"Pet shop pussy" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jennings Rick)

CHAPTER TWO

Living as she did in what had formerly been a rent-controlled apartment, quite a plum as far as the vast majority of Manhattanites were concerned, Pam had the added luxury of space, space which included a kitchen that not only had a window, but that was also big enough to easily hold a round oak dining table and four cane-backed chairs.

Nearly all of her friends bemoaned their fate, the exorbitant rentals they paid in modern luxury buildings. And almost every one of them were forced to eat in dining alcoves and living rooms, substituting ventilator grates for kitchen windows.

The late morning sun streamed brilliantly into the kitchen and the hanging plants, which decorated the window, were lush and full. There's absolutely no reason to be depressed, Pam told herself as she sipped her third cup of coffee and idly flicked the pages of the Sunday Times she had picked up at a newsstand the night before.

Bix lay stretched out on the yellow tile floor, sunning himself after having consumed his light morning snack. She looked down at his furry black body and smiled to herself, pleased with his loyalty and doubly pleased with the way he never failed to excite her, knowing almost instinctively what to do to arouse her passions.

It wasn't so much her training as it was the dog's temperament and seemingly natural inclination to lick and tongue her body, her cunt and her asshole in particular. But that, she knew, was not all that she had taught him, nor was it the only trick Bix knew how to perform for his mistress.

But this morning she didn't want to think of that, having caught sight of the terrier's bony penis when Bix had sat up on the bed, moments after she had felt the last searing convulsions which marked her orgasm.

She wondered if he was capable of disappointment, then dismissed the notion as anthropomorphic, not wanting to give a dog human feelings, to endow an animal – even one as obviously bright and clever as Bix – with emotions best left for people to experience and deal with.

But in her eyes, at least, he hadn't looked all that happy, sitting up on the bed so that she had been able to see the pencil-thin and triangulated tip of his penis sticking out from its black hairy sheath.

The glistening flesh of his dog-cock was wet with canine genital secretions, a thin slippery fluid that she had tasted on numerous occasions in the past, carnal episodes of bestiality, she had told absolutely no one about.

Shame was one emotion she had learned to cope with quite early on in her life, for before Bix there had been her first dog, a honey colored cocker spaniel who made up for his unremarkable behavior and intelligence in other and far more intriguing ways.

She remembered that first incident with the spaniel, when she had just turned fifteen. It stood before her mind's eye as if it was happening, right there in the kitchen. But then she blinked and the image disappeared.

No, she decided, I've done enough fantasizing for one day. It's time to get out and shake off my depression before I really end up in the loony bin. She did not think she was headed for a breakdown, but as she got up to wash the breakfast dishes she sensed that unless things changed, the pattern of her life that is, no good would come of her burgeoning anxieties and dissatisfaction with the tenor of her existence.

"Want to romp in the park today, Bixie?" she asked her dog when the last of the breakfast dishes had been washed and set in the drainer to dry.

Bix yawned and stretched his legs, his carrot-shaped black tail rising up jauntily, wagging this way and that as he trotted obediently behind her, back into the bedroom where she picked out the clothes she would wear that afternoon.

Less than an hour later found her standing at the top of what New Yorkers had dubbed "Dog Hill", a denuded though still fairly grassy rounded hill which overlooked Fifth Avenue and the 79th Street entrance to Central Park.

Sunday, she knew, was the worst day of all, when the park was crowded with families and Dog Hill was a sea of barking running canine bodies. The good weather, the first taste of summer in what had been an unusually rainy spring, had brought the people out in droves and as she stood and looked around her, surveying the view while she kept a diligent eye on Bix, she suddenly stiffened and refused to believe her eyes.

I'm dreaming, she thought to herself, ignoring Bix so that she was able to train both eyes on the tall athletically built figure who stood some distance away from her, halfway down the rise of the gently sloping hill.

She could see his profile, the straight aquiline line of his nose, the thick and in her eyes sensual lips, now set in a slight and almost dazed bemused little grin. Dark piercing eyes stared out, open and devoid of deceit, from under a pair of thick bushy eyebrows.

Even the same hair, Pam thought to herself, for the young man who now was causing her to stare almost blatantly and rudely, had a thick mop of shaggy and curly dark-brown hair, hair which almost seemed to be the identical shade of brown as his eyes.

She shook her head and held herself more stiffly, aware of the way she had been trembling. Her fingers clutched Bix's leash and the yapping and scurrying all around her did not serve to break her mood of silent and watchful amazement.

It's him, the same guy, the one who comes in the window, she thought, still not sure if she was somehow hallucinating, seeing a mirage, imagining the young man as he stood below her on the hill, his own eyes trained on a powerfully built liver-colored Doberman pinscher.

As in the dream, the stranger wore faded and skintight blue jeans, even scuffed square-toed cowboy boots as well. A work shirt as equally faded and bleached as his dungarees covered his muscular torso and Pamela smiled nervously, wondering if she was finally going off the deep end.

But when she blinked rapidly, the image before her didn't waver or fade away in the least. If anything, she could see the young man even more clearly. All the details of his face and body, details she had memorized as if the dream had come to her full-blown, not a product of her own subconscious yearnings, matched one against the other.

She shivered again, spooked out by the apparition that had magically come to life. She had waited so long to meet a man like the one who raped her, alone in her bedroom, that now she didn't know if she should just turn around and run off in the opposite direction.

But before she could even recover from her surprise, or regain her self-composure, their eyes met and for the life of her she neither wanted to nor could she even pull away from the young man's wide and unswerving stare.

He turned his head to the side and looked up at her and if there was such a thing as love at first sight, Pam knew that she was the victim of it, of Cupid's dart. Her knees felt weak and bravely, feeling silly and as adolescent as a blushing schoolgirl, she curled her lips up into a smile.

It was not ignored.

The fellow grinned broadly, just as she saw Bix race into view, running circles around the liver colored Doberman. The pinscher was a male, but surprisingly enough he and Bix seemed to get along fine, enjoying each other's company, enjoying too the canine games the Scottie so delighted in.

Bix yapped merrily and darted right underneath the Doberman's body. The smooth-coated dog barked loudly and sprang off down the hill, Bix's short stubby legs flying out behind him as he hurried after in hot pursuit.

"Holmes!" the young man called out as the two dogs raced down the hill, so involved in their own games and animal pleasures that, at least for the time being, they were oblivious to their masters.

"Bix, get over here!" Pam cried out, her feet moving in front of her. Almost mechanically she strode down the hill, one foot placed before the other as if she was just learning how to walk. She was headed right towards the young man and a smile still played across her lips.

"Holmes, get your ass over here… now!" the guy yelled out.

The Doberman stopped short, lifted his fox-like snout and then began to race back up the hill. Bix was right behind him, a black streak against the pinscher's short liver-tinted body. By the time the two dogs had arrived at the young man's feet, Pam was standing right before him, still clutching Bix's leather lead.

"That's a good boy, Holmes. Now just quiet down and sit still for a minute," the fellow said good-naturedly.

Pamela knew she was in love and the very notion made her shudder once again. She wiped her forehead with the tips of her fingers, able to feel how she had suddenly begun to sweat profusely. "You too, Bix," she said, her voice cracking and her throat gone dry and parched.

"Bix? Why Bix?" asked the young man, turning to stare at her the way he had done earlier. And, for a second time, their eyes met, the stare held rigid and unmoving.

"Why?" she heard herself replying to his question. "He's just… just a little Bix, that's all. Silly. I can't remember why I decided to name him that. It just came to me when I saw him, that's all."

"You're right," the young man agreed with another disarmingly open and good-natured grin. "He does look like a Bix."

"And Holmes?" asked Pam. "Where's his double-brimmed cap and his drooping pipe?"

"Oh," the young man laughed, "I only let him wear those things in the privacy of my apartment. Wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea. Actually, it was the look in his eyes that made the decision for me. Seemed so piercing, so inquisitive, even when he was just a pup."

Pam glanced over at the Doberman. He was sitting at his master's feet, his great wet tongue hanging out of his mouth. Her eyes slid down, caught sight of the long thinly furred sheath that concealed the dog's cock and then jerked back to the young man's smiling face.

"Want to go for a cup of coffee?" he suddenly blurted out, almost as if he was now as nervous as she was.

"What?" she said, startled by the swiftness of the stranger's invitation. "I… I don't even know your name."

"And if you did… would it make any difference?" he said. "But to set your mind at ease, I'm listed in the Manhattan directory, under W for Whitlock. Justin Whitlock."

"Pam Harper," she replied, finding herself extending her hand as they grinned back at each other and shook hands like two businessmen meeting each other for the first time before sitting down to lunch.

"Good, then it's settled," he said, whereupon he attached the chain leash he held to Holmes' collar.

Pam clicked Bix's lead into place and the two of them, led by their two straining panting dogs, moved down the hill towards the 79th Street exit from the park. Pam felt at a complete loss for words, nodding her head numbly as Justin spoke to her.

She was growing acutely aware of the way he kept glancing at her from the corner of his eye. It was a look she had seen before, as recently as the previous evening in fact, when Dick Truman had taken her out for dinner.

But whereas Truman's leering wolfish grin had turned her off, had frightened her in point of fact, she accepted Justin's obvious interest in her with something that resembled downright pleasure and considerable delight.

She had never met a man this way, a complete and total stranger. For all she knew he could be a homicidal maniac, a psychotic, sexually maladjusted. But even if all that was true, nothing was going to stop her from finally taking a chance with her life and doing the one thing which now came to her as naturally and easily as the very act of breathing, of inhaling and exhaling as she walked alongside of him.

When they reached Fifth Avenue they turned left, heading uptown. They walked past the crowds surging in and out of the Metropolitan Museum, past some of the embassy buildings that were located along Fifth Avenue, in view of the park.

She didn't ask him where they were going, if he intended to stop at a coffee shop or head straight back to his apartment. Secretly, she hoped he would choose the latter and when he caught hold of her elbow and guided her across Fifth Avenue and down Eighty-eighth Street, she smiled to herself and didn't utter a single word of protest.

"Five flight walkup," he announced when they reached the unrenovated brownstone where he rented an apartment. "Sorry about that, but I refuse to be subsidized by dear old dad."

"I don't care. I like to walk," she replied, shy again as she followed him up the granite steps which led into the pocket-sized vestibule and lobby of the building.

Justin dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a ring of keys, selecting the correct one to unlock the front door. Then, moving down the dimly illuminated and narrow hallway, he led Pam upstairs to his apartment.

She followed right behind him; able to hear the way her heart was beating like a steam-hammer in her breast, able to feel the nervous pulsing throb of blood in her temples. But even more than that, she was becoming acutely aware of another sensation, one that she had experienced in the past, but rarely if ever as a result of being in the company and presence of a man.

Between her legs she could feel how juice was seeping down, trickling along the walls of her cunt and oozing over her hairy pubic mound. She was wearing a skirt and she was almost startled at the way her crotch had gotten suddenly wet and swampy, juice threatening to actually drip down along the insides of her thighs.

The walls of her cunt could be felt fluttering again and again and she could hardly believe her body was responding like this, for she had not felt this kind of sexual reaction to anyone in so long that she had almost forgotten what it could be like.

But now, she knew exactly what it was like, for she was unable to stop shaking, unable to stop staring up at Justin's muscular back, his tight boyish ass outlined beneath the skintight covering of his jeans, or the long thickly muscles back of his calves and thighs.

His body seemed to radiate the same kind of intense animalism as Holmes' wiry and powerful build, dog and master appearing in her eyes to be even more suited to each other than she had first thought. This is insane, she told herself. What am I doing here, following this guy upstairs to his apartment, when I don't even know who he is, or anything about him?

Nevertheless, she made no move to turn, nor did she even voice her doubts. Her disbelief, the fact that the longer she was in his company the more he came to even more closely resemble the man she had almost fantasized about, all got the best of her, squelching any thoughts to the contrary.

She paused at the top of the fifth floor landing to catch her breath. She had taken Bix off the leash and now he was wagging his tail, delighted with his outing and his new friend. Holmes stood attentively behind Justin as he unlocked the door to his apartment, turning around to usher Pam inside.

One glance was all she needed to put her fears to rest. The studio apartment was warm and inviting, with soft browns and tans the predominant color scheme. "I'll fix a pot of coffee… I can't stand instant," he told her. "Just make yourself comfortable, put some music you like on the stereo."

Dumbly, she nodded her head and moved into the large airy room. She put her shoulder bag down and moved to the stereo, flicking through the stack of record albums until she had found something to her liking. It was Franck's "Symphony in D", one of her favorites. She slid the record out of the album sleeve and put it down on top of the turntable, doubly pleased that he had it in his collection, that already their similar tastes were showing through, joining them even more closely to each other.

Bix and Holmes seemed exhausted and they lay near the couch, their tongues lolling out of their mouths and their eyes half-closed, dreamy with the need for sleep. That too was fine with her. She didn't want them to turn into a hassle, a nuisance.

The soft strains of the symphony came back to her as she sat down on the couch, a straight-backed tweed-covered sofa whose down pillows gave way under her weight. She sank down and sighed to herself, still finding it all too difficult to deal with.

I should be lying in a bed, she thought. And Justin should come in through the open window and take me… just like that, without a single word.

Pam closed her eyes, an unspoken sentence on her lips. One part of her was more afraid than she had ever been before in her life, afraid of caring too much, of giving everything she had and getting nothing back in return, of laying her feelings before Justin's feet, not knowing if he would kick them aside or bend down to hold them lovingly and caringly in his cradling arms.

But the other side of her thoughts, the side which had first compelled her to hold his stare, to move down the hill with the full intention of meeting Justin, wanted her to cry out to him, to tell him to take her, to rape her in any way he desired, right then and there.

She could hear his booted feet moving back into the room. But Pam kept her eyes closed, her breath coming in short shallow gasps, her tits rising and falling like the lilting strains of music Franck had written for moments just such as these.

Let him see me like this, she thought. Let him know how open I am, how vulnerable, naked…

She pictured how he was now standing at the threshold to the room, for the sound of his heavy footfalls had stopped abruptly. She imagined what he might be thinking and she smiled to herself just as the footsteps resumed, coming right in her direction. Still, she made no move to open her eyes or acknowledge the fact that he was walking right towards her as she leaned back against the down-filled sofa.

And then it happened, though not like in the dream.

She felt his legs pressing down against her knees and then his lips moving back and forth against her mouth. She took a deep breath then and opened her eyes. He was leaning forward, bracing himself with his hands clutching at the back of the couch.

She looked into his eyes and then smiled as he grinned back at her, lightly licking her lips with the tip of his outstretched tongue. Her hands moved up as if invisible balloons were lifting them. And then she clutched at his arms and responded with all the pent-up passion and stifled desire she had lived with these past five years.

Justin could not have been more pleased.

He rammed his tongue right between her parted lips, moaning softly as her fingers slid up and down along his arms. Each passing second made Pam more impatient. She no longer cared what he might think of her behavior, of the way she was demanding him to take her, to do whatever he desired.

Nothing mattered but how she felt and she rubbed her thighs together, acutely and agonizingly aware of the way her cunt had begun to burn and itch with feverish impatience and desire. Justin's tongue slid in and out of her mouth, licking her lips and palate, her gums and teeth.

Their lips were glued hotly against each other and her fingers slid higher, up along his arms. His muscles bulged tautly inside of his faded blue work shirt and the power and strength she had imagined him to possess was now becoming more and more obvious, exhibiting itself in the hard bulge of his steely muscles.

Justin slid his tongue out of her mouth and then sucked on her chin, gently sliding his tongue down along her neck, even as he began to ease his body into a crouch. He crouched between her legs, flicking his tongue against her smooth alabaster neck, his knees digging into the carpeting and his hands now moving from the back of the couch to rest along Pam's shoulders.

She felt dazed, dazzled by the swiftness of their meeting, by the fact that she knew, long before it was going to take place, that they were destined to go to bed together, destined to explore every inch of each other's naked bodies.

And that pleased her to no end. She pushed her crotch forward, whimpering more excitedly as he sucked and licked her neck, gently unbuttoning the front of her thin linen blouse. Yes, do it, anything, she kept telling herself as Justin grew more animated, more impatient, finally ripping the tails of her blouse out from around the waistband of her skirt.

She thrust her tits forward, glad that she hadn't bothered to wear a bra for her afternoon jaunt to the park. Because now, an instant later, she felt his lips sucking down over one of her nipples, the edges of his front teeth nipping and grazing lightly and delightfully along the entire length of her turgid and stiff-standing berries.

"Yes, oh do that, yes, anything," she whispered, her body twisting from side to side as he used his lips with expertise, sucking on one taut nipple and then the other. He licked and tongued them until they felt on fire and then he began to stuff one of her tits right between his gaping lips.

Pam kept looking down, staring at his lowered head as his hands pushed her jugs closer together and his lips and tongue sucked and slurped with growing passion and maddened delight. He was doing everything she had wanted him to do, and performing in a manner which left absolutely nothing to be desired.

Glancing over his shoulder, she could see the two dogs, the Scottie and the Doberman, watching what was taking place between their owners. Their seeming look of interest amused her and Pam giggled, even as the hot flickers of pleasure began to grow more and more potent.

He wasn't saying a word, but his caresses spoke far louder than anything she knew he might say. His fingers were kneading and toying with her jugs and she had never felt her nipples so inflamed before, so on fire, tingling as he flicked the tip of his tongue back and forth against one and then the other, stimulating her with each successive swipe of his raspy-edged prober.

She was all eyes, having gone without this kind of pleasure for far too long. The backs of his hands were covered with short black hair and she imagined that he was a bear, attacking her, ravishing her body with bestial fervor and animalistic delight.

Like paws, she thought as she watched his fingers moving, tweaking her love-buds and then trailing ticklishly down along the gentle incline of her body. He reached for the zipper to her skirt and still she made no move to stop him, nor would she ever.

"You know me, don't you?" he asked her then, even as he found the side zipper to her skirt and yanked it down with a flick of his wrist.

"I… I've known you for… for more than five years," she whispered, her body shivering involuntarily, a nervous twitch which made her voice tremble ever so slightly. "In… from a dream. You've been coming to me in a dream, the same dream, over and over again, week after week."

"If I told you the same thing, I'd only be lying. But it doesn't really matter or change anything, because I'm here now, and that's all that counts," he replied, his voice soft and soothing to her ears.

"You've been sleepwalking for five years, that's all," she said with a grin. "You come to my window at dawn, pull it open and slide first one leg and then the other inside. And then, then you…"

"Then I what?"

"You… you do it," she stammered. "You rape me, Justin. You fuck me; you do everything to me, everything. And I love it, I love it, all of it, everything."

He grinned almost devilishly at her emotional outburst and without saying another word, pulled impatiently at the hem of her skirt. Pam lifted her ass off of the sofa so that he would be able to pull her skirt completely off. She was glad she had said what she had, as if it had been a stone around her neck, weighing her down. He hadn't laughed nor had he been anything but highly pleased and flattered.

And now she was ready to make good her words, for even then her skirt came down and she kicked it off of her ankles, pulling her blouse off with the same kind of wild sexual impatience her voice had reflected moments before.

Justin's dark brooding eyes opened to their farthest limits. He sucked in his breath as she sat there before him, her naked creamy-white jugs rising and falling; each rounded melon capped by an exquisite little finger of taut and erect flesh.

She could see his excitement mirrored on his face, the way he was literally devouring her with his eyes, gobbling her down like a succulent sweetmeat, a choice morsel fit for an epicurean feast. His eyes slid down over her upthrust and firm young breasts, farther still to the soft rounded hill of her belly.

And then he did exactly what he did in her dream. He threw himself forward with a loud bull-like roar, a bellow of wild sexual impatience and maddened physical hunger. His tongue probed the narrow recess of her navel and then licked down to the waistband of her slim little bikini briefs.

Pam moaned wildly and thrust her crotch forward. Justin was using his tongue with an instinctive skill that even Bix had never demonstrated before. He slid its very tip right underneath the ring of elastic and then moved it back and forth as if he were loosening her panties, pulling them off of her merely by the use of his lips and tongue.

He came quite close to that, actually, for a moment later, as she kept pushing her hips up and down towards his flushed and reddened face, he grabbed hold of the waistband of her briefs, catching the elastic between the edges of his front teeth.

She cried out with excitement as he pulled down, using his teeth rather than his fingers so that she could feel his wet slippery lips grazing against her naked body. Once again she raised herself up as he tugged her panties down, succeeding in pulling them past her waist and lush rounded hips, farther still until his eyes could see the first stray ringlets of mossy pubic hair which grew thickly and luxuriously across her meaty box.

"Oh please, please, yes, do it, hurry," she begged, so impatient that she couldn't stop herself from skinning her undies down. She pushed them past her thighs with both hands and as they fell to her ankles he was already moving forward, even before she had managed to kick them off of her legs.

A scream of excitement flew out of her throat the instant he plunged recklessly forward, his thick sensual lips glued hotly against her pussy. His warm breath fanned her puffy cunt lips and she was whimpering and straining, pushing her crotch up against his mouth.

"More, yes, do it, anything," she blurted out once again, so on fire that she couldn't pull her thoughts together. The room reeled around her as if she was riding a horse on a carousel, a merry-go-round of spinning whirling erotic intensity.

Never before, not even when she had known what it was to be in love, five years earlier, had Pam Harper ever been so aroused, so sexually stimulated, so maddened by the artful caresses and erotic skills of a man.

It was all new to her and she spread her thighs demandingly wide, watching the way his tongue slid around her hairy cunt, licking every tendril of blonde pubic fur, sucking on the twin slippery lobes of flesh whose inner secrets he now sought out. Justin rammed his bristling invading tongue right down into her crimson gash and the scarlet wet wound of her cunt furrow dilated visibly, even before she grabbed hold of the top of his head and pushed his mouth down even more firmly against her pussy.

"Please, yes, eat me, eat me," she whimpered, so out of control by now that she couldn't believe this was all happening to her, finally and at long last.

But it was no dream and she didn't have to pinch herself or scream out to awaken from her reveries. She had gone home with a young man whom she knew nothing about, a young man named Justin Whitlock. But if she did not know who he really was, or what he did with his life, or what his goals and aspirations might be, she still knew him from all those fancied moments when he had snuck into her bedroom to take her in the stillness of early morning.

And now, the last thing she wanted him to do was stop his frenzied oral caresses to sit back and calmly recite the story of his life. Needless to say, that was not what Justin intended to do. Not now, in any event.