HER LOVING PETS
By The Author


Foreword

He could feel the firm, swollen curve of her braless tits.
She said nothing, but her eyes were narrowed and her nostrils flared.
She was engrossed in the sight in front of her, the dogs.
The fucking dogs.
Frank saw her lips moving slightly, and he leaned forward to hear.
"Fucking, fucking," she murmured. "The dogs are..."
She was moaning as the man stroked her deep, warm vee, over her trousers.
She could hear his voice coming to her as she struggled to keep her eyes open, so that
she would still see the hot, humping animals.
"Pam," the vet said, "let's go into the house. I think Melanie would like to see you
now..."


Chapter 1

The bedroom was pink and white, with touches of brown maple here and there.
Although the narrow bed could have belonged to either a boy or a girl, which had
influenced the decision of Mr. and Mrs. Martinson when they bought it sixteen years
ago, before their first and only child was born, the ruffled gingham bedspread gave
away the sex of the owner.
Pamela Sue, however, would have preferred something with lassoes or cowboys, or even
a wildlife scene, but she had given up trying to persuade her oh-so-lady-like mother that
her tastes were not just a passing whim of a child, but the real tastes of a real person.
Now, at the age of sixteen, Pam had really given up on Mom.
As she lay back on her hard "youth bed" as such narrow pieces of furniture are known
in the stores, Pam took a long drag of the cigarette.
Mom, she knew, would split her girdle if she ever caught her daughter sucking on a
ciggie, but Mom wasn't home at the moment.
That was the only time when Pam really felt like herself, alone.
Not at school.
Not at home, with Mom and Dad, although they tried to be nice and everything.
Nope.
Alone.
No one had to tell the girl who was lolling around on her bed, dressed only in her
panties and a T-shirt, that she was different.
She knew that.
Sometimes, she was proud of that, that she was the only girl in school who was still
"one of the boys" and who still played sports with any conviction at all. She liked being
a rebel, a James Dean.
She liked to catch a glimpse of her short, super-red hair in the mirror of the girls' room
at school, such a contrast to the sleekly combed, perfectly cut and long, swinging locks
of her classmates and female teachers.
She liked the way her blue jeans, frayed beyond hope at the cuffs, looked when they
were hanging up in the lockers at gym class, when all the other lockers revealed frills
and lace, or preppie tweeds and wools.
But sometimes, it was lonely.
There were things, Pam knew, that she would like to change if she could.
Sometimes, like right now, as she looked down to her long, tapered feet, crossed
carelessly at the foot of the bed, she wished her body were a little different. But that was
hopeless, she knew.
Even if Mom did drop hints that, "Well, dear, you're VERY fashionable."
Even if Dad did call her his "long drink of water."
Even if the guidance counsellor at school had suggested that she might like to try her
hand at modeling when she graduated from high school.
That didn't change the fact that when the boys whistled at girls at school, they whistled
at the ones with the big tits.
And the plump asses.
And the rounded legs.
And the long hair.
And the dolled-up clothes.
Those were the girls who, without even blinking, got asked out.
Those were the girls that the boys longed to kiss.
Those were the girls that the boys died to touch and caress.
Those were the girls who got laid.
It was so unfair.
She was smart, and wasn't she funny and pretty daring? Pam asked herself as she blew
a perfect smoke ring into the air over her head.
She watched it float to the ceiling and break apart, which gave the girl a curiously
satisfying feeling as she took another drag.
I'll just bet Beth Erancelli can't do that, Pam told herself.
Big fucking deal, she told herself a second later.
What kind of accomplishment was blowing a smoke ring when what you really wanted
to be able to do was to blow a joint.
A MALE joint.
A cock.
Pam rolled the word over her tongue. C-O-C-K spells cock.
She figured it was the perfect word for it.
It sounded hard, that word, just the way pricks were always described in the books.
It had always been a giggle to Pam to think that her pristine, prissy Mommy picked up
those cheap paperbacks at the supermarket, and could take them anywhere, even to the
beach, to read them, and then put them on the bookshelf in the living room, while poor
Dad had to hide his copies of Playboy in the den, in a locked trunk, to appease Mom.
Pam had never learned anything, except possibly quite a bit about cars and stereos and
football and so on, in Playboy magazines.
But everything she knew about sex came from those paperback novels.
Not the hearts-and-flowers books, or the "bodice rippers" about women being swept
away by pirates and so on, but the ones with the slick, slick covers, usually with the
photograph on the cover of a scantily clad girl holding a gun, or draped over a leather
couch, clutching a strand of diamonds to her throat.
And although ostensibly the object of the plot was to separate the girl from the
diamonds, or to found a publishing house, or to keep secrets of national importance
away from the Russians, the overwhelming intention of the book was to get the hero
and – or heroine in and out of bed as often as possible, with as many different people
as possible, in as many exotic locations as possible.
And although the back of the book always claimed that the story was about to be made
into a "major motion picture, to be released this summer!" Pam could not imagine a
screenwriter being able to stay close to the story and not produce a porno flick instead.
Not that she had ever SEEN a porno flick, heavens, no.
But she could just imagine.
And she did.
Often.
Like right now, with her hand down on her belly, on top of her pussy mound, just
pushing down, just a little, on the heated swell.
Pam had been playing around with her pussy for years, as long as she could remember,
just toying with her cunt to put herself to sleep at night, just aware, somewhere in the
back of her head, that it felt quite good and comforting to touch down there.
It had not been until that autumn, however, that her nocturnal play-sessions had taken
a more serious turn.
Pam liked to count the days, now months, in her mind.
Ten months, and two weeks, to the day, she told herself.
In another six weeks, I'll have been coming for a whole year!
Almost non-stop.
Pam smiled a little as she decided it was time to slip her fingers down a little further, to
let them curl around her cunt tissue.
She always consulted herself about her progress when she played with her pussy. It
made it seem almost that someone was there, helping her.
That would be nice, she sighed to herself as she felt the familiar warmth of her
radiating, sticky-lipped cunt, through her panty crotch.
Nice, but...
... oh, impossible.
How could she do that, get a boy, a BOY, to touch...
... to play.
... to kiss.
... to fuck.
No, it just wasn't something that Pamela Sue Martinson could imagine.
Imagine, that is, happening to her with some boy around.
Too... gross, Pam shuddered, imagining all the worst things possible.
It was one thing, she knew, to have read her mother's books, thumbing through the
good parts over and over, until the pages that described a fucking session, or some
scene of torture that involved the innocent young girl, caught up in a web of intrigue,
being cruelly questioned and abused by the Iron Curtain spy, well, it was one thing to
have READ about it.
It was quite another to have actually DONE it.
And although she read the books over and over, there were a lot of details missing.
What does a cock really look like? she teased herself, imagining something long and
red, and very soft when it wasn't springing up to action, the way they all seemed
prepared to take on at any given moment in those books.
How come boys don't walk around with hard-ons, if that's what I think it is, all the
time, when they just LOOK at a girl's tits? she wondered. She had a hard time keeping
down the flow of pussy juices in her twat when, say, Marc Fields, the quarterback of the
school team, walked by her desk, and even, just sometimes when she was in a
particularly sexed-up mood, in gym when the other girls were chattering and running
around mostly naked.
And what would it feel like, she wondered, to have something SPURT out of you?
Would it feel like peeing, only better, since she knew just how nice it did feel to come.
It was such a puzzlement to her, in her state of constant sixteen-year-old confusion and
nervousness, to want to know, but to have no way of finding out.
And the more she realized how frustrating her ignorance was, the more obsessed she
became with it. Pam knew it, too, but she could not stop it.
It was just so easy, and so nice, to stay home and play with herself.
Last year at this time, on a nice, early summer afternoon, she would have had to have
been tied down to that bed to stay inside when the sun was shining.
Not now.
Even Mom was a little concerned, although she liked the fact that her wild torn-boy
daughter seemed to be calming down a little.
When the day came that Pam took those puppy and pony and kitten posters down off
of her wall, then Mrs. Martinson would be satisfied.
That would mean that Pam was indeed growing up, and maybe even getting interested
in boys and dating and pretty clothes and such.
Pam couldn't help chuckling as she reached her fingers up to her panty's waistband and
slipped her whole right hand down under the elastic.
If Mom knew what I think about boys NOW, she would never let me out of the house!
How did other girls manage it, Pam had to wonder as she felt the first immediate thrill
of her slightly cold fingers wafting a subtle chill over her pussy lips, not even touching
them yet at all.
How can they hold the boys off, when they start to kiss?
I couldn't!
If a boy started to kiss me, or if he touched my tits, I would...
I would go crazy!!
How can they stop the boys from going all the way? Pam wondered. All the girls
claimed that they didn't let the boys get past second base.
How can they stop them?
Why would they want to, for God's sake!? Pam groaned inwardly.
If I had a cock here, right now, I would fuck it.
I would suck it.
But most of all, I would fuck it, oh, yes, yes, yes!!!!
The words came straight from one of her mother's books, but Pam knew what they
meant to her, inside, deep down in the dark, wet secret places.
In her belly, there was an empty feeling, one that had haunted her since the first time,
all those months ago, that she had brought herself off.
Now, that feeling never went away, deep down inside.
At night.
During the day.
At school.
Her body was aching for fucking, aching to be taken over the edge, to the culmination
of her lonely fantasies and dreams.
This was more than the stuff of silly novels, Pam told herself.
This was serious.
This was her body speaking to her, and she had never ignored it in the past.
When she played sports, she would limber up first, and when she finished, she would
make sure that she "cooled down" at the end. If she hurt herself, she had the sore joint
or muscle massaged or wrapped up. If she was hungry, she ate. If she was sleepy, she
would sleep.
And now, she was hot.
All the time.
From the time that she went to the bathroom in the morning, and the paper that she
used to wipe away the warm drops of urine came out from between her legs smeared
with all the slick, oily juices that had built up all night long, until she went to bed at
night, and finally had the time to play with her clit, to make it get long and hard, and
then finally, to make it come and jerk, she thought about sex all the time.
It haunted her.
It cajoled her.
It made her panties wet.
It made her, as she was doing right now, slip one short-nailed finger into the open
place, into her cunt hole, and touch her juicy walls.
It made her crazy!!!
But it couldn't make her do anything more than she was doing right now.
I just can't... with a boy.... How in the world... What would they think...?
Pam pressed another finger against the first one, and pulled at the tight channel into
her body, pulling the walls away from each other.
Would a cock stretch her like that, or would it be different?
Would it fit?
Deftly, from all her practice, Pam began her cunt exercises.
One of Mom's books described some rather complicated squeezes and cuntalmanipulations 
ministered to some British spy's cock by some Oriental cunt, and to
Pam, that ability seemed like the height of sexiness.
She thought also, quite possibly, that those vaginal gymnastics might be one of things
that a boy would expect of her, when she finally did get up the nerve to do what she
dreamed about at last.
Whenever that would be.
Never having had a boy do more that grope her tits with a heavy hand at a birthday
party three years ago, Pam had nothing to compare real expectations to.
She had no way of knowing that her slim, tight pussy sheath would provide a man with
more stimulation than most guys could handle, forgetting all those hot little squeezing
tricks and so forth.
Besides, once the athletic girl figured out just which muscles she had to press and
contract to build up the strength of her cunt, she wouldn't have wanted to quit with the
exercise anyhow.
They felt too good.
She could make herself come, without even touching herself.
Just squeezing.
Just pushing down on her cunt muscles, making her narrow passage seize up.
Making her clit jump and play inside of its hood of flesh.
Making her butt cheeks contract, and feeling the good pull in her little ass hole, a
sensation that sent shivers down her spine.
One-two-three...
One-two-three...
In and out.
In and out.
Push.
Push.
One-two-three...
Pam planted her feet firmly on the mattress, with her ass swinging an inch or two above
the sheets, and rocked herself back and forth.
She pressed down on her cunt muscles, feeling the strength there.
There was a pressure, a good, tingling pressure, in her clit.
She used the same muscles that she used to hold back her pee to make all the ruffled,
red flesh between her legs clench and then release.
The pressure on her clit increased by leaps and bounds.
One-two-three...
Pam could feel sweat breaking out on her forehead, but she didn't mind.
She was used to that, in gym or on the track or playing field hockey.
She liked to feel her body "doing its thing" when she worked out.
She licked her tongue over the swell of her upper lip.
She tasted the salt of her perspiration. It tasted healthy.
She could tell that her nipples, poking against a white T-shirt with no sleeves, an old
one of Dad's, were getting super-erect now.
She could feel the sweat pooling there, too, between them.
The shirt stuck to her flesh.
Perspiration was covering her thighs, she knew, and she could imagine what it looked
like, so sleek and slender and strong.
Like a strong, running filly.
Like a mare.
Like an animal.
Pam liked that idea, that her sexiness, her irrepressible drive towards sex and all its
attendant delights, came from within, like an animal instinct.
She couldn't help it, that way. She had an excuse.
She couldn't change INSTINCT, could she? Of course not!
Pam let her mind go.
She liked this point, whether it came when she was actually playing with her cunt or
her clit, or just when she was fantasizing about sex.
There always came a point when she stopped thinking about common things.
School, her classmates, Beth Erancelli's tits – it all faded away.
Sex.
She thought of sex, and her mind took over for her.
Her mind was filled with sex.
Sometimes, it was simple.
She would replay one of the scenes from one of those books.
Some of them were favorites of hers, and she could recall them in minute detail,
knowing just what happened when the woman, the victim of some crazed suburban
coven of witches, applied the crucifix to her cunt hole. In another scene, she could
recite exactly how the heroine felt when the hero "pressed his urgent, thickly-swollen
manhood to her body, giving her a taste of forbidden fruit," according to the author of
the tome.
Sometimes, the scenes had subtle variations to make them more interesting to her.
For example, why shouldn't the hero of that book be putting his cock into HER cunt
hole, rather than the heroine's pussy slot?
In her dreams, she didn't have to question what she was doing there, a tall, slender,
well-muscled sixteen-year-old, in the bed of a super-spy.
All she knew was that he was hot, and that she was hot.
Hot for each other, hot to put their bodies together.
Hot to fuck until they could fuck no more, and had to stop, as some authors often
described, from sheer exhaustion and soreness of limbs.
Sometimes, the scene was entirely different.
Sometimes, she would see people that she knew, from school, in her dreams.
They would be...
... fucking.
Afterwards, Pam was always ashamed of her uncontrollable fantasies, ashamed that she
had turned herself on imagining what Beth Erancelli's tits would look like in the big,
ham-like hands of the star quarterback.
Ashamed that she had shoved her fingers into her own snatch and imagined that they
were actually Marc Fields' cock pushing into her belly.
Ashamed-afterwards.
But while it was happening, it was the sexiest thing she could imagine.
It was so DIRTY!!!
Mom always told her, when she would speak of sex at all, that it was all dirty.
Dirty and vile.
Low and seamy.
Well, Pam's dreams were proving Mom to be delightfully right!
Knowing only the hot, horny fantasies of others – in the form of those paperback
bestsellers – Pam let her mind roam free. Nothing was too dirty.
Well, maybe some things.
Pam had no problem IMAGINING anything, although she knew that she was
somehow fated never to enact even the most mundane daydream.
It was always a struggle at this point in her playtimes.
She let her ass sink down softly onto the bed, catching her breath.
She had just "been" in bed, in her mind at least, with a famous British spy.
He had a penchant for hot, horny, beautiful women, and Pam could see herself there.
Her body tanned and sleek, in a tiny string bikini.
He would pluck open the strings on either side of her tits, which were big and bouncy
in the fantasy, and let them tumble down.
He would press his face into the fragrant flesh, licking her nipples, too, and making
them stand up, hard and puckered and wet when he turned his attention at last to her
cunt, caressing her ass, all round and firm, in her bikini bottom, before untying it, too.
Pam moaned as she imagined her cunt being revealed to a man.
To imitate her dream lover, she raised her hips once more and tore down her thick,
white, cotton underpants, freeing herself from them.
Her hands rested on her humid, naked patch of fur and flesh, and she began to drive
her fingers harder into the folds, pulling them open.
"Ooooooh!"
Pam pressed one finger onto her clit, and slipped another back into her hole, pushing it
in, all the way to the palm, and tickling her labia, which were large and dangling with
juices, with the other, remaining fingers, bouncing her ass and squeezing the tight cunt
muscles.
Now was the point where she had to decide what to do.
Should she keep on with the fantasy of the spy?
Or should she let her mind wander further afield to where ever it wanted to take her, to
turn her on all the more with its tricks?
She knew where the fantasy would take her.
She had been playing with her body, and with her responses, all by herself, for too long,
not to know exactly which tricks her mind would pull on her.
She knew where her fantasies would take her.
The first time she had dreamed of it, of her secret desire, Pam had been scared, but
there was no way, as she came, suddenly and frantically, she could turn back, or even
deny to herself that she had been more turned on by that fantasy than any other.
She had come so fast.
So hard and fast.
So wet and hard and so damn fast.
Just from that dream.
The dog.
The big dog.
Pam squeezed her already-shut eyes all the more tightly, trying to summon up the
dream, trying to make the fantasy happen, fast.
It was the only way now, now that she was so turned on.
The dog lived next door – Mom wouldn't let her have a pet, except for the cat and the
bird – and it had been a part of Pam's life for at least five years, barking at her playfully
when she came home from school, and wagging his tail happily when she rubbed her
fingers through the iron-mesh fence and let him rub his big, wet, rubbery nose against
her fingers, slathering her fingers with his playful tongue.
She could see him now.
Big and furry and friendly and very, very obviously male.
With that big, red-tipped doggie cock that hung down when he got excited over the
least little thing, just playing around.
Pam had often wondered what boys' cocks looked like, and she thought about that
cock, the dog's cock, when she did. It was the only real, live prick she had ever seen,
even though she had never seen more than that glowing tip and his furry sheath.
But that was enough.
She could imagine the rest.
It would be big and red.
Red and willing to fuck.
The girl had been horrified the first time she had the impulse to imagine that cock
inside of her belly, going back and forth into her cunt.
Now, that horror had passed away, and Pam could imagine it easily.
She did, in fact, almost every night when she touched her cunt and clit and made them
hot and frantic to come, after that fantasy.
The thing that worried her now, though, that made her hesitate, even in the private
world of dreams, where no one could know what she thought or did, was the fact that
she was no longer as satisfied by the mere imagining of the dog.
Sometimes she thought she would die, like right now as she hastily crammed her
fingers up against her snatch, barrelling into her hole and against her clit, if she didn't
have that animal right here.
Where she could see him.
Where she could see his cock.
Where she could smell him.
Where she could smell his cock.
Where she could fuck him...
It was building, her orgasm, and Pam gave up to it.
Would his cock be like her fingers, hard and yielding at the same time, or just plain
hard and fast and deep and big and long?
Would his cock make her come, the way her fingers did?
Would his... his... cock... make her... make her come...
Make her come the way she was coming right now?
Pam could almost see herself in her mind's eye as she thrashed around on the bed,
rubbing into her cunt, seeing also, in her mind's eye, the big, friendly dog.
His big, friendly cock.


Chapter 2

Pam opened the book on the school library table and studied the pictures for her art
history class assignment, due tomorrow.
The pre-Raphaelites, she discovered, painted during the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries, although they tried to imitate the style and goals of painters before the
fifteenth century, hence the "pre" part of their name for themselves.
Pam glanced over the thick, glossy, colorful pages, feeling the paper fold easily, slickly
under her fingers as she flipped through.
Not very exciting, she decided at last. Very old fashioned, and not very much different,
when you got right down to it, than most of the other sickly-sweet and boring art from
that Victorian period, the time, of all times in history, that Pam was glad she had NOT
been born into.
Those clothes that women had to wear back then – yuck!
All that lace.
Corset and bustles and skirts so long you couldn't even walk out of the house.
I guess that was the idea, Pam decided as she looked at the pictures.
If the ladies couldn't get out of the house, they wouldn't know what they were missing
out there, in the real, man's world.
What a bum rap!
Then she saw a picture that made her flip back, forgetting the injustices visited upon
her sex a hundred years ago for the moment.
That picture!
It was called "The Pet."
A pretty, dark-haired gown, tightly attired in one of the dresses that Pam so disliked,
looked quite beautiful, painted in full profile, from head to toe, despite her long, body
concealing dress. Pam noted with surprise that the outline of the woman's breasts was
quite visible.
It looked very sexy, that profile of her well-developed body.
But there was something else.
The woman had her eyes closed, and her lips were puckered.
Pam leaned down over the book, practically folding her trim waist in half to get a better
look at the color plate of the painting.
Possibly, yes undoubtedly, the woman's tongue was protruding between her lips.
Yes, and there was something on her tongue, too.
The woman was on tip-toe, straining to get closer to the cage where her pet bird
fluttered around on small, delicate wings within.
Waiting for its mistress.
Waiting for the woman who, if Pam was reading the picture correctly, held out a few
grains of seed to the bird, to feed it with.
From the tip of her tongue!
The woman looked as if she were greeting a lover.
She looked as if she were wrapped up in pleasure.
Pam had seen the same look on her own face once, looking into the mirror while she
jerked off, having decided to see what her cunt looked like when it was streaming with
hot, molten pussy juices.
That woman looked as if she was getting off on...
... offering her tongue to the bird!
Pam shuddered for a moment, just staring, dumb-founded, at the plate.
That was... not possible, was it?
Of course not... was it?
Pam flicked her tongue over her dry lips, . moistening them without thinking.
She was aware of the flutter of her tongue over her lips.
It felt so nice, not like her own tongue at all, since her mouth was suddenly,
inexplicably dry to the touch. It felt so nice to moisten her lips.
It felt nice right down to her pussy.
Pam sat up with a sudden stiffening of her long, straight back.
She looked around guiltily.
Oh, don't be a jerk, she told herself sternly, looking around.
No on KNOWS.
How could they know that your pussy is wet, silly!!
Still, Pam couldn't suppress the blush on her face, or its heat.
That always happened.
She would see a boy in the halls, one in tight jeans and a T-shirt, and she would be
aware of his crotch as he sauntered, so cool, down the corridor.
He might look up at her, and their eyes would catch for a second.
Sometimes the boy, seeing that it was only scrawny old Pam, would smile and wave,
saying "How ya doin'?" to her in passing, then forgetting the incident.
Sometimes it would be a boy she didn't know, and he would look her up and down, his
eyes growing increasingly disinterested when he saw the tall girl suddenly become self
conscious, possibly tripping a little, or losing some of her books, as a flush filled her
cheeks.
Pam wouldn't be able to look at him again, except possibly over her shoulder, when he
had passed her, taking a quick look at his firm ass.
But he would have already made her cunt wet, and given her the raw material for a
long, hot, solitary fantasy later that night at home.
This picture, she was aware, had done the same thing to her.
It was an interesting thought.
Who would ever know? the girl thought to herself.
Lost in her dream world, Pam let one finger trail over the contours of the painting
reproduced in bright colors on the slick page.
The woman in the picture was certainly pretty. Very pretty.
Pam let her fingertip touch the side of the woman's breasts.
Then down to her waist.
Across the velvet folds of her skirt, over her ass and thighs and...
... pressing just where she thought her cunt might be.
The tingle in her fingertips stirred the juices in Pam's twat.
As she pressed down on the page, lost in the art work, she could "fee!" fingers on her
own pussy, too, pressing onto her clit.
She could feel it growing hotter down there, in the tight, denim seat of her faded old
jeans, so hot and tight that the seams cut at her.
Cut high into the folds of her slit and up to her ass.
Everything was so hot, so hot and wet down there!
Pam stood up hastily, the book in her hands, closing it, but keeping her finger between
the pages, right at the picture that intrigued her.
She would be able to find it easily now, without having to flip around.
A bit stiffly, considering the swollen state of her pussy lips, Pam walked over to the
head librarian's desk and put her library pass down on the counter.
"Could I take out this book, please?" she asked, her voice a bit dry, making her cough
before she continued speaking to the grey-haired lady behind the counter. "And may I
have a pass to the girls' room?"
Locked in one of the cubicles, its walls heavily marred by years of gouged-out graffiti,
Pam quickly tore down her jeans, the heavy book under one arm as she struggled with
just one hand at her belt and zipper and buttons. She tore down her panties.
It felt so good to squat over the toilet bowl.
Her bladder was dry, but the act of sitting with her legs spread wide made her hot,
blood-engorged cunt lips peel back, opening wide.
That felt fantastic!
Her clit hung down, having popped up, hard, out of her cunt folds.
She opened the book, balancing it on one knee.
Gingerly, she touched her dangling clitty, and had to bite her lips to hold back her
sighs and a sudden gasp as she felt the sensation.
The sensation that made her clit jump and throb, and her pussy folds, so filled and
plumped up, quiver over the toilet bowl.
The room smelled so sterile, so antiseptic, an odor that usually annoyed the girl, who
was used to real sweat and real smells.
Today, she didn't even notice the pine-scented cleanser, and in days to come, when she
had to come to the girls' room for the usual reasons, she became aware of a hot,
trickling stickiness that oozed out of her pussy as soon as she smelled the antiseptic
cleanser.
But right then, as she felt the tip of her clit, a bit dry as it lay exposed, its moisture
evaporating quickly from the intense heat of her flesh, she wouldn't have been able to
tell you that there was even going to BE a tomorrow, or the next day.
All she knew right then was the way her cunt felt.
The way it demanded to be played with and fondled gently.
The way it was ready, hot and ready, and bursting to come.
The way, with a few soft strokes to the protruding tip, she was able to make it come,
with a shattering pop that left her limp.
It was an intense, brutal orgasm, one that was accompanied by no fantasy, no dream,
other than the one represented in the painting.
The woman.
The sexy, voluptuous woman, with her sensual affection for the bird.
Pam remembered feeling her teeth touching her tongue as she came.
Or, maybe just before she came, pushing her over the edge, possibly.
Would the bird's beak feel like that, she had to wonder.
Would a man's teeth feel like that?
She didn't know.
She wanted, more than anything, to find out, as she came, tossing her ass on the hard,
plastic seat under her bare flesh.
She jerked forward with her hips and backwards with her torso, her tits straining under
her cotton sports shirt, making the little alligator insignia scratch against her naked
nipple, the itchy thread that secured it cutting against her tender bud.
The book fell to the floor, and Pam knew it as her eyes closed her cunt closed and her
fingers were trapped in her slit, fucking her.
She knew it, but she couldn't stop now, not now!
She was coming, coming deliciously, coming hard and fast!
Her fingers felt like a cock, a real cock, hard and male.
In the back of her mouth, on the back of her tongue, she could almost taste it, taste the
way that cock felt inside of her open snatch.
A cock, to taste a cock...
"Hi, Mom."
Pam slammed the door behind her as she walked into the kitchen, making Mrs.
Martinson jump, the way she did everyday, regular as clockwork.
"Thought you would be used to me by now," Pam smiled.
She put her books down on the table, the big, thick art book on the bottom of the pile,
and walked over the fridge to see what was new.
She was hungry, ravenous, at this time every afternoon.
She knew that the girls at school were already going on about how they weren't as trim
and slender as they had been before, and that not one of the "in" girls would dream of
snacking between meals, especially on the creamy, sweet delicacies that Pam craved
everyday about this time.
Well, let them starve themselves, Pam thought as she gave her mother a quick kiss on
the cheek and then turned back to the open ice box. Her mother was just like them,
and Pam couldn't see where all that dieting had made much difference.
The only consolation Pam had in not having yet – or possibly ever – developed tits and
a soft, sensual ass, was that the soft, pretty stuff on a sixteen-year-old's body would
eventually turn into blubber on a forty-eight-year-old body.
Pam, however, was going to stay in shape. Hell, she could eat what she wanted, so long
as she worked out enough in between, right?
She and Mom had this conversation countless times before, and Pam could see from
the censorious look on her mother's face as she, Pam. began to scoop a dollop of sweet,
cherry-vanilla ice cream on top of a slice of chocolate cake, that she was in for it again.
"Pam, it will be dinner time in less than two hours..."
"Don't worry, Mom," Pam smiled at her plump mother. "I can get my appetite back by
then, no problem."
"That's just what bothers me, dear," Mrs. Martinson said, her eyebrows knitting
together as she watched her daughter slather the entire bowlful of ice cream and cake
with a generous dollop of strawberry sauce and a swish of whipped cream.
For a long moment, as Pam ministered to her after-school snack, Mrs. Martinson
watched in silence. Then, "I'm sure Margie Rockafeld wouldn't have anything like that,
at any time of day, and you shouldn't either..."
The mention of Margie, who lived a couple of doors down and who had been the most
popular girl in Pam's class ever since, in the sixth grade, Margie had developed tits and
a reputation for going as far as anyone, in a "nice" sort of way, whatever that meant.
Pam could imagine Margie letting a boy play with her tits, hot insisting that he keep his
eyes shut, or something equally absurd.
That was just Margie's style, two-faced and idiotic as far as Pam was concerned. Rumor
had it that she did "it" above the waist only.
Big deal, Pam tried to tell herself.
Big fucking deal.
Jealousy and embarrassment made Pam's cheeks hot as she looked at her mother over
the bowl of sugary sweetness and sticky goo.
"Mom, I'm hungry. H-U-N-G-R-Y!!!!!!" Pam said slowly.
"Pam, why do you have to make a commotion out of everything," Mrs. Martinson
sighed, in her long, drawn-out breath that Pam was growing, slowly but with great
conviction, to despise.
Her mother – the martyr.
"Mom, I'm sorry you're saddled with a daughter who's a continual disappointment to
you, but I guess you had better get used to it. I'm never going to be Margie Rockafeld,
and I don't want to be!"
Pam had to hold herself in check to keep from swearing.
She wasn't sure where she had picked up the words in her cursing vocabulary –
possibly from Mom's library but she never heard anything like them at home, and she
had to stop herself, often, to keep from using the only words that seemed natural in
some situations.
Like this fucking situation.
Pam tried to smile, but she could see the tight "well if that's the way you want to be
about it" expression freezing her mother's jaw.
"I'll be in my room." Pam said hurriedly, picking up the big bowl and then having to
put it down again, when she realized that she had to carry her books to her room. too.
since "clutter" was forbidden in the kitchen, especially when Mom was in one of these
shitty moods.
She blushed, cursing herself inwardly for being awkward now. when she wanted to
appear adult in front of her mother the most.
Mrs. Martinson watched her tall, red-headed daughter.
There was no use telling Pam that her hair was too short.
Or that her clothes belonged on a boy. not a girl.
That it was time she started going out. and meeting boys...
They had been through all that, a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times.
Although the women in her coffee clutch would have pretended to be ecstatic' over a
daughter who wasn't "boy crazy" all the time. Mrs. Martinson knew that each of those
women neighbors was at least secure in the knowledge that her daughter was at least
attractive to boys.
And if not exactly attractive, then at least not...
Mrs. Martinson shuddered at the thought.
... a lesbian.
It was a possibility.
The idea of her daughter, her baby girl, making shudder love with another woman
absolutely repulsed Mrs. Martinson.
Sex with men was one of those things married women had to put up with and
unmarried women like Pam had to learn to dole out in order to attract a man. but as far
as she was concerned, that was all it was good for from a woman's point of view.
Lesbians would not only be doing something totally unnatural, but they would be doing
it for... fun. Strictly for fun, because they enjoyed it.
Mrs. Martinson could not understand it.
She could not even discuss it.
"Pam..."
"What. Mom?" the girl said, turning around to face her mother in the doorway of the
kitchen, waiting for another insult, however nicely intended, to drop from her poor
mother's lips. "What is it? My ice cream is melting and the cake is getting all..."
"Oh, nothing, nothing. I... I just wanted to tell you..."
Mrs. Martinson looked at the floor for a moment, gathering her thoughts.
The big, brown tabby on the floor looked up at her, thinking that the look was an
invitation to play, and it quickly began to rub against Mrs. Martinson's legs, purring as
it slipped between her calves and arched its lithe backbone high.
"I... I..."
"Yes, Mom?"
"I just wanted you to take the cat with you." Mrs. Martinson gave the affectionate beast
a shove with her foot, sending it a little way along the slippery, clean floor towards
Pam. "It's making me nervous, all that rubbing and so on. Take it with you."
"Sure, Mom, sure."


Chapter 3

The big brown tabby purred and blinked as it settled down.
Pam knew that Mom would KILL her it' she knew that the cat was on the bed. leaving
its paw prints and a trail ol soft fur. but Pam wasn't going to tell her, no way. She
would brush the fur off later, with her hand.
Mom was so house-proud that she couldn't see past the end of her nose, as far as Pam
was concerned. The girl looked around, wondering if she should sit at her desk or on
the floor with her snack of ice cream and cake and whipped cream. It had been a major
victory in her young life last year when she got Mom to admit that her daughter was
old enough to be trusted not to go around smearing her walls and bedspread with food
if she was allowed to bring it into her bedroom.
The only concession had been Pam's promise of not sitting on the bed to eat. in order
to keep spills and mess off of the fine linen.
It would be so much more comfortable on the bed. though.
The cat purred at her as it settled its body on her pillow.
Comfortable now. it started to clean its face and whiskers, licking the back of its small
paw and then drawing it up and over its face.
"Move over, cat."
The cat lumbered around on the pillow as Pam sat down.
Kicking off her sneakers over the back of her heels with the toes of her other foot, Pam
swung her legs up onto the bed.
She scooted back, getting comfortable against the headboard.
The door was locked.
Mom would never know.
Pam held the bowl in one hand, and then balanced it on her knee as she pulled the
pillows around behind her, plumping them up and settling down.
She crammed two behind the small of her back and leaned back.
"Oh. damn!"
Pam grabbed the precariously balanced bowl before it slid all the way off of her bony
knee, but not before a few drops of melted ice cream had slid over the edge and onto
her knee, sinking into the denim.
Quickly, she brought a finger down to scoop up the drip.
Thanking her lucky stars that the stuff had slipped onto her, rather than onto the bed,
she sucked the drop off of her finger.
Moistening her fingertip a little with saliva, she began to rub the spot.
If she could get it up. Mom would never know when the jeans were consigned to the
wash, especially since Mom refused to handle the torn and bedraggled garment any
more than necessary, even when it was clean.
Pam knew that Mom was trying to shame her into buying new, feminine clothes,
clothes that boys would like and the other girls would envy, but Pam just couldn't bring
herself to do so, to go into some store in town and let some fawning, silly saleslady
force her into some itchy, ill-fitting and pointless confection of a dress.
Pam sucked on her finger meditatively, feeling a hang-nail with her tongue, wriggling
the piece of sore flesh back and forth.
Some of those clothes, she thought as she pondered the things that her classmates wore
to school, are as sweet as ice cream and cake.
I'll take the real thing, thanks very much!!!!
Pam dug her spoon into the bowl of ice cream with vigor.
She liked to eat.
When she was eating, she found that she was not thinking for a change, and she always
liked the relief, the same kind that she got when she was playing sports, of not having
to think too much.
She had just been on the verge of admitting to herself that it might be sort of
interesting, albeit embarrassing, to get dressed up.
Just once, that's all she would need, just to see...
Squishing the ice cream back over her teeth, melting it and rolling it around on her
tongue. Pam let her mind wander. She would just follow it, not make any effort to
think about anything in particular. Sometimes when she was eating, Pam found herself
almost failing asleep. It was so soothing to eat, and life, real life, was such a pain in the
ass.
It really was.
When she was eating. Pam found that she forgot about sex. except in the most offhanded 
kind of way. She sucked on the spoon for a moment before plunging it back
down into the mess of crumbs and cream.
When she was eating, anything seemed possible, even the possibility of someday,
somehow, getting the courage to meet a boy and...
... Pam let the spoon slide along her lips, cooling them.
They were so sensitive, her lips, so warm and soft.
Pam knew why boys wanted to kiss girls, deeply, with their tongues going into the girl's
mouth and stroking her tongue. The girls at school, when they were whispering about
boys, always said that was "so gross!" but Pam could imagine why the boys liked it.
Mouths are sexy.
Tongues are sexy.
To kiss someone's mouth and tongue with yours would be incredibly sexy.
Pam looked down at the cat, starting a little, out of her thoughts.
She had felt the cat shifting around beside her, but had thought nothing of it. Mom had
been right about the cat: it did like to move around, and to press up against its owners,
looking for affection and a playful scratch between the ears or shoulders.
Pam hadn't thought anything about it before; it always did that.
But the cat wasn't settling down again beside her.
It was standing, its weight on its two front paws, on her thigh.
He was sniffing around at the speck of ice cream that had soaked into her jeans,
making them sticky and sweet on her knee.
Pam had to smile at the curious animal peering at her leg.
"Poor kitty probably never had ice cream before, hummm?"
She held her bowl in one hand and stroked the animal's soft back.
She laughed as his small, rough, pink tongue touched her knee.
He licked the flavor all over his mouth, testing it.
He looked up at her. as if asking permission, and then he thought the better of THAT,
the way cats do. and started to lick her knee in earnest.
"You like cherry-vanilla?" Pam smiled down at him.
The cat of course, busy with his treat, said nothing, but Pam could feel a warm,
vibrating purr rising from his insides as he licked.
He obviously liked it a lot, but it was all Pam could do to stay still while he did so. It
tickled like crazy, and itched at the same time.
Pam had never known that her knees were ticklish.
It then occurred to her that no one had ever licked her knee before, so how was she to
know WHAT it felt like before? Silly!
"That tickles, Mr. Cat," Pam had to say at last, pushing the cat down.
He had long ago licked up the last of the ice cream, but, being a persistent little beast,
he kept at it, hoping to draw up the last possible, sweet, delicious drops of cream and
sugar there.
He looked up at her hopefully, his eyes wide and open.
He was licking his whiskers, showing her how much he liked it.
Pam smiled as he began to walk over her thighs, practically sitting in her lap, craning
his furry neck up, wanting to see into the bowl.
"Like this better than cat food, huh?" she asked him.
After her brief encounter with her mother that afternoon, Pam was feeling a little
reckless. She pushed one finger into the ice cream.
She brought up a big, dripping fingerful of the stuff.
"Here, kitty."
The cat meowed excitedly as he lunged for her finger.
Pam half expected the animal to bite it off, he came at her hand so quickly, so
frantically, to get the ice cream off of it before the offer was withdrawn, but then he
lashed out his tongue instead.
His little white teeth didn't even touch her finger.
But he took up most of the glob in one lick – SLURP!
Then, a naturally fastidious animal, the brown tabby began to lick up the remaining
drops and trickles more delicately, thoroughly.
He would take his time, the way he did with a mouse, Pam knew, to drink and lick it
all down, just the way he liked.
She smiled as she watched the animal. He was so cute.
Why couldn't people be more like animals, anyway?
Pam thought it was nice when the cat rubbed against her. He was just trying to be
friendly, to show that he was around to be petted.
But Mom always pushed him away impatiently with her foot.
She didn't think that animals really belonged in the house.
Letting the cat into the house at all was one of her "martyrdom" routines, designed,
Pam was sure, to make her daughter feel guilty.
Cats, on the other hand, Pam knew, never felt guilty about anything.
The cat wanted the ice cream, so he took it. and loved it.
He didn't have to feel bad about wanting it, and when he was done, who cared that he
had to begin with?
He never left a mess or anything.
Only he and Pam would know, and neither one was telling!
"Here, kitty, have some more," she said defiantly.
This fingerful was even bigger, even more drippy than the last.
"Quick, come on. kitty, quick, before it melts all over!"
Some of the clean, white stuff was slithering down Pam's hand.
She opened her palm, laying it under the cat's nose and mouth.
"COMP ON!!"
That was cold, and it tickled, and Pam gritted her teeth, holding back a combination of
laughter and moans as her cat's tongue scraped across her palm and then over her
fingers, worrying them back and forth, finding delicious ice cream where ever he licked.
It felt quite ticklish...
... and quite good.
Pam looked down at the anima! who was licking her hand and then looking up at her
for more. Without thinking about it, she scooped her hand back into the bowl,
slathering her fingers with the ice cream and whipped cream, and a couple of flecks of
the rich cake, too.
She gave her hand to him again, cooing to him under her breath.
"That's a boy. Lick it all up, that's the way, kitty."
It felt quite wonderful, in fact, as she watched him licking.
Pam wished that she had a dog, a real dog, like the one next door.
It was so nice, to have such a good, well-meaning friend.
Only animals, not people, liked you no matter what happened.
You didn't have to entertain a cat, just to be nice to it, and it loved you, Pam realized as
the animal bobbed his head over her hand and wrist, stroking her with his tongue all
the while.
It certainly felt wonderful.
For minutes, since the first swish of his little pink tongue over her wrist, at the very
sensitive stretch between arm and hand, Pam had been aware of her pet's tongue as an
instrument of pleasure.
There was no way she could look at the little fleshy tongue and not imagine that
tickling, moist sensation somewhere else on her body.
On her cunt.
In her cunt.
All over her cunt.
For the first time, her thoughts and reality seemed to be coinciding.
That little tongue was stroking back and forth, and each movement of the roughish
surface of the thing sent shivers into her body.
Pam could feel her fingers itching to flex and stretch.
She just wanted to move somehow, someway, to move with that little pleasure.
She wriggled against the bed, pressing her back into the pillows.
Her trim ass cheeks rolled against the mattress, and the high rise of her jeans cut into
the folds of her cunt, deep and high.
Pam watched the cat as she moved her ass a little more, steadily, meditatively, feeling
her clitoris arcing up, out of its hood of flesh.
She could just do that, rock back and forth like that.
That would bring her off.
That orgasm in the girls' room hadn't been enough, not today at least, to soothe the
itch in her cunt. It had simply reminded her how much her body was aching for a real,
lover's touch and kiss...
... kiss.
... lick.
... tongue.
... cat's tongue.
Down there.
Where it itched.
Down there, in her twat, between her hot, swollen cunt lips.
A tongue would soothe, and make it hotter still, but it would caress, it would lick and
slurp and touch so nicely, so wetly...
Pam realized that she had her eyes closed, that she was fantasizing.
She opened her heavy-lidded eyes and looked down.
Yes, the cat, the cat with the ice cream yen, was still there, looking at her, licking now
and then at her sticky but almost dry hand.
She was still pushing her hips around, squirming when his tongue sent electric volts
into her body, through her skin, straight down to her slit.
"Oh, cat," Pam breathed, almost sighed as she sat up.
It seemed inevitable to the girl, and she felt no shame, no real surprise, except for
delicious anticipation as she sat up, still talking to the cat.
"That's a boy, don't jump down. Here" she took a little more of the sweet stuff onto her
fingers and thrust them at him "don't go!"
With her other hand, she pulled up her light shirt.
She wore no bra – she really felt that she had no need to, although there were girls at
school with much smaller tits who wore padded, uplift bras to make the most of what
they had, and the boys seemed to like them, too, despite the obvious subterfuge, as if
just wearing a bra made a girl sexy or something and her hard nipples came straight
into view.
Pam hadn't been quite aware until right then, right at that moment as she pulled her
shirt up over her head, having to take her fingers away from the cat's mouth for a
moment in order to do so, that her nipples had gone, unnoticed by her, from the stage
of early teenage puffiness and childishness to real womanhood.
There was absolutely nothing childish about the way her nipples looked right now, she
realized in awe as she looked down at her body.
And her tits!
If they weren't a whole handful, well, at least they were about half a handful! Pam
cupped her hands under her boobs, feeling their youthful weight.
They were nice!
Pam felt an impatient pressure of furry paw against her thigh.
The cat was standing up on his back paws, pressing one foot against her upper thigh,
and motioning up, batting with his paw.
He wanted more ice cream, Pam realized, from her fingers, which were now busily
wrapped around her tits, holding them up a little.
She had almost forgotten him, she realized as she reached over and grabbed the bowl
off of her night-table and scooped up a little more cream.
She took a deep breath.
Now or never.
Now!
"Here, kitty, get some cream," she purred at the animal.
The cat didn't care how big her tits were, that was why she had been able to tear her
shirt off in front of him. He wouldn't think badly of her, thinking she was a bad girl, a
bad torn-boy', for having hard, erect nipples and a wet, soggy pussy hole.
The only thing he saw, she knew, was that ice cream.
Not her short, boyish red hair.
Not the smattering of freckles across her unmade-up nose.
Not her tattered jeans.
Just that ice cream.
The glob of sweet, melted cream that was dripping from her nipple.
That was what he wanted, all right, and he was going after it.
"Slow down, puss," Pam told him as she leaned over to set the bowl down again, out of
reach, hoping he wouldn't make the connection that that was the place where all the
goodness was coming from.
She didn't want to lose his attention for a moment.
As Pam leaned to the right, half-sitting on her knees and shins, supporting herself on
the headboard with one hand to make the long reach, her tits bounced.
The cat bounded up, too, after then, as if going after a tennis ball or butterfly, some
moving object that attracted his attention.
Pam had shivered when she applied the drop of ice cream to her right nipple, and the
coldness had made her puckered bud harden all the more stiffly.
The sudden touch of the animal's wet nose made it all the harder.
His muzzle bumped, for only the merest fraction of a second, against the
supererogenous flesh of the underside of her tit, and then it had slipped, barely a
fraction of an inch, and in even less time, down and to the side, against the sexy curve
of her breast, up to her armpit.
Pam gulped.
She loved to touch herself there, between her side and her nipple, finding that a lot of
the time that span of smooth, creamy flesh was even more sensitive than her nipple
itself, but to have someone else touch it...!
"Ooooh, kitty!!!!!"
Pam caught her breath, and the cat was crawling up over her before she could even get
the bowl, in her trembling hand, settled on the table.
She shifted around, and took a deep, lung-stretching breath.
"Okay, kitty, okay."
Pam was going to give them both what they wanted.
She made a clucking, cooing noise at the cat, afraid to form real words for the moment,
afraid of what she might say, as she undid her jeans.
She wanted to be naked.
Then there would be no turning back once she got started.
The cat was meowing, unable to understand why his mistress was holding him back,
when he could SEE all the delicious stuff she had applied to her body. He didn't know
– how could he? – that she wanted to "feed" him as much as he wanted to be fed.
He was a strong animal, a street cat by nature, and he pushed up against her hand,
trying to slip by it, to get to her tits.
Pam pushed her jeans down, feeling the stream of warm ice cream that was beginning
to run down her body, from her warm breasts, to her ribs.
Her panties clung to her perspiring ass, but she got them down, too.
She panted for a moment, her pussy a fragrant, deep, and yearning vee between her
parted thighs as she knelt on the bed, catching her breath.
Yes, she wanted this, to feel this, and this was the only way...
... No one would know.
... Mom would never know...
... Only Pam would know, and the cat, and neither one was telling.
"Come on, kitty, come to me, lick it up, lick me!"
Pam lay back, naked, on her narrow, childish bed, her hot, adult body aching for the
touch of something alive, something that would give her pleasure, something that could
made her come, come, come!
Pam pulled the animal up the bed, to her breasts.
The little mounds quivered as she breathed, her lungs straining to take in enough air to
keep her from fainting, from the hot, intense passion that was taking over her body
now, stronger than ever before.
She had never had anyone – or, in this case, anything – to pleasure her before. Just her
own fingers, and her own fantasies to keep her happy.
And now, suddenly, she had discovered the perfect solution.
The cat could never tell anyone about this, about her hot little tits and soft, open, juicy
pussy, and its hard, throbbing clitty.
She would never have to say a word to the animal, if she didn't want to.
Just direct it a little, just push its furry, licking face where she wanted it.
The cat would never spread rumors about her at school.
She didn't have to flirt with it, for it wanted the same thing she did, and no questions
asked, or demanding any answered.
The only thing that demanded an answer was her wet, open pussy...
Pam could feel her clit, still untouched, surging and filling up.
"Come on, puss. Come to mommy, and lick my tits, that's a boy..."
Pam closed her eyes as the little tongue lay over her nipple.
The cat flicked its tongue up, out of his mouth.
The tongue curled, Pam could feel as she kept her eyes tightly shut, and then it flicked
out, from underneath, to zap over the stem of her nipple.
He repeated the movement quickly, a few times a second, it seemed to her, as she felt
him working around her nipple, from top to bottom.
He didn't want to miss even a drop of the ice cream.
And she didn't want to miss one lick of his tongue.
Steeling herself, Pam opened her big, hazel eyes and looked.
"Oh!"
It was so obscene, so strange to actually SEE it happening!
And so exciting!
His little nose was about the same size as her hard nipple, but it was light, honey-brown
color, whereas her nipple was a flushed red-pink, like his tongue...
...That little tongue!!
It kept slipping around her teat, over and around, and she could feel almost all of the
sensations in her entire body stopping, shutting down.
She couldn't feel her legs, her toes, her hands, her heartbeat.
All she could feel was her nipple, growing bigger and harder by the moment, and the
way that tongue was forcing it around and around.
All she could feel was her hot, hard nipple and tit...
... and her soft, soggy cunt, with its erect, pulsating clitty.
Pam didn't have to fantasize as she let the cat do the work.
All she had to do was to FEEL it happening to her.
And to keep him at it.
"Come on, kitty," she purred to him softly, wrapping her hand around his neck,
holding him back for a moment, making him wait.
He was impatient, wriggling in her hand, but she still held him as she reached over to
the bowl of almost totally melted ice cream.
If it isn't melted now, she thought to herself, her mind a little feverish as she rubbed
her fingers over the sides of the bowl, to catch the drips, it will be when it hits my cunt!
It feels like an inferno down there, between my legs, inside my cunt hole!
The cat had slipped out of her hands, but he wasn't going away.
He had sniffed out some of the drops that had slithered down Pam's torso, and he was
bush licking at her waist, at her rib cage.
He would stop now and then, waiting for his mistress to get settled.
Pam saw him sitting, waiting for her and licking his lips and whiskers, as she lay back
down again. He watched her hand, laden with ice cream and whipped cream, a sugary,
delicious mess, hovering over her body. He waited for her to put the mound of
sweetness somewhere so that he could lick and devour it, and then have some more of
the sweet stuff.
She brought the hand down between her legs.
The cat was climbing over her, his light-footed weight pressing down, with little claws,
over her pale flesh as he jumped onto her belly.
He stood, rocking a little, in the middle of her flat stomach.
He pushed his nose down, trying to force her hand away.
Pam caught her full, lower lip between her teeth as she slathered the cold cream against
her cunt, everywhere she could, smothering her slit.
Her clit.
Her labia.
Her hole.
Right down to her ass crack, and then back up again, she left a trail of ice cream and
cake crumbs, a slippery, sweet mess that the cat would love.
"Come on, kitty," she told him, taking her hand away at last.
"Come and get it!"
The cat lowered his small head down between her legs, still standing on her belly. The
first thing he found was her hard, jutting clit.
In that position, standing on her tummy, he could get right down into the tangle of red
pubic hair, and after feeling around her clit with his tongue, wondering in his little cat
mind precisely what that funny thing was, and why his mistress jumped every time he
touched it, he went after the sodden, delicious combination of cake and cream in her
pussy hair, not really caring about the hairs that stuck to his face and his whiskers.
Like all animals given a sudden, wonderful treat, the cat couldn't know how long he
would have access to this deliciousness, when it would be taken away from him, or
when it would run out on him.
He jumped down between her legs, so that he could guard his treasure.


Chapter 4

After ten minutes, Pam was almost out of her mind.
The cat was licking and sniffing, and his little tongue was sending darts of erotic
electricity through her skin, right into her cunt hole.
He had started off just right, with her clit, giving it a lick as much out of curiosity as
anything, since he couldn't know precisely what was going on in her mind, and in her
writhing, frantic body.
All he knew was that he wanted that lovely taste.
A lot of it seemed to be coming from between big, rubbery petals, and the cat pushed
them aside with his nose, going into her cunt hole for the sweetness.
Pam knew that her juices must have been mingling fluidly with the ice cream, and she
shut her eyes tight, to think that the cat was licking up her cunt cream, straight out of
her cunt, and drinking it down.
But more than that, more than the obscene eroticism of what she was doing, of what
she was allowing to be done to herself, there was a funny, hot, knotted feeling in her
stomach, and a smooth, stretching, yearning feeling in her cunt and clit and labia.
The feeling of having a tongue on her pussy for the first time.
Who would have thought it would really feel THAT good?
Her fingers has always pleased her, soothed her, turned her on.
But being able to feel what they were doing, having to think to herself, "Now, a little
harder, a bit further inside, a bit less deep now," and to feel them, her fingers
themselves, squishing around in her cunt gash had always sort of taken her mind off of
the sheer pleasure of feeling them against her cunt skin or tits.
But this, having the sensations come from another source entirely...
... that was wild!... that was a turn on!
... that was going to make her come! And come very, very soon!
The cat's tongue, she realized, was not nearly as soft, or as smooth, as a person's
tongue, and it could touch her only a little bit at a time, being so slender and small and
short, but that didn't stop it from feeling fantastic.
The tongue swayed and swished along the curves of her creases.
It pressed into the folds of her pussy lips, pushing them back and up and down,
slithering over and over with its rough surface.
The roughness felt very good, and although she was quite wet and sticky from the ice
cream, that rough little tongue, so well-designed for what it was doing right now, he
was getting up a lot of the cream, making her dry and a little raw when his tongue
touched bare skin.
Pam could feel the prickly surface of his tongue as it lashed over her labia and then
down, down, into her gash, looking for the source.
She had pushed a glob of ice cream into her cunt hole, high up, wincing at the coldness
as it filled her, but knowing that soon it would be melted, molten with her cunt heat
and pouring out of her body.
"Come on, kitty, get it! That's a good kitty! Come!"
Pam lifted her hips slightly, pushing down on the mattress with her feet.
She slipped her hands, sticky as they were, under her ass.
She lifted herself up higher, pulling her ass cheeks apart so that her cunt flaps would
open out, unfurl and be pulled back.
"Come on, kitty!"
The cat lunged at her open cunt, seeing and smelling the sweetness.
He smelled something else, too, something that made him all the more eager to find
out what was going on in there, in that pink gash.
His whiskers were tickling her, but Pam didn't notice.
Not now.
She was too hot.
Too close to coming.
Too crazy now to care. Cat, man, woman she had no idea, and no interest in what was
making her feel this way, this hot, horny way...
... that was going to make her come any second now.
She could feel it building up in her belly, pushing down, pressing against the walls of
her womb, pushing her over the edge, into the come.
She could feel her clit tingling, and she longed to touch it.
Wedging her left elbow down to the bed, still holding her ass cheeks apart and aloft
with her left hand, fingers biting into her ass flesh, Pam brought her right hand up to
her cunt, and found her hard, burning clitoris.
She wiggling the little stem back and forth, feeling the deep, erogenous root of it
pressing back into her body, going deep inside of her.
She could never, try as she might, quite discern the source, the core of that voluptuous
strand of gristle, or where the sensations it gave her came from, or precisely where they
went once she touched it.
The feelings swarmed over her, now as always, enveloping her.
And still, in her cunt hole, the cat's tongue sought her juices.
The cat was working his tongue back and forth, tasting and feeling all the walls of her
cunt opening, as far as he could reach inside.
It wasn't too far, Pam realized from the unsatisfied pressure a little further up her cunt
hole, where the warm walls clung to each other, but it was enough to turn her, to keep
her turned on, for a long time to come.
She was wallowing in the pleasure of it, of having her cunt taken over by another being,
of having it whipped into a frenzy of pleasure.
"Come on, kitty, just a little more, please, just a little!"
Pam didn't want to take the time to put her hand back to the bowl of ice cream, she
didn't want to break the momentum of his little tongue.
She hoped that he wouldn't get tired of the game too soon.
Another minute.
That was all she needed.
In one minute, she knew it, she would be coming, coming, coming!
Pam mashed her fingers up against her clit, bearing down.
She could feel the sweat on her body, much warmer and stickier than she usually was
when she went to town on her cunt by herself. And it felt good, very good, like this, to
sweat as she let her pussy be made love to, to be beaten and eaten with a tongue for the
very first time.
"I hope you like this, too, cat," she whispered, barely audible.
She did not want him to stop, not now. She knew that it was as much her fingers on
her hard, bulging clitoris as his tongue, dancing and weaving over her cuntal opening,
that was pushing her into coming, but she did not want the cat to go away.
She wanted to see just how good it could make her feel.
Just how good it could make her hot cunt come!!
Now!
"Make me come now," she pleaded softly with herself, with her fingers pushing against
her clit, squeezing it, and with the cat. "Make me come!"
She could feel the trembling, the rumbling in her veins.
She was close, very close, to coming in a terrible, swift rush.
"Oh, oh, yessssss!"
The words hissed from between her lips, and Pam forgot who she was.
An animal.
She was an animal, hissing and growling and thrusting.
The cat was staying with her cunt, still lapping at her liquid center, but she couldn't pay
attention to him now. Now she had to concentrate.
To concentrate on coming, on letting herself go, on coming!
"Yessssss!!!"
The terrific tingling in the center of her clit, in her cunt hole, began to radiate out,
buzzing along her limbs, down to her toes, to her head.
Her fingers clutched her ass cheek, and she could feel her fingertips sliding with the
sweat into the crack there, grazing her butt hole.
It felt so good, she had never before touched that soft, forbidden place.
Nothing, however, felt forbidden to her now, not after this!
Moaning, she pressed her fingers into her ass crack, hard.
She felt a fingertip piercing the tiny orifice, and her cunt began, a split second later, to
open further, to pulsate, to come, come, come!
"Oh, God," Pam moaned, pinching her swollen clit. "I'mmmm ccoommmmiinngg!!"
The words rumbled and tore at her throat, because she wanted to scream them, to feel
them, to hear their obscenity, but she couldn't.
Mom must never, never know about this, about her daughter, about...
... her daughter's cat!
"Pussy, pussy," Pam moaned as she felt her orgasm crackling through her body,
snapping and biting into her flesh, making it tingle.
She was coming, coming hard and good, coming like crazy, coming like a bitch!
Pam felt nothing as she spun into the hottest, most enormous orgasm she had ever had,
one that threatened to swallow her up for good.
She opened her eyes, and she could feel only the after-effects of the orgasm in her body
now, having passed point when she came that made it impossible for her young body to
feel the pleasure any more keenly. in a few years, or with more practice, she would be
able to keep up with and to savor such a climax, but for the moment...
She moaned.
Every muscle in her body felt as if it had been stretched out on a rack and swung,
suspended, over a deep, yawning cavern of sharp rocks.
In a way, that is precisely what had happened to her.
Pam's head rolled back on the pillows and she sighed.
She kept her eyes closed, catching her breath and feeling her lungs expand for the first
time in minutes. The short, sharp, shallow breaths that she had been taking had made
her close to fainting, from lack of air, and now she felt giddy on the stuff.
She could see only furry shapes in front of her eyes, and she tried hard to pull the lids
back, to see, to focus on the world again.
Oh, God.
The world.
Mom.
The cat.
O, God, the cat.
My pussy.
The fucking cat!
Pam looked down at the animal who had suddenly, surprisingly been displaced.
The girl's muscular legs had scissored together when she came, pushing the cat, claws
and fur flying, out of the sweet valley he had found.
He looked at his mistress, tail flicking and twitching.
He waited impatiently to get back in there, and all she was doing was lying there,
keeping that place closed off to him, sighing to herself.
He stood up, indignant.
His body was tense, ready to jump down, to escape.
No cat can stand any one thing for too long; it's part of their nature.
But this cat was rather loathe to go away just yet, and he stood there, considering the
situation with a swishing, flicking tail, looking at his mistress.
Something in there, in that place where he had been licking, had been very nice for
him, very nice indeed. Not just that sweetness, which still clung in a few sticky droplets
to her red pubic hair and to the outermost tips of his long, white whiskers.
Something musky.
Something like the smell of hot, randy, female cats in heat.
Something that made his little cat cock prick up inside of his sheath.
He had been reared a housecat, and had never seen more than one or two females of
the same species in his life, but he knew that smell.
Any animal, any MALE animal, would know that smell, all right.
The smell of female sex.
The smell of female sex ready for anything, ready for fucking.
Open and ready.
The cat worked on instinct alone, the only guide he had.
"Hey!"
Pam felt small, warm feet on her belly, and she looked up.
She had been lost to the world, just rolling around in her afterglow, trying and
succeeding to forget how she had come to feel so good.
She had rather hoped that the animal would mysteriously disappear, to save her from
having to deal, now that the frenzy was over, with what she had just done, what she
had consciously chosen to have done to herself.
Having the cat lick her tits.
Lick her clit.
Like her hole.
Drink her juice.
And make her come.
Pam felt her eyes widening as she watched. the heavy, male cat standing on her
stomach, looking at her for just a moment then letting his hindquarters slip down, so
that his rough back paws scratched at her belly, over her pussy mound, and then
teetered, trying for balance, on the tops of her thighs, poised there for a long time.
He was humping his hips!
The animal had his eyes closed, and his lips were pulled back, as if he were in a trance
of some kind as he crouched over her.
Pam felt frozen, as if it were a lion or a panther or a tiger that was hovering over her
frail, naked body, rather than a common cat!
She watched in shocked disbelief as her pet brought his hips, again and again, close to
her closed snatch vee, struggling to find the way to bring his cat cock into her pussy
hole, trying to find a way to fuck her, the way the smell in her slit had told him to.
"Oh, kitty, NO!"
Pam knew that her voice was whining, almost pleading with the animal, to make it
stop, to make it go away, and to take its cock with it!
He had managed to touch the tip of the thing, when his back foot slipped off of her
thigh and onto the mattress, and their pubic areas had come into shockingly hot
contact, and die was really scared now.
And more than a little curious, too, she told herself.
Pam closed her eyes for a moment, when she felt the rigid cock tip.
It was just a CAT for God's sake, just a little animal!
Stop being so silly!
You let him... lick you, so you could come, didn't you?
Well?
So, why shouldn't he have... the same pleasure of coming, or whatever...
Pam opened her eyes.
It was a little funny, wasn't it? she asked herself later.
That poor, turned on animal trying to fuck me! Poor kitty!
"It's okay kitty," Pam said softly, feeling the animal's claws beginning to protrude a bit
more from the pads of his feet.
He kept slipping on her thighs, and he was putting out his nails to try to grip her skin,
to hold onto her flesh with them if he had to.
Pam could see slight scratches on her thighs already.
She could have just pushed him away, and made him sit on the floor for a while, to
cool down, before she let him out of the room.
She certainly couldn't have sent him flying, out of her room and into the house, with
that hard-on she had felt pumping into her pussy mound.
"Here, kitty, let me..."
Pam stroked the cat's back, soothing him, for he had started, a moment before, to hiss
and spit in frustration and anger at not being able to soothe the pounding of blood and
come in his cock, not yet at least.
"It's okay," she told him, playing with his hips, feeling the bones and muscles of his
back, and the continual swish of his tail over her thighs.
It tickled.
It felt nice, too.
Pam felt her legs muscles clenching with each swipe of his tail, and that in turn sent
delicious tingles all along her long legs.
Which made her belly muscles clench.
Which made her ass muscles clench.
Which made her cunt muscles clench.
Which made her clit hard.
"Oh, lord," Pam sighed as she felt the little organ heating up.
When would it ever stop?
Was she always fated to be hot, to be ready, to be turned on?
There wasn't time to think about that now, though. The pulsations of blood and sweat
and girl-juice in her body were too insistent for that kind of philosophical discussion
with herself.
There was not even time to stop and think about what she was doing.
"It isn't serious," was all she could tell herself as she let her fingers run lightly under the
animal's belly to his cock.
"No one will ever know. Except me... and the cat..."
And neither one would ever tell a soul, of that she was sure.
Pam gulped when she felt the animal's cock between her fingers.
It felt very much like another finger, possibly, but hot.
And rather slick.
And with a little cap.
His knob was pointy, to the girl's surprise, although she hardly knew what to expect,
not at this point. She explored it with her fingers, feeling every small curve and bend of
the organ, much to the delight of the beast to whom it belonged.
"It's okay, kitty," Pam said over and over, more to herself, however, than to the cat
itself. The cat knew that it felt good, not like sticking his cock into a little pussy, but
very nice anyway. Pam was trying to reason with herself, not him. She had to tell
herself it was all right, that she was getting turned on again, like crazy, but that it was
all right.
"It's not as if I were going out and fucking some guy off the street, or playing with
some guy's cock," she told herself. "This is different. No one will know..."
She pulled the little cock a bit harder, and felt it stiffen all the more.
She was sure, from the reading that she had done on Mom's library of cheap novels,
that a hot man could stand just so much before...
Would the cat lose interest when he came?
"Unggh," Pam grunted as she spread her legs slightly.
The cat's back legs, caught by surprise, slipped down between her own for a second,
drawing their ten sharp claws over her flesh in the fall.
Pam still had hold of his tiny cock, and the cat hissed at the tug.
"It's okay, kitty," she moaned. She had felt the scratch of his claws, all the way down
the inside of her sensitive inner thighs, but she bit her lips, holding back the moan that
the pain seemed to demand of her. She wanted to get the cat settled over her too badly
to disrupt him now, even if she could feel something very much like a trickle of blood
on her inner thighs. "It's okay, kitty. Settle down!"
She got the cat's back paws onto either thigh, and the beast relaxed.
He was even pushing his furry flanks forward, into her hand.
Fucking her hand.
The realization hit Pam like a slap, but a good, exciting slap.
A slap that jolted her.
She loved sex.
All of it.
She wanted to experience everything, to feel this way again, about a man.
To never, never stop feeling the way she did now, on the brink...
... almost, not quite, ready to come.
"OH!"
She gulped when she brought her free hand to her clit.
It was swollen like a miniature penis, not much smaller than the one that she held
between her damp, red fingers, the one that slipped around in her palm and coursed
over her digits, sending thrills down her arm, to her tits and belly, and then to her cunt.
She ran her finger down into the core of her cunt.
Wet.
Open.
Deep.
Fuckable.
"Oh, God, if you could... if I could..." she told the cat.
"I would fuck you!"
The words might never have been spoken, for all Pam knew later, but she felt as if she
were shouting them. She needed a cock, a cock inside of her belly, opening her cunt,
taking away her troublesome virginity and making her free and happy and horny.
"Huhhggnnnhh."
Pam crammed two fingers into her hole, feeling the tightness.
A man would feel that, wrapping around his cock!
She could feel tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as they shut tightly. Sweat was
puddling between her tits, her ice cream-sticky tits, and rolling over her slender, taut
form, down to her waist, and then down to the bed.
The sheets were all wet and tangled under her ass and legs.
The cat meowed, a sudden sharp burst of sound that made Pam open her eyes.
She made herself look at his cock.
She made herself look at him come, his little prick spasming.
Spurting.
Coating her belly with a thin, watery substance that was warm and oily.
Splattering.
Four long ejaculations that made his hair stand up on his back.
Four wet jolts that felt as if they were carrying, also, a volt of electricity in their stream
as they fell against her skin, a current that was increased by the moisture and the
receptiveness of the turned-on skin they touched when they hit.
"Oh!"
"Oh!"
"Oh!"
"OHHHHH!!!!"
With the fourth burst of his cock, and fifth sudden, deep, straining push of her fingers
into her hole, opening it wider than it had ever been opened before, the girl came once
more, her body jerking up high off of the bed, coming with a strange, twisting wrench
to her womb.
It felt so good to come.
It will feel even better, Pam told herself as she pushed the blinking cat to the floor and
gave him the big bowl of melted ice cream.
It will feel absolutely wonderful, with a man...


Chapter 5

The trousers were well-cut and nice and trim at the ankles, as was the fashion, and the
flat boots she wore, also all the rage, looked better on her, Pam told herself, than they
did on any of the other girls at school.
They showed off how truly long and slim her legs were.
At least, they were still pants.
Even if the fabric, a crisp, russet cotton, felt a little strange, after years spent in 
ultracomfortable denim, at least she was used to the general cut of the cloth, as it were.
She wouldn't feel totally weirded-out when she went for the interview.
Right now, though, as she walked up the path to the Happy Hounds Kennel, Pam
knew that her hands were sweating pretty badly.
I hope I don't have to shake hands with the vet, she told herself.
She could hear the baying of a dog now and then, but otherwise the kennel was quite
quiet and soothing, with lawns and dog-runs and a duck pond down on the other side
of the big, old white house that had been converted into offices and an apartment for
the kennel-master.
Pam felt right at home here, just the way the guidance counselor had told her she
would when she sought Pam out in the hallway the day before.
"Pam, could you come into my office for a moment after school?" the older woman,
who had a warm, motherly demeanor, had asked her that day. "Something has come up
that I would like to discuss with you, dear, if you don't mind."
Pam had nodded, and said, yes, of course, but it couldn't take too long, because she had
basketball practice that afternoon.
"Of course, dear! You and your sports!"
Mrs. Franklin was chuckling as she turned to go back to her office, to let Pam get to her
next class, but then she turned, as if she had remembered something important.
"I just wanted to tell you, too, dear, that you're looking very nice today."
"Thank you, Mrs. Franklin."
But the woman had already turned for the door and disappeared.
Well, at least someone had noticed at last, even if it was just Mrs. Franklin.
For the last week, Pam had been making a special effort.
Just little things, of course, but there were subtle differences about her appearance,
which were fated to be noticed first, of course, by other females.
A colorful comb in her hair one day, sweeping her red locks up off of the back of her
neck and making her hair look as if it were quite long and had been pinned up for the
day, rather than allowed to hang loose.
It had taken the girl most of the evening prior to that, the evening in fact when she had
been too tired to study, she told her mother, and no, she didn't want any dinner after
all "You were right, Mom, that ice cream and cake was just TOO, TOO MUCH!!" to
create that hair style, which would have been simple to an ordinary girl, but which kept
slipping through Pam's inexperienced fingers.
She didn't care if it took all night to figure out what to do with her hair. She felt festive,
like celebrating, and what better way than figuring out what to do with her looks, how
to make herself more attractive.
Now that she was determined to take the plunge, to find the boy who would be gifted
with her virginity, she was determined to do it right.
She would be pretty, all right, she would show them all.
No one seemed to notice, though, except for Beth, who looked at Pam through curious,
heavily mascaraed eyes, studying her looks.
"Are you getting TALLER or something, Pamela?" the leader of the pack had giggled
when Pam had passed by her table at lunch.
Pam was already the tallest girl in her class, and had been for years.
And Beth was the rudest.
Pam had blushed a bright red, and the others at the table were laughing, more at Beth's
silly joke than at Pam, but the embarrassed girl didn't know that. All she knew was that
she was on the spot.
"Beth, you bitch!" Marc had laughed through his words. He talked to her, since she had
been his girl friend for over six months, all the time, and everyone thought it was sooo
cute! It made Pam sick, but she didn't say anything at all, she just turned around and
started to walk away.
"Hey!"
Pam turned at the pressure of a big hand on her arm.
"I MEANT that by the way, she IS a bitch," Marc whispered to her, and then, standing
close to Pam as he continued to hold her arm tightly, he said loud enough for the rest
of his gang to hear, "What Beth meant was that you do look a little more... sort of
grown up lately, that's all... You got a boyfriend you ain't telling anybody about,
Pammy? Give us a clue."
Pam felt the blush draining out of her cheeks, leaving them dead white.
For a sudden, frantic moment, she almost imagined that they knew.
About her, about her fantasies, about...
... the cat...
... and everything, about her decision to lose her virginity as quickly as possible, that
they knew, and they were mocking her.
Pam pulled her arm away from Marc, the moment that thought occurred to her.
Suddenly, she was sorry that she had. Was she crazy? No one could know what her
thoughts were, that was just too ridiculous and paranoid for words!
But she had already made her stand, and she had to follow through.
No girl pulled away from Marc, but she had, and now she had to show them what she
was made of.
"No one YOU would know," was all she could think of saying, and she tossed the
words back over her shoulder as she walked away.
She could hear nothing, not even a giggle, from the "in" crowd table as she grabbed her
books off of her table, one of the many that was populated at lunch time by the loners,
the ones, like Pam, who belonged to no crowd at all.
She still had to write her paper for Art History, and she lugged the big books back to
the library, upstairs, and lost herself in her work, trying to forget the embarrassing
incident.
But she couldn't forget the feeling of Marc's fingers on her arm.
They had been hot and strong and broad-tipped fingers.
How nice they had felt on her arm, she marvelled as she tried to take her pen to paper
and compose the essay on the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. How nice they would feel,
too, on, say her...
... tits...
... tummy...
... legs...
... and pussy.
I shouldn't have been so rude, Pam told herself sternly. I'll have to apologize to him,
that's all. Pam didn't give herself time to think that she might make a fool out of herself
again, she just decided that she had to tell him she was sorry.
She saw him later, in the hallway, between classes.
"M-M-M-arc?"
The football player turned from his locker to the girl.
Pam smiled as best she could, and she thought, although she could not be sure, that she
saw his eyes open up a bit for a moment, in pleased surprise, but then, just as quickly
as she had approached him, he looked sullen, the macho football star again.
"Yeah?"
"I... ah, just wanted to tell you, ah, thanks, for before..."
"Before?"
"In the cafeteria, when Beth, ah. told me that I... ah..."
Marc nodded his head, turning back to his locker to avoid the blush on Pam's soft
cheeks. He was a sucker for a pretty face with red cheeks that looked like the curve of a
soft, luscious peach.
Just the way Pam looked right now. Funny, he had never seen that in her before.
He said quietly, "It's okay... forget it, Pam... I just..."
Pam was mortified.
He obviously thought nothing of it, would have done the same for anybody.
She should have realized that.
She shouldn't have started chasing silly, childish rainbows.
"Look," the boy with his back to her said as he fiddled around, buying time and
courage, "are you busy on Saturday night? Would you like to...?"
Marc turned around with the most hopeful face he could muster, since everyone knew
that Pam didn't date yet, and that she was obviously waiting for something special to
come along, since she was certainly pretty enough, even if she did try to hide it all the
time in jeans and baggy sweat-shirts and sneakers, and no make-up.
All the other girls, even Beth, looked kind of trampy compared to Pam, but at least you
could tell that they would be hip enough to neck and probably pet a little, and some
went even further, of course, to get dates.
A guy could tell that a girl like Pam had STANDARDS.
He couldn't tell whether she would laugh at him if he asked her out.
Marc was willing to try.
Beth was getting on his nerves a lot these days, anyway.
But when he turned...
... she was gone.
Gone a long time, by the looks of it, for Marc could not even see the top of her pretty
red head in the crowd of students that swarmed and laughed in the hallway, going to
classes, oblivious to the drama that had just been acted out in front of them.
Marc guessed that it was going to be a one-act play, at that.
That Pam.
She obviously thought she was too good for him, disappearing like that.
Maybe she is, Marc told himself as he kicked his locker shut. A girl like that wouldn't
be interested in going out with the biggest make-out artist at school.
Marc was getting increasingly bored by making-out with Beth.
He wanted to try fucking, with a real, hot, good-looking chick.
He had been crazy, he told himself, to even IMAGINE that Pam might just be the one.
Pam had gone into Mrs. Franklin's office feeling a little bit nervous.
Ever since the time when Mrs. Franklin had suggested Pam might like to become a
model, the girl had stopped trusting the woman's judgment.
It was flattering, hell, but Pam didn't believe it for a minute.
And it had been particularly annoying to be told that, after the woman had just finished
asking her what she wanted to become when she got older, and Pam had just finished
telling her all about it.
"A vet... I like animals, and I think I might make a good vet. I have the grades to get
into a good school, and that's what I want."
That had happened several weeks earlier, and Pam could still remember, vividly, the
patronizing smile on the counselor's face.
Mrs. Franklin had heard so many young girls proclaim that they wanted to become
veterinarians, only to give up when they found that cute little puppies and kittens had
blood and bones and could get pretty nasty when one tried to give them a shot or a pill.
Mrs. Franklin hated to think of Pam going through the disappointment of finding out
that she wasn't suited to the job, since the girl was so nice, one of the few girls at the
school who might, someday, be described as "ladies" as well as women.
There was no malice, no slighting of Pam's academic abilities intended when Mrs.
Franklin suggested that the girl might try modeling.
But Pam didn't know that, and now she approached the woman's office with something
like fear. She had been dressing up lately, even eating crow and asking Mom to take her
shopping last weekend, and she hoped that the counselor wouldn't think that it was her
reference to a career in fashion that had sparked this change in the girl.
Not that she would be keeping up too much longer, Pam had decided that afternoon.
No one had said much of anything to her, and Marc hadn't even LOOKED at her once
in the last two weeks. Not that she had expected him to.
After snubbing her like that, and her running away before he had the chance to say
anything else cruel to her, she hardly expected him to look at her, let alone smile or say
anything to her.
At least, she didn't hope so with the intellectual part of her brain.
With the emotional part, though, and the sexual part, it was different.
Very different.
Only the night before, after two weeks of replaying those scenes in the cafeteria and in
the hallway, by his locker, Pam had woven a detailed fantasy, one that changed just a
little each night, but one which always ended the same way, with the same hot result.
With Marc taking her into the boys' room, from which all the other students had
mysteriously vanished, and fucking her against the cold floor.
But the tiles wouldn't feel cold, she told herself, because Marc would have his hands
down there, under her ass, holding her up.
Cushioning her ass as he drove his cock into her virgin hole.
It wouldn't hurt too much, she decided, if she were really wet.
Really ready for it.
Really open for his cock.
And she would be, that was for sure. Despite her embarrassment, Pam couldn't look at
the boy at school or on the football field, which was right next to the field hockey yard
where Pam's team practiced, without getting wet and mushy down there, without
feeling her blood heating up and pooling in her belly, making all her sex organs heavy
and full of desire for him.
She just couldn't help it, and so long as no one knew that was what she was feeling, she
decided to let herself feel it, and to think about it.
In bed.
With her fingers playing between her legs, tickling her clit and pulling at her pussy lips,
jerking off as she thought about the boy.
About his cock.
The cock she wanted, but the one she knew she would never have.
I was silly to ever start all this, Pam told herself as she sat outside of Mrs. Franklin's
office. All these clothes and so on. It hasn't done me any good, no good at all! Kitty is
the only one who understands me...
Only six hours earlier, when she was supposed to be getting dressed for school, Pam
had been busy, in her bedroom, smearing a dollop of cat food on her clit, urging the cat
to lick at her slit and to make it come, just once, before she had to go to school.
It was getting to be so weird, to do that, to make the cat lick her cunt, and then go to
school, like nothing had happened, like she was the same innocent virgin girl she had
been three weeks ago, like thoughts of fucking and boys never crossed her mind.
But they did.
Pam was beginning to think, as she sat there, her long legs stretched out in front of her,
hands folded across her tummy, that no matter what happened, whether she became a
vet or a model or a nun, she would always be like this.
Alone.
Misunderstood.
A virgin.
Only the cat would know the truth about her, and she could trust him not to tell...
Pam sighed and closed her eyes, imagining herself fifty years from now, a crusty old
red-headed village vet, an eccentric who never got married, one who was rumored, and
possibly rightly so, to have as much of a husband as she could handle in her dogs and
other pets.
Pam could see it very clearly, and her confused teenage hormones, the things that were
putting the sensitive, highly-sexed girl through all this torture to begin with, brought a
lump to her throat as she pictured herself, fucking her own fingers, a dildo, a dog, but
never, never a man...
... the bastard...
... damn Marc!
When Mrs. Franklin called her into her office, Pam knew that her face was red and that
her eyes were swollen with unshed tears.
They would have to wait until she got home, though, and maybe, if she was lucky, the
cat and his fast, moist tongue might make it all feel better.
For a little while, at least, she reasoned with herself.
Pam hadn't been able to believe her ears when Mrs. Franklin told her the news.
"Of course," she told her, "it doesn't pay too much, almost nothing at all, dear, but it's
such a good chance to try it out..."
Pam nodded eagerly.
"Oh, I don't care about the money, not at all!" she cried. "It would be so, so wonderful
to get a chance to work at the kennel, well, I would pay THEM if I had to, if I could
afford it, just for the chance to find out what it's all about, to be a vet...! I'm so excited!"
"Well, I thought you would be, dear. Now, you are the first person I've told about the
job offer, because I immediately thought of you for it, but you'll understand that if they
should decide for some reason that you're nor right for the job, even if it is just an
afternoon thing, after school and Saturdays, that I'll have to send some other student
along for an interview..."
"I know," Pam told her. "But I want it so much, I don't see how they could tell me
'No'!" Pam laughed excitedly at the prospect.
"Shall I call Mr. and Mrs. Wendell now, and make an appointment for you? For, say,
tomorrow after school, or maybe on Saturday afternoon...?"
"Tomorrow!"
Frank Wendell placed the receiver back into its cradle.
"That was the guidance counselor at the high school," he told his wife. "She has
someone for the job as kennel hand, thinks it might work out quite well, too."
Melanie Wendell lifted her head from her husband's cock to look up at the naked man
who was stretched out on their king-sized bed.
"Boy or girl?"
"Girl," Frank told her, running his fingers through his wife's long, brown hair. "You'd
like that wouldn't you, Melanie?" he asked her.
"Why, DARLING, I just don't know WHAT you are talking about," the woman batted
her eyelashes innocently at her husband, laughing.
She was as naked as he was, and just as turned on, from the half-hour of foreplay they
had been engaged in before the phone rang. Frank reached down and easily took hold
of one of her big, hard, red-tipped nipples and gave it a meaningful squeeze.
"You'd like a nice set of female tits to play around with, wouldn't you?" he asked her,
more to the point this time, no more beating around the bush. "It's been a while, as I
recall, since you've been involved with another lady, am I right?"
"From about the time you DRAGGED me out here, to this kennel, darling," Melanie
smiled back at him. "You KNOW that, darling..."
They were teasing each other as they lazily stroked and played with each other.
If it hadn't been for the big, black Doberman with his licking tongue buried to the hilt
in Melanie Wendell's pussy hole, they would have looked just like any other happily
married and sexually compatible couple in their early thirties.
But they were quite, quite different.


Chapter 6

Frank knew that there was something different about Melanie the first time that he saw
her, when she brought her big English sheep dog into his clinic for a check-up, two
years ago, back East.
She had been dressed that time, although there was never any way of predicting how
she would chose to dress on a given day, in black leather.
Head to foot.
High heels.
Leather skirt that showed off lots of leg encased in patterned, black nylons.
Black leather jacket with zippers.
Metal clasps that gave provocative hints about the naked flesh underneath.
Red lips and red fingernails that looked ready to rake down a man's back and flail him
alive, should he live so long, and be so lucky.
Red fingernails that would look fantastic on his cock, too.
But it wasn't so much her sexual presence that commanded his attention when he first
saw her in his waiting room, wanting to see him about a slight infection that her dog
had contracted somehow.
No, it was the way she acted.
The way she talked to that dog.
The way she stroked his ears as he sat by her feet, cooing to him.
Speaking in a voice that sounded as if it should have been used on a lover, rather than
an animal. A voice that sent shivers through Frank's body.
When she leaned over to talk to the animal, lifting its big, sad face with her hand so
that it would look at her, Frank could see her big, warm, womanly tits swaying inside of
her black leather jacket.
Braless.
Erect nipples.
Curious, Frank told himself as he called her name and she looked up, lips slightly
parted and red, looking as if she had been getting ready, for all the world to see, to kiss
the big dog with her sweet mouth.
Frank had heard a lot of things in medical school, which he had attended for a couple
of years before deciding that he liked animal medicine better, about women and sex and
strange practices.
He had heard of this, but he had never really believed it.
Bestiality.
It seemed impossible, with this woman, this fantastically beautiful woman, but Frank
knew, with a sudden gut intuition, that it was true.
He called her into his office, spending more time that was necessary with the woman
and her dog, who was only slightly under the weather.
Frank found out later that if he had been any other man, not a vet, Melanie would
never have agreed to go out with him in a million years.
Later, much later, she would tell him with a laugh, "I thought I could learn something
from you, about dogs. I never thought I would ever end up FUCKING you, and liking
– no, loving! – it at that, too!"
They had both laughed at that, but it was true.
Frank had been fascinated by the woman, by what he suspected of her, but he hadn't
really wanted to screw her. A woman who made it with DOGS!!!???? Ugh!
What a thought!
But he did want to talk to her, that was for certain.
His curiosity and his intense good looks had been getting him into trouble with women
ever since he hit puberty, but he had no intention of letting anything like that happen
here. Besides, if she was into dogs, as he suspected, she wouldn't be interested in
making it with a man anyway.
Neither of them had counted on their chemistry coming into play.
But it had.
With a big bang, at that.
Melanie had agreed to meet the vet at the restaurant, and he had hardly recognized the
woman when he sat down at the bar to wait for her.
Whereas that afternoon she had been a stylish, almost punkish figure in leather and
lipstick, now she was a soft, dreamy belle.
In subtle, pretty make-up and a floating dress of pink voile, she looked totally different,
her hair in long, soft curls being the only thing that remained constant.
But she was still just as beautiful, just as stunning.
And Frank was all the more curious about her and her life.
And her dog.
"I feel as if I know you already," Melanie had said to him half-way through their
dinner, into their second bottle of wine.
"Men," she confided to him, "usually don't make me very comfortable."
So far, Melanie and Frank had barely had time to exchange more than pleasantries, and
a few bare facts about their lives and so on she was photographic stylist, hence her
access to such a large and varied stylish wardrobe but Frank knew what she was talking
about.
Although he was always a hit with women, who liked his six foot, two inch frame, and
his laughing blue eyes, and his randy cock, he rarely felt truly comfortable with them as
people, just as people to fuck, when it came right down to the bitter, bald truth.
Maybe it was because he didn't see any chance of getting it on with Melanie was he
able to make the transition from lover to friend.
Whatever it was, he could honestly tell her that he, too, was very comfortable with her.
As he said it, he could feel himself turning on.
She was hot.
She was beautiful.
She was smiling at him, her lips parted, showing even, white teeth.
She was asking him to come up to her place for brandy now.
And he was going.
"Well, that first time, before, ah, we really got to know each other, well, it wasn't
exactly stellar sex, was it?" Melanie would ask Frank now and again, teasing him about
their first love making session.
As far as Frank had been concerned, it had been a success.
After all, he had gotten her undressed, given her one juicy orgasm with his tongue and
fingers, and then got his hard cock into her extremely wet, extremely open cunt hole
within twenty minutes of getting her home.
That had been pretty good timing, he had thought at the time, and he had managed to
keep his cock from shooting off until after she had come again.
With any other woman, that would have been a real hit, a really good bout.
But not Melanie.
Although she didn't feel cold in his arms, when he undressed her and put his lips to her
succulent nipples, or when he opened her pussy lips and drank in the good, clean,
erotic flow of her juices, he could tell that she was not entirely "there" somehow.
That was all right, though.
Sometimes a woman didn't really get turned on, or feel totally comfortable with a new
lover until the second or third time around.
And Frank knew he could provide that for her, and then some.
He certainly wanted her cunt again, if she wanted him to have it.
They had rested briefly, kissing softly as she nestled her head on his shoulder, which
she seemed to like, cooing and sighing, and then they had been disturbed.
Scratching at the door.
Snuffling and clawing.
Melanie had sat up, her big tits swaying, and for a moment she looked confused.
"Buff," she said after a moment, banging the heel of her hand against her forehead. "I
forgot about him! I've, never done... that... before..."
She looked at Frank, her mouth slightly open. "Never."
Frank had forgotten about the dog, too, and suddenly he wished that he had not let it
slip his mind. Jerk, getting hot for a girl who...
He could hardly believe it about her, she was so beautiful in his eyes, but as she jumped
off of the bed, opening the door to the spare room and letting the big, white and grey
dog bounce into the bedroom, heading straight for the bed, he believed it.
He could see the affection in the girl's eyes as she watched the dog jump up onto the
bed and make for Frank, licking his face, right over his cheek, where only a moment
before, Melanie's face had rested.
"He wants to thank you for making him all better," she laughed.
"Great."
Frank pushed the dog away, and tried to smile at the girl.
His cock, safely hidden under the white sheets of the bed, started to contract and go
limp, whereas a moment earlier, it looked as if it wasn't going to lose any of it hardness
before he took her again, fucked her again, maybe even put his cock in her sweet
mouth for the first time.
Now, he couldn't even think about such a thing with her.
It was too distressing.
And the girl seemed to see it on his face, what he was thinking.
"Oh. Frank..."
Her voice was soft, like gentle fingertips, like the fingertips that she trailed over his
cheek, his forehead, his throat, as she sat down beside him again, moving her fragile
naked body close to his.
"I know what you're thinking," she said simply, honestly.
Frank felt his cock twitching, just from her lush, open proximity.
"And it's true."
He felt his prick shudder and begin to deflate once more.
"But please, couldn't I talk to you, just a little, before you condemn me?" Her voice
touched his ear, with her soft, parted lips.
He nodded his head yes.
Frank was glad of the good, strong coffee she made for them before she started to talk.
He needed it to sober himself up.
Her story was simple.
No father, a flighty mother who had shunted her young daughter back and forth
between foster homes and relatives and more foster homes.
Ten different schools before the girl reached the age of sixteen.
No real friends, just other kids in slightly better or worse condition than her.
Raped by an uncle when she was fourteen. and forced to endure that humiliation and
pain, for she had no more loving home to go to.
She had tried to tell her mother about, when her mother came to visit her sister and her
sneaky, vile husband, who had agreed to take the girl in until she was sixteen, thus
taking her out of the foster-care program for good.
But her mother had only laughed, a sweet sugary laugh, the kind that she usually
reserved for her men friends, of which she had a quite a few, according to Melanie's
uncle, who often taunted the girl with tales of her mother, telling Melanie how lucky
she was to have him for her uncle, how he would take care of her, and keep her fed and
clothed, so long as she opened her legs, that was a good girl, and took it all inside.
He hurt her, over and over again, with his big, male cock.
She was still bleeding two months after he first raped her, for he was one of those
stupid louts who don't understand that a woman has to be turned on to take a cock and
for it not to hurt her.
When he fucked her up the ass, when he got a little bored with his pretty niece's cunt
hole, she thought she would surely die from it.
She wished, when it was over, that she had died.
That would have put an end to it, but unfortunately death did not come.
Just more of his hot cock, more of his insults, more of his, that's a good girl, open your
mouth. Now don't make a face, bitch, if you want to keep this good home, and not go
out onto the streets like your mother. Open up and suck, or you'll be sucking strangers
instead.
Her mother had refused to listen, and her aunt, a timid woman more fearful of her
husband than Melanie was, and with good reason, refused to bear witness to the girl's
tormented nights.
But the time that Melanie had got her courage up to talk to her mother, her mother did
show one remarkable bit of insight.
"Honey," she told her, "you're growing up to be a woman, and now, believe me, I know
that brings problems. You need a friend, that's all."
And to prove it, Mama brought her a fluffy little puppy.
Melanie dubbed the animal "Pretty Boy" and the dog lived up to its name. He belonged
to Melanie, and Melanie alone, and he was beautiful.
Fluffy white and grey hair, long and soft and shining.
A big black nose that was always wet and always inquisitive.
A big, pink tongue that liked to lick his mistress' face.
A big, friendly puppy who grew into a big protective dog.
At first, Melanie's uncle had no opinion one way or the other about the fluffy puppy
who lay, every night, at the foot of Melanie's bed.
He would just push the dog down the floor when he got into bed with the slender,
tense young girl, so that he would have plenty of room.
Room to move around when he fucked her, which he did almost every night.
Melanie hated it.
Hated the way his cock tore into her body, hurting her.
Hated the way it felt when it was over, and she stood up and felt his come, his ugly,
stinking, dirty, filthy come, rolling down her legs.
Hated the pressure of his body over hers, his hairy chest scratching at her nipples,
making them sore and puckered and painful.
Hated the way he smelled, and the way he made her smell.
Sex and sweat.
And fear.
The only thing that helped the girl get through that painful year was the puppy, who
would come bounding back into her room when her uncle left her alone at last, having
spurting his cock-load into her vagina again, or into her mouth, all over her round,
feminine tits.
Pretty Boy knew that she was sad, and he hated it.
Like all big, loyal dogs, Pretty Boy loved his mistress.
She fed him, and she cuddled him, and she did a strange thing that the intelligent dog
couldn't quite understand, from his perspective.
At night, after being pushed out of her room, which grew to annoy the dog as he got
older, he would find her doing something funny.
She would be all hunched up on her bed, where Pretty Boy liked to sleep, and she
would be making funny noises, like she was hurt.
And wet stuff would be coming out of her face, and when Pretty Boy came up onto the
bed and licked her face, it would taste all salty and wet.
Very curious to the dog, and very disturbing to the loyal animal.
He KNEW when his mistress was unhappy, because he loved her.
And he hated to see that.
And he hated to see the man who pushed him off of the bed, and who was making his
gentle mistress unhappy and putting her in pain.
These were things that the dog could understand through instinct.
And he knew, also through instinct, how to deal with them.
One evening, when her uncle came into her bedroom, his jockey shorts already tenting
out over his hard-on, anticipating the sweet girl's young cunt hole or mouth or ass
tunnel, the dog was no where to be found.
Melanie hadn't seen him for a couple of hours.
She was worried, she told her uncle, and she wanted to go outside to look for him,
before it got too, too late, and please, uncle, please, no...
"Ha, ha," was the chuckled reply of the burly trucker with the restless cock. "I think
that dog is the one who's getting your sweet-meats, sweetie pie, when I'm not around.
You care more about that animal than you do about your own flesh and blood, and,
honey, that just ain't natural."
"What do you know about 'natural'?!" the girl had shouted.
She wore her coat over her school clothes, prepared to go out to look for the dog, but
even with the advantage of being fully clothed, she was no match for her uncle when he
was in one of these moods.
Horny.
And angry.
And slightly, ever so slightly, drunk on too much whiskey.
He would have her now, the insolent slut, and have her here.
Melanie knew better than to struggle when her uncle took hold of her. She had a crop
of black eyes and sore ribs too many times before.
He ripped at the buttons of her coat, pulling it open, rubbing himself against her,
pushing her back towards the bed, pushing her down onto it.
Melanie couldn't summon the strength to take off her coat. She was too worried about
Pretty Boy to care about that now. She would just let her uncle do what he wanted with
her, to fuck her, and hope that he didn't want to do anything to exotic or anything that
took a long time.
She would even try to make him come faster, she decided, to get it over with, so that
she could get outside to look for the missing dog.
Luckily, her uncle seemed to be in a big hurry to fuck her.
His cock was as stiff as hell, and Melanie could feel it poking against her legs, through
his pants and her skirt, and she knew that when he was this hard, and this impatient,
this soon, it would all be over pretty quick, and that although it might hurt more than
it did when he took longer, because sometimes, in spite of her humiliation and fear, the
girl would find that her cunt was opening up a little, getting a little juicy, too, well, even
if it hurt, it wouldn't hurt for too long this time.
Melanie closed her eyes, and she obeyed her uncle when he said, "Open your legs, girl,
spread 'em, and pull out my cock. Put it in."
The words always shamed the girl, but she did it.
The very feel of his hot, bouncing rod, which sprang quickly into her hand when she
shoved her fingers down into his pants, made her sick to her stomach. She was sick
with worry already, and now this...
Her own panties were white cotton, school girl style, and the loose legs pushed easily
over to the side, after having been pawed at so many times in the past by her uncle
when he felt like striping her as well as fucking her, and she shoved the fabric over,
bunching it to the side.
She felt her cunt lips, but she knew how they would feel.
Dry, Wrinkled.
Unwilling to open to that cock and that man attached to it.
Sometimes, when she was younger, she had felt herself get wet when she went out with
boys from the homes, and they would hold hands at the movies, or in line, waiting to
get the tickets. Sometimes, when she was much younger, and still had some of her
natural curiosity about boys and men, she would play doctor and nurse, and she knew
that her little pussy channel was able to get wet, really nice and wet and open when the
boys wanted to "examine" her.
But not now.
That never happened now, with her uncle, unless he was forcing himself on her for a
long time, taking his time, and then her body might take over for her, and make it a
little easier by relaxing just a bit.
Once he had put his face down there, and touched his tongue to her cunt lips and to
that funny little bud of gristle there, the one that got hard when she was in the shower
and she soaped herself down there.
He had rubbed his face back and forth, and touched it with his tongue.
Melanie had squirmed in embarrassment.
That was such a strange thing for the man to do, so intimate.
So nice.
She writhed on the end of his tongue down there, licking her.
She had almost said, "That's nice, uncle!
Don't stop!"
But then the man had stopped, and he looked up at her and laughed at her, seeing that
for once her nipples were hard and she was flushed with pleasure, rather than red with
pain and sweat and fear.
He had never done it again, and she had never asked.
That was the only time she could remember feeling wet and open, except for the times
when she would have a strong, strange dream and wake up, finding her fingers down
there, between her legs, touching all the secret places.
Her hips would be humping, pushing against her fingers.
Her breathing would be fast, and she would feel as if she had just fallen over the side of
a cliff, or coasted over the crest of a wave.
Melanie tried to forget about that curious pleasure, which she knew came from a sex
dream, when her uncle was on her, the way he was now, forcing his cock into her body,
because she didn't want to confuse pain and pleasure.
Although, she wasn't sure that there really was any pleasure possible between men and
women, not after what she had been through.
The night that Pretty Boy was missing, Melanie had been living with her aunt and
uncle for almost two years, and Pretty Boy was one year-old.
The dog had been watching, quietly, his mistress' pain all that time.
And finally he was big, and strong, and fully-grown.
Big enough to protect his mistress from anyone who would harm her.
Pretty Boy peered around the corner of his mistress' room that night.
He had seen the big, almost naked, ape-like creature walk into her room.
He had been able to smell, through instinct, the man's intentions.
He could smell fear, too, in his mistress in the air.
He saw the man on top of her, pushing her down, and he could see that she was in a
vulnerable position to him, her throat exposed to her attacker. To Pretty Boy, that was
the worst possible position to be in.
He saw that his mistress' legs were being kicked out from under the man attacker, and
that the man was fumbling around, between them, with his paws on Pretty Boy's
mistress' belly, down in her female place.
Pretty Boy crept into the room.
He was at the side of the bed, but his whimpering mistress and the man did not see
him for a moment, while he got himself poised.
He could see that the man was pushing something into his mistress.
Down there, in her female bitch place, he was putting his male thing.
Pretty Boy could smell her femaleness, and he knew that it needed protection from his
creature. After all, she was HIS mistress, not his brute's.
"Jesus Christ! Get offa me, son of a bitch... goddamn!!!!!"
Melanie opened her eyes just in time to see the line of blood on Pretty Boy's curled,
snarling lips as he tore at her attacker, pulling him off of the girl's body, pulling him
down, by the scruff of his filthy neck to the floor, and then going at him, full force.
The next thing the girl knew, she was screaming, and pulling at the dog's collar, pulling
him off of the terrified, also screaming, man with the bloodied face and hands.
Pretty Boy gave in to his mistress' command, but not happily.
It is not in the natural instinct of a dog, Frank knew, to kill, except for kin, but from
the description that Melanie gave of the struggle, and the way the dog growled, from
deep in his belly, with an unworldly menace, he knew that if the girl had not acted, her
uncle probably would not have escaped with his miserable, good-for-nothing life.
Melanie could hear her uncle screaming, shouting for her to get out, goddamned
whoring dog-loving bitch and a half, as she ran down the street, with Pretty Boy
bounding at her heels, fleet as the wind.
From that point on, they were on their own, the girl and the dog.


Chapter 7

The pretty young girl had no trouble in finding a variety of easy, moderately well-paid
jobs, which she went through like wild-fire.
Melanie had never had a taste of the real world, the world of money and nice people
and nice clothes and very, very nice men before.
When she started working for a photographer, she met a lot of men, handsome models
and suave art directors, but she could not trust them.
Not a man.
She could flirt.
She could go out with them, and accept their expensive meals and nice gifts to her with
great aplomb, but she could not invite them home.
Not yet at least.
Home, her small apartment where Pretty Boy greeted her each evening, was her
sanctuary and she was afraid to bring a man there for many years.
A man might spoil everything.
So, five years later, after running away from her uncle, when Pretty Boy opened her
eyes to the foolishness of her compliance with her uncle's forced sex, Melanie was still,
in many respects, a virgin.
She had been forced to fuck and suck many times, but because her uncle had forced her
to take his cock into her cunt or her ass hole or her mouth, she felt that didn't count,
not really in the long run.
You lost your virginity, she felt, when you WANTED to make love.
And so far, no man had ever made her feel like she wanted it.
Her only friend, she told the big dog every night, when she lovingly stroked his ears
and combed out the tangles in his soft, luxurious coat, is "You, Pretty Boy. Sometimes,
oh, sometimes, I wish you were a man!"
The girl liked to cuddle the big dog in bed at night, like a big, stuffed animal, only
better, because Pretty Boy was living and breathing, and his warm tummy made the bed
warm, and his soft tongue would gently lick her awake on the cheek when she slept
through the alarm.
He was her best friend, and they knew each other pretty well, in their own, instinctual
ways. She would never be able to repay him, for what he had done for her, and he
would never be able to show her how much she meant to him, as his loving mistress
and provider.
Or so it seemed.
Around that time, Five years after leaving her aunt and uncle behind her, like a bad
dream to be forgotten, Melanie met a very beautiful, very exotic, very over-whelming
young woman model at the studio.
The woman took to Melanie right away, calling her "Darling" and insisting that the girl
was far too beautiful not be in front of the camera, rather than back, in the wings,
making coffee. Sasha, as the woman was known, was the toast of the city, one of the
most sought after models around, and the one about whom the most rumors circulated.
Rumors meant little to Melanie, and she accepted gladly the night that Sasha invited
her over for dinner to her penthouse in the city.
Melanie had not had a "girl friend" since she was about ten years old, at one of the
foster homes, and she rather welcomed the idea now.
She knew that she had too much to drink, trying to impress the woman with her
worldliness, that night, but Sasha didn't seem to mind.
That made it all the easier for the experienced bi-sexual to seduce the pretty, dark
haired young photographer's assistant.
And that made it easier for Melanie to relax as the woman kissed her lightly, leading
her into her bedroom, and then kissed her more deeply.
Frank found his cock getting hard again as the girl told him, her voice full of passion at
the memory, how Sasha had made love to her.
It had been gentle, but still there was current of passion there.
So different from what her uncle had done to her, the entire evening, and every sexy
thing Sasha did to her, from stroking her little nipples and making then hard, to
sucking her soft, responsive labia, remained firmly etched in Melanie's erotic
consciousness.
It had been so lovely, even when Sasha had whispered, as she poked her finger into the
yawning, open cavern of Melanie's pussy hole, "If I had a cock, I would love to fuck
you, little beauty, I would fuck you!"
The feeling of that finger, sliding in and out of her wet pussy, wet for the first time in
years, except for the erotic dreams which still haunted the girl's lonely nights, was so
much deeper and more pleasurable than anything the girl had known before.
Sasha would never have believed that Melanie's sex life was so void, so empty, so non
existent from the way the younger woman moaned and cooed and came, her pussy
jerking and convulsing almost constantly.
Melanie, it seemed, was a natural for love-making.
Sasha wore her out that night, with her fingers and tongue and even her toes, and the
woman taught the girl how to reciprocate.
Melanie loved the feeling of Sasha's tits, so fine and creamy and fleshy, and the taste of
her pussy, so deep and wet and luscious.
Melanie might never have left that apartment she might have become a full time
lesbian, if she hadn't had to go home to feed Pretty Boy.
She stole out of the apartment, after promising to come back the next night, and went
home to walk and feed her first love, Pretty Boy.
The dog was waiting for her, his tail wagging anxiously, when she unlocked the door
and stepped inside. He jumped up on her, happy to see her as usual, and possibly with
a little more affection than usual since he had not seen her since very early that
morning, and it was now after midnight.
But Melanie's mind was somewhere else that night.
Back in bed, with Sasha, to be precise, unable to stop thinking about all the pleasure
she had just experienced, so delightful when it was happening, and so natural, and now
so poignant, now that it was over.
Over for the moment.
Melanie could feel her cunt juicing up, getting hot, as she went about the chores of
getting water and food for the dog, chores which, for the first time in her life, she
wished that she didn't have to do, not right now at least, so that she wouldn't have had
to leave warm, wet, sexy Sasha alone in her bed, back in the middle of the city.
Pretty Boy could tell something was up, something different.
His mistress didn't seem happy to see him, and she had barely ruffled his ears when she
slipped his leash over his head to take him for his walk.
She smelled different, too.
Interesting.
Like a bitch. That was the way his mistress smelled to him that night.
Like a bitch in heat.
Pretty Boy walked quickly at Melanie's side, keeping quiet, not wanting to disturb her,
since she seemed to be unusually preoccupied to him.
He trotted along, and when they got back to the apartment, he meekly curled up at the
foot of the bed, hoping she wouldn't notice him.
He watched, head resting on his big, doggie paws, as she washed.
She could get about five hours of sleep, she calculated, before having to get up for an
early shoot the next morning, but when she finally crawled, almost exhausted in her
body, she found that her mind was fully awake.
Awake and thinking of Sasha, and of making love with her.
And her pussy.
And her mouth.
And her ass.
It had been so sexy, all of it, and the very thought of some detail of the evening, like the
way Sasha had smiled, her eyes closed and mouth open, when she first felt Melanie's
mouth on her nipples, licking and chewing the stems of her tits, was enough to make
Melanie moan.
She could still FEEL everything that had happened to her that night.
She could feel her cunt misting up with juices even now.
God, she wondered, how much sex is inside of me, wanting out?
Melanie closed her eyes and let her hand drift down between her legs.
She felt the wetness, the wetness that was new, just springing up in her well, and
moistness that Sasha's tongue had left there, only an hour ago.
Oh, that tongue!
The time that her uncle had done that to her, she had been embarrassed, despite and
because of the pleasure it gave her in her pussy.
But this time, it was sooooo natural to feel Sasha's mouth.
Natural and erotic as hell.
Melanie could understand why men were so hot to fuck women.
Women were sexy.
Women were delicious.
She was a woman, and she was going to make love to all kinds of women, all kinds of
women, and she would start by making love to herself...
Melanie whimpered as she pushed two fingers into her cunt hole.
She had never been this open with her uncle, this wet and ready for...
... for a cock.
Melanie realized as her fingers pressed against the walls of her pussy that only one
thing was missing from her new life.
Cocks.
It would feel nice, Sasha had been right about that.
Could a person have a cock and not be a man?
That would be nice, to avoid men, and still get laid.
That would be perfect, as far as Melanie could see. She wasn't ready for men, not yet,
but she would tell from the state of her pussy that she was definitely, absolutely,
fuckingly ready for a cock in there.
It was such a turn-on, and such a teasing sensation, to be actually touching her own
cunt, and not in her sleep, either, but when she was fully awake, and when she could
feel every nuance of what her fingers were doing, tweaking her clit and making her
labia squeeze together, between her tight, pulling, stretching fingers.
That was all Melanie was thinking about, that and Sasha and cocks.
She had entirely forgotten her dog at the foot of the bed.
The dog who was watching her play with her pussy, opening the wet petals.
Letting her cunt aroma waft through the air, down to him.
Making him smell her hungry, open, ready to fuck cunt.
When she rolled over onto her tummy, sticking her cute little ass up in the air a little,
so that she could push her fingers into her slot all the more deeply, so that she could
shove them back and forth, her face pressed to the pillows, Melanie had forgotten
entirely about the dog, the dog that was standing up now, at the foot of the bed.
The dog whose big, doggie cock was beginning to peek out of his sheath.
The dog whose prick, pink and shining, was starting to pulsate as he smelled the sex
place between her legs, beckoning to his prick.
Making it harden as he saw that it was being presented to him. His cock was slipping
in and out of his sheath, the furry cover retracting swiftly now as he watched his
mistress, her hips and cunt bucking in the air, skewered on the ends of her three
frigging fingers.
Frank, sitting naked at the table in Melanie's kitchen, knew what she was going to say
next, and his cock was sticking up, hard as hell under the counter top, as he watched
her lips forming the words.
"He got on top of me, Frank, before I knew what was happening. He was poking his
cock against my ass cheeks, looking for a way to stick the thing into my cunt hole,
trying to find a way into me."
She looked at him, full in the face, her eyes wide and slightly wild.
"I could have pushed him down, I know that. I could have just given him a little push,
and that would have been the end of that.
"But I didn't.
"I felt him, I knew that he was doing, knew that he was hard.
"But I kept thinking about Sasha and cocks, and wanting to fuck and yet not wanting
to have anything to do with men, real men...
"And I let him.
"I even reached back and opened my pussy lips for his dick.
"I even grabbed his cock and shoved it into my hole.
"He missed a little on the first thrust, and it popped away before it even got in, more
than a fraction of an inch, but I made him try again.
"I held his cock in one hand and pulled my cunt lips back with the other.
"And I fucked him into my cunt, took all of his cock.
"It was big, but I was more than ready for it, and I was getting hotter all the time. I
could feel the heat all over my body as he began to work his haunches, pushing and
poking me, fucking me!
"And then I began to move too.
"Back and forth, to meet his cock, and to take it into me.
"Deeper each time.
"I wanted it deep.
"And I... I took it all the way....." and I c-c-came..."
Frank couldn't hear any more of this.
He was kissing her, having shoved his chair back so fast and so hard that it tipped over
behind him, and then he was on her.
"Ooooh, oh!"
Melanie moaned, her own turned-on body rising up from her chair, as he gripped her,
lifting her at the same time, feeling her tits, hard and swollen nipples against his flesh,
as he picked her up to his chest.
Pretty Boy was tagging along at their heels, fascinated.
Neither one noticed him, although he had become the focus of their arousal as they
pressed together, rolling onto the bed, legs intertwined.
"I want to fuck you," she moaned, as if she could not believe it. "I wanted you, the
moment I saw you, but I didn't know, didn't understand what it was I was feeling, in
my stomach, when you touched me..."
"I want you, too," Frank groaned into the girl's ear. "But I want something else, too... I
wonder... is it going too far... too soon... "
"What?"
"Could I watch..."
"Watch?"
"You and Pretty Boy, Melanie. Would you... so that I could watch?"
And she did.
Frank never got tired, in all the years that he and Melanie were together, of watching
her fuck and suck with the dog.
And the girl never tired of turning her man on that way.
Besides, when she was done getting her kicks with the dog, which were considerable,
Frank's cock would be hot and hard and ready to fill her up for a second bout of sexy
fun, however she wanted it from him.
Melanie liked to show off her body, so sleek and pretty, against her dog's furry white
and grey coat, so soft to the touch.
She liked to show off the way she could come, her legs spread wide as she sat on the
sofa, or lay on the bed, ass in the air, and held open her cunt lips, letting Pretty Boy 
get a taste of her juices.
She liked that a lot.
His tongue was so broad and wet, and it never seemed to get tired, not at all, as it
swished over her hole, drinking her sweet come.
She liked to give the friendly dog a treat sometimes, and she would coat her clit with
something that he liked, some food or milk, and let him have field-day with her
luscious slit. She liked that a lot.
Sucking at the dog's cock gave her pleasure, too.
Frank would watch in fascination as she rolled the animal over onto its back, and Pretty
Boy's paws would flop down in the air.
He always knew, that lucky dog, what was coming next.
His pink cock tip would already be poking up out of his sheath.
As soon as Melanie would take hold of the shaft, all furry and warm, and begin to pull
it back and down, his dong would be getting harder.
And bigger.
And longer.
And moist at the tip.
He would get hard, and totally erect, as she held it there, just pulling at his furry
sheath, just peeling it back a little.
His cock was pink and seemed to glisten with a life of its own.
Hot blood.
Hot spunk.
You could see, just from the powerfully red glow of his doggie meat that he was full of
it, ready to get his rocks off, how ever his mistress chose.
The dog would whimper, whine a little, when she touched her mouth to his cock,
letting her lips part and then sink down over the thing.
Frank could not believe the look of contentment that would fill both her and the dog's
faces as the animal's cock sank into her mouth.
But they both loved it, Melanie and the dog, both wanted it.
Melanie never drank the animal's come that was going too far, she told Frank, although
for the life of him he couldn't understand how she came to make that judgment, a girl
who would jerk off, with three fingers crammed into her box, while she rubbed her
mouth up and down the dog's cock.
But it was her show, so she got to run it however she liked.
And she liked to bring the dog off sometimes in her hands, after sucking his joint for a
while, and seeing his come flooding her fingers.
That was especially nice, she said, so warm and wet.
And then sometimes she would use his come, Pretty Boy's spunk, to oil up her cunt to
prepare it for Frank's big, bursting human cock.
Sometimes, most of the time in fact, she already had the animal's come inside of her
cunt hole, so there would be no waiting.
The spent dog would pull out of her, leaving her cunt spread open and red and seeping
with his juices and hers, and then Frank would take her.
And take her was the word for it, all right, after that.
It made him so hot to see his wife – yes, he married her – like that.
Hot.
Open.
Full of come.
Ready and calling out to him to "Fuck me, Frank! Oh, God, I want your cock in my
hole! Take me, baby, screw me out of mind, darling! Fuck me!!"
She was already half out of her mind at this point, having gotten so worked up on the
end of the dog's prick, in her mouth or cunt.
But that was just a prelude.
Since she met Frank, and since she felt what it was like to desire and to take a real
man's prick into her cunt, and to feel how good it could screw her, and how well it
could make her come, fucking with the dog was only second-best, but she still got
turned on by it.
And even if she hadn't, just seeing how much the sight of her on the end of Pretty
Boy's cock turned on Frank was reason enough to keep doing it.
And when Frank was out of town, at a vet's convention, or when he had to stay up late
with a sick horse, or a foaling mare, she had the dog to keep her company, with his hot,
broad, wet tongue in her pussy.
That was a nice way to go to sleep, after a nice cunt licking.
Frank even brought a new dog home now and then from the kennel that was attached
to his veterinary clinic, just so that Melanie could have a little variety in her sex life,
without too much trouble.
When they decided to buy the kennel in the suburbs, when Frank was in his early
thirties, they already knew that dogs were an indispensable part of their sex life, and
neither one wanted to change that.
It had been a long time since Melanie had made, it with a girl, one that afternoon when
Mrs. Franklin, the guidance counselor, called them from the high school, and she found
the whole idea, after being cooped up at the kennel, although she loved her work with
her husband, well, she found it rather intriguing, to say the least.
"I think," she told Frank as she lay back, her long legs open to the searching, licking
muzzle of the big, black dog, "that I could get quite used to having an animal-crazy girl
around, couldn't you?"


Chapter 8

Frank and Melanie looked at each, and then back at the girl.
She was perfect, in every way.
She was beautiful, but she seemed to be totally unaware of the fact.
That reminded Melanie of the way she had been at that age.
An outsider.
Frank was intrigued by the girl, since she was not only intelligent and seemed to have a
real interest in becoming a vet, but because she seemed to ripe, so ready to be plucked,
but it was quite obvious to him, as a long-time womanizer, that she was still a virgin.
She was totally open and pleasant, but some part of her had not yet been explored.
If it was all right with Melanie, he wanted to be the one to explore it.
Her virgin cunt.
And Pam could not have been happier with the couple, either.
They liked animals, she could see, and they were so different from Mom and Dad, the
only other married couple that Pam had ever seen at close range. She had so few girl
friends as she was growing up, and none now really, that she had very few families with
which to compare her own.
And although she knew that Dr, and Mrs., Wendell were certainly younger than her
parents by about ten years or so, she knew that there were other, more fundamental
differences to be seen and noted.
Married life didn't seem to be too bad, Pam thought as the vet showed her around the
kennel that cool afternoon, IF you married to a man like this one.
Tall.
Smart.
Handsome.
Handsome was the word that Pam used in her mind to describe the over-riding features
of the vet, but her mind, deep in its inner sanctum, knew that "sexy" was the word that
she was really searching for.
The man was so easy-going, and so friendly, too.
That was very sexy, and so was the way he treated his pretty wife.
Pam had blushed and looked away, pretending that she hadn't seen the man pat his
wife on the ass just before he took the young girl out to look around the kennel, but
she had been affected by the sight.
It must be lovely, she thought to herself, to have man who would do that to you, and
more, later, when you were alone in bed...
STOP IT, SILLY!
It's silly and stupid to start thinking like that!
He's a man, and you're just a silly girl, so stop it, cut it out!
Besides, he's MARRIED.
M-A-R-R-I-E-D!!!!!
To that beautiful woman in there, that perfectly beautiful woman...
Pam was proud of herself, in that she was able to admit to herself, no matter how
jealous she might feel of the woman, that Mrs.
Wendell was indeed very beautiful. It made Pam feel very grown-up.
And a little shy.
As the vet took her past one of the barns where the dogs were housed, Pam caught
sight of her own reflection in one of the glass windows.
She was surprised.
Just when she was about to tell herself for the millionth time that she was awkward and
homely and silly red hair, she took a second look.
She didn't look bad.
Not at all.
Dr. Wendell was telling her something about the hours he wanted her to work on
Saturdays when he noticed that the girl was no longer beside him.
He turned and saw that she was staring, spell-bound, into the barn.
Smiling paternally, he turned back to see what was so intriguing in the window, which
opened into one of the larger boarding barns.
"What's up, Pam?" he asked, stepping back to her side.
Pam looked up at the man suddenly, taken aback as she felt her new employer's hand
resting on her far shoulder, so that his arm had to stretch around behind her back.
He smiled down at her, and she could feel herself blushing, but then she forced herself
to return the smile, bravely.
"Oh, just... nothing..."
"Nothing? You call that nothing???!!!!! Look!!"
Pam felt the flush in her cheeks creeping up higher, thinking that he meant he knew
what she was looking at, namely her own reflection.
Then she realized that, after a quick squeeze to her arm and a barked "Come on, girl!"
he was turning and running into the barn.
Pam shook her head, staring.
Then she saw that there was some kind of fight going on inside.
A couple of the dogs, snarling and circling each other, as best as she could tell peering
from the bright, out-of-doors sunlight into the dimly lit interior of the big, old barn.
It looked serious.
Pam took a deep breath and ran through the dirt after her new employer.
Despite the urgency of the situation, she couldn't help thinking, as she trailed after him,
that he had a very nice ass, in his worn jeans.
Mom was all wrong.
Denim, rubbed to a light blue by countless wearings, was very attractive.
Especially when it was curved around a nice butt like that one.
Pam made a mental note to make sure that she unearthed her jeans and got them good
and clean for her first day of work at the kennel.
Frank nodded, breathless, to the girl as he paused for a moment to unbolt the big main
door to the converted barn, showing her that he saw and appreciated how quickly she
had come up behind him, in an emergency.
Then he tore open the door and plunged into the warm barn.
Pam's eyes took a moment longer to get used to the low light.
She could hear all the dogs making a commotion, barking and rushing around in their
individual pens, now that the two humans had come in.
But otherwise...
"Dr. Wendell?" Pam said at last, not quite sure of where she was, from just having
looked through the window. "Where are you, sir?"
"Here, Pam."
"Here?"
"Yes."
"Oh!" Pam exclaimed as she felt his hand, reaching out of the almost impenetrable
darkness that surrounded her, touching her arm, squeezing it just above the elbow,
strong fingers pressing against her muscles.
"What's going on? Where's the fight now?" she asked, her voice a little quivery, she
knew, as she felt the firm masculinity of his hand on her arm, but she couldn't help
that. She hoped he would think that her voice was weak after running to the barn.
"No fight. Look."
She could feel Dr. Wendell pulling a little at her arm, showing her the direction that he
meant, over in the corner, which was just slightly more brightly illuminated, falling in
the shaft of weak late afternoon sunlight from the window Pam had looked through
before.
She could just make out two animal bodies, together, in the corner.
"Oh."
"You can see what they are doing, can you, Pam?"
His voice was soft and very warm, almost silky, Pam thought.
"Y-y-yes, sir."
There was silence, except for the occasional shuffling in the straw of one of her dogs,
settling back down again, now that the invasion of the humans no longer held any
interest for them, since it wasn't dinner time yet, and the humans seemed uninterested
in them.
Silence, except for the low snarl and heavy – almost panting breath of the big, black,
male dog who was humping the female in the corner.
Pam tried not to look, embarrassed.
But there was no other reason for them to be there, right then, except to look at the
two hot, humping animals over there.
Dr. Wendell seemed to be looking, Pam noted after taking a quick, hopefully unnoticed
glance at his strong profile in the dim light of the barn.
She looked, too.
If she . was going to be vet, she had better get used to this stuff, she told herself. Even if
she did get turned on when she looked.
It was part of the job, mating animals, she knew.
She tried to keep looking, but she was sure that the heavy hot pounding of her heart
would soon be heard by the vet, even if he had no idea in the world, and she was sure
that he did not, that she wanted very much, very much indeed, to see what the male
and female were up to over there.
The animals seemed to be fucking very slowly, almost lazily.
Pam had seen male and female dogs mating when she was kid – one of their neighbors
had a female who was already in heat, it seemed.
And although she had been young at the time, and not yet at all interested – as far as
she knew – in sex, she seemed to remember it differently.
Hadn't those male dogs done it very fast, really hopping onto the female and shoving,
poking, ramming into her cunt hole, very, very fast?
This one was going slow, and in the darkness, although she could have been seeing
things, she thought that possibly the male had his eyes closed, as if he were savoring
the sensations on his cock, rather than trying to hurry to the climax, to make himself
come faster.
He was really, really enjoying what he was doing! it occurred to the girl with a jolt. She
realized that SHE wasn't the only one who...
Suddenly the girl remembered where she was and looked over at her new employer.
He was smiling at her.
Pam looked away, away from him and away from the dogs fucking in the corner. She
looked at the long row of kennel cages, at all the dogs.
She wondered, without even being conscious of her mind-processes, if the dogs could
SMELL her. Did they know about her, too?
"Are you okay, honey?"
The vet was looking concerned, and Pam smiled back at him.
No matter, no matter WHAT, you will not fuck up this job, she told herself in warning
tone of voice, and then she spoke to him out loud.
"Certainly. It's just a little dark, a bit hard to see..."
"No, that's not what I meant. Come here, Pam, sit down."
The doctor increased the pressure on her arm just a little to guide her to a long, low
bench, opposite the rows of kennel cages.
"Sit down, Pam, I think we need to have a little talk, before you start to work for me.
It's quite important, I think..."
Pam nodded and sat down.
She was aware that the bench was rather long, on both sides, as she sat down, but she
was also aware of the pressure of the vet's thigh as he sat down next to her.
Obviously, quite a lot closer than he had to, but the girl did not pull back.
It would have been rude, her super-ego told her.
And that was so much nicer, her id told her.
You're in for a bunch of trouble, kiddo, her ego itself warned her.
"Yes, Dr. Wendell?"
"First of all, please call me Frank. All the dogs do."
Pam laughed politely.
"Second, I think we have to have a little talk about the birds and the bees and the dogs,
you see, because that's part of the territory around here. Animals fuck. Excuse my
bluntness, but that's the truth of the matter, and if you think that it's going to
embarrass you, or make it hard for you to do your work, better tell me now..."
"Oh, no!" Pam exclaimed, sitting up a little straighter, and turning to the man at the
same time. She was in earnest now.
"It doesn't embarrass me at all, really, it doesn't, sir."
"You seemed a little... hesitant, shall I say, a moment ago..."
"Oh, that was just nerves," Pam lied. "You know that this would be my first job, if you
really want me to work for you, and... well, that's all. Just nerves. The sight of animals...
mating.., doesn't affect me in the least little bit, not at all. You'll see, sir... I mean,
Frank. Please, do give me a chance..."
Frank nodded.
And then, after looking her up and down for a long moment – that left Pam curiously
damp between the legs, she realized when he looked away, then, he pointed over to the
corner, where the big, black dog was still pinned to the bitch, his cock working in and
out of her.
In the dim light, because her eyes were now adjusted to it, Pam could see a flash of
damp, pink cock flesh whenever the animal pulled back a bit.
"Are you sure that" – he pointed to the dogs – "doesn't bother you?"
"No, no, not at all..."
"Then why – no, don't look away from them, just look AT them – did you call it
'mating' when I called it something else? Why?"
"I... I..."
"In the real world, it's called 'fucking' or 'screwing,' and around here, we call it
'fucking,' Pam. Can you say that without blushing? Try."
Pam turned to look at the man, not caring that her cheeks were hot and red and damp
from perspiration as she looked at him.
She was shocked, but somehow, she felt that was what was expected of her.
And she rather liked the dirty shock she had just received.
And she liked the way, when she turned her face away from the animals, Frank
suddenly put his hands on her cheeks, on either side of her damp face, and turned her
back, made her look at the hot, humping animals in the corner.
"Go on, try."
"I... I..."
"What are they doing, Pam? You can say it, dear, you're a big girl..."
His voice was floating all around her, warm and deep and sexy.
"Fucking," she said in a soft voice, almost hypnotized by him.
"That's very good," he told her, and his fingers, so soft, drifted a little way down her
face, and onto her slender, pale neck.
Melanie wouldn't mind, he was sure, if he started without her.
He touched the girl's collar bone, inside of her open-necked blouse. She seemed to feel
it, for she squirmed, and he heard a sigh in the back of her throat, but that could have
been elicited by the sight of the two animals in the corner, too, since they were fucking
faster now.
And the girl did not move her eyes from the hot sight.
Frank moved his hand down a little further over the girl's blouse.
He could feel the firm, swollen curve of her braless tits.
She said nothing, but her eyes seemed to narrow and her nostrils flared.
She was engrossed in the sight in front of her, the dogs.
Frank saw her lips moving slightly, and he longed to kiss them, to shove his tongue in
between them. He leaned closer, to listen.
His hand slipped down a little further, until he was cupping her firm, young tit in his
palm, feeling how swollen and hard her nipple was.
He could hear her murmuring to him, and to herself.
"Fucking... fucking... they're fucking, the dogs are fucking..."
Frank squeezed the swell of her breasts, both of them, quickly, as before she had even
finished her soft moan, one of his hands was sliding down into the virgin's lap, between
her legs, over her trousers.
It was a warm, deep vee, and he could feel the dampness there.
Automatically, as if she had been doing so all her life, Pam let her legs slide open,
setting her feet down firmly on the ground.
He was able to wrap his whole hand around her pussy that way.
She was wet and warm.
She was moaning as she murmured, and it was a struggle for the girl, alone in the
darkness with the hot man, except for the company of all the dogs, to keep her big eyes
open any more.
But she still wanted to see what was happening over there.
The two dogs.
Fucking.
She heard a voice speaking to her, calling to her it seemed.
"Pam," it said, "let's go into the house, shall we? It's so much more comfortable in
there, you know, and Melanie would like to see you."


Chapter 9

Melanie looked down at the naked girl on her bed.
What a luscious sight that little Pam was, and now the girl was opening her big, hazel
eyes, and she was smiling up at Melanie.
"Hi," she said softly, waking up a little as Melanie sat her naked ass down on the edge
of the bed. "I fell asleep?"
"Yes, you certainly did," Melanie told her, kissing the girl's cheeks, both of them warm
and soft. "You were tired, and I don't blame you..."
It had been a rather exhausting afternoon for all of them.
Melanie stretched out beside the pale-skinned red head, letting her own long legs tangle
between Pam's limbs as she got comfortable.
Gently, as she propped herself up on her elbow beside the girl who still lay on her back,
Melanie took one of Pam's small hands into her own.
She pulled the hand down between her legs, letting Pam feel how moist she was, and
then she pointed the girl's fingers in the direction of her clit.
Pam moved her fingers over Melanie's clit, stroking it, moaning almost as deeply as the
woman who was receiving the cunt massage.
"You learn so fast," Melanie marvelled. "Soon you'll be teaching me. But there are still a
few things you have to pick up..."
"Oooohh!"
Pam felt her own cunt misting up when she realized that undoubtedly Melanie would
make good her promise before long, and Pam would be grateful to her for life for the
lessons she could give her, ones that no one knew anything about. And what could it
hurt, if no one knew about it?
Neither Pam nor Melanie were going to tell anyone.
And certainly Frank had no desire to break up the menage a trois.
Certainly not before it became a menage a quatre.
Not before they introduced the dog to their little games.
After all, Frank had only been screwing the little high school girl for a couple of weeks,
and Melanie had been barely able to contain herself whenever the girl came over to the
kennels.
But Melanie had a couple of days on him, having gotten into the girl's panties – and
her pussy – that very first afternoon...
It had been so simple.
Frank had led the slightly dazed girl into the house, before she had a chance to think
about what was going on, before she had a chance to back out and run away from him,
from Melanie, from the kennels.
"Mel," he called his wife as he ushered the girl into the living room again, sitting her
down in front of the fireplace, which was blazing, on the big, over-stuffed couch there.
"Pam needs a drink. Brandy, I think, to warm her up a little, okay? Bring the bottle."
Melanie came into the living room, bearing the bottle and three glasses.
She was wearing a loose hostess gown of sheer Indian cotton, but Pam barely noticed
the woman, or the way she sat down next to the girl, putting a maternal hand on the
girl's thigh, telling her to drink up, she looked pretty shaken, was everything okay?
"Yes, just fine," Pam had managed to croak out weakly.
The brandy was totally unfamiliar to the girl, but she drank it anyway.
She assumed that the doctor knew best about these things, after all.
Pam closed her eyes, and she sat back on the sofa, putting a cool hand to her forehead,
feeling how hot she was there. She was only vaguely aware at this point that she was
even hotter somewhere else.
Down between her soft, sexy, wet pussy lips, she was hotter.
Pam was not even aware that Frank had left the room.
She was hardly more aware of the hand that was resting on her thigh was travelling up
her torso... It was not until that hand had coursed lightly over her tits and was pressing
against her hot forehead that Pam was aware that she was in the real world again.
In her mind, she kept seeing those two dogs... fucking...
And that man, the vet, touching her, talking to her, watching her...
She opened her eyes, and Melanie was so close that Pam couldn't even focus on her
pretty face now. All she was aware of was a pair of soft lips, touching her forehead as
the hand moved away.
The lips were warm, but they felt cool compared with her brow.
Pam breathed out softly.
It was comforting, the sort of thing that Mom used to do when she was a little kid, but
it was so different now, now that she was older...
... and it had never felt this way when Mom did that.
And Mom never did THAT!!!
Pam opened her eyes wide as the lips on her forehead dipped down to her mouth, and
a soft, moist tongue danced over the pink flesh, pushing, pushing...
... pushing into her mouth!
"Oh!"
Pam felt herself sinking back, wanting to stop it, but not able to even think about
moving... It was too, too nice to stop, wasn't it?
Pam felt her arms lifting, instinctively, and wrapping around the woman, the pretty,
pretty older woman who seemed to Pam to be almost a sister...
"Oh, yes," she breathed out, feeling her nipples prick up under the woman's exploring
fingers, under her blouse now, touching her virgin flesh.
Or maybe it was just her pussy speaking, giving hex secrets away.
Not a secret for long.
"Oh, God, yes!!!"
Pam cried out "Yes!" over and over again as Melanie's tongue glanced and danced over
the young girl's clitty, making it wet and hard and ready to come.
For the fourth time in twenty-five minutes, at least.
Melanie had never seen anything like it before, not with a girl.
From the moment that she had the pretty young red-head stripped, and was holding
her tightly against her chest, Melanie knew that she was on to someone special. The girl
was natural, her body seemed to melt with Melanie's flesh, until they were one body,
one flesh that knew exactly how to move with the other, how to make the pleasure
happen.
"You're a virgin," Melanie had breathed when her fingers finally achingly, pressed into
the valley between Pam's legs.
She said that, "You're a virgin," with neither a great deal of surprise or a great deal of
triumph. She KNEW from the start that would prove to be the truth, and she wanted
Pam to know that she knew it, to know that Melanie would be easy with her...
... But "easy" was the last thing that Pam seemed to want.
She was moving like crazy, as if Melanie had released her from some chain that had
been clasped around her throat, one that kept her from doing what she wanted to go
ahead and do all along.
It's as if, Melanie thought as she sank a long, painted fingernail into the narrow depths
of Pam's cunt, she were waiting for me.
As if she were a wild animal!
"You're a fiery cat, aren't you?" Melanie had murmured, her head rolling back on the
pillows as, going by instinct alone, Pam had gripped her two tits in her small hands and
was busy passing her tongue back and forth over the two nipples, going from one to the
other over and over again, bringing them to bursting.
"What? That's funny," Pam murmured into the flesh of Melanie's big mams, licking the
very tips and then blowing a stream of air over them, cooling and drying them at the
same time, making them pucker.
"Why?"
Pam said nothing, but she kept licking at Melanie's tits, while the older woman's
fingers played around in the damp folds of the girl's slit.
"Come on, tell me..."
Melanie sank a punishing finger into the girl's cunt, making her jump.
"Oooh! Not fair!"
Melanie wrapped her other hand around Pam's neck and brought the young girl's
smiling face up to meet hers, staring her down.
"You look like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland," Melanie told her. "No, no,
no more licking until you tell me what's funny..."
And so, Pam told her.
"A cat?" Melanie breathed, knowing that her cunt was getting swollen, hot and full and
crazy, as she listened to the girl's half-laughed, half-cried story about her sexual
adventures with the cat.
"Yes?"
"Yes," Pam sighed, letting her head fall down on the woman's chest.
Already, Melanie had sucked and fondled Pam's cunt, and made it come, but now the
girl was getting a little concerned, that first, frantic burst of sexual tension spent.
Had she made a terrible mistake in doing this, in letting Mrs. Wendell...
... oh, God...
... make love to her, and now in telling her about her deepest, darkest secret...?
Where was Dr. Wendell, anyway?
He knew.
He must have known this would happen... in the barn, he knew.
He planned it
"Oh, God," Pam moaned as she rolled over on the bed.
She couldn't sort out her feelings.
She just knew that they hurt, they smarted, they stung her.
"A cat."
Melanie said the words softly, looking at the ceiling. Her fingers were still buried in
Pam's cunt valley, but she could feel that the girl's muscles had stopped clenching and
tensing around her fingers.
"A cat, why not a dog, dear...?"
Pam had sat up in shock, and seen Melanie smiling at her warmly.
Before the afternoon was over, Melanie and Pam knew all that there was to know about
each other, or rather, all that mattered to them at the moment, when they realized that
they had so much in common.
They talked it over. They kissed.
They licked at each other's cunts, and Melanie taught Pam the ins and outs of "69" and
a few other delicacies as well.
They talked it over again.
They used their fingers the last time, since their mouths were tired.
"Think about it, dear," Melanie had told the girl, kissing her gently on the forehead
before Pam departed, having called her mother much earlier, and getting a kick and a
half out of lying next to a naked woman, who was fingering her pussy mercilessly, and
telling her mother at the same time that she was having dinner at Dr. and Mrs.
Wendell's house.
"Think about it, and tomorrow, well, the job is still yours, no matter what you decide to
do. Frank will not press you into anything."
Pam nodded silently, but as she walked home, and then when she got home, and was
naked, in bed, and touching her cunt, still soft and swollen from Melanie's tongue and
fingers, she knew that she really did want Frank to press her after all...
... or at least to press his big cock into her virgin hole.
The first time had not been particularly easy, even after a couple of brandies and a
good, long and soothing back massage and cuntlicking from Melanie, but that had not
put Pam off of fucking for good.
The next time was wonderful, and so were all the times after that.
"Your cock is so nice," Pam had murmured over and over as she held the beefy monster
in her hands, studying it before it went into her pussy slot and took her virgin skin
with it.
"Thank you," Frank had smiled down as the girl as he knelt by her side. Pam was lying
on her belly, looking over and up at him as she rested her chin on her hands. Melanie
was massaging her back, straddling her waist and caressing the girl's slim, strong back.
"If you like it," Melanie had suggested, "why not let it know?"
"How?" Pam had said coyly, although she was already reaching out for it, taking the
long, red-purple thing in between her hand and rolling it around a little, bringing a
drop of come to the tip.
"Like this?"
And she sucked it into her mouth like a pro.
Like a cat drinking cream, she had taken all his come into her belly.
Frank had asked her to, because he wanted , to get his big cock hard for the second
time before he tried to take her maidenhead away.
He knew that the squeezing of her lovely cunt channel, which he has just finished
tasting and fingering, would wring his cock dry of all its come and hardness in less than
a minute if he put his first hardon into her virgin belly. So he would wait a little now.
It was all right.
The two female cats had plenty to entertain each other with.
And he watched, touching his cock and bringing it back up quickly, as the women
smiled at each other, sisters under the skin, and began to move their long, sinuous
bodies together, touching, nipple to nipples, pelvis to pelvis, cunt to cunt, thigh to
thigh.
When he was ready again, Pam was more than ready – she thought.
"I had no idea it could hurt so much!!" Pam said later to Melanie as the older woman
carefully bathed the still slightly sore opening to her pussy, washing away the drops of
blood and male and female come that clung to the filaments of her pussy fur and to her
dangling cunt lips. "Did it hurt you that much, the first time...? Oh, I'm sorry, Melanie!
I forgot about your unc... I'm sorry I brought it up..."
"It's okay," Melanie had told her. "I'm just glad that I found Frank, that's all, and that
you did, too, for your first – and your second-time!"
"I hope the third and fourth and fifth time too!"
The women had laughed, but they both knew, barring any changes from the outside
world, Frank would be opening Pam's pussy quite a lot, and that soon, very soon, when
she thought she could handle it, other boys.
But first, she needed a good schooling from Frank..."... and from Pretty Boy?" Melanie
had asked her softly that night, three weeks later, as they lay in bed together, touching
tits and cunts.
"I... I don't know... now..." Pam had stammered.
It had seemed so exciting, so forbidden, to think about it, that dog, with the big, meaty,
sperm-bearing cock, and to think about...
... her cunt.
... her cunt with that cock, that doggie cock, inside of it.
... her cunt filled by the big dog, taking it all in.
... her body surrounded by the big, animal body, humping her.
But now..."... I don't know... There's this boy, you see, a football player at school..."
Pam took a deep breath when she thought of Marc and how he had come up to her in
the hallway that afternoon, grinning sheepishly at her.
"Listen, Pam," he had said, touching her arm. "I was wondering, if, ah, after all this
time... I was wondering if you had reconsidered..."
For one heart-stopping moment, Pam wondered if somehow, someway, he KNEW!!!
Don't be a jerk, she told herself... No one knows...
"Reconsidered?"
"My offer."
"What offer, Marc?"
"I mean to go out with me... I wondered if maybe you would have changed your mind
about it, or if you would mind starting all over again... How do you do, Miss. My name
is Marc... Would you like to go out with me this Saturday night? See?"
They had gotten it straightened out by the time the bell rang for class.
They had also made arrangements to meet at the movies on Saturday.
Early show.
Pam's parents, she knew, were going out that night, and she could invite Marc home
after the show. They would have the house to themselves for at least two hours, maybe
more...
She didn't tell Marc that yet.
She didn't want to scare him away, or think that she was "THAT" kind of girl.
Not yet at least.
By Saturday night, though, he would know. He would know from first hand – and first
cock-experience, if she had anything to say about it.


Epilogue

Pam looked up a Marc with big, big eyes.
He thought how sexy she looked like that, like a hot, horny little girl, when she lay
down like that, her tits hidden in the covers, and only her round, right ass cheeks
showing as she leaned on her elbows, looking up at him as he lay on the bed beside
her.
Damn, he had had just fucked her twice, twice in a row, each time leaving a thick wad
of come in her little hole, but now...
... Now he was getting all hot and hard to fuck again.
Even after the story she had just told him, about that man, the man she worked for,
and his wife, his pretty, pretty wife...
He had fucked her many times now, from that first night, several weeks ago, when they
went on their first date and she lured him back to her house and practically RAPED
him with her hot body and fast, eager, licking tongue and soft, urgent, sucking mouth,
and that warm, open, ready-to-be-fucked cunt, oh, that cunt of hers...!
He had wanted to know then, to find out how she had gone from being class wallflower
to being the hottest thing on two legs...
Or on her back.
But he had been too embarrassed to ask... She after all hadn't asked him anything about
his girl friends, for which he was grateful.
Pam was so good at what she did that she made Marc look like an old pro, too.
And now she was telling him how she lost her virginity.
"Just him, just that man, Pammy?" Marc asked, stroking her bare buttocks. "Please tell
me, just that man... and that woman?"
"Yes," Pam said firmly, not stumbling.
She was never, never going to tell the rest, ever, ever...
"I understand," Marc said seriously. "I want you to quit your job though..."
"I already have..." ... "and if you ever see that man, I want you to... thank him. He
taught you very, very well..."
There was nothing more for either of them to say.


THE END
