something wrong to louse up a promise of getting fucked. He didn't know what, but he guessed he wasn't the big man he thought he was. That must be it, he bet — his chemistry teacher was used to gown-up men who're hung like bulls, and not even faithful Atilla was enough for her. Crap, it was enough to make a guy slit his throat…!
After the young lover had left with his pet, Lisa felt an overwhelming desire to cleanse her body of the traces of their lewd debauch. She summoned the strength after a few moments to crawl from her bed of shame and stagger to the bathroom, where she mercilessly scrubbed her soiled and betraying flesh in the shower, gritting her teeth as she stood under a scalding cascade of hot water. She took careful pains to wash all of the animal sperm from around her cuntal slit, some of Atilla's cum draining out of her vagina when she'd stood up straight, and after she'd finished her shower and dried herself, she brushed her teeth and gargled with mouthwash. But it didn't seem to purify the dirt on her soul. Still feeling unclean, Lisa hurried back to her bedroom, wanting nothing more urgently than to cover her wicked nakedness.
She grabbed the half-full bottle of Chablis and then dragged herself back to the bed after first extinguishing the lights. In the darkness, she sipped directly from the wine bottle and contemplated her future, what there was of it. Gradually she began to feel drowsy as the wine counteracted some of the torturous shame and horror she felt. She slowly succumbed to the warming lethargy that steeled over her tormented mind, and eventually she drifted into a fitful, restless slumber…
Chapter 4
Little Scott Phillips awoke shortly past eight-thirty Saturday morning. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he lay in his bed as his mind cleared of its fuzziness, and slowly he remembered the events of the previous evening. Going to get Atilla — the wanton exhibition of his chemistry teacher having her pussy licked by the dog — his own excitement at the sight and the subsequent wild time on Mrs. Hamilton's bed — seeing Atilla mount her while she sucked his cock. Crap, it had been a good time… but it had ended so terribly! First her throwing him out of the house, and then to come home and get beaten for staying out too late. Man, his ass was still sore where his dad had whupped him!
Both his parents had asked him where he'd been, and the boy had made up a story about searching all over town for the dog. He'd never once mentioned being at his teacher's place, much less what happened there, and he never would! It was too humiliating to admit! Anyway, with the instinctive insight of a bright youngster, he realized that if he admitted he knew what Atilla could do, it would open up a whole can of worms about who had trained it to do it, and who was enjoying having it done to them. Jesus, it had been the most exciting thing he'd ever seen, watching lovely Mrs. Hamilton getting licked and screwed by the German shepherd… but did Atilla do that to his own mother, too? And… did his dad watch like he had, getting all hot and bothered…?
Man, maybe he'd sneak around some night when they thought he was asleep, and try to find out. But sure as shit he wasn't going to say anything! Scott shuddered at the whole shameful idea of his parents and Atilla together, and he quickly slipped out of bed, padding across to where his clothes hung in t he closet.
He undid the drawstring of his pajamas and unfastened the top part, and for a moment he stood naked, looking down at himself. Once again he remembered with scarlet embarrassment how he'd been nude in Mrs. Hamilton's bedroom like this, and how her fingers had stroked his penis into bursting hardness. Only he hadn't been enough for her, that was for sure! He found his eyes lingering on his now flaccid penis and the taut, round scrotum hugging his inner thighs. His slender cock jerked in responsiveness, tingling with blood and beginning to rise. Guiltily the teenager averted his eyes, quickly dressing in clean underwear, a thin blue sweater, and tight whip-cord pants. Then, shivering with mortification as though swept by a sudden chill, he left his bedroom and started down the hall.
His mother was busy in the kitchen when he entered, banging and clattering the dishes about as she prepared buckwheat cakes for breakfast. Mrs. Phillips was a lively redhead, still vivacious and good-looking at the age of forty, despite a propensity toward plumpness. She was wearing her favorite around-thehouse attire, a heavy blouse, a pair of paisley-print culottes and furry slippers, and by the way her pendulous breasts jiggled beneath the fabric, her son could tell she wasn't wearing anything else underneath.
Man, he thought as he sat down at the kitchen table, Mrs. Hamilton's tittles weren't all hangy like hers… but what the hell, she was his mother, not some model! While he looked at her, Scott tried to visualize what she would look like, hunched over naked on her hands and legs as his teacher'd been, begging the family dog to hump her. He shook his head, the thought too incongruous to believe, just as the older woman turned to wish him a good morning.
'Morning, Ma,' Scott replied sheepishly, and stared glumly at the formica pattern of the tabletop.
'You're still not upset at being spanked last night, are you?' Mrs. Phillips asked, setting a glass of orange juice in front of him. 'You were out late, you know, without telling us where you were. That was very naughty of you, and we were very worried.'
'No, Maw, I know I deserved it.' he mumbled.
'Well, don't let your father see you with such a long face.'
'Is he up yet?'
'No.' She put a plate of buckwheat cakes down, and moved the Karo syrup over closer to her son. 'And mind you don't make any noise to wake him, either. He likes sleeping late on the weekends.'
'Yeah, yeah.'
'What are you going to do today?'
'I dunno.'
'Well, there's always work to do around here. The lawn to mow and the hedge to trim, and the garage could be cleaned out.'
'I can't do anything until Dad is up,' Scott protested, poking at his flapjacks with his fork. He didn't feel hungry at all, but he forced himself to eat, knowing it would only cause more questions and trouble if he didn't. 'Maybe I'll go over to the park until noon. Fool around with some of the guys.'
'That sounds like a good idea.'
Scott finished his breakfast without another word.
'Do you want any more?' his mother asked solicitously, having noticed something was bothering her son, but still thinking it had to do with his punishment the night before.
'No, thanks.' he said, pushing his plate away.
'That's the first time I've seen you pass up my buckwheat cakes, young man. Are you sure…?'
'No, Mom, I'm just not hungry. I… I have to go now if I'm going to do anything at the park.'
'All right, if you insist. But mind you be back at noon!'
'Yes, I will,' he said reluctantly. He kissed her perfunctorily on one cheek and left the kitchen almost on a run. The last thing he wanted to do was come back here at noon, but then, he didn't especially want to go to the park, either! He didn't know what he wanted to do, except be by himself awhile and sort out some of the confusion and hurt that was festering in his brain.
The Phillips' house was smaller than Mrs. Hamilton's, and in not as nice a neighborhood. It was a white- painted clapboard, built on a small hillock so that the porch off the kitchen was up on stilts. Below was the small basement playroom, which opened out, as did the stairs from the porch, onto a sloping backyard. The yard was fenced in, and was mostly crabgrass and burned spots where the dog peed, and the first thing Scott saw when he walked outside on the porch was that Atilla was gone again.
Oh no! he groaned inwardly, his heart sinking into his belly. Atilla had managed to get out again, perhaps by jumping over the fence, and now he'd have to spend the morning searching for him. And if he weren't back by noon with him, he'd get another beating more'n likely! Crap, where could he've gone? Not back to Mrs. Hamilton's, he prayed! No… any place but there!
Then the fourteen year old heard the familiar bark of the large German shepherd, and he sighed in great relief. The bark had come nearby, from the Benson place next door. Scott hurried down the steps and across to the connecting gate in the fence. He fumbled with the catch in his haste, then walked through into the Benson backyard.
Sure enough, Atilla was there. With the dog was Curtis Benson, the sixteen year old youth who went to the
