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Making Connections

"Wait, that's not right...damn it..," grumbled Aiken from behind his machine as the realization that he had wasted the last hour of his workday dawned upon him. Glancing over at the clock in the bottom-right corner of the screen, he let out a defeated sigh: 4:59pm. Not enough time to even diagnose the problem, let alone fix it.

"Guess that's a problem for tomorrow," he reasoned, already in overtime at his software development company. They'd gotten a major client recently, and it had been all paws on deck for the past two weeks. The company paid Aiken a very nice salary, but the hours were occasionally quite brutal; it was a small miracle that he had the next two days off of work. Shutting down all unnecessary programs, Aiken propelled himself away from his desk on his chair's wheels and stood up to stretch the stiffness out of his body. He stood at a little over five feet, not counting the angular ear tufts, and was covered in a warm auburn fuzz like many other squirrels. He reached out to the ceiling with his lean arms, flexing his blunt-clawed fingers and toes, and stretching out his snow-white belly and chest, before reaching behind him to re-fluff his luxuriously soft, large, and fluffy tail. His eyes, big black orbs typical of most rodents, shone with a reflective sheen mimicked only in the whiteness of his pronounced incisors. Once he'd cracked his knuckles back to life he reached beneath his desk for his backpack, said his goodbyes to his coworkers and set off on his journey home.

Aiken had a car, but the combination of living close-by and a desire to stave off the additional pounds one often acquired at a desk job meant that he walked to and from work most days. Stepping out into the welcome mid-afternoon breeze, he walked along the main road's sidewalk as he had done on the way to work. However, when he got to the four-way crossing he was forced to stop.

"Ah, crap!" he exclaimed at the accident that had apparently just happened. It looked minor, but police were already on the scene and taking details from the drivers involved in the crash: a golden retriever and a tall, black-furred goat appeared to be attempting to argue their respective points to the authorities. Aiken looked about, but the way was completely blocked. Just as he thought he might be able to squeeze around all of the stopped vehicles, a female officer roughly his own height held him up with a raised webbed paw.

"Sorry Sir, the way is blocked due to the incident here," explained the otter cop.

Aiken sighed; it had been a long day and he just wanted to relax at home as soon as possible. "Officer, I need to walk this way to get home. Is it possible I could just go around?"

"I'm afraid not, Sir. I can't have other people getting in the way of our investigation. If you head down the street here and take a left just before the construction, you can get back onto this road." she advised, gesturing in the direction Aiken should proceed.

"I see...thank you, Officer." replied Aiken politely, hoping that it wouldn't take too much longer than normal to get back home. The two anthros bid each other a good day and the squirrel could hear the otter shouting instructions as he walked down towards the road works.

As he got closer to the end of the block, he heard the sound of an almighty engine rev up in front of him: a dusty-looking cement mixer was churning liquid concrete right in the center of the crossing. Around it were several anthros in bright jackets, hard hats, and earmuffs to block out the deafening roar of the machine. Aiken noticed two similar-looking gray donkeys that could have been related lifting heavy bags of cement, a deer doe operating some kind of construction vehicle, a short and scrawny mouse looking over the morning's newspaper with a coffee, and a fat opossum bellowing instructions at seemingly everyone at once. Covering his ears with his paws as best he could, Aiken approached the workers and spoke up as loud as he could.

"HELLO? IS IT OK TO WALK THIS WAY?!" he shouted, trying pitifully to be heard over the various alarms and grinding sound of fresh paving.

One of the workers, the overweight opossum with moderate and variable stains on his thick jeans and undershirt, just shook his head and pointed to a small and narrow pathway between the buildings that would presumably get the red-furred sciurid back onto the main road. Usually, the careful critter would have second thoughts about taking a shortcut through an alleyway, but by now he was getting impatient. Besides, he could see the main road on the other side; it really wasn't that long a passageway.

Stepping into the alleyway, Aiken found himself in awe at how surprisingly clean the path was: the new mayor really was committed to keeping the streets pristine. The sound of the concrete mixer could still be heard, but it were no longer an assault to his eardrums. The red-furred anthro had just made it halfway into the alleyway when a black car showed up out of nowhere and parked at the exit, right in front of where Aiken would need to leave in order to rejoin the road. The squirrel stared in utter bewilderment, but didn't have long to question this latest turn of events before his world went black. A thick, dark sack was thrown swiftly over his head and tightened at the base. Within the same second that the bag was fastened around his neck he felt a kick into the back of his leg and crumpled down onto his knees in the alley. Aiken tried to scream, but the drawstring was just tight enough to prevent him from getting a full gasp of air. He was about to try standing and running for help when the icy touch of a cool, metallic circle pressed painfully into his spine. The rodent froze, shaking from the sudden assault and the mind's racing dread of what could be in store for him.

"Stand up," commanded a voice behind him. It was low and serious, and the metal against Aiken's back twisted to emphasize their intentions. Aiken, more out of fear than defiance, simply did not move. For a moment he felt the pressure in his spine subside and worried that his assailant was lining up for an attack, until he heard the unmistakable click of a firing hammer click into place beside his ear.

"No one will hear us with that construction," explained the voice. "I could do anything to you right here and no one would find you for weeks. Now; stand up!"

Aiken's muscles gratefully had been relieved from their paralysis as he wobbled to his feet. His brain was becoming overwhelmed with stress: what if this stranger kept true to their word and just left them to die in the tiny backstreet? "OK...OK. What do you want? My wallet's in my back pocket, and my cellphone's in my front left, and..." he tried to reason, hoping if he gave the attacked what they wanted that they would let him go.

"Shut up!" growled the voice. "What I want for you to do is walk forwards. You saw a black car, didn't you? Walk towards that. Don't worry; you won't trip on any garbage on the way." cackled the voice in what could be only described as mock concern.

Nodding as much as he could with his head inside the sack, Aiken didn't so much as walk as feel himself get pushed along by the sinister firearm. A crazy thought entered his head: could he spin around and grab it, like in the movies? That would be suicide, he reasoned, and continued to plod slowly along the alleyway. His feet were unsteady, and he stumbled over a few times attempted to both avoid nonexistent trash and from an inability to truly comprehend what was happening. He felt like a dead male, walking condemned to the gallows pole or an executioner's block. Panic rising up in his chest, he started considering any way in which he could possibly escape. He still had free use of his paws, as much as those would help. He couldn't run straight with the sack over his head, and if he tried anything overt his abductor would probably have no qualms about sinking a bullet into him. Running was out, fighting was out, perhaps he cou-

Aiken's fast-derailing train of thought crashed almost as hard as he did into a curved metallic frame; the car. This is it, he thought. If I enter this car, I'll never be seen again. He heard the passenger side door open, the one closest to him.

I have to go, I have to try! his mind screamed, devoid entirely of rationality and safety. If he got into the car, that would be it for him. He felt the head of another anthro step out of the vehicle from the passenger's side. Knowing that the anthro with the gun was behind him and the car was in front, Aiken (full now of psyched-up fear) jolted erratically to the left towards the rear of the vehicle. His captor, with only one paw free, fanned the air behind the evasive critter as they grasped at thin air. The red rodent's heart skipped a beat as he knew that he'd evaded their clutches. That elation was cut tragically short by the second anthro, however. With a single stomp towards Aiken the (clearly larger) person lunged at the squirrel and seized his voluminous, fluffy tail, then hauled him back against what felt like a wall of muscle and short fur in one fluid motion. Before Aiken could even attempt to flail, the larger anthro's other arm grabbed his wrist and yanked it behind Aiken while pushing against the top of his spine with the first paw.

Not paw, Aiken realized as he was being arm-locked to the ground. Hoof. He felt the heavy, cloven digits around his wrist. Strong, thick, and hard like bone.

Aiken's other paw was wrenched behind him too, and he felt a tight plastic tie cinch up around them both at the wrists. To his horror, he heard the trunk pop open by his head: he'd barely gotten a foot away from his kidnappers. Feeling himself hoisted back to his feet the squirrel was less marched, more carried to the rear of the car and hit his shins against the opening of the trunk door. Wincing in pain, and exhausted from terror and struggling, he was easily lifted into the storage space of the vehicle and shoved inside.

"It would be very stupid of you to try and escape." growled the same person that had threatened him previously, that same artificial voice. As if they had to make their warning crystal clear, the poor rodent felt the cool cylinder of the gun tease along his collarbone momentarily. While the sack over his head made everything dark and muffled, it did not compare remotely to the absolute darkness that came over him as his assailants slammed down the trunk door: they had shut him away from light and life for good.

---

In movies and books, kidnapping victims were always able to figure out where they were being taken in the back of a car. Most of the time they were taken somewhere within city limits, and by counting the turns on the journey and the time it took to arrive at the destination, the victim could get a rough idea of where they might have ended up. Aiken, unfortunately for him, realized that in real life this was much harder than it appeared. Too frightened to even concentrate on counting (coupled with the obviously excessive turning and alteration of speed used to confuse him) he soon found this trope to be quite useless. For a brief moment Aiken considered using his pronounced incisors to gnaw through the bag, but the concern of what his abductors would do to him once they found out kept this foolhardy idea from becoming a reality. The squirrel noticed that the sounds of other cars had all but completely disappeared, and reasoned that they were perhaps no longer on the city grid. In the trunk with him he could smell and feel fragments of some unknown granular debris, maybe dried dirt or even sand. Aiken was grateful that he couldn't smell any lingering blood, and hoped that it wasn't just the cloth bag cutting out the scent.

Being locked in the trunk had one advantage: he was trapped, but safe and alone. After many deep and shallow breaths to calm himself, Aiken thought over what little information he had gathered on his abductors. The first one was confident enough to disable him physically in order to threaten him at gunpoint. They put on a fake voice, to sound deeper than they actually were, which made Aiken lean towards a female assailant by a slight margin. They could either move quietly, hide, or both in order to have surprised him how they did. Anthros with furred footpaws would have an easier time of it, such as felines, but he reasoned that with his kidnapper's apparent ease at the takedown implied that they'd done this before. Therefore, with practice they could be any number of species. Aiken got the feeling that they were at least on par regarding height, if he himself wasn't a little taller: a bigger anthro wouldn't have needed to kick him down, after all. They'd have just grabbed him.

The other anthro. Male, definitely, judging by the size and smell he experienced after being pulled into him. Large too, seeing as he was able to grab the squirrel from such a distance to prevent his escape. Most importantly, the species list was far more narrowed down: the male had cloven digits instead of paws. Whether that meant he was some form of equine, cervine, caprine, or other hooved creature still eluded him, but it was something.

Finally, there was the firearm to consider. Aiken really didn't know much about guns at all, but from the sound of the hammer being manually cocked he guessed that it might have been some kind of revolver. If it was a revolver, he had a few things to consider: it likely wouldn't have a very good range, it only contained few bullets at once and (foregoing the unlikely event of his attacker being from a spaghetti western) they wouldn't be able to fire very quickly. Aiken realized that his knowledge of guns came mostly from movies and video games and dearly hoped to not have to depend on those flimsy sources later on.

Aiken's inner monologue came to an all-too-abrupt end as his small world halted around him, almost lurching straight into the door of the trunk. He felt the cool rush of the dusk air ventilate his stuffy abode as the trunk door opened, yet the sensation was ruined by the firm grip of hooves under his arms that hauled him out of the car and onto his feet. Blindfolded, scared, with a ruffled-up tail, and utterly lost, the defeated crimson critter felt as if he had little choice but to stumble along with his captor.

His footpaws found dirt at first, the dry earth scratching against his dull claws and the dust picking up between his toes. The immediate area was deathly silent, save for a few chirping insects there were no sounds of people or vehicles. His hood blinded him, but Aiden could still see that the only light source was the glaring red sun nestling snugly into the horizon. Beside him with a strong arm around his own was the male, his hooves stamping slowly and methodically like a perverse guide intent on leading the captured critter where he pleased.

"Please..." Aiken began, his voice hoarse from the bouts of hyperventilation that had preceded this moment; his buck teeth chattering in terror of the unknown. "I haven't seen your faces, so you can let me go right?" Even to his own desperate ears, it sounded pathetic and unreasonable. The male must have thought the same, for he offered no reply save for an encouraging shove in the direction they were headed and a derisive snort.

To Aiken, their short trek had lasted an eternity, and he almost tripped at the new sensation beneath his feet; solid wood. His sore pads eased at the cool, hard surface even if he himself did not: this was surely their destination. Panic dripped through the emotional barricade into Aiken's heart like ice water, threatened to burst and flood him with renewed terror at the revelation: he was alone in the middle of nowhere with only his captor for company. The other anthro had not accompanied them as far as the rodent knew, which meant they were likely waiting inside for he and the hooved male to arrive.

"Get in", commanded his escort, low and gruff and leaving no room for nonsense of any kind from the squirrel. Regardless of his mind's protests, Aiken's body obliged the order and stepped onto what he assumed to be a porch. His paws were still tied behind his back, and he worried that he would just walk into a door. Thankfully, or perhaps regrettably, it seemed that the door had been left open in consideration for their visually-impaired guest. No sooner did Aiken cross the threshold however when he felt his shirt snatched from the front, forcing a horrified yell from the scared sciurid as he was dragged into the building proper; his despairing cry punctuated by the slamming of the door behind him and the clip-clop of approaching hooves.

The presumably-smaller anthro, still strong in their own right, hauled the frightened squirrel with them a short distance across whatever room they were in. Aiken's heart, already working in overtime, found new energy as he felt his furred auburn chest becoming cooler; they were removing his shirt! In no time his kidnapper had unfastened the buttons of his dress shirt and slid the garment down behind the panting sciurid as far as it would go, down to the ziptie at his wrists. Shivering, he almost collapsed at the new weight upon his shoulders that forced him down.

"Sit!", his abductor commanded, still in that rehearsed voice from before. Aiken almost fell over, his sense of balance all but gone thanks to the obscurement of the sack over his head. To his surprise, his rump landed in a comfortable wooden chair with apparently ample back support and frigid metal pressing into the backs of his heels. Thick, cloven fingers held his slim wrists over the back of the chair while more nimble digits went for his belt. For a brief and idiotic moment Aiken thought about kicking out at the one in front, then remembered that there were two of them. And they had a gun. So he lamented and passively allowed his pants to be removed, hearing them tossed somewhere in front and to the right of him. The frigid steel enveloped his ankles and snapped loudly: the squirrel was now shackled to the chair in his underwear.

The newly-nocturnal air bristled the crimson fur on his legs, and against the fabric of his black boxer briefs. Aiken's entire body tensed at the air on his bare body and as it brushed against his groin he could feel his sheath swell slightly at the sensation, much to his chagrin. While he could not see, he knew that his captors were no doubt looking over him as he sat near-naked and helpless and scoffing at the unexpected swelling in his boxer briefs. The rodent's fear had been tainted with arousal, whether he wanted it or not.

Suddenly, Aiken was surprised by a gust of hot breath against his face: the hooved Dominator's muzzle close to his own. Tense, he sucked in his breath only to let it out again in a nervous gasp as he felt a heavy cloven foot rest on the seat of the chair; the hoof just nestled between his bare legs and throbbing sheath.

"Do you like this, boy?" demanded the voice, low and gruff. Aiken was too stupefied to answer, a whirlwind of emotions roiling through his smaller frame. His silence was met by a slow yet very deliberate push of a hoof into his groin, just enough to create an uncomfortable pressure in the squirrel's naturally plump sac. His penis may have not been overly impressive, but as a rodent his testicles certainly appeared bountiful; big and soft and ovoid in shape.

"Answer me, boy!" the anthro boomed, his authoritative aura enveloping the squirrel entirely and subduing him to his will. Beneath the hood, the sciurid could see a murky outline of a horned figure with some implement, but the apparently-dull lighting in the room combined with the dark sack material made it impossible to discern details.

"Y...yes!" cried Aiken out of a mixture of terror, and fresh arousal surging through his genitals and warming the compressing hoof against his sheath. The squirrel immediately felt a stinging slap across his soft belly, the instant pain eliciting a cry of ecstatic agony from his red-furred body. Without his sight, he'd noticed since his kidnapping that his other senses were become more and more relied upon. Touch, it seemed, was no different, and rendered an almost electrical crackle from the amplified pain that now warmed a tiny part of his soft and creamy stomach.

"'Yes SIR', boy. I am your Master, and you are mine to enjoy tonight." said the voice, correctly the rodent verbally as well as physically. "And you, you will enjoy being my toy. Won't you, boy?" teased the other male, massaging the younger anthro's crotch as gently as he could with his hooved foot.

The squirrel nodded, then quickly added "Yes Sir!" at the end. By now the pieces had started to settle in to place for the rodent, and he had realized that the brute simply intended to have his way with him. Aiken had certainly done some masochistic play in the past, and although he understood that he was completely at the stranger's mercy, the kinky side of him in the back of his mind was quietly encouraging him to enjoy himself. His crotch spoke for him too; from a single strike a quite prominent tent had pitched in his boxer briefs. Even the minor treatment his balls had received was heightened thanks to his inability to see. His captor must have noticed the respectable (for a relatively-small critter) erection as Aiken heard a low pitch chuckle coming from him as the hoof was removed.

Aiken was immediately rewarded with another slap, this one against his left pectoral; just over the nipple. Then another, in the exact same spot as before. And another, yet again expertly placed. Each strike against his nipple made it tender and sore, the rodent's cloth-covered, tapered erection pulsing with each impact against his body. His Dom began to hit across his snowy chest and belly, alternating hard and soft strikes, every blow sending a shudder of arousing pain through the young squirrel's body.The younger, submissive male twitched and writhed as much as the restraints would allow; something he was sure the older hooved male enjoyed witnessing. His eyes, shiny and pure obsidian, watered at the treatment. His chest rose and fell rapidly and arrhythmically with the exquisite agony, each dull bite pumping pleasurable venom into his system and leaving a multitude of faint bruises as the Dom varied the time between impacts so as to never give the rodent a chance to fully prepare.

Aiken may have been blinded, but he could feel each mark throbbing in his chest and stomach. After what seemed like forever the pain stopped, and the squirrel started to catch his breath. The breath was soon taken however, by a vicious and thunderous stomp between the sciurid's legs: a hood had smashed into the front of the chair's seat, merely an inch from the sciurid's sac. Aiken gasped sharply from the fear of nearly losing his junk, then a firm hooved paw gripped his scrotum: tight and pulling down towards the edge of the chair's seat. Unable to control his body, the rodent's five-inch member had soaked the precipice of his cloth tent with clear and sticky fluids; the most recent tug only serving to moisten his undergarments further.

"Is this what you want, boy? To be Sir's little pain slut?" demanded the voice as the strikes ceased. Aiken could have sworn he heard the sound of knuckles cracking.

"Y-yes Sir!" replied Aiken, and when this unsatisfactory response earned him a squeeze of his relatively large plums he clarified "Sir! I want to be your little pain slut! Please Sir, hurt me more!" The begging, and need, was obvious in Aiken's voice.

Unexpectedly, he felt the shackles around his ankles loosen one by one, and a pair of strong hooves pull him off the chair and onto his feet while leaving him no time to rub his ankles. The Dom led Aiken about ten steps ahead and then stopped abruptly. The red fur's ear tufts pricked as he heard the telltale sound of a blade sliding from its confines. He began to panic, but relaxed when he felt the ziptie behind his paws slip away along with his shirt. He was about to rub his wrists to restore lost feeling when the left paw was grabbed and hoisted past his chest and straight up into the air. The rodent's red-furred paw collided with a metal shackle that was swiftly snapped shut around his wrist; the right paw soon followed its twin in similar bondage. He could smell oil near his face; the shackles were kept in good condition. The chains were high, but fortunately not too high and the small sciurid was able to stand upright as he was maintained in the position. Something heavy-sounding and metallic dragged across the wooden floor, and tapped into his ankles before clamping around them; the lithe male's legs were spread wide and fixed by a bar between his footpaws which left him completely exposed and at his captor's mercy; the sciurid's thighs, rump and back-sac clearly on display for the other male. The squirrel took a deep breath and braced himself for impact. And waited. He knew the beast of a Master was around, but he neither heard nor felt anything except the lingering pain of his newly-forming bruises: each about an inch across and acting as a battery to power his levels of horniness more and more. He absently sniffed at the air, trying to discern his Dom's location, and found a familiarly powerful musk from in front of him.

At once, the squirrel received a blow to the stomach that would have knocked him back had he not been chained as he was. Gone were the quick and light strikes; this was a closed-fist punch to the gut that made the sciurid's white stomach convert to the shape of the hooved paw which plowed into him. The slight hesitation Aiken felt let him know that the impact was pulled, but even with that consideration the pain wasn't mild. His body shuddered from the shock, sending a throb of renewed pleasure through his genitals: that wonderful ardor that only came from this kind of treatment. No one would go as far as he wanted, but maybe this male could. He was shaken from his thoughts by another blow to the stomach, then tensed as he felt a strong hand grasp his right thigh to hold it in place while a precise punch was delivered into it; Aiken felt his right leg go numb at the dull whack against the large muscle.

Shackled up and helpless, the squirrel couldn't do anything if he wanted to prevent the large creature from abusing him. With each impact against his legs, belly, or chest, pain carried with itself both invigoration and submissive lust. One punch against his already-bruising pectoral hurt in particular, and Aiken's cock was a steel bar when he felt the swelling lump of aching flesh begin to form. He was not completely static of course, and blow after blow caused him to sway slightly in his bondage; his confined penis very occasionally rubbing against the thick body of the other male as he bobbed back into place. This must have been enough to garner his aggressor's attention towards his malehood, for he felt the rough sensation of a hooved hand grasp him through his underwear and squeeze just hard enough to cause the squirrel pain.

"You love this, don't you boy? You love to be beaten by Sir; to feel how being abused makes you this excited." he teased, as Aiken felt another hand cup his already-stinging testicles to emphasize his point.

"Yes Sir, please hit me again!" begged the rodent, and was rewarded with knuckles being driven into his sac. Aiken felt queasy as the low and pulsating ache ran through his loins, yet there was no denying the effect it had on him. Despite knowing whether or not he was allowed, the red anthro couldn't help but emit a strong jet of precum into his already-soaked undies and damped the hand of the hoofer that held him in that vice grip. The Dom held the rodent's penis up and out of way and clenched it painfully before sending another blow straight into Aiken's balls. He could feel his plump nuts flop against the fist, making them jostle airborne in the pouch for a moment before dropping back to swing between his legs. Most other males would have thrown up or doubled over in agony by now, but not Aiken. Every gasp, every moan and cry of pain was underlined with an amorous lilt: a devious carnality where torture and pleasure walked together.

With a final stiff twist of his cock, Aiken felt the hand release his quivering and sore member and the smacks to his scrotum cease. Taking a deep yet haggard breath to steady himself, the rodent had a moment to revel in the damage: his chest and belly were tender everywhere, both in concentrated sections and in a more general state of agony, his arms and legs had received lesser impacts that still stung, and his cock and balls were filled with so much hot blood from the torture that he felt as if he could cum just from the reverberating anguish being permeated throughout his lower region. So focused was Aiken on his sexy and bruised body that he barely noticed the audible thud of those hooves clop behind him: he did, however pay attention to the harsh swishing sound as something long and narrow sliced through the air. As if wanting to ensure that this was truly what the squirrel wanted, the implement was pressed firmly against his clothed ass and slid over his buttocks beneath his fluffy crimson tail: there was no mistaking the shape and sensation of a cane. The unseen Dom grasped Aiken's tail and held it aside, out of the way of the back of his body.

"Beg, boy." whispered the now-familiar voice, low and seductive; sliding a hand down Aiken's leg to tease the fresh marks he'd left on the needy sciurid. "Beg for me to beat you again."

Aiken was trembling now, and winced at the touch against his fresh marks, out of lurid anticipation and fear; he'd been caned only once before and it was definitely high up on his list of implements that he both enjoyed and dreaded. The rodent nodded, and to ensure he was understood replied with wanton enthusiasm: "Sir, I beg you! Cane me, Sir! Please, strike me, make me your pain slut!" Even as the words left his lips, Aiken wondered if maybe he sounded a little too eager. Even though the sack over his head blinded him, the rodent somehow knew that his Dom was smiling broadly. Sub's intuition.

"Good boy."

What happened next made Aiken glad they were in an isolated building. Without warning, he felt the searing sting of the cane slash across his buttocks with hot agony. Aiken screamed loudly, tearing running down his face and matting the inside of his bag as he cried out in ecstatic pain. Everything up until now had been dull blows; pain that radiated outward slowly and deliberately. This was different: this was an immediate source of great agony, and the masochistic rodent felt the welt across his buttocks already forming a traceable line through the backside of the underwear that failed to even slightly soften the strike.

"FUCK!" yelled Aiken as his ass was whipped again, his pert rump rippling slightly as the cane came down again in a slightly different spot with the same force as before. The instrument of his agonizing pleasure struck him swiftly and mercilessly, relishing each blow as the cane bit into his tender flesh over and over. He could only picture the angry red and purple marks this would leave on his body, and that picture only helped maintain his erection along with the sting of the rod. The welts built up over his asscheeks, swelling and aching back and forth over one another as he was struck at different angles. His five inches of tapered rodent shaft strained needily against the front of his boxer briefs, the tip so damp with precum by now that each involuntary gyration of his hips slid his sensitive tip pleasurably against the warm and wet confines of his undies and granted him a minor (yet very much welcomed) stimulation.

"You're a good pain slut boy, but you've not much ass left to strike. Don't worry though; Master won't let you get away so easily." chuckled the sadistic male, unseen behind the scarlet critter. Aiken didn't have time to consider what that meant; he barely noticed that the Dom had said anything at all before he winced against a burning crack launched across his left shoulder and back in a downward and diagonal blow. The cane was as thin as a reed, which lent it the whipping and swishing quality that Aiken had the dubious pleasure of experiencing. The thin, wooden instrument felt like a sword as it cut through Aiken's fur and into the flesh of his back: not sharp enough to break the skin but narrow enough to leave a precise trail of bruising in its wake. The squirrel, with powerful endorphins fuelling his body, found himself beginning to go limp: were it not for the manacles and spreader bar he surely would have collapsed. The only part of him not going soft and wobbly was his confined male tumescence; each snap across his body like a jolt of lust rushing throughout his stiff rosé rod and heavy (yet aching) balls.

The stinging sensation traveled lower, rapping lightly yet swiftly across his back and buttocks and into the backs of his legs; the Dom masterfully keeping up soft yet persistent smacks into the meat of the rodent's thighs and calves, occasionally breaking the rhythm with a more painful whip into the sciurid's legs that only served to hobble him further. Aiken felt the Dom's approved huffing against his neck, making the fur stand up on end as he writhed in erotic agony. The rodent was now ending each yelp of pain with a low staccato moan, truly loving the abuse he was receiving from the larger male. Despite the varying sounds being beaten from the masochistic sciurid, Aiken found himself able to struggle together a few choice words due to the panting and screaming.

"I...I'm gonna... gonna c-" he moaned out before screaming at a particularly nasty slash across his shoulder blades: one of many strikes that would guarantee a mark for weeks to come.

"What's that, boy? Close to finishing, are you?" the hooved anthro huffed derisively, ceasing the whipping for the first time since the torture began. "I won't be handling your little cock tonight, whelp. You either cum from this or not at all, understand?!" he said, clarifying his point with a horizontal crack of the cane just beneath the squirrel's buttocks that raised an almost-immediate welt not only at the base of his rump but also just nicking the lowest part of his testicles through the fabric.

"YES SIR!" cried Aiken, the burning swelling of a bruise mounding across his sac and ass causing him to shoot yet more clear fluids directly into his soaked undies. "Hit me, Sir! Don't stop, please!"

"My pleasure, boy." responded the gravely, deep voice of his abuser as he swished the cane back and forth across Aiken's back: lighter strikes that served to aggravate the already beaten-in marks, each one a little blaze of pain igniting across the rodent's bruising body. Despite his red fur, dark yellow and blue streaks and lumps were beginning to be visible through the rodent's pelt. His chest and tummy of course, being far lighter in color, offered no such concealment. After a few more minutes of lashings they suddenly stopped, and poor Aiken's penis was left pulsing with need: he was right on the brink of orgasm.

For a single horrifying moment, the smaller male felt as if he would be left unsatisfied. That was until he felt a cloven paw grip his scrotum through the wet, black boxer briefs and a second set of hooves clamped around his left nipple. The hold on his balls was firm, but not painful (relative to being whipped, at least), and skilled fingers massaged his sac through the undies and kept him just on the edge.

"Listen boy, you have one chance to finish and it's when I say so. On the count of three, I'm going to hurt you one last time. If you don't cum then, you won't have the opportunity again. Do I make myself clear?" asked the mysterious and demanding Dom. Aiken could only nod eagerly in response: his entire body was surging with hypersensitive notions of pain and pleasure, his straining cock fit to burst as he felt the injuries he'd received settle into marks, welts, and bruises.

"On the count of three, boy. One..."

Aiken's member twitched in anticipation.

"Two..."

Aiken fought back the subconscious urge to tense up and brace for impact. He wanted to really feel it. All of it.

"Three!" yelled the Dom, clenching his hooved fist around the squirrel's nipple and twisting so hard Aiken felt it might come off entirely. the other hoof on his balls was even worse: a vice-like clamp sending a throbbing dull ache and feeling of unease bubbled up into the critter's stomach, his shrouded eyes watering from the pain. Then, it happened. In those strong, abusive paws the scarlet rodent's body shook and convulsed in the throes of climax. Cries of pain gave out to cries of ecstasy as Aiken thrust out as much as he could against the shackles holding him in place. Great waves of euphoria washed throughout him in a wonderful, mind-numbing orgasm. For a few moments there was no pain, just a feeling of exploding sexual pleasure followed by a short period of relaxation. So powerful was his orgasm that Aiken didn't realize for a while that he had ejaculated into his underwear. Not a strong shot of primed jizz, but a few gentle pumps and a slow and steady dribble of his white, viscous seed staining the inside of his underwear. A small amount continued to trickle from his rapidly-softening penis even after his convulsions had ceased.

Exhausted, beaten, and thoroughly satisfied, Aiken barely registered the sound of a heavy object scraping up behind him. Without warning, his manacles and spreader bar were unlocked and he found himself collapsing into a chair, far more comfortable than the one he had previously sat in.

The Dom's voice came through for the last time, the kindest he'd ever heard it, as his clothes were handed to him. "Put these on. When you're ready, stand up and you'll be lead to the car outside. You will be taken to the address you provided. You will not talk to the driver. When you exit the car, wait ten seconds before removing the hood. You may keep the hood as a momento, if you wish. Nod twice if you understand these instructions."

Aiken, sore all over yet mentally acute once more, nodded in agreement. Twice. Wincing in residual agony, he knew most of these would flare up in the shower, and he would definitely be black and blue tomorrow morning. The squirrel did as he was bid and (once fully dressed) stood up and felt a familiar hooved hand take his own paw and lead him slowly and carefully outside. It was well into the evening, and the cool nocturnal air slithered through Aiken's shirt and teased over his various marks and sore spots. The red rodent shivered in delightful agony as he was led to the vehicle and driven away, this time in the back of the car as opposed to the trunk.

Within 20 minutes of obviously circuitous driving, the car stopped and the door next to Aiken was opened. Without a word between them, the rodent stepped out and began counting in his head as he felt the car speed away while gritting his teeth as the wind ripplied over his fresh marks. After his required time he waited an extra three seconds, just in case, before removing his hood for the first time that night. Despite the darkness, his shiny onyx eyes shimmered with tears as he was forced to adjust to the glare of the streetlights either side of his house.

"Home sweet home." chuckled Aiken, to no one in particular, as he unlocked the door to his abode; all too eager to relieve the events of tonight at least once more before bed.

---12 hours earlier...---

"Hey boo, are you ready for today?" called a familiar female voice from upstairs. Her boyfriend, Clint, was already in the kitchen fixing pancakes for them both as his small ear flicked skyward to the sound.

"Sure am. We got the house set up last night, and I double-checked the client and the address while you were showering." yelled the male anthro in response. Clint, a huge black-furred goat, was an imposing figure to most people. Tall and rugged, with stern-yet-comforting chestnut eyes complete with the telltale horizontal pupils for which caprines were known. His hefty horns curled around his head, the rightmost of which was decorated with a single silver band. Despite his cloven paws, he was able to multitask both the cooking of breakfast and scroll his touchpad which was lying nearby.

"His name's Aiken. He's a cute squirrel boy," remarked the hoofer in a jockular tone as he brought up a recent message. "His abduction window is between yesterday and this Saturday. He told us that he really gets off to being physically abused, especially on the balls. His hard limits -relevant to what we provide- include being penetrated, blood, and being gagged. He's gay, so I'll be handling this one while you drive. Sound about right?"

"That sounds perfect, sweetie!" called the rapidly-approaching voice as it thundered down the stairs with far more force than an anthro her size should be able to create. Waddling into the kitchen as she fastened her utility belt, the small otter turned into the kitchen and quickly seized the plate of fresh food already made for her. Lara was barely five feet, small even for an otter, but her energy and hours at the gym made up for it. "The boys at the station were glad that I was able to come in on my day off; apparently some people aren't taking the obvious hint that you can't try and drive through fresh cement." The lutrine stretched up onto her toes and gave Clint a quick peck on the cheek before hurrying out the door, pausing briefly with her webbed paw around the handle.

"I think we're gonna knock it out of the park today, Clint! That rodent won't know what hit him!" she chuckled before slamming the door behind her.

The onyx-furred goat merely smiled, both at the kiss and his girlfriend's accidentally humorous word choice, and finished up his breakfast.

"You're right about that."