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booleanean · 3 months ago

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The Ides, the Ides, Beware the Ides

[Author's note: Summary past the content warning

This involves heavy non-con. Julius Caesar is raped by Brutus and his coconspirators, under threat of death of his entire family. Julius Caesar sees them as weak and pathetic the entire time, and does not experience it as a traumatic event.

Julius Caesar receives some bad omens regarding the ides of march, and the spilling of something on the floor of the theater of Pompey, where the senate meets. Twenty-three daggers will plunge. Will he meet his fate head on? Will he manage to survive?

This is an alternate history inflection point story.]

Kalends of March, year of the consulship of Marcus Antonius and Aulus Hirtius

Gaius Julius Caesar strode down the street alongside today's aide. The weather was still bitter cold, though he knew it could get much colder. His bones remembered the freezing nights on the campaign in Gaul and further north, where he'd had to break the ice in his wash water every morning. No, Rome was a much more pleasant place to be this time of year. He pulled his garments tighter against the frigid wind, wishing he'd brought something with a hood. His bones might remember the hard, frozen ground, but they were also halfway through their fifth decade.

Ahead, between two buildings, he saw two figures, huddled together, speaking in whispers. As they approached the alleyway, Julius recognized his friend Brutus and that sniveling weasel of a man Cassius.

"I don't trust that man," Julius muttered.

"Sir?"

"Cassius. He's just so... pale."

"Yes, sir."

"A good man has a good tan, I always say."

"Yes, sir. Certainly, sir."

He'd never understood what Brutus saw in that little rat. Sure, he was handsome enough, but surely at their age, Brutus wasn't in it just for the looks? Ah well, to each their own.

"There's too much whispering in this city now. We should do something about that. Maybe Spurinna can shed some light on this whole situation."

The seer Spurinna had sent him an urgent missive. He had dire news that couldn't be trusted to a messenger, so Julius had had to haul himself across town to hear it in person. He'd met the man before, even paid for his services. What if this was this just a way to get more of his money? Julius shook his head. The greed in the Republic was truly becoming disgusting.

---

"Twenty-three..." Julius hummed.

"Yes, my lord. Twenty-three men will plunge their daggers deep and spill the liquids in you and on the marble floor before the end of the day on the ides of March."

Julius considered the scrawny old man and his scattering of entrails. The metallic smell of freshly butchered fowl filled his nostrils. Did he eat the birds after he spilled their guts? The thought floated across an odd calm. He'd always known people would try to kill him, but this... At least if he had a warning, maybe he could prevent his fate, or at least postpone it.

But then again, he didn't truly believe in this superstitious garbage. The Gods wouldn't be so transparent as to leave clues to their plans in the guts of chickens or ducks, would they?

He paid the seer and strode out the door without another word. His guard, still visibly frustrated at being left outside, fell in alongside him. Despite his own insistence that it was just superstition, he couldn't help but feel eyes spying on him from every shadow.

---

Ides of March, year of the consulship of Marcus Antonius and Aulus Hirtius

Julius woke with a start as Calpurnia screamed. He had his sword in his hand and was between his wife and the door to their sleeping chamber before she had to draw breath. The room was empty, and as her scream faded, all he could hear was the wind outside.

"Where..."

"A dream. Julius, I'm sorry. A nightmare... I—"

Julius sheathed his sword and sat on her side of the bed, his racing heart calming. By the light leaking through the shutters, pre-dawn was just beginning to color the sky gray. She looked so beautiful in this light, her face delicate despite a prominent nose, her hair tied back in a loose braid for sleep. He held a hand up to her cheek, and she pressed her face against it.

"You were dead," she whispered, barely audible even in the pre-dawn quiet, her voice thick with the remembered pain. "I was cradling you in my arms, your robes were soaked through with blood."

Julius gently kissed her forehead even as Spurinna's words sang through his mind. "I'm here, my love. I'm hale."

"Don't go to the senate today?"

Julius blinked. She'd never tried to interfere with his duties, as was fitting for a wife. He wasn't angry. He loved her too much to ever be angry with her for a simple question.

"Love, I can't stay away. There's an important vote, I—"

"Please..." Her tone was full of fear and need and so tiny he almost thought he imagined it, yet so insistent despite it.

"Alright, I'll stay here."

Calpurnia wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. "Thank you. I can't lose you, my love."

"Nor I you." Julius stroked the top of her head, his nose buried in her hair as he kissed her forehead. She smelled of the perfumed soap the slaves washed her with every morning. Underneath, there was the smell he associated just with her.

The proximity to his wife made his loins stir, his cock pressing against his sleeping garments.

"The little dictator is up early, I see," she said.

"He enjoys being close to his public." He squeezed his wife and kissed the top of her head. "But he can wait his turn if you would rather try to sleep."

His entire position as the Dictator Perpetuus would be compromised if anyone found out he did not just take his wife whenever he wanted. She'd been so timid at first, after their marriage, but he'd sat her down and explained everything. A bad experience in his youth, a man of higher status... He'd talked with friends, who had similar experiences and simply took out their own frustrations on those around them, but he couldn't on his wives. Besides, they both had slaves that they sought out if their needs didn't match on a particular night. Another thing he'd be ridiculed for, if they knew his wife slept with the slaves.

Her hand slid down his front, resting on his loins. "I'd like to hear what he has to say. I like his speeches, he has a very—" she squeezed him through the thin fabric of his sleep tunic "—firm tone I enjoy."

Julius kissed his wife, her lips peach-soft and twice as sweet. She was putty in his arms, so soft and perfect. They laid back down together, lips still locked. Sometimes, their coupling was intense, a need flowing from both of them for more, now, but this early morning he could feel Calpurnia needed reassurance more than anything. He honestly felt the need himself as well, Spurinna's words still echoing through his mind. The end of the ides...

He helped her out of her tunic, then kissed his way down her chest and stomach to her sex. Her spread legs wrapped around his head as his tongue found its mark, probing gently at first before following her unspoken directions to her muffled climax as she covered her mouth with her pillow.

When he entered her, his worries vanished as her arms clutched his back. His release was so intense, he collapsed onto Calpurnia, whispering her name.

They lay together as the sun rose and climbed high enough to illuminate the far wall of the sleeping chamber through the slats of the spring shutters. When his servant came to wake him, he shooed the man away and told him to have Mark Anthony dismiss the senate.

---

Halfway through the morning, another rap at the door roused him from his dosing.

"My Lord Caesar, Lord Brutus is here to speak with you." The voice was muffled by the thick wood of the door, but the anxiety in it was still clear.

"Tell him to go home. The senate is not meeting today."

"He was quite insistent, my lord."

Julius sighed and kissed Calpurnia's forehead again. "I'll go deal with him. You stay here."

"Be safe, my love."

Brutus sat in the atrium, drinking a cup of tea a slave had brought him.

"Salve, meus Brutus!"

"Salve, Caesar. Why are you not at the senate, my friend?"

Julius took another cup and sat opposite Brutus. "I've had some bad omens relating to today, so I am staying at home. Both from my wife, and from a haruspex."

Brutus laughed. "Omens?! Why, Julius, are you getting superstitious in your old age?"

He sipped his tea to get a moment to think. Brutus was a friend, but he was also ambitious. "I think it can be wise to be cautious with how much whispering I've seen in dark alleyways."

Brutus laughed again. "The great Julius Caesar, scared of women's dreams and the ramblings of foolish old men. Truly, the Republic is in a dire state."

"Watch your tongue, Brutus." Julius regretted the tone the second he heard it come from his mouth, but he did not like people disparaging his wife in her own home.

"Come on, old friend, I merely jest. Come to the senate. I will watch your back for you, if you are afraid of knives in the dark."

Julius considered. He could feel Brutus's ambition, knew if he showed weakness now, he'd be in front of the assembled senate within the hour proclaiming their Dictator Perpetuus had lost his mind and was cowering in his home. His promise to Calpurnia and Spurinna's warning of the Ides tugged at him, but he couldn't see another way out. If he went, he could lose everything, but he saw in his friend's eyes that if he stayed in the safety of his own home, he would lose everything. Perpetuus would be a title to be scoffed at, while Brutus wielded ultimate power. If he didn't just send his troop of gladiators to kill him and his entire family in their sleep that very night.

"Very well," he sighed. "Wait in the vestibule while I prepare to leave."

Calpurnia was not happy he was going, but she was politically astute enough to see he had no choice. She kissed him before he left, longer than was proper in public, and he could smell the tears forming in her eyes.

"Come back to me, my love, no matter the cost."

---

The senate was crowded, with lots of men milling about. Julius could feel every eye on him, felt the room behind him thick with daggers and swords. Spurinna had been outside, warning him that the day was not over yet.

Brutus had taken him by the elbow as they passed into the senate chamber, marching him forward even as he tried to slow.

"Mea Brutus..."

Brutus leaned close. "Listen, 'Dictator Perpetuus'," The scorn for the title was palpable. It felt like a knife between his ribs. "Your reign ends today."

Julius's breath caught in his throat. Calpurnia, my love… He tried to shake himself free of Brutus's grip, tried to reach his own dagger.

"You die today, and your family will soon follow you. Your estates will burn to the ground and the soil will be salted so no one can live there for ten generations." Julius's heart wrenched in his chest. Calpurnia, no… "Or, you submit to me and my party, and we let you and that degenerate woman of yours live. You even get to keep your title, though everyone will know it's a farce and you're a figurehead."

The world spun around him, time slowing to a crawl, the smell of freshly butchered fowl stinging his nose. He saw a flash, two roads: One where his own entrails, spilled on the marble floor of the forum as one of Spurinna's birds, predicted the rise of an Empire to rival the gods. One where he lived on, got to grow old with Calpurnia, to see his grandkids have children of their own. Down that path, the empire lay concealed to him behind Calpurnia's all-encompassing eyes. It could rise or burn to the ground.

He teetered. He had lived for the glory of Rome, to spread Roman civilization to the unwashed masses, to bring order to a world rife with chaos, subjugate those that needed subjugating. He'd sacrificed everything in his life for the Republic, climbed to the very top, just for that goal. I'll never submit. It's better to live on your feet than die on your knees. The words formed on his tongue, ready to be spoken, when he felt the remembered touch of his Calpurnia's peach-soft kiss and saw the flecks of gold in her dark eyes.

She spoke softly in his ear, her body miles away, but her voice clear as crystal. "It's better to live on your knees than to die on your feet. A dead man cannot reclaim a throne, my love."

"I yield."

The words stung more than the daggers would, even as a whisper. He'd tasted enemy steel a number of times, but this pain cut deep into his soul.

"Not good enough, even had you said it aloud."

Brutus took Caesar's dagger away and pushed him down to his knees, then in one quick motion, sliced the fabric of his toga right where the pin held it in place. The blade nicked his skin, sending a sharp jolt of fire through him as the garment sank onto his belt.

"Wha—"

Hands grabbed him from behind and someone stepped on his calf, holding him in place on his knees. The marble was hard, his knees already aching. He watched in amusement as Brutus undid his own toga, exposing his cock, still limp. It looked sad and shriveled.

He'd lain with men often enough, on campaigns with comrades before he gained rank, in bathhouses, even with some of his slaves. If it ever came out that he'd tried receiving from one of the slaves he'd captured in Gaul... and enjoyed it too... No, Brutus and his conspirators did not scare him. In fact, he felt himself stir at the thought of what they'd do to him. He laughed at the absurdity of his protégé standing in front of him, getting ready to rape him, and he couldn't even find it in himself to have an erection.

"You're going to humiliate me in front of your gathered audience? That's your plan?" Julius laughed. The slap stung, and he spat at Brutus's feet. "Next time you're going to rape someone, at least have the decency to have an erection. Or are you not man enough for that?"

Julius already felt the gears turn in his head, seeing ways he could reduce his own perceived humiliation, and decrease Brutus and his coconspirators' standing at the same time. He also acknowledged he shouldn't push too hard, or they might still decide to kill him or his family out of spite. This knife edge of politics and danger made him feel alive in ways he hadn't in years. His immediate urge was to absolutely lay into Brutus, humiliate him to within an inch of his life, ridicule his manhood, expose what a pathetic little play this was, that a real politician wouldn't have to stoop this low. That would just end with a dagger between his ribs and Calpurnia being made a slave to one of these sad excuses for Romans. He refused to look cowed, though. If the Republic required him to suck off his rivals, he'd do so with his head held high.

He opened his mouth to insult Brutus a little more, to call for the gathered senators to behold how useless a man stood before them, limp when his perceived duty to the empire demanded he be hard, but Brutus forestalled him by shoving his limp manhood into his mouth. While he knew biting the pathetic thing off would be the death of him, Caesar couldn't resist letting Brutus know he still had teeth. He glared up at his attacker, fire bright in his eyes.

"If you don't get us off until there's none left interested, we'll have to see if Calpurnia can do better," Brutus said.

Julius pictured it, briefly. His protégé doing this to his wife. His imagined Calpurnia showed none of his restraint and bit clean through Brutus's limp appendage, spitting it out at his feet with his blood dripping from her chin. She glared defiantly as the knife sank into her breast, cursing the entire conspiracy with her last breath. Her earlier imagined words rang in his ears earlier, "dead men don't reclaim thrones", and got to work.

A hush had fallen over the theater, the rest of the senate watching as Brutus's group cornered him. Julius heard murmurs and shuffling feet, but no one tried to intervene. He fumed silently at the implicit betrayal of his senate as Brutus grew hard in his mouth, his member responding to a warm, wet environment as much as anything else. There had been friendly faces in the crowd, people he'd trusted as much or more than Brutus.

Brutus, meanwhile, was rough. Once he was fully erect, he shoved his manhood down Julius's throat. Julius forced his gag reflex down, refusing to show weakness even now. The act would've felt degrading, had he not experienced it before. In his most private life, he enjoyed giving this pleasure to others. If anything, this was more degrading for Brutus, being reduced to forcing himself on another man for political power.

He glared up at Brutus, letting the man feel every shred of disdain he had for him as he fought the urge to gag. Brutus tried to meet his eyes, but had to look away, fucking his face rougher in retaliation for the lost battle of wills. Julius coughed, retched a little, then refocused his will, finding strength in the small victory. He felt Brutus's cock stiffen, knowing what was coming soon. Another victory, even if others would see it as defeat.

"Bah, you suck cock like a virgin," Brutus said, pulling back.

His cock was covered in spit and mucus from Julius's abused throat, bobbing in the air as it twitched. Briefly, Julius thought he'd explode all over him, relishing the thought of the humiliation Brutus would suffer at reaching his climax so soon at the hands of his political rival. Alas, his manhood quieted soon enough.

"Get him on all fours." Brutus motioned to his co-conspirators impatiently. "And get those clothes off him."

He was pushed down onto his hands and knees. Knives nicked his skin as they cut through his robes, a slow drop running down his leg. He could feel it tickle his leg hair. A deeper nick, the wielder of this blade intentionally not careful, dripped his blood onto the polished marble. With his clothes cut away completely save for his sandals, the cold bit as much as the daggers did. Was that cut deep enough for Spurinna's warning? His liquids—

Brutus pressed his mucus-slicked cock against his ass and plunged it deep inside in one go. The intrusion hurt at first, mostly as it was so unexpected, but his own spit and thick mucus provided ample lubrication once he managed to relax a little. Brutus pulled back and shoved deep inside of him again as Julius's blood slowly dripped onto the tiles from his cuts.

Suddenly, Julius laughed. Each time Brutus plunged back into his ass, his laugh hitched from the impact. Brutus's 'dagger' was sure plunging deep. It hit that amazing spot deep inside that sent electric shocks through his entire body. If he kept going, Julius would most definitely spill his liquids on the marble, even if the tiny drips of blood didn't count.

"Someone shut him up," Brutus growled, then when one of the other conspirators — Spurius, if Julius recognized him correctly from his odd position — grabbed for shreds of his cut up toga, he added gruffly, "No, you fool. Fuck his mouth, degrade him."

Spurius was already hard when he parted his robes. Julius wondered if the man spent much time in the back rooms at the bathhouse. This wasn't a display that should normally arouse a proper Roman, but then Julius had to acknowledge his own cock was as hard as it had been this morning with his wife.

His new assailant was as rough as Brutus had been, plunging in with complete disregard for the comfort of his target. Julius fought for breath, especially when another set of hands force his head down onto Spurius and kept it there. He coughed, trying to get a breath past an obstructed airway, but couldn't. His vision started to blur at the edges, the world losing its color even as Brutus roared in perceived triumph and twitched in his ass, emptying his worthless seed where it could do the empire no further harm by producing offspring.

As soon as Spurius vanished from his throat, Julius gasped, drinking in sweet fresh air. He managed four deep, rasping breaths before his head was yanked back painfully and another manhood was placed in his mouth. His eyes were too filled with tears to recognize the man, but the robes had a banding in a color that Gaius Trebonius tended to favor. Brutus's cock slipped out, but was quickly replaced by what he guessed must be Spurius's.

As his new assailants worked at him from two ends, Julius gave himself over to staying alive and whole. He'd lost wrestling matches as a boy, but never more than once, and he'd survived because he knew when to protect his life over his perceived honor. He'd been in enough scrapes as a grown man too, including his captivity at the hands of pirates, to know when to just buckle down and get through. This was one of those times. As uncomfortable as the abuse of his throat was at first, he was growing accustomed to it now, and the mucus helped make the cocks in his ass actually pleasant.

Trebonius roared at the gathered senate, "Behold your Caesar, reduced to tears and hopeless whimpering by our manhoods. Is this who you want leading you?"

Julius barely registered the murmur. There wasn't strong assent in the gathered senators, as Trebonius would have hoped. Still, Trebonius seemed to feel validated. Maybe there were nods he couldn't see himself, face buried in robes and pubic hair. The older man groaned and twitched, pressing his cock deep down Julius's throat as he emptied himself.

As he pulled back, Julius let his teeth scrape his assailant's cock, which earned him a smack hard enough to send him to his stomach, flat on the cold marble. Spurius collapsed on top of him, the new position driving his cock in at an even more pleasurable angle.

Julius could feel his own pleasure mount, the rough treatment and pain somehow adding onto it in ways he hadn't expected. Deep down, he knew he was meant to guide this nation, to rule as Dictator Perpetuus for long years ahead, but right now all he could do was be a set of holes to use for others' pleasure. He grunted with each deep thrust of Spurius's cock until he too stiffened inside and bellowed through his climax.

Three. Only twenty to go.

Fresh cocks replaced Spurius and Trebonius, unidentifiable except by their pleasured grunting. He heard Brutus proclaim something, but couldn't make out what. The new conspirator fucking his ass was bigger than before, but stretched out as he was, and with mucus and two loads lubricating him, Julius welcomed the increased sensation. His cock, pressed between him and the spit-slick marble, slowly leaked more of his liquids onto the floor of the theater of Pompey.

Cock after cock emptied itself down his throat or in his ass. He was flipped over onto his back, his cock bobbing pathetically as a young conspirator energetically fucked him. Several of the group just stroked their manhood over him until they spilled on his chest or abdomen. Some he recognized, others were too obscured by bodies or the inevitable tears from having his throat abused, or sheer overwhelm from all the sensations they were giving him.

Fourteen. Nine more...

He came himself, properly, as the young senator pounded him, his cock going rock hard and twitching in the air as it spilled untouched. The hammering of his insides had finally built enough and long enough for his climax to peak and throw him over the edge. He felt the momentary shame of climaxing at the hands of would-be usurpers, of showing outwardly how good this felt, but then surrendered again to the situation. They were doing this to him, but he would come out the other end alive. He would rebuild support, retake his throne, and he'd cast each and every to his slaves, to ravage and use as they saw fit. For their betrayal, not for what they were doing to him now. What they were doing now was filling him with ideas for the next Saturnalia celebration, when the roles of society would be flipped.

As the twenty-third load flooded his bowels, Julius started laughing again. A slow laugh from deep inside, a laugh of victory, of life and survival, of triumph over those that would have ended him. He had survived. He had won, no matter how anyone else saw today, shown that he was up to this challenge. He'd seen the gathered senators file out one by one at least three conspirators ago, leaving him surrounded by just Brutus and his pathetic little group. They'd tried to shame him, but instead managed to bore their onlookers and show how pathetic their coup was.

He caught Brutus's eye, saw that his former friend knew what was going on, knew how lost he was. Briefly, Julius worried that he'd kill him out of spite, but with the slump of his protégé's shoulders, he knew his life would be spared this day. Good thing too, as he doubted he could lift his arms, let alone put up a defense.

"Et tu, Brute?" Julius managed as his enemy turned to leave, his voice hoarse from the abuse his throat had suffered.

The conspirators slinked off like the rats they were, crawling back into the shadows they had occupied before, leaving Julius to stare up at the statue of Pompey the Great. Another ally turned against him. As dead as Brutus would be soon enough. The statue seemed to regard him with a mixture of admiration and contempt, the same look the real Pompey had given him after his defeat at Pharsalus.

Julius drifted at the edge of consciousness for an undeterminable amount of time, until finally someone stirred in the Curia. He managed to turn his head, only to recognize three of the slaves from his own stables. Three he knew Calpurnia trusted implicitly. His heart reached out to his wife, willing her to know he yet lived. They were carrying a litter, as if expecting to find a dead man to return to their mistress.

"Salvete," Julius croaked.

The trespass of addressing slaves as free men felt minor compared to what happened here, and he had truly never been happier to see anyone in his life. Friends, not slaves. Maybe he'd convince Calpurnia to free them out of gratitude. At the least, they'd earned rooms in the house, away from their barracks.

They gathered him up gently, loading him onto the litter after checking his wounds, and wiping the worst of his assailant's leavings with his discarded robes. Thankfully, they had a blanket to cover him as they lifted and made for the Via outside. He desperately wanted to stay awake, to show the people of Rome that he was alive and well, but within the safe care of his own soon-to-be-former slaves, he slipped into unconsciousness, one arm slipping from the side of the litter.

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booleanean · 3 months ago

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The Ides, the ides, beware the ides of March!

I just finished the first draft for the Ides of March fic where Caesar is "stabbed" my many "rock hard daggers". It turned out an odd combination of noncon and topping from the bottom as Caesar refuses to be cowed.

Gotta edit it tonight / tomorrow, then I'll post it here and in the other usual places. Hope y'all enjoy it when it's out! Just sad I didn't get a chance to include a salad tossing joke. Didn't fit the overall tone...

Here's a sneak peak I posted earlier

Here's the finished version!

#ns/fw #m/m #smut #dubious consent #non consent #hype #ides of march

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booleanean · 4 months ago

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Step-Brutus, what are you doing?

Working on a little fic for the Ides of March. Caesar took Spurinna's prophecy to mean one thing, when it meant another. Lets just say there's going to be a lot of "stabbing" with "daggers"... And what gets spilled won't be blood.

Here's an as of yet unedited snippet! (it's a setup for what looks currently as a non-con scene, but is written more as dub-con. Basically, he's forced to, but into it)

---

Brutus leaned close. "Listen, 'Dictator Perpetuus'," The scorn for the title was palpable. It felt like a knife between his ribs. "Your reign ends today."

Julius's breath caught in his throat. Calpurnia, my love… He tried to shake himself free of Brutus's grip, tried to reach his own dagger.

The world spun around him, time slowing to a crawl, the smell of freshly butchered fowl stinging his nose. He saw a flash, two roads, one where his own entrails spilled on the marble floor predicted the rise of an Empire to rival the gods, one where he lived on, got to grow old with Calpurnia, to see his grandkids have children of their own. He couldn't see the empire, or anything other than Calpurnia's eyes down that path.

He teetered. He had lived for the glory of Rome, to spread Roman civilization to the unwashed masses, to bring order to a world rife with chaos, subjugate those that needed subjugating. He'd sacrificed everything in his life for the Republic, climbed to the very top, just for that goal. I'll never submit. It's better to live on your feet than die on your knees. The words formed on his tongue, ready to be spoken, when he felt remembered touch of his Calpurnia's peach-soft kiss and saw the flecks of gold in her dark eyes.

She spoke softly in his ear, her body miles away, but her voice clear as crystal. "It's better to live on your knees than to die on your feet. A dead man cannot reclaim a throne, my love."

"I yield."

The words stung more than the daggers would, even as a whisper. He'd tasted enemy steel a number of times, but this pain was felt deep in his soul.

"Not good enough, even had you said it aloud."

Brutus took his dagger away and pushed him down to his knees.

#ns/fw #smut #m/m #dubious consent #ides of march #julius caesar #brutus #et tu brute

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booleanean · 4 months ago

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Trey's Triplication

[Author's note: A Krakentober orphan, originally for the prompt "autofellatio". Trey's a little creepy at first, and he's triplicated without his consent, other than that this is all CW free. As always, also available on AO3 and will be on my Literotica when it gets approved.]

"You know, buddy, you wouldn't be able to handle me even if there were two of you."

The mysterious woman he'd spotted across the bar looked him up and down. He hadn't followed her out of the bar, not exactly. He'd been meaning to leave anyway, already settled up his bill and gotten his card back from behind the bar. Just cause he chugged the last of his beer… They'd been chatting so pleasantly. He'd let her talk about herself, even listened to her. She didn't owe him anything of course, but he hadn't wanted the night to end yet.

Her dress clung enticingly as she walked away from him, form fitting yet obscuring. Here in the dim streetlight on the sidewalk, the ends seemed to be made of shadow or mist, undefined and flowing in the wind of her passage. Must be the beer.

She turned and walked towards the alleyway. Must be parked there or something. He followed without thinking, stepping into the shadows. Sober-Trey would've realized how creepy that was, but he wasn't a bad person. He wouldn't do anything she didn't want him to. Other than talk, maybe just talk. Besides, she didn't seem worried at all.

A black cat sauntered out of the shadows and curled itself around her legs. She picked it up and stroked it behind the ears.

"Well, then I wish there were three of me, but even with just one—"

"You know what? I had fun chatting tonight, so I'll grant you that one. Three it is. But you're still not coming home with me, I don't think Abby would like you very much."

"Hettie…" the cat purred. It looked like a patch of shadow more than a cat now, but neither could speak, right? "What are you up to?"

Trey managed a startled "Wha—" before cutting off when her dress became more and more wispy. It still covered her perfectly, but the edges blurred and her eyes started to glow a fluorescent green. Her voice sounded odd, as if she were chanting, but there was something… She was speaking backwards, and not the regular way some people could, but as if a recording of her voice was played back in reverse. Chills ran down his spine. He started to turn to run when there was a flash of bright viridian light. His vision blurred and doubled, and he braced himself for the pain of being hit in the head.

A flash of sensation so strange passed through him, he swore something touched him on every cell of his body, both inside and out. The world lurched around him unevenly in three directions at the same time. He lost his balance, falling to his knees, three sets of hands on three different stretches of pavement, one in a puddle… He could feel his right palm, dry and wet at the same time. Another had a point of bright pain as it leaned on a piece of gravel.

He retched, emptying three stomachs. The splash of beer and bar snacks landing on the pavement came from all around.

"What did—" The echo of his own voice was disorienting, making it hard to speak. He forced himself to focus, spoke despite the echoing. "What did you do to me?"

"I granted your wish. Or cursed you for being a creep and following a lone woman into a dark alleyway. Really, I thought you were different. Oh, and don't think you can have your wicked way with women more easily now, there's—" a brief, ominous pause "—conditions to this."

He looked around, his vision lurching wildly again. To his left — was that still a concept that made sense? — there was another man just like him, and another to his right. His perspective shifted and one of them turned their head while the others didn't. Looking himself in the eye was a dizzying experience.

"I wasn't— I just enjoyed talking to— talking to you and— I'm sorry, I didn't— I would never—"

"Oh, I know you wouldn't, I can read people that well at least. Let's just say you wouldn't be here if I thought you would. Here." She flipped a business card onto the ground in front of one of him. "If you want me to undo this, come see me in a month. But remember, being a creep has little to do with intentions."

With that, he watched as she lifted off the ground a couple of inches and vanished in a burst of wind and a flash of more green light.

---

He woke up with a splitting headache. Willing himself to go back to sleep didn't work. Awareness of the world around him came slowly, starting with the blinding white light from the open curtains. He wasn't alone in bed. He felt otherworldly, like his limbs didn't belong to him.

Trey opened his eyes again. The visual jumble was worse than expected. Christ, how much had he had to drink last night? He seemed to be in his own bed, but who had he brought home? That mysterious woman from the bar?

He sat bolt upright and fell out of the side of the bed simultaneously. Still curled up in the blankets, he grunted at the impact and forced down a retch trying to empty an already empty stomach.

"Fuck." The word echoed from three mouths.

Staying where he was, he tried to focus. So that hadn't been some horrible nightmare. He had been cursed, and this was real, even if it was utterly impossible. He had three bodies now. They were all him. One mind, utterly overloaded with sensory input. Comfortable sheets, hard floor, three points of view.

Trey closed his eyes. He could deal with the sound. Deal with the conflicting sense of touch and the smells and as long as he laid still all the rest. Vision was too messed up to contemplate though. Even with his eyes closed, the veins on the inside of his lids danced in eye watering ways, like looking at one of those crazy dot pictures that was supposed to look 3D.

Slowly, he tried opening one eye. The world lurched again. Christ, how had he even managed to get home last night? A vague memory of stumbling and managing to hail a cab, then a very confused driver opening the door to his apartment for him. He tried to focus on one field of vision. His eyes started to hurt, but he pushed through until he could look around the room without wanting to throw up. The world was still visual cacophony, and opening both eyes made the whole thing even more difficult.

The next step was to try to move just one body. He smacked himself in the head, jammed his hand against the bedframe, the wall, even punched himself in the balls once, but finally he managed to raise just one arm.

"Fuck yeah!" Three voices said in unison.

Another thirty minutes of practice, and he managed to have his body on the floor crawl and then unsteadily stumble into the bathroom. His bladder ached, and telling which one was impossible. He didn't trust his control enough yet to release the flow on just one of him anyway.

The process of getting his second body to the bathroom was a little easier. He even managed to walk the third one over somewhat normally.

Figuring the toilet was too small of a target for now, he turned the shower on and peed into the bathtub, then stumbled to the kitchen one by one, thanking everything he believed in that he didn't have work for three more days. After emptying his bladder — well, bladders — and having some Tylenol with ample water, he felt a little better.

It took him most of the morning to make breakfast, even if it was just sandwiches. He kept knocking things over, bumping, even falling over. Falling was the worst, because in a moment of panic, he'd lose the individual control over his bodies and catch himself, either punching something or in one case falling over a second time.

He ordered lunch and dinner off Uber Eats, not trusting himself with the stove yet, and spent the rest of the day trying to process what had happened, and relearn even the most basic skills. The whole experience horrified him at first. He was a freak of nature now. Well, not nature. But a freak nonetheless. He'd have to buy more clothes, do more laundry… How would he have enough control and focus to work? How could he ever find a partner now, or even entertain? Lock two of him in the bedroom when he had friends over?

He felt like trash over following the strange woman into the alley. He never would have sober, but was this punishment fair? He never would've done anything, even if he acknowledged that making someone that uncomfortable was enough. Maybe it was fair.

Sleep was hard. He tried piling into the same bed again, but it wasn't made for three bodies and his elbows kept jabbing his ribs. Finally, he gave up and put the inflatable mattress he kept for guests on the floor and laid down on that, his bed, and the couch. Finding a suitable position for three bodies took a while, but finally he managed to drift off to sleep.

By the evening of his second day as triplets, the horror of the situation had settled down to an odd acceptance of a new reality. It felt like a weird sort of grieving. He knew it should bother him, but the more used he got to moving about with three bodies, the less it bugged him.

---

The last day of his long weekend, Trey woke up with a painful erection. Three painful erections. He tried to roll over and get back to sleep, but the curtains in the living room weren't quite closed all the way and the room was too bright. Drifting off with two bodies and having one be wide awake was such a weird sensation he forced himself awake the rest of the way.

He peed, still in the bathtub for now, then tried to make breakfast. It was a lot easier now, sleeping well and the practice the last couple of days let him control his bodies mostly independently. He still knocked a glass of orange juice over when he burned his other self making bacon, but his third self managed to catch the glass before it hit the floor without number one winging the greasy pan across the kitchen.

Even breakfast didn't make his erection go away. Every time it went down a little, he would think of trying to suck his own dick when he was in college. He refused to acknowledge the thought that now he could. The internet had told him that it felt like sucking dick a lot more than it felt like getting your dick sucked anyway so he'd stopped trying.

What would sucking dick feel like, though? The thought skittered across his horny mind like a droplet of water on a hot skillet. He'd never admit it out loud, but he'd always wondered. There had never been an opportunity to… Not really. But now?

Washing the dishes after breakfast was so much easier now. He scrubbed, he dried, he put away, and was done in three minutes flat. Patting himselves on the back for a job well done, he burst out laughing. A shower was next, the three of him piling into the tub.

Trey always liked showering with other people, though in the past it had always been girlfriends or one night stands. Brushing against cocks instead of boobs felt a little weird at first, but then it really was just his own. Washing his other's backs saved him from getting the back scrubber he always forgot to grab from the shelf and should really just hang in the shower.

As he washed his junk, he checked himself for lumps as he always did. On a random whim, he stopped and checked in a circle instead, each body checking the next one. Having his balls touched felt kinda nice, even if it was him touching. It felt like masturbating with his left hand, just unusual enough to be extra stimulating. Without even thinking, his hands shifted, grasping the shafts. At first, he just cleaned himselves, but stroking his cocks up and down felt so good, he didn't want to stop.

Trey was a little disappointed that it felt mostly like using his left hand. Just a little different, not really noteworthy or mind blowing. He hadn't really expected it to, but still… It was a little better, but maybe that was just because he had three cocks now.

Not wanting to deal with the sticky, drain clogging mess that was jerking off in the shower, he finished washing and toweled off. He liked to air-dry by laying on the bed for a bit after showering, but with three of him there that wouldn't work.

"Fuck, this is going to take a lot of getting used to," one of him said.

"I'll have to buy a bigger bed."

"Or more beds."

All three of him laughed.

"I think I'm going insane."

"That's what talking—"

"—to yourself means, right?"

"But fuck, I still want to jerk off."

Trey pulled out his phone and opened PornHub. Without even really thinking, he put in "double blowjob", one of his favorite fantasies, and scrolled through the results. He'd been dying to know what it was like from the second he'd seen the first video, years and years ago. Three hands wrapped around three cocks as the three of him leaned back against the wall next to his bed.

Thirty seconds into the first video, his attention started to slip. He'd tried everything over the years to make masturbation feel more interesting. Everything he could do then. But now…

One of hims kept watching the video as the other two repositioned. Seeing his cock so close up was weird. He was intimately familiar with it, but at the same time could only ever see it from a foot or more away. With two sets of eyes, he could see the entire thing simultaneously. That had taken some getting used to earlier, when he'd been relearning walking around his kitchen, but it seemed that three brains were as plastic as one.

Hes hesitated, lips parted, an inch away. He'd never done this. Well, one time with a cucumber cause he was curious, but he'd gotten bored three seconds in and felt goofy afterwards. His cocks throbbed, a drop of precum leaking out in two distinct perspectives. Following its path as it ran down his shaft, Trey couldn't resist anymore. He wrapped his mouth around his shaft and ran his tongue along his balls.

His cock felt massive in his mouth, even if it was just average in size. Three throats moaned as his tongue circled the head of his cock.

"Oh fuck," Trey said with his one unoccupied mouth.

The video showed both women licking along the side of the shaft, then kissing the head from both sides, so he tried to emulate them. The two of him closed their eyes, eye contact with himself still felt awkward and odd, but the feeling of two sets of lips on his sensitive head was exquisite.

He followed along as best he could with the video for a while, only holding off when the blonde tried to deepthroat the male actor. The sensations in his cock were transcendent. He loved regular blowjobs, and it stood to reason that he'd love double blowjobs even more, but there was something else to this as well. He knew exactly what felt good, and could adjust how his tongues and lips moved however felt the best with zero guess work.

Bobbing his head up and down on his shaft as he sucked one of his balls into his mouth, Trey could feel his orgasm approaching rapidly. It felt a little odd, a little more focused on one body than on all three, but oh god, it felt so good.

The taste was familiar enough, he'd tried his own before. It wasn't unpleasant, just not really his thing. Until now. Knowing he'd managed to get himself off with his mouth on the first try gave him a sense of pride that made him moan as much for the ecstasy coursing through him as the fruits of his labor landing on his tongue.

His other cocks twitched, but his other bodies didn't quite go over the edge. He could feel a sense of satisfaction settle in but it was overpowered by a need for more, a need to bury himselves deep and…

He dug some lube out of the nightstand, not really letting himself think. Horny brain was strong, but horny brains even stronger. The one of him that had cum knelt on the bed, bent forward. The one with the mouth full of cum got behind himself, rubbing his asshole with a lubed up finger.

He used a finger back there sometimes, when he was feeling adventurous, but he wasn't ready for the pressure of a real cock spreading him apart. He forced himself to relax, applied some more lube and tried adding a second finger.

Trey moaned as the second finger slipped in and moved his third self over onto the bed in front of his prone self. He slipped his cock into his mouth just as his other cock pressed against his ass again, slipping in with relative ease this time.

"Oh, fuck yes," two unoccupied mouths moaned simultaneously. "God, that's so tight."

He'd thought it would feel more like getting fucked than fucking, but oh god, that didn't matter at all anymore. Feeling his cock buried in a tight ass and mouth simultaneously was amazing enough, but with every little shift and twitch, his prostate sent a shock of pleasure through him. He started fucking himself slowly at first, applying plenty more lube and taking his time to get further inside of himself inch by inch.

Trey couldn't decide which he liked more, the unbelievably full feeling deep inside of him, or the heat and pressure around his cock. As he started fucking himself more vigorously, he decided it didn't matter and just tried to focus on sucking his own cock.

He'd always been quiet when he was masturbating, but this felt so good he couldn't stay quiet anymore. Every time he slammed into himself balls deep, he let out a little grunt, his cock hardening again so soon after his first orgasm.

All three Treys repositioned so he could lay flat on his stomach, top-Trey laying on top of him. Bottom-Trey and top-Trey sucked the cock of his third body as top-Trey's ass rose and fell, driving into bottom-Trey. Bottom-Trey's cock pressed against the bed, pointing down between his legs and rock hard. In the new position, he hit his prostate over and over again, every thrust ramming into him harder and harder.

"Oh fuck," three voices said.

He felt three orgasms build simultaneously, shifting just so, slowing down here and speeding up there to try to get there at the same time with all three bodies. He was in heaven, hovering right at the edge, knowing it was inevitable and that it was going to be one of the best orgasms of his entire life.

Two more thrusts, a whimper, and it hit. The feeling of heat spreading deep in his ass set off him that was getting a blowjob, which in turn pushed bottom-him over the edge. The three of him trembled, one collapsing onto the other as he rode through the most prolonged orgasm he'd ever had. Three fields of vision blurred and all he could hear was the blood rushing through three sets of ears.

He felt drained and satisfied in a way he hadn't in a long time, maybe ever. He lay panting tangled up in his own limbs for a long time before finally admitting that he needed another shower and needed to clean his sheets.

---

Hettie lounged around Abby's studio, watching her love work as she stroked her familiar Tibbers behind the ears.

"I don't think he's going to show up, Het," Abby said as she tied off the final stitch for the new leather axe cover she was working on. "You sure he's still alive? I thought you said they usually end up so confused and disoriented they can't care for themselves at all."

"Oh, he's alive. I checked in on him occasionally. He was a creep, but not bad enough to kill. Not by a long shot. I'd have stepped in if he hadn't gotten the hang of things."

Abby gave her a disapproving look, as if teaching folks ironic lessons wasn't something witches had been doing for time immemorial. Or at least immemorial for regular humans. Hettie had to admit calling this irony was a bit of a stretch, but it had been funny, damnit, and sometimes that had to be good enough.

She felt him approach before the door to the little shop attached to Abby's studio opened, admitting three well put together gentlemen who appeared to be identical triplets. If he'd been a hair more handsome, she'd fuck him before undoing her curse and reintegrating him.

"Hi," one of them said awkwardly. "I'm Trey."

Hettie grinned. "Oh, I remember you, Trey. I suppose you want me to undo—" she gestured at the three of him "—this?"

"I'm actually here to apologize. What I did that night was creepy as fuck. Following lone women into alleys is inexcusable, no matter what, and I've done a lot of soul searching since, well…" Now it was his turn to gesture. "So, I'm sorry for any discomfort I've caused."

Hettie blinked. A straight guy with a sense of decorum, and a proper apology. None of that "I didn't mean to" or "I wasn't going to" bullshit they were so fucking fond of nowadays. The last one she'd duplicated had threatened her when he came to get reintegrated.

She was impressed by the fine control of his separate bodies, too. Other duplicates often seemed disoriented and had trouble speaking with one voice, either switching from one to the other mid-sentence, or just speaking with two voices at the same time. Trey had his full attention on her, but one of him was fidgeting with a set of car keys, while another had a contrite expression. He'd also held the door open for himself as he entered, and hadn't stumbled once since he entered her extended perception.

"Oh, you caused me no discomfort. But I accept your apology. If you'll follow me to the back room, I'll reintegrate you."

"What? No! No, I— That's not what I'm here for."

"Really? You want to stay like this?"

"Can you make more of me?"

#ns/fw #krakentober #m/m #m/m blowjob #selfcest #magic #erotica #witch #curse #triplication #duplication #m/m anal #m/m/m threesome #selfcest threesome

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booleanean · 4 months ago

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Don’t confuse my hatred of the hyperwealthy for jealousy over what they have. I don’t want a six figure sports car, or a 40 room mansion, or a gold leaf truffle wagyu steak dinner. I want redistribution of wealth that allows for infrastructural support of all citizens’ basic survival needs.

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booleanean · 5 months ago

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This tweet lives rent-free in my head now. Hands-down the best comment about the relationship between art and artist.

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booleanean · 6 months ago

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in order to not succumb to sex negative conservatism you have to accept that people will get off to things that are upsetting to you. and you cannot assume anything about what they have or have not experienced, what they do or do not believe, and how they act based solely on what gets them off. even if it's extremely confusing and disturbing to you. there are people who have only ever had heterosexual vanilla sex in missionary with the lights off, who actively contribute to more real world harm than your average fetish artist. kink is not a reliable source of information on someone's moral standing. it just feels good to think that way.

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booleanean · 6 months ago

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Krakentober 2024 - Day 8 - Fight or Flight, Rainy Day

[Author's note: Just a lighthearted furry lesbian romance. Clover, an Anthro Bunny, fights her fear of Lara, an Anthro Canadian Timberwolf. No content warnings.

If you've read my other stuff, you might recognize the characters! Clover and Lara also featured in Krakentober last year, and a Christmas story soon after. This story is about how they meet. These stories are all available on my Literotica, Inkitt, and AO3 as well! Links can be found in my linktree]

Clover refused to be a statistic. Her uncle had warned her when she went off to the big city, off to "that damned college", that she'd be back within a month. Leporids — the unspoken 'prey species' was clear in his tone — weren't meant to leave their hometowns, their safe enclaves. Clover had explained that there hadn't been sentient-on-sentient hunting in over a thousand years, that she was as likely to be killed by a fellow Leporid as she was by a Canid, but he'd just shaken his head. Her dad had told her to follow her heart, and that he was immensely proud of her either way, and his brother had finally taken that as a sign to shut up.

She'd gotten a peek at the admissions statistics last week. Of the twenty other Freshman Leporids, six hadn't stayed until the fall break. With the winter break quickly approaching, they were down another two. She had to admit that the level of constant anxiety she felt here was a little overwhelming, even with the medication the college doctor prescribed. Her smartwatch kept warning her throughout the day that her heart was beating too fast, which really wasn't helping, either.

Clover tried to at least relax her expression, tried to not look terrified. Not looking afraid was the first step to not being afraid. All she had to do was walk down this hallway to her class. Once she was in her seat and with the teacher, things would be a little easier.

As she rounded the corner, her adrenaline spiked before she even consciously registered why. A massive Lupine was walking ahead of her, easily head and shoulders taller than Clover. Her fur was thick, bunching up around clothes that didn't quite fit anymore, not with a winter coat. It could've looked comical, but to Clover it just looked more like a feral beast stuffed into clothing. Thought fled as she tried to make herself small and unnoticeable against the wall, her breath coming in short gasps.

The Lupine, in turn, didn't even notice her. She strode into the classroom Clover was supposed to go to as if she owned it. Eyes darting, Clover tried find a way out, find all the escape routes, find somewhere to hide. She caught herself turning around and forced five slow breaths as she steadied herself against the wall.

"Are you okay, Clover?"

Her attention snapped to the deep-voiced speaker, eyes still saucer-wide. The teacher, a Cervid with streaks of silver in his hair. Her panicked brain could not retrieve his name for the life of her.

As soon as he saw her panicked eyes, he nodded knowingly. "Ah. You saw Lara. I do apologize, I meant to warn class last week."

"L— L— Lara?"

"She's the new TA. I promise you on everything I hold dear, she's a sweetheart through and through."

"T— T— TA?" Clover swallowed and tried to compose herself. She knew something like this might happen, but the reality of it hit her hard. Through a monumental force of will, she managed to steady her voice before she went on. "I guess I'll have an opportunity to get used to her then."

---

A month later, after winter break, snow covered the campus. Clover bundled up tight, her ears tucked into a knit cap, and an oversized scarf stuffed into her bulging padded coat, the surface frosted by her breath.

In the couple of weeks of classes before break, she'd gotten used to Lara a little. If she was really honest with herself, that was mostly because she managed to plan her arrival after her, and rushed out before the massive wolf could stand up. Every twitch of her pointed ears caused Clover's heart to skip a beat, and every shift in her chair triggered an anxiety attack.

The winter cold bit at her exposed parts, cutting straight through her fur. Her subspecies wasn't built for this climate, not by a long shot. She just wanted to get back to her room and turn up the heat, maybe even curl up under the blankets for a few hours. Her homework had been piling up, but a lot of it was just reading, and she could totally do that curled up in a giant pile of blankets.

Lost in thought, head down, vision obscured by the fog of her own breath and her ears tucked away under a thick wool cap, she didn't notice the door opening just ahead of her. The noise of footfalls and fur rustling against clothes hit her brain the instant after her face pressed into that fur.

"Oh, sorry!" A voice from far above her head, musical and familiar but with that predator edge that sent an immediate chill down her spine.

Time slowed to a crawl as Clover inhaled, her first breath since the impact. The scent of an apex predator shot up her nose, pure and undiluted. Instincts buried deep in her genes told her to go limp and pray to Mother Nature the predator would think she'd been dead too long to eat. Only a monumental force of will kept her on her feet.

Even before she'd found her balance again, her conscious mind blanked entirely. She spun and sprinted back the way she'd come, almost bowling over a group of chattering Corvids.

She could just hear a startled "Wait, I'm sorry!" before she rounded the corner of the natural sciences building and just kept on running until she made it to safety of the Leporine Society.

---

The next day, Clover felt more awkward than she ever had in her entire life. Lara was at the class she TA'd ahead of her, like always, and gave her a friendly smile and a nod as she walked in. Feeling like an utter piece of shit for treating Lara like nothing more than a set of teeth and a stomach, but still too terrified to apologize for her behavior, she just tried to shrink into her seat until it was time to leave.

---

Her encounters with the large Lupine never quite got to that level of terror gain, but only because Clover got better at avoiding her, learning her schedule through sheer panic whenever she did run into her. Oddly enough, she had no issue anymore with her Vulpine or Canine classmates, and none of the current crop of Feline students was descended from the big cats. Lara was the only wolf currently on campus, and by far the largest she'd ever seen, male or female.

Spring break was approaching soon, and with it, a visit back home. The greenery flourished this time of year, which always made Clover feel alive. She was headed to the library to study, relishing walking under the safe canopy of her umbrella as the rain came pouring down, running in rivulets along the sidewalk. Everything looked green and vibrant despite the overcast skies and—

Lara's scent hit her nose. No, no! She was supposed to be in class, she was in the linguistics building on Thursday afternoons, halfway across campus, and— Clover's eyes darted, trying to spot the source of her terror, when she heard a soft sob. Instantly locking on to where the noise came from, she spotted Lara sitting on a bench across the deserted street, head in hands and soaked to the bone. What was left of her backpack was on the ground in front of her, the side torn open, books and notepads spilled out onto the wet pavement.

She doubted most people would've heard the sniffling and sobbing even standing right next to her, but Clover could hear every sub-harmonic, every subtle micro-shift in pitch, even from thirty paces away. Even if she wasn't used to listening to wolves cry, she could tell that Lara was completely and utterly overwhelmed. Something had happened, something bad, maybe several bad things, and she'd been holding it together by sheer force of will, but now her bag had broken and she was soaked and it had all just become too much.

Silver fur clung to Lara's frame. Her t-shirt was soaked through, showing the pattern of fur underneath. She looked so sad, so utterly alone and vulnerable sitting in the downpour, watching her carefully kept notes bleed and wash out in the rain, that Clover took a step towards her without even thinking.

Panic still gripped her, an instinct buried deep, but compassion won out. The second step was hard, but the third came easier. Before she knew it, she stood in front of Lara, umbrella held out. Lara clearly needed it more than she did, and she really didn't mind the rain.

"Hold this?" Clover was surprised by how steady her voice was.

Lara looked up, tears staining her ice-blue eyes. Daggers of fear stabbed into Clover's back, but she forced her hand to stay steady as Lara took the umbrella. Kneeling in front of Lara, with those eyes the color of a frozen ocean and ten times deeper on her, was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life. But she managed. She pulled a plastic bag from her own backpack and gathered Lara's belongings in it, careful not to smear the ink any more than it already had been.

"Thank you," Lara said.

Clover could hear the tears Lara held back, could hear the well of sadness and loneliness deep inside, and felt her panicked heart swell with compassion.

Lara made to give the umbrella back, but Clover shook her head. "I think you need it more than me right now."

Her smart watch beeped, warning her that her heart rate was dangerously high, so she slipped it off and stuffed it in a pocket. She tried to control her breathing a little, tried to slow her racing heart, but the smell of predator was so strong in her nose... No amount of showering or perfume could disguise that. The smell of Lara's tears was almost as strong though, as was the echo of her overwhelmed quiet sobbing from earlier.

"There's a cafe down the street. I know the owner, she keeps towels in case of, well," Clover nodded up at the soot black clouds overhead. "Would you like to have some tea together?"

"I can't afford—"

"My treat."

"You sure? You... I'm sorry, but you smell terrified."

"Mm-hmm," Clover said, staring straight ahead, trying to keep her composure. "Some chamomile will calm me right down."

Lara looked two sides too big sitting in the corner of the cafe, tucked into her chair. It had taken two full bath towels to get her torso somewhat dry, and now she looked puffy. She smelled of wet dog, which wasn't too surprising.

Clover inhaled deeply when the waiter brought her chamomile tea, letting the steam and floral scents drive away her anxiety like she knew they would. A little, at least. She still couldn't force her eyelids down at all, instead staring wide-eyed at everything around her.

"Oh, it's been a while since I had a hot carob." Lara closed her eyes and laid her ears back as she inhaled deeply. "Thank you."

"I hope your notes survived."

"Me too. I don't really know anyone well enough to copy theirs. It'll be thanks to you, if they do survive."

Clover swallowed. She had to get this out of the way, but hated having to bring it up. "I'm sorry about how I acted last month. I shouldn't have panicked like—"

"It's okay. I'm aware of how scary I am."

Suddenly, Clover couldn't see it anymore. The instinctual reaction was still there, her heart was still racing, and every inhale had her hindbrain screaming to run, run, run for her life. But the big bad wolf that had scared her so much in class was suddenly a person, barely older than she was, just as lonely, and under a tremendous amount of stress. The fact that she looked bedraggled and smelled like her cousin's pet dog certainly helped, too.

"It's not. It's speciesist. Instinct isn't an excuse. I should have myself under control more."

Lara gave her a half smile. "I appreciate that. But please don't feel bad. Your reaction is far from the worst I've seen."

Clover sipped her tea silently. Where did the conversation go from here? Luckily, Lara saved her.

"Have you decided on a major yet?"

"Art history," Clover said automatically. She'd known for years that's what she wanted to do, and taking the Freshman intro courses had only solidified that. "Our culture has such an amazing, and in my opinion underappreciated, history. I want to study the intersection of species and art, and how we express our personal heritage subconsciously in the art we produce and consume."

"That sounds interesting," Lara said. "Tell me more?"

Clover didn't realize she'd been talking non-stop until she went to take a drink from her cup and noticed it was empty.

"Oh my Light, I've been rambling, haven't I?" Clover felt her cheeks heat up.

"You've been talking about something you're passionate about, and I found it fascinating."

"Do you want another?" Clover motioned to Lara's cup.

Lara hesitated a second before shaking her head, "They're so expensive, I can't—"

"My treat, remember? Don't worry about me. I wouldn't offer if I couldn't afford it."

Lara's smile was a little guarded, but she eventually nodded.

Clover hopped up, suddenly excited that she'd get to spend more time with the massive predator across the table from her. When had that happened?

She handed Lara her steaming cup with extra whipped cream and little marshmallows on top.

"So what are you majoring in?"

Conversation flowed freely as they both sipped their fresh drinks. The rain outside died down, and the afternoon light began to fade into evening. Eventually, the owner tapped Clover on the shoulder.

"Hon, we're closing soon. Can I get you anything to go?"

"Closing? But it's— Oh! Do you want anything, Lara?"

Lara shook her head vigorously. "It's all very, very good, but I couldn't possibly."

Lara's stomach growled, a noise that sent shivers down Clover's spine.

"Do you still make that carob cake?" Clover asked the owner, then turned to Lara. "Would you like a piece?"

The hungry look in Lara's eyes gave her the 'yes' before she even opened her mouth.

"Better make that two. And a piece of carrot cake for me."

After paying and tipping well — Dad had joked over winter break that he'd take her credit card away if she didn't use it for some fun stuff — she found herself standing in the dark with Lara, looking up at her eyes as they glowed in the dark. Again, her instinctual fear flared, but she stuffed it down into a deep, dark corner.

"Thank you again," Lara said, clutching the box of cake to her chest. "Here's your umbrella."

"Do you have one?"

Lara shook her head.

"Keep it, I'll get another."

"But—"

"No buts."

---

The next time she saw Lara in class, Clover asked how the carob cake had been.

"Deeeelicious. I had half a piece each day. I wanted to savor it."

Now that she wasn't quite so afraid of the big wolf, she could hear her stomach growling softly throughout class. It dawned on Clover that she rarely saw Lara in the dining halls, either. She'd mostly just been grateful, but now she was wondering what was up. She also noticed that any time she spoke, she kept her lips drawn down, clearly trying to hide her teeth. It made her sound a little muffled and a little mumbly.

After class, she motioned for Lara to come over. The big wolf loomed over her, but Clover stomped on her rising panic and kicked it for good measure.

"Do you have a sec? I got something for you," Clover said, digging around in her backpack.

"Mm-hmm."

Pulling out the new pack she'd gotten, she held it out to Lara with a grin. "Here! I hope you like the color. We can exchange it if you don't—"

"No, Clover, I can't take this! It's too much."

Clover looked at Lara, her ice-blue eyes glistening with moisture.

"What? Why? It's just a backpack. Yours broke, and I saw you walking around with the plastic bag still, so when I saw this at the store... I thought you'd like the colors. I saw the bi pride flag pinned to your old one."

"But it's so expensive!"

"Bah, it's fine. Dad yelled at me over break for barely spending any money, so it's fine. You're doing me a favor."

Lara took it hesitantly. "I don't know what to say."

"'Thank you' is fine. Or 'I hate it, it's so ostentatious!'"

"No! I love it!" Lara clutched the bag to her chest. Her stomach growled again, more loudly. "Thank you."

"I had fun hanging out last week."

"Me too!"

Clover hesitated. She didn't want to Lara to think she was too forward, but she really did want to spend more time with her.

"Are you doing anything tonight? I was just going to hang out in my dorm, but I thought maybe you'd like to go grab something to eat together?"

"I can't afford to go out to dinner. I'm sorry."

"And I wouldn't be a very good friend if I expected you to pay when I invited you, now would I? If you have other plans, or if you don't want to, that's fine, but it's my treat if you want to come."

"Alright. I think I'd like that."

---

The weeks passed them by, Clover inviting Lara to go out with her at least three times a week. As they got to know each other, the large wolf filled Clover's every waking thought.

Two months after Clover had rescued Lara from the rain, the two of them went out to dinner and a movie. After, Clover walked next to Lara down the dark street. Cars passed by, and for the first time in her entire life, she didn't feel like one of them would swerve and snatch her off the street. The shadowy corners of buildings and dark alleyways were just that, not hiding spots for muggers and murderers.

Chatting about the movie with her friend, Clover almost walked past her own dorm. She jumped at how unaware of her surroundings she had been, but then she knew she was safe with Lara here.

"This is me," she said, a little awkwardly.

"I had a lot of fun tonight."

"Me too." Clover meant it too, and honestly didn't want the night to be over.

"Dinner was delicious. Thank you again."

Clover grinned. Lara's stomach had growled again when she'd asked if she wanted another main course after her first. Despite her protests that no, she really was full, she ate the second main with a ravenous hunger that made Clover feel a little sad and protective of her Wolf friend. She'd talked to her Dad over break, and he'd been happy to get Lara a meal plan. Food insecurity was a terrible thing. But Lara had refused the help when Clover offered it.

They both stood a little awkwardly, when it suddenly dawned on Clover that this had been a date. Probably not the first one either, now that she thought back. Her eyes went wide. Lara, catching her startlement but not knowing what it was for, dropped her ears back and scanned their surroundings.

Despite herself, Clover had to laugh. She reached out, taking one of Lara's hands. The claws dug into her palms a little, but she ignored that. "Lara, it's okay. Nothing's wrong."

Lara's entire expression shifted as she turned around, ears still back, but now she just looked relaxed and friendly. "Sorry, I—"

They were standing so close. Clover could smell the light perfume Lara had put on layered over her own scent, could hear her heartbeat and the breath stopping in her throat. Lara swallowed loudly as their eyes met.

"I—" Clover started, but of its own accord, her head tilted to the side and up as Lara bent down.

Their lips met a little awkwardly. Clover had never kissed anyone with a muzzle this large, or anyone quite this tall. Their kiss started chaste, lips pressed together, but as Clover's fingers dug deeper into Lara's fur, her tongue slipped along Lara's lips. The short fur was a little prickly.

Clover pulled away, out of breath even from what couldn't have been more than seconds kissing, knowing she'd lose herself completely if she didn't.

"I've— I can— Do you want to come up for some tea?" Clover said, tripping over her words.

"Your roommate— Won't people be scared?"

"I have a single. It's a mixed dorm."

Clover couldn't even remember how they made it up to her room, but she was pulling at Lara's shirt before the door even fully shut. She hated to break their kiss to get it over Lara's head, but needed more, needed it now.

Clover shivered when they met again, Lara's canines pressing into her lips. She'd imagined these teeth a million times since meeting the big wolf, always ripping at her throat or belly, but never like this. Her tongue met Lara's, then ran along her razor-sharp teeth, sending a terrifying but incredibly arousing thrill through Clover.

"I want you," Clover whispered.

"Oh fuck, yes," Lara breathed.

Clover pulled at Lara's pants, Lara helped her get them off and let herself be pushed back onto Clover's bed. The big Timberwolf barely fit, and it creaked alarmingly with their combined weight, but Clover didn't care. If the bed got destroyed, the bed got destroyed. She needed this more than she'd needed anything in her life.

Parting Lara's legs, she buried her face, probing with her tongue. There was no time for teasing, no time for drawing things out, that was for later. The smell of predator filled every fiber of her, but instead of sending her into a blind panic, it drove her arousal higher and higher, until she couldn't control it at all anymore. Lara moaned as Clover's tongue parted her labia and found her clit.

"Oh fuck, yes," Lara moaned, her hand resting on Clover's cheek. "Oh Light, your tongue feels so fucking good."

Clover barely heard Lara. She focused everything she had on making the other woman feel amazing, needing to get her off again... and again... and again, until they were both sweat-soaked and exhausted. She inhaled deeply, smelling everything about Lara. Her arousal was strong, even stronger now than the base smell of predator and something Clover had started to associate with just Lara as they'd hung out. She felt as if every neuron in her brain was humming with need as her tongue pressed deeper, then circled Lara's clit.

Lara whispered and moaned and gasped reassurance and praise, telling Clover how good her tongue felt, how soft her fur was, how beautiful her eyes, and how good she smelled. Her ice-blue eyes locked on Clover, half closed now, close to the edge.

Clover moaned along with her Wolf as she came, needing Lara's release more than anything. She read every little twitch and moan, extending her orgasm as long as she could, taking her to the edge of overstimulation and finally holding off, slowing down but not stopping, ready to build to another orgasm. Lara pulled her up though, hands that could break her in two instead gentle and guiding more than forcing.

"Oh, fuck," Lara breathed. "Mother Nature, you're good at that."

Clover grinned. "I've had some practice."

"Not on Lupines, surely."

"No." Clover kissed Lara. "But other women."

"Can I go down on you?"

"Mm-hmm."

Clover pushed off and undressed, loving Lara's eyes on her. When she slipped out of her underwear, they shifted about on the bed, trying to find a good position. Lara didn't quite fit on the bed low enough for this, so they ended up with Clover's butt on the edge of the mattress and Lara kneeling on the floor.

Her tongue was so big it enveloped Clover's cunt completely with the first lick. It was hot too, much warmer than her own body. Lara's eyes of pure ice shone in the low light of her bedroom, reflecting every little scrap of illumination back at Clover.

"Oh, yes," Clover moaned softly. She stroked Lara's head, careful of her sensitive ears. "Oh Light, just like that."

Lara's tongue seemed to flex in place, undulating and shifting rapidly. It pressed against her opening, slipping inside just a little, still moving in wild and unexpected ways.

"Oh Light, yes, fuck, that feels good." Clover pulled her wolf a little closer. "Deeper, yes, oh Light."

"Can't, teeth," Lara managed, though she was barely intelligible with her tongue occupied.

"Don't care. I trust you," Clover said, pulling more insistently. "Oh fuck, yes."

Lara's tongue slid deeper, and her nose pressed against Clover's clit. She could just about feel her top canines pressed against her. She'd expected a moment of fear, despite how much she trusted Lara, despite her earlier reaction during their kiss, but the teeth just heightened her pleasure. She pulled at her wolf more, needing that wonderful tongue even deeper.

Clover's eyes rolled back in her head and she grunted like a Feral as four pinpricks of bright pain pressed into her butt and abdomen, and Lara's tongue slid even deeper. It undulated against her g-spot.

"Oh, Light, YES," Clover grunted. "Fucking eat me, Light!"

Her world began and ended in this bed. Her fingers tangled in the short hair on Lara's head, holding her tight as her tongue showed Clover new heights of pleasure she hadn't thought possible. The sharp points of pain from where Lara's canines dug into her flesh provided a contrast she hadn't known she needed until right this second.

She came hard, wrapping her legs around Lara's head and squeezing hard. Lara just kept going, driving her to a second orgasm right on the heels of the first.

By the time she managed to whisper, "Stop, too much," she'd lost track of everything. The world truly didn't exist. Her throat was raw, though she didn't remember screaming. Her eyes were watery, her vision blurry, and she was completely out of breath.

Lara pulled back slowly, sending shockwaves of intense sensation through Clover as her tongue slid back out. She convulsed as the stimulation grew to be too much to contain, but Lara's hands were already there to steady her. As soon as her tongue was out, Clover reached for Lara. They curled up together on the bed, Clover burying her face in Lara's thick silver coat.

"Are you okay?" Lara asked.

"More than." Clover trembled and clung tighter to Lara. "That was so good."

"Mmm."

"Are you satisfied?"

"Oh yes, definitely."

Clover drifted at the edge of sleep, completely exhausted from a long day of being out in public and then the amazing, life altering sex...

"I should go so you can sleep."

"Can you stay?"

"Won't I scare you? I must smell like predator..."

Clover buried her face deeper, inhaling. Yes, Lara smelled like a predator. A huge, terrifying, monstrous predator that could gobble her up in two bites and still have room for dessert. But she smelled like her predator. All the anxiety she'd accumulated over the last six months ebbed away. Her grades didn't worry her anymore, and the door to the hallway didn't feel like it would admit hordes of thieves and murderers any second.

She pulled a thin sheet over them, the blanket lost somewhere but entirely unnecessary next to her wolf. Sleepily, she managed to kiss Lara's cheek, then scoot back down to rest her head on Lara's broad shoulder, pulling her arm around herself.

"You smell like you, and you make me feel safe."

#ns/fw #krakentober #f/f #smut #wlw smut #furry erotica #erotica #romance #wlw romance

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