Rated Poodle Generation 13
by Fixate

Intro

        "There is no such thing as a perfect plan; no matter how much time you put 
into it", a highly respected and feared red fox had once advised his poodle 
assistant in the CG's building's male head.
        "Aye, sir, as there is no such thing as a perfect fur", the poodle 
responded as he scanned through his ever present green book, looking over 
all the tactical notes he had accumulated and refined through his many years 
of service, "That is why both are vastly strengthened in numbers, and each 
one themselves honed to perfection."
        "And if they are not 'honed to perfection' accordingly, Marcel?" Edgar 
Polipopicopilus, Commanding General of the United Species Mammal Corpse, 
quizzed as he finished fastening his trousers, and then as he was turning 
back around to face his poodle confidant, pulled a pistol out from inside 
the front of his trousers, and aimed to shoot the poodle between the eyes.
        Not loosing face, Sergeant Major of the Mammal Corpse Marcel Poodle stepped 
forwards, parried the pistol, a shot went wild to the left, shattering a 
head mirror, and before the glass had hit the deck, the poodle was holding 
the pistol and aiming it at the approving red fox.
        "Furs that join the Mammal Corpse and fail to attempt achieving perfection, 
deserve to die, sir", Marcel replied with a sly smile, considering if he 
should go for the muzzle or the groin as a leopard Lieutenant walked into 
the head and yiped instinctively from the scene before him.
        "Very well then, Marcel.  Carry on", Edgar mused, flashed a quick sideways 
glance at the leopard.
        "Aye, sir", Marcel replied, swung his aim over towards the leopard, the 
leopard yelped again, dove painfully up against the door, fell backwards 
onto the deck, and Marcel all the while kept his aim on the middle of the 
leopard's skull.
        "Well, Sergeant Major Poodle?  What is your major malfunction?  Dispose of 
the worthless bag of ass, now", Edgar sneered, combing his claws through his 
long, bushy tail.
        "Aye, sir", Marcel replied thoughtfully as he walked towards the petrified 
feline, the barrel of the weapon always on its mark.  When he was finally 
standing over the leopard, he casually dropped the pistol onto the leopard's 
lap, pointed sternly at the fox, and commanded to the leopard, "Dispose of 
that bag of ass, now!"
        "S-Sergeant Major?" the lieutenant stammered as he looked at the polished 
weapon on his well-creased blouse.
        "Lieutenant?  Did I stutter?  Are you deaf?  What is your major 
malfunction?  Kill, him", Marcel growled through clenched teeth. "NOW!"
        The lieutenant looked hopefully at the higher-ranking fox farther away, but 
his face was unreadable as he inspected his claw to see if any of his long, 
silk tail fur had been pulled out.  The green lieutenant had found himself 
caught in the middle of a wicked game, and he had no idea what the rules 
were.  He'd heard various scuttlebutts about the higher ups playing games 
like these behind closed doors, but he'd never seen it for himself.  Was 
this some perverted form of hazing, where he and some better-qualified 
General were going to be promoted tomorrow for following through with this 
order?  Was this a test in loyalty and he'd instead go to jail if he didn't 
retaliate and make the poodle do as his Commanding General ordered.  He 
wanted to leave, but one of them would probably kill him for acting soft.
        "Aye, sir.  Aye, Sergeant Major", the leopard replied as he gingerly 
gripped the pistol and got up.
        As the poodle stepped to the side so the leopard could get a clear shot, 
the leopard took a breath, slowly let it all out, aimed in on the fox's 
twisted smile, and the fox flashed a quick glance at the poodle as the 
poodle was drilling his gaze on the lieutenant.  With almost no hesitation, 
the leopard dove in the opposite direction of the poodle, rolled back into a 
kneeling position, quickly aimed in on the running poodle, pulled the 
trigger, and wailed as the pistol exploded in his hand.
        "How did you know, Marcel?" Edgar questioned the poodle standing almost 
nose to nose with him as the leopard on the other end of the head wailed and 
moaned and dripped blood everywhere.
        "The bullet did not chamber correctly, sir.  There was definitely a lot of 
time and effort put into the manufacturing of that pistol.  Other than a 
subtle difference in its tone, it was almost perfect, sir.  You did an 
excellent job", Marcel commented as he commenced to smooth out the fox's 
uniform, "and the way you hid it was superb also, sir.  I almost did not 
know you had it."
        "Very well, Sergeant Major Poodle, but you did disobey a direct order.  I 
am your Commanding General, and when I tell you to shoot me, I mean for you 
to shoot me", Edgar stated sternly, standing stone faced and stiff as a rock 
as the poodle dropped to all fours and spent a lot of time making sure that 
the fox's trousers' custom fitted tail hole and front gig line were 
positioned correctly and snuggly via the use his nose and teeth.  "You were 
hesitant also, Sergeant Major Poodle.  Disciplinary action will definitely 
have to be charged up against you."
        "Hoorah, discipline", Marcel replied slyly as Edgar reached down the back 
of Marcel's blouse via the neck and pulled out a thin white leash wrapped 
and hidden within, which was attached to a thin white collar that almost 
blended in with his tee shirt if he positioned it correctly.
        "We shall continue this discussion in my office, Sergeant Major", Edgar 
stated as Marcel got up, reached down into the vulpine's trousers, and 
started making sure that Edgar's blouse was properly straightened and 
bloused all the way down and around his fluffy creamy white sheath.  Though 
his breath a bit more shallow and his trousers a bit more tight, Edgar acted 
like Marcel wasn't even touching him and instead studied the whimpering 
leopard in the corner.  "I expect to see a valid medical chit for that flesh 
wound on my desk by oh eleven hundred, lieutenant."
        "Hoorah, medical chit", Marcel commented with an evil grin as he glanced 
over his muscular right shoulder at the now blouseless, damaged, government 
property.
        "Aye, sir.  I'm on my way right now, sir", the leopard coughed, and then 
walked out the door with his right hand and lower arm in a makeshift 
tourniquet and wrapped up tightly in his blouse.
        "Ah, yes, destruction of government property.  That is a federal offense, 
Sergeant Major.  I could give you a dishonorable discharge for that act 
alone", Edgar growled, slamming his fist into his hand as Marcel decided to 
undo the fox's trousers' fly and tighten his shirt stays.  "I want you in my 
office immediately, Sergeant Major", Edgar announced in a stifled yiff, 
refastening his trousers and nearly knocking Marcel down as he headed for 
the door, with Marcel's leach held firmly in his grasp.
        Edgar's tail slapped Marcel's muzzle as he walked by, and Marcel was quick 
to drop to all fours again and get in step before the leash choked him.  
Edgar, to put it mildly, was a dedicated rock, and that's why Marcel found 
him so awe-inspiring.  Edgar's only family and friends were those furs of 
his beloved Mammal Corpse, his only thoughts were military events, rules, 
and regulations, and the only one that could get close to him alive and 
healthy was Marcel.
        Before they discontinued it and all the other military branches of service 
in favor of the Rulemasters and Regulators, Marcel Tibias Poodle IV had been 
one of the most decorated Sergeant Majors in the United Species Mammal 
Corpse, second to his fellow officer, Edgar Polipopicopilus.  If even the 
smallest uprising appeared anywhere in the world, he would make it his or 
some other officer under him's top priority to make sure his troops were the 
first ones over there to completely obliterate and eliminate the threat.  
Then, after the debriefing, if he discovered that some enlisted fur in his 
unit hadn't done it exactly within rules and regulations, including the 
proper disposal of the inedible parts of the enemy's bones and removing all 
traces of blood and violence, he would hold a formation on the spot and have 
that fur and the next one up on that fur's chain of command beaten to death 
by their superiors.  Then the carcasses would be attacked and eaten on the 
spot to demonstrate proper military fashion.
        If it was a non-poodle officer that didn't go by the rules, then the furs 
that worked under him would do the sentencing instead.  If Marcel found out 
that a poodle had screwed up, then he would yell at and beat up that poodle 
himself, and then have him or her written up, put on restriction, and 
possibly receive a reduction in pay.  For reasons unchallenged by any other 
fur except for Edgar, Marcel put all domestic furs, and especially poodles, 
in all the officer positions, and all other 'scum' furs as his expendable 
enlisted.  If a disapproving fur was placed into one of his battalions, then 
Marcel saw it as an automatic approval to have that fur properly disposed of 
by the other battalion or boot camp.
        Before the Mammal Corpse was discontinued, Marcel's battalions were one of 
the most feared and respected forces in the world, but he wasn't bitter 
about the government's decision.  It no longer mattered that he had forever 
lost the chance of receiving Edgar Polipopilacopilus' title as Commanding 
General of the Mammal Corpse.
        Having the rest of his life paid for without the worry of ever needing a 
civilian job gave him time to finally be a father and raise his pups the way 
the Mammal Corpse had raised him.

Part 1

        Marcel Tibias Poodle IV looked at his wristwatch and grimaced.  He didn't 
know why he had agreed to stay home alone with the pups, giving his 
beautiful mate some free time by herself.  She had explained that it was 
necessary and that the puppysitter had been busy.  She had explained and 
wrote down every possible situation that might come up at his request, and 
he had watched her do almost everything she had explained at once on a day 
to day basis, but this was still the first time he had ever really been left 
to tend the pups all day long.
        After a couple hours of whimpering and yipping, he started to get the 
impression that the pups knew that he had to take care of all eight of them 
by himself and that he really had no idea what he was doing.  The pups were 
unruly and extremely undisciplined, and though they had provoked him many 
times to fall back on his military training to beat some sense into them, 
they were pups, his pups, and a Mammal did not harm unarmed pups.  They had 
squirted him a few times, but it was out of fun not anger and as the hours 
went by he realized that a loving voice was a hundred times more effective 
with the pups than an angry growl and scolding.
        "*Hmmm* Seventeen hundred.  No pups are crying, but I might as well check 
on them anyway", Marcel told himself as he got up out of his recliner and 
headed for the stairs.
        Marcel had already heard all the current world events and other than that, 
he saw television as a complete waste of time.  Maybe later he'd play 
another online VR war game, but the other furs were getting too predictable, 
and as much as he'd hate to admit it, he was getting tired of combat and 
weaponry.  Also, no matter how involved he got into it, he knew it wasn't 
really the Mammal Corpse.  No fur ever did or would make a VR program on the 
day to day training of other fighters so that they could eventually be as 
good as he was.
        His reality now was his eight purebred poodle puppies, which he couldn't 
really tell apart, but knew that there were four males and four females.  
His mate had given them regal poodle names, all of which he approved of, but 
if he couldn't match them with the appropriate pup and they couldn't 
remember them, then they were completely useless as far as he saw.  Newborn 
poodles needed more suitable names until they got older.
        As he stood over the female pups' crib, admiring the cute little pups 
happily sleeping in a small pile inside of it, one of them woke up.  Instead 
of immediately crying, she blinked up at him with her big purple eyes, 
yawned, and then pawed up at him as her face slowly went sour.
        "No.  It's not revile yet... Christina?" Marcel softly scolded in his 
baritone voice as he snatched up the little pink rubber muzzle beside her 
and held it over her mouth.
        Taken completely by surprise, the little puppy's eyes went wide and then 
she started making a bunch of weird faces as she wiggled around and tried to 
paw the muzzle off of her.  So as not have her waking up her sisters, Marcel 
finally picked her up and let her blow the muzzle off of her.  Just in case 
she tried to yip before they got out of the room, Marcel quickly bent down, 
scooped up the muzzle, and popped it back over her mouth.  She made a happy 
little squeaking sound as her eyes momentarily went wide again and as Marcel 
walked back into the hallway, his daughter directed all her attention to the 
bright pink thing over the bottom half of her face.  Every time he let go of 
the muzzle, she'd blow it off and then giggled as he bent down to pick it 
back up, so he walked down the steps, he held her by the back of her neck 
and let her bounce freely with each step he took.
        Once he'd gotten to the living room, Marcel took hold of his daughter's 
left arm and leg, swung her around in a circle as few times, and then made 
her dive-bomb and zoom over the furniture.  Next, he flipped her onto the 
couch, walked back over the rubber muzzle at the foot of the stairs, and, on 
a whim, and popped it backwards into his mouth.
        As his daughter bounced herself on the couch cushion and looked at him, 
Marcel knelt in front of her and noisily chewed on her squeaky muzzle.  Then 
he took it out of his mouth, smiled at her, and stated, "I see no problem 
with your muzzle, daughter Poodle.  It is no chew toy, mind you, but there 
is no reason why you should spit it out."  Marcel placed the muzzle in front 
of his daughter and watched as she looked up at him, then at it, sniffed it, 
and then started licking the outside where he had been chewing on it.  
"Hmmm.  Maybe it is a chew toy after all.  Very well then, belay my last and 
carry on."
        Marcel's daughter started happily yipping at him, and he waggled his finger 
at her, jokingly commanding, "At ease, daughter Poodle, eh, *hmmm* Fluffy.  
Yes.  At ease, Fluffy."  Marcel playfully poked her in the nose, she looked 
at and wiggled it, then looked back up at her father, and started to yip 
again.  Before she could get out a second yip, he stuck one of his fingers 
in her mouth and said as she went from gnawing to looking at to licking and 
sucking on his finger, "That, Fluffy, is 'at ease'.  Now if you stay quiet, 
like.  That. *Hmmm* you like the taste of Daddy's finger, do you not, 
Fluffy?  Very well then."
        Thoughtfully, Marcel popped his finger out of Fluffy's tiny little mouth, 
looked her over skeptically, looked at his watch, looked up at where the 
pups' bedroom was, and then looked over at his reading chair.  As his 
daughter watched him curiously, he walked over to the television, took a 
drab green book off the top of it, went back to the couch, picked up his 
daughter by the back of her neck, and sat down in the recliner.  Then, with 
his daughter nuzzling him on her lap, he opened up the book with one hand as 
he scritched the top of her head with the other.  Finally, he spread his 
legs and watched her giggle as she fell in between them and settled on the 
soft cushion.
        "Your Mommy has trained you, and I suspect all of your brothers and 
sisters, very well in the Basic Suckling MOS, Fluffy.  I, Marcel Poodle, or 
if you prefer, Daddy, hereby state that I am very impressed with your 
performance and have recommended you for the intermediate course of Gun 
Cleaning.  As a fellow Poodle, I, Daddy, expect you, Fluffy Poodle, to study 
long and hard and take every opportunity available to be a perfect Gun 
Cleaning Specialist", Marcel awarded as he undid his belt and unzipped his 
fly.
        Being that it was her first time, Marcel didn't make his daughter work that 
hard to see the reward for her effort.  Then, after burping her and washing 
her fur to a pristinely fluffy white, he laid her back down in her crib and 
smiled at the tiny pile of happy little poodle pups snoozing before him.
        Now, more than ever, Marcel Tibias Poodle IV was determined to create an 
entire Corpse in his own image.

Part 2

        Young Buttons Poodle came running up to her father, Marcel, whimpering with 
her collar on and her leash in her mouth. Marcel lowers his newspaper a 
little bit and glances skeptically down at her.
        "Daddy, Buttons needs walkies", she whimpered urgently, threateningly 
crossing her legs, "Buttons needs walkies!"
        From the gurgling of Buttons' little bloated belly, Marcel could tell that 
she really was ready to burst if left alone and that this was definitely 
premeditated. He could probably mop the entire living room floor with her 
with the amount of liquid she'd crammed into her belly, and it looked so 
painful holding it there, waiting for him to respond. Better yet, he hadn't 
seen this coming. She knew she'd be whipped if caught drinking out of any of 
the faucets, and he would have been notified if this were the case, so she 
had probably been drinking out of the toilet again. How sly of her, and what 
discipline. She was definitely going to go far.
        Maybe he should kick her anyways and make her piss all over herself for 
disobeying him. He had been going soft on this pup and the last thing he 
wanted was to show himself as soft and defy able. He'd let her have her fun 
now, but he'd have to note to beat some sense into her later in front of his 
other pups.
        "Gawddamn it! Bad girl, Buttons Poodle! Bad girl! You are definitely going 
to be written up for this later, but for now, follow me into my backyard. I 
do not need you ruining my floor with Gawddamn puppy piss", Marcel barked as 
he folded up his newspaper, hooked Buttons leash onto her collar, slapped 
her hard across the muzzle with the newspaper before setting it down 
centered and square on the middle of the coffee table, and then ran her 
through and out the back of the house just fast enough that she was almost 
choking all of the way.
        When they finally stopped next to a lone tree, Buttons quickly sided up 
next to it and let go, some of it sprinkling back onto her pristine fur. 
Despite her trying not to call attention to her tiny mistake in calculation, 
Marcel did see this and with a gruff growl, kicked her off balance.
        "Bad girl, Buttons Poodle! Do you like pissing on yourself?" Marcel growled 
at the fallen puppy, slamming his foot on the middle of her back and 
grinding her into the edge of the piss pool.
        "No, Daddy!" Buttons responded confidently as she quickly jumped back onto 
her feet when her father stepped away, her underbelly dewed with piss.
        "Do you like getting piss on your Gawddamn fur?" Marcel reiterated louder, 
unzipping his pants as he cast an ominous shadow over his daughter.
        "No, Daddy!" Buttons replied just as confidently, standing her ground as 
she glared up at her father's sheath. Unless it's yours, Daddy.
        "Very well then. See that that does not happen again, Buttons Poodle, or I 
will show you what it is really like to be pissed on", Marcel stated 
menacingly as he pissed over her and off to one side of the tree.
        "Aye, Daddy", Buttons yipped boldly, standing over a small puddle of piss 
as she finally finished subconsciously continuing to relieve herself.
        Buttons was going to wipe her belly off herself, but then Marcel barked as 
he zipped up his pants again, "Buttons, heel!" at which she yipped once and 
jumped to his side, and then when he followed that up with, "Play, dead", 
she immediately dropped to the prone position and barrel rolled onto her 
back. The last order was, "Rest", and the young poodle spread herself out on 
the ground.
        "Well now, you obviously have no idea how to keep yourself clean, so I am 
once again forced to demonstrate proper poodle hygiene skills to you", 
Marcel instructed as he marched around to in front of Buttons' tail and 
dropped down to a quad sitting position. Then, he started fingering her tiny 
muff thoughtfully with his right hand as he gently rubbed her belly with his 
left and hissed, "It sickens me to see a naive puppy like yourself messing 
up my genes with such disgraceful acts like that."
        "Aye, Daddy. This puppy'll try harder to be a perfect Poodle", Buttons 
mrrred as she scooted herself closer to her father and lifted her rear up 
towards his muzzle. "Buttons Poodle's ready for cleaning and inspection, 
Daddy."
        "Very well", Marcel responded with a sly smile before wrapping his maw 
around his petite daughter's crotch and playfully nibbling on her as he 
lowered himself to the prone position and her onto her back.
        Next, Marcel let go of his daughter and commenced to passionately tongue 
her. Overcome in elation, Buttons cooes and giggles despite herself, to 
which Marcel stopped and glares at her across her belly. Once the petite 
little puppy had composed herself, Marcel dropped back to fingering her. The 
thought of instead having bit her and made her squeal crossed his mind and 
he momentarily cracked a smile for a second. Then, when he stopped to suck 
briefly on the musky juice on his finger, Buttons yipped, reached down, 
grabbed hold of her muff, and opened it as best as she could for his 
probing. Her father met her invitation with an icy glare, and followed that 
up by huffing and growling at her again.
        "Do I look like I want to stick anything into that nasty cunt of yours, 
Buttons Poodle?" Marcel growled loudly at his juicy daughter, laying a 
immaculately groomed and manicured paw down on her taunt tummy, pressing 
just hard enough that, if he were so inclined, he could arch his hand 
forwards and draw blood with his perfect gold painted claws.
        "No, Daddy", Buttons responded and then found his other paw on her, too. 
"Buttons Poodle requests permission to clean your tongue, Daddy."
        "Very well", Marcel barked after a pause to snarl at her, and then laid 
down and opened his mouth to her crotch.
        While her father stayed there unmoved, Buttons starts humping her father's 
tongue, holding onto his muzzle and rubbing her fluffy rear lightly against 
his lower teeth. Then, when he figured she'd worked herself enough, he 
started assisting her, stroking her sides and squeezing her tight little 
bottom.
        Out of sight of both her father and sister, Schnookums slipped out of her 
gold trimmed violet gown and pink training panties, sneaked up behind her 
distracted father, and started unzipping his pants. He felt her crawling 
underneath him and definitely felt her unzipping his pants, but didn't 
actually acknowledge her until she wrapped her paws around his sheath.
        "And what do you think you are doing, Schnookums Poodle?" Marcel asks 
gruffly as he glares at her across his rock hard chest, drops of mixed 
saliva and pussy juice dripping from his mouth in spittle as he talked.
        While still licking the protruding head of her father's member eagerly and 
rubbing his sheath and playfully batting the solid gold cock ring on the tip 
of his sheath with one of her petite paws, Schnookums mrrred to him, "Can I 
play, too, Daddy? Schnookums wants to be a perfect Poodle, too."
        "Very well then. Schnookums, fall in. Buttons. Schnookums. Cen-ter!" the 
distinctively shaven, hard-bodied poodle commanded gruffly.
        Wagging their little puffball-tipped tails happily, the two puppies yipped 
and lied down shoulder to shoulder in front of their father. Then, as they 
tried to refrain from giggling and bicycling their tiny little legs, their 
grand and upstanding father commenced to taste test each one again and 
again, pretending to be trying to judge who was the sweeter puppy, shaking 
his head every once in a while disapprovingly.
        Unnoticed by all three of them, Marcel's wife, Brittany, had come home 
earlier than expected, and after setting her bags down at the foot of the 
stairs, she started slowly making her way towards the group. Deep into her 
husband's inspection of their daughters' privates, she padded over curiously 
up to the three of them, and gasped when she saw what was going on.
        Marcel just stopped, closed his eyes, and cracked his neck, as Schnookums 
and then Buttons giggled, "Hi, Mommy."
        "*Gasp* Angelica! Tiffany Ann! *growl* Gawddamn you, Marcel Tibias Poodle! 
I- *huff growl*", and then as the two young poodles yiped and hid behind the 
tree, Brittany pounced on her husband tooth and claw, barking obscenities.
        Growling and cursing her back under his breath, Marcel took her tantrum in 
stride and just sits there fuming as he blocked and parried her blows to his 
more vital areas with expert precision. Then, when she'd worn herself out 
and saw that the fight was going nowhere, she growled at him one last time, 
turned, snatched up Angelica and Tiffany Ann, started herding them back into 
the house, deaf to their pleas that their father hadn't done anything wrong. 
As she approached the back door and was close enough to run inside and lock 
the place up if he decided to retaliate, she turned and barked back at her 
unmoving husband that she'd report him and get him shot, put behind bars for 
life, and or fixed.
        At the mention of the last, Marcel growled audibly to Brittany and got up 
with clenched fists, but waited until she was a comfortable distance in and 
way before slowly trudging back inside the manor.
        As Marcel momentarily staying downstairs, Brittany lead Angelica and 
Tiffany back to their rooms and told them to stay there as she turned and 
headed for the phone in the master bedroom. To her discomfort and fear, she 
found Marcel in there, quad sitting patiently on the ornate canopied bed, 
waiting for her.
        "Out! Out! Get out! How could you?" Brittany began, stamping her foot and 
pointing at the door.
        "Brittany, darling. I love you. You mean everything to me, as do all of our 
wonderful offspring, and it was ungrateful of me to carry on as I have 
behind you back, but I only did it that way because I knew you could not 
possibly understand, and would blow it way out of proportion", Marcel stated 
as he slowly got off the bed and started towards the door on all fours.
        "'Could not understand'? What the fuck is there to understand, Marcel? I 
caught you molesting our daughters in broad daylight. I am going to make 
sure they have you fixed live on every major television station. How is THAT 
for understanding?" Brittany growled as she pounced and lunged at him again.
        "You are nothing but a pampered, stuck-up civilian, Brittany. It would be a 
waste of my time to even try explaining the big picture to you, so shut up 
and settle down before I make you regret interrupting my training session", 
Marcel growled back as he grabbed her wrists, blocked her kicking, and kept 
his neck out of reach of her snapping teeth.
        With that Brittany went even more irate as she resumed her tantrum of bites 
and clawing and attempting to draw blood, twisting and pulling herself free 
from his strong grasp time and time again. Finally, seeing that things were 
just getting worse by the minute, Marcel decided to discipline his unruly 
wife and started raining blows on her. Not saying a word more and looking 
coldly at her, he backhanded, kicked, and then right hooked her into the 
hallway and up against the wall. He followed that up by lacerating her 
cheeks and underbelly with his claws and then uppercut her, her head 
slamming up against the blood speckled wall with a sickening thud.
        All the puppies heard the loud knock and, hearing them coming towards the 
doors to investigate it, Marcel cursed Brittany as he snarled at her. 
Finally, grabbing her by her perfect full breasts, he stepped sideways, bent 
at the knees, dragged and pushed her into the air, and arced her over the 
hallway banister and let her land face first onto the marble floor below as 
the first door opened.
        "Daddy?" one of the male puppies asked as he poked his head out, scared and 
wide eyed.
        "Everything is fine. Everyone, stay in your rooms until I say so. Your 
mother and I are just having a small spat. Remember your discipline", Marcel 
barked as he cleaned his hands off on his pants legs, smiled comfortingly 
down at the son that'd peeked out and spoke.
        "Mommy?" Marcel's son whimpered, looking up into his father's eyes 
uneasily.
        "Mommy is fine. She is downstairs waiting for me. This whole mess should be 
over very soon. Mommy will most likely be leaving up, but I swear on my life 
I will take good care of her no matter where she may disappear to", Marcel 
said as he momentarily scritched his son between the ears, then turned him 
around, kicked him lightly back into the room, and closed the door behind 
him.
        Sighing and shaking his head, Marcel went back to the blood marked spot of 
the hallway and looked down at Brittany over the banister. After taking one 
last look in the direction of his pups' rooms dejectedly, he sighed again 
and headed for and down the stairs, mumbling stuff about unforeseen events, 
collateral damage, and unnecessary mishaps. When he got downstairs, he found 
that Brittany was bleeding externally and internally and paralyzed from the 
neck down, but had managed to land at an angle instead of the straight dive 
he'd hoped for and so was still barely breathing, her lungs ready to 
collapse and fill with liquid.
        "Well, my narrow-minded beauty, I must commend you on your dedication to 
life. A lesser fur would have been dead my now. I swear to make sure your 
life and our offspring were not in vain. Though your morals are misguided by 
your cushy civilian upbringing, I shall make sure you live on and strengthen 
our pups in their journey to becoming perfect Poodles", Marcel whispered to 
his wife as he quad sit beside her and looked into her glassy eyes and 
watched the blood bubble from her mouth.
        With a nod of approval, Marcel marched back upstairs and into the master 
bedroom, and located and unsheathed the officer sword Edgar had given him 
when the Mammal Corpse has been disbanded. After wiping a synthetic 
handkerchief over the thin golden blade, he about-faced, marched back down 
the hall and stairs, and stopped back over his mate's fallen body. Taking 
one knee, he raised the ornate, polished gold and silver crafted sword, 
slowing brought it down to tap his mate on the neck, then brought it up 
again, and with a fluid thrust of his arm and body, sent the suave, tempered 
blade through his mate's narrow neck and singing stingingly onto the 
polished marble floor. Admiring how cleanly it went through her neck, he 
congratulated himself silently on keeping perfect maintenance all these 
years on it as he wiped the blood off of it and rotated and weighed it in 
his dainty hands.
        Next, after laying the sword down parallel with his mate's body between him 
and her, Marcel cupped the handkerchief around the stump between her 
shoulders and tied it down tightly with his belt. Then, after setting her 
head on top of her taunt body, he cradled her in his arms and carried her 
into the kitchen. Using the gold-trimmed marble countertop as a chopping 
block, he uses a retrieved buzz saw to chop his mate into potable chunks, 
seasons her, and starts pressure-cooking her. In the meantime of her stewing 
up, Marcel commenced to field day the upstairs hallway and downstairs floor 
below. Once back in the kitchen and while he was working on preparing a few 
more conventional domestic side dishes, his son, Pooky followed the 
delicious smells into the kitchen and poked his head in.
        "Daddy?  Where's Mommy? What're you cooking? It smells delish", Pooky 
riddled, him being the same pup Marcel had talked to earlier.
        "Did I not give you a direct order to stay in your room until I called for 
you, Pooky Poodle. *sigh* Your mother was acting very un-poodle-like and had 
to leave before she caused a problem to everything I have provided to you 
and your siblings.  Brittany Poodle is in preparation of being dishonorably 
discharged.  I am preparing the court marshalling meal right now", Pooky's 
father intoned at she looked distantly at the wedding photo he'd brought 
down and taped up on the cabinet door over the stove. "Now, be a good Poodle 
and fetch me a few potatoes from under the sink."
        Pooky didn't understand much of the terminology of what his father was 
telling him and while he obediently went and got a few potatoes for the 
stew, Marcel stepped away and puréed Brittany's head in the blender. Before 
returning to his cooking, Marcel set a couple of bowls on the floor, emptied 
half the blender's contents into each of them, and then set down six more 
bowls. Finally, after sending Pooky to get some vegetables out of the 
fridge, he blended his mate's lower limbs and distributed the contents into 
the other empty bowls.
        "Here Pooky. Here is something to remember your mother by. She was a 
wonderful Poodle, but head strong. May a piece of her live on within you, 
but nothing spiteful or un-poodle-like", Marcel stated as he offered the 
protein shake in one of the first two bowls to Pooky, "Buttons! Fluffy! 
Muffy! Peaches! Schnookums! Snowball! Tootles! Fall in!"
        At the word, Marcel's other pups were eager and obedient to run down the 
stairs and see what the good smells were. As all them drink up before dinner 
and Pooky licked his bowl clean, his belly now noticeably bulging, possibly 
heightened from him grabbing quick sips gulps from few of the other bowls 
while his father was calling down the rest of the family, Peaches reiterated 
Pooky's question about the reason for their special treat. Marcel, in turn, 
told everyone exactly what he'd told Pooky as Pooky looked nauseous and 
gingerly rubbed a paw over his swollen tummy.
        "It is a holiday in commemoration of weeding out and taking down the enemy 
within", Marcel commented right before Pooky clutched his tummy, screwed his 
eyes shut, and farted.
        "*Giggle* Gas. Gas. Gas", Muffy coughed, fanning a hand at Pooky before 
going back to sipping down his fill like everyone else. Later, just about 
when all the pups had finished, Pooky yelped as he momentarily clutched his 
legs up underneath himself and asked self-consciously, "Um. Daddy. When's 
Mommy going to be discharged? Pooky needs walkies."
        "Very well. Everyone, on the command fall out, fall out of the kitchen and 
fall back in at the front door for leashing and walkies. I will tell you all 
about the history of the Mammal Corpse while we are out, and then, upon our 
return to the manor, Brittany Poodle's final court marshal dinner will 
commence. Poodles, fall out!"
        Later, as one not to let a misdeed go unpunished, Marcel called all his 
pups down early the next morning to that same tree and called Buttons 
forward, him in his old Alpha Service Uniform and his sons and daughters in 
their pajamas and nightgowns respectfully. "Buttons Poodle. You have been 
charged with disobeying a direct order and drinking in excess in the attempt 
to make a mess on the floor and or compromise the daily walking schedule. 
You have proven yourself from time to time to potentially be a good leader 
and I have noted this when weighing your sentence. Do you understand all 
this, Buttons Poodle?"
        "Yes, Daddy!" Buttons Poodle barked confidently, standing up with her arms 
at her side.
        "Buttons Poodle. Disrobe."
        "Aye, Daddy!", they yipped in unison and then quickly and efficiently did 
so.
        "Buttons Poodle. As a leader in training, you are ordered to command each 
of your siblings to kick you in the stomach, since you did so well to strain 
it yesterday for your benefit. Starting with Schnookums Poodle."
        "Aye, Daddy", barked back with a slight tinge of fear in her voice as she 
turned to her sister. "Schnookums Poodle. I, order you to kick me in the 
stom, ach."
        Schnookums looked doubtfully at Buttons, and then up at her father, and all 
she received was a cold stare from him. With a grimace, she yipped, walked 
up to her sister, and kicked her in the groin, almost falling over in the 
process.
        "In the stomach, Schnookums Poodle! In the stomach! You do know where the 
stomach is, do you not?!" Marcel roared down at his daughter. "Shall I show 
you where your stomach is, Schnookums Poodle?! Shall I show you how a 
perfect Poodle kicks?!"
        "No, Daddy!" Schnookums cried, her vision blurred by tears. "Schnookums 
Poodle'll kick Buttons Poodle like a perfect Poodle, Daddy", and with that, 
she backed up, charged towards her sister, and delivered a flying kick to 
her midsection.
        "What is pain, Buttons Poodle?" Marcel barked at his fallen, natural 
daughter as she clutched her tummy and balled tears.
        "P-Pain's. Pain...Is.. P-pain's w-w-weakness, le-leaving, the body", 
Buttons sobbed as she tried to control herself.
        "Good, Buttons Poodle. Now suck it up like a perfect Poodle, get up, and 
call forth Fluffy Poodle to act out your punishment."
        "*Whimper whimper* Aye, Daddy", Buttons answered obediently as she slowly 
stood up again and glanced over at Fluffy.
        Upon watching his sister perform Buttons' request swiftly and justly, Pooky 
lost his nerve and ran back into the house. The other pups watched him leave 
and then looked at each other uncertainly, but none of them left and after 
the moment had passed, they composed themselves the best they could and 
tried to pretend that he'd never been there.
        With a tight smile, Marcel nodded approvingly and then said, "Well, carry 
on, Buttons. Tootles you are next and then that will do."
        For the rest of the day, Buttons was "queen" and Pooky was "exiled" or 
invisible.

Part 3

        Marcel Poodle nonchalantly looked up from his afternoon paper as the thick, 
double front doors opened autonomously and let the four trim and muscular 
young male poodles into the grand mansion.  They were all subconsciously in 
step with each other so that their footsteps towards the ornate staircase 
sounded like one macro poodle.  All were dressed in their immaculately 
starched and creased, high collared, long-sleeved, silver lined, jet black, 
male academy uniforms, with their silver trimmed, black, Greek fisherman's 
caps in their left hand and their black leather briefcases in their right.  
To protect themselves against the blistering cold wind, over their uniforms 
they wore long, jet black, silver and gold buttoned, insolated all-weather 
coats that dropped to an inch and half above their foot paws, the academy 
emblem of a scarlet swastika turned at a forty-five degree angle over a 
golden cross embroidered onto the left shoulder.
        After lining up their briefcases beside the staircase's golden banister, 
the four poodles marched over and lined up in front of the male poodle in 
the plush leather reading chair.  As he gravely folded up his newspaper, 
Marcel looked over at his four sons.
        "Report", Marcel barked as he stood up at attention.
        Peaches saluted his father, looking distantly straight ahead, and then 
replied, "All male Poodles ready and accounted for, Daddy."
        Marcel looked at Peaches, chopped a quick salute, and then ended it with, 
"Very well.  Carry on", to which his sons about faced and marched towards 
the stairs, in step though their puffball-tipped tails not necessarily so.
        Partially up the stairs, Snowball glanced back down at his father and 
slowed down momentarily as he winced slightly.  He'd gotten a trophy and 
medal for getting first place in the state scholastic awards the night 
prior, and afterwards his father had held a formation.  His medal had been 
removed from his uniform, the pin clasps had been pocketed, and then his 
father had ordered him to strip to natural.  Once done and an encouraging 
rub of his sheath by his father, the metal had been pinned and punched 
directly onto his right breast, and after that, his father had ordered his 
brothers and sisters to congratulate him accordingly.  They had eagerly done 
so by punching and grinding the sharp pinned metal in succession in 
appreciation of a job well done.
        It'd hurt like hell, but afterwards he couldn't have felt prouder.
        Marcel smiled as Snowball momentarily and gently rubbed the area over the 
closed pinpricks, and then Snowball impulsively punched Peaches in the 
middle of his back.  Peaches yiped as Snowball hopped to all fours and 
dashed past him, and a moment later everyone was on all fours racing to the 
bedroom.
        Marcel chuckled to himself and then went back to reading his paper.
        Elsewhere, just outside the female academy, Buttons Poodle couldn't wait to 
get home. As usual, her classes had been degrading to her intelligence. She 
didn't like the idea of her, or any poodle for that matter, being grouped 
with the same common furs who weren't nearly as good looking as poodles 
were.  She wanted to be home schooled, but her father wouldn't have it.  He 
wanted all of his offspring to see the world and interact with the other 
furs, no matter how inferior they might seem.  They were not afraid to 
express their superiority to the other types of furs, encouraging fights and 
challenges to their intellect, so those that didn't revere and respect them, 
rumored them to be satanic canines of the worst kind, but since they were so 
high ranked academically and never physically started the fights they tended 
to end, there was nothing the authorities or faculty could or would do about 
it.
        Know thy enemy, and learn from their mistakes.  Adapt and overcome through 
dedication and motivation.
        Semper Fidelis.
        Up in Poodle Manor, the male side of Marcel's litter had come back 
downstairs, stripped themselves to natural, retrieved and put their shiny 
blue leather collars on around their proud, thin necks, and was practicing 
their studies on the glossy marble floor in front of their father.  Behind 
their father's reading chair, all four of them had neatly folded and stacked 
their uniforms perfectly.
        "Snowball.  Do you think you could proofread my essay later?" Muffy asked 
as he grabbed Pooky under the armpits, bumping his dick a little bit harder 
and faster up Pooky's ass.
        Snowball swiveled his muzzle off of Pooky's dick and replied, spitting 
spooge onto Pooky's left leg, "Oh, why yes, dear brother.  It would be my 
pleasure."
        Working on Muffy's new rhythm as he straddled Snowball's body, Pooky sucked 
and licked Peaches to climactic whimpering, and then asked sarcastically, 
"What would you know about pleasure?"  There was heated silence as Muffy 
spooged inside Pooky and collapsed in and on him, and then Pooky happily 
whimpered before licking his maw clear and glancing over at Snowball, "What 
does any poodle know about pleasure?"
        "Poodles, fall in", Marcel barked after glancing again at his watch, which 
was punctuated by a yelp from Peaches as Pooky gagged and nipped 
accidentally on his member.
        Snowball cursed under his breath more for not being able to finish up than 
for choking Pooky.  The wagon wheel of young poodles quickly cleaned 
themselves off and sprang to all fours before dashing to either side of 
their father's chair.  On his left were Muffy and Pooky, and on his right 
were Peaches and Snowball.  The trick now was to calm down and act like 
unfeeling sentries until instructed otherwise, which was easier for some 
than others.  The four sat there at attention, flanking their father, silent 
and watchful, thinking of nothing but their dislike for the other furs.
        Peaches smirked a little as he thought about a couple Siamese that had been 
tailing him, asking to be tutored and inducted, for which in turn, they 
would instruct him on swifter and more deadly offensive attacks.  Snowball 
had acquired a Kodiak and a cocaine addicted silver wolf as bodyguards, the 
thought of which he had mixed feelings about, but it gave them a purpose in 
his life and an bit of admiration in his mind.
        Several minutes later the front door opened again and the female half of 
Marcel's litter sauntered into the grand foyer and towards the stairs.  None 
of the four younger males moved or said a word as Buttons, Fluffy, Tootles, 
and Schnookums lined up before their father, Buttons reported them in, and 
then they methodically started walking up the stairs.  The fives watched 
them leave with solemn interest.  Their starched, yellow-ish white, 
trousered and long sleeved uniforms were much less revealing than they would 
have liked, leaving much to the imagination, but it did accent their fur and 
cuts nicely and, when they moved, it did hug their bodies quite well at the 
hips and breasts.  Though it didn't show through the pockets, the males 
imagined that their female counterparts' developing breast nipples were 
standing at attention from the cold air.
        A couple minutes after they all disappeared upstairs, Buttons came 
swaggering back on down the stairs, her and her sister's resent coming of 
age of developing breasts accenting her movements quite nicely.  They all 
couldn't wait until the females were grown enough to have full deep cleaved 
breasts versus the cute teat-topped mounds right now.
        Once again, Buttons stepped to and stood at attention before her father, 
thrusting her chest out, and stated, "Buttons Poodle requests permission to 
speak, Daddy."
        A brief, tight-lipped smile showed on Marcel's muzzle as he lowered his 
newspaper a bit and glanced over it at his favorite daughter.  "Very well.  
What is it, Buttons?"
        "I am finding, as are probably all the Poodles, that having to deal with 
the lesser furs day in and day out is growing be veeery taxing", Buttons 
began as she stepped and leaned forwards, placing her hands on her father's 
lap and tilting her head to the side slightly as she stared lustfully into 
her father's eyes.  "We are better than they could ever be, Daddy.  We do 
not need them.  We do not need to be with them.  We know enough.  More than 
they could ever retain.  Why, Daddy?  Why do you keep tossing us out into 
that gutter world?  It is making me suffer just looking at them and thinking 
about it.  I do not want to become weak and lazy, as they are.  Really, 
Daddy, I do not... Why, Daddy?  Please, please tell me."
        Marcel smiled tightly as he nodded his head.  Then, after a bit of mock 
thought and considering, he set his newspaper down on his lap, reached up 
with right hand, ruffled her long, silky, violet headfur for a bit, traced 
his hand down her slim muzzle, stopped with his palm pad over her cute 
little nose, and shoved her hard away from him, assisting it with an upwards 
slap with his other hand.  Buttons reeled back, surprised and dishearten, 
but quickly caught her balance in a few steps and went back to standing at 
attention, acting as if his blow hadn't fazed her.  Though it was an obvious 
denial, her father hadn't dismissed her yet.
        Back to reading his paper, Marcel's tight smile is only partially hidden 
from his daughter.  She was determined and he'd gauged her correctly, of 
course.  Time to check his sons' conducts and proficiencies, but first...
        "Buttons, they, and the social battlefield outside this manor, are not 
worth putting wrinkles on your pretty little face over", Marcel explained 
with a dignified smile as he neatly folded the newspaper he had now only 
been partially glancing at and instinctively sat it down squared and trim on 
Peaches' head, which normally would be where his coffee table would be.  
Peaches had moved the table back behind himself, and when his father took 
his hand away and went back to engaging Buttons, he quickly turned and set 
the newspaper on top of the table as his father would have intended and 
reestablished his position.  Their father then put his heels together, his 
hands on his knees, and suggested distantly, his dark brown eyes soft and 
comforting to her, "Buttons, my favorite daughter, possibly my favorite 
offspring.  Why do you not hop onto my lap and tell me the specifics about 
all your troubles and vexes.  Let me be your comfort in this world of 
irrational furs."
        "Oh, yes.  Definitely, Daddy", Buttons responded, looking sweetly down at 
herself as she curtsied to her father, dropping her ruffled violet lace 
panties in mid move.  "I would so like that."
        When Buttons had been in elementary school, her father had removed her 
clothes for her, but over the years, she'd gotten a lot of practice in doing 
it herself prim and properly. Her body was too perfect for anyone's but a 
poodle's viewing and she was all too happy, no, selectively obliged to show 
off her genetically athletic curves, and her father's exacting poodle-style 
fur cut. Only proper furs shaved their fur, and the world was choked full of 
improper furs.  Oh, there were those wanna-be's that mocked the Poodles by 
shaving themselves, especially the Holy Roller sheep, but that's all it was.
        Inferior mocking.
        Buttons had gone one step better, asking that her father dye her unshaven 
fur light purple to make herself look that much more distinguished.  Her 
father had thought it over and had eventually obliged after relentless 
requesting and denial of servicing, and, as eccentric as the coloring seemed 
in his way of thinking, he eventually ended up calling her his poodle gem as 
he had her model every angle of herself to her brothers and sisters in just 
her new diamond and emerald studded violet collar.  She wore that now, and 
it sparkled and enhanced her natural and unnatural beauty.
        Every Tuesday and Thursday, their father would get the entire family 
together in just their collars and have them all do tricks in formation on 
his command.  Drill.  Performing tricks without question or hesitation 
showed discipline, superiority, and, depending on the trick, endurance and 
strength.  It also brought the family closer together, as did their personal 
time with their father.
        It was Wednesday, but there was no standard on the max days to drill.
        Marcel raised his right hand into the air and drew an invisible circle over 
his head.  All four of his sons got upon all fours in unison, circled 
clockwise in a single file around him three times, and then lined up in 
front of him before standing up in unison.  Poodles were always efficient 
and synchronized.
        "Right, face", Marcel commanded, his sons barked once sharply in unison, 
and turned to the right.  "About, face."  Another sharp bark as one and they 
all did a sharp one-eighty.  Good form.  Not very amusing though.  "Close, 
march."  Bark.  Zero, and one, and two, and three.  "Mark times, march", 
a.k.a. the steam engine for instructional purposes.
        The trick was for one poodle to move in the opposite direction of the 
poodle right in front of him while moving at exactly the same pace as the 
poodle in front of that poodle, while all four of them swung their arms in 
unison, all but the one in front sheath to base of tail.
        After a while, and a satisfactory long while at that, Pooky cringed, so it 
was time to move on, right, just, about, the moment of, now.  Marcel barked 
sharply, and all four son's sharply faced him and locked their bodies at 
attention as Pooky tried to maintain what baring he had left as he spooged 
on the floor in front of himself.  Pooky didn't whimper and didn't smile.  
Good, but his appearance was no longer poodle perfect, so...
        Marcel pulled a gold and silver rippled rubber ball from within the seat, 
held it over his head, the three other sons did an about face and dropped to 
all fours, the ornate front double doors opened autonomously as the three 
poodles wagged their tails in unison, Pooky sat down facing them right in 
front of his father, Marcel threw the ball out the door, and the three sons 
dashed after it.
        Both who was the cleanest and had the ball when they all came back would 
decide the winner.  Rarely had they ever come back marred, using tripping, 
shoving, and eventually preplanned gang-ups to prove themselves the 
craftiest.  Finally, they figured out that it wasn't really worth risking 
getting hurt that much over and started taking turns being the winner.  
They'd run around the mansion a few times to work up a sweat and a sweet 
little musk and then the poodle picked for the day would come back willing 
and ready.
        Today it was Peaches.  That was nice.  He probably would have won one on 
one with his brothers anyway.  Snowball was the smartest and Peaches was the 
strongest.  In the all-poodle runs, Fluffy was the fastest of the litter.  
>From time to time the others would beat them, but in the long run, that's 
how they rated.
        Peaches, with the ball in his mouth and in line with Pooky and their 
father, the other two poodles flanked him and then, at the bark of, "Post", 
from Pooky, signaled by a casual light kick up under the base of his tail by 
his father, the two flanking poodles dropped to all fours, high stepped to 
both sides of their father's chair, turned, and sat down at attention.  They 
still looked good.  They would be rewarded appropriately, but to the winner 
goes the prize.
        Marcel snapped his fingers and Peaches turned around towards Buttons, 
dropped to all fours, high stepped up to her, and slipped his muzzle under 
her skirt.  One whiff of her sophisticated musk was all it took to 
strengthen his desire for a poodle only world.
        Damn, did Peaches love being a poodle.  He wished he had enough rank that 
he could actually yiff the beautiful, exhilarating flower before his nose, 
but he was getting close.  He knew he was getting close.  Daddy was getting 
more lenient when it came to letting him prepare dear Buttons.  The other 
three had to maintain their baring, but he was already great at that.
        "At ease", Pooky barked in response to another nudge from his father, 
strengthening Peaches case.
        Actually, this time it was more of a placement than a nudge.  As they both 
watched Peaches bump his cold nose up and under Buttons' skirt, producing a 
brief gasp and then a tight smile from her as he proceeded to lick her, 
Pooky could feel his father's foot methodically bump and rub his sheath, 
always managing to get it between his father's toes.  It felt, well, weird.  
No matter how many times he had to sit here and take it, and despite its 
weirdness, it only added to the spooge-facture of the scene in front of him.
        Though poodle's were not suppose to and had no reason to envy other 
poodles, and especially other furs, it was hard not to watch Peaches clutch 
Buttons' firm figure and consume her crotch without feeling at least a 
little bit of jealousy.
        All Buttons could think about right now was, Gawddamn was her brother one 
hell of an oral yiffer, but why not.  By the time they'd gotten to Peaches' 
rank, they'd been on both sides of it enough times to be perfect at it.  
Practice did make perfect if you were striving for perfection every time you 
did it.  Now writhering on the floor and recovering a first class organism, 
she didn't even realize that their father had called Peaches to attention 
again.
        Still panting, she rolled over onto her taunt stomach, got up onto all 
fours, and headed towards Pooky and their father.  As she passed him, she 
looked at Peaches' glistening erection and mrrred.  It just wouldn't right 
to pass up a taste of such finery.  Their father's had always been too big.  
He'd always had to get the females ready and, when they were younger, had 
only been able to tease them for fear of scarring them in some way, because 
scars were ugly and un-poodle-like.  Peaches looked like he'd fit quite 
nicely.  He'd probably seem to prove otherwise the first few times, but that 
was because he was inexperienced.  Their father worked his dick like a bow, 
slipping and sticking to such perfection that he made his daughters sing 
sweet melodies all night long.
        Now she was in front of Pooky and started climbing up and over him to get 
to their father.  When she was completely on top of Pooky, she faked 
slipping and rubbed her juicy muff up against his nose.  Call it a 
constellation prize.  Something to think about as your finishing off 
Peaches.
        Their father gently helped her up and onto his lap, and as he ran his 
manicured fingers in and around her dripping wet muff, she unbuttoned the 
bottom of his shirt, undid his belt, and unzipped his pants, freeing the 
large, unsheathed poodle dick that had been forcefully creeping up his rock 
hard chest.  Then, as Pooky headed towards Peaches, Buttons wiggled her way 
down and over her father's dick, mrrring over the tightness within her.  As 
she worked herself up and down on him, she knew that he wouldn't spooge.  
It'd make an unsightly mess on their clothes and the chair.  The floor was 
not much different, though it was easy enough for Pooky to just lick up his 
own mess now and wash and wax the entire floor later.
        Nonetheless, Pooky was just as great with Peaches as Peaches had been with 
Buttons.  Buttons' musk was still perfumed on Pooky's nose, driving him to 
work Peaches so eagerly that Peaches actually collapsed on top of him 
whimpering, during the moment of climax.
        The attention completely off them, Snowball and Muffy looked at each other 
with raised brows and twisted smiles, and then smiled hungrily at Pooky, who 
rolled Peaches off of him and stifled a belch.  He had become a very good 
loser, possibly even a perfect loser, but he'd never admit that he was.  He 
feared, which in itself was un-poodle-like, that if he accepted his role as 
the grand reward for a job well done, then he'd never amount to anything 
more than that, and if he was too good at being the prize, then everyone 
else would expect him to always be and always want to be the prize.  Despite 
Peaches' reaction, Pooky had done himself many times and never considered 
himself that good at all, which, of course, was yet another un-poodle-like 
attitude, but a necessary one as far as he saw it.
        "Daddy, we would like to play, too", Fluffy requested, both her and 
Schnookums standing at the foot of the stairs with their arms crossed behind 
their backs, chest out, their legs and back straight, and their feet 
together, "Please."
        "Have you started your homework yet?" their father asked as he started 
undoing Buttons' shirt from the top down.
        "It is all easy stuff, daddy.  Just trifling busy work as usual", 
Schnookums commented.
        It wasn't really, but she was willing to stay up late studying and 
finishing the homework if only she could get some personal time with father 
like Buttons did.  Buttons was the alpha pup, and that was respected as a 
poodle should, but she didn't have to always have to get solo training.
        "Very well then", their father answered, and Schnookums and Fluffy snapped 
to attention.  Then he looked up at the ceiling, whistled past it as he 
slipped Buttons off of himself, and called to the missing offspring as he 
set Buttons down in front of himself, "Tootles!  Drill time!"
        Upstairs, Tootles looked up from her physics book as she casually stroked 
her underbelly, pricked up her ears, and smiled proudly at the command.  
Jumping off the bed, she dashed on all fours to the make-up stand, snatched 
up three pink leather collars in her teeth, and then bounded down the hall 
and stairs, quickly handed a collar to both of her other sisters and then 
she and Buttons positioned herself in flank at attention with the first two 
waiting sisters, now all of them with their collars in their left hands by 
their sides.
        Standing up, their father pointed at the ceiling and all four females put 
their collars on in unison.  Then, with a snap of his manicured fingers, the 
three waiting poodles stripped and folded their skirted uniforms nice and 
neatly along their creases in front of themselves.  He did a satisfactory 
nod as they snapped back to attention in unison, glanced momentarily at 
Buttons, and smirked.  Yes, his Poodle gem definitely stood out from the 
rest, and in a very nice way.  Marcel pointed downwards and everyone dropped 
to all fours again.
        After quickly circling and looking his four daughters all over for 
uniformity, other than color, Marcel started to issue the next silent 
command, and then looked at Tootles again.  Dropping to all fours, he 
pranced completely around the four poodles again, this time more intently, 
and then stopped in front of Tootles, who was now looking noticeably 
nervous.
        "Tootles Poodle.  Are you putting on weight?" Marcel asked gravely, 
stirring up hushed gasps.
        Poodles did not let themselves get fat.  A fat poodle was an improper 
poodle and must be dealt with accordingly.  Pooky had, on various occasions, 
snuck in-between meal snacks and let himself go, and had thus paid 
accordingly each time.  After being forced to drink water until he vomited 
when it was found out, he had then been put on half rations, remedial, and 
consecutive fire watch duties until he was zombified and his stomach was 
groaning louder than he was.  If it had been back in the time of Marcel's 
beloved Corpse, Pooky would have gotten a page eleven and then after a 
couple more of the same offenses, nonjudicial punishment and restriction.  
It, of course, wasn't, so the charges were more severe.
        "Y-yes, daddy", Tootles whimpered as her father traced a circle in front of 
her that meant that she was to roll over.  There was more to it than her 
just eating more than she was suppose to though, and from her father's smug, 
tight-lipped smile as he thoughtfully high-stepped back around to the other 
side of her and sniffed her tight muff, she could see that he knew that, 
"and I do think I very much will be getting bigger.  Daddy."
        "Very well then", Marcel agreed after a brief pause as he rubbed his hands 
over his daughter's tight bulge, stopping momentarily at each of her half 
dozen newly emerging teats.
        For a brief moment there was a twisted smile on Marcel's face as he let out 
a small wisp of breath, and then he was stern again.  Glancing down, Tootles 
smiled at the fact that her father hadn't zipped up his pants, and she knew 
he'd love to stick that rock hard piece of meat back inside her and counsel 
her on hiding this from him.  To this, she wriggled invitingly and smiled 
happily down her bulge, looking up into her father's eyes lustfully.
        Casting off his daughter's advances, Marcel nod matter-of-factly, stood up, 
and echoed as he walked unreadably back towards his chair, "Very well then."
        Tootles had been unsure of how it would be taken that she'd stopped taking 
birth control pills in a hope to have an early litter.  From her father's 
brief event of rubbing, she knew that it'd gone well.  If she wasn't up to 
Buttons' status with their father, she was hopefully close.  For the moment, 
her father just sat there working his jaw in consideration as he looked past 
them all.
        "Buttons", Marcel called thoughtfully, looking at Tootles again as he 
tapped his right leg.  Buttons immediately dashed over to his right side, he 
pointed upwards, and she stood up facing her sisters, "Buttons.  It is time 
you got some real leadership training.  From now on, Tootles is your sole 
responsibly.  You shall feed, care for, and clean up after her as deemed 
fit.  Return later so that I may give you her leash.  Tootles.  You will 
file weekly progress reports.  I will come by from time to time for a 
personal inspection of your progress.  Be sure to correct Buttons if she 
makes any mistakes, Tootles.  Peaches, Muffy, Snowball.  Pooky.  Tootles is 
now a safe zone.  Feel free to PT with her as she and Buttons sees fit.  
That is all.  On the command fall out, everyone fall out and carry on with 
the plan of the day."  Buttons and Tootles looked at each other, and then at 
their father.  "Poodles.  Fall out."
        This could be an interesting turn of events.

Part 4

        Thoroughly worked up, Peaches turned up the speed on the finishing sprint 
through the house and back up to the master bedroom.  Once there, he stood 
up, bounded towards the end of the large, ornately engraved, canopy bed, 
jumped and grabbed hold of the exposed horizontal support beam, and start 
doing his thirty-two pull-ups, Tootles quad sitting on the bed eagerly 
lapping at his sheath and then his rigid pinkish member every time he pulled 
himself up.  Most of his weight, like all but Tootles' bodies, was pure lean 
muscle mass.  Once done and thoroughly encouraged, he has worked up a 
panting sweat as well as a bit of pre, and all the others in the room drink 
up the musky scent of it.
        On the bed with Tootles, Snowball was on his back with Tootles' heavy rump 
in his maw.  His narrow poodle muzzle was but a toothy pad over the ripe 
bitch's musky bits, wetting itself with the help of a probing tongue and a 
hot, sucking breath.  Once Peaches was finished, she got off of Snowball's 
face, rolled onto her back and spread herself again invitedly to her 
brother.  Snowball turned over, gave his sister's swollen muff one last 
lick, and then mounted and shoved himself within her.  Soon enough, the 
heavy bulge on Tootles middle was bouncing and bobbling stiffly in time with 
the knocking canopied queen-size bed.
        Off to the side of the grand bedroom, Pooky and Muffy were yiffing each 
other in a much more dominated fashion.  Muffy had been gagged and bound 
under his own suggestion in duct tape like they were electric chair straps 
to a metal folding chair.  Though not necessarily suppose to accent the feel 
of an electric chair, he had previously bound a metal pipe fastener around 
one of his nuts and one around his hardened member, and the screws to both 
connected to wires that ran to a string of nine volt batteries.  Between one 
of the wires and in Pooky's chubby hands was a variable amp controller.  
Between experimentally adjusting the setting and sliding up and down on his 
brother's electrified post, Pooky would every once in a while yank off the 
duct tape muzzling Muffy, Muffy would scream from the waxing, and then 
everyone else would howl and yip in response as Pooky panted and reapplied 
some new duct tape over a slightly new area.
        After a brief rest, Peaches does one hundred four-count push-ups as his 
father does fifty one-handed push-ups with each hand.  Once both are 
finished, Marcel barks everyone to attention, and everyone but Muffy gets to 
the floor and stands.
        "Let us pray", Marcel then instructed and everyone closed their eyes and 
bowed their heads.
        Snowball, it being his turn to lead the family in evening prayer, then 
howled, "Oh, mighty Lord.  Gawd of all furs great and small.  Thank you Gawd 
for watching over us and letting us make it through one more day.  Gawd.  
Blessed be we all as your perfect likenesses.  Lord, we humble ourselves 
before the gifts and talents thou hath given us.  We stand before you 
tonight, oh might Lord, in hope that some day, when you, our awesome savior, 
will grant us superiority over all other furs.  Furs that thou hath also 
breathed life into, Lord, and made in your omnipotent image, but to a lesser 
degree than the master race of Poodles.  As we lay down now, oh supreme of 
all beings, we carry you in our hearts and souls as your mortal vessels.  
Ein Volk.  Ein Reich.  Ein Fuehrer.  Amen."
        Everyone that could, then traced a cross; mouth to groin, shoulder to 
shoulder.  Like their academy, their father believed that religious belief 
and foundation was vital to a long and healthy upbringing.  Just as 
important as a military upbringing, their father had said, and so they had 
studied the Bible just as long and hard as their schoolbooks, picking it 
apart for its faults and misinterpretations, and retranslating the correct 
way.  Nonetheless, and more to please their father than the academy, they 
had sought out Jews, Muslims, and the like, and had given them the choice of 
converting or being crucified.  Most, and especially if they didn't stick 
with the true faith on a follow-up inspection, were crucified, the Poodles 
dressed up in NBC and armed with flamethrowers so they wouldn't be readily 
recognized and retaliated.
        After one minute of silent individual prayer, they opened their eyes, 
snapped their heads up, and finally all, Muffy standing awkwardly under the 
weight and support of the chair, stood at attention as Pooky yips and barks 
Taps.
        Once all the end of evening formalities were done, Marcel climbed into bed 
with ripe Tootles, cuddling and listening to her belly as he felts with his 
muzzle and cheeks for movement within her.  Tootles looked like she could 
almost whelp a healthy litter now, but she was still just ending her second 
trimester.  This, of course, pleased her father to no end, the thought of 
what she'd look like at full term always dancing around in his mind.  
Nipping at and licking his daughter's ripe belly, Marcel turned his head 
slightly and winked at the surveillance camera in one of the upper corners 
of the room.  There was a subtle hiccup or nudge within, and he rewarded it 
by scritching and stroking her gravid underbelly.
        Be it the bedroom, bathroom, closet, wherever, he'd programmed the cameras 
to record Tootles' every moment, so that, when she'd whelped and was too 
busy tending to the needs of the new litter, he could edit and watch the 
choice clips over and over again in his own privacy.
        Not showing any jealousy or anger towards Tootles for all the attention 
she's harboring from their father, Buttons fed Tootles steaks with one hands 
as she fondled Tootles' breasts with the other hand, and all the while their 
father was lower down on the bed tonguing his swollen daughter and lapping 
up her sweet nectar.  Mrrring at his inability to see any of her upper body 
over the multi-teated, fuzzy semi-naked dome, Marcel licks his lips and then 
drills his nose into her soft, thick muff, sneezing hot air into her as he 
darts his tongue at her rear.  Peaches and Schnookums were now perpendicular 
to their father's lower half, facing each other, and they took pleasure in 
taking turns licking their father's member and each other's noses.
        Before Peaches and Schnookums' game could make him spooge, Marcel rolled 
Tootles over and started yiffing away earnestly on her swollen, over 
sensitized muff, using one hand to reach across, stroke, and scritch her 
ripe belly, and the other to lightly choke her.  Beside them, Buttons and 
Peaches started to foreplay, taking turns kicking, slapping, and going down 
on each other in various positions every few minutes.
        Once exhausted and thoroughly satisfied, Muffy had Fluffy untape him from 
the chair and then they both hopped into bed with most of the rest of the 
family.  After a tight orgy, the blankets and comforter were pulled back up 
onto the bed, everyone but Fluffy slipped under them to some degree, and 
started dozing off in a steamy dog pile around Tootles.
        All the while, the room was lit by the candlelight of two seven-candle 
candelabras held by Fluffy at full breath from each other.  All she could do 
was stand there watching them all mournfully, dressed only in a long sleeve, 
button down shirt, a long metal pole slipped through both sleeves and across 
her back, meant only to keep her arms spread than to help support the 
candelabras.  Even if she wanted to let go of the golden holders, they had 
been duct taped within and into mittens over her hands.  In the midst of 
PMS, she'd gotten huffy and belligerent with her father and he'd made her 
walk around on and off for most of the day like this.  Now, she just stood 
there with her leash attached to an overhead hook, loose enough to let her 
shift and bend comfortably, but short enough that she couldn't lean against 
anything or sit down without choking herself.
        After a soft, pleading whimper from the overwhelming tightness in her gut, 
Fluffy crossed her legs, bent over slightly, and watched herself maneuver 
and piss away the stubborn little flecks of dried blood staining her inner 
thigh.  Off to the side of her was the now overturned, empty pot Muffy had 
used to force feed her earlier just for the amusement of the rest of the 
family, thick and meaty spaghetti sauce until she thought she was going to 
burst and or puke.  Surprisingly against the uncomfortable groans and 
straining of her belly, she hadn't, but now the scat of her previous meals 
wanted out badly.  If she could help it, Fluffy didn't want to make any 
bigger a mess than she really had to.
        Her father would probably make her clean the floor with her tongue, and her 
siblings would only encourage him to command so.
        Across the room, Muffy poked his head farther out and looked over at Fluffy 
from under the tight body of Pooky, his slender wrists now tape bound behind 
his back and his brother's member tight up his rear in one final yiffing.  
He'd watched his sister piss on herself with great amusement, and smiled 
coyly when she caught his gaze and growled at him.  As he watched her shift 
and tense up, he swore he could hear her belly gurgling and groaning in 
aggravation and warning.  Pooky now fast asleep and soft, Muffy turned 
around to face and watch his sister by candlelight.
        Oh, what a laugh he would have when that bottle of laxatives he'd mixed 
into the gravy kicked in.

Part 5

        In continuation of the longstanding routine to do so, Marcel called 
reveille upon his house, though not with intent to wake everyone within it, 
and thus rousing up only his grown poodles early for their morning walk.  
Exiting the house and initially double-timing through the backyard, they 
were all dressed in their usual leashed leather collars, as well as 
semi-matching florescent pink and blue bullet-proof cammies, Tootles' of 
course being preg-sized, and rifles with a single round in the chamber 
strong-side muzzle up, weapons on safe, no magazines.  Marcel had Tootles' 
rifle on his back as well as his own pistol on his hip.
        Tootles, now pregged cumbersomely large with the nineteen due puppies 
within her, waddled gingerly on all fours, her well-exercised preg teats 
swollen to tight hopper breasts which couldn't help but ooze a couple drops 
of milk with each rocking step of her hind legs and brush of her cammies.  
Unfortunately, her pregged state also made her bladder equally tight and 
sensitive, and she seemed to feel the need to piss on something every couple 
hundred yards, sometimes not being able to undo her cammie bottoms in time 
and pissing on herself.  More to help her stay hydrated than to add to her 
bladder problem, her father had made her drink a half canteen of lightly 
salted, watery juice every time she piss as well as having her constantly 
nibbling on crackers and lightly salted liver, steaks, and the occasional 
heart.
Eventually, for fear of getting her privates chafed by dried, overly pissed 
cammies, Tootles talked her father into letting her go natural, and he had 
everyone guard her as he led from the rear with her cammies drying over his 
left shoulder.  Moving over to and walking along the side of the path, she 
started taking great pleasure in slinking her overripe underbelly across the 
dewy grass, which in turn enticingly swelled her nipples and muff more so 
than the cammies had.  The fact that she was getting close to slowing the 
group down to a crawl was completely ignored, and she became the center of 
everyone's attention.  Also, agitated by her earthen belly tickling, light 
bumps rippled around her great tummy from time to time as her puppies 
explored the innerspace around themselves.
        Precisely where he wanted to be, Marcel watched and sniffed at his daughter 
and eventually she caught on that she was causing a furotic tailwind, so, 
impulsively, she stopped, squirmed, and smiled back up at her father, 
wagging her fat bottom up at him.  A couple more litters, she figured, and 
she very well could be twice as wide as her brothers and sisters, which 
wasn't all that bad considering how flexible pregging made her, too.
        Taking it as the yiffy invitation it resembled and just as impulsively, 
Marcel stopped and ordered to Tootles, "Play, dead."
        With a warning nudge from one of her due pups, Tootles yelped, turned 
around to face her father, and whimpered, "Oh no.  Wait.  Daddy, no.  We 
cannot.  The pups, Daddy.  I am too close to whelping.  It-"
        "Stop your sniveling this second!  Are you questioning me, Tootles Poodle?  
I said, play, dead!" Marcel, having just been yiffily teased and not liking 
it, growled as he raised a grizzled hand in warning of slapping her hard 
across the muzzle.
        "Daddy", Tootles pleaded, but slowly and carefully rolled onto her side, 
crossing her thick legs across her sensitive belly.
        Though weakened somewhat now by age, no one would stop him.  Well, almost 
no one.
        "Stay off her, Daddy", Pooky growled in Tootles defense, taking a stand 
over her, setting one footpaw gently on her ballooned midriff and balancing 
on the other behind her back. "You know full well it might hurt her and the 
unborn Poodles.  Remember what happened with the first litter, Daddy.  I 
know that you of all Poodles, as impervious of feeling and mistakes as you 
may play off as being, could not bare to go through a incident like that 
again."
        Though grim-faced and standing with clinched fists, Marcel nodded solemnly 
and stood his ground with his hands to his side.  As before, he'd gotten 
overzealous on the yiffiness of his favorite daughter's body and, then 
inexperienced on her frailness, had at that time gone down on her too 
violently.  Back at the time of that mishap, she hadn't been as ripe or had 
such a packed litter within her as she had now, but she'd torn, bled, and 
ended up whelping early.  Much too early, some thought, for the litter's 
health.  Though premature, the litter had been saved, but by then it had 
scarred him psychologically for a time more than it had scarred his beloved 
daughter physically.  He'd had the top surgeons patch her up like new, and 
had come very close to having himself fixed.  She was practically on her due 
date now, and, no matter what, he would be gentle with her.  From that point 
on, he was always gentle with her.  The others, they could and did take up 
her slack.
        Maybe he should send one of the females back for puppy watch, though he had 
faith that they would still be sleeping by the time his first offspring got 
back.
        "And what of you, Peaches, Buttons?" Marcel asked, looking out to the 
horizon with knitted brow.  "Appointed leaders of the sexes.  What have my 
other underlings have to say of the matter?"
        Buttons remembers when, out of a fit of jealousy, she'd hired a chocolate 
Labrador indirectly to organize a small posse to beat her up, gang rape 
Tootles, slice open her sister's ripe womb, pull out her half termed litter, 
and crush, stomp, and devour them to death.  As Buttons saw it, without her 
due litter, Tootles was just another fat fur, poodle or not, and fat furs 
deserved to suffer long and painfully.
        The gluttonous scums of the earth would pay, and Buttons wanted to be on 
the frontline leading them forth.
        By word of the lab the next day in a secluded place, the fetuses had been 
like pred candy, to which Buttons had congratulated the lab on a job well 
done, they'd shook hands, and then she'd bit out his throat, followed by his 
nuts, and ended the meeting by disemboweling him for a snack later.  To her 
admiration, he seemed to still have been fighting for life as she swaggered 
away.  Being that he was the only one that had known she was involved, it 
was easy for her to pin it all on him.  As thus, her father wasted no time 
in not only organizing a black op on the unorganized mob itself, but also 
their immediate families.  As Tootles was once again surgically repaired and 
kept under twenty-four seven watch by their father, the Poodles beat down, 
lacerated, and hung the families of those that were tied to Tootles ghastly 
cesarean before having their houses napalmed and bombed.  That, of course, 
had been the end of their public education, especially for Tootles, and 
though it never was traced back to her, Buttons lost her billet and 
leadership over Tootles.
        Now, Buttons wished she'd pinned it on Pooky, or appropriately, one of her 
other lesser sisters.  Who needed them anyway?  It would have made things 
easier in the weeks after that incident since there was a whispered rumor 
that it might have been an inside job, and she had to walk on eggshells 
trying to act caring and distraught without seeming suspiciously so.  
Nonetheless, the unbreakable poodle gem had been tarnished and bumped down 
under the frail shadow of the generator's oven, and their father was taking 
his frustration of this and that out on everyone else in his bed.
        Neither Buttons, nor Fluffy or Schnookums could have litters now even if 
they wanted to.
        "I refuse to stand by and let you call our Daddy weak, Pooky", Peaches 
growled as he pounced on his brother, knocking him backwards and to the 
ground, "You may be a Poodle by blood, but you have always acted like a 
lesser fur.  For that you shall suffer greatly."
        "Arrogant, mindless fool", Pooky growled back as he kidney punched his 
brother, "I am but speaking the truth."
        For a short while, Peaches and Pooky tumbled, bit, and clawed at each 
other, and then Muffy and Snowball joined in against Pooky.  Realizing that 
he was loosing and possibly could get killed, Pooky dodged, jumped, and 
rolled out of the middle of the fight and opted then and there to flee for 
his life.  Unfortunately for him, they had nearly made it to the middle of a 
fairly large personal meadow-like park.  Not wanting to play the easy 
target, Pooky hoped to zigzag about and ultimately make it to the safety of 
the city edge.  From that point on, well, maybe his father would be merciful 
and give him outside help and money to stay disappeared.  As much as he 
figured his father might despise mutiny, he hoped his father couldn't stand 
seeing one of his own begging on the streets any more so.
        "Poodles.  On the firing line, stand", Marcel barked as he watched Pooky 
turn tail and run.
        Obedient and stern-faced, all seven on Marcel's first litter lined up at 
attention in a squad behind him, watching Pooky.
        Poodles do not desert.  Even Tootles, though knowing that Pooky had put 
himself in grave danger under her defense, could not deny that fact.
        "Tighten, slings ", Marcel barked as he started to pace the line of 
poodles.
        All but Tootles then reached under their right arms with their left hands, 
grabbed their rifles by the hand guards, and pulled them off their 
straightened right arm.  Next, they rested the end of their rifles' 
buttstocks on their beltlines, popped their heads down intently, and watched 
themselves tighten the slings to flush against their weapons, the sling 
keeper tight in the groove of the magazine release.  Tootles, her weight and 
balance compromised by her extreme ripeness, was then allowed to drop back 
down to all fours, though she had to remain on line.
        Pooky, pretty much in mortal danger as it was, took this opportunity to 
dive, remove his own weapon from his shoulder, roll, and aim in for a shot 
back at his father and siblings from the prone position.  His son only a 
couple hundred yards away, Marcel pulled his pistol out, pointed it in 
Pooky's direction, and fired a round that ripped a searing gash through the 
lesser dog's left shoulder.  Though comparably less painful than the time 
his brothers had taped him down to a chair, shaved his sheath carelessly 
with a straight razor, and then doused his blood freckled groin with rubbing 
alcohol, he did get the message.  While hurriedly slipping his rifle to 
cross body sling arms, he turned and continued dashing away on all fours.
        "Order, arms", Marcel barked with a sly grin as he holstered his polished 
silver and gold pistol.
        His loyal pups, snapping their heads up to look distantly straight ahead, 
slapped their right hands around the compensator and front sight, nudged 
their rifles slightly with their left, and then used that hand to guide 
their weapons to tight against their right sides once it'd dropped to 
parallel with their bodies.
        Now standing before Muffy, who was in the middle of the poodle firing line, 
Marcel turned to face him square on, and barked sternly to him only, 
"In-spec-tion, arms."
        In precisionistic response, Muffy pulled his weapon up centered and 
parallel with his body, the muzzle tip at eye level, and grabbed the middle 
of the hand guard with his left hand.  Then, he dropped his right hand down 
to the charging handle, setting the weapon from safe to semi as he did this, 
and, after pulling the charging handle to the rear and hearing the bolt 
catch and secure as the ejection port popped open, he reset the charging 
handle as Fluffy, who was to his immediate right, caught the single round no 
longer within.  Fluffy quickly followed this up by tossing and catching the 
round in her left hand and dropping both hands back to her sides, her right 
hand once again clutching her unwavering rifle, never having turned her eyes 
away from watching the horizon.  At the same time, Muffy turned the weapon 
with the ejection port facing him as he grasped the top of the buttstock and 
raised the weapon so the ejection port was now slightly above eye level, but 
he too was still staring past it into the distance.
        "Ready on the right.  Ready on the left", Marcel barked as Muffy turned his 
rifle around so the open ejection port was facing his father.
        Buttons and Snowball, both flanking the firing line on either end, popped 
their rifles into the air with a curl of their right arms, and caught them 
by the hand guards in midair on the way down with their left.  Then, after 
rotated the buttstock high into pocket of their right shoulders with inertia 
and skill, they clutched the hand grip with their right hands, flipped their 
weapons to semi as they stepped forwards with their left foots, and aimed 
in.
        "You may fire when your taaargets appear", Marcel commanded as he reached 
into his pocket, pulled out a hollow-point round, and slipped it into the 
chamber of Muffy's rifle as Buttons and Snowball took a shot in unison at 
Pooky.
        Neither sibling hit him.  Neither were meant to hit him, but Pooky did hear 
the dual rounds whistle past his ears and it made him try to run faster.  
Their rifles now empty, Buttons and Snowball dropped the buttstocks of their 
weapons to waist level, their rifles at forty-five degree angles and 
centered with their bodies.
        In continuation, Muffy turned his rifle back to the front sight post 
pointing at him, pressed the bolt release and then closes the ejection port 
with a smooth rock of his left hand, and then drops the rifle so the 
compensator tip was once again at eye level.  The command to his son now 
complete and done flawlessly, Marcel stepped forwards, snatched the rifle 
out of Muffy's hands aggressively, and Muffy dropped his hands back down to 
his sides as his father turned at the waist and raised the reloaded weapon 
to his right shoulder.  Now in the Russian offhand, the elder poodle pressed 
the bolt assist a couple times, aimed in on Pooky until he judged him to be 
five hundred yards away, and shot him in the left butt cheek, letting loose 
a satisfactory splash of blood and meat from the tagged mark.
        Pooky, now in a great deal of pain and resentment for his family, tumbled 
end over end as his father snapped back to facing Muffy and thrust the rifle 
back at him.  It unavoidably punched Muffy in the muzzle, but he caught it, 
momentarily taking a single step back to regain his balance, and dropped it 
back down to his right side, ignoring a tiny stream of blood that had 
started to drip from his nose.
        Everything going well regardless, Marcel next barked, "Peaches.  
Schnookums.  Retrieve Pooky."
        As the two siblings did this, Buttons, Muffy, and Snowball decided to make 
use of the downtime by breaking out their rifle cleaning gear from within 
the buttstocks of their weapons with the intent to hone their weapons to 
like new cleanliness.  Smirking at them, Fluffy opened hers up and pulls out 
a vibrator, with the intent to hone herself to a timely orgasm.
        Fluffy's smile of lust to her electronic dildo was immediately wiped away 
as Tootles let out an exasperated yelp and whimper.  Everyone available's 
attention back on her, Tootles, standing in a puddle of musky warm water, 
yelped and whimpered again as she pointed down accusingly at her slowly 
dilating muff.
        "I think I can already feel one of them on the way out", Tootles whined, 
crossing her legs and holding her hands tight against her pups opening exit 
way.  The inner workings of her body were on her pups' side, so she 
exaggerated the situation by adding, "I know not *yipe* just how long I can 
hold them *nnngh* off.  Do something, Daddy. *grunt* Do something before I 
start spitting out puppies left and right."
        "Yes.  Quite right, Tootles darling.  Buttons, Muffy, Snowball.  Help me 
run your sister back to the house.  Fluffy.  Tail us and watch for emerging 
pups.  Now everyone!  Go, go, go!" Marcel commanded as four poodles locked 
arms, Tootles laid down face down between them, and they quickly started 
back home with Fluffy trailing behind and then running back to help and 
inform Peaches and Schnookums.
        Over the next few hours, nineteen healthy new additions to the family were 
born.  The last litter nature would let Marcel Poodle father himself.

Part 6

        "Your life is a luxury, not a right Pooky!  I chose to have you and raise 
you in the ways of the true Poodle, and I can choose to kill you as well.  I 
am your father and Commanding General.  What I say goes because I am older 
and smarter than you are, and most of all, I outrank you.  Your own brothers 
and sisters outrank you, second lieutenant.  You are pathetic and will 
always be pathetic", Marcel growled to the tall, thin, and withdrawn poodle 
standing before him in nothing but a thick, dark brown, leather collar.
        "If that is how it is going to be, Daddy, then I would rather I be dead.  
Then I would no longer have to deal with all your proper Poodle crap and you 
can pick another sibling to abuse", Pooky responded gruffly, his body stiff 
and defiant as his head drooped slightly from the weight of the chain that 
bound his thick leather collar to the center of the grand room's marble 
floor.
        With an air of utter indifference, Marcel unfastened and removed the 
holster strap bound diagonally across his chest, opened up the holster, 
removed the ornately stenciled, gold and silver plated, .45mm pistol, tossed 
it to Pooky's feet, and dropped the holster to his own left side.
        "So be it then, Pooky.  You have my authorization to kill yourself.  You 
will not be missed", Marcel stated all too matter-of-factly as Pooky groaned 
in frustration.
        While muttering incoherently about how much better his life would have been 
if he hadn't been born a poodle, Pooky knelt down and picked up the highly 
polished weapon.  His father's full name and social security number were 
neatly engraved on the left side of the silver handle, and as he turned it 
over and over, the minute sweat from his pads left incriminating smudges on 
its otherwise spotlessly shiny casing.  Then he briefly removed the silver 
magazine clip and saw that it did have a full case of rounds inside it.
        "Aye, Daddy", Pooky barked as he pointed the pistol at the base of his 
right ear, and then, right before he pulled the trigger, he quickly aimed 
the pistol right between his father's eyes.
        Marcel Poodle didn't even blink.
        The first shot should have killed Marcel, but just let out a small, 
harmless muzzle blast.  By the second blank, Marcel was already on the move, 
and Pooky grimaced from the pain in his wrist as his father grabbed it, 
turned it sideway, and brought it closer to him, momentarily throwing Pooky 
off balance.  The third round was real, but was now aimed too far to Pooky's 
right.  By the fourth round, the pistol was harmlessly pressed against 
Marcel's hip and Pooky could do nothing but loosen his grip on the pistol 
and relax his arm muscles as his father slammed his bent elbow down on the 
side of Pooky's elbow.
        As a surge of pain shot up his arm and he heard and watched the pistol 
clatter onto the floor, Pooky instinctively relaxed his entire body and 
accepted the forceful elbow to his jaw and uppercut that he knew would 
follow.  As Pooky nearly flipped over backwards, white-hot pain momentarily 
blinding his eyes, a downtrodden yelp escaped his lips as he wondered why 
his father had been so nice to him.
        Pooky knew his father could have moved faster and not given him time to 
soften the blows.  He knew his father could have turned his wrist completely 
around and hit his elbow on the bone, thus completely breaking his arm.  He 
knew his father could have then decided to lay him face down on the ground, 
take his other arm, and push it diagonally across his body to the base of 
his tail so that he would have two broken arms.  Hell.  Marcel could have 
even picked up his pistol, put it back into Pooky's hand, and shown Pooky 
how to correctly kill himself.
        If he had been angered or surprised by Pooky's actions, Marcel could have 
done a lot of things to compensate for it, but he didn't.  Instead, he just 
disgustedly walked over to his son, unzipped the fly of his perfectly 
creased green trousers, and commenced to piss on the whimpering poodle.  
When he was done, he casually zipped up his trousers, adjusted his uniform, 
and then watched emotionlessly as Pooky slowly got onto all fours, and then 
stood up as tall and rigid as he could muster.  Pooky's defiant anger was 
now replaced with hopeless pain and bottled up suffering.
        "You are not fit to wear a true Poodle's brass, Pooky," Marcel sentenced 
ominously, his eyes narrowed into soul burning slivers, "but I am not 
letting you out of living by the Poodle ways yet.  You are from this time 
forward, a second-rate Poodle of the rank of... Private."
        Pooky unconsciously dropped his jaw, ears, and shoulders in defeat, and 
then quickly caught himself and sucked it up.
        "Your new rank structure shall be discussed later, but no matter how high 
up it you get, you shall generously salute and call 'sir' or 'mam' any true 
Poodle, no matter how low in rank.  Do you understand, Private Pooky?" 
Marcel finished as a third poodle silently slipped into the room.
        "Yes, Daddy.  Sir", Pooky answered monotonously, the weight of his chain 
and collar making his head hurt more.
        "Belay my last.  You, Private Pooky, as a second-rate Poodle, shall address 
every Poodle only by their rank and shall address every true Poodle as 'sir' 
or 'mam'. Do you understand?" Marcel hissed, as he picked up his holster and 
started securely fastening it across his chest.
        "Yes sir, Commanding General, sir", Pooky angrily replied, suddenly finding 
himself aliened from the entire family by all means now.
        "Good.  Then clean this mess up right now, Private Pooky, and then I will 
consider having one of the true Poodles take you for a walk outside, but 
only a walk", Marcel concluded as he wiped off his pistol with a small rag 
from inside the holster pocket, and then placed both back into the holster 
before snapping it closed.  "There will be no fraternization between true 
and second-rate poodles."
        "That is so cruel, Daddy.  At least let us play with him like when we were 
younger", Major Tootles suggested as she waddled in closer from next to the 
doorway, her well defined, pear-shaped body bouncing and waving regally with 
every dainty step.
        "Yes.  I guess that is going just tad too far, but second-rate Poodles are 
not allowed to touch true Poodles.  True Poodles on the other hand can play 
with, but not yiff second-rate", Marcel stated as he looked with mixed 
emotion at how Tootles had unbuttoned her perfectly creased blouse just 
enough to freely display the tight, basket ball sized bulge of her 
semi-ripe, shaved belly, and how her little bellybutton stuck out like a 
fuzzy extra teat.  "That is the end of discussion on that matter."
        "Daddy.  One more thing.  Please.  If you are going to make him a Private, 
can he at least be a First Class Private", Tootles continued as she moved 
into Marcel's embrace and mrrred as he started massaging her belly.  One of 
his new siblings got the hiccups and she started panting from the dual-sided 
sensation.  "*mrrr* I do believe he has earned at least that much, 
Granddaddy."
        "Granddaddy?  Yech.  I told you I did not like the sound of that, Tootles", 
Marcel lightly scolded before wrapping her in a furotic embrace and letting 
a couple minutes slip by as he kissed and licked her face.  When he finally, 
momentarily pulled himself away from his daughter's groping, provoking her 
to start undoing his trousers, he commented to Pooky, "I hereby promote you 
to Private First Class.  After you finish with the floor, brief the rest of 
the Poodles about new second-rate Poodle policy, and then have Fluffy walk 
you."
        "Aye sir, General", Pooky sighed, thought about it, and then went back to 
lick up all the piss on the floor.
        Physical pain was only temporary.  Pooky's jaw would heal in due time, but 
a possible lifetime of solitude?  He father had come very close to making 
him actually kill himself this time.
        First chance he got, Pooky was going to make sure he somehow repaid Tootles 
for softening their father's verbal blows and for letting him watch her and 
their father foreplay and yiff right in front of him.