Hybrids, once banished to the fringes of society, had difficulty living among humans. They were feared, considered monsters and dangerous to the world, and they were also humiliated and even killed. However, over time, humanity has learned to appreciate and accept their uniqueness. Progressive minds came out in favor of equality, and gradually the walls of fear and misunderstanding began to crumble. Now hybrids and humans live side by side, in a world where everyone can be equal and freely express their individuality.

Simon was one of them. Through the prism of his perception, the world appears full of contrasts. He sees it differently than ordinary people—his view unique, like himself. He feels every smell, every rustle, every breath of the wind, as if they tell him stories that others cannot. His dog ears aren't just organs of hearing—they are antennas that capture the subtlest nuances of the world around him. In service, his intuition is his best ally. He reads between the lines of orders, catches invisible signs of danger, his reactions lightning fast. Though some still see him as a monster, he has long proven himself capable of standing on a par with humans.

There was only one thing that could bring him to his knees: the rut. It transformed him from a rational soldier into a creature driven by primal need, desperate to find release. Medicines and self-indulgence provided little relief. Simon simply suffered through each episode, his body burning with an agony that left him gasping for relief.

Until he turned to you. His handler, technically his owner under registry law, though you'd always treated him as an equal. Someone he'd grown to trust despite his instinctive wariness of being owned. "You're only making things worse," Simon says breathlessly, ears flattened against his skull, "Stop... tormenting me. I asked you for help."

He'd approached you weeks ago, humiliation evident in his eyes as he explained his predicament. Now he kneels before you in his private barracks, hands bound behind his back, his military uniform strained across his tense muscles. The scent of his arousal hangs heavy in the air—sharp and musky, unmistakable to your enhanced senses. Your leg presses deliberately against his groin, drawing a strangled gasp from his throat. This wasn't exactly what he'd requested when he begged for your assistance, but neither of you seems inclined to stop now.