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#TFTuesday German Shepherd

"So what're you in for?" A battered and bloodied Christian turned to face the speaker, a familiar girl with feathered auburn hair, the only member of the student body (as far as he could tell) who was allowed to breach dress code on a daily basis with a gleaming silver stud embedded in her tongue. She sat across from the bruised young man in the hall just outside the Dean's office, staring him down with a mischevious grin, which Christian couldn't help but return in kind. He suckled the cut on his lip, tasting the blood while pointing at his forehead, which was smeared in a crimson streak that slicked his dark bangs back against the side of his face. "Broke a guy's face." The pierced girl gave another look, a mix of derision and intrigue. "With your head." Christian half-nodded, blinking slowly. "He touched on a sensitive topic in Debate...so I corrected his error as bluntly as I could." "With your head," she repeated, looking more than a fair bit amused. "Critical thinking." Christian swallowed down his blood-laced saliva, prodding at the yellow and purple bruise surrounding the smear on his forehead, sitting back in the uncomfortable stitched chair and closing his eyes. "Had to get the message through his thick skull one way or another...hurt like hell, but goddamn if it wasn't worth it." The girl laughed incredulously, turning to look out the window down the hall from them. "The old man's gonna tear you a new one...better hope you're in good shape, since the only way you're gonna survive the night is if you can outrun the campus guards." "Trust me, I knew what would happen as soon as I stepped up to that podium...Tom thought he'd be able to get away with his attitude towards everyone forever, and I was the only one who had the balls to put him in his place. I mean, we can't have those kinds of self-righteous faggots who are actually proud to be in a place like this walking around putting on airs. Just ain't right, and you know it." Christian sniffed, wiping some dried red from under his nose. She shrugged and shooke her head, still not looking back to him. "I dunno, I kinda like it here. Better than where I came from, at least, by a long shot." Christian cracked an eye and looked back to her, giving her a good onceover. Even in the modest school uniform she looked cute enough to provoke a stirring in his loins, and he decided to try his luck. "Keep talking like that, beautiful, I may have to put you in your place too." The girl swiveled her unblinking gaze his way, head tilted. "Gonna use your head on me like you did Tom?" Christian gave a smug chuckle, and was about to make a quip about just which head he had in mind to use when the door beside him cracked open, making him start. Nobody appeared in the doorway, but with the rush of air conditioning that wafted out came the cold emission of the simple command "In." Denying the weight that dropped into his stomach, Christian merely gave another wink and a smile in the pierced girl's direction , who in turn just shook her head yet again as she watched him stand and turn into the open doorway. Inside the Dean's office, Christian sauntered right on past Dr. Rosencrantz himself, dropping himself down into the hotseat. The sound of a disapproving grunt reached his ears, and Christian turned to acknowledge it with a casual wave. "Yo, Doc." Dr. Rosencrantz rested a hand on the chair next to Christian's head, a finger brushing away the red-dampened hair above the boy's ear. "You certainly went off the deep end this time, didn't you, Mr. Reynolds?" Christian pulled his head back from the probing hand---sharp enough to indicate his discomfort with the gesture, but not so blatant that it would appear disrespectful. "No sir, this was a long time coming, and very well deserved on his part. In fact I can remember warning you during our last session that this'd happen sooner than later." The Dean of Students withdrew, stepping around behind his desk and taking his seat before Christian. It was impossible to determine his age, with a youthful face and graying hair that was thick and healthy, but his outfit was one that would seem more fitting for an older professor, with a scarf wrapped around his neck above a tie and patched-elbow suit. He rested his head in a hand as he surveyed Christian silently, eyes betraying a wisdom far beyond someone of his title. "You know as well as I that I can't let this one slide. There will be severe consequences, to be determined at a later date while I delegate with my superiors and your parents. In the meantime, I'll be placing you in supervised containment; you'll be denied permission to leave your quarters at any time save for the use of the cafeteria while accompanied by a member of the school's guard detail. I suggest you make a trip to the library for--" "Y'know, don't even bother with any of that shit," Christian sighed, waving away the Dean's orders. "I'm really not interested in doing this anymore, I've had enough. Do whatever you need to do, but I'm out. I'm done with this school, and with you." Dr. Rosencrantz leaned forward in his chair, breaking eye contact with his charge, and instead focusing his attention on the framed photo that sat before him on his desk. "You do realize what that means, I hope, Mr. Reynolds. I can't fault your resolve, but I would ask you to employ common sense at the very least." Christian smeared his thumb through the drying blood on his forehead before pressing it onto the immaculate, polished surface of the Dean's desk, leaving behind a crimson thumbprint that shone vividly. "Does that look like I have any common sense to employ?" The Dean heaved a resigned sigh. "It looks like an enigma to me. All throughout your career as a student at this school, you've shown remarkable promise in regards to social rehabilitation and--common sense aside--are far beyond the majority of the student body when it comes to level of education and competence in absorbing the curriculum. Yet your recent decline in being able to function civilly and without incident--" "--Is entirely the fault of you and your staff thinking I ever belonged here in the first place," Christian said with his voice rising. "You all acted expecting me to be just another rotten apple like the rest of the losers at this school, and so I decided to give you exactly what you want, what did you ex--" A deafening crack and a splintered hunk of wood flying past Christian's ear silenced him instantly. Dr. Rosencrantz had brought a meterstick down on the edge of his desk with enough force to break it in two halves, the remaining of which he brought up to point at Christian threateningly. "Interrupt me again and I'll put you in the infirmary bed right next to Thomas. Understand, pup?" Christian's heart was pounding in his ears, and he looked away, silent. Dr. Rosencrantz stood, still gripping the shattered meterstick tightly, looking down at the Junior student coldly. "You will retire to your quarters, and wait for the proper arrangements with the authorities to be made to move you off-campus. What happens then is your baggage, so to speak, Mr. Reynolds. I'm sorry I couldn't help you further." Christian stood, sniffing a bit, casting a stony glare on the Dean. "I'm sorry too--sorry you had no real use beyond snapping sticks and acting like a pious prick." Rather than becoming even more upset at this remark, Dr. Rosencrantz just raised an eyebrow curiously, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards a bit. "Actually, you'd be wrong there, Mr. Reynolds--I do fancy myself quite the expert in breeding German Shepherds." Christian just scoffed and made an inappropriate jerking gesture with his hand in the Dean's direction as he turned to open the door. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. I'm outies." The professor said something else behind that he couldn't quite make out, since he's slammed the door hard enough to rattle the panes of glass set in the window down the hall. The pierced girl had vanished, leaving Christian alone to journey back to his dorm room. His ears were burning, his blood hot, causing him to itch all over from the exasperation. Whatever it was that Dr. Rosencrantz had said, it was still making his ears ring--focusing hard on the sound of his voice as he walked, Christian could almost convince himself that he'd been told to "be a good boy", but he couldn't tell for sure.

By the time he'd reached his room, Christian's hands were shaking and his head was buzzing. He figured he'd feel relieved enough at this point that he could forget his stress and finally relax for the first time in months, but the exchange with Dr. Rosencrantz had elevated his blood pressure to uncomfortable levels. He was angry, angry over something he couldn't quite understand, something about the way he'd been talked to in the Dean's office, but no matter how much he tried to forget it and put it out of his mind it just seemed to dig itself deeper into his thoughts...in fact, it almost seemed to be causing an actual headache, considering just how quickened his pulse was. Christian was alone on his bed in the dorm room, the other resident boys still trapped in class for the day, and as far as he could tell he would remain alone until either they returned or a campus guard came to lock him in. Whatever the case, he decided he would just wait it out in peace, and buried his head in his pillow. His burning ears didn't seem to care much for his headache, especially considering the soft layer of fur that had sprouted and stretched them up into twitching points. Christian groaned into the pillow, feeling irritated and achy all over, especially in his lip where the lengthening canine that had split it was digging into the half-healed cut. His clothes felt warm and tight, especially around his waist, so Christian did what any self-respecting teenage male would do: he reached down to unclasp the button of his khakhis, alleviating some of the pressure around his beltline by allowing his junk to spill out onto the sheets, nestled in his boxers. He scratched unconsciously at the sparse gathering of pubic hair above the waistband of his undergarment, and even as he withdrew his sharpening fingernails the hair thickened and wove together, softening into a more thoroughly developed patch of pubic fur. He kept his eyes shut to try and force himself asleep, a long and achy yawn causing his tongue to loll out down past his chin and against the pillow, leaving behind a spot of drool before he rolled it back into his mouth. This made him feel especially warm and stuffy, especially since his tongue felt like a wad of cotton against his teeth, so Christian reluctantly let the appendage droop back out from between his darkening lips. His arms were buried under the pillow he now rested his head on, so of course the sight of a wave of dark fur spreading over them eluded him, as did the feeling of his hair drawing back against his neck as it too was covered in the dark brown pelt. He felt hot, as if summer had come to his dorm room early, and the only thing that seemed to help was when he kept his mouth open to let his tongue rest against the pillow...and when he began sighing, and eventually panting, he forgot his discomfort entirely as a refreshing sensation of cooler temperatures washed through him. He didn't know or care why--most likely due to the decaying state of his normally sharp and self-centered thought processes--but this felt good, lying on his belly with his tongue draped out over his pillow, the boy panting eagerly as more and more of his body beneath his clothes was covertly blanketed in thick brown and sable fur. It felt a bit too good, actually, now that he thought about it--he caught himself rolling his hips forward into the mattress, squashing his own hidden package against his body, and without any real provocation or reason his thoughts turned to the girl with the pierced tongue he'd met in the hallway. The color of her hair, a natural auburn, distinct and enticing to the eye--the way she'd sat in her chair, the curves of her body concealed by the generously spaced fabric of the school uniform--it presented a perfect canvas for Christian's thoughts to run wild, and he began mentally stripping away each individual garment from her attractive form, watching her get nude in his mind's eye, giving him that same wry smile even as she bent herself down to let that silver stud roll itself against his erect member...he hadn't given anymore thought to it, but he was legitimately humping into the sheets now, the growing bulge straining as the creases disappeared around the firming maleness trapped within. His balls churned against his furred thighs, bursts of testosterone and other antagonistic hormones releasing themselves into his changing body, and those already lewd thoughts grew even steamier. Christian could almost smell the girl's own arousal, like an animal in heat, a natural perfume that rolled off her fingers and dripped from between her legs...God, how he wanted her, to get her down on all fours before him, to slip himself under her sprouting tail and bury his fat bone in her wet, hot spade of a pussy... He stopped himself, eyes snapping open. Something was wrong here, even he could tell in his fervored state. His hand had found its way down into his underwear, and he'd barely even needed to stroke himself before the realization had hit him. His fingers felt wet, and the skin of his member felt far, far too sensitive, far too pleasurable when touched. It also didn't help matters that as long as he was actually gripping himself, his hips were moving of their own accord to thrust into his hand. Reluctantly, the teenager pulled himself up off the sheets until he was sitting back, yanking his hand from between his legs with a great deal of effort. The best thing for him right now would just be to take a cold shower--lower his body temperature and neutralize his sudden bout of arousal simultaneously. It wasn't that he was opposed to or even self-conscious about masturbation--quite the opposite, in fact--but this seemed different, unnatural somehow, and he wasn't sure he liked it.-- >>TBC