by H. A. Kirsch
Copyright 2009
Based on a drawing by
http://furaffinity.net/user/malorne
---
Kent's old Cherokee pulled up into the dusty parking lot and came to a stop with the creak of a worn-out handbrake. The lot was empty save for a big old Hummer H1A SUV parked right in front of the lodge house. The lodge had a big banner on it reading, "Grand Opening", while the door had a sign reading, "Under Construction."
The rottweiler climbed out of his car and thumped the door shut, then hauled a duffel out of the back and ambled up to the lodge. Before he got to the door, two burly men pushed out. One, a scalding red and black tiger in a cowboy hat, jean jacket, jeans and boots waved a big hand. "How-dee, Kent!" The other, an equally-attired bull, just leaned in the doorway.
The dog smiled. "Hey Clyde, nice place you got here," Kent gruffed, then stuck his hand out for a shake. Clyde nearly took his arm off.
"Naw ain't mine, Cal here's openin' it up in a few weeks. Gonna be a dude ranch." The red tiger reached over and gave the bull a whump to the shoulder with an open palm. The bull just nodded. "Other guys're all up inside now, c'mon in. You got some duds?"
Kent nodded as he approached the door, moving inside the foyer and then into the great room of a lobby. The place was simultaneously beaten and sparking, nostalgic and old-west at first, but with the careful sense of place given to a themed restaurant just built last week. "Kinda nice place. Kinda eastward for a dude ranch," the rottie mumbled as he clomped around in his work boots, making a lazy path to the back hallway with the two others. Both dwarfed him by a good foot and a half.
"Ain't gonna be for lil' wuss city-slickers. Gon' be a twist, gonna whip green-horn lil' lads into shape," Cal snorted, scuffing his boot heels.
The dog twitched a floppy ear. "Oh, you some kinda ex-drill instructor or somethin'?"
"I said _whip_, dawg."
Kent just stopped and stuck his hand into his pocket, looked at Cal. The bull offered a hard smile back, then forged ahead into the back room. As the other two approached, they could hear voices inside, a lazy sort of deep tone and an agitated rowrl, both hybrid. When they pushed inside, they found a black canine in leather pants, riding boots, and no shirt arguing with a cougar in motorcycle leathers and combat boots.
"You did not tell me this is dusty out here! I wear this good leather and now it is filthy!" the cat hissed, fidgeting his gloved hands together. His tail lashed around and banged against a wood stool, threatening to tip it each time.
"I'll clean it up," the canine thing said. Something was very wrong with him, Kent thought. No fur.
"Why do I trust you? You make stupid decisions like this!"
"I'll clean it up," the black thing snarled, then pushed past the cougar and grabbed the stool right as it teetered over the edge. "We got company."
"Is this the dog?" the cougar hissed, spinning to look at Kent. He clomped up and looked the rottie over, prompting the canine to lean back under inspection. "Is nice dog."
"Howdy," Kent said, shifting in his boots. "I interruptin' anything?"
"We go out back now," the cat chuffed, then let out a chirp and stormed from the room.
"He's Tomasz," the black canine said, then quirked an eyebrow. "I assume Cal told you? Or this tiger here?"
Kent thought. "Well I think they said jus' Tom-"
"Don't call him Tom. Call him Tomasz, or he'll get pissed. You seen his photos?"
The rottie nodded, stub twitching as it stuck out of his jeans hole. His neckfur tried to rise. "Uh-huh."
The canine clamped a gloved hand onto Kent's shoulder. "Well, it's not going to be like _that_. Pretty vanilla. Come on. The light's gonna fuck up soon."
The four made their way out the back room through the kitchen and out the loading dock. On the way, the black canine swiped up two heavy-looking army duffels with nary a grunt. Soon, they were entering into the grassy pasture area out behind the lodge. At one point, the area had to have been a farm, with a big stable barn off to one side, equipment barn off to another, and the fence for a horse run up ahead.
"Uh, I didn't catch your name," Kent said, pushing up next to the carrying canine.
"Laryan," the canine said, not turning his head.
"Kinda funny name," Kent said, then flattened his ears a bit as they heated up. Being folded, they
didn't telegraph his embarrassment as much as he was afraid of.
"I'm a Shenaus wolf. We all have funny names. Made up. They tell us it's some computer program." The black wolf stomped up to the fence and set the heavy bags down, then started opening them. He moved with military precision, removing a few stands and sandbagging them in place, fitting studio lights and battery packs to them. Kent just leaned his bag up a few feet down.
"Huh," the dog said, then leaned up against the fence. While Laryan worked, Tomasz came and retrieved a case from one of the bags, then opened it up and retrieved an expensive-looking Hasselblad camera. The cat took a few shots and then stood back a few feet, camera clutched in his gloved hands, face sour. "Damn, you guys are serious," Kent said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"What do you expect, a cellular phone camera?" Tomasz hissed. "Strip."
Kent leaned forward, ears twitching. "Huh?"
Clyde and Cal got into the act, approaching the rottie from either side. "Cat says you gotta strip. You gotta take your clothes off," the bull nodded. Clyde just hung his thumbs from his jeans, the tension shifting his bulge inside his pants. "Ain't you never modeled before?"
The dog lifted his eyebrows. "Wait, out here?"
"Ain't no one gonna see you 'cept us faggots," Cal snorted. "Didn't want this bein' all hard-ass, but if you ain't gonna strip down to that chocolate fur, I'm gonna do it for you." The bull's muscles heaved, a calculated display that made him look vain, and like a gladiator.
"Uh-huh," Kent said, and started skinning his shirt off. He tossed it aside. "Least it ain't cold. Uh no, I don't, I don't model or anything," the dog huffed, bending down to haul his work boots off, then hop out of his jeans. He paused a second as he took the fly apart before sliding the denim down, uncut dick and balls flopping out. No one present did more than give a nod or a grin. "I uh, I brought my old rodeo gear. I tried doing that stuff when I was in school. Got a couple of concussions and called it quits."
"Didn't throw away the gear, huh?" Cal said, and opened the dog's bag for him. Tomasz started to say something, but the bull turned and made a throat-slicing motion. Tomasz's reaction swung from hackle-raising anger, to a disturbing grin. "Well, I hand you stuff, an' you put it on. Here we go, here's a pretty bandana." The bull held up a red paisley cloth and handed it to the naked dog.
As soon as Kent started folding it and winding it around his neck, the cougar started taking pictures. Despite the early summer sun, golden in the late afternoon, the camera flashes practically blinded the rottweiler. He tied the bandana, then scooted it around so the flap went over his back, baring his chest. "This look okay? Figured you guys uh, wanna see my-"
"Yeah, you look nice. You got nice dog parts," Cal said, rubbing at his jaw. "Now these." The bull lifted up the dog's brown and black buckaroo cowboy boots and held them out in a big hand, disrespecting the leather by simply crushing the shafts together.
Kent took the boots and crouched slightly, pulling them on one by one. Tomasz snapped away, while Clyde simply leaned on the fence, eyes fixated on the dog's lower body. After tromping the ground a couple of times, the rottie looked around at the small crowd. Lazy tiger, hard-ass bull, the strange black wolf-thing who seemed to be in constant motion, the angry cougar manning the camera and ordering Laryan around with whisper hisses. "I ain't done this before," the dog finally said, folded ears twitching.
Cal dug around in the duffel, big hand coming out with a pair of bullrider gloves, the brown deerskin rumpled as he squeezed his fist. When Kent lifted his hand to accept them, the bull shoved hard into it. Clyde finally came around and went into the duffel, then withdrew a white elastic jock. He did the same thing as the bull, red and black hand stuffing the item into the dog's hand under the blinding eye of the camera.
"Why y'all want me to put this on? I just took off my-"
"Don't you worry, just wrap up that sausage so it don't go bad out in the sun," Cal said, offering a body-jarring thump to the rottweiler's shoulder. Kent nodded and took the white jock, then unfolded it and held it up to his crotch as he leaned back on one of the fence's rungs. Cal snorted out a condescending laugh. "Shoot, that ain't gonna fit. You been stealing underwear from foxes?"
"No sir," Kent said, then lifted a booted leg and stuffed the toe through the waistband, repeating with the other side. "It's some kinda spandex under-armor stuff. Sucks up all the sweat." The pouch looked two sizes too small, but once the dog's fingers - busied up by holding the gloves - slid in and stretched, the material cupped around the fleshy shaft and orbs without complaint. Kent settled the waistband into place, hands sliding around and hooking the thigh straps up in place. He then looked down at his hands as he worked the gloves on, deerskin form-fit onto his knuckles, long
fitted cuffs going a few inches up his forearms.
For the first time in five minutes, Tomasz piped up from behind the camera, gloved hands cradled around the waist-height viewfinder. "Touch yourself, all over, with the gloves. Maybe you end with your leg up, and a hand on your boot, like up on the fence," the cat said, then went back to squinting. Kent mumbled an okay, and started caressing over his body. As the cougar snapped photos, his tail twitched, then curled, then lashed behind him. Laryan kept moving between light stands, beating the tail out of the way until Tomasz hissed at him.
Kent had a vague idea of what to do, built up from years of looking at porn of all stripes. After a hesitant start, he started arching his back, shifting and straining as he leaned on the fence. He cupped his package until the line of his foreskin showed through the clingy white fabric, then lifted his leg up and did as Tomasz had asked. "Do I gotta pause or somethin'?" The dog asked, muzzle down, eyes up as he watched the wildcat switch lenses. He got no answer, and just leaned with his leg up, gloved hand draped around his boot. He tried to emulate something he'd seen a whore do in a movie once, some girl with thigh-highs and opera gloves stroking around the ankle. When he looked back to the camera cat, Tomasz was groping at his crotch and looking disgruntled.
"That is enough, I don't waste myself now. You two, what are you going to do? Don't make me wait, the sun is going to go down too far!" the cougar rowled, black-clad hands motioning to Cal and Clyde. Clyde stomped over towards the rottweiler as Tomasz unlatched the camera from his tripod; Cal just hopped over the fence and came up behind Kent, then slapped a big hand down on the dog's shoulder.
"Huh?" The dog grunted, twisting his head and lifting his flop-ears slightly, looking up at Cal just in time for a flash to pop in his face. "I thought I was jus' gonna pose a bit."
Cal ignored the question, instead moving his hand forward around the rottie's chest, making a finger circle around one of the butterscotch pec 'dots'. "Stripes here tol' me you an' him would fool around back in high-school. Consider this y'alls high-school reunion." The bull's hand stroked up the dog's neck, to the strobe of studio flashes, then slid under the rottie's jaw and turned Kent's head back forward.
Clyde was standing a few feet away from the pair and the fence, while Laryan moved some light stands around behind him so that the photographer could take shots from the side. The tiger looked casual as he stood there, one knee slightly bent, one big hand hung from his jeans pocket. The other came up and unzipped the fly, then dug around inside. With a grunted rowl, Clyde pulled his cock out, the length hard enough that it sprung from the opening, swollen and curved up like a banana, foreskin slid back enough to expose the first half inch of dickhead. Kent looked on, eyes wide, ears waggling as they tried to sweep back.
Behind the dog, Cal got his hands on Kent's shoulders and pushed. "Go on, scoot your butt down onto that second rung there. Damn wood's all bowed out." He dug his knee into the rottie's lower back, forcing Kent to scoot off the wood and drop down with a startled bark. To keep him from falling further, Cal gripped an arm around the dog's chest. Kent struggled and ended up with his legs splayed, thighs horizontal, spurs rattling as he tried to get his heels dug into the grass and dirt.
"Wait, wait, what're you guys doin'!" The dog coughed, head twisting between Clyde, Cal, and the lens of Tomasz's camera as the cougar hovered off to his left. "I mean I ain't, I ain't mindin' that much but, you ain't gonna tie me up to the fence, are you?"
The bull let his big hands pet around Kent's chest and neck, then lifted them to the dog's jaws and guided his head forward. "Well, I think Clyde here's gonna get off in your bark hole, an' then you two are gonna have a nice snowball fight for the camera." The bull leaned down and nuzzled at Kent's ear. "You're gonna look real good, pup. You're a damn hot dog. Wasn't sure 'bout a rottweiler, y'all get kind of stocky sometimes. Didn't wanna have some squat guy gettin' all dwarfed by this here tiger."
"Snowball.. fight?" Kent said, eyes crossing as Clyde stepped forward, cock getting so close that it disappeared from view under his nosepad. The stench of uncut dick made him whuff and grasp a hand around the shaft, which immediately drew a flurry of shots from Tomasz and a rowl from the cougar. Clyde pushed forward again and stuffed his glans into the dog's lips, skidding along the teeth and into the cheek pouch with a grunt from the tiger. The dog then started thumbing along the underside of the tiger's shaft, tongue unfurling and swirling around the hooded glans, teasing under the skin and then sliding it back.
"You sure you ain't done this kinda thing 'fore, dog? You're a showoff," Cal said, patting Kent's head like he was a housepet. "Clyde here says you got a pussy an' tits at home, so how come you know how to work a dick?"
"Love dick," the dog mumbled, "An' tits an' puss hole an' ass an' everythin'." Kent started pumping Clyde's shaft, and the tiger ended up leaning forward, one hand on a fence post and the other resting on Kent's head. Laryan and Tomasz struggled to light the cramped scene where there were shadows, then the black lupine gave up completely and backed off. Tomasz kept hovering around, tail lashing and leathers creaking as he captured the sloppy, slobbery canine muzzle job.
"An' I, an' I, an I love your maw so much I'm gonna come in it," Clyde grunted, the red tiger's tail stiffening out, hips rocking to thrust his shaft at the dog's lips and fingers. The feline erupted in a huge roar and unleashed a long shot into the dog's mouth, which Kent quickly gulped down. He gaped his mouth and Clyde stuck a thumb in the un-photographed corner. "Nuh-uh, you ain't swallowin' the rest," he said, spunk pumping into the gaping mouth, slathering teeth and tongue.
"Yes, I have perfect shot of that for once!" Tomasz chirped, finally looking up from his camera and standing up. "Now you two share it." The cougar put the viewfinder down and looked at the screen on the camera instead.
"Oh hell," Kent grunted, then stood and stretched. Clyde grabbed him in a bearhug, cock grinding into the mostly-nude dog's upper abs. The tiger's muzzle ground down against his, jaw forcing the dog to open his, tongue lashing inside. When Kent pushed back, Clyde pushed him away, and the two mingled tongues in the open air, spunk transferred back and forth, smeared all over black lips and fur and whiskers. All the while, Tomasz clicked picture after picture, until the two had diluted the mess enough that they just swallowed and backed off.
"Aww lookit that, he's wagglin' his little tail thing," Cal said, pointing to the rottie's rump. Kent stepped away from the fence and wrenched around to look, prompting another picture. "Guess he likes that."
The rottie wiped his face off. "You guys gonna take pictures of everythin' I do? Like you wanna see me fart or somethin'?"
Everyone but Tomasz laughed. "Now you go into the barn," the cat said, grimacing and pointing to a barn over on the corner of the property. "You walk like you are friends, and I follow you."
"Don't you mind him, cat's a lil' strange," Clyde said, leading Kent along. He sped up enough that they distanced from the rest of the group. "You said you got a girl. Ain't her name Mabel or somethin'? She okay with all this kinda stuff?"
Kent looked down at the ground and boot toes as he walked along. He put his gloved hands to his thighs as if he had pants pockets, then just crossed them over his chest. "Uh, Meribell actually. And uh, well, she doesn't know 'bout this, exactly. I'm uh, well, it's a surprise."
"You gettin' your girl some pics of you gettin' done by a red an' black tiger for a surprise?" the big cat drawled, ears perked up around the box of his hat.
The rottie chuffed. "No no, uh, I'm just doin' it for the money. I mean when we were talking and you said it was gonna pay, I did a little calculating and it fit right in."
"Fit in t'what?" Clyde grunted, pushing ahead and pulling the latch bar for the barn door, then heaving it open. "I jus' assumed you were bein' a slut again." Inside the barn was darkness cut by beams of the evening sunlight through the too-small upper windows. Clyde reached around inside the door and smacked the lights on. Hay bales, random junk, horse halters on the far wall, a doorless hallway into the smaller junk rooms attached to one side. "Aww, it's all farm like in here. Guess Cal ain't got all th' play shit set up yet."
"It's in that big trailer out front," the bull interrupted, coming up between dog and tiger, body wedged between them. "You boys go get in there. Pup, I want you straddlin' that hay bale up front. Clyde, got you some nice cowboy gear back through that door." Cal let go with a slap to each male's back and turned to consult with Tomasz and Laryan.
"Well, uh, I guess... we.." Kent said, looking to Clyde's face. He got a grin, then the tiger's usual placid muzzle. Clyde gave him a nod and a wave, then stomped across the room to the hallway, even offering a no-nonsense hike up to the back of his Wranglers. Alone in the big room, Kent clomped over to the hay bale and sat. Clyde's rustling and grunting came out hollow from the back room, while Tomasz's tenor growl mixed with short jabs from the black lupine outside. The rottie sighed for a moment, wiping his tongue around the inside of his mouth, capturing the last spicy salt of Clyde's orgasm. A twinge of regret ran through him, then the burn of fear at being adulterous...
but Meribell wouldn't mind, probably, hopefully. She didn't have a cock, and this situation meant nothing. It had happened so fast, that Kent barely even had time to enjoy the flesh and salt in his mouth.
The dog's reverie ended when Tomasz stepped in. Cal scraped his heels like an asshole, Clyde stomped like a four hundred pound tiger, Laryan didn't really make much noise, but Tomasz walked like he _practiced_. Stalking cat met a boot fetish video from the internet as the leather-clad feline came in, shoulders lifted, camera clutched in a black-clad hand. "The bull says straddle that. Do it! I want to see how this will look," the cougar hissed.
Kent turned around and swung a leg over the hay bale, then leaned forward. Errant stalks poked at his abs and chest, itching enough that he squirmed. The dog grabbed onto the sides of the bale up near the front and leaned over like he was riding a racing bike. "Bout as much as I can straddle, you wanna have me-"
Tomasz took a picture while talking. "Lift up your heels. Yes. Like you want to push your ass up into it, yes, that. That. Okay now you know that? So Clyde is going to come out and fuck your asshole. And then we see what happens next." The dog blanched, ears twitching, tail stub wiggling around. "Look at this, you are not a porn star dog, you are getting tight! I see it, it wrinkles up! What is the matter, I thought you knew the tiger?" Tomasz stepped closer and touched the dog's quivering hole as if prodding at an ant on the floor, prompting Kent to bark and sit up.
"Man, you're nuts. I sure do know him, that's why I'm all tight-assed!" The dog half-chuckled as the eccentric feline recoiled and lost interest in lieu of the lighting setup.
"Aww, it ain't that big," Clyde said, scuffing his heels as he tromped back into the room. The tiger's innocent mainstream cowboy attire had been changed out for all leather cowboy gear. Brown saddle-leather vest that was too small for the tiger and would never even close in front to button; maroon leather roping gauntlets and matching deerskin gloves; mahogany chaps that hung down to just above the ankles; heavy square-toe boots with spurs that rattled like a box of chains; a wide-brim leather hat that looked fashionably beaten up; a point-folded bandana folded and worn around the neck. Under all that gear was just red and black fur, leaving the tiger's cock jutting out like a
thick plantain with a mushroom stuck on the end. The tiger came up and stood next to the hay bale, then lifted a boot and set it down an inch from the dog's side. He frowned when Tomasz didn't take a picture. "Oh now wait, got one more thing," he said, and fished in an inside pocket for the chaps, fingers coming out with a bolo tie. He wrapped it around the root of his cock and balls and snugged the keeper up until his orbs strained and his dickhead swelled inside its hood.
"Now I have lights, so I take a picture. Maybe you present this dog for us," Tomasz said, hiding half his face behind the camera. Clyde grinned and stepped his boot down, then reached for Kent's rump. He delivered a smack that stayed put, gloved hand spread out over the black and tan fur. Tomasz crouched in and snapped pictures as the tiger pet around the dog's rump, then fingered the cleft apart.
"You sure you're okay with this kinda thing? I uh I ain't said we were gonna do you when we agreed an' shit," Clyde said, letting go of the dog's backside and putting snout to ear. Despite the tiger's attempt at an honest question, Tomasz photographed it.
Kent tucked his ears and then let the flops wobble back to normal. "Just make it all wet enough," he said, then swallowed. He looked to the side and there was the camera-cat, crouching for a shot of the intimate moment. He looked back to Clyde and the tiger gave his chin a stroke, then the two were blinded by the flash. "Aww damn! Stop that shit so close, it's gonna put my eye out."
"Whatever, the puppy says to wet his asshole, so do it. Maybe give it a kiss," Tomasz said, teeth showing in a grin. Clyde crouched down behind the rottie and tilted his hat back with one hand, then took both and splayed Kent's asshole. Before the dog could make any complaint, the tiger's huge tongue unfurled around the pucker, slicking fur and muscle with spit. Kent barked and kicked his leg, spurs digging some hay out of the bale as he fought and struggled. He finally kicked the tiger off, then brought his own gloved hand back to cover himself.
"Fuck! Fuck! Don't do that man, aww shit, that's like someone sandpaperin' my butthole! Holy fuck!"
Clyde laughed. "Aww, well, hang on, lemme go get somethin' real to slick you up with," he said, and stomped off into the back room. He returned with a huge plastic jug. "Don't you two say nothin' but Cal ain't always that bright, he ain't stocked up on ass-grease yet," the tiger mumbled to the gathered individuals. The bull was nowhere to be seen. "But this ain't gonna screw your dick or pooper up so well might as well."
"Lemme see that," Kent said, and grabbed the bottle from where he straddled the hay. It read, "Neatsfoot Oil". "What the hell is this?"
"Well you put it on saddles an' harness leather an' chaps an' shit so it don't go all hard an' get wrecked in the rain," Clyde said. "Here we go," the tiger said, snatching the jug away and pouring a big slop out onto his gloved hand, then milking his cock with it as the cougar popped off a few shots. The rough-tongued rimjob was all there was in the way of foreplay. Tomasz crouched alongside and captured a series of shots as Clyde got into position and then stuffed right in.
As the tiger's dickhead plowed him open, Kent felt thankful for two things. Whatever that Neatsfoot stuff was, it was industrial-grade lubrication for his poor asshole. That, and all the times that Meribell had pegged him with a toy she affectionately called 'Thor'. Clyde let the dog relax, and Kent lay there against the hay, huffing and breathing hard enough to make himself dizzy.
"Fuck him, how do you say it, cowboy style? What is that, where you-" Tomasz started to say.
"Uh-huh," Clyde growled, and leaned forward, gloved fingers wrapping around the dog's bandana. He twisted his fist vertically, holding onto the fabric like it was the horn on a horse's saddle. The sheer size difference let him stand almost straight as he held onto the dog, and prompted Kent to bring his hands up to the top of the hay bale to lift his back. Then, the tiger started hammering. Each stroke went in far enough that the tiger's hips knocked Kent forward, and the punch of dickhead through inner rings made the dog feel a profound, blissful ache.
The rottie swooned and ignored everything, concentrating on only the feeling of cock pumping back and forth inside him. Even though his was restrained by the jock pouch, it leaked enough precum to dampen the hay where his crotch ground against it, and he started writhing to get some of that heavy pounding up against his prostate. It was never quite enough, leading him to contort himself and squeeze his eyes shut, snarling as he tried to reach that moment of hands-free ecstasy that was so tough to capture.
All of a sudden, no more camera flashes and no more asshole-filling cock thrusts. "Whuh?" The dog opened his eyes and turned around, ass clenching up around nothing. Then he quivered and relaxed a little, warmth drooling down his taint. "Oh shit, you didn't say anythin'!" he said, looking back at the other three. Clyde's dick was half-hard now, a white slob of come hanging from the fleshy head. Tomasz zoomed in and snapped a photo.
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"Aww, lookit that, guess I had a lot in me even after comin' in your mouth," the tiger smirked, hand rubbing at his face. It smeared his fur up and left it sticking out at odd angles. He sniffed, then looked at his oily hand. "Shiieeet!" The tiger stomped off to the back wall and grabbed a rag, wiped himself off. He picked something up - a clipboard? -and scribbled at it, and Tomasz took a photo. Then the cat put it back on the wall and meandered around.
"This is good," Tomasz said, prodding at his camera, apparently reviewing the pictures, face lit up with the bluish glow of the screen. The clack of a door shutting echoed out into the barn, and Kent looked over towards the back hallway. The light clicked on there, illuminating Cal. The bull was dressed up like Clyde, fetish leather painted over his body instead of the tiger's working cowboy gear. The bovine's dick was swollen and seemingly over-hard. "There is the bull, why do you leave like that?"
"He come yet?" Cal hollered, fooling with a bottle of regular lube as he slicked himself.
The tiger stepped back up and rolled Kent to the side, then pulled the dog's jock down. "Naw," Clyde said, shaking his cock off as he stepped off to the side to sit on a hay bale.
Cal stomped out into the room and pushed Clyde off the bale. "Get your lazy cat ass up. Now you're gonna sit there behind him and work his nice, pretty puppy dick, while I bone him. I'm surprised your dick didn't force some stuff outta him, that sucker's fat."
"Wait, wait, you're gonna do me too? I'm kinda, I'm a lil' sore after that. Clyde's kinda rough," Kent complained, sitting up. The tiger immediately straddled onto the hay bale behind him and grabbed the rottie's arms back. "Hey lemme go! C'mon!"
Clyde held on by stuffing his arm around the dog's and gripping them hard up against his chest, then leaned back. Cal took up a squat over the end of the hay bale and did the same as Clyde, forcing the head in just as soon as he was in position. Kent yowled and growled, clacking his teeth as he struggled against the tiger. With two people watching and one holding him, Kent had plenty of distraction to ward off the burn in his asshole as Cal's shaft stuffed inside. It was longer than Clyde's by a good few inches, but a little thinner. The change in position was extremely welcome, though, and soon Kent was trying to thrust into the tiger's gripping hand as it slid his foreskin back and forth. The room whited out for the dog and he howled, wet splashes of seed landing all over his face and chest.
Then Cal was out and Clyde was easing the dog down onto the hay bale. Kent sat up, dazed and sore-assed, then wiped a splat of semen off his face. He looked down into his gloved hand at the slippery mess. "Damn."
"Do you just realize you have been fucked?" Tomasz asked, eyes connecting with the dog for a split second before staring down at his camera's screen. "One of these big ass-holes did not explain it to you?"
Kent shook his head, then numbly accepted a towel that Cal offered him. "I guess that was jus' kinda sudden. Was expectin' a lot of yap an' foreplay or somethin'. I seen some porno movie shoots, it's all banter and stuff."
"I have a job to do, we penciled in this time for a photo shoot," Cal said, arms crossed as he stood next to the hay bales. "Now I have to get on the horn and coordinate all the cleaners. This whole place has to be spotless, then we have to get in all the new toys and props, then we gotta do some interviews for cleaning staff and a chef. You want to guess how easy it'll be finding a perverted faggot who can cook a meal that tastes good an' looks like gruel?"
The dog just stared at Cal. Kent was unsure what the bull was going on about, but didn't really want to voice his confusion. "Well, uh, I best be outta here then. I do good?"
"The puppy was very good," Tomasz said, still reviewing the pictures. When Kent approached him, half naked, the cat just leaned to the side and reached out with a gloved hand, pushing him away. "Go and get your clothing, it is still out by the fence. Laryan will handle professional things."
The rottie looked between those assembled: Clyde and Cal were sucked into some kind of business discussion, despite their cocks hanging out. Tomasz was ignoring him, and that left only the absurdly cool-natured black lupine. Laryan nodded, then turned on a heel and headed for the barn door. Kent followed, absently tugging his jockstrap back up, wincing at the feeling of cold semen all over his spent cock.
Once the two met up with the dog's duffel bag out by the fence, Laryan put a gloved hand on the
dog's chest as Kent bent to retrieve his clothing. "Huh? What'd I do?" The dog mumbled.
"Your glove's dirty. You got your come all over it," Laryan said, eyes going from Kent's face down to his hand. The lupine grabbed for the wrist and brought his hand up. "Here. I'll fix it for you." The black creature poked his stubble-covered muzzle into the palm and started to lick.
"Oh, uh, you ain't gotta do that, I mean, these gloves are made t'get all bashed up." When Kent said that, Laryan's yellow eyes looked up, then back down. After a moment, the wolf stopped and let go, then reached back and pulled a folded thing from his pocket. It was an old-fashioned checkbook.
"You looked scared. Don't take this the wrong way, but it'll be good for the photo shoot. It's basically a big advertisement for this thing Cal's setting up. There's going to be this series, a kind of mild-mannered 'come to this ranch and get fucked' deal. For hard-core guys, we have another one lined up. You... probably won't want to be part of that one. Trust me. So, this is the contract you signed. See here? You get half now, half once the shots are accepted and the magazine pays out. Clyde volunteered and Cal's paying for part of the whole deal, so it's split on you, me, and the cat. So, you get 350 now." The lupine handed over the paper, then set his checkbook on the fence and filled one out. He tore it off and handed it to the dog. "Go put some pants on. You have a nice ass.
Get out of your truck in the wrong place and it'll have some unwelcome attention."
"Uh-huh," Kent said, taking the check. He tucked it into the duffel, then went about changing cowboy gear for his work boots and jeans. "So uh, I thought you .. Shenaus? Were all tough. But you're just some camera cat's grip?"
Laryan crossed his arms and stood watch by a fencepost. "It's a long story. The short of it is, this satisfies my needs and that's what's important. Plus, I don't just play with lights. Sometimes, I'm in on the action. It was nice meeting you, Kent."
Clothed, Kent stuck his hand out and Laryan gave it a shake. "Uh, glad I could be of assistance," the dog said, then nodded and turned to head off to the front of the ranch. All the way, he felt a strange nagging sensation that he'd done something wrong.