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What kind of sex club had a line at the entrance?

Scratch that. Better yet, why am I here?

Of course, the otter knew. It was just that he was regretting his decision. Not only did waiting outside suck, but he was feeling incredibly insecure about it.

He looked at the other people in line again. The patrons were about equally split between male and female, from what he could tell. Some were already in full party gear - in this case meaning leather, lace, and gimp suits - and some were dressed more casually. He even saw a few suits. He didn't look out of place in business casual, but he felt it; he had almost zero idea what he was getting into.

He'd had a fight with his boyfriend. The otter was too vanilla, the fox felt, and not interested enough in sex. It wasn't that he was vanilla, the otter argued, just that the fox's kinks were too weird for him. That, and his boyfriend clearly didn't appreciate any of the finer details of eroticism, just extreme and kinky debauchery.

Thankfully, they had an open relationship. They'd decided to explore each other's things, but away from each other, given that neither particularly felt like pleasing the other at that moment. For Morgan, that meant visiting the local BDSM club and giving bondage - and maybe latex - a try. It wasn't something he particularly wanted to do, but simultaneously, his boyfriend had to study romanticist poetry and the art of making love, as opposed to simply having sex.

Morgan felt entirely justified in wanting his lover to quote Wordsworth, Shelley and Blake while tenderly seducing him. His boyfriend felt the same way about getting to tie the otter to a bed and having his way with him. They decided they'd do both.

So while the fox was having an undoubtedly pleasant evening reading classic poetry, Morgan was standing in rather miserable autumn weather, in the line to a fetish club. He tried to justify it as a learning experience.

Finally, it was his turn. The bouncer had a quick look at the otter and blocked his path.

"Yo, I'm gonna let you in, but you should see the owner. Name's Tristan. He's a black jackal. Told me to send everyone that looks like you to him, you're kinda his type" he spoke, without much affect.

"What, otters?" Morgan replied.

"No, stupid assholes, now get in," the bouncer growled, nodding at the entrance and quickly shifting his attention to the next person in line. Morgan heard him sigh and start speaking before the club door closed behind him.

The first thing that struck him was how red the place was. The floor was shiny, well-treated redwood. The interior was all black and red. The lighting was mellow, with two large ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. In the rear of the club was a bar; to the left and right various "private rooms", and on the upper floor was what seemed to be a VIP area.

Morgan decided to hit the bar first. He felt as if he definitely needed some liquid courage for whatever he was about to do. He ordered a double whiskey and threw some money on the table, taking a deep breath and staring at his drink. He had to get his nerves under control. Deep breaths. He inhaled, held it, exhaled. One, two, three-

"Come here often?" the bartender asked.

The otter took his drink and quickly swallowed it to get a few more seconds to consider his answer. He decided honesty was the best policy.

"Yeah- I mean no, first time here," he replied.

He looked up. The bartender was a black jackal. He was dressed in rather tight latex, although without anything to fasten ropes or cuffs to, so Morgan presumed he was probably a top, or whatever you called the one who did the tying up.

Then he realized the jackal was also the owner of the club, going by the bouncer's description.

"Well, I know the answer, of course," the jackal smiled. "I'm glad you came to see me immediately. Actual willingness to follow orders instead of just wanting to get pleasured, it's admirable," he continued. His ears flicked at some imagined irritation.

The jackal locked eyes with Morgan, which made his heart skip a beat. Tristan - that's what his name was, wasn't it? - had a very commanding look. Unable to look away, Morgan couldn't help but notice that he was also very handsome. His features were sharply chiselled, as if it a master sculptor had worked him out of solid obsidian. He looked more like Anubis than a common jackal, and he clearly played into it, with either a tattoo or a painting of an ankh on his cheek. He seemed to be wearing makeup, given the purplish tinge to his facial fur, and while it contributed to giving him an androgynous look, it did little to lessen his evident dominance.

"So why'd you come here? You don't seem like the type who enjoys what we do," the jackal asked. "...going by how nervous you look, silly, not because you're an otter," he smiled, seeing the otter's questioning expression.

"Well uh- I- can I have another drink, first?" the otter pleaded.

"Getting tied up isn't as much fun if your senses are dulled, I think you've had enough," spoke Tristan.

"But I- I'm too nervous," Morgan confided. "Look, I'm here because of- -of a-"

The jackal reached out and traced his fingers across the otter's head and ear, leaving his fur standing on end where he made contact. "I could show you," the jackal whispered, leaning closer, whispering into the otter's ear. "If you're willing to submit."

He then gave the otter's ear a lick and took it into his muzzle. The tongue made the otter shiver with pleasure. The jackal gently nibbling on the ear made him melt into the bar, the pleasure of the jackal's wet muzzle sucking sapping all the strength from his muscles and inviting only submission.

"Yeah," the jackal murmured. "I think that's what you want. Come with me."

He had another staff member take over at the bar as he left it, taking the otter's hand and leading him into one of the dark side rooms. Morgan could barely see anything, having to trust the Jackal to not accidentally walk him into a wall. Even with Tristan's strong hand leading him, he kept twitching, stubbing his toes and walking face first into low-hanging beams that only existed in his mind's eye.

They quickly reached a room. Morgan considered running. Tristan turned the lights up enough to illuminate what was in the middle; a seemingly latex-covered bed with four posts, one in each corner, with cuffs, ropes, chains and even whips - which Morgan hoped would not be used - on a long table next to it.

"Welcome to my private little play room," the jackal exclaimed. "I will-" he began, moving behind the otter, pressing his latex-covered body into him. "-need you to lay down on the bed there, and I promise I'll make you feel good."

The otter could feel the jackal's erection pressing into his rear, threatening to tear through the latex to sink into him. He loved the feeling, although he felt a slight twinge of guilt that he was about to get mated by a stranger, despite the fact that his boyfriend has encouraged this. Still, he could feel a familiar fire kindling in his loins, and he instinctively pushed back against the jackal. Tristan slipped his warm, slender hands under the otter's shirt, caressing his belly and chest as he pulled the shirt off, over the otter's head.

It felt as if the jackal was stripping him of all his protection, not just clothes, but also any resistance to his advances.

Without breaking contact with the otter's fur, Tristan slid his hands down to the otter's waist, giving his neck a seductive lick as he groped at his sheath through the fabric with one hand, while unbuttoning the front with the other. "Oh, poor little otter, it feels like you're getting pretty turned on..."

He gave the otter's maleness a rough squeeze, before turning him around and shoving him onto the bed, eliciting a yelp from the surprised lutrine. He didn't protest, feeling mostly subservient to whatever the jackal decided.

His master - Tristan, the otter corrected himself - admired his nude mustelid form for a few seconds, before picking out some cuffs from the selection on the table, leather ones that looked rather comfortable, and a couple lengths of rope.

The jackal worked the knots and ropes very quickly, his experience obvious in his deft movements. He did, however, pause to make sure that Morgan saw everything. He slipped the rope through the metal links on the cuffs, and then tied it.

The jackal leaned down, his muzzle right next to the otter's head, so close that he could feel the canine's hot breath on his sensitive ear. "Raise your arm for me, otter. Prove that you're willing to go all the way, to totally submit me to me," the jackal whispered.

Morgan didn't immediately respond. Oh, there was no doubt he wanted to get used by the beautiful, sleek, jet black jackal, but surrendering power like that made him nervous. Thinking about what he had promised to his boyfriend, he suppressed that anxiety; he had to do this. He tried to think of it as a rollercoaster. It'd probably be pleasant, and even if it wasn't, it'd be over soon enough, and then he'd get to try out one of his own kinks on the fox. It was worth it, and besides, the jackal exuded confidence and dominance like few others, which was almost convincing enough on its own, or at the very least arousing.

He placed his arm in the cuff, and the jackal promptly closed it, moving the otter's hand to rest on the bed above his head. He pulled on the rope until he was sure the otter couldn't move his arm at all, and then tied it to the post. He proceeded to do the same thing to every limb, and although Morgan felt a little fearful, he laid still and let the canine finish. Not having any say in what happened next proved to be more exciting than he had thought, adrenaline and arousal seemingly sharpening his senses.

The otter strained against the ropes and cuffs, testing each. All four of the soft leather cuffs that held him in a spread-eagle position were tight. Not too tight, but tight enough that he couldn't wiggle his way out of them. The ropes were short and unyielding. He was definitely stuck right where he was, at least for long enough to whoever wanted to have their way with him.

"I'll be back in just in a moment," the jackal murmured, slipping out of the room and closing the door behind himself.

Morgan looked around. His surroundings were dim. The idea was probably to restrain sight much like the bondage restricted the body. He had to admit, it was kind of arousing, imagining what might be hidden in the shadows. He has seen the bed and the selection of bondage gear, but he imagined there'd be more. He could sense a faint whiff of latex, but he wasn't sure if it was from this room or some other one. After all, the club served a lot of different interests.

Before long, Tristan returned, carrying a jug and a brush.

"As much as I like how your body looks, I think it's time we gave you a look more suitable for a submissive little pet," he smirked, almost evilly. "It's liquid latex, don't worry," he added, seeing the otter's confused and anxious expression.

He leaned over the otter and dipped the brush into the bucket, and then onto the otter's fur. It felt hot, a little ticklish and very erotic, the stiff brush tracing through his fur and leaving behind a thick latex trail that'd soon stiffen and become a solid rubbery surface.

Morgan squirmed. What he could see looked very sexy. Up and down the brush moved, covering more of his furred body with the glistening, warm blackness. Soon, the latex covered his entire front, except for his crotch, which was left unpainted for now.

Tristan raised two of the poles the ropes were attached to, lifting the otter's upper body off the bed, and he quickly went to work painting his back with the thick goo, stopping just around his neck. The coarse brush scratching through his fur felt fantastic, and the soothing warmth of the latex it left was even better; the otter was whimpering, but trying to stay still as the jackal finished his work. He noticed that the paint around his fingers hardened into more of a mitt shape, preventing him from using his fingers, making Morgan feel even more helpless and turned on.

The paint hardened quickly, and then Tristan did the same for his lower body. After that had dried too, the jackal finally paid attention to the otter's maleness, which had been standing at attention all this time, rock-hard from the jackal's ministrations.

Tristan leaned down and gave the sensitive underside of his cock a few quick, feathery licks, making the otter moan and thrust his hips upwards in desperation.

"Looks like someone's a little too excited. I haven't even gotten started yet, little pet," the jackal spoke with amusement in his voice.

He brought the brush down again over the otter's balls, and covered them in the thick latex too, meanwhile teasing his cock with his tongue. It wasn't enough for any kind of satisfaction, instead serving only to inflame his desires further.

Finally, the otter was completely encased in slippery, soft latex, with only his head, cock and tail sticking out. The jackal traced his fingers over the otter's chest, and the sensation was muted, just like every other sense except for arousal. It was too dark for him to see clearly, the jackal spoke only in quiet, seductive, commanding whispers, and only a few parts of his body weren't coated in rubber.

With his lower body still raised after the painting, the jackal had easy access to his bared tailhole. Something cool was spread over the vulnerable orifice, and then something hot slipped in; the jackal's finger. He wasn't unfamiliar with having things penetrate him, but with all other senses muted and an inability to touch any part of himself, he was forced to focus entirely on the intrusion, and it was almost overwhelming. The jackal's finger sunk into him down to the knuckle, and then he curled it inside him, pushing right against his prostate. The otter groaned, and his cock twitched, precum dripping onto the already slippery latex. He tried to thrust back into Tristan's finger, but the bondage he was in wouldn't let him.

"That's a good pet. So eager to please your master," Tristan murmured. "Desperately eager to get fucked and bred, aren't you? Shh, don't speak, I know everything you desire. Good pets don't need to talk, just please their owners..."

Withdrawing his finger, the jackal jumped up on the bed, straddling the otter's chest, but in a very slow way, rubbing their latex-covered bodies together. The difference was that the Jackal's suit had a zipper going over the crotch.

"Would you like to see it? The cock that's going to claim you very soon?" Tristan teased the otter, very slowly pulling the zipper down in front of the otter's transfixed gaze. Soon, his half-hard member flopped out, right in front of Morgan's muzzle. He could smell it almost instantly, sweaty and musky after a night under latex. The jackal wasn't content with just that, however, and rubbed the precum-dripping length into the otter's nose to really drive his scent into his increasingly submissive mind. Morgan's head was swimming; the combined sight of his red, knotted cock and the very masculine scent made him whimper with need.

Not one to disappoint, the jackal positioned himself between the otter's upraised legs, and his cock at the otter's bared hole, one of the few spots on his body that wasn't covered in latex. With the lutrine already lubed up and ready, Tristan nudged the pointed tip of his cock into the middle of the otter's eager ass, and without breaking eye contact, shoved himself deep inside of him, knocking the breath out of both.

"Mrrh, I can feel you clenching around me. Aren't you eager for your master's seed?" the jackal growled, with increasing dominance fuelled by taking the helpless otter.

"Yes- mmh, fuck me, please..." the otter whined, desperately wanting to rock himself back and forth on the canine's wonderful cock but unable to with the ties holding him.

Tristan wasn't gentle any longer, but with all that warmup, he didn't need to be. Instead, he was jackhammering in and out of the otter almost violently, hilting himself to the knot with every thrust and battering Morgan's prostate as he did so. If the submissive otter hadn't been aroused, it would hurt, but as aroused as he was, every thrust instead forced more precum to shoot from his cock and onto his latex-covered chest.

The otter looked longingly at his cock, which bobbed with every thrust. He desperately needed to touch it, to just climax, but neither the cuffs nor the ropes gave a single inch. Finally showing some mercy, the jackal wrapped his warm hand around the otter's length, and very slowly started stroking it, keeping Morgan on the edge for a short while longer.

"Good pets don't- hnngh, don't cum before their masters do", he growled, but kept stroking.

Morgan was so close to climaxing. The jackal's knot threatened to split him open, spreading him a little wider with each thrust. His body was ready to cum, but his mind wouldn't let him; he was completely under the dominant top's spell.

"Just a little longer and you'll get your fill," his top commanded, breathing growing ragged and erratic as well as his thrusts. Of course, the otter wanted nothing more than to have this beautiful alpha tie him, in more ways than one. With each jab of the jackal's hips, their latex-covered bodies slapped together with a smacking sound, wet with precum and lube.

And then, without warning, the massive knot slipped into him. Morgan came immediately, and with the jackal aiming his cock for his own panting mouth, the first several ropes of his slimy cum landed right on his tongue, splattering the back of his mouth. Instinctively, the otter swallowed his own load, licking his lips for more until the spurts stopped and his climax became a drool, white cum contrasting with the black latex.

Tristan came too, filling the otter's belly with his creamy, hot cum. The milking, clenching and clutching of the otter's rear was enough to draw another growl from him as he rolled his hips, thrusting what little he could, tied as he was, eager to get every drop of his seed where it belonged, in his new pet.

Finally, he was spent. The deed was done. The otter was full of his cum. He reached for something on the table, and then returned to rubbing the otter's slippery body.

When his knot had shrunk enough to pull out, he did so quickly - drawing a sigh from Morgan - and quickly stuffed a rather large plug into the gaping hole, to make sure his cum stayed inside. With a smirk, Tristan took the bucket off the floor, and painted over the buttplug, and as such, the otter's hole, too.

"Don't worry, pet, you'll manage to remove it later. But I want you to walk home like that, just as you are. Covered with and full of cum, like a good little pet should be..." he paused for a second. "And if there's someone waiting for you at home, bring them along next time."

"Oh, you might want to wear these so you don't get arrested for indecent exposure. That kind of stuff is only okay inside the club," he continued, tossing a pair of pink shorts on top of the tied-up mustelid.

The otter didn't feel any desire to protest. Instead, when the jackal removed the cuffs - finally leaving him free to stretch and bend his limbs again, which felt fantastic - he slipped them on with no complaints. Even after that mindblowing orgasm, he wanted to obey his magnificent jackal master. With a swat on the ass, Tristan sent him away.

He did feel somewhat self-aware as he left the club, but perhaps it wasn't an uncommon sight around Tristan's place, as nobody in the line even batted an eye at the rubber-clad otter. The feeling of the jackal's cum sloshing around inside him was intensely erotic, and he had to focus every ounce of willpower he had to stop his cock from tenting in his tight shorts.

Luckily, it wasn't a long walk from there to home. Although the fox wasn't at home, the otter felt content, knowing he had some exciting things to show him... and a jackal to introduce him to.