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Human Bitches

Chapter Ten: Home Schooling

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

There they are.

After I got the girls off to school, and set Benny to work on some obedience training - basic stuff, really, picking up marbles I'd spilled all over the floor, to test her patience, obedience, and attention to detail - I finished up my little talk with Girl. We're gonna have puppies around the place, after all, and she's gonna be the mother she's always wanted. More'n that, I get to be a real father, not just some breeding stud who bangs a bitch, and then only gets to see the puppies to train 'em, and maybe pop their cherries. For some people, my life's a dream, I guess. But then, they're not me.

So why'm I out here, walking toward those morphteens that roam the streets around here? What do they have to do with raising kids? Simple: they're the reason this neighborhood's got problems.

Don't misunderstand me, though: I don't hate these kids. I'm not angry at 'em, either. They're just trying to make a living the only way they've got, in a world that hates morphs, and wishes we'd all just disappear. Since they won't do that, they've gotta live somehow, don't they? So they deal drugs. So they run errands for the human mob, low-key stuff, running packages they're not supposed to open, or acting as lookouts, or casing places with senses only a morph would have. It's dirty money, but there's plenty of it, especially when you're a street pupmutt, and there's no legitimate human joint for miles that'll hire you.

Despite all of what they've done, though, they're not without a sense of community. These kids, they don't deal around morphtown, for starters, and they don't bring home their dirty laundry. The mob doesn't come sniffing around here, because however young these boys may be, they're responsible, they do their jobs, and they don't call down trouble on their home. They don't tag the inner parts of morphtown, either, just the borderland, where our homes press up against the human slumlands. All in all, and especially after my impression of 'em after the way they treated Rachael, and Bird, and me, I'd say they're good kids, good boys, just misguided. What they need is some better options, and a firm hand to keep 'em on the straight and narrow.

Now they see me. There's three more of them than there were before, a brown bat, a rabbit, and a giraffe. It's the giraffe that spots me, of course: it's the nature of giraffes to be watchful, always aware of their surroundings. His body language gives me away to the others, and it's the Jack Russell that steps slightly out from the group to meet me as I approach, his stance ready, challenging, but not threatening. I could read his nonverbal cues pretty well: he was telling me he was ready to take me on if I wanted to start something, but he wasn't intending to actually start anything himself. Despite his efforts to appear tough and ready for action, though, I saw his eyes drift down, toward the crotch of my red sweats, and then linger on my body. Whatever he might tell his friends in their little pack, he remembered my touch on his balls back when I drew his attention from Rachael. Remembered it, and enjoyed it, even if he was too insecure in his masculinity just yet to really figure out what he thought about that enjoyment.

Heh. Puppies.

"Bird was missing her shorts when she came jogging into my junkyard this morning," I began the conversation. Right away, I saw nervous glances being traded back and forth among the five I'd met before, while the three newcomers looked a little bashful, obviously having just heard from their friends what had happened, and sharing in the guilt of the moment by association. "Relax, I'm not here to start anything. It just got me thinking: you boys like girls, don't you?"

That got 'em blinking, heads turning to look at each other. After a little while, the golden retriever came to the fore, his green eyes wary as he looked at me. The Jack Russell might be the scrapper of the group, but it was obvious the blonde-furred lab was the face.

"Sure we like girls," he said with a shrug. "We all do, right guys?" A round of nods and soft murmurings came from all around. "But there's not that many morphgirls to go around," he continued, meeting my eyes. "Times are pretty tough out here. Not much of anything to go around, actually."

"You're a second gen," I observed, making the kid blink. "You all are," I continued, casting my eyes around, before letting them pause on the giraffe. "Except you: you're first gen, like me, even if you were decanted later. But you're all war orphans, in one way or another." I fixed my eyes on the lab's. "Aren't you?"

"Dad bit it in some war overseas," the lab admitted. "Mom got killed by hate crimers. Humans. Nobody ever found 'em. Nobody really cared." He shrugged, keeping a carefully-neutral mask as he spoke. "Nobody that had the resources to find them, anyway."

"Times are tough all over," I agreed to his earlier statement. "That's what I'm here to talk to you about."

"You gonna lecture us?" the Jack Russell challenged, his hackles raising. "Gonna tell us how to live our lives? How we shouldn't deal? Shouldn't run messages? Shouldn't try to hang with the big guns?"

"Please, my friends," said the giraffe, stepping forward on those long, slender legs, his every movement so graceful and beautiful to watch: despite his pubescent years, like his fellows, he only lacked the tone of a fully-mature male, but unlike them, he lacked none of the grace, his movements like watching a ballet in progress (yeah, I like ballet - screw you). "I think that Mister Spike only wishes to talk. Perhaps it would not hurt us to listen."

Of course they know my name, I realize, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at my own stupidity, not wanting them to misinterpret the expression as anything insulting. After all, it's written on my junkyard sign in really big letters. Though I don't usually think about it, I'm one of the most successful morphs in morphtown, having actually clawed my way into a real business with the money the government finally got around to paying me. Not so much with kids like these: war orphan morphs are really common, but they didn't get any of the money that those who actually served did, even though most of them need it even more.

"Thanks," I said to the giraffe. "Yeah, my name's Spike. This'll be easier if you introduce yourselves, too. If I'm gonna make a business offer, I'd like to stick names to your scents."

At the mention of a business offer, the tuxedo-marked cat's ears perked up, and he stepped forward, reaching out to put a restraining hand on the Jack Russell's arm.

"I think Jamal might be onto something, Russell," he purred in that insinuating way felimorphs have when they want something. "Why don't we hear dear Mister Spike out? After all," he cast those luminous green eyes towards me, accentuating his words with a toothy smile that made it clear he wasn't about to be browbeaten, "we can always say no."

"Okay," Russell said warily, glancing at his kitty friend, then the rest of his crew, and then finally back at me. "All right. I guess we can at least hear you out. I'm Russell, for what it's worth."

"Bentley" chimed in the face, and already I could see that the Golden Retriever boy's tough guy mask was slipping, something I didn't find surprising at all: you can always spot the really mean ones, if you know what to look for, and Bentley was just too floppy-eared and friendly-faced to be really mean. "Guess we're neighbors, Mister Spike."

"Hopefully friendly ones," I agreed with a slight smile curling the edges of my muzzle, a smile Bentley answered with a great deal more enthusiasm - unlike my face, which seems to be made for threatening snarls, Bentley's was perfectly suited to these big, happy grins that just seemed to knock all the will to fight right out of me and everybody else.

"Wilhelm," said the short batmorph, which actually made him the shortest one of us. He didn't say anything else, but while I waited for additional information that never came, I took the opportunity to check the kid out. A least brown bat, unless I missed my guess, small and skinny, though his voice was surprisingly deep, and kinda nice on the ears. Chiropteramorphs are pretty rare, and they have these extra wingflaps, complete with additional "fingers," that fold back against their arms when not in use, keeping them mostly out of the way. When the wings fold out, they let the batmorphs glide, not fly, though they can stay in the air for a really long time with practice, or even hover with handy thermals around. This one was wearing a hoodie with zippers on the arms, so I knew he'd probably done his best to train himself in the cityscape, making him into a useful asset as a messenger for the mob. He was skinny because of how much energy even gliding took out of a body, requiring him to have an overclocked metabolism. Poor kid probably had to be constantly snacking to keep his strength up, and I'd bet dimes to dollars his pockets were stuffed with food.

"Teddy," chimed in the tuxedo-marked kitty, quietly insinuating himself just behind the two lead morphdogs, doing his best with feline body language to make sure I knew that he was the power behind the throne in the little morphpack, or at least that's how he saw himself. "And that's Runner and Star," he added, motioning with his head to the scarred-up young ratboy, and the spacey-faced Afghan Hound hippie boy. "Jamal's the tall drink of water," he continued with a smug kitty smirk up at the pleasantly smiling giraffe, his long lashes slowly blinking as he watched me so calmly. "And this is Dandelion," he finished, his expression souring as he looked askance at the bright yellow-furred bunny.

"Hi Mister Spike!" the bunny chirped, waving to me from the back of the group, and it took all my force of will to keep from looking heavenward: this kid was way too cheerful for me to handle, except in really small doses. "I've heard all about you! Is it really true that you...?"

"Uh-uh, Dan," I brought the kid up short with a raised hand. "We don't do pasts. You've done things, I've done things. Some things we don't mind talking about, while others...they're better off forgotten."

"Oh," the bunny said with a blink, looking down, his ears drooping in the obvious disappointment of a stifled gossip digger. The ears were up again in a matter of moments, though, and he was pressing against the backs of Bentley and Russell, his prey instincts not letting him get too close to a strange predator, but his curiosity too powerful for him to resist getting just outside the reach of my arms. "But you had something important to say to us? Something about a business deal?"

"C'mon," I told the gang of eight, motioning with a hand while I turned and walked toward the fence around my big training field. "Let's talk while we walk. Just hop the fence," I added as I put a hand on top, then vaulted the chin-high fence. "I'd rather talk about this sort of stuff on my home turf."

As soon as I was on grass that belonged to me, I took a few more steps, then I bent, and shucked my sweats. While I was doing that, I heard the boys doing just like I'd told them, hopping the fence, entering the private domain of the dragon. Yeah, I guess that's kind of dramatic, but think about it: I'm this scary, semi-mythical figure, and I haven't got any doubts that dumb bunny has been telling the other boys every scrap of gossip he's picked up about me like I was a critter out of a fairy tale. A fairy tale they'd met in person, and discovered just how easily I could manipulate them, dominate them, without even having to raise a fist. So, for them, they really were leaping right into the dragon's lair, hoping they were being invited in for tea, and not as the appetizers.

Well...I guess I _did_have ulterior motives, getting those boys onto my home turf, where I was in charge, and they'd have to play by my rules. But they weren't the _only_motives I had: I really did have a proposition outside of feeding my smaller head. Still, I do admit to having a taste for the occasional tight-bottomed boy.

"Wha-?" It was Russell, and as I turned to look at him, his eyes were fixed on my balls. They're big, heavy things, and I didn't have 'em tensed up next to my body right then, so it's not like he had to look hard. Bentley was right behind him, followed by the others in no particular order, with Jamal at the back, as rear guard, making sure everybody stayed safe, his calm, long-lashed eyes widening for only a moment when he saw that I was naked.

"House rules," I explained, tossing the sweats over my shoulder, meeting each boy's eyes, one by one, until I was sure I had their attention. "I don't do clothes when I'm at home, unless I have to. If you're just here as a customer, I don't much care if you keep 'em on. But you," I arched an eyebrow pointedly, "aren't here as customers. You're here because I'm gonna make you an offer, and give you a chance to be something bigger'n better'n what you are now." I motioned with a hand to the line below each boy's belt. "My friends don't wear clothes around me, anymore'n I do. And a deal like what I've got is only for friends. So, you wanna hear what I've got to say, lose 'em."

Resting my hands on my hips, I watched the eight boys over the tops of my shades, and let 'em sweat for a little bit. Kinda cute, actually, the way that bright yellow bunny almost turned bright pink. Poor kid couldn't take his eyes off my groin! Yeah, Dandelion wasn't gonna be hard to reel in, not with the wiggle I'd noticed in his walk, a habit he must've picked up from watching human gays, then adopted for himself as a way of advertising his supposed preferences. 'Course, he was still young and figuring things out, and probably all messed up from hanging around humans with all their complications and needs for labels on sexuality. We'd see what he thought after he'd gotten his buns stuffed with some nice, meaty morphcock. Judging from the way he was practically drooling over my goody bag, though, I was pretty sure that as long as I wasn't too rough with him (at first, anyway), it wouldn't be hard to turn Danny boy into my very willing, and even more eager slaveboy for life. That, I was pretty sure, would keep him out of trouble quite nicely.

The others, though, now they were going to take some work, though how much varied by the individual. There was that hesitation on Russell's face, that conflict of being interested in another male battling it out with all the crap humans spread around about how you have to be either one or the other, straight or gay, and if you're both, you're bisexual, and that means you're a slut, with all the degrading language that goes with the term. Poor kid had just been around humans for too long. Now I'd have to really work on unwinding all the mess in his head.

Bentley, though, he was pretty chill about it. He was a bit surprised when he saw me strip down, but he didn't seem at all bothered with checking out my butt while my back was turned, and he thought I wouldn't notice. Oh, he kept it on the downlow, didn't make it too obvious to his friends, but the Golden Retriever pup still had a proper morph way of thinking. So did the rat, Runner, his pink nose and long white vibrissae wiggling really fast against the backdrop of his stark black fur, while those dark eyes of his flicked up and down my body, not settling on any one place. This kid was a scrapper, all right, and I could tell he wasn't just checking me out - he was getting a feel for me as a potential opponent as well. Of all the boys, Runner might actually give me some trouble if push came to shove. Not because I couldn't beat him, but because I didn't want to beat him - I wanted him to join me willingly, not by force. Hopefully he'd be able to figure out that I was out of his league, and not let his teenage testosterone cloud his judgment too much.

Teddy's bright green eyes made it pretty clear he was interested in my body, but he wasn't going to let me know that. Good thing he was still pretty young, or he might have managed to hide his feelings behind a mask of feline indifference before I figured him out. As soon as he met my eyes, though, his eyelids half-lowered, and just like that, I couldn't read him anymore. Grr, typical cat! But the other two members of the little band weren't much easier to figure out. Star, the Afghan Hound, and Jamal, the giraffe, both just watched me with calm expressions. Jamal seemed to just be the unemotional sort, as aloof as the stereotypes of giraffes made them out to be, not a hard position considering that even as a teenager, the kid was taller than any of us. Star, though, just seemed like the spaced-out sort, the kind who tended to wander off into his own little world when not forced to spend time on Earth. If he was human, I'd have thought he was on some sort of drugs, maybe marijuana. Since I couldn't smell it on him, though, and even second gen morphs aren't interested in stuff that messes with their senses, as a matter of instinct, I guessed he was just the sort who got high on life. At least he wasn't unfriendly, though, a point he made clear by grinning at me when I finally managed to catch his eyes.

"Let me see if I understand correctly, Mister Spike," Jamal suddenly broke into the brief period of tension that had reigned while the boys and I faced off in the yard next to the track, the slight Swahili accent of his voice kinda calming, actually, really nice on the ears. "You're saying you want us to be your friends, and your friends take off their clothes in your home, just like you do. Is that right?" I gave him a slow nod, drawing out the motion to make sure none of them missed it. "I see," Jamal continued with a slight nod of his own. A moment later, the boys turned, blinking in some surprise, as the tall, lean giraffe bent slow and low, pushing his basketball shorts down his long legs.

"Here," I offered, stepping forward, my hands slipping into the waist of the big kid's shorts when I saw that he had a hard time getting out of them, about like you'd expect of someone so big and long in the limbs. "Lemme give you a hand, Jamal."

"Thank you, Mister Spike," Jamal replied, his eyes widening slightly as he felt my fingers stroke against his supple, sensitive flesh, blunt clawtips teasing against the firm curves of his splotch-furred rump as I shucked his shorts down, nice and slow, taking my time about it. Pretty soon I was kneeling at Jamal's feet, helping him step out of his shorts, his full, heavy balls dangling right in front of my eyes, splotched with the same ruddy squares on yellow fur as the rest of his gorgeous body. Looking that fat sac and tasty, swelling sheath over, watching it start to give me a hint of pink poking out under my eager gaze, I didn't bother to hide that I was drooling, though I licked my chops to clear my mouth when Jamal lowered his head down next to mine, then extended his arms.

"Help me with my shirt?" he asked. I was more than happy to comply, working my fingers into his lean-muscled chest, clawtips teasing his nipples as I stripped the kid naked right there in my field. Maybe I'd have done more'n that, especially when I saw how Jamal was already sporting more than a little pink from his sheath - boymorphs that weren't trained professionally almost never have enough muscle control to keep their tallywhackers in check when they get aroused - but the kid's eyes were so trusting as he watched me, letting me touch him wherever I pleased. He'd decided to take me at my word, and when I said he was my friend, and I was his, he believed me. Fun as it would have been to bend that splotchy-furred kid over and ride his red-on-yellow rump for all he was worth - and even more fun since he would have been a completely willing participant - that wasn't the primary reason for my inviting these boys into my home. Secondary reason, sure, why not? But there was more pressing business for us to attend to first.

Russell's eyes were conflicted right then, even more than they'd been before. Kind of fascinating, actually, watching the play of emotions on his face. He was a cute kid, earnest, loyal to his friends to a fault, determined, hardworking, and smart. He was also completely out of his league, and he knew it. Watching me feel up one of his friends, he'd discovered that he'd _liked_watching, and he had no idea how he should react to that kind of self-knowledge. Poor kid really was a mess inside, and I just couldn't leave him dangling where he was. A moment's thought, and I figured out how to bail the poor kid out.

"You boys can strip down," I said offhandedly to the others, walking toward Wilhelm, whose eyes and nostrils both widened as I approached, though he didn't back away, and while his scent revealed nervousness, I didn't pick up any of the heavier negative emotions that would have warned me to stop. "I'll help flyboy here out of his clothes."

An easy fix, really. Wilhelm didn't resist as I fumbled a little with his specialized clothes, but just watched, arching an eyebrow as I knelt to match his height, obviously not impressed with my manual dexterity. Master mechanic indeed! Still, it gave me a chance to turn my back on the others, let them do their own thing without me messing with them with my eyes. Maybe it was a false sense of privacy, getting out from under my red eyes, but it seemed to work, because I could hear the shuffle and rustle of clothes, including the soft susurration of zippers being drawn down.

Now, speaking of zippers...

"The snap's there," Wilhelm pointed out helpfully, smirking at my fumble hands.

"Sorry," I apologized. "Never undressed a bat before. Your clothes are tougher to figure out'n my first encounter with a bra." I gave him a grin as I finally opened up the hoodie in the right spots, making it easy for me to lift it over the small, slender boy's head as he lifted his arms to assist me. "At least you don't burst into giggles when I don't get it right the first try."

That got a laugh from the little guy, one that was shared by the other boys, and right away, the tension that had been starting to build again while the kids decided what to do after I'd undressed Jamal just floated away. No fights here, not even from that rat, Runner. After all, what I was suggesting seemed like fun already, so why should they start trouble?

Wilhelm's pants, thankfully, were standard, no modifications added, and I could take my time working those baggy jeans down over the slight swell of those tight, skinny buns and small, leaf-shaped tail. Despite his prior amusement, the bat's breath caught when I dug my fingers into his rump, like I was testing him for ripeness. In a way, I guess I was, especially when I teased his tailhole with one finger. Yep, prime virgin, all right. Even tighter than I'd expected, though. I'd have to be gentle with the little guy when I broke him in. Heh, and even more excitable than Jamal - almost took my eye out with that pecker, kid!

Pretending Wilhelm wasn't sporting a bright red boner, I half-turned to look at the other boys, nodding ever so slightly in satisfaction: not a clothed rump in the bunch. Several of 'em showing various stages of wood. That's about when I noticed Runner, the black rat with the pink hands and nose and tail (and penis, but that's sorta given) coming up behind me. I guess I could've called him on it right then, but I wanted to see what he was gonna do, so I just waited, still half-crouched from feeling up his batty friend.

That calloused, long-fingered hand grabbed my butt, nice and tight. I guess I was a little surprised: I'd expected the kid's hand to be soft, not roughened by good, hard work. Guess I misjudged the ratty kid. Or maybe he just worked out a lot more'n the others, something I could believe from how tight and toned his abs and chest were. All morphs build muscle a lot faster and easier'n a human, because we're designed for it. When we actually work at building up our bodies, as Runner's body served for an obvious example, we could seriously shine.

Still, touching the alpha without his permission wasn't something you did, unless you were planning to challenge for the top spot. That's how it works for pretty much all morphtypes, but especially for dogs...and rats. Runner should've known better'n to touch me, especially the way he was squeezing my butt, almost pinching the tight glute under his fingers; it wasn't a really friendly kind of grip.

"You got a rat in your pocket," I began, arching an eyebrow at the kid, "or you just happy to see me?"

"I keep hearing you're some military-trained killer," Runner started up, cutting right to the chase, direct and blunt. "That there's nobody can take you on and live to tell the tale." Naturally, about then I tossed a look back at Dandelion, and saw the bunny blush furiously before he started to fidget - yep, source of rumors confirmed; that bunny did have an ear for neighborhood gossip, all right. "Now you've got us here on your turf, and there's eight of us, and just one of you. You say you've got a deal for us, but all I've seen so far is you feeling up some hot tail." I turned to face him slowly, not making any sudden movements, not wanting to provoke the kid until I was ready and able to handle him the careful way, even as I felt his hand shift its grip around my waist, until he was gripping my balls just a little tighter'n was comfortable. "I think you're a queer, Mister Spike. Whatcha say to that?"

"I'd say I'm the one who got Bird interested in morphs in the first place," I answered, now taking off my dark glasses, despite how much the morning sun made my eyes sting, knowing how a red-eyed look could make somebody back down before they did something stupid. "Which is where my deal starts, I guess. I'd also say I'm the one who's gonna put your tail in a sling, Runner, if you don't start treating my balls with a little more tender loving care."

He telegraphed what he was gonna do from a mile away, so when the rat started to clamp his hand down, aiming to do some serious hurt, I was already moved forward, into the little gap still between his fingers, and then to the side, my sac sliding out of his hand with just a little careful repositioning - it helps to develop that kinesthetic sense for the whole body, dangly bits included. Before Runner fully realized that he wasn't in charge anymore, my own hand was on his balls, engulfing them, holding them firmly, securely, so he couldn't even try to pull the same trick on me that I'd pulled on him. No, my ratty friend, you're staying right where I want you.

"You're thinking too much with these, Runner," I said with a light growl in my voice, making sure Runner knew just where I'd got him, but not holding him in a way that would really hurt, just warn, and make sure he couldn't get free. "Testosterone makes you stupid, aggressive. For what I want, you can't be either. Here's the deal: you get the use of my place, and all the stuff here, barring the junkyard, since that's where I earn my money. I've been understaffed for a while now, though, and wanting to expand the operation, so if you want, I can find jobs for all eight of you. The payoff's not quite as immediate as what you've been doing, but it's honest, and there's no unnecessary risks to take, like there is working for the mob or dealing. No jail time waiting in the wings, that's for sure, and I know you're all smart enough to know the odds of you ending up in a morph lockup before the year's out.

"That's just the start, though. I know honest work isn't enough to tempt you boys into signing on with what I'm offering. But like you said, there's never enough morphgirls to go around. So, what about human girls?"

Some of 'em had maybe been about to say something, to start asking dumb questions. Once the words "human girls" were out of my mouth, though, that was the end of flycatching - all muzzles were clamped shut, and eyes and ears were wide and alert. That's about when I let go of Runner's sac, giving it a light, friendly squeeze as I did so, to let the plump thing know I didn't have any hard feelings towards it, or its stiff pink friend up above.

"I'm gonna be training the girls soccer team later today," I continued, now that I had their full attention, and even Runner seemed willing to play along, for now. "If I do a good job with the training, and they start winning games, I might end up teaching some other sports teams, whipping them into shape too. But if I'm gonna do that, I want another team for 'em to play against.

"I've seen you boys kicking cans around, playing street soccer, rugby, and basketball. You're good. Real good. The only question is: are you good enough to lose?"

"Come again, sir?" asked Bentley, cocking his head to the side in that adorable confused doggy way some morphs have down to a science. Though I'd never admit it openly, it got to me, too.

"I mean, I want you to play the opposite number to these human, all-girl teams. But if you're gonna do that, I want you to play hard, push 'em to their limits...but don't discourage 'em. Make 'em sweat for it, work hard for every point, burn off their weakness. If they don't put in their all, mop the floor with 'em. But if they've fought for it, burned for it, even hurt for it, then let 'em win, without letting 'em realize that's what you're doing, to build up their confidence." Then I grinned, showing my sharp teeth as I put my dark glasses back on, letting my eyes get some respite from the sun. "That is, when I tell you it's okay. At the start, you'll be winning a lot, just to show those girls where they really stand, and how far they have to go. But you're morphs, and they're humans: you were literally made to win, second gen or not. So if all they ever do is lose, which is what I'd expect, going up against healthy morphs, they won't be much use on the field, no confidence, no drive. So I need you to work with me, obey me, do what I tell you without question. You do that, I can guarantee that within the month, you won't just get the money for playing: you'll be getting sweet human girls, willing to do pretty much whatever you want."

I let that thought percolate a bit, before I broke into their obviously lustful thoughts with a more stern tone.

"Like I said, though, you'll have to obey me, without question, if that's what you want. That means you keep yourselves tucked in, no matter how turned on you get. You're gonna hafta learn control, and how to wait. Sure, you're good at street sports. Now you'll have to learn how to hold back all that pent-up need, and turn it into something constructive instead...until I say when the time is right. Before you go mouthing off about my offer, though, think about this: I make good on my promises. That's how I got my reputation in business, and it's why I'm trusted in my little circles. If I don't make good on the promises I make to you, word'll get around, so I've got plenty of reasons to make sure you get just what's coming to you."

"Um," Bentley chimed in, his eyes still wide as he looked at my face, his expression making it pretty clear that he wasn't quite able to wrap his head around what I was offering them all. "Sorry to be slow on the uptake, sir, but...you're telling me that, if we just do what you say, we're going to get to have sex with...humans?"

Put so plainly like that, the words left every one of us silent. Even after all the progress that'd been made, sex between humans and morphs was one of those deeply-ingrained taboos. Sure, second gens didn't have it so bad, since they weren't subliminally indoctrinated, but it was still a big part of the culture. Jamal, as a first gen, had it lots worse.

All the same, they'd been out in the world a while, and had to make their own decisions about how it should work. And, despite all the effort our subliminal programmers put into trying to make humans off-limits, there's something about humans, something exotic and alluring...something desirable on the deepest, darkest levels, levels no morph will ever talk about with a human, and almost never with other morphs, not even our closest friends. Besides all that, these boys had been without sex for who knows how long, when sex is about as vital to a morph's health as food and sleep. If you're a human, you honestly can't understand how much need_a morph can build up, pent-up, day after night after day. Basic training in morph boot camp is Hell, precisely because you're not allowed to cum unless the instructor gives permission. When I was in boot camp, the instructor was human, so that meant never, and I can't even begin to describe how much that made my balls _ache. Mean as I could be, when I was the one doing the instructing, I made sure my boys got their rocks off once a week. Any longer than that is unnecessary torture.

So here I was, making promises I was certain I could keep, promises of human girls, served up on a proverbial silver platter. Willing_human girls, after I put mine and Girl's plan into action. Girl was an expert on psychological warfare when she was in the military, so trust me, she knows her stuff. As for me, well, I'm as much of a practical psychologist as you could want, from years spent training plenty of young minds, and I have a spec op's ability to make a plan into a reality out of nothing (and I had a _lot more than nothing right then). Those morphboys could sense the confidence and sincerity in my voice, my stance, my scent. They knew I was telling the truth, and I was offering them something they needed, even more'n that dirty money they'd been making up until now. No way the mob was gonna let these pups play around with human women, not even the whores they kept on staff - mobsters are funny that way, with a weird sense of morality at the strangest times. So that just left the big question: did they have the courage to accept the offer?

"How's this for a counter-offer?" Runner spoke up, a light sneer making his otherwise cute face get all ugly - I had forgotten how intimidating a ratmorph could be, especially in close quarters, what with their wiggling vibrissae and dainty-looking hands. "How about we just trash your tail, and take what you're offering, whether you allow it or not?"

Hearing Runner's words, the other boys got completely silent, trading looks back and forth. They weren't really in agreement with the tough kid in front, but at the same time, he was their friend, and they didn't want to leave him hanging if a fight broke out. The bunny, Dandelion, looked absolutely horrified at the suggestion, his eyes almost cartoonishly huge, while his ears stood straight up, his hands going to his wide open mouth. Similarly, Star, the spaced-out Afghan hound, actually blinked, the importance of what was going on leaking through all that long fur of his. Only Russell looked like he was ready and willing to back up his friend, gung-ho all the way, though I got the feeling, from the way he and Runner were looking me over, they had some other intentions for my tail if they got their way.

Well, all right. Let's see if they can stand to fight like men, rather than boys.

"I'll do you one better," I returned, grinning nice and wide, making sure they got a good look at my pearly-whites. "How about I put it all on the line? A little wager, between men. Or, rather," I closed my mouth, making sure I caught each of their gazes with my eyes, "between morphs. This is a fight for dominance, and that means we work by different rules than those pathetic human fights. All of you, against all of me. You win, I give it all up: the junkyard, the field, all the land I haven't even started to develop out in the wayback." I let my eyes waver, but only for a moment, toward the house, catching sight of a familiar face in the window, and didn't say anything more until I'd seen her nod a little. "My mate, Girl. I'll even do my best to get the girls - the human girls - already staying with me to switch over to new alphas, if they'll accept you."

"That's a lot of stuff to wager on just one fight," Russell replied, trading looks with Runner, and then the others, getting their measure, seeing if they'd back him up - and they would, at least, all of them except Star, who shook his head but didn't budge, and Dandelion, who hid behind Star. "Sounds like you're expecting us to put up something just as big in return."

"Biggest thing there is," I agreed, letting my hands hang semi-relaxed by my sides, ready, but not enough to make it obvious. "Your complete obedience. I win, you join my pack, just like the girls. You move in here, when you don't have to be somewhere else, and I take over the job of feeding you, housing you, and making sure you get properly educated. When I tell you to do something, you do it, and you don't argue, and you don't expect to get paid. No more'n you'd expect family to demand pay for doing chores."

"Family?"

That was Bentley and Jamal, both of them chiming in at the same time. I could see Teddy and Wilhelm similarly looking surprised, and interested in what I might say in response to the Golden Retriever and the giraffe.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Pack means family. There's some parents that treat their kids like slaves, and some that act like their kids' friends. Then there's me, and I've spent a good chunk of my life as a trainer for younger, less-experienced morphs, a lot of 'em with behavior problems. You belong to my pack, I own your tails, and the rest of you as well. And since you'll be my property, I'll want you strong - really strong, and able to do everything I can do. Maybe more, given enough time, effort, and aptitude."

"You've got a pretty high opinion of yourself, queer," sneered Runner, this time making his face even more ugly than before. "Prepare to lose it all!"

I looked around at the others, deliberately letting my eyes skip over Star and the sunshine yellow bunny.

"You all in?"

They nodded, some more hesitantly than others.

"Over there," I said, motioning with my head to the grass on the far side of the track, where there was slightly longer grass, hopefully enough to make more cushioning, since I wasn't getting out the mats. But Runner got in my face before I could turn away, jabbing me in the chest with two fingers.

"Whatsamatter?" he snarled, showing off how sharp ratty teeth could be. "You too much of a faggot coward to take us on here and now?"

"Runner," I said, and this time I really did try to make my voice as nice as could be. "It's not nice to call people names."

"So?" he challenged, twisting his fingers now, digging them into the flesh and bone of my sternum. "You gonna make me stop? I'm not part of your pack yet!"

"You will be," I said softly, and I saw Runner finally hesitate as I took off my dark glasses and tossed them aside, out of the area I guessed that I'd need (though they'd be a dickens to find later - I'd probably have to ask Girl to help). "Since you want it here, we start when I count three. One...two...three."

I'd given them all plenty of time. Lots more'n I would've if they'd been my friends who trained with me every weekend. Plenty of time for all of them to take up their positions, to surround me, to move in and do their best to take me down like a proper pack should. Except, these boys weren't really trained for packfighting. They didn't even start to move until almost a second after I called go-time. They probably weren't really trained for fighting at all. Sure, they'd fought, and I could tell that they were veterans of the street, probably undefeated, going up against smalltime thugs and lesser gangs on their level, human boys about their age. No real challenges, not the sort you'd have to deal with if you went up against somebody that actually knew how to fight.

And now they were up against me.

All this time, I'd been taking the measure of these boys (and you will notice that I keep calling them boys, except the one time I called them men, to impress on them how important our deal really was). I knew more about them than they knew about themselves. I'd know most of what I needed the first time I saw them, flirting around Rachael. Now, with a few additions, I knew everything I needed to know even before we got started. I knew it so well, I knew that they'd all lost long before we got this dance started.

The only problem I saw was how not to really mess them up.

Since Runner didn't know enough to take his fingers off my chest, I grabbed his wrist and flipped him. I was saving him for last, so I wanted him out of the way while I took his friends apart in proper scientific fashion. Russell was next closest, so I bunched up my butt muscles as I crouched a little, and gave him a tap in the sweet spot, right around his solar plexus. If you've ever been hit there, you know the place, and you know what it does. So one moment, the Jack Russell was up and ready to scrap, and the next, he was slumped on his butt, blinking in surprise, his whole body sapped of strength - of any will to fight, actually - as his lungs and heart gave a collective shrug, and quit on him. Well, for a little while, anyway.

Seeing brown-on-gold coming up on my periphery, I gave Jamal the same I'd given Russell, but this time with my foot. Long as his arms were - about as long as my legs - I needed the extra reach. Lucky for Jamal, I cut back on my force, giving him less of a shot than Russell had gotten, but with a double kick instead of just one, tapping him twice, using the principle of overload.

Now I had my momentum up, and neither Teddy nor Bentley were ready for the speed and ferocity of my attacks. I'd entered that zone, the place right between total calm and berserker rage, where everything's tinged in red, but you haven't lost control. Pain turns off, mind turns on, then goes into overdrive, making time seem to slow down, giving you all the time in the world to make your next decision. Sweep the puppy's leg, cup the kitty's kick, turn the puppy's punch as he goes to one knee so it slides on past, flip the kitty before he can try something cute, take hold of the puppy's paw, and gently guide him over, until he's sprawled on top of the kitty, like they were sleeping in the same bed basket. Nice and gentle, and very final. All I had to do was put my knee on Bentley's back, then look down at him as he looked over his shoulder, and at Teddy right beneath. Instantly, both their ears went down, and Bentley tucked his tail. Yeah, they were out, no more fighting for them. At least, not as long as I couldn't hold off the rest. Then they'd join in on beating me, like any pack, however green.

Runner was just getting up when Wilhelm came at me. Wilhelm was more mobile than the others, and I got the feeling that he did a lot of parkour. Made sense for a little guy like him, especially with his wings. He'd have to be really good at running and climbing and jumping to make full use of those things. He used them now, trying to baffle me, to keep me from seeing his attack.

Yeah, no, sorry kid, it's not gonna work, not when I've got a rat to rub in the dirt.

So instead of getting all confused by that wingfeint, I kicked him, right through both wings, my foot on his arms as he did his best to bring them up and block me, strength against strength. Of course, with him as light as he was, and with arms against leg, that didn't work out so well for him. He went flying for real, slamming kind of hard against the chin-up bars. A glance, though, made it clear he knew how to land, and I gave him a slight nod as he slumped on his leaftail butt to the ground, a nod he returned with a silly, dazed grin. Out for the count.

Heh, "count." Which is funny, see, 'cause he's a bat, and...yeah, sorry, never mind.

That left it down to Runner and me. Nobody else was getting up, though I could tell most of them (except for Wilhelm, who was still trying to get the stars and birdies out of his eyes) could have gotten up again if they'd wanted to. They knew I'd put them down just as fast as the first time, though, smart kids, catching on really fast. Even Russell, for all his little dog syndrome, knew when he was licked. But Runner, no, Runner didn't stay where I'd put him. He was too stubborn, too cocksure, too convinced that he could take me, and too determined not to lose face. Obviously the ratty kid was supposed to be his pack's scrapper, the tough guy, the muscle. Russell was the second toughest, and the one who talked the meanest game, but it was Runner who pounded the coffin nails.

Okay, I admit it: I let Runner down kind of gentle for the first fall. Not too gentle, since I didn't want him picking himself up at full strength, of course, but gentle enough that I was almost certain he'd be back up again, ready to go mano-a-mano with me, right in front of all his friends. Right then, with everyone else sprawled around on the grass, he knew he was on his own. Looking into his eyes, I could tell that he knew exactly what was on the line, and could also see his total determination. Before, with me tossing him, he might've just played the "I wasn't ready" card if I called it good, and then I'd lose him. The others, they were fine with a little rough-housing, especially when the difference in skill levels was so extreme. But Runner, I had to demolish him, completely and utterly dominate the kid, and show him exactly where he stood in our new pack's totem pole. Believe me, it wasn't at the top. Nowhere close.

Now that I'd gotten his friends out of the way, so they wouldn't interfere, and I didn't have to risk seriously hurting them, I gave Runner just the slightest nod. An obvious "come on" kind of warrior's salute. Respectful, letting him take the first shot, treating him like an equal combatant, rather than the callow boy that he was. Making it clear that I was taking this - and him - seriously, and he should show me the same kind of respect. Me, and the deal we'd made.

Though he wasn't trained to fight, I'll give Runner this much: he could move fast when he put his mind to it. In great physical shape, he'd honed his body as well as he could, with the equipment and knowledge that he had available. Probably used ghetto weights, cement blocks on the ends of a metal pole, and similar makeshift stuff, and got the skill he needed to use it from heresay and maybe the occasional human who'd clue him in.

We'd forgotten these pups. Me, and all us older firstgens. We'd neglected them, left them to the whims of fate, and I saw the results of our self-centered ways rushing straight at me, his fists coming with almost lightning speed, a barrage that would have surely taken down anyone he'd ever had to face before.

Me, I kicked him in the jaw, muay Thai style, hard and high, but not too hard. Breaking his mouth, or knocking out some teeth, would've ruined it for all of us. Runner was still going strong, though, even with his momentum broken, so I followed through, and gave him a spinning capoeira kick, nearly turning him all the way around, with a nice boxer's jab to a shoulder blade, completing the turn, and a solid jujitsu takedown, slamming him to the ground and pinning his arm behind him.

"You're mine now, Runner," I growled, low and calm in his ear, letting him feel my sheath against his defenseless rump, while I hooked his tail up and out of the way with my free hand. "We fought. You lost."

"Naw, man," he got out hoarsely, breathing hard, his eyes wide as he squirmed under me. "Naw. This can't be happening. This can't be...ah!"

All that struggling had worked him against my sheath, up and down and all around. Not bothering to keep myself tucked in, I let all that adrenaline I'd worked up flow into my erection, let the beast out for its fun, not even trying to restrain it. At first, feeling that hefty piece of meat, Runner froze, his jaw dropping (even though I knew he wouldn't be using his jaw for much as soon as his own adrenaline wore off). That's how it usually is, when you're so focused on winning, then discover that reality's betrayed you: there's a disconnect between how you visualized things going - in this case, him ramming his ratcock into my tailhole - and how it's actually going to go down.

"Say uncle," I told him calmly, working my hips nice and slow, taking my time as I hotdogged him, letting him feel every little nuance about the meaty organ he was going to be getting to know very well in the all-too-near future. "Say it."

"Uncle!" he squeaked - squeaked, if you can believe it; not said, not grunted, none of those manly sounds - after I gave his arm a bit of a wrench, putting some bad pressure on his funnybone at the right angle, letting him know exactly what I could do to his arm, and the rest of him as well, if I decided to be cruel. As cruel as he'd planned on being to me.

"Tell me I'm the boss," I continued, not varying my tone, while I gently prodded his tense pink pucker, smearing my precum all around the snug, and likely virginal, ring, getting him slick and ready for penetration. "That I'm your alpha."

"You're the alpha, man," he sobbed, his head slumping down, his eyes squeezing tightly shut. "You're the boss. I...I can't beat you. I didn't even have a chance. You played me, played all of us. We were like kids on a sandhill getting run down by a bulldozer." He tensed a little, then fought to keep himself relaxed as he felt me working my glans against his tailstar, probably acting on what he'd heard from more experienced criminals about what to do if you were in his situation in prison, or some similar circumstance. "You can...you can take what you want, and there ain't nothin' we can do about it."

"You're right," I told him. "There isn't. But is that what you want?"

Runner paused for a beat, and I could feel all eyes on us, frozen there like some erotic Greek sculpture (and those horny old Helenes would have sculpted something like this - they put this kind of stuff on their drinking cups, anyway), my man-sausage resting snugly between the ratboy's taut buns, though I'd stopped thrusting now. Then his eyes slowly opened, and he looked over his shoulder at me. There were tears in his eyes, from shame mostly, and impotent rage, and unwanted arousal, for I knew his cock was just as hard as my own, leaking out on the grass.

"What're you talking about?" he asked me, really, honestly confused.

"I said pack is family, Runner," I told him frankly. "I'm responsible for you. You _belong_to me. I'm not about to ruin someone who belongs to me." My tone softened, and I relaxed my grip, just a little, pulling my hips back, letting the boy breathe. "I'd never hurt my family. I won't take what you don't give to me willingly."

Here was the part that I wasn't completely sure about. Runner was beat, and he knew he was beat. I'd pinned him, had him right where I wanted him, humiliated him, and made him know that I could do it all again without breaking a sweat. He'd lost. What I didn't know, though, was if he'd accept the loss. Would he honor our agreement? Would he join my pack? As I slowly let him go, letting him get his limbs back, I kept myself a little tense, knowing perfectly well that I was giving him the power of choice.

When I was standing, and the ratboy was still on his knees, he turned and looked up at me. My cock was still out, still pretty hard, actually, but I wasn't using it like a weapon, not menacing him with it. It was just...there, another part of me. Looking down, I saw that I was right about my feeling: Runner was hard, all right. Hard and still dripping. Not too surprising, since he wasn't just a morph, but young and healthy, too, with the rush of puberty still driving him crazy. What was a wonder was that he didn't go around with a hard-on all the time.

Around us, the other boys just watched, silent, waiting, expectant. Even now, they were gonna stick by their friend. Then I saw Russell crawling over, still kinda winded from the tap I'd given him, and slump next to his ratty friend. There they both were, both the ones who'd resisted me, on their knees, looking up at me, and now I could see the submissive expressions on their faces, could read the equally submissive tilt of Russell's curly tail. Neither of them tried to get up. A little bit later, maybe three minutes at most, and the other five members of the pack proper were over there, kneeling at my feet, even Star, who'd made his choice without having to fight me to make it. The only one who didn't join the others at my feet was Dandelion, but then, I knew perfectly well that he wasn't the fighting kind.

"All right," I barked, adopting command stance and voice. "Hustle your buns to the showers and get yourselves cleaned up. Girl will be ready to meet you over at the door," I added, motioning with my muzzle toward the entryway that would lead them in the rear entrance to the big house where I kept all the weights and other equipment. "She'll give you the grand tour. Since she's my mate, I expect you to obey her the same way you'd obey me. Once you've seen it all, and had your questions answered, I expect you to get those tails squeaky clean, because I'm gonna work them off until this afternoon, when the soccer girls arrive. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" the seven boys barked back, even the ones that weren't canomorphs.

"Then get going!"

I indulged myself, just for a moment, watching those fine boyish bottoms and bouncing sacs as the newest members of my pack went hustling off just like I'd told them. Sure enough, I caught sight of Girl just inside the door, waiting for them, with Benny by her side, eager to help out anyway she could. Knowing Girl, I'd give those boys even odds on getting a blowjob: the pheromones of a healthy young boymorph go through the roof during puberty, and the longer a boymorph has been without sex, the higher that count goes (a trick, incidentally, that works at all ages, a significant part of why I typically abstain during my training sessions until a trainee accepts her or his role). So for Girl, a healthy and sexually-active femme, the sweet, clean scent of so many fresh morphboys in sexual overdrive might be more than she could possibly bear - she'd just have to get a taste, and I didn't blame her in the slightest. After all, I'm a male, and I could practically taste_those juicy, mouth-watering boycocks! If I had to guess, I'd say it's an adaptation our designers built in, intentionally or not, so older morphs would be more likely to accept these pups into our circles. Whatever the reason, if those pheromones got to those human girls with even a fraction of their effect on me, training them the same way I trained morphs would be _really easy.

Speaking of mouth-watering...

"Where do you think _you're_going?" I growled at Dandelion, not bothering to turn my head, not yet. I could hear the bunny gulp, and knew he'd frozen in place, stopped trying to get back to the fence and his clothes. I could smell that sweet mixture of fear and arousal, too, that marked natural-born prey.

That's what Dandelion was, after all. Among humans, he'd been pegged as homosexual, but that really wasn't right. What he actually was, and what I'd seen plenty of times before, was what we morphs often call "prey."

Like pretty much everything else in morph psychology, our level of assertiveness is tied up with our sexual behaviors as well, but, unlike what you might think, it's not really tied to our morphtype. I've met mice that were serious "predators," and lions that made very fine "prey." On one end of the spectrum, a predator's temperament was suited for frontline combat, stalking, fighting, and all the messy business of war. Sexually, predators, like myself, are well-suited to being dominant members of a sexual pairing. We like to be in charge, though most of us are willing to share dominance with another predator as equals, or to submit on a temporary basis to someone we regard as worthy of it. Of course, since relationships and personalities are complicated, as much among morphs as humans, these are just general guidelines, stereotypes, and everyone knows that stereotypes seldom survive first engagement completely intact.

Prey, on the other hand, aren't so well-suited for the brutal confrontation of war, psychologically-speaking (all morphs are made sturdy enough to take the physical punishment of war, or survival in the wild if it comes to that, so that's not the issue here - just the mind remains in question). In the military, they're better suited to reconnaissance missions, surveillance, intelligence, psychological warfare, medicine, and the other non-confrontational aspects of defeating the enemy. My little buddy, Pal the husky, would have made a great combat medic, even if he just couldn't muster up the heart to even touch a gun outside of training exercises - he was brave to a fault, pacifistic tendencies or no, and I could tell he would have helped the wounded even in the middle of a firefight, caring more about the safety of others than himself. I love Girl, and I'd do anything for her, and know she'd do anything for me, but she's no fighter, for all the training she's had. It's just not in her nature, but watching and analyzing others is. In the sack, prey typically like to be dominated, and whether the one doing the dominating is male or female takes a secondary role. Sure, prey will often form deep attachments to other prey, and their couplings tend to be adorable, all sweetness and cuddles, but a lot of prey morphs feel most secure - most satisfied - when they're being owned and used roughly by a predator they want so desperately to trust, even if the sex is sometimes as scary as it's arousing. Handle them right, and prey will do _anything_to please. Anything.

What I had on my hands here, was a natural-born preyboy. Explained the tendency to gossip, as I thought about it. Probably those intelligence-gathering instincts at work, to watch, and record, and remember, and then run away and report. Well, Dandelion had just watched a whole lot happen, watched me dominate seven hot morphboys and accept them into my pack. More importantly, he'd seen how I'd just snatched up seven of the mob's young workers and taken them off the streets, and he'd heard me talk about mating humans. Now he was about to slip off and spread the word. That's just what Dandelion did, because it's what felt right. He didn't take part in the fighting, because his nature was to observe and then to share, perfect qualities for a spook out in the field. When you didn't want your secrets leaking out, though, not so good.

Sorry kid, but what you wanna do is just not happening. You're staying right here. Permanently.

"Come with me," I growled, and right at the moment when I felt Dandelion was about to bolt, my hand wrapped around the base of his ears, nice and close to the skull. That put an instant stop to any attempts to get away. Oh no, my adorable sunshine yellow friend, you're my little bunny now.

"Wh-," the poor little bunny whimpered as I started walking him toward my office, his voice cracking before he got control of himself again. "What are you gonna do to me, Mister Spike?"

Grr, setting off all my predator instincts! Those big eyes, that little wiggle in his walk, that cowering, defeated demeanor, that "poor me" expression...yeah, I had it bad. I'd gotten all keyed up with my new packboys, and now I had a tasty little subby in my grip, his delicious-looking, candy pink penis throbbing hard from the moment he heard me growl at him - and now leaking copiously after I grabbed his ears.

There was no way I was showing this boy mercy.

"Who were you gonna tell about what happened here today?" I growled out instead of answering the question, showing more fang than necessary, making Dandy whimper some more, half-sobbing as he cowered before me, even as I kept the grip on his ears, one of the most sensitive parts of a bunny, about equal to his balls and eyes, as I made him walk in front of me, reaching out with one hand to push open the door to the big Quonset hut where I kept my waiting room and office furniture all neatly arranged for visitors.

"I wasn't gonna...eeeee!" Yeah, that's right, don't lie to me, preyboy. "8-Ball! I was gonna tell 8-Ball first, Mister Spike! But that was all, I swea-aaaaiiieee! Please, don't pull! No, don't bite them! Don't bite them! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll tell you everything, I promise!"

Still guiding the yellow-furred cutie forward, I sucked on the tips of his ears, slowly swirling my tongue around them, pretty much the same way I'd do with a penis. The way Dandelion was reacting, you'd think I was working him over on the rack, but really, all I'd done was squeeze a little, tug just a bit, and then let him feel the slightest bit of fang nipping his delicate earflesh. Now he was sobbing, but as much as his eyes seemed to be leaking (though I hadn't really taken a close enough look to check if they were just crocodile tears), his prick was leaking a lot more, even giving little spurts on my nice carpet when I gave his ears that slow, oral treatment. Obviously the kid liked it. I know I was enjoying myself.

The kid was spilling names, most of 'em the typical kind, other friends and neighbors who he was sure would wanna know about a big change in the lives of seven young members of the community. A few though, sounded like they'd be more at home on a police blotter than as part of a friendly neighborhood. I might not do any business with the local crime scene, but I'd bounced for a few places that were mob-owned in the past, when I was starving on the streets and desperate for even the pennies they paid me for quality service you couldn't get from a human bouncer. You get to see a lot when you're a bouncer, especially at places where the main clientele are the criminal element. And oh, but Dandy boy, you'll be squealing to Dallas before long, I promise you that. Right after I've made you squeal for me first. Long and loud.

8-Ball, though...that was a morph name. I knew the guy, pretty hot Doberman, first gen, like me. Our generation was about where our similarities left off, though, because 8-Ball didn't get bounced from the military. What he did, was act as supply officer, and in that role, he started working the black market pretty heavily. Nothing that put us troopers in danger - he wasn't a total sleaze - but all the same, he set himself up with a nice little nest egg when he was kicked out with the rest of us. Always a pool sharp, he soon took to paying his bills with pool sharking, while he sat on the rest of what he'd socked away. I'd heard he was one of the first morphs to make deals with the mob, and these days he was about as high in their organization as a morph could hope to be, bringing in other morphs for various jobs. Morphs like my new pack sons.

"I like a boy who's honest, Dandelion," I told the kid with a pleasant smile, releasing his ears from my muzzle (though not my hands), walking him over to the desk, and pulling over one of our chairs, making sure it was one without a back, so I could admire that sweet bunny butt. "In fact, I like you so much, I think I'd like to keep you around."

I pressed down just a little, admiring how those ears of his made good reins, and right away he settled down into the chair. He even stayed there while I went around the desk, and pulled open one of the drawers in the filing cabinet there. The one where I keep my hardcopy documents of official forms.

Smirking down at Dandelion, seeing how he was trying to cover his lap with his small hands, I slapped some official forms down in front of him on the desk, and held out a pen.

"Fill in the blanks," I growled softly, moving quietly, menacingly behind him. "Then sign your name."

Looking over his shoulder at me, his mouth slightly parted, Dandelion swallowed again, then turned back to look at the papers I'd fanned out in front of him, to make it easy for him to see exactly what it was that he was about to sign. The more he took in of what was written on those papers, the wider his eyes got, until he gave a short cry of horror, covering his mouth with one hand, the other resting on the table. He slid right off the chair, then, going to the floor on his knees, clasping his hands like he was praying, while looking up at me with those big bunny eyes.

"Please, Mister Spike," he whimpered, and I had to fight to keep from drooling. "Not that! Please, anything but that! You can't possibly mean for me to sign a...a..."

"A keptmorph contract," I finished for him, when just saying the words seemed enough to make the little cutie burst into tears, and wrapped my hand around the base of his ears again, gently tugging on them to get him back up into the chair. "That's right, Dandy. You're gonna fill out all the lines, cross all the t's and dot all the i's. Then you're gonna sign right on the dotted line. Sign your freedom away...permanently."

I bit off the last word with a toothy grin that actually did make the poor, sweet, delicious-looking little bunny burst into tears, which I turned into a loud squeal as I tugged on his ears a little harder, making him look at the desk, and the papers right in front of him. He shook his head, whimpering and blubbering pitiful pleas for me not to do it, but when I shoved the pen into his hands, he got to work, filling out every little line with all the precision I could possibly have asked from the best secretary.

For those not up on morph rights, a keptmorph contract is one of those compromises that came about as morphs started to progress toward their freedom. A lot of humans like having morphs around, as servants and general staff. While I might not completely approve of the practice, I can't say that I blame them, considering the general track record of morphs in general, and keptmorphs in particular, in their jobs. More importantly, a lot of morphs actually prefer to be in the service of humans, getting a sense of satisfaction and security from knowing what their purpose in life is, instead of having to figure things out entirely on their own, like we freemorphs have to do. Basically, with a keptmorph contract, what's sometimes officially called an "article of special service," a morph signs over the majority of his or her freedom, entering a state of semi-permanent indentured servitude (only semi-permanent, because it's possible to get out of the contract, though it can be tricky if your contractual owner doesn't want you to leave). Basically, the morph becomes a slave with rights. In exchange, the morph gets room and board and several other basic amenities, like medical coverage, maternity care, and stuff like that. More importantly, a morph gets a purpose in life, a focus on which they can hang their star.

Honestly, while it's not for me, I don't really blame any morph that feels the need to be a keptmorph. There's just something about the life choice that can satisfy a really deep, essential part of us morphs, and even I've gotta admit that sometimes I can feel the need to be...well...owned, protected, and cared for by someone bigger'n myself. For me, the feeling passes, but I'm not everybody.

As for the keptmorph contracts in my papers, they were a part of any suite of legal papers a business that deals with morphs is expected to have on hand. Once or twice I'd actually used them, but only as part of transactions with customers I did breeding and training services for, to smooth over some legal technicalities. Technically, as a morph, I couldn't keep any morph, including Dandelion, as my personal property. But also technically, my business, as a separate legal entity, could. I guess that somebody could probably beat a keptmorph contract made out to my junkyard, if they had even a halfway decent legal team. For Dandelion, though, getting out of signing himself over to me wasn't gonna happen. As soon as that ink dried, he was my slave for the rest of his life, and he knew it.

"Let me go, Mister Spike," Dandelion begged as I saw him get to the end of the contract, hesitating right as he was about to sign his name. "Please, don't do it - don't make me a slave. I...I don't wanna be a slavebunny!"

"Uh huh," I grunted, unimpressed with those big, pleading eyes, and adorable high-pitched voice. "Then why's your willy leaking all over the front of my desk?"

I wasn't exaggerating, either, at least, not by much: Dandelion's penis had been smearing little drops of precum on the faux-wood of the desk pretty much every time he bent forward a little to better work on the papers before him. Despite all his protestations to the contrary, the more he read of the articles, the more he fully understood exactly what every little legal statement in front of him meant - and he was a bright boy, well able to understand just what he was getting into - the more precum beaded up and dribbled down his smooth pink bunnymaker, and the less able he seemed to control his hips from trembling, making him squirt little bursts of especially vigorous precum with ever-increasing regularity.

Looking down, Dandelion's face showed just how completely shocked he was to discover what I'd been watching all this time, and I couldn't hold back a laugh. So...I didn't. Instead, I turned it into a nice, sinister chortle, while resting my big hands on poor little Dandelion's slender shoulders.

"You had your chance to join my pack, Dandy," I told him, my voice a cruel, wicked growl in his ear, the sort of voice I reserved these days only for those really heavy roleplaying sessions with Girl, but had perfected out in the field, when it was important that I be really good at scaring enemy captives into spilling their guts. "You could have been an equal with your friends But that's not possible anymore. You've heard too much, know too much. Now it's too late for you. Now," I gave his ears a little squeeze, and his whole body shuddered, another of those especially productive spurts of precum spattering against the side of my desk, "you're mine!"

"Oh no no no," blubbered the precious little bunny as his hand worked on automatic, signing the papers before him, finishing the job, turning him from a free agent into my personal plaything for the rest of his life.

"Oh yes. Yes. Yes," I countered, drawing out each word as I gathered up the papers in one hand, the other, which had been gripping his ears, going to his shoulder again, holding him quite firmly in the chair. "Let's see now...just a final check, to make sure everything is in order...yes...excellent...very good...you're quite good with paperwork, Dandy," I concluded, letting him see what he'd signed once more, making sure he saw his signature, saw it, and despaired. "Very thorough. Far too thorough for your own good."

Setting the document in front of Dandelion, to give him a final chance to see his doom right before his eyes, I went to one of the nearby drawers, right next to the examination table I keep to one side of the office, in case an impromptu checkup is necessary for a potential obedience training enrollee. Of course, I kept one ear turned toward Dandelion, and never let him out of the corner of my vision, not for even a moment. He stayed still, except for the shudders of arousal and sobbing despair that were warring it out inside of him. After some adjustment, I really did expect Dandelion would actually enjoy his new place as my keptmorph, finding a satisfaction that he'd never found anywhere else, free and on his own, but right now, he was going through some pretty significant emotional turmoil. Turmoil to which I was about to add with far more enjoyment, I admit, than was strictly professional.

Returning, I set the objects I'd obtained from the drawer on the desk, some of them spilling over onto the contracts. A big bottle of lubricant, of course. A ball gag. Several long, sturdy rags normally intended for use in cleaning. A modest-sized butt plug, one of the deluxe ones, with a vibrating feature. By the time I laid out the last of my toys, Dandelion was almost in hysterics, shaking his head, his eyes wide in aroused horror. When I actually did finally reach for him, the silly rabbit tried to bolt for the door.

He was too slow.

Babbling now, almost incoherent, Dandelion was begging frantically for mercy, for me to spare him, to let him go, making all sorts of promises and pleas as I easily caught him before he'd made it all the way out of the chair, and quickly, efficiently bound his wrists tightly behind his back with the rags. Now there was plenty of time, and I didn't have to rush. No, Dandelion wasn't going anywhere now, so I paused for a moment to taste his tears, running my broad tongue up his fine-boned cheek, turning him as I did so, then slowly, carefully bending him forward, over my desk. In that position, all I had to do was put my weight over him a little, slapping my heavy red prick between his buns, letting him feel just what he was gonna get in the all-too-near future, to keep him firmly in place, completely helpless. Completely mine.

"There's just one more step before everything is finalized," I told Dandelion with perfect calm, even as I picked up the ball gag in front of him, and easily popped it into his mouth, securing it behind his head - he was well beyond the point where he could even attempt to resist me, though the moment I locked it in place, his buns clenched, gripping my shaft tightly, while he went up on his tip-toes, stroking me with the movement, even while looking back at me with those pleading eyes. "All I have to do now is pop those papers into the fax machine, and send them off to the morph registration department at city hall. Oh, I'll get rubberstamped copies mailed back to me in two weeks at the latest, giving me official validation, but that's just a formality. Your date of servitude starts the moment I notify city hall." My hands were still working, picking up the plug, then squiring it up and down with copious lube, until it glistened. "You know what this is?" I asked, grunting when I saw my slaveboy nod. "Good. This is a lot smaller'n me, of course, but you've got to start somewhere. Now relax...that's it...good boy...good little bunny..."

"MMMM!"

Actually, the butt plug popped inside, no problems at all. Dandelion shivered a little, but that was it, thanks to all the water-based lubricant I'd used to coat the bulbous thing. What really got him was the vibration feature. Pretty much the moment I let go and stepped back, the poor yellow-furred bunny was jerking this way and that, his eyes wide and wild as he screamed into his gag. Of course, he was cumming, hard, pretty much from word go.

"Productive little guy, aren'tcha?" I chuckled casually as I scooped up the papers in front of Dandelion, and walked over to the copier-fax machine, letting him continue to splash the front of my desk and the carpet beneath with his cum. "You think that's good, just wait until I get my cock in ya."

Immediately, I saw Dandelion's eyes go to my penis, its normal pink color so swollen right then, I was a bright red instead. For a moment he paused there, looking at me, and I could almost hear the gears in his head turning, visualizing me while I mounted him, fantasizing about how it would feel. A few seconds later, right at the moment I hit the "send" button, making the cover sheet pop right through the machine, the fantasy hit home, and Dandelion didn't just scream, he wailed into the gag, and soon the stains all over my desk and carpet were getting a second copious coating.

"All done," I told my new slave, unable to keep from grinning as I looked him over, his cheek pressed against the top of the desk, his cheeks flushed right through his light-colored fur, making the little white "freckle" marks around his whiskers stand out even more clearly than usual, making him look more like a little boy than a randy, sexually-dominated teenager. Poor Dandy's eyes were almost closed, and he was breathing hard, his slender, boyish chest heaving, his puffy cotton tail hiked slightly, trembling visibly as the plug hummed, keeping his smooth boyish muscles clenched tight, making them clearly visible through his short-trimmed fur.

Walking over, I grabbed Dandelion's shoulder, and pushed him to the floor, letting him settle before me on his knees, resting his cute buns on his heels. He looked up at me with wide eyes and dripping cock, and I almost felt like the black-masked executioner about to carry out the condemned boy's final sentencing. Hmm...well, there were a lot of toys I had back in one of the training rooms. Considering how receptive my little bunny seemed to be to rough treatment, I'd really have to see how far I could push him. Even as straight an arrow as Dallas can be, I was pretty sure I could talk him into helping me abuse this apple-bottomed slave bunny. I knew I could talk Molotov into it. We'd spitroast the little cutie, doublestuff him, and stretch him right to his limits, and just a little beyond, over, and over, and over again.

While I was musing on how much fun it would be to watch Dallas' handsome German Shepherd features all tense and snarly while he plowed a little slave bunny's butt, I idly began rubbing my foot against the boy in question's cheeks, and then across his little pink nose. My footpaws are thickly-calloused from long hours spent in katas, hiking, running, and all sorts of other activities. Right then, they were also nowhere as clean as I'd have liked, thanks to mixing it up with those boys out on the field. Of course I wiped my feet before going into the office, but that just got off the worst of the dirt and sand and grit. The rest, I was smearing on Dandelion's velvet-soft facial fur.

Watching the rabbit's face, seeing his expression of mixed horror and arousal as I used him like a piece of furniture, a doormat, I couldn't keep my lips from curling back, exposing my sharp teeth. His cock was leaking again, if anything, even more heavily than before. Yep, I'd pegged this little cutie perfectly, all right: a natural born submissive preyboy. I made a mental note to be careful not to push him too far - a submissive as perfect as Dandelion could very easily completely forget his own self-preservation instincts in the throes of passion, drunk on the heady nectar of total acceptance of whatever the dominant predator might want to do to him. He'd love whatever I did to him, of course. That wouldn't keep it from causing him permanent injury, or even killing him, though.

Reaching down, I unlatched the ballgag, then tossed it onto the table next to me. Rather than giving any orders, I pressed my foot up against Dandelion's mouth, rubbing it there. Sure enough, without my having to tell him to do a thing, he popped my big toe between his lips, and started to suck. Looking up at me, his big eyes worshipful and so eager-to-please now, rather than filled with horror and disgust, accepting his place in life just like that, all hesitation gone the moment he tasted paw. Good boy that he was, Dandelion didn't touch himself, not even as he bobbed his head, suckling my toes, one by one, until they were all squeaky clean, even licking the underside of my central pad, working his tongue into those hard-to-reach crevasses everybody always misses. Then I had him doing the other paw, and just like the first, he didn't hesitate, and he didn't resist.

"Good little slave bunny," I praised Dandelion, reaching down to lovingly caress his ears, making him shiver all over when I worked my fingers gently into the extra-sensitive inner cup, letting him feel just the slightest hint of my blunt claws, but no more than that - enough to keep him alert and excited, but not to cause any pain. "You're a good little pawsucker. Now," my hand covered the boy's head, pulling him closer, while I arched my hips a little, rubbing my cock against Dandelion's cheek, "let's see if you can suck cock just as good."

The dazed, submissive expression faded as Dandelion realized what I was asking him to do, and for just a moment, he pressed back against my hand, as though half-trying to pull away. He didn't try that for long, though, but only looked up at me with the most precious, pleading expression, before I tapped him on the nose with my glans, leaving a bead of precum behind. Flushed with humiliation, the bunny licked off the bead, and then opened his mouth, closing his eyes as he did so, as though trying to forget about what he'd just done, and what he was about to do. He needn't have bothered, because the moment he tasted cock for the first time, he started to whine, his mouth pursing around my thickness almost immediately, his tongue greedily working against the meatus, trying to coax out as much precum as he could get.

"You're a natural, Dandy," I praised him, making the boy start for a moment, his eyes opening again to meet my own, before his face and ears flushed, the ears going flat against his skull as he realized what he'd been doing, without any prompting on my part beyond putting my penis into the appropriate spot for his attention. Speaking up as I had was a deliberate action, forcing Dandelion to keep from shrinking into himself, just relying on his submissive prey instincts to get him through his ordeal, but instead be consciously aware of a fair amount of what he was doing. Keeping him aware meant that I was truly dominating him, filling up his mind as well as his cute little mouth.

Speaking of that cute little mouth, there's something precious about watching a youngster, fresh and sweet and eager to please in every way, doing his or her absolute best to give a blowjob. They get this expression of earnest concentration, and you can tell that they're entire focus is on satisfying you, with none of the little distractions a more experienced lover might have. As I'd mentioned, Dandelion seemed to have some native instincts for it, or at least inborn talent, which I'd already seen when he'd worked my feet over, and was seeing again now that he was slurping and sucking on my cock. Right now, he was paying special attention to the plum-shaped head, probably a little too intimidated to go any deeper without some time or some coaxing on my part, but with the way he was nibbling and tugging on my glans with his lips, and using his tongue right at the apex of the frenulum, just beneath my heavily-leaking slit, well, I wasn't that inclined to push the issue just yet. There'd be plenty of time to train my new slaveboy just the way I wanted him, after all - he was mine for life. No, there wasn't any reason to rush.

All it took was a little gentle guidance with my hand to guide the bunny boy where I wanted his mouth. Nudge him down, and soon he was sucking on my sac, his eyes getting all dreamy and dazed as he inhaled a good, potent dose of my pheromones. We males may not get quite as addicted to morphmusk as a female, but that doesn't mean we're not affected at all. Another nudge, and he was tonguing my tailhole, after only a brief hesitation. Grr, now that felt good! Finally I gave into temptation, and made poor Dandelion's big bunny feet kick, slapping his sweet buns, while I pushed his face in close, cutting off his air as I made him properly rim me out, serving me like a proper slaveboy should. I told him as much, snarled it at him, really, and the words made the kid moan, his body shivering all over. If I hadn't tied his hands, I was sure he'd be masturbating with desperate energy right then, and probably adding another stain to my carpet. Looking down his slim-muscled back, I admired the boy's firmly-rounded, heart-shaped tushie - drooled over it, really - especially his back dimples. He had dimples of Venus just like a girl!

Okay, that was the last straw!

"That's enough, slave," I growled, pulling Dandelion's head back with maybe a little more roughness than was strictly necessary, then holding his ears to keep his head up while I gave him a chance to catch his breath. "Time for the main course!"

"M-master?" Dandelion asked with an adorable note of hesitancy in his voice, that little tremor that tells the ears of any predator that hears it that the tasty little morsel talking right then is being driven out of his mind with the knowledge that at any moment, he was going to be cruelly, brutally, thoroughly violated, and not only was there nothing he could do about it, he was going to love every moment. "Master!"

The second sweet cry came as I hauled the boy up with ease - he was a lot lighter than me, and I was much, much more muscular than my little slave bunny - and slapped him onto his back on the desk. With one hand, I hoisted his feebly-kicking legs into the air, gripping both ankles together, while I snatched up the bottle of lube and began squirting the stuff copiously all over his hiney and my cock. Having hit room temperature, the lubricant was a chill shock for us both, but the sudden (though not quite too_sudden) sensation made me grunt, and Dandelion _gasp, his whole body twitching, precum squirting out onto his trim, flat tummy. I got a finger into him, worked it around, and then in, nice and deep, and that was all it took to get the boy open-mouthed, panting for air, his sweet cries filling my ears.

He didn't get a chance to cool down, not for one second, because the moment I got my fingers out of him, I grabbed his ankles in both hands, and pushed them up to either side of his head. Just a little adjustment of angle and...ngh: that bunny was tight! Even as well-lubed as I'd gotten him, my cock still bent a little when I wedged it up against his tiny pink tailhole. Dandelion's face was flushed, his mouth wide open, and he was making sweet noises just like a girl in heat, high-pitched and so hot, I could barely keep myself in check. No, had to go gentle, had to go slow, at least at the start. Even as turned-on as we both were, there was still the chance that I'd tear something, that I'd hurt him. Mean as I'd been, I didn't want to do that to Dandelion - I wanted him to enjoy himself. I wanted him to love this.

Pop, and there we go, nice and smooth. I had to grit my teeth against how tight that little bunny was, had to tuck my docked ears back tight against my skull to dull the sounds he was making. He wasn't begging me for mercy anymore - exactly the opposite, actually. Dandelion was promising me that he'd be a good boy, that he'd be my slave forever, that he'd do anything I wanted, and that he'd never complain. He was calling me master, again and again, and again and again I was thrusting into him, slow and gentle at first, his cock squirting precum on both our bellies, but soon faster, harder, rougher. My rabbit could take it, I knew. I'd sounded him out already, and as close as I was pressed against him, my flesh a part of his flesh, I could feel how far I could push him.

I was going to take him right to the limit.

Rump tense, tail hiked, I opened up, giving it to the little bunny with all I had. His back arched, and he was squealing now, breathlessly wailing out his pleasure as his head fell back, exposing his throat, his mouth wide with his frantic, orgasmic cries. And they were orgasmic, as pleasure hit his brain hard and fast, overwhelming all his senses, all his still-budding pleasure receptors popping at the same time his cock did, spurting his load all over his tummy and chest, and mine as well.

Jaws powerful enough to crack bone closed around Dandelion's neck - my jaws. He gasped, his voice suddenly cut off, while his whole body trembled in fear and waves of pleasure so intense, his eyes went vacant, all sense blasted instantly from his mind. I didn't bite down, though, only suckled, letting my lusty growls shudder through his body, letting him feel my pulse the same way I could feel his.

Then I let his neck free of my muzzle, my hips hammering like a jackhammer, making boyish cock and floppy ears bounce together, making him cry out again, this time more shrill and high-pitched than before, a signal that poor Dandy was right at the edge of total collapse. That's when I let myself cum, flooding his tailhole right to the brim, and flooding out all over the desk as he was stuffed beyond his capacity to endure it. I cut off his voice with my mouth, crushing my lips to his own, kissing him like the brutal, savage predator that I was, ravishing his mind the same way my tongue was ravishing his precious little mouth.

Panting hard, blood ringing in my ears in a red rush, I looked down at my well-used and very exhausted bunnyslave, and grinned. Dandelion smiled up at me in return, then lifted his head just that little bit he needed to kiss me, right on the tip of my black-padded nose.

"I love you, master," he said softly, before he lay back, his eyes fluttering shut.

Huh, guess I'll have to work on the kid's stamina. Not that I could completely blame him, of course.

Another ten minutes later, and I'd managed to work my penis free of the rabbit sleeping on my desk. Another fifteen, and not only did I have the place close to spotless (I left a few spots for Dandelion to clean up himself, since he was the one who made most of the mess), I'd transferred the kid from the desk to my bedroom. While I did remove the cuffs, I made sure to put a collar with a lock around his neck, along with a locking leash, which I fastened to the headboard, a solid piece of work that I was fairly sure little Dandelion wasn't gonna be able to break. That's not to say that I didn't trust the kid, it's just...I didn't trust the kid. Not completely, not yet. He'd get plenty of chances to earn my trust in days to come. Right now, I needed to remove his ability to squeal on what I was up to as one of the random factors in Girl's and my plans.

A little grooming, and I was presentable again. I didn't shower, though, because I didn't want to remove the scent of sex. Just something more for my new pack sons to think about.

Now was time to get to work. There was a lot that needed doing before those girls arrived this afternoon.