Top Dog: Origins
Commission for bolshevictor. Sequel to 'Viral Attack'.
In his office overlooking Langris City, Top Dog surveyed the busy streets below, it's blissfully unaware inhabitants, their smiling faces and hands full of shopping, gripping phones. Just for a moment, The rottweiler opened his mind and listened to their conversations, their fears. Benign information, but useful: the viral attack that had happened some 2 weeks ago seemed to be in the back of their minds now. Politicians and news outlets everywhere still tried to make a big deal out of it, but there was nothing they could do. As far as Top Dog was concerned, it was out of their hands.
He turned from the window and closed his mind from the outside world, drowning himself in his own thoughts. He paced the room in his tight-fitting costume, his cloak swept behind him, his brow knitted into a fervent expression and concentration. He had much to plan, much to outline before the next phase of his journey could go ahead. Those people down there had no idea what was in store for them. They needed to be protected, to be saved.
Top Dog turned his head, staring down at the photograph sitting on the desk. He smoothed over his expression as he picked it up by the corner. It portrayed him, in his youth, standing with a number of other graduates who had gone on from high school into college and beyond. His face softened when he saw himself. Even back then, he was straight-faced and serious.
He had made up some story for Joey, the Restorative Rodent, when he had first seen the picture. It portrayed him on the student council, with various other peers who took care of different departments, but he sat there as the president of all of them. Beside him stood a golden retriever with wide grin plastered on her face, pom-poms in her hand, clad in traditional cheerleader garb. Top Dog knew her relatively well, though they hadn't spoken in many years. Whilst the picture seemed innocent enough, tn truth the tale of the origins of the photo were a lot darker, and steeped in lewd activities.
x x x
"What you up to, Hank?"
It had all started many years ago, when Top Dog, known back then by his real name Hank Bismark, was only 17 years of age. The last straw had been struck at the hands of the notably famous athlete Kyle Grisham, an imposing and intimidating bear the likes of which many had not seen before. His feats of athleticism were impressive, but what astounded many students and teachers alike were his sharp, contrasting charisma, overshadowed by his vanity and delinquency.
Back then, Hank was as serious as he was in the current day. He studied and learned, bolstering the power of his mind over trivial things like muscle mass. He believed in a system of brains outranking brawn, and fervently believed that, all over the world, it was the intellectuals who ruled supreme. It was this strong belief that had kept him so stalwart over years of bullying at the hands of Kyle Grisham, who had begun his entitled tirade from ages as young as 11.
Like always, the bear carried around with him a posse, a group of individuals who were also notable for their athletic merit, who were-- in Hank's words-- 'too dim-witted to have independent thought'. On that momentous day, Kyle was doing what was best classed as 'his usual': he and his group were harassing various people within the cafeteria, but none were so 'ripe for the picking' as Hank himself. In their eyes, he was the perfect target: passive, quiet, and short.
Hank didn't deign them with a response as he poured over the book in front of him, learning about the inner-workings of quantum physics. He was no scientist, but he had already finished the studying for his upcoming test. This was just a hobby: expanding his knowledge. Before he could read the next paragraph, a large, burly hand grabbed the book from the table and lifted it up out of his reach. Hank didn't bother reaching for it as a sigh escaped his lips. The cafeteria was buzzing with activity, but nearby students quietened to watch the scene unfold.
"Quantum physics?" Kyle guffawed, his lackeys snickering. "More like quantum boredom. Why you readin' this stuff, nerd? Think you're better than us?"
A hand placed itself on Hank's shoulder and the rottweiler closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. Even back then, he had powers: it took a great deal of concentration to dull his own thoughts and block out the minds of others, and it was hard to control when he was even a least a little bit emotional. He could hear Kyle's thoughts in his mind: typical swear words were thrown around, accompanied by other cruel things and remarks about impressing his friends, that Hank felt he didn't need to pry in on.
He felt the hand tighten around his shoulder when he didn't answer, before it eventually loosened. It was soon replaced by a sharp slap to the side of his head, causing Hank to briefly wince and freeze in place. It was just the one, but it was enough to make Kyle's malicious intentions clear.
"So you do," Kyle smirked. "Well, you're not. What's just another dog who likes to read going to do to change the world, huh?"
Hank felt a hand on the back of his head, pushing him down. He resisted at first, but it was clear who had the better muscles. Kyle's strength far outweighed his own, and Hank grunted when his cheek hit the cool surface of the table.
"Look at that, boys. He's submitting to me already. Knowing his place." Kyle's words came out in a grating snarl, or as much as a bear could attempt, and his group of 'friends' chuckled to themselves without drawing too much attention. Despite their cruel ways, they knew that if they were caught being outwardly violent then there would be consequences. It wasn't as if that sort of violence hadn't happened before, but it always remained behind closed doors, metaphorically speaking.
Kyle eventually eased up when he was aware he was garnering a crowd, but he made a point of keeping Hank held down a little longer than necessary so that quite a few people saw what had transpired. With the book still in his clutches, he rounded the table with his lackeys until he was in view of Hank's serious glare. The bear menacingly waved the book in his hands.
"You're a dog, right? Go fetch." He grinned with a wicked cockiness and lobbed the book across the cafeteria, soaring high above the other students and landing in the far corner near the bins, where it narrowly missed being dunked into the used food container. Kyle's friends laughed between themselves, and Hank caught the tittering of nearby onlookers. His face soured as he kept himself firmly in his seat, watching as Kyle and his friends moved away. They looked at Hank every so often, their lips curled in a smug grin.
This wasn't an uncommon occurrence for Hank to deal with: Kyle and his group of henchman were always bothering him, as well as many other students who didn't quite fit in with the status quo. Hank had always tried to not remain affected, but the more that it happened, the more it made his blood boil. He wanted to do something about it-- no, he needed to.
He strode across the cafeteria with his bag, his half-eaten lunch left lying on the table as he picked up his book, stowing it away. It wasn't as if Hank hadn't tried to stop them before: he had told teachers and faculty many times over of the torment some individuals had to endure at the hands of Kyle Grisham, but no-one dared to bat an eye in the bear's direction. He was their model athlete, who would help their school rise to the best in the state, if they played their cards right. Who cared about a couple of disgruntled students? The staff didn't, clearly.
He could feel his anger rising to the surface, causing him to clench his fists. He had enough. He decided in that moment, as he strode down the halls of his high school, that he would never be bullied again. Luckily for him, he had the power to enact real change, a gift that he assumed no-one else had: telepathy.
It had been difficult to control when he was younger, but he had a firm enough grasp on his supernatural ability now to be able to not only read people's thoughts, but project his own. No-one knew of this power but him: he had a feeling he'd be used and cheated if anyone know what he could do. No-one could tell him what to do, but it could spell the end of his academic career if there was even an insinuation that he could read minds. If he could, then he'd be able to easily and effectively cheat on every test. They wouldn't have the risk of a cheater in their school, even if some dark corners of their educational facility nurtured cruel intentions.
If he wanted to stop Kyle from antagonising him and the other students, he would need a plan, and not a half-assed one either. It wasn't enough to make Kyle stop: he needed to instil discipline into him. The dark side of him wanting Kyle to feel fear, to really buckle under his own superior intellect and beg for mercy, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. Yes, he wanted the personal satisfaction of making Kyle suffer for his wrongdoings, but this wasn't just about him-- others needed help too. This was beneficial to a lot of people.
The first thing he needed to do was put himself in a position of power. With power came control, and with control came discipline: his burly, ex-military father had taught him that. That thought brought the first step of the rottweilers plan to fruition: get himself on the student council. Not just that, either: he needed to be the president of it. It was almost the perfect time, too: elections were coming up, but his plan immediately hit a snag when he realised that sign-ups for electoral candidates had already passed. That meant his journey first took him to the office of the vice principal: Harold G. Linthom.
Mr. Linthom was not only the vice principal, but also the head of the english and languages department. His passion for teaching was almost as much as his passion for party planning, which typically made him an enjoyable and likeable man to many of the students. Hank, in particular, had always found him fun to talk to. The door to his office sat at the end of the west wing, and it took Hank little effort to find it during what remained of the lunch period. He remembered from previous conversations that Mr. Linthom always had lunch in his office, which made him easy to find in that regard. All it took was a few knocks before Hank heard the murmurings of approval. Twisting the handle, the young rottweiler stepped inside.
The vice principal sat behind his simple wooden desk, his packed lunch sitting in front of him, between his body and the sleek black keyboard. Mr. Linthom was a hyena, and a fairly lean one at that: he was a man who clearly kept himself in shape, though it was hard to see to what extent that was, given that he was dressed for every occasion. He raised his head as Hank entered the room and, immediately, Hank opened his mind to collect those inner thoughts.
People had a habit of guarding their secrets, but none of them were prepared for an attack of the mind, and so their inner-most thoughts were left unguarded and ripe for the taking for someone with special skills. Hank wasn't particularly good as perusing this information as he liked, but he could at least catch snippets of information and flashes of imagery that the mind concocted. He didn't need to look for long to pick up the lewd connotations of Mr. Linthoms attraction. Hank was, at this point, used to his secretly leering gaze and dark, perverted thoughts, heaving heard them on multiple occasions prior. In fact, Hank was sort of turned on by it; he was excited at the idea of being yearned for, more than anything else.
"Bismark. I didn't expect you to come and visit me," The hyena sounded moderately surprised as he dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, his voice taking on a remarkably delicate tone. "I must say that you've caught me in the middle of eating. Was it something important?"
"It was to do with the student council elections, Mr. Linthom, sir," Hank did his best to be polite, his voice filled with conviction and the confidence to speak his mind. "I was hoping I might be able to sign up as an electoral candidate. I know that I'm past the sign-up dates, but..."
"Hrrmm," Mr. Linthoms grunt of thought left Hank with little hope. "I'm not sure, Hank. These rules are in place for a reason: we have to set up debate times and an appropriate budget..."
Hank stepped a little closer to the desk, placing his bag on the nearby chair. He picked anxiously at the hem of his shirt, his heart pounding in his chest. What he was about to do could potentially ruin his school life, or augment it. It all depended on how easy it was to coerce the man in front of him. Mr. Linthoms seedy thoughts were obvious to Hank, even in that moment, and the rottweiler planned to capitalise on them in order to get what he wanted.
"I know I'm asking a lot..." Hank began, rounding the side of the desk as the hyena watched him, his eyes searching. "But since we get along so well, I was hoping you'd do it for me as a favour."
He shuffled backwards and propped himself up on the desk, sitting almost in front of the hyena's body. He stuck his leg out and draped his bare paws up along the man's clothed legs, and felt him visibly shudder. Hank's mind was suddenly flooded with a cacophony of vulgar images and he resisted the urge to wince. He could hear the hyena's intentions in his mind, spoken in almost a slurred manner of speech, dripping with predatory lust.
"I don't know about that..." Mr. Linthom cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his seat, reaching down to tug awkwardly at the waistband of his formal trousers. "I wouldn't say we know each other that well. You're just a student, and I..."
"And you're just a teacher? Would it help if we got to know each other a little more?" Hanks voice dipped as best as he could. He made no attempt to be sexy: it was clear from the vice principals thoughts that he found Hank arousing enough when he was just being himself, though the rottweiler couldn't fathom why: he was average in frame, average in face. Hank's open suggestion and clear initiation made the hyena relax, his nervous expression unfolding into a lustful grin and twinkling eyes.
"W-Well, I suppose, if you say so..." The hyena mumbled, reaching a hand out to place it over Hank's ample thigh. The rottweiler shifted, albeit a little uncomfortably, in his seat as the vice principal's hand moved up his leg, curling in around his inner thigh and towards his crotch. Aware of that the man had planned, Hank made a note to block off any intruding thoughts from the hyenas screaming mind, not wanting to witness what obscene thoughts he had brewing in there. He stayed still as the hyena popped the button of his trousers, slowly pulling down his zipper and exposing the 17 year old's white, simple briefs.
Hank was no fool: he knew this was wrong, but he pushed those feelings aside as his chest swelled with pride and a sense of heroism. If his plan could fully come to fruition, then no-one at his school would have to face bullying ever again. He exhaled a quiet, quivering sigh as the hyena's large hand sunk in beneath the waistband of his underwear, deliberately fondling with his young sheath. His body reacted instinctively as his skin tingled beneath his fur. He was both disgusted and delighted with himself. His body ached to be touched, the perverted side of him gnawing away at his steely bravado.
The hyena's shaky groan told Hank all he needed to know, and the canine slowly brought his hands towards the band of his trousers. He hesitated for a moment, before letting them slip down past his boyish hips, revealing his underwear in its entirety. But he didn't stop there, for it only took him a few more moments to tug those down as well, exposing himself completely. He could feel the familiar throbbing inside of his ample sheath that made him briefly squirm, rolling his hips just a little against the hyena's greedy hand. It didn't take long for the tip of his tapered, canine cock to poke from its sheath, steadily pulsing to life under the older mans assault and Hanks own secret desire.
"Oh my..." The hyena murmured to himself, and Hank cast his gaze down to see the Mr. Linthom groping his own crotch with his free hand, the other firmly attached to the young sheath in front of him, tugging it up and down. Hank closed his eyes and breathed a quiet sigh as his member steadily hardened, until it was nearing half, or even full mast. He wasn't particularly over-endowed for his age, but 6 inches of dog cock was definitely a sight to behold for a perverted teacher.
Hank watched as the vice principal wrapped a hand around the length of his knotted cock, stroking up and down and coaxing a few choice beads of pre-cum from his tip, where it oozed down the underside of his cock and onto the man's hand. The canine closed his eyes for a moment and relished the sensation around his member, before the hyena suddenly let go. Hank might have questioned why, were it not for the sudden mass on his chest, coaxing him to lay down against the collection of papers on the man's desk. He spread his legs apart as the vice principal stepped in between them. The rottweiler looked down between his legs and quickly caught sight of the hyena's thick, twitching member, humanoid in shape and aching for find a place to bury itself in. Mr. Linthom's face looked considerably flustered, his eyes wild and his lips parted. He looked...horny.
The man leant forwards, propping himself up with his hands as he towered over Hank's slightly shorter and leaner frame. Hank couldn't see much with the man's simple form covering up most of it, but he could easily see that the hyena's trousers were already at his ankles, and he quickly began to feel the thick, wedged end of the hyena's cock slipping between his cheeks, the glans smearing around and prodding around his virgin pucker.
"Mmh, yes...so warm, so delightful..." Mr. Linthom muttered, before reaching over and digging into a draw on his desk. He retrieved a clear bottle and quickly upended some of the substance on his hand, moving it down and smearing it all over his cock with an audibly wet sound. The cock returned between Hank's cheeks and the 17 year old noticed it was considerably slicker. He knew what the substance was, of course, though he'd never used nor experienced it himself.
"Just tell me if it hurts." The hyena's voice wavered a little with his doubt, but his lust for Hank's body far outweighed his worries of getting caught or doing any harm. He pushes his hips forward and Hank's body reacted immediately, squeezing against the cock's head as it pushed against his ring. The muscles eventually loosened and Hank let out a quiet hiss, realising that, in that moment, he was losing his virginity to his vice principal.
Hank had always wanted to try anal, though he never thought he'd be receiving. However, it wasn't as bad as he initially thought; it stung a little, sure, but that was to be expected. Perhaps some of it was due to the hyena's average length, or perhaps he just had a knack for receiving. Regardless, he soon found himself squirming, albeit a little, under the gentle pushing, feeling a tingle of pleasure shoot up his spine. He once again closed his eyes to relish the sensation, parting his lips and letting out a quiet, gentle moan.
He felt a hand run up his body, sliding in under his formal shirt. He felt the vice principals hand run up along the fur on his stomach, up to his chest, there the rough fingers traced a line over his right nipple. He felt the man sink completely into him, felt the warmth of Mr. Linthom's balls against his behind, his pelvis pushed up against his ass. Then, he pulled back, sliding himself out slowly as he let out a shaky exhale. He draped his hand back down, briefly tugging up Hank's shirt to expose his chest, before his hand drew down and rested on Hank's hip, holding onto him tight. With the other hand propping himself up, the man began to thrust.
He was gentle at first, but it didn't take long for him to get a little rough, too eager to finish, too scared at being caught. Their gentle groans and rhythmic gyrations soon grew heavy and heated, their breath coming out in hot, laboured pants. Hank had never known pleasure so nail-bitingly exquisite, yet discomforting enough to make him visibly wince. Despite the hyena's warning, it didn't seem to matter much if it was hurting, even if it were only a little: the man clearly knew what he wanted, and he wasn't going to stop. Not that Hank wanted him to, anyway.
The hyena was just the right size to poke at something inside of him, to make Hank arch his back and closed his eyes, filled to the brim with an orgasmic ecstasy. His knotted cock twitched violently against his stomach, a pressure forming in his loins as his sensitive ears picked up the sounds of their rough, wet sex and his sensitive nose caught the scents of their sweat, their heat. Each sharp thrust of the hyena's hips only made the feeling worse, until Hank found himself curling his ankles around, locking himself with the vice principal's body, gritting his teeth and crying out, the potential fears of being heard seeping away into the back of his mind. It was unbearable, almost too much.
Then, it loosened. It was at if the floodgates had been opened, and in came a tidal wave of bliss, rolling over every muscle, every joint in his body. His body relaxed in an instant and all he could focus on was the thick, twitching throbs of his own cock and the warm, gooey wetness that spread across his stomach. He had masturbated enough times to recognise the feeling of his own climax, but it had never been quite as intense as it was then. The hyena seemed to grow more and more laboured with every thrust, apparently turned on by Hank's orgasm. In an instant, the world opened up for Hank as his mind sank deep, deep down into the dark depravity of his perverted mind, inadvertently picking up on the vice principal's own hungry lust. He found himself wanting that intense feeling again and again.
He raised his head, propping himself up on his elbows and hanging his mouth open as he watched the vice principal reach his own climax. He could hear the man's thoughts, feel the intense need in the hyena's mind, seeping into his own. He stared intently at the irregular thrusts into his own behind, watched the way the man's fingers dug into his flesh, the way he messed up his papers with their forbidden act and cared little for it. After a few moments, Hank felt the warmth of something spreading within him and instinctively clenched, closing his eyes and breathing out a shaky sigh through his nose, digging his heels against the hyena's back. Not many could say they enjoyed their first time, yet Hank had a feeling it would be something he would reminisce for a long time.
It was over as quickly as it arrived, or so it seemed. The hyena rocked himself back and forth for a moment inside Hank's squeezing behind, before he eventually tugged back, withdrawing completely and staggering backwards, falling onto his plush faux leather chair. He wiped his forehead, his hungry eyes briefly lingering on Hank's spread form, his used behind and shrinking cock, before he dug into the same drawer as before and removed a box of tissues. He began to wipe himself up rather silently as Hank did his best to ease himself off the desk. With the pleasure now faded, he could feel every nagging sting of discomfort and pain, the peculiar feeling of emptiness inside of him. He did his best to clench as he stood up, taking a few tissues for himself to mop up his sticky belly.
"I hope this settles things, Mr. Linthom, sir." Hank cleared his throat as he spoke, bending down to pick up his underwear and trousers as the hyena adjusted himself awkwardly in his seat, reaching down for his own undergarments.
"I...yes. I suppose it does, erm..." He adjusted his tie, his cheeks flushed. "I'll put you on the electoral register and...make sure none of this gets out."
"Thank you, sir." Hank did his best to appear submissive, but inside he was calculating. Step 1 was done; all that was left were the remaining steps.
It was easy enough to get revenge on Kyle and his friends, but this wasn't just about him. The anger and hated for revenge boiled within him, but others had that same feeling, too. It wasn't enough to stop just Kyle: many more students down the line would feel resentment for their own bullies. Hank knew he needed to do his part to stop bullying at its core: the self satisfaction of seeing Kyle break was just icing.
Because of that, he couldn't just enact revenge the old fashioned way. He needed to be more than just a representative for the council: he needed to be the president. He knew that he already had the vice principal on board, waiting in the wings to help when needed. Hank wouldn't be so cruel as to resort to blackmail, but if it came to it, then he would, for the greater good. Getting the students on board would be easy, and he already had a plan.
In that instance, telepathy had its perks. All it took were a few leisurely walks through the halls and an open mind to pick up what the students were so desperately needing in the school. People who spoke tended to think what they were speaking, making it relatively easy to eavesdrop on conversations as well. Most of the student requests and complaints to their friends were benign and didn't matter as a whole, but some were crucial. When Hank began to pick up common denominators in what the students were thinking, then he knew it would get them on his side. With the electoral debate metaphorically around the corner, it took Hank surprisingly little effort to compile a suitable speech and rebuttal for simple cases. His intellect, combined with his powers, made it easy for him to act as a good politician. If he had any interest in politics, then he might have picked it up over heroism, but his mind was already made up.
A week passed, and the debate assembly had come and gone. By the end of the debate, it was clear that Hank was a sure-fire win to be student council president, but his sudden addition to the electoral role had been a quizzical one for many teachers. To that end, Hank had done their best to quell their fears, whether it was telling them what they wanted to hear, or providing other services to those who were so inclined. It wasn't just him doing the talking either: Mr. Linthom made sure to back him up, after Hank had asked him nicely to assist.
Hank was unsurprised when he was named as the next student council president, but his mission to eradicate bullying and seek to ruin Kyle's reputation didn't stop there. In his first meeting, he already laid out a number of anti-bullying proposals that received lukewarm reception. It didn't take much to convince some of the board otherwise, especially with certain faculty members backing him up. He even got the principal interested, who was keen to put a good PR spin on an anti-bullying measure. Hank had deliberately skewed his suggestions to make it seem beneficial to all, but in a way it was-- just not to the bullies.
Hank's ascension to student council president was more than just setting a framework for the future, however: it was a position of power and trust. Should anything come to light about certain individuals and the source came from Hank himself, people would be more likely to believe it, because he's a canine that can be trusted. That's what lead Hank to the revelation: to get back at Kyle, he needed to ruin his reputation.
As luck would have it, Kyle had a girlfriend: Veronica Yale, the head cheerleader, and a golden retriever. It seemed almost stereotypical that the best athlete and the best cheerleader would be a couple, but they actually seemed like a good fit for each other, in a narcissistic toxic sort of way. With his new seat of power, Hank found it relatively easy to co-ordinate a plan to speak with Veronica one on one-- after all, she was also on the student council as head of the planning the decorating committee.
He didn't need to talk to her about anything in particular: he just needed to get her to talk about her boyfriend. Thinking about him alone was bound to bring up all manner of memories, as if on queue, her mind flooded with imagery, memories of the past. It took a great deal of concentration for him to focus on both her conversation and her thoughts, but he eventually managed it.
A few things came to light, things that meant his plan had to change. Hank knew that, sometimes, things didn't go the way he hoped, but this was altogether different. Kyle wasn't just a bully, or a jock: he was doing drugs at school, in secret. Of course, should any of the faculty learn of it, then he'd be in more trouble than he realised. Being caught with menial drugs like weed wasn't so bad, but Hank had learned another little snippet from his girlfriend: Kyle had been awarded a sports scholarship, but they required a perfect record from his high school.
With that, Hank's new plan was in motion. His power as a student council president meant he was untouchable, and it meant that anyone, especially the principal and vice principal, would have to believe what he told them. The logical side of him would have argued that he was being egotistical, running on a 'power trip', but his hormonal body rejected the notion. He knew Kyle was 'packing', so to speak, and where it was. All that was left to do was make his presence known.
He waited for the right time, standing outside of the men's locker rooms as the rest of the students filed out. He knew Kyle liked to hang back a little longer when getting changed, and that was for one reason alone: his special drugs were hidden in the locker rooms themselves. When Hank was sure the coast was clear, he tugged open the door and stepped inside.
He found Kyle dressed in just his standard uniform pants, his top exposed, revealing his chiselled chest, his muscular body. He sat hunched over, elbows resting on his knees with a small blunt held firmly between his thumb and forefinger. He was momentarily startled when Hank stepped inside, but relaxed when he realised it was just him. He made a point of lowering the blunt, though, hiding it behind his back.
"What do you want, dog?" The bear grunted, and Hank put his hands behind his back, clearing his throat. This was it.
"A few things, really," Hank began, pacing, his heart racing. "We'll start on some simple terms, I suppose: I ask you stop harassing the other students with your own puerile intentions."
Kyle Grisham stared at him for a moment, bug-eyed, before he rolled his head back and bellowed a sharp roar of laughter, covering his face with a hand and holding the blunt in the other. The mere idea that Hank was trying to dominate him in some way seemed to titillate him, or so Hank thought.
"What is this, a fuckin' FBI interrogation?" The bear exclaimed. "I ain't doin' jack shit for you, Mr. 'Student Council Asswipe'."
"I thought as much. Let me outline what'll happen if you failed to comply, then," Hank continued. "For one, I know you've been smoking weed on campus, and who knows what other narcotics."
The immediate accusation made Kyle's jaw set, but Hank could read his mind. He could tell that Kyle wasn't all that surprised, given what was in his hand. Well, that was a relief-- Kyle wasn't born stupid. That amusing thought brought a brief smile to Hank's lips before he continued, pacing the length of the locker room as he spoke.
"Additionally, I also know where you hide it-- in this very room. I'm also fully aware of your scholarship with Rell Academy in the city nearby...it definitely wouldn't do you good to have a mark such as drug use on your permanent record, would it?"
Kyle froze in place, his teeth gritting, his free hand balling into a fist. Hank could see the fury and frustration in his eyes, and heard his confusion: he hadn't told anyone about it but his girlfriend, so how could he know? Hank quickly caught a number of doubting thoughts about his relationship with Veronica. That seemed like even more icing.
"I see that I have your attention now," Hank resisted the urge to smirk, keeping his expression sharp and serious. "And let me remind that before you go flinging fists and insults, remember that I'm the president of the student council. I speak with the vice principal on a regular basis, and I'm fairly certain if I asked him to search this room, then he would find what he was looking for."
The mere insinuation forced Kyle to comply, not wanting to risk his scholarship. Hank closed off his mind in order to block out all the vulgar thoughts that were running through the bear's head. Admittedly, Hank was a little scared of him, but there was a soaring feeling of elation, of justice finally being exacted. Then, from that, came a terrible darkness. After all...why stop here?
"So I'll say it again," Hank stepped closer, eyes narrowing a little. "I want you to stop bullying people. They don't deserve it. Or would you rather ruin your scholarship, your career, perhaps even your life just to feel superior to a few people?"
The silence was deafening, and Hank heaved a quiet sigh, pleased with himself. It wasn't the route he was initially planning to take, but it had worked: he was glad that the other idea he was planning to take didn't pan out, for it was arguably more malicious. He turned back towards the bear and watched him for a moment, a feeling spreading throughout his stomach and up his spine.
"Stand up." Hank found himself speaking the words before he could even stop himself. His stomach twisted into knots as he watched a mildly dejected and mostly irritated 17 year old get to his feet, showing the sheer size difference between the two of them: Kyle stood over 6 foot, but Hank only made it up to about his shoulder. The rottweiler's eyes danced over the bear's muscular frame and down towards his uniformed pants. He raised his head again and did the unthinkable: he stepped forwards, briefly closing the distance between them, and sharply raised his hand to cup the bear's package in his palm.
Kyle froze immediately, looking momentarily emasculated. His muscles didn't stop clenching, but his eyes widened as he looked down at the rottweiler's face, searching Hank's intense gaze. The canine secretly relished this feeling of power, a surge of delight rising up within him. He felt invincible, like he could do anything, and there was something in particular he always wanted.
Wordlessly, never breaking eye contact, the rottweiler removed his hand and raised it up, dexterously popping the button of the bear's trousers and roughly tugging the zipper down. The lack of tension made the pants fall around Kyle's ankles relatively easily, leaving him in just his underwear, a pair of simple plaid boxer shorts that fit snugly around his manly hips and thick upper legs. Hank's hand met with Kyle's package again and, once more, the bear froze. Hank could feel the outline of his cock: it felt mostly humanoid, and deliciously thick. The rottweiler could already feel that dark, perverted side of him creeping in. He wanted this, in a way.
"What're you, some kind of f--" Kyle began, but Hank raised his other hand, pressing a finger to the bear's lips.
"Don't utter a sound." The rottweiler darkly warned, and Kyle kept his mouth shut, for fear of the canine doing something. He didn't like that intense stare in Hank's eyes, the dark glimmer hidden beneath them. Slowly, Hank stroked his thumb and fingers over the outline of the cock as the two of them stared into each other's eyes, one of them turned on and the other considerably uncomfortable.
It didn't take long for Kyle's body to react, and Hank felt the thick, warm pulsing of the cock against his fingers, the member steadily growing under his gentle stroking. He reached his hand back up and tugged harshly at the waistband of the bear's underwear, sliding it past his hips, where the head of Kyle's cock was momentarily caught. With another swift tug, he exposed the member in its entirety, the half-hard cock weakly pulsing in the air. Hank's fingers met with the length and peeled back the foreskin on the humanoid-shaped member, and Kyle let out a quiet sigh through his nose, trying to remain quiet.
Hank stroked him for some time, and it took little effort to coax Kyle to full mast, his member aching and begging to be touched. If Hank had to guess, he'd wager it was about 8 inches or so-- far too big for him to take. But that suited Hank just fine, for he had another idea to humiliate the bear even further.
"Since you seem to love flinging that vulgar word around so much, you can have a taste of what it's like. On your knees. Now." Hank demanded, and Kyle resisted him for a moment, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he tried to think out of a way out of it. Hank knew he'd backed Kyle into a corner: if he refused, his scholarship would be ruined. If he attacked him, the same would happen. All he could do was comply. Hank knew it was wrong, but he wanted to be sure that Kyle would behave. It was for the betterment of everyone, not just his own self satisfaction. That's what he told himself.
Slowly, the bear lowered down, crouching and sliding his legs back until he was on his knees, resting back on his heels with his hands on his lap, his cock throbbing between his legs. Hank admired his submissive pose for a moment, before he inevitably reached down, popping the button of his own trousers. Kyle averted his gaze as the rottweiler dropped his trousers and underwear, revealing his steadily growing cock. He hated to admit it, but Kyle had a very, very attractive body, and he wanted to make full use of it in the time that he had.
"Don't worry, your teacher won't miss you for one class." Hank teased a little and Kyle snapped his gaze back up the rottweiler's face, detecting the hint of a smug in his tone. His stare travelled down until it met with the rottweiler's cock, forced to stare at the growing, twitching length. Hank's tapered canine length took little time to reach full mast, and he made a note of teasing poking it against Kyle's cheek whilst the bear resisted him.
"What's the matter, Kyle? Enjoyed being touched, but don't like it in reverse? Have some heart, won't you? Or my loose lips might slip up..." Hank warned him quietly, and that seemed to force Kyle into compliance. The bear turned his head and lowered his gaze as he parted his lips, sliding out his long-ish tongue and curling it along the underside of the canine's cock. He briefly recoiled at the taste, but had little time to pull back as Hank pushed his hips forward, neatly gliding his cock into the 17 year old's mouth.
It was delightfully warm and tight, but not as tight as something else was bound to be, soon enough. The rottweiler sighed and enjoyed the blissful sensations for now, reaching both hands out to cup the bear's face and admire his frustrated down, his flushed cheeks and the scrunched-up eyes. He slid his cock back and forth, deliberately butting the knot against the bear's muzzle to make it particularly clear that he had one. A sigh escaped Hank's lips, a mixture of self satisfaction and delight welling up inside of him. He kept a slow, steady rhythm of thrusts, enjoying the wonderful feeling of the tip of his cock probing the back of the bully's throat.
He didn't keep it up for long, however: this was just the main course in what was to come. He inevitably withdrew, his cock coated in a thin film of spittle as the bear wiped his mouth, looking down at his hands. He soon raised his head in a brief moment of bewildered and Hank saw a glimmer of hope in his eyes. If Hank had to guess-- and he really didn't need to, given his powers-- he'd assume that Kyle thought he might have a change of heart. He was deadly wrong.
"Get up, and over to the bench, nice and quick now." Hank ordered as he stepped out of his pants, gesturing over towards the wooden bench that sat between the benches on either side. It was flat and removed of any bars or handles, making it the perfect place to sit on either side...or in this case, lay on.
"On your front." Hank warned as the bear drew close, and Kyle looked confused for a moment, before he quickly realised. With a fearful, nervous expression and a trembling of his hands, he bent down and slid himself across the bench, until he was laying on his front, his legs spread on either side. The bench was thankfully low enough for his feet to touch the floor, and the slats between the wood were wide enough for his cock to poke through unhindered.
Hank admired the bear's shapely behind for perhaps a little too long, before he inevitably popped the buttons of his formal shirt and let it slip from his shoulders. He stepped across the locker room in the nude, standing behind Kyle's body and inevitably leaning forwards. He planted his hands on the bear's back and stroked his bristly brown fur as his crotch quickly met with the teen's behind. Kyle immediately tensed beneath him and Hank enjoyed the pleasure of slipping his spit-soaked cock between the bear's cheeks for just a few moments. He was enjoying this far more than he should.
He pulled back, not saying a word as he slipped the tapered end of his canine cock between the bully's cheeks, smearing it around and feeling just how tightly Kyle was clenching his cheeks, almost desperate for it not to happen. Hank let out a quiet groan as he slid his hips down, quickly finding the tip of his cock meeting with the jock's pucker. He couldn't discern if he was a virgin or not, but it didn't matter.
Slowly, he began to push. He felt the tight ring immediately clench around Hank's intruding member, but it soon gave way with the threat that loomed over him. Hank never thought that a hiss of discomfort would be so satisfying to hear, yet there it was, clear as day. The deeper his cock sank, the more that the bear seemed to strain and tense. Hank eventually let out a long, heated sigh when he felt the warmth of his knot meeting with Kyle's quivering pucker, and he curled his fingers against the bully's fur, holding onto it tight. He swiftly tugged back and began to thrust.
The spit did little to aid his thrusts, but thankfully Hank wasn't a monster, despite his need to make break the bully below him. He began slow and gentle, letting Kyle get used to the gentle, rhythmic thrusts of his hips. His knot squished and pressed threateningly against the tight entrance, but it never slipped inside. Hank relished the spasming around his cock, which only helped to leak pre-cum from the end of his member, oozing it into the bear's behind. Each dollop, each dribble aided the next thrust, until his humps were slick and smooth with his own natural lubricant. When he was certain he was sufficiently wet, he began to pick up speed.
The quiet locker room soon began to echo with the sounds of Hank's cock sliding back and forth, slapping and squishing against Kyle's behind. Each thrust was accompanied by a quiet, restrained grunt and, every so often, a laboured groan from either party. Hank didn't think that topping would be this pleasurable, but the more he thrust, the more he enjoyed himself. Soon, it was taking everything inside of him to keep a steady pace, his breathing growing heavier and heavier.
He felt that familiar pressure in his loins, reminding him that he didn't have long to go. He pushed his hips down and felt the spasming red ring clench around his cock, his knot pushing dangerously against Kyle's behind. He wanted desperately to knot, but he was aware of a few things: how far he could push Kyle, and the time. He restrained himself as the pressure tightened, and he leant back, enjoying the view below him as he bucked his hips just a few more times.
A wave of pleasure washed over him and he let out a long, tired sigh, sinking his hips forward. His knot swelled and pumping thick, gooey strings of cum into the bully's behind. With that, his revenge was tied up in a neat little bow, and he was certain that he wasn't the only one to benefit from it. A nagging feeling probed the back of his mind, warning about the dangers of getting too deep into his desires. He brushed it off, for now-- surely it wasn't going to affect him in the future, right?
He eventually drew back, admiring the gooey mess he'd made in the bear's backside, before he eventually moved towards his clothes, beginning to pull them on. From the corner of his eye, he admired the bear's still erect cock and the obvious tiny splatters of pre-cum on the floor. Kyle didn't want to move, but he was clearly quite awake. Downtrodden and humiliated, he didn't dare utter a sound until Hank eventually spoke.
"I hope that clears up out little arrangement, Kyle," The rottweiler began as he got dressed. "I can assure you that, so long as you stay on the straight and narrow, then I will have no problems with you."
He didn't wait for Kyle to answer him, adjusting his clothes and making sure he looked presentable before leaving the locker room.
In the moment, everything in his life had changed. He felt as if a weight had been lifted, as if justice had finally be enacted. He felt freer then he ever had before, and he knew it was only the beginning.
x x x
"Top Dog, sir, your car is waiting."
The rottweiler raised his head from the photograph and set it down, clearing the thoughts of his youth from his mind. He had an important visit to attend to.
His journey took him, by car, across the city and into the far reaches of town. There, the driver took him to a sleek looking building that seemed fairly boring on the outside, with grey walls and simple windows and doors. As the rottweiler stepped inside, he was greeted to majestically clean white halls and sleek furniture. He didn't need to wait to be seen; he crossed the expansive lobby and towards the far end, where he passed through a set of double doors and strode imposingly down a narrow hallway.
Further and further he walked, until the natural light couldn't reach him and he was illuminated by the bleached lighting above, making his muscles and serious expression look stark and foreboding. He walked for a considerable distance, down stairs and around corners until he reached a lab tucked away at the back of the facility. He pressed the buzzer and waited. He heard a synonymous sound in return, followed by the satisfying click of the lock. He pushed the door open and stepped through into what appeared to be a quiet and dark room.
At the far end sat varying sizes of tubes, each one filled with liquid and illuminated with fluorescent green lighting. Tables were strewn around the small laboratory, piled with medical equipment, some laying there with trays filled with organs and body parts. Top Dog resisted the urge to stare as he turned his attention to the man on his left, who sat hunched over a monitor, tapping away.
"Dr. Ivankov." Top Dog spoke clearly and the man paused for a moment, turning to reveal himself as a mid-40s raccoon, short in stature but brimming with knowledge. His brilliant emerald eyes gleamed in the rottweiler's direction and he grunted under his breath, gesturing with a hand. Top Dog strode over and did his best to ignore the fact that the raccoon was wearing just a lab coat, with nothing underneath.
"Didn't expect you here so fast. Wasn't quite done with the tests. Tricky business, but almost done. 2 minutes." He spoke fast, as if time was always of the essence. Top Dog grunted his approval and crossed his arms, mind full of thoughts. Many might have questioned why a superhero would be in such a seedy place. Ultimately, it was because he had no-one else to turn to. No-one else he could trust.
The monitor flicked onto a different screen and the raccoon sighed with relief, grasping the corner of the screen and turning it slightly so that Top Dog could see. What appeared on screen was an animated brain scan, taken over what seemed to be several months.
"Good news, bad news, but news all the same," The doctor spoke quickly. "You'll be fine for another 2 years, but no longer. There is already deterioration. Do you experience memory loss, loss of inhibition, loss of appetite, loss of...anything?"
"...I'm not sure. I suppose. It's hard to really say, given that it's my own mind." Hank remarked quietly and the raccoon nodded, humming to himself as he tried to figure out what to do.
"Your other side project...99% done. No. Wait. 98%. Almost done, yes. Missing a few key things..." He continued. "1 month. 2. 3. Maybe 4. Maybe 5."
"Just give me a rough estimate, doctor." Top Dog sighed with irritation.
"We'll say 5. If it's less, you'll be happy!" The raccoon beamed and Top Dog grunted his approval once more.
"How long before the deterioration starts to affect me? I get that it's total meltdown in 2 years, but..." He trailed off and the doctor put a hand to his chin.
"I'd guess 4 months. 5, maybe."
"It lines up, then. When things are starting to become difficult, I need it ready. Can you make it ready?"
"Yes yes. So long as you keep funding me."
"As always, 'doc."
"You stay for a while, maybe? I'm lonely. It's lonely. The other staff are scared of me." The raccoon sounded almost pleading and Top Dog sighed through his nose, rubbing the back of his head. He projected his thoughts out, searching, before bringing them back in like a fishing net. Nothing. His serious face relaxed for a moment and the side of his muzzle curled into a half-grin.
"One card game, Fray. Just the one, and no cheating, okay?"
"Yes, yes. No cheating. Extra card, maybe."
"No."