When I was young I spent weekdays sitting in front of the television. I watched cartoons about children who went to school, documentaries about life in other countries, and news programs about things I didn't understand. I loved the television. It was my window into the world outside our house in the woods. When Friday rolled around my father would come back from work at night with groceries of bagged snacks and canned soups. I prided myself on being able to cook on the stove myself. I had to learn, anyway. Our microwave broke years before and we never got a new one.
	On Friday, the week after my seventh birthday, as soon as he put groceries away my dad lit a cigarette for himself and poured himself a whisky, for me a small glass of straight vodka. He set it on the floor next to me before stepping over me and slouching into the couch. I frowned and sat up off my elbows.
	“Drink it. We're having a visitor tonight. You'll need it,” he said.
	I always felt anxious when someone new came, and he usually never invited them on Fridays. Sometimes the men dad invited weren't nice at all, but sometimes they were and had plenty of interesting stories. I could tell my dad didn't like it when they talked to me too much, but he never said anything. He usually just glared until the men left feeling uneasy.
	“Why tonight?” I sniffed the glass and cringed. I felt sick already.
	Before dad could answer there was a violent knock on the door. He stumbled from the couch and slammed open the screen door of the kitchen knocking a crayon from the cluttered top of the fridge. It rolled across the floor. My stomach tied into a knot and I took a big drink.
	I saw the visitor's silhouette. He was a dane, and he was a lot taller than dad. He had to duck his head coming inside. I took another drink. I heard him grunt before he threw money on our table and walked in the living room. My dad was busy counting the money and picking coins up from the floor when the dane entered the room and looked down at me. He glared maliciously down at me. He was missing half an ear as well as patches of fur on his arms. I averted my eyes and finished my glass, throat burning.
	“What, kit doesn't own clothes?”
	“Why would he?” my dad approached from behind but kept his distance, clearly intimidated himself.
	I stared at the carpet as the giant dog approached and knelt down beside me. He picked up my glass and sniffed it and grinned.
	“What's this for?” he looked back at my dad who was fumbling with a new box of cigarettes.
	“It-it helps him,” he flicked a lighter multiple times before finally catching a flame.
	“Poor little kit. Your dad's a real bastard,” he laughed, “But I am too.”
	The alcohol dampened the pain of his grip as he dragged my body across the living room floor by the scruff of my neck and pushed my muzzle into the cushion. I was trembling, beginning to cry, waiting for my dad to tell him to stop, but he never spoke up. I knew what these men liked, and I thought I knew what was coming, but I had no idea.
	The dane didn't talk, but held down my back and dug a wet digit inside my butt forcefully. The sudden intrusion sent my body into a shock and I wriggled defensively, but he only responded by digging more forcefully. I screamed into the couch when he dug and my tears dampended the couch.
	“Dad, please, tell him to stop,” I begged but in response I heard the kitchen door close with silence, “Daaadd, please.”
	“I paid good money for you, kit. He's not gonna help you tonight.”
	He pulled me open to fit more inside and I screamed until the air left my lungs and I could do nothing but grip the couch with my teeth and flail my arms looking for a way to crawl to safety. He pumped and pumped and my back arched in retaliation, but he showed me no mercy.
	“Please, pleeeassse, sttoopp!” I begged when I caught a breath of air, and then he did. The relief sent me into a fit and I want to crawl into a ball, but he was still pinning me down.
	He grabbed my scruff again with one arm and lifted me up several feet from the ground to look him in the eye. My arms curled in with my tail tucked protectively between my legs. He took his other paw and began to slap my face so hard I couldn't make a sound. When he stopped and I cracked open my swollen eyes I saw the malicious thrill in his. Although my head was spinning the vodka killed most of the sting from the slaps. I felt sick.
	When he released his grip and I fell to the ground I began crawling desperately away, but he pulled me back across the carpet by my foot and sat on my thighs positioning his crotch over my butt.
	“You thought that hurt.”
	Usually men showed some form of affection for me. They gave me time to adjust to their penises and put on lube so it went it more easily. Sometimes they were fat, so I could hardly breathe when they collapsed on top of me. After they finished, usually inside me, they might pet me or kiss me and tell me how beautiful I was. Sometimes the men didn't even talk to me, and said nothing when I asked them questions. They just used my body before thanking my dad and leaving.
	My dad was sitting outside chain smoking and drinking listening to my blood curdling screams. He never came in to help me when I cried out, and I eventually stopped trying. When I grew too exhausted to struggle the giant turned me over and I saw blood covering the fur on the base of his penis. I closed my eyes, but if I kept them closed I was going to throw up. If I opened them I would see him. He lifted my legs up and buried himself back inside me and leaned down over me. He stuck his paw inside my mouth and fingered my throat to make me choke on him.
	After a few minutes, the pace picked up, he bit down on my shoulder. My scream was blocked by his fingers choking me, stretching my throat. His knot grew inside of my body, and he bit down even harder when I felt the throb as he finished. He pulled his fingers out and lifted up from me. I gasped for air and groaned, feeling traces of vomit come up into my mouth. The dane regained his own breath and after a few minutes gripped my ankles to separate us pulling his knot out of me. I was able to lay myself flat on the floor, my butt burning. I curled up and saw the blood stains on the carpet from his penis he wiped off with a blanket that he grabbed from the corner beside the TV. I wondered where my dad was now, if he left… if he was going to come back. The dane stood up and poured himself a drink from the collection of bottles on the kitchen counter.
	I heard the kitchen door open and close, but no talking. A minute or two later I heard it again, but instead of my dad it was the dane approaching me again. He reached down, grabbed my scruff, and dragged my body along with him across the floor, across the kitchen, and out the door. In the yard my dad was laying unconscious and the dane was putting me in the passenger seat of his truck.
	“Buckle up,” he said before walking around to the driver's side.
	I looked out the window and saw dad stir.
	“You want a new daddy, boy?” he closed his door and laughed when he backed us up out of the alleyway and I left my house in the woods for the first time I could remember.