We'll just let this little fencing match go on for awhile, thought Steve Paul, let it go on until the girl was beside herself with fear and the dog raging with desire. Then we'll step in and get on with it, he thought. He laughed to himself as he imagined her spread-eagled on the bed, her ankles tied to the bedpost, writhing helplessly as the dog went at her, first with his tongue and then with his astonishing prick. Paul's good spirits were returning after the humiliation he had suffered from Slackjaws; Judy's feeble and comical efforts to keep the dog from her appealed greatly to Paul's perverted sense of humor.
Slackjaws, too, had returned to character. There was no kindness in him now, Judy realized as she saw him staring at her, his face contorted into an expression of pure, bestial lust. His mouth was open slightly, his tongue hanging out in parody of the dog, and he was panting – no, Judy thought, there would be no help from Slackjaws this time. If only Tim would come back, if only… But no, these men never went anywhere without their pistols; Tim wouldn't stand a chance against them. Thinking about that, she hoped that Tim would have the good sense to stay away, not to try anything heroic and foolish – she would suffer any degradation these men had to offer, endure any pain or torture rather than see her new lover hurt or killed.
Still she continued to wriggle and squirm, still the dog came at her. She could see the tip of his huge pink dick beginning to poke out through the furry sheath, and the sight of it made her squirm all the harder. This in turn aroused the dog still more – he began to leap up and down on the bed, the weight of his two hundred and twenty pound frame making the mattress bounce and tremble. He was barking and squealing, his tiny mind excited beyond all bounds by Judy's furious thrashing.
Steve Paul was growing bored with this cat-and-mouse game: he was ready for some real fun. "Slackjaws," he said, "go get some more rope." The muscleman disappeared into the bathroom, came back a moment later carrying two long strands of nylon cord. Steve Paul stood up, took the rope from his henchman, walked slowly toward the bed, one length of cord dangling from each hand.
To Judy the cords looked like two snakes, two vicious snakes with their tails wrapped around a tree, just waiting for the moment when they could drop on her and sink their fangs into her soft flesh. So they were going to tie her legs too, she thought. Well maybe so, but not with her cooperation. As Paul approached she began to kick at him wildly, pumping her legs as rapidly and as powerfully as she could.
"God damn you, you little whore!" yelled Paul as her foot caught him squarely in the nose. He backed off for a moment, put his hand to his face, then smiled with delight as he saw the blood running onto his palm. This was getting good, he thought, the sight of blood acted on him more strongly, and in a more directly sexual way, than any amount of foreplay could ever have; finally, finally his prick was beginning to react, to swell with the first stirrings of desire. How could he have been so stupid, he thought. How could he have forgotten? It had always been blood and violence that aroused him when all normal means failed; he knew that and exulted in it, yet this time he had allowed himself to be carried away by that delicious little bundle of sex. She had made him impatient, had made him forget that there was only one way for Steve Paul to get his kicks, and that was through blood and violence.
"Mr. Nelson," said Paul, in a quiet but ominous voice, "the young lady needs some more assistance. Would you kindly help her out?"
"Sure," said Slackjaws. He walked over to the bed, easily took one of Judy's flailing ankles in each hand, slammed her legs down hard. Immediately Paul was there, wrapping the cords around her ankles so tightly that she screamed with pain, then tying the other end of the cords to the bedposts. He stepped back for a moment, grinning at the girl sprawled out on the bed, helplessly bound. Then he stepped forward again and slowly, almost lovingly, rubbed his blood-stained palm against her stomach, making a huge red smear on her skin. Judy had stopped struggling against her bonds, had begun to weep miserably, like a lost child, but Paul paid her no attention as he spread the blood all over her body.
"Now," he whispered, regarding his work with the delight of a true pervert, "now let Ambush have her."
The dog, seeing that Judy was open to him, crossed the bed in one triumphant leap. Immediately he pushed his nose into her tightly-puckered cunt, filling his brain with her wonderful spicy odor, driving himself half-mad with the sweet luxury of it. Years of careful training had twisted his instincts, had made him long more than anything else for the feel of a woman's tender skin. This was his favorite meal, and he would partake of it until his elaborate cravings were finally satisfied.
Judy had never felt so hopeless in her life, so completely vulnerable, so thoroughly shamed. How had this come to be, she thought desperately. For the first time in over a year she longed for the dirty streets of Bisbee, Arizona, for the dust that welled up from the copper mines, the smell of ocotillo blossoms in the springtime, the warmth of her parents' living room. She even missed the cramped cashier's booth at the old theater, the boring hot-dog-and-drive-in-movie dates with the sons of the copper miners. She would give anything to be back there, to have her innocence back, to be shocked at the fold-out pictures in the men's magazines at the drug store. If someone had told her then what was in store for her, that she would be lying here this day in her bed, a shameless prostitute about to be brutally fucked by a St. Bernard, she would have been either totally outraged or convulsed with laughter. Yet here she was, with the dog nosing at her most secret places – the craziness and terror of it would have been too much for her to digest had she not been aware oh, how aware of its awful reality. Yes, it was really happening, and there was not a thing she could do to stop it.
The dog's nose was shockingly cold against her tender pussy, and at first she tried to recoil from it. But Ambush only came back for more, and soon Judy found herself becoming accustomed to his chilly pokings. And no sooner did she come to tolerate the moist twitchings of the dog's nose against the dry, chapped outer skin of her cunt, than she began to actually enjoy it! No, she thought, this can't be. I may have to give in to this furry bastard, there's nothing I can do about that, but I don't have to like it, for Christ's sake! Still, she could not deny it: the dog was beginning to turn her on, to send little currents of pleasure up into her belly.
The St. Bernard immediately sensed her change of attitude, began to joyfully lick at her now-receptive cunt with the edge of his enormous tongue. The rough, sandpapery touch of it was like nothing Judy had ever experienced; far more titillating than the smoothness of a human tongue. Already Judy could feel herself beginning to turn to liquid inside, could feel the spongy walls of her cunt beginning to expand, to ready themselves for the dog's penetration.
"Oh, my God," she cried, half in amazement and half with pleasure, "what is this? What's happening to me?"
Steve Paul and Slackjaws looked at one another with little knowing smiles on their faces. They had seen the dog in action many times before, knew it was only a matter of time until the girl began to turn on. No matter how horrified they were at the beginning, no matter how much they begged to be released, eventually they had all of them, each and every one, been reduced to quivering masses of yearning flesh; had begged, each of them, not for release, but for more, and yet again more. This one would be no different, they knew, even though she had struggled somewhat harder than the others; probably her struggling in the preliminary stages would only serve to arouse her that much more in the end.