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Obedience Schooled

Chapter 2

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Commissioned by Guri

Author's Note: This takes place in a "null time" period during the events of the "Human Bitches" series. It should be considered canon, but should not have any effects on the ongoing "Human Bitches" series.

"So this is the place," said Savannah, standing next to her sisters, regarding the large front door of Spike's place, hands on her hips, her expression one of smug contempt. "What a dump."

Of course, the aristocratic blonde's statement was, in a very literal sense, true: Spike did indeed run a large and fairly prosperous junkyard as his primary source of income; training and breeding was only a sideline for him, albeit a profitable one. Phoebe's expression had started out as uncertain, even a little fearful, but swiftly mirrored that of her eldest sister as she leeched off of Savannah's arrogance, mistaking it for confidence. A common teenaged mistake. For her part, Zoey wasn't reassured at all, even seeing the apparent confidence of her blonde sisters, older and younger. All the same, she moved a little closer to her sisters, even when the smell of Phoebe's overabundant perfume tickled her nose. Their closeness gave her a little bit of courage, even if it was only the false sort of courage, easily vanished the moment the group to which one attached oneself was disbanded.

Taking the lead, as usual, Savannah strode up to the front gate, and hit the button. A buzz could be heard from somewhere off in the compound beyond the gate, and all three girls looked up as the camera positioned at the top of the gate whirred softly, focusing on the three girls more completely. Zoey felt her heart pounding, wondering what the future held. Would she like this Spike person? Would he like her? What would being treated like a morph be like?

Soon a figure could be seen through the slats of the front gate, broad-shouldered and commanding in his gait. As soon as she heard the smaller door to the side of the gate click unlocked, Zoey knew that she was about to get all her questions answered. Even bracing herself for whatever might come through that gate, however, wasn't nearly enough to keep Zoey - and Savannah and Phoebe as well - from jumping in sudden fright as a ghostly white, red-eyed canid head thrust itself out to glare at them.

"You're the Demol girls, right?" asked the canomorph, a rough-featured pitbull by the look of his face. His upper body, all that the girls could see of him right them, was thickly muscled, but not musclebound, obviously carefully sculpted for both speed and agility as well as strength. A host of scars, even more ghostly white than his albino fur, were clearly visible all over his chest and arms and belly and...well, everywhere, as far as Zoey could tell. At least the places where he wasn't tattooed with weird, tribal-looking designs in thick, stark, black ink. Lingering a little behind her more confident sisters, Zoey let her eyes stray over what little she could glimpse through the slats of the front gate, and suddenly blushed as she realized Spike (for who else could it be?) was either wearing the most abbreviated garment possible, or nothing at all.

"We're here for the 'training' you've been hired to perform," said Savannah, not even bothering to directly answer Spike's question as she regarded him with a superior air.

Looking the three girls outside his gate over, Spike had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Yep, he had his work cut out for him, all right. The tall girl in the front must be Savannah, the oldest. Shoulder-length blonde hair, with a figure like some old-time Roman statue - a figure that was clearly visible through her tight-fitting designer jeans and nicely filled-out t-shirt. There was some band or other on the shirt, one of the boy bands commonly popular among young women and girls. Not really surprising, of course: there weren't that many boys left to go around these days, let alone men. Her stance alone told him all he needed to know about Savannah, though her expression and scent filled him in on the rest. This was the leader of the pack, an alpha female used to getting her way at all times, and likely swift to wrath when she was thwarted...which was probably seldom. Savannah didn't take orders from anyone, and probably never had since she could talk. With poise and confidence, she faced the world, secure in the knowledge that she deserved to rule, and would do a better job at it than just about anyone else.

Next to Savannah, though just slightly behind the older, taller girl, was Phoebe, the baby of the family - everyone's little princess. Whisking his eyes over her almost Asian-featured, elfin face, then down her waist-length hair, Spike took in her perfectly-kept school uniform, the uniform of an especially snobby, elite private school. He also took in the little details that told him about the uniform's wearer, like the top few buttons being undone, just enough to show off a bit of budding cleavage, or the skirt that was obviously quite a bit less than regulation length. Urgh, and that smell! The girl must have bathed in pheromone-heavy perfume every morning for most of her pubescent life! Obviously, Phoebe was everyone's little princess. Like Savannah, she was beautiful, and she knew it. Unlike Savannah, Phoebe seemed to have an innate understanding of how powerful a weapon sex could be in a girl's arsenal. Spike guessed that her school probably had a lot of male teachers - a grand rarity in these post-Whyker times, and a sure sign of the prestige of her school - and Phoebe knew exactly how to twist those males into doing whatever she pleased, flirting and teasing just enough, without ever taking that dangerous step into the adult world of sex. Actually having sex with a teacher, naturally, would change the relationship, putting Phoebe a little in the power of her partners. Considering her prideful look, as well as the slight undercurrent of unease he smelled beneath her too-heavy perfume, along with her youthful age, Spike doubted that Phoebe had the confidence needed to take that final step in any relationship. Hmm, and she was a bit too skinny for her body type...while Spike wasn't sure, a closer check of her scent would make it pretty clear if he was dealing with a case of anorexia or not.

And there in the back was Zoey. Slightly pudgy; brown roots showing through blonde-dyed hair; a uniform like her younger sister's, but loose-fitting, rather than tight like the clothes of the other siblings; and the way she lingered in the back, surreptitiously looking him over while using her sisters as cover. Spike's instincts immediately screamed at him that he was dealing with a natural submissive, and a shy one at that. Well, she'd need attention, obviously, but Spike almost heaved a sigh of relief: the submissive ones were the easiest to train. At least he'd have a leg up on this job...provided he could get the other two properly into line.

"All right," said Spike commandingly, and Zoey's eyes widened, as did those of her sisters, as Spike pulled the door open completely, and stepped out into their view. As Zoey had suspected, he was completely naked except for a toolbelt around his waist - unashamedly so, though Zoey didn't dare to stare very long at the...significant apparatus between the doglike male's legs. "There's a few ground rules you're gonna have to follow if I'm going to accept you into my training program. The first rule is: when I say you do something, you do it. No questions, no hesitation. I'll accept a little slowness to obey for the first few days, and I'm even willing to be reasonable if you think you can't carry out an order, but by the end of the week, I expect you to be on the bounce.

"Second rule: once you're in here, you don't leave until I believe you're ready to face the world as properly trained young ladies. There's no phone calls, no texting, no chatrooms or Internet, nothing. You don't get to have visitors, either, unless they plan on joining you in the program. Part of making this training work is total and complete isolation from distracting influences. You'll take your meals here, you'll get schooled here, you'll have your recreation here...though don't expect too much of that: I'm gonna work you, hard!

"Third and last rule: total submission. While you're on my property, I'm your master, and that means you not only do what I say when I give you commands, you also have to actively work to please me at all times. That means you show me respect, and part of showing me respect is following my ground rules. One of those rules," he paused, gesturing down his body with one hand, "is no clothes, except for a collar and a leash. I hate clothes: they get in the way of everything. They make it hard for me to tell if the physical training regime I put my trainees through is working. They let my trainees hide themselves behind the clothes, and pretend that they're something more than..." Spike paused, looking for the right word, "bitches. My bitches."

Those eyes...Zoey shuddered at the way those eyes raked over her, felt Savannah and Phoebe affected as well. What was it about this brutish, bestial male? Through his entire speech, none of the sisters had said a word. Not even Savannah, always the instigator, the rebel, the boss, had interrupted Spike as he spoke. His voice had a snarling, only barely-civilized feel to it, as though he were some sort of feral beast, a wild animal pretending to be a part of human society. He carried himself with confidence, but also a primal, predatory dominance, and Zoey felt as though, at any moment, this dog-headed man was going to...to pounce on her, to tear off her clothes and hold her down and laugh as she begged for mercy and do...things to her. Terrible things! Things that Zoey knew, no matter how much she might beg and plead and struggle and kick and pretend that he was forcing them onto her (and likely into her as well, based on what little Zoey's Freshman year sex ed classes had actually covered), she would dearly, desperately love, and crave for the rest of her life.

Zoey's panties were soaked.

Though she couldn't verify the state of her sisters' nether parts, Zoey didn't miss the flush in Savannah and Phoebe's cheeks, or especially the way the youngest Demol girl's legs trembled slightly, her eyes locked on Spike's hefty goody bag. Even Savannah seemed distracted, taken aback for a short while, until her brain was able to process the words Spike had just spoken. As those words clicked, their meaning coming clear, the tall, aristocratic blonde's eyes flashed and she took a step forward, lifting an accusing finger.

"You mean you plan on treating us like...like dogs?!" she demanded. "We're human, mutt, not pathetic morph bitches in heat, like the property you normally handle. We've got rights, and you haven't got the right to make us do anything."

Spike's shrug was easy, casual, and he smirked as he saw how his nonchalance infuriated Savannah even more.

"Suit yourself," he responded, stepping back slightly, making enough room for the girls to enter the junkyard if they so chose. Almost without thinking, taking the cue from his body language, Phoebe and Zoey found themselves entering the flat parking area at the front of the compound, their eyes wide as they looked around. It was actually a well-kept facility, not at all like the way junkyards were typically depicted. There was junk, of course, but it was metal stuff, mostly, not the wet and smelly stuff associated with garbage collection and dumps and landfills. And the junk there was collected into piles, well out of the way of the main thoroughfares. In fact, there was a pretty sizable amount of land that Spike owned, and a lot of it essentially untouched.

"What do you mean, suit myself?" Savannah asked in confusion, not following her sisters into the junkyard. "I've just told you that you haven't got the right to tell me anything. You certainly don't have the right to order me around, you ugly, flea-bitten mutt. Aren't you going to do anything?"

Spike grinned. It was not a nice expression at all. Looking at those sharp, pearly-white teeth, gleaming almost like metal themselves in the late afternoon sun, Zoey and Phoebe both couldn't repress a shudder. Neither could Savannah, though she visibly fought showing any weakness.

"Look, hot stuff," Spike spoke again, resting one hand on the pedestrian's door to the junkyard. "If you were a morph, once the papers were signed to hand you over to me, you'd be mine to do with as I pleased. It's a lucky thing that morphmales can't physically rape anyone - it's a scent thing, and if a female doesn't smell ready for sex, or worse yet, smells like she's in real distress of some kind, we can't perform, simple as that. Since you're human, though, I can't hold you here, not even with all the papers you and your mother signed. Honestly, I don't want to even try." He shrugged again. "You don't wanna play things my way, that's fine: you can get lost."

So saying, he shut the gate, then slipped a padlock into place, snapping it closed with a final-sounding click. Turning away from the gate, Spike left Savannah gaping on the other side.

"B-but, wait!" she called out, an edge of panic in her voice. "You can't just throw me out!"

"You're not in the program," Spike answered, his eyes now looking over Phobe and Zoey, making both girls' hearts skip a beat at the casual authority of his gaze. "You decided to opt out. I'll refund your mother as much as the contract you and her signed allow. Now scram. And as for you two," Spike locked gazes first with Zoey, then with Phoebe, going from tallest to shortest, until each girl lowered her eyes in turn, feeling themselves losing the brief struggle of wills that gaze entailed, "it's time to get started." He motioned with his muzzle, his expression firm, brooking no disobedience. "Get undressed, and put these on."

As he spoke, he pulled two slim, black leather collars out of a pouch on his toolbelt, and tossed them to the ground at each girl's feet.

"Wait!" Savannah called out from behind Spike, her hands gripping the slats of the gate. "Wait! You don't understand: I need to be in your training program!"

"Something about an inheritance, I know," Spike replied with a slight scowl, rolling his red eyes. "Look, that's your problem, not mine. You didn't want whatever rewards come from going through this program enough to follow some simple instructions, or at least enough to not mouth off at your instructor. If you don't follow my rules, you don't stay in the program, and that's the end of the discussion." His eyes turned onto the two girls still standing in front of him, their eyes torn between him and their sister, still visible through the slats of the front gate. "Don't wanna take off your clothes in public? Yeah, I can respect that, at least on your first day. Get those collars, and follow me: today, just 'cause I'm a softie, I'll let you undress inside my office. Don't expect to get your clothes back, though, until you're done with the program."

So saying, the bone white pitbull turned and started walking toward a sizable Quonset hut not far from the entrance. Instead of entering the Quonset, however, he turned and made his way to a double wide trailer on its side - apparently his office. Hesitating just a short while longer, both girls casting a final glance toward Savannah, who still stood in total shock on the other side of the front gate, her mouth gaping wide as she followed Spike with her eyes, Zoey and Phoebe snatched up the collars on the ground, then hurried to catch up with...well, if what he'd said was how it was going to actually be, then he was probably going to be their "master" for all the months they were in the program. The alternative was to end up where Savannah was now: disinherited, all those potential millions flushed down the drain in a single, fatal instant.

Entering the good-sized building, the sisters looked around. It was actually a nice place, all things considered. The furniture was obviously secondhand, but it was in good repair, and there wasn't any clutter or stray papers anywhere. There was a waiting area, with couches and chairs, all recently reupholstered, and a few tables with magazines and paperback books scattered about. The rest of the office was taken up with a genuine "office" area, with a desk, a big copy machine with printer, scanning, fax, and phone features, numerous filing cabinets, and an assortment of little plants. Real plants, all of them well-tended. Watering one of these plants, her short, fluffy tail wagging through the loop at the top of her business blue skirt, was a sandy-furred cocker spaniel femme. As Spike and the girls entered, she stopped her work and turned to smile at them, setting the watering can down on a nearby filing cabinet.

"Oh, hello," said the morph femme, straightening the front of her white blouse. "You must be...let's see, Zoey, and Phoebe Demol, right?" Getting a shy nod from the girls, the spaniel smiled more brightly, her tail wagging happily. "I'm glad to meet you. My name's Girl...but where's your older sister? Savannah?"

As she asked the question, Girl looked toward Spike, who shrugged at the questioning gaze.

"Didn't wanna take orders from a morph," he explained shortly. "These two will, so they're here to get undressed. They didn't wanna show off their pink skins in the open."

"I don't blame them," Girl replied with an approving nod. "After all, it's quite a bit of culture shock, going from wearing clothes to not wearing them. I'm terribly sorry, girls, for being dressed up when you're going to get undressed," she added, turning her attention back to Zoey and Phoebe. "It's just, I'm being the secretary today, and just in case we get visitors or customers, I'm supposed to look the part."

Zoey mumbled something about it being all right. Phoebe just glared at Spike, obviously annoyed at having to take orders from anyone, her confidence and self-will starting to return. Spike noticed the look, and knew exactly what it meant: trouble. Unless, of course, he nipped that lingering defiance in the bud right now. For someone as obviously spoiled rotten as Phoebe, it wasn't going to be pleasant, but it was the only way Spike knew for dealing with problem cases permanently.

"All right," he declared, patting both girls on their shoulders, then stepping back to look them over. "Time to get out of those clothes. Once you're undressed, give 'em to Girl, and she'll tuck 'em away somewhere safe, for when you're done with the training."

Oh...oh dear. Zoey's cheeks were burning hotly as she looked for a moment into those red eyes, then almost immediately looked down self-consciously. She knew she was chubby, and not really attractive, especially not compared to her sisters. Zoey was the bookish, nerdy sort, while Savannah and Phoebe loved sports. Having Spike see her, when she was ashamed to see herself in the mirror every day, was almost more than Zoey could bear. But Spike's stance shifted a little, indicating his impatience, so Zoey just squeezed her eyes tight-shut, and started unbuttoning her school blouse as quick as she could, her clothes soon forming a small, neatly-folded pile on one of the nearby coffee tables.

For her part, Phoebe also delayed, but not because of shyness. Sure, she'd never been seen naked by a guy...at least, not a guy in the same room as her (those selfies on the Internet didn't count, as far as Phoebe was concerned). Still, she was hot, and she knew it. There was nothing for her to be ashamed of under her clothes. Of course, that was the point: she was proud of her good looks, and she didn't want to show them off to just anybody. Not without getting something really good in return, at least. Left to her own devices, Phoebe's virginity was something she was saving like a work of art for auction to the highest bidder. She understood the value men - and many women - put on things like that, and planned on milking her good looks for all they were worth. And here Spike was telling her to strip down like it was nothing at all...hmph!

All the same, when Spike's stance changed, his body language showing his gradually-increasing irritation, Phoebe pushed down her skirt and kicked it aside. No point in her having to pick up her own mess, after all, when it was Spike's fault she had to take her clothes off anyway. Of course she had a pretty good idea of how she had to look to the male, her panties clinging to her supple, ripe young flesh as she bent over, so much of her smooth legs on display as she straightened. Bending over again, Phoebe smirked to herself, imagining how it must be driving the morph crazy as she peeled her panties down as well, revealing the almost perfect heart-shaped swell of her bottom. Standing up completely, Phoebe's eyes were heavy-lidded, her expression just like she'd seen many starlet heartthrobs on television use when they were making love to the camera as she unbuttoned her blouse, arching her back to thrust her budding breasts forward while she let the garment fall from her arms. Finally, her bra joined the other clothes on the floor as Phoebe curled her hands behind her, unhooking the strap at the back, and letting it slide forward slowly, drawing out the show as long as possible.

By the time Phoebe finished stripping down, Zoey had been standing, her hands covering herself as best as she could, for several minutes. When Phoebe finally looked fully at Spike again, completely naked, her expression was one of smug expectation. After all, with a show like_that_, there was no possible way Spike couldn't have been affected. Phoebe fully expected to have the big male eating out of her hands by the time the training was finished. After all, he was just another man, as dumb and easy to control as all the rest.

Spike's expression, though, wasn't at all what Phoebe had expected when she looked at his face. She'd seen enough men and boys with lust for her body on their faces to know what to expect. Spike, though...his sheath wasn't even firm, and his face...was that...disgust?

"I can't take the perfume you're wearing, Phoebe," growled the bone-white male, stepping forward to rest a big hand on the blonde teen's shoulder. "I could just barely handle it when you had your clothes on. It's so thick now, it's stinging my eyes."

"What?" Phoebe demanded, scowling with all the fury of any woman scorned. "Just because I don't smell like butt, you think I've got too much perfume on?"

It was the wrong thing to say, and Phoebe knew it immediately from the darkening glower on Spike's face.

"Come here," he growled, low and deadly, his other hand reaching out to seize hold of Zoey's shoulder, turning both girls to face the desk. "Now bend over."

Both girls gave short squeals of surprise as the powerful male easily shoved them over the top of the desk, their bottoms thrust out, breasts squeezed against the smooth, cool wood. Zoey blushed furiously, hoping against hope that what she'd heard about the morph sense of smell wasn't true...or at least that Spike couldn't see the flushed state of her young quim; the entire situation was enough to get her aroused, whether she liked it or not, and being put so forcefully into such a compromising position...the brown-haired girl bit her lower lip to keep from whimpering like she really was a bitch in heat.

SMACK!

Phoebe and Zoey both squealed loudly as Spike's heavy hand came down on their bottoms, leaving a bright red handprint clearly visible on their pale skins. He'd used both hands at once, so the mark was a mirror image on each girl's tuckus. An instant later, as Girl handed Spike something, he reached down, giving Zoey's bottom an almost brutal pinch.

"Hold still," he growled, low and serious in her ear. Though her legs trembled at Spike's closeness, at his warmth, at his power, she did her best to obey.

The pinch made it so that Zoey almost completely missed the prick of the needle Spike had just used on her, until he was pulling it out, the syringe empty. Breathing hard from the intensity of the moment, Zoey glanced over in time to see Spike pinching Phoebe's perfect little butt, before stabbing another syringe into the little bit of flesh in his hand, depressing the plunger until it was all inside of her.

"What did you just put in us?" Zoey asked, swallowing nervously.

"You can both get up now," Spike said, before motioning to the two collars they'd brought in with them, and left lying on the coffee table. "Put those on, and come with me: you're both getting a shower before I tuck you in for the night, and let those injections get to work."

Seeing that she wasn't getting an answer right away, Zoey looked down at the collar with her name on the tag, and picked it up, wrapping it around her neck. Phoebe hesitated longer, before a look of determination crossed her face: she wanted that inheritance, bad! If this was what it took to get all that money, then so be it. Resolved at last, the youngest Demol girl picked up her collar, and cinched it around her neck. Turning, she glared at Spike, as though daring him to chastise her for taking so long to obey.

For his own part, Spike just stood there by the door, arms folded as he waited. His expression was hard, stern, but otherwise unreadable. As soon as he saw that the two girls were ready, he nodded once, then turned, opening the door to the office, and stepping out onto the cement walkway. Taking his time as he walked, Spike made his way toward another building, this one long and low and square-shaped. Almost immediately, Zoey found her eyes going to Spike's butt, admiring the way it flexed and swayed as he walked, so firm, so smooth and rounded, and so masculine. She stopped herself short at looking any lower, however, despite the incredible temptation to get more than the briefest glimpse of the heavy, potent sac dangling between the pitbull's legs - undeniable proof of his inherent masculinity, his overwhelming potency.

"Hey!" came Savannah's voice from over by the front gate. "Hey! Please, let me in! Please!"

"I just gave you both an injection of morph hormones," said Spike, ignoring the eldest Demol's cries completely. "It's a special cocktail, designed to bring morph femmes into a state of lingering heat. The injection doesn't start ovulation, usually - that comes on its own like normal - but it makes the body think it's ovulating, and reacts accordingly." He glanced over his shoulder, and Zoey only barely got her eyes up in time to look into the morphmale's. "Makes it easier to train morph femmes. For us morphs, sexual pleasure is one of the big driving forces of our society. Being denied that pleasure is a sure way to get someone under control. With that injection, the desire for sex builds up a lot faster than it does normally, which adds that little extra touch of urgency for a femme to behave, so she can earn her treat."

Spike reached the door of the square building, and pulled out his keyring to unlock the door.

"Used on morphmales," he continued as he opened the door and ushered the two girls inside, "the effect is almost the same, though it makes the male in question take more pleasure from typically 'female' roles: submission and being dominated. Used on humans," and now Spike's eyebrows raised, and he gave a slight shrug, "I'm really not sure exactly what will happen." One hand reached to a bank of light switches, and he flipped them up, bathing the room in light. "Guess we'll find out in about a half-hour, when the hormones kick in. Whatever happens, though, I'm pretty sure it'll help you feel like morphs. Which, after all, is why you're here: to get to learn what it's like to be morphs."

The place before Zoey and Phoebe's eyes was sparse and Spartan. Cold, bare cement was under their feet, while a variety of strange implements were arranged around the large room. Some of them looked almost like the sort of implements found in medieval torture chambers, making Zoey gulp nervously, while Phoebe's face paled. On the far wall was a heavy metal shutter blocking off a long window that must normally look into the next room, and there were two open entryways, one leading into the concealed room, the other leading into another room, this one with tile on the floor, though anything else wasn't visible, since the light wasn't on yet.

Before either girl could react, too busy looking around at their new surroundings, Spike smoothly snapped a set of handcuffs around their wrists, first Phoebe's, then Zoey's.

"Huh?" gasped Phoebe in shock and outrage, while Zoey only squeaked in startled surprise. "Hey! What's the big-mmmph!"

Just as smoothly and swiftly as before, Spike shoved a ball gag into Phoebe's mouth, then locked it in place behind her head. Turning to Zoey, holding another gag in his hand, he gripped her jaw, gently squeezing it open, and pressed it almost gently into her mouth, all the while smirking down at the pitiful look she gave him, her hands unconsciously clasping into a "prayer" position.

Strong paws gripping both girls' cuffed wrists, Spike dragged the teens along, their trim, upturned breasts jiggling at the speed of his pace, as he pulled them into the room with the tiles. Releasing Zoey for a moment to flick another switch, Spike revealed the room to be a large shower, obviously intended for use by a great many people at once...and without any allowance for privacy. They didn't have time for more than a glimpse, however, before Phoebe was squealing in shock as Spike hoisted her arms up, and hooked her bound wrists over one of the shower heads, forcing her to stand on tip-toes.

"First, I'm gonna get that gallon of perfume off of you, Phoebe," growled Spike as he unwound a large canvas hose from a nearby loop on the wall. "Then I'm gonna wash you both like the bitches you are. Once you're both squeaky clean," his lip curled, "I'm gonna give Phoebe what she's earned for being disrespectful, and Zoey's gonna watch. I think that'll make sure you both learn your lesson: no backtalk to master."

Punishment! And on the first day! Not even the first hour! Phoebe struggled for a moment, her pink nipples erect in the chill of the shower room. Then she started to scream, the sound ony barely muffled through her gag: Spike had turned on the water - and it was cold!

"Aw, take your medicine," growled Spike, just loud enough to be heard over the rush of the water, making Phoebe's small, buoyant breasts indent and depress this way and that with each new angle of the hose. "The cleaning solvent in the hose water should get off the day's grime as well," he added with a cruel smirk. "Especially the ones collected...t_here_."

Phoebe's wails were long and loud as Spike turned the hose downward, then tilted it up, sending the stream gushing against her pale pink bottom. Her tan lines were very clearly-defined, and they acted as a sort of guide for Spike as he played the water over Phoebe's bottom, pushing her supple young flesh apart in ripples, first once cheek, and then the other. As Spike brought the water to bear right at the center, hitting Phoebe right in the bullseye of her taint, her scream of violation was especially satisfying, her entire body arching like a bow.

Cutting the pressure, Spike left Phoebe dangling, sobbing and gasping for breath, her body limp and spent and almost glowing all over with the redness of a windburn. He glanced at Zoey, who whimpered fearfully in response, worried that he might turn on the hose again. Spike, however, just rolled up the hose, and pulled down a much smaller one, more akin to a typical garden hose.

"Get on all-fours," he ordered, though his tone was slightly more gentle this time. As Spike went to Phoebe, lifting her off the shower head from which she was dangling, Zoey hurried to comply. She felt so...so exposed in this position! The light breeze of the room's ventilation brushed across her bald little cunny and tense anal pucker, and Zoey knew full well, without having to be told, that she was putting everything on display like this.

Would Spike...would he _mount_her?

The thought was enough to make Zoey's whole body tremble.

Moments later, Spike lowered Phoebe to the ground next to Zoey, letting the younger girl slump almost limply onto her hands and knees. Her eyes were glazed, a little out of focus from her recent ordeal. Zoey could only imagine the sight the two of them must make, bound, gagged, helpless, with their smooth bottoms thrust out, bald little cunnies bared and ready for use by this savage, primal, dominant beast of a male.

"See," Spike continued speaking, turning on the water to the smaller hose, "heavy perfumes like that, they smell like you dug up a whole field of flowers, then ground it up and bottled the whole lot before pouring it all over your body. Maybe to a human, it's a nice sort of smell, but that's 'cause your noses don't work so good. To a morph like me, though, it's torture. Like spraying mace laced with roses right up my nose. The spray got off most of the slop, but I'll need to do a deeper clean to be sure of it. Heh," he chuckled as he ambled over, kneeling next to the girls, a bucket with bottle of liquid soap and a sponge and a rag in one hand, the hose in the other. "Actually, by this point in the day, I'd guess you could both use a bath anyway. Now, hold still, so I can get this done quick and right."

Running the hose over both girls, Spike took his time, wetting them both down from nose to toes, until both teens were glistening with wetness. Actually, the water wasn't that cold now, and Zoey found herself leaning into the gentle stream a bit, enjoying the feeling of the warming water against her naked skin. Setting the hose aside, Spike picked up the bottle of soap, before squirting a long wavy line down both girls' backs. Zoey _gasped_as Spike's hands closed on her shoulders, but still did her very best to hold as still as possible while those powerful, calloused hands squeezed and stroked and scrubbed over her entire body. Her eyes rolled back into her head as his fingers caressed her breasts, tweaking her nipples lightly, and she was sure she was going to have an orgasm just from the way his naked body was pressing against hers as he ran his hands along the slight sag of her belly. There was no way she could hold back a muffled squeal as his fingers probed her anal rosebud, working the soap in with the slow, gentle pressure of his thumb, the rest of his hand gripping her rounded bottom tightly. That same hand then stroked down over her smooth quim, then pressed into it slightly, enough to part the inner lips and work the soap inside.

By the time Spike finished running his hands down her legs, making sure to soap up her feet, Zoey was biting down on the ball gag in her mouth as tightly as she could, her whole world reeling with arousal. She knew right then that she'd do he knew right then that she'd do _anything_Spike asked of her. She'd even carry his...babies? Puppies? His children, if it came to that. For all intents and purposes, Zoey was Spike's complete and obedient and very willing slave.

Letting Zoey's body go, Spike moved his hands to Phoebe. The younger teen was still reeling from his harsh treatment from before, and her skin was so very, very sensitive as he began to handle her. Though Zoey hadn't noticed it in her rising passion and lust for Spike, Phoebe recognized Spike's touch for the businesslike caress that it was, swift and efficient as it worked its way over her chest, down her back and belly, and over her bottom and the tender pink parts now on display. Spike was just doing a job, washing her off like he might a dog, and the realization made Phoebe burn all over with shame. What was even more humiliating for her...she enjoyed it. By the time Spike's fingers invaded her nethers - lightly piercing the tense pucker of her anus, stroking aside the folds of her sex - Phoebe was dripping wet, just like a bitch in heat, her whole body tingling everywhere that he'd touched her, tiny hairs standing up all over her smooth young body. She was ready to cum just from his touch, and he wasn't even interested in her!

Ready to scream at the unfairness of the situation, Phoebe lowered her head in shame as Spike ran the hose over both her and her sister, thoroughly rinsing the soap off their shining, waterslick bodies. She was burning all over with a strange mixture of humiliation and arousal, totally helpless to fight off either feeling. Like it or not, she was this...animal's bitch!

It wasn't fair!

"There," sighed Spike in satisfaction, standing to hang up the hose, then retrieve a pair of large, fluffy towels from a hook on the wall. "That's much better. Now you smell right."

Both girls traded a look as Spike started to buff off first one and then the other of the sisters. Their expressions were a strange mix of emotions, but both could recognize the most prominent one mirrored in each others' faces: desire. They both wanted Spike. Wanted him to mount them like animals, to make them moan and squeal and even scream while he mated with them, like the little bitches in heat they were.

A half-hour hadn't even passed yet. Just one glance at the clock made that fact painfully clear. Whatever they were feeling, it couldn't be from the stuff Spike had stuck in them, not yet. What they'd feel once it did start working, neither girl could even begin to guess.

"Now that you're both clean," Spike continued, standing and helping the girls to their feet as well, a single large hand on a slender shoulder each more than enough assistance, "there's two more matters left before I tuck you in. The first is getting you dressed. The second," he turned his red-eyed gaze onto Phoebe, who swallowed nervously, the memory of her earlier sass coming back to her in a rush, "is to physically demonstrate why backtalk is a bad idea. Now come," he added commandingly, walking out of the showers.

With nowhere else to go, Zoey and Phoebe followed.

Going to a refrigerator by the main door, Spike reached in and pulled out an odd, twisted grey root, setting it on top of the mini-fridge, and then added a knife from a nearby rack of assorted tools and implements of who-knows what. Leaving the enigmatic items to wait for a little while, Spike pulled down what seemed to be two pairs of extra-fluffy mittens from yet another of the racks lining the walls. Motioning the girls over with his head, he unlocked the cuffs around their wrists, then slipped the mitts into place. Zoey flexed her fingers in the strange, foam-and-plush contraptions, and blinked as she discovered she hadn't lost any freedom of movement, at least not within the mitts. The mitts themselves, however, didn't move at all, and when she folded her arms, she discovered that they prevented her from even feeling the pressure of her touch against her own skin. Another movement, and Spike clicked the straps at the wrists of the mittens into place - there was no way either girl was getting them off without help.

"Those're there to keep you from getting off tonight," Spike explained. "Should make all the ache of heat build up to the boiling point, which is right where I want you. Once you're good and needy, you'll be ready to start learning, if only for the opportunity to have an orgasm."

Phoebe made an angry noise behind her ballgag, the words of an indignant protest, and Spike arched an eyebrow, before reaching out to pull up a folding chair.

"I can see you're gonna be a handful-and-a-half, Phoebe," he remarked, a hand on her shoulder easily pulling her toward him, then bending the naked teen over his lap as he sat down. "Look, you signed up to be treated like morphs being trained. Well, _this_is how you train morphs. Get used to the idea early, and you'll be happier. Resist, and it'll just get more'n more uncomfortable for you."

Resting his elbows on top of the squirming girl's back, holding her firmly in place, Spike picked up the knife and the smallish root, and started to whittle away at its yielding meat. In this position, she was hardly more than a table for Spike, just another piece of furniture for him to use as he saw fit. Phoebe watched with steadily-rising trepidation, and Zoey watched with a similar feeling as she stood nearby, eyes wide and watchful, as flakes of the grayish stuff brushed off Phoebe's smooth back, and dropped to the floor. In a matter of minutes, Spike had made the root into a sort of spike itself, a thick peg of whitish-greyish root matter, the peeled parts glistening.

"This is ginger root," Spike explained, holding the peeled up bit of root in front of Phoebe's face. "It's common in a lot of Asian cooking. It's supposed to be good for health, longevity, and virility. Personally, I love the stuff, and mix a bit in with most of my morning meat smoothies. Unfortunately for you, Phoebe, it's got another quality to it, when it's applied to the more...delicate parts of the body."

As he said this, Spike stroked the slightly moist peeled root down Phoebe's back, until he came to a stop right at the tense ring of her anus.

"Once you squeeze it in there," he growled, soft and seductive in her ear, applying slow, steady pressure to the little vegetable peg, "it really burns."

Phoebe's eyes opened _wide_as the plug of ginger popped inside, right up to the uncarved head, then squealed long and loud as Spike _twisted_it, making sure it was firmly in place.

"This is called 'figging,'" Spike continued, his voice deep, growly, but all the same almost conversational. "It used to be used on horses to put a little extra spring in their step. Now, it gets used on naughty girls who need to be reminded who's in charge."

SMACK!

"AAAIIIIIIEEEEE!"

Even through the ball gag, Phoebe's squeal could be clearly heard as Spike's heavy palm came down on her bared bottom, leaving a clear, red handprint that continued over both cheeks. She started to kick and squirm, but Spike easily wrangled her legs between his thighs, pinning them in place, while his other hand seized hold of Phoebe's mitted wrists, gripping them firmly behind her back. Helpless now, with nowhere to go, no possible avenue of escape available, Phoebe squealed long and loud, the noise almost equal to the sound of flesh slapping against flesh as Spike spanked her. Again and again his hand rose then came down with a solid smack, every time at a different angle, never giving Phoebe a chance to adjust, to adapt, to settle into some sort of routine, her bottom bouncing until it was a bright, almost luminous red.

But the constant pain of the spanking wasn't the worst part. The worst part was the ginger root squeezed up her butt. Every time Spike's hand came down, Phoebe couldn't help but clench her buns, a natural protective response. And every time she clenched, she gripped down on the peg of ginger...and then it did just like Spike had said it would: it burned.

As poor Phoebe squirmed and struggled in vain against his powerful grip, Spike's face was set in a mask of concentration as he focused on the task of scientifically tanning the petite teen's tiny buns. Spanking was a science, just like many forms of physical performance, and Spike had long ago learned most of the proper ways to get exactly the result he wanted. Sharp, fast, that was the way to start, sending a shock through the whole body, making the girl's eyes grow huge. Then slower, easing off a little, making the spanking almost into a massage, a series of light smacks, more noise than substance, varying between each cheek, making them both bounce equally. But just as the girl was getting complacent...SMACK! Right across both buns at once, leaving a bright red handprint. Phoebe was so inexperienced, Spike was able to fake her out like this twice without needing any variation. On the third hard smack, he tilted her up slightly, just enough so that he could angle his open palm just right...and SMACK!

"MMMMMPPPPHHHH!"

Spike couldn't help but grin as he admired his handiwork: a bright red handprint right across Phoebe's flushed labia. The last strike, though, was the kicker, and the girl's whole body seemed to go limp, all the fight taken out of her. She looked over her shoulder at Spike, her expression fearful and pleading rather than defiant and accusing. Seeing that look, Spike finally relented, releasing Phoebe's wrists, letting her rest them on his thigh, while he used both of his hands to gently massage her bright red buns.

"Hold still, Phoebe," he murmured gently in her ear, reaching to another side table, and picking up a tube from a nearby shelf. "That's it...it's over...you can relax now."

Too exhausted from her ordeal to resist any more, Phoebe's whole body went completely limp at Spike's words. Of course, it did occur to Spike that this would have been a perfect opportunity to make little Phoebe jump...but he wasn't that cruel. No, he wanted the girl to clearly recognize when her punishments were over, not have her guessing all the time. He was training her to be a good morph servant, submissive and obedient because of the pleasure it could bring, rather than a fearful slave, serving because of the constant threat of punishment. Punishment was only a contrast, to give Phoebe a clear idea of what she could choose - pleasure, or pain, as she wished.

Squirting out a copious helping of soothing cream onto his hands, letting it warm there, Spike rested his palms on Phoebe's upturned bottom, and began to very gently caress the supple, pert half-globes of flesh. He took his time, letting the cream work its magic on the poor girl, cooling her upturned buns until she gave a soft, slightly needy moan, and began to press her tushie up into Spike's strong-yet-gentle touch. Smirking, Spike noticed how puffy Phoebe's labia was getting, could smell her swiftly-rising arousal.

Heh, femmes. The young ones were the worst, of course, especially when they were starting to go into their first heat. While Phoebe might not be a morph femme, the injection Spike had given her was well on its way to taking full effect, so she was starting to have all the typical reactions of a morphgirl entering estrus. Another hour, and she'd try to hump doorknobs - anything to relieve the searing fire that'd be burning in her belly.

Glancing at Zoey, Spike's nostrils flared, and he took in her scent. Even if he couldn't see the flush in her cheeks, and saw that flush mirrored in her lower lips, he could certainly smell her rising arousal. Just a matter of time for her, too, then...and that's when a thought hit him. Turning his head down, Spike leaned in nice and close, taking a good, deep whiff of Phoebe's scent at the same time he gently twisted the ginger plug free of her bottom. Yes, just as he thought: the girl was right on the verge of her menstruation cycle's peak fertility - that five-to-seven day window where sperm were most likely to manage to find an egg to penetrate. Reaching out with one hand, Spike made Zoey squeak in shock as he seized her hip, then pulled her close, making her moan as he pressed his nose up close to her dewy folds. Yep, both sisters were at the same stage of ovulation. Another day, two at the most, and they'd be ready for a good, gushing load of baby batter to complete the contract Mrs. Demol had signed for her daughters. Their mother apparently wanted grandbabies, and the girls themselves must not have minded, since they'd signed their names along with their mother. Of course, Spike was happy to give these human femmes what they wanted.

Spike couldn't help but wonder how a human femme's normal cycles would interact with a simulated morph femme heat. Somehow, he suspected the effect would at least be additive. More likely, just like the interactions of most effects on the body, it would end up being a matter of multiplication.

Hmm, this could be fun.

"All right," he said, gently easing Phoebe up to her feet, letting Zoey free of his grip. "You two can use a rest. I'll get your schoolwork out, and Girl can walk you through today's lessons, so they'll be fresh in your minds for tomorrow. While she's tutoring you, I'll be getting your dinner ready. Now c'mon."

So saying, Spike started to walk to the door leading behind the big metal shutters. Reaching over, he flipped a switch by the door, and the shutters clanked loudly, before sliding down, into the dividing wall, revealing a glass panel that looked out onto a row of rather large kennel cages.

"You...you don't expect us to go into those?" Zoey asked with a horrified gasp, even as she automatically followed behind Spike as he walked into the kennel room.

"Sure do," chuckled Spike, pulling open two of the lower tier cages, then motioning the girls to get in.

For a moment, Zoey and Phoebe hesitated. The kennels were actually fairly roomy, as these things went. But they were kennels, containers for animals! The girls looked at Spike pleadingly, but as they lingered, he folded his arms, his expression hardening. Almost immediately the sisters traded a look, then meekly went to all-fours, and crawled into the well-appointed cages. As soon as the girls were situated properly, Spike shut and latched the kennel doors behind them.

"Piss hole's in the back," he added. "Don't worry about wiping - it's automated; nice little vacuum number, complete with a detergent mist to clean you off afterward. Not enough suction to get you off, though, so don't bother trying...when you get to that point, I mean. Food and water trays up front. Sorry, but tonight you'll have to eat without your hands. Shouldn't be too hard, though: I've always liked the Asian style of cutting food up fine, so you should be able to handle it, even without knife and fork."

Flushing a little at Spike's talk of "getting off," finding the thought that they'd ever be _that_much like animals that they couldn't control their base instincts as ridiculous as it was distasteful, the girls explored their new homes. As Spike had said, there was a porcelain fixture in the rear of the kennel, strangely-designed, but obviously intended for use when the occupant of one of the kennels needed the "facilities." Up front were clean metal trays. On the floor of the kennel's interior were blankets and pillows, enough for what could almost approach sleeping comfort. Within easy view of the kennels was a large viewscreen, apparently for recreational viewing.

"Don't go anywhere," Spike teased lightly as he started toward the door, letting the girls explore their new homes fully. Stepping out into the evening air, he smiled as he saw Girl already approaching, several books and a few video boxes in hand. Obviously she was well on top of things. However, instead of entering the kennel and training hall, Girl reached out to touch Spike's arm, bringing him to a stop.

"That other girl," she began.

"Savannah," Spike filled in her name. "Yeah? What about her?"

"She's still outside the front gate." Girl's expression was one of concern, even compassion. "Maybe...well, maybe you could give her a chance?"

For a long moment Spike stood there silently, his brow furrowing as he frowned. Then, with a soft grunt, he nodded. Girl smiled, then turned to enter the training hall, ready to get started with the equivalent of homework for the girls.

Ambling over to the front gate, Spike came to a stop just a little bit away from the entrance. Sure enough, Savannah was still standing there, looking around in desperation. Glancing behind her, Spike saw that the human girl's presence had drawn a little gathering of morphs into the vicinity. They weren't being obvious that they were watching her, but they most assuredly were doing just that, a good dozen or so of the locals checking her out. As soon as Savannah saw Spike, she grabbed the slats on the front gate, and looked straight at him with the most pleading expression.

"Please, Spike," she begged. "Please, let me in. I've...I've just got to be in your program! If I don't, then I..."

"Yeah, yeah," Spike waved a hand dismissively. "No program, no inheritance, I know." Then he fixed her with a keen gaze, sharp enough to make her fidget before him. "Maybe you've gotten the hint. Maybe you've decided to change your attitude. Then again, maybe you haven't. Since you didn't obey when I first gave you an order, it's gonna be a lot harder to get inside now. If you're willing to do what I say, though, all right, I'll take you in. So, you ready to take orders now?"

"Yes," Savannah answered immediately - too fast for Spike to really believe she meant it. "Whatever you say, Spike."

"All right," the pitbull said casually. "Let's start with the most basic command: strip naked."

Savannah blinked, her cheeks immediately flushing.

"You can't be serious."

Spike's only answer was an arched eyebrow.

"B-but...right here?" She looked around, her blush deepening as she saw the bystanders watching her, most of them male.

"Right here, right now," answered Spike. "The chance for more privacy was back before you wouldn't take orders. Now you've gotta show some humility. Now strip, before I lose what's left of my patience."

Grimacing in the deepest shame, Savannah looked around one more time, seeing how most of the watchers weren't being covert about it anymore, and some were actually getting closer, to get a better look at her. Then, closing her eyes, she reached up, and peeled her t-shirt up and over her head. Spike took the shirt as she handed it to him, and soon it was joined by her jeans as Savannah was left standing there in her black brassier and panties. Slightly hunched over now, as though she were trying to stay warm (though the evening was actually quite pleasant, even for someone who was naked), Savannah looked at Spike hopefully, glancing around fearfully as she saw several of the males around her coming steadily closer, openly admiring her exposed figure. After all, undressing in public was, for all intents and purposes in morphtown, an open invitation. Being human just meant Savannah would get a little more time while the morphs sorted out their feelings, overcoming the near-instinctual taboo against mating with humans...before the bolder, more dominant ones decided to put the little tease in her place.

"The rest of it, too," Spike commanded calmly, glancing toward the figures coming steadily closer in the shadows, wondering what would happen first: Savannah's submission to him, or to the first male to start eating her out.

Blushing so hard, her flawless skin almost glowed, Savannah squeezed her eyes even more tightly shut, then bent, pushing her panties down her legs. In the process, of course, she thrust her heart-shaped tushie up into the air, making a nearby wolfmorph's tongue start to loll as he lifted his muzzle, getting a good whiff of her ripe little womb. Straightening, Savannah reached back, then unhooked her bra, then handed the underwear over to Spike as well.

"Is that enough?" she asked, doing her best to cover herself with her hands, while looking around ever more fearfully, seeing the shaggy outlines of what was obviously a pack of lupomorphs - wolves, more savage and instinctual than common canomorphs - in the dimming light of sunset.

"Not quite," Spike continued, his expression serious, despite the urge to smirk. "I want you on all-fours, Savannah. Once you're in here, I'll give you some pads for your knees, because that's what your position will be for...well, probably the entire time you're here, actually, unless I need you standing for something. Since you were so opposed to being treated like an _animal_before, it seems right to have you take on the role completely until you get used to it." He noticed her hesitation, and finally let the smirk show on his face. "You'd better make up your mind quick, Savannah: those are lupomorphs - wolfmen - and they've got your scent. Stay where you are much longer, and you'll get your options taken out of your hands really quick...especially when they decide to keep you as breeding stock for the pack."

Eyes growing huge at Spike's words, Savannah immediately fell to her hands and knees. Of course, this position was an immediate signal that the female in question wanted to be mounted - now. The wolves started closing fast, and Savannah looked around, her expression one of near-panic as she heard the ragged, lusty panting of the hoary-furred beastmen.

Just as Spike pulled open the gate, a heavy hand reached out, seizing firm hold of Savannah's bottom, jerking it upward, forcing her head to slump forward as the girl squealed in fright. She could feel the steaming hot breath of the brutes - two of them, and now three, and now more - on her exposed nethers, and then gave a long, high-pitched cry as a long, smooth tongue pressed tightly against her bald virgin cunny, _slooooowly_dragging all the way up, leaving her wet with more than just saliva as it pulled back for another lick.

Spike was there before the wolves could start a feeding frenzy. Snarling words that were as much canine barks as English, Spike drove the lusty males back. One of them, a big fellow who was probably the alpha, didn't take the hint, and reached out to grab Savannah around the waist, to take her with him. Spike floored him with a vicious jab to the solar plexus, followed by a powerful side kick right into the middle of the alpha wolf's center of gravity, just above his groin and below his navel. The kick was so strong, it sent the big wolf flying back, and with him went the other wolves, not daring to attack someone that could floor their alpha so quickly.

Bending, Spike scooped Savannah up, tossing her over his shoulder like a caveman, before he strode confidently, unhurriedly, back into the junkyard, and shut the gate behind him.

"Don't think too badly of 'em, Savannah," he quipped, carrying the aristocratic blonde toward the kennels. "Those wolves were just a little eager 'cause they figured you were in the mood, and they're not as restrained as most other morphtypes - fewer inhibitions. If you fought and kicked some, they'd back off pretty quick and leave you alone, once they realized their mistake."

"They're like animals," gasped out Savannah, still looking toward the front gate with wide eyes. Despite the tone of her words, however, Spike had only to tilt his head slightly to the side, and take a whiff of her scent. Sure enough: nice 'n wet.

"Real savages," Spike agreed as he drew steadily nearer to the kennel door, making Savannah gasp softly as he reached up with his free hand, and started to gently massage her moist quim. "They'd have left you alone, though, if you didn't get turned on at the idea of being grabbed by those brutal, powerful males, held down, maybe even tied up, and licked everywhere by those strong, smooth tongues. Trust me, they wouldn't stop until you passed out screaming. Then they'd wake you up, and that's when the mounting would begin. Big, strong, shaggy bodies all around you, rough hands touching you everywhere, fat, blood-heavy cocks swinging into place at your tight little pussy...or maybe they'd sodomize you first...or plug your pretty mouth...or more likely all at once..."

"Stop!" pleaded Savannah, shaking her head desperately. "Just...just stop!"

Spike laughed, pulling his fingers away from the girl's gushing little slit, then making her cry out in surprise as he slapped her aristocratic bottom. Pulling open the kennel door, he swung Savannah around and down, setting her with surprising gentleness on the ground.

"Come," he ordered, walking before her into the room. On the other side of the glass, the other two Demol girls were busy talking with Girl, who was hard at work running them through the contents of a textbook. As soon as the door opened, however, they both turned, their eyes getting wide as they saw their older sister, on all-fours, crawling at Spike's heels like a whipped dog.

"Here's the rules, Savannah," Spike began casually as he heard Girl stop talking, letting his words carry clearly through the open door of the kennels. "Since you think we morphs are animals, and you're here to be treated like a morph, I'm going to impose some special restrictions on you, to help you learn your place. From here on, you'll be on hands and knees at all times. No standing up, no walking around on two legs. Also, no talking, unless it's noises like a bitch dog would make. Because that's what you are now: a bitch. _My_bitch. You're not a human being anymore: you're a spoiled little pet that needs to be trained properly to know her place. You got it?"

Savannah hesitated a moment, the gears obviously working in her head. Spike could see the revulsion in her eyes at what he'd told her were the conditions of her acceptance as his student. But he could also see the buried arousal, an eagerness Savannah was hiding from herself, but couldn't hide from Spike, who knew just what to look for.

"Arf," answered Savannah.

Spike grinned.

"Good girl," he said with a chuckle, leaning down to stroke her back, fingers massaging the supple flesh like he would a real dog. "C'mon: let's get your injection, then your bath. Then you can join your sisters for lessons while I get everyone their dinners."

"W-woof," said Savannah, blushing furiously as she followed along after Spike, staying on hands and knees.

Yes, she'd make a good student after all, Spike decided. A little strong-willed, but those made the best trainees in the end. After they'd been shown how good it could be to turn their wills toward obedience.