The Boys From Quadrant 44
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Warning - Warning - Warning - Warning
Dangerous, adult stuff contained ahead. You know the rules. If you shouldn't be reading, then stop. Not like I could stop you anyway.
Warning - Warning - Warning - Warning
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The Boys from Quadrant 44
The boys from next quadrant had brought their hounds again. They bayed in the street-- a foul grinding screech that grated on the ears and set the whole body vibrating uncomfortably. Their footfalls echoed closer, metal feet on metal grating, clanking like an oncoming tank. The sound set my heart beating so loud in my chest that I could barely hear the screaming outside in the street.
Charlie and Ed had already dashed for the back door, and Leejah was fumbling with the buckle on her oh-so-fashionable designer jeans. Stupid girl, she'd forgotten the first rule of the hounds. Run. If your pants aren't on you, forget them. If you forgot your bag on the seat, forget it. If your lover is doped up on Moan and doesn't run too, forget them. It was a good first rule, and because of the first rule, there didn't need to be a second rule. Not that it would have mattered. Running doesn't always save you anyway, but at least you have a chance.
One of the vicious hounds was getting closer. I could hear it pawing at the door, steel claws dragging on Red-Six's door with a sound like nails on a chalkboard. The owner of the establishment had been the first one out the back door; he'd probably had a tip off. The rest of the guests had vacated, except Leejah, whose fingers still refused to catch the rivet-button in the hole, and me.
It'd been the start of a great night. Ed had brought the Moan, and Charlie and Blinkers had brought a pair of girls who claimed they were down-worlders. We all knew it was a lie, and they knew we knew, but hell, it's a fantasy, right? Every guy up here in the quadrants likes to think that they're a king in their own fucking castle, and the girl on their arm is a pure gene down-worlder. They were clean-looking and didn't have any disfiguring scars, so I figured Charlie must have been the one to get them up to the Red-Six. He was better with the ladies than Blinkers was. And he was better hung. Up here, that made a difference.
So the night kicked off proper with round of drinks to lubricate our tongues, and a round of Moan to lubricate the rest of our organs. The first one of the night was always the best. The tiny tab dissoled on your tongue, tasting slightly of citrus. Moan is a slow burn, a happy carelessness that builds minute after minute. It doesn't matter which way you swing before you pop the first, because after it was any place you could fit it. By the second round of drinks, I was hard as a rock, and somewhere along the way I'd lost my pants. Not that it mattered. Pants were a commodity that few bothered with in Red-Six.
By the time Ed and the other girl climbed onto the table, we were one of the few groups in the bar that weren't fucking. One table closer to the entrance, a threesome of huskies had cleared their drinks and were daisy-chaining it on the well-upholstered booth seat. I think I recognized one of them, an eager bitch who was getting eaten out on one end of the chain. If she was still on the Moan later on, maybe I'd catch back up with her. Talk about the week. Bend her over the bar and slip under that curly tail of hers... She turned towards me and smiled. No, actually, it wasn't her. I must have been mistaken. It didn't really matter, though. That look was an offer. She knew what I was thinking-- well, most of what I was thinking.
See, that was the thing. She knew what I wanted, because it was what everyone wanted, and up in Red-Six, up in the Districts, it wasn't worth putting a fancy face on it and pretending it was anything else. It's all good, right? It's our due, our pay, our fucking lot in life. Popped out of the vat a full-grown adult. Three weeks is all it takes their machines to teach us everything. A shot in the arm every year of anti-everything serum to keep us from spreading disease, and a whole line of designer drugs to keep us happy, placid, and docile. Who's got the balls to complain when it's better to just empty them in the nearest thing that'll bend over the bar for you? Fuck, what's there to even complain about?
My wayward thoughts of the husky bitch quickly ran off the rails when someone's hot mouth closed over my cock beneath the table. That'd be Blinkers. The little ferret seemed to spend most of his nights with his mouth wrapped around something. If it wasn't a bottle, then it was probably the cock of whoever would buy him the next bottle. After the Moan hit, though, it'd just be the cock. That's what it did to you. Every other addiction, every other urge and every other sensation, it's like they were just in the background. You could see them, feel them, but only as if they were far away, just on the horizon. He was a drunk, yes, but only when he wasn't on the Moan.
As I said, it was going to be a great evening. So far, it'd given me a mouth on my dick and a gorgeous floor show to boot. Ed and that other girl were really going at it, and watching Ed was a real pleasure. See, the guy was an ass, and by that I mean he was one-hundred-percent genuine donkey. God, he was hung. The girl under him was some sort of cat-- maybe a caracal or an ocelot or something-- and she was having trouble taking all of him. Only two-thirds of that thick donkey cock was disappearing into the squealing girl, leaving the rest out for me to watch and enjoy as it bounced and throbbed.
Then the night got even better when Leejah crawled over me. I think she'd taken another Moan, because she was moving slow. The second tab of Moan would make you lazy, as all the sensory input from your overworked neurons would slog down your mental processes until everything seems to be coated in honey. I've only done it once. It felt like the air was sticky around me, and every touch, even to my chest and arms and legs, was a little bliss. Some people like that, like feeling everything everything rushing in and stroking their libido. Rub anything on someone who's on their second tab for long enough, even just their arm or their hand or the like, and they'll come. It's just the way it works. Well when you're on the second tab, since everything feels just so good, you just sit there and take it. Take everything, even if it hurts you later. When I was on the second tab, I think every guy in the bar fucked me. I don't remember it all so well, and it wasn't worth how I felt the next day. It wasn't for me.
But Leejah looked like she was used to it. She was a fox, a sexy little vixen that barely came up to my shoulders, with a brush that was almost as long as the rest of her body. Her vulpine features drooped only slightly under the weight of the Moan. That's how I could tell she was used to it. Hell she probably did this every week, if not every other night. You could tell someone's first time, they'd be the ones with their muzzle open and drooling, and their eyes slightly crossed. It took experience to keep your face on right, and I almost couldn't tell by looking at her that she was on her second tab.
There wasn't any permission asked, and none needed to be given. She just crawled over my chest and pushed her hips at my crotch. Down beneath the table, I heard Blinkers complain, but then his gorgeous muzzle slid off my shaft to make way for Leejah. She was loose, especially compared Blinkers' mouth, but that didn't bother me. I might not have been gifted like Ed, but I was more than enough to fill a little vixen like her. It's like we were made to fit together. Actually, it might not be far from the truth. A sexy fox like her is still technically a dog like me, so she was built to take it all as her sex slurped down around my knot.
And then came the first howl. Fuck, the night had been going so well. By the time the metallic screeching had broken off, Ed had already pulled out, dripping and flopping against his legs as he went, and sprinted towards the back. Blinkers, too, and the huskies and the bull behind the bar. It was panic--it was a stampede. That wail was the most effective way to clear a room. In moments, it was just Leejah and me.
She stared at me, and I saw some fear in that Moan-soaked gaze. Even through the haze of the second tab, she knew she was in trouble. I felt sorry for her, I really did. Almost guilty, like I had somehow summoned the boys and their hounds. It was irrational, sure, but there it was. I almost wanted to help her get away, to save her from the fate that I knew was going to devour her whole any second now, but that was foolish. She knew the rules, just like everyone else up here in the districts. When the hounds come calling, it's everyone for themselves.
So when I heard those claws scraping at the door, I pulled my trump from where it'd been in my coat pocket. I never took off my coat, even when I was buried balls-deep in a pretty thing like Leejah, and this was why. It was a cube that sat heavily in my palm. It had ergonomic corners and smooth buttons and touch-sensitive screens on every facing. It wasn't some slap-dash gadget from up here in the districts. This was down-world technology. It was worth more than I was. With one last apologetic glance at Leejah, I tapped the cube and disappeared.
I've been told that I seem to just pop out of reality when I use it, but I can't really say. I can still see myself, but from more than a few inches from me, it's as if I wasn't there. Invisible to every sense; not just sight, but hearing and smell, and I've even been told that I disappear off of infrared and RF scans. The only way to find me is to bump into me.
Which is exactly what I made sure wouldn't happen when the hound's claws finally tore through the front door of Red-Six. Leejah was still trying to make sense of what she'd just seen when it sprang into the room. She tried to run, but she'd missed her chance by about two minutes. In two bounds, it bore her to the floor.
It was a newer model than the last few I'd seen. It's not as if I catalog the hounds, exactly, but I've learned to find some enjoyment from the raids. The first time I'd stayed instead of fled, hoping and praying that the cube would keep me safe, it was terrifying. The second was less so, and by the third, I'd begun to accept it. Now, watching from an unobtrusive corner well out of the way, I only felt the pang of regret that Leejah had been caught. It was over for her. There was nothing I could have done, and even less I could do now.
The hound prowled over her collapsed form, metal joints articulating silently. It was as if metal had been poured over the skeleton of a four-legged dog and given life. I take that back, not just the skeleton, but the muscle and sinew and tendons, too. Since there was no "skin" over the hound's steel bones, I could see its mechanical insides churning and whizzing and purring. Every action was preceded by a firing of a piston, then the barely audible hiss of hydraulics. Shielded wires slithered around its magnet-powered muscles like veins and arteries. If they hadn't been so terrifying, I'd have called them stylish. Brutish, but stylish in a barbaric way. They were pretty as a well-sharpened knife edge.
Leejah crawled to her hands and knees and started to crawl towards the exit. Quick as a lightning bolt, the hound's vice-like jaw closed over the back of her neck. Not to crush and kill, no. She wasn't worth anything dead. Instead, it chewed slightly at the fur of her neck, then let her go. It stood, watching her with jaw agape. If it had a tongue, it'd be panting. She started to crawl again, and the hound nipped at her tail. She yelped, then sighed. It didn't matter that she was scared, or that she knew she'd been caught, or anything else that managed to make it through the Moan. She was on her second tab, and everything felt good. Everything, even the hound.
And the hound was ready for her. The hounds weren't mindless robots. They had a consciousness, a personality. Up in that steel-armored cranium sat a wetware brain, more complex than the most advanced AI that could be created up here in the districts. Inside was a real dog, with real doggy thoughts and feelings and wants and needs, tailored to meet the needs of its owner. Up here, where it hunted us, its owners needed it to work with the Moan. Its reaction was primal, instinctive, fed from the canine wetware into a mechanical body that was built to match. From between the steel pillars of its hindlegs, I saw a slick black cock slide free from some hidden sheath.
I don't know who first modified the hounds. Maybe it was pragmatism; give the victim exactly what their sex-addled mind wants, and they'll happily wait for you to come collect them. Maybe it had even been something altogether nicer, a companion for some weird fuck with too much money and too few friends. More likely, though, they were given the equipment because the boys from quadrant forty-four wanted to get their rocks off in new and twisted ways, and the design had just stuck.
There was no question what the hounds were designed to do now. The length dangling between the hound's hindlegs wasn't some small pleasure toy for lonely evenings. It was ridged and knotted, gleaming in Red-Six's multicolored mood lighting with the same runny lubricant that was now dripping in a steady stream from the ebony tip. It was bestial and feral, with the perfect mix of accoutrements to its girth that would stop any second-tabber in their tracks, just out of the perverse curiosity of what it would feel like sliding up and in...
But I guess Leejah wouldn't have to wonder anymore. She let out a little squeal, then stopped. This was what had caught so many of the people I'd seen taken. It was that second tab. It all melts away when you're on the Moan, the urgency and the fear and the self preservation. She looked back, and I swear she was wagging her ass at it. Maybe it was a conscious decision, to tell the truth. She'd been caught. She wasn't going to get away. The hound had her scent. She'd never make it away from Red-Six, so why not try to enjoy it? If that was the case, I mentally applauded her. Brave girl. She lifted her tail, and the jeans she'd had so much trouble buttoning slid from her waist.
In a second, the hound was on her back. That gleaming black cock slid against her rump cheeks, then kissed her wet sex. She yelped beneath as its weight crashed down on her hips. All pretense of escape fled as soon as she felt the unforgiving metal legs clasp her hips. To her, it'd all just be stimulus. The meaning and significance would have to wait for tomorrow morning, when the Moan wore off and she found herself in quadrant forty four at the dubious pleasure of her new owners. For tonight, this was all that mattered, the touch and feel and sensation as that black cock found her rather loose snatch and slid deep.
I wondered momentarily just how accurate they'd made the hounds. How would that shaft feel as it inch after inch of it stretched her sex around its girth? Would it be warm just like the real thing, or would it be cool latex? When that thick knot at its base locked and (conveniently) kept her immobile, would it throb and beat with the hound's imaginary heartbeat? This was the fifth floor show I'd enjoyed from the safety of my stealth cube, but it'd always been from the shadows, far enough to feel "safe". Just in case, of course.
Just in case? In case what, in case the cube failed? Unlikely. Down-world stuff just didn't fail like that. I could saunter out the back door, and as long as I avoided tripping on anything, I'd be much safer than I was now. Why was I still here? Why did I always stay, when the smart money was on being anywhere else. There was the noble thought: I was witnessing their last free moments, remembering who they were. Whatever they became in quadrant forty four, it wouldn't be who they'd been before. Everyone deserved not to be alone in those last moments, when they squirmed on the business end of a metal hound. They couldn't see me, or hear or smell, but I was there none the less.
But every act has two reasons. The noble reason and the real reason. That was my noble reason, and I stuck to it. Then, for my real reason, I let my hand find my own shaft, stroking it slowly as I watched Leejah. In some distant way it felt wrong to watch, even though I know Leejah wouldn't have minded, even if she'd known. It was just sex. That's what the night was all about, right? She'd come to Red-Six planning to fit everything she could find between her legs tonight. The hound was just a deviation from the normal plan. Hell, I bet it felt pretty good too. I could see her sex quiver every time the ridges around that black cock slipped back and forth against her flesh. The hound was merciless, pounding at her twice a second. It was a wet show, it always was. The two were kneeling in a spreading puddle, and I could see droplets of the hound's lubricant flung wide with the exuberance of its thrusts.
Leejah let out another little yip as the hound tied. The was a wet little pop as the phallus' rubbery knot disappeared into her straining sex. And to think I'd thought she was loose earlier in the night. Well, she was a fox. She was built for it. She'd have been getting the same treating from me if the boys and their hounds hadn't interrupted. She hadn't really hugged around my cock like Blinkers' mouth had, but it would have been worth it for the tie. Everything else was just a nice appetizer, while that squeeze squeeze right behind my knot was the main course. Fuck, it'd been forever since my last tie-- at least a whole day. There'd been that cat last night, and I think I tied, but I'd had a bit to drink, and with the Moan too... Well, thinking on it now, probably not. Cats usually didn't like a good tie. They were too tight for that. Not like a dog. Not like Leejah.
She was loving it. Yeah, she'd regret it in the morning, but she was working that knot so hard that I could see juices squeezing out and dripping down the girder-like hindlegs of the hound. Damn that would have felt good. Why did the hounds have to go and ruin the night? It's not like they got anything out of it, and I had a perfectly good cock going to waste here now. I gave myself a few more strokes, but it just wasn't the same as having a nice, hot fox squirming on my lap.
There was a noise from the ruined front door, and the metal hound's mind immediately shifted gears. His ears swiveled first, followed then by his head and eyes. It was a little creepy, seeing the articulated neck turn back in a motion no living dog could ever hope to mimic. Leejah gave another squeal as the hound's midsection moved. With the rubbery knot still locked in her clenching sex, it turned rump-to-rump with the vixen.
Stepping through the remains of Red-Six's shredded door, the hound's owner sauntered towards his obedient mechanical dog. The owner was a jackal, tall and rangy with alert ears. My "noble reason" required that I dislike him on principle, but my "real reason" liked his ropey build. He wore the normal punk halter-top that was so popular among the hound boys, made from synthetic fabrics that defied both fashion and gravity. To finish the ensemble, south of the halter top he wore nothing at all. Sheath with half-erect jackal flesh spilling from its top stood proudly against his belly, dangling on a thin flap of skin with a shiny metal piercing. Fine, maybe he was a hound boy; maybe he was a real ass hole, but damn he was a nice piece of eye candy after the otherwise ruined night.
"Nice catch there, boy. What'd you get me?" Up until now, the hound had been all business-- fine programming to catch and pacify its victim. In the presence of its master, though, the dog-brain took over, and real personality emerged. It laid its ears back and gazed hopefully up at the jackal, the effect somewhat ruined by the gleam from the metal hound's glowing red laser eyes. Even though it didn't have skin, nor nerve endings to register pleasure, it let out a convincingly blissful groan when its masters fingers scratched behind its radar-dish ears.
The whole scene was so common, so banal, that it seemed a shock to remember that the other end of the hound was still connected quite literally to Leejah. She was shivering every few seconds. I could see her tail give limp little twitches as the Moan soaked her ravaged senses in honey. Oh, she was a delicious little vixen. Even like this, I could admire the curve of her rump, the hitch of her tail, the way her drooping whiskers flicked every time the hound's fake tie tugged at her.
I wasn't the only one with an eye for the 'lady', either. The hound boy dragged his fingers down the armored and articulated skeletal spine of his mechanical dog, then when it terminated with the tail, his fingers continued down to stroke over Leejah's ruddy backside. She squealed when one of his fingers twisted under her rump.
Oh, so my entertainment for the evening was to be a show in two parts, then? When he'd walked in, I'd wondered why he was peeking out. Maybe he was looking forward to whatever his hound had caught. Or maybe he'd already caught something, and was just now joining his hound after dipping his wick in some other poor conquered plaything out in the alley. It'd explain why the hound had been so long on his own. His fur wasn't mussed up, but it fed the image of the ruthless conqueror, so I let my mind wander even when the visible evidence didn't agree.
I know, I know, I should have been horrified. This wasn't just rape, this was the prelude to slavery. Come tomorrow, all that would remain of Leejah would be the memory of her. She'd disappear to quadrant forty-four, and her home and belongings would quickly be "re-purposed". The hound boys had their prize.
But that's part of the price, right-- the cost of our way of life? All the booze we could guzzle, all the tail we could fuck, and all the Moan we could take, and all we paid was a chance with a hounds. Maybe it wasn't how it was all designed to work, but fuck if that wasn't the way it was now. Why feel sorry for ourselves, when we've got so much of this life to keep living? Well, some of us, at least. Who knows what Leejah had to look forward to tomorrow. If she had a tomorrow, that is.
If it was her last night in the districts, though, it was going to be a spectacular send off. Leejah was already groaning and shivering on the hound, but she was on her second tab. One was never enough. The jackal straddled his hound's metal hips and unceremoniously pulled his sheath down and prodded beneath her tail. She pushed back for him. Any pain her nerves shot up to her brain as the hound boy thrust into her upturned ass was translated as pleasure by the Moan.
Any loss of libido I'd suffered by the lull in the action returned. It was better than the best of the tri-vid porn, playing out in front of me. It was reliving all of the best fucks of my none-too-short career. It was just my fingers, but it felt like Leejah's tight ass sitting down around my cock as I watched the jackal sink knobs-deep in her. The hound shifted as his master took the prey, and the shimmering black knot of the faux phallus pulled at her wet lips. I'd fucked girls who'd been tied before, just like this, and I knew that jackal could feel the knot pressing up against him, making that tight ass even tighter. He hugged her gorgeous fox tail to his chest as he rotated his hips, and I bit my tongue to avoid yelping. I knew my little bit of down-world tech blocked sound too, but it still felt dangerous.
Danger? Fuck, isn't that why I stuck around? I could scream all I wanted and they'd never see me. As long as I didn't touch them, they'd never know I was there. Invisible, inconsequential, and...
And wait one god damn second. Why was I using my hand? Hound boy over there and his metal doggy were all kinds of occupied with Leejah's beautiful hind-end. If she was on her second tab (and I'm sure she was) then what am I doing with my cock in my hand on the sidelines? Danger? Danger's what made this good. No, it's what made this great. My cock throbbed in my fingers at the thought. Yeah, so glad it agreed with me.
For the first few feet while I approached the quickly humping jackal, I was on my tiptoes. Any moment now, he'd catch me. He'd hear me, or see me, or he'd see some indentation I made in the dust, or... But I knew I was being stupid. I drew myself to my full height, and the last few strides were purposeful and confident. Leejah was staring forward with a vacant look in her eyes as the jackal pounded into her tail end. He and his hound owned the place tonight. He was taking his time.
She made no noises or signs of alarm or recognition when I lifted her chin. I still had to be careful--at least a little bit--but not too careful. Not cowering in the corners careful, just... Artful. That's the right term. I had to lift her head so it looked like she was doing it, rather than being guided. Grasp her head in the direction of her fur, so there aren't finger-marks where it's parted. She looked up at where she obviously expected someone to be, but the logical disconnect of seeing nothing but empty air never triggered. The jackal didn't notice. He was holding her tail up and watching intently beneath it. I know what he was seeing, watching that tight tail end spread around his shaft. I couldn't blame him for being preoccupied, it was one of my favorite sights too.
But I had better things to do than dream and fantasize. Leejah was here and now, and when I pushed my invisible tip against her lips, she reflexively opened her mouth. She must have been a champion cock-sucker, because even on her second tab she still had the presence of mind to rub her tongue along the bottom of my shaft, pushing it up against the washboard roof of her muzzle.
I tugged at her head. Not too hard, not enough to betray my presence, but enough to pull that wonderfully hot muzzle down around the rest of my length. She had a long muzzle; it'd been one of the first things I admired about her in a purely aesthetic sense, before the night had become more sexual. Her tongue wrapped partway around me, and her lips closed around the girth of my knot. It was fantastic, way better than my hand. She shook each time the jackal slapped his hips against hers. He still hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, as he was far too busy filling her hind end.
It was hypnotizing, the smooth pull of her muzzle around my flesh. I moved my hips--I couldn't help it--and humped carefully into her muzzle. Every few moments a wayward movement or flinch would bring me rocketing out of that trance and shooting adrenaline into my veins. The jackal let her tail fall to the side and gripped her hips. It was hard not to feel a little kinship for the hound-boy, some intimacy as we shared the Moaned-out vixen between us. In those fleeting moments when our humping fell in sync, and he pushed her lips wide around my knot, we were so like each other. Friends, comrades, sharing in the spoils of a hunt...
And that was my mistake. There was my rise and fall. Tranced out on my Moan and preoccupied with the sharp vulpine muzzle I was stuffing my cock into, my tenuous hold on reality had faltered just for those critical few seconds. I stumbled as the hound, unseen and unnoticed, blundered into me from behind and knocked me forward across Leejah. I don't know when it'd pulled free, but the moan was riding me like a dominant bitch. Thinking back I still don't know how it'd found me. Realistically, it was probably bad luck. If anything, it'd probably hadn't even seen me, and instead was aiming to stuff that gorgeous muzzle I was already knot-deep in.
There was no time to escape. In a blink, the hound was over me, and those cruel metal jaws closed around fur over my spine. Leejah gave a gurgle and a cough from beneath me as the heavy weight of the dog pushed me into her throat. There was a click and a whirr from my jacket pocket as I was pressed down against Leejah's back, and my cube deactivated. The pile jostled, but the jackal was remarkably well in control when I appeared (seemingly from nowhere, I assume) draped over his prey's back.
"What?" He took a few seconds to familiarize himself with what his hound had just caught. While he gazed down at me, the hound took the time to grip its forelegs around my waist. "Of all the... What a cheeky one you are. Where did you come from, little puppy?" I looked up at him, and he gazed down at me. His muzzle was split in a wide, predatory smile.
Caught. After all the credits I'd spent on my little get-out-of-shit-free device, and all the effort I'd put into staying unseen, unnoticed, all wasted when I got cocky and let the Moan take control. Moan, dammit. I wasn't supposed to be the one Moaned out and losing control, but even now I could feel it tickling the back of my brain. Only one tab, not two--never two anymore--but that's enough. Enough to make me throb when the jackal's humiliating words hit my ears, and his ironically pitying fingers stroked my whiskers. It was enough to make me gasp when his vicious metal hound sprayed lubricant under my tail, then fit that ridged and spined and knotted ebon shaft against my rump. It was going to hurt, but I knew better than to think that'd defeat the Moan. No, it'd be... It'd be-
Oh, god, it'd be bliss. I wouldn't have to wonder how well the hounds were designed anymore. It wasn't cold latex, it felt like warm flesh. Warm, slippery, rubbery and stiff flesh that prodded at my pucker, then with a hot rush that was dripping with wet liquid, slid just deep enough. I could feel every ridge and bump, dragging across my all-too-willing flesh. My mind kept repeating "It's over... It's over..." While my senses gloried in the sudden pain, quickly translated to sudden pleasure.
Leejah gave another gurgle beneath me as the jackal pulled out of her. With my head pinned firmly in place against her lower back, I caught every tantalizing glimpse of it. The jackal's length was glimmering in the mood lighting of Red-Six. Leejah's slick flesh gripped at it as he slid free, but the jackal was done with her. She was caught. Conquered. She was all his in mind and body. He had another conquest in mind now. His paws held the sides of my muzzle as he presented his cock. The tip twitched and sputtered in my face, liberally coating my whiskers with his pre.
I tried to turn my head aside, but his fingers were strong. He smelled of Leejah, almost offensively so. I didn't want that anywhere near my muzzle, but "no" was not an answer the hound boys accepted. His thumbs dragged over my lips and pushed into the hinge of my jaw. By simple muscle reflex, my mouth opened slightly, and he jabbed his tip at my lips. I tasted his pre--it was canid and dominant and bitter.
Just minutes ago, I'd pondered Leejah. I couldn't tell whether she was too far gone to realize it was a hound on her back, or whether she was brave in the face of defeat and capture. I hadn't thought to imagine what I'd do in the same position. Now that the question was asked, though, I immediately knew my answer. It wasn't just the Moan talking, it was me. It was the life I led--we all led--and this was the price. Run as we might, we all had our night with the hounds, and how could we be measured except by how we took them?
So my answer was to open my muzzle and roll my hips. If this was going to be my last night here in quadrant forty-three, it was also going to be my best one. Leejah's mouth worked oh-so-expertly on me as the hound pounded away at my rump. The jackal put his fingers between my molars and thrust his cock against my tongue.
It was stimulation taken to its most severe, sensory overload to the point of confusion. With the Moan tickling at my brain stem, I could let myself go and lose track of who was doing what. All I could do was ride it out, and try to match the sensations to their source. There was the feeling of fingers and the smell of canid. That'd be the jackal, he was rubbing my muzzle as he held it shut around his shaft. There was the touch of smooth flesh on flesh, squeezing and contracting and moving. That's Leejah, I think, she was pushing her nose against my sheath and swallowing around me. Then there was a burst of pleasure and pain, and stars danced across my vision. The hound had tied. He gnawed at my spine as if those jaws were bone and flesh, not shaped and tempered steel.
I don't know who came first. I think it was me, because I heard Leejah cough and choke momentarily before she gulped around me again. Then my senses were flooded with the essence of jackal; bitter and strong, tasting so vividly of the hound-boy that I felt I could almost smell it through my tongue. It was blessed release. It was a lover and a one night stand and a quick fuck in the alley behind the bar, all rolled up into one tiny little death as I jittered and moaned between the motley collectionof creatures that had assembled to bring me pleasure...
Gone was the wonder of what would happen tomorrow. Dashed were the dreams of might-have-beens if I hadn't been so bold, or so horny, or so stupid. Fled were the fantasies of tomorrows of freedom, spent in the embrace of friends and lovers, sporting across the table tops, and against the dumpsters out back, and in the lobby of my allotment, and against the window pane on the sixty-seventh floor, looking out across the district that, as of tonight, was no longer mine. They left as the warm glow of honey coated my senses. The only thought that flitted across my mind was "How?" It was the feeling of the second tab. The pliant release of everything, just to feel anything--everything. It flooded me, spreading from my rump outwards. The hounds, they were the key. Another shot of Moan, injected forcefully where the body can't refuse it. Swimming around in my bowels with the rest of its watery lubrication.
And my senses started to fade. As the lethargy of the second tab was laid across me like a smothering blanket, all I could see were those smiling jackal eyes as they welcomed me down into oblivion.
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Story and all characters within are copyright Kandrel 2011 under Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial. Any resemblance to characters living or deleted is coincidental and unintentional. Hope you enjoyed!
-Kandrel