FSE

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Street lights whizzed past in a blur, dimmed by the tinted plastic of the helmet. The lithe jackal hugged tighter to the larger form that held the handlebars of the motorcycle in front of him. His eyes closed while he pressed the side of his face to the leather-clad back in front of himself, arms tightening around the sturdy midsection that helped anchor him on the bike as it tore through the streets. His barks and howls of enthusiasm were lost beneath the roar of the engine each time the wolf gunned the throttle coming out of a tight turn. The exhilaration and danger was offset by the feeling of total safety that came with the wolf's driving. The jackal knew that as long as he held on, he was safe.

The ride was over all too quickly as their destination loomed just around the corner. The jackal was still panting, eager for more as the bike decelerated and coasted into a space between a pair of parked cars outside of the club. The little canine couldn't help but giggle at the larger wolf's brazenness and the frustration of any parking attendant who happened upon the bike and attempted to impound it so firmly wedged between the two cars. He sat up and reached for the helmet as his driver killed the engine. His violet eyes glinted in the streetlights while he reached up to straighten his long ears back up atop his head and tidy the braid of brown hair that hung between his shoulder blades.

The lupine in front of him looked back once he had his own helmet off and hung from one of the handlebars. The jackal couldn't help but smile when those beautiful blue eyes met his own and those lips pulled back to flash the most brilliant smile the younger canine had ever seen.

"You need to change before we head in?"

The jackal laughed and pushed at the wolf's back with one paw, reaching around to hand him the helmet.

"Oh please. It's gonna take more than fancy cornering to make me piddle myself and you know it. C'mon. It's been one of those weeks."

The wolf's laugh was deep, reverberating. The jackal could feel it against his chest. That laugh always made him smile and this was no exception. He hoisted one leg over the back of the bike and dropped to the ground, straightening out the jacket and pants that were left disheveled by the wild ride while he waited for the wolf to remove his key from the ignition and pull himself from the motorcycle's seat.

"Ooo, you are such a pro dismounting that thing. I can't wait to see if you are just as good at mounting me later..."

***

I was waiting for him to wake back up. Acepromazine was so predictable; you could almost set an alarm clock to it. Which I did by the way. I was already up, bright eyed and bushy tailed by the time my little lion was groaning and clacking against his bindings. I decided to see if my little biker learned from his mistakes and lifted the Maglite while I pulled my Juliets down over my eyes. I waited for the grunts and groans to give way to the slightly more steady clatter of metal against metal while he once more tried to figure out where he was. I heard the blinking in his breathing, that pause after the deeper inhale my tell that he was about to start demanding answers from the darkness again.

So my eyes closed and I triggered the Maglite. And again, there was a roar and clatter of chain against steel. Only this time the volume seemed to be turned up more than a few notches as the pain of his freshly shorn claws hit his still drug addled brain while his paws balled into fists. I squinted one eye, then the other while he cussed and yelled and made all sorts of commotion. I do love Oakley. Those Juliets made it so much easier on my poor eyes to adapt to that bright beam of light that was centered on the lion's face.

He was still thrashing his head from side to side and jerking at his handcuffs by the time my eyes were ready to go, so I pushed the sunglasses off of my snout and up between my ears while I shifted the Maglite beneath my arm, freeing my paws to reach for the table again.

"Well good morning sunshine. Or, good night. You've gone and slept in. Damn lazy lions."

Despite the good natured smile on my face I knew he didn't appreciate my joke. His ears were cemented to his skull and his mane was standing on end. The malice was so thick it hung in the air around him like the stale scent of piss that came from his groin. A little side effect from the bit of fun I had with him earlier in the afternoon.

"I swear to god I am going to fucking kill you. You son of a bit...."

His little diatribe came to a screeching halt when he saw me picking up the nail trimmers again. Oh, the look on his face was priceless. That evil, angry lion mask dissolved into abstract horror in the span of a heartbeat. He was already struggling futilely against his bindings when I crouched down in front of him, the Maglite again held beneath my arm. His feet were much easier targets. Handcuffed directly to the legs of the chair, they didn't have much room to move and made it so much simpler for me to grab a hold of while he kicked and flailed. My head shook while I got a good hold of his right footpaw and secured my hold on his big toe.

"This would be so much easier if you just stopped wriggling, ya know?"

He blubbered something, the words lost in the welling sobs that came just before tears. I wanted to look up and see if he was actually crying, but I knew if he wasn't yet, he would be soon enough. With the same efficiency that I took with his paws, I lined the clippers up with the claw capping his big toe and squeezed the handles of the trimmers firmly. Again that roar of pain echoed through the room and the detached claw was sent twisting into the darkness outside of the Maglite's beam. Systematically the other nine claws followed suit with similar results.

When the last of those claws was dispatched and my lion was left completely declawed and oozing blood onto the floor I stood and turned back to the table. I knew that he was already straining to spot the needle and lighter in my paws when I turned back around, but I had other ideas in mind. Instead I held the Maglite in one paw and a Jennings gag in the other. The confusion on his face was priceless. His big, golden eyes were darting between the glinting steel and my face while I sauntered my way back over to stand in front of him. Wordlessly, I held the dental gag in front of his mouth and nodded for him to open up. I wasn't surprised when he pulled his head away with a snarl.

So I decided to help persuade him. The Maglite came up over my shoulder and back down in a quick arc to connect with the side of his jaw. That's why I love Maglites. The roar was almost as loud as when I was trimming his nails and it didn't even flicker. His head shook once or twice before pulling back and glaring at me with wild, feral eyes. Again I held the gag out in front of his face. This time he tried to take my paw off at the wrist. But I was waiting for that. I was honestly expecting him to bite the first time. Again the flashlight came down in a sweeping blow that briefly illuminated the warehouse behind him before it connected with his muzzle in a meaty thuck and twisted his head around and away from my paw.

This process repeated itself three or four more times until I connected with his skull just right and left him reeling, jaws agape. I pounced on the opportunity, shoving the metal between his formidable canines and giving two hard squeezes. His eyes just about bugged out of his head as his jaws were forced open wider than they likely had been in a very long time. I stood back and watched with a grin while his head shook and thrashed, that raspy tongue scraping and sliding across the slick steel in a fruitless attempt to push it free from its perch locked behind his canines. That's what I love about a Jennings gag. You don't need to futz with straps and buckles to keep it in place. Just get it behind the big teeth and deploy, it keeps itself in place.

I left my kitty to shake and curse about as well as he could with his muzzle forced wide open. He was too engrossed in trying to rid himself of the gag to notice that I was focusing my flashlight on the bolt cutters on the table. That is, until I stepped back into his immediate field of vision with them. He seemed to notice what was in my paws right about the time I was securing the Maglite beneath my arm again. And those eyes went wide again. His head thrashed frantically from side to side while I consolidated my grip on the pair of handles and brought the business end up to his face.

"Stop your thrashing. You're going to make me slice off your tongue or something if you keep that up."

I waited with the bolt cutters in front of his face for him to heed my warning, but the stubborn bastard just kept on flailing his head and jerking at his bindings. So, I did what any caring orthodontist would do with an uncooperative patient. I cracked him upside the head with the bolt cutters. I didn't aim for his muzzle this time, instead going right for that softer target just behind his eye where his socket and skull merge. It was enough to make him see stars since his struggles stopped instantly, eyes rolling back in his head while his skull lolled against his shoulder in a daze. I didn't want to push my luck in being able to get that spot again while he was focused, so I made my move.

The bolt cutters twisted and pushed between his open jaws. I centered the blades on his right canine and pushed it right up against the gums, as far as those other teeth would let me. And once I was in place, my arms squeezed together and I leaned into it. I thought he raised a ruckus when I declawed him? It was nothing compared to the sounds that came out of his stretched muzzle when those bolt cutters clicked together and bounced his canine off of his lower jaw. I leaned back and let him thrash, those yowls and roars diffused by the metal bars holding his jaw apart. I took a grim satisfaction in the small fountains of blood that were pouring from where one of those big teeth once were that pooled in his muzzle and drained down over his chin and out from the corner of his muzzle.

Thankfully, the dumb brute had a bit of a self preservation instinct so his head pitched forward when his first breath was bogged down by the blood that pooled in the back of his throat. This made it all the easier for me to have the bolt cutters waiting and poise them around the second canine while he tried to get a lungful of air not saturated with his own blood. A second squeeze, a second click and a second roar of anguish. I lost track of the second tooth as it twirled off into the darkness, my attention focused on the lion while his spine went rigid and his body bowed against the chair.

It was just a matter of anticipating where his head was going to go next while he struggled to decide whether breathing or avoiding my bolt clippers was more important. Breathing always won out, so it wasn't too long before the first lower canine joined its upper cousins on the floor, then the second. When I snipped his last tooth, ooooh dang. You would have sworn I just snipped his bits clean off, what with the racket he made. The thrashing was fast losing its fight after the last canine was removed from his muzzle, my lion twisting his head quickly while he slumped against the chair. It was obvious shock was starting to set in again while his eyes rolled back in his head, so I stood back up and set the bolt cutters back down on the table in favor of the syringe already loaded with acepromazine that was sitting right next to it.

He didn't even see me coming while I meandered beside him and crouched down. Not a flinch or a whimper when the needle again jabbed deep into his muscular ass and the plunger pushed downwards to deposit the drug deep in his behind to be carried to his pain-addled brain. It did take a little longer that time. He was still jerking against the handcuffs and slobbering incoherently around the gag with rolling eyes and head while I set the hypodermic back down on the table. But the drugs did their job and his eyes gradually sunk closed while I focused the beam from my Maglite on his face. I knew he was going down hard this time since they didn't so much as dilate before they finally closed and his head slumped forwards to his chest.

So, I clicked off my flashlight and crossed the room to turn the lights back on, taking a quick look around the abandoned warehouse while I sauntered back over and made sure that his chin was firmly against his chest so that the blood draining out of his muzzle ran down his front rather than down his throat and prematurely ended my fun. I unhinged the gag and pulled it free, tossing it on the table and picking up the bottle of ferric subsulfate. I poured a healthy amount of the styptic into the cap before I grabbed a hold of his muzzle and lifted his head. It took more than a few applications of the dark gray powder to each of those canines before the bleeding oozed to a stop, so the dumb bastard should be happy I knocked him out before I did. No doubt he's going to feel it as soon as he wakes up though. I did the same with his toes and shook the rest of the powder into the bottle before screwing it closed and setting the alarm on my watch for his next arousal. It was taco time for me.