﻿And Your Little Dog, Too

by Pan



Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:01:05
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,967
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/AndYourLittleDogToo/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: The only thing Betsy hates more than her husband’s new workmate, Sue, is her pet.
Erotica Tags: be, fd, ff, mc, mf





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3



	Chapter 1

It was stupid to be jealous of Sue. Betsy knew that.

More than stupid. It was weird.

She’d never been jealous before, not really. She just wasn’t the jealous type. Even when her ex had cheated on her—it had been the betrayal that had stung, not any fear of being replaced, or fury about having ‘her man’ stray.

And she knew that Dan would never cheat on her. He was the most loyal, loving husband she could imagine.

On paper, it made no sense. She wasn’t the jealous type, Dan wasn’t the kind who would cheat.

But god…there was just something about Sue.

Betsy had been the one pushing her husband to make friends at work. He’d hated his high-paying job for so long—she should have been _thrilled_ that there was someone at Invotech that he actually got along with.

But here she was, jealous of her husband’s workmate.

And for no good reason! She’d never even _met_ Sue!

It was the way Dan spoke about her. No, more than that—it was the way he went out of his way to do special favors for her. He’d sometimes stay late at work; not for his projects, but to help Sue with hers. On more than one occasion, they’d had to cancel date night so he could assist Sue.

Once, they’d been in the middle of a date when he’d gotten a call. Betsy hadn’t been able to hear Sue’s voice on the other end of the line, but she could imagine it—it would be sickly-sweet, she somehow knew. That kind of voice that men loved, but which drove her up the wall.

She’d asked Dan how old Sue was, and he’d seemed confused by the question. “Young, I guess. Just a kid.”

Betsy could picture her now. Blonde, probably. And busty. Always wearing tank tops, and button-up shirts with the first few buttons undone. She’d probably put her hair in pigtails, if she could get away with it.

She just _hated_ her. They’d never met, she had no reason, but she hated her.

Dan had ended the call, and looked at Betsy with an apologetic look.

“Sue?” she’d asked dryly.

“Yeah,” he’d replied. “Her car is out of gas—she…—“

“Go,” Betsy had said with a wave. She couldn’t tell her husband _not_ to rescue his workmate-in-distress, could she? What kind of wife would that make her?

She was a good wife. She had no issue with her husband having friends.

Even _Sue_.

And then there was Atwood.

“Why are we taking the dog?” Betsy had asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Sue’s new landlord doesn’t allow pets,” Dan patiently explained.

“I get that,” Betsy replied. “But why are _we_ taking the dog?”

“We’re the only people Sue knows who own a house,” Dan responded, and suddenly…they had a pet.

He’d explained that it was temporary, that Sue had a new place lined up. But in the meantime, her small yappy dog, ‘Atwood’, was clattering across the floors, filling the house with his doggie smell, and acting as a beacon for Betsy’s hate.

She liked to say that she didn’t _hate_ anyone, but that clearly wasn’t true. After thirty-odd years of avoiding it, Betsy now hated two beings: Sue, the bitch her husband worked with, and Atwood, her little doggie.

Again, it didn’t really make sense. Objectively, Atwood was as good a dog as one could hope for. He made it clear when he wanted to go outside for a walk (a task which seemed to entirely be Betsy’s responsibility, for some reason) and he was perfectly trained. Sit, stand, shake hands, play dead.

‘Stay dead’ had done nothing except confuse him…but even Betsy had to admit that wasn’t really the dog’s fault.

Her husband seemed to be spending more and more time with his workmate, which meant Betsy was frequently alone in the house, staring at the stupid mutt, practically glowing with hate.

She didn’t know a thing about dogs. He seemed like a…medium-size dog? Larger than a chihuahua, smaller than Clifford. He had floppy ears, and brown fur with specks of white.

Betsy despised him.

“Stupid dog,” she muttered, as he pranced ahead of him on his leash.

“Idiot hound,” she spat, as she poured him another bowl of food.

“Get a job,” she hissed at him as he stared at the door to the back yard, wanting to be let out.

On more than one occasion, she was awoken in the middle of the night by him racing from one end of the house to the other. By the time the adrenaline faded (her half-awake mind consistently assumed it was an intruder of some kind), she’d lose at least an hour or two of sleep, and stumble groggily into work the next day.

Eventually, she had enough.

“The dog has to go,” she panted.

“Hmmm?”

“The dog,” Betsy grunted. “I want to get rid of it.”

“Can we talk about this later?”

“No,” Betsy moaned, moving her husband’s hand to her breast. “I want to talk about it now.”

Dan shot her a puzzled look. Pulling his wife off him, he moved to the side of the bed.

“Why’d you stop?” she pouted.

There was a pause, as Dan caught his breath.

“Betsy,” he finally said. “I don’t want to talk about Atwood halfway through sex.”

Betsy rolled her eyes. She loved her husband, but he could be such a prude sometimes.

“Fine,” she said, crawling across the bed. “We’ll talk about it later…”

As she slipped her husband’s cock into her mouth, staring up at him seductively, she realized she could taste her own wetness. With a smile, she closed her eyes and orally pleasured her husband until he unloaded into her mouth.

But they didn’t talk about it later. For whatever reason, the topic only occurred to Betsy when they were making love.

Something they were doing a _lot_ more of.

They’d always had a great sex life, but ever since Dan had begun spending more and more time with Sue, it had escalated. Not that Betsy was complaining—she’d always had a higher libido than her husband. In the early days of their marriage, it had even caused some problems.

But this? This was an aspect of her husband’s infatuation with Sue that she _liked_. And it also served as even more evidence he wasn’t cheating on her—there was no way that he’d have the energy to keep Sue satisfied _and_ take care of her as often as he was.

He wasn’t home much, but when he was, they were almost always in the sack. He’d come home from Sue’s weekly poker night, reeking of cigarettes (neither of them smoked, but Sue’s entire gang apparently did), and drunkenly grope her. A part of her knew she should be annoyed, turn him down…but instead, she’d just roll over and let him have his way, timing her orgasm to match his.

Thoughts of Atwood came to mind almost every time Dan entered her. _Atwood_. That damn dog. She was sick of taking care of it—feeding it, bathing it, picking up after it. She felt like she spent more time with Atwood than with her own husband.

_Gotta talk to Dan about this,_ she’d think, each and every time, but she never did. It was like her orgasm completely wiped it off her mental todo list.

Sometimes she’d wake her husband up with a blowjob. As her head bobbed up and down, she’d remember.

_Atwood. Atwood. Atwood. Talk to Dan about Atwood._

But as he unloaded down her throat, her fingers dancing between her legs, she’d completely forget about it and go and make him some waffles.

As soon as he left, the dog would wander in and she’d remember, cursing herself for not talking about it while she had the chance.

One night, as she was pacing back and forth, waiting for Dan to get home, she had a brilliant idea.

“Uh…”

“What’s wrong, honey?” Betsy purred. As soon as he’d walked through the door, she’d pulled him into the bedroom and straddled him.

He was hard, of course. He always was, after staying late with Sue.

“The, uh…the dog.”

Betsy beamed. If Atwood was _in the room_ while they made love, his presence would remind her to bring it up.

Of course, she couldn’t tell her husband that. She didn’t want to have that conversation, not yet. Not until after he’d taken care of her needs…and she’d taken care of his.

“I think he gets lonely,” she lied. Dan shot her a strange look, but before he could ask any more questions, she pulled down her top and moved his mouth to her hard nipple.

_Sue’s tits are probably bigger,_ she couldn’t help but think as he sucked on them.

That was a strange thought.

She pulled her breast out of his mouth, and slithered to her knees. Her husband stared down at her lovingly as she moved his thick cock to her mouth.

_Sue’s probably better at giving head, too._

Betsy shook her head, trying to clear it of these odd, obtrusive thoughts.

After just a few short licks, she decided to skip straight to the main event. Why not? She was soaked, and Dan was hard as a rock.

Groaning with pleasure as she lowered her wetness onto her husband’s, Betsy was determined not to think of Sue. Not to think of her younger body, how much more lithe and supple it probably was than hers. Dan’s eyes were tightly closed, and Betsy refused to wonder if he was imagining his workmate in her place, picturing Sue’s body wrapped around his instead of his wife’s.

To distract herself, she glanced around the room. To her surprise, Atwood was staring right at them.

She’d heard of this. Dogs were social creatures—they liked to keep tabs on what was going on. He’d probably never seen two people have sex before, and was just observing the proceedings.

Betsy stared into the little dog’s eyes as she raised and lowered her body on her husband’s rod, shudders of pleasure passing through her.

God she loved being fucked.

Of course, there was no guarantee that Atwood had never seen people have sex before. But he _was_ Sue’s little dog, and Betsy was sure that Sue was a slut. Why else would she spend so much time with a married man, flaunting her body, getting him all riled up?

Maybe Atwood _had_ watched people fuck before. Maybe he’d watched Sue.

Maybe he’d watched Sue fuck Dan.

An involuntary groan left Betsy’s mouth at the thought. It made no sense, of course—her husband would never cheat on her, not even with a little slut like Sue.

Still, it was surprisingly hot to think about…

As Betsy stared at Sue’s stupid dog, she started imagining it. Her husband, pumping his hard cock into Sue’s willing, perfectly-shaved pussy. Months ago, before her landlord had made her get rid of Atwood.

The dog watching as they did.

“I’m cumming,” she moaned, and immediately began trembling, her pussy repeatedly contracting around Dan’s erection.

“I’m not there yet,” he grunted in response.

_Gotta stop thinking about Sue,_ Betsy told herself, but it had been oddly cathartic. Cumming while thinking about the other woman…it somehow seemed to rob the harlot of some of her power.

Besides, her husband was faithful. It wasn’t even a question—it was a fact.

And so Betsy closed her eyes, and focused on the sensations of her husband inside her. His long cock, filling her up again and again. His hands, urgently grasping her back. She pictured what they were doing—him, laying on the bed. Her, riding him like her life depended on it.

Atwood, watching from the side.

“Almost there,” her husband gasped, and she opened her eyes. Atwood was staring straight at her.

Did he know? Did he know they were about to cum?

“Now,” Dan exclaimed, and—almost involuntarily—Betsy found herself cumming. For the second time that night, an orgasm washed over her as she made eye-contact with her rival’s pet dog.

As her pussy clenched around Dan’s cock, he jerkily thrust inside her. She could feel his dick throb as he came, filling her with his seed.

_I bet he doesn’t do that with Sue,_ she thought proudly.

A puzzled expression came over her as she realized where her mind had wandered once more. Of course he didn’t cum bareback inside Sue. He didn’t cum at _all_ inside Sue. They were just friends. Dan would never, ever cheat on her.

Why did these strange thoughts keep entering her head?

She was still puzzling it over as she got up to let Atwood out of the room.


	Chapter 2

It made no sense to be jealous of Sue. Betsy was just suffering from basic, everyday insecurity, and her housemate was just…an easy target for them. Low-hanging fruit, so to speak.

Not that anything about Sue was low-hanging.

The young woman had one of the firmest, fittest bodies that Betsy had ever seen. Her breasts almost seemed to defy gravity—Betsy had seen her housemate walk around without a bra on countless occasions, and her breasts had never showed even the slightest hint of sagging.

And her ass…empires could have been built upon that ass, and Betsy swore it would never have budged.

But Sue’s body wasn’t why Betsy was jealous. It was her boyfriend, Dan.

He and Sue seemed to have some kind of…special relationship. Nothing sexual, of course—Betsy knew that Dan would never, ever cheat on her. The idea simply wouldn’t occur to him.

No, that wasn’t the issue.

It was the way they…flirted. Well, flirted wasn’t quite the word for it. Flirting suggests intent, a deliberate action or attitude. It was the sexual tension.

A strange sexual tension seemed to crackle between Betsy’s boyfriend and her housemate. Dan would get home from work, and if Sue was around, the room would be filled with an _energy_.

They’d never even done anything wrong. Betsy had never seen so much as a suggestive glance between them. She had no reason to be suspicious, nothing concrete to be annoyed about.

But here she was, jealous of her housemate.

The sexual tension wasn’t the only reason, of course. Sue just seemed to have a blessed life. She was independently wealthy, and so she never had to go to work—Dan and Betsy, meanwhile, were struggling just to cover their monthly rent. Sue was always happy, and everyone _loved_ her—she had a natural charm, which seduced even the grumpiest of folk.

Betsy probably would have loved her as well…if she hadn’t hated her so much.

Her hatred even extended to Sue’s little dog, too. Atwood. Every time she entered or exited a room, there it was, staring at her.

God she hated that dog.

Sometimes she’d be masturbating (something she found herself doing more and more recently) and she’d look up to find Atwood sitting there, looking at her.

As if to teach the mutt who was boss, Betsy wouldn’t stop. She’d just lay there, rubbing herself, staring into the dog’s big brown eyes.

“I hate you,” she’d hiss as she came, again and again. Her most powerful orgasms were always when she was angrily glaring at it.

Sue probably never even needed to masturbate. She probably had a stream of buff guys, ready to pleasure her at a moment’s notice.

Betsy was lucky to even get so much as a kiss from her boyfriend.

Not that it his fault, of course—he was busy at work. As well as that, for extra cash, Sue had offered him some part-time work. Betsy wasn’t sure of the details, but Dan was out a lot, leaving Betsy bored, missing him, trapped in the house with Sue…and Atwood.

To make matters worse, Sue was kind. Supportive. Empathetic. When Betsy and her boyfriend weren’t able to cover their share of an electricity bill, she picked it up without question. She even offered to cover them in the future—in exchange, all she was for them to help her take care of Atwood—feeding him, taking him for walks.

_Help_. Not even do it all themselves. That’s how fucking kind she was.

And with Dan out of the house so frequently, Betsy found the responsibility falling on her shoulders. Walking the dumb dog, cleaning out its bowl.

She didn’t even _like_ pets.

Betsy’s life seemed to just rotated between four states: sleeping, working, taking care of the dog, and getting off while staring into Atwood’s eyes and silently cursing him. The only times she saw her boyfriend was when they were asleep in bed, or hanging out with their housemate. She felt like she was constantly on edge—taking care of Atwood stressed her out, her sleep was regularly disrupted by her boyfriend getting in and out of bed, her performance at work was on a steady decline, and even masturbation wasn’t providing her with the release she so desperately needed.

Things came to a head during one of Sue’s poker nights. She’d begged her boyfriend not to play—he lost money as often as he won, and she wanted his rare night off to be spent with _her_ , as a couple.

“I have to,” Dan had told her gently. “Sue’s our housemate; it would be rude not to. Plus, she’s sort of my boss. You know I can’t say no.”

Betsy reluctantly agreed.

She sat on the couch glumly as the house filled with strangers. Sue’s friends—she’d never really gotten to know them.

It wasn’t long before the house stank of cigarettes. Since she didn’t play poker, she’d somehow ended up in the role of impromptu waitress—bringing the players beer, cleaning up their empties. She used her time in the smoke-filled kitchen to keep an eye on the game. Dan, to her relief, seemed to be doing pretty well.

As the night continued, players dropped out and went home. Soon, it was just Dan and Sue…and Sue was winning.

“Call it now,” Betsy begged.

“Can’t,” her boyfriend replied shortly, shaking his head. “It’s winner takes all.”

“It’s okay,” Sue smiled. “We can stop whenever you like.”

_Bitch_ , Betsy thought, completely unfairly. For some reason, her housemate’s words egged the young wife on.

“Keep playing,” she said, placing her hand firmly on her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Win.”

Without knowing Poker, the next hour didn’t make a lot of sense to Betsy. At one point, her boyfriend was extremely happy to have a lot of fives. A little later, he seemed happy to have no fives at all.

The game continued, Dan and Sue removing clothes as they played. It wasn’t long before Sue was completely naked—Betsy had thought her body looked good within clothes. Without them, she was simply _flawless_. Her breasts sat high and proud, her nipples pointed forward. She’d occasionally get up to go around the table and look at Dan’s cards; each time she got up, Betsy found herself unable to remove her eyes from the younger woman’s ass. Her pussy was perfectly shaved, and her skin didn’t have so much as a blemish.

Betsy was relieved to see that Dan didn’t give Sue’s naked body so much as a glance. The sexual charge that normally filled the room when they were together was somehow gone, replaced with the intense focus that poker brought.

Standing beside her boyfriend, Betsy reached down to give his penis a supportive tug. It was hard as a rock, and she was tempted to crawl under the table and blow him. Partially for luck, but mostly because it had been so long since she’d tasted her boyfriend’s cock.

God she missed the taste

In the end, Betsy decided not to distract him. The stakes were too high. Instead, she sat beside him, and fondled his balls as he played.

“Three threes,” Sue beamed.

“Two twos,” Dan replied. The two of them could have been reciting Latin for all Betsy understood, but her boyfriend’s tone told her all she needed to know.

He’d lost.

Sue reached out and raked the night’s winnings to her side of the table. Betsy felt completely deflated.

Great. How could this night possibly get any worse?

“Honey,” Dan said, a waver in his voice. “I…”

“What?”

“I have some bad news.”

Betsy narrowed her eyes. As Sue counted the money she’d won that night, she clued into what had happened.

“…how much?”

“Our rent. I swear, I thought the next card was going to be a five.”

“Our _rent_?”

Betsy’s voice went up a full octave in pitch as she processed what her boyfriend had said. Not only had he played—and lost—but the stakes had inexplicably been _ten times higher_ than normal.

They were already swimming in debt. They’d borrowed money from anyone who would lend it to them. What were they meant to do now??

“That was your rent?”

Sue’s voice was always so high, so sickly-sweet. It made Betsy’s skin crawl.

“Dan, honey, I had no idea. I never would have let you…—“

“I wanted to,” Dan said firmly, cutting the much younger woman off. “I wanted to play.”

“But honey…”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Betsy said flatly. She was still struggling to deal with the reality of the situation.

There was a long pause. The seconds turned into minutes as Betsy tried to calculate their possibilities. She’d already gotten an advance on her paycheque—twice. Her parents were even more broke than she was, AND she’d borrowed several thousand dollars from them in the last few months. Their landlord wasn’t the kind to offer an extension.

They were screwed.

She was just about to close her eyes and let a single, silent tear fall out of her eye…when the silence was broken by Sue’s lilting voice.

“Well…” she said, a kind smile on her face. “If you wanted, I could cover your rent.”

“You’d do that?” Dan asked, hope in his eyes. Betsy wanted to tear them out with a claw-hammer.

“Of course,” Sue smoldered. “I mean, you two are my best friends. I’d hate to have to find new housemates.”

“Thank you so much,” Dan said. “That’s amazing. Seriously, Sue—it means so much to us!”

“Of course…”

Betsy’s eyes narrowed. The sing-song voice was back.

“What?” she spat.

“I mean, I’d need some more help taking care of Atwood.”

“Help? We’re already helping.”

“No,” Sue said, her big blue eyes turning to Betsy. “I mean you’d need to… _take care_ of Atwood.”

It took a moment for the innuendo to sink in. Betsy’s eyes widened.

“What??”

Sue shrugged.

“He gets so lonely,” she explained. “There’s no other dogs around here, and…he has needs.”

“You want me to…”

“Yes,” Sue replied, staring straight into Betsy’s eyes.

Betsy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She turned to her boyfriend.

“Dan, you can’t…”

Her boyfriend was staring at Sue, a familiar look in his eyes. Betsy’s heart sank. She knew that she’d find no help here.

“Sue,” she said, turning back to her housemate. “Please. You can’t really expect me to…”

She trailed off, not even able to say it out loud.

“Sue…please?”

The young woman just smiled at her. A kind, gentle smile.

The kind, gentle smile of a woman who was making her housemate have sex with her dog.

With a sigh, Betsy nodded.

“Fine.”

“You’re in?”

“ _Fine,_ ” she repeated. “I’ll do it.”

“Great!” Sue said, clapping her hands with joy. “Oh, Atwood will be so excited.”

Sue bustled out of the room to get her dog, and Betsy turned to her boyfriend.

“Honey, you can’t seriously be okay with this…”

Dan shrugged, and reached up to stroke his goatee.

“It’s really quite a generous offer, if you think about it.”

“Seriously??”

“I’m just saying—Sue would be well within her rights to boot us out. She does own the place, after all. But this way, we all get to keep living together. You, me, Sue. Atwood. Do you know what the rental market is like these days? ”

Betsy didn’t. They’d all been living in the same house for as long as she could remember.

“You’re right,” she reluctantly admitted. “It could be a lot worse.”

“Exactly,” Dan beamed. “Chin up. I love you, honey.”

“I love you too,” Betsy sighed.

“Sit,” Sue instructed, and the dog sat in front of Betsy, staring up at her expectantly.

“G’night, honey.”

“Good luck,” Sue said, grabbing Dan’s hand and pulling him out of the room. “We’re going to bed.”

Betsy’s shoulders slumped, and she turned to Atwood.

It seemed this was her life now.


	Chapter 3

It was wrong.

Betsy knew it was wrong. It was so, so wrong.

But the fact that it was wrong didn’t make it any less true.

She was jealous of her Mistress.

That wasn’t her role. Her role was to serve and obey. Her feelings didn’t come into it. She was only meant to _have_ feelings when Mistress told her to.

But here she was, jealous of her Mistress.

Betsy had a wonderful life. Each morning, she was fed. Sometimes Mistress—or, on rare occasions, Master—would bathe her. She’d wander the house, take care of Atwood’s needs whenever he needed it, and settle down for a full night’s sleep.

She was lucky that her Mistress and Master let her live with them and took such good care of her.

But she wanted _more_.

Sometimes she’d sit in the room as Mistress and Master copulated. It reminded her of what she and Atwood did, except her Mistress and Master had access to so many more positions. They weren’t restrained by biology, like Atwood was. Mistress would sit on Master’s lap; he’d suckle on her large breasts (much larger than Betsy’s) while Mistress bounced up and down on him, his cock filling her up her again and again.

Betsy would watch, transfixed. She loved pleasing Atwood, of course, but there was something _about_ Master…he was just so big. So manly.

She just _knew_ that they’d be such a great fit.

It made no logical sense, of course. Betsy’s role was to serve, to be Atwood’s plaything, to be Mistress’s slave. But when Atwood was napping and everyone else was out, she’d find herself spending hours staring at pictures of Master on the wall, her heart yearning.

She loved him.

Falling in love with Master. It was probably a very common occurrence, but it didn’t make Betsy feel any less _stupid_. She wasn’t worthy of her Master’s affection; that was obvious just from looking at her. The Masters of the world ended up with the Mistresss, with their perfect bodies, their charm, their grace.

Betsy, with her floppy ears, her furry belly—she’d never be able to compete with Mistress. She knew that, deep in her heart.

But it didn’t stop her from _wanting_.

“Betsy!”

Betsy made her way into the kitchen, where her Mistress and Master were waiting, big smiles on their face.

“Ruff ruff ruff?” she asked, and Master reached down to pat her.

Her whole body shivered at his touch.

“We got you a snack,” Mistress said, in her sing-song voice. Betsy loved her Mistress.

Well, she knew that she _should_ love her Mistress. But in that moment, looking at the two of them standing together…all she could feel was jealousy.

Mistress pulled out a brittle doggy-snack. Betsy resisted for a second, but quickly bounded towards her Mistress and enthusiastically gobbled the snack down, directly from her hand.

Her love for Mistress may have faded, but her love of snacks was unaffected.

Master and Mistress sat around for a few minutes, talking about whatever boring Human matters they needed to discuss, before Mistress stood up, removed her top, and pulled Master into the bedroom with her.

A tingling quickly filled Betsy’s body. She knew exactly what her Mistress and Master were about to get up to.

Typically Betsy would wait for Atwood to find her before she helped release his needs, but when she felt tingly like this, she was compelled to seek him out. He was dozing on the stairs—she moved her soft mouth between his legs, and took his semi-hard doggie dick in her mouth.

She sometimes wished that Atwood and her could speak to each other like Mistress and Master, but that just wasn’t her lot in life. She wasn’t a Human, and she never would be.

As much as she yearned for Human life.

Before long, Atwood was fully hard. For the next few minutes, Mistress licked and sucked on his dick, until the small dog was awake, staring down at her blearily.

It took him barely a moment to realize what she wanted, and she was on all fours, her ass in the air, her face pressed against the carpet as Atwood clumsily mounted her.

He was hardly an elegant lover—she needed to reach down and get him into position. Once he started, it was just several minutes of crude thrusting, his cock pistoning in and out of her while his paws rested on the fur on her back.

But Betsy didn’t need an elegant lover. She just needed to be fucked.

Before long, she was shuddering with pleasure as she climaxed again and again, picturing what her Mistress and Master must be doing in the next room.

Picturing herself in Mistress’s place.

It was wrong, she knew that. So very wrong. To picture herself displacing her Mistress, replacing her in Master’s life. To imagine Master kissing her like he kissed Mistress, holding her, touching her, taking her…

She loved Atwood, and she knew that Atwood loved her. Serving _him_ was his purpose. She existed to please her Mistress and Master, but not like that. Not like an _equal_.

But no matter what she did, she just couldn’t get the image out of her head. Her and Master, holding hands. Sleeping in a bed together. Getting married…

Atwood’s breathing got even heavier, and his thrusting more erratic as he came. Rope after rope of canine cum filled the furry young woman, and another climax overcame her as it did.

Being with Master was just a crazy dream. Sheathing Atwood’s dick—that was her true purpose. She knew that.

She _knew_ that.

So why couldn’t she stop thinking about alternatives?

For the next forty minutes, Betsy remained in position as Atwood’s knot softened. Her face fell asleep a few minutes before Atwood did—he was slumped against her prone form, snuffling and whiffling in his sleep. It was cute.

She really did care for Atwood. He just…wasn’t Master.

_Master_.

When she could finally escape Atwood’s biological lock, she made her way to the bedroom. It seemed that the Humans were also done copulating. She poked her head around the corner inquisitively—Master was nowhere to be found, but Mistress was sitting on the bed, a satisfied look on her face.

Of course she was satisfied. Betsy would have bet anything that Master left her _very_ satisfied.

“Hello pup,” Mistress said with a warm smile. Betsy yapped in response. Letting her jealousy show would be very unprof…rude. It would be very rude, of that she was sure. “I know I already gave you a snack today, but…want another treat?”

Mistress spread her legs, and Betsy’s eyes lit up. It had been weeks since she’d given Betsy this most special of treats, and no amount of jealousy would be able to stop Betsy from enjoying it.

After a few false starts, she managed to jump up onto the bed. There was a brief pause as Mistress used a pillow to make herself comfortable, then Betsy dove in. She used her snout to sniff out the small crack between Mistress’s legs, and soon her tongue was going as deep as it could, licking up Master’s seed and swallowing it down.

Nothing— _nothing_ —made Betsy feel as satisfied as getting to taste her Master’s cum.

Even when Betsy could no longer detect any trace of the wondrous cream that her Master produced, Mistress held her head between her legs. Betsy kept on exploring, just in case there was more to be found, but she was out of luck. Still, Mistress wanted her to keep licking, and her role was to serve her Mistress.

Before long, Mistress was convulsing with pleasure, and Betsy was treated with another two spurts of Master’s glorious seed, which had been hiding deep inside Mistress.

When she was done, Mistress waved her away with a kind smile, and Betsy made her way back to Atwood. Something about Master’s seed gave her that tingly feeling again—as usual, Atwood was more than happy to help her scratch the itch.

That night, while Betsy slept, strange images entered her head. Herself as a Human, walking around on two legs. Master, but…with a different name. The name that Mistress called him sometimes.

Dan.

_Dan._

The images kept coming, practically tripping over each other as they raced through her brain. Her and Dan at the beach, in a park, at a…church? At their wedding! Her wildest fantasy was in her dream, in glorious technicolor. She could see color!

More and more flashed through her head, until she awoke, gasping. It was raining outside, and she was cuddled up with Atwood in the small doghouse. His body was pressed against hers, keeping her warm despite the chill outside.

None of it had been real. It was just dreams. Vivid, colorful dreams…but dreams nonetheless.

This was her life. Servicing Atwood, obeying the every command of Mistress.

…and Master.

She moaned. The tingly feeling was back, and it was filling every inch of her body. Master was a good, kind man. Gentle, even. He’d never ordered her around—not like Mistress.

But for some reason, she could imagine it.

“On the bed, Betsy,” he’d command. “I’m going to take you. I’m going to take you with my Human cock, and treat you like my Human wife. I’m going to fuck my seed directly into you.”

She shivered with arousal.

“Woof, woof woof,” she barked softly. Atwood ignored her. “Woof!”

He didn’t stir.

“Grrr,” she growled. No response.

Nudging his legs out of the way, Betsy took Atwood’s cock into her mouth once more. Even if she couldn’t rouse him, she was confident in her ability to _arouse_ him.

Betsy smiled at her own pun.

His cock was sticky with her juices from earlier, and completely flaccid, but Betsy listened to her tingles and pressed on. It took almost twenty minutes of sucking before Atwood’s dick began to respond, slowly plumping in her mouth. She continued to suck it, her eyes rolling back in her head.

_If I could just get off without needing Atwood,_ she mused, _this would all be so much easier._

Finally, Atwood was hard. His eyes opened, and as soon as he realized what was happening, he shook his sleepiness away, and enthusiastically mounted Betsy.

It wasn’t easy, pretending the hairy, panting dog on top of her was Master, but Betsy did her best. She could imagine exactly what it would be like to make love to Master. To make love to…

Dan.

In fact, she could imagine it with _incredible_ specificity. The gentle stoke of his hands across her furless back, the way he’d reach between her legs and stimulate her. The taste of his cock, the feeling of his length filling her up.

His mouth, against hers.

Betsy shuddered with pleasure at the images, the fantasies, the flashes of her dreams. She wanted it so much—to be human, to be fucked by her Master.

To be fucked by Dan.

Atwood yelped as he came inside her, far sooner than she was expecting. Far sooner than she wanted.

For the first time she could remember, Betsy was actually _happy_ to be knotted with Atwood. She panted and strained against him, twisting slightly on his cock, stimulating herself even though he could no longer pump in and out of her. Before long, she was cumming, again and again and again. She howled with pleasure as images of Dan’s cum shooting into her wetness filled her mind.

As she came down from her final orgasm, she realized that Atwood had once more fallen asleep inside her. This time, Betsy wasn’t far behind…

The next few days flew by. Her jealousy of Mistress grew and grew, and she was starting to suspect her Mistress could tell. It wasn’t Betsy’s fault that her lips naturally curled when Mistress entered the room—even when Mistress had a treat, Betsy just couldn’t hide her disdain.

It was against the natural order of things, but she…she _hated_ Mistress. She wanted her life, her body, her relationship with Master, and she just couldn’t help it. This jealousy grew and grew, until she couldn’t seem to hide it, no matter how she tried.

Meanwhile, her love of Master seemed to multiply by the day. Each night, she’d go to bed, her heart overflowing with affection for him. She’d dream of a life they could have had together, a life destroyed by Mistress. A happy marriage, a healthy sex life, a house they shared—all taken away by Mistress, and her ever-smiling face.

Betsy was starting to wonder if she was in heat. Atwood was doing all he could to keep up with her sex drive, humping away at her every time she woke him up with her mouth. But even with Atwood inside her at every possible opportunity, it still wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

One week after she’d first realized her jealousy of Mistress, it happened. She woke up in the middle of a starless night, and she knew.

She _knew_.

It wasn’t a dream. This, her waking life— _this_ was the dream. No, dream wasn’t the right word for it.

The nightmare.

Mistress had done something to her. _Sue_ had done something to her.

She’d taken her husband, her house, her body. She’d taken her life, and turned her into a sextoy for her dog.

Betsy marched inside the house—well, ‘marched’. She angrily crawled on all fours, through the doggy door, and up to the master bedroom. _Her_ bedroom.

“Woof!” she declared. “Woof, woof woof woof!”

Master— _Dan_ —stirred slightly, but didn’t wake up.

“Ruff ruff ruff ruff!”

Before she could continue, she felt a hand over her mouth.

Mistress.

_Sue_.

Sue dragged her down the hallway, into the bathroom. Betsy’s claws clattered on the tile floor, and Sue closed the door.

“Sshhh,” she whispered. God, how did she manage to look this beautiful in the middle of the night? She didn’t even have any makeup on. “Betsy, puppers—what on earth is wrong with you.”

“Grrrr,” Betsy growled in a low tone, and Sue dropped to her knees to stare her in the eyes.

After a long pause, she smiled. Not her normal, charming smile—one that revealed her true nature. A smile of dark, sinister intent.

“You know, don’t you?”

Betsy wanted to bark her response, but Mistress’s hand over her mouth silenced her.

“You _know_! You little bitch…you know what’s happening. Ah, I knew the fur was pushing it.”

Sue released Betsy.

“Yap!” she replied triumphantly. “Yap yap yap yap yap!”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Sue said dismissively. “I hear ya. God damn it, I can’t believe you know. How much do you remember? The wedding?”

“Ruff!”

“The car?”

“Woof!”

“The poker game?”

“Yap, yap yap!”

Sue held up one hand, and Betsy—to her horror—found herself obediently falling silent. Some of her Mistress’s commands were just impossible to resist.

“Okay, okay, you remember everything. So I need to…”

Turning back to Betsy, the smile returned to Mistress’s face.

“…actually, I don’t think I need to do anything.”

Betsy’s eyes widened. Sue continued.

“So you know. So what?”

“Ruff?”

“What are you going to do? You can’t speak, and I don’t think Dan would be one to listen. You bite me, I’ll have you put down. No, you know what? I’ll have him do it. And sure, _you_ might not want to take care of Atwood’s needs…but your body will. And I don’t think you’re going to be able to resist.”

Sue leaned in close, looking Betsy straight in the eyes.

“There’s no way out, little pup. You’re going to keep on living this life. The only difference now is…you know what you’re missing. If you’re a bad dog, you’re going to be punished. And if you’re a good girl…”

Sue spread her legs. Her pussy-lips were puffy, and Betsy’s hyper-sensitive nose could smell it; she and Dan had had sex earlier that night. A fresh load of his delicious cum was inside her.

“…you’ll get treats. What’s it going to be, girl?”

Betsy hadn’t had a full night’s sleep all week. Atwood had fucked her four times the previous day, but it wasn’t enough—arousal was fogging her brain, making it hard to think. She was…she could…

“Good girl,” Sue said, leaning against the bathroom door as Betsy’s tongue buried itself inside her. “Who’s my good little doggie…”


End file.
