Chapter 7

Day 16

We had spent yesterday backtracking to farms farther away from the mountains. We weren’t sure if any farmer to date had been alarmed at the loss of any stolen articles—things were always being misplaced, and “there’s a Runaway slave from the breeding pens breaking into our homes” would not be the first idea to spring to local minds. But I was uncomfortable with the idea of setting out in plain sight to the mountain trail carrying stolen articles right in front of the farmers we’d stolen them from.

Now I crouched behind a bush, peering through its branches at the tiny figure of Runner on the outskirts of the chosen farm. I took in a quick breath, my heart pounding. Runner was backing toward me, bent over. I couldn’t see around Runner, but I assumed ... yes, there she was. A doggirl was following Runner’s slow retreat, obviously interested in the bite sized chunks of meat and peaches Runner was holding out for her.

My guess was that the dogs were always kept a little hungry during their working hours. That way they’d be feeling cranky—and less tolerant of slaves getting out of line. Hungry dogs might be more motivated to bite a recalcitrant slave’s leg. At least, that was my hunch, based on the behavior of the dogs who had menaced me until Runner had rescued me. In any case, this dog did seem to want the food Runner was offering her.

As the doggirl came closer, I saw she had light brown hair, slightly curly, in the very short style common to all slaves on the island. Instead of a metal collar like mine, she had a buckle-on leather dog collar, with no lock. A dogl has neither the physical ability nor the inclination to remove her collar, I realized. She had leather booties on her feet—all four of them—just like the other dogs I’d seen. She had a pretty face, and seemed to be 100% mainlander blood. I couldn’t see any hint of the islander genes so dominant in Runner. She looked like any teenager I might pass at the mall, laughing with friends, walking fully dressed on two legs rather than trotting naked on all fours. She was about Runner’s age, and had probably been working at the farm a very short time. I had suggested Runner try to attract the youngest dog he could find. I hoped that the most recent additions to the farm’s “staff” might not have had time to bond with other dogs and be unwilling to leave. I also hoped that a newer dog would be more susceptible to the behavior-modification we were about to try.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. So much depended on what happened in the next few minutes. And it wasn’t without its own danger.

When Runner and the doggirl were within about twenty feet of me, I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to move. I rose to my feet from behind the bush that had hidden me.

The doggirl saw my unexpected movement. She froze and glared at me, baring her pointed teeth. A low growl came from the back of her throat. Obviously I had no business being here, so far beyond the farm’s outer boundaries, and the doggirl was determined to correct the situation.

The doggirl barked twice, and I was amazed again at how authentic the sound was. Of course, as high-pitched as it was, it was really the bark of a dog much smaller than the doggirl. But slaves here had no basis for making that comparison, and it was a threat to any slave.

We were far enough from the farm that normal conversation wouldn’t be audible from there. But prolonged barking would be heard and investigated. We had planned for this. Runner knelt quickly beside the doggirl and said sharply, “Stop!” It worked. I assumed that doggirls were trained to obey anybody wearing clothes, and that they would understand a variety of simple verbal commands. Something as simple as “Stop” could hardly fail to be one of them. The doggirl quieted, though she continued growling softly.

Runner offered the doggirl some more bits of sliced peaches. While she was licking the treats out of Runner’s hand, I picked up the vest from the pile of clothes beside me and began dressing. The vest was the one Runner had given me last week, and it was now supplemented by the standard floppy hat and a pair of leather shorts.

As I finished, I saw that the doggirl was looking at me with the first completely intelligent expression I had seen on any dog, one of pure puzzlement.

Beside the doggirl, Runner began undressing—dropping the hat, kicking away his moccasins, dropping his shorts, and shrugging out of the vest.

The doggirl looked helplessly back and forth between Runner and me. Runner seemed to befuddle her—the bearer of delicious snacks, previously accepted as a Master, now standing there as naked as any slave. The doggirl made an uncertain “rff” sound, trying to process a situation that her training didn’t cover. Any upright-walking person with whom she had contact was either a Master or a target. She had no idea that anyone could change teams.

Runner reached into his bag for more food. He knelt again beside the doggirl and held out some meat slices in his hand. I came closer, knelt on the other side and began petting her. The doggirl gave me that same puzzled look, but let me continue stroking her hair and rubbing her back, while she licked more food from Runner’s hand.

This reaction was encouraging. I decided it was time to put the second phase of the plan into action. I reached underneath the doggirl and slid my hand slowly down her stomach to her crotch.

The doggirl seemed to want to pull away at first, and I stopped for a moment. She bent her head down and looked to see what I was doing with my hand. I waited, holding my breath, to see whether she would run.

He didn’t. My hand was nearly touching her pussy; she had to be feeling some tingles. She looked up now, straight into my eyes, and made a new sound, something between a puppy-whimper and a sigh of desire.

I slid my hand farther down now, gave the doggirl a moment to get used to the feeling of my hand between her legs, and gently slipped a finger inside her. I felt inside slowly. Where is it ... There! I didn’t have to guess if my finger had found the right spot. Her whole body spasmed and the air went out of her in a single whoosh. She started breathing rapidly, shallow sips of air, with that same whimpering sound.

I left my finger where it was, leaned in closer, and softly kissed the doggirl’s neck, just below her ear. Runner kissed her other side, and reached under her to caress her breasts and play with her nipples. I didn’t know what stimulation would please her most, so I decided to go for as much sensory pleasure as we could manage.

My guess was that no dog had ever experienced this intense sexual attention. She wouldn’t be a virgin—I was sure one or more of the farmers had used her—and she had probably had oral sex with other doggirls. But no doggirl was physically capable of doing what I was doing, and the farmers wouldn’t give a damn about a slave’s pleasure.

The doggirl was moaning now, her eyes closed, her mouth open, her hips twitching in a rhythm that matched my hand movements, her head bent down to expose more of her neck to our tongues.

She cried out suddenly, another fully human sound, and her entire body quivered as a jet of fluids from her crotch soaked my hand. Her stubby forearms gave way, and she dropped shakily onto her elbows, panting.

I withdrew my finger. Too much stimulation right now would be painful, but we continued kissing her neck. She turned to me and licked my cheek, then did the same to Runner. He giggled.

I looked at Runner and nodded. A good sign: she had almost certainly never before offered affection to anyone but another dog.

We both stood, I undressed and put my clothes back in Runner’s bag while Runner dressed. Runner picked up the bag, and the two of us began walking away. It was time to see whether the plan had worked.