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Chapter Twenty-one

Tuesday July 29, 2008

1:58am

She had told him to wake up, to get his act together. She seemed to believe it was that it was his inhospitality which would expose their illicit game.She had told him.

She knelt with her back to the couch, her gaping muzzle plugged, a thread of saliva swinging from her lips to the houndstooth of the blouse she'd worn to work the day before.

Down the hall, Anessa and Roger presumably slept.

It was mad. He understood the fact, but he didn't care. Worry occupied the corners of Tyson's mind fell upon by the black shadows, possessed by the deafening pulsations of hatred.

His redness disappeared beyond the black shepherd's lips as he pushed his hips forward, forcing her to kiss his knot with his every thrust. He leaned his weight over her, to a palm pressed against the couch, and he delved deeper down the tongue cradling his cock. The black shepherd made a sputtering breath, spit frothing from her lips. Tears mingled with her fur. The slick, smothered sounds of muzzle and moan intensified, and when Tyson came, great drops of cum gushed from either side of the black shepherd's mouth, spilling down her neck and shoulders and bosom before her paws could rise to contain the overflow.

"Fuck," whispered Tyson, and taking a rough hold of the ears below him he rode out the throbbing sequence of orgasm, pushing himself as deep as the black shepherd's jaws allowed.

Uncorking the black shepherd unleashed another gush of fluids and left her to struggle for air, but as Tyson lowered himself to the cushions of the couch and hoisted his shorts over himself, he saw that her eyes were lit with readiness.

Slowly, she turned upon her knees to him, crawled up the couch. Her glazed tongue reached into his slacked muzzle, smearing a dribbling and bitter-tasting kiss upon his mouth.

The black shepherd stepped back, removed her soiled blouse. "I'm going to shower before your sister comes home," she said, then leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Care to join me?"

But it was the thud of a car door which answered the invitation, and the black shepherd, swearing her first daughter's name, raced to cleanse herself at the secluded shower downstairs.

Tyson dissatisfiedly slipped into the blackness of his bedroom, a space grown more tempting to him in recent days, and he thought of how tired he was becoming of mere foreplay.

* * *

Thursday July 31, 2008

12:08pm

Where the fuck am I going?

Tyson navigated his 944 along a cracked and rippled band of asphalt, rolling past fields empty but for weeds and old grain hoppers. The curling road eventually bled into the gravel surface of an industrial dump on the southeastern limits of Sandy where rows of semitrailers and other commercial containers sat neglected between piles of rock and scrap. Bands of pigeons cried, whirling away while Tyson crept past one burned-out trailer after another.

The area seemed secluded enough. Sandy wasn't more than a quarter-mile north, but was wholly-obscured by the overgrown fields and a long file of summer-green trees, and he himself had never stumbled across the place. Satisfied with the setting, the young shepherd parked, extracted his phone from a pant pocket and drafted a short message.

"im here"

The black shepherd's response came quickly, she was on her way, and Tyson killed his car.

Minutes more passed 'til he heard an approaching V8's rumble over the noontime silence. Tyson stepped onto the gravel when the silver Lexus slowed abreast his 944, and he shook his head when the black shepherd leapt to the ground before him.

"What the hell is this place?" he asked.

"Just somewhere quiet I came across," shrugged the black shepherd, diving without pause through the rearward door of her vehicle. "Figured it could be our little secret."

Tyson followed his partner into the still-running Lexus and saw her knelt upon the gray leather, head turned so that one eye glimmered over a plaid top's shoulder.

"You have me for half an hour," she said, "so put me to good use."

Jeans and panties ripped aside, hold taken of slender waist, control passed to instinct--Tyson looked over the black shepherd, down her tight ass, over the black bars of flannel still covering her back. The percussion of their bodies shook the vehicle around them.

"That's so fucking good," growled the black shepherd, head bowed to her paws. "Just stop before you cum."

Tyson thrust harder, watching as the black shepherd's muzzle fell open, listing tense grunts and dizzied cries while his own snout issued a steady snarl. Distantly, his mind recorded the pleasures of wetness and warmth, but they didn't tend to his deeper wants. Not nearly.

* * *

Gone. For a second it left her, the feel of her son's cock, and her ascension abruptly ceased.

Indignant, discontented, Patricia turned to look back, but before she could lend her grievance she was jolted harshly forward. She yelped as her head knocked a plastic panel of the rear passenger door, and then, Thank god, it was back: the warm, rough caress, the violent, pummeling press of their bodies--over and over and over again. Then, all at once, just after her son's reentry, something new. Something altogether new.

She couldn't breath. Her vision tightened as the paws 'round her neck. She couldn't move, or rather she couldn't tell just what her body was doing, for it was she who was gone, and all that suddenly existed were brightly-buzzing bands of pleasure--intertwining, popping and burning brighter.

* * *

Wednesday August 13, 2008

5:50pm

She fell across the seats, oxygen rushing back to her brain, aftershock trembling her extremities and fresh cum rolling down the fur of her legs. Her own weight dawned upon her gradually, but it was not for several minutes that she truly comprehended her surroundings. Her mouth lay open in a delirious grin, panting hard for the breath she had been denied. Every nerve in her body was dancing and buzzing from the wonderful high. She heaved an aching sigh into the Lexus's gray leather and bathed in the come-down. If the world was to end at that very moment, it would be just fine.

"Your phone."

Her son's voice, his hard, sexy growl, flickered frivolously on the peripherals of her senses, but upon reiterance the words sunk in, processed, and Patricia tiredly draped herself over the center console, tail displayed towards the ceiling, to snatch her vibrating phone.

"It's been going off nonstop," Tyson noted.

"Yes?" Patricia coughed into her Blackberry.

"Where are you?"

"I'm finishing up at work," said Patricia, and she frowned. "Why?"

"I know you're not at work. I just called."

Deep, clear, her husband's voice pressed from the speaker with adverseness rarely heard from him.

He knows.

The thought rode upon a rush of adrenaline.

"Whenever you get back we need to talk," concluded Roger, and the line went dead.

He knew something, she thought again, setting her phone to rest, and soon she would have to find out exactly what it was.

"I'd better get home," Patricia said, tail closing the curtain on her private show. "Find something to do for a while. Don't hurry back."

Patricia smiled coldly to herself. It was going to be a fun night.