#security measures

IN A WAREHOUSE IN YEKATERINBURG, RUSSIA It took roughly a thousand hours of mobility training and practice to get you here, but you are here on your own two feet.

You stand stoically, a sentinel outside the room where your owner engages in a high-stakes meeting with the Yekaterinburg mob boss. Your hard gaze wills your sight to bore through the closed door. Your auditory enhancements are dialed up to try and catch every sound, including the cadence of Yelena’s speech rhythms as she negotiates for keeps. 

You are dressed head-to-toe in black tactical. Always mindful of your comfort and mobility during missions, Yelena designed your suit to be roomy enough to accommodate any necessary movements. The fabric clings to your body but is not too tight, allowing flexibility without compromising protection. Your hood, a custom piece, resembles a K-9, complete with little ears that stand up on either side of your head. It extends with a longer snout build-out that provides ample space for a muzzle when required while still optimized for breathing. 

Around your neck, you proudly wear your day collar, a symbol of your loyalty and Yelena’s ownership. A simple bulldog harness adorns your torso, providing additional support and security. Plus, you love it when she tugs on the strap to pull you close. 

But it's the footwear that still feels strange to you. Yelena insisted you wear shoes after you accidentally burned the pads of your feet. These steel and supple leather boots have been expertly molded to fit your feet like a second skin. You wiggle your toes, still adjusting to the sensation so different from what you were accustomed to. So weird.

As the negotiation progresses, you study the tone of the voices in the room, Yelena's trademark confidence, and the mobster's unpredictable temperament. The rhythm of their conversation, the pauses, and the inflections become a catalog of information that you analyze every nuance for potential threats.

You swallow down your growls. You straighten your spine against the stress. No slouching. Slouching turns to bending, bending turns to curling downward… You roll your shoulders back and puff out your chest intentionally. A tiny bit of your focus shifts to your breath — the only thing you can control at the moment.

XXXXX

ONE YEAR AGO (TRAINING MONTAGE)

Yelena's determination to have you on more extended missions made her focus on your mobility earnestly. Due to the regulations that required HK-9s to travel in crates in the cargo holds of planes, Yelena wanted to find a way to keep you close to her side. So, she started you on a rigorous routine, retraining you to stand upright after spending most of your adult life walking on all fours.

The training began with early morning workouts, targeting your core muscles and balance. You could sit up on the ottoman for an entire movie as you gain strength. Well, if the movie wasn’t too scary (and didn’t set off your protective instincts enough to lunge at the screen.) From there, Yelena guided you to stand using support from a wall or other sturdy objects, allowing you to grow accustomed to being upright. Climbing up her while she stood was always your favorite exercise, with the instant reward of affectionate kisses and nuzzling.

Gradually, Yelena decreased the amount of support you required. With time and practice, you could stand unassisted for extended periods, your muscles growing stronger as she molded your body through her instruction.

Once you could stand freely, Yelena shifted her focus to re-teaching you how to walk. Advised by Oksana, she transformed the home gym by installing parallel bars and other physical therapy equipment, providing you with stable tools for practice. 

The effort wasn't without its snags. Melina offered her assistance when you experienced unexplained bouts of vertigo during your first steps. She expertly assessed your sensory inputs and made slight adjustments near your vestibular nerve (to reverse tampering from years ago), alleviating any concerns of nausea or dizziness. Your progress kicked into overdrive when you could stop worrying about losing your lunch.   

Yelena ensured the house environment was safe and free of obstacles, so you could no longer leave your toys everywhere. Bipedal-only walking days were implemented inside the house, pressing you to practice on surfaces like wood, carpet, tile, and grass. Yelena remained patient and positive throughout, even when frustration got the better of you. 

She stood by your side with a cane during sessions on the treadmill, gently tapping you on either calf to correct any toe-turning. She listened keenly to your body's messages and promptly ceased training if you experienced pain. She was better at that than you were. 

But the playful moment when you confidently moonwalked backward across the kitchen floor — a move taught to you by one of the widows during some downtime— signaled to Yelena that the time had come to take you out.

XXXXX

BACK IN THE CORRIDOR

You stand at attention as Yelena exits the dimly lit room; her expression is unreadable, and her gun is smoking. Her eyes briefly look up and meet yours, a fleeting acknowledgment. There is no need for words; you are leaving now. You fall into step beside her as you walk down the corridor. Your eyes sweep the area and over her head, knowing that four widows are covertly covering the building but will not reveal themselves unless signaled. 

Together, you and Yelena move in sync, a well-practiced vigilance. Each turn you take, each hallway you navigate, brings you closer to the exit. Yelena quickens her pace, and you adjust accordingly, seamlessly matching her movements. You share an unspoken understanding, a mutual trust forged through countless missions and shared experiences.

Finally, you reach the exit. With a subtle nod, you guide her toward the sleek egress vehicle, its polished exterior gleaming under the moon. The car door opens soundlessly, and Yelena gracefully slides into the driver’s seat. You ensure her safety with a gentle click as the door closes.

The engine purrs softly. With a smile on her lips, she reaches over and opens the passenger door, motioning for you to join her. She whispers with her voice laced with pride and anticipation, "Get in, cub." 

XXXXX

AT A SAFE HOUSE NEAR THE AIRPORT

She opens the door for you when you get out of the car. You reach out, then stop yourself. Yelena looks back at you and smiles softly, then reaches to curl her pinkie around your index finger. “You always need a leash, yes?” You roll your eyes. She continues while leading you to the door, “You know you love it.”

You smile shyly with a shrug and sign. Maybe just a little.

Yelena opens the house with her security access, then locks it down when you are both inside. Once in your bedroom, Yelena stands before you, her eyes scanning your tactical gear. “You did a very good job, my cub, and you looked very cool in your new suit.” 

Yelena’s inspections were familiar after a mission, but this time, she had a mischievous glint in her eyes. With deliberate movements, she approached you, her fingers deftly undoing the fastenings of your suit, one by one. 

You stood still, anticipation building as she removed each piece. As her fingers released the buckles of your harness, the straps fell away. When she unzipped the suit, her fingers brushed against your skin, igniting a trail of shivers. The hood was the next to come off. Her fingers lingered, tracing the contours of the muzzle as she set it aside.

Yelena's touch ghosted over the day collar, a silent affirmation of her possession. With gentleness, she leaned forward to press her lips against the lock that symbolized your devotion.

With every piece of clothing removed, you stood before Yelena, bared and vulnerable. Her eyes met yours, a mixture of affection and possessiveness shining in them. She took a step closer, caressing your cheek, and whispered, "You're mine." You close your eyes briefly, then open them, knowing that her claim extends far beyond the physical. 

You take a long breath and sign. Please?

Yelena smiles slowly and nods once. “Kneel.”

A wave of relief hits you, and you can barely help yourself from folding in midair.

As you lower yourself, your eyes never leave hers while your perspectives are inverted. You go from towering over her down to her eye level, then lower until you are on your knees, looking up at your owner.

It's hard to describe the transference. Looking down at Yelena makes you feel protective, strong, and ready. It also makes you feel loving and compassionate. When you look down at her, you see not only her physical appearance but also her vulnerability. You see a person who trusts you. 

But looking up at someone you love can also be a very intimate experience. It makes you feel safe and protected. It makes you feel excited and grateful. When you look up at Yelena, you see her body but also her soul. You see the person who makes you feel happy, loved, and cherished.

-----------------------------------------------------------

IN THE ROOM

The faint swipe of the plastic card key and the affirmative beep of the reader has you up on your knuckles and knees in seconds. The auditory enhancements behind your ears dial in on the soft echoes of boots and amplify them. You frown at the closed door in front of you and concentrate on listening to the soft murmuring of two people entering the corridor. One of them is the Boss, and the other is unknown. A stranger. They don’t sound too tall, but you’ve learned not to judge what’s in small packages.

You let out a soft woof to yourself and crowd the door under the handle. As the voices grow louder, you can make out the language. Russian. You preferred it when the Boss spoke English, allowing you to understand what was going on. When you know what's going on, it's easier to guard him properly and not get in the way. Not getting in the way is the thin margin that keeps you on the Boss's good side. A side that has been disappearing as of late. 

Uncontrolled, you begin barking your head off, actively dropping your voice to catch all the lower registries of bass you can gather. You've got one thing on your mind — to protect the Boss, the space, to warn the stranger. Sound waves roll off you towards the door, willing the wood to buckle under the weight of your ferocity.

Click. The door opens, letting in the smells from the corridor. The Boss is tense. The stranger is — you sharply inhale — then the world goes black as the Boss tosses his heavy peacoat at you, covering your head. 

"SHUDDUP, FUCKING MUTT! Holy hell!" You hear the Boss circle the desk and flop down in his chair, kicking his boots up on the mahogany surface. "Come in and take a seat, Yelena. There much to discuss."  

The stranger pauses two steps into the room as the door closes.

"Ah, you have a guardhund," she says, gently surprised. 

"Yes," you hear the Boss sigh. "They've been installed here for six months since the attempted break-in. Not worth the money if you ask me."

You feel the coat being gently pulled from your head. As you blink away the darkness, you are immediately captured in the green gaze of the woman. Her eyes assessing. You swallow down more barking.

She mutters to the Boss, "Ivan. You should not treat your protector so haphazardly."

"It's good for them. They aren't a lot of fun, you know."

"Fun? Is this how run your business?"

"Yelena," the Boss says in a low husk. "You know I know how much you like your fun. Lisbon…with Magda?"

The woman chuckled and nodded, "Yes, I remember. Well, the Portuguese had it coming." You could tell she was forcing herself to relax as she sat in the chair opposite the Boss's desk. 

Your training keeps you constantly vigilant. You stare down the stranger. You cannot help but give a low growl of warning deep in your throat. She just winks at you. You blink back. You tilt your head, showing the barest amount of curiosity. 

"My sister has a pet."

"Oh, yes, I've seen her. Glued to Natasha, beautiful… a little spoiled," the Boss grins.

Yelena chuckles. "Yes, her puppy is quite a handful."

"Well, at least she has personality. This one… " He motions to you. "They just sit there. Staring. It's… a little creepy."

Yelena barks a laugh. "It sounds like they are doing their job."

Over the next half-hour, you listen to the Boss and the woman — Yelena — converse in a foreign language. Yelena sneaks glances at you every few minutes. You take her in unabashedly, watching every move she makes. The Boss didn't seem to care that she was still heavily armed even after the screening from the crew members at the front entrance.

The Boss's sharp laugh and scrape of the chair pull you back into the moment. The Boss rounds the desk and envelops Yelena into a hug, rubbing her arms. You watch her endure the embrace, holding her breath. "Okay, we've got a deal. So good to see you again, Yelena. It will be a pleasure to see you much more often, yes?"

The woman gracefully breaks his embrace and steps back, her eyes falling on you. She easily says her goodbyes with a slight nod and leaves the room. You inhale the last of her heady scent.

-----------------------------------------------------------

YELENA'S APARTMENT

"So, he's got a guardhund."

"Christ. How the hell did he get one?"

"Probably his mother. So, we'll need to add that into the mix."

Natasha hums absently.

Yelena takes a breath. "I don't want to kill the pup. How do I… dominate them?"

"Oh, look at you. My little sister… the handler."

"Shut up. I need to know to plan the rest of the mission. And, I don't know… you are the one with the PET!"

"Puppy and a guardhund are two very, very different things." Natasha sighs. "Most pets — even guardhunds — don't respond well to being forcibly dominated. Muzzle grabs and alpha rolls do nothing to assure them that we are in control. Instead, they make us appear more aggressive, out of control, and untrustworthy, increasing their stress.

"Since you've got time. I think you need to play to your strengths. Win them over the old-fashioned way. Earn it. If that fails… food." Natasha hums again. "Also, we could try one other thing…"

Yelena raised an eyebrow.

-----------------------------------------------------------

IN THE ROOM | Three days later… 

You dig your teeth into your cuff for the thousandth time that day. The leather feels good in your mouth. You begin the delicate work of chewing the edges around your wrist. Whatever you can do to pass the endless time. 

After you finish the first phase of your leatherwork, you sigh heavily, looking up at the window where the light is finally dimming. 

Your ear perks at the sound of solitary footsteps entering the corridor. You pull back your ear muscle to focus the tech on amplification. It was her again. Yelena.

You push yourself from resting on your haunches and roll forward to balance your weight onto your knuckles. You exhale a soft huff of breath as your body tenses in anticipation. 

You keep quiet as she slides the key card and opens the door, quietly shutting it behind her. You frown darkly, watching her.

She drops down to you. She was not looking into your eyes, but you could tell her attention was on you. "No enthusiastic greeting today? Am I not a threat? Forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment."

You offer a low growl and show her your teeth. You are meant to protect this room — its sanctity, its secrets. She slowly raises her hand to one of the many zippers on her vest. You growl louder. She lets out a quick "Shh!"

Your interest is captured when she lifts her hand and takes treats from her pocket. You hold still, nostrils twitching. Your shock collar training keeps you from being ruled by food motivation, but it's been such a long time since you've eaten. The Boss likes to keep you hungry to keep you on edge. Still, you hold when she presents you with an outstretched hand with three delicious-smelling morsels. You growl louder.

"Ahh, no treats? You have a strong will," she says softly.

You watch her with serious eyes. She smelled as good as she did days ago, her voice soothing, her energy calming. She forces a yawn, showing that she's not interested in confrontation. She drops the treats on the rug next to you. 

She raises her hand to another pocket and pulls out a handkerchief that smells repugnant. You sneeze and growl heavily. She quickly tucks it away and opens another zipper to remove another folded cloth. "Nope."  

Your attention snaps to the new cloth. "Mm, this has your attention. You like this?" 

She holds the handkerchief out to you, and you smell it greedily and begin softly licking the cloth texture. "Ah, Natasha was right about the pheromones. She'll love that. Look at how you are licking…licking it all up..." 

She tries to take the cloth back, and you can't help but reach out and bite it. You try to pull it back from her grasp. “You love women's pheromones, mm? Want to play tug-of-war?" She lightly tugs the cloth, and you move closer but start digging in with the heels of your palms and your knees, leveraging your strong muscles to pull back.

She grins and gives it to you, watching you as you jerk back and then begin to lower yourself to the ground immediately and lick the cloth in earnest. You hear her hum softly, and then you feel a light touch on your back. She waits three seconds, then moves her hand between your shoulder blades. “Many bruises.” She purses her lips and clicks her tongue, “Have you been fighting? Or, have they done this to you?” 

Yelena starts rubbing between your shoulder blades, and it feels like heaven. You barely close your eyes and revel in the touch soothing your knotted muscles. Since you were kicked in the back last week, you had tried to surreptitiously roll on the rug or rub against the Spartan furniture in the room to ease your body aches. You grunt softly as she begins to dig her fingers in. "Aw, you are in such tension."

You lean into her, now sucking on the cloth in your mouth. You subtly ask for more pressure by arching into her hand. She generously gives it to you, softly moving her other hand to guide you on your side. She massages your muscles intensely, and you let out a low whine of pleasure and relief.

"Ah, you are a good pup. Well, you are more like a bear. You are fierce, but you are just a baby. Yes, just a little cub," she modulates her voice high and low, then high again. 

You can't fucking help it; you lean into this new feeling of warmth in your chest and let your tongue lull out and turn all the way over onto your back, showing her your belly and narrowing your eyes to everything but her and her beautiful voice. Yelena.

Yelena gives you a brilliant smile and few more belly scratches and then quickly raises to her feet, leaving you blinking out of your joyful haze. You watch her turn on the Boss's computer and tap the keys. After a few minutes, she pulls a stick from the machine's side and tucks it back into a new pocket. 

You hear her sigh and walk back over to you, folding herself down on her haunches and gently stroking your chin. 

"Drop it." She hooks her thumb into your jaw and pries it open so she can remove the handkerchief. You whine softly, and she smiles at you slowly. "You like my smell. Very good, cub."

After she quietly leaves, you snap up the treats in your mouth and chew as you stare at the door, listening to the light steps of the blonde woman. You hope she turns heel and comes back.

-----------------------------------------------------------

IN THE ROOM | The next week… 

You can hear the Boss pause his typing. He stabs the intercom with his finger and calls out to his crew operating the front of the shop — only static returns.

You hear footsteps in the corridor. Yelena. 

You wait. As the sound of her boots reaches normal human hearing levels, you smell the Boss's anxiety spike in fear.

You wait, wanting to turn invisible. You don't want him to say the words. Those damn words that make you into a ravaging beast. 

Yelena swipes the card and opens the door. 

"Atta…" The word dies on his lips as Yelena puts a bullet dead-on in the Boss's forehead. 

She cuts her eyes to you and pats her thigh twice, "Come here, cub. We're leaving."