Leashed Ch. 03

Everything is just so much more and it sets my heart pounding. I want to see and hear and explore and run and chase and dig and-!

My tail slaps my leg as I race through the apartment complex and down to the street. The thick padding covering the balls of my feet grind against the inside of my shoes and my claws curl down to bite into the soles. My stronger coil-like calves absorb them impact before my thighs propel me forward. Despite the shoes, I still go to the balls of my feet and the pads soften my steps.

I can't help it. I bark out a laugh as the world becomes a blur and my hoodie pulls back when it fills with the wind whistling around my racing body. I forget about it for a moment before reaching up to grab it and pull it forward.

And I run. And run. And run. Head ducked to keep my hood in place, I stare at the ground before me to ensure every step is safe. It's a path I've taken many, many times and my body follows it automatically.

A sound makes my ears twitch and I look up to see another jogger in the distance. With a huff, I move off the sidewalk. The grass is wet from the sprinkler system installed beneath the turf and the drops of water sparkle in the sparse lights around the park. I move further away from the path, watching my step as I think to myself.

Why the hell didn't I try to take the piercings off? I wonder. I remember thinking the same thing earlier before becoming distracted but I never once tried since then. Why? What if the piercings are what's holding me in this form?

Ducks quack quietly from the approaching lake, ruffling their feathers as they swim with their family. I hear the faint conversation of a few groups of walkers on the other side of the lake but the area is otherwise empty

Is that all it takes? I ask myself again as I slowly pick up speed. The tip of my tail curls upward as I dodge between trees and hide myself from the old fashioned lamps set intermittently along the sidewalk.

I can see her in my mind, standing in the mirror before me. Nude and comfortable in her fur. So strong. Exotic with her ears and tail and the little hidden whiskers on her muzzle.

And I can remember how it all felt. How it still feels. The wind finds gaps in my clothes and courses down my furred body. The tips of my fur scratch against my skin and I almost miss a step because of it. Worse, now that I'm paying attention, I can feel my teats brushing against the soft lining of my hoodie despite the tape.

Why? I ask, focusing internally. Why does none of this bother me as much as it should? Or at all?

The million dollar question and I try to focus on it: why am I not freaking out about all of this?

Looking up, I see I've already circled the lake. Both my breathing and my heart are steady while my muscles barely feel warmed up. I raise my head further with my tongue free and my muzzle open to let the cool air over me, breathing deeply. Swallowing the scent of the lake, grass, trees and, urk- the trash. I shake my head and bow again. Tiny chunks of soft earth and grass kick up behind me with every long stride.

My forefoot padding strikes first, cushioning my step more than the shoes themselves. The blunt impact doesn't register as strongly as if I were, well, human. The foot curls forward and my toes splay out. My shoe barely touches the grass before I'm kicking off, dense muscles propelling me forward like tiny nitro boosts.

It feels like I could run for days. Although, I am getting warm now. I can feel the sweat on my bare chest because the damn hoodie is cooking my body. It's nowhere near cold enough for it and I'm covered in fur anyway.

My tongue flops from my mouth as I start panting with short, sharp breaths.

Would anyone see me if I took my hoodie off?

The idea is thrilling. And strangely arousing. I can picture myself, dipping between trees to hide from the few lights.

Fur is basically clothes. Right?

Why is the thought of running nude so damn appealing?

My hands grip the front of my hoodie, throwing off my stride temporarily. Righting myself, I realize my hood is down and probably has been for a bit. I've been running with my long, alert ears at the ready and my muzzle visible for all to see. And my drooling wide tongue out.

Hackles rise. The phantom is back. Whispering again. There's something at my back between my shoulderblades. The hint of a touch. It's calming and supportive with a whiff of- of- my furred brow presses together. Excitement, I think. It's waiting for me.

I slow and walk to a tree, swallowing spit and licking my nose before leaning down with my paws against my knees.

Voices, old voices from old memories. Incredulous looks mixed with disgust. I shake my head and growl at them. I'd opened up to the men behind those voices at one point in my life, idly talking in bed about secret fetishes I'd wanted to explore.

I can remember lying on my back with my legs up, gasping and moaning and guiding my boyfriend's hand up to my neck and the look of confusion on his face before he simply caressed me rather than closing a fist around my throat. I told him afterwards, shyly, that I thought maybe we could try bondage sometime. When he didn't say anything, I'd felt emboldened and told him we could maybe start by being rougher in bed. With him being more dominant. Yanking my hair or slapping my ass hard enough to-

'Amber!' he'd said, loudly, rolling and looking at me with something close to revulsion. 'I could never do that to you! That's just wrong.'

I'd laughed awkwardly and said it was only a thought and that I probably wouldn't even like it, either. I'd just 'accidentally' seen it on a video my 'girl friend' had shown me and was curious.

But the damage was already done on both sides and we broke up not long after that. I couldn't not see that distasteful look whenever I saw him and he simply pulled away.

With my next boyfriend, I tried a little more cautiously, prodding him to find out what he liked to do. I'd gotten excited when he'd said he liked to be in control and be rough but it turns out he meant he just liked to pound me like a jackhammer and call me dirty names. That was it. He didn't quite understand oral or foreplay. He went from kissing to jack hammer. He spanked me one time, barely and I moaned to encourage him but that only made him pound harder. My fucking crotch hurt for days afterwards.

So I gave up and kept all of my fantasies to myself, saving videos or just closing my eyes and imagining little scenarios when I masturbated. It was better than nothing and I didn't have to feel subhuman when I did it.

The new voice surges and the ghostly touch spreads, prickling my back. My fur rises in fits as goosebumps form to push them out.

Fuck it.

Glancing around, I grab my hoodie to pull it off, fold it and lay it carefully on a clear spot on the ground while making note of where it is. There are two logs nearby, close to the lake. One is hollow so that's easy to remember.

And then I crouch. Half-way because my tail bends painfully and I yelp because of it. Instead, I go to my knees. And wait. My tail wags, pulling at my shorts as I listen to the park. That other jogger is still there, slowly making a circuit on the sidewalk but nobody else is around.

I can do this.

I want to do this. I shiver and bite my lip. Exhibitionism isn't one of my big fetishes but I have quite a few and nearly all are untapped. And it still is a sexy fucking idea. To be topless, racing through the park for anyone to see if they look closely. I'm panting again and this time it's not from exertion. My hand slides through my fur to cup my breast and I squeeze my nipple, careful of the tape. Claws scratch against the skin beneath the black hairs and I lick my lips.

And then I'm up and off. My ears twist to catch the pained gasping of the other person and I swivel to spot them in the distance. I leap over an exposed root and land lightly in soft mud.

My laugh is sudden and sharp. A bark, really. Again. I'm imagining myself running completely nude and barefooted. What would they make of the paw print I'd leave behind? A giant, human-sized paw print in the dried mud the morning after.

I'm already catching up to the wheezing jogger, dodging behind trees and lowering myself as the urge to go to all fours arises. Instead, I stand tall and race, passing them at a distance like a sexy tan and black blur in the night.

I run as fast as I can because I know I'm almost done for the night. I'm far, far faster than before. My tongue lolls out but I lick my nose again and pull it back into my mouth. Nostrils flare and I breathe in.

Out. In, in. Out. In.

Wind ruffles my fur which scratches my body. And my nipples. I growl quietly but focus forward. Racing and running, long powerful strides. My shorts pull upward, pushed by my bulging thigh muscles and my tail takes advantage, bowing upward and pushing the shorts higher until they give me a wedgie. My tail wags fiercely, sleek and black and almost as thick as my wrist. It makes me stumble and I slow to a walk, tugging the shorts down and over my ass to once more entrap my tail.

Oh. That's. That's, uhhh. That's. Something.

My tail swish-swish-swishes against the shorts and that goddamn voice is back. Louder again. I can almost, almost make out words. I whine when I somehow interpret the tight shorts as a hand against my tail. Restraint. My old fantasies surge in my head suddenly. Fist in my hair, ropes around my wrist. Held down and struggling despite wanting it. Fighting against it so I'm treated even more roughly and I can't escape.

Woof. Dang. Damn.

I'm almost back to my hoodie but I sink back down to my knees and then lean forward, bowing my head. With my hood down once more, my ears lay flat to the side, something I'm coming to realize they do when I'm embarrassed. Or when I'm turned on by dirty, dirty thoughts.

On my hands and knees like a bitch in heat, tail tugging at my spine while the voice commands me. Hooking my claws into my shorts and panties, I sit back and pull them off. Only when I feel the wetness against skin and fur do I realize I've soaked through both of them.

I crawl on hands and knees, hips rocking with my strange folded lips rubbing against the fur on the inside of my legs. A growl escapes my muzzle when I feel slick muscles rubbing together deep within my pussy. Wet. On all fours.

The log next to where I stashed my hoodie is right in front of me. I collapse against it, dropping my shorts and lean back, spreading my legs. Whining quietly, ears flat as I rub myself and grab my tit.

Masturbating in public. That jogger is still there and I can hear methodical footsteps nearby. I'm hidden but the idea of people close to me while I'm finger fucking myself is so fucking arousing. My tail thumps the ground and my hips lift, raising up uncontrollably to meet my fingers. I squeeze the thick, distended lips while pressing my padding against them and shoving my finger down as far as I can inside me to keep the blunt tip of my claw away from anything.

Panting and moaning and whimpering as that strange voice within grows louder and louder, driving me wild until-

"I knew you'd be here," a man says behind me.

"Fuck!" I cry out, pressing my finger deep into my pussy in shock. I cum and squeeze my thighs together while shoving myself back against the fallen log.

Fuck fuck fuck, wait, I think. My ears raise slowly and I twist to look behind me.

"You!" I say, and it's suddenly, shockingly, completely clear.

It's the man I met in the park. With the fucking doberman which, I'm pretty sure, is what kind of dog I am.

Oh, Christ. And he had a little fancy bag sitting next to him. Probably with a box full of piercings.

"Did you turn me into your goddamn dog?!" I yell and then lower myself, ears down when I see the jogger on the far shore turn around as if trying to find who was speaking. "Am I- Am I Chief?!"

I remember the dog's name because of course I do. I just don't remember his name.

"Don't be absurd," the man laughs. He has such an easy going, cultured voice. "Chief is a male and he's currently relaxing on his bed at home. You're clearly female."

"Clearly!" I growl. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"May I?" he asks, gesturing to the log. The log where I'm currently trying to meld into to hide my awkwardness.

"No you may fucking not," I yelp. "I'm naked!"

"I'm very aware," he says with a smile and an obvious glance at my chest.

He bends and I show my teeth by reflex with my ears back but he simply grabs the shorts I'd dropped and tosses them to me.

"If it would make you feel better," he tells me, cool as a cucumber. "I can also turn around."

I hate cucumbers. Pickles are fine but cucumbers are tasteless watery- Goddammit!

I grab my shorts and tug them on over my shoes, tearing long holes with my claws in my haste. I have to leave my tail free but I pull my knees up and lean forward with my arms blocking my tits.

"It was you, wasn't it?" I tell him, grinding my teeth. I feel like biting him. I see a mental image of lunging and latching onto his leg or throat or arm and shaking until I've broken something.

"Yes, and no," he says.

He's wearing brown leather shoes, khaki slacks and a long sleeved white Polo shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show hairy, muscular forearms. His brown hair is still shaggy but in a "I spent an hour making it look this disheveled" kind of way.

"What the hell," I growl in return. Why is his voice so soothing and why am I having a hard time looking away from his eyes? "What the hell kind of answer is that?"

Rather than answer, he places his hands together. Light shines from the gaps and then blooms when he pulls his hands apart.

A tiny flame dances a half inch above the lines in his hands. It flickers without the touch of a breeze and shadows bow and stretch before it. I lean forward without realizing what I'm doing. My ears are straight and almost vibrating as my mouth opens in awe.

"How are you doing that?" I ask reverently. I can feel the heat it casts but it doesn't seem to burn his hand.

He makes a fist and the flame vanishes. I have to blink away the afterimages of the little fat flame and I sit back.

"Some people are born with a gift," he tells me with a shrug. "We don't realize it at first. Odd things happen around us. Incidents. Unexplained phenomena. Eventually we figure out what's happening. Or someone finds us and takes us on to teach a few things. Never for long because there's just not enough time for our own pursuits."

"You're a magician?" I ask. My brain feels like it's hit a rock. This does not compute. "A real life pointy hat Gandalf? Like, real life?"

He laughs and it's far too disarming for his own good. And it makes me feel a bit, um, things. Makes me feel a bit of things. My tail thumps and then brushes against the ground.

"No way," he says. "Not anything near that powerful. Not even close. I've only been learning for five years, three of those on my own."

"But what's this have to do with me?" I ask as my brain tries to restart. So many questions but where would I even begin? I reach around and grab my knees, claws against my shin to hold them in place.

"Ah, well," he says, thumbing his nose. He scratches it, clearly buying time. "You know the old stories of witches with black cats?"

"I've seen Kiki's Delivery Service, yes," I tell him. I narrow my eyes.

"They're familiars," he says. "But not exactly like that. More like-"

"Like me?" I ask.

"Like you," he nods. "Nearly all magic is bound to our plane of existence and specifically Earth itself. Nature. At least for me and most that I know. It's levels, layers like an onion. A small grove may grant you power while a forest allows you to draw more. If you're skilled enough and old enough, the Earth itself can be drawn upon. Like the difference between a cellphone, laptop or a supercomputer. Different levels, different skills."

He's not really waiting for me to prod him on so I just watch him talk. It's him. It's been him. The voice whispering in my mind since I handled those nipple piercings. Now that I'm this close to him, I feel a connection and a sort of humming. Or thrumming. Throughout my entire body. It's nice. I file away the thought to ask later. When I'm not so distracted by his- his- everything.

"Familiars used to be feral creatures," he continues. "Cats, wolves, stags, does, whatever called to your soul. They were a link to the natural world around us. An interface. Ehhh, I'm bad at explaining it but more or less an interface."

He stops and I can see his mouth working as if he's chewing on something.

"You know," he says. "This would be a lot easier if we were at my place rather than in the park in the middle of the night."

"Hah!" I laugh, pulling my knees tighter against my chest. My piercings drag against my legs and my tail wags behind me. I shift my hips forward more because my lady- um, dog bits are feeling things. "I bet that'd be easier for you. Do you tell that to all the women you've turned into dogs? Is that like, your kink?"

"Ugh, no," he groans, pressing his hand to his face. "No. Fine. As time has progressed, as we've progressed, we've moved further away from nature. A simple black cat doesn't work anymore. We need a bridge between humanity and nature."

"Like me," I sigh, repeating myself. Why does my pussy have to stick out that fucking much? I can feel it throbbing against my thighs and it's hard to get comfortable because he's got this broad chest and a deep but somehow soft voice and this short beard that I want to lick and, aaagh!

"Like you," he says again. "A hybrid, stuck between feral and human to give that link that's needed for more than parlor tricks."

"Why me?" I ask him.

"I don't know," he shrugs. "None of us do. I felt you a year ago. I was in Magdeberg, breaking away from my tour group at the Kloster Unser Lieben Frauen while they were distracted by the art gallery. Suddenly there was something soft pressing on the back of my brain. I just left and followed it. Although, that's a really damn hard thing to do when flying."

"You can fly?!" I ask, shooting forward. I bare my breasts and teats in my excitement and the moon shines off the piercings as the chains attached to the studs in my ears jingle.

"Uh, airplanes," he says, scratching his nose again.

"Oh, so you can't," I sigh again, disappointed.

"It's not impossible," he tells me. "Especially if you-"

"If I?" I prompt when he doesn't finish his sentence.

"Bond with me," he finishes. "If you bond with me."

"Listen, you haven't even bought me a drink," I tell him as my ass grinds slowly on the ground, unnoticed by me except for the slow pleasure radiating from between my thighs.

"It's not-" he hangs his head, mentally changing gears before continuing. "I flew to London first, then Galway and you were closer but not close enough. So, I came to the US. I was interrupted a few times but you were always there."

"So then you turned me into a dog," I growl.

"No," he says quickly.

"Oh no?" I laugh, showing my teeth. I spread my arms and my tail raises. And then I tap my muzzle with my claws and show him my paws. "So, I'm just a half naked woman sitting in a park having a delusional mental break?"

He stares at me solemnly and I shiver and press my lips together. God dammit.