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Fedallah walked the length of the hallway once more, weighing the bite of his leather lash in the crook of his arm. He worked as a caretaker at the arena of the province's capital city, the most exciting part of the most populous area of the land: it was up to him to keep the fighting animals well-bred and well-groomed, to keep the contenders knowledgeable of their upcoming bout, and to keep the actual grounds of the place clean and free of blood, torn garments, severed limbs, and whatever else came as a result of fights to the death. He had seen some undesirable things in his years here.

It was early morning, before the sun fully rose above the edge of the horizon, before any of the daily patrons arrived, before the contenders awoke and began their training (except, of course, for those especially determined; sometimes Fedallah would walk the inner halls of the stadium late at night or early in the morning, earlier than today, and he'd still hear the metallic clash of steel-on-steel of a pair of gladiators sparring.

This was not just a man-on-man arena, though, and when he turned the corner into the deeper part of the halls, the mixture of scents and noises that overtook his senses reminded him of just that. Here there were all sorts of feral creatures - bears, wolves, cougars, dogs - that the lesser-experienced or more bloodthirsty combatants could go up against, with a few different rules for each type. Fedallah enjoyed watching those matches, mainly because he was the one who had trained many of these animals, or at least broken them. All of those times, or at least most of them, had been put on as shows of their own. Otters like Fedallah generally weren't viewed as the fighting sort, and whenever there came a new beast to be broken, more people showed up expecting him to get knocked down and his throat torn out.

That had only almost happened once, and it was before he was comfortable with putting shows on for the people. There was one creature, some sort of dog that had to have been crossbred with a demon or something. Fedallah remembered the first day it was delivered to the arena, on the back of a carriage from somewhere out-of-province - as the third son of a less-than-noble family, this particular otter hadn't even seen the outside of this city. The gold paid by the arena was enough to live off of, but not much more.

It took a little over a full year to break the demon-dog, with the other caretakers giving it the name "Zala" in the meantime, a diminutive form of the name of the god of hatred, after hearing the way it snarled and snapped at anything that came within twenty feet of it. Needless to say, Fedallah had been terrified of it, as was everyone that ever stepped inside that radius. It was his job, though, and he had to do it.

After making his way down the creature hallway - it brought him an angry sort of pleasure to see how they all avoided eye contact with him - Fedallah turned again, lifted a bar on the door that stood in front of him, and pushed it open with his shoulder. Zala was so fierce that it actually got a room of its own, one wide enough for the dog's cage to sit against one wall while everything the caretakers needed could rest near the other, far enough out of the way so that it didn't yank them through the bars of its cage. This morning, Fedallah had requested of one of the other servants that a hot water bath be drawn, with a certain array of soaps and towels. As the one who had finally broken the demon dog, he received no question or judgment in answer. He prided himself on being the only one able to approach Zala without so much as a growl or a flick of the ears.

The dog lifted its head in its cage when the door slammed shut behind Fedallah, and the two pairs of eyes met and held for a moment: the otter's smooth misty-morning blue with the beast's fiery amber. He tapped his lash against his arm again, felt the tendrils swing and wrap around once, and then fall off; then, he looked away to the other corner of the room, where a large metal tub had been set up with a quantity of water steaming inside of it. Warm coals burned beneath: the thing was large enough for Fedallah and his two younger brothers to bathe in together if they so chose.

He could hear Zala's breathing over the rustle of his own clothing as he stripped down, first shedding his shirt and then undoing the fastenings of his pants, until he stood wearing nothing but his own skin and fur in the cool of the room. The last thing to drop from his body was the lash from his paw - but the otter did not step towards the bath to settle himself down into it, though. Instead, he turned again, brushed the end of his rudder tail across the smooth floor, and started towards the dog's cage.

He had tried many, many things in the year it took to break this dog in attempts to speed up the process, one of which was bathing in the same room as it... and, really, he had to think that it all succeeded. Not only was he the only caretaker who could come within twenty feet of Zala, but he was also the only one who could walk within fifteen, ten, five; the only one who could reach a paw out to the bars of the cage and not have it instantly bitten off; the only one who could undo the latch, always maintaining stoic eye contact, and slowly open the door, shivering at the harsh creaking of the hinges-

But then, seeing its opportunity, the giant dog rose to its feet and jumped forward through the unlocked door, knocking the naked otter onto his back on the stone floor. Breath knocked out of him and vision uneven, it took Fedallah a moment to recognize what had happened - though the weight of a huge, sharp-clawed paw pressing down onto his shoulder, threatening to dislocate it (or worse) brought him back to his senses faster than anything else. The cool kiss of the stone on his back combined with the intense heat of this creature's body above him - Zala no doubt weighed at least four times what the otter did, with its shoulder coming to the otter's when both stood upright in front of one another; its frontmost fangs each looked to be as long as his middle finger when it angled its muzzle down to his, lips curled back in a silent growl...

Eye contact. Eye contact. Always remember eye contact.

Thick saliva dripped down and matted into the fur of his chest. Fedallah tried to move his arm but couldn't. This didn't make sense - Zala usually-

-but instead of those teeth closing around his neck as he half-expected... nothing happened. Not having realized he'd squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head to the side, Fedallah gingerly looked up at the beast again: it watched him with its bright yellow eyes, the snarl on its muzzle slightly reduced from before. Fedallah felt his heartbeat start to return to normal.

He shifted, swallowed, looked right into those amber eyes, and gave a small growl of his own.

In response, Zala's picked up again, and more thick slobber drooled out against his neck - its breath smelled of rot and meat. Sure, it was frightening to look dead-on into a snarling maw large enough to bite someone's body in half (which Fedallah and seven of the other caretakers knew secondhand), but he knew that what he had to do was continue growling himself. As he did, that muzzle and the large black nose at its end came closer, closer, until he could feel the hot breath puffing out of it, tickling his whiskers...

Then, he flicked his tongue up and licked Zala's nose. Instantly, the dog's snarl faded and it returned the lick - Fedallah had to close his eyes when the large, broad tongue dragged up the side of his face - before releasing the otter, tail swaying slowly behind it.

He was certain that none of the other caretakers could get it to do that. Many, many hours spent in this room, slowly getting closer and closer to the dog had given the otter a special sort of bond with it, one that he enjoyed with none of the other animals. He liked to say that he was the one to break Zala - though Zala can easily break me, he thought, rubbing at his shoulder after standing back up - but, really, that did the beast disrespect. It had offered itself to him.

It would be wrong to think of the dog as his pet, though. Sure, he often ate his meals in here and shared scraps with it; sure, he had slept in here once or twice; sure, he enjoyed tormenting new arena competitors by pretending to get attacked by the dog, as had happened just now; but the two were just workers of different jobs at the same arena. Fedallah had seen some of the gladiators do a _lot_more than bathe together.

"Zala," he called, after making his way over to the tub. The dog rose to its feet and stepped over. "You have three fights today, and it's up to me to make sure you're nice and clean. Tear their throats out for me, yeah? Sit down. Sit. Sit... there we go..."

The otter reached over, dipped one of the towels in the hot water, wrung it out, and started rubbing at the dog's fur. Zala was a very special animal of this arena, and this treatment showed just that: if any of the others died of an infected wound, they would just be replaced by another one. Besides, Fedallah had sort of developed a bit of a bond with the giant dog, evidenced in how he took special care to clean all the bits of dirt and blood out of its fur, how he couldn't help but smile each time he saw its tail wag or ear flick. Spending time with animals had a tendency to do that. He didn't feel so bad about getting emotionally close to Zala because he felt almost certain that there lived no man who could take it down: the arena's rules about fighting feral dogs stated that no weapons could be used in the match. And Zala never once bowed its head to twenty-seven different lashes.

After making his way down the beast's body, Fedallah leaned over and mixed one of the soaps into the bath, one with no scent but still did a good job of cleaning - and then with a quick movement from his paw beneath the base of Zala's tail, the dog lifted up to all fours and stood still. This part of the cleaning, Fedallah always took a special enjoyment in: he dropped the towel into the bathwater to let it soak up the soap, and then went to lock the door to the room before returning.

When he came back, he stood directly behind Zala, swallowed, and picked the towel back up. The dog's height gave him an unimpeded and perfect view of its backside without him having to bend over or kneel down or anything: beneath the base of its tail, amid slightly darker fur, there pulsed its tailhole, tight and ridged, the skin a pinkish-brown. The otter rubbed the towel against it, cleaning off the bits of dirt and grime - again and again he dipped it back into the water, knowing full well for himself the pleasant feeling of warm, moist heat at the tail's base. Eventually, he didn't even have to keep one paw holding the tail up: Zala kept it up of its - his; a ridge of tough fur beginning just below the bottom of that tailhole, still pulsing, clenching, unclenching, moved down and ran across the center of a large, heavy sack hanging down between the dog's rear legs, large enough that Fedallah had had trouble holding it in his paws. There was a reason that he insisted on cleaning the beast this thoroughly.

Most of the other caretakers thought that it was just some ritual of his to bathe in Zala's room, for good luck or something - once or twice he had walked in to find one of the others doing it, sitting terrified in this metal tub pushed as far away from the cage as possible. Bathing was hardly the first thing on Fedallah's mind when he stripped down - and after spending a good amount of time digging gently into the folds of Zala's tailhole, sometimes with a finger or thumb rather than the towel, the thought of stopping to actually bathe had left his mind completely.

The otter sat down on the warm edge of the tub, glad that he taken off his clothes: it felt nice for his own sack, _considerably_smaller in comparison to Zala's, to rest against the side of the tub - and besides, what with his own erection throbbing at about the same pace as the tailhole in front of him... he tapped gently on the back of Zala's leg, bringing the dog to take a few steps back, a few more, a few more - until, if Fedallah were to lean forward, he would press his muzzle right into a freshly-cleaned, pulsing tailhole before he'd lose his balance and fall forward.

And that's exactly what he did. One paw holding onto Zala's leg while the other gripped the edge of the tub, Fedallah closed the distance between himself and the dog's rump, leaning forward until he could feel the touch of straight, stiff fur against his cheek. He kept his eyes closed, wanting to guide himself by touch and scent: there only slightly lingered the heavy, slimy musk that one would expect from the rump of a large beast. Gently, the otter flicked his tongue out into stiff fur, shifted to the side, felt that fur give way to smooth skin, continued on... he found a ridge, a slight fold of skin, that led to the centermost depression, where it all bunched together and bulged out every now and again, where the heat pulsed the strongest and the scent remained...

He pressed his lips, unabashed, against the pucker of Zala's tailhole, relishing how he could feel the behemoth's heartbeat and heat under his lips, how his nose pressed against the musky warm skin surrounding it, how the dog's tail rested just atop his head. He kissed the dog's tailhole with all the energy and excitement that he would someone else, squeezing his lips around the bulge of the pucker, bringing it in, pinching off, then starting anew, each time dragging the flat of his tongue over the surface of the dog's tailhole, feeling how it tensed and relaxed at his touches, how it squeezed and released, how it gladly gave way to the desired explorations of his tongue - pressing in, into the center, sliding into the ridged skin.

Here, Fedallah brought his paws up and moved back, Zala's taste and scent strong on the end of his muzzle. Now the dog's tailhole glistened with saliva rather than soap - though he put his paws on either side of it, pressed one thumb gently into it until he felt the tight, rough warmth, then licked the other and pushed it in beside it, and spread the dog's tailhole just slightly. Brownish-pink skin pulled apart to show him fresh, healthy pink on the inside, glistening with natural musk and lubrication - and Zala was damn big enough that Fedallah could spread him with ease without causing any discomfort. He had a pretty good idea that the dog enjoyed these thorough cleaning sessions, though; many times before he he buried more than just his tongue in that tight, moist flesh, and each time almost lost his balance due to the force of the tail wagging against his chest.

Today, though, his tongue itched to work. Keeping Zala spread like that, the otter moved back in, putting his tongue flat against the opened tailhole one more time and then sliding it in, slowly, gently. Rough skin gave way to smooth, hot muscle that squeezed and closed around his tongue, brightly tangy in taste but certainly not unpleasant. Again Fedallah's eyes drifted shut, his thumbs tightened to spread the dog further, and he dug his tongue in as far as he could, desiring to feel the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of the rim of Zala's tailhole against his lips, loving how the beast's sack slowly swayed forward and back, forward and back with the movement of his chin.

It didn't take very long before the otter's breath came and went in short, unsteady bursts - with his tongue buried an inch and a half beneath the tail of his favorite fighting dog, of course it didn't cross his mind to take the chance to catch his breath. Besides, when he _did_breathe he did so through his nose, and all he could taste on that air was the unmistakable scent that now clung to his lips and tongue, that each swallow of slick saliva and musk brought back to him.

Eventually he moved his thumbs away, let Zala's tailhole clench around the base of his tongue, and swirled it around inside the dog - but as his jaw started to get steadily more sore, he drew his tongue back into his muzzle and just worked with his lips more, keeping his mouth closed around the circle of skin of the dog's pucker, sucking gently in attempts to draw out the saliva he had left in. Again and again he swallowed, still he continued to kiss Zala's tailhole, seeming to almost kiss him back in its now slightly-excited throbbing and pulsing - and when the otter finally did sit back (after one good last lick along the dog's rump, all the way from the bottom of its sack to the base of its tail), the sight in front of him remained the same as before, except now twitching and throbbing with the enthusiasm of a dog that desired to breed.

Ignoring the hard throbbing between his own legs - the time for that would come later - Fedallah reached forward under the dog, making no attempt to avoid brushing his arm against the warm, heavy sack that hung in his way; he traced his paw up along the side of Zala's thick, supple sheath, pulsing with warmth and with the hint of a knot bulging at its base, and closed his finger and thumb around the foremost end, out of which protruded the first inch of Zala's length. Slick with liquid musk and tapered forward like any feral dog, it was easy to close his paw around and squeeze, squeeze like trying to separate the base of a banana from the peel - and it eagerly slid out in response to the squeezing, quickly lengthening and becoming thicker beneath the otter's paw.

Still behind the dog, Fedallah leaned forward and rested the side of his muzzle against Zala's rump again while working at him, keeping his paw in place for the dog to take over - once he had slipped out of his sheath enough, there was no way for the otter to keep his paw closed around the dog's cock. In fact, when he used both paws he still had some amount of trouble touching them together, especially along the central outward contour of Zala's length, which Fedallah had spent more than several hours investigating with his fingers, with his paws, with his cheek, with his nose and tongue and lips... he knew this beast, inside and out. Really, the only place along Zala's body where Fedallah hadn't yet stuck his tongue was the inside of his ear and nose, or along his eyeball.

Zala's length was hot and slick under his paw, moist with the liquid musk that always lingered inside of the dog's sheath - Fedallah had been an inch and a half inside that with his tongue before, and about six and a half with his cock. Soon, though, the otter couldn't lean against the dog's rear for support, because Zala quickly took up his expected fast, hard thrusts into the paw that remained as tight as it could around his shaft, the pads of Fedallah's fingers slick with the same liquid and only getting more so.

He peered down around the dog's leg: the thick, reddish-pink cock, intricately webbed with veins all over and turning white where he squeezed, that he had come to know so well thrusting forward and back, forward and back in his own paw.and spurting jet after jet of clear pre out over the smooth stone floor, staining it in drippy streaks... Fedallah gladly let the dog have its fun, as Zala had let him have _his_fun with his mouth against his tailhole. Even now, after shifting back to his original position, the otter leaned forward and kept his tongue out, flicking it up along the dog's still-clenching tailhole each time he came back from one of his thrusts.

If Zala won his three fights today, and Fedallah knew that he would, the otter would bring the dog back here afterwards and reward him three times for those wins - he couldn't fit his paws around the dog's length, but he could fit his lips around his tip. Fedallah looked down at himself: a clear bead of his own pre had started to roll down the underside of his own cock, also much smaller in comparison to what throbbed in his paw and the amount of pre that spurted out over the floor again and again and again, looking like he had whipped one of the towels out of the tub and slapped it against the stone.

Feeling the almost-imperceptible change in pace of Zala's thrusts that he had come to be able to recognize, Fedallah moved closer to the edge of the tub and moved his other paw down, too, to caress the side of the dog's wide knot, to squeeze beneath the underside - and then, with a few more fast jerks forward, he could feel the final few energetic spurts through the giant dog's cock, heard them splatter out against the floor, followed by the steady jets of cum that came after.

Not wanting to miss anyway, the otter tugged back against Zala's sheath, pulled the dog's cock around under his sack, pointed it back towards his own chest - he had to lean back because of its length - and looked straight down at the wrinkled, tapered tip, pinkish-white and both glistening and dripping, before musky cum spurted out and drenched his muzzle, chin, neck, and upper chest, again and again and again in slowly weakening spurts. He gladly kept his mouth open for a few of them and swallowed down the slick, salty fluid, the scent reminding him of that of a normal wet dog, but much stronger and with a different note that only caused another bead of his own pre to ooze out of his cock...

The first time he had given a feral dog a handjob, he was surprised with how long it went on for - and Zala was no different. The otter shifted both paws to squeeze beneath the dog's knot, and he happily received each and every spurt of the clearish liquid in his own fur, loving its slick, clinging heat, how it soaked into his fur and coursed down his body, how it slickened the base of his cock... after a minute or so, he moved one paw down to his own length and, within a handful of seconds, was bucking upwards and emptying his own diminutive load into that which drenched his chestfur.

Still keeping the dog's cock directed towards himself, Fedallah swung his legs around the tub and slid into it, the water having turned from scalding hot to pleasantly enjoyable in the time he had spent taking care of this behemoth. Once he had settled in, the end of Zala's cock came about even with his muzzle: he leaned forward, kissed the tip just as he had kissed the dog's tailhole, and then lapped off all of the cum that still dripped from it before releasing it and watching it hang beneath the dog's body in front of his sack, rising and falling with his panting breath.

Zala turned around, tail wagging, and moved forward towards the side of the tub; Fedallah lifted his head up, stuck it out, and received another lick, directly across the front of his muzzle. He kept his lips pursed for it again, and on the third one, gently took Zala's lower jaw in his paw, held it open - the dog's broad, flat tongue hung out of his mouth, smooth and dripping with the same slobber that had dripped out onto Fedallah's chest at the start of this session - and then leaned forward, first pressing his lips against the warm, warm surface of the dog's tongue, and then running his own along it, taking the flat, cloying taste into his mouth, mixing his own saliva with the dog's for a moment before swallowing it back down - here, the breath that had made his nose wrinkle before only made something in his abdomen ignite and burn with desire again. He released Zala's jaw, and the dog finished the lick and then settled down beside the tub.

The otter dragged the back of his paw across his mouth, wiping off the combined slickness of tailhole musk, saliva, pre, and cum, and leaned back in the hot water. He liked to imagine that he was fairly good with his tongue... and he knew for a fact that Zala was good with his, too.