Chapter 7

Vacation at Fort Bixdale had hit a momentary lull for Pixie Thomas. Everyone, including the hundreds of boys who usually roamed the streets, appeared to be resting, readying themselves, it seemed, for a final fling of activities that would provide warm memories for all the cold months ahead after they left the South. Pixie didn't like the lull. Not a bit. She meant to do something about it.

First, Pixie Thomas attempted to coax her motel roommates to the beach, where they might encounter boys who were also inclined to break the boredom of a dull day. She had little success, despite ambitious efforts.

Laura was sleeping and had no intention of being roused for many hours. And Carla Torro and Kay Faubus had decided to use the day for the knots and rollers and paper bows of home permanents they would not be seen out of the motel until the next morning. Margie Winters remained Pixie's last hope for companionship, but she was missing, had left the motel for a stroll. But then, suddenly, Margie was no longer missing. The motel door opened and she entered.

"Hey, am I ever glad to see you," Pixie said. "These dull heads are out of operation today. How about you?"

"I'm game for anything, but, baby, the beach is deserted. I just looked," Margie said.

"Well, come on, let's look again you and me maybe we'll stir up a nest of something or other."

Margie agreed. Pixie was delighted.

Although the mid-morning had turned cool, Pixie would not give up her usual attire, a bikini and sandals. Margie wore the same, but she added a tight pull-over sweater that did not inhibit the bounce of her breasts the least bit.

The girls left the motel and walked toward the beach. Their chatter was of boys. Their eyes were alert. Their hearts and loins and young bodies were anxious for an encounter with friends or strangers, anyone that could break the lull that had come to Fort Bixdale.

When the girls arrived at the large expanse of beach, they paused and looked in all directions. The beach was not deserted. It was spotted with a few occupants, but most of them were in couples and already involved. The boys who were not represented the bottom of the bowl, the crumbs that remained after the cookies had been devoured.

"See, I told you," Margie said to Pixie. "Not a decent stud in sight."

"Let's walk the beach anyway," Pixie said. "Who knows, maybe one will pop up from behind a rock or something."

"If he does you can bet your life he'll be a worm or a bug or maybe a snake."

Pixie laughed, then they descended the slope to the beach and walked eastward. They passed several couples who, even at this hour and on public display, did not suppress their desires for each other. Pixie could not keep her eyes off them. And every time she witnessed an embrace, saw bare bodies crushed together, wet mouths joined for tongues which she knew swished back and forth in heated giving, Pixie felt a rumble of desire course through her body as if it were a whirlwind. Sometimes, the feeling seemed unbearable. She could not remember having ever felt so intense, so anxious and sexual, so impatient to meet a boy who would satisfy her sexual craving.

When the girls had walked so far that nothing but the vacant beach stretched ahead, they paused, looked around, and were ready to retrace their steps when a figure emerged from behind a high sand dune. It was a woman, about thirty. She was very beautiful, truly one of the most beautiful women either Pixie or Margie had ever seen. Her hair was dark and her complexion was milk-white, slashed by a wide, red mouth and black-coal eyes. The woman wore a tight sweater and very short shorts. Her body looked very active beneath them, especially as she labored against a chain with a huge Great Dane at the end of it.

Again, Margie and Pixie started to turn, ready to return down the beach. But, strangely, and quite pleasantly, the woman detained them.

"Good morning," she called to them as she headed directly toward them.

"Hi," Pixie replied, as Margie lifted her hand in a friendly salutation.

The woman stopped before them and shortened her hold on the dog chain as the Dane strained against it, his big head tense and high, reaching nearly to the girls' necks.

"Isn't it a horrid day?" the woman exclaimed. "It's that all right," Pixie said. "Say it again," Margie concurred.

"You girls must be with the college vacationers," the woman said. "What college do you attend."

"Whitfield," Margie answered.

"Oh, yes, it's a lovely school," the woman said. "I once taught summer courses there on a fellowship."

"You're a teacher?" Pixie asked, her eyes going round with wonder.

"I'll confess it if you girls won't hold it against me," the woman explained.

"Gosh," Margie said. "A teacher. It It seems unbelievable."

The woman laughed again, then said, "Not so unbelievable, I'm afraid. I teach in the East graduate courses in psychology."

"Gosh," Margie said again.

"Gee," Pixie exclaimed.

At that moment, the Great Dane made a sudden lurch forward, straining to come closer to the girls. But the teacher restrained him, pulled him hard on the chain, then ordered him to sit. The dog obeyed, but not without strain, not without a frantic quivering of his body as he sat on his haunches facing Pixie and Margie.

"Let me introduce myself," the woman said. "I'm Mar-va Billet. And this is Tarn. I have a home down the beach a little distance. Now tell me, who are you delightful girls?"

Pixie did the introductions of herself and Margie.

"Look," Marva said. "It's truly a bitter day bitter for Fort Bixdale, at least. Why don't you come up to the house for a drink tea anything you like? It might be fun to visit for a bit."

"It's a bitter day all right," Pixie said.

"You don't know how bitter," Margie chimed in.

"Good, it's settled. Come along with Tarn and me," Marva Billet said.

The girls walked with Marva around the dune from which she had appeared. As they walked, Pixie tried to equate the woman's great beauty and her profession. It didn't seem right. Beauty and teaching did not seem compatible. And as they moved toward the rambling beach house they could now see in the distance, Pixie's attention also focused upon the huge Great Dane. Tarn was a giant dog, immense in size, strongly muscled, and almost constantly panting, quivering, and slobbering at the mouth. Several times he lurched on the chain and attempted to come close to Pixie, but Marva always restrained him with a quick jerk on the line and a sharp command. Each time Tarn attempted to come near, Pixie felt a bolt of fright, yet she knew that it did not come from genuine fear, that it had its origin in something else. But she did not know what. She was interested in the huge animal. And she was impressed with him. His size alone caused this, and it was exciting the way he lunged and pulled and strained upon the chain. It made Pixie feel that his unleashing would cause some horror that she could not combat.

"Here we are," Marva said, turning to a natural stone walk that headed up the hill and to the front entrance of the house.

The three of them and Tarn paused at the entrance. Then Marva pushed open the door and motioned for them to enter. They did.

The living room was enchanting. The furnishings were expensive and exotic. There were many antiques. And a long, distressed pine bar lined one wall that separated the kitchen and other rooms from the living room.

When the girls were seated on the couch, Marva bent and released the chain from Tarn's collar. At the same time she commanded him to sit, and he obeyed, going to his stomach on a round rug several yards in front of the couch.

"He's beautiful," Pixie offered. "I've never see such a large dog."

"Yes, Tarn is a very beautiful animal," Marva agreed. "I suppose you have him for protection," Margie said. "Protection? Yes, that and for pleasure. Tam and I are very, very good friends."

"Man's best friend," Pixie said. "Yes. And woman's too," Marva laughed. "Now, can I fix you girls a highball or will you have tea?"

Pixie straightened, trying for greater poise, trying to attain added years by a straighter posture. "A drink will be just fine with me. It's it's a bitter day."

"Yes, bitter," Margie agreed, also trying to strike a pose of one who was more than seventeen. "Fine. Highballs it is, then," Marva said. She walked to the long bar, then skirted it. For a few minutes she worked with ice cubes and glasses and several tall bottles. Pixie watched her, fascinated by the quick movements of her body and appreciative of the teacher's large breasts, which pushed against her sweater in the nipple-pointed sign that announced an absence of undergarments. Again, Pixie thought of Marva's beauty, of the sway her body made when she moved, much as if it belonged to an undergraduate rather than a teacher a professor, at that! And strangely, Pixie discovered that when she thought of Marva considered her she could not help but also consider the Great Dane, Tarn. Pixie wondered why.

Marva served their drinks, then pulled up a cushion and sat on it on the floor next to the Great Dane and facing the girls.

"Well, to your happiness always," Marva said, lifting her glass in a jogging toast.

"We'll drink to that any time," Pixie said. She sipped some of the liquor from the tall glass. It burned as soon as it struck her stomach. But it was a pleasant sensation, one that made Pixie feel very lovely, very desirable, and very intent upon the sexual desires that had nudged at her all during the day.

"Umm, that's good," Margie said. "But it makes me warm do you mind if I take off my sweater, Marva?"

"Not in the least," she replied.

Tarn raised his mammoth head and looked at Margie. Then, when she had pulled the sweater over her head and deposited it on the couch, the dog barked a short gruff sound and whined.

"Oh, oh he's mad," Margie said.

"No, Tarn's not mad at all," Marva explained. "He's just showing appreciation for your body. You're beautifully built, my dear."

"Really?" Margie said.

"Of course you are," Marva replied.

"No. I don't mean that. I mean is Tam or does a dog really notice things like a woman's body?"

"Tam does," Marva said. "He's very acute to beauty to the natural beauty of female bodies."

"My gosh," Margie said. "That makes me feel funny."

Pixie did not speak for a moment. She, like her friend, felt "funny." But she decided that that was not the correct word for it. She thought of many words then selected "curious" as the proper definition for her feelings. She felt very curious about Marva, about the huge dog, and, about herself.

Marva shifted her attention to Pixie, then said, "You know, in early civilizations, dogs particularly Danes such as Tam were the constant companions of the finest ladies. They actually courted the women, much as men do."

"Really?" Pixie exclaimed.

"Gosh," Margie whispered.

"Oh, yes, it was very common," Marva explained. "And for some women, the relationship was ever so much more satisfying than any she could establish with a man."

Pixie leaned forward. She looked at Tam, then at Marva, then said, "Do you mean that that the dogs were sometimes used as well, like lovers?"

"Yes," Marva said simply, smiling, her eyes brightening.

"Gosh," from Margie again.

"Oh, yes, indeed," said Marva. "There have been many interesting situations between animals and women. It's quite a study. As you girls advance in college you'll probably read of some such cases yourselves."

"Not at Whitfield!" Margie said. "And that's for sure," added Pixie.

"Oh, that's too bad. I do recall, however, that Whitfield is quite a conservative school. Such a shame. But come on now, drink up and I'll make us a new drink."

Pixie and Margie downed their highballs. Pixie, looking at her friend, could tell the drink had an effect upon her. Margie's eyes were brighter than usual, and her smile seemed loose and careless. And then she felt the burn within her own stomach, and Pixie realized that the drink had affected her, too, that she felt very warm and quivery, much as if she were with a boy and anxious for him to make an advance.

Marva made new drinks. The girls finished them quicker than those which had preceded. And then Marva brought in a tray with an ice bucket and a new, full bottle of liquor. Then the girls made their own new drinks, quite a few of them, for they began to drink as fast as Marva, who, it seemed, could finish one off right after the other.

Without warning, Margie became quite giddy. She directed her attention to the dog who rested next to Marva.

Margie leaned far over on the couch and said, "You're an old lover eh, Tam? Good old fellow. You really are quite a boy, I bet, not nearly the dog some of the boys I know are."

Marva burst into laughter. Pixie joined her. And Margie laughed, too, so hard that when she leaned further forward from the couch, her laughter and the alcohol she had consumed served to topple her to the carpeted floor where she sprawled before Marva and the Great Dane. All of them laughed very hard at the position Margie had attained, a position that crumpled her breasts to the floor as her knees braced and her buttocks shot up into the air.

Tam jerked upright and tensed. Then he lowered his gigantic head and sniffed with his nose at Margie's face.

"Hey, look," Margie said. "Old lover boy here wants to kiss me."

"Of course he does," Marva said, acting a little excited.

"How about that," Margie said, shaking her head, but making no move to rise from her position on the floor. "Old Tam boy here really wants to kiss me."

"Why don't you let him, dear?" Marva said.

"You must be kidding!"

"I don't mean a conventional kiss, silly. That would never do."

"What do you mean?" Pixie asked, sitting forward on the couch.

"I mean, what would it hurt to let this lovely animal kiss your body," Marva said in a way that showed that she, too, felt her drinks. "Who could possibly get hurt by such a thing. Really and to think that I thought you girls were real sophisticates well, I'm surprised that you wouldn't do this little thing for Tam."

"I didn't say I wouldn't," Margie protested. "I only wondered how to do it."

"Hey, how about you," Pixie suddenly said to Marva. "You're Tarn's mistress hey, mistress get it? so, why don't you oblige that beast?"

"I'm afraid I'm kind of old-hat for Tam," Marva said. "Besides, I'm generous I don't mind sharing Tam with friends."

"You mean you well, you really do do with Tam?" Pixie asked.

"But of course, darling. How could I possibly resist this magnificent brute? Just look at him. How could any girl in her right mind resist him?"

Pixie looked at Tam. She considered his strong neck and decided that the line of it was very hard and beautiful. And, as if Marva's candid words released all the taboos within her, Pixie decided that Tam, as a subject for sex, was not as unthinkable as she had at first considered.

Margie shifted from her hands-and-feet position and curled her bare legs beneath her hips. As she did so, Tam jerked a step forward and sniffed violently at her breasts, which were now partially revealed from her skimpy bikini bra.

Marva smiled but said nothing. And Margie's eyes narrowed as if thoughts stirred her. But then Pixie saw that it was not thoughts alone to which her friend reacted but that she appeared to receive genuine delight from the sniffing dog. Margie looked at Marva, then at Pixie, then back at the dog. And then her expression changed and she lowered her bra and thrust her breasts forward to Tarn's snout.

The dog whined and pushed forward. Margie fell to her back and Tam straddled her, pinned her to the floor while he brought great lapping caresses to her breasts. Margie's small, hard breasts bloated and the nipples grew long and hard as Tam nuzzled and burrowed at her flesh.

Fascinated, and through a drunken haze, Pixie watched the action. She felt excitement stir at her own breasts, at her loins, too, where she felt a pulsation and heat and urgency. And then she looked closer at Tam and felt greater excitement when she caught a view of the strength that had come to the dog, the way he quivered and strained and grew and grew. Within her, Pixie felt distinct and strong yearnings.

"Hey, you're getting rough," Margie said, directing her words to Tarn's bent head. "You're a rough one but but, I like it."

Margie cupped her breasts and raised them so that Tam could know more of their roundness. And all the time, Marva watched with an excited, but amused expression on her face, one that told of her own love for the great dog and her pleasure that she had found others to provide him with variation.

Tam nuzzled lower, then lower still when Margie made an adjustment of her position in order to allow him the full bareness of her stomach. But it was not enough, not for Tam, nor for Margie. The dog panted but rooted at her incessantly, moving lower all the time until as last his nose burrowed within her swimsuit bottom and shook furiously.

"Ohhhhh, hey," Margie said. She clasped the dog's big head with her arms and held it tight and down upon her. And still his anxious head moved, burrowed, shook a bit and became partly concealed within her swimsuit.

Pixie moved to the edge of the couch. She felt great craving for Tam, for anyone and anything. She looked at Marva, then felt relief and comfortableness for her own feelings when she realized that a woman of such beauty also gave herself to a dog. It was a good feeling for Pixie, one that destroyed her last bit of reserve.

When Margie moaned again, softly and passionately, Pixie pushed up from the couch. In a flash she undid the knot of her bra top and let it fall to the floor. Then she loosened the rest of the brief bikini and stepped out of it. She raised her hands and cupped her breasts in a kind of presentation of them as she turned toward Marva, letting her see, it seemed, all that she would give to her pet. Marva smiled.

Pixie walked to where Margie was still receiving the frantic attentions of the giant dog. Pixie paused. With a growl, Tam brought his head away from Margie's body. He looked at Pixie and tensed more sternly, yet he held his position, did not leap upon her. And Pixie, as she awaited him, felt the rumble of great sexuality, frantic yearning, and deep, deep curiosity.

The dog trembled violently, and as Pixie looked at him and saw the great anxiety that had come to him, she felt a moment's fear, a momentary resistance to the encounter that might ravage her body.

Margie raised and looked at her friend. She did not speak. But her eyes were wide with wonder. Marva looked at Pixie too. She smiled and a slight tremor came to her body much as if she, too, anticipated the next few moments as much as Tam.

The dog looked at his mistress and whined. Marva glanced once more at Pixie, then said to Tam, "Go, boy it's all right."

Tam bounded at Pixie. While he was still several feet away, he raised on his hind legs and lunged forward. His front paws came down upon Pixie's shoulders, crushing her to the floor. Tam came down atop her naked body. Now, having known for a moment the full flesh of Pixie, he was not content with nuzzling and lapping and the overtures to sex. He thrust for the mark that would bring an end to his animal drive. And Pixie provided it.

Fighting herself free of his imprisoning front paws, Pixie twisted and turned to her stomach. She paused a moment, feeling the rub of the tufted carpeting against her breasts, then against her stomach and the flat front of her thighs. It was a good feeling, comforting, one that provided the pause she needed before raising. It lasted only an instant. Tam pressured close, raised and tried to capture Pixie's bare body. It was impossible. But only for a second. Pixie hunched her knees beneath her body, then pushed upward. And then she leaned forward and braced herself on her forearms.

Tarn's attack was instant. And massive. Without the subtleties of humans, without concern for his female subject, he raised high, caught his front paws at her sides, then thrust forward in a great and desperate drive.

Pixie arched, then crushed forward as Tam jammed tightly to her body, as he drove with all the fury of his instincts and pressured hard and far.

"EEE Eeeeeeeee," Pixie screamed. "My God! JEEEEZZZZZZ!"

Although she yearned to pressure upward, to move and spin and churn her body, she did not. She could not, for Tarn's attack was fierce and constant and very, very rapid. Pixie could only brace herself and receive the machine-gun rapid attack as her body was scratched and dug by the animal's thrashing feet. But Pixie did not care, could not care, for a bubble of response within her hastened to grow. And it did, fast and frantically as Tam choked and groveled and whined and growled.

It was finished quickly. Tam ended as he had started, fast and dynamic, straining and shaking until at last he left her body, hanging his head low as if in shame, then, nearly crawling on his belly out of the room.

Pixie crumbled on the floor. When she rolled over, both Marva and Margie were looking at her. Their eyes were bright and interested. And there was a spark of envy there, too. But Pixie knew that this would pass, that Tam would revive and that both her friend and the strange, beautiful woman-professor would be awaiting him.

She rolled to her side again and buried her head in her arms. She thought about the day, how, except for the absence of boys upon the beach of Fort Bixdale, this never would have happened to her. But tomorrow there would be boys again, she thought, and all of this would be behind her.