|
"Dog Breath"
by Dafney Dewitt
Outside the house, it was cold and dark. Donna Fuller heard a dog
barking in the distance. She peered into the darkness outside the
kitchen window. Her reflection stared back at her from the inky
blackness of the glass. A gust of wind splattered raindrops
against the window, distorting her image, making it soften and
melt. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the
pancakes.
She was standing at the kitchen sink making pancakes for
breakfast. Her hand trembled as she stirred the batter. Closing
her eyes had not helped. In a futile attempt to keep her mind
from wandering, Donna cinched the cloth belt of her pink bathrobe
around her shapely waist. She pulled the belt tight until it
hurt. She was the picture of innocence, a young blonde housewife
with blue eyes. But Donna knew what no one else could see. She
knew it was only a matter of time before her mind began to
wander, and the voices returned. Her nightmare could not be
stopped.
"Begin action!" the voices shouted.
When the voices returned, Donna relaxed. She had been dreading
them, but she welcomed them back like an old friend. She knew
what they wanted. They would take control of her and direct her
actions. They would make her feel like she was trapped in a
pornographic movie. She knew that the fear of waiting was at an
end.
"Let's go!" Donna shouted to her husband and kids. "Your
breakfast is ready!"
Her husband, Bob, was the first to the table followed by Cindy
and Tommy, the twin teenagers. She would breast-feed the baby
after the others left.
Cindy picked at her pancake like a bird while Bob wolfed down
huge pieces of pancake dripping with syrup. Tommy imitated the
poor eating habits of his father, holding his fork suspended in
midair between mouthfuls, and never resting it on his plate.
Donna gazed at her husband, entranced by the maple syrup dripping
from his fork.
"Catch the syrup," the voices urged Donna. "Catch the hot sticky
stuff with your fingers."
Donna fought the impulse to stick her hand out and catch the
dripping syrup. The voices wanted her to suck it off her fingers
in front of her husband and kids. They wanted her to look her
daughter right in the eyes and tell her how good the gooey drips
tasted. Donna marvelled at how much of the hot sticky stuff never
made it into her husband's mouth. The voices urged her to act.
She was reaching out with her hand, when her son, Tommy, broke
her concentration.
"Mom," Tommy complained. "Why does it always have to be pancakes
on Friday?"
With a sigh, Donna laid her hand down on the table and heard her
voice respond. "Stop your whining and eat your pancakes before
they get cold. We eat pancakes because your father likes them."
In her heart, Donna held a special affection for Tommy. He was
becoming a man. He was starting to rebel, but she still
controlled him. Donna was a young mother controlling a son who
was bursting with spunk. The thought filled her with a tingling
warmth.
Donna smiled at Tommy. He did not smile back.
For Bob, Cindy and Tommy, the voices did not exist. They ate
breakfast without concern. Only Donna was worried. The dripping
syrup had aroused her. Her pussy throbbed with anticipation. She
was anxious to get her husband off to work and the kids packed
onto the school bus before something bad happened.
As if reading her mind, Bob looked up.
"Heat me up a little, sweetheart."
Donna poured the coffee quickly. Bob was a kind and loving
husband, but he had a quick temper. He expected a quick clean
breakfast. He was obsessive about hygiene. If she had licked his
maple syrup off her fingers, he would have been shocked, but not
angry. It took dirt to make him mad. Once he found a dog hair in
his coffee cup and he slapped her hard across the face right in
front of the kids. She did not want to make him angry.
Cindy finished first. She pushed away her plate, "Sorry, Mom, I
have to watch my weight."
Donna took Cindy's plate away. She served her family like a
waitress. Her light blond hair was pulled back and tied with a
red ribbon, to keep hair from falling onto the plates. She felt
like a servant. The only difference was that she wore an old
pink bathrobe instead of a waitress's uniform. Underneath the
robe, she was almost naked. All she wore was a nursing bra with
the ends of the cups removed to provide quick access to her
nipples for breast-feeding.
While Cindy shuffled off to the bathroom, Donna bent down beneath
the kitchen sink to fill the dog's bowl with hard brown nuggets
of food.
The nuggets rattled as they struck the plastic bowl. As Donna
strained to hold the heavy bag of dog food, her robe fell open
exposing her hanging breasts. She could hear the roar of blood
rushing to her ears. To Donna, it sounded like muffled laughter
from a room full of people. She hesitated before closing her
robe. The voices told her to leave it opened. Donna felt a
distinct sexual surge. When she looked up, she saw her son,
Tommy, look away as she cinched the belt tightly around her
waist.
As Tommy turned to leave, he thought "Mom is such a slut. She's
always teasing me." He averted his eyes from his mother's exposed
breasts and left the kitchen quickly before saying something that
he might regret. Someday, he vowed, he would get even.
"I'm going out to the garage to feed Bowser," Donna announced.
No one heard her. Her husband, Bob, was in the bathroom brushing
his teeth and Cindy and Tommy were collecting their school books.
Stepping down into the early morning darkness of the garage the
sudden cold lifted up under her robe teasing her exposed nipples
into erect nubs.
Donna yelled out "Here Bowser. Breakfast time!"
From then on everything happened in slow motion. Her nightmare
began.
A tall skinny teenager with a forehead full of angry red pimples
and pale, dead blue, eyes rose from behind the family car. His
eyes were blank and empty looking. He had a faint wisp of a blond
mustache.
Donna stared at him. It was the eyes that held her attention.
They appeared dull, lifeless, and cold. When she broke eye
contact, she noticed the black object in his right hand was a
Sony camcorder.
The voices commanded her, "Obey the boy."
Donna's dog, Bowser, bounded out from behind the car. For a
moment, she believed the dog would protect her until she saw its
penis, red and engorged, dangling below the its belly, almost
scraping itself against the concrete floor.
"Jerk off the dog." the boy told Donna, raising his camcorder.
Bowser, a large black Doberman, lunged towards her. She patted
him on the head with her left hand and set the food bowl down on
the hood of the car.
Donna looked into the dead pale blue eyes of the boy as if there
has been a misunderstanding.
"Jerk the dog off." the boy demanded.
Donna hesitated. This boy, no older then her own son Tommy, was
demanding that she masturbate the family dog. This was
disgusting. Donna resisted the urge to slide her hand around the
dog's angry red dick and pump him to a climax.
Kneeling beside the dog, Donna watched as the boy unzipped his
pants removing a pale flaccid cock.
"Wanna suck my cock?" the boy asked.
"No, please!" Donna begged shaking her head sideways.
"Then do the dog."
Donna slid her right hand under the dog's belly, slowly rubbing
his already engorged penis. She felt the heat from the dog's
dick warm her fingers. It was hot, very stiff, and smelled like
raw sex.
Donna's hand pumped. Her actions were mechanical. She knew what
the voices wanted. She jacked the dog off into the empty water
bowl. The dog's dick responded to her stimulation.
Donna watched as the dog's throbbing penis spat out a stream of
yellow white cum into the green plastic water bowl. It squirted
out in a thick gooey ribbon. Donna felt empathy for the dog.
Like her, the dog needed sex more than breakfast.
"Breakfast time, here Bowser!" the voices mocked Donna.
"I'm not a dog!" Donna suddenly shouted in defiance. Her
outburst caused the boy to lower his camcorder.
"I could fuck you like a dog." the teenager bragged.
"You wouldn't." said Donna.
"Why not?"
"My husband." said Donna gesturing with her head in the direction
of the house.
Laughing at her threat, the boy waved his flaccid penis in front
of Donna's face. He slipped a hand inside her robe. She felt
him run his fingers up the inside of her thigh.
"Please don't." she begged him.
The boy ignored her plea. His fingers touched the outside lips
of her sex.
"My, God!" Donna pleaded, "I'm old enough to be your mother.
Leave me alone."
The boy smiled at her anguish as he slipped two fingers inside
her pussy. They slithered inside her like small snakes wiggling
their way smoothly into the moist cave of her cunt. They were
slick and wet with her juices.
Donna felt him fucking her with his fingers. "You're my bitch."
the boy assured Donna. He withdrew his hand and held it in front
of Donna's face. "Suck my fingers." he demanded.
Donna took his fingers into her mouth. She tasted her own pussy
juices on his hand. She licked and sucked each finger until his
hand was clean. The boy pulled his hand away from her mouth and
drew a line across the side of her face with his saliva coated
fingers. He dried his fingers off by, wiping them on her hair,
before grabbing his cock. He was moving his cock toward her lips
when the voices spoke.
"Do you like fresh dog cum?" asked the voices.
"I could never...." Donna faltered for a lack of words.
"You never tried dog cum?"
"No, never!" Donna answered truthfully. She was grateful to the
voices for stopping the teenage boy from fucking her face.
The pale eyed boy, put away his penis, zipped his pants, and
raised the Sony Camcorder.
Donna looked at the boy in a daze saying nothing. Her mind was
filled with a close-up image of her husband's open mouth dripping
with maple syrup.
"Pour the dog cum into your mouth, but don't swallow." the voices
commanded.
The voices had spoken. She knew the consequences of
disobedience. They would humiliate her, debase her, and punish
her beyond belief with no remorse. The voices were like
seductive whispers. Gentle at first. They promised to make her
happy, to give her new powers. The power to fill the sexual needs
of her dark side. But this sexual thrill was fulfilled through
the loss of self-control.
Donna made no response. She seemed frozen in time. Her eyes
glazed over.
"How did I ever get myself into this situation?" she thought.
Her thoughts darted about in confusion like goldfish swimming in
circles.
Just a few feet away, her husband, Bob, was brushing his teeth.
Tommy and Cindy were dressing for school, and she was about to
drink fresh dog cum.
"My, God!" Donna gasped, "Please, let me do something else." She
turned toward the pimple-faced boy. "I'll do anything." she
pleaded.
Donna dropped to her knees. She begged this teenager, who was
young enough to be her son, for a way out. She looked up at his
pimpled forehead. "I'll suck your cock." she said.
In response, he focused the camcorder on her face, but remained
silent.
Donna fumbled with the boy's zipper. She removed his long pale
cock, her fingers trembling, and prepared to suck it into her
mouth.
But she waited.
She was waiting for a sign. Donna wanted a nod, or some sort of
acknowledgement that she was making a sacrifice. She was not
going to suck this strange boy's cock without his consent. The
least he could do was offer a word of encouragement.
The boy started peeing.
The urine splashed against her face and soaked the sleeve of her
bathrobe before Donna managed to push his cock away. A long
yellow stream of hot piss flowed onto the cold cement floor of
the garage. A faint cloud of steam rose from the yellow puddle.
The urine flowed to a low spot in the floor beneath the front
tire of the family car.
"Drink the dog cum." repeated the voices.
The pale-eyed boy, put away his penis, zipped up his pants, and
raised the Sony Camcorder to his face.
Donna lifted the green bowl and tilted it toward her open mouth.
"My God, only a depraved slut would do this." she thought. Her
eyes were wide open as the sticky fluid coagulated into a single
pool of goo as she slowly tilted the bowl toward her lips. When
the goo reached the lip of the bowl, she had to open her mouth
wider and raise her head to keep it from dribbling down her chin.
Just before the dog cum slid out of the bowl onto her upturned
tongue, Donna accepted her own debasement. "I'm a dog slut." she
thought.
It tasted repulsive to her. Hot, wet and slimy it rolled off her
tongue onto the underside of her mouth like a fat garden slug.
Donna started to gag. She resisted the impulse to vomit by
turning her head down so the cum won't slide down her throat.
The fresh dog cum filled her mouth with a pungent odor making
Donna's eyes water.
The voices calmed her. They were condescending. "That's a good
girl. You're a good Mommy. Now be a nice wife, and say good-bye
to your husband and kids."
She turned automatically toward the kitchen door like a zombie.
Back in the kitchen, Donna's world exploded into a whirlwind of
activity.
Cindy yelled out, "Good-bye, I love you Mom!"
Tommy avoided looking Donna in the eyes and shouted a quick
"Bye!"
Donna remained silent. She was afraid to talk. Bob was busy
stuffing his cell phone into his briefcase. No one noticed that
she was white as a ghost and appeared to be in shock. For a
moment, Donna grew angry that no one in her family paid attention
to her predicament.
"They don't really care about me at all." she thought. She was
struck by an overwhelming sense of abandonment. She felt numb.
The numbness was quickly replaced by fear. Bob stopped at the
front door expecting a quick good-bye kiss. With a feigned
confidence Donna offered her cheek to him. She was expecting and
hoping for a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek, a kiss as careless
and rushed as the way her husband ate breakfast. She desperately
needed to spit out the dog cum. She felt confused and lost as Bob
ignored her cheek and turned his face toward her lips.
"How about a little exchange of body fluids?" he joked, pushing
the side of her face with his hand until she was looking directly
into his eyes.
Donna kept her lips tightly pressed together. His lips pressed
against hers. She backed up, but he stopped her from moving by
placing one hand behind her head, forcing her lips to his.
"My God!" Donna thought, "What if he stuck his tongue into my
mouth and tasted the thick pungent dog goo? How would I explain
it?" Her husband's tongue was just a kiss away from a mouthful
of dog cum. "Would he ever forgive me?" Donna asked herself.
Gradually his tongue snaked its way between her lips, past her
pale pink lipstick, and into her hot, wet, mouth. In just another
few seconds, it would fully penetrate her. Their tongues would
intermingle with the thick gooey dog cum. Standing in the doorway
of their home, kissing her husband goodbye, Donna would share her
terrible secret.
Donna was in a panic. Maybe, she should swallow the dog cum. She
felt her stomach heave at the thought. If it was already in her
mouth why couldn't she swallow it? Her mouth was filling with
saliva behind her tightly clenched teeth. Why was she doing this
to him?
Donna decided. The voices did not matter. She had to swallow. If
she did not get the dog cum out of her mouth, her husband would
never forgive her. Maybe, she really was a dog slut.
Before Donna swallowed, Bob suddenly released her from his grip.
"Hey! Your sleeve is all wet," he complained.
Breaking away from his embrace, Donna raised her chin, to keep
the dogs cum from spilling out, and mumbled between clenched
teeth, "I dipped it in the dog's water bowl."
"Yeah, well, you'd better not get me wet." Bob threatened, as his
face flushed with anger.
Carefully avoiding the wet sleeve, Bob grabbed her blond ponytail
twisting her head toward him for another kiss.
If only he knew, Donna thought, her mind in turmoil.
Her hair caught in his hand, Donna's head twisted toward her
husband. She knew that Bob was serious. He wanted some tongue. A
little French Kiss in the morning to warm him up. There would be
no stopping him this time.
For Donna, this was a real dilemma. She wanted to submit. She
wanted to suck her husband's tongue into her mouth. But if she
did give her husband the kiss he wanted, what would he do to her
after she gave him a mouthful of dog cum?
Their lips touched.
"Come on honey, give me a little tongue." Bob demanded.
Donna felt her husband's breath, hot against her lips. To
distract him, she pulled his hand into her robe and placed it on
top of her breast. She felt him squeeze her nipple, but his lips
remained insistent. Puckering up, she returned his kiss, but kept
her teeth clenched tight.
The voices started murmuring an incessant stream of threats in
Donna's head. "Swallow and your dog will fuck you. Swallow and
your son, Tommy, will rape you. Swallow and...." The threats went
on endlessly and without mercy. With her lips pressed tightly
against her husbands', Donna's eyes darted about crazy with fear.
Swallowing was no longer a solution. The voices would punish
her. She would rather face her husband's wrath than risk
punishment from the voices.
Twisting her head against Bob's embrace, Donna broke free.
Pulling away from Bob's grip on her hair hurt, but it was a small
pain compared to the horrors promised by the voices.
She backed up.
"Sorry, bad breath." Donna mumbled, tilting her chin up to keep
the dog cum from pouring out of her mouth. She hoped her apology
would be enough.
"Dog breath!" the voices shouted so loudly that Donna was afraid
her husband would hear.
Bob grabbed Donna's left breast and roughly pinched her nipple,
angry at her refusal to French Kiss him.
"Dog breath!" shouted the voices.
Bob turned and hesitated. For a second, Donna thought that he
would try to kiss her again.
"Yeah." he agreed, "You've got morning breath." Bob thought it
was the worse case of morning breath he had ever smelled, but he
silently vowed to teach his wife a lesson for her refusal to
submit.
There was a roar of laughter in Donna's ears as if a vast
audience had enjoyed her private humiliation. Her performance
was over. She grasped the front door to keep from falling down.
| 
