Catherine Bell and Zoe Mclellan Get Dogged
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Year Of The Dog free porn video
Inspired by some views, some videos and some imagination
2018, mid summer in Victoria Park, Stratford Road, Salisbury UK. Yin Kim Chow sat reading a book under a beech tree enjoying the part dapple shaded heat, nothing like her home town of HongKong of course, but hot. Her large floppy white hat was throwing a big shadow over her white shrouded shoulders, chest and much of her white cheesecloth, ankle length skirt. She wore simple yellow slip-on shoes.
Two British infantry soldiers of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders marched past and tipped their bonnets in a polite gesture, getting a pleasant acknowledgement smile back. The 58 year old Yin admired the dress uniform of one of them, his heavy tartan kilt swaying, his very hairy legs just visible over his thick socks. She guessed he was taking part in a military ceremony that afternoon in the cathedral city in Wiltshire. She crossed her bare scrawny legs after parting them from a tightly knit formation, just to allow a waft of the slight breeze to permeate her sweaty upper limbs.
Fifty Shades of Grey was proving to be an intriguing and very erotic book to the 48 year Chinese spinster. Echoes of her young life in HK filtered through her mild mannered conservative well educated brain, thinking about the way her father had treated her, her four siblings and her mother. BDSM, torture and abuse had been rife in the Chow dynasty of restaurateurs, with the staff treated abominably, even considering how the family had been managed. Yin was distracted momentarily by a loudly barking Greyhound dog chasing and winning against a shrilly yapping pure white miniature Poodle. She feared for the tiny fluffy animal, until the rangy grey and white racing hound caught it, bundled it over and the two canines played happily, then chasing off again. Their two owners giggled and shouted ruining the placid atmosphere of the ancient green space.
One of the military men marched back, his green and dark blue box pleated kilt swaying in time to his brisk steps. She hadn’t noticed previously, their pace so swift, but his white socks had a red and white patterned upper cuff. He tipped his bonnet again. During her nod back, she wondered was it true that she’d heard he would not have been wearing underpants ... how odd, but in this heat very comforting to know yet thinking how nice it would be. But she wouldn’t dare. Yin was uncomfortable herself and allowed the breeze to roam round her thighs, putting the book down with it’s carefully placed marker in page 69. Yin decided it was time to wander home to her cute little terrace house in Devizes Road.
She got up and took a short cut across the grass and within ten metres, tripped over a hidden tree root and sprawled helplessly, landing on her knees not far from the massive trunk of the tree. There was no one around to help but she didn’t need any. Yin was never athletic but easily scrambled to her feet and sorted her clothes smooth, disappointed at the grass stains and a dirty one in her flowing skirt, knowing it would be a struggle to wash out. Her main worry was that she could have fallen in some dog faeces, but there was no sign of that. She collected her book and the small clutch bag which had dropped somewhat apart, made sure the page marker was intact, adjusted her wide brimmed hat and strolled onwards, fearful of the many roots ahead of her.
A thin tawny coloured mongrel dog, across two paths and a hundred metres of green space, stuck it’s shiny black nose in the air and sniffed, rotating as if an antenna finding the right signal strength. On Yin’s route was Mohammed’s corner shop and she picked some fresh fruit and vegetables, putting them in bags old Mo provided. She felt a brush of something round her feet and saw a brown dog with a few black marks, sniffing at her shoes. She ignored it and went inside, the dog following. Mohammed Chaudry was serving a customer and frowned at what he took to be Yin’s dog in his pristine shop.
Ms Chow was a valuable and regular local customer and he didn’t know she had acquired a pet. He shouted for his son Mohammed to help while weighing loose mustard seeds. The burly, swarthy, pock marked man appeared.
“Now Ms Yin how can I help you ... nice puppy,” he grinned.
“Oh it’s not mine,” she deferred politely, surreptitiously trying to kick the irritating pooch away from sniffing her legs and shoes. She held her clutch bag and book after plonking down the fairly heavy bags of fresh produce. Yin had another go at the dog and nearly lost her balance, her sandal having snagged on a nail head in the floor.
The book went one way, the clutch the other, and she sprawled to collect them. The tawny mutt had his moment and stuck his snout eagerly in the folds of her skirt. Yin yelped as young Mo came round and picked up the book, kicked the dog away and helped Yin vertical. She thanked him, smoothed her skirt and realised he had put his hand on a very creased and damp patch which smelled a bit peculiar.
“Hmmm! Bit doggy,” he muttered a little too loudly.
Her big floppy hat was straightened while he placed the book on top of the counter not before noticing the book mark exposed the 69 page.
“There you are Ms Yin, OK now. Thank you ... Good book?” he smiled, taking her cash and giving change, thinking he had better wash his hands before dealing with any produce...
Old Mo was holding the dog and checking if there was a contact number on it’s lead.
“Yes it is thank you Mohammed, little bit naughty you know,” she smiled demurely. “That dog has followed me all the way from Victoria Park. He’s friendly enough, just a bit of a nuisance you know ... sort of jumping at me. Any clues Mr Mo?” She got a shake of his white head.
The pesky dog followed Yin all the way home not causing problems to traffic, walkers or other dogs, just to Yin, by constantly sniffing her heels and jumping at her skirt. Reaching her small abode, she wondered what to do about it and thought it best to take it in, tie the lead in the garden and advertise with some hastily copied text and photo on lamp posts and the like. The dog was secured in the garden, she sorted out her shopping and booted her computer. Composing the text was easy for a senior lecturer in Mandarin and Chinese Art at the college, saving it.
Upstairs Yin changed her dress after leaving her shoes inside the back door. Examining the grass stains she grimaced, thinking it smelled a bit queer, and thought she would pop it straight to the dry cleaners on the next road, before the spell of gardening she had planned. Wearing a sloppy white T shirt with Wiltshire College Netball across the back and the inevitable big floppy hat she took her Canon Powershot out to the garden. The mongrel was excited to see her, but more the point she noticed, to smell her. Her bare legs, feet and the cheesecloth dress bundle attracted all of his nose and being so busy it was difficult to take a decent photo of it. She finally managed after sitting on the reclining swing chair and letting the dog lick her feet which provided a good angle, distracting him to get a shot of it’s face. She saw it was indeed a him, the way it’s penis had emerged about an inch as it furiously lapped anything below her knees.
She went to corner shop round the corner on Queen Alexander Road, that dealt with key cutting, shoe repairs and dry cleaning, the mongrel following, still animated round her shoes and ankles. The dark Asian girl assistant took in the garment and studied the grass stain, commented, filled a receipt, then sniffed the material, remarking it smelt a bit sort of doggy. Yin told her the mongrel outside had been jumping up at her, but didn’t know why
Yin got back home, the mongrel almost behaving like it knew where he was and went inside to the kitchen to find what she called her gardening socks which she kept in a cupboard. She pulled on a pair of knee length woolly Bath rugby socks, bought at a neighbourhood bring and buy sale in Devizes Road, stepped into a pair of ancient Dutch clogs and approached the shrubs and plants for a seasonal trim armed with secateurs. The dog whined and tugged at it’s tether until giving up to lay watching her work.
She strolled past the mongrel several times to get a drink or pick a tool from a small shed, patting it’s panting snout, refurbishing the water bowl she’d placed for it. It was forever jumping up at her. After about an hour, getting tired and noting the shade her house was providing over part of the garden Yin called it a day, stored her tools away, made a cup of LapSang Souchong tea and lounged on the chair with her book, the tied mongrel fretting, near but out of reach. Interesting ‘naughty’ sections in the unusual much publicised book stimulated senses in the diminutive Chinese spinster lady and several times she reached down to push the crotch of her big white knickers into the damp patch that was spreading over her groin. Hmmm! It was getting a little soggy down there, not a usual occurrence.
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