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AUTHOR'S NOTE: THIS IS AN ADULT STORY. IF YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO READ IT, DON'T. IF YOU OBJECT TO THE CONTENT, GO AWAY. THANKS!

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Bolt's First Nut (All proprietary characters are copyright Disney)

A week ago, he knew what the sun was, but he had never seen it set. But over the past few days, on every single day, he had gotten the chance to learn what that was all over again. From Pennsylvania to Missouri, Kansas to Utah, waffle to waffle, he'd seen the sun go down over fields and lakes and mountains.

But nothing like this.

Bolt sat on the edge of the biggest pool he'd ever seen, muzzle agape, surrounded by people who were not at all concerned about a leashless dog in their midst. They were all watching as plumes of water rocketed impossibly high into the air in front of the Bellagio Casino and Hotel, lit a bright and shining orange from behind as the sun sank ever closer to the horizon. Bolt couldn't tell if this experience topped the others he'd had so far, or if it just added to them all, but one thing was certain: this was fully awesome. Not as awesome as sticking his head out the window of a rolling house, but still pretty dang cool.

Still, it wasn't Penny.

The white shepherd sighed, his ears drooping a bit. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself it was all going to be okay, a nagging part of the back of his mind reminded him of the urgency of the situation. Super dog or not, he had a responsibility to get back to Penny and make sure she was safe. She may just have been an actor, but Bolt knew real love when he smelled it...when he looked her in the eyes...when she came to greet him every morning before they--

Before they went on set.Â

"Hmph," he gruffed, and went back to watching the spray hide the casino, then reveal it again. The most beautiful music was playing, and the water followed right down to the last note. Since discovering that Mittens had been right about his lack of powers, he'd come to see her as more of a friend than a piece of vile vermin under the employ of the Green-Eyed Man. But one thing they never agreed on was their opinions of people. Mittens had little trust in anything but their ability to throw away ridiculous amounts of the best food, but Bolt knew there was more than that. Anybody who could build a show like he was seeing couldn't be all bad.

The urgency gnawed at his belly this time, but he quickly tamped it down. It was coming down dark, and it would be best to travel in the daytime when they could pick out landmarks. Rhino was the best navigator out of the three, thanks to his television-watching prowess, and they had made good time considering they were working from a map full of waffles. No doubt the cat and hamster had pigged out on buffet remnants again, and were snoozing in a service alley somewhere on the other side of the casino. Bolt liked his view just fine. It reminded him, in some weird way, of Hollywood...the home that had been.Â

The sun set, and the golden sparkles of the fountains turned grey, then blue, and then the show was over. Even as the people around him turned away and meandered back to wherever it was they had come from, Bolt sat and watched, waiting for something else. Even if it was the next show. But the few minutes that passed seemed to drag on so slowly, even for a city like Vegas. After realizing it wasn't going to happen, he gave up and walked away from the Bellagio, not dejected but certainly saddened.

These were the times when he missed home the most. When he didn't have some adventure or activity to distract him. When he had his thoughts all to himself.Â

Bolt walked north along Las Vegas Boulevard, the hotel on his left, keeping a safe distance from human feet. In the short time since he'd woken up, buried in Styrofoam in New York City, he'd become accustomed to the relentless input from daily life. It hadn't been too hard, coming from the equally-relentless atmosphere of a Hollywood sound stage, but he still had to resist the urge to Super Bark people who got on his nerves. Not that it would matter anyway; there wasn't such a thing as Super anymore. Well, not in the sense he was used to.

He was just about to turn the corner onto Flamingo when he heard the patter of paws, rapidly approaching him from behind.Â

Before Bolt could even swivel his ears, he was rear-ended and sent flying onto his side. He caught a flash of beige and white and then his vision spun around. Before he had time to register his assailant's breed before the other dog was around the corner. Shortly thereafter, two more sets of paws came into range, running much faster. Bolt watched, still dizzy, as a Doberman pinscher and a Rottweiler flew past him and around the corner, breathing hard and cursing.Â

Those guys are gaining fast. And when they catch that little guy, they're going to tear him apart. Now, it was entirely reasonable to think, also, that the dog that was being chased deserved what he got. Bolt knew nothing of their business, and it was safe to say their business was none of his. But his sense of justice still prevailed, on the set or off. Most likely, the Dobie and Rottie would get what they wanted...and then kill their prey du jour, and Bolt was now a witness and accessory to the smaller dog's fate. He had to do something, even if it wasn't his fight.

"Alright, Bolty. Zoom-zoom." He stood, and though he couldn't go nearly as fast as he thought he used to, he took off as best as his legs could carry him, a flash of white in the dwindling Las Vegas twilight.Â

He could barely see them, as dark as they were, but they weren't completely out of his line of sight. Two blocks ahead and still going strong, they ran west in a frenzied zigzag pattern along the sidewalk, dodging feet and children and taxis. Bolt had an easier time since his body was more compact, but keeping an eye on the two bullies was still a challenge. By the time he'd gotten to the interstate underpass he was gasping for air, his lungs burning with an effort he'd never had to exert before on the set. But he was closing the gap.

Just after the smaller dog cleared the underpass, Bolt saw him veer left into an alley, the bigger canines right on his tail. It took just a few seconds for Bolt to make up the gap, and he hoped he wasn't too late.Â

The alley was a dead end, like most of those he saw in his battles with the so-called "bad guys." Walled in on three sides by bricks, littered with garbage and papers, there was no way the Corgi--Bolt could finally tell now that he was closer--could escape, even by using his diminutive size to his advantage. He cowered against the far wall with a slice of pizza in his muzzle, shivering.Â

"You know better than to mess with Patch's food," growled the Doberman as he inched closer, claws extended. "You don't run us all the way down here from the Luxor and expect us to just let you go, do you?"

"Yeah," said the Rottie. "You got my asthma acting up over here; I can hardly breathe." His eyes glinted. "But I can still tear your freakin' throat out."

"You guys have the whole buffet to yourselves!" cried the Corgi, dropping the pizza in the process. "You know how much food those people waste every day? You can't hog it all."

"No, we can't," the Dobie replied, smirking, "but Patch can. He's the boss from Tropicana to Mandalay Bay, and you stole right from the middle of his territory. Ain't you sniffed the hydrants around here lately?"

"You can't rule everything that goes into the trash."

"Watch us," said the Rottie, stalking forward in a predatory bow. "Now give it up, and maybe we won't kill you."

Bolt looked on silently from behind, amazed that the Corgi hadn't seen him yet but understanding how he could be preoccupied at the moment. And he was equally amazed, even a little horrified, when the little dog bent down to gobble up the slice of pizza. The scents of anger and bloodlust hung heavily over the four dogs.Â

"You're brave. But you're also dead," snarled the Dobie. His fangs bared, they glistened in the soft light coming from the darkening sky. They were nearly the only thing Bolt could see of the dog. Both canines closed in on the Corgi, who only now realized the utter stupidity of his prideful act. He tried to back up into the wall, but he was incapable of merging with the bricks.Â

"That wouldn't be a good idea," Bolt spoke up, though he couldn't think of any way he could help out without getting himself seriously hurt. But he had to do something, even if it was baiting the bullies away from a helpless victim.

The Doberman was the first to turn around. He seemed to be the bigger, and smarter, of the two. The Rottie wasn't the alpha, but he wasn't a toady, either. And neither of them were out of shape in the least. Behind them, the Corgi had a slack-jawed look of sheer terror on his muzzle. You're dead, mister, it said. Bolt swallowed his butterflies and stayed his stance.Â

It was just like a scene from...one of his episodes, they would have called it. But he couldn't Super Bark them up into the wall. He couldn't zoom-zoom over to the Corgi and snatch him up. He couldn't stare at the fire escape above the two bully dogs and melt its supports, trapping them and saving the day. Not this time.

The Doberman smiled. Bolt had never seen teeth so big. Maybe it wasn't the best idea.Â

"What the hell are you supposed to be, huh?"

"Yeah," added the Rottie. "The cavalry?" He was smiling, full of himself, until his partner growled him away.Â

Sniffing the air, the Dobie said, "It'd be bad enough if you were from around here. But you want to come into my city...intrude on my business...and tell me how to conduct myself? My friend, you had better leave this to us before you regret your decision to stay."

"That's a lot of big words," Bolt replied, "but can you back them up?" The dog's ears swiveled back and lay flat. It was intimidating to say the least, and the shepherd couldn't quite understand why he was playing this game as far as he was. The Corgi was staring fervently at him through the bigger dogs' legs: No, no, no, what're you doing?

"Let him go. He's just some crazy out-of-towner who thinks he's tough," the little dog piped up. An impassioned appeal, yes, but a foolish one. After they got done with Bolt, he would be next. And he would most likely fare even worse.Â

"Nah. Why let a perfectly good beating get away when we can have two with no trouble at all? Hey, Wes, you think you can keep that dust mop company while I go and kill this interloper?" The dog had started to skulk on long, thin legs towards Bolt, who started to back up at the same pace.Â

"Yeah, sure," the Rottie named Wes replied, growling the Corgi into the far corner of the alley. Bolt's plan had been to egg them both into a chase, but now that one was standing guard he would have to take them both individually. It was looking less and less likely that he'd made a good decision to stand up for the little guy, who--for the record--was trying to get him to go away.Â

"You get him good, Rolo," Wes said giddily as he sat down next to the Corgi and promptly slammed his head into the pavement. "You ain't goin' nowhere, pipsqueak." Somebody's seen too many movies, Bolt thought. He could see the Rottie was nothing more than a follower. If he could somehow eliminate Rolo, Wes wouldn't be a problem at all. Even though Bolt's previous experience had only been on a sound stage, it was logical that once you get rid of the leader, the pack loses much of its effectiveness.

Bolt glanced through the Doberman's legs at the Corgi, whose eyes told a different story now. Rescue me! they pleaded. I'll sure try, thought the shepherd who tried to meet Rolo's predatory gaze.Â

"You want a head start, or do you wanna die here?"

Turning to run, Bolt said, "Only if you can catch me first." Okay Bolty, zoom-zoom, this is how we do it. He crouched down, legs sprung to literally bolt away and out of the alley, but he paused when he heard a gasp. But he wouldn't relax, not yet.Â

Rolo had a bewildered expression that belied his prior attitude. He no longer looked foreboding at all; in fact, he looked about ready to back off. Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "What's your name, whitey?"

"What is it, Ro--?"

"Sh-sh-sh-shhhhh, let the dog speak."Â Bolt studied him closely; there didn't seem to be any apparent trap.Â

"My name is Bolt."Â

The Doberman's jaw hung like a rusted old gate, a small strand of drool clinging to his lower lip. He licked it up absently as he seemed to struggle for words. Rolo looked back at Wes, whose paw was still holding the Corgi down. He looked to Bolt, studied him. Bolt never moved, never gave up his posture. Whatever was happening, it was keeping him from having to fight. Then, to everyone's surprise, Rolo flattened his ears, tucked his undocked tail up against belly and prostrated himself.

"Let him up," the Dobie said quietly.

"What?" exclaimed Wes. "But you said--"

"I know what I said! I say lots of things. But let him go, now, and come here." As the Rottie begrudgingly let his paw up, the Corgi skittered around Rolo and promptly hid behind Bolt, clinging to a hind leg. The whole time, the Doberman watched the shepherd from the ground, cowed like a puppy. Bolt was thoroughly confused, but grateful for whatever was going on.

Wes padded over slowly. "What's the big deal?" he whispered, not-so-quietly.Â

"It's Bolt, you dummy."

Wes sounded out the word. "Bolt...Bolt...Bolt, the super dog?" So that's what it was! A quick glance to the side and he knew: his mark of power was smudged, but still visible. Bolt grinned. These two bullies had no idea that a show was just a show. He relaxed his stance, much to the relief of his back, and faced the dogs. The Corgi followed his tail, keeping out of sight.

"You finally got it, didn't you?" Bolt said. Wes dropped to his belly beside his boss with a whimper.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Mr. Bolt, I didn't know!"Â

"Shut up!" growled Rolo, "don't make him madder!"

"Quiet, you lowlifes, or I'll super-bark you both into a world of hurt you've never known." That sounded theatrical enough, and it did a good job of keeping the bullies in their place. First the left forepaw came down with a solid thump, then the right hindpaw did the same. He lowered his head and started a growl deep in his throat, which, compared to Rolo, was nothing more than a weak threat. But the big dogs quivered, their ears begging for mercy.Â

Rolo was first to speak. "Y-you don't have to hurt us, you know...we could just, you know, walk away and just leave you alone. Huh? How about that?"Â

"Give me one reason not to dispose of you pieces of trash right here and now. And maybe...just maybe...I will." Bolt took a step closer to the two simpering canines, and the Doberman flinched. It was pitiful, the change from the way they were acting before. Bullies were such hypocrites. Finally he just rolled his eyes and waved a paw. "Get out of my sight before I change my mind."

Without waiting for the words to sink in, Rolo nudged his pal. "C'mon, let's go." They trotted past Bolt and the hidden Corgi, and halfway to the end of the alley broke out in an all-out run.Â

"Wow. I can't believe that worked," said Bolt.

"I can't believe it either," repeated the Corgi, stepping out from under the shepherd's tail. "I didn't know Rolo was that dumb. Wes, everybody knows he's not the sharpest tack, but not Rolo, the King of the South Strip!"

"You don't think I'm a super dog?"

"Hey, man, I love the show, but I know what Hollywood is. Sometimes I wish I weren't so smart, but it comes in handy too much to be stupid."

Bolt sat down and sighed, now that he could afford to relax. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Oh, yeah, thanks a bunch for helping me out back there," the Corgi said, offering his paw. Bolt took it and shook. "I really thought I was a goner."

"If you wanted my help so much, why'd you try to get me to leave?"

Looking away, the Corgi mumbled, "If you want the honest truth, I was kind of hopin' they'd follow you and leave me alone."

"I appreciate you looking out for me," Bolt sniped. "And what if it hadn't worked?"

"Then, um," the smaller dog hesitated, "then that would have sucked."Â But that hadn't happened, and it hadn't sucked, and the threat was no longer present.Â

"Well, we're both lucky then," said Bolt, standing. "It was the least I could do, even if I can't super bark."Â

The Corgi stood too, and approached the shepherd. He reached up and read the tag on his collar. "Geez...you really are Bolt, aren't you? I halfway thought you were fibbing, even with the thingy on your side. That's awesome."

No, that's be-awesome, Bolt thought, and grinned. "Not as awesome as you would think."

"What're you doing all the way over here in Sin City?"Â The Corgi's ears were forward, the stub of his little tail wagging.Â

"It's a long story."

"I've got time. You hungry?" Bolt had to think about that one; the ability to know when he was hungry was still a bit foreign to him. In the end, he decided he wasn't not hungry, and that was good enough. He had time, too.Â

"I could go for something."

"Cool. I wanna hear all about you and stuff. I'm curious as to how the whole Hollywood thing works." The small dog began walking towards the end of the alley, stubby legs pistoning under his stout body.

"I'll try, but I'm new to the whole thing myself."Â And Bolt followed at a leisurely pace, out and into the bright night of Vegas.

***

The Corgi's name was technically Max, which was short for Maximilian, he explained. But every other dog on the planet seemed to be named Max as well, and since shortening his name to Millie wasn't such a good idea, he insisted that everyone call him Milo. So Milo it was, and Bolt was glad to finally put a name to the muzzle.Â

Milo apologized he couldn't take Bolt up to the Old Strip, where the casinos held a more quaint charm and the Dumpsters were full of the true food of Vegas, not the glitzy tri-tip and shrimp cocktails, the "fake food" as he called it. But the Flamingo would have to do.Â

"Short legs," he apologized.Â

The two arrived just as the dinner rush was coming to a close, and just as the kitchen staff was emptying tray upon tray of mouthwatering scents into their waste cans. Right about then Bolt knew he was hungry, because his stomach had decided to tell him so the official way. So he tossed Milo up into the big green box and jumped up himself, and they spent the next half hour stuffing themselves and exchanging stories.

Milo had been born in a puppy mill, bought for $1200 when he was two weeks old and raised in a caring, but overbearing, family who did the dog show circuit as a hobby. For five years that was all well and good until a neighbor's ditzy Sheltie found his way in the fence and got into a fight with Milo, who suffered a superficial scratch on his nose. Which disqualified him from anything AKC. Which got him sent to a shelter. Which got him adopted by a family of trailer trash whose idea of pet ownership was leaving him tied to a post day and night, and feeding him whenever they bothered to come outside.Â

"It took me four hours to chew through the rope," the Corgi said in between bites of something that smelled like chicken chow mein, but wasn't. He seemed proud of the fact. It sounded like one of the few things he could boast about. After that it had been the streets, learning survival the hard way, keeping out of Animal Control's sight, that sort of thing.Â

"I don't envy you one bit," Bolt said, meaning every word. His life had been a creampuff in comparison, which is why he was surprised at Milo's reaction.

"I feel sorry for you, man." Bolt grabbed him by the scruff and dropped him from the Dumpster, jumping down after him. "Makes me feel better about myself. You know what I mean."

"But you had such a rough time, being abused and all that. Why feel sorry for me?"Â

"Because," the Corgi started walking, "you never knew your true life until just a few days ago. That's like, five years, wasted."

"I wouldn't call it wasted. I still have Penny."

"That's if she hasn't given up on you by the time you get back to Hollywood. She coulda replaced you with a hundred white dogs that look just like you."Â

Bolt steeled his vision forward. He didn't want to think about that. It was always in the back of his mind, and it bothered him that deep down he didn't have the trust he thought he should have.Â

"The studio could replace me, you mean. But Penny doesn't give up. She never gave up. I've gotta believe that."

Milo stopped and looked up. "I hope you're right, just so you know," he said, and before the silence could get awkward he changed the subject. "It's just about time for the show. You want to go watch?"

Cupping his ears down, Bolt asked, "What kind of show?"Â And Milo grinned the kind of grin humans can see, too.Â

"I think you'll like it. Just c'mon." Milo led the way, trotting as much as he could so low to the ground, through alleyways and through the darker parts of the strip to a dimly-lit squat brick building called The Peacock Lounge XXX. It looked, and seemed, just like every other nondescript building that wasn't a tourist trap, but the closer they got, Bolt could detect a shift in the Corgi's scent.Â

For the first time Bolt was discovering the advantage to all that rear-sniffing he'd seen in New York and in most places he'd stopped along the trip west. He watched that stubby tail undulate over the Corgi's hole, learning a little more about him with every breath. And it wasn't nearly as disgusting as he thought it would be. Â

They slipped in through a chink in the corner of the building, snaked their way between studs and emerged next to a staircase. At this point Milo turned and put a claw to his muzzle: "Shhh." Bolt nodded, faintly aware that this was something neither of them should be doing. That only added to the excitement. After making sure his claws were out of the way, Bolt followed as quietly as he could up the creaky stairs, though he doubted anyone could hear such a small noise over the pulsing music.Â

This was an unfinished upper level that contained an office (at least that's what the sign on the door said), a suspended platform for lights and a mishmash of props and signs for promotions. Milo squeezed around the edge of a neon Cinco de Mayo sign, and disappeared into near-darkness. Bolt's eyes adjusted quickly and he sneezed at the dust before joining the Corgi at the edge.Â

"There," Milo muttered, and pointed to the stage. His eyes were transfixed, and Bolt followed to see what could be that interesting. Through the lights and the smoke and the harsh music, the shepherd saw a stage and curtains, all black, and three women dancing around poles spaced around the stage. At least he thought it was dancing. Mostly it looked like they were having some sort of spastic fit, and they didn't like keeping their clothes on. What they had shed now belonged to the audience, which was all men, most of whom were hooting and hollering and throwing money. Some of them had big fat cigars stuck between their lips. Bolt wrinkled his nose; the smell was disgusting.

"Humans are weird." Bolt said it under his breath as he watched, forepaws on a low railing. The woman in the center ground herself against her pole. Wasn't that cold on her furless skin? A man in the front row shouted something, and she looked down, her rear keeping the beat. So people could wag without tails! It just looked odd. The man was fat and balding, but as he spoke into the woman's ear he handed her a bill. She turned it over in her hands...held it up to the light...and waved it to her fellow dancers.

"We got ourselves a Franklin special, ladies!"

"Oh man, oh man, oh man," panted Milo as he danced on his hind legs, sticking his chin as far over the railing as he could go. "Franklin special, Franklin special!"

Bolt was confused, but the Corgi seemed to know all the answers. "What's that?"

"It's when the girls take it all off! I love this part!" Bolt could see that clearly. He could also see something was odd about Milo's sheath. There was a swelling there that didn't look normal. Before he could ask, a cry went up from the crowd. The woman was completely nude except for her shoes, which looked like she was trying to walk like a bitch. For a human, it looked uncomfortable.

The woman threw her panties to the man who'd given her the money, and he stuck them in his face and inhaled deeply. When he looked back onstage, the woman had her fingers between her legs, pulling apart a slit there. With her other finger, she beckoned the man closer, and stalked off the stage, with him close behind. They both disappeared behind the curtain.Â

"What was that all about?" But Milo was distracted, and acting funny himself. His tongue lolled out with that goofy smile on his muzzle, but he had a paw down between his legs and he seemed to be humping it. "Milo?" The Corgi stopped and Bolt got a good look. "Oh my gosh, Milo, what happened to you!"

"Wait, what?"Â Milo came down off the railing.Â

"You-you have this thing, down there!" Bolt pointed, as if the Corgi hadn't noticed his horrific state. "It's red, and it just, like grew out of your sheath!"

Milo sat down, spread his legs and took hold of the growth. "This?" And, just like that, he slid his sheath over it and it disappeared into his body.

"GAH!"Â Bolt backed away, ears flat.Â

"You're kidding me, right? You gotta be joking with this! You don't know what that was?"

"No!" the shepherd exclaimed, his muzzle scrunched up. There was some weird scent coming from Milo too, something he couldn't recognize, like a veil had come over his vision and he couldn't see the Corgi. It turned his stomach a little. "I feel weird."

"You look weird," Milo replied, coming over to Bolt and sniffing the air around him. "You never seen a lady before?"

"Don't be silly." Of course Bolt had seen ladies before, plenty of them. There was the woman who came in to groom him, who had also been afraid of him half the time because back then, anyone who wasn't Penny potentially worked for the Green-Eyed Man. The ladies at the trailer park, the ones who tossed their hot dogs and butterbean dumplings, were nice...but none of them ever took their clothes off. Why was this so different? And what was wrong with his stomach?

Milo suddenly stuck a paw between Bolt's legs and goosed his sheath, making him yelp. The Corgi's other paw was clamped over his muzzle before he could stop it. "What're you trying to do, get us found out?" The paw crept backward, cupping his balls before checking the sheath once more. "You're not neutered, but you're soft. What's up with you?" He let Bolt go, and the shepherd backed away, confused and panting. Something had tingled just then, something small but powerful, and for no reason at all he felt ashamed.

"You'd better explain yourself, before I decide to leave. I don't feel good."

For a moment, the Corgi just sat there, studying him. "You're for real, aren't you?" Then a grin (A feline grin! his showbiz brain said) crossed his muzzle and he shook his head. "Follow me, and you'll see." Bolt didn't move. "Okay? I promise, it'll be worth your while. I'm tryin' to do you a favor for saving my skin back there; the least you could do is believe me."Â

Bolt nodded, and Milo led the way back through the piled-up props and electrical wires of every kind. But instead of heading left back to the stairs, they veered right, through a kind of tunnel inadvertently made by cardboard signs laid against the wall. They followed a meandering path and turned multiple corners until nothing remained but a thin catwalk that one human could barely fit on. Bolt had to keep wrinkling his nose from Milo's new scent. It was powerful, but not unpleasant. Very confusing, though.

After making several trips to the end of the catwalk and back, Milo finally reared up and braced himself on the thin pipe that served as part of the railing. "There it is," he said. "Perfect."Â

Bolt joined him in looking down on a mostly dark room that smelled of smoke and that other weird scent. He'd never seen anything like it before in his life: women and men, in various stages of undress, all over each other. Touching each other. Some even looked like they were hurting each other.Â

"What are they doing? And why are you humping your paw?"

"Cuz it feels good, dummy," replied the Corgi. "You probably haven't done this before, either, have you?" Bolt shook his head. It was all very confusing. He knew something big was going on, by the smell of it all. "Look down there," Milo said, pointing. Bolt followed, and saw the woman from before, straddling the man who'd given her the "Franklin." The man had his hands all over her, and was thrusting his hips against her. "You can't smell that?"

Oh, Bolt could smell it alright. It was all over the room, all over Milo. It made something below his stomach twitch again. "I don't know what it is."

"Oh, for--it's sex, Bolt! Super dog! All those humans are fucking their brains out! They come here and pay for it, but I get the 'dog discount,' by slipping in and coming up here. Great for rubbing out a quick one. But I guess you wouldn't know about that, would you?" Milo thrust slowly as he spoke, as if his hips were in a trance of their own. His sheath had grown that red thing again, and it was dripping.

"Should you be losing that fluid?"

Milo just stood there and stared. "Holy shit. You're amazing. You really have spent your entire life in a trailer. I'm so sorry."

"They took care of me," the shepherd growled a bit. Attacking his caretakers for no reason was going a bit too far.

"They didn't take care of all of you," Milo padded over and reached under Bolt again, but this time the touch wasn't as rough, or as unexpected. The paw cupped his sheath, rolled it forward and back, and that tingling raced from the base of his tail to his neck, floofing his fur every which way. His legs shook; his pulse seemed to be in his head, roaring. It was good, it was nothing but good. "Look down, and see what I mean."

Bolt did look down, and saw the Corgi's paw sliding his sheath back and forth. Every time it went back, out poked a pink length of glistening flesh, not unlike Milo's own. It wasn't a bad thing. It was a part of him.Â

"This is weird, this is really weird, Milo," the shepherd panted.

"But is it bad?"

"Ohhhh, no, it's not bad...mmmmff..."

"Good," said the Corgi, adjusting his grip on Bolt's hardening shaft. "Now just keep an eye on the action and let it all go." But Bolt couldn't have cared less about the humans down in the room. He had enough pleasure from just the touch of Milo's pawpads on his cock, the cock he never knew he had. There were questions, of course. Like the one about making puppies. Like the one about humping legs. Like the one about all the rear-sniffing. And the one about how he could have gone through five years never knowing his body could produce these feelings.Â

Bolt came back to reality when Milo squeezed him in a particularly sensitive way, barking, "Whoa there, bud! I have a better idea."Â

"W-whut?" he stammered, vaguely aware his hips were still moving, pumping empty air.

"You were about to go off there. Was pretty hot, see?" Milo lifted a rear leg, giving a full view of his own member, stubby but thick. "I have a better use for that thing of yours."

"Are you okay?" asked Bolt. "You look pretty swollen, uh, down there."

"This? This is normal for a dog," the Corgi gripped the swelling, waving himself around. "This is what the bitches like, a nice thick knot to finish 'em off."

"Oh. Do I have one?"

"Um, yeah."

"Do I need it?"

Milo smiled. "If I have anything to say about it, you will. You know, those girls down there like a dog every once in a while. That's how I found this place. I met one out back one day, she leaned down all secret-like and started jackin' me. Pulled her dress up and let me lick at her. Man, those are the best! Always in heat, always horny. She let me tie her, but she was too loose to keep it in. Still bred her good though." Bolt nodded, even though he had no idea what half of it meant. He just wanted the feelings back again.

"So, uh, you said you had a better idea?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that I do, my friend. We can help each other out. Just do what I say, and I promise a happy ending."Â

"It won't hurt?"

"Hurt? It'll do everything but hurt. I might spoil you for females, but you're better off not having kids. Trust me, they're nothing but trouble." Milo put his forepaws on the railing again, watching the humans greedily with his tongue out. "This is gonna be great! I haven't messed around in forever! Not with anyone else, I mean."

Bolt looked down his chest at the remaining protruding inch, and grasped it between two digits. It pulsed, he shuddered, and out came a droplet of clear fluid. It wasn't blood, but it wasn't urine either. He swiped some onto a pad and sniffed it. The same scent as everything else in the room. Tasted the same, too. Milo was grinning evilly.

"You like it, don'tcha?"

Trying to mask his confusion still, Bolt replied, "Yeah."

"You'll like mine, too. Why don't you come over here and give me a paw, huh?" The Corgi pumped at the air for emphasis, a crude gesture that reminded Bolt of the man down there on the floor waving his cock around for all to see. But everyone was having fun, so...what the hell.

Reticently, still unsure if he was doing the right thing, Bolt closed the distance and plopped down onto his side, where his paw would have unfettered access. When he looked up to ask what was next, Milo's attention was a million miles away, on the humans, having too much fun to care about much else. The Corgi's stubby cock waggled in midair, dripping some and emitting a lustful combination of scents. But as Bolt touched a tentative pad to it, Milo hissed and almost yelped.

"Owww! Dammit, it's all dry, stupid! You have to get it slick again!"

"How do I do that?" growled the shepherd. The least the Corgi could do was be grateful he was offering his touch at all.

"Lick it, spit on it, suck it, whatever!" He paused. "Yeah, suck on it...uh, like it was a favorite toy or something, a squeaky toy, except no biting."

"Like a carrot?"Â

Milo had already turned his attention away again. "Sure, carrots are fine. But no biting."

"Sure, sure," mumbled Bolt, then he faced the tapered end of flesh bobbing just in front of his nose. Its heat was palpable; he could almost hear the other dog's pulse if he cupped his ears just so. It didn't exactly smell like the nicest thing in the world, but it couldn't be that bad. He tried to envision Mr. Carrot, his favorite squeaky toy from back at the studio. God, how he missed his little orange buddy! It practically had him salivating right there.Â

And that was a good thing, because when he began to lip the Corgi's length he was able to slick it up with plenty of thick drool. Some of it ran over his chin, but most of it coated Milo's cock from sheath to tip, a glistening film. Indeed, it wasn't bad at all in taste or in execution. It fit nicely between his jaws, and the more he licked and sucked the more enmeshed he became in the fantasy of Mr. Carrot.

He was back in his trailer, bowls full of food and water in one corner and his sleeping gear in the opposite. Mr. Carrot sitting dead center, waiting to be picked up and slobbered over, always cheerfully conversing, always having a squeak or two to add. He held the orange rubber between his paws, curled his lips over his teeth and took it in, spreading wider and wider until only the false bright-green leaves showed...then withdrawing ever so slowly, and somewhere in the distance someone moaned.

Mr. Carrot couldn't moan. Mr. Carrot couldn't spurt salty fluid into his muzzle, either.

A paw on Bolt's head pushed him gently from both his suckling and his reverie. "Okay, okay, you can stop," Milo panted, barely hanging onto the railing. The knot that had been partially formed when Bolt began had doubled in size, almost to the shape of a tangerine. "For a first-timer, you're pretty good! Too bad you're not staying around."

"I have to get back to my person," Bolt said for what seemed like the millionth time. Mittens never seemed to believe him. But they were so close.Â

"You ready for your turn?" The music blared. Smoke swirled around their heads, rank and artificial. Whatever Milo had planned, it had better be worth it. All this messing around had Bolt feeling like a wallflower, an outsider, but he was starting to get the hang of it. Knowing the reason and the motivation why, was beyond his understanding. So he merely stood back and waited for the Corgi to show him what to do.

"Um...come on," Milo encouraged, patting his back. Bolt didn't understand. He came closer and inspected the spot where the Corgi's paw had been, even sniffing deeply to divine anything out of the ordinary. There wasn't. "What are you doing?" Impatience was evident in Milo's stance and voice.

"I don't know what I'm doing!" Bolt shouted over the din, and it was the truth. That thing between his legs was swollen and ponderous, and it wasn't going down. He sat and lifted one leg, lapping at himself to lubricate the dry flesh, and more waves of pleasure sent his fur on end. This was nothing like a normal tongue bath, not with his sheath retracted like it was. This was damn good.

Milo was back to humping his paw again, long thrusts with a staccato upward tilt at the end. Droplets of fluid flew every which way. "Get up on me and start humping. I won't move from this spot. Just aim under my tail, and don't worry about anything. It'll happen naturally." Naturally. Now that was an oxymoronic term if there ever was a time for one.

This was almost as stupid as Mittens making him do the dog face, back at the trailer park. But that thought was interrupted by a twisted logic: the dog face had worked, though, hadn't it? The dog face had worked wonders.

Putting his doubts aside and without thinking further on the logic or illogic of it all, Bolt came up behind the Corgi and put his paws on either side of his stubby, wagging tail.

"Oh, oh yeah, there you go, now get up on me, stud!" cried Milo, arching his spine and backing up a bit. The scent of aroused male drifted up to Bolt's nose; it was coming from directly below the Corgi's tail. Not intoxicating, but it made a powerful case. Gripping lightly with his claws, Bolt held himself still and leaned down close to Milo's ear.

"Now what?" The Corgi turned his head with a look that seemed to hold the same kind of disdain those bully dogs had levied at him earlier in the alley. It told him he was stupid, that he was the only dog who didn't know how to...whatever Milo wanted him to do. "Just tell me, okay?" It was getting almost too frustrating to keep going.

Milo spread his stance and pushed off from the railing, and Bolt felt a searing heat at the tip of his cock. "You feel that?"

Bolt nodded, suppressing another one of those shivers.Â

"You want more?"

Nod.

"Then push that meat of yours up my tail, and for God's sake, don't ask me why!" Milo couldn't go back any further without letting go of the rail, so it was up to Bolt to close the gap. He looked down his chest, at his shaft, bobbing with his heartbeat and probing the Corgi's hole. So many questions...but Milo didn't want questions. He would have to settle for actions instead. Readjusting his legs and affirming his forepaws' grip, he ground his hips forward.

The first thrust was on target, but not hard enough, though the more Bolt's flesh rubbed against the Corgi's the better it felt, by magnitudes. He shoved his sheath under Milo's tail and kept it there, straining with his rear legs until the other canine let out a sharp gasp and suddenly he was in.

Stars flooded Bolt's vision. His body floofed out to twice its size. That exquisite heat surrounded him, and he felt much bigger than what little had been poking out just moments ago. He was caught up in animalistic pleasure, but he was also angry: at the five years of his life he hadn't known about this wonderful power his body held, its capacity for these kind of feelings and how easy they were to experience with a skilled muzzle or paw. The thought flashed through his mind, but it was only a flash. When he pulled himself back into the present, he found his hips moving of their own accord. Not that he had a problem with that.

"Oh jeez, guy, that's great...haven't *grunt* had this in too long. You sure you *erf* haven't done this before?"

Bolt made a conscious effort to slow his thrusting, but instead it turned into an erratic, ragged motion. All he could do was lay his head on top of Milo's, pant, and drool onto one golden-brown ear. A tingle was beginning to build at the base of his tail, and he didn't know what it was, but it was beautiful. It was a warmth spreading from his core outward, fueling his desire for a goal he knew was there, but didn't know what it was at all.

Fighting the urge to clamp his jaws down on the Corgi's scruff, Bolt managed a panted, "Some...something's happening, huh, huh, huh, and I don't, huh, think I can st-t-top it..."Â His hips were beginning to get the best of him again, speeding up and slamming the base of his cock against the Corgi's tight, quivering hole.Â

"Don't you worry about that, Bolt," Milo encouraged, his eyes glued to the humans who were doing the same thing below them, "you just let it happen. Shove that big beautiful knot inside me and let it go, it's all you have to do." Indeed, with each thrust, Bolt tried to get a little more in, and each time he gained. He couldn't care less about the people, and he was caring less about Milo too. Something in his brain told him to hump for all he was worth until it ended. What the end was, was still a big, musk-induced fog.Â

Dancing on his hind legs, Bolt adjusted his back and found a more comfortable way to pump. There was a building pressure just behind what Milo had told him was his knot, like everything back there was reared up and ready to fire. Every slam into the Corgi's tailhole opened him up wider, and Bolt relished the feeling of taking pleasure from another's pain that had nothing to do with bad guys. Milo did look to be grimacing, but his ears were back flat in a completely acquiescent way. If there was any pain, he enjoyed it.

The tingle built to a sharp pang of pressure between the shepherd's legs, and he faltered. "Ooooh, no, I gotta pee, gotta pee!"

"No, you don't," the Corgi shot back. "Tie me and you'll see. Just do it quick, before I change my mind. I'm almost there too, and don't you dare quit now!" The only way Bolt was going to be able to get what felt like a basketball into such a small space was if he stopped and concentrated, and Milo let his displeasure be known with a whimper-growl.

"Shut up and hold still..." Bolt grasped the Corgi's shoulders and pushed. Now he was fully able to appreciate the hot, wet feeling for each centimeter he felt slide along his shaft, over his knot. Milo's pulse raced along his own. The scent was intoxicating. And the Corgi's spasms only served to suck him in even more. And then he started bucking.

"Oh shit! Shit, I'm coming, I'm coming, tie me you fucker," Milo snarled, but quickly turned into a blabbering, panting fool as his hole clenched painfully around Bolt, who used the opportunity to hump himself all the way in. And he was all the way in, too; as the Corgi hunched and writhed below him, there was no way either of them could move. Not that he wanted to, because the pressure in his loins suddenly burst and he began to spasm himself.

"I swear I gotta peeeeeeeeeeee!" This turned into a series of grunts as something seemed to explode, and Bolt was in control of nothing anymore, and for a split second he felt vulnerable until his cock started shooting of its own accord and he could no longer see straight. Holding on to the Corgi for dear life, his whole world was awash in pleasure. Spurt after spurt coursed through him and out into Milo, flooding the space and washing the walls of his hole away from Bolt's shaft. It was so soft, so warm, like he could curl up in that feeling and sleep for days.

It was definitely not pee.

Bit by bit, Bolt's climax settled into a warm afterglow, which left him supremely satisfied and utterly exhausted at the same time. At some point his legs gave out, and both dogs collapsed onto their sides, just shy of a large puddle of sticky fluids. Bolt tried several times to dismount, but his knot was being stubborn.Â

"How long does this take to go down?" he asked, quashing a thought that Styrofoam was somehow responsible for his lethargic state. Styrofoam was just Styrofoam.Â

Milo clenched again and whuffed, though it wasn't doing either of them any favors. "Longest I had was forty minutes. Depends on the dog."

"Oh." Bolt thought for a moment, weighing his nagging curiosity against the possibility that he would sound completely naïve. But he had to ask; it was in his nature. "What was that, anyway?"

Milo slowly raised his head, blinking the almost-sleep from his eyes. He looked at the place where they were joined, then back at Bolt. "Are you really, really serious? You have no idea what any of that was? The whole deal?" The Corgi was pensive, studying his sticky, spent sheath.Â

"All I know is that it was the best thing I ever felt. Would you mind treating me like a puppy and just laying it out for me?"

Again, the Corgi tugged a bit, but Bolt's length never gave up a centimeter. He sighed and grinned. "Well, it's not like we have anything better to do. Okay. Well, when a dog and a bitch love each other very much...or they're horny as fuck..."

***

By the time the two canines emerged through the chink in the wall onto the street, the club was empty. The city of Las Vegas, however, never slept. Just a few blocks away, on the strip, people were still milling about, though it was a graveyard crowd comprised of stalwart retirees, drunk kids and a few street performers trying to make a buck in the middle of the night.Â

Milo had laid it all out for him, in his no-nonsense direct way. Love. Mating. Puppies. Lust. Mounting another male because sometimes that was better. All of it. When Bolt's knot finally shrank enough to pull free, and a gusher of seed followed, they had the discussion about semen. After Milo explained it, most of it made sense. Some of it, more so than when Mittens had explained about living in a house. Bolt didn't think he could ever drink out of a toilet...but then again, for some reason, licking his cum out of Milo's hole hadn't fazed him.Â

"You seem to be taking this pretty well, for having it all thrown at you in one night," said the Corgi as they approached the Bellagio fountains.Â

Bolt's tail swished back and forth as he walked. "It's been a rough few days. After everything else that's happened, this was a piece of cake."Â

"Sorry I was short with you," Milo muttered. "It's just, when you're horned up, you're not thinking with the right head, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do."

"And, if it's any consolation, Bolt...you were pretty damn good for your first time. I've had much worse. And you're respectably hung, too. That's a plus, for dogs and bitches." The Corgi could be pretty coarse at times, but he was a good guy at heart. Bolt could see himself getting to know him better--even becoming friends--but he had to move on, to Penny.

The viewing platform in front of the fountains was deserted, as good a place as any to say goodbye. The night was surprisingly silent in this small corner of the city.

"Thanks for helping me out with Rolo and Wes, back there," Milo said. "If it weren't for you, I might be lamed up. Or worse."

"I think we're both lucky that those guys watch too much TV," replied Bolt, grinning. "And thank you for teaching me about...all that stuff." He couldn't help the blush from burning through his white fur. It had been merely physical, but they had still shared an intimate moment.

"No problem. We both had fun, eh? I gotta get going, anyway. Dumpsters to raid, and all that. And you need sleep, if you're going to try for L.A. tomorrow." Bolt nodded, and let out a gentle gasp when he felt the Corgi's stubby muzzle rub against his. It was nice, and it stirred his sheath again.Â

"You take care, Milo. I'll see you around?"

"Count on it, bud," the Corgi answered, and smiled, before trotting off away from the casino.

Bolt sighed, then yawned, still glowing just a little. He watched the lights of the hotel for a minute more before heading to his home for the night.

There were no signs of Mittens or Rhino as he rounded the corner into the alley they had called home for less than a day. Only the sounds of soft breathing came from the small- and medium-sized cardboard boxes that held his friends. Truth be told, he was glad for the time alone, to gather his thoughts and calm his worries. Milo had done a lot of that, in a twisted sort of way.

Nosing his own box open, the shepherd crawled inside and turned around twice before laying his head on his paws. Minutes passed. He tossed and turned. There was a nagging feeling from deep in his gut, something he couldn't be at peace with. After another minute of contemplation, Bolt recognized it for what it was: a need.

Flopping on his back, he let his rear legs spread wide. It felt good to be in the open, exposed like this. The only sound was his heavy, regulated breathing in the tight space. Slowly, he brought a paw down his belly, and though he couldn't see a thing he knew exactly where it was. His digits spread slightly over the familiar ridge of fuzzy skin, then the gentle bump of something else before caressing the soft sac at the bottom. When his paw came back up, it was met with a warm, wet inch.

Using a claw from his other paw, Bolt cut an impromptu moonroof in the top of his box; he wouldn't need it tomorrow, anyway. The light pollution from the Strip permeated the darkness, casting an ethereal glow over his belly and bits. His tail swished along the cardboard as he took his sheath between shaky digits and stroked along its length, marveling as the highlight along its surface lengthened and shortened as he pulled, retracted. Pulled, retracted.Â

Finally, very carefully, he skinned himself back all the way, the flesh snapping back to trap his knot in the open. His fur felt exquisite on that sensitive, aching member. "Okay, Bolty, you got this. You got this," he whispered as he wrapped his pads around the middle of his shaft. He barely stifled the moan in his muzzle. He hardly knew this side of his body, but he intended to change that as quickly as he could. A gentle squeeze got him a shot of pre on his nosepad, and for the first time he smelled his own musk, pure and strong. As slowly as he dared, he began stroking.

Tonight, sleep could wait.

1/31-5/9/09Â