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It was Lynx 325's big day. Everyone's day came on the farm eventually. He knew it was his when the caretakers brought him a bowl of wet food instead of dry, and it was a Wednesday. Everyone got wet food when it was their big day. He'd seen it enough times in his life, so he thanked the caretakers with a purr and dug in heartily, savoring the meaty flavor and the soft, chewy bits, so much better than the dry kibble that was their standard meal. He was licking the bowl clean when they came back with a catch pole, a retractable nylon loop on the end of a long metal shaft. It wasn't needed, but nor were the thick denim coveralls and gloves they wore.

Still, Lynx 325 knew it was standard procedure, so he bore the indignity of having the loop set around his neck and pulled tight with patience and aplomb. It wouldn't do, after all, for such a prime specimen as himself to put up a fuss. He'd studded seven litters during his time on the farm and was something of a legend amongst his peers. He had to act the part. So he walked obediently and proudly erect in front of the caretakers, shoulders thrown back and head high, nearly marching, as though he was simply off to another breeding session.

They took him, instead, to the grooming room. The catch pole was locked into a bracket set into the wall specifically to hold it while the two caretakers donned water resistant slickers. Lynx 325 was treated to a thorough washing, then, eartip to toe with lavishly hot water, shampooed with something lavender-scented, and rinsed. Blow driers were taken to him to wick away the moisture, followed by a long and thorough brushing that left his fur positively gleaming. The caretakers even took care to make sure the fur tufts that tipped his ears were standing tall before giving him a look in the mirror to okay their work. He most definitely approved, admiring himself for several minutes before letting them take him away.

Then it was back the way they'd come, past all his soon to be former friends and lovers. He waved to some, gave kind words to others, and blew a few kisses to the mothers that had born his offspring. He was going to miss them all, but their day would come as well in due time. Past the foxes, red and white and grey. Past the wolves, mostly charcoal-coated timber wolves, but a few other varieties. Past the minks and skunks and other mustelids. He walked proudly before them all, knowing that today was the last day he would see this place or any of them.

He was taken out of the kennels and down a long, echoing concrete hall that lacked the rubberized flooring of the kennel area, and the lynx was forced to slow his pace on the slicker tile surface. One of the caretakers came forward to offer an arm for support, though the other remained behind, holding the catch pole. He was grateful for the assistance, though it stung his pride slightly to need it. Through a thick steel door, he found himself walking instead on grated flooring that stung his pads. He could hear the trickle and drip of water from below. Fortunately, it was only a dozen or so feet before a second door let him into a room with rougher concrete flooring.

Lynx 325 was happy to relieve himself of the caretaker's arm, giving the human a smile and a soft purr of thanks, then let them lead him to the center of the room. Two poles rose up about three feet apart from one another, stretching from floor to ceiling. Dangling from near the top and lying on the floor were cuffs attached to strong metal wires that went into the poles. A crank on either pole made it plain that they would retract when the reel was turned. The feline allowed them to attach the cuffs to his wrists and ankles then crank them tight.

It was an uncomfortable position, his arms stretched high over his head and his legs spread wide apart, but he suffered it with what dignity remained. It was, after all, his big day, and the caretakers had never harmed him. One of them even scratched beneath his chin before they took their leave, going back through the heavy doors and leaving him there. He took the time to examine the room, curious as to what would come next. No one ever returned after their big day, and so he knew little of what to expect.

It was a relatively small room, though much larger than his kennel had been, perhaps fifteen feet to a side. The floor seemed to have a gentle slope from the walls towards the drain that stood in the center, directly beneath him. Bright fluorescent lights stood in the ceiling, gleaming off stainless steel hooks set into the walls. He was facing away from the direction he'd entered, so he could also see that there was a second door before him, presumably the exit, with several rolling trays beside it. They had high lips around them, so he could not see if anything lay on top, but beneath they had large black boxes with long poles attached to them by black cords.

There wasn't that much to see, and 325 was beginning to grow bored by the time something new happened. The second door opened, revealing the woman he knew was his mistress and owner. Unlike her usual appearances in the kennels, where she wore high heels and long dresses, today she had donned a thick latex coverall with built in boots. Long black gloves of the same material covered her hands and forearms, ending just past her elbows. Her long, strawberry blonde hair had been tied back in a knot, and she wore a plastic face shield, currently up as she strode towards him with an adoring smile.

“Well, well, my boy, don't you look handsome?" she inquired rhetorically, taking an examining circuit around the cat. “Yes, you have an absolutely fabulous pelt, and it will look positively grand on me, though I might need to take another if I want the matching stole and purse…"

“I… what do you mean, mistress?" the lynx inquired, confused.

“Tut, tut, don't worry yourself about it, dear. Just thinking aloud."

She chuckled and headed over to grab one of the carts, wheeling it around to park it behind him. When she came back to his front, she held a small metal bar in her hand with a long wire that trailed back, most likely, to the cart. Coaxing his mouth open, she set it between his teeth, as far back as she could press it, then had him bite down. It was coated in some kind of fast-setting glue or epoxy that tasted absolutely foul, but Lynx 325 had never been a problem for any of his caretakers, and he was not about to become one now.

His owner then moved around behind him, letting out a soft moan that was almost a purr itself as she pressed herself against his back. She had discarded her gloves and reached around to run her fingers through the fur of his chest and stomach, burying her nose between his shoulders and inhaling deeply. The lynx couldn't help the deep rumbling purr that started in his chest, pleased by the attention. It was almost like when a female was in season and he was let to stud her. They would always touch and smell and stroke beforehand and snuggle afterward.

Then his mistress did something he had never suspected a human would. Her hands slipped downward, one cupping his sack and gently squeezing while the other wrapped itself around his sheath to massage and stroke. With her petting and sniffing, his body reacted quite naturally, his barbed shaft swiftly beginning to swell and grow. It pushed itself out of his sheath as her hand moved to the sensitive pinkish-red flesh, her thumb stroking over the ring of barbs that lay just behind his pointed tip while her fingers moved over his growing length.

He was not the largest of males, in that regard, especially not compared to the canines, but he was quite proud of his length, and was eager to put it to whatever use his mistress deemed fit. And it seemed that she was going to put it to good use. Until she pulled away, at least. Lynx 325 let out a rather undignified and petulant mewl when her hands left him, but she returned swiftly with something new. A plastic tube that slid easily over his modest length, pushing down his sheath to take him to the base with room to spare. A long hose trailed, yet again, behind him, and he was startled by a sudden soft rumble that suctioned the tube to him and began a gentle buzzle along his maleness.

His purr returned in force, his nose lifting to the ceiling as he threw his head back. The vibrations were intense and intensely pleasurable, drawing him to a swift orgasm. But they didn't stop, and seemed to draw his pleasure onwards and onwards, until he felt a sharp bite stroke swiftly up his throat and along the underside of his chin. With a yowl, his head snapped downward, finding his mistress standing before him with a bloodied scalpel in one gloved hand. She reached for him again, and he tried to pull back, tried to struggle, tried to squirm, to do anything, but the bindings were too tight!

She slid the blade along his collarbone, from one shoulder to the other, just cutting through his thick hide, not biting into muscle. It stung more than anything, like a scratch or a bite received during mating, but this was like no mating he had ever had. Perhaps this was simply how humans did it? But, then, where were her- The train of thought was ended when she slid the blade into the cut and drew it downward, over his chest and stomach, to his groin, circling around it. Despite the pleasure the tube continued to give him, that was almost too much, considering the sensitiveness of the area. Still, he found himself spurting a second load of his seed into the tube.

He was trembling at this point, visibly, fear growing in him as she laid more cuts along the insides of his legs, circling around the bands that held his ankles firmly to the poles. Then she rose back upwards to draw similar lines along his arms, circling his wrists at the cuffs as well. He was whimpering like a kitten, his ears flat, his tiny bobbed tail tucked firmly against his rear, tears staining his cheeks, though the natural teartrack markings that drew downwards from his eyes somewhat hid it.

His mistress took notice and pity on him, cupping one of his cheeks and making soft shushing noises. “It's alright, darling, it will all be over soon. Then there will be no more pain, I promise."

Trustingly, he nuzzled against her palm before she pulled away, moving behind him once more. Her hands came up, stroking against his throat and scraching beneath his chin, her fingers tracing the lines she had cut. He let a hopeful purr rumble once more, silently pleading that she was done. It was a futile hope, he found, when her fingers dug inward, prying apart the cuts, digging in and under his pelt, peeling it away from him. He yowled! Howled! Screeched! She was tearing the skin from his body!

Slowly, methodically, carefully, despite his thrashing, she peeled the hide away from his skull. Then her hands went to his left arm and began again. His now bald head thrashed, slinging dark scarlet droplets, his lidless eyes rolling with agony and fear, foam forming at the corners of his mouth as he struggled to scream and breathe and bite, but all to no avail. His right arm followed, peeled to the shoulder. Then he felt her gather his dangling skin into her hands, tug lightly, then with a tremendous pull downward, the rest of it came free, leaving him bared to the world.

Raw nerve endings exposed to air lit like he had been doused in flaming napalm. It was too much, too much… His head lolled, stinging and burning his shoulder and cheek as raw flesh touched, but he couldn't find the strength to lift it. The world dimmed and spun, his mind seeking to escape the torment. Then he felt something prod beneath his tail. His head came up to let out another scream as something long and hard and cold was rammed into his rectum.

Then the mistress came around to stand before him with his bloody pelt draped over her arm and a small remote in her hand. “It's a lovely, lovely pelt, and I'm sure your offspring will have inherited it. I look forward to making sure you have plenty more of them after you're gone."

She smiled and depressed a button. He felt a surge of electricity to his lower body that tightened his rectum and tingled his prostate, causing a third eruption to fill the tube and be sucked away. Then she pressed a second button. The world turned white as 20,000 volts shot through him, channeled through the anal probe and grounded by the bar and wire in his mouth. She held it for a good five minutes, until he began to steam slightly, before releasing it.

Yes, the mistress thought, examining the pelt, it will make a fine coat… But I think I do want that stole and purse. Maybe one of the kittens will do…