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"You can get out now."

The pot-bellied bulldog--Frank--had walked around and rolled onto the far side of the bed. He now lay on his back, staring at the slender and slight-of-frame mutt--Elliot--who still hunched over the edge of the bed, tail curled over his back. Frank was done the instant he came and always went straight to sleep. Their arrangement would never be more than a convenient fuck solely for Frank's benefit, and Elliot knew that.

The smaller male slowly straightened, aware of his sore leg muscles and forepaws now that it was over and the other sensations gone. He'd been on his paws and driven down into the bed for the better of ten minutes. His knuckles cracked as he bent them for the first time since assuming the position and he groaned in relief.

He didn't have sex often, the muscles weren't accustomed to actually being used. But once a month or so, a guy needed something beyond masturbation. And after having to accommodate Frank and his rough, sadistic slamming, Elliot's aching tailhole was now readjusting to soothing emptiness. With a renewed flare of pain it clenched, filling his stinging cleft with the warm trickle of Frank's cum. Or Elliot's blood.Why not both, he thought as he inhaled sharply through his teeth.

"C'mon, I'm tired, I've gotta be up in seven hours." Frank's tone held no appreciation, only annoyance. He'd never bottomed, he had no idea what it was to endure a man like himself. "We both know you won't cum now if you didn't while I was breeding you." He pulled the sheet over himself and rolled away from Elliot, reaching onto his nightstand to check his phone and make sure the alarm was set. "Turn off the light on your way out, and make sure you lock the door."

Elliot's eyes drifted over the picture on the nightstand as he looked away from Frank. The bulldog and his wife were embracing and sharing a kiss; it was a wedding photo. As if a reflex to seeing it, he imagined what it would be like to kiss Frank, but quickly pushed the thought away. Frank had made it clear many times he would never kiss another man, and Elliot didn't need the emotional pain that thoughts of tender intimacy always brought. He'd either be satisfied with the sex, or have nothing.

Unfortunately, Frank didn't make satisfaction easy. Elliot looked down at his sheath. The brown fur was wet and glistening all the way to his balls, but his dick had never actually left his sheath. He rubbed it between the pads of his fingers, and while it did feel nice, he knew Frank was right. He could stroke all night and never actually cum. And if he tried, Frank might even get violent with him if insults and degradation didn't make him stop first.

He didn't really care anything about Elliot, the most he wanted from him was screams of pain, and he certainly didn't tailor his technique to bring the mutt any pleasure. He stuck it as deep as he could on the first go and fucked hard and fast, hoping his rough treatment would get a pained squeal or cry for more lube before he came. He never wanted to make it last, rushing to his orgasm like he was worried Elliot might have one too if he took too long. That would probably be too gay for him to handle.

Frank loved knowing his dick inflicted pain. It wasn't very big for a dog his size, so using it to cause pain soothed his feelings of inadequacy. Pain was proof he could be too big for a hole. When it came to lube, he sometimes tried to skip it, but Elliot knew now to watch him and make sure he wet his dick before bending over and biting onto Frank's pillow. He had to bite the pillow early, before he needed it, or Frank would rip it away once he got going and wanted to hear him scream.

The first night they'd spent together, Frank had got all the pained squeals he wanted and more. He was bigger and stronger than Elliot and had no trouble keeping such a comparatively weak bucking bronco in place. It had been weeks before Elliot's ass had recovered enough for him to even consider responding to one of Frank's texts.

These days though, Elliot did his damnedest to give Frank nothing, even when the bastard forced his knot past Elliot's pucker with one hard slam, pulling back on his hips with all the power those thick arms could muster. He'd bit through his lip once before to keep from screaming, and it wasn't unusual to find blood in his underwear after. He wasn't really sure why he fought to deny the brute the gratification of causing him pain, maybe he just wanted Frank to have to work for something at least, since it was hard to deny him much else.

A person might wonder what in the hell kept Elliot returning for such torturous treatment. The truth was a mixture of things, as it always is. Elliot had an attraction to strong, "alpha" males. He knew that it really boiled down to a guy just being a selfish asshole, but his formative years had been under the tutelage of such a man, and he couldn't change the desire instilled in him by it.

There was also the issue of location. He was born in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, as they say, and most guys willing to leave the closet were also willing to leave the state. Pickings weren't just slim, they were malnourished to the point of requiring intravenous feeding. Frank had been the only guy within an hour's drive who wasn't morbidly obese or drawing Social Security.

Then there was the matter of Elliot's feeling sorry for himself and having no self-esteem to speak of. If homosexuals are eligible for the title of "beta cuck" despite the inability to unknowingly raise another man's children, Elliot would sit in that camp decidedly. It validated him to be of use to a "real" man, as he put it. A sort of self-worth by proxy. When a suitably masculine male used his hole for pleasure, it gave him value. Some nights when he was feeling especially worthless, he would lay in his bed, tears streaming down his face, clutching his phone with the hope that Frank would text him with his usual charm, "wifes out of town, bring ur faggot ass."

He was so emasculated that he'd considered getting a sex change and becoming a girl. He never used his dick anyway, even when masturbating. He couldn't cum without anal stimulation. In fact, it was the only way he felt real pleasure. The deep tingling pleasure of nearing orgasm never came without abusing his prostate. Touching his dick felt good, sure, but never_pleasurable_.

When he'd mentioned the idea to Frank he was rebuffed.

"I already got a pussy, why the hell would I want another? I gotta be nice an' tender to 'er so she don't leave. The whole point ta havin' a steer like you around is so I can fuck how I wanna fuck. I know_you_ ain't goin' anywheres, cocksucker. You love this dick too much."

He'd reached between Elliot's legs and squeezed his balls hard. The pain made Elliot cry and scratch at his arm to try to get him to let go. It had been a mistake. Frank roughly manhandled Elliot and bent him over the bed as Elliot whimpered and begged him to stop, he was sorry, Frank please! But the burly bulldog made him take a spanking worse than he'd ever given him before, demanding a cry of "more" after every bed-shaking smack of his meaty paw on the mutt's ass. The sharp slaps of agony had left Elliot's backside on fire, he knew his ass would be bruised badly, yet it failed to lessen the pain of the brutal breeding that came after. Being a savage bully had worked Frank up something fierce so that there were few thrusts between his entry and his wedging the knot under Elliot's wrenched-aside tail.

"I know I didn't fuck you that silly, get out already!"

The menacing growl pulled Elliot's attention back to the present, and his paw flew from his sheath out of fear that Frank would see him touching himself. He shuffled around and got dressed piece by piece as quickly as he could. First came the little lacy pink panties Frank had bought and insisted he wear on his visits. He'd been humiliated at first, but as he came to think of himself more and more as a sissy, he became indifferent to them.

Once in his jeans he patted the pockets to be sure nothing had fallen out; he couldn't imagine what Frank would do if he left his wallet or something and the wife found it. In his bedroom at the back of the house Frank probably wouldn't hear him beating on the locked door to be let back in once he realized he'd left something. And if he texted him, the bastard would probably just put his phone on silent and ignore him.

Elliot shrugged on his shirt, it was a reference to one of his favorite video games though no one had ever recognized it. With one last glance over the room--Frank's thick and shapely body under the sheet, his phone and the wedding picture, the towel on the floor that had been under Elliot (in case Frank's mauling had inadvertently made him cum, wouldn't want to stain the sheets), the open underwear drawer with the lube nestled back inside--Elliot flicked the light switch, half expecting Frank to bitch again, but Elliot was too inconsequential to warrant it now that the light was off and Frank could sleep. He walked down the hall and into the foyer. Opening the front door, he stepped through, turning around to reach for the inside handle and engage the lock. He wiggled the handle to make sure it was locked and pulled it shut.