“You’d make a good sheepdog.”

Canni barely registered the words for a second. They made so little sense for where they were and who was speaking them.

Canni had the little sheepgirl pinned against the rock. The wifwolf’s fangs were bared. The rest of the flock had already fled, with a chorus of adorable screams that only served to build the cocktail of arousal and hunger inside Canni’s pounding predator heart.

It was a full moon, and Canni was hunting. Canni was hungry.

And once this sheepgirl was fully paralyzed by the fear which Canni’s scent would be pumping into her, Canni would submit to the moon’s light and shift forms, and the rest would be a blur of wonderfully sated needs, and...

But the sheepgirl wasn’t paralyzed. She was wriggling slightly in discomfort, but that was because Canni's left hand was tugging at a few stray locks of her curly white hair. And she hadn’t lost that calm, sleepy smile.

The words finally registered with Canni, and the wolfgirl gave a short laugh. “A sheepdog? Is that what you think?”

She licked her lips, breathing in the sheepgirl’s scent—but there still wasn’t a whiff of of terror from this creature. The sheepgirl smelled nice. Sweet and floral, likely from the wild roses stuck in her fluffy wool. But not that nice, heady prey-scent Canni was used to.

“Mm-hm.” The sheepgirl squinted. She tugged her head slightly to pull those stray locks clear, making the bell on her collar jingled faintly. “I think you’d be really cute.”

The little creature was delirious. Canni smirked. She leaned forward, pressing her whole body against the sheepgirl and letting the sheepgirl feel hot breath against her ear. “Oh? Is that so?” She needed the sheepgirl to feel the helplessness, the hopelessness of her situation. Canni was stronger. Faster. And she had this girl pinned. Once that sank in, it would all be over, and the fun part could begin. “You want something like me protecting your flock, little lamb~?”

She felt the sheepgirl shiver, and briefly, she felt triumph, she felt that hunger both sated and whetted—

—and then she realized it was because she was pressing very tightly, and with the sheepgirl's squirming...

Her breath caught as the sheepgirl wiggled those wide hips against her… lap

“Mm-hm~” The sheepgirl’s head slipped forward slightly, over Canni’s shoulder, and she gave a delicate giggle. “I can tell that that's all you really want. Isn’t it?”

Now Canni was suppressing an instinctive shiver. The sheepgirl’s soft, wispy voice right in her sensitive ear...

She growled, pulling back. “What I want,” she rasped, feeling a strange need to explain herself, “is to devour.” Be afraid. Be afraid. Be afraid.

“Oh.” The sheepgirl gave a cute little yawn. She was still smiling. “But we have food we could share, silly. The farmers and hunters bring us offerings every week. They could bring meat, too.” Her lashes fluttered. She had such dark, thick, heavy lashes. They stood out against the perfect silvery white of her luscious curls. “Stag. Boar. Rabbit.” She giggled slightly, gyrating her hips. Grinding. Fuck, if she kept doing that, Canni was going to start getting… “And you know, we would looove to share it all with our big, strong sheepdog. “Fat roast suckling pigs. Plump, happy hens.”

Canni’s breath caught. She realized she was drooling, and her face reddened as her mouth snapped shut. How long had it been since her last meal? How long had it been since she’d had something like…

Her grip around the sheepgirl’s wrists tightened, and she leaned in, glaring right into those soft golden eyes. “You think you can bribe me to spare you, pet? I’m not some domesticated lapdog, you spoiled little morsel.”

The sheepgirl’s eyes glimmered. She leaned in slightly, licking plump pink lips.

Those lips brushed Canni’s. “You could be~”

There was a new familiar scent hanging around the sheepgirl, joining with the wild rose sweetness, and it made Canni’s head spin. But it wasn’t fear. It was… it was…

The sheepgirl bucked and ground her hips against Canni’s, and Canni suppressed a whimper at the little throb that sent shivers of unwanted pleasure through her body.

Something was off. Her heart was pounding—not with predator adrenaline now, but with instincts of fight-or-flight. This was wrong. Somehow, this was dangerous. No more playing with the food. She needed to finish it now. Canni focused her mind on that hunger, on the burn of the full moon at her back, willing the transformation to take hold, to…

The sheepgirl leaned forward, that stupid bell giving a distracting jingle as she squished up against Canni. Fuck, her whole body was so unbelievably soft. Her plush curves, her fluffy, silky wool… no, focus, focus…

Her lips brushed Canni’s ear. Canni froze. The connection wavered…

“You really want to hurt your little lamb?” the sheepgirl whispered, her voice practically a purr.

And she ground her hips and kissed Canni wetly on the cheek. A soft moan slipped past Canni’s lips.

A shadow swept over them, and the connection snapped.

Canni’s eyes widened. A damn cloud! Not now! She fought frantically to recapture that feeling, to recapture the moon’s glow—

“You don't want that.” Grind. Canni lost the thread again. “You actually wanna be…” A lazy yawn. Canni searched for the connection, grabbed hold. “… my good little puppy, actually. Pretty puppy. Silly puppy.” Another wet kiss. The thread snapped a third time.

And Canni panicked. She let go of the sheepgirl's wrists and stumbled away, panting, searching for an exit. The scent was everywhere. Fuck, it was all over her now. She couldn't get away from it. Her head was spinning.

And now the little sheepgirl was advancing on her, giggling, and Canni felt herself freezing up. She stared helplessly at the sheepgirl’s tits as they slowly wobbled and jiggled. The sheepgirl wasn’t even in a hurry. Throb. Throb. No, no, this was—this was wrong—

“Be good for me, Puppy,” the sheepgirl cooed, and she wrapped an arm around Canni's waist and pulled her back in, back into that soft silky fluff, back to grinding against Canni’s throbbing girlcock—no, no, there was too much of that wonderful scent, Canni couldn't move—the sheepgirl was kissing her neck, now, soft, warm kisses, and Canni was moaning aloud— “I’m going to domesticate you. And it’s going to be easy.”

“N-No,” Canni whined, but her head was sinking, that jingling bell kept scattering her thoughts, and the sheepgirl’s sweet scent was drugging her, dizzying her, and the sheepgirl’s softness made her feel so… so…

“Sleepy puppy,” the sheepgirl cooed, kissing her on the cheek. “Silly puppy. So sleepy for your little lamb.”

“N-Nnggh...”

“You must be so tired of being a big, scary predator,” the sheepgirl murmured, reaching up to take both of Canni’s wrists in her hands. She was slowly turning Canni around. Guiding her up against the rock. Pinning her. Straddling her hips and grinding mercilessly. “Feared. Alone. Hungry. Tired~”

Tired.

Tired.

“A-Aah—” Canni tried not to yawn. “N-nn...”

Tired. She was so tired. The sheepgirl’s words were slithering in deep, activating something deep and buried that Canni had forgotten was even there. A sense of… wrongness. No. No, stop—

“No soft, cozy bed,” the sheepgirl whispered, nuzzling Canni's ear. “No tasty treats for being a good girl.” She licked Canni's neck, then kissed it gently. “No snuggles and cuddles and headpats.”

“Ggh—” No, no, that would be humiliating, she wouldn’t… oh…

Memories flickered. Beds. She’d had a real bed once. Cooked, seasoned meals. No, this... stop... stopstopstop…

“No pretty collar,” the sheepgirl purred, grinding her hips rhythmically, forcing the moans and whimper and whines out of her unwilling prey, “and no pretty little lamb to pamper her… praise her… and let her breed her again and again and again.” She rose up on her tiptoes and smirked, cupping Canni’s chin. “Until that little lamb has her silly, broken, lovesick little puppy eating from her hand~”

“A-Aah…” A yawn slipped out. Canni couldn’t hold it back. Her eyelids were drooping. “I… um…”

“Gooood girl.” Grind. Kiss.

“G-Good...” Canni humped stupidly. “I—a-ah...” She yawned again. “Nno, um...”

“Gooood sheepdog~” Grind. Kiss.

“Goood…” Canni yawned, drooling. She was so horny. She needed to grind faster, to hump her little lamb like—like a dumb bitch in heat—but she was so sleepy, and the pretty sheepgirl was holding her so gently, so warm, so soft…

“Gooooood pet~”

Other sheepgirls were coming nearer. They weren't afraid of Canni anymore. Canni wanted to feel humiliated at that, feel outrage that would drive her to resist and escape and punish them all, but… but she was so tired, and more than that, more than anything, she wanted…

She yawned and let her head be guided to nuzzle the crook of her little lamb’s neck. She keened softly, humping, eyelids drifting lower… she felt something being fastened around her neck, and it felt so right…

“Good Puppy.” The sheepgirl released her wrists and stroked her hair gently. They were surrounding her. Pressing in. Cuddling. Snuggling. Giggling. “Who’s a gooood sleepy sheepy-puppy for her sweet little lamb?~”

Canni drooled and giggled as her eyelids closed. The last thing she heard was her happy, bubbly response. A sound she’d never in a thousand years dreamed she would make for anyone.

“Arf!”

* * *

Canni’s ear flicked in annoyance.

She rolled over and buried her face into her nest, covering her head with a pillow. The brook’s babbling was higher-pitched than usual for some reason, the rain was hitting the roof of her den much louder than it was supposed to, and someone… someone was humming. It was obnoxious. She wanted to find whoever it was and tear their throat out, but more than that, she just wanted to sleep.

Wait.

Her body flexed experimentally. She’d slept funny, and her arms both felt asleep. Her weary mind ticked slowly towards a realization.

Since when did she have a pillow?

And since when was her nest this soft?

Her eyes shot open.

She wasn’t in her den. She wasn’t in the forest at all.

Canni was lying atop a soft mattress, curled up awkwardly within a nest of blankets and throw pillows. The rain was striking the tiled roof above, and the sounds of humming and splashing water were coming from the other room.

Her heart started pounding. She looked around. Nothing here was familiar. She was in a home. She was in someone’s home. It was a bedroom—a child’s bedroom, she guessed, based on the size of the mattress and the whimsical drawings of flowers and butterflies on the walls. Someone had painted a mural of the night sky across the ceiling.

Memories were filtering in now. Bad memories. The sheepgirl who wouldn’t run. The scent. The—the grinding, oh, fuck, that was why her shorts felt sticky—

Her gaze shot to the window. It was small, but she could fit through it. She bounded for it, heart pounding, head spinning. Had to get out. Had to run, now. She’d get revenge later, she told herself, shame roiling angrily in her gut. On all of them. She would tear this flock apart. But she needed to. Needed to run first. Run. Run.

The window wasn’t locked. Thank Saint Artemis. She slammed it open and swung one leg over.

“Hi~!”

Canni went still. Her tail swished.

With dread rising in her heart, the wifwolf looked up.

Three sheepgirls were lounging right by the open window. They wore cute low-cut sundresses—one dress pink, one blue, and one snowy white to match its wool trim. They each had a delectable-smelling baked treat in hand, which they’d clearly been nibbling on until now. And they were all smiling up at her.

“Where are you off to?” asked the speaker, a blonde with big blue eyes and particularly large curved ram’s horns. Her lips quirked. She was unusually tall for a sheepgirl, although still well under Canni’s height.

But as the wind carried the three sheepgirl’s floral perfumes into the room with Canni, Canni picked up another scent. This one was utterly unfamiliar to her, but she immediately knew what it had to be.

It was the smell of fear.

And it was hers.