Reckless Pt. 2 (M/M) (Horrorotica) by Hawk

Reckless Pt. 2 (M/M) (Horrorotica)

#2 of Reckless

Shane the dalmatian looks to a near-mythical biker wolf to give him what he wants, only to crash and burn in his bedroom closet.

A few days later, Shane picked up a strange seating companion on the train ride home from the city. He was a sweaty-haired human in a leather jacket, 70's cords, and snakeskin cowboy boots. He had an opinion on train rides. "Look at this."

Shane looked out the window as directed, as the city subway tunnels turned into the graffiti-filled gutter tunnels of the old suburbs.

"Everything goes from the bright lights of the big city, with underground transportation and cellular boosters so you can stay connected even hurtling around at 40 miles an hour in a fucking tin can that smells like piss and indian people... to this dirty residential mess that stretches on and on, slowly spreading out, houses getting fewer and bigger, with as much money as all the shit back in there at the city."

Heavy traffic flow put a motorcycle at pace with the rattling commuter train. "Yeah," Shane said, without really digesting what his ranting companion said. The guy didn't look particularly crazy or homeless, just a bit rough, perhaps fed up.

"We all want what's back there," the human said, turning around and pointing back towards the city. "We all end up out here, pushed to buy houses, pushed to send our kids to good schools... only the richest people can live downtown in highrises. It just rankles me, you know?"

The highway slowly approached the train as the terrain undulated, bringing the motorcyclist closer. He was clearly a hybrid. Clearly canine. Clearly... lupine. Shane suddenly lost all concern for the guy next to him, or his rants. Could it be that same wolf?

Yes it could. As Shane mm-hmmed his way through disposable social interaction, he watched the motorcyclist pull off the highway onto a toll ramp just in time for the train to pull up to the Bayleston stop. "We all need to do what we really want. If everyone just picked something and tried to do it, something they want and don't have and don't think they can get, and just stuck with it until it happened, even if they kind of suck at it, it'd be amazing. None of this zombie-"

Shane stood up, causing the human to immediately shut up and stare. "Sorry, I think I'm gonna get off at this stop instead of mine. It's not you, it's... bye."

"See? See? Just like I said!"

Shane barely made it before the conductor signaled to close the doors. He took off on foot at a flat-out run, aimed straight for the crossroad that he hoped the motorcyclist wolf would be taking. As luck had it, their schedules were offset just enough that he got a clear view of the big straight-piped harley purring across the tracks once the train went by. The dog didn't really think anything would come of it, and he'd probably just have to get back on the train, but it was worth seeing just where the wolf was going.

To his sheer delight, the wolf pulled into a gas station just a block away. Shane took off again, hauling his cellphone out so he looked like he had a reason to be jogging towards a gas station. The wolf not only was headed into the gas station, but needed gas, albeit a small enough amount that he was done by the time Shane showed up. The wolf then stalked into the shop, followed a few seconds later by an out of breath dalmatian.

Up close, the wolf was a bit more intimidating than he had been from the sickly green tint of a train window. He also wasn't entirely lupine, unless timber wolves had started getting facial permadyes to black out their muzzles. He had to be part dog, perhaps part German Shepherd as his ears looked a bit big. He was certainly large and clad head to toe in bike leather that looked as well-used as it did irresistably glossy.

Shane immediately started weaving through the convenience store aisles as the 'wolf' ambled around. The biker checked out the few skin mags on the rack, then looked through the cigar case. Meanwhile, Shane discovered that the selection of snacks included a stunning amount of weird ethnic treats. He kept an ear perked as another guy came in to pay for his gas; the clerk sounded Russian. The biker wolf-dog waited his turn, then stepped up to the counter and ordered a pack of clove cigarettes.

Shane looked around and spotted a box of Panda licorice. He swiped it up and stepped up to the counter behind the wolf, heart pounding so hard he feared it might be audible. He certainly felt nervous enough, and all he was doing was buying a box of licorice at a gas station.

The wolf reached in to take his wallet out and came up empty. "Ya gotta be fuckin' kidding," he grumbled, then started a methodical search of all pockets. Inside, Shane pondered helping. Outside, he just stood and stared. "I don't even have my fuckin' license. You know me, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, is no problem," the bear behind the counter said. "Need money, though. No bills, no tabs."

The wolf stuffed both riding-gloved hands into his back pants pockets. Shane's pleasing attitude finally broke through his intimidation. "Uh, hey, I can.. I can get it." Both bear and wolf-dog looked his way. "I just hate being in a line, you know, I mean, it's no big deal, it's just a few bucks." He set his box of licorice down on the counter and took out his wallet, then handed over his bank pass.

"Huh. What the hell, someone's actually nice around here." The canine had a rough, long vowel accent. New York? No, maybe Dorchester? Maine? The bear looked at him. "Yeah yeah, you don't count, fucker. Hey, thanks, pup," the wolf said, as Shane took his bank pass and purchase back to himself, then immediately made for the door.

Once outside, the spotty dog made a hard right turn and went around behind the gas station so the wolf wouldn't see him. An outbuilding and a poorly-locked junkyard gave him the perfect opportunity to hide and see if the wolf would do anything in particular.

He crouched behind a junked van and peered through a hole in the side, through the passenger window on the other side. He struck pay dirt. The wolf-dog came out of the gas station and ignored his bike for the time being. Instead, he went around back as if he were going to use the bathroom. He took one of the dark cigarettes out of its pack, slipped it into his muzzle, and lit up. Then, despite the fact that he was two feet from the bathroom door, he unbuttoned his leather fly and took out a serious dick. No sheath, slight torpedo shape, tapered and pointed head: definitely a wolf hybrid. Shane had run across plenty while looking at pinup mags for wolves over the years.

Shane, hidden behind the rusted hulk, did the exact same thing as the wolf. Instead of taking a hot, groaning piss all over the trash dumpster, he just started jerking off. The back of his mind registered an alarmist complaint, in the form of Kyros surely detecting the transgression, but Shane pushed it away by reminding himself that Kyros was probably working second shift and Shane would likely be asleep by the time the tiger got home. Even more pressing: he was watching a leather-wrapped biker asshole smoke and piss all over something.

The spotty dog didn't even have to apply his vicious imagination: he got off without even realizing it was coming. He also barked as he splattered the moldering insides of the van with his seed, and the wolf-dog immediately turned his head.

Oops.

Shane froze so thoroughly that he stopped breathing and started to see spots before his eyes , and without even the promise of an orgasm to make it fun.

The wolf-dog spent what seemed like minutes watching over his shoulder, then shrugged and packaged himself up. Just as he turned around to head back to his bike: "Don't eat all that shit at once, it'll rot your fuckin' teeth outta your head," then muttered something that could sound like: "Pup."

Shane gasped for air, then ran, pants bulging with his impulse distraction purchase, dick and balls hurridly stuffed back inside.

Kyros was working late again, and that meant Shane could enjoy himself again. 'Could' was the operative word; Shane finally admitted that yes, Kyros had made it very clear he was supposed to keep himself chaste, at least as clear as the tiger was with anything. Kyros wasn't a native speaker and instead of struggling through English, he just used as few words as possible so he could get them right. He'd walked into Shane's room one day several months prior, told the dog that he could only come when asked, and then had gone to clean the garage.

The dog wanted to be playful about breaking the rules, just in case something nice happened as a result, but as he came home to an empty house, that playful air dropped away. Kyros barely even wanted to use him to abusive ends; the tiger had tended to ignore the dalmatian lately. Unless the dog smelled like semen.

Shane went down to the basement, slowly simmering with spite, and puttered around until he chanced upon something. A big bundle of scalding orange outdoor extension cord, probably for the tiger's new electric lawnmower. He looked around, then dug his cellphone out and peered at the time. Almost four hours still until the tiger came home.

He took the bundle of cord with him and went back upstairs, stopping in the kitchen to get a roll of wax paper. After blowing his load the other day while suffocating in a plastic bag, he'd been cooking up a way to indulge himself further. The extension cord made a perfect final ingredient. Shane settled himself into his bedroom, checking on some websites and warming up with a glance at the latest HardZone newsletter. He stripped out of his work clothes and slid into something delightfully sensual, a black spandex body suit with a codpiece pouch affixed by push snaps. He slipped his hands into a pair of tight black leather driving gloves, then found a pair of black cowboy boots and slid them on. The final touch: a slightly too-small motorcycle jacket, collar flipped up, unzipped all the way.

The dog stepped over to his computer and turned on some music, then switched to a deep autumn-toned visualizer. He snapped the room lights off, leaving only the sweltering video light. The music throbbed, forlorn blues rock tinged with the perfect crispness of modern production, the splashes of reverb and pattering audience applause tidying the package up together. The song: "I'm So Afraid" by Fleetwood Mac, from the live album, "The Dance". The throbbing drums and bass shored up the haunting overdriven blues guitar, and the whole band boosted Lindsey Buckingham's tormented wailing cowboy lyrics into the most emotional moment on the otherwise very corporate VH1 production. It made the perfect accompaniment to Shane's dancing.

Early in life, Shane had discovered that he could control his body with very little effort. He took ballet lessons, then progressed to ballroom, then modern pop dance. He was surely helped by his body type, lithe but still muscled, shape telegraphed by his flat slick fur. Now, he sauntered around his bedroom, eyes on his mirror as he turned into a silhouette and then lit up with almost candle-light glow from the computer screen. He lip synced as he stroked over his body, swayed back, felt up to his flopped ears, then reached out in a near orgasmic plea to the heavens, then sank down onto one knee.

The music did not demand an energetic dance routine, so Shane didn't give it one. Instead, he focused on the forlorn, wounded eros of the song's lyrics and mood, then mixed it with his attention-whore kink slut attire. He wished he'd taken the dancing down to the basement, so he could use one of the floor supporting jacks as a pole. Shane tried to keep it tawdry, looking into the mirror both to seem like he was practicing, and so he could watch himself in slinky black spandex and glistening black leather. As soon as he took the chorus before the long outro bridge, he sunk back onto the bed, then turned to look at what he'd brought up from the basement. Orange electrical cable. How garish, even compared to his hair-metal fag outfit.

Shane watched in his full-length mirror as he handled the cable, turning it over in his gloved grip. He measured out about nine feet of it, then put a complex knot partway down the length. He formed it into a double slipknot, two loops next to each other. He stared on as his black leathered fingers stroked and coiled the electrical cable, forming another slipknot at the plug end. A noose, six inches of tight windings. He shivered.

He took the cable and grabbed some wax paper, then scooted around as he got into one corner of his four-post bed. He wrapped a few layers of the paper around the headboard's frame beam, then wrapped it with a single turn of the extension cord. He piled up a few pillows, then writhed across the bed and settled himself against the pillows. The music turned instrumental, simplistic but timeless guitar wailing making the backdrop to Shane's fantasies.

In his mind, the wolf was there, and the wolf did not like Shane's slinky torch-singer dance number. The wolf did not like men. The wolf was not a faggot, unlike Shane who was so foppishly dressed like a prissy 80's rocker by way of gay pinups. The wolf was a real man, and didn't have the patience for little shits like Shane. Nevermind he wasn't even entirely a wolf - he was close enough.

In Shane's mind, the wolf bound his feet together after knocking him to the ground. In reality, Shane stuffed both of his boots through the mid-loops, calves forced together by the tight knotting.

In Shane's mind, the wolf took a rope and knotted it into a noose, then slipped it around his throat. In reality, Shane wrapped his neck with a hanky and then slid the noose over his head. He stretched out and his feet started to tighten the orange cable, snugging the noose up to his neck by way of the 'pulley' as it looped around the bedframe. He felt around it, first imagining that the wolf was stroking at his handiwork, then feeling his own gloved fingers for real stroking at the cable as it grabbed right above his adam's apple.

Shane stretched out harder and the cable started to choke him. Just like with a belt, or his own hands, it made his head puffy and made blood pound in his ears, and the sensation wasn't so erotic. It was unpleasant. Then he saw himself in the mirror, neck corded out as he strained against the backwards pull. The surprise made him jerk and tense, shoving into the foot loops and strangling himself so hard that it made his throat cluck and stop all airflow.

That made it instantly erotic and his cock swelled inside the spandex suit. Shit, forgot the condom - and that just made him harder, knowing that he was breaking yet another rule. Unlike the dubious one about not orgasming without permission, which he still didn't want to fully admit Kyros had goaded him into, Shane knew very well that he was only supposed to climax in a condom unless Kyros explicitly ordered him to do otherwise. It was his own rule that he'd asked for, when the two were agreeing on the terms of their relationship.

His worries about the condom faded in a few seconds as soon as Shane eased up on his kicking. That didn't stop the strangling clutch of plastic-coated electrical cable against his neck. Panic. He clutched at the noose around his neck, this time out of actual need to take it off, gloved fingers prying and digging. His own panic made him stretch out, a habit he'd had ever since a puppy. Frighten him and all he would do is stand back straight or shoulders back, hands clutched near his beltline and pushing down at the ground. With his boots hooked into stirrup loops to help strangle himself, that panic reflex ensured that he was going to choke himself even harder.

The fantasy jutted back into his mind, the wolf-dog dragging him across the floor of some industrial garage by the neck, as he desperately clutched and pried at the rope around his neck, feet lashed together like a bound cowboy. In reality, he was strangling himself, using so much leverage as he tried to strain away and only pulled harder, feet now kicking to try and loose themselves of their own noose-like loops. He'd knotted them close enough to slipknots that he was now stuck, struggling for real, lever-action predicament ensuring that the harder he tried to free himself, the harder he strangled himself. He felt so aroused, so desperate, so tortured as the imaginary wolf tried to ruin him, that he was about to-

Shane's eyes popped open and he looked around his bedroom. His reflection had orange cable all over it, boots still wrapped with the foot loops, most of the rest puddled around on the bed with the cable winder sitting like an orange plastic spider. The noose was still around his neck and he panicked, clawwing and wrenching at it, immediately tensing his muscles and choking himself again. After only a few seconds - that seemed like minutes - he managed to get the noose just free enough to breathe, then free enough to yank off entirely. His vision pulsated with the thunder of fresh blood flow.

For a second, Shane wondered if the whole thing was just in his imagination. The outfit wasn't - leather, spandex, all there. The cable arrangement wasn't. He felt around his neck and took away a hanky, torn up in a big gash at the middle. His fingers prickled as he realized he'd scrabbled desperately at his neck, managing to free the noose at the absolute last second and had passed out for - how much time? He looked over at the clock, but couldn't remember what time it had _been_. The prickling got worse and he felt panic creep into his blood along with very obvious heart-pounding. He rolled over to the side and squirmed out of the foot ropes, then curled up into a ball and squeezed hard until he felt consciousness weave back in.

Shane bolted up and swiped up all of the cable, gloved fingers shaking as he undid the noose and feebly tried to straighten it out. Impossible - not enough time - he spun it all around on the carrier and wrapped the plug end around a few times, hoping that Kyros would never wonder why it had tight wrapping indentations.

He ran downstairs, boots clattering across the kitchen floor, almost losing his balance as he skidded into the basement stairwell. He tore around in the utility room, wedging the big bundle of cable up onto the highest shelf he could reach, then putting a whole row of boxes in front of it. Kyros was notoriously bad about organizing anything that didn't have computer parts or sexual uses, so surely the tiger would never notice-

Upstairs, the front door slammed. Shane almost collapsed, heart flopping in his chest. He bolted back up the stairs to the kitchen, skidding across the floor again just in time for Kyros to fling the door open. The two stopped and stared at each other, Shane so terrified that his tail actually curled under his taint and tried to come up around his balls, Kyros just scowling at him.

"Why are you dressed like that?" the tiger growled, tail slowly waving around behind him before settling down and curling around one of his slacks legs.

Shane's mouth went dry. "Uh. Uh. I was... I was dancing." He looked down at Kyros' feet in their expensive Eddie Bauer hiking boots.

"In the basement," Kyros said, stepping forward. Shane backed up with matching footsteps.

"The.. the radio's down there, I mean there isn't enough room in my room, and I.. didn't want to touch yours, Sir." Shane kept his gaze fixated on Kyros' work shoes. How casual and unassuming. He used it to distract himself from the fact that he could be in very bad trouble.

"Then we go down and you show me," Kyros said, continuing to advance.

Shane swallowed and whimpered, then turned so he wouldn't fall down the step to the stairwell foyer. He clopped down the stairs, suddenly very, very aware of how loud his cowboy boots sounded. He looked completely ridiculous, and was just waiting for Kyros to call him on it. He moved a few boxes out of the way in the basement, then just hung around.

Kyros grunted and leaned on a support beam, then crossed his arms. He wore a pair of khaki slacks and a polo shirt with a DSX Integrity logo over the left pec, the name of the computer security company he worked for. "Well? You put on that stuff, you were dancing by yourself, now you dance for me." The tiger shifted his foot and kicked the radio that Shane had mentioned. Thank god it was plugged in. But what was in it? Shane had no idea; he hadn't used it for ages, not since he'd helped Kyros clean up from a sump pump failure. It was so old it had a tape deck.

The tiger bent down and pushed the play button. Silence, a little whirr from the tape, a bit of hiss. Then a pickup drumbeat and... sax. Soprano sax. A very familiar wailing melody, and a soft-rock disco club groove.

Shane had spent a short stint as an erotic dancer for a gay gentleman's club. He hadn't done it for the money, or because he had poor self-esteem; he did it because the mere idea of it gave him a raging hardon. The only reason he stopped was that he'd met Kyros, and the tiger had promptly gotten him 'a respectable job'; the irony of the situation was that the tiger quit shortly afterwards and went on to a much better gig at DSX.

The dalmatian's signature song, in contrast to the bump and grind gay club anthems the other dancers liked to use, was "Careless Whisper" by Wham! Not only could he grind and bend and primp to it, but he could do a good George Michael impression to boot. He couldn't help himself as the song led into the verse: he had to sing along.

Kyros' house wasn't particularly new, and the hardwood floors necessitated a bunch of floor jacks. Shane used one of them as a pole, clinging around it, stroking it, grinding against it. The dalmatian's flop ears gave him just enough of a forlorn look to match up with the song's lust-lost croon.

Then, buoyed by Kyros' lack of physical violence towards him, the dog strutted up to his pantherine master and belted the chorus out into his face. Instead of annoying the tiger, his master's face slackened into a look of surprise, and a big, big erect curve in his khakis. Shane put on equal parts singing support and pole-dancing moves, sometimes gyrating and tending towards positively orgasmic writhing against anything he could find.

As the song faded out, Shane stepped up to Kyros and slid his gloved hands along the tiger's polo shirt, then sidled up against the big feline's front, cradled against the towering form.

Kyros used his foot to unplug the radio with a crash as it fell over. "Go up to the master bedroom and wait outside the door for me, puppy."

Shane's eyes widened, ears lifting as much as their floppy droop would allow. "Rrf," he squeezed out, then lurched away, hurrying upstairs. The slight issue of dinner faded out of his mind, replaced by the amazement as Kyros seemed pleased for once. Maybe he'd really taken the tiger by surprise. The dog forgot all about blacking out while strangling himself to visions of a dark leather-stud wolfdog.

Kyros used the dog's forced waiting period to make dinner. Whatever it was, it was spicy and garlicky, with a big side of rich sweetness. Shane sat down on the upstairs hall carpet and leaned against the door, then scooted over and propped into the corner made by a storage unit a few feet away. The evening's events so far left him feeling strangely calm, as if nothing could surprise him or overload him anymore. If Kyros was mad, he wasn't showing it. The tiger never expressed much in the way of feelings, but when he was angry, he wore it on his sleeve. In blood.

Shane took a quick pit stop to go to the bathroom, and he was back at the master bedroom door for only a few minutes before Kyros started up the stairs. The tiger came up slowly, and by the time he reached the top, Shane had his muzzle tucked and huddled against the wall. Kyros had a tray.

"You get dinner up here while I finish something for work. Just a small thing. But. You get dinner as a pup." The tiger handed Shane the tray. "Do not touch yet." Then he opened the door and stepped inside.

The master bedroom had an enormous king bed decked out in black linens, with four short posts dotted by D-ring attachments. The room had a huge trunk at one side, and then a massive cabinet that looked like something industrial out of a workshop, each wardrobe-sized door locked with a padlock. The other side had a desk with one of the tiger's laptops on it. Kyros immediately sat down and started doing something.

"What do I do?" Shane said, standing in the doorway, staring down at a tray full of food. Not a lot, but plenty for him. It looked like lamb kofta and some sort of spicy red sauce, then baklava. The dog waffled between helpless puppy and hungry, tired adult.

"Put it down over there," Kyros said, flinging a hand back in the general direction of the heavy trunk. It had a padded top, doubling for a sitting bench. Shane stepped around the bed and kneeled down with the tray, careful not to spill anything. He went to get back up but couldn't. Kyros had crawled across the bed and almost pounced down on him, without making much more than a rustle. Shane's pulse quickened. Worse, the tiger had something with him.

It felt like a belt - it was a belt, heavy saddle leather, glossy black, with D-ring attachments all around the waist. Two padded leather cuffs were riveted onto either side, unbuckled. Kyros shoved one of Shane's gloved wrists into it, bunching the jacket leather up a few inches, then buckled the strap tight. He repeated with the other side, leaving the dog's arms pinned at his sides. "Now, you eat." The tiger climbed back over to the other side of the room and went back to whatever he was writing up.

Shane stared down at the plate and its messy entree, crumbling sticky-sweet dessert. He felt like he was on another planet, one where Kyros did nice things for him all the time. He leaned down and lapped at a little bit of the sauce, warm fire mixed with something delightfully sweet. He lapped and lapped and lapped, slurping and grunting a little as he tried to chase down a few of the rough lamb balls. Shane was a lot hungrier than he'd realized, and tried real hard not to snarf at his food. He didn't chew one of the meatballs enough and when he swallowed it half whole, his neck throbbed.

The dog paused, stared down at his food, desperately wanted to rub at his neck. Did he have a mark? Some rubbed-off fur? A bruise that'd show through under the white fur? He looked a little frantic as he tried to crane around and look in a mirror without actually getting up.

Kyros must've seen him as a reflection in something, as the tiger turned his head around. "Is something wrong? Not good?"

Shane shook his head. "No Sir, it's really good. I'm just..." He said, and started carefully picking words in his head.

"I'm almost done," the tiger growled, looking back to his work, talking towards his laptop screen and the wall. "Take off that black suit and put the rest back on. Unless it has a fuck-hole in the back."

"It d-does, sir."

Kyros growled to himself, furiously typing. "Then leave it."

"I can't... I can't take it off anyway. You-"

"Fuck, whatever, I said it'll be a few minutes," Kyros snarled, then went back to his work.

Shane finished his food, then kneeled. It didn't sit well inside him, spicy and garlicky and powerfully honey-sweet. It felt like a lump. After another five minutes, the dalmatian realized he wasn't ill from the food, but from worrying if he was in trouble. Kyros muttered to himself almost constantly, chair creaks for minutes at a time, then furious typing and snarling.

Finally: "Hah! I reboot it all at once and now it works." He spun around on his chair and stared across the room at Shane. Shane whimpered. "Get up into bed. Go on, get up in there and lie down."

Shane whimpered and cocked his head, then stood up and climbed into bed. The fixed-arm bondage took away his grace and he struggled after tilting to the side and lying down, unintentionally sprawling out across the black sheets.

Kyros watched him and stripped, eyes fixated on Shane as the dog struggled to get comfortable against the pillows. The tiger's fat cock drooped and throbbed as he got out of his work clothes. "Good pup," he said, then went over to his closet and started rifling through things.

The dog craned his neck to try and watch Kyros dress, but the tiger had absently pulled the walk-in closet's door half shut. All he could hear was grunting, the clicks and shuffles of clothes hangers and drawers, then the creak of leather.

Kyros came out of the closet in full leather gear: tight leather chaps stuffed into enormous thigh-high motorcycle boots, cock and balls strained by a neoprene 'sling' cockring; upper body wrapped in a motorcycle jacket zipped to mid chest; gauntlet gloves over the jacket arms. Instead of a hat or some simple BDSM hood, Kyros had on a full-head motorcycle helmet, with raging black and orange tiger stripes and a sun shade visor. The tiger's dick looked like it was going to explode, veins showing along the length, foreskin squeezing the middle of the glans so the big-holed tip looked like it would pop.

Shane stared at the tiger's helmet and froze over inside, absolutely terrified that he was going to be punished. He couldn't even will himself to whine, and the room grew silent as Kyros stood still, staring at him. On the bright side, the outfit gave Shane a stunning hard-on.

Kyros crept closer to the bed, gloved hand surrounding his cock, milking his foreskin forward enough that it wrinkled up and drooped forward, then pulled it back until his cockhead bloated up like a shiitake mushroom. "I liked how you danced for me down there, in that tight suit you wear. Tonight, we play with electricity."

Shane blinked and let out a soft rrf? Definitely not what he was expecting. Kyros turned away and returned back to the walk-in closet to rummage around, grunting again. This time, his grunts came with the heavy, dark huff of someone breathing inside a helmet. Shane had assumed that somehow, he had gained Kyros' affection and favor and that he'd spend a night being mounted and cuddled in the big tiger's bed, instead of shuffled off or even forced back into his own room like usual and left alone while the hulk audibly masturbated in the next room.

Kyros came back out of the closet with his cock almost entirely wrapped in black latex, shaft and balls gleaming with the black material. Only his dickhead sprouted out of it, strained extra by the tight constriction. He had something in his arms, a jumble of wires and bits, something Shane had never seen before. "We will complete the circuit together."

Shane stared. He couldn't do anything to help, arms forced to his sides, so he just wriggled on the bed. "Yes, Master." What the hell did 'complete the circuit' mean? Shane's only experience with electrical stimulation was when he'd been assembling the tiger's new barbeque grill and had shocked himself in the pisshole with the ignitor. It hadn't exactly hurt, but it hadn't felt very good, either.

Kyros set everything down on the bed, then stood at the side, right where one of Shane's hands was. He took a prostate massager out, then started to slick it up with some water-based lube. "Touch me," he said, then leaned over, one leatherclad knee pulled up onto the bed. He started working the toy into his asshole, groaning and huffing into the helmet as he slowly worked it in. Just before it disappeared, Shane noticed that the head of it was made out of metal.

The dog twisted his body and moved his hand over, then grappled around with his restrained gloved fingers until he could pull the tiger's black-sheathed dick down. He started to milk at the head, nerves soothed by the sounds of deep pleasure he - and that prostate massager - extracted from Kyros. "Does it feel good?"

"Be quiet, pup," Kyros said, then clamped a gloved hand over Shane's muzzle. It smelled like leather and slightly sweet from the lube. It tasted only like lube. He licked anyway, until the tiger let go of him.

The leather-tiger then pried the codpiece pouch off of Shane's spandex suit and drew the back zip down, until it hit the dog's whip tail. "Do you understand what I'm going to do now?"

"No?" Shane whined, fingers trying to grab for Kyros' dick again. They failed.

Kyros took a black package and tore it open. Inside, more black, an ebony Tuxedo condom. Shane whimpered, cock growing up to full erection, nudging at his belly. Kyros took something else first and strapped it around the head of the dog's dick, right behind the glans. It looked like a thin black rubber tube. He took one of the wires from the bundle of toys and plugged it into the very end of it, then snugged a little keeper up until it grasped onto the flesh. Then he took the condom and unrolled it down Shane's cock, hiding the contraption with a bulge that looked only like a swollen vein. "Maybe you are not so technical, pup. You only know computer software. This is electronics. I am one pole, and you are now the other."

The tiger slicked up two of his gloved fingers and slid them up under the dalmatian's tail, stroking and rubbing at the muscular hole, slowly penetrating it. Shane groaned and whimpered, immediately swooning from the pleasure of a thankfully gentle prostate massage. After a few minutes of gentle thrusting, Kyros slid his fingers back out and climbed into bed, then splayed Shane's legs apart. He kneeled down and started nudging his bare dickhead against the dog's hole, cock stuffing in with enough force to make Shane bark. The big cat then took one of the other wires and blindly fitted it into the toy stuffed in his own ass. He leaned over, leather-clad body almost touching Shane's, helmeted face inches from the dog's snout. "Kiss me."

Shane whined and started to puppy-nuzzle up at Kyros' helmet, pink tongue washing out over the hard plastic. He licked and nosed and rubbed, muscles slowly squirming under his spandex, gripping and milking at the tiger's penetrating shaft.

"Now, you see how it works," Kyros said, sitting back on his knees, cock curvature and posture giving Shane a massive prostate massage. The tiger picked up the electronic box where the two wires terminated, and turned a knob. Nothing happened save for the flicker of a couple blue LEDs. He turned another knob, and still nothing happened... until it did. Shane felt a twinge of something in his body, a tingle around the rim of his dickhead and some internal muscle tension. A little more of a turn, and he felt a distinct buzz that swelled up and then stopped, swelled and stopped, swelled and stopped. It felt like he was vibrating inside, and simultaneously getting a vibrator shoved against his cockhead. "What do you think, pup?"

"It feels kind of weird," Shane said, struggling against the restraint belt, gloved fingers squeaking against themselves as he flexed and relaxed his hands. "But having your... your dick in me feels really good-AAH!" While Shane talked, Kyros turned the knob he was adjusting up almost a quarter turn. The strange, pulsating tingle turned into a massive, heavy, muscle-cramping intermittent buzz. He squeezed and milked at Kyros' dick without any will, head slapped back against the sheets, face twisted up. "Aaahhh! Kyros! Kyros! Turn it down! Turn it down! Turn it down! Master? Master? Please sir please please please please!"

Kyros grunted and started to thrust into Shane's electrically-squirming asshole, leather-clad body slowly rippling as his muscles strained into the riding and fetish gear, body leaning back to ensure his bare dickhead worked just like the electrode on his own prostate massager, delivering current right up into Shane's sensitive gland. He timed his thrusts to match up with the electrical jolts, snorting and grunting into the helmet so thoroughly that a bit of condensation and drool started to escape from the breathing vents. Kyros did not turn it down.

Shane expected the painful electrical zaps to get worse and worse, but after the first few, it started to just feel good, not nearly as intense. He stared up at the looming tiger, anonymized by the helmet, and went limp. He felt only the massive penetrative pleasure from getting his prostate hammered and electrocuted, and started to whimper and beg, words indistinct except when he proclaimed love for Kyros with a near howl.

The tiger adjusted the power control again, the surge hitting hard enough to hurt, and then came hard, snarling and gagging inside his helmet, cock bucking and jerking as he dumepd a few squirts into Shane's asshole. Then he pulled out, suddenly breaking the contact and stopping the massive electrical pleasure. Shane groaned and rolled his head to the side, tongue flopping out of his mouth. His arousal faded, leaving him to feel shunned, orgasm not quite reached.

"Do you think it's over? You are my pup, so you should act like it," Kyros said, then reached back and unplugged the prostate massager from his asshole with a wet plop. He rolled Shane over and stuffed it into the dog's asshole, leaving Shane to spontaneously howl as the tiger hadn't bothered to turn the control box off. Not only did the electricity bring him to near orgasm, but the muscle contractions jackhammered the toy into his guts. He couldn't even think, one moment staring at the sheets, the next staring at the top of the tiger's immense boot cuff. His arms were free and he hugged onto Kyros' leg, immediately starting to hump at the leather. "Now, that's a good puppy dog."

Kyros rotated one of the other knobs and the pulsating zap turned into a constant, high-frequency buzz. Shane cried out and clung onto the tiger's massive leg, cock exploding in the black condom, muscles squeezing on the toy hard enough to make a wet sound. As soon as he finished, the tiger unplugged the electrical leads.

"T-thank you, master," Shane groaned, clinging to Kyros until the tiger pried him off. The big hulk took his prostate massager back, leaving Shane feeling like he had a gaping, numb space where his anus should have been. Then he pulled the condom off the dog's sinking cock, squeezing it out all over his hand. Shane immediately licked it all clean, then hunkered back on the bed, staring up at Kyros.

The tiger pulled his helmet off. "Now I'm tired, food and fucking wears me out. You can sleep with me tonight."

Shane almost cried.

Pain.

Shane woke up to scalding, searing, crushing, nauseating pain. It hurt so bad, he wondered for a second if he had appendicitis or something.

"Wake up! Wake up, filthy dog!"

WHACK. Oh, that's why it hurts. He stared down just in time to see Kyros whip him across the balls again with a dress belt. The dog couldn't even register what was happening, staring down at his limp dick and dangling balls, muscles flickering up and down his spotted front.

"Wake up! Are you still hard? Do you still have morning wood? No, you don't. It's gone now. You don't come without me telling you to, any more. Now I have this." Kyros clutched something in his hand, a metal curved shape that looked generally phallic. While Shane sobbed and gagged on the bed, he grappled with the dog's limp dick and balls, stuffing the shaft into the metal sleeve, then fitting the whole thing around and behind his balls. It had a small padlock, which Kyros snapped shut. The tiger withdrew the little keyring, with two keys on it. "Do you see these keys, pup? I get one," he said, removing one of the keys from the ring. He put the ring on his own keyring, then took the other in his hand. "Go into the basement, get me pliers and the torch."

Shane sniffled, heart pounding from being forced awake by gut wrenching pain. He balked and Kyros pulled his arm back. The dog sprang from bed and ran downstairs, forgetting to breathe until he got to the basement. Torch, torch, torch, we have a torch, where's the torch, do we have a torch, is Kyros crazy, is he going to burn my dick off, what's he gonna do, what's he gonna do?

The dog's emotions caught up with him, eyes welling with fresh tears, face burning, nose burning, snot dribbling down onto his lips as he fumbled through things on the utility shelves. Torch torch torch extension cord NO! He encountered the still-mangled cord from the night before and flashed back. Orange cord around his neck, a hanky to keep him from getting rope burn, feet locked together in a noose for leverage, strangling himself, blood rush drowning out the music. Then panic, unable to get the noose free, gloved hands scrabbling at his neck, lungs burning, blood rush getting quieter, everything fading.. and then he'd somehow come around, perhaps from going limp as he blacked out.

He looked down, a few wet splats on the floor from tears. Where his dick had been, there was now only metal, like some kind of Elizabethan faux penis for a poor eunuch. He juggled the mental image from strangling himself the day before and stopped caring so much about finding the torch. Instead, he cared about how it hurt to try and get an erection.

Metallic pounding made him snap back to reality. Pound, pound, pound, clang, clang, clang. What the hell-

"DIRTY MUTT! GET ME THE TORCH AND PLIERS!" Kyros was banging on one of the heating registers and screaming into the ductwork. The roar rattled the entire furnace.

Shane started panicking again, finally locating a pair of big pliers and the propane torch. He ran upstairs and ran right into Kyros blocking the master bedroom doorway. The tiger wrenched the tools out of his grip, then scruffed him and dragged him into the bathroom.

The dog's fear of terrible repercussions fizzled out. Kyros took the pliers and held the very tip of the chastity padlock's keyring hole, then clicked the torch alight. He aimed the blue flame at the key and it quickly turned from brass to red, then melted. The metal landed with a hissing splat in the sink. "Now, only I let you come. Maybe you figure out how to do it in that thing. Good luck, it will hurt. Then you will like pain more."

Shane sniffled. "Okay."

"Go to work."

Someone sat down next to Shane on the train home and he turned over to see what sort of pointless canned companion it was this time. Instead, he saw one of his coworkers, Bill from the development team. "What're you doing on the train?"

"Car's in the shop," the raccoon said.

"Oh, that sucks."

"Tell me about it. Ever since I was a little kid, I wanted a Jaguar. I guess it's part of that anglophilia thing, eh? Boy, I should have listened. Never trust the English to wire something."

"I don't know, what about that Enigma thing from World War II?" Shane started watching out the train window, expecting to see the biker wolf-dog.

Bill rubbed at his chin. "Okay, never trust civilian British companies to wire things?"

"Doesn't Ford own Jaguar?"

"Stop making sense, Shane. Anyway, the damn thing's in the shop, just stopped dead on the highway. They probably have to replace the entire wiring harness, which is over a thousand dollars of labor. Oh well. It's a nice car otherwise. Gives me a hardon when I shift gears."

Shane looked over at Bill. "Why are you carrying binoculars?" The raccoon had a pair strung around his neck.

"Well, I volunteered with some nature group to help survey the peregrine falcon population downtown," Bill said, so matter-of-factly that Shane instantly laughed.

"Are you serious? For real? Since when do you like _birds_?" Binoculars. Binoculars. Shane kept saying the word over and over in his head. He was on about the fifth repeat when he realized he was trying not to think about the way his cock ached when it tried to stiffen inside its curved surgical steel chastity sleeve. Wolf-dog. He'd see the wolf-dog.

"Oh, it just seemed like something to do. I like chasing new hobbies."

Shane looked back out the window. He didn't really believe Bill, even though the coon did indeed have a new hobby every few months. He assumed the binoculars were there as some part of divine intervention, the same force that put a menacing but very handsome wolf-dog on a motorcycle at a train crossing almost every day.

Sure enough: the train hissed to a halt, and the wolf-dog pulled right up on his rumbling Harley to wait his turn. "Hey, can I borrow those things?"

"Oh, sure," Bill said, taking them off and handing them over. "It's kind of hard to find birds on buildings, if you're not a birder. So don't try. Anyway, guess what? Our company's sunk. Someone's gonna buy us out."

"Really," Shane said, focusing his vision on the wolf-dog. Boots. Leathers. Gloves. Menacing face. Matchbook as he fumbled it out to light up a cigarette. "That sucks."

"It's not totally guaranteed, and no one's announced it. I don't know who's gonna buy us, either. It's just been going around. We have something useful but we're not making enough money. We got too big and can't scale. I don't know. I guess it sucks. With our luck, they'll keep the IP assets and get rid of the biological ones."

"What?" Shane wasn't really paying attention. He was trying to memorize the name of the bar on the matchbook. The Pit. Hadn't that closed? He put the binos down and handed them back to Bill, then took his phone out.

"They're probably going to fire everyone except the upper management, Shane."

The dalmatian punched in the name and web searched. Apparently The Pit did close, but then switched owners and had its grand opening a few weeks earlier. Thursday was also 'Bike Night', where bikers who showed their registrations got discount cover, a free drink, and a chance to have the VIP lounge all to themselves with whoever they wanted as a lottery prize. "Guess I better dust off my resume."

"I'm really surprised you've been here so long, I mean, been with the company so long." Bill put the binoculars back to his eyes. "That guy who got you the job, that tiger? Even he left. I'm only here because I'm trying to finish a project. Resume building project, really."

Shane turned his mind to the guy who got him his job, and his balls ached. "Well, I guess I'm just a wuss."

"Oops, my stop!" Bill said, as the next stop rolled up. "Good luck!"

Shane tried really hard to worry about his job, but all he could really worry about was how he was going to get to The Pit without Kyros finding out.

Kyros was working third shift. No, even better: he might have to stay over. Some sort of 'emergency' situation was going on at DSX Integrity and he had to oversee it in person, no questions asked. So said the note left on the fridge whiteboard.

Shane sunk inside for a few moments, as he wondered if he would ever have a moment of affection from the tiger that didn't somehow end in trauma, or wasn't stilted by the tiger's awful work schedule. He tried to chalk up the tiger's attitude to being a foreigner, to being a geek, to a short temper, to his own willingness to humiliate himself.

He rose inside - but not inside the chastity tube - as he realized he now had the perfect opportunity. Another web search, again on his phone, proved that The Pit was definitely 150% open and that night was definitely Biker Night. Bikes optional, biker gear requested heavily. The Pit was Lainsville's premiere gay and fetish club, and it was even where Shane had met Kyros. That was years and years earlier, though.

Shane went up and dug out all of the gear he'd put on the night before, with the addition of a pair of lace-side leather shorts. Not only did they look great with the biker jacket and cowboy boots over the spandex, but they helped hide the fact that his cock was stuffed into a metal tube and padlocked onto his balls.

He opened the front door to leave and stopped. He took a deep breath, then verbalized what he was feeling. "Kyros says I can't cum, but he didn't say I can't have fun on my own." Then, he stepped out into the outside world again, this time dressed in a flagrant kinky-trash costume.

No one actively jeered him on the way to the train station, or even on the train itself. He did draw a lot of looks, though. Children seemed to be impressed and then mocking as they grew older; adults seemed concerned that one would dress so outre compared to the status quo. One guy, who was disappointingly rounded, gave him a very, very lewd smirking for the second half of the train ride into the city.

Once he reached 10th and Ashdale and got off, things were a bit different. That was the unofficial gay district, which took up almost a third of the city to the west of downtown. Leather biker gear was more common than it should have been, more flashy and iconic than practical. Cutoff jean shorts and combat boots looked to be making a second run, and almost everyone male who wasn't more heavily attired had on a tank-top. When anyone in that part of town looked at Shane, it was either out of lust or drag-queen one-upped contempt. That made Shane want to get hard. Then it made him hurt because he couldn't.

The Pit sat square in the middle of Reinhardt Street, two blocks over from Ashdale. The building looked the same as it ever did, mostly indistinct with a few pride flags dangling from upper balconies. The sign had been redone into some big stainless steel thing with black lettering. The front windows were blacked out as were most bars. A vague throb of techno bubbled up from under the sidewalk, from the dance club in the basement.

Even in the foyer where one could immediately jog down to the dance floor instead of entering the leather-saturated main bar, things were just slightly off. Nicer, fixier, and by definition colder and more masculine. He paid cover and got banded, then went into the main bar. Definitely, almost alarmingly different.

The original The Pit had been a hand-me-down place, cobbled together as its owners slowly bought the entire vertical allotment in the building over a good twenty years. This was the same idea, but completely designed in place. Dark and forbidding, yet still loaded with alcohol advertisements and plenty of space to park oneself. The bartenders all wore leather body suits; the floor waiters had thigh-high Wesco boots, jocks, and bar vests on. No exceptions.

Shane went up to the end of the bar and waited for the attention. He was surprised to find a touch-screen thing mounted there which he could use to order. He was in the middle of punching in his name when one of the suited bartenders, a lanky maned wolf, came over. "Oh you don't have to use that," he said, amping up a little bit of fop. "I saw you all the way from the other side of the bar. Do you have a registration?"

"A what?" Shane was nervous enough to have forgotten the core reason he'd actually come out to the club.

"It's bike night," the bartender said, pointing to the custom banner on the computer screen. "If you have a New York State motorcycle registration, you get a free drink and entered in this lottery to have a fuckfest in the VIP lounge, and something else. I forget, I don't do _that_ stuff, I just make you drunk."

"Oh no, this is just kind of an outfit. I guess I'll have a jaeger bomb."

The bartender started making Shane's drink right in front of him. "If I had a motorcycle, I'd love to have you climb on behind me," he said. "And I mean that. You're something in that. Look at you, you're such a nice dog."

Shane stared and tucked his muzzle a bit. "Really?"

Someone sitting at the bar, a Rottweiler who looked like he would need a can opener to get out of his motorcycle racing suit, turned his head around. "He just says that shit because you have hot pants on. He loves a guy in hot pants."

"You keep quiet! So what if I do?" The bartender groused, emptying a can of Red Bull into a glass and then pouring off a shot of jaeger. Before Shane could take his wallet out, and definitely before he could even take hold of the combination drink, the rottie grabbed the glass.

"I got this for you if you do a trick for me," the big dog said, turning in his seat. His riding suit had a custom codpiece in it, and the dog looked to have a partial erection. "You a good dog? I bet you do all kinds of tricks."

"You're such a filthy mutt," the bartender said, but leaned on the bartop to watch.

Shane swallowed and pulled his flop-ears back. "A trick?"

"Kneel. Put the shotglass on your nose and balance it. Then, when I snap, you dodge to the side so it falls into here. Easy." The rottie held both parts, one in each hand.

Shane kneeled, which tickled the rottweiler enough that he guffawed and almost spilled Shane's untouched drink. He put his gloved hands on his spandex-clad knees and stuck his muzzle straight out. His nascent, trapped erection hurt so bad, there was no way he could ignore the sexual tingle buried in the too-tight crush. He looked up at the rottie, and got a look back that said, "For real?" Shane nodded, then froze again.

The rottie took the shot of jaeger and set it on Shane's muzzle, and it stayed perfectly balanced. Shane had done the trick before - the very first person who'd ever treated him to some pup play had made him do it - and a naturally squared muzzle top made it all too easy. The other dog then took his glove off one hand, held the glass of red bull underneath Shane's muzzle, and waited. He snapped his fingers and Shane knocked his muzzle to the side, then immediately grabbed the glass out of the rottweiler's hand, guzzling it down. For a second, he gagged at the awful faux-citrus musk of red bull mixing with the herbal licorice burn of the jaeger. Then he smiled at the dog and stood up. "Thanks."

Bolstered by the tingle of alcohol, the promise of a caffeine rush, and the sheer exuberance of doing something humiliating and coming out on top, Shane started to strut around the bar. He was definitely dressed on the rakish side; most of the other patrons were clad in very typical fetish uniform or slave gear, biker gear, or skimpy underwear-ready spandex briefs and boxers.

Everything good from his early days, back when he was a dancer, came rushing back on a wave of warm alcoholic glow. Just as that blossomed into a warm buzz as he made several circuits around the bar, the caffeine started to hit. He felt a little bit of panic, and a lot of relief from his crushed hardon as it shrunk a little.

Shane was just about to check out the back room, which promised nefarious play just from the terrible dim 'security lighting', when he turned and walked right into someone. They crashed against him, arms immediately clutched onto his to keep him from toppling back.

"Whoa there, pup!" the big guy growled, then pulled Shane to stare into his face. "If I hadn't given my beer to some jackass to hold while I got another one, I would have spilled it all over me. And you'd be licking it right up off... hey, wait a fuckin' minute. You're that dog from the other day."

Shane felt a little bit of piss - just a little - force a lot of precum out of his chastised, spandex and leather-wrapped dick. The wolf-dog. "Hi. I'm sorry. I'm sorry... for bounding around here like a puppy."

"Puppy? I'll fucking say. Look at you, playing fucking dress-up. You just need to spike up your fur between the ears and put on some kind of fancy spiked collar, put on a sneer, you got billy fucking idol or something!" The wolf-dog's voice lifted up and out until he was gesticulating and practically hollering in Shane's face. The dalmatian's cock instantly fell in love. "Eh, you know what I'm talking about? The other day? You bought me some very nice cloves, and I went out back and watered the brick while you beat off."

Shane actually did collapse forward, right into the canine. Big, muscular, leathery. Endless leather. Tall engineer boots, tight leather riding pants, classic leather jacket, long gauntlet gloves, and a bandana around the head with his ears up out of two slots. The face was the dead giveaway, the charcoal muzzle and lighter facial patterns of a wolf. The wolf-dog put his arm around Shane. "I'm not drunk yet. I'm just... wow. You're really big."

"Gonna fix that, c'mon," the wolf-dog grunted, then started walking Shane back to the bar. It was standing-room only, but as soon as the biker pushed Shane up, a couple of people edged right out of the way, both smiling at Shane's plight. "Mmm. So what am I gonna get you? I know. Hey, hey leggy, I have a little firedog who's gotta put one out."

"Call me that again and I'm going to put strychnine in your drink," the maned wolf behind the bar said, scooting past and fag-wagging his fingers at Shane and his lupine captor.

"Hey, sambuca, double, two of 'em. You know what that is? Mm? I'm talking to you, puppy dog." The hybrid stroked under Shane's nose. Shane stared at the biker's boots.

"No? I'm Shane. You have really, really nice leathers," the dog said, whimpering at the crush around his dick.

The maned wolf swiped a bottle off the shelf and filled two big shooters with it, then slid them over. The hybrid got out his debit card and swiped it off, then keyed in a tip. He tucked his money back into a jacket pocket. "Name's Rex. I'm surprised you don't recognize me from, I dunno, somewhere else. Like everyone else does."

Shane tilted his head. "Who? What?"

"Haha, well, look, if you happen to watch porn, you might want to pick up the Rough Trade Studios collection. It gets a little, you know, rough, and I mean that." Rex did not seem to be upset by how rough his own pornos had been. He pushed his chest out more. "How about we go somewhere not so, uh, vertical? C'mon." Rex hooked Shane under the arm and pulled him along.

Shane felt like a girl for a few steps, drink flung out and held carefully, cowboy heels making him clop until he picked up with the hybrid's drunken strut. They went right into the back room, around a couple of pool tables, and then into a sort of booth. It had an L-shaped bench that didn't quite go two thirds around, leaving room to simply stand. There was a glory hole in that part, over to the next booth. Rex pushed him into the bench area, so he sat down.

"Aren't you gonna try it? You'll love it. I bet you, I dunno, somethin' that you'll love it."

Shane lifted the glass up and had a big sip. Licorice. Immense licorice, but not quite the same as good herbal black. Much more fragrant. "So, you really are that wolf who I bumped into at the gas station. Really?"

"Only half wolf. Other half's German Shepherd. Gives me this pretty face," Rex said, gesturing around his snout. He took his own drink, sipped and licked around his muzzle, then knocked it right back. "And yeah."

Shane thought that was silly, then proceeded to compulsively sip his. A thought bubbled up to the surface and came right out of his mouth before he even thought to edit it before he spoke. "I watch you every day coming home on the train. You're always stopped at one of the crossings that's at the end of the train station." He sipped the rest of his drink down, then realized what he'd said. He looked down at the bench cushion, which also happened to be right between Rex's thighs. The wolf was packing, but Shane barely looked at it.

Rex didn't know that. He reached his hand out, leaned forward, and gently stroked it along Shane's muzzle. "Oh yeah? Well, too bad you're always up in one of those train cars or else I'd be lookin' back at you." He leaned until his muzzle bumped up against Shane's. Rex's breath smelled like anise, alcohol, meat, some kind of musky smoke. Shane parted his lips and wiped his tongue out against Rex; the wolf-dog countered by gnawing down with his lips, then returning the penetrating lick.

Shane lost control of himself, almost crying as arousal washed over him. He had fantasized about the yet-unnamed Rex so fervently over the last week or so that he'd very nearly killed himself. Now, in reality, he had the canine's tongue swirling around in his mouth. A bit more romantic than he'd expected, but it would have to-

Rex grabbed onto Shane's wrist and shook it, breaking the dog out of his leather-stroking, lip-nibbling reverie. The hybrid's hand pulled Shane's up to his leatherclad package; the dalmatian curled his fingers around the bulge, then kneaded. It felt... a little unusual. "You like it? I can take it out."

Shane looked around while he kneaded the biker dog's cock like putty. "Mmm, I don't know." The room spun a bit further than he twisted his head. Oh, drunk. One side effect to his paltry existence was a complete lack of alcohol tolerance. Kyros didn't drink, at all. "Could I lick your boots first?" Shane spoke before thinking, but upon reflection, his words just gave him a crushed thrill.

Rex leaned back into the corner of the booth, then pulled his boot up, propping it toe-up, heel dug into the gap between bench cushions. "Go for it, pup."

The dalmatian hunkered over and started to nuzzle, then kiss at Rex's black boot leather. They were worn for real riding, a faint whiff of exhaust, all kinds of road smells. The leather was worn but not worn out, polished but creased from wear. Shane kissed at the toe, then swirled his tongue around it, then set about trying to gently mop his tongue over every inch from sole to top cuff buckle. "Thank you," he said, eyes closed, cheek rubbing against the boot.

"Yeah, sure. This is kinda funny, bumping into you here. Better than just fucking around with my buddies like usual. That right, Ranger?" Rex stayed reclined back, then knocked on the booth wood with the dull thud of leathered knuckles against wood.

"You say some shit about me?" Someone from the next booth over stuck their head around the edge. Black labrador retriever in an outfit identical to Rex's.

"Yeah, I said you're an asshole. Look what I found, some pretty little firedog. I think he likes my boots. You like my boots?" Rex looked down, twisted his boot a little.

Shane nodded, enthusiastic, slightly worried, more than slightly drunk. Empty stomach, strong liquor, all the sugar of a Red Bull. The caffeine made him drool, which only made suckling at the wolf-dog's boot leather more enticing.

"Nice." Ranger stood and crossed his arms, leaning on the entrance to the booth.

"I bumped into him at the fucking gas station. Little pup was buying some licorice or something-"

"Actually, I followed you there. Remember, the train?" Shane interrupted.

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, remember how I asked if you wanna see my dick? I'm not gonna ask anymore," Rex said, and without looking down at Shane, started to open up his leather jeans. Out came his dick, ebony black and vaguely canine shaped. The head was flared like a humanoid cock, but scalloped concave on the top like a canine, making a blunt point at the tip. The length had a torpedo swell to it, and a knot that was more of a big lump near the base than the unworkable balls-stuck-on-a-stick that most domestic canine hybrids had.

Rex's dick was big enough that Shane stared at it and forgot all about the big black boot he was cradling in his hands. "Uhh." Size fear had nothing on his good vibes; it didn't matter that he was in a semen-stained booth in the back room of some famously filthy BDSM gay sex club. He hadn't felt so positively tingling with sexual energy in years.

"Hey, c'mon up here. Come on.. that's a good boy," Rex said, scooting so he shoved his boots around Shane's body as he sat up and faced the dog, then pulled him up. Shane kneeled instead of straddling onto the wolf-dog's lap. "Don't mind Ranger, he likes to watch."

"Like the dog at the foot of your parent's bed," the black lab added, stepping over behind Shane.

Rex stroked his gloved fingers over Shane's chin and the dalmatian immediately started to kiss them. "Hey, puppy, I don't really know you that well. How about you just jerk me off with that pretty gloved paw of yours, and you can kiss and nuzzle whatever else you want. That sound nice? Then I can cream you in the face when I finish."

Shane had never felt so amazing. His early days at the clubs, when he'd moved to the city for college, were loaded with anxiety since he was much younger than a lot of the men he lusted after. Now, over ten years later, he just felt the endless burn of lust. A little anxiety crept in as he remembered, now and then, that he had a tiger at home who was not very pleasant, but Kyros would never find out. For sure.

No, Kyros would find out. Shane paused his nuzzling and dropped his face against Rex's gloved palm, trying to hide as he whimpered. Despite the whimpering, he reached out and started to slowly milk Rex's foreskin up and down. The wolf-dog _stank_, like someone who beat off twice a day and showered once a week. The smell was almost sexual, but with the worries about his transgression starting to curdle his metal-crushed arousal, Shane much preferred Rex's hand. The wolf-dog didn't seem to mind, happy to pet and stroke and finger at the dalmatian's slurping, bashful mouth.

Meanwhile, Ranger was not just watching. The black lab had his gloved hands all over Shane's ass, stroking and feeling at the dog's leather shorts. "Hey, hey, Rex, your little puppy friend here's got a back zip," he said, then seized the zipper pull and yanked it down. Shane didn't notice immediately. "Oh shit, he's got another one on that stretchy suit thing he's wearing!" Shane _did_ notice that, whimpering hard against Rex's hand.

"Sshh, shhh puppy, it's okay. Just keep kissing my leathers," Rex groaned, cock throbbing in the dalmatian's relentless slow milking grip. The biker took his hand and curled all but two fingers, then prodded the index and middle into Shane's muzzle. The dog tried to suck on them, but he wasn't equipped for much sucking. Instead, he just closed his eyes and took the muzzle-fucking with a slobbery groan.

Ranger opened up his fly and exposed a much more canine cock, sheathed but peeking out, tip an angry reddish pink. "Aww, I forgot a rubber. Poor pup," he said, then grabbed Shane's whiptail and held it up. He grunted and growled, snorted, then spit all over Shane's exposed asshole, gloved fingers working it around and around. The more he pressed in, the more Shane tried to bury his face into Rex's gloved hand and against the wolf-dog's thigh, fingers throttling the biker canine's dick. Ranger slid his finger out as soon as it penetrated Shane's asshole, then he replaced it with the tip of his dick. He unsheathed himself into Shane's hole and groaned, thrusting up in deep with a swift shove, knot starting to swell and latching himself in place right away.

"Look at that, pencil-dick there likes you," Rex grunted, using his gloved fingers to pet and stroke Shane's face, forcing the dalmatian to look at his dick. "I bet he's gonna cream you right away. Dog's got himself a real true dogdick, don't he?" The wolf-dog snorted and pried Shane's fingers off his cock, then took up jerking himself off.

"Yeah, yeah," Ranger muttered, hunching and hammering into Shane, thrusting all of two inches back and forth as his knot kept him from pulling back and his hips kept him from going forward. Just like Rex joked, he was creaming in Shane almost immediately, pink tongue hanging out of his black muzzle, gloved hands pulling and squeezing at the dalmatian's leather-jacketed shoulders as he spurted through every thrust. "So good. You got good taste in your little dog sluts, Rex. Good fucking taste."

"Ask him how good my taste is," Rex grunted, then grabbed Shane by the ear to keep the dog's head still. He skinned his foreskin back and milked behind his dickhead. One creamy slobber oozed out, then a huge splurt hosed Shane in the face, followed by a good ten more that ended up running off his chin and splatting onto his coat lapel.

Shane desperately wanted to get off, but he couldn't, not with the kind of pain inside him, both the uncomfortable crush of Ranger's knot against his prostate, nor with the constant burning pinch at his cock. He felt like a cum rag, and cum rags don't get off.

"Hey, I'm gonna beat him off. I think his hole milking my knot'll get another round out of me. You think that's a good idea?" Ranger said, holding onto Shane by the back of the dog's jacket collar. Shane shook his head hard; Rex grinned and nodded. "Mm. Let's see what you got in here, pretty puppy." Ranger started to undo Shane's leather shorts from the other side. As soon as he got the codpiece undone on the spandex suit, Shane's metal-clad dick and balls flopped out. "Whoa."

"I can't," Shane mumbled. "My master put that on me."

"Your what?" Ranger stopped moving.

"Yeah, what'd you just say?" Rex sat up, sagging dick drooling out onto the booth's bench seat.

Shane burned under his fur, ears flattened as much as he could make them. "My master put that thing on me so I can't get off unless he wants."

"Who's your master, then?"

"He's not here. I uh, I mean he's not here right now. I came here by myself."

Rex and Ranger looked at each other, while Ranger's knot deflated. The black lab pulled out with a wet slurp and backed right out of the booth. "Uh, hey, I think I gotta go take a leak." Rex got right up after him.

"Yeah, uh, sorry pup, but I don't mess around with that kind of shit. I kind of have a reputation and I don't want it getting punched in the face by some possessive jackass," Rex grunted, and stalked off after his friend.

Shane squirmed on the bench seat, sore and confused, dizzy from the alcohol, heart pounding from shame. He zipped himself up and looked around, then started wandering around the club. He swiped a bar towel out of one of the bus-boy baskets full of empty glasses and mopped his face off, then wiped his coat clean. Neither Rex nor Ranger were anywhere in the club, at least where he was allowed to get into. Neither dog had gone to the bathroom. Both of them had bolted, probably assuming they would get wailed on by Shane's master.

The dalmatian sighed and walked out.

The last train had left an hour earlier, so he was stuck taking one of the NYCAP transit night busses. Everyone on it was either derelict or old, or both. The bus was the automotive equivalent of an Old Country Buffet at 3PM on a Sunday. He sat down on one of the sideways seats near the front, unsteady on his still-intoxicated feet. Some old lady was directly across from him, but he didn't care for a few stops. Until she opened her mouth.

"Oh, did one of those pigeons downtown shit on you?"

Shane perked up. "What the hell did you say?" The old lady pointed a be-ringed finger and Shane looked down at his lapel. There was a big, now-dried whitish splat that he must've missed with the bar towel. "Oh. That's not bird shit."

"Here you go, I have an extra wet nap," the lady said, then took a foil packet out and tossed it at him. "I know you weren't hanging out in the square. I'm a tarty old coot, I know what dogs like you do for fun."

If it had been a normal commute home, Shane would have excused himself to the train car's bathroom. He wasn't on a train and there wasn't a bathroom. He sighed and tore the packet open with his teeth, then wiped his jacket off. "Is there any more? I can't see my face."

"Oh no, I think you got it all. I bet you had a fun time tonight. I just saw my son and got yelled at for being a stupid old fart, but he's a stupid fancy-pants jerk," the lady said, then folded her arms up around her purse.

"Yeah, a real fun time," Shane groused. "Not really. I had a fun time, but I blew it, and now I'm gonna, I dunno."

"Mmm," the old lady said, and went back to her own thoughts.

Shane returned to his and started growing a pit in his stomach. What if Kyros was home? What if the tiger came home and figured out what Shane had been up to? He knew he'd done something stupid, but the sheer thought of finding the mysterious wolf-dog at a fetish bar was too awesome to pass up. What he found was what he knew deep down he'd find; just another asshole who wanted to get off any way he could. In person, Rex had no inclinations for Shane's fantasies, or even doing more than just spunking his face. The strangling, vicious dog of his fantasies was just some hot-headed porno punk.

The dog wanted to get the gnawing pit in his stomach to go away, so he tried to think of something fun. Thinking sexy thoughts hurt, but he couldn't help it from the constant tingle in his ass from Ranger's pure-dog knotted humping. He couldn't believe he'd been fucked bare without any warning. He remembered Ranger holding onto his jacket collar and mentally moved the black lab's gloved hands to his neck. That hurt even more.

He couldn't remember when he started thinking about strangling, about suffocating, about gagging and choking and hanging. He tried to trace it back while he walked the couple blocks from the night bus stop to his house in the dark, but just couldn't. He'd always been fascinated by anything strangling, and as he grew older, it just grew into sexual interest. The longer he'd known Kyros, the more he'd become obsessive about it, to the point of it overflowing into his own reality.

Shane was sure that if Kyros knew, he'd just dole out more fierce, cold punishment. More time locked in the cage. Ball beating, nipple torture, and no emotional support. Whenever Shane did something wrong, fucked up, made even the simplest mistake, Kyros withdrew all sense of emotion instead of doling out support.

The dog wandered around the neighborhood, taking the long way to his house. His almost absurd, gay-rakish attire attracted no attention at all. It was late and the suburb was at home, in their homes, behind their curtains, watching television or surfing the internet or masturbating to hardcore pornography.

He turned onto his street, energy drained out to the point that he stopped and leaned on a lamp post before actually looking. His house was dark; Kyros's car was not in the driveway. That gave him enough will to finish the walk home.

Empty bus, empty neighborhood, empty house. He wandered up to his room and sat down at the computer, then checked his email. A message from work, sent while he was still on the train. His coworker Bill had been right: the company had been sold. As of next Tuesday, all level 4 employees would be retained and everyone else was let go, severance plans active. There was some potential for limited re-hiring, but their product was now just another cog in the IT infrastructure machine of DSX Integrity.

Shane stared at the message. The actual reality of being effectively fired via passive-aggressive email was painful, but also a relief. Everyone had suspected it was coming. The part that concerned him was which company had bought his. DSX Integrity was where Kyros worked.

Rex and Ranger hadn't wanted him, so much as a fucktoy with no strings attached. No one in his neighborhood wanted or even cared that he was walking by in spandex and black 80's glam-metal leather. No one was home to give him a hug or even chide him for disobediance. No one at his job wanted him. Kyros's job wanted what he did, but not him. Kyros...

Everything came back to point at the tiger. Shane was property. He wasn't even a pet, just an object that the tiger used to amuse himself. After puppy love affection faded, there was only hollow sexual use and pain.

Shane used to have a car. When he moved in with Kyros, the tiger had all but ordered him to sell it and use public transportation. He used to have a menial but fun job in desktop hardware support, and a side hobby as a dancer at the old version of The Pit. Kyros made him give up looking for another dancing gig after The Pit closed and then got him a 'promotion' to a different job at his now-former employer. Kyros then left for better pastures at DSX and claimed there were no openings for Shane's talent. That was years before, and openings never came. Shane used to own things; now he just had one closet of clothing and one room full of belongings in a three-bedroom house. Shane used to have friends, but Kyros ordered him to spend time at home servicing him - or doing nothing at all with the tiger - so many times that he simply gave up and widthdrew.

The dalmatian looked into his closet at the remaining vestiges of his own self in the form of business and casual wear. Most of his fetishy clothing was already on his body. Then he looked up, at the shelf with a second coat bar. He grabbed the stepstool for getting up there and went up, wrapped his fingers around the bar, and put some weight on it. He managed a pullup without any more than a little creak.

Shane then realized what he was doing. His heart stumbled in his chest and he stepped down, then backed onto his bed. He almost felt faint, terrified... and so painfully aroused that he couldn't tell if it was an ache from the chastity tube or a full bladder. He got up and wandered down the hall into the bathroom, then took his metal-clad cock out and groaned as he flooded the toilet with the hot blast of post-drinking urine.

As he shook his cock off, he realized something. The chastity device didn't quite fit right. It depended on his balls to keep it in place, attached around the sac and each orb to prevent it from being pulled off. It could be pulled off, though, as long as he slowly stretched his balls out and then pried his cock free.

Three minutes of fussing, and he had his cock and balls in one hand, swelling into a well-warranted erection, and the metal chastity device in the other. He tossed it into the sink, clanking against the stain on the porcelain where the molten padlock key had splattered that morning.

He went down to the kitchen to guzzle some water, then looked at the basement staircase. He crept down the stairs, then wandered across the basement. Everything was too quiet, too inert. He looked up at the box where he'd stowed the electrical cable and went to check if it was still there. It was, still wedged in a strange way, just like he'd left it. His cock surged with no chastity tube to constrain it, swelling out as he took the orange cable down and handled it. He clutched it up into his leatherclad arms and carried it upstairs.

Shane stood up on the stepstool in his closet and tossed the cable up over the high shelf, then knotted it a few times around the hanger bar. He then formed a noose in the middle of the leftover length, just like he had before. He tried it over his head a few times to size the loop, then bent down and started to tie his cowboy-booted ankles together. Just before he knotted them.. he spotted something in his closet. Something glinting.

He untangled his feet and picked up the ice lock cuffs that he'd 'stolen' from Kyros. They were a pair of heavy padded leather cuffs with a cylinder between them that disconnected at one side and stayed together with a regular padlock whose key he'd tracked down the other night. The cylinder came apart with no effort, but presumably after being filled with water and frozen, it would stay all but permanently closed until melted.

Shane took the ice lock over to the bathroom sink and filled it, then tucked it into the freezer next to where the cold air blasted out. He looked at the clock on the range; he had hours before Kyros was due home. He waited. In front of the fridge.

Once the lock was seemingly frozen solid, he took it out and tested it. Not even pulling at it with one end stuck under a boot heel dislodged the mechanism. He took it upstairs and set it on the bed. He had only ten minutes until Kyros would be home.

Shane's heart thundered in his chest, cock big and loose and floppy half-hard as he attached the ice lock back to the cuffs. He took the key out of one of the padlocks and put it on top of his desk, then strapped the other one onto his wrist. He carried the ice lock over to the closet and set part of it down on the shelf.

He bent down and lashed his ankles together, noosing them like before and then wrapping the leftover end a few times. He reached up to feel for the noose and looked at his hands, glove leather vibrating as he shook. He slid it over his head and snugged it up, instantly panicked to the point of whimpering, eyes starting to burn but not watering.

His room lights were off and headlights lit up the curtains, growing brighter and then peaking as they turned towards the house and finally disappeared. He could faintly hear the garage door over his pounding blood, the vibration ending with a thump.

Shane pulled the other part of the ice lock down and fitted the cuff around his wrist, then fingered at the padlock, barely able to put it together. It settled with a snap and he barked out, whining uncontrollably, neck tensed enough that he already felt like he was being strangled.

He pulled the key free and flipped it across the room as far as he could. It skittered across the wood floor and slid right up to the metal carpet join where the hallway carpet met his room.

He heard Kyros open the garage door into the kitchen. "Where are you, mutt?"

Shane took a deep breath and kicked the stool out from underneath his feet.

He instantly regretted it.

Hanging was not like strangling oneself in bed, or suffocating inside of a plastic bag. It was like pain mixed with terror. The noose yanked right above his adam's apple and burned at his neck, one corner of it yanking at his jaw with ghastly pressure. It strangled him so thoroughly that he could only croak the tiniest amount of air out. His head felt like it would explode and all the muscle tensing in the world couldn't counteract one hundred and forty pounds of dalmatian hybrid.

He flailed and kicked, not to try and get out of the rope but to try and get the stool back. He could swing his feet over to it, but they missed by inches.

He couldn't breathe.

His chest burned, both strained full of staling air and also with every heartbeat, as blood went to pump to his brain and never got there.

He heard Kyros' footsteps on the stairs like little crackling pops. He saw only a vague suggestion of his room. Kyros never appeared in front of it. The footsteps went the other way. He struggled and felt something smack his thigh. He wasn't even hard.

Then he screamed, the sound squeezing out of his throat like the reedy, wet blatt of someone attempting to play a trumpet while drunk and inexperienced. He panicked and thrashed and kicked with every last shred of consciousness, struggling only ensuring that the orange-sheathed extension cord worked itself tighter and tighter.

He expected things to fade like a television tuned to static, or maybe a near death experience, or maybe, maybe, maybe. Instead, the fire in his chest turned into a college bonfire and everything buzzed into black.