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From: Infinite Dreams <infidreams@aol.com>
Subject: Spot The Wonder Mutt (humor/fun with pets)
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The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults.  If you
are 
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic 
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now.  The
story 
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible
areas 
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author 
make any guarantee.  You should be aware that the story might raise
other 
matters that you find distasteful.  Caveat lector;  you read at your own 
risk.

The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this 
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in 
any way.  In most cases, the author will have further notices of
copyright 
below.  If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as 
well.  

This is an original work of erotic fiction, written by myself, a few
years ago, and recently found lurking on an old diskette I had laying
around. Comments are extremely welcome.

Thanks, and enjoy!


---


  Spot, the Wonder Mutt, lopes through the master bedroom; hot on his
trail is an angry human wielding a rolled up newspaper, screaming its
fool head off and pointing to a messy glop of gooey brown lumps on the
spotless white carpet.  Just as Spot is cornered, whimpering noisily,
between the bed and the wall, and the disgusted typical couch potato
male with greasy shirt and paint-splattered jeans swings the sizeable
newspaper down on the poor dog's nose, all action ceases; a drop-dead
gorgeous model in a tight pink minidress, large boobs, and no
personality, calmly walks in with a meticulously groomed French Poodle
carrying a roll of miniaturized toilet- paper with ribbon-wrapped bone
designs in its teeth; an air of superiority reeks on both the high-class
woman and the pedigree pooch.

  "_Sophisticated_, well-trained dogs use AKC Canine Wipes to protect
from those disgusting, unsightly accidents," the bleach blonde covergirl
declares to the camera, a haughty expression on her face, her hands on
her hips, and her chest jutting forward arrogantly.  Fifi, the poodle,
smirks at the camera, obviously indifferent to these lower-class peons
she's forced to endure this commercial with, and sits down daintily at
her mistress' feet.

  _Real dogs don't give a shit, lady._  Spot mutters, cackling wolfishly
at his own stupid joke.

  Roger Bartlett, lower middle class unemployed slob, stares at the
woman and the poodle, uncomprehendingly uncertain on how these two
goddess-like beings so casually strolled into his rather scrungy,
thrashed master bedroom with unmade bed and dirty underwear sprawled
about in that professionally inept and untidy manner so common to the
masculine gender; and does the smart, cowardly thing - he faints,
falling face first against the wall, cracking his nose into the plaster,
causing a thin rivulet of blood to trickle down to his upper lip,
sliding eventually to the floor almost soundlessly, the jangle of
assorted keys and coins interrupting the silence as they slide from the
pockets of the inert man.

  ( * Ouch, that _had_ to hurt! * ) O o . erupts in cartoon-like
balloonish thought above the shaggy head of Spot, the Wonder Mutt,
immediately springing into action against these two unwelcome
intruders.  The midsized multi-colored beast pounces on the startled
french poodle and devours her in one messy, blood-squirting,
bone-crushing gulp.  As soon as Spot's throat propels the last lagging
leg of the hapless pedigree into his bulging stomach, he springs towards
the terrified bitch (the model, not the poodle), knocking her onto the
bed face down, bent in half at the waist, legs spread wide and her
slinky minidress now hiked up onto her waist, exposing her exquisitely
round, perfect bare ass to the world, the viewers, and God.

  Spot, unable to pass up this picture-perfect scenario, sticks his wet
nose between her legs, and gooses the woman's crotch,making her jump
slightly. Cheryl LaCreem, fashion model extra-ordinaire, AKC
spokeswoman, and owner of a really putrid stage name, flutters slightly
on the bed, reacting only marginally to these most recent events which
have overthrown her beliefs in all that is right and proper in this
world, instead showing her that life just ain't explicitly about
expensive foreign sportscars; luxury yachts; and quiet nights spent in
her Greenwich Village loft inhaling Breyer's French Vanilla ice cream
and having passionate, orgasmic escapades with Morgie, her oversized,
_very_ well-endowed, anatomically correct, yet extremely fluffy and soft
midnight blue, 9.6 volt battery powered teddy bear, which by some weird
coincidence, was also machine washable, hold the starch.

  Deciding that the model just wasn't about to leap up and run away
screaming like most silly females he's ever run into in his long tenure
as an ill-behaved, unhousebroken 'Worst of Wurst County's Animal
Shelter' (3 years running) creature, human and canine alike, Spot
further explores the untamed, hairless patch between her legs, delving
his long, rough purple tongue between the labial lips, constantly
flicking the puffy pinkish lobes about as if they were monarch
butterflies playing tag in a hurricane.

  _Interesting flavor,_ the mutt admits, and shrugs his furry shoulders,
propelling his triangular, black splotched muzzle further into her
crotch, drinking up more of the unusual-tasting liquid trickling from
the slightly gaping hole near the middle; and he is soon flailing his
tongue hungrily into her as he finally realizes that he hasn't had any
water in quite a long time.

  _Typical uncaring homosapiens!_ wanders through his mind, but is
promptly lost in the myriad of thoughts rampaging through hisdoggy
brain: the last of the great yellow fire hydrants; thatstupid, yet
utterly vicious pitbull terrier on the corner of 4th and Broadway; his
favorite rawhide bone; that screaming yellow fire hydrant; his first
taste of cheap American beer from his last master; watching Pluto make
an ass out of Donald Duck; ohhh, that fire hydrant, ohhh my...

  A muffled moan expels those delicious daydreams from his mind, and his
sensitive ears alerts him to the soft whimpers issuing from the
semi-conscious female under him.  Through all this time, his tongue
never stops that continuous lapping, slurping hersweet juices as it runs
down her now-soaked crotch, nearly mechanically.  Spot raises his head,
as if to yawn, and his huge, floppy tongue makes contact with her
clitoris, albeit innocently, eliciting a piercing cry of pleasure to
explode from Cheryl's lips.  "Ohh god yeeessss, Morgie, do me!" she
cries, lost in a fantasy world of her own, bucking her pelvis against
the dumbfounded canine's face.  "Lick my clitty like only you know
how....ummmmm yyyeaahhh!"

  The dog growls, baring his teeth, unwittingly grazing them across her
joy button and sending her into a tumultuous, exceedingly sensuous
orgasm, spiralling up into the heavens, in an eruption of fracturing
prisms across the spectrum of visible and ultraviolet light, as if a
deluxe box of Crayola crayons exploded and rained down multicolored
taffyish wax throughout her entire world.  Her once inert form heaves
and quivers, her limbs jerking this way and that involuntarily, her
breath coming out in harsh, quavering gasps, and her come spilling from
her snatch, drenching the amazed animal with that sticky-sweet juice
that he laps up frantically else he drown from the onslaught.  
  
  After extensive, prolonged, noisy slurping, Spot pauses, his enormous
tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, not only to catch his breath
but also to decipher the event he's been a not-quite-willing participant
in.  The thoughts die, however, as he reaches down to nip an errant flea
from his bluish grey coat, and then gives his furry penis the once over
with his tired tongue, cleaning it and generally just making him feel
warm and fuzzy all over.

  Acting primarily on instinct, and admittedly quite a bit of horniness,
Spot leaps up onto the prone woman, and rests his massive paws on her
upper back, placing himself in just the right position for his next
trick.  Wriggling his fuzzy butt from side to side, he finds the
entrance and thrusts forward roughly, spearing her with his non-pedigree
pooch penis which, once flaccid, soon expands into a gigantic shaft that
even the mighty Cerebrus would be envious of.  Slamming his rigid member
deep inside her, Spot rides Cheryl roughly, his immediate surroundings
fading to black as he focuses only on this mounting excitement pulsing
through his loins.

  Cheryl, slumbering fitfully in a post-orgasmic haze, awakens with a
start, shrieking in a mixture of delirious arousal laced with a tinge of
pain as the fleshy, furry lance grinds deep inside her womb.  "Ummm,
yesssss ohhhh yessss..." she whispers brokenly, thoroughly excited by
this unexpected intrusion into the furthest reaches of her overstretched
snatch.  "Fuck meee, Morgiiieee, harder ummmm yessss ohhhh mmmmmphmmm,"
her words lost in the ecstasy she's found herself in, matching the rapid
thrusting of the nearly rabid dog behind her, blissfully unawareof the
froth bubbling down his muzzle and splattering on her flawless backside
while he pumps his mammoth mongrel meat as far inside her as he can
possibly manage.

  A shrill squeal of pure, undiluted rapture, caught in her throat for a
mere moment, explodes into the still night air, easily overcoming the
squelching and slurping noises of their combined lovemaking, not to
mention all other sounds for threecity blocks, shattering windows and
enticing every car alarm in the neighborhood to add to the destructive
dissonance.  Cheryl claws at the filthy comforter that's sprawled on the
bed, her long but utterly fake fingernails snapping off against the
rough, uneven surface of the mattress, and her huge breasts with their
stiff, extremely sensitive nipples rubbing painfully back and forth into
the bed, her wicked gyrations plunging the two lovers ever further into
the abyss of orgasmic ecstasy.

  Neither of them speak: one for obvious reasons, the other because
words cannot define this euphoric state she finds herself in, vaginal
muscles clenching the shaft tightly inside her and massaging it towards
that final expression of fulfilled love and desire.  Spot whines
crazily, never in his short life has he experienced such blind arousal
and intense delight; unable to hold out much longer, he thrusts
haphazardly, slamming himself into her - harder and faster and rougher
than he believed possible; his untrimmed nails scratching long, deep
furrows along her spine, and the typical ever-present strand of doggy
drool hangs from his face, flapping back and forth as his massive head
swings from side to side.

  Spot, the Wonder Mutt, howls in the throes of passion, Cheryl adding
to the canine cacophony with her own excited yelps, as they reach their
individual climaxes at the same time, yet join together as one voice,
their bodies overwhelmed by this erotic furnace that ruptures from
within each of them, and the two species are as one for this brief
interlude, before finally falling back, exhausted... and separate.

  Time passes quickly, as the two lovers recuperate, the human female
dozing peacefully and the canine male gathering his strength for his
next important mission.

  The cold, wet tongue of Spot, tickling her nose, slowly bring sher
back to consciousness, and she sits up slowly, stretching and twisting
to further bring her back to reality.  "Mmmm, thank you, Morgie, that
was..." is all she's able to say, opening her eyes to look lovingly into
the unblinking black marble orbs of what she assumes to be her faithful
teddy bear, and stares in unmitigated shock as the grey-green eyes of
the Wonder Mutt's gaze.

  Cheryl quickly glances around the room, the surroundings familiar yet
not quite, as her darling, sweet, loveable bear is nowhere in evidence,
and only this ragged, pathetic looking mutt, and some slob with a bloody
nose passed out on the rug in attendance.  She shifts a bit, the
throbbing soreness from her recent sexual escapade coming back to her
all at once.  A hoarse, uncertain scream bubbles from her lips as she
finally realizes the events of the day, and what actually happened, "OH
MY FUCKING GOD!!!!!"

  Unfortunately for the frazzled fashion model, it only comes out as a
harsh whisper, her voice lacking any of the true power she's famous for
in her tantrums.  She looks at the dog, and he stares up at her, soulful
eyes pleading, pleading for some mercy, scared shitless at the show of
anger in her every expression.  Somehow, sensing the trembling animal's
unease and obvious panic, she releases the tension in the air, taking a
deep lungful of oxygen and expelling it slowly, until all the built-up
fury withdraws from her body and soul.

  Finally calm inside and out, she inspects her most recent lover,
taking in the white muzzle speckled with black spots, his grey head and
throat, and the blue-grey tone of the rest of his body - except for that
one black patch on his right hind leg that resembles a leg warmer. 
Licking her lips, she also stops to glance at the glistening, hirsute
penis that juts up at her.  Unable or unwilling to forget that delicious
feeling of being completely filled, she grins at the dog, and pulls it
closely to her chest, embracing the startled pooch in a bearhug of epic
proportions that nearly, but not quite, matches her bra size.

  "How would you like to come home with me, you gorgeous mongrel? I'll
feed you, and give you a great home.  Not to mention, I won't have to
spend a fortune on those stupid battery packs. What do you say to that,
baby?"

  Spot, the Wonder Mutt, jumps to his feet and bounces around her,
jiggling the bed as if it were a pool full of lime green jello, licking
her face sloppily.  He tilts his great big fuzzy head at her, and opens
his mouth wide, barking loudly.  _I have to pee._

  "I knew you'd love it, Spot!  Oh god, I've not been so happy in a
long, long time!"  The dog continues to bark; sharp, quick yelps that
echo across the room, nearly drowning Cheryl out when she asks, "Isn't
this just fabulous?"

  Spot, the now-loved Wonder Mutt, replies in his normal, loud fashion,
_I really, really have to pee._  Cheryl grins at her new-found playmate
scampering across the room, and nods her head at him.

  Spot, the Wonder Mutt, shrugs his fluffy shoulders, and does so,
lifting his leg and relieving himself where he stands - which just
happens to be on the face of the unconscious man on the floor, who wakes
up when the first streams of yellow liquid spurt downwards, also
splashing into the poor man's mouth as he opens it to scream a protest. 
Sickened and horrified, Roger Bartlett faints once more, his head
smacking the floor with an obviously hollow thump, urine still
splattering like rain upon the makeshift fire hydrant.

  _Ahhhh... I'm in love,_ the dog mutters to himself, and trots back to
the bed.

Copyright (c) by author
Kevin E. Wagner
June 1994
infidreams@aol.com
houseslut@hotmail.com


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