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Waiting for the bus to complete its route, I kept my eyes fixed on the exit door, my expression vacant. Surely no one could draw conclusions from the cardboard box I carried. I needed to get home. Everything would be alright if I could just get home. My mind was going in circles. How had I screwed it up this badly? What was I going to do with myself? What could I have done better? How much money was I going to need? How could I not have seen this coming?

No. I couldn't think like that. I needed to keep strong, just a little longer, to keep up the barriers in my head, just long enough to get home.

I jumped when the bus came to a halt. I'd been counting the seconds until I could leave. I was probably rude to the other passengers as I bolted first out the door, walking as fast as I could while carrying the box, struggling to keep control.

Just a few more blocks. Oh god, I hadn't had to walk this way, not coming home from work at least, in so long. My heart was beating faster. I was so alone, having to navigate public transport, ride home with a bus full of strangers, walking past who knows how many people, just hoping they couldn't see the panic, the terror, the shame, the failure behind my eyes, screaming to get out, to curl my lips and bend my body double, to make me cry in anguish . . .

Home. I needed to get home. My breaths were rapid. Eyes filling with tears, long rabbit ears drooping as low as they could go, drenched in terrified sweat, at last I found my way to the front door of our first-floor apartment.

I dropped the box. I think something inside shattered. I wasn't sure that if I'd bent down to check I could get up again. Keys. There had to be keys somewhere in one of my pockets. I checked frantically, tears leaking from rapidly blinking eyes, soaking into the white fur of my face, making it harder to see which was the right tiny piece of metal in my shaking paws.

Suddenly, the door swung inward. Watery though my vision was, I could make out a huge, brown, shaggy bear face staring down at me. My breathing was ragged. My eyes were wide and welling with tears. My ears hung low behind me. My lips and nose quivered. Waves of shame, mixed with comfort, failure mixed with hope, washed over me. I hated for him to see me so defeated, but I was so glad he was here. His voice was deep, reassuring, kind:

"Sherman, what happened?"

I choked. I could smell something cooking, the scents of home and bear sullied by my own terrified rabbit wreak.

"oh, Master . . ."

It was all I could manage before at last my mind gave way. My legs faltered, and I fell into him, breath heaving in great sobs, eyes closed. Wide, strong, gentle bear paws engulfed me.

Otis is my Master, my Owner, and I am his Pet. He keeps me safe, he cares for me, he even feeds me and cleans me, and I, I live to please him. I love the way he strokes my fine white pelt. I love the way he holds me, like he can keep the world at bay. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to bury myself in his deep, warm, chocolate fur, and never come out.

The hard, professional mask I struggled to wear each day had shattered. The walls in my mind keeping in my worries had crumbled. My pretended strength had failed me, but his stalwart, supportive arms had caught me.

"I've got you, my Pet," he whispered as he lifted me, his forepaws under my arms and at the small of my back, pressing my limp form to his chest as I tried to bury my face into his fur, tears soaking his silk shirt. My heart pounded against his chest, my nose drew in his confident musk with each deep breath.

I don't know how long he stood there, door open, holding his limp, sobbing Pet, before I could bring myself to wrap my arms around his sturdy chest, pressing my muzzle up under his chin, as high as I could reach standing, burrowing into the fur above his shirt collar. Shifting one paw under my rump, he bent to pull the box inside, and close the door, before settling at last into an arm chair, drawing me into his lap. I stayed there a long time, clutching the one solid thing in my life, as he stroked the fur between my ears and made patient, calming "shh" noises. Finally, I had to blurt it out:

"I lost my job, Master." It came out as one forced breath in a long series of pained sniffles and sobs.

"We'll make it work," he didn't hesitate, "I will always take care of you." He planted a kiss on my forehead, between gentle strokes of his paw.

I have never been the kind of Pet who stays at home all day, waiting for his Master by the door. He doesn't keep me in a kennel, or make me eat from a dish on the floor (well, most of the time . . .). I'm not some submissive slave who'll cook and clean and wait on his Master's beck and call, either. I'm my Master's Pet, and if I come when he calls, it's because I love him. That said, I have had my own life, my own job, my own friends, most of them leaving now . . .

"The whole department's just dissolved." I held him tighter. My paws clutching at his shirt. I couldn't lose him too.

"I'm sorry, my Pet. I take it the split didn't happen." He sounded warm, reassuring, calm. He wasn't judging me, he was supporting me, even literally, when I could no longer stand on my own.

The department I worked for was supposed to break away from a larger corporation, which was downsizing. We'd all have new jobs, in a new company. That morning, the separation was supposed to be finalized, but instead:

"They just told us corporate had decided to scrap it instead, and we wouldn't have new positions, since there's no new company. They wouldn't even let me drive the company car home!" I muffled my shouts of frustration, pressing my face into his fur.

"That explains why you were late. I was starting to get worried." Part of me was infuriated at how calmly he spoke, but something had to be calm in my life. Someone had to be there for me.

I held myself against him, shivering and bawling, letting all my worries about my social life, my career, my finances, future job search, pour out. How pathetic was my career, reduced to a box full of desk trinkets? What would Otis think of me? Having such a failure for a Pet? What would my Master expect of me? Could we even make rent?

I felt his strong paw ruffling the fur on the back of my head, grasping the base of my left ear. With his thumb and forefinger he gently squeezed, sliding up the long, sensitive appendage, lifting it upwards, smoothing the short fur. He knows how that sends tingles through me. He repeated with my right ear, whispering softly:

"Shh shh shh, everything's going to be ok."

Something about his voice, his strong yet ginger touch, his intimate grip massaging my tender ears was melting me, draining the fear and nervousness from me as I sobbed into his fur, my breathing getting slower, calmer.

"Would you like me to help you get undressed?"

I never wear clothes at home. They're part of the professional mask I put on every morning. At home, with my Master, I can be myself: I can be his Pet. Besides, every stitch of fabric between my pelt and his eyes, his nose, his paws, can only be a barrier between us.

I nodded slowly, sniffling nose still buried under his chin. Gently, carefully, he began unbuttoning my shirt, taking hold of my arms and peeling it from me, revealing only my black leather collar beneath. He held me just inches from his face, taking the silver tag of my collar between thumb and forefinger. On one side, it has my name, and on the other, his name and phone number. It's a symbol of my devotion to him, and my way of feeling him with me, always.

"You are my Pet, Sherman, and I would never let anything really bad happen to you." His voice was stern, his powerful, forest green eyes bored into my blue ones.

I broke down again. Hadn't something really bad just happened? How could he not understand what this meant to me? Eyes closed, I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling my head over his shoulder as he lifted me slightly with a paw under my rump.

"I love you, my Pet, and you can stay right here for as long as you need to. If a new job is what you need, I'll drag you to interviews on a leash if I have to, but you can stay right here in our apartment, and be mine and mine alone, if that's what's best for you right now." He peeled off my shoes and socks, my khakis and underwear, leaving just my chastity cage underneath.

I wear a slim, stainless steel tube, fastened with a metal band locked around my sac. My Master had it custom fitted for me, and although he may not know I realize it, I'm certain it must have been expensive. He only ever gives me the best. He wears the key on a chain around his neck, to remind him of his duty as my Master. I wear the cage to devote myself to his pleasure. After a while, it makes me so much more eager to please him, and every touch, every appreciative gesture he gives me feels so much deeper, so much more meaningful. It had been three weeks since I'd last earned an orgasm, a wonderful gift, amplified by my dedication, that only my Master can give me now that I wear the cage. I was so terrified that I'd disappointed him, that when he thought about it, there's no way he could want to touch me again.

"I need to be a good Pet," I whispered, almost more to myself than to him. Placing both paws on his chest, I looked up into his worried face, my wide eyes tearing with the prospect that I'd displeased him, forced him to face the burden of my future career, expenses, and fears. "I want to please you," I pleaded.

"I know you do, my Pet," he breathed, shifting one paw to ruffle the fur between my ears.

It wasn't enough. I'd failed in my purpose as a professional, and I couldn't fail as a Pet, too. I had to be worth something, to do something, right then and there, something more than collapse into my Master, drawing further upon his strength.

Slowly I slid myself down his muscular thighs, and drew my paws down his soft shirt, stained with my tears, feeling the thick, shaggy fur beneath, until at last I reached his belt. I was slow, gentle yet deliberate, almost trance-like. Master did nothing to stop me, save placing his reassuring paws on my thighs as I perched on the edge of the chair, the balls of my long feet paws between his knees. Had my mood not been so low, my expression so drained, I might have looked like a rabbit ready to hop, to spring over my Master's head. As it was, I remained sad and dejected, ears drooping, bent legs spread to display my caged cock hanging limply over two bunny balls bigger than kiwis, their desperate pent-up pleas almost forgotten in my self-pity. My paws began to undo his belt, as I brought my gaze once more to his, seeking permission, encouragement.

I had to suppress a shudder. His expression wasn't expectant, or proud. He still looked concerned. This wasn't really what he wanted, but I wasn't sure what else I could do for him. "Please, I need to be able to . . . to do something, anything, to be worth something. I want . . . I want to please you." I almost sniffled. I felt so small, so helpless. I wanted so desperately for some action of mine to be appreciated.

His expression warmed. His paws held me steady as be bent forward to plant a soft kiss, steadying my quivering and uncertain lips. "Nothing could be worth more," he replied, calm and encouraging.

He gave a satisfied sigh as his belly relaxed, the belt slipping loose. It had to be forced, I knew: yet another burden I'd placed upon my Master, to fake enjoyment for the pathetic psyche of one so lowly as myself. Part of me, though, some remnant of rational thought, was sure, sure I could do this, was certain I could bring him some ounce of pleasure, even if it was a poor echo of what I ought.

Lowering my eyes to my paws, deft, practiced fingers undid the button on his slacks, opened his fly, and gently, slowly lowered his boxers, revealing the object of my desire.

Thick, dominant, masculine musk wafted up to my quivering nose. Deeply, I drew it in. It steadied me, reminded me of my purpose. A full day's work confined in cotton had left the powerful scent of lingering sweat in my Master's fur. His peach-sized balls lay heavy in their ample sac between his shaggy, muscular thighs. His chocolate-brown sheath was just beginning to plump, its opening buried in his deep fur. Placing my hands upon his hips, I hunched forward to draw my muzzle into the source of the powerful scent.

"Ooohh," cooed my gracious Master as my cold nose buried in his hot fur, my warm, wet tongue probing for the opening of his sheath, slipping gently into its hot, salty confines.

With one paw I cradled his heavy, loose sac, gently lifting and massaging his balls, churning with noble seed that deserved a more attentive, more pleasurable release than such a wretch as myself could ever . . .

No. I couldn't think like that. I had to focus. I had to be a good Pet. I froze, gathering my thoughts, fingers still deep in his most intimate fur, tongue still probing.

"That feels wonderful, my Pet, but you don't have to . . . ooohh" A broad paw left my thigh to stroke my bent back, fingers gently playing though my fine fur, almost tickling.

I know Master's words were meant to be reassuring, but in that moment, they were the harshest criticism: questioning my commitment, what felt like the only remaining commitment in my world.

I redoubled my efforts. Gently squeezing his balls as I pulled them upwards, I plunged my muzzle into his coarse, deep, curly crotch-fur, forcing my tongue into his sheath until it met the rising, growing cock-head it so desperately sought. I began to lap at the insides of his sheath, soaking his musky fur with my tongue, lifting and brushing at his glans, drawing it upward with long, savoring licks. I pressed his sac against him, warming his orbs with his heat, grinding them this way and that as his breaths grew deeper, his heartbeats faster.

At last, the broad, oozing tip of my Master's stark, dominant black cock spilled forth, his sheath pooling around the base of his thickening length. I began to alternate between long, slow licks up each inch of his underside, encouraging the beads of salty, slick, delicious pre heavy with his savory flavor, and nursing coyly at his tip, teasing him, hoping to fire his powerful, possessive lust, and make me his.

"I have . . . mmmmm . . . such a lovely Pet." A deep, almost growled moan broke out partway through his words. I could feel the long, heated breaths from his noble muzzle rushing through the fur on the back of my neck. His powerful chest and belly rose and fell, his rapid heartbeat pulsing through his skin, where my sensitive ears could feel and almost hear it, and my tongue could taste it. Slowly, with his ever-gentle self-control, he began to rock his hips, urging his tip just a little deeper.

With each thrust, I lowered my head a little further. Each roll of his hips brought my nose lower, coaxing him, encouraging the lust and desire and power within him. His grip on my thighs tightened. It felt so right to be held so firmly in his paws. Each soft, slick slurp was accompanied by deep, rhythmic breaths through my nose and into his warm fur. Each undulating swipe of my tongue brought an appreciative sigh or "ooh" from his muzzle.

My Master's perfect, obsidian cock had at last reached its full, graceful stature. My lips wrapped tight around rock-hard shaft three inches wide, my tongue basked in his confident, dominant flavor. Each dip brought my head lower, my ears brushing up and down against my Master's thick belly-fur. Eagerly, I swallowed his tip, once, twice, and at last I brought in his full eight inches, burying my nose once again in his musky crotch-fur, kissing his base with my lips: slurping, sucking, swallowing, caressing, squeezing his length as best I could while my paw slowly ground his increasingly tight balls against each other.

I stayed with him, holding his full length inside me as his hips rolled, letting just a little frustration build up until he growled, increasing his force dramatically, thrusting properly into his Pet, fucking me as I so desperately wanted.

I wanted this. I needed this. The thick smells of sweat and musk and sex, not only my Master's but my own, weak, submissive scent as well; the growls and grunts, slurps and thuds; the thick, sensitive, black bear cock sliding in and out of my muzzle, pressing into my lips, my palate, my throat; all of it brought out my own need, my own desire, sending shocks and spasms, quivers and waves of pleasure through both our undulating bodies, my Master's pleasure seeping into me as well. I could feel my own, long-denied length beginning to fill out its cage, the inside smooth, snug and secure.

"Such a selfless Pet . . ." he panted between rapid breaths. One broad paw ruffled my fur all the way up one side of my body, just reaching my cheek before returning to its firm, steadying grip on my thigh. For just a moment, just one beat in our shared rhythm, I froze, failing to welcome my Master into my muzzle. What kind of Pet was I, to devote so much of my mind to self-pity?

I redoubled my pace, determined to live up to my Master's praise, or as close as so pitiful a being as myself could manage. Eagerly I swallowed his engorged, leaking tip into my throat again and again, tongue lashing over his fiery length. I could feel his racing heartbeat pumping in time with my own, smell his arousal, his musk, his breaths pouring over me, his lust reflected, contained in my cage, jolts and spasms of his pleasure firing through me, my cock pulsing against its rigid prison. My right leg began to spasm, shaking my body in a desperate need to push against the chair, to force my hips forward, but my Master's firm grip held me fast, helped me to focus on my task.

My paws gripped his hips tightly as his body undulated against mine, feeling the spasms and vibrations of our bodies, the deep rumbling growls of his breath, lost in rut. He was so very close. His hips could no longer sustain a rhythm, thrusting and pumping as fast as they could go. I did my best to keep up, pressing his tip to the ridged roof of my mouth, grinding my rough tongue against his sensitive underside, forcing my nose into his fur again and again.

His powerful neck rolled his strong muzzle upward. I could feel in his quivering, pulsing, throbbing length that he was past the point of no return, feel the surging, dominant seed in his heavy balls, his sac tight against his body. With two final, forceful thrusts he let out an unrestrained roar, the cry of a noble, confident beast pleased by my submission. I did my best, in those climactic moments, to draw myself fully from his length, just kissing his slit, before slamming my muzzle into his fur, drawing deeply of his scent one last time before I swallowed him, squeezing his length and massaging his shaft with all my might, sucking and swallowing, hoping to be the very best a Pet could be.

From deep within the bear, a shuddering, thundering flow of thick, potent, seething cum erupted through every inch of his massaged length, exploding into the back of my throat. I did my best to swallow with each gushing spasm of his body, but his seed filled my mouth nonetheless, some even dribbling from my frantically sucking lips. I savored the taste of it. This was my place: pleasing my Master, held in his firm grip, tasting his overpowering musk, trusting him to do what's right for me, basking in his joy, his approval, his euphoria.

After a few warm moments of vicarious pleasure, when at last my Master was ready, he lifted a paw from my thigh, and raised my shoulder, drawing me from his length. I gasped, taking in breath for the first time since his final thrusts, swallowing the last of his savory gift, looking up into his eyes, pleading to know I'd done right; that I'd pleased him.

His smile, his rounded ears, his cheeks, his fur, his muscles all appeared relaxed and satisfied, pleased by my ministrations, but in his eyes I saw something else. He was still worried, almost guilty as he gazed down upon me. I trembled, my own blood still coursing with potent, fired-up lust, my hips rocking in uncontrollable spasms, my cock straining against its steel cage, pulling the band around my balls almost painfully tight.

After watching me for only a moment, my Master drew me to his chest with his broad arms, pressing me into his fur, as I did my best to regain my composure, enjoying the way his thick, coarse coat felt against my fine pelt as I shook and thrust oh-so-gently against him. It felt so good to bask in this submission, to have pleased my Master and be content only to share in his bliss. It was wonderful to have this moment of pure clarity, but quickly, my thoughts clouded: Why was Otis so unconcerned with my career? What could he expect of me? Had I done the right thing? Did I really want to question him? How could I have changed things, done better, been different?

Soon, sooner than I would have liked, I was under control again, sobered by my own returning melancholy.