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Elsa's prospective father-in-law hates dogs, and teaches this lesson directly.

This is a “read-the-tags" kind of story! Please consider this a content warning! Bad things happen to a dog who does not deserve them! It's probably set in the moreauverse, and Elsa is probably a moreau. It's early on, though, when they have no rights and it's easy to do whatever you want to them. And where, if your son decided to start dating one, you might have to put your foot down. This is not a nice story, although it was written for a nice person who helped me with the editing, so. Uh, enjoy, if that's your thing :P You all will get your Christmas story soon, though, don't worry (it is already written and everything!). Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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“Leash Law," by Rob Baird

“He doesn't hate you. He doesn't even know you."

“I don't think that matters."

But Mal thought that Seth Kilgore could be persuaded. In this, Elsa knew full well, Malcolm was being an idiot. Still: she loved him, and in a moment of weakness she indulged the thought that, perhaps, Mal knew his father better than the vitriol that bubbled up when he was on the news, inveighing against wild animals. A betrayal.

A sick joke.

Seth Kilgore had an uplifted secretary, a Border Collie; everyone in the company did, above a certain level, and as the CEO of Telegeon Defense Systems he was no exception. There was no arguing with their talents, after all. They'd been bred for data analytics, quickly sifting and prioritizing information, figuring out trends before their owners (employers, Elsa sometimes managed to catch herself, using a polite fiction) even knew to ask.

In this case, though, the secretary was her mother Marit, and the close working quarters had made Marit nearly as skeptical about her relationship with Mal as his father was. They'd met outside an event being hosted at the capitol—Kilgore's company paid off plenty of congressmen—before they realized the coincidence. Mal didn't mind Elsa's species. He seemed to enjoy brushing her silver-blue fur; didn't mind turning the air conditioning down for her.

Chance to snuggle, he teased. Three weeks after they met it moved beyond merely snuggling. Elsa had kept her relationship secret from her mother for six months beyond that, a length of time she judged the analytically minded collie would take as proof of Mal's sincerity.

And she had. Another year, though… another year, and Mal was beginning to talk about her moving in. About talking to a lawyer—her kind, uplifts, couldn't marry, but the civil code carved out certain admissions of their rights and, a law student himself, Malcolm thought a suitable contract might be put together.

But before a ring, there would have to be Seth Kilgore.

She was wearing her nicest blouse, a burgundy number that seemed to complement the blue merle's pelt. And a skirt—she'd carefully cleaned them both of any trace of fur—to go along with proper shoes. She looked, she thought, reasonably presentable.

You look gorgeous, is what, Malcolm said.

Seth Kilgore was a tall man, lean, with greying hair and a falcon's sharp eyes. He stopped short, entering his office, and looked between the two. “What's this? You get one for school? You know how I feel about those things, Malcolm."

“This is Elsa."

She held out her paw, and Seth's brow furrowed as if he didn't understand the gesture. “Get that away from me. I don't care if you know 'shake.' What the fuck is an 'Elsa'?"

“Marit's daughter."

She knew from the blank stare that the meeting was going to go poorly. “Maybe we should be leaving…"

“Your secretary, dad. Marit is your secretary. Elsa is my girlfriend. We've been dating for—"

“Excuse me?"

The tone was chilling. Elsa no longer thought it would save face if they left—it was an imperative. She tugged Mal's hand, and her boyfriend shook his head. “No. Anyway. You heard me. We've been dating since last January. I thought it was time you get to know each other."

The collie's sense of disquiet deepened at Seth's icy stare. He did not ask if his son was joking. He did not ask who had put him up to the stunt. He asked: “Where the fuck did you go wrong? What would possibly make you think this was acceptable?"

“There's nothing 'wrong' about it. And the 'acceptability' isn't up to you. I'm giving you the chance to—"

“To what? What were you going to try and 'hook up' with if the shelter didn't have anything for adoption, Malcolm? A used car, maybe? One of the lobsters in the tank at Giant? Get this thing out of here. God, I thought you couldn't be more of a disappointment."

“She's not a 'thing.' Her name is Elsa, and you should watch your language. What's your problem with her, anyway?"

Seth's expression dripped with open disgust. “With thinking about this very good girl raising her tail for you? Do you make her beg? Does she roll over?"

She'd heard some version of that time and again. Border Collies, in particular, were supposed to be trainable. Well-behaved. It was why they made good office-workers. But she walked on two legs, and she spoke English, and she wore clothes. In short: “I'm not—"

Malcolm cut her off, finishing the statement for her. “She's not a dog. You're on the losing side of this. They've been talking about tabling that expanded-rights bill for weeks. What do you think the news is going to say—"

“If they find my son is paying some furry whore? They'll find out when I check you into rehab. I don't have a choice in the goddamned data dogs they make us use. I don't have a choice what Senator Morris chooses to get up to. You do have a choice."

“And I made it," Malcolm shot back heatedly. “God. She was right about you. You're such a… you're so bloody closed-minded. You always have been."

“On the contrary. Hell, if I wasn't married I might've tried out one of these things myself. But I've got better things to do than pick up a hooker I have to clean out of the lint traps."

“She's not—"

“Jesus. You fucking idiot."

Elsa cleared her throat. “We can just… we can just leave. I'm sure you have work to do, sir."

“'Sir.' That's a nice one. You call my son that?" He turned his attention back to her boyfriend. “These goddamned things have got two jobs. They bring you the news, and they're tissues that clean themselves up when you jerk off into 'em. You can't eat 'em. Can't experiment on 'em anymore because of all the fucking protests. And you're not getting the news from this one, apparently, so what does that make you?"

“Done with you. She's right. Come on, Elsa."

Seth stepped in front of him. “No. Apparently you need the point drilled home. So first, she's going to blow me, too. Watch and learn."

“I think we should go," Elsa murmured.

“No charge for it, either," the executive said, as breezily as if he was ordering food sent to his room.

“There's not going to be anything like that."

“There is. I told you what you're going to do, not what I'm going to ask for."

“I'm not a prostitute. Sir."

He sneered. “Sure. Fine, then. You're going to because if you don't, I'm firing—what did you say the name was? Marit? I'm firing Marit."

“What? Why?"

“Because I can. And until they give me a new one, I'll have your little doggy mouth to think about. And maybe the new one will be useful like that, too. Yeah, I think my secretary could go…"

“She—she hasn't done anything," Elsa insisted.

“Dad. Leave Marit out of this."

Seth whirled on his son. “Shut your goddamned mouth. She's done plenty. Whelped some uppity bitch to be filthy enough to try and con her way into your good graces, for a start."

“There's no con! We go to school together! I—"

He backhanded the protest from her, hard, knocking her into the desk. Elsa's claws scrabbled for purchase, and Seth chuckled mockingly. “Oh, I suppose we didn't make those for animals to get up on. Now. We both know that if your dear old mother gets put out on the street, she's not getting another job. I might as well just euthanize her right here."

“Dad…"

Elsa saw Malcolm wilt under his father's glare. “Sit down. The only reason you're opening your mouth is to give pointers. Now, you worthless whore, get on your knees and show me how you wrapped my idiot son around your disgusting little finger."

Malcolm would not save her. Elsa thought of her mother, out on the street: no, there would be no rescuing her with whatever black mark the CEO could saddle the older dog with. Head still smarting from the blow, she did as she was told. It'll be over soon, she told herself. They could get away, then—no more talk of trying to bring his father around.

All she had to do was play eager. She undid the older man's trousers, carefully working his belt open and pulling the zipper down. The silk boxers were easy, too. He wasn't erect, yet, but he responded quickly enough to the first few laps of her tongue. And he said nothing. She had to look up to catch his expression: an ugly, mocking sneer.

It wasn't quite like Malcolm's cock. A little shorter, perhaps. Definitely riper—the few times she'd gone down on Malcolm he'd showered first, almost painfully self-conscious. Awkward about her sense of smell, he said later; the old man's pungent musk was enough to turn her stomach. But it faded when she lapped him clean, and anyway…

Anyway, as she took him into her muzzle and started to suck, she could almost pretend it was her boyfriend. The man was good and hard now, and she felt those little involuntary throbs and twitches run through him that announced a pulse of slimy, bitter precum would soon be smearing her tongue. Over soon.

“What do you know…" Seth drawled. “This is why you let her into your bed, Mal?"

“No."

“Definitely why other men have," he leered. “You suck like a champ, slut. I could keep you tied up under the desk, couldn't I? You'd like that, huh?" She said nothing, just kept bobbing her head—suckling harder, laying her ears back, willing him to just finish already. Seth grabbed her ear and squeezed until she yelped. “Answer me."

There was only one answer. She pulled back from his drooling shaft. “Yes…"

“More words than that. Don't you pretend you can talk? 'I go to school,'" he echoed her earlier objection in a jeering whine. “So talk."

If she didn't, she was going to break down. The words spilled from her in a rush. “Y-yes, sir. I'd love to be your—your personal whore. Let me show you how… how good I can suck your cock, sir, please. I promise I'll be good."

“Look how fuckin' eager," he snorted, and released her ear to let her back to work. “This is what you call a girlfriend, Malcolm? Just some cocksleeve you can play fetch with. One good slap and here she is gettin' me all ready to fuck her."

No. She bathed his blunt cockhead with her tongue, sucked heavily on his shaft; all he did was give her that derisive laugh. Repeat how eager Elsa was as she tried to work him to his peak before he could do anything else. And then he shoved her, and she went down in an awkward tumble.

“Get your clothes off. People wear clothes." When she hesitated, he reached down and yanked her blouse until the buttons tore. Shrinking away from Seth and his awful, ugly grin, she hurriedly unbuttoned her shirt. Slid her skirt down; kicked it off, with the pumps she'd thought made her look so studious. So professional.

She looked up to find Seth holding something else out, instead. The collar smelled of another dog, a feral dog. Not a terribly old smell. Vaccination tags jingled as he shook it. She could see him cinching it around her neck, pinching the skin… Elsa ignored her sense of revulsion, and took the thing from him, putting it on, trying to avoid looking at her boyfriend.

Or his father, whose smirk had only darkened. “How does he fuck you? I'll bet he does it face-to-face, doesn't he? Oh, you make him, don't you?" He laughed at her reaction. “Yeah. You make him. 'I don't like calling it doggy-style.' I just bet." He sneered, mocking the unavoidable accent her canine muzzle gave her.

And then he grabbed her by the collar, hauling her to her feet as she choked and whimpered with the pain and shock of it—shock that hadn't had time to fade when Seth shoved her down onto the desk and moved behind her, grabbing the collie's tail and yanking it up sharply. He kept one hand on the collar, constricting her airflow. The other guided himself into place. She was too startled even to struggle.

Slick as he was with her saliva and the precum coating his head, the man's cock pushed in with so little surrender it was almost a betrayal. She could only manage faint, pathetic whimpers as he kept going, just sinking in, and in, and in. “Deep down, you always wanted to be fucked like an animal. You know what happens next…"

He let go of the collar. She could breathe again—fought for it while Seth pulled out and slammed another jarring thrust into the dog. She glanced towards Malcolm. Her boyfriend was staring, watching the violation happen. She told herself his pants weren't tented. That he wasn't turned on by it. She had to tell herself that, so that she could pant, hoarsely: “yes, sir. Like a bitch—your—your bitch."

“No." The old man bucked his cock deep into her, and used the collar to pull her back so he could hiss into her folded ear. “Get one thing straight. You're not mine. You're not worth owning, slut." More thrusts drove the point home while she rasped, feeling her vision grey. “I'm not an idiot like my goddamned son. You're worth putting a load into and throwing out. Understand?"

Her head lolled for the sharp plunges that drove him with an aching roughness into her sex, until he shook her by the collar and she managed to get just enough strength to give him a nod. The oxygen flooding back into her lungs made her almost delirious—she didn't feel the way her muzzle thudded into the desk. Didn't feel his sharp, tugging grip on her tail.

Almost, for nearly a minute, didn't feel herself being raped. Seth fucked himself into her with a swift, hard, pounding rhythm, hammering her slim hips into the edge of the desk. It all seemed to blur. The office decor, the plants that needed watering… the polished marble floor… Malcolm, unable to look away.

She was going to have to confront that in her own mind first. She'd need to believe it when she told her boyfriend she understood he hadn't meant to become aroused, didn't want to be turned on as his father defiled her. He was as horrified as she was, objectively. It was disgust that kept him focused. Anger that widened his eyes as—

Pain, there was a sharp pain from Seth's hands digging in to her hips, fingernails clawing her. His hips swiveled to a jolting, ragged halt. There was no groan of pleasure, no sense that he'd taken any real satisfaction from it. Just a hiss, and stillness, and a steady throbbing against the walls of her abused sex.

Somehow that only made her feel filthier. Even before she felt that liquid working free, starting to dribble from the dog's lips around the cock slowly softening inside her. When Seth pulled out she knew already he was going to round the desk—she let him open her muzzle and stick himself in. She licked him clean on reflex, resigned.

“Remember you were doubting where I thought you should stand on that animal-protection bill?" Who is he talking to? “Oh, right now. Took this right now. Get up here." Silence again. An eternity of silence for Malcolm to do something. For Seth to tell her it over, that she could put her clothes back on…

Instead he grabbed the socks she wore to make the shoes more comfortable against her fur and allow herself the opportunity for a bit of color, now and then. These were lavender. She saw the fabric in a blur as Seth balled one up, and forced it into her mouth. And then, just as she realized what he was doing, he stretched the other one out, wrapping it about her muzzle and tying it off.

The door opened. “It's supposed to be one of the new models. You tell me if it looks like I think they're smart enough for legal protection. We donate to you for a reason, senator."

“Do they come like that?" This was a new voice. “Thought they weren't supposed to be naked in public."

“No. She had clothes. An actual blouse, if you can believe it. My son's a soft touch. This one's his. He let me use her, though; trying to make a point. I'm sure if you wanted…"

“Uh huh. And when this gets out? Blackmail on the both of us?"

“I sent you that holo first. Look, here. Turnin' the camera off." He set his communicator down on the desk. “I know we talked about maybe legalizing this as a business. Your man's bill would make that harder. Let me show you what I mean—Mal, you wouldn't mind if someone else gets a try, would you?"

When she tried to look towards him, Seth subtly shoved her shoulder back down into the desk. Wincing, she heard her boyfriend's quiet answer without seeing his expression. “No. Go ahead."

Then there was movement behind her. An appraising grunt; the sound of fabric on skin. Warm pressure against her sloppy-wet cunt, yielding almost immediately to the stretching fullness of another man sliding into her. “Fuck… oh, fuck, I didn't know how hot they were."

“Right?"

“Temperature, Rick," the man went on. Seth had been the one to ask right?; another voice still grunted at the clarification. The one using her took a few slow thrusts to acquaint himself. “Tight, too. Guess they breed 'em small…" He did sound pleased, genuinely gratified with how she felt around him, and Elsa didn't know if that was better or worse than Seth's coldness.

“And you can't knock them up?" That was the one who'd grunted. Rick. Rick Morris, junior senator from Kentucky, was asking if she could get pregnant from a human. No, and she had to be thankful for those small favors. Collies like her, uplifts, weren't sterile, obviously—but they couldn't be crossbred with humans. No matter how hard anyone tried, and the cock in her was definitely pumping faster already.

“Nope. Whenever you're ready, just go ahead and dump it in her, Serge. The little bitch doesn't know any better, anyway. Probably makes her happy to get a load in her."

He started rutting her the way Seth had, towards the end. Quick and rough, heedless of the way it squished her against the sharp edge of the desk. The gag stuffed in her muzzle kept the whimpering from being audible as he took his pleasure in her, nearly pounding the furniture out of position. At least his pace was growing uneven, the finish approaching inexorably and fast.

This one came with a strained moan, and the pulses of a lengthy ejaculation big enough for Elsa to feel: a sticky flood, spreading messily inside her violated body. Seth's laugh came from far away, like someone else was hearing it. “God, you see how his eyes rolled back? You still with us, Serge?"

“Unh. Mff. Christ almighty, Seth. You were right. She did like takin' it."

“What would you pay? Fifty? Eighty?"

“Hundred, easy," Serge gasped. She was empty again, abruptly, listening to his satisfied panting, and his semen spattering the marble floor beneath her. “You think we could make this work? Rick, if Seth here can get us a service animal exemption I think this is way beyond the tech firms."

“Yeah. A brothel?" Rick didn't sound convinced.

“Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

Who was that? It didn't sound like Malcolm—could've been Seth or Serge; their voices were starting to blend together. They were talking about other people—someone was at dinner, another was elsewhere in the building. Bring 'em over. That voice was indistinct, too. A blur.

It didn't entirely register when a new, stiff shaft sank into her. When did the door open? Before or after the frantic thrusting stopped, and warmth again erupted deep inside. The next one was gentle; the one after that grabbed her collar and cinched it tight when he filled her. The pain brought Elsa back around—forced some kind of clarity into her addled thoughts.

“She talk?" The voice was close to her ear—had to be from the man inside her.

“Not right now." That was Seth again. “Let her go a bit. Speak, bitch."

The gag made that impossible even when the collar went slack. She tried, and managed a whimper. The rapid thrusting slowed, and she could smell his breath, stale, ugly as the voice implied, filtering down as he laughed next to her restrained muzzle. “Close. Bark."

Some part of Elsa absorbed how degrading the order was, even as she tried again. Another told her that it was rational, that she was making the rational decision that would make things easy. That she was deciding. That it was a negotiation—

“Bark. Bark for me, slut."

Her breath whuffed through her nose, and he laughed. And then he grabbed her collar—no—some dog's collar, not mine—again, and she realized it was not a negotiation at all. It was nothing rational. There had been no decision.

And she was not being raped. People could be raped, the way people could wear clothes. The man cutting off her windpipe as he jetted his seed into the bitch was using her. And when he was done he let go unceremoniously, and she heard him chuckle. Might have something there. They clean themselves?

Yeah. Take care of the mess like any other smart appliance.

How many are they good for before they're used up?

Who knows?

But there was no one else. She was allowed to sink to the floor, in a puddle of cooling semen joined by the trickles that flowed intermittently from the collie as she tried to recover. “And what? What," she heard Seth's voice. “You're going to meet them in public and tell them you're dating this thing? That you want to get married someday?"

“You had no right. You had no right to do this to her." It was a very, very weak protest. Seth had won, obviously. She heard his footsteps, and the door closing. Malcolm rose; knelt next to her. She flinched when his fingers brushed her ear, and tried to hate herself for it. “Elsa?"

Her muzzle was still tied shut.

He fumbled with the knot. “I'm sorry. We'll… I don't know. I don't know who we can go to. Maybe the school? We—"

The sound of the door opening again cut him off. “Oh, leave it. If you haven't had sense talked into you now…" Seth pulled her away from her boyfriend, lifting her up and dropping her limply over the coffee table in front of the desk. “This thing. Really. Look me in the eyes and tell me you expect me to take a relationship with this thing seriously."

“I do."

“Fine." He was holding something. A pair of handcuffs. Elsa jerked her paw away when he grabbed for it and the older man just snorted, and slid them through her collar instead, and the metal frame of the table. “Suit yourself. That'll work for both of us."

Again he left, though the door didn't even have a chance to close again. “What the fuck? Where did that come from?"

“Same place as the handcuffs." Seth had not returned alone. A big German Shepherd was with him. Panting, tail wagging—heeling obediently, the leash slack. “This is Gunner. One of the guard dogs. They let me borrow him after that little, ah… favor. I'm curious about something. Aren't you?"

“No."

“Very well-trained, I'm told. More than your slut, anyway. Do you think he recognizes his kin?" Her ears twitched. They weren't kin. Rumors that they were genetically compatible weren't even rumors, just slander.

She'd told her boyfriend that, at least. He remembered. “Dad!"

“I think he does…"

Malcolm took a step forward and the elder Kilgore shoved him contemptuously away, sending him to the floor. Elsa looked at him pleadingly. Helplessly. Willing him to try again even as the dog padded over to her, claws clicking ominously against the tile. His tongue swiped over her face; she could smell the shepherd's rank breath. Tried to jerk away, and failed.

“Hm-mm-mm," Seth remonstrated the dog. “Wrong end."

Please. The gag turned it into a meaningless whimper. Malcolm heard anyway, or he saw her ears pinning. He looked away. Seth's hand on Gunner's leash tugged the dog back. He sniffed at her thighs. She knew what was coming even before she felt the warmth of his tongue dragging over her sex, and despite it she whimpered again.

Struggling, forcing her legs together, bought her a few seconds. Seth snorted. “Don't play dumb. Open 'em." When she didn't, he leaned down, grabbing her scruff in one hand and twisting, hard. Pain, and then shocking immobility. She couldn't stop the oxblood, neatly cobbled shoe he forced between her knees—more money than she made in six months, wedging her thighs apart.

Again the tongue. Lapping. Scouring her. The shepherd's panting breath was an almost agonizing river of heat as he licked whatever remained of the seed dribbling from her abused sex obediently. Had he done this before? Gunner stopped. A heavy, disgusting weight settled on her hips. And then it started jostling her, as he began to thrust.

Elsa screamed without even trying for words, hoping the sound was loud enough that someone would help her. That it might snap Malcolm out of his stupor. She bucked and struggled as Gunner's hips humped crazily, erratically, until Seth tightened his hold on her neck and she couldn't make her body obey. “Act like a rabid dog and I'll put you down like one," he hissed.

She had a moment to realize the dampness prickling her eyes were tears. Then there was heat, ominous and slippery, pushing right against her, and as she gave one last futile shriek Gunner arched his strong back and his prick rammed into her.

It didn't hurt—most of him was still in his sheath and the penetration was more shocking than painful. But as soon as the dog felt warm bitch around him he bucked again and again, swelling rapidly as he took her cunt. Sloppy squelching announced every plunge, canine precum spraying into her to mix with everything else sullying the collie's snatch.

The old man let go, chuckling and standing back up. “They're naturals," he sneered. “Look, Malcolm. She knows it's her place to get bred like this…" Her boyfriend averted the wide, desperate stare she shot his way. She struggled to fight off anything like reacting to the cock sliding rapidly through her folds, the energetic male stroking thick dog dick deep into her body.

Anything like reacting to the notion of getting bred by the fiercely humping shepherd, his heavy body hot and inescapable on her back. There was drool staining her fur, wet and slimy. She would stink of it. Of him. Her mother would know. Everyone would know. And those reassurances that she couldn't actually get pregnant, that she wasn't a dog, seemed distressingly unconvincing now, now that he was—

“Seen a bitch get tied?" Seth drawled. Gunner was already growing thicker inside her. Elsa had never taken a knot. Never wanted it. Of course the shepherd wasn't fixed, she realized. If she let him the feral would let biology run its full course—ram his way into her until they were stuck and she was steadily filled with his litter. “Tell you what. You love her? Get her off."

Nothing.

“They can, right? Don't you care? Or if she's too dumb for that, we can just have her destroyed. The rest of the way…"

Malcolm stirred, finally. She told herself she heard him whisper an apology. For being so close to her at the depths of her degradation. For not being able to stop what had happened. For the way he touched her, right next to where the obscene, crimson shaft was pounding away at her. The way he rubbed, too skillfully.

She shook her head. Madly. It was madness, the panic that had her fighting against her bonds. Gunner's forearms gripped her hips and the angle shifted, his cock sinking deeper and deeper. The last bit took effort, and the swelling sent twinges teasing the edges of pain and awful pleasure as her body betrayed her. He's too big for me, she thought deliriously.

But he wasn't. He slid in, lurching heavily, and as soon as he was hilted all the way his pace changed at once. Frantic and hard and unrelenting and—“well, there you go, see? Watch your girlfriend get fucking puppies, Mal"—purposeful, fucking her to his climax, to the singular goal of claiming the bitch under him, his grasp tightening…

He hunched up and she felt him twitch, and then a hot, long spray of watery dog cum gushed inside her. Elsa whimpered—quietly, but Seth's grin twisted into a knowing smirk. The dog on her back humped steadily, his hoarse pants timed to it now, timed to the too-strong, too-warm pulses of potent seed Gunner's heavy balls pumped into his helpless bitch.

And Malcolm's fingers kept working. He knew her too well. Even without the solid ball shoved into her cunt, tugging along with her boyfriend's touch, he was too well-acquainted with how her body worked. She tried to fight it—tried to tell him she'd rather be destroyed-the-rest-of-the-way—but as climax welled up in her all Elsa could do was shut her eyes.

She squirmed and rocked in small, helpless convulsions as release gripped her. It felt good. Irrevocably shameful. Ruinously defiling—arching with the contractions of a deep, debasing pleasure that gripped demandingly on the shaft breeding her as the shepherd on her back dumped the full volume of a proper, feral load in her worthless body.

But good, in a way that spared her the worst of Seth's mocking.

Gunner slid from her back and turned around. It pressed her harder into the table. Worse, it nudged his sack up against hips. Every clench and throb while he emptied himself drove home the finality of what had happened. His satisfied, slower huffing was nearly as awful as anything Seth said.

Had said.

He bent down and released the handcuffs, pulling her head up when he worked them free of her collar. Their eyes met. “Remember. This is what you are." Her head dropped when he let go; the sock around her muzzle was gone, and she spat the other free limply. “Go on, put your clothes back on when your stud pulls out of you. The one Mal just helped you with. He knows. Doesn't he?"

“Don't," Malcolm said softly.

“See through 'em now, don't you? Some thrift-store teen-girl outfit doesn't change shit. Still just a bitch my son wasn't man enough to put in her place by himself." Seth's shoe nudged her. “You're not human. You'll never be human. Will you? What's your name?"

She shut her eyes and looked away.

“Thought so. I'll be back for that dog later." Pausing, hand on the door, he tilted his head towards Gunner. Then he pointed at her. “The other one? I don't want to see it again."