Makima’s Favorite (Dog TF) (Patreon)

Been getting into chainsaw man recently. I love makima and her dogs !

Makima had been sitting on the edge of the desk like nothing was wrong. Same gold eyes. Same quiet, assessing smile. She’d just finished up your weekly review, and now, it was just you two alone in her office.

You clear your throat, “M-Miss Makima—“

Then her ears twitched.

You froze, jaw slack as you could only watch. They pushed up through her hair with a soft ffft, pointed and black-tipped, flicking once toward the sound of your voice.

“Stay,” she said, as if you’d already tried to stand.

You hadn’t.

A shudder ran down her spine. Her blouse strained, then the buttons simply gave—pop, pop—and the fabric slid off her shoulders. Fur bloomed across her collarbone first, warm cinnamon and cream, spreading down over her breasts in a slow, velvety shhhhk. “Ah—don’t go leaving so soon. We haven’t—nnh—completed your review yet.” Her nipples darkened against the new coat. She didn’t cover them. She never covered anything she wanted you to look at.

“Alright, dog.” Her voice had a new rasp under it, like it had dropped half a note. “Let’s test your loyalty.”

Her hands changed next. Fingers shortened. Black claws clicked against the metal table. Tktk. She used one to hook the waistband of her panties and drag them aside.

What was between her thighs nearly made you choke. It was still hers—pink, human, already shining—but it wasn’t finished.

You saw it happen.

The outer lips plumped first, a slow heat-flush that made them swell and part with a soft sqelch. Fine cream fur crept down her lower belly and framed her, then thickened along the mound until the skin there was velvety instead of bare. The inner folds darkened a shade, going from ordinary pink toward that warmer, deeper, muskier rose. A bead of slick welled and slid down. Tap.

Makima’s breath left her in a quiet hff.

“Don’t look like that,” she murmured. “It’s still me. You’re going to put your mouth on it either way.”

Her legs went next. Bone shifted with a low creeeak. Pads formed on her soles. A tail shoved free and struck the desk—thump—then again, slower.

She sat on the edge of the table and spread her knees. Her changed form caught the office light, wet, framed in that new white ruff, the dark inner shadow of her folds open for you.

“You know what to do.”