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Steve recognized that another attempt at diplomacy may not be the best course of action considering what happened last time. Looking at the hulking wolf man he had no intention of antagonizing his captor. That however did not stop him from spewing profanities at the wolf internally, it seemed that no matter the situation, his internal commentary refused to stop working.
"Maybe it's a nervous thing?" he mused to himself, before being roughly yanked forward as the wolf man started walking away. They were moving into a large grouping of structures that until now Steve had not noticed, so preoccupied had he been with mystical creatures and not so mystical dirt.
To either side of him Steve could see huts. The buildings seemed to be mostly made of brown canvas with yet more of the strange white tattoos that daubed the werewolf he was moving with. The whole camp was illuminated by torches, revealing row after row of brown huts. It was all kind of reminiscent of the Zulu war camps he had seen in that movie about the British Empire in Africa.
Steve briefly considered that perhaps the tattoos showed family groups. As each tent seemed to have different symbols of intricate detail. Assuming family groups camped together, this theory made sense.
The front flaps of the huts were beginning to open on either side, from which were emerging other Lupine forms. He quickly noted that his earlier guess seemed to be correct as the males, females and children that were pushing themselves out of the tents were all coated with roughly the same symbols between groups.
He quickly noticed that all the females over a certain height and thus assumedly a certain age, had chests supporting two massive breasts, standing firmly on their on their large chests. The fact that all of the fully grown females had such massive endowments made him wonder if they gave birth to much larger young than humans. Looking at the hulking males, this seemed to be the case. This theory was further reinforced by the wide child bearing hips that seemed even wider due to the lithe flat stomached frames that were typical of those he saw. The thought of a whole species with supermodel dimensions was somewhat arousing.
It would seem Steve's body cared little for the fact that they were covered in fur, an entirely different species from him, and possibly planning on eating him, instead focusing on the fact that they had impressive knockers. Steve observed all this and couldn't help but wonder if before losing his recent memories he had developed some rather abnormal sexual fetishes. The quiet fire burning in his loins suggested yes.
Steve's thoughts were calmly analytic given the circumstances, but he supposed it was the result of being only able freak out so much in a given day, and he had probably used up that supply during the journey over. It also helped to distract him from the thought that he was likely to be eaten, no evidence suggested this, and it seemed to be more of an instinctual assumption to be made upon seeing the large canines.
He was dragged onwards with a growing procession of followers of all ages and genders. They all seemed to be talking in guttural voices, with yipping and yelping sounds mixed in. The strangest part seemed to be that if he strained his ears he could make out certain words. Words he could understand. Steven tried to listen to confirm this, but it was too loud and jumbled to hear anything specific, and he was dragged on ahead of the crowd before he could ponder it anymore. He was yanked again as the wolf in front of him picked up the pace. Theorizing and chain yanking didn't mix apparently.
The wolf in front of him strode on through the village. He eventually came to stop in front a large concrete structure that stood out from the rest of the simple fabric tents and huts. Steve couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it prior to now, but if he was honest with himself, since he had noticed the 'interesting' features of the natives he had for the most part been watching them as they were in turn watching him.
Steve focused his gaze on the mammoth structure, and after looking round the encampment realized that this was the center most structure and concluded that the rest of the tent village must have been built up around it. A rather large guess, but considering he was being dragged around by a godamn werewolf he was allowed to make somewhat large leaps in logic.
He firmly believed the first step to surviving a situation was understanding what was going to kill you. Even if the only thing backing them up his theories were quick observations, and his almost encyclopedic knowledge of fantasy tropes. He figured he would keep theorizing on things until he was proven wrong. It wasn't like it could make him more dead if he did fuck up.
The thing that shocked him most about the concrete structure was that it looked modern in design. Like a skyscraper, it reached high into the sky in comparison to the tent city. It was at least twenty stories. The skills used to build such a thing seemed at odds with the incredibly primitive society that surrounded him, as it looked remarkably similar to the buildings he had seen in the business district of the city back on his own world, with massive windows covering every available vertical surface. Curiously none of the windows seemed broken, just old and dusty. He craned his head to look inside, but it was pitch black. No illumination came from within and the windows evidently didn't permit light from outside. Maybe they were tinted?
The werewolf bowed its head, almost reverently toward the structure, and moved round it before he stopped in front of a bizarre, more complex hut that before now had been hidden from view by the massive modern building.
The hut had been positioned so that it was almost leaning on the concrete structure, with ropes leading up to the modern buildings roof for support.
It was huge. It looked to have multiple stories of peculiar sizes and shapes, almost as if it was a gigantic tent that had latched onto the skyscraper structure for support, with ropes tightly linking the whole thing together, in what seemed slap dash, but was probably required to keep the ungainly multi room tent building structurally sound. All in all it made a quite impressively large, if dimensionally unique structure that towered over him. Unlike the skyscraper though he could clearly make out flickering lights through the thin canvas from fires within, and the occasional humanoid shadow that suggested an occupant moving around the rooms of the massive canvas structure.
The werewolf in front of him crouched on one knee and bowed its head, and Steve was forced to bow with him by the short chain.
Silence fell over the village, and a quick glance behind him revealed the large crowd had a hundred or so meters away and was also bowed on one knee, eyes averted downward reverently toward the hut. Steve tried not to make a sound, a somewhat difficult task with a metal chain attached to his neck. He mentally tallied up all the information from the last few minutes.
He had come to a few conclusions in that time. The most important of which was that he was no longer on earth. It seemed like a large leap to make, but based on the evidence he couldn't really think of much else.
The other piece of logic was that he was royally fucked. The reason for that amazing piece of logic essentially boiled down to the fact that the werewolf had two leather collars complete with chain readily available to him. It did not seem likely that a nice person who was not in the habit of capturing people without their consent would have two or more readymade chain collars. In which case Steve had decided that he was now a slave, a sacrifice or a snack. He genuinely could not see any of those as good outcomes.
On the plus side it seemed he was a subject of interest to the rest of the village, so at least the novelty he presented might keep him less dead for longer. He tactfully ignored the fact that said novelty might also make him dead faster. He was an optimist at heart after all.
The silence seemed to go on forever. Steve was gradually beginning to notice the camp had a smell of spices and herbs, but underneath that was a distinct smell that stuck him as strange and eerily familiar. It smelled quite distinctly of urine. Did the wolves mark their territory? Steve silently felt his emotions conflict between hoping he was not considered an item requiring marking, and hoping he was marked. Generally you don't urinate on dinner, and because of that he might live longer. The werewolf beside him was entirely ignorant of this amazing internal debate, and simply remained bowed towards the tower tent.
The flaps of the large tent finally opened. A figure stood illuminated in the fire light. She was honestly the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, although the position of most beautiful creature had changed hands a few times in his mind in the last few minutes, due to his probable imminent demise making him slightly less rational than usual.
He was also becoming aware of the increasing possibility he may in fact have a fetish for werewolves with giant hips and racks, even if there was a distinct possibility they were planning on eating him. In any case the creature in front of him had a wide lead on her competitors in terms of 'wow' factor. That was a certainty.
She was different from the other Wulfen he had seen thus far. She sported white fur as pure as fresh fallen snow, with no marking that he could see. She stood tall in a pure white shawl as well as a loincloth that scandalously seemed to move about as she walked, promising glimpses of the bounty between her legs. The cloth tantalizingly occasionally showed a brief glimpse of something light pink against the white of the fur between her legs during the apex of her stride. Steve quietly thanked the gods for the light breeze. Her top had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders that drooped to barely conceal the impressively large round orbs of her chest, which seemed to stand almost in defiance of gravity and jiggled lightly as she moved.
Her eyes caught the light of the fires, glinting dangerously like shards of light blue ice. They seemed to casually take in everything around her. The light swish of her full fluffy white tail bounced above the round fullness of her buttocks, and it swished in time with the sway of her hips. It was as if her whole body was dripping with the ability to incite lust and flaunt its breeding potential.
She walked towards Steven, and his captor, with a casual grace that conveyed matronly authority, and to Steve's mind, a quite sinful amount of sex appeal that combined with her matriarchal presence seemed to give her a feeling of being forbidden fruit. It almost made him feel dirty for thinking sinfully of her, as if by virtue of her mature body and sharp eyes; she had become mother of all who looked upon her. It was an uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant sensation.
It was like his mind was trying to give her respect and solemn worship, while all his body could think about was humping any orifice she presented. The feelings of blind lust combined with his feelings of solemn respect managed to further upset his stomach with their conflicting desires, and give him a raging erection that strained at the thin fabric of his pants. It was all he could do not to start gyrating his hips.
A faint panting sound to his left caught his attention, and he agonizingly tore his attention away from the wolf-woman in front of him to look at his captor. The werewolf to his left was panting heavily, drool sliding off his lolling tongue, and disappearing into the dirt at his feet. Looking down, Steven quickly noticed that his captor was also having trouble controlling his lust. His dark red Wolven penis had slipped its sheath, and pushed past the delicate fabric of his loin cloth to be exposed to stand firmly in the cool night air.
The red dick was easily 9 inches at a guess. It bounced as the werewolf scented the white wolf. his nostrils flaring with desire. Trying to catch every bit of her scent. He began very gently bucking his hips in an almost unwilling way towards the object of his evident desires. Even so the wolf kept his head bowed toward the ground, one knee still firmly pressed to the floor, and his eyes aimed downwards. If the wolf man felt any shame at his obvious excitement, he certainly wasn't showing it.
Steven looked away, and honestly wished he could say the sight had been a turn off, but it seemed his own dick had only gotten painfully harder. As if it was trying to compete with the werewolf's in competition for the attentions of White goddess in front of them. Well, at least Steve wasn't the only one who had this reaction to the white female. He took little comfort in that, even if he would have preferred there to be no wolf erection less than 5 feet away.
She stopped just before Steven, and he found himself looking up at her from his crouching position. It was then that he noticed the white loose fitting shawl from this angle left her nipples exposed to his sight. He took a quick moment to thank the gods again, before trying to devour everything with his eyes, quickly noting that she too had the war paints on her fur, but they were of a light blue shade and difficult to see unless you were up close.
He observed the large pink nipples, standing out from her white fur. They stood out as if begging to be flicked, pinched, chewed and sucked amongst the ever white expanses of her chest. She stood as a goddess of motherhood and fertility, a mixture that left him standing before her feeling like a young child in the first stages of puberty; both aroused and guilty, as if his feeling of lust toward her were the same as lusting after a close family member, like a mother, aunt or older sister.
She pinned him with those icy grey eyes. She studied him, as he studied her. She observed him observing her, and for a second he thought he saw a flash in her eyes of arrogant delight at his painfully obvious arousal at her presence, evident from the erection that had formed that was being strained by the light fabric of his pants. Then the flash of mischief was gone.
She moved her stern gaze over to his captor. He noticed that he could smell her scent in the air now that she was so close. She honestly even smelled like heady perfume and musky sex.
She looked upon the Werewolf, with an intensity that fired a light tinge of envy through Steve's chest
"Michael, where did you find such a creature that so masquerades as a warrior of the God of Soldiers?" The voice was a quiet question, it did not seem to hold malice, and it seemed almost to be filled with pity.
Steve didn't even hear the words at first. He was listening to the tone of her voice. The tinge of sadness in her almost made Steven's arousal want to wilt. It didn't. In fact if anything it was now hardening more, but he imagined given the circumstance it should have. He blamed it on the natural light timbre and softness of her voice.
He may not have been at his intellectual peak just at that moment, but he had a pretty solid hunch he was the one being referred to as the one pretending to be a warrior of this 'God of Soldiers'. The comparison was flattering, especially considering he had never once, to the best of his knowledge, done a day of soldiering in his life, and while the best of his knowledge was pretty slim considering his memory troubles, he was still pretty sure he didn't feel like a soldier. After all he was definitely sure being a soldier meant having an interest in, or at least a tolerance to physical danger. He had thoroughly shown through his completely passive lack of resistance whatsoever up until now, that he had no interest in physical danger.
It seemed to him only heroes struggled in an impossible situation, and he considered heroes to be people who did everyone else a favor by removing themselves from the gene pool. This did not make Steve an amoral monster, it just meant that he picked his battles. Some would say that he didn't so much pick his battles, as run screaming away from them. He considered those people heroes, and hoped they did what heroes do best.
The werewolf now mentally dubbed Michael by Steve, spoke with the guttural growl that seemed much more fitting to the scary werewolf imagery, that the white wolf seemed to have foregone
"Oracle, while searching for the Lizard-Kin bandits that had been plaguing our hunting grounds I witnessed a great flash in the heavens. The Human fell from the sky wrapped in a ball of lightning into the forest of Direholm, that upon landing destroyed many trees and left a crater about ten meters across and one meter deep, leaving many of the trees flaming. I was not more than a kilometer away when it happened" He grunted with a completely sincere voice.
Steve almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the tale, then he remembered the story came from a panting werewolf wielding a 10 inch erection, in front of the hottest woman he had ever met, who was also a werewolf, and he himself was also sporting an erection. He decided that his common sense should take a back seat, and that he would just do what he usually did. Go with the flow.
He also noted that Michael had called the White wolf Oracle, he was now wondering if that was her name or station? The fact that he seemed to just be continually piling on more questions was readily becoming apparent. Wa he going to spend the rest of his life wondering what the fuck was going on? Considering he might not live through the next five minutes, this was a possibility that was not to be ignored. He knew for a fact that he wouldn't actually give a rat's ass about any of this if someone would just straight out say "We are not going to eat you".
The werewolf continued ignorant of Steve's internal tirade, "Upon approaching to investigate, I found the human unconscious and, after offering a prayer of thanks to the gods, I carried him away from the forest, which had burst into a mighty blaze"
He stopped for a moment, and for a second I could have sworn the wolf man looked embarrassed, before he continued
"I must admit in my haste to carry him away from the fire, I may have knocked him on some low hanging branches"
Well that explains my concussion on my first revival, assuming it was from a tree and not falling from the sky in a lightning bolt, Steven muttered to himself internally, although he had also noted, that if what Michael said was true, then the guy had saved his life. Of course, if he accepted that, it also meant accepting that he had ridden a lightning bolt earlier that day, and even with his mind wide open to accepting the new weird reality, he was having trouble accepting that one. He tactfully chose to ignore the comment about a prayer of thanks to the gods. He had been at friends' houses when they said grace before a meal, he did not want to be his new furry friends daily bread. Some might say he was ignoring reality, Steve would say was he being selective about the reality he chose to accept.
The story had a somewhat pregnant pause after word of Steve's mistreatment, it was filled only with the involuntary heavy panting of Michael and what Steve assumed was the sound of insect life, as it sounded remarkably like crickets. He was pondering over the awkward pause. Why would Michaels mistreatment in saving my life seem bad, but punching me in the face, chaining me up and dragging me collared through the dirt with the whole village watching be fine? I mean it's not so much a double standard as it is fucking confusing.
Steve couldn't help but wonder if Michael would even mention punching his lights out, I mean was it good or bad now? Was he a snack? A sacrifice? The fuck was going on? Steven resisted the temptation to sit down in frustration, as he shifted his weight slightly, his erection reminded him of its existence, as he a felt painful rubbing sensation, caused by his movements as the head was pushed against the taut fabric. He couldn't help but notice that same mischievous glint from before returned to Oracle's eyes as she glanced over. It was just for a second but it was definitely there, before she returned her attention to Michael.
