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Sama the Doberman was itching to dance. So, he slipped into some pants that allowed freedom of movement: 'For rock climbers,' he thought, 'originally or something. Careful now...' as he eased his junk carefully into the fabric, tucked everything away as comfortably as possible. A zip and then another thought: 'I'm also itching to get LAID,' he realized, and then slipped on his fire-engine red leather jacket over his naked torso. He zipped that up, too, halfway, leaving it stretch open around his black-and-tan chest muscles.

He looked in the full-length mirror and stretched, feeling confident, feeling hot, feeling FULL. Skipping down the stairs from his spacious apartment, he passed his motorcycle where it perched and into the quiet, already-dark street.

It was only two turns and two blocks until he was on the Rue d'Independence and a major club scene in the city. He flashed a smile, and looked up the broad sweep of the street where it crested a small hill and turned. There were at least eight clubs in these two city blocks, but it was a new one that caught his eye: the Dogue de Velours. It was next to the Bouche de Lion, where he had worked a year ago. He walked that way - more like strutted, really - through the mid-evening crowds moving up and down the street that parted for the oily-smooth streetcars.

Sam looked at the entrance - there were a couple of burly bouncers and a cordon, but the as fursons lined up and checked in they moved in smoothly. Good looking folks, he thought, and he turned down the alley next to the Bouche de Lion, rounded the corner behind, and saw the Lion's familiar rear entry and the next club's entry, too. He sallied up to the rear door and, as it was open, stepped through.

"WOAH there, friend," came a deep growl and a stiff arm across his chest. The doberman looked a bit surprised and down to the big paw on his chest, and followed the arm up its burls to a rather humorless Rottweiler. He blinked, just slightly up, at the Rott.

"Uh, hello," the Doberman said cheerily.

The Rottweiler snarled just a bit.

Then, from deeper within the club came a bit of a growl. "Wassat going on, eh?" and emerging from the hall came a very large, shirtless, burly, tawny Mastiff-type dog. He had a preternaturally grim demeanor, but that lightened the moment he caught sight of the Doberman. "Heeeeyyy, Sam! Sama, my MAN!" The Mastiff strode forward and, without looking at his colleague, knocked the paw away and took the Doberman in a strong, squeezing embrace. "Dog, man!"

Sama was surprised, he hadn't seen the Mastiff for months. "Mmfff, Oscrayo!" he exclaimed, and clasped the Mastiff's bare chest to his own, tightly. Their muzzle met and they licked each other's faces and lips and tongues and murred happily; it wasn't an erotic encounter, of course, for dogs - although dogs seem to live on the very edge of constant, spontaneous eroticism - because they weren't grinding their bursting-full groins against each other. Still, for some minutes they just happily licked each other's faces, tangled tongues, and, slowly, began downright kissing.

"Gnnffgrff growrfff," murrgrowled the Mastiff dog, his paws slipping down the Doberman's back, cupping that powerful rump. The dogs really started to make out hard, grasping each other's bodies as they pressed themselves together, tongues delving, paws gripping, and lewdly hip grinding. The Rottweiler shifted uncomfortably, uncertain of what to do. He didn't take his eyes off the pair of magnificent dogs, though, despite the tightening discomfort in his jeans, or the incredibly obvious arousal he was displaying.

"Grffmgrfgl," Sam replied, as their greeting escalated into a real friendly make-out session, but pushed Mastiff back for a moment. Oscrayo stretched his neck forward, getting in a few last kisses as the Doberman chuckled. "Easy dawg. What where you saying?"

The Mastiff chuckled and slipped his arms up around the Doberman's waist, while Sam licked his neck. "I said," he murred, "what brings you to the Velours, you maniac?"

Sam leaned back and touched noses with his old friend, keeping his hips pressed against him. "What else? Looking for TAIL, dawg." The Mastiff chuffed, and Sam looked over at the Rottweiler. He raised an eyebrow, looking over the other dog. "Mmm. Still bouncin' the bouncers, are you? You always go for muscle-dogs." The Rottweiler shifted a little uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how he must look, all hot and bothered. The bouncer started to say something, but the Mastiff spoke first.

"Him? Naw, he's only worked here three days yet. He doesn't know the lay of the land yet, Sam."

The Doberman gave his massive Mastiff pal a heavy pat on the rump, and one last loin grind. "Looks like he's looking for a map, dawg," and licked Oscrayo on the nose, once. "I'll catch you later, Oskar, k?" He then looked over at the plainly befuddled Rottweiler, and looked openly down over his body and settled at the strain in his groin. "You," he said, "look like you're gonna stay real busy around here."

With that, Sam turned and stepped through the hallway and into the club. The Mastiff watched him go, until he vanished from sight. The tawny stud dog turned towards the Rottweiler, who gulped audibly. The Rott couldn't tear his eyes away from the Mastiff's half-swollen cock, plainly visible against the fabric running down his thigh. His eyes were so locked onto his boss's dogmeat that he didn't notice the Mastiff close the door and turn towards him fully, until Oscrayo cleared his throat.

"Ulp, grrgl." The Rottie spluttered a moment. "I mean, um. Yeah?" He still didn't look away from the Mastiff's member. He could see a thick vein even through the fabric, against that Mastiff's swelling cock. What kind of pants where those, anyway, yoga or something? Loose fitting but thin enough to... ulp, see the details of his boss's... monster.

"I said," repeated the Mastiff as his lift his paws and put them behind his head, "it ain't gonna suck itself, is it. Is it?"

The Rottweiler gulped again, and found himself on his knees. Did he kneel down? Yes, he had knelt down. He slipped his strong paws up the powerful, muscular thighs of the Mastiff and eased the waist of the tawny dog's pants down, down, down, gulping again as they slipped over the Mastiff's butt-cheeks and he exposed the fullness of the black-skinned root of that monster. "No, um," he said, gently, gently tugging that heavy, blood-hot organ free of its constraints, licking at its velveteen softness hesitantly. "Um, boss, I haven't..." he trailed off.

The Mastiff, who was just starting to let his head tilt back, turned to look down at the kneeling muscle-dog. "Haven't what, dog?" he asked.

"Um. I haven't... I haven't sucked a dog for a couple of years, and..." The Mastiff cut him off by lowering a paw to guide his muzzle against his heavy, dangling, black balls. "... and mmfffFFmmrff."

"But I bet you'll still find you're a mindblowing dogsucker," finished the Mastiff for the Rottie, and he growled happily as the Rott started licking, then abandoning his reticence, slurping on his fat, heavy balls. "Yeah, I get you'll find you're STILL the best throat on the block..." The Rottie started licking, lapping, slathering his tongue up and down the stiffening, stretching width of the Head Bouncer's low-hanging cock, and stroking it with both paws. Then: "OH!" The Mastiff's own eyes opened from their half-closed state as the Rottweiler slipped his tongue around his head, swirling against the thickness of the foreskin, before opening his maw as wide as it could go and *easing* the Mastiff's cock into his throat. "YES."