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The man watches as the young woman in professional clothing times her escape. He can see it in her face – the wicked smile and the constant glances as she finishes her food. And it wasn’t the first time he’d spotted her, no. He often dined around town during his lunch break and she’d shown up in two other restaurants around the same time.
He spills his salt as she takes a gulp of her wine. She refills the glass with what was left in the bottle while he traces a pattern in the salt. Once it complete, he leans forward to blow the salt towards her. And then he sits back to enjoy his meal while keeping an eye on the woman.
She is slim of hips and chest in a navy blue pencil skirt that reaches below her knees. Her shirt is white, long sleeved and buttoned and she wears tan high heels. Her long, platinum blonde hair is tied up and secured with lacquered chopsticks. As he watches, she wipes her faint red lips with her napkin before asking for the check. Her eyes watch the door as the waiter arrives with the bill and collects her empty plates.
When the waiter leaves and the host’s attention is elsewhere, she takes her chance. She stands, casually walks to the front, reaches into the tip jar and withdraws a handful of cash.
And then she steps out into the busy sidewalk.
He takes his time finishing his food and gives an overly generous tip along with compliments to the chef. With a smile for the staff at the front, he leaves enough of a tip in the jar to replace what was stolen and then follows the woman into the mid-day warmth of the sun.
She wasn’t too far, according to his spell, but he doesn’t bother chasing her down. Instead, he walks to the nearest alley and steps into the shadow with a quiet whisper.
The woman nearly screams when he appears at her shoulder. Her hand goes to her pale throat and her eyes widen as she glances around the nearly empty street.
“Why do you do it?” he asks, honestly curiously. He’s come up with several reasons beforehand but can’t be certain, despite the large number of years he’s been alive to witness the various mannerisms of the people stumbling around him.
“Why-? Who are you?” she stuttered.
“Nobody of importance. Not to you,” he replies. “Answer the question. Why do you do it? Are you poor? I doubt it, based on the places you’ve stolen from but I’m struggling to understand why you do it.”
“Are you the police?” she asks as the faint red in her cheeks was swallowed by the pale whiteness of fear.
He gestures at himself slowly. “Do I look like the police? Please don’t make me ask again.”
The woman licks her lips, glances around and then sneers at him.
“Because I can,” she tells him. “Of course I could afford their shitty food but where’s the fun in that? I get a thrill out of it.”
He cocks his head but nods, disappointed that it was the most obvious reason. Her eyes are as green as the malice that seems to poison her. “You don’t even keep the money you steal, do you?”
“The dollars?” she asks and then laughs with her hand against her chest. “Why the hell would I keep a few dollars? If they’re lucky, there’s maybe twenty in the jar every time. I do keep it and it pays for what I don’t take.”
“I see,” he says, thinking to himself.
“Now kindly fuck off,” she tells him, turning to leave.
“Oh, miss?” he calls out. She turns and his fingers dance against his palm. With a flick of his wrist, he holds a thin leather necklace out towards her. She takes it by reflex but it vanishes as her fingers brush the material.
“How-?” she looks at her fingers and then at his. He can tell she wants to ask him what the trick is but her pride and anger hold her back.
The woman stalks off without another word, unaware of the thin collar secured around her neck.
“I’ll be at Talley Park this same time tomorrow,” he calls out to her.
Rather than answer, she flips him off without a backwards glance and his answering smile is almost impossible to see.
She stares at herself in the mirror, frozen in fear. The necklace the man held is attached to her throat. She didn’t even feel it until she was home in her small but well-appointed apartment. A small blank metal square is attached to it and there’s a simple buckle holding it in place.
Her fingers reach for the buckle and she pulls the end through the loop but the prong refuses to budge. Her nails dig under it and she tries to force it but it’s as if it was welded to the frame itself.
She stands and walks into her kitchen with the buckle turned to the front of her throat. As she walks, she scratches the itch forming along her collarbone. She can feel the pleasurable sensation down to her toes and her nails dig in deep until she stands before her sink.
The woman rummages through her drawers and pulls a fork from within. She lays it against the buckle carefully and pulls with her chin raised. The collar tightens against her throat but refuses to come undone. She slams the fork down with a frustrated cry.
“Oh, stupid, stupid,” she says, scratching herself behind the ear with a happy sigh. She reaches into the draw and pulls the scissors free. The edge of the scissors slide against her throat and she shivers. She rubs them against her, scratching the fine white hairs that coat her pale, perfect skin.
Finally, she slips the scissors under the collar and snips. The scissors buck in her hand as if she’s trying to cut pure steel. She tries again but the blades refuse to close completely. After a third abortive try, she growls and throws the scissors across the room.
Her heart races and cold sweat slides down her chest. She scratches her breastbone through her thin top and then rubs the tips of her ears between her fingers while staring at the scissors.
She feels it in her throat, first. A beat in time with her heart. Like a growing seed, it blossoms warmly and its roots dig through her veins until she shivers from the unnatural heat suffusing her. The gasp that escapes her lips is entirely unexpected and she presses the palm of her hand against her mound.
It takes every ounce of her willpower to ignore what her body is begging for. And yet she has to snatch her hand away when she realizes her fingertips are toying with her clit. She’s not asexual by any means but she’s never felt the urge so powerfully before. A long string lovers have disappointed her – often due to her own control and demand, although she’d never admit to it.
She moves and feels her panties sticking to her thighs, thick with her own juices. Her breath issues forth and she glances into her bedroom, not towards the closet where she keeps her toys but towards the pillows lining her bed. She can picture herself humping them, grinding against them until-
“Shit!” she screams, pulling at her hair. She presses against the wall and slides down with her knees pulled up. Panting. Her tongue hangs freely from her mouth and she has to suck it in to swallow an excess of spit.
The tips of her ears curl slightly to hang down. She scratches them and then freezes as she feels fine hairs between her fingers. Her green eyes widen. She pulls at the hairs and they tug painfully against her skin and she barks out in pain before covering her mouth with her delicate hands.
With her hands against her mouth, she feels her lips press into her palms and a deep ache forms in her jaw. Teeth slide against teeth and her mouth is forced open by lengthening canines.
Her tongue is too thick for her mouth to easily contain. She opens it, swallows and then licks at her nose. She can feel the slobber her long tongue has left behind so she wipes at it and then cleans the back of her hand with her wide tongue.
When she places her hands on the cold tile to help her stand up, she feels a curious lack of feeling.
“Oh! Oh god, no!” She whispers, glancing at her palms.
The skin between the knuckles of her fingers is discolored, a darker pink than the soft white surrounding them. She watches as the wide swath of skin near the base of her thumbs swells and darkens, pink turning to gray and then black. Large bumps form beneath the base of each of her fingers. She touches them and feels the soft leathery texture as it bubbles up around her finger tip.
And then pain. Tiny trickles of blood drip from her fingertips. She hisses and sucks at her fingers, washing them over and over as if to lick away the pain. Until she feels the thick, hardened tips press against her tongue.
The woman pulls her hand free slowly, sure of what she’ll see. Short, curved black claws line the tips of each swollen first finger joint. Her fingertips are nearly bulbous in order to contain the claws and the larger bones needed to anchor them. Her mind blanks as she stares at them.
Beyond her unseeing eyes, white fur shifts her blouse as it creeps up from her chest to her shoulders. It’s sparse and thin but hides her skin and she whines quietly as the hairs pull and twist together.
The heat within her is no longer just due to the need to mate as her coat sets in. She shivers, snapping out of her trance.
“Christ! Jesus Christ!” she shouts when she spies the nearly silver hairs. She twists and turns and pulls and snaps buttons she struggles out of her top until she’s left with her bra covering her breasts. The white fur darkens to brown and black near her sides. She shrugs her shoulders and moans as she feels it creeping along her back in a not unpleasant sensation. Her chest flexes outward and her claws scrape the tile until a traitorous hand runs up her side to squeeze her own breast beneath her bra. The bra slips up over her silky short fur until both hardened, pink nipples stand free, surrounded by a sea of luxurious fur.
Pain explodes in her back and she’s shoved forward to her hands and knees with a surprised barking yelp. Her skirt pulls tight, digging into her sides as bones shift within her hips. Nerves and muscles form within and her slim hips expand into luscious curves to make room for her growing tail. She presses her cheek to the tile with a gasp as the nerves in her tail connect to her spine.
She can feel it moving now. The stubby tip swishes against the edge of her skirt. Reaching back, she bites her lips as she touches it and feels her touch in return. She squeezes it and hates that it feels good. Hates that she can’t help but tug at it and feel herself grow more excited. A few hairs line the mostly hairless tail but she lets go before her fingers can betray her again.
The backs of her hands have lines of white fur along the knuckles of side of her palms. She watches as more erupts along her forearm and she touches a clawed finger against the long hairs. Curiosity temporarily replaces horror and disgust as her body adjusts. She pinches the fur with thickly padded fingers and then looks down at her feet.
The woman kicks her shoes off and then breathes a sigh of relief at her slim, perfect feet – until she spots white and brown hairs poking through her sheer stockings.
Her nostrils flare and drool escapes the corner of her lips. A sharp, erotic scent forces her to moan and spread her legs. She bends forth, snuffling hard until she realizes it’s due to her juices clinging to the short fur creeping up her thighs.
She’s tasted herself and smelled her fingers after masturbating but the smell is different and something clicks in her mind. Some new animalistic instinct that locks in the scent as “hers”.
Paws reach forward to slowly pull the hem of her skirt back. She opens her mouth wide to dangle her tongue as her claws scrape against sensitive thighs.
“I- I shouldn’t,” she gasps, hanging her head. “Pleeeeease. Noooo.”
But she continues to pull it back until her legs are bare. A tiny line of brown fur marches down from her brow to the bridge of her upturned nose. It fans out and then lightens to white as it races down to cover her cheeks.
“God, no, I’m not- I’m not this,” she whispers, lowering her head. She sighs and moans and her claws sink into the soft, furred undersides of her thighs. Her tongue unrolls and the heat permeates her as if were leaking into every pore of her body. Thoughts became hazy the more she breathes in until she finds herself relaxing and bending further.
She slams her paws against the ground with a frustrated bark and then stands, stumbling against the wall. The solid, cold foundation supports her and gives her strength and she leans into it while walking into the bedroom. She tries to pull her bra down over her breasts and then growls, slipping them free and throwing them to the side.
The bed offers her comfort and seclusion. She slips beneath the thick comforter and pulls it tight against her body. Her claws tear tiny holes in the fabric and she bites her lips at the way it moves against her slick, short fur. Worse, she feels her tail slowly moving back and forth and the sensation sends shivers down her spine.
As she closes her eyes, she can feel her floppy brown ears continue to lengthen. The thin skin tickles the fur along her cheek and drives little sparks down her belly. Echoes of pleasure ping from her lower stomach but she refuses to explore. Instead, she focuses internally on blocking the urge to rut.
Minutes later, she forces her head free of the blanket with a gasp as her continued arousal floods her tiny enclosure with her scent. She groans and growls and moans and whines, unconsciously rubbing her chest and stomach back and forth against the bed.
Maybe, she thinks, her eyes squeezed shut. Maybe I should just masturbate. Maybe- maybe it’ll pass if I orgasm. I can’t- I can’t think straight. I can’t think through it. I just need to get off and it’ll stop.
Her chest is pounding and she licks her lips while she sits up. Her white nose is dark pink with streaks of gray and the arch leading up to her face is straighter as the bones rearrange within. Veins of brown lines emerge from her green eyes when she tries to unzip her skirt. Her nose crinkles and her lips pull back when she growls in frustration. Finally, she hooks a single claw into the hole of the pull tab and undoes herself.
She leans forward, gasping as her erect nipples slide against her pillow. With one hand, she reaches back and snaps her panties free. She glances to the closet and her wide tongue lashes against her black, pebbled nose as she whines at how far away her toys are.
Panting, she grabs a second pillow and shoves it between her thighs. She squeezes it and grabs her headboard, dipping her ass and hips down and back. The pillow is immediately drenched and she bites her arm as she finally receives some relief from the heat within. The young woman whines again, licking the red spots where her fangs have marked her furred arm. Slowly, as she moves, she finds a rhythm to her movements that matches her changed body.
Her pussy lips are puffy and swollen from her arousal and she jerks every time her clit rubs against the pillow. She closes her brown eyes and plays with the ruff of fur surrounding her mound, pulling and tugging at the hairs.
She can feel him there, hot breath against her furred cheeks, dew claws at her sides and frantic, erratic pumping while he tries to enter her. Both of them growing more and more frustrated at his attempt to mate until he slips inside of her.
Fireworks explode and pain shoots through her throat at her harsh, loud bark as she sprays her bed and pillow in her excitement. The smell drives her harder and she works through the aftershocks and shaky legs, slowly building to another orgasm.
Her puffy lips harden and fold and her clit shifts with a series a clicks. The lips press together as short, gray hairs erupt to cover them. Clear liquid seeps from her changed pussy. Each rocking motion pulls her lips open briefly to expose the pink tightness within. The bones continue to creak and pop and she lowers herself as her sex shifts upwards slightly, readying her to be mounted on all fours.
Claws tear at the bed and she bites her pillow, shaking it back and forth as another powerful orgasm reaches a peak within her.
She bays, long and loud as her furred ass shakes. Her stubby tail quivers.
“Has to-” she pants, licking the pillow she’d bitten. “Has to stop. Eventually. Has to. Has to get better. Has to. God, it has to.”
Sweat rolls down the thick black and brown fur along her back as she forces her pussy back against the pillow again and again.
Cold afternoon light fills the park. A few children laugh and scream and chase each other as she makes her way through the winding paths. Every so often, she stops and sniffs the air but she keeps her face hidden and her paws in the pockets at the front of the hoodie. It belonged to an ex boyfriend but she can’t even remember his name.
Her feet hurt in the expensive trainers she wears and her thighs rub against her strange her sex. She’s wearing oversized exercise pants but her panties kept digging into the folded lips so she’s bare. And wet. And hot. And distracted with every movement or her wider hips.
She can smell him. A new part of her brain recognizes his scent just as it stored her new smell. It’s slowly building a file on every smell she comes across and it’s mixing oddly with her memory of faces, entangling the two so that smells immediately bring up a memory of the person or place as if she were standing right there.
He watches with a smile as she approaches.
“I’ve always loved beagles,” he tells her.
“Change me back!” she demands, the words feeling odd with her teeth and tongue.
“Sit,” he nods.
“Change me back,” she growls, hating the way it sounds and feels. “I can’t- the heat is too much to bear.”
“Please, sit,” he says. “Let’s be civilized.”
She does so, slowly, on the beach next to him.
“No,” he tells her. “No, that’s for people. You’ll sit there, on the ground next to me.”
“I won’t!” she snarls. It quickly turns to a whine as her jaw crunches and shifts forward, dragging her nose flat. She’d thought she was finished changing but her paws go to her new muzzle and she whines again.
“Then you’ll get nothing from me,” he tells her with a shrug.
She swallows the words she was about to say and lowers herself to kneel on the ground in front of him.
“Please,” she says breathlessly.
“I’ll allow you the clothes,” he tells her. He gestures at her feet. “But you’ll wear no shoes. You’ve no need of them.
“Please don’t do this,” she begs him. God, he smells so good. His cock is- No! Goddammit! No!
“You’ll quickly learn that you hold nothing over me,” he says. She glances up to his shockingly blue eyes. They’re as endless as they are deep and she forces herself to look away.
She sits and undoes her laces as quickly as her clawed, swollen fingers allow. Despite her protestations, she breathes a sigh of relief as her aching feet are freed.
“Good,” he tells her and she curses under her breath as her tail waggles in reply.
The woman grabs her feet when the sensation of sharp needles dive into them. She cries out, feeling the bones moving beneath her grasp as the toes bulge and shift, pushing slightly forward while her toenails pop off one-by-one. Dark claws pierce the tops of her toes, curving as they anchor themselves to her bones.
“It hurts,” she yelps.
“It’ll pass,” he shrugs.
The skin beneath her toes and along the balls of her feet harden into calluses. She massages them while blinking away tears and the flesh balloons outward, softening as it expands. As with her fingers, the white flesh darkens and then turns gray before becoming overwhelmed with black.
“They’ll see me,” she complains, glancing around.
“And what will they see?” he asks, spreading his arms. “Do you think they’ll believe you’re turning into a dog in front of their eyes? No, people see what they want. Even if they do notice you, they’ll come up with a hundred excuses for what you are.”
The tip of her tail slides against the thick fur coat over her back. Her hoodie bulges and she feels the cold air against the skin before fur consumes it. She reaches back to hide it but her tail slips free, thick and strong, to wag behind her. The woman twists and shoves, trying to make it stay still until she finally slips it beneath the band of her pants.
“You’ve- you’ve made your point,” she tells him, surprised that she can still speak clearly through her thick muzzle. “Please. Please, you have to turn me back. I can’t live like this. I can’t work like this.”
Instead of answering, he stands and looks down at her. Her long, floppy ears are held down and flat against her head, submissive and sad. She touches the collar on her throat and stares up at him with her soulful brown eyes and her thick, furrowed and furred brow.
“I’ll change you back,” he tells her. Her tail rips free of her pants to wag fiercely behind her. “In time. Come.”
He steps away and then pauses to look back at her.
“I- I won’t,” she says defiantly, pushing at her tail again. “I’ll- I’ll work from home and- And, I’ll- I’ll-“
“You’ll learn obedience,” he says sternly. “Under my guidance, you’ll learn to respect me and those around you. You’ll get a taste of how you’ve used people until you’ve truly earned your humanity. Now come.”
She stands, unfurling herself slowly with her head down to hide her face. And she walks forward begrudgingly.
“Good,” he tells her warmly. “That’s my good girl.”
She growls as her tail wags and the heat begins pulsing within, reminding her that it never left her. And yet, she follows him, anxious to please and hating herself for it.