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And so we have my first Episodic, which follows an innocent Kyle as wild adventures with the mysterious Belgian Malinois Mason reveal his deeply kinky nature! The following stories will have a wide range of kinks, from pup play to watersports and much more, meaning there should be something for everyone here (and don't take this first chapters tameness as an indicator of what's to come). It is still 18+, however, and you're obligated to make sure you are of legal age to read shit like this.

~Scandal

Warning! There be Autofellatio (that's jacking off to you plebs), gayness, and suggested straightness (He's not kidding anyone) here! View discretion is advised~

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Music bled through the walls as Kyle sat quietly on the toilet. He didn't have to take a shit, but the bathroom was always a good place to think. A full moon, a mild night, a mansion, drinks, a party, and music at 180 BPM... all of the essential foundation blocks for some hot sex; and yet the poor dog couldn't even scavenge table scraps. Looking dully at the ornate leafing work on the grand mirror that took up nearly half the wall, Kyle caught his glum reflection and rolled his eyes.

You're ridiculous, you know that? Hopeless really.

He was burning with frustration; self-immolation over fearing a life of celibacy. Twenty and a virgin still: embarrassing. He was not ugly by any stretch of the imagination, but he was feeling that way currently. He brought claws down to scratch at his black-furred balls, tightened and itchy from the cool air streaming in from the cracked window. A thumb brushed over the tip of his cock and he groaned. He'd gotten to grind up against a girl, which he'd perceived as a small victory at the time but now only had blue balls as a medal. He was pent up and a bit drunk to boot, not a good combination. His otter buddy, Aft, said he got whisky dick when he drank- not a girl in the world who could get him hard after a set amount of alcohol. For Kyle it was nearly the opposite. The inebriation made him a straight up horn-dog.

He brought his paw down to rest on his shaft but then hesitated. He didn't want to blow his load too soon in case, by some divine intervention, Cassy (she was a whore, right?) would make her rounds and pick him. A stroke and his resolve faltered. Cassy wouldn't want to get fucked by him, just like all the other girls. But his doghood needed attention. A second stroke and he could feel his deep-red knot, hidden like so many rubies in a dragon's lair, tighten against his sheath.

Fuuuuck.

He could feel a pulse there, too. He brought his claw back to the tip of his warm member and nicked the tapered point, letting out a helpless whine as his balls tightened painfully and his body was seized with pleasure. Enjoying the warmth emanating from his neither region, Kyle cupped his sheath and jerked once, looking between his legs to see a quarter of his flaccid sex droop out. Another jerk and what slid out was not flaccid by any means, but swollen and veined, dribbling pre and musky. His nose twitched as he picked up on his own chemical flare. His pheromones were a reassurance that he had made the right choice. A sensation akin to the cuff from his pharmaceuticals blood pressure machine tightening on his dick and he slid his knot out before its girth got stuck in the restricting passages of his furred sheath.

His favourite part. Exposed to the elements and unrelenting strokes, Kyle was able to stimulate his entire length. He became lightheaded and then drifted as if in a dream... the one sensation that electrified his body was his rough, large paws enveloping everything. He moaned and whined as he doubled over, falling off the toilet seat and onto all fours, pumping, panting, and that little stub tail of his wagging senselessly over a twitching tailhole. He began to sweat, and the masculine smell mixed with his pheromones to lace the air of the small bathroom so every other occupant with a decent nose thereafter would know that Kyle had knotfucked his paw here. Soon he began to thrust, cupping his doghood in a way so at every jab, the hard bone there would bang against his palm and coat it with pre in progressively whiter shades. But then-

He wouldn't have heard the knock if he hadn't been on his drawback. He'd locked the door, right? He was about to shout 'occupied' when the door-handle turned. He thought fast, diving into the duel-jet tub and pulling the curtains across his body. He forcefully stilled his ragged breathing. Because he was lying on his back, pre spurted across the fuzz of his abdomen. He silently mourned the effort it would take to clean up; however, he wouldn't dare move. If anyone found him in such a vulnerable state his social life would experience infanticide. If it weren't for Aft he'd still be in the stairwell pack- body-pillow levels of virginity there, in the stairwell, where hardly the light of day found itself.

The male on the other side of the curtain cleared his throat and spat into the sink. Kyle could hear the ding as it struck the ceramic and imagined a muscular jock, the worse kind of whistleblower in regards to his little operation here, making his way to the toilet. Like never before the Doberman wanted to hear this jock fellow take a piss. If he was lucky, it would overpower his own smell and he'd be off the hook. A moment of tense silence endured and Kyle found himself hoping that he wouldn't have to sit through, well, number two.

"You wanna watch me piss or something?"

Damn.

"You're that Doberman, right?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck. OF COURSE it had to be a dog with good smell, of course! Kyle was in full panic mode.

A sigh from the jock fellow and the creek of floorboards as he got up. Kyle could smell the phantom BO of the stairwell pack coming to him; he'd be back in their ranks soon...

A clean swipe and his hiding spot was no more, leaving Kyle to ponder the inevitability of body-pillows. He wondered how he looked. His lower half splattered with pre, his jacking paw, too. A sheen of sweat on his brow and worst of all an engorged cock, oblivious to the direness of the situation, proudly erect and spitting.

"I know you're not a mute," the guy said.

He was well built but not jock material. No fraternity or hockey team insignias; just a cocky, curious smile. He hardly seemed deterred by what he'd stumbled upon, and Kyle allowed a bit of hope to filter in. He smiled shyly.

"You see..."

"No luck with the appetizers, huh?" he asked.

"No luck," Kyle replied meekly, pulling himself up so that his back rested against the colourfully tiled walls above the tub; he covered his lower half with his arms.

"Same here."

Seizing up the Belgian Malinois who stood above him, Kyle was utterly surprised by that response.

"For real-"

"It's not my kind of party- I don't think it's yours, either."

Kyle had no clue what he might be referring to, but he nodded anyways. "Maybe."

Curious. Something about this dog made him feel a whole lot less self-conscious about the scandalous act he'd been caught red (white?) handed committing. His paw even slipped away from his dick to meet the other across his chest, exposing his sloppy, short fur.

"Listen, I'm going to let you finish up here. Find me after. I'd love to talk."

"And you won't-"

"What good would that do me? Besides, you seem like a decent dog."

"Cool, man. Thanks."

"It's Mason."

"Huh?"

"My name's Mason."

"Kyle."

"Kyle it is."

The Malinois went to leave but then stopped and spun on his heels. He fixed the Doberman in a wicked grin and said: "and don't forget to lock the door when I leave."

"Uh, ok."

The laissez-faire attitude, the suddenness of Mason's appearance and then his departure, all blurred together into the strangest five minutes of Kyle's life. As if in a trance he floated to the door and locked it shut, giving the handle a tug to double check. Crawling back to the tub, Kyle looked down at himself and felt a kick of arousal. He was a mess. A slut-pup, no doubt, always covered in cum... his world tilted. His thoughts clouded again. Was he really going to finish off after what he'd just experienced? Another glance down and he noted the slight retraction of his cock. It was still very salvageable.

This time it was his paw's warmth, as the slick sheen of natural lubricant across his member had gone cold, that did it for him. Whimpering over how sensitive he was he began to fall into the motions again. He gritted his teeth and bore into his paw, cupping his throbbing, needy doghood once more. Images of the females he'd seen in heat over an innumerable amount of porn reels flickered behind the lids of his eyes as he closed them in bliss, but then they began to fade like candles going out.

Focus, dog, focus.

And he did, but this time it wasn't Cassy, or Jennifer, or Rosaline, but Mason. Before he knew what was going on he brought a pinky and ring finger to the base of his knot to simulate a smaller, tighter hole. He gulped and somewhere deep within the annals of his swamped mind a smaller version of himself screamed that it was wrong. But it felt right, it felt good! That same sort of feeling he'd had talking with Mason returning, evolved into a much different beast. There was calm and passion and raw, unfiltered desire all mixed together into a blazing image of fantasy. A well-built Belgian Malinois with his pants off, erect, musky, taboo, all in one bite size thrill like sushi. Kyle began to hump into his mock knot; pulling his bulbous gland in and out of the tight passage to push him over the edge. He made a sweet noise, something between a whine and a whimper, and braced his legs against the sides of the tub as he orgasmed powerfully. His white, potent seed flooded from around his clenched fist, dripping down his black wrists and onto the smooth linoleum of the bathtub, plunking lewdly on its way down.

He fell onto his side, still holding tight, and rode out the rest of his pleasure on ecstasy zephyrs. It was when he fell out of it that his chest tightened and he felt guilty. Guys weren't supposed to like guys. Sure, you had your fags but he _certainly_wasn't one, right? He wasn't.... Growling softly at his lapse in judgement he scotched his session up to being too pent up and went about cleaning the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, sitting at the well-equipped bar he was beginning to think the whole experience with Mason was one alcohol-induced head-trip when the very same Belgian Malinois plunked down beside him.

"And there he is. Feeling better?"

"Ya." Again, talk about sex just felt so natural with Mason.

"Sorry I walked in on ya- I don't regret it though."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Wait, are you gay?"

"Does it matter?"

"Ya..." Kyle took a large swig of his drink.

"Dude, it's 2017, not 1720."

"It's not like I've got anything against it, it just isn't my thing."

"Are you sure about that."

"What the fuck, man?" Aggravated, Kyle turned and looked Mason in the eye. The Belgian gazed back, calmly, assertively, and the Doberman's hackles fell.

"I heard you," he finally admitted.

"What?"

"You moaned my name when you came."

"How would you-" hell, Kyle hadn't even known he'd done it.

"I have good hearing."

"You were by the door..."

"Guilty."

"That's gross, man."

"Really, you think-

"No, I'm done. It was nice meeting you and all but I've got to get home."

The startled Malinois moved as if to grab his arm but Kyle was already up and out, leaving a hasty wad of dollar bills on the table for the barkeep.

(Episode two coming soon!)