Unnatural Selection

Evolution and all that. Or breeding; whatever.

So I bounded back down the sidewalk, keeping to the edge of the woods, hearing Clyde and the woman behind me. It occurred to me that I'd never met his human, or Rasputin's; she didn't seem like the kind of person who'd have a big-ass wolfdog like Clyde, but you just never know sometimes. I mean hell, Mrs Lansky is a respectable and decent old lady; look at her, stuck with a creep like me.

I listened for Clyde and his woman, but even more I smelled for them. Which wasn't hard, even from behind, even on the air. They smelled like raw, sheer passion, which troubled me. Maybe she'd just gotten done fucking; I don't know. She looked hot enough, and the house wasn't the kind of place where a young woman would live alone. Maybe her mate had been breeding her when Clyde came home, looking for a walk.

Whatever.

I rustled quickly past the trail sign, with Clyde's piss still shouting at my nose, and on a whim I stopped about ten cat-lengths beyond, beside a big rock. I lay quietly down facing back the way I'd come, my little dog-brain working hard, figuring there must have been a reason he'd whizzed there. And if I watched them come, I'd figure out that reason. I wasn't worried, mostly because curiosity only kills cats. It's a well-known fact.

They came before I'd been there more than a few moments, my heart stirring toward the woman when I didn't hear the jingle of a chain; Mrs Lansky believed in leashes. And fuck leashes. Apparently, Clyde was more fortunate in his owner, and I was just making a mental note to congratulate him tomorrow night out in back of the gas station when they came into view through the moonlight.

What the fuck?

It had to be a trick of the light, but damned if my old buddy Clyde didn't look almost as big as a fucking human! Or a Doberman, anyway, which is close enough; he'd always been a big dog, but there was something about him now that seemed more present, more there somehow. And he was walking funny, too, more of a crawl and less of a lope. Like his hind legs had gotten longer somehow, stronger, more manlike.

Had to be a trick of the moonlight. Right?

"There's a good boy," the woman cooed, and I almost shrank back again: I mean, human scents are easy to read, but this one was like a book on tape. She was trembling with eagerness and urgency and that dark-pink smell of lust, and as they reached the little trailhead with the signpost I wondered whether she, too, could smell Clyde's piss. Probably not, I decided. Human senses are iffy at the best of times, and this wasn't the best of her time.

They passed within maybe six cat-lengths of where I crouched, Clyde pawing at his urine-stain as they did, and then the two of them moved off along the trail between the elm trees. Or, fuck, maple? How the hell should I know? I'm a dog, not a botanist. The path meandered down along the river, not really a trail, but more of a shortcut between here and the other side street down by the railroad.

But trail, path, shortcut, or fucking superhighway, it was deserted at this time of night, which was clearly what Clyde and his woman were looking for. I heard the low purr of crickets, the little tiny crackle of leaves from... fieldmice? Chipmunks? I tested the scent, and nodded. Fieldmouse. Those little fuckers always smell like ass.

I loped along behind, counting on Clyde's shitty sense of smell to avoid detection, but I was starting to wonder if I could count on anything from Clyde: the light of the full moon was shredding through the maples fully now, showing me that my buddy Clyde... well, he was looking less and less like my buddy Clyde. He'd been walking weird before, less like a proper dog and more like some human trying to walk like a dog, but in the time I'd been waiting for them to get further down the trail he'd actually started walking on his hind fucking legs!

It had to be something in the shadows, the moonlight. Had to be. Clyde was a doggie, and even though I'd never heard of a breed called "wear-wolf," doggies don't walk on their hind legs. Only those soap-smelling spazwits that hold our leashes do that. I blinked, cursing fucking evolution; having an awesome nose was great and all, but when your eyes (apparently) can't tell the difference between a man and a dog, what's the point?

Maybe I was just getting old.

They passed deeper into the woods under the white moonlight, the sound of the stream off to my left, and I caught the bitter tang of beer on the breeze from a nearby grove: cans, not bottles. Fucking teenagers.

I'm not sure how far we went along the trail, me picking my way among rain-dark piles of mulch and along the boardwalks the local Eagle Scouts were forever laying across the marshy bits, before I just about ran into Clyde's bulky hindquarters. He'd stopped short in a little clearing with a soft, sandy floor, the stream glugging past on one side and with trees ringing the rest. I shrank as noiselessly back into the brush as I could, somehow getting weirdo vibes and vaguely menacing pheromones off Clyde, but I needn't have worried about him hearing me.

Because there were other smells coming off him, stronger than before. The sex smells. The harsh pungency of a dog in heat. Mixed, oddly and disturbingly, with the softer stink of a person in heat. And it wasn't the girl; no, she was in heat too, mindlessly so, but her own smell was high and sharp and clear. No, both these others were coming off Clyde. My brain was still considering the implications of that, settling into a pile of leaves to see what would happen next, when he spoke.

Well, someone spoke. It was man-speech, but tinged with all sorts of gutturals and whines that made my neck prickle. I actually had to make myself stay still, so strong was the urge to flee from that voice. That voice had thorns. "It's time," it grated.

If that voice made me freak, it was nothing compared to what it did to the woman. "Goddamn," she murmured, her voice low and thick and juicy. She was standing at the edge of the sandy clearing, turned to face him, and somehow the motherfucker was... Jesus. He was fully on his hind legs now, his shadow reaching out to her. "You're so fucking sexy."

My ears pricked up. Sexy? Clyde? But if that confused me, it was nothing like what happened next. "On your knees, bitch." He snarled it, low and menacing, and I had a moment to cock my head quizzically; bitch? But she was a human... when her legs went completely boneless, driving her knees into the sand with a whimper that was almost canine in the back of her throat, her hands reaching without hesitation to those hind legs of his, which suddenly seemed to have so much more muscle than Clyde usually had.

I felt a sudden urge to whimper myself, in fact, the pheromones strong and crazy as Clyde seemed to grow even taller, hulking over the kneeling woman, his impatience almost something I could touch and bite. She looked up at him with big, shining eyes, her hands running over the fur of his legs, her mouth suddenly slack. The stench from the two of them filled the woods.

He stared down at her, and even from the side I could see his eyes looked small and red and very un-Clyde-like. "Tell me what you want to do," he breathed, all fierce. I braced myself; you only heard that tone from dogs that were about to attack, like my brother's friend Punisher. He was a K-9, the dirty pig. I glanced up at Clyde's snout, the thing looking somehow squashed in, more human in a way, but then the moon glinted off a pair of fangs bigger than I remembered and I knew he was about to eat that poor girl's throat.

And, from the look of things, she'd love it.

She ran her hands up to his hips, and something twitched there in the dark. "I want to please you," she managed, her voice almost as husky as his. "I want to make you feel good."

Clyde rumbled, deep in his throat, almost a laugh. "Do you." His paw reached with saucy confidence toward her face, and my gut chilled when I saw a sudden claw there. Where the fuck did he get that thing? He ran the claw up the side of her face, very deliberately, drawing a full-body shiver that set the girl's tits bobbing fitfully in the thin tanktop. "Have you saved yourself for me?"

When I looked back at her, I could see tears streaking her face. "I have," she confessed, her head bowing. "I've been yours, only."

He chuckled once more. "Why?"

She gazed back up at him, her hands moving in rhythm along his massive hairy thighs. "Because I am your bitch," she moaned, almost a chant, and once again I got a strange sense of wrongness in my chest when her little hands converged at the center of the huge, furry mass right where the trees had left shadows between his legs. "And I exist to please you."

"Good," he snickered, and that's when she ran her fingers in between his legs and lifted it out.

Holy fuck.

I mean, I'd seen Clyde's whang plenty of times; it kind of goes with the territory, when you're a dog. No clothes, you know? People see your junk. But the thing that woman pulled out of the shadows wasn't what I'd seen before, dangling like a little sausage between my homie Clyde's hind legs. Nope. This was a thick piece of meat, like two Dobermans put together, and you could just see from the way she hefted it that it was heavy.

Jesus. He wasn't even hard, and it looked like my fucking tail.

I laid my head between my paws, looking up, the same way the woman did; you know when you're not the alpha. This wasn't Clyde, not anymore; this was something different, and suddenly I understood what a fucking werewolf was.

She held it in her palm, lovingly, stroking it with her other hand while her eyes glowed in the night. "May I?" she asked, her voice a weaselly little cracked thing, and Clyde gave another of his low, earthquake laughs.

"You may," and the sound of his sigh was a bellows as the woman edged forward on her knees and leaned reverently down, her lipsticked mouth puckering, to claim her prize. "Please me, bitch."

Her reply was to place her lips on the head of that monster, waiting, parting so, so slowly to accept his head, and she sucked him slowly into her as his claws came to rest with deceptive gentleness on her hair. But I could see, even in the dim, the spastic clutch of his knuckles when he gripped her, and I feared once again for this poor human's safety.

She didn't, though, completely absorbed by his big furry cock, her lips pulsing steadily as she firmed him. Holy fuck, I realized; when he was hard, he'd be the size of a fucking schnauzer. Like, not of a schnauzer's dick: of an actual fucking schnauzer. She moaned, her tits jiggling again with the violence of her breathing, and those claws tightened again on her scalp as he pulled her closer to him. "That's it," he crowed venomously. "Please me."

I was spellbound. I'd never seen anything this perverse, and no way could I look away. I actually saw him get thicker and harder, lengthening inside her face, but she'd obviously done this before: she kept her mouth tight just under his head, one of her hands tracing veins so prominent I could see them even by the light of the moon; her other hand had disappeared between his thighs, probably tickling his balls.

She looked like she knew what she was doing, too. Lucky dog.

He stood easily, and that's the word I have to use: stood, like a man, only bigger and more brutal. He still smelled like Clyde, though, more than ever: like the concentrated essence of canine scent, attacking my nose like a mace. No pun intended. I found myself exhaling hard just to try to get that musky shit out of there, but then that just left room for the eye-watering intensity of the woman's cunt. These two were going to destroy each other, I swear.

Her head and neck moved with passionate need, bobbing rhythmically along his cock. He was getting bigger and bigger, straight through Chihuahua and into dachshund now, and there was no way she could get that big thing fully into her mouth. So she laved it with her mouth, her tongue rolling up and down that silk-furred shaft like Mrs Lansky's fucked-up grandson with his rolling papers, and the moon gave more than enough light for me to see her leave his brutal dick shiny with her spit.

And then everything changed.

He gave a warning growl, and for a moment I wanted to run; she just knelt there, slack-jawed like a moron, and I marveled that she couldn't hear the note of cruelty behind his snarl. But by then it was too late; his claws tightened in her hair, he reared back for a tense moment, and then he pushed hard into her face.

I half expected to see the bulge of his cockhead poke out the back of her neck, like in a cartoon; instead, she just gagged, shied back once, and then gathered herself and held her head still while her throat bobbed, and then suddenly Clyde was chukling triumphantly. "That's it," he hissed. "Take it all down, bitch."

Her face shone with tears and sweat as she looked desperately up at him, swallowing crazily as she forced herself to please him, her neck doing weird things as he pushed her down his shaft. She whined deep down in her throat, and for a moment I wondered whether she was about to die or something; then I realized she'd taken one hand off his cock and, when I found it, it was jammed straight down her shorts.

He held her there without mercy, shaking her head slightly with a cruel grin on his face. The girl strained to please him but sounded like she was going to choke to death doing it, and just as her eyes started to bulge out of her skull Clyde ripped her head off his cock and threw her to the sand. She sprawled there, all gaspy, her face a mask of snot and spit and tears, and then Clyde was back down on all fours, prowling, his teeth bared.

"I'm going to devour that pussy," he snarled, and for a moment I was in shock: I mean, I don't like cats any more than the next doggie, but eating them? Really? Then I remembered that pussy is a slang term the humans use for vaginas, and I decided that probably wasn't any more pleasant. She clearly didn't agree, though, her fingers frantic as they tried to push her shorts down her thighs.

But Clyde wasn't having any of that. He crouched between her feet, looming on his haunches, before he suddenly raised his paw high in the air and brought his claws sizzling down in a single brutal swing that left her squealing with her shorts shredded. A second swipe, more ribboned denim with the frayed remains of some expensive-looking human underwear, and then he was nosing between her thighs and firmly on the scent.

Not that it took much. She was sloppy enough down there that even a noseblind bulldog would have known where her mind was.

He ranged in, her body squirming as she felt his hot breath over her slit, and then he was waiting, letting the tension grow while the woman coughed her throat back into some sort of shape. She drew in the deepest breath she could, then groaned, "Please..."

Whatever else she was going to add he ripped away from her as his jaws snapped shut on her snatch. She screamed, like a legit horrible shriek, the kind that's usually followed about six minutes later by police sirens. "Fuck," she panted at the end of it, her breath gusting out of her as he rooted deeper into her crack; curious, I perked my head up in time to see Clyde's long, thick pink werewolf tongue lashing at the girl's hole, her thrashing legs still cranked wide.

I watched it, pink and wet and muscular, slipping straight into her body in the bright moonlight, the girl clenching all her muscles tight. "Yessss," she gurgled, the word coming out in a long groaning hiss, and when that long tongue slithered back out of her snatch it had some sort of thick creamy stuff all over it. Slowly, the woman eased back into the sand, her whole body melting as she laughed with the joy he was giving her. "Yes, baby."

"You taste like need," he rumbled back, his long lupine body sleek in the moonlight as he licked deeply at her cunt. "Like lust incarnate." I wondered where the hell Clyde had learned a fancy word like that, living as a mopey little husky-looking doggie, but I was starting too late to figure out he was quite a bit more than that. He licked her again, slowly up along the lips of her snatch, and she gasped hard when he curled up under her clit at the very top. "You taste like I want you to taste," he gloated.

"Mmm," was all she could manage, then, when he quickly reversed direction and sent that talented tongue straight back down, far under, licking at her ass, she squirmed in a sudden spasm. I nodded, approvingly; licking ass was a healthy thing for any dog to do. "Fuck, Clyde."

"Soon," he assured her, and then he locked that increasingly human-looking mouth of his over her gaping hole and sucked hard, and the girl was giving cracked gasping cries into the night, just as a cloud came over the moon.

This was starting to scare me.

He feasted in the dark, the two of them grunting wildly, as everything else in the forest seemed to go still and anxious, like it was waiting for something. I felt the same: something was about to happen, and I couldn't help feeling like it was going to be something dreadful, once the moon came back out.

Meanwhile there were just sounds, lewd and nasty sounds, the rough sandpaper of a tongue flicking over the soaked pink folds between her legs, and their breathing; his, muffled by her flesh, hers more of a weep. Sounds, and scents: those were sharp and thick and overwhelming, almost a living thing to me, and I knew right away when he started to make her cum. I could smell it. No beagle worthy of the name needs eyes when he's got a good nose, and mine was fine.

I couldn't really smell the moon, though, so when the clouds drifted off and the silver light returned, flooding the clearing as though a lamp had just clicked on, it took me by surprise. His voice drifted back toward me. "You know how I want you," he grunted at her, and when I glanced back at the two of them I wasn't too shocked at what I saw.

Yup. He wanted her like any other bitch.

She knelt, her shredded clothes dangling off her like afterthoughts, with her back arched deeply beneath an ass she'd shoved high up into the night air, pointed straight at the werewolf. Her tanktop had gotten so stretched and ripped by that time that I saw most of a pale, firm tit before the woman pushed her whole upper body into the sand. Her face, sideways, looked back up over her shoulder at her hulking lover. "Mount me," she cooed. "Please."

"Please?" he snorted, suddenly rearing back onto his hind legs again, his furry shape a massively muscled shadow in the moonbeams. "That's cute." She sighed deeply when he reached his powerful paw out to stroke along her sides, back to her hips, before those claws of his clamped down hard on the cheeks of her ass. His knuckles tensed as she gave a sharp yelp. "But you know you don't need to plead. I'll take you anyway."

"Oh my god," she quavered, her voice low and husky, but the last syllable turned into a drawn-out whine because that's when Clyde decided he wanted to get some. He glared down, his eyes bright red, his hairy muscles glimmering along his chest and abs, as with fierce control he lined himself up and pushed into her, slowly but steadily, letting her feel every ridged inch as she huffed and puffed against the sand.

"Take it," he taunted her, low and exultant. "Show me you can be my bitch." He paused, then jabbed forward just an inch or so, teasing, drawing another yelp out of her hoarse throat. He kept it up, working her slowly and continuously, that huge cock of his advancing, retreating, advancing, retreating a half-inch or so each time, until he eased himself into a long, brutal set of strokes, the impact of his thrusts lifting her knees off the sand just a tad, her whole body rippling.