CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
We merged with the group, enjoying the heat, letting the moisture roll from our bodies. Briefly, Mary Ellen and I roused ourselves and leaped into the pool, shedding our skin of sexual residue.
While we were splashing about she came close to me, her eyes begging me to wait and listen. “Want to take off?” she whispered. “They're not going to do anything exciting.”
I shook my head. “I told you, there's not much left of me for the rest of today. Go find yourself a playmate with more between his legs than I have.”
She reached under the water, grasping my tool. “You don't have the size of the boys, but you know how to use it. I liked the feel of it in my mouth. No bumps or rough spots. I guess you take good care of it.”
I made a face. “When there's only one to a customer they're rather precious.”
“So you won't run away with me?” She didn't give up easily.
“I'm sorry.”
“Me, too. Thanks, anyhow.”
“Any time.”
“Really?”
“That's only an expression,” I blurted, swimming strongly to the side and pulling myself out. I lay on the concrete, heaving, taking big breaths of air, letting the sun dry my puckering skin. Already I felt better, wondering if perhaps Mary Ellen hadn't taken my all. There might be a new well of pleasure filling in my gonads.
Mary Ellen was soon by my side, apparently slipping into a deep sleep, which didn't seem like a bad idea. I had just closed my eyes when I heard a muffled giggle. They popped open and I turned my head, my face in the shade, to watch the action.
Buddy and Johnny were moving in on Amy, who was lying on her back, hands at her sides, eyes closed to the sun, apparently dozing. I waited to see what would happen, ready to rush into action. They paid no attention to me, apparently believing I had joined Mary Ellen in slumberland.
The boys were on hands and knees, hovering over her gazing down on her body. Her breasts rose and fell evenly and her knees had casually fallen apart so that her bush and the outer lips of her vagina were in plain sight.
Buddy lowered his head until his mouth was inches from her breast. He blew gently, his breath directly on a nipple, and Amy stirred, her head turning slightly and a hand moving. Even a knee twitched. She was, indeed, deeply in sleep by now, not merely dozing.
He blew on the other breast and again she stirred, her lips twitching, a hand lifting a few inches before dropping back. I realized that she was exhausted from the events of the past several days, otherwise she would be awakened at once. It seemed it would take a substantial jolt to rouse her from her slumber.
Pausing, Buddy looked at Johnny, who nodded and then put his face just three inches from Amy's vagina. He, too, shot a jet of air at my wife, stirring the hairs between her legs. Her hips moved and I could have sworn, from the way that her hips were lifted an inch, her buttocks had flexed in response to the stimulation.
Exhausted as she was, Amy was still all woman, ready to answer the call, even in sleep.
Moving very carefully, Buddy kissed her on the throat, his lips leaving a small trail of light kisses from her chin down the curve of her throat almost to the tops of her breasts. Again Amy moved, her knees waving. Johnny placed his hands on those knees, arresting their movement, and his fingers tapped on the insides of her thighs.
Her head rolled from side to side, her fingers curling and straightening, and her mouth opened, her tongue licking her lips. Still, she was far from awake. She was switched on and I wondered what sort of erotic dream was being played out in her brain.
Buddy's lips moved on, into the valley between those hills of white, up the side of a nipple. Amy's hand came up to stroke the back of his head, to guide and encourage him. He lapped at the nipple gently and a small sound escaped her lips.
At that moment Alexander stirred, getting up and wandering over to observe the action. His tail wagged as he saw Buddy kissing the nipple and, to the vast surprise of the boys and me, he came closer to sniff of Amy's breasts. Buddy paused, about to shove him away, when Johnny made a small gesture. Buddy paused and they rocked back on their heels, waiting.
As it turned out, everyone was waiting, for Mary Ellen was now sitting up beside me, and Trudy, who had been sprawled under a tree, had also roused herself, even though she remained some fifteen feet away from the action. For some reason I remained where I was, feigning sleep, possibly to help me cope with my conscience later.
Fascinated, five pairs of eyes watched Alexander as he smelled of the nipples, his black sniffing nose shifting from one to the other. He lifted his head, wagging his tail at Buddy, and then resumed his work.
I felt a physical jolt when his long, blue-black tongue leaped from his jaws to lap a nipple. We could hear the scrape halfway across the backyard as the rough thing bent the roesbud and buried it from view for an instant. Amy's body jerked and her hands worked, gripping her sides, but her eyes didn't open. Was she really asleep?
At my side I could hear Mary Ellen gasp and, looking up, I saw a strange gleam in her eyes. She was enjoying the scene, it was true, but in some deeper, more mysterious way. I sensed that she wished her body was where Amy's was, receiving the dog's attentions.
Alexander moved his massive head to the other breast, lapping at it Amy jerked again and her hips rolled, but then she lay still. The dog sniffed between her breasts, his fat nose and muzzle slobbering in the valley. Then he was below it, working his way around her belly, smelling every inch, as though seeking the source of some odor that excited him.
He was excited, all right, that red hot poker jutting forward from between his rear legs like he was carrying a cane. The lance had come completely out of its sheath and a drop of moisture had collected at its tip. He was definitely looking for something to shove it into.
“Jesus,” Buddy was murmuring.
“Amen,” Johnny replied and I heard a sigh come from Trudy on the other side of the yard. Mary Ellen was still in the midst of her deep breathing exercises, her hands going to her breasts, fondling them as her eyes drank in the pleasures of the German shepherd.
That God-damned dog, I mused. Too chicken to stay by himself after dark, but tough enough to want to screw the hell out of anything that was warm and soft.
That massive muzzle was snorting its way through Amy's bush by now, the tail still going, the red poker dripping a drop on the pavement an inch from my wife's hip. He worked down to her thighs, for some reason skipping the vagina and lapping at the tender skin between Amy's legs. Her knees spread and her breasts quickened, quivering in readiness.
He paused, looking directly into the box, and at the same time her knees went wide, so that she was fully spread ready for whatever the dog wanted. Her arms went out from her sides, the fingers wiggling, her head rolled back and forth and she dug in her heels, lifting her hips to form a human arch on the concrete. I blinked, thoughts raging through my head. Had we sunk so low that we were going to allow this to happen? Was I going to lie here and let a dog seduce my wife before my eyes, probably working myself into sexual excitement at the scene? Was Amy asleep or was she faking it, loving it, hardly able to continue her charade, so excited had she become?
I never needed to learn the answer, for at that moment Trudy was getting up and coming into the circle, her eyes dancing with a wild pleasure, her throat flushed in excitement, her entire body trembling. The others looked up, shushing her, but she would not be stayed.
She went to Amy's side, touching Alexander on the tail. The big dog turned his head, ceasing his lapping for a moment, obviously pleased to see her. Trudy leaned over him, dragging his great head away from my wife's thighs and turning him around.
“Me, Alexander,” she rasped, her voice a half-whisper that carried across the yard. “Not her. Me. I'm the one you want.”
The dog seemed to know, perhaps smelling her need as sexual juices sent out their alarm. There could be no more primitive sexual call than this, I thought. A woman's body emitting a scent that an animal could pick up, trace and follow to its source, there to deliver satisfaction.
Alexander waited while Trudy got on her hands and knees, staring the dog in the eye. Together, they looked at one another, while we looked on. Amy apparently still slept, for she was motionless and her wiggling had ceased
