This story was originally
copyrighted to the author @2003. This remake is herein set to copyright
in @ 2021.
codes: f / best / humil / anal / gender
dysphoria, and hopfully, a ton of laughs.
--
NOTE: This is a rewrite of a story I wrote light-years ago. Back in the days of 56 kpp modems, BBS
Bulletin Boards, Hd’s in the mb’s, and of course, ASSTR – my home. Oh, yes, the
fun days! I can still hear the “eee, burrr, ding, ding, ding,” even
now!” Anyway, I’ve given this one a redo
because if you haven’t notice, we now live in the 21st century. Enjoy! (>_*)
WARNING: This story delves into aberrant sex
practices that might well offend you. So if topics such as bestiality
or gender dysphoria offends you, do not read this story. Some of the
sex depicted is consensual, some not. I don't condone it. I'm not
advocating it. I may or may not even like it. It's simply a
fantasy, a product of my imagination, and thus, completely fictitious.
Before you read
it, please note the following:
*If you are
under eighteen, it is illegal for you to read this story!
*If you have a hard time separating fantasy from reality,
do not read this story!
*If it's illegal in your jurisdiction to read
non-consensual sex stories, don't read this story!
Support ASSTR: If you can afford to cough up a few bucks, the good folks
who make this all happen would be much obliged…
……………………………………………………..………………………………………..…………………………………………………………………………….
(An Erotic Horror
Story)
By
Bad
Robot
(aka Hunsi)
Book
cover Picture
Click to meet the Players:
/files/Authors/HumblePie/Pics/safari.jpg
Our characters:
Mother
Marge Dunwoody
----
Her daughter
A rare bird who goes by the name
Barb, Jake, or BJ for short
&
Fluffy the
family dog
------- § § § -------
“Bedtime, BJ!”
“Okay Mom,” BJ, our multi-persona, gender
bending male impersonate called back, putting aside the glue and the parts of
the model plane ‘she’ was working on.
Turning around in her seat, she looked down at the foot of her chair
where Fluffy, the family poodle sat waiting for her to finish. “Hey, boy, you ready for bed?”
Wagging his tail, Fluffy looked wildly
excited, hardly able to contain his anticipation. “Oh, yes you are, yes you
are,” BJ, our male impersonate teased, leaning down nuzzling up again Fluffy’s snout. Her
giddy smile was bursting with exuberance, while Fluffy’s
tail thumped wildly against the floor, showing his excitement for what he knew
would be coming next.
Rising up from her hobby desk, BJ turned
off the bedroom light to ready herself for bed.
Then under the soft, warm glow of the night light, she quickly peeled
off her button fly Jeans and Hell Boy Tee, then pulled back the covers and
jumped into bed followed by Fluffy. A
jump Fluffy made with a single bound from 5 feet back, landing square atop the
pillow upon which BJ rest her head.
Leaning up, she reached out to cradle Fluffy’s
head in her hands and kissed him softly upon his snout.
“That a boy,” she cooed and ruffled his
ears while looking down beneath him. The
tip of his cock, already poking out from its sheath glow a molten red, and from
out the tip, glistening droplets cascaded down like raindrops upon her Dyno-Boy bedspread.
It was a sight that warmed her heart, and
gave rise to her own sense of excitement, in the guise of a tingling sensation
that radiated from out her loins, followed by a build up of moisture that
dampened the crotch of her Jockey’s.
As she sat and watched that gnarly length
stretch and bloat and throb like a time bomb ready to explode, the throb of her
own heart followed an equally fiery pace.
Like a racecar pace, zooming off the charts nonstop and until, at last,
the metamorphose complete, she expelled a sigh of longing as she watched all 8
plus inches bob and weave and danced about like a prize-fighter showing off the
wares to his admiring audience.
Yes, that’s right, 8 inches is a venerable
package for any dog to carry much less a poodle. But then again, Fluffy wasn’t your typical
poodle. A Poodle and Lab mix, Fluffy was
a 2 foot tall, plump 85 pound bundle of mongrelized poodle hair. Colored a grungy brown with a pair of
inordinately large canines that protruded hog-like up and over his upper lip,
he was an eyesore that only BJ could love.
But more importantly, he was her buddy, her nighttime bed mate who among
other things had one hell of a huge libido.
Like insatiable, as hungry as a slot machine into which our multi-persona,
gender bending male impersonate, would
endlessly dropping in the coins night after night.
Now, you’re wondering why any mother would
even think about allowing such a freakish aberration the likes of Fluffy into
the house, let alone sleep in her daughter’s room?
I mean, it does make one wonder, no? Was she like a fruitcake or something? Or was she some sort of eccentric, or
deviant, or just your average, run-of-the–mill intellectually deficient moron
who is but a step away from being institutionalized?
Or, perhaps, she was just a mother who is
just astute enough to know there is nothing smart about stepping in between a
girl who thinks she is a boy and her dog!
Me?
Well, at this point in my telling of this tale, I honestly don’t know
where she sits when you take in the full scope of things. I like to think she is both astute and wise
enough to manage her parenting well enough.
But on that, we’ll just have to see.
----
Managing the Household . . .
As we all know, a dog in the household is not
to be ignored. They require a constant
eye and a ton of attention, least you have them shitting in the corners,
chewing up your favorite slippers, or humping your pillow. And, in that regard, Marge Dunwoody was no
less diligent, making it quite clear to her ‘BJ’ that she wasn’t about
to tolerate any of that.
“If you want him to stay inside then he is yours
to take care of,” she would tell her BJ, though in truth she really didn’t have
to. While a tedious job to be sure, BJ took to it quite readily, if for no other
reason than to insure her mother didn’t discover the post-coital mess left
behind upon the bedding when she awakened the girl, boy, dog slumbering
trio in the morning.
“Gosh darn it, it’s you who makes the mess
and it’s me who has to clean it up,” BJ would mock a frown.
“But that’s okay, I don’t mind,” she then
smiled warmly, with eyes bright, while rubbing her hand along Fluffy’s underbelly, then moving it down a few inches
further, she’d palm that jerking, bouncing, throbbing bone that she was going
to come to know far more personally in a minutes time.
And sure enough, in less than a heartbeat,
BJ heard her mom, Marge, walking down the hall toward her bedroom. Fluffy’s nightly
cue that it was now time to broaden the lines of communication with his
bitch. Only now in a far more basic,
primal way to satisfy his urge to fuck her.
“Nighty-night,
Honey Bunny,” her mother called out as she turned off the hall light before
closing her bedroom door.
“Night, mom,” BJ called back, then again
looked a very anxious looking Fluffy in the eye. “You ready big boy, ready as
me?” she whispered with a grin that added a few watts of brightness to the
night light.
“Come on, Fluffy,” she followed as she
turned around and flopped down atop her pillow head down, ass up. Fluffy hadn’t to see more. In a flash, he jumped atop ‘Jake’s’ ass,
and wrapped his paws around ‘Barb’s’ hips, and in less time than it took
BJ to wipe the smile off her face, Fluffy powered-up, took his paw off the
clutch, and drove our gender bending male impersonate head-on into the headboard. CLUNK!
“Ahhh, shit! Easy boy, easy,” she vented a muffled cry,
suffering the trauma of Fluffy’s claws and the
brutal, rapid fire assault on Jake’s ass.
“Awk! Ouch! Ow-ow-ow!” BJ
rasped gratingly as Fluffy punched out a plum-size hole down to her core with
blitzkrieg speed. Like a knife through
butter, he powered through the indefensible and rode roughshod over her, using his
cock and the full weight of his 85 pounds to bully and batter his bitch into
submission.
It was a mugging, plain and simple. Every fucking stroke felt akin to a punch in
the gut, steeling away her breath, leaving her gasping for air adrift a sea of
pain for 3,5,7 minutes nonstop and until at last, all that changed. On a turn of a dime, all the torture and pain
gave way to a joyous flutter deep inside BJ’s belly,
and a blast of cum from Jake’s wiener halfway across the bedding.
“Aaaaaaah!"
she blissfully sighed, basking in the sweet aftermath. “That a boy,” she purred, once Fluffy had
turned around, his peach-sized knot tying them together butt to butt. And that’s how they’d remain, locked in their
nightly bond savoring the pleasures that come after an earth-shaking fuck.
But that’s how it went. First the insufferably painful assault on her
person by that mixed breed entity known as Fluffy, followed by the pleasures
that would be hers once she’d given up, given in and surrender to the
suffering. The pleasure and the
pain! The two sides of
the same coin. The two contrary,
yet interconnected forces that pulled upon our sweet lil’
gender bending male impersonate with equal gravity. No matter the enormity of the anguish she
suffered, it all occupied the same place in her head. A place that both stoked his fear, and by
equal measure, it was also a place she wanted to be - needed to be - to make herself
feel whole. Full stop!
------
We’ve met BJ the
girl & BJ the boy & Fluffy their dog, and now it’s time we meet mom . .
.
“Good morning, Lamp Chop. You look like you had a great nights sleep.”
“Yes mom,” BJ replied, her breath smelling
like shit. Taking a seat at the kitchen
table, she dove head-long into her morning bowl of flakes, intentionally
avoiding her morning kiss.
“What?
No kisses and huggies this morning?” Marge,
her mother, feigned a pout.
“Please mom, I’m trying to eat,” BJ managed
to cough up through a mouthful of soggy flakes.
“Did you clean up, before you came down?”
“No, mom, after I eat,” BJ grudgingly
replied, a tad agitated by the pestering and prying.
“That’s fine dear,” she managed to concoct
a smile while her nostrils continued to sniff the air, trying to discern the
origins of that obnoxious smell.
“You know, you could have at least taken
the time to give the bathroom a visit before you came down,” she said with a
wince while brushing a strand of Poodle hair off her daughter’s Hell Boy Tee shirt. I mean, passing on a bath I can understand,
but the bidet?”
“Jeez mom, will you quit it!” BJ huffed in
exasperation. “I told you, those are for
girls!”
“Oh, its Mr. Mister this morning is
it? She asked in earnest, yet sounding
every bit the meddlesome mother who was venturing into a territory she didn’t
belong. But that was Marge
Dunwoody. Call her a doting mother, or
if you like, a brain-dead twit who hadn’t a clue. You can because she was all of those things
and more, and you never knew which one you were going to get until she opened
her mouth.
“Okay, Mr. Mister, you made your
point. Bidet’s are for girls not for
boys. Sorry, forgive me. It’s just that sometimes in this crazy world it’s
hard to tell which side of the mirror you’re looking through; especially for a
single mom who is raising a daughter, or even a sometimes daughter.”
“Yeah, well, I guess so,” BJ, our gender
bending male impersonate grudgingly replied, then in effort to let her know
that she’d heard her plea, “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you, Honey-Bunny.”
“Darn, mom, I told you, it’s BJ, not
Honey-Bunny. Now,
shush, I’m trying to listen,”‘he’ said
with ‘her’ eyes fixed on the news program playing on the TV across the
way.
“Yeah, well, thank you anyway,” she mumbled
off to the side, then looked down when Fluffy nudged her, wanting to be fed.
“Good morning pretty boy. You look so happy and content this morning,”
she said while ruffling his ears, and sounding as bubbly as an uncorked bottle
of sprite.
“You’re my sweetie, oh yes you are . . ,”
she pampered and babied him. “My BJ
takes such good care of you, oh yes she does,” she cooed, she teased, “only you
look pretty hungry.”
“Honestly, with all the horseplay - the
silly rough and tumble games you ‘boys’ play before bed - it’s a wonder
you’ve yet to die of starvation.”
“Are you going to feed him or should I?”
she then asked, looking up at her daughter, her son, only to find his eyes
still glued to the TV.
Looking to see what was consuming all of
his attention, she saw a man dressed like a cowboy and holding the reins of a
white spotted Appaloosa who called himself a horse whisperer. According to the tall, lean cowboy, he
possessed the unique ability to talk to horses.
A claim he was well prepared to defend when asked by the reporter
standing close by why folks shouldn’t think this all a scam.
“Tell me, Cowboy Jake,” asked the woman
reporter holding a mic up to his face. “What is it about the way you talk to your
horse that differs from how my unenlightened twelve year old daughter speaks to
hers?”
The gentleman cowboy had a good laugh at
that. “Good question,” he replied,
quickly taking on a more serious demeanor as he spoke about where the
differences lie. Explaining
to her that it was his in-depth understanding of those differences on the
physical level, and more importantly, on the subliminal level that he alone was
tuned in to. The singular gift belonging
to him alone, and gave voice to the previously unheard.
“If a horse prefers oats over barley, your
daughter might not be able to discern that, whereas I can. No trial and error, no hit and miss. They
tell me and I respond directly to their wants, needs and desires.”
“It works the other way around as
well. If I’m uncomfortable with his
gait, I just tell him and he endeavors to meet my wants, needs, and desires in
a like manor.”
“You use the word ‘tell’ as if horses can
actually understand the mechanics of our language,” the lady reported followed
up, her question spurring the interest of Marge, BJ’s
mom, who was quick to add an exclamation point to the reporters pronounced
skepticism.
“Gotcha!!” she smirked like a cat with a
mouthful of canary.
“Well you see, Ma’am, it’s like this,”
Cowboy Jake replied. “Plain and simple,
they can and do talk. And if you know
how to listen they will tell you all you need to know. Not only that but you’ll find them
remarkably articulate as well. Of
course you’ll not see their lips forming the words, ‘I want oats’, but I can
read their wants as clearly as if they had.
“Allow me to demonstrate, he then said,
turning toward the white spotted Appaloosa.
“This beautiful animal is named Duke and belongs to Mrs. Jones who has
secured my services to help settle him.
As she can verify, we’ve never met before.”
“Yes, that’s true,” a woman’s voice could
be heard from behind the camera.
“Why thank’ya mam,” he tipped his cowboy hat toward the woman standing
off camera.
“Now watch!
He then followed while combing his fingers through Duke’s mane. “Duke, tell the nice lady how old you are,”
he instructed, and the horse responded by striking the ground with his hoof
four times. “You’re four, is that right
big boy?” To which the horse nodded his
head and curled his lips as if speaking.
“You like your oats don’t you boy?” He then
asked, and amazingly, the horse nodded to the affirmative.
“My, he does sound convincing.” Marge was quick to brush aside her initial
skepticism. “You know, in a way, that
sounds a lot like you, BJ. Only you
don’t talk to horses, you talk to dogs, like Fluffy. Which to me is pretty much the same, and
while the two of you communicate in ways I’ll never understand, no one can deny
it bonds the two of you together as tightly as twins. I bet he makes good money selling a service
like that.”
“Think so, mom?” BJ, our gender bending
male impersonate asked through a mouthful of soggy flakes.
“Oh yeah, it kind of makes him a star
too. You know, with pictures in the
paper, talk show interviews, the whole lot.
He could name his price, I’m sure.”
“A star!” Now that was a word that caught BJ’s attention. For
a 16 year old about to graduate without a prospect in sight in either of the
two world’s BJ lived, the possibility she might be able to earn a living doing
what she loved to do, and become a “star” too, well now, that lit up her world
like a search-light lighting up a night sky.
“Gee, mom, imagine me, BJ Dunwoody, the dog
whisperer! It sounds so cool! Do you think I should talk with the school
counselor about it? Maybe he can help me
find someone with an interest in hiring someone like me. You think?”
“Hum, yes, you’re right! That fits you to a tee,” Marge lit up with a
smile. “But you needn’t ask your
counselor. Why not go see Mrs. Olson,
the owner-operator of ‘Safari Kingdom Pet Emporium’ on you way back from
school. She always has a sign in the
window needing some sort of help or another.”
“Gee-whiz Mom,
thanks. That’s a great idea. I’ll take along the letter of recommendation
from Mr. Green.”
“Absolutely, and don’t forget to dress smartly. First impressions are important you know.”
“You want me to dress smartly?”
“Yes, you know, fashionably.”
“Mom, please!” She huffed.
“Oops!
Sorry, I mean dapper, like a smart dressed boy!”
--------
Jake, BJ Dunwoody stood outside the Safari
Kingdom pet shop window watching the dogs on the other side of the glass excitedly
jumping about in response to his madcap antics.
Dressed in his brown khaki shorts with a pith helmet to add just the
right touch, BJ felt as ready and prepared to win over Mrs. Olson’s heart as BJ
would ever be.
Entering the shop BJ found Edith Olson
behind the counter having just sold a canary to a lady customer. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Olson. My name is Jake Dunwoody and I would like to
apply for a job.” BJ then added a smile
meant to win over her heart.
“My, young man, if you don’t sound the well
mannered one,” she gleamed, pleased by his manner, and if not for the fact that
the slim, rosy-cheek apparition standing before her looked more a girl dressed
as a boy, she would have hired him on the spot, carte blanche.
But even though she wanted to, needing the
help as she did, she instead just stood there rubbing her chin, hem-and-hawing it
over, and asking herself what it was she was getting herself in to.
That is until her worry in the abstract, gave
way to the precedence of her real world needs.
‘Boy, girl, what-the-hell, I need a poop
scooper, not a rink master,’ she said to herself. ‘Besides, it is the age of the ‘can do women’
after all is it not?’
“Why of course, young man, you look a
hearty fellow. Now, may I ask your age?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m 16. But I have a work permit, and as I graduate
next week, I’m looking to set out on the right foot. I’ve also have a letter of recommendation
from Mr. Green,” BJ said, handing her the letter.
“Well, I’m certain this letter expresses
nothing but the highest regards for your achievements,” she said without
bothering to read it. “But what I’m most
interested in is why you wish to work here?”
“Oh golly, Ma’am, I want to work here
because it’s perfect for me. I love
pets, dogs the most. I love being around
them. I love taking care of them. I like buddying up
with them like the best of friends should.
But must importantly, I know how to talk to them.”
“Talk to them? She asked, seemingly caught
a bit off balance. “Yes, well, of
course, everyone feels as though they do.
But I suspect you meant to say you know how to get them to do what it is
you want them to do.”
“Yes ma’am, but to me it’s more in the way
of a collaborative relationship in which we both try to meet the needs of the
other. If he wants a lick of my ice
cream cone, then we sit down and talk to him about it until both our needs are
met.”
“Well that’s interesting. You actually hear what they’re saying, do
you?”
“Yes ma’am.
I’m a dog whisperer. I’m not a
professional or anything like that. But
one day I will be, maybe even one of the best, a star!”
“Oh my heavens young man, such high
expectations. But a dog whisperer?” she
again asked, looking rather puzzled.
“Well, I can’t confess to knowing much of
anything about that young man, but if our star-to-be doesn’t mind starting out
small and mucking around in the trenches with an old shopkeeper like me, then
welcome aboard. I’m pleased to have
you.”
“Wow!
Holy smoke! Good golly, thank you
madam, you won’t regret it. You’re going
to have the happiest, most satisfied dogs in the whole wide world, I promise.”
“Very well then. Now, if you would go out around back you’ll
find the shelter where we house our pets for the night. That’s where you’ll meet Ms. Max. That’s Agnes Max, the gentlewoman who manages
the shelter and cares for our pets. Like
the eight scallywags you see in the front window along with the other dozen
scallywags we rotate in and out daily.”
“Those are the dogs you will be helping Ms.
Max care for. That would includes
tending to their feeding, cleaning, exercising, picking up after them and what
have you.”
“Mind you, they can be a raucous
bunch. More than enough for two workers,
so if you don’t mind the hard work, Ms. Binx will get
you started.
---------
Work Begins . . .
The dog shelter around the back was a white
with red trim building built to look like a small house. With a gabled roof, skylights and windows,
flower pots on the sill included, it looked quite the charmer. Then when you add in the fenced-in doggy
playground that fronted the 20 by 20 shelter, the facility made quite the
idealized setting.
However, quaint as this little house
appeared on the outside, inside was an entirely different matter. Not in a bad way, it just looked so run of
the mill, Kennel-like, with rows of cages lining the walls, a grooming table
and a cement basin embedded in the floor for bathing the dogs. It also had a strong stench when the dropping
hadn’t been picked up, as well as a small office from which Ms. Max emerged when
BJ entered.
That would be, ‘Ms.’ as in she bowed
to no man – and ‘Max’, as in brawny,
big-boned, and mannishly large woman who was made to look all the more
butch by the suspender pants, red & black checkered flannel shirt, and
steel-toe lumberjack boots that she wore.
“Hello? Ms. Max?
Is anyone home?”
“Yeah boy, I hear you,” she grumbled as she
walked out her office pulling up her suspenders and wiping the perspiration
from her brow.
“You’ve come to pick up Blackie?”
“Blackie?”
“Yeah, kid, Blackie, that mean bastard over
in the front cage.”
“No, I’m your new helper. I’m here to work,” BJ said while peeking in
to see the “mean bastard” inside. Only
the bubbly, tail wagging black
“Work, huh?
What’s your name?”
“BJ!”
“BJ? That ain’t no name,”
the ol’ batty grumbled, as she took in the sight of
him, pink socks and rosy cheeks, et al.
“Yes, Mam, I
mean, no mam, I mean that’s what my mom and teachers
and everyone else calls me, and now Mrs. Olson calls
me BJ too.”
“Yeah, well, okay, I just hope you got the
muscle on those weenie li’l arms of yours to hold
your ground around here better than that lazy fart you’re replacing,”
“Yes, mam, I
don’t mind hard work, and I love working with dogs,” he said, beaming a huge
smile.
“Huh!
Well we’ll see. Starting now I
guess, since I’ve got to leave you along for a bit because I got me a doctor’s
appointment on account of my hip. It’s
been acting up pretty bad, so you’re going to have to work through the schedule
on you own till I get back.
“Here’s the schedule,” she then said,
handing him a clipboard. “And there’s
the clock,” she then pointed to the clock on the wall. “And over there are the scrubbers, towels and
the pail to clean up the droppings. So
you better get to it.”
“Yes, mam. What if the
phone rings? Do you want me to answer
it?”
“The phone doesn’t ring here. The calls come through the shop and Mrs.
Olson tells me. Besides, I told her I’d
be out on account of my appointment so she hasn’t a whole lot to say. That, and the fact she can’t leave the store
unattended means you’re on your own.”
“No problem, Mam,
I’ll get it done,” BJ, the boy followed, perusing the schedule until a matter
of importance came to mind.
“Oh yes, one more
thing before you go. The schedule
says I’m to clean the floor, bathe the dogs, manage the scheduled outside
playtimes, and at closing time, bring back the dogs who
are on show in the shop window. But it
doesn’t say anything about Blackie.”
“That’s because he’s a special order. A dog we got for a guy who wanted to buy a
hunting dog. Only the first day out the
mean bastard took a chunk out of his ass the size of a lamb chop. Now we’re waiting for the pound to come pick
him up, no doubt to put him to sleep.”
“Oh, how horrible. I don’t see anything wrong with him. I think he was just scared. You know, new place, new faces, everyone
tugging on him, no one listening to him.
I bet I could get him settled in.”
Yeah, kid?
What’cha got that I ain’t
got. A magic wand stuck up your ass, or
maybe it’s just your shit always comes out smelling like roses?”
“No,” BJ cracked a smile. “But I can have a talk with him and try to
work it out.”
“Talk to him? Shit!
Good luck with that, boy. But if
you find you have the time, have at it.
Just don’t let him out. Got me?”
“Yes, mam, I’ll
be careful with him, promise.”
“Good!
Now that you’ve been warned, I’ve got to get going. I’ll be back before closing.”
“Talk to him?” Ms. Max, that diesel truck
of a woman grumbled under her breath as she hobbled her way out the door. “Just my luck,” she sighed, sounding a bit
peeved. “I need help, competent help,
and they send me another freaking dimwit who’s even dumber than these know-nothing
dogs.”
-------
Blackie: The adventure Begins . . .
It was approaching closing time when BJ,
our gender bending male impersonate completed the list of scheduled tasks. With all the dogs clean, fed, and set for the
night, BJ turned his attention to Blackie.
The big black
Kneeling down on all fours in front of the
cage BJ, the boy, reached in to ruffle his ears.
“You okay, boy?” BJ asked, now
enthusiastically engaged, the dial on his ‘boy to girl mode meter’
turned up full volume and resulting in Blackie’s heightened excitement as
evidenced by his increased hopping and dancing about, as well the sudden
emergence of the shiny red tip of his cock from its sheath.
“Oh yeah, you’ve a happy fella, I can see that,” BJ then followed, only now, with
the dial on his ‘girl to boy mode meter’ set to super charge volume,
adding extra spark to ‘her’ voice.
“What’s that, boy? You need a hug?” BJ, the she, spoke to
him as if expecting an answer, and more surprisingly yet, the big Lab responded
with an antsy whine as if he had.
“What’s that? You need to know that there’s someone who
cares about you?” BJ, the she, then
followed, now finding Blackie’s building excitement spreading through her as
well.
“Yeah, well, I can’t let you out because
Ms. Max told me not to. But if you want
I can go in so we can buddy-up and talk for a bit.”
“But you’ve got to promise you’ll behave,
okay buddy?” She then asked as Blackie’s
antsy whining and dancing about reached a fevered pitch.
“Yeah?” She answered
herself. “Okay, I’m coming, I coming,
buddy,” she responded excitedly as she hurriedly unlatch the cage door to do what
she felt she need do, to open up a line of communication between them.
‘And, why not?’ she thought,
and ‘he’ acknowledge, ‘I’ve still got my underpants on, and even
Fluffy knows my butt isn’t on the menu when it’s covered up.’
So both BJ the she and BJ the he did just
that after discarding her smart khaki shorts, and then scurried in to give
Blackie the hugging embrace he so desperately needed. Only as her butt passed threw the door, the
gate lock lever snagged the waist band of her underpants, pulling them down and
over her rump. But worse yet, it pulled
the door shut behind her, the lever locked in position.
It had all happened so fast, so quickly,
BJ, the girl, hardly had to time to consider the circumstance before Blackie
jumped over her back and landed square atop her ass. Then with claws dug in deep, he pulled his
bitch in and powered up those massive thighs and struck like a lightening bolt,
driving all 8 + inches of that bloated monster down to ‘his’ core, and
like an arrow, near through ‘her’ heart.
“Ugh!” Our gender bending male impersonate
huffed a puff, expelling the last of the air still trapped in her, his,
lungs. Breathless, windless, with mouth
frozen open in awe, there was nothing to be done but hold on for the ride.
And oh, what a painful, gut retching ride
it was too. Starting on the first
powerful stroke that Blackie drove down and through the fluted rim of her
anus with reckless disregard to all but his want to satisfy his primal
urge. Each violent thrust executed with
all the precision of a great machine, only this particular machine exhorted its
exhaust from out his snout.
BJ, the she, was immersed in a fog of pain,
her only lifeline, the electrifying feeling of that pummeling cock stroking
that sweet spot up Jake’s ass. That special spot that caused ‘her’ to gasp, and ‘him’
to struggle just to catch his breath.
A feeling that was growing all the more intense as that rutting dog
built up steam, pummeling faster and faster for 3,5,7
minutes and until, at last, those deep guttural rumblings turned to snorts and
grunts as he shot a torrent up jake’s ass - A shot that
caused Jake to shoot off a blast nut juice of his own, and ignited a tingling,
throbbing ecstasy deep in her belly as well.
It took over 30 minutes for that peach-sized
knot to finally pop free. And when it
had, it was accompanied by a gushing geyser of cum that puddle around her
knees.
It was the worst of all circumstances that
smelled of trouble. What was ‘he’
going to say to Ms. Max upon her return?
How could he ever hope to explain away being locked in the cage with the
dog bare ass naked, the floor a swamp of cum?
How could he ever hope to cover ‘his’ misdeeds?
“Nothing,” BJ, the she, answered herself. So, instead of busting out in tears, BJ just
lie there with Blackie sprawled out over top ‘her’ back in post-coital
bliss, dreaming about his two-legged bitch.
“Oh well,” BJ the she and the he heaved a
sigh and fell back on his usual refrain, “What’s got be, has got to be.”
------
An Hour Later . . .
"Youhoo, I'm
back boy," she said as she stepped through the door, then with a heavy
stride her lumbered over to her office without even bothering to look for her
hire help.
"The Doc put my hip back in place, but
he said he wanted to see me again tomorrow. I hope that works for you, boy," she then
said while hanging up her coat and putting away her purse.
Of course, BJ had neither the mind nor the
want to response, but Blackie did, in the form of soulful moaning whine that
sounded near spiritual.
Looking that way, Ms. Max finally spotted
BJ, the new hire, locked in the cage.
"Oh my," she then fretted.
"Sorry about that, boy, I should have warned you. Those damn latches spring shut like a mouse
trap.”
"Oh well, my bad," she then
followed as she walked over to undo the latch showing nothing but indifference,
as if finding her new charge buried beneath a dog lying in a puddle of cum and
locked in a cage was an everyday sight.
Once more, she showed not a hint of
disgust, anger, nor did she look disconcerted in the least. Rather, her response, or what there was of it,
was a literal clinic in hear-no-evil, see-no-evil. Looking over, under and around the obvious, but
worse yet, it all came off as all too methodical, her actions all too
calculated!
An aloofness that began the moment she
freed the latch, and then on her way back to her office, she simply called back
over her shoulder. “It is
-----
Reaping the Rewards . . .
The next day BJ arrived at work early and
eager and ready to give it all a fresh start.
Dressed in his safari khaki’s and his head
all but buried beneath his pith helmet, BJ, our multi-persona, gender bending
male impersonate looked bright and chipper, if not a bit bowlegged thanks to
Blackie and Fluffy, but eager and raring to go nonetheless. As he entered the yard behind the shop he saw
Ms. Max outside the shelter talking to Mrs. Olson, the pet shop owner, and
another gentleman he’d not met as yet.
“Good morning, BJ, “Mrs. Olson greeted
him. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Davies,
the gentleman who had purchased Blackie.
He’s come to take him back home.”
“Really?” he screeched out jubilantly, though
a bit leery, worried as he was of what Ms. Max might have said to her about all
that had transpired the day before. But,
when BJ looked her way and saw nothing but smiles, he guessed rightfully that all
was well.
So shrugging off the fears, BJ again
greeted Mr. Davies with the warmest of smiles.
“Oh, how wonderful, Mr. Davies, you’re doing the right thing. Blackie isn’t a mean dog, not at all. He was just scared and felt like no one was
listening to him.”
“Well, apparently you listened,” the very
appreciative Mr. Davies pat him upon the shoulder. “From all I can see he looks an entirely
different dog. And from what Ms. Max has
told me, I have you to thank for that.”
“Oh, you needn’t thank me. All he needed was someone to talk to. You know, to listen to him and work things
out.”
“Well kudos to you young man. You did a splendid job and ought to be
proud.”
“No problem, sir. It really was all my pleasure,” BJ beamed as
the two of them shook hands, looking quite proud of him, herself,
if not feeling a bit martyred by the pain still radiating up from her ass.
After Mr. Davies and Blackie departed, Mrs.
Olson smothered him in her bosom. “Good
job young man. I’m proud of you. I won’t ask how you managed to work the
miracle, but it certainly merits giving that dog whispering business a second
look. In fact, if you’re up for it, I’m thinking about doing just that,
starting with my neighbor, Mrs. Abernathy.”
“The unfortunate woman recently inherited
her daughter’s dog when her granddaughter developed an allergic reaction to his
fur. He’s a big dog but quite friendly
with those he knows, while on the other hand, he’s quite aggressive toward
those he doesn’t. And as we live on a busy
street, his barking and threatening to snap at folks walking past makes for
quite a problem.”
“Obviously, something must be done, and
she’s willing to pay handsomely for the help.
I’m hoping that might be you.
Given your talents I think you’re the perfect person to ask to help her. Plus, in never hurts to lend a helping hand to
a woman of standing in the community, especially one who is the editor of the
Middletown Gazette.”
“I’d love to, Mrs. Olson. It sounds like a great opportunity, and my
type of dog. A dog in a new place
surrounded by new faces who feels put upon and hasn’t a soul to talk to.”
“Very well, then I shall ask her if she can
bring him in this afternoon.”
-----
The Plot Thickens . . .
By
“Are you BJ Dunwoody? She asked, taking his
hand. “Yes, ma’am, it’s a pleasure to
meet you.”
“My, what a polite young man, and quite
photogenic too,” she smile, then leaned back and framed a square with her
fingers as a photographer might in framing a picture. “Oh yes, quite photogenic. Mrs. Olson should start thinking about adding
your lovely smiling face to her weekly ad in the paper.”
“Although I’m beginning to wonder if dear
Mrs. Olson might have underestimated the size of my problem. Bucky must out
weigh you by the better part of 30 pounds.”
“It’s not the size that matters, Mrs.
Abernathy.”
“Oh my, where have I heard that one
before?” she giggled. “But no matter,
Mrs. Olson says you up for it, so you must be up for it. Just promise me you won’t let the brute
push you around, okay young man?”
After her departure BJ placed Bucky in the empty cage once occupied by Blackie. The dog responded well to his lead, and while
he didn’t push, pull or bully BJ around, it was quite obvious that Bucky was unlike any dog ‘she’ had yet to meet. It could be seen in his steely, unflinching
eyes, and when BJ got down on all fours to “talk” with him, it could be seen in
his stance that was unnervingly motionless, showing not a lick of emotion. That is, until our gender bending male
impersonate looked down and saw the gnarly, spider-veined length swaying
to-and-fro between his knees like a foot long Bratwurst.
“Oh gawd,” she
gulped, now knowing what that ‘talk’ with Bucky was
going to mean to her ass. But that’s
what she was here to do. What she’d
already done countless times before with Fluffy, then Blackie, and as she would
do now with Bucky to open up a dialogue with him, the
first step in establishing a “collaborative relationship.” Of course it was going to be hellishly
painful, and yes, she’d suffer. But he
also knew that the pain was something she had to endure if he wanted anything
positive to come from their dialogue.
That’s just the way it worked, and in her
mind’s eye it all made perfectly good sense.
But when she unlatched the cage door to crawl in, this time sans
underpants, the ‘good sense’ part of the equation somehow didn’t add up. Especially when she found herself nose to
cock, that throbbing foot-long monster already dribbling pre-cum on the floor
beneath her chin.
As that steely eyed dog just stood there
gawking, sizing her up, her eyes moistened when she thought about her beloved
Fluffy, and what it would mean when he got a whiff of the remnants of Bucky’s sperm that would surely still be dripping from her gaping
puss when she got home.
“Would it piss him off? Or would it excite him?” she wondered, like
it had last night when it was the remnants of he Blackie’s cum filled his
nostrils? An odor, a taste, that so
inflamed his passions that he fucked BJ three times over the course of the
night, the third time resulting in their almost getting caught. The time when ravaged by thirst, Fluffy ran
off to the kitchen to drink from his bowl, towing her along behind by his
knotted cock. All the way there, and all
the way back BJ was made to scurried quickly behind like a back-peddling spider
crab to lessen the pull on her puss, finding cover back in her room just as her
mother stepped out of the bathroom.
Yes, it had been a long and pain-ridden
night for BJ, as it probably would be again tonight once Fluffy got a whiff of Bucky’s tailings.
Just bringing it back to mind pained her as
much now as it did then, but when Bucky’s dripping,
drooling, throbbing cock on the spur, sprang up and slapped her across the face
with a wet sounding thud. It was
awakening to be sure, a warning as to what was to come.
And a true harbinger it turned out to
be. Beginning the moment Bucky jumped over her back and fired up the power-train. Then faster than a heartbeat, that rutting
dog struck her dead center, a hole-in-one.
And then, with his ‘hot rod’ fully embedded, fired up and ready, that
rutting dog revved up his engine, popped the clutch and pushed the pedal to the
metal – Vroom!
That first stroke drove her puss and knees
up off the floor, driving her forward until her face slammed up against the
metal bars. “Poof!” The impact plunged the air out of her lungs,
and 3/5ths of a second later, he was pounding her like a blackjack wielding
thug, his baton plunging down to the depths on every fucking stroke for 3, 5, 8
minutes nonstop and until, busting a nut, the brute howled like a coyote baying
at the moon.
“Talking to him, huh, boy?” Ms. Max
chuckled, finding BJ face to the floor and her puss hung up midair, still tied
to Bucky’s knot.
“Oh yeah, that is quite the silver tongue you got there girl. Talk to the animals, indeed!”
BJ looked up, but hadn’t the words to
speak. However, the tears were now gone,
and in their place was the glassy-eyed look of contentment. Like a girl basking in the sweet aftermath
after an excruciating ordeal, savoring the pleasures that followed once he’d
given up, given in and surrender to the suffering.
-----
The Rewards . . .
That night her beloved Fluffy did indeed
lock on to Becky’s smell the moment BJ waddled through the door. She hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep, but Fluffy
did manage to give her the previous night’s allotment of cock, plus another
back-peddling tow around her bedroom.
His bloated peach-size knot tied-in so tightly, it stretched out her
protruding vulva to their insufferable limit.
How she managed to survive the assault on her
puss she didn’t even know. It was but a
blur. What she ate, what she did, what she’d
said, or what it was about her underpants that troubled her mother so. Complaining as she was about her messy Jake-boy
undies, and if she didn’t take better care, she’d
haul out her girl undies again.
----
When she arrived at work the next morning
he was again taken aback by the visiting party that awaited him. Mrs. Olson, the owner was there, of
course. As was Ms. Max, but unlike Edith Olson, she chose to stand
back in the shadows quietly keeping to herself, privately holding close to his
vest all she’d seen, all that she knew.
Standing next to Edith Olson was Debra
Abernathy with Bucky at her side. To say she was astounded by the
transformation she saw in the dog would have putting it lightly. And when the somewhat bowlegged and slightly
hobbled BJ approached, she was giddy as a merrymaker singing his praises.
BJ earned 500 bucks for that fuck which
pleased Mrs. Olson all to hell, but not so much her. The whole affair left her with a nasty taste
in her mouth and feeling a little like a cheap whore. That is, until Mrs. Abernathy boldly
proclaimed she was going to do all she could to inform the world about the
“Safari Kingdom’s brilliant young dog whisperer.”
Debra Abernathy was just the woman who
could do it to. A titan in heels, she
not only had the influence and power, but had the wherewithal to push he agenda
through. So no one was the least bit
surprised when later that day a reporter and photographer turned up to get the
featured story that would appear in the morning edition of the Middletown
Gazette.
“A dog whisperer! My, but that does have an intriguing, if not
mysterious ring to it, young man.” The
reported, Alice McDuffy, said to BJ while scribbling
down her every word.
“Just the sort of thing that attracts the
public’s interest don’t you think, John?” she asked her accompanying
photographer who was busily seeking to capture ‘his’ image from every
angle.
“You can say that against,” the
photographer laughed while flashing a picture.
“This one leaves Mr. McConaughey’s alien
abduction story in the dust.”
-----
Once BJ’s story
hit the front page of the Morning paper it didn’t take long for the deluge of
inquiry to pour in. By
In short, business was smoking! It couldn’t have been better, and what of BJ? Well, her good fortune continued to rain
down upon her like diamonds from the heavens.
The biggest, bluest diamond of them all was offered up to her the next
morning when Mrs. Olson called BJ into her office.
In her hand she held up a can of Beefy-Boy
Chunks & Gravy dog food bearing a stylish new label. A prototype, the can of dog food had a
picture of him hugging a very contented looking Collie on the label. The whole of it designed to go with a new
marketing campaign that featured BJ as the spokesman for the product, the
slogan, “I Love it!” encapsulated in the speech bubble gushing out from her
lip-licking smile.
Now all she need do is sign the contact and
10 grand a month would be BJ’s for the duration of
the marketing campaign. Mrs. Olson was
darn right giddy over the offer, as BJ would have been if not for that idiotic
slogan that looked for all the world as if it were he who was declaring her
love for the taste of Beefy-Boy and not the Collie.
“But Sweet Pea,” Marge, her
mother tried to reassure her. “Aren’t
you always telling me how much Fluffy loves it?
And didn’t you once tell me you thought it would make a great hash to go
with your morning eggs?”
“Mommm!” she
gasped. “Dang! It was a joke, I was kidding!” She dismissed
her mom’s remark as just another air-headed comment, a spin-off from her bimboified, vacuous brain.
Still, she was right about one thing.
It was an unparalleled opportunity she couldn’t let pass. So with her mother standing at her side, she
signed on the dotted line.
At home everything was turning up roses for
him at well. His mother was treating BJ
like the star she had always dreamed of becoming. The fact is, she pampered her daughter silly,
and nightly at dinner, she’d endlessly play the News segment that had been
broadcast on local TV, featuring her/him as the “Remarkable Dog Whisperer, and her
wondrous talents.”
At work, Mrs. Olson was no less exuberant,
praising him ad nauseam and catered to his every whim. Not so with Ms. Max however. She remained as adamant as ever that BJ
avail himself to every opportunity to “talk” to the dogs. All done to establish a ‘collaborative
relationship’ you understand. A relationship in which each strived to meet the needs of the
other, and when necessary, broaden the lines of communication to address those
special needs between a dog and his bitch. A need for his services that seemed to be
expanding exponentially each day, thanks to Ms. Max’s keen observations and
astute analysis of the dog’s problem.
“Poor fella, just
have a look at him,” Ms Max would sum up her observations. “New place, new faces, everyone tugging on
him, no one listening to him, the poor guy really could use a hug and a good
‘talking to’ to set him out on the right foot.”
All of which made sense to BJ. The dog did look a bit unsettled and in need
of a little TLC. So as far as BJ was
concerned, Ms. Agnes Max’s observations and follow up analysis seemed pretty
solid. Where they differed was in his
prescribed remedy for the problem. A
solution that had BJ shaking in fright, wishing she’d never dreamt up all this dog whispering business. But with so much invested, and with nothing
less than her reputation at stake, there was nothing for her to do but follow
through on her commitment. Like now, as
Ms. Max brazenly asked BJ, the ‘him,’ to hand over his Jockey underpants
so he could give Thunder a “good talking to.”
“Come on, boy, crawl in and talk to the
poor bastard before he explodes. See
there, boy . . .,” she’d said, pointing at the howling, hyper-excited caged
goliath inside, his unsheathed cock already hanging down to his knees.
“Tis, tis, tis,
Oh my, how the poor boy suffers. But
I don’t have to tell you that, you already know the story; New dog, new place,
new faces, everyone tugging on him, no one listening to him. Poor boy, how agonizing!”
“The same with Dozer, poor devil, the wait
has just got’ta be killing him. First Clash, then Thunder, now Gunner. All I can say is,
that dog in going to be in a world of hurt by the time you get around to
talking to him. That is, unless you
wouldn’t mind holding another one of those group talks for the fellas again. You
know, to speed things up so Dozer doesn’t have to wait so long for his talking
to.”
“Well, what do you say boy, huh? Up for
it? Hell, I could even throw Bane into
the mix which ought to be a quadruple shit load of fun.”
----
A Mother’s Never-ending Wisdom . . .
It had been a long, hard, and brutal 8
hours of talking to the animals that day.
While BJ did manage to talk her way out of a tag-team cage match with
Bane topping the billing, she did do Dozer and Max by days end, making her walk
home a particularly agonizing one. Her
ass had not been altogether turned inside out, but as inflamed as it was, it felt a raging bonfire gone out of control. All the way home all she could think about was
a hot bath with added salts to help relieve the swelling, and hopefully, rid herself
of the funky smell of doggy spooge that stuck to her
like an indelible stain. A stain that had even infiltrated her clothes, and drew frequent
comments from her mother about the curious smell that permeated the air about her.
The thought of that hot bath is what kept
her slogging forward, with shoulders arched back, her hands clutching her
super-heated buns until reaching home where she found her mother waiting for her
with an unexpected surprise - a surprise that was tantamount to his worse dream
come true.
“Look, Baby Cakes, it’s
Bolt!” she said, bubbling with glee, standing as she was on the porch with both
Fluffy and the neighbors dog at her side.
“The Johnson’s asked us to look after him while they’re away on
vacation.”
BJ knew Bolt, of course. He wasn’t so much a family dog as he was a “pay
for hire gunslinger,” or so he was dubbed by Mr. Johnson, a man whose work
necessitated the need for a “bite-first-ask-questions-later” patrol dog around.
Still in all, he was a smart, well trained
dog and quick as a whip when it came to learning new tricks too. But he was also a dog with some serious
impulse control issues as well. Like
going after anyone that came near the yard, or whenever he spotted a bitch in
heat. Just a whiff would send his
unmanageability quotient rocketing skyward maddeningly off the charts. A big problem for a girl, circa boy, whose
bottom was still reeking the smell of dog cum and the
bitch scent that saturated the air about her.
“Mom, please, for goodness sakes, keep him away from me!” He stood his distance, though regrettably,
downwind of the trio, two of whom were already sniffing the air.
“My goodness, Lamb Chop, what in the world
is your problem?” she asked, wrinkling her nose, again getting a whiff of that
most peculiar smell. “You sound like
you’ve had a particularly hard day.”
“Just keep him away. It’s not fair to Fluffy,” he thought to use
his nightly bed-mate as an excuse. “Do
you think he likes having another dog around to gobble up all the goodies?”
“Well, Sugar Plum, for your information they’ve
been getting along like the best of pals so far. But if you foresee a problem that I don’t,
you can take them to your room to have a nice long talk with them. Take all the time you need, Sweetie. You know, to assure them no one is going to
favor one over the other, and that everyone has equal access to the goodies.”
“Mom, I could talk to that mean old dog
until I was blue in the face and he wouldn’t hear a darn word of it,” he said
in a huff.
“He isn’t mean, Cupcake, just
rambunctious. But either way, it’s for
you three boys to work it out,” she followed as she unclipped his leash setting
him free. In a single leap and a bound,
Bolt had BJ’s leg wrapped up in his front paws and
began humping his leg like a sex starved chimp.
“Oh my!” Marge Dunwoody
gasped though her hand covered mouth as she watched her mortified daughter, circa
son, shuffle off toward the house, dragging her leg
behind with the humping dog still attached.
And bringing up the rear was Fluffy, with his
tail and his cock each wagging equally enthusiastically.
“Well, I guess Ms. Max was right,” Marge
though to remind herself of what Ms Max told her on the phone. “A dog whisperer’s job is never done,
ma’am. But rest assured, your ‘son’ has got the skills, the talent and the
tools to get the job done. Just point
the way and in a minute, 2 tops, he’ll have them rambunctious horndogs locked onto him and tied in to the conversation
like chat-starved mates.”
Ms. Max was certainly the knowledgeable
professional, that much she felt certain.
And though much of what he had to say was scurrilously cryptic, Marge,
the ditzy blonde, saw it all as high praise for her hired help, aka, her gender bending daughter.
But then again, she really didn’t need
anyone to remind her of how proud she was of her daughter. She was a great kid who couldn’t give enough
of herself to those who needn’t her the most. Whether they had 4 legs or 2, no matter their
needs she was willing to get down in the muck and do what she must to engage in
a dialogue to help anyway she could.
Something that was foremost on her mind as
she entered the house a few moments behind the tussling trio, catching a
glimpse of the boys just as they passed through BJ’s
bedroom door. She would have liked to
follow, but thinking it best to keep out of the way, she remained where she
stood at the end of the hall with an ear to the goings on. “Just to see if everyone was playing nicely,”
she told herself, knowing as she did how ‘rambunctious’ a hound Bolt could be.
For what it was worth she didn’t hear much
of anything other than BJ must have been speaking in tongues. Just a mix of incoherent babblings and a
whole lot of “Ooh’s,” “Ahh’s,”
and “Eeee’s,” between. None of which made much sense to her at all.
The boys seemed quite tuned into it though,
responding to his incoherent rumblings with yaps and howls as if understanding
every damn word of it.
Still she stood and listened to see when
the real communicating would start. And
she hadn’t long to wait. A minute more
and the scuffing sounds of a playful romp between pals broke out. Again, she couldn’t discern all that much,
but from the sounds of huffing and snorting dogs, BJ’s
squealing and the “knocking” sounds of bodies colliding into furnishing, she
hadn’t a doubt that both man and beast were communicating on an altogether
different level.
“What fun,” she muttered doltishly, and not
unlike a brain-dead twit. Still, she
felt a comfort knowing the talk session was getting on so very well. “Something good would come of it,” Marge
determined, and now feeling assured, she thought it time to continue on to the
Living Room to enjoy the comforts of that glass of wine and the evening
sitcoms.
By the time “Tahitian Sunset” came on, that
glass of wine had suddenly grown to half a bottle. But no matter how many glasses she had,
nothing could drown out the squealing and barking and smacking sounds of body
parts that roared with a rumble throughout out the house. And by the gathering of neighborhood dogs
milling about outside the patio window, it was clear those boisterous sounds
were being heard outside the house as well.
Some were yapping, some were trying to hump a
neighborhood chum, while still others had their snouts pressed to the glass as
if sniffing out a scent.
“Sheesh!
Quiet you silly dogs,” she called out, sounding every bit the dimwit on
par with those know-nothing dogs.
Of course the scolding did little to deter
that horde of rabid dogs, but as the hours grew late and they grow weary they
vanished into the night on their own. In
fact, she was about to leave for bed herself when at last BJ hobbled in. Still walking bow-back with her/his hands
latched on to his super-heated buns, she-he hobbled over to the sofa and very
gingerly sat down beside her.
“Oh, poor baby, is your bottom hurting
you?” She asked, again sounding earnest and genuine, though still looking on doltishly,
and all too much like a moron who hadn’t a clue.
“Yes mom, a little I suppose,” she managed
to croak out.”
“Oh my, it sounds like you’re about to lose
your voice,” she expressed her concern.
“All that talking has worn you down, hum?” She asked as she wrapped her
arm around BJ’ shoulders to give ‘her- him’ a hug.
“Mom, please,” BJ said with a wince.
“Oh dear, but you do look stiff and
sore. You’ve had a rough day, haven’t
you, Pumpkin?”
“Yes mom, its like no matter how many dogs
there are for me to talk to, Ms. Max always has 10 more lined up waiting their
turn. It’s like never-ending, and all
that work isn’t at all easy on my knees or my back and ah, other things,” BJ
ended abruptly, a bit red-faced, looking away.
“Oh, my goodness. I had no idea Ms. Max was such a
taskmaster. Well, let’s see if I can
help relieve what ails you. Are you
hungry?
“I bought you your favorite onion soup and
sour dough croutons at the store today.
I know how much you love them.”
“Yes mama, that might help,” she said with
a wince while shuffling her bottom in effort to ease the pain.
“Good,” she beamed wide-eyed and bright,
and then bounced up and went to the kitchen to fix him a bite.
For a short while she busied herself with
the preparations and when done, she set the soup along with a card upon a tray
and brought it in.
“Oh yeah, almost forgot,” she said as she
sat down beside BJ, placing the tray upon her lap. “I bought you something else today too,” she
beamed while pointing to the card she’d placed on the tray.
“I saw this while standing in the checkout
line and thought it was so cute I simply had to buy it to show you.”
“Here you go, have a look,” she said,
holding out the card with a picture of a mama chipmunk with her young one
hanging on to her leg. As fat around as
she was tall, she had a pair of blue button eyes and fury brown splotches about
her snout that looked like freckles. But
most striking of all was her smile, fronted by a pair of huge buck teeth that
glistened like diamonds.
She was a funny looking roly-poly with a
goofy face that had BJ beaming as well, but when it came to that vicious little
Tasmanian Devil gangling down off her leg, well now,
that was another matter entirely. The
little fur ball that was one part fur and 9 parts teeth, and had all 20 of
those gleaming white choppers embedded in her leg, all but severing it in two!
“I don’t get it, mom.” BJ managed to cough
up, saying as much as he was asking, seemingly a bit perplexed by the odd
juxtaposition.
“Don’t get it?” She asked, pointing
at the words captured within the speech bubble.
“Yeah, I read it. ‘Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em’. So? What’s that suppose to mean?”
“Well, actually it’s kind of hard to
explain,” she said in earnest, now sounding more the meddlesome mother. “It’s one of those ‘good and the bad’ sort of
things. You know,
the yin and the yang, the pleasure and the pain. I mean, it’s like her baby means everything
to her. He’s more important to her than
the air she breathes, and nothing in the world gives her greater pleasure than
to tuck him in and give him a kiss in each and every night. But in order to enjoy that wondrous pleasure,
she had first to endure the pain he puts her through the day long. Thus she can’t live with him, and she can’t
live without him.”
Feeling reasonably comfortable with her
answer, she sat there beaming and waiting for the bulb in his head to light up
in kind. But it didn’t, and it wasn’t
until she saw his brows crease down still further that she thought to give up
on the wait.
“Well, I thought it was funny. But what does a young girl, er, boy, like you know about the pain, the suffering, the sacrifices we moms make just to share a moment of
pleasure with the one we love.
“Oh, I see,” BJ finally brightened up. “She’s saying that she might not like being
dumped on, but she’s willing to endure the shit he heaps on her because of all
that he gives to her.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s one way of
putting it. Another way might be the way
you choose to deal with all the aches and pains and misery that are a
by-product of your work. Rather than
tell Ms. Max to ease up on your butt, you say nothing and endure the torment
regardless, simply because you ‘get off on’ her busting your butt.”
“Get off on!” A troubling
phrase to be sure, and the fact that she chose to use it caused BJ to worry.
She looked questioningly at her mama, but she
couldn’t get herself to meet her eyes.
So worried over what her mama might know, nowhere was the courage to
face her. It would have been tantamount
to looking her own demons in the eye. Something she couldn’t do. Something she dare not do without in the
bargain, losing the one thing she wanted most.
The thing she both feared and by equal measure, longed for - That sweet
aftermath that followed the suffering she/he endured.
Or, as her mother’s card expressed so
elegantly: “The thing ‘she’
couldn’t live with, the thing ‘he’ couldn’t live without!”
“Well, you might not want to speak up and
tell Ms, Max she’d better lighten up, but I can and will.”
“No mama, please don’t!” she cried out, all
but shedding the tears.
“Why not, Baby
Cakes? Is all that hard, butt-busting work you do
talking some sense into those know-nothing dogs worth the all the agony?”
“Mom, I, ah, I ah . . . , “she stammered
and fretted and wrestled with her feeling, trying to find a way to explain it
all away. “Mom, I’m really not all that
sure. I’m thinking maybe it’s sort of
like that card,” she said, pointing at the mama chipmunk. “That pleasure and pain thing you were
talking about. Where the mama chipmunk
can’t live with it, can‘t live without it.”
“Well, I guess there’s a little of that in
me too. Sometimes it hurts so bad I feel
like I’m being ground down to dust. But
afterward . . ., Oh mama, when the dog and I find a way to communicate our
wants, needs, and desires between one another, there’s nothing I would trade
for it in all the world. “It just ties it all together for me in a way
that makes me feel whole.”
“Oh my,” she gasped, “I wouldn’t have
thought. But then what do I know about
such things. Alright I’ll leave it for
you and Ms. Max to settle on your own.
In the mean time, I think it’s time I haul out the rubbers again. Having to replace your ruined undies is putting a strain on my pocketbook. Plus, they’re light yet aerate enough to keep
your button fly Jeans dry when rolling around in the muck talking with those
dogs.”
“Thanks, mama,” she again said with a wince
while lifting her bottom to easy the pain - the some total of his day’s work
with Thunder, Clash, Gunner, Dozer and Max at work, and Bolt and Fluffy at
home.
“You’re welcome Honey Bunny,” she offered a
motherly smile.
“Now tell me, will Bolt, our guest for the
week be sleeping inside or out tonight?”
“Mom, I don’t think Bolt is going to sleep
outside, not now,” she said, rolling her eyes, where upon hearing his name,
Bolt, with Fluffy following came prancing into the room with their dicks
swinging, and tongues wagging.
And then, in less than it took for BJ to embrace
her mother’s look of awe, Bolt jumped up and began humping her leg.
“Sorry, mom,” but
Bolt and Fluffy need to talk.”
“Oh my,” her mother sighed. “I guess you’re right. He’ll be staying inside tonight.”
“Yes, mom, I’m afraid a Dog Whispers job is
never done . . .”
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Das Ende
Hunsi
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