Howls and Home Runs (Mascot Matchups #1)

1. Wilder

Chapter one

Wilder

I ’m not sure when I became whatever this is, but I’ve been this way for a while now. The first thing I remember is waking to a cold dark room that I now know as my “locker”. When I’m not being worn by my handler, I’m kept in here all alone.

My handlers until now have all been male, which is why I decided I must be a male, too. Eventually, I learned I had the ability to “control” things while being worn. Nothing crazy, an ear twitch here or there, a slight tail wag; the more I was worn, the more alive I felt.

My first handler was an older man who went by Jerry. He was a larger fellow and would stretch my fur with his wide gut. Jerry reeked of sour and musty smells, always acting like a jerk, never putting me away properly or handling me with care. Jerry would growl at the children and trip intoxicated guests. He was mean, rotten. I hated Jerry. He held the position of my handler for some time before they found burn holes in my suit from his cigarettes, and I never saw Jerry again.

Then came James. Pale, tall and thin, James was a younger guy who was kind and took good care of me. I was quite fond of him, even though he was constantly sad and often cried in my suit, making my foam lining wet. This was when I started to notice that I felt what my handler experienced when they wore me. The connection grew, and after some time I could feel them even though we were apart. I began to crave the emotions of my handler like a decadent dessert.

Except sadness. Sadness was a feeling I didn’t enjoy nearly as much since it reminded me of how alone I felt in the off seasons.

The next handler I remember vividly. Andy. A tall bulky man with a lively personality, Andy brought happiness, an emotion I longed for. He took pride in the “suit” as he called me and was always up to the task of being Wilder the Wolf. Over time, he became just as well-loved as I was.

Andy introduced me to feelings of lust and envy. He would often handle himself while still inside of me at the end of the night. Being the last to leave, he would hang around the locker room and put me back on to play with the fascinating fleshy extension of him he called his cock.

When Andy would take himself in his hand it started as a tingle. My fur gently rippling at the contact he felt himself. Every time the feelings built until soon I was panting alongside him with every stroke. Every release was greater than the last until I craved these moments. Arousal dancing across my fur as stars burst behind my plastic and fabric eyes. My own body twitched alongside Andy’s as we crashed from the euphoria, warmth spreading through my fur. That is, until I noticed my matted and sticky fur. My least favorite part of these moments we shared.

Years of gaining consciousness and studying my handlers taught me many things, not all of them good. Andy became sloppy over time, finally taking me from the locker room one night to wear me to a party. There was loud music, people dancing wildly, drinks sloshing about. My fur became soaked and sticky in some places, but I didn’t mind when Andy took a beautiful girl up to his room. Lust was such a delicious emotion.

That night, I was able to control parts I couldn’t before. She kissed my mouth, not Andy’s, while sweet sounds escaped from her lips. Her hands skimmed my body with hungry passion. I wanted more, wanted to be in Andy’s place and not just an extension of him. Envy didn’t feel as good .

I had fun with Andy. His emotions and belief in me–in us–gave me more sentience over the years. I came to love Andy the way Coach Reynar loved the team, even if he frequently painted the inside of my suit with his cum. It felt like a waste until I realized every tear, every drop of sweat, every ounce of cum brought me more to life.

One night Andy saw me stand up on my own, he screamed and attempted to run from me. Panicked, I reached out to grab him and tell him it was me, Wilder! His friend! I guess I swiped my paw too hard, my claws caught his back and shredded right through his shirt, cutting deep into his skin. He dropped to the floor and cried as he bled, while I tried to comfort him and apologize.

I didn’t mean to hurt Andy; I would never have hurt him on purpose. I only wanted him to see that I was alive. I was like him now. Hands that had previously touched me with reverence nowshoved me away. I stumbled over my thick tail, straight into the bat rack. When Andy screamed again, I lunged towards him to keep him quiet, Coach Reynar would be angry to see him here so late. A loud crack and wet thump echoed in the locker room.

“Andy?... Andy are you alright?” I stammered as I leaned over to examine him. His chest no longer rose and fell, and his eyes were glazed over. He looked more like a lifeless mascot than I did. Suddenly I was aware of a wet warmth dripping from my frame. Stumbling away, I looked down to see what covered my claws and fur. Blood. My chest ached and my mind reeled as I tried to wipe it off the best I could and put myself away in my locker.

What went wrong?