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You got a dirty mind, Cochise.

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He’s naked when he wakes up, arms pulled tight above his head, knees spread and tied to something hard. The position is awkward, and it should hurt. Should hurt a human, at any rate.

Josh hasn’t been human for a while.

So he aches, but not from the position. The ache is something more familiar, or at least something that’s been growing steadily more familiar these last few months; the hot heaviness between his thighs, the mad heady rush of rut. He’s desperately horny, because nowadays he always is; swollen dick arching up against his belly, engorged balls swinging down below. He wants to touch himself, to rub against something, anything, but when he goes to move all he ends up with is the sound of clinking chains and the soft tear of duct tape.

Josh growls, he can’t help it. Growls, and struggles against his bonds. The sounds echo dully in the space, a pitch black void even his night vision gives him nothing useful on. Just an empty room, empty except for him.

When the lights come on, he hisses from the pain, eyes slamming shut and chains rattling as he tries to pull back. The lights probably aren’t that bright, maybe no more than a strong fluorescent, but his vision is designed for darkness, now. The light is no longer his friend.

Somewhere behind him, he hears the sound of a door opening, then footsteps. Someone walks into the room, boots heavy on the hard floor, but it’s not the sound that causes a strangled keen to emerge from Josh’s throat. It’s the smell, thick and hot and human. Male.

Delicious.

It makes Josh’s mouth water and his dick twitch. He knows that smell. Oh yes, yes he does.

“Well, look at you.”

The footsteps get closer, circle around, their owner coming to a stop in front of where Josh is hanging. He opens his eyes, or tries to; the world is nothing but bright glare and fuzzy outlines, his pupils pulled down into tiny pinpricks, and even that’s not enough. Still, he doesn’t need to see to know who’s crouched in front of him. He’s known Chris nearly his whole life.

“You were a pain in the ass to string up, you know that? Skinny motherfucker but you weight a ton. Must be these.” The Chris-blur reaches forward, above Josh’s head. He feels the pressure and the movement as his antler is grabbed, fondled.

“I still can’t believe you grew fucking antlers. Big ones, too.” Chris’ hand moves further down, over hard bone, down into Josh’s hair, rough fingers rubbing at the juncture between skull and antler.

Josh purrs, he can’t help it. Tries to choke the sound back but it’s hard, so hard, with his body so keyed up. He hungers, and not in the usual way.

Chris laughs. “God, look at you. Fucking rutting season. Crazy shit, man.” The fingers dig harder against his scalp, pressing flesh and pulling hair. It’s not quite the touch Josh wants but his body will make do with what it can get, hips thrusting forward as much as he’s able, given his restraints.

Suddenly, Chris’ hand moves. Is out his Josh’s hair and, oh fuck yes. Is wrapped hard around his swollen balls. Hard enough to hurt, and it feels perfect, Josh’s head lolls back, a needy keen escaping his throat before he can stop it.

“And this. I mean, seriously. What the fuck man? You didn’t have this in climbing class.”

Josh’s dick and balls have been getting bigger since the start of rut. And, go figure, because that’s Josh’s life now; most of the year he’s a hungry mouth and an empty belly, except come spring, when turns into a giant leaking dick looking for a hole.

“You know,” Chris says, conversationally. “I looked this up. Wendigo antler is supposed to be one hell of an aphrodisiac. Sells for a shitton on eBay, I swear to god. So I figure, what the hey. I know where to find me a real deal live wendigo. I come back up here, bag me one, tie it up, and I’ve got myself a million bucks come fall.” A pause, and rough fingers move from Josh’s balls up the wet shaft of his cock. He whimpers again, thrusting his hips. He’s so keyed up, so close all the time, and yet it’s not enough.

“But then I saw you, and, boy are you in a state. So I got to thinking. Gotta be some other genuine wendigo parts work even better than boring ground-up horns. Maybe something I can get a bit more regular, like.” Chris’ finger finds the hole at the tip of Josh’s dick, presses hard against it.

Josh whines. He’s close, so close, and—

—and Chris takes his hand away.

Josh snaps at the retreating limb. A second later, his head is knocked sideways as Chris slaps his cheek. Hard, but it doesn’t hurt. Not much hurts Josh nowadays. Not like it used to when he was human. Now, the sensation of pain is… something else. Something different. One that goes straight into his dick, because doesn’t everything?

“Uh-uh,” Chris is saying. “Only bad boys bite. I don’t think you wanna be a bad boy, now do you, Josh? I think you want to be a good boy. A very, very good boy. And I think I’m gonna help you.” Chris is doing something while he’s speaking, reaching for something Josh can’t see against the glare. Then Chris’ hand is fisted in his hair again, hard enough to send more little spikes of pleasure-pain shuddering through his body. His head is wrenched back, his mouth gasping open in surprise.

This turns out to be a mistake, as something thick and hard is shoved into it, between his teeth.

“Got this custom made,” Chris says. “Pure titanium. Expensive, but I think even you’ll have trouble biting through it. Call it your good boy bridle.” As he talks, Chris slips the rest of the thing over Josh’s head, tightening the straps.

Josh growls again, thrashing his head and body back and forth. But Chris is right; he can’t bite through his new “bridle”. It sits behind his fangs, big and awkward, holding his mouth open.

“There,” Chris says. “No more biting.”

Josh just growls in response, the sound muffled behind the metal. A rope of drool escapes from between his teeth, and Chris laughs. “Weeping at both ends,” he says. “Suits you. Don’t worry, there’ll be plenty more of that before we’re through.”

Then Chris is moving again, leaning forward, rummaging around in something on the floor. He pulls something out of it, holding it up. Josh squints, trying to focus on what he’s being shown.

“I suppose you can’t see it in this light, huh?” Chris says. “Doesn’t matter. More fun for you.” There’s a plastic snapping sound, and Josh’s nostrils flare with the scent of something chemical and sharp. Lube.

There’s a trembling in his thighs, just slightly, his black heart racing behind the cold cage of his ribs. None of it is from exertion.

“Now,” Chris says. “Hold still. Don’t want to waste a single drop.”

He moves closer, one hand closing around Josh’s aching cock. Josh keens lowly, can’t stop the noise from escaping his throat. His hips thrust, which earns him a slap on the flank, short and sharp.

“Stop that. You’ll make this difficult.”

Josh growls, teeth coming down hard against his bridle. He considers disobeying—there’s a part of him that desperately wants to, is howling for it—but Chris’ hands are on his dick and it’s just so hard to think, to do anything. Not with the throbbing between his thighs and the feel of something cold and slick pushing against his slit.

Pushing into it.

Josh’s entire body goes rigid. Chris is pushing something into his dick. Something long and thick and metal. Josh can feel muscles he didn’t even know he had, working to try and push out the intrusion, but Chris’ fingers are merciless. Chris is merciless, sliding the object further and further inside.

Josh’s heart feels like it’s going to burst, his breath picking up in his chest until his lungs are heaving with it, shallow and erratic. The insertion seems to go on forever. It’s agony, the most excruciating thing he’s ever felt. The most intense. Pleasure-pain filling him from root to tip.

He can’t howl, not with the bridle jammed behind his teeth. He tries anyway, long ropes of drool spilling out between his teeth.

“There,” Chris says, after what feels like an eternity. There’s another feeling, a cold pressure behind the head of Josh’s cock. When Chris drops his hands, the intense fullness remains.

“That’ll stop you from spilling anything before I’m ready for you.”

Josh whines, snuffles. His hips thrust but there’s nothing to thrust into. He wants to cum, more desperately than he ever through possible, muscles in his dick working against the bar pushed down inside them. It feels enormous, that bar. Like a whole other cock, shoved right into his. Tears bead at the corner of his eyes. It’s too much. Too much, he—

A hot, rough hand, caressing against his cheek. Wiping tears and drool. “Just look at you,” Chris is saying. “So fucking… Fuck.” There’s a tremor is Chris’ hand, just slightly. A tremor in his hand and in his voice. Josh feels the purr rising in the back of his throat. It’s never really gone away, just dimmed. Now, it’s back. He can’t stop it.

Chris’ hand drops, and Chris clears his throat, short and sharp.

“We-we’re not done yet,” he says. Then he’s reaching back down into his pile of tricks.

Josh closes his eyes. It seems easier. He’s trapped, tied down, pinned in the most intimate sense. Whatever Chris wants to do with him, he’ll do. No use fighting, just find the pleasure beneath he helplessness, ride it out until the end.

Something brushes his face, soft and furry. He smells leather.

“You’re already half animal,” Chris says. “I figured the only thing you’re missing is a tail. But we can fix that.”

Chis is moving, around behind him. More of the acrid lube smell hits Josh’s nostrils, and he suddenly has a sharp, clear image of what’s coming next. Kneeling on the floor, knees spread, trapped and open.

When he feels something cold press against his asshole, he doesn’t even fight it. Just tilts his hips, leaning back. Hungry.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Thought so. Didn’t take you long, did it? Big, tough monster wendigo. And now look at you, whimpering little doe. What a good boy, we’ll have you trained up in no time.” Chris pushes the plug home; narrow at the tip, stretching as it widens at the base. It isn’t a small plug, and though anything would feel big right now this one feels enormous, heavy and metal. Chris pushes it in right up until the wide base narrows suddenly at the hilt. The stretched muscles of Josh’s ass close around that narrow shaft, hungry and holding the rest in place. Chris gives the whole things a few experimental wiggles, seemingly pleased with the fit. The plug is in, it’s not going to fall out. Josh’s thighs are shaking from the weight of it, heavy against muscles not used to holding in so much. His throat keens every time he feels the fur of his new “tail” brushing over-sensitized skin.

Chris stands, takes a step back, then to one side, then the other. Like he’s studying his handiwork. “Fuck,” he says, breathless and quiet. Then, louder: “Okay. One last thing, then I’m gonna leave you alone for a while. Let you ripen up real good for the harvest, y’know?” A hand caresses down Josh’s back, grabs hard against the slight swell of his ass. The press shifts the plug, pushes it in just that fraction harder. Josh’s sob gets choked back by the bridle.

Then Chris says: “Here we go.” And does… something to the plug. Something that sets the whole thing to buzzing, pulsing life.

Josh howls. He can’t help it, can’t help the sounds he’s making or the way his body jerks and shudders, useless against the chains. The plug is buzzing inside him, vibrating, filling him and pushing and wants to cum, wants to cum harder and more violent that he ever has in his life but hecan’t, not with the steel pin shoved down the centre of his cock. He sobs and thrashes, because that’s all he can do, every part of his body buzzing like he’s just stuck his dick into a light socket. He loses time, loses thought; loses everything but the feeling inside him, the pressure building, threatening to split him open.

He thinks Chris slaps him. On the ass, maybe a dozen times. Not gentle, but the sensation barely registers but for the way it jolts the buzzing plug against Josh’s tortured insides. Then Chris is saying something, maybe, and… and it’s all lost. All just a blur, dimmed out by ecstasy and spasming muscle.

Josh isn’t sure how long he hangs there, how long his body stays trapped in that terrible state, caught aching on the edge of orgasm. He howls until his throat is raw, drool running down his chin. He’s a mess, and inhuman bundle of nerves, just holes full of steel and two balls full of cum, waiting desperately for release.

He floats, mind shaken loose from his body, shutting down, unable to deal with the sensations. A warm, soft buzz, dark behind his eyelids, even despite the agonizing glare within the room. He thinks he might die like this. That it’d be okay. Die or go mad, turned into some kind of drooling fuckdoll. As far as fates go, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

He’s not sure how long it takes him to realize his right leg is free. Maybe seconds, maybe days. But when he does, it’s like plunging his mind into the snow. His whole body is still burning, still buzzing and shaking, and he thinks it must be that he has to thank. That somewhere in his thrashing, he’s torn himself partly free of his restraints. And if he can tear one bond…

Very slowly, Josh begins to collect the scattered pieces of himself. It’s hard, so very hard, and the thought makes him giggle. Because, yes. Hard is what he is, just the huge jut of his blocked-up dick, bobbing madly in the air. And it’s so difficult to think of anything but that, but of how much he wants to bury it into something soft and hot and wet. To thrust and cum and howl and—

Soon, he promises himself. Get free, first.

He gets the second knee up easy. They’re taped down, thick straps of duct tape or something like it. Strong enough to hold a human, but Josh hasn’t been human for a while now. Maybe it’s time he reminded Chris.

His hands are fastened similarly, taped around a chain. He works them, twisting his wrists, feeling the tape pull free of steel and skin. He doesn’t completely free them, not like his knees. Just loosens them. Just enough.

When he’s happy with his work, he resettles himself back into position, knees spread like he was. His body is still a tangled humming mess of nerves, a warm pool of lust calling him back down into its red-black deeps, but Josh pushes back against it. Tries to focus on his breathing, keeping it slow and even, in and out. Just like his shrink taught another Josh, way back in another life.

Today’s Josh is pretty sure this isn’t what Dr. Hill intended his exercise to be used for. But, hey. Whatever works, right doc?

Time is a strange blur, just an exhausting push-pull of his body and his mind. Nothing Josh isn’t used to, and hasn’t that been his entire life? An endless war of scattered parts, twenty years of practice for this one fucked-up moment. He can do this, he can. Just a little bit of patience.

Soon, his mind tells him, in between the rough edges of his breath. Soon.

When he hears the door open behind him, he can’t help the sharp-toothed smile that grows behind the bridle.

“I don’t hear you yowling in here,” Chris says, walking back into the room. His footsteps sound like a countdown: ten, nine, eight… “Don’t tell me you broke already?”

Another slap against his ass. The motion jolts the plug, disturbs the careful equilibrium Josh has established with his body. It feels like a tidal wave, yawning up to pull him down. He chokes it back, whole body shaking with the effort. With anticipation of what comes next.

Soon. So very soon. Good boy. Such. A. Good. Boy.

Chris’ hand wraps around Josh’s throat, rough but not choking, just rubbing against his Adam’s apple. “Still purring,” Chris pronounces. “You horny motherfucker. You reckon you’re ready for the next part? Reckon we’ve got you full enough?” His hand moves down Josh’s neck, over his chest, fingernails scratching down one of the tight little nubs of nipple. Then he’s grabbing Josh’s dick, fingers barely managing to wrap around it as he pumps, once, twice. Josh gives him the whimper that he’s looking for, rocking his hips and playing along, docile and compliant. For the first time, he’s grateful for the cock pin. Wouldn’t want to blow the finale before the ending.

“Fuck yeah,” says Chris, hand moving down from Josh’s throbbing dick, down to cup the swollen globes hanging beneath. “You’re fucking ready. Feel this shit. Reckon I can milk this for hours.” He rolls the balls between his fingers, Josh doesn’t bother to bite back the sounds he makes at the sensation.

Then Chris is settling himself down on the ground, between Josh’s shaking thighs. Josh can hear sounds, the scrape of canvas, the dull clink of plastic against plastic. Whenever Chris is setting up, it doesn’t take him long. Then his hands are back on Josh’s dick, caressing down the length, circling the tight steel ring around the head.

“Seems a shame to take this off,” Chris says. “Maybe we’ll have to work something out. Train you up, keep you whimpering and tame. Unpin you twice a day for milking.” He seems to think for a moment. “Maybe once. Wouldn’t want you to have it too easy. And the rest of the time? The rest of the time, I’ll have this”—Chris reaches around, squeezes Josh’s ass, wriggles the plug—“to play with. Whenever, and however I want. You think you’d like that? Turn the big bad monster into such a good little pet?”

Chris seems to expect a response, so Josh gives him one; a whimper, a purr. Anything he needs to do.

“Good boy,” Chris says. “Keep that up, maybe I’ll even get you a pretty little collar.” A pause, a laugh. “And one for your neck, too. If you like. But for now…” His fingers circle the steel ring that holds the pin secure. They do something, some fine little twist Josh is certain he couldn’t manage on his own. Because he loves his claws, he really does; there’s nothing more satisfying than feeling them tear into the hot, wet flesh of still-living prey. They’re beautiful, his claws. But fuck if they make fine motor skills fucking difficult.

Josh hears a metallic sort of snap, feels the tight band of pressure lifting from behind his glans. And then there’s nothing but Chris’ finger, holding the pin in place.

“Now,” says Chris. “You just be a good boy and—”

But Josh is done with being a good boy. Oh, how he is.

He lunges forward before Chris has even finished talking, the tape around his wrists tearing free. Dimly, he hears a metallic crash behind him, and wonders if he tore the chain out of the ceiling, too. There’s a part of him that wonders if he should be concerned by it, but that part feels so very far away, buried deep beneath the lust roaring through his veins and the feel of his claws closing around Chris’ throat.

Chris cries out, startled, as they both go crashing to the floor. He tries to struggle, tries to push Josh away, but Josh is so much stronger and so much faster Chris doesn’t stand a chance. All he manages in the struggle is to flip himself onto his stomach, to lift his ass up and rub his sweat-soaked skin against the hot pulse of Josh’s cock.

Chris isn’t wearing clothes. The realization nearly makes Josh cum then and there but, no. Not yet, he just has to hold back a moment longer. He can feel his dick pushing up against something hard, something that isn’t the soft flesh of Chris’ ass. Another plug, and Josh growls, muffled behind the bridle. He reaches down and pulls it out with his knuckles, claws folded back so he doesn’t make more holes in Chris than he intends to. There’s only one he needs right now, and it is slick and open and ready.

“Oh, fuck,” Chris is saying, babbling even as his hands scrabble uselessly against the floor. “Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck…”

Josh slams inside. Then lets go.

The orgasm hits him from the tip of his antlers to the pads of his feet. A shuddering, hot release that seems to go on for eternity. Chris groans beneath him, tight little ass filled with Josh’s cum. He’s stopped struggling—realizes the futility, maybe—just lies there and takes it as Josh howls and pumps him full.

When it’s over, Josh lets his body fall heavy against Chris’ back, pressing them both against the concrete. Chris smells so good, his heart pounding so hard Josh can hear it, even above the stream of curses. Josh can tell the exact moment Chris realizes Josh isn’t going to pull out, isn’t going to left Chris up.

It’s all Chris’ own fault, really. Working Josh up into such a frenzy with his traps and toys. The plug is still in Josh’s ass, still buzzing away, and he’s still achingly aroused. He’s just cum, harder than he ever has in his existence, but this is rutting season, and he isn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

He starts to move, not gently.

“Oh,” Chris says. “Fuck.”

Josh grins behind his bridle, and takes it as an invitation.