What Does Miss Fox Say?
With thanks to Dancer for beta reading in record time.
Clara Fox (Miss Fox to her students) could not understand why everyone in Geras Borg High School fawned over Dario Brett. He wasn’t particularly smart. He wasn’t a sportsman of any renown. He wasn’t even slightly charming. He was boyishly handsome, but he was a long way from being the most attractive even in his own year. (That was Dec Plover, but as a teacher Miss Fox was obligated not to notice.) And yet, day after day, Dario sat in the middle of class and the other students—girls and boys alike—stared at him with moony-eyed adoration and hung on his every word, sighing wistfully when he brayed inanely at his own jokes. Clara might only have started teaching this year, but even so she didn’t think there was anything that could explain his popularity.
It wasn’t only the students who had been taken in. The teachers treated him like the Second Coming as well. He was a straight-A student, except for Music, for which Clara had never given him higher than a C+. In the staff room, she was asked on a daily basis why she hated him so much, as if there was no other reason she might mark him down. “I don’t hate him,” she explained wearily, “but questions like that are certainly helping.”
She finally snapped on a Friday morning, when he wouldn’t stop talking during Latoya’s piano recital.
“That was beautiful, Latoya, thank you,” she said. “Unfortunately, some people weren’t listening. Dario, perhaps you’d like to explain what was so important that you couldn’t pay attention?”
Dario was slouching in his chair, head barely above his desk, crotch thrust forward. He rolled his head sardonically, tongue pushed behind his lower lip.
“I was showing the others some real music. Wanna listen? It’s called ‘What Does the Fox Say’.”
Clara, livid beyond belief, clenched her jaw to keep from shouting. How could someone be so rude and arrogant and ignorant all at the same time?
“Dario, I’ve had enough of your attitude,” she said, every ounce of her strength dedicated to keep her voice low and steady. “Come and see me after school.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from every student in class. Latoya even looked like she was about to speak up to defend Dario, to say she didn’t mind really, but Clara shushed her with a look.
Dario just shrugged, which made Clara even angrier. Fortunately, she was saved from an outburst by the school bell, and she had a whole free period to unwind before her next class.
Clara spent the rest of the day thinking about what punishment could be suitable for Dario’s appalling behaviour. Word must have spread about what she’d done, and surprisingly quickly, because all the teachers studiously avoided her all day, and averted their eyes when she passed them in a corridor. Students whispered about her behind her back, even more than usual. She didn’t care. Dario was an arrogant child and she was a teacher, so she was damn well going to teach him a lesson!
After last bell, Clara stayed in her office marking papers. Usually she’d have taken the work home, especially as it was a Friday—she had better things to do with her weekend too, after all—but she needed to be around when Dario showed up for his punishment.
Dario did not show up for his punishment.
Clara finished the last paper of the set after 7 o’clock, more than 2 hours after the end of the school day. Dario had not appeared or sent any message. Clara seethed quietly, but there was no point doing anything now. She’d go home, taking the rest of her work with her, and try to enjoy her weekend. On Monday she’d look into formal disciplinary measures. Until then, she was her own woman again.
Clara lived in a single-storey, one-bedroom terrace house in the suburbs, a short commute from the school. She parked on the street and walked to the house carrying her high-heels in her left hand and a single briefcase of papers in the right, tiptoeing across the paving slabs quickly so that her stocking-covered feet didn’t get too cold.
She’d just opened the latch on the front door—a complex operation that required balancing her heels on the tip of the middle finger on her right hand, then using her left hand to fish for the keys in her right skirt pocket—when a shadow appeared behind her. She tensed, ready to leap forwards and slam the door on this unexpected assailant.
“Miss Fox?”
“Dario?” Dario!? “What are you doing here!?“
He shrugged. Infuriating boy. “You told me to see you after school.”
“I meant to see me immediately after final bell in my office.“
He shrugged again. Ugh. “You should have said. Anyway, I’m here now. So, did you want to talk about real music?”
“No, Dario. Go home, please. We’ll discuss this on Monday.”
“No, Miss Fox. We’ll discuss it now. I’ve had enough of your attitude, and I think it’s time for an adjustment.”
“What!? How dare—“
“Miss Mouse says squeak.”
Run away! Oh God, what’s happening?! Flee, for the love of God!
Clara was overcome by sudden and uncontrollable panic. She charged blindly into the house, dropping her belongings at the door. She collided with a wall and turned left. It was her house, but she couldn’t have said where she was headed or which rooms she’d run through. The only thing that mattered was to run away! Scurry! Escape! She hit another wall, turned again, and kept on running. Her heel overturned a table, smashing a vase, but she didn’t care.
Oh, God! She was trapped! A corner! With nowhere else to run, she huddled down as small as she could.
Meanwhile, Dario had calmly closed the front door, kicking the shoes and briefcase aside, and followed her slowly. He smiled as he saw Clara cowering in the corner of her lounge, curled into a tight ball.
“P-p-please don’t hurt me!” she whimpered, starting to sob. He drank in her fear.
“That’s better,” he said. “You fear me now. You understand that teachers aren’t at the top of the social pyramid at Geras Borg. I am.”
“Wh-what have you done to me? Please…”
“Just a trick. This is nothing. You’ll have seen much more before I’m through. By then, of course, you’ll respect me. By then, you’ll love me. Just like everyone else.”
“Please don’t…”
“It took me so long to figure out how I wanted to break you. Then I heard this song, and it just made sense. What does Miss Fox say? Well?”
“I, I don’t…”
“Wrong! In that case, Miss Horse goes neigh.”
Clara shook all over, head to foot. Why was she cowering like this? She was a fabulous steed, not some timid rodent! She uncurled and stood up, proud, on all four legs. She whipped her glorious golden mane around her head to show she was in charge.
No, something felt wrong… She looked down, and screamed.
“What did you do!? Where are my hooves? What are these… fleshy appendages?“
“Those are fingers.”
“They’re uncomfortable. Make them go away!”
“Hush, now, my dear filly.”
He placed something long and black in front of her mouth and she clamped her teeth on it instinctively. Before she had a chance to spit it back out, he’d slipped a leather strap around the back of her head and buckled it tightly over her cheek. It was stuck fast in her jaw! She’d been bridled! How dare he?! Who did he think he was?! She tried to rear up and give him a boot to the face with her foreleg, but he had a pair of reins in his hands and when he tugged her she collapsed forward.
“Naughty, naughty,” he said. “Good fillies don’t resist.”
He sat down on her back, his weight pressing her to the floor. She couldn’t speak, could barely grunt her disapproval at him. Her tongue flicked angrily underneath the bit.
Then the crop struck her in the thigh. She whinnied and tried to buck him off, but she had no leverage and he was so heavy. The crop landed again. Except it wasn’t a crop, it was a plastic yardstick from school. Whatever it was! All that mattered was it hurt so much!
“This is how disrespectful fillies are treated,” he said. “Good horses don’t get the whip.”
The stick whistled and cracked and cracked and cracked against her thighs and legs and ass. When it was on the part of her still covered by her skirt, it wasn’t so bad, but when it caught the parts of her legs where she was only wearing stockings, it stung much worse. She stopped struggling after a while, too tired to even wriggle. A little while after that, as the blows rained down on her, she ran out of tears and stopped crying. If she was a good horse, maybe he’d stop…
And, finally, he did stop. And when he stopped, she finally passed out from the weight of the exhaustion and pain.
When she came to, she had been stripped completely naked. Without the skirt and stockings, she could see the ugly red and white welts all down the back of her legs. Even the bridle had been removed.
She pushed herself up onto her—
“Miss Dog goes woof.”
—paws.
“Are you thirsty, little puppy?” She looked up with big round eyes at Dario, and nodded. Somewhat dispassionately, she realised that he was also naked.
“I’m so thirsty,” she said.
“Here you go.” He placed a bowl from her kitchen on the floor in front of her. It was full of water.
She beamed at him. How thoughtful he was for giving her water! “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She set to lapping it up. It was hard. More water splashed onto the carpet than she was able to drink.
Dario knelt down next to her, and a cool hand grabbed her by the back of the neck and rubbed. She melted into it.
“There’s a good girl. You want to be a good girl, don’t you?”
Clara wasn’t sure. Something didn’t seem right. Wasn’t she mad at him for some reason? He rubbed her neck harder and her concerns popped like bubbles.
“Good doggies get treats. Do you want a treat!?”
“Yes! Treat! Give me a treat!”
“Say please.”
“Please! Treat!”
“Roll over.”
She rolled back and forth on the carpet, keeping her eyes on Dario, praying that this was enough. She was a good girl. She’d get a treat! He’d promised. Master didn’t lie about treats!
“Sit up. Beg.”
She rolled onto her haunches, arms up by her breasts and shoulders, and paws pointed forwards. Her tongue lolled out of her gaping mouth.
Dario stepped forward, holding his erect penis in one hand. He grabbed a handful of her hair and stepped forward again, thrusting his long cock straight to the back of her throat. She immediately gagged and choked, but he held her in place.
“Here’s your treat, bitch,” he said. “Suck it.”
Clara tried her best—she wanted this treat more than anything!—but Dario didn’t seem to let her. He held her in place with his hand in her blonde coat and just thrust his cock into her mouth and throat at his own speed. She tried to use her tongue to massage his shaft, maybe even his balls, but she wasn’t sure he noticed. She hoped he did…
He yanked her forward, her nose forced against the scratchy stubble of pubic hair, and his cock twitched. She could feel something thick hit the back of her throat and she swallowed it as fast as she could, so that she wouldn’t spill any. Another spurt, and another… She was so good at swallowing that she barely even got a chance to taste any of it…
“Enjoy your treat, puppy?”
She nodded.
“So what does Miss Fox say now?”
Say? She could say anything? Awareness came back suddenly. She tried to make sense of it. “How are you doing this?”
“Ugh, no, dumb bitch. Miss Cow goes moo.”
Clara suddenly felt very heavy. She slid to the ground, unable to lift any of her limbs or her head.
“Wwwwhat did you dooo now?” she slurred, through heavy lips. “Can’t moooove…”
“Milk heifers don’t need to move,” he said, hooking his arms under her and lifting her up. How was he doing that, she marvelled? She had to weigh a tonne. He must be so strong…
“My bbbreasts feel funnnny…”
“Udders, dear. Cows have udders.” He dropped her without ceremony on the cushioned sofa, on her back.
“Uddderrrs… Wwwwhyyy…”
“Because that’s how they feel when your mammary glands go into overdrive and you start lactating at an incredible rate. I can actually see them swelling up, it’s quite impressive. You could see them too if you had the power to lift your own head. You’ll have an amazing rack when we’re done.”
“Huuurtsss…”
“Yes, that’s the pressure building. I’ll need to relieve it soon. How do you feel about that?”
“Nnnooooooo…”
“No? My, my. I’m actually impressed. Your tits feel like they’re ready to explode, and soon will be, yet you have a little resistance left. But don’t you remember that resistance earns the whip?”
A memory of pain, and a sudden panic.
“There, there. Calm yourself. You’ll spoil the milk. Here, I’ll relieve the pressure.” He reached out and pinched a distended nipple. Relief and pressure were so intense that Clara saw spots for a moment. White droplets sprayed forcefully out, across Clara’s belly and thighs.
But now the pressure was building in the other breast, so swollen and turgid it looked like a porn star’s silicon-filled implant, and her nipple felt like it was being ripped off. The pain was even worse now that she had another breast to compare it to. She groaned, wordlessly, unable to do anything.
“Oh, is this one hurting now?”
Another piteous groan through clenched teeth.
“Do you want me to milk you, Clarabelle? You know that cows can only be milked by their owners, don’t you? You sure you want me to milk you?”
Tears were streaming out of Clara’s eyes faster than she could blink them away, blinding her. She managed to choke out a quiet “Yuhhh”, and Dario smiled. Then he leaned forward, closed his lips around the pressure-cap nipple, and started suckling.
Clara came down from her orgasm a short while later, still flushed, her screams choked by her own saliva. Her udders felt so gooood right now.
“Moooore…” she groaned.
“No no no, heifer. I think you only agreed to let me milk you and own you because you thought you could take it back later. Well, if you want to be my cow, then I’m going to have to brand you like one. Then there’ll be no takebacks.”
No! Not that! She tried to shake her head, but only managed to roll it to the side. Dario straightened it again, so she was looking upwards.
“Have it your way,” said Dario with a shrug. “The pressure is already building again. I can wait as long as I need. Either let me brand you, or the next thing you feel will be your titties exploding.”
No. Nononononono! Argh, it hurts so much! He didn’t mean it about her udders exploding, did he? Nonsense! Did he? Fucking hell, it’s so bad! Branding couldn’t possibly be as painful as this! Arghhh!
“Gah!” she garbled.
“I knew you’d change your mind!” said Dario, cheerfully. “Of course, I don’t have any branding equipment with me right now. It was hard enough getting the bit and bridle over here. But, fortunately, I found this candle in your cupboard and it’s been burning away waiting for you to change your mind. There’s a lovely pool of hot molten wax in the top that’ll do as a temporary brand until we can get you a proper one. Ready?”
Pain! Searing! Burning on her belly, as the wax pooled above her left hip.
She was owned now… Property…
Pleasure! Such sweet ecstasy as geysers of milk erupted all over her chest and head and belly.
If this was what it felt like to be owned, she didn’t care any more! She’d willingly be his property if he kept milking her like this, forever.
His cock was between her tits now, pumping between them. The torrents of milk had eased to mere constant dribbles as he mashed her two swollen udders together. It was amazing…
Thick white cream—his milk, not hers—splattered over her face. Her tongue was too heavy to reach it. She was branded again…
He climbed off her chest.
“What does Miss Fox say?”
She was herself again, for the moment. She could move. She didn’t. Was she his slave now? For all that he’d branded her, it was only hot wax and cum, nothing permanent. She’d have a red spot, but that would fade. Only her tits were permanently different. She could feel they were still engorged, though the pressure was not building at such a fantastic rate now. How would she explain those?
But, that was all semantics. She was broken now. She’d never cross him. This power, whatever it was, wasn’t something she had any ability to counter.
“Okay,” she said, wiping away her tears and finding her hands smeared with his semen. She stared at it, then flicked it away. “You win. You own me now.”
Dario stood back, a hand on his chin.
“Better, but not very convincing. One more, I think?”
“What?! No!”
“Miss Cat goes meow.”
Clara’s whole body zinged with nervous energy. Her muscles were tightly coiled springs begging to snap free. She had to stretch her arms, her legs, her neck. Her claws! Joints clicked and she purred contentedly. She had to move, so she twisted off the sofa, onto her hands and feet.
“Careful,” said Dario. “You’ll need a minute or two to get used to that new flexible spine you’ve got now.”
New spine? New spine! She could bend over backwards and touch her forehead with her toes! Me-ow! She’d never felt so free and agile…
…and dirty! Eww! Milk and cum all over her body! No, no, no, that wouldn’t do! Using the back of her hand and wrist, she wiped as much of the cum off her face as she could and licked it clean. Yummy!
She froze suddenly when she realised that Dario was watching her. He was sitting on the sofa, slouching back so far that his crotch hung over the end of the cushion. She’d seen him sit that way before. She absent-mindedly flicked her tongue over her lips as her eyes were drawn to his pendulous cock.
“Kitty liked her cream?” he asked with a smirk, and Clara bristled. Ha! That was none of his business, the sexy beast! She didn’t need him or his long, stiff fuckstick! She’d show him!
She drew herself up on two feet to her full height, head held high, shoulders back, fulsome tits thrust proudly forward, and sashayed away with an exaggerated sway of her hips. Let him get an eyeful of that and know what he was missing! She’d find fun somewhere else!
Dario watched her leave the room and shrugged. He needed a bit of a rest anyway. She’d be back soon enough…
Clara made it as far as the bedroom before realising how desperately horny she was. Stupid Dario and his stupid sexy body. She tried to bend down and lick her own pussy-pussy, but she couldn’t reach even with her improved spine, no matter how far out she tried to stick her tongue.
Well, she’d need to find another toy to play with. She knew she had one around here somewhere… Aha! Four inches of bullet-shaped pastel-pink plastic. Little pinky, ever faithful. Oh—just—yes, like—yes—yes—
She was so close, so close, but climax was just beyond her reach. Not enough! Little pinky had been enough for her before! Now it was just a thin little stick. Hell, she could feel more with her fingers. Two fingers… three fingers… four! Oh fuck yeah, that was more like it. Here, pinky, try Clara’s asshole for size! Yeah, work it! Cram that thumb in too! Nearly—nearly! Fuuuck!
Mmm, yeah, that was better… Her hand was sore where her pussy-pussy had clamped down on it, but so worth it… She’d never tried anything like that before. Why hadn’t she tried anything like that before?
That had taken the edge off. What now? Ooh, she should go hunting! Sink her claws into a tender morsel, that sounded good. And Dario Brett, the tastiest man-thing around, was right downstairs! How perfect would that be? So purr-fect!
But she needed to primp herself. This coat—pink and smooth, with a scant head of blonde hair—was too shabby for a sleek mankiller like Clara. She ransacked the bedroom drawers, but all of her bras were too small for her milk-engorged tits, not to mention too drab. Oh! Oh, yes. She did have a lacy black shelf bra and matching crotchless panties, a set that an old boyfriend had given her before she dumped his selfish ass. They were ideal for hunting! They’d really show off her titties and her dripping pussy-pussy.
Yes, they were good, but she needed something else… a dress! To the closet! No, not that one. No. No. Hideous. No. Ugh, why did she even own this one? Yes! Slinky, sapphire blue, strapless… and with a skirt so short that she could just bend over like so… Clara giggled. She hadn’t squeezed into this for half a decade, and now it squeezed her titties so delightfully.
She looked so sexy now, but she still wasn’t done. The bathroom! Yeah, she knew she had some makeup in the bathroom. Sapphire blue nail polish on her wicked claws. Just like her dress. Just like her eyes. Fingernails and toenails, of course, since she’d be barefoot. Cats don’t wear shoes, after all, duh. There. Now she was the ultimate predator. Time to go on the prowl.
Dario didn’t know what hit him when she purred at him from the doorway. Judging from the way his cock sprang upright, he liked what he saw.
“Damn,” he said. “I honestly didn’t think you could look this hot.”
She tiptoed forward, shaking out her blonde hair, swinging her sapphire hips… she dropped to all fours, licking her lips expectantly, letting her tits bulge over the top of her dress… then, when she was in range, she pounced.
Her mouth sought his, kissing, biting. Her gleaming blue claws raked across his chest and shoulders and back, leaving harsh red lines and drawing droplet of blood. In turn, he ripped her blue dress away, gasping anew when he saw her choice of underwear, and plunged his cock deep into her sweltering cunt.
“Pretty kitty likes that, huh? Likes that fat cock in her juicy fuckhole?”
“Mrrraooow! Sssssssss! Mrraaaaow!”
“Aww. Miss Cat only says meow. Oh, Christ, you’re so hot. I think you’re my perfect woman.”
Their coupling was violent, passionate, and exhilarating. Clara came three times before Dario finally poured his seed into her. She came twice more before he did it again. Hours later, when they finally stopped, both drained to the point of unconsciousness, they’d both lost count.
“Purrrrrrrr… purrrrrrr…”
“What does Miss Fox say?”
Clara was herself again. Herself. Her new self.
“Oh God,” she said. “I’ve never been fucked so hard or so thoroughly in my life… Was it good for you too?”
“It was a fun experiment,” Dario admitted. “You realise that I could have just made you fuck me from the start.”
“What fun would that have been? Any time you want to experiment on me again, baby, you know where I am.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Yes I am.”