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Obedience Schooled

Chapter 5

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Commissioned by Guri

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

Looking around at the rundown buildings of morphtown with a light curling of her upper lip, Edwige shook her head, but didn’t say anything to her mistress, walking confidently up front with her three human friends. Trouble was on the wind, and the young, blade-slim, grey-furred wolfgirl knew it in her bones, the same way she knew she was right on the cusp of her heat, and that the yellow-skinned Xoloitzcuintle morph bitch next to her was already smack in the middle of her own sizzling estrus.

What made it worse was that she was pretty sure only herself and her mistress would be worth anything in a fight. The four human girls seemed absolutely certain that they’d brought enough help – they had five morphs with them, after all, and besides that, they were human. Like most humans, they considered themselves untouchable in the midst of morphs, who they’d been raised to believe were a race of gengineered biological androids, made for the sole purpose of serving humanity. Less than human, less even than animals (though a human might use such bestial terms to describe morphs, as derogatory slurs), they were quite confident in their superiority and their safety.

Edwige, though…no, she wasn’t so sure at all. Despite her relatively tender years, her mother had been among the Russian morphs who’d been made to suppress the Ukranian uprising, and she’d been part of the tail end of that conflict before it all fell apart, acting as support personnel when she’d still been only six, and she had a veteran’s instincts. She suspected that her father was an officer in the Russian army – a human! – which would explain why she’d been sold off to American domestic interests as soon as the Russians started disbanding their morph-fueled military machine when they found that they had more morphs than humans in their country. That Russian outlook made her cynical for an adult, let alone a teenager as she was, and brutally pragmatic. What those instincts and that pragmatism told her, of course, was that they were right in the middle of what the less politically correct among the U.S. military would have called “Indian country”…and the natives were restless.

Hearing a soft whimper from the rear of their party of nine, Edwige smirked as she looked over the wide-eyed, fearful little piggies in the back. Two were of the standard pink-skinned Yorkshire variety, probably the most common sort of suimorph seen worldwide, while the third was a black-and-white Hampshire, but all three had similar pleasingly plump figures, only barely contained by frilly French maid outfits (a common sight among keptmorphs, and Edwige was unspeakably grateful that her mistress, Lusine, didn’t insist she wear the froofy uniform herself), and equally short bodies, shorter even than their mistress, Kithara, the brown-haired Greek-American up front with the other human girls. This, coupled with their adorably wide eyes and precious, fearful expressions set off all sorts of dark instincts in the wolfgirl; though she’d had no sexual experience to date (her mistress’ mother considered her far too wild to merit breeding, a common flaw among lupomorphs and similar “wild” breeds of morph), somehow she knew that, if she were left to her own devices with these three cowering little cuties, every inch of them screaming “prey” to her most primitive parts, she’d likely do a number of unspeakable things to the adorable little submissives.

That aside, Edwige knew that the Three Little Pigs could tell as well as she could that there was trouble afoot, as occasional stirrings from the alleys and side streets they kept passing made clear, with furtive movements from figures remaining in hiding, stalking them, but not taking serious pains to keep their intended prey from figuring it out – a common “predator” tactic in the urban fighting of her birthland, when the morphs on both sides of the conflict stopped killing each other in the absence of human commanders to drive the conflict, but hadn’t stopped fighting in…other ways. The Three Little Pigs would know just as much as Edwige did, since they were first-gen Chinese morphs, and that country had suffered even worse disorder than Russia when it had fallen all to pieces in the wake of whyker and all the host of other gengineered diseases that had ravished the entire Indochinese subcontinent, sterilizing and outright killing off not just humans, but their crops, ensuring mass starvation on levels unprecedented in the history of many nations – China, Indian, and Pakistan not least among them – that were long accustomed to such horrors. The Pigs had escaped the worst of it while still young and relatively unscarred by war, though their manufacturers hadn’t even bothered to name them before selling them off to the American morphservant trade, a story not that different from Edwige’s in many ways, but differing in that they were treated even more like an expendable resource in China, and came subliminally programmed to accept that as their lot in life, which in no small part likely explained their natural submissiveness. That their mistress hadn’t bothered to give them individual names, but instead settled on the group name of “Three Little Pigs,” certainly didn’t improve matters one bit.

Casting a brief glance at Chiquita, the xolo babe by her side, Edwige rolled her eyes, and let her gaze shift to the front once more. No, the hairless doggy wouldn’t be any use at all: she was too distracted by her heat to really notice anything else right then, all fidgety in her own stupid-looking frilly maid’s dress. Too busy putting off the pheromones that Edwige was pretty sure were drawing hungry looks from every dark alley in morphtown, just like the scent of those three submissives in the back probably was, whether they were in heat or not…and like the scent of the girls up front was doing just as well.

“I’m telling you,” Edwige’s mistress, Lusine, was saying, giving an unconscious brush of one hand over the electric blue bangs that hung down nice and long in front, “this is where that private school’s website said they’d ended up. Well…somewhere pretty close to here, anyway,” she added with a shrug, trying to play off her poor sense of direction as coolly as any still slightly awkward teenager ever could. “Just ask Stephonie: she’s the one who hacked the school’s records!”

“A private school in this neighborhood?” asked the apple red-haired girl in the obvious lead of the little group of teens: Courtney, Chiquita’s owner, older than the others by several years, and the undisputed queen in her own little clique…a queen who’d recently lost one of her subjects, and wanted her back, just like any spoiled girl who’d lost a toy she hadn’t quite finished playing with yet. “Do you know what sort of…things live here? I feel filthy just walking on the same streets as these…these animals.”

The other morphgirls didn’t bat an eye at the slur, a fairly usual thing from most of the humans in their experience, but Edwige rolled hers.

Yeah, she thought to herself, only barely keeping her muzzle shut. And you’re the one putting off the most pheromones of us all, attracting the worst sorts of these ‘animals’ like starving beasts!

Humans never noticed pheromones, of course, their senses having long grown dulled to such deeper, darker forces of primal instinct. While they might not notice them, though, they were certainly affected by them. Every morph knew that they all lived in a veritable sea of swirling airborne hormones, each carrying a chemical signal that would adjust the neurochemistry of anyone who drew them in through mouth and nostrils. Fortunately, morphs were adapted to handle such hormonal signals, able to consciously resist them if they wanted (well…most of the time); unlike with a mere animal, for whom pheromones might as well be a form of mind control, binding a species together in the same way tides and seasons were bound together, morphs were merely influenced by the pheromones all around them, aware of them, but able to choose what they did based on what their instincts told them.

Humans…not so much. Especially humans who’d been raised around morphs, as most of the upper crust of humanity was (which, as Edwige thought about it, composed most of humanity now – morphs were the new underclass, the ones who filled that proletariat position the old Communist ideology of the birthland had waxed so nauseatingly poetic about). The Russians and the Chinese had both tried to use morphs as proper biological weapons, killing all the men they encountered, and breeding all the women, and so most morphs from both those cultures (Edwige included) knew all about what effects morph pheromones could have on the human body and mind, far more than any mewling, self-righteous American, human or morph. Of course that plan, whether implemented in northwest or southeast, had failed miserably, since pheromones weren’t mind control for humans any more than they were for morphs, and even morphs subliminally indoctrinated in the ideologies of their respective governmental masters tended to balk at the thought of wholesale slaughter, to say nothing of their general rejection of (and physiological inability to engage in) rape of the opposite sex. All the same, humans were influenced by pheromones, just like morphs (perhaps more than morphs, if some of the rumors Edwige had heard were true), but unlike morphs, since they weren’t aware of them, they had a far harder time mustering up a conscious resistance to them. Few tried, as the undocumented but quite high levels of pairings between morphs and humans in the Ukraine, Eastern Europe, and the rural regions of China’s disintegrated political landscape attested. This lack of awareness was especially common here, in the remnants of what was once the “land of the free,” where not even the scandal-hungry news outlets had latched onto the sexual potential of what morph pheromones could do to a deliciously ripening human girl.

The short of it was simple enough from Edwige’s perspective: there were four young, healthy, fertile, and quite attractive females right in front of her, each of them with bodies that had been primed by the pheromones of the she-morphs that had surrounded them all their lives. Primed to accept, key-in-lock, the pheromones of the male morphs who had been banished to the outskirts of the urban wasteland, considered too wild, too feral, too dominant for service to human households. All around them, Edwige could smell the lightly spiced, pleasantly sweet musk of those savage, bestial males, now a fixture of the terrain as much as the buildings. Over the last hour that the little band of intrepid explorers had been walking through morphtown, their human leaders had proven utterly heedless of both the scents they were giving off and their own swiftly-rising danger, evident in the way every one of them, all unawares, kept squeezing their thighs together as they walked, kept wavering slightly in their gait, cheeks flushed, pupils dilated.

Ruefully, Edwige looked down from where she’d been looking at the ground floor window of a seemingly empty apartment building, where she’d briefly glimpsed one of morphtown’s denizens in a crackglass window, right before the shaggy shape (was it a fellow wolfmorph? The glimpse had been too brief to tell for sure), and placed her hand over her smooth, flat tummy. She’d miss it, she was sure, but deep inside she felt it would be more than worth it to see her haughty human mistress and her even more haughty friends get the same.

“All I know is what I saw,” Stephonie was telling the redhead-in-charge while these thoughts were running through the wolfgirl’s head. The slim black girl in the schoolgirl’s uniform, white shirt, tie, pleated skirt, and all (Edwige suspected she liked the fashion statement of the look, or else just hadn’t had a chance to change into something more casual before she was whisked off on this adventure by her friends) held up her phone, the touchscreen bright enough to reflect off her large round glasses before she turned it for her friends to see what she’d put on the screen. “See?” she declared with a helpless shrug. “Our own school lists them as having been taken out and put into a private academy. Phoebe and her sisters just have to be somewhere around here. I mean, you all know Savannah: she’d never put up with anything that wasn’t the absolute best.”

Hacking the school website to access private records, Edwige mused with a light smirk. Such a naughty girl. Of course, Stephonie was the submissive sort by nature, a born follower despite being rather clever in her own right. So she was the “token nerd,” as Lusine had put it a few times, the one who ended up helping her friends with their homework…or sometimes ended up doing it herself, all in her pathetic eagerness to find acceptance in the harsh world of highschool life among the richest cream of human society.

“My GPS says we’re very close,” Kithara suddenly supplied, brushing the long bangs of her straight brown hair out of her eyes before she pointed to her own phone’s screen, holding it out to take the center of attention away from Stephonie’s. “See? This ‘private school’ is just down another two blocks. Except…”

The girls all frowned in confusion.

“’Spike’s Salvage’?” Lusine exclaimed, giving voice to what her little group had been thinking. “That’s no private school! What the ____ is going on here?”

Watching her mistress’ face, Edwige had to admit: she found her mistress interesting. Well, her appearance, anyway; her personality was that of a hard-edged girl jock, covering up her adolescent insecurities with a lot of bluster and bravado, or trying to at least. She’d made use of the new nanogels to turn her hair a deep electric blue, and thanks to the way those new substances worked, it looked surprisingly natural, growing in that way as the dye sank into the very roots of her hair (which Edwige remembered had once been a muddy sort of very dark brown, back when they’d both been about ten). She’d then shaved the left side of her head, leaving just a frizzy sort of stubble, and grown the rest nice and long on top, so that it curled up and over in a feathery look. On another girl, the hairstyle might have been the mark of a poseur, but for Lusine, she had the rough-and-tumble body expected of a girl in the “punk” scene, lean and toned and tough. Well, as tough as regular weight training along with booty boxing for cardio could make you, with Edwige as her spotter and most constant workout partner. Which was pretty tough, Edwige had to admit: she’d been trained as a bodyguard as well as a servant, after all, despite her tender years, and she knew enough to identify that her mistress had the beginnings of a real fighter’s spirit. Well…she would, anyway, if she wasn’t so preoccupied with pretending to be tougher than she really was! Those henna drawings on her lightly-tanned arms might be enough to convince the average highschooler of how tough she was, but for Edwige, who’d seen the horrors of war up close and far too personal…well, they were pretty, at least.

“C’mon,” Courtney suddenly broke into the confused silence of her friends, pointing in the direction Kithara’s phone indicated. “If that’s where it says Phoebe’s gone, we might as well check the place out. Having her disappear like that, just drop out of school for some private academy out of the blue, not even telling me where she was going or what she was doing,” the apple-tressed girl sniffed, her nostrils flaring as her nose scrunched up, the cuteness of the expression slightly spoiling the effect of her expressed ire. “There’s something fishy going on here, and I intend to find out what!”

Glancing behind her as she heard another whimper from the Three Little Pigs, Edwige gave the fearful little cuties a toothy grin, before she started following Chiquita, the yellow-skinned bitch stumbling along behind her mistress in a heat-induced fever dream, having been forced to go without even the pleasure of masturbation for far too long. This just reminded Edwige that she really ought to cut poor Chiquita a little slack: her mistress’ mother regarded most sexual acts as somehow “dirty,” and had forbidden the poor femme from pleasuring herself; Chiquita, good morphservant that she was, had of course done her best to comply. Ah, but as for those three tasty little piggies…mmm.

“Yeah, I know,” she told them with a slow lick of her chops that just made the poor little cuties cower together with the most adorable expressions on their wide-eyed faces. “I can smell ‘em too. Those big bad wolves are gonna gobble you three all up.”

The middle piggy actually cried out at this taunt, sinking to her knees with a despairing sob, the smell of her fear and arousal a heady mix that made Edwige’s head swim at the potent, primal instincts it awakened. She had to muster all her self-control just to keep from ripping off the piggy’s clothes herself, right there in the street!

“Get over it,” she growled, turning away to focus on the retreating rear ends of those hot human girls. Behind her, the pink and black-and-white companions of the poor piggy in the middle helped her up, murmuring soothing words to her in their native Mandarin as they did their best to keep up, not to lose sight of the group. After all, with the humans, they had at least a tiny chance of escaping the denizens of morphtown’s feral quarter with their hymens intact. Alone, they were as good as porked!

As for Edwige, she preferred to focus on those human rear ends. No wonder the morphboys around here were so excited! Of course there was Lusine’s, her mistress dressed in a midriff-exposing punk band black t-shirt, which showed off the henna body art on her arms and belly to best effect, and tight black leather pants, slick and shiny and so nice ‘n clingy to her firm, toned buns. Not as fine a tush as that of the Greek-American girl, Kithara, though, its near-perfect heart shape clearly visible through the tight denim of her faded shorts. They looked thin enough in places that they might give way at any moment, revealing the bare skin beneath! But the best of the four girls’ figures was Courtney’s, of course. As much as Edwige found the redhead’s personality to grate, her looks…well, she certainly filled out that long-sleeved light sweater and short, short miniskirt very nicely indeed! There were professional supermodels who would have given anything for a body as svelte and willowy as Courtney’s flawless hourglass shape!

Edwige couldn’t help but wonder: how would the smokin’ redhead’s figure hold up after a pregnancy or two?

“There it is!” Stephonie suddenly exclaimed from just behind Courtney, pointing, a look of delight on her face. An expression that soon froze, then fell as the quartet of teens saw that, indeed, the place appeared to be just what Kithara’s GPS had said it was: a junkyard. A really big junkyard, that was certain, with a high, well-tended fence, chain link around the front gate region, and somewhat shorter, whitewashed boards around its perimeter, but a junkyard all the same.

“Private school, huh?” Lusine grumbled, shaking her head in annoyance. “Not unless it’s for secret agents or something.”

“Maybe it’s around the back,” Stephonie opined, still hoping not to lose face for having led her little clique on a wild goose chase to find their missing companion. “The place looks as though it covers a lot of ground.”

“True,” Courtney admitted in a moment of extreme charity, turning and starting off along the right side of the fence. “All right, let’s see what this place has in store around the…”

“MEOW!”

The little party had gone no more than four steps when they heard the high-pitched, piercing wail of a kitty in what sounded to human ears like extreme distress. While no particular lover of morphs, Kithara, Stephonie, and even Lusine (though she’d never admit it) had a soft spot for “dumb animals” (as Lusine put it), and Courtney, well, she was curious enough not to resist their impulse to hurry along the fenceline, eyes toward the middling-height buildings lining the street until they saw a likely-looking alley, and quickly approached.

As the four girls drew near, their morphservants still in tow, they could hear another loud, plaintive feline wail from the alley, accompanied, troublingly, by the sound of rough, harsh, and very masculine grunting, and a strange slap-slap-slapping sound. What could possibly…?

“MEEEEOYYYWWWLLLMMmmmm…”

“That’s it, kitty,” rumbled a deep voice, powerful and masculine, its tones lightly accented with the primal snarls of a creature for whom words were just another weapon in the arsenal of a dominant, aggressive predator. “That’s it: keep that up, and we’ll let you sleep in our den, all safe and warm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, kitty?”

Even though realization of what was happening in the alley right before them was already starting to slowly dawn on the human girls (and had already lit brightly in the minds of all five of the morphs), all the same, they were drawn forward irresistibly, the seductive tones of that wickedly beautiful male voice pulling them, simply hearing it enough to wear down their wills just that little bit more.

Taking that final, fateful step, the four human girls came up short, eyes wide, mouths immediately dropping open in shock at the sight that awaited them in the alley. In the dim confines of the gap between buildings, a sweet, kittenish little felimorph, a tabby with a soft white “underbelly” region, was bent over a trashcan, her shapely little derriere thrust out, tail hiked high. Gripping that kittybutt tightly, thick fingers digging deeply into supple flesh, was a massive wolf, a male lupomorph, almost a living embodiment of all the primal mental pictures of a werewolf, all hard sinew and powerful, barbaric thews only just barely contained by the thick, hoary fur that covered the animal-headed man.

As the girls watched, the powerful beast of a male thrust his hips forward, again, and then again, his tail hiking upward, revealing a pair of plum-sized testicles in a shaggy-furred sac, which swung pendulously with each thrust. And at the pinnacle of each of those thrusts, the man-wolf’s hips smacked loudly against the pert little buns of the little kitty, painted a snowy white on their inward curve, making them bounce and jiggle in a way that was truly mesmerizing to watch, freezing each of the girls at the mouth of the alley firmly in place.

Just when Courtney, the strongest-willed of the little band, was starting to recover enough of her senses to draw herself and her friends away, the eyes of all four girls shifted uncontrollably toward the huge, powerfully-built man-wolf standing at the little kittygirl’s other end, one immense paw nearly engulfing her head, working her up and down on his swollen, dark red penis. It was an ugly thing, thick and bloated covered in grotesque veins. It was also utterly captivating to the girls, who simply stood there, watching it disappear again and again into the little kitty’s mouth, while she looked up at the dominant male she was fellating with wide, sparkling green eyes, her expression worshipful.

“Good little kitty,” came the rumbling purr of the huge male holding the sweet tabbymorph kitten’s head, his captivating yellow eyes fixed on hers, and even at that distance, the girls at the alley’s mouth could feel their power as he held her in their depths, as at his mercy as the mouse before the sway of the cobra. “You want to serve us, don’t you? You want to be our slave. We’ve got many lovely little slaves, just like you. We’ve got a precious blue-eyed bunny with the softest white fur. And two darling mice, sisters, older and younger. You want to feel their fur, don’t you? Feel how soft it is under your delicate little paws. You want to join them, safe in our den. You want to be our slave, and serve all of us, again and again and again.”

As he spoke, the girls became aware of the other wolves in the alley, waiting their turn with the wriggly little kitten who was indeed so very eager to please. How many of them were there? Six? Ten? More? It was hard to tell…hard to see…hard to focus on anything but that sonorous voice, on its deep, curling tones, its subtle inflections…and on those beautiful yellow eyes that drew you in, and seemed to never want to let you go…

“We’ll keep you in chains, little one,” the wolf continued. “Nice and safe, so everyone knows that you’re owned, not some helpless stray. And then we’ll put a brand on your little bottom, just to make sure that everyone knows, to make it clear, forever and ever, that you’re ours. You’ll serve us, sweet little one. You’ll serve us happily, knowing that you’re pleasing your masters. You’ll beg us for our puppies, and we’ll give them to you, and you’ll be such a proud little mommy.”

“Mmmmm!”

He was looking at them. Courtney blinked, then blinked again, giving a short, sharp gasp. He was looking at them! As the sweet little tabbycat mewled in orgasm, drool running down her chin as she came, and lost herself with that orgasm, the sound made it possible for Courtney to regain her senses. Just in the nick of time! Those…those beasts were all starting to eye her up and down. As though they were thinking of…of…

“Come on!” she snapped, turning on her heel, and the harshness of her words broke the spell, though the others, even Lusine, were still a little dazed as they trailed behind their leader. “We’ve got more important things to see anyway,” she continued. “Like finding out what the secrets of this salvage yard really are.”

So hasty was Courtney’s retreat, and so determined to not look back, that she completely failed to notice the hungry looks the drooling wolves threw at her and her fellow girls. But Chiquita noticed, and soon the yellow-skinned xolo femme sank to her knees, unable to continue following her mistress, her will utterly broken by the raw, primal presence of the wicked alpha male in the alley.

“Por favor,” she begged as she lifted her hands in pitiful supplication, though whether for mercy or…satisfaction, it was impossible to say. “Por favor!”

Edwige and the Three Little Pigs threw her a last glance, the Pigs cowering close together as they whimpered in fearful anticipation, before they hurried off, their last sight of the poor Mexican Hairless of her in the grip of three large, powerful wolfmales, dragging her forward as she slumped, limp in their huge paws, robbed of all power to resist. Soon after, the tatters of her frilly maid’s uniform were tossed casually from the alley’s mouth (peeled like a banana flashed unbidden into the wolfgirl’s mind, making her have to fight to push down a bout of momentary hysterical giggles), and Edwige knew instinctively that, unless she ended up sharing the same fate in the near future, she’d never see poor Chiquita again.

Even odds, in other words.

“Hey,” came the voice of her mistress, as Lusine jogged a little ahead of the other girls, and Edwige jogged to catch up with them, the Pigs only barely increasing their pace, their cute little legs too wobbly from the intensity of their recent encounter for them to have a hope of keeping up. “I think I hear something up ahead on the other side of the fence. C’mon,” she called out, though now shifting to a stage whisper, slowing just enough for Courtney to catch up, sharing the lead, “I think I see some loose boards up ahead: we can look through and see what’s going on.”

As it turned out, there were indeed two loose boards in the whitewashed fence. Stephonie, ever the smart one, frowned as she touched them, her attention enough to make even the brash Lusine pause for a moment as she leaned forward, her long, wavy dark brown hair flowing down to either side of her handsome, high-cheekboned face.

“These were loosened recently,” she said after a few minutes’ consideration, pointing to the nails lying nearby. “And on purpose. Somebody planned to sneak through here at some point. Or maybe they already did it.”

“So?” asked Lusine, putting her hands on her hips as she tilted her head challengingly.

“Somebody knows about this secret way,” Kithara filled the blue-haired girl in with a worried expression. “Which means somebody might catch us here if we’re not careful.”

“Then we’ll just have to be careful,” Courtney stated, looking between her “troops” with the air and confidence of an experienced field commander…or a fresh second lieutenant trying to fake that sort of confidence in the face of panic-inducing odds. “And quick. But it’s not like we’re staying here long, is it? Just long enough to see what’s going on, and where Phoebe and Savannah went. Oh, and maybe Zoey too, I guess.” Then her eyes raised, and she smiled, her confidence rising. “There’s some bushes on the other side of the fence, too, so we should be able to stay out of sight as long as we don’t make too much noise.”

“Blueberry bushes,” Lusine muttered, drawing looks from her companions. “Raspberries and strawberries, too. Good thing it’s the blueberries next to the fence: raspberry bushes are all prickly.” Then she blinked, realizing that she’d drawn attention to herself for knowing something that wasn’t related to typical gym rat or punk rocker lore. “What? I used to go berry picking at my cousin’s place out in the country, when Juniper didn’t wanna put up with me during summer break. That was back when I was between eight to ten, way before I ever met you guys.”

Shrugging, and certainly not commenting on how Lusine called her mother by her first name (most girls from the upper classes had rocky relations with their mothers, after all, a not-unexpected result of so many artificial insemination births in the last two decades from women with lots of money and a sense of civic duty, but no time or patience for raising their children themselves), Courtney dropped to her hands and knees and pushed her way through the boards, which slid aside just enough to let her pass (and, of course, also gave everyone behind her a flash of her apple red panties as her miniskirt rode up, a shade almost identical to her hair). Without having to be told, the other girls followed, Stephonie next, then Kithara. Lusine was last, after looking over the morphgirls standing by the fence.

“You keep watch,” she ordered, mostly looking at Egwige as she spoke, but sparing Kithara’s Three Little Pigs enough of a glance to make it clear she meant them as well. “Whistle if you think somebody’s gonna find us out.” She smirked nastily. “I know you can wolf whistle well enough to get our attention,” she added, before turning and crouching low, rather than going to all-fours like the other girls, and pushed the boards to either side, letting them clack behind her like a pair of wings.

“I’m not worried about whoever’s place this is finding out about us,” the young wolfgirl growled softly, looking around at the shadows cast by the nearby buildings, throwing down long shadows in the light of the weekend’s late morning. “I’m worried about whoever made that hole in the fence deciding to come nosing around.”

Of course her nose had already told her who it was that had loosened those boards. And also of course, it was the same ones who’d just seized poor doomed Chiquita, and dragged her off to a life of far more pleasurable slavery than the one she’d known as a human’s keptmorph. The Pigs knew it, too, and kept a sharp lookout, more for their own sakes than for those of their mistress and her friends, slightly floppy ears perked and snouts snuffling the air. Submissive as they were by nature, the Three Little Pigs knew perfectly well that if they fell into the clutches of those wicked near-feral lupomorphs, they’d never escape. While their present situation might be rough, surely it wouldn’t be as horrific as being the slaves of…of those wicked animals!

Would it?

On the other side of the fence, Courtney reached out, parting the branches of the bushes on either side that had grown out to provide her and her friends with almost perfect cover. Beyond, she could see a surprisingly sizable garden plot, obviously very well-tended, and packed with enough vegetables to feed a good-sized family, or maybe even two. Beyond that, turning her head right, she could see wide fields, open and empty, obviously meant to give the salvage yard extra room for growth as needed.

Turning her head left, her companions lining up next to her so that they could all share in the view, she saw a track, not that different from the professional-grade one at their school, dotted all around its perimeter by various pieces of workout equipment, or just stations designated for different exercises during a jog. Beyond that, she saw the many long buildings of the salvage yard’s offices, and the living quarters of its owners, and…well, there were a lot of buildings, actually, of various sizes, and Courtney had to admit (to herself; never to her companions) that she couldn’t begin to figure out what a junk collector would need with so many buildings.

“Maybe one of them is the private school?” Stephone said quietly, obviously still hopeful that her research should prove right.

“Or more than one of them,” Courtney agreed, willing to throw her companion a bone. “Shh! Looks like…yeah, there’s people over at the far end of the track! It’s…it’s a morph! Looks like a real rough customer, too. And there’s Phoebe! Except she’s…she’s…naked?”

All the girls were rendered speechless at what they saw. Sitting in the bushes, they simply watched, not moving, and not saying a thing.

*

Eyes wide, Phoebe whimpered softly as she watched the slow trickle of wax running down the length of the smooth white candle inserted firmly into her bottom. There wasn’t much else she could do, honestly, secured as she was, and with a ring gag in her mouth. The platform was a simple enough construct, bare metal pipe and foam padding, with clips and bolts and rings studding its surface at key points for ropes and straps to be attached. Presently, the petite young blonde was upended on this platform, her legs resting, splayed wide and comfortably bent, on some of the padded bits, but also securely restrained, keeping her quite firmly in place. Her wrists were bound, of course, square-tied behind her back, while her head rested on another pad below her, letting her tilt her head to look up at the candle that was the implement of her punishment, flickering slightly in the currents of air around the athletic field in Spike’s back yard as it very, very slowly melted down.

Just a fairly short while ago, Phoebe would have loudly decried anyone telling her that she’d done anything that could possibly merit such a punishment. Not as loudly or with as much conviction as her oldest sister would have used at that time, naturally, but all the same, she knew full well just how spoiled she’d been, and remembered her past self with shame. Now, she knew and accepted that she was only getting what she’d earned for being a naughty girl. Not bad, a point that Spike did make very clear, but naughty. That was why she was getting off so lightly, all things considered.

The trouble had really started when she’d almost been mounted by that evil wolf and his pack. That wicked, wicked fiend had awakened something in all three of the Demol girls, something primal and very, very needy. These were the instincts of true bitches in heat, instincts that Spike had been carefully building up over the course of their training, letting them increase in stages, all the better to use those powerful emotions and physical needs as part of his system of punishment and reward as he trained the girls to be better people. But the wolves hadn’t cared about that sort of training: rather than well-bred young ladies, they’d wanted eager little sex slaves, and that brute of an alpha, Bardou, he’d fanned the flames of each girl’s heat until it almost burned!

Savannah, tall and long-legged blonde and former dominant eldest sister of the Demol line, of course, kept herself more-or-less under control in the days following the incident, despite the strange power that bad wolf had over them as he’d manipulated the three girls. More or less: she’d become almost completely submissive since that near miss, eager to please, to satisfy her master and trainer in any way she could, all in hopes of earning the right to the pleasure that she’d had shown to her, if only in a brief glimpse, by that savage brute outside the fence. As for Zoey, the mousey middle sister, she’d started to blossom, shedding the scant excess pounds that had bound her down…or, rather, redistributing them as she built up firm, toned muscle in the place of the weakness that had been there before. She’d had to, as she’d enthusiastically thrown herself into the exercise regimen Spike had set up for them, working harder and longer than either of her sisters, so as to catch up with their present physical states as soon as possible. The exercise helped her to keep her own inner pangs under some semblance of control, probably the only control she could have in her present state.

Phoebe, though, youngest and most impressionable of the Demol girls…things had been a lot harder for her. An ache had started between her legs, a desperate, gaping void of need that had been so close to fulfillment in the clutches of that shaggy-furred beast, and then been denied at the last minute. So she’d become a true and honest nuisance over the past few days. Again and again, she’d deliberately messed up while those collie siblings, Rhett and Scarlet, tried to teach her the lessons of comportment she’d need for the girls’ final exam. More than once she’d whined and whimpered and caused a constant distraction when Girl had been trying to teach the lessons for the girls’ schooling. And as for Spike, she was pretty much always bumping around his ankles like an attention starved cat, thrusting her pert pink bottom upward at every opportunity, begging without words (but a lot of needy whimpering) for his attention as a male right now.

Reflecting on her behavior, Phoebe supposed she really did deserve to be made into a human candlestick. And it was only for an hour, or at least that’s what Spike read from the package as he’d twisted the stick of firm wax into the little blonde’s achingly tight and thoroughly lubricated anal rosette. What was most aggravating about the punishment, though, was not the unfairness of it (it was more than fair, and actually quite lenient, compared to what Spike might have done instead), or the anticipation of impending doom as the fat drop of wax slid ever closer to her vulnerable flesh. No, what really got to Phoebe was how casually Spike and the collie sibs had carried out her sentence, locking her into place with such ease before he’d squeezed the candle into her upthrust butt, letting it take the place of the Golden Retriever’s anal plug tail that she’d been sporting until that point. For them, this was just another part of her training, and not really anything especially unusual. At least with Bardou the wolf, when he’d been about to ravish her, it had been personal!

Another fingerspan, and the wax was now so very, very close to poor Phoebe’s delicate flesh, making her squirm as she felt the heat of it right next to her perineum. How bad would it hurt? The wax had traveled quite a long way down the candle, after all, so maybe…maybe it wouldn’t hurt too bad…maybe.

Casting her eyes about as she heard a loud yelp from the nearby track, Phoebe watched Zoey rubbing her bright red bottom, all while doing her best to run just a little bit faster, to keep up with her sister. Behind the two girls, Spike kept a steady pace, not too fast, but not slow either, a broad spanking paddle swinging by his side, gripped in one of his almost disproportionately large hands. He’d taught the Demol girls early not to slacken their pace below the slowest speed the pitbull allowed, but it was a lesson he would still regularly reinforce, as now, as his hand snapped out, the paddle whistled, and it was soon Savannah’s turn to yelp as her aristocratic derriere soon shared the same bright red of her sister’s. Not that he set them an unreasonable minimum speed, of course, but all the same, he felt that the occasional “love taps” ensured that there was no complacency among his young charges.

Up front, setting the maximum pace, Phoebe saw the collie siblings, Rhett and Scarlet keeping even time, each of them just as naked as the human girls behind them on the track. Spike had brought them in to serve as examples of what was expected of a good serving morph, and also to provide a finishing education on comportment, manners, and proper submission. As their master for the duration of their training, naturally Spike couldn’t easily model all these necessary skills for a keptmorph without confusing his position as the alpha, so bringing in some specialized help just made good sense. The role of the collies was especially important now, as the girls neared what Spike called their “final exam.” He hadn’t been too clear about what that entailed, at least not yet, but he’d promised to explain it soon…after Phoebe’s punishment was ended, and the physical training of her older sisters was complete for the morning.

Instantly, Phoebe’s slim, smooth body tensed up as the bead of wax finally touched her perineum, then slowly flattened and spread out. Oooh, it had been almost too hot to endure for a moment there! Swallowing nervously, Phoebe realized with horror that the bead of wax had come from the top of the candle…and that the top of the candle would steadily shrink over the course of the hour it would burn, making each drop that followed have less distance to travel, less time in which to cool down and harden…which also meant that, eventually, some of those drops would probably reach her delicate virgin pussy…or even her clitoris.

No, she couldn’t think about that. If she did, she’d start to panic, start to thrash, and then she’d just get hurt even worse. This was bearable; it was! What she needed was a distraction, something pleasant to take her mind from her present suffering. Almost instantly, Phoebe found the perfect memory to fill the gap, and just as quickly her tension started to relax, letting her settle almost comfortably into the grip of the padded pipes on which she reclined, inverted.

Naturally enough, that memory was of her sister, Zoey’s, deflowering.

Heads down, bottoms up, faux tails hiked, the three sisters had been eating their dinner from the same communal bowl. It was a chicken stir fry, very lean meat with vegetables, and the sauce was astonishingly good. Asian-style food preparation, as it turned out, was perfect for serving to the girls when they weren’t allowed to use their hands – still all trussed up in mitts, as they’d been since the first day to ensure they didn’t masturbate without permission, to better ensure that pleasure would be a meaningful reward for good behavior – since the same sized bites that made the use of chopsticks viable also meant that they could enjoy the same meal with just their mouths. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Girl was a good cook!

Speaking of girl, she was standing nearby, nibbling on her own dinner as she watched the girls eat, a towel draped over one arm to clean up any spills, or to come to the rescue if any of the girls made too big a mess on her face. Not all that long ago, the three sisters would have been disgusted at the thought of eating out of the same bowl – to say nothing of eating out of a bowl in the first place, like some common pet! – but now…now they’d adapted, and none of them made a fuss. Truthfully, they each had learned to feel a bit of pride at being able to eat so neatly, and to share their food so fairly, even without the use of their hands. Mealtimes, in fact, had become a time for a sort of sisterly bonding, their shared closeness precluding the need for much chatter: they’d learned, as morphs learned from their earliest ages, the joy that comes from nonverbal communication. More than that, though, the girls had gained something precious, something that had never come to them in all their prior years of life: they’d learned to love each other, to finally care about family not just out of obligation, but out of friendship as well, a friendship gained from their shared adversity.

Seated nearby on a metal folding chair, his chest and arms resting against its back, Spike had been watching the girls, a thoughtful expression on his face. Not unusual for him, Phoebe had thought at the time: her master tended to think a lot more than he ever talked, at least where she could hear, and when he did speak, it was for a purpose, every word a weighted weapon or well-tuned tool. What was new, though, was how his sheath, normally just a thick, perpetually-swollen pouch that only occasionally showed off a few glimpses of the pink tube within, was now quite heavily swollen. Swollen, and as each of the Demol girls kept looking over, each of them gaining a steadily-rising fascination with the sight of the naked male’s body, slowly revealing its contents as Spike’s penis emerged, lengthening and thickening right before their eyes. And there was quite a lot of length and thickness to come peeking out!

Thankfully dinner was almost finished by this point, because the three girls had quite forgotten their appetites…at least their appetites for food.

“Final exams soon,” growled Spike, removing his dark glasses and setting them on a nearby table. “Then we’ll see for sure if you’ve learned everything a good set of morph femmes should know and do. But before then,” he rose to his feet, his proud pink erection jutting before him, bobbing as he walked to the girls as they stayed where they were, on all-fours, unable to keep their bodies from trembling at the presence of so much masculinity – the potency they could instinctively sense would satisfy the deepest, darkest cravings that had been building within them since they’d first arrived! “Before then,” he continued, giving each girl a gentle pat on their bottoms, followed by a motion of his muzzle to make it clear where he wanted them to go, “I think it’s only fair to show you what sort of reward awaits good little morphgirls.”

As he spoke, one of his huge hands slowly caressed Zoey’s bottom, then gripped it, squeezed it, thick and powerful fingers sinking into the supple, yielding, nicely-rounded lightly-tanned pink flesh. Freezing in place, Zoey’s eyes went wide, her mouth dropping open as she trembled, sweat already beading all over her smooth young body in needy anticipation. Her sisters similarly froze in place, their eyes fixed on Spike’s big hand as it slid inward, into the crease between Zoey’s dimpled rumpcheeks, parting them, spreading them before his insistent pressure.

When the broad, thick-calloused heel of his palm met Zoey’s puffy little pussy, she couldn’t hold back the sharp cry of sudden, jerking orgasm that made her entire body tense, the muscles of her bum and belly and back all standing out in sharp contrast, showing how much she had developed under Spike’s guidance…and how much her arousal had been building as well! Spike didn’t stop there, though, his hand starting to grind against Zoey’s quim, at first avoiding her throbbing little pearl, before he made her slump forward, losing all control of her upper body as he covered her clitoris with the fingers of his other hand, and began to rub them against that ultrasensitive little nub of nerve with vigorous friction until her eyes crossed, the dining room filling with the sounds of Zoey’s sweet, high-pitched squeals, and wails, and eventually screams.

“Help your sister into the discipline room,” Spike ordered, but not unkindly, as he drew his hand away, giving a satisfied nod at the sight of so much of Zoey’s juices coating his fingers. “Once you’re all lined up in a row for nightly progress pictures, I’ll tell you what happens next. I think you’ll like it: it’s a reward for being such good girls for such a long time.”

Pausing only long enough to watch Spike slowly clean his fingers, sticking them one by one into his thick, blunt muzzle to suck off every drop of Zoey’s juice, Savannah and Phoebe pressed against their sister, one of them on each side, and helped her stumble-crawl her way with them into the indicated room. This arrangement, as it turned out, meant that they were already in a perfect position for the filming Girl did to track their daily progress, all three of them lined up, backs arched, bottoms thrust out toward the cocker spaniel as she came walking up behind them.

“Just brace yourselves, girls,” she warned them, before slowly, carefully twisting the dogtails inserted in each girl’s tush, pulling them out with as much gentleness as was possible under the circumstances: those plugs were wedged in very tightly! “There we go,” she said soothingly as the sisters panted heavily next to each other, trading glances in uncertainty as they awaited whatever came next. “Now just hold that pose…that’s it…and there, done.”

Even though she’d finished taking the necessary pictures on her tiny camera, though, Girl didn’t put the tiny device away, nor did she shut down any of the other little cameras the girls had quickly figured out were scattered all over the room (over every room, actually). As Spike entered, taking his time and still just as fullmast erect as before, they gradually realized that they were anything but finished with their excitement for that night: Spike had far more planned for them than just a restful orgasm or two!

“Savannah, Phoebe,” he said to the two blonde girls, the tall and stately older sister and dainty and small-boned youngest, “you can move to the side and get comfortable if you want. Your mitts will have to stay on, but you have my permission to pleasure each other in any other way you want.” He gave them a red-eyed smirk. “I recommend sideways tribadism, so you’ll have a better view of the action; Girl will show you how to do it,” he added, glancing at Girl, who nodded in response, silently signaling her willingness to help.

“Zoey,” continued their master, and Zoey straightened her stance instinctively, despite how close to total physical collapse she still felt after those rapidfire climaxes she’d just experienced, the most pleasure she’d been allowed to have during her entire stay in Spike’s care, “stay where you are. You accepted your situation first among the three of you, submitted the most readily, and have always been the easiest to train. Tonight, that all pays off: tonight, I’m going to breed you.”

Eyes rolling back into her head as she heard these words, Zoey moaned softly, her body glistening now in the slightly elevated temperatures of Spike’s living quarters that morphs seemed to find most comfortable, though her sweat came as much from the needs of her heat – a state induced in her body by the hormones with which Spike had dosed her and her sisters as much as by the continual denial of any sort of sexual release, save as a reward for being on their very best behavior. Anticipation alone, heightened rather than lessened by the orgasms she’d already been allowed to experience, was enough to make the sandy brown-haired girl almost delirious, her body wobbling as she fought desperately to remain upright, to keep herself in the mating position: all-fours, legs slightly spread, bottom thrust out, back straight, with just a little arch to better present her hindquarters like a good little bitch in heat should. From where they now sat, barely daring to even breathe, Savannah and Phoebe could see how their sister’s anal ring clenched again and again, the outward sign of the powerful contractions that were wracking her innermost places right to their roots, her smooth young body almost ready to collapse with the desperate need of her freshly-awakened lust. All this time she’d been fighting it, forcing her needs into the background of her being. But now…now she had her master’s permission to feel what she’d been postponing for far too long, and feel it to the uttermost dregs of experience.

“First, though,” Spike continued, kneeling behind Zoey, holding up a small cylinder, something about the size of a magic marker, “first, I need to remove your hymen.”

Savannah’s and Phoebe’s eyes were riveted on the metal tube as their master carefully used its blunt end to part their sister’s labia, then press it firmly, but still gently, up against an unseen inner barrier, the maidenhead that was such a prized commodity among humanity’s upper crust, a bargaining chip for landing a man in a world that had so few of them. A commodity that was about to be surrendered in exchange for ultimate ecstasy.

At that point, all three girls had to agree: the payoff was completely worth it.

“This is a maidenblade,” Spike explained calmly, his brow just slightly furrowed with the concentration needed to ensure he didn’t make a mistake. “It’s very sharp, and Zoey should feel a light puff of a local anesthetic right about…now.”

“Hah!” the brown-haired teen gasped, eyes wide as her bottom suddenly clenched, muscles standing out in clear definition. That had been chilly!

“Then, another, harder press to the release button, and…”

Click.

“There, all done.”

Blinking, Zoey actually looked back at Spike in some mild confusion. Was this some mind game? Some test? She’d visibly flinched a moment after she’d heard the click, but all she’d felt was, well, a pinch, really, there and gone again in an instant. She’d had worse pain from vaccinations, from splinters, even papercuts that hurt far worse than that instant snip.

“It’s gone, I promise,” Spike added with a chuckle, making Zoey’s body freeze in place again as he handed the maidenblade to Girl, his massive paws immediately seizing tight hold of the human girl’s bottom, before spreading her wide. Licking his chops, he leaned in close, and Zoey couldn’t hold back her cry at the feeling of Spike’s searing hot breath on her delicate pink parts, already painfully swollen. “All the better to let me taste your cervix!”

“The anesthetic wears off quickly,” Girl said, kneeling behind Savannah and Phoebe, each kneeling as well, eyes riveted on the thick, canine muzzle already pressing up against their sister’s flushed, bald cunny. “Less than a minute. And when it does…”

“Aah!” gasped Zoey loudly, mouth and eyes wide open, handful-sized breasts quivering as the rest of her body’s muscles locked up, nipples looking so hard, they had to hurt.

And then Spike opened his mouth, and the girls caught sight of a long, thick red tongue, but only for an instant before Spike shaped his lips just enough to create a tight seal against Zoey’s little quim.

”AAH!” Zoey cried out, jerking forward, and then back as Spike pulled her firmly into his thrusting muzzle, the muscles of his neck standing out powerfully with his exertions. “AAAAIIIIIIEEEE!”

Oversized paws holding her in place, Spike started to thrust his muzzle in short, almost brutal jerks, resting his firm-muscled rump on the heels of his feet, keeping his whole body on edge, the pose one of dynamism and swift, powerful action. He was almost holding Zoey’s back end upright in that position, fingers gripping her bottom, tilting her up toward his thrusts. As he worked his neck, moving his mouth, Spike’s sharp canines pricked Zoey’s pert bum every few thrusts, making her squeal at the sharp sensation, but not in pain – he was careful not to break her skin. Then he began to turn his muzzle, first to one side, then to the other, adjusting the angle of his muzzle until Savannah and Phoebe could see the edge of his tongue sawing vigorously against their sister’s inner sex, and sometimes even over her clitoris.

“You can keep watching,” Girl’s voice suddenly came to the ears of the watching girls, and they started for a moment at the feel of her hands on their shoulders, and then stroking down their sides. “Just…let me guide you.”

Not resisting, Savannah was the first to feel Girl as the normally shy cocker spaniel turned her until her body was facing her youngest sister. As Girl had said, Savannah could indeed keep her head partially turned like this, so as not to miss a single juicy moment of action. Then it was Phoebe’s turn, and she almost instantly gasped a her body turned such that she slid atop her oldest sister’s thigh, before Savannah moaned as the younger girl’s thigh squeezed likewise against the cleft of her cunny.

“There,” Girl said with a note of satisfaction. “Now, just hug each other tight, and start moving.”

A week ago, the very thought of finding sexual satisfaction in her sister would have…well, perhaps not disgusted the two girls, per se (they were both beautiful, and thought of the other as beautiful, after all), but it wouldn’t have occurred to them to even consider the idea. Since that time, their minds had been expanded in too many ways for them to properly describe in mere words, and their worlds turned utterly and permanently upside-down. Desperate now, so in need of release neither of them could quite see straight, Savannah and Phoebe didn’t hesitate for more than a fraction of the second. Then they were grinding against each other, adjusting their bodies to better find just the right amount of friction, slick juices running down each others’ thighs, wetting smooth, youthful skin, making it glisten.

Spike, of course, knew that even this reward was a sort of denial in its way. Once they’d experienced orgasms, felt what heights of bliss could come from submission, from obedience, the girls would quickly come to crave that pleasure, addictive as the most potent of designer drugs. Their bodies and their minds would adapt, learning on the deepest, most instinctive level how to derive even more enjoyment from sexual pleasure, driving them to seek ever more intense experiences to try and reach the heights they’d experience now. Reach those heights…and exceed them.

These were his thoughts as he slowly pulled his tongue from Zoey’s frantically fluttering inner muscles (and it took some effort: she was gripping him so tightly), giving her a long, slow, final slurp that curled upward all the way from her pubis right up and over her pulsing anal pucker.

“Soon,” he growled, giving that tense little rosebud a light nudge with his thumb, before he rose up on one knee behind the nearly delirious girl, grinning despite himself as he heard her muttering to herself, trying (and failing) to form properly coherent sentences, her eyes almost shut as she fought desperately (and once again failed) to catch her breath. “Brace yourself, Zoey: this is gonna be a rough ride. Rough ‘n messy.”

Eyes glued on the tip of their master’s penis, a heavy bead of thick, potent precum already pearled there, the two blonde sisters moaned loudly, almost as loudly as Zoey herself, as he stroked it up and down that juicy little slit, so flushed with need, they could see its juices dripping out every time Spike parted the folds of their sister’s cunny lips. Then, all three girls giving sharp gasps at the same time, that dark pink erection suddenly “caught” on the downward fold of Zoey’s cunny…held for a moment…then slowly bent as he began to apply pressure…and then…

“OOOH!”

All three girls’ voices raised high as Spike’s thickness spread Zoey’s tiny pussy so very, very wide. Savannah and Phoebe ground against each other desperately, their minds wild now with the sight of their sister’s sex spread open to what had to be her limits by that thick, meaty bar of smooth, masculine flesh. Zoey had to be thinking the same thing – if she was capable of thinking anything at all right then! – as Spike held her bottom high, almost vertical, as he brutally drove himself down into her, baring his sharp canines in a vicious grin of triumph as his tight-muscled butt clenched, his balls swinging forward with the first mighty impact, Zoey’s buns bouncing in a ripple that ran all the way up her body, clenching through her belly, making her breasts bounce forward, her head jerk upward, her mouth drop open as her pupils dilated with the slow realization of her body as it came to fully realize and adjust to its new purpose in life: to serve as the cocksleeve for this powerful, brutal male. Cocksleeve, and breeding bitch!

Holding himself steady, Spike grit his teeth, growling softly as he fought to contain his primitive instincts, the effort making the muscles all over his body stand out in sharp definition, veins bulging everywhere. Giving a low, savage growl, he ground his hips, gyrating them, making poor Zoey’s eyes roll back into her head as the raw sensations caught up with her, a muscle starting to twitch at each of the “points” of her buns the only immediately visible sign of the powerful, fluttering contractions of her inner walls. Her body knew what was happening, even if she didn’t completely understand it, knew on the deepest, darkest, most primal level that it was being claimed by a powerful, dominant male. Zoey’s womb ached for the seed of such a male, and she felt a sensation something like butterflies in her stomach, but far more pleasant. There was a void within her that needed to be filled, and her clenching sex intended to have the emptiness filled now.

Curling his lip in a proud sneer of command, Spike gave a short, barking grunt, and then began to pull back, the inner walls of Zoey’s cunny following his retreating shaft for as far as it could, trying in vain to hold him inside, to fulfill the needs of her sex. Then, with a sharp bark, Spike’s hips lunged forward again, balls swinging like a medieval siege ram, smacking against Zoey’s clitoris even as his hips smacked her bottom, making it ripple once more, making her breasts swing forward and then back.

Red eyes wild and burning, Spike suddenly seemed to lose control, snarling in a frenzy of lust as he began to hump poor Zoey, his tight rump rising and then falling, forward and then back, cock pumping like a trip hammer. What had been only a ripple or two suddenly turned into a constant shudder all across Zoey’s body, her breasts bouncing like mad as she tried to claw at the floor through her mitts, her face contorting with the rush of sensations, new and raw and overpowering as they jolted through every nerve, every muscle. The room filled first with the slap-slap-slap of flesh on flesh, the luscious, squelching sounds of Zoey’s sex being pummeled into utter submission, and the schlick-schlick-schlick as the busty older sister held her skinny younger sister close, both blonde teens’ faces tense with the agony of desperate arousal as they ground their bodies together as hard and fast as they dared, fearful of the moment when they’d be forced to stop by their master.

Inevitability hit, then, as Spike’s downward thrusts rasped one too many times against Zoey’s G-spot. Suddenly, she lost all control of her body, gushing clear juices in a spray that wet Spike’s thighs and heavy sac, her voice rising first in a wail, and then into a crescendo of a shriek that almost broke into the ranges of a dog whistle! Hearing the answering calls of her sisters as they writhed in sympathetic orgasms of their own, Spike grinned toothily, his hips working harder, faster, almost becoming a blur, his dock-tail sticking almost straight up…before he gave a final, deep-throated grunt, baring his fangs in a feral snarl as he came…and came…and came some more, until his cum was squirting out around the tight seal his cock made of Zoey’s wide-stretched, tension-whitened cunny lips. Zoey’s cry sank to a low, insensate moan as her cheek pressed against the floor, her body exhausted, glistening in sweat, spattered with cum, her inner self still contracting powerfully, drawing what little strength remained to her to ensure that every drop of potent semen possible was sucked toward her waiting ovum, billions upon billions of strong, virile sperm beating their tails madly as they swarmed toward their inevitable destination.

Giving a soft snort, Spike jerked his hips back, splaying Zoey’s bottom and cunny wide with his hands as he grinned down at her, admiring his handiwork, and letting Savannah and Phoebe get a good look at the fate they would surely share in the all-too-near future…if they were good girls, of course.

“Get a closeup, Girl,” he growled to the cocker spaniel, who was already pulling out her camera and snapping off shots even before Spike had finished the command, her tail wagging happily as he moved to the side, grinning at the lens like a proud hunter or fisher who’d bagged a prize trophy. “Show Zoey’s mommy what a good little slave her daughter has become. And a mommy herself, unless I’m sorely mistaken.”

Zoey looked the part, all right! She was drooling on the floor, her eyes open, but heavy-lidded, her tongue lolled out like an exhausted dog’s. Her breasts were squeezed against the carpet, tiny droplets of the milk the prior hormone injections had started flowing staining the rug beneath her, and her bottom stayed where Spike held it, her buns now a bright, almost glowing red from the savage humping he’d given her. As for her cunny…it was wrecked, gaped, flushed and stretched to its limits and squirting little gushes of thick, creamy cum that ran down her trembling inner thighs in rivulets.

“All right,” Spike growled, licking his chops as he moved one hand from Zoey’s upraised rump to stroke his still-rigid shaft, before he moved back to kneeling behind the exhausted mousey-haired youngster, guiding his erection forward until its swollen, blunt head was nudging against Zoey’s still-clenching bung. Feeling the touch of that cum-slick cock, and realizing what it meant, Zoey could only moan softly in complete and utter submissive despair, knowing full-well that what little will she still had remaining would be broken permanently when her master finished sodomizing her. “Girl, take those other two slaves to their kennels for the night. Make sure their mitts are still secure, too: they’ve had enough pleasure for now. Enough to let them get a taste of what good girls get to enjoy.”

That last, of course, was for the benefit of Savannah and Phoebe, rather than for Girl, who certainly already knew the routine. For a moment, feeling Girl’s gentle hands on their shoulders, the girls clung to each other all the tighter, not wanting to give up the moments in which they’d shared so much mutual pleasure, Savannah’s larger breasts squeezing against her little sister’s more pert mounds. Soon, though, reluctantly, they separated, dropping to all-fours, giving Girl their most piteous looks as she led them on their leashes to the kennels, and locked them in for the night.

Pressing her face against the bars of her girl-sized cage, Phoebe saw her sister, facing toward her, as Zoey’s mouth formed an almost perfect “O,” her eyes, once so sleepy-looking, now wide as saucers as she whined loudly. Behind her, confidence and dominance written cruelly across his strangely expressive canine features, Spike crouched over the exhausted girl, and Phoebe could clearly see the thick wedge of his dome-topped glans squeezed up tight against her older sister’s tiny anal pucker, its tip already starting to spread her open, then half of its rounded girth, right up to the thickest part. Whimpering in sympathy, while poor Zoey squealed “Ooh, ooh, ooh!” over and over, wriggling in vain under the powerful male mounting her once more, Phobe saw Spike’s penis bend just a little as the corona reached the tight-stretched ring…and then pop inside, the moment of final penetration almost audible. Zoey’s loud “NYAAAH!” was certainly audible, before it was cut off by a softer, feminine grunt as Spike filled her up more easily, the hard part now finished, until his balls slapped against her well-creamed cunny.

Shuddering as another, warmed dollop of wax settled onto her perineum, closer to her sex this time, Phoebe looked up at the taper stretching her bottom open. Nothing like the thickness of that man-meat he’d shafted Zoey with the other night, oh no: she still had some wrinkles to her anal ring, where Zoey hadn’t had any! Closing her eyes, Phoebe remembered that endless period, hearing her sister’s breathless grunts, mingled with Spike’s deeper, snarling and far more bestial grunts in return. Girlish grunts and soft, submissive moans and the slap, slap, slap of Spike’s hips against Zoey’s very slightly plump buns, which just made them bounce in a way that Phoebe found mesmerizing. And when he’d reached around, seizing her breasts, squeezing them, milking them, coaxing even more drops of the thin white stuff that was a precursor to the milk they’d all be producing in copious quantities when they were properly pregnant, the skinny little blonde almost screamed in her cage, even as Zoey’s voice was raised high in orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

Right until Girl stepped between Phoebe and her view of her poor, lucky sister, grabbing the human girl’s hair as she seated herself on the floor, legs splayed wide.

“That’s it,” growled Spike with a savage grin. “Eat her out. Enthusiasm counts for as much or more’n skill here, Zoey, so just go at it…yeah…that’s it…”

Hearing Girl’s moans, seeing her head tilt back, her tail hike high to fully expose her plush butt, and hearing the muffled cries of her sister as Spike started to work his hips harder, faster, Phoebe gripped the bars as tightly as the mitts allowed, her puffy little pussy – still virginal! – feeling as though it was about to burst into flames!

When the first drop of hot wax finally reached Phoebe’s clitoris, she screamed into her ring gag. The scream was just like that of her sister when she was being sodomized – being “spiked”! – by their powerful master: not a scream of agony, but of a strange sort of orgasm, born from the pleasure that can come from accepting pain.

*

“Tell me you’re getting all this,” Courtney whispered, licking her dry lips.

“Yeah,” answered Kithara, focusing her phone’s camera on the bright red bottoms of the two Demol girls still trailing behind the slim, beautifully proportioned collies up front, still occasionally squealing every time one of them fell a little too far behind, right into the reach of that broad-shouldered, mean-looking white pitbull with the tribal tattoos and the shades. While it wasn’t so surprising to see Zoey in such a state, seeing Savannah running before a morph, submissively taking the spanking he dished out, was simply too shocking for any words!

“Close up,” confirmed Stephonie, as Lusine and Courtney glanced over her shoulders at the image of poor Phoebe, suspended and upended, the candle clearly visible in her butt. “I think…I think she just came,” the bespectacled girl added, blinking several times at the squirt of moisture she saw for an instant escape her clique member’s wax-seared sex.

“What,” Lusine began, before swallowing, then nervously brushing her blue haired bangs in its typical direction. “What’ll we do with the videos?”

“I don’t know!” Courtney admitted, a little too loudly, giving her red-maned head a shake. “I…this is just too much for me to take in. I mean, they must’ve been kidnapped or…or…”

“He’s looking this way,” whimpered Kithara suddenly, and all four pairs of eyes immediately swung toward the powerfully-muscled, naked pitbull as he stood there on the track, turned straight toward the blueberry bushes at the edge of the garden. “He’s…he knows we’re here!”

Looking right at the huge male (and though his height was only middling, he gave the impression of being much bigger, just from sheer presence), each of the four girls simply froze in place, unable to move. Each of them had been feeling strangely ever since they’d entered morphtown, a sort of a tickle between their legs, a flutter in their bellies, a sort of ache in their nipples. Now, though, confronted with this male, watching the weapons that made him male swaying so mesmerizingly as he approached them with casual, confident ease, and after seeing him in this light right after seeing their friends (and middle sister Zoey, too) in his clutches, under his thrall, something inside each of the four rich girls broke. Where once they’d known themselves to be the supreme rulers of the world, the heirs apparent of their parents, and mistresses of all they surveyed, especially the lowly, submissive morphs who served them so well, now…now they weren’t so sure.

Without meaning to, all four of the human girls let their eyes shift to where Phoebe hung suspended. Stephonie moaned softly, despairingly, and their eyes shifted back to the steadily-approaching pitbull. He was closer now, so close – too close! – and there was a hint of pink peeking out from the top of that fuzzy pocket dangling between his legs. So appropriate to call it a sheath! Such a weapon! An instrument of domination! The four girls, each of them on all-fours like mere dogs – like bitches in heat – trembled at that approach, feeling in their hearts why even the ever-proud Savannah was now serving this beast’s whims like a slave. In their hearts…and in lower places as well, each girl feeling a damp heat growing slick and sticky between their legs, completely unbidden, completely unwanted…and completely undeniable.

Just as he was almost close enough to reach out, to grab the bushes and pull them aside, to seize the intruders hidden within and do…things to them, surely laughing wickedly as they begged for mercy like some moustache-twirling villain from a melodrama, the big male suddenly stopped, and turned.

The girls turned too, their mouths dropping at what they saw.

“Mrs. Demol!”

Though it was a whisper, it was a loud whisper, and the twitch of the pitbull’s ear made it obvious that he’d heard Kithara’s exclamation. All the same, the brown-haired girl – and all of them, for that matter – was spared, at least for the moment, as the big male turned, and began to walk toward the beautiful, black-haired woman, the mother of Savannah, Phoebe…and middle sister Zoey, too.

None of the girls said anything as they just watched, Stephonie’s phone zooming in as close as possible while they all peered over her shoulders at the scene playing out. At that distance, there was no hope of picking up any words, but the shock was evident on the elder Demol’s face as she saw the state of Phoebe, and the reddened bottoms of her two other daughters as they also approached, the lean, lovely collies not far behind, naked and (as the girls in the bushes now saw as they looked closer) sporting the collars of a submissive morphservant.

That shock soon turned to reproof as Sadie Demol put her hands on her hips and began to scold the big, white-furred pitbull. But that male beast simply folded his arms before his chest, and fixed the beautiful brunette with a Look that needed no words to translate, and waited for her words to trail off. Trail off they did, her eyes constantly darting downward, to the potent weapons dangling between the male’s legs, before snapping back up, obviously hoping that she hadn’t been noticed. She had, though, and the male stepped a little closer, his muzzle moving in that strange, fascinating way that morphs had when they spoke, his stance poised, calm, confident.

Cheeks flushed, even the four girls in hiding could sense the uncertainty, the wavering of the Demol matron as she stood there in her starched blue business blazer and skirt, the picture of the proud and aggressive businesswoman. Standing opposite her, as naked as the day he first came out of his vat save for his shades – and even these he soon removed, revealing a pair of shocking red eyes! – the pitbull stood as a creature of a more primitive world, unashamed of his nudity – proud of it, in fact! – and simply radiating an aura of dominance that Courtney and her companions had felt for themselves only moments before.

As they watched, the girls saw another morph, a cute, slightly plump cocker spaniel all in ruddy brown-and-white fur, come out from one of the nearest buildings, a sheaf of papers in her hands. She held them out to the big male, who took them, then looked them over. His muzzle was still moving, and he was obviously reading them out loud to Sadie Demol, who seemed to shrink on herself with every passing moment.

“Blackmail material,” Lusine whispered. “He must have something on her.”

“On all of them,” Courtney returned. “What’s he…oh!”

This shocked exclamation came as the pitbull reached behind him, and pulled Savannah forward, bending the naked blonde forward at the waist, until she reached out and grabbed her knees, making her back as straight as possible. Resting the papers on top of the “table” he’d made with the human girl, the male brushed Sadie’s blazer open with his other hand, its fingers thick and dangerous-looking, before they thrust inside of the wide-eyed, speechless woman’s coat…and came out holding a pen. Pressing the implement into Mrs. Demol’s hands, watching as she clutched it like a talisman, the brutish beast of a male motioned with his muzzle to the papers resting on Savannah’s back. Even at that distance, with the zoomed-in camera, the girls could read the commanding words on his lips: “Sign it.”

“No,” Stephonie begged the image on the screen. “Don’t do it, Mrs. Demol!”

But Sadie did, stepping forward and signing her name with all the perfunctory precision she gave to all the official documents that crossed her desk.

Taking the papers and pressing them into Zoey’s hands, the big male patted her on the bottom, and then Savannah, sending both girls into the building the cocker spaniel had come from. They soon returned, but this time Zoey’s hands were empty, and Savannah was carrying…

“He can’t!” Courtney exclaimed in horror. “He wouldn’t dare!”

But the big male did dare.

Motioning with his muzzle, the pitbull directed the two collies (they had to be fraternal twins, they were so alike in looks, tall and slim and elegant, the sort of morphs any human would be proud to own), and in an instant they’d seized Sadie’s arms, holding her firmly, while her face showed a strange mixture of anguish, shame, and…and was that arousal? Her cheeks were deeply flushed, certainly, but none of Courtney’s little band had enough experience with such matters to say for certain. All she did, though, was bite her lip as the brutal male encircled her neck with a shiny black collar, and locked it firmly in place.

The collaring seemed to sap all of poor Sadie’s will, as she suddenly sagged in the grip of the surprisingly strong collie siblings now holding her up. But the brutish male didn’t seem to notice or care, his large and powerful hands reaching out, and soon getting to work on Sadie’s blouse. As the girls in the bushes watched, not even daring to breathe, he peeled off Sadie’s top, then almost casually unhooked her bra and tossed it to the grass, laying the beautiful brunette’s large, gorgeous breasts bared before their eyes, the mocha-colored nipples already stiffening, the aureoles wide and swollen. They were the sort of breasts that could be expected from a beautiful woman who’d given birth to three equally beautiful daughters. And now all four of them were the slaves of this…this beast!

That bestial male didn’t stop there, though. No, he continued to Sadie’s skirt, and then her stockings and shoes, while she simply stood there, head lowered as she was stripped completely bare. At a motion from the big male, the collies let poor Sadie drop to her knees, her flawless breasts bouncing with the movement, before she looked up at Spike with beseeching eyes. He grinned down at her, and then reached behind him, to where poor Phoebe was starting to really squirm as the wax of the candle – now two-thirds melted – was starting to stream down its sides. With a deft movement, he unlatched the ring gag in her mouth, then leaned forward, blowing out the candle with a single quick breath. Then, as the collies and the two older Demol sisters helped Phoebe down from the contraption with the greatest of care – more care, Courtney realized with some confusion, than she’d ever seen Savannah show to another person before – the brutish male squeezed the ring gag into Sadie’s mouth…and she accepted it without question or resistance.

Once more the four girls in the bushes could see the big male’s words, reading his lips as they curled so savagely, so sexily, in a way that was at once alien and so familiar, as he gave Sadie his command: “Now suck.”

With his back mostly turned to them, the girls couldn’t really see the big male’s erection as it had slid free of his sheath. They still couldn’t see it even then, though Stephonie got a very close up shot of his smooth-muscled rump and the fine, full sac between his legs, containing what looked almost like a pair of down-covered goose eggs. They could however, see Sadie’s face as she bent, and willingly took the brutish male’s member into her ring-gagged mouth. Her face, and his hands: he didn’t force her to fellate him. No, Sadie Demol gave the savage male head quite willingly. Perhaps even eagerly.

The spell broke, however, when the big male glanced over his shoulder, flashing a sharp-toothed grin right at Stephonie’s camera. He knew they were still there! This realization finally got the girls to scramble back through the berry bushes, toward the loosened boards in the fence. As leader, Courtney took the rear position wordlessly, watching as Kithara, Stephonie, and then Lusine slipped out through the narrow passage, one by one.

When it finally came to Courtney’s turn to return to the street outside the junkyard, Courtney could sense something in the air, a change that hung over them all, ominous and oppressive. She had only a moment to stand up and look around, eyes widening as she realized what that change was, before powerful arms encircled her, rough hands first forcing a rag into her mouth, while others tied her wrists.

Nearby, Kithara’s Three Little Pigs cowered cutely, their backs to a lamppost to which they were tied, their smooth-skinned bodies stripped completely naked, pink and black-and-white flesh now on full display to the open air. Crouching next to them, a teasing smirk on his confident face, was a wolf. A two-legged wolf, large and powerful and well-muscled. It was a lupomorph!

“Mmm, nice child-bearing hips,” growled the wolf happily as he licked his chops, slowly running his huge, rough paw down the silky-smooth skin of the black-and-white Hampshire piggy, while she simply whimpered, looking up at him with an adorable entreating expression, one that was shared by her sister-servants. “Oh don’t be like that,” he continued, his voice like honeyed chains as he cast his gaze over the piggies, then casually untied the rope that was holding them bound to the lamppost. “Think of it as just…changing owners.”

Rising, the wicked, wicked wolf turned his mesmerizing yellow-eyed gaze over the human girls now in the clutches of his pack. And then he smiled.

“Why hello there, little red riding hood,” he said in that smooth voice, walking toward Courtney as she stood, helpless in the grip of the wolves all around her, then cupping her chin with deceptive gentleness. “And where are you going so early, and all alone?”

Gagged as she was, Courtney couldn’t answer. Neither could her friends, in no better shape than herself, not even Lusine, for all the toughening she’d undergone trying to learn the martial arts. But the wolves didn’t seem to expect an answer, as all around the girls they started to laugh. The sound was wicked, and it shuddered through Courtney despite herself, making her cheeks flush crimson at the thought of what such creatures that could laugh like that would surely do to her and her companions. All the fleeting fantasies she’d entertained while watching that dominant pitbull came rushing back in a heartbeat, and she started to struggle in the grip of the powerful males around her, eyes wide as she got out her muffled protests.

“Hmm,” the alpha wolf said, tapping the side of his muzzle, his teasing smirk returned. “Now what shall I do with the four of you? Humans are usually off-limits…but you all smell so sweet…and I rather think that nobody knows you’re here.”

He glanced behind him, to a nearby building, and Courtney’s heart leapt with hope as she saw who was there: it was Lusine’s wolfgirl, Edwige! Her heart soon fell, though, as she saw the supposedly loyal keptmorph shake her head, confirming the wicked alpha’s suspicions.

“Too bad for you,” he continued with a dark chuckle, his sharp-clawed fingertips teasing down Courtney’s throat, forcing a whimper from deep within her despite all her efforts to hold it in. “Also too bad that I love spicy young redheads!” he added, his muzzle splitting into a grin so truly evil…it left poor Courtney’s panties almost soaked through! “But I’m fair, as I must be, since I’m the alpha here,” he added, glancing around at his pack, who nodded their agreement, before his eyes once more fell on Edwige. “You’re free to go anytime you like,” he told the wolfgirl. “Or you can join us as an equal, your choice. That banana-yellow pup’s no alpha bitch, that’s certain, and these cute little piggies were popped out of the vat ready-made for servitude. You, though, you’re young, but you’re one of us. My name’s Bardou, by the way,” he added with a slight bow, his demeanor not at all mocking for once.

“Edwige,” replied the wolfgirl, obviously still a bit wary, but not frightened as she shifted her dark eyes between the bound human girls. “What’ll you do with them? With…with my mistress?” she added, the word coming out with a note of distaste as she glanced briefly toward her blue-haired owner.

“We’ll let you decide,” Bardou declared, spreading his arms wide to encompass all the prisoners. “Even for the poor heat-starved xolo. If you say to let her go – to let any of our prizes go – we’ll free them, right here, right now.” His hands dropped to his sides then, and he approached Edwige, his eyes fixed on hers, taking his time, drawing near to her as one might approach an animal in the wild, skittish and ready to bolt at a moment’s start. “But I don’t think that’s what you want, Edwige.”

It was only then that Courtney realized all the beasts around her were naked, so natural did they seem in their shaggy pelts. The realization came as she watched Bardou’s solidly-muscled rump, flexing beneath his thick grey fur as his tail swished from side to side with each step, giving her tantalizing glimpses of the weighty matters that lay between his legs.

“And what do you think I want?” Edwige asked, breathing faster as the big alpha drew near, one arm reaching out, the huge paw (and it did look more like a paw than a hand, opposable thumb notwithstanding) pressing flat against the bricks by her head, though still giving her room to run, in a direction that would take her out of the reach of the wolves all around her.

“I think you’d like to see your mistress and her little friends get what they deserve,” Bardou replied, leaning close, his voice turning to a husky, seductive basso growl. “You know we won’t rape them – we can’t, not any more than any morphmale could. But we won’t need to, not the way they smell right now. Not after we persuade them,” he added, casting a sharp-toothed grinning glance back over the four captive humans, each of them feeling their hearts start to race despite themselves at the savage masculinity surrounding them, embodied in this central alpha male. “But only with your permission, Edwige,” he finished, turning that yellow-eyed gaze back onto Edwige, fixing her in their luminous depths.

“Why me?” the wolfgirl asked, and Courtney actually…felt for her, the way she looked so young and alone, her eyes turning down to her splayed, bare feet, as thick-calloused as any morph’s.

The paw of Bardou’s other hand teased upward, cupping the wolfgirl’s chin with ultimate gentleness. Slowly, but irresistibly, he turned her gaze up until it once more met his.

“Because you’re the one they’ve wronged, my dear,” he explained with a smile that was not at all unkind. “And if we…devour them,” he continued, slowly running his bright red tongue across his sharp teeth, “well, I don’t feel quite right doing it without, well…sharing the bounty with someone who deserves it.”

All around, Courtney saw the wolves nodding their heads. They agreed with this…this beast! Was this what they thought of as justice? And would they really…eat them? Her eyes, like those of her friends, and of the wolves, all went to Edwige, waiting for her answer with baited breath.

“Take them,” Edwige finally said, her voice small at first, but soon gaining in confidence. “Take them,” she repeated, looking straight into Bardou’s eyes, her small hands lifting and resting on his broad, thick-muscled, naked chest, “and do to them as they deserve!”

“Well,” chuckled the alpha wolf, and Courtney felt her knees start to give at the sound, “I suppose we all know what happened to Little Red Riding Hood, don’t we?” He cast his eyes around to the four human girls, Stephonie and Kithara trembling, Lusine trying to glare back bravely. “She got gobbled.”