FSE

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When the tenders come to take me out of the park, I force myself to keep my eyes down. Not because of defiance - not directly - but because I know that I'll cry if I look up. And that...that is one thing I won't let myself do.

[i]Don't let them see you cry.[/i]

She was so nice. So soft. So gentle. Despite everything, she had that moment to tell me and warn me, and keep me from getting in trouble. It wouldn't have meant a thing to her to let me fail...but she made sure I got through it. The least I can do is listen.

They lead me out, as well as some of the other bitches that are done. I look over my shoulders, seeing them taken down the other hallway. I haven't been taken down that far yet, and I don't want to know where they're going. Curiosity will lead to pain. There is nothing but pain and perverted pleasure in this place.

Instead, I keep my eyes on the floor, not daring to look up, not able to fight. My cunt still burns from the fuck from the ferals, and I swear it's pulled open, almost distended from how roughly they knotted me. It aches and drips, that infernal heat still burning away. I am starting to wonder if it will ever stop. If it can ever stop.

My tender ignores me, dragging me along when I stop and not acknowledging me in the slightest when I walk. That suits me just fine. Better than the guy who kicks me when I don't walk, and moves too fast for me to keep up with.

He drags me past several labs, each one closed off, but not enough to keep the whimpers from coming through. A part of me wonders if the scientists are perverted, evil enough to fuck their subjects while they're still sleeping, under from anesthesia. My bet is yes.

Finally, minutes later, he comes to a stop, and I look up at our destination. A surprisingly worn wooden door stands in front of me, unlike the usual metal ones, and it opens on hinges rather than hydraulics. Confused, I follow without prompting into the darkness, feeling a vibration through the floor that feels almost familiar.

It doesn't take long to find out why. After walking down a set of stairs, I look up to see a dance floor, with a set of poles in the middle of the room. Other bestials - mostly Type IIIs, like me, but with a Type IV in there as well - rocked their hips back and forth on the stage, panting and drooling as their tongues hung out of their mouths. Strings of clear fluid ran from their spades to the poles, and I can see some of the clear strings running down to their paws as well as they dance for the men around them. Bestials and humans push to the edges of their tables, trying to get close to the dancing bitches.

Realizing that this must be their entertainment area for off-hours, I want nothing more than to pull away and head back up the stairs, but my tender has other ideas. He drags me onto the dance floor, where grinding couples pull away to let us through. His white coat works almost like a club to part the crowd, and soon, we're right by the stage. He snaps his fingers, and the ladies on stage suddenly drop to all fours.

“Good girls."

He clips leashes onto the collars half-hidden on their necks, and then unclips mine. Everything in me screams to run, to get away from all these men that are all wound up after watching them, but I can't move. Running means breaking orders, and breaking orders…

[i]Bad girl…[/i]

The phrase echoes in my head, and I shiver. No, no, no, can't do that again. Gotta go through with it. Gotta make it work.

As soon as my tender taps the stage, I jump up on it, my heart already racing enough to make me pant. My tongue is drying out, and I swallow. It doesn't help.

“Alright, bitch. Time for you to show these men a good time. Dance away, and don't fight. You'll be a bad girl if you fight."

[i]Bad girl.[/i]

No matter how much I tell myself that I'm not a girl, no matter how many times I remind myself that I used to have a dick, that word resonates in my head more than boy, man, guy, or male ever did. It echoes, bounces, jumbles around in my head like it's imprinting itself on the inside of my skull. I can't get away from it.

He narrows his eyes at me, and I realize that I haven't done anything yet. I need to dance. I have to dance.

Shakily, I drag myself onto my hind legs, working myself up by holding onto the pole. It's not easy; being on all fours for days doesn't help with balance. Still, I manage it, my front paws soaked in the slime of other females as I draw myself up the pole, and the stink of it doesn't help in the slightest. I gag, barely holding back what little is left in my belly as I look around, seeing the other people staring up at me.

None of them have sympathy on their faces. Only hard-ons in their pants.

“Dance, dance, dance, dance."

The chant begins, and then the music follows. Cheeks burning, I try and remember the girls I saw in the strip clubs, and the bitches just a few minutes ago. At the very least, I start shaking my hips, working them back and forth as I lift my arms over my head, grinding my ass back against the pole.

Every motion feels [i]wrong,[/i] a betrayal to everything I am, but at the same time, my body moves like it's known this dance from the dawn of time. I feel my tail go up as the pole slides between my ass cheeks, bumping my other hole while my stretched spade drips down to the stage, making a puddle between my legs.

My breath keeps puffing past with dry, desert heat, almost making me cough as I strain to catch my breath. In, out, in, out, trying to keep conscious as the room spins around me. So many men, staring at me. So many of them bestials...so many of them dogs…

I can see it. The flared noses, the tilted heads, each and every one of them catching my scent. They can tell I'm in heat, and my body's reacting to them. I'm getting wetter as I look down, seeing the tents in their pants, knowing that they want me. My body wants them…

[i]No, no, just my body. Not me. I don't. I don't![/i]

I walk two circuits, three, almost four circuits around my pole before someone reaches out for me. His fingers slip off of my slick pads, but he throws me off-balance, and down I go, crashing down at the bottom of the pole. His hand, and others, grab hold of me, pulling me by my paw and ankles towards the edge of the table. Other 'patrons' grab me by my other leg, pulling me in the other direction.

Unfortunately, the pole is between the two of them, and soon, rammed between my legs.

“AGH!"

My scream doesn't stop them, and the drunk, stupid patrons pull me from either side, grinding me in a horrible way against the cold metal pole. Every time I get some bit of slack, the other side suddenly yanks me forward, ramming my spade and my clit against the fucking pole with bone-breaking force. Bang, bang, bang!

Someone finally gets the bright idea to let me go, and I collapse, gasping, whimpering against the table. I barely notice that my lower half has been pulled off of the edge, my breath coming in shallow wheezes, fire between my legs and stars in my eyes. I can't even move my arms, and I want to throw up.

A scream wrenches its way out as a tapered dog cock pushes itself into me, and I thrash about, kicking and screaming as the world comes crashing down on me again. My wide eyes come down on the Doberman standing over me, looming over me. His cock is already knot-deep inside of me. Not inflated yet, but getting bigger all the time as he starts bucking away. I scream and yelp, whimper and cy as he pounds into me, other men grabbing me by the paws and holding me. Their grips are too strong; I can't kick, I can't pull away.

Other guys are climbing on the stage, a line forming of dogs, cats, and a few humans, with a Rottweiler in the front. He pulls down his pants, his sack falling over my face, smothering me in his scent. I can't help but take in everything, fear muzzling me as efficiently as his flesh.

[i]Bad, girl, bad girl.[/i] The tender's voice comes back to me, repeating that phrase over and over again. Fighting would make me a bad girl. Fighting would get me punished. I can't...I can't…

I lay there, letting them do what they want, even as tears run down my cheeks. There's pain and pleasure in equal measure as they take me, one by one. The Doberman is the first, but he's not the worst. His knot barely pops past my spade after what the ferals have done to me, and his cum lubes me up in a way that I hate and love at the same time. The others that come after have an even easier time getting in, but it never gets less sickening.

I take human cock, dog cock, and who knows how many others down my throat, my hands pinned beneath heavy knees, my palms cracking and my fingers on the verge of breaking more than once as they use me, fucking me until my throat feels like it's been stretched by a matter of itches, and my jaw has lost its ability to be hinged.

And they keep coming. The line never stops as asshole after asshole, rapist after rapist comes forward, pinning me, fucking me, filling me. When they can't fill my throat, when my pussy is too full, they cum over me, soaking me and marking me with their seed.

I'm swimming in it...I'm drowning in it.

After the twentieth knot pops out of my spade, when I feel the latest flood shooting out of me and soaking my tail, I see [i]him.[/i] A Great Dane bestial, Type III. He's already rock hard, with thick enough muscles to pin me down on his own. He yanks me off of the stage, my head cracking against the floor. Dizzy, I can barely roll over, which is exactly what he wants.

He slams in up to the knot, and for the first time, I feel something big enough not to fit in me. Through all the pain and hate and fear, terror decides to make itself known. I can't take it. I can't take it. I can't take it!

He must be thinking I'm broken, because I squirm and it catches him by surprise. I kick him in the balls, and he lets go. I run, for a grand total of three feet, before he grabs me and tugs me back to the ground.

“Bitch...You'll pay for that...bad girl…"

I scream. Those words, those horrifying words, leave me screaming as much as his knot does as he takes me on the dance floor, and everyone else just jerks off around me.