Anne forces herself to return to work for a semblance of normalcy.
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I can hear the car crunching through the gravel while it drives away and my house suddenly feels huge and empty and silent. It’s an unwelcome feeling that I’ve never noticed before.
His scent lingers. Sweat, deodorant and a complex mix of other little things that is just him. It’s a thread of warmth in the sterile house and I follow it for a moment before I realize what I’m doing. Standing in the hallway to my bedroom, I clamp down hard.
I am in control.
And yet, here I stand, in the middle of a path of tan hairs lining a pristine white carpet leading into a bedroom that smells heavily of sex and Michael. I can feel my control slipping at the thought of him. I’ve never felt anything like that before. My father taught law and discipline and my mother still works as an investment banker. I can’t remember a time since childhood where I didn’t have a tight fist around everything in my life.
So I focus on the small things I can manage. Looking away from the bed. Closing my eyes and then opening them again when I see a memory of myself on the bed on all fours. As if I were a disembodied spectator.
Small things.
My cleaners will be curious about the fur. I’ll need to leave them a tip and tell them a friend was over with a dog. Which dog? What- what kind of dog am I? I don’t want to think down this path but I need an excuse. Always prepared. Always in control.
All fours with my ass in the air but I can only see myself as a generic furred creature. I try to feel disgusted but I can’t and I feel my eyebrows knit when I bite the inside of my bottom lip. Pressing my thighs together at the memory of-
I’ll just tell them I don’t know. I’m not a dog person.
Oh god.
I can’t stop the little laugh at the thought of that but it helps a little. A little. Some big fluffy brown dog and I forgot to close all of my doors before it got off leash. That is what I’ll tell them.
Avoiding the bed, I go and open a window and turn on the oil diffuser I have plugged in next to my nightstand. It’s not their business that I had sex and it’s not something they would ever comment on but, for some reason, I can’t stand the thought of them knowing what happened. I can’t separate out the thought of sex with becoming that creature and I can’t stop thinking that they’ll just somehow know.
I move my ancient alarm clock slightly, back to where it’s supposed to be. I got it as a birthday gift when I turned fifteen and I’ve had it ever since. A very sensible gift and it refuses to die. The box of tissues is out of place so I fix that. And the little jade bowl I got from a trip to Hong Kong. And my wireless phone charger since it got knocked over at some point. Now the cable from the alarm clock isn’t straight so I move it back.
God it’s hard to resist. He’s hard to resist. The smell of him.
I breathe deeply, mouth closed, nose open, eyes closed, hand on the nightstand, lips parted slightly, chin up, feet apart and my right hand touches the bed while I crawl into it. Michael made it before he left. Sloppily. Just pulled the sheet and blanket straight without tucking anything in. I should make it again. Properly this time. Tucked and folded with the mound of pillows arranged just how I like them.
Instead, I lower my body. The untied belt slips free of my silky crimson robe and it opens.
Hands and knees. Lowering myself. Face to the bed. Rolling my head. Fingers clawing the blanket into little knots. Oh. Oh, god. Knots. Reddened cock spreading me open but no – it’s Michael and the scent of him winding its way through my body. Whining as I taste him in my throat, remembering how I lapped his cum from my fingers last night. Moaning as it works down my spine, pulling my ass up with an invisible hand. Groaning when the robe slides over my hips until I’m exposed. Growling quietly when I pull myself flat and I feel my teats dragging against the blanket. My soaked panties feel cold against my hot pussy.
Reaching under myself and between my thighs, I grab my panties and feel the sharp prick of my claws sliding from my fingertips. They pierce the soft cotton and I jerk when the tip of a claw touches my sex, sliding around the strange, swollen lips until I slice through the band and pull, tossing the panties to the floor.
He’s there. Under me. His pillow. The scent of him. The memory of him. His hands. His voice. My hips rock against the pillow he used when he slept. Humping it like the bitch I am. In heat. Riding the stitched edge of it while I reach up to grab the mattress and the headboard. Grunting and licking my lips. The robe strokes my back with every movement. Sliding against the sparse fur beginning to cover me.
Toes digging into the bed. Lowering myself. Feeling my ears sliding against skin and hair while my tongue dangles from my mouth. Almost there, Michael. Almost there. Back arched, shoulders back, little tuft of fur where my tail would be. I can feel it brushing against my bare ass every time I move.
“Fuck!” I bark harshly, voice cracking on the hard syllables. Hard to think. My stomach clenches and I nip at my left shoulder and whine. I raise my ass and hips and push back once more. My thighs are wet and sticky and I’m riding a wave of endorphins from the orgasm. It’s an incredible release and I just want to lie down in our smells and the warmth within and just sleep.
My fur retreats while my breathing steadies. I can feel it beneath my robe and it makes me shiver in pleasure. Like a lover caressing my back.
I can’t clearly remember the past few minutes. My head is still buzzing and I feel so good but angry as well. At my lack of discipline. I remember pulling myself together. Looking at my clock and then the edges of my memory fray and I see pieces. The scents and sensations overpower the rest of it.
No, I knew this would be difficult. After last night and this morning, I knew I’d struggle. I just have to keep trying. Working on it until I’ve got a handle on it.
I set up and dangle my legs over the bed. I should shower. I should. Hot and clean. I smell like sex with a faint trace of dog and I’m a mess. I like it, though. My juices. My sex. How it feels and the thought of it. But that’s not right. Clean is better, isn’t it? I shake my head and my lips tremble and I growl and then stand, shaking my head again. I don’t need it, no. I smell natural and good and I know it’d turn him on to be near me and have my scent. To know me and what I’d done.
So I push off of the bed and nearly stumble before catching myself against the wall. Arms back so the robe slides from my body. Stepping lightly over to my walk-in closet and then inside, shivering as the coolness wraps around the heat suffusing my body. I can’t help glancing back at the bed. Feeling the ghost of Michael’s warm, comfortable body calling to me.
“Slacks or skirt?” I ask myself out loud, studiously ignoring the bedroom. I have to keep adjusting my stance because my natural posture has my thighs rubbing against my sex and it’s really hard to overlook. And it’s almost worse when I spread my legs because my lips stick to my legs and-
Ignoring that. Ignoring the thrill building in my lower belly again. Ignoring how huge and empty and silent the house is without Michael. I’m flicking through clothes without even looking at them while shuffling my feet and remembering his hand on my back and side.
“Goddammit!” I curse loudly, grabbing a pair of slacks and throwing them to the ground like a child.
Those little ghost muscles twitch in my ears and I whine, looking back at the bed with my head and shoulders hunched. No, he’s not there. Thank god. That was bad. Childish. Bad. I pick up the navy blue slacks and scratch the back of my neck where I feel a few strands of hair pulling back into my skin. Why is this so damn hard?
Breathe. Through my mouth so it’s easier to handle. And out. And back in. And out again.
Work on the little steps. I have to get ready for the meeting. I have to get dressed and go. To do that, I need to pick my clothes for the day. Every problem can be broken down into manageable tasks. That’s what I learned growing up and in school. I’m meeting with the temp agency. Professional. Slacks and pumps. Nothing else on my calendar for the day that I can remember. A few phone calls I can put off and some monthly reports to read over. It’s been a while since I’ve done a walkthrough to say hello to everyone. Was it Sandy’s birthday? No. Something like that. Her husband’s birthday? I’ll have to check. And Michael will be there!
Another whine escapes my lips but I don’t notice because now I’m worried about Michael again and whether he’ll actually go to work.
I have his address on file at the office, I think to myself, holding the slacks to my chest. But is that wrong to look it up? I could call him and see when he’ll be there. Or- or stop by his house. Apartment? No, no, no, hell no. That is wrong. It’ll be fine. He told me he wanted to see me again. He hugged me and smelled good and even saw how I looked and wasn’t grossed out. I should wear something nice for him. Something he’d like. A short skirt? Something to show off my legs. Above the knee? What does he like?
It takes a moment to realize what I’m doing – fawning over him and worrying about his needs before my own. Getting excited at the thought of pleasing him rather than considering what would work best in the office.
Holding the slacks, I go to my dresser and grab a new pair of panties, sliding them over my legs while blushing. Angry at myself again. Sitting on the bed, ignoring it, pulling on my slacks and then standing to work them over my hips. They’re tight on me for some reason. I look down to see my lean stomach and firm sides. Is my ass bigger? Is this part of what happened to me?
Careful of my lowest set of teats, blushing even harder now, I zip the pants. They’re tight and uncomfortable and show every curve of my body but I look damn good. Until I notice the rows of little black nipples on my dusky skin and stray tan hairs peeking over the waistband. I can cover those. A long shirt tucked in. It’s okay. I can deal with this. Small, manageable tasks. But then I turn and bend and see the faint outline of my pussy compressed against my pants. Barely visible but if anyone were to look beyond a glance, they could see something different. Worse – I know it’s there.
So I kick the pants off, lay them on the bed and grab a skirt. Well, I go to grab a skirt but it’s a long skirt and it has been a while since I’ve shown my legs off. Instead, I take a pencil skirt down and hold it against my waist. It’s an elastic band so it’d fit well. More breathable and comfortable and what man doesn’t like looking at a woman’s legs? I could ask him when he sees me. If he likes skirts more than slacks. I bet he would and the openness would allow my fragrance to reach him.
The thought of Michael’s smile warms me and I start humming, imagining him grinning and hugging me like he did in the kitchen. I have to carefully pull the skirt over my lower belly but it feels okay against my teats and I can’t see the nipples hidden beneath when I look at it. The skirt stops above my knees and I turn, going to my tiptoes to see how my calves look. He’ll love it, I think.
Shirts are harder. The first button-down shirt I find is too tight and shows too much so I have to look around until I find a looser one. And even then, depending on how I sit, it can show a tiny out-of-place bulge if someone looked hard enough. Thankfully I have several blazers that button and those hide everything.
Glancing at the clock shows I’m running out of time. I grab my favorite pair of black heels and head for the entryway. My keys are in the dish by the door but my purse isn’t where I normally put it. I think back but, oh lord, all I see is the red, sensual snippets of the evening. I can’t remember anything about the car ride home now but trying to remember it makes a slow ache form between my legs.
Before the thoughts drag me back to the bed, I open the door and step out into the warm morning air.
God, it’s a beautiful day. I can smell the morning dew evaporating on my lawn. An interesting mix of scents from the flowerbeds under my windows draws my gaze but my head snaps up at a rustling sound from the bushes on my life. My ears tweak and I take a half-step forward until I see a small grey squirrel burst through to climb the fence and race along the rails. I watch it intently for a second and then relax. Just a dumb squirrel. I kind of want to see where it went. Or whether there’s more in the bushes. I hadn’t even realized I had them on my property.
My SUV is right near the front door. Parked crooked in front of the garage. I can almost remember getting out. Almost. But, no. I push that away. It beeps when I unlock it and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my purse inside through the tinted passenger window. I grab my door, open it and then pause.
I have an elegant yard and, like the inside of the house, I’d never really noticed it. I pay people to do the landscaping and I’ve only ever had anything to do with the yard when I’ve had parties outside. But, really, it’s gorgeous. There’s a wide flower bed surrounding the front of the house with rich, fragrant compost and trees providing shade throughout the lawn. Large bushes give a measure of privacy from the road but they’re well trimmed and- my eyes widen, suddenly alert as one of the bushes move. My alert, yet human, ears catch the chittering of a small animal. It takes no small measure of concentration to ignore the hidden squirrel playing in my yard.
The verdant green grass smells like it was freshly mown but I can’t even remember when the landscaping company was here last.
Wind rushes through the trees and I blink and breathe deeply of the immensely complex scents it carries. I’m suddenly tempted to just lie down on the grass and the compulsion is so strong that I close the car door. I can see it. And feel it. All in my mind’s eye. Curled up. The grass a lush, green cushion beneath me. Michael at my side, his hand resting on my thigh. My back against him. Happy with just that little bit of contact. Of knowing he was there with me. Reading to me or just sitting quietly with me. I want it so bad. The peace and quiet and calmness of it.
A quiet, secret little thought forms and presents itself and I don’t even feel the shame in asking it: what would it be like to feel the wind through my fur? Sunning myself in the open. Naked but for a light fur coat. His fingers scratching me slowly and the wind winding its way through my yard to kiss my warm fur. Kissing. Michael. Kissing my neck and shoulders. I have a strange dual image of him biting my human earlobes as well as the edge of my long dog ears and both deepen the ache within.
My throat vibrates with a quiet, agonized growl as I tear away from the daydream and force myself into my vehicle. I clear my mind of everything (focus on every little step), back out of my gravel driveway and onto the road.
For a good five minutes, I adjust myself. My strange vagina presses against the seat and every bump in the rood reminds me of it. There’s no good way to sit but it’s not quite so bad if I close my legs and lean forward. So I add a little note to my mental checklist to look for solutions because I’m already feeling aroused and my teats (missing his touch) brushing against my skirt and shirt while my pussy rubs (humping his pillow like a bitch and wishing it was his cock) on the seat is not helping.
I wish he were sitting next to me and I strain to smell him but catch nothing beyond leather, hot plastic and the very, very faint smell of sex.
—
I barely remember the drive because I’m mentally going through a list of things to do for the day. Over and over, a litany of steps to prevent the other part of me from taking lead. So I’m almost surprised when I park in my designated spot on instinct.
Now I’m anxious. I whine and look around, licking my lips. I give myself a quick look but see nothing out of the ordinary except for a few flecks of gold in my brown eyes. No hairs or anything else out of place.
“You’ll be okay,” I tell my reflection again. She doesn’t look completely reassured but it’s all I have.
An employee waves in the distance when I get out and I wave back. I can’t smell who they are but it looks vaguely like Ayesha. My key fob unlocks the executive door and I sigh in the suddenly cool air within the building. And then wrinkle my nose at the smells flooding the building. Recycled air, chemicals and years of people of various cleanliness. I have to breathe through my mouth until I reach my office.
But then a powerful smell makes me stumble.
I changed here.
I can almost see myself in my chair. The chair that’s still facing the table in my office. I can’t- I can’t remember what- God. I feel myself grow wet, the tight muscles within slipping together when I drop to my knees and bow my head. Long black hair falling around my face. Panting. Raising my hips. Moaning.
Have to.
Have to focus.
I’m sweating. Groaning. Whining. Clawing at the carpet.
Focus.
Have to focus.
Taking a shaky breath, I stand and lick my lips with a rough tongue. Brushing loose hairs back over sharp, lightly furred ears. My clothes feel tight and restricting and I’m still panting, my wet tongue against my chin. I pull at my shirt and my nails scratch (claws in the bed on all fours with Michael behind me) my throat.
I got to my desk and lean on it, clumsily hitting the button for the receptionist.
“Yes, Ms. Williams?” Janice answers immediately.
“Is,” I whine quietly and rock my hips while pushing my stomach against the edge of the desk. “Is M- Michael Brooks in yet?”
“No, Ms. Williams,” Janice replies. “I haven’t seen him yet.”
“O- okay,” I groan. Grinding my teeth as I hang up.
Focus. Please. Focus. Small. Small tasks.
I stare at my hand, clenched on the edge of the table. The fingernails bulge while I watch but I push and breathe and focus until the claws growing within withdraw. My pebbled nostrils flare and I huff, licking them once and then again but my tongue falls short.
The changes are retreating. I can do this.
Stick to routine, manage small tasks and focus on the immediate.
When I trust myself to move, I stand and go to my coffee machine. It’s chrome and expensive and I don’t even remember where I got it. A gift? I should remember something like that. No. I think I sent Janice out to find one while I was getting my office set up years ago. I start it, set a fresh coffee cup under the nozzle and go to my desk.
My phone buzzes and then Janice’s voice intrudes. “The temp agency will be here within a few minutes, Ms. Williams. Shall I send them in when they arrive or do you want to meet them at the front?”
“Send them in please,” I tell her. “And, Janice?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Can-” I swallow. Can you tell me when Michael is in the office? “Never mind. Thank you.”
My coffee machine chimes politely so I retrieve my cup and go back to my desk to stare at the computer’s login prompt some more. I take a sip, log in to my computer and immediately go to the employee section of our internal website. With a few taps and clicks, I have MIchael’s information in front of me. He hasn’t used his key fob to get in yet. I don’t know the area he lives in very well but it’s a bit of a drive from what I do know. So, he could just be late because of that. My hand twitches towards my desk phone but I make a hard fist and growl when my nails dig into my palm.
I can’t help myself. I pick up my cell phone and add his information. My ears and cheeks burn the entire time but I want to have it just in case he calls and I don’t know who it is. I hesitate for a moment and then click the little star button next to his new profile just as my desk phone buzzes again.
“They’re on your way to your office, ma’am,” Janice informs me.
Laying my phone down, I stand and then bare my teeth in a tiny snarl. I popped the top button of my shirt at some point and I’m showing more cleavage than I should. Before I can look for it, there’s a knock on my door so I grab my cell and go to open it, forcing a smile.
June Templeton and a young man stand at the threshold. I step back and wave them in.
“Anne,” June says, offering her hand. I take it and smile genuinely. She’s a lovely woman and has been infinitely patient with my company and our staffing needs. “This is Terry. I’m showing him around a few clients to get him used to the routine.”
The man offers his hand and I almost take it before I recognize a scent that’s followed them into the office. Sperm. Fairly strong. Recent (claws in my mouth, cleaning Michael’s cum from my fingers) enough that it’s pungent. Probably used his hand to get off. The same hand he’s offering me.
I pull an awkward maneuver where I adjust my shirt collar and blazer instead of shaking his hand. I smile brightly but his eyes dip down to see what I’m doing and linger for a second. My lips tremble, showing more teeth and I feel my hackles rise because fuck him he’s not Michael and he doesn’t get to leer at me. But then I feel pressure in my jaw and the scraping of teeth. Reflecting my anger. I close my mouth over my canines and let the pair pass into my office.
They sit at the table and I carefully take the same seat from yesterday and put everything I have into keeping my composure. My lips shift subtly when my teeth pull back.
June makes small talk for a moment and I keep my eyes on her. Short breaths to ignore the guy’s smell.
We’re about to get down to shop talk when my phone beeps. I grab it quickly, unlock it with my fingerprint and open the email app, eyes wide and scanning for an email from Michael. My ears twitch and shift against my hair. But, it’s not him and I feel my pulse quicken from a sudden dose of anxiety. Tiny black hairs sprout from the backs of my knuckles and I lick my lips. I hate the constant worry over him. I hate thinking that he’s forgotten me. I hate that he’s not here.
I look up and suddenly realize what I’ve done.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, shifting in my seat to find a comfortable position. Damn my fucking pussy. I hide my hands to my sides, praying they didn’t notice what happened. “I’m expecting an important email.”
“Oh, no,” June says. “It’s no problem at all. I know you’re very busy.”
I put the phone down with another glance at the email app and then give June my attention. We talk about staffing needs and how her recent warehouse workers have been spotty with attendance. We move onto drug testing and then financials for the new fiscal year but my phone beeps again. My hand twitches to grab it but I make another fist.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” I ask and, without waiting for an answer, grab my phone.
It’s an email from Michael and suddenly the world is brighter and sharper and better. I wiggle in my seat and smile with a little yip, toying with a light spray of fur that’s grown just above my cleavage.
A vacuum of sound makes me look up. June and Terry are staring at me oddly. I play back the last few seconds mentally but can’t think of why. They stand when I stand.
“It’s been a pleasure,” I tell June, ignoring the man next to her. I need them gone. I need to get out there and see him. He’s here! I shift my stance when bones click in my hips.
“Oh,” June says awkwardly. She stands and gathers her documents. She seems confused for some reason but I don’t really care. I just want her out of my office. “Shall- shall I set an appointment next week to go over the rest of the contract?”
“Okay,” I tell her. Skin sliding between my ass cheeks, forcing me to lean on the table and swallow a moan and smile tremulously. Little hairs tickling me as I feel it brush my pussy. I turn and gasp but it stops. “I’ll see you later!”
They leave and I hear them talk quietly outside my office, the man asking what was wrong with me and June quietly answering that she didn’t know. I wait for them to get far enough ahead and then grab my coffee cup and step out into the hallway.
My tiny tail twitches between my ass, rubbing my lips and I stop to lean against the wall. It’s getting harder to think but I keep going. Michael is at the other end of the office. I rub my cold nose and sneeze, thanking whoever blessed me as I passed.
It’s getting hot and I’m feeling itchy. I scratch my hip and thigh and keep walking. Focused. Nodding at people who say hello. Wiping a tiny bit of drool from the corner of my mouth. My tail grows further. Wider now. I feel the heat from my pussy against the bare skin of the tail between my thighs. It’s growing again. Sliding down. Pressing hard against my sex. Bulging against my skirt. I shove the heavy bar of the door that leads to the fledgling IT department and empty office spaces.
Except for Michael. He’s there. Michael’s there!
I growl and kick at my pumps and then lean down as little black claws slid forth. Slicing through the straps holding my feet in. I step out of my shoes and walk faster. I can see his head over the tall cubicle walls! Michael!
His head is down but I bark in excitement and he looks up and I bolt, turning the corner of his cubicle to slam into him. Kissing his lips and neck and cheeks and licking him, claws grabbing and scratching along his back. Pulling at his shirt and pants, lost in the moment until I gasp for air and then kiss his face with my wide, wet tongue.
I feel my tail swishing hard underneath my skirt and it hurts a little when it keeps hitting his desk but I can’t stop it because Michael is here and he smells so fucking good and I’m rubbing my pussy against his thigh, soaking both of us while whining and kissing him and tearing at his clothes and he’s trying to talk again so I kiss his open mouth and I almost have his pants undone god I can smell his cock even though he’s showered and he’s excited and happy to see me and my tail is slamming hard against the desk, pulling at my hips and ass while my ears twitch back, sliding through my hair.
“W-w- wait, Anne!” Michael gasps, holding me back. He’s wiping at his face so I lick him again and he tries to hold me harder. I grab at his hands to put them on my ass and back and hips and breasts. Everywhere because every single inch of my body is screaming for his attention. “You- You can’t-“
The door to his part of the building creaks and my ears swivel.
Why are pants so hard?! I paw at him, fingers fumbling for his button and then I yip when it’s undone and I’m unzipping him.
“Hey Michael, I’ve got a question,” a voice says.
Michael’s hands are on my head, pushing me down hard so I go down like the good girl I am. My skirt flexes, pulling up to my hips and my freed tail curls up to my blazer. Michael moves forward so I move back and tear at my clothes until the blazer falls to the ground and I feel less constricted.
They’re talking but I don’t care. He’s right there. I pull at his pants and his hand slams on the desk which makes my ears flatten. I look up at him carefully. Was I bad? A bad girl? No. No, he’s not looking at me. I’m not the bad girl.
My hand takes his cock and I groan quietly. Squeezing it. Kissing the tip of it. Pressing my cold nose against it and against his pubic hair, kissing and licking at him. At the powerful scent where his thigh meets his crotch. Pumping him slowly until I lose the sensation of him in my hand. Looking up, I see the pads forming. The mocha skin of my palms bulging. He jerks when the thick, leathery skin enfolds him completely and then tenses when I take him into my wet, eager mouth.
My long tongue swirls against the head of his cock and my ears lay flat while I push down the length of him. I can feel myself starting to gag so my nose flares and I breathe and push slower. Wanting all of him. And then back, careful with my sharp teeth. They’re still talking. The other person is. The other man. Not Michael. I lick the length of him and my tongue folds around his manhood before I take him again. Easier now. Easier to shove my little muzzle down his cock.
I spread my furry thighs and rub my pussy against the short carpet. Not enough with my panties still on. I reach back and slice through them until I cut the band. The raw sensation of the rough carpet on my bare sex drives me wild. I reach forward and my claws dig into his hip and he leans forward more. Up and down. Faster and faster and faster until-
Hands grab my face and I look up to see Michael sweating and breathing hard. My tail thumps against the inside of his desk and I pull off of him with a loud gasp of air, my tongue hanging loose. Head to the side. Fur creeping up over my long ears. I shiver and whine and reach back to claw my shirt because the fur growing there is driving me insane but Michael takes my hands and pulls me up.
I go to him and then keep pushing back until he’s sitting on his chair and I’m sitting on his knee. Popping more button on my shirt and pulling my bra down to press the nipples against his mouth with my paws at the back of his head. Whining in his ear.
“Anne, you- Anne,” Michael is saying. I kiss his lips again and try to pull his mouth back to my aching, throbbing nipple but he pulls back. His hands grab my waist and my tail wags hard behind me. “Anne, you have to slow down!”
“Michael,” I whine, biting at his ear. Head against his head, tongue lapping at his shoulder. Pressing as hard against him as I can. “Need. Inside. Me.”
“Anne, if you change all the way again, I can’t get you out of here.”
I move, trying to straddle him but he’s sitting too far back and the arms of his chair are blocking him. I lean my chest back and my hips forward, pressing my pussy against his cock. Sliding back and forth. Reaching for him to pull him forward. Trying to pull my hands out of his grip.
“Anne- you- Anne- you have to- Anne!” Michael yells.
My ears go down and I freeze, whimpering.
“Anne, I’m sorry,” Michael says. “I just- I just need you to slow down a little. We can’t-“
“Sorry,” I gasp. My hips twitch and I try to control them because I’m bad. I’m a bad girl that doesn’t listen and I can’t mount him and he’s mad at me and I’m bad. “Want. Want you.”
He starts to talk to me, his voice falling into a calming rhythm that relaxes me despite the heat raging through my body. I can’t quite focus on the words but they don’t sound angry so I move a little bit and the fog clears just a little bit. Just enough.
“Can’t help it,” I gasp, rocking my body. He’s so close. I just need him to move slightly and he’ll be inside of me. My shirt is open, exposing my bare, sweaty chest and nipples. A thick patch of tan fur covers the tops of my breasts, disappearing beneath my bra and reappearing in a line down to my pussy. My thighs are bare but slick with my excitement.
A spasm hits my foot so I press my head against Michael’s shoulder. It’s a quick, sharp pain that fades and rubbing the soles against the carpet seems to help. I try to dig my toes into the ground but the pile is too short and the claws piercing my toes catch the backing.
“Michael, please,” I whisper, pressing hard against him. He’s still talking but his hands are slipping under the back of my shirt, pulling at my fur and curving around my wide ass to pull at my tail. I whimper and lick his ear.
He stands and I stand with him, grabbing his cock. I try to go to my tiptoes to slip his cock inside of me but my feet are wide and padded and tipped with claws so I can’t. He grabs something from his pants and then moves until his back is against the wall. I follow and then go down with him when he sits. My pussy rubs against his shirt, lower belly and then over his cock. Before, my lips would open and I could feel my lover’s dick between them but these lips don’t and it’s frustrating so I whine and lick Michael’s face.
“I have condoms,” he says. His face is red and hot and his words are breathless. He’s so hard. I lean forward over him, nipples dragging through the hair on his chest while I grab his cock under me, pressing it against my thick lips. “Wait, the condoms-“
I sit back hard and open for him and he sighs, his hands grabbing my ass to spread them.
“Yesss,” I hiss in his ear as I take all of him inside of me. Searching his eyes to see if he feels good. To see if I was making him happy. He tries to kiss me but my tongue is too much and I don’t have a full muzzle yet so I lean back to give him a nipple. He bites it gently and then nuzzles against the tan fur sprouting there.
“Don’t change more, Anne,” he groans. He sucks at me and looks up. “Stay with me. Stay with me, Anne. Don’t change more. I can’t last like this. I can’t last long.”
The words help, anchoring me in place and it slows. He grips my fur coat and tail and pulls me down hard. I watch him. Watch his expressions. Biting back a loud bark when he pulls my tail harder. Feeling fur turn to skin on my thighs when they slide against his pants.
“Cum,” I beg him. I can feel my orgasm but I’m anxious about upsetting him earlier and I can’t feel it close. Edging me. Even with the waistband of my skirt rubbing against my teats, I know I’m not close enough. Wanting it badly but needing him to get off before me. To feel him burst inside of me, filling me with his seed. Rocking back and forth, taking him so deep it almost hurts. “Please, Michael, please. Please. Cum inside. Me. Tell me. Tell me I’m good girl, Micha-“
It triggers him and he grabs me, pulling me close, burying his face in my fur while my tight pussy milks him. I bark and he shakes beneath me, his hand snaking up to cover my mouth because I’m a bad, loud girl that can’t control herself. I stop, feeling him swell. Tensing my pussy in counterpoint. Licking his hand to show him I’m being good. That I can be a good, quiet girl. I’m a good girl.
He moves and his cock pops out of me and I feel a spray of hot cum hit my ass and tail and back.
“S- sorry,” he says. He looks drained. Tired. I lick his cheek carefully, ears back.
“Like you. Marking me,” I tell him quietly, blushing at the thought of it. At the truth of it. At the intensity of the whole thing. At the thrill of pleasing him. “Was- was I a good girl?”
“Yes,” he rasps and his hands grab my ass again. My tail wags hard enough that he has to hold me in place. I yip and hug him tightly and kiss his face over and over until he holds me down. I lay against him while he talks, rambling. I listen to his heart more than his words. The heavy, steady thrumming and relaxes and slowly, slowly, the changes withdraw.
My mind clears before I’m completely human but I still lay there, listening to him. Sweating. Horny as fuck. I’m tempted to ride him. No. I want to go on all fours and spread my legs and whine at him to fuck me more. And I’m not ashamed of any of it. But I’m at work. I realize that now. I remember that now. And somebody (oh god, I gave him a blowjob while someone was talking to him!) could walk in any time.
And why the fuck does that thought just turn me on more?! I ask myself. Language. I’m normally more controlled than this.
I watch thick fur retreat into my arms and the coal black padding on my palms grow loose and then shrink until my palms are smooth. As before, I try to be disgusted at all of it but I can’t. I can’t feel anything more than the heat and the comfort of Michael’s embrace. I never want to move but I know I have to.
With a sigh, I sit back. He watches me with a serious look that I can’t place. I lean forward, hesitate and then kiss him softly, melting into his arms again when he kisses back.
After an eternity, I stand and survey the damage. I’m full of his cum and I feel it, cold and sticky on my ass. I want to reach back and clean it off with my bare hands. To lick it off my fingers again. To kneel, tail in the air and bathe his cock with my tongue. To mount him and-
Growling, I look away and grab a tissue, wiping my ass and throwing it away before I lose control again. He stands, apologizes and helps, cleaning my skirt as careful as he can. I pull the skirt down and am grateful to see no tears. I ball my wet panties up and hold them tightly in my fist.
My shirt is a mess. It’s covered in my fur and almost all the buttons are missing. The blazer is even worse since it looks like I tore at it with my claws but I do the best I can. We make do with tape to hold everything together and then we stand there awkwardly.
I can smell his concern. And his lust. It riles me to no end.
“Kiss me?” I ask him, blushing that I even asked but he leans forward and kisses me hard, crushing me against his body. I hold him in a tight hug and then we separate again.
I don’t want to leave but I know I have to. For appearances sake if nothing else.
“Have dinner with me tonight,” I tell him, grabbing at the edge of his untucked shirt. “Stay with me tonight. Please. I can’t- the house is empty without you.”
He nods and swallows and looks pained for a brief moment. I whine and bite my lip, worried I did something wrong but he kisses my forehead and I sigh happily.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” he says.
I go quickly before I lose my nerve. There’s a side entrance that leaves the building. I take that rather than do the walk of shame through the entire office. There are a group of smokers about twenty feet away but they’re too focused on their conversation to see me. I walk behind cars to hide myself from the windows and then circle around to the executive entrance until I’m sitting safely in my cool office.
The urge to masturbate is stronger than it has ever been in my life. The heat is undeniable and alien and it’s powerful enough to make my teeth itch.
But I want to orgasm with Michael. I want him to give me that pleasure. To claw his back when I cum for him. To show him what he does for me. It’s painful but I ignore it and focus on the small, manageable steps ahead of me. As always.
Dinner at my house tonight. My empty, huge house where the cleaning people and landscapers have spent more time than I have. With the bowl of fake fruit on the kitchen island and the couches and chairs that I’ve rarely sat in and the yard I’ve rarely stepped through. I’ve lived more in this office than I have at home. Parsing spreadsheets and budgets and building a never ending business.
I log into my computer and open a private browsing window. And then I stare at the screen, pushing my coffee cup around my desk. Long black fingers with clear nails that I’ve always kept short. Seeing the memory of the claws growing in my mind’s eye. Wild. Uncontrollable despite everything I’ve tried. Thick with fur and teeth and need and his seed.
The screen falls asleep and I wake it again while I stare at my hand and the coffee cup. My mind is a million miles away but I keep waking the computer when it falls asleep until, finally, I begin typing in the search bar.
—
My doorbell chimes softly and I bounce up from my uncomfortable, firm couch. I’m wearing a new skirt and yet another button-down shirt and I’m pleased when I open the door to see Michael in dress clothes as well. I’d told him it was a special dinner and I’d like if he dressed for it. I pull him inside with a wide grin and a wagging tail that’s not really there. At least not right now.
My kitchen table is lit with candles and there’s a bottle of wine chilling in a fancy, decorative ice bucket that I didn’t even know I had. Dinner is horrible and smelly but I cooked it myself. I never cook but I did for him. I apologize for that and blush to the tips of my ears while I lead him to the table. He lies and says it smells fantastic and takes a bite when we’re seated and ready.
We talk. About work. About some of our childhood. About everything other than what I’ve become or what we’re doing and I appreciate that. It’s a lovely evening and he has a wonderful sense of humor. A few times he looks uncomfortable or upset at something so I change the subject each time. His eyes stray to the white box near my wine glass but he never asks about it.
When dinner winds down, I tell him I have something to say. His face goes blank but I tell him it’s a good thing and not to worry. But I still hear a whisper in the back of my mind and an itch between my shoulders and I almost whine.
Instead, I grab the little box and lead him to the living room. I ask him to wait by the couch while I stand in the center.
I undress for him. My eyes never leave his while I slowly unbutton my shirt, top to bottom. One at a time. I pull the shirt open at the first set of teats and watch his eyes widen. Further I go until it’s undone and I shrug out of it.
My heartbeat feels so fast.
Reaching behind, I undo my bra and let it fall, too. My firm breasts ache for his touch. Still watching him, I unzip myself at the side until the skirt falls around my feet.
Now I start to feel self-conscious. Despite everything I’ve done to prepare myself for this, despite talking through everything until I’d made a decision, my arms twitch to hide my body. I ignore it and slip fingers through my panties, pushing them down until I have to step out of them.
Feet wide, legs open. Showing him who I am. He opens his mouth to ask something but I hold a finger up and he goes silent. I take the box and hold it
“I’ve lived a life of control,” I tell him. My heart is racing and my head is pounding and my mouth is dry yet I’m so warm right now. “Whatever happened to me took that away. I have no control. Not with you. Not with myself. Sounds and smells and tastes all pull at me, distracting me. And you, god. You. I can’t think straight when you’re around.”
I swallow and then kneel, sitting back on my heels.
“It’s liberating,” I say. “I’ve never realized it. Each time, it’s a release. Like I’m finally relaxing a muscle I’ve held forever. All of my worries, all of my concerns, every thought of the future goes away and the world shrinks to one thing. You. Your happiness and needs. I should hate this. All of it. What I’ve become and what you do to me but it’s made me realize that I can’t always be in control. That’s not life. What it does to me is addicting and freeing and I’m starting to want it.”
“Anne, I-” Michael says but I hold up my hand again.
Leaning forward in front of him, I open the box and spread the tissue paper within. I spent the afternoon reading and researching and then shopping. I still blush at the memory of it but the thrill overpowers me. The idea of giving up control, of giving it over to someone else and living according to their desires calls to me. The duality of it is intoxicating. To have control and to give it away completely.
“Please,” I tell him, pulling the object from the box. I place it gently in my mouth and go to him on all fours until I’m kneeling in front of him. Taking it from my mouth, I hold it up to him.
Michael holds the red leather collar with the small gold buckle and turns it over in his hands.
I pull the hair away from my neck, feeling it brush against the fur beginning to spread along my neck.
I look up at him.
Begging.
“Master.”