{"sf1_id":932598,"sf2_id":null,"title":"Interchangeable Parts (Teaser)","author":"georgesquares","words":6153,"posted_at":"2015-11-11T08:56:00.000Z","tags":["BDSM","Cum","Fox","M/M","Machine","Prostitution","Rat"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/932598-interchangeable-parts-teaser","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/view/932598","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=932598\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"","content":"Interchangeable\nPartsTeaser for WoTA2\nThe monolithic stadium curled under the city skyline, pale-stoned\nwith colosseum arches. Instead of natural light shining through the gaps,\nadvert upon advert for chips and drinks and cellular phones blinked hotter than\nthe stars above, drowning them out in the deluge of light pollution. The rat\nstood huddled in a middle section of the colosseum without seats that had cold,\nblue-brown hand railing. There were too many bodies and tails and talkative\ntwits to keep track of in the muddled mess of an audience, even with all the cameras\neverywhere, scuttling across the rails like tripod viruses with bulging lenses\nfor capsids. For once the cameras were focused on the field, more interested in\nthe football game than surveilling the citizens. He didn't want to wait for the\nfield goal kicks. Dent just wanted the results of the game and get out of here.\nDent chuckled to himself, shivering, wondering whether or not\nhe could flip off the camera without anybody taking notice. This city had to\nhave more cameras than eyes. Could they really be watching at all when there\nwas too much to see? The thought was fun but thoroughly stupid. Dent liked\ncrowds because they were one of the few places he didn't stand out. It didn't\nmatter that the rat didn't particularly like watching the football game\nstarting on the field below. \nIcy wind bit at the rat's disk-shaped ears like angry gnats,\nand the chill snaked past the holes of the piebald patches sewn onto his old\nhoodie. The temperature read 20 degrees Fahrenheit on Dent's phone. His digits\nwere warmly cupped together. Even if some folks got a laugh out of public\nspectacle, he didn't want to be a prick to some poor wage-slave on security. He\nwas more considerate than that, really. Regardless, the fantasy was a more\namusing bet than the one he had taken from the bookie. \nThe rat clutched a ticket in his paw, which he ought to be\nholding tighter, considering the entirety of his rent money wound up in the\ncoarse construction paper, but the numbness that started from the tip of his\ntwitchy fingers ran through his arm into the socket of his shoulder. \n \nHe peeped at the field below, squinting. The crowded rumble of spectators\ncarried through the cold air, cacophonous and indiscernible, but high in\nspirit. Light refracted off of the sides of skyscrapers, steel-blue, looking\nlike icebergs or the ships they had sunk, nose-up. \nDent turned up his collar, enveloping his neck in the soft\ncotton, and he hid his oblong nose in the cloth of his shirt. Wracked with\ncold, his body gave an involuntary shiver, nearly shaking free the knitted cozy\nkeeping his naked tail warm. The exposed slip of his pink tail set him\nshivering, and it reflexively hit the arm of a dog whose drink was almost\nknocked out of his hand. \n\"Watch it, sewer sucker,\" said a grizzled beagle in black who glared down at\nhim. The dog's free fist clenched. \n\"Sorry,\" he stammered, not particularly sorry, but he resolved to curl his tail\naround himself, holding it tight as it shook. He had been called worse things\nby dogs before. Once, Dent had applied to an accounting position at a local\nfirm. The Pomeranian conducting the interview had told him they didn't need any\njanitors. When Dent had reminded her that he was qualified, and had a degree in\naccounting, he was met with an icy \"I know.\" That felt meaner than any insult\ncould feel.\n\"Dent!\" He heard the reedy voice of Bircham, another rat,\ncall out from behind. \"Goddamn it Dent, is that you?\"\nHe had been unlucky plenty enough, but had never been so\nunlucky as to run into his landlord a few hours before he could pay off his\nticket. The money was technically already overdue, but he could pay it in full\nif he just had more time-- he was certain the new kicker would make two field\ngoals. A man on an intercom stifled the noise of the stadium with a bold and\nchoppy voice. Dent retreated further into the crowd, his heart struggling to\nkeep a steady beat. Panic's first kick of adrenaline had set in. His thin lips\npulled into a grimace while he scampered through the rows of standing\npeople.  \nMaybe his situation was shit, sure, but at least his life was\ninteresting. If a rat was good at anything, it was making money. Bircham's\ncries followed him as Dent escaped, happy for once that he was small. \"Get back\nhere! Un-fucking believable, you're doing it again!\"  Rent would put him back 700, but a game would\nput him 1400 ahead. He'd won plenty before, so he was sure this week would pay\nout. The flight fired him up, warming Dent with his own body heat. God, he felt\nfresh.\n\nThe fanfare roared like a cresting wave, breaking into a discordant rumble as\nDent squeezed the metal hand railing and hurdled feet-first past another row of\npeople. Looking back for the other rat's befuddled face, Dent saw he wasn't\nfollowed. His bated breaths formed smoke signals, causing him to cover his\nmouth with his cold paws. They smelled like loose change. Dent rounded on the\nfield, scuttling between a wolf and a tiger, face smushing against a fuzzy arm\nthat peppered his nose when he tried to get a better look. The tiger looked\ndown, scoffing; it prompted an embarrassed apology from the rat.\nThe players appeared on the field, flickering into position.\nDent thought he had read somewhere a long time ago that the football players\nused to be real, living people before the sport was banned due to too many\nplayers developing brain trauma in their fifties. The star players were now the\nopposing coaches, who were real, and\nwho still designed their own stratagems to pit against one another. \nA player's main stats were set from the beginning of a\nseason, and players lasted two seasons before they were deleted. Popular\nplayers could return as mascots in the hall of fame to interact with children,\nimmortalized and beloved. Physical health, field conditions and developing\nskill were still factors-- random stats put into the machine's algorithm. This\nclose, Dent could see sweat rolled off the player's noses, as if they were\nexpending energy, which looked real until you noticed all the players had the\nsame sweat patterns in identical locations on their faces. The golden eye of\nthe rat punter Dent had placed his bet on even blinked. \nA group of three husky puppies wagged their tails, chattering\nand pointing at the players. They ate popcorn from colorful cardboard boxes.\nOne snapped pictures of the characters, his finger pushing down madly on a\ncamera phone. \"Think I can turn these into football cards, mommy? We don't even\nneed to buy the stupid things. They're just pictures on paper and I took these\nmyself!\" Dent liked that child the best, and he caught himself smiling.\n \nImpatiently, dent hopped from foot to foot, mulling over his wager's odds in\nhis head again. After performing two seasons, the home team's punter was\nreplaced. The new character, the rat, had the name James Feldspar. He had white\nfur, broad shoulders and a daring expression. Dent thought the character was\nvery handsome for a rat, something a few had said about himself, too, which he\nsupposed was a compliment. \nAll this punter would have to do was make two field goals and\nDent would be paid back, two-fold. In the first quarter, the first kick had\nbeen made by the home team. James didn't seem\nbad (his accuracy rating, at least) although it was still too early to tell. He\nmade his first goal from twenty-five yards, which seemed very good. \nBy the third quarter, James had another attempt from thirty\nyards. It missed, leaving Dent with a dull, uncomfortable sensation in the pit\nof his stomach. Could have been that the wind factor had a bizarre calculation.\nCould have been an unlucky roll from the punter's random number generator. \nHe had another chance in the final quarter. James made it\nfrom 49 yards. It wasn't a record, but it likely affirmed this player was good\nconsidering the probability of him making the goal. Dent smoothed down the\nfluff on his neck, peeling away from the noise of the crowd and the cold, a\ngrin screwing up his exasperated face.\n \n--------------------------------------------\nThe Doberman bookie took a hard look at him. \"Sorry kid. Two\nkicks from at least thirty-five yards.\"\n\"That's not right,\" he repeated, irritation edging into his tone. \"There's no\nyard limit on the ticket. Two field goals. Double the input. I won my bet, and\nI'm due 1400. The bet's on my ticket, too.\"\nThe Doberman took the ticket from his hands, held it up, and nodded. \"It's\nlegitimate, sure, but the yard limit's stated on the board before you buy the\nticket. Always has been. Haven't you gambled here before?\"\n\"Listen buddy. I know for a fact that an implicit limit has never been the\ncase--\"\n \n\"--sorry, boy, but there's not much I can do for you but give\nyou a good sulk. I've about thirty sob stories to run through before the day's\nover.\" The Doberman looked over his shoulder, the same nervous expression\nreflected in his own as his eyes met what had to be an impatient line of people\nbehind him.\nDent slammed his paw on the counter. \"Hey-- I'm fine with losing. Hell, I\nwouldn't have put this kind of money down if I didn't think the terms were so\nambiguous. Two thirty-five yarders is hard probability for a new kicker with\nunseen stats. But this just isn't an honest loss.\"\n\"Sorry,\" repeated the bookie, a bit irate. \"But you did lose.\nAin't my fault if you're unfamiliar with procedures and fine print and all--\"\n \n\"I have the fine print,\" he spat, taking the ticket back with trembling paws\nand placing it on the counter. \"That was rent money and I'm out 500 because\nyou're a bunch of damned crooks.\"\n\"Nothing illegal about reading comprehension,\" sneered the Doberman. He turned\nthe ticket over and pointed out a thin line of text at the bottom. Dent sounded\nit out slowly in his head, and then his ears burned bright red, feeling equal\nparts a victim and an asshole. \n\"I'm sorry,\" squeaked Dent. \n \"Look.\" The Doberman's voice softened.\n\"If you're that strapped for cash, you could make 500 easy with a walk down to\nHard Street.\"\nDent stammered a bit. \"I need seven hundred.\"\n\"You can make that too! It's just... going to be a little bit crazier than the\nusual.\"\n\"The usual, huh?\" He had performed before. Prostitution wasn't the right word,\nbecause prostitution was illegal in this country. But Hard Street was the\nsex-industry's response. Performers had to sign a waiver for onlookers to give\nthem commands. They were paid by the hour, and could be granted a tip, too.\nThere was no actual sex, supposedly implemented for safety regulations, but the\nworkers knew that the rules could be bent. Sometimes the injuries were\npermanent.\n \n\"Well, you just look the type. You are a rat, after all.\" The Doberman sized\nhim up, tipping his nose and scanning him over with his eyes. He lowered his\nvoice to a rumble. \"Rats are dirty. You can play that up and probably make a\nlot extra.\"\nFeeling both embarrassed and harassed, he gave the dog the middle finger and\nran away from the line before any strangers could laugh or yell at him today.\nThe Doberman just shook his head, saying \"next.\"\n_____________________________________________________________________\nDent sat in his apartment alone, grumbling as he looked\nthrough temp job listings on his phone. The rumbling bass of electronica\nvibrated against his thin walls often, so he had to wear headphones to drown\nout the noise. They were the nicest birthday gift he'd received. His phone was\ngood too. It had lasted four years, and he could still use it as a hand-held\ncomputer. There wasn't much space for a computer, considering he had only two\nrooms, and much of the area was taken up by a wardrobe and a sink. He shared a\nbathroom and a kitchen with the other floor tenants, who weren't always\nconsiderate or tidy.\n \nWould things have been the same if he stayed somewhere more rural? Could he\ngrow his own food and pay for his own home, or was he merely kidding himself?\nHe didn't need for his life to be easy, but he didn't see the point in making\nit difficult for no reason.\nHe sighed, and looked out of his apartment's one square\nwindow and wondered if the city was worth it, or making him another part of its\ninefficient machine. Nobody had hired him as an accountant after all of the\nhumiliating interviews, but he felt an accountant's work wasn't a titillating\ngoal, either. His brain needed some kind of challenge. He lived in a society\nprogressive enough to mass produce its own food, yet still paid workers\nnext-to-nothing to move thousands of boxes of car parts. It was something an\nassembly line robot could do faster, probably even cheaper over a longer period\nof time. Were the useless jobs just there to make them feel useful? The\nperception of rats was already poor. He was already familiar with the surprise\nexpressed when he told people he went to a university.\nDogs were usually given the best jobs, or played the heroic\nroles in action movies. Sometimes rats were side-kicks. Usually villains. He\ndidn't think he was one of those. He didn't steal, and gambling was legal. He\nhad a job, and he rented an apartment, after all.\n \nA rap sounded on his door. No slamming. No yelling. Just a little pitter-patter\non the aluminum, familiar to the ears. Rising, Dent plucked the headphones from\nthe sides of his ears and plodded to the door.\nHe opened and Bircham moseyed his way in, looking about the apartment, nodding\nfondly at nothing in particular. Most of the other tenants were rats too. There\nhappened to be a few mice. A weasel or two. Rumor had it that there was a\nbadger somewhere, but Dent had never seen him. There wasn't a single dog\nrenting here, not even a mutt.\nBircham was the kind of rat Dent didn't want to ever be. He had a dumpy, sad\nlittle face and a reedy, high-pitched voice that quavered and sounded nothing\nlike Dent's, which he had been been told was deep and confident. Bircham's\nposture was ruined, bent over by the gravity of his shortcomings.\nBircham plucked an electronic cigarette from his pocket and\nsucked on it, inhaling and letting out some vapors. \"Glad to see the extra time\nI gave you to pay off rent was spent on a good day at the game.\"\n \nDent's neck jerked, head tilting out of the way of the vapors and he reached\nbehind himself, rubbing his shoulder. \"I don't usually lose. I've never been\nlate on a payment before this.\"\nBircham put the electronic cigarette in the pocket of his cheap shirt and\nplaced his arms akimbo, letting out a sigh. \"Usually? Damn it Dent, did you\ntoss my money in the pisser?\"\nDent narrowed his eyes. \"I get that it's gonna be your money--\"\n\"Shit-- I mean, you only just make the payments at last minute's notice and I\nwas expecting the rent tonight. I can't account for unexpected things like this\nwhen I have to pay for everybody's bills and feed myself too. I can't afford to\ncover for some kinda bum.\"\n\"So the difference between a bum and a businessman is one exchange? I gotcha.\"\nDent crossed his arms. \n\"Really, 'cos gambling away things you can't afford sounds\nlike something a bum does. Take care of your basics first, then spend your\nextras on whatever you want.\"\n\"I'm not reckless with my bets,\" Dent snapped, making Birchim flinch and his\nnose tremble. \"And I couldn't afford to bet at all if I put the money towards\nrent first. Hell, I've been paying off the last three months with bet money and\nI get to buy food that doesn't make me feel sick. You telling me there's\nsomething wrong with that, all the while you smoke that crap?\"\n \nBircham's eyes watered, his voice sounding wounded. He walked past Dent, big\nbelly brushing him out of the way when he took a turn, standing near the stone\nslab with high shelves that sandwiched the sink and the cinder block walls near\nthe door. \"I didn't say I was perfect. I didn't say I was the healthiest rat\neither. But I have to make ends meet or else thirty families have to find new\nhomes.\" He pulled out a chair at the counter and took a seat. \"You're not the\nonly person who scares me with possibility that you might not pay rent,\nsometimes. Yeah, I use a few luxury products that get me through the day. But I\ncan afford these things when my system works, and it works with the bare\nminimum of monthly rent. I can try to accommodate as best as I can but I have\nto know ahead of time so the payments work out. Last month I almost thought you\nwouldn't pay at all, considering your car broke down.\"\nDent wasn't interested in having a one-to-one chat with his\nlandlord when he knew it was eventually going to come down to the same scummy\nthing. \"Something bad just happened to me. Has something bad ever happened to\nyou?\"\n \n\"Yeah, lots of things. I'm probably looking at another,\" he said shortly. \"If\nyou don't have that money in one day I'm going to have to put up an eviction\nnotice. I'm at my wit's end, and you don't want to listen to me when I try to\nwork things through. I don't give a damn what you do with your money if you\njust give the minimum that you owe to me for bills. But that doesn't seem to\ndeter you.\"\n\"One day,\" Dent echoed, and then nodded. \"Okay. I'll have the money by then.\"\n\"Don't fuck me,\" said Bircham calmly. He stood up, quietly pushed the stool\nunder the counter, and stepped out the door with his tail dragging. The door snapped shut, and\nDent smacked the counter. He kicked over the trash can, let out a snarl and\nslumped, trying to think. He looked forward, seeing himself reflected from a\nmirror hanging on the bedroom door. He supposed he wasn't bad to look at even\nwhen he did feel screwed. The Doberman's advice played through his head.\nThinking back to his time at Hard Street, he'd get 100 from a thirty minute\nstrip tease. He'd take off his pants, touch himself. Trace the outline of his\ndick in his boxers until it it swelled. Dent knew he was a bit of the grower,\nso the audience members in the camera room always got happy about that. \n \nBut he didn't have the time for that. There were rooms that paid more. Rooms\nwith conditions. With waivers. Rooms where bad stuff could happen, and it was\nall legal.\nTwisting his whiskers with his back paw, he winked at himself, getting\nbutterflies. He really did have a handsome face. He wouldn't let them ruin it,\nbut he'd have to earn more than 100 per show. \n______________________________________________________________________\nDespite its name, Hard Street looked more like a row of\nwarehouses or a chain of electronic stores than a seedy brothel district. Even\nthe sex industry had been streamlined. Dent remembered a time when he was\nyounger and hornier, and he had wanted to see another male naked for the first\ntime. He had stared at a screen from an undisclosed location while a stark\nnaked otter with broad shoulders stared back into the camera, and a menu\nsimilar to a fast food diner blinked up for him on the screen. \nHe had options like stretching, squats, sit ups, jogging in place. To get more\noptions, two things had to happen: you had to pay more, and the performer would\nhave to consent to the pay bracket before he or she was subjected to whatever\nthe user might choose. There was an option that said jizz or no jizz (he picked\njizz every time) and the performer was paid for his performance.\n \nIn later years, when Dent found himself on the opposite side of the screen,\nHard Street felt less exciting. Less taboo. Just another\nservice to earn a paycheck. He would stand in the performance line with his\nclothes in his paws, waiting to be inspected by young women who assigned him a\nwaiting booth until his order was taken. The steel walls of the industry line\nwere made of the same material and bolt pattern of the clothing warehouse he\nworked in. It was just another factory. \nHe had always consented to the easiest work. He'd get a free workout, strip off\nhis clothes, and jerk off without even seeing who was watching him. Easy. But this time, he wasn't consenting\nto easy. His performance tonight was called Blue. There were higher settings\nthat gave exorbitant amounts of money. One was called Red. Another was called\nBlack. Both of those options required a death waiver so the company couldn't be\nsued if things went wrong. Lawyers made it too good in this city for that not\nto be a risk. \n________________________________\nWhen Dent entered his assigned room, he noticed the walls\nwere an immaculate black chrome. Something like a dentist's chair sat in the\ncenter. He slid his smooth tail through the loop at the back, and settled in,\nwaiting for whoever watched from the outside. The metal arm rests were cold to\nthe touch, and had straps for the place where his paws would go. \n \nWhen he sat back against the seat's curvature, the sound of somebody's voice\ncame from the other side of the intercom. \"Bit battle-scarred, but it looks\nlike I made a good choice,\" said a honeyed male voice. It carried a confident\nkind of lilt to it. Husky, certainly sonorous to the ear. \"You're something\nnice to look at, I think. Handsome devil.\"\nDent looked around the empty room, no sight of any camera in view. He stroked\nhis groin, groping his pants a little compulsively, pressing his paw to his\npackage when the voice interrupted him. \"There's no need for that now. Not\nright now, anyway.\" Dent imagined he could hear a grin exposing perfect teeth,\nand he stopped touching himself.\nSo maybe whoever was watching didn't want a show of his privates after all.\nMaybe he just wanted something weird and goofy. \"Just testing the waters,\nratty.\" Dent nodded in no particular direction, biting the inside of his lip\nsoftly. A cutesy pet name felt a little too forward.\n\"You don't need to pet your cock unless I tell you to. I know it feels nice,\nthough,\" he cooed, sounding more interested and a little more gruff. \"This\nisn't just a peep show you know. I didn't pay just to watch a cam whore play\nwith himself.\" Not just to play with\nhimself. Dent smirked. Clearly, whoever was behind the intercom wasn't\nimpressed. \"No, I have some things I'd like to do to you. And I have a short\ntime to do it, so I feel we should get started.\"\n \n\"Augh!\" Dent covered his eyes with his paws, blinded by a bright light that\nshone from the ceiling. The sides of room were built from many panels, or segments\nwith interchangeable parts, looking like the shards of an obsidian disco ball\nwhen they shifted, made from much more expensive and elaborate robotics than\nthe easy rooms. \"Sit back,\" the voice commanded. Dent nodded, slowly, and wrist\nclamps from the mechanical chair clasped into place and tightened mechanically.\nThey weren't too tight but they strapped in good. He couldn't much move his\npaws. \nBelow him, a mechanical whirring sounded, and he felt a part\nof the seat cover vanish when cold air hit his rear. The chair was more like an\namusement park ride, and used robotics to transform different parts of itself\ninto appendages that he could not see, but rather feel. Something soft that felt like warm rubber rolled over him\nwith a textured, bumpy sensation against the bottom of his nethers, getting a\nbit of blood flowing to his groin, making him swell. \"God damn,\" said the voice\nbehind the intercom, a little satisfied. \"That didn't take long, did it? You\nshould see your face. Is this for me, or is this for you?\" Dent shivered. That\nwasn't the most complicated question. \n \n\"It's for you--\"\n\"Damn right,\" replied the male. \"I don't mind you enjoying this a bit. You\naren't going to enjoy everything.\"\n Yeah, your attitude is a little grating. \"Your clothes are just awful.\"\"Oh,\" said Dent. \"I forgot to take them off before the chair tied me down.\"\nHe tried to pull his arms free to unbutton himself, but the straps were too\ntight.\n\"Just awful. You're better off without clothes.\"\n \"Wait, no, this is the only shirt I came\nwith--.\"Rip. Graspers had extended from the side of the wall, ripping the white\nsleeves right off Dent's arms. \"Oh, come on!\" They dropped the tattered cotton\non the floor and gripped again. Dent's eye's widened when they pulled,\nruthless, and he could hear the clicking sounds of buttons falling to the\nfloor.\n \"Now let's wreck those shitty pants.\" \n\"Stop!\" Dent tried to kick the appendages away. He got a good kick in, but a\nsecond set of straps clamped down on his legs, holding them to the foot rest.\nThe mechanical graspers deftly undid the belt clasp with dexterous plucks and\ngrabbed at the sides of Dent's jeans. The pull was slower this time. Stronger.\nDent groaned when he heard the tearing denim. His legs were still covered , but\nhis groin area was completely exposed.\n \n\"Now let's get that underwear.\"\n\"What the hell is your problem!\" Dent shrieked. This tool had no respect for\nhis things, even if it was a performance.\n \"Don't worry about your clothes, ratty.\nYou look better without them.\" \nDent squirmed his hips when the apparatus snagged his boxers,\ntearing them too and giving him a horrible wedgie. When his underwear finally\ntore, it was dropped to the floor, now a useless rag. His dick and balls hung\nout in the cold air, limp while he heard the voice over the intercom laugh.\n\"Much cuter.\"\nThe bumpiness that rolled beneath him touched his naked taint now, and rolled\nacross it  like a plastic, fleshy paint\nroller slathering the bottom of his groin with warm wetness. Dent shivered,\nfeeling his cock get hard even though he was too upset about his clothes to\nspeak. \n\"You know, I picked a rat because I know they have a pretty\nfoul reputation. Turns out you're no exception, huh?\"\nDent resented that, growling. He would have pegged the man over the intercom as\nthe bookie, but his voice was lighter. There were plenty of ways to get dirty.\nPaying to shoot a sitting duck in a barrel didn't seem like the most ethical\nthing to him, anyway. Maybe that's why the payoff for these things was so damn\ngood. Put up with enough losers and sociopaths so they can get their paws off\nof their cocks and back to their keyboards. The cogs are put into place, and\nthe machine keeps working. Dent's throat rumbled as he felt the first surge of\npre dribble out of his cock. \n \nFor now, an entirely different machine was working on Dent . A lovely machine\nthat was warm to the touch and pressed into him with the same calculated\nfirmness over and over again. \"You seem ready to be fucked now,\" said the voice\nagain, still a little bored.\nDent jerked up. \"That's... a bit dicey for me. I thought penetration isn't\nallowed on this setting.\"\n\"Are you hamming this up?\" said the voice dismissively, surprised, and a little\njoy even crept into his tone. \"You're telling me you've never done this before?\nYou read over the setting description, surely? You're in a fuck machine.\"\n\"I mean...\" Dent's voice trailed off as the machine still rolled his taint. He\nfelt a little tense. He knew these places were risky. Dangerous, even, but he\ndidn't expect the machine parts would go into\nhim. Blue setting mentioned some pain. That's all he remembered. \"I'm sorry, I\njust...\"\n\"You're okay? I'll leave you new clothes after.\" said the voice again. For a\nmoment, the machismo was gone, and there was a warble of concern. Even if Dent\ndid feel dirty, and even if he did feel like a deviant, he did sign up for\nthis, and there was a person on the other side of the computer who seemed\nconcerned. Dent didn't have to like this guy... but maybe he could like the\nexperience. Or try to. \n \n\"Yeah,\" Dent decided. \"I'm alright.\" There was a whirring sound, like the groan\nof a motor and a slick, warm piece of what seemed to be metal pressed\nunderneath him. It vibrated, burning the inside of the rat's ears bright red as\nhe moaned. \"I... haven't had one of these things up me,\" he confessed, tugging\non his bonds, ropy tail trying to thrash but held in place by the mold of the\nchair.\n\"It's just a douche.\" There was a fatherly softness to it\nthat bothered Dent. It didn't fit  the\nyouthfulness of that timbre. \"Time to get clean.\" His chest heaved as something\nspread him, and he felt a sharp pinch when something tapered and smooth worked\nits way inside of his tail hole. A whistling sound went off, and warm water\nshot up his bowels, making him shout. The runoff splashed underneath him,\ndripping off of his fur and down a drain anchored at the room's concave center.\n\"There. Now the prostate stimulator will go in easier. I'll get a nice video\nshot of it sliding around inside you.\"\nDent cursed as warm metal pushed against his bum, feeling this edge was round\nand thick. Gel with a silky texture squirted into him, and the massager rubbed\nagainst him in a circular fashion, working him gently. He felt some new\nsensation when it pressed against him. His legs shook, and the fur on his arm\nstood on its end as he felt his pucker spread. The round head pushed inside,\nslowly with what seemed a good minute worth of testing. The spread came with a\npinch, causing him to screw up his face. More gel pumped into him, warming from\nthe center out. The round piece curved, pressing inside toward the direction of\nhis cock, and the rat looked up, sucking in air. Dent thought the touch was\nmuch similar to two previous sensations he knew: the first was like touching a\npressure point on his thumb to relieve a bad headache. The second was like when\nhe lost control while he stroked himself off, and he couldn't stop the milky\njizz from welling up all over his black paw. \n\"You don't have to stay quiet,\" said the man on the intercom,\npanting like a dog. \"That's probably the closest thing to a cock you've felt\ninside of your virgin asshole, isn't it? The vents let me smell you. You're\nworking up a nice stink.\" \n \n\"Shut the hell up,\" Dent stammered. He'd had enough of this guy. \"I don't\nsmell.\"\n\"Then why's my cock is so hard,\" said the voice again, tongue audibly lolling.\nDent was certain it was some sort of canid when he heard him lick his chops.\n\"But speaking of smells, here's the part you're not gonna like. Hint-- it's not\nthe dildo going up your ass.\"\nThe lights in the room went out, leaving Dent only with the\nsquelching sounds of the smooth, warm metal now churning into his rear, forcing\nliquid from the tip of his cock and groans from his mouth. Something whirred on\nthe ceiling, and Dent's ear's jerked. Before he knew it, his snout was entrapped\nin a soft, padded cage, forcing his jaw open with a rounded shape. The cage was\nsimilar to an eye doctor's oculus, the sides of him strapped in. To top it off,\na pungent cloth covered his long nose.It smelled like the subway, full of dogs\non a rainy day. He squirmed, stuck in place. What the hell was this thing? He\ntried to speak, but all he could do was gag and sputter.\n \n\"Told you wouldn't like it,\" lilted the voice. \"Those are the underpants I've\nbeen sweating in for the last few hours. Did a little work out, so they're\nfresh as opposed to foul.\" He punctuated the last word. \"You're gonna be\nsniffing these until you come.\"\n\"The hell would you make me smell your underwear?\" he tried to say, speech\ngarbled. The scent was sharp and damp, and very male. Definitely doggy, but a\nlittle sharper... and a little cleaner than most he smelled. \n\"You really should get familiar with the smell of my groin\nbefore you drink my jizz.\"\nDent shivered. \"What did you say?\" The lights turned on again. He could see that\nwhatever had his mouth propped open had a narrow tube slipped inside of it and\ndisappeared into the ceiling. Sticky pads adhered to his abs and groin by\nmechanical rods, seeping into his fur and cooling his sensitive flesh. \"Just\ntake a deep breath.\" \n\"Wait.\" His heart skipped a beat. He shouted out of the side of his mouth.\nShocks went through his body, lighting his neurons on fire, bathing him in both\npain and pleasure simultaneously as the shaft inside of him stopped pumping,\npressed firmly against him and buzzed. The heavy sounds of the dog's pant\ncovered his own. His dick was jerking, covered in its own slick while it\ndripped down to the base of his balls.\n \n\"Almost,\" said the voice. This turned into a mantra, echoes of 'almost'\ndrowning out the sound of Dent's pulse. The dog barked out a trail of long, low\ngroans, and another  momentary shock went\nto Dent's abs. His whole body shook in the chair. He was wet from every end\nnow, electricity still running through his muscles\nThe scent and sound of the dog clouded his mind as he looked above, startled.\nThe tube connected to his mouth filled with a cloudy, opaque white liquid,\nwhich he knew could only be the dog's jizz. He closed his eyes, feeling the\ntube in his mouth, pretending the mouth piece was just his water bottle. He had\nno idea how it would taste, only knowing the flow would inevitably get to him.\nWhen it seeped out the opposite end, too much of it filled him, cramming the\npockets of his cheeks, warm and murky with a thick texture.  When another electric shock was applied, he\ngurgled through the scream. The smell, the taste, the sound and the feel of sex\nwashed over him, forcing the pressure in his balls to build up, push out the\nend of his cock and splatter thickly on his black belly.\nHe sat in silence, damp and sweating. The apparatus holding\nhis head in place disassembled, freeing him from its clamps and his wrist and\nleg straps opened. The rod sticking into him pulled out with a gentle\nretraction, making him gasp. 850 credits\nfor 45 minutes read the blinking screen on the wall in neon green letters.\n \nWarm mist filled the room, tingling his fur and his bum until they suddenly\nstopped. His sticky pads melted away, running off the sides. He was grateful\nthat he wouldn't be ripping them off with large clumps of his chest fur. The\nexit sign on the opposite side of the room directed him back to a bunk, where\nhe whimpered, unsure how to get home without any clothes. \nWithin minutes, a young rabbit knocked on his door, providing\na white shirt and black sweatpants in a clear bag. She also pressed a note into\nhis paw and left him quickly without a word. The clothes were simple but soft,\nand slowly, sorely, he dressed himself, then put his credit card into a slot to\ncollect his pay.\nHe pulled the note from its envelope, reading over the words\nas a card fell from the folded paper and clattered to the ground.  Now that you're clean, you ought to dress like it. Buy something better for\nnext time.\nThere was a tip: 500."}