"Tyrant? Now that's some kinky shit right there. And you said he's just a cub?"
The buffalo uttered a gruff snort as he pulled his sweaty tank-top over his horns and tossed it aside towards the locker room's laundry bin. His companion- an older rhino who had been working Club Buff's 'Leather Hour' over the last shift- followed suit as he removed his worn, polished harness and set it aside. It had been a long night of performances for them both, and their efforts showed in the damp, musky patches of sweat on their tight-fitting clothes as they both undressed. The younger bovine kept up the conversation while he started tugging down his snug, elastic shorts.
"I mean, damn. I've worked with some seriously fucked up clients, but that's a good one."
The rhino chuckled. He had been the younger buffalo's mentor for a few good months now- teaching him all that there was to know about the lifestyle of the Buff and all the rules that came with the service- and there was little he loved more than reminding the bovine stud just how much he had left to learn about the Trade and the regular Patrons. He started to unbuckle the leather cuffs on his wrists, slipping a few sidelong glances at the other male's ass as it slipped out from his form-fitting shorts. The buffalo noticed, but he wasn't too offended. There was little room for prudes at Club Buff.
Raunchy old bastard. Save it for the customers.
"I never said he was a cub, Pete. I just said he looked like one. You'll see what I mean when you meet him." He popped the rawhide cuffs off of his wrists and set them down beside his harness. He grimaced as he rubbed at his leather-scored hide; 'Leather Hour' could give him the chafes on some nights.
"Oh, and don't bring up the whole 'Tyrant' thing. Hell if I know why, but he gets touchy about the name for some reason. Real touchy."
Pete gave his mentor a rugged grin. "Should I be worried?"
The rhino shrugged. "Nah. He's not the rough type... not the kind that likes the hurt, if ya know what I mean. You'll be fine. Just remember the rules, do what the kid wants, get your cash and get out. If all goes well you should be done with him before midnight."
Pete slipped out of his tight, musky thong and tossed it into the laundry heap along with the rest of his show outfit. Club Buff handled its employees' laundry after hours. So long as he left all of his show clothes here in the locker room, one of the backroom crew would see it washed by his next shift. He gave his newly-freed lowhangers a good shake to ease the blood flow back; it wasn't easy keeping so much bovine meat wrapped up in such a tiny piece of spandex for several hours.
"Ugh... that's better. Midnight, huh? That's a bit quick for a house call if ya ask me. Sounds like cake."
"Heheh. Yeah. You say that now. But if I remember right, Tyrant's sure as hell gonna make you work for your money."
"Psh. How bad can he be? He's just some rich little pup, aint he? He probably won't even know how to handle a real man."
"Whatever you say, kid. You'll see for yourself soon enough."
The rhino finished pulling off the last of his leather fittings, laying the well-worn hides neatly over a bench for the backroom crew to clean later. The leather glistened from his hard-earned sweat and a generous coat of oil, and even from where Pete stood at his own locker he could smell the dank stench of the rhino musk that clung to the gear.
Damn. Leather shift must have been rough tonight. Old Hammer sure knows how to work up a stink in that stuff.
Finally freed from their restrictive outfits, the well-built pair of studs left their lockers and their soiled gear behind and headed for the employee showers. For Pete there was nothing quite like a good, hot soaking to ease away the strains of the long, hard shift and get him ready for his house calls. He had been looking forward to this for hours. To the buffalo's dismay however, his older companion blocked the door to the showers with a meaty arm just before he could step in.
"The hell, Hammer? Get out of the way."
"Sorry, kid. I should've told ya. You're gonna want to pass on the showers for tonight. Trust me."
Pete snorted in agitation, crossing his burly arms across his sweat-soaked chestfur. "What the fuck do you mean, pass on the showers? I've been working that damned bachelorette party for the last two hours. I stink like hell... and women! It's nasty shit, man!"
The rhino shook his horned head with a rueful smirk. His arm stayed stiff, blocking the path stubbornly. "Yeah I hear ya, but this Tyrant guy's got a bit of a funk fetish. He digs the smell... a lot."
"Like I give a shit? I can work it up while I'm there. It's not hard."
"I know that, smartass. But he'll probably tip you more if you're like that when you get there. And if I remember anything about this guy, it's that he tips good. No shower. You'll thank me later."
Hammer let his arm fall before he turned back to the showers and left his student behind. Pete huffed, standing indignantly at the threshold of the washroom as the rhino turned on the steamy waters. He watched jealously as the older male bathed, frowning sullenly as his teacher worked the fragrant soap and warm water over his sweaty, muscular body.
It wasn't fair. He had to get stuck with the Patron that was into musk.
Tch. Thank him later. Sure.
Pete wasn't feeling particularly appreciative, but ultimately he respected the older rhino's advice. Hammer had worked at Club Buff for a hell of a lot longer than he had, and he knew all of the special Patrons and their eccentricities much better than he did. Still, it wasn't particularly pleasant to have to carry around all of that funk. He gave a quick, inquisitive sniff to his pits, recoiling a bit at the ripe, manly stench.
Damn. I can appreciate a good bit of musk on a guy too, but I freakin' reek! If this is what that guy's into, he's sure as hell gonna get his money's worth.
He sighed gruffly, resigning himself to stinkdom for the next few hours. "Whatever, Ham. I'm gonna throw on some spare clothes and head on out then. I don't wanna be late for this guy. Wish me luck."
Hammer called out to him as the bull sauntered off.
"Hey, and don't forget! Don't bring up the name!"
A short time later the rhino heard the door to the locker room open and close, signaling that the buffalo had finally left to attend to his house call. Alone at last, Hammer allowed himself to enjoy the solitary luxury of his well-earned shower. As he massaged the soap into his musky, grey hide, he suddenly remembered something. His eyes snapped open.
He had forgotten to tell the poor rookie about Bruno.
"Oh shit... man, is he in for a surprise. Heheh."
Strictly speaking, Club Buff was nothing more than one exotic stop among many for the more adventurous club hoppers seeking to explore Our Fair City's colorful underground scene... but off the record they were known for far more than their all-male cast of studs and their in-house shows. Prostitution was not exactly legal in Our Fair City, but the Buff and its crew cared little for laws which they could easily circumvent, and over time the legendary establishment had formed a complex ring of select clientele who could be trusted with such illicit business. Known as Patrons to the workers of the Buff, these often-established and publically reputable characters funded many of the Club's renovations and kept the old place up and running, and in return they would occasionally be offered more private services not open to the public. 'Private catering' or 'house calls', as they came to be known, were a specialty for some of the Club's more licentious workers.
And Pete just happened to be one such worker. He liked guys. He liked sex. Naturally, it came to follow that sex with other guys was an understandable pursuit for the burly bull. And if he could get paid for doing it, then no law on hell or earth was going to stop him.
It was good to work at the Buff.
The buffalo followed the directions Hammer had given him earlier that day, driving through the late-night traffic of downtown Fair City towards the supposed hookup point. He had rolled down his window to enjoy the pleasant night breeze against his dense, musky fur, and as he drove past the last street on his list he looked up at his destination. To his surprise the instructions didn't lead to a house at all, but to a hotel.
And a damn fine one, at that.
Pete eyed the grandiose building from the road as he pulled up into the sprawling parking lot. He had worked some after-hours 'private sessions' before, but normally they were held at shady little motels outside of the city limits or in one of the back-rooms at the Club. This place however, was a far cry from all of those. The brawny buffalo parked and got out of his truck, slapping the door shut behind him with a grunt. He squinted as he looked up at the affluent establishment's towering, illuminated sign.
"Lah-mon-tag-nee-door? What kind of a name is that?"
Pete was not a creature of refined tastes or style, and it was only to be expected that he had never visited La Montagne D'or on his personal time. A resort hotel for the wealthy elite, it was about as familiar to the rugged buffalo as caviar and Lamborghinis. He checked the paper note in his pocket that listed the exact directions for the night's hookup.
"Yup. This's the place. Damn, Hammer must not have been kiddin'. The little weirdo must tip well if he can afford to stay in a place like this. I'm eatin' goooood tonight, heheh."
He left his truck in the lot and crossed over the asphalt to the opulent doors of the establishment. Currently the entrance of the hotel was manned by two sharply dressed valets- both prissy looking, petite mice- who blatantly gawked at him as he approached. He must have looked quite a far cry from their usual visitors, clad as he was in a stained, off-white beater and a pair of loose cargo shorts, and they made no attempt to hide their surprise or distaste as he drew nearer. The buffalo gave them both a cheeky grin and a wink as he brushed past them and headed into the lobby. He regretted not having the time to stick around and see their reactions. Most guys tended to pop a few circuits when a three hundred pound muscle-bull gave them a flirty eye. It was good fun.
The bovine beefcake couldn't help but let out a slow, appreciative whistle as he entered the hotel's grand entrance atrium. Polished marble beams and floors, vaulted ceilings, chandeliers... and really nice air conditioning to boot. It was a hell of a fine place. He chuckled to himself as he looked around.
"Pretty little setup they've got going on here. Real cute. I could get used to all of this."
The concierge- a slim, primly dressed leopard- was no less skilled than the valets at hiding his disbelief at Pete's unusual presence. Unlike the door attendants however, he managed to collect himself before the buffalo made it up to the polished reception counter. He sneered at him from over the top of a pair of neat spectacles, managing to look down his nose at the bull despite the fact that Pete had well over two feet on him.
"Can I... ahem... help you, sir?"
Pete grinned. There were very few things he enjoyed as much as messing with uppity types like this little cat. He leaned out over the counter, planting his muzzle in front of the concierge and making sure to get right up in his business. The leopard tilted back with a frown, his nose twitching as he was undoubtedly forced to inhale the bovine's rather unabashed musk.
"Ya sure can, pussycat. I'm looking for-" he checked the slip of paper again. "-something called the Chancellor's Suite. Got a friend there waiting for me. Any chance you could point out the way?"
The concierge blanched at the up-close-and-personal affront to his dignity, and he pulled at his tight collar with a claw. His face was scrunched up comically in disgust. But he was a good little kitty cat, and he answered just like Pete knew he would. This was the type of guy that followed the rules. Bread and butter. No wild side. No fun.
"The second elevator across the foyer. Top floor. Down the hall and to your right. You can't miss the sign." He muttered under his breath. "Sir."
Pete gave the concierge a nice, smug smirk. This kid was cute, but he didn't have the time to play around with him. He tapped the feline on the snout with a meaty finger, enjoying- and simultaneously ignoring- the indignant sputter that followed. He made his way to the elevators at the side of the spacious lobby, calling out over his beefy shoulder as he went.
"Thanks for the info, kitty cat. If you're still down here when I get back, I'll make sure you get a big, fat tip. Heheh..."
The elevator doors popped open with a pleasant chime at the push of a button, and Pete stepped inside without another glance back. He was forced to duck down just a bit to fit in his horns. He pressed the button for the top floor, and the doors slid shut before the elevator began to smoothly rise. A pleasant tune played overhead while the box ascended, and while he waited he reminded himself of all that Hammer had told him about this 'Tyrant' Patron.
He's young. Likes bigger guys like me and Hammer. Has a funk fetish. Rich as all hell from the looks of this place. Weird rules, but he's not into anything that'll leave a scar. All in all, not too bad a call.
From what Pete had heard from the other workers, Tyrant had apparently become a regular client for the Buff only a year or so before the buffalo had fully joined the crew, and although he almost never attended the Club itself he had become a steady customer for the afterhours 'house call' staff members. He always paid in cash, and Hammer had assured him that- even though he could be a straight out weird little cuss- he wasn't into pain or anything too nasty. He was a one-and-done kind of client; a quick fuck to work his kinks out and Pete would be scot free with his money.
"Good enough for me. Let's get this show on the road."
The elevator doors opened up to a rather opulently decorated hall that matched the lavish décor of the lobby. Pete headed right as the concierge had directed, following the trail of the plush, red carpet beneath his hooves and whistling the elevator's cheerful tune as he went. The halls were empty at this time of night, and he didn't see anyone else until he turned and saw the aforementioned sign, etched on a fine, gold plate above a set of tall, gilded double doors.
"Chancellor's Room. Bingo."
Waiting for him at the doors was another feline, although this one was of a far different sort than the prissy leopard he had met down in the lobby. He was a lion... and a big one, too. His slick, black tailored suit was practically stuffed to the seams with brawny muscles, and Pete couldn't help but be impressed by the cat's immense physique. It wasn't often that he met someone bigger than Hammer and himself. The lion, whom Pete could only assume was some kind of bodyguard or security, gave the beefy bull a severe gaze as he approached.
"Mr. Herschel, I presume?" the lion rumbled. His voice was so low that Pete had some trouble understanding it.
The buffalo grinned up at the colossal beast with good humor. "Just Pete, if ya don't mind. Calling me Mr. Herschel makes me feel old, heheh."
The lion didn't seem at all amused. His fierce, golden eyes pierced holes straight through the bull's hide, and his upper lip rose just an inch to reveal the sharp fangs hidden beneath his scowl. Were it not for the sheer predatory viciousness in his expression, Pete might have found the bodyguard dangerously attractive.
"Humph. You're six minutes early. Come with me."
Pete nodded, trying not to let the guard's severity ruin his mood.
Everyone at this hotel is so friendly. Nothing but smiling faces since the moment I walked in.
He followed the lion beyond the set of double doors, quickly discovering that Tyrant's abode easily matched the level of wealth and luxury that he had come to expect from La Montagne D'or. Every piece of furniture and every fixture were laced with decadent golden trim. Polished marble floors, gilded chandeliers, white leather upholsteries- the place was practically a palace, and this was only the foyer chamber. Pete found himself wishing that the Buff catered to rich furs more often. After shutting the doors behind them, the bodyguard turned and addressed the buffalo.
"Ground rules before we proceed. First, you will address the young master only as either 'sir' or 'Tyrant'. Understood?"
Pete nodded. Kinky, but I've had worse.
"Second. You will comply with the young master's every order without hesitation or sarcasm. You are to speak only when you are ordered to, or when you are given permission. Understood?"
"Yup. Zip the lip."
"Third. Failure to follow either the young master's directions or either of the two aforementioned rules will result in the complete loss of your wages. Understood?"
"Fuck, Mr. Roboto. I get it. I'll behave."
The lion growled at the interruption, and despite himself Pete felt the fur on the back of his neck stand up at the bass warning. He didn't want to admit it, but this guy was one scary fucker. As hot as he was, Pete was glad that the lion wasn't the one he'd have to work with tonight.
"Fourth... and last. Watch your mouth around Lord Tyrant. The young master does not tolerate profanity of any kind. Keep your trap shut, do as Master Tyrant says, and you get paid. Have I made myself clear?"
Pete nodded again. He kept his incredulity to himself. No cussing? What, is this kid a preschooler or something? What kinda guy buys a fuckin' prostitute, but is still afraid of swearing? Man, Hammer didn't tell me the half of this, did he?
"Yeah. Crystal clear, boss."
"Good. Then follow. And don't touch anything."
Pete trailed the bodyguard as he led them deeper into the lavish suite, and together they passed through several more decadently decorated chambers until they stopped once more before another large set of double doors. Here the colossal lion stepped aside, crossing his arms.
"Master Tyrant is waiting for you inside. Follow the rules, and you get your money. Break them, and you get nothing... and I get to kick your sorry tail out of a top-story window."
Pete grinned and winked. "Ooh, tough guy, huh? Better be careful, hun. I might be into that sorta thing."
"Okay. Later then. I'll keep my schedule open for ya."
With the lion's harsh stare burning holes through his back, Pete opened up one of the doors and let himself inside.
At first there was only the darkness to greet him.
The door shut behind him before he could properly get his bearings, but after his eyes began to adjust to the darkness he found himself inside of a large, dimly lit bedroom of immense splendor and extravagance. The only light to be seen came from a small tableside lamp beside a massive, circular bed, and bathed in the soft red glow of its light Pete struggled to adjust his vision. He took a step forward cautiously, his eyes wandering from one murky corner to another as he looked for this 'Tyrant'.
"Hello? Anybody home?"
A delicate, youthful voice called back to him softly from the shadows. The sound was pure silk- smooth and feminine- but laced with a sense of habitual imperative that could only come from a male who was used to having his way.
"...Rule two... you just broke it. That would be strike one, Mr. Herschel. "
Pete grimaced, mentally berating himself for the stupid slipup. He had forgotten that he was not allowed to speak.
Nice. Great first impression.
"Step forward now, if you would please."
The buffalo turned and followed towards the direction of the voice, walking half-blind through the red-tinted gloom before he found a chair secreted deep within the shadows of the darkest corner. A slim figure reclined lazily upon the chair's soft, velvet cushion, and as Pete's eyes adjusted to the strange light he was able to make out more of his mysterious Patron's features. His heavy brow raised in surprise.
A fox... and a young one at that. Hammer was right. He's not some underage cub, but damn if he isn't the youngest client I've ever had. Twenty-one... twenty-two tops. And that face. He's almost... pretty.
The fox in the shadows observed him in turn with wide, unblinking eyes of soft, pearlescent silver. His pink, silken robe hung loose on his lithe frame and trailed down to the plush carpet below, obscuring most of his body from view. It was rather difficult to observe him properly in the dim light, but Pete didn't have too much time to study his host at any rate. The fox spoke again, demanding his attention on other matters.
"The lion, Bruno... he informed you of the rules, correct?"
Pete nodded, taking another step towards his Patron. Although his eyes and ears were focused primarily on the fox, his nose couldn't help but sniff out some of the other peculiar scents floating about the room. The place had a fruity, perfumed air to it- feminine- but it didn't cover up the other scents. Scents Pete was very familiar with. His nostrils flared as he took in the smells.
He's had other guys in here recently. Big guys like me. More than a few, too, by the smell of it. There was some serious fucking going on in here not too long ago.
"Rules? Yeah... uh, sir. The big guy laid it all down for me."
Acknowledgement flashed in Tyrant's wide, silver eyes. There was a hint of some foreign emotion there, but it remained indecipherable to the buffalo. The fox's eyes were alien, unreadable and almost unnaturally still.
It was a voracious stillness.
"Excellent," the fox said quietly in that soft tone, almost as he was speaking to himself. "We wouldn't want you to get into any more trouble, would we? That would be... unfortunate for us both."
Those indecipherable eyes roamed up and down the buffalo's hefty, muscular body. An appraisal. "You have three strikes... or rather, two now... after that first blunder of yours. Now that you understand that... we may begin. You may take off your clothes now. Don't waste any time with pleasantries, either. I want to see what I'm paying for."
Finally. Time to get this thing started.
Eager to please after messing up so quickly, Pete followed the fox's command and hastily slipped his musky tank-top over his head without ceremony or any of his regular finesse. He almost tossed it aside, but at the last moment he resisted the impulse. He held it hesitantly; he wasn't sure if Tyrant would want him throwing his clothes all over the place. Normally the concern wouldn't be a problem, but this guy seemed to have all sorts of bizarre rules, so it wouldn't have surprised him.
Fortunately the fox seemed to have an answer to his unspoken question. His small, canid nose twitched vigorously as his eyes fastened upon the shirt in Pete's hand.
"Ohh... that smell... you'll give that to me now."
The buffalo didn't care to ask questions. He gingerly tossed the musky shirt over to the fox. It landed just at the feet of his chair, and with a dexterous flick of a footpaw Tyrant sent the shirt up and into his paws. As Pete began to unbuckle his shorts, he watched the diminutive canine curiously.
Hammer hadn't exaggerated about Tyrant's musk fetish. Almost as soon as the smaller fur had the garment in his paws he had buried his muzzle in the cloth, and the room was quickly filled with the sounds of his eager snuffles and his deep, desperate breaths as he inhaled the fabric's scent. There was no modesty, no shame in the act; it didn't seem to matter to Tyrant that the owner of that very shirt was standing right before him and watching him. Pete didn't know what to think. He'd met his fair share of kinky guys in his line of work, but no fur had ever been so into his smell before.
It was kinda flattering.
He pulled off his shorts and pitched them towards the fox's feet as well, but to his amusement Tyrant didn't seem much interested in them. It appeared as though the diminutive canine was still rather too absorbed in his current business to even notice that the other article had been thrown his way. He continued feverishly sniffing and nuzzling the musky shirt in his paws, rubbing it over his face, snout and neck as if it smelled like nirvana itself. Each delicate, feminine sigh he exhaled caught on the bovine's ears. The sounds of that kind of particular satisfaction were impossible to mistake.
The little guy was getting off on his scent hard.
If he digs that, wait till he gets a load of this.
Pete withheld a smirk as he began to pull down his snug thong. Thongs were the buffalo's favorite pieces of apparel. Yes, they could be uncomfortably tight at times. Yes, they were gaudy and flashy. But with boxers or briefs he couldn't get that wonderful, full bulge that showed off everything he had to offer. Thongs- in his personal opinion- were the sluts of the underwear world. And that fit him and his career just perfectly. He slipped a finger under the taut stringline and began to pull down, but to his surprise the fox suddenly raised his head from the sweat-stained shirt to speak.
"No. You'll be keeping that on... for now..."
Though he was now removed from the source of that potent musk which had only seconds earlier sent him into feral ecstasy, Tyrant was still panting rather hard. It was obvious to Pete just how much the smaller male was getting off on his scent, and from just his shirt, no less. The bull buffalo pulled his finger free from his thong-string and crossed his arms over his brawny chest.
With his head now free from the musky confines of Pete's shirt, the fox seemed to have a clearer head. He raised a paw and pointed a single, manicured claw at the buffalo, beckoning him forward.
"I can tell that you haven't washed in some time. Quite thoughtful of you, Mr. Herschel. I'll be sure to reward you accordingly. Now come over here. Closer."
Now clad in nothing but his skimpy, snug-fitting thong, Pete lumbered over to where the fox sat and stood directly before him. Up close he could easily smell the smaller male. As expected he didn't smell anything like a proper man. He had a distinct, fanciful aroma about him. Perfume. Lady's perfume, and an expensive kind at that. Pete's nose wrinkled at the scent. Girly guys were a turnoff, but at least this fox had the money to make it worth his while.
The fox looked up at him in turn with those wide, unblinking eyes. He had dropped Pete's shirt to the side of his seat, and now he leaned back with a casual air as he observed his merchandise. He fished a small paw inside of his robes to fondle himself as his gaze traced up and down the bovine's hunky form. His nose twitched feverishly, still working hard to draw in the scent of raw bull musk with each breath. At last he tired of just observing. He spoke again.
"Put down your arms. I'm paying to see all of you.
The buffalo slowly uncrossed his beefy arms and held them down at his sides. Tyrant wasted no time in examining everything that Pete's thick biceps and forearms had previously covered. Pete- who was well used to being ogled at all times of the day back at the Buff- knew well the hungry look that quickly grew on Tyrant's face as his eyes wandered eagerly over his burly chest and broad belly.
If the little fox wanted to see him, then that's what he'd get.
Taking a chance on a hunch the bull began to flex his chest and arms, bringing his muscles to bear so that they bulged out from beneath his shaggy fur. Tyrant's eyes widened at the unexpected display, and Pete grinned as he noted a little trail of drool slowly slip out from the side of his muzzle. The fox didn't complain or reprimand the unauthorized action, and thusly encouraged Pete set off into a series of practiced poses for his Patron's viewing pleasure, bringing all of his experience as an entertainer into play as he flexed and stretched for the smaller male's benefit.
He made sure to watch Tyrant carefully over the course of his routine. It was clear that the fox hadn't expected such an enterprising act. His face- which until this point had been a mask of unnatural, alien stillness- had gone nearly slack jawed in awe. One of his dainty paws gripped at the upholstery of his chair while the other lewdly fondled at his foxhood hidden beneath the silken robes. His eyes were once again clouded over with that sightless lust.
Pete finished off the little improvised show with his favorite bit. He turned around so that Tyrant could get a view of his hefty rear and muscular back before leisurely bending down to clutch at his hooves and openly present himself. His thong left nothing to the fox's imagination, and he heard Tyrant utter a small, whimpering sound behind him as he was brought face-to-face with Pete's manly posterior. He gave the fox's snout a gentle flick with the tip of his tail for effect.
It gets em' every time. There's no ass like a bull's-.
A sharp smack on his exposed rear sent a jolt down the unsuspecting bovine's spine, and he peered between his spread legs to look back at the fox. Tyrant had risen from his seat. His paw still remained on Pete's muscled backside, and the buffalo winced as he felt sharp, filed claws digging into his flesh.
"I did not tell you to move, cow." Tyrant's voice was breathless and lusty. It only half-succeeded in conveying the rage that his normally-emotionless eyes now displayed.
The little shit... that was a good show, too.
"... But... I can appreciate the effort that you put into pleasing me. Such dedication should be rewarded... I won't penalize you just yet. Now stand up and face me."
Pete fought to hold back his grumbling, and with a quick huff he raised himself back up and turned around to face his Patron. Tyrant's sleek robes had fallen open since he had stood, and now Pete was able to get a better look at the fox's body. It was about as much as he had suspected; the canine's smell wasn't the only thing girly about him. No muscle. No meat. His brilliant orange fur and creamy belly looked supple and trim, and there was hardly an ounce of redundant weight to be seen upon him. Beneath his robes he wore only a pair of rather oversized, purple silk boxers. His bulge-as much as could be seen- hardly inspired awe. What caught his attention most however was a tattoo hidden under the pale fur of the fox's chest. The black ink showed clearly from beneath the milky coat. It was just one word, bold and in uppercase font.
His Patron didn't appear to enjoy being ogled in turn, and he frowned as he noticed Pete's eyes close in on his tattoo. He closed his robes with a huff.
"I didn't tell you to look at me, cow. Now close your eyes."
Pete complied. He'd seen enough at any rate. It was strange to simply stand there without sight- not knowing what the fox would do to him- but he didn't worry. It wasn't as though the little canine could hurt him. Besides, Hammer had assured him that Tyrant wasn't into that sorta stuff.
"Put your paws out together in front of you," the voice said to him from the darkness.
"Sure thing, sir." He held out his mitts.
The bull's ear twitched at the sounds. The cold feel of tight metal on his wrists was unmistakable. He knew a pair of handcuffs when he felt them.
Ohh. The little cuss must've been hiding a pair in his robes. Heheh... at least now we're getting somewhere.
"Now... don't you move. I want to feel that body of yours for myself..."
As soon as the words were spoken a small, nimble pair of paws began to clutch at his well-built torso, lewdly groping and squeezing his muscles and pulling roughly at his shaggy chest fur. Pete already knew that the kinky little guy was eager to lay into him, so he did the nice thing and lifted his powerful arms high above his horned head, giving Tyrant all the access he could want. He was paying, after all. Tiny fox paws eagerly roamed and swept all over his chest and musclegut- pinching, clawing, groping and tugging- as Pete submitted himself entirely to the inspection. A smug smile crossed his bovine muzzle as he was manhandled.
This is easy. I don't even have to work.
A sharp pinch on his hefty left nipple snapped him right out of his complacent attitude. Tyrant must have noticed the tense reaction to his touch, for almost immediately after both of his dexterous paws began to clutch urgently at the buffalo's powerfully muscled chest, lewdly groping the muscles there and twisting and pulling mercilessly at his thick man-buds. Pete was a powerhouse- endurance one of his specialties- but even he was shortly brought to hot, labored panting as his vulnerable chest was abused. At the very peak of it all, when every strand of fur on his chest had been yanked and every inch of muscle groped, Tyrant brought it to the next level.
He brought his muzzle up to the bull's chest and bit him right on his sorely abused and puffy right nipple.
Damn. The little shit is a biter. I hate biters!
Regardless of the shock, Pete remained professional and kept his beefy arms high over his head. He gritted his teeth as Tyrant got to work. The fox's paws continued to roam over Pete's hunky muscles, but now he brought his muzzle into play, nipping, kissing and hungrily licking at every musky, exposed inch of the buffalo's body. Pete could hear the little canine whimper as he greedily sucked in his musk, and he couldn't help but shudder as the smaller male buried his muzzle into his dank pits and the deep cleft between his pecs. Tyrant went back and forth to each center of musk, taking his time to absorb each manly scent and plant kisses and hungry bites upon each landmark. Pete's vast chest, both of his plump, dark nipples, his musky pits, even his bare collarbone- each was covered in tiny marks from the fox's canines and covered in the wetness of his kisses by the time Tyrant had his fill.
When at last the fox pulled away Pete was left quivering where he stood. His arms burned from holding them aloft over his head for so long. The combined effects of the canine's lusty acts- coupled with the exertion of his own efforts to please his patron- had brought a fresh, new sheen of sweat to his already musky fur, and he listened as Tyrant gleefully took in another deep breath of his scent. He trembled as he felt the fox's lips peck on his abused bull-tit. A small paw patted his throbbing bulge.
"That was just what I needed, cow. Now open your eyes and look at me."
Pete opened his eyes. At some point during all of his teasing Tyrant had slipped off his robe, and now he stood only in his loose, silken boxers. Those wide, silver eyes locked with his own as the fox's paw slipped around the band of his thong.
With a single deft movement of a well-manicured claw Tyrant severed the delicate string of cloth and sent the bull's massive package flopping out into the perfumed air. The sudden and unexpected loss of one of his favorite show-thongs was a shock to the bovine hunk, and he opened his mouth to protest just before remembering the second rule.
Damn. It's the thong or the paycheck. I better watch my mouth.
He glowered irritably, but ultimately he remained silent. The fox however, didn't seem to notice that his careless act had upset his new toy. He only grinned wickedly, glancing down at the sight of Pete's newly freed manliness before looking up once again at the buffalo. He held up the ruined garment, bringing it to his black, glistening nose and taking a deep breath of the musky stench.
"Ahhh... I think I'll be keeping these."
With that he languidly reached down and opened his silken boxers before stuffing the bull's newly-ruined thong down inside of them. He adjusted the garment beneath his own, settling it right over where the buffalo supposed his own genitals were hidden. The raunchiness of this particular act amused even a professional whore like Pete, but he was still a bit too bummed about the loss of his favorite thong to properly appreciate it.
The fox didn't seem too concerned with the bull's disappointment however, and he quickly crouched down before the larger male to properly observe Pete's fresh, musky assets up close. He slipped a dainty paw beneath the heavy, low-hanging balls, hefting and weighing them with a hungry, calculating expression. It didn't seem to particularly matter to him that they weren't his to handle. He didn't seek Pete's approval, or even say a single word.
He took turns hoisting up and gently jostling each fat nut, inspecting the whole of Pete's heavy sack and giving it slight squeezes as he went. Apparently satisfied by the fullness and weight of his new prize's bullhood, he then reached around behind to the buffalo's taint, drew his paw leisurely across the sweaty, fuzzy flesh there, and pulled it back. His tongue slipped out to graze his moistened paw pad, and he shuddered at the taste.
Damn. This guy really gets into it.
"On the bed now. Face up. Spread."
Pete felt Tyrant's discomforting eyes following him ravenously as he turned and crawled onto the massive bed. His shackled wrists made shuffling across the vast spread a bit awkward, but he managed to flip over onto his back and spread out his legs without too much trouble. He settled his head onto a soft pillow and raised his arms up behind to cup at his neck while his heavy, hooved legs spread out wide, displaying his fat, loose nuts and thick sheath in an open invitation to the greedy canine who still stood aside. Tyrant- for his part- only watched the beefy stud as he settled into his assigned position. He fondled himself unashamedly, rubbing the musky thong within his boxers against his own concealed foxhood.
"Much better. I think I'll like having you on your back, Mr. Herschel. I want you to see what I do to you."
Tyrant then crawled onto the bed as well, eyeing the bull's hefty sheath and sprawled sack like they were prey as he made his way towards them. He inched forward until his thin muzzle poked against Pete's heavy, bovine nuts, and just like before he took the time to properly breath in that richly layered musk before he got to work. His sensitive, canine nose had already spent the better half of ten minutes saturated in the virile scent, and by now his mind was clearly a bit addled by the manly overdose. His eyes glazed over a bit, his whiskers twitched, and then he slowly lowered his muzzle down and gave the bull's scrote the first of many long, heavy licks. Bottom to top.
Pete couldn't help but groan out at the sensation of the sweet fox tongue as it ran up his swollen sack, and his thighs tensed as Tyrant treated his hefty jewels to an endless course of hungry lapping and nuzzling. He kept his legs spread wide as the smaller male sniffed and sucked on every inch of his calf-makers, drawing his tongue across every pocket of scent in the smooth flesh and sending manly quivers up Pete's body. His bullcock- which had remained hidden within his sheath for the majority of his service- began to harden and poke out from its thick holster at the treatment. Occasionally Tyrant's eyes glanced up at the emerging shaft; it was clear that he was saving it for later.
Chuckling softly into the buffalo's loose balls, he slowly began to trail a small paw up the coarse fur of Pete's inner thigh. Up and up it went, unhurried and teasing, until at last it slipped over Pete's thickening sheath, gripping it hard and giving it slow, teasing strokes to encourage the meaty tool inside. Naturally this also succeeded in coaxing another heated, bass groan out from the bovine's lungs. A smile crossed the fox's muzzle at the sound. He used his other paw to gently lift up the buffalo's weighty sack once more before stuffing his muzzle down below and into Pete's musky perineum, giving it its own barrage of hungry nibbles and licks to top off his oral assault.
Something snapped inside the buffalo.
Pete moaned out helplessly at the relentless pleasure. His hooves and powerful legs jolted and kicked out of natural reflex, his body reacting instinctively as his sensitive flesh was mercilessly attacked by sharp little fangs and a long, smooth tongue. Down below, his sheath throbbed in need, and the first few stout inches of his cock slipped free from its confines.
But the pleasure wasn't to last. Tyrant's ears flicked back in displeasure at the sound of Pete's expletive. He pulled his head out from the bull's taint, wiping his drooling muzzle with the pack of a dainty paw as he rose back on his knees. His lip curled up in disgust as he looked down at the sprawled, panting bovine.
"Tch. Rule four. That's strike two, cow."
Dammit! I wasn't even paying attention. I gotta watch my damn mouth! One more strike and I get nothing!
"Now... where was I?"
He bit his lip as Tyrant grinned down at him lewdly. The fox's loose, silken boxers were already wet from his own excitement, and Pete watched as he slowly slipped the garment down past his thighs and revealed himself for the first time. As the buffalo had expected, Tyrant wasn't packing anything near what he himself carried. The little canine's cock had already sprung hard from its sheath, but it was scarcely as big as his own index finger- the knot only a bit bigger than a golf ball- and his creamy, fuzzy jewels could both easily fit into just one of the bull's nuts. But Pete was a professional. He'd seen all shapes and all sizes, and he didn't judge. After all, not everyone could have a pair like his.
The fox took a moment to slip out of his boxers. He pulled Pete's ruined thong out from them afterwards, giving them a good, long whiff before tossing them off of the bed. He cupped his pale, velvety balls and gave them a nice tug as he ate up the sight of the buffalo's body.
"So how does it feel to see a real man's body, cow?"
Pete withheld a laugh at that. The little fox wanted to roleplay.
"Heh, ya got a nice pair there, Tyrant. Wouldn't mind getting a muzzle-full o' that... sir."
Tyrant grinned at the compliment. His petite fangs glimmered in the red lamplight, and in all honesty the sight discomforted the buffalo a bit. It wasn't a normal smile. It was almost... cruel.
"Is that so? You want to see what a real stud tastes like?"
Pete played along, licking his chops hungrily. He wasn't terribly good at the whole begging act, but he played along.
"Oh yeah... please sir. I want it. Need it bad."
Tyrant began to crawl up and over the bull's body, giving a nice, solid stroke up the length of Pete's sheath as he made his way to the buffalo's head. Soon his little fox cock and his creamy balls hovered right over Pete's nose. At such close range Pete could smell everything, even his own musk over that of the fox's from where his underwear had been pressed against his balls. His thong had done its job, and by now Tyrant's junk smelled more like a bull's than a fox's. His blunt nose twitched.
"Show me how much you want it," Tyrant growled. He gave his slim hips a wiggle for emphasis, sending his tiny sack swaying a bit with the motion. Pete grinned. Muzzle-jobs were one of his specialties. This little punk was in for more than he had bargained for.
The buffalo started it off slow. He tenderly nuzzled into the creamy fox nuts, enjoying the scent and giving them a nice rub with his snout before bringing his thick, bovine tongue out to sample the taste. The rough muscle dragged along the taut flesh, sending a delicious, fluttering shiver up Tyrant's body. Pete didn't go for the quick, hungry lapping like the canine had, instead giving the fox's sack long, slow, languid licks, making sure each inch of his broad, flat tongue swept heavily over and under and along every sweet, musky surface. The fox began to pant above him, and his little foxy cock practically dribbled pre down onto the bull's muzzle.
If he digs that, he's gonna go crazy over this.
Pete gave one last, heavy lick straight across the fox's sensitive nuts before bringing his muzzle lower and scooping his tongue up along Tyrant's fuzzy, sensitive perineum. A restrained yelp shot out from the canine's lungs. His dainty paws came down to rest on Pete's horns, pulling him in deeper. Pete obliged, sending his next heavy lick straight over the fox's exposed tailhole.
"Ugh... e-enough," Tyrant finally whimpered. His usually flat, serious voice cracked. He was shivering.
Tch. Pussy. I was just getting to the good part.
He retreated back out from under the fox's taut balls, giving them one final, appreciative sniff as he went. Tyrant may not have had much in the way of manliness, but Pete could appreciate the delicacy of his scent. It was clean and fragrant, almost sweet, which was unusual for canines.
"That... is enough..."
Tyrant pushed himself off of the bull's neck and slid down to his chest. Before Pete could properly prepare himself the fox was back at his overworked nips, and he bit his lips as another savage assault of nips and slurps was brought down on his sensitive, chunky nipples. Tyrant seemed eager to punish the buffalo- perhaps for the success at which he himself had been brought to whimpering and moaning- and he wasn't gentle at all with his tongue or his teeth. Pete was man enough to handle the pain, but he wasn't prepared for the fox's paw, which slipped down to his sheath and dug into the opening.
"Graahh... daaamn..." he groaned. The fox's paw was slim enough to just slip two digits into the loose, fleshy opening, but just as soon as the swear had slipped from his lips the paw retreated. Pete realized his fault too late. Tyrant slid away from him and off of the bed, wiping his paws against the sheets as he went.
"Agh, wait! Dammit, I didn't mean to say that! Just..."
"Three strikes. Those were the rules." Tyrant went to retrieve his robes as Pete pulled himself up off the bed. The fox regarded him now without emotion. To Pete's surprise, his cock had already seemed to soften.
What the hell!? No way!
"Look, I'm sorry. I know the rules. I won't do it again. Just give me another chance."
The fox paused as he slipped one arm into the robe. His eyes narrowed.
"Do you really deserve another chance, Mr. Herschel?"
"Uh, yeah? Look, I already said I wouldn't do it again. I can do better. C'mon... sir."
Tyrant seemed skeptical. "Convince me."
Pete blanched. "Uh..."
The fox elaborated. "I want you to beg, cow."
Shit. I hate this kinda roleplay. Why can't we just fuck like normal furs? I'd already be home by now.
But he went along with it. This was what he was paid to do, after all. If all he had wanted was some nine-to-five day job with regular rules, he would have stayed in college. Putting aside his pride, he slid off of the bed and went over to the smaller male, lowering his posture and attempting to make himself appear meeker than the fox- a somewhat impossible task considering his size and masculine image. He got down to his knees in front of Tyrant and looked up into those cold, unforgiving eyes.
"Please, Tyrant. Give me another chance sir."
"Not good enough. Not even close. I could pay my gardener to do that."
Pete put more effort into it, bending down to kiss the fox's footpaws.
This little shit better pay up when this is over. I hate kissing feet.
He planted several heavy, bovine kisses along the top of the fox's dainty paws before trying once more.
"Please give me another chance, Tyrant."
The fox's lip twitched, but still he didn't appear impressed. He slipped a paw between the folds of his robes and opened it. Pete's muzzle was now just a few inches from Tyrant's softening foxcock. The sweet, pungent scent of it hit the buffalo full force.
Pete didn't hesitate. There was too much money riding on this for him to dare. He brought his lips up and planted a full, hearty kiss right on the soft fur between the fox's sheath and his velvety scrotum. The soft sound of his puckered lips pressing against the smooth fur resounded in the otherwise silent room.
"Again. And tell me you're sorry like you mean it."
Pete did as he was ordered, planting another kiss between the canine's balls. He looked up into Tyrant's eyes with his best attempt at regret.
The fox sneered down at him, rage shining behind those vacant, silver eyes. He brought his paw down to his hips as he stood.
"I'm tired of this act, cow. I'm not paying you to play pretend. Now _ beg _!"
The roughness and growl in his tone came from out of nowhere. It was a harsh contrast to the soft, silken voice Pete had heard up until that point. He was left speechless by it for a moment, his ego deflated as he realized he had to truly mean it for this to work. The fox knew all the signs. He would know if it was genuine.
He took a moment to prepare himself.
Oh boy... here we go.
Pete closed his eyes and slowly brought his muzzle forward into the fox's soft scrote. He nuzzled it lovingly, apologetically, all the while taking in deep breaths of the scent and filling his lungs with it. His cock throbbed in his sheath as he took his time soaking in the scent. He pursed his lips and gave both of the canine's tiny balls their own kisses- long and meaningful- before at last pulling back. Instead of looking back up at Tyrant he kept his eyes on the smaller male's genitals as if apologizing to them.
"I-I'm... I'm sorry. Please... forgive me... Tyrant"
He saw one of the fox's testicles twitch in their sack. His little cock throbbed once, twice, sending out a small trickle of pre as it hardened once again.
He's getting off on this?
A soft paw came down to pat his head and rub in the fur. Tyrant's voice had softened again.
"Better. You're still a bit too cocky, but we'll work on that. Bruno!"
Bruno? The lion?
Pete heard the doors slam open almost immediately, flooding the room with light as the fox's bodyguard lumbered into the chamber. His predatory eyes went from Pete- who was still on his knees, muzzle pressed right against the fox's junk- back to his master. Seeing that Tyrant was in no immediate danger, the lion simply stood and crossed his massive arms.
"Are you finished with him, sir? Shall I escort him from the premises?"
Tyrant pushed Pete away from his crotch and went to sit on the edge of the bed. He yawned.
"No. Not quite yet, Bruno. But he's done a terrible job of following the rules. His profanity has ruined my mood. He'll need to be punished."
Pete gulped. He didn't particularly like where this was going. Hammer had said that Tyrant wasn't into the rough stuff, but who knew what this lion guy could do? Bruno looked down at him with his regular, unsympathetic frown. He rumbled low in his chest.
"Very well sir. Mr. Herschel... stand and prepare yourself."
Pete rose stiffly off of his of knees, and as he did so Bruno lumbered towards him. Just as he made it to his hooves the lion reached him, and before he could do anything to defend himself the massive feline gripped him- one hand behind his neck and the other on his plump, muscular ass- and forcefully took him in a heavy kiss.
Pete was no slouch in this particular art, but even he was taken aback by the sheer forcefulness of the muscled bouncer's oral assault. The feline's grip was strong and unyielding. His claws dug into the buffalo's thick skin even as his tongue dug into his mouth. That rough, pink muscle easily proved to be more nimble and skilled than his own, and in no short time at all he was left floundering in the predator's powerful paws and jaws. Bruno hungrily swallowed each of the bull's throaty groans. A low, heavy rumble constantly thundered from his chest as he dominated his prey.
All the while Pete could feel Tyrant's eyes upon them both. But he was a distant thing- so irrelevant when compared to the massive, roaming paws on his ass and the sharp fangs that scraped against his wide tongue. That powerful growl reverberated in his own chest, dominating even his own heartbeat. His knees began to buckle. His eyes rolled back in his head as the lion began to truly mouth-fuck him, and he felt himself failing to keep up with the voracious assault. Bruno's paws on his back and rear ruthlessly clawed and massaged him roughly. He never paused. He never eased up. He never gave Pete a moment of respite. Soon Pete- a bull stud in his prime- was nearly reduced to the whines of a needy twink. The sound of Bruno's rumbling growl and the wet 'smack' of their lips consumed his attention, devoured him, and it was with no small measure of relief that he at last heard Tyrant call for a stop.
Pete sunk down to his hooves the instant Bruno released him. He looked up to see the brawny bodyguard wipe his muzzle with a kerchief he had produced from his suit. His muzzle was split by a wicked scowl; it was clear that he had not enjoyed the experience as much as Pete had. The buffalo, for his part, struggled to calm his breathing and steady his pulse. He hadn't been manhandled like that since... damn, well... he'd never been manhandled like that.
This Tyrant punk's got some mean fuckers on his payroll. Not even Hammer kisses that hard.
Tyrant grinned sadistically. "Did you enjoy that, Mr. Herschel? Bruno's not as gentle as I am, I'm afraid. Courtesy is not in his nature. But you'll be getting to know him and his nature very well in just a moment."
He slid back on the bed and opened his robes to stroke himself. "Now. Take off his suit. Slowly. I want you both to savor the experience."
Pete huffed and wiped some spit from his chin as he stood. He held his manacled hands up in the air. "That might be a bit difficult, uh, sir. You got me in these, remember?"
Tyrant didn't seem fazed.
The lion came forward and grasped onto the chains which held his cuffs together. With a grunt and a swift yank the chain snapped, freeing the buffalo.
Tch. I could've done that. I just didn't want to piss off the fox.
"Sir," he said with his best attempt at a grateful tone. He came forward and leaned into Bruno's neck, letting his muzzle settle into the rich, full mane there as he brought his hands up to the other man's suit. He savored the powerful scent of the predator's musk as he whispered into the lion's ear.
"Nice tongue ya got on ya, cat... this shouldn't take too long."
He kept his breath hot on the lion's neck as he started to loosen the feline's tie. The strip of silk slipped to the floor, and then the buttons were popped loose one by one. The first few inches of rough, fluffy chestfur spilled out with each 'pop', and his rich, killer scent began to further fill the air around them as more of the lion's broad chest came out of hiding. Bruno remained perfectly still as the buffalo worked his shirt undone. A short, bass growl slipped past his partially raised lips as Pete slipped off his jacket and the silk shirt beneath. Then he was bare, chest to chest with the bull. Pete's hand came down to cup the lion's bulge.
Still soft? I can fix that.
"You got a hot fuckin' body... for a cat," he rumbled against the bodyguard's thick neck. He gave the bulge a good squeeze before letting his hands rub up and down the lion's chest. It wasn't too often that he was able to enjoy a body even more sculpted and massive than his own, and he took his time to enjoy the feel of warm, furry flesh and the ripple of powerful, twitching muscles. The fierce, unhappy growl rose just slightly as he began to feel Bruno up properly.
Pete smiled. He had just figured the cat out.
"You know, most guys are pretty hard by this point, kitty-cat. Ya not enjoying this?" He punctuated his words with rough tugs on the lion's plump nips, earning low, displeasured rumbles for his efforts. He let his other hand drift south to start unzipping Bruno's pants. He slipped in his fingers to give the bodyguard a good feel.
He cupped the lion's heavy, compact sack in his meaty hand... ran a finger along the musky, damp fur... brought it to his muzzle and took a taste.
A quick flick of his wrist and the snap of a buckle sent the rest of the lion's clothes sinking down to his ankles, leaving him utterly exposed to the buffalo. His thunderous growl reached a crescendo, but it only had the effect of turning Pete on all the more. There was nothing like fucking a good, straight stud, and this lion was one prime piece of hetero meat. He almost felt bad that Tyrant was forcing him into this.
He pressed his stiff sheathe up against Bruno's and gave it a nice, solid grind.
"Yup. That's a straight cock right there. Nothing like it."
Tyrant clapped his hands just once, signaling for a stop to their activities. His smile had faded, and his eyes took on a calculating look as if he were trying to think of the best way for them to continue. Pete could see scenes playing out behind the smaller canine's unblinking eyes.
"You're not mistaken, cow. Bruno is indeed a happily married, very heterosexual fur. Fortunately he is more loyal to his employer than to his wife." He made a quick gesture with a dainty paw. "Now, raise your arms, Bruno. Let Mr. Herschel see all that you have to offer him."
Bruno's growl silenced out of respect to his master's voice, but he couldn't restrain a snarl as he did as he was commanded. He held his paws together above his head, jutting out his chest and exposing his furry pits to the buffalo currently grinding against his front. Tyrant resumed pawing off in the meanwhile. His pace was slow and steady; he didn't appear eager to blow too early.
"Now, Mr. Herschel. Feast."
Pete heard the order and couldn't help but grin. He was gonna enjoy this. It would be a nice comeback for the ass-kicking of a kiss he had just received.
"With pleasure, sir."
He dove into the banquet spread before him, shoving his muzzle into the exposed lion pits and getting his fill of all the damp fur, musk and predator-taste he could ever ask for. To his credit Bruno had worked up a raunchy, sexy musk almost as impressive as his own, and Pete made sure to treasure every breath. The feline huffed and kept his eyes forward, his teeth flashing as he grimaced, but he maintained his composure. He sheath stiffened against the constant pressure of Pete's heavy tool, and the buffalo enjoyed watching his ears flick in displeasure at the wet sounds of their sweaty bodies smacking together.
"Here, this should help you enjoy it more, kitty," Pete growled. He swept his hand under his low-hanging sack brought it up to the lion's muzzle, rubbing it playfully over the larger male's nose. Bruno snarled fiercely as he was forced to inhale the bull's scent, but he still didn't lower his arms.
He really is a loyal sucker, huh? I'm gonna make good use of this while I can. There's no telling what Tyrant's gonna make him do to me afterwards.
Pete made sure that both of Bruno's pits were well and truly explored before he moved on to the lion's chest. He swept his broad, rough tongue against the vast slabs of his pecs and suckled on those pert, exposed nips. Bruno flinched and made short, little grunts each time his tender buds were played with. Pete noticed; it was just one more weakness to exploit. His paws gripped onto the lion's steely buns as he slurped and nibbled along the feline's buff, helplessly exposed chest.
All the while he made sure to gauge the firmness of Bruno's still-hidden prize. To his surprise- even after all the play on his chest- the feline was still completely sheathed. His holster had hardened from the grinding, but other than that there was not an inch of kitty cock to be seen. It was a bit of a killjoy.
He got over it. There was still plenty there for him to enjoy, with or without Bruno's approval. He buried his muzzle in the lion's musky mane, groaning out in shameless pleasure as he sucked in the predator's scent and pressed their groins flush once more. He made sure to clap their sacks together... once, twice... just to make sure the lion got the message.
"Feel that," he rumbled against Bruno's neck, making sure to keep his voice low so Tyrant wouldn't hear his profanity. "That's my balls, bitch. I should be the one payin' that fox for this treat, heheh." He felt a few more inches of his emerging bull meat slide from its thick sheath. To his delight- and the lion's utter dismay- he managed to spurt out a wet trail of pre onto the feline's fuzzy, toned belly.
Tyrant watched the bull's work with rapt, unnatural attention. His eyes flicked from one part of the entangled pair to the next, flitting over groped asses, grinding sheathes, slapping balls and pressed chests as one looked over business papers. His paw never left his foxy cock. The sounds of its wet 'schlick' accompanied the soft, bass sounds of the lion and the buffalo. Finally he called for a stop.
"I see that you are enjoying Bruno's body, Mr. Herschel... that is all well and good, but unfortunately it will take you all night to arouse my faithful servant. And on that subject, I should remind you that you are here to arouse me... not my security. Bruno, get him on the bed and prepared. I'm ready now."
Free from his earlier command, Bruno quickly lowered his arms and snapped his paws down to the bull's wrists. With an expert twist Pete was yanked around into a severely-uncomfortable lock.A smug smile crossed Bruno's muzzle as the bull was easily brought under his control. It was a brutal and none-too-pleasurable reminder that this predator was, in fact, a bodyguard.
"Agh! Geez, watch the arm!"
Pete was hastily marched to the bed and shoved forward. He fell down on his chest, but before he could raise himself back up the reclining fox pressed a hand on his neck.
Bruno's hot breath suddenly came down across his tail-base, sending a surprised flutter up his spine. His tail was quickly lifted, his cheeks spread, and before Pete could properly brace himself Bruno had stuffed his muzzle deep between the muscled mounds of the bull's ass.
Pete had his fair share of weaknesses like any other man, and rimming was one of them. He gripped the sheets with white-knuckled fingers as the lion wasted no time in viciously eating him out. The wet sound of his sloppy tongue and lips was sweet music to all three sets of ears, and which each 'schlop' and wet smack the buffalo was sent into a series of manly grunts and groaning moos. It was quickly made clear that kissing was not all Bruno excelled in with his tongue. Tyrant kept his paw on Pete's back as his bodyguard set to work; he felt up the larger male's muscles as his body tensed and reacted to the brutal tonguing that the merciless feline was dishing out to his exposed ass.
"Make sure to get it all, Bruno. No mercy."
The lion responded only with a grumble- sending the vibration straight into Pete's tailhole- as he obeyed. Nothing was spared from the predator's assault. His rough, feline tongue scraped over every square inch of ass before scooping down to assault his fuzzy taint and heavy, sagging balls. Pete's constant, pained mooing and groaning grew in volume as Bruno took his sack into his mouth, sucking each fat nut in turn.
Tyrant's wide eyes watched the display before him with rapt attention as Pete was taken. His eyes flicked from one tense muscle to the next, his paws greedily feeling and groping his merchandise as he observed the prone bull's reactions. Pete tried to ignore the little canine; it was hard enough dealing with Bruno's battering without having the fox watch him like a show. Down beneath his belly, his hard bullcock had already slipped completely free from its sheath. His tip was practically drooling pre.
"That's enough. He's ready."
Bruno gave Pete's nuts one last long, rough lick before pulling away and standing aside. Tyrant slid off of the bed and took his place, a hungry look in his eyes.
"Make sure he stays put."
Pete would have argued in his own defense- after all, it wasn't as though he was gonna run away from the fox- but he figured the two wouldn't care either way. Control was this guy's dig; he might as well let the lion pin him. Soon Bruno's vast weight settled on his back as his arms were pinned to his sides, and the feline's hot breath was on his neck once more. Pete made a note of the soft weight of the lion's jewels on his back; the gentle, sweaty tap of fur on fur.
In his current position he couldn't see Tyrant behind him, but he sure felt him. The little canine didn't have much going for him in terms of size, but he made up for that with pure tenacity and a complete disregard for tenderness. He came in hard and fast. Pete's recently prepared ass couldn't hold up against the undersized canine's cock, and with one rough shove Tyrant had buried himself right up to the knot. Pete grunted beneath the weight of the lion as the fox took him down to the root.
Pinned beneath the bodyguard, he had no choice but to settle in and try to enjoy the rough pounding. The fox's slim hips were a blur as he pounded into the beefy bull's ass, his little pecker sliding in and out with little difficulty. The wet smack of foxy sack slapping against heavy bull nuts rang out loud and clear. Pete's tail was pulled, his ass slapped, and all the while Bruno kept him pinned. Occasionally he felt the tip of feline fangs graze his shoulders and neck.
Occasionally a particularly deep thrust managed to send the fox's tip ramming past Pete's prostate, and as unimpressive as Tyrant was as a top, the buffalo had to admit he wouldn't last much longer. The bodyguard's brutal rimming had already gotten him halfway there, and each hurried, rabid thrust and slam- each using the fox's full weight- sent him one step closer to his edge.
Still, at the rate he's going he'll pop way before me. That little knot of his is gonna lock any second now, and that'll be it for Tyrant.
But Tyrant seemed to sense this as well, for without warning he slapped the bull's ass and pulled out. He spit on the buffalo's sack as he stepped aside, earning a grunt of disgust from Pete.
"Bruno, he's being stubborn. Get to work on him, and make it fast."
The lion's breath against his neck carried with it once more that fierce, thunderous rumble, and Pete was forcibly flipped onto his back and pinned once more by the beastly stud. Now he was front-to-front, cock-to-cock with the brutish bodyguard. Fierce, golden eyes pierced into his own, stealing his breath away just before the lion started dutifully grinding into him. A hot heartbeat second later Bruno crushed his muzzle back against Pete's, reengaging him in that brutal kiss as he meshed their bodies back together. Pete moaned into the forceful, sloppy kiss, wrapping his arms around the lion as he gave himself up to the domination.
This... this is more like it...
The lion's thick sheath grinded cruelly against his rock hard shaft, each powerful thrust sending a wave of pleasure through their muscled bodies and forcing another slick, wet drop of pre from Pete's tip. Manly, rugged groans slipped out from between their meshed muzzles, forming a perfect backdrop to the sounds of slick, powerful bodies pressing against each other. Cocks grinded. Balls pressed flush. Thick, beefy muscles flexed and pushed.
Pete felt himself slipping over. His weak groan of need was hungrily swallowed by the straight predator. Then- just as the buffalo felt that familiar rush pass over him, signaling his coming climax- Bruno pulled away. A thick line of slaver connected their lips as the lion separated himself. Pete was suddenly left gasping on the precipice, his cock twitching and edged, and so he was in the perfect condition for Tyrant to once again claim him.
The fox stood waiting at his rear. His paws gripped the inside of the bull's spread thighs, and with that wicked, unnatural grin plastered on his muzzle he pressed his tip against Pete's needy hole.
"Time for you to earn your money, Mr. Herschel."
With that he slammed himself home- flush and full- and in the span of a moment Pete suddenly found his ass stuffed with foxcock, knot and all. That would have been enough. His prostate, already battered and primed, was slammed by the canine's feral efforts and forced into overtime... but of course Tyrant had a more complete domination in mind for the buffalo.
As the blinding, punishing force of his forced orgasm swept out from his prostate, Tyrant made a quick gesture with his paw, and Bruno obeyed the wordless command with gusto. Seizing the bull by his horns, he slammed Pete's muzzle flat against his thick crotchfur, forcing the gasping, moaning bovine to suck in the lion's potent musk straight from the source as he was bred. Some feral, instinctual part of the buffalo's mind registered the dominant killer scent, kicking some deep nerve within him and sending his already-powerful orgasm into another gear. His lengthy cock shot out load after load of heavy bovine cream as his prostate was brutally worked over. Somewhere behind him he felt- very distantly- the weak spatters of foxy cum in his ass as Tyrant too shuddered out his own release into the vast, swallowing mess of Pete's ass.
The bull's fried nerves didn't ease up with their tortuous pleasure until well after the canine had spent himself, and in the end Pete was reduced to a sputtering, gasping wreck, panting against the musky groin his muzzle was buried in. His chest and belly were covered in his own goopy spunk. His ass was a mess of fox cum and slobber. As he groaned away the last remnants of pleasure, he couldn't help but break out in a weak, accomplished grin.
He'd earned his money all right.
Tyrant easily pulled himself free from the bull, apparently making use of his tinier-than-average knot. His little chest heaved as he puffed breathlessly in the afterglow. Those silvery, emotionless eyes were glazed over, and to Pete they seemed far less menacing than they were before. Tyrant turned away from the bed to go and retrieve his robe, but before he did the bull managed to get a glimpse of his face; to his surprise the fox looked almost... mournful.
Tyrant hastily slipped on his discarded silk robe and tied it up, only afterwards glancing back with a look of weary indifference towards the two men on his bed. He sighed. "Bruno, finish up with him. Make sure he gets his money afterwards, and then see him out." He turned and left without another word-neither to his faithful servant nor to the bull he had just brutally fucked- leaving Pete and the bodyguard in a sudden, awkward silence as he closed the door behind him.
Pete raised his muzzle out from the shaggy forest of the lion's pubic fur. "Whew. Damn! Now I can talk again, heheh. Oh, no need to finish me up, cat. I already busted my nut, ya see."
Bruno's ever-present scowl softened as his master left. He stiffly rolled away from Pete and got off of the bed, striding over to a small, elegant dresser near Tyrant's chair. He plucked up a small touchphone from the surface and flicked it on.
Pete frowned at the sticky mess on his belly and chest. The sooner he could leave and get cleaned up, the better. He looked over at the bodyguard still idly tapping on the phone. "Uh, so am I good to go now?"
Bruno scrolled through the device's screens, his eyes flicking up briefly to glance at the bovine prostitute. "No. Sit on the edge of the bed. This will only take a minute."
He winced a little as his well-bred ass complained at the sudden movement, but he managed to settle himself on the edge of the bed. Bruno returned, standing in front of him as he tapped on his phone. The seconds passed in a somewhat uncomfortable silence as Pete waited for whatever it was Bruno was supposed to do, and not being a quiet fur by nature he felt compelled to speak. The first topic that jumped to his mind might not have been the most pertinent, but he was still genuinely curious.
"So... if you don't mind me asking... what's with his name?"
Bruno didn't bother to look up from his phone. "Pardon?"
"Tyrant. Kinda weird, aint it? You know what all that's about?"
"I thought you were given instructions by our mutual friend not to speak of that."
Pete blanched. Mutual friends? This guy knows Hammer?
"Um, yeah. That's why I didn't ask him."
Bruno's face lit up from the light of his phone as the device began playing a silent video, but Pete couldn't see what it was from his sitting position at the edge of the bed.
"Humph. Not that you have any right to know, but Master Tyrant suffers from a condition. An advanced form of satyriasis. Spread open your legs. This won't take long."
Pete obliged and opened his legs wide, allowing his fat nuts to slip off and dangle over the edge of the bed. It was a revealing position to be sure, but he couldn't fathom what the straight lion meant to do with it... until the lion reached down to his sheath with a paw and began to stroke himself. His fierce eyes remained glued to the screen as he hastily and artlessly began to paw off.
That's what it is. He's watching porn. Is he trying to get it up for me?
The bodyguard's work was slow at first, the pornography taking its time to work, and so Pete had time to continue his questions while the lion worked himself into arousal.
"Satyriasis? Never heard of it. What's it do?"
Bruno began to huff as his cock finally slid out from its thick, shaggy holster. Pete enjoyed the sight; there were very few things as naturally majestic as a nice, solid lion dick. His gaze wandered over the shaft as it stiffened and hardened in the feline's paw, admiring the unique features peculiar to his breed. He knew from experience that those barbs of his could be a pleasant alternative to the regular tools of the breeding trade.
"I suspect that you wouldn't... ungh... understand," he puffed out between quick, breathless jerks. "To put it simply... huff... it causes Master Tyrant to suffer... gruh... intense psychotic episodes. He becomes a different fur... more controlling, more sexually active. It controls him... what the... damn video won't load. Fuck, give me a minute."
"Need any help?"
Bruno rumbled half-heartedly. "No. Don't touch me. You'll make me soft again. Just sit there."
Pete smirked at the heated response. Straight men were just too much fun. He sat back, content to simply watch the show. By now he had already settled well into his post-orgasm bliss, and though his own cock had long since slipped back into the protective cover of his sheath it was still a mighty fine pleasure to watch the studly lion jack off right in front of him. The pleasant scent of that spicy musk washed over his blunt nose, adding a glorious layer of enjoyment to the experience as his ears were treated to the wet 'shclick' of lion-paw slopping over eager, firm flesh. In particular he enjoyed watching Bruno's tight, firm sack jostle and bob with each movement. He was sorely tempted to reach out and touch them, but instead he kept to his earlier line of questioning. It wasn't any of his business, but he was curious to learn more about this 'Tyrant'.
"So it controls him, huh? That's some pretty fucked up shit."
Bruno growled. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to do this while you keep talking? Shut the hell up. I'm almost done."
The buffalo kept silent, leaning back and waiting for the inevitable as he passed the time with random thoughts. He sure as hell was gonna get onto Hammer about this job. The old rhino could have been a little more specific with his warnings... maybe he could have given him a heads up about the damn lion who could kiss a grown bull half into a coma. A straight lion, at that. He couldn't wait to hear how Hammer had met this guy.
His thoughts were interrupted as Bruno's grunts and the wet sounds of his pawing reached a crescendo. There were few things as familiar to the buffalo's well-trained ears as the sounds of that sweet, impending release, and he eagerly leaned forward in anticipation. He had a pretty good idea what Bruno was gonna do.
That little fox probably wants him to give me a good facial, mark me, that kinda crap. I've had worse.
Bruno was of course- and not for the first time that night- dead wrong. As the first muscles in the feline's broad hips tensed, signaling the oncoming deluge, he tilted and aimed his cock straight down and forward... right at Bruno's loose, vulnerable sack. The pendulous nuts couldn't have been an easier target, and just as Pete was bracing himself, eyes closed, for the expected load on his face, he was instead treated to the first solid smack of lion cum straight on his fat, left nut.
Shot after shot of musky, potent predator seed was launched straight from Bruno's tip onto the bull's dangling scrote, each gooey jet finding its own sweaty spot of skin to spatter upon as the lion furiously jerked himself. The buffalo felt each hot, wet impact as the very symbol of his pride was marked and claimed, and for the first time in his career he well and truly felt like a whore. He watched speechlessly as the lion finished himself off, sending the last few, weakening shots straight onto his sheath. Icing on the cake.
After a moment of stunned silence Pete found the voice to speak. "Damn, kitty-cat. For a straight guy, that was some reeeaaaally gay shit."
Bruno came down from his high with that heart-stopping, bass growl of his. "Urghhhh. Hardly. I came from watching a video of my wife... and you happened to catch it with your balls. Nothing faggoty about that."
He spat aside on the carpet before sinking down to his knees, and to Pete's surprise the lion then reached forward and cupped his heavy, well-soaked sack with both of his massive paws. Without a word of explanation he began to massage and rub the smooth, freshly creamed skin, drawing out an appreciative groan from the bull. There was nothing like getting a good post-fuck rubdown from another stud.
"Heh. Yeah. And that'snot gay."
Bruno scowled, disgust and impatience written plain on his muzzle as he busied his paws on the other male's scrotum. He clearly didn't enjoy his task or the fact that he was being judged for it. "I assure you I would not be doing this were it not my lord's wish. Understand, Master Tyrant insists that each of his conquests be properly claimed before they leave. You don't get paid until my cum dries up on your balls."
Pete- who had until that moment only thought that the lion was venerating his sack out of some weird, repressed, homoerotic desire- suddenly realized what he was really about. This was just another way for Tyrant to dominate him.
That sick, little shit. He wants this guy's cum to soak into my own, fucking nuts?
He huffed in disbelief. "Okay. That... is some twisted shit. Hey, watch those claws!"
The lion gently rubbed his own seed into the bull's warm flesh, making sure to give it a nice, even coat to ensure that every inch was properly covered with his rich, feline sperm.
"As I said earlier Mr. Herschel, Master Tyrant's condition causes him to suffer from extreme compulsions... compulsions which have only worsened over time. As he has grown older he has required more and more degradation and domination to ease his symptoms. You got off easy tonight, cow. He was tired from the six others who left here before you. You should have seen the things he did to them..."
Six? That explains the smell I caught earlier. Damn.
The lion continued to speak while he worked his cum into the bull's pendulous calf-makers. He grimaced as his paws kneaded and massaged the smooth, sticky flesh, but nevertheless he dutifully carried on with his task. "Master is usually a very polite and respectable fur. His condition changes him. Controls him. Turns him into someone else. As time passed, he began to realize the extent that his illness had over him, and he came to choose a name for that other which he turned into... Tyrant. A tyrant over his own body... and a tyrant over others."
He smacked the bull's nuts, sending them jiggling before he stood and wiped his paws off on his hips. "Alright. You're done. Get your clothes back on while I get your cash. And don't think about stealing anything while I'm gone."
Pete gave his balls a feel as he rose back to his hooves, noting the uncomfortable, dry stickiness that now coated them. Getting cum on your nuts was one thing, but purposefully having it rubbed in? That was something else entirely. He resolved to take a good, loooong shower when all of this was behind him. He managed to find and slip on his clothes by the time the lion- now wearing a much larger variant of the robe Tyrant wore- had returned. He carried with him a small, tied wad of bills. He tossed it to the bull.
"Two grand for your discretion and your service. Gratuity included. Master might not have said it, but I believe he was pleased with the results of our session. I suspect Tyrant won't be returning for another few days." He sighed gruffly, frowning at the stains covering the hotel's bed. "'I'll release you from those restraints now... then I'll show you to the door."
After being let out of his broken cuffs, Pete leisurely followed the burly lion back through the opulent chambers of his Patron's residence. He managed to glimpse Tyrant briefly on his way out. The little fox had settled on a massive couch in the lounge and was now busily watching cartoons on a massive, wall-mounted television. As the two older furs passed, his head swiveled around to watch them. His wide, silver eyes- earlier filled only with that strange, unnatural lust- had softened and grown childish, and he looked back at Pete with what could only be described as an innocent, inquisitive expression. It was not the look that one man gave to another after a rough fucking. Whoever the fox was, he wasn't the same Tyrant as before. He looked like an entirely different fur.
Who the hell is this kid? What's his deal?
But the time to ask questions had long-since passed. Bruno opened the doors to the hall and wordlessly led the buffalo out. Pete turned to say some sort of goodbye, feeling he owed at least that much to the lion for the fuck they had shared, but to his surprise the doors shut abruptly in his face as soon as he had opened his mouth to speak. Suddenly he was alone, standing out in the empty hallway with nothing but cold cash in his hand and complete confusion scrawled across his snout. He snorted gruffly.
And here I thought that this was just gonna be a quick fuck-and-pay job for some rich guy... man, what a night. I'm sure as hell due for a shower now... and Hammer's due a mighty fine ass-kickin for not cluing me in right about that guy.
With no further business there left to attend to, Pete slipped the money into his cargo shorts and made off to the elevators. The ride down passed in thoughtful silence, but as the doors opened back up to the lobby a grin crossed his blunt muzzle. The leopard was still at the reception desk. He chuckled at his luck and made his way over. The slim feline tried his best to ignore him, but that proved difficult, as once more Pete leaned over the counter and stick his muzzle in the concierge's space.
"Hey stud... did ya think I forgot about ya?"
The smaller feline went pale. "Oh heavens... uh... security?"
Pete reached over and forcibly pulled the feline close.
"No need for that, kitty cat. I'm just here to give ya that big ole tip I promised."
He leaned forward further, forcing the leopard into the wall and giving him a good rumble for effect... before slipping a paw into the cat's neatly belted pants and pushing a bill down into his...
Oh... you gotta be kiddin me, heheh. I needed me a new thong. Might be a bit tight...
"You little tease... that shower can wait."
High above the lobby where Pete and the unfortunate concierge leopard spoke, the temporary abode of M. Theodore Jr. had just slipped into the long-awaited peace and silence of the midsummer night. Bruno had waited patiently for his exhausted charge to fall asleep against his side, and as soon as the gentle snores rose from his master's snout he gingerly pried the remote from his tiny paws and clicked off the television. The little fox had curled up against his muscular chest, and now he lay quite still, completely and totally drained from his earlier madness.
Bruno sighed quietly, stroking his master's soft ears gently with the side of a massive paw as he watched him slumber. Regardless of all that Lord Theodore had done to him- the abuse, the obscenity, the contempt- he could never think ill of his master. He alone knew better than any other the extent of his lord's madness- even more than the young fox's father- and only he could care for him when his condition consumed him.
It was his duty... it had been his duty since the day his lordship was born. Theodore was truly a gentle soul. An innocent soul. He was worth protecting, even considering the nature of his illness. Even considering... Tyrant.
It's getting worse, he thought to himself unhappily as he looked down upon his master's pitiful form curled up on his lap. That's seven times today. Soon these needs of his will begin outpacing his father's allowance... Lord Simon will begin asking questions. I cannot protect Theodore forever. For five years now Tyrant has controlled his life... for five years now he has forced me to betray my wife and my dignity. I will do anything for him... but this endless series of whores cannot be the answer!
Theodore whimpered in his sleep and clutched at Bruno's robe with his little paws. Bruno, for his part, was helpless to console whatever nightmare had gripped his young master, and so he did what he could. He cradled the small fox in his arms, sheltering him, and as he watched the fox sleep he hoped- as he did each night after being forced to betray his wife in service to his master- that tonight was the last night Tyrant would emerge.
Of course... the same as it had been for over five, long years... his hopes were proven futile. Tyrant only slept.
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