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The night was silent save for the hiss of the gas lamp near the wall, its soft light casting a warm, yellow glow into the bedchamber of the old gentlewolf Mr. Brownlow, its shadows conflicted against the dark blue hue of moonlight spilling in from the chamber's windows, far from the room's prominent four-post bed.
Oliver's whimper, quiet as it was, pierced the silence of the room as he was laid gently on his back against the soft down and cotton mattress, his paws feeling helpless as he clung to the grey fur of the larger, older male above him. He felt his ears nuzzled gently as the face and muzzle of his benefactor swept into view, the graying fur of the aging wolf more apparent to the young dog's eyes now than ever before. The gentle, loving smile that had always been an unchanging aspect of Mr. Brownlow's countenance was once more spread across the large canine's expression, radiating an aura of kindness that Oliver once again lost himself in.
Oliver had never known much love and had certainly never known much kindness, having spent his entire life until now under the boot of others. He felt he could never repay Mr. Brownlow for what he had done for him, the older male saving him from a life of poverty, thievery, imprisonment and most certainly death from the sickness that the wolf had nursed him through. Though the yellow dog's heart was pounding in his white furred chest, he knew that tonight he could show his gratitude and give the wolf what he wanted. Oliver, despite his fears of discomfort, knew he could place his unyielding trust the wolf - after all, he had trusted him thus far, and it had brought them both nothing but happiness.
"I will be gentle," slipped into Oliver's ears as the grey furred male, easily three times his size, began to position himself by lifting the yellow dog's legs to straddle his waist, casting an even darker shadow against the dog in the already lowly illuminated room. Another whimper escaped Oliver's muzzle as the warm, solid implement of Mr. Brownlow's affection, well covered in expensive, luxurious oils from exotic China, began to explore his backside. Oliver had never seen a male so impressive, and felt a flush of fear run through his body at the prospect of what was about to happen. Oliver closed his eyes tightly and images of similar situations flooded into his recollection; the days back in the orphanage when the older canid males would perform these acts on the younger ones, or when he was under the employ of that disgusting, conniving coyote thief Fagin, who would often use the act to take his frustrations out on any of the boys who failed to return with loot from a successful pick-pocket.
Oliver felt only dread at the undertones of dominance in canine society, having only seen it as a tool of hatred, abuse and punishment. However, as Mr. Brownlow's soft breath caressed his head fur, and he opened his eyes to look into the shadowed, yet caring gaze of his benefactor, he willed his fears to melt away. Oliver had done nothing to warrant punishment and he knew, in his heart, that Mr. Brownlow would never hurt him, even in the initial, anxious moments when the dog was summoned into the wolf's chamber - a place he was previously forbidden. He knew he could trust the wolf. He knew that everything would be all right.
The wolf shifted his legs forward, forcing Oliver's legs higher, and exposing the dog to him, completely. Mr. Brownlow held Oliver close, his strong arm cradling the dog with his large paw cupping the back of the dog's head, as one would hold a child close for comfort. Without another word and only the returned glances of readiness, the wolf tensed his hips, and gently rolled them forward, a heavy sigh filling Oliver's ears, and a deep rumble vibrating against the dog's chest.
Mr. Brownlow's breath stutteringly escaped his muzzle as he felt the dog's warmth spread around his tip and willed himself to pause a moment when he felt paws and legs suddenly clutch tightly to him. He fought dearly against the urge to thrust and hilt himself, but instead held fixed, issuing a soft, hushing shush to the low whimper escaping Oliver's muzzle. The wolf would not be denied his urges after all this time, and having both no intention of stopping and every intention to feel his seed spilled that night, he continued a gentle, yet firmly insistent push that began to envelop more of Oliver's burning tail over his endowment. The wolf's eyes half-lidded in pleasure, growl repressed, with his commanding, confident gaze never turned from the yellow dog below him, reassuring him both of his vow to the pup, and of his absolute intention to continue on to the act's conclusion, regardless of protests.
Oliver's muzzle opened in a silent moan, his eyes staring off distantly as his paws and legs kept a hold of the well-groomed beast above him. The wolf began to tremble, sending a thrill through the dog's body that he could bring Mr. Brownlow some of the happiness that his benefactor had brought to him, and as the entry went impossibly deeper and deeper until, finally, hips rested firmly against rump, Oliver buried his muzzle into the grey fur and both males sighed heavily - one in triumph and the other in relief.
The wolf's thick muzzle once again nuzzled between the yellow dog's ears, perking them up as his arm continued to hug the dog close to him. He held himself in place, legs trembling and buried to the sheath in his ward's backside, listening to Oliver's soft, gasping breaths and feeling his heart beating like cannon shots through his chest. He licked at one ear, then the next before giving the dog a kiss, the words that Oliver so badly desired to hear, the words that marked his achievement of pleasing Mr. Brownlow, finally escaping the older wolf's lips.
"Good boy."