The Dogs Will Be Alright

The creature had fallen still, holding him firmly in place as he took its seed. He had enough slack to rock his hips just a little, but it was enough to keep the mind-breaking, semi-orgasmic episodes coming. At what seemed an incredibly long time, the creature's pulsing, throbbing ejaculations slowed and the knot started to shrink. It released Billy's neck and arm and pulled itself out with a pop, sending a final jolt of pleasure as the rough mid-shaft ridge stretched him on the way out.

For a moment he was completely free. A part of him was disappointed it hadn't done anything with his mouth. By far the greater part was afraid it still planned to kill him. He sat up but was still too cock-addled to look for his blades.

Then the haunting lamps were looking down at him. A wiry hand gripped the side of his round, pretty face and pulled him forward. In a panic, he expected to feel its knife-like claws eviscerating his vulnerable flesh. Instead, his face smacked into its huge, half-erect cock. Warm cum plastered his cheek and hair and dripped down onto his eye.

The slitted eyes looked down commandingly, and he obeyed, cleaning it submissively with his tongue. It twitched with every blind kiss and lick, gradually hardening back to its full glorious length by the time he reached the tip. Pre-cum, or post-cum, who knew, leaked from the tip and he lapped it up eagerly. The thing laughed its hideous barking laugh and forced him to swallow its cock deeper, not that he needed the encouragement anymore.

⁂

No letters reached Mrs. Stewart that winter, nor in the spring either. Hezekiah nevertheless made the summer trek under duress. No townsmen had heard anything of him since autumn. He found the cabin long abandoned, the door hanging open, the ruined bedding torn to shreds. On the trip back to town he ran into a trio of old trappers hunting with six old dogs. Ino, Uno, and Calico had found their way to Old Man Buckner in late October, but the weather hadn't permitted a search party until spring. Even then, the hounds had refused to come with them. The trappers hadn't discovered anything worth mentioning, but when they'd been dozing in camp that night Buckner swore he'd heard a strange voice on the wind.

"My tail, my tail, my tailypo. Now I've got my tailypo."