Gus Stevens

Love Me, Love My Dog

CHAPTER ONE

When Trudy showed up at my front door that evening I became an instant dog lover.

Don't get me wrong, Trudy is no dog. Far from it.

She batted her big baby-blue eyes at me and it was several seconds before I was able to break away from her gaze and examine the rest of her. What there was wouldn't quit and I saw an instant winner.

Trudy was built so that every last brick was perfectly placed. She was maybe five-four, with blonde hair that could light an absolutely black room. She had the face of an angel and-as I was to discover-the soul and body of a devil. The eyes gave me the message and that figure backed them up. Under her miniskirt lurked the shape of a vamp encased in the skin of a teen-ager.

The reason I became a dog lover was because of Alexander, our German shepherd. Maybe I don't have Alexander to thank, if I keep on going back. Maybe I should thank Amy because she'd never become pregnant.

It all started a few weeks earlier when Amy was complaining one day because we'd been married for going on three years and there were no little Bradys running around the house as living proof.

I immediately volunteered my services for another attempt at baby-making, running my hand down the back of Amy's shorts as she knelt in the grass of our back yard. She jumped a foot, protesting loudly, but I could see the flicker of light in the back of her eyes. She was game, all right.

“I wasn't suggesting that we run into the bedroom this minute,” she said crossly, getting up and brushing at her knees.

“Well I was,” I said.

She made a face, trying to look angry, but it didn't come off. My wife Amy is a damned good-looking girl, even if I do say so. She's a big one at five-eight, with brown hair that caresses with its softness and good smell, hazel eyes that can make me weak in the knees, and a figure that adds up to a very exciting and comfortable roll in the hay about three times a week.

“What I mean is,” she continued, shading her eyes with her palm, “that the house seems to terribly empty.”

“Thanks loads.”

She smiled, touching my arm. “You know what I mean. We have all those bedrooms and nobody to fill them. We both know there's nothing wrong with us, only that we haven't matched your sperm with my egg at the precisely correct time.”

“You sound just like the doctor.”

“He's assured us that we're normal often enough,” she replied. “Heaven knows he's examined me thoroughly.”

“I've been wanting to talk to him about that,” I grumbled. I don't like him sticking his arm into you every six months like some damned plumber. He's getting his kicks and I'm paying him twenty-five bucks every time.”

Amy stood still while I touched her throat and let my hand drift down into her halter. She has dandy breasts and I never tire of playing games with them. Her excitement was rising, but she had to finish her speech.

“I thought perhaps a pet would be nice,” she went on, batting her eyes at me, her look promising me a nice fast and clean piece if I'd only cooperate and listen like an adult. “You know, a dog or something like that. It would help fill the lonely days until we have children of our own.”

“Sounds sick, substituting a cocker spaniel for a child.” I sniffed in disgust, but her breasts felt more interesting by the minute. “Ridiculous. Wanting to practice diaper changing on a mutt.”

“He's not a cocker spaniel and he's not a mutt,” she complained.

“Who isn't?”

The answer came from the garage, where a loud and anguished whine interrupted our conversation. It sounded like an overgrown baby, and that was what Amy released into the yard a few seconds later.

It was, she explained, a very valuable German shepherd, in excellent condition, six months old, and a pet-store bargain at only a hundred dollars. My whine outdid the dog's as he raced about the yard, panting, leaking on the avocado tree and trying to fall into the pool.

Slapping my forehead, I complained, “God, five minutes home from the office and you present me with this. I should have opened the front door of the garage and let him go back to his kennel, or wherever he comes from.”

Amy listened to my bitching for fifteen minutes, countering each of my arguments as to why keeping a dog was impossible with a better argument of her own. He could stay in the garage while we were at work, he wouldn't cost more than a dollar a day to feed, he'd be excellent protection when Amy was home alone, he'd only need a sitter at night, according to the man in the pet shop…

“A sitter at night?” My icy voice stopped her.

She batted her eyes. “We don't go out much, anyhow.”

“I repeat: a sitter at night?”

She nodded. “Alexander's afraid of the dark, unless someone's with him.”

“A fine watchdog. We can just leave a light on in the garage and to hell with a sitter.”

“It isn't the same, the man said,” she replied, taking my hand and shoving it back inside her halter. “He needs and loves people… except for thieves and rapers.”

I stormed on, but it was no good. I might have won, but my hand finally slipped low enough to cup a heavy and yielding breast and that was all she wrote. She could have asked me to buy her a full-scale replica of the Statue of Liberty for the front yard and I would have written out a check at once.

My jaw kept moving, but no words would come. Amy smiled like an angel, batting her eyes and taking my other hand. “Now everything's going to be all right. You'll love the dog and we can afford him. Just because he's chicken doesn't mean we can't give him love and affection. When a real baby comes along he'll be wonderful protection for the carriage when I'm walking Donald Junior in the park.”

I gaped at her swelling breast, squeezing one final time before she slipped away from my fingers and began pulling me toward the house. I looked back at the thing named Alexander and managed to blurt, as he watered the brand new orange tree, “How did you come up with Alexander? Crazy name for a mutt.”

She lifted her face and laughed. “For your father, of course. They're both chicken, yet both handsome and lovable, just like you.”

“I'm not chicken.”

“I meant lovable.”

“You mean that?” I breathed, watching her bottom twitch back and forth as we went into the house. Alexander, it appeared, could safely be left alone in the comforting sun of the back yard.

Amy nodded. 'I'm going to show my appreciation for letting me keep our new dog… and I'm going to love every minute of it.”

“Every minute with the dog?” I scowled. “I've heard about crazy dames who do things with collies and Shetland ponies. You have plans for Alexander, eh?”

“Please shut, dear husband. Stop that filthy talk and concentrate on love. Those are the minutes I'm going to enjoy. The ones with you… starting now.”

She turned fast, facing me and locking her arms around my neck. My head was pulled down and her lips were like starving piranha as they nibbled at mine and then began chewing furiously. I chewed back while her body fastened itself against mine, her breasts flattening, her belly trembling, her hips jockeying for position. Even her knees knocked against mine as she tried to crawl inside my skin.

I lifted my face for an instant. “It's been a long time since we've done it in the kitchen like this,” I managed to gasp, sucking air like it was going out of style.

She laughed with a low gurgle, deeply in her throat, playing a sultry role she knew drove me out of my mind. “Let's adjourn to the bedroom. I want this one to be good and thorough.”

I played along with her until we were in the hall, heading for the master bedroom. Then I began to grapple with her, getting my hand back inside her halter and flipping a breast free before she could protest herself.

It bobbed out like a shiny new penny, only this one's value had not been diminished by inflation. It was beautiful, soft and round, bronzed by her buff sunbathing, and the cherry at its tip winked in invitation. I winked back and shoved my thumb into the knob.

“Oh… Don…” she gasped, her head rolling at once. I always loved Amy for her low boiling point. “That's so wonderful. Thank goodness that dog brought us together this afternoon.”

“Screw that dog,” I muttered, watching the nipple grow firm until the little core of pink flesh popped out like a valve on a football.

I leaned my face down, kissing the nipple, and her hands were in my hair, pulling hard, and the sound of her dry swallowing was loud. When I looked up she was untying the knot at the middle of her back, so that the halter affair was falling away and both breasts were bobbing and smiling at me in greeting.

“Come on,” she pleaded, dragging me toward the bedroom and I came, willingly, feeling the hardening bulge inside my pants knotting like a stiffening rope.

We were in by the bed before she turned to me, running her hands across my shoulders while I returned to her breasts, helping the neglected mound catch up with its twin. Both were lifting, expanding and hardening by the second, sitting up like twin puppies anxious to be nursed… and I was anxious to play ball with my little friends.

While I hefted their weight in my palms, she was sliding her fingers inside my jacket, unbuttoning it and then snaking inside my shirt. Almost idly, she plucked at the hairs on my chest, knowing she was driving me out of my mind.

“Hey… I like that.”

“I know.”

“Do you like this?”

“You know damned well I do,” she purred, playing the role of a contented tabby.

I was pinching her nipples between my thumbs and fingers, squeezing gently and then harder until she began to wince. Then I'd let up until she told me with her-eyes that she was ready for more.

Through it all she was busy, too, removing my jacket and somehow folding it neatly over a chair-Amy could keep a house spick and span in the middle of a tornado funnel-and then jerking my shirt from the belt of my trousers. She unbuttoned it, her fingers trembling each time I'd give her nipples another turn of the screws, but she worked on with determination.

Soon she had me naked to the waist, just as she was, and together we massaged and kissed, me pecking at her breasts and sliding my mouth down to her belly, while she clung to my ears, guiding me to various targets of opportunity. Not one to be selfish, Amy from time to time pushed me away so she could nibble at my ears, drop down to my throat and then jerk at my chest hairs with her teeth. I reacted by allowing my nerves and muscles to do a little dance of pleasure, jigging this way and that to show their appreciation.

“Hey… you're good.”

“You too, tiger.”

I began to work at her hip, opening a fastener and then sliding a zipper, while she fumbled at my belt and then grasped the tab of my fly. Together we pulled and the zipping sound was far sweeter harmony than the Andrews Sisters could ever muster. We were open, her shorts peeling away from her hip, my pants beginning to sag.

She jerked at my hips and my pants fell to the carpet. She went for my shorts at once, working them down across my groin so that I was one inch away from being exposed all over the place. Fighting back, I rammed her shorts down to her knees and then rolled her panties after them, watching the sheer pink material cooperate beautifully as it gave up its skin hugging for the rest of the afternoon.

Then, with a few additional flicks of the wrist, we looked like a couple of jaybirds, every bit as naked but a lot more exciting.

I gazed the length of her great body, loving every inch of her tanned skin, her thin waist, her swelling hips and breasts, her legs that played their game straight. She smiled at me in the shadows of our room, her teeth a slash of white across her California face, and she tossed her head, removing a lock of hair from in front of one eye.

“Well?”

“Just fantastic, nothing more. They ought to cast you in bronze, wife, but not before I get through with you.”

“Yes. You must finish what you were doing first. They can put you on the pedestal with me, if they wish, but I've got to get what I'm after first.”

We went for our goodies together, me running my hands down the curve of her lower stomach and between her legs, feeling her stiff hairs play games with my fingers before they became heavy and soggy with her own increased lubrication. She managed to keep her knees from buckling long enough to reach around me and run her fingers down the crack of my buttocks until she was working her way through a forest of hairs. Then she was tickling the rear base of my gonads, starting a forest fire in my belly.

I could feel my load of sperm begin to build up like an army getting ready to charge down the slope on the enemy. My fingers dipped inside Amy long enough to trigger her and I could feel her convulsions increase.

With no further messing around, I tossed her down on the bed and she bounced attractively, all flopping breasts, waving hips and heaving belly. The total effect was of a complete woman, wanton with desire and eminently capable of living up to her full capabilities.

I crawled over her, giving her a chance to grasp my penis and pull it toward her vagina in a final gesture of pleasure and invitation, Then I was coming down, shoving hard, penetrating and shooting home with an ease born of many months of practice with the same wonderful woman.

We were lying together, relaxing in that final few seconds before the frenzy would be brought to a climax. She smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded, her entire appearance driving me out of my mind.

“Then it's all right?” she breathed, her lips brushing across mine like two dry sticks trying to start a forest fire.

“Is it all right?” I gasped. “Hell, yes, it's all right. It's perfect.”

“I mean about Alexander.”

“Screw Alexander.”

“No, I prefer you. Then we'll keep him?”

“You can keep a hundred pair of rabbits in the living room if you want,” I complained, “But please shut up and wrap those legs around my tormented body.”

She did and we pumped hard, driving ourselves to the brink and then beyond. Hemingway described it as making the earth move, but in our case, Amy and I managed to move the whole damned universe.

I began to come, my cock swelling and then erupting like a weathered cannon that was still full of fire. She arched her hips and took my full assault, not flinching, gurgling like a bottle baby all the while.

Presently my load was shot and, sweating like a trooper on the march in the desert, I fell against her, collapsing her arch. We lay quietly for some time before she stirred under me, her body also dripping.

“You're a nice man.”

“Thank you. Do you like me because I'm hung better than anyone else in town?”

“Not really, but there's that, too.”

“Why, then?”

She didn't answer and I stiffened.

“Don't tell me it's because of that damned dog.”

“All right, I won't, but it is.”

Thus, Alexander-all hundred dollars and fifty plus pounds of him-came into our lives, bringing Trudy with him You see, Alexander would need a sitter and, with the events that were to follow, I became a dog lover.