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The lights of the club were low, accented by the glow of flat screen televisions and the small lamps that were dotted across the tables in the room. The jackal pushed away from the bar, a pair of glasses in his paws already starting to bead with condensation. Carefully he wove his way through the crowd towards one of the tables near the door. A smile came to his lips when the last of the bodies slid past his vision and he was greeted by the warm smile of the wolf reclined in the bench behind the table.

Those gorgeous amber eyes shone bright, even in the darkness of the bar, offsetting the brilliant flash of the pearlescent white teeth that were bared beneath his lifted lips. He was, for a lack of a better term in the jackal's brain, breathtaking. The smaller male ducked past the last pair of people that stood between him and his destination and set the glasses upon the mahogany table before the lupine, his hips twisting to drop into the curved bench next to the table so that he could begin scooting himself closer to his larger companion.

"Jerry's at the bar tonight. He said you still owe him that blowjob from when he kicked your tail at shots."

The wolf laughed while he reached for the glass, bringing it to his lips for a brief sip before setting it back down upon the table and draping his arm around the smaller male that cuddled in against his side, pulling him snug against his ribs. The lupine didn't respond with words, instead letting his eyes roam over the sharp, aristocratic features of the smaller jackal pulled to his side. His paw pulled away from the glass and lifted to the younger canine's muzzle, fingertips dragging slowly backwards from whiskers to the thicker fur at his cheeks and leaving the lightest trails of moisture in their wake to darken the velveteen short fur.

"He totally cheated. He was drinking iced vodka while he was pouring me bourbon. That sneaky bastard and his fat horse tongue totally evaporated most of his drink before it went down his throat while he left me to pickle myself in an attempt to keep up."

The jackal snickered at the reply to the message, his head shaking and paw lifting to his glass for two or three quick sips of the dark liquid within. He set it back down beside the wolf's with a happy sigh, weight shifting so that his hips and shoulders nestled in against the wolf's side while he laid his cheek on that strong shoulder. Large ears splayed out at the sides of his head while his amethyst eyes slid closed, the first warm twinges of the alcohol hitting his stomach mingling with the familiar warmth and safety that always came when his companion held him like this.

"Regardless, he said you still owe him a blowjob. And personally, I think it would be really, really hot to see you try and deal with that Arabian's meat. I mean really. I know you've gotten a look at the bulge in those jeans he wears. I am almost tempted to have you two do a rematch so I can verify he kicked your tail just so I can watch that."

Both canines laughed, the sound briefly drowned out by the sudden ruckus of motorcycles outside of the bar. The jackal's ears perked first, the smaller male lifting his head from the wolf's shoulder to peer at the door across from their table when the rumbling that vibrated the booth came to a halt, one engine at a time.

"Sounds like its going to get pretty full in here in a second."

***

My watch had already gone off and that lazy lion was still sound asleep. Seems I gave him a little more than I was planning to. Ah well. It gave me time to finish the puffy taco that was still left over from the little taqueria that was around the corner. I had popped the last bite of succulent al pastor into my muzzle and was suckling the intoxicatingly rich, spicy juice from my fingers when he gave his first groan and started to shift in the chair. My ears perked right up. About time.

I slid off of the table I was seated on and grabbed a hold of the tightly rolled bundle of canvas that was sitting beside the prefilled syringe. I didn't bother with the lights this time, forsaking my trusty Maglite for two free paws. I watched him stir and shift while I unrolled the bundle of tan canvas. It took him a minute or two, but finally one of those instinctive laps of his raspy tongue across his snout dragged that sandpapery tongue across the stump of his tooth. And the reaction it caused!

His eyes shot open and his entire body jerked forwards against the cuffs, the chair straining against the bolts that held it to the concrete with a roar that made my poor, sensitive ears flatten against my skull. His shoulders jerked while his body contorted against the handcuffs that held him fast to the chair, the steady crash and clatter of steel on steel accentuated by a sharp, desperate roar every time his muzzle closed and those still oozing teeth brushed against his gums or tongue. To anyone else it would have been a painful cacophony. To me, it was almost melodic, like a Mozart minuet.

In his fruitless struggles I doubt that the big dumb brute even noticed that the lights were on let alone the fact that I was standing mere feet from him. So I bided my time and let him wear himself out while he strained against the handcuffs that held him fast to the chair. It was a sadistic amusement watching the muscles stand out beneath his pelt while he struggled against the bindings, but a cathartic amusement nonetheless. While he clanked metal against metal and roared against the dark night that surrounded the warehouse I busied myself unrolling the little canvas bag of treats that I had in store for him. I doubt that he noticed the addition of the belt that held his hips against the chair that I had placed while he was out, but that would make this next bit of fun all the more gleeful for me.

Eventually, he wore himself out and the snarling and clanking abated. His natural weapons taken from him, the lion lofted tired, pained eyes towards me while I tinkered with the toys I had at my disposal. The drugs were starting to take their toll on him. His eyes were glassy and unfocused while they stared at me, his shoulders lifting and falling in slow, labored breaths. I took a long, satisfied look at those big, golden eyes while I rolled the final few inches of canvas out and left the belt fully unfurled in front of myself. He didn't recognize me for the first minute, but as the haze of the drugs left his brain and the reality of his situation started to settle on his shoulders once more, the disorientation and confusion was slowly replaced with a look of terror and apprehension.

I relished in that look while I let my paws stray across the various goodies that where laid out before me in the bundle of canvas. My eyes stayed locked on his while fingertips grazed one implement before the next, savoring the growing panic and terror that filled his eyes while I let my indecision known by my paws. When I finally settled on one pocket the big boy strained hard against his bindings, trying to cock his head to see just what my fingers had settled upon in the jumble of tan canvas and gleaming surgical steel. I let him struggle against his bindings for a better look while my paw lingered, thoroughly enjoying the fear that hung heavily in the air around him, my selection hidden from his view.

I wasn't so much of a monster that I made him hang in limbo long enough that his poor, racing heart would give out. My thumb and forefinger tightened around the glass urethral sound that I had chosen and slowly pulled it from the bundle. His brow furrowed and the confusion was plain as the midday sun on his face while those eyes moved between the sound and my face. His confusion was quickly replaced with a renewed terror when I nestled the sound in one paw and removed the butane lighter from my pocket. I doubt that he put two and two together. It was likely the ominous look of that pocket torch in one paw that instilled the primal fear in his eyes more than the clear, slightly bent tube of Pyrex held in the other. Silly kitty didn't know what to be afraid of.

I slipped the torch into the pocket of my shirt while I turned and started back towards my guest. Those rattles and roars that always echoed through the warehouse when he was conscious picked up again, though that clang of metal on metal was definitely starting to sound duller and duller. Seems a day or so shackled, starved and drugged can overwhelm a burly lion after all. He was trying to upturn the chair from its bolts in the floor when I crouched down in front of him. I already made sure he was empty while he was asleep, so I had no apprehension when it came to reaching between those thick thighs and curling my fingers around the middle of his plump sheath.

The grip on his pride is all it took to make him go as still as if I just put a gun in his face. His head jerked downwards so fast I could have sworn I heard the whiplash, jaws hanging a-gape in dumbfounded silence while he stared at the paw that was gripping at his dick through the still slightly spiked and piss stiffened fur of his sheath. That look was definitely one of his more memorable expressions. I smiled and wagged my tail slowly while I gradually peeled his sheath downwards and away from the tip of his shaft. Eventually I had to look down and at his junk to see what I was doing. And was I shocked when I got my first eyeful of what he was packing in there.

The pale pink, glistening tip of his cock hung from the lip of his sheath, the little nubs just behind his pointed glans ready to swell into full fledged barbs when those hefty balls beneath emptied themselves. And unlike most felines, he was actually pretty darn hefty. His natural musk was overpowered by the stale piss from when we first met, so I refrained from moving in for a closer inspection. Instead I kept his sheath skinned back with one paw while I brought the sound up to my muzzle, licking it once or twice to help slicken the smooth glass up with my spit before I started lining it up with the hole at the tip of his dick.

His brain must have registered that something was horribly wrong with what he was seeing right about then because he started snarling and squirming again with a renewed gusto. Thankfully I had the foresight to strap those hips of his to the chair, so his flails were reduced to short, jerky thrusts and squirms. A firm pinch that had the claws on my thumb and forefinger meet somewhere near his urethra sent another roar echoing through the warehouse and brought an end to his squirming.

"Good boy. This is going to hurt a whole hell of a lot more if you keep squirming like that in a second."

Somehow my warning worked its way into his brain, because his jerking went still moments after I spoke. My attention shifted first to his face, staring right back into his frantic eyes without blinking before looking back down to his groin. I read up on this procedure, I even had a pretty talented nurse describe it to me one night over drinks. But none of that really prepared me for when I had the brute's dick unsheathed and staring me in the face. So, with the limited training I had under my belt, I lined my sound up with the slit at the tip of his dick and let my wrist drop to dig the rounded end against the opening.

I knew I wasn't being gentle and the sudden tightening of each and every one of his muscles confirmed that the big kitty was not enjoying the sensation of that slick glass spreading his dick's opening around the slender girth. But I had a hold of his cock, and you know that when you have a lion by the dangly parts, you can lead him wherever you want. So without a glance upwards I worked that Pyrex sound deeper and deeper into his dick, waiting for that slight resistance that my sources told me meant I was nestled right up against his bladder, his dick unsheathed and laid out on the chair between his thighs.

I gave one careful push to be sure and was rewarded with the briefest splashes of piss across my fingers and a snarl of pain. Satisfied that I was about as deep as I could go I pulled back a smidge and let his cock flop onto the chair. He was still watching me with those wide, tearing eyes while I left the sound embedded in his dick, one paw keeping it flat against the chair while the other reached for the tape in my pocket. His breathing was getting faster and more frantic while he watched me lay the strip of tape behind his dickhead and secure his masculinity to the steel between his thighs. The breathing above my head was reaching hyperventilation when I stood back up and retrieved the butane torch from my pants pocket.

I took the opportunity to admire his features. Those eyes looked about ready to bulge clean out of his head while they darted between the torch and my face. His ears were cemented to the top of his head, lost amidst the disheveled brown mass of his mane. And those stocky, muscular shoulders heaved rapidly in time to his panting, jaws agape and showcasing the rusty brown that clung to the corners of his lips and dribbled down about his lower jaw from the still oozing stumps where his upper and lower canines used to be. He was not the same fearsome, savage figure that I remember meeting a month earlier. Now, he was broken.

Satisfied, I clicked the torch to life and crouched back down in front of him. I remember cooing some sort of generic comfort, petting up his inner thigh and grazing the shellacked, blunt tips of my claws across the side of his sac while I lifted the torch towards his crotch. His brain must have shut down by that point because there was no struggle, not one rattle of the handcuffs as I poised the tip of the blue flame to the rounded bulb at the end of the sound that was hanging just over the edge of the chair. The warehouse was quiet while I kept my attention on my work, but the silence broke in a sudden roar unlike any my guest had voiced thus far once the heat from the lighter seeped its way down the sound.

I knew I was grinning like a fool while I watched the kitty's dick jerk backwards as his entire weight was thrown against the chair. But it held just as it had every other time he tried to escape. And that bit of tape behind his dickhead was keeping that fat bit of pink meat held fast to the metal beneath it. There was nowhere for him to go to escape what he knew was coming and I would have to guess that is what made his next series of roars and yowls all the more frantic. From my position between his legs I got a ringside seat to the show. Thighs bunched into steely cords beneath his short, umber pelt while he tried to twist and strain away from the searing heat that was slowly seeping its way along the length of his shaft.

His throat was starting to crack after ten or fifteen seconds, the roars turning to screams that were more breath than voice. The longer lengths of quiet afforded my sensitive ears the delicious sound of a soft sizzle and pop that was emanating from his groin and the faintest whiffs of seared meat and burning dried ammonia. I knew that by now the heat had reached the very tip of the sound that was nestled against the stricture of his bladder and it was just a matter of time until the inevitable happened, so I carefully repositioned myself off to the side of the chair and relented with the torch just long enough to pull on the welding glove I left next to him.

I was just settling my finger against the tip of the sound when it surged against the leather, propelled forward with a fresh hiss and sizzle from the heated glass tube as his bladder emptied in a rush, the buildup over the last hour since I had catheterized him. I twisted my head to the side to avoid any splashes that may have come my way, waiting for the pressure behind the sound to abate slightly before my finger pushed forward. I watched his spine go rigid once more as the tip of the sound impressed its way into his bladder, likely a painful ordeal considering it wasn't curved for the procedure and forced his delicate inner parts to realign to accept it. Sound back in place and bladder empty, I lifted the lighter back up to the glass bulb hanging from the tip of his dick, the pink skin stretched over it having long since darkened to red before slowly fading to a dull grey, and clicked it to life once more.

His screams were all hoarse, raspy breath now, the roar having long since been burned from his chest. His legs were twitching erratically while they jerked of their own volition, the signals to strain and fight lost in the maelstrom of sensations that were clouding his brain. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, staring blankly while his jaws hung lax. Another fifteen seconds passed with that bright blue flame kissing to the end of the sound, the sizzle and hiss of slowly cooking flesh and tissue becoming more pronounced with each passing heartbeat. I waited for the kitty's crotch to begin sounding like a sausage link on a frying pan before I relented and released the trigger on the pocket torch. I tossed it onto the table and heaved myself up to my paws, moving to stand in front of him again whilst pulling the welding glove against my fingers as I readjusted it.

I waited patiently for his glazed eyes to drift away from the ceiling, his chest still heaving frantically and hoarse, breathy screams coming from his lips as the glass slowly released the residual heat into his most sensitive parts, the soft searing hiss a nice counterpoint to the voiceless cries. They drifted to my face, pupils dilated and out of focus. Seconds passed and I waited for his eyes to stop twitching, sure that he was focused solely on me before I let my lips pull back into a wicked smirk that bared the opalescent glitter of my canines in the harsh fluorescent light that was glaring down from the ceiling. And with that smile still on my muzzle I brought my gloved paw up over my head and down between his thighs.

The impact was muffled between the leather and the steel, a solid, meaty thuck that was punctuated by the even fainter sound of glass shattering. I ground my fist firmly into the steel between his thighs while I stared right into his eyes, the gritty sensation of broken glass scraping about beneath the glove my cue that I had achieved my desired results. That was the last straw for the kitty though. His eyes widened just a hair before sinking closed as his head slumped forward and unconsciousness claimed him without the aid of my needle. Lifting my paw, I took a few moments to examine the mangled mess that was once his pride and joy. The bleeding wasn't as heavy as I was expecting, but I guess I had cooked enough of the small vessels closed that the slow and steady ooze of coagulated, deep red from the rips and tears in that pink skin was all he could muster. I removed the glove and reached down to pick a few of the larger shards free none too carefully so that when he awoke he was greeted by the sight of a nice, large puddle of blood between his legs.

I tugged the tape from behind his glans and watched while his broken shaft tried to retreat back into its sheath. It didn't pull back far before it went still, content to hang limp over his blood soaked testicles and continue to pool the dark, coppery liquid across the chair and floor beneath him. He was out, so I decided to busy myself preparing for when he awoke, returning to my table and rolling up the canvas toolkit after removing a scalpel.