The Watchdog
By Moe Lester.
Rachel Roberts tells her husband how the next-door neighbor woman was beaten, robbed, and raped in her bedroom a few nights ago. It had been on the news and is the street gossip.
“And don’t suggest a gun,” Rachel said, waving her hand. “You know I’m against them.”
Mike shrugs. “Maybe we can ask the police to keep an eye on things?”
“The police can’t watch every house every night, and I won’t feel safe until they catch that prowler.”
“So, what do you want me to do?”
“I ought to have some protection when you’re not here. What do you think of a watchdog?”
He nods. “Good idea, honey.”
That afternoon he takes her and Dylan, his nineteen-year-old son from a previous marriage, shopping for a watchdog.
*****
“I’ve got just what you’re looking for,” the dog breeder said, leading them to the rear of his kennels. He shows them a full-grown male Mastiff.
“He looks more like a pony than a dog,” Rachel said wide-eyed.
“It probably eats like a horse, too,” Mike mumbles, thinking of the food and vet costs of such a massive dog.
The dog breeder explains that the Mastiff was an ancient breed, a ferocious fighting dog used by the Roman legions and later in Europe to kill wolves that ventured near small villages at night. But for all its ferocity, he assured them, the Mastiff was always very affectionate and devoted to its owners and made not only a good family pet but a watchdog perfect in every way, not just a barker but a natural protector of the home.
What the breeder doesn’t tell them is that he sold this particular Mastiff as a puppy three years ago to a young couple, and now he’s reselling it because the irate husband caught his wife receiving a thorough fucking from the animal.
Mike Roberts had no way of knowing that he was buying his lonely wife a four-legged lover and a watchdog. Of course, Rachel doesn’t either. They take the dog home, and nothing out of the ordinary happens for several days.
*****
Tyson is the dog’s name, named after Mike Tyson, the boxer, and it certainly looked the part despite the dog’s friendliness to Rachel and her stepson Dylan. A Mastiff is built similarly to a Saint Bernard, although its hair is short and sleek, silver-fawn. Tyson is tall as a Great Dane but stockier and more powerfully built at one-hundred-eighty-five pounds.
Rachel keeps the dog in the fenced backyard, where Dylan romps with the playful animal every day after college. When she goes out to feed and water her new watchdog, Tyson never fails to nuzzle her from behind, trying to sniff her butt. At first, Rachel hurriedly puts down the dog’s food and water and then scolds Tyson on the run as the woman dashes back into the house. But she soon overcame her fear of the animal and started slapping the dog for its inappropriate overtures and scolding it on the spot.
No matter how hard she slaps the animal, Tyson hardly blinked an eye. The dog never so much as growled at her, which made Rachel ashamed for hitting the dog so much. The woman reasons this is the way of all dogs, and Tyson is only trying to get acquainted with her. Rachel finally decides the most sensible thing would be to let the dog smell her once, figuring it would fulfill its instinctual urge and end the embarrassing incidents.
Too modest to do it out in the open where her neighbors might see and surely misunderstand her reasons, Rachel opens the kitchen door one morning while her stepson is at college and calls Tyson to the house. The Mastiff came galloping across the yard. She holds open the door, and it trots into the house for the first time since her husband had brought the animal for her. Tyson’s head is as high as her waist, so she doesn’t need to stoop when she pets the animal.
“All right, boy,” she said when it nuzzled her abdomen. “I feel silly about this, but I know you’ll keep after me until you get a good smell of my behind, so let’s get it over and done with.”
Rachel goes over to the kitchen table. She pulled up her housedress and skins off her panties, then leaned over the table and braced herself on her elbows with her dress up around her waist, presenting Tyson with her bare, outthrust rear end. Rachel is five-foot-four. At forty-five, she’s about twenty pounds overweight. The excess fat had thickened her thighs, hips, and buttocks and caused a slight midriff bulge around her waist.
The horny dog’s floppy ears perk up at the sight of her exposed, womanly rump. Tyson’s ex-mistress had often bared herself to the animal this way, though in the bedroom, not the kitchen, so the dog’s subhuman mentality perceived this as a sexual invitation. Tyson’s glands began to react, and the Mastiff started to respond as the previous owner trained it.
“Don’t just stand there licking your chops,” Rachel said, glancing nervously over her shoulder. “You’ve been trying to smell my butt since we brought you home. Well, now I’m gonna let you do it so you’ll quit embarrassing me out in the yard. Go on, smell it.”
Tyson lumbers up behind her, sniffing the air. The Mastiff nudges its cold snout into the crevice of her warm buttocks.
“Oh God,” Rachel squeals. She jumps reflexively. “Your nose is like an ice cube.”
Forcing herself to relax as best she can, Rachel steels herself for the necessary but unpleasant task, and she spreads her legs slightly to increase the space between her cringing ass cheeks. She feels ridiculous bending over the table this way. All she wants is to give the animal a smell so it will leave her alone from now on, and she hopes the Mastiff will hurry now that she’s made her anus more accessible to it.
There’s no rushing the big dog, however. The Mastiff can sense its new mistress’s mood of nervous unsureness, and the scent she’s giving off tells the animal that, for some reason, her fear of it has suddenly returned. The Mastiff works the broad front of its short, dark muzzle into her butt crack and begins sniffing in earnest.
“Oh, hurry,” Rachel pleads. “Haven’t you smelled me enough by now?”
The dog hadn’t, for it kept sniffing away, apparently enjoying the odor. Rachel is keenly aware of the dog’s cold nose, which seems all the colder when the dog’s warm breath begins bathing over the inner slopes of her rear end. She sets her teeth and makes her hands into fists. She’ll have to make the animal quit if it doesn’t stop soon.
Rachel is beginning to have doubts about this idea. It seemed like a good idea to her logic-oriented mind at the time, but now that she’s allowing Tyson to smell her most secret of all spots, it’s affecting her strangely. Not only is it making her nervous, but she can feel a faint tingling in her loins that’s upsettingly like the beginning fermentations of sexual arousal. Without warning, the Mastiff sticks out its tongue and starts lapping at her forbidden area.
“What the fuck?” Rachel groans, shivering involuntarily as the warm, wet tongue washes the crevice of her tremulous rump. “I didn’t think you’d want to do anything like that.”
The animal keeps licking the trough of her butt crack.
“Stop it. Stop it,” Rachel shouts, squirming with a blast of unbidden sensual discomfort that makes her weak in the knees.
She tries to pull away from the vulgarly behaving beast, but every time she moves her behind, the dog follows insistently, working its snout deeper and deeper into the cleavage of her soft white butt cheeks. Rachel scoots hopingly halfway around the table before she leans limply forward with her head in her arms and gives in to the irresistible pleasure of the dog’s lust-inciting tongue.
“Ooooo….”
It feels good. There is no denying it. Rachel knows it’s shameful to let an animal lick her back there. ‘I’ve tried to stop the dog, haven’t I? Oh, what can it hurt?’ she rationalized. ‘Tyson’s only spit-bathing my rear end, and it feels so nice.’ Rachel tells herself it’s no different from letting a pet lick a hand or face. Still, in the back of her mind, she knew better because if her new watchdog was licking her hand or face, it wouldn’t be causing butterflies in her stomach or sending ripples of illicit pleasure through her spine.
“I shouldn’t let you do that to me, Tyson,” she said. “But go ahead. No one will ever know, will they? It does feel lovely. Oh, yes, do it. Lick me deep. Oooooh. Wash the crack of my ass with your hot, wet tongue.” Her teeth catch her lower lip. She reaches back, letting her large, pendulous breasts flatten against the tabletop, takes hold of her white mounds of flesh, and pulls the twin hillocks further apart. “Fuck,” she whines, rocking her flared hips as the Mastiff licks hotly right into the puckered brown orifice of her erogenous rectum. “It might be nasty, but it sure is nice.”
She doesn’t want the animal to stop now. Her husband has been gone for nearly three weeks, so Rachel’s sex fuse is getting pretty short. It isn’t sex, but it’s close enough. Having her butt licked is a form of tantalizing torture. She thinks she might climax from it if the dog keeps it up for a few minutes longer.
With her head resting on the table, she can’t see that the dog’s canine cock is erecting swiftly, inch by inch, sliding all red and gleaming, wet from the furry sheath in front of the dog’s large, dangling testicles. So far as Tyson is concerned, licking his mistress’s ass is a pleasant pastime but only a prelude to bigger and better things ahead. The Mastiff is through with her rectum and ready to move on to the next warming-up exercise, which means paying the same lingual attention to the moistening slit below.
“Ahhhh, God,” Rachel cries in pleasured shock.
She feels the dog’s educated tongue slap wetly over her furry pussy slit and wriggles thrillingly between the puffy softness of her hair-rimmed labia. Its tip tickles the nerve-laden bud of her blood-enlarged clit as it drags its tongue through that vaginal trough and gives her anus another mind-numbing lick. Rachel hadn’t expected anything like this, but it felt so terrific that she wasn’t about to object.
“Yes, yes,” she moans, a sensual smile washing over her face. “Oh, you naughty dog. That feels divine. Lick my pussy. Lick deeper.”
‘This is so wrong,’ she thought, but her mind was fuzzy, and she didn’t care. ‘What would Mike think if it could see me now? Oh, to hell with it. Mike’s out of town, and Dylan’s at college. There’s no one in the house but Tyson and me. Wrong or not, I like what he’s doing to me. Let him lick me off before I put him back outside.’
She’s slipping into a mood she hasn’t known for years. It’s so forbidden and erotic. It makes her feel the way she had as a teenage girl. When she was first awakening to sex, Rachel sometimes let a date go as far as playing with her breasts through her blouse and bra. Sometimes, she’d allow her pussy to be petted a little through her secretion-moistened panties.
But it’s much more sinful to let the enormous dog lick her privates, giving her an even more incredible thrill. Tyson’s tongue is so hot and scratchy, and it feels marvelous. She spreads her legs a fraction more. Her lower abdomen settles upon the table, the edge pressing into the fronts of her fleshy thighs, and she begins sighing softly, her eyes closed. Her shamelessly exposed ass sticking out, wagging almost imperceptibly.
“Ooooo. Ahhh. Deeper. Lick deeper,” Rachel moans.
With her legs slowly inching wider apart, the hairy crack between them opens bit by bit. The woman’s pussy lips flutter submissively as the dog’s tongue laps incessantly between them to collect the clear, slippery fluids oozing down from her secreting vagina. Rachel loses herself entirely in the mind-fogging pleasure of the lurid act. She’s read of such things as this with a sense of revulsion. She had been unable to understand how any woman could allow such things. But now it’s happening to her. She can’t honestly blame any woman for enjoying the wicked pleasures of a hot, avidly lapping animal tongue.
Her new watchdog is licking beyond the brownish outer labia of her parted pussy now. It’s getting better and better. She shivers with lustful delight as she feels the dog’s roughened tongue scrubbing the highly sensitive folds of reddish tissue comprising the vestibule of her aroused, tingling vagina. The Mastiff is licking her good, the upper surface of its canine taste organ dragging abrasively over the tender tip of her elongated clit.
“Mmmm. Ooooo. Ahhhhhh,” she moans, her hands making trembling fists, strands of jet black hair (which she keeps dyed to hide the gray) hanging down in her face.
As far as Rachel is concerned, this can go on for hours because she’s enjoying it to the utmost. So is the horny Mastiff, but the dog’s cock is fully erect now, a colorless liquid drips from its pointed tip, and the dog’s sperm-burdened testicles are transmitting a message to the canine brain. The Mastiff backs off, licking its chops.
“Oh, no. Don’t stop now,” Rachel whines.
Her orgasm is in sight, and she wants it desperately. She needn’t have worried about being deserted in her moment of carnal craving, for the instinctive urge to copulate has taken over the Mastiff. Up it rears, the dog’s forepaws prancing across her buttocks and up her back as it half-walks, half-bops forward on its hind legs.
“Oh my God, no, not that,” Rachel shrieks when she realizes what Tyson means to do to her with a flash of fear-filled alarm. “Get down, Tyson. No. You mustn’t. Letting you lick me is one thing, but, motherfucker, this is going too far.”
Tyson has his ideas on the matter. The Mastiff is not one to take no for an answer. When she swings back her arm, attempting to knock the animal off and rise simultaneously, the dog growls at her for the first time. Giving her the same vicious warning brought her rushing to the cowering meter reader’s aid a few days earlier. It scares the hell out of Rachel. Then she watches in horror as the dog’s powerful jaws enclose her upper arm, the sharp points of its menacingly bared teeth prick but not break her skin. Rachel nearly shits herself. Those fangs will rip her flesh and crush the bone if the dog bit down.
“All right,” she squeaks in a voice thin with terror. “I won’t fight you. Do what you will, only dear God, don’t hurt me.”
The Mastiff releases her arm. Rachel breathes a sigh of relief. Beads of cold sweat stand out on her skin. Her heart hammers against her rib cage. The palms of her clenched hands are moist with sweat. The hulking watchdog her husband had brought to protect her from prowlers will stick its dirty animal cock inside her, and there was nothing she could do about it. She doesn’t dare try to stop the animal. They’re alone in the house. If Tyson turns vicious, she dreads imagining what he might do to her. Those wicked teeth of the dogs can tear her to pieces in no time.
Cursing her stupidity, realizing too late that her naive logic had gotten her into this precarious predicament, Rachel resigns herself to her humiliating fate. She loathes allowing the demanding dog to fuck her like a whimpering bitch in some back alley. But she’s whimpering and every bit as helpless as a bitch in heat.
It’s an outrage, a crime against nature, but what can she do? Raped by the very dog her husband bought to protect her from such an attack by a human male. It gives her a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She cringes at the knowledge that this is her fault for being such a ninny as to think that letting the animal smell her butt would satisfy the dog’s urge and end the embarrassing incidents in the backyard when she goes out to feed it.
Rachel wishes she never mentioned a watchdog, but it’s too late for that now. She can feel the pointed head of the dog’s organ poking erratically at her saliva and secretion-slick crotch. Despite her reluctance to allow this unholy union, it gives her an unbidden perverted thrill. ‘How big is Tyson’s cock?’ she wonders without wanting to. ‘Will I be able to take it? Oh God, don’t let him hurt me.’ Tyson finds the mark and teasingly jabs a couple of hot, hard inches into his mistress’s soft, moist crevice.
*****
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