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It was a nice spring day. The sun hovered a fair distance into the sky, though had been hidden behind cotton clouds so that its rays did not burn too brightly; all down the street, the lawns were well-maintained, freshly cut, and juicy green, except for one; flowers in bloom, trees starting to fruit, wind gently blowing... the German shepherd who lived in number 316 on the street figured today would be an excellent day to enjoy by himself, as well as one where he could finally fix the hole in the back fence, because the neighbor didn't seem to have any interest in doing so.

At least, he thought that today would be a good day until he actually went over to the fence. In the adjacent yard, lounging back on one of those long white lawn chairs that was half-submerged in unkempt grass, was Thomas Greengage. Tom was a fox, fur about as thick and white as the cumulus clouds above, eyes the same bright azure as the sky, and a body the type usually only seen in professional gay pornos and in idealistic artwork online. Tom might be cute, if he weren't also, unfortunately, a flame-ended bitch.

Salvador LaFarge, this German shepherd who currently carried fenceboards over one shoulder, couldn't quite remember exactly when it was that Tom started getting on his nerves - though it seemed to have been five or six years ago when he started going through puberty. Instead of his voice getting lower, it seemed to have risen at least a half-step, and the boy developed a rather hard-to-ignore lisp - that was part of why Sal wasn't surprised when Mrs. Greengage came to him asking for advice on how to respond to a text message sent to her from her son: "I'm gay and there's nothing you can do or say about it. I think..." ...and it went on and on and on.

Sal had had to roll his eyes at that. How classy: to come out to your mother over text, and to do so rather aggressively as well... the shepherd made no effort to drop the fenceboards quietly, and allowed himself a smug smile upon seeing how it made the fox jerk slightly in his sleep. Even if he hadn't so subtly proclaimed his homosexuality, Sal would have had no doubt figuring it out - what straight guy refused to mow the lawn because he didn't want to sweat, and then fell asleep while sunbathing in nothing but a bright cherry-fucking-red speedo in his backyard?

To think that Tom had called him a creep when the boy had left his window wide open one afternoon when his boyfriend was over. Sal did what any sensible dog would do: he recorded the event and held it over the brat's head for blackmail purposes. That got him a good three months' worth of having basic household chores done for him, during which he tried to at least settle things with the fox, who seemed to harbor an inordinate and unwarranted dislike of him.

Sal knew it what it was like to grow up gay - and had been through even more than this stuck-up kid, with his snow-white fur and his sunbathing. Why the hell does a fox need to sunbathe, anyway?- back when Sal was young, being gay was even tougher than it was now. He liked to think that that background had both given him a backbone of steel as well as paved the way for what he'd do in his younger adult years... in fact, he still had the leather gear, the whips, the chains and restraints, and the paddles in one of his closets somewhere. There was no way he'd still fit into his outfit from back then, though - and he was reminded of why while leaning down to pick up one of the fenceboards, having to reach a paw around his slightly protruding belly. Back then, he had the body of a stud; today, he had the body of a dad.

He couldn't help but watch Tom through the space in the fence while aligning the first board. Look at him - slim, lithe, probably no taller than 5'6 and no heavier than 110 pounds. He appeared to have a fairly plump shaft just barely hidden beneath the material of that obnoxious speedo, but while soft, that wasn't too good of an indicator... and besides, what Sal had gotten on video was too out-of-focus anyway. Though, to think about it...

Sal peered over his shoulder, looking around for his pet dog Tiberius - also a German shepherd, big and brown, feral. The feral snoozed idly in the shade of a tall tree near the other side of the fence, but his ears perked up and he started trotting over at his master's quick whistle. He figured that Tom deserved to be put in his place, to be taught a bit of a lesson...

Once in the past, Sal thought that things would actually turn out alright with him. It was a Friday afternoon, Tom had just finished mowing the shepherd's lawn and as such was tired and sweaty, and just like he did every Friday afternoon, Sal started a routine reduction of his liquor cabinet. His favorite radio station was on, oldies - something from Dean Martin was playing at the time - and he thought he'd just relax... Tom asked if he could have something to drink, and though at the time he was maybe sixteen or seventeen or something, the German shepherd figured he'd done a good enough job and, again, wanted to maintain at least some sort of friendship with him.

No surprise: Tom is lightweight as fuck. After maybe two glasses, his ears started pointing in separate directions and his speech started slurring, but still he wanted more. Sal figured, let him. That'll be a good lesson for him. But, no - when the twerp said "I want more", it wasn't alcohol he was talking about. Sal looked up from pouring himself another glass to find a fox inches in front of him, preparing to sit down in his lap... he would have stopped him, but the paws that quickly found their way up his shirt, that first pressed into his upper chest and then traced down to the front of his pants... the resistance died in his throat as something else on him was awakened.

Even at this time, Tom was no virgin. That could be clearly determined in the ease he had with undoing the shepherd's belt and fly. Sal remembered scanning the white-furred muzzle and light blue eyes, looking for any sort of deceit or hint at this all being a trick, but could find none - so he lay back, half-filled glass in one paw, legs spread, and the tent of his boxers rising out above the open flaps of his pants. Tom gave a lazy smile, turned around, settled his still-clothed rump back against the hard bulge in the shepherd's boxers - and, God, what warmth there was there-

-and then the fox suddenly stood up, that slight smile having stretched into a bright grin, and wobbled briefly on his feet. "Nah," he'd slurred, "I gotta get home," and then walked out of the house, the bottle that Sal had just poured from clutched in one paw. That was a possible fuck and about $50 of good Old Fashioned whiskey walking out the door.

So, he owed him that. That was maybe a year ago, and he still had to get him back for it.

Tiberius nosing against Sal's paw brought him back to the present... the hole in the fence was more than wide enough for the dog to fit through. Sal looked from the snoozing fox - his arm hung off over the side of the chair - to his German shepherd, and then leaned down, patted the dog's head, and whispered "alright, Ty, see 'im over there? Get over there and get his scent. If you find something you like, well... he's asleep. He won't stop you..."

Sal had been 'specially training' Tiberius over the years. Because of this, the feral understood immediately, trotted through the gap in the fence, and headed over towards the fox on his chair; meanwhile, the shepherd started nailing in one of the boards, all the while keeping his eyes on the events in the next yard. Tiberius wasted no time in making his way to the fox and then nosing up between his legs, conveniently spread apart to allow him ease of access... first it started just with excessive nuzzling and sniffing at the material of the speedo, and then - as Sal thought he could see a stirring in the shape under that speedo - the dog started licking, placing his tongue just at the edge of the material and lifting it up and away a little, showing more and more of white fur between those legs...

...Tom stirred to the feeling of warm sun on his face and chest and something else warm between his legs, pleasantly so, intoxicatingly so... he must have dozed off, he realized. There was the repetitive sound of someone pounding something with a hammer - guess that must mean that that old shepherd next door had finally got around to fixing the fence... but, still, something wasn't right. The warmth that the fox felt between his legs was moist, unrelenting, in fact only picking up as he came to realize he was very, very hard-

He jerked upward to see a huge German shepherd right there between his legs, nosing and licking at the obvious tent in his speedo. Damn himself for being a grower - he could either have the speedo lift up and stretch away from his sack, or show the top half of his length... after a quick moment of struggling with his attire, his difficulty thankfully weakened by the panic and sudden rush of annoyance, he jumped to his feet, seized the feral by its collar - he encountered a brief moment of trouble trying to find a place for his fingers around the spikes - and dragged it over towards the hole in the fence, through which Sal worked. The German shepherd raised his eyebrows as Tom approached.

Sal lowered the hammer, waiting for Tom to say something. The fox released Tiberius and then pushed him through the gap with his foot, not caring if he was a little rough. "Hey old man," he growled, trying to ignore the still-lingering remnants of his erection. "your mongrel was in my fucking yard!"

"Yeah?" Sal held two nails in his teeth; he removed one and started hammering it into the board. "Guess he recognized one of his own, huh? Also, I'd appreciate it if you called me 'Mr. LaFarge'. We've been over this, Tom."

"Look, I'm not gonna respect you 'til you respect me, alright? It's a mutual thing here, y'see. Don't get what you don't deserve - there's no way you couldn't've seen your mutt wander over here. He looks fuckin' dangerous; what if he'd torn my throat out? Huh?"

Sal looked to be lost in thought for a moment - but then he suddenly focused his brown eyes on the fox in front of him, gave a sudden jerk of his jaw, and the remaining nail in his teeth snapped in two. The body of it clanged lightly on one of the boards beneath him, and a moment later, he spat out the head. "Here. How 'bout you come on in and I'll give you one of my bottles of whiskey - the kind you like - as an apology for this whole... unfortunate incident. If it happens again, feel free to call the police on me. Would that make it up to you, Tommy?"

"I think I'll take you up on both of those offers. And don't fucking call me Tommy - I'm seventeen, not twelve, as you seem so liable to believe."

"And I'm forty-seven, not sixty-eight, but you still insist on calling me old man. Ah well - come on." He set down the hammer and stood up, nodding briefly to his dog. Tiberius looked between the German shepherd and the fox, and Tom made sure to give him a wide berth. "Let's do this quickly so that your mother doesn't see."

"Mom's not home right now. She's at a friend's for the night."

"Oh, lucky you. House all to yourself. When's your boyfriend coming over, then?"

Tom had broken up with his boyfriend three months ago... something in the shepherd's voice told him that he knew this and had brought it up to get something out of the fox, but he ignored it. Or tried to, at least. "Look, old man, I'm not gonna be your friend just because we're both gay. Alright? It's creepy. 'Specially with you being - what, fifty years old? And hanging out with little seventeen-year-old me. Try anything funny and you'll be thrown in prison, dog. You'll-"

Suddenly Sal swung around and pushed Tom into the wall. The shepherd towered a good foot over him, and had at least twice his weight on his body. Tom tried not to show his surprise or fear, but the blunt-clawed finger poking into his chest caused a startled gasp to trickle its way down his throat. Then, the shepherd's voice, low and gravelly: "You don't have the balls."

And, then, he continued down the hall, not giving another glance at the fox. Tom shook himself out, breathed out a shuddering sigh, and tried to think of something to say, to make it look like that hadn't affected him... "W... where are we going? Don't you keep your booze in the kitchen like any sensible adult-"

"If by 'any sensible adult' you mean 'mother with rebellious teenage son', then no, I don't. Moms keep their alcohol in an easy-to-reach place to tempt their brats and teach them a lesson. Would you want to drink so often if you had to creep up to her bedroom and take the bottle from her nightstand? Hmm? No? Well, I don't have kids - thank God - so I don't have to do that. It's in the bedroom; c'mon."

Salvador's house smelled like cigarette smoke, faint mildew, musk, and old people. It almost sickened Tom. The smoke part of that odor only got stronger the further down the hall he went - damn dog must smoke in bed, he realized. That was gross. God, he'd have to take a long shower once he got home, or go swimming in his pool to get the scent out of his fur... he didn't know whether it was good that he hadn't gotten dressed before coming over or not. If he got the scent on his clothes, Mom would think that he'd been smoking, and he hadn't. Not today, at least.

Tom felt a rough paw push him forward into the bedroom, and then heard the shepherd's voice behind him. "It's over there, on the other side of the nightstand. Go and get it, and since you're so eager to, get out of my house..."

At first the fox was a little wary of stepping into the room with the big German shepherd behind him - that meant he'd be cornered in here, and who knew what that creep wanted to do to him - but after taking a few steps in and then quickly looking back over his shoulder, only to see Sal still leaning in the threshold with his arms crossed in front of his chest. The problem would just be squeezing past him and that belly of his once he'd gotten the booze... something told him that the big shep wouldn't just let him go...

But, sitting right there by the foot of the nightstand was a full bottle of Old Fashioned, unopened and deep amber-orange in the half-light of the room, thanks to the drawn blinds. Not only that, but on the edge of the nightstand also sat what looked to be a silver-plated flip lighter, the surface etched all over with fancy engravings... Tom moved so that he blocked it with his body, and then swiped it into his paw while leaning down to grab the bottle. Another reason he should've put on at least pants before coming here - then, he'd have a pocket to put it in-

Just as he was straightening back up, though, lighter surreptitiously clutched in one paw and the neck of the whiskey bottle in the other, he felt something thrown around his throat from behind and then fasten. Suddenly panicked - am I being strangled?! - he dropped the things and tried to swing around, but instead was stopped by the fierce hold of a tight... collar clasped around his neck, attached to a long and sturdy leash... thrown off-balance by the struggle, the fox fell back onto the edge of the bed, but was then forced to stand back up by a firm tug on that leash.

He looked up at Sal, with the other end of the leash in one paw and a satisfied smile lifting the corners of his otherwise slightly-wrinkled muzzle. "There," the shepherd growled, "that looks better." His dog padded up beside him and nuzzled his other paw. "What d'ya think, Ty?"

"God - damn it, Sal, let me-" Tom jumped back to his feet and fiddled with the collar, but could not figure it out. "-what do you think you're - doing -"

"Sit. Down."

The force of Sal's voice, like back in the hallway, suddenly caused all resistance to fade from Tom's limbs. Ears slightly lowered and breath stuck in his throat, the fox nervously lowered himself back to the edge of the mattress and folded his paws in his lap. Scattered on the floor by his feet were the flip lighter, now open, and the whiskey. Now, something told him he wouldn't be leaving with either of those.

"On the floor, where you belong."

"Look, old man, I don't want any trouble... I get it, just... let me go..." He gripped the edge of the mattress with his paws, not caring that his claws dug into the fabric.

However, another fierce tug on the leash performed the action for him, and his knees thumped against the carpeted floor a little painfully. Tom gritted his teeth against the jarring thump, and had to blink through tears that rose in his eyes. "Well," the big shepherd went on, "that's too damn bad. You've disrespected me for the last time, kid, and I've been thinking the time to put you in your place has long since passed. What do you say?"

"I wanna go home."

"Ah, I misspoke... remember earlier, how I said Tiberius here recognized one of his own? Well, I was being serious: you're an animal, kid. A lowly dog. And, y'know what?" Sal lowered himself down into a squatting position before the fox, who instinctively shied back away from him. "Dogs can't speak. So shut your mouth. Yeah?"

"What was that you said about me calling the police? I-"

A firm paw on his shoulder suddenly tugged him down and brought his face close to the floor, but he put his paws out at the right moment before bumping his nose on the carpet. Anger and frustration were starting to well hotly up in him - oh, if only he could stand up and deal this damn shepherd a kick right between his legs... however, that paw traced down his back and hiked his rear end up into the air.

"Dogs also don't wear clothes. Certainly not gay little speedos."

That anger and frustration quickly melted into embarrassment and humiliation, as Tom felt the speedo being tugged down his legs and the resulting change in air temperature in the fur there. There was really nothing keeping him from leaving other than this collar on his neck, but... he couldn't really try to get it off without being too conspicuous about it. Still over in the threshold of the door, the feral German shepherd watched him with a slowly wagging tail.

"Y'know, Tommy..." Sal stood back up and started pacing around the room, holding the end of the leash in his paw. "I used to break twinky little fags like you for a living. Skinny little boys who like dressing like girls, who like talking like girls, who like getting fucked like girls... I've seen it all before. You're no different." He motioned for Tiberius to come over. The dog wagged a little more and obeyed.

Meanwhile, Tom leaned back and straightened up but remained on his knees. With his paws he covered himself, embarrassed that all of a sudden he was naked in the house of this fifty-year-old homosexual. Already he felt dirty - and he did not at all like the way either of the shepherds looked at him.

"On your back."

"What?"

"Dogs don't talk, they obey. Lie down on your back. Unless you want me to make you do it?"

That did it. The fox, keeping his lips tight and paws over his crotch, did as he was told. Was this, technically, rape...?

Over by the door, Sal knelt down and murmured something into his dog's ear. The feral German shepherd cocked his head, wagged, and then licked his master's face... from here, Tom could perfectly see the feral's plump sheath and heavy sack, and wished with all his might that he was wrong about what was soon to come.

But, sure enough, Tiberius padded over - with the fox on the ground, the feral shepherd absolutely towered over him - and looked down at him, but thankfully stopped before that hanging sheath and sack came to be embarrassingly positioned above his muzzle... instead, he just looked timidly up at the dog's own muzzle, hanging open with panting and a dripping tongue, amber eyes watching his face-

The bed creaked as Sal sat down on it. "Go ahead, Ty. Give 'im some good kisses..."

Tom didn't have enough time to react before that muzzle and tongue were suddenly on him, licking all over his cheeks, his lips, on the inside of his mouth... broad, flat dog tongue, smooth, moist to the touch but dripping with slick saliva... the hottest of blushes warmed the fox's cheeks and he repeatedly tried to turn his head away, again and again, but each time he did so Tiberius adjusted and just resumed. Sal's low chuckling could be heard from above... Tom had hardly been more embarrassed in his life, but thank God there was only this one person to watch this happen.

Unless he had another video camera set up, like that one time with Bryson. Then, who knows...

The dog's tongue and saliva, thank God, did not taste like anything particularly disgusting, other than just a muted sort of blandness - and Tom had several unfortunate occasions on which Tiberius's tongue dragged across his, or came up the inside of his cheek, or drooled out another strand of saliva over his lips. God, he - wanted so much to get up, to spit all of this out of his mouth and stomp out of the house, but he didn't dare, partially due to how a low growl reverberated in the big feral shepherd's throat whenever he tried to move, and also because of Sal's foot placed firmly in the middle of his chest, holding him down. Not only that, but he could almost feel the old dog's eyes focusing on one specific part of him, looking for a reaction... he'd move his paws away from that area in attempts to keep Tiberius off of him, but of course, to no avail.

"Hm," growled the big German shepherd on the bed. "Guess you don't like kisses too much, huh? Well, that's okay... hey, Tiberius, why don't you share some of your warmth with him?..."

This was the part that Tom dreaded. The feral dog, after running his tongue up along the fox's mouth one more time, straightened up and then started moving down his body - by 'share your warmth' and from seeing that large sheath hovering above him, the fox was almost afraid that he'd have to close his eyes and mouth against an imminent burst of fresh mark, so to say - but no, thankfully: Tiberius turned around so that his body was aligned with Tom's, and then lowered himself down.

It came as no surprise that the shepherd seemed to weigh even more than Tom himself did. When the dog's warm chest and underbelly lowered down to him, all he could offer in complaint was a soft oof and a weak attempt at moving, though he only succeeded in bringing his arms up and shifting his hips to the side - great: the fox's cock, now half-pinned beneath feral dog crotch, was on full display for the bigger German shepherd to see.

As if being pinned by a rather obedient and unfixed dog wasn't embarrassing enough, the simple heat radiating off that certain part of the dog started to elicit an unwilling response in Tom's body. The main reason he'd broken up with Bryson was because he found out he had a bad habit of lifting his tail for his own dog, which frankly disgusted Tom to a degree... but now that he didn't have much of a choice, there was certainly something to be said about the soft, supple skin of the dog's sheath, pulsing with incredible warmth, and then the short and almost pleasant fur of his full sack, pressing down on his own, shifting slightly with the dog's heartbeat and breathing...

Tom tried to adjust his position beneath the dog's weight - damn thing had not held back when it lay down on him, and now just lay there panting like he was lounging on the couch or something - but this time only managed to rub up against the sheath that seeped its warmth onto him, which in turn made him arch his back in unfortunate pleasure and lift up even further.

"Ah! What's this?"

Sal leaned down and poked the pad of a finger at the side of Tom's erection. The fox twitched at the unexpected contact and may even have let out a soft whimper.

"Look at you, you little freak... first you're complaining, waah, I wanna go home, I don't want to be here, and then I tell my big male dog here to lick your muzzle and lie down on you, and..." Again he flicked his finger over Tom's length. It throbbed again. "...you harden up without a second thought, just like I'm sure you do when a big guy tugs you down into his lap, or unzips his pants to let his thick cock flop out over your nose. Isn't that right? Little fag like you... you probably love that sort of thing, huh? I could open my pants and rest mine on your lips, and you'd go down on me without even thinking about it."

Tom swallowed. Well, to be fair, he was there for that one time in the locker room of his own damn accord! He hadn't thought the whole school football team would show up - he'd only arranged to have the quarterback seven inches in his throat and the runningback six and a half inches under his tail, not to have two of the other guys (hell, he didn't know the positions) slide their pants off their legs and poke their cocks against his muzzle, or have another one blow his load out all over his back... the only trade-off for that whole thing was that he had to keep his mouth shut. Which was the exact opposite of what they were saying to him during it...

Well, that trip into his memories only got him even harder, and now any movement brought a sweet wave of pleasure to ripple through him and exit his muzzle in a light sigh. Not only that, but he thought he could feel something moist and throbbing against him, something protruding from the end of Tiberius's velvet sheath. Tom kept his eyes focused on a spot on the ceiling, trying to push everything out of his mind.

"Tiberius, up." Suddenly the weight lifted from him, which startled him almost as much as when the dog had first settled down onto him. "You, fox... you've probably had more cocks on your tongue than you've had tongues on your cock. I know your type - you pride yourself on being submissive as long as everything goes your way, you pride yourself on being as gay as can be as long as you're not mocked for it, you pride yourself on being able to take a cock under your tail as long as your forearm and as thick, too, as long as you don't have to prove it - and, God, some of you types are so gay that you're positively heterophobic... that's disgusting, y'know. Hey, Tiberius, give him another good licking - just like before. You know where."

Again, Tom did not dare move, even when again he felt the dog's nose lift up under his revealed sack and then trace along the underside of his now fully-hard length - though he couldn't repress a sweet shiver from the feeling of that broad tongue dragging up along his cock, feeling admittedly divine like no other tongue he'd had on him before. Sal kept his leash taut so that the fox's head was elevated off the ground and he was forced to watch the big feral German shepherd have his way with his sack and shaft, the dog's tongue washing up over him again and again, making him lift his hips up and moan gently despite himself.

Rebellion still burned brightly in his heart and mind, but... needless to say, his body felt something entirely different, and it took all his willpower to keep himself from bringing a paw up to tug the dog's head down on him. Particularly good licks, though, like each time that tongue flicked up over the head of his cock or dragged from base to tip, made him hump forward as an instinctual reaction - and he hated that because each time it happened, Sal breathed another low chuckle above him. With the wants of his body fighting against the wants of his mind, Tom could do nothing with his paws except hold them against Tiberius's shoulders, halfway between pushing him off and pulling him down further.

"Good boy, Ty. Now get up. Both of you."

Tom resisted at first, but yet another fierce tug on the leash almost strangled him and made him lift up into a sitting position. However, the big shepherd's foot on his shoulder hinted at him that this was not right-

"Paws and knees. Yeah, you. Animals don't sit up straight. Get on all fours and lift your tail for dear Tiberius here. It's been far too long since he's had an obedient bitch to breed... I'm sure you felt his sack on you. Full and ready to be emptied - and I'm thinking an excellent place for that load is deep under your tail..."

God - fuck. A little less reluctantly than before, Tom rolled over and lifted his rear into the air, then obediently let his tail follow and showed his bared rump to the huge feral dog. First he felt the dog's nose press up against the base of his tail, getting the scent of this bitch that he was about to breed, and then the fox oofed again at the sudden weight of the dog on his back - from legs over his shoulders, chest bearing down on his back, hips thrusting forward and back against his rump.

He was disgusted with himself in that he wanted to be fucked. That must be something that Sal knew and capitalized on: a young seventeen-year-old male fox who identifies as gay. Any male at that age, ninety percent of the time, will not turn down sex offered to him - even if that sex came in the form of a thick knotted dog cock under his tail after a session of being humiliated. Hey, at least the older dog hadn't brought out the whips and paddles that he certainly had around somewhere. As much as he hated himself for it, Tom would rather have a rump sore from a fist-sized knot rather than the kiss of a paddle.

"That's a good look for you," Sal went on, while Tiberius continually thrust forward in trying to find the fox's tailhole. While he spoke, he reached over to the nightstand and pulled something out of the drawer... Tom felt hot, moist flesh prod at his rump, at the base of his tail, right against his pucker - and he felt little jets of just-as-hot pre spurt out, as if to lube him up... "and just right for a good bitch. On your paws and knees, tail held high, with a big feral German shepherd mounted on you... God, I can't wait to see your face when he's filled you with his load and his knot. Ah!-"

Tom sucked in a sharp breath and jerked forward when Tiberius humped forward just right and pushed into him, the tapered tip of the dog's length quickly stretching him wide and allowing space for him to sink in further. The fox gripped at the carpet with his claws and gritted his teeth - it was almost painful, being fucked so fast and hard so quickly; he hadn't even been given time to adjust to the thickness, and - God - this dog already was thicker than Bryson had been-

"-there it is. Look at you, already you're panting, and..." Here, Sal slid down off the edge of the mattress and peered beneath the fox's body. Tom lurched forward and back, forward and back beneath Tiberius's energetic thrusts. Gradually the pain and discomfort went away, and came to be replaced by a low-down, deeply enjoyable, and deeply embarrassing pleasure that shivered through his body with each thrust under his tail... "...yup. Leaking pre." He twitched and inadvertently pressed back onto Tiberius when Sal's finger swiped up along his length. "I don't know if I should mock you or respect you for actually liking having a cock under your tail. Maybe you should come visit every now and then. Both of us here know that Ty wouldn't mind. And by 'both of us' I mean me and him."

Tom's lips almost moved to form the words Yes, sir but he caught himself at the last moment and instead just breathed out another moan. Not only that, but he remembered what Sal had said about how 'dogs don't speak'... he kept his paws firmly on the ground below him. If anything, he could maintain the willpower to keep from pawing off, even though his body practically screamed for orgasm. He would not give the big shepherd the satisfaction of seeing that - and besides, he kind of needed both of his paws there to keep his face from being ground into the carpet.

Still, though... Tiberius's paws over his shoulders, the dog's muzzle and hot breaths near his face, and the bulge of his knot kissing up against the rim of Tom's tailhole with each forceful thrust into him... he started to feel something ignite in him, something that grew a little brighter and a little hotter as it went on. Soon he found himself clutching at the carpet, not out of pain but out of pleasure and desire, and pressing back against the dog each time he slammed into him. He pushed back, again and again, loving the feeling of the knot stretch him just slightly further each time. He couldn't even hear the click, click, click of a camera over his own heavy breathing and excited moans.

And, then - goddamn it - Tiberius leaned all of his weight forward onto the fox and popped his knot into him, at once sending a ripple of pain through him as well as knocking him over the edge and causing the fox to shoot out his own cum over the carpet in a series of short spurts, hands-free, brought on simply by all of the teasing and the feeling of the dog's thick cock pulsing under his tail. Now he felt Tiberius's weight in full, and let his arms go out from under him. He couldn't tell if the hot sensation under his tail was soreness from the knot stretching him wide and then tying him or if that was just the dog's heavy load emptied deep into him.

Then, he felt Sal's paw lift his tail and finally heard the clicking of the camera. Tom tried to lift himself up but couldn't. "Hey-" he managed, "what-"

"Oh, just a little something to keep you behaving, which - I can expect, yes? If you disrespect me again, I have no trouble pulling you back in here for another good punishment - and next time, you'll have two German shepherd cocks to handle. Or, maybe, instead of that, I can just... post these photos online. I'm thinking "Young twink fox bitch gets what he deserves" is a good title." He tugged on the leash; Tom gagged briefly, but managed to pull himself up. "Yeah?"

He did not say anything.

"I think I'll just leave you there until Ty's knot loosens - and, Christ, you'll be pretty loose by then, too. Loose enough to take the cock of a forty-seven-year-old shepherd, too, if you'd like... good thing your mother's not home, kid..."