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My Tutor is a Bitch

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Commissioned by derikosgreen

https://www.furaffinity.net/user/derikosgreen/

Author’s Note: Inspiration for the many dishes mentioned in this story come from https://www.buzzfeed.com/marietelling/44-classic-french-meals-you-need-to-try-before-you-die?utm\_term=.yyMRoqQXA#.hgrN5bEWr and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List\_of\_French\_dishes for the interested.

_ _

Also, for anyone who actually knows the language, please pardon my French.

Gigi was a Good Girl. For her, that meant something. All around, on the news, there were stories about morphs, morphs rebelling, morphs no longer serving the humans like they were always intended. Morphs who had gone bad.

Ah, but there she was judging incorrectly. Unfairly. Gigi was a keptmorph, certainly, but she’d never been mistreated by her owners…or was it supposed to be “employers” now? She wasn’t quite sure, and the uncertainty was not a pleasant sensation. A very different sensation from the ones that came from serving, from being needed, and from being able to fulfill those needs. There, of course, was the difference between her and those freemorphs that had started to cause ripples of unrest among morph owners everywhere, even in her home country of France: the freemorphs were reacting to poor treatment by other humans. Not like the ones Gigi served. No, not like them at all. So, to say these freemorph rebels were bad was inaccurate, and Gigi strove constantly to be accurate in everything she did. After all, she was a morph who specialized in teaching the young of the humans she served, their beloved children, and her beloved charges. What teacher – who deserved the calling – would ever shy away from the precision of the truth? Not Gigi.

So, Gigi made her inner peace with those freemorphs and their ways, and with a simple, slow outward breath, she absolved them in her heart of all their sins against humanity. Such matters were likely justified, but they didn’t involve her, except in the peripheral fashion due to her being a morph. There had been stories circulated of morphs and humans…being together, but these were surely exaggerations, or rumors spread to discredit her kind, like a great many others she’d already endured in the past, even in the City of Lights that she called her home.

Secure in the knowledge of her status, that deep inside, now and forever, she was a Good Girl, Gigi neatly tapped her stack of papers together, straightening them with precision, then tucked them into her fine leather briefcase. After all, she had a job to do. Such trivial concerns like her place in a world that rightly belonged to the humans whom she served could wait for another time.

*

“You’ll behave this time, Ian,” said the tall man in the dark suit, his dark hair streaked with stately silver. It was not a question.

“Yes sir,” replied the ruddy-haired boy – a young man, actually, just finishing his final ascent from being a stripling to attaining full adulthood – as he pointedly avoided looking at the handsome face of his father. A face that was so much like his own.

Instead of talking further, or addressing the issues father and son felt beneath the surface, but had never dared to face, they both looked out the opposite windows of the limo that carried them through the city of Paris. With its diplomatic plates, nobody dared to bother them, for the French, despite popular foreign opinion, still prided themselves on being the most polite and hospitable people in the world. Even Americans like Ian and his father would receive every courtesy the drivers of the greatest city in the world could possibly provide. Admittedly, this wasn’t very much, especially since Ian’s father wasn’t on official business right that moment, due to the simple practicalities of driving in any major city, and European cities especially, originally built long before notions of urban planning came into being, but all the same, there were little signs in the surrounding traffic that made the courtesy apparent to anyone who might be paying attention. Such as, for instance, the morph who was acting as chauffeur, a stocky French bulldog with a black face and fawn-colored fur.

Finally, after a long interval of silence, Ian spoke up.

“Why does it always smell like piss in Paris?”

“Ian…”

“No, Dad, I’m serious,” Ian continued. “It was the first thing we noticed when we stepped off the plane from Germany. You made that face you always do when you come into my room and I haven’t cleaned it up, right before you put on your diplomat face when the Chancellor showed up to greet us. Good save, by the way.”

What else Ian’s father might have said was interrupted as their driver spoke up, his voice a pleasant tenor, and only very lightly-accented.

“We think the smell is the result of the catacombs,” he explained, turning one velvet ear toward the pair in the rear of the limo beneath the billed uniform cap he wore, while the other, along with his eyes, remained glued to the business of driving. “Paris has a very old sewer system, you see. Ancient, and very large. But while they are very well-made, they were built long before modern anti-odor materials came into use. Though I am uncertain of all the facts, I have heard that scents may have become infused into the old stone of the many kilometers right beneath our feet.”

“Thank you,” said the middle-aged man, his sternly-handsome face actually spreading, if only a little, into one of his rare smiles. “I’m glad to see that the French foreign ministry still employs the most knowledgeable aides, monsieur…”

“Please,” the bulldog replied with a smile into the rear-view mirror. “Call me Frenchie. All the other ambassadors do.” Ian caught sight of the fawn-furred male’s smirk in the mirror, the expression almost unnervingly human on a face that was anything but. “Which, I think, is just as well, since it is, in fact, my name.”

“You’re really named Frenchie?” Ian inquired, his attention now seized by this novelty: he’d seldom been around many morphs, since his father usually worked in Great Britain, and the British seemed to have a general disdain for morphs…at least on their native soil, though they were known to employ a great many overseas, in their SAS and similar services. The French, however, seemed enchanted with the idea of canomorphs, and they were vastly more prevalent – at least in terms of population percentiles – than they were in the United States (or so Ian had read in the American newspapers his father got by special post). “I mean, you don’t mind having a…well…a dog’s name?”

“Most morphs have the names of pets,” Frenchie replied with a casual shrug as he expertly weaved his way through traffic, apparently not at all bothered by the question, nor by the unfriendly glare Ian’s father shot the boy at being so undiplomatic. “Everyone has to have some sort of name, after all. Most children get teased for their names anyway, so why shouldn’t we all just start with ridiculous names? The practice robs us of our pretensions, and forces us to prove ourselves based on ability instead.”

“I hadn’t really thought of it that way,” Ian admitted. “You think a lot for a chauffeur.”

“I believe the phrase in English is ‘still waters run deep,’” Frenchie answered, frowning slightly as he worked his way through a minor snarl in the traffic. “You will find, in France at least, that it applies very much to my sort of people.” A turn of the wheel, and the limo slid butter smooth up against the curb, before the bulldog exited the car, and opened the door for his passengers. “We have arrived,” he announced with all due formality.

Looking up as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, Ian admired the building where his father had taken him. Far too busy to spend much time with his son, his job demanding almost his complete attention, Ian was used to being taken somewhere and left to fend for himself, with little for amusement except tormenting those assigned to educate him. England had been one long string of live-in tutors, each determined to be Mary Poppins and Nanny McPhee at once to a recalcitrant and undisciplined American boy. The longest had lasted almost a full three-month semester, before the regular doses of laxative Ian kept slipping into his tea finally drove him off. Yet again, here he was at another diplomatic residence, another house in the big city that he’d likely never be allowed to explore on his own.

“At least the house is nice,” he said with a light sigh. “Lots of space.”

“With a gymnasium in the basement,” came a husky, feminine voice from the now-open door to the tall and stately modern-looking flat. “Complete with swimming pool and sauna.”

Whoa, hold up…this was new! Ian’s eyes snapped down, and then just…sort of hung there, almost perfectly level with the biggest set of knockers he’d ever seen outside of porn. Though he wasn’t quite a full adult yet, Ian wasn’t small by any means, and yet the woman before him was a good head taller than he was. Tall and almost Barbie-doll slender in an elegant black linen suit and skirt, with a white blouse that, even with several buttons undone, seemed to strain to contain the ample black bosom of the female before the American teen.

“I, um, hi,” said Ian, forcing himself to look up, into a face that was anything but what he was expecting. “Wait – you’re…”

“A morph, of course,” answered the curly black-furred poodlemorph, smiling patronizingly down at Ian, her hand extended in greeting. “Who better for protecting as well as nurturing the precious children of the diplomats assigned to my nation? I am Gigi. And you are Ian Proudblood, yes?”

“Yeah,” Ian answered with a sheepish smile, hoping against hope that somehow Gigi hadn’t noticed him staring at her breasts – he knew better, and did his best not to be so obvious about peeking at girls, but he’d been completely caught off-guard. “And I was actually going to say ‘a girl.’”

“Femme is the proper term,” Frenchie supplied, giving the much-taller poodlemorph a respectful nod as he continued to stand by the limo, obviously expecting to be needed again in the near future. “A French term adopted to refer to morphs internationally. All female morphs are femmes, regardless of age or maturity.”

“Even so,” agreed Gigi. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, of course, and yours also, Mister Proudblood,” she added, nodding to Ian’s father, who returned the nod solemnly. “And now, if you’d care to accompany me, I’ll give you both a tour of where you’ll be staying.”

“That won’t be necessary for me,” Proudblood answered, his expression as solemn and unreadable as ever. “I’m expected at the Chancellor’s residence tonight, so I doubt that I’ll be back before midnight, if I’m not invited to simply spend the night there.”

“And the Duchess’ residence tomorrow night,” Ian muttered under his breath, making one of Gigi’s ears twitch in his direction. “And the Moroccan ambassador’s the night after that. And the Algerian embassy the night after that.”

“All the same,” Proudblood continued, the slight English accent he’d developed during his stay across the channel unconsciously creeping into his voice as he emotionally distanced himself in preparation for separation, “I’m sure that my son will be in the very best of hands. Everyone knows that the French train only the finest keptmorphs for the service of their elite. I expect,” he added, with a withering glare toward his son, “that my son will be more than happy to cooperate with you, and make your stay together without complication. With your leave.”

And just like that, Ian was left standing on the curb, watching his father’s car vanishing into traffic, just like so many times before.

How long Ian was standing there, he wasn’t really sure. His thoughts seemed to crowd in on him as he stood there, emotional turmoil churning inside him like a whirlpool. He wanted to scream, to smash things, to cause a ruckus! At the same time, he wanted to just break down and cry.

Then a pair of surprisingly strong arms wrapped around the copper-haired boy, before the back of his head felt as though it were sinking between a pair of especially plush pillows.

“I’m sorry about your father, Master Ian,” said Gigi, her voice kind as she held him. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but,” she swallowed a little nervously, “we morphs can smell emotions.”

Unsure how he felt about that revelation, Ian shrugged, trying to make his face a mask of nonchalance, to school his churning heart.

“It’s no big deal,” he replied, gently (and more than a little reluctantly) stepping away, so that he could turn and face the tall and elegantly slender-waisted poodlemorph. After a beat of looking at each other, Ian’s face cracked into a smile. “So,” he said with a light shrug, “you were gonna show me around the house?”

Honestly, the house was awfully nice. Even Ian, jaded from the first-class treatment expected for all diplomats and their families, had to admit that the French really knew how to set their foreign guests up in style. All the same, even while Gigi took Ian into every single room, and explored every single nook and cranny, he wasn’t paying nearly as much attention to the tour as he was to the tour guide.

Watching Gigi walk was pure joy, Ian quickly decided. An old song by Johnny Tillotson, “Poetry in Motion,” one of the American oldies one of his former tutors (one that he actually kind of liked, even if he had to torment the poor guy out of principle) listened to a lot, came to his mind unbidden. Somehow, even if the song was a clunky leftover from a time Ian had never known, the lyrics were really accurate in describing the bouncing, rolling, graceful sway of the impossibly beautiful, and yet completely inhuman female creature walking before him. Inexperienced as Ian might be with the opposite sex – his father seldom let him associate with others his own age for very long – all the same Ian knew that what he was seeing was frankly superhuman, some comic book hack’s wildest feminine fantasy given physical shape, with canine features overlaid. Somehow, though, those inhuman features seemed right, a fitting part of the whole, as natural as breathing.

Speaking of breathing…wow, those breasts really did take Ian’s breath away. He was trying not to stare – he really was! But they were just right there. Right there! She was just the right height where they were positioned almost exactly on a level with Ian’s eyes. Gigi wasn’t shy about those breasts, either, and though her blouse was decently modest, its neckline still showed off an awful lot of short-furred black cleavage, frankly more than Ian had ever seen in real life. Actually, almost more than he’d ever seen in photographs at those sites he hoped his father would never find out about. With a perspective like that, Ian had plenty of opportunity to take in those breasts, absorb every nuance, and since Gigi didn’t seem to notice, or if she noticed, she didn’t seem to mind, he indulged himself whenever he thought he could get away with it.

After a while, midway through Gigi explaining something about how to run the hot tub down in the gym, Ian suddenly frowned, struck by a realization: big as they were, Gigi’s breasts didn’t bounce much. Sure, they kind of bobbed and swayed, but they didn’t bounce like he’d seen on those bikini shows. Neither did the rest of her. Ian had heard that morphs were made of sterner stuff than humans, but somehow he hadn’t expected…

“Carbon-calcium reinforcement,” Gigi’s voice suddenly broke into the boy’s thoughts, making his eyes snap instantly upward, to the poodle’s smirking face. “You’re cute when you blush,” she added with a light giggle, covering her mouth politely with a hand as she did so.

“What…I mean, how…I mean…”

“You were wondering why my breasts are so big, but don’t seem to have much wiggle. You probably were wondering the same thing about my,” she frowned a moment, searching for the right word as she wiggled her puffball-topped tail illustratively, “caboose. The answer is a simple one. Morph femmes are less frequent in occurrence than males, but all the same, for military purposes, we are not as physically strong or hardy as a male. At least, we weren’t, until someone invented a way to enhance femmes to make them equal, or even more physically capable than the males. Not all femmes received the treatment, of course, but I am one of them. Much of my body is reinforced with a carbon-calcium network of fibers. The fibers are especially prevalent in the parts of my body that make me most obviously feminine. Because of them, I can support more muscle mass than a normal femme, and my bones are also longer, which is why I am so tall. As a side effect,” Gigi cupped her breasts through the fabric of her white silk blouse, “I can also support much larger sweater puppies, and yet they don’t bounce nearly as badly as those of an unenhanced femme, while still allowing me to produce plenty of milk.” Suddenly, the seemingly unperturbable poodle’s ears turned down, and she looked self-conscious; after a moment, Ian realized that she was doing the canine equivalent of blushing! “I mean,” she amended, “if I ever have children of my own.”

“You, uh, you planning on having kids?” asked Ian, rubbing the back of his head. “I mean, with your husband or boyfriend or whoever?”

“Oh no, Master Ian,” Gigi answered, perhaps too quickly, grinning very sheepishly indeed as she almost mirrored Ian’s gesture, rubbing the back of her own curly-furred head. “We keptmorphs aren’t allowed to reproduce without the permission of our owners. I’m a Good Dog, and I’d never go against the wishes of the ones who hold my contract.”

“A ‘Good Dog’?” Ian queried, arching an eyebrow as he took a step closer to Gigi, his expression turning curious and thoughtful. “What does that mean?”

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Gigi giggled nervously, her calm exterior cracking a little as Ian stepped just within arm’s reach. “I mean to say, I always follow the wishes of my masters. I do everything I can to serve them to the best of my abilities, learning their habits, their preferences, their needs, and then fulfilling them. Right now, I have been assigned by the government agency that holds my papers as your morph servant, and my purpose is to ensure that you receive a proper education, and that all your needs are met for the duration of your stay in France.”

“All my needs, huh?” Ian asked rhetorically, the old mischief starting up inside of him as his old bad habits began to surface once more. “Miss Gigi, I’ve got to admit, I’ve never had a femme as my tutor before. Or for whatever else you’re supposed to do for me. After what you just told me about yourself, I really need to see your breasts.”

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, Ian felt something he’d never experienced before, or at least never to the degree he now felt: guilt. For most of his developing years, he’d regarded his tutors as a source of entertainment, someone that he could harass and torment at whim, making driving them away a sort of game, seeing how much each of them could take before they threw in the towel and left. But as he’d said, he’d never had a woman for a tutor before. He’d certainly never had one as a body servant, which did indeed seem to be within Gigi’s job description. She’d just told him that she was supposed to take care of him, and serve all his needs, and the very first thing he’d done upon hearing such a revelation was try to take advantage of her. Seeing the shocked expression on Gigi’s face, Ian felt his belly do a double flop, his mood going lower than the heels of his shoes.

He was just about to apologize for the bad joke, and tell her he wouldn’t do stupid stuff like that ever again, when the gorgeous black poodlemorph started unbuttoning her blouse!

*

For her part, Gigi was shocked, but not for the reasons that Ian thought. When she’d first seen him leave the limo, something had sort of…shuddered in her chest. Perhaps it was just the product of having read one too many romance novels. Perhaps she was just having some side effects from being on the edge of her heat cycle, when her hormones would often become rather uncertain. Perhaps it had just been too long since she’d been with a male. Or perhaps she was feeling quite natural motherly instincts on first meeting with the one with whom she would be spending a great deal of time as a teacher. And then again, perhaps there really was such a thing as love at first sight. Whatever the reason, Gigi immediately felt a connection between herself and the boy. Something deep, and a little too nebulous for her to properly describe, at least right then.

Naturally, it did not hurt one bit that the boy was handsome. That glowing copper color to his hair, a sort of reddish brown that was almost metallic at the right angles in the right light, was a beautiful contrast to his fair-complexioned skin, which looked so delicate next to her own velvet black flesh and fur. Then there was the way he looked after his departing father, like a puppy abandoned at the side of the road, and immediately Gigi’s heart melted, making her want so desperately to reach out to the boy, to do something, anything she could to comfort him, to serve him, to make him happy in this strange and lonely city where he didn’t even speak the language yet.

All the same, up until the moment he’d asked her to expose her breasts to him, Gigi could honestly say that, despite all the complications of her feelings for her new young Master, she hadn’t had a single erotic fantasy about him. No, not a single impure thought. Not one! After all, he was a human, and she was a morph. Naturally, he wouldn’t feel anything for her, at least not like he would toward a human femme – the very notion of interspecies relations was ludicrous! Preposterous! Not even worth entertaining, no, not for even the most brief of instants.

Without any conscious thought being put into her actions, as the entirety of her mental powers were now wrestling with the world-shattering revelation that a human male could, in fact, be sexually attracted to a more femme, Gigi’s fingers started to unbutton her blouse. She wasn’t slow and sexy about it, like she’d been a few times with the morphboys her masters had allowed her to entertain in the past (including Frenchie, who, she had to admit, was a very nice male indeed, and very generous as a lover), but this wasn’t because she disliked the boy, Ian; she simply hadn’t quite processed the implications of what she’d been asked. Perhaps if she hadn’t been caught so completely off-guard, Gigi wouldn’t have started undressing at all, but since she was, her subliminally-trained instincts to obey human orders kicked in before her conscious mind could censor them, and before either of them were completely aware of what was happening, she was peeling open her blouse, exposing the lacy black brassier beneath (which still seemed to only barely contain those massive mammaries), and was reaching behind her to the catch at the back when Ian’s brain finally kicked back into gear.

*

“Wait!” Ian said, perhaps a little too loudly, raising his hand, reaching out, catching hold of one of Gigi’s. “Wait, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I mean, it wasn’t…” He looked down at the floor, not daring to meet the eyes of the beautiful woman – femme, he corrected himself – before him. Not daring to meet the accusation he knew would be there. “It was supposed to be a stupid joke,” he almost whispered to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

The hand pulled away from his, and for several long beats, Ian was left there, staring at the floor, and his feet, and Gigi’s own pawlike feet, contained within strange-looking shoes. Then he felt the hand return, this time to cup his chin, lifting his face upward to look into the poodlemorph’s dark, expressive eyes. For a moment, Ian avoided those eyes, fearful of what he might see. Then, finally yielding, he looked…and saw not just forgiveness, but acceptance.

In the moments after she’d pulled her hand away, Gigi had buttoned her blouse once more, making herself presentable, as though nothing had happened. Just like that, the scene of the crime was wiped clean, and just as easily, so was Ian’s feeling of guilt at having hurt Gigi. That he’d felt so strongly about causing one of his tutors, femme or not, any harm surprised Ian, shaking him right to his core. With that shock, however, he also realized that he wouldn’t pull any pranks on Gigi, not ever again.

Leaning in, Gigi kissed Ian on the forehead, then pulled him closer, letting the slightly trembling boy nestle in her ample bosom.

“Shh,” she said softly in his ear, rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s all right.”

For the first time since his mother had died, back when he was just a little boy, Ian started to sniffle, and then to cry, his whole body shaking with sobs. The rush of emotion had come out of nowhere, all those pent-up feelings that he’d put on hold, all the needs he’d deferred, all the pain of loss that he’d pretended wasn’t important because he had to “be a man,” and stand on his own, and be strong for his father no matter what, even when he knew perfectly well that his father couldn’t bear to look at him, because Ian’s eyes and hair were the same as his mother’s. Tormenting his tutors had been his escape, his way of putting his active young mind to work on something other than his own problems, but now…

Now all he could think of was how good Gigi smelled.

*

Some part of Ian would have liked to say that the rest of his day got really hot and steamy. Sure, he’d gotten some notion of how it was supposed to be wrong to see morphs ‘that way,’ but that was over in America. In the United Kingdom, most people didn’t care much about morphs one way or the other, since there just weren’t that many allowed in the country. They were somebody else’s problem, as far as the average Brit on the street was concerned. Everybody in Europe knew that Americans were prudes, anyway. So, where a more typical American would have seen an intelligent animal, Ian saw a woman. A very attractive woman. One who happened to have a dog’s head, and some other features, but a woman all the same. A beautiful woman, who was willing to do most anything he asked, with whom he shared the same house.

If Ian went to normal highschools, or any sort of schooling outside of the home, maybe he’d have lied about the rest of what happened during the dirty lockerroom talk that takes place between boys. He was young, he was healthy, and he was right on the tail end of puberty, when his body had finally figured out what it was supposed to do with the equipment that had been just dangling between his legs up until that point. Despite American prudery, being a virgin was still considered a supreme embarrassment for a boy. So, yeah, Ian would have lied, and said that stuff happened.

Truthfully, though, stuff didn’t happen. What did happen was, Gigi finished the tour, and then made them both a really nice dinner of salad nicoise (hers with extra fish and fewer of the olives that gave the salad its name), and then they both went to their separate bedrooms on the second floor of the tall, stately townhouse. Sure, Gigi’s room was just a little way down the hall from his own, but as far as Ian was concerned right now, slumped on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, she might as well be a world away.

A world. Or a fantasy.

Years back, right about the time he first started growing pubes, Ian stopped wearing clothes to bed. Mostly he did it because he discovered quickly that nudity really bothered his British tutors. For him, being naked was a sort of power, so he didn’t own a single set of proper pajamas. Right now, he really wished he did, and made a note to mention to Gigi that they’d need to go shopping pretty soon. Being in the same house as a gorgeous woman of whom he was not going to take advantage was very awkward when you didn’t have any pants. So, for right now, Ian lay on his bed in his boxers, his hands tucked behind his head, doing his best not to think impure thoughts.

Naturally, all Ian’s efforts failed. At least, he actually hadn’t been thinking about anything naughty (as the British might call it), until he glanced down, and blinked, noticing that, like it or not, his penis was sticking out through the flap in the front of the his boxers, erect without any conscious thought on his part.

“Who said I wanted you to show up?” Ian groused at his traitor erection, reaching down to give it a light flick with his fingertips. “We’re not gonna do anything with her. I mean, that’d just be…wrong.”

Like many boys, Ian actually wasn’t a bad sort of person, and when he was alone and able to have some time to think things through, he tended to come to the right conclusions. Thinking back on the earlier events of the day, he realized that some of the stuff, at least, that he’d heard about morphs was true. For one, they had an inbuilt instinct to follow commands given by the people they regarded as their Masters. Right now, that meant him. Essentially, Gigi only had as much control over Ian as he allowed her to have, unless she called in an outside intervention of some sort. She had her orders to take care of him, to feed him, to educate him, but anything outside of those basic commands, he was actually responsible for her.

“Wonder if this is how people who have a dog feel,” mused the ruddy-haired boy, hardly noticing his fingers as they idly toyed with his still very erect, smooth shaft, fiddling down near the base, rolling it this way and that without much thought put into the action. “Or a kid.”

Thinking about Gigi like a pet or a little girl actually helped Ian get some control over himself. Since he lived alone a lot of the time, he’d largely gotten used to talking to himself out loud when he was trying to puzzle through a problem. Saying stuff seemed to help him get control of his thoughts, to crystallize them, making them somehow more real.

“So she’s responsible for me,” Ian continued to think out loud. “But I’m also responsible for her. Give and take, I guess.” He shrugged, then looked down at his hand, now wrapped around his smooth, boyish erection, stroking it slowly from bottom to top. “So we can stop that thought right there,” he chided himself, and voluntarily removed his hand from its present location, instead sending the errant digits seeking out his portable gaming device, dragging it out of the bag of his personal effects that he hadn’t finished unpacking. Everything else, Gigi had promptly put into its proper place, but at his insistence, she’d left that one bag alone.

“Guess I’d better get used to being tutored,” sighed Ian, starting up the game system, smirking a little at its cheery chime. “Kind of weird, having a mom figure again.”

Of course, despite distracting himself, Ian’s erection didn’t go away. It still hadn’t gone away when he fell asleep a bit less than an hour later, tired out from his long day of travel.

*

Gigi was a Good Girl. She knew this, and had never before questioned her place in life. She was to serve her humans to the best of her ability, in any capacity they saw fit. Eventually, her owners had promised that they’d have her bred, because she was such a Good Girl, so that she could pass on her traits, and those of the anonymous father with whom she’d have sexual congress, to their puppies. Time and time again, she’d been through her periods of heat, and time and time again her body had been left…unfulfilled.

In truth, Gigi had always proven to be excellent at her job because of her powerful motherly instincts. Her intellect was keen, certainly, and her body in excellent condition from long hours spent in exercise, ensuring that she could act as a bodyguard in case of emergency (though, of course, that wasn’t her primary training), but what set her apart as a teacher of the young was her empathy, the sheer degree to which she cared about her charges.

Right now, Gigi was starting to think that perhaps she cared a little too much.

If Gigi was the sort of femme to place blame, she might have said it was Ian’s fault. He was cute, obviously, even on the edge of handsome. A few more years of development, some filling out, and a little more self-confidence, and he would be handsome. Gorgeous, in fact. His soft-looking pale skin just demanded to be touched, stroked, caressed, and his face had the slightest impish quality to it, like one rendition Gigi recalled of the character Puck from Shakespeare’s famous play, making it hard to be truly angry at him, even when he did…questionable things.

Looking down as she felt a flush of heat rush to her face and ears, Gigi was glad for her smooth black skin and curly fur: it hid any blushes so well. And she was blushing as she stood before her closet, freshly changed into the negligee that was only just barely opaque enough to conceal the essential elements of her femininity. Of course, she never wore such scandalous clothing around her young charges, and had grown accustomed to wrapping a robe around her body whenever they needed her during the night, the act a habit born of long practice, to spare their tender, budding minds. Also, of course, none of her former charges had been as old as Ian. He was her first teenager, and his…his boldness was astonishing to her! Overpowering!

Tempting.

Her big black nipples were painfully erect beneath the sheer silk of her nightclothes, and Gigi couldn’t hold back a soft whimper as she raised her hands to her breasts, squeezing them with desperate strength, until she felt her aching nipples stand erect between her fingers. The harder she squeezed, however, the more her mind filled with images of the boy. Of Ian.

Something like this had never happened before! The boy, Ian Proudblood, was supposed to be just another assignment. A troubled boy who’d lost his mother, and needed tender nurturing, despite his tendency towards making mischief for all his former tutors and caretakers. She’d tended to the children of hundreds of families, most of them diplomats from all over the globe, and plenty of them worse than Ian in what sorts of mischief they’d try. Never once had she been even slightly tempted to do anything appropriate with a single one of them, even when she’d been naked with them, which was often, a regular part of her duties. But then, her rational mind recalled, they were, after all, only children. The comparison between them and Ian, a boy on the cusp of full manhood, was unfair. Orders from a child were easily set aside to be weighed based on their relative merits. Orders from an adult, on the other hand, were quite a different matter.

Casting her thoughts out, Gigi found a more suitable example: the fathers of her many young charges. And, occasionally, their mothers. Being completely honest with herself took a slight effort, but wasn’t so difficult for Gigi, long used to introspection as a part of improving herself in the course of her efforts to teach and tend. When she’d cleared away her knee-jerk denials and sense of guilt, Gigi saw the problem clearly. Saw it, and groaned within herself.

She was attracted to humans. In fact, she always had been. And the attraction grew to its worst when, like now, she was entering her heat cycle, her body preparing itself for the pleasurable acts that, if her instincts were followed, would soon produce beautiful fruit.

“I’m…I’m a Bad Girl,” Gigi whimpered to herself, almost on the verge of tears. At first she covered her face in her hands. But then, slowly, her hands drifted down her body, caressing her supple flesh beneath the soft silk of her negligee. “Yes,” she agreed with herself, opening her eyes, staring at herself in the mirror as she hooked her thumbs into the waist of her semi-translucent panties, “I am a Bad Girl.”

No longer holding herself back, Gigi shoved her panties to the floor, then kicked them aside with an almost brutal movement of one dainty-looking footpaw. Thoughts of how she’d felt, receiving the order of her new master to bare her breasts, made her nipples ache even more, and soon she was tearing the negligee over her head, casting it aside as well, leaving herself in only her garters as she spun and stalked to the bed. Her instincts had recognized Ian as an adult. A virile, adult male, and their difference in species could brule en enfer as far as they were concerned! Obedience to such a male, especially when she was in the throes of her body’s instinctual demands of estrus, was only natural. How else was she supposed to receive the puppies that her body so craved?

Climbing onto the bed, Gigi looked over her shoulder, panting hard as she saw herself in the mirror, presented and on display like the slutty bitch in heat she really was. Her black pussy was painfully swollen, and glistening with slick wet juices. Her snug black tailhole winked with every pulse of her inner depths, every desperate demand of her body to be filled by a male’s powerful, dominating organ right now. Snarling like a wild animal, Gigi wished desperately that she dared to have some sort of toy on hand, something that could possibly act as a surrogate for what she really needed, but all she had was her hands. So hands would have to suffice.

Covering her sex with her entire hand, Gigi ground the heel of her palm into her gushing slit, feeling the waves of heat radiating from her needy sex. Her other hand went to the back of her neck, and she squealed like a puppy as she imagined a pair of powerful male jaws closing on the fold of skin there, holding her in an unbreakable mating bite. Suddenly, her mind was filled with the image of Ian’s face, how she imagined he would look as he grabbed her upraised, presenting derriere, and she couldn’t hold back the first howl of orgasm as she plunged her fingers into her desperately aching pussy! The second howl she stifled by biting down hard on her pillow, tearing the fabric, making its stuffing start to leak.

Poor Gigi was going to have a very tiring night.

*

One thing Ian had never really gotten used to was the tendency for a lot of European bathrooms to be separate from the toilets. This wasn’t as much of a problem in England, but in his new Parisian digs, bleary-eyed from a restless night, and with his balls aching almost as much as his bladder, distracting his still drowsy mind from the important matters of the present, he’d actually ended up in the actual bath room, and had to retrace his steps. By the time he’d done his morning business, and was heading back toward the bathroom to get himself cleaned up for the days’ activities, Gigi was already there, waiting for him.

“Uh,” Ian stammered, taken aback to see the shapely black poodlemorph standing there in nothing but a towel, which did little to contain her more than generous assets. “Morning, Gigi. You here to take your bath too?”

“I am accustomed to giving my young charges their daily baths,” Gigi answered with all the proper officiousness expected of a nanny that intends to accept no nonsense. “I find it saves time and reduces mischief.” Then she arched an eyebrow at Ian. “Especially when the charge in question has a history like yours, Master Ian.”

Yeah, she knew about what Ian had done with his former keepers all right. Ian flushed at having this knowledge made known to him, his eyes dropping. He flushed even more deeply when his eyes came to rest on his penis, once again sticking out through the flap in the front of his boxers. Traitor erection! Well, maybe she hadn’t seen…

“You can’t have a bath in your clothes, Master Ian,” Gigi teased as the human boy turned away from her, to do his utmost to conceal the raging boner sticking almost straight out before him, and Ian couldn’t suppress a shudder as her surprisingly strong hands slipped into the waist of his boxers, the only clothes he had on right then, and smoothly shucked them down his smooth young body. “Now, stay there while I get the bath ready for you,” she added, walking around Ian, leaving him standing, gaping, in the middle of the bathroom.

No, she couldn’t possibly…but she most certainly did. Tossing aside her towel casually, completely unconcerned with her voluptuous nudity, Gigi bent over the tub right at the waist, thrusting her flawless, muscular black rump back at the teen behind her. Ian could see everything, his first ever real life woman, all of her laid out on display like candy in a store window!

Seemingly completely unconcerned with the fact that she was alone with a painfully erect teenage boy, as naked as she was, and so very exposed and vulnerable in her bent-over state, Gigi happily hummed to herself, wiggling a little in time with the music, the fluffy pompom of her tailtip bouncing to and fro with each bump of her hips to each side. With the water running, Gigi regularly testing it with her wrist, she seemed not to have a care in the world, her whole demeanor that of someone who is utterly at peace with the world and herself.

Ian, on the other hand, could only stand where he was and gape, his mouth wide open, his penis not just erect, but dripping. What was Gigi doing?! Surely she didn’t do this with the children she’d tended in the past. And of course there was no possible way she could know the effect she was having on poor Ian. After all, they weren’t even the same species. Despite himself, despite all the restraint he’d tried to build up over the night, and despite all his good intentions to try and behave for Gigi as he’d never behaved for any of his tutors before, Ian started to move forward, step by nearly involuntary step, his hands limp at his sides, his smooth shaft aimed almost straight at the tight-looking black poodle pussy right before him. Even with steam starting to rise from the tub as it filled, Ian could smell her, could smell the sweet musk of her body, of her sex. Eyes fluttering shut, Ian almost felt as though he should shove his face against Gigi’s exposed girlparts, and get a good, deep whiff of that scent, just take it all in, just absorb it and make her a part of himself…

“It’s ready,” came Gigi’s cheerful voice, breaking Ian out of his lust-shrouded daze, his eyes snapping open to meet Gigi’s own dark-eyed gaze and smiling face. “Hop in, Master Ian, and let’s get you all clean.”

‘Let’s,’ which was a contraction of ‘let us.’ Ian was still mulling over the full implications of what Gigi meant by these words as he stepped into the tub and seated himself in the hip high water…and Gigi slid in right behind him!

“Just relax and do what I tell you, Master,” Gigi said soothingly in Ian’s ear, her hands going to his shoulders, strong fingers gently massaging the muscles that had grown so suddenly tense at this new, awkward situation. “I’ve given my youngsters thousands of baths over the years, so I know how to take care of you. Of course,” she added, resting his head back against her plush breasts, letting him use them like a pillow, “you’re a teenager, and have some additional needs that none of them ever had, but you don’t need to worry: I promise that I’ll have you completely relaxed and ready to face the day, just as long as you trust me to do my job.”

Still half-dazed, Ian didn’t have enough presence of mind right then to even try and resist as Gigi squeezed out a copious quantity of liquid soap onto her strong black hands. Gasping softly, Ian could only watch as those hands began to caress his chest, smearing the soap all over his smooth, trim musculature, then bending him forward slightly to do the same with his back. When her hands came back, this time starting to knead his firm boyish flesh, working him up to a full and fine lather, his body was a strange mixture of relaxed enjoyment of the massagelike sensations…and intense tension at the constant knowledge that he was taking a bath with a completely naked and very beautiful woman!

“Now up on all-fours,” Gigi was saying, and before he knew what he was doing, Ian’s face was flushing even more deeply than he’d thought possible as he found himself being positioned just how Gigi wanted him, those big hands almost as irresistible as her sweet voice and ever-present cloying scent. “Good boy!” she praised him, even as her hands started to knead into the flesh of his lower back.

He was on display, presenting like a bitch in heat! This thought flashed through Ian’s mind, even as he felt those strong, gentle hands close over his taut young buns, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, at just the same time those hands started to squeeze down on his toned butt, the fingers digging soothingly into his tensed flesh, and then down his toned runner’s legs.

Eyes popping open as he felt those hands going back up, caressing his belly, and then lower still, Ian gasped as he felt one hand engulf his still-hard penis, while the other started to soap up his aching nuts.

“You keep yourself smooth down here,” Gigi commented as she finished getting his sac sudsed up, before a finger teased upward over his sensitive perineum, pressing briefly into that extra-tender spot right behind the boy’s balls, before starting to prod gently at his snug anus, getting it soaped up and slick. “That’s good: it makes it so much easier to keep you clean, Master. Outside,” and with that word, her finger popped smoothly into his well-lubricated bottom, “and in.”

Even if she’d never been bred before, Gigi had, of course, received training in sexual techniques. Such training was standard for all morphs, male and femme alike. With that training came an understanding of all the parts of the anatomy of a male, including the prostate and its potential effects. Ian, however, had no idea of what his prostate could do. At least, he had no idea…until Gigi’s finger expertly caressed that walnut-sized knob of extra-sensitive inner flesh.

“Ah!” the boy cried out, unable to keep quiet any longer, his body squirming even more as she splashed water on his penis, rinsing off the soap. “Gigi! Gigi, it’s…I can’t…there’s too much…”

“It’s okay, Master,” Gigi murmured, pulling Ian up, onto his knees, before she bent her head around the curve of his hip. “Don’t hold back – it’s not good for a handsome young man to hold himself back for too long.”

“Oh!” Ian moaned loudly, his hips bucking, his supple buns tight, his cobblestone tummy rippling. “Oh! Oh! Oh Gigi!”

Gigi, of course, was unable to answer right then, as her muzzle wrapped smoothly around Ian’s pulsing shaft, engulfing his smooth boyflesh right at the moment he started to cum! A smile spread on her lips as she bobbed her head, her finger thrusting forward and back in time with her muzzle, happily drinking down every last drop of sweet boycream as it splashed onto her tongue, letting her taste this precious virgin’s pleasure as she drained him dry.

Basking in the tub after his orgasm, Ian let his eyes flutter shut, drained of energy the same way he’d been drained of cum. Vaguely, he was aware of Gigi getting into the tub with him, of her hands on his body, rubbing him all over, but after such a powerful first sexual experience with a woman, there was no way he was going to be able to do much more. At least, not right away, not as quickly and thoroughly as Gigi worked. Despite her former erotic advances, once Ian had cum, her focus shifted entirely, to getting him – and herself as well – clean and presentable for the day. Obviously, sex had its place for Gigi, but it wouldn’t interfere with her other duties…or Ian’s, either.

After that, the day went by with such surprising mundanity, Ian was left almost bewildered. Crepes for breakfast (and Gigi was a very good cook – fast, too), then exercise, then school. One nice thing about being tutored, rather than having to attend school, was that Ian was expected to accomplish a certain number of tasks in a day, at his own speed, and in his own way. In a school “outside,” he’d have been expected to simply stay there until such time as classes let out, whether he was ready for them to end or not. Strangely, after the “event” of that morning, through the whole day Ian felt relaxed, clear-headed, his mind far better able to focus on the lessons Gigi worked to teach him. Since it was a new school year, of course, everything was pretty simple anyway, but all the same, not once did Ian feel the need to act out or rebel.

Considering his feelings, Ian decided he’d never want to do anything to hurt Gigi.

“Bien,” said Gigi as the last of the introductory exercises died its quiet death on Ian’s worktable in the well-lit upper room of the townhouse, a room he was pretty sure had originally been intended as an artist’s studio. “You’ve done well today, Master. Tomorrow, we’ll try something a bit harder, I think. Then, if you’re good, we can have a gelato together.”

Gelato. That was her idea of a reward? Sure, Ian admitted to himself, he liked Italian ice cream as much as the next guy – the stuff those street vendors sold was like nothing else! – but after what she’d done for him that morning in the bath, somehow sharing a cutesy little cone with the voluptuous black beauty before him, elegant in her fine skirt suit and flawlessly-sculpted, curly-haired coiffure, well…it just didn’t seem enough.

“You’re thinking about this morning, Master,” Gigi said, smirking lightly when Ian’s face burst out into the full bloom of a blush. “I can tell because your eyes go straight to my breasts when you’re thinking about sex. When they’re not going to my derriere, or my hips; and you do like my hips,” she added, the smirk turning into a grin as she ran her hands down her belly, and over those wide, motherly expanses. “If you were a male morph, I’d think you wanted to stud me.”

“I…it’s not…I mean, I don’t…I mean, I do, but not…”

Gigi halted Ian’s stammering with a raised hand, her smile not unkind.

“Relax, Master,” she reassured him. “If I were upset, I’d tell you. I don’t believe in keeping secrets: they’re as unhealthy as letting your desires become too pent up, like this morning. You’re a male, and your needs are different from my own. Your coquilles produce lots of sperm all the time, whether you want it or not, and they have to come out, one way or another. It’s a natural process of biology. For a male, having sex is a way to relieve that pressure in the most pleasurable way possible. Similarly, my ovaires produce eggs on a regular basis, but far more slowly than your body makes sperm. And every egg produced is a big production.” The poodle shrugged. “Blood is the body’s way of saying that something important is happening, and my period, when it comes, is testament to how highly my body regards the precious treasure it made, only to be forced to discard it, unfulfilled. So, for a female, having a baby is a big production, and thus, so is having sex. Very different indeed from what you males go through. You should be grateful you are not a morph, Master,” she added. “I understand that when a morph male is not allowed release for too long, it can become very uncomfortable indeed.”

Such frank, open talk about sex shocked Ian, and left him speechless. Mouth open, he gaped at Gigi for a long beat, before he finally remembered to blink.

“Wait,” he somehow got out, smooth brow furrowing as he started to make connections. “You’re saying…you were just getting me off this morning, because you wanted me to be comfortable?”

“I like you a lot, Master,” Gigi answered immediately, her smile open and genuine. “We morphs have an…instinct about such things. A sense something like scent, but more. I want you to be happy. My owners have not seen fit to allow me to have a child of my own yet, and so I have had to content myself with tending to the needs of my charges. You are the first of my charges to be sexually mature, and when you told me to undress yesterday, and then had me stop, I knew many things about you right away. First, you were mischievous and headstrong, prone to leaping ahead perhaps faster and farther than you should. Second, you were a virgin, and one that was very pent-up besides – not unusual, given that you came from Britain, and probably drank in their stuffy ways. Finally, I learned that, no matter what else you might do, you have a good heart.” She stepped forward, and reached down to where he sat on the couch, resting her hand on his chest. “Caught up in the instinct of the moment, I might have done almost anything you told me, Master. But you didn’t force me. The thought didn’t even occur to you. All you thought was that you’d somehow violated the sanctity of a woman – and you do look at me as a woman, rather than an animal, Master; so different from other humans – and that you should stop and try to make amends as best you could.”

“How…?”

“I have a nose, Master,” Gigi answered the question before Ian had even managed to fully articulate it in his mind, let alone with his mouth. “And some of the watchful instincts of the canids on whom my appearance is based. Being aware of your packmates is essential for survival, as is awareness of your prey.” Her hand rose, and brushed against his cheek. “But the question remains, Master,” she continued, her smile small and teasing as she leaned in just a little bit closer, “are you packmate…or prey?”

Right then, Ian just hoped Gigi wouldn’t look down. He wasn’t sure he could live with the humiliation of her looking at the tent in the front of his slacks.

She didn’t look, though. Instead, she straightened, then tugged the bottom of her suit top, her smile pleasantly professional once more. Like this, so confident in her femininity, so proud and untouchable – except on her terms! – while still being so approachable, so desirable, Ian’s breath was stolen, his heart skipping its regular beats in his chest.

“I need to go shopping for dinner, Master,” she said finally. “While I strongly disapprove of that ugly British invention, the sandwich, I can see its occasional necessity, and understand its convenience. There are fixings for such things in the kitchen, but in future, I will have to teach you how to enjoy a truly civilized lunch.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall, and Ian’s eyes involuntarily followed her gaze. “I should be back within two hours, if all goes as I expect. If I need to be gone more than three hours, I will call you. Is there anything more I can do for you before I go?” All Ian could do was shake his head, overwhelmed by this wonderful woman without her having to do more than be herself. “Then adieu, Master.”

*

Concentration didn’t come easily to Ian. No, not easily at all. Gigi had gone easy on him that day, recognizing that he was still suffering some fatigue from travel, as well as the natural adjustment that came with coming to a new place, and so they hadn’t done too much physical training – just some basic cardiovascular work, nothing too strenuous, but enough to make sure the red-brown-haired boy didn’t start losing his edge completely. Unfortunately, this also meant that Ian had a fair amount of nervous energy left over right then. Energy that simply would not be contained by the common amusements with which he’d entertained himself in the past, when his homeschooling finished.

In times like these, the Internet had all the answers.

Ian supposed that it was Gigi’s mentioning that she hadn’t had a child yet that guided him. Earlier, he’d tried to play a bit of his favorite online fantasy game, but his mind simply wasn’t in the game. He couldn’t concentrate when he could still smell Gigi’s presence there, in the whole house! Her scent was subtle, but, for him, it was cloying, and it took precedence over everything else. Turning off the game, Ian had allowed himself to wander the many side routes of the world online, using his favorite search engine to assist, and very grateful indeed that no parental controls had been installed on the local network. Obviously, they’d been reset along with everything else, all part of the standard systems wipe to ensure nothing was left behind by the former occupants of the townhouse.

Except, the places where Ian eventually ended up, they wouldn’t have set off most of the modern parental controls on the market at that time. Traditional porn sites, definitely, but where Ian ended up, not so much. After all, in the eyes of international law (with the exception of India, but they’d legally recognized dolphins as nonhuman persons a long while ago, and so were regarded as an oddity), morphs were in a nebulous area just above common animals, but well below humans. There were no laws censoring media with animals having sex, as long as it was only with each other. Similarly, there were no laws censoring media with morphs engaged in even the most carnal acts (though most morphs who ran such websites regularly put up disclaimers to warn off those who didn’t want to see what was available). After only a short while, Ian found himself learning more about morphs than he’d ever even begun to dream possible. All he had to do was point…and click.

Eyes tracing the sleek lines of a beautiful black stallion equimorph handling a much smaller white-furred Arabian mare, the human boy’s hands strayed to his trousers, unbuttoning them, then drawing down the zipper, nice and slow. After all, if Gigi was as crazy about making “real” food as she’d indicated, then she’d be out for hours more. Plenty of time for Ian to relieve some serious pressure!

Smooth, stiff boycock standing at full attention, however, Ian realized that what he was seeing, while very hot, wasn’t what he really wanted. Frowning, leaving his penis unattended for a short while, both of Ian’s hands went to work on the keyboard, and then on the mouse. Yes, this was much closer to what he wanted to see. A slim and pretty poodlegirl being put in her place by this mean-looking white pitbull with scary red eyes and a really thick cock. Yeah, that was a lot more like it!

*

Moules marinières, like all food worth eating, was a labor of love. Of course, Gigi knew that Ian hadn’t expected her to get home so quickly after shopping, but, truly, mussels had to be very fresh to properly ensure the best flavor. Now the kettle had all the seasonings that would stew the shellfish to perfection, and was set on the stove to boil, after which she would pop the mussels in, toss them until they opened, sprinkle with parsley, and serve. A perfect time, while she had a few minutes yet, to go and check on what her lovely young charge had done with his time while she was away.

Ascending the stairs to the young Master’s bedroom, however, Gigi paused, her nose immediately working. That morning, she’d gotten a very good impression of Ian’s scent – and much more besides. A second or two was all she needed to confirm her first impression, before she smirked, lightening her tread as she kept going up the stairs. For a tall and powerfully-built woman like herself, this wasn’t easy, but she’d long ago learned the value of stealth in keeping order among her various charges.

Opening Ian’s door just a crack, Gigi let her eyes play across his back. One hand was on the arm of his full-backed computer chair, gripping the padding tightly. The other was hidden from her view, but she could see his elbow resting on the other arm, and it was obvious that wherever that hand was, it was moving quite vigorously. Another crack, and Gigi could fit her muzzle through the door, allowing her to fix both her eyes on the screen before Ian. And, more importantly, on what was on that screen.

Oh ho! So, the young Master was sowing his oats, was he? And with such content before him! Shocking! A skinny little waif of a poodle, too, having such obscene things done to her. Bah! She was hardly more than a girl, certainly not one worthy of the attentions of a real male! A step closer, and Gigi didn’t bother resisting the urge to curl her lip as she saw the purpose of the site: training and breeding services for morphs. She needed no training! Well, perhaps some aversion therapy, if she felt like subduing this irrational attraction she seemed to have for handsome human boys, even if they had an even more irrational liking for looking at starved little girls getting stuffed with far more cock than they were ready to handle. As for breeding…grr, it wasn’t fair! It wasn’t! Why should that pathetic puppy get to have babies, and she should be denied such a treasure?

Breathe. That’s it, stop thinking, stop focusing on the ache in your belly, Gigi thought to herself. Just breathe. In. Now out. Now, back away, nice and slow. Make no noise. Don’t let the Master know you were spying on him.

But the poodle on the screen…she was black, wasn’t she? The same color fur as Gigi’s own. Surely there were other poodles of other colors on that silly site, getting similar sorts of treatment. Other canomorphs of all sorts, in fact…and other morphtypes entirely as well. Ian had the entire Internet, with its wealth of pornographic media at his disposal. Certainly, the precise video he’d selected wasn’t exactly what Gigi would have liked to see…but then, what she wanted to see wasn’t really at issue, so much as what she wanted to do…

“Gigi,” Ian hissed, the word hardly more than a whisper, the hand on the armrest clenching even more tightly than before, before she saw a spurt of white splash on the top of the chair’s headrest.

Arching an eyebrow, Gigi quietly slipped from the room, and shut the door behind her without a sound. Oh ho – so that was how it was going to be. Well, the young Master obviously needed to learn some lessons about what women want. Or at least women like Gigi. Since she was, after all, his tutor, it naturally devolved upon her to provide ample instruction. But first, dinner.

After she’d given Ian a little time to recover, that is.

*

Third day. Third day of…how many had she given to Ian as punishment? Yes, punishment, for he’d been a very bad boy indeed.

The first week, Ian had been as good as gold. He’d done everything Gigi asked of him, and more. All his schoolwork, chores around the house (Gigi did most of these, of course, but she felt strongly that knowing domestic skills was an essential part of anyone’s education), and he’d even been helping her with the cooking. Ah, but then, on the Tuesday after his arrival, and their new arrangement, his father had come by for a visit. Out of respect, Gigi had left father and son alone, allowing them to talk more-or-less freely. She’d heard some things, of course, but that was only to be expected, she with her morph’s senses. As a good hostess, Gigi had made them both dinner – her very best soupe à l'oignon recipe – but the elder Proudblood hadn’t stayed. Harsh words had been exchanged, though they’d done their best to keep their voices down, to try and keep her from overhearing their squabbles, their dirty laundry. So, he’d left, and Ian hadn’t had any appetite that night.

Gigi shared the soup with Frenchie, after he came back later, and a few of their other morph friends.

Wednesday morning, Gigi had to dodge the stream of the shower. Someone, it seemed, had thought that it would be quite funny to fill the showerhead with a dissolving capsule filled with food coloring.

Now it was Saturday night, and Gigi was lying in bed, gritting her teeth to keep from whimpering. Ian’s punishment, truthfully, was as much her own. She’d refused – starkly refused! – to give him his morning ‘relief’ since that first prank. He’d left out a rubber spider for her on Thursday afternoon, but it had been placed far too obviously to prove effective – it was simply a half-hearted measure to declare that he wouldn’t let her boss him around – and right after that, the pranks dried up.

Sadly, the pranks were the only thing that had dried up: Gigi was soaked.

“Curse you, Master Ian,” Gigi snarled softly as she squirmed on the bed, the throes of her heat well and truly upon her now, as they would be for many days hence. “May the devil roast your balls!”

He was up as well, she knew. Gigi wasn’t sure how much he could hear of her, especially when she’d been masturbating with desperate savagery every night since she’d stopped attending to Ian’s morning needs. What she did know, however, was that she could hear him perfectly well as he did the same. Hear him, and smell him, and very nearly taste him.

Gigi’s muzzle watered, and she had to lick her chops often to keep from drooling all over her pillow.

Now, though, she could hear Ian doing something rather different. Though it was well past his bedtime, the curfew both he and she had agreed was right and proper if he was to be alert and functional the next day, the sounds of the online game that Ian preferred in his off hours could be heard coming from his room. Certainly, he’d turned the sound down to its lowest setting, and without having to look, Gigi knew that he’d left the lights off in his room as well – he may even have stuffed some rags beneath the door, to keep the light from his screen from filtering out. Such efforts might have kept a human unaware of his actions. Gigi, however, was a morph, and she was duty-bound to ensure that her young charge was properly disciplined!

Hmm, but how to go about such a task? Normally, Gigi would simply take the parental stance required, appear and act authoritative, and bring her errant charge to heel. Now, however, as she rose, sticky and panting from her bed, she felt a need to be…creative. Yes, Ian had performed one too many pranks on her. Now, Gigi was going to have her turn.

Pulling out her laptop from its case by her bed, Gigi flipped on the bedside lamp, and logged on. A few keystrokes later, and she was in touch with one of her friends from China, a morph herself, and an avid player of the very game that Ian so loved. The wonders of the information age still astounded Gigi sometimes as she and her friend began plotting their wicked deeds.

*

Her smell was everywhere. Everywhere! How was anyone supposed to sleep when there was just no way to escape that wonderful, tantalizing scent?

Ian deeply regretted pulling those pranks on Gigi. He’d been upset after he and his father had, once again, not seen eye to eye, and his first reaction had been to fall back on his old habits, taking out his frustration on the one person he could reach. Now, though, he ached in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe, except to say that he really and truly understood why his condition was called “blue balls.” Honestly, he’d actually felt sorry immediately after he’d seen Gigi bring him kouign-amann for breakfast, and had intended to apologize. Instead, though, she’d declared that their little morning ritual of her helping to bathe him was at an end. Until he learned how to properly treat a woman, she would keep their relationship strictly professional. So, he hadn’t apologized. Instead, he’d left a plastic spider on the kitchen stove the next day. And now…he regretted it. Dearly.

Even before the cold turkey treatment, Ian had been having some of the wildest fantasies he’d ever experienced about any woman, before or since. No Internet beauty could compare to Gigi, and though he loathed and despised the Barry Manilow songs his father seemed to adore, he couldn’t quite get the lyrics to “Real Live Girl” out of his head, not now that he’d learned they were all too true.

When Ian had to go cold turkey, that’s when the really kinky fantasies, and even more obscene dreams started up. The dreams where he was rubbing a smooth, round, swollen belly, and knew somehow that it wasn’t his own. The fantasies where he was riding a firm, flawless black bottom, pounding it, humping its owner, picturing those gorgeous breasts bouncing, imagining the sounds she’d make as he hammered his cock into her again and again, until she was begging him to cum inside her, to make her pregnant, to give her his children – his puppies! Sometimes, the fantasies didn’t just have him knocking her up. Sometimes, she was already pregnant, sporting a firm, swollen belly, big enough to hold a whole litter.

Ian was a good boy, despite all his many flaws. He’d always been taught that masturbation was wrong somehow, that it made him weak. That’s what his father had always said, anyway. So he did his best to hold off. Until he’d met Gigi, and she’d been so sweetly willing to relieve a pressure he hadn’t even really known was there, it hadn’t been that hard, actually. But after that first taste of forbidden fruit, that’s when Ian had jacked himself off while watching a poodle bitch being pounded full of puppies, the very same day. That first period of weakness was the last, though – he’d let Gigi handle him exclusively up until he’d…well, he’d made his mistake. Right now, Ian was desperately wishing that he wasn’t so very, very weak, and that his desires weren’t running so high and hot right then, he could only just barely see the screen in front of him.

Through it all, Gigi’s scent stuck with him. With her rich, womanly smell pervading everything in the house, it was almost like having her right there with him, no matter where he went or what he did.

Feeling desperate, rather than dangerous, Ian forced himself to focus. Focus on the screen, focus on his wizard character, focus on entering the Player-Versus-Player zone, where anything could happen to anyone. The game was a rough one, savage at times, and there were plenty of adult mods that could show up just about anywhere. Ian had spent a good chunk of his free time yesterday downloading and then installing a bunch of those mods, so that if someone else had them as well, he could…well, he really didn’t know what. Up until then, he’d been a “good” player, staying within the bounds of the game as originally programmed. Now, though, he needed to live dangerously. With such powerful emotions tearing through him, burning him up from the inside out, only something so on the edge could keep him from going crazy with the aching need that felt like it was going to make him explode at any moment.

Suddenly, Ian blinked, all his attention finally focused on the game. He’d wandered into a new zone, and right away, he realized he wasn’t alone, the enemy tracker spell in the corner of the screen going off to warn him of his imminent danger. Sneering at the screen, rather than avoiding the new potential threat, he steered straight toward it. PVP action, here he came! Even if it meant getting his character killed, at least it would make him think about something else for a little while. A few minutes of peace was worth a good 30 levels or so.

Wait…wait a moment. Ian’s eyes widened as he started to realize that something was wrong. The spell counter had soon started feeding him data about the member of the rival faction that was in the vicinity. The character’s race was one of the canis, the people that could be dogs, foxes, or wolves. As he panned out the view, however, he saw that the figure rushing toward his human wizard wasn’t just any canis. Instead, it was a powerful barbarian warrior, clad in a skimpy chainmail bikini, and hefting an axe that immediately told him that he was about to run into some serious bad news – that was epic loot!

What really got Ian’s attention, though, wasn’t the sudden realization that he was about to go head-to-head with a max level barbarian, while playing a caster in a PVP area, without any support. What got his attention was the “skin” the barbarian girl was using: a black-furred poodle humanoid. Why, it looked just like…

“You’ve been very bad, Master,” flashed across Ian’s message center, making his jaw drop, his hands forget to move to make any sort of emergency counterspells that might have earned him a little more survival time, or even a chance at escaping. “You’re up past your bedtime. I’m afraid that means I’m going to have to punish you.”

“Gigi?” Ian whispered, typing the question at the same time he said it.

Mind still reeling with what was happening, Ian didn’t have a chance. In seconds, his wizard was bowled over on the ground, and the powerful barbarian poodle was crouched over him, a massive hand on his chest.

“I’ve got a friend who plays,” Gigi explained through the message system, turning slightly to wiggle her hind end at the camera, showing off so much more flesh than the faithful poodlemorph ever showed outside of the bathroom. “She’s really good at making custom skins. And she doesn’t like bad boys who stay up past their bedtimes either. You know what happens when you lose in a PVP zone, don’t you, Master?”

Trying desperately to make his wizard struggle, to break free despite all the odds, Ian half-expected Gigi to tell him what he already knew. But no, she waited, her character moving a little every so often to make sure he couldn’t escape, letting him see how her finely-honed musculature moved in such close quarters. Zooming in his computer’s view, Ian reluctantly began to type the answer.

“You’re at the mercy of the one who beat you,” he answered, swallowing nervously. “Come on, Gigi, I really need all my stuff. Please don’t take…”

“The only thing I’m interested in taking,” growled the barbarian on the screen, making a remarkably accurate digital impression of bared fangs and raised hackles, “is your virginity, Master!”

Gaping at the screen, struck speechless, Ian watched barbarian-Gigi’s powerful claws tear into his wizard’s robes, ripping them open, shredding them off with swift efficiency. Two seconds later, his character was stark naked and lying there on the ground of the PVP plains, helpless and beaten…and just as erect as Ian himself.

“What’re you doing, Gigi?” Ian asked, his mouth dry, his breathing ragged.

“Teaching you a lesson in obedience,” returned avatar-Gigi…at the same time Ian heard her voice coming from the doorway behind him!

Spinning in his chair, Ian stammered out something, what, he really didn’t know, and half-rose from the seat. Behind him, he could hear the game’s sound effects, the voice recordings of actual actors moaning in passionate bliss as Gigi’s character went on autopilot, abusing his helpless character with brutal efficiency. Before he got fully to his feet, though, Gigi’s hand, so strong, it shocked him, caught Ian’s chest, pushing him easily back into the chair.

Setting her laptop to the side on Ian’s desk, Gigi stood over him, looking down at Ian with an expression of lustful hunger and total disdain, hands on her hips. She was a black-furred goddess at that moment, dressed in a thigh-length white negligee, and Ian less than the dust on her paws. Casually, she leaned over, letting her full, flawless breasts dangle just before his eyes, and tapped a few commands into her laptop, setting off an automatic series of events, sealing the fate of Ian’s character, and also ensuring the recording function she’d activated was fully operational. After all, her Chinese morph friend had only agreed on the condition that she was given a video of the cyber-events that transpired.

Her duties to the online world fulfilled, Gigi decided to play out what was taking place on hers and Ian’s screens in the real world as well. The poodlemorph’s hand gripped his ruddy-haired head, and he gasped at the contact, apparently having forgotten that this was reality, and not some boyish erotic fantasy that would lead to a nocturnal emission. No, she was real enough, and as she looked down at the handsome young man in pajama bottoms and nothing else, Gigi made up her mind: she was through being a Good Girl. Now was the time…to be bad.

“You have mistreated my trust, Master Ian,” Gigi said with a stern look that, while it wilted Ian’s expression, did nothing to diminish the obvious bulge in his pajamas. “You were childish as well as rude, and proud when you should have been humble. Lashing out at me, when your quarrel is with your father, then refusing to throw yourself on my mercy and beg for my forgiveness, not because you wanted me to continue giving you your daily relief, but because you were in the wrong, and wanted to make things right between us.”

His head lowered, his lip trembling slightly, and Gigi felt a little sorry for the boy, releasing his hair to tenderly stroke his chin with a fingertip.

“Don’t despair, Master,” she continued, reassuring him, and Ian looked up hopefully. “You can still apologize, and we can still be friends, and perhaps more than friends. But you will have to work for your forgiveness now. You will have to prove to me just how badly you want us to be reconciled.”

Shifting her grip to Ian’s shoulder, Gigi guided him to the floor, taking her inspiration directly from what her scantily-clad barbarian femme was doing to Ian’s cute wizard as she looked down at the boy on his knees before her. Once more, her hand went to his head, but this time she was gentle, rather than harsh.

“Say that you are sorry, Master,” she commanded, but gently.

“I’m so sorry, Gigi,” he said, looking up at her with a heartfelt expression. “I didn’t think, and I didn’t know how to stop, or to make it up to you. I want to make it up to you – I do! Please,” he lifted his hands, clasped them before him in a beseeching fashion. “Please, Gigi, I’ll do anything to make things right between us.”

“Will you, now?” Gigi asked with an arched brow, even as her other hand smoothly slid the low hem of her negligee upward, exposing the treasures beneath. “Well then, my handsome young Master,” the hand on his head guided Ian forward, his eyes widening as they dropped from her face to places far more intimate. “Prove it.”

Not even trying to resist, not raising a single word of protest, Ian let himself be pressed against Gigi’s drenched sex, her rich scent engulfing him like a warm caress. His eyes fluttered shut, and he moaned softly as she guided his mouth to her dewy and deeply-flushed lower lips. Instead, he began to nibble, and then to suck on those plush black labia, and then to lick them, working his mouth against her slit as she spread herself wide for him, delighting in the sweet moans he heard from her, far louder than his own, and far more eager.

On the Internet, Ian had seen plenty of cunnilingus, and he’d thought it would be fairly easy, considering what he’d seen. Reality, however, was far different from the fantasies portrayed on the few human sex sites he’d been able to access. Not that different from the morph sex sites he’d visited, though, except that his jaw started getting tired a lot faster than he’d expected. All the same, he delved onward…quite literally, actually, his tongue working its way as deep as he could manage into Gigi’s pussy. Soon, the ache in his jaw subsided, as did the ache that soon started in his tongue, an unfamiliar sensation that he would surely be feeling in the morning. In their place, Ian felt his entire being growing intoxicated, almost literally drunk on Gigi’s juices, on her sweet nectar. And she was sweet! Sweet like well-aged French wine, rich and subtle in its nuances. As sweet as her beautiful cries of orgasm as she pulled him close with both hands on his head, her inner walls convulsing around his questing tongue, flooding his mouth with even more of her juices.

Fortunately for Ian, Gigi had enough self-mastery to push him back slightly, enough to let him breathe, an essential little detail that he had quite forgotten about. Face dripping with Gigi’s juices, Ian now gasped for breath, not realizing how much he’d missed that essential element until it was restored. He looked up at her, his face hopeful, and Gigi returned his look with one of her own, warm and inviting, as she helped the young man to his feet.

“I forgive you, Master Ian,” she said softly, before kissing him, not caring in the least that it was her own juices smearing his handsome face. “I accept your apology in full.”

Looking past Ian for just a moment, Gigi couldn’t hold back a toothy grin at the sight of her barbarian beauty now moving onto the most delightfully obscene acts with that handsome human. Mmm, quite handsome for a program, she had to admit…but nothing compared to the real thing! Let her Chinese friend have fun with images on a screen. For Gigi, flesh and blood, sweat and sexual juices, these were far more enticing.

Letting himself be guided, still too dazed from being so utterly engulfed in the poodlemorph’s ultimate essence, intoxicated with her very being, Ian sighed softly in contentment as Gigi laid him back on his bed. He felt so good right then, so alive, so beautifully energized simply by being in her presence, and knowing that they were once again friends. Friends, and far more, as he was soon to discover in full.

Kneeling on the edge of the bed, Gigi crawled up between her human Master’s legs, resting her hands on his inner thighs as she smiled up at him, letting Ian admire the dimples to either side of her puffball-topped tail, the gorgeous swells of her muscular, shapely buttocks. Soon he was enjoying another pair of beautiful swellings, as Gigi cupped her large breasts, then squeezed them tightly around his smooth pink shaft.

“G-Gigi!” Ian gasped out, trembling all over as she started to bob her body, stroking him between her mammaries, but his cry only made her smile in satisfaction, before she wrapped her expertly talented muzzle around the plump, seeping glans of his penis, moaning around his tasty boyflesh. “Gigi!”

Too easy. All too easy. Gigi watched Ian’s face, unable to keep her tail from wagging as he grabbed her head, caressing her between her ears much like he might have done with a dog. She could feel his tension, could see it, and knew he wouldn’t last long. From her prior experiences with her boy, however, she also knew that he wouldn’t stay depleted for long, especially not when he’d been pent up for days now, pent up at least as badly as herself. With this knowledge, Gigi wasn’t so concerned about making her beautiful Master suffer, about making him last. No, there would be plenty of time for that soon enough. Plenty of time for true, sweet lovemaking, once she’d helped to relieve his immediate needs.

He was crying out her name again, but Gigi hardly noticed. Involuntarily (and she would have to work on training him better to avoid such rudeness in future encounters), his hands jerked down, forcing her muzzle right to the roots on his penis. Fortunately, her long muzzle precluded his being able to choke her! Also fortunately, Gigi was perfectly skilled in the art of fellatio, and found it easy enough to simply focus on the delicious taste of her Master’s sweet cream splashing across her tongue and into the back of her throat.

Delicious.

Breathing hard, but not at all from exertion, Gigi raised her head as Ian’s grip on her relaxed, and climbed up the bed the rest of the way, covering him. Her breasts squeezed against his chest, and then higher as she rubbed them against his face. Ian responded quickly enough, his hands coming up, cupping Gigi’s boobs, pulling them close, letting him wrap his mouth around first one, and then the other, just like she’d wanted. Biting her lower lip, Gigi whimpered as Ian sucked on her nipples – she’d always had such sensitive nipples, after all, and when she was in the full throes of her heat, like now, even wearing a brassier was almost unbearable without bringing herself to an accidental orgasm. Now, with the human boy she loved actively tugging on her needy nips, Gigi didn’t last long herself, no longer than he’d lasted, feeling her inner self fluttering spasmodically as she whispered his name breathlessly in Ian’s ear, then told him in that same whispered sincerity how much she loved him.

“I,” Ian got out, panting as Gigi rose to a kneeling position over him, letting them look into each others’ faces, “I love you too, Gigi.”

Just those words alone were enough to make Gigi cum again, her back arching as she didn’t even try to hold back her cry of ecstasy!

“Master!” she wailed, her hands on his shoulders, his hands on her hips as she began to raise them, feeling his length hardened once more, directly beneath her smooth, flushed, needy slit. “MASTER!”

Down she went, almost howling like a wild wolf as she sank down on Ian’s cock, all the way to the root, his balls squeezed up tight against her toned bottom, her tail hiked high. Everything was so perfect, so wonderful! She was in heat, and she didn’t care, because she was with the male she loved, the male whose puppies she wanted, and to the devil with what people thought! They would say “Se coucher avec une chienne?” and have the most confused expressions on their faces, but this, after all, was France, not the perpetually prudish land of America – they would be confused, but there would be no disgust, not so long as there was love. Not after she’d been forced to wait so long – too long! – for the chance to have puppies of her very own.

She was wild now, unrestrained, letting all her needs flow freely as she began to hump her Master, to bounce on his hips, letting her breasts bounce just as much with each slap of his balls against her derriere. This was glorious! She could feel spurts of his precum splashing against the gates of her womb, and every time she did, Gigi’s whole body shuddered with orgasm, until she lost track of how many she’d enjoyed so far, and didn’t even try to guess at how many she’d enjoy in the future. Now was now, and now was all that mattered, especially since she knew Ian wouldn’t be cumming himself anytime soon, not after the good and thorough draining of his balls she’d given him so short a time before.

“You’re so beautiful, Gigi,” Ian whispered up to her, breathless, his hands stroking up and down her sides, sometimes even trying to handle her breasts, but soon losing their grip as her full, jiggly mounds would bounce out of reach. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Master,” Gigi answered, then leaned forward, kissing him with fire and hunger, her long, smooth tongue wrestling with his smaller human one, her astonishingly agile lips working against his own as he returned the kiss with all the enthusiasm of a boy in the throes of the deepest infatuation…and perhaps even the beginnings of true love, a love that would grow and blossom with time and long experience. “I am yours, Master Ian. Yours, now, and always.”

As she broke the kiss, Gigi continued to lean forward, resting her hands on Ian’s shoulders, letting her breasts press against his face. Surrounded by such beautiful mammaries as Gigi’s, Ian’s cock jerked and shuddered within her, throbbing powerfully. Oh yes, it wouldn’t be long now. Not long at all, before she had what she wanted – needed – from this gorgeous, perfect male. Oooh, harder master, faster! Make me your bitch, your slave! Give me your puppies, each of them as beautiful as you! Yes, inside! Do it…don’t hold back…yes Master…yes…yes…

“YES!” cried Gigi in triumph, feeling the splash of rich, potent boycream inside her needy sex, quenching (at least for the moment) the desperate fires of her heat. “Oh yes! Master Ian! I love you so much!”

Ian’s own response was muffled by Gigi’s full breasts, but she was fairly certain that he was agreeing with her…at least as much as he was able, with his cute butt lifted right off the bed, his back arched as he bucked into her again and again, cumming all the while, liberally coating her eggs in his semen. As long as she’d been forced to hold off on having her first child, Gigi was certain she’d be having a litter this time.

Lying side by side on Ian’s bed, Gigi smiled down at the ruddy-haired human boy as he rested his head on her breasts, a smile that he returned.

“I really got you pregnant, huh, Gigi?” he asked, one hand caressing her toned tummy, the place where new life was already taking root.

“Oh yes, Master,” Gigi assured him. “As you Americans would say, you knocked me up tres bien.”

“What,” Ian started, a momentary look of worry crossing his face, “what’ll we tell everyone? What’ll I tell my father?”

“Leave Monsieur Proudblood to me,” Gigi answered, closing her eyes as she decided to just bask in the feeling of smooth skin against her downy-soft fur, caressing Ian’s back and, unable to help herself, giving his firm boyish butt a squeeze as well. “I understand the man, I assure you, and know that he will not be giving us any trouble. Especially not when I demonstrate to him your vast improvements. As for my employers, they have been meaning to have me bear puppies for some time now. That they will be yours instead of theirs is hardly the worst thing that could happen. This, after all, is France, not America: you needn’t worry about the social consequences in my country. Not so long as we love each other, that is.”

“I do love you, Gigi,” said Ian, looking up into her eyes. “With all my heart.”

“I actually believe you, Master,” Gigi responded with a giggle, before wrapping a hand around Ian’s renewed erection. “And I love you. With time, I think that love will only deepen, so long as we are willing to adjust ourselves to each other. We shall see. Ah, but that is for tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow still.” Her smile turned mischievous as she gave Ian’s penis a squeeze, making him wince, then rolled over onto all-fours, before crawling down the bed, pointing her rump toward the wide-eyed, handsome face of her human. “So, do you think we might try for another puppy alongside the others?”

“Yes ma’am!”

With the sight of Gigi’s moist and puffy slit and so-squeezable black buns presented to him, Ian couldn’t have held back if he’d wanted to. He was a healthy and virile young male, the scent of a morph in heat filling his senses, drowning out everything except the carnal, animal need to breed. On all-fours now, Gigi was the one submitting, allowing Ian to take the dominant role – and dominate he did!

Ian seized her bottom in his eager hands, fingers digging into her taut, firm flesh, letting his hands roam her rump, spreading her wide, giving him a perfect view of the black rosebud of her tailhole, visibly clenching with each of her ongoing inner contractions, and her gushing sex, looking even darker than normal thanks to how soaked it was. Grabbing Gigi’s tail in one hand, holding it tight like a joystick, making Gigi involuntarily hike her backside a little higher, Ian cupped the underside of his shaft in the other hand, guiding it forward, careful not to stimulate himself too much too soon. While he’d already cum twice, and figured that meant he’d last a little longer this time, all the same, he saw no reason not to ruin the experience. Gritting his teeth, Ian’s penis throbbed at the sight of his plump glans sluicing through Gigi’s labia, parting them slightly with each teasing stroke up or down, every little touch making Gigi’s body tense up, forcing a needy whimper from her throat.

“Please, Master,” she begged, looking back at him with pleading puppydog eyes. “S’il vous plaît!”

How could he deny such a request? Firm bottom tensing, the dimples above his buns standing out clearly, as did the smooth, strong muscles of his back, Ian thrust forward, nice and slow, keeping his breathing as level as possible as he watched himself sink into the poodlemorph’s yielding sex, then saw that sex clench down around him visibly as soon as he was inside.

“OUI!”

Gigi’s cry of delight would have told Ian when he bottomed out inside of her, if the feeling of his balls clapping against her drenched inner thighs didn’t. Sight wouldn’t have helped him much right then, of course, since most of what he could see, sunk to the hilt in the hottest, sexiest woman he’d ever seen, was flashes of fireworks going off behind his eyelids. The feeling was so intense, he was afraid for a moment that he was going to pass out!

Suddenly, hearing Gigi’s obviously begging tone as she shifted fully to her native French, Ian found his second wind, the point of total focus as his vision returned, his hands taking firm hold of Gigi’s butt, squeezing her tightly, using the point of contact as a place where he could ground himself in reality. But if her derriere was a thing of reality, the inside of her pussy was the stuff of dreams! She was hot, and wet, and tight, and her inner walls were moving, milking Ian’s smooth pink penis even without him having to do a thing.

He chose not to simply bask in that moment, though, letting Gigi do all the work. She was his! He was going to claim her properly! This thought filling him with determination, the human boy started to thrust his hips, the slick, wet sounds of Gigi’s cunny being spread wide melding with the meaty sound of Ian’s hips slapping her bottom hard and fast. Belly tense, smooth swimmer’s sixpack standing out clearly, Ian humped Gigi like a man possessed, his face wild and savage, jaw tense as he gave her all he had, and more. He was reaching her core, touching against the very center of her being, tickling the gates of her womb! And with each deep-seated thrust right to her innermost self, Gigi would wail in sweet delight, her breasts bobbing back and forth against the sheets beneath her, her hands clenched tightly in their soft fabric, while her head was thrown back, her muzzle raised as high as her voice as she gave full vent to her ecstasy.

“Maîtriser!” she cried out, her eyes heavy-lidded as she felt his precum starting to splash inside of her, the first warning shots of his impending orgasm. “Oui, maîtriser! Fais moi enceinte! Cum intérieur! EEEEEE!”

“GIGI!” Ian called out, before suddenly bending forward, biting down on the crook of his bitch’s neck, holding her tightly, dominantly with his jaws.

“Maîtriser Ian!” Gigi gasped, the words carrying a depth of intensity as her beautiful human master’s cum splashed inside her, quickening what eggs might have been missed by the first orgasm. If she hadn’t been pregnant before, she was surely serviced quite properly now.

Spent, the two lovers rolled slowly onto their sides, Ian spooning behind Gigi, his arms wrapped around her, hugging her just beneath her buoyant breasts, which heaved nice and slow as she breathed in the most blissful, sweet satisfaction. Both lovers, human and morph, were smiling in contentment as they closed their eyes, and let themselves drift off into shared slumber.

On the screens of the computers resting nearby, Gigi’s now very naked, black-furred barbarian lay next to the exhausted, sweating human mage Ian had modeled after himself. The digital avatars were cuddling as they lay on the warm ground, logged out of PVP mode so nobody would interrupt them. To a casual observer, it almost looked as though they were watching the carnal acts taking place on the bed while they lay there, side by side, basking in the euphoria of afterglow. Due to the enhanced time of the virtual world, the barbarian poodle’s belly was already heavily distended, swollen and ripe with the new life the human mage had planted deep within. A promise and echo of things to come.