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Bailey, the Family Pet

By: HuckPilgrim



Author's note: This is an entry for summer love contest 2015. I put it in fetish because it has so many different themes: noncon, submission, interracial and exhibitionism to name a few. Its got a fast pace and a dark rising drama. Stick with it to the end for a satisfying close. I kept asking myself why would anyone want to be someone else's pet. This is the story I got. I hope you like it. 

1

Bailey woke, the scent of something in the backyard strong in her head. 

Rabbit? Squirrel? Her stomach did a slow lazy roll and she fought to keep the nausea at bay. She got an unnerving image of herself using her teeth to tear into the flesh of some tiny creature. The hormone shots were working, but not as fast as she'd hoped. 

Bailey rose to all fours. 

The mat she slept on still held a faint odor of the last pet. A female. Fertile. Eighteen, the same age as Bailey. She straightened her arms and lowered her hips in a silent but satisfying back stretch. It was dawn, the rest of the house still asleep. Bailey laid her cheek against the soft sleep mat, its dark wispy hairs tickling her nose. She let her mind wander to the bitch that'd slept on it before. What had happened to her? Where was she now? A sinking feeling rose up in Bailey. 

Scrambling to her feet, Bailey whimpered. It was a soft, insistent noise that she didn't realize she was making. She caught a glimpse of herself in the backroom mirror and the mewling caught in her throat. She was completely nude, tall and with a swimmer's lean body. Yesterday the groomers had given her hair a layered razor cut and color. Her long blonde tresses were gone and now she sported a pink and apricot bob. They'd also given her a deep muscle massage, as it was the surest way to quicken the effect of the hormones required to make her a human pet. 

Bailey craved the attention—the adulation—she received as a pet. Here at the Williams' house, she got that in spades. She turned to admire her backside. 

The stylist had trimmed, painted and polished the nails on her hands and feet. They'd also woven colorful beads into her hair, oiled her skin, and shaved her pubic patch into the shape of a heart. When the groomer led her out to present his work, Warren made a satisfied animal noise in his throat and commented first on her mons. 

"Nice touch," he said, clipping on Bailey's leash. 

Even without her heightened sense of smell, Bailey could tell Warren was aroused. She felt it too. She wondered if it was purely the work of the hormones. After all, she'd known Warren Williams since she'd first begun swimming at Brynmoore Club as a child. He had silver hair, a square chin, and the sculpted body of a Marine. He was also one of the wealthiest parents in a club noted for its wealthy members. But he wasn't Mr. Williams or Warren to her anymore. Now he was Master Warren. When his eyes dropped to her crotch and the corner of his mouth turned up, her response was physical and immediate. The folds in her pussy grew moist and the color rose in her face and neck. Nothing like that had ever happened in all the years she'd swum at the club. Just thinking about it now made her nipples tingle. 

Bailey padded through the big house to the hall outside Warren's bedroom. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she gazed at the door knob. It was considered bad form for a human pet to use her thumbs. If the door had been ajar, Bailey could have slipped inside and curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed. As it was, Bailey slid to the floor and stared at the ceiling with her hand between her legs.

The door on the other side of the hall opened. Bailey remained immobile, only her eyes tracking movement. It was Brian, Warren's son.

"Bailey," Brian whispered. "Come girl." 

Bailey raised her head. 

Brian was a legend at the club. He left for a tour of duty about the same time Bailey joined the club. He came back a few years later, forever changed. Silent. Images of desert warfare tattooed on his arms and chest. He never rejoined the team, but instead swam laps endlessly. 

"Come," he whispered.

Bailey got to her feet. He had a wild, unpredictable scent that made a current of electric juice pulse through her body. 

She padded to his door. 

He grinned, brilliant white teeth. He wore pajama bottoms and no shirt. His muscular chest was covered with a fine mesh of curly dark hair. 

"Good girl," he whispered. Petting her head, he slipped a salty meat treat into her mouth and let his fingers linger. Bailey gobbled it up, licking the salty taste from his fingers. He gave her another and then scratched her affectionately between her breasts. His fingers passed lightly over her hard nipples. Bailey felt the air leave her lungs. 

He led her into his room and softly closed the door. "Kneel, Bailey." He whispered. "Kneel." 

Bailey cut her eyes to the door. 

The sex scent in this room was strong. So strong she felt certain Warren would smell it. How could he not? If he did, would it bring him barreling through the door, snarling and ready to attack. Bailey thought of the young bitch whose scent filled her sleep mat. 

Brian used his finger to move her chin. He had a wolfish look in his eyes. "Kneel," he commanded, his voice low and cool. 

Bailey's legs felt weak. Holding onto his hips, she lowered herself to her knees. 

"Good girl," he said. He patted her head and put two more treats into her mouth. 

The treats made her salivate. Bailey sucked the salt from them to bolster her courage. He lowered his pajama waistband. The hair on his chest went all the way down and surrounded his cock. Taking it in his hand, he gave himself a quick pump. It was already fat and hard, with a slick round head. Bailey swallowed what was in her mouth and licked her lips.

He rubbed his fingers over the head, then pressed his big pink helmet against her lips. Bailey licked the meaty treat taste from his cock. He made a soft groan. Putting both his hands on her head, he tugged her close, filling her mouth with his cock. 

He gave a deep sigh. 

Bailey melted with pride at the sound of his moans. Communication was the single great challenge of being a pet. The hormones took away the power of speech almost immediately, leaving human pets with the ability to make only the most rudimentary sounds. Bailey mewled and whimpered to show her satisfaction. The cock was large and hard and fulfilling, and best of all it was attached to a man making contented noises of approval. Bailey squeezed her thighs together and whimpered around the fat cock stuffed in her mouth. 

"Bailey," Brian hissed. Taking a handful of her hair in his hand, Brian yanked her head back so hard tears filled the young girl's eyes. 

Brian's eyes were on the door. "Shush." 

Shoving his tip of his cock back into her mouth, Brian stroked himself. Bailey held onto his thighs. His fist feather-kissed her lips with each pump. The big advantage of human pets was the speed with which they could bounce back from disapproval. Cupping his ball sack with one hand, Bailey worked her other hand around his shaft at the very base. This was arguably the most legitimate use of thumbs for any pet. Bailey knew it and raised her eyes to gauge his satisfaction. Putting his fists on his hips, he watched her intensely. 

She pumped his cock. Massaged his balls. 

He gripped her head tightly and filled her mouth with salty semen. Bailey knew from her former life as a girl to continue stroking his cock as the jets of warm cum squirted into her mouth. Soon he stilled her hand, taking his cock from her. 

He squatted to look in her eyes. "Swallow," he said. 

Bailey swallowed. 

"Ahh," he said with delight. "Good girl!"

Brian stood, stroking her cheek. Reaching into his pocket, he stuffed half a dozen salty meat treats into Bailey's mouth. Helping her to her feet, he cooed words of praise and comfort. Bailey glowed with satisfaction.

He put his hand into the small of her back and herded her into the hall. The door thudded softly into its jamb. Bailey spit the meat treats into her hand. It was her favorite treat, but on top of his salty load of semen, it was just too much for her. Hiding them under the hallway runner for later, she padded to her big water dish in the back room. She got down on her hands and knees and lapped cool water from the bowl, slaking her thirst and making a huge mess. 

2 

Bailey woke with an urgent need to pee. 

She heard Evelyn Williams, Warren's wife, speaking from the backyard. "He was up before me," she said. There was the faint noise of an eating utensil on a plate. "Showered, dressed, and already finished with breakfast."

"Anna said he cooked it himself." 

Bailey drew her knees up under her and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Her bladder felt like it might burst at any second. She worked the muscles in her groin to buy herself a little more time.

"I almost fainted," Evelyn said. 

"It's a good sign," Warren said. 

Bailey raised her head. His deep gravelly voice washed over her like a bucket of warm water, provoking an immediate and strong sexual response. The salty aftertaste of his son still lingered at the back of her throat. A gift of the hormone shots was the complete inability to process guilt. Rising from her mat, Bailey burst through the screen door and strode onto the patio. 

Evelyn held a fork halfway to her mouth. She was fair-skinned, with long dark hair, and cold blue eyes. Her mouth was a small line at the bottom of her narrow face. Her eyes were trained on Bailey. 

Bailey stopped. She gazed over her shoulder, suddenly unsure of herself. 

"Look who's awake!" Warren exclaimed. He wore a huge grin.

Evelyn silently lowered her fork to her plate, her mouth unchanged. 

Bailey swallowed hard. She squeezed her thighs together, suddenly afraid she might have an accident on the patio. 

"Come, Bailey," Warren said. "Come." He patted his thigh.

Bailey trotted over to Warren. She arranged herself on her knees at his feet, and put her head in his lap. He ruffled her hair. 

"I love what Julio did with her hair," he said. "Look at it!" 

Evelyn said something but Bailey didn't hear it. Her head was swimming with Warren's praise. He held a piece of sausage from his plate and Bailey eagerly devoured it, licking his fingers clean. She could smell the blood rushing to fill his cock. Her own labia were swollen and moist. Wrapping her arm around his waist, she nuzzled her head into his lap, whimpering and brushing her cheek against his engorged dick. 

He shoved her head from his crotch and laughed. 

Crossing his legs, he shifted in his seat. Bailey grinned. It was a game. What else? She could smell his desire. She felt it too. Her pussy ached with an unfulfilled need. Rising to her knees, she licked her lips and rubbed his haunches. 

His phone rang. He took it from his pocket and held it to his ear. Sitting up straight as he spoke, he uncrossed his legs. 

Bailey straddled his thigh. She laid her taut nipples against the cool cotton of his dress shirt and began moving her hips, humping his leg. 

Warren rose immediately, sending Bailey sprawling onto the patio. 

Bailey rolled onto her bottom. She sat with her weight on her palms, her legs splayed wide. 

Warren spoke with excitement into the phone. He winked at her and went right on talking. 

"Bailey," Evelyn said. Her hand folded around Bailey's hand. 

Evelyn helped her to her feet. "Bailey," Evelyn repeated, her voice lowering. 

Warren just kept right on talking. Wrenching her attention from him, Bailey turned to face Evelyn, who lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then put her hands on her hips. Her cigarette smoldered. She tilted her head. Reaching for Bailey's breast, Evelyn gave it a perfunctory squeeze. 

Bailey felt as if she were at the doctor's office. 

Evelyn regarded Bailey's firm haunches. Taking a piece of food from the table, she held it between two fingers. "Sit, Bailey." 

Bailey whimpered. Her bladder made its own insistent plea. 

Evelyn narrowed her eyes.

Bailey knelt. 

Lowering her chin, Evelyn raised her brow.

Bailey went from her knees to her bottom in one fluid motion.

Evelyn smiled. She tucked the food into Bailey's mouth. 

It was a sweet bread. Not what Bailey expected. Not what she wanted. She chewed anyway, squeezing her thighs together. She put a hand between her legs to help her hold her water. Bailey swallowed what was in her mouth, giving Evelyn a pleading look. 

It was hot. The morning sun beat warm on Bailey's shoulders and back. Anna appeared from the house and began clearing the breakfast dishes, the plates making soft ringing noises as they were stacked. She was a big lumbering woman with a plain round face and stout legs. 

Warren spoke on his phone. He laughed. 

A lazy bee hummed.

"Beg," Evelyn whispered. 

Beg? A bolt of fear swelled in Bailey's chest. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She looked to see the expression on Evelyn's face. 

Evelyn blew smoke over her shoulder. She smiled. Shaking off one of her sandals, she extended her bare foot. 

Bailey silently rolled onto her hands and knees. She made the smallest movements with her knees, the better to keep her thighs together—her water inside. Taking Evelyn's foot in her hands, Bailey pressed her warm cheek against the cool skin. Evelyn's scent was calm. She was enjoying this. Bailey turned her head and pressed her lips against Evelyn's foot then raised her eyes. 

"Stay," Evelyn said, withdrawing her foot. 

She moved behind Bailey, out of her field of view. 

Tucking her arms under her chest, Bailey squeezed her thighs together, pressing her groin onto the cold stone of the patio. 

"Bailey, we're going to have to talk about Warren." Evelyn talked around the cigarette in her mouth. She was squatting now, stroking the back of Bailey's thigh. "I know you can understand me. I'm on the team that developed Human Pet Hormone." 

She forced her fingers between Bailey's thighs, gliding so very close to her pussy. Bailey tensed the muscles in her shoulders, her bottom. 

"I know more about what you're experiencing right now, what you're going to experience in the coming weeks, than anyone else on the planet." Evelyn blew smoke into the air. "Even you." Evelyn chuckled. 

Evelyn wedged her thumb between the warm globes of Bailey's ass. Finding Bailey's asshole with her thumb, Evelyn pressed against the delicate little rosebud even as the edge of her hand rubbed the folds of Bailey's moist pussy. Warren was about twenty yards away, his hand moving in the air as he spoke. Anna was only a few steps away, going about her tasks. 

"I know, for example," Evelyn said, "that what's happening with you and Warren isn't personal."

A finger sailed over Bailey's clitoris, making her gasp.

"It's physiological, largely out of your hands." Evelyn smeared something greasy between the cheeks of Bailey's ass. Curling her toes, Bailey lowered her head and held her breath. 

Silverware and glasses tinkled as Anna loaded her cart. 

Evelyn pressed her thumb hard against Bailey's tight asshole, the slippery grease making it hard to resist. "But we're going to have to come to an understanding, Bailey." 

The pressure against her asshole stopped, but Evelyn's thumb was still back there, her fingers still tantalizing Bailey's pussy. 

"Listen," Evelyn said. She deftly moved her fingers over Bailey's swollen clitoris. "You can fuck him," Evelyn whispered. "You can suck his cock. You can ride his tongue and let him fill you up with all his nasty semen. But . . ."

Evelyn removed her hand. Bailey whimpered. Her bladder ached. Her clitoris longed for attention. She turned to look over her shoulder at Evelyn. 

"You can't humiliate me, Bailey." 

Evelyn plunged her finger deep into Bailey's asshole, sinking it all the way to the second knuckle. The other fingers pressed against Bailey's ass cheek. 

Bailey gasped. 

"I won't stand for it," Evelyn hissed. The cigarette dangled from her mouth. Evelyn pulled her finger back, then shoved it in again. 

More surprising than painful, the assault made it difficult for Bailey to remain in control of her water. She clenched the muscles in her bottom tighter, but this only made Evelyn push harder. Whatever Evelyn had used to lubricate Bailey's ass was now oozing from her bottom, running freely between her legs. 

Or maybe she was peeing. She couldn't really tell anymore. 

"Should I sweep back here, ma'am?" Anna asked. 

Evelyn's finger sank into Bailey again. Bailey grunted. Once, twice more. Evelyn huffed with exertion. And then it was out. Bailey gasped. She felt a void in her ass, a great emptiness that both relieved her and filled her with longing. Her head was spinning. Everything below her waist felt numb. 

The longing horrified her. 

"Yes," Evelyn said. She was out of breath, speaking to Anna. "We're all going inside." 

Evelyn tapped Bailey's flank and commanded her to stand. Across the yard, Warren put his phone in his pocket. 

"Pull yourself together," Evelyn whispered. "Warren's coming." 

Warren strode across the lawn like a Roman centurion. Chin thrust forward, back ramrod straight. Bailey used the heel of her hand to wipe her eyes, her nose. 

Evelyn fluffed Bailey's hair. Bailey could smell the sharp tang of her bottom on Evelyn's hand. Evelyn plunged her finger into Bailey's mouth. Bailey eyes widened. 

"Your treat," Evelyn said, the corner of her mouth rising. 

The finger tasted bitter. Buttery. She'd used butter to lubricate Bailey's ass. 

"Good girl." She put her hand on the back of Bailey's neck. Wet fingers played through the hair at the nape of her neck. Evelyn was drying her fingers in Bailey's hair.

"What's wrong with Bailey?" Warren asked. He took Bailey's cheek in his hand and she nuzzled his palm. "Why is she standing like that?" 

Bailey's squeezed her thighs together. 

She dared not move. 

"She's fine," Evelyn said. "Give her some exercise." 

Warren put his fist on his hip and looked around the patio. He spotted a tennis ball, picked it up, and tossed it across the yard. Warren raised his eyebrows, beaming at Bailey. 

How could she disappoint him? Bailey set her chin. 

She took one step toward the ball and her bladder let go. She squatted. Water rushed from between her legs. Her thighs, calves and heels were suddenly soaked. Hot shame bit at her cheeks, but she felt blessed relief and moaned. 

Her water just would not stop. She put her head in both palms and whimpered. 

"Oh, Bailey," Warren said. 

Bailey wanted to crawl under the patio chair. Her breath caught in her throat. And then suddenly her head was cradled in someone's hands. She smelled nicotine. Her face was pressed against the soft folds of Evelyn's skirt. 

"Don't shame her," Evelyn scolded. "Not for this." 

Evelyn stood barefoot in the puddle that was growing under her pet. She petted Bailey's head, cooing soft words of comfort. When Bailey finished, Evelyn raised Bailey's face and smiled warmly. Using her thumbs, Evelyn dried Bailey's tears. 

"Clean this up," Evelyn said to Anna. 

By this, of course, Evelyn meant both Bailey and her puddle. 

Anna used a warm wash cloth to clean Bailey's legs, her bottom. Then a soft towel dried her, followed by liberal applications of talc. But Anna could do nothing for the bitter taste that still lingered in Bailey's mouth. It was the taste of nicotine, warmed butter, and her own tangy bottom. It was the taste of disappointing her master. 

And it was more. 

It was the taste of all the uncertainty that loomed before her. 

3

Bailey was starving. 

She looked forlornly at the big silver bowl by her feet. Warren stood on her left, Evelyn on the right. A small pile of brown and red kibble sat in the bowl. 


Bailey, the Family Pet



"Why don't we just make her something" Warren said. 

Bailey could smell his concern. Moving her torso toward Warren, she almost rested her head on his shoulder, but stopped herself just in a nick of time. 

"Nonsense," Evelyn said. A cigarette glowed in her hand. "This has all the nutrients and vitamins she needs." 

Bailey's stomach growled. Lowering herself to her knees, she couldn't find an aroma, which put her on guard. 

"Brian could cook for her," Warren said. He stood with his arms folded, eyes on his wife. He chewed his thumb. "Give him some responsibility." 

"She'll starve." Evelyn grunted and toed the bowl. Some bits of kibble rolled off the pile.

Bailey took a deep breath, then held it. She put her face into the bowl, hands resting on either side of it. Warren and Evelyn both squatted, knees pointed at Bailey. Evelyn put her hand in the small of Bailey's back and rubbed, cooing encouragement. 

Bailey let the air out. More than how it might taste, it was the obligation. It was possibly more of a commitment than being nude or even wearing the leash. From this point forward, she would take all her meals on her knees. 

Bailey took a piece of the kibble in her lips. It smelled faintly like breakfast cereal. She closed her eyes. 

"Look at her," Warren said, his voice strained. "She's an athlete for god sakes. "

Bailey raised her head. 

Evelyn mumbled something and Warren said he didn't care about the science. He spat out those last words with great scorn. 

The kibble tasted like . . . breakfast cereal. 

Cap'n Crunch. 

Bailey narrowed her eyes. 

She caught a few more bits on her tongue and took them into her mouth. 

Definitely Cap'n Crunch. 

"She needs protein!" Warren said angrily.

Bailey plunged her face into the bowl. The kibble rattled in the tin as she used her face and the sides of the bowl to fill her mouth. 

Evelyn snorted. She withdrew her hand from Bailey's flank. "Lack of supplemental protein," She said flatly, "will not be her problem." 

A sheen of sweat formed on Bailey's forehead. She couldn't eat the kibble fast enough. It was delicious. The silver bowl rang softly as Bailey nudged it around the floor. 

"Holy shit," Warren said quietly, awe in his voice. 

It was like Cap'n Crunch mixed with Raisin Bran, Bailey's two favorite breakfast cereals. Warren reached toward her face, and Bailey froze. Cutting her eyes over the edge of the bowl, she heard a low growling noise rise unbidden from her throat. 

Warren stopped his hand. He pulled it back. 

Bailey finished her meal. When the kibble was gone, she shamelessly licked the sides and bottom of the bowl. Her belly felt full. Satiated. She rose on her knees and then rolled onto her bottom, stretching her arms out behind her. She sat with her weight on her hands, her legs wide apart. 

She was out of breath. 

Warren stood grinning down at Bailey, his hands on his hips. He laughed and looked toward Evelyn, his eyes filled with wonder.

"You see?" Evelyn laughed. She took a long pull from her cigarette. "She's an animal." 

4

"Let's go for a walk," Warren said. 

Bailey leaped to her feet. Outside! Outside! Outside!  Racing into the kitchen, she held her hands clasped at her breasts. She took Warren's shoulders in her hands and looked intently into his face. Her breath came in quick, noisy gasps. 

Warren laughed. Taking the girl's head in his hands, he gave her a manly scratch. "Bailey wants to go?" he asked. "Bailey wants to go?"

Bailey grabbed Evelyn's shoulders, looking into her eyes. 

"She'll need lotion," Evelyn said.

Fuck yeah. It's on! Outside! Outside! Outside! Bailey rolled her hips and shoulders in a funky little dance step she knew. She had to pee. 

Outside!

Bailey bit her lip, bobbing her head, shoulders, and hips to the music in her head. 

And then suddenly Warren's big strong hands were on her breasts. His palms were filled with something greasy and her nipples were instantly erect. 

Bailey gasped. She could feel all the blood in her body rushing to her cunt. 

Warren added more lotion to his palm and then put his hands on her stomach, moving down toward her pussy. His sleeves were rolled up. He squatted before her. 

Bailey held her breath. Evelyn was just behind her and to the right. Bailey closed her eyes. His hands were oiling her thigh. One hand slipped between her legs, greasing her inner thigh. Bailey tightened the muscles in her groin. She bit her lips so she wouldn't whimper. His hand was on her ass cheek. He held her hip and sent the heel of his hand into her crack. Bailey inadvertently clenched her ass cheeks together, but he didn't care. His oiled hand glided down over her asshole to the back of her thigh. 

"Get her bottom good," Evelyn said, her voice like a cold hose. "More on her breasts, especially where it's white." Bailey still had tan lines from when she wore clothes. 

Raising her arms, Bailey gave him better access to her body. 

He oiled her other leg, her calves. He stood and did her back, shoulders and neck. Her body glistened, her skin tingling all over. She squeezed her thighs together and rolled her hips just to feel the skin between her legs all slippery and slick. 

Bailey closed her eyes. She wanted cock. 

Warren's cock.

She wanted to wrap her greasy thighs around his muscular torso. Sink her fingers into his silver hair. She wanted him to hold her, to pump her. She wanted him to make her come! Opening her eyes, Bailey found Evelyn gazing at her with an amused expression. A jolt of fear licked at Bailey's heart and she had to work to keep her composure. 

Warren was finishing up with her chest. Every bit of her body was oiled.

Evelyn squeezed the last of the lotion from the tube, making it wheeze. The sound bolstered Bailey, even if it made her feel a little sad. It was over.

Evelyn rubbed her hands together, closed the distance between her and Bailey, and then cupped her pussy with a greasy hand.

Bailey's eyes went wide. Looking into Evelyn's eyes, Bailey saw . . . indifference. Evelyn tickled Bailey's clitoris. She clenched her thighs together and came, making the softest of moans. Darting her eyes to Warren, the young girl felt as if she were drowning. 

Warren looked at Evelyn. 

"You let Julio trim her pubic patch," Evelyn said. 

Bailey turned her head from Warren, her cheeks burning with shame. 

Warren dried his hands with a towel. 

"We can't let her burn down there," Evelyn said. Squaring shoulders with Bailey, Evelyn smeared her palms on Bailey's cheeks and forehead. Bailey smelled tanning lotion mixed with her own secretions. Evelyn stepped back to survey her handiwork. 

"Perfect," she said, hands on her hips. "Are we ready to go outside?" 

5

Warren opened the car door and Bailey slid out. 

"Wait," Evelyn said. 

She rooted around in her purse. 

Bailey stood in the warm sun. The smell of grass and people filled the air. Ducks glided in for a landing on the pond. Small children laughed and screamed in the playground area. Old people sat on benches. The path around the pond was crowded. 

Bailey swallowed. She was the only one naked. The skin on her arm turned to gooseflesh. Holding herself, she covered her tits. 

"Here," Evelyn said, handing a small gift wrapped package to Warren. "This is for you."

Warren sucked in his breath. 

"Oh, Evelyn!" He exclaimed. "It's gorgeous." 

Taking Evelyn in his arms, Warren held the open package out to Bailey. 

"Bailey," he said. "It's for you." 

Inside the box something glittered and glowed, picking up the sun and throwing it back at her eyes. It was a collar. Warren took it out and held it up. But not just any collar. It was a diamond crusted white gold collar, with a pendant dangled down from the front that held a bright blue sapphire as big as a silver dollar. 

Bailey felt light-headed. Her mouth dried up. It was gorgeous. 

She'd never possessed anything like it. 

No one she knew owned anything that even came close. 

"You deserve it, dear," Evelyn said. 

Bailey looked at Evelyn confused. I do?

"You've put up with all my long hours at the lab," Evelyn said. She picked at the buttons on Warren's dress shirt. She'd meant Warren, of course. It seemed obvious now, but the realization still stung. 

Bailey took a deep breath. 

Warren attached the collar around Bailey's neck. Evelyn went on praising him, but Bailey ignored her. The collar felt good on her neck. It had a satisfying weight, and the sparkling sapphire rested just above her breasts. The leash loop held an engraved disk that read BAILEY. Warren twisted one of the car mirrors so that Bailey could see herself. 

He grinned at her with pride. 

Warren's admiration warmed her. The amazing collar made her feel better, despite coming to her in a roundabout way. And even if Evelyn hadn't given it to Bailey, she'd bought it to sit on Bailey's neck, engraving it with Bailey's name. 

Warren clipped on her leash and Bailey fell into step between him and Evelyn. Walking between them made her feel a little more secure, a little less self-conscious. Walter left the concrete path and led them across the lush green grass. It felt good to get off the hot concrete. The grass was soft and cool under Bailey's feet. 

Suddenly Bailey stopped. 

She felt something funny in her tummy. 

Evelyn looked at her, a curious expression on her face.

Warren stopped too. 

Bailey's eyes went wide. She had to go number two! 

Bailey reached for Evelyn's hand. 

Evelyn grinned. She took Bailey's hand in her own and squeezed. 

"It's okay," Evelyn said. "Perfectly normal." 

A half dozen portable bathrooms stood at the edge of the playground about one hundred yards away. Bailey clenched the muscles in her bottom. It might as well have been ten miles.

Warren tilted his head. 

Bailey got a sudden feeling of vertigo. Not only was she the only nude person in the park, she would have to relieve herself on the grass. 

Bailey squatted. 

She held her hands between her legs and put her head near her knees. 

Squeezing her eyes together, Bailey waited for it to be over. 

Warren was watching her, she knew. Even if he wasn't actually watching her right now, he knew what she was doing. How could she ever look at him again? She winced as her body took over. She could hear the voices of children nearby. She made soft grunts. 

Soon the last of the waste fell into the soft grass below her. 

It was over. 

Bailey made a big sigh. She opened her eyes. 

People wandered past. 

Warren's head was buried in his phone. Evelyn rooted in her bag.

Bailey grinned. 

Some birds chirped in a nearby tree. 

Bailey popped to her feet. An electric current coursed through her body. She somehow felt lighter, more buoyant. Her new pendant rested cool on her chest, its small weight a satisfying counterpoint to the weight she'd just left behind. 

Bailey licked her teeth. 

She used her feet to scratch at the ground, kicking up bits of grass and dirt and sending them behind her. She snorted, her tongue out. She was surrounded by children, adults and people her own age, and all of them were buttoned, zipped, and snapped into . . . 

Clothes! 

Bailey struck a pose, twisting the fingers of both her hands into gang signs.

Warren laughed. 

Evelyn was staring intently at Bailey's poop. 

"What's up with Bailey?" he asked. 

"Her psyche's in a fragile state right now," Evelyn said. "It's going to be a rollercoaster ride for her until she fully adjusts." 

Bailey put her hands on her hips, threw her shoulders back, and gazed up at the cloudless blue sky. The warm sun felt good on her boobs. 

"But don't worry," Evelyn laughed. She lit a cigarette. "Six more weeks and she'll be shitting all over every goddamn thing." 

Evelyn returned her attention to Bailey's fresh dirt. 

"It's beautiful," Evelyn said in awe. 

"Firm, compact. Dry." She scooped the waste into a small paper cup, twisted on a lid, and then put the cup into a bag. "The kibble team is going to be fucking thrilled." 

"BAILEY!" 

A voice cried out from across the park.

Bailey snapped her head forward. It was her friend Carmen and few of the others from Brynmoore! 

"BAILEY, BAILEY, BAILEY!" 

The group raced across the park, three girls and three boys. Bailey whined and pulled at her leash. The small group of swimmers came to a halt, sweaty and out of breath. 

Bailey basked in all the familiar scents. 

"Bailey!" A dark-haired girl with a cheerful smile stood two paces from Bailey. She held her hands together at her breast and seemed unsure what to do next. She looked to Warren for a cue. 

Striding up to Carmen, Bailey bent at the waist, putting her hands on her knees and thrusting her head into her friend's crotch. Carmen had just started her period. 

"Bailey," Carmen shrieked. 

She thrust her hips back and grabbed Bailey by the ears. The rest of the kids giggled uncomfortably and took a step back. 

Warren shortened Bailey's leash by a considerable amount. "Hello, Carmen."

Bailey could smell the nervous energy coming off Carmen. Wondering if the aroma of the secretions that had been smeared onto her face were making Carmen antsy, Bailey tried to use her eyes to emote to her friend not to worry. It felt good!  

Bailey grinned. She meant it. 

Already the shameful memory had transformed itself to sexual bliss. It was a coping strategy Bailey had brought with her from her former life as a girl. She was good at it. She'd had a lot of practice.

Carmen ruffled Bailey's hair. 

"I love what you did to your hair," Carmen said. 

Putting her hands on Carmen's shoulders, Bailey rested her forehead against her friend's. Carmen's flow was heavy today. 

"She can't answer you, Carmen," Warren said. 

Carmen nodded, giving Bailey a warm hug. 

Carmen's girlfriends edged closer to her, and soon they were all crowded around Bailey, tentatively touching her hair and gawking at her collar. The boys kept their distance, standing a few paces back.

"Mr. and Mrs. Williams," Carmen said. Swallowing hard, she looked close to tears. "After what happened," Carmen said. Her voice cracked. She cut her eyes to Bailey who bumped shoulders with the other girls, enjoying their attention. Taking a deep breath, Carmen set her chin. 

"Look," Carmen said. "I'm trying to tell you that we're all grateful for what you're doing for Bailey." She gazed over her shoulder at her friends, and little nods of assent rippled through the group—even the boys. Especially the boys. 

Warren looked at Evelyn and smiled. 

Evelyn took a long pull from her cigarette, looking off into the middle distance. 

Warren shrugged. "We're just happy we could help." 

There was an awkward silence. 

Bailey raised her fist and made an audible, her first. It wasn't quite bark, roar, or squawk. It certainly wasn't speech. It surprised everyone, including Bailey. There was a moment of silence and Bailey let her fist hang in the air, above her head. 

And then everyone laughed, including Evelyn and the boys. 

Bailey stood at the center of the small crowd, surveying all the grinning faces. It was a unique sound, but the message it contained wasn't all that unusual. It was happy, a sound mixed with excitement, contentment, and best of all—hope. 

More important, it had come from Bailey's mouth. 

***

The three wandered the tree lined path that surrounded the pond. Bailey enjoyed the dappled sunlight and the fresh air. Soon they came upon two middle aged men leading a third, younger man, nude on a leash. 

Bailey caught the pet's scent long before she saw him. Blood sausage, razor blades, and firecrackers. A square jaw, thick lips, and hooded, dangerous eyes. He looked in his early twenties. His skin was dark, his body well-muscled and hairless from head to toe. 

The two guys stopped, and the taller of the two, a fair-haired man in Khaki shorts and Birkenstocks, tugged on the pet's leash. The pet made a low aggressive noise in its throat. "Oh Chop," the man in the Birkenstocks said amiably to his pet. 

Bailey retreated behind Warren.

"Don't worry about him," the man in the Birkenstocks said, speaking to Warren. 

Evelyn surveyed Chop. 

Chop looked Evelyn over himself, putting his fists on his hips. He grinned, revealing gleaming caps on most of his teeth. Evelyn blew smoke over her shoulder. 

"How did you find him?" she asked.

"Chop is a rescue," the other man said. He was rotund and bald, with a friendly open face. He lightly stroked Chop's bicep. 

"He's from Detroit." 

The man holding Chop's leash made an expression on his face as if to say that merely coming from Detroit was by itself enough of an explanation. The group fell into casual conversation about pets. The men wanted to know if Warren intended to breed Bailey. Warren dodged their question. 

Bailey couldn't take her eyes off of Chop. His cock was huge. It hung between his muscular thighs, looking all the bigger because he lacked any pubic hair. Although one of the men held Chop's leash, Chop pretty much went wherever he wanted, dragging the man holding the leash along behind. The man kept up his side of the conversation with the others, but uttered a constant stream of phony admonitions to Chop, clearly enjoying his pet's independent nature. 

Chop worked his way closer to Bailey, his eyes on her hips, her tits. 

Warren stepped away from Bailey, but keeping a protective eye on her. Chop stood very close to Bailey. He sniffed the air near her face, then made a sly grin. Bailey felt her cheeks heat up. Unable to meet his eyes, she watched his big black dick throb, rising half an inch in the air. It took a lot of blood to make a cock behave that way. Bailey's pulse raced. All her favorite musicians were dangerous black men.

"She's gorgeous," the fair-haired man said. "Rescue?" 

Time stopped. 

Bailey heard a loud thumping in her ears. 

A knot of emotion rose up in her throat. She cut her eyes to Warren. For the first time since she began the hormone shots, she was grateful for her inability to speak. 

What was there to say? 

Time took on a slow motion quality. Warren turned to her, smiling. His beautiful square chin, with its deep cleft. 

Those perfect white teeth. 

What would Warren say? How would he frame it? The knot in her throat turned to apprehension. 

"Bailey?" he asked. 

With a silent whoosh time suddenly resumed its normal course again. 

"Oh, Bailey rescued us," he laughed. 

Bailey squeezed her eyes shut, tears welling. She wanted to fuck this man. She wanted to get down on her knees and suck his cock. Squeezing her thighs together, she found her pussy was moist and achy.

She sensed something near her hip. Opening her eyes, Bailey saw it was Chop. He was doubled over, his hands on his knees. He was smelling her ass. 

Bailey took a step away from him. 

It felt undignified, coming on the heels of her desire for Warren. Chop's shoulders and back rippled with dark muscles. He looked up at her, his bald head glistened in the hot sun. 

It also felt a little flattering.

"Bailey want to say hello?" Warren said. 

Warren held her leash lightly. 

Chop stepped toward her, sniffing the backs of her thighs. Bailey gazed around the sunlit park. Everything was green and ripe. She got a sense for being nude in the middle of it all, but this time it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. It was just an awareness of how new all this was for her. Chop's haunches had dark tattoos that went all the way up to his ribs and were hard to notice at first. He was an attractive man.

A dirty little thrill of shame pulsed through her chest. 




Bailey, the Family Pet



Shooting her eyes to Warren, she saw he was saying something to one of Chop's people. One little sniff wouldn't hurt. She put her hands on her knees. 

She took a step toward Chop's bottom. She smelled his desire spike. 

He took a step to move closer to her bottom. 

Bailey took a step. 

Soon they were circling one another and then Chop stopped short.

Bailey bumped into his haunches. 

His skin felt cool, his body solid.

His thick balls swung between his legs, but she couldn't see his cock. Lowering her head, she saw that he was fully erect, his thick black cock jutting forward. It curved up like a sword, touching his abdomen. 

Bailey gasped. 

Chop moved like a cat. With one deft movement, he was behind Bailey. She was stooped over, off balance, her weight on the balls of her feet. He looped a big muscled arm around her waist, pulling her toward him. 

She felt his big hard cock bouncing around down between her legs. 

Bailey put both her hands on the arm around her waist, trying to get her feet under herself. She squirmed and mewled. He put his hand on the back of her neck and folded her over his arm, like a waiter's towel. He made snickering sounds, soft grunts. Holding her hips and head, he maneuvered his hips so the tip of his cock poked between her legs. First he was at her asshole. Then the place between her asshole and her pussy. Then her pussy. Her asshole. Her pussy. Her pussy. 

One of Chop's people hooted. "Oh, Choppy," he said, clearly delighted.

Pussy, pussy, pussy. 

"He's always so horny," the fair-haired man laughed. 

The cock head slipped inside her. 

Bailey gasped. 

It was big.

Chop stopped moving his hips, tugging her closer to him instead. The girth of his cock was the only thing preventing it from slipping further inside, but the head was in and he was applying constant pressure. 

Bailey didn't know what to do. 

He fondled her breasts. 

Her nipples were hard little nubs. She could feel him sliding deeper, her wet pussy lubricating his path. She already had a third or more of the big cock inside her. 

People were ambling past. Warren still held her leash. 

She felt the cock slip even deeper inside her. 

What could she do?

She took a step to the right, Chop went with her. Twisting her torso didn't help. Chop tightened his hold on her waist, sending her staggering a step forward. Bailey put her weight on her heels and then pushed back. Hard. Oh, mistake!  His cock bottomed out inside her, his groin rubbing against her bottom. 

Bailey whimpered.

Chop grunted. He started to move his hips. His cock slipped back a tiny bit, then went forward. He was fucking her, actively fucking her. 

"Hey little buddy," Warren said. 

He took Chop by the ear and raised his head. Chop snarled. 

He showed the bright caps on his teeth. 

Twisting around, Bailey could see his great black cock. Despite seeing a good bit of it, she still felt plenty inside her. 

Warren laughed. 

He twisted the ear between his thumb and his fingers and raised his hand. Chop followed, rising onto the balls of his feet, his shoulders arched back, his head cocked to one side. 

"You've got spirit," Warren said, putting his face right near Chop's.

Chop's cock bobbed lewdly in front of him. It was sticky, wet, and glistening.

One of Chop's people restrained him, then both men inspected Chop's ear. The small man looked warily at Bailey and her family. 

Ducking behind Evelyn, Bailey's breath came fast and heavy. 

Her heart raced in her chest. 

She smelled cum. 

The men produced a towel and dabbed Chop's big wet dick. It was customary for human pets to allow their people to perform most acts of personal hygiene. The general rule of thumb was this: If the pet couldn't lick it, the pet should wait to have it cleaned. 

"Let's go," Evelyn said. 

Warren stroked Bailey's head, giving her a quick look over, top to bottom. 

As Bailey turned to follow her people back to the car, her hand brushed a sticky wet spot on her bottom. Twisting her body, she saw Chop had ejaculated on her. 

His semen was all over her back, thighs and bottom.

Warren tugged on her leash. 

She fell into step behind him. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Chop look over his shoulder as his people took him in the opposite direction. 

Warren was moving at a nice clip and Bailey had to trot to keep up. The semen worked its way down her back and thighs, leaving a cool wet trail. Her pussy hummed for attention. 

At the car, Evelyn opened her door. 

"Don't put her on the seat," Evelyn said. She slammed her door, eyes straight ahead. 

Warren led Bailey to the tailgate. He opened the hatch. 

Bailey lowered her head. 

Warren raised her chin and smiled. "Hold on," he whispered. 

Taking a soft linen handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the semen from her hip, the back of her thigh. Evelyn turned on the engine. She shouted that Warren should hurry. He finished and Bailey scrambled into the back. 

Warren shut the hatch. 

Bailey lay on her back, letting the cool air swallow her whole. As the car began to move, she put her hand to her face. 

An image of Chop's big black cock all sticky and wet popped into her mind. 

Licking the cum from her hand, she nuzzled her back into the short carpet fibers. Bailey sighed. The Williams were her last good hope. Sometimes, she thought, she went to outrageous lengths to care for herself. 

6

Anna patted Bailey's breasts dry with a big soft towel. 

Anna sang softly in Spanish as she worked. She never used the leash with Bailey. Instead, Anna would tuck her arm under Bailey's and grasp Bailey's hand in her own. Together they walked through the house this way. 

Bailey liked it. 

This was how Anna and Bailey strolled into the great room. 

Brian was home. His wild, unpredictable scent called to Bailey, if it also put her on guard. He was so much like his father, but so different, too. 

Someone else was in the house. A stranger. 

Anna walked Bailey to her pillow. Before Bailey could curl up, Warren strode over. "Bailey," he said. "Your father is here." 

Bailey straightened her back, a pulse of terror in her chest. Dad? The skin on the inside of her arms turned to gooseflesh. 

"Oi," Anna said. She stroked Bailey's shoulder blade. 

Warren grasped Bailey's shoulders and looked her in the eye. 

"Your biological father," he said. 

Bailey narrowed her eyes. 

She looked at the stranger. He seemed unimpressive. He sat on the couch with his hands between his knees. He smelled like runny eggs and sour cake batter. 

Brian glared at the stranger -- her biological father -- from across the room. Holding a whiskey in his hand, Brain rattled the ice against the glass.

Warren held his hands toward Bailey, as if to present her to her father. 

The man stood from the couch and approached tentatively. He was big, athletic. He had a receding hairline and piercing dark eyes. He seemed nervous, brushing his denim jacket with his hands. He smoothed his hair. "B-Bailey," he said. 

Bailey took a step back. 

The stranger -- her biological father -- looked uncomfortably at Brian. 

Brian folded his arms across his chest.

Turning to Warren, the stranger sighed. "Could I have some privacy with my daughter?" 

"Fuck no," Brian said.

"Brain," Warren said. 

"Fuck him," Brian said. "Where was he when Bailey needed him?"

Warren held up his hand. Brian was about to say something, but instead turned his head. A silence hung in the room.

"Prison," the stranger said. "I was in prison." 

He looked at Bailey, but he couldn't hold her eye. 

"Bailey . . . " Warren spoke softly. Moving toward her, he let his forehead almost touch hers. "You might want to hear what he has to say. It might help."

Bailey blinked. Help?

"With the other, with what happened. Maybe you'll find . . ." Warren searched for the right word. He shrugged. "Closure." 

Bailey blew air from her lungs. 

Anna was close. Her fingers tickled over Bailey's back. 

Warren rubbed her shoulder. "It's up to you." 

Bailey listened to the clock chime on the wall. The stranger gave her a bad feeling. She gazed at Anna and then at Brian. Brian knocked back his drink, and sat heavily in an overstuffed chair. Warren watched her intently. 

Clutching her arms across her chest, Bailey moved toward the man. 

Her biological father. 

He smiled. 

Looking past Bailey to Warren, her father raised an eyebrow. 

"Anna," Warren said. "Take these two into the den, so they can have some privacy." Warren went over to Brian. Putting his fingers in Brian's hair, Warren gave his son a manly scratch. It was the sort of thing only Warren would only do, and only for someone special. Someone beloved. 

Anna took Bailey and her father to the den. As soon as Anna was gone, Bailey knew she'd made a terrible mistake. He grew more anxious but faked calm. He strolled to the windows on the north wall, surveying the grounds. 

"Where shall I start?"

He looked out the eastern window. He did something on his phone. 

He circled her, slowly pacing. His eyes roamed her body. 

"Bailey, Bailey, Bailey," he said. 

He was behind her. His wet breath on the back of her neck. 

"You've turned into such a beautiful girl," he whispered. 

Bailey swallowed hard. 

"And now you're a pet," he said. 

He smiled. He shrugged his shoulders and made a face, as if to say who would have guessed?

Bailey wanted to leave, but her feet suddenly felt heavy and immobile. 

A whimper came from her throat. 

He made a pouty face. 

"It's okay," he said. "I have something for you." 

Marshalling her courage, Bailey took a step backwards but it was too late. He pulled a short chain from his pocket and slipped it over her head. The cold metal on her neck made Bailey's heart sink. 

Bailey turned and ran. A fire burst in her throat, and her legs snapped out from under her. Bailey landed on her back, looking at the ceiling. He held her by the chain around her neck. She rolled over and tried to rise, but he put his knee in her back. 

"Your mother," he said, "was a goddamn fool!"

Bailey growled, pulling her elbows under her. He looped the chain once around his palm. Bailey gasped. Her throat sang with pain. 

His voice broke. "I know they called her death an accident."

Bailey's mother had died from a gunshot wound. 

"I know who killed her, too."

He meant Bailey. She'd been a minor and was acquitted. Her step-father abandoned her shortly after the accident. Rumor had it that he'd been having an affair, but no mistress ever turned up. People speculated. Neighbors called for an investigation. 

And then he disappeared.

Her father pressed a soft cloth into her face. Bailey smelled harsh chemicals. 

"And now . . ." 

He held the cloth against her mouth and nose. 

Bailey squirmed. 

". . . we got . . ." 

The chain around her neck went slack, his hands holding her head like a vice, the cloth still over her mouth and nose. Bailey wanted to rouse herself but her legs felt too heavy to move. 

". . . a dog in the family." 

Slipping the cloth in his pocket, he unclasped her gold collar and it slipped to the floor. "Oops," he whispered. He softly snorted, his breath wet in her ear. "I mean a pet." 

Bailey reached for her beautiful collar. 

Her fingers were thick and unresponsive. She touched the emerald. 

And then everything went dark. 

Bailey's father raced to the door. 

He listened. He had three minutes, maybe four. He would be gone in two. Racing to Bailey, he lifted her eyelid with his thumb. She was out. 

He took her picture and sent it to someone. 

He zip-tied her hands, her ankles. 

He opened a window. 

Tossing a throw blanket on the floor next to her, he rolled her into it, then heaved her up onto his shoulder. He stood at the open window. 

A vague memory from a long time ago popped into his mind. A child on his shoulder. 

He shook his head, tightening his grip on the bundle over his shoulder. It was a pet now. 

Bailey was gone. 

7

Bailey woke slowly. 

Her cheek rested on something cool, polished. Wood. 

A stage.

She pulled her knees under her. 

Morris was here. The thought popped into her mind and she knew it was true. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She wanted to whimper, but she gritted her teeth instead. Lights blazed in front, making it difficult to orient herself. 

The room was dark, save the stage lights trained on her. She smelled whiskey and sweat. Perfume. 

Morris was here. She didn't realize he had a scent, much less a scent she could recognize. Morris was from the time before. Morris was from the time with her mother. Mom! Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Mom, mom!  Bailey blinked back the tears. This was not the time. Morris was here and mother was gone. 

Fuck.  

She was alone with Morris. 

A feeling of imminent doom swept over her, like becoming suddenly aware of being caught in a nightmare and knowing that her only escape was to rouse herself. As she raised herself on her hands, Bailey's neck stopped short. A chain rattled. She was chained to the stage. Bailey whimpered. 

"She's up!" It was Morris. He laughed and clapped his hands. 

The reality of his voice calmed her somewhat. A cold licking fear was always worse than its reality. "Bail-ey," Morris said, singing her name. 

A loud metallic snap rang out and most of the stage lights went down. 

Bailey blinked. 

Two more snaps echoed in the darkness and the rest of the lights went out. Her face felt five degrees cooler. An oscillating fan blew warm air over her body, then swung away. Bailey's mouth and throat were dry. 

Parched. 

She swallowed and swallowed but no saliva came. 

Morris sauntered toward her, grinning. He was still a good-looking man. 

Beyond the stage was a large room with dozens of small tables, each with a few chairs stacked atop. The room was dark, its windows taped over with signs. Neon signs and mirrors covered the walls. In the back, a big oak bar stood. Red cushion stools. 

It was a strip joint. 

The stage had a series of poles. 

"Bailey," Morris said. "We're together again!"

He was three feet from where she lay. 

"Thirsty?" he asked. 

He tugged at her chain. 

Bailey resisted, but he warned her against it. He took her off the stage and had her stand before it, her back to the room. He reattached her chain. She stood, bowed over, with her hands on the stage. 

He put a bowl of water on the stage in front of her. 

Leaning against the stage, Morris grinned. 

The water smelled fresh. Inviting. 

"Go on," he said.

Bailey hesitated. Morris was watching. 

An impossibly large man with a beard and a barrel chest approached. His arms were tattooed and he smelled too dainty for his size, like rose water or sandalwood. "The girls will be here soon," the big man said. "What do you want with her?"

"She's going to stay right there," Morris said. "She's our house pet." 

The big man folded his arms. 

"In Sweden they have house pets in all the clubs," Morris said. He lit a cigar and spoke out the corner of his mouth. "Guys love it." 

The big man snorted. "Fuckin' Sweden, huh?" 

Bailey lowered her head to the bowl. 

"It's a customer service," Morris said. "You go to the bar, you have some drinks, you get full." Morris blew smoke. "You go use the bathroom," he said. "You watch the show, you have a lap dance, you get—" Morris made a face, holding his forearm out, his hand balled in a fist. 

Bailey raised her head. 

"You go use the pet," he said. He looked at Bailey and grinned. 

The bouncer snorted.

Bailey lowered her head. Her mind went blank, her body felt numb. 

Morris laughed his big heavy laugh. It always sounded so fake, so stupid. All the big gasps for air, as if what he thought was so funny might suddenly kill him. And how he would go on and on and on with it. She knew there had once been a time when she admired his laugh. She could remember thinking it seemed so masculine, as if he were the harbinger of all that was funny. She had forgotten how much she hated his laugh. 

And then she thought, Mom. 

Mom, mom, mom. 

Her throat still burned but she couldn't drink the water. Morris and his bouncer were discussing the clubs in Sweden and Morris said house pets would be bigger than coin operated video booths or glory holes. He said other things, too, but Bailey stopped listening. 

Her father stepped out of the shadows. He took a chair from a nearby table then straddled it, his arm over the back of the seat. He rested his chin on top of his arm. His lips were pursed. 

Bailey looked away from him. Why were all her fathers such jerks?

"She seems . . ." Bailey's father said. He looked at Bailey, carefully composing his face. "Upset." 

"No," Morris said flatly. 

He stretched his hands out, palms up. "She's a pet." 

He put the cigar in his mouth, took a step toward Bailey, and swatted the fleshy part of her ass. Bailey saw it coming and moved as far from him as she could, rattling her chain. 

Her bottom stung. 

"Ninety percent of a pet's hormonal response is geared toward one thing." He held up a finger. "Sex. Mating, copulation." He put the cigar in his mouth. "She wants it." 

Bailey looked away. Already a nice warmth was rising up in the skin where he'd struck her. 

"And her? This one?" Morris asked. "She was born for this." 

He laughed. 

"I mean, beyond her being a pet," he said. Morris dipped his hand into Bailey's water bowl. Shaking the water from his fingers, he strolled behind Bailey and faced her father. He put the cigar in his mouth and grabbed her around the waist. 

Bailey struggled but it was useless. 

"This one has always run a little hot," Morris said.

He was calling her a slut. 

His wet fingers rolled over the sensitive folds of her pussy. Her breathing slowed. Morris chuckled around the cigar in his mouth. 

"When the three of us used to drive home from the shore," Morris said. "Bailey liked to sit up in the front seat. She liked for her mother to lie down in the back." 

Bailey turned. 

Morris was grinning, looking at her father.

Her father shielded his eyes. 

A great emptiness opened in the pit of her stomach. Bailey looked away. 

"You remember, doncha Bailey. Those long drives, the dark road. The rumble of the tires." 

A great gift of the hormone treatment was the inability for pets to feel guilt. But this same gift could also be a curse. A curse because Bailey already knew about guilt. She was a pet and couldn't feel it, and she knew she couldn't feel it, but she waited for it anyway, because she was familiar with how it worked, knew its slippery taste. So the guilt never arrived, but the waiting took on its own special flavor, a bitter taste. 

Bailey found herself rolling her hips. 

These were tiny movements, at first. Almost imperceptible. 

Bailey was aware of them. 

A sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead. She conjured up the image of a customer taking a turn on her. Using her. Her breathing grew heavier. 

She imagined a line of customers. Loud, boisterous men. Swollen cocks. Her hips were openly rocking now. She could almost smell the blood, the semen. Bailey sobbed. It wasn't a sob of pain. It burst from her mouth unbidden and then she couldn't call it back. 

"Daddy?" A little girl's voice piped up from a few feet away. 

Morris pulled his hand from between Bailey's legs and stood. 

"Oh, Daddy!" the little girl said. 

Bailey's pussy tingled. She squeezed her thighs together. 

It was very wet down there. 

"What is it sweet pea?" Morris asked. 




Bailey, the Family Pet



Bailey hung her head. 

"Who is that, Daddy?" the little girl asked. 

Cutting her eyes left to take a closer look, Bailey saw the little girl. Eight or nine years old. Blonde. Morris squatted as he spoke to her. He petted her hair. 

The hair on the back of Bailey's neck stood up. She noisily blew all the air from her lungs. Raising her head, she tested the amount of play in her chain. The rise and fall of her libido had a way of clarify her mind. She needed to rescue that little girl. That was most important. She needed to free herself, kill Morris, and then find her way home. 

And all of it without using her thumbs. 

Bailey snorted, a big grin breaking out on her face. She gazed around the room. The chair her father had pulled from the table sat empty. 

A ruckus erupted on the other side of the club. Her father marched toward her with a pair of bolt cutters on his shoulder. One of the bouncers raced over to confront him. Her father just kept striding toward her as if he didn't notice the bouncer. At the last second, her father ducked down and then came back up, doing something with his body to use the bouncer's momentum against him. 

The bouncer ended up on his back. 

Her father stomped on the man's throat, retrieved the bolt cutters, and then continued toward Bailey. She was duly impressed. For this courageous act, she would let him live but use the bolt cutters to castrate him. 

"Hey," Morris shouted. "Hey!" 

The unmistakable sound of a shotgun's pump action rang through the club. 

Her father stopped. He turned toward Morris. 

Bailey smelled gasoline. It was so powerful, it burned her nose. She pivoted on her chain to see where it was coming from. 

Pointing his gun, Morris approached her father, who set the bolt cutters on the floor. The tool that could free her lay three or four feet from her, almost at her feet, but it might as well have been a mile. 

Tugging at her chain, she caught the faintest whiff of a familiar scent. It was the smell of someone unpredictable. Someone wild. 

"I can't let you take her," Morris laughed. "The Williams will find you, and then they'll find me." 

An explosion outside the club burst the glass in one of the club's main windows. Alarms from several different cars shrieked to life. The lights in the club flickered. 

Bailey's ears rang. 

Everything moved in slow motion. Her throat burned. She couldn't breathe. Scrambling to put her feet under her, she felt the chain around her neck go slack, and then she could breathe again. Debris and dust floated in the air. 

Her father laughed. "They've already found you," he said.

Bailey stretched her body, sending her feet toward where the bolt cutters lay. 

Morris barked out orders. 

Her toes touched the metal handle. It moved and she lost contact. Backing up, Bailey lunged again and the chain bit into her neck. Her feet found nothing. 

She did it again and again. 

Nothing. 

Another explosion outside the club, her father laughing and Morris softly cursing. 

Her heel finally hit between the Y of the bolt cutter handles. Bailey forced her heel flat against the floor, inching the tool towards her. She brought it all the way to stage. 

"You little fucking cunt," Morris said. 

She felt her chain constrict and Morris's hot breath on her face. Bailey scrambled to get her feet underneath her, get her oxygen back. 

"You're coming with me," Morris hissed. 

Pointing the shotgun toward her father, Morris turned his attention to the padlock.

Bailey grabbed the heavy bolt cutters with both hands. Heaving it over her head, she swung it down on Morris's head. He went down on one knee. 

Raising the tool again, she let its weight carry it back down. 

Morris shielded his head this time, grabbing the tool. 

Bailey shrieked. Lunging back, she felt the chain catch, the back of her neck absorbing most of the blow. 

The shotgun went off. 

Morris leaped onto the stage. 

His face was twisted into a snarl. He cocked his shotgun and pointed it at Bailey. 

Bailey's eyes opened wide. Her heart caught in her throat. 

"Down!" her father shouted. 

The metallic snap of the stage lights echoed through the club.

Morris squinted his eyes and turned his head. 

Bailey dropped. 

A single shotgun blast rang out.

"Oorah!" a lone Marine shouted from somewhere. 

Automatic weapon fire erupted from somewhere on the other side of the club. 

"OORAH! OORAH! OORAH!" 

A rain of automatic weapons fire. Then a short burst. Another short burst. 

Brian was here. 

The shotgun remained quiet. 

The little girl!  

Bailey fought the bile rising in her throat and used the bolt cutters to free herself. She crawled through glass and debris until she found the little girl curled up under the bar. The child's heart was beating a million miles a minute. 

Bailey comforted her, hugging the girl to her breasts. 

The firefight was over surprisingly quick. The smell of burning gasoline and automatic weapons fire hung in the air. Bailey didn't realize it was over until she heard Evelyn's voice. 

"This one," Evelyn said. 

Bailey rose from behind the bar, holding her little protégée in her arms. 

Evelyn stepped through the debris in Louboutin high heels, a dark pencil skirt, and her lab coat. Two good-looking men in white lab coats followed her, carrying pneumatic syringe guns. 

"Him," Evelyn said, indicating the dainty-smelling bouncer with the tattoos. 

One of her assistants helped the bouncer to his feet, the other assistant injected the bouncer in the arm. The gun made a quiet hissing noise. 

"Warren," Evelyn called. "I've found Bailey."

A few others in lab coats came and escorted the dazed bouncer out.

"Bailey!" Warren closed the distance between them. He looked older somehow. Still handsome, but haggard. Deep bags under his eyes. 

He took her head in his hands, pressing her to his chest. 

He kissed her head, stroked her cheeks. 

A young woman entered the club and the child screamed "Mommy!" Bailey put the girl down and she raced to her mother. 

Warren loosened the chain around her neck, inspecting the damage to her skin. He got a first aid kit and began treating her wounds. His expression was one Bailey had never seen before. Not from him, not from anyone. It looked as if he were about to burst into tears at any minute. It startled her and made her feel good at the same time. 

Brain kicked some debris from a trapdoor in the stage. "Out!" he shouted, training a weapon into the hidden compartment. 

Morris rose from the stage. 

"That one," Evelyn said. "That one for sure." The men in lab coats made their way toward Morris. 

"This one is mine," Brian said. 

He cocked his gun. The men in the lab coats stopped short. 

"Stand down, Marine," Warren said. 

Brian frowned at his father. 

"His punishment will be to live out his days with the knowledge of what he's done." 

Brian raised his lip skeptically. He looked at Bailey. He looked at the little girl Bailey had rescued. He looked at the little girl's mother. 

Shielding her daughter's eyes, the woman turned her head.

"I've done nothing wrong," Morris said. "Nothing!" 

"Oh, perfect," Evelyn said. She nodded her head and her lab assistants helped Morris out from below the stage. "These men are all excellent candidates for the HRH program." 

The lab assistant placed the pneumatic gun against Morris's shoulder and it hissed to life.

"HRH," Evelyn said with a mischievous smile. "Human. Rodent. Hormone." Evelyn nodded and the assistant pumped two more shots into Morris's arm.

Pffft, pffft.  

Morris screamed. 

He shoved the lab assistant with the hypodermic gun, grasping his arms where the shot had gone in. The other lab assistant grabbed for him, but Morris overpowered him too. Morris looked frantically from side to side, then tore off toward the back of the club. 

Brian raised his weapon to his shoulder. 

"Oh Brian, please." Evelyn sounded exasperated. 

"Son," Warren said. 

Evelyn nodded to two other assistants who set off after Morris. 

"He got three doses of that shit," Evelyn laughed. "We'll find him. He'll be the one with the long nose, looking for cheese." 

Brian lowered his weapon. 

A table toppled and someone groaned from the bottom of a pile of debris. It was Bailey's father. 

Brian raised his gun. 

Bailey raced to where her father lay, putting her back to him, putting her own body between him and Brian. For the second time that night, she stared down the barrel of a weapon pointed at her chest. 

Brian rolled his eyes, lowering his gun. 

Bailey turned to her father. 

He had a chest wound. His face looked pale. 

Bailey looked for Warren. He was already making his way toward them, first aid kit in hand. Bailey looked to Evelyn. She turned away and lit a cigarette.

Her father gasped. He reached for Bailey's face with his hand, putting a finger into a tear that was working its way down her cheek. Until he touched it, Bailey hadn't realized she was crying. "Bailey," he whispered. 

She sniffed. 

Warren caught her eye. His mouth was a small line above his square chin. Wiping his hands on a towel, he shook his head and stood. 

"Bailey," her father whispered again. 

It felt like the chain had her throat again. Bailey couldn't breathe. She lowered her face, resting her cheek against his. 

"Let it go," he whispered. 

The tears came. Big and wet and salty and rolling down both her cheeks. Bailey bit her lip and whimpered. Raising her head, she ran her fingers through his hair. 

His eyes met hers. The corner of his lip jerked up, and then his eyes went flat. 

Bailey was an orphan. 

8 

Warren came to her mat in the middle of the night. 

It had only been two weeks since the night of terror, but it might as well have been twenty years. Everything was different, yet somehow still the same. 

Warren wore no shirt. His muscled chest was covered with salt and pepper hair. He had shaved, even on his neck. Bailey caught his aftershave, a heady citrus scent. Barefoot, he wore flannel pajama bottoms with Marine colors. 

He took her by the hand and silently opened the door that led to the backyard.

The moon was high in the sky, the night air alive with cool air and sparkling stars. Bailey's nipples rose. She bit her lip, enjoying the warmth of his big hand on hers. They crossed the patio and headed toward the pool. 

Bailey had to pee. 

She squatted and tugged him back. He smiled down at her, holding her hand. The delicious feeling of shame that goes with doing something you're not supposed to washed over her, making her pulse race. Her water came. 

Warren dropped her hand. Lowering the waistband of his pajamas, he tugged out his big cock and peed in the soft grass. 

"This feral thing," he murmured, "can be quite intoxicating." 

They used the pool. 

Bailey slipped quietly into the water and watched Warren remove his clothes. The hair went all the way down his stomach and legs. His bottom. 

She sat on the side of the pool, her legs still in the water. Shaking out her hair, she waited for him. He heaved himself up next to her, then sat drying. 

He told her again how Brian had found her. How he had tracked her across three states. How he left in hot pursuit on his motorcycle the very night she disappeared. Evelyn and he, on the other hand, had used a homing device she'd had installed in one of Bailey's earrings to find her. Brian hadn't known about Evelyn's precautions. 

Warren went on and on about his son. 

His determination. His resilience and tenacity. 

Bailey stifled a yawn. 

"Bailey," Warren said. He looked exasperated. 

Tucking her hair behind her ear, he said: "I'm an old man." 

Bailey narrowed her eyes. 

He mentioned the previous pet. He said Evelyn had coached him on pet expectations and the rule of the wild, but he still felt conflicted. He was old fashioned. 

Bailey sat with her mouth open.

She blinked.

"Bailey, it's not you," Warren said. 

He promised she could remain at the house. He swore she was special. He said he'd talked with Evelyn and they were discussing all options for how best to deal with . . . 

And that's where Warren's voice trailed off. 

He looked uncomfortable. 

"Your physical needs," he finally said, looking toward the house. 

Bailey sat very still. 

Her breath became shallow.

She clenched her hand into a fist, locking her thumb over her knuckle. A fist was the height of unacceptable behavior for a pet. 

Fuck it.  

Warren was blowing her off. 

He started to extoll the virtues of his son again. He actually began articulating a list. 

"Virile," he said at one point. 

Bailey lowered her chin, raising her eyes. She gave Warren a withering look.

A chorus of frogs croaked. 

"I'm sorry," Warren whispered. 

Bailey put her head on his shoulder. 

She sucked air into her lungs and loosened her fist. Warren spoke but she was no longer listening to what he was saying. Raising her head, she sniffed the night air.

Evelyn was fast asleep in the back of the house.

Brian was on the living room couch passed out drunk. 

Anna was in the basement, sipping tea and watching a program on Mexican cable.

Bailey reached between Warren's thighs and grabbed his cock. Her thumb was by his groin and she held him lightly in her fingers. 

He was big. 

Not full with blood, but just meaty. Heavy.

"Bailey," Warren said. 

She closed her fist, looking into his eyes. 

"Bailey," Warren complained. He leaned back, his weight on his palms. 

He scooted his hips away from the pool. 

Away from her. 

Bailey growled, low in her throat. She held his cock even tighter, giving it a little tug back toward her. He stopped moving. 

"Oh, Bailey," he said, reproach in his voice. 

Bailey rolled off her bottom and onto her knees, the hard concrete biting into her flesh. Keeping her eyes on his, she mounted his thigh and settled into a comfortable position. He tried to move forward, taking his weight off his palms, but Bailey was ready for that maneuver. She clenched her fist until he gasped. He relaxed into his former position and she backed off. 

Bailey began rolling her hips, grinding her pussy against his leg. She grunted, a deep, satisfying sound. It was the sound an animal might make, feasting on carrion.

He averted his eyes. 

A dog howled somewhere far off.

Her pussy was wet, sloppy. Her heart raced in her chest. 

She moved her lips to his neck, her eyes on his face. He was a man, powerful and strong. She had him by the cock, but she knew her gaze was the thing really holding him in place. She kept her eyes on him as she nipped at his neck.

"Bailey," he whispered. 

She put her finger to his lips, tapped him there. 

Shush. 

Trailing her finger from his mouth, over jaw and dimpled chin, she came to his neck. Clenching his throat, she gave her eyes respite. 

She put her mouth on the place where his arm met his chest. 

She suckled him. Finding little patches of skin, she bit into his flesh. She tore out hair with her teeth. Made marks. She ruined the skin on his chest in a dozen different places. 

He stretched out his arms and lay on his back. 

He took it. 

She took as much pleasure as she could from his thigh. She was wet, and he was a little thicker in her hand. She let go of his cock, wetted her palm from the juice between her legs, then took him back in her hand, her thumb at his head. 

Rising from his thigh, she let go his cock and straddled his face, her knees colliding with his arms and chest. She walked her hands up his body, lowering her bottom toward his face. His tongue made a few hesitant licks. 

She lowered all her weight onto his face. 

It had been an impulsive move on her part, but it was the right one. His torso twisted and she smelled his panic. Warren grunted, but it wasn't a grunt of pleasure. It was the grunt of a man who had to bear all one hundred and sixteen pounds of his very own human pet. 

For Bailey, it was satisfying in its own way, this new way of containing a man. It required more from her. Intention.  Those who are routinely and casually abused are often the ones most likely to behave abusively themselves. When she felt he was about to break, she would put her weight back on her feet and listen to him gasp for air. He licked better after being smothered for a bit. At least, this is what she told herself. It might have even been true. He tongued her ass with abandon. And then she would choke him again. It made her feel powerful and perverse all at the same time. Bailey had one or two little orgasms that way. Finally, she rose to her feet. And then she felt . . . 

Bad. 

Deep inside. Regretful. 

Was this guilt? 

It was!

She knelt next to Warren and kissed her juices from his face. She petted his head. 

He rolled her onto her back. 

He kissed his way down her tummy, his fingers working on her pussy. 

Putting his tongue on her clit, he brought her to a bracing orgasm that made her dig her heels into the concrete and raise her hips high in the air. 

She held his head tight to her crotch.

After it was over, she collapsed. He stroked her until her breathing returned to normal. Her back and shoulders were burned and red from the rough concrete. He lifted her in his arms and lay her in the cool grass. His cock was thick and swollen with blood. 

"We're not done," he said.

He opened her legs, looping her ankles over his shoulders. He slipped his fat cock inside her, sinking himself all the way to the balls. 

He gave her a moment to accommodate herself to his size. 

And then he began his thrusts. 

Soon the grass under her shoulders turned to soft mud. She felt herself sinking deeper, ruining more of the lawn with each of his thrusts. The cool dirt felt so good on her back. Clawing at the grass, Bailey felt her passions rise. She was going to come again! 

She flailed her arms and clawed his back, scissoring his legs and howling. 

When it was over, Warren was covered with a slick sheen of sweat. 

His cock bobbed in front of him.

He tapped the outside of Bailey's thigh. 

"More," he said flatly. "Like a dog this time." 

Bailey was out of breath. 

His tone of voice frightened her. He twirled his finger in the air.

Extricating her legs from his, she rolled onto her knees. She craned her neck to see what he would do. He grabbed her hips and pulled her toward him, back into the muddy spot. The dirty place she had made for herself. Getting up on his feet, he squatted behind her. Warren slipped his cock inside her, putting his hand on the back of her neck. 

He forced her face into the dirt she had torn up with her back. 

"Never," he said. 

He let her neck go and began moving his hips.

Bailey raised her head. 

He slapped her ass. It stung. He slapped her again in the same spot.

Bailey gasped. 

He pushed her head back into the dirt. 

"Never," he said evenly. "You must never do that again." 

He let her neck go and began fucking her again. Bailey heard the slap of his flesh on her haunches. She kept her cheek in the cool mud. He occasionally slapped her ass or whispered the word "Never." Still she kept her face in the dirt. She felt another orgasm rising and wondered how she would ever manage to ride it out with lifting her face. 

Warren huffed and groaned. Soon his hands gripped her hips tightly. 

He thrust his hips forward and froze.

He made a series of lusty grunts. 

Bailey smelled his semen. 

She raised her head. He was filling her with his cum. 

He wanted her. 

When he finished, he picked her up in his arms. He carried her to a lounge chair by the pool and lay her down. Carrying handfuls of pool water to where she lay, he washed her face. Bailey inhaled the fresh night air as he worked. He toweled her dry. 




Bailey, the Family Pet



He slipped in next to her. 

Cozying next to him, she ran her fingers through the body hair on his stomach. She wrapped her fist around his cock, put her knee over his thigh. 

This is how they spent the night. 

Warren the master. 

Bailey the pet.

EPILOGUE 

Ten years later, Warren died in his sleep. He left this world peacefully. 

He never learned what happened in those first few nights after Bailey returned home from her night of terror, but those nights were the ones that changed everything for her. She'd made a decision during the long car ride home, but knew she couldn't follow through on it alone. So she wrote a note. Three words. She folded her note and slipped it to Evelyn. 

"You wrote this?" Evelyn asked. 

Bailey looked at the floor. It wasn't always easy to predict what Evelyn would do. Meeting Evelyn's eyes, Bailey nodded. 

Evelyn put the note in her purse and snapped it shut. Later that afternoon, she came for Bailey and put her in the car. Front seat. Evelyn snapped Bailey's seatbelt into place. They drove to a secluded beach. Evelyn took Bailey's note from her purse. She read it out loud. 

NO MORE HORMONES. 

Evelyn had brought with her a blank notebook and a pack of Pall Malls. She smoked and Bailey wrote. 

Bailey took a deep breath. She liked walking nude. She liked being bathed, primped and feted. She enjoyed shitting in the park and peeing wherever she felt inspired to go. The kibble, she wrote, was excellent.

On the other hand, the hormones prevented her from feeling all her feelings. The absence of guilt had seemed like a blessing in the aftermath of her mother's accident. But she could see now, she wrote, that it wasn't a viable long term solution. 

Bailey had tears in her eyes. 

She intended to take her father's advice. She wanted to let it go. But to do it, she needed access to a full range of emotion. Evelyn blew smoke into the air. "Warren will be crushed," she said.

Bailey's eyes went wide. Scribbling furiously on the pad, she shoved it into Evelyn's hands. 

BAILEY WILLIAMS FAMILY PET!

Evelyn grinned. 

It was a little perverse. Bailey wanted to continue as the Williams' pet, but stop taking the pet hormone. Or maybe it wasn't as much perverse as it was practical. She wanted to let go of the guilt, but hold on to the love. 

Evelyn warned that returning to the human side of the equation required more of a commitment than becoming a pet. It was untested. It involved a course of steroids that had to be taken a particular way. 

Bailey narrowed her eyes. 

The steroid only existed as a suppository. 

Bailey rolled her eyes. Sometimes Evelyn was so fucking predictable.

Evelyn held up her hands, palm out, an innocent expression on her face. She pulled the first dose from her purse. It was the size and shape of a dog treat. She grinned perversely, twirling her finger in the air. Bailey twisted around in the seat, raising her ass. 

Her face felt hot. 

The cold grease on her asshole made her grit her teeth. Soon Evelyn had the grease warmed up and Bailey's ass well-oiled. Both women worked together to get the medicine where it needed to go. Bailey made soft grunts. Evelyn cooed encouragements and praise. It took the better part of twenty minutes. The ride home was arduous for poor Bailey with her treatment shoved up her ass, but she knew in her heart she was doing the right thing. 

Her speech ability didn't return for almost six months. 

By the time she possessed the faculty of language, she was three months pregnant with Warren's child. It seemed better to Bailey that her transition back to human was kept a secret from everyone, including Warren. Evelyn wholeheartedly agreed. Warren could be so old fashioned, so stodgy. Bailey refrained from speaking, except to occasionally frighten bullies or fresh constructions workers. And even then she only said a word or two. It never failed to terrify those who weren't expecting it. 

Warren gave Bailey three children, all girls. 

Dot, Pepper, and Blondie.

They raised the girls nude, allowing them to pee in the backyard and eat kibble and milk from big silver bowls. When the children grew old enough to wonder why they were naked, Evelyn (Aunt Evie) told them they were hippies. 

Uncle Brian said they were wood nymphs. 

The girls shrieked and howled and raced around the grounds in an indomitable pack. Their teachers came to the house, and all the girls did good in school, but occasionally they made little cigars in the pool. Warren scooped those out with a long pole net. 

It was many years before any of those girls would feel any shame, and they were each raised to believe they could be whatever they wanted, whether hippie, or wood nymph, or something that required more clothes. 

And Warren?

Bailey grew to love him, in her own way. 

He could be a strict disciplinarian, but he had a kind heart. He was loyal and true. Bailey liked how he never forgot to bring a few little black plastic bags stuffed in his pockets for their walks. He would stoop to collect her waste, his back ramrod stiff like an Olympic athlete. He would hold the edges of the bag taut in his fingers and then swing it around to make a seal. If Bailey were in a perverse mood, she would drag him about the park, avoiding all the trash receptacles, trying to see how long she could get him to tote her poop in his hand. 

Never once did Warren hide a full bag of Bailey's trash somewhere in the bushes, or over near the playground equipment. 

For Warren's funeral, Bailey wore a plain silk wrap, flats, and dark sun glasses. No one recognized her with clothes on. Her story was that she was a distant relative who'd just come in from the wild. From that point forward, she wore clothes outside and slept in a bed at night. Her meals were served to her on china. 

Warren left Bailey his entire fortune, which was a remarkable amount, but not nearly as impressive as the amount Evelyn had set aside for herself, with her long and storied career in biotech. 

And Evelyn? 

Six months after Warren passed away, Evelyn was diagnosed with early onset of Alzheimer's. She took the news with great aplomb. Bailey remained at the Williams' house to care for Evelyn. The disease moved quickly and soon she required in-patient care. 

Bailey had an intuition that Evelyn had been shamed a lot as a child and Bailey determined she would not allow Evelyn to be shamed for the remainder of her life. Bailey retained her keen sense of smell and used it to evaluate Evelyn's care givers, finding a facility where most of the staff members smelt like Anna. These were good people who took great pride in their ability to serve, to provide for another's needs. In Evelyn's last days at the house, Bailey washed and groomed Evelyn, prepared her meals and fed her. 

Bailey doted on Evelyn like a daughter. 

And Brian?

In the early days during her transition back to human, but before she could speak, and when it was still far from certain she would be capable of shrugging off the hormones, Bailey knew she was on the right track because of Brian. He would whistle her into his room in the still of the morning, and Bailey would feel some nagging thing deep in her chest and she allowed that nagging thing to hold her back. 

It wasn't easy. 

Bailey liked Brian. He was wild and unpredictable and those were the very qualities she found so irresistible in Morris. Instead of answering Brian's call, she listened to her heart, padding away to the other side of the house, sometimes even using her thumbs to open the back door, hurling her naked body into the cold water of the pool. 

If she didn't want to answer his call, Bailey did want connection with him. 

She liked to sit with him in the great room by the fire, craftily putting her head under his hand so that he would stroke her. She loved it when he tickled her under her chin or between her breasts, or when he wanted to throw Frisbees in the backyard or race her the length of the pool. 

Brian drank. A lot. 

He regularly got picked up by the local authorities for driving intoxicated. Just when it looked as if he would spin out of control, pitching himself over a vast dark cliff, he fell in love with an Israeli woman he found living on an olive farm in Spain. Bailey was suspicious of this loud, obnoxious woman at first, but Brian moved onto her farm and started a family. He occasionally visited Bailey, bringing his whole earthy, raucous family with him. 

Bailey whistled her girls up from the backyard, but the girls didn't like their cousins much either. Brian seemed happy, though. The cacophony and tremor of his family seemed to have forced him to take a steadier approach to life. He kept his hands more firmly on the wheel. He named his oldest daughter Anvil and taught her jujitsu and hand-to-hand combat. 

She gave Dot more than one bloody nose. 

And as for Morris . . . 

Bailey came across some work papers as she sorted through Evelyn's things. Humans given rodent hormones showed extraordinarily long life spans and were notoriously difficult to destroy. After the night of terror, Morris ended up on a farm somewhere in Iowa, where he spent the next ten years involved with various research projects doing ground breaking work for battered women and sexually abused children. His role was to take lots of nasty chemical injections, wander through byzantine mazes, and eat lots and lots of feces. After Evelyn moved off the project, the documentation became spotty. 

And Bailey?

She remained at the Williams' house where she had many adventures with Dot, Pepper and Blondie. She made regular visits to Evelyn and kept careful eye on her caregivers. Anna moved all of her family into the big house, and Bailey was surrounded by the wonderful scents of Anna's clan as well as the scent of all their good cooking, and the vegetable and fruit gardens they had installed throughout the grounds. 

On moonlit summer nights, Bailey occasionally treated herself to long walks in the nearby park without any clothes. Reticent for the rest of her life, Bailey used words to say things that were thoughtful and deliberate.