OnlyFurs Part 2

**"I didn't peg you for a liar."**

The words hung between them like a blade. Elie didn't blink. The phone in her hand buzzed—another tip, another demand—but her gaze stayed locked on Clay's face, on the way his sweat-damp hair clung to his forehead. Duchess whined, nosing at his thigh.

Clay exhaled through his teeth. "Ain't lying."

"Then explain the syringe marks." Her thumb swiped across his inner thigh, where faint puncture scars dotted his balls.

Duchess's tail thumped.

Clay's laugh was all gravel. "Told you. People need studs to breed their dogs."

Elie's grip loosened. "*Oh.*"

Duchess exhaled.

Clay leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "Ever seen a man knotted to dog pussy?"

The phone slipped from her fingers. It hit the concrete with a *crack*, the screen lighting up mid-fall:

**💰BigSpender22:** *$1K TO SEE HIM SQUIRT AGAIN!!!!*

Clay's teeth gleamed in the dim light. "Roll camera."

Elie knelt behind Duchess, her fingers parting the dog's swollen labia with clinical precision. The bitch's pink flesh glistened—still stretched from Clay's earlier intrusion, her inner muscles fluttering visibly. Elie guided Duchess's hindquarters higher, the motion exposing the puffy, spit-slicked rosebud beneath her tail.

"Camera's rolling," Elie murmured, tilting the phone to catch the way Duchess's cunt lips clung together with a thin strand of Clay's cum. The dog whined, her claws scrambling against concrete as Elie spread her wider.

Clay exhaled sharply. His cock twitched against his thigh—still half-hard, still dripping. "Christ, Elie—"

"Hold position," she interrupted, angling the lens to frame Duchess's gaping entrance alongside Clay's spent shaft. The contrast was obscene: the dog's pulsing hole, his softening length, the pooled fluids between them. A notification buzzed—**🐕DogMom420:** *$500 TO SEE HER LICK IT CLEAN!!!*

Elie didn't blink. "Duchess," she commanded, tapping the bitch's haunch. "Cleanup."

The pitbull's tongue dragged along Clay's shaft in one long, wet stroke. His hips jerked. "Fuck—"

Elie zoomed in as Duchess's muzzle nudged his balls, her tongue lapping at the residual mess with desperate enthusiasm. The camera caught the exact moment Clay's cock stiffened anew against the dog's cheek.

"Again?" Elie smirked, gripping Duchess's brindle scruff. The bitch whined, her hips already rocking backward—instinct overriding exhaustion. "Guess she didn't get her fill."

Clay's exhale was more groan than breath. His palm smoothed down Duchess's spine, pausing at the base of her tail where it arched obscenely high. "Hold her steady," he muttered, lining up with a wet *schtick* that made Duchess's claws skid against concrete.

Elie wedged the phone between their bodies, capturing the way Duchess's pussy visibly rippled around Clay's cockhead. The bitch's entire body convulsed—no teasing stretch this time, just brutal penetration that punched the air from her lungs.

**💰BigSpender22:** *$2K IF SHE SCREAMS!!!*

Duchess obliged, her howl ricocheting off metal walls as Clay bottomed out in one thrust. Elie's grip tightened on the leash when the dog queefed around Clay's thickness essentially locking his cock head inside.

"Fuck—" Clay's hips stuttered, his rhythm fracturing immediately. Duchess's cunt was too hot, too tight after the first thrust, her walls milking him with violent pulses. The camera jostled as Elie reached beneath to spread the bitch's lower lips wider, exposing the glistening stretch where flesh vanished inside flesh.

**🐾K9Queen:** *OMG SHES SUCKING HIM BACK IN!!!*

Clay's knees almost gave when Duchess's cervix yielded a second time. The bitch's hind legs trembled, her toes curling as another orgasm wracked her body. His release came hard—no knot this time, just scalding jets that painted the dogs womb as his huge tip sat in her dripping pussy while the tip counter spun past $3K.

Then Duchess pulled away—just a few inches—and Clay's cock *schlorped* free without resistance. Duchess blinked, visibly startled by the sudden disconnect. His semen poured from her in thick globs, splattering across the hay-strewn floor in obscene puddles.

Elie ended the stream with a tap. The abrupt silence was deafening—no more panting, no more wet slaps of flesh, just the distant rustle of wind through the silo's broken slats. Duchess collapsed onto her side with a whimper, her brindle flank heaving.

Clay staggered back, his softening dick swaying with each step. Drips of dog saliva and his own spend trailed down his inner thighs. "Christ," he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That bitch's got a *vice* grip—"

Elie pocketed her phone without breaking eye contact. The screen still showed a final notification: **💰BigSpender22:** *$1K DEPOSIT FOR WEEKLY SESSIONS!!!*

Duchess licked at the mess between her legs with lethargic swipes of her tongue.

Clay exhaled sharply when Elie stepped closer, her boot nudging his discarded Wranglers. "So," she said, toeing the fabric nestled in the pocket lining. "About those *custom orders*—"

A new vibration cut her off. Clay's phone lit up on the floor between them:

**Unknown Number:** *heard u do stud work. got a Doberman in heat. will do cash.*

Elie's smile was all teeth. "Looks like you've got a *very* niche clientele."

"Tell me something, cowboy," Elie murmured. "Exactly how many *litters have you sired*..."

The question hung in the humid air between them, thick with the scent of dog musk and spilled cum. Clay's fingers flexed—once, twice—around Duchess's slack leash before answering.

"Officially?" His throat worked. "Three that I know of."

Elie arched a brow.

Clay scratched his jaw, avoiding her gaze. "Unofficially... honestly I have no clue." His boot nudged the puddle of semen seeping into the hay.

Elie glanced at her watch—4:37 PM. The golden hour light slanted through the silo's cracks, painting stripes across Clay's sweat-slicked chest. "Amy expects you back for dinner," she said casually, swiping through the avalanche of notifications still flooding her phone. "Said something about pot roast."

Clay froze mid-step, his softening cock twitching against his thigh. "*Fuck.*"

Duchess whined, nosing at the discarded belt near his feet. The pitbull's tongue dragged across the silver buckle—still warm from his hips—before Elie snatched it up with a wet *schlick*.

"You reek," she said, tossing the belt at his chest. It landed with a slap against his pecs, leaving a glistening trail of dog saliva. "And not just like bitch." Her nose wrinkled. "Like *breeding*."

Clay caught the belt midair, his fingers slick. "Shower's first thing when I get home," he muttered, wiping his palm on his thigh. The motion smeared Duchess's drool into the drying cum streaks.

Elie snorted. "Right. Like Amy won't *smell* it on you the second you walk in." She pocketed her phone, the screen still lit with payment confirmations. "Five grand in two hours, and you're worried about *pot roast*?"

Duchess whined, flopping onto her side with a wet *plop*. Her swollen cunt pulsed visibly—still gaping, still dripping. Clay's gaze dropped to the mess pooling beneath her tail. His throat worked.

"Should've hosed off at the barn first," he admitted, rubbing his jaw. The stubble scratched loud in the quiet. "Fuckin'... *routine*, y'know?"

Elie didn't answer. Just coiled Duchess's leash tighter around her wrist—three neat loops that left the nylon digging into the dog's damp throat. Duchess panted happily, her tongue lolling pink between teeth that'd just minutes ago been clamped around Clay's belt.

The truck door groaned when Clay yanked it open. Hay and dog hair gusted out. Elie's nose wrinkled. "Jesus. *This* your mobile vet clinic?"

Clay's grin flashed white in the dusk.

Duchess whined, straining toward him. Elie jerked the leash. The pitbull's claws skittered on gravel, her brindle flank still glistening where Clay's cum had matted the fur.

"Down, girl." Clay chucked his wadded-up shirt through the open window. It landed on the passenger seat with a wet *plap*. "Tell Amy I got held up."

Elie snorted. "Held up by dog pussy."

The ER smelled like antiseptic and stale coffee, but all Elie could register was the phantom musk of Duchess's heat—that thick, animal sweetness clinging to her scrubs no matter how many times she'd showered. Across the trauma bay, Dr. Langley rattled off vitals, but the words dissolved into static. Elie's fingers twitched around the IV line she was threading, remembering the way Clay's cock had throbbed against Duchess's fluttering cervix, how the bitch's inner walls had *rippled* around him like a living glove. The IV catheter slipped, drawing a thin bead of blood.

"Christ, Elie—you zoning out?" Langley snapped his gloves, eyeing the missed vein.

Elie blinked. "Long night."

Langley didn't need to know her insomnia had featured a certain brindle pitbull's ecstatic howls, or how she'd woken with her thighs clenched around nothing, her sheets damp with something *not* entirely sweat. She adjusted the tourniquet, forcing her mind back to the septic patient on the gurney—but her traitorous brain supplied the memory of Clay's balls drawing up tight against Duchess's swollen clit, the *schlorp* of his knot pulling free—

"Elie. *Focus.*" Langley's voice cut through the haze. "We're losing him."

Elie's fingers flew, securing the line, but her pulse hammered in her throat—not from the coding patient, but from the filthy, unshakable truth: she'd filmed a man fucking a dog yesterday, and now her scrubs were sticking to her lower back for *entirely* unrelated reasons.

The crash cart rattled closer. Someone shouted for epi. Elie's pager buzzed against her hip—probably another notification from *PawPatron*, another request for Clay's... *services*. She swallowed hard. Duchess's desperate, clenching heat had been obscenely beautiful on camera, but *watching* wasn't the problem.

The problem was how badly she wanted to *replace* the dog.

Elie's fingers tightened around the IV bag, the plastic crinkling like Duchess's leash when Clay had tugged her closer. Elie already had three kids—three *human* kids—and Amy still smiled at her husband like he hung the moon, even when he came home smelling like hay and another bitch's heat.

Duchess had whimpered when Elie pulled the leash that last time—not from pain, but from the sudden absence of Clay's cock stretching her open. The memory made Elie's scrubs stick to her thighs. She'd filmed it all: the way Duchess's pink cunt had *clung* to Clay's retreating shaft, the obscene *plop* of his cum hitting the silo floor, the way Amy would never know her sister had angled the camera to catch Clay's face when the dog's pussy milked him dry.

The crash cart rattled past. Elie's pager buzzed again—*Unknown Number: heard ur the new camera girl. got a Rottweiler in heat.* She thumbed it off.

Her mom's house smelled like microwave noodles and stale scrubs. Elie kicked off her shoes, her phone already lighting up with notifications—**💰BigSpender22:** *$3K DEPOSIT FOR CLAY+DUCHESS REMATCH!!!* She scrolled past it, the screen casting blue shadows across her bare thighs. Duchess's panting echoed in her skull—that wet, eager sound Clay's cock always wrung from the bitch.

The shower ran cold by the time Elie toweled off. She flopped onto the mattress, her damp hair soaking the pillow as *PawPatron* alerts piled up:

**🐾K9Queen:** *OMG PLS TELL ME HE DOES PRIVATE SESSIONS!!!*

**🥵DADDYALERT69:** *NEED HIM TO BREED MY SIBERIAN HUSKY ASAP!!!*

Elie's thumb hovered over the keyboard. The sheets stuck to her legs. Somewhere in town, Clay was probably sitting at Amy's dinner table, his thighs still tacky with Duchess's saliva under his jeans. The thought made her nipples pebble against her tank top.

She typed: *Stud services available by appointment only.*

The screen blurred. Elie imagined Clay's calloused fingers sinking into a sleek black Doberman or great Dane flank instead of Duchess's brindle fur, his hips driving into a bigger, hotter dog cunt—

*Bzzzt.*

A new message popped up:

**SugarPaws69:** *Heyyyy, me and my husband Bob (62 & 59) have a Great Dane bitch in her first heat. We'd LOVE to film Clay breeding her—and maybe me? Bob gets off on watching. Will pay double your usual rate.*

Elie's thumb hovered. The profile picture showed a grinning silver-haired couple in matching leather with a Harley motorcycle.

She scrolled down.

**Next request:** A twinkish femboy with a Rottweiler and a blush emoji: *Would Clay ever... y'know... have a threesome? Asking for a friend lol.*

Elie exhaled through her nose. Duchess's leash still hung from her bedpost, the nylon stiff with dried drool. She tapped *SugarPaws69's* message.

"Double, huh?" she muttered. The ceiling fan spun lazy circles above her bed, stirring the scent of Clay's sweat from the T-shirt she'd stolen from his truck.

She typed: *Can the Dane take a knot?*

The reply was instantaneous: *Oh honey, Duchess ain't the only bitch hungry for that cock.*

Elie's screen lit up with a follow-up photo—the wife kneeling beside her panting Dane, both their tongues lolling pink. The caption read: *Two bitches, one stud. What do you say?*

The GPS led them to a gated ranch outside town, where the Harley couple waited under floodlights that made the wife's silver hair glow like chrome. Clay shifted in the passenger seat, his Wranglers stiff with dried fluids.

"Christ," Clay muttered as they rolled up the gravel drive. The wife's leather corset creaked when she waved, her manicured fingers pointing toward a heated kennel out back. The Dane strained against its chain, its black lips peeled back in a panting grin. "That thing's bigger than Duchess."

Clay killed the engine. The husband—Bob, according to the text—stepped forward with a camcorder already rolling. His white handlebar mustache twitched. "We like to start with a sniff intro," he announced, zooming in on Clay's crotch. "See if she approves the merchandise."

Bob adjusted his grip on the camcorder. "Oh yeah. She *wants* him."

The wife—Linda, according to her rhinestone collar—traced a finger along the Dane's heaving flank. "Told you she'd pick him over the neighbor's pitbull." Her gaze flicked to Elie. "You filming this too, honey? Double angles sell better."

Elie's phone buzzed with another deposit notification. She thumbed the camera on just as the Dane lunged, her massive paws hitting Clay's chest hard enough to stagger him back against the truck. Linda laughed, low and throaty. "See that? She's tasting him already." She unclipped the Dane's lead with a *snick* that made Clay's throat bob. The dog didn't wait for permission—just shoved her muzzle into Clay's crotch, inhaling deep like she could scent every bitch.

Bob's camcorder whirred. "Rolling." Linda stepped closer, her manicured nails joining the Dane's mouth on Clay's belt. "Let's see what she likes," she purred, popping the button with a flick.

The jeans hit Clay's knees with a *slap*—. The Dane didn't hesitate. Her tongue lashed out, broad and pink, swiping up the length of Clay's half-hard cock in one vicious stroke. Bob gasped. "Oh fuck, honey, she's *devouring* him." The camcorder tilted as Linda's fingers joined, holding Clay for the Dane's questing tongue. Elie caught it all—the way the dog's nostrils flared when she found his balls, the obscene *schlick* as she lapped at the crease where thigh met groin, the shudder that racked Clay's frame when her teeth grazed his inner thigh.

Linda moaned. "God, I love watching her work." She palmed her own breasts through the leather corset, her hips rocking absently. Clay laid down onto the cold floor as she found his cock and kept licking. Then Linda guided her massive paws planting behind Clay's shoulders. Her hot breath panted in his face, her black lips peeled back to show gleaming canines. "She's gonna try and mount him," Bob breathed, adjusting the focus.

Elie's thumb hovered over *Live Stream*. The Dane's hindquarters shuddered, her swollen pink cunt dripping onto Clay's stomach. "Rolling," she murmured, just as the dog's hips pistoned forward.

Linda cursed. The Dane's paws scrabbled against the concrete—too far apart for penetration. "Goddamn it," she hissed, gripping the dog's tan haunches. The Dane whined, her tail lashing violently as her dripping slit hovered inches above Clay's cock.

Bob lowered the camcorder. "Hang on—" He went toward the barn, his boots kicking up gravel. The floodlights caught the sweat-darkened back of his Harley T-shirt as he hefted a hay bale onto his shoulder. Straw dust glittered in the floodlights when he dumped it beside Clay.

Linda grinned. "Up you go, stud." She grabbed Clay's arm, hauling him onto the makeshift bed. The straw crackled under his weight, poking through his shirt. The Dane didn't wait—her massive paws planted on either side of Clay's hips, her hot breath fogging his stomach as she sniffed downward.

Bob readjusted the camcorder. "That's better," he muttered, zooming in as Linda guided the dog's hindquarters lower. The Dane's tan lips parted, revealing a glistening pink slit that pulsed visibly above Clay's erection.

"Easy, baby," Linda cooed, pressing down on the dog's spine. The Dane's cunt kissed the head of Clay's cock—then slid off with a wet *schtick*. Elie caught the frustrated twitch of the dog's tail on camera.

Linda exhaled sharply. "Bob, hold her steady." She grabbed Clay's shaft, angling it upward as the Dane tried again. This time, the bitch's entrance *flared*, her inner muscles visibly rippling as she took his huge cock tip. The floodlights caught the obscene stretch—how Clay's cockhead disappeared into the Dane's dripping hole, how her inner lips *clung* to him like a living glove.

Bob groaned. The camcorder shook slightly as he filmed Linda's fingers spreading the Dane's lower lips wider. "Push, baby," she urged, applying pressure to the dog's hips.

The Dane's answering snarl vibrated through Clay's chest as her cunt swallowed him deeper. Her claws dug into his sides, drawing thin red lines as she bottomed out with a wet *slap*. Linda moaned, her own hips rocking unconsciously as she watched the dog's pussy milk Clay's length.

"Fuck," Clay gasped, his hands flying to the Dane's quivering flanks. His fingers disappeared into her tan fur, gripping hard as the dog's cervix yielded. The Dane howled—a raw, guttural sound that made Elie's phone vibrate with fresh tips.

**💰BigSpender22:** *$1K IF SHE LOCKS!!!*

Linda's laughter was breathless. "Oh, she'll lock," she promised, running her palm down the Dane's heaving belly. The dog's nipples stood erect, her teats brushing Clay's abs with each frantic thrust. "Feel that, cowboy? She's *breeding* you."

The Dane's rhythm stuttered as her pussy began to flutter—hard, rapid pulses that made Clay's hips jerk upward. Linda didn't hesitate. She grabbed the dog's hips, forcing her down harder as Clay's cock swelled.

"Here it comes," Bob rasped, zooming in on the obscene spreading at the Dane's entrance. The dog's claws flexed, her entire body tensing as Clay's cock stretched her wider—then *pop*, it seated with a wet *snap* that echoed off the barn walls.

Elie's camera caught the exact moment the Dane's eyes rolled back, her tongue lolling as her cunt *milked* Clay's trapped cock. The stream glitched briefly under the flood of tips—$1K, $3K, *$5K*—before stabilizing on the Dane's shuddering orgasm.

Linda's hand slid between her own thighs, her leather corset creaking. "Fuck, I love watching her take a knot," she moaned, her fingers working beneath the corset's edge. Bob's camcorder tilted to capture his wife's ecstasy alongside the dog's—two bitches getting off on one stud.

Clay's groan ripped through the night as his release hit—violent spurts that the Dane's womb swallowed greedily. The dog's pussy visibly rippled around him, her inner muscles working to drain every drop.

Linda collapsed onto the straw beside them, her fingers glistening. "That," she panted, "was worth every penny."

Clay's hips jerked involuntarily—the Dane's cunt still milking him—as Bob staggered closer with the camcorder. The lens fogged from the heat radiating off their joined bodies.

"Thirty-seven minutes locked," Bob announced, voice reverent. He zoomed in on the trembling stretch of canine pussy around Clay's dick. "a new record."

Linda traced a manicured nail along the Dane's heaving flank. "Think she's bred?"

Clay exhaled through his nose. His fingers flexed in the dog's fur—whether to push her off or pull her closer, Elie couldn't tell.

Linda's palms left damp prints on the Dane's hips as she peeled away, leather gloves creaking. The dog whined, her hindquarters quivering, but Linda just wiped her hands on her corset and stepped back. "Alright, sweetheart, let him breathe."

The Dane's claws flexed against Clay's ribs, her pink cunt visibly spasming around his trapped cock. A thin string of drool swung from her jowls as she attempted to follow Linda's retreat—only to be yanked backward by the knot still buried inside her. The sudden tension made Clay hiss, his thighs tensing under the dog's weight.

Bob chuckled, adjusting the camera angle. "Looks like she's not done with you yet, cowboy."

Elie's phone buzzed—another Superchat notification flashing across the screen: **🥵DADDYALERT69:** *$2K TO SEE HER DRAG HIM AROUND BY HIS DICK!!!*

Linda arched an eyebrow at the amount. "Well?" She gestured to the Dane, who'd begun pacing in tight circles, her leash trailing through the straw. Each movement made Clay's body jerk—his trapped cock serving as an unwilling anchor. "You heard the audience."

Clay's jaw worked. "The *fuck*—"

The Dane chose that moment to lunge for a stray scrap of meat left by the barn cats. Clay's shout echoed off the rafters as her momentum yanked him forward, his bare ass scraping across the hay bale. The dog's swollen cunt stretched obscenely around him, her inner muscles fluttering with each panicked step.

Elie zoomed in. The camera caught the exact moment Clay's face twisted—pain and pleasure indistinguishable as the Dane's pussy milked another thick spurt from his oversensitive cock. His fingers scrabbled at the straw, finding no purchase.

Linda folded her arms, her leather corset straining. "Guess we're doing this live," she mused, nodding to Bob's camcorder.

The Dane's claws skittered on concrete as she tried to bolt toward the open barn door—dragging Clay behind her like some grotesque, half-naked sleigh. His knees hit the ground hard, his shout dissolving into a choked groan as the dog's pussy clenched reflexively around his cock.

"*Hold still*, you dumb bitch—" Clay's fingers dug into her flanks, his thighs shaking. The Dane whined, her tail lashing violently as she attempted another step. The motion sent a fresh wave of pressure around Clay's trapped knot, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. Pre-cum leaked from the tip still buried inside her, mixing with canine juices in a slick puddle beneath them.

Linda's laugh was a low, delighted thing. She stepped forward, her leather boots crunching straw as she grabbed Clay's ankle. "Here, stud—" With one brutal yank, she hauled his leg over the Dane's heaving back, forcing them into an obscene reverse-mount. The sudden shift made the dog yelp—her cunt spasming wildly around Clay's cock as they slammed butt-to-butt, his balls pressed flush against her swollen clit.

"Jesus *fucking*—" Clay's curse strangled in his throat as the Dane's inner muscles rippled. The new angle had her pussy gripping him differently, her cervix nudging his shaft in a way that made his vision whiten. Linda didn't give him time to adjust—just planted a gloved hand between his shoulder blades and shoved, forcing his spine into a deep arch that made his cock twitch inside the dog.

Bob's camcorder whirred, capturing every twitch of Clay's abs, every droplet of sweat sliding down his heaving chest. The Dane panted, her tongue lolling as she instinctively ground backward—seeking friction against his knot. The motion dragged a ragged moan from Clay, his fingers scrabbling at the straw beneath them.

"*There*," Linda purred, her palm warm between Clay's shoulder blades. She leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. "Now she can knot you properly." Her other hand trailed down the Dane's trembling flank, coming to rest atop Clay's where they clutched the dog's fur. "Feel that? She's not done milking you yet."

The Dane lunged forward—not toward freedom this time, but into the tight circle of Linda's grip. The sudden movement yanked Clay forward by his trapped cock, his knees dragging through straw and his own spilled seed. The pain-pleasure ripped a sound from his throat that wasn't entirely human.

Bob's camcorder caught the precise moment Linda's fingers tightened in the Dane's collar, halting her progress just as Clay's knot stretched her entrance to its limit. The dog's claws scrabbled at the concrete, her hips hitching in frantic little jerks that made Clay's back arch. His cock pulsed inside her—another weak spurt forced out by the relentless pressure—and Linda laughed, low and throaty.

"Christ, look at that," she murmured, dragging a gloved finger through the mess dripping from the Dane's swollen lips. The dog whimpered, her tail twitching as another thick glob of Clay's cum oozed out around his softening shaft. Linda brought her glistening fingers to the camera lens, smearing it deliberately. "Bet you've never seen a bitch this full, huh?"

The Dane chose that moment to walk forward —dislodging Clay's cock with a wet *schlorp* that sent a rope of semen arcing through the air. It splattered across Elie's phone screen just as the live feed hit 20K viewers. Notifications exploded:

**💰BigSpender22:** *HOLY SHIT THAT'S A LOAD!!!*

**🐕DogMom420:** *OMG HER PUSSY'S STILL GUSHING!!!!*

Linda crouched, her leather corset creaking as she spread the Dane's dripping lips wider for the camera. The floodlights caught every twitch of the dog's spasming cunt, every pearl-white droplet that dribbled onto the straw. "Damn, cowboy," Linda whistled, tracing a circle around the Dane's gaping entrance. "You *flooded* her."

Clay didn't answer. Just lay there gasping, his abs sheened with sweat, his spent cock twitching against his thigh. The Dane licked at his knee—once, twice—before collapsing beside him with a contented sigh.

Bob adjusted the focus, zooming in on the puddle forming beneath the dog. "We'll need to mop that up," he muttered, though the camcorder never stopped rolling.

Elie wiped her phone clean with the edge of her shirt, her gaze flicking between the exhausted pair and the skyrocketing tip counter.