Work Text:
First came the suffering. Then came the craving. Inna learned to face herself and accept her place, to celebrate what had initially seemed like a source of shame. Through her ordeal, she had preserved her father's life—and been transformed. One dog had mounted her, and then another, until the crushing bliss came in, attending her rebirth. She learned how to answer in barks. She learned to put the collar on herself. Oleg watched in shame, tinged with dark arousal, his daughter brought to orgasm by beasts. The animals were her first lovers, and in her glazed eyes he witnessed the release from the burden of her role as his princess, his good little girl. No longer.
If anything, Inna had looked pleased to be a dirty little bitch. Let him reconcile the innocence, now that she'd moved beyond it. So the reprisal had come in the form of an education, letting a man learn what his daughter was really like, behind the false notions of what Daddy wanted her to be. He had been the one to bring her along into a world of crime, to dress her like a Parisian fuckdoll—what had he expected? All the hints of vice had worked like a lure to her curiosity, and the gaze of boys and men a constant provocation, urging her to grow up already. Where did she find her true self except in a warehouse surrounded by criminals and cameras, licking on veiny red cock, submitting herself to the treatment until they no longer needed the leash. Inna would obey, a domesticated animal, impulses directed into a new path. It all rang true. The Camorra had shown her how to behave, how to become her best self, even if that meant a foul degradation, right in front of her daddy, the images beamed back to the real head of the crime family.
Satisfaction, like an Eastern promise—that's what she wanted now. The craving was perpetual. Just a matter of intensity. Her father had been cowed, not killed, and they returned to their former life, only there could be no going back. Inna had gotten in touch with a corruption, an addiction that felt like a blessing, simply a little ahead of most of her peers at school. Eleven years old and she knew what it was like to be forced to cum, shivery ecstasy on the end of a dog's dick, make that two. The men had stood around watching and commenting, the cameras had rolled, and there she'd been panting and moaning, soaking feral cock with telltale cream, the juice of her enjoyment.
Was she supposed to act like it hadn't changed her, for his benefit? Daddy couldn't look at her without remembering, and Inna smiled inwardly—better that he know the true dog's heart, the preteen bitch who didn't mind the heat. Others might catch the aura, the willful perversion, the paw-prints she placed on her own hips in red ink, the colour of knots, and she pictured their lurid imaginings. Boys always fell over themselves in chasing her beauty, yet it was men that she wanted—men with dogs. Those who laid the trail for her to follow to their apartments. Putting out code words on the messengers, maybe they'd seen the video, had it proliferated online? It excited her to have them look at her and search their minds to confirm the recognition. That's right, that was me, the brunette so pretty when she'd been so reduced, regressing to the animal state of fucked joy, painful reception, all the novelty of having her cunny stretched open and stuffed.
“I'm going out tonight, Papa.”
“No, you're not!”
Was he going to make her sneak it? Inna laughed at the idea. She gave him a look full of massive daughterly pity. He knew the trap he had set, and still he naively insisted on his broken system of rules. A girl had needs, and she'd learned of hers, right in front of him. Either he served to placate those, or he was asking to be defied.
“If you won't get me a dog—?”
“Stop that. Why should you want one?”
“You know why.”
His face went red, and she could tell that he was barely holding back an outburst that she'd only consider embarrassing, second-hand. Their conflict rendered itself in terms of her new addiction, and his constant failure to accommodate for it. Her prayers had long since been answered, and the itch would not refuse to be scratched. To expect innocence in a girl who'd been fucked to tears, that was absurdity itself. He looked ridiculous, like a clown, all authority sapped by his willfulness in clinging to the past. Maybe she'd been that good girl once, but he'd seen the transformation first-hand. Not even twelve and she had common ground with the sluts and the whores, the “K9-girls,” all horny bitches worldwide who saw such terms as happy titles, badges to wear with pride. Just like Daddy had worn his navy medals, once upon a time.
“I'm still your father. You will listen to me, and I—I forbid it!”
“I am listening, Papa. If you love me, get me a dog. A boy dog. Otherwise—”
“No! That's filthy. What's gotten into you?”
Why was he prolonging this? Did he merely wish to hear her lay out the details all over again? In that place of denial, Inna only grew more heated, this kind of frustration or willful naivete, it made her mind circle around the very same point. It felt good to get mounted. As a girl of modern Europe, was she not permitted to get what she liked? How cruel he might have looked, if he didn't look silly. The old ways were dead. The former Inna no longer existed. This was the girl who'd grown to love the word “bitch” and behaving in accordance with it. She was chasing that first time—like her own tail. He might not see it, but that animal side was there. It would never go away.
“You know the answer. Are you trying to make me crazy? I have the video, you know. I'll show it to all your friends, I bet they'd love to see it!”
“INNA!”
Now he was yelling, and the passion behind it almost made her laugh. With every glance in her direction, he must have thought about the crime he had been forced to behold. Now his foolish determination to deny the lasting effects of it brought her a perverse kind of joy, this elation tinged with pity. In a way, she couldn't blame him for refusing to indulge her in further “sin,” yet the real crime from her perspective was to deny her more fun. It could have been any big breed. Mastiff, Doberman, Pit Bull, the names of her crushes, the labels on her fantasies, four-legged ghosts like echoes of her first time. She wanted more, and Oleg simply had to face the truth, painful though it might be.
“Papa. I'm not trying to force you—”
“Well, that's what it seems like!”
“Please. It's simple. Either get me a dog of my own—”
“I will not.”
“Or I go out. I know how to find it. If you try to stop me, I hit 'send' on your reputation. Your associates already know, so what? Do you want the whole family to know? Confirm for your friends that I am a dirty little suka?”
“I can't believe you. Is it so important to you to get that...?”
“Yes. Be happy we are still alive, but let me live. Let me go, and I will love you better.”
“Fine, I'll get you a dog!”
“A boy dog.”
“Yes.” He said it through gritted teeth.
“A big one.”
“Yes, a big boy.”
“Okay. Well, he's not here yet. I believe what I see. I'm still going out tonight.”
“What?!”
*
Black mink fur, the stockings and the skirt, the fluffy mascara and the femme fatale smirk, Inna looked like preteen devastation. Give her credit for achieving it off Daddy's money, the gifts and the luxury of a mafia daughter, put to use for something depraved. She accepted the path life had laid out for her, and in her youth she felt fortunate enough to be granted the freedom to obtain pleasure, mix the highest with the lowest. Daddy was helpless to stop her, after all. He could placate her, well, he should have done so already. The tween girl, unleashed, here she went past his disbelief, out to the corner of the compound, where a group of men always seemed to stand waiting. Girls like her, they knew how to be found. This was the place to arrive at, get conveyed to a second location, snap the collar on herself and bark for recognition.
Let it be good, she thought. Let it be degrading. I know I am a bitch now. The knowing man, Pyotr, the understanding owner of the kennel, he showed up on time and even opened the door for her like a chauffeur. Amazing how respectful men could be, when a girl arrived to seek her own debasement. The moment they arrived, Inna breathed in the place—and it was suitably dank. Well-stocked cages, and the air of “alpha,” the males who all whined and barked like happy recognition of a little female, there to be used.
“Welcome,” Pyotr said. “As you can see, they are all ready for you. Where to begin?”
“German Shepherd. I've been waiting to kiss one again.”
“As it pleases you. The breeding room is already prepared.”
She removed her coat and dress, feeling oddly safe in the repetition of her fall from grace. The animals understood her, they sensed the desire that lay just under the surface at all times. Mammalian sympathy, and she'd come to play upon it. Inna didn't crawl, not yet—she strode before the cages, letting the dogs all breathe in her scent through the chain link, a tease of things to come. Pyotr let out the big German Shepherd—Viktor—at the end, and led him to meet the newcomer in the antechamber. He jumped up, but Inna only laughed and knelt down to meet him at his level, unafraid, kissing him like a first date gone very well. He tilted his muzzle and she tilted hers, opening her mouth for the dog to taste, sloppy dog kisses that gave her a vivid thrill.
That was one way to get to know each other. Viktor seemed to wish for another, deeper investigation. She crawled in front of him, teasingly drawing away, until he gave chase. The big dog pushed his nose between Inna's smooth thighs and got after her hairless pussy, sniffing and licking. Inna giggled a little and crawled further, into the simple “breeding room,” with its cardboard mat and wall mirror. The place positively smelled of dog sex, male canine pheromones mingled with female human ones, this unique blend like the essence of pet love. Inna felt comforted by the scent, then intensely aroused, her heart beating faster.
“He likes you,” Pyotr said, stating the obvious.
“Mm! I can tell! I like him, too.”
Inna crawled, teased, posed, letting the arch of her back suggest to canine instinct that she was ready for it. This particular schoolgirl chased her craving in places like this, and the readiness of a dog as a sex partner made for the perfect match, in her mind. Viktor went on tonguing her from behind, tasting the drool of lust, that telltale trickle stirring his cock. Every moment carried with it a mutual sort of knowledge, as the dog got to know her through her flavour, and Inna got re-acquainted with the singular pleasure of a dog's broad tongue, swiping over her little slit.
Pyotr, unobtrusive, simply let nature take its course—and jerked off to the spectacle. An eleven-year-old girl arriving like a candidate for ZooSkool, a doggy-lover, pretty enough to model and down on her hands and knees, wiggling her hips, pushing against Viktor's muzzle. She gave these exhilarated, encouraging moans as it happened, going through a rush that was somehow serene, both calm and excited. Here was that forbidden thing, that delicious taboo, merely the latest girl to break it.
Soon the dog's cock emerged from its sheath, and Inna reached back to squeeze its rigidity, play with the heat and the weight of it. Viktor came over to kiss her again, transferring the taste of her needy little cunny. Then he was circling her, as if planning his angle of attack, and jumping up, wrapping his paws around her torso and aiming for entry. Consent was inadmissible in both directions, so all that counted was behaviour, and the underage girl in question reached to guide him in. When he found the mark and shoved in, Viktor huffed and held to the mating pose, a humping motion that caused Inna to yelp and lower in her stance. She was stabilising for him, chewing her bottom lip as that first painful moment passed into a shocking reminder of the possibility of bliss. She loved animals, she loved dogs, she loved this moment, breaking through the agony as she had that first time, and this time it hurt less: her body remembered.
“How's that? Is he in?”
“Yes! Good boy. He's such a good boy!”
That was a phrase Viktor had learned, and hearing it come out of the bitch underneath him caused him to tilt his head, a drop of dopamine, two pleasures combined. He was a good boy after all, letting his tongue loll out as he pounded away, getting that unique sensation of mating heightened by the praise. He humped forward and little Inna kept squealing in the intensity of the bliss, a hot crescendo, some path she'd come to travel again. They sealed that animal bond, one covered in fur and the other remarkably smooth except for that black head-fur, bearing his drool like a mark of obedience. Bottoming out came easy, this swollen pussy admitting an obscene amount of doggy cock, and the moans kept flowing.
Dogs were barking in the kennel, other males waiting their turn. As quick and hard and fulfilling as bestial sex could go, it made sense that even an eleven-year-old might want multiple partners, a sampler plate of breeds. German Shepherds had been her gateway, and now by choice Inna fucked another, elevated into barking out moans as the first rough canine encounter brought her to the point of rubbing her own clit. She squeezed down around the bulk of Viktor's cock, instinct making her want to milk him for cum, even as the watery ejaculate started soaking her cunny that much more.
All that meat, what an ordeal, and yet she'd come by choice this time. The spectacle of it might have been degrading on the surface, but Inna felt oddly empowered, elevated by the experience. Papa could stew in his own sorrow if he didn't let her get what she needed, what she'd come to expect. The welcome humiliation, the spectator in the room with her, the feeling of so much canine cock throbbing away in her pussy, the slow steady drip and the panting pleasure of the dog on her back, the swirl of her fingers on her clit, it all got her to peak—twice in a row.
“Nnnhh!! Mmmn—UGH!! Ahh, yeah, yeah, yeah!! Ooohhh...”
“Cumming? Are you cumming from that good doggy cock in you?”
“Yes!!”
Viktor had already gotten to that panting place of release, squirting in a prolonged canine ejaculation, utterly flooding the preteen's depths. A warm pool of dog seed, swimming against her cervix, giving her this relaxing sense of fulfillment and ease. Only, an itch remained. A kind of zoophile's dream, the feminine dare, or call it ambition, to be mounted by even more dogs. Inna caught her breath and endured the tie, Viktor's knot plugged right past her labia, physically expanding the entry point. That's what Inna had been trained for, that first time, overcoming the pain until it became this welcome spice for the pleasure. She stayed in it, reaching back to pet Viktor, voicing murmurs of approval that he knew how to interpret.
Girl's best friend.
Next in the chamber was a Rottweiler, who wasn't nearly as gentle as Viktor. This boy, Nikolai, moved in immediately to sniff and taste her, catching the strong scent of interspecies sex already underway. He licked her roughly, no sense of the tenderness, and even clamped his jaws on the back of Inna's neck in the way of animal dominance, keeping her in place. The bites and scratches of dog-sex were marks of pride to a petlover, and Inna felt no different: she yielded to Nikolai's command and surrendered her humanity for another round, having her child pussy plowed. After being so warmed up and soaked, she felt ready for anything, existing in this place beyond judgment, mercifully deprived of any thoughts apart from the basic: wishes for more, and declarations of pleasure, letting out moans and barks and begging sounds.
To his credit, Pyotr kept checking in with her—only to discover that the mafia princess had more endurance than most girls in his experience. It took a lot to bring joy to a Russian girl's face and yet there she was wearing a savage, carnal, intoxicated smile. Every breath she took was loaded with canine pheromones and she liked it, desire stirred to this fever pitch, and her submissive pose signalled to Nikolai that she'd come to take the full-on mount. He shoved in and Inna squeaked her pleasure in the act, eyelids flickering as the repeated thrusts—even at high speed—brought her to a state of shameless bliss. Without even rubbing her clit this time, Inna rose to another orgasm, something in the angle driving that meaty dog dick squarely across her g-spot. It made her toes curl, her expression overcome by this almost pained look, breath coming in hisses and leaving in those incriminating moans.
Dirty bitch... horny little slut... yes I am!
Two dogs, again, she'd done it again, and this time no one was compelling her into the act. In fact, she had effectively blackmailed her own father in order to get back here, cumming in a wet profusion of joy, soaking the Rottweiler's cock as his knot flared. At last he reached the point of tying her, nudging his knot between her folds and expanding her tiny slit yet again. Durable, fuck-trained, addicted to doggy sex, Inna found a sympathetic spectator this time around, no father in tears but instead a father figure, a kennel owner, gladly bringing in his boys for a go at this nice, tight bitch. Pyotr observed the way she held that face-down pose, watching Inna place her chin on her folded hands and look pretty while Nikolai drooled on her face. The dog had found that he didn't need to hold her in place, that like a good, obedient thing, she was pushing back for it, staying where he wanted her, and accepting the inevitable.
“Such a big boy. He's crushing my little pussy.”
“That's right. He knotted you?”
“Yes, look.”
Pyotr confirmed it, placing a waterproof camera down between her legs, with the angle meant to record the junction, animal kingdom: red flesh abusing a little pink hole. A generous helping of cream and dog seed lubricated the joint, and a steady pulsing of the veiny tool matched the way Inna seemed to moan and purr her sexkitten pleasure in the act. For a good five minutes they remained like that, girl and dog, bitch and hound. Her sides and hips already bore the scratch marks, yet they weren't the kind of injuries this girl would have to hide. Her father already knew what she got up to, and evidently there'd be no stopping her.
Nikolai seeded her, a minutes-long ejaculation, thin but copious dog cum in a preteen pussy. The slow flood of it provided Inna with familiar warmth, a kind of unspeakable satisfaction that went bone-deep. Her craving got its answer, this fulfillment that she had chosen, fought for, earned. All the sting of having her young pussy gaped now melted under the balm of canine seed, a medicinal drip, validating her choices. Talk about catharsis, well this was the way a girl got over trauma, taking ownership through the very act of submitting and trying it again.
“Good girl. Brave girl. Can you try one more?”
“Yes!” The pain had faded into a dull throb, a cute memory, overruled by each new lightning strike, all the hard-edged bliss of bestiality. Now that she'd come this far, of course she wanted more, three goals: a hat trick.
“What breed?”
“Did I see a Pit Bull?”
“Yes—Sergei.”
“Sergei, please!”
Only for Sergei, she did not remain in doggy style. On a cushioned platform in the room, Inna rolled onto her back and spread her legs for her latest canine lover. It meant they'd fuck face-to-face, and Inna could curl her limbs around the panting animal, kiss him during the act. He seemed to get the idea of it, rushing over to lick out the carnal flavour of her pussy right then, lapping at its constant syrupy readiness. The taste only piqued him, the ratio tilting more and more female as he swiped his tongue over her swollen, excited sex. Although he looked for the turned head, the bent back, the fuck-me chemistry of her scent and open-legged attitude overcame the training, signalled in the clearest terms that she was there to accept his cock, to receive it like a gift. His master might give a chewtoy, but here was this girl, giving up her tenderised little pussy for him to mount, even if it was from the “wrong” angle.
Sergei got on top of her. Inna raised her legs on either side, curled her arms around his neck, lightly embracing the dog as it found the pose and humped her directly. In achieving missionary with a dog, Inna felt herself confronted with the face of her animal lover—handsome, strong, non-human. His muzzle seemed split in a grin, yet his eyes passed over her in this uncaring way that somehow stirred her more than human passion might. He didn't know her, didn't care about her, except as a means to an end, a girl-shaped object, a place to stick his cock. That very disregard flipped the act into something free of moral judgments or emotional attachment, entanglements, confusion. In that clarity, that functional amorality, Inna got driven toward yet another orgasm, a fat red canine dick plowing in relentlessly, crushing out more nectar from her overheated little doghouse of a cunt. She trembled, legs shaking, moans like confessions, head tilted back like release from bondage, a girl getting off.
She kissed Sergei's jaw, tasted his drool, rubbed his sides. Let him catch the gratitude of his plaything, a human partner barking in pleasure as he hit deep, securing his knot in her pussy. Just like that, she took on a third breeding, filled out again with doggy seed, panting in fuck-driven happiness. Pyotr came when she did, the latest peak of her orgasmic series, this little girl squealing out breathy, telltale moans. If she'd been an addict before, Inna was a fiend for it now, confirmed on the path and safe in the knowledge that she wasn't the only one.
“Good bitch! They are going to remember you.”
“Mmn, I hope so. Now, take me home.”
“Daddy's waiting up for you?”
“That's right.”