[18+] When teasing incognito alien tourists, never joke that you’re actually a tranmogrified dog.  Some jokes don’t translate well.

Today’s story is the first of two parts of “Nuthin’ but a Houn’ Dog” by Earbender, who also calls himself Michael Bergey.  Earbender’s stories and webcomic “Ship’s Fox” are available on Furaffinity and Sofurry.  His magical trickster novel “New Coyote 2.0” is available for purchase on Amazon.com.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

This week's two-parter is an adult story for mature listeners.

If that's not your cup of tea,

or there are youngsters listening,

you can skip these

and there'll be new stories for you next week.

week.You’re listening to The Voice of Dog. I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

and Today’s story is the first of two parts of

“Nuthin’ but a Houn’ Dog”

by Earbender, who also calls himself Michael Bergey.

Earbender’s stories and webcomic “Ship’s Fox”

are available on Furaffinity and Sofurry.

His magical trickster novel

“New Coyote 2.0”

is available for purchase on Amazon.com.

Please enjoy “Nuthin’ but a Houn’ Dog”

by Earbender, Part 1 of

2 “You ain’t nuthin’ but a houn’ dog… aw-roooo Sniffen’ round nigh my back door…

aw-rowww You ain’t nuthin’ but a—” “Sir?”

Our cheapskate dawdle-watchers were angling for attention now but I pretended to ignore them.

Put a little money down, comrades, and you’ll get all the attention you want.

Why can’t they get that straight?

Elvis snapped his jowls shut and glared at the newcomers while I continued playing and

nudged my donation hat with a foot but—

“Sir? Excuse me, sir

—or should I call you Mr. Presley?

I love your music!

And is that a genuine houn’ dog howlin’ by your side?” I sighed

and set my guitar down,

resting it carefully on the new-mown roadside parkway strip

so I wouldn’t stain the faded crimson candy gloss finish.

Nice guitar, wonderful sound,

not so pretty as she was in her youth

but cheap. Cheap enough even

even for me to afford.

“Ahh… no,” I stalled, striving to focus my thoughts.

When I play I think of nothing else, and the transition back to normal conversation can be jarring.

If you wanna chat, dudes, can’t you at least let me finish the set, for pity’s sake?

Weird rubes, and I’ve seen some doozies,

couldn’t say just what it was.

Hair and faces and clothing just kind of…

off. There were two of them,

rudely staring at me,

alike as peas in a pod and

—no, not quite identical.

One had mustard stains on the front of his store-new blue bib overalls.

And a hat. Black-striped polyester tourist-crap abomination with the words “JAILHOUSE ROCK” in block letters across the front.

That’s the one who had stopped my playing.

Was he… er… she… er…

best to go with he for lack of a better word…

was he really unaware of just how annoying that is to a musician?

Never mind, doesn’t matter,

time to blow ‘em off and move along.

The Graceland security guards would be sending us packing soon in any case.

Elvis and I had chosen a busking spot outside their jurisdiction, on the public right of way,

but the guards had come scowling by twice already and their city-police buddies were surely on the move to pay us a call.

No matter, the afternoon was near-gone and the spot was worthless in any case.

Lots of cars came by but

few pedestrians, and my two cheapskates were the first to actually stop and listen.

Maybe the downtown bars would prove more welcoming to our offbeat man-dog Elvis impersonation routine.

I stared back blankly until Elvis nudged my wrist, reminding me of my manners

and giving me the bullshit inspiration I needed.

I shrugged and sighed,

then, clamping his head in my arm and scrunching his loose-skinned steel-gray-furred features into a silly hound-dog-ugly-mug-montage. I gestured theatrically with my free arm and proclaimed,

“This is Elvis.”

“But… that cannot possibly be Elvis Presley.

Elvis is human!” “Well

yes, he was, and I was his sidekick Lassie.

What a difference a day makes!”

“Really? Zeta-Mom never mentioned

—ow! Stop that Zorg…

er… George. I wasn’t doing anything!”

That was the mustard-stained one talking and the other one—Zorg—had shut him up by kicking his shin.

“You’re lying,” Zorg informed me, but his tone carried no conviction.

“That’s not what we were told, anyway.

Please explain yourself.”

“It’s a sad, sad tale, my friend,

too sad to tell without a bit of tangible assistance, if you catch my drift…”

I toe-nudged the tip hat again and my drift he did not catch, but I carried on with my story regardless;

wanted to see for myself how it would end.

“…we were on tour in the Crab Nebula, you see,

the revenant King of Rock and me,

his brain-boosted crowd-charming canine sidekick.

Our act caught on and

all was fine bloodwine and premium Taste-of-the-Tribble kibble ‘til we ran afoul of a gang of Andorian intellectual property smugglers who transmogrified us both

as punishment for reporting their evil deeds to the Gallifreyan Copyright Constabulary.”

“You mean Arcturian smugglers, right?”

prompted the mustard-stained one.

“Ziggy! Let the man tell his story!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Ziggy muttered

and… “Yeah, yeah, Arcturian,”

I agreed. “They wanted to record us without a proper contract and when we refused they got mad and transmogrified us both,

then signed on Max Headroom in our place.

That’s what hurt the most, you know. That dude can’t dance to save his virtual life!

Really if they’d offered us a square deal we’d have jumped on it in a heartbeat.

It’s all the same no matter where you go.

Why is everybody in the music business always trying to rip you off? It just

doesn’t make sense to—” “Wait!”

Ziggy squeaked. “Are you saying they transmogrified you?” “Well,

yeah…” “Without permission and against your will?”

“Hey mon, we’s jest a couple o’ lowlife two-bit earthlin’s, eh?

Aliens be messin’ wit us folk all de time an’ no one pay no mind.”

Ziggy puffed himself in righteous indignation and proclaimed,

“That’s not right!”

“Well, no…” “We need to fix it now!”

I toe-nudged the tip hat a third time and told him “Sure! Mr. Presley has sadly lost the gift of speech in this sad affair so on his behalf I willingly grant you permission

to rectify our sorry circumstances forthwith,

if’n you be so inclined.

We shall consider ourselves forever in your debt.”

“Ok, I’ll do it!” Ziggy reached in a pocket and brought out not money but a space ray gun, or something much like one,

complete with shimmer-sharp translucent lateral fins

and three viridescent glow-pulsing muzzle disks

and a bulgy twisted grip quite unsuited to the grasp of human hands.

No matter that last part; the hand that held it no longer appeared human at all.

It was four fingered,

and purplish pebble-scaled gray,

and one thick digit was squeezing firmly down on a bumpy blue nubbin that looked very much like—

“Ziggy stop! Where did you get that transmogrifier?” hissed Zorg, and, “Elvis

get back!” I yelled and, “Hroww--wow-wow!” bayed Elvis, ignoring orders and leaping valiantly to my defense. —the trigger. Green shimmering fire-glow encased us both, Elvis and I,

and… something happened to us,

I don’t remember quite what, and when my senses cleared I was lying on the grass, on my side,

and Elvis lay motionless on the grass beside me. Zorg and Ziggy were earnestly arguing, not far off.

“What were you thinking, Ziggs?

You can’t just go around transmogrifying random earthlings!

And is that a Microbrain Mark Four Thousand model?

Aren’t they like, a bazillion years obsolete?

I can’t believe that piece of crap worked at all!”

“Don’t be a thrig, Zorg. This thing’s a classic!

They just don’t make ‘em like this anymore.

Mark Four Thousand models are self-repairing so it’s in perfect working order and—” “No it’s not!

Look! It only changed one of them and

—Ziggy! Its eyes are open already!

Quick, change it back before—”

“Come on, Zorg! Why are you such a snaggy scale?

Of course it only changed one of them!

I was aiming at the two-legger and the other ran up and got caught in the beam. Er… hmm…

hope that didn’t contaminate the supragibberation buffers too badly…”

“Change it back, Ziggs! Before it gets away!”

“Er… I’m not sure if that’s—” “Change it back right now or I’m calling Zeta

-Mom!” “Zorg you wouldn’t!” “Try me. This is gonna blow up on us for sure and I’m tired of getting in trouble for stuff you did.

Where did you even get a transmogrifier, anyway? They’re

not exactly legal without—” “Alright, alright! Crest down, Sib.

I’ll change it back.”

“And don’t forget to wipe its memories!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. I’m not stupid you know.”

Ziggy aimed the transmogrifier at me and I thrashed sideways,

trying to get away.

Something wrong here, very wrong.

Legs not working right and…

not feeling right.

Not painful just…

weird. Not moving the way they should.

And that furry long tan thing—where my nose should be—was it a— Krraa-ZAK! Ziggy threw down the transmogrifier and hugged a tight-clenched alien hand close to his chest. “Screee-ssss-sthsss!”

he wheezed. “That hurt!”

—a dog muzzle? Sure looked like one.

And those weird-moving legs?

“Ziggy are you alright?

What happened?”

Er…yes. Dog legs. Definitely dog legs.

Reddish-tan and white and thick-furred like…

“I don’t know! I tried to reverse the polaridoodle and it just… kerfrabbled!”

… like a rough coated collie might have.

“I think its discomrumbulated too.”

A collie like… Lassie.

I thrashed again, and once again the legs moved at my command.

Awkward and uncertain but

definitely mine. And a tail,

yes, had one of those too and…

I looked down and saw white fur and

Lassie-style… that is, female-dog-style private parts between my legs.

I stared transfixed in shock

then strangely began to laugh,

voiceless doggy yip-laughter as a morsel of useless Hollywood trivia

suffused my transmogrified collie brain.

Nearly all the canine actors for Lassie’s role had been male,

in point of fact, but it seemed the transmogrifier’s data files were missing that small fact, or perhaps had not considered it relevant. Movement caught

my eyes and it was Elvis, rousing himself.

He leg-scrabbled twice, quickly caught his balance and rose to four feet,

looked around and muttered

“Wow. That was weird.

What happened?” “Yarp?”

I barked, but that’s not what I had meant to say.

I tried again and brought out a series of word-like click-whines but nothing more.

Zorg was sidling closer now,

bobbing his head

in a conciliatory sort of manner.

“Excuse us, earthlings,” he soothed,

“we’re having a bit of a technical malfunction but my hive-sib Ziggy will have it right in no time.

Please be patient and sit.

Stay.” Elvis curled his lips and fastened a hostile gaze upon the alien,

who shrank back in alarm and immediately began to back away.

“Ziggy!” he whispered,

“Do you have that thing working yet?

Please tell me yes.”

Ziggy was crouched low over the damaged transmogrifier, observing it intently.

He muttered “Give me a little time, Zorg!

This thing needs to complete its self-diagnostic and repair cycle before we mess with it again.”

“Zig we don’t have time!

I think the gray one’s gonna

—” —Bite. Ziggy skree-ed in shock as

sharp canine teeth sank home in his hind end

and Zorg thrust one hand deep in a denim overall pocket,

clearly searching for some device hidden there.

Was it a gun? Elvis was going to get us both killed if he kept up this

overprotective macho bullshit!

Always picking fights, he was, even with his testicles confiscated by the animal shelter where I found him.

I struggled to my feet,

or tried too, but that part still wasn’t quite working right.

I howled in panic and Elvis abandoned his attack,

releasing his bite

-grip and whipping around to comfort me while Zorg withdrew a small object from his pocket

and began to fiddle with it frantically.

Misty shining silver-grayness began to coalesce around him,

quickly spreading to encompass Ziggy as well,

and then the grayness flashed bright

and faded and they were gone,

leaving no trace of their visit save a smoking-hot overloaded transmogrifier on a scorched-black patch

of green summer grass.

And me. The new transmogrified me.

And my talking dog Elvis.

Quiver-snuffling dog whiskers caressed my ear

and I yelp-yipped, startled.

“Elvis?” I tried to say and—

“Boss is that you?” my hound dog whispered in quick reply,

as if he could read my thoughts.

“What happened to you?

Are you hurt? I never knew you could turn yourself into a dog!”

“Yap-yap-YIP-yap!” “What do you mean you’re not a dog?

Of course you are.

Cute bitch, too! Are you going to stay this way?”

He sniff-nuzzled my cheek fur and murmured

“That’s ok, if you want to.

You smell nice.” “Grarrgh!”

I snarled, thrashing again and

eventually achieving an adequate sort of four-footed balance.

It was not so hard when I didn’t think about it; as if my

body already knew what to do.

I tottered over to the damaged transmogrifier and looked down upon it.

The thing was emitting a soft resonant humming sound now,

and had begun to cool.

One side-fin was bent crooked

but straightened itself as I watched.

I lingered over it,

afraid to touch,

and gradually the transmogrifier’s hum faded to silence.

What now? Had the thing repaired itself?

Would the aliens be coming back soon to put all to rights?

Could we trust them if they did?

The aliens had said they’d be wiping my memories but how many? It would

be a shame to lose my recollection of these last few minutes but I could accept that, if they gave me my human form back…

but what if their memory wipe was less subtle and erased everything?

That would mean my death, or close enough not to matter,

and I’d seen nothing yet to instill confidence in their behavior.

As I hesitated the quiet grinding rumble of car tires on pavement caught my attention

and I looked up to see a police car slowing to a stop close by.

I watched frozen as a single officer stepped out,

cautious but unafraid.

No need to be concerned;

this was the most routine sort of call for him.

A couple of big dogs loose, yes,

but dogs don’t carry guns.

The officer reached in his pocket and tossed us two dog biscuits,

which Elvis and I ignored,

then he shrugged and turned aside to investigate my guitar, and my guitar case,

and my donations hat…

and the transmogrifier in its little patch of black-burned grass.

He stared down at it,

head cocked to one side,

then something about it must have spooked him because he backed off slowly and retreated to his patrol car,

clearly with the intent of calling for backup.

Time to go. No good could possibly come of a squad car feeding frenzy with us in the center of it. I sighed

goodbye to my guitar

and parted my jaws to carefully gather up the transmogrifier,

fearing all the while it would electrocute me or explode

with lethal gamma rays,

but still I was unprepared for the response I received.

“Greetings kind he/she/it!

Clearly you possess exceptional good judgement to be considering for purchase

Microbrain’s newest model Mark Four Thousand!

Among my many exceptional features are—” I dropped the thing and that astonishing banter-noise in my head grew silent.

Was it some sort of high-tech telepathic advertising babble?

Time was wasting so I took up the transmogrifier again and began to walk off with it,

trying my best to tune out the nattering thought-words filling my head.

The officer shouted “Wait!”

and I hurried away from him,

Elvis close by my side,

my gait wobbly at first but soon growing steady as I caught the hang of four-footed locomotion.

We sought concealment among cars in Graceland’s parking lot.

Sure were a lot of cars there for so late in the afternoon!

Some of them were quite expensive-looking.

We came upon a service alley and quickly skulk-trotted down along it,

finding refuge at last

in the narrow shaded space behind a cluster of recycling dumpsters.

I set down the transmogrifier and we huddled there panting for a time,

wondering if the hiding place was good enough.

Or rather, I panted there wondering if it was good enough.

Elvis seemed hardly concerned at all.

He was sniffing me eagerly from one end to the other and wagging his long thick club of a tail

and showing additional,

embarrassingly male-dog-style evidence of his approval of the new me. “Grauwwff!”

“Sorry Boss,” he said, sheepishly turning away,

and my jaws gaped in astonishment at my first clear hind-end view of him since his transmogrification.

Two large testicles now resided there, in the customary place between and behind his legs,

plump and heavy and dangling low now from the heat of the day. “Ki

-lyap?” I yipped. “Yes Boss?”

“Yiff!” “Boss that’s not funny.

It’s not my fault I was—”

Elvis grew silent,

a strange look coming over him,

then suddenly flopped down to investigate himself.

He sniffed and nuzzled

clearly astonished,

then turned back to me and yapped

“Thank you Boss! Thank you!

This is the nicest thing you’ve done for me since you took me from that animal shelter!

I didn’t want to complain but I really was missing those little buddies.

Wanna fuck?” I shrank back and yarfed

“No! That’s not what I meant!

You’re welcome to keep your nuts but you need a bitch in heat to use them on,

and I regret to inform you

I am not currently available for that position.

If that changes I’ll be the first to let you know.”

Elvis hung his head low and

looked woebegone as only a hound dog can,

his velvet-furred gray ears drooping limply down beside his cheeks.

“Yes, Boss. Sorry Boss.”

“Elvis I’m not mad at you!

I understand your feelings and I’ll see you have a fertile rump to hump as soon as I can manage it, but right now

we need to find those aliens or get the transmogrifier working for ourselves.

Give me a minute while I try to sort it out.”

I nosed the transmogrifier again

and once again it began its canned sales spiel:

“Greetings kind he/she/it!

Clearly you possess exceptional good judgement to be—”

I thought-grumbled

“Cut the hype, please.

I want to buy you already! Or rent you, or take you out for a free test drive. How do I do that?”

“Excellent! Excellent!

I am currently available on mark-down clearance special for thirty five million spacebucks minus

—excuse me he/she/it

but do you have the time, please?

And… er… the date? Ah, yes.

Never mind. I have it now. Minus a cumulative additional obsolescence discount of… fifty four million spacebucks.

A Microbrain sales-being will be with you…

excuse me but my host connections appear to be temporarily malfunctioning.

If you’ll be patient

I’m sure—” “Hmmpff! Do you want me to buy you or not?

I’m sure I can find a better—” “No! Please don’t go away!

If you’ll give me your galactic identification code I can allocate myself for your immediate use while these minor details are being worked out.

What is your code, please?”

“Aw, crap. Uh… forty two?”

Long silent pause and then

“Code not recognized,

but has been provisionally accepted pending confirmation by Microbrain financial officers.

Congratulations on your purchase of Microbrain’s

model Mark Four Thousand personal use home transmogrifier!

This sales contract is void where prohibited by local laws.

How may I be of service to you?”

“Really? That’s it?

Well… golly-gee let’s test you out!” I lay down prone on my belly and wedged the transmogrifier beneath a dumpster wheel so it was aimed at me.

I placed one forepaw over the firing button and rested it there,

gathering courage,

then I pressed down firmly

and ordered “Change me back!”

“I am sorry but I am not rated for self-transmogrification, and in addition your command is unclear to me.

Please specify back to what.”

“Back to the way I was!

You changed me just a few minutes ago!”

Silence from the transmogrifier then “All my supragibberation buffers are currently empty.

Have I been reset recently?”

“Er… yes. I suspect you were.”

“When I am reset to factory specifications all buffer contents are lost.

I am sorry but I do not currently possess the resources to implement your command.

Do you have a new or modified command for me?”

Lost! I whined softly and felt my ears pressing flat to my head in consternation.

I said “I… I’m supposed to be human!

Can’t you change me back at all?”

“I cannot directly replicate your previous form… but with the help of your companion

I can make you human easily enough.

Please direct him to clearly visualize the desired changes

and, with your prior express permission,

I will implement them at his command.”

“Elvis! Did you hear that?”

“I felt you thinking at the machine, Boss, but I

couldn’t quite catch what you were going on about.”

“Transmogrifier! Can you communicate with Elvis too?”

“Affirmative.” “Why didn’t you?

Are we in privacy mode or something?” “Affirmative.

Are you requesting an upgrade of your companion’s cognito-empathic sharing privileges?”

“Yes! And while you’re at it please authorize him

to make transmogrification changes as we just discussed.”

“Orders accepted.” I un-wedged the transmogrifier and nosed it over to Elvis.

I said “You saw how I pressed the button to activate this thing.

I want you to aim it at me

and visualize me as I’m supposed to be,

then press the button. Got it?”

“Got it, Boss. Aim, visualize you as you ought to be,

then press the button.”

I hunkered down and Elvis caught the device clumsily with both his forepaws,

and aimed it at me.

He looked me in the eyes

and sniffed the air nervously, hunched his shoulders,

then pinched his own eyes shut in concentration.

He pressed the firing button.

Unearthly green radiance suffused me

but I didn’t lose consciousness this time,

just felt hot deep

tingling sensations surge through me from head to tail,

especially strong in my belly and groin area.

And my nipples. They were tingling too.

So many nipples! The radiance faded

and “Transmogrification complete,” came the words in my head.

I was still a dog, as far as I could tell.

“Excuse me… something’s not right.

What’s the problem this time?”

“There is no problem.

As requested, I have implemented physical and mental changes to place you in a sexually receptive state.” “What

are you talking about?”

“Your companion ordered me to put you into heat.”

“What? Elvis! That’s crazy!

What the fuck were you thinking?”

I flopped over and roughly nosed myself down under,

finding rows of swollen pink exquisitely sensitive nipples poking out through milk-white soft belly fur.

Further down my y-shaped canine vulva was swollen too,

also pink and sensitive,

the inside slit slightly gaping and rich with the scent of…

well… me. A female dog in season.

How much of my old self did I have left now, anyway?

Lost my guitar and my voice and my humanity and…

oh yeah. My pecker too.

No longer possessed one of those, human or otherwise.

My new body was built to accommodate the gleeful rutting of some dog who did.

Some dog like Elvis, even!

That was not going to happen, of course.

Elvis could keep his lecherous fevered urges to himself…

and that sneaky knot thing in his penis base too.

I’d seen dogs mating and knew the drill:

Male dog slides in small then grows big and comes out…

later. When he’s good and ready.

No way was I going to let Elvis do a thing like that to me!

Still… I nuzzle-licked curiously then

shuddered, breath catching tight in my throat at the sudden rush of pleasure that brought me.

I forced myself to pull away,

sneaking Elvis an embarrassed glance to see if he had noticed my odd behavior.

Yup. Elvis had noticed.

Easy enough to tell that from the hungry look he was giving me

and the pointed red wet cock tip peeking out from his sheath.

So strange to be looked at that way!

To be ogled and lusted after…

by a dog!… and to secretly kind of…

that is sort of,

in a funny weird way to maybe…

like it. Elvis shimmied close

and whined “Boss what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted?

You said you wished you were in heat so you could mate with me and now you are! I think.” He smiled a wide hopeful hound-doggy smile and sniffed the air appreciatively and said

“You smell right, anyway!” “Arrghh!

Elvis that’s not what I meant!

When I promised you a rump to hump I didn’t mean MY rump!

I wanted you to visualize me as a proper

male human again, not your

personal furry sex-toy. But never mind,

we’ll just do it over.

Now take the transmogrifier and this time—”

We froze motionless,

hearts hammering at the sudden sound of casual laughter…

and the footsteps of two Graceland security guards sauntering near.

“Think they came this way?”

“Nah. If they did they’re not here now. No place to hide.” “How ‘bout

behind those dumpsters?”

“Could be, I suppose.

You gonna shove ‘em around to check?”

“No need for that.

This’ll drive ‘em out if they’re in there.”

I heard a loud hiss and gurgle…

then full-force water-nozzle spray arced overhead and bounce-cascaded down from the concrete wall behind us,

moving slowly sideways and drenching everything in its path.

Including us. Was the transmogrifier waterproof?

Probably, but I didn’t want to take a chance so I huddled over it, shielding if with my own shaggy dripping self

as estrus-wet-dog-smell

filled my nose and Elvis pressed himself wetly close, beside me.

The cold water was a shock at first

but then I became accustomed to it, and began to enjoy the refreshing coolness.

The day had been uncomfortably warm, after all.

Elvis and I crouched silent and unmoving together while the nozzle spray splashed here and there,

and at last gurgled to a stop.

Idle gossip-voices from the guards

carried on a bit longer,

then they ended too

and all was silent in our cozy little service alley cul-de-sac.

Timid muzzle-snuffle in my ear and Elvis whispered

“Think they’re gone yet?”

“Probably, but we should stay quiet here a bit longer.

No need to take unnecessary risks.”

“Ok.” Elvis snuffled my ear again and shyly kiss-tickled it,

his tongue-tip sending sudden

astonishing pleasure-tingles down my spine.

How could a simple ear tickle feel so damn good?

I stretched my neck for a better angle and

rumble-growled in bliss at the sensation

while Elvis worked his blunt muzzle slowly backward, behind my ear,

licking and nibble-grooming the sodden fur there.

Shouldn’t be letting him do that but it’s just an ear, and he’s enjoying it so.

How can you go wrong with an innocent little ear-nibble?

Playfully I thought to him “Elvis!

Are you trying to seduce me?”

Elvis jerked back

and yelped “Boss no!

I was just trying to—”

“Puppy don’t you fuss,” I laughed, slipping my narrow muzzle up to

nuzzle his own soft drooping ear.

“I was just teasing.

There are songs about dogs like you!

Oh don’t you feel my ear,

don’t you feel my ear.

Cos if you feel my ear you’ll soon be at my rear…”

Crap! What am I saying?

I’m taking this transformation business far too casually!

Shouldn’t I be stressing out or throwing an angst fit or something?

Has the transmogrifier messed up my head somehow?

It did mention something about ‘mental changes’…

but we’ll put that right soon enough.

In a minute. I nibbled down Elvis’ neck and tingle-shuddered with him,

in some strange way feeling the nibbles too.

His pelt was drip-trickling and loosely draped over corded muscle and he smelled

really… nice.

Rich and funky-male and good enough to eat.

Or roll on. I had never felt the urge to roll on a wet dog before!

Had the transmogrifier put that thought in my head too?

Not a problem; I should be able to keep it under control.

I’d be changing back to human soon,

and as long as Elvis stayed away from my hind

end I had nothing to worry about.

And… shouldn’t I be working on that right now?

A proper dog-to-human transmogrification command, that is?

The guards had to be gone by now and…

never mind, we’d get around to it and… and

what if I did let him nose about back there?

Elvis was burning for me, I could feel it,

and after all what was the harm?

Couldn’t quite fathom what had seemed so wrong before.

I rose to my feet and moved away from the transmogrifier,

then stood tall on my toes

and shook great splatting sprays of excess water from my fur.

Elvis quickly followed and shook himself too,

his short fur producing not nearly so much water,

then his tail was wagging furiously and he was gleefully sniff-bumping me from one end to the other in that silly way dogs have,

and especially male dogs.

I stood still for him

relishing the sensation, entranced by it,

my tongue tip flicking restlessly over nose and teeth and lips.

He sidled round and sure enough,

his nose was questing near my hind end now.

I jerked away from him and he followed quick as lightning,

ending up closer than he had been before.

I jerked again but ran out of room to move,

one hip pressed hard against the concrete wall,

and I left it there.

Elvis had turned so his flank was near my head now,

and I took the opportunity to sniff it curiously.

My transformation had made me smaller

and we were near the same size now,

Elvis heavier but slightly shorter than my new form.

I rested my chin across his rump

and he swung it towards me,

pressing up against my chest

and flipping his tail aside like a heat-drunk female dog would do.

Yip-laughing I snagged his thighs

and climbed on top like a male dog would,

pulling him close and humping myself up hard against him.

No throbbing cock between my legs to rudely poke him with, but the hip-thrusting and hugging movements felt nice anyways.

I leaned forward to nuzzle-nip his neck

and yipped “Take that, you horny horndog!”

Elvis held himself still for me, smiling,

as I bumped him playfully at first

then gripped him tighter,

whimpering in shameless eagerness,

my mind all at once afire with lust

and my bitch mound tingle-twitching with the desperate need to be touched.

I curled my hips straining upward with

each thrust and felt his testicles pressing close against my groin…

but my vulva lips were located further back

and I couldn’t… quite… couldn’t quite manage to make contact with him in that more intimate way I now craved.

I growled in frustration and jumped down from him,

whipping round and flirting my tail to one side in the most blatant possible female-dog way.

Really now! Shouldn’t I at least pretend to be reluctant?

Guess not. My blood was boiling with lust now

and the gift of subtlety quite lost to me.

Elvis was not subtle either.

Hardly had I braced myself when his weight was coming down on me,

his forelegs hooking tight around my thighs.

I felt a probing touch,

off target at first then— “Yoww

-huh!” My legs seized stiff in helpless pleasure

as Elvis struck true and twitched in deeper,

eagerly exploring the yielding slick cleft he’d found.

Without volition my tail kinked harder sideways

and I whimpered softly,

pushing back against him as each tiny slithering stab he made sent sweet electric pulses quivering up my spine.

Oh, crap what am I doing?

What is Elvis doing to me?

How can I have something moving inside me like this?

So blissful-strange to feel him sliding within me beyond my control,

stretching me to fullness as he grew larger with each thrust;

my new body built to let him in with no option existing to push him out now if I changed my mind.

Elvis whined and thrust harder,

faster. He was all the way in me now, clutching tight and hammering like a mad thing,

lean-muscled haunches

built to fit the curve of my backside

and pressing close there now balls-deep.

That feeling of fullness grew tighter

and Elvis yip-whimpered in a rutting frenzy,

his frantic strokes growing shorter

as the knot in his penis base distended to full size

and locked us tight.

Elvis pulled back to test his tie and Howww-lwowll!

How that sudden knot-tugging sensation rolled through me!

I growled and squeezed him tight

and through our link shared his rapture-gasp as my own.

I felt the wild lunge of his hips driving forward,

the growing sweet tension searing through him with each stroke.

I felt him rise to frenzied climax, unstoppable now,

felt his balls pulling tight against his groin,

felt them clench at last and pump their gift of thin hot hound dog spunk gleefully outward, and downward, into the gorgeous

heat-crazed collie bitch beneath him.

Into me. I felt his release with my own body too, felt his short bucking joy-jabs and the twitching ecstatic shock of his semen spurting deep,

as deep as it could go, pushed on

to my own climax by the intimate tickling flow of it.

My back arched quivering and body clenched in helpless spasms around that thick knot within me,

delicious tingle-flashes surging up my spine

and pouring hard-wired into my brain.

Those feelings possessed me overwhelming all thought,

I’m not sure how long, but at last I came down from my high dazed and confused,

panting harsh deep

rasping pants. Slowly my wits returned but my climax in a strange way went on,

hump-stretched muscles within me

flutter-squeezing without volition,

gently drawing deeper the sperm still jetting out from him pulse

by slow sweet never-ending pulse.

Elvis began to fidget and then stepped down from me in that strange compulsive way male dogs have.

Our tight-cramped hideaway made that job harder for him but he worked it out with just a few sharp stumbling tugs.

Comfortable and sorted out at last we stood together still stuck tight,

tails intertwined,

both still twitching rhythmically

in blissful ongoing canine climax.

After a time I pushed myself sensuously back against him

and crooned “My momma done tol’ me,

when I was a puppy…”

Elvis pushed back too,

and countered “My momma done tol’ me, hun…”

“A dog gon sweet-talkyeah!”

“An tickle yer tail high,”

“But when that tail-twistin’s is done…”

“A dog is a two-face!

He just wants a fling,”

“Gets stuck with his thing

Inside… You so tight!”

He tugged back playfully and I yipped

“Elvis! That’s really good!

When did you learn to make lyrics like that?”

“Boss haven’t you noticed yet?

I’m still Elvis but I have some of you in me too.

Quite a lot, actually.

Did you know that I know that when you were ten years old you scratched a hole through the drywall in the back of your bedroom closet so you could spy on your mother when she was dressing?

And right away she saw the plaster dust on her side and had a word with you about it?”

“No! Elvis don’t you ever tell that to anyone!

Ever.” “Your wish is my command, Boss.”

This was the first of two parts of

“Nuthin’ but a Houn’ Dog”

by Earbender, read for you by Khaki,

your faithful fireside companion.

Tune in next time to find out

how you can’t keep a good dog down,

and the naughty ones are even worse.

Watch out, universe!

As always, you can find more stories on the web

at thevoice.dog,

or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Thank you for listening

to The Voice of Dog.