Posted by jackh on October 28, 2006 at 15:07:59:
An Oven Glows In Brooklyn
by Jack
One Saturday a month, Carmela Fazzini put a sign in the window that said, "Closed Today Open Tomorrow". Her husband had wanted to close on Sundays, when business was off, but Carmela wouldn't hear of it. The oven cooked a girl instead of pies on closing days which was enough of a sin without compounding it.
The pizza store was located in a nice part of Brooklyn. Elegant brownstones lined the streets linking the long avenues. There were trees, nearby a great park nearby and the second largest museum in the city. At the block on Seventh where Carmela had re-established the store as "Prospect Pizza", stone churches guarded three of the four corners. Carmela took comfort in the churches, not in going to any of them which she never felt worthy of doing, but in their stolid presence, their everyday aid to her private atonement.
The family had moved with the business from a rough and tumble section along the East River. Carmela had longed for something better. How she tired of the taunting views of the splendor across the water.
"It's nice up there, Geno. We get a real yard maybe. And the cops they got friendlier eyes," she had lobbied her reluctant husband one afternoon as they took the air in their roof chairs .
It was true. The cannibal crowd came and went on party days with a freedom seldom felt in the old neighborhood. The cops paid no particular notice. In fact, there didn't seem to be many cops. But Carmela had another, equally weighty, reason for moving her family up in the world. She wanted the right environment for her boy, a good school and nice girls. The lad was at a dangerous age. He needed to be well away from the sluts of west Brooklyn, and the gangs. She hadn't named him David for nothing. He was going to college and become a doctor if she could help it and she didn't doubt that she could. Carmela had always protected her son from any knowledge of her and Geno's guilty passion. The boy believed his parents' club was like the Masons, steeped in righteousness and mystery. He had given up asking questions about it.
The family lived in their new building's two upper floors. On meat girl Saturdays, David could leave and re-enter by way of the back stairs but he was barred from the store. Carmela bolted the door to the back stairwell to make sure he couldn't sneak in. As always, two men policed the front door, admitting club members and keeping out everyone else. Once inside, a visitor would see a long counter with a wall behind it, a few chairs by the windows, and doors just past the ends of the counter. The kitchen was behind the door at one side, on the other a short hall flanked the kitchen, then opened to a fair sized banquet room. The floor plan worked well for Prospect Pizza's secret function.
At the back of the basement lay a room entirely off limits to David. A padlocked steel door blocked the way. In the hidden room were kept the mysterious trappings of the club, its books, a mace, the robes, etc., or so David thought. The room actually contained a meat freezer, butcher tools, rope, gags, handcuffs, enema kits, instruments and devices for killing, extracting pain or giving pleasure, a cabinet stocked with syringes and drugs, and a soundproofed cage that every so often, in the dead of night, received a tenant.
"Some time we show Davy what we do. Let him be a man," Geno Fazzini would say in this or that formulation to express his opinion.
"Neva!," Carmela would reply.
Hope Blossom lounged in the sun with her book. It was so nice to have a yard again and they even had a first floor apartment! She could overlook the fact that they lived next door to a pizza store. She had put on a skirt, not one of her many long ones, but a short one for a change. She smiled, wondering what the orchestra would think, what Herr Hors-Schitt, their tyrannical conductor, would think.
She wanted to read awhile and not think. She opened the book but didn't read. They had been married ten boring months. Why did Bill have to be so very disappointing in bed? She fidgeted, crossly. Her wish had come to nothing that their first night in the new apartment would kindle him. She glanced at the book again and closed it. The sun was warm. She would let it sooth and tan her before she had to run for the bus.
Next door, the boy appeared. She watched him between the breaks in the bushes along the chain fence. He walked a dog to a run at the end of his yard. The dog was big, gleaming black. It appeared to survey its surroundings as it led the boy on its leash. Something about the dog gave her a shiver. She shook it off and drew her gaze back to the boy. She had noticed him the day before during her first venture into the yard.
The boy looked at her on his way back. He waved. She waved. He came closer and stopped by the fence.
“Getting some sun?,” he said.
“For a minute. I have to go to rehearsal,” she said.
"Yeah? You an actress?"
She laughed. "No. I play the cello with an orchestra."
"You look like you could be an actress."
"Thank you."
The boy appeared to be about sixteen but he was more than six feet tall and virile in the way of boys. He would make mince meat of Bill, she mused. He was shirtless, wearing jeans molded to his legs and thighs, and groin. She held her gaze a moment on the long, slight bulge she could make out from a distance of twenty feet. The boy would make mince meat of Bill in that department as well, she thought wryly. The boy was staring at her in the way she regarded him, she realized.
Nearer to the buildings the fence had a lockless gate left over from a time when the properties were looked after by a single owner. The boy went to the gate and opened it. She hadn't invited him but he was coming. What a manly boy! Grinning at her, he came up to a weathered picnic table a few feet from her lounge and leaned against it.
“I’m taking off pretty soon myself. Gonna play some basketball. I just gotta watch the dog before I go.”
“He's very big, isn't he. Is he friendly?,” she said.
“It's not our dog. We're keeping him for a couple of days. He's kind of funny. I wouldn't try to pat him if I were you."
"Oh."
The boy's gazes went from her face to her legs and back again, over and over. He had spoken to her softly, in a respectful tone, but his looks were bold. Heat flushed her face, her own not the sun's. She glanced at her tits pointing their nipples in her white blouse. She shifted her legs to inch the skirt a bit higher for him. She watched him take notice.
“Goodness,” she thought.
“Got an itch?”, the boy said.
She smiled. “Sort of. You live above the pizza store, yes?"
"We own it, my family does. I'm David Fazzini. You can call me Davy"
"Hi, Davy. My name is Hope. My husband and I moved in a couple of days ago. That's ours, first floor. So, what's the verdict."
"Huh?"
"My legs. Are they okay?"
Davy laughed, easily. "Yeah, they're great. You're pretty."
Hope smiled. What are you doing?, she said to herself. Are you out of your mind? Stop it! Her voice said, "My husband doesn't care about my legs."
"He doesn't?"
"No."
"I bet he does, Hope. Why wouldn't he like them?"
"He's whimpish that way. But maybe he's right." Stop it, you idiot!, her mind said.
"What do you mean, he's right? I don't think he's right."
"Well, he could be right, Davy. I mean he's seen all of my legs and you've only seen them up to...here."
She fingered the hem of her skirt.
Davy looked steadily at the pretty woman's legs. He worked his mouth without saying anything.
"Would you like to see more of me, Davy? I would like to have your opinion."
The boy's cheeks reddened. He kept his gaze down. She couldn't tell if he was still looking at her legs or the ground.
"We could go inside, in my apartment. It's kind of public out here."
"I'm supposed to be watching the dog."
"He's tied up. Wouldn't he be all right for a few minutes?"
Davy looked over at the dog. It was lying in the uncut grass with its head up, peering their way.
"If he barked my mom would come out. She'd wonder where I was."
"Mmmm, I see. Your mom is working in the store now?"
"Yeah, she and my dad."
"Suppose we brought the dog inside with us," she said.
Davy nodded. "So you would show me your legs in there?"
"Uh huh."
He cleared his throat. "Just your legs, right."
"Let's go inside, Davy."
II
At his uptown suite, sixteen miles and a world away from Prospect Pizza, Horatio Finley spoke into the phone.
"How's the dog?"
"He's a-good....still good." Geno Fazzini sighed, patiently. Finley had called three times already about the dog.
"Tell Davy to walk him but keep him leashed, don't let him out of the yard. You told the boy, yes?"
"I tell him, Mr. Finley. Davy, he with the dog right now."
Geno was accustomed to Finley's anxiety about one aspect or another of an upcoming party. Finley paid for things, including the very expensive meat girls that Leon Gonzales delivered to the pizza store once a month. The latest delivery had arrived two nights before from the Gonzales farm. The dog came the next day. The girl and dog had both been raised south of the border, she amid Argentinian aristocracy, the dog in a Mexican whorehouse where it had received extensive training in the work expected of it at the party. The girl, who had no experience of course for her intended role, happened to have a genius IQ and a generous heart but she was also beautiful and had suffered the misfortune of being spotted on a beach in her bikini by Leon's hunters. For all her beauty, brains and goodness she had been made in the end for the oven.
The program on Saturday would follow the usual format, with the addition of a dog rape as a special feature. About nine in the morning, the girl would be washed, brought upstairs and put on a mattress. Cords wrapped to her wrists and ankles and tied to cleats in the floor would keep her spread and secure. She would be available for fucking from then until two o'clock by which time everyone should be in attendance. A business meeting would open the group events, followed by the dog show and after that the girl would be cleaned up, shaved, denailed and turned over to the butcher. By four o'clock she should be ready for the oven. Dinner was planned for ten. While the girl cooked, members would mix or cavort or whatever. The notice of the "June Meeting and Get Together" that club secretary Dorothy Maple emailed to members promised "a real fun time for everyone." Dorothy meant almost everyone.
"That dog cost me a small fortune just to rent, Geno. The girl hasn't seen it, has she?"
"No, no. She in the cage. She not see anything."
"I don't want her to see it till the party, when we put her out on the stage with it."
"She run maybe when she sees it."
"She might run or she might freeze. It doesn't matter. If she gets off the stage before the dog gets to her, I'll call it off till we get her back up. I want it to fuck her on the stage. I'm going to have the cameras positioned there. People will see better if it's up there."
Finley softened his tone. "Is Carmela still mad at me?"
"She okay."
"I can't have the dog here. She knows that. Soon as the party's over I'll have it brought back. Tell her I'm going to pay her a bonus for this."
"I tell her."
"Just don't let it loose."
"Yeah, it dangerous, right? Suppose it go after Carmela."
"No, no. It won't. It's trained, Geno. I told you. It won't bother a woman if she's clothed. Just tell Carmela not to take it into the shower with her." Finley chuckled. "But if it gets loose, it could get disoriented. It's used to being in a controlled environment. You understand? If it gets loose, in the city especially, it could run amok. That's what they told me and these people know their business. So be careful, that's all, and advise Carmela not to let it see those Italian bazooms she likes to show off."
Gino laughed, dutifully. "I tell her."
The dog had made only momentary impressions on Hope in Davy's yard, hemmed by the fence and the towering backs of neighboring brownstones, but now, in the apartment, leading her visitors through the kitchen and down the narrow, darkened hall to the bedroom it was the dog's presence she felt more than Davy's. She was concerned. Her second thoughts about admitting the animal had begun when she watched Davy coming over with it. The dog was a good head higher than a Shepard and at least as powerfully built. It gazed at her without apparent interest as it approached, calm and composed, exuding a lordly menace. She laughed in spite of her worry at how the animal made it seem in its size and bearing that rather than Davy leading the dog to her building, the dog was bringing the boy.
"What's his name again," she said midway down the hall, giving the beast a glance over her shoulder.
"Brute."
"It fits," she laughed, not that anything about Brute struck her as funny.
A single window facing the passway brightened the bedroom a little but not much. She went to it and let down the blind which was already closed. Then she turned on the lamp on the bed table. A yellow light shone warmly on the pillows and the lapping coverlet but the light receded along the bed until there was almost none at the end of the bed where she went to sit. Davy, the dog half his height beside him, stood in semi darkness in the doorway.
"Well, come in you two." Why was she inviting the dog, she wondered. They could tie its leash to something in the kitchen.
"Would he bark if we left him in the kitchen?"
"I don't know," Davy said. The boy hadn't moved, but he dropped the leash. Brute ambled into the room and settled heavily on the floor in front of the closet from where it had a view of the end of the bed and the mistress bitch who was perched there.
"I guess he's all right there. Are you all right, Davy?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean are you all right being alone with a married woman in her bedroom?"
"Hey, it was your idea, Hope."
"Yes, it was. Close the door, please. It will be cozier with the door closed. Don't you want to be cozy, Davy?"
"I don't know," Davy mumbled. He closed the door.
"That's better. I do hope this is better." She hitched herself higher on the bed and then, lying in the soft yellow light, she opened her legs and lifted her skirt. She folded the skirt back above the band of her her light blue panties.
She closed her eyes, waiting for Davy to say something. He stood silently at the foot of the bed, looking down at the woman's legs and thighs and panties and mostly he looked at the mounded vee. He cleared his throat.
"Okay, you want to know about my opinion, Hope. Right?," he said, finally.
"Uh uh, that's not what I want, Davy."
"Geez."
"May I ask you a question?" Her eyes remained closed.
"What?"
"Have you ever screwed a girl?"
"What are you asking that for?"
She stopped herself from smiling at the strain in the boy's voice. She looked at him and gently said,
"Because, Davy, if you've never screwed a girl, this is your chance. And if you have screwed a girl, this is your new chance."
"Geez."
Hope unbuttoned the top of her blouse. "Just think, you could tell your friends you fucked the pretty married woman next door, a woman who looks like an actress."
"I...I wouldn't tell, Hope."
"It's okay if you tell them. You will anyway. But I know something you wouldn't tell them."
She paused while she undid the rest of her blouse, leaving it open on her chest.
"You wouldn't tell them that the pretty woman was easy and that she even asked you to fuck her but you were afraid to do it. You wouldn't tell them that, I bet," and with this she drew back the folds of her blouse.
Davy didn't speak or move. His reddened face took on a ruddy glow in the lamplight; perspiration glistened on his forehead. Every part of this woman was beautiful, her legs, her arms, her face and now her tits full and round and half revealed in the bra. He was convinced she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he had permission to fuck her if he could only get up the nerve and his dick. The fact was he never had fucked a girl, but he was not about to admit it.
"You gonna take it off?"
"My bra? Sure. I'll take if off for you, Davy. If my husband were here I wouldn't take it off for him, but I'll take it off for you."
She started to push up the bra. Then she stopped.
"No, Davy. You take it off."
"Yeah?"
"Yes, Mr. Conversationalist. Come here. Get in this bed."
Davy tightened more than he already was. The woman was making fun of him. He felt his cock stir for the first time since they had come to the bedroom. The onset of an erection for Davy was a little like a spring being released. He took two steps to the side of bed and when he got there his cock had taken on the appearance of a length of plumbing stuck in his jeans. Hope stared and blinked. How could a boy have a cock like that?
"I can talk okay when I want to," he told her.
"Oh."
Kneeling on the bed beside her, he finished what she had started with the bra. He pushed his hands on her tits, tits that were both firm and soft, beautifully round and smooth, the nipples pink and hard pointed, just like in the magazines. She pulled his head to her and kissed him and after a moment he clumsily kissed her in return, still feeling her up. While they made out she worked on his jeans, getting them down enough for his cock to come out in an absurd stretch of white underpants.
Davy took it from there. He removed all his clothes, then the rest of hers. She remained silent and still, letting him take charge. She loved his long, lean young body and the sight of his cock and the waiting for it. He worked quickly, getting them undressed, and then he moved on top of her. As fast as he could get it in, he speared her. At that very moment they heard Geno's first frantic shout.
"Davy!!"
The boy froze but only for a second before he began to fuck. He could not have stopped himself from fucking her if his parents along with the entire Fazzini family had trooped en masse into the bedroom. He fucked like a jack rabbit. He would have fucked her the same if he had all day instead of no time at all which was what he had. She could do nothing besides take it. They bounced on the bed until he exploded into her. It didn't take long and it was too quick for her. Afterward, she would figure it could not have lasted half a minute. Even so, for pure fucking it had been a trip to remember. Davy, not having jerked off in a day and a half, was fully loaded when he filled her.
"Davy! Davy!" The first shouts had come from the front of the apartment building but now they were coming from the back.
The boy rolled off her and lunged for his clothes. She saw the panic in his face, knew he was overcome by the combination of events.
"Wait, let me think," she gasped.
"I love you, Hope. My mother is going to kill me but I love you." He was pulling up his pants looking at her.
"Davy, go out the front door. Yell to your father to come out front where you are, tell him Brute got loose and ran down the street and you were out looking for him. Your father will go looking, both of you will, and when you come back I'll be out there with Brute. I'll say I saw him on the sidewalk and knew he was your dog so I kept him there for you. I can tie him to the bike rack."
"Okay. Hope, can I...see you again?"
She smiled at him. Maybe he wasn't as overcome as she'd thought. "Probably not. Oh, I don't know. We'll see. Now scoot."
"Yeah. But did I do okay?"
She rose on her toes and lightly kissed him.
"You did great, Davy. You are an amazing guy."
She was still nude after she had brought him to the door and returned to the bed. She tingled all over. She needed release. She was adept at achieving it alone as she often did, too often, she told herself, lying back in the pillows. But she wasn't alone.
III
Hope had no sooner fallen back on the bed than she forgot everything except her burning need to finish what the boy had started. Brute heard the gasps and groans. He lifted his nose. It was a pattern he knew: first the man or men, then him. Sometimes the bitches called for him with their noises, like this one. The dog rose. Its black head and neck appeared above the end of the bed but Hope had her eyes squeezed shut. Her mind was far away. Nor did she react to the quake of the mattress when the dog bounded up.
Moving between her legs, Brute lowered his head and pushed the bitch's hand out of the way. Hope's eyes popped open at last. The dog thrust its tongue into her. It was like nothing she had ever felt. Only fear kept her from melting then and there. But she sensed that everything about the dog was stronger than she was; not even her fear would hold up. She howled. She banged her fists on the beast's head. It occurred to her that she could try to turn over but what would the dog do to her then? The tongue curled into her, to the bottom of her well, twisting, straightening out, curling back, straightening again. It was like an improved version of a cock and it fucked her in a new way. Her protests slackened. She dropped her arms and closed her eyes.
"Ooooo, do me, doggy," she heard herself say.
She moved her hips, moaning and whimpering and giving herself until she came.
Still sighing in the aftermath of her orgasm, she opened her eyes to see the dog standing, straddling her. It's front legs were outside her knees. It looked down at her and showed its teeth.
Ridden out under its stomach in plain view was its cock, red and glistening, as long nearly as the boy's.
"Oh, God."
The dog brought its head down and bumped her at the waist.
"No, Brute," she pleaded, softly.
The dog growled. It bumped her again. She put her hands on its head. She tried to hold and pat it at the same time. She turned so as not to have to see the cock.
"Good dog, good dog," she said to calm it.
Brute yanked his head away and barked. Then he snarled and bumped her hard at the waist, half turning her over. He barked again, louder. To make sure the bitch understood, he opened his jaws and clamped his teeth on her hip. She cried out. The dog didn't draw blood but the teeth marked her. Brute bumped her once more and this time she let it turn her. Maybe it only wanted to lick again, she lied to herself. She buried her head in the pillow and lifted her rump. The dog mounted her at once. Its fore legs gripped her. She couldn't move if she tried, she realized. She was at the dog's mercy, but did she even want mercy? Was she possibly willing for the animal to fuck her? Yes, she thought, wildly. She was.
"Fuck me, Brute."
The dog didn't jab blindly at the bitch's upturned bottom. It probed knowingly for the cunt with the head of its dick. It soon found it, and entered her daintily as an oil drill.
"Ah!!!"
Davy told his father he dropped the leash when he stumbled in the yard and the dog had escaped up the alley. He had reached the avenue in time to see it on the sidewalk heading north.
"Why you here? Why you not go after it?"
Davy said he had gone after it but turned back because he thought he should tell his father what had happened.
"Davy, Davy."
Together they trotted up the walk. Davy had seen the dog turn the corner at the end of the first block, he said, so the boy and his father continued down the side street a short way until Davy, turning around, cried out, "There he is. He's back at the avenue. I just saw him at the corner. He's going back toward the store."
When they got to the store the dog was nowhere to be seen but Carmela came out to vent her fury. Geno could only shrug. Davy wondered if he had misunderstood and that Hope intended to have the dog tied up in back instead of out front. The dog had just returned, he told hem, and probably was in the yard.
"I was watching, Davy. No dog, no dog!," Carmela screamed at him.
"Maybe you didn't see him is all," Davy said. "Come on."
So the boy led his parents down the passway. They were going by the window to Hope's bedroom when they heard the bark. Carmela and Geno exchanged a glance. Another bark. Then a cry.
"Geez!," said Davy.
One look at her son's face told Carmela all she needed to know.
"You took the dog inside with the woman!"
Davy turned to go but his father grabbed him.
"We gotta go in there. The dog is hurting her!," Davy yelled.
"I go in. Your mother and me, we go in. You go to the store," Geno said. He slapped the boy's face. Then he hurried up the alley with Carmela. Davy stood a moment at the window, listening. He didn't hear anything more. Whatever trouble Hope had with the dog seemed to be over. The trouble now would be his, with his mother. Would Hope tell his parents everything that had happened? It didn't matter. His mother was sure to figure it out.
IV
A black limo bearing the license plate, "HORATIO", eased up to the curb at the front of the alley just as Geno and Carmela were unhappily discovering the whereabouts of the dog. The man himself had arrived to see how things were going. Emerging from the back of the car, Finley saw Davy slump against the side of the building while his parents scurried down the alley, turning at the end not left toward their store but to the right. Something was amiss.
Horatio Finley was fifty five years old. He was shorter than average, trim and fit. He had all his hair, though it was completely gray, and kept it neatly cropped. As he stood on the walk in a freshly pressed brown suit and bow tie, wearing prince-nez glasses, he struck an appearance that, along with his crisp manner of speech and determined approach to business, reminded some who knew their history of Harry Truman. They could not have found another similarity.
Finley strode to the boy, who recognized him but had not met him before.
"What's going on here? ," Finley snapped.
"I don't know," Davy said.
"Where's the dog?"
Davy, who had seen the limo, remembered what his father had told him. The dog belonged to the rich man, Mr. Finley, and they were taking care of it while the rich man was away.
Davy pointed to the building. "The lady who lives there wanted to give him some water so I let her do that."
Finley scowled at the boy, turned on his heels and headed down the alley. A three step landing led to the back of the apartment. Not bothering to knock, Finley pushed open the screen door and went inside. He paused to get his bearings. He heard Geno cursing and he heard another sound he recognized but couldn't quite place. It was the sound a thin mattress makes when being pressed lightly but with rapidity against a box spring. He went to the hall and down it, his concern greater than ever. At the open bedroom doorway he saw how fully his worry was justified. A young woman in the dog's embrace was being hammered on the bed. Finley watched in disgust, shaking his head.
"Ruined, all ruined," he said.
Geno and Carmela, who hadn't realized Finley was behind them, turned at his words. Only then did Finley notice the wound. Geno had his right arm bent up and was pressing his left thumb beneath a long gash on his forearm.
"Mr. Finley....I...I try to stop it but the dog, he bites."
"You can't stop this dog once it starts. I would have warned you if it had ever occurred to me you would need the warning."
After her husband's brave but failed attempt to part the humping dog from the humpee, Carmela had dashed to the bathroom for iodine and a towel. She had found only the towel and had been holding it at the ready. Geno took it and wrapped his arm, glancing defensively at Finley.
"It's all right," Finley said. "You can tell me later what happened. I'm just glad I came. Let's watch the show. It's the only one we're going to see."
Geno looked stricken. "No show tomorrow?"
"The dog's had its balls tied for a month. He's got an ocean of cum in him and you're about to see him spend it. He won't have anything left tomorrow."
Finley studied the scene on the bed. The woman was younger than he had first thought, early twenties at most, a girl practically. She was beautiful, as well, at least her body was beautiful. A pillow half hid her face. She was enjoying what the dog did to her from the sounds she made. The animal gripped her ribs. It moved its hips like a hydraulic machine, its black body stretched along her back, draping its jaw on her shoulder, wetting her with drool. Now and then the jaw raised up, then dropped again for the dog to pant into her hair and against the side of her face. The animal had been fucking her awhile and Finley suspected, or hoped, it would fuck her awhile longer. The ability to fuck a woman for several minutes was one of the attributes that made Brute expensive.
Hope was oblivious of the audience not ten feet from the bed. When Geno and Carmela came into the room her mind had been going and she had been urging it gone because of the madness breaking in, so exciting, so hot. She was having the bliss ride of her life. The deeper way into it she saw was to be like a dog herself. Her pedigree was Vassar and Julliard, but she would be a poodle now, a pretty, flirtatious poodle in a woman's body that the big male dogs fought over to fuck. Here she was on her hands and knees padding up Seventh Avenue on a leash wearing only a whisp of a skirt that she swished on her bottom so that the pack of dogs following her could see her cunt. She was being taken to a place where the dogs would fight and fuck her. Brute, being the king of dogs, could fuck her anytime he wanted and he did. Brute fucked her every day. Why, he had fucked her on stage at the Fourth of July concert when the orchestra played the 1812 Overture. As they neared the finale, she put down her cello and came to the front and Brute fucked her by the podium while the cannons went off. A little extra razzle dazzle. She had to be a person again for that to happen since dogs don't play the cello. A person slut, instead of a dog slut. But that could be just as good. She could have a dog if she couldn't be one. She would buy a big dog with a big cock. She would buy Brute. She would sell the cello. She would tell Bill they needed a guard dog and then at night she would slip out of bed and Brute would take her to the kitchen, no, the living room, and she would get down on her hands and knees on the rug and Brute would fuck her in the dark while her husband slept.
She had three amazing orgasms, one by tongue, two by cock. She had always believed she was capable of multiple orgasms but it had taken a dog to prove it. She wished she might have a chance to suck the dog to show her gratitude. Damn, she wanted to suck him period. She wanted her lips around that ugly, red cock. She wanted to feel it pulsing in her throat. She had begun to imagine herself a dog again, that is, as Hope Blossom who everyone naughtily took for a dog, when Brute commenced to spurt. Her mind cleared then. It cleared of everything except her bitch's duty to receive the hot fountain the dog gushed into her, a duty she but partially fulfilled owing to the mind blowing quantity the dog produced.
When he finished, Brute did not immediately depart, as was his usual practice. He liked this one. He bent over the woman's collapsed body and used his nose to brush her hair from her neck. He nuzzled her and licked her face, letting her know that he liked her, that he would come back if he could, that she could count on him to desire her, as in her dream.
It was another sound that brought Hope slowly out of her daze, a sound near the bed. It seemed like clapping. She turned over and sat up. The sound was what it seemed. A short, oldish, dapperly attired man who resembled a picture she knew of Harry Truman stood a few feet from the bed, grinning at her and clapping. A man and woman were beside him, not clapping. She wasn't sure, but she thought they were the people from the pizza store. Davy's stone faced parents.
"Most impressive, most impressive," Finley declared, having decided the performance he had witnessed was worth the loss of the dog for the party.
"What are you doing here?!," Hope cried, clutching the bedclothes to her bosom.
"Too late for modesty." Finley told her. He turned to the others. "Does she live alone or what?"
"She married. Her husband, he works I think," Geno said.
"Almost three o'clock," Finley said, glancing at his watch.
"Please GET OUT of my apartment!"
Finley took out his cell phone. "Stay where you are," he said, "or Geno will slug you in the face and then you won't be as pretty. Freddy, get the rope in the trunk and bring it in here. Wait, bring the car down the alley first. Come in through the back. Hurry up."