It was the first of many. I was a little surprised at Lop. He was as keen on keeping the boys behaving as I was. He was almost loopy in his affection for them. But he was stricter than me. As he pointed out, the boys were welcome to do anything they wanted, with their mouths, but it should be their choice, and not just because they’d seen a couple of cats doing it.

One day, when the kits were five, or almost six, Lop and I woke up with the smell of sishemu blossoms in our noses.

We immediately got into a fight. It was comical. Both of us were on all sides of the problem. There was not a lot of choice about what to do. Both of us hungered desperately for a wlkatar. And both of us knew we had no idea where to go. And that wasn’t all. Neither one of us said it, but there was the awkward matter of a rupellid showing up at a vulcid wlkatar.

After much bickering, Lop had the sensible idea to hike to the top of the cliffs and just hang around and use our eyes and noses.

We took the kits with us, and some supplies, and one of the knives, and went up to the top of the cliffs. We were hoping to scent other wlkos. Mostly we smelled sishemu. It made both of us a little crazy. Why we didn’t link ourselves to bloody stumps then and there, I’ll never know.

But we were getting whiffs of wlko, too. So faint we wondered if we were deceiving ourselves. On the second day, though, it was too strong to be imaginary. And then Lop spotted something in the far distance that might have been a little party of wlko.

Definitely wlko!

We set out for them, and perhaps two hours later caught up with them.

They were visibly uneasy at the sight of us. Well, we were total strangers. And Lop was a rupellid. As for the rest of the unsavory pieces, they came out in conversation quickly enough.

They family group was two co-mates and two co-wives; the wlkwim’s great-grandparents, who were quite elderly but spry and warm-hearted, as old wlko usually are; two very young girls, cute as can be; a pair of nine-year-old twins, still blue-eyed; and two boys, about fourteen I’d judge. Marriageable, to say the least. Handsome. Very handsome. Long, thick, but somehow silky manes, pleasing proportions–strong-looking and graceful at the same time, somehow. Ripe as can be. And white as alkali. Accidents happen, I know. It was too sad, about these lads. In the normal course of things, at their age they’d be plugging one another all day long and sleeping off their bliss between links.

"Hello" I said. I introducing myself in Wlko. "This is my co-mate. He has a big, long, old-fashioned rupellid name." [Best be up front about it, I figured.] "They use nicknames. He goes by Lop."

That is–here goes: I didn’t exactly say "lsuhp"–green. I figured that would be a little close to the bone for total strangers. I pronounced it "lsuhhp"–lame. As he’d feared, his injuries had left him with a limp. Still, he shot me a look. I doubt he thought I was that clever.

Well, the site of the wlkatar was only about a day’s hike further, but that gave us plenty of time to sort things out. The guys were from Clan 56 and their wives from 18–two clans I’d never even heard of before. The women’s great-grandfathers were from Clan 44. The white-balls adolescents (I’ll call them Abner and Aaron) were actually the youngest brothers of the co-mates, not their own kits. The calamity that had struck the family was something I’d never heard of before. Something about their mothers leaving their co-mates to go live with a couple of males they’d met at a wlkatar. The males in question–their lovers I mean–were very young indeed. One of them, our aquaintances were confident, was almost certainly the father of the youngsters. Lop and I exchanged a look. If the boys’ wlkatar father was as beautiful as the youngsters, it was almost possible to understand how the wlkwim might have lost their heads. Even at their age. I could tell the young men were a little embarrassed. Not about being fathered by some stranger–gifts of the wlkatar are (if anything) regarded as special. No, embarrassed about their mothers’ elopement. But it had something to do with why the boys had gone cold and why they were living with their married older brothers.

It wasn’t hunters, at least. They hadn’t had the hunters. It was a relief to learn that "our" site had been occupied by kinsmen of theirs, but remote ones. It was Bluff Lake we were living by. I’d heard that name but had no idea where it was. I explained about the hunters and how Tim and Mickey were nephews. Lop told his story, but leaving out some of the details. He said nothing about being hurt–never mentioned his limp or the scar on his muzzle. For all our new friends knew, he’d been born that way. Well, hardly: more likely they just assumed all rupellids were battle-scarred thugs.

Our new friends would have to be subnormal not to put two and two together. Lop and I weren’t "co-mates" at all. But being deep red from crown to claw, just about, it was obvious that we were screwing, and screwing plenty. And they can’t have known many wlkon who were red in the places we were both red. Whether they figured out for themselves that we were (ahem) fucking rather than linking, I don’t know. They kept their thoughts to themselves. It would have taken a pretty brazen type to ask.

Lop started the ball rolling in another direction. He found occasion to remark that he doubted whether he was really welcome at a vulcid wlkatar. But no one should worry, he said. He’d leave cunt strictly alone. Confine himself to driving seed. I thought he went a little far when he added that it was something he was good at. (With a long glance at the adolescent boys.) If they ever had a taste of Lop’s black, it wasn’t something they’d forget in a hurry.

I probably shouldn’t have worried. Their foster-mothers’ great-grandparents said something amiable about Lop’s offer doing him credit and that he’d have his work cut out for him. The elderly can be so open: she added something frank about him being so strong-looking, she guessed a wlko could tell he was being linked by someone special, even in the dark. (Oh, they’ll notice something, I thought to myself. But probably not that.)

The white-furred young men were as quiet as they were pretty. They exchanged glances at their grandparents’ remark. One of them bashfully started to wrap his tail around his thigh. The oldsters also said something kindly–several times–about us finding wives at the wlkatar. "Especially if they find out that rupellids aren’t all that bad", they added.

Lop laughed lightly. His piratically-distorted smile spoiled the effect. So did his burred, husky voice. He always sounded the way some wlkon do by the end of a wlkatar. It added to the general sense of sexual excess, even rapacity, that his appearance alone stirred up, what with his muscles and those marks on his arms. "Oh, thanks for thinking so, Old One, but I doubt that", he said. "Maybe one gal, for the stud here." Meaning me! "But both of us have lots of children already. Or had. And maybe losing a family–that way–maybe it–maybe it–well, it discourages you."

At that remark I noticed one of the co-mates, Allen, glancing at my groin. Deep red. As were the insides of my legs. Stripes of red all the way to the ankles. He quickly looked away. I could practically hear him thinking, "Someone isn’t the least bit discouraged!"

The wlkatar was still small when we got there. Lop shrewdly went with the oldsters right to the group that was taking care of the very young and very old. He repeated his little speech about confining his activity to linking. Now, it goes with saying that whatever that particular audience knew, the whole wlkatar would know–and soon.

Not only knew but imagined. It later came to my ears that it was being whispered that anyone Lop linked with would be potent for a week. And even preposterous rubbish like the fantasy that if Lop linked with you, you’d better link a couple of times before you fucked again. To be on the safe side. I didn’t think anyone still believed that stupid old idea about a wlko’s come collecting in your balls when he linked with you. But it turned out it wasn’t that at all. No, the story was–get this–next time your balls snapped, they would make so much SkhtuS that it might even rupture your cock! If it were in a cunt, that is. The word was that it was prudent to link: the grip of the third hand in a guy’s gut would be insurance against spraining your black. A link with Lop had its risks, I knew, but not that particular risk!

Meantime, among the couple of dozen wlko who had already gathered, a certain amount of linking and slotting was already going on, or obviously had just taken place. Snoozing wlkon with arms around one another, one young man had gone to sleep on the chest of a middle-aged wlkwy, who was still half-awake and was gently running her fingers through his mane.

I was feeling drunk from the fragrance of the sishemu. At the same time, I was feeling edgy. I’d never felt like that at a wlkatar. I guess the scene made me think of my family. Of my life, before–

Lop came gimping by. He caught my eye and flashed me a delicious, wicked look. His arm was around the shoulders of Abner, one of the white-bellied twins. He went back to talking to him, in a low voice. The shy young man glanced at Lop several times, with a timidly pleased look on his own face. At a wlkatar you normally don’t pay a lot of attention to what other wlko are up to. It’s not polite to stare. But I couldn’t take my eyes off them.

A few steps further they sank to the ground. Lop lay on Abner’s chest. The young man raised his legs. I could see Lop was in no hurry to give it to the boy. Oh, what that kitten was in for!

The young man never looked so handsome as he did a moment later, feeling something hard and black under his tail. To my astonishment he didn’t wince or make a sound as Lop’s very non-vulcid black filled him. But his fingers in Lop’s mane–the slow, tense arching of his back–his head pulled so strongly back that he pried his upper body from the ground, even though Lop was resting on him–something unusual was going on deep inside that boy. Lop would never cock-whip a young white-balls, I knew him too well for that. But something else I knew too well: Abner’s slim belly was so full of black that he thought he would burst, even before Lop’s peg started to draw against the boy’s third hand.

As I watched Lop’s graceful movements and the boy’s beautiful face, I felt a feeling I’d never felt at a wlkatar. Or anywhere else. My mane bristled in excitement. I scented my hkshihh only a moment before my own black shot out of my sheath.

That wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was that I wanted something, and wanted it very badly. But I didn’t know what it was.

I don’t know how long it took me to dope out that what I wanted was for Lop to be fucking–Oh, man, why would I even think that word!–I mean, what I wanted was for him to be making me, not that pretty-boy. Or maybe I wanted to be making that pretty-boy myself. Either way, I was in a stew.

The white-purse youth was taller than Lop, but in a linking embrace Lop’s body seemed to engulf the lad. The boy’s body arched again as Lop moves changed subtly. I guessed he was feeling himself grip Lop’s black. Unless he was different from me, very different indeed, just about now he felt like his belly would burst. The young beauty emitted a weird mixture of a hiss and a sigh and a growl. Lop silently shuddered.

My lover’s black asshole was clearly visible under his tail. A tail tightly coiled around one of the boy’s thighs. My hole. And my red balls. He was pulling his wood–my wood, after all!–into the boy with such effort that his sheath was pleated into folds. It looked like he had three testicles. Or even four. And there was certainly enough passion for four.

It was fascinating. He’d done that very thing to me oftener than I could count. For the first time I was actually seeing what it must look like when he drills me. I’d only felt it, before. Which was enough. I loved every grunt, groan, ache, pain, every gut-ripping pull and suffocating squeeze. Seeing the man in action–oh, my–it was very beautiful. Beautiful in a way I’d never before–I mean, the way his muscles moved under the fur, the weird blend of power and tenderness. You had no doubts that a dose of masculinity from that black was going to light a fire in the boy. A blaze. I stared and stared. Lop was the only wlko I’d seen for years, after all, and here at the wlkatar all the other males looked like adolescents by comparison. With every sinuous curl of Lop’s body, young Abner emitted a soft "Ah!" He was clutching Lop’s mane. His mouth was wide open and his teeth bared. His eyes were closed. Ears down. Legs up. Making himself available for everything Lop had to give him.

I was debating whether to make it three. I was so hot for my man’s butt. Or maybe it was just that I wanted that black in my ass, rather than in some pretty-boy’s. Anyway, it was permissible to link to your own co-mate at a wlkatar. Permissible but odd. And it would be extremely odd to do it just now. I mean, I couldn’t remember ever seeing a guy link his co-mate while he was in the very act of wetting his black. I was trying to remember if I’d ever heard of any male at all driving a guy’s seed while he was linking.

Then I felt something around my ankle. I looked down, startled, and saw a tail looped around my leg. Attached to the tail was a woman, girl really, in her early thirties. She was pretty good-looking. The main thing was her eyes. Such a deep green. Really striking. They looked like a kind of jewel I’d seen once. I hadn’t noticed her because she was lying on the ground. She was on her back, arms over her head, legs spread. Her crotch area was dark red, and wet with someone’s fresh hkshihh. A meter or two away a male was somberly grooming himself. He was big and dark, at least 120 I’d guess, and a real stud by the looks of him.

"Hey, big boy", the wlkwy purred. "In another minute that hkshihh is going to be dripping off your nuts. And me, I’m just nicely warmed up. I’d love to take you for a ride."

She was pretty sexy. I dropped to my knees and then crawled on top of her.

"A good fuck?" I asked as I did so, with a glance and a nod at my predecessor.

"Workmanlike. Well, no, better than that. He’s fucked me at least once every wlkatar I can remember. A tradition, sort of. Nothing like your–friend, there." She rolled her head so she could take in the scene with Lop and his white-furred conquest. "My! He’s really driving the seed out of that boy. If he’s anything like that with you"–she turned back to me, languidly–"no wonder you’re lame."

"He’s the lame one", I said.

"Well then", she said, with a little giggle. She gave my cheek a lick. "This should be interesting!"

Without even thinking about it, I started to groom her. I was halfway down her belly before I realized I was treating her like Lop. But it was exciting. The other wlko’s hkshihh in her fur filled my nostrils. Maybe that’s what confused me. The scent wasn’t as stimulating as Lop’s, but it was having some effect. Her fuck-pads were bulging and smooth. I licked them for a while. She squirmed and purred and twittered and twisted my mane.

Pussy. My black could hardly remember. Of course, she was full of another guy’s hkshihh and SkhtuS, so her slot was super slick and super smooth. It felt wonderful. So warm. So smooth. Deliciously beautiful.

At first.

I really missed the grip of a tail-hole. But not just that. She was soft, or something. I missed the ruggedness of a certain young man. And my mind was wandering. Mostly to Lop and his conquest, I guess. So I was at it a good long time. When my nuts finally snapped, it surprised me. I wasn’t even thinking about that.

I doubt I really needed the lesson. When my eel first went into her cunt, for a second it was so beautiful that I almost wondered if I was really and truly zizi after all. But long before I lost my juice, all I could think about was how much more beautiful linking was. How an assful of black was more beautiful than slotting. Even a pretty girl like this one.

I lay on her for a little.

"My!" she purred. "That was a fuck and a half. I fell out of a tree three times before you were through. Are you half rupellid yourself, or is it something you can learn?"

I absently assured her I wasn’t and that I had no idea whether I’d learned anything from Lop. (I had, of course. Lots. But I wasn’t about to tell her about sucking come from his balls.) I was trying to get a look at Lop and his pretty young hunk. They were snoozing. Both had slipped their black. There was enough hkshihh in their fur for two, I judged. But more to the point, I could see a dribble still coming out of the boy’s penis-sheath. Lop had made him a man. The boy had enough bliss in him to sleep for a week, probably. And an ache he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Or maybe not, considering what was in store for him now–every wlko in the place would link him. He’d be in such a state that he couldn’t even tell you his name.

"You don’t have any wives, you two?"

"Pardon?"

"You and your brute of a co-mate. You don’t have any wives–?"

"Oh! Oh, no. Who would want a rupellid father for her children?"

"Some might."

"Is that an offer?"

"Oh, no, me and my sister, we’ve got a couple of the nicest co-mates you could ask for. Oh–hi honey!"

She hailed a sturdy young wlko about her own age who was on all fours over Lop’s freshly open young man. One of her co-mates, obviously. Lop had gone off somewhere.

"Is that your first fuck?" the co-mate asked her, cheerily. Meaning me. He wasn’t paying much attention to the youth as he rested his chest on the boy’s front and raised his rump to bring his black in to position.

"No", said my comfort. "My demon lover got to me first."

Her co-mate laughed. "You don’t say? I just now saw him screwing your niece in Clan 52. At his age! Does he ever slip his black during a wlkatar?"

Abner’s hole, slick with Lop’s juices, easily admitted the new cock. Which is not to say that the sensation wasn’t painful. My fuck’s co-mate wasn’t paying any attention to the boy, though. What a waste of male beauty. They might as well have been linking in the dark. His pegging was vigrous but absent-minded. A bigger contrast with Lop’s workout could hardly be imagined. This guy was more interested in his conversation than in his sex.

"When he’s asleep, maybe", said my fuck. "Oh, listen, lover-boy, that man there looks like he wants some cunt. Be a sweetie, hey?"

As I was getting off her, her co-mate started to say something to me about her being a good fuck. While he was talking his nuts snapped their SkhtuS into the boy. At least that got his attention. He sort of gasped and said "Oh! Oh!" a couple of times while his butt sort of quivered, like a monux. I think–I think–even normal wlkon are especially attracted to handsome men. But this wlko was so casual about it. I couldn’t believe it. He might have been pissing, not linking. Never mind linking to a beauty like Abner.

Or else, being a zizi was giving me a distorted outlook. It was a good bet that his pleasantry about his wife being a good fuck wasn’t just conversation: he’d rather be where I was, than drilling seed out of some adolescent.

After he juiced, he lay on the youngster for no longer than it took to fetch a deep sigh, drew out what was left of his black, stood up, and wandered off, leaving the youngster just lying there on his back with his legs spread, his SkhtuS-tipped black in plain view, wrists in the air, his fur all rumpled.

I didn’t even get a good look at my successor. He was up to the nuts in cunt before his chest touched hers. I was still staring at the groggy-looking boy when the sudden spate of gasps and growls from the fucking couple caught my attention. The wlko’s nuts had snapped already. Not likely, but true. He must have really whipped her innards to a froth with his cock. He rolled off of her, yawning and stretching. His black was slowly slipping into the sheath. Young. A boy, really, open (obviously) but too young to marry. I guessed he wasn’t very experienced.

"Oh, man", he said to me, groggily. "Oh, man! That was great! That was so-o-o beautiful!" To the contrary: it was no fuck at all. It was obvious I’d witnessed–or been a meter away from–his very first fuck ever. Well, by the time the wlkatar broke up, he wouldn’t be in any such hurry!

He was fairly handsome, but so young. Boning a mere boy like that had very little charm for me, now, though I remember that when I was younger I’d have been under his tail in an eyeblink. (Another unrecognized hint at some kind of kinkiness on my part?)