Kieran Carvalho made his way deeper into the Seemandas Mountains, continuing the journey he’d started weeks prior. He was a cartographer on a mission to finally map out that portion of land kept enigmatic after centuries of isolation. The Seemandas were an ancient scrape of hills protected by the Seemandas Forest, a fortress of impossibly tall trees sparsely populated. While not particularly tall, the mountains were jagged and unruly, having alpentine features making exploration difficult. Sheer cliffs, inescapable valleys, and sharp summits prevented easy trekking. Already sealed off by the dense forest, many who lived in the region wrote the mountains off as unimportant, and thus unnecessary to map.

Kieran proved an exception. An avid cartographer and mountaineer, he made it his personal duty to trek into those unforgiving hills and make the place known to the hiking community. He was a fox, short and lithe. His body was fit and trim thanks to his years of hiking and adventuring. His fur, unlike the svelte muscle beneath, was a miraculous, poofy orange, bleeding into the air around it with a neon shine. His tail was long and fuzzy, capped off with white. His face gleaned with a perpetual smile that showed his amiable demeanor. His eyes were a bright amber outshining even the orange fur around it, reflecting an insatiable curiosity and powerful intellect. On that journey he wore khaki shorts riding halfway down his thigh and a matching shirt and vest. He had a blue baseball cap and a hiking backpack that nearly outsized him. It held all of his food and camping gear, just enough to last him more than a week.

Most importantly, he brought his mapping and climbing gear. The moment he stepped into the seemingly impregnable Seemandas Forest he mapped where he was and what he saw. Trails were seldom, and usually petered out after only a few hundred meters. He had to rely on his mapping skills and sense of direction, both of which were master-level. Even with all of his experience, the mountains proved a serious test once he reached them. The locals were right, those hills were a pain in the ass. Every peak proved a challenge, requiring technical skills and athleticism. He had to abandon everything that wasn’t climbing and mapping gear at camp in order to successfully reach the top of those curmudgeonly hills. His efforts were rewarded kindly each time, giving him spectacular views of the range and of the sprawling forest around them like an ocean of emerald, slowly fading into an atmospheric blue as it approached the horizon.

He encountered no natives. He suspected that if there were any, they were wary of strangers and kept themselves hidden. He always reasoned that they were more scared of him than he was of them. He’d encountered natives on many treks before. On every occasion they were docile. They were inquisitive and willing to trade, never instigating anything unpleasant. Kieran had fond memories of playing with native children, meeting elders, and learning some of their language. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed after a few days when he hadn’t encountered anybody, but quickly shrugged it off. He could appreciate some alone time.

On the seventh day of his journey he had climbed his third peak and spent the next few hours mapping everything he saw. This was an especially tall hill, one he spent hours scaling. Getting off of it would prove equally difficult. In spite of that, he took time to mark down every detail he could on his paper, folded open and held flat by four rocks, one on each corner. He lost track of time, he was so focused. By the time his pencil, worn into a nub, put down the last detail, the sun was setting, casting a crimson glow across the horizon. He cursed himself and hastily gathered his things for the descent. He rushed his way down the mountain. By the time he reached the valley, dusk had already arrived. The sun’s light peeled away from the sky above him, revealing the first twinkle of stars.

He sped his way out of the valley and back into the forest. His camp was set up near the entrance of a valley that fed into the main heart of the hills. He had to get there before it got too dark, when he couldn’t see. He had memorized the trip by heart, etching every individual tree, root, rock, and shrub into his mind. Trouble was, he had always done these during the day, when he could see clearly. The sun had fallen. It was dark. He couldn’t see shit. Every detail around him was melding into the next, becoming a motley assortment of trees ill-discernible from the rest.

He tried to keep calm. The jagged root, then the fat tree. Past the fat tree and then around the twin-trunks. Those were the directions he had chanted in his mind every journey back. Cadenced and certain, they ensured his safe return every time. He was losing control now. Panic was creeping in, exacerbated by the dark. Around the twin trunks then over the wall root. Over the wall root… Coming around the double-trunked trees he expected to see the “wall root”, a thin, long tree root that reached out from its owner towards another tree. It was tall, about ankle-high. and resembled a fortress wall placed by nature to forbid passage. Trouble was, it wasn’t there. Kieran stepped forward, scanning the ground before him for that wooden barrier. He kicked his legs out blindly, hoping that the toe of his boot would connect with it. It only met open air.

No. No no no no no no no! Around the twin trunks and over the wall root! Then he remembered. Around the twin trunks, under the shattered canopy, then over the wall root. He spun around and looked up. It was totally dark now. The stars had lay claim to the black sky, accompanied by the ghostly gleam of the full moon creeping its way up from the horizon. He could hardly make out the outline of the canopy above him through the moonlight. Any hope of making his way back to the shattered canopy had vanished once he wandered off in search of the wall root.

“Shit,” he hissed aloud. He spat and grunted a series of curses, both onto the forest and onto himself. He cursed his foolhardy desire to map the mountains that night, ignoring the passing of time and the falling of the sun. Now he was lost, completely ignorant of where he was relative to his camp. Now all he could do was wait for the sun to rise again. There was no way he could navigate himself through this all enveloping darkness. The full moon helped, but was hardly able to penetrate the leafy ceiling so far above him. His only consolation was that it wasn’t cold. 

He began pacing in circles, soothing his mind with reassuring words. It isn’t cold. You aren’t thirsty. Camp can’t be that far. You’ve been an adventurer your whole life. You can handle this. Just don’t panic. Accompanying his words of encouragement were the exigent nags of doubt urging him towards panic. You have no water or food. You don’t know where you are. Hardly anyone knows you’re out here. Nobody knows the landscape of this place. You might not find camp tomorrow morning.

Kieran shook his head furiously and took a seat at the base of a tree. He rested his forehead in his palm, propped up by his elbow on his knee. Calm down. Calm down. Just relax… He knew the dangers of panicking when lost. Many hikers have gone missing, only to be found as flesh-plucked skeletons bearing only their tattered clothing and broken gear. Too many journals have been found lamenting the confusion and hysterics they felt once they realized they were lost. That’s not going to happen, Kieran vowed. I’m going to sleep here until morning, catch my bearings, find the path, find my camp, then get the hell out of here. 

With his mind firmly put towards that plan, he wormed himself into a lying position on his side. He scooted his back against the trunk and laid his paws beneath his head. His floofy fox tail curled over his hip, dangling in front of his groin and brushing the dusty ground by the tip. He curled up tight, bringing his knees up against his belly. He took a deep breath and sighed through his nose, blowing away a mini cloud of dust. Tomorrow morning. I’ll find the camp, get out of here, and everything will be OK.

He was ready to close his eyes and drift into sleep when he saw something not too far away. In the dark, it was difficult to make out individual objects from others, but this shone through everything else. It was a pair of orbs, hung not far off the ground. They were two aquamarine marbles glowing like they were caught in a ray of sunshine. They were clouded over by a milky lens centered with a fiery red circle. Kieran stared at them, suddenly transfixed and unable to move. He kept his eyes open as wide as they could, afraid that the moment he blinked, those two pearls of silted light would disappear.

For a moment they did, but not because Kieran blinked.

It was because they blinked. 

Kieran gasped and scurried into a sitting position. He tried kicking himself away, but his back was met with solid tree. Icy dread plumed through his belly, chilling his heart and shriveling his stomach. He reached behind him and gave the tree a backwards hug, as if it would protect him. His claws sank into the thin, brittle bark. Whatever was watching him stood up. It kept his gaze locked with Kieran, who could now make out the white of his stalker’s eyes. Whatever it was, it was tall, much taller than Kieran. He imagined that the ferocity of that gaze piercing through him was well reflected by the physique of the creature bestowing it. 

Kieran’s heart pounded and his breath quickened. His chest heaved, beating excited air through his nose. His options, few as they were, sprinted through his mind. Run. Now. Get the hell out of here.

That won’t work! You’re sitting down, surrounded by tree roots. He’ll be over here in a split second, way before you’d be able to make your first step.

Stand up then, slowly. Make yourself look bigger. Pose a threat. Let him know you’re not somebody to fuck with.

Kieran took a moment to size himself up. He was a paltry stick of a man when compared to the behemoth staring down at him. Any attempt at intimidation would be laughable and an invitation for death. So there he sat, clung to that tree like an infant to its mother, suddenly familiar with why people freeze in terror. He opened his maw to speak, but all he accomplished was a twitching jaw and a pitiful squeak. As if cued by his quivering voice, another pair of eyes materialized in the dark, floating towards him like a horse rider’s lantern. He jolted at its sudden appearance and pressed his back harder against the tree. There are two of them?

There weren’t. That became apparent once the third pair of eyes showed up, then the fourth, then the fifth… Soon there was an entire constellation of malice peering down at him. He could not count how many, ten pairs at least, maybe a dozen. They came in separate heights, some a full head higher than others. They appropriated all possible colors, green, blue, red, brown, gray, some soft and delicate, others harsh and piercing. Just from the shapes of those eyes he could surmise their expressions: hungry, curious, bitter, angry. He felt that assault of mixed emotions weigh down on him like a lead blanket.

Kieran’s ears folded back against his head and lips twisted into a fearful snarl. He crumpled where he sat, burdened by his absolute terror. I’m going to die. This is it. I’m going to be torn to shreds. One pair of eyes, the same he’d seen first, came closer. A figure took form before him as it stepped into the beaming moonlight. A gray wolf, tall and proud, stared down at him blankly. He was built like a warrior, well told by the red war paint smeared across his face and down his burly chest. He was strung with sinewy, bulging muscle, most notably across his torso and his limbs. His arms were long and veiny, their every movement marked by a visible twitch of muscle. His paws were sharp and bony, harboring knuckles like jagged hills and claws like scythes. He wore only decorative ropes around his waist and torso. A bracelet was wrapped around one wrist. His snout was long, his face grizzled. Keiran was now certain that if he had run he would've been caught. If he had tried to fight, it would’ve been over in less than a moment.

Kieran eyed him up and down, marveling at his supremely crafted topography. He couldn’t help but drop his gaze to the wolf’s groin where there hung a pompous pouch of reproductive flesh, nestling two cumbersome balls. A niggling shiver squirmed up Kieran’s shins and grabbed at his loins where he felt his own masculinity stir in its sheath. 

The wolf caught his stare and grinned. Soon his compatriots joined him in the moonlight, forming a semicircle around the defenseless fox. They came in a myriad of shapes, tall, short, stout, skinny. Their body paints came in designs unique to each one. Some accentuated their every body feature with dabs of blood-red paint, others wore hardly any at all. What they all had in common were bodies well forged by a hard life of hunting and battle. That, and the stern expression they directed at Kieran, not at all impressed by his trembling form. Kieran counted how many there were. His eyes bounced from wolf to wolf, his lips silently forming each number in sequence. …9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14… 14 wolves. Dear God…

He knew that he had to do something. Running and fighting were two non-options. There was no way he could break through that wall of muscle. One of them alone, no matter which, could tear him limb from limb if he so chose. All he could do was pray, pray to any deity willing to listen that his life would be spared by those beasts so capable of ending him. 

The lead wolf, or so he thought the one closest was, tilted his head and narrowed his eyes curiously. It seemed as though he was confused by Kieran’s fear, like the wolf posed no threat to him. It gave Kieran some sliver of hope that maybe if he tried communicating with them that he’d negotiate a way out of becoming a meal.

He gulped and opened his mouth to speak. “H-hello.” His voice was awfully subdued, but in that silent forest it was deafening, like moaning himself awake in bed. The wolves shared a look amongst themselves. Kieran felt like some defendant on trial before a council. “I… uhh… I apologize for trespassing. Truly, I am. I meant no…” He had to gulp again. His tongue was like a slab of flacid sandpaper. “I meant no harm. Please.”

He knew damn well they didn’t understand a word. None of them reacted in a way that showed a grasp of what he was saying. The alpha, as Kieran referred to him, maintained that expression of focused curiosity. Suddenly, he approached. He calmly stepped forward within grabbing distance of Kieran, who jolted as if he had been pounced on. The wolf squatted on his haunches, resting his forearms on his bony knees. His long, slender fingers, topped with menacing claws, dangled in front of his thighs. Kieran saw his war paint up close, drawn down the sides of his snout in menacing slants. Two half-moons of red cupped the undersides of his eyes. A single chevron was emblazoned on his forehead. Kieran noticed how young he looked. He couldn’t have been past his mid-twenties, maybe in his teens still. He glanced at the other wolves around him, and noticed that they too were relatively young.

The wolf reached out to him. Kieran’s heart seized painfully. He lurched his head back to get away. The cords in his neck and the knob of his Adam's apple stood out, perfectly exposed. He gritted his teeth and scrunched his eyes shut. This is it. The wolf, instead of gashing his throat open with a casual nick of the claw, calmly took Kieran’s paw from next to him and pulled it close to examine it. He held it palm-up and ran his thumb over the padded creases. It was incredibly soft compared to the bitterly calloused skin of the wolf’s. That stony claw traced itself along the shallow trenches etched into Kieran’s palm, tickling him. Kieran creaked an eye open and looked down.

The wolf was hardly focused on him. He was looking at Kieran’s paw like a child ogling some neat beetle. The wolf took his other paw and mushed his fingers into Kieran’s plushy padding. It squished like a wad of PlayDough. Both of Kieran’s eyes opened. He looked on completely unsure of how to react. The wolf was acting as though he’d never seen something so soft and delicate. Kieran was a mountain climber, but not even his palms were as hardened as any of those wolves’.

“Are you… going to read my future?” Kieran joked. The wolf didn’t react. He was too enthralled with his paw. Soon he lifted it up and splayed his fingers out. He continued kneading his thumbs into Kieran’s malleable flesh. The wolf laid his palm against Kieran’s as if comparing sizes. He closed his fingers, lacing them with Kieran’s. He felt the grind of the wolf’s bones against his. Thin as they were, Kieran sensed their potential to crush his paw into dust with the easiest of squeezes. Kieran’s finger’s remained limply half-curled. He was afraid that closing them would result in a contest of strength he’d surely lose.

If that were the case, it didn’t seem he had any choice in the matter. The wolf looked at him icily, clearly waiting for Kieran to return the favor. With a burst of internal prayer to anyone who would listen, Kieran curled his fingers, sinking them into the depressions between those knobby knuckles. There was no sudden crush of fingers. The wolf maintained his grip, sure and firm, equal to what the fox gave him. The wolf’s dour mien softened into an amiable smile. He snorted sharply, beating air across Kieran’s snout. It triggered a wave of smiles and wagging tails around him.

Kieran looked at each wolf. Even with the kind expression right in front of him and all around, he was still unsure how to react. He lifted an eyebrow. “So… Friends?” The lead wolf yanked him to his feet and pulled him in for an intense bear hug. Kieran felt the air squeeze out of his lungs. “Huhhh!” The side of his face was mushed into the wolf’s furry pec. The beat of his heart pounded on his cheek and he could hear the soft hum of blood flowing through his body. He hugged back as best he could, patting the wolf on the back. “Nnnnh… OK. Yup. We’re friends. Nnf. You can let go. Please.”

Mercifully the wolf did, and Kieran fell back gasping for air with his paw over his chest. Kieran felt ready to faint, though not from the lack of oxygen that had been siphoned out of his lungs. Overwhelming relief bled through his limbs like cold water, much like how dread had fallen upon him earlier. He was shaking like a leaf, a queasy smile on his face. I’m alive. I’m alive. Oh, sweet God almighty I’m alive.

The other wolves closed in on him, albeit in a much more preferable way than he had envisioned them doing earlier. They tilted their heads curiously, getting for the first time a good look at the clothes and equipment he had on him. He looked awfully queer to them wearing anything that wasn’t either a sash or rope. As kind as they now seemed, he couldn’t help but feel anxious as all 28 eyes drank him up like a glass of water. He tried sparking a conversation. “Hello. You’re not used to seeing folk like me are you? Well, I suppose I’m just as used to seeing your kind. Er, sorry… I meant nothing by that.” He asked himself why he bothered apologizing, knowing full well that they didn’t understand a lick of whatever he said. They paid attention to him, but not without a look of amused incomprehension.

Even so, he thought it pertinent to introduce himself. “Well, um… My name is Kieran Carvalho. I’m a cartographer. I hope you don’t mind me coming here and mapping out the place. You clearly don’t get too many visitors.” The alpha wolf snorted genially, probably an acknowledgement of his introduction. Kieran wished that he could’ve gotten their names, though he wasn’t sure if they had the concept of such a thing. Sure, they seemed to recognize individuality, but did that extend to titles? Maybe he could label them himself, if just to memorize them easier. He fished his mind for some names randomly. Unable to come up with any on his own, he referenced the first story that came to mind: the Iliad. He named the alpha Achilles, appropriate given his warrior-like deposition. He rattled through every male character that he could remember, applying them to the throng of wolves around him. Hector, Paris, Menalaus, Agamemnon, Patroclus, Priam, Aeneas, Ajax, Thersites, Nestor. He couldn’t call on anymore from the Iliad, so he called on The Odyssey. Odysseus, Telemachus, and Polyphemus. That was all of them. He ran through those names over and over until he had it memorized backward and forward.

One wolf, Thersites, stepped up to his left shoulder. He was a broad fellow, shorter than Kieran, but built like a tank. Instinct told Kieran to step away, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was offend. Thersites took the strap of his backpack and tugged on it as if checking to see if it were a part of him. Once it slid a little, he grabbed it totally and started taking it off of Kieran. “Ah, uh… Yeah. Go ahead.” Kieran held his arm out for the strap to come off. Once it was, he shrugged the other off and gave it to the wolf. Thersites smiled at him and sniffed the curious container. He grabbed the polyester and tried tearing the thing open, bulging the muscles and tendons across his forearm. In spite of his apparent strength, the bag remained firm. “Ah ah ah!” Kieran said, lifting up a finger and cringing. “Wait a second, please.” Thersites looked at him curiously. “Allow me.” Kieran grabbed a zipper and slid it around the top of the bag, opening its main flap. Thersites’s eyes lit up and his ears perked. It was like magic. He looked around his comrades giddily. Look what I got! This is incredible!

They all took it as a greenlight. Kieran was inundated by a flood of oncoming wolves all eager to get a closer look. He stood upright but resisted his urge to push away. “Ahah… Yes, hello. Yes, it’s me.” They pinched and pulled at his clothes, an infantile look of wonder on their faces. Some of them squatted to look at his boots. They snorted and nudged each other. Get a look at this! Why didn’t we think of that? His feet must be soft. They tugged at his laces, undoing one boot, then the other. Kieran was powerless to stop them, and submitted his boot by lifting his foot off the ground. One wolf, Ajax, took it off in a couple of sharp yanks. He stood up and inspected the curious article. He poked his snoot into the hole, and immediately recoiled with a wrinkled nose. Not to be out done, Patroclus squatted down and pulled at his remaining boot for his own look-see. Kieran could hardly deny him, lifting that foot too so that the wolf could look. In a matter of seconds, it was gone too.

Priam snuck around his back and gently pushed him away from the tree. He got a good look at Kieran's fluffy fox tail. He grabbed it and held it up like some impressive sword or scroll. Kieran bristled at the intrusion and reflexively pulled his tail away, but Priam held on tight, not so willing to let it go because it was so soft. “Ah, alright. You can look.” Two more wolves joined Priam and gawked at Kieran’s tail. He looked over his shoulder cautiously, hoping they wouldn’t rip it off with their brute strength. Luckily they regarded it as softly as it was and stroked it like it was some pet. They admired its softness. Priam dapped the white tip against his face, smiling at the polite sensation. His two comrades, Paris and Telemachus, instantly wanted to get their own feel, and grabbed Kieran’s tail, ready to pull it to themselves. “Ah! Easy gentlemen! I’m not a toy!” The three understood and softened their inspection.

Kieran looked back forward and jumped when he saw one wolf, Nestor, directly in front of him. Nestor looked to be the oldest of them, at least judging by the many scars across his body and the ragged look to his fur. He smelled horrid, almost like a moldy basement. Kieran struggled not to grimace in disgust, being so close. Nestor reached up and grabbed Kieran’s chin, mushing his cheeks beneath his fingers. Kieran’s eyes went wide and stared directly into Nestor’s which were a steely gray flecked with gold. More than any other wolf, Kieran felt it necessary to regard him with respect. He was the eldest it seemed, and had Kieran’s face in his clutch. He turned Kieran’s face around, giving him a good look-over. He tilted his face down to check his ear. He swiped his eye lid up to see his scleras. He even peeled his lips up to check his teeth. A medicine man, Kieran guessed. Apparently satisfied by what he saw, Nestor let him go and left the throng of wolves. “Ah… Thanks? I wasn’t expecting a check up out here. Haha…” Nestor stood aside and crossed his arms, content just to watch as his mates continued getting their fill.

Those who hadn’t gotten to touch Kieran shuffled forward for their turn. He was poked again and again by cold noses sniffing every inch of him they could. It tickled him fiercely, sticking his fur on ends and making him giggle. “Ahah! Ah, yes… Ooh! Heh! Hehe… Yes, I smell nice, don’t I? Ah!” As they breached his personal space he couldn’t help but catch his own whiff of them. Each one smelled unique to the others as all animals did, but their outdoorsy odors were unlike any civilized beast’s. He could trace their hunting origins just by the robust aura of their musks, so earthy and proud. He was overpowered by how much there was, like he was shut in a dome suffused with wolf fragrance. It made his body buzz and his nipples go stiff. He gritted his teeth, fighting to keep his penis sheathed. I’d rather not show any arousal here. It’d be the worst message to send.

Achilles, who had spent most of the time watching from afar, stepped forward. The pack stepped aside to let him through. Kieran gulped, reminded just how tall Achilles was. He looked down at the fox blankly, scanning him from head to toe. Kieran wondered what part of him he would touch. He got his answer when Achilles grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and ripped it clean to the hem in one sharp pull. Rrrrrrrrrip! Kieran gasped and leapt back, but not in time to save his shirt. It draped off his shoulders like an unbuttoned jacket, hanging with dozens of loose threads. His physique was put on display, thin and wiry; every muscle in his trunk was clear and defined through his white underbelly fur. A broad tuft of fur sat between his collar and pecs. The cool night air brushed across his exposed fur, making him shiver and cross his arms over his chest. It was too late to prevent the wolves from seeing his body.

They liked what they saw.

They came close to him again, each one looking at him in a way that he didn’t like. They all smiled, but not in a friendly way. It was a way you smiled at someone who was far more than just your friend, and whom you planned to prove it to. Kieran’s tail curled between his legs. His arms tightened in front of his chest. “Hey, now… I don’t approve of this. You may inspect my stuff but nothing intimate!” Kieran’s “stuff” had been completely forgotten. It was him they became interested in, especially what couldn’t be seen. He was ready to protest further, but he took the time to look at them all again. Fourteen wolves, each one startling examples of athletic supremacy, unfettered by the luxuries of civilization. Their bodies were hardened, chiseled, and honed by the cruel order of nature. He had to admit it, he wanted them to get closer. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and common sense was beginning to tell him to let them come.

Achilles grabbed Kieran’s wrists and pulled his arms away from his chest. He did not resist, letting them fall so that Achilles may see. Achilles pushed the shirt from his shoulders, allowing it to drift to the ground. Kieran’s arms were still tight to his sides, but he made no attempts to hide anything. His heart was beating fast. He tried not to look below Achilles' belt where he thought he saw a blot of pink emerging from his sheath. Achilles took one claw and traced it along the fissures between Kieran’s twitching muscles. Kieran thought he’d slap his paw away on reflex, but he didn’t. Oddly, he wanted more.

He got it when one wolf approached him and snuck a finger into the waistband of his shorts and underwear. He tugged it down until it got caught on the swell of Kieran’s buttocks. “Wait. I… I got it.” Am I really helping them? He asked himself that question as he popped the button and undid the fly. He took a deep breath. Here we go. Damn my curiosity. He slid the shorts to his ankles, leaving him in only his socks. His pudgy manhood stood out between his thighs, a fuzzy white purse of flesh like a ripe fruit. Already his rosy pink cock was peeking its way out of his sheath.

A series of grins split across the wolves’ faces like fireflies lighting up the night. They licked their lips and ogled his groin. He blushed hard, but not without a modest grin. “I’m glad you all approve,” he said, rubbing his elbow bashfully. He felt all of those eyes drilling into him like soft buzzes of electricity. He hated to admit it, but it was pretty damn exhilarating. He returned the favor and ventured his gaze to their beltlines. There were their sex organs making an entrance, each one as special as the wolf wielding it, though they all boasted a reproductive stature that put whatever Kieran had encountered in the past to shame. His own cock slid forth, no longer shy or naive to what was to come. It could hardly wait, already producing a glassy bead of precum around its tip.

Polyphemus, a tall, lanky fellow, approached his right shoulder and laid a paw on it. He dipped his snout into the soft of Kieran’s neck and licked it. Kieran snorted while his eyes closed half-way and his ears folded back against his head. “Ahh…” he sighed. He held Polyphemus’s side, getting a feel of his ribs and the wiry muscle strewn around it. Melanaus walked around to Kieran’s back and began stroking his tail. Two others joined him. Kieran flicked it about happily, teasingly brushing it across their sturdy chests and faces. He jolted once he felt a paw cup one of his haunches, but quickly relaxed and swayed his hips against it. A thrill zipped along the canyon of his buttocks, clenching his tailhole and blossoming across his scrotum. The wolf feeling him up came closer and kissed his cheek. Kieran felt the fiery hot skin of his cock press against his lower back. He grabbed it and stroked it gently, making the wolf snort with pleasure.

Kieran gave his own retort of approval once a rugged wolf paw wrapped around his penis. His cheeks grew hot. He chewed his lip. He opened his eyes and saw Achilles standing within an inch of him, looking down with a faint smile. Kieran laid his face across his chest and panted softly. God, they’re awfully persuasive. Achilles pulled him close, flattening his impressive cock onto Kieran’s tummy. He shivered and hugged Achilles tightly, groping about his back and taking deep whiffs of his musty odor.

The pack circled around them. Kieran felt gentle strokes and polite squeezes across his body. Achilles kissed his forehead, then down his snout. Kieran was loathe not to return the favor. He brought his face up to his and they locked lips. Kieran’s fox tail wagged, batting a few fortunate wolves nearby. They closed in, earning them a few more whiffs of Kieran’s fur. He giggled on Achilles’ maw. “Ahah… You fellas mustn’t get too many visitors. Ah… A shame. You certainly treat them well~”

Achilles came off of him and held his paw. He smiled and slowly sat down. Kieran gulped. “Ah, so we’re really doing this? Well… Who am I to say no?” He sat down with him. Achilles laid back and pulled Kieran over on top of him. They laid chest to chest. Achilles was like a mattress of furry bedrock. He had the warmth like a wool blanket out of the dryer. Kieran melted atop him, kissing him once more. They were joined on the ground by the rest who scooted themselves as closely as they could. Soon the forest floor was blotted in a mass of furry bodies and wagging tails. Kieran spent several moments making out with Achilles until the nearest wolf tugged on his elbow. He looked and saw Oddyseus, one of fiction’s greatest heroes, pouting his lip and employing puppy eyes. Kieran snorted. “Aww, I haven’t paid you much attention, have I?” He looked at Achilles who nodded. Go ahead. I’ll get back to you eventually.

Kieran crawled off of him and over to Odysseus. As soon as he was on top of him he was gripped into a terribly strong bear hug. “Hoooo! OK! OK! Yup!” Odysseus rubbed the side of his face into the splendid floof of Kieran’s chest, the most content of looks on his face. He murred to his heart’s delight like he’d never experienced such softness. Kieran assumed he hadn’t. While he appreciated the affection, breathing was something he enjoyed even more. “Ooooh… If you could just let go, maybe a hair… Uhhh..” Just as the tunnel of gray began to encroach on his peripherals, Odysseus relented his squeeze and gifted him a peck on the cheek. He could hear the wolf’s tail batting between his legs. A satisfied customer, I suppose. 

So he thought.

He felt the tug of another patron. Aeneus was kneeling beside him, pulling on his bicep. “Good lord. Do I have to cuddle all of you?” he asked jokingly. He certainly didn’t mind. He had cuddles to spare for as long as he breathed. Aeneus pulled him into his lap. Kieran held on to him by his shoulders. Their cocks scraped against another’s, Aeneus’s with a significantly greater force. He didn’t bear it any further, however, instead settling for a soft kiss on Kieran’s lips. Kieran was pleasantly surprised by how gentle his lips were. While Achilles made the presence of his tongue known when intertwined with his, Aeneus was supremely gossamer in how he applied his. He did not travel much further than Kieran’s lips, neither did he grope or pet Kieran with any real force. His paws remained respectfully settled on his hips, traveling nowhere higher or lower. A gentleman, Kieran deemed him.

Breaking him from that kind embrace were two paws grabbing him from behind by his midriff. He was picked up into the air like a tea cup and thrown backwards as whoever was holding him flopped onto his back, still holding him. “Oof!” He was hugged tight with a wolf muzzle pressed against his cheek. He turned to look and saw Hector giving him a cheeky smile. “Hello there,” Kieran greeted. Hector’s tail wagged as he nuzzled up and down the side of Kieran’s neck and rubbed his tummy. Kieran rewarded him with scratches on his side and brushes of his tail against the inside of his thighs. He asked himself, Why was I so afraid of them? Sure, they were menacing warriors built for combat, but they were simultaneously some of the most loving creatures he had ever encountered.

Hector passed him along. He spent time with each and every wolf, latching with their bodies and bathing in their heat and softness. He thought he would get drunk off of their affection, delivered through tight hugs, soft pets, and playful licks. Kieran reciprocated as best he could, laughing and chatting with them throughout. His penis jutted and flopped about from his loins as he was shared from wolf to wolf like a joint. In his excitement he forgot his arousal, as intense as it had become. Soon he grew blind to theirs, even as he bumped and grinded against each phallus like it was a part of them no more sexual than a shoulder or foot.

That was until he came back to Achilles.