FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Prologue

I'm tied to my back to my boss's desk. My arms and legs lie flush to the stained tropical wood, stretched to their limits in a wide 'X'. My naked body lies displayed under the soft glow of the downtown Seattle lights that shine through the huge windows to my right. If I turn my head, I can see the Space Needle in the near distance.

Twenty-nine floors below me, the conference room is full of people unwinding in preparation for the holidays. Utterly unaware that I'm up here, or of what's about to happen.

I shudder when the door opens. Mr. Alpha - CEO of Canid Corp - fills it from wall to wall and floor to ceiling: ten feet and a metric ton of solid muscle.

I have eyes only for him. He is impeccable in his steel-grey silk suit and golden tie, with polished black claws on his mighty feet. I watch the hallway light glitter off of his diamond cufflings and the gold rings on his first and third fingers as he raises a cigar to his muzzle. The end flares like a blood red sun.

Just the sight of him makes me hard. He smirks at that. The enormous doberman closes the gap between us, standing directly over my head. My snout is level with the bottom of his fly. I hear more than see him unzip.

Then his balls are out, and smothering my face in their smooth, shaven folds. His scent sets me to moaning. But I don't taste. Not until he says I can.

Mr. Alpha takes his time. Savors his cigar as he examines the skyline before him as if it's all his property. I'm starting to shake, to strain against my bonds. My cock twitches with my heartbeat.

"Lick," he says.

I'm so grateful. My tongue pink tongue glides up the groove between his testicles to the very base of his sheath, then begins to paint my boss's balls for him. I can hear his satisfied rumble far overhead.

His paw hugs the back of my head and I shudder.

"Happy anniversary....Slave."

1

It's the holiday season of last year. Mr. Alpha isn't nearly as pleased as he will be twelve months from now. Canid Corp is devouring the competition, practically acquiring a new company every quarter. There's just one last deal left to close the year, and of course it's the one giving us problems.

I'm working my tail off to finalize the finest vacation package the Bahamas can offer when Mr. Alpha steps out of his office to tell me to cancel it. He doesn't say why, and I can tell by the controlled burn to his voice that he's NOT happy about it. In fact, he gives me the cancellation order on his way to his private elevator.

Mr. Alpha never gets mad at anyone to their face. I've been his private secretary long enough to tell, though. His nostrils twitch. He shows just a little more fang. Then, when it's safe, he goes to the gym to let loose.

Mr. Alpha has a private gym in the sub-basement of every Canid Corp regional headquarters, and when things go sour, you won't see him until he comes back panting, sweaty, and ready for a cigar. As of three weeks ago, Mr. Alpha started hitting the weights day and night

The culprit is Dan Dubois of Barbet Industries. Some young pup who's soared into the top tiers of the corporate world before he's earned the right to. Three solid weeks butting heads over the acquisition of their Asian operations, and now this son of a bitch insists on a last minute face-to-face with Mr. Alpha to close the deal. So now I and, more importantly, Mr. Alpha are stuck here in the charming Seattle sleet instead of basking on a tropical beach.

I put on a fresh pot of chai at half past five. The sun set an hour ago. The freezing rain makes a hissing patter against the windows that overlook the distant ocean. I'm used to working late nights with Mr. Altas. I can't wait to see this showdown. I already have a little victory sake warm and ready for him.

You don't know what a privilege it is to work in the shadow of such greatness. I'm sorry if I start to gush about him, but I've looked up to Atlas Alpha ever since I was a mail clerk fresh out of university. And I don't just mean literally.

Not only is the doberman a paragon of masculine power, but he's a financial and corporate genius - one of those CEO's that even your average coffee barista knows about. Which makes me the luckiest little dachshund in the world.

Mr. Alpha arrives at 6:00 on the dot. I let him into the conference room first, so that he'll be seated and prepared when I escort in his guest.

I just...love watching Mr. Alpha work. So commanding. So regal. So forceful without having to raise his voice. The negotiating room is where he really shines. And by negotiating, I usually mean watching him dictate terms to some tie-twisting, shivering little bitch of a rival CEO while Mr. Alpha's two pit bull lawyers just look on and grin.

Dan Dubois isn't going down so easily. But he WILL go down. I know that much. I escort him and his lawyer across the spacious lobby to the elevator. He's tall, with luscious white poodle fur. Nice blue suit and this cute nautical-themed tie. We don't say much on the way up. The bastard practically swaggers to his seat. I take my place beside Mr. Alpha.

They don't shake hands. I pour each of them tea.

"Mr. Alpha," the poodle says.

"Mr. Dubois."

Dubois's black labrador lawyer gulps. Ooooohhh that voice. I could drown in that voice. Mr. Alpha has the deepest voice you can imagine. It booms and rolls and fills a room of any size, no microphones required. I've never been able to place Mr. Alpha's accent. My best guess is Chicago.

"Well, Danton, here I am. My assistant, Penn, has the final papers for you to sign," says Mr. Atlas.

I slide a manila envelope across the glass tabletop. Dubois's lawyer removes the contract and hands it to Dubois, who scans it.

"Hmm," Dubois demurs. "No more possibility of any minor revisions, I suppose?"

I cannot BELIEVE this guy's nerve. If he'd earned his way to the top of Barbet, he'd know that, once the ink is dry, you either sign or you walk. Especially when there are other, smaller firms lining up to get on board with Mr. Alpha.

I look sidelong at Mr. Alpha for a reaction.

Mr. Alpha smiles in a way I've rarely seen. It raises my fur under my suit. He stands, every movement deliberate and controlled to present the largest possible presence compared to Dubois.

I see Dubois's lawyer bite his lip to keep from whimpering. Good. At least one of them knows respect.

"You are wasting my time with these games, Danton," Mr. Alpha says. Every syllable is precisely pronounced. "As a fellow CEO, I'm sure you can appreciate how that feels. Fortunately, I have other prospects I've been courting with your competitors. Penn will see you out."

Dubois sputters. His lawyer stands, adjusting his tie, murmuring apologies and tugging on Dubois's sleeve. Dubois shakes him off with a snarl and stands himself.

"How dare you! You can't just toss me out like this!"

"Can't I?" Mr. Alpha rumbles back, idly lighting up a cigar. "Didn't your lawyer inform you of the rules involved in a negotiation like this?"

Dubois puts both fists on the tabletop and bares fangs at Mr. Alpha. "The first real challenge to your company's dominance in years and you can't handle it, can you, Alpha?"

"You fight a good fight, Danton, "Alpha says. "I can respect that. But there's being a hard bargainer, and then there's being a self-important pain in my ass."

Mr. Alpha exhales a heavy stream of smoke right in the poodle's face. Dubois reels back in disgust. He trips backward into the seat again.

"I need those supply chains of yours in place and operating by MY standards by the end of first quarter," Alpha says, "And you're going to give them to me. One way or another."

"Are you threatening me?" Dubois balks.

That's when things go insane.

Mr. Alpha reaches clear across the conference table. He grabs the poodle by his collar and throws him down to the far end of the table. I gasp, my paws over my muzzle. Dubois slides like a beer order at a bar and crashes into the empty chairs.

"That enough of a threat?" Mr. Alpha sneers. He stalks toward Dubois. "NO ONE. Backs out. Of my deals."

I bite my paw to keep from crying out. I should get security up here. I should call the fucking police. Instead, I watch my boss shove Dubois against the nearest wall with one of his mighty paws. Dubois's shoes dangle three feet off the floor. Mr. Alpha brings his muzzle inches from Dubois's face, wreathing it in smoke. Finally showing his own enormous fangs.

"Sign it, bitch. Or I start using my REAL corporate muscle on you."

Dubois writhes. He bucks like a wild horse. He tries to strangle out a call for help.

"Everyone in this building is loyal to ME, Danton. No one will help you. Not even your own lawyer."

Mr. Alpha tosses Dubois back onto the conference table and raises a footpaw the size of a car's tire. He holds Dubois down with his sheer weight, savoring his cigar. And slowly undoing his belt.

I shake my head in disbelief. I look over at the lab. So does Mr. Alpha.

"How about it, lab?" Mr. Alpha says to him. "It's Mr. Morel, isn't it? I understand this ungrateful son of a bitch actually cut your pay this last year." Mr. Alpha pulls another drag and chuckles the smoke out. "Work for me starting now. A full senior corporate lawyer pay and benefits package plus a retroactive holiday bonus for bringing me such...." he grinds his heel into Dubois' upturned ass, "....satisfaction."

The lawyer and I exchange a look. Both of us are having a hard time processing this. This is....illegal. Immoral. Dirty as hell.

Dubois shrieks something at his lawyer in rapid, desperate French. It must be pretty vile stuff, because I see the change in Morel. He offers his paw across the conference table.

"It's an honor to work for you, boss."

Alpha smirks down at Dubois and rams the moist end of his cigar between the poodle's lips.

"You should have stuck to hedge funds where you belong, bitch."

Dubois's quivering paws scrape at the smooth glass table top. His muzzle opens but no sounds come out. Nothing but long, drawn out exhales and sharp little gasps. Because my boss is fucking him. Fucking him right through the back of his pants.

Mr. Alpha's foot is still in the middle of the poodle's back. Drool oozes from Mr. Alpha's fangs.

"You're changing the deal, bitch. You hear me?" he growls as he thrusts. "I don't just want Asia any more. I....want.....EVERYTHING!"

Mr. Alpha keeps fucking him for what seems like hours. By the time it's over, Dubois has promised Mr. Alpha a lion's share of stock in the company his father started.

Cigar smoke lies so thick in the room I can't see the Seattle lights through the smog. Mr. Alpha has this huge smirk on his face as he zips up. He douses the butt of a second cigar right against Dubois's exposed pucker. He looks as composed as ever.

I clear my throat. Mr. Alpha raises an eyebrow at me and his new lawyer.

"I believe business is concluded for the night. Thank you for your time, gentlemen. We'll need a revised contract, of course. I assume I can leave that to you, Mr. Morel?"

"I..yes! Yes, Sir!" Morel says. I didn't think it was possible for a black lab to go visibly pale but he's the closest they get.

As for me, I've got a different problem. I dash from board room to bathroom. I wash my whole head in the sink with icy water. Then I lock myself in the nearest stall and relive the evening, pawing myself into a squirming whimpering mess.

Interlude

My condo is paid for by a monthly rent deduction from my salary. It's a pretty sweet perk of my job. The first thing you see as you walk inside is a huge framed oil painting of Mr. Alpha. It commemorates Canid Corp's official status as the world's most successful company as of two years ago. I had to mortgage my house to buy it when it went up for auction. It's why I live in the company-owned condo.

Other framed photos of Mr. Alpha adorn the walls - magazine covers, newspaper clippings, high quality digital prints from the Internet. My bedroom is full of Canid Corp motivational posters that feature him. I even...I even have doberman memorabilia filling my place - plushie pillows on the couches, doberman print bedspreads, even an doberman soap pump.

There's also the toy I pull out and start to lube up as soon as my shoes are off. It's supposed to be anatomically accurate. If that's true, then Mr. Alpha is hung like a god, because my toy doesn't hold a candle to what I've seen tonight.

I barely strip before I plant the base of it in front of Mr. Alpha's picture and begin to sink down onto it. I let out little horny gasping whimpers, my paw fisting up and down my twitching shaft. I've just witnessed my boss - the richest CEO in the world - rape another man. And all I can think about was how sexy it was.

2

"Wakey, wakey, little dachshund. You're late."

I spasm out of my bed in a frantic tumble of blankets. The two pit bulls in their matching pinstripe suits grin down at me like demons.

"How did you get in here?" I squeak as I roll my naked body up in a towel and bolt for the walk-in closet.

"Canid Corp owns this condo, Mr. Kleinhund," the pit bull on the left asys. "Naturally, we keep our own set of keys."

"Very interesting décor, I must say, Mr. Kleinhund," the right-hand pit bull notes with a grin full of ivory. He taps the camera button on his phone a few times.

Pure horror washes over me. I leap out of the closet hopping on one foot,s till trying to yank on my pants.

"Don't you dare! This is still private property! You send those pics of my condo to Mr. Alpha and I will sue you into Chinese cuisine!"

Lefty gives me a sly look, like I'm a t-bone steak waiting to be slurped up.

"We'd LOVE to see you try."

"Tell me about it," his twin agrees. "It's been so boring lately. No lawsuits. No scandals. Not even a good batch of intimidating!"

Righty's phone whirrs. He answers.

"Yes, Sir, he's right here." He sounds immensely pleased with himself, the bastard. "Oh, yes Sir. He's hurrying right along. We'll get him there in ten minutes."

I'm guided out my front door without so much as a cup of coffee, still yanking on my best tie. These two lawyers must have been wrestlers before they passed the bar - their grips are like iron.

I do a miserable crawl into the back seat of their limousine. They sit side by side in the front seats. Bobby Darin plays softly over the speakers as we take the freeway through the heart of the city.

"You haven't sent Mr. Alpha those pics, I hope," I say. I try to sound menacing. Good luck when you're 4'6".

The Seattle offices are in a 50 story skyscraper. The front lobby has one of those rotating glass doors. The handles are polished brass, with a gleaming brass frame around the door, too. Columns of marble stand like sentries to either side of the golden 'Canid Corporation' letters.

Mr. Atlas is waiting for me in his office. He looks stunning, his enormous shoulders backlit by the morning sun, visible even through his dark suit coat.

Scared, small, weak, I unconsciously try to fix my tie and smooth my fur a bit as I approach him.

Mr. Alpha has his laptop open. He gazes at something on the screen, one huge paw thoughtfully wrapped around his chin. A single finger gives a tap on the keyboard from time to time.

I stand there like a disobedient schoolboy, paws behind my back, head bowed. Silence reigns, broken only by the soft tap of Mr. Alpha's finger. He doesn't seem angry. At least there's that.

He closes his laptop.

"Well, Penn. I must say I'm surprised, and..." he gives a soft chuckle "...more than a little flattered."

"When would you like my resignation letter by, sir?" I ask.

"Now who said anything about firing you?"

I look up. Mr. Alpha has the same smirk on his face from last night.

"I don't understand," I say. But I'm getting a chubby in my pants. Maybe a part of me wanted to be found out, just to see how he'd take it.

"Penn," Mr. Alpha says, "you're clearly obsessed with me. Why would I fire you over that?"

"Because..." I hesitate. "It's.....unhealthy?"

"Sit down and talk to me," he says.

My usual desk is in the adjacent room. I fetch my wheeled office chair and sit knee to knee with him. God he's huge. Even seated, he's twice my size.

Mr. Alpha examines me through a veil of cigar smoke.

"I've always admired you, Mr. Alpha,"I begin.

"Call me Atlas."

"I...don't think I can, sir," I murmur.

"Hm. All right, Penn. So you've always admired me. Lots of men admire me."

I look down.

"N..not like this, Mr. Alpha. This is..." I search for the words. How can I sum it up so he'll understand?

As it turns out, I don't have to. Mr. Alpha douses his cigar in the gold ash tray on his desk.

"Been quite a year for both of us, and I couldn't have done it without you, Penn. Tell you what. Since vacation plans are out the window, come spend the holidays with me at my house."

I've never been to Mr. Alpha's mansion. I mean, he has estates here in Seattle, as well as his private Caribbean island, his Italian villa, a penthouse in Dubai, a residential skyscraper in Singapore and a second mansion in Australia's wine country. But they're like sacred ground. No one but Mr. Alpha goes there. Sure, he holds private parties but he has me rent out venues for them.

Mr. Alpha is waiting for me to say yes. He knows I'll say yes. I still have to say it, though.

"How long?" I ask.

"We'll see," he says with a dismissive wave of a manicured paw. "Now. Shall we finish up that contract with Barbet Industries?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Alpha!"

The mighty Doberman nods in satisfaction. I'm ready to go to my desk, grateful my life isn't ruined.

"Oh, and Penn?"

I turn. "Sir?"

"Expect a delivery by this evening. A little something for your...collection."

It arrives on my desk just after lunch. Mr. Atlas's delivery is a flat manila envelope - the standard format for internal documents. This one is marked 'Confidential.' I slice it with my letter opener and reach inside.

Filling the page, in full high defition color, is a professional print of Mr. Atlas's massive, rock hard penis.

3

I accept my boss's offer, in case you're totally clueless. At the end of the day, I follow Mr. Alpha down in his private elevator instead of my usual route to the parking lot. I've traveled with Mr. Alpha in the past, of course. But this was his private limousine.

Out of habit, I pull out my phone to check my messages, but the top one is from Mr. Alpha instructing me to keep my phone off. A jaw-droppingly handsome husky in a nice tight-fitting blue uniform holds the passenger door for me. I feel like Cinderella.

The limo gleams in metallic black and chrome like a mirage. I can even see little mineral sparkles in the paint. The rims of the doors and tires are all tipped in gold, with a golden Doberman head as a the hood ornament.

The floor is patterned like a Persian rug. It practically massages my feetpaws as I step in. The seats are real leather, of course. They are big, sprawling couches that follow the contours of the limo from wall to wall, with silk throw rugs.

The walls are gunmetal black, streaked with veins of white gold so they look almost like wood paneling. I notice panels at the back of the rearmost seat which open up into a fully stocked mini bar.

Mr. Alpha visibly relaxes the moment he sits down with a sigh. No need to tell the driver where to go. The door closes and we're on our way. A light drizzle falls like a heavy mist around the car as it navigates the holiday traffic.

"May I ask you a question, Penn?" he says.

"Of course, Sir."

"Does it bother you? What happened last night?"

I quickly shake my head. Mr. Alpha raises an eyebrow in surprise.

"Bastard had it coming!" I insist.

Mr. Alpha chuckles and pats my paw.

"I'll try not to make a habit out of it."

"I got your, um, package," I say.

Mr. Alpha grins, all perfect ivory fangs.

"Not a very appropriate Christmas gift, of course. But you're a rather exceptional employee, Penn."

I blush like a virgin. He smirks and fishes his phone from his pocket, flicking across it with a thumb and holding it toward me. I can see a photograph of my living room with his oil painting in full view.

"You do seem to be quite a fan."

I bite my lip. Take a breath.

"You don't know what a pleasure...a thrill...an honor it is to see you every day, Mr. Alpha," I gush.

"Mm? Well...tell me," Mr. Alpha says as he cuts the end off of a cigar and begins to fill the interior with cloying, sweet smelling smoke.

I spill my guts there in the car to his mansion. I didn't realize how GOOD it would feel to get out all of the stuff I've kept pent up for years. Mr. Alpha sits there and listens, chin resting on a couple of fingers. He doesn't say much, just takes thoughtful puffs, nodding for me to continue.

The limo stops. But Mr. Alpha holds up a paw to signal the driver to wait before helping us out. He beckons to me. Blushing again, I move over to sit right next to my boss. I look up into his regal, penetrating dark eyes. He douses his cigar in the car's ashtray.

"I've always had a feeling there was more to it than corporate ambition with you, Penn. It's why I hired you in the first place. So that's how it is. You're...enamored with your boss, hm?"

I quiver within the gentle but rock hard grip of Mr. Alpha's massive arm around my shoulders and lean against the side of his hidden huge pectoral.

"I'd do anything for you, Sir," I whisper. "Anything."

Mr. Alpha bends toward me. His lips push mine apart to invade my mouth with the last whiffs of his cigar smoke-laden breath, followed by his smooth buttery tongue. I melt into a writhing, whimpering mess and fucking stain my pants. My boss can kiss like a porn star.

"I know you will," he says and signals the driver.

We step out onto the moist black asphalt of his private driveway. From the top of the rise, I can look out across the nighttime city beyond the mansion's gates and manicured hedges to the silver blade of the ocean under the moonlight.

I turn and gasp. Mr. Alpha's home rises three stories tall, a mix of soft white walls and dark purple roofs. Stage lights set around the base of the mansion light up the walls in the dark. A multi-tiered fountain bubbles out front.

Imagine a five star hotel, built and staffed to cater to a single guest. That's what Mr. Alpha's home was like. Besides a driver and a butler, Mr. Alpha employs a private chef and a small army of cleaning staff. The cleaning staff are all nocturnal species. They do their work overnight and I never hear or see a soul. It makes the whole house feel enchanted.

Mr. Alpha oversees it all with that usual suave power. No one questions him, least of all me. Dinner is plum pudding, flaming duck, a full Christmas ham with all the trimmings, and a pinot noir to wash it down.

My head reels from the surreal atmosphere, the delicious food. It's like I'm in another world, a world where Mr. Alpha rules. I feel so incredibly small and insignificant. As if Mr. Alpha is a giant who could hold me in his palm.

Mr. Alpha's whippet butler brings him his after dinner cigar. Mr. Alpha lounges back in his seat, one thick leg crossed over his knee, blowing smoke rings toward the chandelier.

"Vince," he says to the butler. "Why don't you show Penn up to the guest bathroom? He'll want to freshen up after dinner."

"Of course, Sir," Vince says. He turns to me. "If you'll come with me, Mr. Penn?"

I'm escorted up a grand staircase of padded red velvet. A sacrifice being led to the altar. A lamb to the slaughter. I know what has to be coming. I only hope I'm as good a fuck as his business competitors.

4

Vince is no prude, as it turns out. He waits for me outside of a guest bedroom made of granite and marble with silver and ivory trim while I strip down and take a shower. The guest shower could hold four people Vince's size, and I'm two-thirds the man he is.

I step out to find my clothes have been removed. Vince wraps me in a plush maroon towel monogrammed with Mr. Alpha's initials. He guides me down the hall to the master bedroom suite without a word.

But he doesn't let me keep the towel once I'm passed the threshold. I cover my sheath with my paws, looking meekly back at him. Vince just winks at me as he closes the door.

It's Mr. Alpha himself who opens it.

By now you probably know how often I've imagined what Mr. Alpha must look like under his suit. All the art dog kind has ever produced is pathetic compared to Mr. Alpha stepping into his bedroom in nothing but a red silk thong.

I'm talking about skin straining like a drum head over his obscene hourglass of a body. A body that belonged on the cover of a pro bodybuilding magazine, not on some corporate magnate. Pecs the size of big screen televisions, pushing out almost two feet - two fucking FEET - from his ribs. His thumb-thick nipples point to the carpeted floor, the chest is so incredibly developed.

Mr. Alpha's wing-like traps glide down to the mountain caps of his shoulders, which only broaden outward into a pair of unflexed biceps so huge I could have hugged them. The way his naked beefy forearms connect to his big paws make them seem even more powerful than usual.

His fat heavy muscular traps push against the dark shadows of his lats as he walks toward me. His waist is still as thick around as an oak tree, but looks ballerina thin compared to his barrel of a chest. It's all shredded, rippling abdominals and obliques, with an inguinal crease forming a line from one hip to the other below his belly button. And all of it GLEAMS from Mr. Alpha's naturally sleek fur. I mean, he looks oiled.

My boss walks up to me with those thighs each as wide as a prized pumpkin knotting and rippling, and that thong of his sagging, swaying with the weight of his superior endowment. I almost fucking faint.

"Penn, my boy," Mr. Alpha murrs, "You're the best man I've ever had working for me."

"..Mr..Mr...Alpha.....oh Sir..."

And this time when I say 'Sir' to him, its different. Because I'm addressing a god. He's huge. He's hung. He's rich as fuck. Politically powerful. Waited on hand and paw. What else would you call that? I was nothing compared to him.

"Go ahead, Penn," my boss urges with a slow roll of his titanic pecs. "Touch it."

"Y..y...yes, Sir."

The moment I smear my tiny paws up along Mr. Alpha's chest, I know I don't love him. It's so much more. I want....I want to SERVE him.

Mr. Alpha pushes me slowly onto my back in his bed. His seething, enormous walls of muscle thighs surround my head. His huge cock is a sacred object in my paws. It become my world. I open my mouth to stuff the head as deep into my body as I can. My tongue rolls right over his cum slit, circling it with my tongue tip. My little whimpers are barely audible since I can only get a quarter my normal air around the thing.

Mr. Alpha has his beautiful head back, groaning. Every time I suck, he rumbles in lewd pleasure. It drives me fucking crazy knowing I can give such pleasure to a superior man.

You have no fucking clue how hot it is to be in bed with the man who cuts your paycheck. To be caressed by the paws that literally hold your life in their palms. Mr. Alpha is more than a lover. This man....this god...could strip me of anything he wanted with a simple phone call. He could cut off my money, liquidate my home, dictate where and when I worked. In some ways, what comes next is inevitable.

"Please, fuck me, Master."

The words just tumble out of me. I don't even realize what I've said at first until the great muscled Doberman pauses.

"What was that?"

I'm a red hot coal of embarrassment.

"I'm sorry!"

"Say it again."

My ears flatten in submission. "Master?"

I gasp out a yelp when Mr. Alpha grabs my scruff hard in his fist, yanking my head back until I'm writhing in delicious pain. His growl vibrates me to the core.

"Say....it.....AGAIN."

"MASTER!"

I scream it. I scream it as I explode. Mr. Alpha doesn't care that I've cum. He throws me onto my belly and yanks open my ass cheeks. I'm so out of it that it's hard to process what's happening until my body is already being split in half.

"NNNNGGGHH!!!! AHHH!!!"

"GRRRRR....SAY IT YOU LITTLE BITCH!"

"MAAAASTERRRRR!!!!!! MASTER!!! MASTER!!!"

My boss vanishes. In his place is this raving, snarling ANIMAL. My eyes roll back into my skull. My tongue is a useless drooling rag that bounces about my jaws. Thank God for that sex toy. It makes me just stretchy enough to accommodate Mr. Alpha without injury.

His head finds my prostate. Every nerve in my puny dachshund body lights up. I can barely move, barely even feel my own limbs. My head spins. I'm so utterly lost, gasping in and out with every fuck my boss rides into me. I faintly hear the duet of his panting with me. So much deeper and heavier.

Mr. Alpha's bulk rolls on top of me - a steamroller of muscle, and just about as heavy as one. I strain to breathe.

"I'm going to fuck you as much as I want. Whenever I want. HOWEVER I want. From now on. Do you hear me, puppy? Or else you're fired."

He might be sex talking. He might not be. That's why it works. I SHUDDER.

"Yes, Master."

He growls in satisfaction. His fangs sink into my ruff. Here comes his knot. Proud, red, and thick. Just like an alpha dog's should be. I feel like my hips are going to displace. But I take it with a slutty little squeak.

Mr. Alpha's titanic pecs alone are big enough to devour me from behind. His heavy thick bulging arms swell to either side of my body, drawing me even deeper against his muscles. His abs are a constant erotic massage to my back. My mouth and nose flood with his scent.

When he comes, Mr. Alpha cums like the sex god he is. Huge body looming over me, head drawn back, howling to the ceiling. The pressure grows too great for me. I fight to extract myself from his orgasming tool, but of course the knot prevents me, so I just writhe and shudder, trapped against his crotch.

I have a vague sense of collapsing against Mr. Alpha in the bed. I think we fall asleep together.

When I wake up again, I'm alone in the enormous bed. There's something around my neck. I sit up and reach for it. I hear the soft click of metal on metal. The collar around my neck is locked in place behind my head.

5

A faint sense of panic comes over me because I don't know what the collar means. I look about the room.

"Mr. Alpha?"

"Here."

I slip off the bed naked and pad through some heavy drapes onto a south-facing balcony. Mr. Alpha stands there, huge proud and wrapped in a plush bath robe. He gazes like a Medieval lord down at the perfect green lawn behind his property. He takes another soft suck on his cigar.

For a moment, I can't speak. The massive Doberman just looks so regal in the rising sun. It's then that I realize last night was not a fluke. I do want to worship this man.

"Do you like your present?" Mr. Alpha asks. "It's white gold and platinum, you know. Custom made. Express shipped to arrive within two hours of manufacture."

"Why?"

Those arms....those giant...hulking...warm godly arms...draw me within the robes to his naked bulk. I start to lick his chest. I wash my tongue all over those heaving, huge mounds of muscle until my tongue is sandpaper. I pop onto a nipple to wet my mouth and continue.

"This is why," Mr. Alpha says.

It takes me an hour to wash his whole chest. By then we're both so horny that Mr. Alpha shoves me down to his crotch and I gnaw savagely at his big sloshing ballsac. My puny little fangs can't pierce that hide, and Mr. Alpha likes the edge of pain it introduced.

Mr. Alpha cums into my face there on the balcony with a groan. Better than clam chowder. Thicker than Thanksgiving gravy.

"Good boy," he whispers.

Calling me 'boy' makes my brain pop like a lump of hamburger infused with dynamite.

"Master," I gush out against his abs.

His great, bling-encrusted paw caresses over my head. Over my collar. I shiver, hug him, my own useless load bursting out against his bloated sculpted thigh.

Breakfast is wagyu beef steak, quail eggs, and mango lassi. Mr. Alpha's private chef has arranged the food so the egg yoke looks like it's a waterfall over a set of meat rocks, with little 'trees' of garnish adding to the illusion. All cooked to perfection.

I'm used to upper-end canned dog food, so the taste of REAL meat leaves me half hard with the pleasure. I even feed Mr. Alpha a few mouthfuls by hand while he lounges in bed, smirking at me, accepting my offerings. I dab his gorgeous muzzle clean afterward with a white silk handkerchief.

"Penn, onto my lap. There's something I need to ask you."

I perk my ears. Mr. Alpha's using my name, breaking character from the delicious sex game we've been lost in. I slip on all fours and lay down with my little body spread belly-down over his enormous quads. My head rests squarely in his naked lap. I can feel his balls and sheath with my chin. I look way up at my boss. My Master.

Mr. Alpha pets me once more.

"How far do you want to take this?"

His voice is panting at the edges. I guess mine is, too, as I reply.

"M..Mr. Alpha...." I shiver, "You're the closest thing to God I can imagine. I want...I NEED...to...to worship you. Literally worship you."

I spontaneously lower my muzzle to lick at the top of his big round balls. "Forever. I want to take this to forever."

Mr. Alpha pushes me gently off his crotch with a huge footpaw to the face.

"There are arrangements to be made. You're welcome to explore the mansion in the mean time."

I kiss his foot and nod. Mr. Alpha leaves me curled and shuddering in the ghost of his body heat and musk still clinging to the bed sheets.

6

The mansion is, of course, nothing short of spectacular. Plush carpeting caresses my bare feetpaws. Silk drapes keep the real world at bay beyond the towering windows, helping to muffle traffic noise as well. Gold and silver, marble and granite gleam from every room. Enormous, vaulted ceilings make me feel even smaller.

I lose myself in the grandeur. None of Mr. Alpha's wealth on display is tacky or ostentatious. Every room, every furnishing shows his impeccable taste. It's like being held in a giant paw surrounded by a velvet glove. I can practically smell his lingering authority. His power.

I'm naked this whole time. Nothing on me but Mr. Alpha's collar. I'm never once too cold or too hot. Hell, my canine nose can't even detect any scents in the air other than the ghost of a cigar or Mr. Alpha's own lingering musk.

I feel lost in a dream. How could any of this be real? How could anyone be so wealthy, so powerful, so beautiful...and yet interested in me?

I have to make it up to him. I have to serve him with all of my being, and show my boss that I'm more of a 'yes man' than he ever thought possible.

Mr. Alpha takes his meal elsewhere, but when I find the kitchen, his chef fixes me up with a delicious sandwich and salad. My poor lust-addled brain fantasizes eating on all fours out of a bowl while Mr. Alpha's feet are propped up on my back as he reads his morning paper, smoking one of those cigars.

After lunch, the emails start. A notice of payroll termination comes in from HR. A letter from the bank telling me my accounts and assets have been seized. A notice of termination and liquidation from my apartment. He moves fast. And yes, he can pull those kinds of strings when he needs to. You have no idea what someone as rich and connected as Mr. Alpha can do when he really flexes his corporate muscles.

The last message is a text from Mr. Alpha himself:

You are mine now, Slave. Meet me in my play room in ten minutes. It's through the library.

7

I try to compose my naked self while standing in the middle of the library. I have two minutes and fifty seconds left before I'm late. There's no other doors in the library. Just the entrance in and a lovely little reading room adjacent, complete with a wall of glass to let in plenty of natural light. I'm trying not to panic.

Someone clears their throat from the doorway. I dive behind one of the red leather upholstered overstuffed reading couches to hide my nudity.

"Mr. Penn?"

It's Vince. Mr. Alpha's butler. I peek over the edge of the couch. He spots me and gets this gentle little smile.

"Trouble?" he prompts.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Alpha but I can't find the-"

Vince beckons to me. He crosses to the unlit marble fireplace that dominates the center of the south wall. Mr. Alpha's monograph is carved in gold leaf into the mantle. Vince presses it. The whole fireplace rotates on a hidden access, revealing a dark rectangle of space beyond. Vince gestures for me to enter with a slight bow.

I'm blushing under my little dachshund coat as I scamper into the secret passage, but Vince never bats an eye, as if having a naked little dog in a slave collar is perfectly normal around here.

I forget my embarrassment when the passage shuts behind me on silent hinges. I'm back in my shrine. Mr. Alpha's had it moved here overnight.

The shrine isn't laid out the same, of course. I assume it's to Mr. Alpha's specifications. I try not to imagine what the moving crew must have thought. My mind reels at the cost it must have taken to accomplish all of this.

As with everything my boss touches, the shrine is improved. This dark-paneled room includes several full length mirrors. Soft, intimate smart lighting borders the line of the floor so that the whole thing feels like a stage.

The room is a simple rectangle except for the L-bend at the entrance that hides the rest of the room from view. I turn the corner and gasp.

Mr. Alpha towers there, surrounded by my memorabilia of him. His huge back is to me, naked and oiled. Fuck, his whole BODY is oiled. He wears a black thong that's probably real silk, custom fit to his exact measurements. The telltale curls of a cigar drift upward about him. A half full crystal wine glass dangles from lazy fingers.

"You always were punctual, Penn."

Mr. Alpha turns to smirk down at me.

"Or should I say...Slave."

I stagger toward him. I can't speak. The hardness of my cock is torturous and painful. Mr. Alpha watches my approach as impassively as if I were an insect crawling along the floor. He sips his wine.

"I've never really known what to use this room for," he says. "It came with the house when I purchased it. Now," he sets the empty glass down beside the oil painting of himself, "I'd say it's complete."

"Master," I gush out, an impassioned whisper. I crash to my knees. "Master!"

Mr. Atlas walks forward, grabs the back of my head, and stuffs my face against his lewdly bulging thong. I immediately start to lick that bloated sheath through the silk fabric.

"How does it feel to wash the crotch of the most powerful man in the world?"

I give a wordless moan, almost a howl of rapture. Mr. Atlas blows a column of smoke down onto my head.

"I've always tried to hold my ego back," Mr. Atlas muses. "I've seen too many CEO's fail when their egos got the better of them. But you...hot little bitch...you want to see my ego, don't you. You want to see how I am when I let it loose. To play."

"Because you're better than me," I whisper. It comes without thinking. Mr. Atlas's crotch responds with enthusiasm.

I look up at him - at this enormous, towering, dark god of a Doberman with those perfectly formed tall ears and that long regal muzzle.

"You're better than everyone, Master. You're the richest, most powerful, most beautiful, manliest, buffest man in HISTORY. And I never want to work for anyone else!"

The more I talk, the harder we both get.

Mr. Atlas flexes his arm nice and slow. I can't hold back. I have to grab it. I have to smear my little pathetic paws all over it, then go down on it with my French-kissing mouth. Suckling at it over and over again, filling my mouth with the taste of a bicep as big as a motorcycle helmet.

I work my way down, grabbing his palm and kissing it. I fucking kiss his knuckles like he's a king. Which he is - my king. He puffs his cigar again. Exhales into my face. I squirm.

Mr. Atlas leans forward. I've never seen him look so predatory before. He points to the carpet at his feet. I bow to him like some ancient Egyptian slave to a phraroh - my face to his feet. My paws on the floor.

The burning ip of the cigar touches my ass. There is a hiss and a sharp bitter odor of burning fur. I yowl but hold my place. This is getting more messed up by the second and I never want it to stop.

"You never WILL work for anyone else, Slave. As of Monday morning, you won't legally exist."

He rolls his cigar deep up and down my ass crack like a fucking dildo. I'm a whining, pathetic mess. My head spins, I'm so horny.

"No more breaks, no more vacation days. No more pay," he rumbles.

I slowly raise my gaze up his massive muscular body to that beautiful torpedo of a snout. He's loving it as much as I am. So much so that his big bloated cock drools some corn syrup heavy pre down...right onto my muzzle.

He points at me.

"You don't get to lick that off until you worship me properly, slave."

"Yes, Master!"

My puny paws begin at his calves. Such glorious, heavy, huge stomping calves. Positively brutish and thick. I tell him so. Hell, I French kiss his damn knees. I want to worship every inch...every perfect inch of my boss.

I give myself over to it...to HIM. My boss...my master...my god. How many of you religious fucks can say you've smeared holy oil over the shaft of YOUR diety, huh?

I spend about three minutes on each of his fat manly tits. I'm not sure if Mr. Alpha pumps or if they're natural. I only know I haven't nursed anything this intently since I was a pup.

I have to stand on my tiptoes because of our difference in height. My Master does not help me. Just smirks, standing there, enjoying his cigar.

"Mmmm...that's a good little bitch. Daddy Boss loves it when you suckle him like a baby. I'm more important than your real family, anyway. Aren't I, slave."

"Yes, Master," are the only words I seem to remember how to say.

My paws smear oil across the expanse of his huge chest muscles like a window washer. Mr. Alpha presses them together so they smoosh and bloat out, even fatter. Even thicker. My paw escapes to rub up and down, up and down his bloated, fat, quivering abs. Mr. Alpha's belly is a distended curve of muscle, a gut of pure thick abdominals. It forms a sexy man paunch that devours his own belly button out of sight and overshadows his crotch.

Next come his lats. Mr. Alpha is kind enough to put his paws behind his head so I can worship them more fully. His movements are so well practiced, it dawns on me this can't be the first time he's done this. And why the fuck not? When you're as rich, gorgeous, and strong as Mr. Alpha? He's probably never NOT had other dogs subservient to him. Master watches me work the whole time. His gaze of approval makes my heart flutter like a virgin.

That just leaves his arms. Confession time - I adore a man with muscular arms. They're the first thing to draw my eye. And I don't care who the fuck you are, you have never....NEVER...seen arms like Mr. Alpha's.

His shoulders are one solid mass of permanently bulging triple deltoid heads, each one so thick that I had to oil them individually with BOTH PAWS. Seriously, I could slide my fingers in between them they were so freakishly deep!

Those curved like planets down to some triceps that swelled up from the back of his arms the way Olympus Mons swells up the surface of Mars. We're talking about triceps with horshoes you could lose your snout in up to your ears if he tensed them fully. And you bet your ass I did.

You don't see forearms like that outside of muscle morph fetish sites. Mr. Atlas could make a fist and curl his wrist to make them dance, roil, and seethe as they shredded into these big puffed up long tapered cylinders of flesh all connected under the skin.

When my paws clasp his last bicep - a bicep almost twice the size of ME - Mr. Alpha curls his whole arm suddenly inward. I'm crushed. Ground dachshund hamburger trapped between the bicep, shoulder, and pectoral of a snarling, hulking god.

"Beg me," he growls, flooding my face with cigar smoke.

"F...f...for what...m..Master?"

"For EVERYTHING!"

"Mr. Alpha...Master...please...oh god...pleaseplease let me SERVE you...forver as your slaaave. PLEASE!!! NGGGGHHH ARF! ARF! OH GOD!!! Your MUSCLES!!!!"

"Mmmmmm...squirt that pathetic load like the bitch you are."

He releases me at last. I just collapse, helpless, soaked in a mix of his oil and my own spunk. And it's soon joined by his. My boss unloads his bloated cock all over my body while the last of his cigar fades out.

8

Don't ask me to tell you how I ended up back in my old apartment. I can't tell you. If you've never been blissed out by a lover so hard it's like a hangover hours later, then you wouldn't understand anyway.

I open my eyes. I'm alone. I'm naked. I'm on my old trusty blue couch in a living room that should have been full of Doberman memorabilia. Instead it's bare. That's how I know I haven't been dreaming. I sit up and rub my eyes. I wonder if any coffee's been left for me. It turns out there is, as well as a tidy little breakfast in my otherwise empty fridge.

On the back of the front door I find my best suit, freshly dry cleaned, and a note from one of Mr. Alpha's lawyers:

'Wakey, wakey, you lucky SOB. Master wants you in the office at 9a.m. sharp.'

I don't have a watch, but if I push back the curtain above my kitchen sink, I can just make out the clock tower on the local bank. 8:33.

I scarf down the breakfast and don't bother to shower. Who knows if the water's still on? My car is in its usual spot in the garage, my keys untouched on their peg next to the garage door. The rest of the garage is empty. All of my possessions gone, just like that.

Holiday traffic is about as crazy as you might imagine. I know that our office is closed for the holidays. This isn't a real work day, of course. It's some little sex game that Mr. Alpha wants to play. I'm his slave, now. So I play along. I honk and curse the traffic with the best of them. But for the first time, it's kind of fun. All these other chumps, off to live their lives, and here I am, all of my life's decisions now made for me. All I have to do is obey.

I let myself through parking security with my employee pass. By the time I get to the elevator, it's just turning 9:01am.

I enter Master's office at 9:05. Mr. Alpha stares me down from behind his enormous desk, paws clasped together in front of him. His two pit bull lawyers in their matching suits stand at attention, paws behind their backs, flanking him like a royal guard.

"You are late."

I whimper.

"I'm sorry, Master."

Mr. Alpha slams a paw down onto his desk, as if in a rage, and points an accusing finger at me.

"No excuses, BITCH!"

I quiver. I've never been on the receiving end of a dressing-down by Mr. Alpha before. It's deliciously frightening. I'm already hardening up.

"Do you know what I do to wage slaves like you who don't do what they're told?" Mr. Alpha asks in a quiet, smooth voice.

"...mmmfff...."

One of his thick fingers, glittering with golden rings, points downward. I can see the shiny edge of his diamond-encrusted wristwatch.

I get on my knees. He bares fangs.

"You're a dog, slut. You belong on all fours."

I obey. I stare into the plush noiseless carpeting while Mr. Alpha snaps his fingers and his lawyers approach me. They strip me of my suit coat, my tie, my undershirt. One of them holds my arms while the other undoes my belt, yanks down my pants, and just tears my briefs away. I see him flash me a coy wink before they force march me up to Mr. Alpha.

Mr. Alpha grips my scruff with his fist. He lifts me slowly upward. He's not even standing. I weigh nothing next to the iron he usually pumps. God, he could fucking crush my bones. His magnetic eyes glare into mine.

"I've always wanted to do this," he whispers.

Then he pulls me against him. At first, I think he's going to kiss me but no, he starts to fucking stuff me inside of his suit coat. I realize he's naked beneath. Probably freeballing, too. Once I'm nothing but a writhing little bulge within his suit, he stands and heads for the conference room.

Over the next hour, while I'm busy losing my mind pressed to his massive physique, he casually has a mock business meeting with his two lawyers playing their parts expertly. Mr. Alpha occasionally forces my face against his nipple or between his pecs, letting me get drunk off of an alpha dog's scent.

When it's over, Mr. Alpha sits back in his seat at the head of the board room and props his huge bare feetpaws up across the desk. I watch from my cloth prison while his lawyers each pick a foot and start to kiss it. I blink.

"Well, my pets," Mr. Alpha murrs at them. "What do you think of my newest...acquisition?"

He pulls back the edge of his suit collar to reveal me.

"I think he'll serve you perfectly, Boss," the left pit bull chimes up.

"I concur with this assessment as well, Boss," echoes his twin on the right.

Mr. Alpha snaps his fingers again. They leave off worshiping his feet to come and kneel to either side of him, heads bowed to the floor. Mr. Alpha smiles and idly caresses over their heads as if they are prized purebreds. I dare to peek. I can see the hint of a leather collar hidden around the neck of one of them. Which means the other one has a match. Now I know where Mr. Alpha got his practice in.

"Go home, boys," Mr. Alpha commands.

He plucks me free of his suit at last to drop me onto the polished smart glass countertop. I watch his pet lawyers wordlessly leave, each sporting a massive tent in their dress pants and not daring to touch it.

Mr. Alpha clears his throat to get my attention, then smirks at me and jerks his head back toward his private desk.

I scamper toward it with my master strolling behind. I wonder if the security cameras are still running. Is Larry down in loss prevention going to be jacking off to what's about to happen when he gets back from the holidays?

A long legal document rests on Mr. Alpha's desk. I see my name mentioned in the next. Then I read the top line - Contract of Slavery.

"Read it," Mr. Alpha commands.

I obey while he fishes around for a fresh cigar. My eyes widen at the words passing before my eyes. The contract is...quite thorough. Among other things, it forbids me contact with any family without Master's permission. I'm not allowed friends, either.

He lets loose a ring of smoke that curls about my neck like a leash. I wish it was real. I tell him so.

"We'll see, slave," Master growls. "We'll just see. Now..."

He slips me his own pen.

"Sign."

My paws shake as I literally sign my life away. If the Devil were as hot as my boss, he might have better luck getting souls. I drop the pen with a whine. Mr. Alpha's huge paw covers mine. So warm, strong, reassuring. It squeezes. His other paw wraps around my neck. Just a claiming gesture.

I moan out.

"We'll see that filed in the company records after the break," Mr. Alpha murrs. "Now that you're officially my property, I want you to take off my pants."

I pull off his thousand dollar belt with the embossed silver buckle and the crocodile leather strap. His gigantic muscular thighs ripple like the legs of a dinosaur as he steps free of his pants, presses my puny face into the alpha scent of his big naked balls, and enjoys his cigar.

"Feel how small you are, slave. How weak. How worthless without me."

His words roll over me, searing my lust crazed brain like the fire at the end of his cigar. I writhe like a wild animal. My teeth chatter in my head. I can't speak. Except to say "Master."

He's rock hard, but you'd never know it. His control of himself is absolute. It's such a contrast to my whorish display of desire.

Mr. Alpha points to his chair.

"You will literally worship the place I sit."

I crawl on hands and knees between his hulk monster thighs, up onto that warm padding. It smells ever so faintly of his body. Enough for me to coo out and rub myself in it and kiss the material.

Something hard, huge, and curved suddenly presses me down until I can't even breathe. Mr. Alpha has just sat on me. I hear his thunderous chuckle from above.

"You like being nothing but a cushion, Slave?"

His little furry noodle of dachshund bitch heat manages to find his pucker and starts to lick it. As I do, I can hear the squish, squish, squish of his fist ramming up and down his shaft.

"Listen to your god, little pup. You know how filthy rich I am. How powerful I am. I want...more. So much more. This whole industry will be MINE. I won't stop until I personally own every shipping lane...every warehouse...every cent of stock. I will be a king of industry such as this world hasn't seen since the glory days of the 1920's. And you...Slave...are going to help me."

We cum together. My blissful howls drowned by his heavy bass. He leans forward just enough that I can crawl free, up the back of his seat. I risk a glance at his backside, still clothed in that glossy business coat.

The doberman's so damn WIDE you could stick a post it note in the middle of his back, he'd never get it off. I trace the knots of his back muscles, visible even through the clothes.

"Mmmmm...making the boss get off to your groveling," Mr. Alpha muses. "This will look very good on your next performance review."

9

Home is Mr. Alpha's mansion, now. I will never see my old condo again. Or any of my former belongings. Once, around my birthday next year, Mr. Alpha will have a small box of my most personal possessions brought to him - family photos, my university diploma, the award I won from a Seattle charity association where I used to volunteer on the weekends. Mr. Alpha will slowly crush and smash them all in front of me, while he has me tell him how none of it matters any more. How I don't matter. How I am nothing. I will lose my own will, my own fucking identity, to this superior man.

The sheets of his bed are so perfect and soft, the bed so huge. The mansion is part of a whole world of lavish properties and private work staff that my boss...my master...owns. And here I am, a little puppy, drowning in the middle of it.

Mr. Alpha's shadow falls over my quivering weak little body. I feel so small. I know what I want. I lift my tail and spread my trembling thighs.

There is a low delicious chuckle. I want this. I want this every day...twice a day...anywhere and everywhere. It didn't matter.

Mr. Alpha kisses up my back from the top of my ass, up all the way to my neck. A warm breath caresses me. He gives my neck a hungry lick.

"Please, fuck me, Master."

I can FEEL his grin. A hot, hard, slimy broadsword eclipses my puny, insignificant pucker. Forces it to stretch. I feel like I'm giving birth in reverse. I gasp. I do my best to stay relaxed, but my lefthand paw slaps over and over against the sheets while I gulp air like a goldfish.

My boss is in me. I can't really tell you how much, but it feels like my hips are coming off in the best possible way. Thanks to the special-order dildo I used to have as part of my little shrine, I can actually take this monster.

I can tell Mr. Alpha is amazed how deep he can go. He swears over and over under his breath. We're united by flesh, one creature with two heads and two mouths, writhing in the bed. It is the culmination of my life. Nothing will ever compare to this moment again. Nothing. NOTHING!

I SCREAM, shooting my cum, so loud and long my whole body shakes with it. My mouth is so open, my body tearing itself apart. Tears roll down my cheeks.

Huge naked arms enclose me.

Mr. Alpha fucks me again. He graciously keeps it slow and gentle, which only draws out his pleasure until at last...at last...his semen fills me. At last, I hear his groans of ecstasy. I am the cause. It's more than a mere mortal deserves. His huge paws are all over me, caressing every inch of his property. I feel like a sex toy. I never want it to end.

My boss fucks me whenever he has the slightest urge, day or night. We once make love against a table full of half eaten breakfast dishes in Paris, and in his private sauna in Istanbul. I never deny him anything. And the best part is that I know Mr. Alpha...Master...loves it just as much as I do.

This isn't marriage. It's better.