Musco had never known such intense pleasure before in his life.  Everything had come to him instinctually, as though his body compelled him to do things that his mind knew nothing about.  He hadn't cared how many times he came into Molly or how sloppy she became with each successive climax.  He had simply reveled in the animalistic bliss of mating.  The sweat and the blood and the cum, the feverish mooing of his taken bitch, the grip of her massive thighs around his waist as he pounded against them with wild abandon.  Control meant everything to him, though he didn't quite know why.  It was as though he were used to being taken, rather than giving, and the opening Molly had given the catboy had freed him from some old and distant pains.<br/><br/>Eventually, caked in fluids and exhausted from hours of lovemaking, Musco had flopped off to the side and dozed for a few short minutes.  Then the Man came, and all at once Musco was being sprayed at with a hose!  He hissed loudly and darted off to a safe distance before glancing back.  Seeing Molly wet down sent yet another stirring through him, but it was obvious that the Man had other plans.  Musco didn't like his smell.  He looked like a man but even through his pants the boy could smell the dog in him.  With a mournful sigh he slunk away, eager to clean himself up and find some other way to relieve his growing erection.