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A harried dingo entering her late 20s, lonely and adrift in a dying coastal town, learns a few lessons and faces a few consequences when her husband winds up in jail...

Rob is not actually just about cheating and rough noncon fucking. I don't know how this keeps happening. Thanks/blame/credit goes to certain coyotes and panthers who know who they are. The rest of you, enjoy your weekend :)

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

"That 'm'-word," by Rob Baird

-

KJ had been trying to tell Carl for months that the Subaru's starter was giving out. Months. He'd never listened, and wasn't around now. So he missed the sound of the key turning, followed by a bizarre shriek from the station wagon. Then silence. Then cursing with as many four-letter words as the dingo could recall on short notice.

But nothing happened when she tried to start it again.

The truck it was, then. The truck was Carl's; she had to hunt through a stack of things on the table to find the keys. And jump the battery. And pick a few cans of beer from off the floor... but at least it drove. Sort of.

In a thick morning fog, the sight of the boats at harbor was quaint. Picturesque. A few more were already beginning to drift in. A foghorn announced its presence, and three dozen baying sea lions clamored in answer. It was a postcard, from a town that had been reduced to postcards.

Not always.

Men had gone to the sea from Cannon Shoals for generations. Many had come back. Some had not. Some who had not come back were better for it. And some... KJ kicked the truck down a gear, felt it buck a cantankerous reply, and worked her way down the harbor drive to the pier.

She was turning the words over in her mouth before she had to say them out loud. Come on, just a few weeks and you know I'll pay you back as soon as we have the money. The words felt hollow when she rehearsed them; they had always been lies.

The energy of the harbor made it easy to put off the sense of foreboding for a spell. Even when it was just a few boats, it at least felt like there was something to the town. Particularly when one of the captains was Holly Mikkelson, who had been landing tuna for forty years and said she planned to do it for forty more.

Like anyone could've argued? You didn't argue with Holly.

Not, KJ saw, unless you were stupid, or from out of town. Or both. "What did you say?" the old bear was snapping. "What did you call me?"

Her adversary, who was slow to realize that he was an adversary, was one of the new kids. California types, most of them; startup money. Looking for cheap real estate -- the next "big thing" after San Francisco and Portland and Seattle and Los Angeles and even Sacramento had been played out. "I just -- uh. N-no, I just said you were the first fisherwoman I'd met out he --"

"Then y'ain't met any," Holly swore. "KJ, talk some sense into this'n."

"Picking fights?" KJ asked, and let the truck idle.

"No? I don't know what got into her." The scrawny wolf's name took some time to come to her mind -- something inoffensive and bland. 'Chad' or -- no, Paul, that was it. Paul, and it was hard to remember the rest of his name because he always followed up with "you know, from the bookstore?" Paul and his girlfriend, another underfed wolf, had come up from San Francisco two winters before. He still said the name of the river wrong. Still went in to Salem to buy groceries.

And still hadn't learned that Holly, who could land a six hundred pound bluefin without feeling it, was not the kind of person to be called a "fisherwoman." "Fisherman" would do, did for her crew; did for everyone else in town.

"I didn't mean anything behind it," he protested. KJ killed the truck's motor, and hopped down as the motor ticked its way back to slumber. "Jesus, you people sometimes..."

You people. Well, it had always been something like that, sure. "Paul, right?" she asked.

"Yeah. From the bookstore, down on State?"

No. Paul was not from the bookstore. Paul was from wherever you people weren't. Maybe knowing that he had no place in the dying town was what made him so insistent. And earnest. And grating. "Paul, you want my advice? Leave Holly alone."

Long ago, KJ's family had also been from the land of oh you people, when that land was Australia. Banished once from their mother country, they'd struck out again from Darwin to land in Cannon Shoals in the waning days of the nineteenth century, when the town still had all its promise before it. One generation, two, five, and now KJ felt that she had salt in her veins the same as any of the others.

Besides which she still remembered when the canneries were running, and the lumberyard hadn't shut down, and they were talking about opening up a new depot for the Union Umpqua and Western. She'd been young, then, just a pup really, but she remembered her father saying you know, just you wait, they're gonna have to dredge the harbor for these big ships come in from Japan, or...

The old dingo had waved a paw, westward, and his dreams had encompassed so much more than just Japan, or...

Now she was you people, slumped against the rusty door of a 1986 Dodge Ram that had turned over twenty thousand cycles and one of these days was gonna give up, just like the rest of them. The truck, too, remembered when the new businesses in Cannon Shoals were a machine shop for the fishing trawlers, or a plate glass plant taking advantage of the rail and highway traffic. Or, hell, the dealership where Carl's uncle had first bought the damned thing -- back when they still sold new cars in town...

Now it was trinkets and postcards and tourist trap hotels and the-bookstore-down-on-State. Those were the only new shops that opened. KJ MacRory put a brave face on it, because what else was there to do? Let the Pauls of the world win? "I didn't do anything to her," he was saying. "I just came down to get some fresh fish and..."

"Paul," she said, when he finally noticed that nobody cared, and trailed off. "Run along, please."

"But..."

"Get the fuck gone." Holly pointed back up the drive, as though the wolf's car might otherwise have gotten lost in the little town -- just under two thousand people, according to the lying sign at the city limits. There was no fur left on her paws; years on the ocean had nicked and cut them until they were scarred like old leather. "Fuckin' you people." And she spat after him, as only Holly could. "Call me a fuckin' fisherwoman, why don't you," she muttered, after he'd closed the door of his sedan and the silver Saab was getting its feet beneath it on the gravel drive.

Never had finished paving it. Never had dredged the harbor, either, come to think.

And it was a petty thing, that exercise of power, telling the wolf off, so that were it anyone else the two women might've danced around the subject. But Holly was too straight for that, and KJ played along. "What did he want?"

"Fuck if I know," Holly snorted. "Ain't never liked him. Gettin' all friendly like he owns the place."

"Well, somebody has to," KJ pointed out.

"The banks, by now. Right?"

"Sure," KJ said. "And hey, uh..."

"Dougie?"

Again they might've danced around, but... the dingo rubbed at her neck, and nodded. "You know if he's in?"

"His truck was parked up at the office, yeah," the bear shrugged. "Something came up, huh?" and even as she asked the question, she could read the answer written on the canine's face. And her own softened: "Aw, pup. You know if it gets serious, I can..."

Could what? "You can't unfuck Carl," KJ said, simply.

"Why do you even keep him around?"

Because, like the Ram, he meant well, and sometimes his dreams of better days flickered into something useful. Because she'd never left Cannon Shoals and thought that she probably never would. Because: "Us people," the dingo shrugged, and didn't bother locking the truck. Nobody would steal it.

Dougal Galvan was a businessman, but pretty straight up. She hoped. The bank had been with the Galvan family for generations. And even if he dealt in money, he knew where his bread was buttered, which is why he'd put his office down amongst the boats, so that you couldn't ask for a mortgage without inhaling the stink of the fishing trawlers fresh in, and the smell of the lumber mill running -- when it did.

"Uh oh," he said, as soon as he saw her. The fox looked as though he'd been getting ready to leave -- checking the morning catch, maybe -- but at her appearance he settled back down.

"Hey, Dougal."

"I guess you probably don't have my money, do you?"

She shook her head.

"When?" His was a tired smile, and knowing. "Come on," he chided gently. "At least play along?"

"Just a few weeks," she mumbled.

Dougal sighed, and shook his head. "Can I follow this up with the next line, too? The boat's worth less than the mortgage out on it, and the only way I'll ever see my way back into the black is if I let you float a little."

But that was true. They both knew it. So why even bring it up? "Sorry, Dougal"

He shook his head. "Where's he at now? Guess he's not out fishing. Spent the night in Newport, I take it?"

By that he meant the county jail, which was down the coast. It was a bit of a habit. "Yeah," she shrugged. There had been a time when his roguishness had been sort of thrilling, and getting married had seemed like a fantastic idea. "I don't exactly know what for..."

"Being Carl," Dougal said, with the same sort of resigned air that Holly might've said it.

"Sure."

The fox got up, slowly. They'd been in the same class at Matthew J. Rex, ten years before. Now he was next in line to inherit the bank -- trim, and with that comforting smile, and the sort of ease you have when you know you could just... leave. Which she could not do. She could not leave the town. Really, she could not even leave the room.

"I'll try to talk to Carl's folks. I mean... his dad's drawin' Social Security now, so at least it's income..." she offered.

"It's not about the money. I can cover the money. I mean, hell, I'm not going to put somebody into bankruptcy if I can help it. Certainly not one of us. It's just..."

"Just what?"

They were standing face to face now, and she tilted her head. Had he... straightened his whiskers? His fur had the neatly groomed look of someone who knew that they should care about their appearance, and had the time to do something about it. "What happened, you know?"

She knew what he meant. He wanted to know what had happened to her; what had happened to all of them. Why they were wasting their lives on the harbor when people in Chicago or New York or San Francisco were making things. Going places. But if she'd admitted that, then she would've had to admit the answer, too. So instead she shook her head lightly. "What do you mean?"

And he avoided it, too. Sat on the edge of the desk, and took her paw gently in his. "You just deserve better than that, is all. Cleaning up after him all the time." Haven't you ever thought about...

"Maybe," KJ said flatly. Her parents still trailed off in the exact same way, every now and then.

"Well, I mean..." the fox said. "You could have options."

"Could I." His paw felt very warm, clasping hers and a hundred and seventy thousand dollars in debt.

That kept her from pulling away. "You could. You're young... pretty..."

The dingo shifted on her feet, and raised a quizzical ear and eyebrow. "Dougal"

"Just saying, KJ." He pressed his fingers through hers, and traced the back of her hand with one shiny, perfectly kept claw. "Wouldn't it be nice not to have to owe anyone anything?"

"Yeah, but... I've made my choices and I sort of have to... to roll with 'em..."

"Do you?" He stood up, and when she let her paw fall he chased it, threading his fingers back through hers with the warmth closer to her thigh. "Come on. Be nice not to be in debt. Just be... you..."

Dimly she thought back to high school, when she'd been the daughter of a lumberman and he'd been the son of the bank president and Carl had been... Carl. Carl, who had been working the docks after school then and told her he'd be a captain one day, and she believed him even after he dropped out at sixteen. "I guess. But it ain't that way..."

"Could be, though."

She didn't flinch because she knew where he was going. She flinched because, as she felt his other paw brush back her hair, softly, she thought that it had been the first time anyone had done that in months, and she hated herself for thinking that before she thought to tell him off. But either way she flinched -- jerked her paw away from his and tossed her head. "It ain't."

"Kiara..."

The dingo shook her head more forcefully, and stepped back from him, reassembling her wits. "Look, Dougal, I don't... I don't know what you think I came here for, but I... I can't. I just..."

Dougal sat back down on the desk, holding his paws up with fingers splayed. "Right."

"I... I'll get you the money when I can," she said weakly. "I'm sorry for wasting your time."

"You're not --"

But she shook her head, and slunk out without another word, and made it past Holly and past the gravel drive and most of the way up the highway to the turnoff for their house. She broke down before the truck did -- a choked sob, and then a curse, and she pulled the truck onto the shoulder so that she could cry until the worst of it had passed.

Those jags were not new, but nor were they anything that, she thought, she could not deal with. Just like she dealt with the debt collectors, and the man at the IGA who shook his head, and looked the other way when she snuck a gallon of expired milk. And the house was empty, so there wasn't anyone to see her tear-darkened fur.

Laying on the broken couch, staring at the cracked paint of the ceiling, she ran her fingers over the back of her paw the way Dougal had, and tried to imagine Carl doing that. She tried to imagine the big mongrel trailing his thick, work-worn fingers through her soft hair. Caressing her side. Muttering into her ear, voice all coarse and husky with desire.

He'd done that, once. At some point, someone had desired her. Right?

The dingo let her paws come to rest on her belly, and sighed.

Never, not with Holly or Dougal or her parents or her sister or anyone, had KJ ever used the word mistake. Not once. She hoped that by not saying it, she could make it not be true, and she hoped that no one saw through it, although of course they did. So it had not been a mistake. It hadn't just been because she admired him for his rebelliousness and his attitude and the way he could do anything with his paws. Hadn't just been because they were high school lovers who never found anyone else.

But even if it wasn't a mistake, she was allowed to wonder, wasn't she? What it might've been like with someone who had a steady job? With someone who wanted kids as badly as she wanted them? With someone who had one fucking ounce of responsibility in their two hundred and forty-odd pounds?

Well. But it ain't that way.

In the afternoon, she roused herself again, and padded down the hallway of their modular to the bedroom that they shared when he was not 'spending the night in Newport.' Pulled open her dresser, and stared blankly for a good long while. Eventually she settled on a nice maroon skirt that called out the auburn of the dingo's fur. She'd bought it years before, when they still had some money, and it still worked, she thought.

The dingo's legs were not long enough for pants, if she wanted to be noticed. In a skirt, though, the short ruddy dog looked... almost a little cute, in a well-fed-alpine-milkmaid sort of way. She turned to see the way the skirt fell on her, clinging to her plush rump. Held up a turquoise shirt that matched her eyes, and then put it back in favor of a khaki blouse. Better to go conservative.

"Not all bad, KJ," she told herself. The buttons of the blouse were a little snugger than she might've liked, but it flattered her body as much as a dingo's body could be flattered. For hers was a working family, and a little stockier than most. Still.... still, sometimes she thought she warranted a second glance. Absent Dougal there was no empirical evidence to support that, but...

She shrugged on a jacket, brushed her hair, and went back to the truck to drive to Newport. The effect, she hoped, was professional. She would offer to pay the fine, write a check, drag Carl home, and worry about how to make sure the check cleared later. Professionalism was part of this.

But it turned out not to matter, because she knew the clerk. "Hey, Ed. I'm here for Carl MacRory. He awake?"

"Nah, ma'am," the clerk said. "He was still up when we called you. Didn't crash 'til.... eight or so? Been out like a light since."

"D&D? What's the fine?" she sighed.

"Ah. No ma'am. Not drunk and disorderly."

By now the message left on her voicemail was so familiar she'd ignored it. Now the dingo lifted up an ear. "What'd he do this time?"

"Picked a fight with a vending machine that ate his quarters."

"By picked a fight, you mean..."

"Kicked in the glass, yes," the officer, a friendly looking tom, nodded. He was a nice man. Respectable. "Then the owner tried to tell him off, and Carl hit him with a bottle of..." He was looking through the report, flipping pages.

"Blue Moon," KJ muttered.

"Uh. Yep, Blue Moon. Four stitches, it says here. I mean. Guy's gonna want to press charges. Battery, at least. Maybe not assault, but definitely battery. Six thousand, maybe?"

"Jesus Christ." There was no emotion in the dingo's voice.

"Ma'am?"

She excused herself, and went to sit down. KJ did not have six thousand dollars. She did not even have anything worth six thousand dollars, except the boat, and that would take Dougal's agreement and good manners. But the loan on the boat was under water. Like the loan on their modular.

And her parents would not be able to help. Not this time, not this much. Who the hell would? Holly? For Carl?

That was, of course, the hell of it. She had nobody to turn to, not even for advice. That would've been Carl's job, but the mutt was passed out, behind bars and six thousand dollars, of which she could raise perhaps eight hundred on a good day. She sat in numb silence for a few minutes.

Then she got up, and walked out the door.

Outside, the Pacific spring had turned the evening crisp. She tightened her coat and walked past the parking lot. Past the public library. Past the weather-beaten storefronts. Out towards the water. She had only been staring at the surf for a minute or two when a stranger approached. "What's a nice, well-dressed young woman like yourself doing out here? No car... city's back that way..."

"I need a drink," she told him. It was the first thing she felt like saying.

"Rough day?"

Finally she turned. He was an older-looking bear; could've passed for Holly's son. "Rough day," she agreed.

"Want to talk?"

KJ started. He thought I was going to... "Ah..."

"Or a drink, if that's what you're after." He pointed down the street, and she shrugged, following the bear's footsteps. "From around here?"

"Cannon Shoals. Just come down here to..." Ordinarily she would've worn boots instead of heels, but the boots had not gone with the skirt. The shoes were precious now, relics of a bygone era, and she restrained herself from scuffing them, kicking against the sidewalk. "Come down to bail out my deadbeat fuckin' husband."

"Oy," the bear said. "Not the first time, I take it."

"Not exactly," she admitted, and explained the rest. All of it. The first two years, until it had gradually dawned on them both that the harbor was the only thing in their future. 'Lucking' into a boat being retired with its captain. How happy he'd been on their first couple trips. Almost turning a profit with the pots. Not quite. And then worse, and worse.

She didn't even know the bear's name, so she avoided telling him how much she hated the dog sometimes, and then how much she hated herself for hating him, and then how -- in the golden mornings, feeling the rise and fall of his broad, barrel chest as he dozed next to her -- she came around and realized that she loved him after all.

Except...

But perhaps the bear saw. They were at the entryway to a tavern, and she realized that he had only wanted to talk her away from the water. He was, he explained, heading home. "But you want my advice?" The dingo nodded. "Too late to drive up now. Get a drink; some chowder. Relax. Be yourself a bit, forget about everything -- when you're ready to sleep, grab a motel room. It's out of season, they'll have one. In the morning... well, it's whatever. You'll be fine."

The tavern was warm, inside, and boisterous. She thought about hunting down a table and gave up, making her way up to the counter and ordering a beer. It had been too long, yes, too long since she'd even tried to relax, and to put the stress of her life out of mind. The beer was cheap, some stripe of Budweiser she thought -- there were plenty of good microbreweries in Oregon, and like any decent wharf bar this had none of them.

It'll be alright, she told herself. Somehow. That conclusion came three-quarters of the way through the glass, and she stared at the amber liquid contemplatively. The bear had offered good advice. One drink, clear your head, start the next day fresh. She'd find a way to deal with the sheriff, and to keep Dougal at bay, and to prod Carl into something like usefulness. KJ tipped the glass back, drained it, and set it back on the counter. Stood to leave, then --

"What are you having?"

The question came from a tall, spotted feline with a genial grin. Young, she thought. Not too young, but she had a few years on him. "Just... headin' out..."

"Got places to be? Come on," the big cat teased. "I'll buy. Two more of these," he was telling the bartender, indicating her empty glass. "'Just headin' out,' nah -- that's a shit plan if I ever heard one. You were going to stick around." Well, and anyway the beer had already been ordered. "Cheers."

She clinked her glass against his and took a drink. "Thanks," KJ told him.

"Don't mention it. I wasn't gonna let you just... leave." His eyes danced, inviting her to ask him what he meant; she lifted an eyebrow, and he chuckled. "At least needed to talk to ya... I'da kicked myself clear down to fuckin' Coos Bay if I didn't..."

KJ tilted her head. "The beer?"

"Had to think fast. And I was kinda getting distracted."

She sipped thoughtfully. "Loud in here?"

"Maybe a bit," he said, when they were outside. "But you do kinda... catch the eye. I haven't seen you before."

"I'm not from around here," she said, ignoring what had come before it. "Cannon Shoals, up the way a bit."

"Near Oak Valley, right? On the Neatasknea?" That was a shibboleth -- unlike Paul he pronounced it correctly, ne-tash-nee. "Needed some time away from the riots?"

She shook her head. Oak Valley had been in the news a few weeks earlier, when the union had taken to protesting the closure of the old lumbermill. "Wasn't exactly riots." First thing to put the area in the news for years.

"Guy got shot, right? Not the kind of place for stately folks like you and me. Is it 'you and me'? 'You and I'?"

"Just you," she smirked. But the jaguar had a nice, affable way about him, and a cute smile. Muscular; clean-cut. He had a button-down shirt that he'd left partly unbuttoned, enough to show the soft golden velvet of his pelt.

"And you? Where are you in all this?"

"I was born to the docks."

"Yeah," he said. "Is that why you drink such shitty beer? Look. I don't mean to judge --"

"You are judging," she pointed out, and she smiled because he was smiling.

"Sue me," he said. "I was going to say. If I left you here, and found something better to drink, and came back out, would you still be here?" She shrugged. "Uh huh. Okay. I'm going to return with civilization, how's that?"

KJ was not certain why she was still smiling, even after he had departed. She took another sip of her drink. Everything was building into a pleasing sort of warmth. Well, two beers was still well inside "relax and be yourself" territory.

"Oh, thank god. You're still here." The jaguar had reappeared. "Put that down. Your glass. Put it down."

"Why?"

"Just do it," he teased, and when she set it on an empty table he flashed a white grin. "Good girl. Here."

"What's this?" It was cold, and full of ice. "Civilization?"

"Gin and tonic. Well gin, but..."

She took a sip of it, and blinked; it tasted clear and hard-edged and, after a moment to reflect on it, she decided that the taste was agreeable. "You like that better than beer?"

"I like that better than your beer," he corrected. "Not saying a whole lot. What about you? You like it?"

"It's... not bad."

"Guess I'll settle." He leaned his tall frame against the bar, watching her. "What brings you down from the frontier?"

"Errands. You?"

"Work here. Department of Forestry. Some errands, huh?" he said, and ran his finger over the sleeve of her jacket. He had very sharp claws. "Guess a bar counts as an errand..."

KJ had not expected him to touch her. And she might've batted his paw away, except... "Well. It was... unplanned." She took another sip, brushed the hair back from her face, and looked at him again, more carefully. "And..."

A nice body, carried well. Beautiful pale-green eyes. A deliberate precision in the way he grinned, and the way his thick tail curled, and dipped. "And, well, damn, you're here now," he offered for her. "Funny quirk of fate."

"I guess."

He nudged her towards an explanation that she offered half-heartedly; instead she talked about growing up on the coast, and he told her about growing up in Los Angeles. He had moved, he said, because he loved the ocean. She didn't know why she told him that she felt the same way. She had no particular love of the ocean. Certainly not of the Pacific coast.

But she enjoyed his company, through the first drink and then a second round that she murmured agreement to without really noticing. It felt nice to have someone paying attention to her, even as he nudged closer against the deepening chill of the evening. She didn't pull away. And he saw through her when she murmured about leaving, maybe, to get some sleep.

"Nah," he said. "'Cause you coulda left before. You coulda left when I offered you the first drink, and you coulda left when I went in for the G&Ts. But," and he let the word trail off.

"But..."

"But instead you didn't, and it's been long enough so I'm gonna say it's nice to meet you, and I'm gonna say my name's Gabriel, and you're gonna say..."

She chewed on her lip, and then drained her glass again. "Kiara."

"Nice name," he said. Things were becoming a little fuzzy; she smiled with more shyness than she intended. "Don't play coy. I can't have you playing coy. I'm trying to plan something."

"Which is?"

"Whether I buy another round, or..."

"Or?"

He had turned, so that the bulk of his muscular body was sheltering her from the cooling night. He'd finished his own gin and tonic some time before; there was nothing in his other paw to stop him from running it down her side in one long, unbroken line. "Go somewhere that's not this fuckin' place..."

Trailing a few seconds after the touch of his claw was the electrifying realization of another person's fingers on her body, so startling that it took her a few seconds to offer some kind of protest, and even then it was: "I don't..."

"Don't what?" the big jaguar drawled, and she could feel his paw seeking the base of her tail beneath her jacket and skirt. "Don't have a place? I do..."

"That wasn't what I meant. I mean -- " he groped her rump and she couldn't bite back the gasp before it had already left her ruddy muzzle. "I'm married, you know..."

"So? So'm I." He turned his thick arm so that her eyes could catch the glint of the band on his finger. "We got an understanding."

That was a thing, wasn't it? Couples did that, sometimes. KJ was torn briefly between a desire to do the right thing -- right thing, what the fuck was that? -- and the aching need to feel him touch her again. Sure. Couples did that. Healthy couples, even. Respectable couples. "I'm not sure..."

"Right," he purred. "Look, Kiara." His eyes had darkened, and he pulled the dingo closer so that she could feel the heat of his frame radiating into hers and the sharp prickle of his claws as he squeezed her rear. "The kind of girl who dresses up like that and shows up in a bar like this? Is not the kind of girl that gets to say 'I'm not sure' three rounds in. I know what you're looking for."

It was not what she was looking for, not really. But he felt good, or the alcohol felt good, or both. "You got an understanding, huh?" she asked him, looking up and into him. It was not a denial.

"To fool around? Whatever," he shrugged. "So what do you say? Or do you want to go another round first? Probably your turn."

She glanced around the corner. The bar was starting to die down. "Maybe another..."

Getting back into the bar would give her a chance to clear her head. She could still leave, for that matter. She slipped from his grasp, and made it two steps before she felt his paw grip hers. "Actually..."

"What?"

He reeled her back, catching her in an embrace that felt every bit as sure as she'd known it would be. "Don't think we need that after all."

He had her pinned with her back against the wall, and she was acutely aware of the strength in his bulky frame. He must've weighed at least what Carl did, all of it muscle. "But you said..." she started.

"Yeah, before I saw what your ass looked like from behind. Not bad..." He brought his paw up to squeeze her again, for emphasis. "Have to check again, without all this shit in the way..."

"And your wife really doesn't mind..." She was fumbling for the excuse. He just shrugged. "Well, but --"

But. But she'd lifted her muzzle to offer that protest, and suddenly his lips were crushed to hers, muffling whatever she might've said into complete irrelevance. The kiss was hard, and hot, and he pushed her hard against the wall until she had no choice but to give in to him, tilting her muzzle to lock against his.

Panting. Needy when he pulled away, her arms snaking around him -- Christ, can't barely even manage -- to keep him from getting too far. With a purring grunt he dove back in, seizing the dingo's lips fiercely. Before she even knew she was going to beg for it she felt his tongue at her lips, working them wider, spearing into her muzzle like he fucking belonged there.

Her claws clenched at his side, clasping him tightly, and when he arched his hips into hers she felt something hot and bulky and impossibly hard pushing up between her thighs. I'm not sure -- except then she thought yeah but what if and then god, please, yes... and then to keep her from forgetting he did it again and she felt a shudder of pleasure run through her.

How long had it been? Too long.

Then for a delirious moment she couldn't decide whether she meant "too long" since Carl had touched her like that or "too long" since the jaguar had and then it didn't matter, because he was groping her hard enough to sink his claws through her favorite skirt and the only thing she could do was moan into the big cat's lips. And when he pulled away what she gasped was not I'm not sure but "where do --"

"Close," he grunted.

Close was a one story walkup on the next block over. She grasped for him in the momentary pause at the threshold and he half-snarled, pushing her up against the door to grind and thrust and steal another fiery kiss through ragged breaths even as he fumbled for his keys. It took by her reckoning three of those firm pushes of his strong hips before he managed to get the door unlocked.

He kicked the door closed with more force than would've been needed for that late at night except that they were both beyond caring. She clung to him all the way to his bedroom and when he pushed her down hard on the mattress she could only giggle breathlessly, panting up at him. He was unbuttoning his shirt swiftly, and she sat up to help him, mostly so she could feel the toned form beneath it, working her claws lovingly through his pelt.

Jesus, he's so fucking handsome. And then he was a blur, because he was leaning into her, his own fingers pushing into her jacket and blouse messily, pulling them apart to reveal her white-furred belly inch by inch and then he growled again. "Fuckin' -- Kiara you're -- fuck -- get your bra off."

She did, a little awkwardly. Arching her back up to help, until she could uncatch it and the garment gave way. The dingo woman's heavy breasts heaved with her deep, desperate panting and she settled back on the bed. One quarter I'm not sure to three quarters well we've gone this far and --

"Fucking hell," he purred. Why? At first she thought she might've done something wrong, that she had taken too long but no he was looking at her, his green eyes blazing. His big paws both worked up her sides, and he took big handfuls of her breasts, squeezing, kneading her as she gasped and quivered. He dipped his head down -- then there was warmth, wet pressure on her nipple, he was teasing her with that rough tongue and she felt a giddy shock of delight and heard a squeal that it took a moment to place as her own.

She felt movement. Fabric on fur. Moving with the grain -- one of his paws was pulling her skirt down. She kicked a little to help, and found that the panties had gone too. "Gabriel," she whispered, and liked the sound of it. The jaguar grunted; looked up, letting her nipple go -- wet, glistening in the faint moonlight filtering through the bedroom window. In the blue light his bronze fur was pale, and shimmered, and the rosettes stood in sharp relief.

A muffled thump of fabric hitting the ground and then he was atop her. Big. Heavy. A hot, reassuring bulk. His fur felt so good beneath her fingerpads as she stroked and pulled him closer and then he kissed her again and she groaned helpless and wanting into his lips. Their tongues met. Fought. She felt his hips working between her legs and she parted her thighs willingly. Would've begged for it if he'd given her the chance. Wanted to.

Took her own initiative. Tugged herself with some difficulty away from his lips to gasp: "please, Gabriel, fuck me... god, I need you..." because she wanted to hear herself say that, too. The jaguar stiffened; his back arched, and she felt him go up between her thighs, hard and hot before his throbbing tip pushed into her, and then the rest of him. Inch by endless, thick, hot inch. She was so wet there was no hesitation, nothing to stop him from sliding all the way inside, filling her, stretching her deliciously wide around him and god. God. She grasped at his hips greedily and there was no I'm not sure just how has it been this fucking long.

He pulled himself back with a grunt and thrust in wetly and this time he really was all the way into her -- the tapered tip pushing up against something she hadn't even known how to describe until she settled on a guttural moan and a begging canine whimper when he began to move. Quickly. Deep thrusts -- she could've sworn each one was deeper still. Pounding her hard back and into the mattress the way Carl hadn't in --

Well. Ten years. And even then he'd never had anything like the jaguar's cock, girthy and burning hot and steel-hard as he rammed it into her, plunging into the dingo as she whined and cried out in gusty yelps for him. She knew she was incoherent. Anyway her body was doing the talking for her, that wet slurp as he pulled back from her; the slick sound of flesh on flesh as he pushed forward to pump her full of his wonderful, thick meat.

She tried to work with him, arching her hips and back to meet his thrusts but he was too quick, too powerful and so she settled for letting him use her. Claiming her slick, hot cunt like it was the first time, the first real time she'd ever been fucked properly. Rutted into the mattress with its tortured springs groaning just like she was. Except as she gasped and writhed beneath the powerful cat her groans were rising into a squeal and the world was drawing snug and taut right around his cock.

KJ thought she was going to scream. He felt so fucking good, so fucking right plunged in up to the hilt inside her and every time he worked his prick in as deep as he could get it she felt a shuddering thrill that built -- relaxed -- rose higher. Then the pleasure broke in quivering waves and she felt her muscles lock up. He grunted as she tightened around his cock, squeezing it like a vise, like her body would've begged for a dog to knot her properly. And she did scream, a hoarse cry of the jaguar's name.

He was losing control. The jaguar shuddered and bucked urgently between the dingo's thighs, stuffing her full again and his fangs were bared when he grunted. "Kiara -- fuck -- here it -- fuckin' -- " A deep, jerking thrust. All the way in her, with his tip pushing against her deepest recesses until he was nudged up inside her womb. And she wanted to tell him to pull out except well he was a jaguar so what did it matter and what would it feel like -- and --

"Cum for me, Gabriel, please," she begged.

He managed a grunt in answer. Thrust again, again as deep as he could get it. And snarled, showing the sharpest teeth she'd ever seen. Went completely still. There was a moment of almost agonizing anticipation before she felt a steamy heat jet up and inside her, splashing into her womb, and when he tugged back a sharp pressure raked at her folds. She yelped in surprise -- either sensation, who knew -- and he dropped his head to bite at her throat.

And she was his. Completely. She could feel all of it. Every twitch and tug of his barbs dragging over her -- sawing into her folds, leaving an ache to be soothed by the seed he was busy spilling into her. The throbbing jerk of his cock in the half-second before another warm gush painted her. The tension in his gasping chest as he grunted into her neck until she squealed once more, ripples of pleasure building and pulling at her as she clenched around his cock and begged urgently for every spurt of scalding jaguar cum.

Until he dropped forward. Pinning her with his heavy, heaving body. Letting her throat go to drop his head heavily against the pillow, so every sucking breath came through the dingo's pinned ear and she heard him try to speak a half-dozen times before he managed a muffled: "Oh, Jesus, Kiara..."

The dingo giggled softly, and marveled at the feeling of the big cat suddenly pliant in her arms, the frantic tension ebbing to something relaxed and comforting. "Gabriel," she cooed, and licked his ear soothingly. Her paws caressed his sides and she didn't even mind having to keep her breathing shallow under his solid body.

"Good?"

"Good," she agreed. She didn't want to sound needy. But he'd been so magnificent, so fucking perfect. And now that energy was melting like ice cream into something soft, and sweet on her tongue, and summery. Warmth suffused her. He didn't speak for a minute or two, and she began to draw over the black rosettes of his fur with a tender claw. She did that with the spots that dappled Carl's fur, too, until the mutt jerked and batted her away.

Gabriel purred. "You ever been with a jaguar before?"

KJ shook her head, and paid particular attention to a large spot on his shoulder, kneading it playfully in her fingers. "No, never."

"Missing out," he teased, and finally propped himself up on one elbow so that she could breath again.

She let him do that for a few seconds, decided she missed his warmth, and pulled him back down. "Yeah," she said, and licked his nose when he raised it. "You were so... forceful and..." Wild. Passionate. Taking her like she belonged to him. It was a pleasant thought, the dingo decided.

Gabriel grinned, so she squeezed him again. He was starting to go soft in her and she found herself missing him already. Wriggled a bit, to nudge him a little deeper, and sighed. Yawned sleepily. Melted, when his sharp claws traced the rim of her ear, and he filled it with his purring.

He was gone when she woke up the next morning, with her head buzzing and her muzzle dry. His space on the bed was still warm. She turned, and found a note scrawled on the nightstand. Running errands. Back later. The dingo read those four words a few times, imagining his fingers writing them. The night before, his fingers had been..

KJ flopped back on the bed. Wonderingly, she slid her fingers down her naked belly, feeling over the matted fur of her thighs. She tensed and trembled, nudging the slick, soft lips of her well-used pussy with the gentle smooth warmth of her fingertips, and thought of how he'd felt in those last few seconds, thrusting hard and frantic into her and...

Oh, lordy, KJ, what have you done...

Of course, she knew what she had done. If she inhaled carefully, she could still smell him. And if she closed her eyes she could see his face -- those green eyes burning with barely stifled lust. She could hear herself begging -- pleading for the jaguar to fuck her, while her husband, her fucking husband was locked up in county a quarter-mile away.

Where was her purse? Discarded, on its side over by the bedroom door. She needed to find her cell phone, hope for a working signal, and... and what? Who could she talk to? "What were you thinking," she asked the dazed, slightly hungover dingo sprawled on her back in a stranger's apartment, and received no answer.

Confess. She would need to confess to Carl, who... might understand? Or he might not even care; it depended on how miserable he was feeling. But before she could do that, she would have to get him out of jail. And before she could do that, she would have to find the money for bail. And...

Before any of that, she would need to talk to Gabriel. He would be back soon. She would apologize for the night before. She would say that she had made a... a... there was that m-word again, and that one was tough. The days were getting warmer, after all. He might come back through the door with that devilish grin and his thick tail lashing and a t-shirt clinging snugly to his chest -- tight shorts accenting the bulge in his crotch. And then what would she do? It would be so easy to lay back and beg for him again, like a good dog...

No. Stop it.

And the dingo on the bed whimpered back that it had been so fucking long, and it was just once, and...

She shut her eyes, and tried to think about something, anything else. Sun, filtering through the blinds, had left a bright bar painted across the bed and she snuggled into it, letting it warm her fur and nudge her back to drowsiness. "One step at a time, girl," she told herself. Starting with that damned spotted cat and his damned gin and tonics and the way he'd grasped her when she tried to go back to the bar, making it so easy to surrender...

She dozed for a few minutes, until her sensitive ears caught the sound of the apartment door opening. She kept her eyes shut and pretended to be sleeping. He could make the first move. He would set himself down on the edge of the bed, that strong body of his weighing down the mattress, and reach out to touch her cheek, and she could open one eye and act slightly startled, all "what-happened-where-am-I-what-did-we-get-up-to" and it would be a blank slate.

Footfalls came closer to the threshold of the door. Then: "What the hell?"

The voice was not Gabriel's. And the accent was a little too familiar. She opened her eyes to find herself staring at another dingo -- taller than her, leaner. He was wearing heavy jeans, a thick shirt -- gave him a coarse, rough-edged look matched by the growled question.

KJ hastily tugged the sheet up and over her, and fumbled for words. "I -- who are you?"

"You first," the canine growled.

"K-KJ. MacRory. Where's Gabriel?"

Now the red-furred dog paused -- and chuckled. "So you're Gabe's, huh? Funny."

"D-do you live here, too?"

The other dingo stepped closer, up to the edge of the bed. "'F course I fucking live here. I'm his husband."

Her ears went all the way back. "I -- what?"

"He didn't tell you he was married?"

She swallowed. "Well he had, just..." Just that that was not what she had imagined.

"Guess he's got a type," the dog grinned. He was close enough that she could smell him, oil and ozone in his clothes and the thick masculine scent in his fur. "Alright, let's see what you look like..."

"No?"

"Means take the fucking blanket off," he growled, and tore it from her roughly. She felt eyes, hungry, predatory, staring at her vulnerable frame. "Not too bad..."

She scooted up to her knees, backing up towards the edge of the bed and away from him. Ears back. A long moment, shivering, tense. She felt a thin trickle of the jaguar's seed spill from her, smearing into her fur. Couldn't help glancing down, and the other dingo barked a laugh.

"Aw, he did you good, didn't he?" The man's voice was dark; husky. "Well, can't have that."

She couldn't back away any further, and he dragged his paw up her thigh, tugging the fur the wrong way until his rough fingers found her lips, slippery with Gabriel's cum. She straightened up, bought herself a fraction of a second. "Look, I'm just going to go, okay..."

"In a bit," the dingo grinned a feral, wolfish grin. His fingers pushed up and into her and she whined, getting up on her knees. "That fuckin' cat. Mmf. But he ain't here, so I guess you'll do."

His other paw was going for his belt, and she took the opportunity to duck beneath his arm. She was off the bed, two steps from it when he growled and grabbed her tail -- fixing the stocky dog in place with no effort at all, until his other coarse paw found her chest and he pulled her back into his body.

"Where are you going?" He grasped her breast roughly, palming it, grunting the question into the smaller dingo's ear. "I said you'll do."

"You're married," she reminded him urgently. "So'm I. Please -- I -- I've already made one --"

"Says who?" He walked her the couple feet back to the bed, his arm locked around her belly. Sharp pain as he bit down on her ear. "Seems you liked lettin' my husband have you. Married. 'Nother dingo?"

She shook her head. "No."

KJ heard his zipper open, and the heavy sound of his jeans falling to the ground. She felt his swelling heat push between the cheeks of her rump and a harsh, low growl from the man behind her. "Mm. Be good to get a nice purebred litter fucked into ya, then, won't it?"

She tried to get away and could only manage a few inches, not enough to get away from the hard warmth sliding between her heavy tail and the firm globes of her rump. "Please -- let me go -- please -- Gabriel!" she shouted, before she felt his paw come up to her muzzle, forcing it shut.

"Ain't here. But go on," his warm breath filled her ear. "Scream. Make it better for both of us."

Her eyes went wide and she jerked in the second before he shoved her down and onto the bed -- flat, forcing the breath from her. Before she could get up he was on her, heavy and forceful and pressing down against her spine. She struggled beneath him, her paws tugging helplessly at the sheets even as she felt him push her legs apart with his own.

His tip stabbed at her, slipping along her lips still stained and wet with jaguar seed. KJ bucked and her feet scrabbled for purchase on the mattress. The dog growled in delight. "Fight back, you slutty little bitch," he nipped at her ear again, as his paw hauled her hips up a bit for a better angle. "You say you don't want it" -- he was panting already, ragged, hot breath flooding her. "Fucking -- do something."

"Please," she begged him, half-sobbing it as his cock pushed up against her again. His hips bucked. "No!" And then he settled into place and one sharp thrust sunk him halfway inside, a wet squelch greeting him as his cock plunged into the mess Gabriel had left. She tried to scream and he shoved her muzzle down hard, into the pillow, muffling her desperate pleas when he pulled back and thrust again, hilting himself, mashing his strong hips up into hers.

"Fuck." The dingo gasped it gleefully as he held himself there, nudging forward every time her frantic squirming tugged a half-inch of his slick, hard cock from her. "See what Gabe wanted. Yer cunt's fuckin' perfect..."

"No," she whimpered again into the pillow, and if she focused on that she could almost ignore the wet, sucking grasp of her velvety walls when he pulled his prick from her, or the little helpless shock that kicked through her hips when he bucked, hard, and forced her full of dingo cock again. And again. And again.

Then he pulled back almost all the way and she arched her back and almost got up from beneath him before he kicked at her knee to bring her back down again and thrust home with a grunting growl. "Stay put, bitch," he snapped into her ear. Another thrust, and she was becoming acutely aware that she had a good six or seven inches of canine meat buried inside her. Different from Gabriel's. Smooth. Hot. Fitting her perfectly.

And it wasn't like she could've fought back. Not against him, with his thick muscles and the way the weight of his chest forced her flat so she couldn't move, could barely even breath. Just -- surrender. Let him pump that veiny, tapered cock up inside her, her pussy parting welcoming and wet and tight around him as he fucked her into the bed. Like even Gabriel hadn't. Like only a dog could. Like Carl might've except --

The sixth or seventh time he'd rammed his thick length into the helpless dingo bitch the man bit down on her ear again, coming to a halt. "Where'd that fight go, huh?" Her eyes were shut tight and her teeth were clenched but she was quivering under him and he laughed. "That's my girl..." A slower thrust followed; he worked his hips back and forth and she felt that thickening bulge in his cock slipping past her lips and into her.

Spreading her just like she was meant to be spread. Filling her with that swelling ball of canine cockmeat as he tried to get himself stuck. Held for a second, groaning as he pulled away, spilling a wet gush of feline seed out of her to pool between her thighs on the sheets. Fucking Gabriel's cum from the jaguar's erstwhile lover; plunging his knot in sharply with a wet slurp as she took him. A quiver ran through the dingo bitch's body. And --

"What was that?" the male dog panted; she could hear his leering grin.

She'd moaned when he filled her that time. She tried to choke the sound back when he pushed in again and she felt the tip of his canine length prodding into her, curving back to the swollen knot her lips clamped down around instinctively. And she couldn't. It was what Carl should've been, the big mutt, taking charge, claiming her -- except there she was, pinned beneath another dog whose name she didn't even know. Needing him back inside her when he pulled away. Shuddering with the carnal pleasure of having him crammed up inside her squeezing, grasping pussy.

"Thought you needed that," he nipped her ear. "Gabe's good but ain't -- " another thrust and this time it was hard for him to pull back, he was so fucking big and she was clenching around him, trying to trap his cock. "Ain't fuckin' nothin' like gettin' some bitch knotted. Is there? Is there?" he repeated more sharply, as another grinding thrust slipped him with an aching reluctance into the dingo's tight cunt.

"No," she found herself whimpering again, except this time it was an agreement, and his answering thrust was deeper.

Firmer. She knew even as he shifted his hips back and forth that he was tying her. She gasped at the lovely friction of his knot working inside her walls. "Mm. Gettin' close now. You want it, slut?" He nudged up into her rear and she could feel his thighs trembling. Her pleasure was rising with him. KJ whined as he made another firm, deliberate buck -- his balls drawing up tight, right up against her lips so she could feel them hot and heavy and full of the canine's seed.

The pillow was wet with her saliva, panted in her useless protests earlier, and she groaned her answer into it. Another hitching thrust sent a jolt of ecstasy white-hot and aching through her hips as the bulb of his knot teased her clit from inside, working her into her peak just like biology had intended it.

One last time he lunged into her, hilting deep, hips flush to her rump. She felt his warm sac clench and his cock flexed and jumped in the tight grip of her pussy. He grunted hoarsely and a strong spurt of something hot and thick and helplessly, indescribably satisfying flooded into her. A second powerful throb -- a sharper, stronger gush of heat. "There you go, bitch," he slurred into her ear. "You feel that, doncha?" Another warm, spattering rope, and another, joining what was left of Gabriel's essence, mixing and spreading deeper inside.

"Yes..."

"Feel me fuckin' my pups into that tight little cunt of yers..."

"Y-yes..." and she couldn't help the way it sounded so... pleading.

Another grunt, and he pushed into her again -- sinking deeper so the next spurt had nowhere to go but straight into her womb. There was so much of it, and as the dingo pumped his bitch full of seed she knew that's what it should've been like all along with Carl -- his hoarse growling in her ear, his balls twitching up against her lips, his load claiming her and then --

Then she was drawn up tight and shuddering as the inexorable giddiness of release wrapped her up in its embrace. She knew she was wailing into the sodden pillow, knew she was humping back into the male dingo's hips as he flooded her and she squeezed him for every last fertile pulse but christ there was nothing she could do except ride it, bucking on his trapped cock as he growled and clutched at her body possessively.

When she could think straight again he had fallen onto her back. Fighting for breath, every exhalation an uneven growl. His length still throbbed gently, and she thought she could feel him still draining himself into her. Hot. Deep. She mumbled into the pillow and he bit her shoulder.

"Feelin' better now?"

"H-how... how could you," she whispered. "How could you have done that..."

The dog snorted. "What a difference a minute makes, huh? Didn't seem so fuckin' mouthy when you were cumming on me back there, did you?"

"I didn't want... that..."

"Of course you did." He shifted to get a little more comfortable, and his tightly wedged knot twisted a few degrees so that she had to bite back another moan and it didn't matter, because he felt her sharp inhalation of breath anyway and he barked an ugly laugh. "Right."

Every time he moved she could feel his still-hard cock nudge at her, sloshing through the seed he'd pumped into her. It was an unmistakable reminder of what he'd done. What she had wanted him to do then except now... now... "You could've pulled out..."

"Why? Miss out on gettin' you knotted? Fuck. Don't think so..." He nipped her ear. "Besides, you're on the Pill. No?"

"No..."

"Shoulda been more careful, then."

She shut her eyes tightly, and hoped that she felt like crying. It wouldn't do to admit anything else. Admit that she hadn't been tied since Carl had roused himself to something like passion, or at least husbandly duties, on their anniversary three years before. Anyway the trip to Newport was not supposed to have ended this way. Somewhere she'd... well. She had made a... well. A one-of-those-things, and now she didn't know where. "'More careful?' I'm a married woman and I... I..."

"And you, little miss married woman, picked up my husband at a bar, and let him fuck you like the slut you are, and thought that was good enough," the dog snickered "And it wasn't. Deal. Unless you want to go again?" He gave a pointed jab of his hips and her breath caught. "'Case you didn't get bred proper the first time?"

"I don't want your pups."

"That ain't my problem. You liked it anyway."

Silence.

"Well? I need to fuck some more sense into you?"

"No."

"Then..."

Her ears went back. "Yes, I... I liked it. A little."

The dingo's knot hadn't really shrunk so far, but he tugged himself out anyway -- a moment of pressure that built until suddenly it was replaced by an aching emptiness and the feeling of his sticky seed drooling wetly from her stretched folds. The dog pushed himself into a seated position, looked over his work, and grinned. "Not bad. Get cleaned up and gone."

Even with a shower, though, she would reek of the other dingo. Carl was a bit of a fuck-up, and a drunk, but he was still a dog, with a dog's nose. He would know. Everyone would know. He padded off to the kitchen, and she heard a coffee maker starting, and there she was hugging her knees and trying to figure out what had happened.

Gabriel did not return, and ten minutes later the male poked his head back into the bedroom. "You hard of hearing? Get the fuck out. I got a husband to make breakfast for. Gonna have to come back later if you want it again."

Wordlessly, she pulled her skirt back on, and buttoned up her blouse. The buttons were one off, and the blouse was off-kilter, but she couldn't muster the energy to redo it. KJ stumbled out into the morning chill, and with every step she took she felt more of the dingo's seed spilling from her. Not that she'd be able to get it all out, even if she walked for a thousand miles, all the way down to San Francisco.

Hell, all the way back to Australia.

Back in the pick-up truck, with the morning dew blurring the windshield and the cab all cold and clammy, she told herself she needed to keep going. Take the first step, and then she could face the rest of her life. Probably. Carl needed her, after all. He was still in jail, not a hundred yards away. Probably had woken up. He didn't know what she'd done, yet. She had time to think.

Maybe nothing would happen. It was her first time with another canine and no protection and nobody got pregnant on their first time. And nobody ought to have gotten pregnant... that way. Which she hadn't enjoyed. Right? Either way. Go to the pharmacy, get a testing kit. Go home. Shower. Keep showering. Shower until she could look at herself in the mirror and decide it had been a... well...

And what if --

KJ turned the key, willing the truck to life, and pulled from the parking lot without looking back.