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A Thursday Prompt story
© 2022 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: arrangement
“But why me?” the prospective bride asked.
It was a question that had been asked ever since the wedding had been announced, and things hadn’t been very happy in the lupine family after that normally joyous news.
“Look,” the mother said, “the marriage is a foregone conclusion. Marrying into the Great Pack itself – marrying the heir to the Alpha, no less! – is a great honor. The Alpha himself made the pact with your father before you were born.”
“Well, didn’t you say anything after I was born?” Lyle said in a grumpy tone. The eighteen year old wolf sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his paws.
“Of course we did,” his mother said. “But the Alpha can’t break his word, it’s not done.” She pointed at the half-open boxes containing the wedding finery. “Now, get dressed. We’re due at the temple in an hour.” She put a finger under his chin and lifted his face up to meet her gaze. “You’re getting married, Lyle, so you may as well get used to the idea,” and after a kiss on his cheek his mother left the room.
The young wolf sat there for a few more minutes before he sighed. Bowing to the inevitable, he started opening boxes and sorting out in what order he needed to put things on.
The Pack was everything, and it didn’t matter what the individuals might think.
The underwear, gray satin that matched his fur color, was a little tight across his crotch. Of course; they were for wolfesses, not him. No bra, of course, and the nearly pure white dress buttoned up the front, with a high collar that forced his chin up to expose his throat.
It was a lupine thing. Exposing the throat was a sign of submission, and he gulped.
There was a bit of jewelry to put on, a gift from the Alpha and his wife; a small chaplet that fitted between his ears and ended in a small pearl pendant that rested just above and between his eyes. It was designed to slip off if he lowered his chin.
Finally done, he looked at himself in the mirror, squared his shoulders, and stepped out of the room.
***
“I pronounce you husband and wife,” and Lyle turned toward his new mate and lifted his chin slightly, taking another look at his new alpha.
Roger Redtooth was a fraction of an inch taller and a year older than he was, dressed in his pack’s traditional blue and red, with a white sash to proclaim his status as a bridegroom. His brown eyes met Lyle’s gray as he gently took the jeweled chaplet from the younger wolf’s head before tipping his head to one side and gently pressing his teeth against the stiff lace collar covering Lyle’s throat.
He shuddered as the wedding guests howled a cheer.
The reception passed in a daze, and it seemed almost a matter of seconds before he found himself in a very posh hotel room as Roger stripped off his sash and tunic.
He found his voice. “Um, Roger?”
Roger paused in the act of unbuckling his shoes. “Yes?”
“Um, I have a confession to make – “
An upraised paw silenced him. “Let me guess. You’re name’s not ‘Lily?’”
“Lyle. I’m a guy.”
A defeated-sounding sigh, and Roger resumed taking his shoes off. He stood and walked over to Lyle. “I sort of guessed when you barely said anything – well, that and your scent.” His gaze was intent. “Lift your chin.”
Lyle did so, and he shivered as Roger pressed his teeth to his throat again.
Harder.
And harder.
Until he could feel the points of his husband’s fangs pierce his skin, eliciting a soft whine from the younger wolf.
Roger held him there, as paws unbuttoned Lyle’s dress . He finally withdrew his jaws and let the clothing drop to the floor. Lyle, now only in his underwear and slippers, numbly stepped out of the pooled fabric, touching a few trembling fingers to his throat.
The fingertips were stained red.
He looked away from the blood as Roger lifted the dress and pointed at the bloody tooth marks on the white lace. “I’ve taken you, as an alpha takes his mate. By law and tradition, you’re my wife now.”
Lyle resisted the urge to flinch, from the words and from that intense gaze. “But – but I’m a guy.”
Roger chuckled. “So am I, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work something out.”
“We’re supposed to have kids.”
His husband tapped the side of his nose with a grin. “We’ll figure that out later. Right now, I’m hungry. Room service?”
His stomach grumbled. “Pizza?”
“Cool. You like video games?”
Lyle started to smile. “Scored top on War of Wands.”
Roger started to smile, a broader and friendlier expression. “Sounds like a great way to spend a wedding night.”
end
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2022 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: arrangement
“But why me?” the prospective bride asked.
It was a question that had been asked ever since the wedding had been announced, and things hadn’t been very happy in the lupine family after that normally joyous news.
“Look,” the mother said, “the marriage is a foregone conclusion. Marrying into the Great Pack itself – marrying the heir to the Alpha, no less! – is a great honor. The Alpha himself made the pact with your father before you were born.”
“Well, didn’t you say anything after I was born?” Lyle said in a grumpy tone. The eighteen year old wolf sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees and his chin in his paws.
“Of course we did,” his mother said. “But the Alpha can’t break his word, it’s not done.” She pointed at the half-open boxes containing the wedding finery. “Now, get dressed. We’re due at the temple in an hour.” She put a finger under his chin and lifted his face up to meet her gaze. “You’re getting married, Lyle, so you may as well get used to the idea,” and after a kiss on his cheek his mother left the room.
The young wolf sat there for a few more minutes before he sighed. Bowing to the inevitable, he started opening boxes and sorting out in what order he needed to put things on.
The Pack was everything, and it didn’t matter what the individuals might think.
The underwear, gray satin that matched his fur color, was a little tight across his crotch. Of course; they were for wolfesses, not him. No bra, of course, and the nearly pure white dress buttoned up the front, with a high collar that forced his chin up to expose his throat.
It was a lupine thing. Exposing the throat was a sign of submission, and he gulped.
There was a bit of jewelry to put on, a gift from the Alpha and his wife; a small chaplet that fitted between his ears and ended in a small pearl pendant that rested just above and between his eyes. It was designed to slip off if he lowered his chin.
Finally done, he looked at himself in the mirror, squared his shoulders, and stepped out of the room.
***
“I pronounce you husband and wife,” and Lyle turned toward his new mate and lifted his chin slightly, taking another look at his new alpha.
Roger Redtooth was a fraction of an inch taller and a year older than he was, dressed in his pack’s traditional blue and red, with a white sash to proclaim his status as a bridegroom. His brown eyes met Lyle’s gray as he gently took the jeweled chaplet from the younger wolf’s head before tipping his head to one side and gently pressing his teeth against the stiff lace collar covering Lyle’s throat.
He shuddered as the wedding guests howled a cheer.
The reception passed in a daze, and it seemed almost a matter of seconds before he found himself in a very posh hotel room as Roger stripped off his sash and tunic.
He found his voice. “Um, Roger?”
Roger paused in the act of unbuckling his shoes. “Yes?”
“Um, I have a confession to make – “
An upraised paw silenced him. “Let me guess. You’re name’s not ‘Lily?’”
“Lyle. I’m a guy.”
A defeated-sounding sigh, and Roger resumed taking his shoes off. He stood and walked over to Lyle. “I sort of guessed when you barely said anything – well, that and your scent.” His gaze was intent. “Lift your chin.”
Lyle did so, and he shivered as Roger pressed his teeth to his throat again.
Harder.
And harder.
Until he could feel the points of his husband’s fangs pierce his skin, eliciting a soft whine from the younger wolf.
Roger held him there, as paws unbuttoned Lyle’s dress . He finally withdrew his jaws and let the clothing drop to the floor. Lyle, now only in his underwear and slippers, numbly stepped out of the pooled fabric, touching a few trembling fingers to his throat.
The fingertips were stained red.
He looked away from the blood as Roger lifted the dress and pointed at the bloody tooth marks on the white lace. “I’ve taken you, as an alpha takes his mate. By law and tradition, you’re my wife now.”
Lyle resisted the urge to flinch, from the words and from that intense gaze. “But – but I’m a guy.”
Roger chuckled. “So am I, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work something out.”
“We’re supposed to have kids.”
His husband tapped the side of his nose with a grin. “We’ll figure that out later. Right now, I’m hungry. Room service?”
His stomach grumbled. “Pizza?”
“Cool. You like video games?”
Lyle started to smile. “Scored top on War of Wands.”
Roger started to smile, a broader and friendlier expression. “Sounds like a great way to spend a wedding night.”
end
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Wolf
Size 120 x 92px
File Size 39.7 kB
Listed in Folders
Central Scrutinizer:
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . again. Hi! . . . It's me again, the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . Joe says Lucille has messed his mind up, but, was it the girl or was it the music? As you can see . . . girls, music, disease, heartbreak . . . they all go together . . . Joe found out the hard way, but his troubles were just beginning . . . his mind was so messed up . . . he could hardly do nothin' . . . He was in a quandary . . . being devoured by the swirling cesspool of his own steaming desires . . . the guy was a wreck . . . so . . . what does he do? For once, he does something SMART . . . he goes out . . . and pays a lot of money to L. Ron Hoover . . . at the First . . . at the Pch . . . hem . . . he goes out . . . and pays a lot of money to L. Ron Hoover . . . at the First Church of Appliantology!
This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . again. Hi! . . . It's me again, the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER . . . Joe says Lucille has messed his mind up, but, was it the girl or was it the music? As you can see . . . girls, music, disease, heartbreak . . . they all go together . . . Joe found out the hard way, but his troubles were just beginning . . . his mind was so messed up . . . he could hardly do nothin' . . . He was in a quandary . . . being devoured by the swirling cesspool of his own steaming desires . . . the guy was a wreck . . . so . . . what does he do? For once, he does something SMART . . . he goes out . . . and pays a lot of money to L. Ron Hoover . . . at the First . . . at the Pch . . . hem . . . he goes out . . . and pays a lot of money to L. Ron Hoover . . . at the First Church of Appliantology!
Ah I see, that makes sense! btw one minor story element I meant to ask, why did his mum not help him get ready? If the wedding dress and other parts of the outfit are anything like their human equivalents he would have probably had trouble getting into it by himself.
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