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Human Bitches

Chapter One: The State of the World

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Note: This takes place in the same world as "Women's Best Friend." It is set about ten years (give or take) after that story. You do not have to read the former story to enjoy this one, though it might increase your enjoyment.

Look, it ain't my fault human bitches are crazy. I'm just a dog - whatcha want me to do about it?

Yeah, I know what you're thinking: Man, Spike, you are one mother's son nasty piece of work. And yeah, you're right: I am a nasty piece of work. Pit-bulls are supposed to be, after all. It's in the breed. The fur tattoos all up up and down on my albino-white fur are just there to show the world that I ain't afraid to take some pain, and the spiked collar is there to show that I can dish it out, too. That and the bod itself - I may be well-bred, good set of genes, but I work hard to keep myself in fighting trim, too.

Speaking of breeding, that's brought up one of my favorite subjects, ranking right up there with sports, fights, and cars. Though, I guess it's almost a job sometimes. Besides working guard duty at this junkyard of mine, and the occasional push in the arena, I also pull down a bit of extra cash as a stud for humans who wanna bring in their canomorph bitches for a good humping and a bun in the oven. Happy to oblige, you know? Just leave the bitch with me for a week or two, an' I'll take good care of her. Got a discipline problem too? No worries at all - I'm aces at training out discipline problems. After all, a free canomorph's gotta rake in the cash where he can, if he wants to stay on the up-and-up. Me, I'm clean. I may be bad news, but I'm not into the dealing that I see a lot of other freedogs get into in the hood. Maybe I'll get in for a pit fight every so often, but that's the extent of my rap sheet - you won't catch me in one of those gangpacks, and nobody's stud enough to make me their bitch, though there've been plenty that tried.

But yeah, where to begin? I'm tellin' you about how I learned how crazy human bitches could be, so I guess it's best to start at the beginning of the problems. Now, see, in these times, the human population's really gotten messed up. Funky disease going around, does stuff to the genes, cuts down on fertility rates, and makes it so stud humans don't get born near as much as bitch humans. Uh, yeah, sorry - "boys" don't get born as much as "girls" - how's that for proper? Places that had mostly male populations are pretty much ghost nations now - China's down to two billion, and Africa's almost empty. Europe's pretty much all women now, bar only a few, 'cause of the population problems they had before the recent round, and all it took was a good forty years. And around this side of the Atlantic? Well, there's lots of room for everybody now, especially us morphs. See, for whatever reason, we morphs seem to be immune to the breeding disease, whether we're morphs of dog, cat, rat, horse, or whatever type you wanna name (crazy humans in their labs tried to make as many types as they could, and I guess the stuff's in place to make just about any type they want now). Morphs have been around for about fifty years now, I guess, though it wasn't until the last ten that our population's finally started to take off. About half of us are still grown in tubes, though. I'm one of 'em - it's what makes me harder'n any mutt on the streets. My genes are designer prime, which makes 'em worth more'n any amount of money I could ever make in my life, legally. With that in mind, every day I gotta send up thanks to Miss Lords - she's the lady that bought me up, and set me free. But more on her later.

Okay, now you got the state of the world in mind with that bit of remindin', so you can start to picture things as they are around here. Now tack on another fun little fact: those with money don't get sick as much or as bad. What I'm saying is, there was a disparity between healthcare for rich and poor before. But when the genekillers hit, it hit fast, and only the cream of the classes could get the treatment they needed in time to preserve their fertility. Most fertile humans are at least upper middle class, all over the world, and even among them, there's still more bit-I mean females born than males, the ratio topping out at around two-to-one. As far as I can tell, that's 'cause the genekiller disease primarily targets human males, and especially their ability to produce Y-chromosones in their sperm. It's mostly under control now, but, yeah - damage's been done, and it's a doozy of damage, let me tell you.

Enter Miss Lords. Lady's a saint, far as we morphs are concerned. She's the woman (I'd never call her a bitch, and I'm more prone to callin' her an angel) who turned most of her fortune, from the most successful candy businesses in the world, to getting us morphs equal rights. See, we tube-grown morphs get a lot of inbuilt programming, pumped into our heads subliminally when we're in the tube, before we get sent to training in camps until we get taken in by our official owners, the ones who paid for us to be made. We're genetic slaves, you'd say, decanted for that purpose, or at least we were. But Miss Lords, she lobbied and she slaved and she worked, starting about ten years back. She bought a lot of us morphs herself, and gave us freedom. Me she found when I was on the killblock, a place where they send morphs who aren't wanted after their original owners get finished with 'em. I was too mean, I guess, too strong-willed, and didn't whimper and cry when my master hit me - I hit him back! But Miss Lords bought me herself, just like she bought up every morph in the killblock, and she got me going here, tending this junkyard. Any rights we morphs have now, any freeborn morph on the planet, it's all because of Miss Lords. It's a debt we can't ever repay.

'kay, you got a handle on the situation, right? Human population's way down worldwide, twice as many girls being born to the fertile few as boys (tops, and usually more'n that), and we morphs are finally getting freedom like never before, though we've still got a long, long way before we're all free, mainly 'cause most of us have servitude to humans so deep-seated in us, we can't break it, and don't want to try. Now let's get down to the start of my personal problems with these crazy human bitches.

These things always start on normal days, I guess. It was evening, just starting to get dark, and I was about done for the day. That afternoon, I'd been in one of the local pit fights - small change for human men with big bankrolls to blow, and a desire to feel that vicarious testosterone flow that only comes from a good, hard fight. Needless to say, the morph bitches were working the crowds, as they always did, and when I left, plenty of those hotties were paired off with a sugar daddy or two, making their living same way I did, whoring out what we had for some spare cash. My knuckles were sore, but I didn't feel it. I was still riding that rush that comes with pulping in the muzzle of some stud that thinks he's hard, but needed a proper schooling. It was while I was walking home that I noticed the girl.

She was a redhead, an orange carrot-top of a natural hair color most humans would have to pay good money for an equal dyejob. That made it a shame as I noticed that her hair done up pretty tight on her head in these two little buns, held in place with ribbons, giving me a glimpse of the strict upbringing she likely had. The clothes weren't anything special: she was dressed in that standard skirt and white blouse with tie required by the local private school (but then, it's a human school, and most of them go someplace private for education, while we free morphs have to make our own way), the skirt almost down to her ankles, confirming her strict upbringing, or maybe just her conservative nature, I dunno. With the rapid morph population growth, since we started breeding free, and with the closed nature of the human communities in most big cities in NorAm, the two sides of town got squeezed together pretty fast, and nobody saw any reason to zone things differently. So it's not uncommon, really, to see a schoolgirl in this tougher side of town, just out for a walk or something. It's not like we morphs would actually hurt a human female, after all - it's not in our genes, though we might do a bit of rough-housing.

Rough-housing, though, is what the little knot of teenaged morphs around the girl were doing. Her cheeks were almost as red as the dusting of freckles on her pale, delicate skin as a brown-furred rat whispered something in her ears, while a few others clustered around her, making a circle around her. Poor girl didn't seem to know that, if she'd just pressed forward, they would have moved, and just clutched her backpack in her hands in front of her timidly, like a shield. Far as she knew, she was surrounded and in danger. These youngsters didn't know she didn't know, didn't know they were scaring her, even with the scent of fear I could pick up from thirty feet off. Fear and...something else. It was kinda subtle, though, so I didn't try and work it out right then. Obviously somebody needed to school these studboys in proper manners.

"Hey," I said, my voice sounding a bit more gruff and snarly than I'd intended as I approached, part of the aftereffects of the rush from the fight I'd just left. "The girl's on her way home, and you boys're in the way."

Her look of gratitude told me I'd done the right thing, even when the knot of five turned to shoot me dirty looks. Three dogs, a cat, and the rat. It was pretty easy to take a steady, confident stance, my stub of a tail set as firm as my legs - I could take 'em, and I knew it, though I wasn't sure that they did. Singly, I think I coulda reasoned with 'em. But as a pack, this was gonna get a bit complicated.

"Piss yourself, homebitch," growled one of the dogs, a well-built specimen, though still with the skinniness of youth on him. "We're talkin' to the girl, you dig?"

"She's on a walk, boys," I said, explaining things in a calm, authoritative tone that just seemed to make 'em madder, 'cause it made 'em feel stupid. "She's just out thinking, enjoying the air, and you're makin' it hard for her to do that."

"You ain't the bossa me!" snapped the lead dog, a sharp-featured Jack Russel, as he stepped forward, and reached out to jab his fingers into my chest.

Not wasting any more words for now, I reached forward and slipped my hand between his legs. Jack Russels tend to be smart, I've noticed, and he came to a full stop right there, looking down at my hand, while I hefted the firm weight under his jeans with an appraising (and approving, I must admit) air.

"What're you doin'?" he asked, looking between me and the family jewels that I'd got my paws on.

"Just makin' sure things stay cool here," I said, smiling as I met his brown eyes with my red ones (a nice bonus for intimidation value, let me tell you, even if I hafta wear shades most of the time). "And we're still cool, so far. But I don't think you heard me before, so I figured it'd be better if I talked to the head in charge." I couldn't help but smirk at that. "Not that I really blame you - she's a cute girl, after all. But she's kinda scared, got it? You can smell it too, if you were just paying attention before" I gave him a moment, let the boy take a scent of the air, while the others in the gangpack did the same, dawning realization lighting up their faces, restoring my faith in our kind. "So, we still cool?"

"Yeah," said the Russel, not looking down any more, his expression one of shame and embarrassment. "We're cool." He turned to the girl, and addressed her in his best, most respectful language. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

The others in the group mumbled similar apologies, and I let the pup's jewels free with a last, gentle squeeze, smirking at the boner I felt starting in his jeans. Yeah, no fight here. I watched 'em walk off, the smirk turning into a grin as I heard the others ribbing their leader about the hard-on he was packing. When they were out of sight, I turned to the girl, who for some unaccountable reason was still right there, staring up at me, her face as flushed as ever.

"Th-thanks," she got out, and it was pretty obvious to me that this girl was pretty shy. Cute as a button, but introverted and likely unsure of her own feelings. Made it hard for me not to swing into full Alpha mode and press her into doing what I knew was best for her. Then, suddenly, she floored me with the next question: "You really think I'm cute?"

"Yeah," I answered right off, lying to humans, especially human girls, not really a part of what I am. "Why'd you think those pups were interested in you?" I knew I was smirking, my red eyes looking her over despite myself as I tilted my shades down a bit, making her blush as she realized I was checking her out, just because it was fun. "You'll be safe around here, though - they just didn't know they were scaring you. Need an escort around anywhere?"

"I...I think I'm all right," she said after a few moments of thought. "They didn't hurt me or anything - I guess I knew they wouldn't. But I think I'll go home now. It's getting awfully late. Thank you." And the smile she gave me as she said this made my stomach do a few flips like it hadn't since I was a teenager.

"Anytime," I answered, puffing out my bare chest a bit despite myself, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a card, pressing it into one of her pretty little hands. "If you go walking around here again, and feel any need for help, you can just give me a buzz anytime." I patted the side of my sweatpants, their red color going well with my stark white fur.

"I...I'll be sure to do that," she said with a smile, looking at the business card for a few moments, blinking as she noticed something on it, her face going bright red (she blushed pretty easy, didn't she?), before she stuffed it into her pack. Something dislodged from the little pack as she shuffled through it, but she didn't seem to notice as a brochure fluttered to the ground at her feet. "I'm almost to where Miss Benny picks me up anyway - she's our dogservant. Thank you again, Mister Spike."

Before I could do or say much else, the girl turned and started to scurry off as fast as she could without seeming to run. I'd just bent and picked up the brochure she'd dropped by the time she disappeared around the corner of the next building. Huh, guess she'd been in a real hurry. Still, I walked to the corner and took a peek around, only to see the girl (who's name I still didn't know) getting into the rear seat of a limo, the door held open by the bitch I took to be Miss Benny: a tall, leggy rough collie (a "Lassie" dog for you not up on breeds), wearing a chauffeur's uniform, billed hat, and dark glasses, and looking way too snooty for as hot as she looks. Oh yeah, a high-bred bitch that one; the sort who always felt they were too high and mighty for my kind, us freedogs being the lowest of the low as far as the keptdogs were concerned, hardly more'n strays. She glanced in my direction, and the look of disgust on her face before she turned and got in the car to drive off told me all about her type, all right, as did the contemptuous, teasing flick of her tail before the door slammer. It didn't take more'n a whiff for me to know that she was right on the edge of going into heat, and that last tailflick had been her way of making sure that I knew, and that I knew I wasn't going to get any of that pristine, purebred pussy in this lifetime. Grrr, keptdog tease! I hate that!

Needless to say, by the time I got home, I was pretty worked up. It's always harder for me to tell with humans, and so the realization didn't sink in until I was halfway home, and by the time it did, I got even more worked up: that human highschooler had been right on the edge of going into heat as well. No wonder those pups had been so interested in her. Doubly teased, one intentionally and one unintentional, by the time I got back to Girl, I was almost ready to pop.

Girl's my own keptdog. She's one of those I'd met on the killblock with me, though she was in the female half of the killblock, a cute little Cocker Spaniel with the most soulful brown eyes you can imagine. Her owner had been especially abusive to her, even going so far as to have the poor spanny neutered, and her self-esteem was on the rocks when she was set free. Poor thing didn't know what to do, she was so utterly dependent on others to tell her what to think, what to do, that freedom like that was actually worse'n death to her way of thinking. So I took her in, becoming her new Master. The name's all that her last owner called her, so I kept it, for convenience. Never been any good at names anyway. I mean, honestly, I'm called Spike. How good do you think I'm gonna be at naming other folks?

Closing the front gate of the high barbed wire fence that surrounded the junkyard where I live and work, letting the electronic lock close it up behind me, I made my way to the three-room shack near the front entrance, and pushed open the door into the living room. I could smell Girl and the hamburgers she was fixing in the kitchen, and my mouth immediately watered for meat and more than meat as I stripped off my sweats and tossed 'em over the easy chair in front of the television.

As I entered the kitchen just off the main room, separated by a curtain of beads (Girl's touch, not mine, since the kitchen was her domain), I saw Girl standing there, naked save for an apron, pressing down the last burger, three more already piled high on a plate on the table behind her. She smelled me before she heard me, as I'd always been pretty good at sneaking around, and I saw her ears and tail perk as she started to turn, her eyes widening with that wonderful puppyish eagerness that I've never been able to resist. She was going to turn and leap into my arms and kiss and lick my face as though I'd been gone for years instead of just part of a day.

Not today, though. Tonight, I had other plans. My hands found her hips, feeling so huge against her cute, smallish body, and I growled in her ear, making her whimper as I held her in place. Turning off the burner, one hand went to the spatula she was holding, and I flipped that last burger onto the plate on the table.

"Some bitch dissed me today," I said in a low, lusty growl, teasing my teeth against Girl's floppy ears, knowing how sensitive they were, and how hot she got when I suckled on their tender undersides, as I soon began to do between snarls. "Teased me up good, too, like she was too high-and-mighty for my sperm, while she's about to go into heat. So, I'm gonna give you what I was gonna give to her, Girl. And you're gonna love it."

The dinner table creaked as I turned, Girl firmly gripped in my hands, and bent her roughly over the tablecloth. My fingers found her soaking wet, juicy and ready for me before I'd even started work on her. That's my girl, Girl. She stole a glance at me over her shoulder, slutty and fearful at the same time, but I bared my teeth at her, and she lowered her head to the table like a good, submissive little bitch should. I never asked what Girl's age was, but I'd guess she was physically about the same age as the highschooler I'd rescued that day, give or take. Which reminded me...

"There was a human too, Girl," I grunted out as I forced a thick digit into her snug, clenching quim. "About your age, carrot top, shy and sweet...and just as ripe as that teasing bitch." She whimpered, wriggling back needily against my fingers as I squished another one into her, the hand on her hip teasing clawtips through her silky soft fur, which she took such pains to groom so well, the glossiness of it showing how well I kept her, along with the slight plumpness of her short little body that told the tale better than any words - rough as I could be, Girl loved it! "So I'm gonna do you as good as both of 'em!"

Arching her back, setting her rump up and level with my hips, presenting herself for my use, Girl's breasts squeezed on the table as she pressed herself against it submissively, her whimpers of fear and need sweet music in my ears. I'd never hurt her - not really, for all our games - but there was always the threat there. I was a lot bigger than her, and a whole lot stronger. Whatever I decided to do with her, or to her, there wasn't a thing she could do about it, if I didn't want to stop. But the way she was hunching her rump upwards, trying to catch the tip of my cock against her sweet pussy lips, I knew Girl was mine. When I grabbed her tail and gave it a tug, using it like a joystick to guide her into place, my other hand stroking my shaft, slotting it up against her tightly-clasped puss, it was just to drive this fact home. Her puppyish squeal as I plowed into her, good and hard and rough, let me know just how fully she knew it, and reveled in the knowledge: Girl was my bitch, and always would be.

Jerking the knot on the back of her "Kiss me, I'm Irish" apron open and brushing the top loop over her head, I left it draped over the kitchen table as I pulled her to the smooth tile of the spotlessly clean kitchen floor. It was almost a shame how much of her juices spilled out onto the floor she'd spent so much time cleaning, but I ignored that, ignored all pity for her, and simply shoved her face to the ground with one big hand, holding her there while the other clutched her rump possessively, while I forced myself in all the way, my balls squeezing up against her thighs, the tip tickling at her cervix, the fat mushroom head just starting to pry that tight inner barrier open, making her moan in slutty despair at how thoroughly I dominated her.

Grinding my hips for a few moments more, my hand on her rump slipping around her hips to find her swollen clitoris, just so I could watch her tailhole clench when I teased it, and listen to her sweet squeals of pleasure, I started to thrust. No, that's not quite right - I started to hump her, good and hard and rough. She wasn't some society bitch that needed tender romancing, at least not now (though I did that too, some nights when I got home). What she needed was to be used like a dirty slut, a bitch in heat that deserved a rough, thorough shafting, and I was more than happy to give Girl just what she deserved.

Free of her apron, Girl's full breasts swung beneath her with each thrust, their plump weights bouncing every time my hips met hers, my balls striking her thighs with a wet, meaty slap. I loved her big breasts, and I loved watching them jiggle when we had sex, just like I loved watching the impacts of each of my thrusts ripple through her body every time my hips met hers.

My hand moving back up to her butt, grabbing it roughly, I teased my thumb against her tailhole, and then prized it slowly into her, just because I wanted to hear her yelp as I hinted at the dominance-mounting that anal sex entailed for us canomorphs, which I'd almost certainly do to her in the very near future. This hint of things to come was all it took to make her cum, and hard, her juices spurting all over my pubic fur as she sobbed and squealed like a bitchpup being spiked for the first time. Me, though, I was just getting started. I let my hips go into overdrive then, humping my bitch good and hard and rough, showing her no mercy. She must have cum again, though I'm not sure when, or how many times. I was going at it too hard and fast to notice or care, her sweet little cooch grabbing me like a velvet vise, trying to demand I give up my cum to her.

Eventually, I relented, and bent to bite the back of her neck, making Girl close her eyes, her whole body trembling in an intense, submissive orgasm. And as she submitted her body to mine, my body submitted to her, my balls tightening up as I grunted, low and deep, like a true animal, my cum quickly coating the walls of her womb, my hips now on the short strokes as I worked out every last bit of my orgasm into her, every last drop of hot cum.

"Good Girl," I said gently, releasing her neck and stroking Girl's back with my hands as she lay there, panting hard. I was panting also, though not as hard - I'd done a lot of endurance training, and though I made Girl get lots of exercise, she looked most natural with a pleasingly plump figure, and so I didn't press her to the extremes that would have been required to get rid of her slight love handles.

The compliment I gave her was all it took to set Girl's tail to wagging, and that just made me wince in oversensitive pleasure, feeling how this made her inner walls tense and contract around my girthy shaft as I continued to spread her wide. If she kept that up, dinner would be a long time coming, because my erection wasn't gonna die any time soon.

Finally, though, my stomach growled, and hers answered in kind, and I pulled myself back with a wet pop as I exited, the rush of copious fluids further spoiling the clean floor.

"Stay," I told Girl, while I went to the table, and put three of the four burgers onto buns, which she'd laid out nearby. The fourth I left as it was, knowing that Girl didn't each much, though I did gather up a nice helping of the fries she'd baked in the lower part of the oven while she'd been frying the burgers on the range (lucky for me I'd turned that off along with the burners).

And so, while I sat on one of the kitchen chairs, munching a fat, juicy burger, done just the way I like 'em, I tore up Girl's hamburger into little bits, and fed it to her by hand, letting her lick the juices off my fingers. I'd just started our fun for the night, but I didn't see any point in letting her starve in the process. Besides, those burgers were awfully good. Still, the heat of my teased instincts and carnal desires lay beneath the surface, even as I caressed Girl's ears, her tail wagging as she looked up at me with her worshipful eyes after every little bite. My erection never flagged for a moment, and she knew full well that she'd be feeling it again, several times, before I was finished with her.

"Those bitches really got you going, huh, Master Spike," she said in awe, as she looked at my thick, white-skinned shaft, reaching up a hand to stroke it slowly, gently, as though she were afraid it might bite her, or that she might hurt me (I'm never sure which when she's like this).

"Yeah," I said, swallowing my present large bite, my voice low and husky with need. "You better believe it, Girl. Just be glad you're not them." I grinned, showing her some pearly whites, which just made her shiver again in anticipation. "I'd have to get really rough with you, then."

"Yes Master," she cooed eagerly, her tail wagging behind her on the tile.