Paula and I leaned against the wall right next to each other. Our eyes were locked onto Stanley, whose cock was busy fucking Victoria doggy style, that is, from behind her. The only sounds were those coming from Stanley, heavy gasps from the exertion of his thrusts into her, and from Victoria's quiet mewing as she squirmed, awaiting his throbbing orgasm as his sperm spurted inside her ... I knew that Vicky and Stan always fucked that way and both of them certainly seemed to enjoy it, not caring one whit whether or not we or anyone else watched. After all, they were dogs. How else could they fuck? And why should they care if anyone was looking at them?

And then another sound crept softly to my ears. It was from Paula, a deep sigh. I glanced at her, wondering about the cause. Perhaps a sigh to release the breath that she had been holding as we watched? Or maybe one of remembrance, reliving the nights that she had bent over to receive from behind the dick of her late husband? Possibly, maybe even jealousy that her precious little bitch was getting something that she hadn't had in a long time, other than perhaps by her fingers or maybe some hot pink vibrator?

Whichever, I couldn't let the moment pass without an appropriate comment, since I'd been planning to make my move on her for several weeks.

"Is that the way you like it?" I asked.

She looked at me, blushed deeply but said nothing. Time passed as we waited for Stanley's dick to unknot so that he could pull out of Vicky and proceed to lick himself clean. Tick tock, tick tock, it seemed like forever. When they ultimately uncoupled, Paula finally spoke.

"Would you like me to make you some coffee?"

Let's go back to the beginning. My name is Stanley, the name I selected for my own dog. When I was growing up, my family always had one dog after another. I got used to the idea of feeding, grooming and cleaning up after a dog. Once I left home, my older sister mj gave me a dog as a gift. The reason, she said, was to repay me for what she called a fantastic night of muff diving. Hell, she was so tasty that I should have been the one giving the present.

I had quickly learned, back in the big city, that walking a dog was a fantastic way to pick up chicks. Whether the girl (woman) had her own dog or not, one dog being sufficient for the meeting, it was a great icebreaker. Of course, if she had a dog, we could watch the two of them sniff around each other while we decided if the person we were speaking to was also on the make and worth the effort.

Many of them were just friendly neighbors, not looking to get laid at all, or not exciting enough of face and form to make the effort. Though in my case anything with a cunt and the willingness to share it was acceptable after 24 hours of celibacy. I mean, jerking off will do in a pinch but a wet female orifice can't be surpassed. In reality, I usually scored a new woman at least once a week, and what with repeat meetings, I could survive without going blind.

But that was in the big city, with many high rise apartment buildings, each having many female occupants, sitting within a single square block. Unfortunately, the company I worked for had to do some lay-offs. I took early retirement with a nice package and we two Stanleys moved to a gated community in Arizona.

Here each house was for one family but luckily the development had no minimum age requirements like a Senior Citizen community. We have families with children, people still employed and Seniors. And some of those have dogs that must be walked daily – and have their poop scooped! That last is a major Homeowners' rule.

Problem: in the big city, I could walk Stanley for 15 minutes and pass the residences of maybe 10,000 or more people. Here if I walk for that short a period of time, I might pass 10 or 15 homes. And that doesn't give me much of a field to meet. So I must walk for a longer time and cover more area. Of course, with the goal being a willing wet female, that gives me plenty of incentive.

I had met Paula about a month or so after I moved in. She had lived there for about 5 years, but her daughter was away at college (ASU) and as I learned later, her husband had passed away. The first few times we passed each other on the blacktop walking path around the development, our dogs had glared at each other, with some growling as well. But then, as time moved on, our dogs began to speak to each other, in dog talk, and then sniff. And as they communicated, so too did we. Speaking, that is; sniffing would come later.

"I'm Stan and my friend is Stan also.

"I'm Paula and my dog is Victoria."

"That's a nice name. Where are you from?"

"Victoria," she laughed, "British Columbia. And you?"

"Chicago. I moved here for the weather. You?"

"My late husband's job transfer."

The echo of her words had barely ceased before my mind fixed on that profound word, late! Unless there was a boyfriend or girlfriend hidden somewhere, or a toy with a fully charged battery, she must have needed an orgasm really badly. Or so my ego insisted must be the case.

Let me tell you about Paula. She was diminutive, shall we say, barely four foot ten inches, a full twelve inches shorter than me. Appropriately slim for her height, but absolutely titless. She could have gotten away with a training bra, and maybe she did. Her hair was nondescript, her face plain but not ugly. It was her eyes though that brought the blood to my dick. They were bright, shiny, smiling, inquisitive, trusting yet insightful. In other words, I lusted for her personality.

She had been a psychologist by trade, so she was no dope. Her husband had left her well provided for, so she had become a lady of leisure. She kept slim, lithe and vigorous by jogging, swimming and tennis. Those, and walking her dog, constituted her social circle.

I know how to bide my time, and I was aided by the fact that there were other women willing to clean my pipes. And so our once or twice a week meetings were limited to casual crossings, comments about dogs and discussions about community Board politics. Until one day.

"Stan, do you have papers?"

"Huh?" I asked dumbly. "I was born in Chicago; I don't need any papers."

"No, silly. I didn't mean immigration papers, I meant pedigree papers for Stanley?" Both Victoria and Stanley were Golden Retreivers.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I've been wanting to breed Victoria and Stanley looks like he'd make nice puppies."

"You mean you want me to make puppies with your dog?" The devil made me say it.

"If that's your preference..." She let the sentence dangle as she laughed. With no good rejoinder, I laughed back.

"Yes, Stanley has papers."

And so it came to pass that Stanley and Victoria fucked like dogs while Stanley and Paula watched. And Paula sighed and Stanley made her blush and Paula made Stanley coffee while their dogs sniffed and licked and fucked some more.

She made good coffee. As we sipped, we talked with our mouths and, happily in my case as well, we spoke with our eyes. I thought it might be time.

We each own the Monarch model of home, so I knew the layout. I knew that to go take a leak, I'd have to walk behind Paula's chair. I excused myself and did just that. Upon my return, I paused behind her chair and placed my hands on her shoulders, figuring nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I felt her tense and then, very slowly, she brought her hands up to mine and moved mine down onto two small breasts. As the basketball announcer might have said, 'YYYYYYYYYYYYESSSSSS.' Instead of kneading them, I rubbed gently with open palms, noting that she wore no bra. Her nipples extended to meet my touch. I bent to kiss her cheek but she turned her head so that our mouths, our lips met. First gently, then firmly, and then our tongues entered the fray.

She looked up at me, her eyes smiling, inviting, as I carried her, light as a feather, into her bedroom and placed her gently on the bed. Fully clothed, I lay down next to her. My hand went to her ass and I pulled her groin against my hardness, our tongues entangling once again.

Her hands grasped my head to continue the kiss. My hand worked itself under her skirt. I could feel the silkiness of her panties, the bikini cut, the lacy crotch. Had it been her intention, I wondered, that more than one Stanley would get his rocks off that day, that more than one vagina in that household would be spermed?

"Take it slowly, Stanley," she whispered. "It's been so long."

"Close your eyes, Paula," I whispered back. She complied. But as I got off the bed to strip, she got off on the other side to remove the covers. Then she lay back down. Maybe, I thought, she hadn't been anticipating getting laid if she had left the covers on the bed before inviting me into her home. Whatever!

She kicked off her own shoes, leaving bare legs. Her skirt buttoned and zipped on one side. I opened it and slid it down and off of her, leaving her down to T-shirt and those panties. The crotch area glistened with her lubrication. I took the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head; she helped by lifting her back off the bed and raising her arms so that the shirt came off easily.

Her tits were those of a young boy, but the engorged nipples were definitely suckable. So I laid her back down and began that tasty task. Her eyes were still closed but her breathing had become ragged, the erotic sound of a woman in heat. Her hand found my dick and touched it carefully, as though she was afraid to break it.

I apologized as I got off the bed and began to roll her panties down. The aroma hit me immediately, that smell of overheated cunt craving to be fucked. My head bent to kiss her labia but I made no attempt to eat her out. I knew that I had enough control over my dick that I could make her cum several times before I had to release my own cream.

My head remained where it was for a minute or so, enjoying the aroma emanating from that delightful opening where her thighs met. When I moved up to nurse on her, she caressed my head as though I were a newborn feeding. She breathed heavily.

I moved to her mouth. Her eyes were closed as we kissed, tentatively at first as if we were high school students about to cross the line. Her lips parted to accept my tongue, which searched her mouth, counting her teeth as it were. Her tongue met mine. Those tongues wrestled, but not as professionals, merely as college wrestlers who wanted to win the match, but with skill, not force.

The way that Paula handled her mouth, tongue, lips suggested that she had great experience way back when in the womanly art of fellatio. She seemed to have given many blow jobs, to her husband and to who knows to how many other men, pre-marital, as a grieving widow and perhaps even as a cheating spouse.

But much as I loved the idea, the feeling of unloading my cum into a talented mouth, I knew at that moment that her cunt was ready and willing, and cunts have always been my receptacle of choice.

My fingers moved down between her legs. They parted, not in surrender nor in submission, but rather in welcome, in joy. Her fingers took my weapon of manhood and led it inside her, into the center of her lust, of her joy, into the center of the entire world. At least as the two of us were concerned.

She gasped as my blood filled tube pressed in, dilating the walls of her vaginal canal, making her remember the last time that she had been so well and truly fucked. I'm bragging of course, but I have been told more than once that I know how to please a woman sexually. And yet, for all my bullshit, my last half dozen orgasms had been in the privacy of my bathroom. So I resolved to give Paula one single orgasm and then to let myself go, to fill her cunt with so much sperm that it would ooze back out of her around my dick and onto her bedsheet.

I thrust into her and she humped back up at me. She moaned, she whispered and she whimpered. She reached between us and grabbed my nuts. She used every dirty word she knew in order to make me cum, not caring about her own orgasm. But I held out, allowing my dick to rub her clit. When that didn't work, I put my fingers into action, flicking, twisting, pinching that little man that I love to suck.

She exploded finally, her open mouth screaming into my chest to muffle the sound. My balls sent a silent message to my brain: 'our work here is done; stop holding us back'. And my brain obeyed, releasing all the creamy gooey product of balls and prostate that had accumulated inside of me for the previous eight hours. Yes, eight hours; I do masturbate quite a bit when I'm alone.

And then I collapsed on top of Paula, collapsed like a teen-age boy whose girlfriend had finally allowed him to go all the way. But unlike that teen-age boy, I had enough sense not to get up and run to the bathroom to piss.

After maybe a minute, Paula pushed me off of her and onto my back. She bent and took my dick into her mouth, her tongue washing it clean of our mixed fluids, one of the ultimate gifts that a woman can give to a man after sex.

We still meet each other once or twice a week, in her home or mine. The visitor always leaves his or her dog at home. We have better things to do. She has a mouth like a vacuum cleaner and she loves the way that I eat cunt.

Dan and Jill had been childhood sweethearts. They married while still in college and had stayed together for almost 50 years. Their 3 children, two boys and a girl, were all successful physicians in the Los Angeles area. But even those talented practitioners were unable to prevent the slow erosions of body and brain that affected Jill much too early in life, while her husband Dan remained hale and hearty.

Dan had devoted his waking hours to supporting his family while Jill had been at home raising children and having dinner ready for Dan at the end of the day. As a result of her having been so adept at spoiling Dan, he was essentially useless when it came to caring for Jill as her conditions worsened.

And so, after much searching and interviewing, husband and wife found Dina. They moved her into the guest bedroom and paid her a handsome salary to care for Jill. And for good measure, to walk Fifi, the cute little French Poodle that kept Jill company when she otherwise would have been alone. But more of that later.

Dina was a strikingly beautiful woman. Full busted, she had been in my thoughts often as I choked my chicken. Clearly a lovely young woman back when she had flown the world as a flight attendant, by age 40 her face had matured into the beauty that can only be achieved at that age. I could only guess why she had left the airline. My thought was that she might have been caught en flagrante with some executive who was forced to fire her in order to save his own job and marriage. It was just a guess.

I first met Dina while she was walking Fifi. As is not uncommon when a small dog meets a large one, the small one yips and yaps at the larger, trying to show perhaps that she's not afraid of his size. And as equally not uncommon, the larger dog stands patiently like a long suffering husband waiting for his wife to run out of words. So it was with Stanley and Fifi.

Dina and I watched and smiled. My eyes flicked back and forth between the two dogs and the two healthy girls pressing out against the buttons of her blouse. She saw the work of my eyes and she smiled. She looked down, saw the slight bulge in my loose exercise pants and she smiled again. I felt the redness creeping up my neck and into my face.

It would have been the perfect moment to say something cute but nevertheless suggestive, to make her blush in response to my own embarrassment. Alas, each of us was holding a plastic bag full of dog poop and that stuff is not made for seduction. I held mine up.

"There's a disposal for this right around the corner."

And so our first meeting turned out to be a shitty time, pun intended.

Over the next few weeks, I saw her occasionally but never for more than a quick hello and time for our dogs to sniff each other. But I began to notice Dina and Dan spending time together outside the home. They biked together, they exercised in the gym together, things like that. The only time I saw Dina and Jill together was when Dina walked alongside Jill as the latter used her walker, and with Dan and the two women when they went out to eat together.

To my mind, what I was seeing was a man and a woman who were having an affair and making no effort to hide it. The affair didn't bother me. I have the morals of an alley cat and no compunctions whatever about fucking a married woman. I also seem to have no ability to hide that fact, for whenever I've gotten close to a woman, she apparently can read the infidelity in my brain and drifts away toward some more stable man.

But flaunting the affair in front of all the neighbors, some of whom would possibly mention it to his wife, was going too far. Though none may have told her, it festered inside them and they showed it whenever they could. Old friends of Dan and Jill began to snub him. When Dan and Dina showed up together in the gym in the morning, women told he to leave because it was before noon, in violation of a homeowners' rule that guests were prohibited from the gym before noon.

Knowing that I was friendly with one or two Board members, Dan and Dina approached me, insisting that there was no 'hanky-panky' – their words – going on and that Dina was a full time resident, even though she was just an employee. I gave them the old saw about Caesar's wife having not only to be above reproach but also to be seen to be above reproach. That was my polite way of saying, who are you kidding?

What I really wanted to say was, back off, let me be the one to fuck her and then the old biddies won't bitch so much. I actually think that Dina read my mind. In fact, I hoped that she did.

Maybe she did. When we would meet after that while walking the dogs, she was seemingly anxious to spend more time talking, not about dogs and their poop, but rather about the attitudes of the neighbors. Each time she would insist that nothing was going on between Dan and her. Each time I nodded, not believing a word. After a while I tired of hearing the denials.

"If nothing is going on, then Dan must be dead from the waist down."

I said it both as a suggestive compliment and as a come-on, which I guess may be the same thing. She blushed at the compliment part and then her face darkened. Staring silently at me for almost a minute, she nodded almost imperceptibly and then turned her face away.

Holy shit, I thought, they are fucking. But I stood silently still, unsure of what to say that would ease my way inside her pants. My dick wasn't silent though. He stood at noticeable attention.

"Most of the time he can't get it up and when he does, he can't keep it up. The best we can do is to go down on each other."

Glancing down toward my tent, she continued. "I can tell that you're glad to see me." She smiled.

I took a deep breath. "The best way to shut off the gossip would be to let the neighbors see you with me, not Dan. Do you think he'd mind?"

"I can't help that," she said, "but he knows that a lot of the time he can't take care of what I need."

With that, she put her arm through mine and we walked together, our dogs pulling us along.

What an odd situation. Two competent adults tacitly agreeing to fuck one another in a decision brought on solely by expediency, not passion, not foreplay. Yes, there was lust, at least on my part, but I didn't know about what Dina may have been thinking. Would she be fucking like some good wife whose husband had lost a bet and couldn't pay the bookmaker? Or like some hooker who merely wanted to get it over with? As for me, I felt like a john in a whorehouse, just looking for some human receptacle to use to empty my balls of accumulated cum.

We parted, each to our respective homes. She would be at my place at noon the following day. She would park her flaming red Alfa convertible in my driveway and put up the top in case of rain. She would be carrying an overnight case, and hopefully someone would see it. She would be dressed like a call girl. With any luck, we'd both have a good time and start to turn away some of the gossip directed at Dan. As I thought about that last item, it hit me; I was going to be a fucking Good Samaritan.

She was ten minutes early, a good sign. I opened the door before the echoes from the ringing bell had ended. Damn, she looked good enough to eat, and I knew that I would do just that to her. She handed me her case and I kissed her – on the cheek only. After all, I was horny, not romantic. As I had planned, to myself only, I had refrained from jerking off since we had parted the day before.

"Did you tell Dan where you were going?" I asked.

"He said for me to have a good time, be home by nine tomorrow morning to take care of Jill, and to be sure not to fall in love."

"Honestly, Dina, that last was really never in my mind."

"Nor mine," she said, "but hey, you never know."

I shivered inwardly at the last comment, but it was true, you never know.

"Would you like some coffee or a bite to eat?" I offered.

"Would you?" she replied.

"Hell no."

"Hell no," she echoed my sentiments.

How nice, I thought, she's really come to fuck. See, what had been bothering me was the thought that she was planning to merely playact, like a male and female set of detectives trying to fool a bad guy into thinking that they were married. I needn't have worried. She was unbuttoning her blouse as we walked up the stairs toward my bedroom.

Her bra was a satin underwire minimizer that did nothing at all to minimize her fantastic rack. She saw me staring, drooling if you will, and she smiled, bending down from the step above me to kiss my cheek, a patient motherly type kiss. In an instant, the bra was off and thrown over my shoulder. I wanted to cum in my pants, and then decided that I'd rather throw her down on the stairs and fuck her right there.