"Forget something?" she asked.
"Naw, I'm just looking for Atilla. He ran off again; you know how he hates being chained up in the backyard. My dad will beat me for sure if the dog's not there when he gets home. Have you seen him?"
"Sure, up at the school," Marge replied, grinning now as she recalled just how intimate she'd been with the animal.
"Thanks," Scott said. "I'll go get him."
"Well, I don't think Atilla is there any more."
"Huh? Where is he, then?"
"Mrs. Hamilton has him, the last I seen. Probably took him home."
"Mrs. Hamilton? What's she doing with Atilla?"
Marge had a hard time keeping from laughing out loud. "I don't know. Maybe she wants to play with him."
"Play with Atilla?" Scott shook his head, not understanding what was going on. "Why would she want to fool around with him?"
Marge, a knowing smirk creasing the corners of her mouth, stared at the younger boy with blatant derision. "You don't know much about that dog, do you?"
"Sure I do. Atilla's my dad's pet; of course I know about him."
"I mean how your Old Man trained him?"
"He rolls over and plays dead and comes running when he's called and things like that there. What do you mean, Marge?"
"And your maw never clued you in, either?"
"Listen, you're not making any sense," Scott said hotly. "What're you driving at? What's this about training Atilla?"
"Damned if I'm going to be the one to educate you, mouse-pecker." Marge laughed, unable to contain her amusement any longer. "Why don't you hitch your ass over to Mrs. Hamilton's house and ask her?"
"I just might!" Scott retorted defensively. "I just might at that!"
"She'll be sure to tell you. Hell, she might even show you!" With that, the brazen girl flipped the strap on her purse, teasingly whacking the boy on his bottom with the bag, and then set off with a jaunty roll of her hips. "Tell her hello for me," she hooted over her shoulder. "Tootle-oo, Nutless!"
Clenching and unclenching his small fists, Scott Phillips glared at the retreating form of the curvaceous girl with scathing detest. Crap, if only he were a couple of years older, he'd show her who had the balls! He could already, if she — or any girl — would just give him the chance!
Only none of them ever had, he gloomily concluded. Despondently he changed his direction to head toward Mrs. Hamilton's house, which wasn't too far away. The town of Henning was small, a residential area for Rapier City to the south, and Henning High was just about in the middle, near the shopping center and city hall. By crossing over to Terwilliger Boulevard and then after a bit, cutting across Thorndyke's pasture, he would reach Mrs. Hamilton's place in about fifteen or twenty minutes. And damn it, when he got there, he would ask his chemistry teacher about Atilla! Mrs. Hamilton was a wonderful and pretty teacher, one of the few who'd ever treated him decently and not like some baby. He was sure she'd tell him the truth if she could; she wouldn't act like that smart-aleck Marge Spanner…!
It wasn't long before the fourteen year old youth reached LaGrande Avenue, on which Mrs. Hamilton lived. He walked along the sidewalk, saying hello to a couple of kids he knew, and sidestepping a tricycle some younger child had left in the way. It was a good neighborhood, with wide, sloping yards of plants and trees, large, roomy houses set well back from the road, and friendly middleclass people. He knew that his teacher lived alone in the ranch-type house at the end of the second block, and had been divorced for a long time. He didn't know why she didn't have a husband any longer, or why she preferred to live all by herself in that big place instead of in an apartment, and he didn't particularly care one way or another. It was simply one of those facts a kid learns as he grows up, files away in his mind and accepts as the normal way of things.
He opened the picket-fence gate and walked up the flagstone path to the front door. A honeysuckle vine wound in and out of the lattice work of the porch, and after he'd politely knocked on the door, he studied the budding flowers. It was awfully nice and peaceful here, he thought. Not like his own home where something was always going on. Mrs. Hamilton sure is lucky, he thought wistfully, and knocked again.
Still no one answered the door.
Scott frowned slightly, wondering for the first time if Marge had been fooling him and Mrs. Hamilton wasn't even home. He looked around hesitantly, wondering what he should do, and then went around the side to look in the garage. Yeah… Mrs. Hamilton's car was here, so she was around someplace. He then thought that perhaps she hadn't heard his knocking, since the front door was at the opposite side of the house from the garage and kitchen, so he stepped over to the side door and knocked on it. The door, which hadn't been firmly closed when Lisa had gone in, unlatched and swung open slightly from the pressure of his hand.
"Mrs. Hamilton…?" Scott called out timidly.
"Ohhhhh," he heard in a drunken slur from inside the house. "Ahhhhhhhhh! Yes! Yes!"
"Mrs. Hamilton?" Bolder now, the boy stepped just past the, door, still holding onto it in case he should want to jump back outside. "Mrs. Hamilton? Do you have Atilla with you?"
"Agggg! Ohhhhhh! Lick me! Lick my pussy, you dog!"
Scott felt every muscle of his slender young body grow rigid as the obscene words registered on his immature mind. Momentarily he stood rooted to the kitchen floor, unable to move, and with his breath stilled in his lungs, he could now hear wet slurping sounds and animal-like panting. Hell, he knew what that was! Atilla always made noises like that when he was drinking water from the dog-dish! But then he heard Mrs. Hamilton again in a hoarse, passionate voice: "Lick me off like you licked Marge! Lick my twat until I explode!"
Scott leaned against the door in shock, forcing it closed. Crap! There it was again, even dirtier than before! No mistaking what Mrs. Hamilton was saying… but he could hardly believe it! Was she really ordering Atilla to lick her between the legs?
A flash of an image crossed the teenager's inexperienced mind, a weird tingling growing in the pit of his stomach. Man, is this what Marge was talking about? Is this what his father's pet had been trained to do? No
… No, that was impossible! But there was no denying that his chemistry teacher was saying it… or that Marge must have known because she'd been licked by Atilla, too! It all fit, as incredible as it sounded!
Jesus, what should he do? Run home, that's what. Run home before Mrs. Hamilton caught him in her house and really got mad! But what could he tell his dad? Crap, when he thought how his dad had trained Atilla and kept it a secret from him, it made him flinch to think of what might happen if he let on that he'd found out! And what about his mother? Marge had implied that she was in on the secret as well. His own mother… licked on her pussy by the dog? Crap! Now he knew he had to be dreaming all of this! He'd have to see it with his own eyes to believe it!
Well… why not? He'd never seen a girl naked before, much less with her legs spread apart and a dog tonguing her! It was just the kind of wild scene he'd often wondered about at night when he'd beaten his meat! And here was the ready-made chance, if he had the courage to take it. Did he dare?
Scott sucked in his breath, quivering silently with fear and trepidation. But damned right he had the nerve! He had the balls, he told himself; to hell with Marge and all the others, he had the balls to sneak up to where Mrs. Hamilton was and take one fast peek!
The youthful student found himself drawn through the kitchen and down the hall, still disbelieving that Atilla was actually doing something wrong with his teacher. He worked his way slowly and silently to the bedroom door, his whole lithe body tense as he pressed himself against the wall.