Chapter 7
Eventually we all cooled down from the orgy and left the Play Pen to go hose down in a big coed locker room Uncle Roy had built with his windfall from the government. Naturally, I stuck close to General Turnbull the whole time, even soaping down his cock and washing it in the shower.
He liked the way I groveled, but still I could tell that he was starting to become more aloof from me. Apparently I was no longer a novelty now that he had carnal knowledge of my belly-button.
Realizing that I had to act fast before I let him get off the hook, I forced myself to ask the General permission to speak. At the time I was kneeling, looking up at him with his soapy cock and balls in my hands. It seemed the perfect posture in which to confront him.
"Yes, what is it?" he snapped impatiently, rubbing some lather across his broad chest. Despite his age, the General's body was in perfect shape.
"I, I have something to tell you about myself," I stammered at first, and then picked up steam. "A sort of a confession to make."
"Do I look like a priest?" he snapped, moving his weight from one leg to the other so his cock and balls squashed against my face.
"Please!" I implored him in a harsh whisper. "You're the only one who can help me. You've got to take me seriously."
"All right, I'll indulge you for a moment, who are you supposed to be?"
"A housewife," I began my incredible story. "I was abducted off the highway by some Gila Flats policemen, thrown in jail, and then forced into prostitution. The Chief of Police is running a white-slave ring here, and using government money to finance it.
To my ringing humiliation, it got me a big laugh. Taking no interest in my charges of corruption, the General was convulsed by my contention that I was a respectable woman. "If you're a housewife," he guffawed, "I'm a card-carrying Commie. And I assure you that's the last thing General Matthew J.
Turnbull is."
"But you said yourself when we met that I looked like a housewife," I somehow got the nerve to remind him.
"For a whore," he leered contemptuously. "Only for a whore."
By now everybody's attention had been attracted to us. I must have looked a sight, begging on my knees with the General's cock in my face. It wasn't hard to figure out why it was so easy to conclude I was nothing but a cheap hooker.
Unfortunately, I didn't become aware of our audience until I had made one last plea for the General to believe me and help me escape from Gila Flats. When I heard the collective gasp that brought, I turned and saw them all.
"Uh-oh," I heard Kitty whisper to Sheila, "she's really put her foot in it now. Wait'll Uncle Roy finds out she tried to use one of his best customers to escape."
"I don't wanna think about it," was Sheila's barely audible reply. Knowing I'd blundered, neither did I.
There was no way my cellmates could help me without meeting a fate as disastrous as mine portended to be. They were so much more experienced than I, I'd been a fool not to consult with them on my plan. Now I would pay for my rashness.
When General Turnbull ordered one of his flunkies to hold me until someone could notify
Uncle Roy, I saw that my situation was hopeless. I jumped up and bolted from the shower Miraculously I got to temporary safety without slipping on the slick tile and breaking my neck.
"Charge!" the General yelled at his troops when he saw I was in flight.
Fortunately for me, the Air Force was not as lucky with the slippery tile as I'd been. After a momentary surge in my direction, they all began sliding chaotically. Since the General was too regal to personally give me chase when he had a roomful of lackeys who were supposed to do it for him, I was suddenly presented with a head start.
I ran. God, how I ran. Pure fright was making my legs perform like a world class sprinter's.
But my track was a maze. No matter how fast and far I propelled myself down this hallway and then that one, I couldn't find a way out of the Comstock.
Eventually I wondered if anybody was even bothering to chase me any more. Perhaps Uncle Roy had heard about it already and told them not to worry. Sooner or later they'd find my body propped up in a corridor, collapsed from exhaustion.
Finally I became so absorbed with this supposition that I pulled myself to a halt and listened for pursuing footsteps.
There were none. Even after I caught my breath and stopped panting I still couldn't detect any sounds that were not my own. I should have been relieved, but I couldn't help but regard it as an eerie, eerie silence. I couldn't stop thinking it was a prelude to something worse than I had been running from.
Then I head the padding, not footsteps-padding. Coming closer. Closer.
It was really close now. Something that sounded like toe-nails striking the floor had been added to the aural mix.
Then, I couldn't believe this-sniffing.
But I did when I saw the yellow eyes. And then heard the murderous growl that accompanied them.
An enormous German shepherd materialized from the shadows and leapt at my throat. The next thing I knew I was flat on my back with a set of fangs pricking against my jugular.
A police dog. Leave it to Uncle Roy to find a way to put one of these monsters to use. Ten human members of the Gila Flats P.D. would not have been nearly so effective in tracking me down.
When my throat was not immediately shredded, it occurred to me that perhaps if I didn't move too suddenly, the dog wouldn't decapitate me. Maybe, I boldly speculated, I could even coax him off of me.
Slowly I brought my hands into place, lightly stroking my fingers along the animal's rib cage. To my encouragement, he seemed to like it, even though he kept me pinned to the floor.
He wagged his tail when I scratched his belly.
When I accidentally bumped the end of his cock, he actually licked me.
Whether I liked it or not, I had discovered the key to this animal's disposition. I was too desperate to do anything but seize the dubious opportunity unexpectedly presented me.
"Do you like to have your cock stroked, boy?" I asked him with a gentle coo. He vigorously wagged his tail and licked me again. He was acting just like Muffin, our fox terrier at home, did when you offered him a can of Alpo.
Feeling I had no realistic alternative, I placed my hand against the fuzzy sheath of his prick and began rubbing. After a few seconds I realized I was dealing with about a foot of cock-and every inch was hard as a rock.
My curiosity about a dog's hard-on suddenly mushrooming, I peeled back the sheath. Abruptly my trembling lingers were filled with the throbbingly hot knot of his exposed cockhead.
I began jacking him off. Maybe if I could get him to come it would subdue him. Dog-cum all over my body was a lot less unsightly than teeth marks.
He liked it, but obviously he wanted more than a simple hand-job. Poking his damp nose further and further down my sprawled body, he was sniffing toward my cunt. The conclusion I was forced to make was undeniable.
"You want to fuck me, don't you, dog?" I expressed the obvious. His piercing bark definitely meant yes.
I didn't know what to do. Just when I thought I'd been as far down the road of degradation as I could go, a new crossroads of shame had popped up.
And the chilling truth was that my life could depend on which direction I took.
In the final analysis I was forced to conclude that my dignity was inextricably tied to my potential demise. If I was to have any chance at survival, I seemed compelled to come down on the side of raw sexuality rather than the morality which had seen me through a lifetime.
The dog had to be distracted and caught off-guard before I'd have a chance at escaping him. Clearly, the only thing with any probability of succeeding was letting him fuck me.
"You cock is so big," I accepted my fate. "Stick it in my cunt."
To my surprise he pulled away. However, my comprehension of his actions was quickly restored when he slid his nose between my back and the floor and tried to tip me over.
"Don't worry, I get it. You want me on all fours like a bitch in heat. I should have realized you'd want it doggie-style."
He wagged his tail, slobbered, and then backed off so I could roll over. Maneuvering to my hands and knees, I dutifully shot my ass in the air, opened my haunches, and showed my cunt from the rear.
When I was in the proper position, the dog trotted around behind me. The next thing I knew his claws were gouging through the rubber of my corset and digging into my back, as he draped over me.
The thick head of his cock wedged immediately between the cheeks of my rump. For several seconds it slid up and down the crack back there, bumping back and forth between my anus and my pussy lips.
His phallic hardness was unbelievable. I tingled in anticipation of actual penetration. Being fucked by this beast would be like having an iron bar up my cunt.
"Stop playing," I got tired of waiting and urged him to get down to business. "I want you to fuck me now."
When he didn't respond as quickly as I wanted, I reached around behind me and pulled one of my cheeks radically apart. This opened the mouth of my pussy to such a gaping extent that his prick lurched right in.
The head of his dick split my labia, dragging several inches of shaft with it. He was fucking me at last.
With the insertion of more and more of his cock, I suddenly remembered something I'd read about dogs once. Their body temperatures are higher than humans'. No wonder if felt like I was being reamed out by a soldering-iron.
The effect of the additional heat was immediate.
My pussy rapidly melted. All of a sudden I was a sopping quagmire from the mouth of my twat to the crux of my being.
Genital friction had extracted its inevitable toll. I was horny whether I wanted to be or not.
Automatically, my first dog-fuck became more than a means to an end. As any woman would after accepting several inches of hard cock up her twat for more than a few moments, all I could think about was coming. When the chips are down, the only meaningful release is sexual release.
"Mmmmmm, fuck me," I moaned. "Fuck me hard. Make me feel like a woman."
He was a real stud and didn't waste a stroke. Dogs penetrate deeply to insure conception, and my beast with whom I was tangling was certainly no exception. My spasming womb would be flooded with cum when he finally ejaculated. In the meantime, it seemed as though I were being split in two.
Now I knew what they meant when they talked about a dog's life. Bitches in heat got all the hard-on they could handle, and it remained in their cunts a long, grueling time.
When I was a kid I'd seen dogs screwing in the street and, not knowing it wasn't nice, had stopped to watch them. They could go on and on.
Just like me and Uncle Roy's German Shepherd. This fuck could take ten or fifteen minutes. I was going to be thoroughly humped in the way nature intended for its female beasts.
After all, how could my canine lover know I didn't want to have his puppies.
Adjusting to the situation, I modulated my fucking movements into a rhythmic groove rather than a frantic one. Rather than wriggle my ass, I undulated my hips, squeezing the dog's massive cock rather than yanking it. It was a style of screwing that was almost dream-like.
Slow-fucking gave me time to concentrate on every detail of the cock moving back and forth to the hilt in my cunt. The sensitive walls of my pussy picked up the ridge of every bulging vein. My labia repeatedly kissed his slapping balls.
It occurred to me that I had every reason not to be so mightily affected by the dog's assault. I had been sexually abused so many times since my forced arrival in Gila Flats that a sensual freeze-up would have been understandable at this point.
However, as I've graphically described, such was not the case. There was something about a dog cock in my pussy that made the whole experience of fucking seem fresh and new. I was as aroused as I'd been the first night of my honeymoon when Dan had put an end to the virginity I'd guarded so jealously until then.
Dan had been afraid of hurting me that night with his big cock. But I urged him to go at me with full force. On my wedding night I wanted a cock in my cunt with its full power.
My first fuck with a dog was the same. I couldn't stop giving the German shepherd encouragement. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," I virtually babbled.
He rammed me with his hard-on incessantly. For several minutes I was joyously fucked by a dog. It was the longest and best fuck I'd ever had.
Almost a foot of cock continuously drilling up my ass seemed to give me amnesia. After a while I'd forgotten all about the danger I was supposed to be in. About Gila Flats, Uncle Roy, forced prostitution, the Air Force, and all the rest of it.
The only thing worth concentrating on in the universe seemed to me to be the tireless cock of the dumb animal fucking me. The thrill of raw, lowdown sex made everything else pale into insignificance.
"Mmmmm, you fuck so good," I complimented the beast more than once. He seemed to understand, yapping sharply and giving his prick an extra thrust on those occasions.
Then, after about seven or eight minutes of steady fucking the animal's disposition abruptly changed. He became suddenly tense. His muscles stiffened. His claws dug so deeply into my back that they split the rubber of the corset and lacerated my bare flesh.
And, most disturbing, he began growling. Rather nastily.
Incredibly, in my cunt, his cock seemed to get harder and meaner. The tip seemed to sharpen. His fucking motion became a stabbing motion. The continuous orgasm I'd been having was papered over by a wall of pain.
The dog began snapping his teeth in mid-air. When his jaws slammed shut, I could feel the vibrations against the back of my neck. It made the hairs stand up.
"What's the matter, boy?" I hazarded an inquiry.
It got me a snap that grazed my nape. In my cunt, his cock sliced to new depths. His claws tore down my sides, slashing the rubber to the ribs. Blood dripped from my body.
I couldn't imagine what I'd done wrong. We'd been fucking so peacefully, and then, wham! All of a sudden he was behaving like a wolf guarding a fresh carcass of raw meat for the rest of the pack.
Who would, of course, by Uncle Roy Dean and the assorted goons of the Gila Flats P.D. Reaching the end of my twisted metaphor, I realized I'd been had.
With a blinding flash I saw that it was all supposed to happen this way. The German shepherd has been especially selected because of the size of his cock for this role, and then expertly trained to seduce runaway women instead of chewing them up.
In apprehending fleeing hookers, Uncle Roy chose to rely on finesse rather than his customary brute force. Putting his faith in the constrictive maze of the Comstock and the fundamental baseness of a woman, he essentially forced the victim to trap herself.
I suspected that Uncle Roy and his stooges would be along any minute now. The dog undoubtedly barked when he climaxed. It was probably their signal to close in.
Having sorted things out, I now realized that the animal's sudden meanness had to do with the turmoil in his balls. They burned like white-hot pieces of charcoal at the mouth of my pussy, searing my labia. Obviously he was preparing to come at last.
Now would have been the time to try and get away. If the dog really was going to come, his threatening behavior was probably misleading. He was so wrapped up in emptying his balls that he would have had to ejaculate before he was capable of going after me. And, even then, he'd probably be weak from so much fucking, as in animal-sex the males do most of the work.
But I didn't move. Although my intellect kept telling me to get the hell out of there, my muscles refused to respond.
The anatomical answer, of course, to this dilemma was simple. My body was no longer ruled by my brain. After approximately ten solid minutes of fucking, it was totally under the control of my cunt.
And my cunt was thirsty for about a quart of hot cum after so much grinding screwing. The species of the male was not a factor to the sensory equipment of my vagina.
Only my brain was a hold-out. And it soon gave in. The lure of sperm in my cunt won a unanimous decision over the instinct for survival.
Incredible as it may sound, under the circumstances, I don't think there's a woman in the world who would have acted any differently. If you've ever been fucked by a well-hung dog you know what I'm talking about. Just because it isn't nice doesn't mean it isn't irresistible.
I had more time invested in this fuck than in any single lay I'd ever given out. Let's face it, as a woman proud of the abilities of her cunt, I wanted to stick around for the finish. A couple of pints of scalding dog-jizz was the least I deserved.
"Oh, do it to me, you horny wolf!" I cried with excitement. "Come in my pussy! Come, you son of a bitch, come!"
I laughed. Of course, the dog literally was a son of a bitch. What a stimulating coincidence.
I felt so wanton without the scruples and morals which had guided my life before Gila Flats.
I guess it comes down to this. A cunt has no conscience. And with a dog about to come in me after ten minutes of non-stop fucking, I was nothing but a great, big cunt. Woman at her most elemental.
"Come in my cunt, you monster!" I repeated. "Let me feel your hot jizz between my legs!"
The growling turned to rapid barking. His loins shook. The claws reached my belly.
This was it.
His prick lurched forward in my cunt and he came. It was like sitting on a meteor.
The spunk spurted up my fuck-hole like I was being screwed by a fire-hose instead of a bodily organ. No wonder there are so many pups in a Utter, There was so much cum that it was a natural consequence I would soon begin leaking it. The human cunt apparently couldn't take quite as much procreative juice as the pooch variety. Before long, it inevitably began seeping from the sides of my snatch. The backs of my thighs became coated with it.
When the gushing pressure in my cunt finally abated, I was disappointed. "Don't stop coming," I begged, but the dog's hard-on was already starting to die. I slammed my fist to the floor in frustration.
"I don't know what you expect of him, Mrs. Fuller," a chillingly familiar voice sliced through the orgasmic layers to my consciousness. "After all, he's only canine."
Lifting my head, I looked straight into the merciless eyes of Uncle Roy Dean. He was all alone-he'd tracked me down himself.
"Why don't you just kill me and get it over with," I came to my senses and said.