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Thursday night was a night like any other for Beau, policeman, German shepherd, somewhere between 5'10 and six foot even, firm build and amber-eyed. He got home from his scheduled patrol, though kept his phone on him in case he ended up getting called out again like last week; he tossed his keys into the bowl by the front door, kicked off his shoes, slung off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, slumped down in front of the TV; and then he relaxed. The finale for his favorite show premiered tonight, and he absolutely would not miss it, especially since he had to watch the first episode of this final season while on the highway chasing down someone who had robbed a gas station.

Today had been an exceedingly standard day. Hours of patrol; a public intoxication; a public indecency; a few more hours of patrol; a loiterer... the most exciting part was the head-on collision between two drunk drivers, both who stumbled out of their respective vehicles totally unharmed and then proceeded to slur their speech at one another. Neither of them resisted when they got cuffed, though that particular intersection did get closed down for an hour and a half.

A storm lingered in the forecast for later in the night, but hopefully that wouldn't knock out his TV or cut the electricity. Hell, he even ignored three calls (none of which were from the station; two from his sister and one from a number he didn't recognize) because he didn't feel like pausing the program. Thankfully he got through it without an interruption though, and then, feeling satisfied, went into the kitchen to find something to eat. Leftover soup from last night, a little bag of pastrami - he tried not to eat too much of that, since the pepper made his sensitive canine nose sting - next to an apple that had been sitting there for who knows how long, a bottle of something that he'd picked up from a gas station earlier in the week. 'A New You in a bottle!' it said; 'Drink one serving and your life will completely change! You'll never want to go back!' it said. Then, at the bottom in small white text: Effects begin to appear in at least three hours, and wear off in ten to twelve hours.

Probably some new energy drink or something. Really, Beau had only bought it because the guy selling it seemed so eager to get rid of it, and for a real low price, too. Tomorrow he'd have to up two hours early, so might as well save it for then - he reached past it and lifted the soup out of the fridge, sniffing it to see if the green stuff floating on the surface was mold or not. It disappeared once he'd heated it up, though, so it was probably alright. Probably.

After eating, he read the newspaper - the comics were his favorite section - and watched some more TV, then headed to bed. Normally he'd have stayed up another two or three hours, but again, he had to get up early; to better ease him into the sleep that usually evaded him for a good time he rubbed one out, fresh memories from when two of his friends came over two nights ago aiding him a good bit. So then, heartbeat slightly elevated and breath coming and going in little huffs, he rolled over, pulled the blankets up, and dropped off to sleep within ten minutes.

In the morning he woke up twice before his alarm, the second one all of two minutes before. Grumbling, he made his way into the kitchen, still naked and with both his fur and teeth unbrushed. That energy drink might as well be put to use now or never - shame it took so long to take effect, though. Must be why that guy wanted to get rid of it so quickly, he thought while downing the bottle in a single go. Two servings per bottle, so I should get twice the energy, right? It had an odd... savory taste to it, like something he'd more expect to come out of a rare steak when squished with a fork than an energy drink. Oh well - the taste only hit him after he'd finished his first swallow, and there was no point stopping there.

He'd originally planned to eat breakfast, but after drinking that atrocity, his appetite fled him. So, instead, he went back to get ready for the day, grabbed the apple from the fridge for later (though he know that it'd end right back up where he'd gotten it from like it invariably did), and headed out. At this time of morning all the roads were fairly empty, thank God. After running by the station to prove that, yes, he'd gotten up, and that, yes, he'd gone out on his patrol, he wouldn't have to check back in until midday. Until then, he just had to continue on his route, going over the same few miles again and again and again, stopping at certain corners and streets each time.

Three people ended up speeding, which put a little excitement into the day, but only managed to pass maybe ten minutes each - though Beau did enjoy arguing with the third one, who tried explaining first that "my mother is sick", and then "my mother just died", even though he had no old stoat lady with him and he hadn't checked his phone in the interval between these excuses; then, they changed to the classic "I didn't know the speed limit" and "I'm unfamiliar with the area", and then finally, "uhh", though never an apology or admission that - hey - he's wrong. Beau let him go with a warning and a stern growl, which seemed to put the impatient stoat in his place.

When turning from 22nd onto Maarloeve Street for the six billionth time, a heavy yawn coursed through his body and caused his paws to shake with the force of it. "It's been three hours and twenty minutes..." he growled, eyeing the dashboard clock. "That drink had better get workin' soon..."

Right after he said this, though, a sharp pain rippled through his stomach and forced him to pull over a moment later because it wasn't letting up. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten that soup last night... with a grumble he stepped out of the car and went over to the fence he'd parked in front of, a tall, thick soundproof thing to separate this four-lane road from the residential area behind it. Hopefully nobody would pay it a second thought if he were to puke all over this fence - he'd seen drunks do it several times before, since just back off 22nd Street were two bars and a liquor store. It sure felt like he was going to vomit, too: beneath the wrenching pain pulsed a strong nausea, too, like his intestines were both being dragged across a cheese grater and pounded with brass knuckles at the same time...

He could feel it coming. His eyes squeezed shut, the pressure in the back of his throat strengthened, all thoughts left his mind save for fuck, fuck, fuck, his entire body tensed...

...and then, just as suddenly as it had started did it stop, leaving a rather odd feeling in his gut and a pleasant relief flowing through his body. He waited for a moment in case that... whatever-it-was returned, and then lifted his head and headed back around to his car - but slowed to a stop when he felt that he was seeing things from a different perspective than before. He felt... shorter, as if that sharp pain was him losing three feet of his height.

That couldn't be right. He would check to see in the cruiser's mirror, but he couldn't reach it - so, instead, he stepped back a little, stood up on his toes... and then put out his two front legs against the bottom rim of the mirror. The muzzle of a feral German shepherd looked back at him, different in shape and proportion than what he was used to seeing when he looked in a mirror, far more similar to the other feral dogs the police force used than the policemen themselves.

Hell, that also couldn't be right. He didn't feel too different, other than the whole height thing, and how his tongue seemed to be considerably longer, broader, and wetter, and how his ears constantly flicked around at the slightest instance of any new noise, and how his tail was suddenly a bit harder to control, and how... how...

...how he had this... urge, this feeling like right after he saw something that turned him on or got a whiff of something (or someone) that he'd like to promptly bury his tongue in. It was that sort of quiet but nagging arousal, that kind of excitement... is this what it's always like to be a feral dog? He lifted his head and looked around, sniffing the air, feeling the wind in his whiskers, waiting until that electric buzz pulsing through his body dissipated... seemed like if it was going to, it wouldn't anytime soon. He really did have to get back to the station, but... guess that would have to wait for ten to twelve hours for this thing to wear off.

However, he did drink both servings of it. Befuddled, Beau sat down on his hind legs, licked his chops, dropped his head...

...and got an eyeful of plump black-furred shepherd balls beneath a just-as-plump cinnamon sheath, out of which protruded about an inch of thick reddish-pink veined flesh. So that's why he felt vaguely aroused. He tilted his head, watching how what was revealed of his cock rose and fell, rose and fell with his breaths - which had become shallower than he was used to - and then twitched slowly with his heartbeat. At this angle, if he leaned in a little closer, he could... sort of smell himself, and if anything, that just turned him on a little more...

Not only that, but it was phenomenally easier to lean in, lift his leg, and press his own nose against his sheath (not that he'd tried when he wasn't a feral dog, of course). He breathed in, smelling the familiar combination of dog, musky fur, arousal... and then something unfamiliar, a certain spice that he'd never really smelled before. Perhaps that spice was unique to ferals, which would explain why he'd never tasted it before, but... again, that only piqued his interest a little more. He lapped his tongue out, dragged it up along the soft fur of his sheath, did it again and again; then he moved down to his sack, warm and pulsing, and did the same thing - which resulted in his cock slipping a little further out of his sheath, against the bottom of his chin. Odd sensation to lick and feel the results of his lick at the same time, but... it was a pleasant one. He lifted his head up a little, sniffed at the tapered end of his length, licked there, too.

Yup. That was a cock. Sharp, rich, salty, musky taste - yup, that was a dog's cock. Sadly, though, licking his own shaft as a feral dog was less rewarding than he'd both hoped and expected it to - and not only that, but he was starting to feel a little self-conscious doing this beside a road that'd be as busy as a highway in maybe twenty minutes - so he stopped, stood back up, and then on a whim headed down one of the residential roads. This city had always had a problem with overflowing pet shelters; he'd undoubtedly run into at least one bitch willing to take his knot by the time the two servings of his 'energy drink' wore off. That was something he'd never been able to do in good conscience while... well, when he wasn't feral, too. It was almost like being invisible: he could finally do all the things that he couldn't before.

One bad part, though, was that it felt like he walked much slower than when he used only two legs to walk, though that was probably mostly due to the change in perspective. He could smell everything, though: freshly cut grass two houses down, flowers three houses behind him, the scent of sprinkler-wet concrete, the distant tang of city air and smoke and electricity. And - then there was something else again, something from off in the distance, over the next hill...

An otter came into view, smallish in stature, slim; he wore a t-shirt, blue jeans, and simple laceless slip-on shoes. Headphones on and phone in one paw, at first it seemed like he'd walk right past Beau without noticing the German shepherd; however, just as he came close enough so that the dog could smell that he'd worn that same pair of pants for the past few days, the otter's eyes lit up and he tugged his headphones off.

"Oh! Hey there, puppy!"

Beau was a full-grown dog. As a feral, his shoulders came even with the button of the otter's jeans.

"Where's your person? ...Oh, wait, you don't have a collar on... or anything. Where are you from? You a stray?"

Beau barked!

"Ah. Yes. I see. I was gonna run to the store so I could get some milk for my early-morning milkshake, but... can't leave you just wandering around out here, can I? Here, let's go back to my house and I'll get you all fed and stuff, and then I'll ask around if anyone lost a dog. Okay?"

Even though he was entirely a dog now, he could still understand every word spoken - but the otter didn't know that, judging by his surprised expression when he turned back to where he'd come from, walked a few feet, and then looked behind to see Beau right with him. He seemed nice enough; perhaps he had a dog back at home that Beau could satisfy this want of his with. Not like that would be peculiar behavior for the average feral dog, right? Hell, he even considered hopping up on this otter's back and mounting him, but... the thought of rough denim stopped him. His sense of touch had been heightened as well in that area (or maybe his tongue was just a lot nicer than he thought it was), so even the thought of that almost knocked the idea of mounting anything out of his mind.

Almost. Still he followed this otter who occasionally looked back at him, not doing so obediently because he was told to, but rather because he wanted to. If there was no bitch waiting back at the house, then he would figure out a way to hump this otter - maybe after he got out of the shower, or when he climbed into bed. Beau wanted to fuck something while he was like this.

Thankfully, it looked like he wouldn't have to wait long. The otter turned left onto another street and then immediately left again, up the sidewalk leading to the front door of the house on the corner. It looked like a nice little place, two stories, roomy enough from the outside. It took a minute longer for the otter to fish his key out of his pocket, unlock the door, and then open it, but once he had, Beau pushed past his leg and into the house. It was cool inside, and as he lifted his nose into the air to figure out who all lived here... he found the scent of the place to be equal parts otter and something else, another dog, but not a feral. His ears actually drooped a little, though he almost instantly forgot about that when the otter disappeared into the other room with the words "come here and I'll feed you" on his tongue. A possibly bad bowl of soup and two servings of some strange drink where all that Beau had had to eat within the last... twelve hours, give or take; even as a feral dog, he was hungry.

However, this appetite left him when a bowl (red in color with the name 'Frida' across the front in darker burgundy) filled with a small mound of sharp-smelling dog food was placed in front of him, while the otter went off into another part of the house with his phone again in his paw. Though Beau was now a feral dog, though he had licked his own cock on the side of a large street, though he did swear to himself that he'd bone either a bitch or an otter before this wore off, he wouldn't stoop to the level of eating dog food from a dog bowl. That's something his friend who was into BDSM would probably enjoy doing.

He left it alone and followed the otter into the other room, where he now sat back on the couch with his legs a considerable distance apart and his phone held to his ear. Could he make it any easier? Beau padded up, tilted his head, watched the otter's face - received a small pat on the head - and then stepped forward again to press his nose into the front of the otter's jeans, rich with his scent and his warmth. Thanks to his now much more sensitive nose, the shepherd would probably be able to smell that scent for quite a period of time even after the otter halfheartedly pushed him away; it wasn't necessarily an unpleasant scent, though, as it was enough to make him gently hump the air after he got the first whiff...

This action, for some reason, caught the attention of the otter; his paused in whatever he was saying to the person on the other end of the line and peered down around Beau's front legs. Then: "...Yeah, hey, I'll have to call you back, alright? Uh... something came up..." and he hung up and placed the phone to the side.

"Here..." He slid off of the couch and onto the floor. Beau took a step back to allow him room. "Lemme take a look at you, boy... it's not often you see an... intact stray..."

Beau barked, trying to get across that he didn't like being called 'boy'. Not only that, but he also wasn't a stray...

However, all of a sudden there was a warm otter paw lightly squeezing his sack, rubbing and pressing in all the right places to make one of his rear legs inadvertently lift up. "Wow..." purred the otter, leaning his face in close - Beau could feel the warmth from his breath in the fur of his side. "Just look at you..." That paw moved up to his sheath, where it continued its gentle squeezing and rubbing. Beau humped forward into it, feeling his cock thicken and slide further out as his arousal grew - this wasn't the first time this otter had pleasured a dog. "You're a big one, aren't you? Here, why don't... you..."

The otter shifted both of his paws to Beau's side and pushed. At first the dog didn't know what to do, but then - upon seeing that certain look in his eyes and the little tent in his pants - he obliged and rolled over onto his side and then back, showing his cream belly and dark-furred sheath and sack to this nice otter. In return he got a good, firm belly rub, which made his leg twitch, and then both paws returned to their places and continued giving him the attention that he'd been seeking: one rubbed at his sheath, moving it slowly up and down along his growing cock, while the other massaged his sack and shared in the warmth of that part of the shepherd's body.

Sure, this position of being on his back was a little uncomfortable, but... well, he could easily get over that, and then quickly did get over it when the otter leaned in a little closer, lapped his tongue out against the tapered end of the dog's cock, and then dove down on it in one smooth motion. Beau hadn't even hardened up all the way, though he was damn close; as the otter came back up and swirled his tongue around the softer end, he squeezed the area of the dog's sheath just behind where his knot had appeared beneath the soft skin. Now he focused only one paw on him, using the other to keep himself up as he bobbed slowly up and down along the dog's length, keeping him well-slickened with his tongue.

He seemed to be right about Beau being 'a big one': since the dog had never gotten a full look at himself while a feral, he just went off how the otter could only go down so far on him before he felt him poke at the back of his host's throat, a warm, moist pressure that made him shoot out a little jet of pre each time it happened. This otter drank down that pre eagerly, too, sometimes allowing it to gather in his muzzle so that it coated his tongue with something slicker and warmer than his own saliva, sometimes swallowing it straight down as soon as it touched his tongue. Either way... this guy was a bit of a freak, going down on a feral dog that he'd found wandering his street maybe three minutes before.

Beau wasn't complaining. He couldn't even if he'd tried - he was a dog. He could bark, however.

Just as he'd started to hump upwards into the otter's muzzle in a steadier rhythm, the pleasant warmth of his mouth retreated off his length and was replaced with a stroking paw. Beau looked up through half-lidded eyes: with his other paw, the otter was fervidly unbuttoning and unzipping his own pants, keeping his eyes locked on the dog's veined member. Beau had to look at it for a moment, too, feeling a little surprised that the otter could hold it up in one paw given its absolute size and meatiness.

...It wasn't that large; maybe only the thickness of the otter's rudder tail two inches from the end, or with half an inch in diameter less than his wrist. Still, though, when the otter positioned himself over the dog, still on his back, and started to settle back onto him... a light shudder rippled through him, and it looked like he had to pace himself against his own want. After a few moments, though, the feeling of tight tailhole slowly sinking down onto his revealed length made Beau lean his head back again and close his eyes, feeling the otter's pulse and heat enclosing a few inches of his length, then part of an inch more, a whole inch, an inch and a half...

When he pressed down onto Beau's knot, still hidden by his sheath, he moved both of his paws to the dog's chest. "Ooh..." he breathed, leaning forward a little and churning his hips. Beau let his tongue flop out of his muzzle and to the side. "Feel the muscles on you, boy... you must see a lot of action, huh?..." With his paws there, he drew himself up a little, pressed back down, repeated the action. Whether it was the otter's saliva or his own pre that provided the slick lube for this, Beau couldn't tell... and, really, he didn't care. This otter didn't care, either, judging by how he'd only tugged his pants down enough to allow himself to sit back on the dog's length and bring his own hard cock out into the open air, which throbbed in front of him and drooled pre of his own as he slowly rode and became accustomed to the shepherd's girth.

That other dog Beau had smelled when he first came in... what would he do if he came downstairs to find this otter - his friend, his roommate, his boyfriend? - pleasuring himself on the thick cock of a stray feral? That was certainly something to think about, though as the otter began to ride him faster and harder, most thoughts of all kinds escaped Beau's mind. The otter had started to pant, too, though he didn't drool quite like the dog did. In a quick and slight change of position, he reached his paws back and lay them against carpet behind himself, bracing his legs against the ground on either side of Beau to lift his hips up and then press them back down onto the dog, again and again, squeezing out another upward thrust or burst of pre or gentle breath from the feral dog.

Then, just as unexpectedly as he'd gone down on him, the otter lifted himself up, up off of Beau, then turned around and waited on his paws and knees, tail raised, eyes focused back at the dog. It took him a moment to wiggle around onto his belly and then to stand up, and he could feel himself spurting out onto the carpet and the back of the otter's leg and rump before he lifted himself up onto him, paws over his shoulders and muzzle in his neck. The otter reached a paw back to help right him in his entry, and then - and then he let Beau take over, his breaths and moans sounding out each time the dog thrust into him, faster and harder than the otter had done when he was riding him.

It was an unfamiliar scent in his nose, that of this otter... Beau bred him with his maw open and his eyes closed like the bitch he'd expected to spend some time with today, rear legs firmly on the ground and aiding in the fast churning of his hips. The otter pushed back against him each time he thrust in, at the same time time panting and pawing off; his body lurched forward and back, forward and back with the force of the dog's movements; he clenched tightly around Beau, which both brought him closer to the edge and made him fuck him a bit faster, a bit harder...

It all happened fairly quickly: Beau, panting, saliva dripping from the tongue that lolled out of his mouth, bucked into the otter a few more times as the pleasure of orgasm washed over him and he spurted his cum into this nice host of his in a series of little bursts - then, it didn't take long for the otter himself to cum, too, as he pressed back, clenched even tighter, swallowed, arched his back, suddenly bucked down towards the carpet with a few breathy moans escaping his lips. Beau had altogether stopped thrusting and now just remained beneath his tail, relishing the languorous post-climax pleasure and the heat of the otter's rump, even though there hadn't been enough time in this quick romp to knot him; the otter took a moment to catch his breath, apparently waiting for the dog to pull out of him. It took a while, and when he finally did, a good bit of the shepherd's load - being a feral, it was a bit less viscous than what he was used to seeing - dripped out of him and into the tan carpet.

"...God..." After another moment, the otter stood up on wobbly legs and tugged his pants back up. "I'll have to get cleaned up... you." He reached down to pat Beau between the ears. "You're a good dog. Big one, too - I bet you need your exercise. We can play again later, alright? Would you like that?"

Beau barked and wagged.

~ ~ ~

It took a bit longer than he'd expected, but eventually the drink did wear off. It was in the middle of the night, with the otter fast asleep after swallowing several mouthfuls of shepherd while the dog himself snoozed on the carpet by the foot of the bed. He had an odd dream of something or other, and then was awoken by a sharp pain, a twisting nausea - and then he found himself, no longer a feral, sitting on the floor, naked but otherwise exactly the same as just before the change had first taken effect (though, now, his balls were considerably lighter, after being emptied four times today alone).

He already knew that this otter would have no clothing in his size, so he carefully crept into the adjacent bedroom - whoever that dog he'd smelled was hadn't yet gotten home - and pulled on a pair of pants and a white shirt. I can return these later, he figured, and was just about to leave when a thought came into his head, causing him to take a detour into the kitchen to find a piece of paper. Then, a minute later, he placed a note on the pillow beside the otter - his phone number, followed by that dog you found and proceeded to fuck wildly - and then left. It'd take a bit of explanation, but... hell. He had fun.

He just hoped that his cruiser was where he'd left it, because he couldn't remember ever locking it.