This erotic story features anthropomorphic (furry) characters, intelligent humanoid beings with both animal and human characteristics.
"Her Master's Love"
SHORT STORY
Sheer curtains filtered the light of a soft morning sun as it was cast through kitchen windows. It was early, and the air had begun to fill with the familiar scent of freshly-brewed coffee -- its aroma wafting from the sleek black machine that hummed on the counter-top. Nearby a round wooden table sat in the centre, set for one. A single place-mat and some utensils were arranged beside an empty plate.
The sound of chopping came next. And humming. A soft tune drifted from the lips of a beast-blood named Gemma as her large paws deftly guided the knife and its grapefruit victim together. Her voice was gentle, quiet...distant. Her mind wandered as it often did when she busied herself with the many menial tasks of servitude. Her master, John, would be awake soon. Two months had passed since the human had become her owner. A purchase that had surprised her former master, a callous woman with too much money to burn for the purchasing of beast-bloods and too little sense to care one wit for their plight. Who would want a middle-aged German Shepherd when there were plenty of younger, healthier slaves available?
There was a pause as Gemma stopped chopping. Her face scrunched up into a muddled grimace. That wicked woman's haughty laugh and swift hand echoed in her mind. Then, more memories. Going back even further -- each previous master either a cold, uncaring bitch or bullying, baleful bastard. Humans who treated her more like a tool than a living being. She had been routinely punished for minor infractions, refused food when disobedient or simply too tired to work, forced to perform hard tasks beyond her 'limited' (or so they claimed) capabilities, and left to fend for herself when fallen ill. Their mistreatment had taken its toll on her. Such scars often felt as fresh as ever.
Gemma hissed at the recollection.
Two months. Two months since she had been sold. Since then her new master John had been in charge. He hadn't hurt her. Hadn't mistreated her. Spoke to her gently, but firmly. Fed her better than her previous owners. Clothed her in a way that didn't make her feel like she was wearing a burlap sack. If anything he sometimes came across as too neutral toward the anthropomorphic canine. This was better situation to be in, she knew. Of course she knew that! Yet she couldn't shake the gnawing anxiety. The fretting that tied her stomach into knots. She had learned long ago that beast-bloods were only as valuable as they were useful to humans. And once John grew tired of her...what then?
The sound of chopping resumed. She did her best to put such thoughts to one side and continue her work. She'd settled into a basic routine by now; preparing breakfast was just one part of her household duties. Soon she would need to set about cleaning, then collecting John's groceries, then handling whatever other chores were due that morning.
One grapefruit after another came apart, cut into slices by her hand. Their fresh-smelling sweetness a delight to Gemma's enhanced canine senses. She looked to one of the kitchen windows, her gaze drifting to the outside world. A pair of human children played in a garden on the other side of the sleepy suburban street. Watching them, she felt a pang of longing. She'd never known that kind of freedom -- not since she was a pup. Her life, as was the norm for her kind, had been one master after another. Being drawn further and further away from the wild, and from herself.
It had been a long time since she thought about her childhood. Back when she was spry and carefree...a long time indeed. Her once-vibrant fur was faded, a dull grey emerging in places, pale white in others; a coat peppered with signs of ageing. To add to that, her figure carried a few extra pounds on her hips, tits, belly and butt. The silk robe she wore, gifted to her by John earlier in the week, lay loose on her frame -- its delicate ties undone, parted to reveal her animal form. Her large, slightly sagging breasts hung free, swaying with each movement; their dark nipples visible against the creamy beige colouration of her chest. Further down, the open robe exposed her waist and the tuft of brown fur at the juncture of her thighs, hiding the outline of her canine vulva. On the backside, the robe was split to let her bushy tail pass through as the silk hung from her broad rear. Bare feet pressed against cold tiles, their paw-pads weathered and tough.
She looked away from the window, catching sight of herself in stainless steel panelling. Her reflection stared back at her from the shiny surface. Time seemed to slip away from her. Birds chirped and leaves rustled, nature's pleasant chorus filtering through the half-open windows as Gemma lost track of how long she stood there. Idle...
A soft creak echoed through the kitchen, snapping Gemma out of her day-dream. Time resumed its normal pace. The canine froze -- realising how long she'd tarried. How long she'd wasted caught in her own thoughts. She hadn't finished breakfast! Panic surged through her as the sound of footsteps approached.
Quickly, she grabbed the ends of her robe, clenching it closed in a futile attempt to cover herself.
"Morning."
John's voice was soft. Barely audible. Gemma turned around, weary eyes falling upon the familiar visage of her master. He was standing in the doorway, his face blank (if a little surprised at her state of dress). His gaze lingered on her exposed fur for a second or two.
An uncomfortable silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the human's flat tone: "is everything alright?"
Gemma turned away, flushing red with embarrassment. She shivered. Her mouth felt dry. Stumbling over her words, she apologised profusely for the delay: "I'm so sorry, Master, I wasn't expecting you yet. Breakfast isn't ready...I didn't...it wasn't on purpose..."
John approached her. He was an inch or two taller than her. Clad in a plain shirt and dark pants. His face was unreadable, save for a strong gaze cast toward Gemma; his brown eyes upon her as he stepped forth. Clean-shaven. Firm shoulders. Fit, yet not excessively so. Hands lightly calloused. Evidence of some physical labour in his life but nothing a beast-blood slave would've had to endure.
He definitely noticed her shaking -- shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself small. As he reached out to touch her, Gemma flinched but didn't pull away. His hands were gentle as they laid upon her shoulders, thumbs tracing small circles on her robe, brushing her fur through the silk to calm her. "It's alright Gemma," he murmured, voice low and soothing, "it's just breakfast."
John's voice held none of the harshness she had come to expect from humans when she messed up. Her eyes closed as she sensed him standing behind her, and felt his hands hold her firmly. She began to relax, the tension in her shoulders oozing away as the human's soft digits ran across her.
He tried to turn her around so they could speak face-to-face, but Gemma resisted. The beast-blood clutched at the edges of her robe with trembling fingers, failing to keep it closed as the silk seemed to disobey and slip from her grasp. "I'm not wearing...I'm not presentable..." she said in a pained whisper. She couldn't bear to be seen this way. Her kind were not accustomed to clothes, having fur to keep themselves warm, but their human masters disagreed. To be naked was shameful -- a lesson drilled into her throughout many years of servitude.
John frowned. "Gemma," he said, "look at me." He waited for a moment before adding: "it's okay, I'm not angry."
She hesitated, then turned slowly, arms falling to her sides. The silk robe fluttered open, revealing her body in all its mature glory. The slight paunch of her lower belly bulged out, drawing his attention to what lay below -- a scandalous sight that made John's breath hitch in his throat.
Gemma's gaze flickered, then darted away unable to meet his eyes with her own -- too wrought with unshed tears. She stood before him, vulnerable and exposed. Her heart pounded in her chest. He said he wasn't angry, but was that really true? Her mind raced as she waited for his reaction.
John, still holding her shoulders, regarded her not as a lowly animal -- a savage -- but a creature of strength and resilience. A being that had weathered every storm sent her way and survived. "It's okay Gemma," he said, "I know you've had bad owners before. Ones who treated you poorly. But I promise you: I never want to see you hurt."
The German Shepherd gave a small whine. "I got scared. Scared you would be like them if I messed up."
"Gemma," cooed John, his hands leaving her shoulders, "you don't need to finish breakfast. I can do it."
"But Master!" she protested, part of her still refusing to accept his sincerity. She had been trained to serve, to anticipate and provide for her owner's every need -- the thought of shirking her duties, the churning feeling that very notion conjured in her stomach...well, it doesn't go away just because a human says they'll let something slide.
