Then his cock went off, blowing a great sticky wad of dog-cum into her mouth and throat and Stella drank it down and enjoyed every drop. As soon as she had milked him dry, his prick shrank enough so that she could spit it out.
She did so.
Then, inspired, she popped the dog's prick right back into her mouth and sucked it some more, just to make sure she got every available drop of cum out of that huge cock and balls.
The woman smiled happily.
Where on earth had the dog learned a trick like that?
But Stella had learned a new trick, herself.
And after that, whenever Brutus was kind enough to lap her cunt to cream, Stella followed up by drinking a load of dog-cum. And they lived happily ever after.
The two lusty women who had taught the dog that wonderful new trick had finished sucking each other off again, and now they were starting to have qualms and twinges of guilt about their outrageous behavior. When they had been so horny, it hadn't seemed so wicked to suck and fuck with each other, and with the boy and with the dog – for lust mitigated most guilt. Now, however, with their cunts finally cooled off, they were starting to feel that they had done a really naughty thing.
"I don't suppose we should do it again," Veronica said.
"No – you're probably right," Linda agreed.
"Still, when we get the hots again – well, it's the men's fault, really, for leaving us unfucked."
"That's true as long as they never find out what we did, or what we might do in the future."
"Anyhow," reasoned Veronica, "if they hadn't gone to that donkey show, it never would have happened."
The girls felt justified by that logic.
In fact, they would have felt even more justified, had they known what Hank and Billy were doing at the moment…
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As visiting dignitaries of the world of petroleum, Hank Suchard and Billy Watson had been invited to a barbecue at the home of the mayor that afternoon. They hadn't been sure if they should go. For one thing, they figured that, any sort of shindig put on by the mayor would have to be sort of boring but, more important, they were afraid that they might disgrace themselves by suddenly getting hard-ons in public. Not the sort of thing a big oil man is expected to produce.
Ever since they had seen the girl fucking the donkey, both of the Texans had been totally unable to control their pricks. Hard-ons came at random and for no apparent reason – and refused to go away unless jacked off – which was a thing that Texans did not do. Not in public, anyhow. Out in the field, looking at a pump operating, Billy had been reminded of burro-prick by the steady rise and fall, and the front of his trousers had jutted out instantly, alarming the field crew who were with him because, being well-trained men, they thought he was bringing in a geyser. Later, they had laughed at him, to his abject mortification.
It had been no better for Hank.
Studying oil samples he had imagined a sudden flash of donkey-cum, thick and hot as the heated oil, and his cock had thrust up big as one of the test tubes in the lab.
The two men discussed this problem of the instant, unexpected hard-on and wondered how long the condition would last.
They figured that what they needed was a woman or two, to get their lust well drained and to get their minds back to things more normal and controllable than bestiality.
They'd looked for women – but had no luck.
The town was small and the girls were virtuous.
The two horny oil men rationalized their failure by claiming that they hadn't wanted to cheat on their wives, anyhow. But the point remained – the point of the pointing prick, magically appearing without warning.
"If only we could jack off," Hank sighed.
"Too bad we ain't from California," Billy said. "They're all pud pullers out there."
Both tall Texans nodded sadly, seeing the difficulty of being from the Lone Star Republic.
Then had come the invitation to the barbecue.
It was bound to be plenty embarrassing if either of them, or both, were to get a throbbing hard-on at a party. They debated and discussed the issue. But they had nothing else to do and there was always the possibility that they might meet some randy women at the barbecue, so they decided to take a chance on being disgraced. They both wore their widest tooled leather belts, with the biggest buckles. If worst came to worst, they figured they could always jam their pricks under the buckles and, hopefully, their condition might go unnoticed.
They went to the barbecue.
The affair was being held at the mayor's ranch, a big, sprawling spread which had originally run beef cattle before the mayor had drilled for oil. Long trestle tables were set with food and drink and hundreds of guests were already there when the Texans arrived. They made it to the nearest drink table without a sign of a hard-on. They began drinking bourbon and beer.
The mayor came over to welcome them and introduced them to some of the other guests. They met men in dark suits and men in cowboy clothing and men in sombreros. They counted nineteen men named Ewing. But they hadn't met a single woman yet. As they lifted their glasses, both Texans covertly looked down to see if any cock-bulges had started to appear below their wide belts.
Then dancing began on the tiled patio.
Women appeared.
Billy spotted a lovely, suntanned girl wearing riding clothes. He took a deep breath and approached her, sweeping his hat off gallantly as he asked her to dance. She agreed, smiling. He put the hat back on and led her out onto the dance floor.
Hank decided to watch for a while.
If Billy could manage to dance without getting a hard-on, Hank would risk it himself.
But, of course, Billy couldn't manage that, at all.
Her name was Margot and she was sinewy and graceful in his arms. And as they turned to the music, to Billy's horror, his prick began to twitch, then pulse and, finally, snapped up into an enormous hard-on. His cock was pressing hard against Margot's lithe belly. He didn't dare move away from her, because he knew his condition would be more obvious with a gap between their loins – a gap bridged by the span of his prick. So he held her even tighter, hoping she would think that the big lump pressing into her belly was no more than his belt buckle.
She looked up him, grinning mischievously.
"Are you wearing a concealed gun, Mister Watson?" she asked.
"Err – no, Ma'am," he mumbled.
"A bowie knife, then?"
"Nope."
"Why, then, Mister Watson – I do believe that you must be sporting a hard-on!"
Billy flushed with mortification.
But Margot was still smiling impishly.
"It feels big as a derrick," she remarked, as they turned slowly to the tune.
She was not drawing away from him. If anything, she was pushing her loins tighter to his groin.
"I beg your pardon, Ma'am," he said. "I surely didn't mean to embarrass you this way."
"Embarrass? Why, not at all."
Billy gazed down at this willowy, warm bundle of girl in his brawny arms, wondering if he had struck it lucky.
"I was just wondering what we should do with it," she said.
"We?" he gasped.
She gave him a sultry Scarlet O'Hara look.
"Why, surely, Mister Watson, you will require some assistance with it? I've heard that Texans never jack off."
Billy grinned with joy and his cock swelled up so magnificently that Margot's pelvis was pushed from him.
Leaving the dance floor, Billy held his hat in front of his loins to conceal the cock-bulge. Margot walked beside him, arm in arm. Billy gave Hank a wink in passing and they went on into the house.