Carolyn and I drove up to Wooster’s house at six-thirty on the dot.

“I’m still not sure why he asked us over,” I said as we climbed out of the car. “There’s nothing we can’t take care of at school.”

“Darling, it’s called being friendly. Socializing.”

“Suddenly, he wants to socialize?”

“Do you want to go home?” she said. “We don’t have to do this.”

“You’re the one who accepted the invitation.”

“Fine. I’ll go in by myself.”

“No. No. We’re here.”

“Big of you, Darling.”

Carolyn and I teach at Llewdwynne High School, and we’d known Wooster for two years, since he joined the faculty. In all that time he showed no interest in us — in anyone, really — beyond the usual small talk. He was pleasant enough, but I knew nothing of his CV. The girls at the high school loved him, which created something of an inchoate scandal. I say “inchoate” because, though they continually trailed him through the halls in love-struck packs – I called them the Woosterettes – there was never a hint he had ever laid a hand on any of them. He didn’t go out of his way to cultivate them. They simply attached themselves to him. We all saw it, and some of us hated him for it, but we had no accusations to make. Or none that would stick.

“I don’t even know if he’s married,” I said.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

The sound of the bell, muffled by the door, was followed instantly by a burst of high-pitched yapping.

“Well, we know he’s got a dog,” Carolyn said.

The animal thudded low against the inside of the door. I heard the scraping of claws on wood, the scraping of nails on the wood, followed by Wooster’s commanding voice.

“No!” he said. “Back!”

The yapping stopped, only to be replaced by a stream of supplicating whimpers.

“Just a minute!” Wooster called. At that point, I guessed, he turned his attention to the unseen creature at his feet: “What did I say? What did I say? No! Sit! Good girl! Now, go to your crate. Go to your crate! Come on! Come!”

There was a brief scuffling, then silence.

“Locking her in?” Carolyn said finally.

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about —”

“Hello there!” Wooster stood in the open doorway, greeting us as though dressed for an afternoon at the country club. He wore a black cardigan, red turtleneck shirt, and blue-plaid slacks. The only thing that would have kept him out of the bar was his house slippers. He was a slender man, quite tall, of indeterminate middle age, with the lines deepening about his mouth and the clichéd professorial gray at the temples. In this getup, he seemed more like a well-to-do insurance salesman than the heartthrob of the English department.

“Come in, please,” he continued. “Sorry for the fuss, but she’s still a handful. I’m training her not to bark at every little sound.”

“What kind of dog is she?” Carolyn asked.

“I’m not sure,” Wooster said. “She was a stray, really. A rescue animal.”

“Do you know how old?”

“Not very. Only sixteen in people years.”

Carolyn and I arranged ourselves on the sofa in the living room, which suited his academic persona no more than his clothes did. The only literary touch I noticed was the book on the small table beside Wooster’s armchair, and that was a spy thriller. The art on the wall behind us consisted of five small water colors of what looked like Irish landscapes, arranged symmetrically like the spots on a die. The place was immaculate, the way a fussy bachelor would keep it, except for a small plush soccer ball on the floor.

“May I get you both a drink?”

“I’m driving,” I said.

“Not for a while,” Carolyn insisted. She noticed a half-filled glass beside the armchair. “Is that Scotch?”

“Irish whiskey.”

“We’ll both have one.”

“Carolyn —”

“Oh, loosen up.”

“I’ll water yours down,” Wooster told me.

A soft metallic rattling, coming from a room behind the sofa. began as he left for the kitchen, and by the time he returned with our drinks, it had grown to a full-on clamor. Wooster sat in the arm chair, evidently planning to ignore it, but stood up again at once.

“Sorry, again,” he said. “She gets excited when I have company. Do you mind if I let her out?”

“Not at all,” Carolyn said. “It’s cruel to keep her locked up.”

“She might jump up on you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I think I do,” I said. I was getting tired of this. I’d never cared for dogs, and I hadn’t driven all this way to serve as a test of Wooster’s training skills. He ignored my rudeness, however, and went into the next room.

“Stop being an asshole,” Carolyn said.

“Why are we here?”

“What are you so angry about?”

“It’s sad,” I said. “The faculty mystery man is just an old guy with a dog.”

“Have your drink,” she said.

It was watered down, as promised. Suddenly, I wanted it stronger.

Wooster’s voice came through the open doorway behind us, too loud for just the dog’s benefit.

“You promise to be good?” — The rattling increased, as did the whimpering. — “You promise?”

“What the—? How does a dog promise?” I said.

“All right then—” We heard a click, and the metallic bang! of the cage door swinging open, and in half a second, Wooster’s latest project was scampering around the corner and bounding into our laps.

“Here she is!” Wooster cried. “Here’s Gabby!”

“Well, aren’t you adorable!” Carolyn said.

“Arf!” the pet exclaimed.

“Oh,” I said quietly. “Christ.”

She was naked, as dogs are, wearing nothing only a collar, as dogs do. There the resemblance ended. She had no fur, unless you count the chestnut bob on her head, and her haunches, stuck in my face as Carolyn scratched her behind the ears, were the smoothest, shapeliest set I had ever seen.

This was a naked high school student.

“Off!” Wooster commanded, but the girl ignored him and started in licking Carolyn’s face.

“Down, girl!” Carolyn said, pushing at her bare shoulders.

“Here, I’ll get her,” Wooster said. Somehow he produced a leash, which, despite the all the squirming and wagging, he got fastened to the collar.

“Off!” he commanded again, this time giving the chain a solid yank. The creature had no choice but to follow, scrambling to the floor.

“Heel,” Wooster said. He walked her twice about the living room, with hand clutching the leash at the collar, the other holding the end against the opposite shoulder. She girl romped cheerfully beside him, wagging her stunning teenage behind and keeping her eyes turned up expectantly toward his.

“That’s a sign of submission,” Wooster explained. “She thinks of me as her pack leader.”

At the end of this edifying demonstration, master and pet swung around and faced us in front of the sofa. Wooster relaxed his grip on the leash.

“Sit,” he said.

The girl, apparently grown docile from her exercise, obeyed instantly, sitting back on her heels with her arms extended before her. Wooster stroked her hair, which she obviously relished. She regarded us brightly, lolling her tongue in quite a passable imitation of happy panting. Her bare breasts, sloped toward the floor, pulsated marginally as she breathed. They were round and full, with flattish nipples set inside dark, well-defined rings. I had often fantasized about what they would look like, and the reality was orders of magnitude more gratifying than the mental image.

For I recognized her now. Her name, when she walked upright, was Kimberly, and at school, she favored form-fitting leotards, with scoop necks, that hugged her fetching amplitude. She was justly proud of her tits. Now, totally unself-consciously, or perhaps more self-consciously than she had ever been, she was inviting me to see them, to ogle to my heart’s content — courtesy of the hated Wooster.

Who now fished a round bit of something from the pocket of his cardigan. Holding it over her head, he waved above her face.

“Up!” he said.

Again she readily obeyed, rising to her knees, and for the first time I saw she was shaved — a blank sheet from her legs to her navel, except for a faint gray marbling where the thick rolling lips came together. Her paws were crossed in front of her breasts, her eyes fixed on the treat. Her lips and tongue stretched for it, but Wooster held it just beyond her reach. A human girl could easily have snatched it from his hands. A dog had to tolerate being toyed with.

“Beg!” Wooster said, and the girl whimpered.

“Speak! “he said.

“Ruff!” said the girl.

“Good girl!” Wooster said, and he dropped the goodie into her open mouth. I hoped it was chocolate.

Pleased and proud, the pet once again sat at attention. I could only wonder why a young woman would ever agree to debase herself in this way. I knew Kimberly as a good student. It wasn’t as though she needed the extra credit.

“Look,” I said. “I have to say something.”

“What?” Wooster said. “Is your drink too weak?”

“No ... well yes, but...”

“Well, then, let me get you another. Gabby, stay!”

Dropping the leash, he went out to the kitchen. The naked girl followed him with longing in her puppy-brown eyes, but she stayed where she was. When he was out of sight, she turned her stare on us. It was unnerving.

“Do you need help?” I said. “We can get you out of here.” In reply, her mouth opened again, and her tongue reappeared.

“What are you talking about?’ Carolyn said.

“This is sick,” I said.

“Why? He seems like a very loving owner.”

“You’re in on this.”

“In on what? She’s a dog. Gabby, come!”

Suddenly brightening, swinging her butt, Gabby — I couldn’t help thinking of her that way — crawled over. Carolyn held out a hand. The dog tentatively sniffed her fingers, and then, reassured there was no threat — what was I thinking? ­­— began to lick.

“You have the touch,” Wooster said, returning from the kitchen. “She obviously trusts you.”

“She seems to have calmed down,” Carolyn said.

“That’s a tribute to you,” he replied, handing me my drink. “I had some friends over the other day, and she peed the carpet.”

At the word. the dog looked up at her Wooster with a sudden eagerness. She seemed to quiver all over.

“Oh, my,” he said. “Do you have to go out?”

“You let her go out?” I said. “Like this?”

“Occasionally, but she is housebroken. Go on,” he said to her, “you know where it is.”

As if she understood him — wait, of course she understood him — Gabby crawled out to the kitchen, trailing the leash.

“Look —” I began, but Wooster held up a finger for silence. The three of us glanced from one to the other, waiting expectantly — for what I was afraid to think — until he finally grinned at an almost imperceptible sound coming from the other room. It began as a gentle patter, but soon grew into the fierce drumroll of a liquid stream on paper.