Chapter 10

Molly had heard the sounds of their fucking from the outer office, and halted, frowning, puzzled. Those sounds were unmistakable... and would have been even if she had not heard the woman defining the act, over and over, with that one descriptive command.

Who was fucking in Jake's office?

Where was Jake?

Molly had always trusted her husband. It took a few moments for the horrible thought that perhaps it was Jake who was involved in that fucking to sink in. She stood there, dazed, rooted to the spot. She was tempted to turn around and walk back out. She didn't want to know the truth! But something drew her toward the door. Not wanting to know, the trembling blonde nevertheless felt compelled to find out.

She moved to the inner door and looked in. She had arrived just as Jake got into the finishing strokes. Molly was stunned. Her eyes popped out, her mouth dropped open and she gave a quiet gasp of shock. She felt a flush of heat, followed by a grip of icy cold.

She saw his fat prick vanish up Gloria's flame-haired fuck hole, then pull back out, slathered with cuntjuice.

Her husband's prick!

Her prick! The cock for which she had come, yearning, only to find it servicing another woman's cunt!

She noticed how juicy that pussy looked, too, steaming, the clit exploding like a percussion cap.

Now Jake was emptying his cock and balls into her, and the redhead was wailing as she came with him.

Unable to stand anymore, Molly moved away from the door. She was so numbed by shock that she didn't know what emotions she felt. The blonde shook her head, trying to clear it. She was angry, of course. But she was embarrassed, too. It made her feel inadequate that her husband would have another woman, made her wonder if she was not enough for him. How long has it been going on? And why was it going on? Was it her fault or was he simply an unfaithful swine? And what should she do about i t? She didn't have the nerve nor the will to confront him in the act. She knew that her voice would break, that she would blush as much as if she were the guilty party. She would have to think long and hard about the situation, before deciding whether to tell him she knew about his affair, or simply to ignore that terrible knowledge and hope that the affair was not serious.

Molly went back into the corridor.

Her cheeks were flaming.

Then a strange thought came to her; she was glad that she had been sucking and fucking with dogs! She had been deeply ashamed of that, before she discovered her husband's infidelity. Now it seemed justified, as if she had taken her revenge on him even before she knew there was a sin to be avenged.

It served the bastard right to be cuckolded by a boxer!

And as she remembered the dogs, she remembered, too, what had motivated her uncharacteristic behavior.

Carla!

Carla was the sort of woman with whom she could talk freely, in whom she could confide! Carla was worldly. She would be able to advise Molly how to respond to Jake's adultery. Molly felt an urge to talk to Carla, to tell her all about this and even, in a strange way, to confess about her own affair with the two canines. She had intended to keep quiet about that, never to tell a soul. Now that her husband was cheating on her, she felt the urge to let someone... Carla... know that she was not so faithful, herself. She still thought that fucking and blowing dogs were things to be ashamed of, and knew she would blush furiously when she admitted it. But her deep shame only added to the bizarre thrill of confession, the desire to admit her degradation to another woman. Carla, a devout dog-fucker, herself, would hardly blame Molly. They would probably have a good giggle over it, over the funny way that Molly had gotten even with Jake even before she knew he had sinned.

But would Carla be home?

She had most likely gotten picked up by that man in the cocktail lounge. But would it have been a fast fuck in a hotel, or might she have brought him home with her? Molly didn't want to interrupt if Carla was having it off with the guy... and she most certainly wasn't going to confess about her doggy adventure in front of a strange man.

Well, she would drive over to Carla's, anyhow.

If Carla was busy, she wouldn't stay.

Molly, desperate to confide in someone and to seek her advice, went back down to the car, hoping that Carla wasn't busy.

Carla wasn't busy.

She was, however, horny.

Carla had suffered the misfortune of having sex with not one, but two, premature ejaculators in the same day.

The first had been Sam, in the hotel.

And the second had been a fucking dog!

Wasn't that just her rotten luck?

After Carla had left limp-pricked Sam, she had gone directly home, hoping to find the collie prowling about her backyard, but when she got there she found no sign of the big brute... not even any dog shit. Waves of frustration washed over her. Christ, did she have to fingerfuck herself again? That did no good. A handjob only served to make her juicier, to make her crave the real thing all the more. But the collie was not around, and she couldn't think of a man that she might phone at that hour, to request a servicing.

Carla had no steady boyfriends since her divorce. She preferred to play the field, enjoying a variety of bed partners, rather than to get involved with a single man. But at the moment, that was working against her. Where could she fin d a prick? Did she have to go back out and get picked up again? She hated the thought, preferring to stay home and have a cock fetched to her.

But where and who?

She considered sending herself a telegram and seducing the boy who delivered it.

But sight unseen, that was chancy.

She didn't give a damn how old the lad was or what he looked like, but what if he happened to have a tiny prick?

The same drawback held true for ordering flowers or calling a television repairman.

What about the dog pound, though?

Her green eyes widened and sparked at the idea. There must be plenty of stray dogs there, available for adoption to a good, dog-loving home, and Carla would be able to look them over and select the one with the biggest, nicest cock and balls. That lucky doggy was going to have the sort of home that stray dogs dream about! And it would serve the collie right, too, for not being around when she needed him! She was positively enchanted by the thought of standing there, with dogs in cages all around her, a whole slew of pricks waiting for a home! She might just cream right there in the kennels, she thought, the cuntjuice would just run down her legs!

But then she groaned, remembering something that she had heard about the process of dog adoption.

You weren't allowed to simply pay for a license and take the dog away with you. There was bureaucratic bullshit involved. You had to wait until the dog had gotten his shots before they would release him to you. Carla hated red tape. She was perfectly willing to take a chance on distemper or, hot as she was, maybe even rabies, but she was not willing to wait to get her cunt full of prick.

Damn! It had seemed such a good idea, too!

She was pacing nervously back and forth across the living room, very much aware of her smoldering pussy as her thighs rubbed together around it. The pit of her groin was squishing with every slow stride. The juice tickled as it oozed out.

Then her pacing took her to the window.

And gazing out, Carla saw a strange dog in the yard! It wasn't a large dog, sad to say.

But it looked frisky and vigorous. It was a mongrel, she thought, some sort of cross-bred terrier, perhaps. Carla considered, wishing it were a Great Dane or a wolfhound, but she was in no condition to look a gift dog in the mouth.

Carla decided to give it a try.

She hurried to the kitchen and got a hunk of hamburger from the refrigerator, then rushed to the back door. The dog looked up, startled and ready to bolt, when she opened the door.

"Here, doggy... nice doggy," she called, holding a handful of hamburger out.

The mongrel seemed uncertain and hesitant. It took a step toward her, but then it stepped back again. She thought that maybe it wasn't hungry. It didn't look thin... and it had no idea, of course, what other treats Carla had in store for it. It annoyed her that the dog didn't act eager, but she tried not to show her feelings. It would annoy her more if, sensing that she was annoyed, the mongrel ran off. She forced a smile and called again in a friendly voice.

The dog began approaching her, wriggling all over, his head lowered and his haunches raised and squirming. It did seem to have some terrier blood in it, Carla thought, as it came closer. It had those wedge-shaped jaws and broad chest. It was a speckle-colored creature, tan and grey and beige, the various hues all mixed up so that the markings had no definition. It looked, she thought, as if it had been pushed together out of drab modeling clay. Still, it would do in a pinch. Carla hunker ed own, holding the meat out, smiling.