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Review This Story || Author: Kallie Thomas

Puppy Love

One part only

Puppy Love

You watch her.  You've been watching her for weeks now, her every move.  How
sweet she seems, taking her preschool charges to the park every day as you sit
on a nearby bench, undress her with your eyes.  You watch as she bends to lift a
child, her ass cheeks perfect, round in her jeans.  You watch her stretch,
large, firm breasts pressing, stretching the soft, fuzzy fabric of her sweater. 
She is oblivious, totally unaware of your attention, your desire.

Your plans.

You remember the first time you saw the tiny, lovely blond.  You'd been walking
your dogs-huge, ferocious-looking Rotts.  Zeus, Nabiela, and Alric.  She'd knelt
down, anxiously herded the children behind her so she was between them and the
dogs.  Her eyes caught yours, fearful, hate-filled.  You tried to strike up a
conversation, tried to calm her, but she was dismissive, angry.  Wanted you and
your dogs away from her, away from the children in her care.  You tried to be
understanding-after all, each dog easily outweighed her by fifty pounds.  At 5
foot even, maybe 95 lbs, she was delicate, fragile, so sweet looking.

The next day you returned without the dogs, approached, tried to speak to her. 
She again dismissed you, haughtily, sharply.  You saw it in her eyes-she didn't
want a black man talking to her.  You were angry, frustrated.  Stuck up bitch,
who did she think she was?  You would show her.  Oh, yes.  You'd hear her scream
for you, punish every part of her lovely, lithe body.  Oh, my, yes.

You lurked, waited in your car until she left work at the daycare across the
street from the park.  Pulling out behind her, you followed.  First the gym,
then the small farmers market on Sierra.  And then home-up Lytle Creek, down the
dirt road that led to the Cucamonga Wilderness.  Secluded, no neighbors for at
least three miles.  A small cabin, only three rooms.  Perfect.

You followed her for weeks, making sure of her routine.  It never varied-work,
gym, market, home.  You set about your preparations.  There were things you
would need, it would take a little time to amass the tools necessary to take
her, dominate her.  Punish her.  You perused the online outlets, choosing the
items carefully.  Black and red leather shackles, for ankles and wrists.  You
opted for the nicer ones that detached from one another, could be linked to any
O ring.  The ball gag-more a face harness, really, a headstall with red ball and
numerous O rings for a variety of attachment options.  A thick, strong leather
collar, again, with multiple rings for attaching.  A jaw spreader-you'd never
known something like that really existed, always thought it was just something
you'd made up in your head. You went to the hardware store, bought lengths of
chain, rope.  A sturdy metal sawhorse, an assortment of alligator clamps.  Two
strong double deadbolt locks, the kind that require a key from both outside and
in.  A cordless drill.  The clerk winked at you as he checked you out.  You
stared at him blankly, paid cash.  A visit to a tack shop brought a supple
leather quirt.  Your long shirt hid your erection as you imagined the stiff
leather striking her milky white skin.  Last stop, the camera shop---a video
camera, tripod, tapes.  A Nikon, a dozen rolls of film. 

And now here you are-this is the day-a Friday, no one will miss her until
Monday, at the earliest.  You watch her from across the park, your cock hard in
anticipation.  She's wearing a flowing, flowery skirt, a snug, form fitting
pearl button sweater in a pale blue that so accentuates her lovely doe eyes. 
Perfect.  You'll have to leave soon, take your bag of goodies to her home,
prepare.   Nabiela, your bitch Rott, is in heat.  Exactly what you've been
waiting for.

Rising, you walk to your truck, your calm exterior hiding the nervous excitement
you feel.  You drive home, gather your toys, the dogs.  You muzzle them first,
put them in the cages in back.  The muzzles will come off when you reach your
destination, but for now you don't want attract police attention.  The law says
muzzles, so muzzles it is.

Pulling up to her secluded house, you take a good look around.  No one.  No one
anywhere around.  You pull around back, hiding your truck behind a screen of
brush.  Entering the house from the back is easy---the lock is flimsy, weak. 
Not like the ones you're about to put in.  You carry your boxes inside, then set
to work on the locks.  You install the new locks with ease, making sure to leave
the front unlocked, the old lock secured.  

Breaking open the boxes, you arrange your tools for ease of retrieval, the items
you'll need first at the top.  You set up the video camera on the tripod, load a
tape.  You put film in the Nikon, set it on the mantle to the fireplace. You
look around---cozy place, main room dominated by a huge four poster bed. 
Returning to the truck, you haul the sawhorse in, attach the chains to the four
legs.  You go over what's to come in your head.  Decide you're as ready as
you'll ever be.  You settle in a chair and wait. 

The sound of her car on the gravel drive, the sweep of her headlights in the
dark bring you to your feet.  You rush to the video camera, turn it on. 
Stepping behind the door, you have the wrist restraints in hand.  Your cock
leaps to attention at the sound of her car door slamming, her footsteps on the
landing.  Her key scrapes in the lock, the door swings open.  She closes the
door behind her, not noticing you as she flips on the light. 

You pounce.

Leaping at her, you bowl her to the floor, her bag of groceries, her dinner,
flying as you bear her to the ground under your weight.  At 6'4", 215 lbs, you
weight in at better than twice her size.  You feel her writhing beneath you,
surprisingly strong for how small she is.  Turning so you are sitting on her
shoulders, facing her ass, you grab her hands, one at a time, and affix the hard
leather shackles.  You've knocked the wind from her, she can't scream-only soft,
whistling gasps come from her sweet, pink mouth.  You latch her hands together,
then scoot down her back, grapple, grab at her feet.  Latching the restraints in
place, you hook her ankles together, then drag them up, snap them to her wrists. 
She is hogtied, helpless.  It was easier than you'd imagined it would be. 

Standing, you cross to the box, pull out the ball gag and the collar.  She's
squirming, struggling, her voice coming back to her.  She lets out sharp,
cutting screams.  Smiling, you tell her to go ahead, scream-it's the last chance
she'll get.  She sees your face, recognizes you.  Oh, God, she cries, you. 
Please, no, what do you want?

You tell her that's a stupid question.  You want to make her pay for not
responding to you, for acting like she was so much better than you.  You kneel
before her head, yank it back by the hair.  She whips her head back and forth
wildly, trying to evade your ministrations, but you put the headstall with the
ball gag on her easily.  Her cheeks balloon, her full, pink lips make a perfect
O around the red ball.  She screams through her nose as you apply the collar. 
Stepping back, you grin, begin rubbing your cock absently through your pants. 
Yes, perfect.  Brilliant. 

Walking to the door, you slam the deadbolt home.  No one's getting in-and no one
is getting out.  You return to her, flip her on her back.  She is bucking,
wriggling.   Stupid bitch, you think-she just thinks I'm going to rape her.  By
the time I'm done, she'll wish that's all I'd done.   Her struggles hike her
skirt up so it lays pooled around her hips.  Your erection becomes painful at
the sight of her creamy thighs above her white stockings.  Stockings-a wonderful
surprise.  You grab the Nikon, begin snapping shots of her helpless form, her
eyes huge, pleading.   Terrified. 

Setting the camera back on the mantle, you return to her, kneeling by her side. 
Flipping her on her back, you grasp the neck of her sweater and yank hard.  The
little pearl buttons pop off, fly as you bare her chest.  She is wearing a
delicate white lace bra.  Giving a vicious yank, you tear the ragged remains of
the sweater from her.  You hike her skirt further, see that the panties, the
garter belt, match the bra.  You couldn't have planned it better.  You'll leave
them on for a while.  You grasp the hem of her skirt, begin ripping along the
seam.  She is screaming steadily now, her hips bucking, body jerking madly,
trying to escape, to keep herself covered.  You tear the skirt all the way to
the waist, then yank it off her.  She is perfect.  You marvel at her large,
perky breasts under the white lace, spilling over because her bound arms force
her chest up, out.  The lace garter belt lays sweet on her tiny, round hips. 
The stiff white lace covering her pussy in a thong panty is exactly what you
imagined her in.  You reach down, begin working her clit through the lace,
grinding the sweet, virginal material into her slit.  She struggles to close her
legs, to protect herself, but she is helpless.  Totally in your control.  You go
to the video camera, re-aim it at the bed.  Then you return.

Lifting her, you haul her to the bed, throw her down roughly on her belly.  A
jolt races through you as you see her bare ass cheeks jiggling around the thong
in her crack.   You reach out, touch her ass tentatively.  Her cheeks jump,
begin to twitch, trying to avoid your touch.  Real.  She's real, all of this is
real.  You groan hoarsely---fucking bitch, whore, fucking cunt, you are mine. 
Every fucking inch, every hole, every bit of you is mine, you whore, and I'm
going to make you hurt for every time you ignored me, for every time you looked
down on me.  I am going to make you scream.  I own you.

Dragging her to her knees, you kneel behind her as she fights helplessly.  You
take a length of chain, connect it to the headstall, drag it down to her wrists,
secure it.  Her head is yanked back now, neck straining, her wrists bent up
spang between her shoulder blades.  Her gagged screams are strangled sounding
now, pained.  You push her on her back, pull her by the hair to the edge of the
bed.  Her bed, lacy sheets, frilly quilts and pillows.  Her head hangs over the
edge, and you smile hatefully as you unzip your jeans.  First hole to feel your
rage will be her mouth, and you will drown her with your nigger jizz.  See how
the uppity white whore likes that.  You know you'll like it.  Again and again.

Removing the ball from the headpiece, you replace it with your enormous cock. 
You've had women in the past refuse to fuck you once they saw it-a full nine
inches, almost three inches thick.  This was one slut who wasn't going to
refuse.  Pushing in, relentless, you force your tool past her lips, her mouth,
fully into her throat. Her throat works frantically, trying to dislodge your
huge cock, trying to draw air.  All she succeeds in doing is milking you with
the motions.  You rape her face furiously, reaching forward to pinch her nipples
through the bra.  Her whole body is shaking, trembling from the lack of air. 
You pull out just enough for her to pull one ragged breath, then plunge back in. 
You continue this for almost 30 minutes, cutting off her air with your meat for
fifty, sixty seconds, then allowing her a breath or two.  You know how terrified
she is, how she fears she will suffocate on your cock.  It thrills you.  You
tell her that this wouldn't have happened if she'd just been nice to you.   How
she is paying for her snootiness, her rudeness.  You finally tire of this
torture-your mind is already racing through all the other things you will do to
her.  You begin to fuck her sweet mouth in earnest, slamming in hard, deep,
bruising her throat with your thrusts.  Your tool begins to swell, to twitch in
her face, then explodes, throwing wave after wave of your cum into her throat,
her mouth.  Thick, hot, and sour, it nearly drowns her.  You laugh as she
chokes, struggles to swallow.  Pulling out, you splash the last on her face, her
swelling lips.  She is sobbing, gagging.  You walk to the mantle, fetch the
camera.  Leaning in close, you snap shots of her face.  Her sweet, tear stained
face, dripping with your spunk, trapped behind the harsh leather of the
headstall.  You grab the ball, jam it back in place, securing it tightly.  You
snap a few more shots of her cum coated lips wrapped around the red ball. 

Walking back to the box, you grab the quirt.  You return to the bed, unlatch her
ankles from her wrists, flip her on her back.  She begins to flail wildly,
kicking madly, blindly.  You laugh, ask her where she thinks she'd go even if
she did manage to hurt you . . .which isn't going to happen.  You capture her
legs, chain them to the bed posts.  Her head is yanked back still, she cannot
see you.  She rises up, her abs well defined with the strain.  You push her
down, run chain from the sides of the bed to the rings on her collar.  She is
held flat.  You reach up, grasp the delicate lace of her bra, and tear.  Her
large breasts bounce free, her nipples hard and tall with fear.  Your eyes are
cloudy, desire to hurt her, rape her, own her, dominating you.  You grasp her
lace thong, yank hard, tearing it from her, leaving it hanging by one leg.  Her
pussy is well groomed, soft blond fur in a neat, sweet strip along her slit.  
Raising the quirt, you bring it whistling down on her left breast.  She screams
as it connects, writhing in protest, pain.  A red welt raises immediately across
her nipple.  You smile, raise the quirt again.  Over and over, you bring the
whip stinging across her flesh.  She writhes, screams breathlessly through her
nose as the angry marks rise over her belly, breasts, stocking clad thighs.  You
step back, take careful aim---and bring the quirt down across her pussy lips
with all your might.  She bucks, gasps, then shrieks.  Again and again you whip
her downy pussy, leaving it swollen, bright red. 

You pause to take more pictures, your cock stirring again at the sight of her
tortured flesh rising, red and painful.  Releasing her ankles, you flip her
over, re-secure her despite her struggles, and lay into her backside.  You quirt
her ass mercilessly as it squirms, wiggles.  You pay special attention to the
tops of her thighs above the stockiings, where her legs meet her cheeks.  She is
moaning, whining loudly, her ass jumping and quaking with each blow.   You leave
no part unflogged, her back, tightly bound arms, the backs of her knees. 

You pause, admire the fruits of your effort-her skin is bright red, a detailed
map of welts and weals.  Dropping the quirt, you grab the Nikon, snap frame
after frame, then pause.  You smile, retrieve the quirt . . . and bury the
handle in her ass.  No lube, no warning, just drive it home.  She screams
shrilly behind the ball gag, her hips rocking, jerking, her ass puckering around
the oiled leather.   Her ass cheeks contract furiously, involuntarily.  You feel
a warmth in your crotch, know that you'll be hard again in no time.  You finish
the roll of film with shots of her violated ass.

Loading another roll, you return to the mantle, put the camera up.  You grasp
your cock, stroking it slowly as you consider your next move.  What to do, what
to do?  Walking to the box of goodies, you pull out a coil of rough, scratchy
rope.  Returning to the bed, you free her ankles-her kicks are  weaker now, less
forceful.  You yank the quirt from her ass, smile at the smear of blood it
leaves on her thigh.  Climbing on the bed, you jerk her to her knees.  She looks
up at you, her eyes huge, pain filled.  Pleading.  You don't feel a damn bit
sorry for her-fucking bitch, she's earned every damned thing she's going to get
. . . and she's going to get more than she ever imagined.

Starting at her armpits, you begin to bind her tightly, wrapping the rope around
and around, pulling as hard as you can, the rope biting into her flesh.  You
twine it above and below her tits, grinding a knee into her breastbone for
leverage as you yank the rope tight.  Threading the rope under, you pull it to a
sharp knot between her tits, drawing the firm, fleshy mounds up and out.  You
circle the rope around each tit, trapping the blood.  They begin to turn red,
the welts rising even further, more angrily.  You drag the rope down, across her
belly, between her legs.  Carefully, you position the rope just right, then loop
it through the chain at her wrists.  You haul up on the rope, and it grinds into
her pussy lip, pulling it painfully aside.  Drawing the rope back along her
crotch, you match the binding on the other lip.  Her pussy is now wide open, the
cruel rope digging, burning her tender, moist flesh.

Pushing her on her belly, you pull first one leg, then the other, all the way
back, attaching each ankle to a ring on the headstall.  She is bent, curved
impossibly.  You're reminded of the circus contortionists, and you smile.  Your
cock is solid again, ready to hurt, to rend.  You grab her by the legs, yank her
back, then press the head of your huge tool against her open cunt.  You ask her
if she's ever had a black cock in her tight little twat.  Ask her how she'd like
to have a black bastard growing inside her.  She cries, moans through the gag,
no, please, no.  With one vicious thrust, you drive your meat into her tight,
dry pussy.  She screams, squeals as you rip into her.  Oh, God, she is so tight. 
So hot, dry, tiny.  You grind your fingers under the rope binding her rips,
begin pulling her back against you as you slam into her again and again.  Her
squeals become animal whines as your tool tears her, makes her bleed.  You close
your eyes, relish the moment-you remember her, tight jeans, breasts straining
against her sweater as she glared at you, rejected you.  Opening your eyes, you
look at her now.   Fucking bitch.  A piece of meat, a toy to be hammered,
abused, tortured.  You feel your balls pull up, your climax building.  You
shout, laugh as your cock explodes inside her, filling her torn pussy with your
hot, thick cum.  You pull out, splash the last of your jizz on her raw pussy
lips.  Feel that, bitch?  That's my cum inside of your pussy.  That's my cum
filling you, dripping out.  Better learn to like it, whore, there's plenty more
where that came from.

Turning her on her back, you drag her to the head ofF the bed.  Grabbing her
ankles, you  yank them over her head, secure them to the head posts, spreading
her so wide it seems she might split in two.   Walking to the box, you pull out
your next trick---alligator clamps.  Returning, you scramble up, step over her
stretched leg to straddle her head.  Facing her bound tits, you rest your balls
on her nose, making her every breath heavy with the smell of your sex, your
sweat.  With her head pulled back so sharply, she cannot see what you are doing. 
The first clamp elicits a wild, frantic shriek, muffled, nasal.  With the blood
trapped in her tits from the tight binding, every sensation is amplified, every
pain multiplied greatly.  Clamp after clamp, you completely cover her nipples,
her areola, taking your time, letting her almost relax before the next crushing,
pinching attack.  Her breath is coming in sharp, wheezing gasps, her shoulders
work from side to side, trying to escape the agony.  You lean in slightly, begin
to work your cock along the leather on her face, along the line of her nose. 
You reach down now and then, tweak the clamps, pull on them.  Her cries are
hoarse, agonized.  You feel good.  Better than you've ever felt.  You think
about her asshole.  If her pussy was tight, her asshole is going to be beyond
amazing.  You wonder how long you'll last with her ass clenching around your
meat, her screams matching your thrusts. 

You begin to stiffen again. 

You smile-you knew having her here, doing these things to her, would make you up
and ready again in record time.  Giving the clamps one more vicious twist, you
climb off her, grab the camera as you work your cock with your hand.  Oh, yes,
you'll be ready in a matter of moments.  And she was going to feel your full 9
inches up her ass, in her bowels.  You wonder if fucking a virgin ass with a
tool as big as yours could kill.  You plan on finding out.

You begin snapping pictures of her tortured tits.  You've never done something
like that before, hadn't realized just what a turn on it would be.  You knew
hurting her would be wonderful, but seeing her tortured, bound tits heaving
under the clamps, the heavy binding, is just amazing.  It's beautiful, fills you
with a joy you've never felt before.  Setting the camera aside, you kneel
between her stretched legs, look down at her rope bitten, swelling pussy. 
Pushing, rocking her back so her ass is well up off the mattress, you press the
head of your cock against her quirt raped rectum---and plunge.  Hard, merciless,
you drive the full nine inches in with one ripping stroke.  She squeals,
thrashes, lets out a muffled, guttural shout, her whole body contracting,
protesting as you begin to rape her asshole furiously.  The force of your
slamming knocks the air from her in grunts, choking cries.  What's the matter,
cunt?  Does it hurt?  How about THIS?  Does THIS hurt?  You plunge into her,
harder and harder, watching her trapped tits dance and jump, the clamps securely
affixed.  You smile as you realize that the jouncing of her tits is likely
making the clamps hurt all the more.  You set up a rocking, shredding rhythm,
burying your tool in her ass again and again, stretching her wide, laying her
open like a bulldozer. 

When you cum, you plunge deep, shooting your load into her bleeding bowels.  Her
asshole clenches around you, works every drop of your sticky spunk from you. 
You tell her how sweet that was, how she shouldn't cry, you'll be ready to drive
your cock into her again very soon.  In the mean time, you have friends who will
gladly keep her occupied, keep her fuck holes open and ready for you.

Climbing off the bed, cross to the video camera, pull the tape, put in a new
one.  Re-aiming it, you go back to the bed.  She hasn't moved, hasn't even tried
to escape.  Oh, no, that won't do.  You drag her to the sawhorse, throw her
belly down over it.  She tries to rise, but you shove her back down, hold her as
you run the chains from the legs to her collar.  Reaching around, you secure her
ankles, spread wide.  You laugh, tell her you'll be right back, you're going to
fetch your friends.  You're sure she'll like them as much as you do-more,
really.  You walk to the back door, unlock the deadbolt, go outside.

You come back with Nabiela, your bitch.  One of your bitches, you think,
laughing.  Leading the dog to the sawhorse, you reach to her backside, begin
pulling her wet, bloody scent from her, smearing it on your other bitch's ass
cheeks, grinding some in with your fingers.  Writhing, squealing, your whore's
eyes are wide, stunned.  No, no, no, she screams from behind the ball, no, you
can't, no, please, God, no.

You pull the ball from her mouth, and her screams ring out.  She's found a new
strength, and she whips her head against the chains holding her head up.  You
trap her face easily, smear her lips, her face with the bloody show.  Reaching
to the box, you pull out the jaw spreader.  You practiced on yourself when it
first arrive, you know exactly how effective the deceptively simple-looking
device is.  Forcing her jaws open, you insert the tool, then begin cranking. 
Wider and wider, her pleading becomes wordless wailing as her mouth is trapped
open, helpless.  One last pass, you coat the inside of her mouth with Nabiela's
smell.  Taking the dog back to the truck, you return with Alric and Zeus.  They
are skittish, almost impossible to control, wild with the scent of bitch in
heat.  You reach down, release them from their leashes.

The dogs rush toward her, snapping and growling as they reach her.  You watch
her face, her eyes-stunned, impossibly wide, a steady, bleating scream coming
from her open, vulnerable mouth.  The dogs push at one another, jockeying for
position in front of her face.  Zeus, being the larger of the two, wins out. 
Sniffing at her face, he jumps up, scrabbling his paws on her ribs, his hips
jerking, twitching, his gigantic, red cock already unsheathed.  Poking, seeking,
he finds her mouth, and he begins to fuck it frantically, his hips thrusting
violently.  You can still hear her horrified screams, choked now, punctuated
with gagging when Zeus's wet, angry meat reaches her throat.  Alric circles,
finds her welt covered, bleeding ass.  He begins to sniff, lick, then jumps up,
his powerful forelegs curled around her hips.  His hips jerk, his unsheathed
tool probes, pokes, then finds.  Immediately, he begins humping her at a
frenzied pace, rocking her with the thrusts.  You begin to laugh loudly-perfect,
fucking perfect, your dogs raping this stuck up bitch, and you're getting every
bit of it on tape.  You grab the Nikon, decide to get some stills, too.  You
pace around the scene, the dog rape orgy, snapping shot after shot.  You bend
down close, get pictures of her stricken eyes staring out from under the huge
dog's belly, her mouth filled with his purplish red tool.  The dogs begin to
move even faster, and you know it's almost time.  Zeus first, huge knot forcing
her jaws even wider than the spreader, passing into her mouth, trapped there
behind her teeth.  Then Alric, his knot pressing, then passing into her asshole. 
She is shrieking though her nose, lost in a nightmare of pain, humiliation,
horror.  You unchain her, then open the front door.  Go for it bitch, you laugh. 
Go ahead, door's open, you're not tied anymore.  I'm going to go take a shit. 
Go ahead, now's your chance to escape. 

You leave the room, step behind the door and watch through the mirror on the
wall.  She struggles, pushing herself along the sawhorse until she crashed to
the floor-the dogs still solidly knotted to her.  She tries to pull free,
screams with the pain of it as the dogs whine.  Her knees slipping, she's left
hanging from Alric's cock.  She gets her knees under her again, tries to make
her way toward the door, but the dogs are stuck inside her mouth, inside her
ass, and nothing she does loosens their lock.  She is sobbing deeply, her eyes
to the side, looking at the open door, freedom.  You give her a few minutes,
giggle quietly as she slowly works, inch by inch, toward the door.  She's almost
there, almost to the door, when you walk back in.  Too late, whore, you stride
past her, slam the door she's almost achieved.  She groans, collapses so she's
hanging by the knots in her ass, her mouth.  Lifting the Nikon, you snap
pictures of her dangling, weakly kicking body.  Then you pull a small footstool
from next to the door, push it under her hips, then wait for the dogs to finish. 
Her groans become horrified cries as the dogs begin to empty their loads into
her.  Pumping, seemingly endless, they fill her mouth, her ass.  It cascades
down her thighs, soaking her stockings, runs from her swollen lips, down her
chin.  You finish shooting the roll, hard again at the sight of her dog raped
holes, dripping with the jizz of your beloved pets.
Hauling her to the door, you open it again, drag her to the porch.  Jerking her
to her feet by the collar, you attach her to a plant hook in the wall.  Reaching
behind her, you release her head-for the first time in hours, she can straighten
her neck, and it's agonizing.  She screams reedily, her head lolling weakly
forward.  You stand before her, marveling at the rivers of thin white dog spunk
still running down her legs.  Walking to the side of the house, you grab the
garden hose, smile at the high pressure sprayer.  Turning the water on, you walk
back, take aim.  Depressing the trigger, you direct the icy jet at her crotch,
laughing as she jerks, squeals.  Her ass, her pussy, her mouth-you hose her down
thoroughly as she cries, begs, sputters.  You spend the better part of an hour
torturing her with the high pressure, ice cold stream.  You stop when you
realize that she will pass out from hypothermia if you don't.  Dropping the
sprayer, you unhook her, drag her back into the house, shutting the door behind
her.  She is freezing, trembling uncontrollably.  You throw her back over the
sawhorse, backwards this time.  You secure her easily, she doesn't fight at all. 
You stand, watch her shaking, violent shivering.  You return to the truck, cover
your hands in Nabiela's wet.  Returning, you coat her pussy in it, shove your
fingers into her.  The dogs are already interested, sniffing, licking at her
bound, bruised, bleeding cunt.  Kneeling before her, you push your ramrod stiff
cock into her mouth, then further, deeper, into her throat.  She gags, her
throat struggling to accommodate you.  Zeus mounts her, paws on her hips, 
poking with his newly hard tool.  He finds home, begins humping her again, even
as you fuck her face.  You are so perfectly satisfied at this moment---this
cutting bitch, this self-satisfied, snobbish whore, is now reduced to this. 
Your huge cock buried in her face, your dog fucking her used, raw pussy.  Your
other dog waiting, licking his tool furiously in anticipation.  Her womb, her
asshole, her belly full of a mixture of your jizz and your dogs'.  Her tiny,
perfect body totally abused, covered with welts, bruises, her lovely round tits
bound, clamped, tortured.  You know she will never recover, never be the self
confident, haughty bitch she was.  She will always be the beaten whore who took
two dogs at once.  The tortured cunt whose body served you, whose every hole was
filled with your meat, your cum.  You know she will never look another person in
the eyes.  You hope you've gotten her pregnant---if you have, she'll have a
lifelong reminder of you. 

She screams around your cock as Zeus's knot grinds into her.  You pick up the
pace, begin slamming into her face as she grunts, gasps.  Your tool explodes
into her mouth one last time.  You pull back, wanting one last look at her
pretty face dripping and slimy with your cum.  Your cock spurts, spits,
splattering her eyes, her cheeks.  It drips down in looping strings, and you are
happy.  Truly happy.

You sit in front of her, absentmindedly twisting the clamps on her breasts as
Zeus finishes, slides from her, and Alric takes up his place.  She sobs weakly,
groans with the tit torture, her eyes wide and empty.  Your spunk is congealing
in globs, you remind her that cum is good for the complexion.  Alric humps her
energetically, enthusiastically.  He goes longer this time, you wonder if dogs
are like men, they last longer the second time around.  You're laughing,
contented as she squirms with the entrance of Alric's knot.   You scoot to the
side for a good look at his slick meat stuck inside her.  Curious, you reach up,
press against her clit.  She moans, her hips jerk.  You look at her slack, jizz
coated face, then set to work on her clit.  Rubbing hard with your thumb, you
set up a circular motion, grinding her nub relentlessly.  You start to giggle as
her hips pick up the rhythm.  Yes, this is it, the crowning insult.  You'll make
the whore like it.  Her pussy filled with dog cock, her face coated with your
cum, and she's going to get off.  And she does-screaming, writhing, she cums,
her hips convulsing, bucking.  You know you've done it, you've destroyed her. 
Because until now, she could tell herself she hated it all, she was helpless, a
victim.  But now-now she's taken part, she'd felt intense pleasure while being
dog raped.  You smile smugly.  Now she is ruined.  Now you can go home fully
sated, knowing that there's one less castrating bitch in the world.

Dressing yourself slowly, you look at her---hanging backwards over the sawhorse,
eyes wide and blank.  Pink-tinged dog spunk in rivulets, staining her stockings. 
Bruised, welted, tortured.  You feel good.  Satisfied with a job well done. 
Loading the truck, you get an idea-a brilliant one.  You load the dogs, pack up
the last of your equipment.  Picking up her phone, you make the call-a redneck
bar in Lytle Creek, always crowded on weekends.  You tell the man who answers
that the pretty blond up the road is looking for a party-a big party.  One with
as many men as she can have.  The man whoops, says he and all his friends will
be up straight away.   Smiling, you tell her not to worry-she won't be alone for
long.  Wish her a wonderful weekend, tell her you'll miss her, but at least you
have hours of tape, dozens of photographs to warm you at night.  You open the
front door, then slip out the back.   She's in for a long, long weekend.  And
you couldn't be more pleased.  After all, you've never been the jealous type.

Review This Story || Author: Kallie Thomas
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