Commissions

STATUS: OPEN

How to Commission

For now, contact me through Telegram or Bluesky. In the future, I'll have a formal commission form set up.Telegram: @point_oh_oneBluesky: http://busterlark.bsky.social

What I Can Do

My training is in literary fiction. I have an MFA from NYU, and I have been working on a literary slice-of-life novel about the furry fandom for the past eight years. I have previously been published in the Berlin-based journal Beyond Words, and I was a finalist for the Conger Beasley Jr. Award for Nonfiction, recognized in New Letters. I have also served on writing panels for furry conventions, including FWA and MFF.That said, I'm willing to work in a lot of genres and voices. While my strong suit is slice-of-life, I have a lot of chops in mystery, and I'm also excited to do more work in sci-fi, fantasy, romance, horror. I have less experience in thrillers, so we would have to talk that out before I take that kind of work on. I am not the right writer for historical fiction.I am open to writing NSFW material blended into any of these genres. If you're interested in something along those lines, please review the list of kinks that I will and will not do below.

WILL and WILL NOT Write

Below is a list of what I will write, what I can write but might need more feedback on, and what I will not write. If you don't see it on this list, just ask! No judgment, I'll just let you know whether I can or can't.

Specialties:

Both of these are very thought-focused kinds of kinks, which are exactly my bread and butter.

Will write:

Will need heavier feedback writing:

For all of these, I'm happy to write them, I just need more feedback as I work on your commission because I'm not as experienced writing these.

Will not write:

Prices/Payment

For each tier, you'll see a range for word count. Sometimes good writing will give you a tighter word count. Sometimes I will go slightly over the maximum word count (you will not be charged extra for this). For information on the tiers I offer, see below.

Vignette/Flash Fiction - $30
Up to 1000 words

These are great for single scenes, descriptions for commissions, or visceral descriptions of a kink. If you want character progression with this type of commission, then the story will be told in a lot of summary. If you want to dive into a scene, then the scene can dive into a lot of the sensory aspects of being in a place, but it typically won't dive into a lot of backstory. Examples are here:
Yo-Yo (corruption), Marking Time, Three Days Before the Funeral

Smaller Short Story - $60
1000 - 3000 words

These are great for multi-scene stories or stories with a bit of progression, maybe 2-3 characters. Scenes can weave backstory with present-time progression, they can incorporate time skips, they can explore a few settings, and they can dive briefly into the dynamics between characters. Examples are here:
Speed Bump in Titania (humiliation, paws), Pancakes for a Wolf (humiliation)

Longer Short Story - $100
3000 - 6000 words

These are better for longer stories that take time to unfold. These stories can have more characters, more detailed backstory, more detailed worldbuilding, or a more complicated plot. These stories also work well if you want a more detailed and complete treatment of a theme. No examples yet.

Additional Commission Types

I am also available to do writing for comics, video games, and other media, but I don't have pricing set for this yet, so we would have to discuss.I am not taking any story commissions longer than 6000 words at this time.

The Process

I'm a hands-on kind of writer. I prefer to work with a lot of back-and-forth, and I prefer to have open communication. The process typically looks like this:

1. You send me any refs as well as the general idea that you have for the story.2. I send you a proposed outline. You send me feedback on the outline (changing plot points, characters, scenes, etc.).3. I send you a few ideas and sketches for POV. You decide which option you would like to go with.4. I send you a first draft. You send me any medium-level edits (changing details within a scene, making sure the story adheres to the outline, etc.).5. I send you a second draft. You send me lower-level edits (mostly line edits, though I will be doing line edits myself as well).6. I send you the final draft. At this point, I will only make edits for improper formatting.

For an example of what this process looks like, see here:

Stories

Speed Bump in Titania

August 2025. Sci-fi/Action. Paws. 3884 words.Fox McCloud and Wolf O'Donnell get in a classic scrap in the dusty deserts of Titania. Fox hopes to get the upper hand with the help of a new contraption that Slippy has invented, but he needs to subdue Wolf quickly before Wolf can find a way to slip off of Star Fox's radar once again. Multi-POV, first person.

Three Days Before the Funeral

November 2020. Literary. Drug use, death. 354 words.Two grieving brothers share a bowl while trying to process the death of their father. One brother talks about other instances of death -- a dead raven he ran across once, JFK's assassination -- in an attempt to cope. Vignette, monologue.

Yo-Yo

March 2020. Latex, goo, dronification, mind control, CNC. 538 words.An unidentified latex creature gives a glimpse into what it's like to mind-break a raccoon over and over and over. Vignette, monologue.

Marking Time

February 2017. Heavy bondage, latex, e-stim. 602 words.A possum gets in over his head, playing with a bat, who at first is satisfied with some more vanilla upside-down shenanigans, but who then gets the possum in a difficult bondage situation, one that most other species the bat plays with can't usually endure for long periods of time. Second person.

Pancakes for a Wolf

January 2017. Humiliation, gunge. 2192 words.A raccoon wakes up after a night of humiliation and decides to surprise his wolf FWB with a pancake breakfast. The pancake breakfast takes a turn, though, when the wolf wakes up and decides that he's not done messing with the raccoon. Third person.

Characters

Buster Julius Lark

Art by EvviRaccoon, typically in his mid-30s, though age can be shifted depending on the circumstances. Used to be a detective-type character, now some sort of outside-the-law vigilante type character.NSFW-wise, is a switch but leans sub. Major kinks are humiliation, mind control, bondage, impact play, watersports, and licking boots, but there are a whole lot of situations I'd be willing to put this raccoon into.He's also a Brooklyn Dodgers fan.

Vassar

Art by LazyReptileGoo shark, age unknown but presents as somewhere in his late 20s. Became goo as a result of a science experiment gone wrong (typical). No official occupation, backstory isn't super fleshed out yet.NSFW-wise, is a true switch. Major kinks are vore, oviposition, "living suit" things, other inorganic beings. But I'd also put him into a lot of situations as well.

Contact

Speed Bump in Titania

Originally published on FurAffinity

WolfIt wasn't where I wanted to land, the dusty red deserts of Titania with its black clouds and raging thunder blowing overhead. And you probably couldn't call what I did a proper landing. It was more of a... lightly controlled crash. My Wolfen was bruised, battered, and torn. I had to climb out of it sideways, it was such a mess. I hadn't been on my A game, but credit where credit was due: McCloud had learned a few tricks. Ship had crumpled and wrecked so bad I had to peel my own boots off just to get out of the pilot's seat.Ah, well, and there was the pup's Arwing now, touching down a couple hundred yards off, hovering gentle as a bug. Luckily the dirt from where I was standing was not so hot as to burn my paws. I had a blaster, a reflector, and my own moxie to protect me. Pup had his whole arsenal -- he could have launched bombs from his Arwing and sent me to Macbeth and back if he wanted. But he had a heart of gold and a code of honor, two things I was never too burdened by.The arid landscapes of Titania whistled. Dirt dusted my feet and dried my eyes. This was a dangerous planet, no cities for miles and miles. There were no cacti where the pup and I landed, no signs of life, not even a tumbleweed or a vulture for an audience. Just me, him, and the cliffs all around us."Make my day, Pup McCloud," I growled. I shuffled toward his ship, slow as vice.-----FoxI sent my coordinates to Great Fox. Falco and Slip were a couple hours away. I wasn't sure which was the smart thing to do: to wait for them to bring Wolf O'Donnell in, or to try and apprehend him on my own, right here, right now. But I knew what the courageous thing was. I knew what was right.Wolf O'Donnell was one of those names that had circulated throughout the Lylat System for so long that it had become noise for most people. Larceny, extortion, treason, you name it, Wolf had done it. He was the kind of bad guy who thought that the galaxy would be better if he ran it all. I had been chasing him because he and his crew were about to run a heist on Fichina, to steal top secret information about key Cornerian energy sources throughout the galaxy. I don't know if Wolf had planned to sell that information to the highest bidder, or if he planned to use it himself so he could build a fleet that could crush anyone who opposed him. All I knew is, he had to be stopped. I managed to intercept him and chase him to Titania, where I finally managed to blast him out of the skies.I came out of my Arwing with four things on me: my blaster, my reflector, snare traps that Slip had made for the team in case we should run into this kind of situation, and the keys to my Arwing. Wolf looked shaken up. His clothes were torn and his boots were gone. Smoke was coming out of his Wolfen."I don't know what you were doing this time," I called out, "why you and your crew were in Fichina, or what it's going to take to make you stop once and for all.""Can it, McCloud," he barked."But if you're going to be on the side of chaos," I continued, "I'll always be there to meet you on the side of justice.""You rehearse those cute little lines?" Wolf asked. "Or they just come to you naturally?""This ends now," I said.The only kinds of people who lash out are people who are already cornered. I didn't have full faith that I was going to be able to take him down myself. But I did have faith that this was as good a shot as any to take him in. If I left him here without putting any pressure on him, he could have called for reinforcements. Leon. Panther. Whoever else he knew from whatever mercenary circles he ran in these days. The right move was to confront him right now when he was at his weakest.-----Wolf"This ends now," Pup said."You should know by now, it's not so easy as that," I said. "You should know that wolves don't just go off crying with our tails between our legs, licking our wounds, salt in our eyes. Catch a paw in a trap, and we gnaw our own--""Salt in your eyes?""A figure of speech," I said, rolling my eyes. "Because when you cry, your tears are-- for fuck's sake, McCloud.""This ends. Now.""Yeah, you already said that."Pup and I had fought hand-to-hand before. Each time, one of us got rescued by something or other -- one of his dear friends comes swopping in; a bomb goes off and sends both of us flying; Andross rears his ugly head.Pup's style is cagey. He darts around and waits for an opening. He pokes at you. It's death by a thousand pokes. Always infuriatingly out of range. And when you overcommit, he dodges and pokes you. Me, that's not my style. I got claws. I wanna dig ‘em into you. I wanna tear into that fur and see what sound you make.So, I waited for him to come to me. He danced around like he had to take a leak -- that was his style. He hovered in and out of slashing range, testing me. I had my paws up, claws up, waiting, daring him to make the first move. He did. He gave two quick jabs to my gut and then slipped away when my claws went sailing."As long as there's someone threatening the peace and safety of the galaxy, I'll be there to stop it," Fox said between swipes.That's the crux of his style though -- he pisses you off. Knocks you with a couple little taps, not to do any real damage, just to annoy you. Knowing that he's gonna do it doesn't help. At some point I had had just about enough. I threw a couple haymakers and whiffed. He went to town, had me on my ass. Dangerous with all the cliffs nearby. Just enough pressure, just enough poking, I could lose where I was and end up falling over somewhere. I wasn't seeing stars yet, but specs of space dust were starting to swirl around."As long as there's ordered to be restored, I'll be there.""You ever... get tired of hearing yourself talk?" I asked, catching my breath.But then he got cocky. He let his guard down for just a second. He fumbled around, reaching into his jacket. I don't know what for. He pulled something out that looked like a bigger version of one of those fancy dice Oikonny used to use in those so-called tabletop games back when he was still with the crew.It was all the opening I needed.-----FoxSlip had a bad habit of not naming his inventions, so I had started thinking of this gadget that he had given me the "Slip Snare." You threw the Slip Snare at something, it wrapped that thing with netting, and the netting tightened until the thing couldn't move. But this one was still a prototype. He'd warned me and Falco not to rely on it; it could still be a little unstable. Use it as a last resort. Slippy hadn't make a holster for it yet, I was just carrying one around in my jacket pocket.I wasn't paying attention, though. I was careless.Wolf tackled me to the ground. We rolled around, kicking up dirt. There was a cliff nearby. I wasn't sure if he was going to try to throw me off. The Slip Snare flew out of my grip and over the edge of that cliff. I ended up on top of Wolf, but he grabbed my jacket and hurled me away.I rolled and tumbled, dust and dirt, slightly disoriented, trying to find my footing. Then he came over and kicked me. Hard. In the chest."You really think--" he said, kicking me again "--that I would lose to a--" each kick made me gasp for air "--runt like you?"I crawled away from him. But I didn't realize how close I was to the cliff myself.My boot kicked a few pebbles over the edge of the cliff. I turned around quickly to see how far the fall was. Maybe 30 feet. Enough to hurt. The Slip Snare was down at the bottom of the cliff. If I could get there...I was being careless again. I turned my attention back to Wolf, and his claws were right in my face.I dodged. I took a step back, lost my footing, and managed to grab the ledge before I went over.-----WolfNow sometimes, you see the good guy and the bad guy in situations like this. And the bad guy saunters on over and he starts talkin'. He starts yappin' away, pacing around, barely paying attention to what his prey's doin'. That's when they flip the tables. That's when they throw pocket sand in your face and live to fight another day.And everyone loves to gloat when they're winning. Everyone. The only reason good guys don't is cause they got other stuff that's keeping them from doing it. Honor. Pride. So when they get the upper hand, they shut up. It's the monologue, you see. It's the monologue that does a bad guy in.I used to do monologues. I used to do entire sermons. You thought you could get away from Wolf O'Donnell. You thought you could hold a candle up to this inferno. You thought this and that and the other thing. Well, I learned two things from all the times good guys got away from me.One: I like to win more than I like to gloat.Two: There's other ways to gloat than monologue.Thing is, when you get a situation like this, someone's gotta do the talking. The silence is too damn much. So I learned a little trick.I did everything you expect. I sauntered on over and I saw Fox, his face both adorable and pathetic as he tried to scrabble up the cliff he was hanging from. I pressed my right paw down on his left hand (that sweet, sweet grimace, a combination of pain and shame).And then I waited.I looked into his eyes, and I waited.You know what happened?"You... you bastard," Fox started. "You think you can get away with this..." He looked up at me. All I did was grind my footpaw into his hand. And it felt good. I wanted to soak in the moment for a bit. A smirk curled across my maw, feeling his knuckles, twisting just enough so that the dirt under his hand started to dig into his fingers. He gritted his teeth. And then he said more."Villains like you think that you can run the whole galaxy," Fox continued. "Steal, lie... nggghhh... overthrow everything. All so you can come out on top. Do you even know what you're... what you're fighting for? Or does a guy like you just like... chaos?"He was gasping for air now -- not because he needed it, but because all that adrenaline was getting to him. His fingers on the hand that I was crushing were already starting to lose their grip. You can feel it. When they stop fighting for control and they start flattening. My paw on the one side, all the dirt on the other, crushing his fingers. I ground and twisted down a bit more just to feel it. At some point, he was going to lose his grip entirely. But that hand wouldn't slip away just yet. It still had to get used to the feeling. The feeling of I'm not actually going to fall. I'm actually safe. I don't need to grip so tightly."We can't just have chaos," Fox continued. "We need order. We need rules." It was devolving into blathering. As all good monologues do. "You might not believe it. But I believe it. My friends believe it. That's one thing I have, Wolf. Friends. People who believe in me. And I believe in them, too. And even if you take me down, they're on their way right now. You'll never win. It's because we have heart. We have conviction. We... nggghhhh..... we stand together. And we-- shit!"It was about enough, and his hand had probably gone completely numb by then. I lifted my footpaw just to test where he was at, and his hand immediately slipped off, like a worm off of grease. Before he could figure what to do, I went to work on his other hand. My left paw, his right hand.It was strategic, what I was doing. Fox is right-handed. His blaster is holstered on his right. If he was to reach down for it, he'd have to do it from an awkward angle.That's what happens when you think and you don't talk. You start to think yourself two steps ahead.His boots scraped against the cliff face, trying to find any sort of foothold to save him from that fall. His hand felt nice and warm and tense beneath my bare footpaw. I leaned in, putting some more weight on that paw that was already grinding him down. It's not often you get to see that's usually so confident, so sure, start to crack with fear and desperation. What's it look like? It looks a lot like anger. It looks a lot like ferocity. It's gnashed teeth and growling. It's a look that says--"I'll beat you, Wolf! No matter what!"Spittle from Fox's maw sprayed across my face, I was leaning in so close. Fun, watching all that fight.The difference between ferocity and desperation is this. Ferocity is what you do when you have equal footing. Desperation is what you do when you're under my foot.I lightened up on his hand just a touch, just to see where he was at. Almost like I was just holding him there instead of waiting for the time to crush him.There was the flicker in his eyes, then. The realization that now was the time to pull off that clever move he wanted to do. He twisted slightly like he was just trying to get his grip back, but I knew that it was to get a good angle at his blaster.With one motion, he pulled the blaster from its holster and drew it with his left hand.With another motion, I pulled my reflector from its holster and activated it.The resulting shot ricocheted off of me and sent his gun flying. Smoke came from his hand, heat from his own weapon, sent right back at him."Well, well, McCloud," I ventured. The first time I had spoken in a while.He tried to reach back up with his left hand. But I stamped down on his right."Thought you were gonna beat me no matter what," I said. "Thought you were gonna stop me. For justice and all that."His ears lowered. He growled. He had nothing left.I took a deep whiff of that dry Titania air."You know what's so good about moments like these?" I asked, taking my time, feeling the grip on his right hand loosen, feeling the fingers, the joints, all start to betray themselves. "It's not the winning. The winning's nice, sure. But that's not the best part. The best part is--"I stamped down on his hand and watched him grimace."--control."Two twists from the ball of my foot. Mean twists, not meant to toy around anymore. Meant to send him over the edge."No!" Fox shouted.And then I watched him fall.The look in his eyes. What had turned from anger and desperation now filtered into pure shock. Nothing else was going through his mind right now except the lack of solid ground.I was going to scale down the cliff face myself when I kicked something small and metallic.I bent down and scooped it up.It was the keys to his Arwing.-----FoxI was stuck in a daze when I hit the ground way below. Just trying to catch my breath. Hoping that Falco and Slip would come through.Idiot. Trying to bring Wolf in myself. Titanian dirt was all over my jacket, my fur. My arms and legs ached from the fall. My breath still needed to catch up. My hands were still in pain from... what Wolf had done.I needed a moment's rest.I saw the prototype Slip Snare on the ground nearby. Deployed, of course. The metallic husk that held the Snare was split in two on the ground. The Snare itself -- the actual netting -- was curled up in a tight ball. It probably had caught a rock or something. I had a few more Snares, but they were in my----my Arwing.I heard my Arwing before I saw it. Its jets hummed as it flew over the cliff face and down near where I was.No, no, no.I tried to get to my feet fast. My body couldn't keep up. Get up, I told myself. Get up. I could get on my knees, but I couldn't push myself off the ground.My Arwing landed. The engine shut off. The ramp lowered, and Wolf came out with an enormous smirk.He was tossing something in his hand. Something metallic. The keys to my Arwing. He was taunting me, taking his time coming closer and closer.I managed to get on my feet. I wiped the dirt off my face with the back of my hand. I was going to take a step toward him but staggered back to try to keep my balance. My vision was still blurred. He was tossing my keys around.But when he got closer, I saw. He wasn't tossing my keys around.He was playing with a Slip Snare."I saw you try using one of these during our fight up there," Wolf said. "Guess I'll give it a shot, myself. See what it's all about."Before I could dash toward him, or dodge, or do anything, he hurled the little metallic ball at me.The ball hit my wrist.It sprung open. Nets came shooting out, gray cables.I was caught.

I fell to the ground. My knees, my ankles, my legs were tied together. I couldn't stop the fall. My arms were pinned to my chest. I couldn't bite through the netting, my maw was strapped shut. It was a prototype, though, so it never made it all the way to my eyes and ears. But it did enough. I could only watch and listen, though. I couldn't fight back. I was caught.I was already weakened, but the sheer force of the netting holding me down made every move I made feel weak. Minimal. Wolf came over with a mean look. He was right next to me. His feet were right next to my face. The dirt crunched right next to my nose. But I couldn't do anything about it.Wolf lifted one of those feet and slowly pressed his sole against the side of my face."Falling for every trap in the book, McCloud," he said. His paw smeared across my face, slow and mean. He moved his paw around, causing my head to move around without me having any say in it. He kicked me in the chest a couple times. He went back to toying with my head. The fur around my forehead and ears started to get moist."What's that smell?" Wolf said, leaning down to get a whiff of my face. "Oh. Me."All I could do was grunt and struggle, but it all felt so quiet and useless."Thought you're supposed to be smarter than me," he said, mushing my face into the ground, his paw now on the back of my head. He rolled me over and rolled me back. "Thought you were supposed to beat me with the power of friendship," he said. "That frog-faced friend of yours made these, I'm guessing. Well. Looks like the power of friendship beat you."-----WolfPup was kicking and squirming, but that net thing kept him wrapped up tight like a present. One that Leon and Panther and I were gonna have fun with. I wasn't thinking of having him roughed up too much, though. I'd have to set boundaries with Leon -- he's always so damn trigger-happy. Have fun with him, but don't tear him open.It would have been easier to just drag him back to the ship and let his head knock against the dirt. But I carried him back, slung him over my shoulder, even if he was heavy. I'm a bad guy, not a jerk.Pup boy's Arwing was all operated by hand. Pull this throttle, push that button. So that was gonna be the first thing I would change about it. I like driving a bird the way I drive a Landmaster. With footpedals."You don't mind if I set you down here, do you?"Here meaning, under all the controls. I still needed something to simulate footpedals. So I tucked the Fox into a spot right in front of the pilot seat, nice and snug. I'm nothing if not crafty.The second thing I was gonna have to change about this ship was the whole way it was inside. It was clean like a damn hospital. Gotta make it feel like a den, you know. Let the place run to shit a little, scuff it up. Maybe leave Fox's jacket behind the pilot seat as a little trophy. That'd be a cute touch.The third thing I was gonna have to change was the logo. This ship did not belong to Star Fox anymore. It belonged to ... well, you know.I turned off the coordinate tracking on my brand new Arwing. I sent a message to Fox's friends, telling them, Oh no, Wolf is headed toward Corneria, we better cut him off at Sector X. And then I set the navigation to take me off toward Venom."Gotta hand it to you, Pup McCloud," I said as I was settling in. "You're good. But I'm better."I could almost hear the poor pup as my ship's engines engaged. It was something between a whimper and a groan. I didn't know what other sounds he was going to make the whole way back, but I was eager to find out.As my new Arwing lifted off, I pressed my feet back down on him, one foot on his neck, one on his guts. I pressed down on both, as if that would make the ship move. It helped things feel a little bit like home.

Three Days Before the Funeral

Originally published in Beyond Words, vol. 8

Yo-Yo

Originally published on FurAffinityWe only remember that the poor guy used to be a raccoon because every Sunday we let the goo and latex slide off of him so we can have a little fun. We only remind him of his name so he remembers that he used to be someone other than the toy he is now. After the first few weeks, he stopped trying to break down the doors. And then after a few months, he stopped trying to escape altogether. But that was no fun. So we reached into his brain and wiped the part that feels he will never be able to escape. Now he mostly comes up with clever little schemes. Two months ago, he began building a drill to blast through one of the walls. He hides it under his bed. Sometimes when he's encased in the cocoon getting pumped we help him along with the drill. Because we want to see the look on his face when he bores through the drywall and strikes concrete.Here's the catch. We know he likes it. We can sense it deep down. When we mount him, we wrap our hand around his head and reach into his brain and see. He likes the chase, too. He likes to be caught again and again. He likes to wake up every Sunday knowing how we have broken him and used him. He likes having that hope. He likes having the real hope that he can escape, and he likes when, at the stroke of midnight, we appear in a dark corner of his room and grin. At least, we used to show up right at midnight. He likes the way we grin. We can tell. We can feel the neurons in his brain firing. He laughs nervously when we come towards him. Nervous laughter is a reaction to tension, confusion, embarrassment, anxiety. But it is not a response to dread. Relaxation, the way his muscles relax when we claim him, is not a response to despair. It is a response to relief.It's half an hour to midnight right now. He can tell that it's a half hour to midnight somehow, so he starts rushing work on his drill. We can tell that it's a half hour to midnight because we see him sweat. One time, we showed up at 10 minutes to midnight. We stepped out from the shadows when he hadn't started putting away his tools. He looked like he was caught with his hand in a cookie jar. We grinned. We punished him severely that night. We squeezed him and pumped him, we grabbed him and threw him and then grabbed him again, and he made little noises for hours, long enough that when we released him he just lay on the floor motionless. And then when we wrapped him up for the night, we strung him up tighter than usual. He was sore for the next few days. We could tell by how he resisted less than usual when we pulled him from the cocoon those mornings.So that's why we show up at 10 minutes to midnight now. We just wipe the part of his memory that remembers. He's shocked every time. Wanna see?

Marking Time

Originally published on FurAffinityThere's something perverted in the idea that because you're a possum you'd be into shit like this. But it was something that you thought you'd try out. So you did. And things were slow at first, interesting, the bat eased you into it. Just enough foreplay, pinching until your nipples were taut and red, reaching down into your underwear, whispering. But then came the fun part, where you hung from your tail, upside-down, on a beam, while the bat, also upside-down, fucked you, while keeping a claw over your mouth to stifle your moans. The thing about being fucked upside-down is that the cum doesn't leave you. A few drops dripped down -- or up? -- your spine, when the bat pulled out, ran from your back toward the back of your neck, and then dripped down onto the floor. You were gasping, but the bat was not. He was waiting. And then he was ready, and he fucked you again, upside-down, hanging from that beam. It's something to just be swiveling in the air as someone plows you. The body twists in ways that you don't think about, and all you can do is look down -- if the two of you fall, the bat can fly to safety, but you're gonna crash down and it's gonna hurt. So you look down at the bed below you. It's far enough to be dangerous. And you look and look and swivel in place as the bat lets out a sharp gasp and fills you again for the third time.That was fun. But the clock...The clock is a contraption which can admit a single individual willing to remain upside-down for long periods of time. The problem, for the bat, is that most of who he plays with can't stand being upside-down for longer than ten, fifteen minutes at a time. Which is a shame, because the real fun part begins an hour in. Every fifteen minutes, the clock chimes and gives whoever's in there a jolt in the balls, and every hour, the clock chimes and milks whoever's inside. The best part, the part that gets you really disoriented, is how you're swinging upside-down encased in latex that, itself, is enclosed in a pendulum that's swinging back and forth, back and forth. You can't see anything. The ticking that you hear is your own body swinging back and forth, causing whatever mechanism that's inside the clock to move the minute and hour hands with a slowness you never thought possible. You're hanging by your tail, swinging back and forth, enduring -- to the bat's delight -- far more than anyone else he's ever played this fucked up game with has. It's not making you dizzy, just disoriented. At midnight, sharp, there was some kind of mechanism that milked you and caused you to spray all up your chest and face with your own cum. At one o'clock, same thing. Two o'clock, same. This is, unfortunately, something that you can endure for a long time. It smells so sharply of yourself in there already. You've been in there for so long that you're hallucinating that you can see the bat just standing in front of the clock, watching, stroking himself. This is massively fucked, and yet. Every time it seems like you're going to drift off, you're woken up by the pendulum's automatic movement, or by -- god forbid -- the fifteen-minute mark, the half-hour mark, or the forty-five-minute mark, when you're stimulated. Or by the hour mark, when, outside of your control, you're made to mark yourself again. And so on.

Pancakes for a Wolf

Originally published on FurAffinityHe had to take the collar off that morning just to take a shower, badly needed, as he still smelled of dog (last night, he thought, water pouring, shampoo at the ready, last night... slight rope burn on the wrists that stung a little as the shampoo ran down), but once he was clean, he slipped back into the collar. He also slipped into the one change of clothes that he had brought with him -- shirt and jeans, plain old -- and took a short, cliched glance at himself in the mirror. Raccoon face. He slipped on his glasses for a clearer look at himself. And there he was. Stupid little collar jangling at his neck, with the name of the wolf in the bedroom gleaming.Anyway, anyway. The wolf was still sleeping. It was early, morning light was pouring at a bad angle into the living room and the kitchen, so the raccoon had to lower the blinds before he set to work -- pancake mix on the counter; eggs in the fridge; milk; oil? Oil? He bumbled around the cabinets for a minute, looking... Oil. He poured the ingredients all into a large bowl, stirred until it was a good, creamy texture, and turned on the burner. He wasn't quite working automatically, it was only his second time at this house, and the wolf was a bit rougher last night than he was before. There was, the raccoon tasted, as he idly read the back of the box of pancake mix -- there was, still, the taste of wolf cum lingering in his mouth. Oh, it was fun, he thought. The second time around. When there was a bit more chemistry established. When they could read each other. That was the fun part, he thought, the sunlight striking through the blinds, as he poured pancake batter in a neat little circle into the pan (it oozed out lazily; when he brought the bowl back up, he swished a finger at the lip of the bowl to catch a drop of batter, and then he rinsed his finger off in the sink). And there was the maple syrup, which he grabbed out of the cabinet.And there was the coffee to think about! The raccoon didn't drink coffee, so he wasn't sure how to navigate around the coffee beans and coffee grounds. Now, there were some coffee grounds left in the... but maybe... He poured some beans into an apparatus, he wasn't sure what any of this was called, and, presumably, it was working; beans were going in, grounds were coming out. And then there was the work of transferring the grounds to the--"Good last night," came the wolf's voice from just behind the raccoon."Shit," the raccoon muttered; he was startled and dropped the grounds clean onto the counter."Shit last night?""You startled me.""Hmm."The wolf grabbed the raccoon around the waist. "You're dressed," he said. "Going somewhere fast?""Not safe to cook without a shirt on, you know," the raccoon said."Mm, not safe to be playing with wolves either, yet here you are." He took a small nibble into the raccoon's neck, and the raccoon leaned back and sucked in air through closed teeth."Hang on," the raccoon said, "gotta check on the stove."But the wolf didn't let go. He leaned his weight into the raccoon, causing the raccoon to grab hold of the counter in front of him. "What do you think of another quickie before we get breakfast?""Aha..." the raccoon said. "Well, what did you have in mind?""Hmmm. First," the wolf said, leaning into the raccoon, pressing him into the counter, leaning into his ear to whisper, "I think I'm gonna have you suck me off. And then I might--""Quickie," the raccoon said. "Remember, breakfast? Quickie?""Fine, fine," the wolf said, easing off, but still grinning.The raccoon managed to get coffee grounds on his hands, so he washed those off. He then went to flip the pancake...He tried to stick the spatula under the pancake, but the pancake was caked onto the pan."Fuck," the raccoon said."Hmm?""I forgot to oil the pan. Damn," he said. He turned off the burner, took the pan off the stove, and was going to set about looking for some cleaning agent, when the wolf grabbed him and pressed him against the counter again (more coffee grounds getting on his hands)."You come into my house and make a mess in my kitchen," the wolf said, grinning -- and the raccoon, now, was grinning, because he knew the direction this was going to take, though this was really only something they'd discussed in hypotheticals before, never like, well... "and you think that's gonna fly?""What are you gonna do about it," the raccoon shot back. He didn't have to look down to feel the wolf getting stiff down there, and he, himself, was getting stiff from the anticipation."Get on your knees," the wolf said.The morning light was still cutting harsh through the blinds, and it was now cutting thin parallelograms of light onto the wolf, highlighting his arms, nipples, belly, and, best of all ('damn,' the raccoon thought), the face, whose grin was melting into deeper and deeper shades of seriousness, until it was completely rigid and stern. "On your knees," he said again, but the raccoon himself could not stop grinning."Make me," the raccoon said.The wolf relaxed his grip on the raccoon and said, "If you don't want to, then I could just jerk off in the shower. That's fine, too.""Come on," the raccoon said.The raccoon was still grinning. The wolf said, "No, no problem," and he started to pad off to the bathroom, which, the raccoon thought, was damn unfair, since they both knew what they wanted, he knew that the wolf wanted him to suck him off, and he knew that the wolf knew that he wanted to suck him off, and he knew that the wolf was playing this kind of mind game with him, and they both knew exactly how the game was played, but the difference was that the wolf was better at playing the game.It's awkward to get on your knees from a standing position, without any coaxing of any sort. He used the counter for support to get down on his knees, and then he crawled on all fours out to the middle of the kitchen, and then he said, "OK, you win."The wolf, though, walked to the bathroom and shut the door, which was an asshole move, the raccoon immediately understood, because now he had to shout, "You win! OK, come out!""What do I win?" the wolf said.Bastard."I'll... I'll s-suck you off now!" the raccoon called out."How much do you want to?" the wolf asked."...A lot!"The wolf came back into the kitchen and said, "Well. He's got himself all ready for me. On his knees and everything.""Fuck you.""Still needs to be disciplined, though," the wolf said, swinging his junk in the raccoon's face. "You still need to be disciplined, right?""F-fuck...""Good boys don't talk like that, do they?""Just gimme your dick already.""Good boys don't talk like that. Do they.""No.""'No' what?""No, they don't.""And you want to be a good boy, right?""Yes.""'Yes' what?"The raccoon shuddered and looked away, blushing a deep shade of red, but the wolf grabbed his chin and made him look up at him. The wolf could barely contain his emotion either, as he was trying to stifle a smile that was cracking through."Yes, I want to be a good boy," the raccoon said. "T-that's why I'm wearing a collar with your name on it.""Hm. And you really want to suck me off?""Please," the raccoon said."'Please' what?"Please stop being a damn bastard, the raccoon thought. Please stop making me beg for this. Please don't stop, though."Please let me suck you off, because I want to really badly, and because I think you want me to, also."The wolf was still holding on to the raccoon's chin. He laughed and said, "Well, if you really want it that badly, then I guess I should let you."The raccoon opened wide, but the wolf said, "And what do you say?"The raccoon blushed and said, "Thank you."He opened his mouth wide again, and this time the wolf entered.The thing about sucking someone off is that it's entirely a task of concentration. No teeth, tongue should go here. Lick the shaft, now lick the head. Back and forth, back and forth. Hold the base so it doesn't get lonely. It's not about you, it's about him. That's what he loved so much about blowing someone -- it's all about them. Of course, all the accompanying cliched terms -- meat in the mouth, thick/swollen, being a bitch/pet -- ... part of it was that he was becoming exactly like the rest of those cliches described. Losing his own identity in the sea of all the other bitches, pets, and sluts. But gaining it back, because it was he who was doing the sucking. In and out. Identity in and identity out.The wolf came, and the raccoon continued suckling for a bit (a deep sigh escaped from the wolf, and he pressed the raccoon's head closer to his crotch as he let it out, but kept it there, allowing the raccoon's senses to fill with a combination of the wolf's musk and his own saliva), and they remained for a bit, the sun now having shifted high enough that the kitchen was lit in a different way, the parallelograms that had been sliding through the blinds now beaming in full force."Good," the wolf sighed. "Good boy," with a pat on the head, which the raccoon had specifically begged for the night before (bastard).The raccoon was going to pull his head away, but the wolf kept it against him for a beat longer, and then he let him go.The raccoon was still kneeling on the kitchen tile, knees now aching, but still."Good," the wolf said again. "Now... hm. Let me return the favor."The wolf wore this awful grin that, as the raccoon was wiping his face and adjusting his glasses, made him shudder."What are you going to do?" he said."You made a mess of my kitchen," the wolf said. "So how about I make a mess of you?"The line was so awful, but the raccoon couldn't help but giggle and turn away again. Everything about this was so awful but so correct."Is that a yes?" the wolf asked."Yes," the raccoon said. "Yes, yes, please."The raccoon watched as the wolf went to the kitchen counter and popped the lid off of the container of maple syrup."Yes?" the wolf asked."Yes," the raccoon said.The wolf held the container up over the raccoon's head and turned it over. There was a delay of a few seconds, as the syrup was viscous, but it started pouring out, on the head, then it dripped down his face, catching onto the glasses, slow and viscous, globs of amber syrup gleaming in the light shining through the blinds. When it seemed like it was over (it was a bit disappointing, there wasn't that much syrup, it seemed, and only the top of the raccoon's head and the left side of his face was covered), the wolf hit the bottom of the plastic bottle, and more syrup came pouring out, and the feeling of being completely degraded began afresh.That done, the wolf threw the container of syrup into the sink and then went for the pancake batter. He held it up high over the raccoon's head and asked:"Yes?""Yes."The pancake batter flowed over the raccoon's head, across his face, sliding his glasses off his nose and onto the kitchen tile, coated his neck and flowed over the collar, spread into and beneath his shirt. Bits of maple syrup and pancake batter spilled onto his jeans. The raccoon could no longer even be seen blushing; he was feeling so completely humiliated, but he remained still, on his knees, to let the wolf go ahead and paint him like this, batter and maple syrup all over the only change of clothes he had brought with him, all over the fur he had just cleaned, all over his glasses, ...And then the wolf went to the counter one last time and scooped handfuls of coffee grounds into his hands."Yes?""Yes."And the wolf held the coffee grounds over the raccoon's head and sprinkled him with them.Brown and white and coffee-brown raccoon.The wolf laughed. He wiped his hands above the raccoon's head, letting the last few bits of coffee ground settle lazily on the pancake battered raccoon."Oh, you," he said. "I'll go ahead and make a reservation somewhere. You clean up the kitchen. You really made a mess this morning."