A Wolf in Ram’s Cloth

WARNING: adult content!!! Beastiality, buggery, Aussie homesteader.

A wolf in sheep’s garb down near Perth, Australia, sought his next victim of comestible rapture at a local farmer’s hen house. Fully disguised as a buckhorn ram (costume purchased at the “Every Day is Halloween” shop in downtown Perth), he knew the hens would not be alarmed. And since all the homestead windows were pitch-dark, he also knew Old Man McLarkin and his domestic partner of 34 years, were long lost deep in the shaded forests of slumberland.

There were also sheep on that farm. A whole passel. In fact, the cunning Canis lupus had to elbow his way through the dense flock, in order to procure his feathered entree. But something struck him weird about these sheep:

“They walk awfully bowlegged,” he mused. “And stagger about like drunken sailors.”

The wolf concluded they were sick with scrapie, and entered the chicken coop. His keen nocturnal eyes gazed upon row after row of succulent fowl. (“Ameracauna roos” to be precise; a quite tasty breed). The wolf drooled at the vast avian banquet spread out before him, their meaty breasts rising and falling to the rhythm of chickeny dreams. Before he snatched the most corpulent among the brood, he adjusted the lower half of his ram guise with a wiggle of the derriere; then bent over.

But the moment he laid those grubby paws upon the hapless hen, he was slammed against the wall by a powerful blow. Pinned there while Old Man McLarkin ripped open the butt-end of the wolf’s ram trousers. A frightened C. lupus growled helplessly as the farmer violated his most secret aperture with a stiffie so long, thick and hard, he thought his hindquarters would rip asunder. Gallons of semen gushed up his lower intestine in painful spasms of rocket squirt. (Talk about a cock’s crow!)

“My god, this farmer’s virile as a bull,” was the wolf’s last thought before a solid punch to the head put him out till next morn.

When he awoke, the sun had already risen, and the coop was vacant. C. lupus walked like a soused barfly for the next two weeks. His newly-bowed legs put an end to his hunting days for just as long, and made him the laughing stock of the pack for many weeks more.

“Baa, baa,” declared the sheep in post-stress denial when C. lupus approached them some days later, in a failed attempt to bring a lawsuit against Farmer McLarkin for beastiality and same-sex fornication. Both of which are illegal in Western Australia, and can sentence a violator up to five years in prison, and hard labor in a eucalyptus matchstick factory.

“Friggin’ Aussie farmers,” cursed the outraged wolf as he wobbled down the path away from McLarkin’s farm and his captive, deflowered sheep.


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