Mikayla stood draped in darkness at the edge of the jungle; the canopy blunting the rays of the sun some 40 feet above her. Sloping gently from where she stood, a verdant savanna lit brilliantly by the sun, rolled to a stop a mile or two before her, forming the banks of the Yamani River. She was surprised to feel tears welling up in her eyes; she was not an overtly emotional person. However, to finally be here, to see the river revealed so beautifully in front of her in a panoramic view that seemed to extend forever, surpassed everything she had imagined or expected. She felt overwhelmed.

She could smell the cool moisture of the water radiating up to her. Was that even possible, to smell a river, perhaps even feel and taste it at such a distance? Or, was her formidable thirst triggering the synapses in her brain, screaming for her to take notice of the very object on which she was focused, the very thing that had brought her to this place; the Yamani river.

The six-day slog through the jungle had been a series of dead ends and backtracks when the landscape closed in around her, choking her path. She had finally punched a hole through that green wall, fueled by her tenacity and fear of failure, but not without cost. The pack she carried weighed close to 60 pounds and pushing through this last but thickest part of jungle had wicked every ounce of moisture from her body. Her canteen had given up the last droplets of water over three hours ago. What had started as a small tendril of thirst a short time ago had now grown into a desperate need.

She hadn’t noticed that her tongue had glued itself to the roof of her mouth until she tugged it away making an audible click as she did so. Her eyes darted up quickly to the sun. She could have pulled the GPS tracker out of her backpack to check the time, but she didn’t need to. It was a little before noon, which meant she would be hiking the two miles across the savanna down to the river under the full heat of the day. Fifteen or twenty minutes, that’s all it would take, but she was alone, she would be easily seen in the clearing, and you didn’t play games with thirst or exposure out here.

She needed water.

And the water that stretched out before her was special. Magical if you believed the historical records written by some early explorers who had tried to settle this area. Cursed if you read the accounts of others. She had read them all. The Yamani River had captivated her imagination since she had first read about it as a child.

The true source of the Yamani had never been found. Many had traced it back but lost the waterway where it forked into 1000 streams. Indeed, one searcher had been her own father, but he had come up empty like all the rest. When she told him, she was going to find it, that she was going to come to the Yamani to discover that which remained hidden, he had come unglued. He would give no reason for his adamant concern, only that she should not come, that he forbade her. She laughed at this, until the anger radiated out from her gut and into every tributary of her hands and feet. She is not a woman who waits for permission. She did not suffer his attempts to control her well. Which is why she had left her father sipping his morning coffee in the kitchen as she quietly walked out the front door. This would be her prize; the history books would add her name to the records, Mikayla Kuvasz, the woman who solved the mystery of the Yamani River.

A smile played across her face. She pulled the weathered fedora from her head, loosing the long, auburn tresses she had coiled beneath it while pushing through the jungle. She learned long ago how tangled branches and twisted vines sought to ensnare her hair if left uncovered. She nearly had a chunk ripped out of her scalp while moving quickly through the undergrowth in Viet Nam. A simple solution would be to shore it up in a bob prior to these excursions, but she would never. Some might call it vanity, or conceit, she did not care. She loved this display of her femininity and the incongruity it struck against the backdrop of the remote places she so often trekked. Here, there was nothing but clearing and scrub brush between her and the Yamani; she could safely let her hair cascade over her shoulders and down her back and let the wind run freely through it without fear.

She tucked the fedora into her backpack sitting at her feet, then with a grunt, hoisted the load back up onto her shoulders. Amazingly, it felt lighter now. In one fluid movement she launched her feet forward leaving the shade at the edge of the jungle and strode across the threshold into brilliant sunshine and light grass toward her destiny.

The sun felt bold on her face and body after six days under the canopy. Mikayla turned her copper-flecked brown eyes up toward a cloudless sky. Her broad smile revealed a flash of white, a white so pure it seemed unnatural in this world of bright greens and drab olives. The microfiber cargo shorts she wore allowed the grass to softly brush against her bare legs, toned from walking thousands of miles just like these. Tired, yet buoyed by the thought that the most difficult part of her journey was now behind her in the jungle and soon, she would slake her thirst by drinking directly from the Yamani quickened her pace. She did not feel the eyes that followed her every step from low cover. She did not hear the soft growl or see the long tongue swipe smoothly across a perfect pair of canine teeth. She was oblivious that with each step toward the river she was getting closer to the greatest challenge of this journey, not moving away from it. The most arduous test she would ever experience up to this point in her 24 years, lay in front of her, not behind.

The Yamani

The river itself created a great deal of interest when it was “discovered” by 16th century colonialists. According to the detailed written records of the time, what made this river noteworthy was its clarity. These experienced sailors had seen crystal clear lagoons, bottomless atolls, and shimmering transparent reefs the world over. But, a clear river? Clear rivers are rare in any part of the world. Most rivers, including all 23 that ran through this part of the world flowed red or brown depending on the loam deposits they picked up along the way, save the Yamani. Coursing as deep as 43 feet in certain stretches, the visibility in this waterway remained unlimited.

The clarity, it was theorized, was accountable for another of its mysterious attributes. As the explorers ventured further from the sea, moving inland, they became desperate for fresh drinking water. Gambling hope against hope they had tried drinking from other rivers only to find them to be cesspools of dysentery and other alien disease which decimated the first groups that came through. One record described the scene of the first group of explorers to come upon the banks of this clear river; how they tore the filthy rags from their bodies and dove in. The journal described how they set aside all caution and raised their cupped hands to their lips to drink deeply, tasting the sweet coolness that rushed down their throats. Not a single case of illness was recorded as a result of drinking directly from the Yamani. It was pure as it was clear.

There had been documentation regarding a conflict between the colonialists and the indigenous people that lived along the banks of the Yamani, who were given the derogatory name of Homo Canis – Dogmen. Modern researchers dismiss much of the discussion in the texts regarding these people, citing the well-known xenophobia of the time for their outlandish, even impossible deions. Several references described these men as being men by every measure yet possessing some behavioral and physical attributes common among canids.

Reports stated that while they were equipped with fully-functioning arms and hands, legs and feet, these men had turned their backs on walking upright and had learned to move proficiently on all fours; the balls of their feet and the pads of their hands. Many sources described impossible feats of speed associated with Dogmen using this mode of locomotion. One author claimed that he had witnessed a Dogman overtake a horse at full gallop in this manner which is preposterous.

Several tomes included artistic sketches of the skull and mandible of this creature which appeared human in every way except for the overly enlarged canine teeth some 2.5 inches long. Additional sketches depicted the Dogmen with long, heavily furred tails, though no reference was made to whether this feature was a natural extension of the man, or a cleverly devised modification of the body.

One entry alluded to some abnormality attributed to the genitalia of these men. While the puritanical bent of the time precluded this historian from providing a full deion of the reproductive organs, it was quite clear what was meant.

Completely absent from the record was any mention of the female version of the tribe. No comments on child-rearing. No sketches. Nothing.

The conflict between the colonialists and the Dogmen, was a tired cliché as these stories go. Dogmen welcomed colonialists. Colonialists took advantage of the generosity and began blighting the banks of the river with settlements. And when the Dogmen objected, the colonialists enacted a shoot-on-sight order of extermination. The Dogmen held their own for quite some time but were soon eradicated from the area – gunpowder and lead proved too lethal a match for their speed and cunning.

Ironically, it was not long after their victory over the Dogmen, that the colonialists disappeared from the area as well. No reason was given for their departure. Only that they disappeared back into the jungle leaving their settlements to ruin in the sun.

The Drink

Mikayla reached the Yamani as the sun piqued. Her heart was pounding more from excitement than exertion. Still, she was relieved when she stood at the bank and could let the heavy pack fall from her shoulders. The research, and her own father’s account had been accurate, the river was startling clear. She pulled the empty canteen from the pack and going down to her knees scrambled along to the waters edge to submerge it, sending a churn of air bubbles to the surface as it filled. Once it was done, she placed all her faith in the written history of this river and raised it to her lips and drank the untreated water. Her thirst demanded it, true. But in the deepest well of her mind, this act was an expression of trust to the river, a communion, a bargain. A hope that by drinking it in, the river would deem her worthy and open its mysteries to her. She drank more.

The sweetness of the water surprised her. It was crisp and pure, but the sweetness reminded her of something she could not place. She had been so dehydrated that she could feel every inch of the water moving down her throat and filling her empty stomach. She stopped herself, fearing her body might reject the sudden influx of hydration, and rose to her feet. Standing there, alone, she realized there was no other sound. No birds, no insects; not even the wind rustling through the grass raised a noise. Normally, this would have put her on alert; places like this only get quiet when something dangerous is afoot. But at this moment, she really didn’t care. In fact, she found that when she reached inside herself, she could find no wariness, only bliss, pure joy. She had made it through the jungle, she had made it to the Yamani, she had drunk from it; she was suddenly overcome by an unexpected jolt of laughter that came from a place deep inside her. She arched her back, held her arms out from her body and began to spin slowly, watching the blue sky rotate above her.

“Oh, my God, I am here!” She screamed to no one. “I am here!” Her laughter echoed down the length of the river. She came to a stop and took another long drink. Facing the crystal-clear water, she impulsively dropped the canteen and began working the buttons on her shirt, slowly revealing her pale skin to the sky. She hitched one shoulder out of it and then the other as she hurriedly yanked the shirttail that had been tucked into her cargo shorts free. Her perfect, teardrop breasts, capped with thick, and now, inexplicably erect nipples, jostled left and right as she liberated herself from the clothing.

Going down on one knee, she frantically tore at the laces of her boot before pulling her foot free along with the thick protective sock she wore. Switching knees, she removed the boot and sock from her other foot. She then stood and manipulated the button and clasp of her cargo shorts, then pushed them down her legs along with her panties.

Mikayla Kuvasz now stood completely nude on the bank, only her hair obscured the view of her body from the unseen eyes that studied her from the brush. She was strong; the muscles of her shoulders, arms and back were defined yet smooth; the body of a swimmer or dancer. The skin of her flat stomach revealed the faint outline of her abdominals before falling steeply away between her strong thighs before forming the prominent rise of her sex covered with a sprinkling of auburn. Her ass curved dramatically from the small of her back, perfectly sculpted with lightly corded muscles. The eyes that watched her narrowed as they saw her crouch slightly, then spring forward, plunging like an ivory knife into the Yamani River.

Peace and tranquility enveloped Mikayla as she sunk deeper below the surface. Opening her eyes, the visibility was as if she were still standing on the shore, every detail of the river was available to her. Grass waved from her right to her left as it was bent and tugged gently by a slow current. Schools of multicolored fish (undiscovered species?) flashed by quickly as if to take measure of this new creature intruding in their world.

The water caressed her body entirely. After six days in the jungle, sweat and grime had caked every nook and cranny of her. Now, the water washed her skin clean, renewing it. Remembering suddenly, that she was not of this liquid world and needed oxygen to survive, she turned toward the surface and kicked, rising easily up to break the surface. Air.

Turning, she floated on her back, learning that the current was so slow, she didn’t have to fight hard against it all. She had drifted twenty yards down from her things, but it only took her a few minutes to close that distance with an efficient backstroke; her arms rotating, her breasts lolling lazily left then right, her feet gently kicking. A few yards above where she had dived in, she headed to shore.

Climbing the river bank, she reached up to gather her hair into her hand and spun it around tightly, wringing the excess water from it. The coolness of the river clung to her, rivulets ran down her body raising goose-flesh along her breasts, her nipples were now tightly puckered into dark stones.

Reaching into her pack, she pulled her bedroll out and spread it on the ground. Next, she pulled out a bundle of clothes and the fedora. She flopped over onto the bedroll, placed the bundle of clothes beneath her head as a makeshift pillow and shielded her face from the sun by placing the fedora over it. She raised her knees and spread her arms and legs letting the sun gently cook the droplets of the water from her body. Had she ever felt this good? Had her body ever felt so clean? The tensing of her skin relaxed as her breathing slowed.

She only intended to let the sun dry her. Falling asleep exposed to the bright rays, and any predator for that matter, was beyond reckless. But she was exhausted. She felt safe. And sleep came for her.

A Dream

She dreamt of being in room 314 of the Fairmont Le Château Frontenac in Quebec City. Her lover, Jean-Luc Dupuis, had surprised her for a weekend of good wine, great food and constant sex in the old city.

She remembered thinking that the bed should be more comfortable than it was in this expensive, highly rated hotel. Then she wondered why she was thinking about the mattress rather than the sex as Jean-Luc captured one of her nipples between his lips and pulled gently at it, clasping the barbell piercing between his teeth. He reached over to gently twist this nipple’s twin with his fingers.

Jean-Luc was a proficient lover, knew all the spots to hit and did so with a regularity that you could predict down to the last sigh of his own release. She supposed that was why her mind drifted to the irony of the lumpy mattress in this “grande hotel.” She new where he was going and would catch up with him as soon as it got interesting.

He moved down lower on her body, kissing a trail down her flat belly to where it gave rise to her prominent mons. He moved her legs further apart with his hands as he dipped his tongue between the folds of her sex and began to lick her there. His technique was adequate. He provided just enough rhythm and pressure that, when she was ready, she could rotate her hips in such a way to force the parts she needed touched in the path of his tongue and make herself cum. She smiled as she looked up to the decorative ceiling above her, thinking about how so many men (and women for that matter) bragged of their oral skills, then fell far short of being bombastic when put to the test.

She felt his tongue move lower teasing the mouth of her pussy in a way that was unusual for him. And, now, the way he twisted it, sliding it quite deeply inside her, was something he had never done before. Suddenly, almost too suddenly, he withdrew it from her depths to languish against her clit and the bundle of nerves hidden in a cord above it. Then quickly moving away before the area got too sensitive, diving more deeply between her legs to the bottom of her pussy. His tongue drove a deep furrow all the way up the length of her sex to her clit. His hands pushed her knees higher and back further opening everything to him. And now his fucking tongue again, that alien, unfamiliar organ plunging deep inside. Twisting. Twisting. Twisting again as if looking for mana she had secreted inside her body. The reaction of her body surprised her as well. It was her turn to reach for her knees, she clasped her hands around each and pulled them hard toward her chest.

The tongue discovered new territory and now began its journey at her anus before traveling up and through the lips that were now fat with blood and her excitement. Stabbing again inside her. Impossibly deep. “A-hah!” It was not possible for a tongue to fuck her so deeply, was it? “A-hah!” She swore she could feel it flick the cone of her cervix. This was not possible! “Holy shit!” What had gotten in to Jean-Luc? Where was this coming from?

The muscles in her abdomen tightened. Her breath was caught in a staccato. It was coming. She was terrified of the orgasm that was approaching her like a wild animal stalking toward her in the deep recesses of her mind. An animal unknown to her.

And then her body froze. Coiled. Tight. Every muscle triggered all at once. And then it happened. She unraveled as a stream of cum discharged from inside her. Had she known she could this? Had she ever before? Would she ever again, was the immediate question in her mind because this cum was epic.

She braced herself for another volley from inside her – as she woke up.

The fedora had fallen from her face during her fever dream. She awoke to find herself in a similar position she had been on the uncomfortable bed in room 304 of the Fairmont Le Château Frontenac. Her own hands still held her knees spread and pulled back toward her chest. As she looked down between them, she saw a man…a creature, with large dark eyes staring back at her in confusion. It was then her body let go with a second wave of convulsions and she watched in horror and fascination as another jet of fluid shot from her body, forcefully spraying the face of this thing between her legs.

“What!” she blurted, as she quickly grabbed for her clothes. The man, creature-thing, had jumped high in the air when she soaked him/it, and twisted full circle before landing on his/its feet and hands. She pulled the shirt on quickly and without getting up, stabbed her feet through the legs of her cargo shorts, sliding them up and over her hips, fastening them tight. There was no time to worry about the panties. The creature studied her, his face wet with her ejaculation. She watched his impossibly long tongue slide out of his mouth to lick his own jowls to taste it. Tasting her.

“Holy fuck,” she whispered as she slid her boots on and laced them, shooting quick glances up at the creature to make sure it stayed put. His tongue, she thought. It wasn’t a dream. This thing had violated her. Raped her with his tongue. Had brought her to orgasm. This soup of emotions she was trying to swim through did not offer either the clarity or the sweetness she had felt while in the waters of the Yamani. These waters were thick and dark she was treading, and she was afraid she might sink under its surface never to be seen again.

She forced herself to stand, her legs shaking from the unwelcome spasms that had ripped through her body. She could see now that this creature was, in fact, a man. Perhaps a juvenile, for he was quite small. She glanced down at her pack; she carried a Glock .9mm with her on these trips and wondered if she could dig it out of the side pocket before the creature could react. She decided against making any movement at all. Instead, she observed and meticulously noted every aspect of the man, just as he was studying her not five yards away.

Mikayla had read all the stories about the Dogmen of the Yamani but gave them as much credence as Bigfoot in the Pacific Northwest, or the Yeti of the Himalayas. Yet, this could be nothing but what had been described in those decrepit texts. What she saw was a perfectly formed human male completely nude and hairless, except for the large bushy tail that twitched intermittently behind him. She could not tell the color of his skin because he had been painted stark white from head to toe, which set off the darkness of his eyes even more.

He cocked his head from side to side as if to solve the riddle of who she was. What she was. He brought a hand up to his cheek and wiped some of her cum from his skin and then held it to his nose. She blushed then. And remembered how his tongue had driven her mad in the throes of her dream. She felt a glow of warmth radiate from her groin but quickly shook it off. “Fuck off, Mikayla,” she thought to herself. No time for this right now, this is no Turkish Bazaar.

Suddenly, the creature bolted off with maddening speed, on all fours, tail straight out from his body giving him balance as he arced across the glade. How is it possible for a man to run like this, as fast as a greyhound, as graceful as an impala? He stopped a hundred yards from her and looked back, cocking his head again. And then he was running again, straight for her.

Mikayla reached for the zipper on the side of her pack, with shaking fingers yanked it open and slid her hand inside to feel the grip of the pistol there. She pulled it out and chambered a round in a fluid, well trained movement and pointed the gun towards the creature.

It stopped again. 15 yards away. And then stood and let out a howl that pierced her ears and rattled her teeth. Mikayla had been to the most remote locations on all seven continents; she had heard some very strange animal calls. But nothing like this. This was primal and searing. She closed her eyes and covered her ears with her hands.

Then silence.

It looked at her again…and began walking deliberately towards her. She sighted down the barrel of the pistol as well as she could. Her hands were shaking to the point that she could not find him in her sights. Ten feet away the creature stopped again and sat on his haunches. His breath was short and quick, and he opened his mouth revealing for the first time the sharp canine teeth.

Over the crest of the hill came a sudden charge of movement that chilled her to the bone and caused her to drop her hands to her side. Ten, maybe fifteen Dogmen in full gait topped the rise and were speeding directly towards them. She could possibly shoot one or two, but ten or more rendered the pistol useless.

When they reached the first Dogman, they began to run in a circle around them both. These new visitors were massive, dwarfing the one that had licked her to orgasm. Fear now gripped her. Fear and fascination.

Had these men stood, they would have easily reached six feet tall. The first Dogman was barely over half their size. So, he was a juvenile. Maybe 12 or 13, if their race aged in a similar way as her own. The sound of their hands and feet pounding the grass beneath them as they circled her drummed in her ears. Their constant circling made her dizzy and she collapsed down onto her knees. When she did, the pack of Dogmen stopped abruptly and sat looking at her.

The largest of the group growled at her, but there was no threat that she could see in his black eyes. He moved towards her, until she could feel his breath on her face. Never looking away from his eyes.

He growled again. Cocking his head to his side and bearing his canines as he did so. Mikayla, not sure what prompted her, raise her chin and turned her head, baring her throat to the Dogman. She surrendered. She had no choice. There were too many of them. They could easily rip her to pieces if she fought. They would be on her in a flash if she tried to run.

Now, she was unsure if the dream she had earlier was reality, and this was the dream.

He gently nuzzled her throat and growled again, softly this time, then pulled back sitting again on his haunches. She averted her eyes from him, casting them downward. She couldn’t help but notice what was between this creature’s legs. She saw what had been implied in those texts written long ago, but without detail. There was nothing there that resembled a man’s penis. There was a thick sheath of skin that rode up the belly, from the creature’s groin stopping nearly at his navel. She could see a pink tip just breaching the opening of the sheath, like a lipstick. And below the sheath were a pair of massive testicles that seemed too large even for man/creature this size. She fleetingly wondered how these creatures could run so fast, so elegantly in the manner they did, with these out sized bullocks dangling between their legs.

The creature raised his hands to the open collar of her shirt and yanked it suddenly, popping all the buttons down the front baring her midriff. Another pull and the shirt fell apart completely turning it to rags and revealing her breasts. When had her nipples gotten hard, she wondered? She looked down at them arching upward toward her eyes, toward his eyes.

His hand moved forward and cupped the smooth skin in his incredibly rough palm. His touch scratched her sensitive nipple sending frantic messages of pleasure coursing through her neuro pathways like a hyper-caffeinated ferret. He tugged at them again. Twisted them until a moan escaped from her throat which caused a chain reaction among the other Dogmen. Vaguely, she heard them panting and yelping in unison, but her attention was focused on this specific Dogmen because now his hands were moving toward her cargo shorts.

His strength must be close to superhuman she thought, when he ripped the shorts apart with very little effort, snapping the waistband and seams in a single motion. She was now completely naked, kneeling in front of a dozen or so of these men-creatures and she was unsure of how to stop where this was leading. She felt the lips of her sex filling with blood and pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Equal measures of horror, excitement and shame filled her chest as she realized that she may not want to stop what was happening.

Dogman turned toward “Dogboy” as she now thought of him and spoke something in a language that had no familiar root to it. Dogboy hesitated a moment, and then loped effortlessly closing the distance to sit next to both in a similar fashion. Mikayla glanced down between the Dogboy’s legs and saw his sex was a slightly smaller version, yet, his testicles had already grown to the size of the adult sitting next to her. Could they be born with these? Like a child’s eyes, born with adult-sized balls they must grow into?

Another growl. Again, she lifted her chin to the side and allowed Dogman to nuzzle her throat. She had been warned. Dogman took her hand and placed it on Dogboy’s sheath and slowly moved it up and down the length of it. After a few revolutions, Dogman pulled his hand away and gave a short, quiet growl for good measure. His message was clear. Don’t stop.

And she didn’t. She massaged the sheath of the Dogboy, feeling the flesh inside begin to wake up and take notice of her ministrations. Soon, the pointed, pink tip breached the opening of the sheath just an inch. She continued the motion fighting an urge to reach down and cup his large testicles in her hand, an urge she eventually gave into. She hefted their heavy weight in her palm before moving her hand back up to the sheath and the cock that had now risen three inches above it like a pink eyeless worm. It looked fragile and harmless.

Dogman circled behind her and she felt a hand in the middle of her back pushing her forward, until she had to relinquish her hold on Dogboy’s penis to position herself on her hands and knees. He pressed down a bit harder into the middle of her back, making it arch. She was fully aware that her swollen sex was on complete display to this animal, and all the animals behind her. Her head slumped down and dangled between her arms, her impossibly red hair dragged the ground.

She felt his breath on her pussy just before she felt his tongue slide along the entire length of her sex all the way to the star of her ass which he slightly penetrated the just the tip. She was already impossibly wet. It was so easy for him, when licked his way back down to her opening to slide the whole of his tongue deeply inside her. Another moan, this one more urgent escaped her. Her back arched of its own accord and tightened which lifted her head high. She opened her eyes to see Dogboy’s cock poised in front of her. It had grown and changed color. Five inches of cock now turned to a deep red and splotched with purple veins pulsed strongly in front of her lips. The pointed tip was winking drops of clear fluid. Without thinking, Mikayla opened her perfect mouth and slid it over Dogboy’s cock nearly down to the root.

She immediately recognized the sweetness she had tasted in the waters of the Yamani. It was the sweetness that so often hid behind the saltiness of a man’s cum which made it so difficult to enjoy. The taste that filled her mouth now was perfectly balanced, sweet to salty, and she sucked hard on Dogboy’s thickening cock wanting more. The tongue that worked ceaselessly on her pussy and ass behind her served only to inflame her desire take more of him in her mouth.

Dogboy’s cock intermittently sprayed a stream of cum into Mikayla’s mouth which she swallowed hungrily. His haunches spasmed each time a stream was launched forcing more of his cock into her mouth, flirting with the opening of her throat. She was surprised that, despite its swollen size, his cock was not all that hard. It felt rubbery.

Suddenly, Dogman pulled his tongue from her pussy and barked something to Dogboy who promptly pulled his cock from Mikayla’s mouth; she couldn’t decide if she were relieved or regretful. What had come over her?

Dogboy trotted around her to her back where she felt him give her pussy a few unceremonious licks before feeling the weight of his torso fall on her back. He had mounted her, had wrapped his arms around her waist and she could feel him thrusting at her. Could feel the thick, rubbery truncheon of cock dancing around on the cheeks of her ass trying to find home. A delicious feeling of filth wrapped around Mikayla as she realized that a boy, perhaps the same age as her nephew was trying to feed his cock to her pussy and she wanted it. My God, she wanted it and she spread her knees a bit further and collapsed her arms, so she was now on her elbows which increased her accessibility making her sex completely available to his intention. He adjusted himself and pushed forward hard but missing his intended target, lodged the tip of his cock in her ass. The wet, tapered head made for quick though short entry, but few things catch you off guard more than being suddenly and unexpectedly sodomized. Her head arched up to the sky and she let out a scream. It was then that she saw that Dogman had come back around to to kneel in front of her, and he wrapped his fingers around her throat, cutting off her breath.

She looked into Dogman’s eyes pleadingly, trying to communicate that Dogboy (his son?) had taken the road less traveled and was missing the point entirely. She saw no mercy in his eyes and felt the grip around her neck tighten a bit more.

Dogboy pulled back far enough to exit her ass, then dipped lower to find her pussy and slid it in. Still pliant, still soft. Understanding came to her to late. She realized that Dogboy was not hard at all. She surmised that what was penetrating her pussy was his baculum, his os penis; a bone that is present in most placental animals, but the human species lacked. Dogs have a baculum, and apparently so do Dogmen and Dogboy’s. Feeling the heat and grip of her sex, Dogboy instantly became a jackhammer. Pounding his cock into her. Mikayla could only stare into the eyes of Dogman as he watched her being fucked, his hands tight around her throat. She felt Dogboy’s cock continue to grow in her pussy, in girth and length. Yes, he was getting quite hard now and he was filling her completely.

And then something larger.

With a lunge, Dogboy pushed the growing knot at the base of his cock into Mikayla, which sent a shock-wave through her entire body. When it was sealed inside her, Dogboy let out another primal howl, and she felt the tip of his pointed cock nuzzled against the mouth of her cervix. Felt him shooting his cum inside her womb. Lost in the eyes of the Dogman who watched her being seeded. The knot held tight as Dogboy’s massive balls emptied their contents inside her in long, evenly timed sprays she could feel along her spine. The orgasm that struck her now dwarfed her dream cum, made it seem like a catastrophe on the moon. Through all this, Dogman still had not let her breathe. Her body speared and trembling on the fully implanted Dogboy cock, she looked deeply into Dogman’s eyes and felt his hands tighten a little more. The last thing she remembered as she blacked out was the smile on this creature’s face.

Epilogue

They did not keep her; she stayed. Mikayla never left the banks of the Yamani River. She is now part of this pack and the only female. And while Dogboy was the first to mate with her, she is shared daily among the rest. She has never felt so free. The thrill of the feel of their cocks inside her, and the inevitable knot that seals them together has an intimacy she has never known. And she never tires of the sweet, fresh taste of Dogman cum in her mouth as she takes the next in line into her mouth. However, things have slowed down a bit. She is now several months along with her child. A child she is sure will be born with a tail and canines.

The prize she thought she would find in this place, was not what she expected. This was how she preferred it.

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