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Etiquette

The gym is almost empty at ten in the night, but the bear is standing by the weight racks, all muscle and sinew and fat, and I sneak looks at him out of the corner of my eye. I come here three times a week and I hide in the little alcove where the weight machines are and sit and stare through the glass when he's turned away.

Sometimes he comes with friends and they talk about things I can't hear, sometimes there are people jogging or lifting or stretching, but not today. Today he's alone, and I'm alone, and I see the muscles roll under his pelt and the fat hang off him like armor. Right now he's sitting down on a cushioned bench and doing bicep curls, ninety, a hundred pounds while I sit and pull against wires and weights he can probably manage with a finger, and I pant while the air conditioner hums and blows the stink of sweat across the floor.

I like it. All the things you can't ask you can smell, if you pay attention, One sniff will tell you whether they live in a mansion or under a bridge, whether they run off five hours of sleep a week or get to stay in bed until noon, whether they had ramen or caviar for dinner yesterday. Perfume and distance won't cover up all the little things you try to hide about yourself, not here.

It's funny how places like this affect me. It's like an itch. The more I try to ignore it the more it burns. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be so obsessed with someone I've never even talked to, someone I'll probably never get within ten feet of. But I'm still here, week after week, and every time I wonder if he'll know.

That's what I worry about most of all, I think. That he'll know. Is it strange? To worry about some harmless little habit you have, when the worst that's going to happen is that someone thinks you're a creep. Or not even that. I bet he'd take it as a compliment, bet he'd think it was great some random guy at the gym was checking him out. I should talk to him, except that if I tried I'd choke up and I don't know if he's even into guys and even if he was I don't know if he'd like me or if he'd just laugh or maybe he wouldn't even say anything at all and just act like nothing had happened at all, or maybe he'd be nice and that would be the worst, somehow; and suddenly I have to breathe, I have to stop and calm down, and I let the handles of the machine push back and the weights clink down slowly, and I sit there leaning back into the seat.

Then he looks straight at me, and my heart nearly stops, and I pretend to be interested in the paint on the wall.

The excuse must be wearing thin by now. Every once in a while I look his way when he looks at mine, and if our eyes meet for even a second I just look away and hold still and sometimes I wonder if he realizes. But if he noticed he would have said something, or just told me to fuck off, right?

I'm breathing hard, now. I think I need water, need to cool off. I get up and walk across the cheap plastic tiles to the drinking fountain outside the little room I hide in, away from the stares of other people, and I close my eyes as the water splashes up and I lap hastily at the liquid.

There's a loud clang from behind me and I hear a voice.

"You. Wolf."

It's deep, booming. The weight behind it makes my ears twitch and my pulse race. I turn around, and he's looking at me, frowning, and leaning on a metal bar next to a low, padded bench.

"M-me?"

"Yeah. You. See anyone else here?"

I look at him and suddenly there's a lump in my throat and I have to swallow. "No, sir."

Sir. I called him "sir." I tell myself it's just politeness, but I'm a bad liar.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. He crooks a finger at me. "C'mere, wolf."

I stumble and trip over myself to obey. I should wipe down the chest press, I should stop and think, but there's no one else here and this is more important anyway. The way he's looking at me, the fact he's looking at me, makes me shiver all over.

I walk over to the bear, who's standing with his arms folded over his chest and his foot tapping against the floor, toenails clicking against the tiles. When I get close to him my gaze drops down to his feet and my tail hangs low between my legs. I can't meet his eyes, can't bear to say anything, but I can hear his impatient breathing and smell the rich scent hanging around him. I stand there for a good half minute or so, I think, and there's no sound except the hum of machinery and the rumble of his chest.

"You come around here a lot," he says, finally, and I look up. He looks down at the little wolf shrinking beside him.

"Yes, sir." This is it. The moment when he'll tell me to stop, when he'll tell me how much of a creep I'm being, and even then I don't know if I will.

But instead there's a thump on my shoulder, and his hand squeezes down until I can feel the joint start to crackle.

"We've never talked," he says.

I want to ask him where he works. I want to ask him what his hobbies are. I want to ask him all the little pieces you need to check off before it's okay to ask someone if they want to maybe go somewhere else, after. I want to at least fucking ask him if it's a fucking nice day, instead of standing here like I'm too stupid to understand fucking English, but it's all I can do. He smells like leather and musk, under the sweat, like power and confidence, and when I face that all I can do is shrivel up. So I just stand there, staring dumbly at his feet.

"Yes, sir," I say. It barely even rises above the hum of the fans.

A massive paw slides into view, thick and calloused. He stretches a finger out under my chin and tilts my head up until I'm forced to look him in the eye.

"A little quiet, aren't you?"

I swallow again. "Yes, sir."

There's a smile on his face, lean and hungry. "What do you do for a living, wolf?"

"I'm a paralegal, sir. Applying to law school next year."

"You want to be a lawyer, huh?" He grins. "Going to have to speak up for that job, wolf."

I redden under my fur and my ears twitch upward.

"If that's all, sir-"

"Why don't you work out with me."

It's not question, no matter how he says it. It's not a question, and I don't have any answer except to say, "Yes, sir."

"Good." He scratches gently under my chin and I tilt my head back until I'm staring past his head at the ceiling, and he drops his hand down until it hangs by his side, and when I look at his face his jaw's split open in a grin. "Get me six hundred pounds, pup."

I wanted him to say something to me. And now that he has, and I'm not sure I like what I'm hearing.

The disks for the bench press are on the far wall. I pick them up one by one, and I can feel his smirk on my back when I walk away from him, huffing. By the time I carry the sixth one over I'm sweating with the effort.

The bear sits on the bench, eyes fixed on me the whole time, and when I carry the last weight over to his side he stands up and pats me on the shoulder.

"Good boy."

My tail beats back and forth twice, three times before I can stop it and I cringe and look away. I want to leave, just for a moment, and my lips curl back the barest bit over my teeth, and I get a pat that lands like a blow on my ass.

"What are you waiting for, pup? Put them on the bar."

"Sorry, sir."

I slide the weights on one by one. The bear nods and takes his shirt off, lays it carefully on the bench. His gut hangs out, heavy and menacing, his sweat-soaked fur bare and oily, and I stand there and shudder in helpless fascination.

"Count for me," he says.

"Yes, sir," I whisper.

He lies down on the bench with a grunt, then lifts the bar in a single, smooth motion. The muscles bunch under his skin and the light blinks on the fur above it and sends little waves of brightness across his body.

"One." It sounds like a squeak, like a little mouse, and I can barely focus on the numbers. He takes the weights easily. No grunting, no panting, just a few glistening beads dripping off his forehead and splashing on the plastic padding beneath him.

"Ten. Eleven."

His muzzle hangs open. Mine does, too, and I cough and tuck my hands into my pockets.

"Nineteen. Twenty."

My nose twitches. The bear's scent is starting to fill the room, starting to get into my head, and I'm glad sheathes point upward as the blood rushes down. If I had fantasies about him they'd be bursting in my head, but I never really pictured myself talking to him. So all I do is close my eyes and try to focus on something besides the tremors running through me.

But the clang of metal brings me back to my senses. He's racked the bar and he stares at me, shakes his head slowly with a grin. "You stopped counting."

I clear my throat. "S-sorry, sir."

"Not much good at this, are you?" he says.

"No, sir."

He gets up, all nine feet of him, and he takes a step toward me and puts a paw on my shoulder again. I can feel the weight of it pressing down on me. "Maybe we should try something else."

I feel dizzy for just a moment. "Whatever you say, sir."

He turns me around. There's a prod in my back, right where his sheath would be. I hold back a whine.

Hot breath tickles my ear. "Anything I say. Right, pup?"

"Yes, sir." I close my eyes. He lifts me up like a doll and I'm covered in the sweaty and spicy scents rising from his half-naked body and I just shiver and pant in his grip.

He puts me down on something soft and musky and I open my eyes. I'm on the bench, lying on his shirt, and my cock juts out of my sheath like I'm a horny little fourteen year old again. The bear stands over me and I whimper, I can't help it. I wait for another command, wait for him to tell me to get up or bend over or whatever it is that's supposed to happen.

Instead I hear a clink, and I tilt my head back. He's taking weights off the bar. He takes them back, all six of them at once, and stacks them against the wall. They settle into place with a metallic groan, and he turns his head over his shoulder and asks, "How long have you been working out, pup?"

"J-just a few weeks, sir."

He comes back with a new set of weights, much smaller than before, held under one muscled arm. The way he stands he blocks the light and I lie underneath him in his shadow, hardly daring to move. He lifts up one of my limp arms with his free paw and chuckles. "Seems about right."

I blush, and he scratches behind my ear, and then I just lie still and breathe.

"What's your name, pup?"

"Nathan, sir." Don't stop, please, I don't say. "And you, sir?"

He smiles. "I think 'sir' is just fine for now."

"Yes, sir." My tongue lolls out, eyes hang half closed. I could fall asleep lying here under him.

"Glad we understand each other."

He stops and gives me a pat on the chest. "Now. How much can you bench?"

I want to whine when he stops and I hate myself for it. But I still answer. "A hundred and twenty, sir."

It's not much, I know. But if the only people who went to the gym were in shape America might as well just give up and start making all the seats on airplanes bigger.

He shrugs. "Better than I thought." He slides the weights on. A hundred fifty.

"Think you can do ten, pup?" He winks at me, amused by the little game he thought up. "I'll give you a treat if you make it."

His arms are out, holding steady over the bar, and I whine but I grab it and brace myself. I'm sweaty and breathless already. The way he stands his bulge hangs over my head and it's as big it should be, or bigger. It swings down right over my face, so all I can see is the blue of the cotton shorts, and if he was shorter his sac would be hanging down right on my forehead. I can smell them, almost taste them, the grapefruit sized orbs hanging tantalizingly above me.

I'm pretty sure I know what that treat is, and I'm going to do my best to get it. With a grunt I push up and lift the metal bar into the air above my chest. My muscles are burning, shoulders popping. I let it down slowly, and he shakes his head and grabs the bar.

"Not like that. Your arms need to be further down."

One massive paw grips the bar lightly and pushes forward until it stands just below my nipples.

"Try it again. We'll count that as one."

It doesn't feel any different to me, but I nod dutifully and continue.

He counts. "Two. Three. Four."

I heave up and down, each push making the pole feel twice as heavy as before. His dick bobs in time with the weights and I'm sweating in my t-shirt, as hard as I've ever been. My hands are starting to slip on the weight, sweaty with nerves and hormones and fatigue, but I just grip harder.

"Five. Six. Seven. Almost there, pup."

I'd have given up at three in any normal situation, but right now I'd push so hard I'd rip my arms from the sockets if I thought it would help. But by eight the bar hovers six inches off my chest as I tremble and grunt with the effort, and by nine I can't even lift them even that much, and I can't go any further, I just can't, and as my arms collapse the crushing weights drop down towards my chest.

He swoops in, catching them just a hair above my ribs. Asshole is grinning, still. He did that on purpose, just to scare me, and for a moment annoyance overcomes lust and I want to get up and storm away. Then he casually flicks the bar up with his wrist, slides it back in place, and the thought that he could do the same to me makes my cock twitch. There's a wet spot forming on my shorts. I can feel it, and even if I couldn't I can smell it. He probably can, too, and the fact that he knows makes my face burn and my cock drip even more.

"Too bad, puppy." He walks around in front of me as I lie there panting and trying to get some feeling back in my arms. I gasp as I feel a paw grip my cock and balls. My little parts fit neatly in the palm of his hand, and as he tugs at them I feel another squirt of pre leak through. "Looks like you really wanted that treat."

His touch makes me squirm, and I can't stop the words spilling out of my mouth. "Please, sir."

He cups his other hand to his ear, turns his head towards me and gives a lopsided grin. "What's that, pup? Couldn't hear you."

"P-please!"

He's so fucking satisfied with himself it's like a slap to my face, and that grin grows even wider, and there's a low rumble in his voice as he asks, "Please what?"

I could kick myself, but I can't help it. "Please give me a treat, sir."

He laughs, slaps his knee and gives me a look that makes what little bit of self-respect I have wither. "Oh, Christ. I can't believe you actually said that."

I can't, either, but now I can feel my face start to heat up and my ears flush, and I want to crawl under a rock somewhere, except that I'd probably end up having to ask permission to do that, too.

But that's all forgotten when he speaks again. "Fine, puppy. If you'll do a little bit more for me."

I nod. Anything, anything.

"Take off your shirt," he says, and it's gone in an instant and I stand there panting under the glare of fluorescent lights. My head is curled down, shoulders tucked, and the bear towers over me licking his lips. He picks his abandoned shirt off the bench, flicks it at me, and it settles over me before I have a chance to move. His scent and mine mixed together, sweat and arousal and old musk, and my nostrils flare wide. I pull it off in a daze, drunk on the smells, and his smile is wide and deep as he watches me and puts it carefully back on the bench.

"Come," he says, and my body moves by itself, I'm on my knees in front of him before I know what's happened. I swallow as I reach up to his waist--and I mean reach, it's almost two feet above me--and he nods, giving me permission. I pull down his shorts. They rustle against his fur as they slide down, and there's nothing underneath but his heavy sheath and the grapefruit sized orbs below.

The cock in front of me is half-hard, the tip peeking out of the sheath in front of me. I nudge my nose up, barely able to touch his balls, and the musk is enough to make my cock start to drip again. I catch a glimpse of us in the gym's mirrors on the far wall and one part of me is disgusted with myself, to be on my knees with a cock hanging down in front of my face. Another part of me is ashamed to be so weak, humiliated to be liking it. The rest of me shudders and whispers, "Thank you, sir."

He grumbles in response. It's a half-growl, a get-on-with-it.

I rise to a half-crouch, poised on the balls of my feet. It's uncomfortable, but it's the only way I can get enough height on the bear to do any more than brush against him. I give the shaft in front of me a tentative lick, hardly daring to touch it. The taste is as thick as the scent, and I slide forward a couple inches.

That's all I can manage. The cock is tapered at the tip, but even just a little bit down it's as thick as my clenched fist. I have to content myself with suckling at the end of it, bobbing back an inch or two, for all the good that will do for the bear, and for a while it's enough.

But soon there's a paw the size of a dinner plate behind my head pushing me forward. "Ghrk-" I try to say something, protesting for the first time tonight, but by this point it's too late to do anything but let the bear take control, and he shoves my head another few inches forward. My cheeks bulge outward, jaw creaks open. I try to keep my teeth off as much as possible, but I still can't imagine how the bear can stand it.

He got a little sparkle in his eye, a little twitch around the edges of his muzzle. The sight of me struggling to fit around his cock is turning him on, and to my horror and amazement he wasn't quite done growing. I wasn't a third of the way down his cock, and now I'm not even a quarter.

"You doing okay, pup?"

I'm not, but when I whimper nothing changes except for the grip on my head and he shoves more of his shaft into my whining maw. There are little dribbles of pre and spit running down the corners of my mouth, and I gag when I feel him touch the back of my throat. I can't take anymore, I can't, but he doesn't seem to care. He grunts and his hand clenches around a fistful of my fur and pushes me firmly forward towards the base of his enormous organ. I whimper around his cock, eyes wide as I look up, and he lets out a rumbling sort of chuckle.

"You begged for it, pup. Swallow your treat."

His cock slides into my throat. There's an almost audible pop and a stinging pain in my jaw. It's not dislocated, not that bad, but I'm going to be feeling this for a while afterward. But I whine as much from desire as pain and he knows it, and he knows I know it because he's moved one of those big, sweaty paws up and his toe is teasing the tip of cock and his pads are scratching roughly along the length of it.

"You leak like a damn faucet."

I don't say anything. I can't say anything. I can't do anything but moan around his thick manhood, can't do anything but try to keep my balance and try to breathe around the taste and smell of musk.

Another couple inches go in and I want to scream. I can feel it in my throat, pulsing softly. Except for my strained jaw muscles, though, there's no pain. Just a burning, an itching to remind me that my body is still protesting even if I'm not. I hover just at the edge of choking, just at the edge of vomiting and close my eyes.

"Oh yeah." He pants and there's a deep moan from his chest, a vibration that goes all the way down through his cock to me and he starts to pull me off his fat dick. "Hope you're enjoying this as much as I am, pup."

When his cock finally pulls out of my throat I gasp, suck in air from the sides of my muzzle and breathe in as much as I can while lapping at the tip of his cock. The taste of it makes me squirm, the thought of it makes me blush and whine, and when he pushes me back down again I don't mind, not really. Nothing's really in focus anymore, and I'm not in control. The lack of oxygen, the effort of trying to relax, the haze of scent and arousal that surrounds us puts me in a trance as he fucks me. When he thrusts in again my throat bulges out around his member and it just makes me harder.

"Never seen someone your size take something this big down your muzzle before. You're talented." He winks. "A real slut."

I blush, or would if I were thinking clearly. Now I just moan and twitch around his cock.

"I think we better stop, though. You look like you're about to pass out."

There's a sloppy little squelch as he pulls out again and I gasp, just take in the biggest gulps of air like I was drowning, and every breath I take is thick with his pre and sweat. I collapse, and he puts a paw around my chest before I can crack my skull open on something.

"You're gonna need a new pair of shorts, puppy."

My vision starts to clear and I look down. The entire front is soaked, almost halfway down my thighs.

"Yes, sir," I say. It comes out as a croak and I cough, and suddenly my throat is on fire and I realize just how big that cock in me really was. Talking feels like swallowing needles and swallowing feels like someone's carving up my throat with a bag of razors. My face twists and he laughs and closes his fingers around my pre-stained muzzle. "Don't worry, pup. I think I can figure out what you'd be saying the rest of the night anyway."

I just nod while I drool and try to cough.

He rubs the tip of his cock and sits down on the bench. "C'mere. Let me get those pants off you."

What else can I do? I take the steps unsteadily, and when I reach him he pushes me down to my knees again. I'm at face level with his balls and rigid shaft and I start to breathe faster. There's still a trickle of pre coming out of his cock, still a creeping need capturing my mind, and he rubs the oversized organ against the soft fur of my face. I'm being marked with his scent, my position further etched in my mind. I'm his to do whatever he wants with, his to do anything he pleases to, and the whole world will smell it.

That's what I tell myself, anyway. By Monday I'll have washed it all away and no one will ever know what happened today, no one will even guess. But for now I just close my eyes think yes, sir.

The bear slides his foot up beneath me. The pads push into my rank and reeking shorts, toes rub against the straining erection beneath. He grinds down and I could just come right there if he'd give me just a little more pressure, and my eyes start to flutter closed and I sigh and lean down.

"Not yet, pup." He stops pushing, grabs the fabric of my shorts with his feet, and tugs them down so they hang at my knees. "I like you the way you are now. Needy and eager."

Fuck him fuck him fuck him. Or let him fuck me. He gets the message, or he was going to do it anyway, and he lifts me up again, two hands around my chest. Boxers and shorts drop down and hang on the curve of my foot before sliding off. I'm completely naked now, completely vulnerable. He holds me up almost at eye level to him. My ears flatten, flush against my head. He sniffs me and chuckles.

"You smell like a bitch in heat, pup." He pokes me in the gut. "Sure not built like one, though."

He's not exactly thin himself, but I never understood why people preferred that anyway. Muscular, sure. Skinny? Like having sex with a sackful of Legos.

I like the way his gut rounds out and presses into mine. I like the way his fur slips and prickles against me when he slides me down and dangles me just above his cock. My own length is trapped between my belly and his chest, still wet and dripping, and I whimper and lick at his chin.

The head of his massive shaft sits beneath my tail. He shifts his grip, paws sliding down to my waist. My hands go down to my cock without thinking, but a quick growl stops me short. I settle for pressing against his fur and breathing in the sweat and animal scent. I whine. Please, please.

My legs are spread wide apart, feet on either side of the bear's gut. A moment later I finally feel his cock start to slide in. Just the tip, but I gasp and strain around it.

"Hope you're stretchier down there, pup. Or this is going to be rough."

That's what I want. Or wanted. He slides me down smoothly, slowly, and I spasm around the unyielding shaft. The sheer girth is what hits me first. My ring is ripped wide open, wider than I thought I could possibly take until tonight, and we're only six inches down. There's another foot and a half to go, and the base is the thickest of all.

"So far so good. Guess you've had a lot of practice at this, huh?" He shakes his head, smiling. "What a filthy little puppy."

He grunts and I let out a raspy whimper as he pulls me further down his shaft. He takes it faster than is comfortable for me, faster than I can adjust, and it hurts in just the right way as splits me apart. Each quavering inch makes my toes curl and my cock twitch as he claims another part of my body for his own, molds my insides in his shape. I can't budge him at all, can't even move myself an inch in his grip to make it less painful for me. I can't even speak to tell him to slow down, can't do anything more than whine and whimper and moan and each one of those just tells him how weak-willed and willing I am.

When half his cock is jammed in me he stops and looks at the writhing little bitch impaled on his manhood.

"A little more than you bargained for, pup?" He chuckles and taps me lightly on the nose. "Too bad. You're going to take all of it. Whether or not you can handle it."

It's so far in me I can look down and see it make my chubby little gut bulge out even further. How far can it even go in, anyway? I remember seeing something on the internet about the guy that got fucked by a horse and died when his gut exploded. Got a law passed or something so now they require sex ed classes to give a pointless ten minute lecture about size differences, like it's not obvious to everyone how bad an idea it is, anyway. Unless you're an overachiever like me.

The bear pauses for maybe half a minute, giving me a few precious seconds to stretch, and it's too soon when he continues my long descent. What's in me is already more than I've ever had before, more than my body was ever designed to take, and I feel each twitch of his cock and spurt of pre-cum as a burning pain in my anal muscles.

I try to scream, but it comes out too raw and thin to be heard. I try to kick and push against the bench to pull away from his cock, but the bear is stronger than I could ever be. So all I can do is gasp and let the bear's cock sink firmly deep into my gut as he starts to push down again.

I don't know whether it's the best or worst thing I've ever felt before as the last half of the bear's cock sinks into me. I can't breathe, can't think, can't feel anything but paralyzing fullness. Any thoughts I had of struggling are gone. I clench around his cock by reflex but nothing moves; everything's stretched as far as it'll go and then stretched farther until I can feel the bear's heartbeat through the pulsing of his cock.

He grunts and pants as he grabs hold of me and slides me up again, and I croak again when I try to scream. If I had any energy left I would beg him to stop, tell him I changed my mind even though he's already made it clear he doesn't care. He treats me like a toy, like a cocksleeve. The thought of that makes my lust flare up and makes everything almost bearable.

My arms hang limply at my sides, tongue lolls out of my muzzle, and there's a steady stream of white cum leaking from my cock and it dribbles down into my sheath before pooling out onto my belly. I didn't come, but it leaks out anyway as I twitch on his cock, muscles confused and useless as that immense organ takes the place of my insides. The pressure forces everything out, pre, cum, and even a little bit of piss as he masturbates his cock with me, and it all splashes up on my stomach and stains my fur. The feeling is enough to change my mind, enough to make me want to beg him to fuck me even if he has to ruin my ass in the process.

He wouldn't object, I think, because he's done warming up. He stands up suddenly and the motion and twisting of the cock in me sends a twisting surge of pain through me, and again as he flips me on my stomach on the bench and leans over me. One giant paw presses down on the small of my back and knocks the wind out of me, the other grips the metal of the stand at one end of the bench so he doesn't crush me entirely, one large gut pins my tail against my back and I twist it to the side so I don't add broken bones to the list of injuries I'm going to have.

It must look absurd, a wolf pressed against the bench by a bear almost twice his size with a cock almost the size of his leg. But here I am and I pant and moan for more as the bear pulls out and sinks the entire length of his cock in my gaping ass.

If I thought it was unbearable before I was wrong. Each time he pulls his cock out my insides feel like they're collapsing in on themselves. When he thrusts back in I'm forced to spread around his cock in less than a second what was torture to take in twenty minutes and I scream even through my aching throat.

"Shut up." He stops for a moment, cock stuck three-quarters of the way in, to clamp a paw around my muzzle. "Scream like that again and someone's probably going to run in off the street and see what we're up to."

I shake my head. I don't know if I can, and the bear snorts. "Fine. Say the word and I'll help you out."

I'll say anything, if it'll help ease the pressure, and when he lets me open my jaw I groan, "Please, sir."

He leans on my back and squashes me flat against the bench. My muzzle flops open, gasping and panting for air, and he leans down and whispers in my ear. "Whatever you say, bitch."

He's got that smile again, like he's just thought up some great joke, and I'm always the punchline. As I lie there trying to breathe, the other hand goes down and picks up my pre-soaked boxers, forgotten on the floor, and he wads them up and stuffs them in my mouth.

"Somehow I don't think that's going to be enough for you, pup."

He reaches down again as I choke on the taste of my own pre and grabs his own shorts from the floor. He pulls them over my muzzle, forces my nose against the crotch. I breath in deep as the legs flap on either side of my face, and he grabs them and wraps them around my muzzle until my teeth grind. He ties them off in a neat knot that sits right in front of my pained eyes.

"That should do it," he says, and I hear the smirk in his voice.

Even when he finally relaxes the pressure on my back, I can barely breathe through the fabric. And now that I'm silenced, he speeds up. My claws dig furrows in the bench and there's the sound of ripping fabric to accompany the rhythmic pants and squelches of the bear as he rips through me. I'm stretched too raw around him, too thin, and his pre bubbles into me as he slams me into the padded bench with enough force to make the whole thing rock and shake and make me scream silently each time he hilts.

I can smell the musk and sweat and sex in the air, smell the heavy animal scent on his clothing as his paw pins me to the bench and I break down, lose track of everything except the heavy expansion of my gut and the rhythm of the bear's cock, drift off somewhere between bliss and torture. I'm not in control of my body, not in control of myself, and the pain fades into something bearable. Now all I need to deal with is the intensity of it, with the crush of his weight slamming against me and the sweat-soaked and stained strip of cloth ground against my face and the lingering taste of pre on my lips as his cock tears me open.

I feel bloated, almost disemboweled, my world reduced to the throbbing in my ass and my mind reduced to whimpering, mewling submission to the bear on top of me. His cock pushes everything else away. Even my own throbbing shaft, ignored and trapped against the cushions, except when I feel his cock rub against it from the other side.

I'm going to pass out. I'm going to pass out, and in the morning they'll find me lying here gagged with a pair of boxers and leaking cum, and he'll probably just sit there laughing at home. But finally, finally I can hear his breathing shift and his paw clenches around the fur on my back, and I feel the warmth of his cum splatter inside me, each shot ringing like a bullet in my gut. It fills me until I feel almost sick and makes my gut swell.

The bear's cock is still in me when he's finished, still driving me insane with the pressure. I never came, in the end, and I thrust back against it and rub on the bench in desperation. If he'll just give me a little push over the edge, hell, if he'll just give me ten seconds here, I can finish up.

No such luck. He sees my desperate movements and pushes down again. I'm pinned.

"Stay, pup. No cumming until I give you permission."

The command is unshakeable, and when he lets up I don't move.

"Good boy."

We hang like that for another minute or so, until the bear has softened a little inside me, and he pulls out slowly. I wince, full feeling starting to return to my ruined ass. Little rivulets of white start to drip out the ring of my tailhole, and I try to clench closed to avoid making a mess. The muscles just twitch.

"You're making a mess, puppy."

I can't answer except to glare. It's his cum.

"Think we'd better clean it up."

He pushes my tail down, tucks it under until the tip of it brushes against my balls and the rest of it is pressed tight against my gaping hole.

"Hold that there."

That's probably where it should be anyway. Having it serve double duty as a cum rag is only slightly more humiliating than what just happened.

"Now, up. We gotta get this bench cleaned too. Gym etiquette and all that."

I slide off the bench to me knees. I'm not sure I can stand. The bear takes my muzzle and turns it toward the spreading puddle where my cock was.

"I'd like to tell you to lick it up, but you look pretty cute with that gag on." He rubs the back of my head. "Can't just leave it like that, though."

He forces me slowly down towards the puddle, until the tip of my nose is pressed into my own pre.

"Get to it, pup. "

My cock hasn't flagged a bit. It hasn't stopped leaking, either, and being forced to clean my own fluids up with my muzzle as a rag just makes me even hornier. The cotton soaks up the pre quickly, and my nostrils flare out as the scent makes me reach involuntarily towards my cock, until a growl from the bear stops me.

"None of that. Now clean up the cum."

There are a few spots of white on the end of the bench. I wipe it up with a little flick of my muzzle and look up at him pleadingly. I can't stand it anymore. Please, please let me cum.

He just chuckles and picks his shirt up off the bench. "C'mere, pup."

I crawl over to his feet on all fours, tail still clamped low between my legs and limbs weak and trembling.

"Oh, Jesus. That's adorable."

Fucker.

He grabs my arms and lifts me until I'm dangling in front of his still-hard cock again.

"Clean that up, too."

I groan and use the side of my muzzle to wipe the cum and juices off his cock until his cock is spotless and my face is a mess of sex and sweat and musk, until he's clean and until I've never felt dirtier. When I'm done I look up at him, begging, and he just smiles.

"So, puppy." He ruffles the fur on my head. "Still want to get your rocks off?"

If I whined any louder the windows would shatter.

"Then I got a deal for you." He sits down and kicks a leg up. It dangles an inch from my nose and I lean forward without thinking. Anything. Anything he wants.

"You come home with me," he says, and I shiver. "And I get you off when we get there."

He pauses, teeth flashing. "Well, eventually. But good things come to those who wait."

My cock leaks again, all over my strained and aching balls, and slowly, ever so slowly, I nod my head and wonder how big a mistake I'm making, and he scratches behind my ears and grins.

"Then follow me." There's a sly look on his face. "And you can do it on all fours, since you seem to like that so much."

My ears flush again. I don't understand what it is about the bear that makes me so helpless to listen to him. Or what it is about me. All I know is that the thought of crawling after him makes my stomach flutter.

It takes an agonizing five minutes for the bear to get to the locker room and put on his clothes. The whole time I crawl by his feet, still naked with cum leaking out my gaping ass all over my tail and a couple pairs of underwear tied on my face. Finally, when he's got his jacket on and his gym clothes tucked away in his locker, he leads me to the door.

"We're going to my car. Heel, pup."

Like this? I shake my head, whimper in protest.

"What's the matter?" There's a gleam in his eye. "Don't think anyone's going to stop us."

The door opens out behind the gym into a parking lot. It's an out of the way place, stuck behind a couple offices and a church, and there are only three cars in the lot. The nearest sidewalk is a few hundred feet away, the lights are dim and spaced out, and I can probably make it in two minutes, even on all fours. The bear steps outside and motions for me to follow.

The concrete is rough. Every step I take digs into my knees and hands and it takes so much longer than I thought it would. My legs are shaking. My hands are shaking. My vision narrows to just the ground and the imaginary laughter I can hear. But I was doing this. I was really doing this. Crawling naked through a parking lot on my hands and knees while a bear calls to me like a pet, and I feel ready to pass out by the time we make it to his car, one of those oversized SUVs.

He ruffles the fur on my head again. "Good boy. Very good boy."

I look around nervously. There's a few people walking on the street. But if they see anything, it's only shadows in the shape of a bear and a bitch of a wolf.

While I try to calm myself down, he pulls out a duffel bag from his trunk. He lifts a black leather strip from the bag, a real dog's collar, and he tosses the bag down by my side. I look at him questioningly. He smiles. "You're not the only puppy I've ever met, you know."

He pulls the collar tight around my neck. I hear a click and the bear dangles a key in front of me. "Definitely the most eager, though. I think I might want to keep you a while."

I feel a strange pang for a moment, a little twist in my stomach. Something soft and leathery slides over my paws, and I don't protest as I hear the click of locks and the jingle of metal chains. Mitts, probably, to keep my hands safely useless and myself safely dependent. When I try to lower them I find I can't move them more than a few inches apart, or more than a few inches from my neck. When I walk I'll have to do it with my head down and my ass raised high, and when I sit I'll be stuck begging.

He bends down, the gravel crunching under his shoes. He takes my muzzle in one hand and twists it up to look in my eyes. "When we get home, puppy, I'm going to fuck you again. I'm going to fuck you again, and you're going to love it, even though your ass is going to be so sore you won't want to shit for a week, and even though I'm not going to let you come tonight."

I whine. He grips my muzzle tighter. "I'm going to keep you in a little doggy cage all weekend, I think. Perfect to help train a new puppy. Would you like that?"

My cock is still burning, my mind still cloudy. I've never wanted anything more, and at the same time I wonder if I'll be on a milk carton next month.

He grins. "Maybe even longer than that, puppy. Maybe I'll keep you there until you can take my whole cock down your throat and my arm up your ass. Normally it'd take months of practice, but I think you can get it done in a couple weeks."

Weeks? I try to shake my head, try to protest, but he just laughs. "Oh, you can still go to work. If you're good." A flicker passes over his face that makes me tense up and stop my struggles. "But I bet you'd rather have a full-time job as my cocksleeve, wouldn't you?"

I've got a career to think about, student loans to pay off. But here on all fours with my ass leaking, all the fantasies I've ever had swirl through my head and through my dripping shaft and right now I'd throw it all away just to have another taste of his cock.

"Last chance, puppy." He lets go of my face and steps back into the dim light. "You can still turn tail and run back inside and spurt all over the shower drains if you want."

I shake my head slowly. I don't know how far I want to take this game. But I don't want it to stop here.

"Then there's just one more thing we need to take care of."

He slips a blindfold over my head, ties it tightly around the back of skull. I hear more jingling, and suddenly there's a tug on my cock and a needle sharp pain near the tip. I struggle to pull away, trying to cry out through the gag. The bear stops me by simply picking me up with one paw while the other crushes my erection. He seems like he's enjoying himself. I wish I could say the same. My whole cock aches, a deep pulsing pain that just seems to grow and grow and grow, and the more I struggle the harder he crushes down until I'm worried that something's going to snap.

But eventually I soften and go flaccid, my cock numb and bruised. The next thing I feel is the cool touch of metal. It's a relief at this point, even though I can guess what he's doing. He slides something up the whole length of my aching member, slips it back into my sheath, and I feel another cool layer of metal slide around my sheath and under my balls. There's a chilling, final click.

"Don't worry, pup. The next time you cum, you'll have learned how to do it without even needing to get hard anyway. Though that won't be for a little while yet."

A little while. Whether he means a few days or a few weeks or a few months, I don't know. What he'll make me do before he takes it off is even more uncertain, and when he picks me up the only bit of reassurance I have left is the warmth of his fur and the fullness of his scent.

Too soon, he sets me down on my knees. It feels like I'm on a mat in the car. Are we leaving?

"Oops. Almost forgot. Don't want you leaking everywhere."

I hear a rustle, then my tail is yanked upward and I moan as something very, very large is pushed into my still slick hole, which closes up and swallows it whole. It hits a spot deep in me, the same spot the bear reaches with his own monster, and I squeeze around it as hard as I can. It's the only pleasure I'll get until he takes the cage off, and right now it just makes me comfortably numb inside. I could stay like this for hours, until I tighten up around it and beg for him to take it out, and when I do and he'll probably just make me hold it for another few hours until I'm willing to take part in the next game he thinks up just for a little rest.

I hear a zipper close; a soft thud as a bag is tossed in the back; a louder one as the trunk is closed. Then footsteps and crunching gravel growing louder. Finally, there's the thump of the car door, the heady smell of the bear in front of me. His voice comes from somewhere above my head, and when I hear the engine start I know I'm in front of him on floor of the driver's seat.

Something thick and musky thumps on my muzzle.

"I know you're a little tied up right now. Do your best. It's about a half-hour drive. More if we hit traffic."

I shudder and moan and nuzzle his cock while he pulls out of the parking lot. Anyone looking through the window will see me. I don't care.

"Get to it, pup."

Yes, sir.