# Woman's Best Friend

Author: Gideon Kalve Jarvis
Tags: Canine, Domination/Submission, Human, M/F, Masturbation, Pregnancy, Seduction, Teenagers, Virgin, Voyeurism

A champion breeding dogservant seduces his human mistress' teenaged daughter and her three best friends.

  
  

Woman's Best Friend

  
  

By Gideon Kalve  
Jarvis

  
  

 

  
  

            Ambrose  
grit his teeth as he stood there under the cold water, waiting for his erection  
to finally die down.  The tall, muscled  
Doberman Pinscher canomorph was breathing hard from the two previous orgasms  
he'd had over the last hour, painting the wall of the shower white with his  
seed, even as the frigid water blasted down onto his back.  Unlike a normal canine's cum, Ambrose's  
wasn't watery at all.  It was very thick,  
rich with sperm and the vital juices needed to propel them along to the ova of  
a receptive female.  What his semen did  
have in common with a canine's, though, was the sheer amount of it.  Each extended orgasm, starting from the  
moment his knot formed until the moment it subsided, had him spurting cum like  
a firehose.

  
  

            "Made for  
breeding," growled Ambrose, turning now to face the water, letting it soak down  
his front.  He looked down at his  
throbbingly erect penis, and could almost swear he saw steam rising from the  
pink length.  "Blast my designers."

  
  

 

            After two  
intense orgasms, the dobiemorph was feeling a bit meditative, despite his  
continued erection, letting his mind wander in thought, and letting one hand  
wander downward, cupping his large, heavy balls.  They felt swollen, even after the prior discharges  
of cum, and Ambrose ran his fingers over the prominent veins that fed rich  
heartblood to his testicles.  He was a  
made creature, all right.  His penis,  
when erect, looked like a human's, except it didn't have a foreskin.  That was the purpose of his sheath, after  
all.  The color of the long, reasonably  
thick shaft was a uniform pink color, much like the glans of a human's  
cock.  And when he came, the base of the  
dobiemorph's shaft would swell up into a mid-sized knot, about the size of a  
golf ball, which acted to keep all his cum inside of a female.  His balls were large, heavy, the testicles  
looking almost too big for the scrotal sac when Ambrose was fully aroused.  Besides this, a quick look over his body  
confirmed what Ambrose felt: he was a young, healthy, athletic and virile  
canomorph male.  He was a melding of  
human and canine genes, specially tailored for the desires of his owners.

  
  

 

            "Made to .  
. . serve," grunted Ambrose, getting close once more, the stroking of his  
balls, even under the cold water, the last touch that started him on the final  
climb of orgasm.  "Made . . . too . . .  
human!"

  
  

            This last  
was a guttural grunt as Ambrose came once more, a jet of thick spunk  
splattering against the far wall.

  
  

That was the problem of course:  
Ambrose, like most canomorphs, was just a little bit too human.  When you were dealing with somebody like  
Diane Lords on a daily basis -  or, worse  
yet, her daughter Mercy - if you were capable of feeling anything akin to  
physical attraction to a human female, you were doomed before you even began.

  
  

            While  
capable of five or six more orgasms, thanks to the attention of his creators to  
his breeding apparatus, as a full five minutes passed, and his knot began to  
subside, Ambrose found that he was starting to get control of himself once  
more.  Enough, at least, that he was able  
to will his penis back into its sheath, tensing his belly muscles, making his  
trim six-pack ripple, and then working the inner muscles controlling the  
extension of his penis, sucking the thick pink shaft back into his sheath  
almost instantly.

  
  

 

            In only a  
matter of minutes after this, Ambrose had dried himself off with his fur  
blower, and then dressed himself to immaculate perfection.  Now sporting slacks and jacket and  
cummerbund, with a vest and bow-tie topping off the uniform, the dobiemorph was  
dressed for the part of house butler and general dogservant to perfection.  A glance at his small room's wall clock told  
him it was 5:30 in the morning, and he was running right on time.

  
  

            At 6:30,  
after completing the preparations for the day, Ambrose ascended the stairs of  
the sprawling Lord mansion, and was soon knocking on the door to Diane Lords'  
room, a large tray balanced in his other hand.   
Three quick, soft knocks, and then he pushed the door open, stepping  
inside.

  
  

            "Mmm - it's  
that time, isn't it, Rose?" said a soft, sultry voice in the dim lighting of  
the room, even as a sleek figure began to stir in the tangled sheets of the  
bed.  "Time to get up, to face the new  
day.  Beat the system and win some bread."

  
  

 

"Yes Ma'am," replied Ambrose  
dutifully as he set the tray on its portable table over his mistress' lap as  
she propped herself up on the pillows.   
With an expert flourish, Ambrose removed the silver cover, presenting his  
mistress with breakfast and the morning mail, including her financial  
journal.  He needed no light in the  
darkness, his eyes quite light sensitive, though he didn't have as much color  
perception as a human did.  "The weather  
report indicates that today and the entirety of next week should have  
delightfully beautiful weather.  Sun and  
cool breezes from off the ocean."

  
  

            "Perfect  
for my daughter and her little friends," sighed Diane Lords as she pushed the  
covers aside, unashamed of her nudity beneath the sheets as she began to tuck  
into breakfast.  "And with me going to  
Belgium, too.  Well, at least I'll be  
able to enjoy next weekend, if the weather holds."

  
  

            "It should,  
Ma'am," replied Ambrose, carefully not looking in Diane's direction as he  
opened the shades, letting the bright sun of the beachside villa flood into the  
bedroom.  That done, he then turned,  
looking down at the floor like a good and submissive dog, gritting his teeth  
lightly to keep from noticing the enticing smell of the female he was serving,  
to try and keep his male instincts from making a fool of him.  "Your bags are packed and by the door, and  
your driver should be here in an hour and a half - you should have plenty of  
time for your morning routine.  Is there  
anything that you wish me to do further, Ma'am?"

  
  

 

            Why Ambrose  
didn't look at his mistress was only partially due to his impeccable training  
as a dogservant.  The other part (and it  
was a significant part) of his reason for looking down at his large, bare paws  
was because it was considered expressly obscene in the eyes of the law and  
accepted morality to even consider what his impulses told him he should do to  
(and, knowing her, probably with) his mistress.   
There was little questioning why the poor dobiemorph was suffering so, of  
course.  Diane Lords, having only just  
entered her middle thirties, had the body of a woman ten years her junior.  No, that was not really a good description of  
someone like Diane Lords.  Very few  
people had a body like hers, at any age.   
Even just rising from sleep, the bedclothes tangled about her as she ate  
breakfast, her long, flowing blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders like a  
golden waterfall in an effect that hairstylists sometimes had to work for hours  
to achieve in models.  Without makeup,  
Miss Lords had a smooth, unblemished face, her blue eyes bold and yet sweet,  
giving her an air of command while doing nothing to detract from her many and  
obvious feminine charms, her cheeks fair, her lips full with an ever-so-slight  
pout.

  
  

 

Her body, of course, was slim and  
supple, firm and lightly athletic, with not a bit of cellulite on the trim,  
smooth curves that were ever-so-easy on the eyes.  It didn't take a trained eye to spot a woman  
whose every slight move cried out sex and need, as though demanding that all  
men around her pay attention.  Diane  
Lords had raw animal magnetism right alongside of a body that just wouldn't  
quit, and a commanding air that could rule men and women with equal ease.  Resisting her desires was a battle of  
ultimate will for any man.

  
  

            This, of  
course, was Diane Lords' appearance before she dressed and put on her day's  
makeup.  Once she did that, Ambrose found  
himself as much a prey to the woman's intense seductive powers as any male, her  
ability to command total and complete.   
And what made it almost unbearable was that Miss Lords didn't even do it  
deliberately, for all the time she spent making herself look pretty.  It just came naturally for her, as easy as  
breathing.  It was what she did, the  
skill around which she based everything else that she was, and she was very good  
at it.

  
  

 

            It was this  
power of seduction that had eventually led Diane Lords (originally Diane  
James-Davies) to overwhelm the senses of Martin Lords, the aging heir to Lords  
Confectionary, a massive candy firm with roots in Europe, but great holdings in  
the United States as well.  When Martin  
Lords had died four years ago, that left his wife in charge, for she was  
careful never to have been a mere trophy wife.   
Diane had quickly risen to the occasion with masterful skill, taking  
full command of the business and bringing in record sales, and she was known  
far and wide as the world's most gorgeous CEO, as well as its most successful  
single mother.

  
  

            But this  
past history had little to do with the truly horrid (and torrid) thoughts that  
Ambrose was forced to suppress, pushing them aside as illegal as well as  
immoral.  His personal session in the  
shower helped some as he felt the sweat starting to build between the toes on  
his large paws, and he flexed them unconsciously while he waited for his  
mistress to reply.

  
  

 

            "Oh, I  
think that will do for now, Rose," said Diane in that voice of hers, a voice  
that caused the much-tempted dobiemorph's heart to start up a bouncing  
pitter-patter.  "You'll get Mercy up  
soon, won't you?  Make sure she doesn't  
miss her last day of class before Spring Break?"

  
  

            "Of course,  
Ma'am," replied Ambrose, his stubby docked tail wagging as he bowed, making  
Diane smile as she saw it wiggling as it poked out of the back of his  
perfectly-pressed slacks.  "I'll be  
taking her breakfast now.  With your  
leave."

  
  

            Ambrose was  
out the door as quickly as decorum allowed, and soon leaned against the wall by  
the bedroom, his sharply-pointed ears perked as he listened to the soft clink  
of silverware and fine china as his mistress had her breakfast.  Taking a long, cooling breath and then  
letting it out, the dobiemorph nodded in satisfaction as he started off back  
down the stairs to fetch the second breakfast tray of the day.  He'd kept himself under control, and not even  
a bulge had shown while he was talking with his mistress.  The Doberman decided that this was a sign of  
a good day ahead as he ascended the stairs once more, another silver-covered  
tray in hand.  Of course, that still left  
the biggest hurdle of the day: Mercy Lords, Diane's daughter.

  
  

 

            Reaching  
the door at the end of the hall at precisely 6:50 am, Ambrose's large pawhand  
once more lifted and gave three quick, short, soft knocks, being careful to  
knock only on a part of the door that was not covered by one of the many  
posters and signs that adorned it, before he pushed the door open and stepped  
into the room of his mistress' daughter.   
The sight that greeted him, unfortunately, was quite enough to ruin  
almost all of the poor dobiemorph's prior efforts at self-control.

  
  

            As  
Ambrose's jaw dropped, despite himself, his eyes were brought immediately to  
the smooth young creature before him, lovely in her youth.  Even a quick glance at her revealed that she  
had all of the beauty of her mother, just waiting to come into full bloom as  
she matured.  There was the same  
shoulder-length, flowing blonde hair, the same expressive, limpid deep blue  
eyes, the same flawless skin.  But the  
captivating beauty Mercy had inherited was tempered somewhat by two factors.  The first and most obvious was her youth, for  
she had a slightly awkward adolescent skinniness about her, similar to that of  
a filly before it has had the chance to fill out into a mare's mature strength  
and beauty.  The second, subtler feature  
that made Mercy's beauty different was a note of softness, of kindness, of  
gentleness and a caring, loving soul that her mother did not possess.  This, in turn, was tempered by a spirit of  
youthful mischief and eager energy, largely learned from her friends at school,  
which made it quite hard to avoid looking at Mercy and admiring the view, for  
she was approachable.  Dianne Lords was a  
creature that one worshipped.  Mercy  
Lords was one that you loved.

  
  

 

            Admiring  
the view was exactly what Ambrose was doing at that moment, for it seemed that  
Mercy had gotten up a bit earlier than normal, and had been undressing for her  
morning shower as he had entered.  The  
panties she wore to bed now down around her knees as the smooth young teen bent  
over to remove them, the staring dobiemorph was treated to the sight of the  
smoothest, most perfect heart-shaped little bum he had ever seen, presented to  
him like a gift.

  
  

            Mercy had  
heard Ambrose's knock, of course, and was turning even as the dogservant was  
struggling to regain control of his senses.   
Her wide blue eyes met Ambrose's brown ones, her face showing momentary  
surprise at being caught in such a compromising situation.  And then her sweet face broke into a smile  
like a ray of sunshine, and she pushed her panties down and stepped out of them,  
quite unconcerned at being naked in the presence of Ambrose, and picked up the  
towel resting on her bed.

  
  

            "Good  
morning, Rose," the bright and smiling teen greeted her loyal dogservant,  
protector, mentor and friend of many years.   
"How are you today?  Sleep well?"

  
  

 

            "Yes, Miss  
Mercy," Ambrose got out, his voice slightly husky as he did his best to keep  
his eyes fixed on his young mistress' face, and not at the perfect, uplifted  
bare breasts turned towards him, their candy pink nipples looking sweeter than  
anything he knew; or, worse yet, lower still, to the neatly-trimmed mound below  
her trim young belly, and the achingly tempting little indentation that hinted  
at secret, untouched treasures not intended for a brute dogmorph's perverse  
lusts.  "I was about to ask you the  
same.  Also, it's a beautiful day  
outside, and the weather report says that it will probably remain so for the  
week of Spring Break."

  
  

            "Oh  
goodie!" exclaimed Mercy as she, heedless of her nudity, rushed forward to hug  
the dobiemorph around his broad, powerful chest, even as he raised her  
breakfast tray to keep it from being knocked over.  "That's wonderful - I was so hoping the  
weather would be good for when my friends get here."

  
  

            As Mercy  
got so very close to Ambrose, her smooth young body rubbing against his  
(thankfully clothed) chest and stomach, the muscular dobiemorph frowned as he  
noted a slight alteration in Mercy's scent.   
It was subtle right then, but it was something that caught his  
attention, nibbling at his more primitive canine instincts.  But he didn't have time to dwell on  
that.  Right now he had duties to  
perform.

  
  

 

            "We have an  
hour before I take you to school, Miss Mercy," said Ambrose, moving the tray to  
one hand so that he could reach down and pat his young mistress on her back,  
rubbing the smooth pink skin gently.  "And then a mere half day for you at school,  
and I will pick you and your friends up for your big vacation together.  Your mother has to leave for Belgium, I am  
afraid, but I am here, and everything has been arranged, so there should be no  
lack of fun activities or protections of your safety.  I shall pick you and your three friends up at  
the usual place, by the small quaking aspen grove.  Shall I bring the full limo, or a smaller  
car?"

  
  

            "Oh, the  
limo," said Mercy, grinning up at Ambrose as she broke the hug, and then  
started towards the shower, towel under her arm, her trim young hips swaying as  
she walked, making a most enticing view for the flustered dobiemorph.  "I want us to have a fun ride back here.  Besides, it's the best car for carrying all  
four of us comfortably."  She looked over  
her shoulder at the tall, powerful male standing, tray in hand, at the door to  
her room, and giggled.  "Come on - you  
can help me get in a quick shower, we'll get dressed, and then I'll have  
breakfast.  'kay?"

  
  

 

            "Of course,  
Miss Mercy," said Ambrose, bowing obediently, carefully keeping his eyes away  
from places of temptation on his young mistress' naked body, before he moved,  
setting the tray on her bed, and then straightened, standing in the middle of  
the room.  Taking a deep breath, the  
powerfully-built male closed his eyes to help calm himself, and began to remove  
his own clothing.

  
  

            With the  
big dog's eyes closed, Mercy was able to turn and watch as Ambrose began to get  
undressed.  She had to suppress a giggle  
as she noticed the gradually-diminishing bulge in the front of his slacks, and  
realized that he probably thought that her interest in having him shower with  
her was purely innocent.  He had good  
reason to believe this, of course.

  
  

Diane Lords wasn't a bad person, for  
all her many flaws of inner character, but try as she might, she'd never  
developed a knack for mothering.  Diane's  
realization that she needed someone who could take care of her growing daughter  
was the main reason why she'd bought Ambrose many years back.  Ambrose was top-ranked in all aspects of  
domestic dogservice, and knew how to take care of human babies as well as he  
could raise a canomorph pup.  Since he  
was also a champion breeder, having sired a great many pups even at his then  
relatively young age, and taken part in raising most of them, he quickly proved  
himself indispensable to Diane in raising and taking care of her growing  
daughter, doing his best to make sure that mother and daughter never lost their  
love for each other, even though it was strained at times.

  
  

 

            Bathing  
Mercy was something that Ambrose had begun right after he took over the task of  
bringing her up.  As she grew older, he  
had made a few intimations that perhaps it was improper that he continue to  
keep up this habit from earlier days, but neither Diane nor Mercy (especially  
Mercy) seemed to see anything wrong with this practice, even as Mercy entered  
her ripening teenaged years and began to awaken to her sexuality, and so  
Ambrose's brief, not terribly strenuous objections were ignored.

  
  

            Watching  
Ambrose undress, Mercy felt herself breathing a bit faster, her cheeks growing  
lightly flushed as more and more sleek black-and-brown fur was bared to her  
eager young eyes.  She'd had a crush on  
him almost as soon as she'd figured out what boys were, and the feelings hadn't  
done anything but grow stronger over the years, with the strong, virile  
dobiemorph playing an active role in many of her teenaged nighttime  
fantasies.  Mercy was no stranger to  
erotic fantasies, her burgeoning teenaged hormones having led her to discover  
computers and the internet a while back, and soon having discovered a wide  
variety of erotic literature that she often browsed whenever she had an  
opportunity.  But what she knew quite a  
lot about in fantasy, she was largely unacquainted with in reality, except for  
her interactions with Ambrose, and what she'd heard from locker room gossip  
with her friends.

  
  

 

It was true, also, that Ambrose was  
indeed easy on the eyes, his body firm, trim, and smoothly-muscled.  He moved with a light, lithe grace, not  
musclebound at all, even though he was very muscular, and very, very  
strong.  It took some effort for Mercy to  
keep from giggling as his slacks slid down his legs, showing off the flash of brown  
fur right beneath his tail, and his cute, tight butt.  But when the now-naked canomorph turned to  
look at his young mistress, she was smiling pleasantly, her expression as  
innocent as could be, her eyes never going below his waist.

  
  

            "I will get  
the water running," said the big male, moving past Mercy with a polite nod,  
which she returned, never knowing that as he passed, her eyes were on the  
heavy, achingly full-looking sac dangling between his legs, and the sheath that  
always seemed to be swollen to bursting whenever she saw it.  Briefly, Mercy wondered if it was painful for  
poor Ambrose to have such swollen male parts, but she was too embarrassed to  
ask, and soon saw steam rising from the extra large bathtub and shower, her  
eyes rising to meet her faithful dogservant's.

  
  

 

            "Coming,"  
said the teen brightly without being called, pretending that she hadn't been  
caught checking out her dogservant companion's butt, and hurrying to the  
shower, hanging up her towel on a ring nearby, before she stepped into the  
massive tub and pulled the shower curtain shut, closing the pair of them into  
their own small world.

  
  

            Ambrose  
took slow, even breaths as he watched Mercy step beneath the water, her tiny  
hands moving over her body as she wet herself down, until her skin glistened  
with slick wetness, and her flowing blonde tresses were soaked through.  Keeping his mind focused with every bit of  
will that he possessed, the dogservant picked up the bottle of liquid soap and  
squirted a generous amount into his hands, and then over Mercy's  
shoulders.  Leaning in close, the large  
canomorph began to rub his powerful, gentle hands over the sweet teen's  
body.  Mercy sighed, smiling contentedly  
as she felt those wonderful, talented hands moving over her skin, working into  
her underlying muscles, soaping her up and rubbing her down at the same  
time.  In fact, if she wasn't so awake,  
she'd almost certainly have fallen asleep from the soothing touch of her  
faithful companion and dogservant.

  
  

 

            His mind  
now settled into the routine, Ambrose found himself able to move his hands over  
his young mistress' budding breasts, each now a decent palmful.  He smiled slightly as he heard her relaxed  
sigh when he took pains to massage the ligaments that held her breasts up,  
paying careful, loving attention to the entire breast, though with a more  
vigorous speed than he would have used with a lover.  This was a rubdown and nothing more he  
reminded himself as his hands slid down Mercy's belly, cleaning out her navel  
with a quick motion of a single blunt clawtip.   
There was no sense in taking chances.

  
  

            Chances,  
though, were exactly what were about to happen, as Ambrose knelt in the large  
tub, Mercy facing away from him, leaning over slightly to rest her hands on the  
tile wall.  He needed to kneel to run his  
hands over that perfect rump and lovely legs of hers, and went to work with a  
will, his large paws kneading and massaging the smooth, supple skin and equally  
smooth, supple musculature beneath, while Mercy rested her head on the tile of  
the shower and gave a soft moan of contentment, wriggling her hips slowly from  
side to side.  It was at that moment,  
just as Ambrose was working on his young mistress' inner thighs, that the scent  
he'd picked up from before hit him again, and this time in full force.  He couldn't get away from it where he was  
kneeling, for his incredibly sensitive canine nose was almost stuck right in  
the source of the exquisite scent.  The  
primitive instincts buried deep within Ambrose's psyche knew that scent  
instantly, and it was only a matter of moments later before Ambrose's conscious  
mind recognized it as well.  It was the  
scent of a ripe, unbred young female in heat.

  
  

 

            Of course,  
as she was growing up, Ambrose had been around Mercy during her periods of  
ovulation, when she was at her most fertile.   
He'd learned to deal with them as they came, and knew her schedule  
better than she did herself.  At first,  
as she was in her early years, he'd been able to dismiss her fertile periods as  
'false heats,' when her body hadn't sorted itself out yet.  As she'd developed, he began thinking of her  
like he would Diane Lords: a mistress to be obeyed, rather than a female to be  
bred, and his instincts seemed to have accepted this, knowing that there was a  
harsh penalty for trying to make it with the alpha female when you weren't the  
alpha male.  But three things had changed  
since Ambrose had developed his inner systems to control his urges.

  
  

The first of these changes was that  
Diane had moved to the villa two years after the death of Martin Lords, and  
since the smaller house didn't need as large a staff, she'd kept only Ambrose  
to assist her, making him the only male around, and thus the only candidate for  
the 'alpha male' position, according to his primitive instincts, making his  
struggle to keep himself in a subordinate role a little more difficult every  
day.

  
  

 

The second change, and the most  
obvious, was that Mercy had grown up quite a bit over the years, and every year  
that passed made her just that more fertile, and made her womb that much more  
able to bear healthy offspring to term.   
Ambrose's healthy offspring, if he didn't keep his raging instincts in  
check.

  
  

The last change was the one that  
had caught Ambrose totally off guard at this moment.  At the start of the school year, Mercy had  
paired up with her best friends at high school and had joined the girls  
volleyball team.  While Ambrose knew  
about this, and had attended every game (besides getting Diane to attend as  
many as possible), he had forgotten that females in close proximity tend to  
change their ovulation schedule to match that of the women in close proximity  
around them.  Proximity, say, of the same  
closeness as found between four best friends in the same locker room on a  
regular basis.

  
  

So it was that, before he had any  
chance to control himself, the healthy, virile canomorph's cock was erect,  
standing proudly at full mast, ready for action, eager to be sunk into the  
sweet, needy female that required his services to soothe the desperate ache in  
her belly.  An instant later, however,  
Ambrose's rational self came back into control, and he grit his teeth, trying  
to will his penis back into its sheath, tensing his muscles desperately, using  
every exercise of his inner muscles he could think of to try and lose the  
prominent, throbbing erection standing upright between his legs.  These efforts, sadly, failed miserably.  The one silver lining to this very bad  
situation, though, was that Mercy was only on the starting end of her  
ovulation.  She wasn't at her peak  
ripeness yet, and so Ambrose was able to reason his instincts down, telling  
them to wait, even though he had no intention of ever giving them satisfaction  
in the way that they craved.

  
  

 

            "Is  
everything all right, Rose?" asked Mercy, her deep blue eyes opening as she  
looked over her shoulder at her friend and companion, curious as to why he'd stopped.

  
  

            "Everything  
is under control, Miss Mercy," replied Ambrose, keeping his voice steady and  
even despite all the powerful forces within him demanding that they be let  
loose.  "I merely lost myself in the drum  
of the warm water for a moment."

  
  

            "Falling  
asleep too, huh?" giggled Mercy, straightening up, and then pulling the shower  
curtain open, stepping outside as she grabbed her towel.  "You finish up your shower quick, okay?  I should be dressed by the time you're out."

  
  

            "Of course,  
Miss Mercy," said Ambrose, sighing in relief that Mercy hadn't seemed to see  
anything as he pulled the shower curtain shut once more, watching the lithe  
silhouette of his naked mistress drying herself through the thin plastic.  It was, after all, a part of their morning routine  
- he would exercise in the morning, then get dressed to serve Diane and Mercy,  
then shower his sweat off with Mercy before getting her off to school.  And, though Mercy didn't know it, the moment  
she left the room, most of his short shower time was spent cumming, again and  
again and again, as he desperately worked off the primal desires his instincts  
were demanding he satisfy.

  
  

 

 

  
  

            The day, as  
it turned out, actually went along with incredible smoothness, and not a single  
thing went wrong after the dangerous near-miss of the morning.  Ambrose made certain that the driver from the  
local airport (a friendly though high-strung female greyhound canomorph of his  
acquaintance) made it on time, and carried Diane's bags to the waiting car  
personally, so that she could be chauffeured to her waiting private jet in  
record time.  Not long afterward, he took  
Mercy to the exclusive, upper-crust high school she attended, and made certain  
she was safely in the presence of her three best friends before he took off for  
the villa once more.  He knew how trying  
it could be among so many young and often cruel people, and did not want his  
beloved young mistress to have to go through the day without the protection of  
her little 'pack.'  The obedience school  
he'd been raised in shortly after he was decanted wasn't that different,  
really, but he trusted that Mercy would be all right now that she had some dear  
and loyal friends.

  
  

 

            This trust  
seemed to be merited, for when noontime rolled around, and Ambrose pulled up in  
the limo, the final chores around the house finished for the day, Mercy,  
wearing the blue shirt and striped t-shirt that he'd selected for her that day,  
and her friends were waiting, and the bouncy, giggly, gossipy mass of lovely  
girlflesh that piled into the back partition of the limo, along with their  
backpacks, seemed anything but troubled by the day's events.

  
  

            "The day  
went well, Miss Mercy?" asked Ambrose as he held the door open for the girls,  
his young mistress the last to get in.

  
  

            "Oh, it was  
just great!" exclaimed Mercy, impulsively giving Ambrose another hug before she  
slid into the limo.  "I'll tell you all  
about it on the way back."

  
  

            That, of  
course, was exactly what Mercy did for a good part of the ride back to the  
seaside villa, with additional assistance and commentary by her three young  
friends, their voices coming to him through the speaker at the base of the  
glass divider between the passenger and driver sides of the limo.  Ambrose took this time to divide his attention  
between watching the empty, quiet road ahead of him, listening and responding  
appropriately to the words of the girls behind him, and taking note of who it  
was that he would be dealing with for the holiday.

  
  

 

            Instantly  
apparent, and perhaps the most demanding of attention of all Mercy's friends,  
was Rianne.  Rianne was a freckle-faced  
carrot-top, her short, bright red hair done up in two quick, sporty braids held  
in place by rubber bands, and she seemed quite unashamed of wearing a pair of  
yellow cotton gym shorts and a baby blue babydoll t-shirt.  Of the four girls in the backseat of the  
limo, Rianne was the most athletic, her constant activity leading to her having  
an almost boyish frame, coltish without quite being skinny, though it was a  
close one.  She was a genuine tomboy, as  
a matter of fact, upfront and very forward about what she felt and  
thought.  Ambrose couldn't help but  
notice that, despite her tomboyishness, Rianne's clothes weren't especially  
boyish, as the shorts ended about halfway up her thighs, while her t-shirt only  
just covered her navel, leaving a small swathe of tanned, toned teenaged tummy  
bare, and clung to her slim, pert body in ways that were not at all  
unpleasant.  It was while looking at this  
almost scandalous bit of clothing that Ambrose suddenly realized, judging from  
the rather small size of Rianne's pack, that what she was wearing now was  
probably the only thing she would be wearing for the entire holiday.  A moment after making this realization, the  
redhead's eyes met his in the rearview mirror in a rather accusing manner,  
Rianne's eyebrow cocking slightly, as though to say "Ah hah - I caught you, and  
I know what you were thinking."

  
  

 

            Hastily  
moving his attention along, the next girl on which Ambrose's eyes fell was  
Lyra.  Bubbly, blonde, and bouncy were  
the descriptors that came immediately to mind when Ambrose considered the perky  
teen, who was looking everywhere with those almost aqua-colored eyes of hers,  
but never quite focusing on anything for very long, except for her friends, her  
daisy dukes shirt and tight denim shorts showing off her lovely,  
fast-developing assets in the most effective and casual way possible, making  
her look flirty without even really needing to try.  Lyra's wavy, slightly crinkly hair was  
actually a lighter shade than Mercy's golden tresses, bleached more by the sun  
than any chemicals, and had a few little streaks of pink running through it,  
though these were mostly hidden in the long twin braids hanging down her  
shoulders to the small of her back.  Of  
all the girls in the backseat, Lyra was the most energetic and upbeat, and  
while she did indeed give a slight degree of truth to the jokes about blondes,  
she was as nice a person as anyone could care to meet, outgoing and very  
friendly to everyone, and eager to try new things out.  It was Lyra who had convinced her three  
friends to try out for volleyball, and who was often the leader behind their  
various activities, providing the energy that got the others motivated after  
one of the others had found something that seemed interesting.

  
  

 

            That thought,  
or course, led Ambrose's eyes to fall onto Dottie.  Until she'd met Mercy, Rianne, and Lyra,  
Dottie had been the lonely, slightly pudgy, nerdy girl sitting in the back of  
all her classes, just trying to survive each day at school without more than the  
normal amount of hazing.  After she'd  
started hanging out with Mercy and her friends, getting involved in all of  
their activities had soon helped her shed those last awkward pounds, and some  
work with her friends had actually convinced her to start wearing contacts  
instead of the thick glasses she'd been wearing before, letting people see her  
beautiful hazel eyes and her cute, slightly pouting face without  
obstruction.  Dottie was able to attend  
the high school with the others mainly because of her brains - she was  
incredibly smart, and was obviously destined for great things, if she could  
just make it through high school.  But  
that meant that she often couldn't afford the nice things that other girls in  
the exclusive high school could, and her suffering at the hands of the many  
cliques before Mercy and company had saved her had been terrible indeed.  The lingering effects of that suffering could  
be seen in the conservative, uplifted bun on the top of her head, in which she  
kept her beautiful auburn hair, in the simple pair of loose jeans and light  
felt jacket she was wearing over a plain white t-shirt that hid the shape of  
her body from easy view, and in her quiet behavior, letting the others do most  
of the talking.  But when she did talk,  
the other girls listened, because they knew that Dottie, brain that she was,  
was almost always right, and her ideas were almost always excellent, giving  
sensible guidance to the energy of the others.

  
  

 

            Finishing  
his assessment of the situation he'd be facing over Spring Break, Ambrose  
nodded confidently to himself as he turned his attention back to the road,  
feeling that he could handle four teenaged girls for a week without any serious  
mishaps.  After all, what could possibly  
go wrong?

  
  

 

  
  

            "What a  
day," sighed Rianne, standing and taking a long moment to stretch upwards, her  
scanty t-shirt riding up her lithe, toned body far more than was properly  
decent.  "Thank goodness it's over for  
now, though.  A whole week of just  
hanging out at Mercy's house should be just what we need to unwind, huh,  
Dottie?"

  
  

            Rianne  
often directed her statements to Dottie, simply because she loved the startled,  
deer-in-the-headlights look of the nerdy teen that they always elicited.  Dottie responded with a mumbled reply and an  
uncertain shrug, which Rianne, being who she was, took as all the answer she  
needed.

  
  

            "I think so  
too - just what we needed, especially to get away from scowling Mrs. Hackett  
and that perv, Mister Ames.  You know, I  
saw him checking out the cheerleaders yesterday.  He was under the bleachers with a minicam -  
what a sicko!"

  
  

 

            "That's no  
surprise," chimed in Lyra as the girls started to walk towards the house,  
Ambrose watching and listening for a short while, leaning on the driver's door  
as he idly (and mostly unconsciously) admired the view of four attractive,  
healthy young teens ascending the short stone stair to the villa.  "I just know he's the one who set up that  
hidden camera in the showers.  I mean, who  
else coulda done it?"

  
  

            "Just be  
glad none of us have to take his physics class," laughed Mercy as she pulled  
open the door to the house.  "C'mon -  
lets see what Rose has made us for lunch, and then we can figure out what we're  
gonna do next."

  
  

            Ambrose  
had, actually, prepared several sorts of sandwiches for the girls before he'd headed  
off to pick them up, complete with juice (he didn't believe in soda - too much  
sugar and caffeine) in the fridge, some salad fixings, and crisp rice squares  
he'd whipped up just before heading out, letting them cool on the counter.  He took a bit of pride in remembering just  
what each of his four charges for this week of break liked most, and in  
preparing the meal accordingly, adding a few extra possibilities just in case  
some of those tastes had changed (not an uncommon thing in developing teens, after  
all).  Though he had his weaknesses,  
Ambrose was an incredible dogservant, so much so that Dianne and Mercy often  
took perfection on his part for granted.   
Feeling the glow of satisfaction from knowing that he'd served the needs  
of his mistress and her friends, Ambrose slid easily into the limo and slammed  
the door, starting the car going once more, aiming it towards the extra-large  
garage designed to house it.  It would  
take him a good twenty minutes to get the long limo parked properly before  
making the hike back to the house, but he didn't concern himself with  
that.  After all, what trouble could four  
teens get into in a mere twenty minutes?

  
  

 

 

  
  

            While  
Ambrose was parking the limo, Mercy and her friends were doing their best to  
answer the question the dobiemorph had naively posed.  Or rather, one of the four was doing so,  
though nobody else was aware of it just yet.

  
  

            "Where did  
Ri go?" asked Dottie, who'd been rummaging in the fridge for an apple when the  
redhead had slipped off, her well-dressed salad sitting unattended on the  
counter.

  
  

            "She's gone  
to the bathroom," said Lyra between mouthfuls of turkey-on-wheat.  "She said she preferred the one upstairs, in  
Mercy's room.  Totally weird, huh?"

  
  

            "Yeah,"  
said Dottie, as she frowned thoughtfully, but then shrugged, letting the matter  
go.  "So, what were you thinking we'd be  
doing today, Mercy?  I mean, it's your  
house - what you say goes, right?"

  
  

            Mercy  
seemed to have been thinking on that very question, for she quickly swallowed  
the bite of salad in her mouth, and had her reply ready in a matter of moments.

  
  

 

            "It's a  
perfect, beautiful day outside," she said, stating the obvious.  "We're fresh out of school, and we all need  
something to cool off, right?"  Taking  
note of Lyra and Dottie's nods of agreement, Mercy continued.  "I think we should start this break off with  
a splash, and get into our swimsuits.   
The beach behind the villa's not gonna get any more perfect, after all."

  
  

            "Best idea  
I've heard all day," said Rianne, returning to the kitchen from wherever she'd  
been, setting a pack of playing cards she'd found somewhere in the house on the  
kitchen counter and picking up her salad.   
"We can start off with two-on-two beach volleyball until an hour's  
passed, and then we can go swimming.   
Hey!  Don't you have that raft  
anchored out in the bay, Mer?  We can  
swim out to that and hang out for hours, even work on our tans.  Maybe even get your dogboy to bring us  
dinner."

  
  

            "Rose isn't  
a dogboy," said Mercy, looking a bit hurt.

  
  

            "Oh  
really?" challenged Rianne with a teasing grin.   
"Then what is he?  I mean, he  
comes when he's called, fetches and carries, and he'd do anything you or any of  
us asked him to do.  And I do mean  
anything.  Sounds like a dogboy to me."

  
  

 

            "Well,"  
Mercy began, trying to find some sort of reply to Rianne's perfect reasoning,  
for the honey-haired teen knew that everything her carrot-topped friend had  
said was completely true.  "Maybe you're  
right.  But I just don't like you calling  
him that.  I mean, he's the one who  
raised me for almost all of my life.  I  
don't know what Mom and I'd have done without him.  He's . . . well, he means so much to us.  It's like he's the man of the house, I  
guess."  She blushed at that last  
statement, self-conscious at the connotations and what her friends might think.

  
  

            "Wow,"  
giggled the spacey Lyra, breaking the moment of silence that had followed  
Mercy's heartfelt statement.  "Sounds  
like you really like your doggie, huh, Mercy?"   
But then her teasing grin softened, and she reached over from where she  
was now sitting on the counter to pat her friend on the shoulder.  "Aw, it's okay.  I mean, I've known Rose for almost three  
years now, and I think he's a real sweetie."

  
  

 

            "A real  
hotdog, you mean," added Rianne with a leering grin, which was met with a round  
of giggles from Mercy and Lyra, and a full-out blush from Dottie, quite  
scandalized at her friend's forwardness.   
"I mean, really, he's quite the stud-puppy, isn't he?  That's what all those awards your mom keeps  
from those shows and breeding competitions mean, don't they?"  The redhead got a naughty glint in her green  
eyes as she drove her point home.  "Hot,  
hung, knows how to please girls, and he's got the trophies to prove it."

  
  

            "Oh, Ri!"  
exclaimed Dottie, covering her mouth with her hands, her entire face a bright pink,  
her large hazel eyes wide and horrified at the scandalous things coming out of  
her friend's mouth.  "You shouldn't say  
things like that.  It's so . . . so . . .  
indecent."  The nerdy teen's eyes lowered  
in embarrassment as she said this last, adding it on rather lamely, fearful of  
being thought a prude by her friends.

  
  

            Her fears  
were alleviated as Rianne patted Dottie on the shoulder before stroking her  
hand down the other girl's arm, laughing good-naturedly.

  
  

 

            "Aw, you  
know I'm just kidding around, Dot," Rianne said, obviously unashamed of what  
she'd said, but not minding Dottie's statement either.

  
  

The tension in the room now relaxed  
(despite the seeds of thought that had been strategically planted), the girls  
began to chatter away on other, more innocent subjects.  This was the scene that Ambrose encountered  
when he entered the kitchen from the out-of-doors, his stub tail wagging  
happily as he saw and heard that everything was well.

  
  

            "I've got  
swimsuits ready for you all in the changing house outside, by the beach," said  
the tall, handsome dobiemorph as he looked around at the girls, enjoying the  
scent of their food, and grateful he'd eaten before picking them up from  
school.  "Just in case you want to do  
some swimming.  That moored raft out back  
should be nice and smooth on top, too, if you want to hang out there for a bit  
and do some deeper swimming.  It's a  
perfect day, and the hills on either side of Mistress Lords' private bay are  
keeping the breezes down to a nice, gentle stream.  Just enough to keep you cool.  But still, don't forget to put on suntan oil  
- no sense in taking chances, after all."

  
  

 

            "Oh, Rose,  
you're perfect," said Mercy, moving up as Ambrose walked past her on his way  
into the kitchen and giving him a big hug from behind.  "That's exactly what we were going to do  
after lunch."  She blinked, thinking for  
a moment (and not releasing her hug-hold from the increasingly embarrassed  
dobiemorph).  "Well, after we do some  
volleyball, that is.  You know, to pass  
the time while we wait to go in the water."

  
  

            "Um, of  
course," said Ambrose, nodding and smiling as best as he could, even as he  
fought to control himself, knowing that the most beautiful (and achingly  
fertile) female in the house was so very close to him, her teenaged breasts  
rubbing against his back through the thinner fabric of his summerwear  
jacket.  "I'll go and set up the net and  
a few beach umbrellas while you four get changed."

  
  

            Having said  
all that he needed to say, Ambrose then did his best to quickly but gracefully  
disentangle himself from Mercy's arms, before he headed towards the back door  
of the kitchen, and out onto the back patio of the house, before heading down  
to the beach.

  
  

 

            "He's so  
cute," Lyra beamed, giggling.  "I think  
you made him all embarrassed, Mercy.  I  
mean, that little tail of his was wiggling up a storm when you hugged him, but  
I swear, the way his ears turned down like that - that's how our doggies at  
home blush.  That was so fun to watch."

  
  

            "I know  
something else that'd be fun to watch," threw in Rianne, as casual as could be,  
even as she set down her empty salad dish.   
"Come on - I'll bet this will work great.  But you all have to be extra quiet, okay?"

  
  

            The others,  
done with lunch by now anyway, agreed mostly out of curiosity, since Rianne  
refused to share any more information about her idea.  Her three friends could sense, somehow, that  
whatever she was planning was naughty, but at the same time none of them could  
stand the idea of not finding out what it was.

  
  

            There was a  
sense of eager anticipation about the girls as they made their way down the  
paved slope leading down to the private beach that belonged to the property  
Diane Lords had bought along with the villa.   
As they reached the bottom of that slope, the girls could see Ambrose  
putting the keys to the beach changing room in his pocket, having just finished  
unlocking the place, before he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him,  
and then using the deadbolt to lock it shut, so as to prevent intrusion.

  
  

 

            "I thought  
so," gloated Rianne as she hurried around the brick changing room to the far  
side, where there was a small, frosted-glass window high on the wall of the  
building.  "If your puppy's gonna do  
anything on the beach, he has to change out of his monkeysuit."

  
  

            "B-but what  
does that-?" began Mercy, before her sweet blue eyes widened in surprise and  
shock as Rianne searched around for a moment, and then pushed a nearby  
mid-sized rock over to just beneath the frosted window.  "Wait - you really shouldn't . . . I mean,  
it's violating his privacy."

  
  

            "That's not  
all I'd like to violate," mumbled Rianne under her breath (causing both Mercy  
and Dottie to flush hotly, while Lyra's cheeks flushed for a very different  
reason), as she climbed on top of the rock, and pushed against the frosted  
glass.  Grinning in triumph, Rianne  
discovered what she'd hoped - the little window wasn't latched, and soon was  
opened as wide as possible, while she peered over the sill, her green eyes  
eager and watchful.  "Mmm," she said  
after a few minutes.  "That's what I was  
hoping to see."

  
  

 

            None of the  
girls dared to say a word as Rianne licked her lips, her breathing coming a bit  
faster, her freckled cheeks rosy as she shifted her weight on the rock,  
pressing her legs a bit tighter together.   
But, for all her tender teenaged years, Rianne knew the value of keeping  
her 'team' happy, and she turned, grinning down at Lyra, stepping down, and  
then motioning the perky blonde up.

  
  

            As Lyra  
stood on the rock, she peered over the sill, and her greenish blue eyes almost  
bugged out of her head at what she saw.   
There was the sleek black-and-brown dobiemorph Ambrose, without a stitch  
of clothing covering his fur.  He was  
grumbling something under his breath as he worked at the combination to one of  
the lockers, his clothes neatly folded on a bench nearby, a look of irritated  
concentration on his face as he tried to make the locker open, taking his time  
in doing so.  The eager teen's eyes  
slipped a bit lower, and she wet her lips at the sight of the plump-looking  
balls dangling between the male's legs, heavy and full like overripe fruit, and  
then up a little bit, taking in the tight, hot curves of his firm, muscled bare  
bottom.  Of course Lyra, like all the  
girls, knew that Ambrose was a champion breeder and showdog, as well as a  
top-ranked dogservant.  He'd been made  
with exquisite perfection, and his mistress, Diane Lords, loved to show him off  
when she could.  But what Lyra had never  
seen showed off before, until now, on Ambrose, or any real-life male for that  
matter, were the parts of Ambrose that had made him so much of a champion  
breeder.  Now she drank in the sight  
greedily, awakening more fully to what she'd only heard spoken of in sex ed  
classes and dirty locker room   
conversations.

  
  

 

            "Dottie's  
turn," whispered Rianne, patting Lyra on her jeans-clad butt, and the  
wavy-haired blonde reluctantly gave up her place, even as Dottie, chewing her  
lower lip with nervousness, gave in to peer pressure despite herself and all  
she'd been taught about morality, and got up on the rock for her own little peek.

  
  

 

  
  

            Ambrose  
really hated combination locks.  He'd  
never been able to get them to work right, actually, no matter how long he'd  
worked at them.  It was the one part of  
going to different towns for dog shows that he didn't like, and so he almost  
always made sure to bring everything he needed in a duffel bag, which he left  
in the care of Mistress Diane for safekeeping when he didn't need it for  
changing.

  
  

            Finally,  
after several futile minutes of fumbling, Ambrose resorted to giving the locker  
a kick of frustration.  This, as it  
turned out, seemed to be all that was needed, for the metal door popped open  
easily after that.  Blinking in surprise,  
Ambrose shrugged and reached in, only to discover that his locker room violence  
had caused the pair of bikini briefs that served as his swimsuit (Dianne had  
insisted) to drop to the floor.  Bending  
over, and then getting onto all fours to retrieve them, the dobiemorph was  
utterly unaware of the eager teenaged eyes watching him as he put on a sexy,  
albeit unwitting, show, just before the set of eyes watching him changed for  
the last time.

  
  

 

            His  
swimsuit retrieved, Ambrose took his time stepping into the flexible bit of  
cloth.  He always felt a bit exposed when  
he wore the navy blue bikini briefs his mistress had bought for him, but she  
liked seeing him in them, and he so liked to please her.  It was a bit of a pain, though, since Ambrose  
had to spend a few moments adjusting his dangly bits so that they fit properly  
into the tight bit of cloth, but he soon prevailed, and let the waistband of  
the Speedos snap against his trim waist.   
Still smiling to himself proudly, Ambrose reached into the same locker  
and pulled out a sealed plastic bag, setting it on the bench next to his  
clothes, before he picked up those clothes and hung them in the locker, closing  
it, but not too tightly.  The beleaguered  
canomorph didn't want to have to go through the stress of unlocking it all over  
again, after all.

  
  

            Walking to  
the door of the changing room, Ambrose blinked in surprise once again as a knock  
sounded on the door just before he could open it.  Shrugging, he unlocked and then pulled open  
the door, smiling happily as he saw it was Mercy and her friends, his tail  
waggling as it hung over the waistband of his swimming trunks.

  
  

 

            "Oh, you're  
done eating already," he said, obviously pleased to see them.  "Well, please, take your time getting  
dressed.  I, um," his ears turned down  
sheepishly, "had a bit of trouble with a locker, so please don't shut it  
tight.  If you didn't bring your own  
bathing suits, you'll find some in the plastic bag on the bench over  
there.  I should have the volleyball net  
up by the time you come out, if all goes well."

  
  

            "Of course,  
Rose," said Mercy, smiling sweetly at her companion and faithful dogservant,  
her face and that of her friends the very picture of girlish innocence.  Or at least they would have been, if not for  
the lingering flush to their cheeks, and the faint hint of female arousal that  
Ambrose couldn't help but pick up as the four teenagers shuffled past him into  
the changing house, and Ambrose went off to get to work on the beach.

  
  

 

  
  

            Crime  
and Punishment weighed heavily on Ambrose's mind as he sat on the raised  
seat of his lifeguard's tower.  It wasn't  
as big a tower as was found on some beaches, but that was mostly because it was  
a smaller beach, so a good five feet was all that was really needed for him to  
survey the beach without  trouble.  Of course, the reason that the dobiemorph was  
reading Dostoyevski was to avoid surveying the beach too closely.

  
  

 

            The reason  
for Ambrose's need for partial inattention was obvious, of course.  Four giggling teenaged girls, each wearing  
nothing but a thin piece or two of swimwear as they bounced and jiggled cutely  
on the makeshift volleyball court he'd set up for them, racing back and forth  
as they set and spiked the big striped beach ball that he'd inflated for their  
fun only moments before the girls had come out of the changing room (and he  
doing all he could not to pay attention to how little the foursome were  
wearing).  Every so often, Ambrose would  
alternate his attention to the stopwatch dangling from the arm of the lifeguard  
seat, ensuring that the girls knew when an hour had passed, and they could go  
swimming.  So fixed was Ambrose on not  
paying attention, that he only partially noted a pause in the game after the  
hour had almost expired, as the girls huddled together in conversation.  An ear perked as Lyra left the group and  
walked over to his seat, and then had to repress a slight shiver as she reached  
up and touched his bare-furred thigh to get his attention.

  
  

 

            "Rose?"  
began Lyra, blushing like a naughty schoolgirl caught passing notes, as Ambrose  
set down his book, giving her his undivided attention.  "I, um, kinda forgot to put on a second layer  
of suntan lotion."

  
  

            "Oh, of course,  
Miss Lyra," replied Ambrose with a friendly smile, reaching to the sack of swim  
supplies hanging from the side of the lifeguard seat, and pulling out a squeeze  
bottle of the creamy stuff.  "Here you  
go."

  
  

            "Well, you  
see, Ambrose, I sometimes have trouble reaching places," said Lyra, her cheeks  
flushing a bit more.  "You know how it  
is.  I've got really sensitive skin.  If I miss a spot, especially after I've been  
playing in the sand like that, getting it all rubbed off, then I get all burned  
up and it hurts pretty bad.  Could you,  
um, you know . . . ?"

  
  

            "Could I  
what, Miss Lyra?" asked Ambrose, no longer able to draw his attention away from  
paying full attention to the girl standing before him.  "If you need something, you know that I am  
happy and eager to serve, in any way I can.   
That's what I was made for, after all.   
It's what pleases me best."

  
  

 

            "Could you  
put the lotion on me, then?" Lyra managed to get out finally, her voice a cute,  
nervous little squeak as her whole face turned bright red in embarrassment.

  
  

            Ambrose  
blinked at this request, but, after a moment's hesitation, just nodded, and  
slid gracefully from the seat down onto the sand, his large hind paws holding  
him up far better than human feet would.   
He didn't question why Lyra had chosen him instead of getting one of her  
friends to do this.  He didn't pause to  
consider the ramifications of what she was asking.  The tall, sleek-furred dobiemorph wasn't  
trained to question direct requests from humans he recognized as friends (to  
say nothing of how he reacted to commands from Mistress Lords).  Of course, this also meant that he had to  
focus on something that made him most uncomfortable.

  
  

            As  
Ambrose's attention was turned to the girls, he was now noticing what they were  
wearing, and how good it looked, his tail giving an involuntary wiggle as he  
considered his four teenaged charges.   
Dottie, being the sensible one, had of course brought her own simple,  
modest light blue one-piece from home, which she filled out nicely, the  
remnants of her days when she was unhealthily plump having left her with a  
figure that was well on its way to becoming womanly.  It seemed that she'd forgotten that her  
swimsuit was from those days, though, for it was a bit loose on her.  This made the suit a bit wrinkled, and had  
made Dottie forgo diving for the ball in their recent game, but it should serve  
just fine as long as she didn't do anything too strenuous.  Rianne, who had picked out one of Diane  
Lords' backup swimsuits, had pulled on a green bikini which actually did a good  
job complementing her bright green eyes, if only she hadn't chosen one that was  
so very small.  Ambrose had to work  
especially hard to overlook the fact that the swimsuit's bottom was a thong,  
showing off Rianne's pert, althetically-firm bare bum almost completely,  
including the dusting of freckles that reached even down there.  Mercy was also wearing a bikini, one with a  
tropical floral print, but thankfully this was a normal one, though Ambrose had  
to watch himself whenever his young mistress showed off any amount of her  
perfect pink skin.  Finally, Lyra was  
also wearing a bikini, white with pink polka-dots and side-tying knots on each  
hip of the bottoms, which did absolutely nothing to conceal her perky, bouncy  
adolescent body, save in the delicious details that were left to Ambrose's  
imagination.

  
  

 

            "We'll be  
swimming out to the raft," Rianne called out from the shore as she heard the  
timer on the stopwatch beeping with the end of their hour's wait, even as Lyra  
was lying face-down on one of the beach towels the girls had laid out before  
starting their game.  "Lyra can join us  
once you're all done, Rose, okay?"

  
  

            "Of  
course," replied Ambrose, his eyes briefly passing over the girls as they  
splashed into the water before he turned off the alarm on the stopwatch, his  
jaw tightening a bit as he noted the flash of well-tanned pink from Rianne's  
bared bum, before he knelt on the sand next to the beach towel.  Running his eyes along Lyra's smooth,  
fair-skinned back, he began squirting out a liberal dose of suntan lotion onto  
his big handpaws, letting it warm a bit before he reached down and started to  
gently rub against Lyra's shoulders.

  
  

            "Mmm, that  
feels nice," said Lyra, smiling happily as she closed her eyes, relaxing on the  
beach towel.  "You give massages much,  
Rose?"

  
  

 

            "Whenever  
my mistresses ask it of me," the dobiemorph answered truthfully, lies not  
really a part of his way of thinking.   
"Mistress Dianne likes a good rub-down after her evening swim, either in  
the pool or in the ocean.  It helps her  
to cool down and to keep her body from tensing up too much."

  
  

            "Really?"  
said Lyra with a happy sigh as Ambrose began kneading against her neck, his  
fingers doing such exquisite things, releasing tensions she didn't even know  
where there until he'd made them go away.   
"What about Mercy?  You do this  
for her much?"

  
  

            "Every day,  
in our morning shower," answered Ambrose without thinking, all his attention  
now focused on properly serving his young mistress' friend, and on not letting  
his mind travel into the natural paths that it so desperately wanted to  
follow.  "Only a quick one, though,  
before she heads off the school."

  
  

            "I don't  
blame them for wanting you to give these," said Lyra, arching her back a bit  
into Ambrose's large, gentle paws as he started to work on her upper back,  
above the knot of her bikini top.   
"You're . . . oh wow, I could almost just fall asleep in the sun like  
this."

  
  

 

            "All the  
more reason for the lotion, of course," said Ambrose with a smirk, his tail  
wagging at the compliment.  "I'm glad that  
you appreciate my services, though.  I do  
try hard to please."

  
  

            "Well,  
thanks for trying," said Lyra, looking over her shoulder with a bright smile,  
her bright light blue eyes sparkling with youthful life, and a hint of  
mischief.  "You're doing a great job.  Hmm, and you're right - that suntan lotion's  
just what I need.  But, well," she  
giggled in embarrassment, even as her small hands moved behind her, to her  
upper back, "with my sensitive skin, I think it wouldn't hurt to rub it on  
everywhere, huh?"

  
  

            The  
dobiemorph's jaw parted in surprise as Lyra tugged on the knot of her bikini  
top, and then lay back down on the sand, resting her head on her arms, as the  
strings dropped to her sides, laying her smooth young back completely bare.  But he quickly recovered, and just gave a  
brief nod, his jaw tightening a bit more as his stomach rippled a bit, keeping  
an embarrassing incident from happening.   
After all, the bikini briefs that Dianne Lords insisted Ambrose wear on  
the beach just weren't made for accidental demonstrations of male arousal.  Especially not ones as prominent as  
Ambrose's.

  
  

 

            To better  
work the lotion into Lyra's skin, and to provide her with a proper rubdown,  
Ambrose straddled the pigtailed blonde teen, his knees resting on either side  
of her knees, and leant over her as he worked in the heels of his palms,  
exerting all his effort and skill to relaxing her, undoing all the kinks and  
catches of her muscles that had accumulated for so long, and which desperately  
needed to be worked out before they caused problems.  The big male couldn't help but wag his tail,  
grinning a bit as he heard Lyra make sweet little cooing and moaning sounds of  
pleasure, moving her body up into his hands like a cat.  Her skin really was sensitive, it seemed, and  
she was obviously loving all of his attentions.

  
  

            All too  
soon, Ambrose reached the small of Lyra's back, finishing up the last of his  
work there, her smooth pink skin now glistening lightly with suntan  
lotion.  Lifting himself slightly, he  
began to shuffle backwards on his knees over the sand, so that he was now  
kneeling by her feet.  His hands then  
came down once more, and though he noted a slight tensing in the girlish  
muscles, as though she was expecting something else, his paws only went to rest  
on the backs of her thighs, and before too long he was working his way down  
each leg, the larger muscle groups, with fewer moving parts, much easier to  
work with, and soon each leg, and even her feet, were glistening with a layer  
of the smooth, sun blocking lotion.

  
  

 

            "All right,  
Miss Lyra, time to turn over," said Ambrose as he finished, smiling to himself  
as he nodded, obviously quite pleased with his performance, having done as he  
was asked without losing more than a bit of his self-mastery.  "I'll get your front lotioned up and then you  
can join the others on the raft."

  
  

            "But you  
missed a spot," protested Lyra, half-sleepily, obviously completely relaxed now  
as she looked over her shoulder at Ambrose.   
She lifted her bikini-clad bum slightly, and smiled at Ambrose.  "Can you get the ties, please?" she asked  
with a light giggle.  "I'm, well, kinda  
zoned out here - you give really good massages, Rose."

  
  

            "Y-yes Miss  
Lyra," said Ambrose, his eyes widening in surprise at this request, his jaw  
tightening even more.  "Right away."

  
  

            Ambrose's  
paws moved forward, and deftly undid the knots on either side of the side-tying  
bikini bottoms, before peeling them back, baring Lyra's smooth pink tush to the  
sunlight and gentle breeze of the beach.   
Swallowing down a tense lump that had formed in his throat, Ambrose  
forced himself to overlook the hard and very arousing reality that he was  
staring at the smooth, rounded rump of a sexy teenaged girl, her scent clean  
and bright and healthy.  He blotted out  
sight and scent as best as he could before he could dwell on either, his large  
paws reaching out, and began to knead his way back down, starting at the small  
of Lyra's back, and then down, working his thick fingers into the large muscles  
of each gluteous maximus of Lyra's cute bubble butt, the pair of cheeks forming  
an almost perfect double "O."

  
  

 

            Even in  
these difficult circumstances, Ambrose might have managed to escape the perils  
that tempted him, if only Lyra hadn't been so very responsive to his  
touch.  Almost as soon as he began  
working the heels of his palms into the small of her back once more, the  
pigtailed blonde teen was lifting her back into his touch, giving soft moans  
and gasps of obvious enjoyment.  Every  
step of the way, as Ambrose leaned over to apply his weight into the rubdown,  
Lyra would press back against him, lifting her pearly pink tush higher and  
higher, as Ambrose's nose drew nearer and nearer to her body.

  
  

The dobiemorph's nostrils suddenly  
flared as he was cupping his palms around the creases at the very base of the  
girl's hiney, the effort at maintaining his concentration suddenly becoming too  
great as she slid her knees beneath her, lifting her rump up a bit higher,  
apparently to let him handle her back there all the better.  This, however, was also the very position  
that Ambrose's instincts recognized as the 'presentation' stance of a bitch in  
heat.  And as his muzzle drew ever nearer  
to Lyra's upraised rump, he gave a soft gasp as her scent hit his nose,  
revealing to him that Lyra, like Mercy this morning, was almost achingly ripe,  
her fertile womb practically crying out for a virile male to fill her with his  
seed, planting his puppies deep and true within her belly.

  
  

 

Without thinking, his instincts  
overcoming all reason, Ambrose's tongue arched out, driving against Lyra's honey-sweet  
bared puss, now quite easily accessed in her present position.  The sweet teen gave a sharp gasp of surprise,  
looking back over her shoulder with a hint of fright in her eyes.  But a moment later, as Ambrose's tongue  
lashed out again, tasting her virgin juices and finding them intoxicating, that  
gasp turned to a long, deeply-pleasured moan, and the now-naked teen lifted  
herself even more, presenting herself consciously, where before it had been  
merely an accident (or at least mostly so).   
Had Lyra struggled, cried out in protest, or done something - anything!  
- to indicate that she didn't want anything to do with what Ambrose's instincts  
desired, then perhaps the loyal, eager-to-please dobiemorph might have been  
able to triumph over his bestial lusts.   
But Ambrose's instincts read Lyra's body language and scent too well,  
and knew that she was offering herself to him fully.  Whatever he might do to her now, she would be  
an eagerly willing participant.

  
  

 

"Oh Rose!" Lyra managed to get out,  
but these were the last words she said, before all her vocalizations turned to  
cries of exquisite pleasure, the loud slurping of Ambrose's wonderful,  
incredibly skilled tongue and suckling lips working over her bared, presented  
sex filling her ears as she gripped the beach towel under her.  Ambrose knelt fully behind her now, his  
powerful paws gripping her rump commandingly, his tongue invading her  
sweetness, pressing up against the thin, perforated hymen just beyond her inner  
labia.  His licking was made easier  
because of Lyra's smooth-shaved pubes, only the lightest dots marking where her  
darker pubic hair's roots lay, so that his tongue lapped over almost baby  
smooth skin wherever he probed.

  
  

Suddenly, in the midst of this  
hurricane of sensation, Lyra felt an overpowering surge of feeling blast over  
her, leveling her reason, shattering her mind, shaking her body to the core,  
making her upper body collapse to the towel, her lower half only held up by  
Ambrose's powerful paws as he licked her to an earthshaking orgasm - the first  
of what Lyra quickly realized would be so very many when this powerful,  
dominant male mounted her like a bitch in heat, deflowering her, marking her as  
his own forever.  The very thought of  
such a thing - so utterly obscene! - soon had Lyra's body flushed all over as  
she was rocked once more with a second orgasm, even more powerful than the  
first, and then a third, her mind almost completely shutting down, save for  
thoughts of how to increase the levels of pleasure filling her young, untried  
body.

  
  

 

It was as Lyra felt Ambrose  
shifting his stance behind her, drawing closer as he pulled down his Speedos,  
tossing them aside on the sand, that she was blasted by another sensation.  This one, however, wasn't pleasant at  
all.  It was the stinging of flying sand,  
whipping over her sensitive naked skin.

  
  

"Ouch!" cried out Lyra, starting  
up, looking around.  Ambrose joined her,  
his ears suddenly perked, his attention now drawn back to the harsh reality of  
the present.  It turned out that the  
weather report that morning had been very wrong: the weather was turning nasty  
at an incredible speed.

  
  

"Quick, get the things on the beach  
together," said Ambrose to Lyra, his voice firm but still surprisingly calm,  
rising quickly as he hurried towards the shore, where already the waves were  
starting to rise in height dangerously.   
"Take everything you can carry and get inside, Lyra.  I'm going to help the girls get off of the  
raft."

  
  

Heartened by Ambrose's command of  
the situation, Lyra hurriedly went about doing just what she'd been told, even  
as Ambrose grabbed up his lifeguard's bellyboard from where it lay by the side  
of the high seat, and raced to the shore.   
There, clearly visible a good distance out, was the big wooden raft,  
which had been moored by a great chain attached to a cement block at the bottom  
of the bay.  The three girls were  
crouching on the raft, which was starting to sway dangerously, far too unstable  
for a proper foothold.

  
  

 

"Swim for the shore!" he called out  
over the rising wind.  "Don't worry - I'm  
watching you.  You can make it!"

  
  

Rianne started up, calling to the  
others and motioning with her hand before she dove into the waves, her lithe,  
athletic body cutting through the waters like a hot knife through butter.  She was soon on shore, where Ambrose reached  
out and helped pull her the last short distance onto the sand.  Both their gazes turned, then, to the raft,  
where a crisis was now unfolding.

  
  

Mercy was obviously talking to  
Dottie, crouched by the other girl, who cowered, hugging the hard wood of the  
center of the raft, seemingly frozen in panic as the wind kept rising, making  
the waves grow even more powerful, a scattering of rain already pelting down,  
starting to make visibility poor.  It  
took some time, as the calm, gentle Mercy spoke to her friend, the words said  
impossible to hear on the shore because of the rush of the wind and rain.  But whatever they were, they worked.  Soon, tentatively, Dottie rose to her feet,  
and Mercy and Dottie hurried to the edge of the big log raft, ready to dive in  
and swim for safety.

  
  

 

It was at this moment that the  
worst case scenario happened.  An  
especially powerful gust of wind picked up just as Mercy and Dottie were about  
to jump into the water.  The raft heaved  
dangerously, and both girls went tumbling into the roiling waves.  A heartbeat later, Ambrose was in the water,  
paddling hard as he rested on his bellyboard, his powerful limbs carrying him  
towards his young mistress and her friend in a matter of moments.

  
  

Mercy's head broke the water first,  
and she was soon spluttering for gasping breaths of air as the waves began to  
wash over her, the only thing keeping her afloat her calm, assured nature,  
which kept her legs and arms moving as she treaded water.  Dottie, however, managed to rise to the  
surface once, a short distance away, and gave a loud scream as she began to  
thrash, now frightened out of her wits, before another great wave pushed her  
under once more.

  
  

Things might have gone from bad to  
worse then, as Mercy tried to hunt around for her friend in the midst of storm-tossed  
water.  But the two girls weren't  
alone.  Mercy soon felt a strong, warm  
arm wrap around her, and almost laughed out loud as she looked up into the deep  
brown eyes of her loyal friend and dearest companion.  Holding Mercy close as he leaned on the  
bellyboard, Ambrose reached out with his other arm, managing only with  
difficult to snag Dottie before she went under a third time, pulling her to his  
powerful chest despite her panicked thrashing, murmuring soft, soothing sounds  
that were almost words as the three of them floated there for a few moments,  
until the frightened teen in his arm calmed herself, her thrashing ceasing as  
she realized she was indeed safe, held close by both her friend and her  
powerful canomorph protector.

  
  

 

Rianne was still waiting for them  
on the shore as Ambrose pulled himself out, his powerful legs driving the  
bellyboard up onto the wet sand, where the skinny redheaded teen was waiting  
with Lyra, who had come back, holding the large basket with the beach supplies  
under one arm.  The three waterlogged  
survivors then joined their two companions on the shore, and they all began a  
mad dash run towards the house, Ambrose having to catch up poor Dottie in his  
arms as she almost stumbled, the ordeal of almost drowning proving too much for  
her right then.

  
  

 

  
  

            "That was  
too close!" exclaimed Rianne as the five waterlogged survivors of the sudden  
storm hurried into the kitchen, dripping water.   
"I thought Dottie was a goner for a moment there.  Why, if Rose hadn't . . ."

  
  

            As Rianne  
said the dobiemorph's name, the male the last one to enter the kitchenm still  
holding poor Dottie in his powerful arms, safe against his broad chest, all  
eyes turned to him, even Dottie's, though while she looked up, at the face of  
the one who'd saved her, the other three girls looked down, below Ambrose's  
waist.  Naturally, not having taken the  
time to put his Speedos back on, the sleek black canomorph was as naked as a  
jaybird, his sheath still quite swollen from his earlier state of full and  
extreme arousal, more than a little bit of his semihard doghood peeking out  
from its protective covering, bobbing a bit as the large male walked, as though  
saying "Hi" to the three staring girls.

  
  

 

            Smiling  
down at Dottie, Ambrose pushed the glass door to the kitchen shut with his  
foot, and was too preoccupied at first to notice that anything was amiss.  But as he was walking towards the entry hall,  
where he could direct the girls so that they could all get changed out of their  
swimsuits without getting the carpets too wet, he realized that the girls  
weren't moving forward anymore.  Instead,  
they were looking at him.  Specifically,  
they were staring down, at his . . .

  
  

            "Oh dear,"  
said Ambrose as he looked down, his ears laying back as his whiskers fanned out  
I extreme embarrassment, his hands too busy holding Dottie for him to move them  
to retain any shred of modesty.  "I, I'm  
very sorry about . . . I mean, I can explain . . ."

  
  

            "You know,"  
said Rianne, glancing sidelong, and a little suspiciously at Lyra (who had  
somehow managed to find time to pull on her bikini, though the knots were  
poorly tied, and looked like they would give way at any moment), "I really  
don't think we want to get the carpets all wet, do we?"

  
  

 

            Mercy,  
Lyra, and Dottie all turned their eyes from Ambrose to Rianne as the slim  
redhead reached back, and untied her bikini top, pulling it off, before bending  
down, and economically stripping off her thong.   
She then turned and looked at Ambrose again, cocking her head to the  
side expectantly.

  
  

            "Why don't  
you put Dottie down, and go get us some towels, all right, Rose?" she said,  
giving him a smile that wasn't at all sardonic, like most of her facial  
expressions.  "That way we can dry off in  
here, and keep the mess to a minimum.  I  
mean, what's the big deal, right?  It's just  
us girls and you here, after all.  No  
need to be all shy."

  
  

            A long  
moment of silence passed, as this suggestion gradually sunk in.  And then, as though acting on an unseen  
signal, Lyra and Mercy also began to peel off their bikinis, laying the  
swimsuits in a pile in the sink.

  
  

            "O-of  
course," said Ambrose, realizing that Rianne had just thrown him a lifeline,  
his tail wagging furiously as he gently lowered Dottie, letting her get her  
feet on the floor, before he took the chance Rianne gave him, and hurried from  
the room.  "I shall be back in a few  
minutes."

  
  

 

            Rianne let  
her eyes follow Ambrose's tight furry butt all the way out, a mildly lecherous  
smirk now back in place as she ogled his tush, before she turned and looked at  
Dottie.

  
  

            "Well,  
you'd better get out of yours too, girl," said the redhead with a grin.  Dottie flushed in embarrassment, but then bit  
her lower lip and nodded.  It seemed like  
the right thing to do right then, and she didn't fight the impulse, pulling her  
one piece bathing suit down, stepping out of it on the now quite wet tile of  
the kitchen, and then dumping it in the sink with the bikinis of her friends.

  
  

            "And you,"  
continued Rianne as Dottie was undressing, turning to look at Lyra, "you, I  
think, have some explaining to do."

  
  

            "I . . .  
um, I really don't know what you're talking about," answered Lyra, her cheeks  
suddenly turning a bright rosy red like twin apples as she hugged herself  
unconsciously, her arms wrapping around her naked middle, just beneath the  
gently swelling mounds of her breasts.   
"Really.  Honest."

  
  

 

            "Honestly  
lying," answered Rianne with a triumphant grin.   
"You know, if you're gonna play with Mercy's dogboy, you really oughta  
ask her permission first," she glanced at the girl in question, "right Mercy?"

  
  

            "He's not a  
dogboy," said Mercy, blinking several times in startled surprise, her eyes  
betraying her confusion.  "And what do  
you mean, Rianne?  What would Lyra need  
to ask me about Rose?  I mean, he's happy  
to do whatever makes us happy - I don't mind him doing that at all.  You're my friends, and I like you to be  
happy."

  
  

            Rianne's  
grin got a bit wider, and Lyra's blush got a bit deeper, even as Dottie's eyes  
widened and her own cheeks flushed as she, with her sharp intellect, put all  
the pieces together, despite starting from the same clueless point where Mercy  
began.

  
  

            "It's all  
right, Lyra," said Rianne with a giggle, reaching over to pat the pigtailed  
blonde's back, rubbing her smooth skin gently.   
"I'm just teasing, you know - I think it's kinda hot, honestly.  But you've gotta tell us everything that  
happened later on, okay?  I want every  
juicy detail."

  
  

 

            "All . . .  
all right," said Lyra shyly, giggling herself.   
"But . . . later, okay?"

  
  

            "Done  
deal," laughed Rianne, even as the girls heard the click of Ambrose's blunt  
toeclaws on the floor outside the kitchen.   
All eyes turned once more, though the girls were all rather disappointed  
(some more than others) to find that, while his arms were laden with towels for  
everyone, Ambrose had wrapped one of the larger towels around his middle,  
concealing his naughty bits from their eager gazes.

  
  

            "Here you  
go, girls," said Ambrose proudly, setting the towels on the table, and then  
taking some of the larger ones as he knelt on the floor.  "I thought that you might like something fun  
to do indoors, and so I took the liberty of setting out a few board and card  
games in the living room earlier today, just in case.  After you get yourselves showered off, to get  
the salt and sand off, you might consider that to take up the rest of the  
afternoon.  If that bores you, of course,  
I'm sure that we can think of other things to do - I've got several backup  
plans just waiting to be brought into play."

  
  

 

            "All right,  
Rose," said Mercy, taking charge of the situation once more as she got herself  
back together, shaking off the shaking rush of adrenaline that had left her  
body, the full impact of what had almost happened to her and her friend not  
quite sinking in just yet.  "We'll use  
the big showers, in the gym.  That way we  
can all stay together.  And you," she  
pointed at the sleek, slightly damp dobiemorph, "will be joining us.  No, no buts," said Mercy, lifting her open  
palm, facing towards Ambrose as she started to protest.  "I insist - you need the shower as much as  
us, after all, and besides," she giggled cutely as she picked up one of the  
towels, "I almost never shower without you there.  It feels so weird when I bathe alone."

  
  

            Ambrose and  
the other girls looked a bit shocked at this admission, but took it in stride,  
the girls soon gathering up their own towels to buff themselves off just enough  
to keep from dripping, before they started filing out of the kitchen.

  
  

 

            "I want to  
dry up the floor a bit before anything stains," said Ambrose as Mercy looked  
back at him.  "I shall be there in a few  
minutes.  I promise."

  
  

            Mercy  
considered this for a few moments, and then nodded.

  
  

            "All  
right," she said finally with a nod.   
"See you there."

  
  

 

  
  

            Ambrose did  
indeed only take a few minutes, using the towels to soak up the worst of the  
water, thus keeping it from touching any of the wood of the cabinets, which  
would likely have resulted in staining or warping.  It would dry nicely, and the dobiemorph would  
have to mop the kitchen later, but for now he'd prevented a much worse cleanup  
job.  He also carefully retrieved the  
dripping swimsuits from the sink, and dropped them down a laundry chute at the  
base of the stairs leading up, so that they would be out of the way in the  
laundry room, for when he could go and deal with them later.  Sighing in relief and satisfaction at having  
stopped his Mistress' property from being damaged, Ambrose then left the  
kitchen, making his way through the house to the stairs that led down, into the  
basement den, and then along a hall into the gym.  Mistress Lords always insisted on having the  
best exercise equipment available, and there was even a door leading to an  
indoor pool, for those days when it was a bad day for swimming outside.  Ambrose took this door, since it led not just  
to the pool, but also to the large changing rooms which Dianne Lords had built  
for those times when she had friends over for pool or beach parties.  There were spaces in the vast changing rooms  
for group showers, individual showers, and even a hot tub and a sauna.  With Ambrose himself acting as a masseur on command,  
Dianne Lords had enough down there for her own health spa.

  
  

 

            As he  
entered the changing rooms, shutting the door quietly behind him, Ambrose  
frowned as his sensitive ears picked up the sound of running water.  Of course, Miss Mercy had told him that he  
would be joining them in the shower, but still, she couldn't possible have  
meant . . . well, not really in the shower, of course.  That would be indecent under the best of  
circumstances.  And these were hardly the  
best of circumstances, for twice today Ambrose had been almost overwhelmed by  
his instincts, driven to distraction by the heady fertility of two of his  
teenaged charges, a distraction that lingered still, making it hard for him to  
focus himself, to resist further temptations.   
Bright fellow that he was, Ambrose was quickly realizing that all of the  
girls were probably on the same menstrual cycle now, from the time they spent  
together.  If he was made to stand close  
to them, all together like that, in the warmth of the group showers . . . or,  
worse yet, asked to help them bathe . . . the dobiemorph gave a soft whimper as  
he began walking towards the sound of the running water.

  
  

 

            Though Lyra  
had been gifted with the presence of mind to scoop up Ambrose's Speedos (and  
his book as well, which made his tail wag just to think of it), he hadn't  
bothered changing into them, or into anything else for that matter.  He'd been too preoccupied up until then to  
consider it, and so was still wearing just a towel that stopped a few inches  
above his knees.  Now, as he came to the  
open entryway leading into the showers, the sound of girlish giggling and  
hushed voices greeting his cropped ears, he found that he was regretting it  
deeply, for he knew that he'd have no excuse to cover himself up if the girls  
did indeed desire the worst of him.

  
  

            Ambrose had  
been trying to brace himself for what he knew would be before him as he stepped  
into the shower room.  It was all in  
vain, though, for his eyes soon strayed over the sweet pink flesh of the four  
girls standing there by the water, not stepping into it yet, their hands  
feeling the streams of wetness raining down from the shower heads until they  
were the right temperature.  Though there  
were numerous showers along the walls, providing plenty of room for privacy as  
well as enough for however large a party might come down here, the girls had  
chosen to use the ones on the wall immediately opposite the entryway.  They were facing away from him, all four  
girls slightly bent over as they tested the water's heat with their hands, their  
pert pink bottoms thrust out towards him.   
His muzzle dropped open, and he had to lick his chops to keep himself  
from drooling as he caught sight of four perfect teenaged slits that had never  
been tested for tightness by any male.   
The steam that was just starting to rise from the showers didn't dampen  
the pheromones that were in the air, instead acting to carry them all the  
better to the poor, overwrought canid's nose, confirming his suspicions about  
the synchronized menstrual cycles of his young charges.  They were all fertile right then, Lyra and  
Dottie achingly so, while Rianne and Mercy were only a matter of hours from  
their peak fertility, though it was quite likely that any male who claimed them  
right then would indeed manage to knock them up nicely.

  
  

 

            Just when  
Ambrose was certain that things couldn't get any worse, and he was about to  
make a quiet exit, more concerned about propriety right then than about keeping  
his promise to Mercy, perhaps salvaging what was otherwise a hopeless  
situation, Lyra, who had been holding the bottle of bodywash the four girls  
were going to use, suddenly said "Oops!" in a cute little-girl's voice, so that  
Ambrose couldn't be certain if it was in the least bit sincere, as the bottle  
dropped to the floor of the shower.

  
  

Right then, as though the whole  
thing were choreographed, all four girls bent over at the waist to grab for the  
bottle of liquid soap, thrusting their perfect bare behinds out even further,  
letting him see . . . everything.   
Ambrose bit his lower lip, whimpering softly as he struggled with all  
his might to control the muscles that controlled the erection of his penis, the  
battle a losing one as, gradually, inch-by-inch, his mighty puppymaker slid  
from his sheath, rising to full erection, the weight of his heavy, aching balls  
dragging his shaft downward as it reached full erection, so that it pointed  
directly at the objects of his helpless lusting desire.  Almost lost now in a haze of instinctual,  
primal desperation, Ambrose let himself be drawn forward, following the  
direction pointed out by his rampant cock, drawing steadily nearer to those  
four smooth, uplifted adolescent rumps.   
His paw left the towel at his waist, his burgeoning doghood already  
having loosened its hold around his middle, and it dropped silently and  
forgotten to the floor of the showers.

  
  

 

            What might  
have happened next was not something that Ambrose liked to think about, if  
Mercy had not turned her head just then, looking up at him with a bright smile,  
before she stood up and turned to reach out and give her faithful companion a  
sudden, loving hug.

  
  

            "Rose!"  
exclaimed the bright blonde enthusiastically as Ambrose awkwardly returned her  
hug, trying so carefully not to let his paws stray anywhere beyond her upper  
back.  "You came - I was getting worried  
you wouldn't make it."

  
  

            "I . . .  
why would you think that, Miss Mercy?" asked Ambrose, taking a step back,  
looking down at his young mistress, blinking in some surprise.  "I promised, after all."

  
  

            "Well, you  
seemed so nervous about coming down and helping us all shower, that I wasn't  
sure if you really would do it, is all," said Mercy with a bright, sunny smile,  
no more ashamed about her nudity right then than she had been that morning.

  
  

            "H-helping  
you all shower?" Ambrose said with a slight stammer, his eyes widening as he  
realized just what Mercy was expecting of him, and that it was indeed the worst  
case scenario he'd been dreading - the very scenario for which he just couldn't  
think of any way to avoid, his brain locking up completely as he considered it.

  
  

 

            "Oh yes,"  
said Rianne with a teasing grin, stepping forward as Ambrose turned to face  
her.  "Lyra was just telling us all about  
how you give these really good tongue baths."   
She licked her lips as her bright green eyes slid up, and then down,  
until they came to a stop on his rock hard doggie cock.  "Mmm, well now - looks like somebody likes  
the idea a lot."  She giggled, as did the  
other girls as they looked at Ambrose's doghood with wide, eager eyes.  Even reserved, shy Dottie was looking at Ambrose  
now, her cheeks flushed with as much desire as embarrassment as the nerdy  
auburn-haired beauty's breathing started to speed up.  He could smell their commingled arousal in  
the moist air of the showers, the scent intoxicating him.

  
  

            "I just  
wanted to say," said Dottie, now stepping forward, reaching out, her small  
hands touching Ambrose's firm, furry chest, "well . . . thank you for saving me  
out there.  I think I'd have drowned if  
you hadn't pulled me out of the water when you did."

  
  

 

            Ambrose  
turned to Dottie then, and then smiled, his tail wagging as he cupped her chin,  
tilting it upward, and then suddenly bent his head on an impulse, his muzzle  
meeting her lips as he kissed her, firm but gentle, and oh so very sweet.  He knew that this was her first kiss, and  
that she'd never forget it.  She started  
a little as she felt his hard cock pressing against her smooth, flat tummy, but  
he just held her closer, his kiss deepening, tongue invading her mouth, making  
her eyes roll back into her head as the power of Ambrose's kiss overwhelmed her  
resistances, one by one, until there was nothing left but acceptance.

  
  

            He smelled  
Mercy nearby, felt her pressing the bottle of bodywash into his paws as they  
roamed Dottie's back, and he broke the kiss, leaving the auburn-haired teen  
gasping for breath, wavering as she stood there until Rianne stepped up behind  
her, holding her up by her shoulders while Ambrose squirted a generous amount  
of liquid soap onto his big paws.

  
  

 

            "If you  
wish me to bathe you, one by one, then very well," said Ambrose with a gentle  
smile, looking between the four teens and nodding.  "But please, try to be patient while each of  
you has a turn."

  
  

            The other  
three girls moved back slightly, so that Dottie was standing there, alone and  
vulnerable, feeling slightly frightened, before Ambrose's big paws rested on  
her shoulders, and she looked up into his soulful brown eyes, her hazel ones  
widening as he felt her starting to rub his gentle hands against her smooth  
skin, starting high on her body, and then gradually working downwards, soaping  
her up until her skin glistened with a light sudsy lather.  She bit her lower lip as the big male moved  
behind her, pulling her back against his chest, letting her feel his firm cock  
resting against her bum, as his paws handled her breasts, nice and slow, making  
her moan in eagerness and enjoyment.

  
  

            Mercy  
watched with shock and even a little bit of envy, the latter of which was  
easily quashed as she realized that she'd have a turn soon enough.  Ambrose wasn't handling her friend as he did  
her every morning, with a quick standing rubdown and rinse off, setting her  
skin afire with a healthy glow before she had to rush into the day.  Instead, this was a slow, sensual caressing  
of her friend's naked body, the erotic touch of a most experienced lover, who  
knew exactly where and how much to tough a female to bring her the most  
satisfaction.  The honey blonde teen gave  
a sharp gasp as she heard her nerdy, conservative friend squeal in delight as  
one of Ambrose's paws worked its way between her legs, even as his other paw  
reached up to the tight, bookish bun of her hair, and pulled it carefully free,  
letting Dottie's beautiful auburn hair spill down to her shoulders.  Almost without thinking, Mercy slipped her  
own hand between her legs, and began to explore eagerly as she watched with  
wide blue eyes.

  
  

 

            The squeal  
rose in pitch as Dottie's eyes opened wide, staring around at her friends  
almost sightlessly as the dobiemorph's paw flexed and stroked through her  
lightly trimmed pubic fuzz, and then into her most precious places, the heel of  
his palm arching into her, the noise of running water overshadowed now by the  
wet squelching of the dogservant's skilled fingers.

  
  

            "I . . . I  
can't . . ." choked out Dottie, before Ambrose carefully maneuvered the  
near-limp teen into the rush of warm water, letting it rinse her body down, the  
soap flowing off even as he pressed inward a bit harder.

  
  

            "Let it go,  
Dorothy," said Ambrose gently in Dottie's ear, his voice at once sensual and  
comforting, its deep tones echoing in the girl's mind as she followed his  
command, her orgasm washing over her like the rush of the shower, blotting out  
all else as she bucked and thrashed in the mighty male's strong arms, as he  
held her firmly but gently, keeping her from injuring herself with the  
spasmodic jerking that was so like an electric shockdance.

  
  

 

            The three  
other girls watched in silence as Dottie's hazel eyes closed then, as her  
spasms receded, her strength utterly spent.   
She hung limply in Ambrose's arms as he lifted her up so easily, as  
though she weighed but naught, and carried her from the stream of water,  
setting her on a nearby smooth ceramic shelf next to a sink, the tile now quite  
warm with the warmth of the steaming water, as well as slightly slick.

  
  

            Turning  
back to the threesome before him, Ambrose couldn't help but smirk smugly at the  
looks of astonishment and eager desire on their faces, reflected in their wide,  
awestruck eyes.

  
  

            "Rianne,"  
he said, his voice still a rumbling basso note that trembled through each  
girl's body like the aftershocks of an earthquake.  "You will help me with Lyra."

  
  

            The  
platinum blonde blinked in surprise as she heard this, and then gasped in still  
more shock when Rianne reached around from behind her, sticking her hands out  
from under Lyra's armpits.  Ambrose soon  
filled these hands with the sweet-smelling bodywash, and began to move over  
Lyra's smooth pink body, cupping her plump breasts.

  
  

 

            "N-now wait  
a minute," Lyra began to protest, but all protest was silenced as Ambrose stepped  
forward and engulfed her in his embrace, kissing her, his tongue invading her  
mouth like a conquering army before which she could do nothing but submit.  Her head lolled back as Ambrose released her  
from the kiss, basking in the wonderful sensations of having two sets of hands  
moving stroking over her lovely, sensitive skin, one set large and firm, the  
other small and soft, but both just what she felt her body needed most.  She noted only partially the meeting of  
Rianne and Ambrose's lips in their own shared kiss, and realized only dimly  
that Ambrose's paws were moving over both her own smooth body, and also the  
redhead's freckled skin.

  
  

            Like  
Dottie, Lyra had a slightly plumpness about her.  But unlike Dottie, who had the healthy  
plumpness expected of a girl who had only recently gotten into moderate shape,  
Lyra's plumpness wasn't because she was fat.   
Rather, it was because she had such trained muscles, having worked so  
very hard, especially in sit-ups, so that when she was relaxed and not  
dehydrated, she looked healthily rounded, thanks in no small part to her  
slightly endomorphic body frame, which seemed only to draw still more attention  
to her wonderfully smooth skin and squeezably plump breasts and bum.

  
  

 

Rianne, on the other hand, was an  
ectomorph, tried and true, her body lean almost to the point of being skinny,  
though not quite to that unhealthy extreme.   
Now naked, Ambrose noted that her freckles went almost everywhere on her  
body - everywhere that the sun had ever touched, from between her breasts, each  
capped with the most startlingly candy pink nipples Ambrose had ever seen,  
highlighted against the tan that covered the rest of her body, all the way down  
to her pert bare bottom.  While with  
Lyra, Ambrose had to be careful because of the great sensitivity of her skin,  
with Rianne he had to take some care because she had so little meat on her  
bones, her lithe body easily bruised against his much greater bulk and  
strength.

  
  

Unresisting, Lyra allowed Ambrose  
to turn her to face Rianne, before Rianne's lips met hers hungrily.  Rianne wasn't as skilled a kisser as Ambrose,  
but she'd obviously had some practice, as had Lyra, practice which both girls  
demonstrated most eagerly as their small hands began to each roam the body of  
the other.  And as the two well-lathered  
girls stepped back, letting the soap wash from their bodies beneath the spray  
of the showerhead, Ambrose knelt, his muzzle turning upwards as his head  
slipped between the legs of the two close-pressed girls, his tongue extending  
like a scourge, lashing across their bared pink pussies with eager  
abandon.  Both girls were shaved smooth,  
and this made it easy for Ambrose to put his tongue to good use, his hard, deep  
strokes uninterrupted by any obstacles.   
The girls pressed their smooth, flat bellies together, their snug  
teenaged quims now clasping against each other, each hard clitoris touching the  
other, sending still more waves of pleasure washing over them as Lyra and  
Rianne rubbed against each other, and Ambrose's eager oral organ worked them from  
beneath, their sweet, syrupy juices trickling down onto his broad, smooth  
tongue and down his greedy throat.

  
  

 

            The cries  
from both girls were as sweet to the dogservant's cropped ears as the gush of  
their honeyed juices were on his tastebuds.   
Blonde and redhead clutched each other close, each shivering and working  
against the other still harder, drawing out still more pleasure, letting it  
crash through their defenses until they were all gone, and could only lean  
against each other for support beneath the warm water beating down soothingly  
on their naked bodies, and on the massive, dinner-plate-sized hands that the  
dobiemorph lifted so that they could each rest their pert tushes upon them.

  
  

            "Go rest,"  
said Ambrose softly as he stood, patting each girl on her rump encouragingly,  
motioning to the low, wide ceramic shelf on which Dottie had already begun to  
stir, her hazel eyes watching the scene taking place in the showers with  
sleepy, moderately aroused interest, though her recent multiple orgasms prevented  
more than that right then.  "I have one  
last charge to fulfill, before I have done fully as you wished."

  
  

 

            He turned  
then to look full at Mercy, who blushed brightly as he caught her stroking  
herself between her legs.  She looked up  
at him sheepishly and was about to say something, but the big male touched her  
lips with one finger, giving her a sweet, soft kiss on her lips.

  
  

            "You are no  
more guilty now than that time I caught you exploring yourself for the first  
time," he said in his softly rumbling voice, the curl of a bestial growl adding  
a hint of exotic accent to each word.

  
  

            "You had to  
comfort me when I popped my own cherry," giggled Mercy nervously.  "There was so much blood . . ."

  
  

            "But I made  
it all better," said Ambrose, nuzzling her cheek lovingly, before he gave her a  
naughty smirk.  "Though I did not kiss it  
to make it better, did I?"

  
  

            "You . . .  
oh my!" Mercy began to reply, only to arch her back as Ambrose gently guided  
her backwards, until her back was pressed up against the tile wall of the shower.  She let him kneel before her, his hands  
hooking under her legs, lifting her up, placing the crook of each knee on his  
shoulders, resting her rounded pink rump in his massive paws, his thumbs  
spreading her open as he moved his muzzle upwards eagerly, his lips parting,  
tongue extending.

  
  

 

            "I think  
that I should correct that oversight right now," murmured Ambrose softly, the  
words just reaching Mercy under the spray of water cascading down the wall onto  
her body.

  
  

Mercy's eyes grew wide then, her  
back arching, a moan of exquisite pleasure summoned from between her perfect  
pink lips as Ambrose kissed her slit, his lips parting as he began to French  
kiss her between a very different set of lips than he had used when doing the  
same to her friends.  The sweet teen's  
legs kicked out despite herself, and she had to bite down on an uplifted  
knuckle, the pain keeping her from being utterly overwhelmed by the rush of  
pleasure as she was penetrated by Ambrose's thick, smooth tongue.  At least, that tactic worked for a few  
moments.  Then the skilled canid began to  
ripple his tongue as he pressed it inward, curling it back as he moved his lips  
against her labia and clitoris wetly, seeking out and soon finding the slight  
roughness of her G-spot on the upper part of her inner depths, stroking over  
that pleasure-giving place carefully as he started to thrust his muzzle,  
forward and back, as he might his hips if it were Mercy beneath him just then,  
like one of the many hot young bitches he'd bred over the years.  The very thought of such a thing, of having  
Mercy, his dream girl, in such a lewd, willingly lascivious position, instantly  
drove Ambrose mad with need, and he began to buck his head now, not holding  
back any longer as he drove himself into the clenching, cloying tightness of  
his young Mistress' sacred inner depths.

  
  

 

            The sweet  
young teen, already quite slick and aroused from before with her own  
self-pleasuring as she watched Ambrose service her friends, managed to endure  
this treatment for a total of almost forty-one seconds.  Not an instant after this, she began to  
clench down, sucking the dobiemorph's tongue in even deeper.  Instead of panicking, as a less-experienced  
dog might have, Ambrose viewed this as an opportunity to drive his tongue right  
up inside of Mercy, spreading his muzzle wide so that he could fit his tongue  
still deeper, his lower canines pricking the girl's pert bottom and upper ones  
brushing through the neatly trimmed fur of her pubis, until he was lapping  
directly at the very gates to her womb, his tongue tickling at her cervix.  As he did this, a massive spasm shook Mercy's  
entire body, the overwhelmed teen not even able to cry out as she clawed at  
Ambrose's shoulders, her legs tightening around his head, unwittingly pulling  
him in still further, which he accepted with gusto, holding his breath as he  
orally rode his young Mistress with his tongue exactly the way he wanted to  
ride her with his aching, erect cock.

  
  

 

            Then,  
suddenly, Mercy's thrashing ceased and she slumped limply against the wall, her  
strength utterly spent now, her mind overloaded with the intensity of the  
pleasure that had rocked through her.   
Ambrose slid his tongue free of her still-clenching depths, having to  
pull a bit as his young Mistress' cunny rippled with the aftershocks of the  
most intense orgasms of her young life, and then let the sweet young female  
slide easily down into his powerful arms.   
Cradling her lovingly against his chest, right against his heart, with  
one strong arm, his other picked up the bottle of liquid soap, and he gently  
poured a liberal amount over her dozing body and his own strong frame.  Before too long the big male had washed both  
himself and his precious little Mistress, letting the drizzling shower rinse  
them both, before he stepped out, into the warm upward rush of a vent dryer,  
until they were both clean as a whistle.   
Ambrose smiled at the girls who were standing there, their faces flushed  
with the intensity of what they'd just seen.

  
  

 

            "I set out  
some sleeping bags in the den," said the dobiemorph.  "I'll be tucking Mercy into one, before I  
finish my nightly rounds and go to bed myself.   
I recommend that you get some rest as well.  That way you can get a fresh start tomorrow,  
and get to enjoying your vacation time to the fullest."

  
  

            Dottie's  
eyes strayed to the clock on the wall of the shower room, and blinked in  
surprise as she saw that the late afternoon had slipped them by, and it was now  
almost nine.  Had they really been  
pleasured by the attentions of this massive male for so long?  But there was a heavy weariness that had  
settled over all of the girls that were still conscious, and none of them could  
do anything but nod in agreement to Ambrose's suggestion, before they tiredly  
followed him out of the gym, and up the stairs, to the living room and its comfortable  
accommodations for a sleepover.

  
  

 

  
  

            Mercy awoke  
to the smell of fresh fruit and the sound of pattering rain from the roof far  
above.  Opening her eyes, she saw her  
friends seated around her on their sleeping bags in the massive den of the  
house, eating breakfast.  Her own  
breakfast - peaches and cream - was sitting near her head.  Rubbing her eyes and pushing back her  
sleeping bag, the young teen found that she was wearing an oversized pink  
t-shirt that went all the way down to her mid-thighs, and even a pair of  
panties - exactly what she normally wore to bed, and quite different from what  
she remembered wearing (or not wearing) last, before she passed out last night.

  
  

 

            That  
thought just made Mercy blush, and she reached out to pick up her breakfast,  
which she dug into with a will.  Her  
friends each seemed caught up in their own thoughts, and generally concerned  
with the business of eating breakfast, so the meal passed in relative silence.  Last night seemed almost like an intensely  
erotic dream with the coming of the day, and Mercy could almost dismiss it as  
such, if it hadn't felt so completely real.

  
  

            "So . . .  
where's Rose right now?" she finally asked as she'd almost finished her fruit,  
breaking the silence.  Her friends looked  
up, exchanging smiles and an almost universal blush (which confirmed for Mercy  
that last night had been real after all), before Lyra, who was wearing a set of  
flannel pajamas with cartoon ponies on it, spoke up.

  
  

            "He said he  
had a lot of work to do around the house today," the pigtailed blonde said with  
a smile and a shrug.  "Laundry, and  
repairs after the big storm last night, and making sure that the greenhouse  
flowers out back are well-tended.  He's  
not going to be around much, he said."

  
  

 

            "We've  
pretty much got the house to ourselves," said Rianne, her smile mischievous and  
eager, her pajamas the same slightly too short babydoll t-shirt and snug cotton  
gym shorts she'd been wearing yesterday.   
"For the whole day we're just gonna have to find something to occupy  
ourselves indoors."

  
  

            "I take it,  
by your tone," stated Dottie, wearing a plain white nightshirt and now wearing  
her glasses again, looking up from the fantasy novel she'd been reading to  
respond to Rianne's words, "that you have a pretty good idea of what you'd like  
to do."  The auburn-haired teen grinned,  
pulling off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose.  "Well, out with it - I'm dying to hear what  
you're up to this time, Rianne."

  
  

            Mercy and  
Lyra both nodded their agreement, and all three pairs of eyes were soon glued  
to Rianne as she leaned back, taking her time now that she knew she had a  
captive audience.

  
  

            "Well," she  
began, finishing off the last of her bowl of cold cereal.  "I suppose it can't hurt to share what I've  
been thinking about right now.  I figured,  
since it's a vacation, and we're stuck indoors, we might as well make use of  
Diane's heavy-duty multimedia center down here."

  
  

 

'Diane' was how all of the girls  
(except Mercy, of course, who called her "Mom") referred to Diane Lords, since  
she didn't really like to stand on formal titles when around others, unless she  
had something to prove.  And it was true  
- Dianne Lords had an excellent entertainment center all set up in the den, a  
massive plasma screen television with surround sound taking up a decent part of  
one large wall.  Not that this was  
terribly surprising, as often as Diane was expected to entertain in her  
position as owner of the Lords Confectionary Company.  The setup was made to impress, as well as  
provide the maximum entertainment value.  But though Mercy could see the wisdom in  
Rianne's words, she frowned a bit as she thought it over, and what her friend's  
mischievous smile could portend.

  
  

            "What sort  
of movie were you thinking of, Ri?" asked the younger Lords, only partially  
succeeding in keeping the traces of suspicion from her voice.

  
  

            "Movies,  
actually," Rianne replied, smooth as silk and ready with her response.  "Just a couple I found in your mother's  
collection, is all - nothing too major.   
They weren't locked up or anything, so I don't think she'll mind us  
using them."

  
  

 

            Mercy was  
about to ask for more information, and she could tell that Dottie was about to  
do the same (though Lyra wasn't, being far more interested in seeing the end of  
the mystery to interrupt with a bunch of silly questions) but Rianne was  
already standing up and walking over to the movie player, after having pulled  
three recording chips from under her sleeping bag, where she'd been hiding  
them.  Dottie and Mercy shared a wary look,  
but then shrugged at each other, letting the matter drop.  They'd find out soon enough what their friend  
was up to, after all - they could get upset about it after they knew what they  
were getting upset about.  Meanwhile,  
Lyra was already heading towards the lights, unhooking the remote lighting and  
climate control from the wall.  As she  
got back to her sleeping bag, and began to snuggle into the thick cloth,  
getting comfortable, Rianne popped the recording chips into the machine, so  
that they would play back-to-back, and Lyra dimmed the lights as her redheaded  
friend settled down into the sleeping back next to her, the two of them sitting  
quite close together in the now-darkened room.

  
  

 

            Watching  
expectantly, the four girls were not disappointed, as the movie quickly  
started, rolling on the opening title sequence, which made both Dottie's and  
Mercy's eyes get huge as they realized what they were watching.  The title of the movie was "Canomorph  
Breeding Training Volume Four: A Bitch's First Breeding."  It was one of Dianne Lords' breeding videos,  
meaning it might as well be a porn flick, except that all of the participants  
were canomorphs, which meant they counted in the eyes of the law as educational  
instead of pornographic, using only the most talented studs and bitches in the  
productions of each video, to ensure that there was a standard of quality  
generally lacking I your average porn flick.   
At first Mercy and Dottie were going to say something in protest, to  
give voice to their misgivings.  But then  
the movie started, and, somehow, it just didn't seem right to make it  
stop.  After all, curiosity is a powerful  
motivator.  Almost as powerful as sex.

  
  

            As the  
girls watched, a pleasant-voiced female narrator explained that the first  
breeding of a young bitch was a critical point, and that only the most talented  
of studs should be the ones to deflower such a female, because the performance  
of the male would almost certainly affect the ability of a female to enjoy  
mating in the future.  As she was  
speaking, the camera panned to a room with soft, gentle lighting, the  
furnishings sparse, consisting of a bed, a chair, a small toilet in one corner,  
a low sink with a liquid soap dispenser, and nothing else.  Lying on the bed, quite naked, was a petite  
poodlegirl, who was struggling against the ropes holding her wrists bound  
behind her back, and her ankles tied together, to say nothing of the muzzle  
holding her mouth shut.  The narrator  
explained that retraining the bitch was normally unnecessary, but if the female  
in question was high-strung or otherwise disinclined to cooperate, as in this  
case, where the female had been badly spoiled by her owner, then it sometimes  
became essential - and besides the benefits of getting a female used to sex,  
being properly and thoroughly pleasured by a satisfying breeding session was  
also often the best way to calm a high-strung bitch down, or to start the  
retraining of a spoiled or otherwise badly trained female, because of the  
intense sensations involved.

  
  

 

            Their eyes  
intent on the rising action, the girls could see the ears of the slim little  
poodlegirl, who was around the same age as them, perk, her nose lifting as the  
black tip worked, obviously picking up something.  This, the narrator explained, was her  
reaction to the coming of the male that was going to breed her.  The tension in the room quickly began to  
mount as the girly-haired white poodlegirl started to struggle harder, making a  
host of muffled little sounds of exertion and desperation, which honestly  
sounded rather cute.  Suddenly, the door  
to the room swung open, and the poodleteen looked up, her eyes growing wide as  
she saw the male that had come for her.   
The girls watching the video also had their eyes go wide at the sight of  
this male: it was Ambrose!

  
  

            Standing in  
the doorway, dressed in a simple bathrobe and a pair of boxer shorts, the tall  
dobiemorph was introduced by the narrator woman by name, identifying him as the  
recipient of a number of awards for his breeding skills and bitch handling  
ability.  The shock of seeing Mercy's  
faithful companion on the big screen was somewhat lessened, however, as he  
walked into the room, and all the girls could see a pair of pink bunny slippers  
fitting poorly over his digitigrade footpaws.   
The poodlegirl noticed them as well, and blinked several times as he  
approached, her struggling ceasing almost immediately.  As the strong, virile male sat on the bed by  
her, giving her a friendly smile and wag of his tailstub, she actually returned  
the wag with her own powder-puffed tail.

  
  

 

            Ambrose  
soon undid the muzzle, and before too long he and the poodlegirl began to talk,  
but what exactly was said was hard to make out over the words of the narrator,  
who was busily explaining all the technical social, psychological and  
physiological details of what the girls were seeing.  It was pretty easy to tune her voice out  
after a while, watching instead as Ambrose's muzzle lowered, the bitchteen  
blushing through her soft white cheekfur, before their lips met.  The sleek-furred male slid easily out of his  
clothes, the motion smooth and practiced to perfection, and soon the  
poodlemorph was untied.  And then they  
were moving against each other in a passionate embrace, though no penetration  
was taking place.

  
  

            Before too  
long, the poodlegirl let Ambrose guide her onto all-fours, what the narrator  
called the "traditional mating posture, demonstrating complete female  
submission and trust in the male."  He  
bent, his large paws gripping the poodleteen's rump firmly, possessively, and  
soon his long, smooth tongue was lashing out once more, sending waves of pleasure  
through the young female that the girls knew only too well from the activities  
of the preceding night.  Then, after  
lathering the canomorph femme up nicely, Antone's tongue slipped upwards, until  
he was tonguing away at her tiny pink tailhole, while she eagerly thrust her  
tight white-furred hiney back into his oral attentions, whimpering and whining  
loudly at the exquisite pleasure this seemed to be bringing her.  The girls watched in semishock, but mostly arousal,  
as the narrator explained that any attentions of one canomorph to the anal  
region of another was a means of establishing dominance over the submissive  
canomorph.  And if the canomorph being  
anally stimulated pushed back, as the petite female on the screen obviously  
was, then it was an instinctive sign of abject submission.  Anal sex often followed such a display,  
though not always, though it most certainly did, a bit later on in the video.

  
  

 

            Then, as  
the girls watched, Ambrose reached down to the pocket of his robe, lying by the  
side of the bed, and slipped out a small circular metal device.  He held it up a bit, so the camera could  
catch it, and twisted it, showing how a gleaming metal blade whipped out when  
he did so, followed right after by a tiny sponge-tipped probe.  This, as the narrator described, was a  
"maiden blade," sometimes called a "bitch splitter" informally.  It was a device intended to remove the hymen  
of a female, and for this purpose it was so incredibly sharp that, if properly  
applied, there wouldn't even be any bleeding after the removal, the swab that  
followed the sterile blade applying a soothing salve that made recovery from  
the blade's use almost immediate.  Before  
any of the girls could even shudder at the thought of a blade being taken to  
their most private places, however, or even before the poodlegirl was aware of  
what was happened, Ambrose was pulling the cylinder back and tucking it back  
into his robe's pocket.

  
  

 

            After that,  
the narrator mostly shut up, as Ambrose moved up behind the canomorph female,  
and mounted her.  This part, at least,  
was very much like a porn flick, except the growls, snarls, moans, whimpers,  
and howls were all real, the passion radiating from the screen with an  
intensity that humans would be dearly pressed to match even at their most  
sincere.  These, after all, were  
artificially made beings, and this was what they were made to do, and do very,  
very well, for a very long time.

  
  

            The second  
movie was a bit of a cool-down, being more documentary in nature, after the  
preceding video had finished, the action truncated somewhat for sake of time,  
though it was obvious that more happened than was shown, lost to the floor of  
the cutting room.  However, the subject  
matter was enough to keep the excitement level in the den from fading  
altogether.  That subject matter was "The  
Dangers of Physical Intimacy With Your Male Canomorph."  It had several human women, often their  
daughters as well, and even a few men, all with their faces blurred out,  
explaining how they had fallen for their canomorph in one way or another.  First the relationship had started with raw  
passion.  Then it progressed to a  
dominance and submission relationship as it matured, with the canomorph serving  
the needs of the human.  But in almost  
every case, in the end, the canomorph ended up as the dominant partner, though  
never without the at least tacit permission of the human.  And almost universally, each of the humans in  
the documentary said that they couldn't help but love it, even though they knew  
it was wrong, and society would never condone what they had grown to  
crave.  Canomorph males were originally  
made to be sexually powerful, and those born naturally weren't any less potent,  
was the parting warning of this video, and playing with that power was asking  
for trouble, and eventually domination, becoming the willing bitch of the male.

  
  

 

            The final  
video was something quite different from the first two.  Where they had been obviously done by  
professionals, this one was a bit shaky, the image slightly pixilated in  
places, the result of a cameraphone's video capture abilities, with the date  
stamp in the bottom right corner of the screen marking it as having been shot  
last summer.  Mercy frowned as she saw  
this, and looked over to where Rianne and Lyra were pressed so close together,  
giving the redhead a curious look in the darkness.  Rianne responded, her naughty grin visible in  
the glare from the screen, by holding up her own little camera, which Mercy  
could tell was indeed one of those with video capture capability.  Whatever she was about to see, it was  
something very real, and probably even naughtier than the first video.

  
  

            The girls  
were not to be disappointed.  The image  
took a few seconds to focus, but when it did, it showed Dianne Lords, lying on  
her front on a deck chair, sunbathing on the flat roof of her house.  There were some bushes and other shrubbery in  
the way of a complete shot of everything, and it became obvious that this was  
being taken from a place of concealment.   
As the video continued, before too long, Ambrose came walking out,  
wearing absolutely nothing at all on his sleek black-furred body.  The image managed to focus in, catching a  
very detailed shot of the brown patch of fur around the dobiemorph's pubic  
region, which extended down to just beneath his tail, before it slid out  
again.  It was obvious that the poor  
male's sheath was quite badly swollen, his stomach muscles tensed tightly as he  
fought to keep his erection contained, something Mercy hadn't really thought  
about before, but now suddenly realized that she'd seen her faithful companion  
do many, many times in the past, the reason behind that behavior hitting her in  
an avalanche of newfound awareness.   
She'd been torturing poor Ambrose, she suddenly concluded, forcing him  
to watch her prancing around naked, while he was just trying to do his  
job.  It must have been very hard on the  
poor guy, and the teen suddenly felt ashamed of herself for her past actions,  
however harmlessly flirty they might have meant to be.

  
  

 

            "I wish  
that you didn't require me to go naked," said Ambrose as he set a tray with a  
glass of lemonade on a table next to where Dianne lay.  "It's . . . hard on me."

  
  

            "Or just  
hard," said Dianne, looking up lazily, smiling up at the male, before her eyes  
trailed along his bulging, straining sheath.   
"Oh, don't be silly now - I've seen it before, you know.  Many times."

  
  

            "But . . .  
not like this," Ambrose protested weakly, trying to turn away.

  
  

            "What, you  
think it's okay to sport a hard-on when you're getting hot for some saucy  
bitch, but not when you're around a human woman you find attractive?  Come off it, Ambrose," Dianne told him  
sternly, and then smiled, one hand reaching out, running long, red-painted  
nails through his short bellyfur.  "And  
besides, I find it . . . well, kind of flattering, actually."

  
  

            "Don't do .  
. . ooh!" Ambrose tried to stop his mistress from touching him, but was too  
slow.  An instant after Dianne touched  
him, the dobiemorph's stomach rippled, and his sizeable pink penis slid into  
the open air.  "I . . . I'm sorry - I  
couldn't help . . ."

  
  

 

            "Mmm, what  
have we here?" said Diane, silencing Ambrose as her fingers wrapped around his  
erection, stroking him.  "Why, it looks  
like a hot dog."  She looked up at him.  "I wonder if it tastes like one, too."

  
  

            Ambrose  
just stood there, a look that was part shock and part desperate need on his  
face as he tried to force himself to do what he knew was right.  It was all in vain, though, for he just  
couldn't bring himself to react fast enough to stop Dianne from sitting up and  
sliding towards him, her full breasts pressing against his thighs as she took  
him into her mouth.  After that,  
Ambrose's eyes grew heavy-lidded, his muzzle dropping into a relaxed canine  
smile of contented pleasure, his stub-tail wagging behind him.

  
  

            At this  
point the camera started to shift angles, as the Rianne (or so Mercy was  
certain it was) sought for a better angle, where more of the action could be  
seen.  Almost instantly, Ambrose's ears  
perked up, his eyes opening to scan the bushes.   
And he looked straight at the viewer, his eyes full of fear at being  
discovered, though his erection didn't seem to be paying attention, as it  
remained quite full between Dianne's lips, her now closed eyes not letting her  
know that Ambrose had perhaps seen something.   
The image went chaotic as the one taking the movie spun and raced off  
into the bushes, before it suddenly went black, the video finished.

  
  

 

            "Wow," said  
Lyra as she sat there in the dark along with the other girls for a few  
moments.  "That was . . ."

  
  

            And then  
Dottie touched the light control, causing them to gradually fade into full  
brightness once more, before she looked around at the other girls.  She's apparently put her contacts back in  
place sometime during the movie, for her glasses weren't on at that moment when  
she looked at Rianne with a moment of holier-than-thou indignation.

  
  

            "You  
shouldn't have taken that," she said, her cheeks flushing as she said it,  
afraid now of making Rianne mad, but not able to stop herself.  But Rianne just gave Dottie a sly smile and a  
teasing wink.

  
  

            "And you  
shouldn't have let Ambrose go down on you last night - but we all do things  
that we shouldn't do, but which feel so very good, and so very right.  I can't tell you how hot I was, just watching  
them.  I listened in, from a distance,  
later on, and they were doing a lot more.   
I didn't dare go back up to see, though.   
I was scared for days that Ambrose would tell on me for spying or  
something, but he never did.  I don't  
think he even told Dianne."

  
  

 

            "This all  
makes me feel light-headed," said Mercy, looking down, resting one hand against  
her chest, feeling her heart beat so fast.   
"I just . . . I think we should do something else - something fun."

  
  

            "I have  
just the thing," said Rianne with a triumphant grin, going over to her sleeping  
bag, and pulling out a deck of cards, in fact the very same deck of cards she'd  
set on the kitchen counter yesterday afternoon. "I say we play . . ." she  
smiled conspiratorially, "strip poker."

  
  

            Lyra  
giggled at this, Mercy blinked, and Dottie just stood there, looking shocked  
and lost and quite uncertain of what to do next.  But as Rianne got into the middle of the  
circle of sleeping bags and began to shuffle the deck, the other girls gathered  
around, each of them breathing harder now, their eyes wide and eager as they  
watched her deal them out while she explained her version of the rules,  
partially just making them up.

  
  

            "Okay, none  
of us have much on, so the games'll be pretty short.  Nothing fancy - just plain old poker, no  
wilds, no funny house rules - besides the obvious.  If you win somebody else's clothes, then you  
can use them to bet instead of your own, but you're not allowed to put your own  
clothes back on, even if you win them back.   
And you don't have to take off your clothes until you actually lose  
them.  All right - everybody clear?"

  
  

 

            "Quite  
clear," said a deep, softly growling voice from the doorway.  All eyes instantly turned, and stared in  
fright as Ambrose stepped through the door, wearing a polo shirt and a pair of  
loose khaki shorts with a fanny pack.  He  
took his time, looking at each of them with his deep brown eyes, meeting their  
gazes, until each girl looked down, feeling a bit ashamed of herself for their  
lewd behavior.

  
  

            "We were  
just . . ." began Rianne, before Ambrose looked at her again, silencing her with  
his commanding presence, the tall, muscular male easily dominating the room so  
quickly and so well.  This was a true  
alpha male, the intended breeder of his pack, the one meant to lead, and each  
of the girls could feel it, and felt themselves submitting to it.

  
  

            "I know  
what you were doing," said Ambrose in that same soft, gentle, and yet utterly  
overpowering voice of his, the same sort of voice he'd used when he was talking  
to the frightened poodlegirl in the first video.  "I can smell it, actually, and the power on  
the player is still turned on.   
Afterwards, you decided to turn to the next naughty thing that came to  
your minds."  He looked at Rianne again.  "Or rather, that came to all but one of your  
minds just now, it being a calculated act on the part of one of you."  He shook his head.  "You should all be ashamed of yourselves:  
playing strip poker," and then his stern face broke into a grin, "without me,  
and after everything that happened last night."

  
  

 

            Mercy  
wasn't sure what was more heart-wrenching - being caught by Ambrose in the  
first place and knowing she was going to get in trouble, or know that she  
wasn't in trouble, but the big male wanted to join in their naughtiness!  Licking her lips nervously, she looked to the  
others, who all looked at her: Ambrose was her dogservant, after all.  She'd have to make the decision.

  
  

            "A-all  
right, Ambrose," she said after a few moments of deliberation, before her face  
broke into a bright smile.  "Of course we  
should have invited you - we're sorry.   
We thought you were too busy."

  
  

            "Never too  
busy for my dearest little mistress and her friends," said Ambrose, settling  
down into the circle, the other girls making room for him, now smiling again,  
their moment of panic quite gone, replaced with a far different feeling.  It was the feeling of opening themselves up  
to a male, of placing themselves in a position of extreme vulnerability, and  
not really knowing what might happen next.   
It was at once frightening and incredibly exciting, and even timid  
Dottie seemed to crave more of what might come, caught up in the thrill.  "But," he added as he settled into his place,  
"I would like to add a few house rules of my own, from when I learned how to  
play the game, back at my training kennels."

  
  

 

Hearing this, the girls paused, apparently  
expecting something more.  Ambrose, and  
in fact no canomorph, talked much about the training kennels, where they'd been  
raised and socially conditioned before their final sale to the public.  It was where Ambrose's ears and tail had been  
docked, mercy knew, but that was about it.

  
  

            "We played  
strip poker a lot in the male's barracks," said Ambrose as he pulled off his  
fanny pack and unzipped it, reaching inside.   
"What can I say?  We were horny  
males, made for breeding, but with no females around until we'd proven we were  
stable enough for it.  So we played it  
kinda rough, so that if you lost it all, you had to take a penalty."  He looked up then, pulling out four collars.  They were dog collars, made for someone of  
human size and shape.  Each was a slim  
bit of leather, stained in the color of each girl's eyes.  "These are from some of the girldogs I've  
known," explained Ambrose, before grinning, giving the four girls a wink.  "I've got quite a collection, and I went to  
pick these out earlier today - I figured Rianne would work in what she wanted,  
and figured that I might as well be ready."

  
  

 

            Rianne  
blushed as she heard this, looking sheepish at being so transparent to the much  
more experienced male who had seemed to undergo an incredible transformation  
from before, his inhibitions thrown to the winds, and the girls' inhibitions  
seemingly gone along with them.

  
  

            "If you  
lose, then you put on some clothes - the collar that matches your eyes,"  
continued Ambrose as he looked around the circle, before puling out a collar of  
thick brown leather.  "This is for  
me.  And once you put it on, you hand  
your leash," he pulled out a set of nylon leashes from the pack, which almost  
emptied it, "to the person who won you.   
After that, you have to give that person some . . . well, oral  
attentions until they're satisfied."  He  
grinned, suddenly growing a bit more sheepish as he said the words 'have to,'  
as though not quite daring to command the human girls just yet like he might  
females of his own kind.  "The collection  
starts once the game is over, and you can withdraw with your winnings whenever  
you want, though that means you don't get a chance to get anybody else.  Sound good to all of you?"

  
  

 

            The girls  
shared looks, each of them silent and expectant, until Lyra burst out in  
answer.

  
  

            "Yes!" she  
practically squealed in excitement.   
"We'll play with those rules, Ambrose.   
It makes it so the winnings at the end really mean something."  Then she turned and grinned at Rianne.  "And you are gonna be going down on me!"

  
  

            "That a challenge?"  
replied Rianne with a saucy grin of her own as she dealt Ambrose into the  
game.  "We'll see about that - all right  
girls, let's ante up."

  
  

            It was at  
this time that the girls learned something about Antone which none of them had  
quite realized before, though Mercy had started to get an inkling of it during  
the last of the three videos.  This new  
facet of Ambrose's personality gradually came out as the game progressed,  
though it didn't really start to hit home until poor little Dottie, pink and blushing  
and quite naked, cinched her collar around her neck, and then went to meekly  
kneel by the big dobiemorph's side like a spoil of war, doing her best to cover  
herself with her hands as she waited for the end of the game, and her  
inevitable penalty.  The skill that  
Ambrose had, which none of the girls quite realized fully until it was too  
late, was that he knew how to bluff.

  
  

 

            Thinking  
into it, it made perfect sense.  All his  
life, Ambrose had been restraining his feelings, always shuffling them aside, holding  
his instincts in check as he did his best to behave properly in the human  
world.  But for all that, he wasn't  
human.  His was a world of tooth and  
claw, where only the fittest survived to breed, and the rest served as food or  
servants for the mightiest, depending on their usefulness to the pack as a  
whole.  In the human world, he was at the  
bottom of the ladder, powerless before forces that were utterly beyond his  
control.  But in the world that his  
animal instincts were made for, he was meant to dominate and to rule.  This dichotomy of spirit had taught him the  
lesson of holding himself in at all times.

  
  

With this in mind, poker had been  
the natural game for he and his packmates to play while in the kennels.  It was a game devoted to bluffing, playing  
the cards you were dealt with all the skill you had, and with a little bit of  
chance thrown in for good measure.  It  
was a microcosm of their lives, and every one of them took to it easily.  Compared to the efforts of a quartet of horny  
teenaged human girls, and ones who knew the mechanics of sex and poker at about  
the same level, Ambrose's skill was unmatched.   
Soon Lyra was huddled next to Dottie, her face flushed as she nibbled  
her lower lip, tense, eager excitement at what she was going to do after the  
game was over written on her face, and Mercy as well, on Ambrose's other side,  
one large, strong arm wrapped around her waist as he held her against him, all  
of this accomplished with only the loss of his polo shirt, and even that lay  
next to him, in the pile of clothes he'd won.   
Mercy actually smiled at this, leaning into the soft fur of his bare  
chest, running her a hand idly over his pectorals and abdominals, taking to  
this new role in her relationship with her dogservant readily, as though she'd  
been born for it.

  
  

 

            It was then  
only a matter of time before Rianne tossed her own cards onto the floor.

  
  

            "I've got  
nothin'," she said, pouting.  "You won  
this hand."  Ambrose smiled at this,  
picking up the collar on the end of the leash and holding it out, before the  
skinny redhead held up one hand to stop him.   
"Hey, wait a minute.  This game's  
not over yet."

  
  

            Ambrose and  
his three 'winnings' all blinked in surprise at this.

  
  

            "Yeah,  
that's right," continued Rianne, her competitive nature refusing to lose, making  
her throw herself into her words, letting them flow before she could think  
herself out of it, in a desperate bid to win at all costs.  "I've still got something else that I know  
you want, Rosie."  She lifted herself up,  
arching her hips forward as she knelt there on the floor, reaching out to  
stroke a hand over her smooth-shaved pubis.   
"Just think about it - I'll bet myself, for the whole weekend.  For that whole time, I'll have to do anything  
you want.  And I do mean anything.  I'll go around on all-fours, I'll do any  
chores you set for me," she licked her lips, "I'll let you hump me like an  
animal.  Anything you want, I'm putting  
it all out on the line, until the end of the break.  So, what do you say?  You man enough for that kinda bet, dogboy?"

  
  

 

            Ambrose  
looked into Rianne's bright green eyes, and then cocked his head.

  
  

            "Are you  
sure about this, Rianne?" he asked, looking concerned.  "I mean, maybe . . ."

  
  

            "Don't be a  
pussy!" exclaimed Rianne angrily, grabbing the leash and hooking the collar  
around her neck.  "See, there.  If you win, I'll give you the other end of  
the lead.  Now shut up while I deal."

  
  

            "Wait,"  
said Lyra, her eyes bright as she looked at Rianne, and then reached up,  
unwrapping her leash from where it was tied around Ambrose's wrist.  "I like that idea.  I wanna make the same bet - all or nothing."

  
  

            "M-me too,"  
said Dottie timidly, looking up at Ambrose until he silently handed her the  
other end of her lead.  Mercy gave  
Ambrose a teasing grin when he looked at her, and held out her hand, whereupon  
he promptly and silently handed her what he knew she wanted.

  
  

            "If you  
win," she said, leaning up to his head to whisper in the big canoporph's ear,  
"you deserve it.  I've been so cruel,  
teasing you like I have.  I'm really  
sorry, Rose.  Please forgive me."

  
  

 

            "Easily and  
with all my heart," replied Ambrose in the same whispered tone, before Mercy  
slipped away, seating herself cross-legged to his right, letting him see  
everything all out there on display, before picking up the cards Rianne dealt  
out.

  
  

 

  
  

            "Four  
queens," said Rianne, staring at the cards unbelievingly as Ambrose laid them  
down before her.  "I don't believe  
it.  Four queens.  I mean, how . . . you've got luck like I've  
never seen before, Ambrose.  How'd you  
get so good at poker?"

  
  

            Ambrose just  
smiled and shrugged.

  
  

            "Lucky, I  
suppose," he said, before holding out his large paw.  At this prompting, each girl reached out with  
the end of her lead and set it onto his wide palm, before he closed his hand  
around all four leashes possessively and stood up, looking down at the four  
teenaged beauties he'd just won utterly and willingly, all of them now his to  
do with as he pleased, their eyes on him, watching him, wondering what he would  
do with them, part fear and part excitement on their bright young faces.  "I want you all to line up in a row," he said  
in his soft, subtly commanding voice as he motioned with his other paw, much  
like a master would do with a puppy in training.  "Side by side, on all-fours, facing away from  
me."  He licked his chops, slowly and  
deliberately, sending a shiver through each of the girls at the  
connotations.  "I want to take a good,  
long look at . . . my winnings."

  
  

 

            The tense  
excitement was thick in the air then, ripe with expectation of things to come  
as each of the four did as they were told, getting onto all-fours as he held  
their leashes, feeling so utterly slutty as they lined up, Mercy the first to  
get into place, followed by Lyra, pressing up on her left, before Rianne  
sandwiched Lyra between herself and Mercy, and Dottie, the slowest of the four,  
took her place meekly and quietly on the far left end of the row.  The four girls looked at each other with  
growing emotion as they heard the sound of Ambrose kneeling behind them on the  
carpet with a soft, sexy grrrowl.  Then,  
suddenly, Lyra gave a sharp "eep!" of surprise, and all the girls looked at  
her, before starting to turn their heads to look behind them.

  
  

            "Don't turn  
around," said Ambrose firmly, and instantly all of the girls returned to facing  
forward, now all of them breathing harder, faster, cheeks flushed.  But not as flushed as Lyra's, who was biting  
her lower lip as she trembled all over.

  
  

 

            "He's . . .  
he's grabbing my butt," she got out at Rianne's questioning look.  "His paws are so big, Rianne!  And they feel so good.  And now he's stroking my pussy, and spreading  
it open, and . . . oh . . . Oh! . . . OH!"

  
  

            What  
Ambrose was doing then was obvious, as loud, wet slurping sounds began to fill  
the room, coupling with Lyra's squeals of enjoyment in a way that was soon  
driving the other three girls to distraction, making them shuffle in the line,  
exchanging looks that ranged from the utterly embarrassed (Dottie), to the  
bright-eyed and excited and willing (Mercy), to the competitive, as though  
viewing her ability to hold out longer than the others, and perhaps longer even  
than Ambrose, as some sort of a contest (Rianne).  Each girl somehow could sense that, if they  
really wanted, all they had to do was ask Ambrose to stop, to call off the bet,  
and he would do as they wished.  But at  
the same time, there was something so utterly intoxicating about the notion of  
being commanded, of giving up free will, letting the big, powerful male do with  
them as he pleased, following his every command as though they were the dogs,  
and he the master, that none of the four girls could bring themselves to call a  
halt to what was taking place.  Just the  
thought of what was happening, and even more of what was going to happen, was  
enough to cause each girl's most treasured places to grow moist and slick with  
excited need.

  
  

 

            "He's  
licking my butt!" exclaimed Lyra as she lowered her stance, thrusting her bum  
up and out, presenting herself.  "I  
thought it'd be nasty, but it feels so good!"

  
  

            "Lyra,  
don't present your butt to him," said Dottie in a stage whisper, trying to get  
her friend's attention.  "You know what  
that video said about . . ."

  
  

            "Oh yeah,"  
Lyra got out.  "I don't care - it feels  
so good, and I'm gonna dieeeeee!"

  
  

            Lyra's  
squeal of orgasm shuddered down the whole line as she shook back and forth, her  
sweat-sheened body rubbing against both Rianne and Mercy.  She shivered again as the girls could each  
hear a distinct "hiss-click" sound, before Ambrose reached over them again,  
holding out a familiar metal cylinder: the maiden blade, and probably the same  
one he'd used on the poodlegirl, and on many other virgin bitches besides.  What he'd just done to Lyra hit home hard as  
all the girls just gaped at the metal object, realizing fully what it meant in  
a half-daze.

  
  

 

            "Now you  
are ready for breeding," said Ambrose, bending low to let his warm breath brush  
across Lyra's ear, before she gave a girlish squeal, her body tensing up.  "Feel my finger inside of you?  How is it?   
Tell me - let the others know what to expect."

  
  

            "It feels  
good," said Mercy in a tiny girlish voice, breathing hard.  "It feels kinda - ooh! - full!"

  
  

            "That is my  
second finger," said Ambrose, slowly drawing back.  "And here . . . is a third."

  
  

            "Ooooooh!"  
cried out Lyra, reaching out to grab Rianne's hand as the redhead offered it.

  
  

            "Now you  
are ready for my penis - or as ready as you will get," finished Ambrose, before  
the girls heard him shifting behind them.   
"But not just yet.  I need to  
prepare your friends next."

  
  

            So it  
went.  Each time it would start with a  
pair of large, powerful paws gripping the girl from behind, which had made  
Dottie start forward in fright like a scared filly when it was her turn, before  
Ambrose easily hauled her back into his attentions, holding her firm and still  
until she calmed down a bit, followed by the expert oral ministrations of the  
big male's long, smooth tongue and talented lips working the girl into a nice  
lather.  Then, just as an orgasm built,  
right before it hit, the sound of the bitchsplitter would snickt out, cleanly  
and painlessly removing the hymen of each girl as they presented their bare  
bottoms to Ambrose before he guided them right through their orgasms.

  
  

 

            "Now," said  
Ambrose, getting up and taking a few steps back, tugging on the leashes of the  
girls, "you can turn around.  Stay on  
all-fours, though."

  
  

            The girls  
turned then, their eyes turning upward to look at Ambrose, his height and  
commanding presence utterly dominating the room now as he towered above them,  
looking down.

  
  

            "Rianne,  
unzip my shorts," said Ambrose in a slightly husky commanding voice, motioning  
to the large bulge that had formed.  "I  
am feeling . . . extremely confined.   
Dottie, Mercy, once Rianne has them opened up, pull my shorts down.  And Lyra," his eyes flicked over the  
pigtailed teen with a predatory grin, "turn around and present yourself to me -  
since we started on the beach before anyone else, you are going to be  
first."  He swept his eyes over each girl  
in turn.  "Rianne, you will be next,  
while I still have plenty of energy to match yours.  Then you, Dottie, so you have lots of time to  
see exactly what you are in for, and can prepare yourself.  And finally," his eyes rested on his young  
mistress, his next word almost a whisper "Mercy."

  
  

 

            Lyra was  
breathing hard, her cheeks flushed with her arousal, as she turned around,  
lowering her head and hiking her smooth pink bum nice and high, looking over  
her shoulder as the other girls got Ambrose ready for her.  Rianne easily unzipped the khakis, and Mercy  
and Dottie's small hands peeled them open, tugging them down, one girl on  
either side of the big dog, letting his impressive pink shaft spring up.  Lyra couldn't help but gasp a bit as she saw  
it, the member looking so surprisingly like that of the human cocks she'd seen in  
biology books, and once or twice in real life, and had to bite down on her hand  
a bit to keep from whimpering in arousal as she saw Rianne start to teasingly  
lick at the head, before popping the plump glans in her mouth, sucking on it  
and rolling it in her mouth as though it were a tootsie pop, one of Ambrose's  
big paws coming down to rest on her head, stroking through her red hair gently,  
encouragingly.

  
  

            "Where did  
you learn to do this?" the dobimorph asked, his voice a soft, husky growl.

  
  

 

            "How do you  
think I kept my virginity and my popularity at school at the same time?" said  
Rianne, leaning back to give Ambrose a wink and a final flick of her tongue  
over the seeping tip, before she scooted to the side, her green eyes wide and  
eager as she watched Ambose move forward, kneeling on the carpet behind  
Lyra.  Pausing a moment, he reached over  
to the nearby couch and pulled off one of the smaller arm cushions, sliding  
this under Lyra's belly so that she could rest on it without growing too  
uncomfortable.

  
  

            Though she  
was sure she was ready for it, Lyra still jumped a bit as she felt those  
massive black-furred paws gripping her pert tush possessively,  
commandingly.  She started to rise, only  
to have one of those powerful paws reach up and grip the back of her head,  
gently but irresistibly pushing her head back down, until she was resting her  
cheek on her arms, while the other paw tilted her bottom upward, making it an  
easier target.  The pigtailed blonde  
realized she was being guided and positioned like a fresh bitch being put into  
her proper place, held down and dominated by her alpha before he would claim  
her utterly, showing her who the true master of the pack really was.  It was a primal feeling, overwhelming, and it  
made her senses reel in heady arousal at the thought of being taken like an  
animal, bringing a soft whimper of need from her lips.

  
  

 

            Ambrose did  
not leave Lyra waiting for her first mounting long.  As the other girls watched, their eyes wide,  
leaning in close to catch every detail, the powerful male fisted his cock a few  
times, slicking himself down with his own precum and Rianne's spit, and then  
leaned forward, rubbing up and down Lyra's smooth-shaved quim, until he finally  
slotted himself into place.  Now taking  
firm hold of Lyra's hips, the other girls watched close as Ambrose's firm rump  
tensed, his stub tail arching upward slightly, his belly firming up, before he  
thrust forward, his cock plunging deep into Lyra's soaking wet cunny, her  
juices flowing down her legs copiously as Ambrose crammed himself into her  
until his balls were pressed firmly up against her thighs.  Lyra cried out at the suddenness of the  
stretching and the intensity of her pleasure, grabbing at the carpet like a  
girl possessed as she was filled so completely by Ambrose's thick penis, which  
was pressing up against her cervix then, stretching her open so very wide.

  
  

 

            Now having  
his place, Ambrose began to set his pace, his hips moving forward and back, his  
cock now glistening with Lyra's slick, sweet girljuices.  At first he started slow, his paws roaming  
over Lyra's smooth, sweat-slick skin, stroking her sensitive body until her  
whole world was composed of pleasure and nothing else.  But as she surrendered herself to the  
sensations, so also did Ambrose, his hips moving faster, his rump pumping  
forward and back, its firm musculature perfectly outlined for the watching  
girls, his body hunching over her in a more bestial, savage posture.  Lewd, wet sounds began to fill the room as  
Ambrose worked himself up into a brutal pace, Lyra's cute breasts bouncing, his  
hips slapping against her bottom harder and harder until the sensitive pink  
skin started to turn a nice, well-tanned red.   
An especially hard lunge from Ambrose sent the trembling, sweating teen  
right over the edge of an orgasm, and it was hardly the last, her whole body  
starting to clench up, the sweet cries of the vocal little teen rising in  
volume as wave after wave of pleasure blasted through Lyra's body, leaving her  
senses reeling, her brain overloaded with savage intensity.

  
  

 

            It was in  
the midst of Lyra's trembling orgasms that her tight little cunny, so freshly  
deflowered, her inner muscles fluttering around Ambrose's cock like the  
heartbeat of a hummingbird, started to get to him.  Instead of fighting this feeling, though, Ambrose  
embraced it.  He'd deliberately neglected  
his morning masturbation today, saving himself up for what he had guessed would  
follow after the carnal pleasures of the night before - he had more than enough  
pent-up passion to properly satisfy each of these four little sexpots, and  
still have a bit left over.  Even knowing  
that the girls were in the very midst of their most fertile time of the month  
did nothing to deter him - if anything, it drove him to greater, more savage  
and instinctive lust as his first orgasm of the day washed over the dobiemorph's  
body, his veins standing out, his head arching back, teeth bared and clenched  
as he snarled savagely to the ceiling, his thick, copious puppy batter spurting  
from his cock in a massive gush, sending a torrent of healthy, virile sperm  
wriggling their way up into Lyra's belly.

  
  

 

            With a  
rough grunt as he emptied his balls into Lyra's sweet puss, Ambrose pulled  
himself back, his cock slipping free, still semi-hard, his cum dripping down  
Lyra's legs along with her own juices as she lay there, face down, eyes open  
but heavy-lidded, bottom in the air, literally screwed silly.

  
  

            Leaning  
back a bit, the dominant male admired his handiwork, nodding in satisfaction as  
he patted Lyra's cute bouncy butt affectionately.

  
  

            "Good  
girl," he said in his husky, lusty growl, praising her as though she were a  
mere dog that he'd been training her to perform a trick, before looking around  
at the others.  He couldn't help but grin  
as he saw their wide-eyed gazes on him and Lyra, and especially on the smooth  
little blonde's well-bred cunny, stretched-out and quite red and wet with much  
use.

  
  

            Looking at  
each girl, one by one, Ambrose caught their gazes and held them, until finally,  
one by one, each girl lowered their eyes submissively.  Then he lifted his paw and pointed at Rianne.

  
  

 

            "Your turn,  
Rianne," he said, motioning her over, leaning back on the carpet, propping  
himself up with his elbows as he spread his legs, bending his knees  
slightly.  "Hop into the saddle - I know  
you've been wanting to show me how much stamina you have.  Let's see you prove what you've got."

  
  

            Rianne was  
no meek little submissive (or so she told herself).  Hearing this challenge, her freckled cheeks  
reddened, and she sidled over on her knees before crawling up onto Ambrose's  
broad chest, settling her equally freckled pink bottom down on his firm belly.

  
  

            "You're on,  
dog boy," said the spunky redhead with a saucy grin.  "Let's see if you can take me on."

  
  

            Ambrose  
just smiled up at Rianne, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back,  
letting her do all the work for now.   
Rianne, for her part, frowned in concentration as she turned around, so  
that she was facing towards Ambrose's now rock-hard erection, still glistening  
with the juices of Rianne's best friend - the very girl that the big male had  
just deflowered!  This realization hit  
Rianne suddenly as she wrapped one hand around the dobiemorph's big cock,  
stroking up and down the pink member, breathing fast as she inspected it now,  
taking her time to see exactly what was about to enter her body, taking her own  
virginity, her eyes tracing every vein.

  
  

 

            The  
temptation too great as she thought of where Ambrose's cock had just been,  
Rianne soon bent her head and wrapped her lips around the thick shaft before  
her, mouthing and suckling Ambrose's male-meat eagerly, tasting her best friend  
at the same time she tasted him.  An  
instant later, Rianne felt a pair of massive paws close on her skinny pink  
butt, a pair of thick thumbs parting her labia, the hot breath of a canid  
muzzle blasting over her smooth-shaved sex.   
She managed to muffle her cry of sudden pleasure only by popping the  
plum-shaped head of the dobiemorph's cock into her mouth, trying to concentrate  
more on sucking him off than on the pleasures he was giving her.  It was an effort doomed to failure from the  
start, of course.  Last night, Ambrose  
had sent her through multiple shivering orgasms with his oral skills merely by  
working over her outer sex.  But now her  
hymen was removed, and that meant that Ambrose was able to wriggle his thick,  
dexterous tongue right up into Rianne's inner spaces, moving in ways that were  
positively obscene, touching reaches in her depths that the athletic teen had  
never even known existed before that talented tongue lashed over them with  
expert skill.

  
  

 

            "Oh crap!"  
Rianne choked out as she released Ambrose's cock, her small fist clenching  
around the base of the big dog's penis.   
"Oh crap, oh crap - that's not fair, Rose.  It's not fair!  You can't . . . oooooh!"

  
  

            The lithe,  
limber teen began to jerk and thrash as though she were a swimmer being worried  
by a shark as that devilish tongue began to caress her cervix with tender care,  
even as the rippling of the long, almost prehensile muscle arched up and  
stroked against her G-spot.  Ambrose  
grinned for a moment, his fast-wagging tail revealing his enjoyment, before he  
began to hump his head, forward and back, rocking Rianne's body as he tormented  
her with ultimate sexual bliss.

  
  

Trying desperately to escape the  
pleasure, to somehow still 'win,' in her competitive way of thinking, Rianne  
tried to struggle, to escape somehow, crawling forward on Ambrose's body,  
gripping his inner thighs to pull herself away from his tongue.  He countered this easily by reaching up a  
bit, grabbing her skinny hips, lifting her up with his great strength,  
positioning the squirming teen over his upthrust penis, lowering her down until  
the knobbed tip was pressed firmly against her snug little cunny.

  
  

 

            "Do it!"  
Rianne got out with desperation as she reached out, grabbing his knees, trying  
in vain to push herself down against his powerful grip.  "Pop my cherry, you furry bastaaaaahhh!"

  
  

            Ambrose  
grinned, lips curled back, teeth clenched as he lunged upward with his hips at  
the same time he pulled Rianne down into the hard thrust, impaling her on his  
hard spear of flesh.  Releasing his grip  
a little, the big male let Rianne start to hump him, bouncing up and down, her  
toned, skinny-but-athletic body jiggling nicely as she rode him,  
reverse-cowgirl style.  The hot teen was  
doing everything she could to clench down with her inner muscles, to try and  
make herself tighter, to drive Ambrose over the edge, to somehow prove she  
could outlast him.  But all that Ambrose  
had to do was reach inward with a big hand and start to grind his fingers and  
the heel of his palm against Rianne's bared clitoris to make her give a short  
grunt of surprise and rushing pleasure, before her orgasm hit, rocking her body  
even as she tried to rock Ambrose.

  
  

 

            Ignoring  
her feeble struggles and the many terse expletives Rianne was spitting out at  
him, Ambrose's grip on the bouncing teen's hips firmed once more, and he  
started to really _hump_ her royally!   
His hips were almost a blur as he held her up and in place as he thrust  
up into her snug snatch, making her pert little breasts bounce, the candy pink  
nipples capping each well-tanned mound hopping like rabbits while he jumped her  
bones, roughly riding the sweat-soaked teen through orgasm after orgasm,  
wearing her out with ease, his vastly greater experience and engineered ability  
more than even her athletic determination could resist for long.  Then, giving a lunge upward, his back  
arching, lifting Rianne on high with his upthrust hips as he snarled in feral  
pleasure, Ambrose whitewashed Rianne's womb with his hot cum, making her give a  
_scream_ as her senses were finally overwhelmed, unable to hold back any  
longer as she clenched up in his massive paws, her body tensed almost  
completely with her own shattering orgasms.

  
  

 

            Holding  
Rianne where she was for many long minutes, moving his hips in short, hard  
little thrusts to prolong his orgasm for as long as possible, Ambrose rode her  
out until her sweet, clenching cunny had milked him dry once more.  His cock softening just enough to slip free,  
along with a flood of his more-than-copious cum, the dobiemorph carefully rose,  
lifting Rianne gently in his arms, and set her down on the couch to rest, her  
entire body trembling slightly still in the aftershocks of her tremendous  
multiple orgasm.  Turning then, his penis  
already rising to full hardness once more, standing out before him like a log,  
Ambrose fixed his eyes on Dottie, who had her mouth covered by her hand, her  
hazel eyes wide and frightened-looking as she crouched on the carpet, looking  
up at him.  Seeing her fear even as he  
smelled her arousal, Ambrose smiled gently, reaching out, tilting Dottie's chin  
upwards so that she could look at his face, and not at the instrument that  
would spell her deflowering.  He noted  
that she'd put her glasses back on at some point - very likely a coping  
strategy, so that she could hide behind them and be a bit more objective about  
what was happening, instead of letting it all overwhelm her.

  
  

 

            "It is all  
right, Dottie," he said softly.  "It will  
be all right, I promise."

  
  

            "I'm  
scared," said the sweet auburn-haired teen, trembling a bit as Ambrose's large,  
gentle paws began to stroke her back and sides, slowly and tenderly.  "Will it hurt?  Everybody says that the first time hurts."

  
  

            "That is  
why I removed your hymen," said Ambrose, leaning down to nuzzle the frightened  
teen's cheek.  "The pain comes when your  
maidenhead breaks, so if there is no maidenhead, there will be no pain from  
losing your virginity."  He moved back,  
looking her in the eyes again.  "Did you  
feel any pain?"  She shook her head, and  
he pressed forward.  "Will you trust  
me?"  Again, there was a nod.  "I will sit over there, on that easy  
chair.  I want you to kneel before me and  
explore my penis, like you saw Rianne doing.   
I want you to get a good idea of what will be going inside of you.  When you feel ready, then I will let you  
lower yourself onto me, setting your own pace, and taking your own time.  Does that sound all right?"

  
  

 

            "Y-yes,"  
said Dottie, swallowing her fear down with a bit of difficulty.  "Yes, that sounds all right."

  
  

            "Good  
girl," said Ambrose, bending to kiss her on the forehead, before he stood and  
walked to the plush easy chair, settling down, the other end of Dottie's lead  
in his paw, slowly tugging on it, drawing her gradually forward.  "Now come."

  
  

            Dottie  
started to rise at the tug on her lead, and then blinked as she realized her  
situation, before she lowered herself onto all-fours, and began to crawl over  
to the chair, her pleasantly-sized breasts, the largest of the four girls  
thanks to her former pudginess now turned to beautiful girlhood, swaying  
slightly, her eyes fixed on her goal: Ambrose's hard cock.  The dobiemorph's member was pointing straight  
at the ceiling when the auburn-haired teen reached the chair, its length  
glistening wet and slick, trickles of precum still dribbling copiously from the  
tip, a tell-tale sign that the powerful male had a long way to go before he  
would reach sexual satiety.

  
  

 

            Kneeling  
before her 'master' (she couldn't help but think of him that way, in this  
situation - it seemed so natural), Dottie took his hard shaft in her small  
hands, stroking it gently, her eyes wide and curious as much as excited, the  
fear now in the background, as she gently turned the erect doghood this way and  
that, drinking in the look and the feel and the scent of her first real-life  
penis like she might any subject that interested her in school.  Cautiously, Dottie licked over the dripping  
slit at the very tip, pausing to assess the salty, slightly musky flavor,  
before she smiled slightly - it wasn't that bad, actually, tasting something  
very much like a particularly thick chicken broth.  Not her favorite treat in the world, of  
course, but not bad at all.

  
  

            Listening  
to Ambrose's murmured words, soft and low in her ear, guiding her through each  
action, Dottie carefully wrapped her lips around the thick glans of the  
canomorph's cock, one hand stroking up and down the meaty shaft while the other  
rested on his thigh.  Feeling his big paw  
resting on the back of her head, blunt clawtips teasing against her scalp  
before the gentle hand began stroking down her neck and smooth back, Dottie  
felt a surge of pride as Ambrose praised her efforts at pleasing him orally,  
his voice soft and deep, like the quiet rumble of an earthquake's aftershocks,  
sounding more in her bones than in her ears.

  
  

 

            Tasting the  
thickness of her master's precum starting to increase, Dottie looked up at  
Ambrose questioningly.

  
  

            "I'm going  
to cum soon, Dottie," explained Ambrose gently, despite the slight tension that  
was forming in his neck and jaw.  "If you  
want to taste my cum, then you should keep going.  Otherwise, you should stop what you are doing  
very soon."

  
  

            For a few  
moments longer Dottie kept up her ministrations, even going so far as to bob  
her head downward, taking a sizeable length of Ambrose's doghood into her mouth,  
making her cheeks balloon out, and almost choking herself before she pulled  
back, letting the thick, slick length pop from her lips with a loud, wet  
smacking sound.  She dared to grin up at  
Ambrose, who chuckled back, his body now looking quite tense.

  
  

            "A tease in  
the making, eh?" he said half-jokingly.   
"Getting me all ready, and then pulling back at the last minute - a  
sure-fire way to cause blue balls in a guy.   
Hrr," he growled in a husky, feral way that sent a tingle up and down  
Dottie's spine, "that's just the way to get a male worked up into a  
frenzy."  Then he winked.  "You're just lucky I'm the polite sort - not  
one to jump a girl without her permission.   
Even if she deserves it for being a tease."

  
  

 

            "Aw, you  
know I wouldn't make you suffer," said Dottie, putting her small hands on  
Ambrose's muscled thighs, so that she could lift herself up.  "I heard about blue balls from Rianne - it  
sounded painful."  She settled her rounded  
tush onto Ambrose's lap carefully, biting her lower lip as she felt his hot,  
throbbing pink length pressing against her smooth belly, droplets of precum  
staining her pale pink skin.  "I don't  
want you to be in pain - not after how nice you've made me feel."  The glasses-wearing girl looked up at Ambrose  
shyly then, her lips pursed into a cute little pout that seemed to natural on  
her face.  "Not after you saved my life."

  
  

            "You don't  
have to . . ." started Ambrose, only to hush as Dottie set a finger on his  
lips.

  
  

            "I want  
to," she replied, her hands going to his shoulders, her knees resting on the  
chair as she lifted herself, looking back as she wiggled her tushie, angling  
herself just right, and then slowly lowering herself until she could feel the  
slick, mushroom-shaped head of the big dog's cock pressing up against her labia,  
parting the lips, her own excited juices flowing down the slick length,  
mingling with those of her two friends.

  
  

 

As she began to tense herself,  
getting ready for the last downward thrust that would end her maidenhood,  
Dottie felt Ambrose's gentle, strong paws on her hips, supporting her weight  
slightly.  She looked into his eyes, and  
then both their gazes turned downward, resting on where his penis was pressing  
against her steaming little cunny.  And  
then Dottie gave a short gasp as she thrust herself downward, her eyes  
widening, mouth falling open as she watched her first cock spread her inner  
walls wide, stretching her labia far apart.

  
  

            Pressing  
tightly against Ambrose's soft-furred body, her nipples tingling as they rubbed  
against his chest, Dottie began to ride his cock, the only sound she made a  
whispered gasping, and a soft hiss of breath at each particularly strong jolt  
of pleasure that shuddered through her young body.  The hands the dobiemorph had placed on her  
hips didn't just rest there, but actually moved with her, letting the cute,  
nerdy teen get some help as she lifted herself up for each downward plunge,  
supporting and assisting her, lending her strength so that she didn't tire out  
too fast.

  
  

 

            So caught  
up in the host of new sensations flooding her body, never completely sure when  
she'd had an orgasm in the wash of pleasure and tension that coursed through  
her, Dottie didn't notice the tenseness of Ambrose's body until she felt his  
paws move to her rump, gripping her plush bum firmly before he suddenly rose  
up, standing now as he pulled the shapely teen closer, letting Dottie wrap her  
legs around his firm, furry hips as he took over the action.  There was no question for Dottie now when her  
orgasms hit, for the first blasted her mind like a runaway locomotive, making  
her mouth drop open, and almost knocking her glasses right from her face.  Ambrose picked up the pace, his heavy balls  
slapping against her downthrust bottom, pressing Dottie even closer to him until  
she felt almost as though she'd be made a part of the powerful, commanding  
alpha dog taking her so forcefully and so well.   
She looked up at him, cheeks flushed, mind reeling, and he looked down,  
brown eyes meeting hazel ones, and she somehow knew that he knew.  Seconds later, her head was thrown back, even  
as Ambrose's did the same, their faces turned to the ceiling as girl and  
dogmorph howled together in orgasmic ecstasy, Ambrose's balls contracting hard  
as a heavy load of mancream filled Dottie's ready womb, filling her to the  
brim, the excess spurting out and trickling down her thighs and smooth, pale  
bottom.

  
  

 

            Holding  
Dottie close, his deep, masculine grunts of orgasmic pleasure rough in her  
ears, Ambrose held on through the midst of his trembling spurts of hot cum,  
moving his paws beneath the cute teen's knees and tilting himself back, leaning  
her weight almost completely on his chest, so that even as her strength began  
to fail, she wouldn't be in any danger.   
Turning himself, the big dogmorph slowly bent his knees, and then  
settled Dottie back onto the easy chair he'd just been sitting in, her  
fogged-over glasses and flushed body telling of the intensity of her  
pleasure.  Pulling back, Ambrose's cock  
slid free of Dottie's body, bouncing upward as it popped free, slapping against  
his firm stomach, still hard and more than ready to go.  This was because Ambrose knew who the next  
and last of the four girls was to be, and every ounce of his being ached for  
what was about to take place as he turned to face Mercy.

  
  

            Mercy had  
been anything but still and silent as she'd watched each of her friends in turn  
being taken, being deflowered, giving themselves over to carnal, forbidden  
pleasures with a beast that had been specifically made for the acts in which  
they were taking part.  As Ambrose  
looked, he found his young mistress partially turned away from him, on her  
knees, one hand resting on the couch where Rianne lay, while the other worked  
feverishly between her legs.  She was  
biting her lower lip to keep herself from crying out, her eyes half-closed,  
half paying attention as she looked over her shoulders, watching Ambrose send  
her friends into the upper layers of heaven.   
Her dogservant's eyes traced along the flowing lines of the slim  
blonde's sleek back, catching barest glimpses of the sweet swells of her lovely  
breasts, before trailing down to her perfect, heart-shaped bottom, thrust  
slightly out towards him as she ground against her own hand, her fantasies so  
close to being fully realized now, her youthful passions couldn't resist the  
temptation for self-pleasure.

  
  

 

            Their eyes  
meeting, deep, haunting blue and firm, bold brown sharing a moment of promised  
passion, Mercy gasped as Ambrose approached her from behind, shivering as his  
hands touched her shoulders, stroking down her arms, over her ribs, across her  
thighs.  His dark fur was so stark a  
contrast to her lovely, light pink skin, his rough, bestial touch almost a  
blasphemy as he handled her as though she were merely another bitch in heat,  
desperate for the pleasured relief that only he could offer, and not his  
mistress, the daughter of his mistress, made in the image of the perfect  
woman.  He growled, softly, as his paws  
moved her hand away from her loins, and this was met with an answering moan of  
deepest bliss as his massive paw took its place.  The big dog crushed his little mistress' back  
to his chest, kissing her wildly, passionate and desperate.  Her answering kiss was no less needy, almost  
screaming into his muzzle as she arched herself against his warm body, his hand  
moving between her thighs in ways she had only just begun to explore herself,  
her naked skin rubbing against his equally-naked fur, his raging erection  
rubbing against her smooth bare bottom, staining her flawless skin with his  
bestial preseed, marking her body with his scent, his animal musk.  He was dragging her down from her perfect  
pedestal, the place of flawless grandeur that Mercy knew everyone from the boys  
at school to her own mother felt that she somehow belonged, and making her into  
a real woman, full of flaws and desperate needs.  And what she needed right then was the touch  
of a powerful but gentle male, experienced and utterly devoted to giving her  
pleasure, to fulfilling her every desperate, sweaty fantasy, to make her  
complete.

  
  

 

            Breaking  
the kiss suddenly, Mercy turned, looking up at Ambrose as she reached down, and  
then lifted something in her hands, pushing them out to him, pressing it into  
his big paws.  The dobiemorph looked  
down, and blinked as he saw the slim length of leather he was now holding: it  
was a dog's lead.  Mercy lifted the other  
end of the lead, then, and Ambrose watched in eager silence as she clipped it  
to the slim, feminine collar gracing her neck.

  
  

            "Please,  
Rose," said Mercy softly, leaning back on her elbows, looking up at him  
trustingly with those blue eyes of hers, so warm and wonderful that they could  
melt any heart.  "Please."

  
  

            In answer,  
Ambrose nodded, tightening his grip on the leash, pulling Mercy forward as he  
met her lips with his muzzle once more, his paws roaming her body freely, setting  
off trails of fire wherever he touched with his blunt-clawed fingertips.  The sweet teen sucked in a harsh breath as  
those big paws began to handle her breasts, and she thrust them out invitingly  
as his muzzle parted from her lips, his tongue extending as he started to lick  
and lash her sweet, sweaty flesh into a frenzy, bathing each perfect mound with  
the greatest care, being sure to pay a little bit of extra attention to the  
hard rose-capped nipples and flushed aureoles.   
This was when Mercy had her first orgasm, just as Ambrose gently bit  
down on one tender teat, leaving a momentary indentation on her achingly  
sensitive skin.

  
  

 

            Lying Mercy  
back on her sleeping back, still laid out and ready for use on the floor,  
Ambrose began to lick and nibble and suckle on little bite-sized bits of tasty,  
sensitive girlflesh, his paws telling her where he would go next with his  
muzzle.  All the while, Mercy's body  
writhed and squirmed and arched and kicked in wonderful spasms of erotic  
energy, her body and mind as much made to receive pleasure as his were to give  
it.  Her second orgasm hit as he gripped  
her inner thighs in his mighty paws, clawtips biting firmly but gently into the  
especially tender flesh there, her hips arching upwards, thrusting her  
neartly-trimmed pubis upwards, presenting herself to him needily as the sheer  
tension of his efforts overwhelmed her yet again, her cry of passion sweet in  
the dobiemorph's ears, more satisfying than an oasis to a man lost in the  
desert.  Ambrose didn't rush even then,  
though, his muzzle parting as he hovered over her sweet little slit, holding  
her legs spread wide,  his head gradually  
lowering, letting his hot breath send ripples through Mercy's body as he drew  
ever closer to her steaming little sex.

  
  

 

            The first  
touch of smooth, wet tongue against Mercy's dripping sex sent her whole body  
into convulsions of silent pleasure, her throat seizing up, unable to even make  
a sound in the intensity of the feelings blasting through her.  It didn't stop there, of course - Ambrose had  
only just begun.  And this time was even  
better than the night before.

  
  

            Still  
shaking all over in the aftershocks of pleasures more powerful than anything  
she'd ever thought were possible, Mercy was only vaguely aware as Ambrose  
lifted himself, rising up, crawling over her, covering her body with his  
own.  Her eyes came back into focus,  
though, as he gripped her leash once more, pulling it gently, getting her  
attention.  The blonde girl looked up at  
Ambrose, meeting his eyes, and then letting his lowering gaze lead her own  
downwards, between his legs.  She gasped  
at what she saw there, hanging hard and wet and ready, hovering only bare  
inches above her most sacred place.

  
  

            "Take it in  
your hands, Mercy," said Ambrose, his voice like velvet-lined steel, a gentle  
command that the precious teen couldn't resist if she'd wanted to.  She reached down, staring in awe at the very  
member that had brought pleasure to so many females, and which would soon bring  
the same to her, making her a woman at last.   
The next order Ambrose gave was the fulfillment of all her waking  
fantasies.

  
  

 

"Now, guide it into place."

  
  

            How could  
she resist?  His hips lowering as she  
held the throbbing shaft between her dainty fingers, feeling his pulse through  
the weight of the heavy length of male meat, looking almost straight down the  
barrel of the mushroom-capped head of the mighty organ, Mercy held it straight  
and true as Ambrose slowly pressed down and forward.  Feeling the fat, dripping head pressed up against  
her labia, she reached inward with one hand, parting her lower lips even as she  
spread her legs farther apart, until Ambrose was firmly slotted in place.  Looking up at the powerful male trustingly,  
his big paws now resting on either side of her slim little body (and she was so  
small compared to his massive, muscular size), Mercy gave a slight nod, before  
her eyes fell back once more to the beautiful male organ she had just held in  
her hands, those hands now clenched tight in the sleeping bag beneath her  
smooth adolescent body.

  
  

            Ambrose's  
hips lowered gradually, spreading Mercy open nice and slow, taking his time,  
driving her crazy, until, in desperation, the teen grabbed Ambrose's tight  
butt, right below his stub tail, and begged him, all pride forgotten utterly,  
pleading with him to take her, to claim her, to breed her hard and fast and _rough_  
like she deserved, like she wanted, like she needed!  And still he held back, the big dog taking  
his time, filling her up gradually, savoring every last flutter and ripple of  
her sweetly-clenching little cunny, until he felt his balls pressing up against  
her sweet bare backside, his cockhead pressing up against her cervix, the tip  
teasing along the thick barrier separating her vagina from her womb.  He noted almost clinically the tremor that  
shook her body as he nudged against that inner gate, the pleasure that cervical  
bumping seemed to bring her, as he knew it would.  Mercy, like her mother, was made for sex and  
all of its sensual delights.  It was the  
most natural thing in the world for her, and her body accepted it with ease.

  
  

 

            It was  
then, after having plumbed Mercy to her utter depths, that Ambrose drew his  
hips back, his firm rump lifting, Mercy's sweet little puss gripping him every  
inch of the way, trying to suck him back inside, her body as reluctant as Mercy  
herself was to feel the aching emptiness that his cock's withdrawal left  
behind.  But Ambrose did not leave her  
wanting any longer.  He'd tested how far  
Mercy could take and still feel pleasure, and that was all that he'd wanted,  
though it had taken every ounce of his self-control to do it.  As close to frenzy as mercy herself was, he  
gave himself to it, his teeth baring in a feral grimace as his butt tensed, and  
he plunged downward, filling Mercy to the hilt, making her cry out in sweet relief  
at the commanding force of that initial thrust.   
It was only the first of very, very many, as Ambrose's rump rose and  
fell, harder, faster, the sounds of passionate, desperate, needy coupling  
filling the room once more, the grunts, growls, snarls, and panting of the big  
male vying with Mercy's own moans, cries, whimpers, and ecstatic gasps.  Their conjoined orgasms were like acts of raw  
nature unleashed, as Ambrose rode out Mercy through not just hers, but his own  
cumming, again, and again, and again, until he'd filled her womb to the brim,  
the copious excess soaking the sleeping bag beneath them.  And when it ended, as even the greatest  
events in life must in time, Ambrose and mercy held each other close, their bodies  
pressed tight together as he held himself inside of her while they rested,  
basking in each others' warmth and tingling presence, letting their shared  
pleasures feed upon each other, their luxurious afterglow giving hints of even  
greater pleasures to come.

  
  

 

 

  
  

            The morning  
was long gone by the time Ambrose and the four girls were sufficiently rested  
up to continue the rest of the day.   
Since it was lunchtime by then, Ambrose led the four girls up the  
stairs, each of them still naked, and still wearing their collars.  At first Rianne had insisted on going on  
all-fours, a sentiment which Lyra soon echoed, then shared by Mercy and Dottie,  
and soon Ambrose found himself treated to the arousing sight of four wriggling  
teenaged rumps moving before him, their snug teenaged cunnies still quite  
flushed and a bit stretched-out from his prior usage of them as the girls  
crawled along on the ends of their leads, like submissive, energetic little  
pups, fresh and eager from their first breeding.  He led the girls to the shower, and ordered  
them to wash up quickly while he got their lunch ready.

  
  

            Naturally,  
the girls weren't up from the showers when Ambrose finished lunch.  When he went to investigate, he found that  
Dottie and Mercy were watching and masturbating while Lyra and Rianne were  
making out heavily on the shower room floor.   
As punishment for this disobedience, the big dobiemorph pulled the girls  
from the shower room to the locker room, and seated himself on one of the  
benches there before bending each girl, one by one, over his knee and paddling  
their shapely bare bottoms until they were nice and red.  This might have been a rather uncomfortable  
punishment indeed, if Ambrose hadn't made sure to take it nice and slow,  
drawing out each slap of his palm against smooth pink skin, adding much  
additional fondling and rubbing until each girl left the locker room charged  
with erotic energy.  Lyra even had an  
orgasm while being spanked, hinting at her great anal sensitivity, which  
Ambrose vowed to explore in greater depth later on.

  
  

 

            After  
lunch, Ambrose decided to start teaching his new little 'pets'  how to properly pleasure him with their  
mouths, feeding them his cum as dessert.   
This lesson took much of the day, including rest periods and snacks  
(besides more cum, of course), and it included ample time where Ambrose showed  
each of the girls how to better attend to their own needs through masturbation,  
and also how to pleasure each other.   
Dottie was a bit resistant to the idea of making love to another girl at  
first, but as Ambrose held her in his lap, stroking her soothingly, and Rianne  
went to work between her legs, the nerdy teen changed her viewpoint on the  
subject in short order, allowing Ambrose to lead the four teens into a truly  
satisfying five-way orgy.

  
  

            The day  
ended with Ambrose leading the girls back down to the den and their sleeping  
bags (getting a fresh one for Mercy, to replace the one that he and she had  
soaked earlier), and spending the better part of three hours tucking the tight  
little teens in by introducing them to the joys of anal sex.  Even after watching the informative video  
earlier in the day, so that they knew full well what it meant to be taken  
anally by a male canomorph, and even knowing that Ambrose would stop if they  
asked him, that despite their submissive play, the girls were always the ones  
who could say no at any time, none of the girls stopped Ambrose as he prepared  
their tiny anal rosebuds with his tongue, his precum, and with lubricant, and  
then squeezed his thick, dripping length into their firm young backsides, one  
by one, stuffing them to the hilt.  In  
fact, they seemed to encourage this act of ultimate domination to the extent  
that the girls not currently being serviced would nibble and lick at the bared  
sex and sensitive nipples and inviting earlobes and sensitive navels of their  
friend currently being sodomized.  Even  
knowing that letting Ambrose take them like this meant that they really were  
letting him make them his bitches for good and always, he was a careful and  
considerate lover, and the actions of the other girls just eased the process  
along even more.  Of the girls, Lyra was  
indeed the most anally sensitive, and she came with hardly any coaxing at all,  
multiple times, while Rianne, surprisingly enough, was the least anally sensitive,  
likely due to her lack of padding, though she didn't experience pain from the  
act, thanks to the generous amounts of water-based lubricant that Ambrose made  
sure to use and his slow, careful pace as he penetrated her.

  
  

 

            The first  
day was only the prelude to a whirling week of carnal delights.  Every time that Ambrose wasn't doing the most  
basic maintenance around the house, or the girls weren't relaxing and enjoying  
the good weather that returned after the sudden storms of the first two days,  
Ambrose would find his cock filling one or another of the tight young holes of  
his lovely charges.  Sex on the beach on  
several occasions often led to steamy entanglements in the showers while he and  
the girls worked to get the sand out of their hair (or fur, in Ambrose's  
case).  One heady night even led to a  
fireside cookout on the beach, which then led to another orgy.  Diane's hot tub saw ample use, and before too  
long Ambrose had to put a deep cleaning of the heated pool on his to-do list,  
so often had he or the girls cum in it under the influence of hands, paws,  
tongues, cocks, or the jets of water it spurted out.

  
  

An especially memorable moment for  
Ambrose in that glorious time of ultimate bliss with four of the sexiest girls  
he'd ever known was when he was taking the girls for a mock-walk through the  
house, keeping to the softer parts of the plush carpets, acting out the role of  
master and pets to the hilt, when Lyra, full of naughtiness, had tried to hump  
herself against the dobiemorph's leg.   
One thing led to another, and soon Ambrose declared a contest to see who  
could make him cum first.  Lining the  
girls in a row, he'd then given them ten thrusts of his cock for each of them,  
during which they had to try and make him cum inside of their snug cunnies.  Naturally Rianne, being the competitive one,  
won the first round, receiving a full, hot load of virile dogcream in her sweet  
slit, whereupon Ambrose declared two our of three.  Mercy won the second of these contests, and  
Lyra managed, more through luck and the tiredness of the other girls than  
anything else, to win the last round.   
Declaring it a four way tie, Ambrose then humped Dottie into orgasmic  
bliss, and then brought the girls up to Mercy's room for even more naughtiness.

  
  

 

            But, of  
course, there comes a time when all good things must come to an end.  So it was with that wonderful, wild, wet  
Spring Break, when Ambrose finally brought each girl back to her home on the  
day before school would start, to give them each a chance to get a good night's  
rest for the coming Monday, and then returned to his own house to make his own  
preparations, the night now well upon him.

  
  

            When  
Ambrose came home that night, he found the house quiet and still, save for a  
few lights turned on in various places, indicating that Mercy had gotten  
herself to bed.  The loyal dogservant  
moved around, making sure the last touches were in place, spot cleaning a few  
errant stains as best as he could, and generally making his mistress' home a  
better place, when he noticed the scent.   
His black-padded nose flaring, Ambrose followed his keen sense of smell  
to the stairs leading up, until he paused at the door to his long-absent  
mistress.  The scent - her scent - was  
coming from the other side, though he hadn't heard a sound, and Dianne Lords  
wasn't due back until tomorrow night.   
Nevertheless, Ambrose's nose didn't lie, and he soon raised his paw and  
gave three quick, soft knocks before opening the door and stepping inside.

  
  

 

            There,  
lying flat upon the bed, still fully clothed and looking lovely even in her  
obvious exhaustion, was Ambrose's mistress, returned early from her trip to  
Belgium, her luggage resting near her closet, the faint scent of another  
canomorph, likely the chauffeur who'd brought her home, lingering about  
them.  As Ambrose stepped partway into  
the room, Dianne's head lifted, and she smiled as she saw the Doberman Pinscher  
standing there, framed in the doorway.

  
  

            "Hello,  
Rose," she said, her voice soft and sweet, more subdued now in her state of  
gradual relaxation.

  
  

            "Hello  
Ma'am," said Ambrose, giving a slow, deep, formal bow from his waist.  "It is good to see you home again.  I missed you."

  
  

            "I missed  
you and Mercy too," replied Dianne with a long sigh as she let her tensions  
flow out.  "My but it's been a long past  
week.  It's so good to get home again and  
get back into a routine - especially for you, I'd imagine, after having to keep  
those girls entertained.  Did everything  
go all right while I was gone?"

  
  

 

            "The return  
to routine is indeed a relief," said Ambrose, smiling slightly as he said this,  
meaning it - all that excitement had been fun, yes, but also tiring, besides  
the consequences that they brought, which soon caused his smile to fade.  "Mistress, the girls had a very good time."

  
  

            "That's  
good," said Dianne, starting to lean back again, before she noticed her dogservant's  
worried look.  "What's wrong, Rose?"

  
  

            For a  
moment Ambrose paused, considering, organizing his thoughts.  And then he began to speak, began to tell his  
mistress everything that had happened over the weekend, from the very start,  
all the way to the very finish, his superb memory allowing him to spare no  
details.  He kept his eyes downcast as he  
spoke, his pointed ears tilted down in his shame, for he knew that he had done  
wrong.  What was worse, he knew very well  
that he'd impregnated not just the daughter of his mistress, but Mercy's three  
best friends as well, for he'd taken their scent, and knew well the change that  
took place when a female's belly went from receptive to bred.

  
  

 

            For many  
long moments after he finished Ambrose stood there, waiting for his mistress'  
reaction, for her anger, perhaps her disgust, and for the words that would hint  
at his future fate.  But instead of angry  
words, the dobiemorph's sensitive nose began to pick up . . . was that arousal?  His tale, it seemed, had not disgusted his  
mistress after all, he realized, his eyes lifting, meeting her haunting  
blue-eyed gaze.  It had made her horny.

  
  

            "You  
certainly have a way with the ladies, Rose," said Dianne with a light laugh  
behind her words.  "My yes indeed."

  
  

            "But . . .  
but what is to be done now, Ma'am?" asked Ambrose, his fears and concerns still  
evident on his handsome, furry face.  "I  
lost control of my instincts, letting my desires overpower my convictions.  And now four girls, one of them your  
daughter, my precious, precious young mistress, are pregnant with my pups."

  
  

            Ambrose was  
about to go on, but Diane's raised hand brought him to a halt, before she began  
to speak.

  
  

 

            "Do you  
know how I got you, Rose?" she asked finally, her tone serious.  Ambrose could only shake his head, for he  
really didn't know this part of his history, beyond that one day, after he'd  
been put through the rounds of the breeding circuit for a few years, he'd been  
handed over to Dianne Lords as her personal dogservant.  "It's because I helped to give birth to you -  
it meant that, once I did a little legal wrangling, I had first rights to you."

  
  

Ambrose's jaw dropped at this  
shocking revelation, but Dianne kept going.

  
  

            "You see,  
those people who made you still don't have more than one or two of those fancy  
artificial wombs that they used to make the first canomorphs.  They're too expensive, which is why good  
breeders like you are so important.  They  
can make a pup into just about any breed after conception, with a little  
tweaking - they just need somebody who's good at the process of mating to do  
the job right.  But this wasn't enough,  
because they had too few females to bear all the pups they needed for their  
operation.  So, well, the agency began  
looking for donor females who were willing to take the implantation of  
canomorph embryos.  I took part in that  
process, when I was a lot younger.  That  
was where I was first introduced to Martin, since he had an interest in dog  
breeding in his younger days, and had taken to canomorph breeding quite  
readily.  A bit of seduction on my part,  
a touch of actual love, and we were soon married.  Some years later, after I realized I needed  
help with Mercy, I searched for the pup that I'd borne and birthed, and I found  
you.  That's when I brought you into my  
home, knowing full well that I'd need a real man in this house, as Martin  
wasn't getting any younger."

  
  

 

            Dianne  
smiled then as she sat up on the bed, heaving a great sigh before she stood up  
and walked to her closet.

  
  

            "Help me  
get undressed, Rose," she said simply as she opened the closet door, revealing  
the full-length mirror on its back.  "I  
think I'm going to need some help getting to sleep tonight."

  
  

            Ambrose  
blinked at this, though he moved to obey.

  
  

            "What do  
you mean . . .?" he began, only to have Dianne lift a finger to his lips,  
silencing him as he helped her out of her clothes.

  
  

            "I mean,  
first of all, that what was done for those puppygirls in the past can be done  
for the human girls you knocked up," answered Dianne as she let Ambrose do the  
work, peeling off her business clothes, from jacket to skirt, to blouse to  
underwear, until she was standing naked before he mirror, admiring herself  
there for a moment before her eyes turned to Ambrose himself.  "But what I also mean is that, well, I've  
missed the presence of a man around the house.   
I've tormented you about it before in the past, and you've even allowed  
yourself to use some of your considerable skills to best effect, without actual  
intercourse.  I suppose you think it's  
all right with a human, so long as you don't get any immediate satisfaction  
from it.  Well, I'm telling you now that  
I want you to get undressed, Ambrose, and show me just what you did to those  
girls that made them so happy to let you pop their cherries."  She smiled as she turned to face the tall dobiemorph,  
her gentle hands caressing his chest through his coat.  "I think it's high time that we discussed  
some new arrangements around here, don't you?"

  
  

 

            "Yes  
Ma'am," said Ambrose eagerly, his stub-tail wagging hard as he started to strip  
down.

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/4nAWO4Ve