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A Hair of the Dog

By Xerox2

. 1 .

He could go out.

Aiden shook his head. No, no, that was crazy. It was three in the morning. Nothing would be open. He paced another lap around his hotel room. He turned on the TV, flicked through the channels-- all commercials-- and killed it. There was nothing to do.

But he could go out.

The same jet that had lagged him had delivered him to a new city. Even at night there were sights to see. It wasn't like he would get mugged; this part of town was on the up and up. Nobody would know he'd done it. His friends were all back in the States. They wouldn't ask any questions, and even if they did, which they wouldn't, he wouldn't have anything to lie about, right?

He could control himself.

So he would do it, but he had to take a leak first. He unzipped his pants and swallowed at the sight of the unnatural thing between his legs. It was his cock, or it had been. Now it was something else. Instead of a mushroom-shaped glans, his penis ended in a smooth point. The air was cold against his exposed shaft, which looked as sensitive as it was, all red and raw, traced with delicate purple veins. It peered out from the swollen lips of what he still called his foreskin, though it might have been more accurate to call it his sheathe. Below, his balls hung in a line instead of side by side. The cold didn't touch them; they had their own coat of soft, white fur.

Aiden closed his eyes, cleared his mind, and slowed his heart enough to start the stream of piss. He aimed by angling his hips down at the perfect angle. It had become second nature in the year since the incident, since his fateful over-indulgence. Or had it been two years? He wasn't counting the days. That was something addicts did, and he wasn't an addict. Addicts had tails, muzzles, fur, paws. All he had was a weird dick, not even fully canine. So he had gotten a little carried away once. So he 'd had a little too much. 'Overdose' was such a harsh word, it hardly seemed fitting.

He gripped the flesh of his 'foreskin' and shook the last few drops away. The red tip of his cock retreated back into its home as he zipped his pants. He took one last lap around the room: wallet, keys, phone, passport, room key, coat. He paused at the door to do a mental double check. See? That was careful. He was being responsible.

Besides, he thought as he stood in the elevator, what are the odds I'll find someone tonight? And even if he did, they might not offer him anything, and maybe he didn't have enough cash in his wallet, and even if the stars aligned and all lights turned green, perhaps he would decide he didn't feel like it after all.

A tingle of anticipation tickled the oversized balls hanging between his thighs.

Out into the empty streets he walked. A recent rain had put a sheen over the black asphalt, and only the reflection of the city's glittering lights betrayed the fact that it was a solid street and not an empty black abyss that would swallow anyone foolish enough to venture a step. Ancient and modern buildings rose around him like the walls of a great canyon. The rumble of one of the city's tube cars echoed up through a metal grate as he stepped over it. He made his way down the twisting, chaotic streets, planned in a time before planning, past the age-old sex shops and theaters, past the brand-new designer boutiques and freshly remodeled apartments.

Just as he suspected, there was hardly anyone out. A few drunk party-goers waited woozily for their cabs, and several homeless people wandered the streets to keep their blood warm. Some of the homeless showed signs of the drug: a blackened nose, the start of a muzzle, stunted fingers. He passed a junkie who was sleeping curled in a circle, laying on a bulky overcoat that no longer fit his mostly canine body. He was naked, save a few patches of fur. The cops would have arrested him for public indecency, but they probably figured the pound would pick him up before too long. Aiden glanced between the creature's legs and caught a glimpse of genitals that looked a lot like his own. He shuddered and continued down the abandoned streets. It was pleasantly chill outside, good weather for a walk.

"Looking for girls?"

The voice came from a tall man in a long coat. He stood in the center of the empty intersection like a ghost town traffic cop.

Aiden continued past the man without turning his head. "No thank you."

"Bitches, then?"

Aiden stopped. "Closer."

He turned, and the face of his new acquaintance split into a wide, white-toothed smile. The man didn't look like a lowlife. He was clean-shaven, wearing pressed slacks and polished boots. There was no sign of the drug on him, though that overcoat could conceal a tail, and the leather gloves might have covered rough pads on his palms. "I think I can help you. Just tell me what you need."

Aiden swallowed. "Got any K9?"

The smile widened. "Let's take a walk." His voice was deep and slow, cool, almost cold.

He led Aiden away from the glow of the streetlight. A police siren wailed far away and then was gone. "The going rate is forty a gram."

"That sounds good."

They ducked into a small enclave between storefronts. Here it was very dark, and Aiden suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. What weapon did the man have concealed under that coat? Would he draw it the moment Aiden pulled out his wallet? He reached into his pocket, produced his money clip, and freed a pair of twenties with shaking fingers. The dealer glanced into the street and reached into his coat. In one clean motion, he took Aiden's money and pressed a small packet into the palm of his hand.

"Put that in your pocket now. There you go."

Aiden did as he was told, too anxious to check if the object he'd been handed was anything other than a sugar packet from a cafe. "Thanks."

"The name's Tyrone. Come see me when you run out."

"Sure," Aiden said, intending never to see Tyrone again. "Have a good evening." He felt stupid for saying it, but it was a reflex to mutter the words after a transaction.

"Cheers."

Aiden resisted the urge to sprint back to the hotel. Instead, he strolled around the block, fingering the packet in his pocket. It was a demonstration of self-control, he told himself. He wasn't in a rush. Even so, it wasn't long before he found himself swiping his key at the door to his room.

The packet was a tiny plastic baggie filled with a salt and pepper speckled powder. He lifted it and took a sniff. Scents of gasoline, toothpaste, charcoal, and wet dog filled his nose. It was legit. His body reacted viscerally to the familiar smell. His hair stood on end, and his heartbeat quickened. He tossed it onto the desk and started his preparations.

First, he locked the deadbolt and the stop-bar on the door. Then he got completely naked and tossed his clothes in a pile in the corner. He opened the packet, poured a pile onto the desk, and used his key card to form it into a thin line. It was a generous portion, but tonight was an indulgence, and it would be his last trip for who knew how long. The rest of the packet he secured in the safe, locked behind a code too long for a dog's mind to remember. That was the most important step. He didn't want another incident.

Everything was ready. His heart was beating like he had just sprinted up a flight of stairs, and he took some deep breaths to calm himself. This wasn't a big deal. He'd just have the one line, enjoy himself, and, when he was back to normal, he'd flush the rest down the toilet. The silence of the room relaxed him, but at the same time it added a strange weight to the moment.

He started by licking the residue from the room key. That was it. He'd done it. No more second thoughts about breaking a "clean streak." Now he could enjoy himself. He rolled some cardstock into a small tube, placed one end into his nostril, lowered his head to the table, and snorted the line.

Aiden plopped onto the bed, a nervous smile on his face. It would not be long now. He turned on the TV. The news was playing a story about Chinese boats fishing illegally in the Indonesian sea. A tickle was building in his nose. He licked the itch with his tongue, probing deep into the nostril he'd used to snort the drug. He realized the impossibility of the reach and froze with his tongue buried in his nose.

The K9 dripped from his sinuses into the back of his throat, filling his mouth its chemical warmth. The heat made a bee-line down his throat, through his stomach, into his crotch. His taint muscles clenched, and the red tip of his cock slid a few inches free of his foreskin. He watched with detached fascination as the loose skin pulled itself down the length of his penis and attached itself to his stomach. His urethra pursed into a circle and a bead of clear precum spurted onto his stomach. He flinched in surprise.

The color of his penis changed next, fading from a purple-red into a deep blue. It had frightened him the first time he'd seen it, but now he knew that it wasn't his cock changing. It was his eyes. The TV displayed a mountainous landscape with yellow grass and blue mud. They were talking about something else now. Politics? They were saying lots of names, and it all seemed like a lot of work to figure out. In any case, the heat had made its way into his heart and was now spreading through his body. It wormed through his muscles like electro-stim, making him tense in little shudders.

Aiden turned to the mirror beside his bed and jumped. There was a mutant in his room! No, he realized, it's me; it's just a picture of me, and I look different. He chuckled. His head was much farther along than he expected. His nose was black and shiny with his saliva. His tongue lolled down past his dwindling chin. His ears pointed past his hair, twitching as their muscles came online, throwing the sound of the TV this way and that.

He looked ridiculous. Embracing the absurdity, he leaned forward and licked his reflection. It seemed like the right thing to do. He giggled again, and his voice cracked into a whiny yip.

He was having a good time. Why had he been so worried? He was safe, and the newswoman was here to keep him company.

He collapsed back onto the bed, laying on his back spread-eagle. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sensation of change flooding through him. The heat was most intense at the base of his spine, where his vertebrae were multiplying with a delicate pop pop pop. His skin stretched as his tail came in. The limb wormed between his butt cheeks and brought a feeling of completeness. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed having a tail.

Even though he wasn't moving a muscle, his body moved on the sheets. He was changing shape, leaving his humanity behind for a little while. Thank goodness. Humanity was nothing but stress and thinking and work and worrying. His legs were getting the most of it, knees bending, feet lengthening, calves shortening.

He opened his eyes and looked down. His cock looked more at home between those semi-canine legs. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around his sheathe, stroking his slickened length free an inch at a time. The euphoria of the drug multiplied the familiar pleasure of the touch, transforming the sensation into something altogether new. The bulge of his knot stretched the skin above his balls. He massaged the bump with his fingertips and groaned in bliss. It was so big! His cock had gained a little bump from the overdose, but now it was nearly the size of his fist. Each time he flexed his pelvic muscles, it swelled a little larger. Would it even be able to fit out of his sheathe? Not if it kept growing.

With a newfound urgency, he pushed the knot upward under his skin. It stretched the lips of his sheathe, and for a moment it seemed as though it would be stuck, but then it popped free.

His cock was massive. Far larger than it had been as a human. Did the drug always do this? Everyone's dog-form was different. Maybe it was the case that he was just an average human, but an exceptionally well-hung dog. The tip of his penis laid well past his rapidly shrinking bellybutton. He stroked the raw flesh but recoiled at the intensity of the touch. He turned his hand over to see his palms swelling into roughened pads. His fingers pulled back into themselves. His thumbs, humanity's most prized digits, traveled up his forearms and shrank into dew claws, a useless, evolutionary memory.

A series of spasms in the muscles of his groin caused his alien cock to slap against his belly, leaving little beads of fluid in its wake. Hairs pushed through his skin and tickled his length wonderfully. He started bucking his hips, jabbing his dick back and forth across his narrowing stomach.

His logical mind drowned in the potent cocktail of the drug, the sensations, and his lust. All that was left was an impulse, a base need, a thirst, to maximize the pleasure flooding from his knotted cock. With some difficulty, he flipped over onto his stomach and continued thrusting against the sheets. Then he caught sight of the pillows, and something in his mind clicked. He stood on four wobbly, shifting legs, and crawled over to the pillows. He pawed clumsily to gather them under his body and started humping with abandon.

That was the ticket. He had an overwhelming need to penetrate, to sink his cock into something, and while this wasn't perfect, it was good enough. His mouth hung slack with ecstacy, jaws cracking and pushing out into a true muzzle. The compression of his head seemed to match the growing tidal wave of pleasure, and his skull gave a mighty "Crick, crick, CRACK!" as he came.

The release was impossibly long, endless it seemed. Spurt after spurt of thin canine cum pattered onto the sheets and carpet below. His knot throbbed and burned, and every touch was unimaginable bliss. Finally, the climax faded and he climbed off the pillow and collapsed onto the bed, gazing into the mirror.

He was as much a dog as that homeless man he'd seen. Fur covered much of his body, thicker in some patches than others. His head was that of a German Shepard, though his human hair sat atop like an out of place wig.

At length, he tried to stand again. He was more comfortable on all fours now, but even so, his rear legs were too long for anyone to mistake him as a true dog. His penis hung heavily between his legs, knot swollen impressively, cum still dripping as it swung. He was, perhaps, eighty percent of the way there, and the changes had stopped. That was fine. He wanted to go all the way, but the remaining shred of his analytical mind told him it was a bad idea.

His lust sated, Aiden proceeded to have a small adventure around the hotel room. He tested out his new nose on every single surface. The room was quite clean, but he found all sorts of interesting smells lurking in the corners. He even caught the scent of urine on the dresser, and before he could stop himself he'd lifted his leg and let a small trickle of his own spatter onto the hardwood. Another police siren sounded off outside his window. He lifted his head to howl but managed to stop himself. No dogs allowed in this hotel.

So he passed the next few hours, until the warmth of the drug transitioned into a dull ache, and his body began to revert into his human form. It was a most unpleasant sensation. The meaningless word-sounds of the TV morphed into a vitriolic debate between a politician he didn't trust and a pundit he despised. He pawed the TV remote over to himself and pressed the power button with his lengthening fingers. His friend, the tail, slid back into his body, and lurid reds and greens flushed the world.

A sense of regret and shame arrived with his humanity. He ran a hot shower and waited out the come-down laying under the stream. Almost every part of his body returned to the way it had been. His face reverted to match the picture on his passport, and his penis regained its few hints of humanity. The row of nipples down his stomach lingered. He stared at them intently and waited. And waited. His fingertips grew wrinkly from the water.

Shit.

He got out of the tub and towelled off, noting with distaste the increased sensitivity of the fluffy cloth against his new nipples. This was a disaster. Sure he could hide the nipples with a shirt, but not if it was cold out and they were hard like they were now. His reflection's ears were larger and pointed. The tips even poked out past his hair.

Double shit.

He wanted to panic, but the trips (both drug and travel) had exhausted him. He collapsed on the bed and drifted into a deep sleep.

?? 2??

Aiden's phone rang. He cracked his eyes. The cacophony of the day hit him, bright light, honking traffic, someone screaming on the street below. His hand shot out to answer the phone.

"Hello?"

"Aiden, where the fuck are you?"

It was Megan, his supervisor. He looked at the clock, it read 13:03. That was. . . one PM? He leapt out of bed.

"Holy shit! Sorry! On my way! Sorry!"

Aiden dug through his luggage and frantically assembled an outfit while he brushed his teeth. He tossed all the components onto the bed next to the bunched up pillow covered in dried dog cum. Much to his disappointment, his new rows of nipples hadn't disappeared overnight, nor his pointed ears. He grabbed his suitcase, pulled a beanie over his head, and dashed out the door.

He made it to the office in record time, but he'd missed the meeting to prepare for the dinner with the Anderson Collection tomorrow night. This was the client that was so important, his company had flown him across the ocean. He rescheduled for the afternoon, but he'd already lost face. Nobody even asked about the beanie, though he wore it inside all day. A lax dress code was a perk of working with numbers instead of people.

Aiden was an insurance actuary, an occupation that was perhaps the polar opposite of being a dog. It was all mental, all sitting still and staring into a screen, mind tied up in thinking about risks and probabilities. It was sensory deprivation sitting in that office, but the distractions weren't much better than the work.

One of the locals had brought their dalmation, Mischa, into the office that day, and once she caught a whiff of Aiden, she stuck to him as surely as her own spots were stuck to her fur.

"She really likes you," said the owner. Aiden nodded politely and put his headphones on. He could smell her. More than that, he could smell the tantalizing scent of her femininity. His cock shifted an inch out of his sheathe. He moved to a different room.

He worked until he was too exhausted to continue. The hotel was a good half hour walk from his office, and the local sights and sounds eased his busy mind. He was so absorbed in the atmosphere of it all, he hardly noticed that his feet had led him back to the same corner where he'd met Tyrone the pimp in the wee hours of that morning.

It was a very different place during the day. Tyrone, of course, was nowhere to be seen. Workers were enjoying beers in the pubs, tourists snapped selfies, and kids played under the watchful eyes of their parents. Did they know how the neighborhood transformed after everyone retired to their beds? Street corners had their own secret second lives, just like the people walking on them.

The walk was calming, but by the time he reached the hotel, the waistband of his pants had nearly rubbed his lowest set of nipples raw. Inside his room, he stripped naked, freeing his sore eartips and nipples from their prisons. Perhaps hiding them wouldn't be as easy as he thought. What was he supposed to do for the big dinner tomorrow night? He couldn't wear a beanie in a nice restaurant. They'd have to sit outside. He rubbed his temples. All this worrying would give him ulcers.

He wished he had more K9. What better way to unwind from a hard day crunching numbers than to take a break from one's humanity? He wanted to forget about the big dinner, the approaching deadlines, the social awkwardness. Still, he was glad he had been smart about limiting himself. He was wise to flush it.

He hadn't flushed it.

His eyes shot down to the safe, still shut and secure. It felt like he'd discovered another person hiding in his room. The air gained weight. His skin crawled.

This was absurd. There was no reason to get anxious over a safe full of drugs. It wasn't like they were going to jump out and attack him. He chuckled to himself, trying to deflate the situation. All he had to do was open it up and toss the packet into the toilet. Piece of cake.

His human fingers remembered the code without difficulty. The door opened, and the scent hit him like a truck: gasoline, toothpaste, charcoal, wet dog. Blood rushed to his penis. Sweat gathered on his hairline.

He snatched the packet and carried it to the bathroom. He paused over the toilet, and placed the baggie on the counter next to the sink. He'd throw it away, he just had to take a shit first. Sitting down, he acknowledged how absurd that reasoning was. He clearly wanted to do it again.

So what were the pros and cons? He'd already broken his clean streak. A little relaxation would serve him well, and now he knew how much he could do before he ended up with more marks. He'd just have a little less than last time.

He measured another line's worth of powder in the pen cap. Accounting for an increased tolerance, that should be the perfect amount. Then, before he could get cold feet, he went into the bathroom and emptied the baggie into the toilet. Flush. There. Victory. Nothing to worry about. He tossed the baggie into the trash.

For dinner, he ordered room service. The 20 oz rib eye with an extra side of bacon would be up in an hour. He filled much of the time with channel surfing. The nature channel was showing a documentary on dogs.

"Dogs do not recognize themselves in mirrors."

Aiden scoffed. "Neither does anyone over the age of thirty."

He wiped his palms dry on his pants again. Twenty minutes. It was an eternity. Finally the server came, dropped off his food, and left. The door hadn't closed before Aiden was on the K9.

He licked his fingertip and dragged it through the line. Curling his lips, he brought his fingertip to his gums, but paused as an idea struck him. Any mucus membrane worked for dosing K9, not just the nose. Closing his mouth, he unbuttoned his pants so the opening of his foreskin-sheathe stared him in the face. He lowered his fingertip and carefully pressed it inside. He'd explored his body like this before, and he knew how to do it so it wouldn't hurt, but it did always feel odd. He circled his finger around his vein-traced shaft, then pulled it free and popped it into his mouth. The taste was mostly the musky smell of dog cock, but the twinge of the chemical drug flavor got his heart beating.

A tingling warmth traveled down his penis and pooled in his balls. The scent of the drug was odd to the human nose, but only people who had used it could truly appreciate its brilliance. His nose began to twitch, and the whiffs of K9 began to take on a new dimension. It was like a fractal coming into focus, revealing intricate complexities in the interactions between scents that had previously been a blurry blob.

With a bone-snapping crack, Aiden's nose turned upwards. Air flowed into his lungs like his sinuses had suddenly cleared. He turned to the mirror and watched his nostrils expand and change shape, twitching and flaring with each breath.

His cock throbbed as it swelled to its full size, the bulk of it resting heavily inside him. The knot growing deep inside him pushed against his taint and prostate, eliciting a dribble of pre from the tip of his sheathe. He stroked his cock through his skin and turned his face back to the mirror. His nose was now pointed fully forward, almost like a pig's snout, and he chuckled at how silly he looked. The smile on his face widened unnaturally as his lips thinned and lengthened. The muscles of his lips dwindled until they were reduced to simple fleshy flaps, robbing him of subtle human facial expressions and sounds.

"I rollaly sound suh strunge. . ." he said before losing himself to another giggle fit.

Looking down at himself, he found a dark spot forming in the front of his pants. He pulled them down to find a trickle of precum and sheathe lube dribbling from his opening. That was unusual, but not unwelcome. He stroked himself, coaxing a surprising volume of fluid from his sheathe. The libido-enhancing aspects of the drug were in full effect, and he gripped his sensitive shaft with both hands. The abundance of sheathe-lube and the fact that his paw pads hadn't come in yet, made for easy, pleasurable stroking.

He brought one hand to his mouth to sniff and taste the musky fluids, imagining that they had come from a female. In his mind, a blonde playboy bunny was bent over, ass raised in the air, eagerly presenting herself to him. He'd shove his snout between her legs, snuffing and licking. . . He'd never fucked someone on the drug before. Maybe his next girlfriend would be into the idea.

His knot stretched the skin of his sheathe intensely. She'd have to have some of the drug too to take that monster. Perhaps he'd rub some K9 on her human pussy and watch as it throbbed and swelled with each heartbeat, until each pulse made the puffy, spade-shaped lips jiggle. Her scent would change too. The familiar fishy scent of humanity would make way for the spicy and taboo scent of a beast. Like Mischa at the office. That was what he'd been smelling on her earlier today. God, he wished he had someone to fuck, but right now he was so horny even Mischa would do.

His hands cramped as they began to shift. He groaned. He'd been so close to cumming! His nails pinched into blunt claws that nipped his sensitive flesh, and he moved his hands down to the tougher sheathe-skin to massage his knot. It popped free almost immediately, spurting a line of precum onto his face. He dragged his flattening tongue around his mouth to lick it up, and then leaned forward to get the droplets that had landed on his chest. The fluid had the smell of the drug on it, and he couldn't get enough. One particularly desperate lick ended with his tongue slapping against his cock. He paused in surprise, then strained his back for more licks. It was no use. Even with his muzzle and tongue mostly formed, he couldn't reach more than the tip, and his changes had gone as far as the dose would take them. It was hopeless.

His nose caught a new whiff of K9 and he stopped. This was fresh. Was his mind playing tricks on him? He stood, lifted his nose in the air, and followed the scent to the bathroom. There he found a creature in the mirror. It stared back, cautious but non-threateningly. It looked like a horny, under-muscled werewolf with useless paws instead of claws. He leaned in for a closer look, and the creature moved too. He growled, the beast curled its lip. The human part of the creature put two and two together and realized it was looking at its own reflection.

He was disappointed by this realization, and the haze of the drug seemed to lift momentarily. He was Aiden, a human on a business trip, using a drug that turned him partially into a dog. He huffed, disappointed at the banality of the thought. Then he caught the scent again. He sniffed his way to the bathroom, and his nose led him to the trash can under the sink.

It was the baggie the K9 had been in, and there was still a film of the drug powdering the inside.

He paused. This was a bad idea. But this would be his last trip for who knew how long, and he was so damn horny. Aiden thrust his nose into the bottom of the can and attacked the plastic with his tongue. The taste was strong, and he kept at it until he was certain every grain of K9 was gone.

A pleasant warmth flowed down his tongue into his groin. Another surge of precum dribbled down his sheathe. Aiden dashed to the bed, curled his back as far as he could, and eagerly started giving his cock a tongue-bath.

At first he could barely lick the tip, but as his tongue and muzzle grew, as his neck stretched and his spine remoulded itself, it became easy to reach. He snorted and sniffed in beastial bliss. He tried taking the length into his muzzle, but his lips were too thin and weak to protect his shaft from his sharpening teeth. Instead, he opted for long, slow licks across the entire length. His ribcage and skull creaked audibly as they shifted, and suddenly he could reach his tongue to the opening of his sheathe. All the sensitivity that had been in the head of his human penis had been transferred to his knot, and each time he dragged his meaty tongue along the shiny bulb, his muscles quivered with pleasure.

Soon his knot swelled, his pleasure peaked, and he came. He'd never seen the inflation of his knot so close-up before, and it startled him to see the modest bulge swell to softball prominence in a matter of seconds. He placed the tip of his cock into his muzzle as a means of controlling the mess, but dog orgasms last minutes, and there was far too much cum to swallow. Quite a bit spilled onto the sheets.

The scent of meat woke him from his post-climax afterglow. He wobbled to all fours, knotted cock bobbing heavily in front of him as his tail flailed wildly for balance behind. A haze of steam rose carried a trillion microscopic droplets of the steak's juices into Aiden's nose, and his mouth filled with drool.

It would have been smart to have cut the steak before getting high. He took the edge between his teeth and shook the slab of meat wildly, knocking over his glass of water. A morsel tore free in his mouth, and the bulk of the steak flew and slapped against the far wall. Now a hunger that was just as intense as his horniness took him, and he dove mouthfirst onto the steak, using his powerful neck and jaw muscles to twist and rip the meat to pieces. A growl rumbled from the back of his throat each time things got difficult. Moving on all fours was getting more and more comfortable, but he didn't realize why, nor consider the risk he'd taken by re-dosing.

The thought to attempt to minimize the mess didn't enter into his mind, and once he'd swallowed the last hunk of meat, he used his nose to go on the hunt for droplets of oil, licking them up as he found them. He happened upon the spot where he'd pissed yesterday, and it still smelled fresh. He lifted his leg to refresh the smell, then made a trip around the room to empty his bladder, marking the bed frame, the wall by the desk, and the toilet in the bathroom.

Re-entering the main room, he saw something that made him freeze. There was a giant squirrel sitting in the window! He barked ferociously, and the view changed to a picture of a tree, then a human. A tinny voice droned calmly and meaninglessly. Aiden was proud he'd successfully defended his space.

There was another window, and this one was open. Aiden investigated. Cold air filled with a thousand scents assaulted his nose. Some were very familiar: beer, exhaust, sweat. Other ones he had no idea how to identify. A pack of humans jabbered loudly on the street below, drinking and jeering to each other. They were having fun! Aiden wanted to have fun, but it was too far to jump. He padded over to the door, but he couldn't figure out how to open it. He scratched at the wood with his blunt nails, but it was no use. The disappointment didn't last long. He didn't know why, but he was just so. . . happy!

There was a buzzing in the pants by the door. He paid it no mind. Tomorrow he would listen to a voicemail from Megan about how someone even higher up at the client would be attending dinner tomorrow, and how he had better be prepared, and blah, blah blah.

He spent the rest of the evening milling about the room, barking at animals on the TV, sniffing scents from outside, and making a mess. Much of his time was spent with the pillows, humping them, chewing them, and, later, curling up to sleep with them.

??? 3 ???

"Stupid!" Aiden muttered to himself as he pushed through a crowd of tourists that were blocking the sidewalk. "Stupid stupid!"

The crowds were annoying, but he was really angry at himself. How could he have been so careless last night? He massaged his neck and cursed. That morning he'd awoken curled in a circle, a sleeping position that was not kind to his human body. But a few sore muscles were the the least of his worries. He didn't remember many of the details, but the room was a disaster zone, and his body told rest of the story: Last night he'd overdosed on K9.

The fact that he was walking upright and heading to work was testament to the fact that it hadn't been a FULL overdose, but it left its mark all the same. The tongue was the first thing he noticed. He awoke with it hanging out of his mouth, dry as paper. A dry tongue always feels weird, but to his dismay, rehydrating it with his saliva didn't make it feel normal. A quick check confirmed that it was flat, wide, and long enough to lick the sleep from his eyes.

He ran the enlarged length over his teeth nervously as he walked. At least the tongue would be easy enough to hide. That wasn't true of the tail that curled between his legs. It was almost a foot long, and even nestled between his butt cheeks, it made a very visible bulge in the rear of his slacks. The overcoat would have to stay on all day. He liked having a tail as a dog, but he didn't want one as a human! It was all cramped and painful stuffed into his pants, and he hadn't even tried sitting in an office chair yet, or on a toilet. He groaned at the thought.

He was glad he'd flushed the rest of the drug. Clearly, he couldn't be trusted around it.

Arriving to work as a defeated husk of self-pity was not a recipe for success. Simple equations took longer than usual, and any problems that demanded a truly thoughtful solution were completely beyond him. Aiden stared longingly at the birds and squirrels dashing about the park below his window. He swallowed a low growl and got back to work.

His whole day was stress. He pushed his timeline estimates back another day. The thought of how his latest overdose would affect his life, who he'd have to tell, and what he'd have to do to hide it weighed heavily on his mind. To make matters worse, Mischa wouldn't leave him alone, and her scent was even stronger than it was yesterday. His eyes were glued to the clock until five thirty rolled around.

"Should we head out to dinner?" Megan half-asked, half announced.

Dinner with important clients was always intimidating, but perhaps a meal with other people was exactly what Aiden needed. He knew from experience that there'd be more talk of food than math, and at the end he'd have a resolution to half of the ephemeral stresses that were choking him.

They met the clients from the Anderson Collection in front of the restaurant, made formal introductions, and headed inside. The place was an upscale hipster affair, the sort of establishment where the staff was endlessly dedicated to their craft, but the servers still had tattoos and nose piercings. Their waitress fit the bill perfectly. She wore her blonde hair in a ponytail, showing off the silver bar in her left ear and the three hoops in her right. She seated them outside and bustled around handing out menus. As she leaned over the table near Aiden, he caught a familiar musky, spicy scent. Had they brought Mischa? No, it was the waitress.

Her eyes lingered on him as she worked. Could she smell his secret as easily as he could hers? The tip of his penis poked out of his sheathe (for that is all it could be called after last night's changes) and rubbed against his cotton underwear.

"Would you like sparkling water or still?" she asked the table.

"Still," said everyone.

"Uh, could I get your moscow mule?" Aiden asked.

Everyone chuckled at his eagerness to get drinking, but no one knew the void he was trying to fill. His recent overdose made the thought of doing more K9 unthinkable, but he still craved something to free him from his stress. The drink worked well, and as the confidence of the alcohol seeped into him, he started to relax and enjoy himself.

The moscow mule was good, but their manhattan was even better. By the time their food arrived, he was halfway through a bloody mary that was shaping up to be his favorite drink yet. He smiled and laughed loudly at everyone's jokes. The only bummer was how hot he was under his overcoat and beanie. Sweat dripped down his back, and he breathed heavily with his mouth open. His tongue lolled out, but he caught himself. Thankfully, nobody noticed. He shed his jacket and placed it on the chair behind him. That was better, and nobody would see the bulge of his tail if he didn't stand up.

The waitress stood next to Aiden as she placed their entrees on the table. The alluring scent returned full force, and Aiden had gained enough confidence from the booze to try something stupid. He waited for her to reach across the table then leaned back, hovered his face near her rear end, and gave it a deep sniff. Enough blood rushed to his dick that he almost lost his balance. Damn drinks were stronger than he thought.

"Are you all finished with that bloody mary, sir?" she asked.

"Almost." He lifted the tall highball glass in the air to drain the last few drops, then ran his tongue along the inside rim to collect more of the boozy red residue. Which drink should I get next, he wondered as his tongue shot deeper into the glass. It collected swathes of delicious leftovers from the sides, then polished the bottom. Once he'd gotten every last drop, he handed the glass to the waitress.

"I think I'll try the greyhou--" he stopped. Everyone was staring at him, shock plastered on their faces. The glass was far too tall for a human tongue to clean. "Oh. I uh. . . " He glanced up at the waitress for help, but she only looked embarrassed for him.

"Excuse me." He stood to head to the restroom but tripped over the sleeve of his jacket. After a drawn-out battle against gravity, he landed on his stomach. His tail came free of his pants as he hit the ground. More gasps. Now other tables were watching, and even the restaurant's music seemed to go silent.

He tried to put his errant tail away, but it curled sheepishly between his legs on the outside of his pants, pinning them in place. He scrambled out of the restaurant through the front door and kept going. People dodged him on the sidewalk; mothers guided their children away; people drinking outside the pubs pointed and jeered. He was halfway to the hotel before he got his tail back into his pants, and even with it hidden away, he felt like everyone could see it reflected in the shame burning on his face.

He slammed the door to his room behind him. There was a note on the pillow.

Dear Mr, Ankman

As you are aware, we have a strict no-pets policy at The Grosvenor Hotel.

We will be charging the credit card on file for the damages to your room.

The best,

-Hotel Management

Aiden crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash. No way was he going to be able to expense that. He paced, turning the night over in his head again and again, but there was no perspective that could alleviate his embarrassment or provide a plan of action.

Perhaps there was still some residue of K9 in the safe, something to ease his mind for a little while. He tried to open it, but his trembling fingers couldn't remember the code. He fell onto his bed, the room spinning around him. He wished he was high. Or sober. Anything but this.

He paced around his room some more, sobering up. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, wake up the next day, and start putting his life back together. What he wouldn't give for a hit of cat-grass, or something else that would help him sleep.

???? 4 ????

At midnight he gave up on natural sleep and left his room. He'd drank too recently for sleeping pills, so it would have to be a nightcap. He found a cheap, quiet bar down the street and ordered a wheat beer. No sooner had he taken his first sip when he heard a feminine voice behind him.

"Tough night, huh?"

Aiden turned to see the same waitress that had served them at the restaurant. She was still dressed in her white button-down and black slacks, but the forced, professional courtesy was gone from her voice. A ball of embarrassment formed in Aiden's throat.

"Oh, God. I was trying to forget."

"Yeah, I get it. Something similar happened to me in the showers at my University."

"No kidding. How'd that turn out?"

"Well, I'm not on the swim team anymore." she said with a bitter smile.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Aiden said. "Are you here with friends?"

She shook her head. "I come here to grab a drink after particularly stressful workdays. Mind if I join you? Drinking together is better than drinking alone."

"Sure, here, pull up a seat." He caught himself grinning like an idiot and toned it down. A little company was just what the doctor ordered.

"My name's Claire, by the way" She held out her hand, and he shook it.

"Aiden."

Claire was one of those people who had a talent for making any social situation relaxed and enjoyable. It seemed effortless, but Aiden knew it was a carefully honed skill, what to talk about, when to laugh, where to look. She kept things light with conversation about cities and movies, and soon Aiden's nerves started to dissipate.

Throughout the conversation he would occasionally catch a whiff of that familiar musky smell. Claire's jeans hid her K9 mark from most people, but Aiden's nose told him that the organ under her panties was anything but human. His penis throbbed inside his sheathe.

Claire's phone buzzed with a text. She read it and looked up at him like she was trying to read some small message on his face.

"A couple friends of mine just invited me over to their flat. It's nearby, but I hate going up there alone. I feel like a total third wheel."

"You don't have a boyfriend or husband to bring along?"

"Hah!" She laughed, probably more at his awkward probing than the thought of having a significant other. "No, I'm flying solo these days. Do you want to tag along?"

"Are you asking me on a double date?"

She blushed. "Something like that."

"Alright then," Aiden said, lifting his glass. "Cheers to our first date. Let's hope it's a good one."

They clinked glasses and headed out onto the street. Aiden couldn't believe his luck. Not only had he scored a date, all that nastiness about his changes and drug use were right out in the open from the get-go. However, in the back of his mind, alarm bells were ringing. Until he could get plastic surgery, the fact that he was a user would be difficult to hide, and she was bringing him to meet her friends right away. That meant she didn't care if they knew he was a user, and where there are four users in a private place. . .

If they bring out any K9, just politely decline, he told himself.

Claire led him a couple blocks down the street and up the stairs of a grey brickwork building. It was hundreds of years old, but, like all buildings in this ancient city, the interior was excessively modern to compensate.

A rather chubby fellow answered the door and greeted Claire with a hug, beaming and smiling. The man, who introduced himself as Bruce, was a jovial man with a disarming demeanor. When they shook hands, Aiden felt the rough texture of canine pads pressing from his stubby fingers.

Bruce grabbed Aiden a beer, and they all sat down at a small table near a window that had a wonderful view of the skyline. His girlfriend, Alexandra, was already seated with a drink. She was tall, thin, pale, and content to let Bruce do most of the talking. Her sign was more obvious: eyes that were mismatched colors, one icy blue, the other hazel brown.

The conversation inevitably started on the topic of Aiden, and where Claire had picked him up. He tentatively recounted the night's events for the group.

"And you're saying this was earlier tonight?" Bruce asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah. A few hours ago. My life insurance rates are going to go through the roof."

The group chuckled at his bitter humor. Claire shook her head. "Well, what's done is done, eh? I know we each have a similar story."

The group nodded collectively.

Claire raised her glass. "This deserves a toast. But first," she said with a coy smile, "I wanna see that tongue again."

Aiden rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her in a mocking manner. It almost touched her face. She flinched backwards and laughed. Bruce gasped.

"That's awesome! I wish I had a mark like that. All I've got are these damn paw-hands." He laid his hands on the table. The pads on his palms and stubby fingers matched the color of his skin, but their shape and texture was fully canine. "Makes having a wank harder. I think I got a dog's arse-hole too because sometimes--"

"That's enough, babe," Alexandra interrupted. "I got stuck with the eyes, obviously. Guess what breed I am."

"Uh, husky?"

She beamed. "Nope. Austrialian Shepard. Everyone gets it wrong. Pay up, babe."

Bruce sighed and handed her a bill. "I'm a collie, myself. Claire's a poodle."

Claire gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Bruce! I was going to make him guess."

"How would he guess? You don't even have a mark yet."

"It's true, I've been lucky so far."

Claire briefly made eye contact with Aiden, then shrugged and took a drink. She was lying. Couldn't they smell her musk? Either way, this was going well. Now all he had to do was switch the subject, maybe suggest an activity like a board game, and ride the rest of the night one in a wholesome drunken haze.

"You know," Bruce said with a sly smile, "I just so happen to have picked up some K9 earlier today."

Aiden tensed, but Claire and Katherine looked as if they'd be waiting years to hear those words. They chatted excitedly to each other as Bruce made for the bedroom.

"I bought a bunch of new toys today," Alexandra gushed, grabbing an extra large PetSmart bag that was bulging with squeaky toys. "They're so cheap!"

"Oh my God, that is going to be amazing!" squealed Claire. "Are you ready for this, Aiden?"

It was the moment of truth. Aiden raised his hands in a way that he hoped made him look dismissive but ashamed. "Sorry. . . I think I'm going to sit this one out."

"Awww," moaned Alexandra.

Claire placed her hand on his shoulder. "That's fine. I'm only going to do a little bit myself. I don't want to turn our first date into a dog-sitting job.

Bruce returned and proudly placed a bag of speckled powder on the table. It was enormous, almost an ounce of K9, Aiden reckoned. He immediately poured a small pile onto the table, licked his fingers clean, and began chopping up lines.

"Aren't you worried about waking up with a tail tomorrow?" Aiden asked.

Alexandra shook her head. "We've done it four times without any new marks. It's just a matter of knowing your dose."

"Exactly," agreed Bruce. He lowered his face to the table and snorted a line. "Okay, Aiden, the one house rule is this: no peeing on the furniture."

"I'll keep that in mind," Aiden chuckled.

"Good," Bruce said, nose already starting to turn black, "Because those are MY spots."

"Jeeze, honey, relax." Alexandra scoffed as she did her own line. "You don't want to be one of those dogs that's constantly barking, do you? Be a good boy."

"Sorry." Bruce's ears came in drooping.

Claire and Aiden sat together and watched as the couples' transformations began in earnest. Bruce pulled his phone out of his pocket, but his thumbs receded rapidly and it clattered onto the table. Alexandra hooted and hollered with laughter.

"Ha ha HaouUR!" It was a doggish sound. She clasped her hands over her mouth and blushed furiously. "I mea-- uh, ah, ah. . Arf! Arf!" she yipped. Her hands tented as her growing muzzle pushed against them..

Now it was Bruce's turn to laugh, but Alexandra looked extremely embarrassed. He leaned forward and gave her a comforting lick on the forehead. "There there, dear. I probably look a lot stranger than you right now."

Claire giggled, and Aiden joined her. It was true. Alexandra lowered her hands, revealing a cute muzzle that went perfectly with her puppy-dog eyes. Bruce, on the other hand, dog-nose and ears gracing his mostly-human face, looked like a lazy attempt at a halloween costume. Or he would have, if it weren't for the rather extreme changes occurring beneath his sweater and slacks.

"Aren't you going to-- you know-- take off your clothes?" Aiden asked.

"Are we on a date now?" Bruce grinned, showing shifting, pointing teeth. "Save that kind of talk for Claire."

Claire and Aiden shared a glance and laughed politely.

Alexandra plunged her head into the PetSmart bag and resurfaced holding a fluffy orange fox toy between her teeth. Other than her long, black hair, her head was now that of an australian shepard, complete with floppy ears and a generous mane of fur that floofed from the front of her blouse. She squeaked the toy.

Bruce's ears perked to attention. He lunged at her, grabbing hold of the toy with his mouth. Alexandra held tight, and soon they were out of their chairs on all fours playing tug-of-war. They growled playfully as their changes progressed. The yank yank yank of the toy pulled Bruce's skull into a canine shape. Alexandra, whose legs were not nearly changed enough for a comfortable quadrupedal stance, raised her ass high in the air. The bulge of her tail pressed against the fabric of her jeans, straining as it grew. It looks like her ass is getting a hard-on, Aiden thought.

"God, I love watching people change." Claire said, gazing at the half-dogs her friends were becoming. "There's something so delightfully bad about it, about watching people give up their humanity and surrender to their base instincts. . . It's ugly, but in a beautiful sort of way. It's uncomfortable, but only because it's so damn tempting."

The tug war paused so Bruce could scratch his neck with his foot. Alexandra looked at Aiden with what might have been self-consciousness, but when Bruce grabbed hold of the toy, the emotion disappeared and the tugging resumed.

Claire turned to face him. "You know what I mean?"

"Yeah. It really is something." He took another sip of his beer. The smell of Claire's heat was strong now and growing stronger. She was close to him, and with her friends as distracted and dog-brained as they were, the two of them might as well have been alone in the apartment.

"I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed you don't want to join in." she said, licking a fingertip and pressing it to a patch of K9 on the table. "I was looking forward to watching you shep' out."

That was when Aiden saw the desire in her eyes. It was crazy; not only was this was their first date, he was a total stranger, and they were in her friends' house! But none of those oddities would matter to an animal, and her words echoed back through his head: it's so damn tempting.

He looked at the pile of K9 on the table. It was tempting.

"Maybe I can give you a bit of a show without the drug," he said, trying to act suave. He pulled off his beanie and let his pointed ears breathe. Claire watched intently, breathing deeply through her mouth. Next he stood, unbuttoned his pants, and pulled them down just enough to let his naked length of tail free. He wagged it back and forth, letting the motion pull the sore muscles loose.

"It's so cute!" Claire squealed. She leaned in for a closer look, and all the hairs on Aiden's back stood on end. She looked up at him with a mischievous grin. "If you're going to let your dog out, I should probably dress to match. We are on a date after all."

With that, she popped her finger into her mouth, sucked it a moment longer than necessary, and pulled it free with a pop, clean.

"Here we go."

They looked at each other and smiled in nervous anticipation. Then Claire took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. She lifted her chin and straightened her back.

"Oh that feels. . ."

Aiden knew exactly what she was feeling, the warmth tingling down her tongue muscle into her chest, spreading out through her muscles.

"Relaxing," he offered.

Claire's opened her eyes. Her smile was back, but the nervousness was gone. "Yeah. That's exactly it."

It started with her mouth, a thinning of her lips, a darkening of her nose. It was so subtle that at first Aiden thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but then she inhaled deeply, and her nostrils flared and scalloped into the familiar canine curl.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, tilting her head to the side. "Oh! I can feel it now. It's my nose. It's--" Claire sneered as if she was about to sneeze, paused, and started taking a series of quick, short breaths as her nose and mouth pushed into the start of a muzzle. To the uninitiated, it might have looked like she was in pain, but Aiden knew better. She was in the throes of bliss, and the tender little moans that escaped her throat each time her bones clicked into a new position were moans of pleasure, not discomfort. He envied her.

She clenched her eyes as rigid whiskers sprouted from her upper lip and chin. She stroked them with her fingers, and the touch made her eyelids twitch. Soon there was quite a forest of the clear plastic-looking hairs spreading from her face.

She looked at the ground and frowned. "Oh, facial hair. That's not very ladylike."

"I think you look adorable," Aiden replied. He was telling the truth, too. Her narrow muzzle suited her face well.

"You do?"

Claire darted forward and licked him right on the lips. In his surprise, he failed to close his mouth in time, and her tongue dipped inside. Her whiskers tickled his nose. She withdrew as suddenly as she had attacked, a horrified look plastered on her face.

"I'm sorry! I meant to thank you and it just happened automatically--"

Aiden interrupted her with a lick of his own. She startled, and they both had a good laugh.

"I think I like you, Aiden." Claire said.

"I think I like you too, Claire."

Aiden could not give the tender moment his full attention. He was too fascinated watching Claire's ears. They grew upward until they couldn't support their own weight, then flopped forward and stretched toward the ground. It was as if her piercings had suddenly become impossibly heavy. If she noticed, she made no sign of it. She was too busy raising her nose to the air.

"What is that smell?" She moved her head about trying to triangulate the scent, but Aiden already knew what she'd whiffed. Sure enough, her nose led her to the ground at Aiden's feet, then around his shoes, up his pant leg, and between his legs. Her sniffing warmed his sheathe through his jeans, either from the hot air or the rush of blood; he couldn't tell which. She looked up at him.

"Oh," was all she said.

"Yeah. . ."

Aiden raised his bottle of beer and emptied it to fill the silence. When he set it down, she was still kneeling between his legs.

"I wanna see it," she whispered, ears perking.

He was lucky he'd swallowed his beer, or he would have spit it out in surprise.

"You what? Your friends are right there!"

She set her hands on his knees, the start of blunt claws pressing into his flesh. "Come on. They won't care. Look at them."

Their hosts were in the kitchen. Bruce had his face buried in the trash can, and Alexandra was clawing at the door to the fridge, sending magnets clattering to the floor.

Claire was right. They wouldn't care, but he would. And the number of beers it would take to make him not care would leave him huddled over the toilet for the rest of the night. His horniness and drunkenness conspired to turn reasons not to fuck Claire into obstacles to be overcome. She was ready to go there, and all he needed to be ready himself was something to take the edge off. He looked at the lines of K9 on the table.

He'd only need a little, and this would be his last trip for who knew how long.

He snorted half a line. Then half of what was left for good measure. Claire's face lit up with excitement.

"We're going to have so much fun!"

"Let's go somewhere private." Aiden said it at that moment because he knew he soon wouldn't care. He headed for the bedroom, and Claire followed with the bag of K9.

Even though the owners of the room were probably too dog-brained to know how to turn the handle, he locked the door behind them. He turned to find himself face to poodle-face with Claire. Between her long, floppy ears, curly fur, and start of a muzzle, there was no mistaking her breed, though she still retained enough humanity to be recognizable. She had a sultry look in her eyes.

"You're going to make a really hot dog," she said, leaning in so Aiden's back pressed against the door. It was odd watching her talk, like something out of an animated movie. He opened his mouth to respond, and she went for the kiss.

Aiden had never made out with a dog before, but he imagined what followed was a similar experience. Her lips were too thin and inflexible to do the work demanded of them, so they opened their mouths, tilted their heads, and let their tongues intertwine. He could taste the drip now, and perhaps Claire could too, considering how eager she was to flick her tongue against the back of his throat.

Heat wormed its way from his sinuses down his neck, and he felt the first wave of relaxation wash over him. The first sign of his change was the kissing position becoming more comfortable. His face felt like putty being pressed into a new mold that fit Claire's face perfectly. With his longer jaw, their mouths made a perfect seal. With their forward-facing noses, they could breathe freely as their tongues explored each other's maws.

Claire braced one hand against the door next to Aiden's head, and curled the other one to grab his ass. He gasped, drawing a breath from her lungs. The hand slid upward, found his naked stub of a tail, and wrapped around it. The touch caused new hairs to sprout along Aiden's spine. She began to stroke the length tenderly, as if it were a cock, and, as the tingling warmth flowed through it, it started to feel like one. Each new vertabrae she coaxed from the thickening length brought a twinge of pleasure.

She broke the kiss and left him panting. "You are turning into such a good boy." The approval had Aiden's tail whapping against the door.

"Thanks."

Claire sat on the side of the bed, sprinkled some K9 onto the end table, and went to work chopping up another pair of lines.

"You should get naked. I want to watch you change."

Claire's tone had changed since he'd closed the door behind them. Before, she had been hesitant, but now she was confident. She looked at him like he was a juicy steak dinner.

"Don't you think this is all happening little fast? It's only our first date."

"Fast for humans," she said with a glint in her eye. "But we're not human tonight are we? Tonight we're nothing but a pair of horny dogs. Dogs don't care about social standards. Dogs take what they want. What do you want, Aiden?"

He swallowed. "You."

She smiled, showing her fangs. "Then be a good boy and strip."

Aiden pulled his shirt over his head. His pecs and shoulder muscles soaked up the heat burning in his chest like a sponge. His bones and tendons settled into an increasingly canine configuration.

He managed to free himself of his shirt before his arms lost too much of their range, but he was not so lucky with his pants. The motion was one he'd performed a thousand times before: pinch his waistband on either side of the clasp, push his hands together, and pop the button. His grip failed him at pinching the waistband. He looked down to find only four dwindling fingers and a rapidly retreating dew claw on each hand. A low, canine whine escaped his mouth.

Aiden looked to Claire for help, but she was already well aware of his predicament. Her right hand was buried in the front of her pants, stroking rhythmically as she watched his struggle. Was she getting off to this?

Claire pulled her hand from her pants, lapped her padded fingertips clean, and Aiden gave a predatory grin. "Does my doggy need some help with his button? I'll help on one condition." She reached behind the bed and produced a black collar and leash. "You have to wear this."

Aiden swallowed nervously. "I don't know. . ."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. It's just a prop. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow."

She stood and sauntered over, waving her hips and tail seductively with each step. "But tonight, you're my doggy, and all my doggies are leash trained." Now she was close enough that he could feel her breath. "And good doggies get rewarded." She gestured in front his nose with the hand that had been buried in her panties, and the fresh scent of her sex flooded his senses. He did want that. He wanted it very badly.

"So are you going to be a good boy?" she dangled the leash in front of him.

He nodded eagerly. Claire slipped the collar around his neck. If his hands couldn't unfasten his pants, they'd be hopeless to remove the collar. It would stay as long as Claire wished.

"Good boy. Now let's see here." She took his paws in her hands and massaged them. "These aren't hands at all, are they? They're paws. And these aren't arms. They're forelegs." She hooked the leash onto the collar and gave it a steady tug toward the ground. Aiden fell forward, landing comfortably on his forelegs. "From now on, these stay on the ground unless I say. Now stay."

Claire walked around him like a judge at a dog show. "You're starting to look the part, but we must get rid of these pants."

She dropped to the ground behind him, bit his waistband just below his tail and started tugging his pants and underwear down. Once they reached his knees, she thrust her snout between his legs and took a deep sniff. Aiden's tail froze high in the air. Her breath puffed against his balls and asshole as she investigated his most tender spots.

"Smells good. . ." she moaned distantly. Her tongue darted out and gave his balls and taint a couple of quick licks. Aiden found her temporary lapse into dog-brain reassuring, and he took the opportunity to curve his back around until he had his nose buried between her legs. He took a couple sniffs. She smelled like sex and K9, though her clothes blocked most of the scent. A devious idea occurred to him. He closed his teeth around her belt, being very careful not to nip her in the process, and gave a mighty pull.

Claire yipped-- not shouted or screamed, but yipped-- in surprise as her pale backside was exposed to the open air. That was when he finally saw it, the source of that enchanting smell. Nestled back between her thighs was the dark, puffy mound of a bitch's sex. It was larger than any he'd seen on a natural dog. The y-shaped crease glistened with arousal, and he went to work licking it clean.

"Hey! What ar-- Arf!? Arf Arf!" Claire yapped as his tongue lapped against her soft and sensitive flesh. The taste was different than he expected, but by no means unfamiliar. Gasoline, toothpaste, charcoal, and wet dog of a different sort. She must have rubbed K9 on her pussy. It was covered in the stuff.

Was.

Her tail slapped him across the cheek again and again in an attempt to ward him off. The impacts were progressively heavier and fluffier. One of her curly hairs landed on his nose, causing him to sneeze.

Aiden scrambled awkwardly out of his pants as Claire did the same. Her blouse was flipped up over her head, and he used his teeth to free her. Like a magician, he pulled her top away to reveal a wonder. Claire was gone. In her pace, a white, curly-haired, floppy-eared poodle stood. She was mostly dog now. Her rear legs were still a little long, and she still had her breasts (complete with extra nipples), but she might have passed as a dog at a glance.

"Claire how much drug. . ." There was something important he needed to ask her, but his brain was starting to feel very foggy. "How. . . Drug? Drrrrrr. Drarf!" he barked in frustration. Anxiety was building inside him. Something was wrong, but what was it?

Claire grabbed the end of his leash between her teeth and gave it a tug. He was big enough to resist, but he wanted to please her, so he followed. She led him in a small circle around the room, pracing proudly with her head held high. Her hips popped as the changes robbed her of her ability to do the splits. Her narrowing thighs exposed more and more of the dark, puffy sex between her legs.

Finally, she led him up to the bed. Now she made her needs known. She ducked between his legs and licked his sheathe. Her tongue was like heaven on the exposed sliver of his penis. She then turned her backside to him, lifted her tail, and froze.

His instincts told him to mount, that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, but he couldn't. Something was wrong. The anxiety was still there. He looked around the room, tags jingling as he moved his head. He looked down his muzzle at his paws and the poodle begging him for sex. The feeling persisted, and he wanted it gone.

He turned his head to the end table and the bag of K9. The drug calmed him down. The drug brought pleasure. That was the solution! He made his way on four wobbly legs to the baggie and stuffed his nose inside. He took an intoxicating sniff of the drug and sneezed, sending powder flying everywhere. His tongue darted up to clean the residue from his nose. It tasted good. It smelled good. But there was another smell in the room that smelled even better.

He turned to the poodle. She was in heat and ready to mate. Gone was the sense that something was wrong. Gone was any human hesitation. He padded over to his mate, lept up on her back, and started humping away.

His first few thrusts sent the point of his penis glancing against the hot lips of her sex, but soon he caught the crease just right and sank inside. He started jackhammering his hips wildly. There was no thought given to romance or restraint. More and more of his length exited his sheathe and entered the tight caress of her pussy. She stood and took it, a dumb, vacant look on her panting face. If she felt anything like he did, that was the face of a dog enraptured in utter ecstasy.

Soon his knot slipped free of his sheathe into the cold air, and he was overcome with the urge to drive it back into the warmth. He slapped the bulging orb against her vulva several times, but it wasn't until she adjusted her hips that he was able to sink it. The lips of her sex swallowed his knot, wrapped around the base of his cock, and held on tight. She was his. He bit the scruff of her neck to drive the point home.

His climax came upon him very suddenly, and he was helpless to stop it. His knot swelled impossibly inside of her, ensuring not a single drop of cum escaped. His orgasm an eternity, and he relaxed his head on his mate's silky fur. Their bodies fit together perfectly. He was no awkward half-dog, half-man anymore. He had gone all the way, and everything just felt. . . right.

After some minutes, the climactic clenching of his cock slowed to a halt. He jumped off his mate's back and turned around so their tails were pressed together. She let out of a brief yelp of discomfort, then was quiet.

All was right in the world. He had his mate, and she had him. In all his life, he had never been so relaxed.

The next morning, Bruce used a screwdriver to unlock their bedroom door. He found Claire laying naked on his bed, asleep. She was spooning a german shepard. Its paws and nose twitched in its sleep. It was having a good dream.

??? ONE YEAR LATER ???

Claire sat in the waiting room and stared intently at her phone, trying her best to put off a vibe that said "don't fucking talk to me." The overly-perfumed woman sitting next to her stared at the side of her head, waiting for the slightest sign that it would be appropriate to strike up a conversation. Claire would not give her an opening.

The woman yelped, and Claire turned to see Aiden sniffing under her skirt. She gave his leash a yank.

"Aiden!" she scolded. "Bad dog. Sit over here."

He withdrew his head and stared at her without moving.

"Please?"

Aiden sighed and laid down on the other side of Claire's legs.

"Sorry," she said to the woman, making as little eye contact as possible.

"Oh that's quite alright. What breed is she?"

"He is a german shepard," she said, not looking up. She was too tired and nauseous to have this conversation for the thousandth time. The woman was incessant.

"He's beautiful. And smart. How did you train him?"

"I didn't train him."

"Then you took him to a trainer?"

Claire clenched her jaw. She didn't have the energy to bullshit another backstory for Aiden.

"No one trained him. He's a human who overdosed on K9."

The woman gasped. Aiden shot up and stared at Claire with bulging eyes.

She looked at him crossly. "Oh, so you understand that, but you don't understand that I'm not in the mood for you to go around causing trouble?"

Aiden's ears folded back on his head, and he licked her hand apologetically. Claire wasn't sure just how much of Aiden's intelligence had returned after that fateful night. He couldn't read or write, and most abstract concepts seemed too much for him to grasp, but he was certainly smarter than a normal dog.

The woman's face was as red as a tomato. "You let that creature sniff me!?"

"He's a dog. Dogs sniff things."

"You just said he was a human."

Claire locked her phone and shoved it into her purse. "Well what do you want me to do, outline where he sits on the spectrum? He can play noughts and crosses, but he prefers fetch. Sometimes he shits in the toilet, but sometimes he shits in the park. He's a picky eater at the table, but right now he's licking the carpet."

Aiden froze with his tongue out.

The woman opened her mouth to explode in a furious diatribe, but the receptionist interrupted her.

"Claire Bennet?"

Saved by the bell. She left the perfume lady to fume alone and followed the receptionist to the doctor's office where the next round of waiting began. She pulled off her beanie and let her long, fluffy ears flop free. She had a splitting headache, and there was no reason to hide them from her doctor. Aiden came over and licked her mouth. She let his tongue slip in and even returned a few licks herself. This was an indulgence that she had to resist in public, but the confirmation of Aiden's companionship calmed her.

Aiden then set about sniffing everything in the room. He'd been a pain in the ass that day. Claire had always treated him more like a roommate than a dog. It worked out pretty well, but perhaps it was time to take charge and actually train him.

The door opened and Dr. Chen stepped in. Claire's stub of a tail wiggled wildly in her pants. She couldn't help it; she was happy to see the guy. He was a caring old man with a genuine smile, and he'd never once shown a hint of judgement about her canine traits.

"Well, Claire, we got your test results back. It turns out you're not sick at all."

"But my nausea--"

"You're pregnant, Claire." He clasped a hand on her shoulder. "Congratulations."

Claire's mind spun in all directions. "But I always use protection when I go out!"

"Well, no form of birth control is 100% effective. You know that."

Claire nodded, still stunned. This did explain why her breasts and teats had been so tender. Dr. Chen opened the office door, and a nurse wheeled a large medical device with a monitor into the room. She caught sight of Claire's poodle ears then looked away. Suddenly, Claire felt exposed and nervous.

"What's that?"

"Don't worry, it's only an ultrasound machine. Would like to see your baby?"

After some consideration, Claire agreed. The nurse had her sit up on the table. She then spread a gel on Claire's stomach (which was extremely cold on her sentitive teats) and pressed the receptor device against her skin.

They all stared intently at the monitor as dark blobs appeared in the grey void.

"Are they triplets?" asked the nurse. "Quadruplets?"

"No." Dr. Chen said, removing his glasses. "They're puppies."

Claire and Aiden stared at each other in shock. The nurse covered her mouth.

Dr. Chen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well. At least you'll be able to nurse them yourself."

(Author's note: Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment if you have any thoughts.)