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Is his wallet leather? Is his wallet fat?

For not a year later it's got you lying on your back.

You should have closed your windows and got another dog.

You should have chained up all the doors and switched up all the locks.

Dream with the feathers of angels stuffed beneath your head,

the regulator's swinging pendulum.

Clutch ~ The Regulator

• -

El Rancho Grande Motel

Midland, Texas

June 13, 1971 - 12:49 a.m.

• -

The cheap motel bedframe creaked in regular intervals, exposed corners rocking on wobbly metal legs and headboard knocking on peeling wallpaper as the Bull Terrier pumped his canine cock in and out of the Saluki hooker. He'd first seen her just two hours before, sliding gracefully on the pole at The Lonestar, a honky-tonk strip club just a block from the seedy motel he'd checked them into. Tips led to talk, talk led to a lap dance, rules were broken, an offer was made and accepted.

Jimmy Bonhomme held firm onto the Saluki's ass cheeks with both hands as he rode her from behind. Letting go with one hand he grabbed her long tail, which had been draped across his chest and over his shoulder, and lifted it up to get a better view. He licked his lips at the sight of his veiny, reddish-pink member sliding in and out of her warm tightness, each thrust hilting her to his sheath and sending ripples radiating out in her flesh as his waist and fur-covered balls loudly slapped against her rump. With his free hand he gripped her flank, placed a thumb next to the base of her tail and squeezed firmly, slightly stretching her tailhole.

"Pretty girrrrl..."

Destiny - which they both knew wasn't her real name - looked back over her shoulder. She was firmly gripping a lumpy pillow to her face with one hand and holding onto the rusting metal bedframe with the other, tits down, ass up, legs spread. Certainly not the worst looking John she'd been with lately, she thought. He had that lean, wiry look of someone who spends more time with a hammer than a barbell. Must be that work he was talking about at the strip club, something about the oil derricks east of town. Hard work makes hard men.

He didn't stop humping, the bed didn't stop creaking as he let go of Destiny's tail, leaned forward and inserted two of his fingers into her mouth, which she sucked eagerly. Why do men like doing this, she thought. Must be a power thing. As she washed her tongue over and around his fingerpads and digits, she tasted the cold metal of the ring on his finger. That he was married didn't matter in the least to her, but she still couldn't help but wonder what the Bull Terrier's wife would think if she knew a stripper was sucking on the symbol of their vows while her husband fucked her.

Linda - stage name Destiny - refused to think of herself as a prostitute. Sometimes she turned tricks, sure, but that was just until she kicked this habit. She was always careful about the Johns too, always guys from the club she'd danced for and talked to for a while to make sure they weren't creeps. She wasn't street trash, after all. And since she knew them, it wasn't a big deal if sometimes they didn't use condoms, fucking her raw like the Bull Terrier was right now. She made them pull out. It was fine. It's good money and powder in your nose, and you can stop any time, so why not? Besides you're only 18 once, right?

Jimmy removed his fingers from her mouth, leaned back and grabbed her above the waist with both hands. He had been on his knees, fucking her from behind, but without removing his red cock from her canine snatch he brought one knee up and forward, then the other, so that he was up on his hindpaws, squatting behind her. He moved his hand from her waist to her back, effectively pinning her to the bed with the weight up his upper body.

In this new position Jimmy was essentially fucking the Saluki he knew as Destiny into the cheap bed, which creaked, grated and groaned so loudly now that its collapse seemed imminent. His already fast and forceful thrusts were now even faster and almost violently hard, each pounding hump slamming into her with a loud slap, filling her pussy with dog cock.

"Hhhnnnggghhh!!" Linda moaned even louder than the cheap bed. And it _was_Linda moaning, not Destiny. She'd faked orgasms for most of the Johns she'd worked, but for this one her body was completely honest. She was on the verge.

"Hnnh-ohhhh Fuuuck!" she screamed, pawpads clutching pillow and bedframe with a deathgrip as Jimmy slammed deep into her a final time. As her body shook and quivered in orgasmic bliss, she didn't register the implication even as she felt the knot of Jimmy's canine cock expanding inside her. In just seconds it swelled large enough to become locked in her pussy. She'd knotted, unprotected, with a John.

Jimmy hadn't made so much as a sigh when he hilted the stripper and started cumming, letting his knot swell and his cum flow into her teen dog pussy. As she moaned and writhed underneath him, he had made no effort to pull out before it was too late. He knew he should, but the tightness, the heat, the taboo... it all just felt too good. He'd never see this bitch again anyway, who cares if she got pissed, or even if he knocked her up. It felt good. That's all he cared about.

As her orgasm subsided and Jimmy's cock pumped Bull Terrier cum into her pussy, twitching with every spurt, her senses came back to her.

"Did you finish inside me?"

She tried to pull away but barely moved before the tugging resistance between her legs answered her question for her.

"You fucking knotted me? Are you fucking joking?!"

She pulled away harder put stopped with a yip, the knot tugging painfully at her vaginal walls, which gripped it tightly in place.

"You fucking prick! Fucking asshole!"

"Sorry baby girl, you felt too good. Couldn't help it," Jimmy said.

"Yeah I bet you say that every time you knot a girl you just met. Jerk."

She tried tugging again, even more forcefully, but only yelped in pain louder.

"Fucking asshole! I want my money! I want my money now and I want to leave!"

"Girl settle down, goddamn!" Jimmy answered. "You ain't going nowhere for a while. Just relax."

Linda sighed, unhappily accepting that she wasn't going to be free for some time, but still just as pissed off.

"I want my fucking money."

"All right, all right, I'll get your fucking money, Jesus. We gotta kinda... get it together though, all right?"

Jimmy started moving but accidentally tugged a bit too hard, causing Linda to yip again.

"Oww, you prick!"

"Just sort of like, push your butt back into my lap and I can hold tight," Jimmy said.

Linda, still on all fours, let out an exasperated sigh and pushed her butt backwards into Jimmy, pushing his cock slightly deeper into her. Jimmy rested his hands on the front of her thighs and kept her pressed to him. He then slowly leaned and toppled with her so that they were laying on their sides, Jimmy still behind.

"Might be easier if you're on top," he said.

He rolled over on his back, clutching tightly to the teenage stripper-turned-prostitute he knew as Destiny, until she was face up on top of him.

"I want my fucking money, asshole!" She yelled.

"Jesus H. Christ girl I'm working on it! My pants are sitting on the bed right there, can you grab them? Wallet's in the pocket."

Linda grabbed the pants and slapped them against Jimmy's face, right behind her head.

"Careful with that, dangerous shit in there!" Jimmy protested.

Jimmy dug his wallet out of the back pocket and put his head up next to hers, brushing the long flowing hair of her Saluki ears with his snout, to see what bills he was pulling out.

Linda gasped as Jimmy opened his wallet. Inside were dozens of hundred dollar bills, maybe half as many fifties, as well as some assorted smaller bills. There had to be $4,000 in there! In Midland, Texas in the summer of 1971, that was enough to buy a car. A nice, new car. It was more money than she had ever seen.

"You... said you work the oil fields?"

"Yup. Pays pretty well."

"I can see that... what do you do, exactly?"

"Something real dangerous with the drills, don't worry about it. I get paid a lot because it's so goddamn risky, folks get killed if they don't know what they're doing or ain't on their toes all the damn time. But I like taking risks."

"I noticed, prick."

Jimmy chuckled. Linda did not.

"Well, I pay well too."

Jimmy pulled out a fifty dollar bill, which was far in excess of the going rate for an hour with a hooker in the middle of nowhere, Texas in 1971.

"And something extra for the mess," he said, pulling out another twenty.

Linda snatched the fifty and the twenty from his hand but had nowhere to put it, simply folding it tight and clutching it in her hand.

She felt Jimmy's hands trace up her sides and cup her breasts, but tore them away as soon as she felt them.

"Don't fucking touch me! Don't even fucking talk to me, creep! You can go to hell!"

"All right bitch, fuck you too."

Jimmy dug out the pack of Lucky Strikes and matchbook from The Lonestar he had in his pants pocket, leaned away from Linda as best he could and lit a cigarette. What else was he going to do for the next half hour while waiting for his knot to soften?

During the entire exchange that led up to that moment - Linda's fruitless tugging, the pair's shift onto their backs, Jimmy counting the money, Linda calling him a creep - during the entire exchange, spurt after spurt of potent Bull Terrier semen continued to flow unabated from Jimmy's furry balls, through his canine shaft, out its pointed tip and into the young Saluki's womb.

• -

Schlorp...

Jimmy was drawing the last puff of his third Lucky Strike by the time his knot shrunk enough to dislodge from Linda, a flood of dog cum pouring out of her and onto the bedsheets as it did.

"All right Destiny, show's over. I'm gonna get cleaned up. You know the way out," Jimmy said as he pushed Linda off him, got up from the bed and walked into the dingy motel bathroom.

Linda didn't say a word as he shut the door, still tightly gripping the fifty and the twenty. That fucking asshole, she thought. Why didn't he pull out like he said he would? What if she got pregnant?

She reached between her legs and felt it. God, it was absolutely everywhere.

"Ugghh!" She sighed, bringing her paw up, seeing thin strands of semen stretching between her fingers as she parted them.

She wiped it off on the sheets and got off the bed, gathered her clothes from the floor and started dressing herself, the front of her panties darkening from the semen still leaking from her as soon as she pulled them up. She put on her bra, mini-skirt and tube-top and was just about to walk out the door, into the parking lot of the El Rancho Grande Motel in the dark Texas night, when she stopped in her tracks.

The wallet!

That fucker owed her, big time. If he left that wallet out, filled with all that money... that ridiculous amount of money...

She scurried over to the nightstand and opened it, but inside there was only a Gideon's Bible. She saw his pants on the ground and began rifling through the pockets. Empty, empty, pack of cigarettes, car keys - something else. Something large and cold. Something metal.

Slowly - carefully - she pulled it out. A revolver. One of those small snub-nosed ones. On the side it said ".38 Special."

Linda had never used a gun before, but as she held it in her hands an idea formed in her mind. The John must have brought his wallet, that fat wallet filled with hundred dollar bills, into the bathroom with him. She could still get the money, scare him, teach him a lesson - all she just wait for him to finish and point it at him when he walked out. He'd give her the wallet for sure, seeing her with a gun in her hand. Maybe he'd even get down on his knees, start begging and crying! He owed her all of that after what he did. It would work.

She was still sitting on the edge of the bed thinking this all over when she heard the water stop flowing from within the bathroom as Jimmy finished his shower.

Linda hopped up and stood at the foot of the bed. She was facing a large mirror over a sink, coat hangars on the right, bathroom door on the left. She raised the gun and pointed it at the door. She heard the metallic clicking it made as she pulled back the hammer. She waited.

She waited for more than a minute before she looked - really looked - at her reflection in the mirror.

What happened to you, Linda? Just a year ago you were still in high school, your grades your biggest concern. But last summer you didn't see the danger in going to a few parties with those older boys. The drugs. The sex. Dropping out of school. It all started happening so quickly. You just kept accelerating. Stripping seemed like an easy way to make money for the coke after you ran away. Turning tricks was easier. You never thought about where it was all heading, where it would all lead. Look now, Linda. Tube-top in a filthy motel, seventy dollars in one hand and a gun in the other. Look now.

Linda started lowering the gun as she stared at herself in the mirror, not recognizing the Saluki she saw staring back. This wasn't her.

She was a second away from dropping the gun and running out when the bathroom door began to open.

• -

Jimmy turned the knobs to cut off the water, slid back the curtain and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed the towel from the wall hanger and started drying off his left paw. Only his left paw.

When it was dry he picked up the gold ring he'd placed next to his wallet on top of the toilet lid. During his romp, the fur beneath the ring had gotten... damp. If you don't want matted fur under your wedding ring, you've got to take it off in the shower.

He looked at it as he picked it up, thinking of his wife. He did love her, back home in Baton Rouge, but when you work as an oilman on these sites you're gone for months at a time. A man has needs, he'd rationalized time and time again. Besides, he sends most of the money he makes back to her and the kids. Well maybe not most of the money, but a lot. So if he needs to blow off some steam every once in a while, she should understand, right? Right, he thought as he slid the ring back on his finger. She should.

It was too cramped in the bathroom to dry off properly, so Jimmy grabbed the towel and the wallet and opened the door into the motel room.

• -

Their eyes locked for barely a second as Linda's hand darted upwards. But her grip was too tight, and she was too inexperienced with the double-action revolver in her hand to know better. The hammer fell.

Jimmy felt the pressure wave from the muzzle flash as the bullet ripped the air an inch from his face. It smashed into and shattered the mirror behind him, now reflecting a broken, jagged image of the two figures.

His left hand shot out to grab her wrist. He missed, connecting instead with the gun, metallic clink of gold on steel. The gun discharged again, bullet ripping through nicotine-stained wallpaper and drywall. Hot gasses escaped the cylinder and ripped the fur and flesh on Jimmy's hand.

Reflexively he pulled away his injured hand and swung with the other, pawpads connecting with Linda's ribcage. The force sent her reeling, falling backwards towards the bed they were fucking on less than an hour ago. The back of her head slammed into the exposed corner of the metal bedframe with a sickening crack.

The the room was suddenly still and quiet. Jimmy's ears rang. He brought his bloody hand up in front of his muzzle to examine it - not as bad as he thought. He looked down at Linda, the stripper he knew as Destiny. She wasn't moving. A pool of blood had formed underneath her head and was growing.

"Fuck!" Jimmy screamed. "Fucking fuck!! Why did you do that?!"

For a moment, the Bull Terrier was frozen in indecision. What should he do? Run away? Call for an ambulance? She attacked him! This was her fault! Why did she shoot at him? What was she thinking? Is she all right? Is she dead? Oh god, oh god, please don't be dead.

Jimmy, still naked, fur soaked from just getting out of the shower, grabbed his pants and put them on as fast as he could.

I've got to call an ambulance, he thought. This looks bad. I've got to call 911, she could be dying. What will I tell the police when they show up? What will I tell my wife when she finds out? Maybe I should just run. No, I can't, she could be dying. I can't! But she tried to kill you. Why did she do that?! Think, Jimmy. God damn it, think!

Jimmy leaned down to pick the gun up off the floor, but as he did he noticed the two crumpled bills, a fifty and twenty, laying on Linda's limp pawpads. He picked them up and stuffed them in his pocket. He leaned over and grabbed the gun laying on the dirty motel carpet when there was a loud pounding on the door.

"Hello?" someone yelled from outside the room. "Is everything all right? Hello?"

Jimmy wasn't thinking. It all felt so hazy, unreal. In a trance he walked over to the door like nothing had happened, like there wasn't an unconscious prostitute in a pool of blood behind him, like he didn't have a gun in his hand.

He opened the door.

"Somebody called the front office and said they heard... Oh god!"

Jimmy watched from the door frame as the motel manager ran away. It was like he was watching a scene from over his own shoulder.

"Help."

"Police."

"Murder."

Words he heard without hearing, ears numb and ringing. He watched detached as the middle-aged Dachshund winced when he tripped and fell in his panic, looked back in fear, scrambled to his feet and kept running, kept yelling.

Jimmy walked out into the parking lot as the motel manager disappeared into his office. He should come out so I can explain, Jimmy thought. She isn't dead. It was an accident. She shot at me. This is a misunderstanding. She can't be dead. I'll go in there and tell him.

An immense force knocked Jimmy off his feet and snapped him out of his haze, back to reality. As he crashed down onto the gravel of the parking lot, a huge German Shepard was over him, holding him down. He tried to get up, but as soon as he did a powerful blow to the jaw put him back on his ass.

"Stay down fucker!"

Jimmy tried to get up again, and again the German Shepard landed a devastating punch to his snout.

"Stay the fuck down! Stay down! The police are on the way!"

A third time Jimmy tried to get up, to push this enormous beast off him and be free, but the German Shepard planted a third haymaker on his nose. Then a fourth. Then a fifth.

Jimmy lifted his right paw, the only limb that wasn't pinned down and the only resistance he could offer. He pressed it against the German Shepard who was beating the life out of him. He pulled the trigger.

"Uuoohhh!!"

The German Shepard groaned as the bullet tore into his abdomen.

His blood coated Jimmy, seaping into his fur as the Bull Terrier squirmed out from underneath. Jimmy staggered to his feet. He wobbled, punch drunk from the beating he'd just received. The German Shepard curled into a fetal position, holding his stomach.

"He shot me! He fucking shot me! Help!" he cried as Jimmy regained his footing and started hobbling towards his car. Jimmy heard his agonized screams through the tinnitus in his ears as he fumbled with the keys trying to unlock the door. He finally succeeded, fell into the driver's seat and cranked the engine.

The 455 under the hood of his black 1971 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am roared to life. Jimmy stomped on the gas and turned the wheel sharply, aiming for the road. Reflected in his rear view mirror, gravel showered the crumpled, rolling form of the German Shepard laying on the ground as the Firebird's tires struggled for traction. Further behind, several men were running towards the wounded dog. Motel guests in other rooms were peeking past curtains, awoken by the noise of the violence. Phone calls were being made.

The Firebird's tires squealed and its V8 engine howled as it tore out of the parking lot of the El Rancho Grande Motel and onto the open road.

Jimmy's eyes remained on the rear view mirror until the lights from the motel had almost disappeared.

He reached his bloody hand off the wheel and into his pocket, pulling out the pack of Lucky Strikes and the matchbook with "The Lonestar: A Gentlemen's Club" emblazened on the cover. A drop a blood smeared on the cellulose filter as he put a cigarette in his mouth. He tried to light a match. But his bloody hands were trembling - strike after strike, he just couldn't do it.

"Fuck!" he yelled in desperation as he crushed the pack of cigarettes and flung it against the passenger door. "Fucking fuck!"

Fearful tears were welling in his eyes as the adrenaline began to subside.

What the fuck are you gonna do now, Jimmy Bonhomme? Where the fuck are you gonna run? You've got $4,000 in your wallet, two bullets in your Smith & Wesson Model 36, and about 10 minutes before every lawman in Midland County Texas is on your tail. Start thinking. Start thinking.

Jimmy pushed hard on the accelerator, hammer down in the hot Texas night, speeding west towards nowhere.