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[18+] “1725” by Packwolf Lupestripe

[18+] Today’s story is “1725” by “Packwolf Lupestripe,” first published in the Happy Howlidays anthology from Thurston Howl Publications.

Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.

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Transcript
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Today's story concerns adult subject matter for mature listeners.

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If that's not your cup of tea,

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or there are youngsters listening,

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please skip this one

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and come back for another story another time.

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You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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This is Rob MacWolf, your fellow traveler,

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and Today’s story

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is “1725”

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by Packwolf Lupestripe,

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first published in the Happy Howlidays anthology

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from Thurston Howl Publications.

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Please Enjoy “1725”

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by Packwolf Lupestripe,

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Hooke looked into the eyes of his consort and smiled.

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There had never been a place like this in his youth.

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His eyes flicked around

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‘The Chapel’ - a room of faded wood paneling tucked discreetly behind one of London’s myriad coffee shops.

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The revelry of a pre-Christmas party could be heard beyond the door, but he was far more interested in the lithe fox lying on the double bed next to him.

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He had this room for an hour.

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He glanced down, the fox’s arousal betrayed by the tightness of his breeches.

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Hooke’s paw wandered down to meet it,

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tugging gently on the lacings which kept it chaste.

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He had been waiting for this all week,

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waiting to be free.

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Hooke looked into his lover’s eyes once more before bringing his muzzle in for a kiss.

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He may be older in years, but he had lost none of his youthful spark. He adjusted his petticoat as he moved off the bed,

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assuring the door was locked one final time.

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Ecclestone would guard it, of that he was sure, but one could never be too careful in this day and age.

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Picking up the unguent in the pot on the dresser,

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he looked back at his fox

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and his heart swelled with desire.

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His grin widened,

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but his face showed a flicker of concern,

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a flicker that did not go unnoticed.

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“I’m sorry there’s nowhere else to meet, my Dear,”

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he said as he sat down heavily on the bed.

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“But at least we’re among friends here.”

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The fox looked up and nodded meekly,

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a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

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“And you know,” he continued,

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“I cannot bear the thought of them sending you to Tyburn.

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I may have lived long, but I have only just started living,

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while you have the rest of your life ahead of you.”

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Hooke kissed the fox on the muzzle,

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causing him to blush.

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“We may still be three weeks from Christmas,

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but I know not when I will see you again,”

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he said as he fished in the pocket of his voluminous dress.

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“Here, I’d like you to accept this gift.

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I am still hopeful you can visit me at the end of the month,

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but the atmosphere of late has been somewhat febrile.”

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The fox gasped as he caught a glint of gold in the candlelight.

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“A locket? Oh,

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it’s gorgeous, but it must be worth half my wage. Are you sure you can afford to give this to me?”

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Hooke grinned warmly and nodded.

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“Ever since I first met you in the ale house,

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I knew you were special.

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I wanted to buy something for you

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to remember me by.”

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“Thank you. Thank you so much,”

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the fox beamed, his joy

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tainted slightly by the uncertainty of the last sentence.

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“Shall I put it on for you?”

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The fox nodded, craning his neck forward as Hooke fiddled with the clasp.

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Once mastered, he looped the chain around before snapping it firmly into place.

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He moved back, admiring his handiwork.

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“Beautiful,” he said. “Just like you.” ***

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The scuffles outside grew louder,

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jolting the couple from their concupiscence.

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“Where is he, the Sodomite Dog?”

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a voice barked from the saloon.

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“I know he’s in there - let me pass!”

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Hooke’s eyes widened as he pulled down his skirt,

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the fox swift to clamber back into his pants.

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“Quick!” Hooke pointed to a window in the corner of the room. “Make haste!!” The fox stared into the eyes of his lover, tears forming once again.

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“And what of you, my Lord? What will

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they do to you in this state?”

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“Do not worry for me, my Dear;

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I cannot run in this attire and shall only hold you up.

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Trust me when I say all will be well,

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and trust me when I say you must run for your life.”

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The fox stared deeper into Hooke’s eyes;

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the trance only broken by a pounding on the door.

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“I know you’re in there, you wretch -

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come out! Now!!” Hooke kissed the tip of the fox’s muzzle before ushering him away.

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“Until next time, my Dear.”

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Smoothing out his dress, he strode up to the door.

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He undid the latch as three magistrates

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barged into the room,

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knocking him to the floor.

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They pounced, pulling his paws sharply behind his back.

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As they ushered him to his feet, he saw the white tip of a tail

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slide over the windowsill

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and fade into the darkness.

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He was free. *** The pillory stood guard outside the molly house,

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a warning to those who dared venture beyond.

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As he trudged through the sludge, Hooke was taken aback by the ferocity of the crowd hissing and booing.

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The bitterness in their eyes was as bitter as the day, while

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their insults broke the quiescence of this crisp December morn.

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Through the commotion, he heard the releasing of his chains before his head was violently pushed into the stocks.

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His neck bounced off the wood as his hands were forcibly inserted,

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with the top half swiftly shuttered to prevent his escape.

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The crowd cheered and then booed as a sign was hung around his neck bearing the phrase

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“For the crime of assault with sodomitical intent.”

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Seconds later, the first fistfuls of mud made contact with his fur,

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the rotten fruit

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and the fish not far behind.

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He looked at the baying mob through narrowing eyes before ducking down again to avoid their conveyances.

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His mind may have been playing tricks,

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but he swore he saw a faint glint of gold.

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Tentatively, he opened an eye to get a better look.

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To his left, almost drowned in a thick winter coat,

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he could see two familiar paws

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clasping a locket.

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He looked up, and his eyes met a familiar azure.

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The fox winked. Hooke smiled.

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It was the day before Christmas, and tomorrow he would

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be free. He would be with him

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to celebrate the joys of the season.

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Away from this mob and away from their judgement,

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alone together at his place in the country.

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And that was the best Christmas present of all. This was “1725” by “Packwolf Lupestripe,”

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read by Rob MacWolf, Werewolf Hitchhiker.

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You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

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or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

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Happy Holidays,

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and Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog

About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

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