Gus Stevens - Love Me, Love My Dog

I went lower, across her belly, and things got too tight once again. So a second time I slid her zipper, this trip going all the way to her waist. I shoved in a route that took me over the slight curve of her belly, into and out of her navel and then into the woods that signaled the close proximity of her treasure house, that place of joy where I'd visited so many times, each time vowing to return for a longer stay.

I shoved my fingers into it and began to push, feeling her hands-which had been gripping my thighs like they were life preservers and we were aboard the Titanic-spring into life. She was pushing them between the thrusting cheeks of her buttocks and my loins, across my pouch to my fly. It was no problem for her to get the thing open and then her fingers were inside, checking out the position of my shorts, finding the slit that led to my sexual arsenal and then locating the shaft of my big gun itself.

“Ah, always at attention.”

“Oui, mon general.”

“First he makes with the German. Now he's crossed the Rhine. What comes next, Pig Latin?”

She pulled until my snake whipped out and lashed her across the bottom with its stone of a head. She flinched, her buttock cheeks quivering like they were made of hard rubber. That was my Amy-pneumatic.

Her thumb and forefinger made a delicate circle which she forced over the head, seating the ring just at the place where my flange was widest. Then the ring began to pull back and forth, stoking the furnace that was also overheating my crotch.

“You do that so well, my dear.”

“Thank you,” she purred. “Just leave the money on the bedside table.”

I had my hands roaming over the folds of her vagina, luxuriating in the glories of Pussyland, U.S.A. and she was loving it every bit as much as I. There's something to that old chestnut about mutual hands scratching mutual backs. We were cooperation personified and, before long, the fluid results were certain to manifest themselves.

I stuck my finger between her lips and held it here, waiting, not moving. She became impatient and her hips began to thrust at my hand, arching forward until my finger was sliding more deeply between her portals. With each arc of her hips she was giving a small cry and her hands stayed busy, working over my penis and then shifting to my balls, so that no part of my crotch was left neglected.

“I should imagine it's time to shift gears,” I suggested, croaking into her ear like a dying man after his final piece of tail. “I dare say,” she whispered with a shudder that tore through her like an Iowa twister.

I turned her around and she looked down at my cock, and then into the exposed gates of her loins. By now her skirt was around her ankles and the pants had long since given up, parting like silk clouds in a blue sky.

“Another pair down the drain,” she complained, not meaning it one bit.

“A wonderful way to go, struck down in the midst of glorious battle.”

She took my penis, studied it like a shortstop looks at a hot grounder he's picked up before firing to first, and then she placed the head against her box. Her hips pushed and half of the knob sank inside. We waited and I wondered if she were testing me, for Id been known to go off before even being properly seated.

I closed my eyes and concentrated, thinking of every movie star I'd ever wanted to roll and finally switching to someone closer to home-Trudy Pipp. My staff at once began to convulse; great ripples travelling its length, each one expanding the big red knob that was buried inside my wife.

“Very, very good,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “You get an 'A' in today's lesson.”

“This is night school, honey,” I gasped, as my stuff began to pour.

She pulled me against her, grabbing the cheeks of my bottom and steering me as though she had her hands on the handles of a powerful lathe. I was seated in her, all the way home, my balls flapping against her thighs. Then she was shaking, her knees giving way so that I had to hold her up.

“This, as the general told his troops, is it.”

“Stop blabbing, general.”

Then we were shooting our milk into each other, hard, my stuff pouring forth and splashing against the base of her womb. I was rather proud, for it hadn't been too much earlier that I'd enjoyed a similar ejaculation. I'm twenty-seven, you understand, and, according to some sex experts, I'm a good ten years past my prime. What do they know? Hopefully, I'm a medical freak.

Amy was letting go, giving me everything, her knees recovering their strength and gripping me as though she were squeezing every drop from a toothpaste tube. We emptied our sex organs, draining our desire until I half fell against the sea wall and she clung to me.

When it was over we picked up our things and I helped her get back into her dress. Her shattered pants went into my coat pocket and I knew we'd have a load for the cleaners when we got home.

Back in the car she opened her knees enough for me to slip my hands between her thighs and then up against the drying lips of her box. The slight shaking of the car caused her to become moist all over again and I looked her in the eye.

“God, you need more?”

She snuggled on my shoulder, her breast poking. “I think that's possible.”

I shook my head, wondering how she could keep from becoming pregnant after such a thorough servicing. I had shot so much so deeply that even a wall of birth control pills would have been broached.

As always, time would tell. For now, it was time to get home, time to check on that chicken dog and his keeper, the teen-aged temptress, Trudy Pipp.

We drove in silence and I wondered if Amy was thinking the same thoughts as I. It was funny but, even as I knew we satiated one another, somehow there was a need for more. We had always resisted the impulse to get into the swapping game, even though Sam and Alice Champion had made it clear enough that they wouldn't turn a deaf ear to such a proposal.

Even as Amy had drained me of passion, even as those lovely legs had squeezed my waist time after time over the past months, even as she gave me all the loving any normal man could desire, there was that age-old wish to try something new. That was where Trudy Pipp had come into the picture.

I felt guilty about seducing her, even though she'd offered it to me on a platter. After all, I was a man and man had to have his pleasures. I almost had the feeling that I wouldn't seem so guilty if Amy were getting her kicks, too. So far as I knew she'd never cheated on me.

Sure, she'd been working for Pratt in his dental office for some time, but I didn't think a dentist who was losing his hair could beat my time with my wife. If that happened, then I deserved to lose her through sheer neglect. No, Pratt wasn't making out. He was too interested in abscesses and drainage canals.

We pulled into the drive and I pressed the button that opened the garage door. Inside, we paused, looking around for Alexander. He wasn't in sight.

“She said something about letting him into the house, I think,” I muttered, showing supreme disinterest in anything Miss Trudy Pipp might be up to.

Once in the house we found the two of them curled up in front of the television, Alexander flat on his side and Trudy fast asleep, her head lying on his stomach. She looked like a range cowboy being faithful to his pinto.

Alexander's eyes opened and his tail thudded on the carpet, but Amy had to kneel and shake Trudy's shoulder before those melting glacier eyes opened. They blinked and then looked at me. They shifted to Amy and then back to me, shooting a question to which I blinked an answer in Morse code.

She sat up, smiling and stretching until I thought her firm buns might pop out of her blouse, but they didn't. Scrambling to her feet, she looked at the clock. “Golly, it's late. I didn't know.”