FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

There were worse things in the world than a trial by fire.

Other such trials existed, of course, and sometimes, the odds were completely stacked against the incoming party. That was the way of life in a lot of social circles, ranging from private schools, to large corporations...

...And even dog pounds.

"Got a new one for you guys to play with!" came the voice of a warden that none of the dogs had ever seen, but somehow, they knew that his word was law, and none dared to oppose him. He ruled the world outside of the pound with an iron fist, as far as they knew, and because of that strong, unrelenting control, the dogs were allowed to roam free in the common area of the pound, only ever being placed in cages at night.

In the middle of the afternoon, canines rolled the large, open floors of concrete in small packs; bonds were formed by force, by time, and occasionally, by desperation. Though metal, cement and poor lighting were the elements around them, the dogs within this particular pound nearly reverted to their baser instincts, and anyone who had the privilege of seeing their abusive society would think that they were watching wild animals running around in the woods, rather than stray dogs who were brought to a false sense of justice.

That was the way of the world for those poor creatures, who had evolved to the point of walking around on their hind legs. Though they looked almost as human as the people who still claimed to own them, these poor canines were still treated like second-class citizens and rounded up when they went astray. Intelligent enough to know what kind of abuse they were enduring, but still subservient from birth, the passion for freedom was often a deadly one, and many of the upright animals ended up in pounds by virtue of some kind of lashing out, or a brutal, vicious rebellion.

They knew that this was their fate, and with only limited years to spend on the earth, they made the best of a bad situation, when they were forced into it.

"Fresh meat on a Friday? I never would have thought we'd live to be so lucky," rumbled the deep, throaty voice of a thick, powerful canine. Of all of the packs in the pound, he might be considered the foremost alpha, and second only to the warden, his orders were not to be disobeyed. The rare, albeit occurring attempts to rise up against him and take control of his pack were always met with monstrous force, and those foolish enough to try and take his title were usually found in a puddle of their own blood, curled up and shaking in a corner.

Some of them, however, weren't shaking...they weren't even breathing when all was said and done.

"Think they'll learn to just take it, Gerald?" asked his right-hand woman, as she walked just slightly behind his gait to show him the respect that he deserved. "Or do you think we'll have to break him in the old fashioned way?"

Gerald wasn't a fair ruler. He was an alpha in every sense of the word, and the only justice that he allowed in his domain was physical at the least, and more often than not, it was terribly brutal. A doberman that was slimmed by the terrible treatment of the warden, but still riddled with muscles that defied his undernourishment, Gerald stood taller than any other dog in the pound, and though only one of his eyes remained open, people could feel the hatred radiating from the other eye, scarred closed from a lifetime of abusive owners.

In the pound, he was the owner, and he treated everyone, even his own pack, as though they were worlds beneath him.

"I don't really care if he's willing or not, Milla. Everyone has to pass initiation if they want to live in my pound."

Some might have believed that just because Gerald was in charge that the pound took on the form of a full patriarchy, but that couldn't have been further from the truth. A German Shepherd with pools of pent up rage in her eyes, Milla acted not only as Gerald's preference of mate in the pound, but as the woman who enforced any orders that he gave, and when Gerald was taking an afternoon nap, she was the one barking orders at everybody else. Her body was thick, regardless of how little she ate, and matted, dirty fur did nothing to hide the proud, full breasts upon her chest, or the glistening juices of her womanhood...a passage that only Gerald was ever privy to enjoying.

"...He's barely worth your effort, baby. I can already tell."

Gerald and Milla came to stand before a crumpled body, as the poor creature had been tossed right into the middle of the open atrium. Shaped much like a prison, a common area was lined with tables, surrounded by the cages that the poor animals were forced to sleep in every night. Packs were roaming, each keeping their eyes on Gerald and fearfully awaiting his orders, should he make any, but on this particular Friday, he was in better spirits than even Milla was used to seeing him in.

"Now, Milla...just because he's already basically broken doesn't mean he isn't worth my time. He only becomes a waste of time when he starts fighting back."

Shaking nervously, so much that he was hesitant to look up from the somehow comforting sea of gray concrete that he was gazing upon, a canine sporting an overcoat that mingled between different shades of brown and clay was still getting used to the idea of his fate. He was actually born in the wild, and though he knew some basic language and some of the constructs of modern society, he still didn't understand why he'd been rounded up and thrown into the pound. He wasn't breaking any laws, and he wasn't a runaway...he was just an unlucky canine who happened to be wandering in the same place as a frustrated dog-catcher.

Now, as he finally gazed up from the floor, he saw perhaps the only thing worse than a frustrated human being: A vicious pair of canines that were eyeing him like he was a succulent meal.

"Welcome to the pound, kiddo. Looks like you're in for the long haul."

A natural born wolf by the name of Trix, the poor creature couldn't stop shaking, as he looked up at the scarred, frustrated face of the Doberman above him. Gerald wasn't the type to give a warm welcome in the first place, and his appearance didn't really help matters much.

Slurping her own jowls and wagging her tail, Milla might have offered a little more comfort than that, if her eyes weren't narrowed so sharply upon the new resident.

"Why...why are you looking at me that way?"

Two sets of eyes, each a slightly different shade of brown and amber, were set upon Trix as if he were the only person in the room. Though the other packs roamed the small area as if there were something else to do, they were all slowing down, and some were even coming to a total stop as they eagerly waited to see what kind of punishment the novice was going to endure.

"We're just sizing you up, stranger. What's your name?" Gerald asked, and on those words, everyone in the pound stopped and waited.

Any sort of dissent from the trembling wolf would be met with a swift and devastating punishment, no doubt. Some watched in panic, others watched with excitement as they could see Gerald's paw clenching into a fist already.

"I...I'm Trix...I m-mean my name is Trix!"

In the face of someone as domineering as Gerald, it was tough to look brave, and even stringing words together was a difficult task for poor Trix, who could sense the fury pouring off of the larger, stronger canine.

That aura of rage stayed subdued just a bit longer, however, as Trix answered the question without showing any sign of an attitude. Just by the process of being forced into the pound, he was already slightly broken, making things almost too easy for Gerald and Milla.

"That's a fucking stupid name," Gerald replied, "But, if you're a good little boy, I just might let you keep it..."

Being born and raised in the wild of nature, Trix was in touch with his survival instincts on a level that many of the other dogs in the pound simply weren't. They were raised in households with order, pride, and a sense that their place was determined not by how well they could survive, but how well they could listen.

Trix might have some sense of pride, but much stronger than that, he had a sense that he needed to comply with Gerald, if he was going to survive long in his new environment.

"H-how...how can I be g-good, mister?" Trix asked, and as the last words left his muzzle, a thick, vein-riddled paw slammed down around his neck and squeezed.

Gerald narrowed his functioning eye until only the burning hatred of his iris was staring down the nervous, muted orbs of his new capture. "My name...is Gerald...do you understand?" he asked, though he squeezed even tighter around the neck of the smaller creature, refusing to give him the breath to speak. "You'll call me Gerald from now on, and if you so much as cross me again, I'll tear your fucking throat out!"

It really was that easy to upset Gerald, and even some of those who were watching from a safe distance trembled with fear as Gerald went on his outburst.

His grip slowly released the neck of the pinned wolf. "Guuuuuh..." he sucked in a deep, hurried breath, as his eyes shrunk down fearfully, and he tried to keep from going into a full panic. "Y-yes...G-G-Gerald..."

"Atta boy...you're learning already!" Gerald praised him, though his voice was laden with just enough sarcasm to show that he wasn't genuinely impressed. "Maybe you won't have such a hard time with initiation, after all..."

Everyone else had already figured out what kind of initiation Gerald was talking about, but poor, innocent Trix was still clueless to the same. He gulped down a ball of nerves as Milla swung her body around to his upper half, and with a wink, she slammed her body down upon his muzzle and straddled his face, forcing the drooling, pouting folds of her sex to settle upon his nose. She wanted him to drown in those sensations, knowing that he'd never get the chance to penetrate her...but he was certainly worthy to service her, while she held him down.

"Just lay back and take it, Trix...and maybe he'll go easy on you," Milla explained. Her paws shot down in a blur of black and tan fur patterns, and just that quickly, Trix was completely trapped to the floor. He could just barely breathe, and only found it easier to do so when he finally opened his muzzle and slipped his tongue against the delicious petals of her sex. His wrists were pinned behind his head, and in his overwhelmed state, he didn't dare to try and throw Milla aside, even if he could have.

Warm, slick fluid took his attention back to the lower half of his body, where Gerald was already kneeling, and lifting Trix's legs into the air. Refusing to look for a more proper lubricant, the Doberman was sitting right between Trix's thighs and spitting his saliva onto the untouched, virgin tailhole of the wolf, and in turn, spitting a bit of the same onto the growing length of his cock. Emerging from his sheath with a bright, red flash, Gerald's cock was every bit as big as Trix feared, and the knot at the base was easily the size of a baseball, something wider than the poor creature could imagine taking.

He was smart enough to know what was coming, by then, and his only chance at mercy was to pleasure the alpha's mate, all while being completely railed from the other end.

This day just keeps getting worse, Trix thought, as his head bounced gently against the concrete floor. Milla refused to hold still on his muzzle, opting to ride the warm, moist surface to enhance her own pleasure. Looking back over her shoulder, she grinned playfully at her dominant lover and lifted her tail, giving him quite the view to enjoy as he finished preparing Trix for his initiation rights.

"You gonna fuck him or what, baby?" Milla asked, and though some still gasped at such words, she was the only one who could get away with challenging the authority that Gerald controlled. As Milla shuddered with delight and pounded her hips right into Trix's face, the wolf wasn't allowed to focus on the sweet, floral scent that was filling his nostrils. After all, nothing could overpower the feeling of a tapered, drooling tip pressing against his naturally lubricated anus, and seconds after, the feeling of his resistance being shattered by a deep, jabbing thrust.

If not for the fact that Milla was muffling his screams, the warden might have actually come back to investigate what was going on.

That's too big...it's too much! I can't take it! Trix whined mentally as Gerald took a tight grip on each of the pinned wolf's ankles and slammed his hips forth. Being gentle simply wasn't something that he was capable of, and one he found the spot that he was looking for, all bets were off: Gerald went right back to his proper, canine instincts and began to pump his hips rapidly, slamming into Trix with a pace that the submissive wolf couldn't possibly match.

"I can't believe how tight you are back here! Milla...I think we've got ourselves a virgin here!" Gerald taunted their capture as his hips continued to hammer away at what was left of Trix's resistance. The wolf could barely breathe, feeling his insides almost warping around the full, thick cock that was penetrating him, and worse still, Milla was grinding back and forth against his muzzle and tongue, giving him even less of a chance to catch his breath.

Perhaps worst of all, he was finding himself enjoying the treatment just a little bit, and naturally, masochism wasn't something that was explored in the wild. He never could have known that this was something he would enjoy, and in the back of his mind, he still wasn't sure that he actually did, but judging by the small, bright teal tip of his unique, exotic cock emerging from the sheath, he had to be enjoying the treatment on some level.

Gerald wouldn't indulge that fact, however, and he certainly wouldn't acknowledge it, either. He was too busy drowing in the pleasure of wrapping Trix around his cock over and over again, and the tight, inexperienced squeezes of the once-virgin wolf only added to his ecstasy as he watched his mate nearly smother the poor creature.

"Think I should...s-should fill him up, baby?" Gerald asked, finally allowing some signs of his pleasure to shine through as a few quick, panting moans slipped through his gritted fangs. "I think it'll j-just pour right out of him..."

"Ooooh...d-do it, Gerald! Give our slutty little newbie a big, thick creampie!" Milla suggested, finding it difficult to contain her own moans as Trix learned his oral skills on the fly. He couldn't see anything, as the undersides of her breasts hung over his vision, but Trix was starting to get a feel for which parts of her sex were the most sensitive, and blindly, he circled his tongue over her clit every time that he could reach it, drawing deep, trembling shakes from the domineering German Shepherd.

Perhaps that act was the reason why Gerald decided to show even a sliver of mercy to the defeated wolf, as he stopped his knot from popping inside of his fellow canine. He gripped the base of his thick, inflated flesh and held it tight in his paw as a sudden torrent of cum sprayed inside of Trix, painting his inner muscles with a heavy, healthy coating of virile seed.

"If you l-let any out," Gerald muttered through heavy panting, "I'll make you lick it up off the f-fucking floor..."

Trix felt his eyes go wide with shock, but the warning didn't matter. His tailhole was already stretched and gaping, even as Gerald began to pull his manhood back and away, and though the last pulsing spurts of his yield spilled upon the underside of Trix's sack, there was already small, flooding stream of the same mess spilling onto the concrete floor from Trix's well-fucked asshole.

"I guess you've got quite a mess to clean up," Milla pointed out to the exhausted wolf, as she stood up from his face, letting small, dangling strings of mingled saliva and feminine arousal drip down from her cunt, to settle on his face. "But I don't think you've passed initiation just yet...what do you all think?!"

Milla's call to the crowd brought a thundering, resounding " NO!" in reply, and even though she knew such an answer was coming, she still bounced with glee as she waved to one of the roaming packs.

"That's what I thought you guys might say...someone toss me my strap-on!"

Living in the wild his whole life, Trix had never heard of a strap-on, or any sort of sex toys, really. He could only gulp nervously as he watched someone toss a harness with a phallic object attached to Milla, and hastilty, she clasped it in place around her backside and knelt down where Gerald was before.

"Sorry, kid. The crowd thinks you need a little more punishment before your initiation is over..."

With his tailhole still drooling her mate's cum, it was easy for Milla to penetrate Trix with her toy. She squealed with delight as she felt barely any resistance to her advance, and Gerald, refusing to miss out on any fun, squatted down over Trix's muzzle the same way his lover had before.

"She might be sorry... I'm not. Get cleaning, you little bitch..."

Trix had no idea how much longer the punishment would go on for. His concept of time was already flawed, and it was only getting worse as he felt his ass being pounded into over and over again, while the scents of his own tailhole drifted into his nostrils, right before his muzzle was pried open and forced to taste them.

The poor wolf might not believe that there were worse initiations than his own, but as Milla kept his tailhole stretched with long, deep thrusts, the nearly unconscious Trix swallowed helplessly around the huge, throbbing length of his new master, only able to hope that the second night in the pound would be better than his first...