Chapter Text
Leo’s day begins when he is led from his warm bed to a cold metal table, crawling on all fours with his tail drooping tiredly between his legs. He steps up onto the low surface and then it rises, lifting him high into the air until he knows his bottom is conveniently placed for the next step.
The kind woman is with him today. It’s not always her handling him, but she’s his favorite. Her hands are warm as she coaxes his legs apart, the air cool as his hole is exposed. She presses his shoulders down to the table next, and he turns his head to the side so that he can watch her move around the room.
She always prepares the bag and rolls it over before walking him in, so all that’s left is to rub some slippery cream onto the slim nozzle. She moves behind him and gently presses it inside of his hole.
The first gush of hot water makes him jump, but he settles when she begins to rub up and down his back with both hands. He’s filled until his gut feels stiff and swollen.
Since he’s still in training, they give him a little more water each day. He can never get used to it, and he doesn’t know when they’ll finally decide he’s had enough. Toward the end he always yowls and scratches lines down the thin paper covering on the table as his tummy gurgles and stretches beyond his limits. Even though his nails are trimmed regularly, he still manages to tear it today.
Despite his struggle, he doesn’t try to move off the table. He feels the urgent need to go, but he holds the liquid inside of him like a good boy, even as his tummy roils with cramps. It gets so painful that he wants to thrash, but too much movement makes the water slosh around in his belly. He cowers on the table with his ears flat on his head instead, turning pleading eyes on his keeper. She cups his cheek but says nothing; they both know he can’t release his water yet.
He doesn’t know how long he’s made to hold it before the timer dings. The woman slides a pan beneath him, pulls him upright, and tells him to “make your poopies like a good boy.” He blushes but obeys. Leo does not like what happens here when he’s bad.
He’s never showered in the mornings, as he’ll have just been scrubbed down the previous night, and the process of socializing the younger hybrids is always messy. The enema is all the cleaning he gets for now.
His purpose at the adoption center is to help train the youngsters, hybrids in their twenties who walk out of the shelter doors nearly as fast as they’re brought in. Leo, on the other hand, has been here for months.
At thirty years old with one torn ear and a deep scar near his eye, he’s not what most people are looking for, especially in a breeder. (“But your tummy fills so well,” his keeper had cooed when she caught him eavesdropping. It still did not feel like the compliment she’d intended.)
Now, she coos sweetly at him and strokes his shaft as she opens him up with gentle fingers. He can take two without tears, now, but by the time she scissors them inside his vision is clouded. When she adds a third and twists, big droplets stream down his cheeks and he turns his head away from her sympathetic gaze.
She ends with the medication all cat boys in the shelter are given each morning: a suppository that burns a little as it slides in. He feels his cock twitch as it melts, like a Pavlovian dog—the medication hasn’t truly taken its effect yet.
Next comes the plug, thick enough that it’ll hurt every time it pops in and out of him today. The woman keeps a hand on his shoulders to hold him still as she presses it inside. He whimpers and tries to press himself into the table as it stretches him wide. His tail wraps around her wrist and she smiles fondly, pretending not to recognize his plea for mercy as the plug settles in fully.
The table is lowered, and he’s led down the hall into the common area. His leash is removed as he surveys the familiar space. There are a set of cushions arranged around a low wooden table with two puzzle boxes stacked on its surface. Comfy window nooks are nestled beneath three large windows, tall bookshelves line the walls, and a few treadmills sit off to the side. There multiple rugs strewn about—a rarity in a building with mostly tiled floors. He does not look at the dreadful bench to his right, but its presence looms heavy.
Most of the room is wide open space. The younger hybrids are roughhousing on the carpet in the center of the room, and it’s all new faces today. Mark must’ve graduated, maybe even found a home. At just twenty six with perfect conformation, he’ll be adopted out fast.
Two of the three young studs try to mount him immediately the moment they smell a bitch in their midst—at least one of them always does.
First, the staff will patiently pry them off of his body, and Leo will try to engage them in more appropriate play. After two or three attempts, they will take out the whips. They are aiming for the younger rascals, but some lashes will land on Leo’s back, on his thighs, as they inevitably miss their squirming targets. He practically yodels as one lands on his testicles.
The boys switch between the playful roughhousing that Leo encourages and humping him desperately until he’s able to shrug them off or they’re pulled away by a shelter worker. One is bold or desperate enough to hold Leo down even through his lashing. He tweaks Leo’s nipples and it takes everything Leo has not to lean into the touch. He hates being penetrated, but for now the plug is protecting his hole and his medication has made him horny, his cock aching for release.
Like this, he doesn’t always mind the studs atop him, even when they slide between his cheeks and press on his plug. Right now, the larger hybrid is nudging the plug right into his prostate while he nips and licks at Leo’s left shoulder. Leo’s eyes roll back, and he almost loses himself and meets the boy’s thrusts. Thankfully, the shelter staff pull the other man off before Leo can chase this forbidden pleasure.
He’s meant to be a good boy, and to teach the young ones to be good, too. If he misbehaves himself, he’ll be punished after all is through.
The staff never let the hybrids climax while they’re on him, but after just fifteen minutes, everywhere from Leo’s back to his thighs is wet and sticky. His own cock is dripping onto the floor, some of his own mess smeared onto his stomach from the other hybrid pressing him flat against the ground.
As the two initial troublemakers settle into chasing the sticks that the shelter staff wave around, the third walks over and begins timidly humping Leo’s leg. Leo nudges him off but he keeps returning, gaining in confidence until the man hovering above them finally uses his whip. The boy draws back with a startled shout.
His misbehavior seems to bring the others’ attentions back to their own leaky cocks. They try to hump against each other and are immediately separated, pulled over laps and paddled until they’re yelping with each stroke.
To some extent, Leo is available for their use. He’s here as much to tire them out as to help with their training. But, the studs aren’t allowed to touch each other in that way. Leo doesn’t know why—he doesn’t understand many of the shelters rules, and has learned that it’s not his place to question them.
Once all three of the young studs have calmed, settled into the daybeds to watch the dog hybrids playing outside the window or working together on the puzzle on the table, as they all are now, Leo’s plug is removed. He tries to clench down around it even though he knows it’ll hurt more, desperate to keep it inside and protect his hole from what’s to come.
He’s slapped on the bottom for that act of defiance, but it doesn’t stop him from digging in his heels as he’s leashed and led to the bench.
They attach his collar to the bottom of the bench so that he cannot lift his head, and then they shackle his ankles far apart. The hybrid with the best behavior gets first dibs, and he takes his time bottoming out as Leo huffs and groans at the intrusion. His hips rock slowly as he draws out his pleasure, and it takes a very long time for him to reach his climax. Leo is crying again long before he spurts into him.
The second trots over clumsily when it’s his turn. He’s the largest of the three, and Leo gasps as his thickness nudges into his tender hole. He reaches back with his hands to stop the painful penetration, or at least slow it down, but his wrists are grabbed immediately. Soft ties keep them bound at the small of his back, and the hybrid behind him never stops pumping into his ass, adding more length with each thrust.
Once he’s in, he bounces, pulling out only a few centimeters before thrusting back inside so fast that Leo’s pained grunts barely keep up with the rhythm. The other hybrid quickly reaches climax but his load is huge, continuous, leaking from Leo’s hole as he finally withdraws.
He’s given a short break, and he pants into the bench as the mess drips down his inner thigh. After his reprieve, the third hybrid is led to the bench.
His member is thin but long, so long that Leo swears he can feel it by his belly button. He pushes in to the balls and pulls out almost completely every time. He doesn’t last long, and finally it is over.
Spent and happy, hopefully having learned a lesson in obedience and patience, the younger cats are left to continue to socialize amongst themselves while Leo is brought into the showers. He’s scrubbed quickly and efficiently with a soapy cloth, then hosed down thoroughly.
The woman presses his shoulders down onto the uncomfortable tile, then takes a large syringe from a basin of clear water. She fills it, then presses the business end into Leo’s bottom to flush him out. This is repeated once more before he’s allowed to go potty.
Then, he’s led back into the common room to meet the next group.
The cycle repeats thrice more, with a break for lunch and a long walk in the afternoon. He tries to enjoy his time outside, but his plug chafes and he feels achy deep inside.
Dinner is served to him while he’s still covered in filth from his last session, but afterwards he’s given a longer shower, with time at the end to let the hot water soothe his tired shoulders and aching hips.
He’s towel dried and inspected with careful hands, hissing as a finger brushes against the welt on his sac. The woman makes a ‘tsk, tsk’ sound and rubs some soothing ointment onto his balls where the whip struck.
“Poor thing,” she coos. “Let’s rub it better.”
She continues to roll his balls between gentle fingers, her other hand stroking his cock until he shoots a heavy load onto the shower floor. She washes it away quickly, rinses her hands beneath the shower spray, and smiles fondly at him as he kneels in place.
That smile turns to a frown as she grabs her clipboard, scribbling something onto the page. “He should get a thrashing on his balls, see how he likes it,” she murmurs, and yes, this is why she’s his favorite.
He hopes for a milking tonight, but the one orgasm is all he receives. His hole isn’t cleaned, either.
Instead, the woman smears a dollop of something on his hole—the awful, tingly cream that makes his hole spasm throughout the night like it wants to fold in on itself. He gets it at least once a week, sometimes more.
“Gotta keep that hole nice and tight,” she soothes, rubbing her hand over his hip as she works her finger in and out of him. Then, she presses a small, soft capsule deep up his rectum. “To stop all that cum in your belly from turning into kittens,” she’d crooned to him in the early days.
When they skip his nighttime cleanse, he gets a plug up his rear to prevent him from leaking onto the sheets. It’s smaller than the one he wore during the day, but he still winces as she presses it through his overworked sphincter.
In the morning, it will all be washed out of him with a big, painful enema, and the process will begin again. Until then, Leo curls up in his little round bed, soft blanket pulled to his shoulders, and he sleeps.