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Ambition

By Laz Briar

The UZM Ambition was something of a marvel amongst the newly established Zone fleets, though not primarily for its engineering. Oh indeed, it was the definite vanguard of military prowess, a great carrier behemoth capable of assailing land, sea, and air with startling tech to conquer each. It was a fortress, a command station, a nation unto itself – pride, glory, and a dash of arrogance all mixed into one. But it wasn’t the reason you knew the name.

The “Ambition” was rightfully entitled. Not only for its extended conflict capabilities and ability to adapt to various scenarios, but because of who resided on the vessel. At first, the boots might think to the lofty airmen, the skyheads clicking their tongues at the waterlegs, and the salthands snorting at the leathernecks. But even still, it wasn’t because of mixed personnel. Well, not exactly.

The Ambition was the first craft carrying Hybrid class soldiers. After deep secrecy of hidden Zone training, the literal “dogs of war” were assigned to the Ambition as her guardian angels. First of their kind (officially), first into the mix.

The initial reactions were suppressed, but frightened mutterings took the crew by storm in the initial weeks. These war dogs were something to behold. Twice the size of the strongest man on average, figures covered with fur and complimented with complex, chorded muscle, teeth like steel and senses of a shark, the Hybrid soldiers were nothing like any military unit had ever seen. From their casual strength to wolfish characteristics, it was hard to know how to feel. Challenged? They could easily replace a squad. Impressed? The Zone eggheads had certainly whipped up something devious.

. . .dare one say, aroused? Put hundreds of hands on an isolated machine long enough and everything looks good, and with Hybrids that were right out of an Amazonian dream, feelings were complicated.

Very complicated.

For Anon, doubly so, in more ways than one.

It was enough of a trial getting used to the Ambition and her voyages. Culture operated differently around here, because different branches of Zone military intersected on numerous levels. Everyone had high opinions of themselves and low of others – or so it seemed. Was a playful jab serious, or just that? They all worked for the same people, but you wouldn’t know it sometimes with the undercurrent of opinions resonating on the ship. Lads operating the EXO-suits had something to say about the jetheads. Waterboys thought leathernecks were dumb. Cloud chasers figured they had the best seat in the house.

Anon was from the ground. The boot, the first line of defense – and as many argued – where the real fighting happened. As such, staying in a big, steel coffin that floated about was unsettling, to say the least. Wasn’t the same as the roads below, and tensions were often high, even with good training. You never did know if you were truly welcome.

And then. . . the girls. The Hybrids. What depraved, horn-dog of a scientist conjured these gals up, anyway? Really now, they were something straight out of a fucking porn, to put it blunt. Or a very specific kind, at least.

Maybe it was the fact that he’d been cooped up for a long while now. Mind wandered when that happened – it was just how it went. So much activity fueled the body, worked it. Work lead to stress, stress needed relief, and there wasn’t much of that going around if you only favored a gal. So, seeing the Hybrids saunter around was something out of a wild dream.

They were strong, yes, designed for combat, but you’d be a fool to not see the woman in them. They maintained figures of a mature lass, hips wide as the day and skull-crushing fronts. Their soft fur only added to the exotic appeal of their sinewy frames, swishing tales, and endearing caniform design. If you caught a glance, it was hard to keep your eyes off of them. Hell, it always looked like their hips gave an extra toss when they waltzed by, if only to drive a fellow crazy. It was working.

Working so bad, Anon was willing to risk breaking routine and protocol. Was he out of his mind? Maybe just a little.

See, routine and order were important aspects of any military outfit. The United Zone Military – regardless of branch – prided itself on schedules, restrictions, logic, training, etc. Essentially, a long list of rules to be broken. Sometimes. Hah, maybe that’s why they were shifting over to Hybrid soldiers?

In any case, Anon had places to be at certain points of the day, such as roll, march, cleaning duty, etc. Today was sort of one of those days, a “soft hour,” so to speak. He was supposed to be in his designated part of the Ambition, aka where all the boots housed up. If you wandered to other parts of the vessel without express permission, you could get written up, among things. It was tedious, yes, but part of the Zone’s various layered structure to order. If you got lazy with the small things, it affected you in the field – so the logic went.

But you know what didn’t “logic” up? Big wolf ladies. Or dogs. Whatever.

Anon took his personal device and basically b-lined it to their “district.” Like the other branches, the Hybrids were stationed in a particular area of the ship, the “XO,” shorthand for Experimental Operations. That’s where shit got bananas – power suits, autonomous weapons, climate disruptors, and now, Hybrids. Regulars could foot around there if they wanted, just in limited capacity.

Didn’t matter, Anon wasn’t looking for some kind of alien-brain gun tech, he was just uh, on a quest. A personal quest that might land him a month on potato-scrub, urinal, and spit duty, but boy howdy the risk was well worth it.

Really, as long as he had a decent cover he’d probably just get a warning. He wasn’t out for trade secrets or military black-notes. No, no, Anon had a need and his need was for wolf. Or, as close as he could get to it. See, the Hybrids – just like everyone – had physical routines and training regimens. They had a whole set course, among things, with a training bloc for exercise and weights. Anon heard rumors when the Hybrids were first on board, some insisting they could lift 300kg. That was terrifying. And. . . kinda hot? Anon couldn’t describe it; the concept of one of these gals just tossing him across the room like a ball had such a strange appeal.

In any case, it meant Anon was on a private mission to see some action. Platonic platoon action, of course! Recon, research, for his database, so he could, er. . .

Oh, fye, the hell with it. He just wanted to stare, plain and simple. Whatever happened, be damned! His brain would thank him later. Thanks to his completely valuable recon training, getting to the area proved easy. Then again, no one was really looking for a wayward pair of boots. Those that did see him, from whatever branch they were associated with, paid Anon no real mind. Perhaps all the commanders were having stuffy meetings about whatever the hell they got up to.

Didn’t matter. He was on a mission. Code black, some serious spec-ops ranger shit, and he wouldn’t be stopped.

-*-

He gulped. This was it. This was the promised land.

He entered an interior that was an enormous ovular shape, not too dissimilar from a gymnasium. Because the Ambition was so sizeable, it could host such a thing, even though it was smaller than its regular counterpart. But it was enough to serve its purpose, and serve it did.

The Hybrid soldiers were gathered en masse, making use of every inch of the facility. It sported a small track, a place for weights, a small obstacle course, treadmills, and even bleachers. Anon noted there were markings in a faux-grass field, though he didn’t recognize them or its associated sport. He felt like a kid in a candy store.

“Hey, you.”

His heart went cold and felt straight into his stomach. Oh FUCK. Was he caught already!? This mission was a critical failure. Anon gulped, but remembered his training, making no sudden moves. If he appeared casual, he’d be fine. He could face down hills of hidden enemies spraying overwatch fire at him, he could handle this.

He turned. Oh god no he couldn’t. A Hybrid loomed over him, her fur a shock of arctic white, her eyes a piercing blue, a pair of braids falling over her shoulders. She was near double his height, and she was um, not wearing anything.

“Took you long enough.”

Wait, what?

Anon did his best not to fucking stare, though it proved nightmarishly hard when her tits eclipsed his head, among things. “Uh. Ma’am.”

She tilted her head. “Ma’am? I’m not. . . never mind. Never got that. Anyway, look, you’re pretty late.”

Play it cool Anon. “I don’t think so.”

She snorted. “You’re the photographer? Then yeah, you are. Lucky Tiga doesn’t pull off your head.”

What to the what?

The white wolfess turned then started walking away, pausing when Anon didn’t follow. “Hey, let’s fucking go.”

Anon’s brain ran a million miles a minute, but he went a long with it. Photographer!? Come on? Ohhhh this was either a dream come true or a nightmare. But he followed. And as he followed, his eyes were locked onto the gal’s immense, fat haunches. Even a lass with her musculature, size, and training, she had a wide rear that wiggled with every step, not to mention the flex and of her thighs and swish of her tail.

Why was she naked!?

Oh, Anon, you fool! Look around you! THEY ALL WERE!

If there ever was a time he needed to practice self-control and not salute-the-flag, it was now. The entirety of the arena hosted the wardog battalions, but they weren’t dressed for any professional occasion. Or. . . were they?

On the tracks, a squad of Hybrids jogged in unison, keeping a healthy pace. Because of that, of course, their assets jostled in teasing display, weighty breasts bouncing in little jumps as they moved. On the field, teams of wardogs tossed a ball with impressive displays of strength, calling out motions and movements. Anon didn’t know the sport, though he heard it was called “Strikeball.”

Others lifted weights in a variety of positions, positions that some might consider. . . compromising. Anon did his best not to gawk, but, honestly, who was he kidding? He gawked all right. Weather it was working the upper or lower body, they were all “out there,” and every sinew and curve of their bodies was visible. Anon was about to have the best heart attack of his life.

He almost rant into the Hybrid he was following when she abruptly stopped at the far end of the training field. She wasn’t alone, meeting with another group of Hybrids. When the pair approached, curious glances looked to Anon, noses flaring with sniffs.

“That’s him?” one said.

“Thought he’d never get here,” chimed another.

“And I thought they kept good schedules here. . .”

Anon was in the belly of the beast, far removed from any safe exit. His mind was abuzz, caught between wanting to stare and remembering the penalties for getting, uh, caught. Welp, time to improvise. He took like, one drama course way back in junior high, so he’d just dust off his acting skills.

“This is your detail,” said the white wolfess. “And these two are responsible for your tour.”

Anon blinked, clearing his throat. “I see.”

As for “these two,” a pair of Hybrids stepped into view, both large caniforms like the rest. One had a coat of gunmetal grey and the other a deep black, gold eyes peering out like fires in a shadow. They waved.

There were a few others though, at least five counting all. “What about, um, the rest?” Anon said, not even sure what the ‘detail’ was for.

“Just here for the photo op,” said the wolfess. “Remember?”

Anon tried to process the details and make sense of it. Okay, as far as he knew, he was apparently a photographer. The other guy didn’t show up? Or would they? Well, didn’t matter now, he couldn’t escape. And apparently this required. . .

Wait, what did this require?

“Sure do!” Anon lied.

Strange, but now his personal device did come in handy.

“Great,” intoned the first Hybrid. “I’ve got a squad to group, EX-suit training, so let’s get this going.”

Anon paused, mind hanging on the turn “EX-suit,” but another time. Instead, he pulled out his device, tapping it to life, glancing the Hybrids over. They were still unclothed.

Dare he the fool to ask, but he had to wonder. “No uniforms?” he chanced.

All the girls exchanged looks like he was losing his mind. “Uh, nevermind! Just a formality is all.”

With that, they took position and posed, much like a team would. Anon didn’t know what this was for, or who, but he said nothing. He did his best not to linger too long on their exposed frames, enchanted by their appealing soft fluff, hefty fronts and ah, well, just everything.

“Good, good,” Anon managed, voice almost breaking, doing his best to play the part of military photographer. “That works.”

They grinned and his apparatus clicked, recording a high-def photo. Riiiight into his collection. Part of him felt a little guilty that he was going about things this way, the other was too aroused to care.

“Nice,” he said.

“Done?” said the wolfess. “Right then. Svanni, Yara, I expect you to make good impressions.”

“We will!” said the named pair in unison. The black and grey Hybrids grinned at each other before breaking rank and joining Anon.

Anon burned the names in his mind. They were different, the “psuedotongue” common with Hybrids, the language of wardogs, basically. But they stuck out, and these two were his ticket to his elaborate plan of ogling hot howling ladies.

The others sauntered off with a cordial tail flick, leaving Anon with the mentioned Svanni and Yara. “I’m Anon,” he said, wondering if he should shake their hand. Was that how they did things?

“Yara,” spoke the grey Hybrid, her eyes a piercing green. “Y-12 if you wanna’ get specific!”

“Pfft,” snorted the other. “How you got mama K’s looks I’ll never know.”

Already Anon was getting lost. He looked to the black caniform though. “Svanni, then?”

“Yep,” she answered. “S-32.”

Was the photographer supposed to know this? “Sorry, uh, I’m not familiar,” Anon admitted. “I didn’t check my notes.”

They looked at each other and laughed. “Oooh, lazy. Haha. Fine, fine, we won’t tell,” joked Svanni. “Not like it’s a big deal or anything.”

“You only say that cause of your gene factor, haw!”

“Oh shut up.”

Yara sneered, leaning real close to Anon, so much her fat bust wobbled into view. Ugh, holy god, they were double the size his head.

“She’s only upset cause she’s not a looker like me.”

Yara straightened now, running a hand through her long, flowing black hair, standing proud. “I’m almost a dead ringer for Mama K.”

“. . .Mama K?” Anon said.

“Wow. You really didn’t check your notes, huh?”

Svanni ignored her sister’s remarks. “K-4? One of the original lines?”

“Uh.”

“How could you not know!?” blurted Yara.

Anon scratched his head. K-4. . . it did sound vaguely familiar. Once, he recalled, he overheard a class of soldiers – or something – carrying a conversation. Something like “did you see that K4 bitch? She lifted a tank!”

Was that it? Was that her?

“Ahhh, doesn’t matter,” Yara continued. “Point is, I do her proud!”

Anon didn’t exactly understand the implication, but he figured that Yara, Svanni, and the rest were all related to K4, or something. Kinda like one of those classic Abrams tanks and how their predecessors were versatile, powerful variants. That was as close a metaphor as Anon could make, anyway.

“I see,” Anon lied again. He’d take her word for it. “So. Uh. Pictures, right?”

Svanni spoke this time. “Or something. We’re supposed to drag you around or whatever.”

“Not whatever, for a good impression.”

Anon was definitely out of his depth here, but he did his best to play along. He checked the time, and had about an hour, maybe two, before his absence in drills and sectors would be noticed. He could possibly call in a favor but, he’d be playing with fire.

He cleared his throat. “Well. Um. This one is pretty good so far.”

The girls laughed. “No, not that. Not exactly,” said Yara.

“You boots are funny,” went on Svanni. “You want things proven. Especially all those thing guys with the suits and funny smells and shiny heads.”

Anon didn’t know what that meant.

“What she means,” interjected Yara, “Is we have to. . . prove ourselves with those funny photo things. Show your leader dogs why we’re good, and stuff.”

Good and stuff?

“Yeah, that part,” added Yvanni. “It’s like a review. So, you take the photos and score us and something like that.”

Anon was so thankful they were explaining on their own terms. He was relieved, able to play his “part” a little better. The other side of himself though felt worried. Shit. This meant he actually had to do something after the fact – turn in the review, or whatever. He could skip out but, for two reasons that was a bad idea: one is his fooling around here would definitely be found out, and two, he might be throwing a wrench in a serious military process. It sounded serious, at least.

Worth the risk, at least.

“Right,” Anon said, feigning knowledge. “And you two are the eye of the lens?”

Their ears wiggled, tilting their heads in doggish fashion. “Buh?”

“Oh, well, I guess I mean I’m taking photos of you two, right?”

“Of everything!” they exclaimed. “You gotta’ follow us and give us points, or however that works. They explained it to you. Leader just said we have to do whatever we can to make a great impression.”

Anon felt a twinge of concern. He almost wanted to ask what happened if they didn’t? Was there something on the line here he wasn’t aware of? Now he really had a mission. He didn’t know these girls or even the Hybrids – and sure, his loins were on one hell of a mighty quest – but he’d make sure they got the best review possible. If he had any power over the process, anyway.

Anon nodded then. “All right. That sounds in line with what my superiors were saying,” he said, acting his ‘role.’

“You lead, I’ll follow,” he added.

Both Hybrids dawned a pleased expression, tails wagging. They scanned around the interior arena, muttering to the other, deciding on where to go first. Anon, meanwhile, just stared. Boy there were a lot of wardogs out here, of all sorts of colors, shapes, and styles.

“Let’s check out the teams first!” chimed Yara.

Anon snapped out of his gawking and followed. The girls lead him closer to the arena interior, towards the faux-field. As they did, he couldn’t help but boggle at their backsides. Were they. . . being showy on purpose? Every step they took their hips swayed and sashayed with enthuse, so much their hips clapped into the other here and there. They shoved at the other a bit, playful, causing their plump cheeks to rumble in unison. Dammit! Why wasn’t this part of the impression?

As they got to the field, Anon was allowed a closer view of the girls and their game, Strikeball. He had no idea what was happening or how it worked, exactly. He saw a single ball passed between girls, rushed, and blocked, with two teams of five (he assumed). This was likely their own game, and Anon respected that. He wondered if they had their own league.

“See,” Svanni, said, pointing. “This is how we practice teamwork and stay in shape. Strikeball is really important to us. They made they game up at Facility 9 and it’s been a staple ever since!”

Anon watched, observing the game. The girls were fast. They snapped to sprints and moved in agile motions with frightening ease – ears flicking at every sound and jolting to block or throw. And then they nearly collided? Holy shit.

Anon almost fell on his ass when the blue sphere came flying towards the girls. Yara snapped it out of the air, a loud POP echoing from the impact of the toss.

“Nice FOUL, Eja,” snarked Yara. A wardog of impressive stature waltzed over, her chest a splash of white while her back was colored brown. Anon noted her left arm, which was a sprawl of tattoos. They were strange symbols, and he only recognized a dog skull. He also noted a scar running across her muzzle. A veteran.

Eja jostled over, huffing. Yara tossed the ball back. “Try aiming next time.”

“I will, pup,” groused Eja, taking the ball. “For your head, next time. Remember, 3-3, next game breaks the tie.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Eja glanced once at Anon, regarded him with vague curiosity, then jogged off. She was scary and arousing.

“Get some good pictures!” said Svanni, nudging Anon. “The Leader said we have to show good teamwork.”

Anon nodded. “Right, right.”

Oh, he did all right, mixing between a few shots for his personal collection and something more official. There were plenty of action shots to take and, fortunately, his device took care of most of the work. He caught several images of the girls dashing, throwing, blocking, and scoring. He also got a few of them standing and stretching, especially when they were a bit more. . . exposed.

Satisfied, he cleared his throat. “That looks good.”

“Let’s keep going then,” said Yara.

Next they wandered towards the training facility, primarily for exercise. Here, things got. . . interesting.

Anon didn’t know how to feel at first when he saw the team of wardogs attending to weights, cycles, treadmills, and sandbags. Obsolete? Afraid? Or just. . . fucking horny? It was a real strange mix of feelings.

He was no slouch on the bar, and neither were his squadmates. But what he saw just made him feel like a joke. Wardogs lifted weights but, from what he could see, at minimum several hundred kilos per weight on a deadlift. In fact, every weight started in the hundreds. Each girl attended to it, panting and straining, their elegant frames demonstrating the thick chords of profound muscle hiding beneath their womanly shapes. One girl, her fur a reddish hue, boxed against one of the available sandbags, and every strike sent vibrations around her. Anon could feel it in his skull.

Lift a fucking tank. The words echoed in his mind.

“Whoa.”

Svanni crossed her arms. “Straightforward, right? We keep in shape, or try to. They didn’t have our weight system when we got here, so a lot of this stuff is really new.”

Anon looked up to her. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, well, those weights you use were too, um. . . light.”

Too light? Okay, now Anon was a little intimidated. It dawned on him that, if they really wanted to, any one of these girls might snap him in half. In fact, if they ran amok on the ship, what kind of damage could they really do? What was keeping them in line?

“Good form is everything,” added Yara. “Oh, oh, we should get some shots of us, right?”

Anon pushed aside the disconcerting thought and remembered why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. That’d be good.”

So, he did.

Yara and Svanni took position on different machines and weights, with a few suggestions from Anon. He didn’t fancy himself an artist, but he had some ideas on poses, at least.

“Try one with the handbell,” he offered.

Yara nodded and gripped on, holding it hand while posing, grinning at the camera device. Here, Anon got a nice long look at her frame, everything from the skull-crushing cleavage to powerful thighs to the slope of her fat rump.

Then, he switched to Svanni. Her black fur glistened against the snap of photolight while she hoisted weights in a variety of positions. She didn’t struggle much, adding to her frightening attractiveness. Again, he tried to get some for the “professional” stuff and then some for his own, and it wasn’t hard.

Okay, yes it was, but. . .

Wait, it was? Uh oh.

Even a stalwart pair of boots like him had a breaking point. He considered himself someone who took his career very seriously, even to the point it earned him a level of ridicule among squadmates. But against the tide of all this wolf, er, dog, wolfdog – whatever! Against all this, he was but a feeble creature of flesh. His hardness was there, and probably visible through uniform.

The girls saw it. Yeah.

“Um. Er. Shit.”

He tried to turn away. “Sorry.”

Yara and Svanni laughed, grinning. “Ooooooo.”

“Bahaha,” Yara laughed. “Gun’s out!”

“I thought I smelled somebody getting rowdy.”

“Goddess, I thought it was Kurza, she fucks like she fights,” said Yara to her sister.

“All the time?”

“Hah!”

Anon looked away but felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. They squeezed him, soft but strong. Uh.

“I did think it was a little weird you were like all serious,” intoned Svanni. “Aren’t you skins not allowed to see mates or something? That’s freaky.”

“Er. . .”

Anon didn’t know what to say. His cover was blown. Or was it?

“Guess we were making a good impression,” snickered Yara. “Hmm.”

Her muzzle came to his ear, voice low. “Bet we could make an even better one.”

A dark thrill exploded in Anon’s chest. Surely that was his mind playing tricks on him. Surely the big wardog wasn’t being suggestive, was she?

“That’s true,” added Svanni. “Leader did say to do whatever it took, and we’ve gotta’ get a good review in.”

Anon tried an automatic reply. “Look, I. . .”

They weren’t listening. Yara came to face him now, hands on hips, wearing a grin and looking down, her heavy tits threatening to squash his head. “Whatt’ya say, mister photographer? You wanna’ get a personal review in? See the other side to wardog culture?”

He didn’t say no.

“I figured.”

“Shouldn’t we. . . see more of the. . . thing?” Anon tried to say, not sure what he meant by the ‘thing’ or why he even bothered to protest.

“Oh you’ll be seeing more things, all right. Come on.”

“Yeah,” said Svanni, “We better move if we want him all to ourselves.”

Anon blinked. W-what the hell did that mean? He dared a glance, and noticed that some of the wardogs had slowed their movements. Some were looking at the small group, heads tilting, noses flaring. His bones suddenly felt very much in danger.

“Where?” asked Yara.

“Eh. Bunks.”

Anon’s heart did a weird flip, a mix of fear and excitement sprawling through him. “Whoa, uh, hang on, I don’t think. . .”

Think what? What could he possibly say after the fact?

Oh, absolutely nothing of course, because Svanni – demonstrating the terrifying strength of her kind – scooped him off his feet. She hoisted him over her shoulder with gentle force. “C’mon, photo guy, it’ll be faster this way.”

“And safer,” commented Yara. “Sisters get tired of the simdecks, they’ll be hungry for real meat if we aren’t careful, hehe.”

“Jesus Christ,” Anon sputtered. This was. . . something. Never had he been so overpowered like this. And he was no slouch in the combat ring, either! He’d tussled with fellas a foot over him! Yet, in one brisk motion, the wardog demonstrated just how much stronger she was. Gentle about it though, there was that.

Could he protest? Should he? Hah. No. Hell no. He was in this deep, and that was that. Svanni carried him at a quick pace while her comrade followed close behind. They got a few looks here and there but it was clear the duo wanted him out of that wolf nest as fast as possible. He didn’t know what would happen if they stayed – fractured pelvis, probably.

Things went by in a blur until they reached another section of the UZM Ambition Anon wasn’t familiar with. Though, by the looks of it, it was the living section where the wardogs remained. He guessed because there was a subtle scent of fur, the kind permeating off of Svanni. Once they reached a brightly lit hall, Svanni dropped him to his feet with careful force, standing in front of a door.

“I’m sure Leader doesn’t mind us showing off our den. That’s good for impressions, right?”

“Are we really trying to do that still?” snickered Yara.

“Sure! Just more hands on,” said Svanni.

Anon did his best to collect himself, but his heart was thumping. His blood ran hot and desire started to take hold. Oh, desire, the smoldering, slumbering beast long suppressed since he’d gotten on this wreck. Adult media and porn could only do so much. The realization he was in direct proximity to hot, buff, wolfdog ladies finally settled upon him. At this point, he didn’t care if he was court marshalled! By his words he’d stand in front of a military trial and declare: worth it!

“It would make the review go well,” Anon offered. He didn’t know what that meant but, eh, at this point, fuck it. Literally!

Svanni touched a pad and the door slid open, revealing a small interior. Or, to Anon it was big, given the stature of his companions, but for them was likely sized for practical reasons.

Yara gripped Anon and tugged him inside before the door slid shut, enclosing them away. This was going much better than expected – Anon was only around to ogle and now he was consorting with the girls. How sordid and scandalous.

He took a moment to look around but there wasn’t a whole lot to see. Photographs of other wardogs he didn’t recognize – aside from Yara and Svanni. Fetishes and trinkets and even a stuffed rabbit, but otherwise, quite bare bones. Not like his brain allowed him for much consideration, anyway.

“Aren’t you getting tired of that?” said Yara, pointing at his pants.

He was quite sore, yes. “Yeah, just hang on. . .”

“No way,” interjected Svanni. “Let us. You’re supposed to be all observant, remember?”

“. . .I am?”

Be quiet and let the dog ladies touch you, Anon’s brain yelled.

“Yeah. I am.”

Momentum shifted quick. The girls glanced at the other, sported hungry grins, showing their scary rows of teeth, before they stood over Anon. It was a hungry look, and Anon wasn’t sure if he was gonna’ be eaten in the sexual way or the not-fun way.

Fortunately for him, the fun way.

“I think I remember something,” muttered Svanni. “You skins like it a certain way, right?”

She went to her knees, then all fours, tail wagging little sways. Her muzzle came to Anon’s fatigues and nosed him on the crotch, where Yara joined her soon after. At this point, Anon was at their mercy, and he forgot what he was even doing. Photo. . . something. . .

“Um.”

“That’s a yes,” said Yara.

As a pair, their hips wiggled, fat, heavy busts swaying in the air as their digits worked to yank his pants down. It was lucky they didn’t rip it the stuff or Anon would really be in hot water. Then came his underwear, his cock springing free in a defiant motion. He grunted, relieved. He was stiff for a good while, almost sore, so the exposure felt good.

Like a pair of hunters, the girls gazed at the cock with fascination, licking their chops. “Oooo,” they cooed, tails wagging faster.

Yara quirked her eye, looking up at Anon. “You’re supposed to be getting pictures, right?”

A sense of comprehension overcame Anon. Was he?

“Er. Yeah.”

He had forgotten he was even holding the device, but he propped it in front of him for photos. Both girls grinned again.

“They do these silly poses,” commented Svanni. “Like. . .”

She made a V sign with one of her hands while Anon’s cock came dangerously close to the tip of her nose. Anon shivered, both from the proximity and the sight. It was bizarre – in the best ways – to see a powerful war machine like Svanni to do what she was doing. He could feel her hot pants against his tip, making him switch.

“Oh, right, those vids are so funny. Skins like all sortsa’ things, huh?” said Yara.

The black wolfess slightly mimicked her sister, only she propped herself up in a squat, making a V sign with both her fingers. “And then what?” she went on. “Stick out my tongue?”

She did, laughing, opening her mouth. She feigned pans too, and Anon got a good long view of her fat, heavy tits, wobbling with every motion she made.

“Cock goes here, right?” winked Yara, before breaking out in a laugh. “That’s what you guys like, right?”

Anon somehow remembered to take a picture. There was. . . no chance that was going to anybody but his own collection.

“Um.”

“Well, let’s find out,” said Svanni, her lips pursing together and kissing the tip before giving it a quick lick. “Pretty sure you do. . . unless those vids were lying.”

Anon managed an ‘oh shit’ once the hot wet tongue slipped across his flesh. “V-vids?”

Svanni grinned, tossing her long black hair. “You’ve never seen ‘Dicking the Dog Girls?’ There’s like 8 parts.”

Anon had never heard of that. “Er.”

“Wow,” chuckled Yara. “You’re missing out. I guess we gotta’ give you a personal demonstration on that too.”

“Look at you, boot, you’re learning so much about Whardaug culture!”

He didn’t quite get that, whatever she said, but didn’t matter. Didn’t matter, because the two proceed to assault his loins like they were assaulting a beach front!

“Hmm.” Svanni went back to all fours and strolled her long tongue against the tip of the length, dragging it across every inch from base to bellend. Her rump wiggled as she did, as did tail, and she murmured to herself, both pleased and curious.

“Ooo,” chimed Yara, joining her sister. On fours too in doggish fashion, she pressed her muzzle against her side and suckled before lapping in unison. All at once, Anon was beset by a pair of long, flat tongues licking in diligent but voracious fashion. Their hips bounced together with soft claps, forcing rumps to echo with timid fleshy jiggles, smacks of their dual maws audible in the small quarters.

Anon was doing his goddamn-diddly-darndest to not drop his phone because oh fucking lord it was unbelievable how long it really was. Last time he was with someone was. . . fuck, before training! Since then it was orders, drills, orders, maybe porn, and more drills.

“Holy shiiiit,” he groaned aloud, his cock twitching, consumed with hot, electric bliss. “T-this. . .”

Isn’t real? Isn’t happening? That’s what part of his brain was saying, cause really, how could it be? But nope, staring down, the two buff, busty wolf gals were indeed slurping their tongues against his cock like it was a flavored chew-bone. Hopefully, without the chew part.

It took a lot of self-control not to lose it right then it there. It wasn’t easy, because going from “Mary and her five sisters” to tongue was a cosmic leap. The sounds didn’t help (or did) because the girls purred and hummed, offering playful giggles as they groped the length with their skilled pink rugs.

“Hey, watch this,” said Svanni to her sister, “It’s like the ball on the field, hehe.”

She dove to Anon’s testes and slurped there too, mouthing at his balls with dutiful kisses. “Mmmf.”

Yara laughed. “It’s like when Eji went face first in the ground.”

“Mmmhm.”

Anon sighed out, speaking in tongues, probably contacting some sort of eldritch entity at this point. His eyes closed and his hand gripped the two, digging into Svanni’s long black locks. Mainly because he needed something to hang onto, or he might fall into the void known as “big dog gals gobbling my dick.”

Then the two met at the tip, kissing it as the cock became their axis. Anon was hot as the sun, and a part of his brain commanded him to grind, so he did. It was an instinct at this point – risky at that, considering if he annoyed the pair they might just throw him into the wall. The did not, however, only cooed with curious enjoyment. In fact, they locked into place as Anon threw his hips between their mouths, forming an improvised cock-sock. It felt all right, though the thrill was more that he was doing it.

“Mmm, tasty,” commented Yara. “But I didn’t want a sample.”

Anon blinked. “N-nuh?”

She opened her mouth, peeling away from the length, tongue hanging and dripping with presex. Svanni snorted.

“Wait, why do you get it first?”

It didn’t matter, Anon’s brain was fuzzy from heat and lust. He saw the oral tunnel and his mind went into overdrive. Time plus busty girls equaled hungry, and he was starving. “Gnnhg.”

He gripped Yara’s ears and shoved his cock into her muzzle, which enclosed around him – a perfect, snug fit. His length exploded with electric, hot tingles as rushed with a series of thrusts, squeaky, slobbering sounds emitting from his strokes.

“Urgh!”

Yara embraced him with ease, her frame only moving a little with each stroke. Her fat busts wobbled with each motion while Anon made use of her maw. After so long, after months of suppression and being denied the real deal, Anon couldn’t hold back, surging to life. His tip burst and trails of issue jumped from his bellend. Yara gave a surprised yelp but lapped up the ejaculate regardless.

“Ohffuck,” Anon shuddered, near collapsing. Yara held him in place with a single paw hand, again demonstrating the frightening strength of her kind. She gulped and slurped Anon clean, releasing him with a loud pop.

“Move!” Svanni barked with an aggravated shove, pushing her sister aside. “You don’t get him all to yourself!”

Anon was panting, his flank dripping with seed and saliva, but he had little time to rest or even experience the dizzy clouds of post-orgasm bliss.

“W-wait,” he mumbled, chest pounding. “Give me a sec. . .”

“No way,” protested Svanni. “You’re sharing our culture, right? And we want that approval, don’t we?”

Yara shuffled aside with a grunt. “Are we really still on that?”

Svanni wasn’t listening, in position now. The gunmetal grey wardog enveloped Anon’s wet member and gave it a more “active” approach, tossing her head in steady bobs. She fluttered her eyes, still on all fours as her head swayed upon the length, rivers of saliva and presex drifting from her canid lips. She slurped loud, loud enough Anon was concerned someone might hear. Of course, though, they were alone.

He thought to record this, but since grabbing tufts of hair, it had fallen someone. Fortunately, Yara was there to save the footage. “Ugh, how’s this dumb thing work? It’s so small.”

Anon didn’t really hear her as Svanni continue to service his flank, her tail swishing with every motion she made. Like her sister her fat breasts wobbled together, Anon moaning through the motions.

“Oh, here. . .”

Yara tapped something on the device and held it up, snickering as her sister deepthroated the inches. “Not bad. Not as good as the ladies in the vid, but, whatever.”

Svanni’s ears flicked but she didn’t obliged his sister, practically swallowing Anon’s flank. Again, the poor soldier couldn’t resist such an assault and eventually his fortifications collapsed. His inches shivered and twitched until another load burst into Svanni’s throat.

He almost tripped, back to the wall, gasping. Oh it was miraculous, the intensity something he hadn’t felt in what seemed forever.

Svanni licked her chops. “Mmm.”

Anon was dizzy, though in the best possible way. “Can I. . . can I get a second. . . soul is willing but. . .”

Both girls tilted their heads in doggish fashion. “Aren’t you meant for intense combat situations, or something?” commented Yara.

“Gugh. . .”

Well he was, but combat situations didn’t call for this sort of thing, as far as Anon knew.

“Maybe I should rest on a pillow. . .” he said. The two grinned.

“Great idea.”

Anon didn’t even remember landing on the bed. Svanni had hoisted him from his feet and planted him on his back like a gal picking an apple. Thank god these beasts were on the Zone’s side!

He landed with an audible ‘umf’ and found himself staring at the ceiling, while the rest of his attire was pulled away. Probably for the best, his superiors might wonder why his attire smelled like fur when he got out of here (if he ever did). Once nake, Yara loomed over him, sitting too, tail wagging. She yanked him into her arms, his head landing between her ample, hefty tits, and oh lord the weight.

In the best possible way, the ample chest rested on his shoulder like a whole backpack of artillery supplies. Soft, plump, yet with enough taut firmness. Anon thought to struggle but his entire frame was practically absorbed by the stern arms of the wardog, while she wiggled her chest, patting his ears with her black fur tits.

“Hrmgfs.”

Anon remembered he had hands and arms. So, he pushed his palms against the hefty chest, squeezing the immense sacs. They felt extra soft, the fur tickling his flesh with additional warmth, pert nips teasing palm. Yara grumbled with approval, licking his forehead.

“Like em’, huh?”

Anon was dizzy, but acknowledged her. “Y-yeah.”

Was the photo device even in his hand anymore? No, that was somewhere, and he didn’t rightly care where at this point. With a face full of wardog tits, his brain wasn’t exactly operating at full capacity.

He managed to pull out of Yara’s grip, at least for a moment, examining the fat front. By god, they really were something else. Bunker breakers, these things, bigger than a good portion of artillery arsenal his squads used! Yara noticed, smirking.

“I’mmmm bigger than my sister.”

Svanni didn’t like the challenge. “The fuck you are!”

The gray wardog wolfess shoved into view and pushed into her sister, taking space on the bed. “Don’t say stuff that isn’t true.”

“Well, it clearly is,” Yara chortled. “See?”

Anon did, because both girls proceeded to shove their tits together, pushing him aside. They challenged the other in competitive fashion, breasts pancaking together. They growled, their flanks jostling and fighting for space.

“The difference is obvious,” commented Svanni. “Right, photo guy?”

Anon watched. It was obvious to him given his stature in comparison, but. . .

“Er.”

“Aren’t you gonna’ get a photo and tell us?” said Yara, eyes locked on her sister. “It’s probably the only way.”

Anon glanced around. Where’d the thing go anyway? He didn’t care at this point, so close to the ladies. “Look uh, I’ll level with you both,” he said.

“I can’t tell who’s bigger, um, you’re both very. . . large. . .”

They glanced at him, snorting. “Pfft. Fine,” groused Yara.

“Feh, guess we are much bigger compared to you, eh?”

Gears switched again. Though Anon had spared a couple of “mags” he still had enough left in him and the two noticed. Svanni pushed away from her sister, eyeing his loins. “Hmmm. . .”

She grinned, a wolfish hunger overtaking her. “But we’re not too big, right?”

Given their size in comparison to him? Was that a joke?

Yara snickered, realizing Anon didn’t get the implication. “She means your cock is fine.”

Anon blinked. Oh. Yeah, he was definitely willing again, and his length seemed to agree, twitching to life. It was slathered in saliva and presex but he was raring to go.

“I’m ready for deployment, ma’am,” said Anon. All right training, if there was a time to be useful, now was it. He was off to the furry fields of wardog body, down to the unknown lands of wolfess pussy. Would he conquer or be conquered?

He’d have to stop with all the bad puns first.

“I get first go,” Svanni proclaimed, going to Anon. Yara whined.

“Say what!?”

“You grabbed his bone before me, with your mouth. Not letting you hog him all!”

Not like Anon could protest, and not like Svanni would be stopped. In a moment, she was atop him, her warm frame embracing his smaller one. Not crushing, though squeezing. Her heat enveloped him and almost made him sleepy it was so comfy, like a big silk blanket. Well, one with plump tits and round rump.

“Nnfm.”

Svanni sniffed him like she were a meal, and a spring of excited panic went through Anon. It dawned on him that given her size and strength, she could literally snap him in half if she started to hump. Though dying from wardog bounces wasn’t the worst way to go, Anon did have a few other things he wanted to try before keeling over.

“Hang on, hang on,” he said, pushing against Svanni. “Go back to all fours. It’s better that way.”

She tilted her head. “Is that an order?”

“. . .yes?”

“Fiiiine.”

It was less an order and more a request for survival. Oh sure, she might start gentle at first, but with enough force Anon would lose his spine!

Still, Svanni tossed her raven locks and positioned herself on the bunk. Like before, she went to a servile, all-fours position. It was appropriate anyway, she was a dog after all. Or wolf. Or both?

For once, Anon got to appreciate her frame on his own terms. Not acting like the “photo guy” or anything else, just him. Damn. And she was everything his suppressed brain had hoped for and more. He took position behind her and pushed his palms against her sleek backside, parting the thick grey cheeks. The soft tautness was generous and teased at her black nethers which glistened from arousal. Her tail wagged and a doggish coo emitted from her muzzle while Svanni propped herself up, waiting in excited anticipation.

“Well, take a fuckin’ picture back there, why don’t ya!”

Oddly, this was the one time Anon didn’t want to. His desire was too strong for reason or thought, all he could do was the most basic of things: fuck. No training, no matter how rigorous, prepared him for this! So he buckled. He was only human, after all.

He pushed himself into her wet, hold folds, her tight heat embracing him with snug warmth. Not too tight she “choked” him, but enough there was a snug, suckling fit. He let out a groan, bestial in nature, the kind only provoked when you were satisfying a deep urge and finding yourself in wardog pussy. He clamped on her fat haunches and buried himself to the threshold, watching with fascinated eyes how her black nether lips encircled his length. Ugh, amazing.

“Oooogh,” Svanni gasped, cooing with approval. She panted, her instincts pressed. For her this was hitting all the right buttons, the best ones. The urge to find a mate and be mated. Even though her hybrid design was essentially a biological war machine, she was still her own species. In a snap realization, she understood why there were no male variants of wardogs at the Facility. Or at least, none that she knew of.

If there were, they wouldn’t get anything done, left to mating.

Yara watched, far too fascinated to feel any sense of jealousy. This was better than any vid on the web, this was real.

For Anon, it didn’t matter he’d blown a couple loads, he was raring to go, demonstrated aptly by his charge of thrusts. He started slow but soon went into a quick rhythm, his length twitching at every tug and pull. Svanni was keen to absorb the thrusts, pushed into her breasts into the bed as Anon proceed to indulge by slamming himself into her. Each slap of hips incurred a long, satisfied moan from both while a sloppy drool of presex dribbled into the sheets.

“Ffffuck. . .” Anon grumbled, eyelids pressing shut. His whole lower body was overwhelmed with the growing intense electric tingles.

To hold against the tide was a fool’s errand at this point. All the time he’d spent away from the fairer wolf had compounded. With so much hot, supple flesh right here, he couldn’t hold back.

Every swing of his hips caused a ripple through Svanni’s generous grey cheeks while she howled with approval. Then, Anon yelped out, his cock surging to life once again as a burst of issue ejected from tip. His testes roiled over and drained ever drop of himself into Svanni’s welcoming gates, drenching her cunny walls with every round of ammo he had.

The intensity forced him to buckle over, his torso falling on Svanni’s sinewy back as he panted through his orgasm. The blissful fog of post-fuck settled over him, and he admittedly felt dizzy. Not in a bad way.

“Mmmmf,” Svanni purred, wiggling her haunches. “So that’s what real seed feels like. . .”

As opposed to what, Anon thought.

Eventually, he slipped out of her, collapsing to his back, staring at the ceiling. His frame was dappled with sweat and he forgot what he was even doing here. Well, besides nuttin’ in hot wolfdog ladies.

“You done being greedy?” chimed Yara, no longer content to sit idle. Svanni chuckled, obviously satisfied with herself.

“Bah.”

Anon didn’t process what happened next, only that a shape of grey traded positions with a shape of black. Yara looked over him, smiling. “Now you can have fun with a real wardog.”

There was zero possibility in his brain he could distinguish what counted as “real.” The girls were pretty magnificent either way.

“H-hang on,” he protested, needed a breather. Oh but Yara wouldn’t have it, the proximity of a genuine male was too good to pass up!

“Not just yet, photo guy. I have a good impression to make, after all.”

“B-buh?”

It was everything Anon was excited and afraid of: Yara mounting him. Rather, she took position atop him and pressed herself against his length, grinding herself along the sloppy inches to bring it to full hardness once again.

“Gggh. . .”

Anon groaned out but allowed instinct to take over. He had one last go in him, and Yara wasn’t about to be left empty handed. Once he was hard, she slipped him into her nethers, squeezing his inches with a grip both tight and soft. Much like her sister, she was a hot, comfortable fit, as though she were made for a human cock.

Once inside, she arched her back and let off a long, satisfied woof. It was enough that malehood was in her tunnel. The simulations could only do so much. There was more to it than just stimuli: there was scent, proximity, and sound!

“Don’t kill me,” Anon chuckled nervously.

Yara looked down and winked at him. “No promises.”

Oh shit.

There was a pause, Anon instinctually gripping Yara’s thighs. Her curvy figure was certainly enticing, but he also realized he needed to hang on for dear life. Or hope to whatever gods were out there he wasn’t about to get snapped in half!

Yara, at least, had enough control not to break the poor human. However, she began a rhythm of bounce, colliding herself against Anon as she slipped his length in and out of her awaiting folds. Then her motions grew in haste, more pronounced, more aggressive. With every rise and dive of her hips, her hefty breasts wobble together, emitting claps as the wobbly wolf tits created a lewd applause. Anon grunted with every stroke, her motions coaxing and massaging his inches, once again filling his loins with that hot electric pleasure.

Granted, he was rather sore at this point, a mix between pain and pleasure. But he’d hold out one last time. If they could drag his ass through mud and plunge him into freezing water, he could manage some rough sex with a wardog!

“NNMF!” grunted Yara, pinning her palms on Anon’s shoulders as she rode him like her life depended on it. The bed wheezed and whined with every motion, and Anon – the part of his brain still working, anyway – wondered if she’d break the bunk.

Again and again she tossed her hips, the fat haunches wobbling and jiggling, her tail arching. Yara howled, a triumphant sound, one thrilled to finally have real malehood deep in her cleft. Anon was neither too big or small, working as the perfect root to ride out her blissful peak.

But for Anon, holding out was hardly an option. The girls had used him and just about emptied his reserves of stamina. If he had some of those super-steroids sure, he could probably go forever, but he was merely a set of trained boots.

“Ohhhgooood. . .” he groaned out after a while of riding. He didn’t know how long, only that once again his loins rumbled and spilled with seed, filling Yara to the brim, or so he hoped.

He clenched against her, digging his fingers into her fur. Yara gave a strange, excited wolfish cackle, as though she’d claimed a mate, riding through the orgasm. The intensity reached a breaking point and Anon felt his vision go dark. Was he. . . really passing out here?

Yeah.

-*-

Anon yanked his eyelids open with a frightened gasp. Primarily because he was caught unawares, and also because oh fuck, what time was it?

He pushed up from the bunk bed he was still on, glancing around. The room was empty – except for Svanni. She was gazing at his uniform, looking his way as he woke. She smirked.

“Well, welcome back to life, photo guy.”

His heart raced. Sense returned to him – his conquest was successful, and now came the rest. Was he out of position too long? His superiors would know. And, if they knew, he’d be penalized. Worse! If they knew he was consorting with the wardogs, well, he’d be up shit creek without even a fuckn’ raft!

“What time is it?” he said at once.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she responded, voice strangely calm. “Interesting uniform for somebody taking photos.”

Uh. Uh oh.

Awh, shit. She was onto him.

“Better dress up, soldier. Leader wants to see you.”

Oh, hell no, he couldn’t bypass orders and lines. They’d tan his hide. “Look, I can’t do that. I’ve gotta. . .”

“Oh, no, you’ve only gotta come with me. C’mon. Boots on.”

She stood, crossing her arms. Then, the dreary, horrid realization that he had absolutely o choice overcame him. Why? Because Svanni could literally benchpress him and force him to comply. Fuck.

With a gulp, he got his attire on after a quick cleanup. Once done, Svanni gestured to him to follow, and off they went. To where, he didn’t know.

They went through a network of corridors and halls, deep into the Ambition. Every step they took put a spring of strange fear into Anon, only because he recognized none of it. Also, what kind of penalty was he about to incur?

He’d find out soon enough. Eventually the two came to a massive bulwark which hissed and clicked open at their approach. Inside, an enormous room overseen by various figures. A few wardogs, but then, a person in a long white coat. His head was plated with buzzing, blinking devices, like plates of computer parts were grafted into his skull. His skin was pale and form old and mottled.

Svanni lead Anon towards him, where Yara stood.

There was someone else too.

Of the wardogs Anon had seen, of all the variances and types, absolutely none of them instilled a sense of dread like she did. A grayish-black fur coat beset by numerous scars. Her eyes were a terrifying green that appeared to pulse with energy, accompanied by a river of long black hair. Standing near her was. . . hard. Anon didn’t know how to explain it, really, but it was as though she emitted an aura of electricity or energy or heat.

She was vastly larger and her presence commanded a terrifying level of respect. Even the other wardogs regarded her with a sense of admiration and fear.

Then, there, on her left thigh was a series of numbers and a barcode. Underneath it:

K-4.

“Ah, is this the gentleman?” creeped in a cold, ancient voice. It was the old man, who looked at Anon with studious eyes.

“It’s him,” acknowledged Svanni.

Oh fuck. Ohfuuuuuuuck. Anon gulped.

The man stepped forward. “May I have your PID, son?”

The personal infantry device. Anon didn’t hesitate – he was in deep already. “Yes. Uh. Sir.”

“Hah.”

The man took it, smirking. “This doesn’t look like photo equipment.”

“Uh. . .”

He clicked his tongue. “What young men get up to these days. I remember when I worked in the precursor phase of Facility One. I was sweet on one of my peers and she and I broke protocol more than once. . .”

His eyes glistened and he scratched his chin. “Hmm. A lot like that case down in the fields. One of those Handlers, was it?”

He glanced to K-4, who only gave a single, commanding growl.

“Indeed.”

He looked back to Anon, handing the PID back. “Bad times are ahead, son. Did you know that?”

“. . .I don’t understand, sir.”

“I didn’t either. Tell me.”

He paused, considering his words, wondering if he should even tell Anon at all. Then:

“What do know about the Controller Program?”

Was Anon going crazy? What was going on here?

“I’ve. . . I’m not familiar, sir.”

Another pause. “I see.”

Then, he chuckled. “Well. Welcome to the big leagues son. You’re in it, now.”

Anon needed some kind of answer. “What? Who are you?”

The aged man’s thin lips curled into a smile. “Lans Anda.”

He turned, patting K-4 on the leg. “Welcome to the Zone. The real one.”