Karim al-Zib - Wild in the country book one

DesirЋe began to whimper with the deep feeling of her orgasm as his sperm streamed into her eagerly clutching vagina, filling her belly with his hot, comforting cream. Mark's thrusts became frenzied as he continued emptying his sperm into his beloved's cunt for the first time, groaning in his chest and spasming, his cock ramming back and forth in her pleasure-giving hole, his balls slapping wetly against the sensitive dimple of her anus. DesirЋe kicked her long, shapely legs up straight, then folded them around Mark's humping ass, her heels digging into his buttocks while his prick squeezed out the very last drop of his semen into her grateful belly.

The girl seemed to go completely limp, her heels dropping and her knees splaying out widely, lying relaxed on the blanket, her eyes half-closed but totally unseeing, unaware that Clete was watching from just a few feet away, pumping his cum into the dirt while Mark's leaked obscenely from her just-fucked vagina to pool on the blanket beneath her glistening asscheeks.

From far away came the sound of a dog or wolf howling again, startling all of them. Her eyes opened and she whispered up to her lover, "What was that?"

Clete reeled his giant penis in and tucked it away in his pants. He had heard the howling and now he remembered Nancy. He should get back to the truck and phone Hank, his deputy, to run over to the old house and check on poor Nancy. She must be worried about why he hadn't shown up. He would have to think of a good excuse.

"I want blood!" Clete roared, shaking the windows of the conference room with his angry voice. "I want that dog's hide on my door."

Deputy Hank Bollinger was there, scratching his crotch and nodding. It was he who had found the ravished Nancy Pace naked and unconscious at the old Hudson house, lying there in a puddle of dog semen. The story she had told was near unbelievable, but Pastor Hemmings, the town MD had taken a specimen and identified it as exactly what the girl had said it was in her sobbing, shaken voice. In the most unspeakably effective way, the dog had taken revenge on Clete for the dreadful beating he had received from the hateful sheriff.

Mark looked up from the long table where all the town councilors were seated while Clete paced furiously up and down the room.

"I can understand your feelings, Clete, but what do you suggest we do?" Mark asked.

Clete drove his right fist in his left palm. "What else? We raise an armed posse and search the countryside until we find him. Put a five thousand dollar bounty on his head."

The men at the table all looked around indecisively. Then one of them, Bill Wilkins, said, "We can probably raise that. It might be worth it."

Clete suppressed a smile. He had plans to collect the reward himself at the same time he was avenging himself on the dog. It would be a good start for him and Nancy, part of a down payment on a house, perhaps, or money for a nice honeymoon. He knew the girl would need it after her experience.

"Now wait a minute, Clete," Mark protested. "We can't have a gang of liquored-up men ransacking the county with shotguns looking for a dog. People could get hurt." He looked around the table and saw the others nod their agreement. "People could get killed."

Clete ground his teeth. This motherfucking politician had thrown cold water on his best plans ever since he had come to town. Mark had opposed a raise for him, had opposed the hiring of a second deputy and the renovation of the sheriff's office.

"I mean, how can we be sure it was that way, if you'll pardon my asking?"

Clete's eyes blazed and he nodded at Hank Bollinger, who said: "I found her lying on the run at the Hudson house, naked as a plucked little jay-bird and covered with gism, poor kid…"

"Had she been mauled, Hank?" Mark questioned, repeating the question that Doctor/Pastor Hemmings had not answered.

"Hell, couldn't tell for sure," the other replied. "Didn't see any blood, but she was crazy, hysterical, moaning that the Goddamned brute had raped her!"

"And how is she now?"

"She's sleeping. Doctor gave her a sedative."

Mark looked back at Clete. The big ape-chested, black man was unshaven and dressed in his usual non-uniform of khaki shirt open at the collar, leather hunting pants and boots. He'd been drinking; his small black eyes were bloodshot and his bush of black hair uncombed. To Mark, he always looked like a man just a step from being a criminal himself.

"Hello, Dr. Hemmings," Mark greeted the tall physician as he walked in, then asked him. "What happened? How is she?"

"I'll tell you what happened, Denning! That Goddamned wild sonofabitch dog raped my fiancee, and I'm going to hang its hide as high as that flag on the flagpole in front of town-hall! Only first, I'm going to rip the bastard's nuts off!" Clete bitterly snarled, addressing the fact that Mark had warned him against taking an armed posse into the countryside again for any reason.

Mark said: "What are your findings, Doctor?"

Hemmings solemnly nodded, giving medical credence to the broad-shouldered police-chief's ranting version. "No doubt about it, Mark. The beast actually attacked her. Its animal semen was present in my examination. Surprisingly, it didn't harm her in any other way. Oh a few scratches, but they could have occurred when it tore the clothing from her. Actually, she's suffering mostly from shock. I've given her a sedative. She's sleeping in my office."

"You mean, the dog literally ripped the clothing from her?" Mark asked in disbelief.

"You're fucking right he did!" Clete roared, raising a water glass half-filled with liquor to his lips. He gulped half of it, breathing in shortened rasps as he glared at the deputy. "Ripped the Goddamned panties and everything else right off her, and Hank Bollinger was there and gathered 'em up! I tell you again, Denning, that devil dog's got to die! It ain't enough that the pack is killing the sheep, now they're attacking young, innocent girls and fucking 'em like bitches! You tell me that bastard ain't some kind of evil spirit of Satan, himself…?"

"You're talking like a wild man, Clete!" Mark replied. "I don't know the answer but there has to be one! Maybe-maybe Nancy can give it to us when she's herself again."

"You go to hell, Denning!" the powerful man snarled, stomping about the room, then gulping the remainder of his drink. "I, for one, ain't waiting for that evil sonofabitch to attack another girl in this valley! I aim to do something about it, whether you put up a reward or not! I'm forming a posse and going out!"

"There'll be no posse, Clete – unless we call for it," Mark calmly interrupted him. "I won't tolerate an armed uprising. Out there is civilized territory, and we here on the council intend to keep it that way. We won't have a bunch of beer-swilling maniacs riding those hills with rifles and shotguns!"

"Please, men, both of you, stop!" Dr. Hemmings stepped in. "You're letting this get the best of you. I know it's a horrible situation, but you must try to work together, for the good of the community!"

Mark swallowed. He wasn't pleased with the way things were going.

"Of course, you're right, Pastor. I'm sorry," he said, watching the tall man's slow, understanding smile. "I'll place a call to the conservation department immediately. This is their problem."

"Problem!" Clete blurted. "Their problem! You go to hell, Denning! This is my problem, and every man, woman, and child's in this valley! That fucking brute raped my fiancee and I won't fucking sit back while some yellow-bellied politician decides to do nothing about it! You've got twenty-four hours, Councilor, and you better hope that son of Satan doesn't attack another girl!" he roared, slamming his fist down hard onto a table before storming toward the doorway. "How would you like it if that cur dog had come and mounted your sweet little blonde warbler and split her sweet little cunt open with his big dog cock?"