Disclaimer: This is just a story, not reality.  If this sounds like anyone you know, it's pure coincidence, and you know some very disturbed people.  Don't read it if you're not supposed to.  You know the drill.

Warnings: Mb, extreme pedo, bdsm, ws, brand, cast, blood, furry 

Ricky's Beginning
(c) 2009 storieseric@gmail.com 

Ricky was tall and skinny for his age, most people assuming he was in third grade at least.  He was smart enough for it too, being in a private school that taught him at his own pace.  But he was just one week shy of his sixth birthday.  He wouldn't think of himself as a pretty dog.  Brown hair, brown eyes, brown fur bleached almost blond from spending almost every day playing in the sun, short unkempt tail.  He knew, however, that there were men out there who might.  Teachers and TV often warned him about bad men who would want to touch him in his private places.  Places that he had just discovered could feel very good. 

A wrinkled and torn magazine clutched in both hands, he walked along a back trail, trees dripping the last of a summer rain on his bare shoulders.  He shivered, convincing himself it was entirely from the cool morning.  Dawn light splintered through the trees from behind him, revealing a glimpse of red brick.  Mommy was up and already at church, Daddy would sleep until lunchtime, at least.  He hoped he could get back before he was missed too much.  He played in the woods often, but never this far away, and never with one of Daddy's magazines. 

The pup stopped at the edge of the back yard.  There was a swing set, old, rusty, wet.  No kids lived here, he knew.  A pool, covered with a plastic sheet.  And past that wooden stairs leading up to a simple door.  He ran to the door, sneakers almost slipping on the pool tiles, and stopped again.  What would he say?  What could he say?  What if he was wrong?  What if they told Mommy?  None of these questions actually formed in his mind, but the thoughts were there, twisting in his gut. Never before had he done something this wrong.  Never before had he wanted so much to do something.  His internal struggle, complex as it was, was simple for him.  He was afraid.  All he had to do was keep going, keep trying for what he wanted.  He might run away from it, but he would only be back later. 

He stood there for long minutes, until the shadows of the trees completely covered the door.  Knocking was too much, but there was a doorbell.  Mr. Amos answered in a blue towel and glasses, fur damp, smelling of sweat.  Ricky’s eyes stopped at the towel, which was open just enough to reveal the wolf's inner thigh and one testicle.  It was larger than the magazine showed, creating visions of just how large the adult's cock might be in Ricky's head.  He felt the familiar tingles again, coming from his own little cock, and he hadn't touched himself yet. 

"My my, ask and ye shall receive.  What's a cute pup like you doing in my yard?"  Mr. Amos gave a broad grin that might have bothered Ricky if he could look up.  Ricky was sure he could see where the man's erection was.  Without moving his eyes, he held out the magazine. 

"May I come in, Mr. Amos?"  Ricky new what the wolf would be seeing, and hoped he knew what he would be thinking, aside from how a strange boy would know his name.  He was holding the magazine open to a picture of two young canines fucking, the smaller one bound to a table, a branding iron nearby.  The bound dog had the same color hair as Ricky, and the larger one could have been Mr. Amos five years ago. 

"Do your parents know you're here?"  Ricky shook his head vigorously. Mr. Amos stepped aside, holding the door open for the little boy, and closed it behind him.  It was a normal living room, tv, sofa, game consoles.  Even the picture on the wall was of a typical beach scene. Not what Ricky expected of a... 'bad man'.  He hoped he was right about him. 

"Downstairs," Mr. Amos said, locking the door.  Ricky followed the wolf's gesture down a flight of carpeted stairs into a dungeon straight out of his fantasies.  The walls were black stone, chains hanging from hooks, a wooden table sat in the center with another adult strapped to it, legs in the air.  The cat was gagged and covered with sweat, and his cock had a tight sleeve around the base with spikes pointing out and up.  He looked at Ricky with eyes wide and trembling, as if his worst dream had just come true. 

Firm hands gripped Ricky’s shoulders from behind.  "Dave here has always wanted to fuck a little boy, but is too afraid to do so.  Do you want to help him out?"  The bound felines's eyes closed and tears dripped beside his ears.  Ricky took a hesitant breath, but before he could answer Mr. Amos continued, "It will hurt a lot, I'm afraid.  He needs to hear you scream." 

Ricky shivered in the warm room.  His interest in sex started when he accidentally burned his peepee against the dishwasher, a year ago. Then there were the fantasies of a dog biting into his balls, of being cut in sensitive places, of having hot coals put inside him.  And then daddy's magazines, showing people enjoying abuse like that and more. He hadn't been able to do much to himself so far, nothing that could leave a mark mommy could see, but oh how close he had gotten, and this promised to be much more.

"Yes, sir.  Please... hurt me?"  The wolf smiled and lifted Ricky onto the table, lifting his arms to padded manacles that were chained to the ceiling.  It took some adjustment to get them to fit. Ricky helped as much as he could, blood pounding in his ears, little stiffy painfully erect.  He wondered if they would cut him, and looked around the room hopefully.  No knives were visible, but perhaps some marks on the furniture were blood stains.  There was a lit wood stove. Surely that was for play? 

Mr. Amos leaned in close to Ricky’s ear and whispered, "How rough do you want to play, little one?  Maybe I should go easy on you, so you don't have to make up a story for mommy and daddy?" 

Ricky shook his head again, and tried to say in a brave voice, "I'll do anything you want me to.  I wanna play like those men," he gestured with his head to the magazine.  "Please... I need to know..." he lost his voice then.  The next few pages of the magazine had a fair amount of blood.  Some of the men in the magazine ended up castrated, or worse.  He hoped this really was the same wolf.  As they stared into each other's eyes, the older canine searched for something.  Ricky thought he saw disapproval, curiosity, and maybe fear flicker through Mr. Amos's eyes, but predatory hunger won out. 

A knife clicked and Ricky felt cold metal against his leg, tugging upwards.  Several quick sawing cuts had his shorts dropping onto the cat bellow in shreds.  His knees were knocked out from under him and he fell, his full weight slamming into his shoulders and wrists as the manacles caught him an inch above the cat.  Then straps were put under his knees, suspending him completely by the chains. 

"Last chance, both of you."  The feline whimpered something like, "no-no-no-no-no", while Ricky just nodded silently, looking at the stove again, hoping to covey the desire he didn’t have words for. 

The chains holding Ricky up were pulled, moving him back until his back pressed against the feline's thighs.  A hot cock strained against Ricky's backside, the cat underneath unable to thrust but flexing his cock to get his first feel of the boy.  The spikes dug into Ricky's cheeks, rough and cold.  Before he could decide if he liked it, there was a loud crack and a bright line burned across his bottom, broken only by the cat's cock.  The screams were louder than he expected, until he realized the cat beneath him was screaming also. The crack sounded again, this time leaving three stripes of fire across his back, and again not touching him at all. 

At least a dozen more cracks of the whip had Ricky in a blind haze of pain, all of his muscles tensing at the sound whether it hit him or the cat.  He was crying harder than he ever had before, hiccupping, begging, but never quite asking for it to stop.  Some part of him held onto the pain, drawing it in, savoring it.  Part of him knew his cock was still hard, though softer than when it all started. Warm wetness seeped down his back.  Had the cat cum?  Or was he bleeding? 

"Drink."  A glass of warm piss was brought to Ricky's mouth, and he found he was desperately thirsty.  The taste made him gag and blush. Another act he had hoped for but didn't dare speak.  Although he had envisioned getting it straight from the tap. 

"You want to beg for me to stop, but you don't want me to actually stop."  Ricky looked up to Mr. Amos with wide eyes and nodded, not taking his mouth from the glass. 

"You need a safeword.  Something to say when you actually do want me to stop.  Once you have that, I will ignore all of your pleas for mercy."  The glass was taken away.  "What is your favorite game?" 

"Pokémon." 

"That will be your safeword.  If you can say 'Pokémon' to me clearly, I will stop.  Otherwise, nothing you say will sway me."  Ricky nodded, only barely comprehending.  The pee was warm and sour in his stomach, but did make his body feel better.  Less tired.  He was aware of Mr. Amos' hand stroking his back, wiping up the wetness and rubbing it into the feline's still hard cock. 

Ricky was lifted gently and the barbed cock pressed against his hole. Excitement flashed through him, knowing he was going to be fucked, at last!  Heavy hands lowered him onto the cock, pressure and pain building.  The cat beneath him cried out as Ricky's hole finally opened.  White hot pain shot through him, and he was certain he could hear muscles tearing inside.  The hands shoved him down hard, the pain spreading deep inside him felt too much for him to bear.  His wordless scream rose an octave, then a hand squeezed his tiny cock once and tingles burst through the pain, making him hump instinctively.  His dry orgasm made internal muscles to clamp harder around an immobile cock, causing more tearing and more pleasure to the feline. 

As he came down he was aware of the metal spikes were pressing hard into his flesh, each tip a raw, rough ache.  Leather straps were being tightened around his thighs, holding him down so the cat's thrusts could find purchase.  The cock started slamming into him hard, making a new hurt deep inside, and making each raw spike flare in pain.  Like the tearing Ricky could hear inside his body, he could hear little popping sounds when one of the spikes pierced his flesh, a quarter inch of steel ripping open his bottom and perineum. Now he knew he was bleeding, and he really did want to tell them to stop.  But the pain sang in his mind, erasing everything else, and his cock was still hard and humming. 

The knife came out again with a click.  Mr. Amos caressed Ricky's ribs and belly with the blade, so sharp, with a single nick.  Each rough thrust caused it to dig in, skin parting so smoothly the sensation was barely noticeable, until the flaw in the blade scraped through the open wound.  Ricky shook his head and cried out incoherently, tugging and twisting at the manacles to get free.  A small part of his mind offered the word "Pokémon", but he pushed that back, it wasn't nearly time yet. 

The cat beneath him came, and Ricky found himself pressing back as hard as he could, hearing the last two pops of spikes penetrating him. Even through all the thrashing he was doing, his body still wanted the cum as deep inside him as it could get.  The adult's orgasm seemed to last forever, his chest heaving, covered with sweat and drops of Ricky's blood.  His eyes roamed the boy's body, wanting to take in every detail, every ripple of muscle under smooth fur, every twitch of pain or lust.  Ricky was beyond blushing, and felt proud in a way that this stranger should openly desire his body so strongly.

The piss was brought to the cat first this time.  Lifting his head to the glass caused the spikes to shift inside Ricky, drawing another raw scream from his throat, and a harsh gasp from beneath him.  The man's cock was still hard, no longer because of arousal, but because the spiked band would not let it deflate.  Every movement either of them made was torture to both, although of different kinds.  The glass was refilled from a pitcher and brought to Ricky's lips, who drank greedily, spilling some piss down his chest, stinging along the open wounds.  He drank three glasses before Mr. Amos took it away. 

Ricky was in a haze of conflicting sensations, barely aware even that the thoughts he was having were taking a long time to form.  He watched Mr. Amos tuck a white sheet under his hairless sack and wipe the smooth flesh with a wet towel.  The smell was sharp, and reminded him of scrapes, but had no name.  A different knife was in Mr. Amos' hands, and two small incisions were made.  The pain was trivial compared to the spikes in his bottom.  Those hurt, a sticky cold pain that now seemed like it had always been with him.  Rough hands squeezed his sack, working first his left testicle out into the air, laying it carefully on the white sheet, then the right.  Ricky stared in fascinated horror, only not jerking away because of the spikes in his bottom.  He was going to be castrated after all! 

His stiffy returned to full strength, and suddenly all of the pain in his balls registered.  A metal sound was inserted, stretching his little cock wide, more tearing, and the pain spread deeper into his pelvis.  None of the sources of pain seemed distinct anymore.  Mr. Amos brought over a hot iron, the glowing end shaped like a triangle. 

"This one means you're a fag."  Agony lanced through Ricky's body as the iron burned into his right testicle, the orange symbol almost as big as the small lump of meat.  Ricky's vision blurred, he beat his head against his arms and his feet against the table, but was not able to move enough to even move the brand.  Mr. Amos held it there until the sizzling sound stopped and much of the pain was gone, or moved up inside Ricky's crotch. 

"This one means you like pain."  Another hot brand was held up to him, but he could not see its shape.  Agony again consumed him, this time from his left testicle.  Everything became a white song of pain, flavored by the taste of urine and blood, and the smell of sweat and grilled meat.  He was vaguely aware of his testicles being pushed back into his sack, and the drop cloth being taken away. 

Tears dripped onto his flaccid penis, two stitches on either side of it the only indication anything had been done to him.  He looked up at the wolf who had hurt him so, Ricky's face lost and afraid.  Mr. Amos pulled Ricky's head in for a deep passionate kiss.  Ricky fumbled at first, but quickly learned what he was expected to do with his tongue. Distant emotions mingled into the pain, becoming one with it. Acceptance, love, pride, joy.  This adult did everything Ricky had wanted, and was happy for Ricky.  An indescribable peace filled him, and he ground his hips against the feline beneath him, letting the flare of each spike fill him, making him more complete. 

A quick pierce at the base of his cock brought Ricky's attention back outside himself.  Mr. Amos slid the scalpel up Ricky's shaft, the tip pressed firmly against the metal urethral sound.  Surprisingly little blood flowed as the metal rod was revealed, all the way up to the base of Ricky's pink crown.  The rod was lifted just enough to pop out from the base of Ricky's penis, then the rest was pulled down through his crown, and out,  Beads of superglue were spread along the spots that still bled. 

Mr. Amos walked around behind him again, making wet sounds as if washing his hands.  Ricky didn't know he had to pee until then, and had no will left to hold it.  It splashed out of the base of his cock, covering the feline's belly and flowing back to pool at Ricky's crotch.  A slippery hand grabbed his cock, squeezing it as the pee continued to flow out. 

"This is only for sex now.  It's only purpose is to bring you pleasure, or pain if I wish it."  He stroked Ricky's cock slowly, keeping him hard and stimulated without opening the wounds.  The pads of his fingers stroked the exposed urethra, sending jagged sensations that Ricky's mind could not assign to pain or pleasure.  More wet sounds, and the cat cried out, thrusting into Ricky hard.  Mr. Amos pulled back on Ricky's cock and hip as he drove his own cock into the feline. 

He was not as gentle, each thrust driving the spikes in deep, sometimes slipping out and making new holes.  Ricky's throat was raw, but he could no longer hear himself screaming.  White bursts of pain came to him from all over his body, mingling with the indescribable sensations from his crotch, allowing him no other sense of reality. Rapture burst from his spine as he had his second, or third dry orgasm, and Mr. Amos did not stop, did not even seem to notice. Everything felt so much, so strong, so fierce.  Darkness closed in as he realized, somehow, the feline was cumming into him again.  Ricky felt a peace and love he never thought he would be able to feel. 

He woke on a couch, sore, thirsty, and itchy from all of the bandages.  Instantly he sat up, afraid.  What time was it?  What would he tell his parents?  Pain lanced through his bottom and he moaned. He stared down at his hard cock, urethra gaping open, smooth sack looking untouched and no pain coming from his balls.  A shaky hand explored his sack.  The skin had feeling, but inside was numb. Squeezing them assured them that his testicles were there, just not feeling anything. 

"Do you want to go home?"  Mr. Amos sat a glass of water on the coffee table.  Such a simple question, bringing up so many problems. If he did go home, his parents would never let him come back.  If he stayed... he loved his parents and didn't want to leave them. 

"Yes," he said timidly.  "How do I tell daddy?" 

"Well, who is he?  What's your last name?" 

* * * 

The phone rang and Ricky's dad glared at his alarm clock.  Sitting up in bed naked, he picked up the phone. 

"Daddy?" 

"Rick, where are you?" 

"Master Amos wants to talk with you."