("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Spot the Wonder Mutt by Kevin E. Wagner (1994) *** 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. (MF, beast, humor) *** 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 mini-dress, 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 cover girl 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 mini- dress 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 sports cars; 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, un- housebroken '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 his doggy brain: the last of the great yellow fire hydrants; that stupid, 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 her sweet 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. She moans 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 unaware of 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 three city 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 her 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 bear-hug 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. END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 68