Office Bitch Ch. 02

It’s quiet.  It’s always been quiet here.  I found the place about three years ago and fell in love with it immediately.  It’s large enough to be comfortable without being too ostentatious.  And it’s far enough away from the main road to give me the peace and quiet I need after a long day at work.

And yet, I can hear cars in the distance.  The low susurrus of tires on a well maintained city road.  People awake and going about their business even in the middle of the night.

My eyes are closed and my heartbeat is a steady thump deep in my chest.  Focusing on my breathing like I’ve learned in my yoga classes.  Another car passes and I feel my ear almost twitch at its passing.  It’s an odd feeling – like a micro muscle spasm but not quite because my ear doesn’t actually move.  A phantom feeling.  I wonder if this is what amputees feel?

Despite my outward calm, I’m entirely awake and my brain is racing.  And, deep within, there’s an ache.  A need.

Breathing deeply to maintain my calm brings Michael’s scent to me.  I can’t describe it.  I couldn’t say whether it smelled like roses or freshly cut grass or spices or anything like that.  I have two master’s degrees and have traveled the world and I couldn’t solidly describe what he smells like.  It’s all emotions.  Happiness.  Safety.

Arousal.  Excitement.

He’s on his back, breathing deeply and I’m on my side with my right arm against his chest.  He has a small spray of chest hair and a little “happy trail” of hair that leads down to his (no I’m not thinking about that right now).  He has a little bit of a tummy and he could use a shave.  And a tan.  His belly is fish white.  I want to run my finger along his chest and down and around his (no. no, not thinking about it).

He’s a good guy.  And I always thought, in an abstract way, that he was attractive enough.  But, he’s my employee and that’s where that ended.  I’d never had time for anything more than growing my business.  No time for relationships and nobody with the right chemistry anyway.

I burrow against his side and his arm tightens around me in his sleep.  I find myself nosing into his armpit and stop myself.  His armpit smells like sweat and the heavy scent of deodorant and it’s fascinating.  I grit my teeth and swallow and do my best to ignore the scent lower on his body.  The smell of us.  When I breathe out, it’s shaky and I can feel my cheeks burning.

They say that when you find the right person, you’ll love their smell.  That their pheromones will be irresistible.  Something to do with their genes, wasn’t it?  That when you had children (mate, rutted, mounted – no, goddammit, no) you’d have healthy kids.  Something like that.  My brain is fuzzy from all of it.

I breathe deeply again, eyes closed, smelling him until I can’t take in any more.  And then I hold it, feeling the slow burn between my thighs.  And I breathe out.  Stupid.  I keep forgetting that I’m focusing on my breathing to calm myself.  Not to take in his scent.  Smell.  His smell.

I shift and my nipples rub against him, forcing me to bite my lip as I feel the little sparks all the way down.  I don’t think about it.

The million dollar question is – has he always had this effect on me but I never noticed because I never got close to him or is it like this because of what happened?  Because of how I’ve changed.  Am I latching onto him because he was there and he held me and told me it was okay despite how freakish I am now?  And, oh god, what did I do to him?  Whatever happened to me, dragged him along.  Neither of us remember what happened and I think it’s my fault.  And yet, he didn’t push me away or tell me how disgusting I looked.

So, is he having this effect on me because he’s my life vest (no, they call them personal flotation devices now, right?) or because he’s my mate?  No.  Not mate.  Dammit.  Potential partner.  I mean, mate is still a human thing, right?  People say that?

I shake my head and slowly disentangle myself.  Michael shifts and I watch him for a moment as I sit up. No, he’s not unattractive.  I want to touch him.  I want to kiss him.  I want to press myself against him and feel his fingers in my hair, stroking my fur and, no.  NO, goddammit. Hair.  Not fur.  I don’t, I don’t have fur.

No fur.  I look down at myself and lean back.  The heat rises again in my cheeks and it’s complicated.  Shame mixed with arousal.  I want to say the arousal is just the memory of Michael’s touch but I can’t deny the small bit of excitement I get from seeing myself.  And I can’t explain that, either.

Below my breasts are two rows of four nipples each.  My breasts are modest and well shaped. I think the left one is slightly larger but I could be wrong.  The eight nipples along my lean body are small and each of them are mostly flat.  They’re all surrounded by areola.  Not much – the puffy, darker skin is barely noticeable but they’re there.  A few have small bumps and one has a few fine brown hairs growing from the skin.

I have black hair.  This brown hair.  It’s not hair.  It’s fur.  I have an urge to pull it out but, instead, I bring up a hesitant hand and touch it lightly.  I watch the skin pull and move as I touch the strands of fur.  My finger brushes that strange small nipple and I have to squirm a little.  I can feel all of them on my body and all are as sensitive as the ones on my breasts.  Are these breasts, too?  Are there different words for them?

Are there milk glands under the nipples?  I press a finger around the nipple and I can feel how the skin immediately around them is softer.  And squishy. And not just skin.  There are things underneath.  Oh, hell.  I think they are actually tiny breasts.  Fuck my life.

I want to touch the little nipple again but I dare not.  It should feel wrong but it absolutely doesn’t.

With a glance over at Michael, I spread my legs.

My mound is covered by brown and black fur.

I could lie to myself.  I could.  I could say it’s pubic hair but it’s not.  When I didn’t shave, my pubic hair was black and bushy.  This.  This is a thick, smooth patch of fur.  Mostly brown fur but there are a few black hairs in the mix.  It starts a few inches above my clit and fans out to touch my thighs.  It shines in the sparse lighting.  Silky.

Looking at Michael again, biting my lip, I touch the fur carefully and find it’s as smooth as I expected.  I shiver and not from the cold.  I slid my nails through the fur, scratching at the skin beneath.

It’s calming.  And exciting.

There’s a flash of a memory.  It’s hazy.  Michael’s fingers in my fur.  I’m changed all the way, looking at myself from the outside.  It’s hard to make out details or hear anything but he’s pulling at the fur on my back and shoulders and I can almost remember how wild it drove me.

Blinking away the memory, I find I’m bent over.  Panting.  Like a dog.  Short fast breaths.  My face is on fire.  I can smell how wet I am.

I want that.  I want that again.  I want to feel his fingers in my fur, pulling and clawing.  No, he doesn’t have claws.  That was me.  My claws.  His nails scratching and gripping my tail.  God.  Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Breathe.  Deeply.  Ignore his scent.  Breathe in.  And hold.  I can hear my instructor’s calm, even voice ringing in my ears.  And release.  Feel your muscles as you move and flex and breathe in.  And hold.

Why can’t I separate this?  The other thoughts.  The animal ones.  They just creep in.  The words blend.  Like I’m misremembering them.  Like… they’re, there and their and I suddenly used the wrong one without noticing.  It doesn’t feel wrong and that’s wrong.  And terrifying.  I can remember thinking about the tail.  And what it felt like.  But I didn’t- I didn’t purposefully think of it myself, did I?

I put that aside.  I have to or it’ll drive me crazy.

My vagina’s all wrong.  Somehow, this bothers me more than the eight extra nipples.  I used to have a compact little vagina.  I hate the stigma and body shaming that exists but, if I’m honest with myself, I was proud of it.  “Porn star pretty”, an ex-boyfriend called it.  God, Rick was such an asshole.  But, he was right.  Little hidden lips behind smooth skin.  Pride goeth before destruction, as the Bible says.  I think that’s how it went.  My father would know.

The hood over my clit is wide and flat and covered with that brown fur. My brown fur.  I want to touch it and see if the cilt is still there but I dare not touch myself right now.  Not there.  I still have to have a clit, right?

Below, my pussy lips are exposed.  And engorged.  Swollen black lips surrounded by a tuft of fur.  I can feel the heat of them against my thighs.  I can feel how wet I am whenever I move.

I can smell my scent. Strong and thick.

A string of white cum has leaked out between the lips while I was moving around.  Michael’s cum.  The contrast between his cum and my pure black pussy is astonishing.

I lick my lips and find myself panting again.  My head feels hot and a little dizzy.  I lick my lips again and groan.  My shoulders and the back of my neck itch for some reason.  As I stare, a little more cum leaks forth.  I desperately want to press my muzzle between my legs and lick myself clean.  Lapping at his cum with my long tongue and-

A whine escapes my lips and I cover my mouth in a panic.  It’s a dog’s whine, loud and clear.  Not human.  I glance at Michael but he’s still deep asleep.  Phantom feelings in my ears again.  Heart racing.  Lips pulled back in a grimace as I fight the urges that seem to pulse through my body.  Muzzle was the wrong word.  I’m so stupid.  I push the image out of my head and breathe again, stifling the groan at the scent of the cum leaking from my tight, strange pussy.

The lips of my pussy are folded up and connected in the center.  Three thick, black lips.  Like a dog.  They look a little rough.  How do they feel?  What do they feel like?  My head is pounding. Not a headache, just blood pounding through with each quick heartbeat.  I lick my lips again and roll my shoulders.  My nostrils flare, the skin around the edges darkening slightly.

My hand slowly slides across the smooth skin of my thigh.  I tentatively touch the lips.  They’re sticky from my excitement.  I pull my finger away and a translucent line stretches between the lip and my finger.  It snaps and I clean my finger without realizing what I’m doing.  I can’t see it but the black coloring along my nostrils is slowly creeping upwards. Instead, I scratch at my shoulders and then touch myself again.

It’s a little rough.  The lips.  Just a little.  My finger glides along the slickness coating the lips and I accidentally wipe at Michael’s cum.  My heart is beating so fast.  My long tongue lolls out of my mouth and I shiver from the heat racing through my body.

I look over at Michael while sticking my fingers in my muzzle, licking them clean.  Shifting on the bed, feeling my thighs brush against the lips down there.  Wiping more of the cum away from my pussy, I greedily shove them into my mouth and suck at them, moaning lightly.

Going to my hands and knees, I raise my hips and sniff at Michael’s cock.  My eyes flick up to his sleeping face.  I grab the silky sheet and pull carefully, watching as it slides down his stomach.  Something clicks in my hips, right above my ass and I groan.

When Michael’s cock slips free from the sheet, I wriggle my ass happily.  My excitement drips between my engorged pussy lips, sliding down my thigh.  I feel… happy.  That kind of happiness that makes you almost want to cry.  And excited.  God, so excited.  I can’t stop smiling even as I’m arching my back, raising my hips and then flexing them down.  I want to bark to show Him my excitement but no, no bad girl.  Too loud.  Too loud. He’s asleep and I don’t want to wake Him.  No.  No, can’t wake Him.

Carefully.  Slowly.  Good girl.  My mouth opens and my long tongue gently touches the base of His cock.  My hands gently hold His sides and I lap up.  Oh.  Oh, good.  So good.  His cock is covered in our cum and I clean all of Him, my hips rocking in happiness.  Head buzzing.  My ears twitch minutely as I take Him completely into my mouth.  I’ve made it wet for Him so it feels good.  I want Him to feel good.  To be happy.  Like me.

Up and down up and down and oh god I can feel the heat building in my thighs the electricity and all of my nipples aching in time to the throbbing between my thighs can I touch myself is it okay should I ask no just suck just suck Him He’s so big now and I can’t get enough I want Him to cum in my muzzle I want to taste Him in my mouth and His fingers in my fur and-

“Anne?”

I freeze.  I woke Him.  No no no bad girl. I’m a bad girl.  I- I- my head. Oh no oh no I woke-  No.  That’s not.  That’s not the problem.  I-

Whining lightly, I pull off and look down at the bed, knees splayed, hands flat on the sheets.  I can see a few of my fingernails bulging.  Sweat rolls down my back and I have to swallow a few times with my thick tongue.  My face is red with shame now.  I was bad.  I am bad.  I woke Him up and I’m a bad girl.  I- ugh, hard to think.

“Wha’  what are,” Michael says sleepily, His eyes open and then slowly close again.  His arm reaches for me but I’m the worst and I don’t know if I should go to Him.  Such a bad girl.  “Hey come’er.”

Slowly, head still bowed, I crawl to Him and lay against Him, hiding my face against His side.  Tears leak from my eyes and I sniff but He holds me tight.  His fingers play through the short, sparse fur along my shoulders and I moan lightly.  His heart is strong and slow and I’m strangely tired suddenly.  I love laying next to Him.  Maybe.  Maybe I’m.  Not.  A bad…

—–

I wake with a start.  I can hear the alarm on my cellphone but when I reach for it, it’s not-

I freeze as the memories of the night flood back to me.  Michael on his side, his back to me.  Naked.  My breath catches.  I remember our talk in the middle of the night.  I remember being awake and exploring my changed body but it’s a little hazy beyond that.  I.  I think I remember.  I think I remember trying to give him a blowjob.  I think.  Maybe it was a dream.

I swallow and lick my lips and breathe deeply of his scent.  And I don’t realize that I’m trying to take in as much of him as possible.  I feel my nipples ache along my body and a few stir lazily.  It could’ve been a dream.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper.  I don’t normally curse out loud but I can’t help it.  “It’s Tuesday.  I have a meeting today about the contract with the temp agency.  Oh shit.”

Standing, glancing again at Michael’s sleeping form, I make my way to my closet, grabbing a silk robe from a hanger and a pair of simple white panties and bra from the dresser to the side of the closet.

It feels strange.  I feel strange.  I- I want to lay back down with Michael.  I want to stay with him until he wakes up.  Pressed against his side.  Feeling his warmth.  And, god, that smell.  I shift my weight from foot to foot with indecision.  I’m not like this.  It’s not who I am, dammit.  Before I can change my mind, I sprint for the bathroom.  There’s a line of shredded clothes along the way.

Mixed with the clothes is hair.  Dog hair.  There’s brown and tan dog hair littering my white carpet.  My fur.  Fuck fuck fuck.  I’m surprised at how little there is, though.  Do I shed it all when I change back?  God no, the bed would be covered in it.  How am I so calm about this?  Does it just get pulled back in?  That seems somehow worse.

In the bathroom, I slip my panties on.  They bulge slightly on the bottom because of my pussy lips.  Not a lot but it’s noticeable if you look.  I’ll never be able to go out in public with a bikini or anything else, even if I ignore the extra nipples.  My fur lies flat against the panties and is nearly completely covered.  I’ll shave when I have more time.  When I’m alone.  Will it grow back immediately like in the dumb old werewolves movies.  Wait.  Wait a fucking second.  Am I a werewolf?  No, no, I can’t be.  Wouldn’t I have killed Michael?  Oh god, why is this even my life right now?

Right.  The extra nipples.  Breasts.  I pull the bra on and hook it behind my back with a practiced motion and then I stare at myself.

I think I’m leaner than I was before.  I look down my body – flat stomach that flares out into wide hips and strong thighs.  I turn to look at my ass and frown.  Is it bigger?  A little?  The band of my panties seem to press into my skin a little more than I remember.  I turn back and lean in to look closely.

I’m still me.  Nothing else is different.  My face is the same.  Hands and teeth and ears are the same.  I breathe out with a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.  Tension drains with it.  I can still go out in public.  I can do this.  I am outwardly the same.  Nobody will see my vagina.  All that are left are my nipples.  The extra ones.  And they’re small enough to easily hide behind a loose shirt.

Leaning against the bathroom sink, I breathe and relax.  And realize I can still smell Michael.  His scent is faint but he’s still there.  I close my eyes, lean my head back and breathe deeply, feeling the stress continue to drain from me.  And then open my eyes and realize what I’m doing.  Wiping my mouth (it’s not drool, it’s not) I grab my robe and slip into it, tying it tightly around my waist.  The robe is red and pure silk and expensive but I love the way it feels against me.  I always have.

Although I know he’s still asleep (I can hear his light, steady breathing from the bathroom), I open the door and peek out.  I step out into the hallway with a rueful shake of my head and make my way to the kitchen.  I’m hungry – more so than I should be for skipping dinner.  There’s left over antipasto salad in a Tupperware container that I quickly grab and dig into, growling contentedly between each bite while wiggling on the stool at my counter.

When I’m finished, I go up to rinse the container and then freeze.  Michael’s awake.  I hear him shift and sigh and I feel myself grow anxious and excited.  Why?  I focus on cleaning the bowl and fork while I listen to him put on clothes.  I can hear the fabric sliding against his skin.  His bare skin.  I bite my lip and swallow as the ache grows between my thighs again.  God.  I’ve never wanted someone like this before.  I’ve never felt like this before.  I like sex well enough but this is ridiculous.

“Hey,” Michael says cautiously as he pads into the kitchen.  I have to not look at him when what I really want to do is go to him and kiss him fiercely.  “Uhh, how are you doing?”

“I’m-” I swallow again, praying that I’m not blushing as much as I think I am.  “I’m okay.  You know.  Considering.”

“Yeah,” Michael says.  He shifts and I can see him glancing around out of the corners of my eyes.  “I mean, no.  I’m sorry.  This must be traumatic for you.  I don’t know what you’re feeling.  I’m sorry.”

Oh god.  What if he’s changed his mind?  What if he thinks I’m a freak now that he’s slept on it?  What if whatever happened last night, fuzzed his brain but now he’s slept it off and he’s going to run?  Oh god, oh god.  I bite my lip.  I want to look at him.  To gauge his emotions.  Instead, I find myself scenting the air and listening to him.  It doesn’t smell wrong or bad.  I don’t know how I can tell what that is but I can.

“Do you-” I say.

“Can I-” Michael says at the same time.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I-”

“No,” I tell him, looking at him finally.  My heart is beating so fast.  I’m terrified.  “No, you go first.”

“Uh,” Michael says.  He fidgets, his hands touching his sides and then clenching and opening.  “Can I come over there?”

I breathe out as quietly as I can.  Thank god.  Thank god.  I can’t trust myself to answer him so I just nod.  He comes over to stand beside me and I feel it again.  That strange mix of happiness and excitement and calmness.  It’s him.

“Do you need any help with anything?” Michael asks.  He seems so out of sorts and I want to laugh and cry at the same time.  I’m the freak and he is the one that can’t seem to calm down.

I still can’t trust myself to talk.  I just lean into him.  I can’t help it.  I just lean into him and sigh happily when he wraps his arms around me and presses his face into my hair.

We stay like that for moments.  Standing together.  He strokes my hair and I just close my eyes and lay against him, feeling my worries drain away.

“I have to go in today,” I tell him finally.  My voice is quiet.  Calm.  Relaxed.  I feel like I’ve just had a full body massage.  I don’t want to move at all.  Ever.  “I have a meeting I have to go to.”

“Are you still-” he pauses.  I know what he wants to ask but he stops, unsure of whether it’s okay or not.  I can taste his anxiety on the air.  “Will it be okay?”

“Yes,” I tell him, nuzzling harder against his arm.  I just want to roll around on him.  The urge is incredibly powerful but I push it away the best I can.  “I’ll be okay.”

“All right,” Michael answers.  “I may go in later.  If, if that’s okay?  Is that alright?”

I laugh quietly.

“Yes,” I say.  “Or you could take the day off.  I’ll approve it.  Will you-”

I want to ask if he’ll go home.  No.  I really want to ask if he’ll stay here.  For me.  But I can’t.  I can’t ask him that.  Not after last night.  Not after what happened to me.

“I think I’ll go back to my place for a while,” Michael says.  “Shower and change and grab some food.”

You could do that here, I want to tell him.  You could stay here and eat and shower and I’ll come back to you.

I can’t, though.  I can’t tell him that.

“Umm,” Michael hesitates.  “Could I-  Could I see you again?”

“Do you want to see me again?” I ask quietly.  So quietly.  My eyes shyly on the ground, so unlike me.

“Yes,” he says instantly.  “God, yes.”

I can’t help it.  Hearing that just makes me so excited that I yip and lick his face and kiss him.  I wrap my arms around him and lick his neck and cheeks and kiss him again.  Something aches in my lower back and I hear bone scraping on bone.  I kiss Michael and lick his nose and stare at him with a huge smile on my face.

And, oh god, I can smell his arousal.  It comes from him in waves and my knees go weak.  I moan and press myself against him, feeling his hardness against my belly.  Three of my nipples slide across his jeans and I shake from the tiny electric shocks.  Muscles loosen deep in my lower belly and I feel my wetness grow.

I lick Michael’s rough chin and bite his lip, growling quietly.  Small hairs sprout slowly from the back of my neck, slipping just past my hairline.  I can feel the light fur scratching at the robe and I wish it was Michael’s fingers instead.

And then I step back, panting.  Head hanging low.  Licking my lips and nose.

“I’ve,” I gasp.  “I can’t.  Right now.  Do this.”

“Yeah,” Michael says, his voice rough.  I hear him swallow and he clears his throat.  “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

“No,” I say quickly.  “Don’t apologize!  It’s me!  I can’t- You just- I have to go into work.”

I’m breathing quickly through my mouth, trying not to smell him.  Trying not to smell myself.  Fighting the urge to go to my hands and knees.  I’m not a dog, dammit.  I’m not.  My pussy is throbbing and I’m pretty sure my panties are soaked through and all I want is for Michael to mount me.

“I have to go to work,” I tell him and my own voice is husky with my need and my struggle to contain it.  “Let’s talk.  Tonight.  Over food.  Maybe we can figure out what happened.  If you don’t come in, it’s fine.  We’ll talk.  I’ll call you.  I’m sorry.  My brain is all over the place.”

Hands and knees, muzzle bowed, ears back, tail up, claws dug into the dirt while he bites into the fur at the back of my neck and

“You go,” I tell him, panting, lapping at my nose.  “I’ll get ready and go into work.”

I look up at him and he cocks his head, eyes widening at whatever he sees.

“Please,” I whine.  I’m not entirely sure what I’m begging him for.

“Yeah.  Yeah, I’ll go.  I can call a car to pick me up.  I think my shirt’s in the front.  Call me?  When you’re ready?”

I nod, digging my nails painfully into my legs.

“Promise?” He asks.

“Yes,” I gasp, digging my nails in deep.  Three small claws cut tiny holes in the robe.  I watch him give me another meaningful look and then he leaves, grabbing his shirt and shoes.  The door opens and closes and only then do I take a huge, shuddering breath.

Turning, I put my head against the refrigerator door.  The cool metal feels amazing against my hot skin and I stay there until I hear a car pull up to take Michael away.  I stand up and stare at myself.

“You’ll be okay,” I tell my reflection in the fridge’s chrome.  I don’t notice my sharp, lengthened canines slowly pulling back into my jaw.  “You’ll be okay.”