"Bottle" {Uther} (inc best)
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This material is Copyright, 1997, Uther Pendragon. All rights
reserved. I specifically grant the right of downloading and
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All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly
coincidental.
= = = =
Bottle
by Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
Fraternal twin, of course. Come back to the house, and
I'll tell you the rest of it.
Naw, Lupe's not 133. She's nineteen, same as me. Old for a
wolf, but I've helped. And don't call her my dog; never call a
wolf a dog.
I don't expect you to believe the story; just hear it out. My
mother told me some of my history just before she died. Mom had
fallen in love with a hunter; moon going on full, she fell in
love pretty often. At least she called it "falling in love" when
talking to me.
When full came, she got out into the woods and hid. Hunter'd
never have had a chance of finding her if a wolf hadn't done it
first. So here's ol' wolf howling at her, and here's ol' hunter
aiming at howling wolf. Mom had to choose, and she jumped the
hunter. The wolf got into the game fast. Lupe's father tore the
throat out of my father. Then he covered Mom, who had really
been in the mood even before she smelt blood. I've never blamed
Lupe for what her father did, though.
Mom felt she was real lucky to bring us *both* into the
world alive. Part, it was a later full moon. Anyway, Lupe is my
twin sister. Fraternal, like I said. And not a touch of the
were in either of us.
We grew at our own rates. First I can remember, her half-
grown cubs were lookin' after me. Their understanding of
'looking after,' of course. Mom had plowed a furrow around house
and barn. One of the first things I learned was to only piss on
that furrow; critters would never cross that line. Winter I was
five, Mom talked me into wearing clothes -- first pants, then
shoes. Warmer that way, but she made me keep them on come summer.
Next fall, I started school -- riding Harry 'bout three miles
each way. Harry was happy enough to go; it was better than
pulling a plow, and horses don't much take to wolves.
I took to school, though. Mom had taught me my letters and
some words, but that was either in her rough handwriting or in
the old books with cramped print she read herself. The first
time I saw the big print in the books in school -- and the
*pictures* -- I fell in love. More or less fell in love
with Miss Wilson, too. She taught the lower grades.
Mom grew much of what we needed on the farm. Strongest woman
you ever did see. For years, I would think every woman was
stronger than me. Mom got checks in the mail -- rents and old
bonds; they paid for what we couldn't grow. Soon I was riding
Harry to old man Lauther's store with a list (and sometimes the
check) and hauling the purchases back from town.
By then, I was helping with Lupe's litters. She could go off
to hunt when I was home, and I'd see to the cubs. They'd soon
outgrow the need, then outgrow me; and then I'd wait for the next
litter.
Lupe's last litter'd been gone some time when Mom was shot.
Mom crawled to the barn in the full moon, then waited till it
set.
Strongest woman you ever did see. Took nearly two months to
kill her. But we couldn't ask for the doctor. He'd see too
much. Rallied some in the first full, but died before the next
one. And she wanted to die by then. 'Fore she went, though, she
told me part of the past. And she made me practice her signature
-- as she got worse, it looked more crabbed and easier to do.
When Mom died, Lupe howled for an hour. Then she went out and
dug a hole as deep as she could. I pretended Mom was still alive
for another day. Then I helped deepen the hole; and Lupe and I
dragged Mom to it on the quilt from her bed. We piled dirt on
her till she was well hidden. Then I piled rocks on the pile
'til I couldn't carry any more. Then we scooped dirt and manure
on top of the rocks. I poured a half a bell jar of gasoline over
the grave then. Critters, they all hate the smell of
gasoline.
Mom had never encouraged visitors, and nobody came 'round to
ask why I wasn't in school. Sheepherders, farmers, people in
town, each group looked after their own, sorta. But we weren't
any of theirs, and they weren't looking for more trouble than
they had. I think Miss Wilson would've asked why I wasn't in
school, but she'd gone back to the city at the end of the year.
Got married, I heard.
New teacher wasn't goin' to do anything, and neither was
anybody else.
Still, I held off riding to town for the longest time. Didn't
even empty the mail box till Mom had been in the ground two
weeks. Some of the mail in there was ruined, two checks I
couldn't even read.
One I could read was for more money than I had ever seen on a
check, near five thousand dollars from some oil company. I
practiced Mom's signature for weeks before I got up nerve to ride
into town. Lauther stared at the check for a long time, front
and back. "Well," he finally said, "that's a big check. It'll
just about pay your bill off."
He'd never said anything about a bill before. He had a big
sign behind the cash register, "NO CREDIT!"
"Bill?" I cried.
"Give me that check and it'll pay your bill off, and leave
about a hundred over. Otherwise, you can try to cash it
elsewhere, but no more purchases until you bring in some cash."
He waited until I agreed. I got one axe handle where I'd planned
to buy several, five pounds of flour where I'd planned to buy
ten, and a box of nails. I got a precise written statement from
him of what my purchase cost and what I had left on account.
I still had another check in my pants, but I saved it for
another day.
I was less than half the strength Mom had been. Doubt I'll
get any stronger than I am now, and that's still not near her
strength. Better with tools, though. I can put a handle on an
axe, a hoe, or a hammer, put a steel plowshare on our old plow,
use a knife, hold a nail with one hand while I hammer it in with
the other. 'Stead of putting the handle on an axe, she'd buy
another, so we had several axe heads around the place. And heads
for some other tools.
As checks came in, I'd get some new tools or new handles. I'd
hoe the fields, but it was more than I could handle. And I
didn't know enough. Farm kid learns something, and harvest was
almost over when Mom got shot. So we sorta made out that year.
Lupe did what she could, bringing home some parts of sheep come
spring when they were put out to pasture. Plowing and planting
were sheer Hell come spring, though. Lupe couldn't help much,
and I wasn't strong enough to handle the wooden plow Mom had
used. We just about got through 'til harvest.
Sometime before harvest, though, I got a bill for taxes on the
farm. The last year's taxes hadn't been paid; and if it went a
couple of years longer, they'd sell the farm for the taxes. When
the large check came, I rode out to see Jennings, whose name was
on the bill. His daughter, Sarah, had been a year younger in
school with me. She made a fuss over Harry, who she hadn't seen
in more than a year. Maybe 'cause of that, maybe just out of
kindness, Jennings explained what was up. The check, he called
it a royalty check, would cover more than one year's tax. He
told me to pay the old bill and put the rest down on the new. If
some tax was owed after four years, they could sell the farm to
pay it. Even if the whole tax was paid for the time in between,
they'd do it. Mom didn't have many friends.
Harvest hadn't been half what Mom had brought in, and --
wouldn't you know -- winter that year was awful. I spurted up,
too. I took to wearing Mom's clothes, since mine didn't fit.
Hers were too big, but too big is easier on you than too small.
Sheep, of course, were nowhere around for Lupe to get. She
hunted out the small stuff and would share with me. Twin or not,
she always *treated* me like a cub. Rabbits were fine, but
I never could take to mice or voles. And Lupe didn't pay that
any more mind than you would pay to your kid's taste choices if
he was starving.
Add to our troubles, roads were snowed in for days at a
stretch. Mailman didn't bring any checks, and I wouldn't have
been able to get to Lauther's store even if he had. More'n half
the furrow Mom had plowed was unreachable. Pissing out in a
heavy snowstorm was a miserable experience, anyway. I took to
using only a few spots in the lee of the barn.
That must have been how the wolf got in. Wasn't one of ours;
wasn't even all Wolf. I was in the barn trying to figure out how
much hay we had when Harry started to buck in his stall. I went
to the door to see if one of Lupe's old cubs was visiting. Harry
fussed 'bout Lupe sometimes, but not that bad. This was a total
stranger, and he was looking at the barn door like prey was
inside. He had the look of dog about him, longish hair and all.
Maybe had some coyote in him, though I've only seen pictures of
them. *Big* cuss, though, bigger than Lupe.
My axe -- I only had one back then -- was in the kitchen. The
barn door didn't latch, no reason for it to. So I stood with a
sort of pitchfork with wooden tines in my hand looking out
through the crack in the door as the wolf got his courage up. I'd
try to block the door; I'd try to get him with the pitchfork.
Neither looked awfully likely. The wind was whistling through
the crack, too. Wolf didn't need to break in; he only needed to
stay around the few hours 'til I froze to death.
When the wolf looked over to the side, I followed his glance.
There was Lupe, trotting along with a rabbit in her mouth. She'd
been in deep snow; you could tell from the stuff frozen to her
side and belly. The space between the barn and the house,
though, was blown almost clear.
Having taken in the wolf and his position, she seemed to be
looking for me. "Barn," I said loud enough for her to hear. She
turned her attention to the wolf again. She trotted up to him
and lowered her forequarters, looking like she wanted to play.
Wolf came over. She sprang up and trotted away. She did that
two more times before she dropped the rabbit. Wolf gobbled it
down before chasing her again. She used to drive off her cubs
when they played like she and the wolf were doing now. Finally,
she was down on her forequarters again. This time though, she
was facing away from the wolf. He trotted up and licked under
her tail. Then he mounted her.
I should have run across to the house when wolf was more
interested in Lupe, but I didn't. And it wasn't concern for
Harry which kept me in the barn. I had seen dogs mate twice
before but from far away, and I'd been younger. Now I was
watching the person closest to me having sex out in the open not
ten feet from where I was standing. My own dick got as hard as
the wolf's must have been. When they were done, Lupe ran off,
and the wolf ran after her.
I did cross to the house then, and get my axe. I also got
some firewood. I brushed a clear space in front of the barn door
and built a bonfire there. I brought some gasoline from the
kitchen, and a burning stick on another trip. Before wolf came
back -- and I figure he must have though I didn't see him --
there was a fire burning in front of the barn door. I pissed a
line in the snow between the fire and the barn.
I don't know if any of that did any good. Maybe Lupe
convinced the wolf that Harry and me belonged to her. Anyway, I
didn't see him again. After a while, though, it became clear
that Lupe was carrying another litter. Only one cub, this time;
and showed her father in her long hair. When she was tiny, the
hair was longest on her tail. Stuck way out, 'most as big as the
rest of her at first. Next time I was in Lauther's I saw some
tool that looked just like the cub's tail. "What's that?" I
asked.
"Bottle brush, want one?" Well, I didn't have any use for one,
but that's what I started to call the cub.
The "brush" part of her name dropped off as the hair on her
tail started to behave, but Bottle became my favorite of all the
cube Lupe had ever borne. I was fourteen by then, able to look
after her. Harry not being much fun for a cub and Lupe needing a
lot of time for hunting, Bottle and I were thrown together.
I got a better plow cheap from a farmer who'd sold off his
mule a couple of years before, and plowed more than even Mom had.
I knew what I was doing, now. What I didn't know was how I was
going to get through until harvest. Lupe started chewing and
swallowing all the game she caught. She'd throw it up again for
Bottle to eat, but not for me. Not that I was particularly
interested.
The crisis came as spring was turning into summer. I had
bought a metal pitchfork and was turning over the little hay we
had stored for Harry. I turned over one pile and a stink rose.
Since Harry could eat pasture for half his needs, we had what I
figured as two months of hay stored, and three months of time to
go until I could cut more. When I had thrown out the deeply
rotted stuff, what was left was less than Harry ate in a
week.
I didn't have enough food for me. I didn't have any food to
share with Lupe when hunting was scarce. And Lupe was, after
all, eating for two. Now I didn't have enough food for Harry. He
was old, and some days during plowing season I had to take him
out of harness not long after noon. Farmers all around were
getting rid of their horses. I couldn't see anybody paying for
Harry. 'Sides, I needed meat.
I got a couple of the last turnips from the root cellar, and
took them, a couple of knives, and the axe with me to where Harry
was trying to get a meal from a pasture he'd eaten over last
week. I put one turnip down by a fence pole. Harry ate it and
looked up at me. I tossed a rope around his head and tightened
it way high on his neck. When he bent down for the next turnip,
I tied the other end of the rope low on the fence pole. He
couldn't raise his head. Before he worried about that, I threw
down the last three turnips. As he bent down to get the treats,
I swung the axe overhand to hit the back of his skull. He
dropped, at least stunned. I took a better swing, and split his
skull.
After that, all I had to do was cut him up. I roasted all the
meat and half the organs that day and the next. The parts I
wouldn't take, lungs stomach and guts, I left out for Lupe. And
I smoked the roasted meat over the next week.
Well, from one plowing period to the next, Harry had made more
work than he eased. We got through the summer with me walking to
Lauther's store to buy the occasional bag of flour or beans.
The checks kept coming in. I looked through Mom's records to
find a checking account she used. I practiced her healthy
signature again, and deposited some of the rent and interest
checks. Some of my purchases were made from that account.
Meanwhile, I had fun with Bottle when I wasn't working. Mom
had never let Lupe in the house, let alone her cubs, but I played
inside with Bottle in bad weather. Harvest time, I sold the hay
standing. I didn't get much, but I could concentrate on the
truck I'd planted for me. I figured it was enough for the
year.
When I got the royalty check, I took it down to Jennings with
a check on Mom's bank account that paid the tax up to date. I
walked there, mebbe five miles; and Jennings asked about Harry.
"Don't tell Sarah," I said. "We had to put him down. Less work
this way, but I don't know how I'll get the plowing done."
"Well," he said, "he was getting old. You're right about
Sarah, though. There's people with tractors who plow other
people's fields for hire. Want to consider that? Could you
afford to pay them?"
"Just about. Couldn't afford not to." Nobody thereabouts
admitted to having an extra cent, and -- dressed in my Mom's old
coat and living on a tiny hill farm -- I was more believable
talking poor than many.
I wasn't Mom's size yet, but my feet were getting too big for
her shoes. I bought a pair from Lauther, and -- later in the
year -- pants and shirt as well. I still dressed in Mom's
clothes around the farm, but I wore my own on trips to the store.
The coat and the padding of sweaters didn't make anybody blink.
Wear what keeps you warm. Sometimes I wore the pants under Mom's
dresses on the farm in cold weather.
Bryant, a neighboring farmer, heard from Jennings that I was
looking for somebody to plow the field. He offered to do the
whole thing for $100. He took a few hours sitting down to do
what used to wear me out, to say nothing of wearing Harry out,
for more than a week. Since I didn't put in any hay, sowing was
loads more work; and I had to buy some potato eyes from Bryant,
too. Still, I had much more than Mom had ever planted for humans
with less than half the work.
Hoeing was harder work over the summer, though. And, when I
was done and just wanted to lie down, Bottle wanted to play.
Later in the year, Lupe took her hunting. After those trips,
Bottle and I would lie down together on the grass -- floor if it
was raining. I would scratch her chin, or she would lick
mine.
Harvest that year was *work*. When it was done, though,
I had enough food to last me through the year. Bottle was
catching enough to feed herself -- bringing me the occasional
rabbit, too.
I showed up at school again. Told teacher I had been staying
home 'cause my mom was sick. She told me that wasn't a good
enough excuse. She was new that year, though, and maybe didn't
understand I'd been out two years. We all sat together, anyway.
So I started where I had left off and slowly caught up with the
boys my height. I bought some kerosene and a lantern from
Lauther and read at night.
Sarah was mad enough at me for telling her that Harry had
died; I wasn't about to tell her that I had killed him. Only
when Bottle came along with me to school one day did Sarah
forgive me. Bottle was quite a hit with the kids. I bought a
brush and, on the teacher's insistence, some rope from Lauther.
I would brush all the junk off Bottle's coat and tie the rope
around her neck. She would walk me to school. The kids would pet
her for a bit. Then I would untie her, and she would run
home.
I told the other kids Bottle was my dog. She enjoyed
pretending she was. Wouldn't you enjoy showing up some place
from time to time to have a lot of people comment on how pretty
you looked? Some days after school, she would bring me the rope
and we would walk around the farm pretending she was on a leash.
Other times, she would stand patiently while I would tie the rope
around her neck and took a firm grip. Then she would dig in all
four feet and pull the rope out of my hand. Then -- after
running a circle around the house -- she would head back to me to
play the game again. I never tied a slip knot or tied the other
end to anything; neither Bottle nor Lupe would have liked
that.
Lupe had been getting more and more sheep. Maybe there were
other wolves operating in the area; I don't know. Anyway, the
sheep raisers were planning hunting parties, and their kids were
full of the talk. I couldn't hold Lupe back, but I did fix up a
place for her in the barn. It was as good a hideout as any.
One day, instead of the interest check I was used to twice a
year, I got a letter saying that a bond had "matured." The
letter came with a check for $10,000. I put the check in Mom's
account and then paid the property tax up to date. When the
royalty check came through, that went in Mom's account right
off.
I knew we weren't rich. It was like selling off some of the
land. Bring in a lot of money, but whatever it produced would go
to somebody else after that. Still, it *felt* like rich.
When spring brought around Bottle's birthday, I splurged on a
collar and leash for her at Lauther's. Bottle was real proud of
those. She'd of worn the collar all day if I'd let her. Lupe
didn't like her wearing it when she took her daughter hunting,
though.
School was barely over when Bryant plowed the fields again.
Planting was as hard as the year before, but I could see that my
store of food that year would last me through harvest. With any
luck, the bad spell was over. Bottle sometimes walked me out to
the field in the morning or visited me there during the day. She
knew, though, that I was too busy working to really play. When
the whole farm was planted, I slept in. I got out of bed in the
early morning to piss in the furrow, got back out of bed in the
late morning to fix myself breakfast. I went out to visit the
furrow again after breakfast.
It being warm and dry, I didn't put anything on. Mom used to
make me dress, even inside, every day. But I'd got lazy about
that over the summers. Lupe and Bottle didn't care, and who else
saw me? I was in a bit of a hurry when Bottle caught up with me.
She waited patiently while I did my thing and wiped myself with a
bit of dried grass. Then she ran up to sniff me and ran away. I
chased after her, knowing full well I couldn't possibly catch
her. After a bit, though, she would freeze in place until I was
almost there. And she would freeze in place pointing away from
me with her front end on the ground and her hind end raised as
far as it would go.
I suddenly recognized the pattern. Lupe had used it with
Bottle's father so long before. I couldn't help getting hard
remembering it, and running with a hardon excited me more. So,
when Bottle stayed put when I caught up with her, we were both
ready. I knelt down on one knee, put both hands on her hips, and
bent over.
Bottle pushed back when I pushed forward, but I didn't go in.
She was *tight*. My dick was covered with juice, though,
and maybe Bottle was producing some of her own. Tight as it was,
it felt much better around my dick than my hand had ever felt --
warm and smooth. When about half of my dick was inside, I shot
and shot. "Oh, Bottle!" I said. We stayed like that for a
minute.
When she pulled away, I almost fell over. She turned around
to lick me. She licked my face, and then my dick, and then my
face again. Obviously, she had enjoyed herself. We played in
the fields for another hour. I fucked her twice more, going in
more easily each time. When I got hungry, I took her inside with
me. The only meat I had was a little bacon, and she had half of
that.
When we went back into the fields to play some more, I managed
to fuck her one more time. Bottle couldn't figure why I gave up
so easy, but I had always been the first to get bored with our
play.
When Lupe got back from hunting, she sniffed us both. There
ain't no sense in trying to lie to a wolf. I was scared she'd
drive me away. She'd done that with her cubs when they'd begun
to play like that, and before they got to the actual fucking,
too. She looked like she was considering it, but then she went
and lay down.
The next few days, Bottle and I fucked and played. I was
fifteen, but -- let me tell you -- I was nowhere near ready for
it as often as Bottle was.
Then her interest went away, and I went back to farm and house
work.
Besides weeding the fields, besides housework and fixing up
where the wind blew through the siding, I studied the records
that Mom kept. Her bank records showed that she had bought bonds
and stuff occasionally. I started to buy them with her checks,
but with me as the owner. I had to get a Social Security number
to do that, but I could get one in town. The income tax began to
worry me; I hadn't paid any for her since her death. And, since
I hadn't told anybody about that, I couldn't use it as an excuse.
I did find a will in my favor, though.
When I got back to school, I was with the upper-grade kids.
We had a different recess time than the younger kids, and these
thought their own dogs better than Bottle. She didn't do
tricks.
Of course, Bottle did one trick which pleased me more than all
the stunts the other kids taught their dogs, but I kept quiet
about that. When one boy accused another of fucking sheep, the
other denied it and accused the first boy. The others giggled.
When one accused another of fucking his sister, it meant a fight.
I only heard that twice.
What they would have thought of fucking a wolf or fucking a
niece, I could only guess. Wolves, after all, are noble animals
-- much better than sheep. The kids in school with me didn't
have any nieces old enough to be fucking. Still, I kept my mouth
shut.
If Bottle couldn't wear her collar and leash to school with
me, she wore it to town. We started to go in to Lauther's store
almost every Saturday. Since he made a fuss about bringing
Bottle into the store, I started to leave her outside. One day,
I'd gone in intending to buy a new shirt. There were so many I
took my time deciding. Bottle got impatient and came in to see
what was keeping me. Lauther made a greater fuss about that. The
next week, I left Bottle at home, but she followed me. I took to
tying her up outside the store.
During the depths of the winter, I couldn't get in some weeks.
Bottle got interested in me once more. I couldn't strip down in
the barn, but I could get my dick out. Come spring, we walked
the distance every week. Bottle stayed outside and let people
admire her. Then I untied her, and we walked home.
One Saturday, I came out to find a big car parked outside the
store and a boy petting Bottle. The man who came with the car
and the boy was a stranger from town. He tried to buy Bottle
from me. The idea was funny, but he didn't laugh when I turned
him down.
The next week, the same car was parked outside the store with
a small trailer hitched behind it. Strange, we didn't get many
visitors from town -- none two weeks in a row.
I was buying a pair of jeans that week. My old pair had
ripped embarrassingly in school. When I picked one out, Lauther
insisted on my trying it on in the store's john. I'd never tried
anything else on, and I could hold it up to my waist to see how
it would fit. For that matter, I had chosen a pair with some
room to grow. But I did what he asked.
I had the new pair almost on when I heard Bottle yelp from
outside. I pulled them up and ran out. "You can't take them
without paying," Lauther yelled. He grabbed me. I fought him
off once and reached the door, but he grabbed me again. By the
time I was outside, the car was roaring off down the road.
Bottle was nowhere to be seen.
"I have the money in the other pants," I told Lauther when I
went back in.
"That's okay," he said, "but you can't just run away wearing
clothes you haven't paid for."
"That bastard took Bottle."
"Well, if it's your dog, then report the theft. You do have
papers saying you bought it, don't you?"
Well, I didn't. I hadn't bought her. Far as I know, nobody
from the farms around here has papers. If the guy had been from
around here -- friendless as I was -- he'd have been labeled a
dog thief. As it was, he was from farther away than I'd ever
traveled. I couldn't produce Lupe 'cause some of the sheep folk
had caught glimpses of her. Nobody knew she and I were friends,
much less brother and sister. Anyway, a kid didn't go to law.
Mom was the person to go, and Mom had been dead for years.
So, there was nothing I could do but hope Bottle would escape
and work her way back. I tried to tell Lupe, but I don't know
how much got across. She knew Bottle was gone, though. Maybe
she knew it was 'cause I'd pretended that Bottle was my dog.
We kept going, both of us. After I caught up on Mom's taxes
and turned eighteen, I got myself a banking account by mail.
More money was coming in than going out, and I took to buying
meat almost every week. Lupe was really slowing down, and I gave
much of what I bought to her. Regular meat, though. I never buy
dog food. I'd learned to never call a wolf a dog.
Then she let herself get seen by a shepherd. As I said, she
was slower than she'd used to be. Maybe she was slower than she
thought she was. Anyway, his shot hit her. She made it back
here, and I try to take care of her. She's taken care of me,
lots. And she's my sister.
You don't have to say that, if you don't believe it. Call her
my wolf. Just don't call her my dog.
Never call a wolf a dog.
The end
Bottle
Uther Pendragon
nogardneprethu@gmail.com
2003/10/31
Thanks to Denny for editing this. Thanks to Stasya for advice on
canid sexuality -- he isn't responsible for my representation of
this, however.
For another story involving a youngster and
a canid:
doesnt.txt
"He Doesn't Love Her Like I Do"
This story is coded (inc best).
The code, best, means: Bestiality, sex with animals.
For more on the story codes and how to use them to find the
sorts of stories to interest you:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/code/scfr.htm
"Story codes for readers"
This story is indexed under:
etc.txt
Etc. Stories not Indexed Elsewhere
The index to almost all my stories:
http://www.asstr.org/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm