Donovan’s nubby tail thumped on the couch. He was trying to get engrossed in his show but the tail knew better. It saw the distraction the rottweiler was trying to pull, better to keep him preoccupied than think about the arriving merchandise headed his way. He’d spent the last night flicking the bean at the thought of it to relax and that proved to make the situation worse. 


So when the front door of his apartment rang he shot like a rocket towards it with all the excitement of a puppy turning on their birthday. The package cardboard was indiscriminate, the same way sex toys were packaged to avoid embarrassment from neighbors. And while Donovan cared little about what his neighbors thought of him, this was no ordinary sex toy. Given that toys aren’t used for work he struggled to find a fitting definition. Sex tool? He shook his head as he grabbed a knife and cut the box open, revealing a specialized chastity belt. The Whoredash chastity belt. 


He scarcely believed the system at first. It was, essentially, prostitution without pimping being sold to the mass market. The user simply just had to put the belt on, and set up their orifice preference in the app, and any user within a specifically set radius could request them for a fuck. The only way to unlock the belt, beyond quitting wholeheartedly, was for another user to request sex, and it was by the minute so it never guaranteed it would be off long. Only that whenever it was, Donovan was getting railed. 


Of course, he had concerns. No system that mentioned pimping could avoid the negative connotations, and he saw several abuses of the system. But Donovan pushed aside those thoughts while examining the chastity belt. It was sleek, closer to something in science fiction than he’d hold in his hands. It would cover both his asshole and pussy, with gaps large enough to make using the toilet a nonissue. Putting down, Donnie took a deep breath and showered. Better to be as clean as possible before putting the belt on.


Washed, dried, and giddy, the rottweiler pulled up the belt like a thong. It was surprisingly elastic, as if not carrying advanced circuitry inside. With a button from her app the belt whirred to life, shrinking and tightening to match the curves of his hips. His legs gave out, forcing him to catch the wall as the belt clicked in place. 


“Ok, you’re locked in now,” Donovan said aloud. His roommate was at work so he had no one to debate with. No one to tell him what a mistake it was. No one to judge him for speaking to himself. “Locked in and you can’t touch yourself.” He dragged a finger over the metal shield covering his cunt to confirm. What regrets he had were burning away from fires of excitement. He was now at the mercy of another person's wallet. His own pimp, as the app's poor tagline would say. 


Eager to go out and get paid, a ping caught his attention. The app was asking for which orifice to sell. Ignoring that oral was an option when he didn’t remember any such attachment being available, Donovan filled both his pussy and his asshole, then went to get his coat.


Something filled his ass before he could reach for his jacket. The rottweiler doubled over, gritting his teeth at the sudden intrusion spreading his backdoor open. Tense breaths seeped through his maw, fingers dug deep into the carpeted flooring until the sensation stopped. 


“Fuck…” Donovan muttered, reaching for his dropped phone. The app revealed that his belt applied a buttplug to not only test his asshole but stretch it to acceptable measures. No stranger to anal, he wondered what these acceptable measures were for. A bull? A horse? The app didn’t say. He made a mental note to complain about that later in the review. For now, he had some cash to make.


***




“You’re RuinedRottie42?” A lion asked, his amber eyes darting back and forth to the phone in his hands.


Donovan nodded, not making a move from his corner in the club. He’d arrived an hour earlier, gotten a drink, and set his Whoredash belt to roaming for clients. A nightclub seemed like the best place for it. Judging from all the casual couples moving to and from the bathroom, he was right. The problem that became clear was that he had too much competition to work with. 


“Shit, bro, it’s hard to tell the difference in this light.” The neon lights in question outlined a nice stain across the lion’s face. Donovan smiled but tried not to draw attention to it, figuring there was nothing wrong in being a client’s second customer. For his first client, the lion didn’t look too bad. He clearly worked out by his pronounced pectorals hiding underneath the mesh shirt, and the jockstrap hid little to the imagination. 


“So, what do you want?” Donovan asked, “Pussy or ass?”


“Ass, bro.” The lion grinned wide. “I wanna bury you to the hilt.”


He didn’t expect a tinge of disappointment but it buried in his chest all the same. Hiding behind a smile, Donovan nodded and motioned to one of the restrooms. The lion didn’t seem bothered by the prospect. Given that his thong grew tighter, he was enthusiastic. 


Lodged between two concrete slab stalls Donovan dropped his pants. The lion whistled at the belt’s design, watching it unfurl on command to expose the Rottweiler’s ass. To Donovan’s surprise, it still covered his pussy by way of a shield. He supposed it was to ensure clients who wanted ass got ass, he marked it as more expensive after all, but he’d hoped to play with himself a little. 


“Hey, before we start,” Donovan pointed to his butt, “Can you tell me how big the plug is?”


“Plug?” The lion sounded confused. “Oh, the deflated thing? Nah, dude, it went back inside this little compartment when it unfurled. In fact I think…no way,” thick fingers slipped inside the rottweiler’s backdoor with less resistance than Donovan anticipated. “Dude, I think it lubed you up. Fuckin’ A.”


If it weren’t for the active stream of money coming in he’d tell the lion to shut up or fuck off if he continued the frat bro voice. Fortunately, he didn’t have to thanks to the sudden push inside him from his client's hot erection spreading his ass. To his shock, it didn’t spread him far. The plug loosened him up enough for the lion’s rod to slide in with no issue beyond a standard thrust. 


Hands shaking from inebriation held his hips. The lion’s rhythm was steady but growing, more interested in stabilizing himself than letting Donovan sink into it. Soon the thrusts grew wild and unbidden, slamming his full size deep into the rottie’s asshole without care. He huffed at the sensation, fingers clenching against the wall for support while the white slapping and growing grunts of the lion echoed in the air. 


“Fuck!” the lion cried out. Donovan’s eyes stared open in disbelief while his client filled him. He turned to check if the frat bro lion was serious, that he could do no more than three minutes of sex. Clicking his tongue the lion fingerguned Donovan with one hand and zipped up with the next. “Great hole, bro. I give it five stars.” The camera click of his phone was the final toll of the last bell.


Flabbergasted, Donovan watched him leave as the belt whirred back into place. He’d barely gotten off, barely enjoyed it, and now his ass was filled with some random lion’s spunk. Before he could process it further, the belt disassembled from his asshole again. Someone new stood in the stall frame, a wolf with his cell phone in hand and a coy grin.


“Open for more?”


As the night went on it dawned on Donovan that he wasn’t expected to have long fucks with clients. Each was more interested in thrusting impatiently to get off rather than enjoying their time together, never long enough for him to mesh into the pleasure. He supposed that, with hindsight, paying by the minute meant a lot of people were doing to be cheap. 


His ass was the hot commodity. Every customer wanted it over his cunt, regardless of how many people filled him up. He didn’t hate anal but it grew closer to ordering the same thing for dinner. He needed variety while the guys pounded his backdoor. If his cunt was free to toy with while working it’d be fine, but the shield was locked up tight. 


There was variety in both dick and customer. Some sought to just fuck him and be done. Others wanted a little humiliating flair. A few were nice enough, offering condolences of gratitude for the occasion but not sparing a moment to listen to Donovan’s requests. Little dicks, big dicks, some so large that a simple thrust forced them to clamp the rottie’s mouth shut to keep quiet. This one client, an elephant, twisted Donovan to face the bathroom mirror while holding his neck with his thick trunk and arms behind his back. 


Requests for his mouth or a quick handjob were denied and met with middle fingers if ignored. More than a few needed a loud, “Fuck off!” with an added growl to bring the point across. Not that he looked anywhere intimidating with his ass filled with cum while he hunched over a toilet bowl, standing for flashes before and after someone used him.


No one called for his cunt. Tried another place and equalized the prices. His ass remained the only thing picked. Even making his tail hole the more expensive option didn’t shoo away clients, just the cheap ones. In what few moments of lucidity he had between sessions Donovan wondered how many people weren’t getting anal sex that they had to buy it from Whoredash. 


By the evening's end, he’d made enough money to ignore it. His legs were tired, ass burning, and the chirp of birds before daybreak rattled his ears. He had changed his pussy to free on the app, or as low as it could get as free wasn’t an option. No one took it. No one scratched the itch his clit craved or pounded his pussy like a feral hound in heat. Giving up, he headed home. Taking a shortcut through the park.


It was then he heard another request. Exhaustion be damned, he checked it, preparing to turn roaming off. His eyes widened at the request. They wanted his cunt.


“The toilet stalls near the bike racks.” The client messaged. “Don’t keep me waiting.” 


Ignoring his burning lungs and the plug in his ass, Donovan raced through the park to find the spot in question. It was a cement block hidden in a clearing of trees, with a cement sidewalk intersecting against a dirt bike path. 


Leaning against the wall underneath the subtle buzz of a lamplight was a buckskin pitbull in a leather jacket, disinterestedly looking away as he chewed the end of a cigarette. His ears perked up when Donovan arrived, only to drop as if interest had passed. 


“You the pussyfaggot?” He asked, voice as gruff and gritty as the cigarette box he pulled from his coat pocket suggested.


There was something about how the pitbull spoke that made him shiver. Not with disgust or rage, but the urge to fall before him. He blamed it on a night of denial and spoke up. “RuinedRottie42. You looking for someone named that? Are you Leatherhound51?”


The pitbull nodded, lighting a new cigarette, “That’d make you the pussyfaggot.” He crumpled up the empty carton before tossing it into the nearest bin. The cardboard bounced off the rim, adding to the litter of garbage.”


“The what?” 


“Youth these days,” the pitbull sighed. “What do you call a gay man without a dick? A taco twink, a twig, pussyfaggot.” He held up a finger for each term before prodding the rottweiler’s chest with that last one for emphasis. “I ain’t referring to it as a bussy if that’s what you’re expecting.” Donovan heard none of these before, but to his credit any time spent with a guy as old as his father was not used for pillow talk. The pitbull, noticing his blank stare, snapped his fingers and glared. He was not used to being ignored. 


“Look, I don’t got time to work on the fucking nomenclature of you. I’m here to fuck a man’s cunt and unless you’re backing out I suggest you get on your knees.” 


There was something about his tone that caused a reaction in Donovan’s body. In any other circumstance, the arrogance and utter disrespect the pitbull spewed should have been enough to make him leave if not throw a punch. But after spending most of the night getting fucked in the ass without so much as a tap against his clit, the rottweiler couldn’t help but fall to his knees before the older dog. Throat tight and body hot with anticipation. 


For a moment he ignored the kneeling dog, preferring to suck in smoke and check his phone. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, and Donovan obeyed. He eyed the dog’s crotch with the expectation that he’d reach down to unzip. To his surprise, he tasted ash instead, sprinkled across his tongue from a casual tap of the smoking roll of tobacco. 


He gagged. The pitbull ignored him, holding the rottweiler’s chin so he could not so easily spit his gift to the ground. “Swallow it.” He commanded, fingers digging in not to hurt but hold him in place. “Any decent whore knows not to toss out what a gentleman offers.” 


“You think you’re a gentleman?” Donovan snapped, swallowing the ashes with a heavy gulp when the pitbull glared down at him. 


“I’m a better gentleman than you are a whore, but the name still fits. And it’s Sir to you,” He let go and then kicked Donovan’s legs open. “Now take your pants off. Let’s see this cunt of yours.”


Though he did not raise his voice the order had the same effect. Donovan stood up, stopping when the pitbull held his hand out to ensure he wouldn’t reach the same height, then took off his pants. Before kneeling back down his client ordered him to squat, holding his arms aloft like he was some feral mutt begging for a treat. His voice of reason told him that he was going too far for someone not even paying yet, but Donovan was halfway through the position change when he finished the thought and he didn’t like to leave himself halfway through anything. 


“Hold your tongue out.” The pitbull pulled out his phone, “I wanna see the black mark in this before picture.” Donovan stuck his tongue out to the cool morning air. His belt whirred open, and with a snap, his humiliating form had been immortalized in the app. Satisfied, the pitbull pulled his sheath and sack out, his red tip poking out. It was on the large side for a dog, but not the biggest he’d seen that night. 


“Stay.” The pitbull placed his heavy sack over Donovan’s muzzle. The weight, the heat, and even the smell washed over him the longer he held it. It was the musk of an old dog, an alpha that would eagerly overpower Donovan to make him his personal beta in a pack. He played the scene over in his head, culminating in him kneeling at the pitbull’s feet like now. The only difference was the chain leash in his fantasy.


The pitbull chuckled. Donovan licked his lips, not realizing how much he’d been drooling. “I like you, pussyfaggot. You’re honest about what you want.” He looked up to the pitbull, taking the moment to realize how pathetic he looked sniffing the hound’s sack. His wagging tail said enough. “Any faggot with an ounce of self-respect would have told me to fuck off right now. But you don’t have such delusions. No, you know that your holes, three in your special case, are just meant for dick. Normally I ain’t into pussy, but you’re handsome enough to make me reconsider. Obedient too, but that’s what I expect out of bottoms. Now beg me for it.”


Donovan whined. It was instinctual. A primal urge that words could not voice better. The pitbull drank it in, clouding his face with smoke as if letting go of something. What it was, Donovan wasn’t sure. 


“Suck me off.” 


Donovan reached for the rod only to return both arms to his back at the pitbull’s growl. It wasn’t just about pleasure with him, that much he finally understood. It was about power. Control. Dominance and submission. He clasped his elbows as if cuffed while suckling the red dip burgeoning from the older dog’s sheath. It grew in his maw, precum mixing with saliva while Sir chastised him.


“Careful with those teeth of yours. Christ, is this the best you can do? Bottoms these days.” Clutching Donovan’s head he guided the rottweiler along his shaft. At full mast it was big. Not the largest he’d taken today, but in the ranking for it. 


The morning song of birds played over the scrappy footsteps of Donovan being pinned to the wall. The sun cast shades of orange, yellow, and red across the horizon, shortening shadows that covered the pair as the burly pitbull penetrated him. He winced and shuddered, silently thankful that the fire between his legs was being tended to.


The pitbull did not fuck him like the others. Donovan expected a set of hard thrusts, and while they were they didn’t feel as selfish as past clients. There was a pause between each hip movement, a moment to wait for Donovan to relax into the groove. Degrading as he was, the pitbull sought the rottweiler’s pleasure on top of his own. Or maybe that was just how someone with experience fucked. Donovan wasn’t sure. He could scarcely remember his name at this point. 


Mindful roughness was still rough. Strong hands pulled his head back and locked his arms behind him, forcing Donovan to balance the weight of both him and the pitbull against the concrete wall. A low growl bellowed from behind, mixing with the wet slaps from the body shaking and pounding. He was the bottom. The beta. The bitch. Sir intended to use him for every second of it. 


“More…” Donovan whispered. 


The pitbull’s growl turned to a snarl and his teeth grabbed the rottweiler’s nap. His voice cracked but he pleaded for the same, not caring that any morning jogger could hear them. He wanted them to hear. To be curious and come see an alpha lay claim on a beta as nature intended. 


Cool morning air wafted over the two as blades of light seeped through tree branches. The pitbull pulled out and flipped Donovan, pressing the rottweiler’s back against the wall before hoisting him up by his legs and sticking back inside with no fanfare. He continued begging the pitbull for more, to knot him then and there. His client stuffed the burnt out cigarette into his maw and clamped his mouth shut. His gaze issued one silent command to stay quiet. Donovan gulped, swallowing the ash. When his maw was free he panted, exposing his stained tongue to the older dog. Sir smiled and spat at him. 


Donovan bucked away from the wall but the pitbull held him in place. He reeled, crying out in ecstasy and shock as his body shivered. The pitbull ignored him, as he did the second and third outburst that turned Donovan’s legs to jelly. “Fucking Christ, how are you tired? I’m the one doing all the work.” Not that he seemed to slow in the slightest. 


He couldn’t answer back. The combination of a night of anal sex from strangers, the massive plug filling his ass now, and the rapid orgasms turned the rottweiler’s brain to mush. Even the desire to be knotted came out as a slurred mess as if dicks had bludgeoned his brain. 


The entire weight of the pitbull pushed into him, squeezing Donovan between a concrete wall and a thick belly as the canine’s cock surged inside of him. One shot. Two shots. Three. Donovan lost count, lost sense of his surroundings until he felt the cold floor against his bare ass. Dazed, he looked up and saw the pitbull’s red rocket glistening in the morning sunlight. The glare caught his gaze until a camera flashed, followed by a ping from his own phone that told him the after photo was taken. 


“Well, you were a decent fuck before work.” He zipped up. Donovan caught the pitbull by his pants pocket, but the dog shooed him off. “I ain’t paying extra for knotting you, not when I gotta clock in for work.”


“More…” Donovan whispered, out of breath. Naked, he crawled up the older dog’s legs, slowly dry-humping him as his belt locked in place. “Please, please, Sir. I…I think there’s a discount option. I can just activate it and–”


“I got work.” The pitbull’s words warranted no debate. Still, Donovan pleaded silently, his big red eyes tearfully staring up to the older dog’s brown. Scratching his head, the pitbull sighed and pulled off his belt. “Fine. But don’t complain. Beggars can’t be choosers.” 




***




Gary, in the midst of his lungs burning inside his chest, found it ironic how much he hated running. As a greyhound, everyone expected him to take to jogging like peanut butter to jelly. But jogging was just cardio. There was no chase, no competition, just aimless maintenance for his body that had become so routine he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. He contemplated quitting every morning with the sunrise but decided against it. Few things gave him the exercise he needed. 


At the sun’s rise and the dampness of the morning air Gary realized how dry his mouth became. The water bottle strapped to his side was already drained. Luckily there was a bathroom close by with water fountains. Not the best water in his experience, it had an off taste Gary couldn’t place, but he’d settle for strange water over none. 


Rounding the corner Gary caught himself from tripping at the sight. Behind the water fountain were bike racks. Instead of bikes there was a naked rottweiler locked into it, their legs latched to opposing ends by clothes tied into impromptu notes, their arms bound behind them by a belt, and socks stuffed into their maw to keep them quiet save for mewling grunts of someone begging. The only scrap of what Gary would consider clothing on them was a strange metal belt that, at first glance, seemed like a shiny thong. 


He blinked once, then twice. Determining it was not some runner’s high delusion, Gary set about undoing the bindings. He stopped two feet shy of the rottweiler when he noticed a crudely written cardboard sign under them.


Whoredash: RuinedRottie42. Check app for details! 


A good person would have ignored that and undid the bindings. Gary found himself more curious first, opening the app on his phone to confirm. Their account did exist and the price listed for their cunt perched his ears high. Better to be safe than sorry, he rounded around the rack and asked, “So, is this some special event or something majorly fucked up?”


The way he stared back at the greyhound pulled Gary back to his school days of accidentally asking a stupid question after the teacher said there were none. They replied with a thumbs up. 


“Oh, awesome.” Gary pressed to pay and pulled down his sweatpants. He still had cardio to cover.