Warning: mildly explicit sex

The Mouse Vignettes · Scene 1

Size Doesn’t Matter

Arilin Thorferra

“Size doesn’t matter,” the wolf says. “I mean, it does, but it’s not everything. It’s never everything.”

“Mmm-hmm.” I cross my arms, resting my head on them, and smile at him. “Easy for someone who’s, what, six foot five or six to say, isn’t it?” He’s not just tall, he’s cute: buff, silky grey fur, long wavy hair. Halfway between athlete and centerfold model. And oh, so delightfully confident.

He laughs, tail wagging. “Easy for someone who’s a wolf, talking to an attractive mouse girl.”

“That’s sweet.” I think I’m attractive, too, with tawny fur I do my best to keep groomed and, at risk of being immodest, very nice legs. “But you’re the one who came over to me, not your friends. Shouldn’t it have been just as easy for them?”

“Well…” He shrugs, grinning more awkwardly. “You know.”

I do know, but I play dumb. “Yes?” I shift position, sitting up and resting my hands on my knees, waiting to see how he finishes the sentence.

His eyes track my movement, and he swallows, but keeps his grin. “They’re not as bold.”

“But you are. I like bold people.”

His tail wags again. “So, I’d like to talk more, but not here. I mean…” He waves his hand around. We’re outside the club we’d met at. There’s nobody left in the area, though. He’s the only one who came toward me instead of away, heedless of his friend’s frantic shouts.

“You want to take me home?”

His ears skew. “I, ah. I don’t think that…would…work.”

I laugh, reaching down for him. “I guess not. But I can have a little more fun here before the sun comes up.”

The wolf’s ears fold back all the way, but he stands his ground. I’m impressed. Even when I lift him up in front of my face and smile again, with teeth bigger than his head, he manages to look commanding. “We’re going out of the city. You don’t fit here. You can carry me if you like.”

My smile grows. I knew he was trying to play hero. “I have your permission, hmm?”

He swallows again, voice cracking. “Please?”

I’ve been feeling a heady buzz for the last short while, ever since cutting loose at the club, switching from dancing inside it to dancing it to rubble. The look in his eyes, a mix of confused lust for me and growing alarm, just presses all of my buttons. I lick my lips, then reach down to my shorts with my other hand and unsnap them.

“I—uh—” He starts wriggling and pushing futilely against my fingers. “What are you doing—”

The protest becomes a yip and a howl as I pull my panties far enough away from my fur to drop him inside.

His squirming gets more frantic, and I moan, leaning back against a mostly-intact building next to the ruins of the club. Closing my eyes, I rest my hand on top of the cloth trapping him, rubbing insistently, making him flail against me—inside me—so deliciously.

When I slide down in delighted exhaustion long minutes later, he starts struggling to escape my panties—so I just snap my shorts shut again. He lets out a muffled whimper as he realizes he’s not going anywhere.

“I’m keeping you for a while, little toy wolf,” I get out between breaths. “Size does matter, and you’re just right.”