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The car stops. The back of my head hits the edge of the steering wheel and I whine. It doesn't hurt but I whine anyway, and the sound rings in my ears.

A paw reaches down and scratches the back of my head, calloused and huge, and there's a grin in his voice when he speaks. "Someone's looking at us, pup."

I don't care, I tell myself, I don't care I don't care I don't care, but the blood rushes up to my ears and make them burn red and I know he can see it, and I squirm against the front of the seat and the thick furred thighs around me. The mat of the car is cold, little plastic bumps pressing into my shins, and I tell myself I don't care I'm kneeling on the floor of a driver's seat with a stranger's cock in my face.

"It's a wolf." He pats me on the head, reaches down behind my ear and tugs at the base until I squirm. "Just like you were."

I changed my mind. I want to go home. I want to soak in the tub until I go numb and the bubbles all pop and fizzle to nothing, crawl into bed with a pair of headphones curled around my ears until I slip away into sleep, until I forget everything that happened today. I want to be somewhere, anywhere else, I want to stop breathing in his sweat and his musk and his cum, take off the scent-stained boxers wrapped and tied around my muzzle, and more than anything I want to finally cum and be done with it, and I whine again.

"He looks a little mad, puppy." The bear chuckles, a rumbling that sets into my bones, and the hand leaves my head and I hear him tapping on the steering wheel.

I can't see through the blindfold, don't know if there's anyone there at all and maybe he's just teasing me again to watch me squirm, but the image flashes through my mind. A wolf sitting in a tie and collared shirt, jaw pulled down in a frown, ruff bristling and tail lashing while he stares. I can picture him snorting or rolling his eyes, see the flicker of disgust across his face, and I can't blame him. I'd do the same thing, judge the same way and look out the corner of my eye at the perverts fucking in the SUV at the traffic light if I were in his position. I just never thought I'd be in mine.

But all I can do now is what I've been doing for last half an hour, kneel at the bear's feet and stroke his cock. My hands are clipped to a collar around my neck, bound in leather mitts, my muzzle clamped shut. I can only smell and feel his cock in between my paws, warm and heavy, only nuzzle until his scent is rubbed deep into my fur and my heart's pounding in my head and I whine until they hear me all the way out to the interstate.

"That's a good boy," he says, and he laughs again. "Let him see what he's missing out on."

I feel the a blunt claw drag lightly across my balls. The tip of a toe presses down lightly and I squirm for him like he wants. I feel sick and hot inside. But I don't stop rubbing his cock, don't stop my moans and my whimpers, and I clench around the thick plug knotted in me, smashed up against my insides until I'm full to bursting, sending waves of pain and terrible, aching desire that make my legs shake and my gut spasm until I feel like I'm ready to pass out, and I shudder and thrust against his paw as much as I can.

I can barely even feel it with the cage against my cock, the little tube of metal that he locked around me earlier tonight. All I can feel is the rough fur on his paw bristling against my balls and I get as hard as I can inside my prison and whimper and thrust until I feel his foot shift. His toes slide down the outside of my sheath and I moan and try to grip the head of his cock with my balled-up hands. I can almost hear him grinning when he grips my cock between two toes and presses down, my balls trapped under the ball of his foot, and the quivering ache spreads through me until I whine and pull back.

I hear the sound of a car accelerating, tires screeching against the pavement, and the bear laughs again. "I think he liked that."

My stomach churns itself into knots and then we're moving again, we're moving and the pounding of my head slows down, and some part of me didn't really mind at all.

The bear keeps teasing me with one foot while he drives, sometimes scratching and rolling my balls under his foot, sometimes stroking down to scratch between my thighs and push at the base of the plug, sometimes letting it sit there while I press down and grind my cock against it. I don't know how many times I would have cum already tonight, how many times I would have quit and gone home if I did, but instead I sit here with my head fogged and my cock throbbing painfully and a damning little buzz in the back of my head that begs him not to stop.

I don't know how much time passes as he drives. I barely register the hum of the car on the freeway, the bumps in the road that shake the plug and make me yip into my gag and fumble clumsily at his cock just to take my mind off it, but finally it's quiet, all the sounds of the city replaced with the chirp of insects and the pants of wolf, all the smells of people dwindling into the sweetness of grass, and they don't reach over the scents of sex and humiliation. The lane changes become turns that threaten to send me tumbling into the side of the car of the gear shift, and eventually the car crawls to a stop and he turns the engine off.

"We're here, pup. Home sweet home." I feel a rustle around my eyes. He takes off the blindfold, and I'm startled by the light. They're just streetlights, but they're bright enough to make me wince, and when I look up he's surrounded in a haze of yellow light and there's a hand reaching down for me. My abductor is the same as I remember him before, muscled and bulging in all the right places to make my mouth go dry, and he pats me on the head and I blink.

"Thought you should see where you're going to be staying at least once," he says. He winks at me. "You'll appreciate it more when you can't."

I shiver. But I don't have time to think about it, because he's stepping out, one trunk of a leg at a time, and the car rocks until he's standing on the driveway. I look at him uncertainly, and he turns and holds a palm up towards me.

"Stay."

I freeze, still kneeling underneath the driver's seat, ears burning.

He pulls out a cell phone from his pocket and I stare like a deer in the headlights. "Smile, pup."

Oh god. Oh god. I duck my head down, and I catch a glimpse of a flash and the sounds of the bear's snorting.

"Guess you're still a little shy, huh?" He rummages around the backseat for a moment, and comes up with a leash. He hooks it to my collar and grins. "It's okay. Puppies all are at first. We'll work on socialization later."

He steps backwards and tugs on the leash. I follow, like a good dog would, follow on all four limbs while I feel the plug shift and tug inside me.

The first step out of the car is the hardest. My hands are still cuffed to my collar and when I leap down I twist my wrist and land heavily over my shoulder on my side.

"Hurry up," he says, and I lift myself painfully. My head is forced down to the ground; my ass is forced up. It's awkward and uncomfortable and humiliating, and it's exactly how he wants me to feel, exactly how I should feel.

The plug is a constant throbbing, aching reminder, and I don't know if I want it out or if I want to keep it in as long as I can. If I were playing with it I would have been done ten minutes ago, twenty, but it's been almost an hour already and the strain is beginning to show, the smooth rubber starting to feel rough and painful. I was hypnotized, lost in scent and submission, but here in the suburbs whatever spell he cast is undone and I can't wait to get it out and be done, and I crawl as quickly as I can behind him towards the house.

It's big, like him. The driveway light is on. The shadows stretch and flow across the concrete walkway to the front door, and he gives a little tug on the collar when he turns to walk inside.

Rocking back on my elbows is too painful on concrete. I move with my head bowed to the ground and my nose pressed against the grit of the driveway. I think about cheating, about getting up and walking, but something holds me down. It's not fear. Not fear the way it's supposed to be, anyway. I'm just afraid I'll disappoint him, that he'll turn around and tell me to go home, and that fear hurts worse than anything he could do to me.

So I crawl, arms and legs scraped raw against the ground, and he chuckles and nudges me with his foot when I reach the door.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" he asks, and when I shake my head he does, too, and I can see he doesn't believe me.

The door clicks open. We go inside. It's dark and hollow, big and empty, and when he turns the lights on and slips off his shoes I'm too distracted to take in more than a glimpse of my surroundings. There's leather, wood. His scent thick in the air, heavy and worn into the carpet and the fabrics. Someone else's, too, dry and papery; but he's all I care about right now.

I turn and look up at him, eyes wide and tail low. My cock strains inside its cage. My ass throbs and burns. I can't take anymore, I can't, and I can't even tell him that. All I can do is whine and nuzzle his feet and hope that he'll notice.

He just snaps his fingers and points at the ground. "Sit."

I lean back on my calves, lift my hands as my neck pulls up. I beg. Body and mind shaking, I beg.

He looks down, then away. He bends down and slides his shoes neatly on a rack while I quiver, and finally he turns to me again. "Does puppy have a problem?"

I nod and pant through the pain. He grins and bends down. His breath hits my face, hot and sour, and he looks me in the eye. I turn to the side, and suddenly I can't breathe, can't even make a sound, and there's a tug and I look down and see two thick fingers gripping the base of my cock and balls.

"Does it have to do with this little thing?" he asks, and ruffles my head with his other hand.

I whine and shake my head. I'd give up on cumming for days, weeks if he'd take the plug out, but he doesn't seem to understand.

"No?" The fingers tighten and pull, squeeze down until I wince and shift from foot to foot, and when he lets go my cock bounces painfully up against my stomach. "Guess you won't mind if I keep it on for... let's say a month or so."

My whine is pitched somewhere between a tea kettle and a mosquito. I shake my head back and forth, no, no, no, no, no.

The bear takes one look at my face and smiles. "Dogs are smart, pup. Show me what the problem is."

Take it out!, I try to scream, but it comes out as a muffled groan. My whole body aches. There's a tingling sensation spreading through my gut, my legs, my chest. Even the touch of the carpet against my legs is painful, and as I huff through the scent-stained and spattered cloth the only thing I want more than to cum is relief from the pressure.

I drop down, face sunk into the floor and turn until my ass is raised high towards him. I can't even point. All I can do is present myself in the most humiliating way possible and hope he gets the message.

A paw grips my hip. The pads are rough, and I jerk away from the touch, but all I succeed in doing is giving myself a bruise and shaking the cum and plug in me until I feel ready to burst.

His voice whispers in my ear. "Is puppy trying to tell me he's ready to be fucked again?"

The feeling of ice in my chest manages to pierce even my pained and lust-ridden mind. His chest is pressed over my back, thigh flush against mine, his scent and his sweat dripping down. The house is silent, except for my panicked gasps and his slow rumbles.

I don't know if I can take him again so soon. I don't know if I can take him again at all, but it's not my decision to make anymore. He owns me, until he gets bored or busy or tired, and even then he'll still own me because I'll come anytime he calls. The clarity of it sinks in and my muscles slide open and I start to breathe again, deep, full sniffs through the cum-soaked gag.

I'm insane. I must be, to feel this way about someone whose name I don't even know, about someone who has me completely and utterly at his mercy. I think of kisses that came after flirtation and sarcasm and alcohol, of lovers that open slowly and delicately, of flings that come and go and leave nothing behind but a fading scent on the bed sheets, and none of it compares to the desolation he brings.

"You okay, puppy?" He nuzzles the back of my head. "I can put you to bed if you need it."

Something inside me rebels at the idea. Some instinct makes me grind back into him, makes me push and clench against the plug until it makes me gasp with pain and still I want more.

I hear a faint chuckle in my ear, catch a glimpse of his toothy smile hovering above me. A sharp claw teases the base of my cock and draws little circles up around my sensitive jewels. His fingers tug and squeeze at them until I squeak and rub my chest into the carpet.

"Should have known better than to bother asking."

He jerks on the leash again and I crawl after him. I'm sweating, trying to pant through the gag. I feel hot and sick and dizzy. It's hard to move, too hard, and I can see him stop and wait a few times out of the corner of my eye. He doesn't say anything, just smiles and waits for me to catch up to him, then walks me another a few feet. We go maybe thirty feet, down the foyer and the living room, and it feels like miles.

He stops in front of a plain, white door, and he pulls his keys out of his pocket and opens it. There's a staircase beyond it, and he hums to himself as he flips the light on and leads me down. The steps are too big for me, and every step sends a jolt through my spine and makes the plug spasm and twitch inside me, and when we reach the bottom there's a thin coat of sweat over my body.

At the base of the stairs is a basement, wide and bright. There's a big sliding glass door on the other side of the room to let in the light, a pool table and a mini-bar, a couple of soft couches and a plasma TV, and it's so normal it makes me sick.

"Heel. Come on." He's moving, striding across the room where he sits with his friends and lovers, where he lives and spends his time on people who matter to him, and a part of me twists when I realize that I'm not here to learn what he likes to watch on TV or does for a living, not here to learn his quirks and his hobbies, and suddenly I think I don't belong here, in this room, I shouldn't be here at all, and when I follow him away I'm relieved.

There's another door, as plain as before, hidden and locked at the end of a hallway, and he pulls out another key and the door swings open and he shuffles forward and gropes for the switch and floods the room with light. It's grey, walls vaulting away, neat and tidy and comfortable. There's a cage in the corner, black metal and thigh high, and there are shelves with toys arranged by size and shape. There's one full of dildos, from little ones the size of a finger to great, arm-length things, cocks that belong on horses, cocks with knots the size of my head, cocks with spikes and spines and bumps and I clench around the plug when I see them. There are hooks stuck in the ceiling, shining silver in the light, ropes and metal links coiled neatly in open dressers, a whole wall of whips and paddles displayed like trophies, and I take all of it in and wonder drunkenly how much of it I'll feel.

There are no windows in this room, no indications of anything outside except the door closing slowly behind me. It smells wet and musky, smells like sweat and sex and piss, smells old and worn and occupied. It's a room people have lived in, eaten in, fucked in, and when I look behind me I see the door can be locked from the inside, too.

He leads me to the middle of the room, a bench, leather and oak, one panel raised for the chest and two little planks trailing behind for the legs. There are straps all around it, straps for holding dangling paws out of the way, straps for heads and necks and limbs, black and shining under the light bulbs. He snaps his fingers and pats the base of the bench. "Up, puppy."

It's too high for me to jump. I crawl over, sit up and place my hands on one padded leg. I can barely breathe, barely think. I try to pull myself up, collapse in a heap, lie there while he chuckles and his shadow covers me. Eventually he leans down and he lifts me again, one hand tucked under my chest and another by my stomach. His grip is warm and firm. I don't know if I'm quite conscious when he sets me down and unclips my hands from the collar. My arms dangle at the sides and he ties them in place, then brings up straps around my neck, my chest, my legs. When he's done he walks around in front of me and I stare at him through eyes half-lidded, through a brain fogged and ruined. He strokes the bridge of my nose gently and smiles.

"Everything's nice and tight, pup. You comfortable?"

I close my eyes and whine. It doesn't matter, doesn't matter at all if I am. I want him to be done, to let me go, I want him to keep me here, and either way it doesn't matter if I'm comfortable.

His paw grips the base of the plug and pulls. I bite down, screaming inaudibly into the gag. The trip back was barely enough time to let me to tighten up around the bulge of the plug, just enough to make the friction sting all over again.

Stop, I mumble, but it's just a reflex, it doesn't mean anything, and he doesn't listen anyway. He pulls harder and I stretch out around the bulb until I want to cry and it pops out, wet and slick with his cum.

He's standing behind me, straddled so one calf brushes the bare fur on the outside of mine, panting and sweaty. His hands grip my hips. Each paw is massive, a thumb sitting on the edge of each cheek and fingers stretching up to my ribs. My tail flicks to the side and I shiver.

"Good bitch."

When I feel his cock against me I scream again. The skin is raw to touch, the muscles stretched and sore. My fists clench. Every little thing about the room stands out, the warm leather against my fur, the taste of him in my gag, the ragged and broken breaths I try to take. Then the head pops in and it burns sharp and steady, and it's all I can think about. I yelp through the gag, moan and writhe as he starts to break me again.

Inch after inch sinks in, my ring stretched and aching, my cock as hard as it can get and still dripping. My muzzle opens to gasp and snaps closed, held taut by the fabric. His cock is wider than my arm, heavy and leaden, and it's all going in me anyway. It spreads every inch of my ass open, holds me tight and immobile. Even if he didn't tie me up I'm too tired to struggle, too full to do anything more than groan and twitch.

But there's a spot deep inside that makes me shiver when he hits it, another little jolt when he crushes my prostate. I don't know if I'd call it pleasure. I don't think that's the word when you can't decide if you want something to end or if you want to beg for it to never stop. All I know is that I moan because I can't move, because I can't push back and stuff more of his cock in me, fill me up like a useless little cocksleeve.

"Just like that, puppy," he pants. His fingers dig into my fur. I can feel his claws break the skin and leave little pinpricks, angry and red. "Keep moaning just like that. Tell me how much of a slut you are."

My ears burn again. No one's ever called me that, at least not to my face. But then, I've never done something like this. Everything always seemed so sterile before. Use protection. Don't take rides with strangers. Leave a message with your friends, family. All those precautions you're supposed to take, all the ways you're supposed to protect yourself, all of them just seem so petty.

Please, I want to say, but I don't know what I'd follow that with. Every thrust makes the bench rock, fills me so deeply I don't know how much of me is left to fit around him. My cock is soft, would be even if I weren't locked up, and it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter and I still want him to fit inside me. I'm dripping, trails of pre and cum running down the front of my balls and marking my fur with my own scent and his scent, cum leaking out with every thrust. He starts to hilt, heavy balls swinging against mine, hands moving up to my shoulders as he leans forward onto me. His belly sits on my back, his chest casts a shadow over my head and drips little beads of sweat into my eyes, and I shudder. His scent is overwhelming, a deep, rich musk that makes me snuffle into my gag for more.

I can feel his cock slide against the bench through my stomach. I can feel it go straight through me, shove me aside until there's only the barest folds of skin and organs over it. I can feel his arms crush my shoulders, feel the bones start to crack and the tendons stretch tight against the muscles. I can feel his gut warm and soft against my fur, and I'm weightless. It doesn't matter what he does to my body. It doesn't matter if he never lets me go if I'll feel like this every day.

I feel something build up deep inside as every nerve burns and throbs under his abuse, a rising wave of pleasure that grows and grows and I rub myself against the bench, but it's too much, it's too much and I never hit the tipping point. The pain takes over and I can't even whimper. I'm stuck halfway to orgasm with tremors running through my legs and cramps in my gut as the muscles try one last time to keep him out before they're too stretched to do even that.

"Fuck!" He's grunting, panting heavily. Almost done. Just a little more before I can rest, and then he cums, deep inside me, and my gut swells again and I can finally moan.

"Fuck, puppy." He leans down and nibbles the base of my ear. "Should have picked you up weeks ago."

His cock slips out sloppily and slaps against the inside of my thighs, stained white and dripping with cum, and I feel myself deflate, just crumple like a Kleenex wadded up and thrown away. My cock is still warm and sensitive, my body still screams for satisfaction, but I've got nothing left, and my eyes are fluttering closed. His hand touches the edge of my tail and he gives me long, gentle strokes upward, hands moving all over my belly and chest, and I moan.

He ruffles the fur on my head. "Such a cute dog. All tuckered out from playing. Bet this'd make a great Youtube video."

Everything's spinning. I have that sick feeling you get when you've been awake too long and nothing's really in focus anymore, nothing really makes sense and I just want the day to be over.

He can see it too. He doesn't sound tired, still looks as solid and implacable as he did earlier, but he massages my shoulder and I feel my muscles start to loosen. "Let's get you ready for bed, puppy."

That sounds nice. I close my eyes, start to drift off while I hear rustles and footsteps in the background. Is he going to just leave me here, kneeling on the bench, muzzle still slick with his scent and cock still aching for release? I don't mind. I don't care that I'm going to pass out in someone's basement, used and abandoned.

When he puts his hand on me my eyes flicker open again. I turn my head up behind me. He's still smiling, cock still jutting out of its sheath, musk still rising up from his body. He's holding something dark and leathery, old and stained.

Then he's in front of me again, leaning over me, cock hanging soft and heavy in front of my nose and I let out a little whimper when he reaches his hand over my head.

"Shh, puppy. Don't worry. This'll feel nice."

He undoes the knot sitting in front of my eyes, takes off the boxers holding my jaws together. I open my jaw and push the damp ball of my underwear out and hear it fall to the ground with a thump. My teeth hurt. My jaw hurts. My tongue flicks out and I try to lick my lips, and it's so dry it scrapes the skin raw. My jaw creaks open and I can finally tell him what I think, finally tell him what I think of all the pain he made me feel.

But my mind feels like molten glass, and something slips away and dissolves behind my eyes, and all I say is, "Water, please."

He's grinning, eyes twinkling and nose turned down to look at me. "I dunno. Sink's all the way out there, after all. And it's late, puppy. I feel like going to bed too."

My mouth feels like one, huge clotted lump, and I look at him with eyes wide and pleading. "Please, sir."

He crosses his arms, still smiling. "You can do better than that, puppy. Beg for it."

I swallow. I sit up, arms held in front of my chest, mitted hands dangling limply. Begging position.

He snorts, lips peeled back in a smirk. "Good enthusiasm, pup, but I meant with words."

Christ. Thoughts whir through my head while I feel my face start to redden, and they sputter and flare out. "Please, sir! Please give me some water."

There's a pause for a moment and he sighs theatrically, arms folded over his chest and eyes fixed on me with an amused twinkle. "Looks like creativity's not one of your strong points." He leans forward and hooks a finger under my collar, pulls me forward until I'm face to face with him. I look down, up, sideways. Anywhere but at him. "Guess you'll have to make up for it with obedience."

I whimper and blush. "Yes, sir."

He lets me go and grabs the hood again. "My fault, really. Dogs don't talk after all, do they?"

"No, sir. They don't." I bite my lip.

"Of course, that means you shouldn't have asked in the first place, doesn't it?"

"Y-yes, sir. I'm sorry for speaking." My tail sinks down slowly behind me.

The bear scratches behind my ears. His fingers find the little spot at the base, the spot that makes me go limp and pant in contentment and slowly I find my eyes closing again. "Aren't you just adorable."

His hand grips the back of my head and drags me up until I'm hanging in front of him by a scrap of skin and fur. "Guess that means you need to punished. Right, puppy?"

I shudder. If what he's been doing to me isn't punishment, what is? My heart starts to race; my muscles tense. Tell him to fuck off. Tell him to let you go. Tell him something, anything.

"Yes, sir," I whisper.

He lets me go and I slump back on the bench. I lie still, look up at him nervously while my chin rests on the leather. My neck hurts. He doesn't even have to buckle me in again; I'm too tired to move.

He looks down at me with a grin. He's hard again, his shaft red and swollen, and he slides it up beside my mouth. "That's what I like to hear. A dog that knows its place."

I feel a lump in my throat. I have to swallow again. "Yes, sir. Please let me know my place."

The words slip out before I can stop them. The bear rumbles in appreciation. He reaches for me and I wince, but he just pets me once, lightly.

"Such a good boy." He shifts back a half-step, eyes gleaming, cock bumping against my nose. "Open up, puppy."

I'm dripping again, cock straining against the metal cage and I want to howl in frustration. But I can't resist him and I let my jaw flops open and my tongue flick out to lick at the tip of his swollen shaft.

He moves forward just a few inches, just enough to let his cock rest on my tongue and let me taste the drying juices. "Still thirsty?"

I try to nod, my chin digging into the leather, and then I whimper again and lick at the thick length in front of me.

"Good. Drink up." He grins. "And if you spill any of it, I'm going to have to punish you again."

No.

His cock pulses, twitches and bulges against my cheeks, and his piss spills out like water from a broken pipe. I couldn't have kept up if I was trying to, and I lie there completely still and his urine flows across my tongue and out onto the bench.

The bear growls, a low rumble that makes my teeth ache and my spine quaver. "You don't start drinking and you're not going to like what comes next, puppy."

I don't care, I don't care, and I cough and scrape my tongue against the sides of my mouth, try to pull back, and he pins me flat with one hand.

He drops the hood with a growl, hands reaching for my jaws, thumbs jammed in the corners to keep me from biting down and fingers splaying behind my head and crushing down. He grunts and slides forward and as I moan and thrash, trying to twist my head out of his iron grip and only succeed in showing how helpless I really am.

The piss flows out, bitter and acrid, and I still don't swallow, I still don't, and he doesn't stop. My eyes start to water as he inches forward and the thick tip of his cock pushes at the entrance of my throat. I gag, bile rising, and he pushes straight into it. I feel it start to stretch my throat, feel myself bulge out around him. He's pissing straight down my throat and I feel my throat clench around him as it pours down into my stomach and I can hardly believe what's happening.

"I warned you, pup. Bet you're gonna take me more seriously next time, huh?"

I can't breathe. I can't breathe, and when he finally starts pulls out, piss still spilling from his cock, I start to cough. I think I breathed some of it in.

He lets go of my jaw, grips his shaft and starts to coat the rest of my head with his urine. It trickles through my fur, warm and wet, and all the breath goes out of my lungs. He keeps going, lets his piss arc up high and spill over my back and down my sides, soaking me in his scent until I can't smell anything else, marking me completely and utterly as his. He pisses for almost a minute and when he's done there's not an inch of me without his cum or his piss, not a bit of me inside or out not covered in his scent, and my fur is yellow and dripping with his mark.

You don't know how much you rely on it until it's not there anymore, how much of your sense of self depends on those little bits of you in your fur and your hair and your skin, how owned you can feel until someone else is all that's sitting in your mind, and I lie there trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to do anything at all.

And I can still feel it. I still want him to fuck me, I still want him to keep me. I'm tired and aching and scared, bound and bruised all over, and all I can think about is how empty I felt until tonight.

I twitch when I feel him grab my balls. He pulls up until I start to whine, and he chuckles as he taps the tip of the cage around my sheath and rubs the slicked metal.

"Or maybe you won't. Feels like you enjoyed this quite a bit, huh, puppy?"

My ears go flat against my head. My cock is still pressed painfully against the metal, pre still leaking and running down the sides of my shaft until it leaks out under the cage and mixes with his piss and trickles down my balls

"God," he says. I can hear him sniff the air, smell his own scent conquering mine. "That almost makes me want to fuck you again."

His hand reaches for my ass and squeezes, hard, and I don't do anything but squeak and close my eyes. He lets go, walks around the bench, traces the tip of a claw across my stained back, and I shiver at the touch. "But I think you're done for tonight, puppy. Better put you away before I break something permanently."

The boxers I was gagged with are lying on the floor. There's a little puddle of his piss around them. The fabric must have soaked it up, and the grin almost leaps off his face when he sees it.

"Open wide, pup. This'll keep your mouth from getting dry again."

The siren in the back of my mind goes off again, tells me to scream and kick and struggle, that even if he doesn't let me go being overpowered is betting than giving up, that maybe if I just tell myself he's forcing me nothing will have to change after tonight. But I gave up hours ago the first time he touched me, and when I feel the fabric touch the tip of muzzle my jaw slides open immediately. He stuffs the stained fabric in, packs it around my teeth and up against the gums, shoves them so far back I almost choke on them, and I lie there and let him. When he's done he picks the hood up off the floor and my jaws slide closed as much as they can. The taste is stuck there, the sour, musky tingle of his piss, and now I want to lick my lips and swallow it as much as spit it out.

He holds up the hood again, looks me in the eye and smiles and makes sure I follow the hood as he lowers it down to his softening cock and rubs the inside of it against his shaft, scrapes off every last bit of piss and cum and smears it into the leather, and I moan when I think that it's going on me next.

The hood looms in front of me. It's a full mask, covers even my ears with thick leather, buckles around the back of my head and tightens to adjust to the size of my muzzle. There's no place for the eyes, no holes at all except for the lines of the zipper around the jaws and two pinpoints for the nose. I can smell the heady musk of his sheath when he pulls it closer.

"Just to let you know, puppy, this is the last thing you'll be seeing for a few days. Don't bother whining about it later. It's only cute the first few times you do it."

Days. I'm already here for days. How easy would it be for those days to turn into weeks? How easy would it be for those weeks to turn into months? How much do I trust him to let me go when the weekend is done?

How much do I want him to?

One strap goes between my ears, one goes down my chin, two others follow jaw lines and they all hook up at my collar. When he pulls it on my vision cuts to black once more, my hearing muffled and pale, my voice silenced. He tightens the straps all around until I feel it strangling my skin and my teeth dig into my cotton gag and squeeze out piss onto my tongue.

I can hear the faint tap of claws on the floor over the creak of leather and the sound of my own breathing. He's moved behind me again, and then I moan when I feel him push something into my ass again. Two fingers, then three, then four, and I buck forward when his knuckle goes up against my stretched ring.

"Gonna have to take a photo sometime," he says. "God. I love the way your ass looks when it's stretched out like that. We're gonna put a lot of work into it this week."

I had a case report to finish by Monday, there's an office meeting on Wednesday, and I've got dinner plans on Friday. Will he let me call, at least? I don't think I'll have any problem sounding sick.

The knuckles slip in, wider than his cock, wider than a two-liter bottle, and I shudder and moan again at the sting. I can't take it, I can't stand another second of this. I didn't think anything could feel bigger than his cock, but this is worse, so much worse, and the feeling of my stretched sphincter magnifies over and over in my mind until I can't think of anything else.

But he doesn't hold it in for long, just long enough to make me cry and beg silently, and when he pulls it out the burst of pain that comes as my hole stretches wide open again is nothing compared to the relief. I barely even care about the plug that comes next, don't even notice the tip of it sliding against my gaping hole and the shaft that stretches me is cool and soothing until I feel something bump up against the entrance to my ass.

It's a knot, and when I feel it jammed against my hole I realize why he fisted me first. They say giving birth is like having your lip stretched down to your stomach, and that's the feeling I have now, a wide, impossibly wide, feeling of something that bumps up against my hips and makes my legs bulge outward without me moving a single inch, and I scream again, the sound muffled by the filthy gag, and all he can hear is a bitch moaning.

"You'll get used to it eventually, puppy. Probably not tonight, but eventually. You're still a little tight for me; this should help loosen you up."

It takes me a moment to process his words, takes me a moment to think through the burning, and when I do I don't feel tired anymore, and I lift myself off the bench, turn back and grope blindly behind me for the plug.

Hands clamp around my wrists and twist until they meet and sit flush against my chest. I hear a click and when he lets go they're hooked up to my collar again.

Every bit of effort goes to trying to push the plug out, trying to blot out the pain long enough to expel the monstrous intruder, and I can't do it. The tip of it is lodged up against my diaphragm, guts shoved uselessly aside, barely able to contain the length of it. The tingling is back, the creeping numbness that makes me think some nerve or blood vessel inside is blocked and makes me wonder how long it will be before something is damaged for good.

And through it all is an aching need for something I don't quite understand, an urge to take more and more and more and the longer that knot sits inside me and molds me around its rubbery thickness the more I moan and drip.

"See? Adjusting already." He rubs one hand over my ass, one hand stroking and squeezing my bruised flesh, and I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. "Don't want to keep it in too long, though, or your ass isn't going to be good for anything but storage space. Maybe just a day or two."

He lets me go and I can't stop twisting around, can't stop trying to reach to pull it out, and the bear just laughs and I feel something else buckle around my waist, cinched tight until I can feel it press against the cock through my skin. Something cold and hard clinks against the cage and I twitch when I feel my balls squeezed through something one at a time and something heavy tugs at my sac.

The bear stops my struggles with one hand, squashes me down again, and I hear a grunt and I feel my cock and balls pulled down and back, feel a touch against the base of the plug and pull forward away from it instinctively. It's no use, no use at all, and I hear the squeak of leather against rubber and feel the plug pushed in further. It's some kind of harness, something to keep me trapped and compliant, and I try to sit up and a sickening jolt runs through me halfway there. The farther up I sit, the further my balls are pulled down, and I drop right back down on my hands.

The sounds of buckles releasing and the touch on my legs tells me the straps holding me to the table are gone.

"Off the bench, bitch. Time to go to your kennel." He runs a hand down my shivering spine, stops to rub a claw around my bound cock and balls. "If you'd been a little more obedient, maybe you'd have gotten to sleep in bed with me tonight."

I don't think I can move, don't think I can do anything except gasp. The cock inside me is paralyzing. It takes all my attention just to keep from breaking down, and if I move I'll shatter into a hundred little pieces from the pain.

"Hurry up." His voice is suddenly cold, scolding. "Unless you'd like me to keep that in you an extra day or two."

I don't want to think about what that would do to me. Slowly, torturously, I move a leg, and even that little bit makes me groan. I can't do it, I can't, and I turn towards where his voice comes from and just whine, beg like a dog would for its master's help.

He snorts. "Such a pathetic little bitch. So distracted by the feeling of a cock in its ass it can't even move."

But he walks over, lifts me up in both arms and cradles me against his chest, hands under my back and knees, and I just pant and moan through my piss-filled gag.

Each step he takes sends a jolt through my body, makes me buck in his arms. By the time he stops I'm soaked with my sweat over the piss, and somewhere in the back of my mind I realize it's only been a few minutes and that I have at least another day to spend like this.

I hear the scrape of metal on metal, the squeak of hinges, and he sets me gently down on hands and knees and pushes me forward across the cold plastic beneath my body.

I can feel the metal bars press against my sides, feel my nose touch up against steel, and then I feel him tuck my feet up behind me against my ass. He holds them there for a moment and when he lets go he swings the door closed in one smooth motion, and then they're trapped by the door of the cage against my thighs. I don't have room to turn around, don't have room to do more than squirm around on hands and knees, and I wonder if he ever intended for me to sleep tonight.

I hear footsteps walk away. The toy in me feels like it's pulsing, feels like it's growing against my insides whenever I so much as twitch, and I can't stand another second of the pressure. It almost makes me forget how I'm coated in his piss, how it's marked me as irrevocably his for days, weeks, and how I can look forward to more of this for longer than I can bear.

I hear him calling from the distance.

"Sleep tight, puppy. Tomorrow we'll get serious with your training."

I shiver and try to push back against the cage, try to force the door open, the plug out, try to reach my arms back to do something, anything, and all I do is moan and drip and try to hold on to the bits of myself left.