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A sorta-commission story, where a harried office-worker experiences some light transformation. Maybe.

This was a story requested by one of my Patreon patrons, which I... sort of delivered on? I think? In any case I hope you like it. Isiat Squire Carcer dared me to post a story today, and I am not about to let him down, now am I? Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and stuff, kinda. Or if you want to tell me what to write yourself, I guess there's that too, isn't there?

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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"Sweet Escape," by Rob Baird

"'--Reporting to FJ Mayhew. Please congratulate Christina Ashmore on her new position.' Did you already do that?" Todd asked, when he'd finished reading the email off her phone. The cheetah was too smart not to know what she meant, of course. Kira jerked the smartphone back from his grasp.

"How?" she groused--and it was not a rhetorical question. Kira was at a genuine loss that kept bringing the hint of a growl into the mild-manned golden retriever's voice. "Dr. Mayhew told me I was one of the top candidates. I have a master's degree, don't I? I was supposed to get promoted in the last cycle."

Todd sucked distractedly at his boba tea. "Maybe the research direction changed. You know how corporate is, don't you? Maybe it wasn't as close to your background. Not working in computer vision so much, or something..."

He was the only person she really felt comfortable growling around, and she took the opportunity. "Chrissie Ashmore has a degree in communications. Her last LinkedIn post was about her trip to Peru. Todd, what the hell? And I didn't even get told in person. I had to find out from the email, just like everyone else."

"Did you ask Jim about it?"

"I don't even know what I'd ask him... not without sounding pathetic. I just wish I knew what Chrissie had that I don't. Is it connections? Her family has money, right?"

The Ashmores owned most of the luxury dealerships in the closest three counties. Todd was almost finished with his tea--the excuse she'd invented when she wanted to vent at the feline: nice day outside, want to go to Kedamai? He fidgeted with the straw. "Well... have you considered..."

"Considered what?"

"Okay. I'm a feminist, right?" he set the tea down and held up both paws placatingly. "You know that."

"Great way to start off."

"There've always been rumors about Jim Mayhew. Like, the kind of people he hires, right? He split with his wife last year. And, between you and me, there were rumors about how Chrissie got onto your team to begin with. So don't you think, maybe..."

"That's offensive." Which was not to say it was wrong. The retriever sighed. "Even if you were right..."

"It's what I was told." He finished the tea and shrugged. "But I don't know."

"Well, the answer isn't: 'I should put out for Dr. Mayhew,' now, is it?"

"No, no. Well. Maybe talk to Personnel about it?"

She was not going to talk to Personnel about anything. Kira kept to herself; they probably didn't even know who she was, and complaining about Chrissie Ashmore was just going to get her labeled as a problem child. The retriever returned to her desk, threaded earbuds under her fuzzy ears, and went back to work.

Two or three hours of tedious filing later, she was distracted by a figure looming into her vision. The bear's namebadge--and thank God for those; Kira was terrible with names--identified him as Lon Killian, with the horizontal blue stripe that marked him as from the lab sciences division. "Kira Wexford?"

"That's me, yes." He set a plastic box down on her desk; it sloshed with discolored, faintly amber liquid, nearly obscuring the shiny metal of electronics exposed through a hole in the top. "What is this?"

"Probe. From one of the experiments over in Pasadena. They pulled the data off, so... they said it needed to go through intake and get filed. You handle processing, don't you?"

She picked it up carefully; the wear-hazed plastic had no label on it, and was probably meant to be discarded. The probe itself seemed to have a serial number, although she couldn't make it out. "I don't have gloves or anything. Take this down to floor two. We only do papers and sterilized equipment here."

"They're busy. Pasadena said it's just condensed water. Dump it out in the sink."

"I don't--"

"Thanks, sweetie." He patted the edge of her cubicle and returned the way he'd come. Kira pushed the box away; she'd deal with it later. Not that the retriever was supposed to deal with it at all, but Killian wouldn't have listened--the lab guys were all pricks--and she'd wind up stuck with it no matter what.

And someone else was making a beeline towards her. This one, she recognized. The vixen waved; smiled, showing off perfect white teeth. "Hey, Kira! Just the girl I was looking for."

"Hello, Chrissie. Congratulations on the promotion."

"Thanks! We're gonna go for drinks later this week, and the first round's on Jim, so... I hope to see you there."

Right. Her eyes lingered on the glittering silver studs ornamenting the vixen's ear; the slightly-too-low cut of her dress. In that moment, Kira decided she hated Chrissie Ashmore. "Oh, uh. Yeah. I'll try to make it."

"Thanks! And, uh. I just want to do this once. 'Cause I'm not your boss, you know. But I gotta hand these over." She held up a stack of folders, each thick with reports the team was supposed to analyze for the senior researchers. "We're behind and all..."

"Do what 'once'?"

Chrissie flashed a winning grin, and affected a bossy demeanor. "I want these on Jim's desk by Monday. No ifs, ands, or--"

Kira did not know if the vixen finished the sentence when she dropped the folders from chest height onto her desk. Ordinarily the desk was clean--ordinarily they had a clean desk policy, even. This time, the paperwork hit the box Lon Killian had given her, flipping it towards the retriever. Liquid suddenly drenched the lower half of her blouse and her jeans, dribbling from the upturned box before she could right it, or push herself away.

"Oh!" Its presence had been hidden from Christina's view. The vixen's soft eyes went wide. "I'm sorry. Was that... tea?"

"Water," Kira muttered. "Something from Pasadena. Damn it..."

"I'm really sorry. I'm really sorry. I didn't see it there. I..." She cleared her throat and gathered the folders back. "I'll actually, um, finish these up myself, I guess. Sorry, Kira."

"It's fine. Just water," she repeated, and excused herself to the bathroom to grab some paper towels. Blessedly, the vixen didn't follow. Kira patted her clothes dry as best as she could. Fortunately the blouse was dark-colored, and hid the stain. What soaked into the towels didn't quite feel like water. The retriever fancied it left her fingerpads slightly slick.

It didn't smell like anything, though. And, surely, they wouldn't have sent anything actually dangerous to us, right? Kira chanced an extremely brief lick to her finger. There was, perhaps, the faintest hint of sweetness--but she was probably imagining things, and it had to be water after all. Just in case, though, she rinsed her muzzle, and washed her paws carefully.

The golden retriever staring back at her from the mirror did not look like she was still angry with Chrissie. She looked tired. The vixen had apologized, and taken the work back. What more could Kira really ask for? Back at her desk, she wiped off the rest of the spill and used the opportunity to file the probe, dutifully recording its serial number and its current state: mildly corroded, at worst, thanks to the water.

Another day, another dollar. Another few dozen opportunities to sort through paperwork and wonder where she'd gone astray. Another round of psyching herself up for the hassle of cooking dinner, and conscientiously partitioning it into containers for the next few days of leftovers. Another chance to consider updating her CV, and to put it off in favor of watching videos online until she drifted off...

She rose the next morning thinking about what to do with Dr. Mayhew. Todd was right: the wolf did have a bit of a reputation, whispered between some of the other employees on her floor. His interns tended to be a bit young; a bit flirtatious. She supposed the timber wolf benefited from the stature of his position. And his good looks... he was due for a midlife crisis, but his muzzle had yet to whiten, and he was in good shape, with--

She caught herself, and glared at nothing in the empty apartment. You're not seriously thinking about how handsome he is, are you? He was, after all, her supervisor. There was nothing proper about his behavior, and if Chrissie had taken some unconventional shortcuts to get to her position, then... then. She had a clear image in her mind of the vixen kneeling next to his desk, with Jim reclining in the ergonomic chairs their offices used.

Kira could almost see the way his crotch would be hidden from her view if she peeked in from the hallway. The rise and fall of Chrissie's head would give it away, the sound of her breath as she panted around his cock, filling her muzzle with his masculine scent, and--

This time she didn't just glare; she snarled in frustration at how quickly it had come to mind, and how lurid the imagery was. You can't be in heat again, can you? Check the app. It was, like... last month. Well, three months before--thinking about it now, she did remember a rather awkward bus ride--but recently enough that she couldn't chalk the thoughts up to hormones.

Perhaps she was just projecting. Trying to cope with the stress--that made sense, didn't it? Kira finished getting ready for work. The blouse she'd ironed the night before felt somewhat irritatingly tight. One more thing, the retriever grumbled; there wasn't time to pick a new outfit. She just knew that she'd feel it all day--have to talk herself down from skipping the milk she normally added to her coffee, from pulling her bathroom scale out and taking a peek...

Ugh.

Stress--it was safe to blame that, wasn't it?--was the reason she blew Todd off for lunch. Nothing else. Not a growing sense of nausea, which worsened by mid-afternoon until she took a break to indulge some hypochondria online. The cheetah stopped by her desk. "Busy day?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Reviews are coming up. Four different departments are telling me their data should have priority."

"What are you gonna do?"

"Stay late."

"You work too hard," Todd said with a laugh. "What did Jim say?"

She cocked her head. "About what?"

"I don't know. Whatever you talked to him about." She looked at him, puzzled; he looked back at her the same way. "I just assumed you got dressed up to make a good impression. Are you... interviewing?" he asked, lowering his voice so nobody else could hear.

"No. These are my normal clothes, Todd. Geez."

"Huh. Oh. Well, you look good, then. Just your natural charm, huh?" He grinned. "Don't stay too late, okay?"

It was about fifteen minutes after the cheetah left that she realized, with a start, she hadn't rolled her eyes at the 'natural charm' line. What had she done? Smiled at him? Kira could almost feel herself doing it--muzzle slightly parted, one ear perked--but it seemed so out of character that she was surely imagining things.

She finished putting together one of her reports ahead of schedule, printed it out, and went to hand it over to Dan Rossi, the lynx who coordinated operations in the material sciences department. Normally things like that went through the office post, but she felt like stretching her legs on their well-tended campus--and doing so helped her upset stomach. The day felt productive; the coming sunset outside was almost a reward.

Her conversations with Dan tended to be short and to the point. But he looked particularly happy to see her, and when she held the binder out for him to take he lit up like a kid. "Already? Really?"

"Yep. The computer work came in early."

"Well, you didn't have to make a special trip." He chuckled, glancing between her and the papers he was leafing through. "The data all looks real good. Almost too good--you're sure about these numbers? Of course you are," he corrected himself. "You're the expert."

"I'm really just an editor. The magic comes from your teams."

Dan set the binder aside, snickering and shaking his head. His eyes held hers. "You're not fooling anyone, Miss Wexford. You don't have to tell me why you passed up the lead role in FJ's team, but... if you're going somewhere else, they're lucky to have you. Just stop by at least one more time first, alright?"

It was the most he'd ever said to her at one time. And what did he mean, passed up? Their gazes were still locked. This was the point where she would feel her ears flush, and duck away. Not, needless to say, the one where she grinned and winked at the engineer. "I'm not going anywhere. Not yet."

"Well, then don't be such a stranger," he said, winking back. "Thanks for delivering this in person, Kira. I'll see you at the bar Friday, right? For Chris Ashmore? FJ's buying a round."

"Yeah, of course I'll be there."

"Good. Karaoke, maybe?"

"Don't push your luck," she teased, and left him to work. The encounter made her feel oddly light. She could go talk to Jim Mayhew--what was the worst that could happen? She'd made plenty of progress over the week, and had Rossi's support, and even if the wolf was a bit of a lech, there was nothing stopping her from chatting to him. Their floor was empty when she returned, although Mayhew's door was closed and she saw a faint hint of light spill from under it. He worked late often, like she did.

She had her paw lifted to knock when she heard a gasp from inside. Muffled speech--low and growled. A softer, higher-pitched reply. More growling; she perked her ear, straining to listen, though it didn't take much to make out Chrissie's voice, louder this time: "Yes! Put it in me!"

"Quiet..."

"Yes, sir. Sir... please..." The word was drawn out and shaky, and she heard the strained edge in the vixen's moan. Mayhew rumbled something else, something she couldn't hear. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh! I needed it so bad..." And then rhythmic, quiet, panted barks from one of them--Chrissie, probably--in time to a steady thump from what Kira imagined to be the desk.

She thought about opening the door. Feigning surprise to see her colleague bent over, short dress hiked up and tail lifted. Thought about how Mayhew would look, in that moment where the pleasure of breeding Christina crashed headlong into the shock of being discovered. She'd say oh! and backpedal, closing the door, but all of them would know better. Chrissie got halfway through a squeal before it choked off, followed by Jim's coarse snarl. "Quiet, slut!"

Another squeal, muffled but still audible. Suppressed by a paw, probably. Kira felt for her smartphone, and switched the camera app on. The sounds from inside were coming faster together already. They'd surely be so distracted that she'd have time for the autofocus to work, and catch them in the act. And then she'd have evidence. Then she could go to Personnel.

The muted yelps had become regular now. The wolf was grunting deeply, but Chrissie's cries still carried. Kira heard them rise in pitch to a nasal whine that was almost a howl, and then jostling, and objects tumbling to the floor. The desk's rocking stopped. A low, teasing: "already, slut?" Now the retriever had the same question. What the hell did he do to her? How did he get her off so fast?

Was that why Jim had his reputation? Kira held her breath as, after a moment, the steadier sounds resumed. She discovered that she was trying to piece together what might have been going on by inference--trying to piece together the scene in her head. And that it was easier to do so if she could picture herself in Christina's place. Fuck. For that matter, she could almost feel what it would be like pinned under the wolf, whose thrusts were reaching a crescendo.

They halted, and she caught his growl--and no yelp from Chrissie, nothing to signify that he'd wound up tying her. Soft panting, that was it. So he pulled out, that's it. And must not've finished in her mouth or anything, either. She wondered what the janitorial staff would think of the smell. For that matter, she wondered what she would think of the smell.

And why she was so irritatingly turned on. Would Jim notice? She feared he might, and reassured herself it was only pragmatic concern that kept her from interrupting. Back at her desk, though, she fairly squirmed with arousal. And instead of going home, she elected to wait: focusing on her work, or at least focusing on the screen as the minutes ticked past and the floor fell into darkness. If she wasn't going to let herself get off, the dog definitely intended to get something out of the encounter.

Finally, Kira heard unsteady footsteps. A few seconds later, the overhead lights clicked on. The retriever made a show of leaning up in her chair, glancing over the cubicle tops. "Oh! Hello, Chrissie!" She suppressed her grin at the vixen's shocked, briefly panicked expression. "I didn't know you were still here."

"I didn't either," the woman stammered. "The lights were off."

"Yeah. I guess I zoned out in these reports. Hey, I'm going to CC you and Dr. Mayhew on a question, okay? There's a compliance note we got from the state inspector. Something about a certificate in the--"

"I'll, um, I'll check it out."

She feigned--successfully, she thought--obliviousness to Chrissie's discomfort. "Well, it's just a formality. The certificate expires in late October, but they suggested we apply for a temporary waiver. Because otherwise, where's the E-mail from Sammy... oh, here: yeah, we're shutting that site down by November 4th, anyway. So if we have have the experiments ramped down, well, you know, if you and Jim can just take a look and let me know, right? It's for the reporting."

Chrissie gave the bathroom door a sidelong glance. "Let me just, um... let me--I'll be right back."

The vixen tried to keep her front towards Kira, no matter how awkward it made her gait, even after Kira lowered her focus back to the computer monitor. Subtly, though, she confirmed how badly the back of Chrissie's dress was stained. Five minutes later, she decided that Chrissie was not going to be emerging from the bathroom in the near future, and packed up to go home.

There, in the dark after she'd brushed her teeth and changed into a nightgown, she thought about hearing Jim and Chrissie in his office. And, without work to distract her, she had to admit that it had not bothered her. That the ease with which she could picture the tawdry scene--the ease with which she could imagine herself being part of it--didn't bother her either.

That she could really, really stand to get off. It took a good half-hour to convince herself that the thought of having sex with her boss was jarring, and the act itself was unconscionable, and another half-hour before she fell asleep. When she woke, she found she'd slipped out of her clothes; the morning sun through the blinds cut glowing stripes in her golden fur.

For the second day in a row, her clothes fit poorly--worse, even, than before. Kira didn't feel like she'd put on weight. The retriever eyed herself in the mirror, head canted. You look good: that was her first thought. There was a glint in the smile that met her inspection, an ease in the way she reflexively cocked her hips. Perhaps the blouse was trying to tell her something else entirely?

The smell of coffee roiled her stomach, though, so parts of her body remained in rebellion. She traced her stomach idly; felt a moment of almost electric contact just below her navel. Kira stared, perplexed: there did seem to be some faint region of fur that tingled when she smoothed it down. The probe. Where I got splashed by that damned probe.

But it was just water! A silly idea, really. What did they call it--psychosomatic? Indeed, if she really tried to focus on the tingling, it went away. She gave up on her coffee, though. And she gave up on the blouse, exchanging it for a polo she'd been given for one of the company's tradeshows. That was a little more comfortable; they were fitted, and she'd gone a size up at the time.

It did now seem to cling a bit more noticeably to her chest, but there were no buttons to strain in an unseemly fashion--and it had their logo on it, so even if it wasn't quite the expected business casual nobody at the office would complain. I hope.

They didn't. Nobody said anything, actually, although the postman had stopped to chat when he handed over the new stack of documents she'd be expected to go through. Normally he retreated quickly, before she could say anything; this time he'd lingered, and commented that it seemed like an awful lot of busywork. When she grinned, admitting it wasn't what she expected when she'd first become an intern half a decade ago, he said that he was a roboticist too--hoping to parlay his own internship into a permanent job with the lab.

"Good luck," she'd said.

"I have to get through the practical exam first. The computer vision part is killing me." And because that had been the subject of her master's thesis, she offered to help out, and the intern had perked up in a way Kira was not used to in the slightest--his eyes widening despite a wagging tail, and his words catching in his throat. "Oh, wait--really? You would?" And she gave him her phone number, and a promise to coordinate a time to study together.

He was a Border Collie, or maybe an Aussie-Shepherd mix. Cute, anyway. Good smile. Not quite "boyish," though he couldn't have been older than 25, so definitely a few years her junior. She wouldn't mind helping him with the classwork, that was for sure. Grab a booth at the coffeeshop, where they could both sit on the bench and look at his laptop.

And feel him out a bit, get comfortable with the material, see where he was really struggling. Take things back to his apartment, where they could spread out his notes. Study until he knew the subject, or until they had a simulation to run on his computer, or until he got frustrated and it was time to take a break... she'd let him get the idea slowly, sidling closer to him, her words softening as she breathed them into his ear...

So when she slid her paw up his trousers, he'd already be getting hard as she fondled his crotch. She'd slip to her knees, pull his zipper down... let the scent of his arousal fill her nose, savor the salty, masculine taste when her tongue lapped over him. And oh, sure--sure, he'd wanted her help studying, but he'd be more than willing to just use her, lose control in her muzzle, tense and bucking before he came down her throat...

When she realized how far her mind had wandered Kira also sensed a staticky buzz in her body. Everything felt sensitive. She wanted nothing more than to escape to the bathroom and put her fingers to work for a bit of relief. Or--no. To go home and put new batteries in her toy; do things properly. Or--or, even better, to message the intern her address, and then go home.

He'd be so energetic, she was certain of it. So willing to take that trade: a bit of help, in exchange for pounding the kind of howl Chrissie was too stuck-up for from the retriever's begging muzzle. Kira growled, clenching her teeth to focus. What was his name, even? Ryan? Something like that. Was Ryan seeing anyone?

Do you care?

About what? If he's seeing someone?

Or his name.

She didn't need to think too hard about the answer, and that meant something was definitely the matter with her. The retriever had never had such impulses before. Certainly not ones she would admit to, not without being deeply embarrassed about it... and she did not feel embarrassed, either, which was even stranger.

Kira got her phone out--who knew what the IT department monitored on her work computer, after all?--and started plugging her symptoms in. The change in her mood. In her body. Her newfound, transient sensitivity to coffee and the smell of yogurt in the breakroom fridge.

Using the tiny screen made things more difficult, but circling down to a possible conclusion also made it easier to get her mind off dragging Ryan into a storage closet and having her way with him. It also gave her a lead: her friend Marie Plack, a chemist who worked a few buildings over. Kira was gaining a newfound appreciation for the campus, and for being outdoors.

Not that she was worried anybody could smell how aroused she'd become--maybe Ryan, if he was close enough--and wouldn't that be nice?--damnit. Stop thinking about that. You're only making it worse. The day was pleasant, and the buzz of activity in the office building was healthy and normal, and she found Plack eating lunch at her desk and idly skimming the news on her computer. She stopped when the retriever appeared. "Hey, Kira. What's up?"

"Hi. I have a weird question."

"And you couldn't use the work chat?"

"Uh. It's kind of personal. But you're the only one I really know over in Applied Sciences."

Marie closed her laptop lid warily. "Shoot?"

"How did you know when you were pregnant?"

"Test." The badger was continuing to give her a puzzled look. "We were kind of trying. So I was always doing tests... being scientific about it, you know?"

Kira nodded. "Isn't there supposed to be nausea or something?"

"I didn't have particularly bad morning sickness, personally, no. It can be different for different people... probably for different species, too. If you think you might be pregnant, Kira, you should go to the doctor. They've got more sensitive tests. How long has it been?"

"Since I've been feeling weird?"

"Since you had sex."

The retriever had to think about that one. "Uh. Colin, so... the summer party, say?"

Marie's muzzle hung open, twitching with a few half-started replies. "You would be showing by now. You would have delivered by now."

"I know. And he used a condom, anyway. But that's why I was wondering if, uh... is it possible to get pregnant without having sex?"

"What? No, it's--what? No. Weren't you in a gifted program or something? How did--"

"I just know that... you're always doing weird things in Applied Sciences."

"What, like a pregnancy ray?"

She explained everything that had happened as best she could: the tingling, and the change in her mood, and the way her body seemed to be reacting. And the liquid she'd been splashed with, which was probably supposed to be water. Marie's face charted an extremely polite course between skepticism and derision. "So you're saying I'm probably not... expecting."

"I'm saying that if you are pregnant, and you don't remember how you might've gotten that way, we did not have anything to do with it. Given that, I'm guessing you're not. On the other hand, you're right: you're definitely acting weird. Have you considered Occam's razor?"

"Can you tell me what the project was for?"

"All the Pasadena stuff is company top-secret."

Kira tried to look pleading. "Come on. Not details, just..."

"Don't take this the wrong way. I mean it as a friend, Kira. We're all stressed, with the deadlines and stuff. You've been having problems with Christina, I heard--and then she spilled this on you, okay, ruined your jeans, probably..."

"Yeah. So?"

"Well. Either it was some kind of magic potion, or it was dirty water and also you just really need to get laid. You know? I mean. It's been a year."

"And it was Colin," the retriever admitted. Not her finest hour. Definitely not her finest four and a half minutes. "You're right, I guess."

"Still. Talk to a doctor, if you want."

She did not. It sounded ridiculous. Impulsively, she walked to the pharmacy before returning to her own office and bought a couple of tests; took them discreetly, after the office crowd had started to thin out. According to chemistry, she was not pregnant--which made sense. Nor was she in heat--which also made sense. They had not had anything that tested for magic potions, or being overstressed at work. Marie had to be right, though.

Christina left a few more reports before striding breezily off for the evening. Watching the vixen's swaying, lackadaisical gait, Kira forced down a growl. Yes: the simplest answer was that the retriever was irritated at being passed over. Perhaps she could go for a run? Would that help? She stewed for an hour without making progress.

Ignoring the new work, Kira gathered her belongings and left. She sat at the wheel of her hatchback, imagining the run. Where would she go? The park, she guessed. Or she could hit up the office gym: probably nobody would be around, and it was free, and they had a treadmill. She could burn off her energy, and... and it would not really solve the problem, would it?

The problem was--her eyes caught movement in the parking garage. It was Jim Mayhew, making his way towards the private space where his Range Rover was parked. Such an ostentatious thing. Kira stuffed her purse out of sight, locked up her car, and intercepted the wolf with his paw reaching for the keyfob. "Dr. Mayhew."

"Oh. Kira? Hey, what's..." he noticed her polo shirt, and it seemed to take him a bit aback. "How are you?"

"Fine. I'm fine. We need to talk."

"How's tomorrow morning? You want to get breakfast here?"

She shook her head. "Now's fine."

"I, uh, actually have a reservation I should get to."

Pieces clicked into place. "Ms. Ashmore can wait a few minutes. I want to talk about that position. We agreed I was the most qualified, didn't we?"

"Well. You know Personnel can make strange decisions..."

Another shake of her head cut him off. "Forget them. What did she offer you? I mean, in terms of the team."

"She had experience in managing small groups. Most of our work is like that."

"Small groups? What, like threesomes? Who made the first move, Jim?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I bet it was you. It sounded like you were the one last night, anyway." She saw his face catch, and smiled inwardly. "Why didn't you ask me? Not your type?"

"Anything... anything between Christina and I is private."

"No," she answered simply. "No, you made it my problem. But let's fix it."

"Fix it?"

She wondered how many scruples he actually had. Before she could stop herself, Kira put her paw on the wolf's wrist, and slipped the keyfob from his grip. She pushed herself against him, tilting her head upwards to meet his gaze. "Fix it. You can tell me what to do."

Jim cleared his throat. "It's not that simple."

Kira felt between his legs. There was nothing, at first. But when she squeezed gently, keeping her eyes locked on him and tilting her head with girlish inquisitiveness, it only took a few more seconds before her fingers found resistance. If it wasn't simple, at least it wasn't terribly complex. "If you don't tell me," she mused, beginning to stroke him until the wolf briefly lost focus. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Talk to me again tomorrow. At breakfast."

"I don't think so. I think I have to guess, instead." She slid his belt open, surprised at how easy the movement was; at how skillfully her fingers pushed open the clasp of his chinos. "Improvise. Think on my feet." As she kept talking, she worked her paw into his boxers. "Right?"

"Kira..."

The wolf was getting properly hard. Teasing him was proving to be rather rewarding. "No? Not on my feet?" She settled on her knees, pushing his boxers down as she did so while he wasn't stiff enough to make removing them awkward. A few inches of pink already protruded from his plump sheath, after all.

"We're in the parking garage," he hissed.

"So what am I..." she lapped at the bare flesh, and his shudder rewarded her. "Supposed to do?"

"At least..." He gritted his teeth against the slow, sensuous licks that bathed his quickly growing erection with her tongue. "Get between the cars. At least do that." Jim nudged her with his foot, shuffling awkwardly as the retriever scooted between his SUV and the convertible next to it, just tall enough to keep the dog's activities from view.

Kira paused to take stock. There was no sign of his knot in the six-odd inches of thick wolf meat hovering before her nose. If he still had more growing to do, she was beginning to understand the noises Chrissie had made. For now, though... for now, she kissed the sloped tip of his cock, and guided it into her waiting mouth.

He throbbed between her lips, and she sucked on him soothingly until a deeper pulse and a gasp from the wolf heralded a tangy, slick splash. Taking him deeper, caressing the veiny flesh with her tongue smeared the taste of his precum over his shaft. When she stopped to suckle on him, her mouth half-full, another throb added to the musky flavor. "Oh... fuck..."

As she heard that quiet groan, the retriever began to appreciate that she was no longer really just teasing him. She was, in fact, sucking him off properly. She was on her knees, giving her boss a blowjob, with the cool cement of the company's parking garage driving home the impropriety of it. She was bobbing her head smoothly over his cock while he gasped and grunted...

And her tail was wagging.

She recalled the way he'd called Christina Ashmore a slut, and in her head she'd agreed with that judgment. At least they'd been indoors, though. Kira pushed deep, inhaling the wolf's subtle, natural aroma with her nose buried in his crotchfur, and slurped eagerly over his length when she pulled back for air. Chrissie wouldn't know slutty if she took him all over that pretty face of hers, she thought darkly.

The first time she'd tried giving head had been in high school: they were inexperienced, and the taboo thrill had been the best part of an unremarkable experience. The next time was at the suggestion of her college boyfriend, his taste had been a bit overpowering, and she'd managed only long enough to keep her awkward hesitation from being obvious. The third time, if she could even call it that, had been daydreaming about the intern earlier in the day.

Now she was working her head sloppily over him, sucking hard, each groan and ragged pant from the wolf sending a thrill through her. She was in control of him, and God it was fun. His knot bumped at her lips, like he was perfectly happy to flood her--slutty little!--mouth as if he was breeding some bitch. Kira undid her own jeans, pressed her paw inside, and was oddly unsurprised to find how soaked she was.

She didn't really know if the moan came from the act of pushing a curled finger into her dripping folds or from the shaky thrust Jim hammered against her nose. The next few were definitely a mix of both. He was struggling to fight his way back from the edge, his legs shaking and his head tilted towards the ceiling.

Kira pulled herself off his cock--though her fingers stayed in place. She wiped her muzzle with the back of her other paw, and caught her breath. "I'm gonna give you your keys back," she told him.

Jim looked at her, lust-glazed and blank. "What."

"You're going to call Chrissie. Tell her how late you're going to be."

"How late is that?" She shrugged, and licked a bead of precum from the tip of his glistening cock, dragging her tongue over him lazily until he got the idea. His paw shook, dragging his phone out. "Hello. Hey, I'm running a bit late. Hm?"

She couldn't make out the words on the other side. An impulse occurred to the retriever to try to get him off then and there--to make what had happened obvious. But... no. No. Instead, slowly, she took him back into the warmth of her muzzle, gently engulfing him and favoring Jim's shaft with slow, teasing strokes.

His voice stayed calm. "Stuck at the office. Maybe... another half-hour?" Mm. That was better than disrupting the call with a messy finish, wasn't it?. It was, really, more rewarding to hear him acknowledge what was about to happen so willingly. He kept going for another minute, asked if they could move the reservation, if he needed to talk to the manager... heard him say how much he was looking forward to it...

But when he hung up, she saw the open, eager intent in his eyes--how when he unlocked the Range Rover, he pushed the rear passenger door open, not the driver's. How he pushed the front seat forward, making room. How wantonly--how obscenely--his thick cock jutted from his handsome pelt.

Kira grinned. She slid her pumps off daintily, setting them in the footwell. Her jeans followed; these she tossed to the far side of the bench seat. The retriever's panties practically required peeling off, by that point; she rested them on Jim's nose and clambered into the SUV, pulling the door closed behind her. Between the tinted windows and the dim lighting in the garage, he wasn't much more than a silhouette.

Not that it required any navigating skill. She straddled him, and it only took a bit of shuffling before his erection bumped its drooling tip against her entrance. Jim's head jerked to toss her panties to the side, and her eyes had adjusted to the darkness. She saw them roll back as she settled down, and his cock pushed its way inside.

She had to keep going. Good as she'd thought it might be, actually feeling him sink deeper and deeper in defied her anticipation. He was thick and hot, and the penetration was effortless--smooth, down to his knot, those thick inches spreading her open all the way to her core. Colin hadn't been that impressive, and there'd been the latex between them: the wolf was bare, the slick pressure electrifying as he throbbed in her cunt.

And he was looking at her again, yet all but sightless, his muzzle half-parted with strangled groan as she rocked in his crotch and that heavy lupine spire stroked and tugged in her. I wonder if Chrissie's kissed him yet? If he let her, because he seemed to resist for a moment when their lips met. Only a moment though. Then his tongue found hers, the contact almost desperate as Kira began to pump her hips in earnest.

He broke it, finally, to grunt: "lean back." Carefully, steadying herself on the front seat, she did so--still bucking, working herself eagerly over his length. Jim's big paws pushed roughly under the polo shirt, forcing it upwards until he could grope at her breasts. She heard herself groan through a shock of gratified pleasure at his touch, and his own hoarse exhalation. "God--god, yer fuckin' tits."

"Again," she found herself begging, although given the way he fondled her, the possessive grip of his strong fingers, it probably wouldn't have been necessary. Still it felt good--rewarding--and she squirmed her way into a faster, harder rhythm. That felt good, too. Exquisite. She sank to the knot each time, reveling in the sense of her body yielding to the rigid girth that claimed her.

Grinding herself on the knot spread jolts of ecstasy through her nerves--Kira was startled at how urgent those sparks already felt. Already, slut? Absolutely. She squirmed insistently, whimpered--then her back arched involuntarily and she gave in, squirming and humping the wolf as the rippling pleasure burst into irresistible waves. She could feel him deep in her, the helpless contractions seeming to magnify the thick warmth of his cock, the utter completeness with which he'd stuffed her spasming cunt...

When her release ebbed enough to perceive him again she sensed that perhaps he was getting thicker. Definitely he was thrusting of his own accord now, ramming against her lips, shoving ever more firmly. She pushed herself off the seat behind her to fall forward, gripping him with her thighs as he rutted into her.

His paws had fallen from her chest--they were at her hips now, trying to hold her in place, to be ready to push the retriever off. "Oh--god, Kira," he warned, voice strangled and tense. His need was obvious in his pace, anyway, the short bucks that strove for enough friction to take him over the edge, timed to the rhythm of his building peak...

She nudged her muzzle to his ear. "Inside," she panted. Jim groaned and slammed in hard, the telling thrust so strong and pointed that she almost couldn't speak for the pleasure it drove into her. "Cum in me."

"Areyasure?" Somehow he crammed all three words into one raw syllable. His paws shifted back, though, to her rump--no longer trying to keep her at a steady distance but pulling her closer. Chrissie, the retriever sensed, had not let him tie her. Hadn't, or couldn't.

Didn't, anyway. She forced herself down on his next attempt until he got the message. "Make me yours," she whispered huskily to him, and he was done fighting it. Two more thrusts and her lips were strained taut around his cock, and he wasn't pulling back enough to matter. Kira relaxed her muscles, let her weight bear her down as he whined and grunted and--

Crammed himself in to the hilt, and Kira's startled yelp was more at the shock of a second climax seizing her. She trembled and gasped her exultant cries into the rich leather while his frantic jerking dissolved into a hard plunge and then unsteady shivering. "Kira!" As he groaned out his whole shaft twitched, and she could've sworn she felt herself grow suddenly hot and wet, deep inside; felt the wolf staking his messy claim.

He said nothing else, just gripped her, thrusting slower and slower as his satisfied panting washed her fuzzy ear and she rode the waves of her own orgasm to settle in his lap for the weaker throbs of his knotted length and heavy, laden balls, and an unmistakable slick warmth that left the retriever comfortably full. She leaned back, on unsteady arms, and looked at his gratified, lust-hazed face.

You did that. She'd let him tie her. Let him cum in her--begged him to, actually; earned that sated expression with every spurt of seed he'd pumped into her unprotected womb. Sure, the test said she wasn't in heat. But, as he stroked her back, she wasn't sure it would've made a difference. The difference was that the vixen, Kira felt sure, had never seen Jim look like that. "Fuck. Kira," he sighed.

She did not feel like a slut. She felt like she'd gotten exactly what she wanted out of the deal. Tied and bred by the assertive, masculine wolf--yet for all his assertiveness, the power in his strokes right at the end there, she'd been the one in control. Hiding a secret smile, she nuzzled his neck. "Did you like that?"

"Fuck," he huffed again. "When did you get so hot?"

And this, she supposed, was a good question. She no longer felt any self-doubt in the matter. The tone in his voice left no ambiguity in how sincere he was, either. He kept talking, mumbling about how they needed to spend more time together; how badly used she was in her current position--no, she thought_, this position worked out well enough_--and she answered him in nothing but quiet murmurs.

She was thinking about something else, instead. Ten minutes later, or so, when he pulled out, the wolf's seed spilled all over the smooth leather. He tried to use her panties to soak it up--without asking, although it wasn't like she could've put them back on. Jim apologized for having to leave her; Kira licked his nose, pulled her jeans on, and left before he realized what she did.

Mayhew's nice SUV would reek of the evidence of what they'd done. So would the wolf himself. At best, he'd have to cancel the reservation. At worst, he wouldn't bother. She thumbed a message to Chrissie Ashmore on her smartphone: what time for drinks tmrw? can't do another of these late nights.

8PM. Sorry I gave you those reports... Are you still at work?

just left. There was no point in accepting an insincere apology.

Is FJ still there?

The truth, she thought: the truth would be satisfactory. saw the light go off so he must be headed out. i wanted to leave before he could see me. After a moment, she felt a lol would be in character, too. And, there, Chrissie had all the information she would need to make some reasonably informed career decisions.

Back home, Kira savored a long, hot shower, and a thorough shampoo job that worked lather all through her soft pelt. She stayed under the dryer until all the dampness was gone, and brushed her fur into lustrousness, avoiding looking in the mirror all the while. It gave the steam a chance to fade: the reflection was perfect, and flawless as the grin the retriever offered back to herself.

She looked, academically, like a bombshell. Kira practiced her smile, and watched the alien, mischievousness glint in her own eyes. Is it time to get contacts? No. She liked the glasses just fine. It balanced the impish affect rather nicely.

Kira half expected Chrissie to call in sick the next day. She seemed to be her usual self, though; it was only through the grapevine that Kira learned of Jim Mayhew's bout of food poisoning the previous night. Fortunately the wolf was feeling better by lunch. He stopped by Kira's desk and lingered, smiling: he hadn't told the vixen anything, obviously, and just as obviously he intended their tryst to be a recurring phenomenon.

"You're still coming for drinks," he asked. "Right?"

"I think so."

"If you want to get changed first, you know... it's been a slow week. Wouldn't be anything wrong with you taking off a bit early." She was wearing another corporate polo, and suddenly noticed the look Jim was giving her. "Up to you, of course."

"I might have to do that," she said, smiling at him.

She did not. Instead, and peculiarly aware of how little awkwardness she felt, Kira drove to the upscale mall down the highway, and instructed the saleswoman to do her worst. The perky young raccoon looked her over, at length, and nodded. And when Kira signed the credit card slip, she mouthed: worth it.

Of course, the raccoon would say that: it came to nearly $800, all told, more money than she had ever spent on clothing. Kira had no reason to trust her. The attention of the man who held the door for her was slightly more telling. The real proof came at the bar. She found her coworkers occupying a handful of tables in one corner, and tapped Ryan on his shoulder.

The Border Collie, or whatever he was besides delectable, widened his eyes. "Hey. Uh. Uh, glad you made it!"

"Mm-hm, same. We're all having fun?"

"Oh, who's--Kira?" The retriever savored Chrissie Ashmore's expression, already knowing it would be far more intoxicating than any mojito she'd have that evening. Chrissie tried to recover. "Is that a new dress?"

"Mm-hm. Salvation Army was having a sale," she teased.

She could tease. Between Ryan and Christina she could see the way the sheer fabric clung, called out the sway of her hips and the subtle wag of her tail that accented them. She could see them notice how the black caught every bit of dim light in the bar, picking out her curves even as a silhouette among silhouettes. And she could see the gears turning in her colleague's head, about who exactly would be wondering what she looked like without the dress.

Her friend Todd drew up, nodding to Kira and Ryan as Chrissie made herself scarce. "Hey. I didn't know you were the type. It looks good on you, though. Special occasion?"

"Well, I don't know yet, do I?"

He laughed. "Right. You talk to Dan yet? Rossi? He said he's gonna be late. Some 'Cambridge AI company'"--the cheetah quoted it with his fingers--"is spinning up a new team. Asked if you were the type for networking events, because there's one at the gallery two blocks over."

"Networking, huh?"

"You're dressed for it more than you are for karaoke," Todd pointed out. "Just saying..."

She put her paws on her hips; cocked her head with dry severity. "Really. Find a song."

"So you can dip before it comes up?" her friend asked.

As he went over to see about it, though, she gave Ryan a nudge. "Did you hear anything about this?"

"No, not before Todd said it earlier. Rumors, I guess. I don't know what the project is." The collie's voice made him sound ever so slightly distracted. Kira confirmed it by taking the subtlest of steps towards him, until their sides were just a few inches apart. Not indecently close--they were in a bar, after all, and proximity made it easier to hear one another.

But she could feel the heat of his body. Just like she could feel how little resistance Ryan would offer when she suggested they leave early. The sense of power it afforded was rather dizzying. Jim had been easy, really; she'd have him wrapped around her little finger in a matter of minutes if she wanted, and there was nothing Chrissie could do about it. Chrissie, with her 'natural charm' and family connections and her freshly printed Senior Project Manager, Laboratory Products business cards...

Someone at the bar called Kira's name. The mic felt good in her paw. Her voice, untrained as it was, came off as earnest when she sang "if I could escape"; admitted "I know I've been a real bad girl" with a sly wink where either Jim or Ryan could imagine themselves as the recipient. She heard whistles--catcalls?--when the song faded, and she handed the mic back with a grin.

Jim Mayhew gestured for her to take a seat next to him--was thinking about your future with the firm, and--and--and. And, ignoring Chrissie's glare, she politely declined. There was always tomorrow, and before that the evening catching up with Ryan. Before that, the event down the street--the retriever with a glass of wine the color of her fur; the color of water sloshing in the housing of a disused probe.

With an excuse whispered into the Border Collie's ear, she promised to return as soon as she'd scouted out the other company. They had each other's number. She had plenty of dirt on Jim. She had--no, what you have are options_, Kira. You have options. You can take your pick, whenever you want._

Wouldn't that be sweet?