Mark and Debbie had been married for two years when the local office of the company for which he worked was closed as a cost-saving measure. Mark was lucky. Instead of being terminated, he had been given the opportunity to become a roving troubleshooter. The position paid slightly more than his old one, but he would have to spend almost three weeks of every month traveling. He tried contacting other companies in the area, in hope of finding something that would allow him to stay near home, but they all had either had hiring freezes or were laying people off. He resigned himself to living on the road, but he knew that this situation would not be popular with his wife.
Debbie was one of those women who had grown up pretty, privileged, and consequently extremely spoiled. As a little girl she had gotten everything she wanted from her parents, even if she had to pitch a fit to get it. In High School, boys fell over themselves trying to please hers because of her looks. She had come to believe that she was entitled to whatever she wanted and if she did not get it, she would become very unpleasant.
When Debbie met Mark, he seemed to be just what she wanted in a husband. He was handsome, he had a good job, and he bought her everything she wanted. After the wedding, he bought her the cutest house in the suburbs, to which he would come home every night and entertain her. He even got her a flashy and very expensive sports-car, so she would look good driving around town. He indulged her every whim and she loved him for it.
At first, Mark was oblivious to Debbie's nature. He was in love with her and wanted to give her everything he could. Whenever she became unhappy, he would end the crisis by giving in to her. As the honeymoon period wore off, he began to have doubts about their chances for long-term happiness, but he loved his wife deeply and was willing to put up with a lot to keep her happy.
The problems began when he told her about the changes at work. She was unhappy about his being away and when he told her there was nothing he could do about it, that he was lucky to still have a job at all, she pitched a screaming fit. Mark slept on the couch that night.
Things had not improved by the time Mark began to prepare for his first extended trip. Debbie had allowed him back in to their bed, but she refused to let him touch her.
"If you loved me, you would stay with me," she said.
"Honeybun, I do love you. But I have to go where they send me if I want to get paid. It's money that pays the mortgage on the house and puts food on the table. Until I can find something else, this is the way it has to be."
"But I need you here!" Debbie cried. Mark's heart broke to see his pretty wife this unhappy, but there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. Then he thought of something he could do that might help. He could get her a dog. Taking care of a dog would keep her occupied while he was gone. It would also give her some companionship, something to focus on besides how unhappy she was.
Rather than bring it up with Debbie and risk another tantrum, Mark kept the dog idea to himself. After a search of local breeders, he found a pedigreed Black Labrador that the owner said would be ideal as companion and security for a lonely wife. Mark paid for the animal and arranged to pick it up the day of his trip.
When Mark walked in with the dog, Debbie was well into one of her fits. Crying and shrieking, she said, "But I don't WANT a dog, I want YOU. Why are you doing this to me?" The dog walked over to Debbie and sniffed at her. He looked up at her with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, expecting to be petted.
"Honeybun, look. He's a very friendly dog. His name is Gus. He's got a pedigree and everything. He's housebroken. He's up-to-date on all his shots. He'll be a good guard dog. He'll keep you safe while I'm gone. I've got all the dog food and bowls and leashes and stuff right here. All you have to do is feed him twice a day and walk him when he needs to go out."
Unmoved by his arguments, Debbie ran to the bedroom and slammed the door, throwing herself on the bed. Her sobs could be heard all the way down the hall.
"I've got to go now," Mark called through the closed door. "I'll leave Gus here. His bed and the rest of his stuff is in the kitchen. I'll call you when I get there. Bye, honey."
After Mark had gone, Debbie sat up and dried her tears. Without an audience, there was no point to crying. "A dog," she said to herself, "why would he think I wanted a dog? Nasty old thing. Be underfoot all the time. When he gets back he can take this dog back to where he got it, that's all!"
When Debbie opened the bedroom door, Gus was lying in the hall, waiting for her to come out and play with him. He sat up and wagged his tail when she stepped out of the bedroom.
"Get away from me!" she shouted, shaking her finger at the dog.
Alarmed and confused by her tone, Gus backed away down the hall toward the kitchen. Debbie followed him, making shooing motions with her hands. His bed, bowls and a large bag of food were where Mark said they would be.
"I guess you need to be fed," Debbie said, putting her hands on her hips. With a kitchen knife, she cut open the top of the bag of dog food and scooped some into Gus' dish. Then she poured him some water and went back to the living room to stew some more about how Mark had gone off and left her all alone. She was reading one of her romance novels when she noticed that the dog had come into the room and was watching her from the corner. She sniffed, and went back to her book. She ignored the dog for the rest of the afternoon, except to let him out when he needed to go outside to do his doggy business in the yard. She refused to use the leash. If he ran away, she would be rid of him. Apparently just to spite her, Gus came back every time.
Debbie continued to feed, water, and open the back door for the dog, but otherwise ignored him for the rest of the week. Whenever he would try to sit next to her or ask to be petted, she would shout at him and shoo him away. When that happened, he would go lie down across the room, but he still stayed near her all the time.
On Friday, Debbie made plans to go clubbing with a couple of her girlfriends. She thought that getting out with her friends and getting a little wild at a club would be just the thing to take her mind off of her thoughtless husband and also to get her away from that awful animal that refused to let her out of his sight. She had showered, done her hair, and laid out her favorite club dress, a short, strapless spandex sheath that had elastic laces all the way down both sides. It showed off her youthful 110 lb. figure very well, clinging to every curve like paint in front and back, and left her sides essentially bare. Wearing underwear with it was impossible, but 22-year-old Debbie thought that her D-cup breasts were firm enough not to need support.
She was standing in the bathroom, primping before putting on her dress, when she dropped one of her pearl earrings. She saw it fall between the pedestal sink and the bathtub and she got down on her knees to look for it with her bare ass wiggling in the air. She had just spotted it in the corner under the sink, and was reaching to pick it up when she suddenly felt something wet slide between her exposed butt-cheeks. She was so startled that she jerked her head up and smashed it into the underside of the sink, briefly knocking herself unconscious. When she slowly began to regain her senses, Debbie thought she was dreaming. It was a wonderful dream. She was lying on a private beach in Cozumel and Enrique, the handsome poolboy, was between her legs, licking her tenderly, making her wet before he entered her. His five-o'clock shadow was tickling her most sensitive parts, and his insistent licking was making her boiling-hot pussy gush juice all over his mouth.
Debbie moaned, "Oooo, Enrique. Stop that or you'll make me cum too soon." Her eyelids fluttered open and reality crept back into her consciousness. Something was very wrong. She wasn't on the beach. She was face-down on a tile floor. And that wasn't Enrique between her legs. Debbie raised her head and looked back, careful not to bang her head again. The dog! It was the damn dog! The nasty filthy beast had his head between her legs and was licking her pussy!
Debbie tried to clamp her knees together to force the animal away from her sex. She took a deep breath to scream at the top of her lungs, but before she could make a sound Gus pulled his furry head out of her crotch and growled at her. It was a deep rumbling noise, terrifyingly feral. Debbie swallowed her scream. "The dog has gone mad," she thought, "he's reverted to his true nature. He's as big as me and certainly much stronger. He's going to kill me. He's going to tear me apart." Gus growled again, his black lips sliding back from his gleaming white fangs. Almost without conscious thought, Debbie spread her knees open, again exposing her inflamed sex.
Gus quit growling and put his head back under her ass. He resumed licking Debbie. Her entire groin was quickly drenched with his saliva. His long tongue could easily reach her clit from his position behind her. He licked Debbie from front to back, without pause.
Debbie hung her head and rested it on the bath mat. From this position she could see the dog's tongue raking her sex over and over. Her heart was still pounding, but her terror had faded enough for her senses to return. She watched, fascinated, as the animal licked her. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself at her expense. It was the most humiliating experience she had ever had.
"Please stop, doggie. Please don't do this," Debbie pleaded.
.... There is more of this story ...