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The Order of Things

by H. A. Kirsch (HawkWolf)

---

I actually found a job that gave me a respectable living. Okay, trying to sell guys on extended

warranties isn't that respectable, but I have a good explanation for it that I trot out. I usually

throw in a discount, too. If you know what the margins are, you can play with people's heads to make

them think they're getting a good deal, without you losing money. Then you get them to add some

high-margin add-ons, and you're set.

Retail is terrible, unless you find somewhere you really fit in. That means, "Sales Manager at a big

chain musical instrument store". I started off as another guy who can play guitar but can't get

famous, destined to slave away at Guitar Depot as the butt of rock and roll jokes. Then I outsold

everyone else, and ended up bumping out a dumbshit of a sales manager who was trying to set up a

theft ring. It pays the bills, and I only feel a little used.

I even managed to cultivate an actual friendship. Not at work... it was that fox, Mike Jasek. He's

kind of weird with people, perpetually kind and light-hearted, but so kinky and perverted that some

of the things he'd say would actually scare me. I think they'd scare anyone. I think they scared

him. Anyway, he fulfilled two things in my life: someone to hang out with whose motives didn't

solely involve stuffing things into my holes, and.. stuffing things into my holes. He did it with a

smile on his face, even if he sometimes wore a leather replica Cardassian captain's outfit from

fucking Star Trek: The Next Generation.

It wasn't where I thought I wanted to be, but it was better than being property of a fetish club.

---

My phone rang and woke me up with a fucking awful start. I guess I'd been surfing the web on it as I

went to sleep, since it was _in_ bed, lying against my face on top of the pillow. I panicked and

answered it without even looking at the screen.

"Mr. Sterling," a voice said, deep and husky, the kind of voice that came out of some big guy

perched in an expensive chair. The kind of voice whose owner would make a pyramid out of his

black-gloved hands as he delivered some kind of ultimatum. All those visions came up first thanks to

Jasek's endless desire to watch science fiction and comic book films, and my desire to, I dunno, sit

and look at pretty moving pictures with him. Then I woke up enough to realize who it was. Harley. I

didn't get a chance to talk. "I haven't seen you in some time. Since you stopped working at that

filthy club."

"It wasn't filthy, it was actually pretty clean, they're kind of obsessive about that-" I babbled,

only to hear a grunt from the phone, a growl-ruff, or whatever it is lions make when they're

irritated. Then, a deeper grunt, exertion, strain. Oh god, he wasn't shitting and calling... the

sound ended with an echoing clang.

"It's filthy," he said, voice taking on a more urgent, breathy tone. Another grunt, another

thud-clang. "Kyle goes there. That means it is depraved, immoral, and filthy."

Oh god, Kyle. I'd completely forgot that Harley Benson worked with that awful, zero-conscience

ex-Marine. Maybe it was because I was in that haze of panicked waking, like when your heart pounds

and you feel like you're going to faint because someone broke glass out in the parking lot and woke

you up. Maybe that was it, but I just let out a totally inappropriate dig at the lion on the other

end of the line. "You're filthy. Listen to you, talking to me while you... uh, while you..."

CLANK. "I'm not pleasuring myself, Mr. Sterling. I'm lifting weights. Leg press. Six hundred pounds,

if you happen to care about those things." Six hundred pounds! I pictured his quads flaring out

under that short-trimmed tawny fur, tail curling and lashing its ruddy tip around, face gritting up

like he was... coming. My cock swelled out along the bedsheets. "I would like to see you again."

"Uh, yeah, sure," I said, rolling onto my back, fingering through my mohawk. I closed my eyes and

imagined that his gloved hand was there instead of mine. My cock ached inside. Shit. "Do you want to

meet me-"

"I would like you to come to my office," he said, and I could hear footsteps. Quite loud, through

the phone. Was he wearing boots? To work out? That gave me a startled tingle. I wasn't sure if that

was a Harley thing to do. Definitely that black wolf who.. who had me stay with him. "You need to

wear something appropriate. A pair of black dress slacks, flat front. A pair of black cowboy boots.

A crisp, blue dress shirt, since you insist on keeping that.... hairstyle. A white undershirt. A red

necktie."

God dammnit, I fucking hate neckties. I tried to mentally peruse my closet. I didn't have the shirt,

so I was going to have to go to the store... I didn't have a tie, I didn't want a tie, only Harley

looked good in a tie. "Okay."

"You'll come to see me after lunch, at two. I'll send you the address. Come to the top floor." He

hung up.

I hadn't seen Harley for weeks. Months. Half a year? That was impossible. I'd been so caught up in

the job, in getting my own apartment, in getting a motorcycle - a motorcycle! - although I was going

to have to take the bus to see the lion. No showing up in riding leathers, no, I had to wear

business attire, with a motherfucking necktie.

The phone buzzed and the message light came on. I opened it up to a text message with his office

building's address. I knew where it was - my bank's branch was on the first floor. It was more than

a text message, though. It was one of those picture ones, and the picture was:

Harley, standing in front of a weight-room posing mirror, phone clutched in a worn,

fingerless-gloved hand. His upper body had a tank top on, black stretch fabric that might as well

have been omitted, it covered so little. His lower body had a pair of denim shorts, cutoffs that

were hastily made with slightly uneven legs, the material looking so worn it was probably shredded

to white fibers down over the taint. It was stained with sweat. His calves were covered in a pair of

paratrooper boots, black leather laceups that had shiny spots on the toes - probably more sweat.

His mane and chestruff were unkempt, and his shoulders were up slightly in that enraged look that

guys get after they do a few sets of mean reps, bro. His face was painted with that black-lipped

scowl that never seemed to leave his face. Behind him was a fancy universal gym, then the basement

walls of his condo.

The look was as un-Harley as I could imagine with a bloated cock draining my brain and cotton in my

head from a poor night's sleep. Time to get going and go out to the store.

---

Whatever Harley did, it was important enough that I imagined his company had an entire building to

himself. He only really had four floors, but they were right at the top. The upper floor was some

kind of penthouse arrangement, with a big foyer and all kinds of plants, windows letting in light

without scalding heat. There were only three offices, all apparently the same size, and a

receptionist. I was expecting a girl, but it was a young siamese housecat. They always look kind of

like big, two-tone rats.

"Hi, I'm here to see Harley Benson," I said, stepping up to the receptionist. There was this big

glass wall behind him with water coming down it, like one of those waterfall things from lawyer

offices without the trendy stone. I could see myself, kind of blurry, standing there in dress pants

and a charcoal frock coat I picked up on sale from the discount store. I looked like I belonged in

the office, but I didn't feel like it.

"Oh, he's not taking any visitors right now," the cat said, looking at his computer, then conjuring

up a pleasant smile. He was damn thin. All arms and legs. I had a weird mental image of him wearing

women's clothing and sniffed. I looked at my phone. It was five after two. "Not for the rest of the

afternoon, I'm afraid."

"I have an appointment? Name's Zale Sterling."

The cat looked back at the screen and shook his head. "No, there's nothing-" Something chimed next

to him. It was just like a movie; the siamese pushed on a button and a speaker crackled.

"Do I need to write everything down, Sandy? Please let me visitor through." If Harley was mad, then

he was always mad, because he always used the same tone of voice. The cat must've thought he was mad

because his eyes went wide and his ears swung back.

"Yes, Mr. Benson," the siamese mrowled, then stood up. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks that

looked a little more curvacious than businesslike. I had a sudden feeling that maybe Harley's

business was not exactly what he'd explained it to me as, but then it flitted away as I followed

'Sandy' over to one of the office doors. He took my coat, then led me in. I couldn't see Harley

inside, only a sort of little hallway, and nodded to the cat as I stepped through and he closed the

door behind me.

Inside, it smelled like rich leather, pleasant wood oil, and the unmistakable sex stink of the lion.

"This is kind of weird," I said, rounding the corner and only then entering the actual office. "Is

that so you can hide your uh, doings from whoever comes in?" Harley'd told me how he would

masturbate before meetings, and had said he used the restroom, but I didn't believe him.

As soon as I opened my mouth, the suited lion stepped over and grabbed me by my tie. "You have no

manners," he said, big and ungloved hand rumpling the brand-new tie and pulling me hard enough that

I had to step up against him. "Feng shui says that you should not see the entrance from where you

work, or where you sleep."

Oh yeah, that feng shui stuff. I put up my hands so that I wasn't crushed against his body, but that

made the tie start choking me. He saw the change in expression and let go. "Oh. Hi... Harley." His

face wrinkled up as I used his first name. "So what did you want to, uh, see me about? I guess I've

been doing a lot of stuff since we last..."

He tightened up on my tie and lifted up, like he was going to pull me off my feet. I let go of his

lapels and grasped at the faux silk. "You are going to crouch underneath my desk and take care of

cleaning my boots. First, you are going to lick them clean. Then, you are going to polish them." He

let go. "Now."

My gut quivered and I thought I was going to piss, but I didn't. His desk was big and oak, fancy and

traditional, sized to accommodate a lion. I moved in between the office chair and the desk,

crouched, then sunk underneath it. Harley clomped over and sat down, air forced out of the seat of

his chair through a seam, puffing leathery scent all over my face. He was wearing boots for sure,

but they weren't western style. At first, I thought they were simply some kind of short dress boot,

but the way his slacks fit over his calves... they were riding boots. Field style, probably Dehner

or some other iconic brand. Under his slacks, for that matter.

I had no problem kissing at the leather, even though it required curling into a fetal ball under the

desk. I slowly swathed my tongue around the leather, trying to cover every tiny bit, finally

cleaning the entire foot. At first, it was extremely sexual, and I was afraid I was going to come in

my pants. After a few moments, it turned into a kind of zen activity, just the taste of smooth

leather against my tongue, my lips, lick, lick, lick, pause. Lick, lick, lick, pause.

While I licked, Harley typed, occasionally grunting, furiously backspacing, then typing more.

However important his job was, it was just a desk job. I wondered what he was doing - emailing?

Writing up a proposal? Maybe it was secret, although I'm sure I could read the screen for a few

seconds if I bolted up from where I was sitting. When he'd grunt, probably frustrated, he'd push

against me, shift his boots, sometimes almost crushing me against the privacy wall at the other side

of the desk. That was okay. Having the booted feet of a strange, domineering lion crushing against

me was just fine. It beat selling people overpriced instrument cables.

I went to switch to his other boot, and he pushed my head away with that leg. "My boots extend to

the knee, Mr. Sterling. Please finish cleaning one before the other."

Yes, Mr. Benson, I said in my head. I didn't say anything in reality - somehow I figured the lion

wouldn't enjoy that while he was trying to work. I rolled his pants cuff up, exposing almost two

feet of gleaming black leather. All that sexual feeling came right back. I decided that cleaning

could be nuzzling, as long as it worked to remove whatever was on the leather. Harley agreed by not

objecting, simply sitting there and occasionally pressing against me as he shifted his position for

comfort. I went slowly, methodically, my arousal making my mouth water to replace the wet spit I

applied all over the leather. I kissed, because I figured he probably was with other hybrids who

could only lick, and the difference would be tantalizing.

When he grew frustrated, he punctuated those grunts by shoving his foot flat to the floor; when he

was happy with what he was doing, he almost purred and let the toe ride up to squirm his leg in my

grasp.

I was just finishing that right, gleaming, massive sexual boot when the door opened. It stomped flat

and Harley sat up hard. I silently curled back, trying to hide my breathing by dragging it out.

Boots thumped in on the floor, a single pair.

"Howdy, cat," the person said, voice almost at a holler, kind of nasal and profoundly southern.

Hybrid. Canine, from the tongue-tangling slur provided by a canine muzzle.

"Kyle, why are you in my office? I'm sure Sandy told you that I'm not taking visitors." Harley

leaned back with a creak of his leather chair. From where I sat, I could see him raising his

shoulders.

"Oh, well," the dog said, clomping around in what sounded like a circle. "I ain't exactly a visitor.

Besides, your little girly boy secretary was too busy talking to his girlfriend on Facebook. I don't

understand exactly how he doesn't get his little whole plowed by big, male dicks-"

"Kyle."

The german shepherd took a deep breath. "Well, you know that Chaz Martin's having that big ol'

goddamn dinner party. Well, he put me in charge of makin' sure that everyone we know is all invited

to it. Going to be a few big prospects there as well. So I expect that you're going to show up and

take down some money bag like a lion takes down one of them horned things, what is it, gazelle?"

I could feel Harley's foot squirm in his boot as he stepped onto me. I could see his tailtuft buck

at the spider foot of the chair.

"I suppose I'm going then," the lion said, pushing on me. Oh god, he was stepping on me. He was

handling a little social transaction and stepping on his little pony at the same time. I started to

see spots.

"Well good, I'm all glad. You're always a damn hit at those parties. Crawford was jus' talkin' about

that when I invited him, asked if Bruce Wayne was gonna be comin'."

Harley growled, but I couldn't tell if it was the pleasant kind or the bad kind. To me, a growl was

a growl. "Kyle, you have no tact. I'm in the middle of drafting a proposal and I'm almost finished.

You need to leave."

Kyle's response was a chuff of a laugh. I could hear his boot heels scrape on the rug, then thump

towards the door. "Well, you go an' enjoy writin' your pony, I mean proposal." He shut the door.

Pony? He... how did... Kyle knew I was there. He probably smelled me. God damn dogs. I clutched onto

Harley's stomping boot, but he only wrenched it out of my grasp and put it down, then scooted back.

"Come here and kneel where I can see you," he said. I slinked out and squatted, then kneeled up,

head just clearing out from the edge of the desk. "Open the drawer to your left. Give me the pair of

gloves inside. I've decided that you don't have to finish cleaning my boots today."

I did as he asked, moving in slow motion, feeling like I was wading through syrup as my heart

pounded and drove my fingers to pull the drawer open. Inside, a pair of fine black riding gloves,

leather glossy and well-kept, creased with wear. I took them out and handed them to the lion's

enormous palm. He slid them on, splaying his fingers into their fits and then curling up, flexing

his hand with a creak of leather. Then his gloved hands came for my face, stroking over my muzzle,

gliding against lips, offering me the musky smell of leather and lion. His thumbs hooked into the

corners of my mouth and I opened it up, eyes staring up at him. He let me close my jaw, then moved

his hands to his fly.

He unbuttoned the fabric, gloved fingers disappearing into his slacks and helping urge out a

leathery bulge. A posing jock. He rubbed at the length, then slowly tugged it free with the pop of

metal snaps. Out came his thick, hooded, sweaty cock... and that smell. The stunning, sour, musky

reek of a load of come ground into his glans under the skin and left to ripen from his body heat and

sweat. One hand helped keep his foreskin in place over the glans, two fingers lightly holding, while

the other one used index and middle to stroke his urethra from outside, milking out a faintly

whitish ooze of precum. I'd seen that kind of thing come out before - from prostate milking with a

buttplug. Did he have a fucking milk plug in? "You've been spending time with that smelly fox,

Michael Jasek. Kyle told me the other day. He told me what Kyle did to you all those months ago.

That's why I'm unhappy to have him in my office. That dog is reckless."

"You, you know him?"

"I've met him once, when I went to see Kyle. Jasek is very strange. I'm sure he introduces you to

all kinds of unsavory things." Harley's cock throbbed, glans stretching the foreskin, and more of

that milky pre came out to run down cockflesh and over glove leather. I couldn't take it any more

and leaned forward, kissing at his fingers to clean them. Slimy leather, salty. He drew them up and

my muzzle followed, to the gaggingly-strong scent from his dickhead. My mouth watered and I let it

push through my lips. He just held himself at the base as I let my lips slide over the foreskin,

then tightened them to push it back, sucking to slurp it back over the head, tongue waiting to

stroke at the bunched flesh at the tip. Harley let one hand move to his thigh and squeezed at it,

then let go and pushed my face off. "You are going to come with me to that party. If Kyle and Mr.

Crawford are so intent on having a strange, dark lion come and charm everyone, I am going to give

them so much of what they want that they will be stunned and helpless."

He snorted and let a huge glob of spit push out of his muzzle, landing on my cock. It was the fetish

equivalent of blowing a kiss. His spit tasted like he'd eaten something meaty for breakfast, musky

and salty. I leaned in and sucked it clean from his dickhead, then just started to bob. He turned

and moved so his legs were parallel to the desk, then grasped at my mohawk and pulled me over. I

grunted and kneel-crept over, reaching my head over from the back of the arm of his chair and

stuffing my black lips around his slimy, straining cockhead. He grabbed at the mohawk again and

forced me down until his dick punched into my throat, gag reflex delayed so I was forced to swallow.

The lion pumped my head so deep that I started to push him away, heart pounding from lack of air. He

pulled me off, let me barely catch my breath, then forced down again. Feeling his glans pop through

into my throat made me shudder. He forced me into that rhythm, and I started wondering if it was

some kind of zen experience for him, a good five minutes passing with him alternately fucking my

throat apart and then letting me drool and gasp for air. His cock bucked and shook in my mouth,

flooding it with salt. He pulled me off and wet spurts of seed erupted onto my lips, mashed back

onto his dickhead as he forced inside for another couple spurts, then finished up with it spitting

and pulsing onto my lips. I swallowed most of it, then tongued some around the throbbing crown and

then sucked his foreskin to cover it.

When I pulled off, he was staring down at me as his cock sunk and dribbled. "Two nights from now. I

will tell you what to wear. If you would like to change at my place, we can do that. I know you have

a motorcycle now."

Jasek had gotten me hooked after teaching me how to straddle his racing bike around. I nodded. "Yes,

Mr. Benson."

"Good. You may leave now. I need to finish this. Thank you for letting me put my frustrations

elsewhere."

I stood up and just turned to walk out. Alarmingly, that siamese cat was waiting for me. He shocked

back before handing me my coat. His ears were tucked and red inside at the bases. "Here's your coat,

Mr... Sterling?"

I took it and slung my arms into it. "Thanks." With my coat, I could hide the erection that was

still throbbing against my thigh. Seeing the cat kind of made me wonder why he was so close to the

door when I just happened to stalk out, but that thought went away as he shot me an increasingly

worried look.

"Sir, he came all over your neck," Sandy blurted, ears tucking further and then bobbing up as he

started to chuckle uncontrollably.

I slapped my hand up and felt wet. Two creamy spurts in my neckhair. I stared, wide-eyed, as Sandy

grabbed for a rag that was sitting on his desk, presumably for wiping up... something. It smelled

like cleaner, so probably just for domestic use. I cleaned the lewd fluid off with a hard scrub,

then gave him the rag back. His eyes widened and he looked down at it, then carefully set it on the

table. "Thanks, uh," I said, and pushed past.

No more erection. It was the most awkward moment I'd had for about half a year.

---

Just like he'd promised, Harley gave me directions on what to wear to the party. Exactly what to

wear. A black teeshirt, clingy and black. A pair of black dress pants, a pair of black cowboy boots

like when I'd been to his office, a dress belt. The party was going to be 'casual on up', although

the official invitation that I got to see had mention that a tuxedo was probably going to stand out.

I met Harley at his condo after a torching ride across the city and the little greenbelt that

separated his development from Lainsville proper. There's something weirdly stimulating about being

strapped into heavy-duty fitted leather and a helmet, wind blasting at you and wiping the exhaust

roar away, heat and vibration throbbing between your legs. That, and I drive way too fast.

I had expected the lion to make some sort of comment about my riding gear - especially the unmatched

black harness boots I had on over the charcoal and black riding suit - but his only command was

simply to "Change". I had his whole outfit idea down, although the pants I chose were too tight to

slip over my boots and I had to tuck them in. That made Harley adopt his growly face. It fit his

dress suit.

Apparently I was late getting there, which was confusing because I was ten minutes early, but the

lion rushed to get me stuffed into his crazy electric car and then torched off for the party. It was

hosted at Charles Baker Martin's house, some sort of local 'rich guy' whose money mostly came from

family and circumstance and a lot of very wise business ownership deals. I only knew who he was

because his name was in the paper a lot.

Knowing someone's rich and knowing that they have a mansion is one thing, but actually setting foot

into it was completely different. For a start, the house had one of those insane lobby foyers that

culminated in a red-carpeted funnel of a staircase up to the upper floor open halls. It also had

some kind of security guard, who checked us both in. I was instantly overwhelmed, first by the sheer

expensive and voluminous space, and then by the crowd. Most of the party was in a huge ballroom that

was temporarily turned into a club, complete with those weird standing bar things where you can set

your drink while milling around.

I didn't recognize anyone at all, not even Mr. Martin himself. I felt like a complete idiot. Worse;

I felt like a fakir, since I wasn't remotely in the same class as even the poorest person in the

room. The one saving grace was that everyone looked at me, because while I was neatly dressed, it

was flashy enough to get attention. I got a bounce from about half the people I saw, male and

female, thanks to those showoff boots. Harley had given me such a rotten face about it, but once

someone actually commented on it - a tigress who had a real pearl necklace and a scary amount of

cleavage - Harley just seemed smugly proud to be leading me around.

All the attention, plus a seething cocktail that was far more alcoholic than it tasted, sent me to

the bathroom. Harley gave me a stern look when I disappeared so quickly, coming after me and

stopping me before I went in. "Are you going to do something?"

"Yeah, I'm going to take a piss. That thing I had, I don't know what it was, it was something," I

said, babbling as the lion's attitude and the burst of liquor had me already frothy. As I drained

myself in silence, that liquor opened me up a bit. If I couldn't really mix with people at the party

because I was literally there to be attached to Harley, then I was going to play it up. I'd snuck

something in, tucked into each of my pants pockets. I called them my pony gloves. They were

forearm-long black leather gloves, that sort of supple distressed stuff that's satiny but not

roughly fuzzy like suede. They were fingerless, leather only covering over the knuckles, thumb and

fingers completely free. I'd seen them on a lot of women, but never really on men. They looked

somewhat like leg warmers for a racehorse, hence my nickname for them.

When I came back out, Harley's face went slack for a second. "What are you wearing? Where did you

get those?" Then: "You can't wear those."

"Yes I can. You want me to walk around in this clingy shirt and boots and stuff? Well, I might as

well look like a complete ponyboy for you, so I put on arm warmers. And they're leather. You love

leather."

Harley gave my forearm a testing stroke, then uttered a grunt. "I'll only let this go because Chaz

invited Kyle, and that means that you will be nothing compared to the depravity that oozes out of

him once he gets drunk later. Dinner is going to start soon. Come with me." Harley forcibly hooked

his arm around mine and took me downstairs. I really felt like an escort with that treatment, and it

was humiliating. Exhilarating, and humiliating. As we funneled into the dining room, a leopardess in

a stunning black slink dress and gloves that frankly matched mine came up and got inbetween Harley

and where he was going.

"Oh, Harley Benson. What a trip seeing you here," she said. Her voice was total upper-crust

Connecticut. Everything else about her was as well. Harley looked as flummoxed as I'd ever seen him.

"Hello, Miriam." Oh god, she even had a name that sounded fancy and crufty!

"And who's this? Look at your little horse. No, you're a... oh, what do you call it, a Zorse! Is

that right?" She gushed all over me, showing all those goddamn feline teeth. Her tail hit several

people before she gathered it and wound it around her leg.

"Yep, actually, I'm half pony, not just regular horse. That's why I'm not ears above everyone else

here." There were a couple of equines, including a stunning paint in a red suit, but no zebras.

"And you have fantastic gloves! Let me look at these," she said, and grasped my arms like a mother.

She didn't really look that old, but I just couldn't tell. In general, everyone seemed older than

me, probably middle-aged. I doubted that young rich guys liked fancy dinner parties. Harley looked a

little defeated, since he probably secretly wanted my sneaky fashion addition to be disliked since

it wasn't part of his plan. That's fine. He could look defeated all he wanted. I was distracting a

gregarious queen spottycat from him. She finally let go. "I never thought of you as the type to have

a _horse_, Harley. Especially not one with stripes. That's almost taboo."

Harley got his arm back around mine, and even petted at my upper arm. "Zale is my dining partner for

tonight."

Miriam's eyes went wide. "Oh! That's very... that's..."

"We've known each other for over a year. It's not like _that_. Although I'm certain he wouldn't shy

away from a good tip before I send him on his way again," Harley guided me over to a spot at the

table next to him. Miriam split off, rounding the other side, only to sit directly across from

Harley. The lion grimaced again.

"So how do you two know each other?" I asked, looking around as I sat. Holy shit, it was like one of

those tables from a king's feast in a medieval movie or something. It had to be 30 feet long.

Everything was happening quite fast around us - one minute, there was a party, the next we were all

seated and food was all over the air.

"I put in for a vegetarian option for you," Harley said into my ear, then answered before Miriam

could. "We grew up together. Miriam is a corporate lawyer. Her veneer of coy friendly behavior hides

the bloody knife of paid justice."

Miriam laughed and hoisted a glass of red wine. "Yes, the bloody letter opener, because all I do is

paperwork."

I was slightly dumbfounded. The table was oak, the room contained the single largest oriental rug

I'd ever seen, and there were tapestries on the wall. Tapestries! I felt like I was in a castle. I

didn't know people lived like this for real. I didn't know people talked like either cat for real.

Miriam had an insane purple strapless gown on, and the purple version of the gloves I was wearing.

They actually were the purple version of it, soft distressed kidskin leather. I even recognized the

little imprint.

The two had some catching up to do, so I just sat back and watched the diners assemble themselves

while a few waiters brought out appetizers. Bruschetta, I could handle that. Goat's milk cheese,

even, which I could actually eat. Harley and Miriam's conversation was totally hilarious; the

leopard seemed to be a coy one, always batting verbal jousts at Harley while the lion took them with

disgruntled retorts. I really couldn't tell who was winning. I expected Harley to have the upper

hand, but Miriam's wine-fueled brattiness was pretty sharp.

Appetizers turned into main courses, and we were apparently on a tour of the world, since I ended up

with tempeh and couscous, then savory lime and bean tamales. At least I think they were tamales. I

only ever eat fancy food because crap vegetarian doesn't have fucking words to describe it. Dessert

was coconut rice with mango. Nice touch, but kinda fatty. Then again, it was dessert. It also left

my face with a white smear that made Miriam nearly explode before finally erupting in a giggle.

"Oh, uh, you know, there's actually a funny story about-" I started to say, but Harley cut me off by

wiping my mouth clean. With a bare hand, but it was still a disturbingly paternal and possessive

thing. I flinched like he was going to hit me, and Miriam's tail nearly upturned a bus-boy's dish

carrier as she gasped and covered her mouth like it was Victorian times.

"I'm very well aware of what happened to you at my office the other day, Mr. Sterling, and how

startled my secretary was as he was handing you your jacket."

Miriam's startle turned into that knowing head-turn that people do. "Oh, these parties always turn

so filthy," she sighed, then flashed a grin with all those awful feline teeth.

Harley took me up to leave, and felt a bit conflicted. On one hand, being trotted around the party

could be kind of fun. It beat wandering around a club and being used as a toy all by myself. How bad

could rich people be? On the other, Miriam was a riot. She was straight out of those smarmy British

comedies I used to watch on PBS. Apparently trying to get me to watch smart TV, like my parents

called it, backfired since I just learned tawdry poofter jokes and how to mince.

I could be as conflicted as I wanted, but Harley was going to take me around. That was fine. Thanks

to the food and the alcohol and the fact that I was starting to smell Harley's unavoidable musk, I

was putty for him. Things went fine until some prospective business client got in his sights. He

even told me what he was going to do with me for the time being: "I'm going to drop you like a

stone, Mr. Sterling. I have to do something very important. I'll pick you back up later."

He was gone and that was that, with the poor little stripey pony standing by the hors d'oeurves all

alone. I poured myself some punch, to which Miriam sprang out of nowhere and spiked with wine for

me, and just watched people having their fancy little conversations. There was a dance floor at the

other side of the great room, and I had to laugh at the 'rich people dancing to RnB hits' scene.

"Well howdy there, hoss-boy," a voice cut me out of that little reverie. Nasal, gruff, and dripping

with Southern. Kyle? I looked and found a German Shepherd standing there in a crisp Marines dress

uniform. He even had leather gloves on, and was holding what looked like scotch. "I think if you

look at them long enough, you're gonna get infected. Lemme drag you away from this food 'fore you

fatten up," he said, and arm-hooked me. Just like Harley. I looked for the lion, but he was nowhere

to be seen. Neither was Miriam, unless that was her... on the dance floor... I decided Kyle was the

lesser of two evils.

Until he led me to the coat room. This was a mansion, not a house party. There was no king bed with

coats strewn on it, just racks for people to hang their things on, or for the doorman to do it for

them. At the back corner, those racks blocked the room off in triplicate; no one was going to see

what was going on back there. Kyle took me over to one of the squat radiators and lifted up a

spit-shined dress boot, then stepped it down. "Haven't seen you for a while, what was it, that fox?

That's what it was, in that damn sex cellar at The Pit, I worked that messed-up lil' fox while that

milkin' machine worked you good. An' then you blew all over when I creamed your chest like I was

puttin' together a sandwich. Was awful nice to watch..."

I couldn't get a word in edgewise, it happened so fast. His gloved hand came up and started moving

through my mane. He stank of liquor, boot polish, and something that smelled vaguely like burning

plastic. "I like your mane, hoss-boy."

I was going right down to that presented boot. I felt kind of numb inside and just started lipping

at the leather. I didn't look around, I didn't move, I just kissed and licked and suckled on it. I

could hear Kyle grunting a few times, unbuttoning his fly...

The door to the room opened and I looked up. Kyle's dick was out, and hard as a rock. He smelled

like he'd already fucked someone earlier in the day. Over his shoulder, I saw dark hair. Then, like

some giant was stirring the room up, the clothes racks flung to the sides, sending everyone's coat

down to the floor. It was Harley! When Kyle saw him, the dog's dick deflated like someone'd stuck it

with a pin. "Let go of him," the lion said plainly.

"Well fancy seein' you here. I hope you got a nice, fat deal out of those wolves you were talkin'

to. Those mutts don't-"

Harley grabbed Kyle by his necktie so hard that the dog lifted off his boot heels. "Those were

wolves. You are the mutt. Go eat your own shit," Harley said, and tossed Kyle back with a punch to

the chest that had him crumple against the radiator and smack against the wall. Instead of

retaliating, Kyle just looked confused, drunk, and winded. Harley grabbed my wrist and pulled me

out. Miriam was right there, and he stopped her before she could open her mouth. "I am leaving,

Miriam. I apologize for the mess. A dog got into the coat room." Then we were out the door and

heading towards Harley's car, without one look back. From Harley.

---

"We seem to end up in traffic often," Harley said, after ten solid minutes of skull-crushing

silence. We were stuck in traffic. "I can see both sides closed. Someone died."

I didn't drive that often, so I took his word for it. "Maybe it's because you like driving me

around." I slumped against the car door and stared out the window at the headlight-spotted night.

His response was a gruff, then silence. I quickly slipped into a daydream. I remembered Kyle

grabbing me, and how quickly I started sucking boot leather. That felt hot for a second, then

humiliating. I felt like a helpless piece of meat. I thought back to when he had me milked as he all

suffocated Jasek to orgasm (and near death). I thought about how he was baked, how he seemed

slightly delighted in his drugged out haze, how he didn't care at all about whether or not I

actually had wanted to be there. I started to feel like a piece of meat again. At his very worst,

Harley never made me feel that way, but I wasn't thinking about _that_. I was thinking about all the

bad things. Tortured by a wolf off and on, captive for a year simply because the wolf's friend told

him to do it; trotted around a fetish club for sex money; what a sad joke even if it was all sailing

off into personal history. I felt like crying.

"I would rather spend a traffic jam sitting in a car with you, then rubbing shoulders at a party

full of rich people. Despite my attitude towards Miriam, she is the only worthwhile thing about

those parties." Harley said this without looking at me. He sat behind the wheel, back against the

seat, arms out, driving gloves wrapped around the already-leathered wheel. He looked pissed off, but

then, he always looked pissed off.

"Thanks," I said, jolted from my little crap fest. "That whole thing was weird. Sorry I... dressed

funny."

Harley let out one of his trademark grunts, one step away from a growl, or a mrowl, or whatever you

call a big-cat noise. He looked over at me, a slow turn of his head, inconsiderate of the

(unmoving) traffic. "I was planning on secreting you off to a corner, but Kyle beat me to it.

Unfortunately, he probably hasn't learned his lesson. That is the problem with getting drunk at

parties; your mistakes are lost along with all your shame."

Secreting me off to a corner? My cock hardened and I squeezed my legs together, squirmed in the

leather seat. Harley uncurled his hands from the wheel, curled them back with a creak of leather.

That made it _worse_. "I uh, I didn't think you were... violent?"

"You know very well that my self-control only serves to hone my intentions to a sharp point," Harley

said, looking back at the road as we started to move. We were being routed off the highway onto some

side streets. "German Shepherds require forceful handling to counter their ambitious nature." I

looked over at his lap. Holy shit, he was hard as a rock.

Harley knew Kyle. Harley worked with Kyle. Apparently, Kyle was good at his job, but a terrible

person, and Harley hated him for the latter. I could only imagine how their days went, especially

after the dog had barged in while I was... blowing the stoic lion. The only conclusion I could come

to was that they had a love-hate relationship, emphasis on the hate. "I... like some of the stuff,

that, I think he's into, but not.. from him."

The lion ignored my statement, or filed it away for later, or I don't know. "It was liberating to

drive a fist into him, and not in the way that he enjoys it. If we had been outside, I would have

ground him into the dirt." Those words came out of his muzzle with a sinister, excited growl, and a

buck to that pants-straining erection. He turned to me and stared me down while we crept along - out

of the corner of my eye, I saw the steering wheel twitch one way, then the other, as we followed the

car ahead exactly. What the fuck? "The only reason you are not sucking the come out of my balls

right now, is that I am sick of wearing this suit and want to get out of it at home more than

anything else."

"Oh," I snorted. "Uh. Shouldn't you watch the road?"

"My car has intelligent cruise control," he said, turning back to pay attention. We passed a break

in the highway-lining trees and I could see what was causing the jam-up. Two cars had collided, one

leaving a scar across the grassy median. The scar ended at the opposing lane - I stared at it for a

few seconds until I realized what had happened. Someone going extremely fast had faded across the

ditch median and launched into the air, coming down on another car going the other way. One car was

mangled completely. The other looked like it had exploded into tiny bits. I started to panic inside,

expecting to see blood and guts and body parts, but none of that was anywhere. The fire trucks were

even leaving.

"I'm glad we weren't fashionably late," I said.

"That would be a shame if we were. You wouldn't be able to enjoy the rest of your night with me. You

are not leaving until tomorrow," Harley said, still staring ahead at the road.

---

When we got back to his house, Harley was in his cathedral living room for about ten seconds before

starting to take off his clothes. I'm surprised he didn't ruin his jacket by taking it off and

throwing it aside. Shoes and slacks were next, leaving him standing in a pair of black silk boxers.

He wrestled with his shirt and tie, looking increasingly agitated, chestruff exploding out of the

open fabric.

"Uh, you weren't kidding about the suit, huh?" I said, and leaned on a side table. I felt a little

uncomfortable watching Harley rip his clothes off. I expected him to grab a chair and a bullwhip and

brandish it at me like a role-reversed lion tamer. That, or smash the chair like an angry wildman.

Instead, he swiped up a chair and hung his shirt on it, leaving his tie dangling around his neck.

"I have worn this suit since seven in the morning. While I enjoy dressing sharply, work is _over_

and I am sick of it. This is not appropriate dress for the night," he rowled, then took the tie off.

Instead of tossing it onto the chair, he lashed an arm out and the loop caught me on the neck. One

minute, I was imagining him dressed up in lion tamer gear, gleaming boots and leather gloves and red

outfit and a scowl on his face, a top hat, a bullwhip, hitting me - and the next I was staring into

his chest and choking. For real. FOR REAL. I latched onto the silk tie and pulled enough to get some

air. "You will strip and remain naked until I tell you otherwise," he said, then let go.

I've never taken my clothes off faster. Guys are good at getting undressed; in high school, we could

go from sopping wet in the pool to standing around in street clothes within a minute, including

showering, while the girls were always dawdling and poofing their fur or talking about tampons or

whatever the hell they do in the bathroom for so long. I just left everything on the floor, which

Harley didn't seem to mind. Instead, he scooped me up, with arms instead of a strangling tie for a

noose.

"I am not angry with you for parading around in those... pony gloves," he said, somehow plucking my

term for them out of my head, "You did not follow my directions, but while everyone got to stare at

you, none of them - especially not Kyle - got to take you home. Instead, I get to take you down into

my bed."

I hugged back, with a kind of a wince. I felt uncomfortable being clutched up hard. Harley was

really possessive, and I didn't have room to be sexual. I was just crushed up against his body. Was

he _purring_? I realized what he said last and felt a hot burn everywhere. Miriam's little

lion-zebra comment, and now _Harley_. "You... shouldn't do that, I'm not the weakest one."

Harley disengaged me, pushing away and holding me by the upper arms, scowling down at me. His face

looked mad, but his cock looked awful happy. "I am going to show you something that you have not

seen before," he said, and turned to leave the room, pausing to stare at me when I didn't just

follow like a puppy. I halted a few steps, then went after him. I felt weird being completely naked

in his house, mostly because I kept expecting to clop away at the hardwood floor. I thought about it

while walking around, like maybe it was some equine instinct... but horses didn't clop on dirt, only

in the city. Harnessed up, shod, whipped... son of a bitch!

The lion led me into the bedroom I'd never been in. I expected a dungeon, but instead, I found just

a chaise and racks of clothing. It was like a miniature version of the coat room from the party,

except instead of fine clothing, it was leather. All leather. I had a flashback to Hawk's house,

except where Hawk's was oppressively dark and modern, Harley's was kind of nice in a fancy way. Both

houses had leather, leather, leather in some particular room. No dungeon equipment in Harley's, just

the gear and that chaise. "You may sit," he said, and proceeded to go through the racks. All four

of them. They made a kind of pointed open box with the door at the open end and the chaise in the

middle.

I sat. After a few moments of watching the lion slowly thumb through every single piece of garment

leather, I decided to relax a little. The lounger was leather and real comfortable. It smelled

wonderful, like deeply worn-in leather, oiled and cleaned. It smelled like a saddle. As odd as it

seems, I'd ridden horses. I actually liked it, except for the horses being skittish and wild. The

big, squirming animal under a thick pad of leather... I wanted that chaise. Then I realized the draw

of the scent was the lingering male tang, sweat and cock-scent and the cheesy whiff of stale semen.

He fucked on this leather couch.

Who did he fuck? Suddenly I couldn't pay attention to the near-obsessive search for the perfect

outfit. I tried to imagine who Harley fucked. Jasek? Maybe they knew each other, but Harley didn't

seem the type for a so viciously-kinky nerd. Hawk? That was a fun thought. A real fun thought.

Harley plowing into the wolf while the black mutt struggled and grunted. That was so hot that I grew

an erection and chuckled.

Harley stopped his search for the perfect leather and looked over his shoulder. Just when I thought

he was going to look back and continue on, he turned and started towards me. "What are you thinking

about that is so funny, Mr. Sterling?"

I felt the kind of burning shame usually saved for being caught doing something completely wrong -

or even dirty - by a parent. I really knew how that one felt. Harley would never, ever, ever,

E.V.E.R find out that my mom caught me masturbating in her lipstick, gloves, panties, and

high-heels. And he would extra-never find out that she let me finish before chewing me out.

The lion's look was that level, or more-so; it cut me so deep that I felt like whinnying and let a

little burble of it out through my lips. "Uh. Nothing, really, just..."

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Sterling?" When Harley exhaled after that, his body tilted a

slight bit forward, like he was losing control of his poise. Underneath all that poise was a lion,

and I was a zebra. That meant one thing; I was prey. Well then, what was the point of keeping it in?

"I was imagining this.... this wolf I know, named uh, Hawk, a big asshole, a real kind of creep, on

your... on this chair thing, with you h-hammering your cock into him," I said. Mine was so hard it

was starting to hurt. I was so humiliated, I almost wanted to cry, and it felt so insanely good that

I would probably come while sobbing.

Harley's face slowly dissolved from a hard stare to a thoughtful look, then snapped back and he

turned to the leather again. "I've met him."

I was really starting to get a handle on how Harley's emotions connected to his body. The way he

responded was meant to be curt, acknowledging, and dismissive. That's because it really was knowing,

excited, and embarrassed. Suddenly, I wasn't so ashamed anymore. Maybe Hawk was beneath Harley, or

embarrassingly perverted. Maybe Harley was the one who got fucked. That was just as arousing as the

previous thought, except instead of being vindictive, it was... it scared me into being hard. Harley

could take it from me and that was one thing, but Hawk _was_ tough.

The naked lion started picking things off the racks. Just then, the air conditioning kicked on and

sent a waft of leather scent over towards me. It also brought the near-gagging smell of his cock.

Like, I guess always, Harley had been a bad lion earlier in the day and left it to smoulder under

his foreskin. Perhaps that's why he seemed to be approached by more women than men at the party. He

wasn't really hard as he draped leather over his forearm, just kind of swollen, dangling.

Harley brought his leathers over in one hand, a pair of tall boots in the other. He set the boots on

the chaise next to my chest, then draped the other gear over the end of the cushion. First up: a

pair of chaps. At first I thought they were cheap, thin leather, but they weren't. They were

skin-fit. The leather hugged onto his legs so snuggly that it bunched in a few places and he had to

smooth it down. Tawny short lion fur turned into smooth black leather, with a small spade patch for

his cock and balls to sprout from. In the back, his ass was hugged and presented up by the snug

leg-holsters.

The boots weren't next, because I was clutching onto them. I grabbed them as soon as he set them

down. They smelled like leather, boot polish, and the strange musk of... feet? Nothing like a gym

shoe. Almost like the chaise's leather. Oh god, did he... in there? Next was a leather vest, which

the lion snapped closed at the front. It was a dressy vest, a cowboy vest, but with heavy and smooth

leather instead of fancy designs. His chest and the lapels were at odds, muscle forcing them to tilt

and point-edge on forwards. Next, gloves. Leather western ones, I think they're called roping

gloves, like normal dress gloves but with a very long fitted cuff. The leather creaked as it snugged

around his hands, smoothed down and felt once before he snatched the boots away from me and stepped

into them. Gleaming smooth patrol boots, with their swollen calf and short laces to pull the ankle

snug.

With no warning, the lion lurched onto the chaise after me, kneeling down with one leg, gloved hand

coming to my neck. He pressed me back hard, but shifted his grip more to my collarbone. "I hear you

have a new job. I hear you have something respectable to do with yourself all day. That will make

you all the more eager to satisfy your filthy needs as my exclusive paid companion."

What? Being throttled down scared me for a second, enough that I prickled. When he let up and just

held me, that was a little better. But telling me he wanted me as his exclusive whore? Hello, weird!

Harley continued. "Barring reasonable excuses, you will be available for my use when I request it.

If you are at work, I will only ask during your lunch break. I will provide transportation for you

if you work in the city, otherwise I will come to a close place. If you are not at work, I will

honor your own social plans... to a point. I will compensate you nicely for being there when I want

you, but you _will_ be there _when_ I want you."

This wasn't an offer. I started to make a sound but I just couldn't really, so I mouthed at the air

and started to curl my very naked limbs together. Instead of allowing me to ball up, Harley forced

his way between my legs. I squirmed, but I accidentally squirmed the 'right' way and he penetrated

me, just like that. His cock was slimy wet; he must've lubed it up when I wasn't looking. It had

been awfully slick with sweat... It hurt, a spear of pain that first made me panic and clench, and

then just made me ache. As he subtly dragged back and forth, that ache was more like pleasure that

was so extreme that it crossed over.

"You are free to decline, Mr. Sterling," Harley said, and I thought he was going to just clam up.

Instead, he leaned down closer, pressing me bodily to that musky-leathered chaise as he speared

deeper, deeper. "But I doubt you will. I am destroying your plans, aren't I? You can smell my

arousal over you, from a day of being trapped in my pants, but I didn't come. Not like before. I

edged myself until my cock was oozing it, overflowing with seed. I am saving it for you, Mr.

Sterling. For your ass. For my pony's clenching asshole." He was starting to sound ferocious, muzzle

breathing into my ear as he ground down into me. It wasn't quite fucking, or at least what I always

thought fucking would be. Porn makes fucking into a hard, showoff thing. Big, deep penetrations,

swinging balls, grunts and endless muttered "Fuck!"'s.

This was the opposite. He moved like he was going to pop any second, slow thrusts that dragged back

and forth, whole body movements that stirred his cock up, down, left, right. He knew how to stay

just at the edge of my inner ring until I relaxed, then stuffed the head right through. I felt like

I was stuck on a pole. I'd felt that once before recently, and it made me shiver and nicker.

He never started to hammer. Harley kept on with that odd-rhythm grinding and huffing, leather gear

creaking over his body, boot still planted down on the floor. My leg on that side went up his

chest, knee over the shoulder. The other one wrapped around his back. My arms took his shoulders,

feeling the dense short fur and the smooth, hugging leather, feeling his body subtly shift and tense

under my fingers, motions making a fucking circuit through my body down to my stuffed asshole.

This time, Harley didn't hold my wrists down. He let me hold him as he ground into me, breath

huffing at the side of my face, subtle squeaks of leather as he violated me with his slimy cock. I

really wanted to suck it, but that was what _I_ wanted, and clearly that wasn't what _he_ wanted. He

wanted to fuck me. And he really, really wanted it. No idle interest, no perverted need, no

curiosity fueled by orders from a psychopath. It hurt when he stuffed it in, but... now it didn't.

It felt so good, so invasive, so gut-quivering that I wanted to cry a little.

Then he pushed my head to the side, rolled it, a glove-leather stroke that made me open my mouth

like I was gonna get to slurp and slurp... nope. He was pushing me until I was staring at the

leather surface of the chaise. There wasn't anything there, but there was. A vague difference. I

could smell something, but it was hard to sort it out amidst lion breath, cock stink from both of

us, and that disgusting but telltale musk from him plowing my hole.

"He came right there," Harley said, stout muzzle pushing at my ear, chin ruff tickling me until I

slapped my ear at his face. He didn't stop. "I made him take his leathers off, to much complaint,

and then held him down like I'm holding you. No ropes, no toys, nothing even to shut his filthy

mouth up. I fucked him until he came, and he came hard, shots over his shoulder making a puddle

there that I forgot until it stained the leather."

No fucking way. Did Harley read minds? No, I told him what I was imagining. He couldn't have really

done it. I don't care if I'm six people away from anyone else in the world, I wasn't six people away

from Harley. Harley was _in me_, shoving his cock so deep that it felt like I'd eaten something bad

for leafers. He plowed an enigmatic, maybe psychotic, wolf. The same wolf who imprisoned me in his

house as a sex slave for a whole year simply because a friend of his said it would be a fun idea. I

was so impressed that I whinnied and shuddered and struggled at Harley, only to be held down just

the way he'd been avoiding. Gloved hands around my wrists.

"I don't know if you will come like that, Mr. Sterling. Perhaps I will have to take my cock out when

I'm finished, and jerk off onto your chest. A few gleaming strands of pearl on your breath-heaved

muscle always have an effect on you."

He didn't have to come on my chest, because I did. I didn't even notice I was hard. I didn't even

feel it at first, inside, just the jerks and the wet splats that went right up across my neck and

bounced off the underside of my jaw. Then I cried out half-way through, orgasm getting spiked on by

that hammering he'd been holding back. Five thrusts and Harley let out a sputtering grunt, and I

felt it going in. I felt his cock buck and jerk, and I just knew those squirts were going real deep.

Harley settled against me for one grunt, then pulled right out. Along with his dick, I expected to

feel the wet ooze of lion come, but no, it was so deep up in there... my hole still flexed and

squirmed like it had to keep something inside. "I am going to clean myself off," he said, then

simply left the room. I felt used, mostly because of the mess on me and the lack of anything to wipe

it up with. I shivered and started palming at the mess on my chest, intent to just rub it in. Harley

reappeared with a towel and threw it in at me. It was warm and slightly damp. I mopped up, ensuring

that there was no puddle on the leather for him to tell the next guy about. The next guy? Maybe he

would just remind me about it. I imagined it in my head. "That's where you came for me, just like

that wolf did." I heard his husky, almost monotone, disgruntled words and started getting hard

again.

He was taking an awful long time. First, I thought he would just wash his cock. Then I thought he'd

take a shower, but I didn't really hear the big rush of water. After about five minutes, I decided

to investigate. The door to the bathroom wasn't really shut all the way, but I didn't try to open it

further. I just slinked up. There was a trickle of water, and some heavy breathing. Then, perfect

timing: a grunt and a splash. I wrinkled my face.

Harley flushed, and then I heard the floor creak slightly as he moved around in the bathroom. With

all my sexual needs drained, I was just paying attention to every tiny little thing I heard. A foot

scrabbling in the bathtub, the water splattering, then stopping, then a grunt and a whush of water.

A couple more times and Harley swore and grunted and his body thumped against the side of the tub.

Okay, I had to see what the hell he was doing. I opened the door and found him partially wet,

squatting and hunched forward, one hand grappling with the stainless-steel dildo sprayer of a shower

enema thingy. The look on his face was equal parts embarrassment and frustration. "Whoa," I said,

and backed up. That only closed the door, leaving us both alone together in the bathroom.

The lion closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then let some of it out in a gruff. "Mr. Sterling, I

have a fault. Despite being feline, I'm not very flexible. That is why this is taking so long."

I guess his problem was kind of obvious. There's probably some magical ratio of limbs and torso

parts and flexible.. whatevers that makes it easy to stuff something in your ass. I never really had

a problem with it, but I remember Jasek telling me he always got cramps in his side. Harley probably

wanted me to just let him finish, but I wasn't going to waste the opportunity. If the big, powerful,

grouchy and dog-punching lion needed help washing his asshole out, I was going to give him all the

embarrassing help he needed.

"I think you're doing it wrong. Are you just like, filling up and then letting it out? That's

actually... too much. Like it's too much cleaning. You end up giving yourself one of those trendy

colonic things where they fill you up like a water balloon," I said, stepping over to the tub. It

was a nice, big jacuzzi tub. The closer I got, the more his eyes went wide and panicky. "You gotta

stick it in and yank it to the side, and then just let it go in and out at once."

"Zale," Harley said, lifting a hand up as if to push me away. I crouched down and snatched the hose

out of his hand.

"No, really, I've done this a million times. If you do it real deep, then you're... you're gonna

dribble water for hours. I'm sure some guys like that, but not really me. Uh. So, lemme... just

hunker down and make like you're... you know. Pooping."

"I hate that word," Harley growled. I nudged the nozzle into his ass and poked the button on it. It

had a button. Mine didn't have a button. I must've bought the cheap one. He did hunker down, head

turned to the side to avoid hitting the other end of the tub.

I tugged the nozzle to the side and gave Harley's back a soft stroke. "Okay, uh, push." He pushed,

and out rushed a blast of water. I'd never actually seen what it looked like. Thankfully, Harley was

already kind of clean, since it was almost entirely water. It looked really obscene though. I dug

the nozzle around a little, prodding up deeper, always pulling to the side. "That's a good kitty."

Harley arched back and swatted the nozzle out of my hand. "That's enough, Mr. Sterling," he growled,

then turned around to switch the water over to the regular tap. "I am going to turn your attempts to

humiliate me into pure pleasure. If you want to help me clean myself, then you're going to bathe

with me." He snapped the drain closed and scooted to one side of the tub.

It was clearly meant to take two people, although two of Harley would have been a tight fit. I

perched on the side until the water was enough to cover his thigh, then slipped in. It was so hot, I

brayed and almost hopped out, but he pulled me back. Not too hot, just hot. I took the initiative

and soaped up a bath puff, then started cleaning his chest. Once there was enough lather there, I

used my bare hand and Harley let out a grunt, leaning back and stretching out. I wasn't really

washing him as much as massaging his fur, but he didn't seem to complain. Neither did I. That photo

of him working out, sweaty and ferally enraged? It wasn't a fake. Harley was a stud.

He wanted to be relaxed, so I made sure he was relaxed. I tried to anticipate what he wanted and

scrubbed everywhere, leading to the inevitable cock wash. He loved that, curling his toes and

swelling half hard. I was serious about it and got my fingers in under his foreskin, really cleaning

him out good. As soon as one of his hands grabbed at the side of the tub, I gave up and he gave me a

mean grunt.

"Roll over. You want a bath, you get a bath. You want me to make you come, you tell me to do that,"

I said. Instead of complaining, he just rolled over. That hand on the edge moved over and pushed

something, creating a big thrum. One of the jacuzzi jets was squirting me right in the asshole and I

nearly jumped. I worked his back into a lather, then his rump, then slowly massaged soap around his

asshole as he grunted and hit me and the wall with his tail. No poking in there; I just went for the

rest of his legs, then his tail, producing a few feral growls from him. He finally snapped at me and

I let go of it. The big cat calmed down instantly, then rolled over and pinned me against the

sidewall of the tub.

"Your turn," he said, and started cleaning me. My cock. Nothing else but my cock. I almost fainted.

I can take a while to recover, and it was still sensitive. He got his face up to mine. "You may have

caught me violating my ass to clean it out, but I have just as much ammunition against you. Do you

remember what you said right before you came all over your chest, with me inside you?" This wasn't a

handjob and it wasn't being washed. It was excruciating. My stomach fluttered and I snorted, trying

to roll away. He just held my cock right up against one of those jets, allowing the pulsating flow

to shoot across the pisshole.

"Uhh, uhh, I don't know," I said. I said something when I was coming? I remember braying and seeing

double and holding my eyes shut and listening to Harley grunt as he came _in_ me...

He kept pushing on me until I rolled over completely, arms crossed under my chest to keep me from

getting bent the wrong way or drowned. He reached outside the tub for leverage. I could feel his

cock throbbing against my cleft as he rode atop me, but he wasn't trying to get in. He was just...

on top. "You..." and then he didn't finish. He let go and climbed off me, then rose free of the

water and stepped out. I lingered there, watching him dry off, fur puffed up by the fur dryer, then

smoothed down by a minute of careful combing with conditioner.

Partway through his fur treatment, Harley started to talk. "I am not satisfied yet. I doubt I will

be. I never feel satisfied. It's a constant roar of sexual need in my ears. If I manage to quiet it

down, then all I want to do is sleep from the sheer exhaustion of ejaculating fifteen, sixteen times

in one day."

That's an awful lot. I stared right back. "Wow." Of course I knew cats were like that, but Harley's

description didn't sound very fun. I always assumed it was. I always assumed that's where cattitude

came from, that always-there buzz of sexual need. At least the male ones.

"Your misbehavior at the party, that pony clothing you put on, the way you offered those subtle

looks at Kyle that enraged him," Harley grunted, not even looking at me. "Was not warranted. Neither

was denigrating me while I was cleaning myself. I originally planned to... take the bottom role, but

I see that won't be happening tonight."

Wait, I didn't give Kyle bedroom eyes! Not unless bedroom eyes are the, "please don't rape me, I'll

kick you in the nuts if you rape me", eyes as well. "What are you talking about? He, he practically

attacked me-"

"Perhaps you aren't aware of how your body language works, how it makes you appear. Mmm. Well, I

have an idea that will give you an idea of what you look like." The naked lion stood up and stormed

out of the bathroom, then went into the bedroom. Harley started to change back into something he

could go outside in, slacks and dress shirt, dark pinstriped suit. He came out and locked the door,

then grabbed my wrist and led me around. He locked all of the bedroom doors, the main bathroom, and

the basement. We ended up standing in the living room, me naked and him wearing that power suit,

glaring holes in my head. "I am going out. I will be back soon," he said, and went out into the

garage.

I sat down on the sofa and deflated. I was going to get the opportunity to top him, to climb up and

stuff in and smack him around, and I blew it, but I didn't even do anything. I leaned to the side

and sighed, staring up at the cathedral ceiling, the lazy fan, out around the nice furniture and

sparkling floor. Okay, I humiliated him in the bathroom. Seeing him in such a demeaning position,

cleaning his ass out so he could take my dick without messing me up, I mean... come on. I smiled a

little, to myself, thinking about how his rotten and stern expressions were practically comical.

They never broke; from mean, to mean and malicious with a grin, to sleepy and worn out. That was

understandable, but I didn't attract Kyle. I didn't want to attract Kyle. Kyle was a bad person. I

just knew it, it seeped out of him or something, it made him smell wrong, it came out in his voice,

and how he screwed with that fox - Jasek is weird, really weird, like he has all that scifi stuff

and this mockup of that alien facehugger thing that he made to suffocate people with or something,

but he's a good person, just weird. Kyle wasn't just indulging that fox's weird bits when he was

stuffing his cock and smothering him, he was doing it because he got off on it, and the moment he

looked the most riled up was when Jasek looked like he wasn't having fun any more.

I was not going to give Kyle bedroom eyes. What if I _did_? What if I didn't know what I was doing?

I mean I obviously said something to Harley that he wouldn't release to me. That immediately took

over my mind from Kyle's nasty image. I could have said something about Hawk. I could have said...

that I wore girly things once. I could have said something incriminating. The lion now had that as a

weapon.

Being home alone in his place, treated like a child who would try to go through dangerous

belongings, that sucked. It reminded me of Hawk, who totally disregarded that I was an adult

sometimes. I didn't always feel adult, but I wasn't a kid who was going to eat pills or break fancy

stereo equipment or some shit like that. I pondered just taking my things and going home, but I

didn't have a key and I'm sure Harley would rake me over the coals for not locking his condo up. I

just sat and stewed on the couch.

---

The lion was gone for about an hour and a half. It felt like ten minutes to me, since I fell asleep

on the sofa. I didn't wake up at the garage door, or even the door to the house, or even that deep

clop of boot heels on wood. I woke up when something else went thud in front of me.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long. I needed to make a sound investment," he said. A sound investment? I

looked around, bleary. What the hell kind of investment do you make at night? It was late, late

enough that only clubs and places in the red light district would even be open. Then I looked down

to the floor. Harley had emptied out the contents of a shopping bag onto the floor. There was

something leathery, something fabricy, more leather, and then... a hoof. I sat bolt up.

"You went _shopping_?" I leaned over and grabbed the bag. Black and Silver Leather. The place on the

eastern seaboard to get leather gear, hands down. It outranked some places in Berlin, so people

said. If it's a fetish toy, B&S has it, and they'll be glad to demonstrate it on you. I tossed the

bag aside and nearly pissed myself. Leather corset in a unique electric blue? Check. Leather opera

gloves, supple and black lambskin. Some kind of... panties, matching in color to that fancy corset,

made of satiny stretch stuff that I'd never seen before. A leather miniskirt, ebony black. The

hooves belonged to shiny black patent hoof boots that looked thigh high. Hoof boots.

"Surprisingly, I did not have to buy a bridle. I already have one," Harley said, adjusting his tie.

I thought he was just tightening it, but he was loosening it, sliding it out of his shirt. "Put it

on, and go wait for me downstairs," he said, stepping away as if nothing was out of the ordinary. He

unlocked the basement door by the kitchen, then came back and went up the stairs.

Stunned and a little numb, I just scooped the pile up into my arms and carried it all downstairs.

The condo was a big rectangle, and so was the basement. It walked out at the back, at one end of a

big rec room with a full set of sofas and a massive television, and the room had a full bar at the

other end. The other side of the basement had a curtained area for a workout room, complete with a

universal gym, and then all the laundry and heating stuff.

I knew what I said to Harley. I told him my little story about my mom's sexy stuff. I had to have

mumbled it in the heat of the moment. I tried to decide which garment was the least embarrassing.

Foot in the door, you know? I decided on the panties. I just imagined them as posing briefs, which I

had no problem wearing at all. I slid them on, stretchy and sleek, and... they fit. Sort of. They

weren't quite posing briefs, since those emphasize the big bulge. They hugged my rump a little

narrower than briefs, and in front, they had a kind of trough that turned my dick into a flat tube

up towards one thigh. They felt _awesome_. I immediately got hard, cock trapped under the material,

straining it but not forcing out into the open. Well-made. Tag removed, too, so I couldn't see how

expensive they were.

The gloves were next. I shuddered as I slid them on, fitted quite well, a little tight in a couple

spots but otherwise slick and supple leather all the way up my arms. I felt over my chest, my sides,

my new panties. It wasn't so bad at that moment, having to put on sexy burlesque shit, because I

_loved_ the gloves. I desperately hoped Harley would let me keep them, or at least wear them when I

wanted, or at least order me to wear them all the time when he used me for his personal pleasure,

or...

Fine, the miniskirt. It almost seemed like a pair of leather shorts, except there were no leg holes,

no grabby stuff in the crotch to show off, just smooth black leather. They were a little

restrictive, making it hard to walk the way I normally did. I had to twist my hips a little, an

enforced sashay. I also felt weirdly naked, even though I had the panties on. It had to be the

missing crotch. I went over to the mirror above a basement fireplace and shuddered. I was starting

to look like a harlot. If I bent just right, the searing blue of the panties peeked out and promised

goods for sale. Ungh. I flicked my tail around and paced in a circle, then went back to the remains.

Remember how I said I actually knew how to ride horses? Like real horses? I went to summer camp for

a few years and I decided to learn uh, what's that called, steeplechase. I did pretty well, and it

was fun, but right near the end I got thrown onto a rock. I broke three ribs and I had to wear this,

well, it was a corset. A medical corset, but still a corset, to keep me from expanding my chest too

much. That really sucked. Putting on the corset was thus something I could do, since I had to take

it off myself to be practical, but it gave me a kind of unpleasant memory of being constricted and

in awful pain. At least until I looked in the mirror. Thanks to my chest build, I had a bit of.. not

boobs, but a nice chest thanks to the corset, and it slimmed me up nice, gave me a classic figure.

It wasn't so bad. It was kind of hot, actually. A lot better than.. than... what I wore the first

time. Not the corset, I mean the first time I put on girly stuff.

The final item: the hoof boots. Looking at them, they seemed like they would be hugely

uncomfortable. I wasn't even sure they'd fit. I knew people did pony play, and it was pretty evenly

spread between humans and hybrids, but I'd never actually considered it myself. I mean, I'm already

a horse, I didn't need to play make believe. They zipped all the way down to the foot part, so I

slid the metal down and sat down. It took a bit of fiddling, but I got my foot stuffed inside. It

wasn't actually bad at all, like standing on my toes. Like wearing tall heels, except there was no

heel - if I let my foot down, I would just topple backwards. The high leather was nice, like a pair

of flashy boots, and I loved how it wrapped on my legs, but they were _hooves_. I stood up and

tottered around for a moment, and found out why women swing their hands out to the sides when they

sashay around, elbows in. It helped me keep my balance.

Walking just a short bit around the basement had my ankles sore and my quads aching a bit, so I sat

back on the sofa. Who was I kidding? It wasn't just embarrassing, but erotic. The outfit was

scalding hot and made me feel like a pony girl. Somehow, that seemed right with Harley... I even

experimented with crossing my legs over the thighs, feeling the tight squirm over my dick and balls.

Harley came down the stairs at a rough boot clop and I froze for a second. I desperately wanted to

uncross my legs, but I couldn't will myself to do it. I just sat and stared, gloved hands clutched

up at my leather-squeezed chest. I would have moved if he hadn't been wearing what he was wearing.

He still had a suit on, but it was completely different. Gone were the pinstripes and the crisp

white shirt, the black tie. In its place was leather. Only leather. Leather blazer, fine and supple

and angular; butterscotch leather shirt, high-collared; black leather tie, neatly clipped to the

shirt with a pin that had a weird kind of triple yin-yang. His pants were almost like leather

slacks, looking like they had the slightly loose front of pleated slacks without the ugly puff of

actual pleats. That front was bulging with his erection already, probably the point of the loose

bit. His feet were in a pair of fancy black cowboy boots, the ones he usually wore when he wanted to

impress me and feel good about himself. His hands were wrapped in skin-tight dress gloves.

He withdrew something out of his coat and I panicked. It was a metal cylinder, maybe as thick as a

thumb. It had to be, it had to be: "No, Harley, I... this is enough, I'm not gonna put lipstick on,

I'm not!" I flashed to looking in the mirror of my parents' bathroom, carefully painting my black

lips with my mom's obnoxiously powerful cherry-red lipstick, dick dribbling into the sink, paranoid

that she would come home too early. She did, but she didn't catch me painting my lips.

Harley quirked an eyebrow, but his face kept that otherwise regal, slack, and feral expression he

had when he wasn't particularly mad. He kept advancing, then pushed me to the side and sat down.

"This is not lipstick, pony," he said, and I quivered. No 'Mr. Sterling'. He slid open the metal

thing and exposed... a cigar. A hand-rolled one, deep brown, and it smelled awfully funny. Like mint

and a bit of skunk, with some grass thrown in. My heart didn't quit freaking out; of course it

wasn't lipstick, but now Harley had to wonder why I said that. Probably because I told him, right?

That was why? I told him what I did? He didn't seem to want to do anything about my paranoid face.

"I want to avoid an unpleasantly fast climax in you. I want to make sure that you come when I

stimulate you enough, and no earlier. I also want to avoid the same thing in myself."

"Uh, but that's just a-"

"This is a blunt rolled with catnip, marijuana, and menthol."

The lipstick panic went by and I just made a frowny face. "Uhng. That stuff makes me dizzy and

paranoid. I think I'll pass... wait, catnip?"

Harley set that tube aside and fished out a lighter from inside his coat, then lit it up. I had a

flash of someone else in a leather suit, with a cigar. Hawk. Hawk, the first time he fucked me,

literally raping me in his guest bedroom, intoxicated and chewing on a cigar, drooling on me as he

came... but this was not the same thing. Hawk was feral in his outfit, broad-shouldered but not

really huge-chested, like some mafioso from a movie. Harley was more distinguished, thicker,

ruff-chested, and the mane made a huge difference. He was big and regal and for a second, I forgot

he was holding a goddamn _blunt_. "The only time I will allow a comparison to a housecat is with

regards to catnip," Harley said, and toasted up the blunt, then puffed at it. The puff was followed

by a leather creaking inhale that made him look considerably bigger.

"I really don't like it, I remember when that fox had me do it and I was kind of wigging out,

and..." Harley turned to me and _lunged_. "No, come on, I said I don't want to! You can't just force

me!" He didn't shove the blunt at my face, and just lunged again. I could swear he was going to rip

my throat out or bite me or whatever lions do. Instead, his muzzle crushed against mine, and hard. I

tried to fight him off but his hands just grabbed my wrists, even though he had to keep that blunt

in one of them. Then, he exhaled hard, and I felt like I was a balloon. I tried to snort it out but

he had my whole muzzle stuffed into his and I couldn't really exhale even through my nose. He

finally pulled off and I let it out with a whicker and a snort.

The pot burned; the menthol burned cold like one of those over-strong breath mints; the catnip...

smelled like catnip. Harley turned his head to the side and took another deep hit, then went after

me again. I was too busy trying to keep from hacking a lung up to really fight, and he overwhelmed

me with a big... what is it, shotgun blast? Then again, a third time, and this time he let me exhale

while our muzzles were locked. His tongue filled up the void left by all the smoke, squirming around

in my mouth. He pulled away and left me cringing back against the arm on the sofa.

"Since you seem so upset, go make yourself useful and make me a drink. Scotch and honey, just a

little water," he said, languidly puffing at the blunt, before he reached over to a side table and

snuffed it out. "I'm sure you will enjoy the distraction that mixing a drink will provide."

What an asshole, what an asshole! I got up in a huff and immediately tripped, face-planting onto the

luxury shag rug in front of the sofa. My ears burned and burned and I squirmed, winded and on the

verge of coughing. My throat constricted like I had a snake around my neck, and I clambered up to my

feet. Harley was simply staring at me, one of his boots crossed up onto his knee, gloved hands

resting on his thighs. Well, that wasn't so bad; he could have been laughing.

The second try was much better. I wobbled up onto the hooves and clopped off the rug and onto the

fancy stone floor, then over to the bar. Holy shit, I could only imagine what Harley felt from the

catnip _and_ the pot. It was really something, clutching throat burn turning into a pounding heart

and swirling in my ears. Make yourself useful. Make yourself useful. What, does he think I'm a

woman? I grabbed for some scotch, then a tumbler, then found a bottle of honey. Honey. Scotch and

honey-

"When I saw you in your pony outfit at that party, I knew that you needed a little more in order to

bring out the subversive, feminine side that lurks in you. I was correct. Serving me reinforces

that, doesn't it? It makes you feel like a whore again. It makes you feel like a woman."

Did I say that _out loud_? I pouted and he just cracked the slightest of grin. It spread, until he

had this horrible fangy look on his face. Maybe that's why Harley never smiled, because he looked

like he wanted to eat me. I dumped some scotch into the glass, dumped some honey in, and then ran

the tap. Harley wasn't there any more, the room wasn't there, I was just watching the water come out

of the tap. Boy, those gloves were nice. I could do stuff in them with no problem at all, I could do

anything in them. I could make the big, strong lion a nice drink. He would get a little tipsy, but

it wouldn't be like that party. There'd be no big dogs trying to scare me, there'd be no annoying

leopards fawning over me like I was a curiosity, there would be no businessmen to distract Harley,

there'd just be me. Me me me me me.

It was awful hard to move without sloshing the glass, until I kind of trotted by accident. I trotted

right on over to the sofa, glass in hand, nothing spilling at all. I was so proud! "I can trot

without spilling a drop," I said, and in my head, I was at some kind of dressage tournament, winning

a prize for not spilling the rider's glass of wine or whatever. Did they even do that? It sounded

so... kind of filthy, actually. Embarrassing. I wasn't a _horse_, I wasn't a pony, I was, well, I

guess I was-

Harley took the glass from me and I didn't want to give it up, gloved hands reaching for his,

sliding down the backs of his fingers, down his arms, body then straddling onto his lap, stroking at

all that beautiful leather. I had to straddle just one leg due to the damn miniskirt. He sipped at

the liquor while I squirmed against him, snorting softly, leather squeaking against his. What a nice

euphoric rush. "You should have gotten me... you should have gotten a white corset, and a pair of

red gloves. Red, white, blue, and black," I said, counting on my fingers to make sure I got all

those colors right. "You know, because I'm an Australian pony, and the flag..."

"I don't want you to wear the BDSM pride colors. I wanted the blue to match your mohawk."

Pride colors. Pride colors? Oh, those pride colors. I felt stupid. "No, the Australian flag is, it's

a union jack and some blue stuff and white stars!"

Harley grinned that horrifying stoned-cat grin and dropped his muzzle open, leaned forward, and

sniffed at me. Then, one of his gloved hands came up and stroked down my snout. "I would prefer if

you occupied your mouth with something else," he said, and I started to suck at his fingers. "No,

and don't slobber all over my boots. I think you know what I would enjoy. It's a pity you cleaned it

so thoroughly, though."

I melted off his lap and onto the floor, ending up sitting with my legs off to the side due to those

damn hoof chaps and the fucking skirt, ungh! I tried to palm around at his crotch but his own hands

got in the way, smelling a little of whiskey as he stroked and rubbed and finally unbuttoned the

fly. Inside, a posing thong, leather cradling his cock and still hiding it. I let out a grunt and

looked up at him, then offered it a kiss. I lipped around and pulled on the snaps that affixed the

pouch, and out it came. Oh god, even just after a couple of hours, his dick stank like sex musk. I

wrinkled my nose.

"Selecting your outfit was very exciting," he said, voice coming out in slow motion, deep and syrupy

and almost a rasp. If I was making a movie, I would cast Harley as the evil villain, and myself as

the damsel that he captures as a hostage, or something, or maybe he'd just keep me around as his

pretty pony like in James Bond. I slurped onto his bare dick, tongue stirring around in his

foreskin, slurping that sour and salty musk out, suckling him up to full swell.

I ended up on the sofa somehow, stretched out, arm clutching onto his thigh, then squeezing and

kneading at his balls and I sucked and sucked and sucked. Harley was growling - no, purring, like

every time he breathed out - and his cock kept throbbing and oozing precum like it was going to

spurt, but it never did. Wow. Maybe he was right. The pot wasn't so bad, either. Maybe it wasn't

like the stuff Jasek had. Maybe catnip worked on horses.

His gloved hand stroked at my skirted ass, then lifted the leather and palmed over where the panties

met my bare fur and muscle. I squirmed and pulled off with a wet plop. "You're filthy. You're a

filthy lion, touching me like that," I said, fingering his foreskin up and down, staring at the

flesh rolling over the big mushroom again and again.

Harley pulled on my mane and just tugged me right off his lap. "Your attitude is not improving," he

said, tiny bits of pause in his voice. Either he was stoned, or I was stoned, or we were both

stoned, but he _sounded_ just that little bit more dark than he always was.

I clung onto Harley as he walked, and expected him to get mad as I slowed him down. He didn't get

mad. He didn't even slow down. He just stalked his way into the rest of the basement, which seemed

really, really far away. Like holy shit far away. At the same time, one minute I was in the basement

den on a sofa, and the next minute I was staring at his universal gym. I turned around and faced

right into his chest, all black and butterscotch leather. "I'm sorry I'm not," I said, reaching out

to feel at his coat lapels. I forgot what I was trying to say and just stroked the leather, staring

at my black gloves, those gorgeous black opera gloves, his black leather, his big chest, the mane

ruff that came down to his shoulders and puffed the very front of his shirt out slightly.

"Accepting your apology will not help me, and it will not help you. Do you see that bench?" He

turned me around and pointed a black-gloved finger to the universal gym thingy. Of course I saw the

bench. There were two benches and some kind of stool thing. One bench just sat on the floor like a

regular bench. The other was inclined from a few feet off the floor up to the bench press handles.

"I want you to straddle it. Face the machine. Wrap your hands - these hands - around the handles.

Can you do that?" Harley's words were patronizing, but his tone wasn't - it was just deep, husky,

and commanding.

"I can do it," I said, and hobbled over to the bench. I went to sit on it, straddling it, and

immediately slid down. "Oops. Uh," I snorted and pushed up, then reached up to grasp at the handles,

flexing my gloved fingers around them. I smiled. Harley came over and did not smile at all. Instead,

he reached under something and pulled out a bundle of rope. "Whoa, wait a minute."

"No," he said, and started to rope-knot my wrists, then knotted the rope around the handles on each

side of each hand. He was so fast about it, like he'd done it a million times, or maybe I was just

so fucked up. My heart pounded in my chest, dick throbbing in my panties, and the corset made it

feel like I couldn't quite breathe enough. I started to freak out, squirming as he fixed both hands

in place. Then, he groped all over my shoulders, my chest, then down over the heavy blue corset

leather. He unlaced it and carefully pulled it off of me. "You do not deserve to wear this. You will

wear it when you are a proper pony. You are not a proper pony. You are an unbroken wild horse." Oh

god oh god he's going to make me into a _pony!_ Like _that_ kind of pony! His hands clutched at my

ass and I tried to squirm it away, but somehow the hand-binding made me completely useless, even to

lift up off the leather workout padding. Soon, I was just wearing the blue panties, hoof boots, and

long gloves.

I was wearing them alone. Harley left the room and clomped upstairs, then stirred around, boot

stomps getting weaker as he went upstairs again, to the second floor. I just squirmed and flatted my

head against the workout bench. Something was coming next. Something bad. He was going to do

something freaky to me. Harley was a freak. He was just like that fox, like the wolf, like that dog,

like that cat I ran into in the park, a total freak. He was saving it up, all the weird dark stuff

was just him holding back, like how he wanted to get me high so it would all come blowing out in one

rush, and he was going to let his blow out in one big rush and I'd be trapped in his basement

forever and turned into a sex toy pony, literally trotted out for houseguests to serve them and

amuse them and get ridden with a real saddle and this entire fantasy was _not_ fun because the

goddamn catnip-ridden fucking rasta blunt he shotgunned me with was making me so paranoid I thought

my skin was going to crawl off my whole fucking body!

The basement door opened with a thump and I froze, prickles tingling into my hands, tail loose over

my thigh. Stoned, Harley moved a lot slower than normal. He had a very forceful but measured way of

moving around normally, and it slowed down like it was in syrup. If he strutted, which he did not,

he'd be the ultimate cowboy. I tried to imagine him in a gunslinger outfit, scraping his spurs on a

dusty, worn wood floor in a saloon, but the hat just didn't work with his mane. Oh yeah, he had a

bridle in one hand, a big ball gag with some kind of weird fixture at each end of a short strap, and

this huge horsetail flogger the size of my whole arm. For fuck sake the bridle had blinders on it!

"Harley, uh, uh, you really, I won't ever go near Kyle again, I swear, I swear!" The goddamn rope

and that bench press thing were totally screwing with me. I didn't feel very bound, but I couldn't

move at all, lifting up and rearing back was an instant strain.

The lion said nothing as his cowboy boots clip-clopped across the room. Each sound made me twitch. I

was so, so aroused, but so scared. I started to feel stupid all of a sudden, like half of everything

was spinning away. When his gloved hands stroked my head and slowly fitted the bridle on, it felt so

good that I wanted to sob. When he adjusted the blinders into position, at first I didn't really

notice much. I already had tunnel vision... then I started trying to see what he was doing. I

couldn't turn my head enough to actually look at Harley. I couldn't see what he was going to do. I

could hear him, all that leather creaking with so much as a fur twitch. The bridle didn't have a bit

in place, but I kept chewing like I thought it did.

"I know exactly what you like, pony." And then... nothing, for like thirty seconds. What the hell

was he doing? I tried looking, tried and tried, but he kept moving side to side so I could just

barely see a bit of black leather. Oh god. I knew what I liked. Harley had heard all kinds of things

and he knew what I liked. But I didn't want it, it was going to hurt, I was paranoid that it was

going to hurt, that he wouldn't stop, that he'd-

WHAM. Thank god it was a long flogger and that he missed a bit. It felt like someone swinging their

leg into my ass; I strained and ground forward and tried to get away until I realized that it mostly

just smacked the side of the bench. WHAM! That one did not miss me at all. It bounced off my ass

again, grinding me against the bench. It felt... it felt good. Not even painful, just good. I

expected that stinging burn of shame to go with it, but it was gone, and that made it -worse-. I

knew I should be ashamed of myself, wearing hoof boots and opera gloves and searing blue panties and

writhing around tied up, but that goddamn blunt was making me into a complete hedonistic toy.

WHACK! No more meat of that flogger; Harley started lashing it, letting it whip instead of thud.

That hurt. And then again, and again, and it started going up my back. Having my ass beat gets me

off. Was it because of that wolf? Was it always there, waiting to be brought out, by that wolf?

Having my back whipped just hurt, and he hit me fast enough that there was no room for endorphin

rush, just more and more pain until I whinnied and neighed and brayed and snorted like a fucking

stallion. Finally I saturated with something and managed to actually say something.

"STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP! STOP PLEASE! PLEASE HARLEY I'M SORRY PLEASE I'M SORRY!"

He stopped, and all my emotion cut right off. I wasn't actually expecting him to stop. Into the void

of stoned euphoria came a paranoid thought: we didn't have a safeword. Maybe he wasn't stopping

because I was telling him to.

"Your mouth is what got you into this trouble, pony. Perhaps you will stop digging your own hole if

I make that wet hole useless," Harley said, words oozing out of his muzzle and falling all over me.

The lion bent down beside me, leather dress clothes creaking as they surely weren't meant for heavy

activity. He picked up that ball gag and cradled it in his hand, then held it in front of my face to

show me.

"Please, please, I'm serious Harley, that hurt, and I don't, I don't want, I won't be able to-" I

started to blubber, I mean literally blubber and sob, jags poking through the numb haze of

intoxication. He didn't back off; he just stuffed the ball into my mouth and hooked the clips on its

straps to the bridle. Then he lifted the flogger and I brayed again, thrashing against the bench,

even going as far as kicking backwards. The closest a fake hoof got to Harley was when he clutched

onto my ankle and dropped it harmlessly aside.

The flogging turned me into raw pain, a nasty burn all across my back, each hit stinging enough that

soon, I didn't experience anything else. It was kind of nice in a zen sort of way, aside from being

bound and gagged and unable to defend myself against a sadistic and cocky lion who was baked on

catnip and skunk weed.

As the humiliating fire burned down, I realized Harley had quit flogging me. He was standing behind

me, although I couldn't look at him due to the goddamn ropes and the blinders. I could just grunt

and slobber on myself and lash my horsetail around and fuck the bench. Harley was going to fuck me.

I knew it. I knew it so much that I kept waiting and waiting and waiting. Instead, he stood there

and jerked off, slimy precum-wet foreskin slapping his dickhead and his gloved fingers.

"You do not deserve to have your cock beaten, until you ejaculate all over your own body. You do not

deserve to have your ass beaten until you do the same. You do not deserve to be fucked. You do not

deserve to have my seed sprayed all over your breathless, panting chest. Instead, I will soil you

where you cannot even reach."

I'd really been sobbing; now that the emotional degradation was blunted by that warm endorphin rush

and it felt almost good to be reduced to a target for lion spunk. I couldn't come, no matter how

hard I ground against the bench, not matter how hard he'd hit me on the ass and back with that

flogger. I don't know how long I lay there, how long Harley stood over and grunted as he worked

himself, but it all eventually came to a head. He groaned and stifled a roar, the sound percolating

out of him like he was choking or - just like me! - sobbing. His spunk came out, sticky and heavy,

and made a heated puddle just above the band of those clingy panties, right on my spine, right on my

lower back.

I lay there, defeated, ears ringing, as Harley stalked off. He took long enough to do whatever he

was going to do that I could feel that mess congeal against my back fur, then go wet again, running

down _into_ those panties as there must've been a little gap where the elastic material didn't hold

tight. I was aroused but exhausted, and the exhaustion just wore on and on until I could feel my

eyes rolling, rolling, and then I just fell asleep.

---

I woke up to a beam of morning sunlight. I panicked because I was stll strapped down, until I

realized that no, I wasn't, I was in bed. In Harley's bed. In his huge, sumptuous bed, with a

dust-lit beam of glowing sun leaving a streak right across my completely naked self. I felt really,

really groggy, like I was full of fluff, like coming down from a terrible allergy attack. Instead of

feeling bad, I just felt groggy, a big thumbs-up compared to the sniffles.

Harley wasn't in bed with me. He had been; there was a vague shape in the sheets next to me, mussed

up by a sleeping lion, and the sheets were pulled apart. He'd left. Maybe he was making breakfast!

No, I didn't smell food.

A muffled grunt, then the unmistakeable splash of someone pissing, right from the bedroom's

suite-attached bathroom. Grunt, splash. Grunt, groan, sprinkle. Somehow, listening to Harley piss

was arousing. It was arousing because I could imagine his sex-stinking cock drooping down and

unleashing hot, musky lion urine into the.... toilet. It was also arousing because going to the

bathroom is supposed to be embarrassing, just like cleaning your asshole out is, but I was privy to

what he was doing.

I decided to keep my mouth shut and just wound myself into the sheets, one leg out, one in, pillow

clutched up. I pretended to sleep. Harley gave out a final, sniffle-grunt of relief and flushed the

toilet, then came back into the room.

"I assure you, Mr. Sterling, that I am quite alright. Marijuana makes it difficult for me to piss. I

have a solution for that, but it is alarming and I'm sure you would like to relax for a change," he

said, climbing back into bed. Huh? I'm asleep!

"How'd you," I mumbled, turning to him just as he came from behind and spooned up against me. The

affectionate gesture was at odds with the powerful, possessive grab that he used to subdue me and

hold as he sank onto his side.

"You make this profound gasp when you wake up," he said, one big tawny hand holding my chest. I felt

safe, in a kind of zoo animal way. "I apologize for making up the story that you taunted Kyle. I did

not anticipate him being there, and I know how you feel about him. I needed a reason to punish you,

and humiliating me in the bathroom was not enough of a reason."

I sprouted a painfully hard erection. Just thinking about Harley turned my crank. Having him use me

as a cuddle toy on a lazy Saturday morning? I wanted those pony hoof boots back on, but they were

flopped on the floor along with the panties and those long gloves. "Well, you could have, I dunno,

not punished me, just..."

"I didn't get to embarrass you with what you said while I was fucking you, either, Zale," Harley

said, muzzle next to my ear. He used my first name! That gave me a little thrill and I squirmed,

finally succeeding to roll over and face upwards, trying to squirm next to the nude lion's chest.

Our cocks crossed and nudged each other, with me doing most of the work.

The previous night's heat was all gone, replaced with lazy morning. I didn't really have that much

of a problem saying what I'd blurted out. "It's not that embarrassing. I mean, it is, but it's just,

it's one of those things." Harley stared at me with that frowning leonine intensity that said, 'Go

on, put your foot deeper into your mouth.' "I don't even know why I was thinking about it. It just

came into my head. You have to have done something embarrassing like that, I mean, maybe not your

mom finding you jerking off in her lingerie and then giving you permission to _finish_ before raking

you over the coals-"

Harley's face didn't change, but he clutched me closer, shoved his big snout to my ear and groomed

it, then let out one of those weird raspy lion purrs that only comes out and doesn't go back in.

"Zale, that's not what you told me last night, while I was fucking you."

Oh.

OH.

Not only had I promised myself that I'd never tell him only to fail like a total idiot, but I added

another heaping of fail on top by assuming that I'd actually told him and that's why he had me

dressed up like a burlesque pony girl! I had a flash of him approaching me with that shiny metal

cigar tube. Don't put lipstick on me! Don't put lipstick on me, fuck. God fucking shit. "Uh. So what

did I say?" I couldn't really deadpan my reaction but I just had to try.

"Let me inside you again, and I will let you know. You did not come last night, during your

punishment. I'm sure you will enjoy waking up to the feeling of my cock inside you." Harley let the

kitten-play angle drop and palmed me flat onto my back, then straddled his way behind my legs.

Shit shit shit, it's gonna go in dry! Okay, piss wet, and sweaty, and kind of slimy with whatever

you call that slime that is the end result of a hours of time past a sloppy orgasm, but that's not

enough to stick it in my asshole. I twisted to the side and panicked a little, until I saw the slim

bottle of designer Body Silk lube he had on the nightstand. Body Silk is like using designer cologne

when it really smells the same as that Parfums de Coeur shit you can buy for five bucks at the gimme

rack in the grocery store. Fine with me, silicone lube is silicone lube. I squirted a little onto my

hand, then helpfully throttled Harley's dick. After a few pumps, he forced my hand away and pinned

it at my side.

Harley's actual style of fucking was almost always the same, studious and stick-up-ass and with one

of those lion frowns plastered all over his face. He treated me like I was just a plaything for him

to satisfy his unending feline mating urges, and if I thought about it too much, it made me feel

creepy and go soft. Then his cock would hit just right and I'd go hard again, and spur him on until

his black lips parted and he looked like he was going to bite me.

"You told me," he said, panting, holding me down by the elbows, hips nearly impacting me, making me

ache inside. My back and ass hurt and no amount of sultry pillowtop mattress would stop me from

feeling the constant squirmy discomfort from the beating he gave me. Why was I okay with that? Why

was I- "That you love me." He stopped moving, dick twitching just once inside me, body wholly

holding me down, muzzle just an inch from my long face.

Replace humiliation at the hands of my mother's lingerie with humiliation from being a basketcase.

Harley had told me before that he didn't want to have a relationship with anyone, that he felt it

was impossible because he was a lion, and he was very satisfied to keep me as a private escort. I

kind of assumed that he was just saying all that kind of stuff, and I must've let it slip. I _did_,

I did, I did... but... but...

"Say it again. Say it again, or I won't finish you off. I will merely leave my own mess inside you

and send you home, and you can stroke yourself in private, wearing your mother's lipstick in the

privacy of your own bedroom." Harley's face cracked a bit when he said the last part, like his

attempt at throwing my humiliation back at me was a comical misstep. "Embrace me and say it again."

Did I ever embrace him. I clutched on around his shoulders and pulled, and he actually succumbed to

it and let himself crush down against me. I even wrapped my legs around him, and the change in angle

made his cock go that extra little bit inside. "I love you," I said, lips almost touching his. He

brushed against mine, grunted, then went off.

I felt a little stunned and sank back against the bed. Harley pulled out of me, dick still

slobbering semen, then clutched onto my cock and started to jerk hard. "I will not say that back to

you. We will not have a relationship where we say that to each other. You are free to say what you

want, but you will still do what I want, when I want it, for ample compensation. We have a business

relationship."

Yes Mr. Benson, sir. Maybe it was the early morning, or late morning, or whatever part of the day it

_really_ was, but I didn't have the hair trigger that Harley did sometimes. He could incapacitate me

and get me to tell him that I loved him and blow his load, but I needed some work. "Do I need to ask

permission to come?"

His response was to wrinkle his snout, clear his throat hard, and then spit all over my chest.

Harley didn't spit like a cat. He made it come out in a single blob which laded with a splat right

between the muscles. "Lean your head forward and lick that up. If your tongue won't reach, you will

have to use your fingers to wipe it up and then suck them clean."

I tried, and tried, and tried, and I couldn't lick it up, but I had to lick it up, he was squeezing

and grinding my dick and it hurt but I was getting off anyway, and I wiped my fingers into the

sticky mess and then sucked and licked and slurped and let out a whinny as my come fired off. Well,

thanks to the drugs the night before, it really just bubbled up and dribbled down over his tawny

thumb. I ached inside, but it was a good ache, like my prostate was tingling all the way through the

orgasm and well past it.

Harley leaned down and kissed me. Not a violating kiss, not a subtle brush, just... a kiss. The most

normal, average kiss anyone had ever given me. "I need to eat," he said, then lumbered out of bed

and put on a pair of black silk boxers on his way out the door.

---

Harley tried really hard not to let his real self come out, but when he wasn't acting like some kind

of domineering version of Richard Gere from "Pretty Woman", he had a sort of vulnerable quality.

Down in the kitchen, he looked at the closed fridge like it presented a big conflict.

"So, are you going to make breakfast?"

"You don't eat meat, and this bothers me, because I cannot imagine how you could simply eat pancakes

for breakfast."

"I can't eat pancakes, they have eggs in them," I said, still trying to put my pants on. I was

putting my riding pants back on, for lack of something better. I decided to go through his pantry

closet to see what I could make. I started producing a pile on the counter. Canned pineapple, canned

coconut milk, grits, peanuts. "I'm so used to it. I'm not high maintenance about food. I'll figure

out what I can eat, and I have a bike, I can go out and get something. This should be fine."

Harley's breakfast involved... eggs benedict. He seemed to be a decent cook, although he was

constantly staring over at what I was making. Sauteed peanuts, then some curry seasonings, then some

pineapple seared in the pan, then the grits, then coconut milk. I guess it was a pretty weird thing

to eat. "I apologize for making you smoke last night. I... got it into my head, after I ran into

someone at the leather shop. Perhaps I was projecting my own failings onto you."

I peered into my pot. Whew. Curry for breakfast. "It really does freak me out. I know you... I know

you enjoy being truly dominant, but, it really makes me paranoid. I mean really paranoid. I tried to

be a good sport with Jasek, since he's been trying to help me stop being so scared of some things,

so I don't... overcompensate and get into trouble."

"I don't want to sound rude, but you never seemed to have any friends until you met that fox. I'm

glad you at least get along."

I was busy cooking, so I didn't really think much about what Harley said at the time. I just kind of

nodded along and babysat my curried coconut pineapple grits. In hindsight, he was being more candid

than I'd ever heard him.

"Mr. Sterling, I have another party next weekend. Unlike the one last night, it will not have any

business to it. It is only my friends, here at my condo, and you will accompany me," Harley said,

not even looking at me. I didn't really blame him; he was navigating the difficult step of removing

poached eggs from their vinegar water bath and placing them atop two browned English muffins. "They

are all fairly wealthy, so you may have to navigate the smug air, but I believe you will make a fine

escort for me."

I served myself a bowl of yellowy grits sludge. "Sure," I said, not really thinking the implication

through. I was warmed by his little tender care for me and that weird fox's friendship, and also

distracted by the sweet, musky richness of the indo-tropical grits. Their radiance extended to

Harley, who took a very careful taste from the stirring spoon. He immediately removed the eggs from

his muffins and added a thin layer of my food. "Hey, that's mine."

The lion dug into one of the open sandwiches, resulting in a lewd and feral splatter of egg yolk

across his chin that he wiped up with his tongue. "Perhaps you could contribute to the party in

other ways," he said, allowing the full weight of the statement to sink into me before he continued.

"Perhaps with something for us to eat."

I canted my ears and knocked my knees together like a wincing horse. "Sure," I said, focusing on the

simple implication that I was his escort for the party. The two later statements were going to come

back and totally bite me in the ass, though.