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Human Bitches

Chapter Four: Between Girls

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Of course Spike didn't want to talk about it. I love that dog dearly, but he can be so close-mouthed sometimes when it comes to his feelings. Especially when he feels guilty about something. Especially when he's just broken one of the cardinal taboos of our culture.

After laying the human girl, Bridget Phelps, down on our bed, giving her a chance to rest after the very thorough shagging he'd just given her formerly virgin body, Spike had only looked at me for a moment before his eyes turned down and he retreated to the kennels. Obviously he's going to be spending the rest of the morning training Benny, giving her some serious obedience work. Considering what she was willing to do for him out there on the track, though, I don't think obedience will be much of an issue, at least not as far as obeying him. Getting her to obey her human mistresses, though, is something that will take a bit of work. Spike had something planned for that afternoon, something that would get the young McMichael's girl, Rachael, involved actively. I hoped it would be enough. I hoped Rachael would go along with it.

My name is Girl. That's not the name I was given when I was born...or, rather, decanted. I'm a purestrain canomorph, straight out of the tubes. I've never seen the inside of a natural womb. Because of what's been done to me, no more children will ever see the inside of my womb, not after what my first master did to me. Girl is the name I prefer, because it was given to me by Spike. It was just a nickname, of course, from when we met on the killblock, but then most of us prefer our nicknames. Spike isn't Spike's real name any more than Girl is mine. We all agree, though, that it's better than going by a lot designation and serial number. But even a number is better than going by the names my first master used to call me.

It's hard to talk about, and probably always will be, but I guess it's important to understand me. The awful details aside, I was originally decanted as an observation and surveillance specialist, and then released into the care of a male human officer along with several others like me. I was the only female in the group, and the only bitchdog as well - the numbers of female morphs has always been disproportionately low compared to the number of males. There were a few other canomorphs besides me, though they were males: a pointer, a setter, and a foxhound. Their presence made me feel more at home, more comfortable with my job, even with the felimorphs and avimorphs and lemurmorphs I also had to live and learn and train with. Maybe that made it worse, though. Maybe, if I hadn't been such a flirt with those boys what happened wouldn't have happened.

One day, after our training was done, I was walking back to the barracks for my nightly shower. The boys, even the ones that weren't canomorphs, liked having me around, especially when it was shower time. At the time, I liked being watched. I knew, even naked and alone with all those horny males, I was safe: they wouldn't do anything to me without my consent, unless I was actually in heat. Even then, they were trained morphs, raised to a life of discipline and respect. The chance of my being raped by a morph, even in the middle of a full, raging heat, was almost nothing. But being raped by a human...well, I was. Our commanding officer ordered me into his quarters before I got back to the barracks, and that's what happened. I told him to let me go, that I didn't want to do what he was doing to me, that having sex with a human was wrong, but he didn't listen. When I struggled, he beat me. My conditioning to obey humans, to never do injury to a human, was firmly in place at that time, and I couldn't do anything to stop him.

This went on for weeks. The other morphs immediately knew: they could smell what had happened, no matter how hard I tried to wash off the scent of my rapist. They all did their best to comfort me, each in his own way. Some even went through the channels to try and report our commander to his superiors, to make it stop. But the military, then as now, has always been a boy's club, and even if I had been a human, I was still a woman - a girl, really. I was both a morph, a race not even quite human, given even fewer rights than second-class human citizens in the past of the United States, and also female. My situation was completely ignored. That didn't mean that I didn't do anything, of course. I did a great many things, using my skills as a surveillance expert, as well as the combined cooperation of my unit, to quietly collect information about similar abuses of human masters over their morph trainees. This sort of thing, we quickly discovered, was depressingly common. I still have all the information, all the files and recordings from those days, stowed safely away in multiple copies in various formats. That sort of information can always turn out very useful, after all, if you sit on it long enough, and times change enough.

Surveillance work means you don't see a lot of combat, for which I was always grateful. I was never a violent sort of person, and the thought of actually killing somebody makes me feel all sick to my tummy. Even with the regular rapes, as my unit was deployed, our commanding officer still in charge, I found an inner peace, throwing myself into my work, into improving myself any way that I could. I had lots of time to do this, because my master wouldn't let me have any normal recreation, not wanting me to have any chance to find true sexual relief with other morphs. This meant I was the best of the unit, the most skilled and precise. It was all that I was allowed to do.

Perhaps I would have been all right, despite all of what happened, all of the repeated abuse I was forced to endure, except for one fatal flaw: I was a fertile, healthy female. And, unfortunately, my first master was a fertile, healthy male. It was inevitable that I should become pregnant with my master's child. Anyone could have seen it coming. Anyone, that is, except my master. When he found out, he flew into a rage. Normally a brutal, vicious, violent man, someone who enjoyed listening to my whimpers and cries as he raped me, now he turned positively psychotic. If the rest of my unit hadn't shown up, I don't think I would have survived. As it was, I miscarried, badly. So badly, much to my sorrow, that the doctors at the infirmary were hard-pressed to save my life. They didn't manage to save my womb, though.

What about my former commanding officer? My first master? Even if I were so inclined towards revenge, which I'm not, there's no need for it now. He's dead, you see, killed by...well, the official record says that I killed him. Never mind my relative strength and combat skill compared to his own. Never mind my skill in manipulating information, including the information to be found in the evidence at a crime scene, far surpassing that of any of my dearest friends in our unit. Never mind my love for the morph males of my unit, even to the point of death, just like they were willing to die for me. My friends are free and happy, and, in the end, so am I, so I guess it doesn't really matter what the official record says any more.

Sometime during my investigations of human and morph relations, some consensual, others not, while I was in the military, I picked up a deep liking for...watching. I like watching others in the throes of sexual pleasure even more than I enjoy being the one getting sexual pleasure. Actually, this was how I first met Spike. The guards on the killblock were actually fairly nice people, and gave us morph prisoners a lot of freedom, since they knew we'd behave ourselves. They delayed our sentencing, too, as much as they possibly could, which is why so few morphs were ever actually terminated in the killblocks, at least in the United States. This freedom, and my willingness to trade a blowjob for some additional privileges, was what led me into the showers that day at that time.

The showers in that killblock were communal and unisex. This would sometimes result in a source of entertainment for everybody when a morphgirl would come into heat and need some serious relief. All that needy morphgirl would need to do to take the edge off is head to the showers and hang around until it was time for the males to have their turn using them. It was a mostly unspoken but very strictly observed rule that no morphs wanted to have children in the killblock, but that didn't keep males of other morphtypes from helping themselves, or from morphs of the same type from enjoying anal and oral sex with the poor, needy girl. Since I was sterile, of course, I wasn't restricted at all from wandering where I pleased, and mostly in safety as well. This meant I was a regular at watching these hump-fests, and a not-infrequent addition to them if the other males got eager enough.

Something I feel is important to mention: morphs don't rape members of the opposite sex, not really. A girl in heat might get treated pretty roughly if she's a tease, and might not get much say in who mates with her if she's too flirty about it, but one of the strongest turn-offs for a morphmale is the scent of an unwilling female. If a female is actually not enjoying herself, if her cries turn from pleasure to genuine pain, then I haven't met a morphmale yet that won't stop whatever he's doing immediately, and neither has anybody I know, which is saying something, since my prior experiences and my enjoyment of watching and listening to the experiences of others has led me to being a pretty steady nexus for gossip among morphgirls in my local community as well as online. I'm sure there are nutjobs out there, morphs who are broken in their brains, who won't stop no matter what. It's a big world and mistakes do happen, after all. Still, it's statistically unlikely at best. Rape of members of one's own sex, though....

That's what I thought was about to happen when I went to the showers, at a time when I knew there would be almost nobody there, and I'd be sure to get some extra privacy. Why it is, I don't know, but I keep wavering between a desperate need for intimate contact and an equally desperate need to be alone and especially away from the touch of others. Probably a result of something ending up slightly broken inside of me after all those years with my first master. I was just slipping out of my prison coverall and grabbing a bottle of liquid soap when I heard a startled, male, gasp from the shower room. Immediately I ran to the entryway, then peeked around the corner, doing my best to stay small and invisible, just like I'd been taught a good surveillance specialist should. Before my eyes was one of the biggest, most muscular, most drop-dead gorgeous equimorph stallions I'd ever seen in my life. He must have been new to the block, because I didn't know him, and I made sure to get to know everybody.

As I watched in silence, not even daring to breathe, the sleek, black stallion was on his knees, breathing hard, his eyes wide as he looked over his shoulder at the shorter but more dangerous-looking male behind him. It was Spike, an albino pit bull morph I knew, though not too well. I'd seen him naked a few times, but never really paid much attention, since he always kept to himself, never really joining in with the other morphs in their diversions. Now, though, I was paying complete attention, taking note of every one of his tattoos, their sharp-edged patterns standing out in sharp relief against the stark white of his fur and the skin beneath. He wasn't a pretty male, that was certain, especially compared to the black beauty he was pushing to the ground with such ease, his superior martial skill obvious even to an amateur like myself, making the greater size and strength of the stallion useless. His body had scars as well as tattoos, and his face was scary, a snarling, drawn-up picture of primal savagery, his blood red eyes just making the picture all the more frightening. But...it was a sexy sort of frightening, I realized as I watched him maneuver the big black stallion to all-fours, pinning one arm behind the bigger male's back.

Spike was growling in the stallion's ear, whispering some obscenities that I could only just barely make out. Even the little I heard was enough to make the insides of my ears turn a bright pink - how indecent! It wasn't the hate talk you'd expect from a male about to rape another male in a dominance display, though; it was the dirty talk of a dominant lover to a submissive. Of a top to a bottom. The stallion, for all his size and obvious strength, trembled on the smooth tiles of the shower, breathing hard as the free hand of the pit bull roamed his sleek, beautiful body, exploring him, his back arching, head falling back, eyes closing in erotic tension. A nearby spigot was turned on to disguise some of the noises they were making, and it was a good thing, too, as the moans of that gorgeous stallion got especially loud when Spike gripped the other male's quickly-stiffening prick and started to pump it, slow at first, but quickly picking up speed. I knew equimorphs were sensitive, but this male...mmm, it was so hot watching him. It was like every move he made was intended to be shown on stage and screen. I couldn't look away, not even if I'd wanted to. And I didn't.

His broad tongue slowly licking the gorgeous stud's neck and back and shoulders, Spike released his grip on the stallion's hard black cock, only to take firm hold of his own. The other male looked back at Spike again with dark eyes that were at once fearful and pleading as he felt Spike's shockingly thick erection prod gently against the stallion's tailhole. And Spike was gentle, which was the most shocking thing of all! I bit my lower lip to keep from moaning myself at the truly hot display of these two males, jet black and albino white, moving their bodies against each other. The canomorph growled something in the equimorph's ear, and the stallion nodded in response. It was a request for permission. No, rough as it may have started, this wasn't a rape scene. I should give these males their privacy, I thought to myself at the time, but I still didn't move. My eyes didn't stray for one moment from the view before me as Spike's swollen glans slowly stretched the stallion's clenching little tailhole - and it was astonishingly small compared to the rest of his size, and must have been exquisitely tight for a male like Spike with such a very thick penis. Slowly, by fingerspans, veins standing out all over his savagely beautiful body as he fought against instinct, forcing himself to go so very slow, Spike sank himself into the black stallion's quivering rump. It was almost torture for me, watching them, my fingers now desperately busy between my legs before forcing myself to slow down as well, to only take it as fast as these wonderful males in front of me were going.

It was at the moment that their balls touched, Spike's full, fist-sized, blue-veined sac pressing slowly and intimately against the heavily-dangling horseballs, which looked so swollen they might burst at any moment, that I couldn't hold back any longer. I whimpered, softly. But though the sound was soft, the ears and then the heads of both males turned, their attention focused no longer on each other, but now on me, frozen with shock, kneeling half behind one of the racks for towels and clothes on the fringes of the shower area. The black stallion didn't seem to know what to do any more than I did, but Spike instantly took control in that way he always has.

"You like watching, Girl?" he said with a toothy grin that made me shiver as much from arousal as from fear, the way he said 'Girl' making it sound like a true name rather than just a reference to a female. All I could do was nod in honest answer. Spike wrapped both his arms around the stallion's sleek black chest and hoisted him up, until they were kneeling on the floor, Spike's hips grinding against the huge male's backside, deliberately making the taller male gasp at the rush of sensation, his beautiful horse-human hybrid prick spurting a jet of precum onto the shower floor. "You like Montenegro's cock?"

Montenegro. So that was the stallion's name. It meant black mountain, and looking at that smooth, glistening male organ thrust straight out from the sleek male's hips, dribbling precum heavily as Spike used one hand to stroke it near the base, the other to fondle the other male's balls, I could see clearly that the stallion deserved the name. He was huge in every sense of the word. But I also remembered where I'd heard that name before: it was on the news. Equimorph Goes Berserk went the title flash at the bottom of the screen, while the talking heads taking up most of the screen talked about how a recently decommissioned military-trained horse morph had seriously injured several humans, critically injuring one. The story gradually, after the attention span of most viewers would have drifted elsewhere, revealed that the equimorph, called Montenegro by everyone who knew him, had grown tired of trouble from a local crackhouse in his neighborhood, and so had personally taken it upon himself to go in and try to talk some sense to the persons within. Naturally, this quickly devolved into violence, and Montenegro quickly demonstrated what a former military equimorph, with enough strength to lift a pickup truck above his head without breaking a sweat, could do in the close confines of a crackhouse, even while unarmed. The rest of the story was described like something from out of some action movie, albeit in the clinical tones of the nightly news. The biggest difference between the news and the movies was that, in this version, the person who would normally be the protagonist ended up cast as the villain. There was some brief mention of some odd, almost religious paraphernalia among the drug manufacturing equipment of the group, but it was only in passing, a minor detail that would have completely slipped even my trained attention, if the symbols I noticed hadn't looked so very...strange, and so very familiar.

Mutely, I nodded to Spike's question. He stroked the heavy length of horsecock a little faster, his hips thrusting against Montenegro's sculpted rump in short but slow humping motions, making the bigger male shudder all over, more of his copious precum spurting free.

"Want a taste, Girl?"

Again I nodded, before dropping to all-fours, crawling forward slowly and cautiously. I wasn't quite ready to be touched by these two males yet; but oh! how I wanted to touch them. They sensed my trepidation, probably smelling it in the complex mix of scents and pheromones filling the shower room, and even Spike's thrusting hips grew still, both of them just watching me, red eyes and dark ones the only things that moved, following my movements as I came towards them, like some wild creature hesitantly coming forward to take food from an offering hand.

Tentatively, I stretched out my hand, and ever-so-gently placed my open palm on the top of Montenegro's outthrust penis. I started back, giving a little yelp of surprise as it jerked at my touch, spurting more precum as the big male shuddered. He was on-edge all right, the tension in the air driving him as crazy as any of us. I could see Spike panting on his shoulder, could see those intent, eager dark eyes watching me, heard both of them chuckle a little at my reaction, making me blush before that chuckle was cut off as they both shuddered, the motion enough to make them that much more sensitive. Again I sidled forward, and this time I screwed up my courage, promising myself not to try to get away as I slowly, tenderly stroked my hand all the way from the base of Montenegro's penis, where his heavy balls dangled, right up to the domed head, my eyes studying it with fascination as I noted the similarities and differences it had between the penis of both a human and a horse. Spike moved his hand as I knelt a bit lower, snuffling the wonderful smells of the two males as their bodies were pressed so closely together, before my tongue extended, licking across the swollen spheres confined in those tightly-pressed, silky sacs. Both males shuddered and Spike's hips bucked involuntarily, but this time I didn't pull away. Instead I kept licking, bolder now, more eagerly, teasing my tongue over Spike's taut backside as I looked upward between the legs of the conjoined pair, and then down over his perineum, and up into the cleft of Montenegro's rump, and again into the valley between his legs, before I licked my way in short, precise dabs all the way up every last inch of his wonderful, shining, heavily-leaking cock.

Moving as one, letting the pack instincts that were as much a part of me as the beating of my heart take over, I took the very tip of Montenegro's glistening black penis into my muzzle at the same time Spike drew his hips back. I could feel the tension in the room coming from both males, Spike in preparation to move, to act, and Montenegro in preparation to be acted upon. My head thrust forward at the same time Spike's hips did, my throat gulping convulsively as I took that wonderful length of sweet-tasting horsemeat right to the roots, until my chin bumped against his balls from one end at the same time Spike's bumped against them from the other. Montenegro gripped Spike's forearms, which wrapped around the stallion's waist, and moaned and gasped and then outright whinnied as we two dogs worked him from either end, his head falling back against Spike's shoulder as the big dog pounded Montenegro's gorgeous rear, while I just as enthusiastically bobbed my head, little spots flashing before my eyes from lack of oxygen at times, while my fingers of one hand held the stallion's pride steady, the fingers of the other hand jerking between my legs as though I was trying to start a fire.

I'm pretty sure it was Montenegro who came first. I only say pretty sure because I was only vaguely aware of thick, hot, copious cum hitting the back of my throat like a firehose as my own orgasm washed over me, my whole sense of the world reeling into red and black and white. It was so intense! My body jerking in convulsive spasms, I was finally forced to release the horsecock in my muzzle for fear of biting down, just moments before my teeth did indeed clench...and my whole body was hosed down by the monumental gush of Montenegro's cum. And I thought canomorphs produced a lot of jism! I could have showered in that much cum...and I guess you could say that I did, as thoroughly coated as I became, my whole body jerking and bucking even harder at the feel of that cum against my naked fur, as though it were heightening every sensation, my entire body getting a light glaze of stallioncream. Spike's own grunt of orgasm, and the patter of his own quite heavy load dripping out onto the tile beneath us, was just a backdrop to Montenegro's orgasm, which engulfed us all like a tidal wave.

As we showered off later - really showered, without interfering with each other - we talked things out between us, words only a part of the talk. Things are always deeper between morphs because we have so many other senses to use for communication. Montenegro, as it turned out, was the youngest of the three of us, with me second by only a little bit, and Spike the oldest. Not that it mattered all that much: morphgenes as they are, besides the state of healthcare available even to animals in these times, we would probably be at our prime for another century or so without really slowing down much. He'd only just come out of the U. S. military, the United States trying to deal with a variety of scandals that they hadn't managed to crush fast enough, and finally deciding to decommission most of its morphs as quickly as possible. This left Montenegro high and dry with a minimal pension - enough for him to get by on - and some cheap housing, and not much else. He needed to be useful, needed to be needed, that drive, that instinct an inherent part of all morphs. Without direction, he had simply taken the most direct route that he saw, with typical military thinking, to improving his neighborhood. Thankfully he'd controlled himself enough to keep from killing anyone, though one young man had been badly hurt when Montenegro kicked in the steel door of the...place. It was at that point that I paid some serious attention: the place wasn't just an urban bunker set up to manufacture and deal the newest wave of designer drugs (still called "crackhouses" out of tradition). It was something else, something that Montenegro didn't quite understand, not having been given any significant religious instruction while in the military. After all, to most of Christianity, the U. S.'s dominant religion, animals - and by extension, morphs - don't have souls, so it was felt that there wasn't much point in trying to explain things to us. We generally devoted ourselves to causes and to individuals instead. But what Montenegro saw had made his blood run cold: pamphlets talking about doomsday and cleansing the Earth with blood; about the need for soldiers willing to die for the Cause; about the fanaticism of the people inside that crackhouse, perfectly willing to die to stop him, without a hint of fear, with only his immense strength and training allowing Montenegro to keep the crazies from getting what they wanted; about how they cursed him as a spawn of Hell and cried out for his blood like demons. And that symbol.

Spike was a simpler case, something more like mine. He'd been the sergeant of his unit, a combat morph that had seen action several times already now assigned to a training unit to get the next batch ready for battle. He had stopped his commanding officer from raping one of his charges, a young and innocent huskymorph named Pal. Pal was there in the killblock with Spike, even though the husky hadn't done anything wrong, and probably never would: Pal didn't have a mean bone in his body, having always had such a hard time in the parts of his training that were supposed to teach him to kill. Spike felt that, given the options, it was probably better that Pal end up in the killblock than in battle. Spike had seen combat, just as had Montenegro and myself, and we all agreed that this was better. Now Pal was Spike's personal charge, and the albino would do anything to keep the younger male safe and protected.

It was this intense devotion to duty that had led Spike to seduce Montenegro. Montenegro was new to the block and hadn't figured out the way things worked. Spike hadn't been laid in weeks, being too busy helping the innocent huskymorph adapt to their new life, and especially working to comfort the poor male, who was so very heartbroken, feeling that he'd somehow let everyone down. It was just as Pal's mood had begun to improve, his tail wagging again, that Montenegro had arrived, and Spike determined that he was going to have his release, if the big horse would have him, while Montenegro saw Spike as a similar sort of release of tension after the weeks of case review and other nonsense before he'd been put on the killblock. That, and they could both sense a kindred spirit in the other, one of those deeper, instinctive things that went beyond words which humans have such a hard time identifying sometimes, but that we morphs recognize almost immediately, so long as we are paying attention.

When Montenegro mentioned the symbol, Spike nodded. He'd seen it as well, except it had been in Saudi Arabia while on a peacekeeping mission during the civil war. The story was eerily familiar, too: fanatics unafraid of death, spouting doomsday and anti-morph rhetoric, determined to overthrow everything to cleanse the Earth in an orgy of violence and destruction.

Then it was my turn, and I told them everything, holding nothing back. They were the first ones to hear it all, from start to finish; not even my unit mates had heard everything. Both males moved closer, then, as I talked, and I didn't flinch as they held me between them, oh-so-gently.

I stayed like that, held between their bodies, just basking in the sensation of warmth and safety in a way I hadn't known since I was decanted, for such a long time. But even times like that had to end, and what I had to add was important: I'd seen the symbol too. For me it was in the former North Korea while I was doing reconnaissance during the Division and Reunification War. There had been Chinese nationals just across the border who'd taken the shattering of Korea, before its eventual reformation in close conjunction with its neighbor, China, as an opportunity to come down like a raving horde. They nearly discovered my unit, and it was only Sniff, the foxhound and the youngest of us, who noticed them in time for us to vacate the area before they came upon us in force. We directed the Chinese military, many of them also morphs, to strike the fanatics with their artillery, scattering them so that the morph units to which my reconnaissance unit had been attached were able to pick off the survivors. This was something they were forced to do, as these bloodmad humans fought to the very last, never once considering their personal safety as they screamed out curses at the beast-monsters who they saw as the sign of the oncoming apocalypse.

Perhaps we would have spent more time considering this conjunction of our stories, except that it was then that Pal appeared. Pal was precious. That was my first reaction to him on first sight, with a small husky plushie hugged tight against his chest, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. He'd come looking for Spike, worried about where his friend had gone. Unable to resist the adorable expression on Pal's blue-eyed face, I came with Spike to put the huskymorph to bed.

Pal wasn't mentally or physically deficient in any way, as I quickly discovered as I talked to him, explaining as best as I could what Spike, myself, and Montenegro were doing there in the shower room. He already knew what had been going on from the scents in the room, but the talk of sex made him blush in a way that was adorable. Wearing so little clothing, and stroking my hands over his fluffy-furred body as I put the covers over him, I could see that he was very well-built, obviously a strong and healthy male. What was wrong with Pal was that he'd been forced to grow up too fast, and simply hadn't been able to handle it as well as others of the first generation.

That was another thing Spike, Montenegro, and myself shared, and, as I now learned, Pal did as well: we were first generation. This meant we were genetic gold to other morphs, and to the humans who sometimes sought to breed us like animals, even having competitions to demonstrate skill and success in breeding. But it also meant that we'd never known the touch of a true mother or father, had never been children, had never gone through those myriad of experiences that were an essential part of growing up. We were simply decanted when our bodies reached an appropriate level of maturation, our cell structure so vibrant and stable that we would stay the way we came out for decades without more than the most minor of deterioration. Even our gametes, when we reproduced, didn't have the problems with extreme randomness that humans too often had, meaning that all of our offspring were essentially guaranteed (as much as science could make any guarantees, of course) to take on a similar genetic stability. This meant that we wouldn't have the wild fluctuations of genetic expression found in humans, which could sometimes produce geniuses, but much more often produced handicaps.

Most morphs of the first generation simply dealt with the situation of being thrust into a strange new world, prepared only by subliminal training and psychological conditioning while in the vat, by throwing ourselves almost mindlessly into the roles selected for us by society. This usually meant military service for first generation morphs, though there were a few that were bought by the rich or the connected, forming a rather elite cadre of special pet owners. So we simply threw ourselves into that great void of unknowing, and learned at truly phenomenal rates, more than fast enough to make up for our lost years, and did all we could to act like adults when we had no idea what it meant to be children. Pal, on the other hand, hadn't been able to make that leap quite as well. As I watched him sleep, comforted at last, holding his stuffed toy between his jaws with astonishing delicacy (but not without a goodly supply of drool), I realized that he was a truly gentle, sweet soul that just wasn't meant to be a trained killer, and probably wasn't really meant to completely grow up at all. It was only by luck and determination that Spike had managed to get Pal assigned as his team's medic and given special education that kept him away from the worst of the combat training - another sign of Pal's intelligence - learning to heal rather than to harm.

So our time in the killblock passed, with we four friends sticking close together, keeping each other safe. Montenegro eventually grew a bit more distant as he made more friends, showing his skill for making contacts which would serve him well in later years, but we were never truly unfriendly with him, and always knew he would be an ally in a pinch, just as we would be his. Then, just two short weeks before Spike's final day of reckoning was scheduled, the block wardens having put it off as long as they possibly could, the killblocks were decommissioned as unethical during yet another spate of lawmaker debates on how morphs should be considered by the law. Were we animals? People? Something completely new? The debate had been started when one especially vile lawmaker, a Senator Hedgeway, had proposed that all decommissioned, former military morphs be sent to the killblocks, which of course required that the purpose of killblocks be explained, which led to a full-scale investigation, and so on. Of course, nothing was ever really decided, and the debates continue to this day, but the forceful and powerful actions of Mrs. Diane Lords - Angel Lords to all morphs, myself included - was all that saved our lives, and ensured that, this time, we morphs would be given a fair shake at fitting into society. We were all given a mid-sized settlement, enough to get us started at almost anything we might choose, given some basic retraining, and then set loose on the world once more. It certainly wasn't much, but it was worlds more than what we'd been given by the military or any of our former owners. It was enough for Spike to be able to start a new life for both of us, and for Montenegro to get his start in Hollywood. Pal, thankfully, was taken directly under the wing of Angel Lords after she saw him on one of her own tours of our killblock. She had instantly recognized him for what he was, and Spike had dared to speak up to her - the only morph I've ever seen do such a thing, even with her tall and obvious well-trained Doberman morph backing her, protecting her with unflagging vigilance - telling her that Pal needed to get out of there. If nobody else made it out, Pal should, and he told her exactly why. So, even before the killblocks were taken out of service - before we even knew that they'd be closed - Pal was safe. Our goodbyes then had been teary, and when we were all free again our reunion was even more teary, but for quite different reasons. Spike and I still keep in touch with Pal through e-mail and occasional chatrooms, as he has decided to stay with Angel Lords and her family.

Which, of course, brings us back to the here and now. I smiled as I stroked Bird's long, dark blonde hair, and then carefully tucked it into the scrunchie she'd had in her pocket, but which had fallen out when Spike had laid her clothes on the bed not long after setting her down. It was a shame, I felt, to keep nice hair like hers done back in a ponytail, but it did make sense considering how physically active she obviously was. Deciding I had a little time before the girl woke up, I rose from my chair next to the bed and went into the other room where I kept my computers and other equipment. Almost a half-hour later I returned, holding a little thumb drive in my hand, and found Bird blinking like an owl in the sun.

"Where-?" she began, before she blinked again, and realization came flooding back visibly behind her eyes. Her cheeks flushed deeply, and she immediately grabbed the blanket to cover herself, which just made me giggle.

"Relax, silly," I told her, sitting on the edge of the bed, tail wagging as it almost always did (I really can't control the silly thing). "I'm a girl too, after all."

"But you...and that...and Spike...and...," her eyes widened as she looked down, running her hands over the precious parts of her hidden by the blanket, and then wincing.

"Spike's a very big boy," I said with a sympathetic nod, before reaching over to rub her shoulder, sidling up next to her in a comforting fashion.

"Is...is it like that all the time?" she asked, letting her smooth skin press against my warm fur, and then pressing a little closer than was strictly needed, accepting my unspoken offer of comfort through contact.

"Every time," I said with a nod, and then a giggle. "He's pretty vigorous. Well, it hurts less, but the good parts are at least that good. I promise." I made an X over my heart with my fingertip, and it was Bird's turn to giggle.

"Phew, I never really...I mean, that was my first time ever," explained Bird, obviously needing someone to talk to right then. "And it was with a dog."

We laughed together, the sound a release of tension more than humor, both of us sharing a moment of understanding.

"But it was good," Bird added, smiling dreamily. "I...I guess I thought my first time would be with the guy I marry. Or maybe somebody that I'd date. Something like that. Instead, well..." she frowned, trying to figure out her next words.

"How do you date a dog?" I asked knowingly.

"Exactly," Bird agreed, and then shook her head. "How am I going to tell my friends?" Her eyes widened in alarm. "How am I going to tell my mom?"

"Your mother, you'll have to figure out on your own, I'm afraid," I said, rubbing her back, feeling her trim young muscles relax under my touch, and also feeling a little bit of envy at her skinny body, something I just wasn't genetically intended to have, being given a body better suited for making babies instead. "I haven't met her, so I couldn't offer a thing to help. But as for your friends...," I held out the thumb drive. "Here."

"What's this?" asked Bird, taking the tiny, pink-shelled storage device and looking at it dubiously.

"The recording of what happened out there on the track," I said with a gentle smile. "Edited, of course, to show only the best parts."

"How long...how long were we...?"

"The feed runs for about an hour," I said. "The part at the end - the really fun part - runs for maybe twenty minutes."

"Only that long?" Bird said, blinking in surprise. "It seemed like it took forever...in a good way, I mean."

"You were pretty worked up by then," I reminded her with a wink, which just made her blush some more, nodding as she admitted what she knew to be true. "You want to know a secret, Bird?"

This made Bird's head rise, ears metaphorically perking as she looked at me expectantly.

"It's just sex," I told her, making her blink in surprise.

"What do you mean?" she asked, obviously not quite understanding what I meant, but the inklings of that understanding already beginning as she began puzzling it out for herself as best as she could with what she already knew.

"Well, it felt good, didn't it?" I asked, and then continued when I got the slightly sheepish nod of affirmation. "Sex is just like that. I've heard some people say it's just for making babies, but that can't be all of it. It's the single most powerful good sort of feeling I've ever had, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," said Bird, her cheeks reddening once more with the memory of what she'd shared with Spike out on the track.

"There's all sorts of bad feelings that we have, and I think there are more words to describe them in the dictionary than there are words for the good feelings," I kept going. "So, what's wrong with making the most of the few good things we've got?"

Bird was nodding in agreement once more before her expression showed that something had dawned on her, and she touched her hands to her stomach, letting the blanket drop to expose her youthful breasts.

"But...but what about...?" she began, making me smile as I leaned over comfortingly, and then suddenly licked her cheek. This made Bird giggle again, and half-push me away, though not very seriously.

"That can be a sort of pleasure too," I reassured her. "Having a morph's baby isn't like having a human baby. For one thing, I understand that you don't get morning sickness. It's just...this sort of a warm feeling that stays with you all the time, leaving you all tingly and sensitive and almost always horny." I blinked, then, noticing how Bird was looking at my face while I spoke. "Um, that's how I've heard it described, anyway," I ended, my ears turning down as I did the canomorph equivalent of a blush.

"You've never had children of your own?" asked Bird, frowning as she looked at me. "Is that just a choice, or...?"

I shook my head, then reached down, stroking up the fur on my naked belly. She winced as she saw the pale scar still visible over my womb.

"I guess you could say I was neutered," I half-joked, almost smiling, but then having to blink to keep the tears back. "I was hurt - badly - by a human man once." I looked down. "He didn't want me to have his babies."

I couldn't continue, but I didn't have to; Bird's arms were around me almost immediately, and she held me tight. My own arms wrapped around her, and we just sat there like that for a long, long time, sharing in each others' warmth and closeness.

"So," I said some minutes later as we separated slightly, letting the heavy subject slide away in favor of something a bit more fun, "would you like to know if Spike knocked you up?"

The wink I threw at the end of the question made Bird giggle again, and she knelt on the bed, seeming to forget that we were both completely naked for a little while, facing me.

"You've got one of those kits around here?" she asked, then made a face. "I don't really want to have to pee on something if I don't have to, though."

"Oh, it's simpler than that," I reassured her, then motioned with my hand in a little circle. "Just get on all-fours and turn around." She looked at me incredulously, but I rolled my eyes. "I've got a dog's nose, silly: I can smell if you're fertile. So could Spike, for that matter, though," I grinned, "I doubt he'd have thought of it in the heat of the moment. Of if he did, it would have probably just made him that much more energetic. Silly boys."

We shared another giggle at that, before Bird did indeed rise up onto all-fours, and then turned herself around, pointing her pert bottom towards me. I really couldn't help myself as I rested my hands on her smooth tushie, stroking it for a moment.

"Mmm," I said with a smile, giving Bird's cheeks a little squeeze, testing their firmness. "I can see why Spike got so rough with you, though." I winked at her as she looked over her shoulder at me. "You've got a really cute butt."

"So, what, a girl's buns are important to a dog guy?" Bird teased, wiggling her buns back in my face, prompting me to give her a very light smack with my hand.

"Hold still, silly," I said with a laugh, which Bird shared. "Well, yes, really. I mean, it's our instinct to mount from behind. And morphs usually have tails, too, to cover ourselves up back there, so we can forget about it with each other most of the time. But with somebody like you, who's got a truly gorgeous little tushie," and there I stroked the top of her twin cheeks, just below the small of her back, making her arch her back a little into my touch as she gave a soft, happy sigh, apparently liking it, "and not even a tail to hide it, there's not a boydog around who wouldn't be eager for a chance to mount up if you let them. Or a lot of girldogs, for that matter."

"So if I was fertile at the time, I'd have dogboys chasing me down the streets like a bitch in heat?" asked Bird, looking back at me with a mischievous grin, wiggling her butt a little more suggestively.

"Stop that wriggling, silly," I said with a giggle, gripping Bird's buns in both hands. "Only if you encouraged it. If you teased enough males in a group, made it pretty obvious you were interested, even got aroused from the teasing, and then tried to walk away, you'd have a really hard time making those canomorphs calm down." As I spoke, my hands roamed her hips, and then over her dimples of Venus, before going back to stroking her firm rump. "If you faced them and told them no, they'd stop. But if instead you ran away...,"

"Gang bang city, I get you," said Bird, shivering a little at the thought. I noticed, though, that her face grew a bit red from the talk, while her labia also grew rather flushed. That wasn't a shiver of fear at all: it was one of excitement. It was then that I started to pay full attention to my supposed reason for having her in this position, wincing a bit as I looked her over.

"Oh, goodness," I said, nuzzling Bird's rump gently. "Stay right there, you poor thing. Spike really did a number on you, didn't he?"

Watching me curiously as I reached over to the nightstand drawer, opening it to pull out some soothing cream, Bird obediently stayed in position, folding her arms beneath her to better hike up her rump while getting a bit more comfortable. As I returned, I helped her a bit by sticking one of the pillows under her stomach, to provide a little more support.

"You're just rather, well, stretched out here, Bird," I explained, patting her upthrust bottom. "You'd be fine either way: Spike was very gentle. But it was still your first time, and this will make sure you don't have trouble sitting down for the rest of the weekend."

Gently parting Bird's presented, smooth cheeks with one hand, I just-as-gently probed her quite stretched anal ring with a finger of my other hand. Feeling her tense and wince more than seeing it, the touch just proving the honesty behind my actions, I released her rump to squeeze a liberal amount of the soothing medicinal cream out onto my finger, before spreading her open once more with the opposite hand. Letting it warm a little, I reached forward, and very gently, very carefully, circled Bird's tiny rosebud, my slick finger easily sliding into her with just a little extra pressure. I glanced down slightly as I felt Bird's sphincter clench down on my finger, heard her give a slight moan at this sensation of smooth, soothing penetration, and the gently cooling feeling of the cream soothing her hurts and helping her rear passage to start tightening up once more, and smiled as I noticed how flushed Bird was getting down there.

"Just lucky that you didn't try to tease a gang of stray boydogs," I continued with that slight smile on my muzzle, out of her sight, my finger slowly moving inside of her, my thumb of that hand stroking idly over her bared little slit. "They'd probably call out for reinforcements, and you'd have every two-legged mutt in the neighborhood out with a hard-on for you. It'd be like having Spike on you all over again, but even more of it - all those hands, all those tongues, grabbing you, stripping you, stroking you, groping you, licking you everywhere."

Bird's body was tense as I spoke, and I heard her give a soft whimper as my thumb 'accidentally' stroked over her clitoris. She was obviously trying her best not to squirm while I was treating her, but only having mixed results, her hips shimmying slightly on the pillow propping her up despite herself. Her snug cunny was heavily flushed now, and even leaking a little bit. It was all too easy, I mused to myself before I realized my tail was wagging, and just hoped that Bird didn't notice.

"If you were even a little bit ovulating right then," I continued, giving my finger a final twist, hard enough to make Bird tense up all over, giving a soft cry that she muffled by pressing her mouth to her forearm before I pulled it smoothly out, "you'd be pregnant for sure, with all the cocks, two or three at a time, that you'd have inside of you in every hole." I nodded sagely. "I've seen it happen once or twice, where some silly girldog goes into heat, but thinks she's too good for the boydogs staring at her, flirts a little extra heavily, getting herself aroused in the process, and ends up squealing and yelping and cumming for hours while every male in the neighborhood takes three or four turns with the squirming little bitch, making sure she's properly knocked up with pints of cum. Hmm," I paused, musing, "speaking of which, I guess I might as well see if you've got a bun in your oven while I'm down here. This'll only take a little while, so brace yourself and hold nice and still."

Bird did indeed brace herself, biting into her forearm to muffle the loud moan that came as I spread her labia apart with my fingers. The poor girl was soaked! Taking my time, slowly, delicately, I moved my muzzle forward, letting Bird feel my breath on her exposed girlparts, making her wriggle despite all her efforts to hold still for me. The effort to hold still was actually making it harder for her to concentrate on anything else. Which just meant she was getting all the more aroused with every passing second that I grazed my muzzle against her smooth, wet cunny. Of course, I made sure to draw it out, to make a big show of taking her scent. Then, pressing my muzzle right up to her juicy quim, I pressed my tongue forward, making Bird's whole body shudder with the first start of an orgasm as the tip just barely penetrated her.

It would be an act of ultimate cruelty to leave anyone in such a state at Bird was right then. The poor girl was so achingly, desperately needy right then, so ready to shatter into a thousand pieces at the lightest touch, that not giving her the release her body was crying out for would have been tantamount to slow torture. How could I possibly not respond to such a desperate, (mostly) silent plea for my help?

Naturally, that is right where I stopped, pulling my muzzle away and rising from the bed.

"Oh, look at the time!" I said, pointing to the clock, which read nine in the morning. "You've got so much to do today," and there I looked at her meaningfully, even as Bird looked at me with a dazed look on her face for several long moments before cold reality washed over her once more, and she started to rise from the bed as well, reaching for her clothes. "And don't forget: you've got a lot to show your friends."

Bird paused as I said that, and then nodded, sliding the thumb drive into the pocket of her running shorts.

"Um," she asked, standing there a moment longer. "So?"

I smiled.

"Not this time," I said, pressing my hand between her legs, feeling the dampness there already soaking into her shorts. "You'd better hurry home: smelling like you do, the morphs around here might take it as an invitation."

That light tease managed to break Bird out of her momentary hesitation, and we exchanged our last goodbyes, along with Bird's promise to be there that night with her friends. As I watched her leave out the front gate, using the side entrance this time instead of the big sliding car door, I knew that I'd been wicked in many ways. I'd been trained for intelligence acquisition and analysis, which meant, essentially, I was a military spy. I knew just what to say and what to do to get what I wanted.

What I really wanted, more than anything in the whole wide world, was to have puppies of my own.

If you really want, I suppose you can judge me for taking advantage of an impressionable teenage girl right at the moment when she was most vulnerable, most easily made to think the most obscene thoughts and find them intensely arousing. More than that, it was the moment when she was most likely to be willing to open up to her friends, if only she was shown by example that opening up could be such a sweet experience, as she'd found out with me. But don't forget, as you judge me, that I've had something taken away from me, something that, as far as I know, I'll never be able to get back in any other way.

I'd just gently engineered the situation that would end with my having all the babies that I could ever hope for, from willing surrogate mothers. Human surrogates.

Human bitches.