Standing in the ring, wearing my light beige Louis Vuitton jacket and pencil skirt, my hair neatly bunned, I sharply assessed each dog. This was my third show, and, oh my god, Wulfe was having a blast. I had to maintain a neutral expression; his dry, witty commentary almost made me smile more than once, and I had to keep my posture perfect.
As I observed the large poodles, Wulfe said, "Choose the blue one; he looks nice."
I replied, "Ah, no. His head is incorrect; the topknot is attempting to hide it, but I can see it. Besides, look at his movement—it's unclean."
Wulfe responded like a sullen teenager, "Whatever, fine. Do what you want."
So I chose a nice black and tan poodle, as it's a currently recognized and accepted color.
However, a rather dangerous voice in my head sped up my pulse: "Now, baby, please tell me why that specimen is best—and not because his handler is young, single, dashing, and has a crush on you."
It seemed the pack had returned, and Number Two wasn't happy. Fine. Let's see what happens next. This was one of the biggest shows, and sometimes two judges were in the ring simultaneously. I desperately hoped the pack wouldn't misinterpret this.
I had to judge the poodles first; then there would be a short pause before the group rings. It was more or less standard practice to have two judges for that, and since there was a sizable number of male judges, many of whom I'd worked with before, I wondered if Wulfe was jealous. Had he told the pack about this?
I waited for the next group of medium-sized poodles and began my assessment. This wasn't easy, as several inner voices of my husbands were now dictating my choices and pointing out flaws. It quickly became obvious, however, that they were judging the owners, not the dogs.
Ignoring their recommendations, I snapped, "I'm judging dogs, not owners. Go enter a Miss America contest if you want to do that."
Damon purred in my mind, "Oh, baby, how delightfully feisty you are. But fine, let's see what happens. This does bring back so many memories."
Charles chimed in, "Have you rested? Taken a break? Eaten anything?"
I replied telepathically, "I have a break after the poodles; they're getting ready for the group rings."
Continuing to judge, I relayed my assessments to the ring secretary, a tall man beside me.
As I moved on to the miniature poodles, he informed me, "You have a last-minute replacement in the group ring. Farholm got sick. Some new guy."
I nodded. I thought in my mind, "Fine, but let's see what the pack thinks."
I hoped this newcomer wouldn't be perceived as a threat, ensuring a smooth process. However, I knew I rarely got what I wanted—pretty damn rarely.
Suddenly, a sharp pain hit my neck as one damn petulant pack leader was having a blast with his new toys. Trying to ignore the electricity surging through my neck, I muttered, "Oh, goddamn it, how immature. Salvatore, fine, I'm not judging these with my rage, so sure, electrocute me if you want. I can take it."
Despite the escalating pain, I pressed on.
Then, it stopped as Wulfe's irritated voice pierced my mind: "My unicorn, next time, please say when Salvatore is playing with you. What were you waiting for? Burn marks all over your neck? I gave him a piece of my mind, expressing my opinion on his behavior and his power over you. I added that I could disable the damn collar if he didn't grow up and act responsibly." Wulfe's tone was sharper, clearly less amused by Damon's stunt.
Maintaining my focus, I retorted sarcastically, "I told you so, didn't I? He's untrustworthy with that kind of power, the pheromone addiction, and the collar. His power over me, and his inability to behave like an adult, makes me unwilling to let him delve into my memories, especially not after that stunt."
Wulfe grunted and said, "Understandable, but let's see if he learns his lesson and worry not. I will be there when we go through nasty memories."
I did not bother to reply. I had so many secrets, some of them were secrets even from Wulfe, and it would have to stay that way. Then my past had so many nasty missions, nasty humans, that it might drive Wulfe into giving him revenge. Or maybe then some Salvatore, but oh no, not them as Mariella needs them, so I can't get them or they can't get upset over me, only over Princess and her pussy.
That is just what this damn pack is all about, how to make sure that lust queen is satisfied and happy. It means that usually I am the unhappy one. Maybe it is the balance of things. Me being happy would force Mariella to be unhappy, and no, not in this pack. Mariella shall never be unhappy.
I was being a brat in my mind as I sensed salvatore in there, but I had good reasons to be; he did not reply, just listened, and let my mind come up with a few sentences more. Like, for instances that if this pack would get a logo, it would be Mariella's pussy as it is a thing that we go by, or in my case, I am forced to go by with. It would be a waste to make anything decipher big S as Salvatore was not the packleader, he was a pussyslave. Oh, how nice a new word. I could feel Wulfe's dry amusement at my inventive vocabulary.
I was trying to keep my expression neutral and focus on dogs, on my job and not getting so damn fucked up, but not that easy. My being who I was meant that I was not perfect, not in the least, and this was supposed to be a fun time, but no, it had turned into almost a torture session as the so-called packleader could not handle realities. I wonder in my mind so that he heard maybe he ought to go have some secret place, someone of one-on-one time with Mariella and her pussy. Maybe it would mellow him out.
After the final poodle was judged, I headed towards the judges' tent to grab some coffee and take a break before the group rings began. It was a warm day, and my jacket wasn't the coolest choice, leaving me sweaty but thankfully not smelly. I knew that once the day wrapped up, I could treat myself to some spa time and unwind.
Just as I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, the ring secretary approached me and said, "The new guy just arrived, so he'll be joining you shortly."
I rolled my eyes but filled my large mug with aromatic coffee. Just as I was about to take a sip, Damon strolled in, wearing a button-down black satin shirt and white leather pants, and walked past me with a smug smile. Oh my God, he was the replacement!
He plopped down next to me, took my mug from my hand, and sipped my coffee while saying with a smirk, "Surprise, baby! I thought I'd show Mariella how it's done and spend some time with you, too."
I had no reply, not at least right away, but I thought in my mind that it might be a little hard for us to decide the winning dogs as we had slight differences from time to time, and could I trust him being professional or overruling me right away? Then again, this was just one dog show, not a big deal, but we would soon see.
He said to me, "We have never done this, you know, judge together, so let's see what we come up with. Telepathy is handy, and we can discuss via it if there are some opinions."
I grunted and asked "why?" in my mind, not out loud, as there were so many people around us.
He looked at me, and his voice echoed in my mind, "I am sorry I was a brat, but I wanna spend time with you and make you trust me. I realize that whole collar is not ideal, not always, and I am not perfect, but baby, let me try, let's see what this does, and move on then. I am jealous as hell, possessive, and I had just my mind cleaned, from those nasty triggers. I can't even imagine what shit you have in your mind and what I might have done to you over the years, not even realized it, but let's see if we can diminish the trauma and help you out."
I really did not have much to reply with. He apologized and maybe, just maybe, we might get this done in some civilized manner, but he was here showing mariella, showing the world, and in that same, owning me once again.
As I had taken another mug so I could get some coffee too, Damon was introducing himself. My husband was shaking hands, and I could feel or suspect he was probing the minds of these people, his jealousy and possessiveness once again surfacing. I had no patience for his petty jealousy games, but then again, let him play. I could be judging and let him just stand there scanning everyone's mind and not pay any attention to the dogs.
I was good at misdirection. I realized it and had to admit to myself that I enjoyed it when my little manipulations worked perfectly. Of course, as this was just a random thought with no context, Damon had to hear it.
I was sipping my coffee when he suddenly appeared behind me and said, "Oh, you manipulate, care to share? What gives you such a rush?"
I wasn't sure if I should share, as he might not approve, and I would probably do it in the future since I just couldn't help myself.
I said, "Well, I am good at misdirecting, so to speak. Unless you haven't noticed, I've become quite adept at it over the years, as Wulfe could be such a burdock, and Magnum too. And you know me—well, maybe you do—but I do need my time from time to time, and I wasn't always so social. So, I know how to lure people into different things, and when my little plan works, it brings this deep satisfaction. So, yeah, I am a manipulator, and I can do it with my vampire abilities too—compel and such, or give excellent suggestions, and make everything the way I want it to be."
Damon grunted, not happy, but he was gazing at me more sharply.
He thought about something for a while and then said, "And my wife, do tell me, what are you planning to do to me? I can see you have some kind of idea, but what?"
I kept my expression pretty neutral and said, "Well, you see, manipulation or direction doesn't really work if the subject in question knows about it."
Damon said to me, "You can be sure, missy, that I am not going anywhere, and we will do this together. I will keep my mind sharp, and I will snatch every little idea of manipulating me from your mind, so I suggest you might want to stop your little plan."
I did not bother to reply as I get ready to do the group rings. I had done this a few days before, so I had gotten my gear back on, but I was not so sure if Damon had. That is, he was not the core last time he did this, and now, this would be interesting to see what he was planning. Was he really into this, or was he just butting into my things and trying to dominate me?
It was 25 minutes later when the group rings were ready, and we walked in, preparing to see the dogs for the first time. I had my little things to look for; for instance, this was outside rings, so the ground was a little uneven, and if a dog had even a slightly unfit movement, it would show in certain ways.
Also, natural light would make colors appear differently than indoor light, and you had to take that into account as well. There was a breeze in the air, which might ruffle some dogs' coats, so again, it did not mean the dog had bad hair; it was just the wind playing. I was not looking for a dog with a coat so stiff that the wind couldn't move it; that was more of a red flag for me—too many products used.
This was a dog show, not Miss America, and coats could be trimmed, brushed, and styled, but not much product should be used. I could see the pack nearby, with some Salvatore telling things to Mariella, and Wulfe was standing near too, his arms crossed and a slight smile playing at his lips.
I had my plan too. I knew certain handlers; I was pro enough not to bother with them, but there were quite a few females, and a few busty ones with bad bras, so Damon would have something to look at. He was a man, after all.
Then the dogs started to run into the ring. I was looking at the dogs, keeping my posture neutral. Damon was standing so near me that I could feel his body heat, and then one standard poodle owner ran into the ring. She was quite tall, very busty, and her bra was not so supportive. Her blouse was quite open, and as she ran, her creamy cleavage was very alluring to Damon, and he just could not stop ogling her as she ran. Dog, however, had a slight mishap; she was favoring her right hind leg, so no go.
Next up from miniature poodles, there were five of them, one of each color. Five men and all dressed in suits, all professional. Young and good-looking run nicely or walk briskly with those tiny poodles.
Now I looked at those poodles sharply as they were all excellent, and I was trying to see if I could exclude any of them right off the bat, but no, all moved soundly, fur moving naturally, and there were not many problems at the start.
Damon said in my mind," Oh, you can stop ogling those guys. There are other dogs too. "
I did not reply as the next busty young woman ran into the ring, getting Damon's attention himself.
I was suppressing my smirk as mariella's voice was quite snarky in my mind. "Mimi, aren't these damn women know inventions called bra? And why in god's name our husband can't stop ogling those jumping hooters?"
I said to her, "He is a man; those women are counting on a male judge to look at their chests, not the dog. They weren't so happy with the female judge, and as they saw Damon, the easy mark. You see. "
We started to go through the dogs and the females. There were five of them. Battling their eyes to Damon, their scent of perfume was almost overpowering. Dogs, however, did not get my vote, as there were few things in them that were not up to my standards. I talked calmly to Damon in my mind, "see, put that poodle run and see if he can soundly, he does not, forget those tits jumping, but look at the poodle's hind legs, see he has quite long loin, and he angulations are not the best. It all affects, see how much bigger his pom-poms are compared to, say, that silver one, they are trying to cover those angulations. You are being manipulated by these bimbos. They are making you look at their tits, not the dogs. See, Farholm is, well, he is a well-known ogler, and his sickness was unfortunate as these broads were counting on good ol' Farholm ogling them. Most of these are trying to put these dogs up to be bred, get some money from puppies, and have fun."
Something in Damon got sharper; he watched dogs much sharper now, as he did a little telepathic probing and got confirmation. I can say that as he gave his assessment, it was quite blunt, and he recorded in a few dogs that they were less than ideal for breeding. What made these owners angry as those judgments were official, they would show in dogs' records, and it was now much harder to get those dogs bred.
I told Damon my little notes, what I was looking for, and he was much sharper to watch than me. Now, this was strict, as nearly all of the dogs were nowhere near perfect for Damon. Mariella was trying to tell him what to choose, and she received quite a sharp rebuke as Damon bluntly told her what was wrong with each of the dogs.
We finally chose as our winner a beautiful, long-haired Chihuahua whose unique coloring was spot on. She was brave and not too keen to bark, but just perfect. Of course, Mariella was already fantasizing about someday maybe having a puppy of her own. But as Damon was now quite tuned in, he promised, more or less, that if Mariella continued her dreaming, she would find herself firmly pregnant, with litters of cubs and puppies as much as she would like. So she shut her mouth and stopped dreaming of having a Chihuahua of her own.
For some reason, as we walked out of the ring, the secretary told me I was free to leave, as few normal judges had come by, and they wanted to judge, so as I had my family waiting for me, I could leave and I would receive my payment full on still.
So I had little choice in matter and I could see number two's satisfied smirk as he had compelled more or less pretty many humans to make sure I was free to go and not spend too much time in here as there were too many strange men and they had little issues with me if I were smelling like strangers. And besides, it would soon be time to start to learn to share, to see my memories, and maybe, just maybe, help me with some of them.