Chapter 16: There's more
The park was a sanctuary of normalcy, or so Barnaby had hoped. Sunlight dappled through the canopy of old oaks, children’s laughter rang across the bright green grass, and the air carried the clean scent of recent rain. He sat on a bench, a book open but unread on his lap, watching Ram and Greta.
They were playing fetch. Or rather, they were engaged in a brutal, full-contact competition over a slobber-coated tennis ball.
“Fuck off, Greta, I saw it first!” Ram barked, her powerful legs churning up turf as she lunged.
“Your eyes are shit, you old hag!” Greta snapped, shouldering her aside. They collided with a solid thump, a tangle of muscle and fur, before Greta snatched the ball and bolted, her tail a furious flag.
Barnaby let out a slow breath. This was their version of a peaceful afternoon.
His moment of quiet was shattered by a low, guttural rumble. It wasn’t a growl. It was deeper, more seismic. He knew that sound.
A few yards away, Ram had planted her feet wide, her expression one of intense, unembarrassed concentration. Her shorts strained. A group of picnickers nearby paused, their heads tilting in confusion.
BRRRRRRR-MMMMMMMMPFFFFFFFFF.
The sound was long, thunderous, a damp explosion that echoed slightly in the open space. It was followed by a rich, profoundly earthy odor that cut through the floral park scents. The picnickers hurriedly gathered their blanket and left.
Ram sighed, a look of profound relief on her muzzle. “Damn, needed that,” she grunted, patting her stomach. “That stadium dog’s been sitting wrong since yesterday.”
Greta trotted back, dropping the ball. “Mine’s gonna be worse,” she said, not to be outdone. “Just you wait.”
Barnaby sank lower on the bench, his face hot. He was contemplating the feasibility of sinking into the earth when a shadow fell over him.
“Hiya!”
The voice was bright, sunny, and utterly without guile. He looked up.
She was a golden retriever anthro, tall and lean where Ram and Greta were powerfully built. Her fur was a cascade of pristine, wheat-blond waves, her eyes a soft, vacant amber. She wore a simple, flowy sundress and a smile so wide and unchanging it seemed painted on.
“I’m Sunny!” she chirped. “I saw you with your… wow, you’ve got two! They’re so big and strong!” She gazed past him at Ram and Greta, who had frozen, the tennis ball forgotten, their ears pricked forward in predatory interest.
“Oh, um, yes,” Barnaby stammered, closing his book. “They’re… friends.”
“I was watching you watch them,” Sunny continued, tilting her head. Her long, feathered tail wagged a steady, metronomic beat. “You look like you’re in charge. That’s really neat.”
“I wouldn’t say—” he began.
“He’s the boss,” Ram’s voice cut in, a gravelly purr. She sauntered over, Greta at her flank, a united front. They loomed, their sheer mass blocking the sun. “Who’s this, daddy? A new friend?”
Sunny didn’t flinch. If anything, her smile grew brighter. “You call him daddy? That’s so cute! I’d love a daddy.” She turned her amber eyes back to Barnaby, who felt a familiar, sinking sensation. “You already have a pack. That means you’re a good provider. Can I be in your pack?”
“It doesn’t really work like that,” Barnaby said weakly.
“Sure it does,” Greta said, sniffing the air around Sunny. “She smells clean. Dumb, but clean.”
“I’m not dumb!” Sunny said, her tone still cheerful. “I’m… situationally unaware! That’s what my last owner said. Before he moved away and left the gate open. Oops!” She giggled.
Ram circled Sunny, a shark assessing new prey. “Look at that fur. All shiny. Bet she’s never done a real day’s work in her life.”
“I’m a great emotional support companion!” Sunny offered helpfully.
“We’re more into physical support,” Ram grunted, then shoved her nose unceremoniously between Sunny’s legs, right through the sundress. Sunny yipped in surprise but didn’t move away. “Huh. Empty. And ripe. You’re in heat, blondie.”
“Am I?” Sunny asked, her tail wagging faster. “That explains the tingly feeling!”
Barnaby put his head in his hands. This couldn’t be happening. Not here, in the middle of a public park.
“She’s pretty,” Greta conceded, a grudging note in her voice. “Dumb as a box of rocks, but pretty. Could be fun.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Ram said, a dark grin spreading across her muzzle. She looked at Barnaby. “Well, boss? You gonna break her in? Show her what the pack’s all about?”
“Absolutely not,” Barnaby hissed, standing up. “We are in public. This is a park. There are children.”
As if on cue, Sunny’s cheerful expression melted into one of sudden, urgent need. Her amber eyes glazed over, a low whine building in her throat. The scent of her, sweet and potent, intensified. Ram’s and Greta’s nostrils flared simultaneously.
“Oh,” Sunny whimpered, her legs shifting. “Oh, wow. The tingly feeling just got… really big. I think… I need my daddy?”
It was a plea, airheaded and direct. The last thread of Barnaby’s control snapped. He grabbed Sunny’s wrist, her fur impossibly soft under his fingers. “We are leaving. Now.”
He began to march, dragging the compliant, whining retriever behind him. Ram and Greta fell in on either side, a bristling, smirking escort.
They didn’t make it to the tree line.
Sunny’s whines became sharp pants. With a strength that belied her airy demeanor, she pulled Barnaby to a stop, turned, and pressed herself against him. Her body was hot, trembling. “Please?” she whispered, her vacant eyes suddenly deep with a simple, primal want.
Ram laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Park bench, twig-daddy. Now. Or she’s gonna melt right here on the grass.”
Barnaby looked around, desperate. The path was momentarily empty. The bench was secluded by a thick hydrangea bush. His heart hammered against his ribs. He was out of options, out of time, overrun.
He sat down roughly on the bench. Sunny didn’t need instruction. With a happy, relieved sigh, she hiked up her sundress, revealing no underwear, just the sleek, golden fur of her mound and the swollen, pink evidence of her heat. She straddled him, sinking down in one smooth, wet motion.
Shlllllck.
She was incredibly tight, a silken, clutching heat made slick by her cycle. She threw her head back, her long blond hair fanning out, and let out a loud, echoing cry of pure delight. “YES! Thank you, daddy!”
Ram and Greta closed in, forming a living wall of fur and muscle, shielding the scene from casual view. Ram’s hand clamped on the back of Sunny’s neck, holding her in place. “Yeah, you like that, you dumb bitch? You like your new daddy’s little cock?”
“It’s perfect!” Sunny wailed, bouncing with eager, frantic energy. Slap-slap-slap-slap. The sound of their joining was obscenely loud in the leafy quiet.
Barnaby gripped the bench, his knuckles white. He was a prisoner beneath her, used as a simple tool for her relief, surrounded by the musky scent of her and the watchful, approving gazes of his others. The absurdity was total. The surrender was complete.
Sunny’s climax hit her like a seizure. Her body locked, her inner muscles milking him rhythmically. Pul-squeeze. Pul-squeeze. A high, continuous squeal poured from her throat, mingling with the distant sound of children playing.
As her tremors subsided, she went boneless, slumping against him, nuzzling into his neck with a contented murmur. “Mmm. Pack.”
Barnaby sat there, pinned, spent, the sun warm on his back. Ram leaned down, her hot breath in his ear. “Told you you were on the map,” she growled, her voice thick with possessive satisfaction.
Over Ram’s shoulder, Barnaby watched a squirrel scramble up an oak tree. It was free. It belonged to itself. He closed his eyes, the weight of the golden retriever a brand-new, permanent warmth on his lap, and knew, with a terrifying clarity, that he would never be free again. The pack had grown. And it owned him completely.