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Human Bitches

Chapter Twelve: Fresh Sausage

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

"Break for lunch," I called out to the boys, wiping some of the sweat off my brow with the back of my forearm, then pulling out the big red rag I kept in my back pocket, and mopping things off more properly with that.

Yeah, you heard right: I've got a back pocket. What, you think I'm stupid or something? We've been hauling junk since I got matters settled with my boys this morning, me driving the big truck (we've got two: the small one Molotov owns we mostly use for getting smaller stuff around inside the junkyard and supply runs, and my big one, made for serious hauling), them riding in the back so I could show 'em the ropes. Which meant a slightly smaller final load, of course, but well worth it if even one of the boys takes to the profession. And here I've got seven with the option, so my chances of getting a successor are pretty good. Well...seven-and-a-half, including Dandelion, but I left him in Girl's care, so she could teach him how to run the front office. Gives her more time to work on the webpage and other stuff like that. At least it will once she's finished training him for the job she used to do.

Anyway, I tug on these stiff, sturdy coveralls when I'm out in the truck to pick up stuff. They're awful, and I hate 'em, but they, along with the gloves, keep my body from being all tore up when I deal with the heavy lifting. And there was a lot of heavy lifting today. Enough that I even got the boys panting and sweating right along with me.

Now, though, we're back on the reservation, so to speak. Home sweat home (no, that's not a typo). The boys are all breathing hard and looking at me expectantly as I finish getting sweat out of my eyes. So I shove the sweat rag back into my pocket, and start stripping down right there, in the middle of the junkyard's central clearing.

They pause a moment, giving each other those eyeball looks that tell me just how virginal these cherry muttboys really are, and just how messed up with human expectations. Then Star starts undoing the straps and buckles on the shoulders of the coveralls I gave him, and pushes the whole mess down his lean Afghan Hound's body, his fluffy tail popping up the moment he gets it past his waist. Mmm, nice, for a skinny kid. Makes sense, too, that Star would be the first to get undressed: he's the most laid-back of the boys, the one who's most in-touch with himself.

The one who's most like a hippie. Darn hippies.

That's all it takes, though. Just one of 'em trusting me, following my lead, and right away the rest of 'em follow suit...er, unsuit, actually, but you know what I mean. Russell and Bentley are the top dogs of the muttboys, so they're the ones who show the way for the others, the red-and-white terrier's small, compact body nothing to be ashamed of, even though I see the envious eyes he tosses in the direction of the bigger Golden Retriever boy. They're both a little surprised when Jamal drops trou next, but then the lanky kid is a smoking hot giraffe. Compared to the long, free-hanging piece of slim jim sausage the splotchy-furred boy's packing, Wilhelm, Runner, and Teddy's undressing is somewhat less spectacular, to say the least.

"Sorry," Jamal apologizes, his ears turning down in a slight blush, even though it's obvious he's not that sorry. "It's just...warm, you know? Things got relaxed down there."

Not meaning to say anything bad about my other boys, by the way: they're all the size and body shape they're supposed to be, mostly. A bit underfed, a bit too unpolished, but I've spent plenty of years of my life training away those kind of problems, doing the finishing work on first gens, doing the deep chiseling needed for seconds. All that stuff'll pass eventually, as long as they let me work on 'em. Wilhelm's made for gliding, just like any batmorph (or the pseudoavimorphs they were starting to bring out near the end, though I hear those had too many problems to be put on full assembly), so it's hardly any wonder he's got such a compact body, even smaller'n Russell's. Also makes sense his goody bag's tucked up a bit more - still nice 'n full, just like any morph's should be, but held tighter against his body, making it look smaller if you're not paying proper attention. Runner and Teddy, too, are built for speed, like ratmorphs and catmorphs ought to be, slim and quick. Below the belt, Runner's got a pair as big as mine, which is also pretty common for ratmorphs - they were made for some pretty gruesome experiments in labs originally, and then the Chinese started mass-producing 'em, along with pigmorphs, for their attack on India and defense against Russia, so there was a lot of turnover, and they needed a high sperm count to ensure they reproduced rapidly; back in the early days, femme rats never saw the light of day, they were so busy being pumped full of ratbatter and popping out babies. As for Teddy, his balls ride a little to the back during normal operating hours, just like all catmorphs, big or small, which makes for a great backsack view, but doesn't look so impressive from the front, and his sheath looks a lot smaller'n what it actually contains. Once a catmorph properly relaxes and gets interested, though, you'll see right away that there's nothing small about 'em, not even the ones based on small cats. They're just made for close-quarters fighting in ways humans never were.

They're all different. Not better. Not worse. Different. And that's okay.

And now I gotta go through the work convincing my boys that all the crap they've picked up from the humans they've been trying to impress for the last buncha years is wrong.

"Lunchbox is in the back," I call to Bentley and Russell, to better keep my two young alphas busy - nothing worse than a bored young alpha. "Jamal," I add, giving the tall kid a motion of my muzzle, "go help 'em get the cooler down here. I'm really looking forward to whatever Girl's made for us. The rest of you, come help me move some of this junk around to make a table. That car hood should do it...yeah, that's good, those're perfect for chairs."

A few minutes later, and we're all biting into ground steak sandwiches, big ones, sitting around the hood of an ancient Tucker (and I make a mental note of how much I really need to find the rest of this thing - Tuckers are awesome), our sweat rags protecting our backsides from the effects of the day's heat on the bits of car we're using as seats. There's salad and there's fruit, and Girl even snuck a chocolate bar down near the bottom, where the chill of the cold packs crammed down there would keep it from melting. Chocolate's about the only intoxicant I'll ever touch, but right then, I felt like we could all use a bit of mellowing out, to get comfortable with each other.

"Mister Spike?" began Bentley, turning those blue eyes of his on me, making me melt almost as fast as the chocolate he was about to bite into. I couldn't help but notice how he almost kept those eyes on my face, doing his best not to let 'em dip into unfamiliar territory on another male.

"Just Spike, kid," I growl back, friendly-like, spreading my legs a bit wider to let him get as fine a look at all the goods as he could want, before biting into my own little square of the precious stuff - one square each, and no more, but I can see how it's affecting them, even more than how eagerly they tucked into their sandwiches, just like I'd expect from half-starved morphmutts without an alpha to properly tame their tails. "We're gonna be stuck together for a long time, so we might as well get friendly with each other."

"Spike, then," he continued with a shrug, popping the brown square into his muzzle and continuing to talk with his mouth partly full, his pupils dilating almost immediately as the chocolate hit his young system. "I...I've never really seen as much of the city as I have today. It's really big."

Yeah, no innuendo there. Heh, try not to drool, kid: they aren't going anywhere.

"Lots of empty buildings, too," Wilhelm chimed in, and I could hear him suppressing his Eastern European accent, especially his tendency to replace his Ws with Vs. "With lots and lots of stuff for us to haul away. Doesn't any of this stuff belong to anybody? Won't anybody come looking for it all?"

"Runner and Teddy are the only thieves among us," Jamal added teasingly, grinning as the black rat and tuxedo cat gave him a light punch on each arm. "We're not stealing, are we?" he finished, his expression turning serious.

"Take a look around you," I replied, motioning around the clearing with the sandwich in my other hand. There was a signpost nearby, too, one with directions to all the different things to be found in the depths of the junkyard, all catalogued as neatly as I could manage, what with it just being me and Molotov doing most of the work, with a few day laborers brought in for the really big jobs (though it's at this point that I decide I'm going to start bringing the day laborers as official part-timers, so as to keep production rolling while I'm training the kids). All around us were towers of junk, stacked and stored and ready for deployment elsewhere. Some of it was crushed down into cubes the size of hay bales, or sometimes even smaller. Other bits were stacked as-is, their integrity preserved from rust and too much wear by regular applications of nano-sprays and the occasional protective tarp. "Place looks like those mesas you see in old Wild West shows, or maybe the cliffs cleared out by glaciers. Underneath, though, it's wide, it's flat, and there's lots of space. There's acres of land here that I haven't filled up with anything at all. Mountain, the polar bear who runs the major morph construction company that operates in the city, cleared the initial basis of this place out a bunch of years ago, as his first demolition project for the city council. Don't worry if you haven't met him yet, by the way: in our line of work, we're bound to run into his wreckers eventually, since we're the ones who need to clean out the buildings before Mountain and his crew come tearing through. That's where Molotov is now, actually: getting Mountain's plans, so we know where to put our focus over the next couple months. And probably getting a handjob from the big guy as well," I added as an afterthought. "Mountain's the friendly sort, as long as you stay on his good side, and he's really good friends with my rottie buddy." Then I paused a little longer, looking up at the position of the sun. "Mmm...or maybe a sixty-nine. Mountain likes to take his time with his fun when he gets the chance."

Again, I paused, letting the boys have some time to take it all in, to just begin digesting the sheer size of my junkyard. Seriously, the land was cheap, and it still is, and I'm constantly buying up more as soon as it becomes available and I can afford it, so it's small wonder it might be a little hard to wrap your head around the sheer concept of it all.

"Every building out there used to have humans living in 'em," I finally continued, motioning vaguely toward the city skyline. "This city used to be several cities, actually, that just kept growing, until they spilled out beyond their borders and started to overlap. Some people back then wanted to call 'em 'megacities,' but pretty much everybody agreed that was just a little too silly. 'Arcologies' was another term tossed around, but mostly people just lived in 'em, and didn't worry too much about nomenclature. There were something like four, maybe five of these plus-size places around the United States, and others all over the world, too. Natural result of overpopulation, I guess, but you'd have to ask a historian for all the skinny...maybe Huey, or Gregor if you need answers faster, and aren't too bothered with hearing the facts exactly right...oh, and don't tell the big tiggy I said that, 'kay?

"So then whyker hits, and there's nowhere really for people to go. They're all crammed into these massive cities, and the plague's at the door, and it's not going anywhere. Neither are most of the people. Not ever again." I tried to keep my face stoic, but...well, some memories don't fade easy. Or at all. "Martial law had to be declared over here, and it got even worse overseas - the bigger the initial population, the bigger the problems - and eventually it was just us morph troops manning the streets, after they found out we didn't seem to be affected by whyker, or most diseases for that matter. I...ugh, you know, I first got deployed in Indochina, during the initial border clashes and saber rattling in South Asia. Fresh out of decanting and basic training, and straight into a jungle hell. Hell's all I knew as the world started falling to pieces, defenses against nuclear weapons were perfected, and us ground troops became essential to keeping the peace. From Southeast Asia, there was Russia, Afghanistan, the battles along the European border and the following push into North Africa, even the pacification of Mexico and Central America - I was there, and I thought I'd seen it all...right up until they stuck me leading squads on shovel duty, cleaning up all the bodies out there in that city before they rotted too much." I curled my lips in disgust at the memory. "Besides our immunity to whyker, us canomorphs were considered perfect for the job, even more'n other morphtypes, because of our sensitive noses. I guess they were right there, considering that we didn't run into any dead bodies today, or most days for that matter, but I gotta tell you, that's a smell that sticks with you."

I looked at the rest of my sandwich, shrugged, and then took another bite. The boys blinked at this, trading uncertain looks, and I couldn't help but grin (once I'd swallowed, of course - I may be a slob, but I'm not that big a slob). What I'd said was all true, of course, but it was kind of fun messing with the kids. Just a little.

"You're morphs, fellahs," I told 'em, my rapidly-diminishing quarter sandwich serving its continual purpose as pointer stick, at least while it still lasted. "You gotta get used to using the beast bits of your brains. The parts that live in the moment, and let the past stay past. You were using it earlier, when we were hauling those refrigerators and air conditioners down. Don't deny it, either: I saw your eyes, the way they set in that special way, where you're not using the part of your brain that's devoted to thinking, just the one that's there to get a job done. It's why we haven't talked much all day, not you with me, and not you with each other, just traded body language, mostly, if that. Didn't you notice?"

They traded looks, a little sheepish at first, like they'd been found out doing something dirty, like some human mom walking in on her kid palming off to a porn stash. Kinda cute, actually (which is also how I think I'd react to catching these kids beating meat to porn - I mean, seriously). So I just leaned back against a handy wheel and watched 'em until they figured out how much I cared based on the look on my face. Then I waited a little bit longer for 'em to let their eyes stray into areas the human culture they'd been subjected to told 'em was off-limits, then jerk right back up, jack-in-the-box style, ears turning down, flushed with embarrassment when they figured I knew just where they'd been looking.

Come on, can you really blame me for rolling my eyes? Not that they could see much of it, of course: being an albino has some advantages, and getting to wear cool shades is one of 'em.

"Relax," is what I told the boys, taking off my shades and setting them on our makeshift table, before slowly running a paw down my chest, gritting my teeth as I deliberately tensed my tummy, making that washboard I'd worked so hard to develop over the years stand out. That's not all that stood out, and I knew I had their attention as my fingers just barely skirted the territory they were having such a hard time not checking out. "Look, fellahs, I don't mind you looking. You're all young, hot, and I'm starting to get to really like all of you, each in a different way. We're starting out our relationship, and I don't mind if you'd be interested in adding manly, testosterone-packed guys-only sex to the stuff I'd like to teach you. I'm not gonna force you, and I won't get upset if you tell me no if and when my hands start to get grabby. Actually, I'll only be upset if you don't tell me when you want me to back off. Now," I didn't even bother trying not to show my teeth, I was grinning so wide as I watched their reactions to this revelation - heh, pups - as I held up the last bite of my sandwich, "why don't you all get your fruit and veggies, and munch on that while I finish my history lesson?"

Munching on that last bite, savoring the mix of flavors on the seasoned meat, I didn't bother hiding the fact that I was checking out the smooth, boyishly masculine bottoms of my new packboys. They weren't up to full pack status, of course, but they were in the apprenticeship to reach that level eventually, as long as they didn't do anything colossally stupid or unforgivably cruel. Actually, I was willing to forgive stupidity to a pretty wide margin, but that's another subject. They were a little self-conscious having an older, more experienced male looking over their butts and packages while leaving his own on display like I was, but after a bit they seemed to relax a little. I mean, I'd already addressed the elephant in the room, and after that, it was just a matter of adapting to the new state of affairs. Except for Star, of course: that kid just smiled placidly, sporting wood without an apparent care in the world while he nibbled his pineapple slices.

"Short of it is," I finally continued, once my sandwich was gone, and the boys had something to occupy their mouths, "now most of the city's empty. That's how it is all over, actually. Lots of places have just gone back to wilderness. The humans that're left have mostly moved into two areas, three if you count the bosses of organized crime, like the ones you used to work for. Most humans, the respectable ones, and the ones that own morphs as servants and pets, live out in the suburbs. With us morphs as a working class, able to do all sorts of menial stuff and not get messed up psychologically by it thanks to using our beast brains to gloss over the boring and unpleasant parts of life, the overwhelming majority of the humans who survived get to live these sort of dream lives. I mean, most meat is grown in vats, just the bits that people eat, without ever actually being alive, so a prime steakburger like the ones we just enjoyed is as cheap as bread used to be, back before the gengineered grain blights hit and started killing off crops. With people no longer so hung up on genetically modified organisms like they were - they're the only sorts of foodstuffs that could survive in the new world, after all - there's enough of every sort of fruit and vegetable and grain to feed ten times the current population of humans and morphs combined with ease. Improved storage means that what we've got doesn't go bad for...well, a long time, and keeps out pests a lot better, too. Nobody anywhere in the world has a reason to go hungry now...except 'cause of poor distribution, of course," I added with a sour expression, picking up my shades to hide as much of my disgust as possible. "You gotta know people to get proper food here in the deep city. Lucky for us, I do know people, and 'cause I do, you boys won't ever go hungry again, not as long as I'm around. That's a promise.

"So, there's dreamland, out in the suburbs, and that's where they moved all the fun stuff, the zoos and parks and libraries and...yeah, pretty much everything new and shiny and not broken. Humanity's majority has it good now, and all it took was a plague big enough to wipe out the undesirables, and a gengineered slave race. Us, I mean, in case that wasn't clear," I added with a light smirk and a shrug, which the boys answered with smiles of their own, though with varying degrees of wry humor behind them. "Then there's the gang boss lairs. Shadowy, scary places, mostly, set up in the really nice parts of the inner city. Appropriately, that's where some of the last remnants of the old economy are located, too, like the stock market exchange, and the headquarters of most banking institutions. And the seats of government, of course. Most of the humans who go to those places don't live there, though - just the criminals who run things, the ones too big to be toppled by something like a plague. Usually 'cause they were too connected to the other stuff I just mentioned to be taken down that easily.

"Last place around the city, at least where humans live, is Humanside. That's squashed up right next to our parts of town, as I'm sure you've discovered for yourselves. You've probably lost some friends who got too close to Humanside," I waited to see the nods - and they all did - before I added one of my own. "Yeah, me too. Those're...they're awful. I don't wanna promote hate, but it's kind of hard for me when the ones who live in that place are the dregs of humankind and their immediate kin. When whyker finished its work, the humans in prisons got off easiest, separated from the first waves like they were until better treatments became available, and most of those prisons quickly became refuges for their friends, relatives, and assorted lowlifes. I'm serious: if you weren't tough enough to tear out a hunk of space for yourself in the prison system as its supposed wardens lost control, or couldn't get in good with those who could, you were either left out in the cold, or you got killed by the ones on the inside. So the survivors got tougher, meaner, more vicious, while the world ended all around outside. Then, finally, they stopped getting supplies, and that's when they moved out of the old prison complexes, and moved into Humanside instead. After all, it was the only place where they could get indoor plumbing, and still stay more-or-less out of the failing eyes of the decrepit criminal justice system.

"They're a minority, and there's a bunch weird cults and freak leaders that keep 'em something like organized, but that and us morphs are about all that's keeping 'em from descending on the rest of humanity and taking over like the barbarian hordes of yore. Seriously: Humanside's got more male humans than you'll find anywhere else, and I understand most parts of the world have some analog to Humanside, run by the same sort of people. They look out at the mostly-female world outside, and they know lust, and they know hate. And they know that we're the ones keeping 'em bottled in, some of us on purpose, like the police - which are mostly morphs, I gotta add - but most of us just 'cause we're here, kinda ringing 'em in on three sides, making a natural border against jerkbags who never wanna talk, but only wanna start fights for no reason, at least as far as most of us morphs can see." My face set, and I lowered my glasses enough to look each and every one of my boys in their eyes, in their souls. "But I see. I see clearly for the first time in a long time. We're gonna be a free people soon, I'm next to sure on that. Meantime, there's trouble brewing, both in Humanside and out in the suburbs and in the dark towers at the heart of the cities, among the people that don't want us becoming people, legally-speaking. The closer we get to being given the vote, the nastier both sides're gonna get. We morphs need to stick together in times like these, and so I'm taking the first steps, reaching out to whoever I can, while I still can, before it's way too late.

"'course, that's just part of why I've brought you boys into my pack," I shifted gears, letting my face and body language relax, and letting the shift leak into my muttboys as well, calming them with my presence, letting them digest their food in peace (and the food, naturally enough, was very much gone, the chocolate making a nice, warm sensation in our bellies...and in other places besides). "I admit, I'm a highly-sexed individual, but I'm not stupid; the way Girl's setting things up, I can tell I'm going to be well over my eyeballs in human femmes before too long." My smile spread a bit wider as I spread my hands. "Provided the women are willing, I'm happy to share. Actually, I think we'll all be happier if we get things sorted out now, rather than later. You staring in with envious eyes won't make me happy, and it won't help me perform better in bed. You in here, helping me make these gorgeous ladies happy, that will make me happy too. That, and I'm not getting any younger," I couldn't repress the chuckle. "All this sex will be the death of me. Might as well start training my heirs early, don't you think?"

"You're not _that_old."

It was Bentley again, and I had to admit, I was starting to get to like the kid. He was a young alpha, all right, sure to pick up the reins of leadership once he hit his stride. Lucky for us both, I've got a human mind to temper my animal instincts: we don't have to fight for dominance, except maybe to establish a bit of a proper pecking order. Naw, there's plenty of being in charge-ness to go around. Plenty for me, him, Russell, and whoever other alpha types might come along and want a piece of things. As long as we all stay friendly and polite, I think we'll be able to sort things out with a minimum of violence, and hopefully no bloodshed. That'd just kill the mood.

Speaking of Russell, he was nodding to Bentley's words. Then so were the other boys, and they all looked like they meant it, and, well, I gotta admit, I kinda melted a little inside. I think I made a good decision, bringing these boys in from the cold.

"You know," I said, all casual, as I placed my hands on the table, "after a good meal, I like to have some dessert."

"Uh," it was Russell this time, frowning as he tried to figure out my thought process. "But the chocolate..."

Casually, I reached over and cupped Bentley's balls, since he was the one sitting closest. His eyes popped open wide. So did the eyes of the other boys, their jaws dropping too. I just grinned, giving those full, firm boyballs a nice, slow caress, watching the Golden Retriever's sheath start plumping out pretty quick. About what I expected of a young, healthy morphboy.

"You haven't masturbated enough," I growled at the kid, letting my eyes stray a bit, so they all knew I wasn't just talking to Bentley, all their eyes looking down for a moment, sheepish and adorable, before they were glued to the scene about to play out in front of them again, eager not to miss a single juicy moment. "Serious, kids, what good're you to me if you keep popping boners in front of the girls' soccer team? They're gonna be wearing those tight gym shorts, and it wouldn't surprise me if they'll be wearing shirts way tighter'n school regulations are supposed to allow, considering what I've seen so far. Just fill in the blanks with your minds, and tell me you're not gonna get a hard-on right in the field."

I was up to stroking Bentley's sheath by that point, and took a moment to glance around. Yep, thought so: everybody but Star and Jamal had those slightly glazed looks that made it pretty clear they were fantasizing about exactly what I'd described. Glazed, but guilty as well, just a little bit - after all, even muttmorphs knew in their bones that humans were kindasorta supposed to be off-limits, even if they were second gen and hadn't gotten the subliminal social training of the first gens. But not guilty around me, not really; they were starting to trust me now, giving me the benefit of the doubt when I said it was all right for them to get aroused around me. There was no way I'd betray that kind of trust, not now. Hopefully not ever.

While boyish erections sprouted all around me, I watched Bentley's cock make an appearance, sliding nice and smooth from his rich, golden-brown-furred sheath. Fascinating to watch, really, and I took the time to properly admire that fine length of smooth, healthy boycock, tilting my head a bit from side to side to take it in from a few angles.

Smooth. Smooth and pink. Those were the first words that came to my mind as I took my time, stroking that fine length with one big hand, the other stroking up over the boy's tight-muscled tummy, feeling all the little bumps of his nicely-defined abs. Probably 'cause of the animal in us, the belly's a "weak spot" for a lot of morphs, really sensitive, and if you hit it just right, we get all weak in the knees. The males pop a boner, and the females start to get all flushed and wet. Since Bentley was already sporting wood, there wasn't much change on that front, but I could feel his mental barriers coming down in short succession under my touch. Just a little bit more of that sort of treatment, and this blue-eyed Golden Retriever boy would let me do anything.

Brushing the tips of my short whiskers against that smooth, hot length, a uniform pink color from slightly plump base all the way to slightly pointed tip, I took in Bentley's scent. A virgin's scent, just a little shy of a newborn puppy's for how clean and sweet it was. There's old hands at sex who'll tell you that there's no different in the way a male smells from when he's a virgin to when he's not, that it's all just a matter of genital hygiene, but I've never felt that way. To me, the fresh penis of a morphboy who's only known his hand for company is about as mouthwatering as a juicy rare steak.

Pressing in just a little with my fingers, finding those tender spots just below the muscles of Bentley's belly, I bent low, and let my tongue loll, before I touched him with my tongue, right at the base, where his almost-knot was fully formed in his arousal. At that touch, the boy shuddered all over, giving out a soft gasp that came from somewhere in the depths of his core. The sound was echoed all around, and I knew that even the spacey Star and stoic Jamal were as hard as any of us right then. I didn't blame them at all, not while looking up at the sweet, puppyish face of Bentley, his expression somehow even more innocent now that I'd stripped away all his pretenses with pure pleasure, and left him exposed and at my mercy. He was trusting me with the most sensitive parts of his body, the parts most males would call their most treasured and important, and there was no way I could betray that kind of trust.

Especially not with how good that boycock tasted!

Reaching the tip, I circled the plump, humanlike glans with my tongue, teasing the tip just under his "corona" - there wasn't a serious change in color like there is with a human's corona, but there's a sort of mushroom-ish shape to the cap of a canomorph's penis, a clear sign of the human part of our heritage, and the edge of that cap is really sensitive, just like with a human. Especially the frenulum, right where the rim of the cap met the meatus on the underside, forming an inverted "V" right up to where Bentley's precum was already swelling up into a fat bead, just barely shy of sliding down his length. Presented with such a juicy morsel, I didn't even try to resist, exulting in Bentley's gasping, breathless moan and barely-stifled whimper as he shoved his hand into his mouth, his blue eyes wide as he watched me wrap my lips around the head of his throbbing, aching penis.

Just as I was about to start pushing my head down, my brain geared up for the familiar feel of another male's penis against my tongue and inner muzzle, anticipating that exquisite texture, I stopped short, blinking. Someone had their hand on my butt. They weren't squeezing - actually, they weren't doing much of anything except resting it there - but it was obvious that the owner of that hand wanted to do a whole lot more.

Ah well, you pays your money, you takes your chances. It'd been a while since I'd had a good anal pounding anyway.

Pulling my head up with more than a little reluctance, I glanced back at Russell, who grinned at me guiltily, obviously ready to apologize. I'd had the kid's balls in my hand back when we first met, after all, and he knew how tough I was. Tougher than him, that was for sure, if I felt like pushing the point. Lucky for him I didn't. Naw, I was in a teaching kind of mood, and letting him lose his virginity in my well-muscled rump actually struck me as pretty hot right about then.

"There's a big tube of lube in the glove compartment of the truck," I told the terrier with a smirk. "Go get it and get yourself all slicked up. Me too, for that matter. It's been a bit since the last time I took anal, and I think you could use some practice with applying the stuff anyway."

"Yessir," Russell replied immediately and ran off toward the truck, all the other boys wide-eyed at this turn of events. Their fearless leader had just touched the butt of their new alpha, and not only had he lived to tell the tale, it looked as though he was going to get some tail! I couldn't restrain the chuckle their expressions brought, and didn't even try.

"You get me, I get you," I added, loud enough that I knew Russell could hear, even where his fuzzy butt was wiggling while he rummaged around in the cab of the truck, tail working a mile a minute in his eagerness. "I don't mind being on bottom, as long as you're a gentleman about it, but I do expect to get to return the favor. Fair's fair, you get me?"

"Yessir!" Russell's slightly muffled voice came back, not deterred for a moment at the prospect of getting to bang my buns, even as the other boys were nodding, trading sidelong glances as they did so. They were nervous, that was for sure, and they were a little embarrassed still, but they were hard and they were horny, and, really, right then they _needed_some relief, pronto. Relief I was happy to provide, if they'd hold out for a bit, or they could find in each other if they wanted, though I kinda guessed that they'd rather wait for a professional treatment.

I didn't blame 'em in the slightest.

Turning my attention back to Bentley's needy pink prick, I glanced up with a short smirk, then let the expression linger at the corners of my muzzle as I wrapped my lips around his seeping tip. Spurts of fresh precream splashed against the roof of my mouth as I applied the lightest pressure - these boys were more pent up than I thought! - and I couldn't resist breathing a bit faster, letting my eyes flutter shut for a short moment as I inhaled Bentley's pheromones. They might not have quite the same degree of effect as they do on a femme, but that doesn't mean that morph pheromones have no effect on males. Oh no, they have an effect, and it's pretty intense, once you get enough of it in your system. Just...it takes longer, is all. Usually.

At that moment, though, I was so turned on all by myself, it didn't take hardly any time before those pheromones were pumping through my veins. Heightening all my senses.

Knowing perfectly well that the other boys were watching my dangling plums, and more, as I raised my white-furred butt, I reached out with my right hand as I sank my muzzle down, all the way, to the roots of Bentley's shaft. The Retriever kid was panting hard by then, his fingers clenched tight on the metal of the old tire he'd chosen as his seat for lunch, his tummy and fluffy butt clenching every few seconds as he shot another hard spurt of precum into my mouth, even as I tensed my jaws slightly, creating a proper vacuum for all that tasty fluid. The kid was as productive as any young morph could be, that was obvious, and his precum was about as thick as the full orgasm of a normal human (believe me, I know, thanks to...experiences, both in the military, and back on the killblock; you'd be surprised how many favors you can buy with just one top-quality muzzlejob). My reaching hand found Wilhelm's throbbing shaft, upthrust and slender. It felt good against my palm, leaking slick juices, and I stroked it while pulling the batboy closer, close enough that I could reach around to his taut, almost skinny backside and give his buns a squeeze and slow caress.

As the brown bat started when my fingers found his tailhole, I pulled off of Bentley's shaft with a soft 'pop,' then gripped his cock in my left hand, pulling Wilhelm to my muzzle with the hand on his leaftailed butt. If you could taste the kid, you wouldn't blame me for closing my eyes, savoring the flavor of fresh young batcock. Actually, that was my first time tasting bat, and I had to admit, I enjoyed it. A lot. Most canomorph cum tastes a little sweet, kind of musky, and really salty, packed with vitamins and proteins like it is; enough for a full meal, if you wanna drink a bellyful, actually. Batcum, or at least the precum squirting over the length of my tongue, was a lot sweeter, and not really salty at all. If I had to describe it...hmm, I guess I'd compare it to watered down pineapple juice, maybe mixed with coconut milk to keep it from being really overpowering. Sort of tropical, but not in an annoying, cloying way.

Getting acquainted with Wilhelm's flavor, though, meant getting squirts of Bentley's precum splashed across the bridge of my muzzle. Not that I really minded, since that just meant I was getting a harder hit of his pheromones, so I just kept stroking his cock, reading his body language, especially watching his tummy tense; while I wanted the kid on-edge for as long as possible, I didn't want him blowing his load just then. Oh no, I was getting that full load of boycream in my mouth. Yeah, I'm kinda cum-greedy when I'm like this: so sue me.

Shifting my head, releasing Wilhelm's penis to slap against his smooth stomach once, before my right hand wrapped around it, pumping him nice and slow, keeping his attention without giving him too much stimulation, at least not yet, I turned my face back toward Bentley's throbbing cockhead, wrapping my lips around the heavily-seeping tip, forming a tight seal with my lips. Reaching up with my left hand, I caressed the boy's balls, feeling their heft under my fingers, and then in my palm, before teasing those fingers back slightly, into the tender spots in the perineal region, pressing inward just a little, stroking his prostate from the outside. All it would've taken at that point was the slightest addition of pressure, and the kid would've popped a hefty load of thick, tasty boycream in my mouth.

Naturally, that's when I pulled my head back again, leaving Bentley whimpering cutely with his bared penis getting chilly in the air, looking down at me with a heartfelt "sad puppy" expression that made me chuckle despite myself.

"I won't leave you hanging for long," I reassured the boy, even as I was turning my head, my left hand gripping Jamal's long, deceptively slim-looking shaft. "Just...gotta spread the love, ya know."

Obviously Bentley wasn't all that happy about it, but he seemed to accept my reasoning, not complaining about it as he watched me stroking Wilhelm with my right hand, keeping the stimulation a bit slower to keep the batty from doing more than leaking all over my fingers, while the left drew Jamal close, then reached to his gorgeous, splotchy-furred butt, gripping and then squeezing those flawless buns, pulling his penis with ease into my hungry muzzle.

Nice! I'd tasted plenty of the big ungulimorphs in my time (I mean, who doesn't love some fine horsecock every now and then?), and I have to say, they're really nutritious. I mean it: ungulate cum tastes a lot like...like a salty-sweet kind of bread pudding, thick and wholesome. A staff of life kind of taste. Jamal wasn't any different from the equimorphs and bovimorphs I'd sucked off, except maybe a little more watery, but that was common to all the boys. After all, the poor kids hadn't gotten proper nutrition for a while now, and even lost in my pheromone buzz and lust-induced haze, I could taste the lack. It wasn't so bad right then, thanks to the full lunch they'd just enjoyed, but all the same, that kind of deficit doesn't just go away after one good meal. Squeezing his butt a little tighter, enjoying the feel of those flawless mounds under my palm, I pulled the handsome giraffe boy forward, his cocktip sliding all the way to the back of my muzzle. Good thing I'd trained off my gag reflex, when I was concentrating, or I might've had some problems at that point, but all I needed was a moment to collect myself, and then I was swallowing, hard, the languid, long-lashed eyes of the beautiful male suddenly opening wide, pupils dilating in surprise and startled shock of pleasure as I took him right into my throat.

There's some people that'll tell you deep-throating is a myth, one of those erotic urban legends that get passed around on the Internet and wherever. Maybe for humans, but not for morphs. We've got serious muscle control, redundancies built into our original design that let us take control of almost every part of our bodies to a degree a human can't even begin to imagine. It's not at the levels you'll see in some comic books, like bringing our hearts to a stop to pretend we're dead or stuff like that, but, well...until you've had anal sex with a morphmale, you can't know what I mean. Seriously, if the male's working at it, it can be hard to tell you're not pounding real pussy!

Another whimper, and I can't help but feel sorry for poor Bentley, getting to watch, but not getting any action of his own. I'd been fingering Jamal's tailhole, just about ready to slip in a finger to tease him from the inside, but I decided I just wasn't feeling mean enough to leave the Retriever kid out in the cold anymore. So instead I shifted my left hand around, making sure to keep my fingers stroking over as much of Jamal's soft, short-groomed fur as possible, not losing contact until I was gripping the base of his cock again, using it as the guide for my hand up to the tip, where I began palming the slight flare he was sporting (not a true equine flare, of course, but somewhere between a human's mushroom cap and the diamond-shaped tip of a giraffe's penis; it's always fascinating to me to observe the ways our chimeric genetics create such unique genitalia, familiar and exotic at the same time), letting him leak all over my hand. Wilhelm was gasping for breath as well at that point, even as Jamal's sweet tenor moans filled my ears, the batboy starting to pump his hips involuntarily, seeking final release; obviously I'd have to hurry before he popped.

No more mister nice guy.

Right hand slowing down on Wilhelm, loosening my grip a little to keep him from blowing his load right away, even as my left hand was palpating the head of Jamal's penis (no harder'n patting my head and rubbing my tummy, I guess), I did my best to really concentrate my efforts on Bentley. Later I'd work on teaching these kids control, how to train those inner muscles to keep themselves from blowing until they wanted to, and to school their minds so they wouldn't want to until they'd properly pleasured their partners first. Right now, though...yeah, I was kinda cum-hungry already, and poor Bentley'd been awfully patient while I worked up his friends.

Even as I was going down all the way on the adorable Golden Retriever's shaft, feeling his corpus spongiosum throbbing under my tongue, a good, solid weight of tasty boymeat that I savored as I made my inner muzzle into a tight seal around his needy length, I felt Russell's hands back on my butt. Kid was eager, that much was obvious, and I was glad we morphs had adopted the use of some incredibly potent cleansers early in our cultural development; made sure our tailholes were almost always squeaky clean. Right now, that was a good thing, 'cause the terrier was kneading my butt like there was no tomorrow, his hot breath on my tailhole. I couldn't just imagine his glazed-eye expression, drooling over my muscled buns, tongue out, and possibly resolving the differences in his head between the look and feel of a male's bottom and a female's. All right, probably not, but it's what I would've been considering, the main difference, as far as I could think of at that moment, being in the hips, the inward dip of a woman's waist giving her tush a proper heart shape, while a male's more squared hips and waist tended to make the rump a bit more blocky in appearance. Still, a fine tush was a fine tush...and I have a fine tush! I've worked hard on it, and I'm glad when somebody gets to appreciate that hard work properly.

Shivering all over when I discover that Russell's forgotten to warm up the lube on his palms before he starts pushing a slicked-up finger into me, I restrain myself from crying out. Not that I would've mattered much, not with Bentley's throbbing erection stuffed to the hilt in my muzzle. Nice thing about muzzles, of course, is you don't have to deepthroat too often. Mine's a bit shorter than some, but all the same, it takes a really good length, like Jamal's, to tickle my tonsils. Even then, it'd take a full-grown stallion to actually require me to do more'n suppress my gag reflex a little.

Now I was bobbing my head, not holding back anymore, and Bentley was whining for very different reasons, his hands gripping my head right between my ears, fingers tensed, white-knuckled, as his fluffy butt lifted from his makeshift seat, tail starting to flag (and me making mental notes to teach the kid how to properly trim his fluff down without making himself look silly - it's an art, and it takes an outside eye to teach you to do it right, which is probably why Bentley hadn't figured it our himself yet, and just let things grow out). Releasing Wilhelm and Jamal at the same time, their precum still matting down the fur of my hands, I grabbed Bentley's bottom tightly, turning my head slightly to the side to better get him right to the roots, the almost invisible ring of his sheath squeezed tight against my lips as I looked up at his beatific expression, muzzle open, blue eyes almost closed as he stared up at the sky, probably seeing angels.

Then my right index finger found his prostate, and I knew he was seeing the hereafter...and the view was fantastic! Heh, good kid like him deserved Heaven, after all, and I was happy to provide...mmm, especially with all that thick, healthy boycum gushing out onto my tongue, my throat working hard as I swallowed it all down, every last drop, watching Bentley's whole body spasming in short, powerful jerks, his youthful muscles taut as he trembled there, half-standing, eyes staring up into the faces of smiling angels. Or so I guessed, based on how happy he looked.

Happy and exhausted, actually, was how he ended up when I finally popped my finger out of his tailhole and let the boy slump back to his seat, his eyes heavy-lidded, his tongue still lolling out as he panted hard, looking almost like he was gonna pass right out at any moment. Actually, I considered making the kid stay up, stay alert, to train up some discipline, but...nah, I didn't feel like it, and he could probably use the rest anyway, after all the work he'd done for me that morning, easily twice the work I'd've gotten out of an adult human. Par for the course for a morph, young or otherwise (and fully-grown morphs can crank out even more man-hours once we get into our beast mind), but impressive all the same. Yeah, kid deserves a bit of a break, especially so he'll be all rested for this afternoon when the girls get here for soccer practice.

"Ngh," I grunt as I feel Russell starting to work his finger into me. "Remember, kid: quid pro quo. If I get you off, I can use you however I like to get off myself at a time of my choosing. Now, take it slow, and don't skimp on the lube. I can take it, sure, but this is practice. Think of how it'll be for a human femme, her bottom soft and firm, like a ripe peach, delicate skin under your palms, her little ring tight enough to pinch your finger off..."

I couldn't restrain the grin that came naturally when every youthful cock there, including Bentley's freshly-drained one, reached erection most rikki-tick, several of them, the ones standing closest, spattering my back with precum.

"Yeah, I can tell you're picturing it, all right!" I teased, starting to stroke Wilhelm's and Jamal's cocks again, gently moving the batboy around to my muzzle, letting Runner move up for his turn (and I had to admit, I was looking forward to my first taste of batcock, to say nothing of ratcock, which while I've had it before, has a certain tang to it that I've always found exciting; taking Chinese rat- and pig- and rabbitmorphs prisoner in the Indochina Brush Wars always made for an awesome victory party!). "With a male, human or morph, there's the prostate in there, and some other spots besides, all of which can make anal sex_really_ good if they're hit just right. Even so, most males need some prep time, more for humans, less for us morphs, 'cause of the pleasure-giving nerves around the base of the tail, and...well, all over back there, really. Part of us being made for sex, I guess. Even morph femmes have a pretty decent set of pleasure-giving nerves back there, some, like foxes and skunks and weaseltypes, having more than others.

"A human femme, though, uh-uh. If she's willing to let you try anal sex at all, she's showing you a lot of trust. A lot," I made sure they got the emphasis in my voice, though I think the effect might have been reduced a little from having Jamal squirt a jet of precum over the bridge of my muzzle; easily licked off. "Rrr, yeah, you're doin' good, Russell. Now a second finger...but like I was sayin', with a human femme's tight little tushie, if you just jam it in, you're gonna hurt her, and then she'll probably never want to try anal sex again, unless she's one of that mythical few that take to it right away. Not likely, so don't plan on it! Once you get going, she's gonna be getting a raw dose of morph pheromones almost direct to her bloodstream, thanks to all the hormones in our precum, and I've noticed that human femmes, especially the young ones, seem to get even more excited from those than the femmes of our own kind; once they get a full load of cum in their butts, they turn into eager little sex kittens, willing to do pretty much anything you could want. All the same, getting her to that point's gonna take some extra time and preparation...yeah, like that; you're doing good, Russell. The rest of you, take a look at how he's working his fingers...and now a third...yeah...

"Just...take it slow, and give the girls lots of attention, either with lube from a tube, or with your tongues...or both!" Sliding my hand around to Wilhelm's firm battbutt, right under that leaf-shaped tail of his, I nuzzled up against his throbbing, upthrust length of boymeat, my eyes getting heavy-lidded as I took in his scent. "Control yourselves, and follow my lead the first couple times, and you'll be all right," I concluded, slowly dragging my black-padded nose up the underside of that fine pink erection, right up to the tip. "As for me, Russell, go for it, but remember: squeeze it in nice and slow on the first thrust, and keep it gentle...at least for a little while."

Letting my muzzle sink down over Wilhelm's penis, feeling his pulse through my tongue, I closed my eyes, all the better to savor the taste of his precum dribbling over my tastebuds...and the sound of Russell whining as he worked his smooth, thick doggycock into my tailhole. I could feel his whole body trembling as the poor pup fought against his instincts, the imperative need to just slam himself into me and hump me senseless, breeding my butt as though I were a female in heat. All right, I admit it: I didn't exactly help the kid's situation any when his glans sank past my tail ring, not the way I promptly clamped down on him with all my rather considerable muscle control. Even if I do say so myself, I had to be about as tight as skinny little Rachael, or maybe even Shania, right before they got their rear cherries popped.

But Russell...the kid made me proud. His whining just got so desperate, so needy, it was honestly adorable to listen to it - adorable, but also heart-wrenching. I really did wanna just let the kid go at me with everything he had after just a minute or two of listening to him! All the same, he didn't give in, not even a little. While his fingers dug into my rump with vise-like strength, his cock slid in smooth as silk, slow and steady. Even when his balls bumped up against the back of mine, he didn't start humping away. Instead, he pulled back, still going slow, still taking his time. Yeah, Russell deserved to be an alpha, all right: that's the kind of self-control an alpha needs if he's gonna have anyone trust him enough to follow his orders, or follow his lead, whichever.

Relaxing a little after Russell made it all the way forward and back twice - twice - fighting all the way against the power of instincts a lot older and more powerful than morphs had even been around, I glanced back at him as I pulled back on Wilhelm's penis right up to the slim, pointed tip (he didn't have much of a glans, I couldn't help but notice), just turning my head enough to catch the kid's eyes. Once I had his attention, I gave him my nod of approval: he deserved his reward! That and, honestly, I'd been neglecting giving my sexy-skinny batboy's penis the proper attention it deserved, I'd been focusing on my rear end so much.

WHUMP!

Oooh yeah! That first thrust...that hit something just right in me, an itch I didn't even realize needed scratching. At this rate, I'd have to bottom out to Thunder or one of the other horses on the force, or around Morphtown; they had a certain girth that could really scratch an itch like nobody's business! Right now, though, yeah, Russell was doin' just fine, his voice raised high as he moaned, almost girlish, while humping my buns, making the taut flesh bounce with every slap of his balls against mine. Hands on my butt, squeezing it tight, just...there's something about the whole experience of being taken doggystyle that's primal, intense, addictive.

Not holding Russell back anymore, I didn't hold back either as I took Wilhelm right to the roots, again and again, my muzzle making a smooth, snug channel for his equally smooth shaft. Seriously, I like sex with humans - there's something right about it that hits something in my beast brain - but their little mouths, cute though they be, just can't compare to what a proper muzzle can pull off. I turned my head this way and then the other on every in-out, making sure to add just a little bend to the prick in my mouth, all the better to hit all those tender nerve endings. Gasping loudly, making my ears twitch with the hypersonic pleasure sounds he was making on the periphery of my perceptions, Wilhelm grabbed my head in both long-fingered hands, and started to thrust, his cute batty butt getting tense as his high-riding balls slapped against my chin. Maybe I should've reined him in, made him slow down, savor the moment, but seriously, I was turned on about as badly by that point, almost drunk on pheromones and lust myself.

Runner stepped in close, humping his hips into my hand, not seeming to care if he held out long enough to have his turn on my mouth. Heh, no, the black rat wasn't the sort to wait around; he was an opportunist, the sort who'd go for sloppy seconds (or nasty ninths, as the case may be) because it meant all the hard work, like what Russell just went through, would be done already. His meat was thick and startlingly pink against the backdrop of his black fur, just like his hands and feet. Thick was pretty normal for rats: they did even more gangbanging than us canomorphs, groupwork and communal living a serious part of their psychology, and having a thick cock meant that, even after a prisoner or a mating partner'd been gaped out, you could still get some serious stimulation for you both when it was your turn.

Jamal...Jamal held it, letting me set the pace with my hand, steady and regular. Honestly, I was using the motions of that hand as a sort of meditation, helping me to keep control, even as the battering my prostate was getting threatened to make me burst. The giraffe seemed to sense this, and he went along with it, even though I could see his tummy tense, the trim washboarding standing out clearly through his tawny tummyfur, his splotches creating an almost perfect covering for the muscles beneath. He stayed that way even when first Russell gave a loud yelp, and started squirting in me, the splash of his cum against my inner depths almost making me lose it right there (and making my "instructor brain" make the mental note to remind Russell, in future, that it was only polite to do a reacharound when you were humping somebody). The kid's cumming was all it took to set off first Wilhelm, thick and almost sugary batcream washing over my tastebuds, and then Runner, baring his sharp teeth, in conformation somewhere between a rodent's and a human's, as he shamelessly hosed down my head and face and shoulders, and Wilhelm's stomach as well, with his orgasm.

Smacking my lips, then reaching around with my tongue, I slurped up as much of my treat as I could manage. Behind me, Russell popped free, dropping right on his butt, panting hard, eyes out of focus; the pup had blown his brains out, apparently, and I had to admit, he looked kinda cute like that, as I saw when I turned around to look. Then I felt another tongue on my head as Wilhelm and Runner stepped back and seated themselves around our lunch table, both of them obviously worn out, at least for the time being. Who...? Oh, Teddy. Of course a catmorph would help out with the cleaning. Huh, and Star as well, apparently.

Contrasting between the smooth of the Afghan Hound hippie's tongue, and the rough of Teddy's was...well, it wasn't unpleasant, to be honest. No, not one bit. They'd both been so patient, stroking themselves without letting themselves cum as they watched and waited, and I felt the pair deserved a reward. I glanced up at Jamal, noticed where his long-lashed gaze was drifting, and shrugged before giving him a nod: my tail'd still be pretty tight for him, that was certain, considering the size difference between himself and Russell, and I'd still be lubed up enough to be able to take him without trouble. Actually, turned on like I was, my whole body tingling with electric arousal, I'd have been game to try on a rhinomorph for size, or maybe even a tapirmorph!

Reaching out, it was easy for me to catch cat and dog cocks in my hands. Teddy seemed a bit surprised by this, and even Star blinked a few times, pausing in his gentle licking, right up until I'd tugged them both around, putting them side-by-side, cocks squeezed together, and angled right toward my broad pittie muzzle. While I might lose some of the length of a breed like Star's, or maybe a fox (though foxes were generally legendary for their sexual prowess - you could never have too many foxes!), being a pit bull did indeed have some serious advantages. Advantages like being able to stuff two plump, tasty boycocks in my mouth at the same time, and squeeze them together just so, my tongue arching around them, and beneath them, coaxing the first sweet drops of precum out over my eager papillae.

The sight of his long, pointed cock thrusting in and out of my tailhole must've finally broken through that aloof barrier Jamal tried to maintain, as I heard his pleasant light baritone moans and exclamations while he started to really work his hips, his tail already starting to flag, baring the classically exquisite swellings of his almost feminine bottom to the lucky males behind him. Me, I could feel each of those thrusts, right down into my deepest core - like a lot of the bigger morphs, Jamal looked like he was going kinda slow, but when his hips smacked my butt, it meant something! Since he wasn't quite fully grown yet, his balls were about the same size as mine, but that would change soon enough - ungulimorphs of all sorts, even the smaller breeds like deer and antelope, are notable for having nice big balls that produce lots and lots of spunk. In the North African campaign, I always liked my units to try and take ungulimorphs prisoner whenever possible, since their cum made for a nice nutrient-rich snack under that hot desert sun. Dragging a healthy gazelle or zebra boy around could be about the same as having a portable canteen. Well, aside from being a lot noisier, of course, but there's always drawbacks to new innovations.

All right, I admit it: I liked taking morphs prisoner wherever I went, whenever I could. It's a lot more fun than killing them. That and, well...I gotta admit, I've got a weakness for listening to cute, smooth young rookies, hardly a month from decanting, begging for mercy as they think they're about to be tortured while they get stripped naked by a gang of hardened veterans, only for their pleas to turn to moans and whimpers of a very different sort. Even with the femmes (rare though they were in the military - most morph femmes then as now were decanted for domestic service), where there's gotta be consent for anything to go on, getting that consent was usually only a matter of time....and a lot of licking. As long as it ends in fun for everyone, I understand I'm not much different from most morphs in how ruthless I can be about sex.

Looking up into the eyes of the boys in front of me, I saw them meeting Jamal's gaze. A moment later, they started working their hips as well, matching their pace with the giraffe's. Then they were starting to alternate - Star's fault, darn liberal arts hippie that he was, thinking up variations and stuff to keep things interesting - Teddy's rubbery-barbed catcock thrusting in while Star's veiny dogcock slid out. Matching that kind of variation with my tongue was hard, but I think I did all right, considering the cute faces my boys made. Even Star started to lose his cool, his perpetually calm expression turning tense, his brow furrowing as though he were pondering the deepest of philosophical questions, and the answers just weren't coming.

Heh, "cumming."

Time to end this.

Letting my palms cup and then caress the swellings of their trim young bottoms, Teddy's smooth and small but plump with powerful muscle, Star's fluffy outwardly and a bit bony beneath, I got 'em both thrusting harder, faster when I found that tender spot right behind their swollen balls. A little higher...and higher...and...there. Right there...and clench...!

"Ye cats!"

"Subhanallah!"

Star, of course, didn't say anything, but I finally made the chill puppy bare his teeth as he, along with Teddy and Jamal, started cumming, filling me fore and aft while my throat worked hard, gulping down every drop of the cocktail (heh...) gushing into my muzzle, while making sure to keep a nice, tight seal (no...that's enough innuendo...for now) around their pulsing shafts, my tongue still working the undersides, feeling every new eruption as it came...and came...and came some more.

Aw man...my butt's gonna ache for hours after this. But at least it's gonna be the good kinda ache.

Kitty and puppy were just sitting down in time for me to get up onto my knees, and turn around to watch the slow, stately collapse of poor drained Jamal, a look of blissful contentment on his placid, long-lashed face. All my boys looked happy, actually, though Bentley was just finishing off his second orgasm, rubbing it out onto the ground nearby, grunting and panting and making those hot noises boys do when they're in the throes of climax.

"Good boy, Bentley," I praised him, rising back to my feet. "Good to get it all out now. Plenty more where that came from, after all, and you're gonna need to keep it together this afternoon, when those girls from the soccer team show..."

Blinking as I heard the buzz of the front gate, I couldn't help but cock my head in slight surprise, before I walked over and slapped one of the various buttons that worked the automatic opener. I must've made quite a sight, standing there, naked, with cum running down my legs, my own orgasm still suppressed through force of will - I could keep myself tucked in, after all, while I couldn't say the same for sure about my new packmates, and I tended to work better while suppressing a state of full arousal anyway - and I guess I wasn't that surprised at all at the expression given to me by the big-horned, muscular goat who poked his head out of the passenger window of the big dump truck that came rolling in.

"You're a mess, Spike," said Memphis, the black billygoat in question. His companion, Cash, the ever-stoic brown-and-white border collie who ran produce from the country to the city, and trash out of my junkyard to the landfill several miles off, didn't say anything; Cash seldom did, unless it was really important.

"That's what I said to your mom last night," I replied with a toothy grin. "You still letting this reprobate hang with you, Cash?"

"Yep," replied the collie with his usual calm, knowing smile.

"You had lunch?" I asked next.

"Nope."

"Not enough," Memphis elaborated. "They might've made us morphs more efficient in the digestive tract, but I wish they'd told my stomach that!"

"Well," I allowed, letting the words drawl a bit - it's hard not to when I'm around Cash; he's got this calming influence, and I'm as susceptible as anyone - "I think we've got a few steak sandwiches left. Then, once you're done, and we're cleaned up, we'll help you load up the truck with the trash, while we keep the junk here. Same as usual."

"These new hands?" asked Memphis, not bothering to thank me for the offer as he slid down from the cab and went straight for the cooler. "You're recruitin' 'em young these days, Spike."

"Family," I answered, grinning at Cash's raised eyebrows before he also slid down from the cab of the truck. "Pack is family, after all."

"So's herd," Memphis returned before biting into his food, muffling the rest of his words. "You doggies gotta make everything so formal sometimes."

"Loading up the trash'll take the rest of the workday," I said, glancing toward my boys so they knew I was addressing them as well. "You two might as well stick around."

"Huh?" Memphis again, with his dumbfounded, semi-belligerent looks and musculature that threatened to pop the blue overalls he was wearing, playing the dumb country hick look he favored to its natural hilt. "You plannin' a party or somethin'? And we're invited?"

"Or something," I confirmed. Then I told them both exactly what I meant.

"Huh," said Memphis, grinning broadly, a grin shared by Cash, though with far less verbiage. "Sounds like you can use all the help you can get, li'l doggie. Lucky for you," he gripped the straps of his overalls, puffing out his thick, black-furred chest until it swelled the seams, "I'm the helpful sort by nature."

Oh boy. I may be about to regret this whole "uniting Morphtown" thing. But then, nobody said it'd be easy.