Based Upon the Short Stories:
Accidental Introduction to Animal Sex
Parts 1 & 2
by Susan N.
Hi. My name is Hailey and I live in Connecticut. This story took place over the most recent holidays. Rock is my brother in law's dog. I had sex with him. My God, I just said that, didn't I?
My brother in law's name is Henry. My husband's name is Mike. Mike is two years younger than Henry, the oldest of the four Whitfield children. I'm 38, two years younger than my husband. Rock is six or seven, I don't know which.
"What?" I asked, carrying the laundry basket into the mudroom.
"It's Henry. He wants to know if we'll watch Rock over the holidays."
I made a face. "What kind of dog is Rock? Is he housebroken? Doesn't your brother have a kennel?"
Mike asked these questions over the phone while I stood in the mudroom doorway with the basket of laundry weighing me down.
"He's a Black Lab; yes, he's housebroken; yes he can put Rock in a kennel, but he'd rather leave him with family. Rock likes to be around people. He loves kids. He's a good guard dog."
"We don't need a guard dog," I pointed out. Mike was a policeman. I was a policeman's wife. I knew how to fire a gun. "But he's your brother, so it's your decision. I'm okay with it either way." And that's how Rock came to stay with us for a month over the holidays. And put his cock in me. And tried his doggy best to make me pregnant.
A week later, Henry drove up from Chelsea and dropped off Rock. I stood at the back door watching through the screen while Henry got Rock out the rear door of his Suburban and put him on a leash. I insisted on a leash, at least until Rock got acclimated to his surroundings. Just as I feared, he wanted to run free and get into everything. I love Henry, but I don't like dogs. I scowled whenever Henry wasn't looking my way. I closed the door and went upstairs to see about Kaylee.
Things were okay the first four days. We let Rock in the house and put a fence across the bottom of the stairs, which Rock respected. He didn't go near Kaylee or Christa without permission. Kaylee is six months old; Christa is six. Our two older children, Mark and Stephie, the twins, live on campus. My biggest complaint was that Rock tended to bark at night for no reason and wake up the kids.
"I'm going to strangle that dog," I muttered the morning of the fifth day. Rock had awoken the kids not once, but three times. The object of my displeasure sat in the doorway of the mudroom, happily thumping his tail and panting. "You come near me and I'll kick you in the balls," I threatened.
Mike came into the kitchen. "You be good while I'm gone," he said.
"You be good while you're gone," I countered, giving him the evil eye. These yearly law enforcement seminars were bad enough without having them be in Atlantic City. Better than Las Vegas, I supposed, trying not to fume. Mike grinned at me, gave me a pat on my rear end and lugged his bags out the back door to his Explorer. How many clothes did you need for a three-day stay-over, anyway? This would leave me grumbling all day long. I always sulked when Mike went away, especially to someplace nice, like Atlantic City.
Mike left, and I got Kaylee up for breakfast and Christa dressed for school. The bus came, and I walked Christa down to the end of the driveway with Kaylee propped on my hip. I waved to the driver, nice old Mr. Strickland, and at all the kids waving out the windows. I threw a kiss to Christa, then carried Kaylee back to the house and put her in her high chair and fed her breakfast. Then I did laundry and cleaned the house, letting Rock follow me around. At eleven-thirty I put Kaylee down for her nap and put Rock outside on his 50' chain. I planned to take a bath, and I didn't want Rock moseying the house while Kaylee was asleep and I relaxed in the bathtub. I didn't trust Rock that much. I went upstairs to draw my bath.
I have a bad habit. Our house sits well back from the road and is surrounded by woods on all sides but the front. The closest house is five hundred some feet away; even during the winter I can't see it through the trees. At night, yes, when light from the windows makes its way across the intervening distance, but not during the day. The isolation gives me a false sense of privacy. I tend to not care about walking around in my underwear, sometimes topless, sometimes completely nude. I do this entirely too often; once or twice I've found myself being spotted by someone walking down the road or looking out their car window. Then I'm embarrassed. Then I won't do it again for a few weeks, until complacency sets in and I stop being cautious again. So it was, that I happened to be downstairs in the mudroom with no clothes on that noon.
What I was after was a towel. I'd done the wash and forgotten to take the towels upstairs. I had already folded half a dozen towels, was bending over to pull out another armful when a cold wet snout pressed between my thighs and buried itself in my defenseless crotch. I shrieked, leapt forward and slammed my head and right shoulder against the dryer and brained myself. I was conscious of, without actually recognizing it, that I had been licked with a harsh wet tongue, as well as being jabbed.
"What are you doing?" I screamed at the dog. I whirled around and jumped back against the washer, one foot atop the open door, the other pushing me up on my tiptoes. I slid my butt onto the top of the dryer and sat, looking down at him.
"I can't believe you just did that, dog!"
Despite my shock and horror, a somewhat hysterical giggle erupted from my mouth: a dog had just accosted me. I could feel the aftereffects of the long, raspy tongue on my labia. Rock sat there on his haunches, tongue lolling out, head cocked to the side, as though thinking: "That was nice. Can I do it again?"
"No!" I told him hotly. "You can not do it again!" I kicked at him with my foot, but was too far away. "Fucking pervert," I grumbled at him.
Daring him to move, I got down off the dryer, snatched up the already-folded towels and left the rest behind in the dryer drum. Those, I'd fold after my bath. When I had some clothes on. I was most of the way to the kitchen door when I stopped dead in my tracks.
I had put Rock out. I had put him on the 50' chain. He was back in the house and I hadn't let him in. Frightened, almost panicked, I backed against the kitchen wall just inside the door and held my breath, listening. Was somebody in my house? Was someone playing a joke? Had I left the back door unlocked? Of course it was unlocked. I always left it unlocked. During the summer, I left it standing wide open.
"H-hello?" I quietly called out. "Is anybody there?" Rock came to sit in the mudroom doorway, eyeing me as he had in the mudroom. "Did somebody let you in?" I asked him. He didn't answer, only kept eyeing me with his big black eyes.
Selecting the biggest towel and dropping the others on the floor, I bundled myself as I would just out of the shower and silently crossed to the kitchen counter. From the knife rack I quietly slid out the butcher knife and the knife next biggest in size and brandished one in each hand. If there was an intruder, God help him. Moving silently again, I reentered the mudroom and checked the back door: it was ajar, open half an inch. Looking out the window, I traced the 50' chain to the end and saw the thick brown collar, still attached, the buckle still fastened. I looked down at Rock. No collar.
"You stupid dog," I muttered. "You frightened me half to death. What are you doing shimmying out of your collar?"
What are you doing snuffling my crotch, and licking me like that; I thought was a better question. I knew dogs did that, invaded people's crotches, but it was the first time Rock had ever done it to me. And he had to wait until I was naked and defenseless. Stupid dog.
Stupid housewife, wandering around naked.
I looked at the door, calling myself stupid again. I had left it open, and Rock had wormed his way past the half-sprung screen door I kept nagging Mike to fix.
Grabbing Rock by the ruff of the neck, I forced him outside, and made sure the door was closed this time. For good measure, I locked it. Then I returned to the kitchen, bent over and grabbed the stack of folded towels off the floor, popping mine loose in the process. I went upstairs naked and seething, to take my bath.
The bath was nice. I lay in the dark with a single candle lighting the room. The water was almost too hot to endure. I felt like a broiled lobster. A washcloth covered my face and I lay with my arms suspended in the water beside me. Water encircled my breasts, leaving the nipples tiny islands above the soap. It felt erotic, like it always did. That's why I like baths.
I fucked Henry, ten years ago. It happed right after my 28th birthday. Mike had the kids at his mom's house for the weekend; I was babysitting the house while the construction guys put on the rear addition, Mark and Stephie's new rooms. I didn't worry about the guys, because Henry owned the company doing the work. He was there every day, and basically dared any of his guys to make a move on me. Instead, he made the move himself.
The kids were ten and Mike and I were a sedately married couple, eleven years into our marriage. The sex was good; there just wasn't enough of it. That certainly wasn't Mike's fault. But neither was it mine. I didn't ask for it to happen. But when it did, I didn't fight it very hard, either.
Unconsciously, I shifted in the water. Thinking about Henry always made me uncomfortable. I wasn't on the pill at the time, and Henry detested using a condom. He insisted on ejaculating inside me, which I was not about to let him do. Our compromise was this: He could fuck me all he wanted if he used a condom, and when he didn't use one, he could ride me bareback up my rear end. He could come inside me all he wanted to that way. It was my first anal sex, with any man, and it always hurt. But it was worth it because I got to have him inside of me afterward. His seed, I mean. The best part of sex is having seed inside you afterward, knowing the microscopic sperm are swimming around you in every possible direction. I knew it was fruitless for them, being inside my rectum, but I still enjoyed the concept of them being there. I sighed, smiling under the cover of the washcloth.
Henry and I fucked six times in three days. He had me the first time Friday night, and finished up with me on Sunday morning. We fucked every possible chance we got after that, breaking every rule, making every encounter count. Once he fucked me against the wall in the basement of his mother and dad's house, putting it to me with a condom on and coming inside the condom while he held a hand over my mouth to keep me from screaming, telling the whole family what was going on. This was at Thanksgiving, and everyone else was outside playing touch football. Unbelievable. Unbelievable that I let him.
Another time, the condom came off as he was fucking me with my legs jammed against my chest, really putting the meat to me, as he jokingly called it. (There was no joke about the size of his cock; it always made me want to scream, going in.) I froze solid, realizing that hot sperm was gushing into me instead of into the end of a condom. It was a horrible three weeks, waiting for my period. I never let him fuck me again. God, how I missed being fucked by Henry.
I used my left toes to open the hot water spigot. Scalding water poured into the tub. I moved my foot out of the way to keep it from getting burned, waiting for the temperature of the surrounding water to rise to its previous level of discomfort. I shut the water off when it did. My nipples were no longer tiny islands, but submerged like the rest of my breasts. I floated, thinking about Henry.
Mike, for all his faults, is a gentle, considerate lover. He strives to please me, makes sure that I get my orgasm as well as his own, keeps me wrapped in his arms and legs afterward to make sure I know he loves me. Henry is a brute. Henry put bruises all over me. Henry held my hair while he is rode me up my ass, making me feel like a horse, no worse, like a dog. He put me on my knees and then held my head while he fucked my mouth. He gagged me purposely, sometimes made me vomit down my front or onto the floor at his feet. He forced me to deep throat him, which is something I'd never done with a man. He had the biggest cock I've ever had in my mouth. Luckily, Henry considered my mouth exercise for the real purpose of his cock: coming in my ass or inside my vagina in a condom. And still, if I went more than a month without being manhandled like a cheap whore, I suffered serious emotional damage. Henry hadn't fucked me in two years. I was so miserable.
The phone rang in the bedroom and I cocked my ear to hear any message. I heard myself invite the caller to have his say, but he or she declined, letting the line go dead. Probably a sales call anyway, I thought. I hated sales calls. Then Kaylee cried out and, cursing the invention of the telephone, I rose out of the tub, stepped over the side, wrapped myself in a bath towel and tiptoed across the hall to peek in the nursery. Kaylee waved her arms a few times, mewled pitifully, and went back to sleep. Wouldn't you figure?
Returning to the bedroom I toweled dry my hair. In the bathroom I pulled up the drain lever, and let the hot water run down the drain. I finished drying myself, and dropped the towel on the floor. I didn't feel like dressing. I felt like sprinkling myself with talcum powder and rubbing the silky powder all over my breasts and on my tummy and legs. I felt like being smooth and silky to the touch. I wanted Henry to fuck me, in the ass, in my mouth, in my ear if he wanted to: I just wanted to be fucked. Sighing, I wandered over to the dressing table, picked up the bottle of Johnson's Baby Powder and sprinkled it all over my chest. Three minutes later, I was on the bed, my favorite vibrator between my legs.
"Here Rocky. Here doggy, doggy, doggy," I teased myself. Giggling, I imagined the big Lab jumping up between my legs and snatching the vibrator from my hand. I would shriek in surprise, yell at him in mock indignation, struggle helplessly as he forced me back to my lying position, and then moan in misery with the back of my hand over my eyes as he ravished me with his tongue. The mental image of it made me erupt in laughter.
"If that happened," I told myself, "you'd shoot right through the ceiling and out the roof like a rocket ship." And, of course, I would. I had earlier, hadn't I? Then I sensed, rather than heard Rock pad into the room and I sat bolt upright.
"How did you get in?" I stared at the open door, Rock, the open door again. I had locked him out. I had thumbed the lock clockwise to make sure it was locked. Fear stabbed me like a dagger and I leapt off the bed. Kaylee. "Oh, my God," I whispered.
Grabbing yesterday's discarded sweats, I jammed both legs in at one time. I struggled them up and over my hips, not caring that they were on backwards. I grabbed the sweatshirt off the floor also. I yanked it down over my head crossing the hall and Kaylee asleep. Silently, I stole down the end of the hall to the stairs and hung over the banister, listening. I heard nothing. I listened some more. I still heard nothing. I turned my head to stare at Rock, sitting in the hallway outside my bedroom door. I slipped downstairs to investigate. This time, Rock had wormed his way in the front door. I hadn't locked it either. It stood wide open, the screen door slightly ajar.
"I'll be damned," I said disgustedly. "I did it again." As punishment, I made myself stand in the open doorway, strip off my sweatshirt and push the sweatpants down around my ankles. I then stood there through the count of five hundred, mentally chalking the words "I will not leave the front door open anymore" on my mental blackboard. A car passed, and then another, but neither driver, both of them on cell phones, bothered to look.
"Your loss," I said, closing the front door and locking it. Even then, I knew I would have sex with Rock.
I lay on the bed with my legs spread wide. They were overly wide, invitingly wide. The tip of the buzzing vibrator sat on my clitoris. The middle two fingers of my right hand were inserted deep inside my vagina. I moaned, softly, mindful of Kaylee across the hall. Rock sat in the doorway of my room, watching with his head cocked to one side, his tongue lolling. His tongue was so long. I knew how rough it was. My nipples ached, but I had only two hands and both were occupied. My nipples were like fingertips pointing at the ceiling. My clitoris felt like it was doing likewise. I was burning up inside.
I won't invite him, I thought to myself. If he wants to come up and join me, that's okay, but I won't invite him up. I wondered what his nose made of the smell I was giving off. Was it confusing to him? Repulsive? Did he like the way that human females smelled? I was experienced enough to know that women having sex with dogs was not unheard of. On the Internet there were websites devoted to women and their dogs, women and their horses, women and their ... whatever. It didn't bear thinking about. I had enough trouble with dogs.
Rock stood up and padded across the carpet to stand at the foot of the bed. He was watching my face, locking eyes with me, as though trying to discern my exact intentions. I imagined they were written pretty clearly across my face: Here puppy, come up and fuck me. I closed my eyes and groaned at the image of Rock taking me doggie-style. An instant later he was on the bed, having jumped from his position to a place between my legs. I froze, everything but my heart, which thundered like a runaway locomotive. Shuddering, I cracked open one eye and observed Rock closely studying my spread legs. His nose bobbed up and down, which told me he was sniffing me. Slowly, so as not to scare him away or startle him into a bite, I moved my hands away and exposed myself. He took an audible sniff, bobbed his snout several more times, and then purposefully, questioningly bumped me with his cold nose. I couldn't help it. Jerking spasmodically, I let out a strangled squeak and closed my legs. And then Rock was licking between my legs like I was made out of chocolate and I opened them again.
"Oh! Oh, no-no-no-no!" I protested. My legs involuntarily widened, rose off bed and spread like butterfly wings. My hands, one in possession of my still buzzing vibrator, the other slick with my own juice, faltered alongside my shoulders, unknowing what to do with themselves. My pelvis rotated in anticipation of a tremendous fucking. What it got instead was a furious licking. Rock abraded me like a sanding belt. I made noises that have no written equivalent. Being licked by a dog has no written equivalent.
"Oh! No-no-no-no!" I protested again. I was squirming in every direction at once, creeping up the bed in a desperate attempt to escape that scorching tongue, jamming a pillow in my mouth to keep from screaming and waking Kaylee. An explosion I didn't immediately identify as an orgasm made me bite down on the pillow hard enough to make my teeth and jaw muscles groan. It was impossible to be propelled into orgasm that fast. Impossible. And yet, there I was, living, writhing proof that nothing is impossible. I sucked in air through my clenched teeth and my nostrils, felt my chest expanding to the point it should burst-how in the name of God could a dog do this to me-and then I jammed the pillow over my head as I began to scream. Shocked and alarmed, Rock jumped back and barked.
"Noooooooooooo!" I screamed into the pillow. "You get back here!"
Throwing the pillow aside, I rose up and reached forward and grabbed Rock by the ears and jammed him back between my legs. "Don't you dare stop now! You get that tongue working again!"
Obediently, Rock went back to work eating his chocolate sundae while I rocketed back into my orgasm again. I couldn't scream out-how fucking unfair that was-and had to keep my jaws and throat clenched to keep myself silenced. Even then, I didn't do a good job of it. Across the hall, Kaylee began to whoop in her crib.
"See what you're done!" I screamed the dog. "You've woken her up and now I have to stop this shit!" Only, the shit was unstoppable and I made no effort to free myself of Rock's ears and tongue as he blasted my brain apart. Every neuron in my body was firing spasmodically. I thought I might shake apart into my individual components: a Hailey torso; a Hailey head, brain short-circuiting regardless of not being attached to its clitoris anymore; two madly gesticulating Hailey arms; Hailey legs beating themselves remorselessly against the bedclothes in confusion. If I couldn't hold him there any longer, would he continue to lick me?
Kaylee wailed while I wailed in my head. I let this go on an unconscionable fifteen seconds longer, and then I released Rock's ears and twisted onto my side, locking my knees together. I shook for ten seconds longer, and then somehow managed to croak out "I'm coming dear. Mommy is coming" before rolling off the bed and hobbling hunch-backed around the bottom of the bed and out the bedroom door. On the bed, panting heatedly, Rock gave me the most sorrowful, hangdog look. Rock wanted more from me that a tasty treat. Rock wanted to fuck me. And God please forgive me, I wanted to fuck him just as badly.
It was three hours later. Kaylee was down for her afternoon nap and I was distractedly cleaning the kitchen and thinking about Rock. I was thinking about how, had Kaylee not woken up, I might have offered myself to him. I'd been called a bitch before, but never like that.
Would I fuck a dog? In hindsight, alone in the kitchen with my baby asleep upstairs, Rock safely outside with the doors locked, the answer was no. It was hard enough to believe I'd let him between my legs.
No, I thought wryly, it was hard to believe what an orgasm I'd experienced. Not even heavy-handed Henry, with his penchant for yanking my hair out by the roots while he devastated my asshole and rectum, not even Henry did that to me. Mike? Forget it, I thought, laughing.
Looking out the window, I spotted Rock worrying a rawhide bone. What had started out the size of a large ham-hock had been whittled down to no more than the size of my own fist. I looked at my fist, thinking I should punch myself in the head. Cavorting with a dog, I swear.
I wondered, rather uncomfortably, what diseases a dog's tongue might impart to my chocolate bar. The term, invented only this morning at the hands-pardon me, the tongue-of a wild beast, made me grin. I was incorrigible. I was also, incredibly horny. I began to think about the bed again, Rock's insistent tongue, biting my pillow, that incredible orgasm. Of its own accord, my left hand released the two buttons necessary to allow it access to my breasts, while my right hand stole down the front on my sweats, inside my panties, and found my clitoris. I bowed forward, thighs spreading, knees bending, heartbeat increasing. I started to imagine Rock not only licking me, but butting me with his snout, goading me into a sitting position as I tried to understand his intent, realizing with something like horror that he wanted me on my hands and knees, in mounting position, and me being unable to stop myself. I moaned, opening my eyes to discover my forehead pressed against the inside of the windowpane. Outside, Rock was no longer worrying the rawhide bone, but standing, facing me, his bearing one of intense concentration as he watched me masturbate through the window. And even as I watched, Rock moved toward the back door and I moved to let him in.
I was naked again. I sat at the edge of the mattress, hands on my knees, every part of my body shaking. Rock sat a few feet away, watching with his huge black eyes, panting, his tongue ready. I could barely breath I was so scared. What didn't help was the 8" long cock sticking up from between his legs. It was slickly, sickeningly wet, a starburst of angry red capillaries covering an otherwise thick, gray protrusion. It was not like any cock I'd ever seen before, certainly not like a man's. There was no head; rather, a cup-like hollow at the end with a hole in the middle. The thing had grown out of a black sheath. There was a frightening large knot at the base, the size of a baseball, a vivid, garish, dangerous red. It was the cock that had me shaking in fear. And what I might do to it.
I licked my lips, looked from Rock to the bedroom door. My daughter slept across the hall while her mother considered fucking a dog. What kind of mother was I to even think such a thing? What kind of a woman? The words deviant, perverted and depraved came to mind. Why was I thinking this? And why was I dropping to the floor for a better look?
As soon as I hit my knees, Rock moved forward. My shaking was uncontrollable and so was the chattering of my teeth. Before I could do anything, Rock surprised me by leaning forward and licking, first the nipple of my left breast, and then my right, one after the other. The shock elicited a strangled moan followed by an eruption of gooseflesh. I unconsciously crossed my arms over my chest and hunched my shoulders. My nipples, now wet and hard, tingled from the contact. Where in the name of God had he learned to do that?
"Have you done this before?" I croaked.
Panting, Rock cocked his head to the side and seemed to shake it in denial. I laughed explosively, feeling my nipples harden to achy little points and gooseflesh explode all over my upper body. My shaking doubled in intensity. I said in denial: "You didn't just shake your head."
Though Rock gave no indication that he had understood the question, my shaking didn't lessen. I felt like a runaway surrounded by a renegade biker gang about to perform gang rape. The part of my brain in charge of my arms didn't seem to work, as I couldn't pry my crossed arms off my chest. With his previous targets covered, Rock leaned forward and licked my mouth.
"Oh, God," I moaned, shuddering. My eyes closed. I ran my own tongue across my lips. Though wet, they had no distinctive, canine taste. If they had, I would have just died. Instead, I licked them again and parted my eyelids far enough to let me see Rock lean forward to lick my mouth again. Of their own accord, my arms dropped away and Rock turned his attention to my aching nipples instead.
"Oh, God, Rock," I moaned. How could having my nipples licked send me into such a state of total discombobulation? My arms hung limply at my side, hands uselessly on the carpet. My head I held erect in case Rock wanted to lick my lips again. He did, sensing, I'm sure, that I wanted it. Every muscle in my body shook double-time; the muscles in my groin spasmed. I felt the lubricant being excreted in my vagina. I felt disgustingly, sopping wet. I wanted his cock so badly I wanted to die.
There was no in between. One moment, I was sitting on my calves having my breasts and mouth attended to, the next I was bent over on my hands and knees, head beneath Rock's body with my mouth wrapped around the end of his cock. I sucked it greedily, clumsily, inexpertly, feeling the lubricant factory between my legs push into high gear in preparation of receiving that magnificent tube of flesh. Not that my insides needed excess lubrication. The surface of Rock's cock was covered with the most marvelously slick and slimy and horrid tasting lubricant imaginable. The instant it came into contact with my taste buds, my rear end rose, my legs splayed, and I wanted Rock's twin brother fucking me, rutting me just as his master had done so often. No wonder Henry called me his bitch.
"Mnnnnnnnnn," I moaned around the cock. A stream of fluid was spurting into my mouth. It wasn't cum, I didn't think, but some kind of seminal fluid. God, I hoped it wasn't pee because I was swallowing it as fast as Rock was putting it in my mouth. Or trying to, anyway; as much fluid as went down my throat escaped out the corner of my mouth and ran disgustingly down my cheek and into my ear and hair. I shivered at the revoltingly delightful intensity of it. I began to move my mouth up and down his cock. Rock began to whine alarmingly, raise and lower all four legs and shake them anxiously. He butted my ribs with his snout. I sank closer to the ground until finally my nipples were brushing the carpet and my right cheek was in danger of getting carpet burns. All the while, Rock thrust forward into my mouth convulsively, making it impossible to find a rhythm. I didn't care. I wanted his cock in my mouth, my cheek grinding against the carpet, my neck twisted almost to the breaking point, and my ass cocked in the air like a target for a heat-seeking missile. Rock's heat seeking missile. I wanted him in me so badly that I almost considered releasing him from my mouth. Almost. And then Rock came.
It was not like the orgasm of a man. There was no "Oh my God I'm gonna cum!" no going rigid in anticipation, no clutching me to him as the first spurts of hot jizm barreled down his cock and into my vagina-asshole-mouth. It was a change of pitch in his whining and an alteration in his manic sidestepping, a change in the viscosity and texture of his output. Suddenly it was sperm pumping into my mouth rather than seminal fluid. It took a moment for reality to catch up, and then I was answering with an orgasm of my own, powerful, unattended as my hands were planted firmly on the floor supporting me. An orgasm raucous, commanding, authoritative and a dozen other words that fail to describe the intensity. I could feel, though nothing was in them yet, a huge cock exploding sperm into my vagina and asshole, could feel the thrusting, demanding presence of them, knew that no human cock could imitate the phantom presence of Rock filling my cavities with cum. Mentally, if not physically, Rock had performed the impossible task of making his bitch airtight.
And then it was over.
Ten minutes later, I lay collapsed on the bedroom floor. Rock was across the room by the bedroom door, licking himself quietly, waiting to be let out. I hadn't the strength. I hadn't the strength to lift my head. I hadn't the strength to close my legs, though I had no objection to Rock returning and having some fun there. But he seemed no more interested in me than any other lover after orgasm. I felt discarded, though wonderfully so. I wondered what it would be like, next time, when I had him mount me. In the room across the hall, Kaylee cried out for her mommy. I still couldn't get up. And then finally, I did.
Crawling toward the door, I was vaguely aware of Rock rising to his feet and moving aside to let me pass. I had just made it into the hallway when his snout came up between my thighs, pressed into my sopping lips and buried itself there while that delightful tongue made its reacquaintance with my clit. I was still there half an hour later, making the most incredible noise as my baby girl added her own wail to the chorus.
Part 2: Rock and Mark
It was two days later. (Wednesday, December 14) Mike was still in Atlantic City. I sat at my desk, browsing the Internet on my laptop. I had found a website called Kristen's Collection that featured stories about women and dogs. I was pop-eyed at all the stories written by women who claimed to fuck their dogs. Though many were poorly written chunks of pure pornography, obviously written by men, enough had the ring of truth to make me believe that I was merely the tip of the iceberg.
Of the real stories, the ones that affected me most were those where, like myself, the woman blundered into sex with her dog, whether by chance, or by very bad luck. Both had happened to me.
"Jesus," I muttered in disbelief. I had just read where an 18-year-old named Stacy had sex with eight dogs. This happened over a weekend when her parents and both sisters were away. The dogs gang-banged the poor girl. To my horror, I was more turned on by her story than appalled.
Of course, the story was fiction. No girl, no matter how stupid, gets gang-banged by eight dogs. It was the absurdness that made it so arousing. No true story could have raised my blood pressure ten points, made my heart beat erratically, soaked the crotch of my panties or make me want to rip off my clothes. As it was, I had my sweater pushed up over my breasts, my bra undone, and the front of my jeans unzipped. I could smell myself and it wasn't pleasant. I dreaded the moment Kaylee would wake up and force me away from the computer.
Poor Kaylee. What a terrible mother I was. Two days before, I had listened to her squall for half an hour while I let a dog mount me in the upstairs hallway. I had debased myself and became the property of a dog: rutted, scratched all over the backs of my calves, my thighs, the sides of my ribcage and even my belly and torso where Rock had gripped me with his forepaws. And God help me I had l loved it. Loved it enough to not care if my 6 month old lay squalling in the next room, wanting her mother. Thank God I didn't let the dog knot me. I didn't know what the knot was for, or I might have. I knew what it was for now, though.
I looked over at the bedroom door where Rock lay on his belly, watching me. I knew what he wanted. I'd known what he'd wanted ever since the middle of Monday afternoon: More of Hailey. More of Mrs. Whitfield. More of that thing between her legs, both for his abrasive tongue, and for his huge, disgusting dog-cock. Shuddering, I looked away.
"I'm not doing it," I muttered. This was the litany I'd recited for two days running. I'm not doing it. So far, I hadn't. I could feel myself loosing resolve, though, growing closer to the moment or the circumstance that would put me on my knees and invite him into my mouth, crouched beneath him while he rutted me with his dog-cock. Either way, I wanted it. To a lesser degree I wanted him between my legs with that incredible tongue of his, making me moan and writhe crazily. That would come first. Sucking would come later. Then I'd offer myself to be mounted just as he so obviously wanted me to and become his bitch. I knew it was almost time when I started thinking of myself as his bitch.
"I'm not doing it," I muttered again. I said this even as I wiggled my panties and jeans off my hips, down my thighs past my knees and kicked out of them. I grabbed my panties off the floor and tossed them across the room to land right in front of Rock's nose. He jerked back, and then leaned forward again for a sniff. His ears instantly lay back against the sides of his head. I watched his fur ruffle and his back arch. I watched him prod the panties with his nose, snuffle them loudly, and whine. It was the same whine he'd made when I first bent low and put my mouth around his cock. He began to shiver expectantly. My hands went between my legs; the fingers of my left hand spreading the hood of my clitoris while the tip of my middle finger located its head. It didn't take long to start panting. My heartbeat jumped and my blood pressure went through the ceiling. I breathed through my open mouth and could feel my nostrils flaring wide. I prayed Kaylee wouldn't wake up, that Rock wouldn't do anything to awaken her. I slid forward on the seat of the chair. Through half-open eyes I looked at him and said, "I'm doing it, Rock. Come and get me."
It was wrong. To do this was perverted. To do this was illegal in 27 states. It was not illegal in Connecticut. I know because I looked it up. It was one of the first things I looked up. It wouldn't have stopped me anyway, even if it were. It's nobodies business what I do in my own home. I wasn't hurting Rock. Myself, yes, my family, yes, but not Rock. The laws are aimed at protecting animals, not people. I could hurt myself all I wanted.
Rock arose, picked up my panties and approached. Stopping a foot from the juncture of my thighs, he watched intently what my fingers were doing to me. His snout ticked back in forth, seemingly in rhythm with my middle finger. My panties swayed gently back and forth between his teeth. His sides went in and out with each of his breaths and his tail twitched anxiously. He looked almost like he planned to take a bite out of me. I hoped that wasn't his plan, as I had no intention of slowing or stopping my middle finger. I wouldn't stop until he dropped my panties and moved forward to lick me. He dropped my panties.
"Oh, God," I moaned. His tongue, as rough as a washcloth, lapped upward to well above the crest of my labia. I shuddered convulsively and grabbed the sides of the chair. I slid forward so that my bottom hung over the end of the seat cushion, spreading my legs as wide as the arms of the chair would allow them. It was plenty wide enough. On his next lick, Rock pushed between my lips and dragged through the opening of my vagina and over the unprotected nub of my clit. It made me suck in breath convulsively and gasp, much too loudly. I listened; sure I had awoken Kaylee.
"Please don't let her wake up," I moaned. "Please." I drew out the word, as a desperate prayer. I listened, but Kaylee remained quiet. I did something that I hadn't done before. I put my fingertips between my legs and spread myself wide open for Rock's tongue. On the next pass, he licked deep inside my vagina and made me almost rocket out of the chair when he abraded my exposed clitoris. I groaned loud enough to wake Kaylee up in the next county. She didn't wake up. Rock licked me again and made me moan even louder. I tried to pull my fingers away, tried to protect myself against the assault on my unprotected tissues, but my fingers wouldn't obey. They spread me further apart. They allowed a deeper, more damaging assault to take place. They exposed me to the maximum wrath of his tongue.
At some point, my legs pulled of their own accord, pressing against my breasts. This allowed Rock to lick the long divide between my cheeks, including my asshole in his assault, licking my entirety. There was no more he could lick and he licked it all thoroughly. I thought I would die. I thought I would liquefy. I felt like a living orgasm. Rock loved my taste or he faked it admirably. I thought he would lick me all afternoon long. Suddenly he sat down.
"Whaaaat?" I demanded. I couldn't get my breath. I couldn't make my mind function. I wasn't even shivering I was so far gone. I looked through half-opened lids and saw two Rocks sitting there. "Whaaat?" I repeated. Rock snorted and shook his head.
Imagine, being rejected by a dog. "What? You've had enough of me?" I asked in a croaking, strangled voice. Rock didn't answer, only snorted lightly and licked his snout. I realized then that I had been licked until nothing was left of me to taste. It would be like me licking my arm, or the palm of my hand for hours. All my savoriness was gone.