Daddy Landlord's Cumpensation
*
This is an "Anyone wanna see?" commission for :iconAAcid: , who bought both slots and let this story come to be - a big paw for him for his assistance and patronage! I do hope you like the read, and I look forward to your comments!
Have a nice time!
*
"Fuckers," Sanford Russell grunted to himself for the umpteenth time. The Dobie snorted air from his sweaty muzzle and dipped the big brush into the open can of paint, shook and tapped the excessive pigment from the brush and then splattered another pale grey expanse of drywall into a nice, neutral shade of white.
"Cunts," the dog snorted. The paint stunk. The thinner made his eyes sting. Even years of doing construction had not given him a full resistance to the noxious fume. He had the window open, but it wasn't quite enough to ventilate the attic studio apartment "E" of Number 1126 Highborne Avenue. He should've grabbed one of the respirators from the worksite, the Dobie thought, as he angrily shoved the brush into the paint again.
"I've better things to do than this," the Dobie muttered. He'd found out a long time ago that talking to himself to vent out all the bad shit was almost as effective as beating something into a pulp, or employing a sledgehammer to smash something into its most basic constituents. Right now the muscled dog didn't have the luxury of having something to destroy with his bare hands or various tools or implements. He only had the bare wall of the attic apartment, the floor covered in protective paper and plastic, and the stupid can of paint. He'd already gotten several globs onto his workpants, which now sported fresh white stains sliding along the legs. Besides that, he only wore a sleeveless T-shirt and rubber boots, fuck the possible consequences. He could always wash up. The weather combined with being on the top of the building where all the heat concentrated really made it uncomfortable to wear much else.
Shitty autumn, the dog thought.
"Fucking weather," he added in his gruff voice.
Splash, splash, splash. Sanford leaned to dip the brush into the thinner to get it clean before moving onto the next patch of the wall he had painstakingly cleaned free of the previous coat of paint. He was glad to high hell that he didn't have to use the hot air blower today. That'd been almost suicidal. Not even the thought of the six-pack of beer in his fridge could've kept him comfortable through such action.
"Hooligans," the dog growled while dapping the brush onto a piece of rough cloth before getting it back onto the paint, "fuckheads."
*
Tommy took a deep breath and still felt a twinge of nerves in his stomach before he rapped his knuckles against the dark wooden door with the brass letter "A" on it.
"Tap, tap, tap."
The cheetah's tail flicked behind him while he waited for the noise of steps of the click of a lock, but there was nothing.
"Hmm."
He knocked again, a bit louder this time, he thought.
"Dude, he's not there."
He almost jumped. He'd been so concentrated on the door that he hadn't heard the door opening behind him. A skunk stood on the entry into apartment "B", looking kinda woozy like he'd been just sleeping, and only dressed in a pair of loose plaid boxers, with his belly hanging over them in a way. A fuzzy paw kept scratching that same bulging belly. Tommy's nostrils flared with distaste at the scent emanating from the fur, which wasn't the unpleasant musk of a skunk, no, but...just...someone who hadn't taken a shower in a while, and who also smoked a lot.
"He's not there."
"What?" Tommy said. He knew the neighbour by appearance, of course, and vaguely by scent from the hallway, like everyone in the building, but he didn't know his name.
"The dude's not in," the skunk grumbled, "I saw him a while ago when I was taking a smoke."
"Oh."
Tommy's ears dropped. He'd been looking forward to doing this now, since he was going to be so busy for the rest of the week. He'd been thinking about this for some time now, and he really wanted to get it out of the way.
"Do you know where he went?"
"Yyyeeeah," the skunk yawned.
"Yes?" Tommy asked. He was starting to get impatient with the dull skunk.
"He was taking some trash out from the top floor, he said he's working there, he went back once he dumped his stuff," the skunk said.
"Oh, so he's in the building?" Tommy's ears perked with renewed hope.
"I guess..." the skunk seemed to be playing with his belly button, a sight that disturbed Tommy somewhat.
"Okay, thanks," Tommy said, "I'll check it out."
"No prob, dude," the skunk said, before, to Tommy's surprise and horror, he simply closed the door of his apartment and wandered down the hallway towards the front door. The cheetah noticed that the skunk seemed to have a pack of cigarettes in his paw, the one that had not been semi-groping the critter while he stood in the doorway.
Tommy hurried over to the stairs and scaled up to the first floor, past his own apartment, and then up the smaller stairs to the attic floor, where he knew, some storage rooms were located, as well as the studio apartment. He'd never been there, but he had heard of it, of course, especially since the previous tenants had been evicted. He'd heard the sirens and seen them being taken into the cruiser, from his window that overlooked the street. Tommy was just glad that he hadn't been involved in that bust in any way.
*
"...goddamn liberals..." Sanford rumbled.
"Knock, knock, knock."
The fighting dog's long ears flipped up at the noise. His muzzle was dipped down, with a drop of sweat hanging from one of his whiskers, as he turned to look over towards the entrance into the apartment.
"WHAT?" he barked out.
The door opened and one of his tenants stepped in, the cheetah from the first floor, apartment D. Bailey. Another of the students he'd been foolish enough to rent his property out to. The very thought made the muscles in his jaw and neck tighten as the distaste grew up again. Sanford continued applying paint onto the wall despite the college guy's presence. The feline stood on the doorway and didn't wander further into the apartment.
"Yes?" he snapped.
"Mister Russell?" the cheetah spoke after clearing his throat.
The furs on the back of Sanford's neck prickled. Kids being too polite to grownups always made him antsy. it meant that they had something on their minds, and it usually wasn't something that he was going to like. He might've not have been the perfect kid himself, but he had to admit that thinking about everything in retrospect now, his old man had been right a lot of times about a lot of things, almost more than he'd care to admit to, now that he himself was no longer wet behind his ears.
"Mister Bailey," Sanford tried to keep his voice level and not let it become affected by the derision he felt for the type. He hated these self-important young kids as much as the ones who'd ruined one of his apartments.
"Hello," the cheetah replied, tail moving smoothly behind him while he watched the landlord work the wall, "I was wondering, if you would have a moment."
The Doberman snorted.
"Well you're here and I'm here," he said, "spill it out. I want to get this done before the game starts."
The cheetah's eyes showed ignorance, which told the Doberman that the cat was not planning to relax this evening with a game and a beer. He probably had something else to do, something more suitable for him.
Little punk, Sanford thought.
*
Tommy was somewhat taken aback at the sight of the landlord. He'd usually see Mr. Russell occasionally when he was heading out to work or coming back from work or an errand, always walking with a busy gait and a determined expression on his long muzzle. He appeared much more...edgy, now, the cheetah thought. Sure, he always seemed busy and never wasted any time to chitchat, not even when he'd been looking at places to live and he'd come to see the apartment he had chosen with Mr. Russell. He'd always been forward and to the point. Now he seemed displeased.
He also looked different.
Tommy was used to seeing the dog wearing a loose-fitting suit and a tie. Now he only wore dirty pants and a T-shirt that left bare some chocolate-coloured, muscled arms. He'd had no idea that the landlord looked like he worked out. He'd just thought that he was...tall...since he was a dog, he seemed to have that kind of a build. What the clothing usually covered was now in display. It was surprising for the cheetah. Mr. Russell had seemed more like the type to just crash in front of TV and only occasionally get up to chase the odd cockroach off from someone's apartment.
He cleared his throat.
"Well, Mister Russell, there was something I wanted to discuss with you, actually," Tommy said.
The dog gave him a glance from the corner of his eye before returning to putting paint onto the wall.
"Yes?"
"As it happens," Tommy continued," my studies are taking a lot of my time and I have not been able to take in as many shifts at my workplace as I would have wanted to, to cover my cost of living, which means that I've become somewhat worried about my rent, actually."
He fell silent, and waited for the reaction.
The Doberman continued to paint the wall, with slow, even strokes, to make sure that the cover would be sufficient.
"Is that so?"
Tommy felt a bit more tense. He'd been thinking a lot about how to word his request, and he was confident in his ability to make things turn out the way he wanted them to be. Surely the Doberman would hear the sense in his statement, once he made it sound just right.
"Mmmyes, Mister Russell, it is unfortunate," he said, "I am not very happy to ask, but would it be possible to...arrange something, perhaps?"
Now the big dog's ears rose up high, the one closest to him even turning so that he was clearly listening to the cheetah with all of his attention. He still wasn't looking at him, however. That made Tommy feel bit at unease, but perhaps, he thought, it was just how the dog worked. Let him tell his words, then the canine would go through them in his mind before giving his mind. He seemed like one of those guys who didn't like conflict so much. Surely he wasn't going to start arguing with yet another of his tenants after the disaster of the husky who had lived up here and apparently possessed more than enough to keep a whole row of frat houses supplied with Mary-Jane for a good number of good times.
"You got a problem paying?" the dog finally stated.
*
Sanford couldn't believe the gall on the kid. He was just short of throwing the paintbrush at him, no matter what kind of a mess that would make. Then he might just bend the punk over his knee and spank his stupid little ass until he'd be mewling like a kitten. Maybe that'd be enough of a punishment. No wonder the entire country was going to the gutter, if this was the general disposition of its illustrious citizens.
"...well, not exactly, but I think that to make things easier, I think that a reduction of 100 dollars until I get a raise in January would be very helpful," the cheetah spoke," which means that I would be paying you slightly less for a short time, but starting next year I would be paying the current rent. I'm only asking for a small reduction for a few months, to get onto my paws."
Sanford felt like a blood vessel was about to burst in his brain. The cat must've thought that he was tugging on his strings like a puppetmaster. Boohoo, throw in a little sob story about being broke and how he would be more than happy to pay his rent as long as he could get it a bit _easier_for some time. A hundred bucks? Just enough to have some good times with his fellow students, Sanford was sure of that. Or maybe he wanted a pair of new skintight jeans to stuff his sorry ass into.
Oh he'd be sorry, the dog thought, as he felt his entire body tense, but tried his best not to show it to the feline standing at the doorway into the apartment.
Helpful.
_ _
For fuck's sake.
Sanford's fingers clenched tight on the handle of the brush. He wasn't sure the plastic would survive this physical manifestation of his wrath towards the cheetah. Fuckhead. They were all fuckheads. He hadn't worked his ass off to try to and get ahead in the world by fixing up the old townhouse as apartments to rent just to have everything ruined into shambles by stupid shithead college students who either puked everywhere, smoked skunk until the covered the walls, or came up with excuses to not to pay their reasonable rent.
"Hmm..." Sanford rumbled, barely in control of his voice, "So that'd be bout...about a month's rent..."
"Hmm...yeah..." the cheetah replied.
Sanford couldn't face the punk. He was too angry and he was sure that he was going to say or do something unfortunate if he looked at his direction now.
"But I'm sure that with my employment situation improving in January, and I can return to paying the current rent," the cheetah said.
And what then? Sanford thought. Then you'll suddenly be unable to pay, and you'll ask for a few months more, and then maybe you'll ask for another 50 bucks off your rent, and then...
_ _
The Dobie put his brush into the glass jar filled with paint thinner and pushed his paws up into the air, to stretch some of the gathering tension out of them. He glanced the cheetah from the corner of his eyes again, to see him still standing on the doorway. Maybe the punk was a coward enough not to even dare to enter the apartment with the Doberman standing in there. Must've been even more of a yellow-belly than he thought at first.
"Sure, sure," Sanford spoke in a level tone.
*
Tommy let out a nervous breath he'd been holding unconsciously. The Doberman seemed to be open to the idea. Getting off with part of the rent meant he wouldn't have to work so many hours on that lousy office, he'd still be getting the same amount of money, and it might make his parents want to send him a little bit more each month, too. Would only have to drop the detail of the reduced rent...surely his parents would understand how expensive everything was, living, water, power, gas, textbooks, his professional quality lacrosse equipment....it all cost a lot of money, not to mention his busy social life.
"It would ease a great load off my mind, Mister Russell," Tommy spoke again.
He watched how the Doberman crossed the small room, over to the kitchen area where he turned on the tap with his elbow and began to run water over his paws that'd been stained with paint and grime during the paint job.
"I bet," the dog said. His back was to the cheetah, and all Tommy could see was his back, the loose pants, and a little stub of a docked tail poking out from a hole on the back for comfort, "I know how it tends to go."
"Uh...thank you, Mister Russell!"
The Doberman turned off the water, looked up for something to dry his paws with, and ended up doing it by rubbing them over the sides of his pants legs, which seemed to be the least dirty part of the pants. The idea didn't seem too good to Tommy, who valued his hygiene too much to even contemplate something like that. The dog finally turned to face him, and gave him an impassive look.
"Let's go downstairs, we'll have to look at some papers," the dog said. "Won't take long, though."
"Oh, that's...that's good!" Tommy's ears perked. "I'm really glad we could discuss this thing."
"Let's go, then," the dog pushed past him into the hallway, leaving the cheetah to follow his landlord's steady gait down the two flights of stairs all the way to the ground floor. That's where his landlord took a set of keys from his pocket and opened the two locks on his door.
"Come on in," he waved a paw.
Tommy hadn't been to the Doberman's apartment before. All the previous negotiations and signing of the contract had been done in the rooms he had rented for himself, on the first floor. It kinda surprised him, entering the dog's place. Everything was neat, for starters, nothing that shouted "bachelor" exactly to him. The furniture was clean and comfortable. There was a separate kitchen and what must've been the bedroom, since he didn't see a bed in the room they stepped into, which was the living area well-appointed with a TV, bookshelves, and some gym equipment, to his surprise. Maybe the guy really took it seriously, the whole keeping in shape part. Guess it helped with being a loser who had to do his own repairs to keep the house from falling apart...
"It's a very nice apartment, Mister Russell," Tommy said once he'd looked about for a while and the Doberman seemed to have stopped being busy putting his keys onto a ceramic bowl on a small table by the door.
"Thanks," the dog said.
SLAM!
The door closed with a surprisingly loud noise, followed by the click of several locks that the Doberman closed with a twist of his paw. Tommy's tail bounced with surprise, and he looked at his landlord, whom stood in front of the door, arms folded over his chest.
"Mister Russell?"
"You'll call me sir from now on, kitty," the Doberman growled.
The cat stared. His body obviously tensed. The Doberman let out a barking growl.
"You heard me."
"Mister - "
"Sir," the Doberman corrected.
"Okay," now the cheetah was snarling, too, "what the fuck is this?"
The Dobie bared his teeth and launched himself across the room so that he was upon the cheetah in and instant. Even with his sports skills, Tommy had no time to dodge before the dog had his paws closed around his arms, hard enough that it felt like the Dobie's fingers could leave bruises. Tommy yowled in surprise and pain and tried to tug his arms free, but found that the dog's grip was iron strong and did not budge an inch despite his wild attempts. His furs were starting to spike and he breathed quickly, getting agitated and worked up. He felt genuinely threatened by the dog whose behaviour had changed so radically, and had become so very physical. Was he going to -
"What the fuck is this?" the Dobie growled, spittle rolling from the corners of his maw, "what the FUCK is THIS?"
He shook the younger, more lithe male, and felt satisfaction at the gasp that escaped from the wild-eyed, obviously scared college kid's muzzle. He had the boy at his mercy now, and that suited the dog just right. He'd had enough of this type, he'd been watching them ever since he had the grand idea to set up the tenement, and now someone was going to have to pay.
And what'd be a better subject for his...anger management than the squirming cheetah half his age.
"Lemme tell you,kid," the Doberman growled, "I'm gonna tell you and I'm gonna show you just what I think about you punks who are set on ruining MY property and MY life!"
"But - "
"SHUT UP!"
Tommy gasped.
He sniffled hotly.
For a moment the Doberman wondered whether the college guy was going to cry, or something. Bawling would fit him just fine on that moment, he thought, while still glaring and huffing at the slightly shorter male in front of him.
"Do you think I work my ass off for fun here?" the dog yelled. "Do you think fixing up this place comes cheap?"
"N-no..." the cheetah muttered, really quite distressed by now.
"And then you punks come and fuck me up and - "
I...I haven't done anything!" Tommy yelped. "I haven't messed up the place or or - "
"No?" the dog snarled. "Oh you're even worse than the pothead upstairs or the fucking cougar whore who tried to run a one-bitch brothel on my property...no...you know what you are? You're a goddamn faggot."
_ _
Tommy felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. The hateful word leaving the dog's muzzle was something horrible. He'd always managed to fly under the radar...and he'd been guilty of using it as a synonym for a wimp on occasion, back in school, because that's what you did when you were a kid and wanted to be mean to others...and he knew what it meant, especially since -
"Yeah...goddamn tail raiser who keeps yowling when they fuck you in the ass and I sit here with my cock fucking hard and ruining my underpants when you make me listen to that fucking going on right above me!" the dog's lips curled into a vicious smirk as he gave the lurid description.
Tommy gulped. Surely the Doberman couldn't have known...he'd always snuck his lays in and out without anyone seeing...or at least caring, he thought, everyone in the building seemed quite far out and not really interesting in what else was going on. The Doberman had been the only one he'd really been worried about, and he'd been sure that he'd been discreet.
"But - " he mumbled.
"Your goddamn flat is right above mine, slut," the Doberman spoke with obvious pleasure at humiliating the cheetah, his voice tinged with rumbles from his chest," of course I can hear the bedsprings and the begging and - "
"But, uh...but I'm...ah..."
"Yes, kitty?"
_ _
"But I'm a...ah...a top..." Tommy mumbled. He couldn't believe he was having this kind of a conversation with his landlord of all furs, the Doberman who had revealed himself to be some kind of an eavesdropping sex pervert and a kind of a psycho, too. Tommy wanted to get out of the room and go and call the cops or something.
"We'll see about that," the Doberman growled.
They stared each other for a moment, both breathing heavily. The dog's breaths were steady, the cheetah panting, agitated and nervous. He expected to be struck at any moment, to see stars when the fist connected with his jaw and sent him to the hospital, his looks ruined -
But what he really saw was brown fur and the dirty white of the T-shirt of the Dobie wore...and it smelled of..man...sweat...musk.
It smelled like balls.
Breath caught in Tommy's throat. He smelled deep, deep musk coming off the dog, canine, deep, musty, a mixture of ripe sweat and skin and fur and the general fragrance of a man who was in need of a shower.
He smelled of work, and paint thinner.
The scary dog smelled of sex, and each inhalation was making him breathe even more of that deep musk into his nostrils. It filled the cheetah's sinuses and made them tingle...he wanted to sneeze, and he wanted to call the dog a sick fuck, and he wanted to try to escape and struggle and...
"Yeah, there you go.." the Dobies's voice was low, deep, and rumbling, "smell it, kitty...get used to it from the source...know the Alpha's scent...who's the boss in the house..."
Tommy's ears were flushed, his cheeks burnt, and to his horror, his cock had grown super hard and spurted out of his sheath so that he was practically bumping it against the Doberman's chest. Those firm paws held him, one still by his wrist and the other at his neck scruff...that meant he had one free paw himself...why wasn't he...scratching the dog, or something...
"There we go..." Sanford growled, mostly to himself, as he felt the cheetah tremble in his arms. "Showing what you're made of, kitty...showing the slut..."
Tommy wanted to complain about being called a slut, but his muzzle was abruptly lifted by fingers from the Doberman's paw. It tasted somewhat foul...chemicals, maybe, hopefully not the paint thinner, but he didn't have much time to think about it when fingers forced their way past his lips and into his muzzle.
"Suck it like a good bitch," the Doberman commanded.
The cheetah obeyed, somewhat hesitant at first to do such a humiliating act, but he didn't have any choice, really, with the finger stuffed in his maw. They were rather large, and felt weird on his tongue, and he wasn't sure if this was really doing anything for the Doberman...except that the dirty daddy was rumbling to himself while he felt the cheetah's tentative act upon his digits.
"There ya go, kitty...it's not difficult once you just let go and accept it..."
Sanford ruffled the cheetah's head furs. They'd been once shaped into a deliberate state of seeming untidiness, carefully calculated, of course, and created with the help of many furcare products, but now there was only sweat and musk matting his head, mouth full of dirty doggie fingers and his blood boiling with lust he could barely explain while the Doberman projected his presence upon him by barely doing anything.
"Knew you were a lifter soon, kitty...something on how you carry yourself...didn't fool me..." the Doberman thought, "didn't think I was going to get dibs on you but...you need to be put into your place and little punk like you know only one language that gets to you..."
His paw moved slowly along the cheetah's toned arm, then slid over his side and grabbed one half of his ass, so suddenly that the cat's tail flew in the air when one spotted buttock was roughly squeezed.
"Yeah..." he glared at the cheetah who didn't dare to look up from the Dobie's knuckles, still busy trying to suck on his fingers, "there you go..."
The Doberman groped the cheetah's ass. His own cock might've been hard ever since he'd known he was going to get the cat, but now, feeling up the tight athletic rump, his mature libido seemed to be boosted by another burst of hormones coursing into his veins. it was time to put the cocky little shit into his proper place, and that was face down and ass up...preferably on all fours.
Sanford grinned to himself. Fantasies were one thing...plans were another, and this was more in the latter category by now. The cheetah was under his spell and ready to do his bidding, with only simple nudging needed to get what he wanted from the sexy little shithead.
"Hope you'll learn your lesson, kid..." the Dobie growled, as he wriggled his fingers in the cheetah's muzzle, simply to tease, "you can't go on getting on my nerves without proper payback...and we know there's only one thing you're good at..."
He pulled his fingers out of the cheetah's muzzle. They emerged, dripping saliva, and he promptly dried them onto the cat's spotted, burning cheek.
"Good job, slut," the dog leaned down to slurp his tongue across the crown of the cheetah's head, to mark his property for now, "bedroom, now, kitty."
He grabbed the cheetah's arm and pulled him into the bedroom, a space as simple as the living room, but with a comfortable bed, and low lighting he flicked on once he'd thrown his docile prey onto the mattress. Sanford faced him, and meticulously, slowly, pulled off his shirt. His torso was chiselled with muscle, not exactly terribly bulky, or looking like a bodybuilder, but still, well-built and with a great deal of work put into it. He unzipped the work pants next and enjoyed the sudden hunger in the cheetah's eyes when he got to see the huge lump and the wet spot in his white undies.
"Yeah...got your bitch bone here," Sanford rubbed his cock only once before he let his underwear join the pile of clothes on the floor. His cock throbbed hard, thick, angry red and fully knotted, spreading musk into the charged air of the bedroom.
"Oh, fuck..." Tommy grunted, sitting on the bed and looking a bit dazed, almost, when the landlord approached his tenant.
"Hope you've done this for your little fuck buddies, because I ain't have much patience to start teachin' ya kitty," the Dobie drawled.
He grabbed the cheetah's head and pulled him onto his groin, forcing him to inhale his ball musk for over a minute before he made sure that those same nuts were well licked - with only a small command required. He was seeping pre-cum and smeared it gladly over the softly churring college kid's face before he nudged the big tip against the cheetah's lips.
"Teasing's over, kitty, time to serve me right."
He shoved it in, unceremoniously, and with a satisfied grunt. The cheetah let out a snort, surprised at the mass of meat in his muzzle even after having it all over his face for quite some time now. His cheeks soon bulged with his best attempts to give muzz to the dominant male who now ruled over him.
Paws held him steady while the Doberman tried to stuff as many inches of his daddy cock into the cheetah's maw as he could. Tommy, the poor cat who'd bitten more than he could chew when he'd decided to try and get the landlord's good favour had now been shown just what that could lead into, and he was paying with the gagging and gurgling of saliva over his chin. The Dobie seemed to be intent on seeing whether he could slap his balls against the college guy's face to give him a sample of some contact sports other than the puny lacrosse in his school.
"That's right, kitty..." Sanford rubbed the cheetah's aching cheeks with his thumbs, "there ya go...make it nice and wet...you know where's it gonna go next..."
Tommy felt another twinge of alarm. He was only an occasional bottom, and had mostly just played solo...the toy he had hidden in his apartment was dwarfed by the length of meat he was hard at work trying to suck to give the dog some pleasure...and soon it'd be slipping between his ass cheeks...nudge against his hole and...he'd probably not walk right for a week...let alone play his sports.
He didn't resist when the Dobie flipped him onto his belly and pulled his pants off so roughly that he could hear some fabric rip. His underwear suffered even worse at the moment, with the elastic definitely going, and he yowled a little when his hard cock hit the sheets of the Doberman's bed.
"Now you're gonna get fucked," the dog stated while going to the nightstand. He pulled out a big bottle of Gun Oil lube and splurted a large quantity onto his paw and smeared it all over his cock. Tommy stared. His jaws ached...he didn't want to think how his asshole was going to feel if his mouth felt like someone had tried to stuff a zucchini in there.
The bed squeaked when it had to support its big owner's weight...Tommy's muzzle squeaked when fingers poked at his asshole like toes testing the temperature of water before having a swim. Lube dribbled in and followed, soon, but the Doberman didn't seem to be too keen on playing with the cat's pucker.
The hard, firm cock pressing on him was going to do the job, Tommy realized, and almost tried to scurry away when he felt paws fall onto his shoulders, and a hot breath ruffle his neck.
"There ya go..."
Saliva drizzled down on him like a burst of rain when the dog growled between clenched teeth, trying his darnest to stuff his cock into the cheetah' way too tense an opening.
"Fucking cocktease..."
The dog bracing on top of the conquered cheetah adjusted his position and put his entire weight into the experimental thrusts, everything concentrated on the spot of flesh under the mottly-butted cat's long tail.
"Bet you're not stranger to cock but this aint' gonna be small..." Sanford growled in victory.
The doggycock punched in and made its home in the cheetah's lubed rectum, yanked back, pushed in, an un-gentle thrusting motion set soon that the dog kept up, humping deep into the cheetah's anus. Tommy's paws scratched holes into the sheets, his body on fire in more ways than one while he was ridden hard. The dog panted and nipped on his shoulder, and huffed hot, dirty air everwhere while his hips slammed up and down and balls slapped against the cheetah's own wound-up pair. His cock oozed pre-cum against his belly and onto the sheets on a continuous stream once his prostate got its share of the action. His poor nut sent sparks of pleasure that barely overcame the discomfort of having his tailhole stretched so wide open. The Dobie's balls spanking his taint didn't make it any easier...and there was no way of describing the further phase of the fuck as him getting used to the fact that he was dominated by someone who was the same age as his father...and he was mewling and begging for more by the time the cheetah's lews submission was complete.
The dog kept going. He'd found something better than a punching bag or a sledgehammer or a good shot of scotch...the cheetah's slurping rump was the recipient of tension and frustration of more kinds than just the one that had initial set the dog off when the cheetah had had the gall to ask him for a reduction in his rent. Now it was paying off all those blue balls the cat's overtly loud tricks had caused, too, to make the dog's evenings so pathetic that he had to resort to beating his meat until he spurted hot cum all over his knuckles. The Dobie had a much better place to put his seed now...and the moment was approaching rapidly, he knew, his swinging balls boiled with pent-up cum that needed to get out.
"Yep.." Sanford straddled the cheetah, one paw gripping on his neck fur so that he was pulling the cat's head up. His hips still slammed onto the cheetah's bruised rump with his pumping motion, and his knot was making headway onto the resistant capacity of his poor muscled ring with each hard landing..."here we go...take your sir's cum..."
"OWWWWLLL!"
Sanford had enough experience in these matters to know to use a pillow to stuff the boy's muzzle instead of his paw - biting was known to have occurred, and the only clenching he wanted to feel was that of a tight asshole closing around on his knot buried deep into someone's slammed rump.
"UHhhh.h.h...."
The jerking motions of his hips slowly came to still while his cock still pumped seed into the cheetah's bloated rectum. The dog was sweaty and messy, and he knew as much, and he enjoyed every second of it, resting on top of his broken mount. He could smell that the cheetah was most likely lying on a pool of his own mess, going by the scent and the mad contractions of his tailhole while the Dobie had bred the cheetah hard.
"And the answer is no, kitty," Sanford spoke once he could breathe again, "you ain't getting your rent reduced just so that you can spend a hundred bucks a month more on chasing tail."
The cheetah let out a vague mumble into the pillow still covering his maw. The Doberman grinned with satisfaction. His tailstub wagged.
"Though I suspect you won't be needing to do that for a while now...I'm not done with you yet..."
"ummmhph!"
The Doberman smecked a kiss onto the cheetah's neck, and licked the same place several times.
"Got a lot more juice left in daddy balls, kitty..."
*
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