Chapter 3

The two of them were gone for a couple of hours, which couple of hours I spent thinking about all the nasty, evil things he might be doing to her. But, probably, they'd just been out to a restaurant, because when they got back, Brenda was still looking as cool and neat as she had been when she'd left.

And so was Mr. Beefcake. Whatever he was going to get tonight, he clearly hadn't gotten it just yet.

They got cozy on the living room couch, and the way they were talking, I knew this wasn't any first date. Brenda got up once to get them glasses of wine. I laid low and made sure I didn't become the focal point of attention. I was afraid Brenda would want me to demonstrate my bathroom etiquette to this asshole, and I'd be faced with the choice between embarrassing myself -- by demonstrating what a "smart dog" I was -- or embarrassing Brenda by pissing all over this guy's $200 slacks.

If I stayed out of the way and didn't call any attention to myself, I figured they'd leave me alone. I reluctantly decided that if the two of them started making out on the couch, I'd have to just let it happen. After all, Brenda had taken me in as an act of kindness -- not for her protection. Besides, her body language was telling me that she didn't want any protection. She was hanging all over this guy, and the only one who seemed the least bit reluctant to get it on was this Alpha Male.

Maybe he was a Beta male. Jesus, he'd have to be gay, I was thinking, not to respond to the come-on he was getting from my beloved Brenda!

Well, he was responding -- sorta. I mean, I could see he had a first-class boner growing in those slacks. Brenda could see it, too, and she wasted no time clamping her right hand over it and giving it a friendly squeeze. She might as well have had "Fuck Me" embroidered on a ten-gallon hat, the signals she was transmitted to this dunce.

But it wasn't that he didn't get it. He, evidently, was being honorable, or something. Finally, he just got up -- boner and all -- and hastily backed away.

"I'm sorry, Brenda," he said. And, I gotta admit, he really did sound like he was sorry.

"I -- I hope I didn't lead you on," he said, "but we just -- we just can't! I'm getting married in a matter of weeks -- to Joyce -- and you and I both know it just wouldn't be right!"

"Go ahead and marry her," Brenda said, her voice husky. "But, for tonight, Ron, for God's sake -- let's get it on!"

Wow! I'd never seen her like this! Brenda had always looked hot, but tonight I was finding out that she was, indeed, hot! Not for me, unfortunately, but for this loser, "Ron," who somehow thought his heart belonged to this Joyce person.

But Brenda had already told him, right out, that, Joyce or no Joyce, marriage or no marriage, she wanted him to slip her the bone -- right now! Obviously, the guy could understand English.

So what was his problem?

He must be a goddamned Mormon, or something. Maybe a Muslim. A fucking Baptist? No, certainly not a fucking Baptist. Whatever the hell he was, he was one idiotic homo sapiens, I knew that much.

Well, he finally came back and leaned over and laid a kiss on Brenda's lips that I thought for-sure meant that he'd changed his mind, had come to his senses, and was prepared to fuck her brains out.

But, no. It was just his farewell smack.

Oh, he was overheated, his own self. The bone trying to get out of his pants hadn't gone away, and I had to admit he looked well-equipped for the job at hand, but he still wasn't unzipping anything. He did cop a semi-accidental feel on Brenda's lovely little breast, there, and she gave out another responsive little gasp that told me she was on the very edge of coming -- just from that!

Then, damned if that stupid bastard didn't grab his coat and scurry right out the front door! He was talking, the whole time, going through a litany of apologies and promises-to-call-sometime and what have you.

But, unmistakably, the fool was leaving!

My super-sensitive doggy nose could tell that Mistress Brenda was extremely ready for action, and this, this guy -- this cretin -- was leaving her high and dry.

Well, not dry. I could tell that she was soaking wet from her cooze to her knees.

That guy ought to be arrested!

I felt so bad for my poor abandoned mistress that I almost hoped he'd come to his senses, come back inside and proceed to give her what she so obviously was ready and willing to receive.

But my empathy didn't last long. Pretty soon I started thinking like the man/dog I was: This might be the opportunity of a lifetime -- for little old Fred!

I figured the next stop for poor, frustrated Brenda would be the bedroom or the bath, and she didn't disappoint me. She made a beeline for her bedroom, trying to slam the door behind her as she went, but I was ready for that possibility and I rose up on my hind legs to block the door. I took the blow, lost my balance, and went over backwards in the upstairs hallway outside her room, but I had accomplished my purpose: The bedroom door was still ajar.

I slipped inside and kept close to the wall of the room so as not to arouse any undue urges, on Brenda's part, to shove me out again so that she could be alone with her thoughts -- and her fingers.

She had already stripped down to bra and panties, and the panties came off so fast I hardly had time to get one of my too-rare looks at the sweet little dark curls on her pussy.

The bra was next, and it went flying, too. Brenda was on her back on her bed, both legs bent at the knee, feet still planted on the bedroom floor, knees spread well apart. She had a good half of her left hand buried between the lips of her pussy, and the squishing noises she was making told me that, already, she wasn't far from fruition.

She came faster than a 13-year-old boy at a competitive circle-jerk, and she let out a mournful-sounding cry when the orgasm hit her that sounded halfway between pure pleasure and call-the-doctor pain!

Then she pulled her soaked fingers -- all four of them -- out of her steaming cunt and just lay there on her back, crying her eyes out.

Obviously, this idiot who had just abandoned her wasn't merely some guy from the office, and they hadn't been out on their second or third date. Brenda and Ron The Asshole obviously had some History. Maybe he was her high school or college sweetheart, and when he'd come to town, and called her up, she'd thought that maybe an Old Flame was going to be rekindled.

Who knows? I'd heard enough conversation to know that something of that sort had been in the mix, but the details, probably, would never be made known to me. What was I going to do, ask Brenda for her Life Story?

So I just came a little closer -- trying to give my Mistress a little comfort and compassion, and also getting a closer-than-ever look at her steaming twat. God, it hadn't cooled down at all; still quivering, there; the wetness still evident.

And the scent! She smelled incredible! For the first time ever in Brenda's presence, my doggie bone was in full flair -- as wet and pink as the trembling interior of her perfect little recently roughly handled quim.

She was still bawling and she hadn't as yet noticed my presence, there, beside the bed.

Well, I'm a big dog and I was at perfect eye (and nose, and tongue) level with her little lightly coiffed treasure, there, between her thighs. It wasn't quivering now, but it was kinda bouncing up and down slightly, as the sobs wracked Brenda's supine body, making the bed, and everything in it, move in a continuing motion that closely mimicked a moderated version of a couple, on a bed, Doing It.