Cecilia

Cecilia sat at her desk, staring at her textbooks and open laptop.

She just... stared.

It was probably almost a minute before she realized she was still staring.

She shook her head, and her ears flopped side to side with the motion.

"Oooh-kay. You know what?" she said aloud to the room. Her dormmate, who had been reading a manga, looked up and asked, "What?" fully expecting a joke.

Except, there was no joke. Not this time. Cecilia stood up and marched over to her closet. "I'm going somewhere. That's what."

She came out a few moments later with a shirt that said "Tummy Hurts, Yet I Persist"—it had a knight in full armor with a cape on it—and a pair of pink and black dolphin shorts combined with a pair of New Balance sneakers and a cap that said "Fish fear me, Women want me."

Her dormmate arched an eyebrow. "Good luck." Then went back to reading her manga.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Cecilia was standing in front of her best friend. Whether she had to pick the lock to get in or not is neither here nor there.

She crossed her arms, uncrossed them, and put them on her hips. Then pointed a hand.

"You. I'm tired of school. What will it take for you to let me move in with you forever, for free?"

She grinned and put her arms under her chest, pushing her breasts up, as her tail began to wag.

"What if I become your free use onahole?" she said, voice trying to drop to sultry as she fought back her laughter. She was serious.

Probably.

Cecilia was sprinting at top speed towards the path up ahead, ears flopping and tail trailing behind her like a fluffy flag. She was gonna get that ball.

She could just barely see it there, sitting on the other side of the sidewalk.

She could also see a few dudes walking, and they were going to intersect, so... she slowed her run down to a mere jog. But then, she saw one of them stop, bend over, and grab her tennis ball, then straighten up.

Instantly, she felt her hackles rise and a growl build in her throat, but she held it down.

Relax, Cissy, they might just be handing it over to you.

She came to a slight skidding stop just a foot away.

The guy was grinning, and so was his friend.

"This yours?" he asked in that smarmy way she instantly hated. She gave him a quick once-over along with his friend. They were both dressed similarly: polos, khakis, sunglasses, and expensive shoes. Tech bros or "entrepreneurs" if she had to guess. "What the hell kind of person wears a shirt like that?"

She couldn't help but look down at her shirt. It had someone in a straitjacket on it, facing a wall with the words Got too silly.

She looked back up, scowling.

"Yes, it's my ball. And it's my favorite one."

She held her hand out.

"Give it to me, please." The growl was still being suppressed by sheer will. Her tail wasn't wagging at all.

"Or what? Is the cute little doggy gonna bite me?" he asked and waggled the ball. "What kind of grown woman even has a tennis ball?"

The growl came out, low but quiet. They might not even have heard it.

"The kind of woman that's going to fucking bite your face off if you don't give it here," she said, voice almost as low as her growl. "Plus, I'm a fucking dog, if you didn't notice. Sometimes we like balls."

She had to fight to maintain her anger at that one.

"Give. Me. My. Ball," she clipped, and held out her hand.

The front door lock gave a tiny, satisfying click.

Cecilia grinned, pulling her tension wrench and rake out of the keyhole and slipping them back into the pocket of her cargo shorts. Too easy. Seriously, they need to upgrade to a deadbolt with security pins if they want to keep me out. Though, to be fair, I have a key on my lanyard. Where's the fun in using a key, though?

She eased the door open just enough to slip inside, wincing slightly when the hinges gave a faint whine. She froze, floppy ears swiveling slightly toward the back of the house. She didn't hear anything. Good.

Shutting the door softly behind her, she kicked off her beat-up sneakers, not bothering to untie them, and padded silently down the hallway toward the bathroom. Her tail was already wagging, a slow, heavy thump against the air that she had to consciously try and control so it wouldn't smack against the drywall and give her away early.

Once inside the bathroom, she didn't even turn the light on, relying on whatever light filtered through the frosted window. She peeled off her oversized shirt—a black tee featuring a heavily pixelated JPEG of a Chihuahua and the words BORN TO SHIT, FORCED TO WIPE in fiery font—and tossed it onto the counter. Off came the shorts, the socks, and her bra, leaving her completely bare.

She fished her phone out of her discarded shorts, opened up their text thread, and typed out a quick message:

yo I think I heard a weird noise in your bathroom before I left the other day. like a pipe leaking or smth. u should check it right now.

Wait, does that make sense? No. Will it work? Probably. She hit send, tossed the phone onto the pile of clothes, and hopped into the dry shower.

The glass door was cold, making her gasp quietly and shiver as she pressed her front entirely against it. Her heavy breasts squished flat against the clear pane, her cream-colored belly fur and thighs mashing up against the glass right along with them. For good measure, she smooshed her snout and cheek against the glass.

Her tail began to wag with uncontained fervor as she tried not to giggle herself to death.

God, this is gonna be so fucking funny.

The vending machine on the third floor of the library was a bastard, and Cecilia was going to defeat it.

She had paid two whole dollars for a bag of Cheddar & Sour Cream Ruffles, and the spiral had the absolute audacity to stop turning just a millimeter before the bag could drop. Now it was just hanging there, taunting her behind the glass.

Normally, this would require too much effort to fix. She'd just cut her losses, groan about the unfairness of capitalism, and go buy another bag. Except those were her last two singles, the card reader was flashing a mocking red error message, and she had twenty pages of pathophysiology left to read before her eyeballs started bleeding. She needed that salt.

Which was why she was currently shoulder-deep inside the dispenser flap at the bottom of the machine.

Her cap was knocked askew on the floor beside her sneakers, her blue-tipped ponytail spilling over the side of her face as she pressed her cheek flat against the cold plastic front. Her oversized black t-shirt—which proudly declared I'VE GOT THAT DAWG IN ME above a low-res JPEG of a hotdog—was bunched up around her ribs, exposing a strip of cream-colored belly fur to the chill of the hallway. Her tail gave a frustrated, heavy thump against the linoleum.

"C'mon, you piece of shit..." she grunted, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she strained.

Her fingers brushed the bottom crinkle of the foil bag. So close. If she just angled her wrist past the stupid anti-theft baffle and stood on her tiptoes...

She shoved her arm in another inch. The plastic flap bit into her bicep through her fur, and she felt the distinct, horrifying sensation of her elbow locking against the interior metal frame.

She got a solid pinch on the corner of the chip bag. Victory.

Then she tried to pull her arm back out.

Her elbow caught. The heavy plastic security flap wedged itself firmly into the crook of her arm like a Chinese finger trap for idiots. She tugged, and the whole six-hundred-pound machine rocked forward a fraction of an inch before thudding back against the wall.

Oh, fuck me.

Cecilia froze, her floppy golden ears drooping sideways as she stared up through the glass at her prize, which she was still refusing to let go of. She gave another experimental tug. Nothing. Her arm was thoroughly stuck and she was half-kneeling with her ass in the air.

She managed to bend enough to get her phone out and sent a text message to her best friend.

Cecilia: So... funny story. I'm stuck in a vending machine on the third floor of the library. Rescue plox?

Cecilia: Preferably before I die. If I die, I want to be cremated and my ashes put inside the vending machine that killed me.