Pet Shop Pussy free porn video

Pet Shop Pussy by Rick Jennings


Chapter 1


Pamela Harper lay alone in her bed with the awareness, the growing
concern and concomitant anxiety, that her life was basically empty. No
matter how hard she tried to structure it, to give it a unifying sense
of order or purpose, she sensed that without someone next to her to
share her dreams, her goals and aspirations, life wasn't really worth a
dime.

How many mornings have I awakened like this ... with nothing, just a
career, but no one alongside of me? This question and others passed
across her mind. She looked up and stared at the ceiling as if she was
searching for an answer, a solution to the emptiness in her heart.

Love was the problem, and at twenty-eight it seemed to be her biggest
concern. The daily hassles of making a living, of running a business and
making ends meet, were not nearly as disconcerting as the fact that she
was not in love. Indeed, she was acutely aware of the last time she had
felt anything akin to romantic involvement, and that had been more than
five years before, right after she had graduated from college.

But the past five years she referred to as a desert, a wasteland.

Men had come and gone, in and out of her life. Had she been a woman who
was basically unappealing, physically as well as mentally, she would
have been able to give herself a much needed rationalization for her
overwhelming sense of loneliness. But there was no way for her to
convince herself that men didn't turn somersaults over her.

And that too was a problem, keeping them off of her, getting them out
the door before things really took on a leering shade of carnal red.
Like what had happened last night, for example. She thought of that now,
glad too that it was Sunday morning and she didn't have to get out of
bed and get the shop open and ready for customers.

On Sundays she had a neighborhood boy clean out the pens and feed the
animals, so she didn't have to worry about getting up and rushing out of
her apartment. That was what Dick Truman had told her, too. "You don't
have to get up early tomorrow, Pam, so what's the big hassle, anyway?"

It had been less of a question than a statement. No, time hadn't been
the hassle. Only Dick Truman, anxious to have her on a silver platter
like a roast suckling pig. He's the pig, she said to herself, shuddering
at the thought and then wondering too if she just might be frigid ... or
maybe even just a little bit frigid.

After all, Dick was certainly an attractive guy. But he was too pushy
for her, too much of a hard-drinking bruiser. He didn't have a gentle
touch and that had turned her off from him, from the very first.

I just won't accept any more dates from him, that's all, she decided,
right then and there. Pam wondered if it had been her fault, if she had
led the man on, agreeing to go out with him for what had been four dates
over as many weeks. And last night had been the clincher, that's for
sure.

"What are you, some cockteasing ball-buster!" he had shouted when they
were alone in her apartment, when she had once again rebuffed his sexual
advances, feigning first a headache and then a lack of interest in
making love with him.

"Just get out of here and leave me alone," she had snapped back, sorry
she had ever been conned--for that was the way Pam saw it--into letting
him come into the apartment for a nightcap. "A nightcap isn't a
euphemism for let's fuck, Mr. Truman!"

"I don't think you'd know how, anyway, kiddo," the man had replied, as
cocky and sure of himself as she had always felt him to be. "Have a good
life, baby, a good long horny life." And with that he had let himself
out, slamming the door behind him.

She hated herself for breaking down after he had stormed out, for
collapsing on the couch, her body racked with sobs. Because what Pamela
Harper couldn't deal with was the fact that whatever Dick had said
somehow rang true. She hadn't enjoyed sex with a man in ages, more than
just weeks or even a month or two.

And she knew it was abnormal to stifle her desires, to squelch her
sexual appetites, all in the name of love. It wasn't as if she was a
virgin, or even an old maid. At the ripe young age of twenty-eight she
was more of a woman than ever before. Full-hipped, narrow-waisted,
blessed with a plentiful and upthrust bustline and features which seemed
to remind men of the heads adorning cameo pins, she was a woman who was
very much aware of her own allure, her sexual magnetism, in particular.

Hadn't she caught the boy who helped her out during the week and on
Sundays, giving her the eye? She knew she had, knew that half of the
sales she made at her shop were partly due to the fact that not only was
she a natural born saleswoman, but the fact that she was too lush and
seductive to say no to.

Truman had felt that, she decided. But she had been the one who had said
no to him, the one who had denied him not only his pleasure, but also
hers in addition. Not for one minute did she doubt that he would be good
in bed. But she wasn't in love with him and knew that there was no
chance in the world she would ever be.

"But you don't have to be in love to get fucked," he had told her that
night, rephrasing a line he had used on each of their four dates. "It's
just nice to sleep with someone, to give someone pleasure and get
pleasure as a result ... of giving, of giving to someone else, Pam."

He had been earnest, she knew, but it still hadn't changed the situation
nor changed her mind one iota. "They don't understand me, Bix. That's
the problem," she said aloud. "They just don't know what kind of person
I am. I give, I have feelings ... don't I?"

In response, Bix crawled up from where he had been sleeping at the foot
of Pam's bed. He sat up and cocked his head to the side; his dark liquid
brown-black eyes seemingly reflecting her every questioning thought and
turn of mood.

"You're a good boy, Bixie. You understand me ... not like anyone else,"
she went on. She reached out and ran her fingers over the top of the
Scottish terrier's head. He yapped happily and scooted up over the
covers to sit on top of her chest.

Despite his thirty pounds of hard bone and muscle, his weight was not in
the least bit uncomfortable. Her hands snaked down along the Scottie's
flanks and she ran her fingers through the thicker fur along his sides,
then down over his back where the hair had just been stripped.

It was tough as nails, wiry and jet-black.

"You're a champ, ya know that, Bixie. You're Champion Sir Bix Reliant.
That's what it says on your papers. But you're just good old Bixie to
me, feller."

In response, the dog lay down on top of her blanketed body, arched his
short muscular neck and proceeded to lavish her face with kisses. His
spoon-shaped tongue slapped raspily over her cheeks and lips and she
smiled contentedly to herself.

At least animals understand me, she thought, knowing she had chosen a
perfect profession. She ran a pet shop--Pam's Pet Palace said the
brightly lettered sign over her front windows. All day she was
surrounded by the chattering and chirping, the barking and meowing of
monkeys and parrots, puppies and kittens.

But when she came home at night, all she had was Bix, faithful and there
for her. But still a dog, not a man. Now, the Scottie continued to lick
her face with his rough raspy-edged tongue. Pam hugged him close against
her, wanting to cry but unable to produce tears to sluice down her
cheeks.

The anguish was there, but trapped, locked inside of her. She didn't
even feel sorry for herself, either, despite what she saw as an
accumulation of thwarted passions, or perhaps just a lack of emotion,
her feelings stifled inside of her.

Whether or not it was a defense mechanism, a subconscious barrier she
put up around herself to ward off men, was something that only a
psychiatrist could tell her. And since she was not in analysis, she had
to rely on her own sense of self. She'd introspected on matters such as
these for years, never coming up with an answer that would somehow save
the day and save her life from the drudgery of being alone.

Now, Bix was there for her and she knew it was better than nothing. The
dog was obviously quite content to lie on top of her. He was slightly
oversized for the breed, though judges hadn't ever held it against him.
But now that he had earned his points and his title of "Champion," she
had decided to forego the showing for awhile, realizing that involving
herself with the dog had just been another way of whiling away the
hours, passing the time between working and sleeping. Or maybe, she told
herself then, just living and dying.

Self-defeat, self-pity, were the two emotions she feared most of all,
even more than opening up to others, laying herself vulnerable and bare,
naked inside and out. She gave her affections to her animals, to Bix in
particular. And when his tongue slid down from her lips to move back and
forth along her chin and the edge of her neck, the pleasure it afforded
her could not be easily dismissed.

She let go of him then and raised her hands above her head, yawning,
tossing her bouncy honey-blonde tresses this way and that. The mirror
right across from her reflected her every move and she could see her
face coming back at her, a face that was still not alive to the start of
another day.

The covers slid down around her waist as she propped the pillows up
behind her back and reached over to the night table to get a cigarette.
Pam never wore pajamas or a nightgown to bed, preferring to sleep in the
nude, just the sheets and bedding touching her naked flesh.

And today was no exception. The covers were crumpled up around her waist
and just as she struck a match for her cigarette, she gave a start and
looked down, amazed by what Bix had taken upon himself to perform.

He was still lying down on top of the blankets. But now, he had turned
his attentions away from her face, his tongue sliding hotly right
between her naked and rounded breasts. She lit the cigarette then,
inhaled deeply and pressed her head back against the foam rubber
pillows.

She could see what was happening reflected in the mirror and the sight
was oddly intriguing as much as it was just plain amusing. Bix seemed
determined to lick every inch of her body, as if he was grooming her for
the show ring the way she had so diligently groomed him.

And Pam had no desire in the world to put a stop to the dog's oral
attentions. The slurp of his tongue could be heard and she trembled as
he slid his cold wet nose over until it rubbed against one of her
sleeping nipples.

Idly, she reached down with one hand and ran the tips of her fingers
over one nipple and then the other. "See the little nose, Bixie," she
giggled, amusing herself as she caught one flaccid nipple between her
thumb and forefinger, shoving it forward right in the dog's face.

Bix lashed out with his tongue slurping over the nugget of tit-flesh she
pushed in his face. Pam sighed languidly and pushed the covers back,
letting the cool air which circulated through the opened bedroom windows
caress her tawny thighs, the smooth and slightly rounded hillock of her
belly.

She watched Bix as he continued to lick this way and that. And when she
finally let go of her nipple, she was not even surprised to see how its
previously flaccid state had undergone a marked change. Now, both of her
nipples seemed perky, taut, standing up stiffly and capping her full
rounded breasts.

And as the Scottie kept licking them, they seemed to grow even more
turgid, hard fleshy points like bright pink berries. Another shiver
coursed through her body and she gently eased the dog down. She spread
her thighs apart to make room for him between her legs.

"You're a good boy, Bix, a real gentleman," she whispered with a pleased
and affectionate smile, never doubting the dog's loyalty or devotion to
her, a sense of always being where no man in the last five years had
ever convinced her of truly feeling.

But she missed men and even more with each passing day. She was acutely
aware of her lacks, her needs and it came as no surprise to her when her
hands seemed to move on their own accord. Almost involuntarily, as if
they had a mind of their own, they slid down until her fingers were
pressing against the top of Bix's black-haired head.

"Come on, Bixie. You know how to do it," she said in a whisper that was
clearly authoritarian, the sound of her voice the same tone as when she
had first begun to train the Scottie.

Bixie didn't bark or attempt to pull away, despite the uncomfortable and
insistent pressure of Pam's two hands. Instead, he crouched down and
then buried his face forward, just as she lifted her legs so that her
knees were raised up and the soles of her feet were flat against the top
of the mattress.

When she let go of his head, she whimpered softly, savoring the way
Bix's tongue was now moving in almost concentric circles, lashing around
her tawny pubic mound. Her eyes were glued between her legs and she
stared at herself, knowing every detail of her body, but still pleased
with her appearance.

The narrow triangular crop of short wiry dark-blonde pubic hair was
being licked again and again. Bix was drooling over her pussy and she
knew from past experience that the very smell of her cunt, even after
she had just washed herself or taken a shower, turned the dog on to a
most remarkable degree.

There was no need to tempt him; to coat her pussy with whipped cream or
jam. All she had to do now was lean back against the pillows and enjoy
his oral caresses, the attentive and diligent way his tongue was snaking
her meaty pubic mound.

She kept staring even as the first telltale flickers of delight began to
grow more noticeable, welling up inside of her. The walls of her cunt
were soon fluttering spasmodically, gently undulating and fibrillating
against each other.

A thin oily trickle of vaginal sap rolled down the length of her canal,
oozing out like dripping syrup, right between the thin narrow lips of
her pussy. And when Bix tried to push his tongue between them, she
didn't hesitate to encourage him further.

"That's it, good boy, keep going; Bixie don't stop," she urged, her
fingers sliding hotly up and down her body, her palms rotating over her
stiff-standing and inflamed nipples. Finally, she reached down between
her legs and even as Bix's tongue continued to probe the damp recesses
of her vulva, her fingers grabbed hold of the twin flaps of puffy and
tingling meat that bordered her gash.

She splayed them back with a single fluid motion of her hands. She
sucked in her breath as well as she exerted pressure, peeling her cunt
lips wide to expose the raw glistening meat of her clitoris and vulva.
The pulpy button of cunt-flesh was already jutting out like the tip of a
baby's little finger.

Her training now paid off, for the instant she peeled back her vaginal
lobes, the dog took a deep sniff and worked his tongue right over the
erect little nugget of meat that was her clitoris. A spastic shiver of
raw delight made her legs shudder and she gasped loudly as she felt the
flicker of delight growing in strength, welling up inside of her pussy.

It was always like this, this slow and deliciously torturous ascent to
the point of climax, the pinnacle of raw erotic release. "Come on, good
boy, more," she whispered, demanding that the Scottie service her.

She thrust her crotch forward and her hips began to undulate with
rhythmic insistence, her body writhing gently on the bed. More and more
cunt juice spilled down from the shuddering walls of her pussy, only to
be gobbled down, slurped and sucked up by the dog's fast-moving tongue.

And the more Bix licked and tongued her pussy, his tongue actually
pistoning in and out from between the trembling puffy lips of her
vagina, the more aroused Pam Harper fast became. She could feel her
climax growing in strength and she began to buck and heave, jerking her
crotch back and forth against the terrier's lowered face.

Her strenuous shivering motions seemed to spur the dog on and Bix's hard
raspy tongue almost nipped at her cunt as she felt the way the animal
was sucking down the thick rivulets of oily musky sap which sluiced down
along the walls of her pussy.

Her cunt was swampy and overheated now, but she didn't want to come ...
not right this instant, in any event. So rather than shorten her
pleasures, she sought to prolong them by lifting her legs back until her
knees were pressing down against her tits and the smooth white cheeks of
her boyish ass jutted out in the Scottie's direction.

The gamy sour odor of her anus had, so she had discovered when Bix was
just a puppy, always aroused the dog's oral attentions. This Sunday
morning was certainly no exception, for no sooner had she thrust her
bottom out in his direction when Bix dug deeper, shoving his snout and
then his swift-moving little tongue, right between the warm supple
cheeks of her delectable bottom.

A low-pitched sigh of ecstasy escaped Pam's lips the instant she felt
Bix's tongue licking and dabbing at the pink puckered folds of her anus.
The hairless rosy aperture began to clench and unclench like a toothless
mouth as she worked her sphincter muscles as if to egg the dog on to
greater and greater feats of oral--and now, analingual--excess.

He never fails me, she thought to herself as the dog's tongue palpitated
the rim of her anus. She reached down then and pulled her buns as far
apart as she could, stretching the narrow slick opening of her
fundament.

Bix's tongue actually worked its way right inside to the inner edge of
her rectum. And as soon as this was accomplished, Pam let go of her
buttocks and rammed her stiffened index finger right down between the
twin puffy lips of her cooze.

"Shit, do it! More, eat me, lick me!" she cried out, shuddering more
violently as her passions began to erupt with demonic force and
intensity.

There was no stopping her, or Bix for that matter, after that.

Her index finger surged in and out as she pistoned it down into her
pussy, farther than the length of the terrier's tongue could allow. The
wet slippery walls of her cunt surged together to embrace her digit and
a second finger soon followed the searing path of the first, the two of
them moving in unison, held stiffly and tightly together.

She scissored them open and shut around the stalk of her steamy cut and
the friction thus produced made her body thrash more vigorously on the
bed. Any second and she knew it would happen, her orgasm descending upon
her like a bolt of lightning.

But she tried to hold it back for as long as possible, the floodgates of
ecstasy about to break down and the rush of pleasure stream like boiling
water through her excited body. And all this time, Bix was still licking
and reaming her asshole, rimming her out and never growing tired of the
task she had rather effortlessly taught him when he was just a pup.

Her two fingers worked like a cock, plunging more determinedly in and
out of her pussy, scraping up against her clit in their maddened rush
down into her shuddering vagina. She closed her eyes then and it was
just the same as always, the identical fantasy taking wing in her mind,
filling her thoughts with its pleasurable and highly arousing images.

Her fingers kept moving, swifter than ever as she consciously dreamed
the fantasy that always consumed her when she was moments away from her
climax. In it, she was right where she was now, lying in bed, with or
without Bix. Her blonde hair was spread out over the white pillowslip
like a golden halo and soft rays of early morning light danced and
glinted along the pale blue bedroom walls.

But she was not asleep, for in her fantasy her eyes were half-open,
capable of seeing everything that was about to take place. It started
when a shadow moved behind the drawn lace curtains, a silhouette she
instinctively knew belonged to a man. And then a leg, a leg with a
scuffed cowboy boot and a covering of skintight faded denim, slid over
the window sill, followed by another foot and then a body which pushed
the window wider so that the man could gain access into her bedroom.

And there she was, lying in bed, pretending to be asleep, but seeing
everything that was taking place. It was the man of her dreams,
literally as well as figuratively, who now eased himself into her silent
bedroom, invading her home and her privacy.

But in the fantasy, and now in real life, a smile could be seen etched
across her thin pursed lips as she caught sight of the silent figure
staring down at her while she lay in bed. Languidly, she turned over
onto her back, flicking the covers down as if she was still asleep.

And the man's eyes opened even wider, dark brown eyes that seemed
capable of drilling into her flesh like laser beams. They gazed in awe
and delight at the bristly bush of fur which adorned her tender virginal
pubic mound, highlighting the narrow gash of her cunt furrow, accenting
the drooping lips of her twat now curling in against each other, furry
and warm and slightly damp with the juices which had oozed down her
trench during the night.

She could see his excitement branded like a tattoo across his face, the
way his nostrils dilated as he sucked in his breath, the way his thickly
sensual lips opened slightly as if they were linked directly to his wide
and staring eyes.

And then, she opened her eyes wider and gave a sudden start of fear,
fear that was dealt with in a flash as the stranger threw himself down
on top of the bed. The bedcovers were pulled back like flimsy tissue
paper and he took hold of her supple thighs and then rammed his flushed
and eager face right down between her spread-eagled legs.

But in the dream she did not scream or fight back, except to give a
sudden shudder of defiance, defiance which vanished the instant the
stranger's lowered head nuzzled against her box and his tongue lashed
out across her warm and inviting pussy.

Yes, do it, lick me, love me, she thought to herself, her fingers still
moving in and out of her cunt as her passions got ready to erupt like
molten lava, her body a volcano about to explode with fiery vengeance.

It was so clear, so lifelike that when she opened her eyes she could
still see the man lying down, stretched out on the bed, his jean-clad
legs hanging over the foot of the bed and his tongue lapping frantically
across her juicy pubic mound.

She closed her eyes tightly then, as if to reinforce the potency of her
erotic dream, her lusty fantasy. Yes, it was better this way, Pam
decided to herself, still moaning as she felt her climax about to
overwhelm her.

The man no longer frightened her, his startling entrance through her
bedroom window, the way his lips and tongue were plundering and raping
her cunt, all arousing her in a way no man in her real life had ever
succeeded in doing before.

The stranger's hard muscled body turned her on as well and his thick
curly brown hair was soft and baby-fine when she reached down and ran
her fingers through it, gently and lightly caressing the top of his
head.

She had seen too his lean and burly physique and the potent rounded
bulge tenting up the front of his skintight jeans. All these visual
stimuli served to inflame her passions and then, as she imagined how his
tongue would feel as it pistoned in and out of her cunt, how the edges
of his front teeth would nip and chew up and down the length of her
stubby hot clit, she suddenly threw her legs down over Bix's head and
screamed out, knowing that the moment of pleasure was finally at hand.

She let her passions take control and as she maneuvered a third finger
into place, she was gasping and shaking on the bed, her limbs shivering
involuntarily and her orgasm erupting with all the fire and delight no
man had ever gotten her to feel.

"More, lick me, love me, love me!" she cried out as if the burly young
man in her dream was actually there, standing by the foot of her bed
with a lewd and lascivious grin etched across his lips.

But when she stared wildly around, even as hot rivulets of fresh cunt
juice streamed down the burning walls of her stimulated twat, she could
see that she was alone with Bix, that no one else had entered her room,
either from the window which led out onto the fire escape, or through
the locked front door of her three-room apartment.

And a look of anger mingled with the rage of her erotic release as Pam
kept writhing back and forth. Bix continued to lash his tongue around
her anus, licking and nipping at her bottom-hole while her three fingers
plunged and darted deeper and deeper into her burning snatch.

She was milking herself of every last drop of cunt juice, every last
burning charge of sexual pleasure. Her orgasm was like a spring suddenly
uncoiling inside of her and by the time she had drained herself dry and
Bix had finally pulled his tongue back to sit up and stare at her
flushed and reddened face, Pam was too exhausted to say or do another
thing.

She just lay there on her bed, the rosy-red glow which had suffused her
skin now fading as the blush of fiery pleasure began to expire like
smoldering glowing coals in a dying fire. "Where are you, you prick!
Where the fuck are you hiding?" she screamed out, her face contorted
with anger that grew more intense and vituperative as she stared wildly
around the room.

Had her life been a fairy tale, she would have awakened from her
reveries to discover that they had come true. But today, as in the past,
fantasy had not been transformed into the stuff of life. A cool breeze
fanned the lace curtains and through the opened window, which led out
onto the fire escape, she could hear the murmur of voices, of children
playing out on the street, of a neighbor arguing with her husband.

But no one, no burly blue-jeaned cowboy-booted young man, was crouched
down on the fire escape, about to lift the window wide and slide one
foot and then the other into her room, entering her apartment and thus,
entering her life.

No tears, not today, Pam said to herself. She patted Bix and got up out
of bed, knowing it was time to face the dull gray languor of reality ...
her reality, her boring and dispassionate life.


Chapter 2


Living as she did in what had formerly been a rent-controlled apartment,
quite a plum as far as the vast majority of Manhattanites were
concerned, Pam had the added luxury of space, space which included a
kitchen that not only had a window, but that was also big enough to
easily hold a round oak dining table and four cane-backed chairs.

Nearly all of her friends bemoaned their fate, the exorbitant rentals
they paid in modern luxury buildings. And almost every one of them were
forced to eat in dining alcoves and living rooms, substituting
ventilator grates for kitchen windows.

The late morning sun streamed brilliantly into the kitchen and the
hanging plants, which decorated the window, were lush and full. There's
absolutely no reason to be depressed, Pam told herself as she sipped her
third cup of coffee and idly flicked the pages of the Sunday Times she
had picked up at a newsstand the night before.

Bix lay stretched out on the yellow tile floor, sunning himself after
having consumed his light morning snack. She looked down at his furry
black body and smiled to herself, pleased with his loyalty and doubly
pleased with the way he never failed to excite her, knowing almost
instinctively what to do to arouse her passions.

It wasn't so much her training as it was the dog's temperament and
seemingly natural inclination to lick and tongue her body, her cunt and
her asshole in particular. But that, she knew, was not all that she had
taught him, nor was it the only trick Bix knew how to perform for his
mistress.

But this morning she didn't want to think of that, having caught sight
of the terrier's bony penis when Bix had sat up on the bed, moments
after she had felt the last searing convulsions which marked her orgasm.

She wondered if he was capable of disappointment, then dismissed the
notion as anthropomorphic, not wanting to give a dog human feelings, to
endow an animal--even one as obviously bright and clever as Bix--with
emotions best left for people to experience and deal with.

But in her eyes, at least, he hadn't looked all that happy, sitting up
on the bed so that she had been able to see the pencil-thin and
triangulated tip of his penis sticking out from its black hairy sheath.

The glistening flesh of his dog-cock was wet with canine genital
secretions, a thin slippery fluid that she had tasted on numerous
occasions in the past, carnal episodes of bestiality, she had told
absolutely no one about.

Shame was one emotion she had learned to cope with quite early on in her
life, for before Bix there had been her first dog, a honey colored
cocker spaniel who made up for his unremarkable behavior and
intelligence in other and far more intriguing ways.

She remembered that first incident with the spaniel, when she had just
turned fifteen. It stood before her mind's eye as if it was happening,
right there in the kitchen. But then she blinked and the image
disappeared.

No, she decided, I've done enough fantasizing for one day. It's time to
get out and shake off my depression before I really end up in the loony
bin. She did not think she was headed for a breakdown, but as she got up
to wash the breakfast dishes she sensed that unless things changed, the
pattern of her life that is, no good would come of her burgeoning
anxieties and dissatisfaction with the tenor of her existence.

"Want to romp in the park today, Bixie?" she asked her dog when the last
of the breakfast dishes had been washed and set in the drainer to dry.

Bix yawned and stretched his legs, his carrot-shaped black tail rising
up jauntily, wagging this way and that as he trotted obediently behind
her, back into the bedroom where she picked out the clothes she would
wear that afternoon.

Less than an hour later found her standing at the top of what New
Yorkers had dubbed "Dog Hill," a denuded though still fairly grassy
rounded hill which overlooked Fifth Avenue and the 79th Street entrance
to Central Park.

Sunday, she knew, was the worst day of all, when the park was crowded
with families and Dog Hill was a sea of barking running canine bodies.
The good weather, the first taste of summer in what had been an
unusually rainy spring, had brought the people out in droves and as she
stood and looked around her, surveying the view while she kept a
diligent eye on Bix, she suddenly stiffened and refused to believe her
eyes.

I'm dreaming, she thought to herself, ignoring Bix so that she was able
to train both eyes on the tall athletically built figure who stood some
distance away from her, halfway down the rise of the gently sloping
hill.

She could see his profile, the straight aquiline line of his nose, the
thick and in her eyes sensual lips, now set in a slight and almost dazed
bemused little grin. Dark piercing eyes stared out, open and devoid of
deceit, from under a pair of thick bushy eyebrows.

Even the same hair, Pam thought to herself, for the young man who now
was causing her to stare almost blatantly and rudely, had a thick mop of
shaggy and curly dark-brown hair, hair which almost seemed to be the
identical shade of brown as his eyes.

She shook her head and held herself more stiffly, aware of the way she
had been trembling. Her fingers clutched Bix's leash and the yapping and
scurrying all around her did not serve to break her mood of silent and
watchful amazement.

It's him, the same guy, the one who comes in the window, she thought,
still not sure if she was somehow hallucinating, seeing a mirage,
imagining the young man as he stood below her on the hill, his own eyes
trained on a powerfully built liver-colored Doberman pinscher.

As in the dream, the stranger wore faded and skintight blue jeans, even
scuffed square-toed cowboy boots as well. A work shirt as equally faded
and bleached as his dungarees covered his muscular torso and Pamela
smiled nervously, wondering if she was finally going off the deep end.

But when she blinked rapidly, the image before her didn't waver or fade
away in the least. If anything, she could see the young man even more
clearly. All the details of his face and body, details she had memorized
as if the dream had come to her full-blown, not a product of her own
subconscious yearnings, matched one against the other.

She shivered again, spooked out by the apparition that had magically
come to life. She had waited so long to meet a man like the one who
raped her, alone in her bedroom, that now she didn't know if she should
just turn around and run off in the opposite direction.

But before she could even recover from her surprise, or regain her
self-composure, their eyes met and for the life of her she neither
wanted to nor could she even pull away from the young man's wide and
unswerving stare.

He turned his head to the side and looked up at her and if there was
such a thing as love at first sight, Pam knew that she was the victim of
it, of Cupid's dart. Her knees felt weak and bravely, feeling silly and
as adolescent as a blushing schoolgirl, she curled her lips up into a
smile.

It was not ignored.

The fellow grinned broadly, just as she saw Bix race into view, running
circles around the liver colored Doberman. The pinscher was a male, but
surprisingly enough he and Bix seemed to get along fine, enjoying each
other's company, enjoying too the canine games the Scottie so delighted
in.

Bix yapped merrily and darted right underneath the Doberman's body. The
smooth-coated dog barked loudly and sprang off down the hill, Bix's
short stubby legs flying out behind him as he hurried after in hot
pursuit.

"Holmes!" the young man called out as the two dogs raced down the hill,
so involved in their own games and animal pleasures that, at least for
the time being, they were oblivious to their masters.

"Bix, get over here!" Pam cried out, her feet moving in front of her.
Almost mechanically she strode down the hill, one foot placed before the
other as if she was just learning how to walk. She was headed right
towards the young man and a smile still played across her lips.

"Holmes, get your ass over here ... now!" the guy yelled out.

The Doberman stopped short, lifted his fox-like snout and then began to
race back up the hill. Bix was right behind him, a black streak against
the pinscher's short liver-tinted body. By the time the two dogs had
arrived at the young man's feet, Pam was standing right before him,
still clutching Bix's leather lead.

"That's a good boy, Holmes. Now just quiet down and sit still for a
minute," the fellow said good-naturedly.

Pamela knew she was in love and the very notion made her shudder once
again. She wiped her forehead with the tips of her fingers, able to feel
how she had suddenly begun to sweat profusely. "You too, Bix," she said,
her voice cracking and her throat gone dry and parched.

"Bix? Why Bix?" asked the young man, turning to stare at her the way he
had done earlier. And, for a second time, their eyes met, the stare held
rigid and unmoving.

"Why?" she heard herself replying to his question. "He's just ... just a
little Bix, that's all. Silly. I can't remember why I decided to name
him that. It just came to me when I saw him, that's all."

"You're right," the young man agreed with another disarmingly open and
good-natured grin. "He does look like a Bix."

"And Holmes?" asked Pam. "Where's his double-brimmed cap and his
drooping pipe?"

"Oh," the young man laughed, "I only let him wear those things in the
privacy of my apartment. Wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea.
Actually, it was the look in his eyes that made the decision for me.
Seemed so piercing, so inquisitive, even when he was just a pup."

Pam glanced over at the Doberman. He was sitting at his master's feet,
his great wet tongue hanging out of his mouth. Her eyes slid down,
caught sight of the long thinly furred sheath that concealed the dog's
cock and then jerked back to the young man's smiling face.

"Want to go for a cup of coffee?" he suddenly blurted out, almost as if
he was now as nervous as she was.

"What?" she said, startled by the swiftness of the stranger's
invitation. "I ... I don't even know your name."

"And if you did ... would it make any difference?" he said. "But to set
your mind at ease, I'm listed in the Manhattan directory, under W for
Whitlock. Justin Whitlock."

"Pam Harper," she replied, finding herself extending her hand as they
grinned back at each other and shook hands like two businessmen meeting
each other for the first time before sitting down to lunch.

"Good, then it's settled," he said, whereupon he attached the chain
leash he held to Holmes' collar.

Pam clicked Bix's lead into place and the two of them, led by their two
straining panting dogs, moved down the hill towards the 79th Street exit
from the park. Pam felt at a complete loss for words, nodding her head
numbly as Justin spoke to her.

She was growing acutely aware of the way he kept glancing at her from
the corner of his eye. It was a look she had seen before, as recently as
the previous evening in fact, when Dick Truman had taken her out for
dinner.

But whereas Truman's leering wolfish grin had turned her off, had
frightened her in point of fact, she accepted Justin's obvious interest
in her with something that resembled downright pleasure and considerable
delight.

She had never met a man this way, a complete and total stranger. For all
she knew he could be a homicidal maniac, a psychotic, sexually
maladjusted. But even if all that was true, nothing was going to stop
her from finally taking a chance with her life and doing the one thing
which now came to her as naturally and easily as the very act of
breathing, of inhaling and exhaling as she walked alongside of him.

When they reached Fifth Avenue they turned left, heading uptown. They
walked past the crowds surging in and out of the Metropolitan Museum,
past some of the embassy buildings that were located along Fifth Avenue,
in view of the park.

She didn't ask him where they were going, if he intended to stop at a
coffee shop or head straight back to his apartment. Secretly, she hoped
he would choose the latter and when he caught hold of her elbow and
guided her across Fifth Avenue and down Eighty-eighth Street, she smiled
to herself and didn't utter a single word of protest.

"Five flight walkup," he announced when they reached the unrenovated
brownstone where he rented an apartment. "Sorry about that, but I refuse
to be subsidized by dear old dad."

"I don't care. I like to walk," she replied, shy again as she followed
him up the granite steps which led into the pocket-sized vestibule and
lobby of the building.

Justin dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a ring of
keys, selecting the correct one to unlock the front door. Then, moving
down the dimly illuminated and narrow hallway, he led Pam upstairs to
his apartment.

She followed right behind him; able to hear the way her heart was
beating like a steam-hammer in her breast, able to feel the nervous
pulsing throb of blood in her temples. But even more than that, she was
becoming acutely aware of another sensation, one that she had
experienced in the past, but rarely if ever as a result of being in the
company and presence of a man.

Between her legs she could feel how juice was seeping down, trickling
along the walls of her cunt and oozing over her hairy pubic mound. She
was wearing a skirt and she was almost startled at the way her crotch
had gotten suddenly wet and swampy, juice threatening to actually drip
down along the insides of her thighs.

The walls of her cunt could be felt fluttering again and again and she
could hardly believe her body was responding like this, for she had not
felt this kind of sexual reaction to anyone in so long that she had
almost forgotten what it could be like.

But now, she knew exactly what it was like, for she was unable to stop
shaking, unable to stop staring up at Justin's muscular back, his tight
boyish ass outlined beneath the skintight covering of his jeans, or the
long thickly muscles back of his calves and thighs.

His body seemed to radiate the same kind of intense animalism as Holmes'
wiry and powerful build, dog and master appearing in her eyes to be even
more suited to each other than she had first thought. This is insane,
she told herself. What am I doing here, following this guy upstairs to
his apartment, when I don't even know who he is, or anything about him?

Nevertheless, she made no move to turn, nor did she even voice her
doubts. Her disbelief, the fact that the longer she was in his company
the more he came to even more closely resemble the man she had almost
fantasized about, all got the best of her, squelching any thoughts to
the contrary.

She paused at the top of the fifth floor landing to catch her breath.
She had taken Bix off the leash and now he was wagging his tail,
delighted with his outing and his new friend. Holmes stood attentively
behind Justin as he unlocked the door to his apartment, turning around
to usher Pam inside.

One glance was all she needed to put her fears to rest. The studio
apartment was warm and inviting, with soft browns and tans the
predominant color scheme. "I'll fix a pot of coffee ... I can't stand
instant," he told her. "Just make yourself comfortable, put some music
you like on the stereo."

Dumbly, she nodded her head and moved into the large airy room. She put
her shoulder bag down and moved to the stereo, flicking through the
stack of record albums until she had found something to her liking. It
was Franck's "Symphony in d," one of her favorites. She slid the record
out of the album sleeve and put it down on top of the turntable, doubly
pleased that he had it in his collection, that already their similar
tastes were showing through, joining them even more closely to each
other.

Bix and Holmes seemed exhausted and they lay near the couch, their
tongues lolling out of their mouths and their eyes half-closed, dreamy
with the need for sleep. That too was fine with her. She didn't want
them to turn into a hassle, a nuisance.

The soft strains of the symphony came back to her as she sat down on the
couch, a straight-backed tweed-covered sofa whose down pillows gave way
under her weight. She sank down and sighed to herself, still finding it
all too difficult to deal with.

I should be lying in a bed, she thought. And Justin should come in
through the open window and take me ... just like that, without a single
word.

Pam closed her eyes, an unspoken sentence on her lips. One part of her
was more afraid than she had ever been before in her life, afraid of
caring too much, of giving everything she had and getting nothing back
in return, of laying her feelings before Justin's feet, not knowing if
he would kick them aside or bend down to hold them lovingly and caringly
in his cradling arms.

But the other side of her thoughts, the side which had first compelled
her to hold his stare, to move down the hill with the full intention of
meeting Justin, wanted her to cry out to him, to tell him to take her,
to rape her in any way he desired, right then and there.

She could hear his booted feet moving back into the room. But Pam kept
her eyes closed, her breath coming in short shallow gasps, her tits
rising and falling like the lilting strains of music Franck had written
for moments just such as these.

Let him see me like this, she thought. Let him know how open I am, how
vulnerable, naked ...

She pictured how he was now standing at the threshold to the room, for
the sound of his heavy footfalls had stopped abruptly. She imagined what
he might be thinking and she smiled to herself just as the footsteps
resumed, coming right in her direction. Still, she made no move to open
her eyes or acknowledge the fact that he was walking right towards her
as she leaned back against the down-filled sofa.

And then it happened, though not like in the dream.

She felt his legs pressing down against her knees and then his lips
moving back and forth against her mouth. She took a deep breath then and
opened her eyes. He was leaning forward, bracing himself with his hands
clutching at the back of the couch.

She looked into his eyes and then smiled as he grinned back at her,
lightly licking her lips with the tip of his outstretched tongue. Her
hands moved up as if invisible balloons were lifting them. And then she
clutched at his arms and responded with all the pent-up passion and
stifled desire she had lived with these past five years.

Justin could not have been more pleased.

He rammed his tongue right between her parted lips, moaning softly as
her fingers slid up and down along his arms. Each passing second made
Pam more impatient. She no longer cared what he might think of her
behavior, of the way she was demanding him to take her, to do whatever
he desired.

Nothing mattered but how she felt and she rubbed her thighs together,
acutely and agonizingly aware of the way her cunt had begun to burn and
itch with feverish impatience and desire. Justin's tongue slid in and
out of her mouth, licking her lips and palate, her gums and teeth.

Their lips were glued hotly against each other and her fingers slid
higher, up along his arms. His muscles bulged tautly inside of his faded
blue work shirt and the power and strength she had imagined him to
possess was now becoming more and more obvious, exhibiting itself in the
hard bulge of his steely muscles.

Justin slid his tongue out of her mouth and then sucked on her chin,
gently sliding his tongue down along her neck, even as he began to ease
his body into a crouch. He crouched between her legs, flicking his
tongue against her smooth alabaster neck, his knees digging into the
carpeting and his hands now moving from the back of the couch to rest
along Pam's shoulders.

She felt dazed, dazzled by the swiftness of their meeting, by the fact
that she knew, long before it was going to take place, that they were
destined to go to bed together, destined to explore every inch of each
other's naked bodies.

And that pleased her to no end. She pushed her crotch forward,
whimpering more excitedly as he sucked and licked her neck, gently
unbuttoning the front of her thin linen blouse. Yes, do it, anything,
she kept telling herself as Justin grew more animated, more impatient,
finally ripping the tails of her blouse out from around the waistband of
her skirt.

She thrust her tits forward, glad that she hadn't bothered to wear a bra
for her afternoon jaunt to the park. Because now, an instant later, she
felt his lips sucking down over one of her nipples, the edges of his
front teeth nipping and grazing lightly and delightfully along the
entire length of her turgid and stiff-standing berries.

"Yes, oh do that, yes, anything," she whispered, her body twisting from
side to side as he used his lips with expertise, sucking on one taut
nipple and then the other. He licked and tongued them until they felt on
fire and then he began to stuff one of her tits right between his gaping
lips.

Pam kept looking down, staring at his lowered head as his hands pushed
her jugs closer together and his lips and tongue sucked and slurped with
growing passion and maddened delight. He was doing everything she had
wanted him to do, and performing in a manner which left absolutely
nothing to be desired.

Glancing over his shoulder, she could see the two dogs, the Scottie and
the Doberman, watching what was taking place between their owners. Their
seeming look of interest amused her and Pam giggled, even as the hot
flickers of pleasure began to grow more and more potent.

He wasn't saying a word, but his caresses spoke far louder than anything
she knew he might say. His fingers were kneading and toying with her
jugs and she had never felt her nipples so inflamed before, so on fire,
tingling as he flicked the tip of his tongue back and forth against one
and then the other, stimulating her with each successive swipe of his
raspy-edged prober.

She was all eyes, having gone without this kind of pleasure for far too
long. The backs of his hands were covered with short black hair and she
imagined that he was a bear, attacking her, ravishing her body with
bestial fervor and animalistic delight.

Like paws, she thought as she watched his fingers moving, tweaking her
love-buds and then trailing ticklishly down along the gentle incline of
her body. He reached for the zipper to her skirt and still she made no
move to stop him, nor would she ever.

"You know me, don't you?" he asked her then, even as he found the side
zipper to her skirt and yanked it down with a flick of his wrist.

"I ... I've known you for ... for more than five years," she whispered,
her body shivering involuntarily, a nervous twitch which made her voice
tremble ever so slightly. "In ... from a dream. You've been coming to me
in a dream, the same dream, over and over again, week after week."

"If I told you the same thing, I'd only be lying. But it doesn't really
matter or change anything, because I'm here now, and that's all that
counts," he replied, his voice soft and soothing to her ears.

"You've been sleepwalking for five years, that's all," she said with a
grin. "You come to my window at dawn, pull it open and slide first one
leg and then the other inside. And then, then you ...

"Then I what?"

"You ... you do it," she stammered. "You rape me, Justin. You fuck me;
you do everything to me, everything. And I love it, I love it, all of
it, everything."

He grinned almost devilishly at her emotional outburst and without
saying another word, pulled impatiently at the hem of her skirt. Pam
lifted her ass off of the sofa so that he would be able to pull her
skirt completely off. She was glad she had said what she had, as if it
had been a stone around her neck, weighing her down. He hadn't laughed
nor had he been anything but highly pleased and flattered.

And now she was ready to make good her words, for even then her skirt
came down and she kicked it off of her ankles, pulling her blouse off
with the same kind of wild sexual impatience her voice had reflected
moments before.

Justin's dark brooding eyes opened to their farthest limits. He sucked
in his breath as she sat there before him, her naked creamy-white jugs
rising and falling; each rounded melon capped by an exquisite little
finger of taut and erect flesh.

She could see his excitement mirrored on his face, the way he was
literally devouring her with his eyes, gobbling her down like a
succulent sweetmeat, a choice morsel fit for an epicurean feast. His
eyes slid down over her upthrust and firm young breasts, farther still
to the soft rounded hill of her belly.

And then he did exactly what he did in her dream. He threw himself
forward with a loud bull-like roar, a bellow of wild sexual impatience
and maddened physical hunger. His tongue probed the narrow recess of her
navel and then licked down to the waistband of her slim little bikini
briefs.

Pam moaned wildly and thrust her crotch forward. Justin was using his
tongue with an instinctive skill that even Bix had never demonstrated
before. He slid its very tip right underneath the ring of elastic and
then moved it back and forth as if he were loosening her panties,
pulling them off of her merely by the use of his lips and tongue.

He came quite close to that, actually, for a moment later, as she kept
pushing her hips up and down towards his flushed and reddened face, he
grabbed hold of the waistband of her briefs, catching the elastic
between the edges of his front teeth.

She cried out with excitement as he pulled down, using his teeth rather
than his fingers so that she could feel his wet slippery lips grazing
against her naked body. Once again she raised herself up as he tugged
her panties down, succeeding in pulling them past her waist and lush
rounded hips, farther still until his eyes could see the first stray
ringlets of mossy pubic hair which grew thickly and luxuriously across
her meaty box.

"Oh please, please, yes, do it, hurry," she begged, so impatient that
she couldn't stop herself from skinning her undies down. She pushed them
past her thighs with both hands and as they fell to her ankles he was
already moving forward, even before she had managed to kick them off of
her legs.

A scream of excitement flew out of her throat the instant he plunged
recklessly forward, his thick sensual lips glued hotly against her
pussy. His warm breath fanned her puffy cunt lips and she was whimpering
and straining, pushing her crotch up against his mouth.

"More, yes, do it, anything," she blurted out once again, so on fire
that she couldn't pull her thoughts together. The room reeled around her
as if she was riding a horse on a carousel, a merry-go-round of spinning
whirling erotic intensity.

Never before, not even when she had known what it was to be in love,
five years earlier, had Pam Harper ever been so aroused, so sexually
stimulated, so maddened by the artful caresses and erotic skills of a
man.

It was all new to her and she spread her thighs demandingly wide,
watching the way his tongue slid around her hairy cunt, licking every
tendril of blonde pubic fur, sucking on the twin slippery lobes of flesh
whose inner secrets he now sought out. Justin rammed his bristling
invading tongue right down into her crimson gash and the scarlet wet
wound of her cunt furrow dilated visibly, even before she grabbed hold
of the top of his head and pushed his mouth down even more firmly
against her pussy.

"Please, yes, eat me, eat me," she whimpered, so out of control by now
that she couldn't believe this was all happening to her, finally and at
long last.

But it was no dream and she didn't have to pinch herself or scream out
to awaken from her reveries. She had gone home with a young man whom she
knew nothing about, a young man named Justin Whitlock. But if she did
not know who he really was, or what he did with his life, or what his
goals and aspirations might be, she still knew him from all those
fancied moments when he had snuck into her bedroom to take her in the
stillness of early morning.

And now, the last thing she wanted him to do was stop his frenzied oral
caresses to sit back and calmly recite the story of his life. Needless
to say, that was not what Justin intended to do. Not now, in any event.


Chapter 3


This was no dream, no reverie, no imagined meeting.

It had happened and now Justin Whitlock was just as inflamed as Pam
Harper. He stroked the tops of her smooth white thighs, glad that she
hadn't been wearing stockings or panty hose, glad that he could caress
and massage her tender and supple flesh.

And even as he caressed her, his tongue was digging deeper into her
cunt, lapping up the hot spicy rivulets of sap, which were streaming
down the fluttering walls of her swampy twat. He had seen the liquid
stain of cunt juice that had covered the front of her panties and he
knew how aroused she had become.

The intensity of her response, the way she was holding his head down and
writhing back and forth so that his tongue hit against one smooth
slippery cunt wall and then the other, pleased him to no end. He was
determined to arouse her until she would be insane, unable to control
herself.

And so now he strummed her body as if he was a musician getting
harmonies and chords from an instrument. His fingers tickled the insides
of her thighs, finally sliding higher until he was able to take hold of
the edges of her thin girlish cunt lips.

These were no scarlet rooster combs of flabby drooping flesh, but taut
elastic lapels that he now eased back, stretching them wide as butterfly
wings. Pam thrust her crotch up again and again and when she let go of
his head, Justin eased his tongue back. He lifted his face and stared
down at her meaty box.

Between a narrow and gristly set of cunt lips he could see the swollen
meaty button of her clit and it was to this delectable tidbit that he
now centered his attentions. He rammed his face down with rising
impatience, nipping at her clit so that she could not stop moaning and
crying out with pleasure.

Her cunt gave off a strong heady odor, at once musky and pungent. And
her juices tasted salty and spicy against his lips and tongue. Delighted
with the way she was responding, he kept at it, nipping and frictioning
his teeth and tongue against the tender shaft of her clitoris, then
ramming his tongue as far inside of her tight girlish split as he could.

Her vaginal muscles jerked against his invading tongue, nipping at it
with such conclusive force that he knew she was going to prove to be
even more wild and arousing when they were in bed together. And that,
needless to say, was something he didn't doubt would happen whenever he
was ready to make the move.

But what he knew she still didn't understand were the kind of things he
wanted done to her, the lurid sexual acts he had long imagined, never
having been able to see them brought to life, consummated before his
wide and staring eyes. Something told him that Pam would do anything he
wanted, that the heated excesses of her sexual reaction were a product
not only of his erotic skill, but also because she had fallen for him,
head over heels.

That she seemed to be in love, or at least infatuated, certainly was no
hindrance. And though he was yet to experience