Rex of Great Cross Chapters 1 and 2
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Rex Of Great CrossChapter 2: School Days free porn video
It was a Wednesday afternoon. The last bell for the school day had rung at 2:55. The board was erased, the floor was swept, the benches were straightened, and Rex’s dick was stuck full-length up the young schoolteacher’s twat. His furry balls squashed against her and dripped with the overflow as he gave her everything he hadn’t been able to give Lydia on the weekend, and four days’ surplus besides. She squirmed underneath him, grinding against his belly and tightening her muscles around the big knot that locked them together, squeezing as if she meant to hold him inside her forever.
Jenny Knox loved Wednesdays.
The day had begun more sedately. By the time the first bell rang, Jenny had been up for hours. Her mornings were full, but she rose early to make sure they weren’t rushed. She always took ten minutes to simply sit at the kitchen window, watch the morning sky, and bathe in the quiet before heading to the bustle of the school day. For these few minutes, she tried to empty her mind and be truly still, but on a Wednesday, it was hard to keep from looking forward to the end of the day and thinking naughty, doggy thoughts.
On this particular Wednesday, she’d already been hot when she woke up, and the prospect of some sexy Rex time later in the day made it hard to sit still and keep her hands out of her pants, much less empty her mind. Her ten minutes passed far too quickly, and it was time to pick up her bags, put on her professional demeanor, and walk to school.
Jenny’s home was a cabin just next to the school grounds. The school had been renting it for years to one of the more elderly teachers. When he retired and Jenny took the job as his replacement, they also offered her the option to take up the lease. The cabin looked like something from another era, which of course it was, and when they first opened the door for her, she had the uncanny feeling that she’d arrived home for the first time in her life. She accepted on the spot. In exchange for some minor responsibilities as the cabin’s caretaker, she got a nearly unbelievable deal on the rent plus the benefit of being two minutes’ walk from her classroom.
She entered the front door and waved good morning to the two secretaries in the front office. The school itself was an oddity for the day and age, with every grade from K to 12 housed in one low-roofed building. A modern brick structure, it replaced the old wooden schoolhouse, which had grown by sporadic accretions over the years from a single, open teaching space to a warren of oddly-sized rooms and corridors. They built anew after a fire damaged one wing of the building. Though the exterior was new, and the floor plan was streamlined, they had preserved the old slate blackboards and most of the long wooden bench seats that filled the older students’ classrooms.
That included Jenny’s room. She stepped in and turned on the lights with a frisson of happiness at the warm, polished shine of the benches and the smells of chalk dust and oil soap. Here she taught Latin, which the school still required of all its students. A century ago, this had signified prestige and aspiration; now, it was a tradition which the school upheld with a mixture of pride and stubbornness. Whatever their reasons, Jenny was glad they kept the tradition alive, and glad that the old Latin teacher had finally decided to retire at just the right time for her to step in to the job.
“Morning, Jennifer. Ready for another day?”
That was Dan Weber, a math teacher who saw many of the same students she did. Most mornings, he stuck his head in before settling into his own classroom across the hall.
“Yes, I think I’m good and ready for today. Looking forward to it, actually. I have some good stuff on the slate.” She smiled. “You?”
“Maybe not quite so ready as that. By this time of year, I’m tired, you know? But after today, just twenty-eight more days to go.”
“I bet they’ll fly by.”
“One can hope.” If any hope registered on his face, it was only the hope for a swift death that would spare him explaining conic sections one more time. “Well, have a good day.”
“I will! Thanks. You, too.”
That’s how it was: She was Jennifer to her colleagues, and Miss Knox to her students, and conversations dead-ended quickly into “have a good day.” There was still no-one in town who would make the leap to calling her Jenny. She liked it there, and the people were friendly and earnestly helpful, but they were insular. It was easy to imagine that years down the road, when she was retiring, she’d still be generally known as “that school teacher, you know, the new girl.”
Helen Auer was a case in point. Although they saw each other every week at a minimum, when Jenny picked Rex up for his school visits, their acquaintance had never advanced much beyond “Let me know right away if you have any problems with him,” or, “Did he behave himself today?” or, “We’ll see you again next Wednesday, I trust?” Helen rarely called her by name at all, and Jenny had the feeling that she’d be more comfortable using “Miss Knox” if she did. It wasn’t that she was unfriendly, just that there seemed to be a barrier of polite formality which was hard to break through.
Jenny’s morning class schedule was a blitz, with first, second, and third-year Latin back to back. Everything had to be ready in advance, because there was only just enough time between classes to put away one set of notes, get out the next, and have a quick drink of water. She stood at her high desk with forty-five minutes til the first bell and started moving a bundle of graded papers from her bag to her outbox. She flipped through them, reviewing the grades and the comments she’d written.
Her students were hard-working, as a rule. There were those like Hunter, in the second hour, whose ambition was to operate heavy equipment and who would always struggle to express himself in writing. There were occasional cases like Lydia, who had sponged up multiple languages with no evident limit to her capacity. From nearly all of them, she could count on a sincere effort, at the least.
Because of her age (and her waistline, she supposed), she could count on a few crushes and infatuations in each class, too, particularly among the seniors. It was mostly the boys, although she had once found a note on her desk with a surprisingly detailed fantasy from a girl who hadn’t disguised her handwriting as well as she thought. It wasn’t hard to shut that kind of thing down, though. Usually you just had to ignore it. Anyway, she’d sooner have touched plutonium than touched any of her students -- she liked her job too much for that.
She couldn’t help speculating, though. Given her own proclivities, and what she knew of growing up around animals, she had to wonder which of her students were exploring similar territory. There must be some. She paused at a paper with the name printed in thick, blocky letters: Noah Chrisman. He was a 4-H’er with an interest in raising livestock. She’d watched him showing his sheep in the livestock barn at the county fair.
Could be ... but she didn’t think sheep would be his thing. He had a pretty, golden-furred collie bitch of his own named Aggie and anyone could see how sweet he was on her. They’d given herding demonstrations on the fairgrounds, too. He and Aggie worked together like they could read each other’s minds. He didn’t have a girlfriend, and Jenny knew he took some ribbing from the other guys about how much time he spent with his dog. There might be something to that.
Jenny put it at about a one in ten chance that Noah had been up in Aggie’s furry hindquarters one way or another, and a dead certainty that he’d thought about it. Not only that, his family kept a pair of trail-riding horses, both mares. If a young man could grow to eighteen years, seeing horse pussy on a daily basis, and not take a lick at least once, Jenny thought she’d be very surprised indeed. And you wouldn’t stop at one lick, would you?
She broke off that line of thought and got the rest of the students’ papers sorted, ready to hand back. After that, she was all business. There were a lot of very unsexy administrative emails to wade through. Then it was time to run through the lesson plans one last time and conjure up the energy that would wake up the first-hour students and put life into what they thought was a dead language. She was still mentally rehearsing the lines from Virgil that she needed to open the third hour when the bell rang. The first students began to file in and fill the benches. Showtime!
Three hours later, Jenny was seeing the last of her morning students out the door. She had a bit of a high -- something like the buzz of walking off stage after a performance, mixed with the out-of-body sensation of long-distance running. It was certainly possible to teach a day’s classes without putting quite so much of oneself into the effort. Some days the spark was just there, though, and when it was, she fanned it into a fire. There was a reason that students talked about the “passion” in her teaching. She drained the water bottle on her desk.
Speaking of passions, it was 11:00 -- normally, time for her lunch and planning break, but on Wednesdays, time to pick up Rex. She grabbed her keys, latched her classroom door, and went back home to get in her car. The arrangement was pretty simple. A small but increasing number of students had specialized programs prescribing regular time with supportive animal companionship. Rex came one afternoon each week and filled the role admirably.
Jenny had maneuvered herself into a position as Rex’s handler. That meant picking him up, taking him home, keeping track of the schedule and taking him to the rooms he needed to go to, toweling him off before he came inside on a rainy day, and so on. It hadn’t taken a lot of maneuvering, really. The overburdened special education teacher who had been doing the job was relieved to hand over the responsibility. Jenny shadowed her for three weeks to get the routine down. She met Helen on two occasions for more specific instructions about Rex’s behavior and the commands and signals he responded to. Helen had nodded approval as Jenny described her record as a junior handler in obedience trials with her own dog as a teenager.
Jenny had melted for Rex the first time she saw him. He reminded her so much of her own pup, whom she missed terribly. They didn’t look much alike, superficially. Her boy Toby had been a mixed breed with a black saddle-shaped patch topping his shaggy fawn coat. He had been shorter and leaner than Rex, an entirely different body shape. The similarity was all in the way he moved -- that confident, economical gait, always headed to the right place -- and the way he watched, so perceptive and attuned to the motion and intentions of the people around him.
After her first afternoon fully in charge of Rex at the school -- more than a year ago, now -- they walked back to the cabin so she could set down her things and drive him home to Helen. She honestly hadn’t intended to do anything more than that, but before opening the door to leave, she decided to sit down on the floor beside him, just to be close and maybe bond for a minute or two.
She had been stroking his fur when he licked her neck. Her eyes closed automatically and she thought of how things had begun to warm up between her and Toby. It had been so similar. Rex licked the side of her face, and now she was aware of the tickle of breath by her ear, and the doggy smell filling her nose. She remembered how that smell used to surround her until she felt as if it were her own, as if an animal part of her were manifesting.
When she turned to give him a kiss, her lips parted, he licked inside her mouth, and she abandoned herself to the intimate feeling. She stroked and scratched the thickest parts of his fur; she lay back and let him lie atop her and lick her neck and face. With the afternoon sun behind him, she could only see the shape of his head, the long muzzle and tuliped ears haloed by the pale light of late winter, and she melted a bit more inside.
That day, they did nothing but kiss and cuddle and touch until it was time for him to go. Later that spring, when she first guided him into mounting her, it was clumsy; he was eager but unsure. Jenny had wondered if Rex and Helen might have more than a working relationship, but evidently not. His inexperience was obvious. Jenny was a teacher at heart, though, and Rex was a learner. By the time school ended for summer, they were well-practiced partners.
With the passage of a year, the big farm dog knew how to hold her down and make her scream for dog dick like even Toby had never done.
Rex had no concept of “Wednesday,” nor any other days and dates, but his ears swiveled when he heard Jenny’s Subaru approaching. He knew what that meant. He sprang up from the bank of the pond where he had been lying very still and waiting to surprise any of the migratory ducks that might be so bold as to leave the water. When he spied one heading for land, he’d creep around toward the likely landing site, staying low in the grass. As soon as a pair of webbed feet stepped ashore, he’d charge up launching a volley of full-throated woofs. They’d flap away, startled, and splash into the water again, quacking an angry chorus at the affront. It was a small amusement, but it passed the time. Besides, he felt the mass of ducks was not to be trusted, and needed a collie’s vigilance to keep them in check.
He stretched his legs, looked back to give the ducks a final admonitory bark, then one more really final one for good measure, and ran up the hill. He was just at the foot of the driveway as Jenny’s car turned in and rolled up to the house. When she stepped out, he dashed to her side and pressed against her as she reached down and scratched between his ears. Rex loved no-one in the world more than his owner, but his heart was big, and brimmed with love for the schoolteacher and her kind touches too.
Behind him, the house door opened, and Helen came out. She and Jenny exchanged some words which Rex ignored as he sniffed the car tires. After just a minute, Jenny held the door for him. He lay down on the back seat, and they were off. The wheels kicked up dust on the wide, flat road behind them, and an open window let in the dark, earthy smell of the surrounding fields. Rex knew which direction home was, but he soon lost any sense of the distance. The speed of the car was more than he could reckon, and the rush of air was intoxicating.
He recognized when they were nearing the school, though, and sat up behind the driver’s seat as they pulled onto the gravel beside Jenny’s cabin. Here, the routine was not entirely predictable. Some days they went straight to the school; other days, they went to the cabin first. As he hopped out over the gravel and onto the grass, he looked to Jenny to see which way it would be this time.
She appeared uncertain for a moment, then called him to heel and went to the door of the cabin. With the sun almost directly overhead, it was dim inside, but Jenny left the lights off and went quickly up the stairs to the open space of the top floor. Rex’s nails clicked on the wood behind her. Upstairs, it was brighter, but the strange, thick glass of the windows blurred the outside world beyond recognition, letting only a diffuse glow into the room.
The waiting was hard to bear as he watched her sit on the edge of the bed, slip off her shoes, and pull off her slacks -- taking time to fold them neatly and set them aside. The plume of his tail swished with barely-contained impatience. Socks came off, then underwear. At last, she gestured, and he plunged his muzzle gratefully into the source of the dizzying scent that was flooding his senses.
She yipped as he took a first lick. The noises she made had been hard to interpret, at first. They sounded pained. But she had helped him to understand, and now he sought to bring forth as many of those yips, cries, gasps and moans as he could. It was an easy job. She tasted so good, and below the surface of his refined collie brain, an ancient part of him dictated what to do. He almost stopped thinking entirely.
His nose pressed against the very lowest part of her belly as his tongue worked through the black curls and up the wet channel, over the little ridge -- ah, there was a happy gasp. He licked the same path again, pressing his tongue in more firmly, so that it flattened out against her; she whined and pressed back against him. Her hands came down on the back of his head, holding him to her, and the sheen of wetness became an increasing flow. He wanted all of it, and he lapped faster.
His whiskers brushed her legs, and her fingers twined in his fur, but that registered only faintly as he immersed himself in the smell and taste of her. He drew his tongue up again and again. Her position on the edge of the bed, with her legs drawn back in the air, left little hidden from him. He found the opening and worked his tongue inside, pressing up firmly against the slick, gripping wall.
“Oh, Rexy, yes! Get me deep, you sweet boy ... ahh.”
He pushed his muzzle against her as closely as he could, licking far inside, and her words trailed off into a series of low grunts and groans. Her hips jerked and twitched. He had an urge to nip her and tell her to stay put, but suppressed it, doing his best to move with her and respond to the bucking spasms.
“Here, too, Rexy.” She sounded breathless. Her hands left his head and pulled her cheeks apart, as she rocked back further. Her voice bordered on a whine again now. “Please.”
A trickle of sweet juice had run down the crack that she was spreading for him. He licked that out before trying his tongue against the little hole that was now exposed. There was a familiar resistance. This wasn’t so easy as licking up into a ready wet cunt, but in a way, it was more rewarding when he felt the first slight relaxation that allowed his tongue-tip in.
Something tightened, and he had to slide back out. He licked her rim a few times, picking up more stray pussy dribbles before pressing in again. This time it was easier to get in. Then, just a little more pressure and there was a sense of gradual yielding followed by a lovely slide into her depths.
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