It never helped me until I stopped asking, too.” Fitch curled his gloved fingers into fists, uncurled them, and then reached one hand out. He rubbed at Trevor’s muzzle, then stepped closer and held him by the shoulder. While he did not embrace the guara, he let Trevor lean against him, and continued stroking his whiskers back.
After another shuddering intake of breath, Trevor seemed to steel himself, and poked his muzzle against the panther’s gloved palm. He sniffed. Then he looked up. “Are you sure you just want to make me an outfit?” He swallowed, tongued slightly out at his lips, and firmed his gaze. “Your hand smells like you…”
“I want to make you an outfit,” Fitch repeated. “You need to decide what you want. Or you can decide to tell me to decide, that’s fine. I can show you some designs.” He rubbed his thumb under Trevor’s muzzle, then let go of him as soon as quickly as he’d taken hold. “Come upstairs. You can see some more finished work I’ve done, and I will help you design it.”
The maned wolf nodded, and followed. Halfway up the staircase, Fitch paused, and Trevor stung inside like he’d done something wrong. “Huh?”
“Yes, I pleasure myself in my gloves. You are not as dull as you wish you were, and I am as obvious as you think I am.” The cat then turned and continued.
The upstairs was full of yet more leather, though much of it was either complete or almost complete. One end of the space featured a drafting table with pinned drawings all about it. The panther quickly unpinned them and stacked them up, then set them into a cubbyhole. He took out another piece of paper, pinned it in place, and pulled out some drawing pencils. “Stand there. Casually. A little cock to your hip. Turn one foot slightly out. Hand on your hip.”
Trevor tried to pose appropriately.
“Good,” Fitch said, and started to sketch. “This will be just a moment.”
Trevor found it easy to stand still, as he was still terrified. After several minutes, Fitch switched to a pen, and quickly inked over what he’d drawn. Then, he unpinned it and waved the paper about. Trevor loosened up, then leaned forward to try and look closer without really moving. “You’re quite serious about all of this. I… I thought it might be a… well, you’re really just serious.”
“You think?” Fitch said, then set the paper back and pinned it again. He took out a much thinner tracing gauze, then turned to Trevor. “Now. Wander around and look things over. Do you know what you want? Maybe you will after you do that.”
Trevor dumbly wandered about, looking over everything in the upstairs room. Meanwhile, Fitch stared at him. Several times, the maned wolf caught the stare, paused, and Fitch finally spoke up. “Take your time.”
I’m going to lose my mind around him. What did Lane say, Fitch stares at people he likes? He could stare a hole through me. I’m a whimpering horse’s ass. Even another maned wolf thought I was awful.
Trevor completed one circuit, then went back to a display of gloves. There were fingerless short ones, then short and long gauntlets; full-fingered of those; and then an array of armored gauntlets and gauntlet-gloves. Some looked seriously armored, others looked purely fashionable. He picked up a pair similar to the arm-fitted gauntlet ones Fitch wore, and then slid one over his arm. Surprisingly, it was too large.
The panther came up to him, and swished his tail around hard enough that it hit the wall with a thump. “Those are sized for a stallion. They have big hands.”
“I’m sure they do,” Trevor said, and yet flexed his hand into a fist. “Well, I’m pretty sure I want a pair like this. Sized for a… me.”
“Try these, although they’re long.” Fitch sorted through a few cubbyholes and withdrew a pair of gloves made of fine, dark red leather. He unfolded them, and Trevor gawked. They looked as if they would go to up to Fitch’s bicep, with the bell cuff flared there. There was a strap at the wrist and another at the elbow. “All of this stuff is first-make. When someone wants something entirely custom, I make one for myself, first. I won’t give someone something done wrong, and it makes for good demonstrations.”
Trevor looked over the glove in his hand, then slid his hand into it. It fit much better than the prior one. He put the other one on; they only went to his elbows, though they didn’t look ill-fitted. Fitch continued standing there. “These are really… something. I don’t know if I would want to wear them for an, well, an outfit all the time. I think I want some sort of jacket, or at least a shirt. They look li-”
“Like something a woman of the night would wear? You wouldn’t think that if you saw the person who came up with them. I can see how you’d say that, just like this, though. Keep wearing them right now.” Fitch then went back to his drawing desk and hunched over it. It was quickly obvious why he pinned his paper down; instead of holding it with his other hand, he sank it under the edge of the table and rubbed at himself.
“I really like them, though. They feel wonderful.” Trevor felt over one arm with the other hand, stroked over his fingers, and then rubbed at his ruff. He sniffed. “And they smell great. This is very fine leather. I used to help out at a tack shop.” Trevor felt a lump in his throat as he remembered staying late at said shop, encouraged to make up for his tendency to fall asleep during the day, something he could not control. And late at night, he would sniff the leathers, touch them, and-
“Figures,” Fitch said, and tapped his pencil. “So, you don’t want to look like a prostitute.”
“I don’t think I want to look just rich. That sounds dangerous; I’m not rich, and rich people get mugged. Even back home. I don’t think I want to look rough, either. I’m not very rough. I mean maybe I could look a little rough. And I don’t want to look like a prostitute.” All of a sudden, he realized: “Are there male prostitutes?”
“You’re tall, you’re leggy, you have all that fur,” Fitch gestured around his head and neck, where he had only the silken black pelt of a panther, not the explosive ruff of a maned wolf. “You’re going to look fancy unless I cover you in spikes. Ask porcupines and deer how being covered in spikes works out for them. And take off your linens. You look ridiculous in them.”
“What?” Trevor said, and backed up a step.
“Take them off or I will take them off of you,” the panther repeated, and deliberately made a grabbing gesture in the air with both hands.
Trevor’s newly gloved hands trembled as he started to unbutton. He then took the gloves off, stepped out of his linen drawers and shirt, and put the gloves back on.
“Good. You’re catching on. So, a little fancy. Not too rough. Not too rich.”
Trevor felt an urge to cover up his unavoidable erection, though considering Fitch was still pawing at himself absently, that didn’t feel necessary. He instead turned away and looked through more items. “I guess I just want to look like I belong here, instead of like I’m someone… else.” You dullhead. “This stuff has to be expensive. You can’t possibly-”
“What colors?” Fitch pressed. “Do you like that red? Do you want just black? Black and brown? Those are easy, others use expensive dye and can stain your fur for some time. You don’t have any color on you except for your one good eye. Either you stand out more, or you coordinate.”
Trevor fingered at a leather coat. Unlike the common city and riding style of a tailcoat, it was short-waisted all around, with a double-breast slanted lapel that could stay open or button closed, and made of a deep maroon brown leather, similar to saddle shade but much more supple. Nonetheless, it felt heavy when he lifted it. “I think… well, I like this one. So I guess… black and brown. This red on these gloves is nice, though!”
“You don’t need to keep complimenting them. I can see you like them. See those boots there? See if they fit you.” Fitch pointed to a pair that were in a wooden shelving unit, amidst a row of other riding boots. Like the gloves, they were a deep sunset red, cavalier-style over the knee, with a rakish toe and raised, slanted heel.
Trevor stepped over and picked up the boots, then sat down and tried them on. Unlike the gloves, they were slightly too large, which made them easy to put on and made him feel slightly unsteady when moving around. His feet were not that big for his height. The boots were probably intended to go longer up the wearer’s thighs and not made for someone as tall as himself, though like the gloves they looked quite nice as is. When he stepped around, the heels made a solid, sonorous clop from their stacked leather construction. “Oh, I really like these. These in black, I would wear those all the time.” He wagged his tail. “Absolutely. Maybe some decorative buckles?” As he wandered around the space he felt simultaneously humiliated by his throbbing erection that swayed between his legs, and empowered by the supple and flashy leather.
Fitch had stopped looking and was intently sketching. “You will obviously have pants. Leather lace sides, with metal grommet holes. That makes the fit a little easier, in case you do enough heavy lifting at the laboratory to thicken up those scrawny legs. A normal front. Not like mine now. Drop front, for the fashion. Codpieces are not public wear these days.”
“I feel… I feel a little silly strutting around like this,” Trevor said. “Right now. Almost naked.”
“Are you a virgin? Don’t be ashamed of being naked.”
“I’m… well, I’ve done stuff.” Tell him. “I’ve done… I’ve done some things.”
“Have you fucked or been fucked?”
Trevor tipped his muzzle down. “N-no, just, other things.”
“Mmh,” Fitch replied, then moved back away from the desk, and slid his self-groping hand to his thigh. “Come over here and see.”
The maned wolf cautiously approached. Fitch continued beckoning him, and when the guara didn’t move quite close enough, stood up and put his hands on Trevor’s shoulders, then pulled down as he sat back. Trevor huffed as he was pulled into Fitch’s lap. Fitch held him by the chest, and Trevor held Fitch’s hands. “Wait, wait, I don’t want to make a mess,” the maned wolf whined.
“You dog things always make all these awful noises. Listen to me. I just growl,” Fitch growled feral, “And well…” He squirmed by squeezing his rump, pressing his bulge up against Trevor’s bare rump, and started to purr loudly and unevenly when he exhaled. “Who says you’re going to make a mess?” He let go of one side of Trevor’s chest and stroked down over the maned wolf’s abdomen; Trevor groaned and huffed, sucking in and flexing. He dropped his hand further and stroked Trevor’s thigh; the guara whimpered again. He reached for Trevor’s cock, and Trevor snatched at his wrist.
“No, stop, you just drew a picture, I don’t want to… I don’t want to make a mess all over it. I haven’t even seen it,” he now growled, held Fitch’s wrist tightly to the side of his leg, and leaned forward with his other hand on the edge of the desk. Indeed, Fitch had drawn a sketch of him and hastily inked it, then had drawn an outfit on top of it. A brown jacket, similar to the one he had fondled on the other side of the room; black swordsman gloves; matching brown pants with black lacings at the side and a trapezoidal sailor button down front; over-knee boots with buckles at the knee and ornate strap harnesses at the ankles. “Oh. How did you do that so fast? I can’t but doodle.”
“Drawn all my life. Thought I’d be a painter as a kid, my dad said he’d cut my dick off if I did it.”
Trevor gawked. “That’s awful. Does everyone around have a terrible story?”
“He shouldn’t have threatened it, a prostitute cut his off, and he died that way.”
The maned wolf groaned and frowned, and his erection sagged. Fitch looked around him, then turned to the side and pushed him off. “I have an idea.” The panther quickly stood up and stepped across the room, then opened a wardrobe. Inside of it was just more leather clothing, although it seemed to be mostly straps in various configurations. He pulled one out; it looked like a horse’s pulling harness, except there was a leather codpiece at the bottom apex.
Trevor staggered slightly and looked confused as he leaned on the desk. Fitch can’t sit still, can he? If I sit for more than a minute, I fall asleep. He would never get that long.
“Stand up and stand still,” Fitch snarled, then came up behind Trevor with the leather harness. He unbuckled key pieces, wrapped the leather around the maned wolf’s slender chest and hips, then tightened them back up. He cupped the codpiece pouch over Trevor’s cock and balls, curving the shaft to fit inside, then curved it again downwards. Trevor yelped softly. “Be quiet,” Fitch said, and cupped his other hand over the guara’s mouth. He then let the shaft curve upwards and stuffed it into the pouch; it looked unevenly lumpy, though the pouch was profound enough that his shaft caught and didn’t stick up out under the belt. Fitch let go of Trevor’s mouth and fixed thin straps around his thighs and up behind over his rump. “There. Look in the wardrobe mirror.” He then pushed Trevor harshly.
The maned wolf staggered forward again, and caught himself right in front of the mirror. Long, red leather gloves; tall red leather boots; black leather harness straps and a straining codpiece. Trevor stared, wide-eyed, and wagged his tail several times. “This is intense.” He paused. “Why am I… why are you doing this? Do you really want to make me an outfit?” He looked in the mirror at Fitch, who loomed pacing in the background, groping at himself again.
“I want to do two things at the same time. Fuck you, and make you an outfit.”
“F-fuck me? I said I’ve never,” Trevor stammered. “It’ll hurt. You’re big. I can tell.”
“Did you think I’d make you something entirely for free?” Fitch came up and grabbed Trevor by the back of the harness, and started pulling him about. “You’re going to pay me now.”
Trevor tried to keep from being pushed, though the boots slid along the wood floor. “Please, please,” he whimpered.
“Don’t be naffy or you’ll trip down the stairs,” Fitch growled. “Down, then up again, into my bedroom.” He continued pushing Trevor, though more guiding than pushing, and the guara uneasily went down the stairs, then into Fitch’s actual apartment, then back up the stairs to the bedroom. “There we go. This harness makes it easy, doesn’t it?”
Fitch’s bedroom was as dim lit as the rest of the apartment, the gas lights left low so they flickered. The gas lights were not the simple upward bowls, but sconces with enclosed bowls. The walls were covered in wood paneling, which while mismatched, was dark and forboding. The furniture was dark and wood and heavy, a bed with four posts and curtains taking up much of the space, and with metal rings screwed into the posts. On the wall hung metal shackles, collars, an actual headstock panel, a bullwhip, and a beating paddle.
“What in Saynah is all of this!” Trevor squealed, and dug his heels in. Fitch picked him up - he lifted his knees and yelped again, then pried at the panther’s chest-clutching gloved arms. “Let me go! Let me go! You’re some kind of monster!”
“You’re easy to terrify,” Fitch laughed, then turned and sat on the edge of his bed, while hefting Trevor to the side to sit him next. The cat then stood, and adopted the pose he used in the woods, stepping on Trevor’s groin with his boot. The guara immediately stopped struggling, though he grasped at Fitch’s foot.
Trevor, breathing hard and with sexual release far from his mind again, stared around the room. More devious-looking things hung from the wall… and then there were windows, except there could be no windows there as they were the walls into the apartments to either side. The windows were portholes, from a ship. He squinted. Hanging further back was a small ship’s rudder wheel with its hand-grip spokes. “Wait a minute. Is this… ship stuff?”
“The captain’s quarters, if the captain is fond of torturing his cabin boys for bad behavior,” Fitch said, and adjusted his foot. He then took something out of his pocket - a small metal pipe. It was already packed with something green and herbal. He lifted it to his muzzle, withdrew a flint naphtha lighter, and flamed it up. The stink of burning naphtha was instantly overcrowded by dullweed. “Do you want? It will stop you from just climaxing on the spot. You were upset about that in my workshop.” He inhaled, then handed it over.
Trevor stared at the offered pipe, then took it, hand trembling. “You… you… are you trying to scare me on purpose?”
“I was to be a pirate. I longed to be a pirate. I have a lot of skills that would be useful for a pirate. And I tried. I lasted one week under sail, and we actually turned around and returned and I was thrown off the ship for going absolutely mad. Do you know why? I am absolutely terrified of the open water. They put me in the brig and I almost clawed my way out of it. I won’t let that interest go to waste, though. So I did some decorating.”
Trevor squirmed under the boot; Fitch twisted and prodded more. “And… and that stuff?” He twisted his muzzle over and jabbed his head towards the torture implements. His red-gloved hand continued holding onto Fitch’s boot. He realized he was now holding onto the pipe in the other. Oh why the fire not, he thought, and took his own inhale. It was immediately a little much, the ember cracking, and he coughed smoke out and handed it back.
“That’s for if you don’t pay,” Fitch chuckled, and put on his ghastly grin. “Or, if you ask nicely.”
“I just… I… I’m sorry, this is entirely outside of my life so far,” Trevor sighed. “You enjoy stepping on me, though?”
“If you lie back, I’ll step all over you. I can tell you enjoy it. I can feel it even through the sole. A hard lump that twitches.” He rocked his foot and Trevor reflexively flexed his cock. “Am I wrong about you? If I am, please tell me so I can let you go. I would be surprised, but I’d rather not ruin someone I have to work with.”
“No, no, actually, I can’t really stop looking at you, I just try not to stare, it’s rude,” Trevor said, and his face started to heat up from the intoxicating smoke. “I just, I don’t want to get beaten, or hurt, or… I don’t want to cry, I just. Well, I don’t know. I liked when you stroked my face.”
Fitch left his boot in place and leaned forward further, bumping his knee onto the edge of the bed so he didn’t squash Trevor’s groin flat. He lifted a black-gloved hand and brushed his knuckles under Trevor’s chin, then along his whiskers, his lips, and curled them underneath to touch the other side. He stroked his thumb across the guara’s lip as Trevor held his muzzle partly open and stared, wide eyes slowly reddening. “Is this the first time?”
“N-no,” Trevor sighed, and reached up to feel over Fitch’s hand, leather on leather. “Do you really want to know?”
“Do you think I just want to stuff you like a sausage casing? It’s messy, and you would probably faint from the sheer terror of the great pirate Fitch bearing down into your virgin shithole.”
Trevor sputtered and laughed against Fitch’s hand, then licked at the leather. He sniffed, and groaned slightly, sniffed again, then nuzzled against it. “Can… I’ll tell you if you let me lick your boot.”
“Hmm?” Fitch said, and didn’t move one inch.
“Please, let me lick your boot? Not on the floor. Up here? I’m not a dog.”
“You’re not. You’re some wild, exotic Galean canine I picked up somewhere,” Fitch said, and started to pant slightly. His eyes, too, reddened, and his ears sagged. He picked his boot up and propped it on the bed instead.
Trevor scooted back and turned around, sprawled onto his front, then pushed his face up against the black leather. He sniffed at it - leather, and not much else. No smells from outside, and little damage. He kissed the toe. “I… this neighbor of mine was a cheetah, an absolute brat. Always talking down to everyone, even teachers in school, the pastor at church. He always dressed like he was to ride a horse around town, with fancy polished boots and riding gloves and a tail coat. For some reason, my aunt and his mother got it in their minds to try and make us friendly. I remember waiting until he went to the toilet and found his boots and went to… to touch and lick them. He caught me doing it, and told me that he’d tell on me if I didn’t do it again with him wearing them. So, I did. And then he told me he’d tell on me if he couldn’t do it to mine, and well. What was I going to do? He was a mystery, he would pick on me and tease me and call me names with his friends and then we would run into each other behind the schoolhouse or after church or something and stroke each other off or whatever.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“You’re like him except you’re much bigger, and much meaner, and you dress much, much better. And not spotty.” Trevor squeezed his rump together and pressed against the bedsheets, and punctuated his words every sentence or so by licking at Fitch’s boot. “I’ve never been scared of him. I was terrified of you. When you pinned me down to that stump, I thought you were going to ruin me right there. And when you told me I stink, I mean, I don’t want to stink-”
“I want you to stink. I want you to stink like musk and leather and male sex,” Fitch cut him off. “And you do. Did you finish yourself last night, to that raucous fucking next door?”
“Excuse me?” Trevor sat up.
“Petrie’s apartment is between yours and my workshop. I work late. He had that hollering cow over again. That dog confuses the fuck out of me. If I had to guess anyone wouldn’t be able to find someone to screw, it would be him. He’s a fucking dwarf and he yowls opera all the time, and if you mention a number he starts drooling like a wild wolf after a deer. But no, he has been seeing that big-breasted cow lady for months now. He pounds her. He can lick her cunt without even getting on his knees. I think she’s smitten with him. I’m not jealous - it’s amusing, and fucking irritating, because the walls are thin here.”
“Oh, I did hear them,” Trevor chuckled. “I didn’t.. Uh. I don’t much like women.”
“Then we do have something in common, aside from this bizarre fucking interest,” Fitch said. “Lie back. I’m not going to pound you. Now. Yet.”
Trevor started to move and Fitch pushed him back. He sat roughly on the sheets, then the panther pushed him again. “Hey!” Fitch straddled over him, immediately putting his still-clad bulge against Trevor’s. “What are you doing?” He raised his hands to Fitch’s chest, and the panther grabbed his wrists and pushed them down to the sheets. Trevor tucked his muzzle and flatted his ears.
Fitch began to grind, and his jaw hung open, drool glistening on his lower lip while his stop-start purring rattled openly out of his face. “I put this outfit on just for you,” he growled, then leaned his muzzle up and licked Trevor from the neck up the side of his face. He continued thrusting, leather squeaking against leather. “I put you in that outfit just for me.”
The maned wolf looked overwhelmed again, and stared up at Fitch. He struggled his arms, and Fitch pinned them harder. It felt thrilling, and not exactly worrisome. He twisted his torso and the cat growled, moving so his erection pushed against Trevor’s from a slightly different angle.
Fitch nuzzled him hard in the ear. “Don’t stop struggling, I’m the captain, and you didn’t come aboard willingly,” he whispered. “Pretend you’re a slave or something.”
Saynah, he’s playing make-believe at this! Trevor grinned wide, and then wiped the look off his face. “Stop it,” he growled, then whined. “Let me go!” Fitch responded by flailing his tail around, and shifted his position so he straddled on one of Trevor’s thighs instead of across both, using his booted foot to pin Trevor’s ankle. Trevor squealed again. “This… this is my tribal attire! I’m not one of those…” what do you call a prostitute what do you call a prostitute, “Harem boys!” Boys aren’t in a harem-
“Shut up,” Fitch snarled, and grabbed his muzzle. Trevor could feel his cock throb.
The maned wolf squirmed his legs out from under Fitch and ended up splayed, then picked one boot up and swung the heel down on the back of Fitch’s. “Mmmfh! Mmfffh!”
Fitch let out a fearsome rrowrl and drool hung from his fangs and lower lip onto Trevor’s chest, and the intermittent throbbing under his leathers became regular as his tail hung up in a curve and twitched.
Trevor, on the other hand, was no less aroused and yet no closer to climax. He tucked his ears back and whimpered under Fitch’s gloved hand, then gasped when the panther let go of him. Fitch quickly moved to kneel over his chest.
“Clean me up, slave dog,” the panther hissed, and unbuttoned his drop pouch. His cock and balls flopped out, as did a slop of creamy semen. The smell made Trevor dizzy - it was fearsomely disgusting, not just the salty musk of spunk but the hot sweat and leather and ripe stink of Fitch didn’t wash it in the bath! He wrinkled his snout. Fitch grabbed him by the scruff, and he whined again, then started to lick. He slurped and licked, poking his muzzle around and smearing it into the mess, though after several moments, he had much of it cleaned up.
“Now, stand up. You look like a handsome mess.” Fitch backed off and stood up himself, pouch flap dangling between his legs, black cock swaying thick and no longer very hard.
Trevor crawled out of bed and haltingly stood up. Though he was taller than Fitch, he felt small. Small and very erect. Fitch slid in behind him, then pulled him down to his lap again. “Please don’t,” Trevor said, actually serious.
Fitch grabbed him back and craned his head up to nose along the base of his ear. “It’s your turn. Put your hands behind your back. Pretend I’ve cuffed you,” he whispered.
Trevor reached back and put his wrists together in an X, pinned between his lower back and Fitch’s leather coat. The position shoved his ribs out and made him tilt back further.
Fitch grasped around his chest, then swung his hand up to hold Trevor by the neck, fingers brushing his neck fur more than squeezing at all. His other hand groped down and squeezed through the leather codpiece. “Don’t lie to me. You enjoyed that,” he growled, against Trevor’s shoulder. He squeezed and stroked, and Trevor whimpered and squirmed, both from the titillation and because his cock was cramped up in the snug space. Fitch began to pull the buttons free, and the pouch opened up abruptly, as Trevor’s cock sprang out. The panther teased the shaft, rolling the foreskin down and back up, then thumbed around the rim of his glans. The cat brushed his knuckles over the top of the head, and Trevor squirmed his legs, swung his heels back against the edge of the bed, and whined again.
“Un…un-h-hand me,” Trevor squeaked.
“I bet you’ll finish just from the thought of me using you further,” Fitch growled, and held at the base of Trevor’s turgid shaft. His hand slid up from the guara’s neck and pointed two fingers, swiped them along the lips, and pushed them into Trevor’s mouth.
“Ahh? Aaahhr,” Trevor groaned, and opened up. He doesn’t want me to bite does he? Fitch felt around, chuckled as he stroked around Trevor’s tongue, and then pushed his fingers back into his throat. What no! “AHH! RRCK!” Trevor discovered two things at that moment: he had expected to have a gag reflex, and did not; and that having a fearsome panther’s gloved fingers pushed into his throat made him climax instantly. His cock leaped and throbbed and sent one shot of spunk upwards with enough force that it went clear over the bed and hit the wall behind with a wet smack. The remainder pumped onto his face and chest while his throat contracted around Fitch’s fingers. He finally yanked his hand out from behind his back and pulled the panther’s fingers from his face, drool pouring from his muzzle. “What was THAT?!” He curled a fist and coughed.
Fitch waggled the guara’s dribbling shaft, and then wiped his hand off on Trevor’s thigh. Then his other hand. “Payment.”
Comments
H. A. Kirsch
I really openly include my own interests into my stories. maybe sometimes to a fault - for example, intense stuff happens really fast in this story series, which I want to tackle during editing. I really love this story series so far; it might actually be the favorite thing I've written so far. It lets me be funny and serious and light and dark and progressive and complicated and everything.
Marcwolf
On a personal note - being uncut myself I always get a whiff of my natural musk when I retract my foreskin. Nothing to do with being unclean (smega etc) but the healthy scent of my natural phermones.
Marcwolf
Very hot and kinky. Fitch loves leather role play. Looking forward to seing what other games Fitch enjoys, and sexual adventures with Trevor..
