This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
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Tribal Submission
The mountainside stretched down before the Ethiopian wolf, her eyes closed and toes curled into the fine grain of dirt, clinging to the edge of the cliff as if she thought that, somehow, she would be able to take flight against every law of nature. With her rich, red and brown fur slashed through with a hint of cream down her front for her summer garment, there was no doubt in anyone's mind as to the nature of the wolf. She was not a bird that could spread its wings and throw itself into the air, body light and free in that brief, scant moment of freefall before fighting off gravity, but she could imagine she was such, if only for the briefest of moments, with the wind gently picking up the fur from the back of her neck, a lover's intimate caress. Her chest was bare, breasts exposed, but that was all fine in her little world with a loose skirt of pelts hung from her waist, slit up one side so that her freedom of movement was not restricted in the slightest.
A string of beads formed out of shell, precious stones and animal bones - dyed to stand out against the natural shades of her fur - hung from her neck in long, thick ropes, glorious in their splendour as the wolfess was not out on the hunt that particular day. No, she had set that task to another and would return to the tribe with a hot pot of stew bubbling away above the fire or a haunch of meat searing and roasting, just the way she liked it. Even with the splendour and divinity of the greener slopes, further down the mountain, stretching before her, the thought of her home, the hut kept warm and wholesome by stretched and beaten animal hides, still drew a glimmer of drool to the corner of her black lips.
There was no such time for wandering and wondering for others in the tribe, a luxury only afforded to those with enough status and power to command the time in which to meditate and take in the world just as it was. There was, of course, an ever-prevalent fight to survive, whether that was against mother nature herself and the elements or the wild, dangerous, feral type of animals that eked out a living in a harsher landscape than they would have perhaps chosen for themselves: this did not lend itself to taking time to oneself. It was the females of the tribe, however, who counted themselves the fortunate, taking their stance at the top of the pack while the males muddled about as omegas, controlled and dominated to their whim.
She smiled. It was a good life. She'd seen the lives of other tribes where they had not yet accepted the dominance and power of the females, the males refusing to submit to their betters. For who could possibly be more suited to take the lead in all the dealings of the tribe than the femfurs who knew everything and were perfectly in place to take care of what needed to be done? They were not for rearing pups and the menial tasks alone! The thought made Amina scoff and the wolf shook her head at the sheer ludicrous nature of it, stepping away from the cliff face as her stomach grumbled, hunger, once again, rearing its ugly head. But that was all fine and she would be fed, even if not by her own paw in the kill and the skinning and, of course, the cooking of such a meal.
Oh no, one as high as Amina was in the tribe would not debase herself to such a little task, something that anyone with half a brain between their ears could do. Although, sometimes, with some of the males in the pack, it was entirely debatable as to whether they were capable of all that much thought, even if they didn't really have to think all that much. It was nice, after all, when they were able to act on intuition, pleasing the femfurs all the more for it in the end. But, when it came to cooking and taking care of her hut an possessions, Amina had one special pup to take care of that for her.
A lover? Ah, she would not have gone that far as to call him that but he was something to her and she took her pleasure from him too as she pleased, enjoying his company. There was something about that wolf, she had to say, that had her step quickening as she paced her way home, her bare hind paws finding the well-beaten path that had been trodden over a hundred times and more, a route to the lookout point that gave her and others in the tribe the perfect spot in which to take in the lay of the land. That was something that the females could do, after all, and just another reason they were held in such high esteem and entirely separate from the lowly males.
The aromas and sounds of the tribe bustling about their day and business reached her before they even came into view, Amina rounding the scrubby bushes, scrawny things that clung to the mountain as if they were afraid of being ripped out by their roots. Her nose twitched, taking in the scent of meat cooking that could be her own but she would only know if it belonged to her belly when she reached her hut. The scene before her cut very differently - and rightly so - to what she had seen in other, lesser tribes, with the males hunkering down to work. It was a common sight to see a male wolf washing clothes in the river or cooking, of course, and neither was it strange to see one caring for a pregnant wolfess, treating her as the royalty she deserved to be through the most arduous months of her life in the carrying of new life. She laughed softly to herself at the thought that there were so many males elsewhere that would do nothing at all with the youngsters and spend their time hunting (often badly and fruitlessly, of course) and sent a silent prayer of thanks up to her goddess for placing her in the part of the world she had. She was right where she needed to be and all was well and good.
Except with the male that she had ordered to cook her meal, a scrawny runt but one that was usually very good at selecting just the right spices - something harvested and coveted highly - for a meal, regardless of what he was cooking. The wolf had a duller hue to his fur than most of the males that were often dragged off to the private quarters of sleeping huts by their tails or even their scruffs, but he was still a specimen, even if much smaller and weaker than Amina herself. The wolfess stood taller and stronger than him, her body lean and tight and firm with muscle in all the right places. There was no space for an ounce of spare fat in the harsh world in which they lived but the male could have surely used a great deal more muscle than he had.
Still, he was good in the sleeping hut too and Amina warmed to the thought of his tongue between her legs, the smaller male having soothed her to sleep on many a stormy, tumultuous night. It was a shame, however, that he seemed to still be working on her meal when, surely, everything should have been good and done already, a pot atop the fire suspended between two pronged sticks to keep it at just the right height.
Amina's stomach rumbled and her mood soured, although her expression did not change - not yet. She'd expected a leg of that Hartebeest - that was what the travellers had called the animal that had a name already in their own language, was it not? - at least and stopped in her tracks, her expression coolly disassociated from the situation at hand. After all, it was not Amina's responsibility to bring home feast. No, that was a chore for the lesser males of the tribe, the ones reduced down to the dirty work and the grunt work when the dominant females reaped the benefits and challenged themselves on the truly magnificent hunts. There would never be any honour, after all, in simply bringing down a prey animal, even if one of that size.
Furtively arduous and intent on his task, the male wolf took a pinch of spices from what he had laid out beside him, each 'pot' of spice coming from a wrapping of some kind of animal skin with a rope around the neck to keep it closed. That too disappeared into the bubbling pot, the fire crackling merrily as it warmed the metal, doing the job it was meant to while the wolf himself lagged behind.
Well, that would not do.
