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Chapter three!

The following morning had me in considerably worse spirits. The sun was somehow shining directly in my left eye, the room stank of sweat, and mid-morning hangover, and I had one monster of a headache; I was sore all over, actually, but the head was by far the worst of my woes. To top this off, pressure mounted steadily downstairs. Though the instinct was little more than a minor annoyance at this point, I had to pee.

The previous night was hazy, as should be expected. It was there, I still remembered what happened, but I was starting to think that I might have dreamed my after-midnight encounter with Tissimo. There was no other explanation for it -- of a far grumpier, and less misty-eyed mindset this morning, I understood quite clearly that dead coyotes don't tie you up in closets, and cradle your head while you cry yourself to sleep.

I mulled over this for a long time, trying to discern dreams from reality and steady ignoring my growing urge to piddle, before company arrived. Likely a good thing, too, because I was doing little more than working myself into a worse mood, and something gnawed at me -- something that told me growling, snarling, and macho posturing wasn't going to get me out of this situation.

Again, it was motion outside the door that caught my attention. Again, my intestines froze, my ears pricked forward, ready to wildly exaggerate any movement, and my eyes locked on the shadow of shoes beneath the door. Despite, or maybe because of my previous encounter, I found myself absolutely terrified. I didn't want to know who was behind that door.

The knob jiggled clumsily, twisted, and the door swung open. Before my eyes had time to accomodate the sudden influx of illumination, the familiar aroma assailed my nostrils once again; but it was something I could recognize this time. Dried rose petals. Very faint, and pleasant. Tissimo's favorite scent.

Even a cursory glance at this figure told me he wasn't the coyote, though. His features filled in as my eyes adjusted, betraying a very human stature, and anatomy; and suddenly I knew who it was. Beneath the fragrant flora lurked the scent of human, a warm hint of leather, and exhaust. The biker from the previous night.

"G'morning, sunshine," came his quiet voice, sounding absolutely nothing like Tissimo. It amazed me even then that I'd mistaken this hairless scum for such. The biker grinned at me, looking fairly harmless and unassuming. His eyes roved my body twice, and he looked as if to say something further.

"Shuttup!" I screamed, cutting him off, and giving him a start. I felt no satisfaction. I felt humiliated, uncomfortable, and inexplicably BETRAYED. As if this human had intentionally deceived me, toyed with me in the worst way imaginable. If nothing else, though, my gag had been removed.

I lunged at the restraints as hard as I could. When that didn't work, I tried again; and again. As many times as I could before running completely out of breath. My head hung low, my eyes barely able to keep focused on his, and I was panting to try and regain some energy. The reserves were pretty tapped.

With all the patience in the world, the human moved closer to me, his expression infuriatingly thoughtful. It was almost like he was examining me, studying the big dog in his grasp like a laboratory rat. This notion intensified my anger, but he was out of my range. I couldn't do anything to him, and I was only going to hurt myself if I kept trying. On its own, this logic probably wouldn't have proven sufficient to stop me, but I was also worn out, and feeling sick.

He reached his hand out, still snugged in its leather glove, and cupped my cheek again. Just like he had the previous night. That was too much. I snapped my head to the side, wrapped my jaws around his mitt, and bit down as hard as I could. Almost immediately I felt the bones give under the pressure, but not quite snap. I thrashed my head back and forth, very much the terrier with a rag, and vaguely, I heard him scream. Despite being blinded with rage, the noise brought with it a modicum of satisfaction. And an unconscious stirring of my loins. I WANTED him to hurt. I was going to break every bone in this fucker's hand, and I was going to WIN this, goddammit.

Suddenly, though, something smashed into the side of my head, hard enough to leave my senses fuzzy, and making me yelp in a mixture of surprise and pain. I wasn't used to being hit. With my head smarting, and my grip temporarily loosened, the biker wrenched his hand from my mouth, and cradled it protectively against his chest. When I was able to focus again, my eyes were quickly drawn to what he'd clubbed me with. A large, black dildo. Canine-style. With a sizeable knot.

"BAD dog!" he shouted angrily, before I'd had enough time to process the information. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to BITE?" He emphasized this question by hitting me again, but not quite so hard. The latex fuck-toy came down on my snout this time, just as if I WERE nothing more than a naughty dog, making me duck my muzzle reflexively.

Naturally, this incited far more rage than the first shot. Despite his stoic expression, and his oddly formal way of dealing with my behavior, I again felt as if he was toying with me; belittling me for my domestic roots, and treating me as if I were nothing more than a house pet. I'd always been a mite self-conscious of my breed, and I certainly didn't need some furless punk like this biker throwing it back in my face.

"SHUT UP!" I screamed again, and threw myself against the bonds. Just like the previous times, they refused to give. Panting, furious that he'd have the gall to strike me, I tried again, barely able to talk through all the growling and snarling. "I'll KILL you!" I would, too. At the first possible opportunity, I'd eviscerate this human. And likely piss on his corpse.

Fortunately, for the sake of story, it didn't come to that. The biker merely stood back, and waited until I'd completely tuckered myself out. Which wasn't long. Sheer pissiness had granted me a second-wind, but it was brief, and afterwards I'd felt as if my head were going to explode. He moved closer.

"You bite me again, and I'll probably break your jaw with this thing," he stated plainly, and I believed him. Shifting the dildo to his wounded hand, he reached carefully out with the other, and brushed a tear from my cheek. His fingers slid down my muzzle, and danced precariously close to my mouth. The urge to bite him was immense, but being perfectly honest, I was scared of what the consequences might be. There was no denying he had the upper hand. I was pretty helpless.

"You're bleeding," he said, pulling his hand away, and rubbing his fingers together. I was only vaguely aware of a metallic taste at the corner of my maw.

"No shit," I growled, licking my chops. I'd never minded the taste of blood previously, but swallowing it down this time made the previous night's dinner threaten to rise.

"You're such a MEAN dog." His reply confused me for a moment. He wasn't smirking, or sounding in any way smug. It was merely a statement. "Can't even imagine what musta happened to make you like this." As he spoke, his hands traveled downwards, the dildo tucked underneath one arm. He stayed carefully out of range of my teeth, but I pretty quickly found something different to worry about. He was unbuttoning my jeans.

"Some hairless fuckhead's got me tied up in his fuckin' closet," I snorted, managing a respectable amount of my previous bravado; even though I was panting pretty desperately, by this point. I was still puzzling over his comments, and worrying about what he had in mind. The concept of being completely at this human's mercy, and having no clue what he intended on doing to me was unnerving. At least given the presence of a dildo, and the undressing, I had a pretty good idea of what was about to happen. I continued speaking after letting the pause draw out longer than I'd intended. "Tends ta get someone pretty grouchy. How 'bout ya let me go, and I'll ONLY take yer left nut with me."

"Tempting," he chuckled, not taking my threat seriously. With good reason, too. He knew just as well as I did that I couldn't do a damn thing to stop him. He knew that despite my bad attitude and misplaced cockiness, he controlled me. At that moment, he was infinitely badder than I was. "I'll definitely think about it." Soon enough, both my jeans, and my briefs were down around my ankles; my privates, my white-furred sheath, and heavy balls, were completely bared. Without so much as an invitation, the human dropped to a crouch in front of me, and took my sheath between two fingers.

"Mmf!" I grunted, then barked loudly. "Fuckin' LEGGO!" Of course he paid me no mind. I squirmed as best I could as he examined my sheath, turning it this way and that, tugging it upwards, then skinning it back to expose the reddish tip of my dick. Just like I was at the vet, or something. I had no idea what he was doing, other than trying to make me blush. He let go of my sheath after what felt like an eternity.

"Huh." He hefted my balls while he spoke, rolling them around in the palm of his gloved hand. "Puppy's intact. Guess that'd explain your attitude." He got back to his feet, letting my balls hang naturally between my thighs. The entire process had my sheath embarrassingly thick.

"MotherFUCKER!" I shouted tiredly, and jerked my arms as hard as I could manage; this just didn't amount to much anymore. It embarrassed me that he took such liberties with my body, inspecting my nethers as if it were a perfectly natural thing to do, exposing me deeper, and with more intent than anyone ever had before. It was degrading. He just stared impassively, pulled his eyebrows together a bit, and moved around behind me. Enough so that I couldn't see him anymore. I shivered tightly, tensing up, and expecting the worst.

Soon enough, I felt his hand gripping the base of my tail, and flipping it up to expose the ring of muscle comprising my tailhole. "No," I said weakly, shaking my head back and forth as if to ward off the impending humiliation. There was no more denying how scared I was. "No, no, no." Again, he paid no attention. His other hand cupped my fully exposed rump cheek, giving it a squeeze as if to test its firmness.

"Such a big, strong husky," he said rhetorically, which was untrue. Standing near six and a half feet tall, and tipping the scales at right around three hundred pounds, I'm certainly big and strong. I've always been obsessive about keeping my hunkish V-shape, and it's something I'm very proud of. But I'm only part husky. "Someone musta taken good care of you when they weren't teachin' you to be such a petulant thing." I felt his thumb push briefly under my tail, threatening to penetrate, nearly making me cry out in fear.

Before I could formulate a proper response, though, he lifted his hand off of me, pulled my tail higher, and struck me again. Not on the muzzle this time, but on the ass. It took my hazy mind a few moments, and another smack on my rump to realize that he was spanking me. With my tail up in the air, and my body angled forward, the gruff, no-nonsense biker was spanking me. Hard, too, punishing me for being such a 'petulant thing'. The humiliation was almost more than I could bear. To be tied up, stripped, and inspected was one thing, but to be disciplined like a wayward scamp was a whole different level of torture.

Again and again, his hand impacted my bare behind, stinging the sensitive flesh. Soon enough, I felt the skin redden and start to burn, already becoming sore under the rain of blows. All throughout my spanking, he scolded me harmlessly for being such a bad dog, the words lost on me -- but the sentiment stuck. Despite the pain and righteous anger, I felt a sliver of guilt. The idea that I really HAD done wrong worked its way into my head, and wouldn't go away. Some small part of me felt genuinely sorry for being a Bad Dog. Meanwhile, he continued to pound my ass, and I continued to buck, squirm, and spit obscenities.

After what felt like half an hour, the discipline finally came to an end, leaving me red (both my bottom, and my snout), sore, and humiliated beyond what I'd originally thought possible. I would probably have a hard time sitting down for a while. That was my first spanking. I'd never experienced ANYTHING like this before, and for the third time since my capture, I was struggling not to cry.

"I'd really rather not have to do that again." His voice came again after a considerable amount of time, but I didn't look back at him. My face was as red as my rump, and I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "But I want you to behave yourself, and with pups like you, sometimes discipline is the only way that'll happen."

"D'you know who the fuck I am?" I eventually mustered up the nerve to ask. He just smiled, moved around in front of me, and fondled the little, gold nametag on the front of my collar. A heavy, leather number, done up with sharp metal spikes a couple of inches apart from one another. Him doing that made me oddly tense, and uncomfortable. I didn't like him touching my collar.

"You're Barrigan Kross," he recited, turning the tag over, and squinting. "I can't quite make out who you belong to, or where you're from; but I don't think that matters very much."

"People are gonna know I'm missin', motherfucker." I cut off anything else he might've said, angry all over again, but not the insurmountable rage I was feeling before. "I'll get outta here - and I swear to God I'll make you fuckin' hurt."

He moved forward, his narrow body pressing right up against mine.

"There's no need for that kinda talk, puppy," he crooned at me, reaching up, and wrapping his hand around my snout. I still didn't dare bite him. "By the time we're through here, ya won't wanna hurt me." Meanwhile, his other hand crept around behind me, feeling the curves of my sore ass, an index finger prodding insistently at the ring underneath my tail.

The exchange made me shiver, and I was honestly glad he held my mouth shut; I couldn't formulate a response for that, no matter how hard I tried.

I felt his finger opening me up, and slipping very gently inside. I clenched instinctively, tried to force him out, but he was determined. A very foreign sensation, given my anal virginity, but I can't say that it was entirely unpleasant. Beyond the initial discomfort, the pressure, my rump wrapped snugly around his invasive digit, was stimulation on a level I'd never felt before. Coupled with my exhausted mind, I nearly forgot who was doing this to me.

"Relax, baby, relax," the biker coaxed quietly as he violated me. I felt his finger curling, making 'come hither' gestures inside me, making me squirm and wriggle helplessly against my bonds. Despite my hatred for this human, and despite the spanking I'd received only moments before, I found myself getting very quickly aroused. Animosity or no, this was different, and more exciting than I care to admit.

I felt my sheath thicken subtly, then pull apart to expose the first few inches of red, rubbery shaft. With my mouth still held shut, I growled, and thrusted my hips aggressively against his smaller, slimmer body. This teasing interaction continued until my dick stood a full nine inches at attention, pulsing wetly against his belly, and drooling a near-constant flow of slick, slimy pre. I took some solace in making a mess of his leather jacket.

"Theeeeere's a good boy. Big, strong puppy. But that's enough of that." His finger dragged slowly out of my rump, leaving me stretched, and uncomfortable. Not to mention incredibly horned up. I let him know, with a doggish growl, how displeased I was with this turn of events, and with him in general.

"I know, big guy," he shushed me, still holding my mouth while his newly free hand made itself busy rolling my balls. "Conner 'll take good care of you. Just be patient." Conner. I committed that name to memory as well as I could, given the circumstances.

Conner simply smiled, and gave my balls a tug before releasing his hold on me, leaving me free to pant, and growl as I saw fit.

"Motherfucker," I barked at him as he retreated, tucking the dildo into his jacket, and disappearing out the closet door.

Again, I found myself alone, with nothing but a raging hard-on to keep me company. This really had to stop.