David Crane - The wife does dogs

"You'll have to keep Rex here in the cabin, darling," Carson Smith said to his wife. "If the white stag gets the scent of a dog, I'll never get close enough to photograph him."

Catherine turned from the primitive iron stove, where she was making coffee. It was early in the day and she was still wearing only a frilly dressing gown. The slinky garment clung to her body, caressing her smooth flesh. Through the semi-transparent silken material, the dark circles of her tit tips could be seen and, farther down, the triangular outline of her cunt mound was tantalizingly hinted at. But Carson Cheers was paying no attention to his seductive wife at the moment. The man was an enthusiastic amateur wildlife photographer and he was anxious to start stalking the elusive white stag that was rumored to roam the forest near the cabin. This was the first day that they had been there. Carson had rented the rustic cabin for two weeks, hoping to get some pictures of the noble stag and combining a family vacation with his quest, had brought his wife and their son, Tommy, along with their family pet, Rex, the big black Alsatian, to the forest with him. Now Carson was already dressed, wearing a flannel shirt and corduroy trousers and sturdy walking shoes, his camera slung around his neck. Catherine gave him a look of annoyance. They had arrived late and weary, the night before, and had not had their usual bedtime fuck. Carson had already been up by the time that Catherine awoke so she hadn't had a morning fuck, either, and the oversexed blonde woman was feeling horny. Tommy had already gone out to explore the woods and, with the cabin to themselves, Catherine had been hoping for some prick. She arched her back, thrusting her big tits out temptingly toward Carson and giving her lush hips a suggestive twist. But Carson was so eager to seek the stag that he failed to notice his wife.

"Must you go out so soon?" she asked.

"Early morning is the best time to look for him," Carson said, still not realizing what Catherine was implying. "He'll probably lie up during the heat of the day, but I might be lucky enough to find him at the salt lick now."

What about my salty lick? thought Catherine, feeling that juicy object simmering between her sleek thighs. But she sighed, knowing how eager Carson was to look for the stag, resigning herself to another fuckless morning of frustration. Carson moved toward the door. Rex followed after him, giving a little yelp of excitement, thinking that he was going to have a chance to chase juicy bunnies in the woodlands. In the city, the dog liked to chase cats and he knew that it would be even more fun to chase wild rabbits. No one would hit him with sticks, the way angry cat lovers did and, besides, cats had claws. But Carson said, "Stay, boy," and went out, closing the door behind him. Rex whimpered, looking puzzled.

"I know how you feel, Rex," Catherine sighed, seeing that the big doggy was as frustrated, though for different reasons, as she was at being left in the cabin and sympathizing with the dumb brute. She moved to the window and looked out, watching her tall, lean husband stride across the clearing and vanish into the trees. Dammit, she thought. He could have at least thrown a quickie into me. Her pussy was smoldering and she could feel a trickle of hot cuntjuice run down the inside of her thigh, while her stiff nipples stood out in twin peaks against her gown. The sexy woman was wondering how long her husband would be gone and whether she should wait for him to return, suffering her frustration, or give herself a handjob. A fingerfucking was nowhere near as satisfying as a prick, but it was a lot better than nothing, she knew. Then, too, Tommy might be back at the cabin by the time that Carson returned and, with the teenage boy there, what with the paper-thick wooden walls, they wouldn't be able to have a fuck, anyhow. Catherine was a noisy fuck,

panting and moaning and whimpering loudly, and it was too embarrassing to let herself go when the boy might hear. She figured that Tommy would know damned well what those sounds meant. She knew that Tommy was no longer innocent, having found the sticky evidence on his bedsheets several times, although she supposed that he was still cherry and had never fucked more than his fist. Thinking about her young son jacking off was making Catherine hotter than ever. She remembered the first time she had discovered congealed cum on his sheet. She had been shocked, at first, to realize that her little boy could shoot cum, but it had excited her, as well. Feeling very naughty and depraved, the over-sexed woman had held the slimy sheet up to her face and licked at her son's jism. The cherry fuckjuice had been delicious and, naturally, Catherine had wondered what it would taste like to suck a load straight out of his sturdy young prick. She would never do such a wicked thing, of course-or so she had assured herself-but the speculation had made her so randy that she had frigged her pussy to jelly, sitting on the boy's bed. Now she simply had to frig herself again. She moved from the window and sat down on the couch. The doggy was still standing by the closed door, one ear cocked up, hoping to be let out. He whimpered with frustration. Catherine glanced at the brute, feeling a little embarrassed at the thought of fingerfucking herself with the dog in the room. But she couldn't let him out, or he would chase after Carson. Anyhow, he was only a dumb doggy. He probably wouldn't even notice what she was doing, she reasoned. Although they owned one, Catherine obviously didn't know a lot about dogs. Sliding down so that her firm ass was resting on the very edge of the couch, Catherine drew her gown open. She gazed down the plane of her belly at her crotch. Her cunt mound was a bushy triangle of golden curls spreading out on the flat surface of her loins. She spread her thighs and arched her neck, looking right at her cunt. Her pink pussy lips were unfurled like the petals of a fleshy flower, streaked with morning dew, and her open slot was flooded with cunt cream. Her fuck button stood out, stiff and tingling, from her juicy pussy. Catherine didn't begin frigging her cunt right away. She was in the mood for a lingering handjob, enjoying the preliminaries before the creamy climax. She began to fondle her big, heavy tits, kneading the tit mounds and the taut tits. Waves of pleasure shot through her body. Her nipples exploded in her fingers and, as if by sympathetic vibration, her clit began to pulse. She cupped her tits in both hands, lifting the globes and deepening her smooth cleavage. Ducking her blonde head down, she stuck her tongue out and began to lick at her nipples and to run her tongue up through her cleavage. Saliva dribbled onto her tits as she mouthed herself enthusiastically. Her face turned from side to side as she switched from tit to tit, licking and sucking. Her nipples expanded in her lips, and her pussy began to flow heavily. Cunt juice poured down her hairy crotch and seeped into the crack of her ass. She gazed down at her steaming cunt, whimpering. Catherine wished that she were nimble enough to go down on herself! What a treat that would be! But she had tried it, and failed. Her questing tongue had fallen just short of the mark, frustratingly close. She had been able to lick her pubic mound but unable to get her nimble tongue onto her clit. The fragrance of her smoldering cunt had wafted up to her flushed face, driving her wild with the double desire to suck cunt and be sucked. Her failure had been so damned frustrating that she hadn't attempted it again, although the thought of giving herself head never ceased to thrill her. Now she slid one fingertip up through her slimy cuntslot, then brought her hand up to her lips and licked at her own pussy nectar. The creamy stuff was delicious. She pushed her sticky finger into her mouth and sucked on it as if it were a prick.