A few hours later, there came a knock at the door. Jennifer was relieved. The mongrel had taken its leave from the couch to feast from her fridge. ‘At least it knew how to clean a plate and leave it in the dish rack,’ she groused to herself. Briefly, she considered whether it being a hound meant it’d licked the plate clean. Something about the imagery left her unsettled and rattled, like her nerves were too full of energy and needed to move.

Which is why she yanked the front door open with too much gusto, and let out a terrified scream upon seeing the hound standing next to Eileen. She stumbled backward, unsure if the thundering noise was her own heart pounding in her ears or the dog clamoring through the house. All she knew was that one moment she’d been alone in the foyer, and the next her back was pressed against what felt like the metal of its exoskeleton.

“It’s okay,” it said, the words uttered in a low and placating tone. For a moment Jennifer believed it’d said nothing, and that she’d just been hearing that strange, almost clicking hum from its cybernetic enhancements. The hum was nice, this close up. Calming. She felt so calm. It was only after the hound continued to speak that Jennifer realized it was saying words: “It’s just the Sergeant and your friend.”

It was only when she felt the warmth of the hound’s hands on her shoulders that it clicked: the hound wasn’t wearing the armor. The firmness Jennifer felt as she pressed into the hound was taut, rippling muscle, but there was also a strange softness pillowing around her head. Breasts. It had breasts, and they felt real. As real as Jennifer’s own. Which was good, because otherwise it’d have meant that she was pressed tight against a gallant man who’d comforted her after a scare. Her protector lingered for just a moment longer and then retreated, but not before she felt— it couldn’t have been— even a dog wouldn’t be so indecent as to—

No. It was her mind being overactive. She hadn’t felt that press against her. It hadn’t felt warm. She couldn’t still trace its phantom outline against the small of her back as she sat with Eileen in her living room, all those minutes later.

…What were they talking about?

“So, Kayleigh, you remember Kayleigh?” Eileen said, her question entirely rhetorical as she barreled onward. Ah. Local gossip. “Turns out she’s been…” Eileen glanced around and leaned forward. Their captors had retreated to John’s study, but rumors of their augmented hearing meant you couldn’t be too careful. Jennifer appreciated Eileen’s discretion as she mouthed, “boning” before continuing “with, y’know…” and gestured to the study.

“What?!” Jennifer spluttered, doing her best to focus on the facts and not the images racing through her mind of strong arms and taut muscle and what she certainly, definitely, probably hadn’t felt. Jennifer squeezed her thighs tighter against her hands, trying to focus on the somatic grounding techniques that were supposed to keep her present. Instead, it just made her wince. The size of it, the girth of that c— “T-That’s disgusting!” Jennifer said, voice sharp and loud. She wasn’t sure if she’d meant the rebuke for Kayleigh’s actions, or her own racing thoughts.

Eileen shushed her. “Jennifer! Keep your voice down, or ‘they’ will hear you!” The mean-spirited jab at these invaders’ pronouns from Eileen was a welcome splash of cold water on her libido. It didn’t matter if she had thoughts, which she didn’t, because what was she supposed to do: act on them and face the scorn and mockery of her friends and neighbors for laying with a transgender? She would sooner rot in Hell… which she would if she chose the wicked path of sodomy. Still, as the heat cooled she was left aware of how wet she’d become. If she stayed here any longer, there was the chance she’d leave a stain on the fabric of the armchair. Cream on cream.

Jennifer didn’t want to know why the vile words had popped into her mind. She’d heard that these hounds had been subjected to subliminal hypnotics. Was that the low, grinding pulse that seemed to emanate from the creature? Had it been trying to turn her, as she’d heard from the news nets that lesbians were always scheming to do? Hah! As if!

“As if what?” Eileen asked.

Oh Lord, she’d said it out loud. Jennifer’s heart pounded fast in her chest. “As if I would, um… care! About ‘their’ precious hearing!”

Eileen nodded, her eyes gleaming with what Jennifer could only read as pride. “You’re so brave to defy ‘them.’”

There. An opening. With it, Jennifer stood. “Yes! I am, Elle! In fact, I’m going to go tell ‘them’ to stop rooting around John’s study. If ‘they’ want to talk, ‘they’ can talk here!” She took a moment to smooth out her dress, using the opportunity as cover to give a quick glance down to the seat of the armchair. No wet spot. Good. As she went to withdraw, she swore she heard Eileen let out a stifled laugh. Probably laughing at her own pronoun joke. Eileen was like that.

She stole down the hallway and found herself standing outside her late husband’s study. He’d been such an odd man sometimes, shut up in there for hours “researching”. She didn’t claim to understand his appetites, but she was glad he had an outlet for them that didn’t involve her. And he went to the Tillison megachurch every Sunday, always seeking penance for when the mood would grip him. The image of her at his desk, her in his place, pressed itself against her consciousness. What if it had been her “researching” these foul, stinking interlopers?

Would she have been quite judgmental?

She leaned closer to the door to the study, which had been left partially ajar. She could go in, yell at them both. Except… what if they go violent? What if they both tore at her clothes, and stripped off her underwear, and took turns using her again and again as she writhed in pain? What if she tried to escape and she couldn’t, instead just having to endure being used like some obscene toy for the two of them? That would be…

“She’s a priority target, Cole.” The words, said by Eileen’s ‘Sergeant’, broke Jennifer of her… was it a daydream if it felt like it would presage the death of everything she had been? “You have to keep her safe… and that means getting her food,” Sergeant continued. They were discussing Jennifer like she was a prized piece of statuary or some other plunder. Disgusting. It was disgusting, wasn’t it? To be the prize of that… thing in there?

“I understand, Sergeant,” answered Cole. ‘Cole’. What a monosyllabic name. Brutish. But she had a name.

“We better get back before too long. Lord know what those two cissies might get up to if left alone,” Sergeant said.

Cissies?! The word rankled everything inside of Jennifer. Unbelievable. They! They were the ones who were— Whatever outrage she’d been whipping up was cut short, though, as the door to the study opened. Sergeant stared down at her, and Jennifer had never felt so much like meat. Like prey. Like something to be devoured by a predator with sharp teeth.

“Well, well…” Sergeant said, her countenance wicked and lupine. “Speaking of~”

Sergeant grasped Jennifer’s arm, hard enough that Jennifer was worried that it’d leave a bruise. Even at arm’s length, Jennifer could hear that grinding, pulsing thrum. Sergeant’s sounded different to Cole’s, though. There was something mixed into the mechanical clicking, like the sound of a knife cutting through muscle. John had told Jennifer all about how they needed to amplify the hounds’ healing factor… he’d just never told her why. If the woman before Jennifer hadn’t looked as if she was keen to devour her, Jennifer would’ve felt a pang of sadness at the way she’d been treated. Before Sergeant could flex her rippling muscles and yank Jennifer into the room, however, Cole was there. She put her palm on Sergeant’s bicep, and leaned in close to whisper in Sergeant’s ear. Whatever Cole said must’ve done the trick because Sergeant released Jennifer.

“You’d better be right about this, Cole,” Sergeant said, pushing free from Cole’s loose hold and leaving the study. Jennifer watched Sergeant go, and then waited a few beats longer still — until she could no longer hear Sergeant’s footsteps retreating down the hall — before she turned to address Cole.

“Right about what?” Jennifer asked, nerves still a jangled mess.

Cole drew a step closer, the mechanical tones emanating from her implants sounding like a beautiful symphony orchestra compared to Sergeant’s. It calmed her. “We’re going shopping for groceries,” Cole answered.

“Oh.” It was all Jennifer could manage. “Well… okay, then,” she added before turning to leave. She stopped when Cole cleared her throat. Annoyed, Jennifer turned to face Cole. “What, Cole? What could you possibly—”

“You might want to change your dress,” Cole said, stepping closer. She leaned down, making sure to brush her lips against the shell of Jennifer’s ear. The warmth of Cole’s breath made Jennifer’s pulse jump. “You’ve got a stain on the skirt.” Jennifer’s heart slammed into overdrive as her hands grasped at the fabric of her skirt. “How did… you…” She tensed her jaw as the realization that she was being fucked with dawned on her.

She shoved Cole away and beat a path toward the front door, ignoring the way she’d let her gaze dip down from Cole’s smug smile to her taut abs. It was nothing. And besides: she had groceries to get.