Woman's Best Friend
A champion breeding dogservant seduces his human mistress' teenaged daughter and her three best friends.
Woman's Best Friend
By Gideon Kalve
Jarvis
Ambrose
grit his teeth as he stood there under the cold water, waiting for his erection
to finally die down. The tall, muscled
Doberman Pinscher canomorph was breathing hard from the two previous orgasms
he'd had over the last hour, painting the wall of the shower white with his
seed, even as the frigid water blasted down onto his back. Unlike a normal canine's cum, Ambrose's
wasn't watery at all. It was very thick,
rich with sperm and the vital juices needed to propel them along to the ova of
a receptive female. What his semen did
have in common with a canine's, though, was the sheer amount of it. Each extended orgasm, starting from the
moment his knot formed until the moment it subsided, had him spurting cum like
a firehose.
"Made for
breeding," growled Ambrose, turning now to face the water, letting it soak down
his front. He looked down at his
throbbingly erect penis, and could almost swear he saw steam rising from the
pink length. "Blast my designers."
After two
intense orgasms, the dobiemorph was feeling a bit meditative, despite his
continued erection, letting his mind wander in thought, and letting one hand
wander downward, cupping his large, heavy balls. They felt swollen, even after the prior discharges
of cum, and Ambrose ran his fingers over the prominent veins that fed rich
heartblood to his testicles. He was a
made creature, all right. His penis,
when erect, looked like a human's, except it didn't have a foreskin. That was the purpose of his sheath, after
all. The color of the long, reasonably
thick shaft was a uniform pink color, much like the glans of a human's
cock. And when he came, the base of the
dobiemorph's shaft would swell up into a mid-sized knot, about the size of a
golf ball, which acted to keep all his cum inside of a female. His balls were large, heavy, the testicles
looking almost too big for the scrotal sac when Ambrose was fully aroused. Besides this, a quick look over his body
confirmed what Ambrose felt: he was a young, healthy, athletic and virile
canomorph male. He was a melding of
human and canine genes, specially tailored for the desires of his owners.
"Made to .
. . serve," grunted Ambrose, getting close once more, the stroking of his
balls, even under the cold water, the last touch that started him on the final
climb of orgasm. "Made . . . too . . .
human!"
This last
was a guttural grunt as Ambrose came once more, a jet of thick spunk
splattering against the far wall.
That was the problem of course:
Ambrose, like most canomorphs, was just a little bit too human. When you were dealing with somebody like
Diane Lords on a daily basis - or, worse
yet, her daughter Mercy - if you were capable of feeling anything akin to
physical attraction to a human female, you were doomed before you even began.
While
capable of five or six more orgasms, thanks to the attention of his creators to
his breeding apparatus, as a full five minutes passed, and his knot began to
subside, Ambrose found that he was starting to get control of himself once
more. Enough, at least, that he was able
to will his penis back into its sheath, tensing his belly muscles, making his
trim six-pack ripple, and then working the inner muscles controlling the
extension of his penis, sucking the thick pink shaft back into his sheath
almost instantly.
In only a
matter of minutes after this, Ambrose had dried himself off with his fur
blower, and then dressed himself to immaculate perfection. Now sporting slacks and jacket and
cummerbund, with a vest and bow-tie topping off the uniform, the dobiemorph was
dressed for the part of house butler and general dogservant to perfection. A glance at his small room's wall clock told
him it was 5:30 in the morning, and he was running right on time.
At 6:30,
after completing the preparations for the day, Ambrose ascended the stairs of
the sprawling Lord mansion, and was soon knocking on the door to Diane Lords'
room, a large tray balanced in his other hand.
Three quick, soft knocks, and then he pushed the door open, stepping
inside.
"Mmm - it's
that time, isn't it, Rose?" said a soft, sultry voice in the dim lighting of
the room, even as a sleek figure began to stir in the tangled sheets of the
bed. "Time to get up, to face the new
day. Beat the system and win some bread."
"Yes Ma'am," replied Ambrose
dutifully as he set the tray on its portable table over his mistress' lap as
she propped herself up on the pillows.
With an expert flourish, Ambrose removed the silver cover, presenting his
mistress with breakfast and the morning mail, including her financial
journal. He needed no light in the
darkness, his eyes quite light sensitive, though he didn't have as much color
perception as a human did. "The weather
report indicates that today and the entirety of next week should have
delightfully beautiful weather. Sun and
cool breezes from off the ocean."
"Perfect
for my daughter and her little friends," sighed Diane Lords as she pushed the
covers aside, unashamed of her nudity beneath the sheets as she began to tuck
into breakfast. "And with me going to
Belgium, too. Well, at least I'll be
able to enjoy next weekend, if the weather holds."
"It should,
Ma'am," replied Ambrose, carefully not looking in Diane's direction as he
opened the shades, letting the bright sun of the beachside villa flood into the
bedroom. That done, he then turned,
looking down at the floor like a good and submissive dog, gritting his teeth
lightly to keep from noticing the enticing smell of the female he was serving,
to try and keep his male instincts from making a fool of him. "Your bags are packed and by the door, and
your driver should be here in an hour and a half - you should have plenty of
time for your morning routine. Is there
anything that you wish me to do further, Ma'am?"
Why Ambrose
didn't look at his mistress was only partially due to his impeccable training
as a dogservant. The other part (and it
was a significant part) of his reason for looking down at his large, bare paws
was because it was considered expressly obscene in the eyes of the law and
accepted morality to even consider what his impulses told him he should do to
(and, knowing her, probably with) his mistress.
There was little questioning why the poor dobiemorph was suffering so, of
course. Diane Lords, having only just
entered her middle thirties, had the body of a woman ten years her junior. No, that was not really a good description of
someone like Diane Lords. Very few
people had a body like hers, at any age.
Even just rising from sleep, the bedclothes tangled about her as she ate
breakfast, her long, flowing blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders like a
golden waterfall in an effect that hairstylists sometimes had to work for hours
to achieve in models. Without makeup,
Miss Lords had a smooth, unblemished face, her blue eyes bold and yet sweet,
giving her an air of command while doing nothing to detract from her many and
obvious feminine charms, her cheeks fair, her lips full with an ever-so-slight
pout.
Her body, of course, was slim and
supple, firm and lightly athletic, with not a bit of cellulite on the trim,
smooth curves that were ever-so-easy on the eyes. It didn't take a trained eye to spot a woman
whose every slight move cried out sex and need, as though demanding that all
men around her pay attention. Diane
Lords had raw animal magnetism right alongside of a body that just wouldn't
quit, and a commanding air that could rule men and women with equal ease. Resisting her desires was a battle of
ultimate will for any man.
This, of
course, was Diane Lords' appearance before she dressed and put on her day's
makeup. Once she did that, Ambrose found
himself as much a prey to the woman's intense seductive powers as any male, her
ability to command total and complete.
And what made it almost unbearable was that Miss Lords didn't even do it
deliberately, for all the time she spent making herself look pretty. It just came naturally for her, as easy as
breathing. It was what she did, the
skill around which she based everything else that she was, and she was very good
at it.
It was this
power of seduction that had eventually led Diane Lords (originally Diane
James-Davies) to overwhelm the senses of Martin Lords, the aging heir to Lords
Confectionary, a massive candy firm with roots in Europe, but great holdings in
the United States as well. When Martin
Lords had died four years ago, that left his wife in charge, for she was
careful never to have been a mere trophy wife.
Diane had quickly risen to the occasion with masterful skill, taking
full command of the business and bringing in record sales, and she was known
far and wide as the world's most gorgeous CEO, as well as its most successful
single mother.
But this
past history had little to do with the truly horrid (and torrid) thoughts that
Ambrose was forced to suppress, pushing them aside as illegal as well as
immoral. His personal session in the
shower helped some as he felt the sweat starting to build between the toes on
his large paws, and he flexed them unconsciously while he waited for his
mistress to reply.
"Oh, I
think that will do for now, Rose," said Diane in that voice of hers, a voice
that caused the much-tempted dobiemorph's heart to start up a bouncing
pitter-patter. "You'll get Mercy up
soon, won't you? Make sure she doesn't
miss her last day of class before Spring Break?"
"Of course,
Ma'am," replied Ambrose, his stubby docked tail wagging as he bowed, making
Diane smile as she saw it wiggling as it poked out of the back of his
perfectly-pressed slacks. "I'll be
taking her breakfast now. With your
leave."
Ambrose was
out the door as quickly as decorum allowed, and soon leaned against the wall by
the bedroom, his sharply-pointed ears perked as he listened to the soft clink
of silverware and fine china as his mistress had her breakfast. Taking a long, cooling breath and then
letting it out, the dobiemorph nodded in satisfaction as he started off back
down the stairs to fetch the second breakfast tray of the day. He'd kept himself under control, and not even
a bulge had shown while he was talking with his mistress. The Doberman decided that this was a sign of
a good day ahead as he ascended the stairs once more, another silver-covered
tray in hand. Of course, that still left
the biggest hurdle of the day: Mercy Lords, Diane's daughter.
Reaching
the door at the end of the hall at precisely 6:50 am, Ambrose's large pawhand
once more lifted and gave three quick, short, soft knocks, being careful to
knock only on a part of the door that was not covered by one of the many
posters and signs that adorned it, before he pushed the door open and stepped
into the room of his mistress' daughter.
The sight that greeted him, unfortunately, was quite enough to ruin
almost all of the poor dobiemorph's prior efforts at self-control.
As
Ambrose's jaw dropped, despite himself, his eyes were brought immediately to
the smooth young creature before him, lovely in her youth. Even a quick glance at her revealed that she
had all of the beauty of her mother, just waiting to come into full bloom as
she matured. There was the same
shoulder-length, flowing blonde hair, the same expressive, limpid deep blue
eyes, the same flawless skin. But the
captivating beauty Mercy had inherited was tempered somewhat by two factors. The first and most obvious was her youth, for
she had a slightly awkward adolescent skinniness about her, similar to that of
a filly before it has had the chance to fill out into a mare's mature strength
and beauty. The second, subtler feature
that made Mercy's beauty different was a note of softness, of kindness, of
gentleness and a caring, loving soul that her mother did not possess. This, in turn, was tempered by a spirit of
youthful mischief and eager energy, largely learned from her friends at school,
which made it quite hard to avoid looking at Mercy and admiring the view, for
she was approachable. Dianne Lords was a
creature that one worshipped. Mercy
Lords was one that you loved.
Admiring
the view was exactly what Ambrose was doing at that moment, for it seemed that
Mercy had gotten up a bit earlier than normal, and had been undressing for her
morning shower as he had entered. The
panties she wore to bed now down around her knees as the smooth young teen bent
over to remove them, the staring dobiemorph was treated to the sight of the
smoothest, most perfect heart-shaped little bum he had ever seen, presented to
him like a gift.
Mercy had
heard Ambrose's knock, of course, and was turning even as the dogservant was
struggling to regain control of his senses.
Her wide blue eyes met Ambrose's brown ones, her face showing momentary
surprise at being caught in such a compromising situation. And then her sweet face broke into a smile
like a ray of sunshine, and she pushed her panties down and stepped out of them,
quite unconcerned at being naked in the presence of Ambrose, and picked up the
towel resting on her bed.
"Good
morning, Rose," the bright and smiling teen greeted her loyal dogservant,
protector, mentor and friend of many years.
"How are you today? Sleep well?"
"Yes, Miss
Mercy," Ambrose got out, his voice slightly husky as he did his best to keep
his eyes fixed on his young mistress' face, and not at the perfect, uplifted
bare breasts turned towards him, their candy pink nipples looking sweeter than
anything he knew; or, worse yet, lower still, to the neatly-trimmed mound below
her trim young belly, and the achingly tempting little indentation that hinted
at secret, untouched treasures not intended for a brute dogmorph's perverse
lusts. "I was about to ask you the
same. Also, it's a beautiful day
outside, and the weather report says that it will probably remain so for the
week of Spring Break."
"Oh
goodie!" exclaimed Mercy as she, heedless of her nudity, rushed forward to hug
the dobiemorph around his broad, powerful chest, even as he raised her
breakfast tray to keep it from being knocked over. "That's wonderful - I was so hoping the
weather would be good for when my friends get here."
As Mercy
got so very close to Ambrose, her smooth young body rubbing against his
(thankfully clothed) chest and stomach, the muscular dobiemorph frowned as he
noted a slight alteration in Mercy's scent.
It was subtle right then, but it was something that caught his
attention, nibbling at his more primitive canine instincts. But he didn't have time to dwell on
that. Right now he had duties to
perform.
"We have an
hour before I take you to school, Miss Mercy," said Ambrose, moving the tray to
one hand so that he could reach down and pat his young mistress on her back,
rubbing the smooth pink skin gently. "And then a mere half day for you at school,
and I will pick you and your friends up for your big vacation together. Your mother has to leave for Belgium, I am
afraid, but I am here, and everything has been arranged, so there should be no
lack of fun activities or protections of your safety. I shall pick you and your three friends up at
the usual place, by the small quaking aspen grove. Shall I bring the full limo, or a smaller
car?"
"Oh, the
limo," said Mercy, grinning up at Ambrose as she broke the hug, and then
started towards the shower, towel under her arm, her trim young hips swaying as
she walked, making a most enticing view for the flustered dobiemorph. "I want us to have a fun ride back here. Besides, it's the best car for carrying all
four of us comfortably." She looked over
her shoulder at the tall, powerful male standing, tray in hand, at the door to
her room, and giggled. "Come on - you
can help me get in a quick shower, we'll get dressed, and then I'll have
breakfast. 'kay?"
"Of course,
Miss Mercy," said Ambrose, bowing obediently, carefully keeping his eyes away
from places of temptation on his young mistress' naked body, before he moved,
setting the tray on her bed, and then straightened, standing in the middle of
the room. Taking a deep breath, the
powerfully-built male closed his eyes to help calm himself, and began to remove
his own clothing.
With the
big dog's eyes closed, Mercy was able to turn and watch as Ambrose began to get
undressed. She had to suppress a giggle
as she noticed the gradually-diminishing bulge in the front of his slacks, and
realized that he probably thought that her interest in having him shower with
her was purely innocent. He had good
reason to believe this, of course.
Diane Lords wasn't a bad person, for
all her many flaws of inner character, but try as she might, she'd never
developed a knack for mothering. Diane's
realization that she needed someone who could take care of her growing daughter
was the main reason why she'd bought Ambrose many years back. Ambrose was top-ranked in all aspects of
domestic dogservice, and knew how to take care of human babies as well as he
could raise a canomorph pup. Since he
was also a champion breeder, having sired a great many pups even at his then
relatively young age, and taken part in raising most of them, he quickly proved
himself indispensable to Diane in raising and taking care of her growing
daughter, doing his best to make sure that mother and daughter never lost their
love for each other, even though it was strained at times.
Bathing
Mercy was something that Ambrose had begun right after he took over the task of
bringing her up. As she grew older, he
had made a few intimations that perhaps it was improper that he continue to
keep up this habit from earlier days, but neither Diane nor Mercy (especially
Mercy) seemed to see anything wrong with this practice, even as Mercy entered
her ripening teenaged years and began to awaken to her sexuality, and so
Ambrose's brief, not terribly strenuous objections were ignored.
Watching
Ambrose undress, Mercy felt herself breathing a bit faster, her cheeks growing
lightly flushed as more and more sleek black-and-brown fur was bared to her
eager young eyes. She'd had a crush on
him almost as soon as she'd figured out what boys were, and the feelings hadn't
done anything but grow stronger over the years, with the strong, virile
dobiemorph playing an active role in many of her teenaged nighttime
fantasies. Mercy was no stranger to
erotic fantasies, her burgeoning teenaged hormones having led her to discover
computers and the internet a while back, and soon having discovered a wide
variety of erotic literature that she often browsed whenever she had an
opportunity. But what she knew quite a
lot about in fantasy, she was largely unacquainted with in reality, except for
her interactions with Ambrose, and what she'd heard from locker room gossip
with her friends.
It was true, also, that Ambrose was
indeed easy on the eyes, his body firm, trim, and smoothly-muscled. He moved with a light, lithe grace, not
musclebound at all, even though he was very muscular, and very, very
strong. It took some effort for Mercy to
keep from giggling as his slacks slid down his legs, showing off the flash of brown
fur right beneath his tail, and his cute, tight butt. But when the now-naked canomorph turned to
look at his young mistress, she was smiling pleasantly, her expression as
innocent as could be, her eyes never going below his waist.
"I will get
the water running," said the big male, moving past Mercy with a polite nod,
which she returned, never knowing that as he passed, her eyes were on the
heavy, achingly full-looking sac dangling between his legs, and the sheath that
always seemed to be swollen to bursting whenever she saw it. Briefly, Mercy wondered if it was painful for
poor Ambrose to have such swollen male parts, but she was too embarrassed to
ask, and soon saw steam rising from the extra large bathtub and shower, her
eyes rising to meet her faithful dogservant's.
"Coming,"
said the teen brightly without being called, pretending that she hadn't been
caught checking out her dogservant companion's butt, and hurrying to the
shower, hanging up her towel on a ring nearby, before she stepped into the
massive tub and pulled the shower curtain shut, closing the pair of them into
their own small world.
Ambrose
took slow, even breaths as he watched Mercy step beneath the water, her tiny
hands moving over her body as she wet herself down, until her skin glistened
with slick wetness, and her flowing blonde tresses were soaked through. Keeping his mind focused with every bit of
will that he possessed, the dogservant picked up the bottle of liquid soap and
squirted a generous amount into his hands, and then over Mercy's
shoulders. Leaning in close, the large
canomorph began to rub his powerful, gentle hands over the sweet teen's
body. Mercy sighed, smiling contentedly
as she felt those wonderful, talented hands moving over her skin, working into
her underlying muscles, soaping her up and rubbing her down at the same
time. In fact, if she wasn't so awake,
she'd almost certainly have fallen asleep from the soothing touch of her
faithful companion and dogservant.
His mind
now settled into the routine, Ambrose found himself able to move his hands over
his young mistress' budding breasts, each now a decent palmful. He smiled slightly as he heard her relaxed
sigh when he took pains to massage the ligaments that held her breasts up,
paying careful, loving attention to the entire breast, though with a more
vigorous speed than he would have used with a lover. This was a rubdown and nothing more he
reminded himself as his hands slid down Mercy's belly, cleaning out her navel
with a quick motion of a single blunt clawtip.
There was no sense in taking chances.
Chances,
though, were exactly what were about to happen, as Ambrose knelt in the large
tub, Mercy facing away from him, leaning over slightly to rest her hands on the
tile wall. He needed to kneel to run his
hands over that perfect rump and lovely legs of hers, and went to work with a
will, his large paws kneading and massaging the smooth, supple skin and equally
smooth, supple musculature beneath, while Mercy rested her head on the tile of
the shower and gave a soft moan of contentment, wriggling her hips slowly from
side to side. It was at that moment,
just as Ambrose was working on his young mistress' inner thighs, that the scent
he'd picked up from before hit him again, and this time in full force. He couldn't get away from it where he was
kneeling, for his incredibly sensitive canine nose was almost stuck right in
the source of the exquisite scent. The
primitive instincts buried deep within Ambrose's psyche knew that scent
instantly, and it was only a matter of moments later before Ambrose's conscious
mind recognized it as well. It was the
scent of a ripe, unbred young female in heat.
Of course,
as she was growing up, Ambrose had been around Mercy during her periods of
ovulation, when she was at her most fertile.
He'd learned to deal with them as they came, and knew her schedule
better than she did herself. At first,
as she was in her early years, he'd been able to dismiss her fertile periods as
'false heats,' when her body hadn't sorted itself out yet. As she'd developed, he began thinking of her
like he would Diane Lords: a mistress to be obeyed, rather than a female to be
bred, and his instincts seemed to have accepted this, knowing that there was a
harsh penalty for trying to make it with the alpha female when you weren't the
alpha male. But three things had changed
since Ambrose had developed his inner systems to control his urges.
The first of these changes was that
Diane had moved to the villa two years after the death of Martin Lords, and
since the smaller house didn't need as large a staff, she'd kept only Ambrose
to assist her, making him the only male around, and thus the only candidate for
the 'alpha male' position, according to his primitive instincts, making his
struggle to keep himself in a subordinate role a little more difficult every
day.
The second change, and the most
obvious, was that Mercy had grown up quite a bit over the years, and every year
that passed made her just that more fertile, and made her womb that much more
able to bear healthy offspring to term.
Ambrose's healthy offspring, if he didn't keep his raging instincts in
check.
The last change was the one that
had caught Ambrose totally off guard at this moment. At the start of the school year, Mercy had
paired up with her best friends at high school and had joined the girls
volleyball team. While Ambrose knew
about this, and had attended every game (besides getting Diane to attend as
many as possible), he had forgotten that females in close proximity tend to
change their ovulation schedule to match that of the women in close proximity
around them. Proximity, say, of the same
closeness as found between four best friends in the same locker room on a
regular basis.
So it was that, before he had any
chance to control himself, the healthy, virile canomorph's cock was erect,
standing proudly at full mast, ready for action, eager to be sunk into the
sweet, needy female that required his services to soothe the desperate ache in
her belly. An instant later, however,
Ambrose's rational self came back into control, and he grit his teeth, trying
to will his penis back into its sheath, tensing his muscles desperately, using
every exercise of his inner muscles he could think of to try and lose the
prominent, throbbing erection standing upright between his legs. These efforts, sadly, failed miserably. The one silver lining to this very bad
situation, though, was that Mercy was only on the starting end of her
ovulation. She wasn't at her peak
ripeness yet, and so Ambrose was able to reason his instincts down, telling
them to wait, even though he had no intention of ever giving them satisfaction
in the way that they craved.
"Is
everything all right, Rose?" asked Mercy, her deep blue eyes opening as she
looked over her shoulder at her friend and companion, curious as to why he'd stopped.
"Everything
is under control, Miss Mercy," replied Ambrose, keeping his voice steady and
even despite all the powerful forces within him demanding that they be let
loose. "I merely lost myself in the drum
of the warm water for a moment."
"Falling
asleep too, huh?" giggled Mercy, straightening up, and then pulling the shower
curtain open, stepping outside as she grabbed her towel. "You finish up your shower quick, okay? I should be dressed by the time you're out."
"Of course,
Miss Mercy," said Ambrose, sighing in relief that Mercy hadn't seemed to see
anything as he pulled the shower curtain shut once more, watching the lithe
silhouette of his naked mistress drying herself through the thin plastic. It was, after all, a part of their morning routine
- he would exercise in the morning, then get dressed to serve Diane and Mercy,
then shower his sweat off with Mercy before getting her off to school. And, though Mercy didn't know it, the moment
she left the room, most of his short shower time was spent cumming, again and
again and again, as he desperately worked off the primal desires his instincts
were demanding he satisfy.
The day, as
it turned out, actually went along with incredible smoothness, and not a single
thing went wrong after the dangerous near-miss of the morning. Ambrose made certain that the driver from the
local airport (a friendly though high-strung female greyhound canomorph of his
acquaintance) made it on time, and carried Diane's bags to the waiting car
personally, so that she could be chauffeured to her waiting private jet in
record time. Not long afterward, he took
Mercy to the exclusive, upper-crust high school she attended, and made certain
she was safely in the presence of her three best friends before he took off for
the villa once more. He knew how trying
it could be among so many young and often cruel people, and did not want his
beloved young mistress to have to go through the day without the protection of
her little 'pack.' The obedience school
he'd been raised in shortly after he was decanted wasn't that different,
really, but he trusted that Mercy would be all right now that she had some dear
and loyal friends.
This trust
seemed to be merited, for when noontime rolled around, and Ambrose pulled up in
the limo, the final chores around the house finished for the day, Mercy,
wearing the blue shirt and striped t-shirt that he'd selected for her that day,
and her friends were waiting, and the bouncy, giggly, gossipy mass of lovely
girlflesh that piled into the back partition of the limo, along with their
backpacks, seemed anything but troubled by the day's events.
"The day
went well, Miss Mercy?" asked Ambrose as he held the door open for the girls,
his young mistress the last to get in.
"Oh, it was
just great!" exclaimed Mercy, impulsively giving Ambrose another hug before she
slid into the limo. "I'll tell you all
about it on the way back."
That, of
course, was exactly what Mercy did for a good part of the ride back to the
seaside villa, with additional assistance and commentary by her three young
friends, their voices coming to him through the speaker at the base of the
glass divider between the passenger and driver sides of the limo. Ambrose took this time to divide his attention
between watching the empty, quiet road ahead of him, listening and responding
appropriately to the words of the girls behind him, and taking note of who it
was that he would be dealing with for the holiday.
Instantly
apparent, and perhaps the most demanding of attention of all Mercy's friends,
was Rianne. Rianne was a freckle-faced
carrot-top, her short, bright red hair done up in two quick, sporty braids held
in place by rubber bands, and she seemed quite unashamed of wearing a pair of
yellow cotton gym shorts and a baby blue babydoll t-shirt. Of the four girls in the backseat of the
limo, Rianne was the most athletic, her constant activity leading to her having
an almost boyish frame, coltish without quite being skinny, though it was a
close one. She was a genuine tomboy, as
a matter of fact, upfront and very forward about what she felt and
thought. Ambrose couldn't help but
notice that, despite her tomboyishness, Rianne's clothes weren't especially
boyish, as the shorts ended about halfway up her thighs, while her t-shirt only
just covered her navel, leaving a small swathe of tanned, toned teenaged tummy
bare, and clung to her slim, pert body in ways that were not at all
unpleasant. It was while looking at this
almost scandalous bit of clothing that Ambrose suddenly realized, judging from
the rather small size of Rianne's pack, that what she was wearing now was
probably the only thing she would be wearing for the entire holiday. A moment after making this realization, the
redhead's eyes met his in the rearview mirror in a rather accusing manner,
Rianne's eyebrow cocking slightly, as though to say "Ah hah - I caught you, and
I know what you were thinking."
Hastily
moving his attention along, the next girl on which Ambrose's eyes fell was
Lyra. Bubbly, blonde, and bouncy were
the descriptors that came immediately to mind when Ambrose considered the perky
teen, who was looking everywhere with those almost aqua-colored eyes of hers,
but never quite focusing on anything for very long, except for her friends, her
daisy dukes shirt and tight denim shorts showing off her lovely,
fast-developing assets in the most effective and casual way possible, making
her look flirty without even really needing to try. Lyra's wavy, slightly crinkly hair was
actually a lighter shade than Mercy's golden tresses, bleached more by the sun
than any chemicals, and had a few little streaks of pink running through it,
though these were mostly hidden in the long twin braids hanging down her
shoulders to the small of her back. Of
all the girls in the backseat, Lyra was the most energetic and upbeat, and
while she did indeed give a slight degree of truth to the jokes about blondes,
she was as nice a person as anyone could care to meet, outgoing and very
friendly to everyone, and eager to try new things out. It was Lyra who had convinced her three
friends to try out for volleyball, and who was often the leader behind their
various activities, providing the energy that got the others motivated after
one of the others had found something that seemed interesting.
That thought,
or course, led Ambrose's eyes to fall onto Dottie. Until she'd met Mercy, Rianne, and Lyra,
Dottie had been the lonely, slightly pudgy, nerdy girl sitting in the back of
all her classes, just trying to survive each day at school without more than the
normal amount of hazing. After she'd
started hanging out with Mercy and her friends, getting involved in all of
their activities had soon helped her shed those last awkward pounds, and some
work with her friends had actually convinced her to start wearing contacts
instead of the thick glasses she'd been wearing before, letting people see her
beautiful hazel eyes and her cute, slightly pouting face without
obstruction. Dottie was able to attend
the high school with the others mainly because of her brains - she was
incredibly smart, and was obviously destined for great things, if she could
just make it through high school. But
that meant that she often couldn't afford the nice things that other girls in
the exclusive high school could, and her suffering at the hands of the many
cliques before Mercy and company had saved her had been terrible indeed. The lingering effects of that suffering could
be seen in the conservative, uplifted bun on the top of her head, in which she
kept her beautiful auburn hair, in the simple pair of loose jeans and light
felt jacket she was wearing over a plain white t-shirt that hid the shape of
her body from easy view, and in her quiet behavior, letting the others do most
of the talking. But when she did talk,
the other girls listened, because they knew that Dottie, brain that she was,
was almost always right, and her ideas were almost always excellent, giving
sensible guidance to the energy of the others.
Finishing
his assessment of the situation he'd be facing over Spring Break, Ambrose
nodded confidently to himself as he turned his attention back to the road,
feeling that he could handle four teenaged girls for a week without any serious
mishaps. After all, what could possibly
go wrong?
"What a
day," sighed Rianne, standing and taking a long moment to stretch upwards, her
scanty t-shirt riding up her lithe, toned body far more than was properly
decent. "Thank goodness it's over for
now, though. A whole week of just
hanging out at Mercy's house should be just what we need to unwind, huh,
Dottie?"
Rianne
often directed her statements to Dottie, simply because she loved the startled,
deer-in-the-headlights look of the nerdy teen that they always elicited. Dottie responded with a mumbled reply and an
uncertain shrug, which Rianne, being who she was, took as all the answer she
needed.
"I think so
too - just what we needed, especially to get away from scowling Mrs. Hackett
and that perv, Mister Ames. You know, I
saw him checking out the cheerleaders yesterday. He was under the bleachers with a minicam -
what a sicko!"
"That's no
surprise," chimed in Lyra as the girls started to walk towards the house,
Ambrose watching and listening for a short while, leaning on the driver's door
as he idly (and mostly unconsciously) admired the view of four attractive,
healthy young teens ascending the short stone stair to the villa. "I just know he's the one who set up that
hidden camera in the showers. I mean, who
else coulda done it?"
"Just be
glad none of us have to take his physics class," laughed Mercy as she pulled
open the door to the house. "C'mon -
lets see what Rose has made us for lunch, and then we can figure out what we're
gonna do next."
Ambrose
had, actually, prepared several sorts of sandwiches for the girls before he'd headed
off to pick them up, complete with juice (he didn't believe in soda - too much
sugar and caffeine) in the fridge, some salad fixings, and crisp rice squares
he'd whipped up just before heading out, letting them cool on the counter. He took a bit of pride in remembering just
what each of his four charges for this week of break liked most, and in
preparing the meal accordingly, adding a few extra possibilities just in case
some of those tastes had changed (not an uncommon thing in developing teens, after
all). Though he had his weaknesses,
Ambrose was an incredible dogservant, so much so that Dianne and Mercy often
took perfection on his part for granted.
Feeling the glow of satisfaction from knowing that he'd served the needs
of his mistress and her friends, Ambrose slid easily into the limo and slammed
the door, starting the car going once more, aiming it towards the extra-large
garage designed to house it. It would
take him a good twenty minutes to get the long limo parked properly before
making the hike back to the house, but he didn't concern himself with
that. After all, what trouble could four
teens get into in a mere twenty minutes?
While
Ambrose was parking the limo, Mercy and her friends were doing their best to
answer the question the dobiemorph had naively posed. Or rather, one of the four was doing so,
though nobody else was aware of it just yet.
"Where did
Ri go?" asked Dottie, who'd been rummaging in the fridge for an apple when the
redhead had slipped off, her well-dressed salad sitting unattended on the
counter.
"She's gone
to the bathroom," said Lyra between mouthfuls of turkey-on-wheat. "She said she preferred the one upstairs, in
Mercy's room. Totally weird, huh?"
"Yeah,"
said Dottie, as she frowned thoughtfully, but then shrugged, letting the matter
go. "So, what were you thinking we'd be
doing today, Mercy? I mean, it's your
house - what you say goes, right?"
Mercy
seemed to have been thinking on that very question, for she quickly swallowed
the bite of salad in her mouth, and had her reply ready in a matter of moments.
"It's a
perfect, beautiful day outside," she said, stating the obvious. "We're fresh out of school, and we all need
something to cool off, right?" Taking
note of Lyra and Dottie's nods of agreement, Mercy continued. "I think we should start this break off with
a splash, and get into our swimsuits.
The beach behind the villa's not gonna get any more perfect, after all."
"Best idea
I've heard all day," said Rianne, returning to the kitchen from wherever she'd
been, setting a pack of playing cards she'd found somewhere in the house on the
kitchen counter and picking up her salad.
"We can start off with two-on-two beach volleyball until an hour's
passed, and then we can go swimming.
Hey! Don't you have that raft
anchored out in the bay, Mer? We can
swim out to that and hang out for hours, even work on our tans. Maybe even get your dogboy to bring us
dinner."
"Rose isn't
a dogboy," said Mercy, looking a bit hurt.
"Oh
really?" challenged Rianne with a teasing grin.
"Then what is he? I mean, he
comes when he's called, fetches and carries, and he'd do anything you or any of
us asked him to do. And I do mean
anything. Sounds like a dogboy to me."
"Well,"
Mercy began, trying to find some sort of reply to Rianne's perfect reasoning,
for the honey-haired teen knew that everything her carrot-topped friend had
said was completely true. "Maybe you're
right. But I just don't like you calling
him that. I mean, he's the one who
raised me for almost all of my life. I
don't know what Mom and I'd have done without him. He's . . . well, he means so much to us. It's like he's the man of the house, I
guess." She blushed at that last
statement, self-conscious at the connotations and what her friends might think.
"Wow,"
giggled the spacey Lyra, breaking the moment of silence that had followed
Mercy's heartfelt statement. "Sounds
like you really like your doggie, huh, Mercy?"
But then her teasing grin softened, and she reached over from where she
was now sitting on the counter to pat her friend on the shoulder. "Aw, it's okay. I mean, I've known Rose for almost three
years now, and I think he's a real sweetie."
"A real
hotdog, you mean," added Rianne with a leering grin, which was met with a round
of giggles from Mercy and Lyra, and a full-out blush from Dottie, quite
scandalized at her friend's forwardness.
"I mean, really, he's quite the stud-puppy, isn't he? That's what all those awards your mom keeps
from those shows and breeding competitions mean, don't they?" The redhead got a naughty glint in her green
eyes as she drove her point home. "Hot,
hung, knows how to please girls, and he's got the trophies to prove it."
"Oh, Ri!"
exclaimed Dottie, covering her mouth with her hands, her entire face a bright pink,
her large hazel eyes wide and horrified at the scandalous things coming out of
her friend's mouth. "You shouldn't say
things like that. It's so . . . so . . .
indecent." The nerdy teen's eyes lowered
in embarrassment as she said this last, adding it on rather lamely, fearful of
being thought a prude by her friends.
Her fears
were alleviated as Rianne patted Dottie on the shoulder before stroking her
hand down the other girl's arm, laughing good-naturedly.
"Aw, you
know I'm just kidding around, Dot," Rianne said, obviously unashamed of what
she'd said, but not minding Dottie's statement either.
The tension in the room now relaxed
(despite the seeds of thought that had been strategically planted), the girls
began to chatter away on other, more innocent subjects. This was the scene that Ambrose encountered
when he entered the kitchen from the out-of-doors, his stub tail wagging
happily as he saw and heard that everything was well.
"I've got
swimsuits ready for you all in the changing house outside, by the beach," said
the tall, handsome dobiemorph as he looked around at the girls, enjoying the
scent of their food, and grateful he'd eaten before picking them up from
school. "Just in case you want to do
some swimming. That moored raft out back
should be nice and smooth on top, too, if you want to hang out there for a bit
and do some deeper swimming. It's a
perfect day, and the hills on either side of Mistress Lords' private bay are
keeping the breezes down to a nice, gentle stream. Just enough to keep you cool. But still, don't forget to put on suntan oil
- no sense in taking chances, after all."
"Oh, Rose,
you're perfect," said Mercy, moving up as Ambrose walked past her on his way
into the kitchen and giving him a big hug from behind. "That's exactly what we were going to do
after lunch." She blinked, thinking for
a moment (and not releasing her hug-hold from the increasingly embarrassed
dobiemorph). "Well, after we do some
volleyball, that is. You know, to pass
the time while we wait to go in the water."
"Um, of
course," said Ambrose, nodding and smiling as best as he could, even as he
fought to control himself, knowing that the most beautiful (and achingly
fertile) female in the house was so very close to him, her teenaged breasts
rubbing against his back through the thinner fabric of his summerwear
jacket. "I'll go and set up the net and
a few beach umbrellas while you four get changed."
Having said
all that he needed to say, Ambrose then did his best to quickly but gracefully
disentangle himself from Mercy's arms, before he headed towards the back door
of the kitchen, and out onto the back patio of the house, before heading down
to the beach.
"He's so
cute," Lyra beamed, giggling. "I think
you made him all embarrassed, Mercy. I
mean, that little tail of his was wiggling up a storm when you hugged him, but
I swear, the way his ears turned down like that - that's how our doggies at
home blush. That was so fun to watch."
"I know
something else that'd be fun to watch," threw in Rianne, as casual as could be,
even as she set down her empty salad dish.
"Come on - I'll bet this will work great. But you all have to be extra quiet, okay?"
The others,
done with lunch by now anyway, agreed mostly out of curiosity, since Rianne
refused to share any more information about her idea. Her three friends could sense, somehow, that
whatever she was planning was naughty, but at the same time none of them could
stand the idea of not finding out what it was.
There was a
sense of eager anticipation about the girls as they made their way down the
paved slope leading down to the private beach that belonged to the property
Diane Lords had bought along with the villa.
As they reached the bottom of that slope, the girls could see Ambrose
putting the keys to the beach changing room in his pocket, having just finished
unlocking the place, before he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him,
and then using the deadbolt to lock it shut, so as to prevent intrusion.
"I thought
so," gloated Rianne as she hurried around the brick changing room to the far
side, where there was a small, frosted-glass window high on the wall of the
building. "If your puppy's gonna do
anything on the beach, he has to change out of his monkeysuit."
"B-but what
does that-?" began Mercy, before her sweet blue eyes widened in surprise and
shock as Rianne searched around for a moment, and then pushed a nearby
mid-sized rock over to just beneath the frosted window. "Wait - you really shouldn't . . . I mean,
it's violating his privacy."
"That's not
all I'd like to violate," mumbled Rianne under her breath (causing both Mercy
and Dottie to flush hotly, while Lyra's cheeks flushed for a very different
reason), as she climbed on top of the rock, and pushed against the frosted
glass. Grinning in triumph, Rianne
discovered what she'd hoped - the little window wasn't latched, and soon was
opened as wide as possible, while she peered over the sill, her green eyes
eager and watchful. "Mmm," she said
after a few minutes. "That's what I was
hoping to see."
None of the
girls dared to say a word as Rianne licked her lips, her breathing coming a bit
faster, her freckled cheeks rosy as she shifted her weight on the rock,
pressing her legs a bit tighter together.
But, for all her tender teenaged years, Rianne knew the value of keeping
her 'team' happy, and she turned, grinning down at Lyra, stepping down, and
then motioning the perky blonde up.
As Lyra
stood on the rock, she peered over the sill, and her greenish blue eyes almost
bugged out of her head at what she saw.
There was the sleek black-and-brown dobiemorph Ambrose, without a stitch
of clothing covering his fur. He was
grumbling something under his breath as he worked at the combination to one of
the lockers, his clothes neatly folded on a bench nearby, a look of irritated
concentration on his face as he tried to make the locker open, taking his time
in doing so. The eager teen's eyes
slipped a bit lower, and she wet her lips at the sight of the plump-looking
balls dangling between the male's legs, heavy and full like overripe fruit, and
then up a little bit, taking in the tight, hot curves of his firm, muscled bare
bottom. Of course Lyra, like all the
girls, knew that Ambrose was a champion breeder and showdog, as well as a
top-ranked dogservant. He'd been made
with exquisite perfection, and his mistress, Diane Lords, loved to show him off
when she could. But what Lyra had never
seen showed off before, until now, on Ambrose, or any real-life male for that
matter, were the parts of Ambrose that had made him so much of a champion
breeder. Now she drank in the sight
greedily, awakening more fully to what she'd only heard spoken of in sex ed
classes and dirty locker room
conversations.
"Dottie's
turn," whispered Rianne, patting Lyra on her jeans-clad butt, and the
wavy-haired blonde reluctantly gave up her place, even as Dottie, chewing her
lower lip with nervousness, gave in to peer pressure despite herself and all
she'd been taught about morality, and got up on the rock for her own little peek.
Ambrose
really hated combination locks. He'd
never been able to get them to work right, actually, no matter how long he'd
worked at them. It was the one part of
going to different towns for dog shows that he didn't like, and so he almost
always made sure to bring everything he needed in a duffel bag, which he left
in the care of Mistress Diane for safekeeping when he didn't need it for
changing.
Finally,
after several futile minutes of fumbling, Ambrose resorted to giving the locker
a kick of frustration. This, as it
turned out, seemed to be all that was needed, for the metal door popped open
easily after that. Blinking in surprise,
Ambrose shrugged and reached in, only to discover that his locker room violence
had caused the pair of bikini briefs that served as his swimsuit (Dianne had
insisted) to drop to the floor. Bending
over, and then getting onto all fours to retrieve them, the dobiemorph was
utterly unaware of the eager teenaged eyes watching him as he put on a sexy,
albeit unwitting, show, just before the set of eyes watching him changed for
the last time.
His
swimsuit retrieved, Ambrose took his time stepping into the flexible bit of
cloth. He always felt a bit exposed when
he wore the navy blue bikini briefs his mistress had bought for him, but she
liked seeing him in them, and he so liked to please her. It was a bit of a pain, though, since Ambrose
had to spend a few moments adjusting his dangly bits so that they fit properly
into the tight bit of cloth, but he soon prevailed, and let the waistband of
the Speedos snap against his trim waist.
Still smiling to himself proudly, Ambrose reached into the same locker
and pulled out a sealed plastic bag, setting it on the bench next to his
clothes, before he picked up those clothes and hung them in the locker, closing
it, but not too tightly. The beleaguered
canomorph didn't want to have to go through the stress of unlocking it all over
again, after all.
Walking to
the door of the changing room, Ambrose blinked in surprise once again as a knock
sounded on the door just before he could open it. Shrugging, he unlocked and then pulled open
the door, smiling happily as he saw it was Mercy and her friends, his tail
waggling as it hung over the waistband of his swimming trunks.
"Oh, you're
done eating already," he said, obviously pleased to see them. "Well, please, take your time getting
dressed. I, um," his ears turned down
sheepishly, "had a bit of trouble with a locker, so please don't shut it
tight. If you didn't bring your own
bathing suits, you'll find some in the plastic bag on the bench over
there. I should have the volleyball net
up by the time you come out, if all goes well."
"Of course,
Rose," said Mercy, smiling sweetly at her companion and faithful dogservant,
her face and that of her friends the very picture of girlish innocence. Or at least they would have been, if not for
the lingering flush to their cheeks, and the faint hint of female arousal that
Ambrose couldn't help but pick up as the four teenagers shuffled past him into
the changing house, and Ambrose went off to get to work on the beach.
Crime
and Punishment weighed heavily on Ambrose's mind as he sat on the raised
seat of his lifeguard's tower. It wasn't
as big a tower as was found on some beaches, but that was mostly because it was
a smaller beach, so a good five feet was all that was really needed for him to
survey the beach without trouble. Of course, the reason that the dobiemorph was
reading Dostoyevski was to avoid surveying the beach too closely.
The reason
for Ambrose's need for partial inattention was obvious, of course. Four giggling teenaged girls, each wearing
nothing but a thin piece or two of swimwear as they bounced and jiggled cutely
on the makeshift volleyball court he'd set up for them, racing back and forth
as they set and spiked the big striped beach ball that he'd inflated for their
fun only moments before the girls had come out of the changing room (and he
doing all he could not to pay attention to how little the foursome were
wearing). Every so often, Ambrose would
alternate his attention to the stopwatch dangling from the arm of the lifeguard
seat, ensuring that the girls knew when an hour had passed, and they could go
swimming. So fixed was Ambrose on not
paying attention, that he only partially noted a pause in the game after the
hour had almost expired, as the girls huddled together in conversation. An ear perked as Lyra left the group and
walked over to his seat, and then had to repress a slight shiver as she reached
up and touched his bare-furred thigh to get his attention.
"Rose?"
began Lyra, blushing like a naughty schoolgirl caught passing notes, as Ambrose
set down his book, giving her his undivided attention. "I, um, kinda forgot to put on a second layer
of suntan lotion."
"Oh, of course,
Miss Lyra," replied Ambrose with a friendly smile, reaching to the sack of swim
supplies hanging from the side of the lifeguard seat, and pulling out a squeeze
bottle of the creamy stuff. "Here you
go."
"Well, you
see, Ambrose, I sometimes have trouble reaching places," said Lyra, her cheeks
flushing a bit more. "You know how it
is. I've got really sensitive skin. If I miss a spot, especially after I've been
playing in the sand like that, getting it all rubbed off, then I get all burned
up and it hurts pretty bad. Could you,
um, you know . . . ?"
"Could I
what, Miss Lyra?" asked Ambrose, no longer able to draw his attention away from
paying full attention to the girl standing before him. "If you need something, you know that I am
happy and eager to serve, in any way I can.
That's what I was made for, after all.
It's what pleases me best."
"Could you
put the lotion on me, then?" Lyra managed to get out finally, her voice a cute,
nervous little squeak as her whole face turned bright red in embarrassment.
Ambrose
blinked at this request, but, after a moment's hesitation, just nodded, and
slid gracefully from the seat down onto the sand, his large hind paws holding
him up far better than human feet would.
He didn't question why Lyra had chosen him instead of getting one of her
friends to do this. He didn't pause to
consider the ramifications of what she was asking. The tall, sleek-furred dobiemorph wasn't
trained to question direct requests from humans he recognized as friends (to
say nothing of how he reacted to commands from Mistress Lords). Of course, this also meant that he had to
focus on something that made him most uncomfortable.
As
Ambrose's attention was turned to the girls, he was now noticing what they were
wearing, and how good it looked, his tail giving an involuntary wiggle as he
considered his four teenaged charges.
Dottie, being the sensible one, had of course brought her own simple,
modest light blue one-piece from home, which she filled out nicely, the
remnants of her days when she was unhealthily plump having left her with a
figure that was well on its way to becoming womanly. It seemed that she'd forgotten that her
swimsuit was from those days, though, for it was a bit loose on her. This made the suit a bit wrinkled, and had
made Dottie forgo diving for the ball in their recent game, but it should serve
just fine as long as she didn't do anything too strenuous. Rianne, who had picked out one of Diane
Lords' backup swimsuits, had pulled on a green bikini which actually did a good
job complementing her bright green eyes, if only she hadn't chosen one that was
so very small. Ambrose had to work
especially hard to overlook the fact that the swimsuit's bottom was a thong,
showing off Rianne's pert, althetically-firm bare bum almost completely,
including the dusting of freckles that reached even down there. Mercy was also wearing a bikini, one with a
tropical floral print, but thankfully this was a normal one, though Ambrose had
to watch himself whenever his young mistress showed off any amount of her
perfect pink skin. Finally, Lyra was
also wearing a bikini, white with pink polka-dots and side-tying knots on each
hip of the bottoms, which did absolutely nothing to conceal her perky, bouncy
adolescent body, save in the delicious details that were left to Ambrose's
imagination.
"We'll be
swimming out to the raft," Rianne called out from the shore as she heard the
timer on the stopwatch beeping with the end of their hour's wait, even as Lyra
was lying face-down on one of the beach towels the girls had laid out before
starting their game. "Lyra can join us
once you're all done, Rose, okay?"
"Of
course," replied Ambrose, his eyes briefly passing over the girls as they
splashed into the water before he turned off the alarm on the stopwatch, his
jaw tightening a bit as he noted the flash of well-tanned pink from Rianne's
bared bum, before he knelt on the sand next to the beach towel. Running his eyes along Lyra's smooth,
fair-skinned back, he began squirting out a liberal dose of suntan lotion onto
his big handpaws, letting it warm a bit before he reached down and started to
gently rub against Lyra's shoulders.
"Mmm, that
feels nice," said Lyra, smiling happily as she closed her eyes, relaxing on the
beach towel. "You give massages much,
Rose?"
"Whenever
my mistresses ask it of me," the dobiemorph answered truthfully, lies not
really a part of his way of thinking.
"Mistress Dianne likes a good rub-down after her evening swim, either in
the pool or in the ocean. It helps her
to cool down and to keep her body from tensing up too much."
"Really?"
said Lyra with a happy sigh as Ambrose began kneading against her neck, his
fingers doing such exquisite things, releasing tensions she didn't even know
where there until he'd made them go away.
"What about Mercy? You do this
for her much?"
"Every day,
in our morning shower," answered Ambrose without thinking, all his attention
now focused on properly serving his young mistress' friend, and on not letting
his mind travel into the natural paths that it so desperately wanted to
follow. "Only a quick one, though,
before she heads off the school."
"I don't
blame them for wanting you to give these," said Lyra, arching her back a bit
into Ambrose's large, gentle paws as he started to work on her upper back,
above the knot of her bikini top.
"You're . . . oh wow, I could almost just fall asleep in the sun like
this."
"All the
more reason for the lotion, of course," said Ambrose with a smirk, his tail
wagging at the compliment. "I'm glad that
you appreciate my services, though. I do
try hard to please."
"Well,
thanks for trying," said Lyra, looking over her shoulder with a bright smile,
her bright light blue eyes sparkling with youthful life, and a hint of
mischief. "You're doing a great job. Hmm, and you're right - that suntan lotion's
just what I need. But, well," she
giggled in embarrassment, even as her small hands moved behind her, to her
upper back, "with my sensitive skin, I think it wouldn't hurt to rub it on
everywhere, huh?"
The
dobiemorph's jaw parted in surprise as Lyra tugged on the knot of her bikini
top, and then lay back down on the sand, resting her head on her arms, as the
strings dropped to her sides, laying her smooth young back completely bare. But he quickly recovered, and just gave a
brief nod, his jaw tightening a bit more as his stomach rippled a bit, keeping
an embarrassing incident from happening.
After all, the bikini briefs that Dianne Lords insisted Ambrose wear on
the beach just weren't made for accidental demonstrations of male arousal. Especially not ones as prominent as
Ambrose's.
To better
work the lotion into Lyra's skin, and to provide her with a proper rubdown,
Ambrose straddled the pigtailed blonde teen, his knees resting on either side
of her knees, and leant over her as he worked in the heels of his palms,
exerting all his effort and skill to relaxing her, undoing all the kinks and
catches of her muscles that had accumulated for so long, and which desperately
needed to be worked out before they caused problems. The big male couldn't help but wag his tail,
grinning a bit as he heard Lyra make sweet little cooing and moaning sounds of
pleasure, moving her body up into his hands like a cat. Her skin really was sensitive, it seemed, and
she was obviously loving all of his attentions.
All too
soon, Ambrose reached the small of Lyra's back, finishing up the last of his
work there, her smooth pink skin now glistening lightly with suntan
lotion. Lifting himself slightly, he
began to shuffle backwards on his knees over the sand, so that he was now
kneeling by her feet. His hands then
came down once more, and though he noted a slight tensing in the girlish
muscles, as though she was expecting something else, his paws only went to rest
on the backs of her thighs, and before too long he was working his way down
each leg, the larger muscle groups, with fewer moving parts, much easier to
work with, and soon each leg, and even her feet, were glistening with a layer
of the smooth, sun blocking lotion.
"All right,
Miss Lyra, time to turn over," said Ambrose as he finished, smiling to himself
as he nodded, obviously quite pleased with his performance, having done as he
was asked without losing more than a bit of his self-mastery. "I'll get your front lotioned up and then you
can join the others on the raft."
"But you
missed a spot," protested Lyra, half-sleepily, obviously completely relaxed now
as she looked over her shoulder at Ambrose.
She lifted her bikini-clad bum slightly, and smiled at Ambrose. "Can you get the ties, please?" she asked
with a light giggle. "I'm, well, kinda
zoned out here - you give really good massages, Rose."
"Y-yes Miss
Lyra," said Ambrose, his eyes widening in surprise at this request, his jaw
tightening even more. "Right away."
Ambrose's
paws moved forward, and deftly undid the knots on either side of the side-tying
bikini bottoms, before peeling them back, baring Lyra's smooth pink tush to the
sunlight and gentle breeze of the beach.
Swallowing down a tense lump that had formed in his throat, Ambrose
forced himself to overlook the hard and very arousing reality that he was
staring at the smooth, rounded rump of a sexy teenaged girl, her scent clean
and bright and healthy. He blotted out
sight and scent as best as he could before he could dwell on either, his large
paws reaching out, and began to knead his way back down, starting at the small
of Lyra's back, and then down, working his thick fingers into the large muscles
of each gluteous maximus of Lyra's cute bubble butt, the pair of cheeks forming
an almost perfect double "O."
Even in
these difficult circumstances, Ambrose might have managed to escape the perils
that tempted him, if only Lyra hadn't been so very responsive to his
touch. Almost as soon as he began
working the heels of his palms into the small of her back once more, the
pigtailed blonde teen was lifting her back into his touch, giving soft moans
and gasps of obvious enjoyment. Every
step of the way, as Ambrose leaned over to apply his weight into the rubdown,
Lyra would press back against him, lifting her pearly pink tush higher and
higher, as Ambrose's nose drew nearer and nearer to her body.
The dobiemorph's nostrils suddenly
flared as he was cupping his palms around the creases at the very base of the
girl's hiney, the effort at maintaining his concentration suddenly becoming too
great as she slid her knees beneath her, lifting her rump up a bit higher,
apparently to let him handle her back there all the better. This, however, was also the very position
that Ambrose's instincts recognized as the 'presentation' stance of a bitch in
heat. And as his muzzle drew ever nearer
to Lyra's upraised rump, he gave a soft gasp as her scent hit his nose,
revealing to him that Lyra, like Mercy this morning, was almost achingly ripe,
her fertile womb practically crying out for a virile male to fill her with his
seed, planting his puppies deep and true within her belly.
Without thinking, his instincts
overcoming all reason, Ambrose's tongue arched out, driving against Lyra's honey-sweet
bared puss, now quite easily accessed in her present position. The sweet teen gave a sharp gasp of surprise,
looking back over her shoulder with a hint of fright in her eyes. But a moment later, as Ambrose's tongue
lashed out again, tasting her virgin juices and finding them intoxicating, that
gasp turned to a long, deeply-pleasured moan, and the now-naked teen lifted
herself even more, presenting herself consciously, where before it had been
merely an accident (or at least mostly so).
Had Lyra struggled, cried out in protest, or done something - anything!
- to indicate that she didn't want anything to do with what Ambrose's instincts
desired, then perhaps the loyal, eager-to-please dobiemorph might have been
able to triumph over his bestial lusts.
But Ambrose's instincts read Lyra's body language and scent too well,
and knew that she was offering herself to him fully. Whatever he might do to her now, she would be
an eagerly willing participant.
"Oh Rose!" Lyra managed to get out,
but these were the last words she said, before all her vocalizations turned to
cries of exquisite pleasure, the loud slurping of Ambrose's wonderful,
incredibly skilled tongue and suckling lips working over her bared, presented
sex filling her ears as she gripped the beach towel under her. Ambrose knelt fully behind her now, his
powerful paws gripping her rump commandingly, his tongue invading her
sweetness, pressing up against the thin, perforated hymen just beyond her inner
labia. His licking was made easier
because of Lyra's smooth-shaved pubes, only the lightest dots marking where her
darker pubic hair's roots lay, so that his tongue lapped over almost baby
smooth skin wherever he probed.
Suddenly, in the midst of this
hurricane of sensation, Lyra felt an overpowering surge of feeling blast over
her, leveling her reason, shattering her mind, shaking her body to the core,
making her upper body collapse to the towel, her lower half only held up by
Ambrose's powerful paws as he licked her to an earthshaking orgasm - the first
of what Lyra quickly realized would be so very many when this powerful,
dominant male mounted her like a bitch in heat, deflowering her, marking her as
his own forever. The very thought of
such a thing - so utterly obscene! - soon had Lyra's body flushed all over as
she was rocked once more with a second orgasm, even more powerful than the
first, and then a third, her mind almost completely shutting down, save for
thoughts of how to increase the levels of pleasure filling her young, untried
body.
It was as Lyra felt Ambrose
shifting his stance behind her, drawing closer as he pulled down his Speedos,
tossing them aside on the sand, that she was blasted by another sensation. This one, however, wasn't pleasant at
all. It was the stinging of flying sand,
whipping over her sensitive naked skin.
"Ouch!" cried out Lyra, starting
up, looking around. Ambrose joined her,
his ears suddenly perked, his attention now drawn back to the harsh reality of
the present. It turned out that the
weather report that morning had been very wrong: the weather was turning nasty
at an incredible speed.
"Quick, get the things on the beach
together," said Ambrose to Lyra, his voice firm but still surprisingly calm,
rising quickly as he hurried towards the shore, where already the waves were
starting to rise in height dangerously.
"Take everything you can carry and get inside, Lyra. I'm going to help the girls get off of the
raft."
Heartened by Ambrose's command of
the situation, Lyra hurriedly went about doing just what she'd been told, even
as Ambrose grabbed up his lifeguard's bellyboard from where it lay by the side
of the high seat, and raced to the shore.
There, clearly visible a good distance out, was the big wooden raft,
which had been moored by a great chain attached to a cement block at the bottom
of the bay. The three girls were
crouching on the raft, which was starting to sway dangerously, far too unstable
for a proper foothold.
"Swim for the shore!" he called out
over the rising wind. "Don't worry - I'm
watching you. You can make it!"
Rianne started up, calling to the
others and motioning with her hand before she dove into the waves, her lithe,
athletic body cutting through the waters like a hot knife through butter. She was soon on shore, where Ambrose reached
out and helped pull her the last short distance onto the sand. Both their gazes turned, then, to the raft,
where a crisis was now unfolding.
Mercy was obviously talking to
Dottie, crouched by the other girl, who cowered, hugging the hard wood of the
center of the raft, seemingly frozen in panic as the wind kept rising, making
the waves grow even more powerful, a scattering of rain already pelting down,
starting to make visibility poor. It
took some time, as the calm, gentle Mercy spoke to her friend, the words said
impossible to hear on the shore because of the rush of the wind and rain. But whatever they were, they worked. Soon, tentatively, Dottie rose to her feet,
and Mercy and Dottie hurried to the edge of the big log raft, ready to dive in
and swim for safety.
It was at this moment that the
worst case scenario happened. An
especially powerful gust of wind picked up just as Mercy and Dottie were about
to jump into the water. The raft heaved
dangerously, and both girls went tumbling into the roiling waves. A heartbeat later, Ambrose was in the water,
paddling hard as he rested on his bellyboard, his powerful limbs carrying him
towards his young mistress and her friend in a matter of moments.
Mercy's head broke the water first,
and she was soon spluttering for gasping breaths of air as the waves began to
wash over her, the only thing keeping her afloat her calm, assured nature,
which kept her legs and arms moving as she treaded water. Dottie, however, managed to rise to the
surface once, a short distance away, and gave a loud scream as she began to
thrash, now frightened out of her wits, before another great wave pushed her
under once more.
Things might have gone from bad to
worse then, as Mercy tried to hunt around for her friend in the midst of storm-tossed
water. But the two girls weren't
alone. Mercy soon felt a strong, warm
arm wrap around her, and almost laughed out loud as she looked up into the deep
brown eyes of her loyal friend and dearest companion. Holding Mercy close as he leaned on the
bellyboard, Ambrose reached out with his other arm, managing only with
difficult to snag Dottie before she went under a third time, pulling her to his
powerful chest despite her panicked thrashing, murmuring soft, soothing sounds
that were almost words as the three of them floated there for a few moments,
until the frightened teen in his arm calmed herself, her thrashing ceasing as
she realized she was indeed safe, held close by both her friend and her
powerful canomorph protector.
Rianne was still waiting for them
on the shore as Ambrose pulled himself out, his powerful legs driving the
bellyboard up onto the wet sand, where the skinny redheaded teen was waiting
with Lyra, who had come back, holding the large basket with the beach supplies
under one arm. The three waterlogged
survivors then joined their two companions on the shore, and they all began a
mad dash run towards the house, Ambrose having to catch up poor Dottie in his
arms as she almost stumbled, the ordeal of almost drowning proving too much for
her right then.
"That was
too close!" exclaimed Rianne as the five waterlogged survivors of the sudden
storm hurried into the kitchen, dripping water.
"I thought Dottie was a goner for a moment there. Why, if Rose hadn't . . ."
As Rianne
said the dobiemorph's name, the male the last one to enter the kitchenm still
holding poor Dottie in his powerful arms, safe against his broad chest, all
eyes turned to him, even Dottie's, though while she looked up, at the face of
the one who'd saved her, the other three girls looked down, below Ambrose's
waist. Naturally, not having taken the
time to put his Speedos back on, the sleek black canomorph was as naked as a
jaybird, his sheath still quite swollen from his earlier state of full and
extreme arousal, more than a little bit of his semihard doghood peeking out
from its protective covering, bobbing a bit as the large male walked, as though
saying "Hi" to the three staring girls.
Smiling
down at Dottie, Ambrose pushed the glass door to the kitchen shut with his
foot, and was too preoccupied at first to notice that anything was amiss. But as he was walking towards the entry hall,
where he could direct the girls so that they could all get changed out of their
swimsuits without getting the carpets too wet, he realized that the girls
weren't moving forward anymore. Instead,
they were looking at him. Specifically,
they were staring down, at his . . .
"Oh dear,"
said Ambrose as he looked down, his ears laying back as his whiskers fanned out
I extreme embarrassment, his hands too busy holding Dottie for him to move them
to retain any shred of modesty. "I, I'm
very sorry about . . . I mean, I can explain . . ."
"You know,"
said Rianne, glancing sidelong, and a little suspiciously at Lyra (who had
somehow managed to find time to pull on her bikini, though the knots were
poorly tied, and looked like they would give way at any moment), "I really
don't think we want to get the carpets all wet, do we?"
Mercy,
Lyra, and Dottie all turned their eyes from Ambrose to Rianne as the slim
redhead reached back, and untied her bikini top, pulling it off, before bending
down, and economically stripping off her thong.
She then turned and looked at Ambrose again, cocking her head to the
side expectantly.
"Why don't
you put Dottie down, and go get us some towels, all right, Rose?" she said,
giving him a smile that wasn't at all sardonic, like most of her facial
expressions. "That way we can dry off in
here, and keep the mess to a minimum. I
mean, what's the big deal, right? It's just
us girls and you here, after all. No
need to be all shy."
A long
moment of silence passed, as this suggestion gradually sunk in. And then, as though acting on an unseen
signal, Lyra and Mercy also began to peel off their bikinis, laying the
swimsuits in a pile in the sink.
"O-of
course," said Ambrose, realizing that Rianne had just thrown him a lifeline,
his tail wagging furiously as he gently lowered Dottie, letting her get her
feet on the floor, before he took the chance Rianne gave him, and hurried from
the room. "I shall be back in a few
minutes."
Rianne let
her eyes follow Ambrose's tight furry butt all the way out, a mildly lecherous
smirk now back in place as she ogled his tush, before she turned and looked at
Dottie.
"Well,
you'd better get out of yours too, girl," said the redhead with a grin. Dottie flushed in embarrassment, but then bit
her lower lip and nodded. It seemed like
the right thing to do right then, and she didn't fight the impulse, pulling her
one piece bathing suit down, stepping out of it on the now quite wet tile of
the kitchen, and then dumping it in the sink with the bikinis of her friends.
"And you,"
continued Rianne as Dottie was undressing, turning to look at Lyra, "you, I
think, have some explaining to do."
"I . . .
um, I really don't know what you're talking about," answered Lyra, her cheeks
suddenly turning a bright rosy red like twin apples as she hugged herself
unconsciously, her arms wrapping around her naked middle, just beneath the
gently swelling mounds of her breasts.
"Really. Honest."
"Honestly
lying," answered Rianne with a triumphant grin.
"You know, if you're gonna play with Mercy's dogboy, you really oughta
ask her permission first," she glanced at the girl in question, "right Mercy?"
"He's not a
dogboy," said Mercy, blinking several times in startled surprise, her eyes
betraying her confusion. "And what do
you mean, Rianne? What would Lyra need
to ask me about Rose? I mean, he's happy
to do whatever makes us happy - I don't mind him doing that at all. You're my friends, and I like you to be
happy."
Rianne's
grin got a bit wider, and Lyra's blush got a bit deeper, even as Dottie's eyes
widened and her own cheeks flushed as she, with her sharp intellect, put all
the pieces together, despite starting from the same clueless point where Mercy
began.
"It's all
right, Lyra," said Rianne with a giggle, reaching over to pat the pigtailed
blonde's back, rubbing her smooth skin gently.
"I'm just teasing, you know - I think it's kinda hot, honestly. But you've gotta tell us everything that
happened later on, okay? I want every
juicy detail."
"All . . .
all right," said Lyra shyly, giggling herself.
"But . . . later, okay?"
"Done
deal," laughed Rianne, even as the girls heard the click of Ambrose's blunt
toeclaws on the floor outside the kitchen.
All eyes turned once more, though the girls were all rather disappointed
(some more than others) to find that, while his arms were laden with towels for
everyone, Ambrose had wrapped one of the larger towels around his middle,
concealing his naughty bits from their eager gazes.
"Here you
go, girls," said Ambrose proudly, setting the towels on the table, and then
taking some of the larger ones as he knelt on the floor. "I thought that you might like something fun
to do indoors, and so I took the liberty of setting out a few board and card
games in the living room earlier today, just in case. After you get yourselves showered off, to get
the salt and sand off, you might consider that to take up the rest of the
afternoon. If that bores you, of course,
I'm sure that we can think of other things to do - I've got several backup
plans just waiting to be brought into play."
"All right,
Rose," said Mercy, taking charge of the situation once more as she got herself
back together, shaking off the shaking rush of adrenaline that had left her
body, the full impact of what had almost happened to her and her friend not
quite sinking in just yet. "We'll use
the big showers, in the gym. That way we
can all stay together. And you," she
pointed at the sleek, slightly damp dobiemorph, "will be joining us. No, no buts," said Mercy, lifting her open
palm, facing towards Ambrose as she started to protest. "I insist - you need the shower as much as
us, after all, and besides," she giggled cutely as she picked up one of the
towels, "I almost never shower without you there. It feels so weird when I bathe alone."
Ambrose and
the other girls looked a bit shocked at this admission, but took it in stride,
the girls soon gathering up their own towels to buff themselves off just enough
to keep from dripping, before they started filing out of the kitchen.
"I want to
dry up the floor a bit before anything stains," said Ambrose as Mercy looked
back at him. "I shall be there in a few
minutes. I promise."
Mercy
considered this for a few moments, and then nodded.
"All
right," she said finally with a nod.
"See you there."
Ambrose did
indeed only take a few minutes, using the towels to soak up the worst of the
water, thus keeping it from touching any of the wood of the cabinets, which
would likely have resulted in staining or warping. It would dry nicely, and the dobiemorph would
have to mop the kitchen later, but for now he'd prevented a much worse cleanup
job. He also carefully retrieved the
dripping swimsuits from the sink, and dropped them down a laundry chute at the
base of the stairs leading up, so that they would be out of the way in the
laundry room, for when he could go and deal with them later. Sighing in relief and satisfaction at having
stopped his Mistress' property from being damaged, Ambrose then left the
kitchen, making his way through the house to the stairs that led down, into the
basement den, and then along a hall into the gym. Mistress Lords always insisted on having the
best exercise equipment available, and there was even a door leading to an
indoor pool, for those days when it was a bad day for swimming outside. Ambrose took this door, since it led not just
to the pool, but also to the large changing rooms which Dianne Lords had built
for those times when she had friends over for pool or beach parties. There were spaces in the vast changing rooms
for group showers, individual showers, and even a hot tub and a sauna. With Ambrose himself acting as a masseur on command,
Dianne Lords had enough down there for her own health spa.
As he
entered the changing rooms, shutting the door quietly behind him, Ambrose
frowned as his sensitive ears picked up the sound of running water. Of course, Miss Mercy had told him that he
would be joining them in the shower, but still, she couldn't possible have
meant . . . well, not really in the shower, of course. That would be indecent under the best of
circumstances. And these were hardly the
best of circumstances, for twice today Ambrose had been almost overwhelmed by
his instincts, driven to distraction by the heady fertility of two of his
teenaged charges, a distraction that lingered still, making it hard for him to
focus himself, to resist further temptations.
Bright fellow that he was, Ambrose was quickly realizing that all of the
girls were probably on the same menstrual cycle now, from the time they spent
together. If he was made to stand close
to them, all together like that, in the warmth of the group showers . . . or,
worse yet, asked to help them bathe . . . the dobiemorph gave a soft whimper as
he began walking towards the sound of the running water.
Though Lyra
had been gifted with the presence of mind to scoop up Ambrose's Speedos (and
his book as well, which made his tail wag just to think of it), he hadn't
bothered changing into them, or into anything else for that matter. He'd been too preoccupied up until then to
consider it, and so was still wearing just a towel that stopped a few inches
above his knees. Now, as he came to the
open entryway leading into the showers, the sound of girlish giggling and
hushed voices greeting his cropped ears, he found that he was regretting it
deeply, for he knew that he'd have no excuse to cover himself up if the girls
did indeed desire the worst of him.
Ambrose had
been trying to brace himself for what he knew would be before him as he stepped
into the shower room. It was all in
vain, though, for his eyes soon strayed over the sweet pink flesh of the four
girls standing there by the water, not stepping into it yet, their hands
feeling the streams of wetness raining down from the shower heads until they
were the right temperature. Though there
were numerous showers along the walls, providing plenty of room for privacy as
well as enough for however large a party might come down here, the girls had
chosen to use the ones on the wall immediately opposite the entryway. They were facing away from him, all four
girls slightly bent over as they tested the water's heat with their hands, their
pert pink bottoms thrust out towards him.
His muzzle dropped open, and he had to lick his chops to keep himself
from drooling as he caught sight of four perfect teenaged slits that had never
been tested for tightness by any male.
The steam that was just starting to rise from the showers didn't dampen
the pheromones that were in the air, instead acting to carry them all the
better to the poor, overwrought canid's nose, confirming his suspicions about
the synchronized menstrual cycles of his young charges. They were all fertile right then, Lyra and
Dottie achingly so, while Rianne and Mercy were only a matter of hours from
their peak fertility, though it was quite likely that any male who claimed them
right then would indeed manage to knock them up nicely.
Just when
Ambrose was certain that things couldn't get any worse, and he was about to
make a quiet exit, more concerned about propriety right then than about keeping
his promise to Mercy, perhaps salvaging what was otherwise a hopeless
situation, Lyra, who had been holding the bottle of bodywash the four girls
were going to use, suddenly said "Oops!" in a cute little-girl's voice, so that
Ambrose couldn't be certain if it was in the least bit sincere, as the bottle
dropped to the floor of the shower.
Right then, as though the whole
thing were choreographed, all four girls bent over at the waist to grab for the
bottle of liquid soap, thrusting their perfect bare behinds out even further,
letting him see . . . everything.
Ambrose bit his lower lip, whimpering softly as he struggled with all
his might to control the muscles that controlled the erection of his penis, the
battle a losing one as, gradually, inch-by-inch, his mighty puppymaker slid
from his sheath, rising to full erection, the weight of his heavy, aching balls
dragging his shaft downward as it reached full erection, so that it pointed
directly at the objects of his helpless lusting desire. Almost lost now in a haze of instinctual,
primal desperation, Ambrose let himself be drawn forward, following the
direction pointed out by his rampant cock, drawing steadily nearer to those
four smooth, uplifted adolescent rumps.
His paw left the towel at his waist, his burgeoning doghood already
having loosened its hold around his middle, and it dropped silently and
forgotten to the floor of the showers.
What might
have happened next was not something that Ambrose liked to think about, if
Mercy had not turned her head just then, looking up at him with a bright smile,
before she stood up and turned to reach out and give her faithful companion a
sudden, loving hug.
"Rose!"
exclaimed the bright blonde enthusiastically as Ambrose awkwardly returned her
hug, trying so carefully not to let his paws stray anywhere beyond her upper
back. "You came - I was getting worried
you wouldn't make it."
"I . . .
why would you think that, Miss Mercy?" asked Ambrose, taking a step back,
looking down at his young mistress, blinking in some surprise. "I promised, after all."
"Well, you
seemed so nervous about coming down and helping us all shower, that I wasn't
sure if you really would do it, is all," said Mercy with a bright, sunny smile,
no more ashamed about her nudity right then than she had been that morning.
"H-helping
you all shower?" Ambrose said with a slight stammer, his eyes widening as he
realized just what Mercy was expecting of him, and that it was indeed the worst
case scenario he'd been dreading - the very scenario for which he just couldn't
think of any way to avoid, his brain locking up completely as he considered it.
"Oh yes,"
said Rianne with a teasing grin, stepping forward as Ambrose turned to face
her. "Lyra was just telling us all about
how you give these really good tongue baths."
She licked her lips as her bright green eyes slid up, and then down,
until they came to a stop on his rock hard doggie cock. "Mmm, well now - looks like somebody likes
the idea a lot." She giggled, as did the
other girls as they looked at Ambrose's doghood with wide, eager eyes. Even reserved, shy Dottie was looking at Ambrose
now, her cheeks flushed with as much desire as embarrassment as the nerdy
auburn-haired beauty's breathing started to speed up. He could smell their commingled arousal in
the moist air of the showers, the scent intoxicating him.
"I just
wanted to say," said Dottie, now stepping forward, reaching out, her small
hands touching Ambrose's firm, furry chest, "well . . . thank you for saving me
out there. I think I'd have drowned if
you hadn't pulled me out of the water when you did."
Ambrose
turned to Dottie then, and then smiled, his tail wagging as he cupped her chin,
tilting it upward, and then suddenly bent his head on an impulse, his muzzle
meeting her lips as he kissed her, firm but gentle, and oh so very sweet. He knew that this was her first kiss, and
that she'd never forget it. She started
a little as she felt his hard cock pressing against her smooth, flat tummy, but
he just held her closer, his kiss deepening, tongue invading her mouth, making
her eyes roll back into her head as the power of Ambrose's kiss overwhelmed her
resistances, one by one, until there was nothing left but acceptance.
He smelled
Mercy nearby, felt her pressing the bottle of bodywash into his paws as they
roamed Dottie's back, and he broke the kiss, leaving the auburn-haired teen
gasping for breath, wavering as she stood there until Rianne stepped up behind
her, holding her up by her shoulders while Ambrose squirted a generous amount
of liquid soap onto his big paws.
"If you
wish me to bathe you, one by one, then very well," said Ambrose with a gentle
smile, looking between the four teens and nodding. "But please, try to be patient while each of
you has a turn."
The other
three girls moved back slightly, so that Dottie was standing there, alone and
vulnerable, feeling slightly frightened, before Ambrose's big paws rested on
her shoulders, and she looked up into his soulful brown eyes, her hazel ones
widening as he felt her starting to rub his gentle hands against her smooth
skin, starting high on her body, and then gradually working downwards, soaping
her up until her skin glistened with a light sudsy lather. She bit her lower lip as the big male moved
behind her, pulling her back against his chest, letting her feel his firm cock
resting against her bum, as his paws handled her breasts, nice and slow, making
her moan in eagerness and enjoyment.
Mercy
watched with shock and even a little bit of envy, the latter of which was
easily quashed as she realized that she'd have a turn soon enough. Ambrose wasn't handling her friend as he did
her every morning, with a quick standing rubdown and rinse off, setting her
skin afire with a healthy glow before she had to rush into the day. Instead, this was a slow, sensual caressing
of her friend's naked body, the erotic touch of a most experienced lover, who
knew exactly where and how much to tough a female to bring her the most
satisfaction. The honey blonde teen gave
a sharp gasp as she heard her nerdy, conservative friend squeal in delight as
one of Ambrose's paws worked its way between her legs, even as his other paw
reached up to the tight, bookish bun of her hair, and pulled it carefully free,
letting Dottie's beautiful auburn hair spill down to her shoulders. Almost without thinking, Mercy slipped her
own hand between her legs, and began to explore eagerly as she watched with
wide blue eyes.
The squeal
rose in pitch as Dottie's eyes opened wide, staring around at her friends
almost sightlessly as the dobiemorph's paw flexed and stroked through her
lightly trimmed pubic fuzz, and then into her most precious places, the heel of
his palm arching into her, the noise of running water overshadowed now by the
wet squelching of the dogservant's skilled fingers.
"I . . . I
can't . . ." choked out Dottie, before Ambrose carefully maneuvered the
near-limp teen into the rush of warm water, letting it rinse her body down, the
soap flowing off even as he pressed inward a bit harder.
"Let it go,
Dorothy," said Ambrose gently in Dottie's ear, his voice at once sensual and
comforting, its deep tones echoing in the girl's mind as she followed his
command, her orgasm washing over her like the rush of the shower, blotting out
all else as she bucked and thrashed in the mighty male's strong arms, as he
held her firmly but gently, keeping her from injuring herself with the
spasmodic jerking that was so like an electric shockdance.
The three
other girls watched in silence as Dottie's hazel eyes closed then, as her
spasms receded, her strength utterly spent.
She hung limply in Ambrose's arms as he lifted her up so easily, as
though she weighed but naught, and carried her from the stream of water,
setting her on a nearby smooth ceramic shelf next to a sink, the tile now quite
warm with the warmth of the steaming water, as well as slightly slick.
Turning
back to the threesome before him, Ambrose couldn't help but smirk smugly at the
looks of astonishment and eager desire on their faces, reflected in their wide,
awestruck eyes.
"Rianne,"
he said, his voice still a rumbling basso note that trembled through each
girl's body like the aftershocks of an earthquake. "You will help me with Lyra."
The
platinum blonde blinked in surprise as she heard this, and then gasped in still
more shock when Rianne reached around from behind her, sticking her hands out
from under Lyra's armpits. Ambrose soon
filled these hands with the sweet-smelling bodywash, and began to move over
Lyra's smooth pink body, cupping her plump breasts.
"N-now wait
a minute," Lyra began to protest, but all protest was silenced as Ambrose stepped
forward and engulfed her in his embrace, kissing her, his tongue invading her
mouth like a conquering army before which she could do nothing but submit. Her head lolled back as Ambrose released her
from the kiss, basking in the wonderful sensations of having two sets of hands
moving stroking over her lovely, sensitive skin, one set large and firm, the
other small and soft, but both just what she felt her body needed most. She noted only partially the meeting of
Rianne and Ambrose's lips in their own shared kiss, and realized only dimly
that Ambrose's paws were moving over both her own smooth body, and also the
redhead's freckled skin.
Like
Dottie, Lyra had a slightly plumpness about her. But unlike Dottie, who had the healthy
plumpness expected of a girl who had only recently gotten into moderate shape,
Lyra's plumpness wasn't because she was fat.
Rather, it was because she had such trained muscles, having worked so
very hard, especially in sit-ups, so that when she was relaxed and not
dehydrated, she looked healthily rounded, thanks in no small part to her
slightly endomorphic body frame, which seemed only to draw still more attention
to her wonderfully smooth skin and squeezably plump breasts and bum.
Rianne, on the other hand, was an
ectomorph, tried and true, her body lean almost to the point of being skinny,
though not quite to that unhealthy extreme.
Now naked, Ambrose noted that her freckles went almost everywhere on her
body - everywhere that the sun had ever touched, from between her breasts, each
capped with the most startlingly candy pink nipples Ambrose had ever seen,
highlighted against the tan that covered the rest of her body, all the way down
to her pert bare bottom. While with
Lyra, Ambrose had to be careful because of the great sensitivity of her skin,
with Rianne he had to take some care because she had so little meat on her
bones, her lithe body easily bruised against his much greater bulk and
strength.
Unresisting, Lyra allowed Ambrose
to turn her to face Rianne, before Rianne's lips met hers hungrily. Rianne wasn't as skilled a kisser as Ambrose,
but she'd obviously had some practice, as had Lyra, practice which both girls
demonstrated most eagerly as their small hands began to each roam the body of
the other. And as the two well-lathered
girls stepped back, letting the soap wash from their bodies beneath the spray
of the showerhead, Ambrose knelt, his muzzle turning upwards as his head
slipped between the legs of the two close-pressed girls, his tongue extending
like a scourge, lashing across their bared pink pussies with eager
abandon. Both girls were shaved smooth,
and this made it easy for Ambrose to put his tongue to good use, his hard, deep
strokes uninterrupted by any obstacles.
The girls pressed their smooth, flat bellies together, their snug
teenaged quims now clasping against each other, each hard clitoris touching the
other, sending still more waves of pleasure washing over them as Lyra and
Rianne rubbed against each other, and Ambrose's eager oral organ worked them from
beneath, their sweet, syrupy juices trickling down onto his broad, smooth
tongue and down his greedy throat.
The cries
from both girls were as sweet to the dogservant's cropped ears as the gush of
their honeyed juices were on his tastebuds.
Blonde and redhead clutched each other close, each shivering and working
against the other still harder, drawing out still more pleasure, letting it
crash through their defenses until they were all gone, and could only lean
against each other for support beneath the warm water beating down soothingly
on their naked bodies, and on the massive, dinner-plate-sized hands that the
dobiemorph lifted so that they could each rest their pert tushes upon them.
"Go rest,"
said Ambrose softly as he stood, patting each girl on her rump encouragingly,
motioning to the low, wide ceramic shelf on which Dottie had already begun to
stir, her hazel eyes watching the scene taking place in the showers with
sleepy, moderately aroused interest, though her recent multiple orgasms prevented
more than that right then. "I have one
last charge to fulfill, before I have done fully as you wished."
He turned
then to look full at Mercy, who blushed brightly as he caught her stroking
herself between her legs. She looked up
at him sheepishly and was about to say something, but the big male touched her
lips with one finger, giving her a sweet, soft kiss on her lips.
"You are no
more guilty now than that time I caught you exploring yourself for the first
time," he said in his softly rumbling voice, the curl of a bestial growl adding
a hint of exotic accent to each word.
"You had to
comfort me when I popped my own cherry," giggled Mercy nervously. "There was so much blood . . ."
"But I made
it all better," said Ambrose, nuzzling her cheek lovingly, before he gave her a
naughty smirk. "Though I did not kiss it
to make it better, did I?"
"You . . .
oh my!" Mercy began to reply, only to arch her back as Ambrose gently guided
her backwards, until her back was pressed up against the tile wall of the shower. She let him kneel before her, his hands
hooking under her legs, lifting her up, placing the crook of each knee on his
shoulders, resting her rounded pink rump in his massive paws, his thumbs
spreading her open as he moved his muzzle upwards eagerly, his lips parting,
tongue extending.
"I think
that I should correct that oversight right now," murmured Ambrose softly, the
words just reaching Mercy under the spray of water cascading down the wall onto
her body.
Mercy's eyes grew wide then, her
back arching, a moan of exquisite pleasure summoned from between her perfect
pink lips as Ambrose kissed her slit, his lips parting as he began to French
kiss her between a very different set of lips than he had used when doing the
same to her friends. The sweet teen's
legs kicked out despite herself, and she had to bite down on an uplifted
knuckle, the pain keeping her from being utterly overwhelmed by the rush of
pleasure as she was penetrated by Ambrose's thick, smooth tongue. At least, that tactic worked for a few
moments. Then the skilled canid began to
ripple his tongue as he pressed it inward, curling it back as he moved his lips
against her labia and clitoris wetly, seeking out and soon finding the slight
roughness of her G-spot on the upper part of her inner depths, stroking over
that pleasure-giving place carefully as he started to thrust his muzzle,
forward and back, as he might his hips if it were Mercy beneath him just then,
like one of the many hot young bitches he'd bred over the years. The very thought of such a thing, of having
Mercy, his dream girl, in such a lewd, willingly lascivious position, instantly
drove Ambrose mad with need, and he began to buck his head now, not holding
back any longer as he drove himself into the clenching, cloying tightness of
his young Mistress' sacred inner depths.
The sweet
young teen, already quite slick and aroused from before with her own
self-pleasuring as she watched Ambrose service her friends, managed to endure
this treatment for a total of almost forty-one seconds. Not an instant after this, she began to
clench down, sucking the dobiemorph's tongue in even deeper. Instead of panicking, as a less-experienced
dog might have, Ambrose viewed this as an opportunity to drive his tongue right
up inside of Mercy, spreading his muzzle wide so that he could fit his tongue
still deeper, his lower canines pricking the girl's pert bottom and upper ones
brushing through the neatly trimmed fur of her pubis, until he was lapping
directly at the very gates to her womb, his tongue tickling at her cervix. As he did this, a massive spasm shook Mercy's
entire body, the overwhelmed teen not even able to cry out as she clawed at
Ambrose's shoulders, her legs tightening around his head, unwittingly pulling
him in still further, which he accepted with gusto, holding his breath as he
orally rode his young Mistress with his tongue exactly the way he wanted to
ride her with his aching, erect cock.
Then,
suddenly, Mercy's thrashing ceased and she slumped limply against the wall, her
strength utterly spent now, her mind overloaded with the intensity of the
pleasure that had rocked through her.
Ambrose slid his tongue free of her still-clenching depths, having to
pull a bit as his young Mistress' cunny rippled with the aftershocks of the
most intense orgasms of her young life, and then let the sweet young female
slide easily down into his powerful arms.
Cradling her lovingly against his chest, right against his heart, with
one strong arm, his other picked up the bottle of liquid soap, and he gently
poured a liberal amount over her dozing body and his own strong frame. Before too long the big male had washed both
himself and his precious little Mistress, letting the drizzling shower rinse
them both, before he stepped out, into the warm upward rush of a vent dryer,
until they were both clean as a whistle.
Ambrose smiled at the girls who were standing there, their faces flushed
with the intensity of what they'd just seen.
"I set out
some sleeping bags in the den," said the dobiemorph. "I'll be tucking Mercy into one, before I
finish my nightly rounds and go to bed myself.
I recommend that you get some rest as well. That way you can get a fresh start tomorrow,
and get to enjoying your vacation time to the fullest."
Dottie's
eyes strayed to the clock on the wall of the shower room, and blinked in
surprise as she saw that the late afternoon had slipped them by, and it was now
almost nine. Had they really been
pleasured by the attentions of this massive male for so long? But there was a heavy weariness that had
settled over all of the girls that were still conscious, and none of them could
do anything but nod in agreement to Ambrose's suggestion, before they tiredly
followed him out of the gym, and up the stairs, to the living room and its comfortable
accommodations for a sleepover.
Mercy awoke
to the smell of fresh fruit and the sound of pattering rain from the roof far
above. Opening her eyes, she saw her
friends seated around her on their sleeping bags in the massive den of the
house, eating breakfast. Her own
breakfast - peaches and cream - was sitting near her head. Rubbing her eyes and pushing back her
sleeping bag, the young teen found that she was wearing an oversized pink
t-shirt that went all the way down to her mid-thighs, and even a pair of
panties - exactly what she normally wore to bed, and quite different from what
she remembered wearing (or not wearing) last, before she passed out last night.
That
thought just made Mercy blush, and she reached out to pick up her breakfast,
which she dug into with a will. Her
friends each seemed caught up in their own thoughts, and generally concerned
with the business of eating breakfast, so the meal passed in relative silence. Last night seemed almost like an intensely
erotic dream with the coming of the day, and Mercy could almost dismiss it as
such, if it hadn't felt so completely real.
"So . . .
where's Rose right now?" she finally asked as she'd almost finished her fruit,
breaking the silence. Her friends looked
up, exchanging smiles and an almost universal blush (which confirmed for Mercy
that last night had been real after all), before Lyra, who was wearing a set of
flannel pajamas with cartoon ponies on it, spoke up.
"He said he
had a lot of work to do around the house today," the pigtailed blonde said with
a smile and a shrug. "Laundry, and
repairs after the big storm last night, and making sure that the greenhouse
flowers out back are well-tended. He's
not going to be around much, he said."
"We've
pretty much got the house to ourselves," said Rianne, her smile mischievous and
eager, her pajamas the same slightly too short babydoll t-shirt and snug cotton
gym shorts she'd been wearing yesterday.
"For the whole day we're just gonna have to find something to occupy
ourselves indoors."
"I take it,
by your tone," stated Dottie, wearing a plain white nightshirt and now wearing
her glasses again, looking up from the fantasy novel she'd been reading to
respond to Rianne's words, "that you have a pretty good idea of what you'd like
to do." The auburn-haired teen grinned,
pulling off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Well, out with it - I'm dying to hear what
you're up to this time, Rianne."
Mercy and
Lyra both nodded their agreement, and all three pairs of eyes were soon glued
to Rianne as she leaned back, taking her time now that she knew she had a
captive audience.
"Well," she
began, finishing off the last of her bowl of cold cereal. "I suppose it can't hurt to share what I've
been thinking about right now. I figured,
since it's a vacation, and we're stuck indoors, we might as well make use of
Diane's heavy-duty multimedia center down here."
'Diane' was how all of the girls
(except Mercy, of course, who called her "Mom") referred to Diane Lords, since
she didn't really like to stand on formal titles when around others, unless she
had something to prove. And it was true
- Dianne Lords had an excellent entertainment center all set up in the den, a
massive plasma screen television with surround sound taking up a decent part of
one large wall. Not that this was
terribly surprising, as often as Diane was expected to entertain in her
position as owner of the Lords Confectionary Company. The setup was made to impress, as well as
provide the maximum entertainment value. But though Mercy could see the wisdom in
Rianne's words, she frowned a bit as she thought it over, and what her friend's
mischievous smile could portend.
"What sort
of movie were you thinking of, Ri?" asked the younger Lords, only partially
succeeding in keeping the traces of suspicion from her voice.
"Movies,
actually," Rianne replied, smooth as silk and ready with her response. "Just a couple I found in your mother's
collection, is all - nothing too major.
They weren't locked up or anything, so I don't think she'll mind us
using them."
Mercy was
about to ask for more information, and she could tell that Dottie was about to
do the same (though Lyra wasn't, being far more interested in seeing the end of
the mystery to interrupt with a bunch of silly questions) but Rianne was
already standing up and walking over to the movie player, after having pulled
three recording chips from under her sleeping bag, where she'd been hiding
them. Dottie and Mercy shared a wary look,
but then shrugged at each other, letting the matter drop. They'd find out soon enough what their friend
was up to, after all - they could get upset about it after they knew what they
were getting upset about. Meanwhile,
Lyra was already heading towards the lights, unhooking the remote lighting and
climate control from the wall. As she
got back to her sleeping bag, and began to snuggle into the thick cloth,
getting comfortable, Rianne popped the recording chips into the machine, so
that they would play back-to-back, and Lyra dimmed the lights as her redheaded
friend settled down into the sleeping back next to her, the two of them sitting
quite close together in the now-darkened room.
Watching
expectantly, the four girls were not disappointed, as the movie quickly
started, rolling on the opening title sequence, which made both Dottie's and
Mercy's eyes get huge as they realized what they were watching. The title of the movie was "Canomorph
Breeding Training Volume Four: A Bitch's First Breeding." It was one of Dianne Lords' breeding videos,
meaning it might as well be a porn flick, except that all of the participants
were canomorphs, which meant they counted in the eyes of the law as educational
instead of pornographic, using only the most talented studs and bitches in the
productions of each video, to ensure that there was a standard of quality
generally lacking I your average porn flick.
At first Mercy and Dottie were going to say something in protest, to
give voice to their misgivings. But then
the movie started, and, somehow, it just didn't seem right to make it
stop. After all, curiosity is a powerful
motivator. Almost as powerful as sex.
As the
girls watched, a pleasant-voiced female narrator explained that the first
breeding of a young bitch was a critical point, and that only the most talented
of studs should be the ones to deflower such a female, because the performance
of the male would almost certainly affect the ability of a female to enjoy
mating in the future. As she was
speaking, the camera panned to a room with soft, gentle lighting, the
furnishings sparse, consisting of a bed, a chair, a small toilet in one corner,
a low sink with a liquid soap dispenser, and nothing else. Lying on the bed, quite naked, was a petite
poodlegirl, who was struggling against the ropes holding her wrists bound
behind her back, and her ankles tied together, to say nothing of the muzzle
holding her mouth shut. The narrator
explained that retraining the bitch was normally unnecessary, but if the female
in question was high-strung or otherwise disinclined to cooperate, as in this
case, where the female had been badly spoiled by her owner, then it sometimes
became essential - and besides the benefits of getting a female used to sex,
being properly and thoroughly pleasured by a satisfying breeding session was
also often the best way to calm a high-strung bitch down, or to start the
retraining of a spoiled or otherwise badly trained female, because of the
intense sensations involved.
Their eyes
intent on the rising action, the girls could see the ears of the slim little
poodlegirl, who was around the same age as them, perk, her nose lifting as the
black tip worked, obviously picking up something. This, the narrator explained, was her
reaction to the coming of the male that was going to breed her. The tension in the room quickly began to
mount as the girly-haired white poodlegirl started to struggle harder, making a
host of muffled little sounds of exertion and desperation, which honestly
sounded rather cute. Suddenly, the door
to the room swung open, and the poodleteen looked up, her eyes growing wide as
she saw the male that had come for her.
The girls watching the video also had their eyes go wide at the sight of
this male: it was Ambrose!
Standing in
the doorway, dressed in a simple bathrobe and a pair of boxer shorts, the tall
dobiemorph was introduced by the narrator woman by name, identifying him as the
recipient of a number of awards for his breeding skills and bitch handling
ability. The shock of seeing Mercy's
faithful companion on the big screen was somewhat lessened, however, as he
walked into the room, and all the girls could see a pair of pink bunny slippers
fitting poorly over his digitigrade footpaws.
The poodlegirl noticed them as well, and blinked several times as he
approached, her struggling ceasing almost immediately. As the strong, virile male sat on the bed by
her, giving her a friendly smile and wag of his tailstub, she actually returned
the wag with her own powder-puffed tail.
Ambrose
soon undid the muzzle, and before too long he and the poodlegirl began to talk,
but what exactly was said was hard to make out over the words of the narrator,
who was busily explaining all the technical social, psychological and
physiological details of what the girls were seeing. It was pretty easy to tune her voice out
after a while, watching instead as Ambrose's muzzle lowered, the bitchteen
blushing through her soft white cheekfur, before their lips met. The sleek-furred male slid easily out of his
clothes, the motion smooth and practiced to perfection, and soon the
poodlemorph was untied. And then they
were moving against each other in a passionate embrace, though no penetration
was taking place.
Before too
long, the poodlegirl let Ambrose guide her onto all-fours, what the narrator
called the "traditional mating posture, demonstrating complete female
submission and trust in the male." He
bent, his large paws gripping the poodleteen's rump firmly, possessively, and
soon his long, smooth tongue was lashing out once more, sending waves of pleasure
through the young female that the girls knew only too well from the activities
of the preceding night. Then, after
lathering the canomorph femme up nicely, Antone's tongue slipped upwards, until
he was tonguing away at her tiny pink tailhole, while she eagerly thrust her
tight white-furred hiney back into his oral attentions, whimpering and whining
loudly at the exquisite pleasure this seemed to be bringing her. The girls watched in semishock, but mostly arousal,
as the narrator explained that any attentions of one canomorph to the anal
region of another was a means of establishing dominance over the submissive
canomorph. And if the canomorph being
anally stimulated pushed back, as the petite female on the screen obviously
was, then it was an instinctive sign of abject submission. Anal sex often followed such a display,
though not always, though it most certainly did, a bit later on in the video.
Then, as
the girls watched, Ambrose reached down to the pocket of his robe, lying by the
side of the bed, and slipped out a small circular metal device. He held it up a bit, so the camera could
catch it, and twisted it, showing how a gleaming metal blade whipped out when
he did so, followed right after by a tiny sponge-tipped probe. This, as the narrator described, was a
"maiden blade," sometimes called a "bitch splitter" informally. It was a device intended to remove the hymen
of a female, and for this purpose it was so incredibly sharp that, if properly
applied, there wouldn't even be any bleeding after the removal, the swab that
followed the sterile blade applying a soothing salve that made recovery from
the blade's use almost immediate. Before
any of the girls could even shudder at the thought of a blade being taken to
their most private places, however, or even before the poodlegirl was aware of
what was happened, Ambrose was pulling the cylinder back and tucking it back
into his robe's pocket.
After that,
the narrator mostly shut up, as Ambrose moved up behind the canomorph female,
and mounted her. This part, at least,
was very much like a porn flick, except the growls, snarls, moans, whimpers,
and howls were all real, the passion radiating from the screen with an
intensity that humans would be dearly pressed to match even at their most
sincere. These, after all, were
artificially made beings, and this was what they were made to do, and do very,
very well, for a very long time.
The second
movie was a bit of a cool-down, being more documentary in nature, after the
preceding video had finished, the action truncated somewhat for sake of time,
though it was obvious that more happened than was shown, lost to the floor of
the cutting room. However, the subject
matter was enough to keep the excitement level in the den from fading
altogether. That subject matter was "The
Dangers of Physical Intimacy With Your Male Canomorph." It had several human women, often their
daughters as well, and even a few men, all with their faces blurred out,
explaining how they had fallen for their canomorph in one way or another. First the relationship had started with raw
passion. Then it progressed to a
dominance and submission relationship as it matured, with the canomorph serving
the needs of the human. But in almost
every case, in the end, the canomorph ended up as the dominant partner, though
never without the at least tacit permission of the human. And almost universally, each of the humans in
the documentary said that they couldn't help but love it, even though they knew
it was wrong, and society would never condone what they had grown to
crave. Canomorph males were originally
made to be sexually powerful, and those born naturally weren't any less potent,
was the parting warning of this video, and playing with that power was asking
for trouble, and eventually domination, becoming the willing bitch of the male.
The final
video was something quite different from the first two. Where they had been obviously done by
professionals, this one was a bit shaky, the image slightly pixilated in
places, the result of a cameraphone's video capture abilities, with the date
stamp in the bottom right corner of the screen marking it as having been shot
last summer. Mercy frowned as she saw
this, and looked over to where Rianne and Lyra were pressed so close together,
giving the redhead a curious look in the darkness. Rianne responded, her naughty grin visible in
the glare from the screen, by holding up her own little camera, which Mercy
could tell was indeed one of those with video capture capability. Whatever she was about to see, it was
something very real, and probably even naughtier than the first video.
The girls
were not to be disappointed. The image
took a few seconds to focus, but when it did, it showed Dianne Lords, lying on
her front on a deck chair, sunbathing on the flat roof of her house. There were some bushes and other shrubbery in
the way of a complete shot of everything, and it became obvious that this was
being taken from a place of concealment.
As the video continued, before too long, Ambrose came walking out,
wearing absolutely nothing at all on his sleek black-furred body. The image managed to focus in, catching a
very detailed shot of the brown patch of fur around the dobiemorph's pubic
region, which extended down to just beneath his tail, before it slid out
again. It was obvious that the poor
male's sheath was quite badly swollen, his stomach muscles tensed tightly as he
fought to keep his erection contained, something Mercy hadn't really thought
about before, but now suddenly realized that she'd seen her faithful companion
do many, many times in the past, the reason behind that behavior hitting her in
an avalanche of newfound awareness.
She'd been torturing poor Ambrose, she suddenly concluded, forcing him
to watch her prancing around naked, while he was just trying to do his
job. It must have been very hard on the
poor guy, and the teen suddenly felt ashamed of herself for her past actions,
however harmlessly flirty they might have meant to be.
"I wish
that you didn't require me to go naked," said Ambrose as he set a tray with a
glass of lemonade on a table next to where Dianne lay. "It's . . . hard on me."
"Or just
hard," said Dianne, looking up lazily, smiling up at the male, before her eyes
trailed along his bulging, straining sheath.
"Oh, don't be silly now - I've seen it before, you know. Many times."
"But . . .
not like this," Ambrose protested weakly, trying to turn away.
"What, you
think it's okay to sport a hard-on when you're getting hot for some saucy
bitch, but not when you're around a human woman you find attractive? Come off it, Ambrose," Dianne told him
sternly, and then smiled, one hand reaching out, running long, red-painted
nails through his short bellyfur. "And
besides, I find it . . . well, kind of flattering, actually."
"Don't do .
. . ooh!" Ambrose tried to stop his mistress from touching him, but was too
slow. An instant after Dianne touched
him, the dobiemorph's stomach rippled, and his sizeable pink penis slid into
the open air. "I . . . I'm sorry - I
couldn't help . . ."
"Mmm, what
have we here?" said Diane, silencing Ambrose as her fingers wrapped around his
erection, stroking him. "Why, it looks
like a hot dog." She looked up at him. "I wonder if it tastes like one, too."
Ambrose
just stood there, a look that was part shock and part desperate need on his
face as he tried to force himself to do what he knew was right. It was all in vain, though, for he just
couldn't bring himself to react fast enough to stop Dianne from sitting up and
sliding towards him, her full breasts pressing against his thighs as she took
him into her mouth. After that,
Ambrose's eyes grew heavy-lidded, his muzzle dropping into a relaxed canine
smile of contented pleasure, his stub-tail wagging behind him.
At this
point the camera started to shift angles, as the Rianne (or so Mercy was
certain it was) sought for a better angle, where more of the action could be
seen. Almost instantly, Ambrose's ears
perked up, his eyes opening to scan the bushes.
And he looked straight at the viewer, his eyes full of fear at being
discovered, though his erection didn't seem to be paying attention, as it
remained quite full between Dianne's lips, her now closed eyes not letting her
know that Ambrose had perhaps seen something.
The image went chaotic as the one taking the movie spun and raced off
into the bushes, before it suddenly went black, the video finished.
"Wow," said
Lyra as she sat there in the dark along with the other girls for a few
moments. "That was . . ."
And then
Dottie touched the light control, causing them to gradually fade into full
brightness once more, before she looked around at the other girls. She's apparently put her contacts back in
place sometime during the movie, for her glasses weren't on at that moment when
she looked at Rianne with a moment of holier-than-thou indignation.
"You
shouldn't have taken that," she said, her cheeks flushing as she said it,
afraid now of making Rianne mad, but not able to stop herself. But Rianne just gave Dottie a sly smile and a
teasing wink.
"And you
shouldn't have let Ambrose go down on you last night - but we all do things
that we shouldn't do, but which feel so very good, and so very right. I can't tell you how hot I was, just watching
them. I listened in, from a distance,
later on, and they were doing a lot more.
I didn't dare go back up to see, though.
I was scared for days that Ambrose would tell on me for spying or
something, but he never did. I don't
think he even told Dianne."
"This all
makes me feel light-headed," said Mercy, looking down, resting one hand against
her chest, feeling her heart beat so fast.
"I just . . . I think we should do something else - something fun."
"I have
just the thing," said Rianne with a triumphant grin, going over to her sleeping
bag, and pulling out a deck of cards, in fact the very same deck of cards she'd
set on the kitchen counter yesterday afternoon. "I say we play . . ." she
smiled conspiratorially, "strip poker."
Lyra
giggled at this, Mercy blinked, and Dottie just stood there, looking shocked
and lost and quite uncertain of what to do next. But as Rianne got into the middle of the
circle of sleeping bags and began to shuffle the deck, the other girls gathered
around, each of them breathing harder now, their eyes wide and eager as they
watched her deal them out while she explained her version of the rules,
partially just making them up.
"Okay, none
of us have much on, so the games'll be pretty short. Nothing fancy - just plain old poker, no
wilds, no funny house rules - besides the obvious. If you win somebody else's clothes, then you
can use them to bet instead of your own, but you're not allowed to put your own
clothes back on, even if you win them back.
And you don't have to take off your clothes until you actually lose
them. All right - everybody clear?"
"Quite
clear," said a deep, softly growling voice from the doorway. All eyes instantly turned, and stared in
fright as Ambrose stepped through the door, wearing a polo shirt and a pair of
loose khaki shorts with a fanny pack. He
took his time, looking at each of them with his deep brown eyes, meeting their
gazes, until each girl looked down, feeling a bit ashamed of herself for their
lewd behavior.
"We were
just . . ." began Rianne, before Ambrose looked at her again, silencing her with
his commanding presence, the tall, muscular male easily dominating the room so
quickly and so well. This was a true
alpha male, the intended breeder of his pack, the one meant to lead, and each
of the girls could feel it, and felt themselves submitting to it.
"I know
what you were doing," said Ambrose in that same soft, gentle, and yet utterly
overpowering voice of his, the same sort of voice he'd used when he was talking
to the frightened poodlegirl in the first video. "I can smell it, actually, and the power on
the player is still turned on.
Afterwards, you decided to turn to the next naughty thing that came to
your minds." He looked at Rianne again. "Or rather, that came to all but one of your
minds just now, it being a calculated act on the part of one of you." He shook his head. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves:
playing strip poker," and then his stern face broke into a grin, "without me,
and after everything that happened last night."
Mercy
wasn't sure what was more heart-wrenching - being caught by Ambrose in the
first place and knowing she was going to get in trouble, or know that she
wasn't in trouble, but the big male wanted to join in their naughtiness! Licking her lips nervously, she looked to the
others, who all looked at her: Ambrose was her dogservant, after all. She'd have to make the decision.
"A-all
right, Ambrose," she said after a few moments of deliberation, before her face
broke into a bright smile. "Of course we
should have invited you - we're sorry.
We thought you were too busy."
"Never too
busy for my dearest little mistress and her friends," said Ambrose, settling
down into the circle, the other girls making room for him, now smiling again,
their moment of panic quite gone, replaced with a far different feeling. It was the feeling of opening themselves up
to a male, of placing themselves in a position of extreme vulnerability, and
not really knowing what might happen next.
It was at once frightening and incredibly exciting, and even timid
Dottie seemed to crave more of what might come, caught up in the thrill. "But," he added as he settled into his place,
"I would like to add a few house rules of my own, from when I learned how to
play the game, back at my training kennels."
Hearing this, the girls paused, apparently
expecting something more. Ambrose, and
in fact no canomorph, talked much about the training kennels, where they'd been
raised and socially conditioned before their final sale to the public. It was where Ambrose's ears and tail had been
docked, mercy knew, but that was about it.
"We played
strip poker a lot in the male's barracks," said Ambrose as he pulled off his
fanny pack and unzipped it, reaching inside.
"What can I say? We were horny
males, made for breeding, but with no females around until we'd proven we were
stable enough for it. So we played it
kinda rough, so that if you lost it all, you had to take a penalty." He looked up then, pulling out four collars. They were dog collars, made for someone of
human size and shape. Each was a slim
bit of leather, stained in the color of each girl's eyes. "These are from some of the girldogs I've
known," explained Ambrose, before grinning, giving the four girls a wink. "I've got quite a collection, and I went to
pick these out earlier today - I figured Rianne would work in what she wanted,
and figured that I might as well be ready."
Rianne
blushed as she heard this, looking sheepish at being so transparent to the much
more experienced male who had seemed to undergo an incredible transformation
from before, his inhibitions thrown to the winds, and the girls' inhibitions
seemingly gone along with them.
"If you
lose, then you put on some clothes - the collar that matches your eyes,"
continued Ambrose as he looked around the circle, before puling out a collar of
thick brown leather. "This is for
me. And once you put it on, you hand
your leash," he pulled out a set of nylon leashes from the pack, which almost
emptied it, "to the person who won you.
After that, you have to give that person some . . . well, oral
attentions until they're satisfied." He
grinned, suddenly growing a bit more sheepish as he said the words 'have to,'
as though not quite daring to command the human girls just yet like he might
females of his own kind. "The collection
starts once the game is over, and you can withdraw with your winnings whenever
you want, though that means you don't get a chance to get anybody else. Sound good to all of you?"
The girls
shared looks, each of them silent and expectant, until Lyra burst out in
answer.
"Yes!" she
practically squealed in excitement.
"We'll play with those rules, Ambrose.
It makes it so the winnings at the end really mean something." Then she turned and grinned at Rianne. "And you are gonna be going down on me!"
"That a challenge?"
replied Rianne with a saucy grin of her own as she dealt Ambrose into the
game. "We'll see about that - all right
girls, let's ante up."
It was at
this time that the girls learned something about Antone which none of them had
quite realized before, though Mercy had started to get an inkling of it during
the last of the three videos. This new
facet of Ambrose's personality gradually came out as the game progressed,
though it didn't really start to hit home until poor little Dottie, pink and blushing
and quite naked, cinched her collar around her neck, and then went to meekly
kneel by the big dobiemorph's side like a spoil of war, doing her best to cover
herself with her hands as she waited for the end of the game, and her
inevitable penalty. The skill that
Ambrose had, which none of the girls quite realized fully until it was too
late, was that he knew how to bluff.
Thinking
into it, it made perfect sense. All his
life, Ambrose had been restraining his feelings, always shuffling them aside, holding
his instincts in check as he did his best to behave properly in the human
world. But for all that, he wasn't
human. His was a world of tooth and
claw, where only the fittest survived to breed, and the rest served as food or
servants for the mightiest, depending on their usefulness to the pack as a
whole. In the human world, he was at the
bottom of the ladder, powerless before forces that were utterly beyond his
control. But in the world that his
animal instincts were made for, he was meant to dominate and to rule. This dichotomy of spirit had taught him the
lesson of holding himself in at all times.
With this in mind, poker had been
the natural game for he and his packmates to play while in the kennels. It was a game devoted to bluffing, playing
the cards you were dealt with all the skill you had, and with a little bit of
chance thrown in for good measure. It
was a microcosm of their lives, and every one of them took to it easily. Compared to the efforts of a quartet of horny
teenaged human girls, and ones who knew the mechanics of sex and poker at about
the same level, Ambrose's skill was unmatched.
Soon Lyra was huddled next to Dottie, her face flushed as she nibbled
her lower lip, tense, eager excitement at what she was going to do after the
game was over written on her face, and Mercy as well, on Ambrose's other side,
one large, strong arm wrapped around her waist as he held her against him, all
of this accomplished with only the loss of his polo shirt, and even that lay
next to him, in the pile of clothes he'd won.
Mercy actually smiled at this, leaning into the soft fur of his bare
chest, running her a hand idly over his pectorals and abdominals, taking to
this new role in her relationship with her dogservant readily, as though she'd
been born for it.
It was then
only a matter of time before Rianne tossed her own cards onto the floor.
"I've got
nothin'," she said, pouting. "You won
this hand." Ambrose smiled at this,
picking up the collar on the end of the leash and holding it out, before the
skinny redhead held up one hand to stop him.
"Hey, wait a minute. This game's
not over yet."
Ambrose and
his three 'winnings' all blinked in surprise at this.
"Yeah,
that's right," continued Rianne, her competitive nature refusing to lose, making
her throw herself into her words, letting them flow before she could think
herself out of it, in a desperate bid to win at all costs. "I've still got something else that I know
you want, Rosie." She lifted herself up,
arching her hips forward as she knelt there on the floor, reaching out to
stroke a hand over her smooth-shaved pubis.
"Just think about it - I'll bet myself, for the whole weekend. For that whole time, I'll have to do anything
you want. And I do mean anything. I'll go around on all-fours, I'll do any
chores you set for me," she licked her lips, "I'll let you hump me like an
animal. Anything you want, I'm putting
it all out on the line, until the end of the break. So, what do you say? You man enough for that kinda bet, dogboy?"
Ambrose
looked into Rianne's bright green eyes, and then cocked his head.
"Are you
sure about this, Rianne?" he asked, looking concerned. "I mean, maybe . . ."
"Don't be a
pussy!" exclaimed Rianne angrily, grabbing the leash and hooking the collar
around her neck. "See, there. If you win, I'll give you the other end of
the lead. Now shut up while I deal."
"Wait,"
said Lyra, her eyes bright as she looked at Rianne, and then reached up,
unwrapping her leash from where it was tied around Ambrose's wrist. "I like that idea. I wanna make the same bet - all or nothing."
"M-me too,"
said Dottie timidly, looking up at Ambrose until he silently handed her the
other end of her lead. Mercy gave
Ambrose a teasing grin when he looked at her, and held out her hand, whereupon
he promptly and silently handed her what he knew she wanted.
"If you
win," she said, leaning up to his head to whisper in the big canoporph's ear,
"you deserve it. I've been so cruel,
teasing you like I have. I'm really
sorry, Rose. Please forgive me."
"Easily and
with all my heart," replied Ambrose in the same whispered tone, before Mercy
slipped away, seating herself cross-legged to his right, letting him see
everything all out there on display, before picking up the cards Rianne dealt
out.
"Four
queens," said Rianne, staring at the cards unbelievingly as Ambrose laid them
down before her. "I don't believe
it. Four queens. I mean, how . . . you've got luck like I've
never seen before, Ambrose. How'd you
get so good at poker?"
Ambrose just
smiled and shrugged.
"Lucky, I
suppose," he said, before holding out his large paw. At this prompting, each girl reached out with
the end of her lead and set it onto his wide palm, before he closed his hand
around all four leashes possessively and stood up, looking down at the four
teenaged beauties he'd just won utterly and willingly, all of them now his to
do with as he pleased, their eyes on him, watching him, wondering what he would
do with them, part fear and part excitement on their bright young faces. "I want you all to line up in a row," he said
in his soft, subtly commanding voice as he motioned with his other paw, much
like a master would do with a puppy in training. "Side by side, on all-fours, facing away from
me." He licked his chops, slowly and
deliberately, sending a shiver through each of the girls at the
connotations. "I want to take a good,
long look at . . . my winnings."
The tense
excitement was thick in the air then, ripe with expectation of things to come
as each of the four did as they were told, getting onto all-fours as he held
their leashes, feeling so utterly slutty as they lined up, Mercy the first to
get into place, followed by Lyra, pressing up on her left, before Rianne
sandwiched Lyra between herself and Mercy, and Dottie, the slowest of the four,
took her place meekly and quietly on the far left end of the row. The four girls looked at each other with
growing emotion as they heard the sound of Ambrose kneeling behind them on the
carpet with a soft, sexy grrrowl. Then,
suddenly, Lyra gave a sharp "eep!" of surprise, and all the girls looked at
her, before starting to turn their heads to look behind them.
"Don't turn
around," said Ambrose firmly, and instantly all of the girls returned to facing
forward, now all of them breathing harder, faster, cheeks flushed. But not as flushed as Lyra's, who was biting
her lower lip as she trembled all over.
"He's . . .
he's grabbing my butt," she got out at Rianne's questioning look. "His paws are so big, Rianne! And they feel so good. And now he's stroking my pussy, and spreading
it open, and . . . oh . . . Oh! . . . OH!"
What
Ambrose was doing then was obvious, as loud, wet slurping sounds began to fill
the room, coupling with Lyra's squeals of enjoyment in a way that was soon
driving the other three girls to distraction, making them shuffle in the line,
exchanging looks that ranged from the utterly embarrassed (Dottie), to the
bright-eyed and excited and willing (Mercy), to the competitive, as though
viewing her ability to hold out longer than the others, and perhaps longer even
than Ambrose, as some sort of a contest (Rianne). Each girl somehow could sense that, if they
really wanted, all they had to do was ask Ambrose to stop, to call off the bet,
and he would do as they wished. But at
the same time, there was something so utterly intoxicating about the notion of
being commanded, of giving up free will, letting the big, powerful male do with
them as he pleased, following his every command as though they were the dogs,
and he the master, that none of the four girls could bring themselves to call a
halt to what was taking place. Just the
thought of what was happening, and even more of what was going to happen, was
enough to cause each girl's most treasured places to grow moist and slick with
excited need.
"He's
licking my butt!" exclaimed Lyra as she lowered her stance, thrusting her bum
up and out, presenting herself. "I
thought it'd be nasty, but it feels so good!"
"Lyra,
don't present your butt to him," said Dottie in a stage whisper, trying to get
her friend's attention. "You know what
that video said about . . ."
"Oh yeah,"
Lyra got out. "I don't care - it feels
so good, and I'm gonna dieeeeee!"
Lyra's
squeal of orgasm shuddered down the whole line as she shook back and forth, her
sweat-sheened body rubbing against both Rianne and Mercy. She shivered again as the girls could each
hear a distinct "hiss-click" sound, before Ambrose reached over them again,
holding out a familiar metal cylinder: the maiden blade, and probably the same
one he'd used on the poodlegirl, and on many other virgin bitches besides. What he'd just done to Lyra hit home hard as
all the girls just gaped at the metal object, realizing fully what it meant in
a half-daze.
"Now you
are ready for breeding," said Ambrose, bending low to let his warm breath brush
across Lyra's ear, before she gave a girlish squeal, her body tensing up. "Feel my finger inside of you? How is it?
Tell me - let the others know what to expect."
"It feels
good," said Mercy in a tiny girlish voice, breathing hard. "It feels kinda - ooh! - full!"
"That is my
second finger," said Ambrose, slowly drawing back. "And here . . . is a third."
"Ooooooh!"
cried out Lyra, reaching out to grab Rianne's hand as the redhead offered it.
"Now you
are ready for my penis - or as ready as you will get," finished Ambrose, before
the girls heard him shifting behind them.
"But not just yet. I need to
prepare your friends next."
So it
went. Each time it would start with a
pair of large, powerful paws gripping the girl from behind, which had made
Dottie start forward in fright like a scared filly when it was her turn, before
Ambrose easily hauled her back into his attentions, holding her firm and still
until she calmed down a bit, followed by the expert oral ministrations of the
big male's long, smooth tongue and talented lips working the girl into a nice
lather. Then, just as an orgasm built,
right before it hit, the sound of the bitchsplitter would snickt out, cleanly
and painlessly removing the hymen of each girl as they presented their bare
bottoms to Ambrose before he guided them right through their orgasms.
"Now," said
Ambrose, getting up and taking a few steps back, tugging on the leashes of the
girls, "you can turn around. Stay on
all-fours, though."
The girls
turned then, their eyes turning upward to look at Ambrose, his height and
commanding presence utterly dominating the room now as he towered above them,
looking down.
"Rianne,
unzip my shorts," said Ambrose in a slightly husky commanding voice, motioning
to the large bulge that had formed. "I
am feeling . . . extremely confined.
Dottie, Mercy, once Rianne has them opened up, pull my shorts down. And Lyra," his eyes flicked over the
pigtailed teen with a predatory grin, "turn around and present yourself to me -
since we started on the beach before anyone else, you are going to be
first." He swept his eyes over each girl
in turn. "Rianne, you will be next,
while I still have plenty of energy to match yours. Then you, Dottie, so you have lots of time to
see exactly what you are in for, and can prepare yourself. And finally," his eyes rested on his young
mistress, his next word almost a whisper "Mercy."
Lyra was
breathing hard, her cheeks flushed with her arousal, as she turned around,
lowering her head and hiking her smooth pink bum nice and high, looking over
her shoulder as the other girls got Ambrose ready for her. Rianne easily unzipped the khakis, and Mercy
and Dottie's small hands peeled them open, tugging them down, one girl on
either side of the big dog, letting his impressive pink shaft spring up. Lyra couldn't help but gasp a bit as she saw
it, the member looking so surprisingly like that of the human cocks she'd seen in
biology books, and once or twice in real life, and had to bite down on her hand
a bit to keep from whimpering in arousal as she saw Rianne start to teasingly
lick at the head, before popping the plump glans in her mouth, sucking on it
and rolling it in her mouth as though it were a tootsie pop, one of Ambrose's
big paws coming down to rest on her head, stroking through her red hair gently,
encouragingly.
"Where did
you learn to do this?" the dobimorph asked, his voice a soft, husky growl.
"How do you
think I kept my virginity and my popularity at school at the same time?" said
Rianne, leaning back to give Ambrose a wink and a final flick of her tongue
over the seeping tip, before she scooted to the side, her green eyes wide and
eager as she watched Ambose move forward, kneeling on the carpet behind
Lyra. Pausing a moment, he reached over
to the nearby couch and pulled off one of the smaller arm cushions, sliding
this under Lyra's belly so that she could rest on it without growing too
uncomfortable.
Though she
was sure she was ready for it, Lyra still jumped a bit as she felt those
massive black-furred paws gripping her pert tush possessively,
commandingly. She started to rise, only
to have one of those powerful paws reach up and grip the back of her head,
gently but irresistibly pushing her head back down, until she was resting her
cheek on her arms, while the other paw tilted her bottom upward, making it an
easier target. The pigtailed blonde
realized she was being guided and positioned like a fresh bitch being put into
her proper place, held down and dominated by her alpha before he would claim
her utterly, showing her who the true master of the pack really was. It was a primal feeling, overwhelming, and it
made her senses reel in heady arousal at the thought of being taken like an
animal, bringing a soft whimper of need from her lips.
Ambrose did
not leave Lyra waiting for her first mounting long. As the other girls watched, their eyes wide,
leaning in close to catch every detail, the powerful male fisted his cock a few
times, slicking himself down with his own precum and Rianne's spit, and then
leaned forward, rubbing up and down Lyra's smooth-shaved quim, until he finally
slotted himself into place. Now taking
firm hold of Lyra's hips, the other girls watched close as Ambrose's firm rump
tensed, his stub tail arching upward slightly, his belly firming up, before he
thrust forward, his cock plunging deep into Lyra's soaking wet cunny, her
juices flowing down her legs copiously as Ambrose crammed himself into her
until his balls were pressed firmly up against her thighs. Lyra cried out at the suddenness of the
stretching and the intensity of her pleasure, grabbing at the carpet like a
girl possessed as she was filled so completely by Ambrose's thick penis, which
was pressing up against her cervix then, stretching her open so very wide.
Now having
his place, Ambrose began to set his pace, his hips moving forward and back, his
cock now glistening with Lyra's slick, sweet girljuices. At first he started slow, his paws roaming
over Lyra's smooth, sweat-slick skin, stroking her sensitive body until her
whole world was composed of pleasure and nothing else. But as she surrendered herself to the
sensations, so also did Ambrose, his hips moving faster, his rump pumping
forward and back, its firm musculature perfectly outlined for the watching
girls, his body hunching over her in a more bestial, savage posture. Lewd, wet sounds began to fill the room as
Ambrose worked himself up into a brutal pace, Lyra's cute breasts bouncing, his
hips slapping against her bottom harder and harder until the sensitive pink
skin started to turn a nice, well-tanned red.
An especially hard lunge from Ambrose sent the trembling, sweating teen
right over the edge of an orgasm, and it was hardly the last, her whole body
starting to clench up, the sweet cries of the vocal little teen rising in
volume as wave after wave of pleasure blasted through Lyra's body, leaving her
senses reeling, her brain overloaded with savage intensity.
It was in
the midst of Lyra's trembling orgasms that her tight little cunny, so freshly
deflowered, her inner muscles fluttering around Ambrose's cock like the
heartbeat of a hummingbird, started to get to him. Instead of fighting this feeling, though, Ambrose
embraced it. He'd deliberately neglected
his morning masturbation today, saving himself up for what he had guessed would
follow after the carnal pleasures of the night before - he had more than enough
pent-up passion to properly satisfy each of these four little sexpots, and
still have a bit left over. Even knowing
that the girls were in the very midst of their most fertile time of the month
did nothing to deter him - if anything, it drove him to greater, more savage
and instinctive lust as his first orgasm of the day washed over the dobiemorph's
body, his veins standing out, his head arching back, teeth bared and clenched
as he snarled savagely to the ceiling, his thick, copious puppy batter spurting
from his cock in a massive gush, sending a torrent of healthy, virile sperm
wriggling their way up into Lyra's belly.
With a
rough grunt as he emptied his balls into Lyra's sweet puss, Ambrose pulled
himself back, his cock slipping free, still semi-hard, his cum dripping down
Lyra's legs along with her own juices as she lay there, face down, eyes open
but heavy-lidded, bottom in the air, literally screwed silly.
Leaning
back a bit, the dominant male admired his handiwork, nodding in satisfaction as
he patted Lyra's cute bouncy butt affectionately.
"Good
girl," he said in his husky, lusty growl, praising her as though she were a
mere dog that he'd been training her to perform a trick, before looking around
at the others. He couldn't help but grin
as he saw their wide-eyed gazes on him and Lyra, and especially on the smooth
little blonde's well-bred cunny, stretched-out and quite red and wet with much
use.
Looking at
each girl, one by one, Ambrose caught their gazes and held them, until finally,
one by one, each girl lowered their eyes submissively. Then he lifted his paw and pointed at Rianne.
"Your turn,
Rianne," he said, motioning her over, leaning back on the carpet, propping
himself up with his elbows as he spread his legs, bending his knees
slightly. "Hop into the saddle - I know
you've been wanting to show me how much stamina you have. Let's see you prove what you've got."
Rianne was
no meek little submissive (or so she told herself). Hearing this challenge, her freckled cheeks
reddened, and she sidled over on her knees before crawling up onto Ambrose's
broad chest, settling her equally freckled pink bottom down on his firm belly.
"You're on,
dog boy," said the spunky redhead with a saucy grin. "Let's see if you can take me on."
Ambrose
just smiled up at Rianne, lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back,
letting her do all the work for now.
Rianne, for her part, frowned in concentration as she turned around, so
that she was facing towards Ambrose's now rock-hard erection, still glistening
with the juices of Rianne's best friend - the very girl that the big male had
just deflowered! This realization hit
Rianne suddenly as she wrapped one hand around the dobiemorph's big cock,
stroking up and down the pink member, breathing fast as she inspected it now,
taking her time to see exactly what was about to enter her body, taking her own
virginity, her eyes tracing every vein.
The
temptation too great as she thought of where Ambrose's cock had just been,
Rianne soon bent her head and wrapped her lips around the thick shaft before
her, mouthing and suckling Ambrose's male-meat eagerly, tasting her best friend
at the same time she tasted him. An
instant later, Rianne felt a pair of massive paws close on her skinny pink
butt, a pair of thick thumbs parting her labia, the hot breath of a canid
muzzle blasting over her smooth-shaved sex.
She managed to muffle her cry of sudden pleasure only by popping the
plum-shaped head of the dobiemorph's cock into her mouth, trying to concentrate
more on sucking him off than on the pleasures he was giving her. It was an effort doomed to failure from the
start, of course. Last night, Ambrose
had sent her through multiple shivering orgasms with his oral skills merely by
working over her outer sex. But now her
hymen was removed, and that meant that Ambrose was able to wriggle his thick,
dexterous tongue right up into Rianne's inner spaces, moving in ways that were
positively obscene, touching reaches in her depths that the athletic teen had
never even known existed before that talented tongue lashed over them with
expert skill.
"Oh crap!"
Rianne choked out as she released Ambrose's cock, her small fist clenching
around the base of the big dog's penis.
"Oh crap, oh crap - that's not fair, Rose. It's not fair! You can't . . . oooooh!"
The lithe,
limber teen began to jerk and thrash as though she were a swimmer being worried
by a shark as that devilish tongue began to caress her cervix with tender care,
even as the rippling of the long, almost prehensile muscle arched up and
stroked against her G-spot. Ambrose
grinned for a moment, his fast-wagging tail revealing his enjoyment, before he
began to hump his head, forward and back, rocking Rianne's body as he tormented
her with ultimate sexual bliss.
Trying desperately to escape the
pleasure, to somehow still 'win,' in her competitive way of thinking, Rianne
tried to struggle, to escape somehow, crawling forward on Ambrose's body,
gripping his inner thighs to pull herself away from his tongue. He countered this easily by reaching up a
bit, grabbing her skinny hips, lifting her up with his great strength,
positioning the squirming teen over his upthrust penis, lowering her down until
the knobbed tip was pressed firmly against her snug little cunny.
"Do it!"
Rianne got out with desperation as she reached out, grabbing his knees, trying
in vain to push herself down against his powerful grip. "Pop my cherry, you furry bastaaaaahhh!"
Ambrose
grinned, lips curled back, teeth clenched as he lunged upward with his hips at
the same time he pulled Rianne down into the hard thrust, impaling her on his
hard spear of flesh. Releasing his grip
a little, the big male let Rianne start to hump him, bouncing up and down, her
toned, skinny-but-athletic body jiggling nicely as she rode him,
reverse-cowgirl style. The hot teen was
doing everything she could to clench down with her inner muscles, to try and
make herself tighter, to drive Ambrose over the edge, to somehow prove she
could outlast him. But all that Ambrose
had to do was reach inward with a big hand and start to grind his fingers and
the heel of his palm against Rianne's bared clitoris to make her give a short
grunt of surprise and rushing pleasure, before her orgasm hit, rocking her body
even as she tried to rock Ambrose.
Ignoring
her feeble struggles and the many terse expletives Rianne was spitting out at
him, Ambrose's grip on the bouncing teen's hips firmed once more, and he
started to really hump her royally!
His hips were almost a blur as he held her up and in place as he thrust
up into her snug snatch, making her pert little breasts bounce, the candy pink
nipples capping each well-tanned mound hopping like rabbits while he jumped her
bones, roughly riding the sweat-soaked teen through orgasm after orgasm,
wearing her out with ease, his vastly greater experience and engineered ability
more than even her athletic determination could resist for long. Then, giving a lunge upward, his back
arching, lifting Rianne on high with his upthrust hips as he snarled in feral
pleasure, Ambrose whitewashed Rianne's womb with his hot cum, making her give a
scream as her senses were finally overwhelmed, unable to hold back any
longer as she clenched up in his massive paws, her body tensed almost
completely with her own shattering orgasms.
Holding
Rianne where she was for many long minutes, moving his hips in short, hard
little thrusts to prolong his orgasm for as long as possible, Ambrose rode her
out until her sweet, clenching cunny had milked him dry once more. His cock softening just enough to slip free,
along with a flood of his more-than-copious cum, the dobiemorph carefully rose,
lifting Rianne gently in his arms, and set her down on the couch to rest, her
entire body trembling slightly still in the aftershocks of her tremendous
multiple orgasm. Turning then, his penis
already rising to full hardness once more, standing out before him like a log,
Ambrose fixed his eyes on Dottie, who had her mouth covered by her hand, her
hazel eyes wide and frightened-looking as she crouched on the carpet, looking
up at him. Seeing her fear even as he
smelled her arousal, Ambrose smiled gently, reaching out, tilting Dottie's chin
upwards so that she could look at his face, and not at the instrument that
would spell her deflowering. He noted
that she'd put her glasses back on at some point - very likely a coping
strategy, so that she could hide behind them and be a bit more objective about
what was happening, instead of letting it all overwhelm her.
"It is all
right, Dottie," he said softly. "It will
be all right, I promise."
"I'm
scared," said the sweet auburn-haired teen, trembling a bit as Ambrose's large,
gentle paws began to stroke her back and sides, slowly and tenderly. "Will it hurt? Everybody says that the first time hurts."
"That is
why I removed your hymen," said Ambrose, leaning down to nuzzle the frightened
teen's cheek. "The pain comes when your
maidenhead breaks, so if there is no maidenhead, there will be no pain from
losing your virginity." He moved back,
looking her in the eyes again. "Did you
feel any pain?" She shook her head, and
he pressed forward. "Will you trust
me?" Again, there was a nod. "I will sit over there, on that easy
chair. I want you to kneel before me and
explore my penis, like you saw Rianne doing.
I want you to get a good idea of what will be going inside of you. When you feel ready, then I will let you
lower yourself onto me, setting your own pace, and taking your own time. Does that sound all right?"
"Y-yes,"
said Dottie, swallowing her fear down with a bit of difficulty. "Yes, that sounds all right."
"Good
girl," said Ambrose, bending to kiss her on the forehead, before he stood and
walked to the plush easy chair, settling down, the other end of Dottie's lead
in his paw, slowly tugging on it, drawing her gradually forward. "Now come."
Dottie
started to rise at the tug on her lead, and then blinked as she realized her
situation, before she lowered herself onto all-fours, and began to crawl over
to the chair, her pleasantly-sized breasts, the largest of the four girls
thanks to her former pudginess now turned to beautiful girlhood, swaying
slightly, her eyes fixed on her goal: Ambrose's hard cock. The dobiemorph's member was pointing straight
at the ceiling when the auburn-haired teen reached the chair, its length
glistening wet and slick, trickles of precum still dribbling copiously from the
tip, a tell-tale sign that the powerful male had a long way to go before he
would reach sexual satiety.
Kneeling
before her 'master' (she couldn't help but think of him that way, in this
situation - it seemed so natural), Dottie took his hard shaft in her small
hands, stroking it gently, her eyes wide and curious as much as excited, the
fear now in the background, as she gently turned the erect doghood this way and
that, drinking in the look and the feel and the scent of her first real-life
penis like she might any subject that interested her in school. Cautiously, Dottie licked over the dripping
slit at the very tip, pausing to assess the salty, slightly musky flavor,
before she smiled slightly - it wasn't that bad, actually, tasting something
very much like a particularly thick chicken broth. Not her favorite treat in the world, of
course, but not bad at all.
Listening
to Ambrose's murmured words, soft and low in her ear, guiding her through each
action, Dottie carefully wrapped her lips around the thick glans of the
canomorph's cock, one hand stroking up and down the meaty shaft while the other
rested on his thigh. Feeling his big paw
resting on the back of her head, blunt clawtips teasing against her scalp
before the gentle hand began stroking down her neck and smooth back, Dottie
felt a surge of pride as Ambrose praised her efforts at pleasing him orally,
his voice soft and deep, like the quiet rumble of an earthquake's aftershocks,
sounding more in her bones than in her ears.
Tasting the
thickness of her master's precum starting to increase, Dottie looked up at
Ambrose questioningly.
"I'm going
to cum soon, Dottie," explained Ambrose gently, despite the slight tension that
was forming in his neck and jaw. "If you
want to taste my cum, then you should keep going. Otherwise, you should stop what you are doing
very soon."
For a few
moments longer Dottie kept up her ministrations, even going so far as to bob
her head downward, taking a sizeable length of Ambrose's doghood into her mouth,
making her cheeks balloon out, and almost choking herself before she pulled
back, letting the thick, slick length pop from her lips with a loud, wet
smacking sound. She dared to grin up at
Ambrose, who chuckled back, his body now looking quite tense.
"A tease in
the making, eh?" he said half-jokingly.
"Getting me all ready, and then pulling back at the last minute - a
sure-fire way to cause blue balls in a guy.
Hrr," he growled in a husky, feral way that sent a tingle up and down
Dottie's spine, "that's just the way to get a male worked up into a
frenzy." Then he winked. "You're just lucky I'm the polite sort - not
one to jump a girl without her permission.
Even if she deserves it for being a tease."
"Aw, you
know I wouldn't make you suffer," said Dottie, putting her small hands on
Ambrose's muscled thighs, so that she could lift herself up. "I heard about blue balls from Rianne - it
sounded painful." She settled her rounded
tush onto Ambrose's lap carefully, biting her lower lip as she felt his hot,
throbbing pink length pressing against her smooth belly, droplets of precum
staining her pale pink skin. "I don't
want you to be in pain - not after how nice you've made me feel." The glasses-wearing girl looked up at Ambrose
shyly then, her lips pursed into a cute little pout that seemed to natural on
her face. "Not after you saved my life."
"You don't
have to . . ." started Ambrose, only to hush as Dottie set a finger on his
lips.
"I want
to," she replied, her hands going to his shoulders, her knees resting on the
chair as she lifted herself, looking back as she wiggled her tushie, angling
herself just right, and then slowly lowering herself until she could feel the
slick, mushroom-shaped head of the big dog's cock pressing up against her labia,
parting the lips, her own excited juices flowing down the slick length,
mingling with those of her two friends.
As she began to tense herself,
getting ready for the last downward thrust that would end her maidenhood,
Dottie felt Ambrose's gentle, strong paws on her hips, supporting her weight
slightly. She looked into his eyes, and
then both their gazes turned downward, resting on where his penis was pressing
against her steaming little cunny. And
then Dottie gave a short gasp as she thrust herself downward, her eyes
widening, mouth falling open as she watched her first cock spread her inner
walls wide, stretching her labia far apart.
Pressing
tightly against Ambrose's soft-furred body, her nipples tingling as they rubbed
against his chest, Dottie began to ride his cock, the only sound she made a
whispered gasping, and a soft hiss of breath at each particularly strong jolt
of pleasure that shuddered through her young body. The hands the dobiemorph had placed on her
hips didn't just rest there, but actually moved with her, letting the cute,
nerdy teen get some help as she lifted herself up for each downward plunge,
supporting and assisting her, lending her strength so that she didn't tire out
too fast.
So caught
up in the host of new sensations flooding her body, never completely sure when
she'd had an orgasm in the wash of pleasure and tension that coursed through
her, Dottie didn't notice the tenseness of Ambrose's body until she felt his
paws move to her rump, gripping her plush bum firmly before he suddenly rose
up, standing now as he pulled the shapely teen closer, letting Dottie wrap her
legs around his firm, furry hips as he took over the action. There was no question for Dottie now when her
orgasms hit, for the first blasted her mind like a runaway locomotive, making
her mouth drop open, and almost knocking her glasses right from her face. Ambrose picked up the pace, his heavy balls
slapping against her downthrust bottom, pressing Dottie even closer to him until
she felt almost as though she'd be made a part of the powerful, commanding
alpha dog taking her so forcefully and so well.
She looked up at him, cheeks flushed, mind reeling, and he looked down,
brown eyes meeting hazel ones, and she somehow knew that he knew. Seconds later, her head was thrown back, even
as Ambrose's did the same, their faces turned to the ceiling as girl and
dogmorph howled together in orgasmic ecstasy, Ambrose's balls contracting hard
as a heavy load of mancream filled Dottie's ready womb, filling her to the
brim, the excess spurting out and trickling down her thighs and smooth, pale
bottom.
Holding
Dottie close, his deep, masculine grunts of orgasmic pleasure rough in her
ears, Ambrose held on through the midst of his trembling spurts of hot cum,
moving his paws beneath the cute teen's knees and tilting himself back, leaning
her weight almost completely on his chest, so that even as her strength began
to fail, she wouldn't be in any danger.
Turning himself, the big dogmorph slowly bent his knees, and then
settled Dottie back onto the easy chair he'd just been sitting in, her
fogged-over glasses and flushed body telling of the intensity of her
pleasure. Pulling back, Ambrose's cock
slid free of Dottie's body, bouncing upward as it popped free, slapping against
his firm stomach, still hard and more than ready to go. This was because Ambrose knew who the next
and last of the four girls was to be, and every ounce of his being ached for
what was about to take place as he turned to face Mercy.
Mercy had
been anything but still and silent as she'd watched each of her friends in turn
being taken, being deflowered, giving themselves over to carnal, forbidden
pleasures with a beast that had been specifically made for the acts in which
they were taking part. As Ambrose
looked, he found his young mistress partially turned away from him, on her
knees, one hand resting on the couch where Rianne lay, while the other worked
feverishly between her legs. She was
biting her lower lip to keep herself from crying out, her eyes half-closed,
half paying attention as she looked over her shoulders, watching Ambrose send
her friends into the upper layers of heaven.
Her dogservant's eyes traced along the flowing lines of the slim
blonde's sleek back, catching barest glimpses of the sweet swells of her lovely
breasts, before trailing down to her perfect, heart-shaped bottom, thrust
slightly out towards him as she ground against her own hand, her fantasies so
close to being fully realized now, her youthful passions couldn't resist the
temptation for self-pleasure.
Their eyes
meeting, deep, haunting blue and firm, bold brown sharing a moment of promised
passion, Mercy gasped as Ambrose approached her from behind, shivering as his
hands touched her shoulders, stroking down her arms, over her ribs, across her
thighs. His dark fur was so stark a
contrast to her lovely, light pink skin, his rough, bestial touch almost a
blasphemy as he handled her as though she were merely another bitch in heat,
desperate for the pleasured relief that only he could offer, and not his
mistress, the daughter of his mistress, made in the image of the perfect
woman. He growled, softly, as his paws
moved her hand away from her loins, and this was met with an answering moan of
deepest bliss as his massive paw took its place. The big dog crushed his little mistress' back
to his chest, kissing her wildly, passionate and desperate. Her answering kiss was no less needy, almost
screaming into his muzzle as she arched herself against his warm body, his hand
moving between her thighs in ways she had only just begun to explore herself,
her naked skin rubbing against his equally-naked fur, his raging erection
rubbing against her smooth bare bottom, staining her flawless skin with his
bestial preseed, marking her body with his scent, his animal musk. He was dragging her down from her perfect
pedestal, the place of flawless grandeur that Mercy knew everyone from the boys
at school to her own mother felt that she somehow belonged, and making her into
a real woman, full of flaws and desperate needs. And what she needed right then was the touch
of a powerful but gentle male, experienced and utterly devoted to giving her
pleasure, to fulfilling her every desperate, sweaty fantasy, to make her
complete.
Breaking
the kiss suddenly, Mercy turned, looking up at Ambrose as she reached down, and
then lifted something in her hands, pushing them out to him, pressing it into
his big paws. The dobiemorph looked
down, and blinked as he saw the slim length of leather he was now holding: it
was a dog's lead. Mercy lifted the other
end of the lead, then, and Ambrose watched in eager silence as she clipped it
to the slim, feminine collar gracing her neck.
"Please,
Rose," said Mercy softly, leaning back on her elbows, looking up at him
trustingly with those blue eyes of hers, so warm and wonderful that they could
melt any heart. "Please."
In answer,
Ambrose nodded, tightening his grip on the leash, pulling Mercy forward as he
met her lips with his muzzle once more, his paws roaming her body freely, setting
off trails of fire wherever he touched with his blunt-clawed fingertips. The sweet teen sucked in a harsh breath as
those big paws began to handle her breasts, and she thrust them out invitingly
as his muzzle parted from her lips, his tongue extending as he started to lick
and lash her sweet, sweaty flesh into a frenzy, bathing each perfect mound with
the greatest care, being sure to pay a little bit of extra attention to the
hard rose-capped nipples and flushed aureoles.
This was when Mercy had her first orgasm, just as Ambrose gently bit
down on one tender teat, leaving a momentary indentation on her achingly
sensitive skin.
Lying Mercy
back on her sleeping back, still laid out and ready for use on the floor,
Ambrose began to lick and nibble and suckle on little bite-sized bits of tasty,
sensitive girlflesh, his paws telling her where he would go next with his
muzzle. All the while, Mercy's body
writhed and squirmed and arched and kicked in wonderful spasms of erotic
energy, her body and mind as much made to receive pleasure as his were to give
it. Her second orgasm hit as he gripped
her inner thighs in his mighty paws, clawtips biting firmly but gently into the
especially tender flesh there, her hips arching upwards, thrusting her
neartly-trimmed pubis upwards, presenting herself to him needily as the sheer
tension of his efforts overwhelmed her yet again, her cry of passion sweet in
the dobiemorph's ears, more satisfying than an oasis to a man lost in the
desert. Ambrose didn't rush even then,
though, his muzzle parting as he hovered over her sweet little slit, holding
her legs spread wide, his head gradually
lowering, letting his hot breath send ripples through Mercy's body as he drew
ever closer to her steaming little sex.
The first
touch of smooth, wet tongue against Mercy's dripping sex sent her whole body
into convulsions of silent pleasure, her throat seizing up, unable to even make
a sound in the intensity of the feelings blasting through her. It didn't stop there, of course - Ambrose had
only just begun. And this time was even
better than the night before.
Still
shaking all over in the aftershocks of pleasures more powerful than anything
she'd ever thought were possible, Mercy was only vaguely aware as Ambrose
lifted himself, rising up, crawling over her, covering her body with his
own. Her eyes came back into focus,
though, as he gripped her leash once more, pulling it gently, getting her
attention. The blonde girl looked up at
Ambrose, meeting his eyes, and then letting his lowering gaze lead her own
downwards, between his legs. She gasped
at what she saw there, hanging hard and wet and ready, hovering only bare
inches above her most sacred place.
"Take it in
your hands, Mercy," said Ambrose, his voice like velvet-lined steel, a gentle
command that the precious teen couldn't resist if she'd wanted to. She reached down, staring in awe at the very
member that had brought pleasure to so many females, and which would soon bring
the same to her, making her a woman at last.
The next order Ambrose gave was the fulfillment of all her waking
fantasies.
"Now, guide it into place."
How could
she resist? His hips lowering as she
held the throbbing shaft between her dainty fingers, feeling his pulse through
the weight of the heavy length of male meat, looking almost straight down the
barrel of the mushroom-capped head of the mighty organ, Mercy held it straight
and true as Ambrose slowly pressed down and forward. Feeling the fat, dripping head pressed up against
her labia, she reached inward with one hand, parting her lower lips even as she
spread her legs farther apart, until Ambrose was firmly slotted in place. Looking up at the powerful male trustingly,
his big paws now resting on either side of her slim little body (and she was so
small compared to his massive, muscular size), Mercy gave a slight nod, before
her eyes fell back once more to the beautiful male organ she had just held in
her hands, those hands now clenched tight in the sleeping bag beneath her
smooth adolescent body.
Ambrose's
hips lowered gradually, spreading Mercy open nice and slow, taking his time,
driving her crazy, until, in desperation, the teen grabbed Ambrose's tight
butt, right below his stub tail, and begged him, all pride forgotten utterly,
pleading with him to take her, to claim her, to breed her hard and fast and rough
like she deserved, like she wanted, like she needed! And still he held back, the big dog taking
his time, filling her up gradually, savoring every last flutter and ripple of
her sweetly-clenching little cunny, until he felt his balls pressing up against
her sweet bare backside, his cockhead pressing up against her cervix, the tip
teasing along the thick barrier separating her vagina from her womb. He noted almost clinically the tremor that
shook her body as he nudged against that inner gate, the pleasure that cervical
bumping seemed to bring her, as he knew it would. Mercy, like her mother, was made for sex and
all of its sensual delights. It was the
most natural thing in the world for her, and her body accepted it with ease.
It was
then, after having plumbed Mercy to her utter depths, that Ambrose drew his
hips back, his firm rump lifting, Mercy's sweet little puss gripping him every
inch of the way, trying to suck him back inside, her body as reluctant as Mercy
herself was to feel the aching emptiness that his cock's withdrawal left
behind. But Ambrose did not leave her
wanting any longer. He'd tested how far
Mercy could take and still feel pleasure, and that was all that he'd wanted,
though it had taken every ounce of his self-control to do it. As close to frenzy as mercy herself was, he
gave himself to it, his teeth baring in a feral grimace as his butt tensed, and
he plunged downward, filling Mercy to the hilt, making her cry out in sweet relief
at the commanding force of that initial thrust.
It was only the first of very, very many, as Ambrose's rump rose and
fell, harder, faster, the sounds of passionate, desperate, needy coupling
filling the room once more, the grunts, growls, snarls, and panting of the big
male vying with Mercy's own moans, cries, whimpers, and ecstatic gasps. Their conjoined orgasms were like acts of raw
nature unleashed, as Ambrose rode out Mercy through not just hers, but his own
cumming, again, and again, and again, until he'd filled her womb to the brim,
the copious excess soaking the sleeping bag beneath them. And when it ended, as even the greatest
events in life must in time, Ambrose and mercy held each other close, their bodies
pressed tight together as he held himself inside of her while they rested,
basking in each others' warmth and tingling presence, letting their shared
pleasures feed upon each other, their luxurious afterglow giving hints of even
greater pleasures to come.
The morning
was long gone by the time Ambrose and the four girls were sufficiently rested
up to continue the rest of the day.
Since it was lunchtime by then, Ambrose led the four girls up the
stairs, each of them still naked, and still wearing their collars. At first Rianne had insisted on going on
all-fours, a sentiment which Lyra soon echoed, then shared by Mercy and Dottie,
and soon Ambrose found himself treated to the arousing sight of four wriggling
teenaged rumps moving before him, their snug teenaged cunnies still quite
flushed and a bit stretched-out from his prior usage of them as the girls
crawled along on the ends of their leads, like submissive, energetic little
pups, fresh and eager from their first breeding. He led the girls to the shower, and ordered
them to wash up quickly while he got their lunch ready.
Naturally,
the girls weren't up from the showers when Ambrose finished lunch. When he went to investigate, he found that
Dottie and Mercy were watching and masturbating while Lyra and Rianne were
making out heavily on the shower room floor.
As punishment for this disobedience, the big dobiemorph pulled the girls
from the shower room to the locker room, and seated himself on one of the
benches there before bending each girl, one by one, over his knee and paddling
their shapely bare bottoms until they were nice and red. This might have been a rather uncomfortable
punishment indeed, if Ambrose hadn't made sure to take it nice and slow,
drawing out each slap of his palm against smooth pink skin, adding much
additional fondling and rubbing until each girl left the locker room charged
with erotic energy. Lyra even had an
orgasm while being spanked, hinting at her great anal sensitivity, which
Ambrose vowed to explore in greater depth later on.
After
lunch, Ambrose decided to start teaching his new little 'pets' how to properly pleasure him with their
mouths, feeding them his cum as dessert.
This lesson took much of the day, including rest periods and snacks
(besides more cum, of course), and it included ample time where Ambrose showed
each of the girls how to better attend to their own needs through masturbation,
and also how to pleasure each other.
Dottie was a bit resistant to the idea of making love to another girl at
first, but as Ambrose held her in his lap, stroking her soothingly, and Rianne
went to work between her legs, the nerdy teen changed her viewpoint on the
subject in short order, allowing Ambrose to lead the four teens into a truly
satisfying five-way orgy.
The day
ended with Ambrose leading the girls back down to the den and their sleeping
bags (getting a fresh one for Mercy, to replace the one that he and she had
soaked earlier), and spending the better part of three hours tucking the tight
little teens in by introducing them to the joys of anal sex. Even after watching the informative video
earlier in the day, so that they knew full well what it meant to be taken
anally by a male canomorph, and even knowing that Ambrose would stop if they
asked him, that despite their submissive play, the girls were always the ones
who could say no at any time, none of the girls stopped Ambrose as he prepared
their tiny anal rosebuds with his tongue, his precum, and with lubricant, and
then squeezed his thick, dripping length into their firm young backsides, one
by one, stuffing them to the hilt. In
fact, they seemed to encourage this act of ultimate domination to the extent
that the girls not currently being serviced would nibble and lick at the bared
sex and sensitive nipples and inviting earlobes and sensitive navels of their
friend currently being sodomized. Even
knowing that letting Ambrose take them like this meant that they really were
letting him make them his bitches for good and always, he was a careful and
considerate lover, and the actions of the other girls just eased the process
along even more. Of the girls, Lyra was
indeed the most anally sensitive, and she came with hardly any coaxing at all,
multiple times, while Rianne, surprisingly enough, was the least anally sensitive,
likely due to her lack of padding, though she didn't experience pain from the
act, thanks to the generous amounts of water-based lubricant that Ambrose made
sure to use and his slow, careful pace as he penetrated her.
The first
day was only the prelude to a whirling week of carnal delights. Every time that Ambrose wasn't doing the most
basic maintenance around the house, or the girls weren't relaxing and enjoying
the good weather that returned after the sudden storms of the first two days,
Ambrose would find his cock filling one or another of the tight young holes of
his lovely charges. Sex on the beach on
several occasions often led to steamy entanglements in the showers while he and
the girls worked to get the sand out of their hair (or fur, in Ambrose's
case). One heady night even led to a
fireside cookout on the beach, which then led to another orgy. Diane's hot tub saw ample use, and before too
long Ambrose had to put a deep cleaning of the heated pool on his to-do list,
so often had he or the girls cum in it under the influence of hands, paws,
tongues, cocks, or the jets of water it spurted out.
An especially memorable moment for
Ambrose in that glorious time of ultimate bliss with four of the sexiest girls
he'd ever known was when he was taking the girls for a mock-walk through the
house, keeping to the softer parts of the plush carpets, acting out the role of
master and pets to the hilt, when Lyra, full of naughtiness, had tried to hump
herself against the dobiemorph's leg.
One thing led to another, and soon Ambrose declared a contest to see who
could make him cum first. Lining the
girls in a row, he'd then given them ten thrusts of his cock for each of them,
during which they had to try and make him cum inside of their snug cunnies. Naturally Rianne, being the competitive one,
won the first round, receiving a full, hot load of virile dogcream in her sweet
slit, whereupon Ambrose declared two our of three. Mercy won the second of these contests, and
Lyra managed, more through luck and the tiredness of the other girls than
anything else, to win the last round.
Declaring it a four way tie, Ambrose then humped Dottie into orgasmic
bliss, and then brought the girls up to Mercy's room for even more naughtiness.
But, of
course, there comes a time when all good things must come to an end. So it was with that wonderful, wild, wet
Spring Break, when Ambrose finally brought each girl back to her home on the
day before school would start, to give them each a chance to get a good night's
rest for the coming Monday, and then returned to his own house to make his own
preparations, the night now well upon him.
When
Ambrose came home that night, he found the house quiet and still, save for a
few lights turned on in various places, indicating that Mercy had gotten
herself to bed. The loyal dogservant
moved around, making sure the last touches were in place, spot cleaning a few
errant stains as best as he could, and generally making his mistress' home a
better place, when he noticed the scent.
His black-padded nose flaring, Ambrose followed his keen sense of smell
to the stairs leading up, until he paused at the door to his long-absent
mistress. The scent - her scent - was
coming from the other side, though he hadn't heard a sound, and Dianne Lords
wasn't due back until tomorrow night.
Nevertheless, Ambrose's nose didn't lie, and he soon raised his paw and
gave three quick, soft knocks before opening the door and stepping inside.
There,
lying flat upon the bed, still fully clothed and looking lovely even in her
obvious exhaustion, was Ambrose's mistress, returned early from her trip to
Belgium, her luggage resting near her closet, the faint scent of another
canomorph, likely the chauffeur who'd brought her home, lingering about
them. As Ambrose stepped partway into
the room, Dianne's head lifted, and she smiled as she saw the Doberman Pinscher
standing there, framed in the doorway.
"Hello,
Rose," she said, her voice soft and sweet, more subdued now in her state of
gradual relaxation.
"Hello
Ma'am," said Ambrose, giving a slow, deep, formal bow from his waist. "It is good to see you home again. I missed you."
"I missed
you and Mercy too," replied Dianne with a long sigh as she let her tensions
flow out. "My but it's been a long past
week. It's so good to get home again and
get back into a routine - especially for you, I'd imagine, after having to keep
those girls entertained. Did everything
go all right while I was gone?"
"The return
to routine is indeed a relief," said Ambrose, smiling slightly as he said this,
meaning it - all that excitement had been fun, yes, but also tiring, besides
the consequences that they brought, which soon caused his smile to fade. "Mistress, the girls had a very good time."
"That's
good," said Dianne, starting to lean back again, before she noticed her dogservant's
worried look. "What's wrong, Rose?"
For a
moment Ambrose paused, considering, organizing his thoughts. And then he began to speak, began to tell his
mistress everything that had happened over the weekend, from the very start,
all the way to the very finish, his superb memory allowing him to spare no
details. He kept his eyes downcast as he
spoke, his pointed ears tilted down in his shame, for he knew that he had done
wrong. What was worse, he knew very well
that he'd impregnated not just the daughter of his mistress, but Mercy's three
best friends as well, for he'd taken their scent, and knew well the change that
took place when a female's belly went from receptive to bred.
For many
long moments after he finished Ambrose stood there, waiting for his mistress'
reaction, for her anger, perhaps her disgust, and for the words that would hint
at his future fate. But instead of angry
words, the dobiemorph's sensitive nose began to pick up . . . was that arousal? His tale, it seemed, had not disgusted his
mistress after all, he realized, his eyes lifting, meeting her haunting
blue-eyed gaze. It had made her horny.
"You
certainly have a way with the ladies, Rose," said Dianne with a light laugh
behind her words. "My yes indeed."
"But . . .
but what is to be done now, Ma'am?" asked Ambrose, his fears and concerns still
evident on his handsome, furry face. "I
lost control of my instincts, letting my desires overpower my convictions. And now four girls, one of them your
daughter, my precious, precious young mistress, are pregnant with my pups."
Ambrose was
about to go on, but Diane's raised hand brought him to a halt, before she began
to speak.
"Do you
know how I got you, Rose?" she asked finally, her tone serious. Ambrose could only shake his head, for he
really didn't know this part of his history, beyond that one day, after he'd
been put through the rounds of the breeding circuit for a few years, he'd been
handed over to Dianne Lords as her personal dogservant. "It's because I helped to give birth to you -
it meant that, once I did a little legal wrangling, I had first rights to you."
Ambrose's jaw dropped at this
shocking revelation, but Dianne kept going.
"You see,
those people who made you still don't have more than one or two of those fancy
artificial wombs that they used to make the first canomorphs. They're too expensive, which is why good
breeders like you are so important. They
can make a pup into just about any breed after conception, with a little
tweaking - they just need somebody who's good at the process of mating to do
the job right. But this wasn't enough,
because they had too few females to bear all the pups they needed for their
operation. So, well, the agency began
looking for donor females who were willing to take the implantation of
canomorph embryos. I took part in that
process, when I was a lot younger. That
was where I was first introduced to Martin, since he had an interest in dog
breeding in his younger days, and had taken to canomorph breeding quite
readily. A bit of seduction on my part,
a touch of actual love, and we were soon married. Some years later, after I realized I needed
help with Mercy, I searched for the pup that I'd borne and birthed, and I found
you. That's when I brought you into my
home, knowing full well that I'd need a real man in this house, as Martin
wasn't getting any younger."
Dianne
smiled then as she sat up on the bed, heaving a great sigh before she stood up
and walked to her closet.
"Help me
get undressed, Rose," she said simply as she opened the closet door, revealing
the full-length mirror on its back. "I
think I'm going to need some help getting to sleep tonight."
Ambrose
blinked at this, though he moved to obey.
"What do
you mean . . .?" he began, only to have Dianne lift a finger to his lips,
silencing him as he helped her out of her clothes.
"I mean,
first of all, that what was done for those puppygirls in the past can be done
for the human girls you knocked up," answered Dianne as she let Ambrose do the
work, peeling off her business clothes, from jacket to skirt, to blouse to
underwear, until she was standing naked before he mirror, admiring herself
there for a moment before her eyes turned to Ambrose himself. "But what I also mean is that, well, I've
missed the presence of a man around the house.
I've tormented you about it before in the past, and you've even allowed
yourself to use some of your considerable skills to best effect, without actual
intercourse. I suppose you think it's
all right with a human, so long as you don't get any immediate satisfaction
from it. Well, I'm telling you now that
I want you to get undressed, Ambrose, and show me just what you did to those
girls that made them so happy to let you pop their cherries." She smiled as she turned to face the tall dobiemorph,
her gentle hands caressing his chest through his coat. "I think it's high time that we discussed
some new arrangements around here, don't you?"
"Yes
Ma'am," said Ambrose eagerly, his stub-tail wagging hard as he started to strip
down.