﻿Brad Tries Again

by Pan



Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:08:04
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,644
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/BradTriesAgain/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: After his failure in the bible belt, Brad returns to the big city and tries to hypnotize his new girlfriend. What could go wrong?
Erotica Tags: be, mc, mf





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3



	Chapter 1

I had just arrived home from a date with Brad when I noticed it.

Brad is the guy I’ve been dating for about a month now. He’s just spent a month or two in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere, and so I think more than anything he’s just happy to be back in the city.

Whenever we go out we’ll drive around for a bit and just hang out in his car and talk. I’m not going to lie; it’s nice to date someone who isn’t just after me for my body.

Not to sound immodest, but I have quite a body.

I dress to hide it (although lately I’ve been mixing things up a bit). You’d think 36DD tits would be pretty hard to hide, but after 21 years of specifically looking for things that hide the girls, I’ve built up quite a wardrobe.

Although lately my two tops which show a bit of cleavage have been working overtime. I don’t know why—I just felt like showing off a bit.

Anyway, like I was saying: it was straight after a date with Brad that I noticed it.

Having a dog in the Big Apple is tricky, but Bruno and I do okay. I take him out to Central Park at least once a day, and my apartment is big enough that he can run around inside as much as he likes.

Honestly, though, if he didn’t need to answer the call of nature, I bet he’d be happy to lay around inside all day. If there was a quick brown fox around, Bruno would be the first canine he targeted.

And so yeah, it was straight after a date that I noticed it.

His dick.

I’ve never particularly paid attention to my dog’s dick before. Who does? It’s always been there, but not, like, _noticeable_.

But for some reason, this time it really caught my eye. When I got home, Bruno loped over to the door to greet me, and I fell to my knees to scratch his head when all of a sudden it was staring me in the face.

His dick.

I don’t know why—something else must have set him off—but Bruno’s cock was as hard as I have ever seen it.

Again, part of owning a male pets is noticing that they sometimes get a hard-on…but I’d never really thought about it before.

He’s not like you and me. He can’t just go jerk off whenever he feel the need. It was something I’d never really put much thought into before, but as soon as the idea popped into my head I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

What did Bruno do when he wanted to get off?

Sometimes he rubs against the furniture (and I think that helps) but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t…cum? Like, I’m sure I would notice if I came home and there was doggy sperm everywhere.

Was he suffering?

Was I being a bad pet owner, never thinking about this before?

All these thoughts ran through my head as I lay on the floor of my apartment hallway, staring at my dog’s erection. It was like a train-crash…I knew it was horrible, but I couldn’t look away.

I don’t know how long I sat there, staring at Bruno’s erection, but eventually he got bored and wandered off to do whatever dogs due to entertain themselves when there’s no humans around.

I should my head and try to clear it of all thoughts of Bruno’s bone, but for the rest of the night the image was firmly stuck in my head. That night… I even dreamt about it.

Yeah yeah, there’s nothing as boring as listening to someone else’s dream, but…I dunno, this one was so _weird_. It really stuck in my head.

I was part of a cult, I guess? I was wearing these robes, and so was everyone else, but I couldn’t see their faces. We were all running around, and I knew (in that way that you _know_ stuff in dreams) that we were all servants, that we all served a greater purpose.

And I knew that the greater purpose we served—and remember, I warned you this was weird—was Bruno’s cock.

This cult of several hundred people were all dedicated to my dog’s cock. You’d have thought that’d make me realize something weird was going on, but at the time, I just totally accepted it. It just seemed totally fine to me, totally normal.

Actually, even when I woke up, there was something about it that still felt normal. That was the weirdest thing of all.

So the dream followed my daily life in this cult. It was a sex cult, of course—you probably got that from ‘dedicated to cock’. Every morning, I’d wake up in my cell (or whatever a monk’s room is called) and get off before breakfast. We all slept with these sex toys next to us…in the exact shape of Bruno’s cock.

I woke up, grabbed the sex toy, and filled myself up with it. In real life, putting something that big inside me would make me _hella_ full, but because it was a dream, I didn’t get any of the fullness. I didn’t get any of the sensation, just the frustration.

Dream-time being what it is, it felt like I spent hours laying there, trying to get off with this huge toy inside me, totally unable to. I looked around the cell, and saw that everyone else was doing the same thing—everyone else was moaning and panting with need, filling their pussies with these toys, trying to get off.

Eventually I gave up, and started doing my chores for the day. Everyone in this cult was a woman, and we were all dedicated to making the grounds perfect for Master. I guess Master was Bruno, but we never actually called him that—we just called him Master.

After lunch, we had to line up and fuck another sex toy in the shape of Bruno’s cock—this one was mounted, and so we had to go on all fours and lower ourselves onto it.

Like in the morning, I couldn’t feel anything. It was so frustrating—I was desperately trying to cum, desperately trying to orgasm, but without the fullness that I knew only Bruno’s cock would bring, I couldn’t.

Finally, we all gave up, and started heading for dinner.

And that’s when I saw him.

Bruno.

Master.

Until I saw his cock, it didn’t click, but the moment I saw that cock—that cock!—I knew that Bruno was Master.

I knew that whoever that cock belonged to was Master, and I knew I’d do whatever He wanted.

We were lined up, read to be fucked by Master. I could see the girls in front of me, being mounted by my dog, being filled by His glorious cock. Almost as soon as he entered them they would cum, having prepared themselves for Him all day.

Girl after girl got penetrated by my doggie’s cock, girl after girl fucked him until they came, again and again and again and again, until finally…it was my turn.

Finally, Master would fuck me.

Finally, I would feel Him inside of me.

And so, of course, that was when I woke up.

I screamed into my pillow, quickly rubbed one out (I woke up _soaking_ ) and then fell asleep, and had a totally unrelated dream about chasing a clown through Nazi Germany.

Honestly? I didn’t think too much about the Bruno sex dream. After all, it was just a dream—it wasn’t like it really meant anything.

* * *

I went out again with Brad the next night. He’s a couple of years younger than me, which is normally a bit of a turnoff, but there’s something so sweet about him that it doesn’t really bother me.

I didn’t share with him what I’d been thinking about, of course—he would have thought I was some kind of weird perv, and…well, I liked dating him.

If I’m being honest, it felt kind of nice to know I was a tiny bit out of his league.

Even now, he gets a little bit jealous when he hears about other guys in my life. He doesn’t get angry or upset, he just asks a bunch of questions about how close we are. It must be an…I don’t know, an insecurity thing or whatever. When we first met he even wanted to know how close I was to my brother, and was really happy to learn that I didn’t have one.

He was even happier when he learned I didn’t have any housemates.

So, like the rest of our dates, we just drove around and chatted. Somewhere along the way we stopped and made out for a while…it must have been good, because I totally lost track of the time.

When I got home, Bruno was napping (I told you he was lazy).

As good as my date had been, the whole time I’d had a worry in the back of my mind, the fact that my poor little pooch was at home, suffering. I’ve had him for almost 3 years now—imagine not being able to cum for three years! I wanted to do something to help him.

I _had_ to do something.

Bruno blinked at me as I woke him up. After a few drowsy minutes he rolled his back to let me scratch his belly.

As he did, I saw it again.

It was just dangling there. Unlike the other night, it was soft…but I knew it wouldn’t be hard to fix that. My left hand continued rubbing his paunch, while my right moved to down to between his legs.

I hesitated, one hand hovering over his flaccid cock. Was I really going to do this?

…was I really going to jerk my dog off?

I sat there for several minutes, paralyzed with indecision. One hand, I knew what I was doing was wrong. Bruno had always been a good and faithful pet…was I really going to molest him?

And on the other hand, I knew he was going to enjoy it. After all, I was giving him some much-needed release. And it wasn’t like I was fucking him or anything. I wasn’t going to get off from it, it was a totally selfless act.

I was just going to help him.

If in that moment I’d been totally honest with myself, I would have admitted that the reasoning running through my head was nothing more than a surface justification.

I was going to jerk my dog off.

I had to.

For some reason, since the moment I’d first thought of it, it had became an obsession. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it all day or night, and now that it was right in front of me…there was no way that I was going to be able to resist.

I had been holding my breath, and as my hand wrapped around my pet’s cock, I let it all out.

Bruno didn’t even seem to notice as I began gently pumping his flaccid cock…he just looked at me with his big brown eyes and I smiled back at him.

He needed this. We both did. I can’t explain why, but from the moment I laid eyes on Bruno’s cock I somehow knew that I would end up touching it.

Of course, it could never go any further than that. I knew that.

But as he hardened in my hands, everything just felt so _right_.

It was like I was in a trance—I don’t know how long my hand had been slowly gliding up and down his hardness when we made eye-contact.

He was looking at me as if he didn’t quite understand what was going on, but there was no sense of fear or hostility in his gaze. He continued to lie on his back as I stroked, his breathing quickening at the same rate that mine was. I kept telling myself that I was only helping my pet, that this was an act of charity, but my breathing was getting more and more ragged and I could feel myself slowly growing excited.

After almost 20 minutes of my pooch and I staring at each other, my hand rubbing his dick, something happened. His little doggie hips started to buck uncontrollably and I could tell he was getting close.

My movement sped up, and soon his cock was shooting string after string onto his stomach.

As soon as he came, it was as if the spell was broken. I just sat there, wide-eyed, trying grapple with what I had just done.

What was wrong with me? I’d just… I just jerked off my dog.

I just jerked off my dog, and got excited while doing it. My nipples were as hard as rocks and there was a definite dampness between my legs.

As I sat there, the thoughts my head, Bruno extended his doggie neck and began licking cum off his own chest.

I don’t know what horrified me more: what I did just done, or the fact that _I_ wanted to be the one licking up his cum.


	Chapter 2

For the rest of the night I tried to act as if everything was normal.

I mean, everything _was_ normal, right? I got some napkins, cleaned up Bruno’s cum—Bruno’s cum that I milked from him myself. Bruno’s cum that I’d coaxed from his cock, jerking him off until he came. Bruno’s cum that I’d fantasized about for days now.

Bruno’s cum that I had an overwhelming desire to taste.

I wouldn’t, of course. I mean, jerking my dog off—that was an act of charity. Tasting his cum, that would be weird. Perverted.

Everything was normal.

Bruno, to my great surprise, didn’t really seem to act any different. Like, it would have been nice if he was visibly happier, or more relaxed…but when it comes down to it, I think that dogs are just dogs. They’re happy, and fluctuate between relaxed and hyper for reasons no human can really comprehend.

But I knew on the _inside_ he was happier. Because if he wasn’t happier on the inside, then that meant I’d just jerked him off for no reason. No, worse: it meant that I’d jerked him off for my own selfish reasons, and not to be a good pet-owner.

And that couldn’t be right.

Finally, after several hours of this internal debate raging through my mind, I threw my hands up into the air and went to bed.

Where, of course, I had another dream.

* * *

This time, there was no cult, no other women.

There was only me.

Me, and Bruno’s Cock.

Just like last time, it wasn’t obvious that it was Bruno’s Cock. It wasn’t, like, attached to him or anything—it was just a disconnected Cock, floating freely through space.

And there was me.

And I was naked.

The Cock liked that I was naked, I knew that. The Cock liked my huge tits, my naked thighs. The Cock liked how wet I was. The Cock liked that I was clean, that I smelled nice. It was my job to smell nice. It was my job to arouse the Cock with my huge tits.

The Cock liked my huge tits, and I liked that it liked them.

To please the Cock, I started playing with my nipples. I pulled and tugged on them, panting with pleasure, moaning with lust. The Cock reacted positively to this, and hardened.

The Cock liked my tits, and that made me happy.

The more I played with myself, the harder the Cock got, and the harder the Cock got, the more turned on I got. Soon, I was soaking wet with pleasure, wanting nothing more than for the Cock to cum all over me, cum onto my titties. My titties were there for the Cock—that’s why they were so big, so soft.

That’s why I had tits.

That’s why I existed.

Just like in the last dream, I realized that the Cock belonged to Master, and Master had to be obeyed. And just like in the last dream, Master slowly came into view, and I realized it was Bruno.

My tits existed to make Bruno hard, and I desperately wanted Bruno to cum all over them. I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything—I was thrusting my tits out, doing everything I could to make them attractive to Master.

God, I wanted Master’s Cock so much.

And just as I had last time, I woke up just as I was about to get what I wanted.

I woke up, panting my dog’s name, squirming with frustration. A part of me wanted to get up and find them, then and there, find my pet dog and jerk him onto my tits, just so I could get some satisfaction.

Fortunately, I realized how ridiculous that would be, and just got myself off with my fingers, tugging and pulling at my nipples as I did.

Unlike last time, however, I didn’t go straight back to sleep as soon as I came. Instead, I tossed and turned for the three hours until the sun came up, then went into work sleep-deprived and cranky.

* * *

Two nights later, I was on another date with Brad. We’d just parked and made out for…god, I don’t even know how long. Like I said, I can sometimes lose track of time when I’m hanging out with him.

Things had been mostly going well between us. My dreams hadn’t returned, which was good—I’d well and truly caught up on sleep, and had been looking forward to a nice relaxing date with the nice, relaxing boy I was increasingly enjoying the company of.

But—and of course you knew there had to be a but, didn’t you?—he just had to ruin it.

“You’re so hot,” he said, and I just smiled in response. It was something I knew, but it was always nice to hear. “You’re such a fox. I’d really love to cum on your titties some time.”

“Brad!” I said, shocked. “I…”

“C’mon,” he said, interrupting me. “You know how much fun that would be. That’s what they’re there for, after all…”

Like I said, Brad was a nice kid, and things were going well. And so I’d never expected such sexist drivel to spout from the young man…at least, that’s the best excuse I can give for what happened next.

“Ow!”

“Drive me home, please.”

“You slapped me!”

“Drive me _home_ , please.”

* * *

I stormed into my apartment, and slammed the door.

The _nerve_ of that little punk.

We’d driven home in silence, him still recoiling from the slap, me too angry to speak. As I’d gotten out, he’d tried to explain, or excuse himself—it didn’t matter, I wasn’t listening.

I’d never, _never_ gotten the impression that he thought women were just a pair of tits to cum on. I knew he’d spent some time out in the country, but I hadn’t expected him to bring those backwards attitudes to New York.

For the next twenty minutes, I stamped around the apartment, ranting and raving out loud. Finally, when I felt I’d calmed down, I fell backwards onto the couch, acutely aware of the bounce of my breasts as I did.

I did have particularly large breasts…and I had been showing them off more than usual lately.

But no. No, that didn’t excuse him talking to me like that.

I mean, we’d just been making out. Perhaps he was attempting dirty-talk. He was young, it made sense that he wouldn’t have the hang of it yet.

No. That didn’t matter. He’d disrespected me, and he’d disrespected my journey. He’d never even laid a hand on my boobs—to ask if he could cum all over them, it…it…it wasn’t right!

Another ten minutes passed before my internal debate ended, and my attention was drawn—once again—to my enormous breasts.

Look, I get that I have big tits. I’ve had them since I was a teen, it’s not like I just never noticed. But…I’d _liked_ Brad. I’d liked that I didn’t have to hide them for him to respect me.

At least, that’s what I’d thought.

I took some deep breaths, watching my bust rise and fall as I did.

Maybe…

Maybe the reason I was so mad…

Maybe the reason I was so mad was that, in fact, there _was_ something hot about cum splashing onto my tits.

Don’t get me wrong: Brad was still way, _way_ out of line.

But my reaction had maybe been a bit over-the-top. Ever since that weird dream the other night, I’d spent a lot of time thinking about my tits, thinking about showing them off, making cocks hard, eliciting a thick load onto my hard nipples and plentiful cleavage…

The idea that, as he’d said, that’s what they were there for.

Even while we’d been making out, the image had been firmly burned into my head.

But not _Brad_.

Sweet kid. Nice guy, when he wasn’t being a misogynist pervert. But…he didn’t deserve to cum onto my tits. That wasn’t something you do with a new boyfriend. It’s an act of love, and trust.

It’s something you do with someone who’s been loyal. Someone who’s been there for you, through thick and thin. Someone who’s always had your back, who will always be there for you…

Someone like Bruno.

I gasped at the thought. God, what was _wrong_ with me. Thinking about my poor, innocent pooch like that.

After jerking him off last week, I’d been careful to treat him like a good, normal boy. I’d been careful to make sure not to spend too much time patting him, or to stare at his flaccid penis. I’d been _extra_ careful not to check if he was hard each time we saw him, tempting though it was.

But imagining jerking my sweet puppy off onto my big, soft tits?

It was…

No. No, that wasn’t going to happen.

It couldn’t.

I sat back, turned the TV on, and tried to think about something else. Anything else.

I was an episode and a half into Law Show: The Criminal Show About Law (I don’t normally watch procedurals; can you tell?) before I realized that my hands were grabbing my big tits. It felt good, and so I didn’t really think too much about it.

That’s one of the joys of living alone—you’re allowed to get off whenever you like.

As the credits rolled on the third episode, I realized that Bruno had wandered in, and was watching me play with my tits.

Well, no. He wasn’t _watching_ me. He just happened to be there, and he happened to glance in my direction.

But something about it lit a fire in me.

Turning off the TV, I told myself that it was my living room, and if I wanted to get off, I was absolutely allowed to. After all, I’d masturbated with Bruno in the room before. There was nothing weird about that—he was a dog. He didn’t even know what boobs were.

Being topless in front of my dog was no different to being topless in front of the TV. It wasn’t like it meant anything to him.

And so I didn’t even hesitate before slipping out of my date shirt, undoing my bra, and letting the girls hang free.

My nipples were already rock hard, and I moaned slightly as I pulled and tugged on them, leaning forward so that Bruno could get the best possible view.

Not, uh, that I was…not that it was for Bruno. Not that Bruno cared.

I grabbed my titflesh, enjoying the fact that they were too big to be contained by my hands. I pulled one nipple up to my mouth and sucked on it loudly, shivers of pleasure running up my spine as I did.

Bruno closed his eyes, and began to sleep.

“Oh!” I moaned loudly—‘shouted’, even, you could say—and Bruno was immediately alert, looking at me for signs of distress.

He didn’t see any. All he saw were my huge tits being roughly manhandled, my face contorted in pleasure, and one hand slipping between my legs.

“Oh,” I said again, softer. “Oh, yes, that’s so good. Oh, yes…”

Bruno dropped his head again, but his eyes stayed open, watching me warily.

“My tits,” I babbled, rubbing firmly through my shorts. “My tits are…are for you. My tits are for you. My tits are to make you hard…oh!”

As I came, my boobs wobbled majestically from side to side, and I pushed my damp pussy firmly against my hand.

“Yes!” I screamed, struggling to keep eye-contact with Bruno as my orgasm overtook me. “Oh, yes!”

Bruno yawned as I panted and huffed, slowly coming down from one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had. I felt a little weird about what I’d just done, but not really.

Like I said, I’m sure I’ve cum with Bruno in the room before—it doesn’t mean anything.

It continued to not mean anything when it happened again an hour later, or early the next morning. It didn’t mean anything when I stripped topless and masturbated in front of him the next night, and it didn’t mean anything three times the night after that.

As far as Bruno was concerned, I was just his owner. He didn’t care that I got topless and brought myself to screaming orgasm after screaming orgasm in front of him.

And the more I did it, the more normal it felt. Whenever I was at home, it was hard to even put a top on—there was something so warm and comfortable, walking around topless with my dog, waiting for those thrills whenever he glanced at my huge boobs.

It didn’t mean anything, but it sure felt nice.


	Chapter 3

Brad didn’t call me for almost two weeks.

Two weeks where I was walking around topless, groping myself in front of my pet dog, cumming while his puppy eyes stared at me. Two weeks as my private shows became increasingly normal to me. To Bruno.

Not that he cared. Of course he didn’t. When I was topless in front of him, he didn’t even know anything was up.

He didn’t get hard at the sight of my huge tits, bouncing on the couch as I rode my favorite toy.

Why would he?

When Brad did call, he was apologetic. I could also tell he was still a little confused.

I suppose I couldn’t blame him. I had perhaps overreacted. It made sense that he wanted to cum over my titties. That’s what they were there for, after all—for cocks to cum onto.

I mean, not _really_. But kind of. You know?

But as hot as the idea of Cocks cumming onto my tits was in the abstract, it wasn’t Brad’s cum that I dreamed of rubbing into my generous cleavage.

I liked him. He was a cute kid. But I didn’t wake up cumming at the thought of his cock spurting all over my glorious orbs.

I didn’t think of _anyone_ ’s specific cock spurting over my glorious orbs.

Certainly not Bruno’s.

I was still feeling bad about my reaction, so I made a plan to see him.

“How about tonight?” I asked, then glanced at the clock. Whoa! How had I lost almost an hour?

“Actually,” I said, “not tonight. We’d be out too late. Tomorrow?”

Brad’s voice travelled through the phone, into my ears, landing directly in my brain.

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes on dog. “You can pick me up.”

After we hung up, I realized something.

It had been two weeks since I’d last seen Brad.

Which meant it had been _three_ weeks since I’d jerked Bruno off.

Three weeks!

I hadn’t gone three weeks without cumming since I’d first started playing with myself. Generally, it was rare for me to go _one_ week.

Heck; since I’d started playing with myself around the apartment topless, it was rare for me to go more than a few hours.

I needed to fix it. Bruno had _needs_.

My dog needed me.

“Bruno,” I said, very aware of the nervous quaver in my voice. “C’mere, boy…”

Bruno did as he was told—he’s such a good boy—and made his way over to the couch where I was sitting.

He wasn’t hard, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering. My beloved pet had needs, and it was my job to take care of them.

“Good boy,” I said softly, slipping my shirt off. Bruno wouldn’t care about that, of course, but…it was more comfortable.

That’s what I firmly told myself. I was doing it because it was more comfortable.

It was more comfortable to be topless. I liked being topless.

I breathed a sigh of relief as my tits came into view. My big, soft tits.

Unable to stop myself, I reached up and pinched my nipples.

“Good girl,” I told myself. I was a good girl. Just like Bruno was a good boy, I was a good girl.

He was my good boy, which made me his…

I shook my head. What was I even thinking?

Reaching down, I grabbed Bruno’s cock again. Just like last time, it hardened in my hand.

God it felt _right_.

Like, it felt good. Of course it felt good—it was a cock. Even if it was a dog’s cock, there was just something so yummy about having a nice, hard cock in your hand.

I’ve always liked the feeling.

But this…

This was something more than that.

I’d had boyfriends before, and we’ve always had a good time. Giving head, getting fucked—I like it all, really. Like any hot-blooded woman, I guess.

If I really liked them, I’ve even let some of them fuck my tits. Not everyone, but y’know. The guys who I really clicked with, or the ones who I was just super into.

And I don’t think I’ve ever dated someone who I haven’t given a hand-job to. I’ve always liked it—the feeling of a throbbing cock in my hand, the _precision_ that you don’t really get when you’re giving head.

It’s sort of what I imagine milking a cow feels like, except sexy.

But Bruno…

God, it just felt _right_.

Where fooling around with my boyfriends has been fun, or hot, or a good way to connect or whatever…the feeling of Bruno’s cock in my hand made me feel like this was what I was born to do.

Like this is why I existed.

It felt like my entire purpose on the planet was to wrap my hand around Bruno’s erection. As soon as he got completely hard, fuck.

It wasn’t like last time. Last time, I felt like I was doing the dog a favor. Y’know, trying to be a good pet owner.

This time, as soon as I started jerking my dog off, I realized:

This time, it was for me.

That’s so fucked up, isn’t it? You don’t have to tell me:

I know.

Even then, I knew. But I couldn’t stop.

It’s impossible to describe. It just felt _right_. Like that first bite of a grilled cheese sandwich, or when you pop a pimple and hit the mirror with the pus.

I mean, that’s kind of gross, but so was this.

My hand was wrapped around my pet dog’s phallus. If anyone had seen me, I would have been ruined. My family would probably disown me. Brad would never want to see me again. I’d be fired from my job.

But it just felt so. Damn. Good.

…and then I started stroking.

Like I said, I’m a fairly sexual woman. I sometimes try to hide my body, just to make sure that I get the respect that I deserve, but it’s not like I’m ashamed of it. I have a collection of sex toys, and if a guy I’m seeing has any kind of issue with that, I know he’s not right for me.

I started masturbating before I even knew the term was for it, but I’ve never had any kind of shame. I like sex, I like getting off, and if that bothers you, get over yourself.

And so I guess I’d always assumed I was fairly in tune with my body, with my needs and desires. With what I wanted.

With what I needed.

As I started stroking Bruno’s cock, all those preconceptions went out the window. Within a moment, I was soaking wet, more turned on that I’d ever been in my life.

It felt like my entire body was _throbbing_ , from head to toe.

In that moment, I swear, you could have _breathed_ on my clit and I would have been shaking with orgasm. It was like I’d been running off batteries all my life, and for the first time someone had plugged me in.

As my hand ran up and down Bruno’s furry sheath, I felt _alive_. Electrified.

I felt like a purely sexual being.

I felt like I had a Purpose.

“Good boy,” I groaned. The words came out slurred, like I no longer had the capacity for speech.

Like I existed for one thing, and one thing only: to get Bruno off.

And then Bruno’s eyes swiveled down to my boobs.

I can’t really tell you what happened next. Everything gets a little blurry. Bruno’s attention on my chest seriously made my brain turn off—you know how people talk about your ‘lizard brain’ or whatever, the underlying part of your brain that makes decisions based on pure instinct, and overrules the higher-functioning, more evolved parts of your mind?

As soon as Bruno’s attention moved to my boobs, the lizard part of my brain took over. I was no longer a sensible, professional New York woman.

I was a cock-slut.

I was _Bruno’s_ cock-slut.

I existed to get Bruno off, and nothing else mattered.

Maybe I talked dirty to him, or maybe that was just in my head—a stream of filth, pledging my dedication to Bruno’s Cock, to serving it for the rest of my years.

I’d like to say that I didn’t actually move my mouth to his cock, that I just _thought_ about doing it, but the memory of my dog’s cock-sweat is something that I’ll never, ever forget.

I do remember wishing I could touch myself, knowing that I’d explode in orgasm as soon as I could move a hand between my legs, but I restrained. I didn’t want to lose focus, get distracted from my Purpose.

Everything I was, everything I did, it was all in pursuit of one perfect goal—getting Bruno off.

And so I slurped on his canine cock, reached down to play with Bruno’s balls, ran my other hand all over his body, patting him, grasping his fur, wanting to taste more of him, more, more more more.

In that moment, if I could have taken my entire puppy dog inside my mouth, I would have. As it was, I had to make do with just his cock—his big, beautiful, doggy cock.

I don’t know if I recognized the signs from last time, or if I was just exceptionally attuned to the needs of his Cock, but I could tell when Bruno was getting close. I reluctantly pulled him from my mouth, and stroked him fast, staring into his big doggy eyes as I did, begging him to cum on me.

“Use me as your cum rag,” I begged. “Cum on your tit-slut. Cum on me please, please cum on me, please.”

Bruno let out a small whine—which, in that moment, was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard—as he came, shooting strings of doggy-cum straight onto my tits.

As soon as his warm seed hit my exposed tit-flesh, my orgasm hit. I released Bruno’s cock as the most powerful climax of my life overcame me. For the first time in my life, I came with zero stimulation between my legs, falling back and cumming, cumming, cumming, as my dog’s seed splashed over me.

The orgasm was powerful but short, and within a minute or two I was able to collect myself, able to return from what felt like insanity.

I don’t know what I expected—a wave of guilt, maybe—but all I felt was a warm glow, and a hint of dissatisfaction. Before I could explore that any further, Bruno moved towards me. Just as he had last time, he started lapping up his own cum.

Unlike last time, his cum was all over my exposed chest.

Wave after wave of pleasure hit me; each time Bruno’s rough tongue made contact with my nipple, it felt like I was cumming again, a new orgasm despite the fact that the last one hadn’t finished. My boobs have always enjoyed the attention of a skilled tongue, but this was something else—this was like getting fingered by God’s hand directly.

I came and came and came and came as Bruno cleaned up his own sticky offerings—I came so hard and so many times that I passed out, being licked to orgasm by my pet.

* * *

When I awoke, I was alone in the room.

_Ah,_ I thought to myself. _There’s the guilt._

What had I _done_? I’d jerked my pet dog off—ostensibly as an act of charity, at least to begin with, but then selfishly.

For me.

I’d _wanted_ to.

No, more than that. I _still_ wanted to. A part of me was yearning to find Bruno, get him hard, and jerk him off again. I’d never been so worked up, so turned on.

I’d never felt so alive, or so sure of myself.

But I couldn’t.

I knew I couldn’t.

The feelings I’d had, they were…they were _wrong_. They’d felt so right, but that was a lie. That wasn’t right.

I’d been more turned on than I’d ever, ever been, and it was _wrong_.

That night, I got off twice more just at the memory of what Bruno had done. Of what I’d done to Bruno. The next morning was a Saturday, but I went into work anyway—I didn’t trust myself alone at home with Bruno.

When you discover Pandora’s box is under the coffee table, you stay the fuck away from that coffee table.

Even at work, I had to get off twice in the restroom before my mind was clear enough to think, to reflect.

Last night. That had been…weird.

Hot, yes. The single best experience of my life, yes.

But weird.

I’d jerked Bruno off two weeks ago, and it had been…fine. I’d felt like a good pet-owner.

Last night, I’d felt like a sex slave.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that something didn’t make sense. My reaction was so strong. Too strong.

Something weird was going on.

* * *

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