Chapter 9

Just before the enormous police dog at last got the point of his big cock into the clutching entry of her cunt, Donna could not have told, if her life had depended on it, whether she was trying to avoid it or clutch it. Some old revulsion made it seem horrible beyond any conjecture, even while a wild fever made her pussy demand anything that was hot and hard. And long! Oh, Jesus! she screamed in her mind, as the giant rod of slick meat jammed painfully into her.

She screamed it aloud then, her mind so concentrated on the feelings in her ass and belly that she could only make noises, without awareness of their sense.

Bill's cock had been big, too big perhaps and its construction, of thick, loose skin, quite dry, over a hard and ridged bar of muscle, had stretched and rasped and gone in slowly, so that her inner parts had somehow had time to adjust to it. When it had at last struck the back of her sheath, pushing her cervix out of the way with angry force, she was so worn by the effort that relaxation had opened the end of it and all that she felt was stretch and fullness.

But the dog's prick, with no loose skin, nothing but red and naked membrane, as slick as her own pussy, stabbed into her with brute force. If it was as thick as Bill's-and it certainly was-it's incredibly smooth surface, lubricated by his juices as well as her own, stretched her without the sensation of ripped muscles.

The heat seemed greater, too and without her willing it, her cunt muscles clamped down over the slick rod, making the big animal whimper and growl with pleasure. If the human cunt seemed slightly less warm than that of some hot bitch up an alley, what did the dog care? It was a cunt, smelling and tasting somewhat less rank than a bitch's would, but his few minutes in Alison, leaving him much less than satisfied, made him wild for anything hot enough and tight enough to give him the release he had to have.

For Donna, the unbelievability of this experience, so shocking and fearsome and unnatural, had abated. The reality of the cock in her, however debasing it might've seemed ten minutes before, was all she had to live with.

She had seen the big prick's pointed end and it had frightened her-it was like a spear. It might damage her, deep inside, if the cock was as long as it seemed. Now she knew the fear was groundless. She could feel the pointed end! It seemed to be going into and out of her cervix, right into her womb. But that idea, much as it inflamed her, couldn't be true. Or could it? Heat, she had heard, could cause the mouth of the womb to relax its tight-lipped closure. The thought that the dog's fierce thrusts and spear-pointed tool might be opening her in a way that no human penis could was simply a flash of wildness in a dream already too wild to believe.

In her strained position, her back twisted, her rump squarely set to the police dog's belly, her head and shoulders on their sides, she had a new and weird problem. The small dog, nervously leaping all over her as the big animal crowded him away from the primary target, had climbed across her back, scratching her shoulders, had clutched her head in his forepaws, obscenely trying to fuck her head and now was whining nervously in her ear.

But oddly, all sense of panic had left her, possibly because her belly, all her inner parts were gathering for an orgasm. The unbearable frustration when, under the dog's tongue, she had been lifted to fever heat and kept there, without being able to achieve release, was gone now in the knowledge that nothing could now keep her from coming. With the enormous red cock slipping in and out of her tight sheath, stretching her powerfully with each lunge, she waggled her ass in time to his thrust, feeling the bursting warmth come closer as the dog hammered toward his own climax.

There was a new sensation now, one she had never known. Fucking dog-fashion, or in any position in which she was entered from the rear, Donna, like most other women, needed to have her clitoris reached and tickled to attain a true orgasm. But the dog's prick, not sheathed in soft, loose skin like a man's, has a sleeve of thick, heavy hide, covered with hair, hair that is shorter and stiffer than other hairs on his body. So violent was his action in the girl's responsive cunt that this hairy sleeve was being dragged partway in, abrading the tender inner labia, even scraping across the lower third of her clitoris. At the surface of her vaginal portal, the membranes were so inflamed that they seemed bloody.

Donna, nearing the blind and momentary unconsciousness of orgasm, her senses sharpened to every factor in the crazy scene, was overwhelmed with the rank scent of the small dog.

The long hair on his belly was wet with sweat and the exudations from his heated penis, which was out a good four inches from its sheath of haired flesh. He was gripping his hard forelegs about her head and his cock, weirdly slick and smooth, was now striking her cheek in a rapid tattoo.

In a sudden burst of abandoned sensuality, feeling a deep kinship with this small animal in his sex madness, the girl turned her face to him, taking his slippery cock into her mouth, breathing in his sweaty stink, feeling the long, coarse hair rasping her nose, lips and chin.

A voice in her mind said wonderingly, I never tasted a dog's come-I never tasted a dog's come!

Beyond moving, now that the police dog had gone into a frenzy of short strokes, Donna sucked as fiercely on the little dog's cock as she ever had on Brad's, feeling a mild sorrow that it wasn't long enough to reach her throat, where the convulsively swallowing muscles would have, she knew, given him his deepest joy.

She felt her inner muscles and nerves mix and fuse in that burst of delighted sensation that cannot be described and at the same time was almost choked with a stream of dog sperm that seemed stronger and richer in taste and odor than a man's. As she tightened and relaxed her cunt muscles uncontrollably on the big dog's prick, she folded her lips over her teeth and clamped down on the smaller dog, milking the last shots of his semen into her throat. As a last triumph in this frenzy of lust, she felt the police dog's load, hotter than her own inner temperature, spray over her womb in a flood of warmth and close-held volume.

In her return to reality, with the little dog's stench still in her nostrils, she mentally thanked Alison for her bondage-the helplessness with which she rationalized her bestiality. Shackled and unable to lift a hand to protect herself, she could not possibly feel guilt for what had happened. Nor could anyone else judge her unkindly. It was a strange kind of rape, a violation which her bondage forced on her and absolved her of, all at once.

She gagged momentarily, thinking of the monstrousness of sucking a dog's prick-a dog's-incredible! And her guts twisted painfully along with her mind, recalling that she not only had been fucked like a dog and by a dog, but that she had responded like a bitch in heat, swept into an orgasm as great and as mind-bending as any she had ever known. But she remained strong, untouched, even strangely satisfied, because she had been helpless, strapped down, unable to resist.

The small dog's sweat and dirt and semen were smeared on her cheeks and chin. Some hairs, shed in the wild friction, adhered to her face and she worked one out from her teeth, using her tongue to spit it partway out. Now that it was done, the awfulness didn't seem so awful-the wild tang of urine and dog scent in the hot load of come was a lasting and not unpleasant echo in her taste buds.

The raking of claws along her ribs brought her to a new awareness-the big dog was still on her, his belly locked against her rump, his big cock still long and hard inside of her. This was incredible. A man's organ would've begun to dwindle almost as soon as he'd finished coming. Inside the tight and sensitive walls of her vagina, Donna could feel the undiminished length and hardness of the dog's prick and she groaned in an agonized sort of pleasure. It seemed even bigger, especially where she could feel it most-in the extremely tight, extremely sensitized opening to her cunt. And then she remembered with terrible clarity the strange faculty, the weird difference of a canine penis.

She had seen the result a score of times-a male dog after a successful fuck, "hung up" with the female, the two of them standing patiently, uncaring, waiting for the dog's swollen penis to relax and free them. She had even asked about it and learned that two glands, near the base of the animal's cock, swell into a double knot of hardness with his orgasm, a trick of nature to keep the dogs joined so that conception is most likely to occur.

It was an anti-climactic shock, after the wildness of the act itself. Donna was small, her vaginal muscles tight, the dog's muscles abnormally developed. And so here she was, pinned down by a police dog, locked to him exactly as a bitch would've been, unable to unseat him, to free herself. She put her sperm-smeared face down on her hand, trying to recapture the spirit of abandon that had made this animalistic fuck so sweet.

Trying to remain completely still, anxious not to incite the huge dog to any sudden movement, she had a flash of insight that gave her a grim and honest amusement.

The rationalizing of her act, the absolution by virtue of her bondage, was, she realized, a total lie.

Could she have kept the police dog from fucking her? It was possible, she admitted. But she couldn't have kept him from licking her-she was, at that time, trussed up and unable to move, with her pussy wide-open. But, once she had loosed herself enough to get on her knees, she might-just might-have kept him from making his final penetration. But I was so scared, so tired, she said to herself. He held me so hard-I might've been hurt.

Hurt! an honest part of her mind jeered at her. A few scratches! If you had fought long enough, he might've gone away! But this, at least, she knew was not true. If, by continued struggle, she had been able to put off the dreadful moment of penetration even for a long time, the dog would've persisted, eventually taking her as he wished.

But she could not say the same about the most abjectly degrading act of all-performing fellatio on the other dog. In this act, she was not a victim but a participant-even a willing participant. She need not ever have turned her head or opened her mouth. Even if the dog had gotten his prick in her ear, even if maintained friction had caused him to come in her hair, she could've avoided this final depravity.

But oddly enough, this very knowledge of herself raised her from complete despair. It had been revealed to her that her sexual nature, at this time, had overcome everything she thought she was, not only her training, but the revulsion which, so almost everyone believes, should prevent man from copulating with beasts. She accepted the fact that her blind pussy had not known the difference between a dog's prick and a man's, that she, in her heat, had joyously pushed her ass against the dog's ramming. And that, beyond a doubt, she had been raised to such a point of sensuality that it seemed wonderful to take a dog's red prick in her mouth, sucking it with a lusty joy, using her lips and tongue to draw its semen into her welcoming mouth. If this represented what Donna Street really was, if she could be raised to such an intensity of fuck-lust, it was a fact about herself to know and accept.

With this acceptance, she began to move slightly, hoping to help the big dog get free. Tightening her belly muscles and her buttocks, she tried to hunch forward.

The movement set up a sharp sense of life in her pussy. The inner labia, always hypersensitive after orgasm, now seemed to quiver with an unbearable itch. She didn't know how these delicate membranes had been rasped by the brush-like hairs on the dog's penis cover. All she knew was that her cunt was so sensitive that another orgasm hovered on the lip of each movement.

She thought that her vagina could detect the swollen lumps of glandular tissue that held the dog captive. The pressure was both pleasant and painful. Painful to the dog, too, for he shifted his paws and growled, hopping forward on his hind legs to stay close to her.

Determined to free herself, she moved her ass sharply forward, arid this time, the dog's forward lunge, made only to spare himself a mild torture, plunged him deep into her, so that was the same wildness of the fucking. Simultaneously, she felt a new movement near her belly, undoubtedly the small dog and a cold nose moved in her groin.

Forcing herself to remain still, she experienced a sudden stab of feeling in her clitoris, agonizingly clear and sharp, undoubtedly from the newcomer's tongue. Poised as she was on the threshold of coming, this touch and her startled reaction to it flung her forward and back and the inflamed parts, all subjected at once to friction and pressure, came together in a clutch of orgasm which shook Donna all over.

In this delirious moment, some hidden catch in the mechanism of the couch gave way, the straps loosened and the girl fell forward. She fell on the smaller dog, pulling free from the big one in a wrench that pained them both and lay with her eyes closed, still shaken from the burst of feeling in her cunt, in her belly, down to her asshole.

During this moment of blackness, a door opened and some call that she could not hear commanded the dogs to leave. It was only a few seconds later that Donna struggled to her feet, rubbing at her wrists, finding that it was easy, now that the pressures were off, to rid herself of the shackles.

As her inner fires died down and the air conditioning touched the film of sweat induced by her struggles, Donna moved slowly toward the chest of drawers. Her pussy itched and burned, not too unpleasantly and she put a tentative hand down to her slit, fearing she might find blood. After all, the dog had been so big, his lunges so frightful. It might even be her own menstrual blood-she had had enough pounding and prodding to bring on her period. But her hand showed nothing except slickness. Some Donnas', some the dog's.

The sight and smell of the police dog's semen gave her a momentary wrench of childish fear and remorse-some old part of her nature shrieking inside her that this was so devastatingly immoral that death would not be sufficient punishment.

But a saving burst of maturity, the remembrance that she had accepted herself for what she was, plus a touch of raw humor, rescued her from that pit.

She found a long-sleeved blouse that must've belonged to Alison, light and sheer and almost exactly the length of her shortie nightgowns. She slipped it on and started to button it, her fingers clumsy with weariness and decided the hell with it. She smiled fondly at herself in the mirror, glad that the wave of revulsion had been so easily dispelled. Barring some disarrangement of her hair, she would look exactly the same to anyone who knew her, as if none of this had happened. Under the blouse, on her back and sides, there would be a few red welts, the marks of the dogs' claws, but they would soon disappear.

She raised her arms, watching the way her small, full breasts tightened and allowed her ego the womanish triumph of compassion for Maida and Alison. When they hit forty, the size of their tits would've created a sag, a change. When she grew old, her boobs would be just as they were now-what Brad called one good bite and a couple of licks left over.

In the mirror, she saw the couch against the wall and the straps and cuffs which had held her bound. How was it that they had so advantageously freed her feet so that she could, by accident, move to the floor, opening her ass to the dog? She shook her head, making a wry face. Ten to one it was more of Bill's electronic tricks, the tension of the straps changed by remote control.

Well, what of it? The fact that she starred in a circus, with a couple of dogs as her co-stars, was no longer important. To feel embarrassment about such a thing, on such a night, was in the same category as feeling remorse-ridiculous. She had come here knowing there would be fucking. And she suddenly felt a genuine pride that she hadn't been knocked off her stride, emotionally or any other way, by the dog incident. If it had left her sunk in shame and a sense of degradation, she told herself, that would've have been bad.

As it was, especially since she now realized that she had been set up for the dog fuck, with Alison only following Bill's instructions, she could be proud that she had taken it all, all they had to give. She had even liked it. And she had learned something about herself, something deep and hidden. But true. She had learned that she, who thought herself so advanced, so modern in her sexual attitudes, had been something of a square. But with that humbling knowledge, she had the personal victory of finding that she was a genuine animal in her sexual proclivities.

She could not possibly have enjoyed any part of the wild scene with the dogs if it had not been in her nature to do so. In fighting it, she had been doomed to lose-not because of her helplessness to avoid it, but because it was in her nature to do so.

Small she might be, but she was rugged and strong, she knew. With this warming of her pride, she felt a return of that itching sensation between her cuntlips, a throb from her clitoris, an answering throb inside her.

Alison, who had missed the final climax between Donna and the dogs and who had visited the terrace to summon the wide-eyed surfers back to the big room, lined the four boys up for introductions and inspection.

"From left to right," she said, laughing, "these are Twilley, James, Cagney and Pebble."

The boys nodded, their eyes bright as they looked over the swelling curves of Alice, the red-haired Verna, the youthfully voluptuous Maida.

Twilley, big, blond, with a dumbly angry look in his big-featured face, took a step forward, but James, a young black with an Afro hair style, put out an arm. "Hold it, Twill," he said coolly, "don't jump the gun. Boss man hasn't given us any go-ahead."

Twilley slapped the restraining arm down and Cagney, a dark, broad-shouldered boy with a handle-bar mustache, beard and long hair, grunted something unintelligible.

Pebble, an open-faced boy with a shock of brown hair, smiled noncommittally. "The lady invited us up and made us and open-and-shut proposition, sir," he said to Bill, with sardonic good manners. "What do you want from us?"

Bill smiled. "What did the lady say?" he asked.

Twilley, who had moved to stand close to Alison, leered and stated, "She asked us if we wanted some lovely pussy, so we said yes and she brought us up here. And here we are and here are four of them, so what the hell are we waiting on?"

Bill laughed agreeably. "You're waiting until I tell you what you're to do," he said. "And don't get grabby. Girls," he addressed his guests, "do you think we should have a little short-arm inspection?"

"Sure, whatever that is," laughed Maida.

Twilley, grinning, thumbed his surfer down over his hairy legs, with the others following suit.

"Wow!" said Alice. "I never saw so much meat outside of a bologna factory!"

The sight of such an abundance of bare female flesh-and such beauty-had started each of the surfers on a hard-on. Twilley and the young black were either closer to erection or simply had more to start with, but Cagney and Pebble, both well hung, had nothing to engender insecurity. In a lewd gesture, Twilley lifted his big cock and pointed it at the girls, making a "ksshh, ksshh" sound, like a small boy imitating a ray-gun.

Bill lifted a hand. "Hold it," he ordered. "Don't get out of line! These girls aren't for you-not now, at least."

At Twilley's growl, Bill pressed a button and the big TV screen, dark when the boys came in, lighted up. On the screen and in the mirrors they saw Donna, one knee on the big bed, her blouse-nightgown hanging open to show her lovely little breasts, the position of her leg popping her cuntlips open so that a gash of crimson lips appeared. A hush of indrawn breath held the four boys.

"There's your stuff, fellows," Bill said quietly. "What do you think of her?"

"Shit!" exclaimed Twilley. "That one little chick for these four pricks? We'll kill her!"

"I'll gamble that you don't," Bill said comfortably. "But if you do fuck her down, there's more where that came from!" He gestured around the room and the young black, grinning, ran a thick red tongue over his lips.

"That sounds good enough for me, Twill," he said laughing. "And little Whitey there," he hooked a thumb at the screen, "looks good enough!"

Donna kneed her way right to the center of the king-size bed, conscious of the rubbing of her cuntlips together. They were almost painfully sensitive and their friction kept her clit throbbing.

Unconsciously, she fell into the position she usually slept in-on her left side, with her right knee drawn up, so that the valley between her buttocks showed in perfect detail. Her pussy, more prominent than ever due to its swollen state from Bill, Alison and the dog, made a dark-haired cushion that protruded invitingly.

The cooling air on her exposed parts made her conscious of each of them. And she remembered, with a deep thrill of pleasure, the amazing sensation as Alison had sucked at her asshole, driving her tongue into it. Marvelous! Too hot-making to believe!

She thought of Brad and smiled lovingly. Brad, dear, she said to herself, you can have it-my third virginity that you've always wanted!

Picturing that huge prick sliding into her tender bowels, Donna shuddered with fear and delight.

"It'll be wonderful, Brad," she whispered. And with that, her mind leaped to another, equally fascinating thought. She would have Brad tie her up!

Trussed with some soft, strong rope, like the nylon ties from their heavy living room drapes, exposed to any pleasantly painful discipline which Brad might wish, being deprived of any option except to do as her husband wished, that would be a new, wild sort of fulfillment!

She hoped that Brad would be inventive. And conscience-less.