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Second Helping

"I said no! Go lay down, boy." Michael waved his fork, trying to sound as menacing as possible. Still, the dog sat there: drool dripping from his maw and eyes locked to the plate on his lap.

Every day Michael put up with this. Today was mince and mashed potatoes with a side of peas. He sat in the middle of _his_living room, ready to eat _his_dinner and watch some of _his_favourite shows on Netflix, while Todd gave him the old droopy-eared whiny-cry combo.

He sighed, shaking his head at the Golden Retriever. As his fork neared a mound of mince, Todd's mouth fell open and his nose propped against the edge of the plate. Michael pulled it away, "Look, that's enough. Now you're just being annoying."

Stupid, dumb, adorable dog. Michael had long since stopped feeding him tidbits of meals, but every couple of days or so he would cave in to those honey-coloured eyes and flick him over a piece of meat. Honestly, sometimes it felt like the dog was training him.

Todd knew he was not allowed to beg: he was told several times per day, several days per week. Despite Michael's frustrations, he was not an unintelligent canine. He would wear him down with squeaks and yelps, tucking his tail between the blonde fur of his backside whenever he was scolded.

Michael scoffed his dinner in three minutes flat, even going so far as to lick his plate to prove a point. "No," he told Todd, sitting the gleaming plate to the arm of the chair, "Behave." Todd hopped up on the opposite cushion, stepping over and in front of him until he blocked the television screen. His paws were heavy and his chest round. He certainly did not need any more food, that was for sure.

With a nudge to the side, Michael ran his fingers through Todd's fur. It was wavy, with a well-maintained golden sheen. He ruffled his sides by way of apology.

"See? Things are better when you're a-" he lost his sentence. As he pulled his hand away from Todd, a layer of white fluff came away with him. This was typical during the Summer months, where he would shed his coat, but this was the middle of Winter, and...

It trailed along the back of his wrist, from fingers to forearm. He looked to the opposite arm, breath catching in his throat as every thick black hair on it had softened into blonde. "Todd... Todd, are you o-okay, buddy?"

Fear struck his chest. His words were heavy, coming out slower than intended. He tried to raise his arms, looking for where he left his cell phone to call himself an ambulance. They extended to half of their usual range of motion, his palms cramping into a fist as the sheet of yellow hair extended under his shirt. Todd knocked into him, the bulk of his form disorienting what was becoming an increasingly grey field of vision.

A stroke. It had to be a stroke. He remembered the safety campaigns he had seen online, about the symptoms: dizziness, inability to raise limbs, loss of speech control. As his collar tightened around his neck, he remembered something about the smell of burning toast. He tried to sniff, falling sidewards onto the cushion beneath Todd, but the only thing he could smell was the mouth-watering fragrance of mince.

His chest pressed against itself, gravity bringing his shoulders closer together. In-between the hammering of the heartbeat in his ears, he heard his shoes bounce off the floor - but they had been tied just moments ago. What... What was happening to him?

He needed to get help. With a glance up at Todd: pleading, begging to please help, to bark, to do anything, he rolled to the floor. The laminate hit his knees harder than expected, pulling down the waistband of his trousers and uplifting his shirt. He could feel the metal of his belt buckle brush against his thighs, but how could that be - just this morning he had to make a brand new hole in it to make sure it fit?

His arms ceased at the elbow. With what little motion he could manage, he patted along his midsection. Fur. It was fur. Oh god, it was fur.

Todd's claws clattered to the floor behind him. His neck felt swollen, constricted by the increasing mass of golden hair accumulating on it. He spluttered, nose banging off the ground, as he shook free the stretched collar of his shirt. As it fell he saw his arms, shuddering at the sight.

He was never a particularly muscular person, but from his shoulder downwards any and all bulk had been reduced to fur. His hands - he tried to see his hands, to bend them up to his line of sight, but they were small and crumpled and jutted outwards in what he imagined could only be claws. He raised his head to try and spot his phone, to see if it was still on the sofa, but he was too low to the ground.

Was he - his heart lurched - was he shrinking? He tried to shift his weight back to his legs, managing only to splay them and kick off his trousers and underwear. He rolled onto his side, knees uncooperative, to try again. A pressure was building on his lower back. It sent a numbness down his arms and legs like a trapped nerve.

His feet, if he even still had any, scraped along the ground. His buttocks were too soft to offer even the slightest grip on the flooring. Between his eyes came a yellow dot that stretched along the inside track of his periphery. When he twitched his nose, it moved.

With mangled arms he tried to reach his nose: to see if it was okay. But his arms were much too short now, not to mention immobile, and it was easier to bring his nose to them than vice versa. Fur: all he could feel was fur, and a coldness on the tip of his nose that froze him to his core.

He had to keep trying. He shifted his weight again, belly sliding across the ground to try and prop himself back on his feet. The pressure on his back grew severe.

During his struggle, it never occurred to Michael that he had become entirely naked. So horrified by the changes overcoming his being, he failed to notice the previously smooth curves of his ass become furred and square. His hole, once kept snug between both cheeks, bared itself to the world, level with the rest of his fur.

Todd launched himself on top of Michael, slamming his chest to the ground as his paws hooked over his shoulders. His teeth nipped at the back of his neck, pulling at loose skin Michael did not even know he had. Michael yelped, powerless to stop the big dog's advance.

A wetness poured over his crotch. For a moment he thought he pissed himself in fright, until he smelled it: the loaded musk of sex. It soaked onto his ass, marking his fur and slicking his asshole. Close behind was the tip of a canine cock, pricking him just hard enough to send a gush of fluid inside his rectum.

At the same time, the pressure piling against his back burst out in the form of a tail, quivering and wrapping to the side. He tried to fight it - he did... But the warmth coiled inside his stomach and the scent made his thoughts uneven. Below him, a reddened version of the cock he once knew squirted a mess of human-dog DNA over the floor he once owned.

"Hel..." he mouthed, tongue lolling between his lips as he panted, "Hellll-p... H-H... Hawrooo!"

Todd growled into his ear, hips bucking the first half of his twelve inch rod inside his rump. Michael had never felt so full, so content. His eyes, blue and alarmed, rolled back into his head before rolling back a mellow brown.

His paw pads lay flat against the floor. His legs parted ways. He wanted this. He needed this. In the back of his mind, he thought he remembered something about a show or a phone, and the smell of food.

A distant look took over Todd's eyes. Once cutesy and affectionate, they had now hardened. He rammed the base of his knot into the Labrador bitch beneath him. Every meal never shared flashed across his mind, each night spent curled up in a basket too small, beside a food bowl too empty, while this pathetic human would stroke themselves for sixty seconds and shoot a spoonful of semen into a tissue.

It was embarrassing. It was pathetic. This was revenge.

Michael howled as his back passage spread to accommodate the girth of Todd's knot, the slurp of a vacuum ensuring there was no possible escape. With each thrust, the puddle beneath his own droopy cock and balls grew. His entire body convulsed and he whined as he climaxed without so much as a single touch.

His belly swelled with the hot seed of his Alpha. It splash inside him: probing every crevice, claiming every gap. In the haze of pleasure, Michael wished that he was female, so that he may bear his superior's pups. Still, Todd ejaculated: ever deeper, ever harder - with an energy that never ceased.

In the middle of a living room that felt oddly familiar, Michael whimpered, grateful to be flooded by such pedigree. Gathering what control remained in his body, he turned to look up at his breeder. With honey-coloured eyes, he begged and pleaded, desperate for a second helping.