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"You are so hard!" The fox moans, drawing another threatening growl from Nathan, the doberman pounding his backside. He digs his fingers into the hips of the white fox, who is lying suspended in a swing made of leather. Wet slapping noises from their rutting fills the stage, one of several along the hindmost wall of the underground BDSM club. Spectators around them indulge the show, hushedly commenting or downright jerking themselves off, or each other.

The air is filled with various aromas. Leather dominates. The divans and chairs are padded with it, the floor is covered with tiles of it, the stages are cushioned and textured with softer kinds of it, refined to withstand most assaults of sharpened claw and spiked metal accessory. Then the questing nose will notice a rich bouquet of the masculine, distinctly the scent of lions, canines, bears, lizards and the occasional bovine. Mingled with these odors are the mellow musks of the merely aroused, reaching over sharp and spicy flavors all the way to the pang of the spent and the cloying sweat of the pleasantly exhausted. Above all this, as gathering vapours under the high ceiling, floats a cloud of tobacco and vape, pierced only by the rare whiff of strong alcohol and the seasoning of cocktails. Though on this stage, Nathan's nose detects most of all his bottom's arousal and adrenalin.

Loud moaning from the white fox makes many guests turn their heads. Several necks crawl, fur standing on end, scales tingling, all with the anticipation of his climax. He shivers exhausted, ecstasy and afterglow visibly forming a potent mixture of bio-chemistry. Nathan holds his position, rod plunged deeply into the bottoms bowels. There is hardly any resistance when he pulls his knot out. At that, the fox slurs, and only the dog could hear his words. "Hey, you didn't cum yet! Did you?"

The doberman looks him over as a hunter might regard an unworthy quarry, an impression amplified by the glint in his eyes under his black BDSM cap and the regal silver at the sides of his muzzle. Yet his length is throbbing, hot and incredibly stiff. But instead of replying, he sinks to his knees and gives the fox a rim-job, making him squeal in pleasure. The long tongue finds all the right spots, caressing the sensitive, sore ring. He stuffs his cold nose under the ball-sack, deeply inhaling the vulpine scent. On a final impulse, he closes his muzzle, bracing himself for the shove. The fox moans uncontrollably, as bystanders whistle or applauded the show. The dog allows the white fox to feel his snout's girth pushed beyond the ring. Then he pulls out, leaving before the sub could recover his senses.

He grabs a towel he had left by the edge of the stage. Ignoring the invitations and taunts from other guests, his thumb traces the golden embroidery of the hotel's H&R in the burgundy fabric, before rubbing himself clean. Someone touches his elbow, making him glare, muzzle still half buried in dark crimson cloth. A bear in leather harness and cap, ironically the same set he is wearing himself, smiles smugly at him. Cocking his head, the bear indicates to another stage, at its center a french horse and other such assets. The doberman finishes drying himself, pushing the towel against the bear's chest afterwards and turning away. He can still hear the bear growl, insults barely kept from leaving his tongue. But then, he just laughs, perhaps already looking for a new target.

Inspecting the places near the bar, a dragon in bright red colors catches his eye. He is wearing nothing, white scales running from his chin all the way down to the nether region, though the table blocks his bits from view. The skin between the fingers of his wings are equally white, framed by the crimson which otherwise runs all over his body, accentuated by golden whiskers at the jawbone and a kind of mustache which gives him an asian appearance. All in all, the doberman would think of him an eastern dragon, despite his western physique. Whatever nudged him into approaching this table, his eyes dart at the bottle of grappa and a parcel of cigarillos on it. Subtle waiters are putting bottles, fresh glasses and tobacco on the tables when nobody is looking, rather than having the guests queue for the bar. However unorthodox a procedure, it worked.

Any admirers trailing him give up as soon as the doberman sits at the table, which was an unspoken sign at this club saying "leave me be", not entirely unlike that of leaving the dance floor in a disco. From here, it was his turn to admire other guests, to watch men engaged in all kinds of kinky activity. Solo exhibitionists, one-on-one couples and occasionally larger groups, like those lions on the right-most stage, far behind, performing nothing short of an orgy. For a moment, the doberman beholds the vortex of sex, its event horizon slowly expanding, pulling in more males, releasing only few. Ultimately, he ignores them all.

The way he pours himself a shot of grappa, downs it, puts the glass down and draws a cigarillo from the ready parcel, could be described as industrious. The impression fades, though, as his hands open and reach into a jacket he isn't wearing. Irritation flashing over his eyes, he searches the table, to find a red fist close to his face, proffering a light. Nathan looks into the pale green eyes of his savior, the flickering light reflected in his own, illuminating them like those of a hellhound. A corner of the dragons mouth curls up, revealing sharp fangs in the making of a grin. His newest guest at the table leans forward to touch the light with the tip of his cigarillo, inhales, puffs, and nods when satisfied, not once taking his glowering eyes from the dragon.

"You are welcome." Says the dragon, as the doberman turns away to smoke, a grunt his sole reply. He is not discouraged to muster his guest, though. The dimmed lights along the ceiling do not reveal many details, yet the posture of the canine, his movement and breathing, tell a tale on their own. The muscles in his back are taught, his every movement is accompanied by a sharp edge of precision, his chest held out. His cock hadn't re-sheathed yet when he sat down at the table, and, despite freshly lit tobacco, the air is filled with his musk. He is tense, is his verdict.

Pointing a claw, dangerous looking despite its manicure, at the stage with the white fox in the swing, the dragon comments, "Good show there." Nathan shrugs, but the cool is lost in his irritation. Something is clearly bothering the canine. Let's see, the dragon reflects. I haven't seen you here before, yet you are obviously experienced and not shy about it. A fierce old hound who fucks like a steam piston, growls at anybody approaching and almost shakes with pent up desire. Your body obviously needs something. And you are looking for it in a BDSM club. What could it be?

His meditation is interrupted as someone else is having his way with the fox, first fucking the bottom, then cursing in Nathan's general direction. "That bitch is gaping lose, dog!" A bull - ripped and entirely covered with bulging muscles, outstanding for even his kind - lowers himself to one knee and shoves a fist into the fox, making him moan in that weakly shivering voice of his. Only a few more twists of his knuckles and another pump with the fist are all it takes to make the fox erupt a second time - a bit more spectacular than before, also.

The bull recedes to let the fox twitch out his orgasmic spasms, ordering someone to unbuckle the fox from the swing. Cleaning excess lube off his fist, he supervises the stage only long enough to make sure everybody around is getting the idea of him being in charge of it now. Only then does he stride towards the dog, who is pulling himself up to full height, muscles flexing and thick sheath still throbbing. As the bull towers right in front of him, sneering down at the doberman, the latter undermines the effect of such posture by blowing smoke into the bull's face. Unimpressed, the bull points a thumb over his shoulder, grunting. "In there, pup. You ruined the bitch, and I am taking your butt for compensation."

Nathan just growls, showing teeth in a vicious snarl, the effect intensified by smoke rising from between his teeth. There is hardly space left between the two doms, staring each other down, reeking of musk and crossing swords at waist level. The bull snorts. "Look, I saw you do him. You didn't cum, did you? 'Cause you're a bitch yaself." The bull grins with menacing benevolence. "No worries. I'll plow yo hard, doggy. Just get in there."

Extending a hand, he indicates the stage and its empty swing. Next to it a couple of what looks suspiciously akin to goons or wingmen are standing ready to receive the doberman. Nathan directs his eyes back into that of the bull, crossing his arms. "You?" He looks the bull up and down. The bull is massive, two heads taller and twice his breadth. Something in the doberman's expression changes from hot to cold, accomplishing thus to look down on the bull. "Piss off. You ain't no master of mine."

Aah. The dragon had watched the exchange the way a cat might study the behavior of mice before trapping them. Just as the bull lowers his head to reinforce his glare on the unruly cur, he rises from his table and spreads his wings ever so slightly. It is enough to get the pair's attention. Other guests are watching curiously, but they keep their distance. The club would seem quiet, if not for the infrequent moaning of men, cracks of leather upon flesh and the ever present slapping of hips. The bull freezes, his stare daring the dragon to interfere.

Who slowly moves his smiling eyes from the bull to Nathan. His voice sharp, he commands, "Heel, boy." An eyelid in the bull's face begins to twitch with irritation, but the dragon ignores him. His eyes are focused on the doberman. Nathan stares at the dragon, taking his time to take the quip from his mouth and crush it in the ashtray. Slowly he turns, walking around the table, away from the bull, until he is face to chest with the imposing dragon. There, he resumes his growling tone. "What?"

Pleased with the results so far, the dragon continues. "Good boy. Now, tell me your name."

"Nathan," showing his fangs while speaking, "and I am not your boy."

Keeping his eyes on Nathan's, he makes a waving gesture at the bull, adding with calm voice, "Sorry, Bob. I saw him first." The bull releases his breath in a blow resembling that of a restrained steam engine, shaking his head. Pointing a thick index finger at the dragon and forgetting his show of bad accent, he promises, "I'll have your ass for this, Maru." Then he turns his back on them, heading for the bar.

Nathan follows Bob with his eyes for a moment, before turning his gaze back at the dragon. His length is fully unsheathed, his musk even overpowering the fading smell of tobacco. The dragon looks at the stiff pack of muscles on Nathan's chest and belly, preparing his next move and smiling pleasantly. "Hi. I'm Hakamaru. Who's your master tonight?"

Nathan grunts, irritably rolling his eyes. "Just fuck o-!" Hakamaru hits him in the belly, and fast. Nathan only winces briefly were lesser men double over from just watching the blow. He growls, louder now. And more interested, it seems. Hakamaru makes a show of shaking his knuckles. "You're tense, boy. One could chop wood on your naked body." With his other hand, he cups Nathan's chin, letting his fingers dig into the jaw-muscles. His voice is softer, so only Nathan can hear. "I can get you more of this," he promises. "Some violence."

Nathan looks at him, snarling. Through clenched teeth, he answers. "You might be my master tonight."

Hakamaru nods. "Good boy. Now heel. We'll go to my room."

Heading for the exit, Nathan walks by his side as if on a leash. Many eyes follow the pair, some merely interested, some downright envious. The bull sits on a stool, his back to the bar, muttering loud enough for the leaving couple to hear, "Arrogant asshole."

In contrast to the club, the corridor is brightly lid, almost stinging the eyes and trading the dark browns and blacks for neutral pastel yellow and white. "Friend of yours?" Nathan asks as they walk past the rest rooms and service areas, indicating the bull with a nod of his head. "Colleague," Hakamaru replies, enjoying the brief puzzlement on Nathan's face. They pass the staircase to the right, where two staff members are working on something, but Nathan only notices the distinct difference between their suits. One in black leather, covering all but his attractively offered buttocks, the other in the whites and reds of the H&R, worn by the staff populating the more public areas of the hotel. After one more turn, Nathan is lead into a restricted VIP area. Hakamaru answers Nathan's unasked question with a shrug of his massive shoulders, leading on. This corridor is a good ten meters far, with only two doors on each side, suggesting big suites. Hakamaru extends his left arm when they reach the hindmost door on the left. Holding an nondescript wristband near the lock causes a beep-click, unlocking the door.

Hakamaru leads them in and closes the door behind Nathan, who inspects the room with a slow sweep. The furniture is akin to the club, while dimmed lights add their warm touch to the view. The floor is checkered with coffee-black and cream-white leather tiles. There is a minibar, table and chairs to his left, followed by a wall decorated with whips and paddles, leather-masks, low cabinets underneath, and even martially looking blades of eastern style close to the ceiling. The far side is dominated by a huge bed, covered in red velvet, neatly made, while the wall to the far right opens into a wide sanitary area, in its back a small white door to the actual restroom. What really held the eye was the open space for showering, where water would pour from the ceiling, obvious for the lack of conventional shower heads near the valves.

"I'm not into watersports." Nathan states flatly, making Hakamaru snort. The dragon had taken a bottle of brown liquid and two shot glasses from the minibar. As an afterthought, while Hakamaru fills their glasses at the table, Nathan indicates his head to the showers. "Had seen installments like those in another club. Not my taste, really."

"The H&R is more to your taste?" Hakamaru asks, holding out one of the shots. "Maybe," Nathan allows, taking the glass. Without further ceremony, both down their shots, neither showing any reaction to the burning alcohol on their tongues and in their throats. Nathan briefly considers to accredit the liquors fine quality, but in light of the high standards in his host's apartment, he drops the thought.

His right hand pads his thigh and flank, absentmindedly looking for tobacco in pockets on clothes left several floors upstairs in a cheap apartment. He states, "You should not just strike someone." The hound had slowly but surely lost his irritable, fierce exterior to the casualty of their halting dialog. A dryer, sharper tone rose from behind his mask of resentment, akin to the naturel of managers or bosses. Hakamaru smiles, quietly picking up another clue.

"What else should or shouldn't I do to you?" From a cabinet by the table, he collects ashtray, matches and a parcel of vanilla flavoured cigarillos, offering one to the dog. He looks at them, thinking for a moment, or pretending to. "Don't try to dom me." His growl had returned, fangs bared at the dragon. In the better light of his suite, Hakamaru can spot the tell-tale wag of canine's tail-tip. The dragon smiles. So the game resumes.

He gently shoves the cigarillo back into line, closes the parcel and puts it on the table. Leaving that, he walks along the wall of tools and assets. His paw hovers over a nine-tailed whip, then he takes a different implement, but Nathan misses what exactly. He waits, his muzzle held downward, eyes looking up in a fierce glare. The dragon returns, striding as calm as ever.

Suddenly, his right arm licks out, lightning-fast, and something cracks against the side of Nathan's snout. Growling, more from surprise than pain, he instinctively lifts both his arms to cover himself. Seizing this opening, another crack connects with his chest, and another in the belly, a hair's breath above Nathan's exposed tip. Rather soft strikes, but sufficient to leave little stings where they had come down. It is enough to make him flatten his ears, yet the snarl remains. His arms were frozen mid-air, halfway to his face and stopped by the followup beating. Taking them down very slowly, he allows another, cautious growl to form in his throat. The wagging has now taken possession of the whole tail.

"Bad dog." The dragon seems even bigger than before, looking down on Nathan like the master he is. His right hand, the one he lashed out with, puts a riding crop under Nathan's chin, making him lift his head a little bit. Hakamaru's voice, despite his actions, holds a calm sweetness. "I will ask you again, and this time you will answer truthfully." He paused, to let the command sink in, though he himself is bristling with excitement, hidden beneath experience and scales. "What should or should I not do to you?"

As much as he desires to pacify this hound, Nathan was also a man. An unknown composition of needs and limits for him to explore, a prospect thrilling and exciting him. Beginning as a curiosity back in the club, Nathan had developed into an open book for Hakamaru to read. Clearer with each turned page, he saw a man who had been in charge for too long. Who had come here to be reminded what defeat felt like. The dog's body, from the tail over the twitching member to the excitement in Nathan's eyes, is the language that speaks to the dragon. Which urges him to continue.

All that went through his mind in two breaths. The same time it took Nathan to compile his answer, though it comes through clenched teeth.

"You can pinch my nipples, but it might just annoy me. I'm not sensitive like some bitches." The last word is spit out like a curse. Hinting at a wound, perhaps. Does he despise weaker men, or is he afraid of his own soft side? Hakamaru's face shows nothing of his inner assessment. Nathan continues, managing to speak clearly through his tightly set snarl. "You can hit me, even harder if you like. I don't mind wax-play or e-stim, either. Do what you will, though needles and knives are a bit too much."

It amuses Hakamaru how eloquent this one remains under the obvious tension. Someone in a top position at business, clearly, Hakamaru guesses. Who's forgotten how to just be.

The dragon takes the crop from Nathan's chin, letting it trace the ridge between his pecs, giving him time to add more on his own. But he just stands where he does. The dragon takes the whip away, arms crossed behind his back.

Nathan sniffs. Without thinking about it, his finer senses take in the change in his host's aroma. Salts and spice, leather and the earthen nuances of any reptile, enhanced with the bitter, herbal accents that say dragon. The composition has changed, enriched with something far more real than most men would conjure these days. Careful not to show it on his face, the doberman frowns inwardly at the unexpected. Or unhoped for? It excites him. The dragon, in spite of his unwaveringly cool expression, smells of fury. No matter how carefully administrated, no matter how well a man distills and distributes such emotions, dogs like Nathan are bred to distinguish the components of their chemistry. He can feel his cock twitch and harden at the anticipation, as he begins to feel really exposed towards Hakamaru's raw power.

The dragon took a few steps, now standing in front of Nathan, between the dog and the bed. "Sit."

Nathan's ears twitch at the command. He is grinning a challenge with bared teeth. His own heat rises, he feels his tail wag and his groin warm. He can't take the eyes off his opponent now, just knowing almost all his length is showing. Standing there, he slowly opens his jaws to add the threat of his fangs.

The crop licks his chest, with real force behind it. He winces, but within seconds the sharp sting is nothing more than a dull warmth across his skin. Dull, like the hit that had badly connected close to his nose, like the punch in his stomach. A dull warmth that spreads, slowly flushing his skin under the short fur. He shivers, feeling the first cracks appear in the invisible armor he wears every hour of the day, seven days a week. A spark of hope, paradoxically, makes him growl all the louder.

Nathan had not always visited clubs, or considered one-night-stands. At some point in his bachelor's life, he woke up in the middle of the night, and knew he needed a man. Not a husband, not even a boyfriend. Just another man. Exercised in quick decision making, he joined a dating platform the next day and visited a gay bar the following weekend. But the strategy lacked foresight. His partners were interested in his cool posture, his radiance of authority. Some even enjoyed to be fucked and discarded, like the fox less an hour ago. Some didn't. But Nathan didn't find it satisfying either way. Sometimes, though he scolded himself for it, he even thought these weren't men at all. Frustration threatened to turn him into a violent abuser, until he met a kinky badger, who introduced him to BDSM. He showed him all the things he just had mentioned to the dragon, including those he deemed too much. When the badger had whipped him, Nathan realized for the first time how dull everything upon his body felt. Because even the cracks of whips and paddles hardly came through. Nothing thrilled him. At first. But the badger was relentless. The more punishment he applied to Nathan, the more sore the doberman became, the clearer became the sensation of touch. Of claws digging into his shoulder and racking his chest, of a tight tail-hole around his knot. But the adventure didn't last. Perhaps they became bored of one another, two hunters needing the challenge of new prey. On his own again, Nathan had visited different clubs, explored more kinks, however always gravitating back to the pseudo-vanilla theme of BDSM. Most doms wouldn't touch him, few bottoms fought back like the badger. Disappointment had become familiar to the point of habit. Until today.

Now it is the dragon who growls, easily overpowering the canine's volume. "Sit, dog!"

A throbbing sensation tells Nathan that even his knot is swelling, the memory of a once tight fox still caressing his tender flesh. Slowly he sits down on his haunches, assuming a kneeling position. Hakamaru nods. "Better. But I'll have to train you thoroughly."

Walking around the dog, Hakamaru touches the riding crop to the doberman's hip, letting it run along the waistline. Though the big dragon has to reach down in doing so, he is somehow maintains his dignity in the procedure. "Do you think I hadn't noticed?" he asks. Nathan's back is erect, like a soldier standing at attention. Hakamaru briefly considers seeing Nathan in a military position, but discards the notion. Even without all the clues presented already, Hakamaru _knows_that no gay officer needs this establishment for their desires. Still, Nathan's eyes stare directly ahead, while Hakamaru completes his first circle around the dog.

"Your posture." He hits inside the dog's thighs, but Nathan doesn't react to the blow. "Your muscles." The crop cracks against his buttocks with a loud clap. Again, Nathan doesn't react. "Your expression." The flat of his palm slaps the canine's face, momentarily stopping the snarl and causing Nathan to flinch. Hakamaru smiles, his second circle completed, crouching down next to him to get closer to Nathan's face. Quietly he says, "Everything about you is stiff like iron. Brittle. Without the flexibility of steel." Looking into Hakamaru's eyes, Nathan doesn't notice the crop under his balls until it hits them with a quick, forceless slap. He winces, but doesn't yelp. "You are here because you want to be dominated. So don't give me any crap from your soft-core BDSM rule book about when I should or should not hit someone."

Another slap, but this one cracking loudly like a thunderclap. And this time Nathan's eyes widen, his mouth forming an 'O', accompanied by whimpered moaning. A red square-like patch near the tip of his unsheathed cock is slowly turning a bright pink and then into a darker hue. Hakamaru's face wears the purest expression of care, edged by the faintest hint of sadism. "How else would I ever be able to break you?"

Nathan's expression flows through confusion, euphoria, defiance and appreciation. But before he could do as much as set on either of them, the crop hits his member again, making him moan loudly and his expression slacken. His body begins to shiver.

Another slapping sound, but this time Nathan howls and would double over if it wasn't for his rigid muscles. The crop had been aimed at one of the balls. Hakamaru chuckles. "Oh, I am sorry. Most masochists like their balls hit. But you already revealed your sweet spot to me, so I can make up for it."

Nobody had ever called Nathan a masochist. For a second, he wonders. Is it true? He does not enjoy pain. Not per se. The strikes do not _feel_like pain. But there is no time for reflection. Another crack goes right for the tip, making him groan, his voice filled with bliss and, evident to his own ears, pain.

His canine cock and throbbing knot both harden, bobbing between his legs. Though his muscles shiver more with each blow, his back remains straight. He had crossed his arms behind his back. Now he is spreading his legs wider apart. Sitting on his heels, he digs his claws into the leather tiles of the floor. If anything, he is even more tense than before. And the manhood, a considerable length, dragged down by its own weight, is sticking out between his legs. The dog huffs and pants, his ears pricked but his eyes begging. The big dragon bents down beside him, reaching for the member with his free hand. "Should I grab your knot, dog?" Nathan nods.

Hakamaru is gentle, but uses his strength purposefully. Nathan gasps, tail ever wagging, pre-cum spitting from his tip. The dragon had barely begun pulling when Nathan started to whimper and beg. "Hit me. Please, hit me again."

The point of sadism in BDSM is the joy of seeing your sub squirm from bliss caused by the precisely moderated and well coordinated stimuli of pain and pleasure. Naturally, Hakamaru delivers a sounding crack, accurately aimed at Nathan's sweet spot on the tip, simultaneously pulling the knot in an iron grip. Nathan howls out his orgasm, bucking his hips and humping Hakamaru's fist, jetting thick ropes of creamy cum all over the floor and against the bedframe.

"Good boy," the dragon coos. The mess is a piece of art. White stripes mingling with the cream and black of his room, showing how very pent up Nathan had been.

Hakamaru keeps holding Nathan's knot, squeezing it gently from time to time, never allowing him to feel less than a tug. Even after his orgasm, the canine keeps bucking his hips, losing a few more translucent jets. Giving Nathan time to calm down, he inspects his partner. His muscles are still very well defined, but there is more movement in them. Seeing them flex and relax, Hakamaru reaches out to hold Nathan's shoulder, stroking him, feeling his damp fur and hard flesh, careful to not let him notice his scrutiny. Instead, Nathan moans ever so slightly, as muscle after muscle receives a little care, a little massage. Ancient knots resolving under Hakamaru's care while Nathan's knot is still tightly locked inside the dragon's fist.

Hakamaru thus works his way from one muscle to the next, using his right hand only. Eventually, Nathan ceases to moan, panting calmly instead. Hakamaru does not look into Nathan's eyes, too busy watching his body, equally consuming and observing it. Without preamble, he leans down. His strongly build shoulder rubs along Nathan's chest and Hakamaru's right wing settles around him in what feels like an embrace without really hugging him. The effect, so strange and charming, distracts him long enough to gasp in surprise by the warm, scaled, somewhat dry mouth around his sensitive cock. The dragon closes his eyes to focus entirely on the taste and texture of the male's rod he is savoring. Salty musk and bitter cum telling him everything he already knows, but this is no longer part of any scrutiny. Starting with the tip, he is working his way down, very patiently, along the girth of Nathan's red lance. While his lips enjoy the expanding diameter of the shaft, his forked tongue laps around the tip, not entirely unlike licking a cone of ice-cream, though the experienced dragon no longer needs such mental analogies to find his way around a man. Nathan's sweat and seeds reignite his lust. Nathan's flesh is hot, smooth to the touch and radiating heat against Hakamaru's sensitive muzzle. Still tugging the knot in his left hand, he presses the fleshy protrusion between palm and mouth, making the dog quiver. Then he loses himself in the steady rhythm of pulling back, lubricating the shaft with fresh saliva, and shoving down, pressing his lips and tongue against the pulsing member. Not before long Nathan is panting with renewed lust, his member throbbing stronger with every heartbeat, pressing on its own accord against its bondage and Hakamaru's tight embrace, like a caught animal. Satisfied, the dragon releases his canine toy.

Nathan momentarily shivers when Hakamaru stands up, his mass of bulk and wings causing the air to rush over his sweat-moistened body. For several moments he can concentrate on nothing more than the intensive, almost painful throbbing in his dick. Strangely, the stings from the crop were gone from his member's skin, the appendage covered in an aura of pleasure after the dragon's skillful treatment. In contrast, the places on his thigh, chest and belly, where he had been punched and whipped, are burning definitely more fiercely than before.

Hakamaru went to a nightstand next to his bed. Retrieving something from the upmost drawer, he returns with a good meter of leather in his hands, ending in a loop in his left hand and a carabiner fixed to a collar in his right. Nathan growls at the sight, but everything about his intonation is different, now mildly protesting where before he has been challenging and hostile. Hakamaru suppresses a smirk, noticing even a hint of playfulness in the doberman's voice, but that seemed almost out of character. Yet, when the collar is set around Nathan's neck, a little tremble is visibly running through his body. Nathan briefly wags his tail before resuming a more controlled, nonetheless softened, posture. Standing next to his dog, inhaling the humid air around them, saturated with canine musk, sweat and the odor of quickening seed, the dragon commands, "Heel."

The doberman shivers more visibly now, grinning into a rejuvenated snarl. "No," he growls, "I am not your dog." Hakamaru returns the grin, allowing his expression to betray his joy over Nathan's refusal to obey. His first idea is to hit the dog, but he had left the crop on the floor next to Nathan, and hitting his groin while he was still kneeling on the floor was uncomfortable, as Hakamaru had discovered during the last half an hour. For all those reasons, he responds to Nathan's defiance by jerking the leash hard, making him bend forward. Putting a foot between Nathan's legs at the same time, he grinds his crotch into the dog's face.

Being of reptilian stock, Hakamaru does not carry a bag of testicles around, nor does he show a pronounced sheath like the doberman. The soft leather between his legs only shows a deceivingly feminine slit and Nathan discovers it being swollen with arousal and sticky from leaking pre-cum. Automatically, triggered by the strong male musk, and perhaps to regain some room for breathing, Nathan begins to lap over and into the fold of leather. Hakamaru takes a moment to secure his stance in front of Nathan, one leg between his thighs, the other next to his right, all the while keeping the leash strained. The dog-tongue feels warm and slightly rough, relentlessly lapping up his horny juices, threatening to make him lose his composure. Breathing hard through his nose, he takes Nathan's back of the head in his huge left hand, securing his hold and pushing him firmly against his crotch, forcing him to lick inside his slit and denying him to breathe. Thus muted, Nathan's growling resembles grumpy purring. But his tongue finds the pointy tip inside the slit, caressing it, exploring deeper into the male crevice. Hakamaru grunts, feeling his member stir. Huffing, unable to growl, Nathan licks for the growing length on his own accord, kissing the oncoming head before guiding it between his lips. Hakamaru moans, his voice feral, resounding from deep within his voluminous ribcage. One breath later, he is fully erect.

Now is the time to put his stance and secure grip on Nathan's head into action. Without preamble, as was his style, Hakamaru pounds into Nathan's muzzle, taking him completely off guard. Soft nubs on his cock's underside saw over Nathan's tongue, ridges on it's back rattle along his palate, while the cone-shaped head invades and impales his throat. Untrained in this fashion, Nathan has to focus very hard on controlling his gag-reflex. The dragon growls with need, giving the impression of a beast out of control, while in truth keeping his whole attention on his partner's wellbeing. Sensing Nathan's struggle, Hakamaru continues long enough to humiliate him but stops before risking actual harm. Pulling out, he allows Nathan to cough and wheeze for breath. His tail wags and Hakamaru muses for a split-second how dogs became so built as to be the easiest pets to read.

When Nathan had caught his breath, while any attempt to growl ended in another cough, Hakamaru lets go of his head, only to seize his harness with both hands, hauling the dog on his feet without apparent effort. Nathan knew the dragon would be strong, but this temporarily humbles him into silence. "Stay," Hakamaru commands, though Nathan is too out of breath, too preoccupied with how much the face-fuck turned him on and how badly he wants more of the excitedly shaped meat that was the dragon's dick.

Lights flash over the ceiling from a car outside, drawing Nathan's attention to the narrow windows atop the wall over the bed. An engine growls and gravel grinding under heavy tires can be heard, though very muted. Somebody shouts. The commotion fades and Nathan turns his head to his partner. Hakamaru, ignorant of the noise or immune to such distractions, just closes another drawer by the martially decorated wall. He returns, looking Nathan directly in the eye and renewing his command. "Stay."

Only when he feels the dragon touch his forearms does he realize he had kept his arms crossed on his back all this time. Just as the idea and phantom need of stretching his muscles rise to the forefront of all signals firing from his body, metal cuffs click into place around his wrists. Nathan growls, ignoring the dim pain in his throat, straining against the bondage. Hakamaru steadies him for long enough to show him the security pin and how to free himself. After that, Nathan strains against the cuff's chains anew, but without growling. Instead, he turns his head enough to look at the dragon, alert to him and still excited. The same wing as before caresses his back while Hakamaru reaches for the crop on the floor. Thus armed, taking the leash in his left hand, allowing him to wield the whip more deftly in his right, the dragon steps away from the dog, pulling the short leash. "Heel," he says with a soft voice and smiling confidently. Nathan's eyes switch between the leash, the crop and those eyes, while still straining the cuffs on his back. Reluctantly, he steps up to his master.

The dragon looks down, seeing Nathan's erection still hard and throbbing. "Turn around," he commands, specifying the direction with a motion of his head. Nathan snarls, but turns as indicated, presenting his belly and cock to Hakamaru, now standing with his back to the bed and facing the minibar. Touching the length with the flap of leather on the far end of the riding crop, Hakamaru caresses the tender appendage, making Nathan shiver. "You have a very handsome equipment, Nathan," the dragon muses. Blushing under his fur, the compliment infiltrates his mental armor almost as well as the physical force previously. On cue, Hakamaru places a careful slap on his cock's tip, making Nathan yelp. Sighing a soft moan as the feeling spreads, a wave of tingling warmth in his bone and groin. "Now, be a good boy," the dragon continues, "and heel."

Nathan offers no resistance.

Hakamaru walks along the decorated wall, leading Nathan by the leash, riding crop held before him. He is taking him on a circle through his spacious apartment, by the minibar and door, past the showers and returning to the bed, where their feet spread the kinky mess Nathan had made. Hakamaru keeps alternating between stroking and hitting Nathan's member with the crop, accurately stimulating the doberman, drawing all his thoughts on sex, on his joy of sensual-play, denying him any chance to really fight back, thus establishing his position as Hakamaru's pet. For two circles, Nathan pants and yelps according to his treatment, ears still pricked and eyes opened wide. After the third circle of sweet touches and slaps, his body is quivering, his eyes close halfway and the alertness drains from his posture. Leaving a trail of pre-cum, at the start of the fifth circle, his arms jerk in their bonds, eager to reach for his needy cock. Trembling, and begging with all but words for something more, he stops in his tracks to stand panting on weak knees before the seventh circle is completed.

Hakamaru smiles, just as sweetly and calmly as before their one-night-stand had even begun. Stopping to tease Nathan's throbbing rod equally relieves and torments the bound canine. The dragon then leads him to the huge bed. "Kneel," he commands, helping Nathan onto the bed by holding his harness in a firm grip. The dog is unsteady on his legs, but with Hakamaru's care he can finally settle down, heaving with need and unconsciously staring down on his throbbing length. The stimulation worked him into an almost alien condition. Where usually his mind was shut away from everything around him, allowing him to observe and judge with clinical detachment, the situation is reversed now, his needs and sensations dominating his mind with feral intention.

He is dimly aware of the dragon letting go of his harness and leash. Watching his master move around the bed, retrieving new assets from the nightstand, he catches himself deeply wanting this man to do more to him, to tease him, stroke him, do anything to saturate his need for more. It does not yet occur to Nathan that he is actually not longing for release, only more stimulation, more of this electrical feeling when his nerves are set on fire and overriding all his conscious thoughts. It will take him more time to understand, while his master already does.

Hakamaru sits on the bed next to Nathan, setting down two bottles. Nathan stirs in his reverie and licks his nose, while watching the bigger man delicately handling a small vial of oil. Aromas of peppermint, vermouth and other essences fill the air. After rubbing the lotion between his palms, Hakamaru begins to massage Nathan. Starting in the neck and between his shoulders, he slowly works his way around to his chest. The stiffness was all gone, but there still are knobs which the dragon seeks out by touch, rubbing his fingertips along the muscle fibre to ease them out. The oil prickles on Nathan's skin and something about the touch and smell helps him to stay aroused and needy while simultaneously calming down. The dragon spreads the oil on Nathan's thighs, carefully avoiding the more sensitive skin on their insides, and stops.

The doberman is taking deep breaths, watching Hakamaru close the bottle and cleaning excess oil from his hands on a towel. Nathan neither saw nor cares where it came from. His master then takes the other bottle in one hand and points to the inviting sheets on the bed, motioning Nathan to bend down. "Present yourself, Nathan."

He makes a brief show of fighting against his bonds, while leaning down, and Hakamaru adds a sadistic edge to his pleasant smile. Nathan growls quietly, turning his head to the right so he can keep watching the big dragon, his leather cap rolling off in the process. While placing his chest in the soft sheets, he is thus forced to lift his backside. His tail is up and wagging on its own volition. Internally preparing for the cool touch of lube that does not come, Nathan gasps with feeling and surprise when Hakamaru's warm fingers touch his buttocks, where they continue their massage of his muscles, spreading the lubricant and slowly working their way to the central point under Nathan's tail. But what really surprised the canine was how good it felt, and how quickly he finds himself wanting to receive the bigger male.

Hakamaru, approving of the unspoken plea, moves closer to the dog. A long moment passes with only one hand touching Nathan's backside. The dragon taking slow, controlled breaths, grunting quietly. His thumb teases Nathan's ring, making the tall-yet-smaller male moan into the sheets. The digit rubs, then stretches and eventually penetrates the tender ring. Nathan moans again, louder. The dragon's tip invades his entrance, and in spite of all his care, the feeling causes Nathan to yelp. The moment of an alien object entering his rear fades, making room for the all consuming sensation of Hakamaru taking him. And Nathan moans anew, now from deep within his chest.

Knowing the member from the previous oral introduction, he distinctly feels the cone-shaped head with its nobs moving through his passage, pushing his button but mostly working him loose, preparing the way for the bulbous, ridged shaft. Whatever kind of lube Hakamaru uses, it carries out a minutely numbing effect, making it easier for Nathan to relax. He hardly notices the strong draconic hands holding his hips, thighs and back, where they passively continue to massage his muscles, all those motions casually orchestrating the ritual that is Nathan's submission to the dragon.

His breathing is coming harder. Lying on his chest, his arms bound on his back, he is forced to bent his knees to reach some degree of comfort in such position. Yet this allows him to fully open up for the dragon, exposing his pucker, making it easier for the other male to enter him, work his way into the canine, loosing his muscles. Hakamaru similarly has to lower himself, spreading his kneeling legs to get into optimal position. Nathan moans into the sheets, drooling. The clawed hands on his backside dig into his skin when they pull him into his master's lap and onto the throbbing lance of flesh. It literally inches further into his bowels, massaging him in a way unique to this act of intercourse. His muscles burn with their own fire, already softened through the dragon's efforts, now melting further, adding pain from loosening cramps to the mix of sensations. Long ago his will had worked them into the ever present strain. But Hakamaru knew men like him, and how to work on the tension, to reverse the effect. As his thick spear reaches Nathan's core, making the dog moan again and again, Hakamaru also reaches Nathan's mind. Together they forget everything, until there is noting left but thrusting hips and heavy breathing, their bodies working in unison to prolonge the pleasure they share.

Despite his endurance and a strict schedule of workouts, Nathan's legs tremble after a time. Hakamaru growls, seemingly irritated, but only for a second. He slows down, shivering, and then reaches out to help his partner onto the side. Nathan whines, surprising himself. The cuff holding his hands, the gape in his backdoor and the overpowering bulk of the dragon looming above, it all conspires against him. His tail thumps the mattress when the strain in his legs dissolves. He can't help but accept how much he is enjoying himself. Hakamaru takes his ankle and lifts it over his shoulder, making Nathan spread his legs. The huge dick easily sinks back into the canine, making him gasp but once, and they resume their coitus.

Thus lost in thought-numbing happiness, Nathan must have zoned out. An eternity later, from the infinite abyss of physical sensation, something makes him perk up his ears, his senses returning. Hakamaru hardly moves, panting hard. Nathan's ring and all of his groin are a white-hot glowing star of bliss, deep within which the dragon's rod is pulsing, twitching with every heartbeat. Hakamaru groans, all of a sudden plowing into Nathan with quick, short jerks, sticky skin slapping against wet fur. The heat of his orgasm spreads through Nathan's back, igniting something in his body. Moaning loudly, he adds his own climax to the dragon's. Memories of his very first time, half a lifetime ago, when somebody else had introduced him to things his body enjoyed. The surprise and pleasure he had felt upon the other male's orgasm, the bittersweet sensation of another man's joy from his bodily devotion. He feels now as he had the first time, and like then the sensation overpowers, sending him back into sweet oblivion.

With the afterglow fresh and intense, his unconscious senses are drawn to the aroma filling his nostrils, carried on the air he inhales. The dragon's earthly scent mixing with sweat and oil and the sharp odor of Nathan's own spilled seed - all these things also soaking into his fur. He feels relief before realising the dragon's member has left his strained backdoor. Then Hakamaru lays down behind him, grunts and pulls out the crumpled cap from under his flank. He straightens it and throws it on the floor, putting an arm around Nathan, covering the dog with his red and white wing. Nathan's body is sore, from decades of unchecked strength and a much needed deliverance of it. The cuffs click as he frees himself, adjusting his position into something more comfortable, snuggling his sticky back against the dragon's chest.

They take some time panting and sighing to recover. Eventually, Nathan turns around, pressing his face against the barrel of a dragon's body, cuddling into him, sniffing and growling in a very pleasant way. Hakamaru watches his canine partner press his nose onto his scales, moving it under his arms, against his neck, sniffing his way all around his frame. Dragons, as most Scalies, don't sweat per se, but obviously his scent is still potent enough to make Nathan pound his tail onto the bed sheets. Smiling, he pats his shoulder. "Hey, big dog." Bright brown eyes looking up to him. "I see you're enjoying yourself. But ... what about a shower?"

At first, Nathan does not seem happy. But then he moves his hip and legs, letting both of them hear the sticky sound of half dried fluids, matting fur and blanket. "Good idea, Ryuu."

Hakamaru rises both eyebrows.

Nathan winks at the unvoiced question, climbing out of the bed. "I did a research before I entered this place. Who's running the show, who's behind the scenes?" He sniggers. "It's not exactly a hard task to find your name through the web-portal." In a more serious manner, standing beside the bed, arms folded and cocking his head. "Should I keep calling you Hakamaru?" But the dragon is already shaking his head, getting up too. "No, it's cool. I'm just not used to it from club guests."

Nathan nods acknowledgement, his fingers fumbling for the lashes on his leather harness. Touching splotches of his own cum and tears of collected oil, he decides to leave the whole thing on, leash dangling in front. Hakamaru had walked by and now returned with a towel, going for the mess on the floor in front of the bed, but motioning Nathan to go ahead.

When he joins him, throwing the towel in a nearby bin, Nathan is already through a full cleanup, harness and leash neatly hanging over the heater in a corner. The shower is a huge, open room, with only distance and a small step at the threshold protecting the living space from stray water. No milky plastic walls, no pointlessly patterned screens. Just a big sink with multiple shower heads build into the ceiling, to accommodate the dragon's bulk, wings and company. Nathan has turned his back to him, allowing Hakamaru to take a second and enjoy the view. His brown fur gleams with hues of dark chocolate. Streams of water running down and through it while he is holding his face into the broad stream of hot water, his hands idly rubbing his flanks, chest and neck. Hakamaru decides to leave him some space, stepping into the shower a bit apart, spreading his wings to let the water drum on his leathery skin. Allowing the water to cleanse most off his body, running down his scales from all sides. When he turns around, reaching for soap, something stops him in mid motion.

A cool nose touches his sensitive skin just beneath the tail and over his buttocks. A heartbeat passes and the canine tongue laps at the pale star hidden in the fold. Hakamaru moans, too surprised to react otherwise. Hot sniffing turns into a rude snort as water gets in the way, but neither allows it to spoil their moment. Nathan takes another second to breathe, diving in anew in the next, and Hakamaru lifts his thick tail. The canine tongue quickly finds his way around, invading the tight ring, collaborating with the nose for whiffs of dragon spice and licks of richly flavored musk. Hakamaru moans, unsteady first, but more and more surely with every passing moment. Nathan eats him out, though gasping for air with increasing frequency, until he gives into exhaustion and stops, getting up to catch his breath.

Ryuu turns around, cupping Nathan's chin in a hand and lifting the canine's head. He is still breathing hard, but none of the two cares. They look each other in the eye, his deep hazel brown against his cool emerald green. Water running down their faces, bright lights from the luxurious installation turning every drop into temporary diamonds. They hold their breath. They are getting closer. Each inclining their head to the left, eyes half closed. No sound, no rush. Just the tender sensation of touching lips.

As they part, each smiles with the glint of understanding from experience, mutually allowing this to be a little more than just a one-night-stand yet keeping their limits. Nathan gives his body one more overall rubbing in the hot water before getting out, needing time to get the wet and damp out of his short fur. The dragon, on the other side, with more limbs to take care of, cleans himself as carefully and without haste.

Eventually both sit by the table next to the minibar, tired but refreshed, naked. Hakamaru had replaced the sheets, so everything looked as neatly as when they had first entered. He pours them another drink from the same bottle, while Nathan helps himself to a cigarillo. Usually, vanilla was not to his taste of tobacco, but it went well with the liquor. They drink, again without ritual, each nipping on their glasses and puffing smoke from the short brown sticks as they see fit, looking at nothing particular in the vast apartment.

"Isn't Ryuu just a japanese word for-"

"No. Bad dog." Hakamaru commands in his best dog-owner impression, though without shouting. Nathan smirks, and both continue their quiet reverie.

The night felt best without words, anyway.

They empty another glass of liquor before going to bed, dousing the lights. Their internal watches tell them it must be way past midnight, perhaps almost morning. The room is well warmed, sophisticated air-conditioning already bringing the humidity from sex and showering back to normal. They lie on the bedsheets, idly stroking each others' flanks and faces. Nathan tells Hakamaru to turn around, and he does. Nathan grinds up against his back, licking the scaled neck, carefully avoiding the pointy horns. Ryuu lowers his head, sparing his partner the hazard of losing an eye. Nathan hardly seems to notice. He just keeps licking, nibbling, hugging. Pressing the bigger male against his body and grinding his hip under his tail. He stirs, stiffens, soon dry humping the other's crack. The tip seeks its way. Ryuu moans silently as the canine enters him.

Tired, their minds drift into a state like trance through the perpetual rocking of hips. Nathan, coming back into full possession of his senses, re-experiences his body. But unlike the first time so many years ago, the shed tension is a lasting memory in each fibre, every inch recalling still too well the state of brittle iron they have been caught in until so briefly ago. Yet he enjoys the tight ring of muscle around his member no less, the tug of it when he pulls away, the false resistance when entering. Not only his cock, but all his groin and abdomen glow with pleasure, and in time his own limbs tune into the experience.

His growl rouses the dragon. Hakamaru feels Nathan's grinding knot against his backdoor, physically asking for admittance. Grunting, the huge male pushes himself forcefully against the canine. Nathan growls louder. Hakamaru gasps. Bittersweet stings are radiating from his star, but briefly. They start rocking again, rapid thrusts quickly turning the sting into pleasure, overwhelmingly creeping into his pelvis, charging the root of his member. Both moan loudly when Nathan ties. Rhythmic jerks pound their bodies. And together they cum.

Nathan must have passed out immediately. Ryuu lies awake for a little while longer, intoxicated with the exquisite afterglow from anal orgasm. The hard knot inside him threatens to keep him from sleep. It has been a long time since last he allowed another to enter him, never mind a canine to tie. For a brief second he tells himself that he had let it happen for Nathan's sake. But then he smiles, unable to uphold the attempt of deception. He just had needed it, too.