Her Master's Love

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.

John took her hand-paw, tracing the rough contours of her pads, whilst with the other hand he ran his fingers along the edge of her robe. Up along her side until he got to her neck, where a leather collar with golden tag gleamed in the morning light. A stark reminder of her status. Her place in the world as something to be owned.

She watched him, cautiously. Hoping the interest he displayed in her right now was benign.

"You're beautiful, Gemma. Did you know that?"

Her heart fluttered. Beautiful. She'd not heard that word directed her way in many years. Beautiful. It buoyed her spirit with the music of each syllable.

"There's no need to hide, not from me," he continued. Gemma looked down at his hand on hers, then back to his face, expression filled with uncertainty. She opened her mouth the speak, but John cut her off, a calming smile playing at the corners of his mouth...

"You don't need to get dressed yet either, not if you don't want to. I won't judge you for being who you are."

Fur prickled all over Gemma, the beast-blood stirring with emotions she couldn't quite describe. Warmth, yes... but not just a physical warmth. There was something more, a deeper feeling that surged up within her in that moment. A long-forgotten feeling. As she looked down at their entwined hands, her clawed fingers dwarfing the human's, she realised he was holding her as if she were precious. Valued.

"It's not proper," she cried, fighting with the imposition of human social norms on her state of mind. Her nakedness loomed large in her thoughts.

She felt his hand squeeze. "Nonsense," John said, "there's nothing improper about being yourself Gemma." He paused then, looking at her with a soft smile. "Do you like the robe I got you? Does it make you feel pretty?"

Gemma traced lines in the smooth fabric. She'd never worn anything so nice before. So soft and luxurious against her fur. A far cry from the itchy and the ragged. The kinds of clothes meant to cover her shame not enhance her natural beauty. Nor did it feel anything like the plain garments she wore when she needed to go outside running errands for her master. No, this was something special.

"It feels good on my fur... and I like how it looks on me," she finally admitted after some time spent caressing it.

John's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm glad you like it. And yes, it does make you look pretty. But you know what?"

"What?"

"You'd still be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen even without it."

Most beautiful...

His words echoed in her mind. Right now she felt... safe...

A curious sensation after such a hard life. Safe.

They stood close together. In silence. Their bodies almost touching. Just looking at each other. Gemma replayed the last two months over and over in her head. Her old masters haunted that time. Echoes of their cruelty staining the peace she should've enjoyed from their absence. To be owned by such foul faces! Being treated at nothing but a means to an end. A beast of burden to be used or discarded. Enslaved her whole life, body and soul, to the whims of cruel minds. Now, however, thinking about John's treatment of her -- his fairness, his gentle manner of speaking, his comforting touch -- this was different. New. It all pointed to one thing! He cared. He cared for her!

And, as Gemma was drawn into the depths of his soulful eyes, she found herself leaning even closer, craving warmth and comfort...

Despite the kindness she saw in him, she still found herself flinching at sudden movements. Recoiling from unexpected touches. Pain lasted a good long time. It dwelt always in her subconscious. Aught but an unwelcome memory right now but still seeming as visceral as the real thing. Yet... as John stood, patiently accepting her, holding her hand... there was a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, things could be different this time.

John saw her need. Her yearning to feel safe and secure. It was written all over her: in the way she moved, the way she talked, and regrettably in the faint marks visible in parts of her fur. Evidence of 'discipline' gone too far. He wouldn't push. He wouldn't make the first move. He dared not. Ever since he first laid eyes upon her in the auction -- her bitch of an owner trying to rid herself of someone she viewed as old and worn-out -- he'd felt her pain. Seen her fearful eyes as the bidding started. Standing in simple rags as nobody saw fit to put their hand up. Not even valued as a slave. He hadn't meant to do so himself. He wasn't there to buy a beast-blood. No. Until the hand of a brutish farmer raised, seeking another dirt-cheap labourer to work the fields 'til they expired. That's when John felt the urge to get involved. The look on Gemma and her owner's face as the price went up, and up, to an amount that felt excessive for someone like her...

That was the start of it. A mere two months ago.

Gemma had been so timid, so nervous, when they lead her backstage to meet. She curtseyed in those beige-brown rags her former owner made her wear. Her faded fur flowing as she moved, and slightly pudgy figure shifting to pose correctly for her new owner. Her new master. "Thank you, Master, for buying me. It's my duty to serve," she had bravely ventured, standing up straight and awaiting his first order...

* * *

Gemma's trip down memory lane was interrupted by the calm, clear voice of her master -- his words pulling her back from a painful past:

"You're beautiful. Inside and out."

As if drawn by an invisible force the two edged closer together. Gemma stared deep into John's eyes; a wellspring of affection she risked drowning in. John brushed a lonely tear from her face. Her heart swelled with emotions she couldn't place. A flower, blossoming finally after many years budding -- that's what she felt like, if only she could muster the words to explain it to herself. It was in that moment, as she looked at John, Gemma realised she was falling in love.

John's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. Gemma's hands found their way to his back and clutched tightly. She leaned into his touch as their bodies pressed together. Their figures fit together perfectly, the softness of her curves moulding to the hardness of John's form.

With newfound courage, Gemma squeezed John's shoulders and lifted her head. She could feel every inch of him -- chest and stomach firm. Strong. And, a little lower, a hardness forming. Not naked like her own burgeoning arousal, but trapped behind clothing. She could feel it nudge against her belly. Her heart pounded in response, breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps as she looked up at him. A mix of fear and excitement swirling within...

Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss. Breaths mingling as they explored the newness of their intimacy. It was gentle. Almost chaste. Yet it sparked with yearning -- with a deep desire to explore the other.

John cupped the back of her head, fingers running through her fur. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, politely asking for entry, and she agreed. Her lips, once pursed for pecking, opened to let him slip inside. Her own tongue pushed its way forward, tangling with her master's as their kiss evolved into one of passion.

She tasted him. He tasted her. Both unique flavours that tingled on the tips of their tongues.

Gemma's hands clutched his shirt, her claws raking his back but not enough to cause injury. She pulled him closer. Deeper. She wanted this moment to last forever. To lose herself in this kiss and never come up for air. To be one with this man.

But -- suddenly -- a cold voice in the back of her mind screamed at her, and she broke away.

John looked on, concerned, as Gemma stumbled backwards; out of their embrace. The German Shepherd wore a panicked expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Gemma's voice was shaky, her body still trembling from their kiss. She tried in vain to drag her robe over her exposed figure -- shame written 'cross her face. "Master," she said, "what we're doing... it's forbidden! A slave like me and a human like you--"

The human's face darkened. Not with anger, no. But a fierce determination. He stepped toward her.

"Gemma."

"--an old beast-blood like me, it's not proper. What if someone--"

"Gemma!" he said, louder but without a cruel edge. "I don't want to hurt you. And if that means stopping this right now and going back to the way things were between us, then I'll respect your wishes. Just say the word and we'll forget all that's happened."

Gemma's heart ached. No-one had ever asked for her permission before. It was a foreign concept, but a welcome one. She sniffled and gathered herself, moving closer to John. "But... I don't want to stop," she whimpered, "I just... I just don't want you to be disappointed in me."

His expression softened. "Gemma -- don't think like that. There's nothing you could do to disappoint me. You are strong. Resilient. Beautiful."

Beautiful. That word again. Oh how it brought joy to her.

He continued: "I want to show you just how much I care for you. I didn't show it before because I wasn't sure you would feel the same way. I... played the part of a typical human. Indifferent to your kind. Only looking for a servant to cook and clean for me. You deserve better than that, even if the world won't let it happen."

"Master... you really mean that?"

"I do. I want you to feel safe and comfortable with me, Gemma. I want you to feel loved."

A tingle shot down her spine. The canine female took a deep breath, steeling her nerves, and dove in for another kiss. Another passionate locking of lips.

And so their mouths met again. This time filled with fervour -- a great need born of John's sweet words. The human's hands spread across her body, flitting under her robe; they explored her curves, tracing the lines of her fur and the softness of her flesh. There was muscle there to, beneath. Firming with anticipation as he passed over mound and furrow. John sighed as he felt Gemma reciprocate, dragging her clawed fingers over his clothed form. No doubt desperate the get them off of him.

This time there was no hesitation. No tentativeness. Their lips moved together. In sync. Their tongues danced as each explored the other's mouth. Hands roamed, touching and caressing, learning the shape and contour of the opposing bodies. Gemma felt the need for John growing fast inside her, a fire igniting in the pit of her stomach that spread outwards -- setting her entire body alight with deep desire. She moaned into John's mouth, hands clinging to him as if afraid he'd disappear if she let go. John seemed just as affected, his breath coming in short gasps as he pulled away from their kiss. His hands trembled as they traced the edge of Gemma's silk gown, fingers brushing against the soft fur of the canine's belly.

"Gemma," whispered John, his voice hoarse, "can I... can we..."

She nodded, meeting his gaze with newfound confidence. "Yes," she whisper back, ever-so-softly, "I want to explore this, Master, with you..."

They kissed again.

John cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing against her bare nipples, causing them to harden into tight peaks. Gemma moaned into his mouth, her body aching, craving, screaming out for more.

The breakfast preparations were long forgotten. John and Gemma lost themselves in each other's arms, wandering from the kitchen -- oblivious to their surroundings -- and entering the hallway. A light clattering filled the air as they bumped up against a cabinet, the ceramic ornaments atop it jostled by the new lovers' motions. The round plump curve of Gemma's rear nudging its edge, her tail whipping with excitement... the blind fumble of John's hands as he reached out for balance...

John's hands roamed over Gemma's body, feeling out the soft curves of her middle-aged form as if she were a sculpted masterpiece. A work of art to be revered. Worshipped. Twice his age, yet by all conventions of society subordinate to him. Belonging to him. Someone with such a... wealth of life experiences, surrendering to his touch as if ordered to. Each shiver and gentle twitch belying an opaque memory resurfacing and harrying her thoughts. Both good and bad. But, as he'd made clear with her, this was a safe space -- a consensual union between human and beast-blood. Entirely within her control.

"Master... J-John... please..."

As John's fingers brushed over her fur, glancing against her most intimate parts, Gemma continued to press her body against him. His hands moved behind her, dragging across her ass. Seeking more, as she did. The pair's lust growing and growing. Never before had she been touched with such reverence. Such gentle care. All she wanted to do was make him feel as wanted as he made her. The tough paw-pads of her fingers and palms pressed down on John's shoulders, then his sides, then his hips. Squeezing him. Desperate to make real contract without the human's clothes getting in the way.

The silk robe slipped off Gemma's shoulders, returning her to her natural state. Undressed. Naked. Perfect. She watched as John's kissing moved from her lips to her neck -- a quaint little sigh escaping the canine female as tingles of pleasure erupted from the point of contract. Next, her collarbone was assailed by loving pecks; then, at long last, he arrived at her bare breast. John bent his head and latched onto one nipple, his lips pursed as he swallowed the hard nub, sucking and teasing it with his tongue until Gemma was writhing with the blaze of sweet sensation.

Amidst this divine torture, the German Shepherd fumbled with the buttons on her master's shirt. Her clumsy claws struggled to undress him. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. To trace the lines of his muscles. To memorise every inch of him. Finally, she made progress, popping the buttons one-by-one until the last slid free and she pulled the shirt off of him, revealing the lean, firm body beneath.

John's mouth kept a tight seal on her nipple as he suckled. One hand cupped and massaged the other breast while its partner wandered. Feeling out the slight paunch of her belly, the softness of her inner thigh, and the tuft of fur at the juncture of her thighs. He touched her there, fingers pressing against warm folds. The heat and wetness of her pussy awaited him.

John's finger slipped inside her. Tight, moist heat confronted him. He added another digit, stretching her. Preparing her for what was to come.

Gemma gasped at the sudden sensation. Never had she been given this kind of attention so freely. It was overwhelming. Intense. She found herself teetering on the edge. Her body moved without thought, hips shifting in a slow rhythm, as if riding John's hand whilst she sought her release.

Tears rolled down her face, staining her cheeks. These were not tears of sadness or pain. No, these were tears of joy. Rich with emotion as she experienced true pleasure for the first time in a long time. She wept at how good it felt. How John's ministrations stirred her inside and out. Because of her status as a beast-blood she'd never know sex could be like this: two souls entwined, caught up in a dance of divinity, bodies celebrating their closeness with deep draughts of pleasure pouring from every corner of their beings.

John noticed her tears and paused. "It's okay, Gemma," he whispered, "I've got you. You're safe with me."

And Gemma believed him. Genuinely. She felt protected in his arms, shielded from the world and its myriad cruelties. With John, she wasn't a slave... a beast-blood to be used, abused, and discarded. Far from it... with John she was a partner. An equal. A lover.

Amid further words of comfort from her master, Gemma drew deep breaths. She was panting, her tongue daring to loll out of her maw like that of a brainless animal. Her nipples stood erect, at attention, as John's fingers slid in and out of her vagina. Her breasts quaked with each stammering gasp, bouncing and jiggling from the repeated involuntary shaking. She realised her orgasm was close. She was about to cum from her master's touch... from just his fingers!

But John had other plans. He withdrew his hand, making Gemma whimper at the sudden loss of pleasure. His belt buckle jingled as he unfastened it, his zipper hissing as it was lowered, and then -- finally -- his trousers fell to the floor, revealing a proud-standing tent composed of his boxers and his cock.

Gemma's eyes went wide at the sight of his erection straining against his underwear. A human male's member -- what could it look like? What would it feel like? Beast-bloods came in all shapes and sizes; a lifetime among canines and similar species had coloured her mind, given her no examples other than those of her people. She knew there was a wide variety of penile forms -- theoretically at least -- but as John stood there, lust-filled eyes studying every inch of her body, his hardness, length, and girth hidden by mere fabric, Gemma swallowed down a lump in her throat.

Apprehension surged as John removed his underwear, his cock now standing proud and upright against his stomach. Blood-filled, ready to enter her. A shiver ran down Gemma's spine, a mix of excitement and uncertainty, as she wondered what it was going to feel like when he took her.

John appeared to read her thoughts -- transmitted no doubt by the expressions she made -- and stepped forward to take her hand. "I won't hurt you, Gemma. We'll go slow, and we'll stop if you want to."

Their eyes met.

Gemma nodded, her gaze drawn back to his member. Her tongue darted forth from between her lips, as if to taste the musky air. She lifted one foot-paw and stepped forward, then the other, until she was right up against him. Her hand coiled nervously around John's penis, squeezing gently as he moaned. A bead of pre-cum spilled from the mushroom-head; not at all what she was expecting. It was bulbous, wide. Not tapering from narrow to fat like a canine. It would stretch her as soon as it entered -- prying her apart.

More kisses and fleeting fondles filled the seconds that followed. Gemma stroked John, slowly and gently. She was building up the courage to let him inside. Once that happened, things would change permanently. There was always the option to back away, hold off on letting their bodies fuse and meld... John was more than understanding enough to let her if she said so. The world wouldn't acknowledge their love; wouldn't countenance it, not one bit. If anyone found out a beast-blood and their master had fucked -- rutted, shagged, ridden, made love -- that would be the end of everything. So what they were about to do, going beyond fooling around with kisses and touches, was anathema to the rest of society. They would never be able to show it. Never be able to act like a normal couple, except in secrecy... in the privacy of John's home. Only there would they be safe to act as they wished. To be lovers. It was one hell of a commitment. Looming and omni-present in her thoughts as she felt John's hardness in her grasping digits.

A decision must be made.

After a moment's silence, Gemma spoke, sealing their fates: "I want you, Master, inside me."

"Say it properly."

Gemma's brow furrowed. She had to think about what he meant for a second before giving the correct response: "I want you, John, inside me..."

Her eyes, matted with tears, beheld the broad smile on John's face. She giggled as she guided him towards her entrance. Her warm, swollen pussy. Dripping with lubricant. Craving the kiss of his tip against her puffy labia.

She felt his head press against her. Felt the stretch as she opened to accommodate him. Like a great yawn. Then, gradually, he began to push his way inside. "Oh John... oh Master," she cooed as her nether-lips spread, then swallowed the round tip of his shaft. Her body tensed. It was a tight fit. But she relaxed as he continued to move forward, sliding inch after inch into her. She could feel every ridge, every bump and contour, every vein of that throbbing organ in exquisite detail. "Oh... oh..." she warbled.

"God... Gemma... so warm... so tight..."

His words brought joy to her. That he was experiencing as wonderful a sensation as she was. That he, as his head came to a rest at the end of her canal, with her walls constricting around him, knew as she did that they'd made the right decision.

Firm hands roamed Gemma's backside, pressing and pulling the rutting pair closer together. Clawed fingertips dragged across John's flesh; a light-touch raking, sharp pin-pricks dotting his back each time Gemma flinched as the welling pressure of his cock deep inside her got to be too much.

"John!"

"Ah, Gemma!"

Decades of longing and loneliness abated, dissolving into distant memories in a pinch. John pulled back a little, drawing out a moan from the panting beast-blood. Then he slid back in, and built to a slow, steady rhythm. She could feel his hardness, his swollen shaft, plunging into her -- prying her open again and again; her sensitive insides reeling from the intruder's forceful entry. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, jiggling as he hilted himself inside her. Dark stiff nipples moving in sync with the roll of her waist and the bucking of his hips.

A sniff escaped Gemma as she let the pleasant sensations surge. Her fingers dug deep into John's back but the human didn't seem bothered by the pain of her sharp claws. Her toes curled and flexed, squeezing against her firm pads before loosening and splaying under revolving waves of pleasure. John pressed his whole body against her, holding her between himself and the wall as the cabinet beneath the German Shepherd did its best to seat her. Her tail swept up and over a collection of small ornaments, knocking some over and others to the floor.

A sudden crash rang out as ceramic shattered. Gemma stammered a moaning apology, fear returning to her eyes: "I'm so sorry Master... I'm so sorry... I..." John cut her off with a kiss, letting her know he didn't care. All he was focused on was their lovemaking.

The cabinet went bump with each rocking of the pair's hips. John grunted whilst sealed against Gemma's lips. The slap of needy flesh upon flesh echoed off the walls as they fucked like animals, bodies driven by naught but primal instincts -- desire, hunger, and the like. But even 'midst the height of their passion, John never forgot to touch her. To caress her. To whisper words of love and comfort into her ear between bouts of kissing.

Their sex grew more intense. Now their bodies moved in perfect rhythm as they chased the apex of pleasure. John's turgid mast slid in-and-out of her sopping pussy -- hips slamming against hers. Gemma did her best to respond, meeting him stroke-for-stroke; her body undulated with a grace she hadn't known she possessed.

To John it felt like he'd been granted entry into Heaven. The highest form of ecstasy. Skirting just shy of the divine. He knew Gemma felt similar. By her touch. By soft, hoarse moans. Her half-shut eyes flitting erratically as the pleasure mounted. She seemed so vulnerable. He didn't know if she was a virgin. If she had ever been intimate with someone. Or if she'd been put to work as a breeder by her former masters, and pumped out broods of beast-blood progeny. Such delicate matters he wasn't willing to ask about for fear of hurting her. Of dredging up a painful past more than necessary. In time, they'd share. Yes, they'd share their histories. Their lives. A full accounting. Yes... in time...

"Ah!"

"Gemma!"

He could feel her hard nipples rub against his bare chest. Poking and scraping. Wonderful, motherly breasts (though he knew not if they ever fed children). Unblemished by age to his eyes. Their soft tear-drops sagging slightly, but beautiful despite. Surging with pleasure, erogenous zones just waiting to be teased over and over. Until his canine lover begged him for true release.

Gemma mewled as she felt him pinch her nipples -- pressing those hard nubs and rolling them between his fingers. "John!" she cried out as daggers of raw sensation stabbed through her, shaking her to her core. This, in combination with the relentless pounding of his cock, his shaft sliding against her clit, pumping between her folds, was magical.

Oh how she wanted this. How she wanted him. Forever and a day. To share in the deepest, most closely-guarded parts of her. How she wanted...

John felt Gemma suddenly tense up. An audible gasp reached his ears, followed by a worried huff. He looked at her. Her eyes were wide open. In them, besides the fast-welling tears staining her cheeks anew, he saw her longing, her need to be loved -- as raw and real as anything else in this cruel world. And, as fresh tears streamed, her body shook. Quaking with intense sensation. John could feel her clamp down on his cock, the quivering of her vaginal walls signalling a powerful orgasm.

Gemma cried out. Her voice shallow and shaking. Unsteady.

John held her. He held her tight as her body erupted from within. Fast breaths, staccato and sharp, filled the air. She rode out her orgasm in his arms; feeling John's heartbeat in the pulse of his hard cock, in time with her own. Part of her felt shame. Most of her welcomed the wondrous feelings John had caused inside her. She yowled like an animal, a beast-blood whore reeling from sin. But she didn't see herself that way. No, she was John's now, not her former masters. She was wanted now. As an equal. She was his, and he was hers. And the writhing, hulking mess of their two bodies coupling in the hallway became a statement of undying love between them.

As she began to climb down from the uttermost heights of pleasure, John felt his own end approach. Slick with sweat, and panting just like Gemma (though without the big canine tongue to exaggerate the effect) he prepared one final thrust. As her soft cooing -- gentle whispers of "Master, oh Master," beckoning him to proceed -- he slid out until just his tip was inside her. She looked down at where they were joined, human and beast-blood, with a happy sigh. "Inside," she said, as if sensing a mote of hesitation, "inside..."

John, fuelled by lust and the aching in his cock, obeyed. Pushing back inside, he made sure to move slowly, as the sensation in his organ had reached almost to the point of no return. It built and built, increasing with each inch he advanced. Until... at long last...

"GRAGH!"

The human roared as he came. His climax rocketing through his body; an unstoppable wave of sexual ecstasy, sweeping the pair up and carrying them away. Gemma, though spent, convulsed instinctively; her pussy clenched around John's cock as he spilled his seed. Pulse after pulse as his cock throbbed and pumped his load into her. A thick, warm torrent.

Gemma pulled him close, wrapping her legs around his waist and crossing ankle-over-ankle, locking them together. Nothing in her life had ever felt as good as this moment. Right here, right now. Her master struggling to maintain his gentle composure as he released himself into her depths. Both of them swimming in a sea of delight. No, more than a sea: an ocean.

This was a life they could share. Partners. Lovers. Only in secret. In the privacy of John's home. Her heart fluttered as John's cum filled her. She was coated in his love. Hot, piping love.

"Oh John," she moaned in a hushed, husky voice, "please love me, always."

"Gemma. Gemma... I love you. I felt it when I first set eyes upon you. All that time I couldn't wait to... to show you. To give you joy. I know we can't have a normal relationship, but I don't care. As long as you are under this roof you are mine, and I am yours."

"Oh Master! Yes!" she squealed, delight still tingling throughout her flesh. Contentment and joy and all kinds of good feelings flowed through her. As she held John, both their orgasms suitably subsided, she breathed slowly. Now that he'd shown her what it meant to be loved, truly cherished, she felt like never letting go -- and giggled at the idea. Pictures of them locked together, her legs wrapped tight around him, forever-more, amused her. In this peaceful moment she could afford to laugh, and John heard her and saw her smile and knew she felt at ease.

Diving in for a final kiss, the two lovers met lips and mingled them. Wet and feisty and impatient. Like they were in a rush to devour the other. Gemma felt the slimy, warm sensation of John's essence in her pussy. John felt his member soften, begin to wilt, floating in that same sticky sea.

As the morning began to dissolve into mid-day, the pair still stood together.

Naked. Embracing. Two hearts beating as one.