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My footpads are aching like a motherfucker by the time I get to where I'm going.

I know there's plenty of people who like to go bare-pawed and they're probably

used to it, but the hard, rough pavement is really starting to hurt my feet.

It took me close to an hour to get to the corner of 45th and McCullough, where

Malloy lives. It's starting to get busier on the streets and the people in this

part of town aren't as obsessed with minding their own business as the slums we

call Bricktown, so I'm feeling really out of place in my raincoat. I cross the

street, not bothering to look around since there's no traffic yet and beat on

the door of the pawn shop under Malloy's apartment. "Hey! Open up!"

"Fuck off and die!" comes a voice from inside. It's high-pitched and screaming.

I wince at the thought of having to face Anezka, the lioness who owns the pawn

shop, when she's pissed off like this, but the times are desperate. I bang again.

"Come on, open up! 's Owen!"

There's silence on the inside and then the sound of the door's bolt being opened.

Anezka, all of sixteen years of age but tougher than me and Malloy put together,

opens the door with no clothes on. "Owen," she says sweetly, wrapping her arms

around my neck in a tight hug that forces me to stoop down. "Malloy's out

looking for you. He was worried sick," she says, walking into the dark, scrappy

pawn shop. From behind the counter, a tall wolf is pulling his pants up, looking

sheepish. "Hey, stud, I'm not finished with you," she snaps at him. "Pick me up

at eight and booze me up and I"ll let you try again, got it?"

The older wolf mutters something to the effect that he understands and pulls his

plaid shirt back on and as he passes me on his way out we make brief eye

contact: it's the wolf from the Dive's bathroom. His eyes widen in surprise and

he nearly falls over himself as he hurries out the door and slams it shut behind

him.

"You wanna finish what he started?" Anezka asks, and you can never be quite

certain if she's joking or serious, and if she'll be offended if you get it

wrong. "You charge twenty-five bucks, right?"

"Love to, Nezzy," I say, pulling off the raincoat and tossing it aside. "But I

got a bit of a problem. Think you can look at it for me, maybe?"

She looks at me quizically as she pulls her clothes on - black latex pants and a

stretchy lycra tube top. Pretty damn hot, for a chick. "If Li'l Owen's sick, you

should have a quack take a look at him. I'm nowhere near as good with meat as I

am with metal."

I waggle my eyebrows at her as I walk past her, through the open vault-like door

into the pawn shop office, separated from the shop entrance by bullet-proof

glass and a rotating compartment so items can be exchanged between the customer

and the shop owner. "That's just it," I say and plonk myself down on the counter

in front of the glass, unbuckle my leathers and flash her a good look at that

thing on my dick.

"Whoa," says Anezka as she takes a seat in the swivel-chair in front of me,

pushing my thighs apart. She grabs my balls and lifts them up, ducking her head

low to look at the metal band around them. Then she drops them and pulls over

one of them magnifying glasses with a light in 'em, stuck on a mechanical arm,

you know the thing. She positions it over my groin. "Lean back on the glass,

relax. This is going to take me a little while."

She kicks of against the desk and slides her chair over to one of the metal

cabinets behind her, opening one. She dumps the toolbox she pulls out of there

next to me and rummages inside. "How did you end up with this?" she asks,

producing some kind of sensor probe. She holds the main unit in one hand,

turning the dials on it till the little LCD screen reads 0.00 and then touches

the probe at the end of the cable to the metal thing, first to the top, then to

the little ridge below it, then along the side. "Some weird readings... Seems to

emit a faint signal when I bring the probe near it..."

"So, can you tell what it is?" I ask hopefully.

Anezka glares up at me, lifting an eyeridge. "It's a fucking cock-cage made of

metal, what does it look like? Here," she adds and waves a screwdriver in front

of my face. "Bite down on this."

Fuck. This is gonna hurt. Still, Anezka knows her stuff, so I take the

screwdriver's handle between my jaws, and not a moment too soon. Anezka grabs my

nuts and squeezes them fucking hard and it feels-well, if you're a guy you know

how it feels. It feels a wee mite peculiar, you might say.

It's while I'm sitting there, gnawing on a screwdriver whining like a fucking

puppy, gripping the edge of the counter with white-knuckled fists that the door

opens again and somebody comes in. "Hey, Owen! There you are! You lettin' Anezka

blow you again? You really ought to stop giving that girl discounts or she'll

never learn how to hook a man. She's a lioness, for fuck's sake, she needs those

skills."

Anezka's head comes up from my groin, shooting daggers at the dog that just

walked in. "I'm not blowing him, cockbitch. Do you recognise this?" she asks,

beckoning him over. Giving me a concerned look, Malloy walks into the office and

closes the door behind him. It slams closed really heavily, the room even shakes

when the door bolts in place.

"Ooh, nice toy, man. What's it for?" he asks as he spots the gleaming metal

between my thighs, kneeling down next to Anezka to take a look.

She tugs even harder on my balls, pulling them to one side. I'm trying to inhale

through my clenched lungs so I can't even groan to let her know how much it

fucking hurts. "It's not just for show, look. See the ring around his nutsack?

There's pins sticking into the skin." A portion of the wooden rim of the counter

splinters in my grasp and both of them look up at me. "Shit!" says Anezka,

letting go of my precious danglers. "Sorry, I forgot I had them.."

I cover my groin with my hands and bend over and heave deep, deep breaths and

wipe the drool from my lips. "That's okay, Nezzy, but if you wake up in an alley

with one of these on your clit, I get first dibs checking it out." She sticks

her tongue out at me and starts putting her tools back in the box. "Hey, wait,

aren't you gonna take it off?"

She shakes her head and I give her my puppy eyes. "No, really. This is some

high-tech stuff you've got there, some kinda nifty alloy. There's nothing I can

do short of taking all your bits off, man. You'll just have to pray that it's

got some kind of unlocking system. It's a good bet that it does, that black

glass plate at the base, just above your balls, looks like it could be a

biometric sensor." Malloy and I look at her all goofy-like, both of us

unintentionally canting our heads like dogs do when they're confused. Malloy's a

dobie, so for him it's natural, but it's a little embarrassing for me.

"Fingerprint scanner."

"Solved!" says Malloy and claps his hands together. "All we gotta do is get the

guy who put this on you to stick his thumb on there, Bob's your uncle. So, Owen,

where do we go?"

I puff up my cheeks and blow some air out, swinging my legs back and forth

beneath the countertop. "I've kinda lost some memories, dude. I checked the date

on my way over and I've got a gap in my head of about three days."

"You sure?" Malloy asks, showing no signs of greater than usual surprise,

grabbing my balls again as well as the metal thing, giving it a few tugs. It

feels none too comfortable, but I let him check me out. He's got a keen mind,

Malloy has, and sharp senses. It can't hurt, having him take a look, even if it,

you know, hurts. "I saw you just last night in that Chinese eatery. You called

me up and said you were feeling horny like nobody's business and if I could

maybe get you something to dull that a bit. I scrounged up some paxadril from my

buddy the apothecary and you dropped three capsules while we were having dinner,

but even if you took more than that, pax isn't something you can OD on. You told

me not to ask and that you'd explain later." Malloy stands up and leans forward,

putting his hands on my thighs. He glances over his shoulder to see Anezka

putting away the tool box again. "You for real with the amnesia thing, mate? You

know you don't need to fool me, even if Nezzy can't know," he whispers, sounding

a little hurt.

"I'm for real, bud. I don't remember having dinner with you and I don't remember

how I got this. I'd tell ya if I did," I whisper back and I feel all warm when I

see him smile at me. I don't have many friends, and nobody I trust as much as

Malloy, so it's good to know we're still on the level.

"That's all I need to hear, pal. We'll figure this out." He pets me on the cheek

and smiles, then reaches down between my legs again. "Here, let's see... It

couldn't be that simple, could it?" the dog says, his thick English accent

always thickening when he's genuinely surprised at something. He reaches down

and presses his thumb against the black glass plate. Anezka comes right on over

and all three of us watch as a green line appears at the top of the glass plate,

moves down to scan Malloy's thumb. Then the whole plate glows red and then the

whole goddamned world goes red as a bright flash of pain spreads from my groin

to every nerve in my body. It lasts only a fraction of a second but it's enough

to faze me and when I recover, breathing hard, I see Anezka standing a pace away

from me, rubbing her bare belly and Malloy right up against the side wall,

clutching his abdomen, doubled over.

I think I kicked them, maybe, out of reflex. "Er, sorry guys," I mutter weekly,

folding my ears and looking down at my groin. The metal casing feels warm and

there's some faint smoke coming off the ring around my balls.

"Meh, you kick like a girl," says Anezka and lightly punches me on the arm,

licking her chops.

Malloy tries to put a brave face on his situation, but it's clear I got him

right good. It kind of makes me proud and sorry at the same time and my ears do

a funny up-down dance that I just can't seem to stop. "Okay, guess I'm not

authorised to give you back the use of your dick. Try it yourself, Owen. Nezzy,

stand back."

I bark at him, glaring. "The fuck! D'you know how much that hurt?"

"Can't say I do, mate, but you can risk another jolt or you can live with that

thing on. Let me ask you, though..." Oh, fuck, here it comes. He's got that

assholey grin he gets when he knows he's got an undisputable point he's about to

make. "Have you taken a piss yet?"

I look down at it, at the smooth metal surface covering the top of my sheath and

briefly I have a vision of the Sisters back in school explaining how our Lord

Jesus Christ was crucified and how the Romans would bind crucifixion victims

with a rag around their genitals, prohibiting them from urinating so their

bladders would burst inside their stomach cavities and they'd suffer

infection-fevers during their time on the cross. "Fine," I say, baring a fang at

the self-absorbed dog who knows when he's right and really likes to make a point

of it.

Blowing out a breath and snorting in a fresh one I brace myself. Malloy and

Nezzy each take a step back to stay out of kicking distance. I press my thumb to

the pad, upside-down by necessity, but the thing seems to recognise it and the

green scanline moves from the bottom of the panel to the top, then the panel

turns blue and I get ready for another jolt... Instead I feel something weird in

my dick, something warm and there's a soft click and both Anezka and Malloy dart

forward to inspect my groin as the top cap of the metal encasement pops open on

a hidden hinge, revealing, sadly, not the rim of my sheath but another metal

surface. Exccept this has two little spouts on them, each with a spiral

striation around the base for something to screw on to. "What the fuck?"

"Looks like this is how you're supposed to piss," says Anezka, ever the

engineer. "Standard five-millimeter bolt required, I've got a few hoses with

that kind of fixture. Why are there two, though?"

"Piss and cum, at a guess." Malloy fingers the two nozzles. "So with these he

can just let loose?"

Nezzy shakes her head, scratching her smooth, gold-furred neck. "The nozzle is a

pressure-valve. If he lets it flow now it'll just blowback, or worse." I look at

her with concern. What's blowback, when it happens in your bladder? And what's

worse than blowback? "Screw on a hose and the valve unseals. It's just a

question of figuring out which is which." She goes off, tail swaying over those

latex-clad thighs and returns with a small black rubber hose. "Here. Go into the

bathroom and try it out."

I accept the hose with more than a few mixed feelings on all of this. I'm used

to humiliation, it's my bread and butter, but this... Malloy isn't helping either,

the dog's got a fist pressed to his lips and doing a piss-poor job of concealing

his giggles. "Right, my dignity and I are gonna take a piss and you can fuck off

while I'm doing it," I say, buckling up my leathers before I hop off the

countertop and walk through the door at the back of the small shop office.

Some among you may be interested in hearing the details of what happened in the

bathroom, but I'm just not interested in talking about it. It's an unsavoury

subject and not fit for kids' ears. Suffice to say, both Malloy and Nezzy heard

me howl when I fixed the hose to the wrong nozzle first (whatever blowback is,

it's really bad) but when I got it right and realised just how much I needed to

go... It sounds weird, but it was the best piss I ever took. I deposited Holloway

and the junkie's cum while I was at it and flushed it all away, my usual

bathroom ritual, eventually stepping out into the hallway feeling somewhat

refreshed.

"Finally done?" asks Malloy, who's just coming down the stairs past the door to

Alice's room, the stairs leading to his apartment. I smile wryly at him and turn

my head to hear Nezzy's voice coming from the shop proper. She's on the phone

with someone, prattling away.

"No, it's got it's own power-supply. What? How the fuck should I know? Nuclear

battery, zero-point energy, a fucking warp core, I don't know. Listen, you fuck,

if you ever want a chance to make up for that really pitiful ride last weekend

you'll fucking well find the fuck out who could fucking engineer something like

this. Fucker," she adds sweetly and hung up.

Malloy grinned and pats me on the shoulder. "Nice leathers, by the way. Where'd

you get 'em?" he asks, pulling on a snug-fitting leather jacket. "Actually, I

think this'd look better on you," he decides and pulls it off again, handing it

to me. "It's not mine, anyway. I got it off some Heat-head who didn't have

enough cash to buy a hit and gave me this instead. Great fucking deal, I think."

I accept the gift without question. We've known each other long enough that we

can skip the 'No, I can't possibly' - 'Please, I insist!' rigamarole. "Polar

bear, was he?" I ask with a smirk and Malloy slaps me on the shoulder,

understanding, then, why it looks like the jacket and pants go so well together.

"I'm gonna take a shower, if that's okay?"

"Course," he replies. "I left my door open for you. And, er, Owen? Do help

yourself to the soap," he says in a soft, low voice, tapping the side of his

snout conspiratorially as he gives a sniff. I must smell pretty bad, for Malloy

to comment on it. I can't tell, myself, but then, my sense of smell's been a

little off since I woke up in that alley. "I'm going to go down to the Dive, see

if I can piece together where you went after you left that night, and to the

Dong Ma to see if anybody remembers what happened to you after I left you to

your meal yesterday. Chill out, I'll be back soon."

I nod to him and grab him by the crotch as he passes. "Two freebies every Monday

for a month if you help me figure this out," I say to him without any funny

looks. It's the closest I can get to telling him how much I appreciate having

him on my side without going all sappy. Besides, Malloy's a good fuck and has a

damned nice cock for sucking so it's not like it'll be a chore. He gets what I

mean and nods, giving my hand a hump before he pushes past me, heads through the

pawn shop office and yells a greeting to Anezka on his way out.

I bound up the stairs and push through the door at the top, thoughtfully left

open by my canine friend on his way out. I let it fall closed and locked and

throw the jacket over one of the wooden chairs at the small square dining table,

quickly stripping my pants and tossing them on top of the jacket. With every

passing second I can feel a desperation for cleanliness growing within me. Worry

kept it at bay until I got here, but now I'm here, with my friends helping me, I

can relax. And I can't relax until I'm clean. Shit, man, I let beggars bone me

and not even for money!

I head into the bathroom and slide open the shower cubicle's frosted-glass door,

turning the heat up to the max and close the door while I wait for the hot water

to pump its way up from the boiler in the basement. From the cup on his sink I

pick the 'guest toothbrush', the one he lends to the boys he brings home

sometimes. He has a thing for chicken, does Malloy. He'll go for more mature

meat like me, but 'there ain't no beatin' a boy's bum', as he likes to say.

The toothbrush gets covered to suffocation by toothpaste. I even forget to screw

the cap back on the tube, I'm in such a hurry. It tastes sweet when I shove it

in my mouth and start brushing, which probably means I've had rancid breath all

day. Great. There's steam coming from the shower cabin and I yelp with glee,

throwing open the door and turning the cold water up till I'm pleased with the

temperature and dive under the streaming water with the toothbrush and foam

still in my mouth.

Oh, heaven... I continue brushing with one hand and run the other through my hair,

over my chest, over my belly... and over that fucking metal thing on my groin. I

snap the lid back over the nozzles, no sense in letting any water seep back up

my tubes, and focus my attention back where it belongs: on the joy of washing.

I do the whole thing. Singing, dancing, brushing my teeth again, washing my

hair, shampooing my body fur - it's not easy to get a good lather going when

there's water streaming on you, but I'm resourceful and limber so I can reach

most parts of my body to give them an up close and personal scrubbing. The only

exception is my dick, but I do my best there too. I lather up my balls and,

biting my lip against the pain, I squeeze them and pull them to the side as I

pull the showerhead off its hook and hold it upside-down next to my balls,

letting the water course up into the encasement through the gap I make with this

little bit of self-inflicted genital torture. While I'm doing it, I have the odd

thought that there are probably folks out there who'd interpret my little

adventures sitting on the pawn shop's countertop as C&BT, rather than the R&D

that it was.

When I'm satisfied I've cleaned inside the metal cocktrap as much as I can I

hang the showerhead back up and spend some more time revelling in a nice, warm

shower and give myself an extra soaping-down as an excuse for the delay,

focusing on the underarms, between my buttocks, my balls... They've had a rough

time of it and they ache a little, which reminds me that the ache I felt all

over my body when I awoke in Bricktown is still there, lurking under my reverie.

Almost the very second I realise this, the brass pipes that form the

water-system in Malloy's apartment give a sudden groan and the spray turns cold,

a trick I really hate. All the warmth of the last half hour, mocked with a spray

of ice-water that'll leave me to dry nice and chilly instead of warm and happy.

I turn off the water with a shiver and give myself a good shake to clear the

worst of the cold water from my fur, splashing droplets against the frosted

glass walls of the cubicle and when I step out, I pick up one of the three

fluffy bathrobes hanging on the coat-rack I once helped Malloy drill into the

tiled wall of the bathroom. I remember asking him why he wanted that rack for

the bathrobes, instead of just having a tray for towels like most people. He

just shrugged and said he didn't believe in towels. And to stop me from asking

any further he slapped two pulled two tenners out of his wallet and had me suck

his dick for a while, which is a trick he pulls sometimes. But I never give in.

That is to say, I go down on him, sure, and that shuts me up long enough that I

usually forget what I was bugging him about. When I say I don't give in, I mean

I don't give in to the temptation to tell him to fuck off. He's my friend and I

can tell him that, but when there's money on the table, he's a John and I'm a

hustler. To me, at least. I take my work very seriously.

I enjoy it, sometimes, too, don't get me wrong. Just because in all the sex I've

told you about so far it sucked to be me don't mean it's like that all the time.

Sometimes it'll be months where I go home with a different guy twice a night and

never have enough fun to even get hard, sometimes there'll be a spell where

every guy I service has me at full-mast for the whole length of the ride. Which,

I know, is kinda unprofessional. And when they really insist I can keep myself

from getting hard by pumping out a few loads beforehand or wearing a ball-clamp

to distract me, and even when I do get hard I don't let myself cum unless the

client explicitly asks for it. So don't go thinking I'm just some slut. I'm a

hustler. I'm a pro.

Sometimes there's just somebody that really does it for me, though. There's this

businessdude that comes to town sometime, dark-brown stallion. Comes to town

every couple months. He's some high-falutin' dude at Sargasso Holdings and has a

nice office at that company's building. Whenever he's in town he calls me up. He

can be pretty rough, and amazingly creative. He really gets off on making me

feel humiliated and he'll always find a way, even if it's something embarrassing

like making me wear a twelve-inch butt-plug and a cock-ring under a tuxedo while

he takes me out to some schmancy restaurant. I don't know what it is about him.

He's a big, strong, sexy stud who could snap me in one hand and Malloy in the

other, but I don't usually go for guys like that. And there's plenty of people

that get off on treating me badly and they never get me hard. There's something

about him, though. Something about the way he treats others, or the way he sees

himself that makes that arrogance so sexy.

Another guy that always gets me going is Alice. He's not exactly a girly-boy,

although he's pretty small for a lion his age and he's got that slightly femmy

build feline guys have before their mane starts to fill out. His name's actually

Aleš but everybody calls him Alice because, well, it's funny and the kid can't

do much about it. He just turned fifteen and he's a sexy little thing. He's

Anezka's brother, both of them hail from Czechia originally. Their folks sent

Nezzy over when she was nine to live with family, who turned out to be religious

freaks and after she ran away and ended up in Maranatha, me and Malloy really

hit it off with her, coming from such similar yet wholly different backgrounds.

Alice was only sent over two years ago, so he still has an accent to his

English, but he'd heard from Anezka that the aunt and uncle he was supposed to

live with were freaks so Nezzy got me and Malloy to pick him up from the airport

before the aunt and uncle could pick him up. Odds are, they hadn't even driven

to the airport because he still occasionally calls his folks back home and it

seems that the aunt and uncle call now and again as well, claiming that he and

Nezzy are living with them, an illusion they're all too happy to support so

their folks won't worry.

That stuff don't matter, though. What matters is, he's a hot, hot, HOT little

number. He turned to hustling when he got here, claiming he'd already slept with

a couple of guys for money back home. He's a smart kid, Alice. He's the only

hustler I know, of any age, who saves money in the bank. Because he's so young

he can charge more than a hundred bucks a ride, so now and again when he has a

'big' client to sleep with, he'll rent my services for a few hours beforehand to

warm him up. The poor little tyke's so tight he sometimes still cries when he

gets fucked, so when he thinks it's going to be particularly hard he'll call me

up and I'll drop by his pad, a tiny room in the attic of a really sweet elderly

couple and I'll spend a half-hour easing into him, just making out and having a

good time, and fuck him for another ten minutes before pulling out and giving

him a ride to his John.

I asked him why he hired me, cutting a fifth out of his earnings when he could

just use a dildo instead, and I tell ya, my heart melted when he looked at me

with those pretty eyes and that beautiful smile and told me that he liked having

the memory of me on top of him, so he could carry that over and pretend I was

mounting him instead of the John he was servicing. It made him more

enthusiastic, which the Johns obviously appreciated. For his birthday I gave him

a ride that lasted all afternoon, for free, and I came in him twice. Until then,

I don't think I'd ever shot a load in that pretty kitty. You should have seen

his face when he felt me shooting in him, he hugged me so hard...

I digress. So yeah, Alice is on the complete opposite end of the spectrum from

that businesstud, I think his name's Ferrum, or maybe that's just his last name.

Right in the middle of that spectrum, though, is my buddy Malloy. He never

bottoms and he never asks me to cum, so I never do. I never give him feebies,

either. It's just sex for sex' sake, you know? The way straight teenagers'll

jerk each other off. But I love it. It's because he's the odd kind of selfish,

in the sack. Most guys are selfish because all they care about is feeling good,

feeling better than their sub.

Not Malloy. He's selfish because he knows whoever's under him is there because

he likes submitting. He's got enough of an ego that anybody looking for respect

from him will turn away in disgust, so by the time somebody accepts Malloy's

beautiful black cock under their tail they like feeling like a bitch. And he

respects that. Not by being considerate, and not by being civil, but by

accepting what the sub's willing to give and making use of it, making use of

them. When he wants to have sex with me he puts money on the table and tells me

what he wants from me, makes me do what he thinks he'll most enjoy because he

understands that it's important for me that he feels good. It's important for me

because I'm a pro and it's important for the boys he beds because making a guy

like him feel good makes them feel desired, makes them feel sexy and gives them

some semblance of self-value that'll keep their chin up when they have to go

back to school and to the torments of the jocks the next day.

And as I'm thinking of all this, I've made my way over to the bed. It's in the

middle of the apartment - what Malloy calls a 'flat' - since the place is

basically a studio with a bathroom separate, always looking like it's just

recently seen some sex. As it does now. I sniff the black satin sheets as I

climb onto the double bed and roll over, trying to scent who it was Malloy

bedded. Young and feline - maybe Alice? No, older than that.

My sense of smell is still off, especially as I find myself catching scent of

Malloy's semen...

I'm back in his 'flat', back on that night a few weeks ago. I can see myself

standing up from the couch, accepting three tenners from Malloy and putting them

on the table. I roll off the bed and take a seat in a chair as I watch the

ghostly vision of myself climb on the bed on all fours, tail flagged high before

he rolls onto his back in a coy posture, stroking his chest, rubbing one foot

over the inside of his other thigh.

Malloy, fully clothed, climbs predatorially up on the bed and slinks between my

ghost-self's thighs, pressing that impossibly hard body down on top of him and

mock-humping him between the legs before he climbs further, humping his groin my

other self's belly, then his chest, his chin and finally... My other self's hands

come up and grabs Malloy's balls in one hand and his swelling sheath in the

other. I can't hear it, but I know it's happening. From where I'm sitting I can

see Malloy's back, my ghost-self's face hidden, although I can see the

dobermann's muscles tensing and I can see my other self's ears bouncing as he

bobs his head, so there's obviously some quality fellatio going on.

Personally, I always find it hotter, in porn and in life, to watch a blowjob

without seeing the dick going in the mouth, but to see everything else,

preferably the facial expressions of both. It's so much more suggestive, really

lets you focus on what these guys are feeling rather than what you're doing.

This is a little bit of a problem because the urge to get hard is quite strong,

and I have the distinct feeling that if I start to pop a tent my dick-cage is

going to get really uncomfortable, and I've had quite enough pain down there for

one day, thank you very much.

Malloy's whispering something that I can't hear. He's a talker, that dog, always

chatting during sex. In that regard, he's a lot like that Ferrum stud in his

expensive Armani suits who always insists on discussing what I'm feeling when he

puts me through my humiliations. Malloy's powerful muscles move under his fur

and my other self splays out comfortably on the bed as they both enjoy a nice,

slow muzzlefuck.

And then I hear a noise from downstairs and the vision's gone. It sounds like

someone forced open the door, I can hear the little jingly bell bouncing over

the floor. In a shot I'm out the door, leaving it open behind me. I don't think

about the fact that I'm naked and wet with an open bathrobe streaming behind me

like a cape, I don't think about grabbing a knife from the kitchen-unit to use

as a weapon, all I think about is that somebody might hurt Anezka and that I'm

going to fucking kill them if they fucking try.

"No, I don't know any Owen, so you can just fuck off," is what I hear Anezka say

when I burst in the office door and see her standing at the counter in front of

the bullet-proof window, locking eyes with the big, brutal bull standing on the

other side of the glass with a fierce-looking shotgun in his hands. She hears me

come in and her shoulders sag. I really shouldn't have come down, I realise.

"Although, now that you mention it," Anezka continues, covering her face with

her palms because I came in and blew her denial, "Yes, yes, I think it's coming

back to me now. Owen, you say? Sexy, twenty-something hustler wolf. Yes, I know

him. Ah, there you are, Owen. This gentleman was looking for you."

"You," growls the bull, his voice sounding tinny and hollow of all but his

malice as it blares from the intercom's speaker. "Come with me and no funny

stuff, got it?"

Anezka looks at me scornfully and my tail droops, more at the thought of having

disappointed her than whatever it is this bull has in store for me. "I don't

suppose I can get my clothes first?" I ask, gesturing at the thin grey bathrobe

I'm wearing, which I thoughtfully tie closed. "It's mighty chilly out there, and

I just took a shower." The bull simply taps the top of his wrist with the muzzle

of his shotgun as if to indicate his watch. "Guess not." I walk over to the

vault-door that separates the pawn shop from the office and all of a sudden it's

like the lights go out and there's a blinding, lightning-strike pain that shoots

through Li'l Owen.

When it's over, I'm backed up against the wall, both hands in my robe, hugging

my groin and Nezzy's hand. "You zapped me with that thumb pad!" I yell at her,

wanting to add 'bitch' or something, but I know that if I do she'll zap me

again. Looks like I'm not the only one, though, since it seems that the lights

did indeed go out and are now flickering on and off while the office is filled

with a tinny, metallic arcing noise. I let go of her hands and with the sweetest

smile you've ever seen on a lioness she traipses back to the window, reaches

under the counter, flicks a switch... The lights go back on, the arcing noise

stops, there's a thump and when Nezzy turns the wheel that locks the

vault-door's bolts it opens inward and the bull's unconscious body spills into

the office.

With some considerable effort, she and I manage to drag him through the door and

into the hallway, past the bathroom, thumpety-thump him down the stairs to the

basement and finally we clap his wrists in some industrial-strength manacles

that Nezzy just happens to have lying around, as she puts it. Attaching the

manacles to a thick steel cable, we use an overhanging winch as, well, a winch

and suspend our bull upright, with his hooves an inch above the ground. Nezzy

goes and secures the chain's end to one of the thick water-pipes jutting out of

the basemen's spare concrete wall while I wrap some more chains around the

bull's ankles and tie them firmly together.

Just then, I feel him twitch and then grow calm, but from the change in

breathing I gather that he's just woken up, pretending now to still be asleep.

He thinks he's being smart, the stupid lug. "Hey, Nezzy," I say, flashing her a

wink before I turn my attention back to the bull, dressed in a black bomber

jacket, a Maranatha Marmots' t-shirt and rough, faded jeans. "How do you wanna

deal with this dude?"

Nezzy gets the idea, but like she does with sex, she takes it way, way too far.

"Power tools, I think. Start with sawing his horns off to make sure he knows we

mean business, then crack open a book on abattoirs and see how you can best

slaughter oxen." My jaw agape, I shiver at the sheer brutality of that beautiful

young lioness' mind. So does the bull. "Ah, so you are awake. What's your name,

bull-boy?" she asks, swaying her hips as she walks back over to him, seductive

as the night itself.

"That's none of your fucking business, missy," the bull slurs, his muscles

clearly weak from the jolt they received when Anezka electrified the vault-door

and electrocuted the bull who was turning the latch at the same time. "Now stop

being silly and get me down from here. I'll take your friend with me and I won't

say this happened."

I try to offer a retort, but Nezzy's ahead of me. "You won't say this happened

at all, will you. After all, you don't want all your friends to know you were

beat by a girl, do you? I think I'll call you..." Anezka strokes his chest,

running her hands along the ridges of the studbull's truly gargantuan muscles,

slowly sliding her hands down. "I'll call you Beef. Would you like me to suck

your dick, Beef?" she asks him, stroking his chin with one hand and tugging his

zipper down with the other.

The question catches the bull off guard. I'm standing there, slack-jawed,

impressed beyond all reason by Anezka's display. "Uh, sure," the bull stammers,

clearly unable to mix his commitment to his orders with his desire for the

sexual favours this gorgeous young lioness seems to be so freely offering. She

pulls his zipper down fully, the bull's underpants spilling out in a tent masted

by a cock that's thin in relation to the bull's body, but no less impressive for

it.

"Owen," Nezzy says and the bull snorts, going wide-eyed. "Beef wants a blowjob.

Suck him, would you?"

Both of us look at her, wondering if she's serious. She gives a nod and,

hesitantly, I slip to my knees, careful to pad my knees with Malloy's bathrobe

and start to unfasten the buttons of the bull's bulging boxers. He snorts and

trumpets, tugging at his bindings in protest. "Hey! You get that faggot away

from me!" he yells, and I get where Nezzy's going, now. Leave it to her to

figure out a way to make a guy not want to get some head. The bull's dick

springs out of the fly of his boxers, thin like most bovines, glistening with

preseed. Before I give myself time to think about it, I take it in my mouth and

start giving a nice, quick blowjob to a guy who came looking for me with a

shotgun.

"Now, don't you drop a load, Beef... That'd make you queer. You don't wanna be

queer, do you?" she asks as she strokes his cheek with one hand, raking the

other hand's fingers through my hair. "You want to blow your load in a girl,

where it belongs. Maybe I should let you shoot in my pussy? Would you like that,

Beef?" Her voice is so sweet, so calm, so girlish and the only other sounds in

the room are the bull's hot grunting and my loud slurping.

Giving head to guys who might want to kill me is one of my least favourite

sexual acts. It's something mister Ferrum might order me to do, seriously fucked

up. But I can give a blowjob with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my

back (in fact, I've done just that on more than a few occasions) so I have no

trouble giving this Beef a perfunctory suck-off.

"All you have to do is tell me what I want to know and I'll have Owen spit your

dick into my mouth. He'll go away, you'll get a ride and I'll let you free,

everybody wins. So what's your name, who do you work for, and why do you want

Owen?" The bull doesn't respond, his massive body quite tense by now, starting

to sweat. The chains jangle loudly. "Ooh, close to cumming, are you? Ease up,

sweetheart," she says to me in an almost mothering tone and pushes my head right

the way down, forcing me to take this guy's cock down my throat and keep it

there, my nose stuffed in his open fly. "Come on. Tell me what I want to know."

The bull blinks a few times, furrowing his brow. "And... and you'll... I can fuck

you if I tell you? You'll let me do that, no rubbers?" he asks, still doubtful.

At least he's considering the offer, though. Damn, Nezzy's good. I just wish her

plan didn't involve me snorting breaths from this bull's pubic hair. Anezka nods

and the bull relents, at which point Nezzy releases her grip on my head and I

start bobbing again, slower this time, to keep the bull on the edge without

risking to send him over it. "Quincy... Quincy's my name... Please, get him to

stop," the bull pleads with his low, crude voice but Nezzy, smiling, shakes her

head and nudges my shoulder. I start pumping my muzzle faster, threatening to

pull him over the edge. I've got a good reputation for this sort of thing, my

Five Minute Blowjob is a popular favourite among the lunch-hour crowd.

"Sharpish!" he yells and I freeze in mid-suck, looking up at the towering bull

as he yells that name. "I don't know why, I swear it, but he told me to get this

hustler wolf back."

"Back?" I try to say, but when you've got half a bull's dick in your mouth words

tend to come out funny. Anezka nudges me again and I get back to work as she

interprets for me. "What do you mean by 'back', Quincy?" She pulls off her tube

top, exposing the firm, supple swell of her golden-furred breasts, stroking her

hands down her flat belly. "Come on, Quincy... Tell me what's going on and I won't

make you blow your load in a faggot's mouth, and let you squirt in a nice, tight

pussy... Did I mention I'm only sixteen?"

The bull's eyes almost pop out and he rubs his knees together, groaning deeply.

His heavy, dangling balls draw up against his chin - this guy's ready to pop.

"He was over at Sharpish's place a last night, some kind of deal! Sharpish was

going to pay him a lot of money, but then he ran away and he sent all of us out

to find him!"

"How many did he send? Who are they?" Nezzy yells, but then the bull convulses,

yelling panicked obscenities, he heaves and my mouth is flooded with a gush of

warm, watery semen that dribbles out and down my chin almost immediately because

there's so fucking much of it. instinctively I try to swallow, but then I

remember who it is I'm blowing and, disgusted, I spit out my mouthful of dick

and sperm and roll away to avoid the long, hard squirts of semen, spitting on

the floor. The bull, exhausted from the torment Anezka visited on him and

thoroughly confused about what just happened, passes out, swinging back and

forth on his chains, shrinking cock still spurting.

I stand up, wipe my lips and walk around the back of the bull, heading over to

Anezka. She pulls her top back on and grins triumphantly. "That went well.

Sharpish works for McIlwain, right? He'd have the stones to get something like

your dick-cage made, or imported, or something. Getting him to unlock it is

different, though."

"Nezzy, where the fuck did you learn to do that?"

She shrugs, scratching her round, tufted ear and smiles that deadly smile of

hers. "School," she answers simply.

"I don't even want to know. Will he be all right tied up down here?" I ask,

rubbing myself warm under the bathrobe. "I need to put on some clothes." Anezka

nods and licks her lips and I have the sneaking suspicion she'll be taking

advantage of this poor, hapless thug, so I leave her two it and run up the two

flights of stairs and back into Owen's pad.

Thank gods the door didn't fall closed when I left. I pull the leather pants on

and man does it feel fine. The insides lined with something that keeps your fur

from rubbing up the wrong way, which is just too fucking awesome, and the beauty

queen in me thrills at the thought of how well the seat cups my fine, firm ass.

I spend a moment just appreciating it, running my hands over the taut, smooth,

warm-to-the-touch black leather. I'm kinda jealous of Malloy, for getting to

fuck a piece of tail as sweet as this. I don't know anybody who comes even close

to having as fine a behind as me - okay, so Alice comes real close, a though

which causes unnecessary discomfort in the cage on my dick, so I stop thinking

about that and open Malloy's closet to fish out the least expensive-looking item

of clothing, a thick grey tank top with a stripe across the chest at

nipple-height. Nice. Shaking out my hair, appreciating the quality of the

conditioners that Malloy has in his shower despite the fact that his own fur's

so short, I tug on the leather jacket and an old pair of Malloy's boots (another

perfect fit) and just as I'm about to walk out the door, the phone rings.

It might be Malloy, or it might be any number of acquaintances we share. I pick

it up one-handed, the other arm thrusting into my new jacket. "Malloy

residence," I sing-song, feeling kind of stupid when I do it.

"Owen? Is that you?" a soft young voice asks, heavy breathing sounding like

static over the phone line. "Owen, you must help me, they've got-" I can hear

the thick accent and my heart skips a beat, but before I can say anything I hear

a shout over the other side of the phone. "Jezismaria, they found me, please,

Owen-"

And then the line goes dead and I feel cold again. That sweet voice had sounded

so panicked, so hopeful and fearful at once. The caller ID screen shows no

number and I have to stop myself from ripping the fucking phone off the wall and

throwing it out the window. I lean against the sink for a few seconds, clutching

my stomach. I feel a little sick. More than a little. I zip up my jacket,

straighten myself up, take a deep breath and walk out of Malloy's apartment,

slamming the door behind me. As I walk down the stairs I can hear the muffled

sounds of the bull's lowing and Anezka's mad cackle and I figure she's got

everything under control, so I walk out the office, close the vault door and

bump into Malloy as I exit the shop.

His car's parked on the curb, which means he's in a hurry. He's mighty

protective of his busted up old 'vette, which he swears he'll get fixed up as

and when he's got the money. He started from the inside out and got the engine

block replaced six months ago and now he's saving up for a fresh set of paint.

"Owen, mate - great threads, really suit you - I went to the Dive, and you've

gotta hear this-" Without meaning to I let out a snarl and give the dobermann a

hard shove in the chest, sending him staggering back against the door of his

car. "What the fuck?" he asks, canting his head at me, halfway between confusion

and anger.

"I don't care about the fucking Dive, shithead. Alice is in trouble." I want to

hit him. I want to hit the old lady walking along the other side of the road. I

want to pick up something heavy and smash Malloy's fucking car and then I want

to find whoever it was that harmed a hair in Alice's mane and do everything all

over to them. "He called your phone and asked for help but the line went dead

and there was no caller ID..." I rub my eyes with one hand, holding my stomach

with the other and look up to see Malloy staring at me with fire in his eyes.

"Owen, mate, I love you like a brother but if you're yanking my chain I'll break

your fucking legs..." I avert my eyes, and shake my head. This is no joke.

Malloy's hands squeeze into fists and I can see he wants to hurt me or anyone as

much as I do right now. He raises his hand as if he's about to smash his car's

windshield but manages to stop himself and walks around the hood. "Get in," he

says, starts the engine and guns it the second my door slams shut.

"Where are we going?" I ask him, pulling on my safety belt. I usually complain

about his mad driving style, but now, while he's driving double the speed limit

inside the city and still accelerating down the road, dodging the sparse

two-lane traffic with lazy ease, I can't bring myself to care.

Malloy's eyes are focused straight ahead, all his ego, all his arrogance drained

from his face leaving a sallow desperation as painful as my own. "Ritz. At the

Dive, the barkeep remembered seeing you head off with a big stallion in an

expensive suit and when I asked if they'd seen anything else out of the ordinary

he said that Alice went home with some ferret in a trench-coat."

I snarl and punch the dashboard. "Sharpish. Aleš knows better than to trade with

that low-life... So why are we going to the Ritz?"

"After I fixed you up with some pax at the Dong-Ma eatery, turns out, Sharpish

and his fellas walked in and shooed out all their customers, even told the

owners to fuck off. But the last thing they remembered seeing is a horse in a

suit and a red tie coming out of a limo parked at the corner of the shop-" I

grab the steering-wheel and give it a sharp yank, the car screeches and shudders

and turns to the right while it continues with its momentum and I let go just as

we start heading down a side road, with the sound of horns and screeching tyres

behind us. "What the fuck?!" he yells, trying to keep the car under control.

It's a miracle there's no police sirens coming after us. "I know the horse

you're talking about. He takes me to a room at the Ritz whenever he calls me,

but after he's done with me, he leaves. He lives in his offices, far as I know.

So we should head to the Sargasso building. I know the code for the service

entrance. Once we're inside I'll get inside, 'distract' the guard and you can

slip in." Malloy grins at me and I have to admit, I get the joke, even in our

stressed-out state of mind. "Into the building, stupidhead. Try to be

inconspicuous and I'll meet you on the sixteenth floor."

The rest of the drive is quiet. Both of us have only one thing on our mind:

Aleš, in trouble, somewhere. I don't want to imagine what's happening to him.

Even if he's just being kept in a room, he must be so scared. Those fuckers are

going to pay... I look over at Malloy every now and again, who's focusing on

keeping us on the road, getting to Sargasso Holdings as quickly as possible, and

I can't be certain, but his eyes look a little bloodshot and a little watery.

"Unbutton your shirt and look sexy," I whisper to Malloy as we turn the corner

to the service parking garage of the massive, gleaming Sargasso building. I

unzip my jacket and use the rear-view mirror to check my hair, getting it nice

and loose. Malloy stops at the entrance checkpoint and rolls down the window as

the guard in the booth, a bored-looking panther, speaks into his microphone.

"Entry code?"

Malloy shoots me a worried glance, but I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean against

him, sliding my arm around his broad shoulders. The guard seems to notice this

from the corner of his eye and I see him straighten up as I press my cheek to

Malloy's, running my hand up the inside of his thigh, over his groin and onto

the bare, hard abdomen visible between the open flaps of his shirt.

"Entertainment for mister Tiber Ferrum," I announce and Malloy joins me in

presenting the guard with a pair of slutty, pretty-boy smiles. I always thought

Malloy would make a damn hot sub if he wasn't such a top-man...

The guard waves us through and presses the buzzer, which drops the barricade and

raises the beam at the entrance of the underground garage. We drive down and

when we park, I notice how dreadfully out of place the Corvette looks among the

cheap, boxy Hondas and Hyundais that clutter up the service garage. "I thought

you were going to blow the guard while I... slipped in?" Malloy says as we slam

the car doors shut and I lead the way to the elevator.

"This plan just came to me, man. Figured it'd be faster, and we don't got much

time," I reply. I can't bring myself to laughing, as much as I'd love to lighten

the mood. The elevator arrives, spare and small, serviceable enough for the

janitors and waiters that make use of this garage, leaving the larger one for

guests and employees.

"Good plan," says Malloy and steps into the elevator with me, pressing the

button for the sixteenth floor. "So, what are we expecting up there?"

To be continued.

Available on paperback in 2005

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