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"Are you ready?"

Was I? Honestly? I had no fucking idea. "John?"

Lincoln had been asking me that question time and time again ever since we'd graduated from just dating to hooking up. It had become even more frequent when I had moved in with him a year into the relationship after it became impossible to avoid him. It had gone from tender moments of showering together, cuddling on the sofa in front of some shitty movie to a point where every night was filled with the sounds of heated growls and grunts and the heady stench of sweat and cum, tarnished slowly by chains, leather, collars and more. I know why he asked - I mean, I get it, I totally do - but just each time I heard those three words before we began always gave me a chill. Maybe that was because I knew full well what would follow, before I'd nod my head with a steeled face and set jaw. I'd clench my teeth together as I gave the affirmation to the wolf who was just a foot shorter than myself, already listening out for the key word I'd been trained to hear over the many months we'd been together.

"Alright then," he would say, so calm and softly, a small smile gracing his lips that smothered any depraved giddiness I knew was bubbling within him - though I might add he did nothing to hide the salacious glint behind his cold blue eyes. Then, without skipping a beat, he'd clear his throat and announce aloud in a sterner tone, "Milkshake."

A little childish, I know, but I like to think the effect it had on me was immediate. It was our little code word we'd drummed up together in what turned out to be a rather tense, terrifying, but altogether productive date out in a quaint little coffee shop. We'd gone from just boyfriends to 'Master' and 'slave' over lunch. I don't think the latter needs any explanation. As the code word was spoken I assumed the correct posture, as was expected of me. Head down, paws behind my back, gaze fixed to Master's footpaws; I tried my best to relax as my hooves remained shoulder width apart, allowing my cage and balls to swing free.

My chest, feeling thick with muscles as everything seemed to tense, almost seemed to puff out in my periphery as I tried to settle into the right subspace I knew I'd have to find. It was somewhat difficult given the rush of testosterone in my veins as I couldn't escape the fact in my mind that I looked good. I'd always taken pride in how I looked, always tried to keep a trim figure, and Lincoln often encouraged me to keep up my fitness. As I stood there before him, naked as opposed to his clothed, I ought to have felt a little embarrassed or uneasy. Being on display like that would have made any normal man at least have the insurmountable urge to cover his privates or avert eye contact so he wouldn't have to deal with the situation in front of him. But me, I stood there almost boldly, fixing my gaze ahead as Lincoln drank in the scene, not an ounce of modesty flaring in my dignity. It was almost a challenge of the wolf to order me to take the position for presenting myself, like he was expecting me to cower and shrink away, only giving me the chance to stand up strong and tall upon both hooves.

But the feeling as were somewhat dampened when my anxiety kicked in, the reality of things dawning on me. Unlike any other night, tonight was supposed to be the grand finale, so to speak. The culmination of all our work was to finally come to its peak in tonight's session, and it had me faltering. It was that kind of feeling where even though you've told yourself exactly what's happening several times over, tried to remind your brain what's gonna go down, but it suddenly creeps up on the rest of you when you're not looking and takes hold like a vice. I had that in my chest, clammy and wet, sticking to my ribcage and forcing me to redouble my efforts at maintaining composure. All it would take is a single glance away or a small shiver out of place, and Lincoln would set upon me demanding answers to questions I really didn't want to be responding to. I had to keep control, though what little that may be.

Lincoln took a step back to admire what was his, assuming his superior role in our little 'game', if you could even call it that. I wasn't wearing much - these days I never did when around him - so the wolf had near unrestricted access to eat me up with his greedy eyes. I could see the hunger burning behind them already, the same unrelenting hunger that had been lit up since the day had started, since we'd begun this whole ordeal all those months back. Anything I did have on was merely there for function and little else. I was naked, with the only thing that constituted as 'clothing' being the chastity cage fitted around my cock and balls. The cold, unyielding steel hugged my genitals as if it were some demented trap, a band snug behind my sack at the base of everything, the 'cage' portion slid over my shaft, a size far too small in my opinion but the wolf had been training me since day one when I'd first agreed to having the thing locked onto me, the sizes gradually becoming smaller and smaller until it was like trying to cram a hammer through a keyhole. He always wanted me to know how I was utterly at his mercy, that no matter how hard I tried I couldn't just forget about being locked away when I was desperate for release. Whether we were just chilling at home or if I was busy at work, the cage was the insidious voice in my head whispering dirty thoughts and then laughing to itself as I whined alone in my isolated suffering. According to Lincoln, it was to keep my attention focused on him. But I reckon he got some twisted delight knowing how he could make me subservient with the least amount of effort.

"Good boy," he spoke, a grin hiding in his voice as he tried to remain passive, "Go to the playroom and be ready for me. I need to get changed first."

The wolf was still dressed in plain clothing, nothing at all menacing or imposing for the mood. We'd just finished date night, the one time a week where we set aside some time to just share one another's company. I think it was me who'd suggested we first have the evening in, because it was cheaper to not go out constantly for meals or heading down to the local bar. The straight guy in me still felt obliged to pay my way in the relationship, though the dynamics were chalking up to be wildly different to any relationship I'd had before, so I think Lincoln embraced the idea for much the same reasons I did - at least, at first he did. As we spent more nights cuddling and eating in we became more affectionate, and with that I think the wolf just saw it as an excuse to ramp up my training given that we were having a lot more alone time together and nobody would disturb us on a night everyone assumed would be just for the two of us. It set a schedule, and flushed me out of shying away from my training. I guess you could argue it had backfired on me, but I'm afraid to admit some small part of me was glad he'd taken control of that too.

I gave him a nod. It was no longer my place to speak. If I'd had any trepidation before, I'd lost the chance to voice it. Only thing stopping Lincoln from doing something - anything - I didn't like or want was the safe word. And even then, that didn't mean I would save myself from whatever that may be. It merely meant a delay, a reprieve from the session. Lincoln had a silver tongue, after all.

Green kept things going, amber gave me a moment, and red was an altogether stop, but all three safe words were really just formalities.

I left our bedroom and headed across the landing to what was supposed to be the guest room. Only it wasn't for guests, not in the conventional sense. It was a room designed primarily for me, a place where we, if I decided it, would contain our arrangement and maintain the pretence of a normal couple beyond those four walls. It was the only door in the house that had an actual lock on it. Lincoln, quick-thinking and smooth as he was, explained to people that it was just there for privacy's sake whenever he had relatives visiting - and he would tell exactly the same lie to our family members, only switched it out for friends coming to stay. Nobody suspected anything, and perhaps that was for the best.

Opening the door, I was immediately greeted with the heavy smell of cleaning chemicals, leather, cum, and lube. I imagine, though I've never been, that it's the same kind of smell you'd be met with if you worked on a porn film and had just walked freshly onto set. As I swung the door open further and adjusted to the stench, I let myself settle into a room I'd been in far too many times to admit. Sometimes for far too long as well, but that was part and parcel of our arrangement.

It was a relatively average sized room, nothing spectacular - something which Lincoln often complained about, insisting we ought to think about converting the loft so that we can rework the rooms around - but it was the décor and the furnishing which I reckon would frighten most. For lack of a better word, it wasn't a room so much as it was a dungeon.

This, at least in my eyes, was Lincoln's torture chamber. His playroom, as he always called it.

One wall had been left as it was from the previous owners; a whole wall was dedicated to wardrobe space, built directly along one side so that it stretched from one end of the room to the other. It was one of those specialty sorts; comprised entirely of mirrors so that it gave the illusion the room was twice its normal size. But in its reflection was the rest of my nightmare, our little nasty boudoir. I remember Lincoln telling me that he likes to indulge in the narcissist in him and so kept it when he converted the room. I didn't doubt him. Behind those mirrored doors were all sorts of gear that was being hidden away from prying eyes who might have made it this far and had somehow miraculously not caught on to the purpose of the room. But it was probably a dead giveaway when you turned your attention to the rest of the room. Though the blinds were drawn - a blackout design, so nobody could see in - the overhead lights lit up a harsh, unforgiving bloom. Not only was it an assault to the eyes, but also the body. I'd spent enough time to know that underneath their glare one could get impossibly hot, more so when your boyfriend had decided you were going to wear a gimp suit for his entertainment, leaving you trapped beneath layers of thick rubber that refused to breathe. A bondage cross had been fixed to one wall, surrounded on either side by various ropes, whips and other tools, whilst rather unassuming draws and cupboards were home to yet more gear Lincoln didn't want to keep on display. A crated cage was tucked away to the side, seldom in use but always there if needs be, and a few stools not too far away from that. However what might have arguably been the main centrepiece today was what I could only describe as the 'fuck-bench'. It was a stock-like contraption that allowed someone, chiefly someone my size, to stand upon on all fours, knees and forearms resting upon padded arms that levered out from its main body, with yet another padded cushion to sit right up against the torso under the belly and diaphragm. Basically it was the sort of thing Lincoln used to put me into a position that was ripe for doggy-style amongst other things. I wasn't surprised to see it set up. We'd been using it on a near constant basis for the past few months, again all part of my training, and for my boyfriend it was the ideal height for him to have... access.

I shuddered at the thought. Even now, it still felt horribly pervasive and wrong. But the more fucked up it was, the more I wanted to do it, the more I longed to submit. That part scared me most.

I took a look at myself in the mirrors, probably the last chance to see myself as sane and innocent before the night would be through, and I let my eyes wander over the reflection. After months of training and many nights spent under the firm, cruel but kindly touch of Lincoln's weapons, I could honestly say as I looked at myself that I looked rather good looking. At least, I liked to think I was. I was a thoroughbred Akhal-Teke, apparently a rarity on the western side of the world, so I bore an exquisite coat of browned gold. My mane, a darker black, was combed and kept conditioned to prevent it from tangling, and so combined with a shimmering pelt I cut a rather ambiguous silhouette as to which team I batted for. I've been approached by guys in the past, and girls seemed to love the concept of a stallion who wasn't the typical draft-style ruggedness. They would get all the trimmings of an ordinary, presentable mate who could still tear them a new one in the bedroom thanks to my natural endowment. Though I'd had many girlfriends in the past, I would never forgive myself if I didn't admit that it was Lincoln who'd shown me how to see my own beauty. The moment of clarity, the memory that's stuck most in my head, was when he had me suspended by my wrists to the ceiling, body stretched out as I dangled upon the tips of my hooves, unable to escape; Lincoln had been lashing me ruthlessly with a riding crop, ordering me to embrace the stallion I was but refused to be, until I was raw and sobbing and begging him to show me. He'd taken my muzzle, closed up right behind me and pressed his body to mine, and directed me to look in the mirror, whispering into my ear that this was the man he loved to see. Sore with blotches of red, my face a mess, and defeated eyes that spoke tremendous volumes, I saw that even in this state my Master longed for me, and wanted me this way. There I stood shivering in his arms sniffling as I saw the natural grace he so adored.

We'd only been a week into dating then, just testing the boundaries on impact play.

Since then I'd grown to appreciate what he loved about me. My relatively toned build, whilst I had always seen as feeble, he declared was supple; strong, definitely firm, but nothing that bordered upon thuggish, he had said. My face, whilst naturally touted as long, thin and stalking, he saw as charmingly haunting, that it was an expression he could never forget, etched in pain and disarmingly handsome. My issues with my body image seemed only to lie with me though. I had never seemed to be out of a relationship, but never had any of my partners made me feel so quietly distinct and beautiful. The longest time I went without being attached to someone was incidentally the period before I was introduced to Lincoln. Even then, we remained as friends for quite a while before he invited me out to drinks on National Mating Day since we were both bachelors at the time, where he made his first - and now that I think about it, only - pass at me. Politely I had declined him then, informing him I was straight and had no interest in men, something I was and still am adamant about to this day, but it lingered on me. As I stared into my reflection, affirming to myself I was still a ladies' man, I could recall as clear as day my tortured thoughts as I actually considered bedding with the wolf. He'd been just as charming then as he was now, and he was disarmingly collected and persuasive. We'd been fast friends and then, when I figured I knew everything about my sexuality, he threw a spanner into the works and had me doubt myself. He told me I was the sexiest horse he'd ever met, that I had such a pretty face and that he'd love to see me put that mouth of mine to good use. Even as a straight man, I found all his little suggestively kinky compliments to be astonishingly hot, though I was always quick to denounce whatever he said - only at the time however, as nowadays if I contradicted him I'd be reprimanded quite rightly. But back then it was as if some part of me liked the fact he found me to be slutty and sexy, even if I was never gonna take a walk on his side of things and denied everything.

It had barely been twenty-four hours before I'd given him the call back after those drinks, although I told everyone it was longer. He never called me out on my bullshit though. I think he understood my desire to keep some discretion to myself.

At the time, when I had decided to finally relent and say yes to giving it a go in the bedroom, I had figured it would be me mounting him. I was taller, arguably stronger than him, and I reckoned that being entirely straight gave me a slight edge in that nothing within me wanted to take a dick up the ass. Apparently I was wrong though, because before I knew it I was on my knees, stark naked and harder than I'd ever been with eight fat inches of wolf cock stuffed down my throat. To make the point Lincoln slyly commented that he was absolutely right when he said my lips would look sweet wrapped around his huge dick. As straight as I was or may have been, watching myself in our reflection, a small voice inside me agreed with him, something that burnt with me even now.

He'd be joining me soon; I didn't have time to stick to my reverie. I did as I'd been ordered to and climbed onto my bench. Manoeuvring myself into position, I sidled up into place, resting my arms and legs onto the available padding and making myself as relaxed as possible. My heart was racing in my chest, every sense on fire as I began to count the never-ending seconds. Lincoln would take his time that much I knew. Mostly because I think he just liked to enjoy getting himself dressed for sessions - he put way too much effort into it sometimes - but I believed he let the moments between draw out to let me stew and simmer in my own panicked thoughts. I could feel the dulled burn of the plastic-like leather beneath my limbs, but I was able to at least push it from my mind, trying to focus instead on the cold, stiff air that practically cocooned me, but it just left me feeling violated and sieged. But then again, everything in this room violated me, whether it was purely psychological or physical. It was like the feeling of being not just watched but drooled over, like some predator was gazing down at me with ravenous intent, something I knew to be true thanks in part to the live feed Lincoln had rigged to the playroom, with cameras hidden about the place. No doubt he'd advertised we'd be having a session tonight to our countless followers - or so I've been told.

I heard him enter. It was hard not to, left alone in the silence, and my ears instinctively swivelled to locate the sound as he gently shut the door. I snuck a careful glance over my shoulder; nothing too long out of fear of disobedience or being caught, but enough to get an idea of what I would be dealing with.

Lincoln was the most attractive man I'd ever met. Considering I've said this from the point of view of a straight guy, I've always envied his innate ability to somehow look good no matter what the scene. When we'd first met I thought he had a wonderful smile, piercing cold blue eyes, and a coat that was almost blacker than black but with a lustrous shine to it. I'd spent many nights just burrowing my fingers through his fur when he'd decided he wanted to be the little spoon for a change and it was glorious. He was, in some ways, perhaps a little more rugged than I was, despite being probably a foot shorter. Lincoln was more of a gym enthusiast than I was and often it was more he who pushed me to go so as to not only maintain the ideal physique for him but to improve and get fitter. The more toned I became, the more turned on he could be, that much I'd learnt. Tonight he stood dressed down somewhat for the occasion. Whereas usually he would always crack out the leather cap I'd gotten him for his birthday and a pair of mirrored shades to hide away his blank yet deepening stare, he'd neglected to put any of that on. Perhaps the defining feature was not the harness he wore, but the surgical gloves he had hugging every contour of his palms. Compared to the leather get-up, it was the more peculiar element to his costume. Though I knew the real purpose, but my mind was keen not to dwell on it. Instead I focused on the harness, a staple of his attire. He'd decided on a chest brace it seemed: a harness fitted to loop around his shoulders and armpits, connected across the torso over his constrained muscles. I could have sworn he was flexing beneath the leather, testing the strength and seeing how hard he could make himself bulge against it. No doubt he was enjoying the rush of feeling powerful. Beyond that he wore nothing else, and so I had ample view of his crotch.

Honestly, it could have put me to shame, being a horse as I was. I already knew just what monster lurked inside his swollen sheath, but just looking at it now had me wincing and whimpering to myself. Eight inches long, sure, but its thickness was unrivalled. For a wolf, it was almost unnatural just how thick he was. Every time he whipped it out during sex I just crumpled inside a little more, my ass clenching as I felt myself already beginning to surrender. As I returned my gaze forwards, that image of his fat sheath and heavy balls screamed in my head; the dark, sweaty flesh of his shaft, the pointed tip followed by its blunt head, the bloated knot that promised to wreck any hole ever unfortunate enough to come across. I knew this was what I yearned for, even though I knew it would hurt and I knew what was in store for me. Even as some part of me resisted, I felt myself throb harder in my cage as he lingered in my mind.

He was my Master and I was his slave. His 'bitch', as he liked to call me, though I resented the name. I wasn't some girl, but then again someone like me ought not to be submitting to some smaller man.

Silently he walked over to me, footpaws softly padding against the hard wood floor. I didn't dare turn around, instead clenched my fists and dug my fingers into my palm in a bid to keep myself distracted. I could feel his eyes bearing down on me like daggers, cutting through my skin and leaving nothing exposed.

I tensed up involuntarily when I felt a groping paw stroke at my backside. Lincoln cupped my right cheek and softly smoothed over the tight flesh before gripping it with his thumb and prising it apart. At the mere glimpse of my hole, I swore I smelt a backwash of musk and arousal hit my senses as clearly Master was relishing in my body. Just the feeling of his fingers digging into my buttock, not exactly treating me with the utmost care for my own comfort, it gave me such a dark thrill that I was engaging in something forbidden. No matter how many times we did this, it'd always feel wrong, and yet I'd always ask, pretty much beg, for more without really understanding why I wanted it.

"We'll start with fingers first," I heard him announce, paw releasing my cheek and his footsteps moving to the other side of the room. There was a slide of doors opening, boxes being rummaged in, draws being opened. He called back to me from where he must have been searching, "How many to begin with? Two or three?"

Though it may have seemed like a matter of preference on my behalf, a choice I got to make that was maybe the last vestige of control I had on the matter, but that would be too quick a judgement. No, there was a right answer and a wrong answer, and I knew full well which I was meant to pick. That didn't mean I didn't have some say however.

There had been one time, very early on into my training, where I'd finally bitten the bullet and gotten tired of constantly being pushed relentlessly, and so I'd opted for two out of tiredness. Lincoln had gone stone cold quiet then, but continued anyway at the time, only to then later when we were supposed to be finished and cleaning up for the night, had hauled me by my ear across the room and forced me into the crate-cage, shoving a vibrating plug up my ass and scolding me for being such a pussy and that I didn't deserve the bed that night. I don't think I ever got any sleep, just hour after hour of frustrated agony from overstimulation, nowhere near an orgasm but desperately needing one. I was milked dry by sunrise and not let out until Lincoln had had a lazy lie in and breakfast in bed - alone, I might add. He had said it was as much an emotional strain for him as it was physical for me. All he wanted to do was treat me as decently as possible, but rules were rules and Master had to come first.

"Three, sir," I declared in a firm voice. He had insisted I talk like a man, not whine and moan like some sissy he could pick up from the bar. This was his ultimate fantasy, to take a vigorously straight male and to break him in every way imaginable until, to the outside world, he remained exactly the same, if not more confident, but behind closed doors he became a massive slut for any man to use. Lincoln had been tenting the hardest boner I'd seen when he'd admitted that, after a few weeks of fooling around.

"Good boy." The footsteps returned to my backside, and I heard a stool drag across the floor for the wolf to sit upon. I could hear him getting himself comfy, laying out all he'd collected, though I wasn't allowed to know what. He dumped a pile of fresh towels off to one side - I ought to know, as I'd washed them myself: all in the day's work as a slave.

From behind me came the sound of something squelching. It was a thick slurp of a sound, like something too viscous was being squeezed from a bottle. I knew the sound intimately, as night after night I'd heard it over and over as it let out its lewd gurgle. It was essentially lube, but not the sort you'd buy from an adult store or online. They were the weak sort designed for light play, the stuff I was much used to using myself. But Lincoln bought industrial strength practically, ordered online from a unique warehouse that specialised in all things kinky. I'm pretty sure really it was just rebranded standard veterinary lube, the powdered kind where you just add water to create one hell of a sloppy mess. Master loved to use the stuff as he adored the sensation of it against his paws and arms, of feeling it squelch in my hole as he filled me to the brim with it and more until I was gushing with the stuff. It felt good too, as much as I'd be remiss to admit it, the full sensation with sloppy insides.

As if to answer my thoughts, I felt the nozzle of the bottle Master must have been using pressed to my dry pucker, the tip pushed rather callously inside. I had already cleaned myself out for the day - certain rules of our relationship dictated that I flush my ass out every morning and before date night begins, something I'd grown used to over time. But I felt the rough plastic, smooth as it might have been were it not for the edge around the nozzle, and gritted my teeth against the sensation. I still couldn't quite get accustomed to the alien feeling of something intruding in a place it really shouldn't go. But no complaints, not for something so slight and petty; I'd have worse punishment than just the night in the cage if I dared to say anything at so early a stage. What followed was a slightly sickening splurge of lube injecting right into my ass. I felt the cold syrupy goo sink into my guts and either drool back out from my rim or trickle deeper into me. It sat there, just in my abdomen, as Master kept squirting more and more, not seeming to have any desire to stop soon. I just kept my teeth gritted and waited it out, trying to focus more on the clench of my jaw than of the need to shit building in my guts. There was always that wall you had to breach, no matter how much anal you actually did. Lincoln had taught me that much, and he'd trained me to overcome that hurdle.

It wasn't so hard really, not when you've been kept in chastity for month after month with no relief whatsoever. The throb of your dick against a cold steel cage is enough to keep anyone distracted. I'd been reluctant when he'd suggested it at first - every man would be - but it really did help in a warped logic kind of way. I used to be the typical kind of jock when I dated; we'd work up a sweat, I'd throw all my effort into foreplay, and by the time we got to hiding the sausage I was already near bursting. What usually followed was a few, frank minutes of rutting before I'd be desperately staving off my orgasm until she came. You'd think I'd have gotten better at it over time, but I just stayed this one-trick pony until I met Lincoln. When we had first fucked, he got pissed when I blew too early during a blowjob - him sucking me, I might add - and my mood had plummeted. I had wanted to call it off then, to try another time or to give me a minute but he refused. He demanded that I roll over and present my ass or there'd be hell to pay. That was the first time I'd ever been rimmed, and after that night Lincoln had made it imperative that I cum only when given permission. The chastity cage had been almost symbolic of that, as by the time he was locking me away I'd pretty much got the hang of not shooting too soon. I figured nothing would change and that I'd forget about the cage, so I agreed rather naively, but after a few days I was a mess, begging him to release me early. There's something utterly humiliating about losing the ability to touch yourself; all I had access to were my balls, so I was left groping at steel trying to feel something. By the end of the week I was horny all the time. Not like the kind of arousal where you'd get a bothering thought in your head that wouldn't leave until you'd rubbed one out, but a burning lust that swirled in your gut and threatened to take over everything unless you sated it. When week two finally came about I was on my knees at all time, desperate for whatever Lincoln would throw my way. Maybe he'd skull-fuck me, other times he'd finger my hole and milk me, I didn't care what, so long as I was getting something. He'd turned me into a needy bitch, crawling to his footpaws at every waking moment not necessarily because it was expected of me - after all, it was my duty - but because I wanted to be there. I wanted him to use me so I could satisfy the need inside.

Once Master was satisfied that I was prepped enough, the bottle was removed and placed aside, but not before a few final dollops of lube were splodged out. I braced myself for the inevitable as fingers scooped up the escaping lube and strung it around themselves, not wasting a single drop - or rather trying to. They were pushed at my hole and pressed firmly against the tight rim. I grunted but heaved back all the same, trying to ease myself so things would go more smoothly. Master didn't get any of his fingers in at first, but we both knew this. We were both well aware of what we were doing. Well, he was, I just knew what was going to happen to me and was forced to endure the ride. I tried to just fill my head with white noise as he went back to press those fingers into me again, repeating the same motion and pushing back, until I felt my rim give way. It wasn't exactly a challenge, by now it was probably more just routine and I was even starting to enjoy the feeling, and my hole spread around his digits like a welcomed glove. Two slipped in without a problem, a third made things tighter but not unbearable. I was just aware of a constant stretch, a dull sensation but nothing unpleasant.

Three fingers were slowly slid back and forth against my entrance, moving just a bit a first before Master was working them from one knuckle to the next, graduating slowly from the first all the way to the third. For fuck's sake, I could never get used to that feeling. No matter how much I expected it, how much I dreamt of having Master's paw return to my ass, I could never get over how the violation felt. I let out a heavy sigh, expelling all the tension I'd been holstering in my shoulders as I tried to relax.

"Good boy, nice and easy, just open up my hole for me." His soothing words were relatively moot, but it was reassuring to hear his voice, letting me know he was actually paying attention.

Another squirt, brief and passing, before I felt him press his paw to my hole once again. This time there were four fingers and I don't know if it's even possible but I felt myself clenching my jaw tighter, eyes scrunched shut and probably bearing a horrific grimace as I felt him open up my hole. A year or so ago and I would have walked right out the door if a girl had even so much as brushed my ass with a pinkie, but here I was, ass up in the air and panting with ragged breaths as some man decided I was his bitch for the evening, and every evening thereafter. Four fingertips were pressed into my rim, stretching it wider, as each digit slowly began to sink into me. I could feel every twitch from his paw, unintentional or not, like eerily cold tendrils that were pushing deep inside. Master didn't stop until he had the base knuckles pressed deep into my hole, only the thumb keeping the whole paw from just slipping inside and locking me around the wrist. Fuck, it was gonna happen soon. It wouldn't be long now until he had his whole paw inside me...

"Ease up there, boy. It'll only be harder if you resist."

"Yes sir." I managed to bark out, but he was already sliding his first paw out and replacing it with the other. He moved his paws alongside one another; one retracted as the other pushed, palms slipping against one another with the greasy lube. The gloves just made everything feel so much more smoother and slicker, but I think for my end of things it made it feel all the more unnatural. Part of me just wanted him to fuck me, but we were nowhere near close to that yet, not tonight. Though I longed just to feel his dick inside me rather than his fingers, he had made sure I was well aware that wasn't the plan this evening.

"Good boy." He was easing in and out of me with both paws, four fingers stretching my hole wide before being withdrawn, not a moment's hesitation before another paw was to replace its sibling. I wanted to scream out and beg him to stop, a frantic mood coming over me as I could feel the strength leaving my rim, knowing soon he'd have me so stretched out there could be all sorts of sadistic things he could do to me. This was no thing for a straight man.

Fucking hell, what if my girlfriends could see me now? What if my family could? How ashamed would they be, to see a man like myself, so proud and masculine, reduced to this wolf's little bitch as I flicked my tail anxiously, his paws working me into hysteria. It felt uneasily good, the deeper his paws might slip, the fingertips brushing every so often over my prostate. But it was a redundant effort, as I was already on edge and desperate to shoot. Massaging my prostate would have just milked out what load remained and left me unsatisfied, so all I could do was drip uselessly in my cage, and feel the sticky strands of my pre leak down from my cock and onto the floor.

I let out a soft groan, more from fear and frustration than anything else. Shitting hell, he was wiggling his fingers in me, each digit stroking against my innards. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck...

I don't know how long he kept at this. Sometimes it was just the one paw, other times it was both pressed flat against one another as if in prayer. It grew harder and harder to tell the more he kept at it. Every now and then, intermittently, he'd add just a bit more lube, either to his paws or to my cleft, before scooping and slurping it inside me as if he were feeding me the wrong way round. I wanted to scream in all honesty. That feeling that sort of sits in your chest and clamps down tight around your lungs, that feeling of absolute anxiety, it's a horrific feeling: a sensation not unlike fear of the unknown but rather the disgust of knowing. Even as he'd push his paw a little deeper, making sure to keep adding on more and more as he stretched me out, I knew what was coming. Wet, slick squelches filled the air above our breathing; the bursts of squeaking leather beneath my limbs as I desperately fought the urge to fidget or worse still run away, it all just descended into one seamless sound that drowned my ears.

Master was hard too, probably from the sight of his hole opening up to him with his paws digging against the rim. I didn't need to look to know. I could smell him in the air, heavier than my own scent somehow, maybe explaining the reason to why I submit so easily, and it plugged my nose like a pungent stench. Above all else, his smell was something I was exquisitely familiar with. I don't even think Lincoln would allow me to not know what he smelt like, being an alpha male and all that. I'd spent plenty time under his armpits licking them clean and acting as his personal towel boy after his gym trips. He was already a naturally sweaty guy; his shaggy pelt of thick, rough fur left him insulated to the cold but boiling beneath the heat. Under the hot lights in his playroom alone, his musk could suffocate me until all I was breathing was him. It was like a dark, pervasive stench, something you knew you couldn't escape, and it claimed like an unrelenting tide - bitter, acrid, but unmistakably male. Every breath of the stuff left me on edge, like a drug, and it would spike through my system leaving me wanting more. Though he carried the scent with him under ordinary circumstances, it was during our sessions that it would begin to take hold. Whenever he revealed himself, when he let his fat cock breathe in the open air or when he'd bury my muzzle under his tail to eat out his tight hole, it became potent and vile, thick to the tongue almost until you could smack your lips and feel it stuck to your cheeks. It was at this stage where his musk was swimming in the air, his cock hard and exposed to the elements, most likely drooling pre at this point in quantities that rivalled mine, was a subconscious signal to me as I inhaled his scent. It was a signal that screamed of an alpha. Deep in my brain I reckoned my instincts registered he was there in my company, and that I had better behave like a good bitch should when in the presence of his Master. I always took it as a sign to be on my best behaviour from that point on. His temper was fair, but easily rattled. Disobedience was seldom tolerated.

I kept my gaze fixed to the skirting boards, as if fixating upon something else constituted enough of a distraction. It didn't, but I tried my hardest.

There was a small shift in his paw. I believe I felt it, though the movement was probably only slight and so unnoticeable, but after months of this treatment I was hypersensitive to it all. Master curled his thumb into his palm, creating a more streamlined shape for his paw, as if pretending to slide into a puppet glove of some kind. My whole body braced itself even before I could react, my shoulders tensing up and my limbs going rigid. My eyes widened as I waited for the feeling. The worst part was the wait. Behind me Master tutted,

"Easy there," he admonished gently, like I was slow idiot, "Let me have my hole."

It was his hole.

"Yes sir."

I forced myself to relax, as much as every fibre in me screeched not to. It was hard to try and convince my muscles that there was nothing wrong, that everything was fine, even though in my head everything was to the contrary. The internal struggle wasn't small in the slightest - that would be a wild understatement. Like every session, my brain was a messed up jumble of conflicting thoughts and feelings, all of which didn't stop the oncoming inevitability of the situation. But still they'd arise, make me question my choices, beg me to finally bring an end to all this, only to then plead with me to go even further than before.

So far he'd not even touched me once, save for his fingers on my hole. Not a single glance to my balls or my caged cock, nothing sexual, and I reckon he hadn't even given himself a stroke either. Or maybe he had. I could definitely imagine himself just jacking his meat lazily with a sloppy grip from stretching out my ass as he enjoyed the scene of me submitting before him, my hole gaping to his touch. He'd have such a shit-eating grin on his muzzle that'd have me humiliated in one look, relishing in his conquest as he worked himself into fervour. Typically though he'd just be focused on me, and as sweet and tender as it sounds, it really wasn't a good thing sometimes. There was rarely a moment where you could break away or have a chance to rest, because he refused to let up. He just kept going, brutally pushing you until you either broke or met his expectations. I wish I could say it was the latter, but often it was a fine line between the two.

He pushed forward all the same, just as I expected him too. With a weight behind his paw, Master eased himself into me; he pressed into my rim and finally I was beginning to feel the strain once more. From a two fingers to four, we were now upgrading to the palm. The widest part of his paw, from thumb to pinkie, was starting to push at my hole demanding entrance, not taking 'no' for an answer. I gave out a strangled yelp as I felt myself opening around his paw, feeling the contours of each digit and the following palm sliding into me. It's beyond something as simple as taking a prick. A prick's shape you could get used to. Though you may feel a pulse and it'll throb inside you, its form doesn't change. It doesn't twitch and move in strange ways that leaves you feeling uneasy, nor does it get suddenly wider to a point. Master was coming to that point now and I was sure I'd start hyperventilating if he hadn't beaten self-control into me with our first few lessons.

"Urgh... fuck." I said with a muted whimper, his paw, all too abruptly, sucked into my hole with a wet fart of air and squelch of lube. I couldn't help but gasp as it felt like the air was being drained from my lungs. Never could I get used to _that_feeling in particular, that sudden and overwhelming sensation of another man's paw disappearing into a place it really shouldn't go. The very presence of the paw inside me was all too much; I could feel every tiny movement like it was an explosion in my gut - the shape, the size, the weight, all bearing down on nerves that didn't want to be feeling that sort of thing. Beyond that I could feel him attached to me, perhaps quite not so literally but close enough. My hole clenched about his wrist frantically as I lost my resolve and my muscles began to spasm. There was little I could do to hold back the stress as my rim gripped his arm like a vice, intent either on expelling the intruder or at the very least disconnecting it from his forearm. But Lincoln's strength was greater than mine, and months of work had eroded any control I'd had. I was at his mercy, a fact I was becoming all too acutely aware of again despite every time my brain tried to forget it.

Slowly, with as much care as I believed he could muster, I felt Master pull his paw back. Once again my rim stretched to accommodate the girth with me grunting all the while like some feral swine as he drew his arm out. I could feel myself strain under the size until he was sliding back out, until we were past the breaking point and my muscles took over, forcing him back so that only his fingertips remained inside.

Before I then had the chance to recover, to accept the hollowed, empty feeling that had trailed in the vacuum of his wake, Master pushed back in.

"Oh gods!" I barked out, snapping at the air with my face grimacing into twisted excitement as he surged back inside. I couldn't help it, every vocalisation involuntarily and purely in reaction to his torture. As much as I tried to hold back the urge to burst into sobs and pleas for sympathy, occasionally I'd let the barricade slip and something would bleed through in a whimper or a groan. Even as Master doubled his efforts, pushing his paw in past the wrist and trying to gradually feed me more of his forearm, I felt the blockade crumbling down as it was difficult to keep control of myself. My body began to react in much the same way, attempting to escape of its own accord from the intruding paw that seemed intent on burrowing a vacuous cavern within my stomach.

"Please... Shit! Please, sir," I begged without knowing, though nothing concrete was said, "Please, oh please, sir!"

I let out another strangled moan as I felt him push too deep, forcing me too wide around the rim, grinding inelegantly against my swollen prostate, and I was rewarded with a sharp smack to my cheeks,

"Shut the fuck up," he spat, with rightful irritation, "Take it like man, bitch!"

But as much as I tried, with his paw slipping in and out of my gut, with my hole losing all sense of strength it once had as it was taken away again my his touch, I couldn't hold back the whimpers and the moans, dry-sobbing to myself as I pleaded,

"Please, sir... Oh my gods, please! Fuck, please, please..."

"Do I need to fucking gag you?" He stopped moving, a thankful reprieve to my torment, but I could still feel him inside me, the mass of him just occupying every focus of my mind and distracting me from concentrating on how I ought to be behaving. He wanted a response, and I was on the verge of breaking into tears and hyperventilating myself until I pass out. I had to take in some raw, ragged breaths just to calm myself down before answering,

"N-no sir..."

"What was that?" He pushed with his paw deeper, only a little, but enough to elicit and sharp gasp from me, "Speak like a fucking man."

"No sir!" I cleared my throat, enunciated the words, deepened my voice. As much as I was his bitch, he liked the idea he was breeding and punishing a man, not some twink or some boy. Though I was neither, he was insistent I be the straight guy I always claimed to be.

"Good." He smacked my cheeks again, my tail flicking with the sudden force, "Get back on the fucking bench. You stay right where you are and take it, bitch."

"Yes sir."

"Dylan won't want some snivelling little cunt who can't even take a simple paw," Ruthlessly he pulled his entire fist out of me again in one wrenching move, replacing it deftly with the other. I knew what he was doing, he was trying to shift gears up to punch-fisting. Either that or moving into a rhythm where there wasn't a single moment where my ass wasn't full or stretched, "You know how fucking thick he is, and he wants a well-trained hole of a man who knows how to please him. Now get it fucking together, bitch, or you can sleep with the plug in tonight."

Dylan. I knew his name would crop up sooner or later. It was the whole point as to why Master had accelerated my training. He was a friend of ours, incredibly close and intimately involved with our relationship but not actually attached. An open bisexual donkey, he was a university friend of Lincoln's when they were young men and in the prime grips of sexual freedom. From what I'd learnt through late night dinner conversation, when it was just the three of us, that the two of them had quickly realised whilst they were attracted to one another they weren't compatible in the bedroom. Both of them were way too dominant, and neither in the mood to bottom any time soon. It had resulted in amiable stalemate and so, when the chance arose, the two played together in threesomes with some lucky sub. But from their stories, it became clear that sort of action stopped when Dylan started dating a girl in the last year of his course and had then settled down to marriage for a year or two. From what I gathered, they divorced shortly after, leaving him to return to Lincoln's arrangement of tag teaming. The wolf was eager to get me involved with Dylan as quickly as possible, but complications had come up: chiefly Dylan's size. Whilst Lincoln was large, the donkey was arguably an abomination. Whilst they weren't much different in thickness, the donkey sported length I didn't even think was possible. Getting fucked by a guy like that wasn't simply a challenge as it was impossible. At least I had thought so until Lincoln had reassured Dylan he'd have me ready for him in due time. We were already working me open at that point, but my introduction to Dylan had spurred on greater interest in getting me loose.

I liked the guy. He was older than Lincoln by a few years, probably more a daddy-type now than a younger gent such as Lincoln, and he carried an air of authority that literally filled the room and fought with my Master half the time. Whenever he was around, the tension was palpable. The feeling was uncannily similar to when I'd first undressed before Lincoln; I had always seen the wolf as a friend and the move to dominator and submissive showed his true colours, and I'd witnessed the true self of the wolf. Being introduced to Dylan not as a friend but as his inferior perhaps marked why I saw him as such. The man clearly exuded raw authority, thanks in part to his age I reckon, but the pair of them together was a nasty combination that often left me on edge. It was like sitting in a room with predators, and though I might not see them looking, I could feel their scorching eyes searing my skin. They spoke so casually about me whenever he was there, the two of them together discussing me like an object, working together to dream up such terrifying scenarios for me to endure at their leisure.

Honestly there were times I was both petrified and horny as hell when Lincoln made the casual comments about having him round to visit. We hadn't even gone further than a meagre after-dinner coffee blowjob where the pair would sit and chat whilst I was to serve them both on my paws and knees.

Though at the time my mind was more preoccupied with his member; I could barely fit him in my mouth let alone take him down my throat. But he assured me there'd be a day where it wasn't only possible, but that I'd beg for him to fuck my face. As much as it scared me, I'd yearned for that day sooner than I'd care to admit.

"Come on," Master huffed, "you know what we're doing. Now open up my hole and give me what I want."

Of course, Dylan wasn't the only reason Master was destroying my ass. This extended far beyond the donkey; he was just a catalyst for my training, something to ramp up the pace, and a later promise down the line. Some small part of me believed the wolf even viewed letting the donkey at me as a reward for my efforts - I had to agree with him, if that was the case. They may have concocted the idea together, but Lincoln had designs for me that sometimes had me worried to my core. He had his own personal kinks that he wanted satisfying.

"Gods, look at your hole... Nice and sloppy. Fuck knows what it'd be like if you'd never met me." He chuckled, like it was the funniest thing to him, "Maybe it'd be virgin tight as you fucked some lady." He was practically pushing a closed fist into me now, not with force but with insistent strength that suggested I was beyond stretched, "I doubt that. Something tells me you were made for to be a loose bitch."

I knew what was coming next. That insidious, fucked up, perverted command that I knew I couldn't disobey. He wanted this, and I was prepared to give him exactly that,

"Go on then, push it out for me. Show me my hole."

Part of me resisted, and for a long time I did nothing as he absently pushed his fist in and out of my ruined hole. I shouldn't want to. My sensible side was saying not to as I knew fairly well what he wanted could cause problems later down the line, but he was waiting for it, and I was in no position to protest now. He'd already done his damage over the many months of my training, he'd already worked away what little 'virginity' I had left, and now pretty much any man could mount me bone dry if they so desired and I'd probably just feel sore.

But the problem lied with the fact that I did want to. I wanted to so much, so long as it pleased him. I wanted Lincoln to be proud of me and have achieved something in his eyes. I'd been excited all day for this, though it was filled with rising anxiety, and now it was here I wanted nothing more than to obey.

Grunting with the exertion and feeling like my insides were burning up I began to push back against his fist as he moved to remove it. I let out a struggled sob as he suddenly whipped his paw out, letting my guts follow with it. The walls of my ass pushed out beyond the rim and blossomed out in a rosebud of flesh, the cold air oozing around my flowering hole as dirty, gooey lube dripped onto my sack and caged cock. I felt myself throb with nasty delight as his fingers swirled around the rosy red meat, gently teasing my folds as I prolapsed. I struggled to control myself; from my waist down I felt the uncomfortable strain, but I held it for as long as I could before I relaxed. The rush of my own guts falling back into itself was overwhelming, and I shuddered with a pained whimper.

"Oh fuck yes!" Master growled, as his fingers snuck into my gaping ass quickly before it had a chance to close up its yawn, "Now that's what I'm talking about! Fuck, do it again, bitch!"

Once more, as he yanked his fist back from my hole, I bore down my weight on my guts and let the flesh flower out, feeling the wrinkles and folds peel out of my body as much as my strength could only and as much as I dared push down. This time, Lincoln didn't wait around for me to lose my concentration. With my ass still prolapsed, he pushed his paw back inside me, letting my soft, cushy flesh wrap around his wrist as he slid in with far greater ease than when my rim had clamped down around it. I felt him slide ever deeper than before, reaching up to the midway of the forearm before I couldn't hold it any longer and I let go, feeling my hole clench back around his arm. I was moaning aloud, but I think he'd forgotten to care at this point, at was just allowing me a moment to vent out any of the pent up feelings.

As much as it was uncomfortable and disconcerting, I honestly couldn't have been any harder. I could feel my cock straining against the metal cage that held it back, shifting uneasily as the pressure bore down upon me. It felt like my whole prick could burst if I wasn't let free, but that would never happen. My balls were sore though, knowing they hadn't had a release in a long while.

Gods, I was desperate to cum. Maybe if I did well tonight Master would let me?

He demanded I keep pushing my ass out for him, snapping the command coloured with filthy words - filthier than usual. I realised we were beginning to tap into his favoured kink, the one we had never been able to indulge before as I was incapable of performing it for him. It was exactly this and more, and finally I think he was finally getting the chance to have what he wanted. A straight man whose ass was so under his control he could order him to prolapse on a whim, regardless of how that man may have felt.

So I did just that. Every time he pulled his fist free, I would bear down on my guts and let my insides push back out. My rosebud was then stroked and manipulated by his devilish fingers, wringing out the flesh as he almost gleefully enjoyed my discomfort. He'd lightly smack my hole as I pushed it out for him sometimes, causing my to shiver all along my spine as I followed his command. It was difficult to focus on everything all at once, but I couldn't help it. I was getting to the state I feared most. Not the sort where I began to enjoy things though my brain told me otherwise, but the sort of condition where there was little physical pleasure to be taken away from what was happening. Your attention is forced to observe everything, as every little detail suddenly becomes fascinating and time slows to a crawl. As I forced my ass out for my Master, I could feel the pressure of my muscles in my abdomen. If Master pulled out too suddenly, or I weighed down on my guts too hard, a little piss would trickle out of my cage and dribble to the floor. It would mix with my pre which even now continued to leak from my pathetically caged cock, the scent ripe in the air as now there was a hint of urine to it. The lube had taken over my sense of smell though, the crisp chemical aroma drifting around more prominently now as Master kept on pouring more and more into my gaping hole, slathering yet more onto his paws until he could glide so smoothly into my ass with the loudest slurp imaginable. It was thunder in my ears nearly, that wet sludge and slickness of his fists pushing and pulling from my hole, the gooey sounds of farts expelled from my ass as I prolapsed for his enjoyment. That was the other stench that pervaded my trapped mind, as his musk only seemed to intensify the longer we went on. Every time I seemed to deliver an exception prolapse for him, the smell would thicken and surge, like a creeping tide of lava that burnt everything in its path. It hounded right after the smell of lube and piss-soaked pre into my nose and mouth until soon it was all I could taste, heavy on my tongue, refusing to leave. It took control of my senses and demanded I pay attention to my Master, shifting awkwardly upon the bench, muscles complaining, and wishing he'd take it down a notch despite knowing he'd never dare do such a thing without good cause.

I think though that he took more entertainment from the fact that I was doing this all for him. As much as I knew the sight of a blown out hole, stretched and useless was prime wank material for him, I believe that it was the knowledge he had me like putty in his paws to mould for his desire that got him off more. He hadn't said so much outright, hinted to it perhaps, but I couldn't know for sure. For now I was just to do as I was told, no matter how much it hurt. In and out his fist would go, every time he withdrew he expected me to prolapse and so I would. It was exhausting, it was terrifying, but I only kept doing it more because I wanted him to use me like this. I would moan and yelp occasionally, only to earn myself a smack to some sensitive part of me, and I'd shut myself up. It was only when my body started up again trying to make its escape that he took on a new tactic.

Master wrapped his free paw around my balls, tightening his grip just behind them where the chastity cage forced them out, and pulled them back. As much as I struggled, the further away I tried to move from him the more painful it became. He kept up the tension with his grasp, forcing me to lean back into his fist as he pulled on my sack. I grunted and gasped in shooting agony as he tugged on my balls relentlessly, pushing his fist into my gaping cunt as he yanked my sack,

"Stay where you are, and don't you dare move. We're not even close to finished yet!" He gave another savage snarl, "Stop fucking around!"

I did my best to behave, really I did, but he still held onto my sack, probably just for good measure. I just hoped he'd get on with what he wanted so that I wouldn't have to endure his fist slamming in and out of my wrecked hole, then we could sooner finish up for the night and I could nurse my bruised, tired ass.

But this was his fetish. His dirty little secret. And I was his masterpiece. Months ago, before all my training had begun, we'd started out in a session like any other, although it was arguably much tamer than what it had evolved into, now that I'd become part of his dark world. He'd bound me to the bed, spread-eagled with my limbs tied to each post, him stroking my needy cock from root to tip so gently with tormenting grace. He was so deft with his fingers, dancing along the fine skin of my member until I was begging to cum, so close yet so despairingly far. I just wanted to cum, I just wanted to shoot what had been at that point nearly six weeks' worth of seed. He'd kept me on edge for hours, lightly dancing his fingers along my shaft, tormenting my head with a vibrator strapped under the flare, introducing me to the nightmare of a violet wand, working me endlessly until I was at my wit's end.

He had kept me on edge as he spoke to me, when he finally had me whimpering and sniffling with bitter frustration and a desire only to do whatever it took to bring sweet relief that was so close. He'd asked me how far I'd go for him, and rather stupidly I'd given him carte blanche on that, I'd told him to do whatever he wanted to, for as long as he wanted to, whenever he wanted to, if I could just cum once. And with a sinister smile that sealed my fate then and there, he'd whispered in my ear so softly about what he was going to do to me as he finally began to stroke me to orgasm. He painted the scene with vivid details until it felt like I was living it right there, my hips bucking as I drew closer and closer. He told me how he was going to ruin my ass so that I'd only ever be good for him, that I would be his perfect slave and nobody was going to take me away from him. As I felt myself drawing close, he told me how he was going to wreck my pathetic hole until it was so loose he could slip his knot right in without so much as the tiniest bit of resistance, no matter where we were. He told me he was going to tear apart everything I held dear - as a straight guy - mould me into hisbitch and I just lost it. I came hard there into his paw, all over my face and chest, screaming aloud with a petrified whinny as through the fog of lust it dawned on me just what I'd agreed to.

From there had begun the painstaking months of preparation. Long nights spent with him just idly fingering me at first, graduating through the weeks to larger and larger toys until he finally dared to fist me. I had struggled at first, naturally unaccustomed to what I had to do, but over the following days he taught me, gave me lessons in how to relax myself, how to control my body for his own purposes. I'd been a good student and a quick learner, but today was the day when we were finally going to make that last step into me becoming his ideal fuck toy.

This morning, when we'd woken up, he'd dolloped a glob of lube onto his fingers, drew back the covers and removed the plug from my hole that he'd left in overnight and toyed with me. Nothing serious, just playful teasing as he'd pried open my hole, whispering into my ear so softly that tonight would be the night I'd take everything he had, knot included.

I began to panic a little in my own headspace as I felt my Master finally remove his sloppy paw from my gaping hole, more from anticipation than much else, though at that point my thoughts were so frayed and didn't even understand what I was feeling. I felt empty, worn out, with my guts hurting from the strain of having to push myself out, but for that brief moment I was allowed to rest. Behind me I heard Master get to his footpaws, kicking away the stool as he grabbed the lube bottle once more. The squelching sound I hadn't heard for what felt like an age soon filled my ears again as he fed me more lube, the sensation not so unreal that I'd accepted it as normal until I was overflowing with sticky, sloppy fluids that I could barely keep them in. I knew exactly what he wanted. He then removed the bottle, but still the squirts came, and I knew he was just lubing himself up. Lincoln had always told me early on that you could never use too much lube, so he bought it in bulk, used bucket loads whenever we had sessions, and he'd even trained me to mix the contents myself so I could get the consistency to how he wanted it. He would do so while supervising me at first, waiting until I was at the right stage, before it became so intrinsic to my routine that I did it automatically whenever he so much as expressed an interest in using me for the night.

The bottle was cast aside, and again I was reminded of my reality. I felt on wet paw land against my hip, cupping my cheek in his heavy grasp, as he lined himself up. I could imagine the sight of his cock in my head, every vein and fleck of colour, the scent that emanated from his musky flesh, the feel of him beneath me, that hard, moist texture that just go me so overwhelmed. There were times now, as I knelt there upon the bench, where I realised my sexuality might not be as steadfast as I believed. If my brain was telling me that there was something so fantastic about his cock that got sent me wild, was I even straight at all? I'd mused the question countless times, sometimes with or without Lincoln's advice, but the conclusion I'd always reached had been yes, with the exception of the wolf. I was straight and only gay for my Master. Never would I allow another man to touch me. But the thought of Dylan excited me, and the idea that I was now just Lincoln's bitch rather than my own man put my idea of being 'straight' into peril. Was this just my natural place, to be craving the male endowment and begging superior men to use me to their hearts' content?

I could feel him now, disrupting my inner turmoil; his fat, blunt head stroking around my gawping rim. I felt that tip brush against my wrinkled flesh, probably discoloured to a shiny red or purple by now, or left its typical darkened shade. I just wanted him to plant it in me already, forcing myself to keep still as he took a moment to enjoy his craftsmanship. Master let it drag out for seconds too long as he swirled his member around my hole before finally pushing himself inside.

I took scant solace in the familiar feeling of his cock entering me. It was a welcome sensation beyond everything else, his entry so smooth and sleek that it must have felt like gliding across polished ice, only warm and pliant. I could just about feel the resilience of his meat within me, so stretched and loose I was lucky to feel anything at all, and he continued to enter me with his bludgeon until that fat knot pressed against my ruined rim. There was still some resistance there, some strength that kept it out, but I was weak and so too was my ass. All it took was one brutal shove from Master's hips to ram his knot home inside me, essentially tying me were it not for the heavy fisting I'd endured so far. I let out a satisfied moan as I felt full, full in the most pleasant sense, and let myself bathe in the feeling of being fucked like any other normal night. It was a small victory, a tiny little glimpse of what I could have had had I just admitted to this submissive side earlier and not stood my ground on my limits. He'd persuaded and coaxed me into being something I never knew I could be, and though I knew I was paying a price, my warped mind couldn't be happier. From behind me I heard a triumphant, hissing growl, as Master's claws sunk into my hips as he held me close,

"Oh fuck yes!" He drawled with an almost drunken slur, high on the feeling of my sloppy, loose hole enveloping his member, "Such a wet, useless cunt. Fuck, can you feel how loose you are, bitch? It's so silky and smooth, you lucky bitch." I bit my lip as I felt him lean against me, balls-deep and grinding his fat cock against my prostate, giving me release but no euphoria. I felt pre drip from my caged member as he pushed into me, making sure I was well aware of his crotch flush with my ass, his coarse fur rubbing into my matted cheeks. We did nothing for some time, him simply holding himself inside me. It was only then I began to realise the different sensation I don't think I'd experienced before. Unlike normal, where Master would allow me to tighten around his shaft, to milk his cock upon his command, I couldn't muster any such feeling. He had stretched me open to the point where it seemed impossible to tighten it ever again, that my muscles had just given up and any natural strength they'd once had had just melted away at the expert work of my Master's paws.

I shuddered at the thought of my ass being now no better than that of a whore, stretched and wasted beyond its use. Lincoln had been right. Nobody except him would want me now. Only him, Dylan, and gods knows who else would use me now. I couldn't return to the kind of man I was before. I don't think it was even possible for all Master had done to me... for all he'd done for me.

Master growled again, hiding a laugh under his breath as he shuffled on his footpaws, altering his stance just slightly to give him better purchase,

"Gods, I could just sit inside you for days, you know that? Best hole I've ever fucked." I blushed at the comment. He'd said as much before, but every time the words always seemed to be laced with even more sincerity. Master was beginning to reach a point where whenever he complimented my abilities and my body, he left me gobsmacked at how genuine and truthful he sounded. I really was becoming his bitch.

"Alright," he said, surprisingly hushed considering the scene, but I reckon he was high on his own dominance, moving into the zone as much as I sunk deeper into mine, "Push it out for me bitch, let me fuck your rose."

He tore his knot back and I very nearly screamed. It was such a savage move, enough to have my ass prolapse out on its own accord, but I did my best to hold it when I recovered. I felt the overworked folds spread out and bloom around his shaft, soft to his member as he pushed back in. His knot, something which normally I'd have to grit my teeth and take as he pounded it into me, slid back in with ease. There were no walls holding it back anymore, and with me continuing to hold out my ass for him, my Master began to fuck me. He was heavy and hard with his movements, not treating me like some prissy boy but like the well-trained bitch I was supposed to be. His thrusts came with a wet slap of his hips against my cheeks, the slurp of his cock burrowing its way into my stretched hole. It didn't take long until the stench of our sex became rank and potent. As he fucked me with barely a hint of compassion, taking me like a casual whore, the smell began to drown the room until it was all I could breathe, just him and his rutting. As his scent controlled my sense of smell, my sense of hearing was commandeered not just by the smacks of his flesh scoring into mine but by his deep, guttural growls that left me whimpering upon the bench. They were animalistic; the instincts of an alpha bleeding through, and Master allowed his primal side to flourish in the moment. Though my sight was left to the imagination of what was going on behind me, my sense of touch was being commanded by the alpha's will. Hot claws dug into my skin and left sore, tender marks wherever they roamed, our jostling causing him to lose his grip every now and then, only to grab sharper still to keep his bitch within reach. I felt so utterly used and completely under his control, him thinking less about me and now focusing more upon burying his fattened prick into my ruined hole.

He would drag himself back and then brutally thrust inside once more, knot and all. Unlike a heavy knot-fuck, something I'd definitely felt leading up in my training, this was something so much more intimate and perverse. Rather than the repetitive yank and thrust of his cock into me, forcing that knot past a tight hole already fucked, it was slow and smooth, as if Lincoln were using me like any other night. There was nothing aggressive about his movements, he just went with the flow how he pleased, content just to feel my guts wrapped around him and my hole stretched and blooming for his pleasure. Occasionally I would struggle to keep up my resolve and I'd have to relax my muscles, but he was quick to remind me to push out for him. Again the knot would be torn out of my hole and he'd force me to prolapse. And eagerly I would hold it all the same, letting him fuck my stretched at his leisure, struggling and whimpering all the same, telling myself how thrilled he'll be with my progress.

Never did I expect him to be happy with just idly fucking my ass though, blistering a pace as it was already. Goodness, I'd be an idiot to think that was all he wanted from me. His goal was, undoubtedly, to breed me, and I as I felt his bare flesh glide against my own, I could already feel the anticipation twitching inside him. Though his fucking was already hard, I could feel he wanted more out of me that made me quail, knowing that for the next few minutes - or for however long he wanted me like this - I'd be suffering for him under his sadistic pleasure as he'd ride me.

Inside me I could feel his cock drooling pre like nothing I'd ever felt before, his excitement clearly getting the better of him as if it was a dream come true. He placed his other paw that had been holding his cock at its base at my shoulder, and brought the one on my waist up to join it. Now, with my hole blossoming out to meet his flesh, grinding against the rough fur of his groin and making me jump and shiver with unusual scrapes, he was in position to really fuck me.

"Oh fuck yes..."

Lincoln could be vicious. Even when we didn't have all the gear out and it was just us in the bedroom taking a little vanilla time to ourselves, he refused to not let his dominant streak show. He'd slam into me with wild abandon, touting that if I was a man I'd take it like one and not complain; that I was strong enough to take someone his size. Usually I was, but night after night, tired from the previous session and sometimes just absolutely exhausted, it was taxing. I could feel himself priming up now for exactly one of those fucks, lining his hips up just right so that he could have the angle he wanted at the exact distance he needed to really tear me a new one. I waited, panting and drooling, as his cock head shifted about inside me, just poised ready to ram into me at a moment's notice.

Then it hit me.

All at once he slammed into me without mercy. My hole caved back in on itself, but the knot slipped inside without a problem. Master didn't waste any time in yanking himself back out, pulling back his cock until again only the tip remained inside. Again I prolapsed, and I held it just as he wanted, feeling his claws digging into my skin on my shoulders, no doubt pricking up specks of blood as he bore down on me and punctured the flesh, but it was little worry for what he was doing to my ass. I screamed as he shoved into me, knot gliding into my guts as if it were normal, like I could take the swollen orb any other day. It was so unnatural to me, so horrific, that I found myself finally succumbing to my fears and I panted fiercely, groaning like a bitch and uttering nothing coherent as Master bred me hard and fast. In and out he'd stroke me over like a piston, not stopping for a second as he fucked me relentlessly. My hole was still blooming to meet him, open and stretched and now yawning back out into the open as he thrust inside. I could feel him tapping my prostate, only barely, as my caverned ass was fucked. I don't even know if he felt anything himself, or if it was just like the concept of fucking a well-used whore.

"Fuck! Yes! Take everything I have, bitch!" He was snarling and snapping at the air, not really yelling at me anymore and just venting out his lust. I was fine with that, letting all my weight rest against the bench as he rode me hard, "Gods, fucking hell, that's so fucking hot." There was a moment where he pulled his whole cock free and my body shivered, feeling his paw shoot inside to replace the empty hole, "Fucking hell, bitch! Feel how loose you are, how sloppy and open that is. Fucking push it out. That's right."

I didn't even need his help anymore. I could prolapse on his command, empty my guts into his waiting paw as I let my red flesh spill out of my rim. The cock returned all too quickly, hot meat slamming into my abused cunt. I grunted as it came back, soon reacquainting myself to the feeling of that monster sliding through my depths that had been stretched to accommodate it. Each twitch inside me brought out sparks that ignite my nerves, firing along them until they'd incinerated my brain. It was pleasurable, but then it wasn't. It was painful, but then it wasn't. It was everything all at the same time, and then nothing quite like it at all. The only way to summarise it all was to call it 'intense', and even then I felt like it didn't do the sensation justice. My ass was singing with the force of Master's bludgeon, my cock smothered in its cage and my balls sore. Release was never an option for me, as desperate as I felt, but I could take pleasure in the knowledge I'd given my Master an orgasm, maybe earning me favour when he'd returned to his rational, calculating himself rather than the beast that stood behind me ploughing my prolapsed hole. All throughout today he'd paraded around his lust like a trophy, reminding me in subtle ways of what we were going to do, and I would feel ashamed if I didn't bring him to climax doing what he loved most. I was determined to make him cum, yearning to feel his seed pump into my sloppy hole. Then I would want him to fist that load deeper inside me, knowing it'd only turn him on more, and I'd want him to mount me again until he came a shuddering second time. I wanted him to take this night and make it last forever, because for him it was his fetish immortalised finally.

"Fucking hell, do you feel that bitch?" He snarled. It was a rhetorical question, so I just grimaced to myself as he fucked my prolapse, "No, of course you don't. You're just a little fuck toy wanting to be full at both ends. Only my cock will satisfy you now, how about that?" He rammed into me, grinding his crotch against my ass, my prolapsed flesh caught between, mashing into his balls and abdomen, "Yeah, fuck yeah, only my cock. Imagine how Dylan's going to ruin you after I've had my fill. Oh, shit; just imagine your sloppy bred hole after he's finished..."

I could. Vividly, in fact, and no doubt it wouldn't be too dissimilar to how I felt now. Dylan would have length but his thickness was uniform. It would stretch but never confuse, whereas Master's knot was a sudden bombardment. It would arrive abruptly, pummel its way in, and then rip itself out to leave me hollow and ruined. When Master would ram back in, I typically got that semblance of feeling full, but I think that sensation was long gone by this point. I doubt I'd ever feel full again, at least not tonight, and that only meant I'd be forever dissatisfied and only ever happy when riding everything Master had to offer. It would mean larger and larger toys until we'd reached the end of the spectrum, and could go no further. I'd seen some sold online, and they were beyond monstrous. Only now I realised Master probably had it in his head to use them on me somewhere down the line when I was ready...

"I'm gonna fucking breed you, you little bitch! Feel your Alpha and Master inside you! Take my fucking seed!"

"Yes, sir!" I yelled back, my voice cracking as I whimpered all the same, buckling under his force as he fucked me hard. My hole was just a mess; I wasn't even sure what I was doing anymore, but I was trying to concentrate and doing exactly as I'd been told. I couldn't even feel it anymore, I was just left with a numb and tired feeling as Master fucked me, riding his way to an orgasm I knew I couldn't entirely join him in. Though he cared, Master was always quick to remind me that my orgasm came when he did, that I was to enjoy the sensation through him though I would never feel the relief he did. I was, as he encouraged, content in the knowledge that I'd helped him to get to that heavenly pinnacle, to achieve a climax that was finally worthy of having. For a long time I bet he'd been tired or unimpressed, only he was too kind to show it. But finally I was living up to the expectations he had of a slave and he was getting what he truly wanted from my body. That thought alone had me hard in my cage as he bred me, feeling his thrusts getting shallower and heavier by the second.

He roared aloud, me whinnying from the sheer terror of the moment, as he curled into me and crammed as much in as he could. I felt his knot swell, as much as was possible though it was still barely a sensation within me, as I felt the pulse of his cock. He was cumming, but I could hardly feel the shots as he fired inside me. It was like adding a stream to a river, as his seed just mixed with the lube that still slopped about inside me. As his cum flooded my insides, I began to feel warm and full, my stretched rim leaking a waterfall of sticky jizz and lube over my balls and down onto the bench and floor, but it was just a dulled glow to usual. The typical fiery heat I'd normally feel was abated and substituted with a disappointing orgasm, something that I could barely have the chance to enjoy.

But that wasn't the point.

As Master collapsed onto me, his body sweaty and our sex thick in the air, my role was not to be pleased with the feelings I had, but to take pleasure in the fact that I had brought about the result. The outcome was of my own doing, my own ability, and Master was more content and satisfied than I had ever seen him when we fucked. As he panted, delirious and high on his own orgasmic pleasures, I finally relaxed and just allowed him to lay on top of me, cock still buried deep in my stretched hole.

"Fuck yes," he huffed into my ear, "Oh fuck yes, that was amazing." I don't know how long we stayed there, whether it was seconds or minutes or even an hour, but it felt like forever. Thankfully I didn't get bored or restless, I reckon I was too fatigued for that as my brain was fraught and every nerve of mine burnt out, but finally when he did rouse from his stupor and return to life some time had passed. Not enough that I'd closed up and tightened back to normal, if that were even at all possible now, but some of the lube had leaked out. Master however was as hard as ever, his cock throbbing as he let it slide back out of my ruined hole, eager for a second round.

"Look at you," he practically purred, paw stroking my quivering cheek as I shuddered in the cold under his touch, his fingers circling my rim and sliding inside with absolutely no resistance to his paw, his fist swallowed by my gape, "Fucking hell, just look at you..."

I let out a whimper, not because I was afraid or sad, but because I was astonished at myself, for having gone so far and to such an intense and dark level. I was astounded and completely oblivious as to what trial awaited me next that I would inevitably have to overcome.

Master fondled my hole with some revered affection, like it was now his most prized treasure and he wanted to savour every moment he had with it, running his digits along my stretched rim before letting his paw glide into me and sit within my guts, just cherishing the feeling of having that much control over me and having been able to shape me so grotesquely to his liking. It showed in his tone, as gone was the barbaric gruffness from before, replaced now with loving pride,

"Oh, baby, I fucking love you."

Those were the words I just longed to hear. Moments like these, where I'd gone above and beyond for his pleasure, submitted myself to the most insane, unbelievable things just to please him, for him to then go and tell me how much he adored and loved me and what I did for him. Those moments were the best, the moments I lived for. Loving him was difficult, in every way I thought wasn't possible. I was a straight guy falling the wrong way for another man and I let him do such unspeakable things to me that even I scared myself sometimes. But his fetish was something I'd grown to enjoy, to like and even want when I got better at it, and now we were at the stage where anything was possible. I'd do anything for Master, just as I said I would, no matter what the catch or price may be.

I just laid there, exhausted, still desperate to cum, and gaping to my boyfriend's touch as my hole yawned for him.