All that Caleb could see was rosebuds. The 11-year-old squirmed, but not with defiance. A hand pressed to his back and kept him down, and the whimper that escaped his muzzle was clearly something of protest, but it was more in response to being held down, as opposed to what was going on behind him. He should be focussing-- that was kind of the point of physical stimulation, of those gyrating hips and clenching fingers, but he was also finding it easy to disassociate. Caleb could never really focus on one thing for too long; his brain simply wouldn't allow it. Even now, for something that should have been 'fun', he found himself disinterested. Why? Maybe it was the way the man was so self-centred and only paid attention to how he felt. Maybe it was because Mr. Harken never listened to him when he wanted to share stories, and only told him to shut up. Maybe it was just because the man never made an effort to touch his dick...but, if Caleb was being honest, it was probably all three. His mind swam with thought after thought that filled and clouded his head in a haze of emotions, feelings and weird tangent oddities, but instead of letting his mind wander, he pushed all his attention to the blossoming rose bush in front of him. He took in their shapes amidst the wet slaps against his ass. Each petal was distinctively identical to the other, but the way they bent inwards and pinched at the tip made them all so unique. Each petal knew how to bend and twist to remain pressed together-- he had to wonder if it was their intention, or if it was by the design of the bulb itself. Were they told to bend inwards and remain closed like that, or was it the base of the flower that directed their actions. Hell, could each petal even communicate and have independent through from the main hive-mind that was the bush? The desire the pick one off was strong, but he resisted-- being on all fours made it hard for him to just reach out and play with things without falling over. Mr. Harken said something, but Calev wasn't paying attention. His mind had already drifted to the idea that each petal could be its own unique person. How would flowers name themselves? Petulia? Patricia? Peta? His mind bounced with the idea of rose naming conventions, and the silliness of it almost made him laugh-- he made a point to stifle it; if he didn't, Mr. Harken was bound to kick up a fuss. The man often took what he wanted and, if things were upsetting him, he was vocal about it. "Fuck." Caleb's wandering mind twisted in the direction of the swear sword and his 11-year-old thoughts bubbled with the thought of it. He knew of the word-- his dad said it often-- but he'd never actually said it himself. Mr. Harken said it pretty often, though; it was a good indicator of how he was feeling, especially in moments like this. The Shibe's ears picked up the accompanying wetter sounds from his behind and a spike of pleasure ran up his spine. It felt nice, but not nice enough; he'd gotten used to the pain in the months they'd spent doing this, but that didn't mean it went away-- he'd simply stopped crying. He wanted to look at the rosebuds more, but Mr. Harken wanted something else. He felt the man's hands grab at his hips and, all of a sudden, he pulled out completely. Caleb's stomach twisted and his vision blurred, before he was greeted to the tree that hung above them. It was quickly shrouded by the middle-aged features of Mr. Harken, and Caleb's gaze flicked up and down the man's Marten features. He was looking particularly sweaty today. Caleb could see the droplets of moisture on his shaggy grey-furred goatee, and his light-furred facial features, in stark comparison to his darker fur across the rest of his half-naked body, glittered with dampness in the sunlight. The bushes around them help to conceal what they were doing from those talking and walking their dogs a handful of metres away, but even then, Mr. Harken liked to undress. He was only wearing his shirt and tie, but even those were loosened-- his shirt was unbuttoned at the front and his tie barely held onto his neck. Caleb looked down between them, his gaze taking in the weirdly angular perspective of the man's curved stomach and pelvis jammed up against his own smaller frame, bottomless and mostly naked. Caleb still had his shirt on, but Mr. Harken liked to grab at his chest and back, sometimes his shoulder-- it was more or less hiked up over his nipples and all but exposed the entirety of it. The pup was sure he could still feel his briefs dangling off his ankle, but his legs and ass were numb. This was...what, round 2? 3? He'd lost count. "Look at me." The man spoke again, and Caleb inwardly grimaced. He hated this part. Mr. Harken was a nice-enough man, sure, and he paid well, but Caleb really struggled at eye contact. Regardless, he tried, raising his head and looking into the man's attentive green eyes. The Marten parted his muzzle and then manoeuvred himself, grasping the base of his cock and angling it to the boy's ass. He probed and pressed, smearing the head of his member around the stretched, sore entrance, before he pushed and entered again. Caleb couldn't help but to wince, and the wet squelch as the man entered almost made him giggle again. With that free hand, Mr. Harken brought it up and pressed it to the Shibe's shoulder, keeping him held down again. Mr. Harken was heavy, and it hurt. Caleb reached up and grabbed onto the man's forearm, and he seemed to like that. The Marten groaned and lowered his head, and Caleb knew he wanted to kiss. The man was a pervert-- he liked kissing and groping, but he never touched Caleb's junk. The Shibe had to jerk himself off later just to justify what they'd done. The muzzle met his and, like a good boy, Caleb made an effort to kiss him back. Mr. Harken really liked it, and Caleb felt the man's tongue press into his mouth. The thrusts picked up speed quickly, but it did little to coax Caleb to any sort of hardness. It never did. But, it was a good sign that he'd be done soon; if this was round 3, then he'd be done for the day, too. Mr. Harken could only get in 3 rounds before his lunch break was over and he had to go back to teaching lectures. That's where they'd met, actually-- Caleb's big brother was a student, and the Shibe had accompanied him one time. The professor had privately asked him if he wanted to make some money, and one thing led to another. "Oh fuck, I'm cumming..." Mr. Harken mumbled and Caleb barely registered half of it as the man's lips parted from kiss and pressed up to his ear. "I'm coming, kid...!" Caleb grunted as the man's thrusts became harder, but kept mostly the same speed. With their eye contact now parted, he had time to look around, and his gaze was drawn to the roses again. They'd bloom in March, right? That would be nice-- he'd like to see them. Mr. Harken shuddered above him and Caleb barely paid attention to the warmth that shot up his spine and spread across his stomach with each fervent twitch and throb. He was tired, and his butt hurt; it was hard to enjoy something when it stung like that. The Marten withdrew as quickly as he'd finished and he slumped to the side, laying on the grass beside Caleb. The Shibe finally lowered his legs and breathed a sigh when his muscles sang with a symphony of gratitude. He felt the man's hand on his chest, stroking across his own slightly sweaty fur-- sex and the sun would do that to anyone. How an 11-year-old knew what sex was about didn't need to be said. Caleb didn't have the mental capacity to think about that. "You're a good lay, kid," Mr. Harken's compliment reached Caleb's ears and the boy turned towards him, blinking. "Fuck, your ass is so good..." "Can I get paid now?" The boy was blunt, and he could see the man's gaze harden slightly, turned off by his rather simple nature. He sat up and reached for his trousers, taking out his wallet and flicking through the contents. "Here," The man threw some bills on the boy's chest. "I'm a little short this time. I'll pay you more next time." Mr. Harken was always short, but Caleb took the money anyway; on the way home, he'd buy ice cream and sweets, and some of it could pay the bus fare. What little he got paid barely covered what he wanted to buy, and he saved none of it. He was horrible with money. As he scooped up the bills, he glanced over to the man, who was already getting his clothes and pulling them on in his sitting position-- if anyone around the park spotted him dressing, there'd be questions. It was smart. Mr. Harken was smart, even if he was creepy. "Um...Mr. Harken." "Professor Harken." "Professor...can you tough my thingy next time?" Caleb asked slightly apprehensively. "It's meant to be good when you touch it..." "Caleb..." The Marten sighed and turned to him, looking at him out the corner of his eye. "That's now what I pay you for, is it? You've just got to be a good little hole for me to relieve some stress, okay?" "...If I give you money, will you do it?" The boy squirmed. "I don't know what it feels like when someone else does it." "...Maybe." He took a little too long to half-agree. Caleb wasn't entirely stupidly; his mom did the same thing when he asked if they'd go to McDonalds that week, or if she'd help him with his homework. 'Maybe' often meant 'No'. "I've got to go," The Marten pulled on his socks and shoes after shaking them off and then rapidly buttoned up his shirt. "I've got a lecture in...15 minutes. You can get home fine, yeah?" Caleb hummed his agreement, but it didn't even look like the man was paying attention. The Marten finished buttoning himself up and rose, slowly and carefully, to make sure no-one was watching, before he stepped out of the bush. He didn't even linger and just left the boy within the park, striding off towards the path as he adjusted his tie. Caleb didn't even see him leave, given where he was sitting-- instead, he rolled his head back and clutched the bills to his chest as he looked at the rose buds again. He had a couple of hours before he had to be home, lining it up with when school ended, so he'd take the time to think some more about petal names. Particia, Petala, Peruli...