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Maybe I can lose them in the city.

The lion bounded over the hedge, slipped through the chain-link fence, skidded around the corner, but his moves seemed to have no effect -- the pursuers were still hot on his tail.

He had been so close to completing the job without rousing suspicion -- so close! Then he had made a single careless step on his way out of the window, alerting what seemed like every guard at the compound. Now another wrong step would land him in their hands.

The lion could sense them behind him, feeling as they snatched at him, hearing their snarls of frustration, but he remained two steps ahead.

The road down from the compound led down to the city, and the lion's legs devoured the distance in long, leaping strides. Soon the buildings rose up around them, and the lion gained another obstacle that he could use to his advantage: people.

He soon found what he was looking for: a long line of people outside of some venue. The lion weaved dizzyingly through the line, drawing loud protests from the people he zipped by, and then he cut sharply to the right, darting down the alley next to the building.

The dingy alley was surprisingly crowded. Another line of people was filing in through a side door, and -- making the decision in half a heartbeat -- the lion slipped in with them.

The heavy iron door shut behind him with a satisfying bang. The lion watched it with fearful eyes, sure that it would fly open at any second.

But the door remained shut. The lion put a hand to his chest and felt for the bulge of the envelope he had stolen. It was still there. Mission accomplished.

He forced himself to steady his breath, feeling as his heart rate began to normalize.

Someone in the room spoke up: a tiger, dressed in leather pants and a tight-fitting black t-shirt with a horse on the front. He looked as though he worked there -- wherever "there" was -- and he seemed to be explaining something in the local language. First he held up a paper bag, and from out of it, he pulled a red and white bundle. Actually, the bundle was two pieces of cloth -- no, hoods, one red, one white. The tiger mimed putting them on. As he did so with the red one, he said something that drew a nervous, excited laugh from the crowd.

The tiger finished speaking with a clap of his paws and then left the room. Then something strange happened: Everyone in the room began to undress.

The lion fought off the initial shock and recalled his training: Hide in plain sight. Without another second's hesitation, he unbuttoned his pants and stepped out of them. As he pulled his shirt over his head, he felt himself tightening his core by instinct, bracing for a fist, or worse, a knife.

He bounced on one paw to pull off the last sock. Straightening up, he now found himself in a room full of naked people -- no, a room full of naked men. They were all men. Men of all races, shapes, and sizes. A huge bear that scratched absentmindedly at his crotch. A timid-looking fox that was trembling with excitement. An old bull whose balls hung almost down to his knees. Most were completely naked, but some had worn leather harnesses, jockstraps, and other pieces of fetish gear under their street clothes.

The lion swallowed. There was no denying it. He had wandered into a local sex club.

The naked men began to file through the door through which the tiger had exited. On their way, they each selected either a red or a white hood. Most opted for the white, as well as a healthy handful of condoms from a glass jar.

A scruffy-looking hyena made a point of selecting a red hood. He flashed his fangs in a grin to the other men in the room and then strutted proudly through the door without grabbing a single condom.

The lion reached the front of the line and pretended to debate what color hood to pick up, waiting for the last of the other men to move to the next room so that he could throw his clothes back on and slip back outside.

In addition to the two bins with the hoods and the jar of condoms, there was a third bin that seemed to serve as a lost-and-found container, full of twisted strips of leather, whips, gags, and even a few sex toys. The lion shuddered at the thought of using communal sex toys from a sex club and --

A flash of movement. Hands seized him, pinning his arms behind his back and forcing them painfully upward. The lion made to shout, but the assailant forced something into his mouth, jamming it open, and clicked whatever it was in place with straps behind his head. The lion fought against it with his tongue, feeling smooth plastic -- a ball gag.

"There you are," a man growled in his ear.

"Mmph!" the lion said, grimacing in pain and bending forward in an attempt to relieve the pressure in his shoulder joints. He knew that voice. He knew that perfume. It was the weasel he had been hired to steal from.

When he opened his eyes again, he briefly saw the inside of a rubber mask shaped like a dog's head, and then the mask was forced over his head, tugging painfully at his name.

"I expected you might try to hide, but I must commend you on your choice of hiding place," the weasel continued, adjusting the dog mask so that lion could see and breathe. "You see, this is my club. Welcome to the Horse Market."

Despite his training, the lion felt his pulse quickening. The delicate malice in the weasel's voice struck him as more of a threat than the pain in his shoulders.

"Since I know you don't speak the language, allow me to provide a quick translation. It's a simple concept, frankly. Participants are divided into two groups. We call them 'mares' and 'stallions.' First, we position the mares around the room. Then, we set the stallions loose to -- well -- to do what stallions do. The stallions are free to cover any and as many mares as they like. The mares are not allowed to refuse them. Care to take a stab at which group you belong to?"

The lion was breathing hard through his snout, the ball gag and rubber mask preventing him from speaking the word blazing in his mind.

"My apologies, I couldn't quite hear you. But I take it you have figured it out. You're a mare."

The room flashed red before lion could protest -- his captor had forced a hood over his head, over the dog mask, obscuring his vision.

A powerful push in the back forced lion forward, sending him stumbling through the impermeable red fog that enveloped him. Another push. He was in a different room now, a room full of heat and music and smells. Another push. The lion fell to a knee but was lifted back up to a standing position. The lion braced himself for the next push, but instead paws landed on his shoulders and spun him around. He lost his balance, and a push in the chest sent him flying backward. He shut his eyes inside the hood, biting down on the ball gag, preparing for the brain-rattling impact, but something caught him -- and someone grabbed his legs, forcing them up and back and locking them in place above him.

The lion wriggled on his back and felt the ground move below him and heard chains rustle above him. He was suspended somehow in midair, his naked ass on display for anyone to see. He felt around with his fingers -- his wrists must have been bound behind his back -- and felt them poking through a net of rubbery straps that had caught his fall.

I'm not a mare! he wanted to shout, but the gag turned the words into a garbled mess of sound.

The part of his brain that had been trained to deal with the unforeseen kicked in. Fighting only expended energy. He had to stay calm. He had to find a solution. He had to think -- think!

And so he forced himself to lie there, his heart thumping in his chest, bracing for the inevitable, but other than the beat of the music, the room seemed to have fallen strangely quiet.

He felt the presence of others near him. The energy they exuded was almost tangible -- an tense mix of anticipation and anxiety.

He felt the heat of someone's breath move the fabric near his face and turned his head toward the source.

"Oh, and there's one more rule." It was the weasel. "Mares wearing white hoods strictly consent to safe sex. For mares wearing red hoods... well, anything goes."

The lion screamed in rage at the weasel, bucking against the straps, but all he produced was a rattle of chains and a strangled cry that was lost in the music.

"I'll be taking the envelope," the weasel said. "Never steal from me again."

A second later, something cold brushed up against the lion's exposed hole and unceremoniously penetrated him. He cried out again -- this time in pain -- but the cold, hard thing in his ass wasn't one of the stallions. He heard a clicking sound and felt the contraption shoot a gush of something cold inside him before withdrawing.

As some of the liquid dripped out of him, the lion guessed that it was lubrication, and the thought brought angry tears to his eyes. He was trapped in a sex club, served up like a piece of meat for an unknown number of men who were free to do with him whatever they --

No -- no! Recognizing the signs of impending panic, the lion shook himself mentally. He may be gagged, but he could still struggle. Surely one of the stallions would recognize his body language as signs of legitimate distress? Surely someone would --

A recording of a horse's neigh shook the room. In the few seconds of terrible silence between the end of the recording and the resumption of music, he could hear them, too, clopping, padding, pawing closer.

And now he could smell them -- an overpowering, stomach-turning scent, like distilled locker room, of males of all species ready to breed.

The stallions had arrived.

...

The heavyset Bernese Mountain Dog scanned the room full of naked, hooded men as though looking for the right grocery store aisle. The room was little more than a storage facility with a cold, hard concrete floor, but this evening, the heavy, purple curtains that hung from the walls and the many leathery pieces of furniture strewn about the space gave it a more comfortable, if industrial feel.

The dog, dressed in his go-to outfit for these events: naked but for a leather vest, made his way through the room. He passed a red-hooded hyena on all fours on a bench who raised his tail and wiggled his ass as he heard the dog walking past him. The dog considered the hyena for a moment but decided he was turned off by the overly eager display. He kept walking.

He next passed a rabbit whose white hood matched his brilliant fur. The rabbit was sprawled on a daybed, at first glance looking quite comfortable, but the dog could see his ears twitching nervously inside his hood. He kept walking.

In the middle of the room, the dog found something that piqued his interest.

"Evening," he said to the mare, who was strung up in a leather sling. He ran a finger down the mare's leg, letting it travel and tickle until it found its way to the strip of flesh just above its hole. He tickled the fur there and delighted in the mare's squirming.

The dog inserted a finger into the mare's hole -- drawing an oddly muffled cry from the hooded figure -- and it came out wet with lube. He rubbed two fingers together, feeling the slickness, thinking. Normally he liked to play it safe at these gatherings, but, judging by the tightness of the red-hooded mare's hole, he guessed it had yet to be fucked, and he might not get another chance to fuck raw and break a mare open that evening.

Sensing another stallion behind him, the dog decided not to debate the issue any further. He bent at the knees to bring his crotch down to the same level as the mare's ass, and then shoved his pointed cock roughly into its hole.

The mare tensed up and cried out even louder in response to the sudden insertion. The dog, meanwhile, reached calmly inside the chest pocket of his vest and pulled out a cigar and a lighter.

"You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" the dog said.

The mare didn't seem to hear him. He lay writhing in the sling, his chest rising and falling rapidly, a steady stream of cries issuing from somewhere behind his hood, the muscles in his arms and legs flexing.

"'Course you don't," the dog said. He lit the cigar patiently, rotating it until the tip was an even, glowing ring. He breathed the first puff of smoke on the burning end to even out the ash. After drawing the second cloud of smoke into his mouth, he leaned closed to the mare's hooded face and breathed out slowly, watching as the smoke found the creases in the fabric and traveled through them like fog across a mountain range.

The dog straightened up again, closing his eyes and tasting the cigar, letting out a smoky sigh as the mare's continued convulsions massaged his cock.

When he opened his eyes, the dog found himself standing in someone's shadow. He looked up into the face of a hulking horse. The stallion was naked except for a pair of leather boots. His pierced cock had only just begun to drop from his sheath, but the dog already felt a pang of sympathy for the mares unlucky -- or perhaps lucky -- enough to be covered by him.

"Looking good," the horse said in a deep rumble, reaching inside the dog's vest and playing with his nipple. "Get this one nice and warmed up, would you?"

The dog grinned. "Working on it," he said.

...

Fuck! No! Stop!

The lion was fighting the cock snaking inside him with every muscle in his body, but his mind had gone blank. He couldn't think of a way to escape. For all this struggling, the straps held him just as tightly as before, and for all his pleading, the stallion seemed to have misinterpreted it as a sign of eagerness.

Beyond the horror, beyond the desperation, what he felt most of all was shock at the suddenness of it all. A little teasing, a quick, probing finger, and then -- he was being fucked. Though the hood turned everything around him into a haze of red light and shadow, he didn't need to see to know that the warm, throbbing thing stretching his ass was a cock; the pressure around his ankles, the paws of the man it belonged to.

And as the lion lay there, forcing himself to breathe, forcing himself to focus on finding a solution to his predicament, the stallion, still oblivious of his turmoil, began to thrust in and out of him.

The first thrust knocked every attempt at rational thinking from the lion's mind, forcing him to turn his complete attention to limiting the pain in his ass. Before he could do so, however, the stallion was pulling out, introducing a whole new sensation for him to react to. Then he sank into him again, repeating the process. Soon, the steady in and out kept the lion's mind flipping between two different modes of panic, making it impossible for him to think about anything other than being fucked.

At least it didn't last long -- or maybe it did, but he had blacked out. Either way, after enduring several minutes of steady thrusting, the lion felt the stallion fall out of the rhythm he had set and plant himself deep inside him, the wide base of his cock stretching him to new painful levels. Despite being hooded, the lion closed his eyes tightly to block out what he knew was coming, but it merely seemed to amplify the sensation of the cock pulsing inside him -- one-two-three-four five, six... seven... eight times -- each time depositing a spurt of cum deep within him that felt hotter than the persistent burning sensation in his ass.

The lion felt tears pressing against the corners of his eyes. He had surpassed the point of no return. He had been fucked and bred by a stranger. And as the thoughts sounded in his mind, he felt some of the urge to fight fizzle out in him.

But there was no time to dwell on what had happened; a different sensation of heat had announced its presence, stealing attention away from the one in his ass. At first he thought it was an intense stomachache from what had just happened. Then his sensitive nose picked up the smell of singed fur.

...

The last of his orgasm fading, the dog opened his eyes and saw cigar ash smoldering in the fur on the mare's stomach.

"Sorry about that," he chuckled, pulling out slowly and letting his softening cock slip out of the mare's hole. "Let me put that out for you." Holding his cock with one hand, he pointed it at the mare's stomach and exhaled slowly.

...

The lion swallowed involuntarily as he felt the stallion's cock slip from his ass. He pushed out as though sitting on the toilet, hoping to expel as much of the stallion's cum as possible. Some of it bubbled out, but it pooled in his crack and at the base of his tail, and he realized that the angle of the sling meant that his was ass pointing up, and that he was only making a bigger mess. Shuddering, he relaxed his hole, the cum still burning inside him.

Suddenly a tickling sensation hit him just above the belly button. It lingered there for a second and then moved up to his chest, spreading down his sides.

The stallion let out a great sigh, and the lion realized with a horrified gasp what was happening.

He's pissing on me!

The lion mounted a renewed, furious effort against the straps, but the stallion continued to empty his bladder, the stream climbing and climbing, and then it was drumming against his hood, soaking the fabric. The wet hood clogged the mouth and nose holes of the dog mask, and the lion coughed and gagged and shook his head to breathe, feeling himself inhaling droplets of the stallion's urine.

...

The dog squeezed the last few drops from his cock and stepped back to admire his work. The mare's hole was leaking cum and its fur was heavy with urine, which ran down its sides and drummed against the concrete floor. The wet hood was sticking against the mare's facial features like a red film, the shape suggesting some kind of canine muzzle.

The dog took another step back and gestured for the next stallion -- a brown bear wearing nothing but two leather armbands around his biceps and a hefty metallic cock ring -- at the front of a short line that had formed behind him.

Instead of being angry with the dog for the state in which he had left the mare, the bear flashed a wicked grin. He walked up to the mare in the sling, his grin widening and his cock springing to action as their fur brushed together.

The mare jumped in surprise.

"Making a mess already, are we?" the bear said to the mare in a low growl. Holding his bearhood by the base, he used his hardening cock as a paintbrush, meticulously gathering up the cum that the mare had struggled to push out and then painstakingly stuffing it -- and his cock -- back into the mare's hole.

Some of the other stallions in the line behind the bear rumbled in approval. The mare merely whimpered.

...

The hours ticked away to the tune of the bass-heavy soundtrack, slaps of flesh on flesh, and moans of pleasure and pain. Stallions and mares gradually tapped out and trickled out. But in the center of the room, where the red-hooded mare was strung up in a leather sling, the evening seemed as though it could go on forever.

The mare experienced it all as one red blur, marking the passing of time by the sensation of each new stallion who forced his way inside him.

The massive, boots-wearing horse, who had spent the evening working his way around the room, approached the small group of stallions crowding around the mare in the sling.

"He ready for me?" the horse asked as he drew closer, whacking the wide flare of his drooping cock against his palm in an effort to wake it up. By now, the horse's cock and crotch gleamed with lubricant and the juices of the mares that he had already covered.

"Is anyone?" a grizzly bear said wickedly. He pulled his cock out of the mare's ass with a pop and replaced it with two fingers, stretching it for the horse to see.

The horse smirked and felt his cock perk up slightly at the compliment. He sidled up to the mare in the sling, nostrils flaring as he breathed in the scent of the numerous stallions that had already bred with it. Standing between the mare's upturned legs, the horse pressed his body against its exposed ass, letting his pierced cock fall with a slap against its stomach.

Even after all the punishment it had taken that evening, the mare still trembled with what the horse assumed was excitement. It thrilled him. He pumped his hips a few times, watching with a growing sense of lust at the sight of his cock reaching all the way to the mare's sternum.

More stallions were gathering around to watch. Their awed expressions sent a fresh surge of blood into the horse's turgid cock. He loved to fuck for an audience.

"Let's see what we're dealing with here," the horse said. Feeling rebellious, he leaned forward and ripped a hole in the mare's soggy hood, letting it fall around its neck like a bandana.

The eyes behind the rubber dog mask widened as mare and stallion locked eyes.

The mare's eyes were shining with sweat, and through the mouth hole of the mask, the horse saw a sliver of a red ball gag.

"Look at this naughty mare," the horse said, sticking a thumb through the mouth hole of the dog mask and pushing the ball gag deeper. The mare's eyes bulged. "I think it deserves to be punished."

Several of the other stallions grumbled in approval. "Fuck him!" one of them shouted.

The horse bared his teeth. The mare was a kinky professional, he thought -- possibly a regular -- but it wasn't finished. Not yet. Grabbing his cock, he positioned himself at the mare's bruised, cum-splattered hole.

...

The lion's mind swam with a flood of sensory impressions as the hood was ripped open -- the interior of the sex club finally revealed, the crowd of stallions who may or may not have fucked him leering down at him, the state of his own filthy body, but most of all, the enormous horse -- a true stallion in every sense of the word -- preparing to fuck him.

The horse's cock had left a trail of lube and other fluids from his crotch to his chest, as though the horse had painted in his fur the depths to which he intended to plumb. Judging by the soreness the lion felt reaching deep into his body, several of the other stallions had attempted the same, but the expressions on the faces of the men around him suggested that the horse between his legs was something special.

And as though he had read the lion's mind, the horse pressed the flared head of his cock against his hole. The lion gasped, clenching his fists behind his back as two equally strong emotions battled for control inside him: one of breaking his bonds and fighting back; the other of finding some way to relax his body, of limiting the pain, of taking what was undoubtedly the largest cock yet.

The horse slipped forward. For one disgusted, heart-stopping second, the lion thought his body had done it, that his ass had opened to let the monster in, but as he looked down, he saw the head of the horse's cock had slipped out of his slimy crack to rest between his legs. He noticed that the horse had pierced the tip of his cock with a thick metal ring, which looked grimy with cum.

The horse pulled back and lined up his cock with the lion's hole again.

The lion let out a sob inside the dog mask as he laid eyes on his ass for the first time since being placed in the sling. The most private part of his body looked like a scene from a porn video he had once opened by accident and spent the rest of the evening attempting to wash from his mind. His hole, which throbbed with pain with every rapid heartbeat, gaped open no matter how hard he tried to clench it shut, and gobs and streaks of cum painted nearly every inch of his ass and crotch.

Then the horse's cock was at his entrance, and the lion felt the big metal ring scraping against the edge of his insides. The horse put his weight behind his cock, and the lion, desperate to reach the end of the ordeal, bit down on the gag and pushed back as hard as he could.

The horse's cock easily sank about an inch into his ass but then stopped, denied by some ring of muscle slightly deeper inside the lion that he did not seem to be able to control.

For a few breathless seconds, the stallion and mare pushed in unison, their bodies trembling with the effort. Then, as one, they gave up.

The lion let his head fall back against the sling, his eyes swimming with tears, the muscles in his jaw aching. This was his life now. He was doomed to spend his rest of his days in this sling, his voice and identity erased by the ball gag and dog mask, struggling to accommodate larger and larger men as they had his way with him.

...

The horse ran a palm across his face, feeling perspiration in his coat. He looked down at the mare with a perplexed look on his face. He always got a kick out of when bottoms struggled to take his cock, but at this stage of the evening, he had expected to find a selection of sloppy, stretched holes that could easily accommodate his length and girth.

This mare was different. Even when he jammed a finger up its hole, the mare squirmed and clenched around him.

"Bitch has been struggling all day," the Bernese Mountain Dog remarked from behind the horse. "Couldn't even take my knot."

The horse frowned down at the mare as though he were looking at a jar that would not open. Then he looked up at the stallions around him, his face lighting up with an idea.

...

The lion perked up as he heard the horse say something that caused the other stallions to rush forward. Two of them, a boar and a wolf, each grabbed a leg and placed a paw on his ass. Another, a black bear, reached for his shriveled sheath and began to massage it. A fourth, a bull, grabbed his chest and started rolling his nipples between stubby fingers. Someone behind him ran his hand over his rubber-covered head in an almost soothing manner.

Then the horse was back at his hole, and the lion knew that this time he would not stop. Grabbing the lion by the hips, he leaned into him, a look of furious determination on his face.

The other stallions sprang into action at once, spreading his ass open, rubbing his sheath and nipples, speaking words that sounded like encouragement.

The lion's vision swam in the tears flooding the eye holes of dog mask, overwhelmed by the torrent of sensations that the other stallions were causing with their hands and words. With a drawn-out grunt, he pushed out as hard as he could against the horse's cock.

For several seconds, nothing happened. Then several things happened at once. The horse's facial expression changed from exertion to ecstasy. The other stallions' shouts grew louder. And the lion's emotional state flashed from despair to relief to terror as he felt the last barrier inside him fall and the horse's cockhead cram inside him.

A cheer went up around him, and even as he panted and struggled to accommodate the battering ram-like cock in his ass, the lion couldn't help but join in their jubilation, bursting with a twisted sense of pride that he didn't dare fully acknowledge at having taken the horse's cock.

Instantly the party seemed to be winding down. A few of the stallions who had gathered around to watch the performance headed for the exit, as did several bandy-legged mares. Watching them made the lion reflexively wriggle in the sling, but the straps binding him hadn't loosened the slightest.

He looked down and saw that not much had changed. The colossal horse was still standing between his legs, and his equally monstrous cock was lodged partway up his ass.

What had changed was the horse's expression. The moment of bliss that had lit up his face as he had squeezed inside the lion was gone, replaced by pure hunger. He humped forward to reassert his presence.

The lion cried out as the horse's cock kneaded his bruised prostate, the metal piercing scraping against his insides. He looked pleadingly into the horse's eyes.

The horse met his gaze. He wrapped his hands in the chains of the sling and squeezed the metal.

The night was just getting started.