June choked and sputtered for a single, long-held moment as the scalding hot gushes of sticky dog-cum burst in thick jets forward into the confines of her openly sucking mouth. And then she saw her pet shudder along his entire muscular length, his fur glistening and shiny with satisfaction. She choked, gasped and swallowed with delirious happiness to have this most ultimate of tributes from the dog she loved. And then his soft deflated penis began slipping with a lewd wet sucking sound from between her cum covered pink lips, a thin string-like trickle of white still connecting them together. The hollows of her throat worked for long moments afterwards, swallowing in great gulps the searing hot sperm he had flooded into her throat.
And then her nostrils flared, and she could feel the warm, glowing ball of fire in her loins begin to expand again. Caressing his testicles, the twelve year old blonde moved upward over Brute's powerful furry body in order to mingle her tongue with his in an orgy of unnatural French kissing. Brute lapped hungrily at her mouth and face as her warm firm breasts spread out over his hairy body. Her long blonde hair waved over him caressingly as she moved around over the exhausted German shepherd.
And now, she thought with some surreal satisfaction, it's my turn, my darling…
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dora had stayed out longer than usual doing her shopping due to the fact that she had run into Jane Hammond, her old school friend and former member of the Evanston Women's Club before she had so mysteriously let her membership lapse. But the fact that Jane seemed to have cut herself off from her old associations didn't bother Dora. Indeed, she was anxious to hear what Jane had been up to. When one didn't see a friend for so long, naturally all sorts of juicy and interesting gossip built up inside which wasn't adequately released in the interim and could be used, justifiably now, for the purpose of lingering over a long coffee in Cantor's Delicatessen next door to DelFarm Foods.
So that when Dora had lingered over the vegetables in DelFarm, pushing her shopping basket ahead of her listlessly, her mind churning confusedly over the problem of her husband's supposed infidelity, unable to concentrate, the sight of Jane Hammond at the next shopping basket had served delightfully to break her loose from her general feeling of helplessness and inability to cope.
Immediately the two women gushed all over each other and chattered away like magpies. Dora's immediate feelings of marital discontent vanished with the first word, and when Jane suggested that they go next door to Cantor's and cut the grocery shopping short, the redheaded housewife immediately consented. They proceeded to the checkout counter with haste, and afterwards threw everything into the backs of their cars in hopelessly disorganized fashion. Now, seated in Cantor's over cups of steaming hot coffee, gazing around occasionally at the furious bustle and chatter of people around them, they concentrated mostly on their own conversation.
It seemed ages since Dora had been so relaxed in the company of someone else, or indeed even taken the time out for a nibble in the delicatessen. Cantor's was just not a place that she frequented usually. The ultra-loud voices she usually encountered in Cantor's served ordinarily to give her a slight touch of migraine. Cantor's was not the sort of place she could ordinarily relax in. It was a big, square building made up in semi-neo-Jewish, modern-American with lights that were usually too bright, decorating and furnishings too garish, and aisles too clustered and active to adequately leave one at ease. And every ten seconds, from where they sat, came the splattering sound of the men behind the counter with their knives and white aprons serving up yet one more millionth corned beef sandwich on rye. It was Jewish paradise for anyone who liked that sort of thing.
Yet now, gabbling away excitedly with her long-disappeared friend, all Dora's disquiet left her and she noticed nothing else around her. The garish surroundings and ambiance of Cantor's did not intrude. Relaxing with Jane also loosened a flood of hunger messages from her stomach and brain, and she allowed herself to be coaxed into ordering as well a "nice" bowl of hot chicken soup with matzo balls and she ate, and ate. And when she finished the first bowl she ordered another. Very soothing and warm it was.
"But we haven't seen you in so long, dear!" she gushed, sipping her soup and knocking a bit a dark russet hair back from her eye.
"I know," said Jane, with an unusual confident air for Jane. "Jack and I just seem to have shifted our circle of friends in the last year somehow. Did you miss us? Say you did."
"You know we have," Dora laughed. "But all the girls at the club have been wondering about you, and asking me about you. Somehow they always assumed that you and I were the closest of friends, and that I'd always know what you were up to. But of course, I had to tell them that I hadn't known a thing."
Jane smiled. There was a slightly superior air about her which Dora now perceived and found difficult to define. Could this really be Jane? Who had always been the least confident in their whole crowd? Dora had the distinct impression that something cataclysmic had happened which had served to change Jane's entire life – or life style. What was it about her which she found so instinctively unsettling and disturbing? Was it that unearthly glow of satisfaction which seemed to persistently suffuse her attractive brunette features? That look of supreme confidence and ease in another woman which was usually traceable only to a total satisfaction derived from recent sexual adventure?
Dora looked her old girl friend up and down. There was a change about Jane. A change which she had at first noticed only slightly in the thrill of their first meeting, but which now presented itself strongly for her attention and demanded that it be commented upon.
But what was it, exactly? Certainly Jane had never previously allowed herself to wear her hair long, so long almost all the way down her back to her waist. Fluffy and thick, the kind of shining black hair any man would itch to run his hands through as if it were money. Formerly Jane had always worn her hair tied up severely in a ponytail. Dora couldn't remember when she had ever seen it down since they had entered high school together.
Then there was the fact of her general posture. Her breasts seemed to swell out more voluptuously somehow. In the past there had always been a general impression that Jane was just a little embarrassed by their comment-attracting size and alluring shape, but now she seemed to hold herself proudly, thrusting her chest out as if they clamored for attention. Which they did. Because the outfit she was wearing – a navy blue suit with a sizable open "vee" containing a bright white sweater – had obviously been tailored exactly to her mature, well rounded contours, so that every last proportion – full, flaring hips as well as tiny waist – was emphasized to the nth degree for maximum sexiness. That was not at all like the old Jane, who had usually showed up for club meetings all frumpy as if fresh from a rummage sale dressing room.
And her face? What she done to it? Blue shadows on her eyelids, long false eyelashes, soft rose in her cheeks, pink lipstick covered with lip ice that worked around and over the real edges of her pretty bowed lips in an indefinably sensual way. Was this Jane Hammond, who crossed her lengthy, meaty thighs to show off her shapely knees, her skirt pulling all the way up to the top to reveal frilly white panties which did little to conceal the dark shadowy triangle of pubic hair beneath?