FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Brit Kendrick collects on a debt and incurs a new one.

Well, we haven't had a Very Cannon Shoals story in a while, now have we? This is a 'check the tags' story about a mechanic small business owner getting fucked over by big business. You shouldn't need to know anything about Cannon Shoals to figure it out, at least, thankfully. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and stuff. Thanks to marrla and Spudz for helping this through several revisions.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

---

"Collateral," by Rob Baird

The shop belonged to her now. It was actually, properly, legally hers. Twenty years after Brit Kendrick started working for Gowen's Motors, Vic Gowen was retiring and he'd chosen her to take over. And nobody disputed her claim: she was a fixture at the garage. At home there, as she was nowhere else.

She knew some of her coworkers (employees! They were her employees, now!) harbored doubts about a woman's place amidst the noisy machines, in the general sense. She also knew they didn't extend that skepticism to her. Brit was a natural, in her grease-stained jumpsuit. Even with her hair short and tied back, and a torque wrench in her paw, nobody would mistake her for a man.

But they didn't have to. She still belonged.

It gave the wolf an unmistakeable sense of pride, more or less in proportion to the trepidation she felt about keeping the garage in business. There'd been some lean years, and Vic had taken out loans that were now her responsibility. And she'd found that there were other irregularities--customers that were months or more behind in their payments.

Some of those were residents of Cannon Shoals, and like Victor she would keep deferring those. Brit had grown up in the Shoals; her brother was a cop, as their father had been. The Kendricks had deep roots. They owed it to their neighbors to make their lives easier where they could.

Others, though, were not. Martin-Barlow may have run the lumber mill up the river in Oak Valley, but they were not from Oak Valley, and while most of the workers were from the Shoals corporate management was not. Management sent their trucks to Victor. Victor sent bills back.

And there, apparently, it ended.

You can talk some sense into them. That was what Josh Burke told her; he worked at the bank, and he'd helped her with all the paperwork. The way he'd grinned, Brit felt the German Shepherd was right. She was old friends with Josh; he'd gone to college, and she'd settled in at the garage, and she thought of him as smart and perceptive.

Or maybe just an inveterate optimist, because her contact at Martin-Barlow didn't return her calls. His name was Lawrence Lahr, his voicemail was recorded with some kind of eastern accent--definitely not a Shoals family name, either, 'Lahr'--and after a week, she drove over to Oak Valley to see if he was in at the office.

Bobby Dean, something of a den mother at the mill, found her first. "Wait. You're looking for Larry? Christ. What now?" She held up the envelope with the bill in it, and the dingo shook his head. "How bad is it?"

"I don't have a baseball bat on me, do I? He owed Vic some money, and it's been hard to reach him. Figured I'd stop by to ask personally."

"Look, if you want my advice... let it drop. At least for a bit."

"I'm not gonna do that."

"You should."

"I just want to talk to him, Bobby. Is he here or not?"

"Yeah." The old dingo frowned, and seemed to be considering how, exactly, to reply. "How much money are we talking about?"

"Enough. Corporate suits don't bother me, anyway. Happy to growl a little sense in him."

He snorted a laugh, although she had a hard time gauging what--or who--he was laughing at. "I know. I know, Brit. It's just... he's not Martin-Barlow, not exactly. I guess more like an... a subcontractor, or something. I don't like dealing with him. Don't think you'll much like it, either."

"Well, that's between him and me, isn't it?"

Bobby looked past her, and finally sighed. "He's normally in the modular across the lot. Kind of like an office or something. His car's here, so I suppose he is, too. You'll be careful, right? Don't piss him off too much."

"Sure, Bobby."

'His car' was a late-model BMW, and in deference to Bobby Dean's sense of caution she avoided spitting on it. 'Subcontractor' was rather vague--the wolf imagined he was some kind of consultant Martin-Barlow hired to watch over the mill.

The mill and, she guessed, Dean in particular; his workers could be rowdy, and the dingo was intensely protective of them. If the man wound up 'pissed off,' though, that was Bobby's problem--not hers. She dialed Lawrence's number. Nothing, although she heard shuffling from inside the door. She knocked. Waited. The door opened, and she found a panther in a trim business suit looking her over. "Mr. Lahr?"

"Lawrence. I suppose you're Brit Kendrick."

"I suppose I am. And apparently your phone does work." Lawrence let it keep buzzing. Yep. Corporate suit, she decided. Safe to push a bit. "Did you figure I'd just give up or something? On sixteen fuckin' grand?"

"I thought we had agreed to pay you on a delayed schedule. Next fiscal year."

"Maybe that was your understanding with Gowen. I'm not Vic, though. You don't get you fuck me over like that just because he let you run a tab." The buzzing stopped; it must've gone to voicemail again. "So when do you want to settle up, Larry?"

"Lawrence," he repeated. "I'll have to speak to the accounting department. I believe they're still working on the models for next fiscal year. They might want to be a little tight with Martin-Barlow's older accounts. Especially ones as long-established as our relationship with Victor's garage."

"My garage. So you can tell them there's been a change of ownership, and the new owner isn't going to let that slide anymore. Martin-Barlow has the money."

"According to... who. You? How important do you think your garage is the scheme of things, miss? Look--"

His voice was unspeakably patronizing, and she decided she was done with it. The garage was hers, not Bobby's--she was under no obligation to spare the panther's feelings. "No. You look. If I need to get a lawyer involved, I will. I have no problem taking your business. I like working for the mill. But it's a fucking contract, and I know you're smart enough to figure out how those work. Pass that one along to 'accounting.'"

Lawrence looked a bit taken aback. Not what he'd expected, no doubt; Vic was a pushover. Before he could try for another excuse, she pushed the envelope into his paws and left him in the door of the office.

Hell with spitting: he was lucky she didn't key his car--imported European bullshit, of course. Christ. If only Josh Burke knew what she was up against. Brit figured Larry Lahr would fold; Martin-Barlow wouldn't want to deal with a legal threat, after all, and she could get someone in town to represent her.

And $16,000 would go a long way towards pacifying Burke's own supervisors at the bank. She was reasonably satisfied in the outcome, although another phone call to Lahr that evening went unanswered, just like they all did.

The next morning, she was alone at the garage--they didn't officially open for another hour and a half, and there'd been nothing from the towing company overnight--when someone rang the buzzer for the entrance next to the bay door. She opened it to find Lahr, joined by another well-dressed man: a fox, whom she didn't recognize. "Can I help you two?"

"I imagine so," Lawrence said. "We were in town, and..."

"And what?"

"And I was suggesting to my associate that we might pay you a visit." Without asking, he stepped into the garage; the fox followed, and the door slid shut behind them with an ominous click. "Straighten out a bit of a misunderstanding we seem to have had."

"About you trying to rob me?"

"That's a strong accusation. Sounds like a legal threat, even."

Brit backed away, trying to make the movement seem natural. Like she was ignoring them, going back to her work. "Yeah. Well. Maybe it was. Maybe I like following the law. My brother's a cop, you know."

"Really," Lawrence drawled.

"Clint," the fox said. "Cannon Shoals police lieutenant. Was in the news a couple years back."

"Oh. A cop here." The panther rolled his eyes, and closed the distance she'd opened up between them. Brit stepped behind a rolling bench; he followed, and the wolf realized there was no room for her to retreat further. "I thought you meant a real cop..."

"Real enough," Brit shot back. "Maybe you two ought to take a hike."

"Maybe you ought to take a lesson in knowing your place." As she reached out for one of the tools on the bench, Lawrence seized her wrist and pulled her back against him roughly. "Careful what you do next."

"Get out. Tell you to get out, that's what I do next."

He yanked her other paw back and, confident that she wasn't going anywhere, slid his free arm under her muzzle to put pressure on her throat. "I don't think I'm going to listen to that. I think I might have other ideas."

"Let me go," she growled. The panther seemed to have her wrists grabbed more to make a point than anything else--but when she tugged on them, his grip tightened. So did his arm, until Brit couldn't keep the rasping edge from her voice and her vision began to grey. "God damn it. Let me go!"

"Get something for her wrists," Lawrence ordered. The fox reached into his blazer, and came back holding a zip-tie. Not some lightweight thing, either, like he'd been organizing cables. This was meant for restraint.

Why the fuck did he have one of those? Is he actually going to--

The startled realization delayed her struggling for a few seconds, not that it made any real difference. She kicked, trying to get free, but the panther kept her held fast until the ratcheting binder clicked her paws tightly together. "Now, are you--"

One of her feet finally connected, and she heard him grunt in pain. "You asshole. Let me go and I won't--"

This time it was her turn to grunt: he slammed her into the workbench, pinning her awkwardly between his strong body and the cool metal. Brit didn't have the leverage to move her legs at all, now; she could only squirm, until Lawrence's paw clamped over her muzzle. "You, bitch, are not calling the shots here. You understand that?"

"How do you think this ends?" she spat, when he relaxed his hold for her to reply. "You think you're getting away from this?"

"Right. Right. Your brother, Officer Friendly." Condescension dripped from the panther's words. "I think you're a little too big for your fucking britches. Maybe we need to fix that. That's how I think it ends."

His fingers were at her waist, pulling her belt open like it belonged to him. Like she belonged to him. It was growing harder for Brit to believe Lawrence was just trying to scare her--he shoved her jeans down around her ankles, jerked her foot roughly free of both her work boot and her right pants leg, and forced her thighs apart. And when his purred growl filled her ear the she-wolf was becoming ever more aware that the example he had in mind was much less theoretical.

"Heh. Look at this," he sneered. "You guess our big, fierce wolf bitch would be wearing lingerie?"

Lawrence's claws tugged at the fabric. They weren't lingerie, just cotton underwear with lace trim. They were on sale, she thought, suppressing the urge to struggle as he toyed with them. "Not a bad look," the fox said.

Brit couldn't see him, but his voice dripped the same sort of ugly grin she was certain Lawrence wore, too. She all but felt the fox's eyes on her hips, taking in how her soft fur showed through the panties. Appraising her curves, which she rarely sought to put on display. "On or off, you think?"

"Off."

Chuckling, the panther slid her panties down. His paw came back up wedged between the bare fur of her thighs. Brit growled into his iron grip, the sound quiet and bubbly and unconvincing. "Uh-huh," he drawled, pushing her legs wider with a short jerk too sudden for her to resist. His paw was warm against her mound; his fingers curled searchingly.

She felt the panther's silky fur nudge bare flesh as he spread her lips for a finger to dip beneath. Lawrence had sheathed his claws; the fingerpads were soft and insistent. She couldn't will herself to resist him--it would only be a matter of time now before his stroking found slickness, and he'd mock her for it. Tell her--"good work. She likes it. See how her ears are back? Trying not to whine..."

"You can read that body language, huh?" he asked the fox. Another chuckle, depressingly self-confident, as his finger began to slip inside--inside me, Brit took the sensation with a jolt, and tried to squirm free before realizing the satisfaction she'd given him. Too late. "Well, what do you know?"

The pressure of his slowly pistoning digit was warm and undeniable, and the movements were getting easier with each passing second. She chanced to open her eyes; caught a glimpse of the fox watching keenly, and his tented pants. Their eyes met. He licked his muzzle distractedly.

"Y'know. Not to insult the thin blue line, miss my-brother's-a-cop, but... I bet your cunt isn't gonna feel any different than if he was a goddamn panhandler. What do you say?" Not that her words would be audible. She tested the strap around her wrists. "Oh? I need to find out, do I?"

He pulled out of her. Quickly--too quickly to get a word out--he let her muzzle go, too, switching paws. Helpless, she heard his zipper opening. Smelled her own scent on the wet fur wrapped around her maw. Felt him shuffle and shift positions behind her until something hotter and far thicker than his fingers pushed up between her legs.

And then, as her eyes squeezed shut and she choked back a yelp, he thrust slowly into her. "Mm. Fuck, maybe I was wrong. Tight little bitch." Slick, pulsing warmth sank in deeper and deeper, spreading her quivering folds around throbbing feline cock. She didn't have the room to get away--to do anything but accept it. Take it, as Lawrence was purring to her. "You take it real good."

The wolf's shoulders sagged in defeat. He was hilted now, bare shaft twitching in her, and no sooner had he allowed himself a purring few seconds to savor the pleasure she'd so evidently given him he swiveled his way into another smooth thrust. A third. A fourth.

"Told you," the fox was saying, somewhere distant--somewhere beyond where she was being pinned against one of her own work benches, feeling her rapist panting his satisfaction shallowly into her scruff as he pumped between her trembling legs. "Wonder if she's in heat? Maybe that's why she was such a bitch."

"Could be. Feels like it." Lawrence bucked deeply, testing her out. The fox was wrong, she was certain of it. Almost certain. There'd been so much to focus on, with the garage and all. It doesn't matter. He couldn't get her pregnant, at least. Protesting would only give him something else to echo, jeering. "You can't tell?"

"Not too well. But, I mean. She settled down real quick."

"Yeah? You settled down, whore?" He relaxed his hold on her and plunged in sharply, forcing a cry from her suddenly freed mouth. "I dunno..."

The shock of his initial penetration had given way to the building reality of it. A raw, grating physicality to the way he slammed into her. An awful certainty, as he hammered her protesting body into something he could simply use, that screaming for help would've been worse. That the enjoyment he'd take in hearing the wolf debase herself so would outweigh any prospect of rescue.

"You can't do this." Her voice sounded thin. Weak. Lawrence had both paws on her hips for the next hard shove that buried him in the she-wolf. She heard herself yelp again. "Martin-Barlow--"

"You think they care?" Claws raked her as he snickered and tightened his grasp. "I don't work for Martin-Barlow. They're not gonna to do shit to save your small-town cunt from me. That bill wasn't for them. Vic got stupid. What about you?"

She was too distracted to really process what he was saying. "Just... just stop. Please."

"You don't tell me what to do," he warned. "What are you gonna say to your brother?"

"What?" For a moment the non-rhetorical question caught her off-guard. "My--"

"Clint, you bitch," he hissed into her ear, and drove the clarification home with a thrust that crushed her into the bench and left her whimpering. "What are you gonna say to him?"

Was it that easy? "Nothing," she managed. "I won't say anything. Stop and--"

He shoved her over, holding her down on the bench with his paw between her shoulder-blades. "Shut her up," Lawrence ordered. The fox knew what he meant before Brit figured it out. Vision slightly blurred, she saw him stepping towards her... his fingers on his pants, working them free... she tasted something salty, drew a hissing breath that filled her muzzle with the musky scent of the fox's cock, pressing between her lips.

The wolf grunted a muffled protest around him but her mouth was already half-full and none of it was intelligible. And the panther had started moving again, his steady bucks rocking her on the shaft stuffing her maw. The man in front of her groaned unsteadily.

"That's what I want to hear." Lawrence's voice had become a bit strained as he used her, sinking in again and again. "You don't get conditions. You suck my friend off like you mean it, and you take a good load or two, and maybe it ends there. Either way--she bein' a good girl?"

Brit had no illusions about what her position looked like. Bent over, with the panther crammed deep in her cunt and his paw still holding her down for the fox to fill her muzzle. His taste was already smeared liberally over her tongue. She splayed her ears, closed her lips around him, and suckled until he groaned a second time, this time coarse and deep. "Yeah, she is..."

"Good. Good," Lawrence repeated, and began to really pound her. Brit whined and fought for breath between attempts to keep the pressure up on the other man. "Either way," he finally finished, "you aren't saying shit to anyone. The fuck you think? Dumb fuckin' slut--"

She had the gauzy, distracted sense that he was talking to himself more than anything else. Offering some kind of running commentary as he fucked that impressively thick cock into her, in thrusts strong and purposeful enough that they were jarring her from the indignity of what he was doing. What he was calling her. How trapped he had the wolf.

As he rutted hard and fast into his uppity bitch--small-town whore--good for one goddamn thing--_Brit could almost feel the twinges of something more than _just indignity. More than just his precum was soaking her insides now. Were she not all but being choked... were his claws on her shoulders not so painful... were he not so obviously close to the edge...

But he was. Lawrence hilted with a stabbing lunge that pushed her frame forward, sliding her further onto the fox and earning a startled, delighted gasp from him. Before she could recover the groaning feline pulled shakily back and she felt a pricking, searing pressure grating in her, along the whole length of his shaft.

It was a startling, alien sensation and she tried reflexively to twist away from him but the panther was shoving in again and this time he kept shoving, pinning her to the bench, holding her down as his grunts bled together into a snarl. And the burning inside the she-wolf's well-used snatch was joined abruptly by a spattering of liquid warmth.

He rocked and humped as the heat of his seed coated her walls almost--soothingly? There was something decisively final about the way his cum spread over the aching soreness he'd raked her folds with. Lawrence huffed and panted with that same finality--he'd bred her, claimed her, the sticky evidence of it starting to squelch from around his cock and--

A hiss from the fox drew her attention back. "Oh, fuck--fuck, harder bitch, suck harder..." Watching his partner empty himself in the wolf proved to be the last straw. She tried to do as he ordered but from his shaky movements it no longer really mattered. He pulsed warningly along her tongue, and she readied herself to swallow.

Instead the fox pulled away. Brit shut her eyes just in time to avoid the first thick, musky rope of his semen, painting her from the bridge of her muzzle to her left ear. By the third spurt she was already a mess, the scent of his climax overwhelming and her parted, panting muzzle catching a few bitter splashes.

For a moment there was fresh pain as Lawrence withdrew. Her legs were weak and unsteady, and when he released her shoulders, too, Brit slid to the floor in a heap. She heard the two men trying to catch their breath, and the drip of vulpine semen, softer but far closer to her ears.

The only good thing was he'd gotten pretty close to her eyes. At a glance it wouldn't have been clear what of the moisture was his defilement and what was the watering she tried to tell herself wasn't her tearing up. You're better than that.

"Pretty good work." The panther's voice was an ugly slur. "Looks better like that, don't you think?"

"Shit, yeah. Thought about making her drink it, but seeing the bitch now..."

I could've bitten him, Brit thought. Why didn't I bite his goddamn dick off? Because she'd been startled. And maybe he would've done something even worse if he caught a hint of her teeth. But I could've tried. When she tried to roll back upright, she felt the warmth drooling from her pussy squish messily into her fur.

I could've done something_. Christ, how much did he put in me?_

"What'd I say? These dumb country sluts are only good for one thing." Lawrence nudged her side with his shoe. "Should've heard her put on airs about her fuckin' lawyer. Jam your cock in one of these bitches and they're a lot less fighty."

"She did manage to use her mouth for something good."

The panther snickered. "Yeah, well. Doesn't exactly take a GED to learn that. You been tied lately?"

"Nah. Cheri's so damn cautious now, after that scare back in April..."

"Want to get your knot in this one? She won't complain about taking another load in that cunt. Will you, bitch?" Another nudge with his shoe.

"You fuckin'..." Her muzzle had become sticky with fox seed; Brit swallowed, and was starting to try again when she heard the doorbell ring. Nobody should've been coming to the shop, not that early. If she raised her voice, she could shout for help before Lawrence stopped her. And he would be stopping her, of course, he--

"It's unlocked," the panther called over. "Come in."

"Thanks. I was just..." It was Josh, from the bank. She recognized his voice clearly, and it was coming closer. "Uh. Wait, Ms. Kendrick?"

"'Ms. Kendrick' is a bit occupied," Lawrence said, sneering her name. "But who knows? Maybe you can help."

"How?"

"You can start by locking the door. And then, come over here."

She didn't think the shepherd knew who Lawrence and the fox were. No matter, though: he listened, deadbolting the door and then walking closer. His footfalls still sounded cautious--maybe he thought the two were criminals. Which, she flushed hotly, they are. "What's going on?"

"Hoping you could tell us that. See, we got ourselves into a dispute. What do you figure--you think she looks better with her fur clean or dirty?"

She opened her eyes to see Lawrence holding out his phone. His thumb swiped across the screen, and the dog's eyebrows arched. He opened his mouth to answer, and she heard the sound of panting. Low groans. Her own muffled cries of protest. "This is--"

"See. She does have striking eyes, doesn't she? But I wasn't looking at her from the front. My friend was, but obviously he decided..." The panther trailed off, fiddling with the phone. --harder bitch, suck harder, and then the fox grunting, tinny over the phone's speaker. "Fuck. This is so shaky--what, man, were you distracted?"

The fox snorted. "Seems like it, huh?"

Lawrence rewound the video a bit for Josh's benefit. "See, now, that's clearer. So what do you think? See how good she takes that load?"

"If I was interrupting something..." There. He has to know something's wrong. Josh and her went back years--hadn't quite got around to dating, but she'd cooked him her fair share of dinners. He'd know her better than that.

"Interrupting?" The sound of her violation continued, deceptively loud in a garage that normally thrummed with machinery and shouting. "What do you mean?"

"Aren't I?"

The panther played back his own climax, now, and for the first time Brit heard the muffled yelp she'd given when he rammed home and started filling her. She could almost still feel the pressure of his barbs. "Maybe not. Maybe we just need a second round. At least part of you agrees, huh?"

Josh must've been headed to work. He was wearing slacks: dark, but not so dark that Brit could ignore the way they were slightly tented. While he waited for an answer, Lawrence skipped back earlier in the video, before she'd had a mouth full of fox cock. She hoped Josh heard the protesting tone of her whimpers. "I mean. She looks good."

"You haven't seen her channel online? Figured it would've gotten around the shop, at least. Maybe we just haven't picked the right actors. Not enough familiar faces." Brit froze, although the matted fur kept her startled expression muted. Is he really trying to get Josh to--

"What do you mean?" the shepherd asked. "Like... local talent?"

"What's the going rate? Three hundred? Five hundred?" He gave the phone back to his partner and pulled out his wallet, counting the bills out crisply. "Give us a show--obviously we'll send you a copy. Obviously we'll keep the camera straight this time..."

"I mean." His fingers were on the money, but they hesitated. They were friends, after all. "If Brit's okay with it..."

Lawrence was an asshole, but not a murderer--she thought. He couldn't stop her before she told Josh what had happened, and the panther obviously wouldn't kill him or anything. He'd go to the police--to Clint specifically, probably. They'd know what had happened.

They'd watch the video.

Somehow she knew the pair were too cocky to delete it. Without the video there was nothing stopping her from telling her brother that he'd just roughed her up a bit. Threatened her, maybe. Josh would want to tell him what the shepherd had seen, though.

"--slut for you, too. You'll see. Get up, bitch," Lawrence was saying.

What Josh had seen was her being fucked like a cheap whore. He'd seen her suck on the fox's dick just like she'd been ordered to do. Seen her dripping with the two men's seed, left unspeakably filthy by it. If he talked, it would get back to the cops. Clint would know. Maybe he'd want to take his own sort of revenge, and maybe not, but he'd know.

Numbly, she got back to her feet. Lawrence put his paw on her to bend the wolf over again, then swatted her rear hard and moved away. "All yours, mutt. Start rolling? Yeah. Yeah, that's good. That's a good angle." The last parts had been addressed to the fox.

She felt the shepherd's paws framing her, running down either side to her hips. The stroking was almost affectionate. The tone of his voice, though... "Fuck," Josh murmured. "Fuck, you do look sexy as hell, Brit..."

One of his paws disappeared. She heard the sound of a belt; a zipper. An approving whistle from Lawrence, who was guiding the fox in a slow circle to reposition him. "Lower. So you can watch him--"

If he kept talking--probably he did, kept explaining what he wanted the fox to record--Brit stopped paying attention when the dog's sloped tip pushed against her. Josh let his breath out in a sigh, running his stiff cock between her lips. Getting himself good and slick; there was plenty to go around.

When he found the angle he wanted, the dog didn't hesitate. He was as big as she might've guessed from the tall, muscular shepherd. Smooth and hot and thick, he sank all the way in past the curved, subtle bulge of his knot.

She heard him groan, and under other circumstances she might've groaned, too. The solid girth now slid hilt-deep inside her left her full enough that it was almost worth savoring. But he pulled out, and when he thrust back in she heard Lawrence snicker.

"How's she feel, stud?"

Josh took her in a few more slow, well-paced strokes; by the end of those he was grinding his hips up and against her rump, lifting the wolf until she had to stretch up on her tiptoes to keep her balance. He shuddered and growled. "So fuckin' good..."

With another growl, he took her rump in both paws and tested a faster tempo. It was clear his own pleasure was the driving factor. Brit knew she was being used. But he wasn't--damn him--fast enough, hard enough to be uncomfortable. No. More like how she could've imagined him mating her.

More like something she might've asked for. Her body was meant for the way he stretched her out, after all. Not like Lawrence--Josh's canine shaft plunged into slick folds that were made to take him. Brit gritted her teeth as subtly as she could, forcing herself to hold back against the growing risk that she might voice that somehow.

You're not in bed. You're not even screwing your boyfriend in the back of your car, like fuckin' high school. You're in your shop with your wrists tied and that fucking bastard Lawrence is filming every second of you getting plowed. But Josh didn't know that, and the way he was rutting into her hips...

It felt acceptable in a way that called up a jarring flashback. The fox, teasing Lawrence. Wonder if she's in heat? Trying to resist the feelings those thrusts stirred in her was troublingly difficult. The fox was still wrong, she... hoped. He wasn't sure. Even if he was, Josh is more responsible than that...

He was getting close, at least. She thought. She could feel the shepherd's knot now. Josh forced it into her, tugging it out with a slurp and the lewd patter of the panther's seed dripping to the floor. Thinking of that--the sheer volume of the mess he'd pumped her with while she choked on his sneering partner--sent a flash of useful anger into the wolf.

Even as Brit stiffened with that, though, Lawrence was licking his lips. Taking the camera from the fox, and grinning. "Nah, don't pull out. Tie her." The shepherd's thrusting had become tellingly uneven, and Lawrence was clearly familiar with how that worked.

"Yeah?" Josh panted the question shakily. The question wasn't directed at him. It was meant for her, she realized. He had his mostly formed knot jammed hard into her, humping and shoving against the she-wolf's hips. You want it? At first she wasn't sure if she'd heard him ask.

"Fuck yeah," Lawrence answered for her. "Just give the camera a good snarl when you nut the bitch. Can't see anything."

She told himself Josh didn't really care. He was clearly trying to get himself stuck, anyway, holding deep and only pulling out enough to test the way she gripped at him. He gasped loudly when he finally found they were locked together. His big cock was swelling even larger in her now--an anticipation. A warning.

He grunted and huffed his way through the last rush of frantic bucking. The shepherd's unsteady growls rose in pitch and urgency. And then, just when she thought he might've disobeyed the panther, he did snarl. His claws grabbed painful hold of her waist. He was frozen in place. His cock throbbed.

As the snarl cut off she finally felt the throb yield to the sensation of liquid heat filling her with its first long spurt. Her gasp in the brief silence when Josh tensed up was soft, but the phone would've caught it. She saw that from the smirk the man holding it gave her.

Josh snarled a second time: longer; slightly quieter. Brit couldn't even tell if she felt the pulses distinctly now. Her cunt was just growing unmistakably wet, and the warmth of his cum kept building where he spilled it in her. And he sounded so sated, claiming her body the way he was. And:

"Yeah, I figured you'd like getting filled again. Better than me, huh, slut?" Lawrence chuckled. "I'm not insulted. You are on BC, after all, I'm sure. No? Well, then, you look good getting knocked up." Another chuckle, this one darker. "Don't glare at me. Just have fun with it. He's having a good time breeding you, after all. You'll be a good working mother. Real inspiration."

She did glare, though. It wasn't even his mocking tone, really; it was the knowledge that he'd watched the whole thing. Enjoyed it. Would enjoy it, no doubt, replaying her violation over and over. She didn't think Josh was even paying attention, too busy savoring his release. Having fun with it.

Lawrence handed the phone back over--carefully; he must've still been recording--and unzipped his pants. "I said don't glare." She kept still and, rolling his eyes, he pressed her muzzle open and slid the tip of his shaft inside. "We got places to be, so the sooner you give me a reason to leave..."

He tasted different than the fox had. Me. That was me. From when he'd been inside her, all of--what was it? Fifteen minutes before? Twenty? A desire to get it over with had her sucking on him, ignoring the way he purred at the touch of her tongue.

Brit was stuck on the shepherd behind her, and with her wrists bound she had no leverage. She bobbed her head as best she could, and Lawrence quickly began to help. He thrust into her muzzle, the purrs turning to approving groans. "Aw, fuck. Fuck, yes. Have her do this, too, mutt."

"Good at it?" She hated how genuinely interested Josh sounded.

"Oh, yeah, she is. Might even be better than--fuck, that's good, suck just like that, bitch." She hadn't done anything in particular. But his praise was on camera, too, no matter what. Her ears splayed, and this time she did suck on him more firmly. "Might be better than dumping that load in her snatch, even..."

"So, wait," she heard the fox begin. "Do I not get to tie her?"

"Fucked up the camerawork, didn't you?" Lawrence hissed, pushing forward to bury her nose in his crotch. Her eyes watered, and her attempt to draw breath was badly constricted. "Always next time, though..."

At last he pulled back so that she could breath; her hoarse panting kept her from hearing the next thing the fox asked. Lawrence muttered something about round three, though; bucked hard and grabbed her behind the ears. His claws were sharp, but even as the wolf squirmed desperately to free herself she felt him spatter the back of her throat.

Lawrence groaned. "Swallow it. There you go, every drop"--though it had to be more for the camera than anything else because there was nothing else she could do. And as quickly as Brit did swallow she still tasted the feline's bitter semen where her strangled gasps coughed it against her tongue.

A few trickles made their way past her lips. He kept pulsing more--worse than that, Josh gave his own growl, and rolled subtly against her. Probably spilled a bit more of his seed in her womb. Got off to it, in other words. Brit couldn't be sure she hadn't started to black out when the panther finally released her.

Because the next thing she knew his pants were on again, and the phone was back in his pocket. He was drawling that Josh should "spare some of that cash. Take her out to dinner or something. And for dessert..."

And he patted her between the ears, snapped his fingers, and pointed to the door. The fox followed him. Neither of them had a key; the door was unlocked again. Brit couldn't even tell whether she cared if someone else found them, at that point.

"How many times have you done that?" Josh asked. He didn't sound too bothered. Impressed, maybe, even. "Not like it's my business, but. I guess it's good money, yeah?"

$16,000, paid in installments next 'fiscal year.' Not to Martin-Barlow, apparently--something else? What had Victor gotten up to? Why the fuck hadn't he told her who Lawrence was? Why hadn't she listened to Bobby when the dingo told her to leave well enough alone?

Bobby must've known something, too, she realized. He could've stopped her. He hadn't. She tried to summon up the energy to feel betrayed, but there were more immediate concerns. The immediate concern was that she had nobody else to rely on. She was on her own.

"You're right," Brit muttered. "It's none of your business."

She had no good explanation, not now. The truth implicated him in everything that had transpired. That wasn't his fault, exactly. She wouldn't press charges against him, but would he believe that? A lie left him thinking it was ordinary.

Fuck. No, it was worse: the truth would tinge every interaction she had with the bank. Any time she asked for a loan, or tried to refinance some of the ones Victor Gowen had taken out. Did you know how the garage balances their books? Well, here, let me show you...

Did he recognize the leverage he had? The opportunity for blackmail? She could see him slipping into the garage in the evening, circling her waist with his arms. If she resisted, playing a snippet of video, real quiet, right against her ear. Maybe finding a cameraman of his own...

That was good, Josh said, lapping at her ear. Inevitably rumors would spread. Her employees would give her a knowing smirk. Sniff theatrically. Graffiti the bathroom. No, Brit realized, she'd have to navigate things very, very carefully.

"You are on the Pill, right?"

Starting with that.