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The Dining Club

A Yot 'Verse Story

By Ziegenbock

When Mal woke up, his head was pounding, and his throat was dry and scratchier than a cactus. The weasel yawned and opened his eyes. He forced his aching limbs to move, slowly as he dared. At that moment, he was sprawled on his back, and so the first task was to roll around and take stock of his surroundings. The heat in this space was oppressive, the thin walls offering little protection from the sun's rays outside. The sun must have risen long ago, because the heat had already risen to stifling levels. His own body heat didn't help. Neither did the heat radiating from the rough-furred animal sprawled out beside him. Couldn't the cur install a fan or something? What was worse, the whole room stank of coyote. Mal had grown used to that sweet, dusty male musk. He would recognise it anywhere. And the air was thick with it. The weasel inhaled, taking in the musk that clung to the canine's fur and was strongest under the tail. But there was a sweeter, liquid, male scent that cut through it all. Mal turned to look at the other animal, and grumbled.

"Fuckin' hell, Yot, how can you still have a boner? You fucked me, what, three times last night?"

The coyote mumbled something incoherent, finishing with a yipping yotie-laugh and a few bucks of the hips. Occasionally, the animal's erection would rub on the mattress where he lay. A thick string of clear fluid connected the canine's tip to his bed, glistening almost in defiance at the heat and the dryness. Mal realised he was staring, and shook his head.

"Whatever, I'm getting a drink."

Yot wouldn't be happy he'd tapped into the rations by himself, again. Indeed, there was some sort of grumble from the slumbering 'yote. But damnit if this wasn't an emergency. The weasel cracked open a bottle of cola, sipped what he thought to be a reasonable amount, then gulped down the same amount again. Even if the cola were warm, it was still refreshing, and the bubbles and the caffeine never failed to put a twitch in his balding tail. Lowering the bottle, he let out a long, resonant belch, and snapped the bottle-cap back onto his cola. Drink in paw, he shuffled through the den, trying to ignore the lingering ache of his tailhole. In his mind, he began to run through a list of tasks for the day: repair the roof, sharpen their knives, get ready for their outing tonight, that sort of thing. But the more he thought about it, the less appealing any of those sounded, and the more his head hurt. Ah whatever, he needed more rest.

"Mmm, back so soon?"

The half-sleeping coyote smirked from his sprawled position on the bed. The animal was staring at him, yellow eyes gleaming in the half-light. Crafty, scheming. Mal felt his fur prickle.

"Yeah, my head canes. Why do you care anyway?"

Another dirty snicker. "You can't get enough of me, can you?"

"Fuck you."

"That's why you come sneaking back to me, with your little needle of a prick all hard and begging for attention."

"I said fuck you!"

"Hey. Mal."

"What?"

"Suck a dog off."

Scoff. "Why don't you suck yourself? I know you can."

"And have my best friend miss out on the fun? Nah."

"Besides, I thought you'd be saving up for Dining Club. And whatever scrap of tail you stuff afterwards."

"I can recharge before then."

Mal was quite familiar with the dog's rapid reloads. He found it quite appealing, truth be told. And after all the ruts last night, the thickness of that proud coyote erection that morning proved that the animal wasn't bluffing.

Within seconds, that erection was a whisker away from the weasel's nose, twitching in time to the coyote's steady heartbeat. The scent of the thick, veined, dripping dog cock was indescribable, and Mal found his own excitement slipping further from his sheath. However, as much as he'd have loved to wrap his paw around himself and stroke away, he knew how things worked in their little team. Yot was the top dog. Yot needed servicing. And Mal was only too happy to oblige. He licked his lips, opened his maw wide to keep his needle-like teeth clear, and went down on the coyote. The bigger animal did nothing to disguise his vocalisations, which were halfway between growls and elongated barks. And Mal took sneering delight that it was him bringing the coyote such clear audible pleasure. Even in the short time since their first encounter, the weasel had become quite familiar with this animal: the contours of each inch of his endowment, where to rest his paws, the right places to lick that made the coyote gasp and murr just so. Mal worked away, trailing his tongue in long licks up and down the canine cock, glancing his tongue-tip over the thick head, losing himself in the scent and the taste of the animal, lapping up the precum which flowed liberally from the animal's tip. His paws, meanwhile, moved lower, rubbing the inside of the coyote's thigh, feeling the tension and the quiver of the muscle beneath. Yot was a runner, a chaser and a hunter, and for Mal, it was a privilege to behold this animal, both from afar, and up this close. However, there was another prize nearby. One little paw moved in, firm and deliberate, until it cupped the coyote's balls.

Twitch. Glp.

Mal had to pull off the coyote's cock and utter a gasp, before he glanced down and looked at what he was working with. The coyote's balls rested in a pouch covered in short brown fur, with a thick trail of darker fur running between them. Mal rolled the animal's pouch in his light but firm grip. Then, he brushed that thick dark trail of fur. His rubs were light, soft as he could manage, and still he felt a light quiver across the coyote's body. The growls had stopped, replaced with steady deep breaths and the occasional huff. And as the weasel teased his compadre, the balls in his grasp rose up tight to the coyote's body. The coyote was close. The animal's cock stood before his eyes, thick and exceptionally hard. With his free paw, Mal gripped its base, and stroked its full length. Meanwhile, the paw on those balls crept backwards, behind the 'yote's scrotum, where he pressed nice and firm into the animal's base. At this point, Yot would sometimes pull up or back or away, to keep himself poised on that canyon edge. That day however, he grinded, pleasuring himself on the weasel's paw. Guess he really did want to spill. And so Mal quickened his strokes. The coyote arched his back, twitched his brushy tail, and began to growl again. Those growls very quickly built in intensity, rising to a snarl, until at long last the coyote erupted with an untamed yowl, a twitch of his hard cock, and Mal found a paw behind his head driving his muzzle downwards before that first buck and bark and twitch combination, and a shot of animal cum hit his cheek. Mal twisted in quickly, manoeuvring into position and opening his maw before the coyote barked and grunted, haunches bucking up, and the weasel's drooling maw filled rapidly with canine semen. The prairie wolf must have needed a drink too, considering how thick and cloying and concentrated his cumshot was. Yet he still had plenty to give, and Mal had to swallow a mouthful of combined weasel drool and canine cum to make room for more. He worked his paws too, teasing the coyote's base and balls and taint, coaxing out every last one of Yot's liquid puppies, ready for the horny 'yote to recharge from zero.

With his growls simmering down, the coyote settled into his bedding. He took some deep breaths, chest rising and falling, musk now glistening on his genitals. As for the weasel, his face was a mess, with cum covering his muzzle and dripping down his chin. That damn animal's musk was all over him, and he loved it. He licked his face, cleaning up as much of the warm viscous dog semen that he could, before he leaned forward with paws on Yot's chest. The coyote glanced sideways, his topmost eyebrow and ear perked. Mal's toothy maw was open. He showed his tongue, which was cupped to contain a generous load of coyote cum. The weasel murred, and made a show of swallowing his mouthful. Yot broke into a sly grin, just enough to show one upper canine tooth.

"How do I taste?"

Mal sniggered, and pressed his maw to the coyote's own. They locked muzzles, and Yot took hold of the weasel, rolling him onto the bed beneath him as their tongues rolled together, the coyote's broad canine tongue easily engulfing and overwhelming the little weasel. Yot even had enough vigour to hump the slender weasel, a move which made the mustelid chortle. Mal broke the kiss and laughed.

"Come along, you crazy mutt, once is enough."

He gave the coyote a playful push - he couldn't really overpower the canine, even if he tried. The coyote smirked, but relented, stilling his bucks and slipping away.

"For now. Oh, and by the way, no more coke for you until Dining Club. Yeah, I tasted it. Even with all that salty dog-cum."

Mal perched on the edge of the bed. "Aw, but what if I'm thirsty?"

"Then get some water. You know that coke dehydrates you."

The weasel twitched his head into a tilt. "What are you talking about? It's water."

"It's also caffeine, and sugar, and that stuff dehydrates you. So go get some actual water."

Mal muttered to himself.

"Or, if you'd rather stay here..." Yot cocked his leg, showing off the half-hardness of his erection. "I've got some liquid refreshment for you. Straight from the tap, too."

"Gah! No way. Your piss is always really strong in the mornings."

Yot opened his maw in mock-amazement. "Well, so much for helping me out."

"I've helped you out enough already. Go cock your leg up a wall or something."

The weasel slunk off to boil some water. Yot suppressed a whimper of need, but then shrugged and rested his head again. He'd mark the weasel another time.

*

"Ah, nothing like an early evening stroll through the wastes."

The weasel glanced sideways and up to the coyote. "You seem in particularly good spirits."

"What can I say? I've been waiting for Dining Club all week. Who knows what sort of riffraff we'll be brushing fur with?"

"Well, it is always a delightful evening out," Mal responded, before scratching the bald patch on his face, one of many across his body.

"Okay Mal, if you're gonna do that all night, you are not tailing me."

"What? I wanna make sure I look my best, given my particular... fur pattern."

"Your 'pattern', as you put it, ain't getting any better. It is what it is."

"Then what's the problem with me grooming it? Besides, furs understand. This way of life has driven us all a little crazy."

"Yeah, and they still don't like weasel fur in their food."

"Prudes. Anyway, it's free protein."

"Ugh, not what I want to think about when I hear 'protein'. Especially when I've worked up an appetite."

"Yeah..." the weasel snickered. "I hear that belly of yours, rumbling away. Gonna fill it with some nice tasty meat, I bet. Mutton, duck, venison, dog..."

"Mmm... I'm drooling just thinkin' about it all."

"Well no wonder, you haven't eaten since breakfast."

"You know I like to save room. Grab two meals, three if I'm particularly ravenous, then finish up with a dessert."

"I still don't know where you pack it away, Yot."

"I burn it off when I hunt and I rut."

"Hm, makes sense. So what are you hoping to get?"

"Oh I could sink my teeth into a really sloppy burrito. Shredded meat, smothered in spicy sauce, all wrapped up with a great big tortilla. What about you?"

"I'm hoping the kebab stand is back. Oh, just thinking about those rats on skewers, and that lovely thick honey barbecue sauce. Can't wait to rip the meat from them, listen to the crackle of those little bones..."

Mal's grin was wide and crooked, and he mimicked how he would tackle the skewered rodents. The drool was perhaps a little excessive, but Yot let it slide. The coyote was hungry enough himself. Not to worry though. They'd soon be at the Club.

The road ahead was broad and cracked and strewn with debris, bricks and wood and glass from the warehouses and factories flanking either side. Plastic and paper and dead leaves swirled and rustled in little eddies of air. The streets were seldom swept before the Twilight, and they certainly weren't now. Stones and glass shards crunched under the coyote's boots, while the bare-footed weasel took extra care with his steps.

They were still a few minutes away when they heard the music. This was the biggest event in the district, after all. On most journeys, any animals they encountered soon made themselves scarce. Most probably didn't fancy their chances against a couple of bandit-looking types. Now however, animals were out in the open, and any tension in the air was gone. In fact, with a few animals emerging from the side streets, swarming to the Dining Club like flies to shit, the mood was rather festive. Yot led the way, with a stride in his step, turning off the main road and onto a narrow side street, with an old brick warehouse on one side, an urban garden on the other, and a high railway arch up ahead. The music was unmistakable now, as was the chatter of furs, who milled around the street greeting one another or waiting for admission or simply soaking up the atmosphere. The coyote grinned. Here, he and his weaselly companion could have been anyone. Tonight, they were part of the crowd, diners and revellers like the dozens around them, anonymous, blending in and hiding in plain sight.

What quarry would stumble into his claws that night?

Bouncers roamed the street outside, three or four of them. The gig tended to attract heavy types, Staffies and Rottweilers and the like. However, these dogs were discreet and blending in, as they should be. Security works best in the shadows, letting furs have a good time, stepping in only when needed. The only distinguishing feature was the silver badge on their jackets, depicting a horned dog with a bone in its maw. Added some legitimacy when they turfed some drunkard out on his tail. Yot kept alert, looking for one dog alone. Where was that puppy?

The road disappeared under one of the railway arches. The others were infilled and hosted warehouses and the like. A couple of arches down, a small group had gathered, waiting to enter a door. The coyote and the weasel headed for the crowd, and mingled in the line. A sand-rat caught the coyote's eye and looked away again. The coyote smirked: prey. For the most part, though, no animals paid them a huge amount of heed. Rough and scrappy was the default look for beasts of the wastes. And the patrons of Dining Club embraced it more than any others. So it was nice to just blend in for a change.

The evening was early and the animals entered promptly. And when Yot saw who was on guard duty, his smirk grew that little bit wider.

"Stuck on doors again, Ollie?"

The young Rottweiler blinked on hearing his name, snapping out of his 'guard dog' mindset and staring into the sharp yellow eyes of the coyote, which gleamed with their customary cunning.

"Oh hey, Yot," the rottie responded in an easy New Zealand accent. "Yeah, I'm out here again, but only for the first couple hours. Then I'm roaming until we close. So it's not so bad."

"Well, good. When they let the guard dog go on patrol... come and track a bandit down."

Yot slipped his paw into the Rottweiler's crotch, getting a good feel of some weighty dog balls through those tailored trousers. As the coyote pulled his paw away, he traced it upwards, feeling the outline of the Rottweiler's thick sheath. Yot stared at the rottie, and grinned. He knew when a dog was swelling.

Ollie stared into those deep yellow coyote eyes. And when the coyote leaned in with a rustling growl, touched noses with the rottie, lick-licked the side of his maw, and nipped with a tooth, Ollie had no choice but to open his maw and let the coyote snake his long powerful tongue into his muzzle.

Yot stepped in close, smothering the rottweiler's short muzzle. They only locked maws for a few seconds, but in that time, the coyote locked his paw to the dog's crotch. There were four very definite twitches under-paw, and the rottie slipped free into his uniform trousers.

Ollie gasped, and Yot broke away from the kiss. He finished with a lick to the heavy dog's nose.

"Yeah... good puppy. Good, obedient puppy. Does exactly what the bigger dog tells him."

The coyote's grind was firm, brief, but more than enough to remind the rottie who the bigger dog was. Ollie whimpered... so soft, and he caught it before anyone noticed. Anyone, that was, except for the smirking coyote right in front of him.

"Okay, that's about as much as we can get away with. While you're on the clock, at least."

"Um... yeah."

"Oh wow, you're actually blushing."

"Re...really?"

"You want another night with me."

"I..." the rottie pressed a fist to his maw and swallowed. "I wouldn't exactly say no."

"Thought so. Good dog."

The coyote left the rottie standing. His sensitive ears caught the rapid fwip-fwip-fwip of the rottie's short tail against the wall. What a big cutie.

The club occupied the space under three railway arches. This first arch, furthest to the right, was a quieter space... though 'quiet' was a relative term. The loud lively chatter, the echo of the high-arched brick ceiling, not to mention the pump of the bass from the neighbouring arch, all combined to make this a lively atmosphere. Yot was in half a mind to grab a drink first. But then his stomach rumbled, and he stuck with the original plan. Mal meanwhile followed without question, wherever the 'yote wanted.

The scent of alcohol mingled with the scent of food, before the pair had even left the archway. And when they stepped outside, into the midst of that scent... Yot somehow held back from growling, but his stomach most certainly did not. Steam carried across the closed-in courtyard, carrying with it the scent of meat, sizzling and frying and ever so delicious, the smoke of charcoal fires adding to the ambience. Around the courtyard were half-a-dozen food stands, each with a few furs clustered around, either ordering, or waiting for their food to be cooked fresh.

"Oh look, Yot, the burrito place IS back!"

The coyote snapped his muzzle around, and when he caught sight of the stand, a hungry grin rose on his maw, enough to bear teeth.

"Nice. I missed them on our last couple visits. Maybe I'll go there for my second course. 'Cause I've got my eye on that burger stand. Looks like they've brought back the boar burgers."

"Heh, bone appetite, big dog. I'm gonna get me some rats."

The weasel slithered into the throng. Soon he was lost to sight among the taller furs, predators and prey alike. So Yot strode through the animals, most of whom had the sense to step aside from the focused yellow-eyed dog. But when he reached the counter, he was all grin. Not least because of what he saw... and scented. The boar was on a spit, simmering low over glowing white coals, its skin crackled and roasted to perfection.

Yot placed his order. The mongrel behind the stand took a bread roll, big and crusty. He sliced it in half, and laid both halves on a platter. Next, he carved off some boar-meat. He must have thought he served up a good portion, because he had to be told twice that, yes, the coyote really did want more. Eventually the mongrel shrugged and kept carving. Once on the customer's plate, it was their choice to eat it or not. He got paid for the extra portion, either way.

"Salad?" asked the mongrel next.

"Yes, the lot."

That got a raised eyebrow. But the mongrel heaped on the leaves regardless. Fresh greens were a rarity, and Yot, ever the opportunistic omnivore, wasn't going to pass up the opportunity for more vitamins. The vendors probably grew the salad themselves, invested in some hydroponics or something. Pricey stuff, but this was business, and that was an investment. Banknotes swapped and burger smothered in sauce, Yot found a quiet-ish corner, and took his first bite. He murred, closing his eyes, savouring the delicious meat. His tail was wagging, and he didn't care. He wolfed the burger down, tearing off great bites, eating with his maw open, and covering his paws and whiskers in mustard and hot sauce. Animals who made food their trade could afford to cook things through, and they made food in sufficient quantities to justify it. Creatures like Yot had to scratch their meals together, and sometimes even eat meat raw. So a hot meal was a real treat. Especially one cooked so perfectly: the boar skin crunching, the meat just melting in the maw, and every subtle note of the fresh spices filling the coyote's sensitive nose.

With meal number one finished and the plate discarded, the coyote licked his claws and uttered a sharp belch - in appreciation, of course. Besides, only a few animals nearby could hear over the chatter and the music - though it sounded like they appreciated it too, with one animal chuckling and another replying, "Nice!" Yot thanked his audience, then cut through the animals back to the bar. Time for something to wash that boar down.

The music changed as Yot walked inside.

White knuckles,

And sweaty palms from hanging on too tight...

Yot perked his triangular ears, taking in the atmosphere. Furs, of all shapes and sizes, enjoying the food and drink and music and company and just living their lives. Was there any better sound? Well, there were several candidates. Making new lives was a strong contender. But the buzz of Dining Club was definitely a favourite.

And to make things even better... look who had scored a gig here!

Tie a knot in the rope,

Trying to hold, trying to hold,

But there's nothing to grab,

So I let go...

Yot closed in and leaned across the bar.

"So how are our puppies?"

The collie almost dropped the glass and rag she was holding. She whirled around, and on seeing the coyote, her snarl rose.

"And while you're deciding which obscenity to scream first... whiskey and coke."

He took a banknote from his jeans and held it between two claws, fixing the collie with a narrow yellow-eyed stare.

Just when it can't get worse,

I've had a shit day...

Thankful that the coyote had given her a break, she set the glass and rag aside, grabbed a clean glass from above the bar, turned to the spirits, and reached for a whiskey bottle.

"So... our puppies."

She clinked some ice cubes into the glass, and poured the whiskey, back to the coyote, without a word.

"They caught, didn't they? And now you're here, mixing drinks to provide for the little whelps. Not a bad gig, all told."

Blow me one last kiss...

"I'm warning you, mutt, shut up before I spit in yer glass."

"Oh, what's a little DNA between lovers?"

She span on the spot and faced the coyote again, glass tight in paw and hackles raised.

"Lovers? Oh, you were no lover, you... you..."

I won't miss

All of the fighting that we always did...

One or two other patrons had tilted ears towards them. The coyote leaned in, calm, in control.

"Think very carefully before you accuse me. You've got a stable job here. And believe me, you don't want to develop a reputation. The pups ain't here, are they? Nobody knows, do they, 'cept maybe your boss, yeah? Yeah. So for your sake, let's keep things cool. Oh, and relax your grip. Broken glass and bandages come out of your wages, yep?"

No more sick, whiskey dick

No more battles from me

You'll be callin' a trick

'Cause you no longer sleep...

The collie snarled, but backed down and returned to mixing Yot's drink. The other patrons turned away. Just two more dogs with a little history.

When the drink was ready, she set it before Yot, and swiped the bill from the coyote's claws.

"There's your drink, now fuck off."

"Cheers. Oh, and if you fancy another rut, come sniff me out. I know it's on your mind. I can smell it, even with all the alcohol around. Anger, regret, a little hint of fear, and the tiniest drop of arousal, soaking into your underwear."

She gave the slightest of squirms. The coyote smirked and tapped his muzzle.

"Lucky guess, or a fuckin' sharp nose. See you around, mama."

I think that life's too short for this,

Want back my ignorance and bliss,

I think I've had enough of this,

Blow me one last kiss.

The drink was gone in a few gulps. Yot handed the glass to a passing jackrabbit waiter, with such confidence that the young animal had no choice but to take it. Right then, time for meal two.

This time, Yot did go for a burrito, which he demolished with as much gusto as his burger. He ripped off great bites of the meal, savouring the juiciness of the meat within and the drip of Chipotle sauce over his muzzle-fur and paws. He bit in from the side, chewing with his muzzle open, huffing and licking his lips like some starved pup. As opposed to a coyote devouring a second meal, while the taste of the first still lingered on his maw. He had just finished up a waffle drenched in whipped cream and carob sauce (no chocolate for a dog!), and he was just wandering around to see if he could find Mal, when he saw an altogether different animal. Ollie had left the front doors, and was heading towards a door marked 'Staff Only'. Yot stalked his way through the crowds, silent and unseen, yellow eyes locked on the guard dog.

"So much for tracking me down."

The rottweiler jumped in surprise. He turned to the coyote, who leant sideways on the wall, grinning.

"Oh." The rottie caught his breath. "Hey Yot."

"Busy shift?"

"Yeah... yeah it's been mental tonight. A couple of raccoons tried to start a fight out front. Honestly, I don't care who stole what from whose junkyard. You don't bring your beef here."

"Heh, them patrons keep you busy. And that's good, right? Better than standing around bored all night."

"Oh definitely, but... whew... dear me I need a break."

"You sound like you need a break."

"Oh yeah."

"Would a big dog like some company while he unwinds?"

Ollie smiled. "Thanks for the offer. But I really need to go somewhere private."

"That's what I meant. Somewhere private, just the two of us."

"Oh, um..." the Rottie stuttered. "I-I wanna take a few minutes by myself..."

"Don't lie to me, Oliver. That's what bad dogs do." They coyote moved away from the wall, and closed in. "I know you want more time with me. You've been wanting that for a long while. And now's your chance."

Yot scritched Ollie's chin. The rottie chuckled and moved the paw away. "I see what your game is. You're trying to twist my paw. Dangle something before my eyes, make it hard for me to say no..."

Yot grinned at the rottweiler's easy accent, showing sharp coyote-teeth. "Oh I can dangle a few lures alright. You were rather fond of them last time. And what can I say? I've got a reputation to uphold. Ol' Man Cóyotl's got a lot to answer for."

"Oh that's the truth. Alright then, follow me. But if my boss sees you, you vamoose."

"If I physically can. I may have a solid, thick reason to stay around."

The rottweiler chucked again, not helped by the coyote stealing a feel of his butt. Ollie batted the paw away.

"Not gonna happen. Now quickly, before someone sees you."

Silent K, rottie, the coyote thought to himself. He chuckled, and followed Oliver through the doorway. Behind them, the door swung shut, cutting out most noise from the club, but by no means all. The canines went through a small maze of narrow corridors lined with wooden panelling, which created some haphazard partitions. The burly rottie squeezed between two such panels, nudging the panels in the process. Yot slipped through easily, and stepped into a cosy little space. It was a rudimentary staff-room, with tattered sofas arranged in a half-square, the kind you'd never keep in your house, but in a communal space like this, you could excuse the wear and tear. Especially when they looked so soft. A fridge buzzed in a corner, and the rottie took out a jug of water.

"Drink?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Not in the mood for water, if you get me."

"Well if you're hoping I'll offer something stronger, I can't I'm afraid. You're lucky to even be here."

The coyote studied the posters and stickers on the walls, souvenirs from past live acts at the Dining Club. "That's fine with me. See, my life just seems to be a series of lucky coincidences."

"Heh. Tricksy dogs," the rottie chuckled, shaking his head, while grabbing a glass and pouring himself some water.

"You could say that. But the thing is," Yot continued, stalking in closer to the rottie, "you can make your own luck. Better that than standing around, waiting for a miracle."

While Ollie was distracted, the coyote sneaked close, pressed in, and bucked, bucked, knocking the stocky dog forwards half-a-step.

"Though sometimes a puppy gets lucky anyway."

"Hey hey, careful you horny mutt," the rottie chuckled. "You'll make me spill my drink."

"Better finish it quick, then."

The rottie did so, gulping down his water, and setting the glass aside. Good, the boy's starting to see sense. The coyote was still at his back, of course. Hard, as well.

"You feel that?"

"Mhm." Through three layers of clothing, no less.

"You want it again?"

The rottweiler swallowed. "We shouldn't be... doing... this..."

Yot brought his paw around to Ollie's crotch, feeling the swell of the rottweiler's nub.

"Well what then? Is the guard dog going to lay down the law? Trot out some arbitrary and meaningless rules dictating what two adult dogs can and can't do?"

Nimble, practised paws teased the stocky dog, stroking his thick sheath and his soft pouch.

"Or will he relax and enjoy his break?"

The rottweiler was getting hard, and quickly at that. He glanced at the gap between the wooden panels. Ollie stayed quiet, thinking. Yot "assisted" his decision-making by tugging on the rottweiler's sheath, through the guard dog's uniform trousers, slipping the dog's sensitive shaft from the sheath to rub in the soft confines of his underwear. Ollie relented with a sigh.

"Fuck, coyote, you are unbelievable. Alright then. But as long as you're quiet."

Yot rubbed the dog's soft ear. "Good boy."

First however, Ollie pulled away. He went to the gap and pulled one of the wooden panels across, concealing himself in this space with the coyote. Yot kept quiet: after all, it put the rottie's mind at rest, and it brought Yot one step closer to claiming that rottie rump.

The two dogs met in the middle, low murring rumbles idling in their throats. A meeting of eyes, brown rottweiler and glinting yellow coyote, then a pressing of paws on bodies. Ollie had plenty of that famous rottweiler strength, and it actually took Yot some effort to match the guard dog. At least the rottie realised his own strength this time. Yot grunted, enjoying some burly resistance for a change. He ran his paws over Ollie's chest, feeling the strength of the animal underneath that shirt. They locked eyes, and Ollie gave a cute little smile. Still a bit shy, still adorable. The two canines touched noses, and shared a little kiss, before the coyote held the rottweiler's strong chin, tilted it a little, and locked it together with his own. Yot pressed forward with his muzzle, licking with his tongue, while Ollie took the coyote into a light embrace. Now the dogs huffed, growled, nice and gentle. They teased each other with their long broad dog-tongues. And this close, it was impossible for Ollie to ignore the coyote's erection, rubbing and pressing against his own. He ground strong against Yot and the desert dog bucked, reminding Ollie that he was one patron he couldn't just overpower. Yot slipped his paw between their bodies, fondling the rottie once more before loosening the guard dog's belt. Ollie lowered his own broad paw to intercept and the coyote nipped his prominent jowl, holding it between teeth. The rottie froze with a little yip, eyes widened. The coyote growled gently, while the two dogs shared trickles of breath and drool.

"Easy, big dog," whispered Yot, opening the rottie's belt all the way before working on the trouser buttons. "The trousers come off."

He released his bite. With the clack of the belt buckle, Yot worked the rottweiler's trousers and boxers down, halfway down the stocky dog's thighs. He stroked the rottweiler, fondling that heavy pouch before pressing his paw behind it, feeling for that unswollen rottie-knot. The big burly dog was huffing now, his arousal almost fully emerged. Yot stepped away, staring into Ollie's brown eyes, waiting. The rottweiler dropped down and unlaced his boots, before taking off his trousers and underwear, standing before the coyote panting and bottomless. Ollie dropped his jacket onto the sofa, and was reaching for his top shirt button when Yot stepped forward and guided the rottie's paw away.

"I hope you're not going to... ohhh..."

He never finished that sentence, because the coyote's paws were on his back once more, teasing the overworked muscles under his shirt. Tactile coyote paw pads pressed in, rubbing and kneading.

"Strong dog," Ollie huffed, feeling the caress of those coyote paw-pads. Those paws slipped free, before the coyote unfastened each of the rottie's shirt buttons in turn. Yot slipped the shirt off the rottie's broad shoulders, and tossed it to the sofa, next to Ollie's jacket. He moved in close, rubbing the pup's muzzle, before touching wet noses, the two dogs uttering soft huffs and growls. Then, the coyote circled the rottweiler, admiring the powerful and naked dog. Yot roamed with his paws, feeling the solid muscle of rottie stomach and rottie chest, interspersing his strokes with the occasional claw-comb through trim black-and-tan fur.

Then Ollie's breath caught. He glanced down, for the briefest of moments.

Oh, you thought I didn't notice that glance? I noticed.

The coyote growled low, his erection rubbing haphazardly on the rottweiler, through those ragged jeans. If Ollie had any concerns about that, his wagging tail told a different story. He let the coyote trail his paws lower, even though he must have known where they were heading. One paw stroked the rottweiler's flank, while the other teased the rottie's balls, moving to the sheath when the dog started to emerge. With the puppy hard, Yot kept his paw on Ollie's rump, and he guided the security dog to one of the sofas. Taken by surprise, Ollie let the 'yote lead, let the prairie wolf bend him over, let his hind legs be spread. Ollie pat-patted his front paws on the sofa, then gasped at a sudden sensation under his tail. Sudden... and rather pleasant.

"You like that." The coyote's low snarl descended in pitch: a statement, not a question.

Ollie huffed and whispered. "A lick is fine. But you're not mounting me tonight."

"Of course not."

The coyote returned to the task, working his dog-tongue in broad circular strokes, bathing the rottweiler's tailhole. The flesh was dark-furred, and Yot took his time tending to the dog's strong tail-ring. Oliver murred his appreciation, and Yot pulled away, the tip of his muzzle damp with drool.

"Now, I'm guessing you don't get teased like that very often."

A moment of panting before the rottie spoke. "No. I don't. Tops usually go straight for the lube."

"They're missing out."

Yot dipped his head again, caressing the dog with his long coyote tongue. He pressed on Oliver's bud and twisted his tongue, just about breaching the rottie's natural resistance. Yot felt the powerful canine relax, just a little more, enjoying being stroked deep. With lashings of dripping coyote drool slathered under that nub, Yot pulled away. He rose to his hind paws, caressing the rottweiler's round and taut rump, before unfastening his belt. Ollie stayed silent. Maybe he was hoping the 'yote just wanted to get more comfortable? Or, more likely, he wanted the desert mutt to continue, whatever the risk of being caught. All the same, Yot lowered his trousers--no underwear for the desert dog--just enough to unleash his animal self. The half-unsheathed coyote cock was a handful, even for big dogs like he and Ollie, while below that, just in the open, nested the coyote's balls, potent and heavy despite a weasel's attention that morning. A growl, a few strokes to slip another inch from his sheath, and the coyote took his place, tapered tip by the rottweiler's ominously slick tailhole.

"Er, hey, I said..."

But a grind of the coyote's cock silenced that protest, leaving it to wither on the rottweiler's tongue. A second grind, and then a third. Ollie didn't speak. He didn't move. But Yot knew what was running through the young canine's mind. Something about the size, the sheer thickness and the heat of the coyote's erection, rubbing and pressing and twitching so close to an animal tailhole, a tailhole which was freshly prepped no less... it froze an animal in place.

The coyote didn't speak. The rottweiler clenched his fists, jowls quivering in a growl.

"Okay, do it."

What a good boy. A firm drive, a pair of low dog-growls, and the rottweiler yielded slick and subtle, gasping beneath the growling coyote, before inches of thick prairie-wolf cock drove into the rottweiler, making him moan and holding him rigid. Yot lifted the rottie's lower jaw, shushing the hard-biting dog, before teasing his ear then gripping his rear and driving into the rottie's resistance. A yotie grunt, a heavy twitch of that thick coyote erection, a moment for both male dogs to enjoy in their own very different ways. The coyote pulled back and the rottie moved with him, until the coyote held firmer and pulled from the rottweiler, barely an inch, yet more than enough to make the guard dog moan and the coyote murr. That animal drool was just enough to let the coyote slip back and forth, back and forth. And already the tension was slipping from Ollie's shoulders. So Yot reaffirmed his grip on the tough dog, and began to buck. Every buck drew a murr from the burly rottie, and the occasional hard grunt.

"Fuck... How quick can you be?"

"As long as I don't knot... very."

Oh, did it feel good mating a tough dog again. A sharper buck, and the rottweiler uttered a crooning yowl.

"Feels good for you?"

The rottie whuffed. "Yeah. But you're not tying me tonight."

"Of course not."

Of course, knot. But first, the revel. The sheer, beautiful, animal pleasure of rutting a fellow dog.

The sound and the bass carried through from the Dining Club, offering the barest cover to the coyote's high-energy thrusts. The animals went at it with vigour, and Ollie played his role, bucking and bouncing beneath the leaner, tighter-muscled dog. True to his word, the coyote soon built to a rapid bucking pace, his erection already at full hardness, while the big rottie huffed and barked beneath him, shaken by the coyote's thrusts.

"Oh yeah," he panted, "that's good, just don't tie, just don't..."

A steady press, spearing an extra inch into the rottie's tunnel, and an ominous stretch of his tailhole.

"Gonna cum. Does a puppy want?"

"Mmf... I want, just... please don't tie me..."

So of course the coyote drove in firmer, showing the rottie just how much thick, twitching coyote knot he could have.

"Last chance, Oliver."

"Mmf... we should stop..."

"I agree."

Short and slapping bucks flooded the desert dog with pleasure. His back fur bristled, his jaws quivering with a rising snarl. Yeah. Ain't no other animal fucks him even half this hard. Suddenly the rottweiler's tail yielded, and Yot thrust an altogether new kind of thickness past the guard dog's defence with a bark of pleasure, simultaneously driving his cock-tip further in, to rub against deeper and softer flesh, and lube it with pre-cum all the same.

The big rottweiler, meanwhile, trembled under the coyote. He bit his top teeth into his bottom lip, hissing the first fricative sound of a clear obscenity, which he eventually let loose in an anaemic breath.

"Ffff...fuck!"

"Language, puppy."

"Sorry... heh... it's just I told you to stop--"

"Correction. You suggested we stop."

"But I didn't mean... but now you're... mmm.... tied with me."

"And how does it feel?"

The rottweiler was shuddering. "Big, and... mmm... we shouldn't be doing..."

"Nope. It's too late for 'shoulds'. Now, Oliver, how does it feel, in all honesty?"

"Like... the biggest animal that's ever fucked me."

The praise sent a rush of pleasure through the coyote. And as Yot delivered some fast, sharp, pistoning thrusts, the breathless rottweiler knew that the coyote was only seconds from climax. The coyote held him close--he's strong, actually a match for me--and despite the tension in the coyote's body, his drive to climax felt effortless. Of course he growled, and shuddered, and that monstrous coyote cock swelled and swelled and drooled with coyote cum before a fearsome twitch shot a volley deep, filling the Rottweiler with hot coyote semen. Another shot, and another, had the two dogs bucking together, and out of instinct the coyote locked his jaws onto the rottie's exposed neck, teeth digging into tough muscle, muzzle curled back into a barking snarl, barking into rottie flesh with each cumshot. The cruelty and the significance of the mating-bite wasn't lost on either male. The rottie rose to his toes, a breathless whine on his voice as he stood there, rigid, impaled, locked together with this big wild ejaculating coyote.

"Fuck, Yot! You're a.... fucker...."

"But are you... rrrowl!... enjoying it?"

"Yes, but..."

"Theeere we go, then." The coyote released his bite and slowed his thrusts and dropped his weight onto the rottweiler's back. The two of them collapsed to the sofa, and still the coyote growled and bucked them both, twitching and spilling the remnants of that orgasm under Ollie's tail. "Sometimes, all it takes is a little... mmmmm... push. To remind a puppy how good it feels to rut."

"But... " The rottie was short of breath. "What if someone walks in?"

At that moment, the door to the front-of-house opened. Seconds later, someone pulled back the wooden panel. And when Yot heard a familiar voice, he perked his triangular ears.

"Who keeps fucking around with these... panels..."

On seeing the coyote, openly and shamelessly in flagrante with her rottweiler colleague, the border collie came to her senses remarkably quickly.

"What... the fuck... are you doing here?"

Yot shrugged, still enjoying the final twitch or two of his orgasm. "Security's fine with it. Aren't you?" He shook the worn-out rottweiler.

"Huh?" the rottweiler mumbled, before turning his head to Yot, sleepy-eyed. The coyote matched him with a confident, satisfied grin.

"You're fine with me staying, aren't you?"

The rottie chuckled, reaching back and patting the coyote's flank. "It feels like... mmm... we don't have a choice."

"There we go, Lassie, the law has spoken. So while we wait... why don't you lick our tie?"

The collie stepped back, physically taken aback by that comment. "How about I have your mangy tail turfed outta here?"

"You won't, for three reasons. One, if you rat me out, Ollie goes down as well. And we couldn't have him losing his job. Ollie's a good guard dog. Aren't you, boy?"

"I'm a... I'm a good boy."

"That you are. Two, you're still here. If you weren't at least a little curious, you'd have been straight out that door. Hey, Ollie, shift over."

Coyote and rottweiler manoeuvred, until Ollie was happily resting his head amongst some cushions. Now, their copulatory tie was on full show to the collie, dark pink coyote flesh buried in a stretched rottie tail. Yot glanced back at the collie, calm, expectant. He hitched his leg further, giving the female a clearer view. The barest hint of coyote knot was visible, dark red and purple and engorged inside the rottie. The whole connection--cock and sheath and rottweiler tailhole--was glistening with coyote drool and coyote cum.

"And three, I can smell your arousal from here."

The collie bit her lip.

Damn that coyote nose.

"In heat again? Yeah... no wonder you're so snappy tonight. You know it's risky when a male dog gets a scent of your heat. And yet... you still want it. You still crave a big canine inside you, filling you up, quenching that fire like nothing else can. In fact, you wish you were in Ollie's place right now. Well, we can give you a taste of coyote sex. At least until Ollie and I are done."

"I am not... licking you..."

"Fine, commands it is. You're a working dog. You can follow orders."

"Don't patronise me."

"Hey. I'm just making this easy for you. Sit."

The clarity cut through the collie's turmoil. She crouched down, and the coyote sneered, showing off one sharp upper canine.

"Walk on."

She blinked at that one. But a stare of yellow coyote eyes held her focus. She crept nearer, on all fours, tongue-tip on show already. Yot lifted Ollie's leg higher.

"Now, lick my knot."

The collie stopped. Edged forward. Hesitated. Yot turned his head away, to give her a little more privacy. That seemed to do the trick. Seconds later, he felt a dog tongue on his knot, warm and flexible. She was catching Ollie's tailhole too, because both males started to murr. Yot couldn't tell if he twitched first, or Ollie, but either way, the junction of three sexual dogs felt so good. Yot thought he was nearly done inside the rottie, but he still managed a full-body buck. The collie pulled away at that.

"Didn't say you could stop."

The collie edged forwards again, tongue first. At the first touch, she almost recoiled again. But she kept licking. Yot watched her, watched her pretty blue eyes, wide and shocked and scared. And when he sniffed in, he scented what the collie could surely taste: combined coyote and rottweiler. The hint of musk, the richness of the desert dog scent, the earthier tones of the rottweiler...

The coyote bucked again. And that time, the collie stayed close.

"That's more like it. Good girl. You remember those bucks. How good they felt last time."

"That doesn't mean... I don't want..."

"Yeah, yeah, keep lying. Ollie, I'd bite that pillow if I were you. And bitch... you'd better back up."

The guard dog and the collie both did as instructed. The coyote had contracted just enough to slip from the rottweiler. The guard dog gasped, murred, and even drooled a little as he was emptied of 'yote cock, slowly and achingly. The collie stared from her close vantage point. Inch after inch of coyote appeared before the collie, withdrawing from that rottweiler tail before her wide-open eyes, more than she could handle in both front paws. However did that animal fit inside her... or inside Ollie?

With paws on the burly rottie, Yot slipped free. In a sudden pounce, the coyote grabbed the collie and drove her to the staff-room floor. She yelped and tried to prop herself up, but a painful press between her shoulders forced her nose slamming into the floor, the shock and the fizz of tweaked cartilage making her relent. The coyote's arousal was still mostly erect. He stroked himself the rest of the way, even while he held the struggling collie with one paw. A pleasured twitch of his cock and he let it loose, drip free, before slowly he lowered his haunches, both paws now on the colie's back. She struggled some more.

"Wait. This is too far."

The coyote ignored her, held himself strong, head raised.

"You hear me. You keep that thing away from me, you..."

The buck silenced her. Just as it had silenced Ollie. Just as it silenced her the first time. Another buck had her gasping. Yot twitched his ears, smirking, and he bucked yet again, this time watching the bounce of the collie underneath him. Soft, fluffy, maybe milk-filled as well? Either way, he got her whimpering.

"There we go. I knew you missed this."

"N.. no I don't."

"You want to feel this animal again."

"No!"

"Yes." He bucked her hard and sharp, smearing her work trousers. "You know it feels good."

She was gasping. Calming herself, ready to try another tack. He watched her smart little sheepdog-brain tick. "It... it does, but...."

He grabbed the collie's waistband, and he shimmied her work clothes and panties down to her knees. "Ain't no 'but' about it."

"This isn't how it works."

"Oh yeah?" The coyote lowered his head, sharp-toothed muzzle at the side of her throat. "Go on then. Humour me. How does it work?"

The collie rolled her eyes. "I am not giving you lessons on consent..."

He grabbed her face, claws digging in under her muzzle. "Don't need to. I'll give you a lesson on biology instead. Slutty collie girl stumbles across the dog who gave her the wildest day of her life. Gets herself all dripping and musky just thinking of him--shut! Your little whore-maw." A low wild canine growl, baring teeth. "Don't deny it. We both know what we scented. And instead of walking away or running for help or literally anything else, she waits until that dog finishes claiming one animal, just so she can be next. If that ain't the sign of a needful, broody, slutty collie, nothing is."

The coyote rolled his haunches. Strong haunches, like the collie remembered. His tip nestled by her now-exposed sex. Both dogs froze, huffed, the female below wide-eyed, the male above smirking in pleasure.

The coyote found his mark. She was starting to glisten--fertile bitch--and combined with the fuck-slop coating and dripping from his cock, it made for a smooth and slick penetration. She yielded to the coyote, her body rigid and her claws tensing on reflex, taking in the low-growling dog.

*

Memories flashed through the collie's mind. Memories she had re-lived, ever since this... animal had first ravaged her. The warmth and gentle weight of the puppies in her womb had been her comfort. Now, with the puppies born, she felt another warmth inside her, again: more adult, more aggressive, more dangerous.

The coyote throbbed. The collie held still, though her heart raced and her sex caressed the coyote, welcoming this hung dog, irregardless of her conscious thoughts. Like the realisation of how much disgusting sticky semen he'd forced into her already, fresh from his recent ejaculation. That could have been enough.

A promise of yet more puppies.

How soon could she have another litter?

*

"There we go," Yot growled. "Enjoy those twitches. Because that, bitch, is the sum total of meaning in a dog's life. We fuck, we feel good, we make pups. That's it. All of it."

And with nothing else to say, Yot dragged the gasping collie to her hands and knees, and rutted her like a dog. He stretched her, grating her insides raw. True, he had to dig deep. After all, this was his second rut in quick succession. But with a grit of the teeth and a tension across his body, he rutted his way through the final hurdle. With the pleasure and the puppies rising inside him, now, all he had to do was keep on the power, not lose his stride however good his swelling knot felt, and tie with the collie. Yes! There was that surge of pleasure. Nothing else to do but tie her, claim her, claim his reward. A tooth-gritting grind, his puppies warm and primed, and the coyote shunted his knot past the last of the collie's defences. She locked behind his knot--nothing like a strong canine cunt--and he held back his howl, somehow, instead uttering some hard breathy barks. They called the coyote the 'barking dog', and he happily demonstrated why. Every bark accompanied a full-body buck, shaking the collie from head to tail. After fucking a rottweiler, it sure felt good to wrap your paws around an animal and... rrrrr.... Yes yes yes! The coyote swelled even more, thrust deeper, made his bitch yield, before he twitched and erupted, flooding the collie's fluttering sex with coyote semen, while still bucking and even slapping her with his thick-furred balls for good measure. She panted, tongue right out, all tension in her body gone. After all, there was nothing left to fight. Nothing to do but wait, wait until the coyote was done with her. She stayed hunched over, gasping for breath with muzzle hanging open, while the coyote's third orgasm that day trailed into afterglow.

"You..." she huffed. "You are unbelievable..."

"Heh, every dog has his day. You're welcome for the litter, by the way."

"You really think... that was enough to give me even more of your filthy puppies?"

"Careful now." The coyote bit the collie's ear, making her yelp. "Those are your puppies, too. By the way, how's our first batch of little mongrels? Healthy?"

"Well... yeah."

"Yeah. All of them real healthy, I bet. I tend to make 'em strong." The coyote chuckled and twitched his cock, making the collie gasp. "And just think: right now, you've got a second litter of my pups, wriggling their way through you." The coyote panted, grinning at the revulsion on the collie's face. He reached up the collie's shirt, took a nipple between two fingers, and tweaked it. The collie winced. Milk trickled over Yot's fingers: he pulled them free, and he licked them clean.

"Just gotta keep feeding 'em right. Good bitch."

The coyote dispensed with all ceremony after he withdrew. A quick redress, a goodbye to Ollie and to mama collie (Julie or Jen or whatever her name was), and the coyote showed himself out. He walked through the club, grinning at the afterglow of his two animal orgasms.

*

The cool evening air woke the coyote a little. He cast his yellow eyes across the few animals outside the club: smoking, guarding the doors, saying their goodbyes. The staff had informed him that Mal was outside. Yot found the weasel near the club entrance, seated on a plastic chair, scratching his shoulders and neck. There were two new bouncers on the door, a German shepherd and some kind of pitbull. The shepherd kept glancing at the twitchy mustelid. The weasel wore a scowl, which only marginally lightened when he saw the coyote.

"There you are. Where did you get to? It's nearly kicking-out time."

"I was..." The coyote cricked his neck. "...catching up with some old acquaintances." Suddenly he paused, narrowing his stare, trying to get a look behind the weasel's head in the low-light. "Have you... lost even more fur?"

"Yeah," spoke the German shepherd bouncer. "This one got into a tussle."

"I didn't start it."

"I never suggested you did, Sir."

"Damn raccoon," Mal snarled at no-one in particular. "There were loads of animals pushin' and shovin' each other. But apparently, I'm the one who spilled his drink. So he starts shoving me around, then he grabs my neck, and he rips the fur clean off!"

Yot grinned. "He probably thought it was more secure. Anyway, guys, this one's with me, so I'll take him off your paws."

A few other animals were making their departure, sneaking back to their dens in town, or striking out further into the wastes. Yot walked the darkened streets until they were out of everyone's earshot.

"It's always the raccoons, isn't it?"

"Mhm. It's them masks. It makes 'em think they're outlaws."

"Hey. Mal."

"Yeah?"

"You see that raccoon next time, point him out. I need a word with him about laying paws on my weasel."

The coyote suddenly hiccuped, before he belched long and loud to the sky and the moon. Mal snickered.

"Nice one. Sounds like someone's had a satisfying night."

The coyote licked his chops and huffed, feeling the weight in his belly and the churn in his balls. "You could say that. But I ain't fully spent yet. I reckon I can manage another cumshot before crashing. If a weasel is amenable."

Mal grinned. "I'll be as mean as you want."

Yot scritched the mustelid's new bald patch, making him jitter.

"That's my animal."