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.
.... There is more of this story ...