And, man, did it spurt! Oh, how it spurted! The lump snuggled right up to Marge's womb, into the mouth of which had already been inserted the pencil-eraser head of the dog's thumping organ, and out it all came in one surging, superhot stream. The sticky dog sperm gushed into her like water from a sun-heated garden hose that'd suddenly been turned on full force.
"Whaaaahhhhhhh!" she shrieked, throwing back her head with the incredible pleasure of it as the geyser-like gush of scalding dog cum blasted directly into her pear-shaped uterus, filling that most feminine of all her female organs gloriously full and then making it swell up like a balloon to take the rest of Bobo's massive load.
"Ohhhhh, My Goddd!!" Marge groaned, her glassy eyes bulging in ecstatic disbelief.
This was wonderful! It felt too Godawful good to be true! But it was true, and the illicit pleasure of having her womb bloated by the inundation of Bobo's canine semen thrilled Marge to the core of her passion-wracked being. The supreme joy of this blatantly obscene union with her big dog plunged Marge nonstop into a second climactic paroxysm, the intensity of which made her first, toe-curling cum feel like a tiny tickle by comparison.
"Nnnaaaaahhhhh-gggaaahhhhh!!" came her guttural groan of complete fulfillment, as the agony/ecstasy of her spine-wrenching orgasm blanked out her mind.
"Hoooo, hooooo… oooohhhhhhHHHHH!!"
Her head snapped from side to side, her shoulder-length brunette hair fanning the air.
"Aaaaggggghhhhhhhhhhh!!"
The features of her lust-contorted face were twisted into a mask of unadulterated bliss. Her own son wouldn't have recognized her if he'd walked in the door at that moment, as Marge's landlady was now doing.
"Uunnn, uunnn… ohhhh, gawd, gawd… aaaahhhhhhhh!!" Marge bleated, and bowed up, quivering and jerking, before she fell back limply and lay there sobbing out her inner bliss while her pleasure-soaked body shuddered helplessly.
After her long, satisfying orgasm had run its course, Marge heaved a final sigh and opened her eyes. The sight of her plump, gray-haired landlady standing just inside the door ripped the fatuous smile off Marge's face.
"Oh, My God!" Marge gasped. She shoved Bobo away and whipped down her dress to hide her naked loins. "Missus Nelson! I know what you must be thinking, but please don't…"
"Oh, for goodness sakes, child!" Mrs. Nelson scolded in a grandmotherly fashion. "Why should you care what I think? Don't apologize to me. After all, I did sort of sneak up on you, though I didn't mean to." She paused and giggled like a young girl. "But you really ought to be more careful in the future. Close the door, at least, honey, or a show like that is just liable to bring some horny salesman bursting in to rape you."
Marge was flabbergasted. She'd expected the woman to rant and rave and order her out of the apartment.
"That certainly is a nice red pecker," Mrs. Nelson commented as she watched Bobo flop down on the floor and bend his head back to lick his semierect penis. "And from the way you were carrying on, I'll bet it must have felt every bit as good as it looks, too, hummm?"
A stupefied nod was the best Marge could do, for the permissive attitude of Mrs. Nelson – who was pushing seventy and looked to be the archetype of grandmotherly sweetness and purity – left Marge stunned speechless.
"I made a stew this morning," Mrs Nelson said as she returned her attention to Marge. "If I do say so myself, it turned out exceptionally well. I noticed you come in a while ago, and I thought you might like a bowl of it. You haven't had your lunch yet, I hope?"
Marge shook her head. She still couldn't believe this.
"Good!" Mrs. Nelson exclaimed. "Let's go into the kitchenette and chat while you sample my stew. Do you have crackers? I'll trot back for some saltines if you don't."
"I, uh, have some crackers," Marge, who was simultaneously slipping her feet into her shoes and shoving her soiled panties out of sight under the couch, replied haltingly, for she'd stocked up on groceries the previous evening.
They sat down on opposite sides of the table, Mrs. Nelson beaming approval as Marge dug into the big bowl of delicious homemade stew.
"I had a German shepherd like yours once," Mrs. Nelson said with a sly wink. "He's long dead now, of course, but King sure helped me stay true to George during the war."
Now Marge understood why Mrs. Nelson hadn't been shocked. She flashed the kindly old lady a grateful smile, because her voluntary confession made Marge feel much less guilty about succumbing to bestiality herself.
"Sometimes I wish I had another one like King," Mrs. Nelson went on. "Not all dogs will do it to a woman, you know."
At your age? Surely you're not serious! Marge felt like saying, but apparently the old lady meant it, so Marge stifled the urge to laugh. "I could loan you Bobo," Marge said jokingly, never dreaming the sweet little old lady might take her up on it.
But it wasn't a joking matter to Mrs. Nelson. The old gal had snow on the roof but there was still plenty of fire in her furnace. "I was hoping you'd say that!" Mrs. Nelson gushed. "Oh, God love you! I'll take him to the house with me if you don't mind. I want George to see me taking him on. Don't worry, honey, I won't tell George about you. The poor dear. He hasn't had a good hard-on in more than a year. It used to give him such a thrill to see King and me going at it. Who knows? I might just get two good screwings today, and wouldn't that be like old times! I think I'll take Bobo and hurry home now," she said, and got up from the table. "No, no, don't get up."
"Have fun," Marge called after Mrs. Nelson as the excited woman entered the living room to collect Bobo on her way out.
"You can be sure I will," Mrs. Nelson called back. "My pussy's all aflutter just thinking about it. Come on, Bobo, you're invited to a party at my house. Oh, yes, you gorgeous animal, sniff me, if you want to. Do you like the smell of it? Yes? Ha, ha! We're going to have us a real good time, Bobo, just me and you and George, and I'll cook you a nice, juicy steak afterward. Would you like that?"
Leading Bobo by his collar, Mrs. Nelson started out the door, then paused and called to Marge, "By the way, honey, I almost forgot to ask. Did you get that job you were telling me about yesterday?"
"Afraid not," Marge answered. She was entering the living room to see Mrs. Nelson out.
"Well, don't look so glum about it. There'll be other jobs. Plenty of them for a pretty young woman like you. Say, wait a minute… can you cook?"
"It's about the only thing I can do well," Marge admitted. "That, and keep house."
"Then I know… yes, I'll phone him and recommend you, if you want me to. My sister's boy. He's got a drive-in restaurant not far from here. Within walking distance, in fact, and when I talked to Sis on the phone yesterday, Jim's cook had just up and quit on him with no notice. Jim was having to run the front and do the cooking, too, and he's got a real good business going there. Pays his help mighty good, too. If he hasn't hired another cook yet, I'll bet he'd just be tickled to death to give you a try. That is, if you think you might be interested. I don't mean to meddle, and I imagine working in a kitchen might be…"
"God, yes, I'm interested," Marge interrupted. "Call him, Missus Nelson! Please call him now!"
CHAPTER NINE
It was hot, hard work and the pay wasn't all that great – a hundred a week for a forty-hour shift – but Marge was glad to get the job. Nor was it the kind of creative cooking which she enjoyed. Mountains of burgers and fries was what it took to satisfy the ravenous appetites of the drive-in's customers, mostly teenagers, and it kept Marge hopping to fill the stream of orders turned in by the one counter girl and the three carhops. Mr. Worley – Mrs. Nelson's nephew Jim – broke Marge in to the way he wanted things done and, when the orders piled up faster than she could fill them, he pitched in to help her out, always joking and carrying on with her the way he did with the young girls who worked for him.