Furless Intervention

Patient ID: 3927-AW

Admission Date: 07/24/2034

Assigned ABRS: Aaron Kano

Assigned ABRS ID: HH-14920

*Patient Information:*

Name: Milo Fennin

Species: German Shepherd (Anthro)

Sex: Male

Age: 28

Height: 176 cm

Weight: 66 kg

Fur / Scale / Skin / Coat: Black-Brown / Standard German Shepherd Markings

Eye Color: Green

**Occupation:**

• Former Safety Inspector - Manufacturing:

• Responsibilities: Risk assessments, enforcing safety regulations, overseeing compliance

• Incident Report: Suspended after multiple workplace conflicts, escalating aggression, and a final physical altercation with a superior.

• Former Facility Manager - Downtown Residential Area:

• Performance Notes: Unstable attendance, frequent clashes with residents and management.

• Incident Report: Dismissed after altercation with a customer - witness accounts suggest emotional distress prior to escalation - no formal charges were filed.

**Medical History:**

• Previous Injuries:

• Left forearm: Multiple scars indicative of past restraint use (suspected struggle-related)

• Lower ribs: Faint scarring, cause unspecified (inconsistent patient statements)

• Current Conditions:

• Elevated stress hormone levels (consistent with hypervigilance disorder)

• Sleep irregularities (recorded restlessness, tendency toward nocturnal activity)

• Muscle tension, habitual clenching of jaw and paws (potential anxiety response)

• Medications:

• Sedatives (as needed for acute aggression episodes - patient resists administration)

• Sleep aids (prescribed, but patient refuses compliance)

• Mild painkillers (occasionally requested, but rarely used)

**Criminal Record & Incident History:**

*(Note: Criminal records of Anthro subjects are evaluated based on sector-specific guidelines.)*

• Charges:

• Disorderly conduct (x3, public altercations – no fatalities, but injuries reported)

• Assault (x1, claim of self-defense — case dismissed due to lack of evidence)

• Failure to comply with intervention protocols (x2, prior assignments failed)

• Incident Notes:

• Repeated conflicts with authority figures, particularly hesitant ABRS personell.

• Documented pattern of defiance toward passive leadership; responds more predictably to confident, firm authority.

• Strong aversion to restraint measures.

**Psychological Evaluation:**

• Primary Diagnosis:

• Hypervigilance Disorder (symptoms include heightened sensory awareness, aggression triggers, difficulty de-escalating confrontation)

• Trust Deficiency Syndrome (common in Anthros subjected to prolonged institutionalization or multiple intervention failures)

• Species-Specific Social Dependency Conflict (Observed in select canine-type Anthros; see details below)

• Behavioral Profile:

• Displays strong resistance to weak or hesitant authority, particularly among Anthro supervisors.

• Prefers structured command environments but rejects coercion-based compliance.

• Predictable under firm, assertive guidance; unpredictable under passive or non-direct leadership.

• Possessive tendencies noted — prior interactions with female Anthros resulted in signs of territorial behavior.

• Responds poorly to sedation; past restraint attempts resulted in increased hostility.

• Prefers to maintain personal space but shows clear signs of involuntary tension relief when engaged in controlled, dominant human interaction.

**Species-Specific Psychological Note - Canine-Anthro Human Dependency Syndrom:**

*(Excerpt from Anthro Behavioral Research: Social Stability in Human-Anthro Coexistence, Vol. 4)*

Due to their evolved hybridization and latent instinctual behaviors, canine Anthros exhibit an intrinsic biological response to human presence. While they are functionally independent, psychological evaluations suggest that the absence of human interaction or authority figures in prolonged environments can lead to:

• Heightened irritability and erratic aggression

• Compulsive pacing or over-alertness (hypervigilance)

• Difficulty in task retention and workplace compliance

• Increased cortisol levels associated with separation anxiety (in extreme cases, subjects exhibit symptoms akin to cabin fever or panic responses when isolated from human contact for extended periods.)

While subjects may be reluctant to acknowledge this dependency, controlled, firm physical interaction (assertive touch, structured petting, or guided restraint) has been shown to stabilize agitation levels in over 79% of observed cases.

Milo Fennin's profile aligns with these observations: He does not seek reassurance voluntarily but exhibits measurable reduction in stress indicators when subjected to firm, controlled human contact. Further controlled trials are recommended.

**Recommended Specialist Approach:**

• General Guidelines:

• Firm, assertive contact is recommended in key intervention scenarios.

• Hesitation, weak verbal authority, or uncertainty will escalate resistance.

• Direct but structured negotiation preferred over passive engagement.

• Avoid sudden physical contact unless absolutely necessary. Body language sensitivity is heightened in subject.

**Tactile Intervention Methodology**

*(For Field Officers and Behavioral Specialists Use Only – See Training Module 34B: Contact-Based De-escalation)*

• Recommended contact methods:

• Deliberate, confident grip on the back of the neck or shoulder when issuing directives. (Simulates reassurance cues in canine-based pack hierarchy.)

• Firm but controlled petting along the upper back or between the ears in moments of agitation. (To be used as a stabilization technique rather than a behavioral reward.)

• Guiding touch (placing a hand on the forearm, leading contact) to reinforce human presence and prevent escalation.

• Not recommended:

• Timid or hesitant contact, which may be perceived as uncertainty and encourage defiance.

• Inconsistent authority cues, which increase subject’s distrust and noncompliance.

**Human Presence Requirement:**

Due to documented distress behaviors in canine-type Anthros when lacking human contact, Milo’s reintegration process requires routine human interaction.

• Solo Anthro supervision is strongly discouraged.

• Recommended assignment to a mixed Anthro-human work environment with at least one human Intervention Officer present.

• Monitoring should be conducted for signs of dependence conflict (e.g., frustration at required proximity vs. agitation in isolation).

**Final Notes**

Milo Fennin is classified as high-risk but manageable with an experienced Anthro Behavioral Rehabilitation Specialist. His history suggests deep-seated distrust in weak institutional authority but a measurable response to firm, direct intervention by human personell.

Past failures in his rehabilitation were largely due to uncertain or passive handling tactics, suggesting that structured, dominant interaction may yield better results.

Further observation is advised.

**Assigned ABRS Approval**

Handler Name: Aaron Kano

Signature: *Aaron Kano*

Date: 08/04/2034

Aaron signed the record, nodded, and left for the de-scenting chambers. On the way, he skimmed over the notes again. Milo needed guidance — firm, deliberate direction to steer him back on track, away from institutions like this one. That, and reassurance. A steady hand and measured kindness would serve him best.

As a human officer, he was strictly required to use the de-scenting chambers before interacting with a new patient. Anthros, particularly canines, reacted unpredictably to lingering scents — especially those carrying traces of another individual. It was instinct more than anything, a territorial or emotional response deeply ingrained in their biology.

Aaron had seen it before — how a subtle, unnoticed scent could shift an interaction from tense to volatile in seconds. Some patients grew defensive, others possessive. First impressions mattered, and stress was best avoided.

He stepped inside, rolling his shoulders as the chamber hissed to life. The sterilized air flooded around him, stripping away anything foreign — any lingering trace of someone else's presence.

Only then would he meet Milo Fennin.

Stripping quickly, he stepped into the shower. The thick, body-safe fluid sprayed in even jets, creeping over his skin like crawling static. It tingled first, then prickled, then seared its way into his pores. Like tiny pinpricks, an endless swarm of chemical bites.

They called it safe. Maybe it was. It sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

This was the big-brother version of an over-chlorinated hot tub, minus the steam, the warmth, or the relaxation. Eyes and mouth had to stay shut, tightly sealed, unless he wanted itchy, bloodshot vision and a bitter aftertaste that clung to the back of his throat for a week.

The timer beeped. Five minutes of agony in that shower, only to be replaced with another five minutes under clean water meant to strip away the chemical agent.

Aaron scrubbed hard, rough enough that half his skin turned the color of sunburn.

The final stop: the full-body dryer.

Deafening winds. Pressure so strong it nearly peeled him inside out. A tinnitus-inducing noise that made his teeth ache in his skull.

Then, finally, he was cleared — allowed to dress.

The institute required its specialists to wear standard sterile gowns — earthen tones, loose-fitting, practical. Comfortable slippers, cargo pants that could hold everything but dignity, and a shirt. All neutral. All "soothing to the eye."

Psychologically tested colors. Designed to calm both handler and patient alike.

Aaron hated them.

While he’d endured the torment of the de-scenting process, his personal belongings — keys, wallet, phone — had undergone the same treatment. Sterilized, sanitized, stripped of scent.

His clothes, though? He wouldn't get those back until he'd built a certain level of trust with Milo.

Judging by the record, that meant days — if he got lucky.

The patient track wasn’t sterile and cold, not like the dystopian detention centers in movies. In fact, it was surprisingly comfortable. Greenery lined the hallways, potted plants, indoor gardens, walls draped with climbing vines.

The rooms weren’t cells — they were small, fully furnished apartments, designed to resemble real homes as closely as possible.

Most of the Anthros here weren’t dangerous.

Not really.

They were the ones who’d had a stroke of bad luck. The ones who’d been under massive emotional distress, lost control, broken under pressure.

They weren’t suicidal. They weren’t violent. No, those cases were on a different track.

Aaron wasn’t cut out for that kind of work.

No, he was something else.

"Emotional support human." That’s what they called him, at least off the record.

The government called it something more dignified—Anthro Behavioral Rehabilitation Specialist.

But in the end, titles didn’t matter. He was here to do one thing.

Help them get back on their feet.

And him being human made that different.

Anthro ABRS personnel could do their jobs just fine, but many domesticated species experienced something akin to human withdrawal.

And Aaron was here to mend that.

He arrived by the door to room 18L - first floor, eighth door to the left.

A real address. Pre-approved letters and packages could be sent here, just like any other apartment. A small detail, but an important one. This wasn’t a cage. It was meant to feel like a home.

Even the nameplate on the door reflected that.

Milo Fennin.

He stretched once, rolling his head, shoulders, shaking out his legs. Friendly, firm, controlled. That was the balance.

Aaron knocked.

The door creaked open, revealing Milo Fennin.

Aaron had seen his file photo — upright posture, squared shoulders — but the dog in front of him now was a shadow of that image.

The german shepherd had to tilt his head up, just the span of a hand, but still — Aaron was taller. It made a difference.

Milo’s frame was lithe, almost delicate. No muscle to speak of beneath unkempt fur, sunken eyes, ears and tail drooping low. Tension clung to him in ways it didn’t need to.

"Yes?", his voice was hoarse, as if he hadn’t spoken much in a while.

Aaron didn’t hesitate.

"Aaron Kano. Anthro Behavioral Rehabilitation Specialist.", his tone was friendly, firm, controlled.

He stepped inside without asking.

The room smelled stale, the air heavy with the kind of disuse that came from a life put on pause. He glanced around — clothes draped over furniture, a couple of plates abandoned near the sink, an unopened letter discarded on the counter.

Nothing unmanageable.

Aaron slipped off his slippers, stepping onto the cool floor, rolling up his sleeves. Without waiting, he started cleaning.

Not methodically. Not like a servant. Just as if it were second nature.

A stray jacket? Folded over a chair.

Plates? Gathered.

A misplaced pillow? Adjusted.

Milo watched.

Aaron didn’t look at him as he spoke.

"Sit." He gestured toward the couch, voice friendly but unmistakably directive. Not quite a request.

Milo’s ears twitched. Hesitation, resistance—an instinct buried in his posture.

Aaron finally met his gaze, steady but relaxed.

"Just sit down and relax."

Hopefully, Milo realized that refusing would take more effort than compliance.

He obeyed, sinking into the couch with a slow, reluctant motion, his body folding inward, ears flicking in subtle unease. The moment was weighted with quiet resistance, but in the end, he sat, posture tense as if he were bracing for something unseen.

Aaron didn’t acknowledge the win. He simply continued as though it had never been in question.

Cleaning didn’t take long. The space wasn’t filthy — just neglected, cluttered in the way that someone let things pile up when the days blurred together. Aaron gathered the scattered clothes, stacking them neatly over a chair, set the forgotten dishes in the sink and washed them, and gave the surfaces a cursory wipe-down. He moved with efficiency, neither rushing nor dragging his feet, letting the act speak for itself. Once done, he washed his hands, dried them, and moved to the kitchenette.

The fridge held the usual: nutritionally balanced, pre-approved meal packs—standard issue for residents here. They were perfectly fine, but they lacked something. Something grounding. Something comforting. Aaron bypassed them in favor of something better, something simple but real. He pulled out fresh ingredients, sliced up vegetables, layered protein between thick slices of bread, pressing it all together into something substantial. Satisfied, he cut the sandwich in half and returned to the couch.

He dropped into the seat beside Milo, and though the shepherd barely moved, Aaron caught the way he shifted — a minute adjustment, but enough to register as subtle avoidance. He didn’t comment on it. Instead, he focused on his food, biting in, chewing with thoughtful satisfaction before exhaling in approval.

“Damn. That’s good.”, his voice was relaxed, conversational, like this was just an ordinary moment between colleagues rather than a first meeting with a distressed patient. Holding the other half of the sandwich in one hand, he passed it over without looking at Milo directly. “You probably haven’t eaten yet, huh?”

Milo hesitated.

He didn’t reach for it immediately. Instead, his gaze flicked toward Aaron, sharp and searching, trying to read between the lines. Suspicion sat in the way his ears barely perked, the slight tension in his fingers as if debating whether to accept something offered so freely. Was it a test? A bribe? A subtle way to assert control?

Aaron let him think. He didn’t push. Hunger had a way of deciding things on its own.

After a moment of silent deliberation, Milo took the sandwich. He bit in tentatively, as though still waiting for the catch, but Aaron had already moved on, finishing his own half without comment. He wiped his hands on his pants, leaned back, and exhaled in quiet contentment, settling into the space like he belonged there.

And then he waited.

Not impatiently. Not expectantly. He simply let the silence settle, refusing to fill it. He knew how these things worked. If he spoke first, he set the terms. But if he gave Milo space, let the quiet stretch between them, the shepherd would be the one to break it.

It didn’t take long.

Milo swallowed the last of his bite, fingers tightening slightly around the crust of his half-eaten sandwich before finally lifting his gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was low, edged with wariness, as if reluctant to entertain the question at all.

“What are you doing here... Sir?”

Aaron chuckled at the formality, a quiet, amused sound that softened the moment without breaking it. Being called sir felt oddly out of place, too rigid for the easy, measured presence he tried to maintain. But he didn’t correct it. If Milo wanted to hold onto that small formality, that distance, for now, Aaron wouldn’t take it from him.

He also made a mental note about that. Milo hadn't called anyone sir in this rehabilitation facility to his knowledge.

Leaning back against the couch, settling into a posture that was both relaxed and intentional, he explained the situation. “I’m your newly assigned emotional support human.”, he said, tone light but firm, letting the words land without the weight of sarcasm or self-importance. “My job is to ensure your well-being going forward.”

Milo pressed his lips together at that, suspicion flickering across his face like a slow-burning fuse. He wasn’t sold. His green eyes studied Aaron carefully, lingering on the way he sat, the ease in his expression, as if trying to measure the truth behind the words.

He shifted, the tip of his tail twitching, betraying the unease he was trying to suppress. “And what if I’m dangerous?”

The words hung between them, testing, feeling for a reaction.

Aaron didn’t flinch. He didn’t shift back, didn’t lean away, didn’t let even a whisper of hesitation creep into his response. He just met Milo’s gaze, steady and unbothered, before shaking his head once.

“You’re not dangerous.”, he said simply, as if stating a fact. “You’re distressed.”

Milo’s expression flickered, something like irritation flashing in his eyes before he schooled his features back into neutrality. His ears twitched, not quite flattening, but not lifting either, caught between reaction and restraint.

“You’re here because you had a rough time. That’s all. My job is to help with that.”, his voice was calm, deliberate, cutting through whatever self-imposed barriers Milo was trying to build. “I’m not here to restrain you, I’m not here to correct you. I’m here to make sure you get through this in one piece.”

Milo hesitated, fingers twitching slightly where they rested against his knee. His ears flicked in subtle unease before he lifted his gaze, his expression still weary but now tinged with something else—uncertainty, curiosity, a quiet wariness that hadn’t fully faded.

“So... what happens now?”

Aaron stretched one arm along the back of the couch, settling in as though he had all the time in the world. His voice remained steady, the same deliberate mix of calm and authority. “I live with you.”

Milo blinked, clearly expecting a different answer. His brow creased, and for the first time since opening the door, some genuine emotion cracked through the exhaustion—surprise, quickly buried under forced neutrality. He tried to mask it, but Aaron didn’t miss the faint twitch of his tail, the shift in his posture.

“You—... live here?”, his voice was slow, as if rolling the words over in his head, trying to find the loophole. He glanced around the apartment, his expression skeptical. “There’s no guest room.”, is gaze flickered back to Aaron, testing. “So... what, you leave in the evening and come back in the morning?”

Aaron shook his head, amused by the half-hearted attempt at finding another option. “No. I stay here.”, He let the words settle for just a moment before adding, with the same even, unshakable tone, “We’ll share the bed.”

Milo stiffened.

It wasn’t dramatic — just a small, noticeable reaction. His fingers curled slightly against his thigh, his ears twitched, and Aaron swore he saw a flicker of red dust across his cheeks before Milo turned his head slightly, looking away.

“You—”, his voice wavered, barely, before he pulled himself back together. “You can’t just—”, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I don’t even know you.”

Aaron didn’t react, didn’t humor the resistance. He didn’t need to.

“That’s why I’m here.”, he said simply. “To get to know you.”

Milo’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it looked like he might argue again, but Aaron leaned forward, dropping his voice just a fraction — not enough to be soft, but enough to hold weight.

“The night is difficult for Anthros in your position. That’s when the instincts get worse, when the disorientation sets in.”, he didn’t move any closer, didn’t change the casual way he sat, but his words landed with quiet finality. “You need structure, stability. Presence. That’s why I’m here. To guide. To provide.”

Milo swallowed, his fingers tightening slightly against his knee before flexing loose again. He wasn’t fighting anymore, not really. Not because he agreed, but because part of him already knew Aaron was right.

His ears flicked again, tail shifting, curling slightly toward himself before he exhaled through his nose, looking away again.

“...Fine.”

Aaron was sure the exasperation was at least partly an act. His training in Anthro body language had been extensive, and while every individual had their own quirks, certain cues were near-universal. The tail curling inward, the averted gaze, the subtle tension in his fingers before they flexed loose again — Milo wasn’t upset.

He was embarrassed.

The record hadn’t mentioned his orientation, but Aaron had a sharp instinct for these things. Reading people, understanding their reactions, their needs, was a fundamental part of his job. And he was rarely wrong.

More than that, he had been trained to handle Anthros in distress, particularly those who, for one reason or another, struggled with their biological dependencies — and their frustrations.

It was a necessary part of rehabilitation.

A core part of his job.

And ultimately, it ensured that Milo would receive the best possible care.

Milo shifted on the couch, his fingers kneading lightly at the fabric beneath him before he let out a quiet, frustrated sigh. His tail flicked once, then curled slightly closer to his side.

“So... uh... do we like... talk or something?”, he tried for nonchalance, but the hesitation in his voice betrayed him.

Aaron watched him for a moment, then offered an easy shrug. “Do you want to talk, Milo?”, his tone remained calm, casual — controlled.

Milo’s ears flicked, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. He seemed caught between retreating further into himself and forcing out something coherent.

“No! I mean, yes! Eh...”, he rubbed the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I—... I didn’t expect... this.”, his hand lifted in an awkward motion, gesturing vaguely toward Aaron.

Aaron smirked, crossing one leg over the other. “Expect what? A casual interaction? A sandwich? A human?”

“Yes...”, Milo’s voice was quieter now, uncertain. He chewed his lip, his teeth briefly worrying at the flesh before he exhaled. His posture shifted, his body curling in just slightly. “I’ve heard of you guys. These... emotional support humans.”

Aaron didn’t react immediately. He let the words settle between them, his expression unreadable before he tilted his head slightly.

“And what have you heard, Milo?”, his voice remained steady, inviting—neither confirming nor denying anything.

Milo hesitated. His fingers twitched on his knee before his eyes flicked up, watching Aaron carefully, searching for something.

“That you’re…”, he trailed off, his lips pressing together before finally finishing the thought. “More than just ‘support.’”

Aaron decided to keep it ambiguous for the time being. Moving things too fast would likely result in more harm than help.

“I’m whatever is best for you, Milo. If that requires me to be more than ‘support’ — say, a counselor, a personal trainer, or something else entirely — then that’s what I’ll be.”

Milo’s ears flicked, his gaze narrowing slightly, as if he were trying to figure out what exactly that meant. The ambiguity didn’t seem to sit well with him.

Aaron watched the way Milo’s fingers tensed, the way his shoulders seemed caught between resisting and settling into the space around him.

Milo hesitated, then finally asked, his voice quieter this time, as though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. “And how do you know what’s best for... the patient?”

Aaron gave him a measured look, waiting a beat before responding, letting the moment stretch just enough to keep Milo’s attention locked on him.

“I’m extensively trained to assess you, Milo.”, he said smoothly, his voice confident but not forceful, letting the weight of his experience settle between them. “And I’ve got plenty of experience in handling Anthros just right.”

Milo swallowed, his tail giving a slight flick at the word handling, but he didn’t respond immediately. He just sat there, fingers gripping lightly at the fabric of his pants, still gauging, still deciding what exactly Aaron was.

Aaron could see it — the tension in him, the uncertainty, the quiet pull between wariness and something else he wasn’t ready to admit to yet.

That was fine.

He had time.

“Ehhm... yeah, so what do we do now? Watch TV? Go for a walk?”

Milo’s attempt at shifting the conversation was clumsy, his words layered with awkward hesitancy, like someone trying to find footing on unfamiliar ground. He wanted to steer things into safer territory, something that felt normal, routine.

Aaron considered it for a moment, then saw an opportunity. Not just to establish order, but to begin setting the foundation for structure and trust — and to address another issue while he was at it.

“You,”, he said, keeping his tone firm yet casual, “are going to take a shower. Then I’ll brush your coat to help you calm down and get accustomed to me.”

Milo froze. Then blinked. Then startled upright like Aaron had just suggested something absolutely insane.

“I—... WHAT?! I don’t even—”, his tail bristled slightly, ears perked high in surprised agitation. The reaction wasn’t anger, not really. It was shock, confusion, maybe even flustered disbelief.

Aaron hadn’t expected such an immediate verbal outburst, but he was quick to shut it down. Milo couldn’t be allowed to build momentum — outbursts, even harmless ones, needed to be nipped in the bud.

“Stop it.”

His voice was sharp, measured. A tone designed for obedience.

Milo recoiled instantly. His ears, which had shot up in defiance just seconds ago, folded back without conscious thought. His tail, which had tensed, curled inward toward his thigh.

Aaron didn’t press further — he didn’t need to. The moment of hesitation, of submission, had already passed through Milo’s body like an instinctive ripple.

“You haven’t showered in a while, and your fur needs thorough care.”, Aaron continued, his voice smoothing back into calm authority. “A clean body makes a clean mind.”

Milo swallowed, his jaw tight, fingers clenching against his knee. There was no more protest, no more outburst.

“...Fine.”

He pushed himself up and went straight to the bathroom, his movements stiff and reluctant, but still, he obeyed.

Aaron followed.

Milo paused in the bathroom. He turned sharply when he heard Aaron step in behind him, eyes wide with disbelief.

“What—... what are you doing?”, his voice wavered, caught somewhere between confusion and uncertainty.

Aaron, unfazed, simply leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed in a stance that was both casual and completely unmoving. “I’ll be conducting a physical examination.”, he said. “To make sure there are no health related concerns since your last checkup.”

Milo’s ears flattened immediately, his tail curling against his leg. His face burned with visible discomfort, his expression a mix of indignation and flustered disbelief. “That’s—”, he floundered, his hands flexing at his sides. “That’s unnecessary! I don’t need a— I feel fine.”

Aaron didn’t even shift. “That’s not for you to decide.”

Milo exhaled sharply, ears twitching in frustration as he scrambled for another angle. “But I—... I’ve had checkups before — nothing’s changed!”, his weight shifted back, searching for an escape, but there was none.

Aaron arched a brow, his voice steady, unwavering. “And you would know this how? Without medical assessment? Without a trained specialist making that call?”

Milo opened his mouth, hesitated, then snapped it shut again, ears flicking in agitation. His argument was slipping before it even began.

Aaron took a single step forward, and Milo stiffened instinctively.

“No excuses.”, Aaron said, voice firm. “This is standard procedure. You’re due for one.”

Milo’s chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, every inch of his posture screaming reluctance, but there was no room left to argue. Aaron had already shut down every avenue of escape before he could take it.

Finally, after one last lingering pause, Milo’s shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat.

“...Fine.”

Aaron nodded, his voice smooth, controlled, but leaving no room for negotiation. “Good. Now strip.”

Milo hesitated, his ears twitching as though his body was still debating whether to comply. But in the end, he did.

His movements were stiff, reluctant, each button undone and article of clothing shed with an air of quiet resistance. He peeled off his shirt first, revealing a lean, delicate frame — lithe, thin, almost feminine in its shape. His fur, though in need of grooming, was soft in texture, his build subtly elegant despite his disheveled state.

Aaron let his gaze roam over him without commentary, without hesitation. It wasn’t ogling, just quiet, clinical observation. But he noted the defined collarbones, the subtle taper of his waist, the way his body carried tension even as he complied.

Milo’s hands lingered at the waistband of his underwear, his fingers gripping the fabric like it was a lifeline.

He stopped.

Aaron didn’t.

“All of it.”, his tone left no room for argument.

Milo stiffened, his tail curling inward, reflexively covering himself, but when he looked up, Aaron’s expression hadn’t changed. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t playing. This was routine.

Slowly, Milo exhaled, his fingers tightening before finally obeying.

His underwear slid down, and his tail immediately moved to shield what little modesty he could. His ears pressed flat, his body language now entirely defensive, unsure.

Aaron stepped forward, close enough for Milo to feel his presence, but not enough to crowd him. His voice remained steady, a clear and practiced authority.

“I’m going to touch you now.", Aaron said, unshaken. “You are to remain still.”

Milo swallowed hard, his body rigid. His tail twitched but didn’t move from its defensive curl.

He barely managed to get out his next word. “...Okay.”

Aaron knelt without hesitation, grasping Milo’s foot-paw with practiced hands. His touch was methodical, professional, unbothered, yet undeniably present.

He started with the paw-pads, pressing his thumbs against them, checking for rough patches, signs of neglect or sensitivity. He kneaded between the toes, feeling the small tendons flex beneath his grip. His fingers brushed against the claws, tilting them slightly to assess their sharpness, any overgrowth.

Milo tensed almost immediately, his breath hitching just slightly.

Aaron thought he heard a whimper — a tiny, fleeting sound — but he didn’t bother addressing it.

Instead, he switched to the other foot, repeating the same motions with clinical efficiency. Every joint, every tendon, every small movement was accounted for.

When he was satisfied, he let go and moved upward.

Milo’s legs were lean, toned beneath his unkempt fur, but no sign of injury. His knees had a slight tremble, but whether from exhaustion, embarrassment, or something else entirely, Aaron didn’t pause to consider.

His hands traveled higher, his thumbs pressing into the inner thighs, testing muscle tension, checking for soreness, feeling the natural give and response beneath his fingers.

And that’s when he saw it.

A red tip, just barely peeking from Milo’s sheath.

The confirmation of what he had already suspected.

Milo reacted instantly, his body jolting as though shocked, his hands flying down to shield himself. He tried to flinch away, his tail twitching in a desperate attempt to reclaim modesty, but Aaron was already moving.

His voice came down sharp, final. "Paws interlocked above your head if you can’t keep them off. I don’t want claws in my face."

Milo froze.

Aaron didn’t look up to gauge the reaction, but he didn’t need to. He could feel it — the sheer mortification radiating from Milo’s body, the stillness of someone whose mind was caught between flight and surrender.

Slowly, hesitantly, Milo obeyed.

His arms lifted, his paws interlocking above his head, his breath coming a little quicker now, ears flat against his skull in utter humiliation.

Aaron continued as though nothing had happened.

But he was sure, in that moment, Milo wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Aaron remained unbothered, continuing his examination with the same clinical efficiency as before. His hands moved upward, fingers wrapping around Milo’s balls, gently rolling them between his fingers. They had little heft to them, small enough to rest comfortably in one palm.

He kneaded them with careful pressure, feeling for any irregularities, inconsistencies, or signs of discomfort. His hands shifted, adjusting his grip slightly.

“Cough.”, he instructed, his tone steady, unshaken.

Milo let out a weak, barely-there cough, his breath hitching midway, but everything was fine — no tenderness, no abnormalities.

However, something else had changed.

Aaron noted it immediately — the red tip had lengthened, more of the shaft pushing out of his sheath, a small but obvious bulge forming.

Milo’s breath had become uneven, his ears pressed flat, his body tense, but he didn’t say a word. Didn’t dare.

Aaron kept his expression unreadable, not acknowledging the reaction outright. Instead, he continued, his fingers shifting to inspect the sheath. He ran a thumb along the base, parting the fur slightly, checking for swelling, discharge, anything out of the ordinary.

It was fine.

A little on the smaller side, sure, but nothing medically relevant.

Still, the evidence of Milo’s reaction sat there, undeniable, humiliating, betraying him.

Aaron let go, his voice remaining neutral, but carrying a weight that made the silence stretch between them.

"Everything looks normal", Aaron finally said. "Turn."

Milo didn’t hesitate. If anything, he moved a little too fast, practically jumping into a 180-degree turn. His tail flicked up briefly before curling instinctively downward again, desperately trying to shield himself despite the fact that he had already conceded to Aaron’s authority.

Aaron took his time, letting his hands trail over the base of Milo’s tail, fingers pressing in, bending it slightly to test its flexibility. He worked his way up, feeling the taut muscles where it connected to the spine, noting any tension or abnormalities, but it seemed fine — just stiff, too stiff, another clear indicator of unease.

Reaching the base, Aaron’s hands moved with clinical detachment, parting the fur slightly as he lifted the tail.

Milo stiffened, his breath catching, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter for balance. Aaron barely acknowledged the reaction.

His gaze moved lower, inspecting the taint and behind, ensuring there were no signs of irritation, swelling, or infection. Everything looked normal.

But that wasn’t the final step.

Aaron’s free hand came up to his lips, his tongue briefly wetting his index finger before he pressed it firmly against Milo’s entrance.

The reaction was immediate.

Milo let out a low, involuntary groan, his knees subtly buckling, his arms shifting to brace himself against the counter.

Aaron was already pushing in, slow and deliberate, until his finger was inside.

Milo’s breathing hitched, his tail twitching in confused tension, his body fighting against instinctive response.

“Cough”, Aaron instructed, pressing his finger forward, just enough to apply pressure against the prostate.

Milo sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body tensing, his ears flicking wildly. His throat worked as he forced out a cough, but the sound came strained, almost shuddering.

Aaron hummed, adjusting slightly, still assessing, still in control.

"Good," he murmured, as though it was just another note in a medical file.

He let his finger linger a few seconds longer, feeling the subtle, involuntary clench around it before smoothly withdrawing. Milo exhaled sharply, his body still tense, still adjusting to the sensation. His grip on the counter had remained firm, but Aaron could see the way his arms trembled slightly.

Aaron didn’t comment.

Instead, he moved on, hands traveling up the length of Milo’s back, fingers pressing into tense muscles, feeling for knots, tightness, or any underlying stiffness.

His touch was firm, purposeful, controlled. He kneaded along the spine, searching for abnormalities, but everything came back normal — just stress, tension, the weight of long days spent curled inward, muscles wound too tightly over time.

When he reached Milo’s neck, Aaron grasped it with both hands, his fingers tight around the vulnerable column of his throat.

His thumbs pressed into the taut muscles on either side, massaging the area with strong, steady pressure, almost emulating the weight of a collar.

Milo swallowed beneath his grip, a soft, shaky breath slipping out, his tail flicking once behind him before stilling completely.

Aaron held him there for just a moment longer before releasing.

"Turn."

Milo obeyed without hesitation this time.

And now, there was no hiding anything.

His red rod was fully unsheathed, the knot at the base engorged, pulsing slightly with the remnants of suppressed arousal. A thin trail of pre had run down the shaft, the evidence of just how much this so-called "humiliation" had affected him.

Aaron didn’t react beyond a quick, passing glance — clinical, unreadable.

He continued as though nothing had changed, moving on with the rest of the examination.

His hands pressed against Milo’s stomach, feeling the muscles beneath the fur, checking the firmness of his abdomen, any signs of tenderness or discomfort.

Milo flinched slightly at the touch, but Aaron kept going, his fingers moving higher, over the ribs, up to the chest, kneading the muscle with slow, deliberate motions.

He felt the thud of Milo’s heartbeat beneath his palm — quick, just a little too quick.

Aaron’s fingers moved down his arms next, checking the range of motion, feeling the subtle tension in his shoulders. He worked his way to Milo’s paws, rolling his fingers between his own, kneading the soft pads, pressing at the base of his claws, testing their sharpness and flexibility.

The last stop was the neck again.

Aaron tilted Milo’s head slightly, fingers pressing just beneath his jawline, along the sensitive points where pulse met bone.

Still fast. Still wired.

Aaron saved the head for last.

Milo’s face was completely flushed, the burning red of his skin visible even beneath his coat. His ears twitched with lingering embarrassment, his breathing still uneven, still shallow.

Aaron reached up, tilting Milo’s muzzle with a firm grip, using his fingers to part his lips, checking his teeth with careful precision. He pressed a thumb against the canines, then the molars, inspecting for wear, damage, or signs of neglect.

Milo stayed still, obedient, but his breath came out in uneven, shallow exhales.

Next, Aaron moved to his eyes, leaning in closer, his face mere inches away as he examined them for clarity, reaction speed, and pupil dilation.

Milo folded instantly.

His pupils blew wide, dilated in extreme arousal and excitement, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his entire posture caught in the tension between submission and desire.

Aaron arched a brow, keeping his expression neutral. “Have you taken any substances?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“No, sir.”

Aaron left the response uncommented.

Instead, he moved to the ears, carefully inspecting them inside and out, checking for any signs of infection or irritation. He ran his fingers along the delicate ridges, feeling the softness of the fur there before he began to knead them gently.

A low, helpless moan escaped Milo’s lips, involuntary and utterly betraying him. His body shuddered under the touch, his knees briefly buckling before he caught himself.

At last, as if sealing the entire process, Aaron placed his palm atop Milo’s head, fingers ruffling through his fur, smoothing down the messiness as he gave him a firm, grounding headpat.

“You did a fantastic job.”, his voice was calm, firm, still carrying that unshakable authority, but softer now, more approving.

His hand lingered just a second longer before withdrawing.

“Now,” ,he said, stepping back. “shower.”

Milo nodded quickly, still breathless, still a complete mess of emotions, and all but escaped into the bathroom.

Aaron watched him disappear, waiting until the sound of running water filled the air before stepping out into the living room.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, stretching out the tension that had built from the prolonged proximity.

Then, discreetly, he adjusted his own erection, forcing himself to smooth out his pants.

---

By the time Milo emerged, clean and dry, nearly an hour had passed. His fur was still slightly fluffed from the drying process, sticking out in uneven tufts where he hadn’t properly smoothed it down. But at least the stale scent of neglect was gone, replaced with crisp soap and warm skin.

Aaron had made himself comfortable on the couch, stretched out with an air of complete ownership, taking up most of the space. In one hand, he held two items — a rough metal comb and a soft brush.

He glanced up, watching as Milo hesitated in the doorway.

"You ready for your grooming session?"

Milo blinked, his ears twitching slightly, but there was no protest this time, no reluctant ‘Do I have to?’ or ‘Is that necessary?’

He just... complied.

He stepped forward, closer now than before, more accustomed to the rhythm of obedience.

Aaron nodded, satisfied.

"Get rid of the underwear.", he said smoothly. "It gets in the way, and it’ll just be full of fur anyway. Besides-", his eyes flicked up, voice tinged with the hint of something unreadable. "I’ve already seen you naked."

Milo froze for just a fraction of a second. His tail twitched, curling instinctively, his posture stiffening ever so slightly.

But then, just like before, he obeyed.

His hands moved to strip the last piece of clothing from his body, and Aaron pretended not to notice the way his fingers hesitated for just a breath longer than necessary.

"Good.", Aaron murmured, motioning with the brush. "Sit between my legs. Back first."

Milo swallowed, then moved to sit as instructed.

Aaron spread his legs slightly to make room, adjusting as Milo settled in between them. He could feel the warmth of him, the slight hesitance still lingering in the way he sat.

But Aaron was patient.

Aaron lifted the comb, resting a firm hand on Milo’s shoulder, keeping him steady, grounded.

Grooming was an instinct. A natural process for canines, one that reinforced trust, companionship, and hierarchy. In packs, it was more than just hygiene—it was bonding. It established relationships, reaffirmed roles, and allowed for an unspoken acknowledgment of authority.

And now, with Milo sitting obediently between his legs, bare and compliant, letting Aaron take care of him, the effect was already beginning to settle in.

Aaron could feel it in the way Milo’s muscles responded. The tension that had coiled tight along his spine began to unravel, softening beneath the slow, methodical strokes of the comb.

This was better than any massage.

Each pass of the metal comb dragged through his thick fur, catching on the occasional tangle, smoothing it out, pulling the tension away with it. The moment Aaron switched to the softer brush, working it deeper along the grain of his coat, Milo visibly sagged.

His ears twitched, then relaxed.

His shoulders dropped.

His tail, once stiff with unease, curled slightly — but no longer in a defensive posture.

Aaron smirked slightly, watching the transformation unfold in real time.

Milo’s subconscious was already doing the work for him.

With him being readily obedient, this kind of care triggered something deeper. Pack mentality.

His subconscious was telling him that his leader — his alpha — was taking care of him. That he was safe. That there was no need to carry his own weight when someone stronger was already doing it for him.

And it was ridiculously effective.

Aaron let his voice drift lower, softer, reinforcing the shift with words that carried a quiet weight of control.

“You’re doing so well, Milo.”, he murmured, dragging the brush over the shepherd’s shoulder, smoothing the fur down with a slow, deliberate stroke. “Your coat’s even softer than I expected.”

Milo didn’t respond — not verbally.

But his ears flicked, his tail gave a slight, involuntary twitch, and his breathing had gone slow, deep.

Aaron let his hand wander a little, fingers smoothing down along the curve of Milo’s back, the brush following behind.

“You’re really pleasant to work with.”, he continued, voice calm, owning every inch of authority in the statement. “Very cooperative.”

Milo swallowed hard. He must have known, on some level, what was happening. But it didn’t matter. His body was already accepting it.

Aaron’s hand stilled, resting lightly at the small of Milo’s back.

“See how easy this is?”, he murmured. The unspoken message was clear: you don’t have to fight this.

Milo barely nodded.

His muscles had completely melted away under Aaron’s touch and his tail started idly wagging. A wagging tail was another tell-tale sign that the canine in question was happy or excited.

Good.

Aaron gave Milo a firm pat on the back before gesturing for him to turn around. “Face me.”

Milo hesitated for only a moment before shifting, his movements sluggish, uncoordinated. He was still too relaxed from the grooming session, his body pliant and slow to respond. When he finally maneuvered himself into Aaron’s lap, the problem became obvious.

His erection was standing at full mast, knot fully engorged, thick and pulsing between his legs. Sitting with his weight balanced properly was impossible without pressing up against Aaron’s stomach, and the realization made him stiffen — not in the pleasurable way.

Before Milo could awkwardly shift back or try to reposition himself, Aaron caught his wrists and guided his paws onto his shoulders. The gesture was firm, patient, but left no room for unnecessary resistance.

“There.”, Aaron murmured, rolling his shoulders beneath Milo’s grip as if testing his weight. “Comfortable?”

Milo’s ears flicked downward, but he gave a small nod.

Aaron didn’t comment on the way his fingers twitched against his shoulders, how he was holding himself too carefully, like he was hyper-aware of every inch of his body in relation to Aaron’s. Instead, he simply adjusted his grip on the brush and started working on the front.

Now that Milo was facing him, the process slowed. He took his time combing through the fur along his collarbone, over his shoulders, smoothing down the slight unevenness in his coat. The brush dragged across his chest in firm, methodical strokes, pushing against the muscle beneath, grounding him with every pass.

Milo’s breathing had changed again. What had started as slow, measured inhales had become lighter, shallower. By the time Aaron worked his way down, smoothing the fur over his stomach, his panting was audible, his tongue just barely visible between his parted lips.

He was completely pliant, slumped forward, his fingers barely gripping Aaron’s shoulders anymore. His tail twitched once before curling around his thigh, his body instinctively reacting to the slow, rhythmic care that had unraveled whatever resistance he had left.

Aaron ran his hand through the brush’s bristles, pulling away the accumulated fur, watching as the strands caught in the light before drifting to the floor.

“You were overdue for this.”, he murmured, his voice low, carrying an edge of amusement. “I think I could make another version of you with how much you’ve shed.”

Milo didn’t respond. His ears flicked slightly, but he made no effort to move, no attempt to argue.

Aaron smoothed his hand over the top of Milo’s head, running his fingers lightly between his ears, watching the way the shepherd’s eyelids fluttered at the sensation.

“You still with me?”

Milo’s mouth opened slightly as if to respond, but no words came out. He only nodded—barely—even that motion sluggish and delayed.

Aaron chuckled under his breath.

“Yeah.”, he murmured, giving his fur one last slow stroke. “That’s what I thought.”

Aaron glanced down at his shirt, the front of it darkened with damp spots, pre soaking through in irregular patches where Milo’s cock had throbbed and leaked uncontrollably. The shepherd hadn’t even noticed.

It was almost funny.

Aaron exhaled through his nose, setting the grooming tools aside before shifting his hold. He hooked his arms beneath Milo’s sides and lifted him slightly, maneuvering his lax body with ease. The shepherd barely reacted, his muscles completely useless, a pliant heap of fur and warmth in Aaron’s grasp.

Gently, he lowered him back down, adjusting so that Milo was now lying across his lap, his head resting on a pillow against the armrest, his body fully supported.

Milo exhaled softly, the movement slow, heavy.

"Alright, since you're already useless like this, let's see if I can make you even more of a puddle."

His hands moved over Milo’s body with deliberate care, fingers slipping down to rub lazy circles into his stomach. The short, velvety fur there was warm beneath his palm, twitching slightly at first, then relaxing completely.

Milo let out a soft, breathy sigh.

Aaron smirked. “Good boy.”

He worked slow, alternating between belly rubs and firm strokes down the sides of his ribs, pressing just enough to make sure the tension fully melted away. Occasionally, he shifted upward, giving his ears a proper scratch, dragging his fingers behind them, massaging in slow, controlled motions.

Milo let out a weak, barely audible sound—somewhere between a hum and a whimper.

Aaron didn’t stop.

His hands wandered, dragging through thick fur, kneading wherever they found tightness, scratching wherever they felt the instinctive pull of pleasure. He worked over his shoulders, down his spine, up under his chin, taking his time with every inch of him.

Milo’s panting had slowed. His exhales were longer now, softer. His tail, which had occasionally twitched, had gone completely still.

By the time Aaron’s fingers started to ache from the constant motion, the shepherd was dead weight in his lap.

He glanced down.

Milo was out cold.

His head rested against the pillow, his ears twitching slightly in his sleep, his breathing deep and steady. His tail had curled loosely around one of Aaron’s legs, draped over him in an absent, unconscious gesture of familiarity.

Aaron took a moment to admire his work.

He had completely unraveled.

His erection was still there, throbbing lazily against his stomach, the knot fully engorged, but it didn’t matter. Milo wasn’t present enough to feel embarrassed about it anymore.

Aaron smoothed his hand over his stomach one last time, then sighed, shifting carefully.

No point in staying upright.

He moved slowly, maneuvering both of them into a more comfortable position, shifting Milo slightly so he could slide down onto the couch behind him. When he settled, he wrapped an arm securely around the shepherd’s waist, tugging him in close, pressing up against his back in a firm, grounding embrace.

Milo let out a slow, sleepy exhale, unconsciously pressing into the warmth.

Aaron rested his chin lightly against his shoulder, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest.

On the TV, a nature documentary played at the lowest volume, a quiet, droning voice describing the migratory patterns of birds in the northern hemisphere.

Aaron let his eyes drift shut, his body relaxing into the warmth against him.

Just a short nap.

Milo would need more care when he woke up.

---

Aaron surfaced from sleep slowly, dragged back into awareness by a rhythmic shaking. At first, his brain didn’t quite process what was happening. His body was warm, the weight of another pressed against him still grounding, the steady, familiar rise and fall of Milo’s chest beneath his arm.

But the shepherd’s breathing was uneven.

His upper arm moved rapidly, short, quick motions that made the rest of his body shift in tiny jerks.

Aaron blinked, still sluggish, but then he noticed something else.

His own hand — still resting where it had been on Milo’s waist — was wet. Warm. Something slick brushed over his knuckles in shaky, desperate strokes, sliding across his skin in intervals that lined up perfectly with the movement of Milo’s arm.

It clicked instantly.

Aaron sighed, shifting up onto his elbow, voice low and rough from sleep.

“Stop it, Milo.”

Milo froze, his entire body going rigid in pure mortification, a sharp inhale cutting through the air as if he’d been doused in ice water.

The shepherd tensed beneath him, every muscle coiled as if he were debating whether to make a run for it, but Aaron’s arm still rested firm against his stomach, pinning him in place.

To his credit, Milo did stop pumping his length. His cock throbbed against his stomach, slick with pre, still twitching from interrupted pleasure, but he didn’t dare move.

He didn’t dare say anything.

So Aaron took over.

“I already told you,” he murmured, voice level, controlled. “I’m here to take care of you in any way necessary to ensure your well-being.”, his fingers flexed slightly against Milo’s stomach, emphasizing his point. “And what you were doing just now? That’s not taking care of yourself. That’s just rubbing yourself raw.”

Milo made a strangled sound, somewhere between a whimper and an attempt at speech. His ears flattened, his tail tucked so tightly it was almost painful, but he still scrambled to form a response.

“I—... I wasn’t—”, his voice cracked embarrassingly, and he cut himself off, swallowing thickly before trying again. “I didn’t mean to—... I just—”

Aaron shut him down with a dismissive hum. “You’re done.”

Aaron shifted away from him, sitting up fully and giving him just enough space to move. “Go to the bedroom. Wait for me there.”

Milo hesitated, body still half-locked in panic.

Aaron arched a brow. “Milo.”

That was all it took.

Milo scrambled upright, nearly tripping over himself in his rush to obey, his fur bristling with residual embarrassment. His cock was still painfully hard, still dripping against his stomach, but he didn’t even try to cover himself. His brain was running purely on obedience now.

Without another word, he all but fled to the bedroom, disappearing beyond the doorway.

Aaron exhaled through his nose, glancing down at his hand. His fingers glistened slightly, coated in a thin sheen of warm pre.

He moved with practiced efficiency, making his way toward the utility closet at the end of the hall. A quick scan of his ID over the lock’s sensor, a soft click, and the door swung open. Inside, neatly organized shelves held everything a handler might need when dealing with particularly needy or difficult cases.

Aaron reached up and grabbed a bottle of lube from the highest shelf, fingers brushing past the neatly labeled muzzling devices. He hesitated for a second, considering. Milo’s file had made it very clear—restraints set him off. A muzzle might be necessary if he proved to be a biter, but for now?

Best to keep it off the table.

His eyes flicked downward.

Toys, restraints, segufixes—there was plenty in here to make things more interesting if he were just looking to indulge.

Aaron smirked to himself, shaking his head. No, this wasn’t about that.

Not yet, anyway.

With the lube in hand, he closed the closet and made his way toward the bedroom.

Milo was exactly where he expected him to be — curled up against the headboard, knees pulled close to his chest, arms wrapped around them like he was trying to make himself as small as possible.

His ears were still pinned flat, his fur slightly puffed from residual embarrassment.

Aaron leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

“That still giving you trouble?”

Milo swallowed hard but didn’t speak. He only gave a small, miserable shake of his head.

Aaron nodded, stepping inside.

“Has it gone down at all since the brushing?”

Another head shake.

Aaron hummed, unsurprised. This had been going on for a while then.

“Well,”, he murmured, setting the bottle on the nightstand before reaching for the hem of his shirt, peeling the damp fabric off his torso with casual ease, “this shirt’s already ruined.”, he let it drop to the floor, flicking an unimpressed glance at the pre-stained fabric. “Might as well keep the rest away from this dripping puppy.”

He made quick work of the rest, stepping out of his pants with the same nonchalance, leaving himself bare in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

Milo wasn’t breathing.

Not literally, of course — his chest still rose and fell, but his entire body had locked up, his pupils blown wide, his eyes locked only on Aaron.

Aaron took his time as he approached the bed, rolling his shoulders like this was just another routine task — like it didn’t matter at all that Milo was sitting there, curled up and trembling, his cock still fully erect, throbbing and desperate against his stomach.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, one knee bent, his posture relaxed as he met Milo’s wide, uncertain gaze.

“You’re going to have a choice here.”, his voice was low, steady — dripping with something that was both patience and amusement. “And I want you to think really hard about it.”

Milo swallowed thickly, but he didn’t dare look away.

Aaron smirked, shifting closer, his fingers dragging lightly over the sheets beside Milo’s knee.

“I can be quick about this.”, his tone was smooth, like he was explaining something simple, something obvious. “I can use my hand, get you off nice and easy. If you’re good, maybe I’ll even take the time to work that tight little hole of yours — massage your prostate until you’re shaking so bad you won’t even need to pump your cock anymore.”

Milo shivered, his tail twitching against the bed. His breath hitched, and his arms tightened slightly around his legs, as if that could shield him from the weight of Aaron’s words.

Aaron leaned in just a fraction, lowering his voice.

“Or—”, he let the word stretch out, rolling it over his tongue like he was savoring it. “I take my time with you. Make sure you really feel what it’s like to be taken care of.”

Milo sucked in a breath.

Aaron let his fingers trail up, ghosting over his knee, not quite touching but enough that Milo could feel the heat of it.

“You want to be taken care of, don’t you?”, he let the question hang there, not giving Milo a chance to answer before pushing further. “A good boy like you deserves to feel what it’s like to have a strong alpha taking his time with him. Breeding him properly. Showing him first hand what it means to belong to someone who knows how to take care of him.”

Milo’s entire body had gone rigid. His arms loosened their hold around his knees just slightly, his breath shuddering out of him.

Aaron already knew the answer.

There was no real choice here.

“Well?”

Milo’s throat worked, his breath a thin, shaky thing. His ears twitched, his tail curled, his fingers flexed against his own legs like he was trying to find some kind of grip, some kind of stability.

And then, finally—soft, barely audible, almost pleading—

“The second one.”

He moved over Milo with practiced ease, shifting his weight until his larger frame completely eclipsed the shepherd beneath him. He wasn’t rough, but he wasn’t gentle either — his movements were deliberate, his presence felt.

Milo had nowhere to go, not that he was trying to move.

Aaron leaned in close, his breath warm against the soft fur of Milo’s cheek, his voice dropping into something low and smooth.

“You’re going to tell me right now-”, he murmured, his lips just shy of brushing against the shepherd’s ear. “are you a biter?”

Aaron let the words settle for a moment before adding, “Because biters get muzzled.”, he let that sit too, then smirked. “Or, at the very least, they get turned on their stomach.”

Milo’s head jerked side to side in a frantic shake. “No—! No, I’m not a biter!”

Aaron pulled back just enough to get a good look at him, watching the way Milo’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths.

His smirk deepened. “Good boy.”

With that, he reached down, his grip firm as he took hold of Milo’s ankles. Without preamble, he lifted them up, pushing them toward Milo’s chest, effortlessly folding the smaller shepherd in half.

Milo let out a sharp, surprised whimper. His ears twitched, burning red at the position, his tail curling reflexively as his most vulnerable spot was put on display.

Aaron exhaled slowly, taking in the sight before him.

“Look at you.”, he murmured, his hands kneading the backs of Milo’s thighs, keeping them in place. “All folded up so nice for me. I knew you were obedient.”

Milo didn’t have a response, not one that was coherent, anyway.

Aaron smirked, then leaned down.

His tongue dragged in slow, deliberate strokes, warm and slick against the sensitive ring of muscle. He licked over it with measured precision, pressing his thumbs into the backs of Milo’s thighs to keep him spread open, ensuring nothing was hidden from him.

Milo shuddered.

A breathy, helpless moan slipped from his lips, his fingers twitching against the sheets, unsure whether to grip at something or cover his face.

Aaron felt the moment Milo lost control.

Not even a full minute had passed before the shepherd’s paw shot down between his own legs, gripping his aching cock and pumping it with desperate, eager strokes. His breathing turned ragged, a needy whimper slipping past his lips as he tried to chase his own pleasure.

Aaron didn’t let it slide.

A low, warning growl rumbled from his chest, reverberating against Milo’s skin as he pulled back just enough to speak.

“Hands off.”, his voice was sharp, firm, carrying the full weight of authority. “Good things come to those that wait.”

Milo whined, his tail twitching where it was still pinned beneath him, but his fingers trembled, slowly peeling away from his throbbing length.

But Milo wasn’t done.

Instead of disobeying, he let his paws wander behind his back, seeking out Aaron’s own arousal. His fingers found their way to Aaron’s length, tracing up the shaft before settling into slow, deliberate movements, kneading and massaging the thick, pulsing heat in his grip.

Aaron exhaled sharply through his nose.

Milo was learning.

“Now you’re being a really good boy.”

Milo’s ears flicked at that, a soft noise catching in his throat, his grip tightening just a little, as if the praise alone had made his entire body shudder.

Aaron decided to reward him properly.

Without another word, he redoubled his efforts, his tongue working deeper, licking into him with slow, wet strokes, savoring every little twitch, every small gasp Milo let out.

The shepherd melted, his body going pliant again, his grip on Aaron twitching as pleasure rolled through him.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was warm against Milo’s entrance, his lips brushing against slick, sensitive skin as he murmured,

“You’re ready for more.”

Reaching for the bottle on the nightstand, he squeezed out a generous amount of lube onto his fingers. He rubbed them together, warming the liquid before pressing the first digit against Milo’s entrance.

Milo tensed, but he didn’t pull away.

Aaron smirked, pressing in smoothly, one finger sinking deep into tight, welcoming heat before adding a second, stretching him open, getting him truly ready.

Milo moaned, his tail twitching helplessly, his paws flexing against Aaron’s cock.

“That’s it,” he murmured, working his fingers in slow, deliberate motions. “Good boy.”

Milo’s breathing had turned shallow, erratic. His paws twitched against Aaron’s length, squeezing unconsciously as his hips shifted, trying to push back against the fingers stretching him open. Every slow press, every curl inside him sent another needy whimper tumbling from his lips.

"Please—"

The word came out wrecked, desperate, any sign of prior hesitation completely erased.

Aaron smirked, but he didn’t acknowledge it yet.

Milo swallowed, his ears flicking back as his tail curled instinctively around Aaron’s wrist, his entire body begging for more even as he tried to put words to it.

"Please, I—... I need—", he stammered, his voice shaking, his thighs trembling against Aaron’s grip. "I need it, I need you inside me, please—"

His tongue flicked over his lips, dampening them, his pupils blown wide with something raw and primal.

Aaron let out a pleased hum.

"There we go.", he murmured, slipping his fingers free with a slow, slick sound. Milo let out a breathy, shuddering gasp at the loss, his tail giving a small, involuntary wag.

Aaron grabbed the lube again, pouring another generous amount into his palm before wrapping it around himself, slicking up his thick, aching length. His own breath hitched slightly at the sensation, but he kept his pace measured, deliberate, working himself over with long, steady strokes before lining himself up against Milo’s entrance.

"Relax", Aaron murmured, pressing just the tip against him, teasing him, making sure Milo felt every inch about to enter him. "You can take it. I know you can take it."

Milo barely had the breath to respond, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps. And then Aaron pushed in.

The moan that tore from Milo’s throat was loud, gasping, almost choked. His back arched, his fingers clenching against the sheets as Aaron’s length stretched him open, inch by inch.

Aaron exhaled through his nose, focused, controlled, savoring the heat of tight, clenching muscle around him.

"Fuck— you're gripping me so tight.", he murmured, sinking deeper, taking his time, making sure Milo felt every single inch.

Milo wasn’t even trying to hold himself together anymore.

His ears twitched helplessly, his tail trembling as he moaned into the bed, his legs twitching from the overwhelming sensation. He was far, far gone, completely consumed by need, his previous inhibitions nothing but a distant memory.

Aaron started slow, working his hips in a teasing rhythm, pulling out just enough before pushing back in, letting Milo adjust, letting him feel every inch pressing deeper, stretching him wider.

Milo’s voice had turned into soft, incoherent noises — little broken moans that barely even formed words.

By the time Aaron really started moving, Milo was gone.

His mouth hung open against the mattress, drool pooling onto the sheets, his tongue slipping just past his lips as his body rocked with every thrust. His eyes had lost focus, glazed over, barely able to register anything beyond the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure coursing through him.

"Yeah.", he murmured, dragging his nails lightly down Milo’s side, feeling the way he shivered under the touch. "Just a needy little shepherd, aren’t you?"

Milo whined, his body arching up toward Aaron’s touch, desperate, obedient, utterly wrecked.

Aaron could feel it — Milo’s body trembling, his breath coming in short, desperate bursts. The little shepherd was wrecked. Utterly ruined beneath him, his limbs splayed open in obedience, every inch of his body molded to Aaron’s will.

And yet, even now, Milo’s instincts fought for control — fingers twitching, tail flicking, as if part of him still refused to surrender entirely.

Aaron wasn’t having that.

He tightened his grip, shifting his stance, leaning forward until his weight settled heavily between Milo’s spread thighs. His muscles tensed as he adjusted his hold, hands sliding down along Milo’s legs until they rested firm beneath his knees.

Then, without a word, he pushed them up — higher, wider—until Milo’s legs were bent into a deep V, exposing everything. Holding him there. Keeping him in place.

Milo gasped, his ears flicking back, his body twitching as he was folded open like a prize meant to be savored. Aaron could see it all — every ripple of tense, overstimulated muscle, the pulsing sheath still leaking desperately between them, the way his hole stretched tight around the base of Aaron’s cock, trembling with every deep thrust.

Aaron exhaled sharply, planting his feet, gripping tighter.

And then he moved.

Really moved.

The shift in pace was immediate, the slow, deliberate rhythm he’d kept up until now utterly abandoned in favor of something raw, relentless. The bedframe groaned in protest, the impact of his thrusts sending ripples of motion through Milo’s small, pliant body. The shepherd barely had time to react—his mouth falling open in a breathless, choked moan as Aaron pounded into him, holding him steady, keeping him exactly where he wanted him.

“F-Fuck!”, Milo’s voice was barely coherent, wrecked with need, his fingers clawing at the sheets as pleasure crashed over him in waves. “I—... I can’t—”

Aaron growled low in his throat, his grip tightening against Milo’s thighs. “You can.”, his breath came out ragged, his body gleaming with exertion, every muscle in his arms and chest flexing, defined and sharp as he drove into Milo with unrelenting force. “And you will.”

Milo’s back arched, his tail curling desperately against Aaron’s wrist. The sensations were too much — every thrust, every motion slamming against the deepest, most sensitive parts of him, leaving him utterly helpless beneath Aaron’s control.

And then, with a sharp, stuttering gasp — Milo broke.

His entire body seized up, his breath cutting off into a ragged cry as his orgasm hit him like a lightning strike. Aaron felt it — saw it — how the little shepherd’s stomach tensed, his back arched, his cock pulsing untouched against his belly as he came.

Thick spurts of white splattered across his fur, against his chest, his stomach — rope after rope of hot, slick release painting his own body as he convulsed beneath Aaron.

He hadn’t even touched himself.

Aaron grinned, a deep, satisfied growl rolling in his chest.

“Oh, you really are something.”, he murmured, his voice edged with both amusement and approval. His thrusts didn’t slow, didn’t stop — if anything, they only deepened, pushing through the aftershocks, making sure Milo felt every second of it.

The little shepherd whined, breathless and overstimulated, his fingers twitching weakly where they clutched at the sheets. His tail thumped against Aaron’s wrist, his body going limp, utterly spent.

And yet—

He still let Aaron keep going.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Aaron leaned in, his breath warm against Milo’s ear, his voice rough with exertion. “That’s my good boy.”, he murmured, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that sent another twitch of overstimulated pleasure through Milo’s body. “Didn’t even need those pesky little paws of yours, did you?”

Milo whimpered. He shook his head, barely able to process the words, too far gone to fight it.

Aaron grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

He kept going, his voice low, murmuring steady praise into Milo’s fur as he fucked him through his own climax — words slipping past his lips in deep, steady growls of appreciation.

“So good for me...”

“The goodest of boys, aren’t you?”

Milo shivered at that — physically reacted to it, his whole body curling into Aaron’s hold, his ears flicking back in quiet, overwhelmed acceptance.

Aaron smirked. He could feel it now — Milo’s walls tightening around him, his body still shuddering with lingering pleasure, his tail twitching with every deep, claiming thrust.

“Brave boy.”, he murmured, his breath hot against Milo’s fur. “Letting me take care of you properly.”

Milo barely managed a whimper, his body pressing closer, molding itself against Aaron’s presence like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. The moment Milo started to go lax beneath him, utterly spent and dazed from his climax, Aaron acted.

With practiced ease, he gripped the little shepherd’s waist and flipped him over, pushing him onto all fours. Milo barely had time to register the shift before Aaron’s hand found its mark — grabbing him firmly by the scruff, fingers sinking deep into the thick fur at the nape of his neck.

The motion sent an instinctive shock through Milo’s body, a sharp whimper catching in his throat as he went still. Completely still. The primal weight of that grip locked him in place, his body reacting on some deep, unconscious level.

Held. Restrained.

Owned.

Aaron wasted no time. He adjusted his stance, his thighs pressing flush against Milo’s trembling legs as he slid right back in—sinking into tight, wet heat from a new angle, his movements measured, steady. The shift changed everything.

Deeper.

More intense.

Milo let out a strangled sound, his paws clenching at the sheets, his tail twitching wildly in response. He was already spent, his body sensitive beyond reason, but Aaron didn’t care. He wasn’t done.

He kept his grip firm in Milo’s scruff, keeping him steady like an unruly pup, controlling him with nothing but touch. His hips moved with steady force, each thrust pushing deep, pulling more helpless little whines from the exhausted shepherd beneath him.

Aaron smirked.

Still so sensitive, and yet still so hard.

Reaching around, he wrapped his free hand around Milo’s throbbing, still-weeping length. He gave it a firm, slow stroke, his grip confident, knowing exactly how to make the little shepherd come undone all over again.

“You’re going to come for me again.”, Aaron ordered, his voice rough, unwavering.

Milo whimpered, his ears twitching wildly, his tail flicking as if trying to process the command. “I—”, his voice was wrecked, ruined. “I don’t—”

Aaron silenced him with a sharp squeeze at the base of his cock.

Milo’s entire body jolted.

Aaron smirked, leaning in, his breath hot against Milo’s ear.

“Come for me, pup.”

That was all it took.

Milo tensed, his body locking up as the words hit him like a command issued straight to his instincts. His breath hitched—his muscles twitching beneath Aaron’s hold, tail curling as his body obeyed without hesitation.

The climax hit him harder than the first.

Milo let out a sharp, gasping moan as his cock pulsed violently in Aaron’s grip, thick ropes of come spilling onto the sheets below. His entire body convulsed, tremors racking through him, his inner walls clenching down tight around Aaron’s length in desperate, involuntary aftershocks.

Aaron groaned.

That tight, sudden squeeze around his cock — Milo’s desperate spasming as he came again, wrecked and obedient — sent him hurtling toward his own release.

But Aaron wasn’t done commanding yet.

He slid his grip lower — down to Milo’s knot.

And squeezed.

Milo screamed.

A full, sharp, pleasure-wrecked sound ripped from his throat as the added pressure on his sensitive knot pushed him over the edge of overstimulation. His body clenched hard, every muscle locking, his cock twitching violently in the aftershocks of another ruined climax.

And that — that — was what did it.

Aaron felt it hit him all at once. The sight, the feeling, the overwhelming heat and tightness and pure, unfiltered need beneath him. His body tensed, every muscle burning with exertion, his breath catching as the coil inside him snapped.

And then—

Release.

A deep, guttural groan tore from Aaron’s throat as pleasure surged through him. His grip on Milo’s scruff tightened instinctively, his hips slamming forward with one last, forceful thrust as he came, buried deep inside the trembling little shepherd beneath him.

He filled him completely — hot, thick, undeniable.

Milo whined, shuddering at the sensation, his entire body twitching from the sheer overstimulation. His ears flicked back, his tail curling slightly, his breath coming in soft, exhausted pants beneath Aaron’s weight.

Aaron exhaled harshly, chest heaving, muscles burning from exertion. His arms shook slightly, and then — finally — he collapsed forward, letting his full weight press down onto Milo, burying the little shepherd beneath him.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t move.

Just let himself sink into the warmth, the sweat-slicked fur against his chest, the steady, exhausted rise and fall of Milo’s back as he came down from the high.

Milo barely made a sound — just a soft, quiet breath, his body completely spent, completely relaxed beneath Aaron’s weight.

Aaron smirked lazily against his fur, his lips brushing over the nape of his neck, murmuring one last thing before sleep threatened to take them both.

“Best boy.”

---

It was sticky.

Not just a little sticky — the stickiest of aftermaths.

The sheets were ruined. The scent of sweat, sex, and musk lingered in the air like a claim laid over every inch of the space. The once-clean bed was a complete disaster—sheets damp and tangled, evidence of their long, exhaustive night staining the fabric in patches that would never fully come out.

And Milo?

Milo was an absolute mess.

His fur, which Aaron had so carefully brushed and groomed just hours ago, was now completely ruined. Matted in places, clumped in others, sticking to his skin in a way that made him look even more disheveled than before the grooming session. His tail had lost all semblance of its fluffy, well-kempt shape, his ears were askew, and his entire body had the telltale exhaustion of someone who had been thoroughly, thoroughly claimed.

And yet — he had slept like a stone.

The little shepherd had been completely out, buried beneath Aaron’s weight, his breathing slow and deep, his body so pliant and loose in slumber that it was clear he hadn’t stirred once during the night. The sheer exhaustion of being handled, worked over, and utterly wrecked had knocked him out so deeply that Aaron had half-wondered if he’d have to check for a pulse in the morning.

Now, as the first hints of daylight filtered through the apartment, Aaron moved with careful deliberation, easing himself up and out of bed without waking the little shepherd just yet.

First order of business: fixing this disaster zone.

With quiet efficiency, Aaron stripped the ruined sheets, careful as to not wake Milo while working around him and shifting him slightly, rolling them up in a bundle to be dealt with later. He aired out the room, letting fresh air push away the thick scent of the previous night’s indulgences.

Then, he went to work on the next most important thing: Milo.

Padding barefoot into the bathroom, he started the bath — deep, warm, soothing. The sound of rushing water filled the space as Aaron reached for the bath oils, adding just a few drops to the water, ensuring it would soak deep into sore muscles and matted fur. He tested the temperature, adjusting until it was perfect—hot enough to soothe, but not enough to overwhelm.

Next, drinks.

Heading to the kitchenette, Aaron poured out something cold and sweet—electrolytes, sugar, something to get the shepherd’s blood sugar back up after the intense night before. He set the glasses down by the tub, right within easy reach.

Everything was prepared.

Now, for the final step.

Aaron returned to the bedroom, stepping up beside the bed, where Milo was still curled up, ears twitching faintly in sleep.

For a moment, Aaron simply looked at him.

Soft. Small. Still lost in whatever deep, dreamless state of rest his body had desperately needed. His fur might have been a mess, his limbs sprawled in an undignified heap, but there was something undeniably satisfying about seeing him like this — fully spent, fully sated, and completely at peace.

Then, with deliberate care, he reached down, brushing his fingers gently over the shepherd’s forehead.

“Milo.” His voice was soft, coaxing. A firm but gentle nudge. “Wake up, pup.”

A quiet groan. A twitch of the ears. A faint, sleep-drunk mumble that barely registered as words.

Aaron chuckled.

Alright, new plan.

He leaned down, sliding his arms beneath Milo’s body with ease. One beneath his shoulders, the other scooping up under his legs.

He lifted. Bridal carry.

Milo barely reacted — just a soft, breathless huff as Aaron’s arms enveloped him, his body instinctively curling into the warmth, head pressing against Aaron’s chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. His tail flicked once before going limp again, his whole form relaxed and pliant as Aaron carried him through the apartment, cradled like something precious.

Aaron stepped into the bathroom, sinking carefully into the tub, adjusting so that Milo was settled against him, back to his chest, fully supported.

Only then did Milo finally stir.

He let out a quiet, confused noise — his ears twitching as the warm water lapped around him, his sluggish mind struggling to piece together where he was, how he had gotten here.

“Wha—”, his voice was thick with sleep, his body shifting slightly in Aaron’s grip before slumping again.

Aaron hummed, his arms still wrapped around the shepherd’s waist, keeping him steady. “Bath time.”, he murmured, his tone as warm as the water surrounding them. “You’re a mess, pup. Gotta clean you up.”

Milo’s ears flicked back in sleepy embarrassment, but he didn’t protest. He just exhaled, letting his body sink into the comfort of it, allowing Aaron to hold him without resistance.

“Relax.”, he murmured, starting slow, his hands moving with careful intent. He worked the soap into the shepherd’s fur, massaging as he went — kneading sore muscles, rubbing out the tension that had settled deep from the previous night’s activities. His fingers pressed into tight knots along Milo’s shoulders, rolling the stiffness away with slow, methodical motions.

Milo let out a quiet, pleased hum, his head tipping slightly forward as Aaron’s thumbs worked their way up his neck.

“There we go.”, Aaron murmured, approving. “You really needed this, huh?”

Milo huffed softly in response.

His hands moved lower, sliding over the shepherd’s sides, down to his lower back, continuing to work through every lingering ache, every tight muscle. He smoothed the soap through his fur, his touch deliberate, careful, making sure to wash away every last trace of last night’s mess.

All the while, his voice remained low, warm, murmuring quiet words of praise into the space between them.

“You did so well last night.”

Another slow stroke down Milo’s back.

“I’m proud of you, pup.”

His fingers traced over the shepherd’s ribs, rubbing in slow circles.

“You were so good for me.”

"Will you stay?", Milo murmured quietly.

"At the very least until I consider you ready to face the world again."

"I'm not."

"I know. And the fact that you do, is a testament to you. And that also means I'll take care of you for a long, long time to come."

Milo let out a small, soft sound — barely more than a breath — but the way his body melted further into Aaron’s hold said more than words ever could.

Aaron smirked against Milo’s fur, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the damp crown of his head.

“That also entails taking care of your body, of course.”

His voice had dipped into something lower, something softer. Not quite teasing, not quite innocent. Just enough to suggest — to imply — that this wasn’t just about hygiene anymore.

And yet, technically, he was just cleaning.

His hand wandered downward, slipping over Milo’s stomach, fingers grazing the fine, damp fur there before trailing even lower. He found what he was looking for easily — cupping the soft sheath in his palm, kneading it gently, thumb pressing slow circles against the base.

Milo stiffened instantly.

His entire body, a sharp intake of breath rattling through him as his legs tensed beneath the water. His ears twitched wildly, tail flicking up only to swish down again in a confused, reactive motion.

Aaron, naturally, played the part of the responsible caretaker.

“This is purely practical.”, he murmured, voice impossibly smooth, massaging the base of the sheath with the most deliberate sort of care. “Just making sure you’re properly cleaned up.”

Milo made a noise — something between a huff and a whimper, his tail flicking again beneath the water as Aaron’s fingers rolled and kneaded with slow, purposeful care.

“I—”, Milo’s voice cracked embarrassingly, his breath shuddering as Aaron’s thumb ghosted over the tip. He swallowed hard, his back pressing tighter against Aaron’s chest, his body involuntarily seeking something he clearly wasn’t ready to admit to yet.

Aaron smirked, completely innocent in his intentions, of course.

“Relax, pup.”, his fingers moved in slow, rhythmic circles, rolling the sensitive skin between his thumb and forefinger, applying just enough pressure to coax the slightest twitch of reaction. “I’m just being thorough.”

Milo let out a high, breathless whine.

Oh, that was cute.

Aaron chuckled, voice low, warm against the shell of Milo’s ear.

“You trust me to take care of you, don’t you?”, his grip on Milo’s sheath remained steady, coaxing, massaging with a slow, methodical motion.

Milo’s throat worked, his ears pressing flat against his skull, his fingers twitching against Aaron’s forearm. His breath came out shakily, and though he could have protested — could have shifted, could have pulled away — he didn’t.

Instead, he swallowed thickly, his body betraying him in the way it relaxed, leaning just slightly into Aaron’s touch, as if seeking more.

“...Yes.”

Milo let out a choked noise — something caught between a gasp and a whimper, his tail flicking wildly beneath the water. His ears twitched, his breath coming out in short, uneven bursts as Aaron’s words settled into his already-overstimulated brain.

Aaron smirked, his grip tightening ever so slightly, his fingers continuing their slow, methodical massage over the shepherd’s sheath.

“You see, we specialists are extensively trained to make sure you Anthros are properly handled.”, he murmured, his voice impossibly smooth, dripping with something just shy of innocent. “As such, I’m very aware that canines need to have their balls drained very often.”

His thumb pressed just beneath the sheath, coaxing another helpless twitch, his palm rolling over the weight of Milo’s sac.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

Milo let out a strangled sound, his entire body tensing in place — his thighs flexing, his paws twitching, his tail flicking up only to swish down again in a desperate attempt to hide from what his body was inevitably giving away.

“A-Aaron—”

Aaron hummed, utterly unbothered, fingers moving with deliberate ease. “I’m waiting, pup.”

Milo swallowed hard. His breath shuddered, his ears pressing flat against his skull as his hips involuntarily shifted forward, the motion betraying him.

“...Y-Yes.”, his voice was barely above a breath, wrecked and weak, his body already melting in Aaron’s grasp.

“Good boy.”

His grip shifted, his fingers sliding lower — cupping Milo’s balls now, rolling them carefully between his fingers, testing their weight with the same professional sort of detachment.

“This is purely medical, of course.”, he continued smoothly, tone unwavering as if he weren’t palming the little shepherd like he owned him. “Gotta make sure they’re functioning properly.”

Milo was already halfway out of his sheath, his cock thick and twitching against Aaron’s palm, the inevitable consequence of such thorough care.

Aaron hummed in satisfaction, his fingers toying with the engorged flesh, stroking over the slick, exposed length with deliberate slowness. He felt every shiver, every helpless pulse, every desperate little twitch beneath his touch.

His voice remained impossibly smooth, authoritative, effortlessly guiding the moment as though it were purely routine.

“My training includes many techniques for making sure good boys like you get milked efficiently...”

He tightened his grip, pulling a ragged gasp from Milo’s throat as his strokes became more controlled, more deliberate.

“...and pleasurably.”

Milo’s tail twitched violently beneath the water. His paws clenched — fingers curling against Aaron’s thighs, claws pricking into skin, but Aaron didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he tugged.

A firm, commanding motion — his fingers wrapped around the shepherd’s sac, tightening just enough to make Milo jolt in his lap, his breath hitching into a sharp, needy gasp.

Aaron bit down.

His teeth clamped onto the sensitive scruff at the nape of Milo’s neck, sinking deep — not enough to hurt, but enough to hold, to claim, to send a wave of pure, unfiltered submission straight down Milo’s spine.

Milo whimpered.

His body shuddered, his cock pulsing in Aaron’s grip, his thighs tensing as a wave of desperate, helpless pleasure ripped through him.

He stood no chance.

Within minutes, he was panting, whining, his body practically vibrating with need. His hips jerked forward, chasing the motion, his legs trembling, his paws clawing harder into Aaron’s thighs, as if begging for more, for release, for something he wasn’t even sure how to ask for.

Aaron ignored the pricks of Milo’s claws against his skin, too focused on the task at hand. His strokes were precise, unrelenting, each movement designed to drive Milo closer and closer to the edge.

And then — just as Milo’s breathing turned ragged, just as his body started to tremble on the verge of tipping over—

He released the scruff, leaning in close, his lips brushing against the shepherd’s damp ear, his voice a low, commanding whisper.

“I’m not stopping until you’ve been properly milked.”, he murmured, his hand tightening around Milo’s aching cock, pumping him with firm, relentless strokes. “It’s time to cum now.”

Milo broke again.

His whole body seized in Aaron’s grip, his breath stuttering into a sharp, ragged gasp as his cock pulsed violently in his hand.

Thick, hot strands spilled into the bathwater, clouding the surface in lazy, milky ribbons, spreading outward in slow, swirling patterns. Each convulsion wracked through him, his thighs twitching, his paws digging into Aaron’s skin, his body completely lost to the overwhelming release that had been forced out of him with such ruthless efficiency.

Aaron smirked, watching the aftermath unfold with pure, unfiltered satisfaction.

Such a good boy.

He let Milo slump, boneless and exhausted, into his chest — his breathing heavy, uneven, his body trembling faintly from the sheer force of it. The shepherd was completely spent, every last ounce of tension wrung from him, his limbs weak, his tail flicking in slow, lazy aftershocks.

Aaron took advantage of the moment, leaning in to nip at the soft, fluffy curve of Milo’s ear.

A small gesture — just enough to make the little shepherd twitch with residual sensitivity.

“Mmm...”, Aaron grumbled in approval, his deep voice vibrating against Milo’s fur. “Such a good boy for listening so well.”, he let his teeth graze over the delicate ear again, savoring the way Milo shivered at the sensation. “I like that obedience, pup. I’ll be sure to reward that later.”

Milo let out a weak, breathless sound — too wrecked to respond properly, but the way his ears flicked, the way his tail gave a small, lazy wag against the water, told Aaron everything he needed to know.

He was settling into this.

Accepting it.

Embracing it.

Good.

Aaron let his fingers drift lazily through the water, smoothing over Milo’s spent, twitching stomach before pressing a firm, grounding palm against his chest. His voice remained low, steady — dripping with something undeniably possessive.

“From now on.”, he murmured, “milking and breeding will be a daily ritual.”

He smirked as he felt the shepherd tense in his lap, his breath catching slightly—whether from arousal, shock, or something in between.

“If not more.”, Aaron added, his tone teasing but completely serious, his hand sliding down again, brushing lightly over the base of Milo’s spent sheath.

“Can’t have any buildup.”, he mumbled, voice husky, lips grazing against the side of Milo’s neck. “Wouldn’t want you getting all pent up again — stressed, desperate... needy.”

Milo swallowed hard, his tail flicking uncertainly in the water, his breath still shaky from the aftermath.

Aaron smirked against his fur.

“I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, pup.”

And with that, he held him there, savoring the feeling of a properly claimed little shepherd resting against him — sore, spent, and completely his.

Another distressed Anthro being expertly tended to.