Karim al-Zib - Wild in the country book three

"That's it, Bruno," Liz encouraged. "Lick that cute little pussy. Make it purr."

Tanya was visibly shivering with arousal. "Oh, that's it, Bruno. Oh, I need it so much." Which was no lie. Rodney was out again, running frantically around trying to find the story of the dogs that raped women. Little did he know that while he was neglecting her running around the hills with Clete Anderson, his sexually deprived wife was actively involved in the story. Yes, Tanya knew it was true, yet she had no intention of telling him. She loved him, but he hadn't been a proper husband since this story had begun circling around in his head. He wanted a Pulitzer. All Tanya wanted was a little affection.

When Bruno saw that her feminine juices were freely flowing, he mounted her upraised buttocks, his feet crowding her knees further apart, his huge, salami-like penis growing into view. It was enormous, even bigger than that of his sire, Lobo, whose member had nearly split many a tender pussy in its time. Liz often wondered why she had so seldom seen Lobo lately, but she had an idea that it had to do with another love, another female, a human female, that he was either fucking or searching for. She wished him well and hoped that his haunts took him far out of range of Clete Anderson's rifle.

Tanya moaned and groaned until the tip of the great, cucumber-sized cock found her hot cunt and began to slip inside. Then, she cried out and humped backward with her trembling buttocks, taking the great penis deep into her belly. Tanya wailed, squeezing the huge penis with her youthful inner sinews, a wave of sensation shooting from her deeply-pierced pussy, up her tailbone and spine to her hanging, jiggling tits and back of her neck. Immediately, she began moving in concert with Bruno while Dusty and Sam pinned her dutifully between them. From past experience, she knew that when Bruno was done with her, he would swap places with one of the other dogs, who would take his turn, and then the process would be repeated until each of the animals was satiated, just as she, the female animal of the sexual quartet, would be content and satisfied. And tonight, when Rodney, discouraged and exhausted, came home to her where they were staying at the Mitchell's home, she would be happy to let him fall asleep after making tired apologies.

Liz watched Tanya, unable to keep calm at the sight, and, slipping her hand inside her panties, began to manipulate her own burning clitoris. She laughed silently at the thought that Rodney's hot-cunted little wife was doing more now than anyone to help create a Pulitzer Prize-winning story for him to write.

Though there was a strong possibility that, with Tanya involved in the way she was, he might not really want to tell the whole truth.

Rodney was, as his wife would later expect, already exhausted, lugging his cameras and tape recorder around the countryside. Clete Anderson was walking his feet off following what appeared to be very cold trails. Dog tracks, but what dog's? These could be anyone's pets, or coyotes, or any harmless canine. But since, a week ago, Mark Denning had come into the city government offices strangely fired up to see Lobo and the rest of the fabled dog pack hunted down, hastily convening a council meeting, vehemently and quite effectively demanding, that a twenty-five-thousand dollar bounty be raised to place on Lobo's head.

And from that moment on, Clete had not rested in his search for the animal that had raped the two women he adored and that now presented him with a perfect way to earn a nest-egg to start his marriage to Nancy and family.

Yes, Clete still loved Nancy, and since her deflowering by Lobo, she had become a perfect little vixen in bed. But what he found it hard to forgive was her afternoon sex session with Mark Denning, less than two weeks back. She still didn't know that he knew about that, because he was saving it up for the time when he knew he could use the advantage. Also, telling her would certainly come back to Denning, and there was no advantage now in letting the politician know that he had every reason to be his mortal enemy – which he was. He had plans for revenge that included his young bride DesirЋe and there was nothing that could stand in the way of that.

"You sure we're on the right trail, Clete?" Rodney panted, trying to keep up. "These don't even look like the same animal. Looks more like a Labrador or Doberman to me."

Clete shot him a sour look. With twenty-five thousand dollars hanging in the air, he didn't like to be told he was following the wrong trail, didn't like the thought that some other man might luck onto the animal and take the bounty away from him.

"I could swear we were following this same trail yesterday."

Clete stopped and turned with an ugly scowl. "You can't take the heat get out of the kitchen, city boy. How else you expect we're going to catch up with this son of a bitch?" He spat in the dirt and wiped his sweaty brow. "Maybe you should go and find some woman whose been raped by this animal, interview her 'til your ass turns blue, and come around after I've shot and skinned this bastard. What do you say?"

Rodney shook his head wearily. "No, I want to be there when he's caught, but don't you think we ought to get an Indian in here to do the tracking?"

"Indian! Fuck you, white boy. I learned to track in the army. You're not going to find a better tracker than me."

Rodney sighed and shook his head, muttering, "Glad you think so."

"What's that?" Clete asked, resuming his tracking.

"Oh, nothing," Rodney shot back, following at a distance. He was sure these were the same tracks they were following yesterday.

Mark was dressed and getting impatient. Breakfast with Buchanan was at ten-thirty, and he didn't want to keep the man waiting. DesirЋe had taken forever to wake up, then had come around with a haunted and distressed look on her face. She had covered her big, rounds tits and cupped her hand under her pussy, running into the bathroom as if plagued by diarrhea, which he suspected was the truth when he heard her slam the toilet seat down. Now, she had been in the shower for a half-hour and he was sure she wouldn't be ready in time. Should he go down without her and make an excuse for her? It would be gauche otherwise to keep Buchanan waiting.

Did DesirЋe even know what time it was?

But suddenly, she was out, her hair brushed, her face scrubbed and without any make-up, which was unnecessary on her beautiful skin, though she looked a trifle pale and red-eyed. In fact, her eyes were a bit puffy, as if from crying. While Mark watched silently, she dressed quickly and was ready with five minutes to spare.

Turning to him, she gave him a tiny, somewhat morose smile, and said, "Ready."

Mark looked at her and fell in love all over again. Something had hurt her, and it was probably he who had done it, but the pain he saw in her eyes cut through his hard shell. He couldn't stand to see her hurt, and he would try not to do the hurting. And he would try to forget what had happened the last time they had tried to share a moment of passion.

He offered his arm and DesirЋe hesitantly took it, gripping him with a tightness that seemed born out of desperation as they descended the grand, gilded spiral staircase to the dining room. The breakfast buffet was Sybaritic, replete with every wonderful thing humans had ever dreamed of for breakfast. They were finishing their starters when Buchanan sat at the large, round table with them. There were no other guests for breakfast, it seemed.

"Good morning, Mark," Buchanan boomed. "DesirЋe."

She glanced up from her grapefruit with a tight smile, but without meeting his eyes. She shivered with a variety of emotions, feeling her pussy moisten against her will as the unwelcome memories of the night before bullied their way into her mind, Sid's big, overweight body pounding hers, his inhuman penis pistoning back and forth in her sacred vagina, filling it full of his unwelcome semen. The thoughts assailed her like an insult. Initially, it had been rape, and that was the way it stood in her mind.