Walking the aisles of her local Gemison’s supermarket, Jennifer would’ve been hard pressed to be overly critical of her invaders. Everything was… normal. Even elderly Mrs. Tillison was here, leaning her weight on the cart’s pushbar and moving at a glacial pace that caused everyone else to move around her. John had once told Jennifer about how the hounds, before they’d been re-educated, wanted to bring out death panels for people like Mrs. Tillison. The notion of evil government entities that would determine if people like the widow of a firebrand preacher at the local megachurch deserved to live was horrific in the way John described it. And yet, here she was: safe and sound. Were it not for the way Cole trailed behind her, always a handful of steps back and always visible over Jennifer’s left shoulder, it would’ve been any other day. Maybe they’d just not finished setting up the death panels. Socialists were always mired in bureaucracy, after all.

Jennifer swiveled her cart, causing the tires to squeak, and pressed her way over to the meat department. She stopped short as it came into view, shocked to discover that it had been picked almost entirely clean. Fury surged in her, and she spun to face Cole.

“What the hell is this?” She demanded.

Cole shrugged. “Hounds have certain… appetites.”

Jennifer folded her arms and straightened her spine, attempting to stand taller. That it’d had the effect of making her breasts look perkier was entirely unintended, though she caught the way Cole strained to keep eye contact with her. She’d seen this before with men who wanted to be “respectful” and not gape at her. The demure dresses she wore tended to not flatter her form, but she was well-endowed and with the right movements she could get any man to stare.

Not that that was what she wanted out of this. She didn’t want to get Cole to stare at her breasts as she talked. It was, simply, to prove to herself that Cole really was a man. Besides, she only did that to get John all possessive. But John wasn’t here, and Cole wasn’t staring at her tits. And the last thing she wanted in the world was some dog with delusions acting as if she were some object.

The thought made a traitorous blush creep into her cheeks. An object. It was how Sergeant had treated her earlier today. God, maybe she wanted Cole to stare at her tits after all. It’d mean that she was just as lecherous and monstrous as Jennifer believed her to be. And then she could call Cole out for— God, what was she thinking? No, she didn’t want to call out Cole. She didn’t want to see the way Cole would twist her words, or catch her flatfooted. She didn’t want any of the manipulation she was envisioning as she bite her lower lip, and let out a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan.

Jennifer gripped the shopping cart tighter and moved down the aisle. Veggie stir fry was fine. She didn’t need any meat.

• • •

As she found her way out to the parking lot a half hour later, Jennifer couldn’t shake the strange thoughts from her head. That Cole loomed over her left shoulder, a devil that was content to do nothing but stand there and smile at her, didn’t help. Jennifer surveyed the lot. There were enough people here that she could try to lose Cole; it’d be easy enough to give her the slip. Cole was big and bulky, after all. Her mind drifted to it the thought of her being chased by Cole through the cars in the lot. It’d be so easy to evade her. So easy to evade her until Cole pounced on her. Until Cole was on top of Jennifer, panting heavily. And then she’d feel that—

“Jennifer! Hey!” Jennifer huffed out a discontented growl at being interrupted from her thoughts of escaping Cole. She knew that voice. Kayleigh Smythe-Adams. Jennifer sighed, took a deep belly breath in and turned to face Kayleigh. The other woman was shorter than Jennifer, with hair the color of autumn wheat and a pear-shaped body. She wore what she always did — light wash jeans and a white button-up shirt with a dark colored cardigan over it — and held her venti sugar-free latte in one of her well-manicured hands. Her other hand rested on her empty shopping cart. She looked decidedly… her. Just like the supermarket, she was too regular for the invasion that’d occurred.

But being too regular didn’t mean Jennifer would abandon politeness and decency. This wasn’t New York City, or Chicago, or one of those other places. This was Shady Pines, Indiana. That meant you were nice to your whore neighbor that loved sucking hound cock, even if she betrayed you, your husband’s memory, and the very concept of goodness. What would Maisey do, after all?

“Kayleigh, hi! It’s so nice to see you!” Jennifer said, going in for a hug. But Kayleigh flinched and withdrew. Jennifer furrowed her brow. “Is… is everything okay, Kay?”

Kayleigh narrowed her eyes. “You’ve got one of those with you here. Are you sure it’s fine to…?”

The nerve. “Yes, it’s fine. Besides, from what I hear, you’re not unaccustomed to a hound being close to you.” The affront that played across Kayleigh’s face only made Jennifer more furious. “You didn’t think everyone would find out, Kay? That you’re a dirty traitor?” The cruelty was good. Jennifer needed to work out the painful knot of sickening feelings and thoughts plaguing her, somehow, and — if she couldn’t control her thoughts — she’d control Kayleigh’s actions. “Do the hounds like you because you squeeze your fat ass into those tight jeans? Or because you’re such a slut you gave in already? Is that why yours isn’t here? Already brought to heel, you fucking traitor?!”

The force with which Kayleigh sent the venti sugar-free latte hurling at Jennifer’s face wasn’t inconsiderable, which is why Jennifer was surprised to find that it didn’t touch her. Not a single drop. She opened her eyes to see that Cole had interposed herself between Jennifer and Kayleigh.

“Leave,” growled Cole. Kayleigh stumbled backwards and left without another word, abandoning her cart in her hasty retreat. Cole turned to face Jennifer, steam rising off of her from where the piping hot premium coffee beverage had made contact with her. The liquid clung to Cole’s tanktop, making it transparent, and Jennifer suddenly found the asphalt of the parking lot fascinating. “We should go.”

Jennifer nodded, trying and failing to suppress the flush in her cheeks.

When they got home, Cole didn’t bother asking if she could take a shower. Instead, she pointed down. “Help me take these off,” Cole said. The words suggested this was a request, but Jennifer understand from the tone that this was a command. Cole hadn’t bothered saying a word the whole way home. Jennifer couldn’t blame her. And if this helped forestall something worse, well… well, then that was the only reason Jennifer found herself on her knees, undoing the laces of Cole’s leather boots.

This close, the thrum was maddening. It did things to Jennifer’s mind. It had to be that. Whatever had been pressing against her mind earlier was now being more insistent. Fantasies spiraled through her mind of how rough Cole could be with her, how she could pull Jennifer over her knee and correct Jennifer’s horrific behavior from earlier today. Would Cole bother waiting? Jennifer was almost eye level with the hound’s groin. A few quick movements from Cole and she’d be no better than Kayleigh.

Somehow, even in the midst of feeling utterly out of control, Jennifer had managed to unlace Cole’s boots. She grasped one, feeling the worn leather underneath her hand. She could do so much if only Cole would ask her to. When Cole placed one of her large, soft hands on Jennifer’s shoulder, Jennifer felt a pleasant feeling of surrender wash over her. Yes, Cole was going to use her in ways that defiled the vows she’d taken as a good, married Christian woman, but at least this would all be at its end. How could she do anything but give in to a monster like Cole?

Cole pushed her back, gently, and moved past her. Jennifer blinked a few times, trying to recalibrate. Good God, what had she almost done? If not for Cole’s sense of propriety, Jennifer would’ve given into the shameful urges that had been plaguing her all day. And, if she was honest, she would’ve wanted every single minute of it. She looked down the hallway to see Cole linger in the doorway to the bathroom for a moment — just regarding Jennifer at a distance — before she slipped out of view.

Jennifer got back up, her knees shaking and blood thundering in her ears. She needed to just go lie down in her bed. Her bed that was down the same hallway, past the bathroom. Bracing herself against the wall, she moved slowly. She could do this. It was her house! Cole was an an intruder, someone unwelcome. So why did Jennifer want to be a good host and clean Cole’s clothes?

It was Jennifer’s fault, after all, that Cole had to endure the pain and embarrassment of getting that latte splashed on her. And Cole wasn’t in the habit of cleaning her own clothes. She knew that much from the stink that she’d had to mask with bottle after bottle of odor eliminator. This would serve another purpose, then: maybe Jennifer could domesticate the mutt a little. She’d show Cole that showering and doing laundry were the way someone was civilized.

Isn’t that what these hounds wanted, after all? To be civilized beings who had their humanity recognized? Then it was up to Jennifer to be a civilizing influence. That’s what women did for men. And Cole was a… well, she was a man, right? No matter what pronouns Cole used, or how much she’d modified her body, she was a man. The thing she’d felt belonged to a man.

Cole had left the door to the bathroom ajar. Her clothes sat in a neat pile on top of the hamper, folded with military precision and easily within reach. All Jennifer would have to do is stick her arm in, take the clothes, and go. But that wasn’t enough to do a load of laundry. She’d need to get all the towels from the hamper. That’s why she pushed open the door wider and stepped into the room. It wasn’t to catch a glimpse of anything. She needed the towels. She didn’t need to see the length and girth of what hung between Cole’s legs. She didn’t need to confirm that it was as big as she’d felt. She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Jennifer took the bundle of Cole’s clothes under one arm, and grabbed the handle of the hamper with her other. She was leaving.

Then she froze as a low moan issued from the shower. From Cole. Jennifer couldn’t stop herself from turning to look… and through the fogged glass of the shower door she could see the size and girth of Cole’s cock as the hound stroked herself. It had to be seven, eight inches long, and — based on the grip Cole employed — thick enough that not even Cole could close her hand around it.

She dropped the hamper and the clothes, and stripped off her dress.

Without overthinking it, without bothering to care what would happen to her, Jennifer stepped over to the shower.

Cole hoisted Jennifer up, then brought Jennifer down on her cock. She didn’t stop until Jennifer had hilted her.

“You’re fucking amazing,” Cole growled.

“Thank yooooou,” Jennifer mewled.

Cole pushed her up against the wall, effortlessly pistoning in and out as Jennifer felt her needs and wants narrow precipitously. In a few more moments, she’d orgasm. It’d be shameful. If she was really lucky, Cole would orgasm as well, filling her up with the child she and John could never manage to conceive. Terror didn’t pulse in her veins, though. Instead she felt calm. This was right. This was good.

Her hips bucked against the sheets of her bed, seeking contact and stimulation she knew would never greet her. She was alone, in her room, half-asleep. She’d left the bathroom in a panic, flustered and not knowing what she should do. Cole couldn’t be what she needed. It wasn’t proper. It wasn’t okay. It was a violation. And none of that stopped it.

She wanted Cole, and no amount of horrified despair — or penitent prayer — could stop what happened next.