Dogging (Pup Play, Anthro, Knotting)
Deanna held the card between her fingers. It was a simple thing. Solid black, with a corner torn. A crease went through the center, the ridge worn and white. It split the simple white text in two-if that was by design or carelessness, Deanna didn’t know. It was the words themselves that struck her fancy the most.
LaCroix’s Needful Things
Jack, Owner.
There was a phone number beneath the name, and nothing else. She flipped the card over and bent back against the crease. The back was much more haggard than the front, but in far fancier curved script she could vaguely make out another set of words if she squinted.
W-rlo-ck. Wish Gr—ter. Demonolo-ist.
She took a deep breath as she turned the card over a final time, and laid it on the table. Her phone was already in her hand, it’s flat surface awaiting her thumb. Two voices rose from the back of her skull as she sank her teeth into her lip, eyes still upon the card.
Are we really doing this?
Shayla did say it was legit.
That last part-that was the kicker. That’s what brought her thumb to tap away, her pulse rising as she felt her face flush. There was a dial tone as she lifted the phone to her ears. She closed her eyes.
She hoped she didn’t stutter.
@@@
It wasn’t that Shayla was slutty. Not that there was anything wrong with being slutty, not at all. Rather, Shayla and Deanna had finally done the one thing they both had been dreading. They grew up. They hit 40. At that point, regardless of how many people you’d been with-it was taken as a sign if you were still single. Shayla hadn’t been “slutty”. Neither had Deanna.
They’d just realized very, very long ago that relationships were an awful lot of work. Too much for such transient things. The offers for marriage with mediocre men with even more meager lives had come and went.
Eventually, they stopped coming. Meeting for drinks had gone from a monthly event to a weekly for the pair. They acted pissed, they bemoaned lack of interest. As one drink became a running tab, they bargained. They reasoned. They made plans and schemes, each more fueled by margaritas than the last. And at the end of the night, as they found themselves alone at last call, they sighed.
“It just isn’t fucking fair. I mean, I got all this! Tits, ass, wit! Everything!” said Shayla, slamming back another. The glass hit the table with a thunk as she wiped her lips on her hands. “And,” she said as she jabbed a finger forward, “You can’t fucking tell me there isn’t SOMEONE out there that isn’t at least looking for a cougar. I mean, what the fuck is wrong with them?”
Deanna fiddled with the paper umbrella that sagged against her glass. Shayla did have all of that. Deanna did as well. Just-more in some places. Shayla was built like a tanned barbie doll. But every time she got like this, Deanna thought to her rolls. Her stretch marks. They way her pants seemed just too tight. She tossed the umbrella over her shoulder and downed the drink.
As the glass hit the table, she shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I even tried that online dating thing,”
“Oh god” replied Shayla as she screwed her face into a gag. Deanna smiled, and gave a small laugh.
“Wanna know how many shriveled dicks I’ve seen?” she said. Shayla snorted, and pulled her phone out.
“Hell, let’s compare who got the worst. This one guy had the nastiest rash, swear to-”
That’s when the lights decided to flicker.
It wasn’t unusual at Murphy’s-the hole in the wall both had come to call “the usual”. It wasn’t a pleasant place, nor did it attract lovely people. But the crowd was normally very quiet, and minded their own business. The booths were high backed semi-circles cast in low light, the sort of seating where even a raised whisper couldn’t escape. The lights flickered, the bathroom floors were constantly sticky, and at least half the wait staff had felony convictions. Maybe. Probably.
But it was the kind of place that embraced grievances like a confession booth. The few times anyone did get loud, or cried, or was stabbed it wasn’t like anyone paid them mind. The perfect place for the pair. Except for when the lights flickered a second time, which caused Shayla to glance up at the nearly-empty bar. She screwed her face as she pushed her auburn bangs to the side. Her free hand snapped it’s fingers as the barkeep-Murphy himself, precisely the kind of gent one could imagine owning such a space-stared at the door.
“Uh, excuse me, did you pay the power bill? I think we have a bulb going out,” said Shayla.
Murphy, a bald golem of misaligned limbs and doughy red flesh, didn’t pay her any mind. His eyes held towards the exit as a pair of black, filthy boots came into view. Their laces were untied, tucked into leather cuffs as haggard as the black pants shoved inside. If the stranger was lanky, musclebound or something in between, Deanna couldn’t tell. She was far too busy staring at the gold piping on his trailing onyx coat.
“You’re late boy,” spat Murphy with phlegm choked disdain. The stranger sighed as he tucked his hands at his side, lifting the tails of his coat. He hopped atop a barstool, and raised his hand. His fingers snapped, and a cigarette appeared. He jammed it between his lips, and snapped his fingers once more. A lighter appeared, and the cigarette grew a cherry. Smoke plume from his nose as he splayed his palms-lighter free, Deanna noticed.
Just where the hell did that go? She thought.
“The prince sends his regards,” said the stranger, his voice a warm bass that rasped on the final word. He leaned atop the barstool, the tip of his cigarette bright as he inhaled. He reached past the lapel of his coat, and dug inside. All the while, Murphy stood with his arms crossed. Eyes unblinking, his jaw tense.
“Uh, hello? Can we get a drink or something?” said Shayla. Deanna shook her head, and glanced back at the girl.
Oh, right. Last call.
When Murphy didn’t call back (Or grunt, as was his custom) she turned back to face the bar. The stranger had pulled his hand back from his coat, and held it up inches from the barkeep’s nose. Deanna squinted-with the lights as bad as they were, she couldn’t quite make out what was there, but it looked like-
“A tuft of dander means nothing,” said Murphy with a snarl. The stranger snapped his fingers, his hands splaying open.
Gone. Again.
He gave a shrug as his cigarette met the side of his mouth in a crooked grin. “He was cat napping, what do you want me to do? Fucking wake him?”
“Well, the deal was-”
“And the prince wanted to sleep. He’s fine. Now could you get me a drink? I’ve done the devil’s work tonight, and I’ve her thirst to boot,”
Murphy stood still all of a moment, then turned towards the taps. Shayla snapped her fingers again, her ass rising from the seat ever so. She snapped once more, and both Murphy and the odd man turned to look at them.
“Hey, um-Check please?” said Shayla, her penciled brows arched.
Murphy gave another grunt as he reached for a scratch pad-then the stranger lifted his hand.
“They’re on me tonight,” he said.
Murphy’s eyes darted between him and the girls-then rolled as he ripped the paper from the scratch pad. He wadded it up in his hand, and tossed it to the side. He turned towards the taps as the stranger’s stool creaked and spun. His elbows met the bar, and he leaned against it as he looked at the pair. Shayla looked disgusted-then plastered a grin as she gave a small curtsey.
“Well, thank you. Erm, do I-we-know you?” she said. Shayla cast a glance back towards Deanna, and raised her brow. Deanna squinted at the man, and tried to place him. His face was haggard-but if it was from lack of sleep or age, she couldn’t say. His hair was a mess combed as simply back as could be managed. A streak of grey accented one of his temples. But it was his eyes that pulled her the most. They burned bright and green, sure as the neon beer signs behind him.
Deanna gave a small shake of her head, and watched as the stranger smiled again. He scratched at the goatee on his chin, and turned his eyes towards Shayla.
“Maybe, maybe not. We’ve all someone like that in our lives though, don’t we? Only pop in when they’re needed? Walking deus ex machina. I certainly wasn’t expecting you both here. Perhaps you’re mine,”
Shayla gave a giggle-but not the normal kind Deanna had grown used to. It was the get our bags, we’re leaving kind of laugh. This was only confirmed as Shayla took a step back towards the table, her hands crossed in the small of her back. Shayla kept her eyes on the man, that same fake smile still spread wide.
“Uh, yeah we’re not a part of any ‘deus mecha’ church or anything. But we sure do appreciate it! Er, do you…uh-”
The stranger stopped his scratching, his entire body still. A clank came from behind him. Quick as a blink and with such fluidity the taps themselves were jealous, he twirled on the stool and grabbed his pint. He faced them once more, the glass tipping back as he watched them.
“Actually, yes. There is a way you could repay the favor. Something only you could do. And if you want, I’m sure my friend here can keep the drinks going,” he said, the bass in his voice sinking over the last few syllables. Shayla’s hands moved from her back to her front, splayed wide as she patted the air in front of her.
“Uh, mister we’re not those kinds of-” she started, but the stranger held up a finger. He took a long drought, then sat the glass back atop the table.
“Why on earth would I be so foolish as to assume such? No. Not that,” he said. His eyes settled upon Shayla, and seemed to flare for a half second. In that moment, the lights flickered throughout the bar again-and all fell silent as a church.
“No, I want you to tell me a story. That’s all,”
Shayla’s shoulders sagged as Deanna slid from the bar, and met her side. The worry from her face had gone. In its wake, confusion had decided to put up shop. Her hands lowered slightly-but only that.
“Uh, What?” she said.
“Tell me a story,” replied the stranger with a shrug. “Any story will do. Just whichever you feel like telling,”
“That’s it?” said Shayla, her hands at her side now. Deanna gripped her shoulder, but Shayla wrenched away from it.
“Tell you a story, and you’ll keep getting us drinks?”
“That’s it. All I ask is that it’s one you wish to tell,” he replied with a shrug.
Shayla looked at Deanna, a genuine grin crossing her face. She wriggled her eyebrows-and kept doing so even as Deanna shook her head. Shayla shrugged, and stepped towards the bar.
“Okay, sure. I can do that-I think my friend is heading home though. Could you call her an Uber?” she said.
The stranger gave a nod, and rested his hands at his side. Another snap of his fingers, and as the hands raised Deanna spied a cellphone. His thumbs tapped away for a few seconds-and then he looked up at her.
“Their name is Asmo. Fifteen minutes, black drop-top Mustang. They don’t mind waiting either,”
Shayla gave a giggle, and practically lept atop a barstool. She kept one between her and the man, her chin resting atop her palm. Deanna stepped forward, and tapped her on the shoulder. But Shayla waved her away as Murphy sat a margarita in front of her.
“Welllll now, I wasn’t expecting someone this nice here. I’ll give you a story. What’s your name, honey?” said Shayla.
Deanna felt her eyes roll so hard in her skull they could have generated their own gravity. But the stranger didn’t seem moved at all. He turned back towards the bar, and lifted his glass.
“Oh, I’ve a few. But here, right now? You can call me Jack if you want. That’s a nice name I think,”
“It certainly is,” said Shayla as she took a long sip. As the glass met the counter, she turned towards Deanna. Her arms opened as her hands beckoned her forward. Deanna suppressed a sigh, and embraced her friend.
“Shay-” whispered Deanna.
“He’s fineee Dee,”
“Shayyy-”
“Look, I’ll call you okay? Batsignal, remember?”
Deanna gave another sigh through a clenched smile, and nodded. She turned to the man, and gave a nod as she turned on her heel. The double doors were swinging as Shayla had started talking, the noise of the bar fading as the night embraced Deanna.
@@@
There was a single ring before the line clicked. There was a spastic cough from the other end, the sound distorted. Like someone had smoked too many Marlboros in a phone booth, forever. Then the voice came at last, still so far.
Just where was this place?
The thought fled Deanna’s mind as the stranger spoke, his voice just as raspy as that night.
“Needful Things, Jack speaking?”
Deanna, her tongue so ready to roll words right off it before she had dialed, fell mute. She stood there, mouth agape as the phone crackled with static.
“Hello?” said Jack, white pops of noise filling the receiver.
“U-uh, hi. Um, we met the other night? At Mur-” she started, only for a groan to escape the receiver.
“Ma’am, for the last time, yes the tentacles were real. Yes, I can do that for you again-but we’re booked this week, alright?”
Deanna felt her face flush as she sputtered, and answered. “No, um. Not that girl-the other?”
There was silence for a moment, then the voice replied simply “Oh, right. I remember you. Can I do something for you?”
A lump had been building in Shayla’s throat. One that always rolled around when it came to asking for certain things. Promotions, a night off. Things like this. She forced it down as she pressed her phone to her ear.
“I…I have a story. And I’m hoping you can maybe do something similar for me?”
Another pause, one that pulsed with pops and clicks. It stretched on for so long Deanna pulled the phone from her face and double checked there hadn’t been a hang up. As it met her ear again, a reply finally came.
“Alright. I assume you know the rules? It has to be one you feel like telling. Got it?”
“Y-yes sir, I know,” she replied.
There was a soft laugh on the other end, one that left a stirring in her gut. “Oh, I like you. Alright. Tell me your tale. I can set something up for today if you’d like,”
“I thought you said you were booked?”
“For your friend, yes. She’s a bit much isn’t she?”
Deanna didn’t mean to laugh-but it came all the same. No one had ever so plainly talked about Shayla. To her face, or her back. That stirring at the bottom of her belly rose as she took a breath.
“Yeah, she can be. Um, do I have to tell you what I want, or-”
“You like dogs, don’t you?” rasped Jack.
Like wires misfiring, Deanna’s brain spasmed for all of a second. She did, but in this context it was-
“Uh, yes?”
“I’ve just the thing then. So. Your story. Tell me, and I can be right over,”
“That quick?” said Deanna.
Jack laughed, the sound full of mocking bass as the line hissed. “Oh, I’ve branches all over. So. Story first. And then service,”
If asked later what she’d told him, Deanna wouldn’t have been able to say. It came like a fog over her mind-every single detail obscured and clouded. It left just as quick, leaving the strangest feeling of relief in its wake. She blinked, and looked at the phone. She had been at it nearly twenty minutes before the static pop of the line pulled her back.
Jack gave a whistle, one that spiked the gains of the receiver. Deanna winced as she pulled the phone away and waited for him to stop.
“Oh, that’s quite a tale. Lovely. I’ll be there in ten with a friend,”
“Uh, don’t you need my address or-”
There was a click, like a receiver being slammed. Deanna pulled her cell away, and stared at it a long moment.
Ten minutes.
With a friend.
He hadn’t even asked for her address.
Who the hell was this guy?
@@@
The knock made her heart leap to her throat.
She had sat there fidgeting for some time with the hem of her shirt. The clock in her living room-a simple black and white thing she purchased at the drug store-had been so very loud. Every pass of the second hand brought a mechanical click that reverberated within her den. Beneath it’s pulse came the same questions over and over. Ones she had kept asking since Shayla had showed up at her door, hair askew and a hazy smile on her face.
“Girl, you’re not gonna believe this, but-”
What had come from Shayla’s mouth had been too fantastic not to laugh at. But it was Shay’s sincerity and joy that kept her listening. When she left, she had slid the business card over. “Call him,” she said simply.
So she had. And now she was here. Minutes out from his arrival. Without a single fickle understanding of what was about to happen. Was he even her age? Would it matter? What if-
Then came the knock. Deanna jumped in her seat, and stared out of the foyer towards the door. She sat stock still, ears pinned to her head as another knock came. She rose, inch by inch and made her way towards the knob.
With a cough into her fist, she kept the brass handle well within view.
“Who is it?”
“Deanna? We just spoke about ten minutes ago?” rasped a reply that made her skin crawl.
How the hell did he get here that fast?
She lifted her hand towards the door, but paused. Her palm came to rest against the oak of her front door as she leaned forward. With her eye over the peephole, she spied out to the world. What met her sight wasn’t unexpected, but that didn’t quell the surprise she felt. There he stood, in identical clothes to the night at the bar. Beside him was what looked like a giant-
“Miss, you paid in full? If you let me, we can finish our transaction?” he said, salt-and-pepper brow arched as he stared at the peephole. Deanna took a step back, her teeth sinking into her lip as she gripped the handle at last. She turned, and pulled the door towards herself. Just in time to see a black boot crush a cigarette on her porch. Her eyes drifted upwards and met Jack’s own. He gave a small smile as his hand came to rest atop the massive dog carrier at her side. It looked clean enough, but was so dark within she couldn’t make out a thing beyond it’s wire bars.
Then a thought clicked in her head, followed by another in quick succession. Her stomach rolled as she stepped back from the threshold and jabbed a finger towards the cage.
“Uh, l-look, this isn’t at all what I had in mind when-”
“What? The carrier?”
“Yes. There’s-look, I know the internet is a weird place, but I don’t like dogs that much,” answered Deanna.
Instead of shock or repulse, Jack just looked at her quizzically.
“Who says there’s a dog in there?”
“I mean, that’s what-”
“No? Why on earth do you think I’d bring a dog for this anyways?” said Jack with a sneer. He lifted a tobacco stained hand, and wagged his finger at her. “Listen lady, I don’t know what the hell your friend told you, but zoophilia is fucking animal cruelty, and-”
“I-I wasn’t implying, I just-” Deanna said. She shook her head and gave a deep sigh. She cinched her eyes, and brought her fingers up to rub them.
“I just-look, this is my first time with this kind of thing, and-”
“I get that. Get that a lot more than you’d think. No harm or foul, okay?” said Jack.
Deanna looked up at him, his small smile suddenly wider wand warmer than a moment ago. Her lips twitched as the knotting in her stomach eased degree by degree. She took another breath as her arms crossed her chest. Her head tilted as she looked back at the case, then Jack.
“Okay, so it’s not a dog. Then what is it?” she said.
Jack chuckled, and patted the top of the carrier.
“Only way to find out is to invite me in. So-business?” he said.
Deanna felt the lump in her throat growing. She felt the flush of her cheeks as her eyes rested on the carrier, curious as to what lay within it’s dark confines.
She pushed both away with a nod, and stepped to the side as Jack crossed the threshold.
@@@
She never let anyone smoke in her house. But she would make an exception for him. Jack sat, smoke rings choking the air from the room. With one knee crossed over the other in her recliner, he looked as at home there as he would anywhere. The carrier-still and dark-sat to the left of him. He tapped the top of it, his eyes falling upon her for a long moment.
“When’s the last time you were held?”
Deanna, who had been going through all her nervous ticks, looked over at him. She had heard him in full. Quite clearly at that. But the question struck with such simple delivery and mark it sent her thoughts spasming.
“I’m sorry?” she replied at last.
“I said-” he paused to take a drag, his eyes unblinking on her, “-when’s the last time someone held you?”
Deanna’s tongue rolled over her lips as she wrung her fingers. “Well, I don’t quite remember,”
Jack nodded, his finger strumming against the latch of the carrier. “I suppose you’ve a similar answer for kissing then, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately,” she replied.
Jack took a final drag, the cherry hot orange for a second. He snapped his fingers, and Deanna felt herself jump.
The bone at his lip was gone-as was the smoke. He sat, a ratty black button up popped at the collar. His coat was hung over the back of the chair, his hands clasped before him.
He did all that in the time it took me to-
“Normally, women your age? They’re told to get a pet. A dog, a man if they want something really stubborn. But that’s the fickle thing with beasts, isn’t it? You never really know if it’s love or training, do you?”
“No, I suppose not. But what about ca-”
“No. Never trust a cat, not even once,” said Jack, his brow screwed into a scowl. It came in a flash, and was gone just as quick. His hand returned to the top of the carrier as his finger deftly flicked the latch. The wire door swung out, and the carrier gave a slight shake.
“That’s why I brought her. Best of the beasties, but with a brain to boot. Deanna? I’d like you to meet Sweetpea,”
Deanna hadn’t believed Shayla. Not even a little bit.
She hadn’t believed her about the shifting ink, or Jack mentioning his “talents”. She thought it was all a cute lie right up until the carrier shook, and she emerged.
Sweetpea was beautiful in the way someone’s curiosity was piqued looking at pictures of Cerberus. Thick padded paws slapped against the carpet where her hands and feet would have been. A shaggy tail shook from an all too human ass, toned, tanned and fit. Her face was angular and kind despite the dripping, floppy tongue that hung to the side. But what made Deanna’s entire face red as a cherry laid between her thighs.
A knot.
A big, fat bright red knot that didn’t look like those skeezy dildos online. It was wet and throbbing and real, coming her way as Sweetpea let out a bark and padded over.
Deanna said the only thing that felt natural in that moment.
“What in the sweet fuck?”
Jack tilted his head, the pup-woman? Werewolf?-mimicking him as her ears pinned against her auburn mop-top.
“What? Is she not to your liking?”
“I mean, s-she is, but-like, this is real? She’s a-”
“Yep. Why wouldn’t she be?” said Jack.
Sweetpea padded closer, arching her back as her tail wagged manically. She barked, her tongue splattering against Deanna’s legs as she rose to her knees. She placed her paws in Deanna’s palm, the silk of her fur and beans so warm that Deanna gasped. Her head landed atop Deanna’s knee, her massive knot smacking between her knees.
It’s not a fucking costume.
Every thought felt wrapped in cotton as Deanna looked up at Jack. A smirk peeled it’s way across his face as he sat back in the recliner. A hand cupped his bulge, squeezing gently as he smoked yet one more cigarette. He arched his brow as he ashed his cigarette.
“I can give you two some privacy if you like. Wolf girls tend to enjoy pack bonding, though. And you?”
As Deanna’s thoughts raced, Sweetpea barked once more. She looked down at the girl and blinked-then gave her paw a squeeze. Her tongue rolled over her lips as she gave a small nod.
“Shay was right about you. I thought it was a joke,” she said.
Jack cackled, and rolled his shoulders.
“In humor come the truths we rarely swallow when we’re not smiling. Sweetpea? Sit. Give our friend time to undress,”
Sweetpea gave a whimper, then pulled back from Deanna. She sat on her hind legs, (hand) paws flat against the floor. She panted, her wet sloppy tongue smacking against the side of her mouth as Deanna rose.
The hem of her shirt in her hand, Deanna tried to remember the last time she was naked in front of someone. That was far too hard, so she tossed her shirt over her head. Her jeans followed. For a half second, she was conscious of her cellulite. The width of her ass.
Then Sweetpea barked, and leapt forward to eagerly lick at her thighs.
“Down, girl. Give her time to get comfortable,” shouted Jack.
Deanna laughed as a deft hand unhooked her bra. Her breasts smacked against her stomach, which made the mutt-girls tail wag all the more. By the time her cotton panties were at her ankle, Sweetpea’s excitement embodied every action. The mutt yipped and howled, twisting in a circle at her feet. Deanna felt her face warm, but what’s more-something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
The dripping of her own cunt.
She cast one last glance at Jack-who sat, legs wide as he gripped himself. Their eyes met, Sweetpea’s tongue lapping against her thigh.
“I don’t suppose you brought any condoms?” she said.
Jack snorted, and shook his head.
“They don’t exactly make them in ‘big fucking wolf girl dick’ shapes. Sorry,”
Deanna giggled, then looked back down at the mutt. Her knot throbbed between her shaggy thighs, every beat of her pulse sending it smacking against her tummy. She took to her knees, and cupped Sweetpea’s maw in her hands. As the girl eagerly lapped at her face, she shivered.
“Let me guess-you prefer doggy style?” she said.
Sweetpea barked in affirmative, and Deanna let out another laugh. She scooted away from her chair, and let her hands fall to the ground. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Sweetpea’s head press against her cunt, sniffing her before rolling her tongue against it. Deanna barely held in the moan that escaped her throat.
There was the sound of a zipper being tugged, and she glanced up at Jack as her cheeks flushed. With a hand tucked away in his pants, he regarded the pair for a moment. He looked past Deanna, his lips parting as he gave a final command. One that made her stomach warm as realization crept from the back of her mind.
“Sweetpea? Breed,”
The words hung in the air all of a second before Sweetpea’s paws gripped Deanna’s sides. Her nails dug gently into her skin as the tip of her knot rolled against her slit. A moment later, it found purchase.
Sweetpea filled her in a way none had in years. Her walls clung to the wolfgirl, her jaw slack as the knot pressed it’s way within. As Deanna’s nails dug into the carpet, she stared towards the man in her recliner. Her tongue tried it’s hardest to form words.
All that came was grunts as Sweetpea manically bucked against her, barking and howling as she stretched out Deanna’s cunt.
“I-oh fuck,” she cried.
Jack just laughed, and said “Oh, fucking indeed love. That knot isn’t going away until you’re both satisfied. Do have fun girls, okay? Can you do that for me?”
Sweat beaded over Deanna’s brow as she gave a hurried nod. Jack cackled like a breaking storm, a rolling noise that built in tone until it reverberated in the room.
“That’s my good girls. My good, sweet girls,”
@@@
“I’m home, you fat lazy tabby,”
“Mreow?”
“Yes, Murphy sends his regards. I told him you were fine, but of course that wasn’t enough,”
“Mreow,”
“What? I had work you buffoon. You think this interdimensional travel is all for fun?”
“Mreow-mreow”
“That’s impolite-Murphy is an orc, not a troll. And besides, he’s just doing his job. Speaking of which-where too, your highness?”
“Mreow mreow,”
“Really? You want to go there? Aye, suppose the council can’t find us in that place. Ready the things then-we’re done here,”