It would be helpful to clarify what we talk about when we talk about the pride of Brady Sutcliffe. The first meaning is that of Brady’s own pride; that is, the deep, self-satisfied pride that he seemed to wear like a tattoo every single day. Lions in general, and Pyroars in particular, are seen as somewhat full of themselves, but Brady’s pride was unique. Just looking at the way that he walked (unhurried, with large steps and no regard for anyone in his way) or the way that he talked (slow and ponderous, as though his voice was a choice morsel that he wanted to savor) told you everything you needed to know about the man. Looking at his chiseled, well-toned body, honed with a narcissist’s eye for detail, told you even more.

The second meaning, and the one most pertinent to the Pyroar’s species, was the pride that he lorded over with a kingly resolve. This wasn’t a pride of other Pyroars (the species, like all other anthros, had long since outgrown such primitive societal models), but a pride of other men, across various species, who had fallen under Brady’s thrall. It wasn’t a matter of hypnotism, at least not as far as other people knew, but it seemed like there was something about the submissive nature of these men, and their cheerful acquiescence to Brady’s whims, that was unnatural, or at the very least unwholesome. The word “harem” wasn’t altogether inaccurate.

These men-about five in total-had all met Brady in different ways. Toby, the unassuming young Eevee, met him in the locker room of the gym they frequented; Dante, the feminine, airheaded Lopunny, met him in a bar; Max, the quiet Gallade, met him at the place where he used to work (but had since quit, as ordered by Brady). These men were different in size and outlook, but they all loved Brady as though he was their one and only, and as though he returned even a fraction of that same affection. They worshiped every inch of the Pyroar’s body whenever he demanded it, they asked for permission for things as minor as drinks of water, and they made sure to avoid prolonged eye contact. They treated him as their owner.

Brady was only too happy to give them direction, even if that direction was usually beneath his armpits or pinned beneath his ass. It was only natural, he reasoned, that fags like them would serve an alpha like him. If he treated them like actual people, with actual wants and needs, he would be doing them a disservice. It was important to know one’s place, and his place was on top of men like those in his pride.

If this section seems repetitive, that’s because the lives of Brady’s pride were repetitive. They woke up, they went through their routines with varying degrees of normalcy, then they came when called; to Brady’s house, to the gym, to the bar. They showered the Pyroar with endless, one-sided affection, and they licked the sweat off of his balls. That might not seem like a life to you, but it was enough for them.

Well, at least for a time.

---

The first shot of the video was that of a Luxray’s smirking face, wearing a backwards baseball cap. He was handsome, with strong, masculine features, and he couldn’t have been much older than Brady. Toby had never seen him before, and Brady had never mentioned him knowing a Luxray, but the look in the Luxray’s eyes suggested that he knew them; despite the fact that the video was pre-recorded, the Luxray’s eyes tracked the viewer’s with an alarming consistency. From just below the camera, there came a constant, wet, slurping noise, like someone was trying to suck a tennis ball through a drinking straw.

“‘Sup?” the Luxray began. “I dunno if your little group of faggots know me yet, but if any of ‘em are watching this with you I might as well introduce myself to. Name’s Derek. Me and Brady go back a bit, and I caught wind of what he was doing ‘round here. Now, maybe I should just leave ya be, but I’m not one to just sit back and let someone else get in on such a good thing. Ain’t that right, Brady?” Toby knew better than to look up at the Pyroar and gauge his reaction; besides, he could feel the heat radiating off of him, and that told him everything he needed to know.

“So anyway,” Derek continued, that cocky grin never leaving his face, “I just made this video and sent it your way to let you know a couple things.” He leaned forward to the camera, his eyes narrowing into a menacing leer. “I’m coming for you, Brady. I’m gonna take this little love-fest you got going on here and I’m gonna take it over. And when I’m done, you’re gonna be next. You hear me?” He leaned back into his seat, and his grin returned. “But hell, you don’t have to ask me.” The Luxray reached his hand down to his lap and caught hold of something, pulling up. The head of a dalmatian, panting and gasping with his tongue lolling out, entered the frame. Toby placed his hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp.

“Ask Roddy,” Derek said. “He said he wouldn’t betray you, but he cracked like an egg. Isn’t that right, Roddy?”

Roddy glanced over his shoulder at the camera and gave an embarrassed, yet at the same time exhilarated, smile. “Yeah,” he said, giggling. Drool was running out of the corner of his mouth, and he looked like the happiest faggot in the world.

“Say you love Master Derek, boy.”

Roddy swallowed, before obeying. “I love Master Derek.”

“Good faggot.” Derek patted the dalmatian’s cheek. “Get back to work, now.”

Roddy lowered his head, giving the wet, sloppy head that he had only given to Brady up until now. Derek turned his head back to the camera.

“See ya soon, boy.” He sneered at the viewer, giving a teasing wink, and the video ended.

As Brady sat there, glaring at the screen and stewing in his own rage, Toby wondered whether it was he who Derek was referring to as “boy” at the end, or whether it was Brady. The Eevee knew not to ask, of course, but the thought stuck in his mind.

The blowjob was extra rough that night.

---

Kirk had heard about that bit of unpleasantness, but the Torracat wasn’t particularly on edge as he was walking towards Brady’s house. It was a fairly big town they were in, after all, and certainly Derek wouldn’t really ambush and dominate any member of the Pride that he saw? Roddy was always a sort of marginal figure in the whole arrangement, anyway; it would have been trivially easy to separate him from the Pride and dominate him. Kirk, at least, had nothing to worry about.

As it happened, Kirk had a great deal to worry about.

“GLLLLLKH!” The toned Torracat screwed his eyes shut as he choked, trying to turn away from the cock pistoning in and out of his mouth. Caught unawares and dragged into an alleyway after having his hands secured with rope behind his back, Kirk found himself at the mercy of a big, buff beast of a Luxray, eyes glinting as he looked down at him.

“Aaaaw, c’mon, kid,” Derek grunted, slapping Kirk’s cheek with his fat uncut dick. “It ain’t that hard to take.”

But from the way the Luxray forced Kirk’s mouth open, and the way he grunted as he rammed his cock down to the hilt in the Torracat’s mouth, it was obvious he knew how big he was, and how much Kirk was struggling with his mouthful. After only a few wet shhrk shhhlk shhlllk noises from the Torracat’s churning throat, Kirk spasmed underneath Derek, twisting his head to the side and giving a wrenching gag.

“AAAAGHK!” He panted for air, already feeling woozy, only for Derek to roughly slap him across the face and yank his head back upright.

“No ya don’t,” the Luxray said, his sharp white teeth gleaming like crescents of the moon. “You’re gonna take all of this.” He shifted his weight, putting his crotch closer to the Torracat’s face, and Kirk got an unpleasantly clear look at just what “this” was. Christ, but Derek was hung-he had a heavy, uncut blue dick, the kind that hung heavy even when it was hard. It was the kind of cock you took out in the locker room when you wanted to crush someone’s self-esteem under your heel, the kind of cock that made painfully, sickeningly clear that you weren’t good enough.

And, as Derek got back to his business, almost casually, it was pumping in and out of Kirk’s throat like it was nothing more than a Fleshlight. From somewhere through the haze of fear and nausea, Kirk heard Derek speak.

“Fuck, this is good. I can see why that little queer Brady wanted to keep you around. Your throat’s tighter than some assholes, y’know that? Nnnnf! I’ll kill you if you bite down on me, got that? That’s it, just take it, little guy. No one’s comin’ to save you. Sure as hell ain’t Brady, he couldn’t give a fuck if you lived or died…”

Derek continued on like that, in that endless, sneering stream-of-conscious delivery, but that last part stuck in Kirk’s mind even as Derek moved past it. Surely Brady cared! Even if it was just as a means to be worshiped and served like the God he was, surely he cared. As a matter of fact, the Torracat would bet that Brady was about to come along any second now to get this big fucker off of him and take him back home. Right?

“HRRRCK!” As Derek’s dick hit Kirk’s throat at a particularly sharp angle, the Torracat leaned his head back, his chest twitching as he choked on his mouthful. Throatslop started to leak out of the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his cheeks and onto the pavement beneath him. It felt like there was a swarm of bats loose in Kirk’s stomach, their wings beating against the inner walls and making him more and more nauseous. If his hands were free, he would have clawed at Derek’s thick, juicy thighs, and yet the Luxray allowed him no such luxury.

“Want me to stop?” Derek asked, as Kirk tried his best to pull his hands free of the rope that tied his wrists together. “Hmmm? Want me to pull out?” His hips kept pumping and pumping, that dick plunging deeper and deeper into Kirk’s sensitive throatmeat every time he sped up or slowed down. Against his hips, he felt a frantic nod, and the Luxray pulled out, suddenly. As Kirk gagged and choked, like a drowning man given air, Derek leaned his head down and smirked.

“Say ‘fuck Master Brady’.”

Kirk looked at Derek as though he had spit on a statue of the Virgin Mary. “Fuck you,” he wheezed, his voice hoarse from the pounding his throat had taken. He tried to turn his head as Derek took his dick in his hand, but he groaned as he felt that heavy cock slap against his cheek.

“Say it, boy. Or I’ll go back in for a second round.”

Out of spite, Kirk pursed his lips shut, the Torracat glaring up at Derek with pinprick eyes of hate and disgust. Who the fuck did he think he was, trying to get him to turn away from Master Brady? It was disgusting. It was-

Derek reached a hand down, taking Kirk’s nose between his thumb and index finger, and held it there, waiting to see how long it would take for that mouth to open, for the need for air to outweigh the need to obey Master Brady.

Kirk lasted longer than he expected, but he broke eventually. His mouth opened, that hefty battering ram of a dick shoved itself back into his mouth, and Derek pumped his hips like a madman, smacking against the Torracat’s face and making Kirk’s throat spasm and gargle around that merciless fuckstick.

After a full minute of throatfucking action, when Derek was emptying his churning balls into Kirk’s throat, he looked down at the massive stain in the Torracat’s shorts and saw that Kirk came before he did.

---

Dante, by contrast, was much quicker than Derek thought he would be.

As tight a grip as Brady had on his pride, Dante was always the one that he worried about the most. No matter how many blowjobs he gave, no matter how many cooed words of adoration passed those plump pink lips, no matter how devoted he seemed to his Master, there was always that suspicion, that idea that the faggy Lopunny had roaming eyes. It didn’t help that he habitually wore such slutty clothing, even when he wasn’t at Brady’s beck and call; short shorts that looked painted on, crop tops that showed his smooth, flat belly, thigh-high socks that practically served as an advertising service for that fat ass. No matter what happened, Dante always seemed like he was looking for trouble.

Needless to say, he found it, in the seedy dive bar that introduced him to Derek..

“Oh, gosh,” Dante murmured, faux-innocently, as he straddled the Luxray’s lap and swayed his hips from side to side. His big, bouncy bunny butt, wrapped up neatly in a pair of black shorts with JUICY written on the ass, ground against Derek’s bulge, teasing him and letting him know what his intentions were even as he played his part. “I really can’t do this, y’know,” he breathed into Derek’s ear, his lips pouting playfully. “Master Brady would get so mad…”

Derek brought his beer glass to his lips, taking a swig as he enjoyed the lap dance Dante was giving him. “Yeah?” the Luxray said, with a smirk. “You might wanna tell that to your ass…” He gave a sharp slap to that thick rear. “...cuz it doesn’t seem like Master Brady scares it one bit.” Derek marveled as Dante’s ass jiggled and wobbled from the impact of the slap, even seconds after his hand left that rump.

“Well, what can I say?” Dante giggled, the Lopunny leaning forward with a lust-drunk look in his eyes. “It’s got a mind of its own.”

“Yeah? I can see that.” Derek reached his hands down, sinking his fingers into that lush, fatty flesh. “Well, why don’t you ask it if it wants to meet me in the bathroom? I’ll be waiting.” The Luxray lifted up beneath Dante’s armpits, pulling the Lopunny off of his lap and setting him down before making his way to the door with the faded men’s-room sign on it. Dante watched the door close before glancing over his shoulder, looking at his own thick butt.

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” he said, as though his ass really did have a mind of its own, before hastily following the manly Luxray.

Derek didn’t use a condom, of course. Why would he? What use would a man like him have for something so flimsy and ineffectual? Brady didn’t use condoms either, but that never felt like a choice rather than a fact of life; looking at Derek’s fat, uncut cock at full mast, Dante just knew that it was a cock that condoms simply couldn’t contain.

As Derek braced his hands against Dante’s shoulders, and as, in the small space allowed by the bathroom stall, the Luxray seemed to take up more and more space, the Lopunny felt an anticipatory shiver course down his spine. It had been so long since he had been used like this; Brady fucked him often, sure, but it never had the same thrill, the thrill inherent in being used like a disposable whore, the thrill in fucking someone you had only just met, the thrill of-

Derek’s dick sunk into the Lopunny’s tight, puckered asshole, and Dante threw his head back and gave a sharp yowl, the kind of noise that’s made after spending so long pent up and having it released all at once. The Luxray’s cock plunged deeper inside Dante, filling him up, spreading that hungry hole wide around the thick, throbbing rod working its way further and further inside.

“Fuckin’ hell, you’re tight,” Derek grunted, the Luxray listening to the wordless, pleasured moans of the faggot bunny beneath him as he started to piston his hips. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, low and growling in Dante’s ear, “I’d think you were a virgin. But based on how you’re moaning…” He started to pick up his pace, his hips making a loud, rhythmic slapping noise against those plump cheeks-plap, plap, plap. “You’ve been around the block a few times, huh?”

That much was obvious to the both of them, but if Dante was going to respond then he was continually interrupted by that pillar of dick pumping in and out of his whole. Every time it seemed like he was going to say something coherent, Derek would thrust his hips, hit a spot that hadn’t been hit in ages, and make Dante go back to incoherent mumbles and squeals. Derek’s heavy, pendulous balls, thick and manly, swung to and fro like a wrecking ball, smacking into Dante’s smaller nuts as he was fucked so deep.

“See?” Derek said, biting his lip as he held Dante in place, his thrusts kicking into high gear. Plaplaplaplaplaplaplap! “Ain’t this so much better than what that limp dick Brady’s got goin’ on? C’mon, tell me.” He grunted again, the Lopunny’s ass practically squeezing down on his cock. “Tell me,” he repeated, louder this time.

Dante couldn’t answer. From the speed of the thrusts to his balls being battered by those of a true alpha’s to that godly, hefty dick, he was in absolute heaven. And he couldn’t imagine much of anything bringing him back down to earth; not even when Derek threw his head back and groaned, a hot, sticky load of spunk shooting into Dante’s hole and filling him up. He was hooked, and there was nothing that Brady could do to get him back.

Well, if Brady could fuck him to twelve orgasms in one night, that would be a start in getting him back. But that was what Derek did, and as Dante lay semi-conscious on the bathroom floor, stars in his eyes and lying in a pool of more cum than Brady helped make in two years, he realized how much he needed this fucking stud in his life.

---

The previous night, Brady had left a voicemail for Max. That in itself was unusual; if Brady didn’t get someone on the first try, he would usually keep calling until they picked up before punishing them for their insolence. This time, though, Brady not only left a voicemail but sounded decidedly out of sorts. From the very first word, it was clear that not all was right in the Pyroar’s world.

“Max,” he said, his voice straining for its usual ponderous grandeur, which just made him sound tired. “Derek’s got Dante now, too. It’s just you, me and Toby right now.” He was speaking quicker than usual, too, like he was in a rush to get something done. “I don’t know where that bastard is right now, but wherever he is you need to protect yourself. You’re a Psychic-type, right? Put a field around your mind. Keep it away from him. Make a...make a bubble or something, I don’t fucking know. Whatever it is, just do it.” He hung up without saying goodbye; at least some things never changed.

While the Gallade couldn’t make a bubble, or whatever it was Brady was talking about, he could use his psychic powers to steel his will. Whatever it was that Derek did to bring Roddy, Kirk and Dante to heel, it was powerful stuff, and without his powers Max might crumple like a tin can beneath the Luxray’s heel. The Gallade blinked, and his eyes glowed purple. There-that should provide some extra reinforcement.

Max was about to change into his gym clothes and hit the treadmill when he heard a voice that stopped him. He blinked his eyes, dropping his gym bag.

Hey, you. What’s your name. Max?

Maybe it wasn’t accurate to say that Max heard the voice. In fact, it came from within his own mind, like one of his thoughts, but the voice that it spoke in was not his own. This voice was deeper, rougher, with a smug tone of superiority behind it. He recognized it from the video that had been sent their way a few days ago, and his blood froze up.

His low-level protection having been breached, Max sat down on the bench and squeezed his eyes shut, putting another psychic barrier in place over his thoughts. A soft hissing noise, like a radio station’s static, served as the background for his thoughts and the ambient sounds of the locker room. After a minute, he hoped the coast was clear and started to change again, but as soon as he did…

Nice fuckin’ try. You really think that’s enough to get rid of me? And I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.

As though it would do anything, Max clamped his hands over his ears, trying to keep that voice out of his head. The static noise grew louder, grew stronger, and yet Derek’s voice was just as clear as though he was sitting right next to him.

Look, I’m gonna cut to the chase. If you’re hearing me, I’ve already won. I’ve gotten inside your head, whether you knew it or not, ever since I broke in Roddy. And now I know exactly what it is that drives you wild.

The protective static sounded more like a squall of microphone feedback, so sharp and shrill it was to block out the words of the Luxray, but it didn’t do a goddamn thing.

I just got done with my workout. It takes a couple hours, but it’s nice and complete. Went for a run on the treadmill, did some deadlifts, used the rowing machine, leg presses...worked up one hell of a sweat, lemme tell ya.

Max just sat there, his mouth opened wide. The protective static grew lower and weaker as, despite himself, the Gallade listened to what Derek was saying.

You should take a look at my jock right now. It’s supposed to be white, but it’s so fucking sweaty and ripe that it’s gettin’ closer to yellow. If you looked at it, you could see right through it, get a nice look at my fat cock and hairy, sweaty balls.

It was like psychic phone sex. Max’s conscience was telling him to get away, to get out of there, to do something, but he just sat there, riveted.

My lucky jock, that’s what I call it. I used to bully Brady with it, back in college. Y’know, the first time I made him sniff it, he took one whiff and burst into tears? It was that fuckin’ ripe. Oh, Brady didn’t tell you about that, did he?

Even if Max wanted to say something, he couldn’t. Through his gym shorts, he felt his dick get rock hard, but from what he couldn’t say. It might have been Derek’s leering rumble of a voice, it might have been all that talk about the jockstrap, but it was there, and it wasn’t going away.

I’m gonna let you in on a secret about “Master Brady”. He’s a fucking pussy; always has been, always will be. He was pretty much my personal sweat rag back in college. He ate my pits, gargled my nuts, sucked on my ass, the whole nine yards. And he loved every fuckin’ second of it, too. That alpha persona he’s got goin’ on is just a front. Trust me.

Upon hearing Derek growl-rumble “trust me” into the very back corners of his mind, Max’s cock twitched, his hips bucked, and he gave a needy little moan as he came in his underwear. He could have swore he heard Derek chuckle in his mind while he panted and moaned.

Now, if you wanna go back to him and be a good little slave for a paper tiger, you can go right ahead and do that. But if you want to know what it’s like to sniff a real man, I’m right here in the locker room bathroom. Second stall from the left. Knock twice, boy.

With that, the voice went quiet. Max sat in silence on the bench, staring into space for a minute, before swallowing a lump in his throat and making a beeline to the bathroom.

---

Shk.

“...”

Shk shk.

“...”

Shk shk shk shk shkshkshkshk.

Brady Sutcliffe took a deep breath, swallowed, and spoke.

“You have ten seconds before I rip out of these and throw you out the fucking window.”

He knew who was behind this already, but that didn’t mean his heart didn’t sink like a stone when he heard that raspy, teasing laugh.

“Awww, Brady,” Derek said, the Luxray approaching the foot of Brady’s bed with that frightening glint in his eye. “That ain’t any way to greet an old friend, is it?”

The Pyroar snarled, rattling the handcuffs that chained him to the bedpost and glaring up at Derek. Anger dominated his mind, of course, but there was still that unmistakable undercurrent of fear that bubbled in his belly.

“You son of a bitch,” he spat. “You stole my fucking slaves, and you’re talking about friends?” Derek crossed his arms over his bare chest, rolling his eyes at that outburst.

“You were always so emotional, faggot.”

Pursing his lips, he let out a sharp, shrill whistle, and Brady flinched, both from the suddenness and the repressed memory of coming when he was called.

The short, skinny Eevee walked into the room, his eyes practically glued to Derek’s naked body. Toby was always a slut for a big man like that, but previously he had been hopelessly devoted to Brady. Now, it was as though the Pyroar didn’t exist. In fact, it was as though nothing outside of Derek existed; or, more specifically, a certain part of Derek.

Brady watched in horror as Toby got on his knees behind the Luxray, shoving his face in between those sweaty ass cheeks and loudly, lewdly, hungrily sniffing. The Eevee was in his own world, muzzle jammed in the cleft of Derek’s ass and snorting like a fucking pig. He was roused from his stupor with a harsh slap to the side of his head, and with great reluctance pulled his face out.

“Yes, Master Derek?” Brady groaned when those words passed Toby’s lips.

“Lay your head on the bed. Your master needs a seat.”

“Yes, Master Derek.” Toby sat on the floor, facing away from the bed, before craning his head back and resting it on the mattress, facing up.

Of all the indignities that came about this week-Roddy being led like a lemming into Derek’s thrall, Kirk getting the will face-fucked out of him, Dante and Max failing him-none came close to seeing the cute little Eevee that was the pride of his collection being used as an object by Derek. As the Luxray settled his meaty ass on Toby’s face, his balls resting on the Eevee’s forehead, Brady roared out in fury and practically tore the cuffs off of the bedpost. Almost.

“Yeah, this looks familiar, doesn’t it, little guy?” Derek smirked as Toby immediately started to writhe beneath his weight, overwhelmed by the sharp, salty, mind-meltingly masculine musk of the Luxray’s hairy ass. “You remember being in his position back in the frat, don’t you, asspig?”

“You motherfucker,” Brady spat.

“What’s the matter?” Derek swayed his hips back and forth, grinding those beefy, muscled cheeks all over Toby’s face, smearing sweat on his fur and marking him with that rich scent. “Think you’ll start to like it after watching it for a while, huh?”

Brady wasn’t focused on Derek’s ass, no matter how attention-grabbing it was as he practically humped Toby’s face. He was looking at Toby’s hands, a feeling of dread creeping over him. Whenever Brady sat on Toby’s face, the Eevee squirmed, pushed against his ass cheeks, tried to get air whenever he could. But here, underneath that bastard Derek, his hands were placed behind his back, and aside from the general squirming that came from dealing with that ripe ass crack he was as docile as he could be.

He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to face it, but Derek was simply more alpha than him. The thought made his stomach tie itself into knots, and the expression on his face did not escape the sadistic Luxray’s notice.

“Mmmm? Something the matter, sweat rag? You look like you’re gonna be sick.”

Brady looked up at the Luxray, looked into those narrowed eyes and at that infuriating smirk, and he groaned.

“Please, Derek,” he said. “Don’t do this.” This wasn’t the voice of an alpha, or a master, or anyone worth following. This was the voice of a college freshman who, desperate for some kind of clout, joined a fraternity where he was routinely used and abused by the big, sadistic jocks who ran the roost. It was the voice of someone watching what power they once possessed slip through his fingers.

“What can I say, man?” Derek said, shrugging his shoulders and giving his ass an extra waggle in Toby’s face. “I deserve them more than you.” An idea came to mind, and he leaned forward slightly, mashing his balls along Toby’s face as he did so.

“Hey,” he said. “If you’re lookin’ for somethin’ to do in your free time, I bet you can be a part of my pride. How’s that sound, sweatsucker?”

When he was faced with silence, Derek smirked and spoke again. “Keep in mind that I’m gonna swoop in and steal whatever no-confidence faggots want to suck your limp dick if you try and pull this shit again.”

A minute of silence, the only sound being the muffled moans of Toby as he smothered under Derek’s monstrous ass. Then, with a wince, Brady nodded.

“Thaaaaat’s a good bitch.”

---

“Master Derek Stapleton (@Master_Derek) tweeted: ‘Say hello to my new pride. #LionPride #BitchBois #Alpha’”

(Image transcription: six black collars rest on a table, the tags visible. From left to right, they read: “Roddy”, “Kirk”, “Dante”, “Max”, “Toby”, and “Asspig”.)