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"I can't take another hit, Karen. The higher ups are already mad at slipping poll numbers. The USCIS says if I can't get this situation under control, I'm out."

"Oh please. The INS is always unpopular, and the poll numbers will always reflect that," the middle aged woman replied, tapping her clipboard.

"Not the INS, Karen. The President. First the VA scandal and now the 'humanitarian crisis'. They don't put it in those terms, but if I can't keep bad press out of this facility, I'm going to lose my job. Or worse," Director Farnsworth complained, sliding back in his chair.

"Would that be so bad?"

"It's not my fault!" he growled, slamming his hand on the desk.

"Of course it isn't. America - land of opportunity. Give us your poor, your tired, your huddled masses. Pair that up with the drug war going on in Central American and of course you're going to end up with refugees," Karen said coolly.

"Yes! Refugees!_But the media calls them _illegals. Some of these kids are 5-fucking-years-old! They usually just turn themselves in. But _nooo,_half the country sees them as mooching future democrats, and the other half couldn't possibly deport them back into a war zone."

"Those do seem to be the two options."

Sometimes Farnsworth wanted to punch this woman for her certainty. Nothing seemed to faze her. He still wondered why the CIA assigned the blonde woman as an 'advisor'. Were there terrorist concerns among the immigrants? "Very nice, Captain Obvious - they should promote you to Major. What are you doing here anyway, if you won't help me out?"

"There is another way," she said, taking a deep breath and adjusting her collar. For once, Farnsworth could almost say she looked uncomfortable.

"What?"

"There are reporters camped outside this facility, and we can't keep them out forever. They assume there are busloads of refugees inside, but what if when they come in, they don't find any children?" Karen asked, eyes unblinking, unmoving.

"Great. Just great. How are we going to sneak three hundred teenagers out of here with that media circus out there? They'll follow the trucks. Do you want us to sneak the out in blankets in the back seats of our cars? There's only fifteen employees here," the director moaned. Where would they even _put_the kids if they got them out?

Scribbling something down on her clipboard, Karen glanced down, refusing to meet his eyes as she said, "They won't be leaving - at least not yet."

He blinked. "You...mean...kill them?"

"No, director. I'd be offended that you believe the CIA would endorse killing refugees, but the plan I offer is...not much better. A last resort, if you will. But it will leave these abandoned children with homes, lives, and some measure of happiness, and it will allow us a field experiment, and, perhaps most importantly for you, you won't take the blame for the conditions you've put these children in. If you think losing your job is the worst outcome, you haven't thought this through. Three-hundred children, aged 5 to 17, in fewer than a hundred small, chain link cages. The people will want heads to roll."

Farnsworth dropped his jaw, but Karen's face didn't quaver. "Yes, okay. Whatever it is, do it. We don't have a choice."

"We all have choices, Director Farnsworth. Unfortunately, that includes your fifteen employees. They will need to be in on this, and sworn to secrecy. What we intend cannot_be revealed to the public. You and your people can tell no one,_ever. Trust me, we will know."

"What if they don't swear?"

Karen sighed. There was no margin for error on this plan. "Then _they'll_be the first to go."

* * * * *

Monrad Peters never meant to leave Belize. He had had loving parents, living in the rich, tourist town of San Ignacio on the western border of Belize. Well, border was a strong word. The adults referred to it as an 'adjacency line', and none of the maps had much detail. The western border was still in dispute with Guatemala, which everyone knew really wanted all of Belize. Perhaps because of that frustration, they'd taken Monrad.

The town was small and safe, normally, but one night as he had been walking home from the market, he'd been stopped by Spanish-speaking men. He had never been very good with Spanish, as he tried to explain to the men, but they seemed increasingly upset. He was ten at the time, and couldn't fight back when one of the men grabbed him, and they carried him off to a land rover. He didn't know they were Guatemalan, and slavers no less!

Trapped in a strange land with a language he hardly knew, Monrad was put to work doing menial labor for the guerillas, leftovers from the civil war that refused to give up arms. They no longer fought the government, instead using their weapons to intimidate, kidnap, and make money for themselves. Monrad was never so happy as the day he managed to sneak off during the night.

He'd tried to head east, but the guerillas were roaming that way, so he'd gone north. If Mexico couldn't help him, at least America would. He'd managed to use his broken Spanish to join up with another group of refugees, passing among the K'iche' Mayans as a Q'anjob'al. Many Mayans were fleeing north to escape the genocide that had never really stopped with the end of the war.

That's where he'd met Xquic, pronounced shuh-KEEK. All she and the other Mayans had known was farming until the guerillas had begun destroying towns, raping and murdering the people they viewed as different. Fearful of another such attack Xquic had joined a small group ready to leave for the north and a better life. Monrad never asked what became of her parents, and the fourteen-year-old never said anything about them either.

But she did say a lot of things. The two became friends as they walked north nearly two thousand kilometers through Mexico, and eventually the twelve-year-old admitted that he wasn't Mayan at all, but a Creole descendent from Belize. Xquic didn't mind, she just hugged the boy and said, "You're Mayan now - you're family," in Spanish.

How Monrad had enjoyed that embrace. Xquic had the dark, smooth complexion of the Amerindian, with long, shiny black hair on a frame that had known hard work. Her hands may have callouses, but she was strong and unafraid - at least until the border crossing. The Mexicans were patrolling more and more now, hoping to deport border hoppers, so the group had to move slowly and carefully until they reached the coyotes that would take them across the border itself.

Coyotaje was a big business now, and much more expensive, but the adults in the group had promised to pay for Monrad's passage, even though he was (they thought) a Q'anjob'al. Their feet were burning from the two thousand kilometers behind us, but they made it to the Coyotaje camp, a bit hungry, but alive.

"Nuch'ala," Xquic said, her body shivering. "Nuch'ala, this is it." Monrad was glad to be so close to the older teenager, but he wished her nickname for him wasn't 'baby boy'. He was twelve now, only two years younger than she.

"Are you excited?" he asked, in passable Spanish.

"What if we don't make it, Nuch'ala? My feet are bleeding. What if we die in the desert, or are found by the cartel? We are so close - I couldn't take it, Nuch'ala."

"We will make it, Xquic. We need only cross the border and turn ourselves in to the Americans. You heard the men - they won't deport children to a war," Monrad said reassuringly. "They will take care of us."

Her breath slowed back to a normal pace, and she hugged Monrad again. "Thank you, Nuch'ala. You're right. You're right."

He wasn't right, at least not immediately. That very night, as the coyotes prepared the group for the trip, he overhead something he was not suppose to hear. One coyote spoke to the other, "English is safe, right?"

"Yeah, these are Injun farmers. They barely speak Spanish."

The first man laughed. "Who told these jungle niggers that a thousand pesos per head was enough? What are we going to do with them?"

"Can't risk crossing for their shit money. We can make a profit still. The Cartel will pay a fair price for the kids, especially that black-haired chica. The rest...I dunno."

Monrad's heart stopped. They were going to sell them! He would not go back into slavery, especially not for the drug cartels. And he didn't even want to_think_ about what they planned for Xquic! He scurried back to her, heart pounding in his chest.

"Xquic, Xquic!" he said softly. The coyotes spoke fluent Spanish and English, so he spoke as softly as he could. "We must go, now."

"What? Monrad? What are you...?" she asked, rousing from near sleep.

"Shhh. The coyotes are going to betray us. They say we don't have enough money so they will sell us to the cartel."

She woke fast now, eyes wide. To Monrad's relief, she at least whispered. "How...how can you be sure?"

"They didn't know that I speak English. We have to go, now!" he said, grabbing her arm.

Xquic pulled her arm back. "What about the others,Nuch'ala? I won't leave them."

Monrad didn't know what to say. Xquic said, "Stay here, I will tell the adults...quietly. They will know what to do." The young woman crawled over to where the Mayans sat, whispering to the two leaders with the money. Monrad watched nervously - would they believe him?

One of them nodded at him, and Xquic crawled back over. "They say wait until the coyotes let down their guard. We need their canteens. We will take them and run for the border. Are you ready?"

Monrad nodded. "Are you?"

"We have to be," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Monrad blushed. "We'll make it - together."

Later that night, the coyotes fell asleep, leaving only one man awake to watch their prisoners. He didn't know what the Mayans were planning, and so he never saw the man coming. He was grabbed from behind, a towel over his mouth. The farmer's strong, calloused hands were small but more than enough to suffocate the coyote until he stopped struggling. The farmer waved to the others, and each person crept up to the wagons to grab a water bottle or two - as much as they could carry. While the coyotes slept, the group headed out on their own, so used to travelling north by now that the direction was second nature to them.

The Rio Grande was low this time of year, and only the oldest farmers had any trouble wading through. The coyotes had chosen a good place - no border patrol scanned the banks. In no time, they had crossed into the United States. There was no wall here, only desert, and at first Monrad felt relief, but as the sun rose he began to worry. Ten degrees turned to twenty, then thirty, then what must have been forty or more. There was no shade, so the troupe carried on despite the bright heat. In hours all the water was gone, and the farmers were lost. They didn't know the trails like the coyotes.

"Where are they?" one asked, panting, throat dry.

"Who?" asked Monrad.

"The border patrol. If they don't find us, we'll die out here."

"They'll send you back," the boy said, struggling forward through the heat.

The farmer stumbled, then spat. "They won't send you. Better that than we all die here."

After walking two thousand miles with slim money and no food, Monrad wondered if this was the end of their journey. They'd made it to the U.S. only to die and become food for _real_coyotes. Xquic labored on ahead, shading her eyes from the bright sun. Seeing him, she said, "Thank you, Nuch'ala."

"For what?"

"Not letting us be sold by those assholes."

"Is this better?" he asked, holding out my arms at the unending desert.

"Yes," she said simply, and then pointed in the distance to one of the mountains. "There will be people there. We're getting closer."

Another day passed, and the mountain looked no closer. When Monrad looked around, he counted fewer people. He had to scold himself for his first thought: "They should have given their water to us." His feet hurt, and his shoes were finally wearing down to nothing, but the worst thing was the thirst. He couldn't swallow any more, and he hadn't peed for more than a day. Why hadn't he saved his urine? He would drink it now.

Xquic was still with him. Without her, he couldn't have gone on, and he wondered if she felt the same way about him. He knew they would never make it to the mountain. They would die in the desert, but at least they would be together. He kept putting one foot in front of the other, keenly aware of why the border patrol didn't bother to scout this area. Going on foot was suicide.

But the cartels use cars, he realized dimly. They patrol wouldn't be looking for walkers, but drivers. Tapping Xquic on the shoulder he said, "We should find tire tracks."

She blinked. "Tires? Out here?"

He nodded, licking his lips futilely.

"They would belong to the cartels..." she said. The farmers had been avoiding the makeshift roads, especially at night. Only if they were lucky would the cartels put them out of their misery - the alternative was worse!

"No, see. Or the border patrol. They want to stop smuggling? We follow the tracks and hide when cars come. If they are border patrol, we turn ourselves in."

Xquic paused, her feet stopping for the first time in what seemed like days. "Okay," she agreed, and the next time they found tracks, the moved alongside instead of avoiding them. If not for the best luck, they would have died there anyway, but by chance alone, that night, a car came.

"I don't care if it is the cartel," Monrad said, watching the headlights approaching. "I need water."

"Don't!" Xquic said, but she couldn't stop him. The twelve-year-old stumbled in front of the oncoming car, and as soon as the headlights settled upon the, the vehicle ground to a stop. With the headlights on him he could see nothing else. He lifted his hands and held them there, coughing on sand.

There was a big delay and Monrad had to worry that he'd made a terrible mistake. The cartel was decided what to do with him, gun him down now, or capture him for later! At least Xquic was hidden. She could go on after...

The doors opened with shouting...in English. "Get on the ground, now!" the man yelled, holding a pistol. Another man came out the other side, shining flashlights into the underbrush. "There's another one here!"

Xquic! he gasped, but realized they must be American. They had no accents and used pistols, not machine guns. "It's okay, Xquic! It's the border patrol!"

She crawled forward, shielding her eyes from the bright flashlight. Monrad stepped forward, saying, "There are more in the desert. We broke away this morning. Five...six more? Just farmers. We want asylum, asylum!"

The cop took one look at Monrad and said, "Huh, would you look at that, he speaks English."

* * * * *

Monrad found himself cramped in a seven-by-seven chain-link cage with two other refugees, surrounded on all but one side by similar cages. Each one was filled with dark-skinned children whose only blankets were bright aluminum foil wraps. There were buckets in the corner of each cell, but he didn't want to think about them just yet.

Despite all of this, Monrad was thrilled. He had all the water he could drink, he was sitting beside Xquic, and unlike the other children, he knew that whatever the Americans decided to do with them, he was safe. A fluent English-speaker, he figure he'd do fairly well for himself if accepted into the country, and if they were deported, he would return to his beautiful country of Belize. Against all odds, he had made it!

"We did it, Xquic, we're here," he repeated for the dozenth time. The sole remaining child in the same cage with them was a seven-year-old boy named Jesus who didn't speak much.

Xquic huddled in her foil for warmth, taking long drinks of water. "Yes, Nuch'ala, but what now? What about the others?"

Monrad hugged her, still annoyed by that nickname. Hadn't he done enough yet to prove himself? He said, "I'm certain they were found - they sent three cars looking. And don't worry, America is known for its greatness. They will not send you back to Guatemala." He spoke confidently, but in truth he had no idea, in either case. Some of the Mayans were most certainly dead, but he didn't need to tell Xquic that.

There was little to do in the cage but watch. To the left, two sixteen-year-old boys shared a cage with a thirteen-year-old girl, who stayed quiet in the corner. To the right, three young men, probably ranging from thirteen to seventeen played bloody knuckles to pass the time. To the back, two fourteen-year-olds kissed each other, something Monrad wished he could do with Xquic. The young lovers shared a cell with a second boy, a bit younger. They all spoke Spanish, which is why the next English he heard piqued his interest.

Two workers walked down the line, but this time not to hand out water. In fact, they were leading a dog on a leash. The man holding the leash was speaking to the woman beside him, but despite understanding the words, Monrad could make no sense of it. "I can't believe we're going through with this," he said.

"It's too late to turn back now!" she whispered. "Just be glad we agreed when we did."

The man glanced down at the dog that struggled against its tether. It was a Dalmatian, covered in spots everywhere except the ears. "She doesn't deserve this," the man said. "She was braver than any of us."

"Shut up," the woman said, glancing at Monrad. "We don't know how much English these kids know."

Monrad kept himself very still, watching the woman as if her words slid off of him like cooking oil in water. She walked by the boy without a second glance.

They stopped at the cell just to the right, where the three boys glanced up, surprised. The man opened the cell and pushed the struggling dog inside, barely managing to close the door before the dog jumped up against the gate, whimpering. The Dalmatian stared up at the two workers, whining, but the man just whispered, "I'm sorry."

The two rushed away as quickly as they had appeared. Glancing around, Monrad noticed other dogs being placed in cells throughout the facility, counting about seven. Why would they do that? The three boys seemed as flabbergasted as Monrad. One said, "Why do we get a dog?"

Still, the spotty was a break in their boredom, and the young men went over to her and started petting her. At first she resisted, but then she just lay in the corner, whining as they patted her. "I hope they don't expect us to clean up its shit!" one laughed.

Monrad wondered what was so secret, but his wonder didn't keep him awake. He fell asleep next to Xquic, enjoying the warmth of her body.

He snapped awake some hours later, when the cages were being opened loudly one by one. It was dinner time, and he hadn't eaten in days. "Xquic, we're getting food," he explained.

"I know," she said simply, not pointing out how obvious it was.

The food looked ironically like the kids themselves - wrapped in aluminum foil. They were burritos, or at least what passed for them. When Monrad was handed his, he unwrapped the top and bit in, famished. Inside were rice and beans and shredded cheese. No meat, but as hungry as the boy was, this was the best burrito of his life.

Xquic ate more slowly, chewing each bite. Everyone ate, except the boyfriend one cell back. He said, "I ain't eating that. You don't know what they put in that!"

His girlfriend rolled her eyes. "Eat it, Rodrigo! If they wanted to kill us, they'd just shoot us."

"No way, Martina. You shouldn't either!"

But she was already eating hers. Monrad shrugged, agreeing with Martina. He was already finishing his. Xquic finished hers ten minutes later, smiling at Monrad. "I think it's going to be okay," she said, yawning.

They were both exhausted, and the warm food in their stomach only encouraged that. Even though he'd just taken a nap, he couldn't deny how comfortable Xquic felt next to him. In minutes, they were leaning against each other, snoozing.

Monrad woke again with a start. Something was different. The first thing he noticed was the stench. Someone must have taken a really smelly dump - the scent was everywhere, and almost overpowering. His eyes popped open, looking for Xquic, but she wasn't next to him like before. In fact, he was on the ground. Monrad looked up, surprised to see that most of the overhead lights were out, but it still seemed bright. Wasn't it night time yet?

He could hear the Dalmatian next door, barking and scratching more loudly than ever. Why didn't the boys shut her up? Some people were trying to get some sleep. But no, it wasn't just her - all seven of the dogs must be barking, because the sound came from every direction. Glancing around, he noticed that he was sitting in a pile of clothes - his clothes. "What? Xquic, wake up!" the boy called.

But that's not what came out.

Brrark!

Monrad coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again, but out came another Rrrroowoo!

He stood straight up and fell on his face. Shaking his head, he looked around the pen and neither Xquic nor Jesus were there with him. Instead, he shared the pen with two dogs - a Border Collie was still sleeping on the floor next to him, and a Chihuahua huddled in the corner, eying the boy with his ears flat.

He looked down. His chest was covered in white hair, but his arms were a dark black that verged on blue. No, not his arms - his legs. There was no denying it, as he looked along his body - Monrad Peters was a dog, and judging by his curled tail, he was a husky. What a strange dream.

But it wasn't a dream, and he wasn't the only one. Looking around, all of the kennels were full of dogs, some still sleeping, some barking, some spinning in frantic circles. He wondered what could have happened, but that became rather obvious when he looked in the back cell. There, Rodrigo was freaking out, still every bit his fourteen-year-old self, staring at the Greater Swiss Mountain dog and the Greyhound that now shared the cell with him.

Rodrigo was crying, "I told you not to eat it, Martina," staring at the Greyhound.

The burritos! The Americans had turned them all into dogs!? Suddenly, Monrad's sure future in America or Belize vanished. Was this a permanent thing? Were they just lab experiments? How could the Americans do this - how could they get away with it!?

The collie roused, sitting up in a pile of Xquic's clothes. Monrad knew she would freak out, so he crawled over to her. He could still comfort her, still tell her everything was all right. She glanced at the strange husky moving toward her and jumped back, surprised. But her legs didn't work the way they used to. She crumpled up, pushed back against the chain-link, jaw dropped as she glanced around the enclosure.

Monrad sat in front of her, staring into her eyes. She looked at the adjoining cages, then back at Monrad, chest heaving as she realized what must have happened. She glanced down at her own paws, observed the long, white fur and whined. Slowly, Monrad sidled up to her. She didn't push him away, even as he nuzzled her under the neck. Together, the frightened youths watched the chaos around them.

Across the cage, they saw the cell with the two sixteen-year-olds and the young woman. Now they were an English Bulldog and a Pitbull, and she was a Miniature Poodle with dull, amber fur. Or perhaps her fur was bright, and Monrad simply couldn't see bright colors anymore. Beyond that were rows upon rows of cages - no, kennels - filled with frightened children. To the right, Rodrigo was using his voice, one of only a handful who had forgone the burrito, to yell for help, swearing curses upon the facility. No one came. Behind, the familiar Dalmatian shared the kennel with three boys-turned-dogs: a Doberman, a German Shepherd, and a Braque du Bourbonnais. Monrad didn't know the name of that last breed, but picture cookies and cream reformed as a dog with a stubby tail.

The initial stench fell away, or at least he got used to it. Now Monrad smelled the dogs, instead, frantic, sweaty. If you've never smelled a dog in distress, you won't know the scent, but that's what it was. And something else...in pockets around the facility. Something brighter, almost floral, with a tangy texture. He took a big whiff, and realized the scent was also coming from _his_kennel. From Xquic!

Not only her. The strange scent settled on Martina, and the Dalmatian from before. Something suddenly clicked for Monrad, those things the workers were saying. The Dalmatian wasn't a dog at all, but a person! He turned to look, and sure enough, she looked almost as frazzled as the other dogs. She must have been a worker before, like the other seven. What the hell is going on? he wondered.

The Dalmatian whimpered sympathetically at her companions, ears laid flat. She nodded at each in turn, as if confirming their humanity, and it calmed the three boys considerably...until they smelled the scent, too. Not paying attention, she gasped when she turned toward the Doberman and got a quick sniff beneath the tail from the German Shepherd. Yipping, she spun to growl at him, only for the brown-bespeckled Braque to shove his nose between her legs. The three boys glanced between them, then looked at the former-employee as if in agreement. She backed up to the chain-link wall as the three males spread out and approached her.

"Hey!" Monrad barked, realizing what they planned. He knew now what the smell must mean! Of course, it came out as a bark, but the message was clear - _lay off!_They ignored him. What could he do? He was trapped in another kennel. The only thing that mattered to them was the Dalmatian trapped in there with them.

Xquic barked alongside Monrad, trying anything to get the boys to feel the shame of what they were contemplating. The spotted bitch growled and barked as well, keeping her rump firmly planted against the metal fence. If the boys were going to get what they wanted, they were in for a fight.

They didn't seem too worried, tails wagging as they closed in on her. She snapped at them, lifting her paws in defense. Monrad jumped at the fence, wishing he could leap to the woman's rescue. At least, until he saw it. Where Monrad stood behind the Dalmatian, he could see everything underneath her upraised tail. More to the point, he could _smell_everything. Though Xquic kept barking, Monrad stopped, eyes fixated on the slender female's engorged spade. Her fleshy mound stood out beyond her short, white fur, sealed tight and taut but throbbingly full. She stood out so rigidly that her lips were in the kennel with Monrad, bulging perfectly through one of the links in the fence, waiting for him. His mouth watered as he watched the pointed nub bounce, jiggle, and pump out even more of the sweet-smelling aroma._Maybe the boys have the right of it,_he wondered briefly.

Thankfully, Xquic was too occupied yelling at the boys to notice Monrad's fixation, though if she had, she might have prevented what happened next. Monrad's muzzle slid closer and closer, sniffing and snuffling at the Dalmatian's cunt, until he couldn't stop himself any longer. With a long, wet lick, he slathered her quivering pussy.

The wonderful taste only lasted a second before the former woman yipped in shock and leapt forward. Xquic didn't know why, thankfully, but she still whined as the Dalmatian was surrounded in seconds. She spun to face the shepherd, kicking the Braque away, only to be grabbed immediately by the Doberman. She simply couldn't face all three, not in the middle of the kennel. While Monrad and Xquic watched in horror, the Doberman wrapped his paws around the employee's hips and started humping.

Whining, the unwilling bitch squirmed and strained against the stronger dog, but it was only a matter of time before -

Yelp!

The teenager slammed himself home in his black-and-white bitch, his tail raised so that Monrad could see everything. His thick, black balls swung against her, red, glistening meat pumping in and out furiously. The other boys watched, awaiting their turns, listening excitedly to the bitch's shrill cries. Monrad noticed their cocks emerging from their chubby sheaths, and only then thought to look down at himself. He gasped, horrified to see that his own cock was peeking through. He covered it with a paw, praying that Xquic wouldn't notice. Gritting his teeth, Monrad forced himself to think about what was really happening.

That Dalmatian had been a woman, probably one of the middle-aged ladies that had brought him water on that first day. He tried to picture them all - the fat one, the blonde one...which was she? Did she have a family? Kids? Now, when he watched the former teenagers gang-raping the whimpering dog, he felt a roiling horror in his gut. Thankfully, his cock stopped growing, though it still stubbornly poked out.

Xquic whined at Monrad, who whimpered back, unable to help the yelping Dalmatian. That's when the kennel to their left caught the Border Collie's eye, and Monrad followed her to look.

Inside, the Pitbull and Bulldog were rounding on the Poodle. Was she even in heat? Monrad had to think to remember what they looked like before: two sixteen-year-olds with a thirteen-year-old girl. That was not okay! Together, Xquic and Monrad barked admonishments at the boys. Maybe they'd feel guilt where the three boys had not.

At first, nothing. Bark as he might, the two muscular males advanced on the Poodle steadily. She cowered in the corner, staring up at the larger dogs, ears flat. Then, the English Bulldog tapped his friend on the shoulder, pointing at her. The Pitbull winced, looking down at his straining, growing dick, but he nodded. Amazingly, both dogs sat, restraining themselves from the frightened thirteen-year-old.

The Miniature Poodle had other ideas. She whined up at the two dogs, but this time not from fear. Shivering, she crawled_toward_ them, her tail hiked, sniffing at the Pitbull's exposed cock. He gave his friend a look, and the Bulldog just shrugged. Spreading his legs, the pure-white Pitbull presented himself to the bitch. Whining, she wrapped her muzzle around his erection, _slurping_eagerly.

While the loud slurps_and _schlorps rang out, the English Bulldog gave us a strangely apologetic look, as if to say, "Well, if that's what she wants...!" He licked his lips, walking around the Poodle to take a big sniff at her quivering rump. Soon, the thirteen-year-old girl was the middle of a tongue sandwich.

Xquic's eyes met Monrad's and heat rushed to their faces. Together, they turned away, only to glimpse the Dalmatian again. The Doberman was pounding her still, but now the older woman was bucking her hips and howling. As if her noises weren't enough to signal that she was starting to enjoy herself, when the Braque du Bourbonnais walked up to her, she wrapped her tongue around his cock. He grunted and groaned, thoroughly enjoying the Dalmatian bitch.

Together, they turned to the back kennel, where Rodrigo had stopped uselessly calling for help. In fact, the fourteen-year-old had his hands full! He was pushing and tugging on the mountain dog, with all the black, white and caramel of a Bernese, but short, sleek hair and a good twenty pounds up. The hundred-forty pound dog was no easy dog to dislodge, but Rodrigo cursed, "Hey, leave off her!"

Martina was sixty pounds at the most, now, and built like a feather, but that didn't stop the former ten-year-old boy from sniffing around her. All around were the barks, growls, yips and howls of dogs, many of whom were mating furiously, and the mountain dog wanted in. A quick scan told Monrad that while some of the newly-formed bitches weren't in heat, leaving the dogs in the kennels to simply whine for help, a majority were. Begging to be rescued was the last thing on those dogs' minds.

"I said back off!" Rodrigo yelled, pushing the large dog against the fence. He yelped, looking sore, but stayed back. Rodrigo was big and strong, and had a few pounds on the Swiss Mountain dog. "Oh, Martina, what are we going to do?" he asked the Greyhound.

She whined up at him, but Monrad watched as her eyes darted back to the other canine guest. Rodrigo said, "They have to come for me some time, and I'll tell them what happened. I'll tell them who you are! They won't - hey!" While her boyfriend had been speaking, Martina had begun to slink over to the large dog, tail wagging.

He pulled the Greyhound away and said, "No! Bad!" Realizing what he was saying to his girlfriend, the fourteen-year-old put his head in his hands and wept. "Are you even still in there?" he gasped.

Monrad knew she was, but even if he could have told Rodrigo, he wouldn't have. Especially considering that even as he wept for her, the Greyhound was swivelling her hips toward the mountain dog and lifting her tail encouragingly.

That sex drive was so powerful, he realized. The bitches in heat couldn't help themselves - even the Dalmatian was humping and moaning while guzzling down heady gushes of pre-cum. He watched as the Miniature Poodle lifted her rump for the Bulldog, still bobbing her head up and down the Pitbull's cock. She barely missed a stride as the big, muscular dog climbed onto her back and sunk himself into her virgin, unprotected cunt.

Slowly, Monrad turned to face Xquic. Her eyes met his and held him there. She too was in heat - she must be feeling the same thing as Martina. He was conflicted. If she was anything like the Greyhound, she'd fuck anything that moved, maybe even the seven-year-old Chihuahua. He very much wanted to mount her, but he didn't want to take advantage of her. He looked away, but she placed a reassuring paw on his shoulder.

He gazed back at his love. She wouldn't call him 'baby boy' any longer, and not just because everything she said came out in yips and barks. Nuzzling him, she nodded, turning in place so that her black and white fur slid tantalizingly against his white underbelly. The girl he had grown to love on the long journey north curled her tail in a mirror to his own, and the husky took full advantage, shoving his wet nose between her legs.

Monrad ran the tip of his wet tongue up the entire length of Xquic's trembling mound, drawing first up and around her triangular nub before _slurping_up along her taut slit. He could taste her now, and it was incredible. The tangy flavor seemed to capture his mind, making his heart thud in his white-furred chest. He's just gotten a hint, but he knew where more was to be found. Taking a deep breath, _snurfling_in anticipation, he pushed his tongue inside.

Xquic gasped, spreading her hind legs apart to give Monrad better access. He took every advantage, pressing his nose up beneath her tail, if only to plunge another inch deeper. His thick, canine tongue folded and compressed in her tight passage, _slurping_every crevice of the collie's tight hole. He swore he could _smell_her fertility. He sniffed, piecing through the scent of her heat, the wet scent of her arousal, even the scent of her cervix. Yes, he smelled all the way to her waiting womb, and he knew she waited for him.

What am I doing? he wondered.This is crazy! But his second thoughts couldn't compete with Xquic's whimpering moans. He'd never even kissed a girl - but he'd never wanted to until he'd met her. Now he had the girl of his dreams, though not quite as he'd pictured. She either wanted him, or needed him, or both - whichever was fine by him. He pushed his nose between her folds, slipping his tongue even deeper. The black-and-white collie arched her back and moaned, weakly rocking her hips up and down.

He felt the way she quivered and clenched around his tongue, still holding his breath. Soon, she was bucking at a steady pace, grunting loudly with each eager lick. Monrad glanced around, but the only one watching was Jesus, the Chihuahua - on every side, the dogs were too busy with their own business to care about his. Let Jesus watch - consider it a lesson on the facts of life.

With Xquic trembling on the edge, Monrad finally withdrew his tongue, licking his lips to capture every last drop of flavor. He wished he could tell her how beautiful she was, even though she was a dog. Her eyes met his as she looked over her shoulder, and he gave her a dopey grin - she knew. Whining, she hiked her tail once more, and this time he knew she wanted more than a tongue to keep her company.

The husky leapt aboard, tail wagging as he slipped his paws neatly around her thighs. She was the perfect size for him - just a bit smaller. He hopped forward, scaling the fourteen-year-old's body and repositioning his back feet. There, with his swollen cock dripping just inches away from her slathered, sopping spade, Monrad spared a glance at each neighboring kennel.

To the left, the Poodle was whimpering and whining, her white face covered in the Pitbull's cum. He leaned down to lick her face clean, while his friend hammered the thirteen-year-old's cunt. She yelped and bucked her small hips, well and thoroughly plugged by the stocky dog's fat cock. Fat cock indeed - Monrad watched as it swelled even further, making her Miniature Poodle pussy bulge wide, trapping the fertile young bitch in place as the first, loud _splurt!_rang through the air.

In the back, Rodrigo was finally sick of pulling his girlfriend away from the Swiss Mountain Dog. He threw his hands up and begged the short-haired Greyhound, "What can I do to stop you?"

He didn't seem like he expected her answer, but she gave him one. Whining, the slender dog turned her rump toward_Rodrigo_, lifting her tail for the fourteen-year-old. His jaw dropped, looking at her wet, heat-swollen spade. She trembled there, if not for him, than for the other male. Rodrigo blushed, glancing around, but he soon realized he was all but alone. The other dogs were busy fucking, and how could they really judge him?

Taking a deep breath, Rodrigo said, "Okay, Martina - because I love you. But not like this," he said pointing to her slender rump. He reached down and grabbed her around the chest, pulling her and turning her face-to-face. She wagged her tail and licked his face, and he opened his mouth to let her long tongue inside. Their companion curled up in the corner, frustrated at all her teasing, but she'd chosen her mate and he'd abide by it.

"Oh, God, this is crazy," he said, kissing the Greyhound again, his hand snaking down to his belt buckle. After a few moments, he managed to undo it, dropping his pants with his girlfriend sitting obediently in his lap. She _yipped_and licked his face, standing up and spreading her hind legs above his firm, protruding cock. Monrad watched, frozen in place until Rodrigo grabbed the Greyhound's hips and guided her down onto his rigid cock, pushing his way inside her. Martina groaned and -

Xquic whined, pushing back against Monrad. He shook his head, brought back to the present. He tried to shut Rodrigo out of his mind, looking down at his own girlfriend who trembled beneath him. Letting his tongue loll free, he gave her a wry grin, then slowly pushed himself forward. She clenched her eyes shut and squealed as her twelve-year-old lover's tip began to shove her swollen lips apart. He jabbed the bone up and in instictively, letting her tight pussy do the work of unraveling his sheath to invite in his glistening cock. Grunting, he leaned forward and pushed harder, taking that moment to peek to his right.

He caught the tail end of the Doberman's fun with his Dalmatian bitch. His long tail wagged, bulging like a softball in her quivering cunt. He was finally done with her though, tugging harder and harder until he _popped!_out with a gush of sticky white seed. Fluid poured down the former woman's thighs, staining her with the proof of what he'd done. There was nothing to protect the spotted bitch from his eager seed, and until now not a drop had been spared. But if that wasn't proof enough that she would become a mother, it was the Braque's turn. She'd prepped him well with her tongue and he would wait no longer. Walking around her, his stub-tail wagged, but this time the Dalmatian didn't resist. Whining, she turned away from the thirteen-year-old boy, lifting her spotted tail. Had she grown to like it, or had she just realized there was no helping it? Monrad couldn't tell from her _yelp_as the Braque mounted her.

God, she's so tight, Monrad thought as he slid even further into his collie's cunt. The way she squeezed down around him made his head swirl, and he dug his paws in harder so that he wouldn't lose his grip. Xquic's whines turned to a long, low howl, digging into the tile floor to push back against him. The husky felt unending, much bigger than he'd been as a boy. Ages passed before he finally _thudded_to a halt inside her, white-furred balls quivering against her thighs.

She had to guess what those orbs meant, yet she didn't pull away. She knew exactly what he aimed to do to her, and still she yipped and bucked. She'd never shown him this kind of interest before...perhaps the change wasn't so bad after all! She'd gone from friend to lover, and soon, she'd be a mother. Monrad groaned, drool falling from his tongue onto the back of Xquic's neck.

Now fully inside her, the husky began to pump back and forth, slowly at first, but building quickly in response to her own whimpering thrusts. He'd dreamed of losing his virginity with Xquic, and now, against all odds, he was. Her tight cunny squeezed around his cock, making Monrad trembled and groan, pulling back only to hump harder. He relished the splorp! schlorp! squelch! as he slid in and out, heart racing that _he_was the one causing her to drop her jaw and howl. He couldn't say the three words, but he could show how much he loved her with each forceful lunge.

Soon, she was rocking her hips up and down fiercely around him, moaning and spreading her legs until they wobbled. Monrad gritted his teeth, enjoying every moment, every sensation. The way she smelled, the way she felt, the wet sounds of sex, the look of the back of her head bopping below him. Face burning, he glanced around to see how the others were taking all this.

The thirteen-year-old latina was too busy shuddering to notice Monrad. Her English Bulldog mate had knotted her and turned around, grunting as his balls continued to fill her. Monrad couldn't help but feel how lucky he was, happening to be stuck in a cell with the woman he loved. The Miniature Poodle hadn't known the day before that today she would become a mother by one (or both) of the teenage boys she been thrust together with, but he could hear the_squirts_ and _splurts_into her bulging pussy that proved it. The Pitbull panted, his dick hard once again as he waited for his friend to finally dismount.

The Dalmatian on his right was getting ready for her second load. Did the other workers realize what they were doing when they put her in with three, horny, teenaged boys? He wondered if she'd ever fantasized about getting ploughed by virgin boys - she sure seemed to be fantasizing about it now. The bitch was wailing as the large, speckled Braque swelled inside of her. Her slender abdomen shuddered, and he could see the faint outline of her mate's cock inside her belly. A high-pitched _squirt_signalled the end, the spotted bitch starting to strain and clench, milking her mate for every last drop, even as her tongue dangled out looking at the German Shepherd that waited impatiently in front of her.

Martina, however, was probably not in any danger of becoming a mother. Monrad bucked faster, egged on by what he saw. The fourteen-year-old boy had his arms wrapped around the sleek Greyhound, bobbing her up and down on his lap. Her short hair obscured nothing as his dark-skinned cock spread her y-shaped pussy apart. Martina _yipped_and rolled her hips, gyrating in a tight circle. Rodrigo groaned, "This isn't how I expected our first time..."

Martina leaned forward and shoved her tongue into her boyfriend's mouth, locking him into a fierce kiss. The boy moaned, hands caressing her soft rump. Monrad was amazed he fit - he was almost three times her size, but sure enough, her puffy cunt spread wide, _squirking_tightly around him, but engulfing every inch. "Oh, Martina," he gasped, breaking away from her kiss. "I'm going to..."

What a bizarre day for Rodrigo. If someone had told him the day before that he would fuck a dog, he would surely have called bullshit. But here he was, balls pulsing as he unleashed his load into a Greyhound bitch. He groaned, panting there, though Martina looked a little disappointed. Certainly the boy wasn't up to the level of the Bulldog, Doberman, or Braque.

Or me, Monrad realized, hammering away at his beautiful bitch. They were pushing and straining against each other now, taking great gasps of breath. Having watched so closely, he knew what must be happening as Xquic seemed to get tighter and tighter around him. He was swelling inside of her, locking her in place so that he could _splurt_a full, heavy load into her fertile cunt. His fat, husky cock easily filled the smaller collie, grinding again and again into her innermost wall. Xquic gasped and groaned, eyes rolling back in her head.

All around him were the _sploshing_sounds of males claiming their bitches, and Monrad was ready to join the club. He jabbed forward and stayed there, tail hiked, howling into the rafters. _Squirt!_The first of many warm gushes of husky cum flooded her virgin pussy.

She howled too, suddenly exploding around him. Her whole body dissolved into whining shudders, every atom of her being oscillating fast. Up and down she bucked her hips, squeezing so hard he felt like his dick might pop! Xquic whimpered, pushing back,yipping in ecstasy at each, audible splurt!

She's mine! She's really mine!_Monrad howled, the pressure around his cock suddenly easing as the first _gush of cum finally breached her inner wall, splattering her waiting womb. They both knew what that meant, but if Xquic minded at all, she didn't let on. His swollen, husky balls churned, breeding his fourteen-year-old girlfriend full of puppies. Throughout the facility, he could hear the wild howls of other young mothers being bred, an unending cacophony of copulation.

Leaning forward, he licked the side of Xquic's cheek, and she arched her head back to return the favor. His twitching cock was far from done, but for now, the action had slowed. Groaning, Monrad did what came naturally, hopping down from his freshly-bred bitch, his tail entwining with hers. Not satisfied to be so far apart, he curled around alongside her, his chest panting against hers, and together they shared a kiss.

To the left and the right, however, they were just getting started. With many males for one bitch, there was no need for down time, and they were happy to take advantage of the situation. Monrad and Xquic watched with warm faces as the other dogs enjoyed themselves. The English Bulldog had finally pulled free, sitting in front of the Poodle for a quick, cleaning tongue bath, while the Pitbull took his rightful place on her back. Splorp!

Meanwhile, when the Braque du Bourbonnais spun around, pumping the second batch of puppy batter into his Dalmatian bitch, the German Shepherd was tired of waiting his turn. He'd enjoyed a good tongue-lashing from the horny bitch, but he wanted more, now. The opportunistic teenager walked alongside her, sniffing where his friend's knot still lay thick and swollen. Shifting his nose upward, he gave the Dalmatian a lick on her brown spot, just beneath the tail. Her head popped up and she whined, looking over her shoulder at the shepherd.

He just grinned, and without warning, he leapt onto the Dalmatian's back, wrapping his paws around her ribs. It was awkward at first, and if the Braque's tail hadn't been so short there might have been a tailwreck, but the German Shepherd managed to wiggle his way to let his shiny red cock dangle just above their throbbing tie. He let it rest there a moment, pressing against her unoccupied tailhole, panting on the back of his bitch's head. The former employee whined, but nodded her head, holding her black-and-white tail to the side. Tongue lolling from his mouth, the German Shepherd _thrust_forward.

Yelp! The Dalmatian barked loudly as her second quivering passage became stuffed with dog cock. Monrad could see the twin bulges throbbing against each other, making both males moan. Shuddering, the Braque knelt down, allowing the German Shepherd to get his hind legs on the ground. As soon as his paws hit the ground, he started humping mercilessly into her tight, straining ass.

She didn't seem to mind.

In fact, while one dog was finishing up a load and the second was swelling up inside of her, she turned to the third, the Doberman, licking the air. He took the hint instantly, getting up with his half-erect cock swinging beneath him. Placing a paw on her shoulder, the caramel-colored stud lifted himself up, presenting the Dalmatian with his dick. As if desperate to fill every hole she had, she sunk her head down with a loud slurp!, wrapping her agile, pink tongue around his 'hot dog'. Groaning, the two black dogs began to hump together, from opposite ends, one pair of light brown balls smacking against her bulging cunt, the other set of thick, black balls bouncing against her chin.

And all the while her second lover was _splurting_warm dog seed into her defenseless, bloated womb.

Only the action in Rodrigo's kennel had ceased completely, the young man quickly fastening his pants, blushing hard at what he'd just done. He held Martina close, and looked about to fall asleep when something finally changed - people...people were walking through the facility!

Rodrigo stood up and shouted in Spanish at the them. "Hey, you! Come here!"

Monrad didn't recognize either person. One, and old man with a tasteless moustache, walked next to a middle-aged blonde wearing a suit and carrying a clipboard. She was jotting down notes, stony-faced, while the man waved his arms frantically. Thankfully, they were speaking in English.

"Don't you see? Look at this place! I've gone from bumble-headed director of an illegal detainee camp to the idiot head of a government pound! Three-hundred dogs and only a dozen handlers?"

Karen said, "Less than a dozen, now, Farnsworth. Or don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember!" he gasped.

"Better you mistreat dogs than children, no?" she asked simply. The old man sighed. Karen continued, "You'll have to decide what to do with the children who didn't eat." She couldn't have timed it better, walking up at that moment to the screaming Rodrigo.

The fourteen-year-old pounded on the fence, shouting in Spanish, "Help us! Help!"

"What's he saying?" Farnsworth asked, looking the boy over.

Karen said, "He wants help. Shall I explain the situation to him?"

"Yes, sure, do it," Farnsworth replied, waving his hands.

Karen addressed the boy with mechanical, though flawless Spanish, using a typical Mexican flow. "Calm down. What do you want?"

Rodrigo wasn't ready to listen. "I want my girlfriend back, you cunt! Look at her!" he said, pointing to the Greyhound.

Karen spared the animal a glance before leveling her eyes at the boy. "That isn't possible. There's no way back for her, or the others." Monrad's stomach fell. He'd wondered if he and Xquic were stuck, but this confirmed it. She heard as well, and the husky and collie shared a sullen glance.

"That's not fair!" he cried, tears falling freely from his face. "Why? Why?"

Karen took some more notes on her clipboard, saying, "I'm not at liberty to divulge that information. Now, Mr...?"

He looked confused for a moment before stammering, "Rodrigo..."

"Rodrigo," she parroted, before continuing. "You and...thirteen others have a choice to make. We can take you off site in windowless vans, where you will_be deported. You can never speak of this, and if there is a problem, we will make sure the problem _stops."

Through his tears he said, "What about her?" pointing to Martina.

"Or...," Karen emphasized, ignoring the boy's interjection. Glancing down at the Greyhound, she said, "You can take this pill, and join her. Only dogs will be staying in this facility."

Rodrigo wiped the tears from his eyes and said, "There's nothing for me back home but the cartels. Here...there's Martina. Give me the pill."

Farnsworth watched as Karen handing the boy a small, white pill. His eyes went wide. The man said, in English, of course, "He's taking_it? _Why?"

Karen switched back to English as well. "He loves the Greyhound," without missing a beat. She pencilled something into her notepad, watching intently as Rodrigo downed the pill in one gulp.

"I'll be with you soon," he gasped to Martina, already starting to droop from the sedative effect. Martina whimpered and nuzzled against the boy as he slid to his butt against the metal fence. In seconds, Rodrigo was sleeping soundly.

Watching that kind of commitment may not have had much effect on Karen, but Monrad and Xquic nuzzled and licked each other. Would he have done the same for Xquic? He didn't know, especially with deportation to Belize as his other option.

"Let's go," Farnsworth growled, refusing to look at the dogs that were his responsibility.

Karen said simply, "No, I need to watch the effects administered in pill form."

Together, the two adults waited for changes to start, and Monrad, even knowing what must have happened, could hardly believe what he saw. Rodrigo began to change, shift, and above all,shrink. White fur began to sprout over his body, and his clothes began to fall away around his body. What had been a hundred-and-fifty-pound boy began to melt impossibly away until he could fit in a dresser drawer. He was pure white now, his head shifting into an oddly-shaped bulge that could only be a Bull Terrier.

Martina watched, sniffing and trembling as her boyfriend gave up everything for her, even his humanity. She whined, curled up by his side, much to Karen's annoyance. The woman said, "Back up!" in Spanish, rapidly jotting down notes.

The Greyhound jumped back, ears flat. Monrad growled at the blonde woman for ruining the romantic moment, but his disdain was a bit preemptive. Right then, the Greater Swiss Mountain dog returned, sniffing under Martina's tail, proving that he could ruin the moment just fine by himself.

Or, as it turns out, with Martina's help. Instead of spinning away and growling, the Greyhound just stood there - even lifting her tail - and whimpered. Monrad doubted she knew the first thing about the ten-year-old they'd been sharing their cell with, but she took one look at her half-transformed, sleeping boyfriend and spread her wobbling legs.

Monrad barked at her, but it was no use, and the mountain dog wasn't about to turn down such a ripe opportunity. Now that Rodrigo was out of the picture, the huge, horny male clambered on top of the slender Greyhound, pinning her with his heavy paws. Martina simply glanced over her shoulder with wide eyes, whining softly and bucking her hips, feeling the warmth of the boy's cock nearing her wet, trembling spade. Grunting, the preteen speared his willing bitch, literally just feet away from her oblivious boyfriend.

Yip! she cried, drawing Farnsworth's attention. The man looked down in disdain, nudging Karen who was still taking notes on Rodrigo. "I thought he did it for her? Evidently she doesn't return the feeling."

"Oh," she said simply. "That's a known side-effect."

"Well you'd better explain it to me, Karen. Look at this place!_Every other cell has dogs - kids! - fucking each others brains out! You said nothing about _this..."

Karen glanced down, watching the hundred-forty pound dog plugging his sixty-pound bitch with loud grunts and squeals. Martina gasped and bucked back, barely able to hold her place against his heavy thrusts. The blonde woman explained, "The drug alters brain chemistry. None of this would work if it didn't create convincing canines. Everytime they have a thought at odds with typical canine brain activity, they slide toward the nearest acceptable reaction. In restrospect," she added, glancing around the facility, "we should have placed more bones and balls in the cages to provide a more acceptable alternative. Or better, spayed and neutered."

"We're not _actually_a pound, Karen - we don't have a vet on staff. Besides...isn't that a little cruel? Human rights...?"

Karen leveled a gaze at the director. "_Seriously,_Farnsworth?"

No wonder I accepted all of this so easily,_Monrad realized. Any thought to escape, or unlatch the cages, or stubbornly refuse to play along slid through his brain looking for a match. No wonder he could think of nothing but sex. Whining, he tugged away from Xquic, wondering if his feelings were ever genuine. If _hers were. Grunting, the Border Collie tugged to, and for the first time in twenty minutes, they were separate. Whatever had driven them to mate, the damage had been done - pearly white cum spilled down her rump.

"The reporters will be here tomorrow. I can't hold them back any longer, so this will have to do. Can we at least get food and water bowls into each cage? I don't want to look like a monster!"

"No," she replied. "We wouldn't want that." Together, the two walked on to the next young boy or girl that hadn't taken their 'medicine'.

Monrad refused to look at Xquic, afraid of what he'd see there. She didn't speak English, she didn't know what he knew, and he couldn't tell her. But if he looked and saw forced lust, forced adulation, he didn't know what he would do. She nuzzled up against him, licking the side of his face, but he backed off, sitting in the corner. He spared her a look, but all he saw was hurt and confusion. His ears fell flat, tail drooping.

Xquic sat down, her tail rigid. She kept eying him, but he wouldn't look back. Evidently, depression was something canines could feel, because that's where he was. Wait,_he thought, glancing at Jesus, the Chihuahua in the cage with them._A test! If it was just brain waves that was drawing her to him, she'd eventually give in to Jesus. She'd think about escape, and her brain would switch to her heat-swollen pussy. Without Monrad to help her, she'd have_to approach the seven-year-old. Unless she truly cared about _him. More than Martina cared about Rodrigo, anyway.

He kept his eyes away from the collie, watching the dogs around him instead. He saw the Miniature Poodle switch from one dog to the next and back again until her hind legs were stiff and sore. He watched the Dalmatian slut in the next cage sucking and humping and whining as the three teenagers took every advantage of all of her holes. After cleaning himself off, the German Shepherd made a point to add his own load into her quivering cunt, her slender belly now swollen like a balloon from their bubbling concoction. And mostly, he watched Martina, proof that feelings didn't enter in to the equation.

The fourteen-year-old took it gladly from her ten-year-old lover, happy to hump while her boyfriend was none-the-wiser. Monrad watched the mountain dog's white balls_slapping_ against her tight abs, every once in a while getting a nice angle to see his throbbing cock spreading his bitch wide. She didn't think twice as the stranger began to grow inside of her, threatening to lock her in place and service her empty tank. She just whined and shuddered, waiting for the huge dog to breed her fertile womb, taking the plunge into motherhood while her boyfriend still slept. Would he even know until the puppies were born?

And puppies there would be. Monrad watched the Swiss Mountain dog _slam_himself forward, tied tight to his tiny bitch. Martina finally joined the pregnancy club, shuddering as he pumped her full of life-giving seed. Whining, she dropped to her belly, still held aloft by the black, white, and amber dog's spurting cock, letting him pour straight down into her convulsing womb. With such large puppies, Monrad expected the Greyhound would soon look like a four-legged beach ball.

To Monrad's relief, even twenty minutes into his test, Xquic was still being faithful. She lay in the corner and watched the others too, though her ears were still flat. I should go to her, he thought, but then he'd never know what her real feelings were. An hour, he resolved.

In that hour, the three small dogs fucked themselves out, sleeping together in a big huddle. The Dalmatian wasn't so lucky - or was she extremely lucky? With three lovers, each got a substantial rest before their turn came around. She'd been presenting her rump freely for hours, with no end in sight. Martina, to her credit, returned to Rodrigo's side once the other dog had yanked himself free.

Then Monrad noticed, finally, that Xquic was giving in to her lust once more. The collie had curled up into a ball, licking her own privates at an increasing pace. She started to whimper, her hips bucking up and down, but try as she might, she couldn't get herself off. She glanced at Monrad and whined, but the boy was steadfast in his refusal. His heart pounded, noting the sudden interest by Jesus. The little, brown Chihuahua crawled over to Xquic, little tail wagging. She shoved him aside, looking at Monrad, but she had to do more to pass his test.

At that same time, Rodrigo, now a Bull Terrier, began to wake. When he laid eyes on Martina, he hopped to his feet and fell flat on his arched muzzle. Shaking himself off, he managed to lumber to her, and the two dogs embraced, kissing much like that had as teenagers, or even when she alone had been a dog. He had no idea what she'd been doing behind his back, and for that Monrad could only pity the boy.

Only...he was about to get a first hand taste. The Swiss Mountain dog interrupted their reunion, his cock hard again. This time, the ten-year-old was bigger, and he pushed Rodrigo away with a single paw, shoving his nose under Martina's tail. This time, she did yelp and turn away, and Rodrigo ran back, barking. Now, he may have been a muscular little dog, but he was almost a third the size of his opponent. With a loud bark, the huge canine pounced Rodrigo, shoving him hard into the chain-link fence before returning to Martina's cunt.

Not yet licked, Rodrigo charged the Greater Swiss, biting down around one of his legs. Yelping, the ten-year-old swung his paw around and sent the terrier flying. With a bark and a growl, he rounded upon Rodrigo, baring his teeth and batting at the wiry little dog. In seconds, he had the Bull Terrier on his back, teeth at the smaller dog's throat. Rodrigo had the good sense to whine and still his body, surrendering.

To the victor goes the spoils. Rodrigo was forced to watch - not knowing that this was the second time - as the huge dog climbed onto his girlfriend and gave her what she needed. The Greyhound watched Rodrigo with sad eyes, whining as her soft, quivering folds were speared apart, but she couldn't deny the pleasure for long. Soon, she was barking and yelping, oblivious to her boyfriend's high-pitched squeals.

Monrad looked to Xquic. The Chihuahua sensed his opportunity. With the larger dog sitting back, the collie was all his, and even though he'd only been seven before the change, his canine body knew what to do. Insistent, eager sniffs finally managed to wedge beneath Xquic's tail, and soon the small dog was lapping at the collie's soiled folds.

So that's it, then, he thought grimly, watching his 'girlfriend' whining against the small dog's tongue. She didn't care about him, she just needed to fuck, and even the Chihuahua would do. Monrad looked down, almost missing it when Xquic glanced his way and whined.

She spun in place, lifting her hips, but Jesus followed everywhere, _slurping_steadily at her puffy pussy. She stumbled toward Monrad, trying to make it to the husky, but that firm, steady tongue was too much. Halfway there, she crouched on the tile, whining and lifting her tail. The Chihuahua was more than happy to take 'yes' as an answer. He gave one sad glance to Monrad, then climbed onto the collie's rump, barely able to clutch her hips in his paws.

Monrad knew what would happen, but he didn't have the willpower to stop it. If that's what she wants, let her! he thought, getting a straight-on view as the small, brown dog pressed his fat little cock up against Xquic's heat-swollen spade. He felt like Rodrigo, caring so much only to find out that his love wasn't returned. Xquic whined, staring straight at Monrad, but the husky just looked down, closing his eyes and waiting for the sharp _yelp_that proved her feelings for him.

There was a yelp_to be sure, but it was from _Jesus. The Border Collie growled when she felt his bony tip pressing against her folds, and she spun, easily dislodging the Chihuahua. While Jesus scrambled back, intent on his conquest, Xquic growled and crouched ominously, staring straight at the boy. He knew when he was beaten, and wisely he backed off.

Monrad opened his eyes to see Xquic standing right in front of him, no Chihuahua in sight. Whining, she licked the side of his face. Monrad lifted his ears for the first time in an hour.She's here! She turned him down!_Astonished, he licked her back, and their licks turned into kisses._She really does have feelings for me!

Xquic whined in relief, afraid and confused by how Monrad had been acting. She had no idea why he'd turned so cold, especially when she needed him the most. He even almost let that Chihuahua have his way with her, and she'd been almost desperate enough to let him. But it was Monrad she wanted to be with, even if she hadn't thought of him like that at first. Things had changed, for both of them, but she couldn't help but wonder if it was for the better. He hugged her and kissed her, and she felt no second thoughts this time as she turned her back to him and lifted her tail.

Maybe this wasn't good for everyone, and certainly not Rodrigo and Martina, Monrad thought as he mounted his love for the second time. But it's sure worked out for me.

* * * * *

"Reporters found what one man described as 'a doggy internment camp'. At this government facility in west texas, over three-hundred dogs were found, cramped three or more to a cell without food, and many without water."

Farnsworth sat back in his chair. "They all had water! This is an assassination piece!" He knew things were bad when he'd seen the reporters' shocked expressions as they toured the 'pound'. The interview hadn't gone any better. "But they don't have to lie," he shouted, to no one in particular.

The reporter continued, "None of the dogs had up-to-date shots, and none as well were spayed or neutered. In fact, as we toured the facility - staffed by only 10 men and women - many of the animals were actively breeding. For more, we go to Caitlyn with the news van."

The director watched the camera switch to Caitlyn, her face full of concern and judgment. He wanted nothing more than to slap that condescending face. Gritting his teeth, he listened. "Thank you, Wolf. I want to warn viewers that what you're about to see may shock and disturb you. Due to the graphic nature of this content, we encourage you to remove children from the room. Now, here were the conditions, first hand."

Farnsworth dropped his jaw. They were showing it.Everything. The cramped cells, the noise, even three or four gratuitous shots of dogs humping each other. If he'd had any hope for low-profile coverage it was gone now. Groaning at the T.V., he said, "But they don't mention how clean the cells were! We worked for _hours_to pick up all that shit, but do we get any credit!?" In retrospect, he should have left the feces there - he doubted they could show that on live television.

"As for the fates of these dogs," Caitlyn concluded, "we couldn't get a straight answer from facility coordinator Michael Farnsworth."

The camera cut to just one snippet of the hour-long interview, with Farnsworth himself saying, "What? We definitely don't kill them! Do you _see_any gas chambers or whatever?"

"Then what, sir? This is the first chance the public has had to see the facility. How do you expect these dogs to be adopted without a public showing?"

"We don't - that's..." Farnsworth stuttered. "We're getting to that."

Caitlyn returned. "That's right, 'getting to that'. No one knows how long the dogs have been here or where they even came from. How long would they have been stuck without this story? The last thing the Obama Administration needs right now is another scandal about government incompetence. Back to you, Wolf."

Farnsworth fingered his cell phone. Should he call her? This mess was getting out of hand!

"Thanks, Caitlyn," Wolf said. "Speaking of Obama, the President held a press conference earlier today where he specifically addressed this issue. Let's cut to that now."

There he was, the President, mentioning Farnsworth by name. He cringed. "I want to assure you, uh...and the American people...that we are doing everything in our uh power...to get to the bottom of this. Now let me be clear...Director Farnsworth will answer for what he's done, and I uh...want to stress, that we haven't forgotten these dogs. We have been working closely with animal welfare groups, and we promise to find each and every one of these dogs a happy, healthy home. Thank you. Josh Earnest will take any questions you have."

Farnsworth flipped the phone open and hit the speed dial. "Karen? Karen we need to talk."

"I'll be there in an hour," she said, ending the call.

Farnsworth leaned back in his chair, head in his hands. What a nightmare!

Wolf Blitzer hogged the screen once more. "In a rare move, the Humane Society and People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals are working together to address this issue, and there is still the question of criminal charges against the man behind the disaster, Michael Farnsworth."

"Fuck you, Wolf," he shouted.

But for all the bad news, the next segment was the worst. Farnworth couldn't even believe what he heard. Wolf said, "In other news, reporters visited another facility with hundreds of immigrants from Central America. Thousands of children have crossed the border illegal to seek a better life in this country, only to wait in legal limbo. Democrats say that these children are refugees from deplorable conditions in their home countries, and should be granted asylum. Republicans say that by not deporting these children, we encourage even more to make the dangerous trip. Let's put the question out to you in the twitterverse. The border crisis: good thing? Bad thing? We'll post your thoughts, after this break."

He knew that facility. He was friends with their director, Kenneth Spader, who, Farnsworth noted, wasn't even mentioned by name. The story was buried under a pile of shit deeper than he himself had cleaned out the night before.

When Karen arrived, he knew what to say. "You fucked me! The American people care more about these _dogs_than they ever cared about the immigrants!"

"I didn't make you do anything," she said coolly, watching as the director approached her. "You made the call, we simply gave you the tools."

"Are you happy about this? The news is wall-to-wall bad press. The President can't afford this," Farnsworth said, stepping forward.

Karen leveled her gaze at the desperate man. "I think you misunderstand the CIA's involvement in this case. We are not the President's P.R. firm. However, I think you'll find it's only your name being dragged through the mud. Thanks to Obama's quick, decisive response, his poll numbers are actually going up."

"I'm being thrown under the bus. Did you hear they're going to press charges against me? _Me!_I'm the fucking _victim_here. You've got to fix this, find someone else to foot the blame - give me another identity - something!"

"Michael, that's not going to happen. We don't do that. You know that's not going to happen," Karen said, preemptively reaching into her inner front suit pocket.

Farnsworth wanted to strike her, but he knew she was his only hope. Instead, he stepped back and wept. "They'll find every crime in the book if they have to. I'm a national monster right now, and they won't stop until I'm dead or in prison. Don't you get it, Karen? My life is over, for something I didn't even do."

"Do you think they would be less angry if they knew the truth?" she asked. "Besides...there's another way."

"What?" he asked, desperately.

She held out a small, white pill.

* * * * *

"Karen Shapinsky reporting," she said, sitting in the former director's chair. "He accepted the offer, and you can feel free to leak Michael Farnsworth's suicide to the press - body not recovered. That should make for a satisfying end for the media."

Absentmindedly, she patted the back of the Great Dane's head, ignoring the dirty look the big canine gave her. "Affirmative," she replied.

"Yes, that is the case," she said again. "I would like to request that the President gets the message that some of these dogs have formed close connections to one another and should be kept together at all costs."

"Thanks. All notes are en route in an encrypted file. Everything is secure," she added. "So far, the eight employees have made no effort to disclose classified information."

She listened for a few minutes before she was dismissed, but before she hung up the phone, Karen said, "Sir?"

After a pause on the other end of the line, she said, "Having viewed this situation first hand, I need to say that I do not approve of our actions here. Code 87 should _not_be used except in the most extreme circumstances, and this facility should not have qualified. I understand the need for field testing, but these...subjects deserved better."

"Yes, I understand," she said.

"I see..." she replied slowly.

Karen took a deep breath, adjusted her collar, and scratched the Dane behind his ears. "Then I'm afraid I must officially tender my resignation."

With that, she flipped the phone closed and let out a long, breathy sigh.

"Come on, Farnsworth. Let's go home."