FSE

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Head-space completely occupied with the enormous task of trying to sort out and come to peace with the day's events, Michael didn't even hear the subtle noises indicating that the soggy-bellied Rottweiler was entering the walk-in shower behind him.

Had Tiny seen him, things might have gone down very differently. He might have fallen back into his old ways of: punch first, kick second, talk never. The slightly overweight cameraman would have been no match for his bulging muscles and youth.

But instead, that's not what happened.

The first indication that something was wrong or out of place were the two hands that reached around Mike's waist. One grabbing his red forever-erection and the other taking in hand his much more impressive bloated sack -- enlarged both due to recent swelling and the pair of synthetic jizz producers that had been surgically installed several days back.

Between the abrupt sensation of having his package manhandled and the alarming feeling of a canine cock that was much larger than his own nestling itself between his ass cheeks, the Doberman froze. Shampoo bottle still in hand, and eyes closed tightly against soap remnants threatening to sting.

As Tiny's heart rate shot through the roof, fight or flight instincts battled it out in the more instinct driven parts of his brain, the arrogant Alpha dog enjoyed comparing himself favorably to the other canine's knot and shaft. Looking over and around Mike's shoulder, his smirk returned once more as he considered the fact that, even at this young of age, the Doberman's days of growing any more down there were long past. It pleased the Rottweiler something fierce to know that this was as big as the bitch-pup would ever get.

Internally, he mused over the situation while getting himself an eye-full.

'I can remember being bigger than that when I was fifteen. Dumb fuck must have spat in god's eye as a kid or something. Wonder how old he was when he realized he wasn't packing shit down there... I'd of loved to have been in the shower with him then, to see the look on his face when he put it all together. Bet that's when you decided to pack on all these muscles, huh, tough guy? But there's always going to be one muscle that never gets any bigger, no matter how much you work it out. Oh, yeah, and now that I think about, you're not actually allowed to work this little shrimp out anymore, are you? Against the rules for you to touch yourself down there. But those rules don't apply to big 'ol Marty... do they, pup?'

Deciding to it was time to break the silence (and the ice) with his new date, the now naked and wet cameraman finally spoke up.

"How come you're still throwing a bone? Still got more in the tank after shooting twice? That kinky pup and owner crap that horse put you through turn you on that much?"

Now Michael's eyes were still shut, but this time not against the stinging soap which had long washed away, but as an unconscious attempt to block out the man's words. He'd been wishing away this stiffy for days -- it wasn't his fault! He didn't ask for ANY of this!

"Just, shut the fuck up and get out! It's not like that! It won't go down and --"

"Whoa, whoa there. Calm down now... shhh... no reason to get so worked up. Was just an innocent question. I'm sure you got your reasons for flicking this bad-boy around. I was just making small talk... you know... get to know each other. That sort of thing. I'm just sayin', looks like you could use another hand job... I'll take care of you... you take care of me. After all, I'm gonna be your cameraman. Just think of me as part of the team, yeah?"

Finally regaining his equilibrium, Tiny tried to break the bear hug like grip of the other wet dog, only to discover that the man was stronger than his outward appearance had led him to believe. Despite the fact that was a generous helping of belly paunch resting on the back of his hips (not to mention an equally generous helping of canine cock resting between his cheeks), Michael now knew that he wouldn't be able to break the grip without going full out... which might have severe consequences for his privates.

"What the fuck do you want, dude?"

After letting out a soft chuckle just behind the Doberman's ear, he answered, "You must have done really great in school, with an attention span like that. I said I wanted us to get to know each other, since we'll be working together. See what I'm sayin'? I mean, your ass and my cock are practically already best friends at this point. I really like how much effort you've put into your glutes for me. Or maybe you did it for the horse? Does he like you nice and tight back there? When he's pressing his mare-buster into your backside?"

"It's not like that -- we're just friends!"

"I think you're misunderstanding me. I don't care if he and you are a brother/sister pair. You can tell yourself whatever you want while you gargle his cum on camera. And me asking about your hardon? That was me being polite. Your cock isn't my priority here."

"If you think I'm just gonna let you rape me in the shower, you got another thing coming, mutt. I got muscles you ain't never heard of before, and I'm two seconds away from pounding you into the tile. Let. Me. Go."

"Rape? No rape going on, here, pup. For someone to be raped, they'd have to withhold permission. Now, what do you think that paper you signed just an hour or so ago gave? That's right, baby-dick: permission. At this point, you've given perpetual, unending permission for just this sort of thing. Call it a 'perk of the job'. Doesn't matter who your cameraman ends up being, me, that polar bear I saw coming in for an interview when I arrived, someone else. It doesn't matter. Any of us would have sex with you, and none of us could rape you even if we wanted to. Because you signed your name on a piece of paper where it said it was fine if I just went ahead and popped my much-larger-than-yours cock into your orgasmically tight hole here. So, I'm asking you... do you want to play nice with the Alpha dog, or do you want me to start squeezing? Either way, you're getting inseminated. Now, I'm gonna let you think about that for a minute or so, while I play with your toothpick a bit. Maybe that'll get you more in the mood."

True to his word, as Michael tried to parse through the older dog's words to sort out how much was horseshit and how much was the truth, he felt the cameraman use his hand to slowly but quite tightly jerk him off. And even though he had just shot his load -- not once but twice! -- due to the surgically enhanced sensitivity of his rod, he couldn't help but notice that despite his own desires and intentions, he was once again falling into the territory of: stupidly, outrageously, unthinkingly horny.

"You're.... you're fucking lying. There's no way he'd trick me like that."

Smiling to himself at the fact that pup was reflexively making small, almost unnoticeable humping motions into his palm, Marty knew that the longer he could keep this game up, the more likely he was to get to drop a load into this pretty puppy and the less likely he was to have to take a surprise trip to the ER. For the out of shape Alpha dog, this was the type of dominance he lived for.

"Trick you? Hah. Interesting interpretation. I guess, in a way, you're right. Just like a guy sometimes needs to trick his feral dog into taking his medicine, by covering it in peanut butter. You got to get off in a big way, and he got custody over you. Because that's what you need, isn't it? You need guys around you who are smarter than you, more successful than you, and better hung than you to keep you on the straight and narrow. He's looking out for you, so stop being such a drama queen. We take care of you... and you take care of us. That's how this is going down, and there's no stopping it now. Besides... what's less embarrassing for you? If you and I come to an understanding on our own... or if your Owner has to tie you to a table so me and the other guys can show you the ropes?"

As way of a small blessing, the overhead nozzle continued to produce warm water, which sprayed down on top of the pressed-together pair. While Michael was wholly ignorant of the fact, this particular walkin shower had been designed specifically to support these types of long, drawn-out shower sex scenes. This allowed Marty to take his time as he muttered darkly into the Doberman's ears, while playing with the junior dog's cock and balls.

"What... what other guys?"

"You know, sometimes I can't tell if you're playing dumb to be cute, or if you're really struggling this hard to put everything together. The other guys: the crew. The staff. The employees. Whatever the hell you want to call them. They are putting a shit-ton of money into this website, and the only way they're going to get a return on their investment is by making it world famous. This is big business, pup. And big business means lots of people. Web developers. Producers. Script writers. Cameramen. Actors. Props. Expensive equipment. Servers. Billing. Accounting. Do I need to go on? Are you fucking getting it, yet? Your ass is a product, now. Your cock? A product. Mouth: A product. YOU are a product. A well-muscled, handsome, small-cocked product. And I for one, am not going to torture myself by staying hands off from a product that I want to fuck doggy-style into the ground, only to take a cold shower each day. That's not gonna happen. If I was working in a candy bar factory, I'd eat the goddamn candy bars. Get it, yet? You're the candy bar, champ. And everyone is going to want a bite. I bet even your 'friend' has already had a go at you, yeah? Off camera I mean. If he's your real life best bud, or whatever that website pitch was, and he couldn't deny himself, what do you figure the odds are for the rest of us? If that polar bear gets hired, you can bet your baby-boy parts that pretty soon you're going to be chocking on polar bear dick. Any of this sinking in, champ? I'd hate to think I'm flapping my gums for nothing."

Michael hated the man so much. He hated his attitude, his words, his utter lack of respect ... his cock that was now rubbing quite forcibly back and forth between Mike's ass cheeks. But, at the same time, something was happening. Something Tiny couldn't explain. The man's words were getting to him. Suddenly it dawned on the Doberman: people really were going to see him sexually humiliate himself. Lots of people. If the Organization had its way, lots and lots and lots of people. This terrible thought should have shrunk his libido to a small enough size that that it could float away in the wind. Instead, and despite Tiny's wishes and expectations, he felt a fire like he'd never experienced before being stoked in his balls.

Unable to help himself, he began thrusting harder and harder into the overweight asshole cameraman's grip. As the man continued his crude monologue, most of it into white noise for the Doberman, even as his subconscious continued to tune in. And the more the man spoke, the dirtier the canine felt. And the hornier he became.

For his part, the man certainly picked up on the fact that he suddenly had a much more active participant on his hands. His smug smile turned into a full-on grin as he released Tiny's not-so-tiny balls and took the bottle of shampoo from Mike's hand, on to upturn it and squirt an unnecessarily large dollop onto the boy's shaft as makeshift lube. He could also tell that the oversexed lad was zoning out most of what he said at this point, but that didn't stop him. He liked dirty talk for its own sake, and it didn't really bother him whether the buff submissive was listening or not.

"There we go... come on lad... fuck that hand. Show it who the boss is. Nice and steady now... keep going. Here... I'm just gonna use my hips to help push you along. Don't mind ol' Marty none. I got you... I got you. Back and forth... baack and foorth... baack and foorth. See? This isn't so bad, yeah?... you and I can work together just fiiiine. Come on lad... let's pick up the pace a bit, yeah? Don't be afraid to grind back onto me... there's nothing to worry about back here... just another friend for you. Don't even think about him, for right now... you just focus on making that hand your bitch. Come on there, champ... show it who's the boss... you knot fuck that hand. There's a good lad."

This went on for a while longer, until eventually Marty felt himself to begin to peak. Rubbing his now fully knotted canine meat between the Doberman's buns, he groaned out the first shot as his pole started to make a creamy mess of Tiny's ass, tail stub, and lower back.

"Ohh, fuck! I'm cumming! I'm fucking cumming so hard all over your stubby tail. Cum with me, champ! Shoot that doggy spunk all over my hand! Inseminate that knotted bitch!"

But try as he might, and regardless that he was topped-out sexually and teetering on the edge of orgasm, there was no big finale for the mechanically regulated dog. Not that this stopped him from bucking into the shampoo and pre-cum coated hand of the Rottweiler, who himself enjoying an epic and deeply satisfying climax. As he humped out jet after streaming jet of canine semen, the cameraman hand moved at lightning speed back and forth over all four and a half inches of the jock's rod.

Caught in the midst of the haze of sexual fervor, Michael's desperation latched onto the one thing that had worked just a few minutes earlier: begging.

Feeling the possessive arms of the domineering dog wrapped around him, holding him, jerking him off, Tiny's docked ears went flat in submission, as he whimpered aloud, "Please, sir, let me cum! Please! Can I shoot too? Sir!"

Not understanding the full context of the Doberman's words, the Rottweiler was more than happy to grant permission to the punk who until just recently had been full of attitude and resentment, but now by all appearances had moved past that and onto participating back with dirty talk of his own.

His own orgasm beginning to taper off, weaker spurts making their way out only to be rubbed off onto the short-fur of the Mike's ass, Marty looked over the other dog's shoulder to get a good view of the lad's dick, fondly anticipating the boy's third massive eruption.

"Yeah, do it, boy. Cream all over the shower wall! I want to see it completely coated in puppy spunk. Good ol' Marty gives you permission. Come on -- let 'er rip!"

As much as the kinky words played havoc with his sex drive, though, Michael's re-engineered bullocks refused to give up the goods without Jake's explicit permission, in the form of the remote control's wireless signal.

Not understanding what the problem was, and assuming that his new boy-toy must be teetering on the edge of nirvana, the Rottweiler continued to rub his now-softening cock against the boy's rear while muttering into the lad's ear encouraging, who was only whimpering softly in need, in response.

"Come on, buck. Your turn... do me proud and let loose. It's not polite to keep your elders waiting. I can feel how hard you are... how swollen your sack is in seed. I can feel you twitching in my hand. You need this. You want this. And I'm just the Alpha dog to take you there."

With that said, Marty went silent for the first time since surprising Tiny in the shower, focusing all his attention on redoubling his efforts to get the somewhat dim eye-candy's rocks off. He even switched hands for wanking the puppy off (his other arm having gotten somewhat tired from the repetitive motion), and, using his now free hand, gently massaged the boy's bloated sack. He nibbled on the Tiny's left ear while using his now half-hard length to smear cum all over the slave's backside.

In short, he was determined to get the punk's disobedient cock in line, forcing it to shoot off when he said, whether it liked it or not.

For Michael, it was a war between heaven and hell, and he was caught in the middle. During this shower he had discovered for the first time deeply-buried kinks of his that he had never even considered before. There was something undeniably erotic about a gruff, older, borderline flabby Rottweiler putting him in his place -- rubbing his (much larger) cock all up and down the valley between his ass cheeks while taking Mike's (much smaller) dick in hand (both literally and figuratively). Then there was all those things the asshole said about people watching him... using him... getting off on him. The logical part of his brain couldn't have been more outrage at the notion, but while Tiny was riding the wave of a sexual high, the shitbag's words might as well have been the world's best wet-dream.

The Doberman knew he'd hate himself as soon as he got off (and push the other dog away and once again call him a faggot), but that was just the problem: he couldn't get off! And now this issue had gone from an inconvenient truth to a world-ending catastrophe.

All his life, Michael had never been good at self-restraint.... at moderation. But at the very least, he could always punch someone out and get it out of his system. Or jerk himself off to take the edge off his libido. But now he was stuck in fifth gear, and his body's whole transmission system was locked up. And even worse: it was clear the cameraman had no idea. The over-the-top Alpha male was pounding away at the other dog's stalk, like a madman on a mission.

Mike knew he had to do something. He had to say something!

"Stop! Please! Just... stop! I can't-- I can't without Jake's permission. It just... it won't... work."

Unable to catch all the nuances of Michael's somewhat mumbled confession, Marty continued to stroke the pet's super-sensitive cock, arm moving so fast he was actually burning a decent amount of calories (for the first time in a while).

"Huh? What's that, boy? Speak up!"

Taking a couple calming breaths as the shower head continued to spray the two canine's with hot water, Tiny raised his voice and tried again. Embarrassingly for him, Marty let go of his balls and turned off the water at the same time as he yelled, so it came out deafeningly loud in the enclosed space of the plastic-walled walk-in shower.

"I CAN'T CUM WITHOUT JAKE'S PERMISSION!"

"No need to yell, Tiny! I'm not deaf. Well, why didn't you just say so in the first place? You were starting to give me a complex. The day I can't get a young boi like you to cream all over himself is the day I retire."

Mutual comprehension now established, if the Doberman thought the other canine would simply stop, he was sorely disappointed. As the older fellow continued talking, his hand likewise continued it journey up and down the slave's pole (albeit at a more relaxed pace).

"So, they low-jacked your jack, eh? What was the matter? Got caught with your hands on your gears too often? Or maybe you had some pre-jaculation problems, or whatever they call it? That'd sure throw a wrench into any porn plans."

Horny, tired, and frustrated, Mike snapped back with, "How the fuck should I know? Go ask the lice-bitten fuck-bag who did this to me. Some big rhino at some hospital I've never heard o--" Realizing that the man was still stroking him at a leisurely pace, the Doberman interrupted himself to say, "Could you please stop?! Enough, man."

"Stop? Whatcha mean, boy? Weren't you just begging me to make you cum, a few moments ago? How did that go, now... Oh yeah: Please, sir, let me cum? That sound about right? If I recall correctly, it was right around the time I was painting your ass white with grade A dog spunk."

Ears dipping again in shame, Michael finally picked up on the fact that there was a dog sheath pushed up under his tail, smearing cum all over his cheeks and asshole.

"There's... no point if I can't get off..."

At last, the older dog gave up on the hand job, and instead proceeded to amuse himself by fingering around the pup's sheath and knot -- tracing veins and see how far he could get his fingers inside the warm flesh.

"Oh, now, you know that's not true, champ. There's a lot of people out there who are going to spend truckloads of money to see you not get off. They want you hot-to-trot, used, and put away wet and needy. You've been told this is a kink website, yeah? Well, I get the feeling that the producers here are going for the whole 'one hundred percent authentic' vibe. Why else would they spend all that money on some random jock's family jewels? My point is, there is a point. And the point isn't for you to get off -- it's for you to not get off. You following me, pup? People aren't gonna pay twenty... thirty... forty bucks a month or more to watch you fling your jizz around. That's not interesting. You know what is interesting? Watching you beg on camera to be allowed to shoot, only to be told 'no' by a horse whose cock is easily three times the size of yours. Then that same horse slaps your puny cock around a bit with his, cums all over your crotch, and jacks you off with his own spunk. Will you be begging to get off by that point? You bet your britches -- if you were allowed to wear any, that is. Will he let you get off? Not if he cares about the website's bottom line. Still following me, red-rocket?"

As the pair dripped dried under the gaze of the ever-recording cameras, Michael tried to process the Rottweiler's crude, unflinching words.

"So... what do I do?"

"Well.. that horse fella... he's your friend, right? And he's trying to make this website a success, right?"

"Yeah...?"

Reaching back underneath Tiny's tail stub, Marty scooped up a large helping of his own nut-butter, only to reach back around and spread it all over the boy's forever-hard dick. Then, taking the lad's wrist in hand, he moved Mike's hand some that it formed a loose hold over his own pole.

"Then it's time to chip in and get to work. You know what to do."

As soon as he understood what the other dog was saying, he knew it was a bad idea (for many, many reasons), but, in the end, Mike wasn't able to help himself. The smell of fresh cum in the air... his own extreme randiness... the notion of helping out Jake. It was just too much for the slave. And so, even though he was still extremely conflicted and deeply unsettled about the whole affair.... Tiny began to jerk himself off. Slowly and tentatively at first, but soon his buff arm was picking up speed, moving back and forth, up and down over his own incredibly horny shaft -- a condition his actions were only making far worse.

Allowing himself a victory smirk for overcoming the psychological barriers of the stubborn porn diva, the cameraman softly cooed out encouragement to the pup, as the boy worked on himself.

"Theeeere ya go, champ... get yourself nice and worked up. No such thing as too horny, aye? Come on now... make Jake proud of ya. Stroke that puppy cock. Take it to the edge and then keep it there. A leaking dick is an obedient dick. And think of how lucky you were to have that ball surgery... you can push yourself right to the edge without worrying about going over. That's something real special, right there. Plenty of porn stars would kill for something like that... guess you were just born lucky, yeah? Must have been, with a cock like that. Yeah... there ya go, pup... show that four-inch bitch who's the boss. You like the feel of that cum on your prick, don'tcha? That's real man's cum, right there. You let that spunk sink in nice and deep... it'll do ya some good... Ooo, see that drop of pre-cum on the tip of your cock head? Yeah, boy... make that dicklet weep. Every drop of pre-cum you wring out of that pathetic worm just makes Jake prouder and prouder of ya, lad. I'm sure of it."

Once again, the slave fell into a sexual haze where the Rottweiler's words washed over and through him, with the forty year old cameraman dirty talking into his ear from behind the whole time. If later pressed, Mike would have been unable to guess how long the two spent together like this, but the bathroom camera's timestamp would pin it at just over twenty five minutes. The later half spent with Marty once more at full arousal, dry humping the lad's shapely cheeks from behind.

For almost a half hour the puppy slave worked himself into a rut (with the cameraman uttering lewd words of encouragement into his ear all the while), knowing full well that, now having gone down this path, there was no way to put the genie back into the bottle. He was once again stuck in a situation where, despite having gotten twice in one day, he was in a frenzied need for release... with Jake still holding the sole key.

---

Miles Aric and Jake Parker sat in the executive's plush, spacious office as the wall-mounted high-def television dimmed to black.

"Well?" Jake asked, "What do you think?"

Face passive, the cheetah scratched his chin for a moment or two before replying.

"For a first shoot, I have to say, that was actually pretty great. Don't get me wrong -- it was a bit all over the place in some areas, and the dialogue got a bit cheesy. But all the most important elements of a good porn are there, and right in your face. Handsome and interesting cast... good story and character development... plus some really great kinks. I'd give it a B+. Which, again, is fairly fantastic considering it was a first for both you. You should be proud. Well done. And you even got him to sign the contract!"

Readjusting his semi-stiff package through his clothing (the video having re-aroused a degree of passion in the Clydesdale), Jake laughed and said, "Yeah, well, I guess long-term cum denial is a pretty powerful motivator."

Taking a quick sip from the bottle of water he'd opened when they'd started watching the raw, unedited footage, Aric replied, "Yeah, about that... I hope you're not planning on letting him get off in every scene, are you? Our focus testing shows a strong desire from our target audience to see a buffed-out tough guy put in his place and kept dry and needy. The small cock is just cream on the top, so to speak, compared to seeing a hyper-sexualized jock work long and hard for a rare chance to jizz. Are you going to be able to be that strict with Tiny?"

Somber, but with determination in his voice, the horse responded, "Yeah, I got this."

"Well, I don't mean to say I doubt you, Mr. Parker, but he's going to attempt every trick in the book to get you to relax the lease. I know when I was twenty-one, there was nothing I wouldn't say or do to get my nut, if you'll excuse the crude language. This website... this entire endeavor depends on you sticking to your guns on this. Several people jobs and livelihoods are now invested into this effort. Some of them we'd be able to keep on if this website falls through, but many we'd have to layoff. These people have families, Mr. Parker, and bills to pay. I apologize if I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but now that we've started, this is my last opportunity to emphasise to you the importance of your role here. You need to start thinking of Tiny, not as your high school friend, but as your pet, as lewd as that sounds."

Somewhat put out that he was being lectured to like an irresponsible child with his first car, Jake attempted to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he asked, "Well, what do you recommend, Mr. Aric?"

"Having Marty come in as a cameraman was a good start, actually. As I'm sure you'll find out, he's much more than a simple video technician. While I'm not at liberty to disclose the full details behind his previous work history, I can say that he knows a thing or two about keeping porn divas like Michael in line. With the new contract in place, it's your call whether or not we hire him, but I strongly recommend you do so. You also need to get the rest of your team in place, but that's more of a long term goal. In the short term... well, you could always fuck him."

Sitting up stiffer in his office chair, the Clydesdale replied, "Excuse me? You mean, like all the way? Isn't that, I dunno, skipping some steps?"

"That's the point. You ease that monster into his rear after a bit of fingering and a lot of lube, and there's no way he'll ever forget who's on top and who's on bottom. And in my opinion, the sooner the better. You can do it on camera if you like, but that's probably just footage that we'd have to throw away. Yelling and tears is a bit too hardcore for anything but a niche market, and there's likely to be plenty of both the first couple times you spear him. This is just a suggestion, mind you. I'm sure you'll think of something to help Tiny acclimate to his new life. Just keep in mind that we're going to be wanting at least a couple years out of this deal, if not many more. The sooner you can get our Doberman friend to be at peace with his circumstances, the sooner we can start pumping out consistently high-quality product."

Not yet fully comfortable with thinking and speaking about his long-time buddy in these terms, Jake could only silently nod, while still feeling extremely conflicted inside.

"Now," Aric said, switching topics, "Let's discuss that potential hire... a polar bear, I believe he was. I think he'll be ideal for a few upcoming scenes."

"Oh. Yeah. You said you wanted him to participate in the on camera stuff?"

"That's exactly right. We need a bad cop to your good cop, and he fits the bill. He's tough, confident, and doesn't accept any backtalk. He's only modestly hung, but he'll still look huge next to Tiny. Six and a half or seven inches, if I recall correctly. Decently thick, though. Not that you don't beat him handily in both departments. We'll bring him in as the 'Tiny's Trainer' character. Film him forcing the pup to work out, lift weights, run on the treadmill, that sort of thing. Then, when the dog meets his overly-demanding goals, while Tiny is still panting and sweating from his work out, the polar bear 'rewards' him by making the slave go down on him. Maybe even forces the youth to drink his piss, or something. We'll have to focus group test that, first. Anyway, the idea is that he's clearly brutally unfair, compared to your obviously even-handed demeanor. The worst stuff he'll do when you're not in the room, so your character isn't tainted by his unreasonable demands. Basically, the story line is, when daddy's not home, the bear comes out to play. When Mike inevitably complains to you, you need to always take the Trainer's side over his. Remember, Tiny doesn't know that the entire room is wired for sound and video. As far as he knows, there's no proof he can provide you. So it always boils down to the Trainer's word versus his. Later, the Trainer punishes him after you leave the room for tattling. That fits our darker S&M needs nicely. You get to stay in the role of Tiny's real life best buddy, and the website gets some hardcore slave punishment/discipline scenes."

A large part of Jake strongly wanted to object to the pitch. It was cruel, it was even more unfair than the rest of the situation was, and there was no guarantee that they'd make more money going this route. But having just been lectured about his professionalism by the ridiculously wealthy and successful executive businessman, something stayed the horse's hand.

Instead, the Clydesdale said, "Okay, I'll bring him in for an interview. When can he be available? Oh, and what's his name, by the way?"

"Mr. Pierce."