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“Be a good boy Rosco, it’s almost our turn,” the man said, touching the huge pitbull that lay at his feet in the waiting room of the vet’s office.

The dog-man let out a groan of boredom and stretched his mighty limbs. He was a fearsome-looking anthro, tall as his master, almost two hundred pounds of rippling muscles and bones. His coat was a shiny brownish-red with a white chest leading up to his chin and down his belly, arms and legs. He was fitted with a strong leather muzzle, as he always was when out of the house. Despite this, everyone in the waiting room kept a respectful distance from the alarming beast.

This wasn’t Rosco’s first visit to the vet. In fact, as a fighting dog he was a regular at the clinic. The combats he took part in were carefully managed to maximize the drama of the violent spectacle but they rarely resulted in serious injury, the battles usually ending at the first blood or when one of the fighters rolled onto his back to submit to the other. Still, such a career required frequent check-ups.

Rosco cast a sour look at the empty seat next to his master. He hated being on the floor. He wanted to sit like a human but his owner didn’t allow that. A pet should know its place, the man always said, and his place was on the floor like the other dogs. The pitbull grumbled internally, wishing he had something to take out his frustration on.

His ears perked up when the lady seated in front of them cooed at her dalmatian. The spotted dog panted happily and gave her a small lick before turning an inquisitive eye towards the pitbull. Rosco looked him over with disdain. The dalmatian was sitting on his rump, and his open legs revealed a smooth, ball-less patch of black skin under his sheath. The poor pup had been snipped. Unable to contain his disgust, Rosco answered the friendly gaze with a snarl and a mean glare that quickly made the smaller dog drop his head and tuck his tail between his legs, as if trying to hide his non-existent malehood. The pitbull grinned under his muzzle. Petty but satisfying, he thought.

“Next please,” a nurse yelled out. Man and anthro rose up to their feet and went out, the pitbull's bare paw-pads making a soft pit-pat sound as he walked on the tiled floor.

A strong smell of disinfectant greeted them when they entered the examination room. The vet was busy washing his hands in the stainless steel sink, and he acknowledged their presence with a nod.

“Hello sir, how is Rosco doing today?”

“He’s doing well; almost too well!” his owner replied.

“Still as lively as ever? Let’s see...”

The doctor smiled and motioned Rosco to sit on the examination table. He then removed the dog’s muzzle, opened his jaws and peered at the huge gleaming teeth inside. The pitbull didn’t cringe once, even when the man thrust his fingers into his mouth and pulled his tongue aside to look at his throat and gums.

“Looks healthy,” the vet concluded, “No bad breath or tartar buildup. Now be a good dog and let me see your chest.”

The pitbull laid himself on the table, his clawed feet protruding over the end. Save for the collar that circled his thick neck he was stark naked, but that didn’t bother him one bit. Although he often resented his lower status compared to humans, his lack of clothes didn't cause him any embarrassment. In fact, he was quite proud of his sizable junk, and he never understood why humans were so shy about theirs.

He stood straight as a yardstick as the doctor pressed his ear to his bosom and listened intently to his heartbeat, occasionally moving his head to another part of the dog’s chest and finally to his abdomen. The vet raised his head, nodded to indicate that all was well and quickly examined the dog’s testicles, rolling the big orbs between his fingers to feel for any lumps.

“All good,” he said, “Turn over, on your hands and knees.”

The command made the dog-man wince. This was always the part he liked least, but he complied without demurring. As Rosco changed position, the vet put on a latex glove and covered his fingers with lube.

“Very nice. Now just relax while I do your internal exam.”

The man lifted the pitbull’s tail and smeared his hole with lubricant. Rosco felt his sphincter go taut and his scrotum contract from the cold touch. It wasn’t the male-on-male nature of the act that troubled the dog, rather it was the perceived threat to his status. His mind naturally associated mounting and penetration with dominance.

Rosco muffled a laugh as he remembered how he had almost bitten the doctor during his first exam. His master had administered him an unforgettable spanking as a correction that day. Fair enough, the pitbull thought, he had given the poor doctor the fright of his life. In any case, he had since learned that there was no implied challenge in the medical act.

Seeing the dog relax slightly, the vet inserted two lubed fingers into his rectum. Rosco made a sudden grimace, drawing back his lips and baring his fangs, and then sighed as the discomfort passed as quickly as it had come.

“That’s a boy...” the doctor said in a soothing tone.

Rosco remained calm whilst the man explored his rectum in search of abnormalities, but blood rushed to his head when the probing fingers reached his prostate. The dog didn’t understand the weird sensation that radiated from his rear end, but his body reacted all the same. His sheath swelled and a red tip poked out.

Rosco’s master stepped forward and gently scratched his head. “Just relax, just relax…”

As he withdrew his fingers, the vet delicately stretched open the puffy brown lips for a quick visual check. To his satisfaction the rectum was bright pink and moist, with no signs of irritation.

“All is in order,” he commented, "Shall we collect a sample as usual?"

“Yes,” the man said, ruffling the dog’s ears, “He’s been good today.”

A big happy grin grew on Rosco’s face. This was his treat, the dangling bone that enticed him to go to the vet without making a fuss. Licking his chops in anticipation he spread his knees wide to grant the doctor easy access to his cock and balls. The vet removed the soiled glove and discarded it in the waste bin. He didn’t bother putting on another. The dog was clean and both of them were familiar with the procedure. Besides, Rosco disliked the feeling of latex on his skin.

Holding a collection sleeve in his left hand, the doctor reached out between the pitbull’s legs, grabbed his meaty sheath and started to vigorously massage the masculine flesh within. Rosco's mind exploded. The man was stroking his rod right behind the bulbus glandis, the sweet spot that sent electrifying sparks rippling through his body and made his cock throb and swell like a long red balloon.

The table shook as the dog began to hump frantically into the vet’s hand, his heavy balls battering the man's knuckles. His erection was expanding fast, and more and more of the hardening cock emerged from the long sheath. His shaft was thick, red and glistening with wet juices, the tapered end already ejaculating a constant stream of clear seminal fluid that sprayed all over the table like musky piss. Using his index finger and thumb, the vet expertly rolled back the sheath over the pitbull’s blood-engorged knot and squeezed the penis behind the fleshy lump, filling the dog’s vision with fresh stars in an almost unbearable burst of pleasure.

Rosco’s humping became less frenzied as his knot reached his full size and the most intense stage of his orgasm drew to an end. The mind-blowing sensations of the first few seconds gave way to a warm feeling of bliss that moved from his cock through his whole body. At the doctor’s cue, he lifted his leg and allowed the man to redirect his penis backwards, as if he were locked with a bitch. This done, the vet carefully slipped the sleeve over the dog’s member to collect the sperm-rich fraction of his cum.

“Good boy, Rosco, good boy,” his master whispered as he stroked the pitbull’s blocky head. Rosco was moaning softly now, his tumescent cock pulsating rhythmically as his balls pumped and pumped his seed up his long hard shaft and out of his canine tip. The room was quiet for several long minutes while the vet milked his patient, the silence only broken by the audible spurting of semen into the collection bag and the dog’s little whimpers of pleasure. One last, thick discharge of creamy cum marked the end of the pitbull’s orgasm, and after squeezing one last time the vet let go of his penis. The huge dripping member wagged obscenely between his legs like a big fleshy tail, its tip almost trailing on the table’s surface. With a deep sigh of content, the dog laid himself on his side and basked in the afterglow, a warm sated look on his face.

While Rosco licked himself clean, the vet removed the collection tube from the sleeve and examined it. "Good volume today," he said, "I will freeze it and store it with the other samples."

“I think this will be the last. We should have enough by now,” the dog’s owner replied.

The doctor turned his head towards the man, his expression suddenly more serious. “So, you’ve made up your mind then. Is your decision final?”

A nod answered his question. “Fine. When do you want this done?” the vet inquired.

The man brushed the dog’s head pensively with his fingers. “Let’s get it done today, please.”

Rosco tilted his head from one man to the other, puzzled by what they meant, but his confusion evaporated when his master lifted his chin with his hand and looked him in the eyes.

“Rosco, your fighting days are over. From now on, you’ll focus on breeding duties!”

The anthro’s face shone with joy. Finally! At the beginning of his career his master had promised him that if he was successful he would be rewarded with an early and comfortable retirement as a stud, with no responsibilities other than siring pups. He had actually never been allowed near a bitch, a tactic his master adopted to keep him aggressive and motivated, and he longed to fulfill his manhood by mounting a female. Sure, he’d miss the thrill of the fights and the cheers of the crowds but it was worth it.

Rosco felt a light tap on his shoulder and turned around. The vet was holding a large needleless syringe filled with a clear liquid. “You better take some vitamins to boost your system before you go,” the smiling man explained. The dog raised an eyebrow but obediently swallowed the bitter-tasting medicine that the doctor squirted into his mouth.

Lost in delicious thoughts of himself knotting a handsome dog-girl and filling her womb with his seed, Rosco did not pay attention to the nurse who entered the room carrying a tray full of surgical instruments. Only the snapping sound of the latex gloves the vet put on drew his mind back to the men in front of him, but by then he was starting to feel drowsy. Why was the man putting on gloves again, he thought dizzily, had they not finished the examination? He made a move to get on his feet, but his legs felt oddly heavy, as if they were encased in cement. Before he could utter a sound his vision went dark and he collapsed onto the table.

* * * * *

Rosco tentatively opened one eye, shut it again, and groaned. His brain was pounding, his eyes burned and his whole body felt distant and numb. Indistinct voices pierced the fog that was rolling into his head.

“You understand, I was worried that without an outlet for his energy he’d become too dominant. I’d have hated to be forced to abandon him or have him put to sleep.”

"Don't worry about that. He will be very submissive now."

What had happened? He must have passed out. He tried to move but his limbs wouldn’t respond. Slowly, he became aware of a dull ache between his legs.

“I hope he won’t put on weight. I still need to show him to clients.”

“I will prescribe a hormone treatment to keep him masculine.”

With an immense effort, the pitbull lifted his head to look at his lower body. He was able to make out the familiar shape of his penis through the blur that coated his vision but something was off. He craned his neck further to try to make sense of what he saw. There was a thick strip of gauze taped to his groin, below his sheath, right where his sack should have been.

Stunned, he turned his head and looked at the man who had spoken last. The vet was holding two egg-shaped things in his gloved hand. They were the size of plums, white with a bluish tint and slightly bloodied. With a tap of his feet, the vet opened the medical waste bin and dropped the orbs unceremoniously inside.

“It’s always a bit of a heartache to lose such a fine male but it’s for the best.”

Rosco stared dully before the horrible comprehension seeped into his brain and panic constricted his chest. He tried to get up, hoping madly to fish his manhood out of the waste but faintness overcame him and he sank into unconsciousness once more.

* * * * *

“He’s a magnificent beast, isn’t he?” Rosco’s master said cheerfully as he sipped from his glass.

His client got up from his seat and, without asking, grabbed the pitbull’s arm to feel his muscles.

"True, true. I see you had him cut?"

He crouched and examined the emasculated genitals. The wound had healed well, leaving only a small, barely noticeable scar.

“He didn’t need those anymore. I retired him and froze his semen for anyone interested in breeding.”

“Your rates aren’t exactly cheap,” the man winced as he absent-mindedly stroked the dog’s thigh.

“But he’s a former champion,” the owner countered quickly. “His genetics are top notch and he’s free from diseases. Think of the pups you’d get from this dam.”

With his glass, he pointed at the silver-furred female pitbull sprawled on the couch. She was handsome, lithe for her breed, with manicured claws and blue eyes. Her bare breasts were firm and taut, although her crossed legs hid her most private parts from full view.

Rosco trembled as her curious gaze fell on him. Not long ago such a sight would have heated his blood like liquid fire and stirred his wild instincts. Now he barely felt a tickle in his sheath in the presence of a female. In fact, the only way he could still achieve an erection was by playing with his own ass, at night, when his master was asleep.

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment when she tilted her head to better see his gelded crotch. There was a hint of laughter in her eyes, as if she was amused by the fact that an eunuch was going to be the father of her litter. Rosco’s hand slid between his legs to cover his shame but his owner took hold of his wrist and firmly pulled the paw away.

“I thought I already told you not to do that!”

"Don't scold him this way." the other man interjected. "Poor pup. It must have been tough for him."

“I love my dog,” the owner protested, “But I also expect him to behave.”

He put down his drink, got up and raised his hand to caress the pitbull’s ears and scratch his chin.

“He knows I’m his master, and he trusts me to do what’s best for him. Don’t you, Rosco?”

The anthro looked meekly at the man who had him emasculated. He should have been furious at him for what he had done, but he couldn't summon any anger at all. Instead, he was full of resigned acceptance and, perversely, gratitude for not having been treated even worse. Without testosterone to drive him he felt no need to challenge his position in the pack.

The hand was now stroking his muzzle, the fingers rubbing the stubby hair of his cheek. Rosco opened his mouth and began to lick.

“Good boy,” his master said with a triumphant smile.