Office Bitch Ch. 03

I can hear the car crunching through the gravel while it drives away and my house suddenly feels huge and empty and silent. It's an unwelcome feeling that I've never noticed before.

His scent lingers. Sweat, deodorant and a complex mix of other little things that is just him. It's a thread of warmth in the sterile house and I follow it for a moment before I realize what I'm doing. Standing in the hallway to my bedroom, I clamp down hard.

I am in control.

And yet, here I stand, in the middle of a path of tan hairs lining a pristine white carpet leading into a bedroom that smells heavily of sex and Michael. I can feel my control slipping at the thought of him. I've never felt anything like that before. My father taught law and discipline and my mother still works as an investment banker. I can't remember a time since childhood where I didn't have a tight fist around everything in my life.

So I focus on the small things I can manage. Looking away from the bed. Closing my eyes and then opening them again when I see a memory of myself on the bed on all fours. As if I were a disembodied spectator.

Small things.

My cleaners will be curious about the fur. I'll need to leave them a tip and tell them a friend was over with a dog. Which dog? What- what kind of dog am I? I don't want to think down this path but I need an excuse. Always prepared. Always in control.

All fours with my ass in the air but I can only see myself as a generic furred creature. I try to feel disgusted but I can't and I feel my eyebrows knit when I bite the inside of my bottom lip. Pressing my thighs together at the memory of-

I'll just tell them I don't know. I'm not a dog person.

Oh god.

I can't stop the little laugh at the thought of that but it helps a little. A little. Some big fluffy brown dog and I forgot to close all of my doors before it got off leash. That is what I'll tell them.

Avoiding the bed, I go and open a window and turn on the oil diffuser I have plugged in next to my nightstand. It's not their business that I had sex and it's not something they would ever comment on but, for some reason, I can't stand the thought of them knowing what happened. I can't separate out the thought of sex with becoming that creature and I can't stop thinking that they'll just somehow know.

I move my ancient alarm clock slightly, back to where it's supposed to be. I got it as a birthday gift when I turned fifteen and I've had it ever since. A very sensible gift and it refuses to die. The box of tissues is out of place so I fix that. And the little jade bowl I got from a trip to Hong Kong. And my wireless phone charger since it got knocked over at some point. Now the cable from the alarm clock isn't straight so I move it back.

God it's hard to resist. He's hard to resist. The smell of him.

I breathe deeply, mouth closed, nose open, eyes closed, hand on the nightstand, lips parted slightly, chin up, feet apart and my right hand touches the bed while I crawl into it. Michael made it before he left. Sloppily. Just pulled the sheet and blanket straight without tucking anything in. I should make it again. Properly this time. Tucked and folded with the mound of pillows arranged just how I like them.

Instead, I lower my body. The untied belt slips free of my silky crimson robe and it opens.

Hands and knees. Lowering myself. Face to the bed. Rolling my head. Fingers clawing the blanket into little knots. Oh. Oh, god. Knots. Reddened cock spreading me open but no - it's Michael and the scent of him winding its way through my body. Whining as I taste him in my throat, remembering how I lapped his cum from my fingers last night. Moaning as it works down my spine, pulling my ass up with an invisible hand. Groaning when the robe slides over my hips until I'm exposed. Growling quietly when I pull myself flat and I feel my teats dragging against the blanket. My soaked panties feel cold against my hot pussy.

Reaching under myself and between my thighs, I grab my panties and feel the sharp prick of my claws sliding from my fingertips. They pierce the soft cotton and I jerk when the tip of a claw touches my sex, sliding around the strange, swollen lips until I slice through the band and pull, tossing the panties to the floor.

He's there. Under me. His pillow. The scent of him. The memory of him. His hands. His voice. My hips rock against the pillow he used when he slept. Humping it like the bitch I am. In heat. Riding the stitched edge of it while I reach up to grab the mattress and the headboard. Grunting and licking my lips. The robe strokes my back with every movement. Sliding against the sparse fur beginning to cover me.

Toes digging into the bed. Lowering myself. Feeling my ears sliding against skin and hair while my tongue dangles from my mouth. Almost there, Michael. Almost there. Back arched, shoulders back, little tuft of fur where my tail would be. I can feel it brushing against my bare ass every time I move.

"Fuck!" I bark harshly, voice cracking on the hard syllables. Hard to think. My stomach clenches and I nip at my left shoulder and whine. I raise my ass and hips and push back once more. My thighs are wet and sticky and I'm riding a wave of endorphins from the orgasm. It's an incredible release and I just want to lie down in our smells and the warmth within and just sleep.

My fur retreats while my breathing steadies. I can feel it beneath my robe and it makes me shiver in pleasure. Like a lover caressing my back.

I can't clearly remember the past few minutes. My head is still buzzing and I feel so good but angry as well. At my lack of discipline. I remember pulling myself together. Looking at my clock and then the edges of my memory fray and I see pieces. The scents and sensations overpower the rest of it.

No, I knew this would be difficult. After last night and this morning, I knew I'd struggle. I just have to keep trying. Working on it until I've got a handle on it.

I set up and dangle my legs over the bed. I should shower. I should. Hot and clean. I smell like sex with a faint trace of dog and I'm a mess. I like it, though. My juices. My sex. How it feels and the thought of it. But that's not right. Clean is better, isn't it? I shake my head and my lips tremble and I growl and then stand, shaking my head again. I don't need it, no. I smell natural and good and I know it'd turn him on to be near me and have my scent. To know me and what I'd done.

So I push off of the bed and nearly stumble before catching myself against the wall. Arms back so the robe slides from my body. Stepping lightly over to my walk-in closet and then inside, shivering as the coolness wraps around the heat suffusing my body. I can't help glancing back at the bed. Feeling the ghost of Michael's warm, comfortable body calling to me.

"Slacks or skirt?" I ask myself out loud, studiously ignoring the bedroom. I have to keep adjusting my stance because my natural posture has my thighs rubbing against my sex and it's really hard to overlook. And it's almost worse when I spread my legs because my lips stick to my legs and-

Ignoring that. Ignoring the thrill building in my lower belly again. Ignoring how huge and empty and silent the house is without Michael. I'm flicking through clothes without even looking at them while shuffling my feet and remembering his hand on my back and side.

"Goddammit!" I curse loudly, grabbing a pair of slacks and throwing them to the ground like a child.

Those little ghost muscles twitch in my ears and I whine, looking back at the bed with my head and shoulders hunched. No, he's not there. Thank god. That was bad. Childish. Bad. I pick up the navy blue slacks and scratch the back of my neck where I feel a few strands of hair pulling back into my skin. Why is this so damn hard?

Breathe. Through my mouth so it's easier to handle. And out. And back in. And out again.

Work on the little steps. I have to get ready for the meeting. I have to get dressed and go. To do that, I need to pick my clothes for the day. Every problem can be broken down into manageable tasks. That's what I learned growing up and in school. I'm meeting with the temp agency. Professional. Slacks and pumps. Nothing else on my calendar for the day that I can remember. A few phone calls I can put off and some monthly reports to read over. It's been a while since I've done a walkthrough to say hello to everyone. Was it Sandy's birthday? No. Something like that. Her husband's birthday? I'll have to check. And Michael will be there!

Another whine escapes my lips but I don't notice because now I'm worried about Michael again and whether he'll actually go to work.

I have his address on file at the office, I think to myself, holding the slacks to my chest. But is that wrong to look it up? I could call him and see when he'll be there. Or- or stop by his house. Apartment? No, no, no, hell no. That is wrong. It'll be fine. He told me he wanted to see me again. He hugged me and smelled good and even saw how I looked and wasn't grossed out. I should wear something nice for him. Something he'd like. A short skirt? Something to show off my legs. Above the knee? What does he like?

It takes a moment to realize what I'm doing - fawning over him and worrying about his needs before my own. Getting excited at the thought of pleasing him rather than considering what would work best in the office.

Holding the slacks, I go to my dresser and grab a new pair of panties, sliding them over my legs while blushing. Angry at myself again. Sitting on the bed, ignoring it, pulling on my slacks and then standing to work them over my hips. They're tight on me for some reason. I look down to see my lean stomach and firm sides. Is my ass bigger? Is this part of what happened to me?

Careful of my lowest set of teats, blushing even harder now, I zip the pants. They're tight and uncomfortable and show every curve of my body but I look damn good. Until I notice the rows of little black nipples on my dusky skin and stray tan hairs peeking over the waistband. I can cover those. A long shirt tucked in. It's okay. I can deal with this. Small, manageable tasks. But then I turn and bend and see the faint outline of my pussy compressed against my pants. Barely visible but if anyone were to look beyond a glance, they could see something different. Worse - I know it's there.

So I kick the pants off, lay them on the bed and grab a skirt. Well, I go to grab a skirt but it's a long skirt and it has been a while since I've shown my legs off. Instead, I take a pencil skirt down and hold it against my waist. It's an elastic band so it'd fit well. More breathable and comfortable and what man doesn't like looking at a woman's legs? I could ask him when he sees me. If he likes skirts more than slacks. I bet he would and the openness would allow my fragrance to reach him.

The thought of Michael's smile warms me and I start humming, imagining him grinning and hugging me like he did in the kitchen. I have to carefully pull the skirt over my lower belly but it feels okay against my teats and I can't see the nipples hidden beneath when I look at it. The skirt stops above my knees and I turn, going to my tiptoes to see how my calves look. He'll love it, I think.

Shirts are harder. The first button-down shirt I find is too tight and shows too much so I have to look around until I find a looser one. And even then, depending on how I sit, it can show a tiny out-of-place bulge if someone looked hard enough. Thankfully I have several blazers that button and those hide everything.

Glancing at the clock shows I'm running out of time. I grab my favorite pair of black heels and head for the entryway. My keys are in the dish by the door but my purse isn't where I normally put it. I think back but, oh lord, all I see is the red, sensual snippets of the evening. I can't remember anything about the car ride home now but trying to remember it makes a slow ache form between my legs.

Before the thoughts drag me back to the bed, I open the door and step out into the warm morning air.

God, it's a beautiful day. I can smell the morning dew evaporating on my lawn. An interesting mix of scents from the flowerbeds under my windows draws my gaze but my head snaps up at a rustling sound from the bushes on my life. My ears tweak and I take a half-step forward until I see a small grey squirrel burst through to climb the fence and race along the rails. I watch it intently for a second and then relax. Just a dumb squirrel. I kind of want to see where it went. Or whether there's more in the bushes. I hadn't even realized I had them on my property.

My SUV is right near the front door. Parked crooked in front of the garage. I can almost remember getting out. Almost. But, no. I push that away. It beeps when I unlock it and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my purse inside through the tinted passenger window. I grab my door, open it and then pause.

I have an elegant yard and, like the inside of the house, I'd never really noticed it. I pay people to do the landscaping and I've only ever had anything to do with the yard when I've had parties outside. But, really, it's gorgeous. There's a wide flower bed surrounding the front of the house with rich, fragrant compost and trees providing shade throughout the lawn. Large bushes give a measure of privacy from the road but they're well trimmed and- my eyes widen, suddenly alert as one of the bushes move. My alert, yet human, ears catch the chittering of a small animal. It takes no small measure of concentration to ignore the hidden squirrel playing in my yard.

The verdant green grass smells like it was freshly mown but I can't even remember when the landscaping company was here last.

Wind rushes through the trees and I blink and breathe deeply of the immensely complex scents it carries. I'm suddenly tempted to just lie down on the grass and the compulsion is so strong that I close the car door. I can see it. And feel it. All in my mind's eye. Curled up. The grass a lush, green cushion beneath me. Michael at my side, his hand resting on my thigh. My back against him. Happy with just that little bit of contact. Of knowing he was there with me. Reading to me or just sitting quietly with me. I want it so bad. The peace and quiet and calmness of it.

A quiet, secret little thought forms and presents itself and I don't even feel the shame in asking it: what would it be like to feel the wind through my fur? Sunning myself in the open. Naked but for a light fur coat. His fingers scratching me slowly and the wind winding its way through my yard to kiss my warm fur. Kissing. Michael. Kissing my neck and shoulders. I have a strange dual image of him biting my human earlobes as well as the edge of my long dog ears and both deepen the ache within.

My throat vibrates with a quiet, agonized growl as I tear away from the daydream and force myself into my vehicle. I clear my mind of everything (focus on every little step), back out of my gravel driveway and onto the road.

For a good five minutes, I adjust myself. My strange vagina presses against the seat and every bump in the rood reminds me of it. There's no good way to sit but it's not quite so bad if I close my legs and lean forward. So I add a little note to my mental checklist to look for solutions because I'm already feeling aroused and my teats (missing his touch) brushing against my skirt and shirt while my pussy rubs (humping his pillow like a bitch and wishing it was his cock) on the seat is not helping.

I wish he were sitting next to me and I strain to smell him but catch nothing beyond leather, hot plastic and the very, very faint smell of sex.

---

I barely remember the drive because I'm mentally going through a list of things to do for the day. Over and over, a litany of steps to prevent the other part of me from taking lead. So I'm almost surprised when I park in my designated spot on instinct.

Now I'm anxious. I whine and look around, licking my lips. I give myself a quick look but see nothing out of the ordinary except for a few flecks of gold in my brown eyes. No hairs or anything else out of place.

"You'll be okay," I tell my reflection again. She doesn't look completely reassured but it's all I have.

An employee waves in the distance when I get out and I wave back. I can't smell who they are but it looks vaguely like Ayesha. My key fob unlocks the executive door and I sigh in the suddenly cool air within the building. And then wrinkle my nose at the smells flooding the building. Recycled air, chemicals and years of people of various cleanliness. I have to breathe through my mouth until I reach my office.

But then a powerful smell makes me stumble.

I changed here.

I can almost see myself in my chair. The chair that's still facing the table in my office. I can't- I can't remember what- God. I feel myself grow wet, the tight muscles within slipping together when I drop to my knees and bow my head. Long black hair falling around my face. Panting. Raising my hips. Moaning.

Have to.

Have to focus.

I'm sweating. Groaning. Whining. Clawing at the carpet.

Focus.

Have to focus.

Taking a shaky breath, I stand and lick my lips with a rough tongue. Brushing loose hairs back over sharp, lightly furred ears. My clothes feel tight and restricting and I'm still panting, my wet tongue against my chin. I pull at my shirt and my nails scratch (claws in the bed on all fours with Michael behind me) my throat.

I got to my desk and lean on it, clumsily hitting the button for the receptionist.

"Yes, Ms. Williams?" Janice answers immediately.

"Is," I whine quietly and rock my hips while pushing my stomach against the edge of the desk. "Is M- Michael Brooks in yet?"

"No, Ms. Williams," Janice replies. "I haven't seen him yet."

"O- okay," I groan. Grinding my teeth as I hang up.

Focus. Please. Focus. Small. Small tasks.

I stare at my hand, clenched on the edge of the table. The fingernails bulge while I watch but I push and breathe and focus until the claws growing within withdraw. My pebbled nostrils flare and I huff, licking them once and then again but my tongue falls short.

The changes are retreating. I can do this.

Stick to routine, manage small tasks and focus on the immediate.

When I trust myself to move, I stand and go to my coffee machine. It's chrome and expensive and I don't even remember where I got it. A gift? I should remember something like that. No. I think I sent Janice out to find one while I was getting my office set up years ago. I start it, set a fresh coffee cup under the nozzle and go to my desk.

My phone buzzes and then Janice's voice intrudes. "The temp agency will be here within a few minutes, Ms. Williams. Shall I send them in when they arrive or do you want to meet them at the front?"

"Send them in please," I tell her. "And, Janice?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Can-" I swallow. Can you tell me when Michael is in the office? "Never mind. Thank you."

My coffee machine chimes politely so I retrieve my cup and go back to my desk to stare at the computer's login prompt some more. I take a sip, log in to my computer and immediately go to the employee section of our internal website. With a few taps and clicks, I have MIchael's information in front of me. He hasn't used his key fob to get in yet. I don't know the area he lives in very well but it's a bit of a drive from what I do know. So, he could just be late because of that. My hand twitches towards my desk phone but I make a hard fist and growl when my nails dig into my palm.