Chapter 4

For the next several days, Brenda was very careful, when she went to bed at night, to be certain that I was somewhere in the house other than her bedroom, and that her bedroom door was tightly closed.

The door wasn't locked, and although Brenda probably didn't know it, I was able -- with some difficulty -- to get closed doors to open, when I was of a mind to. But I wasn't going to try to get into her bedroom uninvited. I was going to keep on being smart about this seduction.

She wasn't angry at me. She still spoke to me in the same sweet way she always had, and she always made sure I had all the food and water I needed. But it was as if what had happened -- hadn't happened. And she was being super-careful that whatever hadn't happened wouldn't happen again!

Well, I knew she had enjoyed it. Oh, yeah! But she was bothered by it, too. Why wouldn't she be? She'd be conflicted, at this point, for any number of reasons.

I suspected that one thing Brenda was probably afraid about was my future behavior around other people. I mean, just about every human has had the embarrassing experience of being "humped," or nuzzled in their most private place, by an obtrusive canine. Brenda might well be afraid that I'd try to give her a cross-species tongue-job at some terribly inappropriate moment -- like while she was seated with her best friend in the living room -- having a spot of tea.

If I could have afforded her reassurance that such a thing would never happen, I would have done so, but of course my ability to communicate with Brenda was quite limited. Oh, I could demonstrate doggie joy, lick her hand, jump around excitedly, and so forth -- but I couldn't just say "Don't worry, Babe, I'm not going to go down on you in public."

At least, I wouldn't do something like that unless she asked me to.

I figured that this meant I'd have to demonstrate -- over time -- that I wasn't going to just assault Brenda, willy-nilly, whenever I was feeling a little horny. Oh, it was tempting. One evening, she was leaning over the kitchen stove, wearing only a long T-shirt and some scanty panties, and from my low-level vantage point, I could see London and France, pretty clearly. The temptation to walk over and nuzzle that tender little bundle under the T-shirt was pretty strong.

And I had reason to believe that the nuzzling wouldn't have been exactly unwelcome, either. I knew from my wonderful Recent Past Experience that Brenda's engine was pretty easy to start!

But if I were to do such a thing -- in her kitchen -- even while we were alone, Brenda would undoubtedly be scared to death that I'd do it again when she had company in the house. After all, humans aren't famous for trusting to the good judgment of their household pets.

So, painful as it was for me, I abstained from any out-of-bedroom sexual come-ons with the splendid Brenda. I might be a tiger -- given a chance -- in the bedroom, but I was Nice Doggie everywhere else in the house.

At least, I was for now. Maybe, after Brenda had become convinced that I was safe around company, we could have a more colorful sex life together, when we were alone. Maybe I'd eventually christen every room in the house, including both bathrooms and the pantry.

We doggies like to mark our territory.

As I've already mentioned, Brenda wasn't very social. She'd had very few visitors, and no houseguests, in the time I'd been living with her. "Me and Brenda are living together," I thought to myself, deliciously. I knew that, despite our single incident of intimacy, Brenda didn't think of it in exactly that same way. It didn't matter. Let me just think my doggie thoughts. Let me just think of myself as a four-legged Hugh Hefner.

All I needed was a pipe and a smoking jacket.

Finally, however, Brenda had two of her friends over on a Friday night after work. They were both females, both in the same approximate age-range as my Mistress. I figured them for co-workers at Wherever Brenda Went on Weekdays, and their conversation around me soon confirmed that I was correct in this surmise. They were all three laughing and joking about some male idiot at work -- evidently a man who thought he was God's Gift, but whom all three of these young women were finding substantially less than irresistible.

Brenda was keeping a close eye on me. I figured she was still fearful that I might run my snout up under her dress, thereby shocking her visitors to their core.

The two visitors were both attractive young women, and I had active fantasies of running my snout up under their dresses -- as well as Brenda's.

But I resisted all urges, and performed as the Ordinary House Pet I was supposed to be. After awhile, Brenda's confidence in me grew, and she seemed to relax.

I wasn't being entirely ignored by the visitors. I am, after all, a damned good-looking doggie, despite my mixed heritage. I am clean, beautifully behaved, flea-free and decorous to a fault. And I'm capable, should my Mistress call upon me to do so, of showing these women some tricks they'd never seen a dog perform before!

No, I'm not talking about that trick. Brenda's not about to call upon me for that!

You know! I'm just talking about such things as the flush-the-toilet-and-put-the-seat-back-down trick. I was sort of glad she didn't ask me to demonstrate that one for her friends. Oh, I would have performed on demand. I didn't want to embarrass my Mistress by suddenly playing dumb and refusing to do my "trick". But, let's face it: Peeing into a toilet bowl on demand, and then doing the flush-and-put-the-seat-down routine? For an audience of young women? Well, that can be a little bit humiliating.

But Brenda didn't call upon me that evening to demonstrate what a super-smart doggie I was. After the initial round of admiring comments and gentle head-pats from the two visiting babes, I had to be content with staying in the background and avoiding doing anything to call undue attention to myself.

These three women were all hot, however. Whenever I felt my libido trying to take over -- whenever my pink protrusion started wanting to come out and play, I'd simply get up from my spot in the corner and head for the semi-darkness of the kitchen-and-pantry, where my doggie dish and fresh water awaited me. After the guests were gone, if Brenda closed her bedroom door to me again tonight, I could -- if necessary -- relieve the tension in a way that only we doggies can.

And don't you wish that you were that flexible!

There were a couple of rounds of drinks consumed that evening in Brenda's living room, and lots of pretty graphic girl-talk going down. One of the little extra advantages of being a dog (besides the huge advantage of not having to go out and work for a living) is that humans don't give you much credit for having the intelligence to follow their conversation.

Brenda knew that I was an Exceptional Pooch in many ways, and very smart -- for a dog. But she was no more aware than any other human that I was able to follow conversation and file away data with every bit as much alacrity as any human male she'd ever met. So I got to hear an evening of frank Girl Talk of the sort that virtually no male (outside of, perhaps, a few gay guys who were considered as practically one of the girls) ever got to hear.

They discussed all manner of stuff: The guys in the office that they had done, or would be willing to do; the relative skills, as lovers, of men known to two or more of the three. They discussed the fact that somebody named Barry apparently was "Barry Barry Well-Hung," as the woman they called Nancy confided, amid much raucous laughter.

All of this was interesting. And fun. Brenda, it seemed, was the most reserved of the three of them. I surmised that she was perhaps slightly older and slightly senior to the other two at their place of employment. But she was far from stuffy. My Mistress Brenda was no party pooper. She was in there, laughing and joking with the other two, and evidently having an excellent time.

Oh, the conversation occasionally swerved off into the kind of girl-talk that might make a male (canine or human) get bored. Whenever that happened, I'd wander around the house -- almost out of earshot -- until their tone and their laughter suggested that they'd returned to Topic A -- some variation of their earlier discussion of men. There was plenty of ridiculing of various men, but I gathered that all three of these women were practicing heterosexuals, and that not all the men they were talking about were considered to be entirely ridiculous.

Brenda's two visitors, it turned out, had each been to bed (on separate occasions) with the same man -- known to all three of the women -- as "Jesse." Jesse, it seemed, was considered a pretty competent lover. Both of the girls gave him high marks, and they seemed to try to outdo each other in describing Jesse's techniques, and his apparent willingness to spend long periods of time "down there" preparing the garden, so to speak, for plowing.

These descriptions were so artful, and so graphic, that I had to shift around in my corner of the living room floor so as not to call attention to the fact that I'd been visibly turned on by the conversation.

I watched Brenda closely, and could easily tell that she, too, was turned on.

"I thought that sonuvabitch was going to stick his tongue all the way up into my cervix!" Nancy said, bursting into laughter. Brenda and the other woman laughed, too, and Brenda cast a meaningful glance over my way. I had the distinct impression that she half-way wanted to tell her guests that she could call them, on that story, and raise them!