FSE

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Sarah watched the clock, and the seconds seemed to draw out, longer, endless. She was still and quiet, but not by choice. There was little room to struggle, and the leather wrapped tight around her muzzle kept all but the smallest sounds at bay. Sounds of activity went on, out of her sight but within range of her ears and her nose. She could turn her head, a little bit, but the thick, stiff collar only allowed a little bit of motion to her neck, and it wasn't enough to turn and see the door behind her.

She could hear, though. She could hear the heavy breathing, the muffled moans, the bounce of springs on the old bed. It needed replaced, but no one would care until it finally just blew out. The creak of the frame was pretty loud, too. Some tiny part of her mind tried to focus on the litany of complaints and picked nits, anything to distract her from the gnawing need.

Her knees ached, and she shifted a little. As much as the ropes binding thighs to ankles, and the ropes binding knees to bolts in the floor would allow. So little motion, so little freedom. And the clock in front of her nose was so achingly slow.

She could smell them, could smell the hot sweat of sex, the fiery lust. The sudden shift as she cried out in ecstasy. It only made her more keenly aware that the only thing between her legs was leather, not even a proper chastity belt, just a wide leather strap that, nevertheless, did a fine job of reminding her endlessly that she hadn't been touched in six days. Not by herself or any other, certainly not by him. The ache of joints, and the clock, told her that there were only ten minutes left before that would change, but it might as well have been ten months.

She heard him grunt, growl, heard her cry of pain and pleasure as (she imagined) he pulled her hair, or bit her shoulder. Sarah didn't even know her name, just that she was a slender gazelle, and that Ethan was behind her in the bedroom, fucking her senseless.

This closet might as well be a prison cell, for all the freedom she had. The only part of her that could move freely was her tail, and a pissed off, envious, horny-as-hell wolf did not wag. Her shoulders throbbed, forearms together behind her back each hand on the other elbow. He hadn't tied the ropes too tight, at least, but having circulation didn't really help the whole not being able to move or stretch thing much.

Four minutes to go. Sarah heard a breathless giggle, a moan, and that peculiar wet, squishy sound when Ethan was done with a girl. Done pumping them to bursting with tiger seed. Done fucking them into a puddle. She knew that sound well, and was very, very happy to hear it, because it meant her torment was almost over. But the worst, foulest, most degrading part of it was coming.

She hated this part, and she hated how much she wanted it. Knew it was the price that had to be paid to get exactly what she wanted.

"Come on, Judy. Over here." She heard his voice behind her, felt the shudder that the deep, purring sound always sent down her spine. "Just like I said."

"Are you sure? She likes it?"

"Not what I said. She needs it. Just trust me on this one."

He was right, she did need it. Which didn't make it any more fun when the gazelle straddled her muzzle, and rubbed her messy load of tiger semen on Sarah's face. Just a few seconds, but enough to completely fill her nose with the reek of sex. She was too focused on that, on the furious maelstrom of hunger and need that was shredding through her to notice that she had left.

Ethan's hand on her cheek brought her out of it, and she realized she'd been rocking and grinding her hips, not even aware that she was doing it. The clock ticked the final seconds over, and she heard the pleasure in his voice.

"Good girl."