Chapter 11: New Bitch
The scent of old paper and lemon polish usually calmed him. Today, it felt like the air before a storm. Barnaby tried to focus on re-shelving his travelogues, but his mind kept drifting back to the thicket, to the heat and the smell and the shocking, undeniable ownership of it all. A month had passed. The harness from the Velvet Cave now hung on the back of his bedroom door, a testament to routines rewritten.
A heavy thump from the hallway shook him from his thoughts. Then another. Muffled curses in a feminine, but startlingly deep, voice echoed through the door. Someone was moving into the vacant apartment across the hall—Ram’s old place.
He wasn’t sure why he answered the knock. Polite instinct, perhaps. He opened the door and his breath caught.
She filled the frame. A Great Dane anthro, even taller than Ram, with a sleek, powerful build of grey and black fur. She wore stained sweatpants and a tight tank top that strained over a chest nearly as formidable as Ram’s. Her long face was elegant, with intelligent dark eyes that swept over him in an instant.
“Hey,” she said, her voice a resonant baritone. “Sorry to bother. You got a wrench? My sink’s leaking like a bastard.” She smiled, revealing a row of neat, white teeth.
Barnaby felt himself pale. “I, uh, I think so. Let me check.”
As he turned to rummage in the junk drawer, he felt her gaze on his back, a palpable weight. He could smell her—clean sweat, cardboard, and the distinct, sharp scent of canine.
“I’m Greta,” she said, leaning against his doorframe. The wood creaked. “Just moved in. You?”
“Barnaby,” he mumbled, finally finding the adjustable wrench. He handed it over, his hand looking childlike next to hers.
“Barnaby,” she repeated, as if tasting the word. Her eyes didn’t leave his. “Cute. Quiet, too. I like that.” She took the wrench, her fingers brushing his. A spark, deliberate. “Thanks. I’ll bring it back.”
He was formulating a ‘no rush’ when a new presence bloomed behind him. A familiar heat, a possessive aura that made the air thick.
“Who’s your friend, owner?”
Ram’s voice was a low purr from the bedroom hallway. She padded into view, gloriously, unabashedly nude, her heavy breasts swaying, her fur slightly mussed from a nap. She didn’t even glance at Greta at first. She came up behind Barnaby, wrapped her arms around his chest, and nuzzled into his neck with a wet, noisy lick from collar to ear.
“Mine,” she stated into his skin, before fixing her green eyes on the woman in the doorway.
Greta’s posture shifted. Not defensive, but interested. Her nostrils flared, taking in Ram’s scent-marking. A slow smile spread across her muzzle. “Well, hello there.”
“This is Greta,” Barnaby squeaked. “New neighbor.”
“I see,” Ram said. Her hands slid down from his chest, one palming his crotch through his trousers, the other gripping his hip. “Needs a wrench.”
“Sink’s fucked,” Greta said, her eyes locked on Ram’s hand working Barnaby. “You must be the previous tenant. Heard the howling.”
“That was me,” Ram grinned, shameless. She squeezed Barnaby, making him gasp. “Still is me. He keeps me well-exercised. Don’t you, owner?”
Barnaby could only nod, trapped between the furnace of Ram behind him and the smoldering appraisal of Greta in front.
Greta’s dark eyes finally flicked back to Barnaby’s flushed face. “Lucky guy. Gets the whole package, huh? The looks, the noise, the… maintenance.” Her gaze was unmistakable. She’d seen the type of ‘toys’ in their shopping bag a month ago. She could smell their life on them.
To Barnaby’s shock, Ram chuckled, a sound of genuine amusement. “He’s a good owner. Takes care of all my needs. Even the messy ones.” She was bragging, her chin resting on his head. “Maybe he’s got the energy for more than one bitch. What do you think, Greta? You a good girl?”
Greta’s tail gave a single, thoughtful swish against the doorframe. “Depends on the handler.” She looked directly at Barnaby. “You look like you’ve got gentle hands. But I bet she’s taught you to be firm.”
It was a question. An application. Barnaby’s mind reeled.
Ram’s grip on him tightened. She was aroused, he could feel her heat against his back. “He’s a fast learner,” Ram growled, her lips against his ear. “Aren’t you? Show her.”
Before he could process it, Ram spun him around. She kissed him, deep and filthy, her tongue pushing past his lips. It was a display, a branding. When she broke away, she turned him back to face Greta, keeping her arms locked around him. Her hands slid under his shirt, raking her claws lightly down his pale torso.
Greta watched, her breath deepening. A low rumble started in her chest. Not a threat. An appreciation.
Ram’s rumble answered, a touch lower, more possessive. The two sounds vibrated in the small space, a primal dialogue conducted over Barnaby’s head. He was the bone between them, and they were deciding how to share.
“Yeah,” Greta breathed, her hand drifting to the front of her sweatpants. “You’re a real good owner, Barnaby. I can smell it on her. You do all her dirty work.”
That did it. Ram’s competitive streak, her pride in his complete ownership, flared. With a snarl that was all show, she shoved Barnaby forward—not towards Greta, but against the nearest wall of the hallway. She yanked his trousers and boxers down to his knees in one rough motion.
“He does,” Ram grunted, pressing her massive, furred body against his back. “And he’s about to do more. Watch if you want. See what a trained man can do.”
Barnaby’s cheek was against the cool wallpaper. He saw Greta’s eyes darken, saw her lean in the doorway, the wrench forgotten in her hand. He was exposed, used as a prop in this contest of dominance.
Ram didn’t need guidance. She was wet, her heat scorching as she positioned herself. She took him in one smooth, powerful thrust, sheathing him completely inside her with a guttural, satisfied groan. Schlllp.
“Fuck!” Barnaby cried out, the sensation overwhelmingly intense.
“That’s it,” Greta murmured from the doorway, her own hand moving now in slow circles over her pants. “That’s it. Claim him.”
Ram set a brutal, driving pace. The wall thumped in a steady rhythm. Thud-thud-thud. Her claws dug into his hips, her breath hot and panting in his ear. Each thrust was a declaration. Each wet, slapping sound of their coupling was a challenge.
“You see that?” Ram barked at Greta, her voice ragged. “You see how he takes it? All of it!”
“Fuck yeah, I see,” Greta panted back, her composure breaking into rough, eager grunts. “He’s taking it like a champ. Fuck, that’s hot. Harder!”
Barnaby was lost in a whirlwind of sensation—the crushing pressure of Ram around him, the smell of both females filling his lungs, the shameless, barking commentary. His embarrassment was a distant memory, burned away by a raw, dizzying arousal. He was a thing of value, fought over, displayed.
Ram’s movements became frantic, jerky. She let out a series of sharp, high barks, her body clamping down on him like a vise. He felt her pulse around him, a series of rhythmic clutches that tore his own release from him. He shouted, a sound he didn’t recognize, as the world whited out.
They slumped against the wall, a tangle of limbs and heavy breaths. The smell of sex was thick in the hallway.
After a moment, Ram lifted her head, looking over Barnaby’s shoulder at Greta. The Great Dane was still leaning in the doorway, her fur slightly ruffled, a look of deep satisfaction on her face.
Ram licked a stripe up Barnaby’s sweating back. “Tomorrow,” she said to Greta, her voice hoarse but firm. “Your place. Seven. Bring beer.” She paused, nuzzling into Barnaby’s hair. “And your own leash.”
Greta’s tail thumped once, hard, against the doorframe. A sharp, happy sound. “Yeah,” she said, a promise in her dark eyes. “I’ll do that.”
She pushed off the frame, gave Barnaby one last, lingering look, and turned to go, the wrench still in her hand. The door across the hall closed with a soft, definitive click.
Ram withdrew from Barnaby, turning him around. She kissed him, deep and slow, tasting herself on his mouth. “See?” she whispered, her eyes glowing. “Told you. You’re a natural owner. We’re just getting started.”