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Pomegranate. Pomegranate. Pomegranate. That word hung on Maggie's lips like sweet syrup, tinged her tongue like ambrosia. She yearned for the opportunity to utter it – to have her blood drawn by that hellhound's teeth, her neck near-crushed by his claws, his cock swelling inside her.

For most, a safeword was a precaution; but for Maggie, it was a goal. She'd never said it before. But oh, how she wanted to.

“Was work hectic today?" Rothko asked. His bushy tail swept along the floor as he poured water into a freckled glass. “It always seems to be hectic on Fridays."

Maggie sighed, and said: “Oh, you have no idea. My boss was such an asshole."

“Yelled at you again?"

Maggie shook her head. Her curled bobbed. “No, but he put me on cleaning duty for the night. The entire night! I didn't get a minute behind the bar."

Rothko frowned. He set his glass down on the countertop and asked, “Do you want a hug?"

“Yes, please."

Rothko hummed, then approached Maggie and hooked his thick paws around her hips from behind. His hefty snout buried itself in the crook of Maggie's neck, breathing deeply into that thick white fur. Her smell simultaneously calmed and invigorated him – it reminded him of home, safety, and lust.

“I'm sorry about today," Rothko said. “You don't deserve any of that."

Maggie allowed herself to melt into her husband's embrace. She sighed, wrapped her paws around his, and replied: “Yeah. I love my job… so, so much. But damn, I wish management was better."

“Mmmmm." Rothko squeezed Maggie tighter, planted soft kisses along her neck. He cooed, “I'm sorry, love. Just know I'm always here for you."

Maggie cracked a smile. Her legs wobbled under the weight of Rothko's colossal frame, his chest weighing against her back. She replied, “Thank you, love."

“Is there anything I can do for you?"

Maggie smirked. She turned to face Rothko, her chubby arms pinned against her sides by his biceps.

“I actually do want something… if you'd be in the mood," she said. Her green eyes narrowed, her tongue licked along her pearlescent fangs. “I'm feeling really… pent-up after today."

Rothko grinned, rolled his eyes. “Really? Now?" he asked. “We just got home. Aren't you tired?"

“C'mon. You know how insatiable I am," Maggie replied. “And besides… you like me when I'm all sweaty, hm? You should be thanking me."

“Yeah? I should?"

Maggie pouted. “Totally! You should be worshiping me. I'm, like, a bombshell."

And indeed she was. Every day, Rothko felt lucky to have wedded such an adorable woman – or, as she preferred to be called, adorably fierce. Her little fangs had left many marks on Rothko's thick skin, her claws raking striations along his back. She was small, yes, and ultimately submissive; and yet every time they made love, Rothko had to earn the privilege of her body. Fiercely.

“Well, Mrs. Bombshell… how about we go to the bedroom?" Rothko asked.

Maggie laughed. She said, “I thought you'd never ask. Now, let me go!"

And, before Rothko could react, the pup had sunk her fangs into Rothko's forearm. He yelped, yanking his arm away, and watched as his wife scurried away into the bedroom. Faint giggling rang out into the hallway as Rothko nursed his little wound.

“Yeah, okay. I see how it is," Rothko called, and followed her. “It's gonna be one of those kind of nights, huh?"

Maggie had already removed her sweatshirt by the time Rothko entered the bedroom, throwing it limply to the side. Her round, plump breasts hung free against her chubby tummy, a smug smile adorning her maw. She teased, “One of what kind of nights?"

“A bratty night," Rothko replied. He followed her lead, deftly tossing his tank top to the side. Thick, chocolate-colored fur covered his barrel chest. His toned pecs laid atop a bed of chiseled abs, his muscled arms rippling as he fumbled with his belt buckle.

Maggie was, as always, briefly enraptured by Rothko's nude body. He stood a full two heads taller than her, after all. A set of razor-sharp teeth poked from beneath his gargantuan maw, his eyes half-lidded, his pupils narrowed in predatory lust at the sight of his wife. God, Maggie loved it.

“W–well, you should know by now that every night with me is a bratty night," Maggie quipped. She resisted the urge to shake under the predator's gaze. “But I'm feeling especially bratty right now. So beware."

Rothko chuckled. He said, “It doesn't matter how you feel. I'm still going to make you say your safeword tonight."

Breath caught in Maggie's throat. That word bounced around her head once more – pomegranate, pomegranate. She huffed, looked askance.

“We'll see about that," she said. “And if you really want to fuck me… you should rip my clothes off first."

Rothko raised an eyebrow. He tail wagged as he said, “I'll oblige you. But it'd be helpful if you laid down on the bed for me."

“Make me," Maggie teased. “That is, if you're as big and strong as you say you are. It should be easy, hm?"

Rothko grinned. For just a moment, his flat tongue lolled from his mouth. “You're pathetic," he cooed, and grasped the hem of his pants. The fabric then glided downward, across the man's thick shaft, his muscled thighs, and finally his calves. His package then hung free – huge, covered in fluffy, warm fur. Round, virile testicles churned below his enormous, dark cock. It measured at least a foot in length, thicker than Maggie's forearm. Subtle veins crept along its long shaft, engorging its throbbing pink glans. Just the sight of Maggie made Rothko ravenous.

Wordlessly, Rothko then approached the little pup. For just a moment, he gazed down at her, sizing up his prey.

“Wh–what?" Maggie said. “Too much for you? I should've kno–"

Before Maggie could finish, she'd already been hoisted into the air. Rothko let out a hearty huff, then slung her over his shoulder. He then carried her a short distance to their bed, unceremoniously slamming her down onto the soft sheets. Maggie squealed.

“H–hey!" Maggie called, her cheeks reddening. “That's cheating!"

Rothko laughed. “Cheating?" he asked. “You're just too weak to resist."

And once more, the hellhound's swift reflexes then caught Maggie off-guard. He hooked his claws around her jeans, hungrily ripping them past her feet in one swift motion. Maggie attempted to stop the attack, but her fingertips only grazed that denim before it was ripped away.

And so Maggie suddenly laid bare, red in the face, helpless, before her beloved. Her plump thighs squished together, spread flat against the sheets; nestled between them laid her warm, pink vulva, already slick with lust. Loathe as she was to admit it, Rothko lifting her up had excited her. A lot.

“Already turned on?" Rothko teased. He twirled her pants around one finger, then slung them against the wall. “You talk a big game, but your attempts at resistance have been pitiful."

Maggie sputtered, shuttering her legs and covering her breasts. “W–well, you keep catching me off-guard!" she pouted. “But now that I'm prepared, you won't stand a chance. Try flustering me now, Mr. Big Bad Wolf."

“Hellhound," Rothko corrected. “But sure. Flustering a little bitch like you makes my mouth water."

The canine then knelt before Maggie's closed legs, eyeing his beloved's half-hidden slit. His claws unsheathed, he wrapped them around her plush thighs and pried outward, attempting to open them. Maggie, however, refused to budge.

“You want to use me?" she barked through gritted teeth. “Then come and take me, idiot. If you can, that is."

Maggie's words stoked a fire in Rothko's chest. “You think I can't?" he growled, his tail whipping behind him.

“I know you can't," Maggie hissed. “Just try and prove me wrong, mutt."

Rothko mustered a predatory grin. He sank his claws further beneath the Samoyed's soft fur, eliciting a groan from the prone pup.

“Fine," he replied. “But you'll bleed before tonight is over."

The prospect made Maggie shiver in anticipation. She could feel Rothko's claws on the verge of piercing her flesh, yet she refused to spread her legs. She wouldn't give up. Not tonight.

In the back of her mind, though, Maggie knew her resistance was futile. Rothko had hardly exerted himself until this point; he had merely been pacing himself for Maggie's benefit. However, as Rothko gazed into Maggie's smug gaze, he could no longer resist the urge to destroy her.

Rothko then easily pried the girl's legs apart, near-salivating at her slit. Her struggles only beckoned Rothko further, those pathetic grunts and squirms egging him on. Even as Maggie struggled, writhed, tried to get away, Rothko only encroached further. He crawled in between her quivering thighs, planting his paws on either side of her chest, before meeting the canine's fierce gaze.

“Such easy prey," Rothko growled. “You're mine."

Maggie, however, didn't reply. She instead wrinkled her lips, gathering a thick glob of spit, and suddenly shot it toward Rothko's face. The hellhound recoiled, but it was too late; that spit landed squarely on his left eye, blinding him. Rage flashed across Rothko's maw as he wiped his face.

“You stupid fucking animal," Rothko growled. “Do you have any clue what I could do to you?"

“I dunno," Maggie replied. “Why don't you show me?"

“Gladly," Rothko snarled.

The hellhound then lowered himself over Maggie, rubbing his engorged cock against her sheath. His maw kissed gently along her stomach, her breasts, her neck, lapping softly at her fur. Maggie could hardly stifle her moans as his hot breath washed across her flesh.

“Good girl," Rothko cooed. “Let me devour you."

Rothko then suctioned his lips against her breast, his fangs sinking beneath that thick veneer of snow-white fur. Maggie gasped, squirmed, as she felt herself pierced by her master. Red-hot searing pain emanated from her chest, down her spine, and emptied her mind.

“Call my name," Rothko growled. “Now."

Maggie, of course, refused. She instead clenched her teeth, a mighty groan escaping her tensed throat, as she bucked against Rothko's restraints. Fiercely, desperately, she barked at her captor, as spittle flew from her snarled lips.

Rothko entertained her little show of resistance, sneaking a condescending smile at his pet before once more swooping down and biting at her prone flesh. Just as before, he worked his way upward from her breasts to her neck. He stopped short of piercing her skin with each flash of his teeth, instead leaving deep marks where his jaws had once closed.

“Y–you stupid fucking mutt!" Maggie snarled. “You think you can own me just because of a few bites? You – ah! – have to try harder than that."

Rothko chuckled and replied, “Would you rather I pin you down and drink your blood?"

Against her will, a whimper leaked from Maggie's lips at the prospect. “W–well, I wouldn't be against it," she sputtered. “After all, if I'm really your pet, you should do whatever you'd like to me."

Rothko nodded. He was an expert at translating Maggie's bratty comments by now; and he would indeed oblige.

In only a moment, the hellhound had closed his jaw around Maggie's exposed shoulder. The little canine cried out in pain, attempting to batter the behemoth's back; but this resistance, too, was useless. Rothko pinned her wrists flush against the bed, rendering the pup motionless, helpless, as he then sank his teeth into her flesh.

Maggie howled, writhing in pain. Her tail beat feverishly against the sheets, her eyes squeezed shut. She wanted to call her safeword, to curb Rothko's bloodlust; and yet, that competitive part of her held her back. She wouldn't give up. Not now.

Crimson flecks soon trickled from beneath Maggie's fur, wetting Rothko's fangs, curling along his tongue. He savored that metallic, familiar taste; but even moreso, he savored the pathetic squirms of his pet. Warm gasps flew from her mouth in-between stray barks and groans. Maggie's struggling was lesser now, more submissive than combative.

Rothko then removed himself from Maggie's shoulder, licking along his bloodstained maw, and shot a smug grin at his pet. His dreadlocks tumbled awkwardly across his face as he said, “Say your safeword, and I'll go easy on you."

“Hell no," Maggie breathed. “More. More. Now."

“Beg for it," Rothko ordered.

Maggie's face scrunched. “Fuck you," she snarled.

Alas, that was all the begging Rothko needed. The hellhound met her lips like a feral beast, prying open her jaw and shoving his tongue into her mouth. That slick organ lapped fervently at her sharp incisors, her molars, her palate, her tongue. Maggie felt her oxygen dwindle, every inhale tainted with Rothko's sweet, hot breath, every utterance reduced to a pathetic groan.

She once more attempted to batter Rothko, to shove him away, but her resistance only made the beast more enthusiastic. He held Maggie's head still in his ironclad grip, inching his tongue further down her throat, further plunging the defenseless pup into subspace. Sticky lust dripped from his erect cock onto her groin, coating the pair in a viscous layer of precum.

Fuck, Rothko couldn't resist anymore. He needed to breed her.

_ _ “Flip over," he ordered, and licked the excess saliva from his lips. “Now."

In her oxygen-deprived haze, Maggie didn't think to put up a fight. Before that cold air could enter her lungs, invigorate her limbs, she had already flopped over onto her tummy. Her tail wagged weakly, her needy cunt dripping in anticipation.

“F–fuck me," she sputtered, breathless. Her dark hair laid a mess across her face. “Do it. Now. Please."

Rothko smiled, patted her head. “You're useless," he growled, and aligned himself with Maggie's entrance. “Try not to tap out before I'm done."

And involuntarily, needily, she nodded. Rothko then wrapped his muscled arm around her neck, squeezing her throat, before thrusting inside her for the first time. Maggie squealed.

“Damn…" Rothko snarled, a deep growl emanating from his throat. “I like it when you don't have the breath to speak," he teased. “I don't have to listen to you pout."

Maggie simply sputtered. Her mind was fuzzy once more, that warm blanket of oxygen deprivation causing her to shake. Her lips attempted to move, to form a coherent sentence, but only managed to form a single word: “More."

Rothko grinned. “Well, since you asked," he teased. “But I won't be gentle."

And thus, the hellhound began thrusting against his pet's insides. He pressed his chest flush against the pup's back, laying his entire weight against her body, that hot breath cascading over Maggie's ear. His claws dug deeply into her fur, his arm squeezing her windpipe, as his cock throbbed needily inside her.

“You're a useless pet," he whispered, his chest heaving against her shoulder blades. “ My useless pet. Mine, and only mine."

Maggie could only squeal in response. She could feel a familiar tension budding within her stomach, spurred by her utter vulnerability. She couldn't move at all anymore, instead reduced to a needy, pathetic cocksleeve. She wanted to buck against Rothko's groin, to fight back, but couldn't. She could only whine as she felt Rothko thrust himself inside of her again and again, battering her slick, red flesh into utter submission.

“M–master…please…" Those words hung on her lips, the last remnants of her broken mind, splayed pathetically in the air. “Master, master…I'm gonna…"

And before she could even finish her thought, an involuntary orgasm wracked her. Her entire body tensed, her mouth gaped, her eyes widened. Like lightning, that euphoria filled her. Her limbs convulsed uncontrollably against Rothko's frame, spurring him to hold her even tighter, as she contracted around the beast's throbbing cock.

Rothko flashed a toothy grin. “Aw. Did you cum for me?" he teased. “So weak, so frail… but I'm not done yet."

Rothko's pace then quickened, his needy cock flaring against Maggie's wet insides, his hips plunging again and again between her thick thighs. Fuck, he couldn't believe he was so lucky. Maggie was the perfect pet: obedient, loving, intelligent. He loved breaking her during every sexual encounter; he loved kissing her, holding her, destroying her. Bringing out that utter, complete submission made him feral.

Rothko's ass tensed. A snarl escaped his clenched jaw, his bicep curled tighter around Maggie's neck. Maggie truly couldn't breathe now. Her limbs fell limp, her tongue lolled idly from her open jaw.

“Maggie… Maggie…!"

She could feel her husband tensing against her insides. He hugged her close with sweat-covered fur, his rhythmic breaths lulling her into a near-hypnotic state. With every rough thrust against her groin, Maggie fell deeper and deeper into that infinite, interminable, pleasurable place –

“I'm cumming!"

Rothko plunged himself one final time inside Maggie's pussy, panting like a wild animal over the nape of her neck. Load after load of hot, virile cum then pumped deep inside of her sheath, erupting from her entrance with every quiver of his flesh. Rothko howled, his balls viciously churning against Maggie's plump ass.

The warmth of Rothko's love pervaded her, but Maggie hardly noticed. There was no air left anymore. She fell deeper into that deep darkness, her vision dimmed, her hearing ceased. And unexpectedly, unknowingly, just as she faded, Maggie uttered that word.

“P–pomegranate…"

And the world came rushing back. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Maggie flopped face-first onto the sheets. Cold, fresh air flooded her lungs once more, jolting her awake, her eyes wide. She coughed.

“F–fuck," Rothko breathed, and awkwardly lifted himself from Maggie's back. A string of cum still stretched from his quivering glans. “Honey, are you okay?"

With the last of her strength, Maggie nodded. She licked her lips, cleared her throat, and said: “I–I'm fine. Don't worry. That was… amazing."

Another cough. Her tail wagged, and an absent smile rose to her maw.

“Are you ready for round two?"