Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Old Song.  How much is that doggy in the window?  bark, bark The one with
the waggley tail?  bark, bark How much is that doggy in the window?  bark,
bark I do hope that doggy's for sale.  bark, bark

   A Puppy for Christmas

   By SafeWord

   She sat at the small table in their breakfast nook, idly leafing though
advertising flyers.  The pile this week, exceptionally thick, Christmas
being, just around the corner.  It didn't really seem much like Christmas
to her.  Looking out the window far down onto the warm sands of Miami Beach
below, she could just see small groups of bathers trying to keep cool on
this ever so hot day.  She smiled to herself, imaging people, back in New
England, out bathing in late November, a chilling thought.  But she sighed
also, she missed snow though.  Snow and Christmas were intertwined, in her
mind.

   Returning to her search, she picked up another glossy flyer.  A grocery
store ad this one, pictures of fat turkeys, legs spread in obscene display,
stuffed with dressing.  She made a mental note to pick up a small one for
the two of them.  She set aside the flyer and selected another.  She was
looking for a gift for her husband.  It was their first Christmas, she
wanted to give him something, really special.  Unfortunately, she had no
idea at all, what he wanted.  He didn't seem to need anything, he had lots
of clothes and a nice car and the apartment needed nothing.

   A pot lid on the stove rattled and she looked over, watching, making
sure the potatoes weren't boiling over.  He liked mashed potatoes, but they
were still hard, too hard to mash.  That worried her, he was coming home
today and he liked his dinner ready, insisted on it.

   Turning the pages she noticed that the arm of her dress had a dangling
thread.  Twirling it on her finger she tucked it up her sleeve.  She really
should change.  It was her favorite old house dress.  A cool, light, almost
see though, wisp of cloth, that she had been wearing all day.  Fussing
around, cleaning, straightening the apartment.  She wanted everything
spotless and perfect, for him.

   A pet store ad, caught her eye.  A sad looking little puppy with long
floppy ears and big brown eyes, stared at her.  He was adorable, she
wondered if her husband would like one?  An image passed though her mind of
her husband coming home and their puppy running up to greet him.  Dashing
madly round and round his legs, yapping and yipping in feverous excitement.
Then piddling all over the floor!  Well, she thought, maybe not, perhaps a
Cocker Spaniel, a quieter breed, might be better?

   She glanced up at the wall clock, darn, 4:30 already, he'd be home soon,
she had to hurry, freshen up, slip on something really sexy.  She'd missed
him a lot this week, like every week.  He was only able to get home on the
weekends, his crew was rebuilding a bridge, way down the Florida Keys, much
too far to commute.

   But time, running faster than her thoughts, foiled her.  The apartment
door opened as her husband entered.  Seeing him, as always, her heart
paused in mid beat.  He was so tall, so blond and so dammed handsome. 
Tossing his battered hard hat into the closet, he gave her that smirky
little smile, she loved so much.

   She stood and turned, watching as he crossed the room.  His tee shirt
was strained tight on his wide chest.  Across it a dark ban of moisture ran
from nipple to nipple and down to his flat tummy.  His arms were grey, the
hair on them coated with fine concrete dust.  A working man was her
husband, hard and strong, her man.  She lifted her arms to embrace him, she
wanted to touch him, feel his heat, taste his sweet manly perspiration, her
own personal salt lick.

   But smiling down at her, he gently held her away, leaning over, to kiss
her forehead.

   "I need a shower, honey, I'll be right out." "Dinners ready." "In a sec,
shower first." "There's cold beer in the fridge, shall I . . ." .  "Later,
hon, later."

   She watched as he strode down the hall.  His huge arms working to strip
the wet shirt over his head, off him.  His broad back muscles, glistened
with moisture, rippled with power.  Her eyes slid down to his tight
backside but as he entered the bathroom, her strip treat, ended.

   Disappointed, she turned to the stove, hurrying now, quickly setting the
table, frantically searching though drawers for that darn potato masher. 
She was still searching, when a whiff of steam seemed to cross her nose. 
Turning her head, he was standing in the doorway, a fluffy towel draped
over his shoulders, nothing else.  That big smirky smile was on his face,
and a much bigger erection, revealed his thoughts.  He stood posing for
her, his manhood, in full display, a rearing King Cobra, desire manifest.
Her knees weakened.

   "But supper is . . ." "It can wait."

   Slowly motioning his head in the direction of their bedroom, he turned
and walked down the hallway.  His bare feet slapping down on the hardwood
floor, leaving big wet footprints, a trail, for her to follow.  She checked
that the burners were off and covered the pots, she started to hide the
flyers also but his impatient voice called out.

   "Hon?" "Coming."

   She pushed the pet store ad into the pile and hurried down the hallway.
Her plans for the evening, her thoughts, all in disarray.  Worrying about
his wet footprint's staining the floor, worrying about his supper getting
cold, worrying that the landlord would not allow them to have a dog,
worrying that she hadn't had time to freshen up.

   Entering the bedroom, by the bed, he waited for her, still exhibiting
his arousal.  She started to protest that she needed a moment to . . . 
some time to . . .  but, with a kiss, he shushed her protests.  Turning her
body to face the bed, his fingers skipped down her spine, dress buttons
flying open in their wake.  Slipping her dress down off her shoulders to
her waist, he reached around her, cupping her now naked, exposed breasts in
his huge warm hands.  Her nipples rose in erection as his hands gentled and
stroked, her breasts, her flanks, her tummy.  Easing her distress, easing
her mind and with ease, lifting her up and setting her down, on all fours,
on their bed.  Close behind her, he flipped her dress up, unto her back,
his hand, a finger tip, blushed lightly over her mound, thru her groove,
thrilling her.  Her panties were pulled, slid down to her knees and off. 
His springy hardness bluntly, blindly, poked at her and she waited for his
entry but no, not yet.

   She was not quite, as he wished her.  Reaching over with both arms, he
drew her wrists back, behind her, securing them with gently, but firmly
with her dress belt.  Her face now pressed to the bedspread she smiled at
the betrayal by her favorite cloth, at the mental image of her, a trussed
turkey ready for ceremonial Christmas sacrifice, at the game.  This, their
little game.  He often wanted her this way, took her this way, seeming
reluctant, seemingly protesting.  Until she was tamed, quieted and lightly
bound.  Docile and dependent on him for blissful release of any kind.  She
shivered in helpless anticipation.

   Anticipation quickly rewarded, his hot hands grasped her hips firmly and
he pushed his penis forcefully in her softness.  Still not fully moist
enough to receive him easily, his size stretched her.  Tiny sparkles of
pain brought a silent gasp into her mouth.  But her husband's lust quickly
inflamed hers and by his third plunge.  He slid easily, deep within her,
touching her womb.

   She closed her eyes, in mindless enjoyment of sensation, his organ,
sliding into and out of, her little center of love and life.  Her arms, the
bindings, awoke thoughts, wicked fantasies.  Scenes of being naked, tied,
helpless, as a large stranger plunged into her, used her.  While others
stood around, watching, laughing, awaiting their turn at her.  Her husband
thrusts became quicker more violent, increasing her excitement.  Panting,
her breath quickened, matching his pace.  Her thoughts of him, only of him,
his hardness, his filling of her, of all, of her.

   Inspiration and ecstasy flashed in her brain, she knew now, what to get
him, what he would want, not a puppy.

   Oh No, not a puppy . . .  just the leash, and a collar.  She wanted him
to place it, wanted to feel it, a collar, his collar around her neck. 
Images of wearing one, as she was being taken, caused her to climax and she
whimpered out in heaven sent waves of pleasure.

   Above her, her husband heard her gentle cries and knowingly smiled.  As
her spasming womb milked him of his seed, his blissful spending, he
marveled that they always came, simultaneously, in this position.  Their
favorite position, doggy style.
   SafeWord 2003 Copyrite by the writer.