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Wren rather liked being a slave.

It wasn't the sort of thing young girls dreamed of growing up to be. In her pre-pubescent youth Wren had, at various times, envisioned becoming an astronaut, a princess, a race car driver, a princess who was also an astronaut, and for a brief time a pony - which may, in retrospect, have been the first inkling that servitude might suit her well in her mid-20's.

Alas, as with many young girls the wolfess's ambitions were dashed upon the rocks of reality - in this case, the reality of turning 18, graduating high school, and determining that if she wanted to leave her parents' house she'd need some funds with with which to do so. So rather than a bright future of equininity she'd found herself, for a time at least, in the role of copy editor at a minor publishing house, cleaning up manuscripts for crime novels that were unlikely to ever see a library, bookstore, or indeed, print. So far as Wren could tell the company published very little, which was remarkable for being a publishing house.  She suspected it was some kind of front, although if it was, the sinister crime syndicate behind it had chosen a pitifully unremunerative industry to use for their money laundering.

The job had served its purpose for a time, providing her enough income to move to a small apartment in a relatively low-crime neighborhood of the city in a quaint building with a super who had had taken a liking to her on account of his love of crime novels, although he never seemed to quite grasp that Wren didn't write them herself. But she soon found engaging in heated email exchanges with desperate authors over the difference between 'who' and 'whom' to be unfulfilling as a career and so tried a switch, recklessly, to waitressing instead.

Wren quickly found herself in unfamiliar company on account of not being an aspiring actor/actress, single mother, or over the age of 50, but found a job all the same at a small luxury hotel with an even smaller luxury restaurant attached. The hotel's owners, being from Germany, were under the (mistaken) impression that all hotels everywhere in the world offered a free breakfast buffet and so offered the same - unadvertised, because that would be like a hotel advertising offering amenities such as 'beds' or 'water' - in their lone US property.

Having no waitressing experience this actually worked to Wren's advantage, since hotels offering free breakfasts had little incentive to encourage their guests to avail themselves of it. Unlike a typical restaurant the owners and managers would be happiest if no guests chose to eat there at all, and so in a shrewd bit of business savvy the manager picked only the most minimum-skilled employees he could find to staff it so long as the line cooks didn't poison anyone. It was only an unhappy coincidence that Wren turned out to be quite good at her latest and arbitrarily-chosen career path, but so long as it didn't result in too many customers the manager was willing to let it slide. It certainly helped her case that she wasn't bad to look at, as well.

It was at this job that Wren first encountered the aristocratic snow leopard who not much later she would come to know as Master Lorkin, when despite the management's best efforts he insisted on taking breakfast at the hotel while he was staying downtown. That he regularly chose this particular hotel was a feather in the cap of the management given the fact that Mister Lorkin could likely buy the hotel outright many times over if he wanted to, although that wasn't quite enough to convince them to adjust their strict standard of mediocrity for their breakfast service.

To Wren, Master Lorkin (not that she knew him by that moniker back then) was merely a well-spoken, polite, mature, and - she had to admit after she found herself unable to stop thinking about him - effortlessly beguiling customer who preferred his coffee with sugar but no cream (she remembered thinking that was amusing, for a feline) and never drank more than one glass of orange juice. She had no idea who he was otherwise; the sorts of business magazines that write feature stories about executives of the Ragil Lorkin sort weren't the the periodicals of choice for Wren, nor did she work in a bank lacking customers whose net worth was measured in less than eight digits. She was only a waitress, an annoyingly good one, and to her the feline was an alluring - if aloof - guest and customer.

Her employment (and indeed, her entire living) situation changed shortly after the day when Master Lorkin had asked her, while she was pouring his second cup of coffee for the morning, if she might be interested in joining him for drinks that evening. She'd agreed readily - if somewhat shyly - which she liked to think was not at all like her. They'd chosen a time (after dinner) and a place (a bar Wren was unable to find reviews for, or so much as a mention of, in Yelp), and that evening she found herself in her best evening dress in the back of a town car and trying not to look like she felt as out of place as she honestly, really did.

Somewhat surprisingly the bar was a real establishment and apparently popular enough to warrant both no signage and a line running parallel to the front door that they didn't have to wait in, filled with people dressed far more expensively than she. At the time she'd not understood why, although now the idea of Master Lorkin waiting in line for anything seemed patently absurd to her. The date, much to Wren's confusion at the time, had been more akin to a job interview than a romantic evening. He'd asked her her age (27), her interests (hiking, martial arts training, reading), her youth (uneventful, sadly lacking in going to space or princessing). She would ask him polite questions in return that he'd answer, never in too much detail, and were always finished with another one for her. He was at once a perfect gentleman and a placidly intimidating and dominant figure, ordering her drinks for her, standing when she left the table if only for a moment, and watching, always watching her with dark green eyes that looked right into her. Answer by answer the questions peeled back the layers of her personality until she felt laid bare to him,; even now when she looked back she couldn't say just what had happened beyond the snow leopard awakening something within her merely by making her talk about herself.

When he'd asked her to take her panties off - yes, he meant right now, in the bar, please - she'd hesitated, but only for a moment. She was smart enough to know it was a test: if she'd gotten up and left in offended indignation the ensuing two years of her life would have gone very differently indeed. But she did as he bade her, right there in the dark of the bar, feeling slightly foolish when she had to rock her backside back and forth to get them off beneath her hitched-up dress hidden beneath the table. When she gave them to him she was rewarded with a gentle, nuzzling kiss on the cheek, a reassurance that she was a good girl, and was offered a ride home which she accepted. To Wren's dismay the trip did not include any shenanigans despite her best efforts to telegraph they they wouldn't be unwanted, and the date ended when he'd walked her to the door of her apartment building, kissed her not-quite-chastely on the lips, and thanked her for a wonderful evening.

It wasn't until the next date that she was to spend an exhilarating two hours kneeling in front of or underneath the snow leopard she would come to call Master Lorkin in his hotel room afterwards, concluding with an invitation that at the time she didn't fully grasp the implications of, and in hindsight made still embarrassed her with her naivete. Wren was, however, glad she'd said yes.

She had dabbled in BDSM before - submission, specifically - so the concept of it was nothing new to Wren. She'd had partners who tied her up, who spanked her, who played at calling her slave or slut, and more than one who had called her worse. But what Master Lorkin invited her to, then proceeded over the following months and years to show her was a different world entirely; one defined by on one side by the unfathomably rich, and on the other by a much larger population of people like Wren (now, anyway) who catered to them in ways that normal people could only imagine. Cooks, drivers, cleaners, majordomos: specialists of all stripes abounded, and Wren was lucky enough to have been offered a career as one of the less publicly visible (or, for that matter, on firm moral ground) sorts of servants. Her task was deceptively simple: when summoned (either by Master Lorkin himself, or more often by one of his assistants) go to where she was told, preparing herself appropriately beforehand using what skills she'd been taught by the small cadre of experts in the field who had taught her, and service Mister Lorkin in whatever manner he desired.

The instruction by said experts had consisted of learning how to conduct herself respectfully amongst her betters, how to satisfy and pleasure men using both her body and mind, and a great deal of what could be most easily described as obedience training. That last part had been the hardest for her to absorb and Wren had spent many a night sleeping on her belly on account of a backside raised with welts when her teachers were less than satisfied with how questioningly she'd followed their orders. She could have left at any time without consequence other than termination of her employment - as her teachers had reminded her, repeatedly - but the truth was Wren had very quickly developed a sense of pride in what she'd been offered. She felt it an honor that Master Lorkin had seen in her something he felt was worthy of the money and time he was putting into her, and she had no intention of squandering that faith.

It also helped that Wren absolutely loved being so good at it. At sex in general, and with Master Lorkin in particular. She loved sucking his cock, she loved being fucked by him, she loved the feeling of him cumming in her. She loved being (she secretly believed) his favorite and the way he'd try to hold back - she could feel it - and fail when she really put effort into it. She loved that she'd learned how to anticipate his moods and wants, to know what he'd want before he asked for it and be able to deliver it for him. She dressed in clothing at first he picked for her and then, as she gained experience, what she knew he would like to see him in. She had been a good waitress, but she was a great slave.

And anyway, it wasn't real slavery, of course. Wren still had her apartment in the city even if she sometimes spent days at a time at her Master's home or, occasionally, hotels much nicer than the one she'd worked in. While she was in training her 'classes' were only a few days a week, and now all she had to do was be oncall anytime, day or night, on a few minutes' notice, and in exchange she was paid a wage far more than she'd been making as a waitress while working far fewer hours. She'd had to be educated, yes. She still had to practice and learn to anticipate her Master's demands (and when she got it wrong, pay for those mistakes, although there were thankfully fewer every day). And, of course, she still had to obey. That part was not the easiest, but it wasn't at all unpleasant either.

She was, in fact, obeying now, on her hands and knees in Master Lorkin's drawing room while he fucked her methodically from behind. She'd chosen for herself a wide leather collar and nothing else, greeting him on all fours, silently, to sit back on her 'haunches' with a wagging tail and a wide smile when he entered. It had been a bit of a gamble to be so brazen and go nude, as if she was expecting sex when all he might have wanted this evening was to be waited on, but her intuition had been correct when he petted her on the head, asked her who was a good girl, and told her to turn around and raise her tail.

Wren took a furtive glance in a floor-length mirror near the piano and allowed herself a small smile at the sight. In the reflection was a sturdily-built red wolfess, fur the color of sangria along the back and fading to something closer to rose at her limbs, the contrasting white fur of her belly hidden by her position. Chestnut hair swung around her neck, brushed to one side by Master Lorkin's hand before he started because he liked to see her face when he fucked her, even in this position, which is why she kept her head turned enough to see the mirror in the first place. Breasts not too large swung with every jarring impact of the snow leopard's hips against her generous backside, adorned with silver rings through her black nipples (she'd had those before she met Master, but the lip ring she also sported was courtesy of him). Eyes gray tinged with green, the color of an midwestern afternoon thunderstorm, slitted and fluttered when Master drove himself into her harder with his approaching climax.

She liked to see herself like this, the mix of deliberate effort on her part to serve and the roughness around the edges of her own pleasure - she'd learned, as part of her training, just how important her own manifest enjoyment was to keeping Master Lorkin (and occasionally, his associates) happy. As his orgasm built she began to whine, grinding back against him wantonly, breathing quiet pleas for his release just quiet enough to make it sound as if she wasn't even aware she was doing it. She was proud of that one; it had taken practice to perfect.

The snow leopard came with his characteristic understated growl, his pleasantly thick cock pulsing in her pussy while she squeezed down around him to try and prolong his orgasm longer. It was one of the first and most basic techniques she'd been taught and she took to it well - by now she could make Master's climax last for nearly a minute, leaving him panting when she eventually let him free. It didn't last quite that long this time but it was long enough for her to feel like she'd done her job well, especially when he leaned over and gave her a kiss between the ears and a pinch of his fingers around one nipple to make her gasp, not theatrically. It really did hurt, at least a little.

When he'd withdrawn from her Wren turned around and without prompting cleaned his cock with her muzzle, paw between her legs to catch what would otherwise leak onto a rug worth more than probably her lifetime earning potential. Once he'd had his fill of her mouth she'd likely be dismissed for the evening - generally when Master Lorkin wanted sex immediately, as he had tonight, he had other plans for the night that did not include her. That was all right as far as she was concerned - she had some reading she wanted to catch up on anyway.

"Get dressed," he told her curtly once he'd pulled his cock free, and as he smoothed down the front of his tailored shirt to tuck it back into his slacks before closing them. "We have a function to attend." Her prediction had been wrong, it seemed. She complied without question despite her curiosity, making her way into one of the bedrooms on the second floor where she kept a small collection of clothes in the closet for just such unanticipated events. She slept there too, rarely, when she was kept over for the night but denied a place in Master's bed.

He hadn't dictated what she should wear, so Wren went for a simple evening gown and a light choker in lieu of something more explicit like a collar. She came back out to find Master Lorkin waiting impatiently for her in the foyer, the driver (Brandon; she knew him from countless times being picked up by him) standing demurely off to the side and giving her only the briefest of glances to avoid any appearance of ogling. She gave him a flirty smile back anyway, but wiped it away when she saw Master had caught her doing it.

They drove for a time in a silence that would have been uncomfortable if she wasn't accustomed to just how taciturn the snow leopard could be. She kept her eyes down, giving him small smiles sometimes because she knew he liked it, and wondered absently where they were going. They seemed to be heading in the general direction of downtown so it was possible she was in for a long night in the penthouse of one of the hotels in the city. She wouldn't mind that either, she thought. It had been awhile since she'd done anything with someone besides Master Lorkin, and even if she preferred sex with him the best, some variety might be nice.

The city was where they went, but not the bustling downtown area. Instead they were, judging by the view outside the window, in a decidedly more downscale part of town, one that featured low walkups standing sentry on darkened streets, the repetition of them broken up by the occasional fluorescent-lit bodega. When they came to a stop she at first thought it was because they were stuck in traffic, and was mildly surprised to see Brandon get out of the car and open the door for them. Only then did Master Lorkin speak to her.

"Get undressed, Wren," he said.

"What?" The word passed her lips before conscious thought formed it, too soon for her paw clapping over her muzzle to stop its escape. "Sir?" she tried again, in a small voice, but Master Lorkin's expression had already darkened to a steely glare that made her stomach twist. It was something she saw rarely, and was glad for it. She hadn't meant to talk back, she just wasn't sure if he'd truly meant what he'd said.

"Take off your dress and your underclothes, Wren. Do not make me tell you again." His voice was cold.

But of course he already had, and cursing herself inwardly she hastened to comply, having to fumble in the dark interior of the car to get the dress off along with her shoes, underwear and bra. She didn't dare to lift her eyes to meet his gaze, even if she could feel it on her, the weight of it like a physical thing. Wren was no longer merely curious, instead she hovered somewhere between anxious and frightened.

"Come here." He was, she saw, holding a collar, the one she'd worn earlier. Obediently and eager to please she leaned towards him, and he fastened it about her neck. As he did, he continued. "Your host this evening-" my host, not ours? "-is Mister Stahl, a man in my employ for some time. You will do whatever Mister Stahl says, following his instructions as if they were my own. You will not speak, to him or anyone else, for any reason at all, although you are free to vocalize through any other means you might feel is necessary. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master." She did not, fully, but she knew what her answer had to be. That feeling of anxiousness was growing.

"What did I just say?"

Wren could envision icicles on her Master's lips. She started to apologize before comprehending, and instead she only nodded and averted her eyes in a way she hoped conveyed contrition. That wasn't the kind of mistake she typically made anymore, but she was flustered.

"Better." He fastened a leash to her collar, a short length of heavy black leather, and coiled it around his paw. His smile, something she did not see often, was thin-lipped and terrifying. "Mister Stahl will be reporting to me on your performance. I expect nothing less than a glowing review." He got out of the car first, and stood aside expectantly.

She'd been expecting some kind of other outfit he'd want her to wear, and it took her a moment to understand he was waiting for her to get out of the car as she was: nude. When she hesitated - and she did hesitate - the leash tightened around her neck and she was dragged forth, having to hastily get her feet underneath herself and onto the cold, gritty asphalt of the road. He didn't give her time to balk further, striding towards the stoop of one of the houses while pulling her along behind.

Wren was now too horrified to be frightened, or in fact feel anything else. The street wasn't especially busy but it wasn't empty either, and passers-by stared open-muzzled at her - at her, not them - as she stumbled along behind the towering feline. She didn't dare cover herself, not that she could anyway, and instead just kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground so as to not see the gawkers' stares any more than she had to. What was going on? Master had never, ever done something like this before, something so blatantly and publicly humiliating. She was always treated as more like an honored guest, even when it was obviously sex she was intended for. Cool air brushed over her still-wet sex and hardened nipples as she followed meekly up the steps into the pool of light over the front porch, cheeks deep pink all the while.

Master rang the doorbell.

From inside came a gruff, annoyed voice. "Yeah, yeah, what the fuck man, party started an hour-" The door opened on a tall, heavyset, middle-aged and rough-looking tiger, in jeans and a flannel shirt and a scowl on his muzzle that lasted only until he saw who was standing there. Almost immediately his blue eyes widened and he straightened up like a kid in school.

"Mister Lorkin! I didn't know you'd be coming yourself. I'm sorry, I thought you were one of the guys." From inside came the sounds of loud and boisterous conversation, all in gruff tones and coarse laughter, and whens he stole a look Wren could see the shadows thrown by people moving around, down a long hallway behind the open door.

"So I gathered," Master said, unruffled, while Wren tried to sink into the stoop in embarrassment. She was fully exposed now both to the street and to this strange feline and acutely aware of that fact. "I apologize for my early arrival, Dean, but I wanted to handle delivery personally. Girl, stop hiding back there." He gave a jerk on her leash, tugging Wren forward meekly out of the snow leopard's shadow.

The tiger went from flustered to pleased leering as soon as he saw her, a grin spreading over his muzzle like oil on water. "Well hello there, what a pretty puppy." He looked at Master Lorkin. "What's her name?"

"Whatever you'd like it to be. She's yours now." He took the leash and held it out ot the tiger, who took it casually, as if he'd been expecting it. "I want you to know how much I appreciate your hard work. The new poolhouse is exceptional, and I was quite pleasantly surprised to hear it would be finished ahead of schedule."

Wren wasn't listening to the rest of what Master Lorkin said, though, too confused and frightened to pay attention. What did Master mean when he said "she's yours now"? For the second time that night she thought to herself surely he didn't mean that... Exactly as it sounded? He couldn't. She remembered only now who this tiger was - she'd seen him at the house sometimes, usually directing a crew doing construction outside. He was... He was merely help. Why was Master Lorkin passing her off to someone like him? When was he passing her off to anyone at all? What was going on?

"Hey, thanks, it wasn't anything. But I'm not going to complain about the bonus," the tiger was saying. He eyed Wren again, openly looking her up and down. "When do you need her back?"

Master Lorkin looked over at her disdainfully. "To be quite frank, I don't. She's proven to be more effort than she's worth. Willful, vain, and shot through with an obstinate streak I've despaired of ever training out of her.  If you can beat some deference into her I'll be forever grateful." He settled his gaze back on the tiger, ignoring Wren again while she stared at him, muzzle agape. "And if not, keep her or throw her away as you see fit."

What!? Wren wanted to scream. Master Lorkin couldn't possibly be serious! She'd been nothing but a model servant for him! And even if she hadn't, she was still a person, he couldn't just pass her off to this tiger as if she was property! She had rights!

She realized she was already preparing to protest when she saw Master Lorkin's implacable countenance - not even looking at her - and the words died in her throat. Years of training and experience silenced her when she wanted desperately to shout and kept her feet rooted to the spot when she wanted to... What? What could she do? Run? Where would she go? She wasn't even wearing any clothes!

"Hey, thanks Mister Lorkin," the tiger was saying. "Beats a gift card to PF Chang's." He thumbed over his shoulder. Say, did you want to join in? We've got space at the table."

The snow leopard's lips quirked. "Thank you, Dean, but no. I have other responsibilities this evening." He turned to Wren, and the quirk disappeared. When he spoke he still addressed the tiger. "She has some spirit, I'll warn you. I trust that won't be a problem."

The tiger snorted a laugh. "Nah, me and the boys'll get her straightened out. C'mere girl." He gave the leash a jerk, sending Wren stumbling towards him and away from the man she thought was her Master, but now it seemed wasn't any longer. "Thanks again, Mister Lorkin. I'll have the crew over tomorrow at seven, if that's okay?"

"That will be fine, Dean. Have a good time tonight."

"Thanks, Mister Lorkin. We will." The tiger pulled the wolfess in the rest of the way into the doorway, holding the leash only a few inches from the collar to keep from where he put her. "And thanks for this too."

"I fear you may have as much trouble with her as I have, but you're certainly quite welcome. Give the men my regards, and good evening."

And Master Lorkin turned to leave. The last she saw of him was his retreating back, without so much of a backwards glance, before the door closed. She'd barely started to turn to look at her captor before a paw landed on her shoulder and shoved her down to her knees, hard enough that she pitched forward and had to catch herself on all fours.

"Down, bitch," the tiger growled.

--

Wren found herself naked on her knees in a strange house staring at a strange tiger's paws, tears welling up in her eyes, unable to comprehend how she'd ended up there. She still didn't understand. Not an hour ago she'd been kneeling in a posh mansion, happily servicing her Master, content in her life and her position in it. And now she was... Where? In a run-down house on some miserable side-street in a shitty neighborhood even worse than the one she lived in, naked and on her knees before some lowly fucking handyman to whom she'd just been... Gifted? It sounded so regal when phrased like that, but she knew what Master Lorkin had just done was much closer to casting her aside, discarding her like a meal he hadn't even bothered to finish.

"Guess you're gonna need a name," the tiger - Mister Stahl - was saying, ignorant or uncaring of her damp, down-turned eyes. When she didn't lift her head he grunted. "How about we just go with 'Bitch' for now. That'll work 'till I come up with a better one. Follow me, Bitch." The tiger took a step, watching her, and paused the Wren didn't move.

Wren couldn't. She was too dejected, she told herself. It didn't matter if what she did now. Her Master had given up on her, her real Master, not this stupid asshole she'd been-

"I said come." His paw seized the back of the collar and twisted, roughly. The leather was thick but the paw was thicker, wrenching it into a loop that bit into the front of her neck until it made her go nggk. He dragged her upwards until her paws came up off the floor and she was dragged back onto her haunches. Wren was much more scared now than she was sullen, tilting up her muzzle and whimpering pitifully while the gruff, scruffy tiger looked on without a hint of compassion.

Even when her muzzle lifted he didn't let go. The leather bit into her throat and his knuckles dug in at the base of her skull, wedged between leather and neck to crane the latter back. He leaned down and in close, his breath hot on her cheek and stinking of beer. "You and I are gonna come to an understanding right now, pup," he growled. "I don't know what you got away with under Lorkin, but when you piss me off I'm not just going to give you a little spanking on you hiney to bring you into line. So when I tell you to do something, you fucking well do it. Now nod."

Wren did, rapidly like a bobblehead doll, and felt herself start to get dizzy. The collar wasn't just cutting off her air, it was restricting the bloodflow too, making her light-headed and her fingers tingle. Mercifully, the paw relaxed the moment her head began to move and she sucked in a great, shuddering breath, swaying against her new Master and sinking back onto her ankles, half-supported by his grip on the collar. From the depths of the house she heard loud laughter, not directed at her, but reminding her that she and the tiger weren't alone right now. Not by a long shot, from how many voices she could hear.

"Good. Stand up." He didn't wait for her to obey this time and hauled her by her collar back to her feet (why did he push me down if he wanted me standing in the first place!?) while her feet scrabbled on the tile to get underneath. It took every ounce of her training not to haul off and hit the fucker, half out of fury, half out of terror.

The tiger let go of her collar then, but held tightly onto her leash. "Stay. Let's get a look at you."

Wren very carefully kept her paws at her sides. Not since her very first training session... No, not since ever, did she feel so conflicted. Her contract (not that they had a contract, but she always considered their relationship to have one, if unspoken) was with Master Lorkin, not with this... Person. Resentment and betrayal bubbled insider her like a physical thing, making her pelt ripple and her hackles raise, stiffening her tail, keeping her spine coiled and ready for fight or flight. She didn't have to do what Dean Stahl said, she thought. She didn't have to do what anyone said if she didn't want to. She would...

...She would obey.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. That was the other side to her internal conflict, and why she neither ran nor fought back. It wasn't fear that kept her rooted to the floor, it was that the words Master Lorkin had said in the car -  "You will do whatever Mister Stahl says, following his instructions as if they were my own." - bound her more thoroughly than any collar could. And the truth was he hadn't just abandoned her. He could have, but he didn't. If she was truly of no interest to him she would have received a final paycheck (if that) and no more calls, no more nights out, no more sex. Which, while it may have been far more preferable to what was happening to her now, was the crucial difference. "Mister Stahl will be reporting to me on your performance," Master had said. She wasn't done yet. She still had a chance to please him.

"You're very pretty, Bitch," the tiger said, ignorant of her mental dialogue, and in a way that he might have described a particularly appealing car. She had to admit now that she was calming down that he wasn't terrible to look at himself - older than her by a lot but still younger than Master Lorkin by the look of him, with deep black and orange stripes decorating the deep creases of his face. His eyes were an unusually dark shade of blue that made them stand out from the surrounding whites all the more, and right now they were narrowed at her in suspicious scrutiny. He had a faintly disheveled mop of black hair pushed back between his squat, triangular ears - one of which had a notch from it, injured and never healed.

Even if she didn't find him physically unattractive she had to fight the urge to spit back some kind of retort, and only with great effort managed to keep the glare struggling make itself known at bay. The thought came to her - unbidden and unwanted - that she'd be having sex with this tiger tonight. The thought disgusted her, as did the inevitable next thought: that he wouldn't be the only one.

"Dean, where the fuck you at man?" came an echoing shout from somewhere down the hall. Wren had been dreading someone coming down the hallway since the door closed and stiffened anew now that it sounded like someone might. She flicked her eyes towards it, and saw only shadows. "You in this hand or not?"

"Nah, tell Andy he can have my seat," he yelled back. "I got somethin' needs taking care of." The tiger never once took his eyes off of Wren, smiling a private and predatory smile just for her.

The tiger seized her collar again and pulled her in close, pinching the leather tightly around her neck and making her yelp. "Now you listen to me, girl." His voice was a snarl in her ear, dangerous and low enough to thrum through her skull. "If you wanna ever be Lorkin's pet bitch again I'm the one you're gonna have to impress tonight." His paw went between her legs, calloused and leathery pawpads running roughshod over her soft pussy, and without ceremony he pushed one finger up into her. When she tried to cry out the paw on her collar tightened to choke her, and when she tried to fight back he lifted his paw up hard enough to bring her up on tiptoes. "Lorkin was right, you do got some fight in you," he hissed into her ear, twisting his finger in her and shoving it deeper. "I got some buddies who're gonna take care of that. But first things first."

Once again the tiger let go of Wren's neck and the paw between her legs pulled free to leave her feeling raw and sore - his fingers were large, and even the one going in dry had hurt. She didn't dare resist when he grabbed her arm and spun her around, standing there shaking half with fright and half with barely contained fury, all too aware of how useless fighting back would be if she tried. She might overpower Dean, but nothing she could imagine that might happen after would go well for her, and at least obeying the tiger she had some chance at, if not mercy, at least redemption.

A rustling of clothes behind her, then a shadow fell over her eyes as something fluttered around her head. She got a brief view of a well-worn and twisted bandana before it settled on the bridge of her muzzle - then pulled tight behind, cinching it around her hastily-closed eyes tight enough to put pressure on them, literally holding them shut.

Wren sucked in a breath through her teeth - she hated, hated to be blindfolded. Nothing made her feel more helpless and afraid than being unable to see, and right now she was already well on her way to both states to not need any help getting there. But the tiger obviously didn't care for any of that, ignoring her body language when she stiffened and only knotting the bandana tightly, fingers at the back of her head brushing her as they tugged and adjusted the blindfold into place. By the time he was done it felt as if it had been glued there, much more expertly than she would have thought the tiger was capable of. The bandana smelled strongly of him, and grease, making her nose wrinkle.

Wren was turned around with a jerk on her arm that spun her to face the now-unseen tiger, her world nothing but blackness, sound and scent. She could feel his breath when he leaned in close to her, smell it in her flaring nose, sense the heat of his closeness, and she resisted the temptation to pull back from it.

She did pull back, just a fraction, when the tiger unexpectedly kissed her. It took a tug on her collar to keep her in place before her training took over and she responded, weakly at first, then with more enthusiasm when she sensed that might be what he wanted. His tongue was in her mouth and his paws on her body, walking her back until the bumped against the back of the door, and she tasted stale beer, tobacco, and what might have been potato chips - with her sight taken from her and fear sharpening her senses she was keenly aware of details she never would never have even noticed before. Mister Stahl's erection grinding against her belly she definitely would have noticed anyway, though, and she wondered if he was going to use it right then, and wondered again if she hoped he would. Not necessarily because she wanted it, but just to get the first one out of the way.

Her question was answered a breathless minute later when he pulled away, leaving behind the lingering taste of his lips and a low growl in his throat. Wren was, in a small way, proud that she was able to elicit such a reaction from him - she could tell he wanted her, even if she didn't know why he didn't act on that urge. They both stood there panting for a moment, her breaths high and sharp against his labored and rough. His muzzle wasn't far away, maybe less than an inch.

"I want you to keep something in mind, puppy," he growled softly. Wren felt lips brush over hers, almost tenderly. "Right now I'm the best friend you've got in the whole wide world. Some of those guys in there, they'd do a lot worse than they're gonna if you didn't belong to me. You do as you're told and maybe I'll hand you back over to Lorkin, and maybe he'll take you back. You don't and I'll send you home with one of the boys, and if you're lucky all he'll do is fuck a litter into you." He kissed her again, softer this time, and she whimpered in spite of herself, before drawing back that same short distance. "But you don't have to worry about that, because you're going to be good, aren't you?"

Wren nodded. She would, she really would, she told herself. And not just because of the threat, the full meaning of which she had no interest in knowing any better, but because being good would - or at least could - mean getting her life and her Master back. If all it took was one night of servicing this tiger and his friends, she could do that, couldn't she? What was one rowdy party compared to a chance to kneel before her Master again?

What was the worst they could do?

"Good," Mister Stahl said. "Now gimme a smile."

She summoned her courage and did, even widening it to what she hoped was a little flirty playfulness around the corners of her muzzle. It must have worked, because the tiger chuckled.

"That wasn't so hard, was it? Down, girl, and come."

A tug on her leash pulled her down to all fours, and another urged her forward. In darkness she tried to remember the layout of what little of the house she'd seen so far, the hallway, the stairwell to the left of it, a low side table halfway down the hall. She picked her way carefully to avoid running head- or paw-first into anything; it wasn't the first time she'd been led blind and she knew to follow the subtle direction changes on the leash. Even still she banged an elbow on what felt like the doorframe to the hallway and more than once bumped against the back of the tiger's boots. She picked up her knees just a little higher when one of them scraped on a raised ledge.

She was so focused, in fact, on not running into anything too hard that she momentarily forgot she was crawling naked into a roomful of men. Strange men. But she remembered when the first exclamation of "Fockin' hell, Dean, where'd you get that?" brought most of the conversation to a halt. The attention on her felt like physical heat, warming her cheeks and bringing a blush to her ears. For the second time that night she wished she could cover herself and ducked her head, lowering her ears.

Still having to rely on the senses left to her she strained to make out what she could of the assembled crowd - and it was, no question, a crowd. There was linoleum beneath her paws and knees, peppered lightly with grit and curling at the edge where it met the hardwood lining the hallway. Judging by echoes the space they were in was small and low-ceilinged (although it could have just been how close everyone else was to her) and the sound of a television came from a ways away to her right, tuned to a basketball - no, wait, hockey. The room smelled of old fried food (curry, maybe?), beer, pizza, cigar smoke, and, amusingly, sour cream and cheddar Ruffles potato chips - she knew that smell anywhere, and it's what she'd tasted on Dean's tongue. More than anything else, though, it smelled like men; a place where a wolfess like Wren was definitely not meant to be.

"Told y'all I had something special tonight," Mister Stahl said, and gave a yank on her leash to pull her forward and, presumably, into better view of the assemblage. "Check it out, I brought us home a stray."

"Shit, Tyler's gonna be pissed he bailed," one of the other voices said, followed with raucous laughter.

At least the lack of "Tyler" meant one less guy there.

"His wife prolly knew what was going down."

"Hey Ethan, that your new girlfriend?"

"I wouldn't cheat on your sister again." More laughter.

"Goddamn, look at those things in her tits, look like they fuckin' hurt."

They did, actually, Wren thought. At least they did at the time she was decorated with them.

"Fuck her tits, look at that arse. She's a biggun', ain't she?"  That one sounded... Scottish? Irish?

Wren lifted her head just a bit and glared - uselessly though, since whoever had said that wouldn't have even seen her eyes. It still felt good to do it.

"It ain't her tits I wanna fuck. Hey Dean, how come you got her blindfolded?"

"Yeah mate, I want the lass to see what she's gonna get before I give it to her." There was more laughter, cruder this time.

A sudden hard clap of a paw on her ass made her jump suck in a breath through her nose, smoke and too many men in too little space making her have to fight back a cough.

"Awright, quiet down. Here's the deal: this pretty little thing here's my new bitch, and every one of you assholes should be payin' my buy-in tonight, because I'm feeling generous enough to let you all have a shot at her."

Buy-in? It struck her: she was the party favor at a poker game!? Wren had been assuming, naively, that this whole thing had been put together in her... Well, maybe not in honor, but for the express purpose of administering whatever test Mister Stahl had in mind. Instead she was to be just some side distraction, some idle fun for the tiger's guests? Ugh. It rankled her more than it should have, she knew.

"What's her name?" someone called out.

"What the fuck do y'all care?" Mister Stahl snorted. "Shit, Shaun here don't know the name of half the bitches he fucks. Call her whatever you want." Wren tucked her tail. Not that she had been particularly pleased with "Bitch", but at least it had been a name. Now she was denied even that. "Only rule is whatever you're gonna do to her you do in here so I can keep an eye on you fleabags."

"Man, I don't wanna fuck no bitch with no audience!"

"No one wants to see you fuck either, Mikey," someone said.

"Then don't," Mister Stahl answered "Mikey". "Someone else'll take your turn. Now I'd ask who wants first dibs, but I don't figure anyone but Ethan here prefers sloppy seconds-"

"Fuck you, man," said, apparently, Ethan. "I just ain't picky is all."

The tiger continued as if he hadn't spoken. "-so we're gonna see who the little bitch here wants to get fucked by first. C'mere girl."

Wren didn't like where this was going one bit, and not just because it was a stinging reminder that all those voices, all those smells, all those eyes she could feel on her, they all belonged to men who were going to have her tonight. She tried to keep the thought away but it kept coming back, a little bell that kept going off in her mind every time she got too comfortable.

There was a tug on her leash and she followed where it led, briefly letting her mind wander to the new and uncomfortable thought that whether she obeyed or not right now it was unlikely any of these people would let her leave if she tried. The thought of that was too... claustrophobic to linger on it for long. But she didn't want to leave, did she? Leaving meant never going back. Likely gang-raped too, yes, but... Oddly enough, that thought was less unpleasant.

She crawled forward until another jerk on her leash stopped her. Wren could hear voices all around her now and could imagine them, a circle of guys all of whom sounded like they had at least a few years on her, watching her, no, leering at her. It was enough to bring back the flush in her ears.

"Okay boys, you want her, you call her." The tiger sounded like a pitch-man at a county fair, selling wares in front of a tent with one of those tables with an angled mirror on top. "Whichever one of you she comes to gets to plow some fresh snow."

Fresh snow indeed. She took some small solace in the knowledge that Master Lorkin had already fucker her tonight. None of these bastards were getting firsts.

"Here girl, here. Over here!"

"Good girl, I'll fuck you real nice, come here, c'mon!"

It started slowly at first but soon enough a clamor of sound rose up around her, promises and cajoling jumbling together into an almost white noise of voices. Some were mocking, some were gruff, some were playful, but all of them brought the promise of something Wren was still pretty sure she didn't want but was nevertheless compelled to ask for, in her own wordless way. She tried to pick apart the sounds and scents but it was useless - her sensitive ears were already ringing, and the circle (she still could only assume) of men were too closely packed for her to distinguish them. She turned a quarter turn, held her head up, and crawled forward.

"Haha, oh shit, I thought you didn't wanna fuck her Mikey!" someone called out. In front of Wren was still a too many voices so she just kept crawling, ducking her head in anticipation of bumping into someone.

"Hiya sweetheart," someone said right in front of her said, grabbing her chin and pulling it up. The voices changed from calling her into simply calling out, most in melodramatic disappointment. "You look like you need a cock in you."

The paw on Wren's lower jaw pulled her up until she was sitting back on her ankles and looking - without seeing - up at 'Mikey'. Over the sound of the rest of the circle breaking up she heard a belt buckle being undone.

"Awright boys, we still got a game going on tonight, let Mikey and the bitch here get acquainted. Shaun, you still owe me twenty bucks-"

This was it, then, the beginning of the main event. There was some small sense of relief that it was finally starting - the kissing and grinding in the hall didn't count - but mostly she just felt anxious. It wasn't that she didn't know if she could satisfy them. She was a trained slave, after all, far better than any of these assholes deserved. There was just no way to get around the fact that it was going to be a long night, and whatever ice-breaking that was about to happen there were a lot of men in this room and, at least so far, none of them showed any intention of missing out on a chance at her.

The sounds were moving away, the conversation switching to the upcoming (or in progress? She couldn't tell) game, threats and promises of money won and lost slung around carelessly. She was still listening distractedly when warm, soft flesh touched her lips, making her jump, startled. "Mikey" must have taken it as resistance, because his grip on her chin tightened and a thumb was forced into the corner of her muzzle, prying it open before the flaccid cock was pushed inside.

"You waiting for an invitation, dumbshit? Suck it."

He was a feline, she could tell from the scent of him, although what specific species she couldn't determine. Sheathed, the furred covering pushed against her lips while the slick flesh swelled inside to push her jaw open or risk scraping teeth (Wren suspected that would be bad). A paw landed on the back of her head and pulled her forward gently, urging her nose against his crotch until it hit his zipper pull and she had to twist her head to the side to avoid it.

"Haha, Mikey don't waste no time, does he?" came a voice from across the room, along with some other answers she didn't pay attention to. What did they expect him to do, take her to dinner first?

"Yer just pissed I ain't gonna be sloppin' around in whatever you assholes leave in there," came the voice of the man who's cock she was now sucking, and a few mock-protests came back in response that she also paid no attention to.

Blowjobs-sans-paws were never Wren's specialty, so since she hadn't been told not to she brought up both of them, cradling the feline's balls in one and with the other wrapping her fingers around the sheath to nudge it back, relaxing her jaw further and letting the cock slide deeper into her mouth. The flavor was salty and bitter and she began drooling almost immediately, which she was secretly thankful for given that chafing would be her worst enemy tonight, or at least, she hoped the worst.

Mikey let go of Wren's jaw then, and the paw on her head guided but didn't force her, allowing her to bob and suck in the way she'd been trained. Her tongue curled around the underside, the now-stiff length riding over the back, and she kept her lips pressed tightly together to keep up the suction. "Mikey" didn't say much and the other men seemed considerate enough (or too involved in the game she could just make out the sounds of) to leave them alone for the duration of the blowjob - which lasted maybe ten minutes at most before she felt him begin to throb, she slowed her pace in response, and then her mouth was full of watery spunk jetting from the tip while Mikey growled above her. Wren swallowed what she could, tried not to drool too much, and though to herself, one.

The feline withdrew his cock from her mouth and gave her a demeaning pat on the top of her head. "Good girl," he said, before zipping up his fly and stepping away from her. Normally Wren would preen from such a compliment, but from "Mikey" it sounded like mocking. She shifted back and forth on her knees to unkink them and itched her belly. Now her mouth tasted like cum instead of potato chips, which even she had to admit was an improvement of a sort.

"How was she?" someone not-Mikey said, close to her, before another paw touched her cheek and made her jump. At least, she assumed it was someone else. She sensed Mikey was still close and it could have been him still touching her.

"Gives good head. Kinda slobbery though."

Fuck you, Wren thought. I bet that's the best head you've had in your life.

"Shit, you ain't gonna hear me complaining." This time the sound a button-fly being undone, a strong sour smell of sweat in her nose, and this time a more human-like (but from the scent definitely not human) penis was pushed into her mouth. "Slobber on this all you want, girl."

The flavor of his cock was enough to make Wren do just that even if she didn't want to, the feline (she was pretty sure it was another feline, despite the shape of him) tasting as if he'd been working outside all day and hadn't showered before the party. At least it went away quickly-ish - although not quickly enough as far as she was concerned - with her sucking. The scent didn't though, serving as a pervasive reminder that she wasn't in proverbial Kansas anymore: Master Lorkin always kept himself, including and likely especially his genitals, scrupulously clean. She tried not to think about it too much and soon enough she was settled into giving her second blowjob of the night, muzzle gliding up and down the meaty shaft.

He was bigger than Mikey had been, enough to make it so she couldn't easily deep-throat him, but he seemed content with Wren fitting as much as she could manage and using her paws for the rest. This one lasted longer (she guessed) although not by much - she was gulping his load after only a few mercifully short minutes, her jaw already starting to protest. His cum didn't taste any better than he smelled, and she found herself wishing for potato-chip-taste back.

Two.

"I'm gonna need another one a'those before the night's up," the cat said with a throaty chuckle, over that the sound his zipper being pulled up.

She wished she could wipe her muzzle off on something. She didn't even dare use her shoulder, the only part of her that could reach it. It wouldn't be seemly. She was sniffly too, trying to not to make too much noise about it, and hoped it wouldn't get worse as the night wore on.

The game - the card one, not the one on TV - went on. None of the men talked much, vocalizations limited to grunts and groans of disapproval when hands didn't go their way. Wren amused herself trying to distinguish one voice from another, and thought she didn't do very well.

"Hey Dean," someone said, "We only paying for her muzz?" The voice got louder as it got closer.

"We ain't paying anything," Dean said far away. "Do whatever the fuck you want, just leave something for the next guy."

Wren's ears wilted despite her efforts to keep her courage. She'd known this was coming, of course. Mister Stahl had been conspicuously non-specific about the ways in which his friends would be taking advantage of her, and more than one of them had to have been eyeing her pussy and thinking about whether they'd be first to have a go. She had been mildly surprised Mikey hadn't chosen that option.

She forced herself to put her ears up and even, although it never reached her unseen eyes, smiled. I hope Master Lorkin appreciates this.

"Haw, yeah, I'll leave something," the voice said, very close to her now, and Wren was suddenly jerked forward. In a panic she yelped and flung her paws out to catch herelf, anticipating hitting the floor, but landed chest-first on what felt like a sofa or easy chair instead that she hadn't known was there. Adrenalin thrummed through her even as she felt foolish at her panicked reaction.

While the sound of a belt being undone came from behind her she felt a paw push up between her legs, a finger rudely wedging her lips open and smearing around. "Fuck, no one's been in there?" the man said, surprised, and took his finger away. "Guess it's my lucky day." It seemed whatever Master Lorkin had left there was no longer evident, or, more likely, mistaken for natural wetness on her part.

"Hey, Andy's gonna fuck her!"

There was no warning and certainly no preamble to "Andy" pushing a knee between hers to get Wren's legs apart and leaning over her. A moment later his cock where his finger had been speared into her. Wren gasped and stiffened, letting out a whimper she couldn't hold back - knowing it was coming was one thing, actually having another of the guests (another feline - where they all feline?) inside of her was something entirely different. Blowjobs were humiliating enough, but now she was being fucked - bare, of course they wouldn't use rubbers - by some random guy whose name she only knew in passing. Instinctively she tried to squeeze down and angle her hips to slow his progress, but it went so fast that her ass was against his crotch before she even thought of it. To make matter worse, "Andy" was blessed with a painfully thick cock that had Wren wishing it had been either of the first two men who had chosen to fuck her, if just to have stretched her out first.

"Andy is fuckin' her," he growled triumphantly and began to thrust, working her over in short strokes until he'd gotten her loosened up, before switching to long, rough pistoning that pressed her hard down into the sofa. The edge of the cushion bit into her belly - he had a heavy gut she could feel rolling forward and back over the base of her tail, lending (literal) weight to his efforts and squashing her uncomfortably beneath him. His cock was painfully unyielding, harder than she'd thought a guy could be, and there was no question he knew how to use it.

It was entirely unlike any of the sex she had with Master Lorkin or his associates and distinctly less pleasant. Wren's leg had slid out too far on one side and the feline's weight was too much to get it back under her, but when she tried all it accomplished was flopping around foolishly beneath her partner. He had his paw on her shoulder to hold her down and it pinned her neck at the wrong angle. And he was just too hurried about it, seemingly enjoying scrunching her up against the chair while he drilled her, chuckling when she let out whimpered grunts of effort.

The only small mercy was that "Andy" was just as eager to get off in her as he was to fuck her at all. Although when he did cum, grabbing at her ass with one paw to spread her cheeks wider and driving himself as far as he could go in her pussy, it felt almost worse to be so obviously used for just a quickie. She'd never even come close to getting off herself, and was in fact still trying to un-pretzel herself while the bastard shot his load in her, even mistaking her movements for resistance and cinching an arm around her belly to keep her seated against him.

"Y'know I could lived my whole fockin' life without seein' Andy's fat arse bouncin' on some bitch," came a voice from the table, along with some snorts of laughter.

"Aw fuck off, yer just jealous I got her first," Wren's partner said as he pulled out of her, letting her go at the same time to leave her sore and used, a trickle of semen felt on the inside of one leg.  "Damnit Dean, you got a towel or something?"

"Not for your dirty prick. Use her muzz," the tiger said, sounding annoyed.

No, really, please don't, Wren thought hopelessly.

"You heard him," Andy said, sounding even more annoyed, and Wren felt him move behind her, then her collar tighten as her leash was pulled to yank her upright. A paw closed around her chin a moment later to guide her forward, a thumb was pushed into her muzzle to force it open, and a fat, cumslick length of cock was fed between her lips. "Nice and clean."

Wren sucked, wrinkling her nose more at the thought of what she was doing than the taste - the flavor wasn't so bad even if pussy wasn't her favorite thing in the world. But she still had this asshole's cum leaking down her leg, and now she had to clean the juices off his cock, too?

"Hurry the fuck up," a new voice said over the sounds of resumed party conversation - it seemed if anything that the guests were paying even less attention to her or what she was doing, although there was an occasional comment she half made out she was pretty sure was in reference to her.

"Calm yer tits Ethan, you'll get your turn," Andy grumbled, but withdrew from Wren's muzzle anyway. "Surprised with all the pussy you say you get you even want one." He must be another tiger, Wren thought, judging by the flavor of him, and she absently wondered if he was related to Master Stahl.

"Most of 'em I gotta fool 'em into liking me first," 'Ethan' said gruffly, interrupting her thoughts. "Go on, your pecker's as clean as it's gonna get, let someone else have a turn."

Andy just snorted in disgust and pushed Wren away, yanking his cock out of her muzzle and leaving her to catch herself on all fours when she ended up over-balanced. She hadn't even collected her wits when the... Dog? Wolf? Whatever it was, mounted her, forcing her knees apart much like the last guy did. She felt him reach down between both their legs and push his fist against her pussy, splaying the lips wide. But when he punched up into her Wren realized it wasn't a fist; the canid's cockhead was just much thicker than she'd expected, and all at once a searing burn blossomed from her sex as he buried himself as far as he could go within her.

Wren couldn't help herself, she cried out and began to fight back - or tried to, anyway. She dropped her hips but he caught them, she reared up to throw him off and instead he hooked a paw around her neck, just beneath her jaw, and yanked her head up and back along with the rest of her torso following. It had the opposite of the intended effect: her back arched, her ass naturally bucked back, and with a yelping cry she felt him bottom out within her.

"Goddamnit Ethan, some of us ain't had a turn yet! Don't fucking wreck her already!" someone yelled from table.

Ethan paid them - and Wren - no mind, throwing his weight forward to send both of them crashing to the floor with a resounding thud and nearly knocking the wind out of the wolfess. Until now she hadn't let herself contemplate fighting back - if it wasn't forced on her she didn't have to face the reality of not being able to stop them - but now she did, for all the good it did her. Grunting and growling at the canid she twisted side to side, trying to dislodge 'Ethan' from on top and inside her, paws scrabbling at the floor.

It did no good. In fact, Ethan just laughed at her, a throaty chuckle hot against her ear before he licked it demeaningly. He was probably twice her mass, at least that much stronger, and proved to have no qualms about doing whatever it took to overpower her when his forearm landed on the back of her neck and pinned her face-first against the floor, elbow digging painfully into one side while she squirmed furiously.

"Bitch's got some fight in her, don't she?" he said to no one in particular, and Wren realized the whole time she'd been fighting back he'd been steadily pumping his cock into her pussy, heedless of her resistance. His human-shaped cock (she'd been anticipating - or dreading - a knot) was big, much bigger than the first guy (whose name she'd already forgotten) and he wielded it like a weapon, pounding it into her to intentionally bottom out in her depths and bruise her muscles that inevitably tried to clamp down around him.

Unable to get her arms underneath herself Wren slapped and clawed at the floor, breath rasping harshly through her open muzzle and tongue lolled onto the floor. Even when her struggles faded Ethan didn't let up on her neck and kept her pinned in place; if anything he weighed down heavier on her, nearly cutting off her breath. She couldn't hear the rest of the party now over the snarled breathing of the wolf (she knew now he was a wolf; the scent in his sweat was unmistakable) in her nose.

His orgasm was a relief and a defeat, fucked into her in long, violent strokes that knocked the wind out of her they hit so deep. Halfway through he simply collapsed on top of her, arm sliding from her neck, and he humped in short thrusts the last of his load into her aching cunt.

"Good girl," he crooned into her ear in a tone that dripped with mockery, jerking his hips back to pull his cock from her before he climbed off. Wren was left laying there in a puddle of drool and semen, taking great, shuddering breaths and trying to catch her breath. It was possibly the most unpleasant sex she'd ever had.

"Fookin' hell Ethan, you trying to kill her or something?"

Slowly Wren regained her enough of her senses to hear a conversation going on above her. She dragged herself up to all fours, in part to try and regain some dignity and in part so she was no longer laying in the slimy mess beneath her.

"He said do whatever the fuck I wanted," Ethan was protesting.

"Yeah, well that don't mean what you think it does," It was Mister Stahl speaking now. "Look at her, she's a fuckin' mess."

"Like she wasn't gonna be anyway! But hey, if she's too sloppy for any of you pussies to-"

"Watch the language, mate," the scottish-or-irish one said from too close to Wren for her comfort.

"For you bitches," Ethan said exaggeratedly, "to wanna put your dick in, I'll take her home right now."

"Shit," Mister Stahl said. A paw closed around Wren's collar and yanked her up onto just her knees. She felt herself being scrutinized.

"See, she's fine,"

No I'm not fine you prick! Wren wanted to shout. Her pussy hurt, her knees were aching, and her neck was sore from being wrenched to the side while the canid had had his way with her. She had only serviced two guys so far and already she was dreading any more.

"Yeah yeah," the tiger said, apparently satisfied with what he saw. "But no seconds until after everyone else has a turn."

"Whatever, man," Ethan said, his voice and presence moving away. "I got what I wanted. C'mon, deal me in, I got some money to win."

The paw on Wren's collar let go, dropping her back onto all fours, at least until another one grabbed her by the hair almost immediately and pulled her back up with a whimper. Cigar smoke stung her nose - the newcomer was still smoking one from the acrid stench of it, and she didn't know which direction to turn her head to get clear air. She hoped he had the sense not to burn her with it.

"'Ello love," the accented voice said, and a cock pushed to her lips. "Open up, you got yourself some work to do."

"Don't break her muzz too," Mister Stahl said, also from far away - near the table where the game was going.

"Wouldn't dream of it mate," The newcomer aid genially, but Wren couldn't help but notice he was holding onto her collar tightly as he said it. When Wren didn't open her mouth right away it tightened and twisted, jerking her head to the side and making her cry out - or try to, because almost immediately the thick shaft gouged its way between her opened jaws, stifling her sounds. It seemed that he, too wanted it rough; which, now that Wren had recovered more annoyed her than frightened her. She's suffered too many assholes tonight already.

Still, though, she knew better than to fight back. So instead she whimpered again, muffledly this time, and reached up to grab at the feline's (it was another feline) penis only to have her paws slapped away.

"None of that now, sweetness, it's that pretty little mouth I want."

And that was what he took, carelessly and cruelly, humping at her face while his cock hardened and slid down her throat. Wren gagged, unable to stop herself, and tried to move away before she was yanked forward again, banging her nose painfully on the feline's pelvic bone. He wasn't getting a blowjob, he was fucking her mouth and being purposefully savage about it, relenting in the face of her gagging only when it became so choked Wren was afraid of being sick.

His pace slowed after awhile, turning into a more leisurely muzzle-fuck that she was grateful for after the abuse, sucking desperately to try to convince him this was more pleasurable for them both. It seemed to work because while he still jammed it down her throat occasionally it was rarer now. In fact, now that she'd settled into a rhythm, she found the feline more pleasant than any of the others had been so far. At least he showed more interest in her than just unloading his balls down her throat.

"I know ya," he said casually while he humped her muzzle. Wren perked up her ears and heard the muted sounds of the feline taking a drag on the cigar. "You're Lorkin's pet, Wren. I seen you around the estate."

Wren said nothing, could say nothing, and continued her efforts. It was like being at the dentist: what, exactly, did he expect her to say around his cock?

"What was it you did to get sent over to be sorted out by us lads? No more the big man's favorite then, are we?" He pushed his cock down her throat, gagging her again.

She stiffened, and not just because of the cock buried in her gullet. Those words stung.

"That's all right love," he said with a chuckle, withdrawing slowly, too slowly, and she gagged again before the cockhead spilled back into her mouth, bringing with it a sputter of precum she couldn't help but swallow. "Right little slapper like you, you'll have some other old gent paying your bills and stuffing your cunt for the privilege soon enough." Smoke stung her nose again when she inhaled at the wrong time and she had to fight the urge to cough.

Wren tried to growl in spite of herself, even going so far as to tighten her jaw, but a twist on her collar and another rough shove in her throat reminded her of the consequences of disobedience. Reminding herself that best way to make sure that didn't come to pass was to impress Mister Stahl - and, by extension, his friend - she redoubled her efforts.

"There we go," he grunted and relaxed his grip, humping gently now at her mouth and letting her, thankfully, do her best. With no paws it took much too long than she would have liked and by the end of it her jaw was sore and her chin dribbling with spit, but finally the feline let out a hefty grunt, didn't shove his cock down her throat (thankfully), and let loose with a warm, slippery gush of semen across her tongue she was very, very glad to be finally gulping. She even kept up the suction, gentle and careful, as he pulled free to clean the last of it from his cock.

"You keep that up and this lot'll want'll keep you around for days." The now-familiar sounds of a belt and zipper coming up were in the background of his words, muffled around his cigar he must have in his muzzle from the sound of it. "Then again, you don't and maybe Lorkin'll let us. Good luck with the rest of 'em, pup."

And then he was gone, but now it sounded as if there was some kind of commotion or activity from the table. Somewhere a door opened and closed - not the front door - and she could hear laughter and muted words just barely audible.

"-kidding? Why would-"

"-done worse, why... see if he will. I bet he will."

"Glad I took my turn already, don't fancy..."

Wren could hear something else, too, something she was having a hard time making out. It sounded like jingling, like keys, and a higher-pitched clattering, like claws on hardwood. But all the men were wearing shoes or boots from the sound of them, so that couldn't be it.

Then she heard panting.

Then she knew. No. Hell no. No no no. They couldn't be. This has got to be a joke.

"C'mon Trawler, in here boy, that's right."

Wren was still on her knees, back ramrod-straight, 'staring' at where the sound was coming from. With every ounce of her being she exuded furious negation, refusing to turn away even when footfalls - some two-legged, and one unmistakably four-legged - came closer. They're fucking with me. They have to be. This is just to scare me.

"This is fuckin' sick man," Ethan said - she recognize the voice as his - but there was laughter in it. "I didn't even know you had a dog."

Neither did Wren, and right she wished she was still ignorant of that fact.

"That's 'cuz I don't let your canine ass into my house. Whoops, I think he likes her."

Wren wasn't surprised exactly, but still jumped with a nose tapped her face, making her jerk back. It snuffled at her here and there, at her breasts, licked her chin. Then she felt the cold, wet flesh push between her legs and a tongue slap up between the folds of her pussy, still undoubtedly dripping with the cum of the three men who had fucked her tonight (so far), until she heard the sound of the leash being jerked tight.

"Aye, no, not yet boy," one of the men said. "She's gotta show you she wants it first."

There was more laughter then, enough to let Wren know that the card game must have been on at least temporary hold. She could feel it, their eyes on her, hear the shuffling of their feet and smell them close around her, claustrophobic and threatening and inexorable.

"Show him you want it, Bitch," the voice of her current owner said, and in a tone that brooked even less argument than Master Lorkin's low growl.

She had to say something. Had to. There would be no going back from this, Wren knew, no way to undo the humiliation of being used as... A breeding bitch? A treat for a well-behaved pet? No, she had to admit, not even something that ignoble. They just wanted to watch a girl get fucked by a dog for probably the same reasons Wren didn't want to be that girl: It was insulting, it was degrading, and there was nothing, Wren knew, they all knew, that she could do about it.

Because while she may have been disgusted at the thought of what was about to happen, Wren knew if she hesitated all was lost. She'd never go through it with it, and even if she did, what would Mister Stahl say? I gave her orders she just flat-out refused. That's what he'd say. He didn't say, do whatever Mister Stahl says, unless you really don't want to or there's a dog involved. It didn't matter if she wanted it, it only mattered if she obeyed.

So Wren did as she was told. Hating herself for it, hating these men for making her, she turned and climbed onto all fours, facing away from where she guessed the dog was. She even - and this took more effort than she would have thought possible - lifted her tail high, showing off her used pussy and spread her knees. When she lowered her chest a few inches, screwed her eyes shut underneath the blindfold, and wagged.

"Hah! Look at that shit!" she heard, a moment before the nose returned to this time push up rudely between her legs. The tongue came back too, slapping and lapping at her pussy lips, licking up the mess all the way down her thighs to eagerly clean the fur, then back up to dig into her folds. When it hit her sensitive spots she whined, and not just for show. It felt better than she wanted to admit.

"He just gonna lick her? He's got nuts right, Shaun?"

"See for yourself, big fookin' bollocks. Ethan mate, c'mere and give your brethren a help so he knows what to do."

"Fuck you pussy," Ethan spat off to her left. "I ain't jerkin' off some dog."

The tongue kept going and Wren began to roll her hips, whimpering again.

"He's practically your brother! You wanna see him do her or not?"

"Fuck you."

"Fine, I'll do it," someone said, and Wren heard shuffling behind her. The muzzle between her legs paused, stuttered a little, two collars jingled...

...And all at once a heavy weight landed on her back, pitching her forward and forcing her to catch herself with one paw. Trawler was big - he felt like a Rottweiler, maybe, or something similar - and his dew claws scraped at her sides as he clutched her. He was humping already, hunching and bucking mindlessly on top of her. She felt his cock, too, slapping at the inside of her thighs, too low to find the mark.

"Fuck man, you even know what you're doing?" someone said, and Wren desperately hoped he didn't. If this ended up not happening and it wasn't her fault she'd get away with nothing more than the humiliation of asking for it, of asking for a dumb four-legger to fuck her, and nothing more. "Get out of the way, jesus."

Trawler kept up his violent humping, rolling back and forth over her back as his weight shifted, and she briefly felt a paw between her - and the dog's - legs. One painful stab of the tapered tip against her asshole had her panicking that he'd find the wrong entrance, and then with a wet slursh she wished he had as abruptly her pussy was stuffed with dog cock. She cried out, unable to help herself, a sharp, high-pitched yip that had the audience laughing.

Now that he'd struck gold Trawler went crazy, fucking her violently in a staccato rhythm that threatened to knock the wind out of her. Trawler was big everywhere, and even the men who'd fucked her already hadn't prepared her for the next five minutes - and the five minutes after that - of the canine pounding her. The laughter, the felt weight of the men's eyes on her, all of it faded to the background as the dog cock slammed her relentlessly.

The worst part of all, the worst part of the night so far, was that she came. Hard, long and moaning she came around the dumb four-legger's cock hammering into her, the rush of climax hitting her so fast she couldn't stop herself. Nor could she hear anything over the labored panting, jangling collar and the rush of blood in her ears but she knew they knew; they had to know, the way her body shuddered and her back arched. She was cumming from getting fucked by a dog, kneeling on the floor of a stranger's apartment, while an entire party looked on.

She was still cumming when Trawler went from hammering to pushing, no longer pulling back so much as surging forward, relaxing, and surging forward again. She thought maybe he was cumming (was this was dogs felt like when they came?) but a moment later that guess was proven wrong as she felt a thick knob of wet flesh first slam against her pussy entrance, then push, then sink into it when the knot stretched her around it and was swallowed inside.

Wren came again then, her jaw hanging slack and drooling, rolling her hips to try and lessen the ache of having the knot inside her. It hurt, yes, but in a different way than the fucking had. Instead of the sharp pain of the tapered tip battering its way deeper she felt her insides stretch around the girth of it even as his humping slowed to a stop and left her with just the feeling of it pulsing and throbbing. Now Trawler was cumming, there was no doubt about that, not with the way she felt it splashing against the walls of her pussy.

As her orgasm faded she could heard it, the laughter and something almost like cheering, loud and mocking.

"-see that, she fuckin' came!"

"-think she'd tie, hey, you think she helped?"

"Lookit his face, he's lovin' it man."

Bastards... Fucking bastards.

Wren couldn't see Trawler's face - or anyone's else for that matter - but she didn't have to to know the dog was in the midst of a long, hard orgasm. She was already longing for the quick shots of the rest of the men as the dog sprawled out atop her, forelegs sliding forward to drape over her shoulders, drooling against the back of her neck and exhaling hot, panting breaths while his cock throbbed relentlessly, pumping what felt like it must be an endlessly supply of watery canine semen into her pussy.

Somehow this part was worse. She couldn't move, her arms shook trying to support the weight of the dog, and every time she shifted her hips she felt the far-too-large dog cock shift and send another jolt through her that made her spasm even when she tried not to. She was left on display, her humiliation on full display as the dog squirted its copious load in her pussy while the swollen knot made sure that not a drop made it back out. It wasn't the first time she'd been tied, but it had been awhile - and none of them had been dumb four-leggers.

Wren didn't know how long she knelt there. She would have liked to have claimed to have lost track of time, being distracted by anything from the cheek-burning embarrassment of being a bitch for a dog, but truth of it was she felt every minute pass by. It's just there were so many of them she lost count, while the dog atop and inside her just kept filling with her with his load. Literally filling her - she could feel the weight of it, the way it sloshed every time Trawler moved (which was often - even draped over her he'd sway from side to side, weight first on one rear leg, then the other).

The audience was quieter now, words growled between them too softly for her to hear, the laughter muted and somehow more menacing as a result. She wanted desperately to believe they were boring of watching her but it didn't feel like that. It didn't feel like that at all.

Trawler's fun ended, finally, as ignominiously as it had started. She could tell he was getting restless, going from slack sprawling to fidgeting, and then eventually to trying to crawl off her. Someone else - Master Stahl? No, it smelled like one of the other men - took the Trawler's collar and hauled him firmly off of her, and his softening knot squelched free of her cum-soaked cunt...

...Which soon enough became her cum-soaked thighs as a gush of semen spilled out of her, the backwash of three men and a dog (that she guessed produced more than the others combined) sluicing from her stretched cunt and pudding with audible splashes between her knees. It was disgusting and humiliating both at once, her fur feeling matted with the stuff. Wren tried to clamp down but too many men, too much cum, and (she hated to admit it) the dog's cock had left her feeling slack. She kept trying anyway, She took a breath-

And before she could straighten up one of the men was on her, and then in her. Wren could barely feel the girth, her pussy numbed by the abuse it had received, but he was well large enough to hit spots Trawler hadn't in the last twenty minutes of being lodged in her pussy. He fucked her sloppily because that was the only way he could, pumping cum out of her when he tugged out and spattering it over her crotch and thighs when he slammed it back in. The other men were saying something but she couldn't tell what, and frankly didn't care - she was just glad it was something sentient fucking her now, someone (something, she corrected herself) she didn't have to feel as humiliated to be fucked by.

He finished, and another man took his place. Then another. Now they really did blur together, a string of... Five? Six? At least five in a row, the crowd - far from being disgusted - apparently amped up by watching her take it from a dog. Somewhere in the middle of it a cock was pushed to her lips and she sucked it as best she could, rising up to get the angle right while the one fucking her pussy hammered into her and spitroasted her between them. He came in her muzzle, she swallowed it while someone else took their turn between her legs, and another was presented to her before she'd even finished swallowing the first one's load. She sucked this one, too.

It was a welcome surprise when they finally had their fill, leaving her to lay out on her belly panting and exhausted. She felt utterly used, an untold (literally) number of men's cum drooling out of her, the taste of it on her tongue, her jaw aching, her pussy raw. The card game had started back up while she hadn't been paying attention, the sounds of it reaching her ears over the pounding rush of blood from a near-permanent flush to them. She was exhausted, worn out, and hoping more than anything else that the worst of it - or preferably, all of it - was over.

They had to be done with her, didn't they? Enough of them had fucked her that every guy had to have cum at least once, they couldn't all be the kind of guys to go multiple times a night. Right? Wren wanted a shower. She wanted ten showers. She wanted to brush her teeth, to wash the tastes of sweat and sperm out of her mouth. She wanted to clean the stink of cigars and semen out of her fur. She felt worse than used, she felt defiled. They had to be done.

"I don't see why I gotta clean 'er up," someone grumbled near to her. Ethan.

"'Cuz you're the only other thing like a dog here." Master Stahl said, from far away. The card table, she guessed.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Ethan grumbled to no one in particular, and received no answer. Wren jumped when something touched her - the wolf had grabbed her collar and hauled her up, dragging her bodily to all fours and pushing her knees underneath her with a boot. Something - a towel - roughly rubbed over her ass, then up between her legs, mopping her fur up of the mes left there. It was already wet and sticky when he got to her face, carelessly wiping her from ears to chin. When he stopped she felt him scrutinizing her, and a moment later his paws touched her face, adjusting and fixing the blindfold where it'd started to slip. She felt like she'd been blind forever by now.

"This shit ain't gonna all come out just from a towel," he hollered across the room.

"She ain't gotta be pristine mate, just get her over here."

Ethan took her collar again. She expected to be led over to the table - for that's where the demand had come from - but instead he leaned down close to her ear. "I'm gonna fuck you in the ass tonight you little slut," he growled low enough for only her to hear. "After that dog had you yer cunt ain't good for nothing else." Wren started to growl - a natural fear reaction she couldn't stop - but the collar around her neck twisted, strangling the sound to a whimper, and the wolf hauled her alongside him as he began to walk. She scrambled to keep up, knees slipping in the puddle she'd been kneeling in for the past... How long? Hours? What do they want now?

The sounds of the game got louder, and for the first time since first being placed in what she assumed was the living room she found herself in a new part of the house. The stench of cigars (and men) was stronger here, mingled with the scents of whatever they were eating. Linoleum was underneath her ankles, grit and dirt scuffing her knees and palms. She waited, obediently and anxiously.

"Put her under the table," Master Stahl said, and Wren's ears wilted back. They weren't done.

"How'm I supposed to do that? She's heavy."

"I didn't mean- here. Shaun, stand up."

A chair scraped right near Wren's head and reflexively she picked her paw up on that side, anticipating a chair leg or bootheel landing on it.

"Skittish ain't she? Bitch, get under the table. Go on."

Begrudgingly she crawled forward, head ducked to keep from smashing her muzzle into anything, and even still someone grabbed her head and steered it to the side; a moment later her shoulder bumped a table leg and she breathed a silent thanks to whomever it was that had spared her a painful thump. She kept going, straight ahead until she bumped into a leg that drew back away from her. Wherever she was she was all the way underneath.

"What now?" Andy? She was starting to learn their voices, if not all their names.

"What do you think, jackass, now she sucks some dick." That was Master Stahl.

"Whose?"

They didn't think this through very well, did they? she thought. It was almost funny, or would have been if she didn't already feel like she'd been hit by a truck, and the night wasn't even over yet. She wondered what the other men were doing - she had the impression, from the conversation, that at any given time only maybe a half-dozen were at the table.

"Fuck, you're just all questions ain't you? Who hasn't had her yet?"

Silence. That meant every man - every one of them here - had cum in her. Wren wasn't sure if she should be proud, disgusted... Or turned on. That merest flicker of a thought made her shiver.

"Hah!" the tiger again. "Okay then, let's do it this way. Winner of the next hand gets a blowjob from miss sloppyface down there."

Mumbles of general agreement around the table were enough to have Wren sitting back on her haunches, waiting. At least she'd only have to use her muzzle now. Silence fell for a few minutes, with nothing but the barely audible fwip of cards.

"And the flop."

"Cor, what a load of fookin' rubbish."

"It ain't your bet, Shaun."

"Still rubbish."

The clink of chips accompanied each muttered announcement. "Ten."

"Call."

"Fookin' fold."

"Call."

"See your ten, raise ten."

"Fold. My dick's still sore from her cunt anyway."

"Yeah yeah, and the grapes were sour. Call."

Silently Wren counted voices. She was right, it was six. She realized she was actually getting a little excited, or at least anticipatory. There was tension here that was absent when she was just on her knees in the living room.

"Flop, three. No help."

A knock on the table. "Check."

"Pussy. Ten."

More clinks of chips, but no words spoken.

"Fine, ten. When I cum in her muzz I'm gonna be thinking of your sister."

"Yeah yeah. 'Kay, here we go, who's horny. Jack."

Dead silence at the table now, Wren could hear herself breathing.

"Fuck it. Twenty."

"You're a shitty bluffer, Scott. Call."

Clink clink went the chips.

"Alright boys, who's getting lucky."

A pause, then groans from around the table, someone kicked out a boot lazily and caught here in the hip. Whoever it was didn't apologize.

"I told you you were a shitty bluffer."

"Aw, listen to this fuck, wins with a pair on the river and he thinks he's king of the fuckin' world. Enjoy your blowjob."

"I'm gonna enjoy your money, too. Over here, girl." A slapping of paw against thigh encouraged Wren over towards the noise, picking her way carefully towards it. At the same time there was s scraping of a chair and shuffling as someone - the one she was crawling towards? - stood up.

"What the hell are you doing Darren, put that ugly-ass thing away!"

"This ain't the movies, man," 'Darren' said. Wren heard the muted jingle of keys in a pocket and the rustle of clothing. "She ain't gonna fit under there with just my fly open."

General groans were the reply while Darren sat back down and scooted his chair forward; Wren waited until the sounds stopped before sidling closer and using her nose to find her way between the feline's legs. A leopard, she decided, with a beer belly her forehead hit before her muzzle found his flaccid cock. She remembered him now, he was one of the ones that had fucked her after Trawler. He was...

...Oof, big. Ducking her head and tilting her muzzle up she kissed his cock, lapping at it (from the taste she knew she was right - he had fucked her) before using her tongue to gather it into her muzzle and begin sucking.

"Hrf, fuck yeah. Shit, you guys should try this."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, fuck you. Deal me in, if I ain't gonna get a hummer I can get some of my money back."

Soon enough he was hard in her muzzle and Wren did the best she could under the circumstances, the cramped quarters forcing her to tug his cock down almost straight out and move forward and back rather than up and down. It didn't help that he was thick enough to make her jaw ache, drooling despite her efforts not to. It was a welcome respite from the marathon and often double-teamed fucking from before and Wren found herself kind of enjoying it.

Up above the game continued. Wren tuned it out, focusing mainly on the blowjob, and was proud when it wasn't too long before Darren was grunting and growling, but that pride disappeared when a paw slid under the table, grabbed the back of her head and forced the meaty dick down her throat. He came like that while she gagged, even coughing when he pulled out and spattering his balls with some of the sperm. Goddamnit asshole, can't you just enjoy it?

Another hand, another wager on her mouth, and she was crawling over to the next feline, one whose name she didn't catch. Then after that a third, her jaw protesting by now. They had to know they couldn't keep this up all night; training or no she'd spent more time with a cock in her muzzle than not over the last hour at least, and with each one she was getting worse at it. By the fourth she was using her paws more than she knew she should - her lips just wouldn't seal anymore.

"Raise fifty."

"It's a friendly game, Andy, fuck your fifty."

"Hey, you don't want in, don't bet."

"Fold. Asshole."

"Fold."

It was quiet for longer than usual now, making Wren pay attention. She tried to be as quiet as she could without making it obvious she was listening in, her muzzle bobbing up and down slowly in the lap of whoever it was she was sucking off.

"You know I don't have fifty," Master Stahl said.

"Yeah, but you got something else you can bet."

"Friendly game, Andy. Don't pull this bullshit."

"What bullshit?" Wren could hear the smirk in Andy's voice, but was utterly baffled by what was being discussed or what he meant.

Master Stahl grunted. "Awright, you want to play it like that. How long?"

"Couple nights."

"How many's a couple?"

"Two! Just two. I'll have her back to you Wednesday, say, before lunch."

Wren froze. Even the owner of the cock in her mouth didn't complain, but he did chuckle. He'd figured it out too.

"That's worth a fuckload more than fifty bucks."

A paw landed on Wren's head and shoved her down. Mister suck-ee had run out of patience, and with a tight knot in her gut now Wren resumed her blowjob, slowly. Master Stahl couldn't just gamble her away! Master Lorkin had given her to him, she wasn't something to be just passed around! She didn't even know who Andy was, other than another tiger and one of Master Stahl's employees. Not for the first time tonight Wren was very, very scared.

"Yeah, you got a point. You can borrow my Porsche for a week. No tracking it, though."

Silence. Long, agonizing silence.

"Two weeks," Master Stahl said. "And if I lose you deliver her back - in one piece - on Wednesday."

"Deal."

Wren whimpered, so softly that apparently nobody heard. They were too busy making jokes anyway. This was funny to them, the anonymous wolf being thrown in a poker pot like a chip. She was still dwelling on it when the cock in her muzzle jumped, pulsed, and she as forced to swallow the sudden mouthful of semen squirting over her tongue. A reminder of what she was; a pleasant distraction for them. Even who she thought was her new - if temporary - Master.

"No more bets though."

"Yeah yeah. Shaun, deal 'em."

"Six, no help."

Wren held her breath.

"Eight. Jack. Ten. Awright boys, show 'em."

In her mind Wren could see the cards flipping over one by one.

Fwip fwip.

Fwip fwip.

"You've gotta be shitting me. Fucking pair of sevens? You bet fifty on that?" Wren's stomach dropped. That was Master Stahl doing the talking.

"At least I had a pair of anything," Andy said to general laughter. Wren felt her world spinning. "Hey girl, guess what? You just got yourself a new owner."

"Temporarily," Master Stahl said sourly.

But you're not my Master, she wanted to scream. This couldn't be happening. Master Lorkin wouldn't allow it. Master Stahl couldn't allow it. Why would he? This was only supposed to be one night!

...But Master Lorkin had never said that. He'd been conspicuously unspecific about exactly how long she was to remain in the tiger's service. And the worst part of it, the absolute worst part of it was, that she was every bit as bound by this agreement as she had been by the other. Which was to say she could try to say no all she wanted, but there no question what would happen if she did. Her passing of this test was dependent on her absolute obedience. And that meant that if Master Stahl wanted to gamble her away to one of his buddies he could.

"C'mon bitch, get outta there." It was Andy now. Chair legs scraped again and she felt bodies moving against her. Despondently Wren began to crawl out from underneath the table in a random direction, until someone grabbed her collar and dragged her out the rest of the way, knees dragging. When she was out in the open (judging by what little light came through the blindfold) she was pulled up to a sitting position, resting on her haunches and hoping she wasn't dripping on the floor, even though she knew she probably was.

"Well boys," Andy - Master Andy? - was saying, giving a tug on the leash to pull her closer. He must have been the one who took hold of it. "I'm gonna quit while I'm ahead. Thanks for the game."

A general rumble of disagreement rippled around her.

"You just gonna drag her off? I only got to go once!"

"Shit, I only had her muzz."

"C'mon, just like half an hour."

"Don't be a bunch of sore losers," Andy said smugly (Wren could hear it in his voice). "Me and my new puppy here only got a few nights ahead of us and I ain't gonna waste it watching you fuckers plow her. Especially you, Ethan."

"Aw, fuck you man," Ethan grumbled half-heartedly from somewhere on the other side of the table.

Then everyone was saying their goodbyes, a flurry of shook paws, back-slapping and the occasional almost-affectionate rub between Wren's ears, each one bringing with it a pang of almost-pride - even as she was still frightened and angry about what was happening - and a much greater sense of relief. Maybe the worst was over, for real, this time.

"Let's go," the tiger holding her collar said gruffly, and switched to the leash a moment later as he began to lead her (presumably) back down the hall through which they'd entered. Another pair of footsteps followed along as the sound of the party quieted behind them.

They were as far as the hallway before either voice spoke again. "You mind if I talk to her first?" It was Master Stahl - no, just Dean now - being polite enough to ask if he could address someone else's pet. Wren whimpered.

"Sure," the other tiger said. "No touching though."

She sensed Dean crouch down next to her before he took removed her blindfold without warning. Light flooded into Wren's eyes, so bright she had to squint, the sight of the other two men in the foyer only slowly coming into watery focus with lots of blinking.

She obediently kept her head down, stealing only a few surreptitious glances upwards. Dean was squatted in front of her, and behind stood a heavyset, smirking tiger with an alarming lack of compassion on his striped features, standing with his arms crossed over a wide chest and her leash held loosely in one paw. He caught her looking and winked. Wren ducked her head lower.

"Are you in heat?" It was Dean asking.

Wren swallowed and shook her head, wondering why he asked, then felt foolish for wondering. No one had used protection tonight, and she doubted her new owner was planning to.

"Are you going to be, in the next few days?"

Wren hesitated, then shook her head again. She sure hoped not, at least.

"Good. You do whatever Andy says." Master Lorkin had said almost the exact same words to her. "He'll bring you back in one piece." He glanced up. "Won't you?"

"Sure," Andy said, in a tone that made it sound like a lie. Wren shivered.

"I'm serious, Andy," Dean grunted as he got back to his feet, towering over Wren. "Or you're the one who's going to have to explain to Mister Lorkin why you broke his favorite toy."

Wren's brief swell of pride was cut off by the tiger's mocking snort. "If she's his favorite, how come he ditched her?" Then, when Dean started to retort, continued. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna ruin the little bitch any more than she already is." Wren tried not to dwell too much on that question.

"Good. Now if you need anything-"

"Yeah yeah, I'll call." The leash tightened as the squat feline headed to the door, forcing her to crawl hurriedly to follow him. "C'mon girl, we got some gettin'-to-know each other to do."

Wren followed with a brief backwards glance. Dean only raised his eyebrows at her inscrutably - maybe an apology, maybe just an acknowledgement - and shut the door behind them without comment. She was, once again, naked and collared outside, knees and palms raw, wondering what was going to happen to her next.

Wednesday was a long way away.