It had seemed like a good idea at the time: putting a layer between the air and the moisture in his fur, but the trunks had cooled to just a bit above Antarctica, and it rubbed uncomfortably all over his sensitive bits as he swished back to the campsite proper, still dripping in places.
Instead of walking right through the firepit area, he elected to skirt around the rear so no one could ask him why he was so late or why he put his trunks on or why he couldn't dry in front of the fire. He just wanted to go to the tent and take whatever he had coming. His rump already stung in anticipation; he knew how the Boss liked to discipline people. Even Matt, and he was a grownup himself!
Granted, a grownup in a diaper...
After a quick glance to confirm Mog was at the campfire (it was hard not to miss those wings), the coyolf opened the flap to the dark tent and crawled inside—only to be scooped up and thrown to the ground by a pair of big paws. “Oof!” he gasped as he landed on his back, his towel tossed somewhere off to the side.
“You're in big trouble, mister,” said a voice that smelled of sweetness and talc, unmistakable. Still, Hector whimpered because he couldn't move and because he didn't know what was coming. He could barely see in the tent as it was, and when the Boss put on his cell phone's flashlight it fairly blinded him. A tongue clucked. “You put 'em back on? H, you're going to get pneumonia.”
The coyolf knew pneumonia was like getting sick, but it was a big word so it had to be even worse.
“Let's get these off,” the Boss said gently, tugging on the trunks. Hector lifted his hips so they came down and over his feet, and when his wet nethers hit the air he started shivering. “Let me at that towel.” Hector handed it over and closed his eyes as the big dog fluffed him all up and down until he was merely damp, the best a canine could hope for. “Now get in that sleeping bag; you look hypothermic.”
“Sorry,” Hector whined.
“It's okay. Move over, H, you know the treatment for hypothermia.” The Boss set the phone flat so it illuminated the whole tent and stepped over the bag to the open side, very carefully and very naked. He moved his bulk well, and Hector enjoyed the view of big dangly bits as they traveled over him. Soon the bag was zipped up and the two canines were face to face with no room between them.
“You did this on purpose,” said the coyolf, looking up into the Boss's crafty green eyes. “You were nekkid when I came in.”
The Boss smiled. “You got me, H. But you're warming up, right?” Sure he was, all over. Especially down below, where his sheath snuggled up against a much bigger one, giving him all the nice tingles. They touched noses, rubbed them back and forth, and when the Boss nudged Hector tilted his head to make room for the big blue dog's tongue. Fortunately, both were good kissers, and both loved to kiss.
Hector sucked on the Boss's tongue for a while, lost in his own little world. He grew against the older male, who grew in response, their dicks feeding off one another, filling the bag with musk and warmth. Finally the coyolf pulled away, humming happily to himself.
“You feel better?”
“Uh huh.”
“Better than campfire?”
“Yeah.”
“Better than s'mores?”
“Well...” Hector trailed off. “Not yet. But I know what is.” He gave his best innocent smile, which wasn't innocent in the least.
“I'm sure you do,” said the Boss, reaching down between them to roll the coyolf's balls around in his paw. “You're warm but you'd like to be warmer, right?”
Nod.
“Well, who am I to deny you some extra medical care.” He chuckled and unzipped the bag again, but they had warmed up the tent to the point where it didn't matter. Hector rolled onto his back, legs spread, on full display and ready for action. “Back in black.”
“You know it!”
“You L'Hounques and your black dicks,” said the Boss right before engulfing the coyolf to the root. Everything was suddenly hot and wet and awesome.
“Ohhhhh, yeah...” It wasn't a new feeling, but it never got old. Mog would probably be jealous, but there was still one day of camp left. “Suck it...”
“Such a mouth on you, young man,” admonished the Boss. “Maybe I should make you reciprocate after I'm done?”
Hector wiggled. “Oh wow, that'd be nice! Eep!” The Boss ran his tongue roughly over the sensitive parts in retaliation, then slathered the little balls, teasing halfway to his hole. A couple minutes of this and Hector was tempted to ask the canine to flip him over and stick it in, but that was just the mind of a horny ten-year-old. It would fit no problem, but decorum dictated he sit still and give the Boss what he wanted.
Ironically, it was a thick white-furred finger pushing against his tailhole that sent him over...that, and just watching the Boss work on his spike with gentle attention, his tail wagging slowly this way and that in the phone's light. Grunting, he held onto the sleeping bag as his hips moved by themselves and tried to mate with the big dog's mouth, though if anything came out it would be just a couple drops. The Boss held him until his spasms stopped, then pulled off with a delicious smack.
“I got a little on my tongue,” he said. “Way to go.” They high-fived and Hector giggled. “Look what you did.” He rolled onto his side, revealing a thick half-erection and a puddle below it.
“Now I'm really gonna have to ask Dad how you get cum stains out of a sleeping bag,” smiled the coyolf.
“You were considering it before?” asked the Boss.
“We were busy last night.” They shared more giggling.
“Well, there's one way to keep stains from happening, and I think you know what it is.” Reaching behind him, the blue dog squeezed something that crinkled. Hector should have known this might happen.
He hesitated. “You're gonna make me wear one...at the campfire?”
“It'll keep you dry.”
“But I'll be the only one!”
“Nuh uh. I'll do you if you do me. I brought plenty.”
Hector smiled and lifted his legs. “Deal!”
***
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