Message-ID: <10583eli$9804231413@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
From: InfiDreams <InfiDreams@aol.com>
Subject: Spot the Wonder Mutt (humor/fun with pets)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit
Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <69e2f6bd.353f5f68@aol.com>


All right, the usual warning here.  If you're under the age of 18
(or 21, if that's the law where you live), kindly just close this message
and don't read any further.  This story contains lots of descriptive sexual
acts that may or may not be possible in the real world.  It is an original
work of fiction; any resemblance to persons or animals, living or wormfood,
is purely coincidental.  Hey kids, I already told you to stop reading this - 
it's not for you.  Go read Shel Silverstein.  Sigh, no one ever listens to 
me anyway. Darned kids.

If reading about acts of puppy love in the literal sense disturbs, disgusts 
or otherwise just makes you wanna hurl your cookies out the window, I 
suggest you should erase this message.  On the other hand, if you prefer 
twisted humor, no matter how verbose, keep reading...

Also, let's be clear about this. Archiving of the story is OK. But 
charging money for it (including charging for access to any archived 
copies) isn't cool. Needless to say, giving me credit for the story is 
not an option. This work is copyrighted by the author subject to the 
above stated conditions. (Thanks to Crimson Dragon for this paragraph,
which I blatently stole because I couldn't come up with anything better)

No, I've never actually had any experience with animals having sex, save 
for the gorillas at the zoo and the cats on the lawn, geesh, what kind of 
perv do you think I am, anyway?

In any case, I welcome any reviews/comments/criticism.


-- Infinite Dreams (infidreams@aol.com OR houseslut@hotmail.com)

-----


  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 extraordinaire, 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 runaway 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


-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |