Shannon sleeps in the dog's bed.  She submits to hims gruff attentions, when required, finding his direct, insistent demands so much less effort to fulfill than the coy, furtive requests of so many tittering schoolboys.  The world of clothing, dignity, the world of college and careers and basic literacy all seem a hundred million miles away.  She clenches her thighs around her puffy pink pussy with both hands, sleek vulpine fingers kneading her tender breasts in the half-sleep of morning, and she prays that the world of expectations and effort and trifling petty boys never finds her again.

This morning, Ms. Liz comes to find her in the the dog's bed.  Shannon's knees are still wobbly from the dog's persistent nocturnal attentions, but Liz's tall, muscular form is more than capable of helping the cumcrusted waif toward the shower.  And helping her wash.  Liz leaves nothing to chance, her thick fingers kneading steaming-hot water into every inch of the girl's tired body.  Massaging her tits until they're pink, finger-brushing her sour tongue and gums, encouraging Shannon to swish thoroughly and spit - then turning her around, completing the ablutions by laboriously teasing the last of the gunk from her knotsore pussy, smothering her panting, whining gasps between those colossal stripey melon-tits.

Indeed, they're already out of the shower, the eight-foot zebress vigorously toweling off the blushing, squirming vulpine, brushing her hair out straight, before Shannon finally clears her head enough to realize what's staring back at her from the equid's lap.  Not only has this beastly goddess got her beat in the chest and the ass departments by orders of magnitude, but she's sporting a titanic dick of her own.  It's not quite as long as Ahriman's, and it seems maybe half as thick as his kneebuckling girth, but it hangs so similarly over the woman's veiny, oblong nuts that Shannon has to wonder if they're related.

"Mmm, c'mon, sug."  Liz smiles patiently at the vixen, her risset legs still a little stiff as she's lead to the master bedroom, currently unoccupied.  "S'time to get breakfast started."

The meaning of this is not greatly elucidated by the elaborate leather harness laid out on the bed, but Shannon can scarcely imagine arguing; she lies down as directed, bent over the bedside,  well-worn leather cuffs tightened around her forearms and shins and waist, a cute little bridle-gag fitted around her sleek vulpine muzzle.  The rig only seems half-assembled when the buckling and strapping stops, and that's because it is, but there's one more step before Liz can finish.

The beautiful zebress stretches her muscular limbs lazily in the late morning sunlight, Shannon's limited mobility affording her only glances at the activity.  But it's predictable enough, thick cuntbruising fingers pulling on her own veiny dick, coaxing it stiff and kneading it slick with drooling precum.  She toys with her colossal breasts, teasing the stiff nipples.  She even strokes her own pussy, giving Shannon a glancing look at her earthy, ebon-black folds, that bloated catcher's-mitt twat easily enough to swallow the younger woman's head - or, Shannon shudders to think, maybe she can actually ride Ahriman's crazy pink monsterdick all the way to the root.

But there's not a lot of time to think about this, as Liz is finally ready.  Her powerful hands dominate the smaller woman's hips, thick thumbs spreading that pert round ass.  It's nothing like the trembling, anxious schoolboy cockstuffings she's used to; Liz's flaring, equid ladycock can only enter carefully, if at all.  The bottom corner of the flare goes first, Shannon's eyes going wide as it spreads her tender pink pucker.  Whether this is more or less comfortable than entering her broken cunt is left aside for now - the hapless vulpine bitch can only squeal and howl into her gag as her tender pink butthole spreads around the slime-glassy stiffness of the zebra's inky-black sex.

"Mnh.  Attagirl," Liz helpfully reassures.  She strokes Shannon's shower-wet hair, then grabs it tightly, the smaller woman's eyes shutting tight as the equine buries inch after inch of cumslick flesh under her swishing, flaring tail - heaving and sawing it in, popping the medial ring past the girl's hot, numb portal, dense bulge riding up the young woman's stomach.  It's all one protracted moment, each heartbeat fading into the next, syncopating with the larger woman's molarattling cockthrobs.

When Shannon's sore butt is finally resting in Liz's lap, tears streaking her pretty face - THEN the harness can be finished.  The vixen's thighs strap to the front of the zebra's, and her calves are locked tight around the sides, holding her vulnerable there.  Then waist is locked to waist, the smaller woman's dick-filled guts straining the leather band around her middle, but it seems accustomed to the abuse, much though Shannon is not.  The bleary-eyed vulpine is panting and huffing and groaning as her upper body is gingerly wedged into the zebra's cavernous cleavage.  Then there's one more piece, almost like a dropcloth, supporting her in this upright pose.

It's not until Liz clops over to the mirror to pose that Shannon can see what's going on - that her head is peeking out of the larger woman's cleavage, and just over the top of an apron.  "Fuck the Cook," indeed - it seems like everything out here has a dick like a pine log, and a hot nut to spill with Shannon's name on it.  Just a big seething conspiracy to turn her into a braindead fucksock.  But her look as she peers at herself in the mirror, as she looks up to meet Liz's hungry gaze - she's smiling around her gag.  The little vixen clenches and squirms, and lets out a little shriek as the titanic zebra walks out to the kitchen, her practiced ease in this position obvious.

And so is Shannon let to wriggle and clench and coo, and drool copiously down her own chin, and twatslobber all over the zebress's titanic black balls, as eggs are fried and grits are steeped.  Ahriman returns, his mighty shoulders yoked with a rig that holds half-a-dozen milk jugs.  They're all sloshingly full, undoubtedly heavy, and yet his burly body is very little troubled by them.  He sets them down carefully, and greets Liz in the kitchen as she's washing the skillet.

What starts as tender kisses, turns into wet-lipped mutant face-sucking, and tit-kneading that softly crushes Shannon's head between the zebra's own overfull milk jugs.  Before long, the zebra's knee is up on the countertop, Shannon's bound frame mimicing the pose.  The little vulpine pants, unable to see the action, only to feel as Liz's stomach distends, massive dinnerplate fuckflare blowing her industrial breedhole apart, filling her up, grinding her soft belly up and down Shannon's back.  Shannon tries to wonder how she ever got that thing into her neck, but Liz's fingers get into her pussy, silencing her brain with a thumb on her clit.  Shannon's tongue lolls dumbly, her body rocking gently over Liz's giant dick and fingers, pert vixen titties jouncing with every thrust of Ahriman's massive hips, every push translating into a glrsh of precum up her ass, until it doesn't.  Until freak-titan cums for freak-titan, burly cocks spewing rivers of gluey seed, and all of it seems to pile up on Shannon, flooding her belly until it gushes from her lips and nose, flooding Liz's breed to overflowing, stringy ropey mess pouring loosely onto the linoleum floor.

A few tender kisses and bassy murmurs later, and Ahriman is manning the sponge-mop like a good husband, crowding his own creamy gunk into a dustpan to go down the kitchen sink, giving the slick surface a healthy scrub afterward.  Shannon, dimly aware of anything at the moment, is let to ooze gunk from all holes in the same bathtub where she only just cleaned up.  A small plate of eggs and grits are left balanced on the tub-side.  Shannon makes a token effort at this, but she's soon dozing off to sleep, the sounds of forks and plates clinking in the receding distance.