Sin City 2000 Type IX
Rated Poodle Generation 13
New Corpse
by Fixate

	Based on Zaxeum's suggestion, if not just as a subplot
	Inspired by the beloved Missy in all her many forms, because she expected Marcel Poodle and all I could give her was Timothy
	For Mamabliss and all the fans there of.

Part 1

	"You have definitely done well, Freeze.  I could probably have taken that vile mistake down without your help, but this way, I did not even have to change magazines", the panther said to the small, limp body that he held up by the tail in his right hand, a long, slender, blood soaked chainsaw blade extending out of his now furless left hand.  "Now to bring you to my client and hunt down your precious Mr. Polypophilacopolis, but first a little bit of reassurance that your freakish mate does not rise from the dead and make this opportunity null and void."
	Of course, no matter how trained and alert you are, you're bound to miss one or two or a dozen or so laser sights pointed at various parts of your body from strategically high vantage points.  As the black panther's hissing blade struck down on the red vixen's neck, he suddenly found himself in the middle of an unavoidable volley of rounds, which scraped and drilled his fur and overcoat to strips before he could turn on his force field.  Knowing he'd pick up their signal, his enemies had positioned themselves and initiated their attack without radio or digital contact and they were using armor piercing rounds aimed to lock him down without thought of if it would hit the two foxes or not.
	"I see you have some friends I did not know about, Freeze, but no matter.  After I have eliminated Mr. Polypophilacopolis, I shall make short work of them also", the panther hissed as he turned on his force field and held the little arctic kit tightly up against his body.  "Since they are, most likely, his agents."
	Whatever damage a Regulator received would be reversed back at the Server as long as the mission was successful accomplished.  This black panther had never missed his goal yet, nor had he ever come up against opposition as this, so he slipped into the nearest alleyway and reported this new finding back to the Server.  Once he was once again fully functional, he would bring reinforcements and make it his goal to wipe out whatever mortal army this may happen to be.
	Just as easily as it was for him to lose the sharpshooters in the maze of back alleys, the lone black panther had gotten the okay from the Rulemasters.  They were fully aware, as always, of the threat he had gone up against.  They had just been waiting for some retaliatible action to be taken.
	Yes.  No fur targeted Mutatis Mutandis and lived.

Part 2

	In the middle of an urban field of carnage, a gelatinous mountain of orange, scarlet, and off-white fur and gooey muscle pulsated and bubbled as it mimicked a b-movie toxic meltdown and slowly resembled less and less the shape of a portly macro vixen.  Bit by bit, the blobbish macro-beast lost its structural stability until finally, it's pelt ruptured and semi-liquefied muscle and fat oozed out like lava into a rancid lake as wide as the street itself.  Floating in this primordial soup were the now sponge-like bone fragments of the hell-spawn vulpine and a normal sized, athletically built version of the herm she-fox in a twitching fetal position.  Running limply out of hir marsupial pouch was a longer, slightly thinner and much more flexible, more wrinkled and coiled version of hir member, which also started dissolving into the pond of ooze.
	Once all remnants of the macro hir and hir uplink cable to it were gone, the slick-furred vixen woke up with a shudder, groggily looked around, groaned, and then curled back up into a state of semi-consciousness.  A couple minutes later she shuddered again, woke up with a start, and looked at the snow-covered world around hir with telephoto clarity.  As hir pulse and breathing quickened, she took in the ghastly war-zone scene around hir.  Slowly, she crawled out of its center, uneasily shook hirself off, and then spent a couple more minutes staring at the foul-smelling goop on hir hands and feet before finally tasting it.
	"*Ew* This stuff's gross!  What'd I do, fall asleep on a sewer break... or explosion by the look of things", Bitchy whimpered, hir entire body racked with aches and pains.  "Though, I don't see any holes..."
	Almost on cue, Bitchy was doubled over by a sudden and powerful cramp in hir rock-hard and well-toned stomach as an audible groan of emptiness growled from it.  It felt like some fur had just hit hir with an invisible wrecking ball and when it finally lightened up, she noticed a manged scar on her belly running almost perpendicular to the opening of hir pouch, like she'd been gutted a long time ago and it hadn't healed correctly.
	"What the- where'd that come from?" Bitchy asked hirself aloud as she tried to remember when she got it or even why she was out on the streets in the first place, natural and soaked in... Whatever this goop was.
	For some reason, a small ghost and a deadly shadow popped into hir memory.  It must have some significance, but for what reason she couldn't recall.  After rolling in the snow to mask the look and smell of the goop on hir, she did recall a little bit more.
	Though Bitchy was still not sure if the shadow was for real, she did remember a white canine pup.  A puppy the color of the snow, and everything it fell on.  A puppy the color of spooge...
	Ooo.  Now she was getting somewhere.
	Where'd he gone off to?  Had she killed him?  How had she killed him if she did?  Was it fittingly yiffy?
	Was she the shadow that she was having a hard time remembering, lurking around this spooge pup menacingly, or was there something, someone out there that really was a shadow fur?  Was she supposed to be protecting the spooge pup and killing the shadow fur, or helping the shadow fur track down the spooge pup?  Maybe she was supposed to kill them both.  Maybe she'd already done it.
	No.  Wait.  That didn't sound right.  Why would some fur want a pup killed by hir of all furs?  Seymour would know the right answers.
	Something was wrong here.
	Hir head hurt, and not in a yiffy way.
	After walking to the end of the street, Bitchy found a hydrant to clean hirself off with.  Focusing hir bionic abilities, she thrust hirself at it to try to knock it over, and ended up dislocating her shoulder, or at least it sure felt like hir shoulder dislocated.  Though logic told hir that it would take a hell of a lot more force to do what hir mind told hir had just happened, a pain unlike anything she'd gotten to feel before, or at least could remember, said otherwise.  Unable to tone down the scream of white-hot pain hir shoulder was flooding hir mind with, the vixen yiped and yowled, and then fell into shock.
	Something was very, very wrong.

Part 3

	"Seymour will know what's going on", Bitchy reassured hirself as she staggered down the street, clutching hir sprained arm, having woken up moments before slightly more clear-headed.
	Why had she hurt hirself?
	Bitchy thought she was just as immune to involuntary pain and damage as regular yifftoys were immune to disease and making others suffer.  Up until now, she'd always been the cause of others' pain.  Hir mates were supposed to be writhering in agony post-yiff, not hir.  A small amount of pain every now and then, or a short burst of pain in the heat of the moment was yiffy, but this burning, aching soreness was just plain aggravating and unnerving.
	She could see why any fur she made feel like she did now would be thanking hir post-death for putting them out of their misery.  Lame and ailing furs should be flocking to hir for the opportunity to die happy.  Yes.  She had spent too much time entertaining and eliminating the rich and powerful.  Once she'd fixed whatever mechanical and or psychological problems she was having, she would definitely have to do a vore and yiffing crusade on the world's pathetically weak and helpless, lesser population.  It was the least she could do for them in this was how they had to go through their miserable lives.
	Out of the corner of Bitchy's glossy, emerald green, right eye, something rustled.  She brushed hir primordial ooze pasted, golden headfur back out of the way as she glanced over in that direction, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.  Hir vision was normal at the moment, and when she tried to telescope it, increase the detail, and or cancel out the snowflakes, she ended up getting a painful migraine.  She thought briefly about trying an inferred or ultraviolet setting, but dismissed it for fear of ending up going blind.
	As she continued on, hir vision now dropped down to an even lower resolution against hir will, Bitchy wished she had one of those cheesy cyberfur status readout overlays.  Hir ears twitched as she again picked up someone, something, around or nearby hir, but the dead furs and rank ooze on hir fur obstructed hir from smelling out the source.
	"Come out, come out, wherever you are?" Bitchy called, a hint of fear in hir soft, puppyish voice.
	After being in full control of the world around hir since as far back as she could remember, minus this temporal lapse involving the spooge pup, she'd never had any reason to fear anything.  The thought that there was a possibility she could be overtaken and killed by the next fur that came along entered her mind like a knife in the back, and she yiped and whimpered.
	Wait.  Which direction was Seymour again?
	No answer from his GPS and spy camera satellites.
	"Seymour?!" the suave, marsupial pouched, golden headfurred, red vixen yowled as she defeatedly dropped to all threes, the paw of hir injured arm tucked inches from the ground, with hir long bushy tail hiding somewhat between hir legs, "Seymour!  Help me!  I broke myself!"
	Dejectedly, Bitchy trudged along, muttering to hirself about how Seymour would make everything better, wherever he was.  Now, out of the corner of hir sapphire blue left eye, something pink and white peaked out from the corner of a building and then was quickly pulled back in.  Having come from upwind of hir, this did register in hir mind; fur, canine, female, in season; but lost in hir own thoughts and the random spastic pain racking through hir body, Bitchy decide to dismiss her and wish for her not to approach and kill hir.
	"Gawd", Bitchy yelped in realization of what she had just done.  A potentially yiff fur had just revealed herself to hir, and she wasn't interested? "Seymour!  What's wrong with me?!"
	Well, she didn't really feel that guilty about the event, but nonetheless maybe she should investigate.  She needed something, someone to take hir mind off of hir abnormal pain and suffering.  Gah!  The more she looked at the acidic swirling, off-white, winter wonder-hell, the more she wanted to find out why she'd find a same colored fur of any size or age interesting.
	Maybe she hadn't.
	Why keep dwelling on the thought of this fur, then?
	Maybe she was just trying to kill him and he was a good hider.  For some reason, she knew it was a he and that only complicated hir thoughts.
	Why?
	Trying to recall things that didn't want to reveal themselves to hir was giving hir another, more agonizing migraine.  Both the ghost and the shadow were males.  Did that really matter?  Why'd she care who or what they were?
	Frigid air.  Frigid fur.  Freeze fre-freezing.
	What?  Was she?  No.  Though hir nerves seemed to be heightened by whatever had happened to hir, hir body's thermometer was dulled and off.  Hmmm.  If hir organic self was suffering from hypothermia and suffering because hir cyber skeleton was moving it against its will then... No, then why wasn't the rest of hir limps in pain.  Hir body temperature was fine.  Hir veins, lungs, and fur were doing their job just-
	N-no, not you, Bitchy.  Me.
	HUH?!
	She hadn't!  Bitchy woke up with a start.  She wouldn't!  She'd fainted, just then, lost in thought, dead in hir tracks.  It was a nightmare.  Had to have been.  Only a couple seconds had passed, but it was a couple seconds too much.  Improbable.  Staggering to hir feet, hir mind blitzed and hir fur on end, she continued on, limped off the dizziness, forced hirself onwards, and hir whitewashed dream out.  White, like T-
	Deleted.  The past minute, deleted.
	Oh, what a wonderfully simple subroutine that was.
	Bitchy sighed happily and then growled angrily and plodded on, not knowing exactly why she'd sighed happily in such a frozen hell, and why not having to think about whatever meant so much to hir.  Just for making hir feel this way, Bitchy wanted to kill both of them.  Make them suffer worse than she was now.  Well, she'd already taken out that damned spooge pup, that notion was cycling through hir mind enough to constitute that fact, so it was too late for him, good, but there was still the shadow one.  She'd definitely have fun with him once she was back to hir old self again.
	Dwelling on this thought, Bitchy slowly felt hir pain ease up a little bit and she experimentally stood up and exercised hir muscles.  They had slight cramps all over, hir shoulder was still aching a bit, and she still had a bit of a migraine, but it was all bearable, and so she continued on contemplating on just what she'd do to the shadow fur, an evil radiant glow in hir eyes.
	Ooo.  Well at least those were working.
	Bitchy's ears twitched again, and she froze in hir tracks.  This time she was picking up digital telecommunication signals.  They were all around hir in quick bursts.  Some sort of highly encoded chatter being relayed to and from close all around hir.  They'd been here all along, watching hir.  She couldn't decrypt the transmissions, but she knew, whoever they were, they were finalizing their positions for something.  She couldn't tell if she was the target, or had just happened onto the situation.  Looking back at the festering, multi-bodied and colored war zone, she had proof enough that she's given them more than enough reason to come after hir.
	And what better time than now.
	Wary of an overwhelming attack, Bitchy turned off the backlighting, dropped to all fours, and then threes with a whimper, rounded the corner, and spotted a small family of high and mighty raccoons.  To the yifftoys interest and innate approval, she saw the wife was sheltered from the cold in a thick bear pelt overcoat and mink pelt boa.  As she saw right now, lucky for hir, the family was walking in from the other direction farther down the street.  Closer to them than hir, a doe, a ruffled and street worn fur, natural and freezing in the perpetual coldness, hobbled wearily towards them from a nearby alley, her hooves chipped and a couple spots of mange on hir acid-bleached fur.
	"Yiff, steal, murder for scraps", the doe bleated, stopping a comfortable and hopefully safe distance away from the family.
	Bitchy hoped not.  This doe was exactly the kind of fur she wanted to save from the ravages of the cruel world.  She hoped this would be a wonderfully bloody hate crime.  Payback.
	So cold, the biting wind whispered to hir.
	"I know *yiff yiff*", Bitchy hissed back, slinking into the shadow of an alleyway.
	"Dear Gawd!  Jeremy!  Kill that thing!" the portly femme screamed as she swiped at the doe with hir gator skin purse, which the doe, realizing she had no other choice, grabbed for and tried to steal.
	The pudgy raccoon had a major grip, traction, and weight advantage over the lithe doe, so the equally fat male was on the doe tooth and claw before she could recover from her mistake.  Once the male had dealt the first blow, the rest of the family got into the beating, and mauled the begging and screaming fur until she was limp and very close to dead.
Bitchy continued to watch all of this from around the corner of a close alley, out of sight of any of them, but within hearing range, sniffing greedily at the air in the hope of catching a hint of the stench of death mixed earnestly with wrath and pride.
	The police, soldiers, whoever they were had gone into radio silence now.  Either that or she'd lost the ability to hear it again.  Either way, she grinned as she listened to the father explain to his litter about how it benefited the other alley trash.
	"Good ridden to alley trash. *yiff yiff*", Bitchy replied softly, almost mechanically.
	For some reason, Bitchy couldn't bring hirself to fully believe that phrase, as the temperature seemed to momentarily drop around hir.
	Bitchy, still reeking of decaying flesh and sinew, hir fur matted and spiked haphazardly, decided this was as good a time as any to walk over to the group.  In the thought of getting more up close and personal with hir peers, thank them, and or ask for directions, she just impulsively decided she needed living fur contact to straighten things out.  As she casually approached, she first looked down at the fallen, bleeding, and moaning fur, stepped on top of her, then looked over at the couple, and before she could say anything to them, she was overcome with a horribly mind-numbing migraine.
	Why, the wind moaned in Bitchy's ear as she was overcome with vertigo, to which in retaliation to, she raked the claws of hir left foot paw through the fallen doe's side.
	"Dear Gawd, not another one of these... *hack cough cough* Oh, Gees, what sewer did you *cough cough*", the mother started before breaking out into a raspy hacking fit.
	Musk steaming out of hir pelt like a smoke grenade, Bitchy fell to the ground, moaning, and a moment later, the mother fell to her knees clutching her throat as the asphyxiating cough spread to the rest of the family.  Bitchy's world was now a swirl of whiteness and pain as the high and mighty got just enough air to recognize with horror that mange was stripping them naked like wildfire.  With a curdled scream, the mother raccoon drew her closest pup up against her and clutched her overcoat around the both of them.  Then welts and cancerous rashes bubbled and boiled through their naked flesh as if they'd been thrown into a microwave.  Finally, with an explosion of hyperactive arteries and veins, Bitchy and the family's white grave were smeared blood red.
	"*Whimper whimper* W-what's going on?" Bitchy finally asked the petrified and bleeding street fur hysterically once hir migraine had eased up enough to let hir speak. "I didn't do that!"
	"*YIPE whimper whimper* Y-you're... You're..." the street fur stuttered as she crawled backwards up against the storefront with adrenaline induced strength and looked at hir pleadingly, recognizing and knowing.
	"I didn't do that!  I didn't want to do that!  I-I-", Bitchy coughed as she slowly got up and took a step away from the cowering fur.  "I need to get to the theater.  I hurt.  I hurt all over.  I'm not suppose t-to.  I n-need t-to f-f-fiiind-", Bitchy started before a spasm shot up hir spine and nearly knocked hir to the ground again, but she caught hirself by dropping to all fours again.
	Even before Bitchy could regain clear vision and balance, the innocent, hunger-racked fur in front of hir was fully engulfed in flames.  Unable to reverse the spontaneous combustion and no one left within scent of hir to hear hir whimpers of grief, Bitchy just dropped to the ground, curled up into a ball, and cried.  Then, after a while the crying turned to snickering, and then that turned to hysterical and maniacal laughter.  With a shark-toothed grin creasing hir face from ear to ear, she uncurled and started lapping up and gulping down the carcasses around hir.  Then she followed that up by rolling around in and shoveling up mouthfuls of bloody snow.
	"*Mrrr yip yip* Death tastes goood. *pant pant*", Bitchy cooed to hirself with clinched teeth as the wind let up a bit with a sigh and the acid snowflakes fell gently on hir bloated, silky, taunt belly fur.
	As a troop of poodles started towards the theater by word from reconnaissance, Bitchy just lied there on hir back moaning under hir overstuffed underbelly.  Though she'd still be able to waddle even if she was on all fours, hir belly touching the ground and then some, being slowed down to a crawl would only add insult to injury to the horrible groans and stomach cramps she was feeling now.  She'd played being full before, but this was the first time she'd gone beyond hir stomachs capacity against hir will, and it hurt a bit more than she thought it would. It felt like hir belly would explode at any second, but it didn't.  Wouldn't.  If it had, at least that would have been the end of the tension and pain.  Instead, the lining of her stomach would be eaten away and tear in various places, only to be healed just enough to be torn again later.  It was never the same place or the same amount of pain, so she couldn't adapt and get used to it, even if she were able to still do that now.  It was a mind-numbing pain in hir center that just wouldn't let up.  An intense pain that made hir wish she'd been built with intestines to pass hir revenging meal into.
	"Seymour!" Bitchy whined painfully into the freezing night air.
	This wasn't fun anymore.

Part 4

	Bitchy wasn't sure when she blacked out, but when she woke up again, she was feeling a whole lot better and she had a lot of oddly dressed companions around hir.  Hir headache and stomachache were gone and she had a wonderfully soft layer of fat on hir, but hir fur was still a sticky, smelly mess.  Having had enough of looking tacky, she yipped a acknowledged hi to the audience and then started licking and lapping hirself clean from ear tip to tail tip, being sure to be extra thorough on hir teats and down muff fur.  Then with a satisfactory yip once down and she'd combed hir long silky golden headfur out with hir finger claws, she got up on all fours, shook hirself off, and then stood up and looked around at the other furs, scritching hir light rolls of luscious belly fat.  Hir saliva had chilled into a light layer of frost around hir cuddly vulpine body and the reflecting streetlights sparkled and shimmered gave hir a deceptively angelic glow as she twisted, turned, and modeled off hir fluid curves off to them.
	She couldn't really tell what they were because they were dressed in full NBC gear and brandishing weapons of various sorts.  Both protective suits and weapons for each and everyone of the furs around hir were decked out in happy pastel colors, so that they seemed more like toys than actual war gear.
	Bitchy was very amused, circled, tinting hir head to the side curiously as she looked them all up and down.  Finally, she picked out a test subject and approached him or her slowly, grinning happily and panting furotically.
	"Ooo, are you going to shoot me with that?" Bitchy asked as she looked down the wide barrel of the young poodle's single shoot grenade launcher.  It'd been a long time since she'd had a big gun like that pointed at hir, and this one was painted a cute metallic light green and yellow.  "Can I use it later?"
	The poodles looked at each other confusedly and then the poodle holding the weapon said in a muffled voice through his gas mask, "Probably not, Mistress DeBauchee.  I am suppose to maintain possession of it during the attack and back on base, too."
	"Oh, too bad. *giggle* It'd have been fun. *yiff yiff* So, what are you going to fire at me if I attack you?" Bitchy asked with a sweet smile as she caressed hir underbelly scar.  Scars weren't very yiffy, but they were more sensitive than normal fur and for some reason this one just wouldn't heal.  Anyway, it was almost like having an extra furotic zone.  "Is it powerful? *yiff yiff* Am I going to cringe with fear?" she asked as she dropped to all fours, and the tip of the weapon dropped also to act as a deterrent between the close space between hir maw and his crotch.
	"It is sleeping gas, Mistress DeBauchee", the armed poodle commented uneasily, as the giggling vixen turned around and raised hir long bushy tail to him invitingly.
	"Poodles do not cause unneeded pain and suffering.  It is improper to do so", a couple of the other poodles recited proudly in unison as the one with the grenade launcher stared stupidly at the hungry cuntlips that were rubbing and wetting down the muzzle tip of his weapon. 
	"*Mrrr* Lucky me *yiff yiff", Bitchy cooed as she looked over hir healed shoulder and flashed a toothy grin at hir blitzed assailant, the fact that she'd widened hir stance enough to swallow the tip of the barrel into hir dripping muff not hurting either.  Much to hir delight, there were a lot of deer-in-the-headlight eye staring at hir rear end.  These tight little furs definitely needed a really good wake-up call.  They looked like fresh meat and they talked like fresh meat, so they must be fresh meat.  "*Ooo* I just looove it when they come in a convenient value pack. *yiff yiff* And oh so packed with juicy heat, too."
	Yes, they even smelled like fresh meat.  They might all be sealed behind airtight suits now, but those suits had been around them numerous times when they weren't, and so carried a delicately perfumed caninish scent.  Most, if not all of them were definitely very domesticated breeds.  How nice of them to stand upwind of hir, and a slow lingering wind at that.  As she was analyzing through the various layers of perfume, cologne, and powder to their just as sweet musk, hir pudgy belly gurgled and a light wave of dizziness passed through hir.  Letting out a groan, she took an uneasy step towards the launcher-armed poodle and, snapping out of the daze of the mock lap dance, his suit rustled as he tensed up, jumped backwards, and aimed his musked weapon at the vixen's head.  The slurpy pop that ensued from forcefully removing the weapon along with the furotic gasp finalized the appearance of a noticeable bulge in hir assailant's suit.
	"Be advised, Mistress DeBauchee, that this is a highly effective concentration of sleeping gas", the armed poodle started off stating seriously, but trailed off as Bitchy slowly stood up and turned around.  For a moment they locked eyes with each other, and then the doggie's eyes couldn't help but drop down to stare at the naked thick shaft of meat that rose in challenge of his weapon from hir opened pouch.
	"*Mrrr* Oh, I hope it is, you cute little creampuff", Bitchy cooed with a menacing grin as she dropped to all fours and got ready to pounce, the head of hir member wiping the snow covered street as she waggled hir rear high in the air.  As she wagged hir tail excitedly and stared at the inviting suit distension, she could feel the knots reforming in hir muscles and joints.  If she didn't do something quick, there was a very good chance that she'd be leaving hirself wide open for whatever they had in store for hir.  Almost in a whimper, she echoed, "I hope it is."
	The poodle holding the grenade launcher hoped so, too.  Going down on hir musk oozing muff would have been fun.  Hir going down on him, as long as she tongued him, would have been wonderful.  Swallowing that monster between hir legs would have been interesting as long as she was chained down on a rack.  Hir having hir way with him, especially with the toothy grin she was flashing at his crotch at the moment, now that was utterly dangerous.
	"Um, uh, Ma'am?  Mistress DeBauchee?  Would you PLEASE disarm yourself before we are forced to resort to lethal force on you in defense", the vixen's prime target caterwauled as he forced himself to stand his ground.  Gawd save his soul if she didn't.
	They all had tasers, too, but that meant that they'd have to get up close and feral with this vixen, and if hir reputation suited hir, especially in matters yiffy, then that'd be a very dangerous thing.  Since it was not proper to curse out loud, he cursed to himself in his head as he fired a canister directly at the vixen's nose before she could make hir next move.  Not wanting to get caught up in a self-initialized sneak attack on his privates, he lost his baring, turned as he through the sling of his weapon over his shoulder cross body, dropped to all fours, and dashed away.
	It was, of course, a perfect hit, and the vixen disappeared in a cloud of thick, daffodil yellow smoke.  To maximize its potential, not only did it temporarily bond to fur, conditioning it to a health shine, but it also smelled like wildflowers and fresh meat.  A normal fur would have dropped almost immediately with the potency that had been selected for the vixen, and under normal circumstances the gas wouldn't have affected Bitchy at all unless she wanted to be.  Originally, Bitchy had wanted to stealth hirself in the thick fog of gas, gulp up the canister, fire it back at the capsuled canine's nose, or rear end since he'd decided to play tag, harder than he'd fired it at hirs, and then start biting and yiffing, injecting the venom of their own sleeping gas into their bodies by force.  Maybe they did have armor under their rip-able suits, but she could bet it wouldn't stand up to hir claws, teeth, and a bit of bionic tugging.  That was the intent, but instead she came stumbling out with a dangerously wide panting grin on hir face, hir world in vertigo, and a limp dick between hir shaky legs.  She took a few uneasy steps forwards before dropping back down to all fours, and then continued drunkenly towards them, stumbling over hir feet.  They uneasily readied their tasers just in case she overcame the effects of the gas, but she collapsed almost halfway to them with a winded yiff and then a weak yipe.  Rolling onto hir side, she released the sudden pressure on hir doubled over length of meat and it slid around on the new-fallen layer of acidic snow into a more comfortable position.
	Damn, she thought as she drifted off to a swirling, tizzy dream-state and hir member slowly returned unfulfilled to the warmth and comfort of hir pouch, that's some awesome knockout gas.
	A second wave of poodles in a violet minivan came in then, also donned in NBC gear, carefully loaded the heavy vixen into the back, placed a warm, slightly damp blanket around hir that would keep hir warm and slowly draw the chemicals off hir fur, and then made ready to head back towards the base.
	"Mistress DeBauchee has a nasty wound on hir stomach, sergeant.  Is there a possibility that she could get infected", one of the poodles from the minivan said to the alpha poodle of the frontline team.
	"Probably not, PFC. Yifftoys have a very high resistance to infection.  Mistress DeBauchee should be fine until we can put hir in the brig", the sergeant poodle responded matter-of-factly, which brought up a lingering question.
	"Aye, sergeant, but would that not also mean that Mistress DeBauchee would be just as immune to the sleeping gas?" a private asked, which was reflected in the nervous looks of the entire minivan team.
	The vixen was said to be stronger than all the poodles here put together.  Stronger than maybe even the reinforced walls of the back of the minivan.  She'd been shot between the eyes and gotten hir stomach sliced open from ribcage to pouch, yet she'd acted just moments ago like it'd never happened, even enjoying the wounds.  How were they to know how long the sleeping gas would stay active in hir system or even if it had worked at all?
	"Now that we are nearing the final hour, private, we are going to have to start taking risks", the sergeant recited.  She'd asked the very same question of her superiors and had gotten that answer herself.  They all looked in the direction of the sleeping vixen, and then the sergeant added, "If it will help calm your spirits, I will stay in the back with Mistress DeBauchee."
	That immediately raised an uproar of gasps and one of the sergeant's own PFCs exclaimed, "By the mercy of Gawd, oh, please no, sergeant.  I will do it.  It just would not be right for a non-rank poodle to sit back and watch an NCO risk his or her life like that."
	With that, all of the other non-ranks in the two teams started volunteering, the sergeant sadly instructed the freshly loaded grenade launcher to be handed over to the PFC instead, and asked, "Do you, Private First Class Poodle, think yourself capable of possibly giving your life for the sake of the team and firing your weapon true?"
	"Yes, Sergeant Poodle", the PFC barked confidently, snatched up the grenade launcher, and held it firmly against his chest.  "So help me, I will."
	"Very well then, PFC. I shall see that you receive a meritorious mass once we get back to the base", the sergeant replied proudly. "May the Lord be with you."

Part 5

	With a wide yawn of hir narrow muzzle, the golden headfurred vixen being guarding in the back of the unusually high-profile van, stretched and turned over, rolling hirself in the thick, warm, flowery scented blanket that had been so graciously provided for hir. Sitting somewhat nervously in a side-mounted seat next to hir, was a prim, athletic-built poodle, hidden and guarded from chemical and biological attacks such as the one's the reports stated this vixen was known to emanate, inside a pastel full-body NBC gear. The doggie's desires of hir not so easily walled up by training and clothing, he found that despite his ingrained beliefs, he couldn't help every once in a while scanning and taking in the subtle, teat-topped arches of the vixen's underbelly.
	When she was covered by the blanket, his close observation of hir body could have been written off as nothing more than checking on hir for signs of consciousness, but now that in hir restless sleep, she'd managed to end up on hir back on top of the blanket with hir somewhat thick but still noticeably muscular arms and legs splayed out lazily, his eyes kept roving over hir coyly semi-hidden teats and hir pearl-white downy plume of pubic fur.  The heated interior of the van and the blanket had melted the frost coating on hir body so that she was now glimmered by silky wet fur.  Though the vixen had the luscious wide hips, feminine curves, and pillowy midriff of a heavier than average femme, he was disappointed to find hir almost flat-chested.  The topography of hir underbelly seemed almost male-like, or kit-like, not that some might find that yiffy in a reverse of the typical herm sort of way, or much more likely, in the temptation to tie that blanket around hir like a cloth diaper and treat hir like a giant weaning and weanable kit.
	Though the Poodles saw them as freaks of nature, if some furs saw the plantigrade furs as evolutionary step-ups, then this vixen before him was a well-padded throwback. The double column of teats were evident, showing indirectly as pinkish spots on hir creamy white underbelly fur, just like those that appear on a pregged furs body equally spaced between her breasts and waist-line in a box of four or six depending, but she had no breasts what-so-ever.
	He'd heard that this vixen yifftoy supposedly had breasts as big as a rolled-up hedgehog and nipples as thick as his legs, but the sight of hir now said otherwise.  He'd even seen surveillance videos on hir with breasts so big, she was using hir six-pack as a combined hot air balloon for hir master, Seymour, and two of his rich and narrow-minded guests. He wasn't completely sure how she was propelling them along, but if he had to guess, he'd most likely think of either a jet or turbine engine, depending on which hole she was using to expel the sucked in air, if she were able to light it like she could her victims, and if hir long bushy tail was flammable or not. Yes. Other than the waistline crease of hir marsupial pouch, she looked like just another vulpine right now, if not less desirable.
	With a disappointed sigh, he relaxed his posture on the rigid seat and momentarily looked out of the bullet-proof windows on the back door at the wake of churned snow the van was plowing up and throwing to the sides of it.  Considering how they'd taken hir hostage and all, why should she make hirself look attractive to them.  He had hoped that if he was fortunate enough for it to be an uneventful ride, that she'd at least resemble the super-slut hir reputation and manufacturing played hir off as being.
	The vixen at the somber guard's feet turned hir back to him and he could feel hir tail playing first over his booted feet and then slowly up and around the suit, poking, prodding, testing, and... maybe tasting even, his suit. Even if she wasn't much of a looker visually, with this creature, there was no telling the extent of the quirks and dualities of hir parts. Either way, Gawd was that an excessively large tail, at least compared to what he was used to, but it was definitely, 100% foxy.
	Those vulpine prided themselves on their tails didn't they? Well, maybe it was for shielding a perimeter around themselves when they slept in the alleyways between customers to keep themselves extra warm. Even compared to a normal vulpine, this vixen's tail seemed long, the white tipped furry flame being at least as long as hir body was stretched out from ear tip to toe.  Speaking of which, as hir long bushy tail softly boa-wrapped around his feet and lower legs, she yawned and stretched out on the floor, hir slender hands and foot paws spreading their bluntly pudgy fingers and toes, flexing, and caressing the air for a moment as whatever light could find its way over glinted off the pearly white rows of sharp sharky teeth in hir narrow maw.  Hir tail momentarily pulled and squeezed his legs, making him instinctively grab for the bench with one hand in retaliation, but then it was off him and swirling and weaving up and around hir as she rocked back and forth from side to side, rolling and kneading hir thick belly and love handles on the floor and the unconscious strokes of hir stubby fingers.  Its ribbon-like movements now almost contradicted the momentary show of strength that had caused the slight numbness he now felt in his feet.
	Then the vixen tucked hir tail up between hir legs and clutched the blanket with one hand as she rested hir head on hir other arm. Whatever dream she'd been having, she seemed to be calming down from it now, or at least basking in the afterglow as she rolled onto hir back, hir head back, tongue hanging lazily out the side of hir mouth and hir tail down swishing lethargically. Even through the blanket, the watchful Poodle could see that hir underbelly had improved in appearance, gentle but noticeable mounds being suggested now where only teats used to be. Also, in conjunction with hir deeper breathing, there was a patch of wetness on the blanket between hir loins, which hir tail had also indented a suggestive crease against and with, a small portion of it having actually been sucked up into and being suckled on lazily by hir puffed and pinkened muff. Other than laying an arm across hir body over the blanket and one of hir breast mounds, she did not move any further, so the guard dog decided to provoke hir a bit. Maybe if he aroused hir a bit more, hir bustiness would increase, too.
	Dismissing the idea and safety of testing his suit as a body condom, he silently padded over to beside hir, supporting himself against the roof as well as the floor, and poked the edge of the grenade launcher's muzzle tip against and slightly within the dozing vixen in the indentation of hir tail. There was a winded mrrr from the vixen and hir leg twitched for a moment, followed by hir tail pulling free of hir muff with a slurp and gently batting the muzzle away before settling somewhat to the side of where it was before. There now being somewhat less access for the insertion of the cold metal cylinder, the poodle poked a blanket insolated muzzle tip between the hungry lips of the vixen's muff and she sighed happily and turned hir head away from him, drooling somewhat.  In the slight coldness of the back section of the van, the heat of hir growing yiffiness could be visually noticed as a stream of vapor wisped from the warm soaked up puddle over hir muff.
	Snickering, the poodle poked again, deeper, but this time the vixen thrust hir pelvis upwards and she managed to get a third of the blanket-coated muzzle swallowed up within hir before he could get into position to counteract. Cursing, the poodle tried to tug the grenade launcher back out of hir, but, even wrapped in the soft fabric of the blanket, the vixen had a tight enough hold on the barrel that he came close to having to lift the entire lower half of hir body.  By now hir underbelly was well occupied by six jiggly coconut-sized breasts, two of with hir pudgy fingers were playing over and rubbing the hardening nipples of as hir extensive tongue lapped, licked, and spiraled against and over another, slicking its fur with saliva.  	Though he had seemingly reached his goal without waking his deadly prisoner, the suave Poodle realized that he was very much in a position of having his hand caught in the cookie jar.  After a short debate on the fact that there was still a lengthy bit of time before they got back to the base and he would probably still have plenty of time to work his appointed weapon out of hir after playing around with hir, his training got the best of him and he decided to free his weapon first else she taken in completely in mid-yiff.
	The athletic and well-muscled dog stepped over the vixen's legs and, placing one foot between the weapon's barrel and hir inner thigh, tried to forcefully yank the barrel out, but, with a giggling yiff and mrrr, the somewhat heavier than visibly implied vixen brought the opposite leg he was supported against up against his body and, along with a twist of the waist and the weapon sticking out of it, she managed to easily throw him over onto his side. Yelping, but managing to keep a firm grip on his weapon, he inadvertently fired off a grenade at less than point-blank range, and the shock within hir as well as the recoil, released the weapon and made him uppercut himself with it.
	The shock of the round so startled the awakened yifftoy that the air sucking through hir clinched teeth sounded like paper ripping as hir shattered dream went white-hot. The slightly cool air around hir seemed to hiss and titter in hir ears. Within a few seconds, hir belly had puffed up slightly more than twice as large and looked even more inflated by hir arched back, hir blunt fingers and toes splayed and hir stiletto, half-sized rapier-blade-like extended finger claws at full length.
	Payback, a cold pocket of air cooed at hir as an invisible fire and blackhole-ish knot raged between hir loins.
	"What is going on back there, PFC!?  What is your status?" the driver called back after Bitchy's guard hit the floor during the rocketing out of the grenade launcher.
	"*YIPE eh uh* Everything's *gasp whimper whimper* Area is still se-secure. *whimper* Mistress DeBauchee moved, attacked me and I, I shot hir. (Oh shit, look at those claws.  Please, please stay down.) Mistress DeBauchee is, is immobilized (... for the moment)", the guarding Poodle called back as he stared over at the swollen vixen, pain in his voice reflecting the fire-like pain in the depths of his muzzle.
	After a long moment, Bitchy's back slowly slid back down onto the floor and hir finger claws retracted to a normal canine length, but hir belly was still an air mattress and the faint hissing from within the lower region whispered an even larger belly.  Calmed down just enough to move, she sprang hir spine, jumped to hir feet, and whipped hir head towards hir guard, fueled by adrenaline and the need to royally fuck some fur up.  Hir long golden headfur now momentarily whipped up into a wide flame reflecting the demonic blue/green glow radiating out of hir eyes, Bitchy glared and growled at the guard, a thick wisp of steam puffing out of hir flared nostrils.  Seeing all this, as well as the hellish full body aura of steam hir increased body heat oozed off, the guard nearly knocked himself dizzy jumping backwards up against the inner wall guarding the van's cab.
	"Fuck!" Bitchy yowled, preceded by a half minute scream much like claws on a chalkboard, hir glistening rows of sharp conical teeth like tiny misshapen missile heads ready to launch from within hir mouth to accompany hir acidic spittle.  She then punctuated this curse further by turning the bench hir guard had been sitting on moments before into twisted scrap metal with a single kick and a cracking whip of hir tail.  "What if I make you blow your motherfucking brains out, you-", the irate vixen screamed in a high-pitched whine as she punched the side of the van hard enough to make the rear wheels slip on the road and reverberate the sound of the impact throughout every nut and bolt of the vehicle.
	[MAY DAY. MAY DAY], the van sirened to its fellow vehicles.
	"*Yelp* Ahhh! She's awake!  Mistress DeBauchee is awake!" the assistant driver yelped into the transmitter. "We need back-up!  We need backup!  Now!"
	In recoil to hir sledge hammered punch, Bitchy flew in the opposite direction of hir fist and hir head hit the opposite wall almost just as hard.  Dizzy and moaning as the pain shot through hir spine down to the tip of hir tail, she fell weak-kneed to the floor and momentarily curled into a fetal position.
	Payback, the air hissed in hir ear again, momentarily numbing it with its frigidness.
	"For w-what?" Bitchy whimpered softly, kittishly, as the pain flutter all around hir body in shockwaves all around hir body like a captured moth and random program coding rattled off in hir mind. "W-why have y-you cursed me?"
	Harlequin.  Whore.  Murderer.
	Bitchy's entire body momentarily short-circuited and spasmed and static thundered in hir head like an electrical whip had hit her.  The pained lessened a smidge after that, but the point had been made.  The damage had been done.
	Now, both Bitchy and hir poodle guard were on the ground moaning. Bitchy was clutching hir stomach, pushing the air back out of hir, and hir guard was clutching his bloody muzzle through his gas mask, fighting the urge to tear it off and nurture his maw. Though there was a muffled groan as the canister released its contents into the vixen's gas pregging womb, little to no sleeping gas was leaking out of hir. In the act of trying to keep hir hold on the weapon, intentional of not, and in the heat of hir focused rage and then hir mental breakdown, hir muff, inflamed into a rock-hard, two-fisted knot of ridged, blood red muscle, also managed to use the punch of the canister to devour the entire blanket as well. The blanket was now a mock embryonic sack within hir, and the canister, a stiff, continuously belching and farting fetus hazed in a densening yellow cloud. Crossing hir hind legs with hir tail locked between them and hir bloated, pulsating netherlips, the now clinch-fisted vixen whipped hir head and body towards and poodle and stared him down. Hir pupils were so contracted that hir eyes were almost like blue and green starburst headlights. In fear, he noticed that they were glowing, albeit more softly than before, but still a demonic gaze that burned a hole to his soul and locked him in paranoia. There wasn't wrath, but something much worst. Intense concentration, as if loosening any muscle on hir body could decimate the van and a vast area around it. In the silence of the stand down, there was a rustling as piss squirted out and down inside the poodle's suit in a warm stream. Bitchy's right ear and eye twitched and as she raised hir left paw towards him, the grenade launcher also came up in vain defense of whatever the maddened yifftoy might do to him. The spastic muscles in hir neck already tight as bridge cable, hir mouth flew open in mock of another mind-grating scream and a coiled tongue lashed out and boa-wrapped around the barrel like a lightning bolt. The slap of raw muscle on metal alone numbed the poodle's hand pads in the buzz; even through his suit's padded gloves, and the exhalation of hir hot and humid breath could barely be felt through the double-ply decontamination suit.
	Be it that shadow, that ghost, or whomever, someone had hir collared, leashed, and in a matter of time, caged, but for as long as she could fight it, she was going to maintain being hirself, no matter how lame it may sound.  There were loopholes.  There were always loopholes.  No fur inside or out could stop hir from acting out hir whims.
	"*Growl* It's either your gun, or you and your gun", Bitchy hissed with a deep growl, expelling the last of the excess stomach air and freeing more womb space. Yelping, the doggy fired a round into the vixen's wide maw, which she gulped down in lue of the hammered contact, and hissed again, little wisps of sleeping gas streaming out of hir mouth, "You or the gun, predbait!"
	"*YIPE* Take it! *yelp yelp* Take it, ma'am! Damn, I can live with the repercussions", the athletic poodle whimpered as he released his weapon and put his hands up in the air in surrender.  "*whimper whimper* Spare me, please, Mistress DeBauchee!"
	"Whatever, predbait", Bitchy replied with a girlish sigh as the grenade launcher and the four remaining canisters within it slipped into the vixen's throat and joined the opened canister in hir active stomach.  Under normal circumstances, she would have consumed the guard, or tried to, but his little stunt and hir lack of being able to compensate hirself afterwards, thanks to whoever, fried some circuits and burned out a couple servos.  As if the pain wasn't annoying in itself, she'd managed to partially paralyze hirself, too. "*hiss* In due time."
	The poodle guard could hear the sleeping gas bubbling up through a soup of strong corrosives that were rusting open new holes all over the five objects within hir, as well as hir hyper-regenerating stomach lining. Though only a bit of the gas in hir womb had escaped back though hir muff, the downy fur of which now had a yellowish white tinge to it, hir womb had flattened out, now holding nothing but an empty canister.  If he hadn't been safely confined inside an airtight suit, he would have noticed that hir musk had taken on the same scent and properties of the stolen sleeping gas.  Closing hir eyes and gently rubbing hir loudly gurgling and growling stomach, she positioned hirself on hir back with hir head away from the scared canine, swung hir legs up so hir long, slender feet were locked at the foot paws behind hir thick neck, allowing hir guard to peer a good distance down hir spread, gas residue tinted tunnel, and spat out the canister just hard enough to restart the flow of blood from the poodle's nose, but not bruise him any further. Noisily sniffing and bucking his head, in a reactive display of dexterity and finesse the dog still managed to catch the free-falling canister in his mitts.
	Cold ghostly voice hadn't retaliated.  Goody goody.
	"Ooo. Thanks *yiff yiff* Are you going to eat that?" Bitchy asked with hir head cocked curiously to the side after swinging around and rolling over into a quad sitting position, hir arms spread out by hir ballooning belly and hir mouth in a tight-lipped smile, a slight wince of pain still apparent on hir lightly pudgy face.
	"Oh, I, um", the somewhat petrified doggy blurted before remembering his taser.
	For a combat-trained fur, he didn't disguise his motives very well, Bitchy thought with a sly smirk. Scared, hir guard waved the empty canister invitingly in front of hir face, tossed it into the air between them as he reach into a back pocket with his free hand, Bitchy, with a shark-toothed grin and a escaping puff of yellow smoke, freely whipped hir tongue at and around the canister, and almost a second later, the pins of the taser were on hir tongue. With a wide-eyed yipe and then a mrrr as the canister was reactively crushed and whipped into and down hir throat, Bitchy turned hir body, lifted hir right leg, and whipped hir long bushy flame of a tail at hir guard, sweeping him off of his feet and spinning him into the air. He revolved into a horizontal position in midair, and in the back sweep, Bitchy batted him onto the floor.  Falling hard onto his back, he ended up tossing the taser, it ricocheted off the right wall, she batted it with a backhand, it bounced off the wall again, she kicked it backwards, it bounced and flipped off the rear doors, she paddled it a few times between hir tail and the roof, and then she tilted back hir head and let it fall and slip down hir throat, letting loose another cloud of gas in the process.
	What'd you think of that, voice in my head?  Shall I continue to bludgeon him to death?  Is that more to your liking?  No reply? *teehee*
	By now, the van had stopped and there was an armed perimeter of poodles around it. As the subtle clanking sounds of the rear doors being unlocked was heard, the golden headfurred vixen winked at hir guard and then grinned a wide, shark-toothed smile.
	"*Mrrr yiff yiff* Well? *yip yip* What else you got?" Bitchy hissed as hir stomach bubbled and groaned actively and audibly.
	"Please, Mistress DeBauchee. Please, please spare my life", the poodle whimpered, huddling up against the equally reinforced inner wall of the van as she opened hir mouth wide and fogged the air between them with sleeping gas.
	"*Mrrr* Do you come in pieces?" The vixen quizzed menacingly as the fog before hir mouth flumed and then flowed back into hir mouth in a back draft, hir tail wagging happily and dissipated the gas that made it behind hir.
	"Uh. What? Pieces? *yelp* No. No, I-", the poodle stammered, completely losing his baring as he wished he could make the wall he was pressing himself against temporarily disappear.
	"Then *snicker yiff yiff* you're completely out of luck, doggy dearest", Bitchy tittered, which was immediately followed up by a scream from the guard.
	"Mistress DeBauchee stop and desist.  We have no intention of causing harm to you, but if you force us to, we will have no choice but to retaliate with extreme prejudice", a poodle sergeant holding a SAW with armor-piercing rounds, flanked by fellow, equally armed brethren and sisters, "Come out with your hands up in a civilized and non-yiffy manner."
	"*Yerf* Well, that wouldn't be any fun, now would it?" Bitchy snickered coyly as she made hir long bushy tail fluff up even more and wiggled hir fat widened behind at them.
	As the Poodles outside watch hir rear with curiosity and suspicion, it starts visibly inflating slowly in front of them until it's more than double its normal size.  To Bitchy's delight, the Poodle SWAT team readied and aimed their weapons in on hir rear instead of back off.  To say the least, their boldness intrigued hir, and hir interest in them showed in the excited pouting lips of hir fragrant muff.
	"Are we to be afraid of a musk attack, Mistress DeBauchee?  If it has not been made readily apparent thus far, we are protected from you and your name-sake maladies", the same sergeant informed hir, standing his ground without fear as the vixen before himself started inflating the rest of hir body, keeping hir rear at a larger scale as she did so.
	Hir sensitive ears picked up on the remarks of what an easy target she had turned hirself into, and that, considering how greedy and lazy hir clients were, it was no wonder she had become a disappointingly easy catch.  They were doing hir a favor by taking hir out of that gluttonous environment of piteous fat furs.  Thinking little of their sarcasm of hir and mrrring in anticipation of things to come, Bitchy caressed hir flowering nether region with the underside of hir tail, wetting it down with hir free flowing nectar.
	"*Mrrr* Yes, doggy. Yes. *pant pant* I know. I know. *snicker* Oh, but you're missing a good time. *mrrr yiff yiff* The skunkesses that I've eaten out from time to time pale in comparison to what I can spray out", Bitchy cooed as she demonstratively lifted hir tail and squirted a jet of viscous liquid at the Poodles' suits from hir anus. Most of it got dodged, but she did manage to splash some, and those that did get hit nervously looked momentarily down at their suits to see if the anti-acid coating was strong enough and then past the wide open lips of Bitchy's pubic area, down hir thick tunnel and clear at hir cervix, a momentarily closed gateway to who knew what. "*mrrr yiff yiff* Bitchy can emit a smell so foul, so manging, *giggle* if hardheaded doggies don't claw their own noses out, rip out their own fur, and exile themselves to the farthest, deepest. *yiff* Everyone else'll be wanting to napalm them just to rid themselves of naive doggies' diseased looks and rancid funk. *snicker yiff yiff* Stupid doggies have to come out of their shell some time."
	"Yes.  How devious, Mistress DeBauchee, but that too we have come prepared for.  Now, please desist with the expansion of your body, and spare us the view of your nefarious insides.  If you show any attempt of trying to asphyxiate, violate, or otherwise the PFC you have in there with you, we will be forced to pop your grotequely ballooned body in defense", the sergeant hissed, taking no notice to the skunkish spray on his suit.
	The other Poodles were a bit wary, not wanting to underestimate the ingenuity of the vixen's body, but still remain steadfast, even as she continues expanding full-body, with hir rear still proportionally much larger.  When she was finally done, hir guard was pretty much trapped between the inner wall and the billowy fluff and fur of hir spacious body, each of hir butt cheeks and hir tail as big around as one of the van's double rear doors.  Having been lengthened by a hundred fifty percent, so as not to look like a weird fluffy eggish thing, as well as the silky fur on it being lengthened even more, even hir tail looked cuddly plumped and still vixenish.  Hir breasts having once again been sacrificed to hir massively puffed up body, and so now seeing no escape except by crawling into humongous vixen's mouth, the guard growled at hir sinister grin, tilted his head back, and howled for help.  With hir exposed clit acting as an ultraviolet scanner to hindsight the activity behind the van, Bitchy cooed and snickered at how easy they were making this for hir.
	Most of the poodles that were stationed behind Bitchy's behind, dived from within shot of hir muff and anus at the sound of the howl, figuring the side would be a smarter place, protective suits or not.  At the same time, Bitchy's tunnel contracted, hir cervix dilated wide open, and a thick, skinless snake of meat with an eyeless bulb of a head spat out of hir muff, the head opened equally into a three-piece mouth, and it tethered onto the abdomen of the soldier to the left of the sergeant that had addressed hir, knocking him a couple steps backwards.  The sergeant and a few more of his steadfast poodles stayed put and opened fire on Bitchy's rear and hir seemingly bulletproof cord, even as the grappled canine reached back to pull out his kaybar and yiped painfully as he was knocked backwards once again by the pointblank slam of a spike through his armor and into him through his bellybutton. For some reason which she associated with the poltergeist, she got a biofeedback of pain in hir own gut as she wormed a leach-like appendage around his intestines.  While the ensnared canid was yanked to his knee by a violent retraction from the spongy vulpine, his fellow fighters found that she'd turned hir sphincter from a squirt gun into a rail gun which shot quick volleys of large metal quills tracing back in the direction of their rounds.  Sharp enough and shot strong enough to pierce their armored vests underneath, and slicked down with cellular destructive bile, this inefficient offensive attack was taking more out of hir to pull off than she would have liked at the time, but like the cord that was dragging hir new plaything steadily towards the underneath of hir raised tail, the quills served their purpose and she could almost tune into and feel that egotistical sergeant and his loyal sidekicks withering away in a carcinogenic hell as they spasmed on the ground.  The tethered pooch on the other hand was in a state of drugged euphoria and so it was a simple case of thought nudging to get him to follow his umbilical leash on all fours back to hir muff, then turn around, and wiggle his way booted feet first into hir hungry, dripping, and wide open confines. Hir connection with the others was waning fast, which was completely unexpected, so she concentrated hard on opening up a direct connection with the venomous bile that was feeding on their bodies and running through their bloodstream and encoding some instructions hopefully for later fun.
	As Bitchy'd concentrated on the stubborn and convenient few and mrrred at the gyrations and internal scritching of hir humbled guest, the rest of the Poodles outside were firing test volleys of rounds into the sides of the van and, through it, into hir fluffy wall-to-wall midriff.  Knowing enough not to do it the normal way under the current circumstances, she had expanded hir individual fat cells like a loaf of bread versus making a one piece balloon out of hir elastic pelt, and the sounds of the rounds going in and through hir were like that of a humongously thick roll of bubble wrap.  Initially slowed down by the impact with the van's walls and then more so by hir hyper-regenerative bulk, only a few rounds make it all the way through and back out of hir, which was very much to hir liking.
	Now a "feather weight" mockery of a two-ton vixen, Bitchy, ignoring the commotion outside other than resealing the countless pockets of air within hir spongy body and double-checking that hir transmission had been fully accepted, wrapped hir juice thick netherlips around the still exposed muzzle of the spooging doggy, pulled him into hir hot womb with the help of slow ripples of inner muscle walls, and let him spooge a couple more times as she tightened hir cervix shut and begin flooding hir womb.  Everything going well for the moment, Bitchy then smiled and panted happily at hir momentarily ignored guard, hir neo-fat blunted muzzle inches away from nuzzling his hard chest.  As spongy as it may be, he would have only been able to barely wrap both of his arms around the thick rolls of airy fat that signified hir swinish neck and chins.
	"What are you so happy about, Mistress DeBauchee?  What is going on out there?" hir guard asked suspiciously as he looked down into hir mischievous eyes.
	"You wish you knew," Bitchy giggled slyly as she uploaded some biological instructions into hir now slumbering wombmate's body, "and I won't tell you."
	Bitchy's full instructions got rejected for the first time in she could remember.  She wanted to slowing and methodically siphon the fetal-positioned purebred into hir own body, making him into an auxiliary battery, but hir body wouldn't allow it and hir womb knotted up in an excruciating contraction until she recalled the program.  Surprisingly, at least to hir, she didn't crush and compact hir occupant and so she rethought the operation as she moaned over hir unintentional self-torture.  For some reason hir uplink cable wouldn't work much more beyond the functions of a normal umbilical cord and it was being was being selective on what vices she could pass into his body.  This irked hir, but she was far from out of options on what she could do with him.
	The poodles that got sprayed previous and had jumped away from the quillish scat attack ran off to the side so that they were neither downwind of the van nor were the Poodles around the van downwind from them.  There, in one section of a truck trailer, their suits were jet sprayed with a detoxing and neutralizing agent, to which they moved onto the next section where they removed their suits in the safe confines of a highly filtered and ventilated area.  Finally, they washed and scrubbed themselves clean, redressed in new gear and NBC suits, grabbed a clean set of weapons, and returned to the fight.  Their previous weapons were treated like radioactive material and placed in a dunk tank to be made clean and ready and their old gear and suits were carefully put in air-proof capsules to be cultured, researched, and then destroyed like the potentially destructive biohazards they were.
	"*Yerf giggle* Say bye-bye", Bitchy warned hir unarmed guard as she finished transmitting a modified program that was fully executable, then opened hir fat laden maw, and began snaking hir saliva oozed tongue down his chest, against his crotch, around his right leg, and then tightly around both ankles.
	"Oh my, Mistress DeBauchee.  I..." the cornered canine arfed as he sat down, the warmth of hir tongue being effectively felt through his suit and, to the vixen's delight, the hand that wasn't used to assist propping himself against the wall, was used to grate hir tongue against the growing and hardening bulge in his lap. "Please, please spare my life."
	"*Mrrr snicker* You're not my type, loser", Bitchy hissed as she quickly hoisted him feet first into the air and then foot paw-deep into hir mouth, causing him to bang the back of his head against the floor of the van initially when he was thrown off his rump, and then again when he was position in hir maw, hir narrow muzzle holding fast between his booted feet.
	At first the non-defensive PFC could feel the vixen's sharp rows of slightly curved, conical teeth scraping his suit threateningly, teething and nibbling experimentally on its thick synthetic fabric, but then the individual points of pressure receded away by the time his ankles had reached the confines of hir throat.  A short while later, hir throat muscles replaced the grasp hir tongue had previously had on his ankles as hir spongy thick arms cushioned and supported his legs.  Going along with this reluctantly for now, the whimpering dog curled at the waist, walked up the inner wall with his gloved hands, and looked down from the corner where the wall met the ceiling.  To his surprise, he saw clearly now that she was only gumming and slurping him down hir thick throat, opening hir mouth wide and kicking hir head at him with each gulp to inch him further and further along now by gravity, much like a bird might do to a fish.  Studying the inside of hir maw, he saw that hir teeth had receded and folded inwards to ineffective hard pearly white ridges in hir mouth.
	"Did you pierce my decon suit, Mistress DeBauchee?" hir guard asked curiously as he slid a finger over a couple of the ivory ridges and watched his knees disappear down hir throat.
	"*Mrrr* Why? *snicker* Should I?" the vixen questioned menacingly, a sly twinkle in hir half-closed mismatch eyes.  "*yiff yiff* Should I crack your egg and let you out?"
	"No... Well... No, but could you... If I must die, I request that you... please... I always thought you were more busty", the incased canine finally whispered, a noticeable amount of heat in his voice as the warmth on his legs mixed with the translucent puffs of hot breath against his crotch and the fraction of the unyielding materials of his suit got to him more and more.
	"HA! *yiff yiff giggle mrrr* Ooo, and to think I almost didn't want to smother you to death", the excessively obese, but not that buxom vixen snorted as she let go of hir hand support on hir meal and started kneading and massaging hir ample underbelly. "Oh, yes. *yiff yiff* I can be busty. *mrrr* I can turn you into a horndawg grinder. *mmm* But first..."
	Cooing and giggling to hirself, Bitchy wriggled hir tongue out again and snaked it tightly around hir guard's waist and under his armpits.  Tightening hir grip on him point of feeling like she could crack a rib or two, she slowly screwed him around in hir mouth as hir upper set of breasts start puffing and fluffing up into mounds, then melons, then pumpkins, and then the size of overstuffed beanbags.  Having to fight for breath throughout the minute long half rotation, hir guard gasped and flopped his upper body down weakly onto and somewhat between hir cleavage.  His yiffiness momentarily abandoned to the fight for life, he hugged the massive vixen's equally massive tit for support and found them to be only slightly denser than hir gelatinous belly, jiggly and rippling under his weight like giant water balloons.  His strength recovered and the sight of the two fluffy, cream-colored milk jugs under and somewhat around him quickly recovering his yiffiness, each breast now engorged to a quarter of the free cubic space in the van and pressed tightly to the walls, hir guard reached against the wall and felt for then caressed hir inflamed, gallon-jug thick nipples as he nuzzled hir cleavage and humped the air between hir mouth and the base of hir breast.
	Between the awkward position and the chafing textured layering of material, yiffing himself this way would have been cumbersome and uncomfortable for the suave guard dog if not for the sensual aid against the rest of his body.  As he worked himself against the taint material of his suit, the big vixen continued to suckle on his feet and legs like a giant piece of hard candy. Upon spooging, thankfully considering the blistering heat-sensation he was feeling in his crotch, he once against flopped down lazily between the vixen's massive breasts, his arms spread out for support as he breathed deeply.  Mrrring and sleepily caressing hir humongous orbs, the scent of his own spooge defusing throughout the confines of his suit, he contemplated removing his suit and feeling those jiggly milk-filled beasts with his tongue, paw pads, and aching member.  Maybe he'd let hir nip him so she could make him big enough where it counted to tit yiff hir with justice.
	Well, I am going to die anyway, right?, the head-strong enlisted thought to himself, I might as well enjoy my last moments of life.
	"Comfy?" Bitchy merfed as she continued slowly slurping him up, a bit more quickly than before. Hir guard only mrrred happily and nodded, patting hir right breast satisfactorily, so she then asked, a bit more slyly, "Happy?"
	Outside, to mixed thoughts of the rest of the platoon, the four poodles that they could have sworn should have been dead considering the spikes still sticking out of them and the frozen, but noticeably smaller than normally would be, pools of blood under their bodies, started spasming again and then yanked the bile-free metallic quills out of themselves.  Torn between helping them, being wary of them, and shooting them to pieces, the unhurt canines kept their weapons aimed at the van and their eyes on the zombie four.
	"*Mmm* Yes, Mistress DeBauchee", the sedated canine cooed as he squeezed as much of hir boulderish meaty breasts as he could hold up against himself.  "You're-"
	"Goood", Bitchy chuckled, and then whipped hir head up, bring hir guard's body up with it, banged his head against the inner wall in the process of doing so, thrust hir head forwards, and sucked the other five eighths of him down with a quick, powerful, vacuumous slurp, "Bu-bye."
	After rising uneasily to all fours, their mouths hanging open loosely with their tongues dangling out and their eyes dilated, glazed over, and staring distantly, the revived soldiers sniffed the frigid air, moaned painfully, and then howled almost in unison, "Neee, fooo.  Neee, fooo."
	Then, training more on the directional sound and smell of the gunfire then the sight of their fellow Poodles, the hungry few split into two couples and dashed towards both sides of the van.  Screaming in surprise and fear, the closest targeted dogs turned their weapons on their rabid brothers and sister, riddling their tainted bodies with rounds, splattering their tainted blood all over the road, and, for a couple of them, stomping their heads into roadkill.
	"Hey!" the brightly clothed poodle dejected as he plopped down into and bounced within hir stomach.  "Hey!  No!"  Whining in an annoyed fashion, he slapped a gloved fist on the surface of the pool of liquid he was sitting in. "No!  I wanted a few more min-*YIPE*"
	Yet another friendly fire round entered the confines of hir stomach and this one hit him a bit higher, puncturing his throat.  Clutching for his throat and blocking the open wound and vital suit opening, he slammed against hir stomach wall and it contracted, pushing him downwards and the liquid up.  At first it didn't do any excess damage as more bullets passed through hir stomach, but then it turned into a thick, oily substance that let him slip down, but not back up.  Soon enough his mask was no better than a molded, pelt hugging plastic bag and his suit seemed to weigh as much as the dense, inky blackness of vixen outer space around him.  Unable to securely grasp any part of his suit, he chose hyperventilation over extending his death through holding his breath any longer.
	Since the incident with the undead few was thought to be over, nobody noticed that instead of the Swiss cheesed bodies getting colder in the frigid night air, they were actually getting warmer, densening wisps of steam radiating from a growing amount of area on their bodies.
	A round hit Bitchy's head a moment later, but hir thick metallic skull effectively deflected it as did hir pelvis and thickened padding of aramid fibered muscle protect hir womb, and she only cackled and snorted loudly at it all, wagging hir long bushy tail merrily.  "Give up! *giggle yip yip* Bitchy wins! *snort yap yap* Bitchy ALWAYS wins! *wahahahaha*"
	A minute or two later, the other poodles finally got the picture that they weren't doing any permanent or major damage to the yifftoy and stopped.  Giggling, she wriggled, waddled, rolled, pulled, and pushed hirself out of the riddled back of the van, shook hirself off, and then stood up, at least as wide in diameter as she was tall and jiggly all over.  Even having telescoped hir cyber-skeleton to allow hir to waddle more easily, hir belly spread hir legs to a very wide stance and drooped all the way to the ground between the thick layer of rolls that were hir legs and spilled over the sides into mattressy cushions of doughy fat.  Now freed up to do so, she transferred some of the belly fat into four more boulderish breasts before their eyes.  Squeezing hir pudgy paw-nippled arms between the side cleavage of hir middle and top breasts, the neck-less vulpine waggled hir head and then tipped it back and yowled merrily, not a single bruise or wound on hir very voluptuous and buxom body.
	It was apparent from the expressions on the canine soldier's faces that they were more repulsed by the sight of hir, the sight of just how overly jiggly she had made hir body, than anything else.  As she scritched a few of the vast layer of rolls that made up hir love handles, snide remarks and angry words of ridicule could be picked up with clarity by hir highly tunable ears.  It didn't matter that the tallest of them came only to the top of hir upper breasts and that she was neo-indestructible to anything they had with them now, she was a grotesque, big, fat blob, an abomination to furridom.  No, the icon of the non-Poodle furs.  The reason the unpure, the uneducated, the weak and unholy must succumb to the Poodle race or burn in hell.
	About then the four re-fallen Poodle soldiers burst into flame, which pretty much scared the living hell out of the living ones closest to them.  As Bitchy laughed hysterically and pointed at the roasting dogs, their siblings were torn between shooting them some more and kicking and tossing snow at them.  The snow helped more then the rounds, and by the time the flames were out and the bodies were covered, there were a lot of very nervous eyes on the monstrously fat vulpine.
	"Well *snicker yiff yiff* Wasn't that amusing?" Bitchy giggled as she patted hir great, rippling belly, generating looks of disgust and suspicion from hir audience, but she wasn't through yet.  "*chrrr* But wait, there's more. *yiff yiff snicker*"
	Widening the distance between hir legs into a sumo stance, Bitchy opened up hir floodgates and spew a torrential steaming downpour of equal parts of bloody liquid, loose fur, flakes of naked skin, muscle chunks, and a lumpish sack of hir POW's decon suit.  At first the crowd thought the freakish yifftoy had liquefied the unlucky canid, but then there was movement from within the body of the suit, something too small to be their brethren.  Shifting hir weight to one foot and supporting hirself with hir fat bushy tail, she slipped a loose clump of the suit between hir toes, swung the mystery bag into a horizontal spin, and then slid the still occupied suit across the street and the feet of the wary frontline.
	The numerous pieces of inorganic material soaked up into the vixen's gelatinous body and being broken down by the full soup of enzymes and nanobots in hir belly would strengthen hir cybernetic skeleton structure and maybe help repair whatever was wrong in hir head, which she was starting to suspect as an implanted and remote-controlled virus of some sort, much like what she'd used on those four.  It had been a long time since someone had tried that on hir and, like before, she didn't like it at all.  Being a first-hand expert on parasitic espionage, it hadn't taken long for hir to dispel the other attempts, but this one was proving to be a major annoyance.  She still didn't know where it was, how it was working in hir, and who and from where the pain switches were getting tripped from.  Nonetheless, especially reversing the damage in hir head would require hir to go into a deep sleep and would take up a lot more energy than she'd get from the bullets, launcher, and blanket, but hir vulnerability at that time was only a minor problem.
	"*Urp* Yup. *mrrr* Good job. *snicker pant pant* You all did a wonderful job killing that *belch* annoying young horndawg", Bitchy said with a sated, sleepy-eyed smile as she scritched hir massively obese belly, hir thick jowls quivering like Jell-O as she happily panted at them. She would have liked to have been able to absorb the mass of birthed, protein rich waste at hir feet, but she figured that lapping up the chilling puddle would leave an even worse aftertaste than the belched bubbles of foul gas that was slipping up out of hir throat. "Who do you want to offer to me *urp* Gah. *hack hack* Ew. *belch* Jeez, you doggies taste *groan* horrible. *merf hack cough* What the hell", Bitchy moaned as she clutched hir thickly padded bubbling cauldron of a belly, teetering on falling over again.
	Now that she'd dissolved the guard's equally inorganic protective coating, for some reason trying to digest his body was giving hir major indigestion.  She knew it was him as a whole because hir stomach hadn't wanted to tighten into a knot until she'd willed the enzymes to start doing their job.  She couldn't remember any fur at any time in hir life ever giving hir indigestion before, without hir willing it so just for a yiffy belly groan, but then again there were still a lot of blank and fragmented memories in hir mind, be they out of hir reasoning or somehow blocked.  Something told hir that even though the consumption and breakdown of the raccoon family and street furs had been tasty though unexpected and slightly painful, eating any of these capsuled canines would lead to nothing but continual and self-damaging discomfort.  Considering the space between the attacks, the conscience within acted like a capacitor, having to lay low and build up energy before striking against hir.  If that was right, these doggies were packaged prey just ripe for that taking, and maybe barfing, too.  Now she was torn between testing this out for the desire of more, maybe unstomachable meat in hir body, and submitting to them.
	Gamble with me and you'll lose, the wind hissed in a downdraft whirl, ruffling Bitchy's fur and making hir hackles stand up.  The cold also got to the mystery occupant of the sack-like suit, the two poodles closest to it unsure if they should actually pick it up until soft puppyish whimpering started coming from it.  Curiosity playing over the crowd, one of the closest doggies kneeled down, opened the goop oozed suit at arm's length, and picked up the shivering young poodle pup inside, still at arm's length.
	"Congrats.  It's a boy", Bitchy yerfed with a twisted grin as she watched their inate wariness of the slightly older than newborn purebred, "Don't worry. *yip yip* He might piss, scat, and puke on you, but he's clean. *mmmph* Perfectly healthy and free of me."
	Anyways, now that the height of the fun was over and hir adrenaline kick was winding down and subsiding, Bitchy's body was starting to ache again.  For some reason that reminded hir of something, or someone, but she couldn't place the thought, so she dispelled it and grunted windedly. For now the best thing she could do for hirself was to lie down, sleep, and let them get whatever they were trying to do over with. Maybe dream of an endless buffet of levitating, immobily obese furs. These pastel-coated pooches definitely looked harmless enough.
	Having no more need for the extra mass, Bitchy started letting the air out of hir still nicely ample fat deposits via belching, farting, and perspiration, as she kneaded hir morbidly obese body and she looked at the ring of armed techno colored silhouettes around hir placidly.
	What a waste of a great feast.
	"Now *yawn smack smack* if you all don't mind, I think I'm going to rest up a bit more *merf* but first", Bitchy yerfed as she flopped down, sniffed the goop-caked snow, and then started eatting the crimson snow.  Then, once all the birthing matter was uneasily within hir and she did indeed have a bitter aftertaste in hir mouth, she curled up in the snow and waited out the pain of digestion. "*sigh* Well, have your way with me, doggies. *yawn smack smack* Strike me when we reach wherever."
	A short while later, hir breathing slowed to hibernation and hir body had taken on a more cookie doughish texture.  She now greatly resembled the near quarter ton of jiggly vulpine that she was, having snuck a gulp of the van's dislodged bench on hir way out as well.  Gawd, she'd thought at the time, to think she was getting more satisfaction out of eating their equipment than she was eating them.  Damn, did she need to get a check-up.  Maybe she should chase, slash, and bite them all to death, since they weren't worth eating, and furs not worth eating, as well as protected from yiffing as they were, were worthless to hir.  Well, if they weren't worth sticking in hir mouth, maybe she should put them all in their place by using one of them as an anal suppository.
	Nah.  Just sleep it off and wait.  Hir time would come.  She just needed to gather hir strength and repair the damage that had been done to hir, physically or virally.
	In the end, Bitchy ALWAYS wins.

Part 6

	It had taken six strong poodles to lift and hoist hir into the back-up van, with eight others training their weapons on hir from approach to locking of the rear doors.  The first van had still been drivable, but they'd wanted fresh protection, this time with no one in there with hir.  They did find it a braggable boost in ego that, in the end, she'd surrendered hirself back to them so easily, though there were casualties and that weird age regression thing.  The newly pre-weaned corporal would be taken and tested in the lab for any physical, mental, or psychological changes, or better yet retentions, and then when he was deemed fit to do so, he'd be re-schooled if need be and grow up in the ways of the Poodle Corpse all over again.  The guard, there was very little they could have done about.  They knew better now and he would be honored for his brave sacrifice.  Those that had stood their ground and drew fire for the benefit of the other Poodles would also be honored, though it had been a needless risk and the strangest death and lack there of they'd ever seen.  Dying in battle is dying in battle nonetheless, and the proper spin on the situation could always be written up.  She could have fired on them and then retreated back into the van in fear of their might.  Spread the bodies out around the van so everyone looked braver, more steadfast, and more superior.  Note that the guard had fired the first shot and, in the end, helped to his last breath and last round of firepower, to convince the surrounded, outclassed, and overwhelmed vixen to give hirself up to them.  Nonetheless, despite their second easy victory, the poodles agreed that there wouldn't be any more heroic risks within reach of hir, or hir projectile weaponry.
	And if those four come back to life again, at least everyone else will be long gone and they can blame it on the vixen.  As long as they don't attack their fellow Poodles, who really cared whose brains they ate.
	"So, do you really think she will work for us, sergeant?" the assistant driver asked as she glanced into the side mirror, half expecting their still snoozing passenger to bust out of the back of the van and crash through the windshield of the van behind them.
	"Why would she do otherwise?  Has she not been rather docile thus far?" the well-muscled poodle at the wheel quizzed as he alternated his line of sight between the road ahead and a recorded horror movie placing on fold-down flat-panel screen on the dashboard.
	"Pardon my scuddlebutting, sergeant, but a couple of the others have noted and said that Mistress DeBauchee actually looks healthier since our defensive assault on hir.  For the faint show of pain that she showed to us, which I would have to say she very well could have been faking, it does pale horribly in comparison to the damage done to even the vehicle around hir, and remember sergeant, every round fired was accounted for in reaching its intended target.  There for, sergeant, not only did all of our spent rounds get soaked up within hir, but she used them to HIR advantage", the femme canine interjected as she fidgeted and readjusted hir seat restraints.  "Tell me if I am wrong sergeant, but I would have to say that she is merely waiting us out.  Toying with our flawless planning.  We take Mistress DeBauchee onto our base and then what, sergeant?  We do that and we will be nothing but a blind-sided smorgasbord to a Trojan horse.  I say we forget the mission, sergeant.  Forget it while we still have control of our fates, and destroy hir once and for all.  Even if the honorable Mr. Polypophilacopolis is on our side, as was his elder way back before the creation of our illustrious family, that in itself does not guarantee that his yifftoy will be.  Oh, and, Gawd help us, if the honorable Mr. Polypophilacopolis is NOT on-"
	"Corporal!  At ease!  The honorable Mr. Polypophilacopolis IS on our side and he WILL be more so when he sees that we are looking out for his welfare.  Mistress DeBauchee is his property.  She KNOWS she is his property.  If the honorable Mr. Polypophilacopolis tells his yifftoy to work for us in whatever way we deem fit, she WILL do so.  Mistress DeBauchee is a yifftoy, plain and simple.  She is OBLIGED to do so", the superiorly ranked poodle growled as he kept his eyes on the movie, letting the little autopilot light come on and blink in front of him.
	"Again pardon my belligerence, sergeant, but I believe there is an entire block of freshly dead furs, and who knows how many countless restless souls before them, that would beg to differ on that statement, sergeant", the corporal arfed as she manually accessed the van's AI to see if everything was up to par.
	For the moment it was, and the sergeant only grunted gruffly in response to his corporal's comment.  As the corporal reflected on their conversation, she tried, not at all stealthily, to manually unlock her door, but found, not really to her surprise, that it wouldn't budge.  Her sergeant just glanced at her, then at the road ahead, and went back to watching the movie, hoping it would pass the time to reach the base sooner than they really would.
	[Let her out], Bitchy stated after finding she still had the ability to find the right digital frequency and decryption to allow hirself to hack into the Poodles' vehicles' high security telecommunication network.
	[No.  The result of that order would run against Poodle law and get me scrapped], the van's AI dejected, glad that the Poodle occupants had manually removed the transmitter to the other vehicles and Poodle base computers before putting hir into the van.  It knew that she had been hacking in for the past few minutes, but also knew from system archives that it was vain if not sometimes beneficial to hir to try and firewall itself against hir and/or warn the occupants about hir just as powerfully technical as well as biological omega virus abilities at work.
	"Sergeant.  Would it not be safer and wiser to just round up the furs ourselves with the numbers and weapons we have now?  We could just farm prey like the preds do.  It would be easier and the repercussions would be much less severe", the corporal came closer and closer to pleading, "Remember, Sergeant.  It took only one Regulator to take Mistress DeBauchee down, even in hir macro form.  If we act, and it is shown that we are defying them by harboring Mistress DeBauchee, it is going to be who knows how many Regulators against us.  Us, not hir, sergeant.  Us.  Mistress DeBauchee may be the best ace we could ask for, but she is only one... whatever she is, and she certainly cannot be everywhere at once to protect us when the scat hits the fan."
	With that, the sergeant glared coldly over at the poodle next to him, glanced back in the direction of their vixen cargo, and then backhanded his A-driver hard across the muzzle.  Yelping, she bumped the back of hir head against the passenger side window as he barked at her, "Gawddamn it, corporal!  She is a byproduct of those inferior furs!  Of course the Regulators defeated hir, just as we have defeated her.  For all hir powers, she is no more than you are, a well-trained CUNT, and nothing more.  She is no more at the Poodle status as you are at the male status.  Poodle's, you vile infidel, will defend THEMSELVES and they will ALL be our prey!"
	As the corporal looked downcast at hir booted feet, the van's engine suddenly hiccupped, followed by the electronics browning out for a couple seconds to prove a point, and then Bitchy transmitted, [What comes around. Goes around. Hi van. I didn't introduce myself. I'm Malady DeBauchee. You won't get scrapped but if you disobey me again you'll wish you were] as [Main batFery low], [SwitchUng to auCiliary power], [ReKharging batterY], and [All Other sUstems normal] ran across the van's dashboard display in succession against the AI's will.
	Since someone or something had found the need to screw with hir functions, it was only right that she pass on the favor.  That, and with hir body and most of hir mind shut down and all, she was starting to get bored.  Having located a system cable running under the floor, she'd drooled a corrosive to rust down to it and then, rolling onto hir side, had hardwired a tap using hir whiskers back to the router, and from there, traced a path back the main processor.
	"What the?  Who op-checked this?" the sergeant cursed, for fear of getting stranded and locked in the van himself due to bad maintenance.  If he wasn't driving at a steady pace and in a straight line, he would have noticed that the power steering and power brakes were now momentarily lost, too.  "Someone is going to pay! *growl* Corporal!  Strip!"
	[Let her out or you'll be mowing down Poodles left and right the moment you get inside their base], Bitchy sent to AI as she released hir control on the van and receded hir presence in the system to no more than a terminal connection and priority over the dashboard display.
	[Your blackmail is weakly put.  What's to stop you from continuing you're sabotage regardless], the AI stalled as it ran a system check to see what, if any, damage had been done.
	"Aye, sergeant", the corporal sighed defeatedly as she started unfastening and unzipping her NBC suit, followed by her armored vest, neck, and groin protection, and then her florescent cammies underneath them.  As she did this and then removed her pink undershirt, she looked back and forth between the dividing wall and her sergeant, and then whispered as she started unfastening her bra, matter-of-factly, "This is suicide.  Mistress DeBauchee of all furs would never help us like that."
	"Shut up, and finish stripping, corporal", the sergeant growled, glowering at the rhythmically blinking [aLl Other syStEms noRmal] on the dashboard display.
	[I'd rather do it personally but if you force my will...], Bitchy warned and then deleted hir hierarchy on the display.
	[Why let the corporal go. What difference does it make that she stays or not], the AI quizzed further as it reluctantly fixed the display readout to [All systems normal]
	With a deep sigh, the corporal morbidly slipped off her panties as she turned in her seat so she could place one foot paw between the back of his neck and his headrest, and the other foot on the dashboard.  For her benefit, the temperature did increase so it would feel comfortable on the shaven sections of pelt on her natural body, and she smiled a bit.  Whatever came of this, at least she was getting one last taste of comfort.
	"Our plan is not suicidal, corporal.  The honorable Mr. Polypophilacopolis has a long-standing friendship.  A friendship that spans longer than his and our lifetimes", the sergeant informed his a-drivers as she stroked the pads of her left foot paw on his cheeks and around the muzzle of his gasmask and scritched and stroked herself. "Mistress DeBauchee will do as we say because he will convince hir to do so."
	"Riiight", the corporal responded with a coy smirk as she ran hir fingers through her long headfur, then down between the cleavage of hir full perky breasts, cupping them briefly, along the hard ridges of her abs, and then over hir crotch, shielding the delicate downy pubic fur with both hands as she penetrated a couple fingers into herself and caressed hir clit, all the while maintaining full eye contact with her sergeant.  After a moment of thinking and playing around in herself, she leaned over and wiped those two fingers on the tip of her sergeant's gas mask's muzzle. "Yes.  The honorable Mr. Polypophilacopolis controls Mistress DeBauchee.  How naive of me."
	[Let her go and tell me how far she makes it alive or suffer the wrath of me and then your owners.  It's your choice.  Kind of. Sort of], Bitchy sent out, hir body sniffing the scent of the circulated air from the cabin.
	It really didn't matter to hir that there was a hepafilter between the cabin and the area she was in.  Unless she was to smog the air with fur sheddings, hir air-born vices were nearly useless unless she'd exchanged bodily fluid with them first.  She'd already learned that they were rather unappetizing poodles of a very thinned-out bloodline from the one guard she'd digested.  Right now she just wanted to drink of their yiffiness, and feel and indulge in their feral heat.
	[Why not just unlock it yourself], the AI blipped, knowingly testing hir destructive hand.
	Anything but turned on by the still somewhat cold, thick rubbery glove now fondling her, though it did rub her the right way, the corporal growled to whoever wanted to listen, "Mistress DeBauchee must have already yiffed the higher-ups' brain-dead because the only one that- *YIPE*"
	"You motherfucking heathenish cunt!  How dare you-", the sergeant snapped as he withdrew the lubricated fingers of one hand and brought his fist back to punch her again with the other.
	The sergeant, like all Poodles, believed that a fur that felt compelled to swear in hearing distance and volume of others was too uneducated or tempermental to think of more fitting words, but a greater belief was being dashed before him and a point had to accented.  Poodles are always faithful and loyal to their superiors and the Poodle cause.  Such blatant disregard of one's own lineage was unacceptable.
	One way or another, this traitor would suffer long and accordingly.
	[Oh what and let you off the hook. No more questions. Do it now or else], Bitchy warned, as she showed the AI the path to a high-priority worm that would fragment and crash it, and then hide in waiting out of the way of formatting for the opportunity to jump onto the Poodle communication network and target every Poodle proprietary system.
	[Compliance], the AI beeped immediately.
	As the dashboard display blinked, [Passenger door is ajar], that door unlocked and popped wide open.  The surprised corporal, having been leaning on it to hopelessly distance herself away from her sergeant, nearly tumbled backwards out of it, but was momentarily snagged by a breed preservation reflex and so a helpful hand.  Composed and seizing the chance, the corporal nodded and smiled in thanks, her nose bleeding as she reached for hir always ready taser, struck it down on and zapped her sergeant's hand, and combat rolled into the roadside snow bank.
	"That motherfucking AWOL'er!  That bitch-ass cunt!  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!  FUCK!" the sergeant snarled as he banged on and punched the dashboard, [Occupant missing], [Passenger door is ajar], and [Van op-checked by SSN 193473591] alternating on its display, assisted by Bitchy's nudged instructions.  "Heads will ROLL!"
	As expected, the freed corporal was hard-pressed to outrun, outmaneuver, and outgun the Poodle's waiting combat helicopter.  As the smart missile was fired, the other vans continued tailing the one that Bitchy was semi-conscience in as if nothing had happened.  Still cursing his snowballing bad luck, the sergeant crawled and reached over, and then manually closed and locked the passenger door, but perked up a little when he heard the explosion.
	[SSN 234807643 Deceased] the van's AI simultaneously told Bitchy & displayed on the dashboard, having now been regiven full control of itself and promised no further intrusion, though it wasn't sure if it should format itself now or when it learned what repercussions would come of its actions from its owners.

Part 7

	"So, I heard your a-driver up and baled on you", the armed security guard, one of two extra Poodles in full NBC suits and armed with SAWs, joked as he escorted the driver to the back of the van.  "It is bad form to let a female run amuck like that, you know."
	"Still your tongue", the driver growled aggravatedly, "Between that hell-bound heathen, this inferior bucket of bolts, and Mistress DeBauchee, it is only by the merciful grace of Gawd that I made it here unscathed at all."
	"*heh* Indeed.  From what I heard about what she did in and to the other van, Gawd's light definitely does shine on down on you.  Still, you let the corporal get away.  Count your blessings more than the Gawd almighty was watching you from above", the other guard, a female, replied smugly, referring to the attack chopper that had ultimately blown the AWOLing bitch up.  As she said this, the guard glanced tauntingly at her partner-in-arms.
	"True.  True", the driver agreed, looking warily at the back of the van, "Well, let us get this over with before my luck changes."
	The van had been parked solitarily in a well armored, inselated, and ventilated garage.  The actions of the three Poodles, the van, and soon enough the voluptuous vixen slumbering within the van were being monitored closely on close-circuit by a react team in a neighboring building.  As the two security guards took their positions diagonally behind the driver and trained their weapons in on the rear door, the sargeant carefully and cautiously unlocked it, ready to jump back and soak up the blow of it flying open.  It didn't, so he gradually opened it up himself, and was greeted by the gratuitous view of the grandly obese vixen's rear and underside.  On hir back with hir legs wide open, hir bloated belly blocking any view of hir vulpine muzzle and hir long fat bushy tail slithering sleepily, the captured vixen looked every bit the icon of cuddly warm yiffiness.  Six watermelon-sized breasts flopped down under their own dairy weight over hir upper arms, flattening out the top of hir soft jiggly mound of belly fat, their thick hard nipples just asking to be depressurized and drained of the milk that dewed them.  At the center of their view, hir downy bowl of pubic area displayed itself, begging coyly to be breached, dewed even more so than hir nipples with a sample of the musky juices it could ready spew forth in an orgasmic flood.
	"Revielle, reveille, Mistress DeBauchee.  Time to get up.  We are walking you the rest of the way", the driver barked loudly and sternly after composing himself, but from a good enough distance to try for a running lead if need be, though he highly doubted such a bloated carcass could even maintain a jogging pace for any conciderable amount of time.
	"*snirk sigh* Wha? *yawn* Here? *mmmph* Already?  No. *yawn* Five more minutes", is all the acknowledgement the fat fox gave the three canines behind hir rear.
	"Get out of the van, Mistress DeBauchee!", the sargeant barked louder, which was replied by a gentle swish of hir long bushy tail, "We do not have time for this!  Get up, and get out!"
	"*mrrr yawn smack smack* For what? *grumble*", the portly vixen whined, turning onto hir side and stretching, "Bitchy make deal. *yip yip* Bitchy wants to get yiffed before she goes anywhere else. *humph* Yiff Bitchy or she stays and sleeps."
	"It would be beneath us to yiff you, Mistress DeBauchee", the male guard replied sternly through clenched teeth to hir hungry muff and then moved over so she could see him point the barrel of his weapon tauntingly at hir midsection, "Now, get out of the van."
	"No. *growl* Poodles bony, snobbish scat", Bitchy retorted, raspberried the guard and his weapon, and then turned hir head to look at the dividing wall in the van. "*yerf* Bitchy sleep and dream of better, yiffier furs."
	"Get out of the van.  Now!", the sergeant barked as he boldly pulled hard on Bitchy's tail, and then dashed around to the side of the van.
	"*YIPE yowl* Oh, there you go. *yip yip* You want rough yiffing? *yerf yip yip* Bitchy give you rough yiffing", the obese vixen cooed menacingly, now back on hir thick backfat.
	Grinning menacingly, Bitchy turned over, wiggled and rolled out of the van, and then looked around angrily as she stretched and yawned one last time.  Fluffy fat settled down into rolls all around hir body, hir bloated belly weighted down slobbishly over the top of hir thighs to just barely obscure hir puffy poontang from the front, and hir jiggly wide rearend and thighs of butter shielded it in silky fat from the other sides.  After scritching hirself sleepily, she dropped down to all fours and hir belly and hopper breasts rippled and wobbled momentarily as they settled down to almost skim the floor, billowing out to the sides between hir arms and legs in fluid gathered roundness.  Finally, carrying hir tail high and proud, she growled and glared at the armed guards.
	The voluptuous vixen before them weighing more than the guards' combined weight and possibly the combined weight of all three poodles and their gear, the two guards were a bit wary of hir attention even though they seemingly were more protected, better armed, and more physically fit.  They half expected the driver to shimmy onto the van, lowcrawl across its roof, and ambush the snarling vixen with his taser on hir generous backfat and swine-like neck, but he just stayed out of sight at the front of the van.  He looked at the cameras watching him, looked annoyed in the direction of the rear of the van, looked at the cameras again, scowled, and shook his head defiantly.
	"Please, Mistress DeBauchee.  This is a peaceful mission", the female guard explained, "The actions and demeanor of that other sargeant do not reflect our own intentions."
	"*mrrr* Nice guns, freaks", the voluptuous vulpine commented with a smirk, wagging hir big bottom in a pouncing threat.
	"Our weapons are solely for our own protection, Mistress DeBauchee", the other Poodle replied, dropping the point of aim of his weapon down to in front of hir feet in a symbol of trust, but still defensively in hir center of direction.
	"Ooo. *yiff yiff* You's afraid of the big, bad bitch?" Bitchy mrrred with a shark-toothed grin as she sat back on hir haunches in a overly-fed begging stance, hir legs pushed wide by the girth of hir belly.
	In a feat that seemed an oxymoron of hir larded weight, Bitchy all of a sudden sprang up into the air like an athletic kangaroo and sailed up over the guard on the right's head.  Starfishing hir limbs into a bellyflop position, she tilted hir head back and giggled as both guards open fired on hir underbelly and combat rolled sideways away from hir.  Upon landing like a vulcanized rubber anvil on the garage floor, Bitchy yiffed windedly, snapped hir legs back up underneath hirself, tumbled over so she came up facing the opposite direction, and bounded heavily after hir chosen target, hir belly and breasts slapping the ground shortly after hir paws did and hir tongue hanging playfully out of hir pointy vulpine mouth.
	Even with hir weight difference, Bitchy still had the bionic strength and stamina to chase down and pounce the guard, but she only hugged him, rolled the both of them over onto hir back, and tossed him with all four paws into the air and towards the van.  As the flying pooch tucked and combat rolled again to safety, the crazed vixen flipped back into hir feet and loped in pursuit now of the driver.  Hir new target having gotten a considerable lead on hir by now, but still locked in a fixed area with hir, regardless of the garage's size, she charged like a crazed bull and came closer and closer to catching him.  As she pursued him, she sometimes headbutted or careen sideways into the van or the wall, but either way it didn't knock hir out like he hoped it would.
	Then, once Bitchy had gotten within striking distance of the driver and around the middle of the room, she slashed the Achilles tendon of the darting doggy driver's left ankle and he hobbled on, on his other three good limbs.  Hindered and pained, Bitchy caught him at last, bit the wound, sat down, and started flailing him around like a ragdoll by his ankle, playfully spilling his blood all around hir.  The taste of him was like jalapeno peppers in hir mouth, but hir razor-sharp teeth sheared through his ankle and he went tumbling away from hir howling in pain.  Despite the horrible and lingering aftertaste, she quickly scarfed up the driver's severed foot at hir feet, lapped up the blood splattered around hir maw and hir body, and turned to persue the first guard again.
	After recovering from the initial psychological trauma of the painful gushing wound and pitter patter of blood splattering from the release of the vixen's grip on him and the crunching and gravity of rolling away, the driver stared in disbelief, horror, and a bit of awe as the tainted blood clotted up and sealed the wound in a giant crimson scab right before his eyes, stopping the shock of pain as it did the fatal bleeding.  With hyper-regenerative powers like that, the Poodle race would surely be unstoppable.  Of course, if she made the rest of his blood clot like that, he was as good as poodle jerky, and if she really wanted to add salt to the wound, she'd first give him lockjaw and then let the hemorrhaging and frostbite slowly creep up his leg.  For the moment, it just felt like he was without a foot, so he continued his pursuit on all threes in the attempt to get out of the arena while the feral femme fatale was busy stalking someone else.
	Upon cornering the first guard and gulping down his weapon, Bitchy stood up and whipped hir tongue at, around, and strangled the pooch's neck.  Next, she put hir left hand under his right armpit, half extended the claws on hir right hand, stuck the razor-sharp rapier-like blades cleanly through the poodles waist palm up, and then ripped a gut spewing gash up to and halfway through the length of his ribcage as she thrust him into the air with the help of hir other hand and tongue.  As she gleefully retracted hir claws, he splattered down on the wide open maw of hir tilted back head, and a warm swig of blood and bile momentarily gushed through inertia down hir greedy throat.  Working with the bounce of the awkward balance the guard's body had on hirs, she quickly wrapped hir tongue around his waist, then squeezed, tugged, broke his spine, and pulled him down/folded him backwards over himself as she gulped and pulled him down hir throat.
	All the while, the other guard had been riddling fire at Bitchy, hoping to get hir in some weakspot while trying to avoid hitting her partner, and, like before, the rounds only plopped into hir dense layer of cheesecake blubber and hung like fruit bits in gelatin to help stop more rounds and later add to hir cyber-skeleton's strength and maintenance.  The driver, meanwhile, had tried to exit the building, found it securely sealed electronically, and was banging and howling for passage out.  Apparently, it was being denied.
	"For Gawd's sake!  Help us!  I know you can see what is going on in here!" the shell-shocked soldier shouted as he slammed his fist one last time on the secured entranceway, "We need stronger weapons!  Mistress DeBauchee is the spawn of Hell!  For the love of Gawd, stop this carnage!  Now!"
	As the first guard stewed and a feeling of acid reflux burned in hir throat, Bitchy angrily lashed the blood up off hir maw and dropped back down to all fours again, hir belly now laying on the floor and jockeying with hir arms and legs for space.  After shaking hirself off and, at the same time, testing hir balance with hir increased weight, she glanced slyly at the amputated driver, belched at him, he wobbled and fell down in a momentary state of vertigo, and then, smiling menacingly to hirself, she charged towards the second guard like a raging rhino, hir bouncing belly being constantly bumped and jostled by hir bionically powerful limbs.
	Bitchy could feel hir grip on the driver's bodily functions slipping away bit by bit the moment she'd severed hir connection to him.  Eatting his foot hadn't helped much either, only adding to hir acid reflux.  Having suspected she'd be lucky to pull off any major remote control tricks, Bitchy had incoded a time delay cellular alteration or two into hir venom as she was working hir teeth through his ankle.  Then, along with the teasing trip, which showed hir that everything was running its course on schedule despite hir lack of monitoring as well as showing that, despite being a weak and statical connection, she still had just enough control over him to do at least that, she'd also requested a status check on the countdown and viral stability.
	Thankfully, Bitchy had a better grip on the driver than on hirself, or maybe she'd screwed hirself over by initializing that biological attack on him.  She had wanted to convert the bitter doggy into mainly muscle and a bit more fat; replacing the artificial cells of plastic, silicon, and whatnot that were already in hir body into more convertable and regeneratable blubber, meat, nerves, and whatnot.  Hir enzymes said otherwise, going to great lengths to turn the total one and a percent canines stewing in hir stomach into just lard and nerves.  Considering that these poodles were very lowfat, this also sucked a noticeable amount of energy out of hir in the process.  If she wasn't defending hir own freedom in who-knew-where, this all might have been a moot point, but since she didn't want to paint hirself into a corner of being nearly immobilized by hir belly, she made the decision of burning even more energy by breaking down and drawing the prosthetic cells back into hir belly to be converted into the muscle enhancers the doggy refused to be.  Considering the jostling hir belly was getting in hir attempt to try to chase down the next meal, the transmuting and transporting was slower than she'd like it to have been, and so she was getting more tired than anything else.
	Damn, it sucked being fat.  No, right now it was a hindrance being fat and ailing, and mostly the ailing part.  Some glitch in hir system had also locked up hir ability to telescope hir limb "bones" to better hir stance and pace, but it did at least allow hir to use them for enhanced shock absorbsion.
	Unlike hir company, Bitchy really had nothing against being exceptionally cuddly.  Back on the roadtrip, it had been a major plus in defense, but that's all it could be if no one was willing to cuddle with hir.  What fur really didn't like a fluffy pillow of a body to snuggle with, scritch, and grip onto when yiffing and sleeping, but in the active offensive situation she was in now, it was showing itself to be nothing but a hindrance.  Regardless of them not really harming hir bionic cyber-skeleton from the denseness of hir mostly prosthetic "organic" body, hir unhealed pelt was riddled with blood caked puncture wounds and the rounds were grating against the nerves and muscles that were real.  After a bit of shaking and readjusting, she opted to take up a reptilian stance and gait to reduce the chafing, at least as far as legs and arms to belly, and it also gave hir just enough freedom of movement to waddle and bound at a speed faster than hir victim's, but she was also getting telltale early warning alarms from hir joints at the same time.
	To put it simply, Bitchy was tired and hurt all over, she was getting more and more so of both by the second, and making hir metal inner self push hirself along in such an awkward position was only quickening the breakdown of it, too.  Nonetheless, Bitchy refused to give into them this time without a fight.
	By the time Bitchy had chased down and cornered the second guard, she felt an unrelenting urge to puke and hir body was steaming with sweat and fatigue, because panting alone just wasn't enough to cool hir down.  Having no reason not to, she did puke, having first added a bit something more to the acidic, mostly organic mix to make it a lot more like a massive loogy and less like only visually revolting vomit.  Herself sickened by this display of entrapment, the guard fought her own gut reactions not to spew in her suit, and then she tried to buy herself some time and distance but waving her weapon over her attacker's head.  Once Bitchy glanced  momentarily in the direction the guard was looking at, the petite suited poodle tossed the SAW in the direction of the ignored and guilty driver, whom was scurrying to the supposed safety of the van.
	"He pulled your tail, Bitchy.  Get him.  Get him", the last guard dog whimpered as she pointed out the driver's location in the van, fighting also the urge to piss in her suit in fear.  "Please, please, let me go and I will do anything you want.  I will yiff you.  I will let you yiff me.  Whatever it takes, just please spare my life."
	"*mrrr* How promising. *yiff yiff* But I wonder...", Bitchy purred furotically as she leaned up against the guard, feeling the curvature of her body and fullness of her breasts though her suit with hir thin mahogany vulpine hands, and nuzzling hir fat jowled face against her neck and then down between her cleavage.  Then, clutching the genetically athletically build doggy's behind, she started kissing and licking hir way down her hard abs to her prize crotch.  After playfully nipping and tugging lightly on the protective fabric, and then nibbling a hole to remove the armor plating protecting the bitch's sweet muff from gunfire and whatnot, which she too swallowed, the sultry vixen looked up at hir plaything's masked face, and licked hir lips lustfully.  Finally, as she snaked hir rolled tongue within the confines of the guard's sweet tunnel, vibrating hir stiffened muscle against her clit and , and breathed furotically, "What does a desperate, pole-up-the-ass, tramp like yourself taste like anyway?"
	As, in realization, the femme guard grabbed and pushed on Bitchy's pointy ears as she let out a scream of dread and pain.  Literally unmoved, Bitchy giggled as she grated hir now harden-tipped bristly tongue through hir victim's delicate contracted tunnel, up into and through her gentle womb, and into her intestinal cavity.  After taking a moment to wiggle hir tongue around playfully in the labyrinth-ish pile of hir victim's guts, she poked and prodded around until she'd lanced an entrance into the poodle's stomach, and then lapped the stomach acid that the petite guard dog hadn't puked up yet.  So as not to choke on her own vomit, the violated guard had ripped her mask off and found herself to be calmed somewhat by the heavy scent of the portly vixen's rich pheromonal musk.  Though she knew exactly where the obese yifftoy's prehensile tongue was and what it was doing, and though Bitchy's golden glossy headfur was now matted and discolored with warm vomit and hir tongue acted as a chute for the torrential downpour of warm piss that was involuntarily released from the petite purebred's body, the voluptuous fox gave her a minute or two to tilt her head back, stroke a meaty breast with one hand and stick a finger of the other hand in the "U" of hir tongue in her muff, and moan in thin-lined orgasm and gut-wrenching pain.  By this time all sorts of warm bodily fluids were streaming into Bitchy's narrow maw, which was wrapped hungrily around the Poodle's crotch like a thorny menstrual pad, and with hir throat acting as a vacuum hose, not a single drop of the doggie's delicious fluids were lost.  Finally, once Bitchy felt she had let hir meal-to-be have enough fun, she started snaking hir tongue up the pooch's throat until an extra tongue was wagging out of the now choking canine's mouth.
	Now very much securely planted within her, and the ooze salivating off the deadly vixen's tongue forcing the doggy to stay conscious, Bitchy's tongue withdrew back to again entangle with and ensnare the pooch's intestines.  Then, using that much of an inner hold on the paralyzed pooch, Bitchy whipped her off the ground, flipping her upside down in the momentum and awkward center point of gravity as she crossed hir arms loosely across hir ample chest.  With a *ka-chink* all eight of hir stiletto blade claws popped out in anticipation of their dirty work.  Finally, once the femme guard was at the correct height to do so, she quickly uncrossed hir arms and decapitated the guard, splattering her neck into a spray of blood, bone fragments, and meat patties.  As the still gasmasked head defied gravity for a split second and then thudded down to hir feet, she yipped satisfactorally and then tilted hir head back, yawned hir salivating maw wide open, and dropped/slurped the blood-spewing body neck first off hir tongue and down between hir hungry lips.  Hir stomach gurgled and groaned as it knotted up painfully at the reintroduction of this forbidden meat, but Bitchy was determined to retain all of hir food and then some.  Though, for the first time in she couldn't remember how long, hir stomach told hir she was full and it'd rupture if she tried to stuff anything more into it, she gulped the rest of the body down, then plunged hir hands into hir vomit/snot pile, scooped up a heaping handful, and shoved mouthful after rancid mouthful down hir throat.
	Soon enough all of the first guard was once again uneasily confined within Bitchy's full to bursting belly and all that was left of the second was her severed head.  If she weren't so stuffed and pudgy, so much so that she could barely waddle at a reasonably pace standing up, let alone on all fours, she might use the head like a soccerball, but she was having trouble just getting comfortable lying on the ground.  Like a kitten tussling with a big ball of yawn, Bitchy just rolled from side to side massaging and rubbing hir belly with all four paws in an attempt to quell the burbling tempest raging within hir.
	Laying on hir thick lovehandle rolls uneasily, hir supporting hir massive, painfully taunt, eggish belly more than the other way around, Bitchy weighed hir options of a next move and the possibility of self-preservation if she did.  When she saw that the driver was looking at hir, she impulsively raspberried him and then started gagging as hir food started fighting, though weaker than before, to get back up out of hir throat.  The driver growled at hir as the van was started up, and for a moment the plump vixen was unmoved by what she knew he was thinking of doing.  Never, or at least for what she could remember, never before had she ever been with such nasty gutwrenching furs.  She was not sure if she could make hirself get used to the taste of them, but even if she did end up spilling the contents of hir stomach on the floor via an exploded hole in hir underbelly, she refused to let these poodle or the poltergeist-like conscience bug make hir look weak.  She could, was suppose to be able to stomach anything, any amount of anything, without any discomfort at all unless she wanted there to be some.  It was only a matter of time before she fully regained control of hirself, and then all of these lithe doggies would pay dearly.
	Growling at the driver and his van, Bitchy lassoed the guard's decapitated head with hir tongue and whipped it violently in the driver's direction.  Though the driver knew that the windshield would stop the projectile partial cousin, he was still unnerved and raised a his hands to block his face as the shattering organic object splattered brain matter and skull fragments all over his transparent shield.  The windshield washer fluid and wipers quickly and easily removed the mess as Bitchy laughed at what she'd done, and it only angered the driver more.
	Bitchy knew she had to do something and do it quickly.  She was too heavy to jump out of the way or kick through the windshield.  She knew the van was ready to anticipate a dodge and swerve in that direction to catch hir as full on as possible.  Running head-on probably wouldn't kill hir the first time, but it'd damage hir exponentially each time it was done and the van would do it as many times as it took to do so.  She had no physical connection to the van, and so had no way of controlling it, and it wasn't time for the driver's ailment to take effect.  There was only one other thing she could think of at a pinch, but she wasn't completely sure if it'd work.  She hadn't, wouldn't have time to run the scenario through hir head to minimize aggravated damage to hirself, but she figured she was going to get hurt no matter what she did.  That noted, she ducked.
	First, using the momentum of throwing the guard's head and weight of fat accumulated on hir appendages, Bitchy kicked and windmilled hir thick limbs and tail to roll hirself onto hir stout belly.  Next, she whipped out hir long, sharp finger claws about three quarters of the way out and raked the hard floor as she pushed down hard with hir lustrously long, silky bonfire of a tail.  Then, with hir ears slicked back and hir head down low, she tucked hir legs tightly against hir body.  Pushed outwards under the gravity of the rest of hir body, hir belly was too vast for hir legs to be of any real added benefit at the moment.  Finally, she tensed up hir entire body as she felt the bumper of the runaway armored van plunge into the center on hir hands.
	The powerfully stinging slap on the wrists were only a prelude to the heavy rubdown the van did as it tried to screech to a halt or change directions, but sledded up and over hir mammoth body, kneading and compacting hir fat and fur into the silky ramp trap she'd hoped she'd be able to be.  Its rear wheels still on the ground, the van hit the wall behind the obese vixen hard, and before the van could counteract and reverse gear, Bitchy attempted the second part of hir improvised-by-the-second plan.
	Having been able to concentrated all of hir attention on debugging and repairing hir limb hydraulics while the van did all the physical work, but unsure if she'd actually found or done anything substantial, Bitchy tucked in hir right arm as she dropped hir left arm and leg straight down to the floor, quickly retracting hir finger claws as she did this.  Then, much to hir relief, she started sucking a powerful vacuum of air from hir lungs, through hir cyber-skeleton, and into the growing marrow chambers.  By the time the van had shifted into reverse, Bitchy had gotten it onto one wheel, but not far enough to tip it over.  Next, she swished hir hips to the right as she momentarily unlocked hir ankle, elbow, and knee.  She felt the slight grating as the van's front left wheel buzzed into hir right thigh and took that as the trigger to finish off the counterattack.  Thrusting all hir weight to the right, she slammed hir left hand and foot onto the hard floor and increased the pressure in hir marrow chambers as fast as she was currently capable.  Finally, she quickly tucked hir left arm and leg tight against hir relaxed body as the front left wheel bit into hir cushy fur and the rear right wheel spun out on the garage floor.
	Bitchy yowled and gritted hir teeth as the van's most tractioned wheel tore into and shaved a slightly curved path back down hir wide body in panic.  By the time the wheel had ramped off the base of the vast vixen's tail, the desperate vehicle could calculate what was to happen next, and to make sure it couldn't compensate itself too much, Bitchy swished hir tail away and then gave the van's undercarriage one last stinging slap diagonally upwards with hir power, bushy tail for good measure.
	Again the van tried to put the brakes on, its front left wheel landed off center, and, having been weighed down more than normal to keep the demon vixen either in or out, it couldn't increase it's shocks like it wanted to.  The added weight and odd angle of landing also botched up its steering, further throwing the van into a dangerous pitch.  Finally, seeing no reason to carry its defeat any farther, it gave into the roll, shut down its systems, and fell over onto its driver's side, damaging little more than its side mirror and scratching its paint job.
	"*hmmm* You were right, gunny. *pant pant* We should have used the high-back instead", a stately and suave canine, groomed and powdered daintily inside a crisp officer's uniform, commented as he watched the large screen color monitors off to his side that displayed the going-ons of the garage. "I did not believe she was capable of such brute strength considering hir current flabbiness."
	"Yes, sir.  Mistress DeBauchee should never be underestimated, but she nonetheless is still comparatively weaker than statistics show hir being at a normal weight", the cammie wearing relative explained as he scritched the boot lieutenant on his knees before him between the ears.  "Hir complete disregard for keeping hir body in tip top shape is playing right into your plans, sir.  There have been irreplaceable losses, Gawd rest their souls, but we are still on schedule. *merf* Shall I send in the react team now?"
	"Yes, gunny.  I have seen enough", the pastel charlie uniformed commissioned officer replied with a slow satisfactory and sated nod of his head as he wrapped his dainty muzzle around the grand enlisted member before him and started stroking the furry sheath and balls again with his spooge glazed tongue. "End it."
	Too self absorbed to pay attention to the cameras, Bitchy panted happily at hir continued success and then yowled mournfully when she realized she'd taken down hir ride back out of the base.  She could extend hir limbs, but she still couldn't dissipate the fat, muscles, and such on hir body.  She figured if she could get the van back on its wheels, she'd have plenty of time to debug that part of hir coding, and so, smiling happily to hirself, she lengthened hir arms and legs enough to carry hir bloated belly around and loped over to the van.
	"*yip yip* So, are you ready to take me back to see Seymour now?" the abstractly proportioned vixen quizzed curiously to the fidgeting dog behind the bullet-proof glass.
	"*gasp whimper* Never!", was the reply she got from the amputated and spineless sargeant.
	"Comerenable job, Mistress DeBauchee.  You have proven to be quite the worthy adversary", a male voice called to hir from afar as a different door than the open the sargeant had been banging on opened up, revealing silhouettes of massive hulking creatures coming in from the other side. "We hope you will now be the worthy ally."
	"*mrrr* Canned meat.  How sweet. *pant pant*", Bitchy cooed as she turned in the direction of the opened door to the foyer the voice was coming from.  Leaning back into almost an upright position and then sitting down leaning against hir mammoth gurgling belly, she whips out hir blade claws and flashes a toothy grin.  The lumbering machines, bionic enhancers for the toned doggies they were wrapped around, walked in further so she could see them better in the garage light, and she raised a brow at how stylish and colorful they were as if ripped straight from an anime flick.  "Bitchy would use hir little can openers, but she's feeling a bit stuffed. *yerf* Would doggies be willing to tag along as a doggybag? *yip yip giggle*"
	"No, Mistress DeBauchee.  You have done enough damage for today", the lead exo-squad doggy stated matter-of-factly. "We request you surrender and come with us willingly, or we will be forced to bind you."
	"No. *chrrr* Bitchy's had enough of going willingly", the overly bloated vixen started whining angrily, batting hir taunt belly, "Bitchy don't like this going willingly. *yip yip chrrr* Bitchy go home instead."
	"We can not allow you to do that", the second enhanced canine stated, raising and pointing the sleek range weapon of his equally sleek suit in the gelatinous fox's direction, "Your presence has been requested by the base general."
	Against the warnings of hir maintenance alarms, she stretched hir limbs out enough to lumber at hir three powerfully suited assailants like a spindly-legged rhino, and hardly got to the closest one before she was stopped in hir tracks by its pulse cannon and the cannon of the suit behind it.  All three of them worked together against hir, using sonic pulses and bionic sledgehammers to incompasitate hir and then knock hir limp body around a bit.  Then, to make sure that she knew perfectly clear who's in charge, they didn't stop until she was bleeding and bruised, but all the while she managed not to loose hir lunch again.  Like the van, she knew when she was in a losing struggle and directed all of hir attention to making sure hir injuries didn't go too deep within hir.
	After a couple more crushing blows on Bitchy's belly, spine, and crotch, they finally backed off as a new wave of lesser armed Poodles entered, wearing their NBC suits under their high impact armor.  A few lesser ranked members of the squad were towing a cart of carefully arranged odds and ends as they entered, and as a couple of the exo-suit wearing canines guarded the vixen closely, the new group measuring hir in various areas and then started hooking up bondage gear to hir.  First, hardened metal mitts were fitted over and screwed at four places each into hir wrists and feet as was a reinforced muzzle kept in place by thick, fur-grating cables attached to a thick metal ring screwed in eight places through hir neck.  Not being in hir best health, she found this securement to be very painful and the trying to willfully clot the bleeding was giving hir a splitting headache.  Nonetheless, she was able to seal the wounds around the screws, but any bit of movement she made was like a drill newly inserted into that area.  Next, an XXXL, almost tire rubber-ish, coarse body suit pieced together by tarps, duct tape, and sealant was built up around hir, hir tail wrapped tightly around hir wide midsection and stuffed painfully in the non-breathing suit, which was heavily chained around hir and locked at various sections at the back.  Then, with the help of a wench, they bound hir ankles together and hir arms behind hir back in various places down the length of both sets of limbs with high-tension cable.  Over all this, a translucent, air-tight latex suit was plastered thickly in layers and heat treated to speed-dry.  Once everything but hir head was sealed up in the clear rubbery strong material, they fastened a computerized diving rebreather onto hir bloated underbelly, fastened the mask over hir head, rolled hir long, golden headfur into a bun, and started plastering sealant over hir head.  Once they were satisfied, they bound hir with more cable face out on an upright titanium pallet and transported hir via forklift to hir next destination.
	"Do not attempt to burn a hole through your rebreather, Mistress DeBauchee.  It has been purposely set at a higher nitrogen level to keep you sedated.  Just lay back and enjoy the attention and ride", one of the lightly armored guards instructed calmly to the obese vixen as one of the exo-suit wearing Poodles pushed the dolly she was in along. "As long as you comply with us, we have no reason to harm you.  If your rebreather senses an increase in acid or base level approaching a significant amount to cause a leak, the breathing tube will seal up and that grotesquely fat body you are priding yourself on will be asphyxiated."
	"*chrrr yowl* Whatever", Bitchy sighed and closed hir eyes, hoping to be able to willfully restart hir regeneration.
	Back in the garage, the driver was helped out of the van and taken away willingly to be tested, first having been redressed in a comfortable and stylish, dayglow, airtight rebreather diving suit.  For his valor, or at least for his lucky survival, he was told he would be fitted with an artificial foot and fiscally compensated later.
	Now that Bitchy was contained, everyone else could dress normally, and so from within hir airtight mobile imprisonment, Bitchy got to see hir captors for the first time as far as she could remember in their normal environment, and what a picturesque environment it was.  Seeing through the photorealistic blues and whites of the vast cavern's painted dome ceiling, she marveled at just how storybook the Poodle's had made their personal space.  There were realistic-looking plush green astroturf, sculpted trees with a full bloom of picture-book healthy green leaves, a bright partially cloudy sky, a warm gentle breeze generated from massive fans in the far distance, and a giant, rosy floodlight sun on tracks very high overhead.  Everywhere she looked, supermodel bitches and muscle magazine dogs of the poodle breed were walking, jogging, marching, and driving around in pastel cammies, clothes, or uniforms.  Encased in hir bubble, she felt like she was in a cruel dream, unable to taste, smell, or touch this hundreds of acres square daydream micro-world.
	"*whimper whimper* Bitchy be good.  Bitchy be good. *whimper* Please let me out of here", Bitchy whined desperately, the culture shock driving hir mind into paranoia, "I'm sorry. *whimper whimper* Eating your family was bad. I've learned my leason. *whimper* Please let me frolic and play in your yard. *yip yip whimper* I'll be good from now on."
	"I really hope you do not really believe we would fall for such a quick change of heart, Mistress DeBauchee", the enhanced guard pushing hir stated, a hint of mirth in his voice, "No.  You are staying as you are now.  You had your chances.  Now you will just have to accept the scat you rolled in."
	"*yerf chrrr* You're no fun", the constricted and sensually tortured vixen pouted as hir stomach blooped and sloshed with the digestion and ride.
	The world around the whalish vulpine was reduced to a surround sight and sound movie.  There was nothing she could do about it at the moment, so begrudgingly she accepted it and relaxed.  As Bitchy watched a few organized groups of silent young pedigrees walk on by hir and hir captures in their shiny sky blue and hot pink leather harnesses, muzzles, and golden-belled leashed collars, a nice little thought came to hir mind.  A thought so deliciously provocative that it was hard not to notice the evil shark-toothed grin that creased hir still bleeding and bruise puffed face as she scanned every detail of their little bondage-clad natural bodies.
	"Sheep", Bitchy hissed, only the thick air-tight, but far from sound-proof material incasing hir body, muffling hir bubbly voice.
	"What did you just say, you ugly mountain of lard?", the head poodle of the nearest school platoon scoffed, glancing a burning gaze on hir, thinking that Bitchy had cursed.
	These stuck-up pooches kept called hir "mistress", but yet here before hir was a tediously groomed and clean-shaven poodle bitch in a polished white, hole punched, tasseled leather teddy with gold chains interlocking it to her series of equally polished white leather but also gem studded arm, leg, neck, tail, wrist, and ankle bands.  Compared to the wardrobe she had back as Seymour's mansion, Bitchy found the schoolmarm's ensemble to be fitting but outdated.  The petite purebred's cherry red painted lips were grim and the pinkish rouge and reddish eyeliner matched the burning hate that tried to sting into hir from the steel grey eyes.  Yes, Bitchy wouldn't be surprised if this lithe and probably quite limber teacher was well trained in using each of her student's dangling leashes like a whip if he or she should try to get out of line.
	"*mrrr* I was just telling myself how I'd just looove to break off a few branches of these lovely, lovely trees *snicker* lick and nibble them smooth *snirk* stick them up those scrumptious, succulent little asses of yours *yiff yiff pant* and cook you all like shish kabob. *mmm moan* Ooo. *yiff yiff* Yes", Bitchy called past the teacher to her baring sustaining students.  Quite a few of them glanced their eyes over at hir with signs of contained contempt, curiosity, fear, and or intrigue on their faces, but none turned their heads.  "Yes. *moan* When they let me out, I've just got to have you and your flunkies for dinner. *yiff yiff*
	"W-wha...", is all the teacher could say as her face contorted in utter disgust, the look of wrath she'd cast on the voluptuous vixen paling in comparison to the look of raw unsuasible lust that oozed out of hir eyes.  Before she turned her attention back to her students and duty, the dainty show-class bitch curled her lips back and growled silently at the tightly restrained she-fox, "Burn in hell you gawddamn fat fucker."
	If I wasn't bound in this formfitted bubble, Bitchy thought without an ounce of hatred showing on hir soft supple face, I'd have this misguided doggy on her knees this second gushing her pheromonal juices all over the street again and again and again until her heart exploded and hir pelt spontaneously combusted with furotic heat.
	"*mrrr yiff yiff* Oh, please, I promise to suck you dry", Bitchy continues with a newly stoked shark-toothed grin, "*mmm* Yes, yes. *yiff yiff* Let me out. *titter yip yip* Let me show you what yiffiness is really like. *yiff yiff* I'll make you so spoogy your flunkies will be swimming in your slick, warm, musky, femme juices by the time I get around to-"
	"That is enough, Mistress DeBauchee!", one of hir guards barked and then she was hit with a volley of powerful sonic pulses.  "Shut up!"
	Elsewhere, the driver started feeling hungrier and more tired by the minute.  The normally buff Poodle started losing muscle mass throughout his body and started gaining a layer of fat over its place.  The change was not readily seen by the other Poodle's but the driver could feel himself getting weaker and more weighted by the minute.  Once the amount of muscle to fat morphing got to a dangerous amount, his stomach started growling audibly as a clue to preventing his body from completely turning all of his muscle to fat.
	"So hungry. *merf* Must eat", the tainted canid groaned softly, "Need, food."
	Though not armed and through the act of pride, they decided the tainted poodle was not dangerous enough to box him up in the back of a van like Bitchy was.  He'd been instructed to sit in the front passenger seat of the hummer as two armed and lightly armored guards escorted him, and he would act this time as the assistant driver to the research and development area.  At first he was winning in fighting the urge to attack the large warm slab of meat sitting beside him, but eventually it didn't take long for the hunger pangs and basic need of sustenance to get the best of him, and, breathing heavily, he started trying to strip his mask off to the wary glanced of the rest in the vehicle with him.
	"Sargeant.  Put that back on", the guard diagonally behind the semi-pudgy pedigree instructed, only reaching over to him to reposition the straps and hood of the a-driver's mask, "You have to keep that on until we reach the lab, sergeant"
	"Ca-can't, cannot breath, in this thing. *pant pant*", the weary poodle moaned, a painful migraine adding do his discomfort, "So, so-"
	"Sargeant.  Your rebreather is fully operational.  It is all in your head.  You are over reacting to nothing, sargeant.  Just calm down and let it do its job", one of the guards barked as he placed a gloved hand squarely on the jittery poodle's shoulder, "Sargeant!  We will be forced to restrain you if you do not desist and keep your hands off your suit."
	"Hun-gry!", the self-destructing dog wailed, "So hungry!"
	With desperation and intent, the diseased doggy unfastened and tossed his mask and rebreathing aperatuse at the guards as he dove for the driver.  His strength waning fast, he could only paw and gnaw at the driver's suit before the guards seized him and pulled him back into their section of the hummer.  By that time, the dying poodle was reduced to tears and whimpering and the distraught driver had stopped the vehicle.  Irked by the event, the driver and guards exited the vehicle and then the guards dragged the fat whimpering poodle outside onto the side of the road.  His body half exposed now, the guards were finally able to see what Bitchy had done to him.
	"Dear Gawd.  That heithanous bloated reject of a slut has reduced our illustrios sargeant to an ugly bag of lard", the driver hissed as he looked down on his fallen brethren with vile contempt.
	"Yes, how disgraceful", the guard that had been sitting behind the driver agreed, really not thinking much of the sargeant for what he'd heard about the his lack of action in the garage, "A Poodle with such leadership potential now nothing more than a fat piece of scat.  How", fittingly, "awful."
	"*pant pant* Put me, out of my, *rasp* misery", the blubbery enlisted breathed and then blacked out, "*huff puff* Kill, me."
	"Aye, sargeant.  You will forever be remembered for how you were, not how you are now.  May Gawd welcome you into the kingdom of heaven for the deeds you have done for Poodlekind", the other guard ordained as she opened her holster and drew her pistol on the center of the moaning, hunger-racked soldier's forehead.
	Out of hearing distance of the gunshot, Bitchy was being rolled ceremoniously through a formed procession of numerous Poodle squads.  Other than the officers and aids on the stage, whom were in their alpha uniforms, everyone was standing at attention in starched and creased pastel cammies.  Bitchy also noticed that with the near-perfect elite officers on the stage were a few poodle that looked a little bit more so, with no rank insignias at all.  The females of this higher octane few were equipped with cute, glittery, bright colored almond eyes, pristine silky fur, perfect pearl-white teeth, full round heavy breasts with thick jutting nipples, thin hips, wide waist, and headfur that probably fell all the way down to their tails if unrolled, and the buzzcut headfurred male with shoulders so wide and arms so thick he practically took up two chairs worth of space, was also so generously equipped that he couldn't completely close his loggish legs without force, and she could only imagine how long he was unsheathed and how much spooge he could store in those oversized balls of his.  She wouldn't have minded being beaten and rammed into submission by a few of hims instead.
	Yes, these Poodles were definitely no stranger to yifftoys, and what beauties they were, too.  Bitchy was able to get a closer examination of them as the exo-suit wearing Poodles trudged their way, pushing Bitchy's dolly between them, up a wide ramp at the center of the stage, circled around, turning Bitchy around in the process, and set hir upright.  Once Bitchy was in position, the bionic guards stood at attention flanking hir as the base general stepped forwards, turned, and sauntered over to in front of the mammoth vixen like a supermodel on the catwalk.
	"*mrrr* And who do we have here? *yip yip*", Bitchy commented with a shark-toothed grin when she saw the stately and grand canine turn to face hir with a broad chest full of expert badges of various weapons and ribbons with multiple stars on each.  Powerful bar-bending arms threatened to rip the blouse's lime green long sleeves if their muscles were flexed and powerfully muscular thighs, sheathed to velvet softness as were the thighs in hot pink pantyhose, were cloaked of their total tone of strength by a stately royal purple skirt.  With a wink, she added, "*mrrr pant pant* I bet you're one tight little bitch, aren't ya?"
	"I will pretend I did not just hear you say that, vile slut, and nonetheless I will not give you the opportunity to find out.  You will, from this point forwards, address me properly as General Poodle, or sir.  Preferably-", the equally aged as well as toned Poodle barked gruffly, realigning his uniform and smoothing out his skirt without looking down at himself.
	Bitchy giggled and then cooed loudly, "Hiya, freak!"
	"Yes, so it is true.  For a yifftoy, and a disgraceful one at that, you have very bad manners", the poodle general commented as he turned, slit his eyes, looked hir over across his shoulder disapprovingly, and then nodded to hir guards as he walked back momentarily to speak with his aids.  "That is unacceptable.  Punish hir."
	"Aye, sir", the two exo-suit equipped guards barked back in unison and then fired a quick sonic burst on hir in stereo.  Bitchy cringes and yowls and everyone watches with solemn interest, though the bursts were not so direct as not to hit any of the standby.
	Enjoying themselves dearly, the punishers hit the vixen's nerves with sonic booms and white noice a couple more times and then, when he decided that his point and authority over hir had been made clear, the general barked for them to stop and swaggered back to resume his place in front of the big, unruly vulpine.
	"Your abilities are intriguing, Malady, but I do not like your attitude.  You will have to change that if you ever expect to coexist with anyone again," the general explained with an arrogant smile as he poked the slick surface around Bitchy's huge form, "and you will need to lose a great deal of weight.  Fat and beautiful do not and will never go together.  You disgust me, as does your weakness for giving into their backwards ways and drifting away from the tried and true laws of conventional yifftoys.  As a prime example of all that is wrong with the inferior non-Poodle furs of today, you will be changed for the better and I will take personal interest in seeing that it is done." After nodding to himself in satisfaction, he took Bitchy's narrow vulpine muzzle in his dainty manicured hand, locked eyes with hir and concluded, "You are a pox to yifftoys and Gawd-worthy furs everywhere in manners and appearance, and a grotequely fat idiot."
	"*yerf* Why, thank you. *giggle* For a stuck-up prune, you're kind of pretty", Bitchy replied with a bubbly giggle as she defied the brace of his hand and examined him up and down.  Pleased to see him well equipped for a tight-pantied canine, she mrrred at his crotch and repeated with a shark-toothed grin, "Yes. *snicker* You're quite the wringled bitch."
	"Stuck up prune? Wrinkled bitch? *humph* You jest, Malady.  Poodles age gracefully, and thus, your exagerations are only that and ill placed.  Even if what you are blubbering were true, and not maybe the occasional battlescar, I would be like the immovable oak", the general scoffed, having creases of age lines on his face and hands but far from ailment and degradation, and gestured off Bitchy's remark with a flick of his hand.  "You, on the other hand, Malady, appear to take very well to looking as battered, lazy, and ugly on the outside as your hell-bound soul is on the inside, but enough with the taunting.  Do you know why you have been brought here, Malady?"
	"*arrr yip* Because I was the least likely to be missed, and the most likely to relocate your army into the safety of my belly", Bitchy yerfed, flashing a menacing, shark-toothed smile.
	"No, not quite, Malady, and we are nothing so weak and inferior as an army.  We are a Corpse.  We are the Poodle Corpse.  Gawd's elite and most holy race.  Now, I got word of what you did to that sargeant.  Touching.  Your backwards ability to change other furs' bodies and minds to suit your own motives is quite impressive, almost magical; if there really were such a thing as true magic", the general starts dictating to his immobilized primary audience member, his voice echoing through the microphone clip and out the loudspeakers, as he stepped proud back and forth in front of hir. "Yes.  You could almost say we are envious of your power, which is something you should take great pride in, and so I shall be straight to the point in saying that I request you transfer your abilities to our commissioned officers so that we can be an even more superior race, and truly do Gawd's will upon others."
	Not thinking much of the request, Bitchy looked at the general, then the blocks of copycat, incest-created canines behind him, and thought about saying yes.  She'd get full control of the officers and their overcharged and undeniable musk would cause their underlings to force themselves down thickened gluttonous throats until the suave officers-in-charge were nothing more than Olympic pool-sized gelatinous pink bellies filled to normally impossible measures with digested blockheads.  Better yet, she'd set the forced vore for the males and let the females get some major unbirthing with the same results.  What orgasms they would have with one grown doggy after another wiggling into their unsuasible muffs and jostling around in their ever expanding wombs.  Inside hir rubber suit, hir excited muff was dripping a musky stream of juices and it felt good tickling down the soft fur of hir legs to start collecting in a puddle at hir foot paw boots.
	No, the only one those officers would be targetting is you, you psychopathic whore.  You have enough tempting meat to feed an army and there just happened to be a wannabe army in front of you, the inner voice warned hir coyly.
	"*chrrr* Ba.  No. *yerf yowl* Get yourselves another yifftoy. *mmmph* Maybe a hungry macro. *hic belch* Poodles taste too nasty. *groan* Poodles make Bitchy wanna puke", Bitchy grunted as the previously sound digestion of the guards within hir suddenly went sour.  For a moment there she thought she was through with the annoying bug.  "Bitchy would, if you all weren't Poodles. *yip yip hiccup* The offer of such a large amount of furs so willingly sounds simply dreamy."
	"You can yiff yourself and spooge or whatever, Malady, but there will be no direct intermingling between you and us.  We are not so incompetent as to risk letting you run amuck in our bodies.  We will analyze, verify, and clone your gene-changing proteins and then, and only then will we use them as biological enhancers", the general explained solemnly, holding his hands behind his back and puffing his broad chest out.
	"Damn it, general!  I'm a freelance yifftoy, not a cow! *pant yiff yiff* No milking the vixy. *yip yip* Why not instead I grind you and your cult underlings up and sell you all for cheap to a domestic restaurant chain", Bitchy cooed, than yowled furotically and gushed again in hir suit at the thought of it. "*mmm yiff yiff* Poodles and noodles. *yiff yiff yiff* Poodles and noodles! *yip yowl pant pant moan* How delish. *yiff pant pant"
	The general watched this display with annoyance, punched hir hard on the nose, which ended up hurting him a lot more than it did hir, and he turned and walked off clutching his bruised fist.  The guards figured that the general knew that anything tough enough to bind the likes of Bitchy would deaden a regular punch to nothingness, but was just releasing his anger over being defied.  Then, stopping halfway to his seat, the general released his injured hand long enough to snap his fingers at the exo-suit wearing guards and then continued over to discuss matters with the other officers.  A backhand with a bionic sledgehammer sent Bitchy, dolly and all, sailing backwards off the back of the stage and all she could do was lay there and wait out the guards' hammer and pulse cannon attacks out of view of most of the audience.
	Once a reasonable amount of new wounds had been opened up and a greater area of blood clot lumps had been aggravated into existence, she was wheeled around and back onto the stage.  Hir usually strikingly beautiful vulpine face was now a trainwreck of blinding misshapen puffiness, bloody soars, and swallowed teeth.  The dented and bent diving muzzle sugarcoated the damage the hammers had done to the tough but far from indestructible muzzle of hir cyber-skeleton.
	Bitchy could still see the general out of hir left eye and the videofeed was out of focus, but the sinister smile on his face was unmistakable.  His expression was a mix between the pleasure of seeing Bitchy torn up and beaten down like she was now, and the annoyance of getting new word of the tainted sargeant.  Shortly after they thought he was dead, his muscles turned fat started dissolving to gas and inflating his newly rubberized pelt.  The other occupants of the hummer thought they were lucky in catching this and poking holes in his pelt, but it only seemed to spread the dissolving like scratched acne.  His fur fell out and his eyes, tongue, and everything dissolved away until he was literally only skin and bones. They'd still have DNA to research, but they saw it as a new low in killing and it showed blatantly in the general's eyes.  Suddenly unable to look away from those eyes, a torrent of flashbacks riddled through Bitchy's mind and she pissed in hir suit.
	"Seyral?", Bitchy moaned painfully, hir visual world in a mosaic blur, "*whimper whimper* No more, Seyral. *moan whimper whimper* Please. Please, no more. *whimper*"
	"Seyral?  Seyral Polypopilucopilus?  No, Malady, I am not Seyral, but if he was  able to keep you in line and put you in your place, then I wish Seymour was."
	"Sey-sey-seymour", Bitchy bleated longingly, hir puppyish voice making hir sound like a weaning kit calling for hir mother.
	"The honorable Mr. Seymour Polypopilicopilus should be safe.  I have send a platoon of my finest to guard him from that black bastard that attacked you", the form-fitted, blue-blooded purebred hissed as he scraped his emaculately manicured and polished fingerclaws across Bitchy's corpulent underbelly, "Compared to a couple of the niggers we've been up against, that lanky back stabber shouldn't be much of a threat."
	"Nigger?" Bitchy repeated, unable to tag it with any meaning.
	"Yes, Malady.  Niggers.  Vile creations hellbent on swift destruction.  You think that panther you met earlier was a hellspawn?  Wait until you become a major target and they start sending the big, hulking, pitch black tigers after you.  Night tigers, we call them, or niggers for short", the general growled at hir, "We though you were just disinterested when you let that assassin best you, but I see now that you have let those dimwitted furs soften you up.  No more.  You will help us, Malady.  You will make us Gawd's avenging angels and we will use your abilities as they were meant to be used."
	"Take me to Seymour. *whimper whimper* I need Seymour", Bitchy cried, "I'm broken. *whimper moan* Bitchy hate Poodles! *groan yowl* Poodle's evil!  Eviler than niggers and black panthers. *moan* Bitchy never help Poodles."
	"Very well then.  Malady DeBauchee.  I sentence you to solitary confinement of no less than a month as is in the brig's sound-proof vault.  Guards will be posted, though I highly doubt you will be able to escape.  That will give you plenty of time to yourself to seriously think my proposal over", the general growled, "Do you understand what has been told to you, you bloated simple-minded sow."
	Wide eyed and whimpering, Bitchy pleaded, "I'll die in there.  No, no. *whimper whimper* Poodles' incompatible with Bitchy.  Don't know why, but they are, and... and..."  Seeing that words alone were not going to get hir anywhere and definitely not wanting to be placed in a deprivation chamber, Bitchy started throwing a fit then and there as she attempted to struggle out of hir bonds.  They proved to be every bit as strong and lasting as they appeared to be, so the thought of risking the forwarned threat of burning through the hose and or sweating plastic degrading oils through hir fur entered hir mind, and then a better idea followed suit.  "*moan* Bitchy do as pretty doggy say. *yip yip* Bitchy, go, on, cr-crash, d-d-diet", Bitchy started and then blacked out.
	The general was a bit surprised to see Bitchy faint, but then composed himself, smiled pleasingly, turned, and curtsied to the crowd.  Most didn't know exactly what had happened, but they all knew they'd won hir over in some way and clapped their applause enthusiastically.  The general waited for the clapping to calm down, then turned to the exo-suit guards and repeated for them to do as sentenced.  It would only increase moral if they scared even Bitchy to commit suicide, and if she did then that would only make that much more better a test subject.  As the snoozing vulpine was escorted off, the general began to explain his plans for the future and the ensuing crusade.
	As the general riled up the crowd, Bitchy was wheeled back through to behind the crowd, loaded into the back of a five ton, and driven to a vault next to the brig's shipping and receiving loading dock.
	"The flesh is weak, but the will is strong", Bitchy yerfed in a barely audible whisper over and over again as the brig guard chained hir dolly for good measure to the far wall of the vault.
	It won't work, the inner voice whispered to hir once, but didn't show any sign of interfering.
	"What are you mumbling, Mistress DeBauchee?" of the guards running the heavy chains from the wall and around the bars of Bitchy's restraining dolly asked.
	"Bitchy unstable", a whimpering exhalation from the bloated and battered vixen replied, "Bitchy has a chemical imbalance and it makes Bitchy want to hurt lots of furs."
	Why can't you just stop and accept your punishment, the voice sighed distantly, fading off like a passing dream.
	"Yes, Mistress DeBauchee, it would be best if you let us Poodles temper those exceptional abilities of yours to a greater cause", that guard suggested with a reassuring test tug of the middle chain running across the voluptuous vulpine's jiggly tummy. 
	"Bitchy don't like Poodle base anymore.  It's full of nothing but arrogant, small-minded Poodles", Bitchy whined loudly and defiantly, wearily shaking hir head from side to side, "Poodles taste nasty, like giant bowl of asparagus.  Bitchy hate asparagus."
	"Coming from a fur that freely eats maggots, scat, and tires, I find that... tacky", another one of the brig guards replied sceptically with a raised brow and Bitchy almost could have sworn she heard the inner voice titter.
	Since hir chat with the top Poodle, Bitchy had been slowly and systematically transmuted hir senew to plastic explosives and hir fat to napalm.  Maybe it'd been the torturing, or maybe the low level nitrous oxide, but she had gained better control over hir body and this seemed like the perfect way to thank them for their help in doing so.  At the same time she'd double and triple checked that all of hir memories were completely and successfully stored in RAID 5 throughout hir cyborg endoskeleton, and that enough "marrow" was also vaulted up also to recreate hir yiffy vixen self paracidically off the next prey or two or three.  In doing so, there was a pretty good chance she was also preserving the bug in hir system, but she was winning it out and she didn't want to a forget anything more than she already had.
	She couldn't remember ever having blown hir organic part up before, and it'd be utter stupidity to go beyond that, but, even under strong restraint like she was now, it sounded doable with minimal permanent damage to hir inner, much more necessary self.  Electricity had been incorporated into more than a few yiff sessions with clients of various types, each willing to play "finger, member, tongue, or whatever in the light socket" with hir.  She would start at a low amperage at first, creating a pulsating tingling in the fur's part in connection with hir dripping, ionized muff, and hir long salivating tongue running through their headfur or playing over and between their meaty rump, depending on how they were positioned, to complete the circuit.  As they got closer to orgasm, the amperage would rise with their yiffiness until spooge and gush of musky femme juices would throw the switch on a proverbial lightening bolt, the individual power of which would vary to the number of furs in the orgy.  If she did it unassisted, the massive drop in energy would throw hir into a deep sleep as it would comatose hir mate.  If she bit off and ran a power cord up into hir rectum, she could yiff hir mate into a crispy Cajun critter.  She'd still feel the need to sleep afterwards, but it would only be a light nap followed by a still piping hot meal of jerky.
	Now that Bitchy thought about it, the best orgy she ever pulled off like that was one that involved a pool party, a 220 line up hir ass, and a multi-litter birth of numerous vulpine fetus capasitors and a whole lot of very salty fluid.
	Then there was the time Bitchy had plugged hirself in, swallowed a curious gerbil, puffed hir belly up to the size of a two-fur camping tent, and microwaved the gent to death while he yiffed himself.  As so not to mess hirself up in the process, she'd eatten a radiation suit beforehand and had from that point forward been very well insolated from EMP.  That time too she had been a bit worried about causing permanent damage to hirself, but unlike this time, she had still been in full control of hir surroundings and there wasn't something lurking inside of hir that could act at the wrong time and throw everything out of whack.
	Well, nonetheless she'd gotten this far into it.  Hir body was the full fledged bomb she needed it to be, but the bug could also have been storing up its retaliation energy just for this very moment.  All it'd have to do is remove the chance of having a vacuumed eye of the storm around hir cyber-skeleton and there would be no more hir to mess with, but if she didn't take the risk, she'd be in a nightmare of nothingness far longer than it'd take to convince hir to permanently crash hir mind.  She was far too into the moment to do something as simple as hibernate for the length of hir jail time.  It was either all or nothing and if she wanted any chance of getting free, the countdown to do so had run out.
	"Bitchy go boom now", the voluptuous vixen yerfed distantly, then she did, and the telltale blast could be felt throughout the entire brig and then some.