Exercise In Restraint

Simon lay naked on the floor in the cubby he and Werner had been sharing for their recent sexual exploration. It was strange for him to be exposed comfortably, but he supposed he was more distracted than comfortable. At least absorbed. It was the same transition Simon had experienced when he started hanging out with Werner and the other werewolves--not necessarily comfortable, but preoccupied with a fascination of their industrial nature.  

Meanwhile, Werner was being quite industrious with his mouth and hands.  Werner was used to using his mouth for things other than talking, as in, he didn’t have thumbs in quadro-mode (short for quadruped) when his mouth couldn’t talk, and it added a gravity to what he was doing now, pressing his tongue wide and flat along Simon’s penis before putting it in his mouth, applying suction and pushing it just so against the roof of his mouth.  Simon exhaled in reactive cadence, his arms wilting beside him as he pushed his back and head into the floor and lifted his butt to follow Werner’s head up.  

Werner let the penis out of his mouth with a smile that made it up to his eyes, and it made a little smack sound as it fell on Simon’s pelvis. He breathed out a chuckle through his nose and went in for another tongue-run, lower this time, down past his boyfriend’s balls to where the penis started on the inside.  Again he pressed his tongue in, his eyebrows arched in a meaningful look, not that Simon would see.  He moved his tongue up, parting the testicles in a bid to track the penis from end to end.  Simon felt the deep press emanate inside him from the vagus nerve up through his belly.  He reminded himself that all werewolves’s muscles were stronger.  All of them.

They were taking their time in this moment. Werner continued the service of his boyfriend in the same manner, each stroke a little more meaningful than some from all their previous encounters. His hands pressed into Simon’s stomach and ran slowly over smooth skin, around the side to squeeze the ribs, each motion deliberate. Quality over quantity. They shared little laughs over a hair in the mouth or Werner’s own erection.  

“I’m leaking…” Werner joked. He had smeared globs of precum around on the floor with his knees while maneuvering around his subject. It was a werewolf male trademark.  Lots of precum, especially in teen years, especially during rut in the early summer as it was now.  Human guys had to deal with rushes of testosterone in their system--their werewolf peers sported 10 to 12 times as much. There were other chemicals involved, too, but their desire for sex devolved into a need for the wolves.  A teenage werewolf male could always resort to other werewolf guys his age, but if he had the right human, it was a much more exciting time for them both.

“Well, I’m not cleaning it up, it’s your fault,” Simon retorted, but he was referring to two things at once.  Werner nibbled a piece of flesh on a nearby thigh.  Simon snapped his head up, “Hey! Mean!”  He laughed and set his head back down, “Harder next time, jeez.”  Saying stuff like that was always a surprise for Simon. He’d never imagined he would ask outloud to be pounded in the ass, but he had said something like that several times to Werner, and passionately, and often many times in a row. 

He was equally as surprised when he discovered a brown hue to his own ejaculate the other day.  Simon had originally been really upset, citing the traditional knowledge to Werner that werewolves and humans shared no communicable diseases (werewolves don’t even have diseases). Collected, as usual, Werner suggested he consult the pack doctor, fully trained and board certified of course, but dedicated solely to the 5,000-so wolves in the Marith County Pack. 

“You guys been goin’ at it pretty hard, huh?” Dr. Brusal’s face lifted in a mischievous smile. Simon just looked confused, he hadn’t said anything about the consistent sex, yet, anyway.  

“Well, if you needed a reason to hold something over Werner, you can let him know it’s partially his fault. Sounds like you have a bruised prostate. A little blood in your semen. Nothing to worry about, it’ll heal up in a week or two. Y’all take it easy for a while, let me know if anything changes.”

It was good news, technically, but the color in Werner’s face drained when he realized he’d be going through the last remnants of rut without straightforward relief. 

Simon had tried to comfort him, “It’ll be ok, babe, I’m sure we can find plenty of other ways to get all that sexual energy outta you.”  

Simon didn’t tell him that he’d also had a very informative conversation with Werner’s alpha male, Thomas. Turns out, Thomas was a wellspring of sexual information.  Take control, Thomas had insisted, please, as a matter of fact. Werner needs to calm down in general. Tell him he’s got a collar on and you’re holding the leash. Or, hell, put a real collar on him. We’re not offended by that kind of stuff, and he’ll respect the shit outta you for stepping up. Everyone else follows him around, but you don’t have to. Shouldn’t, really. Just always be the one in control, and if that means giving him control for a while, great, as long as you get it back when you want it. 

And that’s how Simon ended up on the floor. He had initiated this session with very specific conditions: make me feel good, just stay out of my butt. They had laughed conspiringly.

Oh, and, he had put his hands around Werner’s neck sweetly, I’m putting a collar on you… and I’ve got the leash.  At that, Werner’s eyes flared with a wild energy. He licked a lip quickly, breathing a drawn out, “Ok.”

“The collar” obviously had a significant effect on Werner’s sexual behavior. The quality over quantity concept forced him to focus the overwhelming urge to penetrate into simply satisfying the body that lay before him. Not fucking on the inside, but fucking on the outside. Werner thought it was actually really nice. 

Werner was still caught up in Simon’s junk, now giving the texture of the loose scrotum a thorough oral investigation. He kneaded the skin in his lips, rolling it with his tongue.  He let it go and grabbed another bit with his teeth, this time tugging it away from the body delicately. He felt his own hands sliding up both of Simon’s thighs, almost like he was trying to squeeze something out of them. Simon’s testicles shifted with the pull and Werner searched his body for a sign that it was time to let go. Nothing yet. 

He decided that was good and dropped the sack again, focusing attention on the mounting pressure from his hands in the joints of Simon’s legs. A deeply personal place to be gripped so hard, with Werner’s strength anyway. Simon breathed heavily through his mouth. Werner released the grip and went for what could be his favorite part of Simon’s body, the hips. The hip bones protruded from the Simon’s relatively-skinny frame from the front. On the back, they supported a small runner’s ass.  

Werner pressed his thumbs hard into the flesh and ran them deliberately along the whole curvature of each side of the hips almost like he was greasing a large o-ring. 

“I just wanna eat those bones,” Werner breathed, reaffirming a running mantra. He gnawed messily at the top of one hip, his teeth lightly raking the skin, his tongue carelessly spreading saliva around. 

The ensemble of Werner’s grip, predatory provocation, and gnawing mouth made Simon want to squirm. He tried to squash the urge, but instead his back arched involuntarily and he grunted. Werner looked up to admire his work--Simon cast him a half-embarrassed glance. Every bit of skin Werner had just touched was turning red, but neither one of them cared.

Simon’s reaction both encouraged and softened Werner’s approach. Normally, this would be the time for him to go down, but today was a different day. Up it is. He led with his tongue--it seemed to be the primary instrument of this new day--and drew a sharp line from hip to rib cage. It also meant he’d have to lift himself up, a perfect opportunity to keep up the predatory charade.  He let his shoulder blades stick out and lifted his torso high, keeping his head low to maintain contact. He looked out of the tops of his eyes as he licked to the sternum, then veered off for a brief encounter with a nipple. Without looking, Simon ran his hands down the sides of his boyfriend’s head, feeling the familiar texture of his coarse, blonde hair. Werner planted a fleeting kiss on his chest, I love you too, babe.

The chest then naturally led him to the nearby armpit, a place he seriously enjoyed visiting. He followed the same pattern--wide, flat tongue, pressed hard--plastering Simon’s light patch of hair against the skin with each run. 

There it is, he thought, as a cocktail of pheromones emanated faintly out of the wet armpit. He started the next run much lower, incorporating a trio of ribs in the texture and allowing his nose to spend a moment to enjoy the primal scent. It was a raw scent, almost spicy, and unique to this person. This was how he could find Simon anywhere from a fair few miles away.

The two kissed in that open-mouthed, breathy way (wildly passionate compared to what two werewolves would share). Werner lowered himself to be chest-to-chest, wrapping his arms around Simon’s head as they made out. He consciously mounted Simon, pushing his dripping erection hard at the inner base of Simon’s penis.

We’re not doing the thing babe, but this feels good, right? That’s what you said to do.

Simon wrapped his legs around Werner, his calves encouraging Werner’s ass to keep up the pressure. By lifting his legs up high, he exposed his ass--normally a green-light for Werner to proceed.  This time it would be an exercise in restraint.  Werner recognized the dilemma, but knew he could still capitalize on this position.

I want to, Simon tried to project, but doctor’s orders.

Werner engaged a slow humping motion, curling his back so his penis could rub provokingly across Simon’s asshole for several advances, then straightened his back out to press his body completely on Simon’s. He had a pretty large dick by human standards, uncircumsized by werewolf custom, and pleasantly girthy. At the farthest face-ward extent of one of Werner’s suppressed thrusts, it would slide between the press of their bodies, rubbing past the end of Simon’s penis and easily reaching the middle of Simon’s taut belly, leaving a path of ever-more present precum. 

The motion rhythmically crushed Simon’s testicles severely. His top’s weight and strength seemed to be concentrated on his sack without reprieve. He yelped a little, but Werner didn’t respond. So far in his sexual exploits, he had a tenuous relationship with pain. Pain happened sometimes, especially when his top bends ½ inch rebar the same way a human bends a paperclip. Sometimes it supplemented to the sensation in a great way, sometimes not so much. His tactic for pain was to test whether or not he could focus on anything else. 

He shifted his attention to Werner sucking at different tendons in his neck, then to the penis sliding between them. Simon could feel the foreskin responding to each direction of travel, exposing the head, then hiding it. It constantly secreted precum which smeared across their stomachs and accumulated in his belly button. He imagined the whole length and girth of it inside him. All that precious precum lubricating his asshole and filling him up, instead of being doomed to run down a shower drain.  A noise escaped him again, deeper and more earnest this time. Yeah, he could forget about his balls for now. He had another surprise for Werner anyway. 

--End Part One--