FSE

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The bodies weren't even cold but the birds of prey were already circling overhead. Crawling from his hiding place on top of the stables, Ivar advanced cautiously towards the ledge of the roof and looked down at the carnage below. A dozen bloodied and maimed bodies lay scattered about the manor's courtyard - guards and slaves, enemies now joined in death. There were many more in the fields and in the ransacked buildings of the manor.

The gray wolf sighed. It had all happened so fast. A scuffle between a hotheaded slave and an overseer earlier that day had turned into a brawl and quickly into a full-blown uprising. Fighting with weapons seized from the guards, with tools or even their bare hands, the slaves had rampaged through the plantation, venting their long-repressed rage in an orgy of looting and killing. He had taken part in the early stages of the battle himself, using his fangs to settle a few scores with the whip-wielding overseers, but when the fighting escalated he took advantage of the confusion to slip away unnoticed. For hours he hid atop the flat roof, remaining silent and immobile despite the searing midday sun while the triumphant rebels celebrated their victory by sacking the estate.

They were all gone now. Some of the stronger and more ambitious slaves had convinced the rest to head towards the neighbouring plantations and overthrow their masters too. There had even been talk of assembling an army and storming the nearby city, of plundering the rich mansions and palaces of those who had grown fat off their blood and sweat. Ivar shook his head and tsk-tsk'd disapprovingly at the thought. The plumes of smoke that rose from all over the countryside were clear evidence that the rebellion was spreading fast but he wouldn't have bet a coin on its chances of success. For now the slaves had surprise on their side but when they reached the city they would find closed gates and high battlements swarming with soldiers. Unable to organise a siege, the slaves would soon disperse in small marauding bands and wander off aimlessly. It would then only take a few weeks for the rich noblemen and merchants to recruit mercenaries and crush the disorganized rabble outside their walls. Soon, he reflected coldly, the roads leading to the city would be lined with thousands of crucified bodies.

After one last look to make sure no one was moving, he slid silently over the ledge and landed gracefully on the ground. He crouched and listened intently for any sounds, but he heard only the faint rustling of the breeze in the trees and the grim cawing of the crows. Reassured, he stood upright, leaned against the wall and took a moment to consider his options. Joining the rebels was suicide; they had signed their death warrants the moment they laid their hands on the guards. Remaining in hiding was no good either. Soldiers would eventually find him and they would be unlikely to listen to any protests of innocence. No, he would have to escape. In the tumult there was a good chance that a lone fugitive could make his way to the north, far away from the wrath of the masters. Escaped slaves were usually hunted down mercilessly but in the present circumstances he doubted that anyone would notice or care about his disappearance.

He nodded in self-agreement and stretched his mighty limbs. The amber-eyed wolf cut an impressive figure against the plaster wall. His frame was well-proportioned, supple yet muscular, showing the lean hardness of a hunter rather than the raw brawn of a beast of burden. Dark gray fur covered his body, turning lighter around the belly and throat, and a long bushy tail swayed gently between his legs. Like most field slaves he was naked except for a tight-fitting loincloth covering his sex.

He turned his gaze towards the ruined manor. If he was to reach the border he would need supplies - provisions, clothes, and perhaps a weapon. He crossed the courtyard with a few long strides, stepping over the bodies of the fallen, and entered the building. The rebels had ravaged the place thoroughly, favoring pure destruction over pillage. Everywhere he looked he saw priceless furniture smashed to pieces, finely-woven wall hangings torn to shreds and delicate tableware strewn about broken on the floor. Here and there, he also made a grim discovery behind an arras or inside a closet.

Ivar was still walking through the empty rooms when a sound made him freeze then dart for cover behind a door. His ears perked up and he realized that the noise was coming from upstairs. One or more people were rummaging through the wreckage above. He crept silently to the main hall and heard two male voices.

"You sure he's still there? You better not be wasting my time," the first one growled in a gruff, deep, voice that sounded like it issued from a barrel-chested man.

"He's close, I swear! I can smell it," the second voice replied. It was nervous and weaker, with a whiny ring to it.

Stragglers like him, Ivar thought. His first instinct was to beat a hasty retreat before they realized he was there. If they had come for plunder, they might not take too kindly to his presence. Yet his curiosity was aroused. They were clearly looking for something or someone in particular, and whatever they were after must be worth more than silver cups or gold coins. Moving noiselessly, he made his way upstairs towards the room the two men were now rifling through. As he neared the threshold, a sudden terrified cry made him stand still.

"I got him! The little bastard is hiding under the bed," the deep voice bellowed triumphantly.

He paused before the entrance and darted to look inside the room. The two slaves were standing in the middle of a richly-decorated bedchamber, their attention entirely turned towards their prey. The one closest to him was a gaunt and scruffy-looking dog whose dishevelled fur was a dirty dust-coloured yellow. He was entirely nude, his sheath and dark-skinned scrotum plainly visible, but his malnourished aspect lent an odd asexual quality to his body. The second one was a huge bull-man who looked over twice the weight of his companion, with sharp curved horns, broad shoulders and knotted muscles that rippled under his shiny black hide. His frame was far more masculine, although his buttocks and genitals were hidden by a ragged loincloth held in place by a strip of raw leather. The bull rose and turned slightly towards his companion. In his mighty arms wriggled a small cheetah.

Ivar instantly recognized the unfortunate feline, and understood why the pair had been so keen on finding him. The young man was none other than the son of the plantation's owner. Of course the two had never spoken - in fact, the cheetah had probably ignored his existence entirely - but Ivar had occasionally glimpsed him on the days when he worked close to the manor house.

The cheetah writhed and thrashed in his captor's grip but the bull laughed sonorously at his feeble attempts to free himself. With a cat-like hiss, the young noble sank his sharp teeth in the wrist that held him. Mooing more in anger than in pain, the bull tossed the smaller male on the bed and pinned him effortlessly with his huge hands.

"I'd wring your pretty neck like a chicken's, but I'm not done with you yet," he said coldly, his damp muzzle only a few inches from the cheetah's.

"Yes, yes! You're our prisoner," the dog yelped excitedly, "Your father will have to give us our freedom and his money if he wants you back."

"By the gods!" the bull roared, "I don't care about his money, I want revenge!"

Still holding the cat in place with his outspread hand, the bull untied his belt and flung his garment aside, revealing a pair of huge, low-hanging testicles and a frighteningly large erection. With one quick gesture, he tore off the cheetah's splendid but flimsy tunic, baring his lithe body. Grinning savagely, he gripped his cock and pressed his swollen glans against the feline's testicles. A thick glob seeped from his slit and rolled down his prisoner's orbs.

"We shouldn't," the dog whispered timidly, suddenly looking very frightened, "If they catch us they will make us pay, slowly." He looked as afraid of his partner as he was of the prospect of being captured and tortured.

"I'd happily lose my head just for the pleasure of seeing his father's face when he learns his precious heir has been bred raw by slave cock," the bull laughed.

"He has never harmed us," the dog argued lamely.

"His father did!" the bull shot back, his irritation growing. From his hiding spot, Ivar noticed for the first time that the skin on his back was criss-crossed with scars from the lash and that the manor's arms were branded on his thigh.

"Don't worry," he continued in a more joyous tone, "You'll have your turn after I've had my pleasure. Think about it, you don't get to mate with a purebred noble every day."

The prospect overcame the dog's hesitation. He stared at the cheetah's beautiful, well-fed body with the hungry eyes of a famished stray looking at a choice piece of meat in a butcher's shop. His tongue licked his chops and his sheath swelled as his dormant libido was prodded into life.

Ivar's eyes narrowed as he calculated his chances against the two men. He wasn't moved by any particular sympathy for the cheetah, but he quickly recognized his immense value as an asset. The dog was right, the young man's father would certainly pay a hefty reward - or ransom - to anyone who would return his son to him. Of course, the nobleman's worth as an heir would be much-diminished if he was violently robbed of his honour by a gang of low-born slaves...

He crouched low, ready to pounce on the bull when a sudden draught blew through the corridor, carrying his scent into the room. The dog, who was already stroking his sex, froze in place as he detected the smell of an intruder nearby. He turned his head instinctively towards the door, just in time to catch a glimpse of the wolf as he hastily drew back into the hallway.

"Hey, who's there?" he shouted in an unsteady voice.

Muttering a silent curse, Ivar charged into the room. It was too late. Alarmed by his companion's cry, the bull whirled around abruptly and raised his arm in defense. Snarling ferociously, the wolf slammed into him and gashed his shoulder with his fangs. Blood poured from the wound, but it was not deep enough to incapacitate the colossus, only serving to dispel his initial confusion and trigger his rage. Huge hammer-like fists swooshed through the air as the bull recovered his balance.

"I'll crush your head like an egg," he blared. His blows were clumsy but they only needed to connect once to shatter the wolf's bones. Again and again Ivar dodged the punches yet he knew he was in serious trouble. The bull could keep fighting for hours like this if he had to, and in the confines of the bedroom he would eventually be cornered by his enraged opponent and beaten to a bloody pulp. He shot a quick glance at the dog but the canine seemed content to hang back at a distance and shout encouragement to his companion. As to the cheetah, he was still lying naked on the bed, watching the two males fight over him with a half-stunned, half-terrified look on his face.

Ivar ducked another blow that came dangerously close to his head. He was seriously considering making a desperate dash for the bull's throat when a silver candlestick laying next to an overturned table caught his attention. When the next blow came, he plunged to the floor, grabbed the heavy object and hit the bull's shin bone with all his might. The slave hollered in pain and dropped to one knee. Before he could rise again, the wolf brought the candlestick crashing down on his skull. Without a cry, the great bull fell like an oak, a dark pool of crimson forming under his head.

The dog stood with his mouth agape as his friend collapsed and did not rise again. Huffing loudly, the wolf wiped his brow and turned towards him. Gathering his wits, the dog tried to move towards the exit but his escape route was quickly blocked by the larger canine. With panic in his eyes, he snarled and bared his teeth menacingly but the wolf only had to flash his fangs to send him to his knees, ears low and his tail firmly tucked between his legs.

"Please," he begged, "Let me go, we should be on the same side."

The wolf tightened his grip on his weapon. He had no quarrel with the dog, and he did not particularly like the idea of killing a fellow slave, but he liked the idea of leaving a witness behind even less. He raised the candlestick in the air, aiming to dispatch the whelp with a quick blow to the temple.

"Stop!" a voice behind him shouted.

Ivar froze just as he was about to strike. Turning his head, he saw the cheetah sitting on the bed with his legs folded underneath him. His eyes were wide with shock, and he was holding the tattered remains of his tunic in an attempt to shield his exposed body.

"You... You're going to kill him? Right here?" he blurted.

"What else do you want me to do with him?" the befuddled wolf replied.

"No! I forbid you," the young noble cried out, horrified.

The dog's gaze was alternating between the wolf and the cheetah, looking in turns afraid and hopeful.

"You do realize they were about to force themselves onto you, right?" the wolf said, pointing towards the yellow-furred canine with his makeshift bludgeon. He felt puzzled rather than indignant.

"Enough! I don't want you to kill because of me. This is an order!" the cheetah shot back with the tone of someone who wasn't used to being challenged.

Ivar was too surprised to argue further. Tossing the candlestick aside, he grabbed the cringing mutt by the scruff of his neck and made him lie flat on the ground before biding his ankles and wrists with torn up bed sheets. Inspecting the fallen bull, he was stunned to discover that the man was still breathing and that his head had stopped bleeding. After letting out a small whistle of admiration for the steel-like hardness of his skull, he quickly bandaged the wound.

"We should go," he said to the cheetah. "There will surely be more soon."

The cat did not reply, instead pressing the shreds of his clothes closer to his body.

"We'll find you new clothes before we leave," the wolf replied, his voice betraying a hint of amusement at the man's prudery.

After a few moments of hesitation, the cheetah rose from the bed. Ivar glanced him over for any signs of injury. He was no fighting-man, but the initial impression of frailty faded upon closer examination. The cheetah's elegant body was well-toned and athletic in a slender way, with a runner's musculature coursing under his golden fur. A long patch of creamy white hair ran from his inner thighs to his throat and two tear-like black streaks marked his head. He was probably around the same age as Ivar, but there was a sweet, boyish look about his round face and light brown eyes that made him look younger than the tough, rangy wolf. His gracile hands moved to cover his sex and chest as he stepped forwards.

Before leaving the room, Ivar leaned over the prone dog and brought his muzzle to his ear. "I haven't tied your bonds too tightly. If you want some advice, pick up your friend and flee as far as you can. Do not follow us."

The dog nodded, a frightened yet grateful look in his eyes. After escorting the young master to the main hall, carefully avoiding the bodies of the servants, Ivar rifled through the adjoining rooms for anything useful. Finding suitable clothes proved to be more difficult than expected, as most of the garments inside the chests and wardrobes were simply too rich and conspicuous for fugitives. He spared a few moments to admire a splendid, gold-embroidered silken shirt that must have belonged to the boy's father, then flung it over his shoulder. It was probably worth ten times the price he had been sold for, but it wouldn't help him regain his freedom. Eventually he selected two plain but solid tunics, the kind worn by servants. They were short-sleeved, covering the chest and waist but leaving the arms and legs bare. Some more exploring yielded enough dry food for a few meals.

Returning to the hall, Ivar handed the smaller tunic over to the cheetah. The cat studied the clothes with circumspection but looked relieved to be able to cover his shame and turned his back shyly to the wolf when he discarded his loincloth to change into his new attire.

"You need to take me to my father," the nobleman urged after the slave had dressed, "He was out visiting the city today. He'll be very worried for me."

"There are hundreds of armed men between us and the city," Ivar patiently explained, "We'll never make it through. I suggest we go north, I'll protect you until it is safe to come back."

This was more a statement of fact than a real suggestion, as the wolf had already made up his mind to take the young man with him and sell him back to his family later. But he did not want to needlessly antagonise the naive cheetah by giving him overt orders. It was better to play the role of a faithful guard dog and prod him in the direction he wanted him to go.

The cat went wide-eyed at the prospect of falling into the hands of more ruffians, and he drew closer to the wolf. Not once did it occur to him to question the source of the loyalty of his new bodyguard.

"Yes," he said, gripping Ivar's muscular arm tightly, "Show me the way. I will make sure father knows about your bravery when this is over."

The wolf grinned internally, the odd mixture of arrogance and soft-heartedness that the cheetah displayed was almost endearing. He must have been sheltered his whole life, he thought.

"May I ask your name?" he said, "Mine is Ivar."

"Rassa," the cheetah replied softly.

**************

They left the plantation without further delay, taking a small road at the back of the manor rather than the main path. Even there they passed a few bodies, and the wolf pressed the cheetah's head against his bosom to spare him the gruesome view. Otherwise, the rest of the day was uneventful, although they occasionally had to hide in a ditch or hedge after spotting bands of roving slaves in the distance. When the sun sank below the horizon, they set up camp inside a thicket out of sight of the road. After a modest dinner, the wolf prepared a bed of grass and leaves for his companion. The bedding was a far cry from the soft, perfumed sheets Rassa was used to but he fell into slumber almost immediately.

Ivar seated himself under a tree, next to his unsuspecting prisoner, and listened to his soft, regular breathing. Surely the day's events had taken a heavy toll on the young man, he mused. After all the poor feline had narrowly escaped death and dishonour. Ivar resolved to be as gentle as he could with him. With some luck, Rassa would never realize that he had been kidnapped and ransomed. He thought about what he would do with his money. Maybe he'd settle down in his native north, buy a farm with a few slaves of his own. There would be a couple of stout draft horses and shaggy rams to help with the field work, and also a nice little fox to take care of the domestic chores and spice up his nights.

The evening was quiet and balmy, so Ivar took off his tunic and let the light breeze caress his gray fur. Rassa had also partially removed his clothes before going to sleep, keeping only his waist covered. Ivar admired the fine curve of his back and his smooth thighs and calves. The nobleman had not worked a single day in his life but there was a small gymnasium and hot baths in one of the wings of the manor where the master, his family and their guests could relax and practice any physical activities they fancied. Clearly the cheetah had frequented it assiduously.

He rested his head against the soft bark and allowed his mind to wander. Almost imperceptibly, his hand slid towards his crotch and began to fondle his sheath. It had been a while since he last mated, and his body yearned to soothe the day's tension away. He started breathing more rapidly and a long canine tip emerged between his legs, the pink flesh glistening in the moonlight. A low moan issued from the wolf's throat as his thumb stroked his sensitive glans, drawing a first spurt of clear precum.

Rassa twitched in his sleep and the dry grass and twigs made rustling sounds under his weight. Ivar froze, his head turned towards the cheetah. He waited anxiously to see if Rassa would wake up but no further noise or motion disturbed the silence. Breathing a sigh of relief, he rested his hands on his knees and cursed himself for his thoughtlessness. Privacy was unknown among slaves, and the sight of a man pleasuring himself or servicing another male was an everyday occurrence in the shared sleeping quarters. But of course what was mundane and natural to him would likely be gross and shocking to his companion. He wasn't sure how good the cheetah's sense of smell was but he did not want to take the risk. Shrugging his shoulders in resignation, he closed his eyes and drifted off into a light sleep, his keen ears keeping watch for them both.

The first light of dawn was filtering through the leaves when Rassa awoke. The cat rubbed his eyes and looked around, as if half-expecting the familiar background of his bedchamber to materialize around him. Instead, he saw a cup of clear water and a few freshly-picked fruits next to his bed. The grey wolf was sitting under a nearby tree, packing up their few belongings.

"Where did you get this?" the cheetah inquired.

"There is a small stream and an abandoned orchard nearby," Ivar replied, "Eat. We should not linger for too long."

Rassa devoured his breakfast ravenously. Halfway through his meal he looked up from a partially chewed pear, embarrassed.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I already ate, but thank you for worrying about my belly," the wolf gently teased.

The going was more difficult that day, as they steered clear of the main roads and occasionally had to cross rough terrain overgrown with high grass and spiny shrubs. The wolf found his patience often tried by the young nobleman's incessant complaints, although he was able to keep his tongue in check by thinking about his gold. They met no one, but flights of carrion birds in the distance made it clear that the countryside was not safe, and despite his frequent whining the nobleman drew closer to the stolid wolf every time a small animal stirred the vegetation. Again they set up camp in a secluded spot when night came.

After dinner Ivar sat down, bare-chested, and stared at the darkening sky, humming gayly as he made another detailed review of how he'd spend his newfound fortune. After a short while, he felt a gaze on his body and glanced over to find Rassa looking at him furtively.

"Never seen a wolf before?" he asked, more amused than irritated.

The query startled the cheetah. "No... I mean yes, but not up close," he stammered, "You're bigger than him."

"Bigger than who?"

"Oh, I used to have a servant," he explained haltingly, "A desert dog. He'd assist me, carry my things when I went to the city, go with me to the baths, that sort of thing. He looked a bit like you, but much smaller."

Ivar almost burst out laughing at the thought of himself as a nobleman's fancy pet. "I'm flattered. And where is he now?" he asked.

The cheetah's face became somber. "Father sold him while I was away. He said he was a bad influence." He swallowed his saliva audibly, "I hope he didn't do him any harm because of me."

The bleak statement shattered the fragile mood. They both fell back into silence and went to sleep without further talk on the subject.

Their provisions were now running low, but when Rassa emerged from slumber the next morning he was pleasantly surprised to find a generous cut of cold meat and a leathern flagon of red wine awaiting him.

"I'm not sure I want to know where you found these victuals," he said between two mouthfuls.

"We passed a small farm on our way here yesterday. I checked the place during the night."

"Did you pay for the food?" the cheetah asked as he gulped the cheap but invigorating wine.

"Naturally, I left them a bag of gold coins," the wolf grinned.

"Good," the cheetah nodded, his tone dead serious, "Father always insisted on paying one's debts."

The wolf stared at him for several long seconds then rolled his eyes. Innocence was a blessing, he told himself.

**************

A certain familiarity had begun to creep in between the master and the former slave. Ivar was growing more loquacious, and the next morning both he and the cheetah traded anecdotes and stories about their parallel but distant lives. More than once Rassa expressed admiration for the wolf's sturdy frame and sinewy limbs, and he favourably contrasted the wolf's rustic life of healthy, wholesome toil with his own self-indulgent, cushioned existence. Another man than Ivar would have slapped him for this, but Ivar simply shrugged. The young noble had only vague, romantic ideas about life outside the walls of his manor. Thus, between his stories, Ivar would casually mention the harsh punishments his father's overseers meted out to rebellious workers. He told him how the unfortunate wretches were stripped naked, hung by their wrists from trees and flogged in front of their comrades. He also hinted at how the promiscuity and lack of females routinely pushed the strongest slaves to sate their brutish lusts at the expense of their weaker comrades. The cheetah listened in astonished silence to the wolf's lurid tales, looking first unbelieving, then horrified, then simply stunned. Noticing his growing pallor, Ivar stopped tormenting him and tried to lighten the mood by steering the conversation towards more pleasant subjects. He wasn't very successful.

They were now leaving the large plantations behind them, and the lush countryside bore less and less signs of violence. At noon they came upon a wide road that had the appearance of being frequently travelled. Ivar was afraid to meet others who might question them, so he instructed the cheetah to stay behind while he went scouting ahead. Stalking through the undergrowth, he followed the road closely until he heard the distinct rush of water over stones.

Ivar crouched at the edge of the bushes and peered through the thick foliage. The path ahead led to a bridge that spanned a river. He winced as he saw a dozen men, all clad in helmets and glittering chain-mail, standing guard in front of the bridge. Probably militia tasked with preventing any marauding slaves from crossing the river. They were lightly armed, but still looked dangerous. There was no way they could slip past them.

He retraced his steps, thinking fast. The men would be quick to recognize Rassa as a nobleman, and they would escort him to a safe place. But they were bad news for him. At best the soldiers would return him to his life of servitude. At worst, they would hang him from the nearest tree.

He found Rassa where he had left him, resting under a tree in the middle of a small clearing. The cheetah rose hastily to his feet when he saw the worried look on the wolf's face.

"Any trouble ahead?" he queried.

"Bandits," the wolf replied, the lie flowing effortlessly through his fangs, "We can't cross here, we'll have to follow the river and find a fording point."

After an unpleasant afternoon spent trudging through the muddy and reed-choked banks, they finally located a place where the current was less strong. The wolf probed the water with a long branch and winced, it was too deep to cross on foot.

"Can you swim?" he asked the cheetah, "For real. Not in a small heated pool."

The cheetah shook his head. He was clearly increasingly aware and embarrassed by his own helplessness.

Ivar surveyed the bank and smiled as he noticed a thick broken trunk near the edge of the water. He inspected it and quickly saw that it would float.

"Undress," he instructed his companion, "You will hold onto that log and I will push it. We'll make a bundle of your clothes and mine and attach it to a branch so they don't get wet."

He removed his own clothes with a few swift motions and stretched his limbs as if warming up before a race, subtly thrusting his hips forward in the process. He remembered how coy the cheetah had been last time he had undressed before him, and this was the perfect opportunity to make him flustered again. It was a good-natured little revenge for all the trouble Rassa had given him. But to his surprise the cheetah did not look away.

Ivar had been naked in front of other males many times before, and when he was put on display at the slave market he did not even have a loincloth, but the cheetah's gaze caused blood to rush to his nose and ears. He looked back down at the ground, feeling very foolish.

"Your turn now, we don't have all day," he said in a gruff voice.

Rassa shifted uneasily and looked at the murky water. He opened his mouth and then closed it, seeing that there was little point in arguing. Taking a deep breath, he unfastened his tunic, pulled it over his head and carefully folded it before laying it neatly on top of the wolf's clothes.

Crossing his arms thoughtfully, the wolf took a long glance at the naked cheetah, surveying him from the tip of his round ears to the claws of his toes, admiring his tan and black fur as it caught the sheen of the sun. He was definitely pleasant to the eye, Ivar thought, and he briefly wondered how many thousands of gold coins had gone into shaping this slim but healthy and athletic body. Unlike last time the cat made no attempt to shield his intimate parts with his hands, perhaps realizing that by doing so he would only draw more attention to them, so Ivar had a good look at his sex. Like the rest of his body it was harmonious and well-proportioned, a cream-furred sheath with a dark spot marking the opening and a pair of black-skinned testicles covered in short tan hair. The cheetah was decently-sized for a cat but not particularly large, yet even this was pleasing to the wolf. His delicate genitalia was a welcome change from the more impressive but coarser manhoods of the horses, dogs and bulls that formed the majority of the slaves.

He became aware of a growing stiffness in his sheath and turned his eyes back towards the river. Now was not the time to get an erection.

The makeshift raft was launched with some effort and with much slipping in the mud. Despite the tropical heat, the water was quite cold, and Ivar shivered as it reached his testicles and then his chest. He could feel the frigid liquid seeping into his sheath, and he dearly hoped that there weren't any nasty parasites in the river.

Rassa was lying on his stomach, legs braced and claws dug firmly into the wood. He was holding his tail high, afraid of dipping it into the water, unwittingly offering Ivar a perfect vista of his delicate tailhole and furry balls. "At least the view is nice," the wolf sighed internally as he swam pushing the trunk ahead.

It was an easy swim until they reached the middle of the river where the current grew stronger. Ivar ground his teeth and pushed harder, trying to steer the log, but it soon became obvious that they were slowly being swept away.

For the first time his cool demeanor was shaken. The opposite bank was only a dozen paces away and he could probably reach it by himself but that would mean abandoning Rassa to his fate. His only hope was to push the trunk close enough to the edge to allow the cheetah to jump to safety. Bracing his shoulder against the heavy log, he swam with all the strength of his wiry muscles. Murky water filled his mouth and nostrils as he gasped for breath.

"What's going on?" the cheetah cried out in a voice filled with panic.

The wolf did not reply, instead motioning him to make for the bank. The gesture made him lose his balance and his head went underwater. He bobbed back up, sputtering and coughing, and was swallowed by the river again. He reached out to grab the log, a branch, anything to keep himself from drowning, when a hand clutched at his arm. This gave him a chance to regain his footing, and he kicked his legs with the vigour of desperation, heedless of the sharp claws that sank into his flesh. Gasping and thrashing, he emerged to the surface and felt firmer ground under his feet. He almost sank to his knees but the hand half-guided, half-dragged him to a place where the water only reached up to his knees.

"Are you all right?" a voice asked faintly. Ivar shook off the muck from his eyes and ears and saw Rassa, his features full of shock and relief. "You were almost gone," he continued, hugging the wolf.

They stood on a shallow mudbank, close to the water's edge. It was submerged, and invisible from the surface, but it had saved their lives. Ivar turned his head and saw the trunk being carried away by the current at a frightening speed. He shuddered, speechless, as he realized how close they had come to death.

Carefully, they made their way to safety and sat on the grass, dripping, filthy, naked and exhausted. Their clothes and provisions were gone but they were unharmed, and Rassa looked at his protector with a face that was warm with joy. Ivar simply stared at the ground. It was slowly dawning on him that he had almost killed his companion.

Mistaking the wolf's silence for seething anger, the cheetah gripped his arm, as if he were afraid that the canine would stand up and walk away, leaving him alone. "I am so sorry," he said softly, "I am useless, and you risked your life again trying to help me." His voice broke and tears filled his eyes, streaking down the black marks on his round face. Without a word, Ivar pulled him into his arms and cradled his head against the wet fur of his chest.

**************

Both were too tired to cover any more ground that day. They cleaned themselves as well as they could in a small pool and sat down on a rock to dry off and enjoy the evening's last rays. Closing his eyes, Ivar leaned back and spread his legs a bit wider, soaking in the warmth of the sun and seeking a moment of respite from his tumbled thoughts. It was not their current state of complete destitution that worried him. As regrettable as it was, he could remedy it easily enough by paying a nocturnal visit to the nearest farm or hamlet and levying a bit of involuntary tribute from its inhabitants. What gnawed at his mind was the fact that as they moved further north it would become increasingly difficult to keep up the illusion that he was acting as a guardian rather than an abductor. Sooner or later even the gullible cheetah was bound to wonder why they had not run into a patrol of soldiers or a caravan of friendly merchants. When that did happen, he would have to drop the pretence and force Rassa to follow him.

A snarl of disgust distorted his lupine face. Not long ago he wouldn't have winced at the prospect of roughing up the pampered cat but now the mere thought made him nauseous, and angry at himself.

"Are you hurt?" Rassa murmured, "You look like you're in pain."

Ivar straightened up and forced himself to smile despite the knot in his stomach. "Nothing much, my back's a bit sore, that is all."

"Oh, let me have a look," the cheetah replied, alarmed.

Before the wolf could object, Rassa was on his feet. He sat behind his companion, his bare legs pressed against his, and ran his hands along his back, feeling the taut muscles underneath his fur. "You are very tense," he remarked, and without leaving Ivar the time to reply he gripped his mighty shoulders and began to massage them.

Ivar was in no mood for the cheetah's eager but irritating help. He was trying to think of a way to tell him off without sounding overly mean when he became aware of a pleasant warmth spreading from his shoulders to his spine and arms. Surprised, he shut his eyes and allowed himself to relax, focusing his mind on the palms and fingers that were kneading his aching muscles. The cat was actually pretty good at this.

"How does it feel? Do you want me to stop?" Rassa asked, sounding nervous.

"No, please don't. Where did you learn this?" the wolf whispered.

"My servant always massaged me after bathing. I picked up a few things from him," Rassa replied, his voice radiating with barely contained joy. He was finally doing something right.

The big wolf growled softly as his reluctance melted away. The cat's hands worked marvels, soothing both his body and his mind. They rubbed his back, his weary arms and his tense neck in turns before slipping around his waist and stroking his belly and chest. Finally, Rassa kneeled in front of him and took his right leg, massaging his foot one toe at a time, then moving up to his calf.

In the slave pits, Ivar would never have allowed anyone to lay his hands on him, at least not without a bloody fight, but he offered no resistance to the cheetah, instead yielding his body to the gentle but firm touch. It was only when the agile hands began to caress his thighs that he flinched involuntarily. Rassa briefly stopped and raised a querying eyebrow but his companion reassured him with a smile and nodded for him to continue, which the cheetah did with enthusiasm.

Slowly, Ivar felt his heartbeat accelerate. Rassa was gripping his left thigh with both hands, working the wiry muscles with deep, circular motions. Rassa's head was bent down over his leg, sufficiently close to his groin that the wolf could feel his breath on his exposed sex. His hands progressively drew closer to his groin, until his knuckles accidentally brushed the wolf's testicles. The cheetah looked utterly focused on his task, and he did not appear to notice.

The wolf opened his mouth. "That's enough," he wanted to say, but the words died in his throat before he could utter them. Powerless to move, he could only watch, frozen, when his body inevitably replied to the stimulation.

Rassa ceased his stroking and stood motionless as a great canine length emerged from the wolf's sheath and began to swell, bobbing and jerking spasmodically as blood filled its tissues. In a few heartbeats it was fully erect, a thick red-and-white shaft streaked with bluish veins, longer than a hand, thin at the tip but with a massive bulb the size of a small apple at the base.

"I'm sorry..." Ivar blurted, mortified, "I don't know..."

"No need to worry," the cheetah replied with an embarrassed smile, "I should have known. After all, we're both men, right?"

"In fact," he whispered, "Maybe I could give you some pleasure? You need it."

The wolf grunted an unintelligible answer and made a movement to get up, his first instinct being to dive into the frigid waters to tame his arousal, but the cat grabbed his arm and motioned him to stand still.

"Let me do this," he pleaded. "I just want to help you, make you feel good after all you've done for me. Please."

Ivar crossed his gaze. To his surprise, he only saw a touching, genuine wish to help in the cat's eyes. Rassa had come to see the wolf as his kind benefactor, and he desperately wanted to express his gratitude in any way he could.

Conflicting emotions surged through Ivar's brain. Rassa's sincere admiration for him made the truth of his own deception seem even more sickening. Yet, turning down the offer would only hurt his companion. Finally, there was the animal, carnal fact that his body violently yearned for gratification, and that he had come to physically desire the handsome cheetah.

Without a word, Ivar leaned back and spread his legs, offering his erect cock for masturbation. "You will not regret it!" Rassa's eyes seemed to say, and after moistening his palm by licking it, he delicately wrapped his fingers around the male organ.

Like most canines, Ivar's penis was highly sensitive, and the cheetah's eagerness slightly worried him. But instead of pain it was a jolt of pleasure that coursed through his member. Rassa stroked him gently, with slow and up and down motions, applying pressure on his urethra and on the underside of his cocktip with his thumb. His paw pads were soft - unlike his own, they had not been hardened by years of hard manual labor - and the thin layer of saliva ensured that the friction was never uncomfortable. The wolf exhaled deeply and closed his eyes just as thin jets of watery precum started squirting from the little hole at the end of his glans, wetting the fur of the cheetah's forearm.

The lustful response seemed to embolden Rassa, and he used his thumb to collect the clear, salty liquid, smearing it on the shaft, lubricating it with its own juices. He began to jerk him off more eagerly, his hand gliding along the shiny, pulsating rod of wolf flesh. Ivar's mouth opened a little and a plaintive moan issued from his throat. Propping himself up on his elbows, he lifted his hips slightly, as if trusting Rassa completely with his manhood. His cock was now throbbing and discharging precum abundantly, filling the air with the strong, wild odor of a male beast.

Just as the wolf began to twitch and hump the air in arousal, Rassa curled his fingers around his knot, trapping the big lump of flesh between his digits like in a she-wolf's vagina. Ivar climaxed almost instantly, his knot swelling even further and a wave of orgasmic pleasure rushing from his groin to flood his entire body. Thick ropes of canine semen shot from his cocktip and arched lazily in the air to splash on Rassa's belly and thighs. After the third cumshot, the cheetah gripped his cocktip with his free hand, trapping the last of his friend's ejaculation between his fingers.

Ivar opened his eyes and stared at the clouds, his breathing ragged and husky. Sensation was slowly returning to his still-erect cock, and he felt Rassa's fingers still tightly wrapped around his virile member. Lowering his gaze, he saw the cheetah reluctantly let go of the heavy penis, grin joyously and present his hand for inspection.

"I did it!" Rassa said proudly. His delicate fingers were dripping with greyish, fresh wolf sperm. The smell hit Ivar's nostrils immediately; it was his own, but the familiar scent was now mixed with the cheetah's. Without a word, Ivar gently took his friend by the wrist and guided the hand to his mouth, first licking his palm and then sucking each finger one by one, swallowing his seed until then was no trace left. Rassa looked radiant, and the wolf noticed for the first time that he was hard. Entirely focused on his canine friend, the cheetah had apparently not even noticed his own erection.

Ivar had some experience of cats, and he could tell that the cheetah was well endowed for one of his breed. His cock, while not imposing, was pretty and good-looking. It was a healthy pink, thin and pointy at the top but thicker towards the base. He didn't have a knot, but his member was covered in tiny barbs. The wolf could not repress a smile. It was not so long ago that the prude master did not want to be seen unclothed in front of his slave.

"Quick, lay on your back," he said.

"What? Why?" the cheetah replied, looking confused.

Putting his hand on the cheetah's shoulder, the wolf firmly but gently made him lie down on the grass. Rassa complied, and Ivar leaned over him to lick the cum stains on his legs and stomach. The wolf's wide tongue washed across the short, bristly fur, cleaning it thoroughly while Rassa looked on with a content face, happy to have given his new friend pleasure. His expression changed to one of surprise when the tongue ran over his cock and balls.

"Wait," he whispered, "You don't have to..."

"Shhhh," Ivar replied before grasping the cock between his thumb and index finger and pressing the cute little glans to his lips. He took the cat in his mouth, lathering his erect shaft with warm drool and caressing it with his velvety tongue. Rassa leaned back, stretching his arms and breathing rapidly, his chest heaving with each gulp of air. The wolf fellated him for several long minutes, occasionally stopping to kiss his testicles or nibble them delicately with his teeth. Eventually, he brought the cheetah to climax by closing his fingers around his shaft and stroking him rapidly. Rassa emitted several high-pitched, dog-like barks as he came in the wolf's mouth, and his hands gripped the grass, his claws sinking into the soft dirt.

Rassa panted as if he had just finished a race. Ivar lifted his head from his crotch, his chin drooling with viscous strands of cum. The canine cleaned himself with a few flicks of his tongue.

"You don't taste bad," he commented.

The cheetah managed an exhausted but warm smile, "I wasn't hoping for so much."

"Common courtesy," the wolf grinned, "Besides, they don't feed us very well. Every bit of nourishment is welcome."

They supped lightly on some wild berries that Ivar picked, and after their meal they found a small but comfortable nook between the roots of a tall tree in which to spend the night. The loss of their belongings had left them without even a rag to cover themselves with, but Ivar wrapped his powerful arms around the cheetah's slender body. "Your fur is warm," Rassa whispered before sleep overtook him.

Ivar stayed awake for a while longer, listening to the soft but steady breathing of the man he now considered his friend - and probably more. Ransoming the young noble was now out of the question, as was hurting him in any way. He had abused his trusting nature and put in needless danger. The only way to make this right was to seek the first town or patrol and hand him over to people who would return him to his family. Yet, this meant parting from the cheetah, perhaps forever, and the very thought ran against his instincts. The cheetah was made to be protected and cherished, and he fiercely wanted to possess him. Perhaps the nobleman could be persuaded to follow him willingly? To abandon his former life and fortune to follow a hungry wolf without even a shirt on his back? He was still racking his brain for a solution when he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.