The next morning, ignoring her hangover and leaving Kenny at the motel to look after Bobo, Marge bought a newspaper and went apartment hunting by bus and on foot. She found several reasonably priced places that she didn't exactly like but would do for the time being, but she was turned down every time when she was asked about pets. A small dog or a cat, it appeared, was acceptable to most landlords, but not a full-grown German shepherd.
Marge seriously considered doing away with Bobo. She couldn't do it, though. It would break Kenny's heart. Besides, she'd raised the lovable mutt from a puppy and was rather attached to him herself.
She wished she could move back in with her mother. But that was out of the question. She wouldn't crawl, which she knew from bitter experience that she would have to do before her strait-laced mother would begrudgingly take her back into the house. Even then, there would be months of smug recriminations to face, for her "good Christian" mother would miss no opportunity to throw up her sinful ways to her and rub in her mistake like salt on an open wound, with a humiliating redundancy of "I told you so's," thrown at her, to boot. No, Marge was damned if she would put up with that. Her life had become miserable enough already; she refused to crawl home begging sustenance for herself and her child, and allow her mother to make things even more miserable for her.
Persistence paid off. Toward the middle of the afternoon, Marge found a tiny but surprisingly nice, well-furnished efficiency apartment above a garage at the rear of a large, fenced back yard. It was sixty dollars a month, all bills paid. The pleasant older couple who owned it lived in the single-family dwelling at the front of the lot. When she told them about Bobo, all they asked was, "He doesn't bite, does he?"
Assuring them that Bobo was very friendly and had never even barked at the mailman, much less bitten anyone, Marge grabbed the apartment and paid a month's rent in advance, plus a twenty-five-dollar deposit she would have to forfeit if the apartment wasn't left in good condition when she moved.
Moving was the farthest thing from Marge's mind, although the neighborhood wasn't as nice as she would like it to be and living above a garage at the edge of an alley wasn't exactly ideal. Under the circumstances, it was the best she could do. She was glad to get the inexpensive apartment. That was one worry off her mind. Now she would have to get a job. Not today though. She was tired and hungry and her feet hurt from walking so much, and the first order of business was to get moved in and settled down.
They retired early that night, Kenny beaming happily because he got to sleep with Marge on the hide-a-bed couch that was luxurious compared to the dilapidated old furniture at Frank's.
As Marge lay in the dark, smoking one last cigarette and worrying about the future, her young son snuggled up to her and tried to slip his hand up under her nightgown between her legs.
"Kenny, stop it!" she scolded, and slapped his hand. "You must never try to touch me there again. I'm your mother, young man, and don't you ever forget it."
"But, Mama, I like your pussy," he said. "Let me make love to you again, like I did last night."
"Oh, Jesus!" she groaned, and took a deep drag from her cigarette before she rolled onto her side and stubbed it out in the ash tray on the lamp table. She turned onto her back and stared up at the darkened ceiling. "Honey, listen… what we did last night… it was terribly wrong. That bastard poured liquor down me till he got me so drunk I didn't know my own name, much less what I was doing. I'm ashamed of the way I behaved. So ashamed. But we've got to go on as if it never happened. I want you to forget all about last night, Son. Don't think about it, and, please, Kenny, don't ever mention it again, to me or anyone else. Especially not to anyone else. Promise me you won't." Tears were trickling down from the corners of Marge's eyes, and her voice sounded all choked up.
Kenny promised. She didn't explain why it was wrong, just said she was his mother and he must never try to touch her pussy again. The nine-year-old didn't fully understand, but his mother sounded awful sad, and that made him sad, too. But he couldn't stop thinking about it, no matter how hard he tried, and when he fell asleep he dreamed that he was making love to his mother. There was just him and her. It was a good dream.
As for Marge, she'd been used to having intercourse with Frank every night. Though she was bushed, she couldn't get to sleep without her nightly orgasm, for it'd become as much of a habit as brushing her teeth. Not that she missed Frank. Oh, no, for she was glad to be rid of that redheaded sonofabitch now that he'd shown his true colors. But it humiliated her to realize how much she missed having that lovely fat cock of his working inside her greedy cunt.
For a long time she tossed and turned, fighting the nasty urge. Then, finally, after making sure he child was asleep, she relieved herself with her fingers, feeling like a silly schoolgirl until it started getting too good to think about anything else.
The forty-three-year-old woman sank into a deep and dreamless sleep only a couple of moments after she'd made herself cum.
To Marge's dismay, after a brief and intimidating tryout on a monster of a sewing machine, the Negro foreman of the pants factory refused to hire her. He told her she didn't have the digital dexterity which the job required, and he didn't even have the kindness to take her aside and tell her in private but chose to degrade her by informing her that she wasn't good enough in front of a bunch of other women seeking work, all of whom Marge would've considered beneath, her a few months back.
She stammered and stuttered, turning five shades of red before she snatched up her purse and ran in horror from what was to Marge a dreadful scene of scathing humiliation. A compassionate smile on the weather-beaten face of a snaggle-toothed Mexican woman made Marge's embarrassment all the worse, for she mistakenly interpreted the display of empathy as a smirking grin.
Outside the building, Marge buried her face in her hands and broke out sobbing, for the bitter incident had completely punctured her illusion of superiority. It was a terrible slap in the face, being turned down for a low-paying, menial job in a pants factory, the very offer of which had insulted her at the employment agency.
Dejectedly Marge trudged back to the bus line and, after repairing her make-up in the ladies room at a service station, she boarded a bus and started for the garage apartment which was now her home, wondering what in the world she was going to do to support herself and her young son. If she couldn't land a job in a pants factory – which to Marge's way of thinking was about as low as a lady could go – then what kind of job could she hope to get? Maid at a motel, perhaps? After-hours cleaning lady at some store or office building?
Strangely Marge's sense of humor – which had been woefully lacking since her husband deserted her – suddenly reappeared and she found herself laughing out loud on the bus. A Mexican girl two seats up on the other side of the aisle turned around and smiled at her. Marge quit laughing, but she nodded and returned the smile.
To hell with feeling, sorry for myself, she thought. I'll find a job, and if maid or cleaning lady is the best I can do right now, then I'll work at it with dignity until something better comes along.
But she wasn't up to being rejected twice in one day, so she went on home.
Bobo met her in the yard, and reared up pawing her shoulders and trying to lick her face. She pushed him down, patted his head and allowed him to follow her up the outside stairs and into the apartment. It was a warm morning, so she shut the screen and left the door open to catch the breeze. Then she flopped down on the couch, kicked off her shoes and lit a cigarette. She'd transferred Kenny to the school four and a half blocks away. It was a good school. There were quite a few Mexican kids in it, but they were from middle-class Mexican families and that made all the difference in the world to Marge. Jumping around wasn't good for a child. She liked this cute little apartment and wanted Kenny to stay in his present school at least for the rest of this school year, so she began seriously reevaluating her attitude, and trying to determine what type of work she could realistically hope to find.
There was just Marge and the dog in the apartment. At first Bobo left her alone, for he was busy nosing around here and there, reexploring the new surroundings. After a while the German shepherd lay down on the floor at her stockinged feet and started to go to sleep. But when Marge absently drew up her right leg and rested the sole of her foot on the couch, the faint odor of her perfumed, somewhat sweat-moistened crotch wafted into the animal's keen nostrils and his eyes snapped open, his head coming up with the memory of her cunt's flavor.
Unlike humans, the lower creatures do not have a highly developed sense of time. To them any memory, whether from a day or a year in the past, is as urgent and pressing as if the event which caused the memory had occurred a mere moment before it cropped up. That being the case, it is readily understandable how a dog who has tasted woman's pussy, and is having a vivid recollection of doing so, could very easily imagine that it had only just happened.
And so it was with Bobo, who seemed a bit mystified as to how his mistress – he remembered her lying in near nudity on the floor – had suddenly become fully dressed and sitting on the couch, which seemed different from the one in his recollection. But couches and clothing hadn't been the stimulus of the animal's pleasant memory. The fragrance of her crotch is what had triggered his recall, which had set his mouth to watering just like Pavlov's bell. Only it wasn't food Bobo was salivating for: what he wanted was more of Marge's delicious vaginal fluids. Up off the floor he came, giving only a single, BARF! for warning before he stuck his head up under her dress and started avidly lapping her clefted mound through the sheer nylon covering of her perspiration- and secretion-dampened panty crotchband.
The unexpected action took Marge, who'd been lost in thought, totally by surprise. She sucked in her breath in pleasured shock, then let it out with a high-pitched squeal of alarm. Between the index and middle fingers of her left hand was a freshly-lit cigarette, rendering it useless for slapping, so, pushing at Bobo's dress-concealed head with the heel of her left hand, she swung her right frantically, slapping the family pet rapidly but lightly – she couldn't see where she was hitting him and didn't want to gouge his eye with one of her long fingernails – in an attempt to drive him out from between her legs.
Bobo was not to be put off so easily, however. Only a few years back had Kenny given up trying to ride him for a pony, and the child's "Gitteup" slaps at the other end of him had caused him more discomfort than the woman's did now, and her slaps were becoming lighter not harder. If she wanted him to quit, she was going to have to cuff him good, the way she'd finally done the other time in that other place.
But this wasn't the other time and the other place, and Bobo's tongue, which had felt good from the start, was getting better and better with each lewd lap he took at her panty-protected pussy. She stopped slapping him, and although she knew she shouldn't, even though they were alone and no one would ever know, she heaved a sigh and lazed back on the couch with her legs open, letting him have at it.
I won't take my panties off, Marge kidded herself. And I'll make him quit that lovely ticking as soon as I finish this cigarette.
It didn't work out that way, however. Marge didn't realize it yet, but her morals, once as high as it's humanly possible for an ordinary woman's to be, had been irreparably lowered as a result of her ill-fated love affair with Frank Dixon. Her self-image had taken quite a nose dive, too. She'd been feeling sort of like a kicked dog when she got home from the pants factory.
Now a dog was licking her pantied crotch. It didn't exactly make her feel like a queen, but the physical sensations of the harmless lapping – after all, she wasn't going to take her panties off, was she? – were very sensual indeed. The incessant tugging sensations produced by Bobo's tongue dragging up over her nylon-protected furry slot were lolling away Marge's tensions and worries and causing her to slip rather swiftly into a pleasant, euphoric mood of lazy voluptuousness.
By the time she mashed out her cigarette in the ash tray, she was thinking, God, that feels good. I'm tempted to take off my panties and let him finish me off. He's got me leaking now. I'm pretty hot. Didn't expect that. If I get worked up and don't get relief, it always leaves me tense and irritable for hours afterwards. Oh, what the hell, I let him lick me off the other night and the world didn't cave in, did it? What will it hurt? No one will ever know! Just this once, though, because I sure don't want to make a habit of this!
"All right, Bobo," she whispered, and glanced around furtively, although she knew there was no chance of detection. She was in her own second-story apartment with no one near enough to hear her even if she should raise her voice a good deal above a normal speaking tone. "You win, boy. Back up so I can unwrap it for you."
After she pushed the German shepherd away with a stockinged foot, Marge quickly raised her lovely ass and hoisted her dress up around her trim waist. She hooked her thumbs in the elastic waistband of her step-ins and skinned the wispy undergarment down the slender columns of her long, shapely legs. Then she lazed back with her fleshy rump hanging precariously on the edge of the couch and her legs spread invitingly open.
"Come on," she whispered, patting the dew-moistened petals of her parted sex. "You've got me wanting it now, damn you."
His tail wagging, the big dog walked up between her thighs and nuzzled her furry slot with his muzzle.
"Ooouuuu, your nose is cold!" she whimpered. "Give me your nice warm tongue, Bobo. That's what I want!"
Bobo backed his nose out of her and gave a half-sneeze. He paused to sniff the crack of her ass. Then he licked his chops, looking up at her, and Marge wondered if dogs were such dumb beasts, after all, because the expression in Bobo's eyes was amazingly similar to Frank's and her husband's when they got horny.
There was no time for Marge to mull this over, though, for now that Bobo had her permission to lick, lick her he did. Out came that long red tongue of his, making her suck in her breath and shiver with delight as he worked it into the cleft of her buttocks. Then Bobo dragged it slowly up through the fluted folds of her elliptical opening, and Marge thought she would faint, it felt so sinfully good!
"Aaaaah!" she sighed, squirming in sensual arousal. "Damn, I must have been too far gone to appreciate that scratchy tongue the other night, Bobo. But I'm not now, so keep it up, you lovely beast. I'll give you an hour to quit that naughty licking!"
Her nylon-encased legs formed a wide V. They were bent slightly at the knees, the soles of her stockinged feet resting on the carpeted floor. The globular white moons of her full, womanly buttocks hung half-on, half-off the edge of the couch cushion. In this position, with her dress up around her waist and her panties lying on the floor beside her shoes, her hairy hole was presented to the dog as best it could be for the lewd purpose at hand. Her brownish, dew-moistened labia majora yawned lazily open, giving Bobo's eager tongue easy access to the wetly shimmering, reddish-hued sweetmeats which comprised her nerve-rich cuntal vestibule.
Bobo's black and tan head wagged up and down steadily, his long, slender, red tongue laving up through the responsively tingling inner slopes of her furry trough at the rate of about two lust-inciting laps per second.
"Jesus!" Marge breathed. Each time the canine tongue slithered up her sex slot, its roughened upper surface dragging abrasively over the hypersensitive head of her elongated clitoris, she batted her eyes and shivered with erotic delight. There was a dreamy smile on her face. The tip of her tongue kept tracing absently around the tremulous oval of her parted red lips. It felt marvelous, and right or wrong, Marge knew she would be having more of this in the future.
Unknown to Marge, however, the German shepherd wasn't going to be content with merely licking her succulent gash. At that very moment, his long, fiery-red penis was creeping jerkily out from its furry sheath at the rear of his underside, its painted tip dripping slippery canine sexual fluids. Although Bobo was quite happy for the moment to continue lapping up the nectarous juices bubbling copiously down from her velvety vaginal well, the instinctual urge, to mate was beginning to make itself known in his subhuman brain.
"Mmmm… mmmm…mmmmmm!"
Marge was whimpering now, squirming about, sighing with pleasure each time she exhaled. The smile gradually drained from her face. Her mouth hung open, her chin quivering from time to time. Her hazel eyes were taking on a glassy sheen. The noise of her own breathing prevented Marge from hearing the soft footsteps as her landlady climbed the stairs carrying a covered bowl of homemade stew.
"Ohhhhhh… oh, that's lovely! Deeper, Bobo…lick deeper! Snake that… ahhhhhh… tongue way up… into my ccuunnttt!!"
The pleasure of it was becoming unbearable. Marge's eyes clamped shut. Her head began rocking to and fro. Just as her landlady arrived at the landing, her hand poised to knock, Marge let out a pleasured moan that even an old woman peering through a screen door couldn't misinterpret.
Abruptly Bobo quit licking her.
"Don't stop now, Damn it!" Marge wailed, grabbing at his head and trying to force him to continue. "LICK, LICK! I'M about to cum! I wa-want you to bring me offf!!"
But Bobo's instincts told him it was time to mate. In his mind's eye, although Marge was his mistress, he regarded her as he would have a bitch dog in heat who'd presented him with a dribbling pussy to lick. The licking was over. His penis was fully erect. Semen bloated his testicles, the pressure of it urging him on.
Barf, barf! he scolded as he jerked his head free of Marge's hands. And up he reared, hopping into position on his hind legs. The pencil eraser tip of his glistening prick found its mark and he bowed his back, sinking the full length of his tapering, beet-red animal phallus into her human pussy before the astonished Marge realized he meant to mount her.
"Naaaaahhhhhhh!!" Marge squealed, and then sucked in her breath raggedly, shuddering from head to toe, for the pointed tip of the dog's penetrating dick had speared directly into the tiny, supersensitive mouth of her womb itself, sending a flood of sheer bliss through her orgasmically primed torso.
"Aaaaaahhh, Goddd!!" she bleated, as the horny animal locked his forelegs around her and started humping the meat to her. "I'm cumming… cumming… cuuummmmmiiiinnnnnggggg!!"
The blast of sudden ecstasy obliterated any sense of horrified revulsion Marge might have had. She knew she shouldn't permit this crime against nature, but a woman shuddering with orgasm is hardly in a position to defend her honor. Her toes curled down and hugged the balls of her stockinged feet. The long, graceful columns of her nylon-clad legs twitched spastically. Her arms lifted in a series of jerky motions, her fingers spread wide apart and her hands shaking visibly before they faltered – it was her intention to shove Bobo off her – and changing her mind, she grabbed the dog's arching behind and tugged his pleasure-giving prick into her spasming snatch clear up to its hairy hilt.
"Aaaaahhhh-gggaaahhhhh!!" she trilled, letting the animal lick her face as her head lolled rapturously from side to side. "Ohhhhhh… OOOhhhhhh… That's soo goooddd!!"
Her internal muscles convulsed rhythmically, clutching the slippery column of Bobo's fully inserted, spear-like erection, which, because a dog's body temperature is higher than a human's, felt glowing hot to Marge although it was actually only a few degrees hotter than a man's penis. And she felt something else, too, for most dogs ejaculate their first load quickly and the milking action of her steaming vagina did the trick for Bobo, who had a big, rusty load built up.
Bobo whined mournfully as the bulging lump of ready-to-be-released semen slipped swiftly up the pulsing shaft of his pussy-engulfed penis. And Marge, who was still in the final throes of her toe-curling climax, whined right along with the animal. With every jangling nerve in her orgasm-wracked body she could feel the knot gliding up Bobo's dick, coming closer and closer to her contracting and relaxing womb. She'd seen a couple of dogs copulating once, so she knew what was about to take place. Only she didn't care. It was too late to stop now. Decency demanded that she hurl the family pet off her before he planted his subhuman seed in her belly. But decency be damned, for she wanted to feel it spurting into-her!
And, man, did it spurt! Oh, how it spurted! The lump snuggled right up to Marge's womb, into the mouth of which had already been inserted the pencil-eraser head of the dog's thumping organ, and out it all came in one surging, superhot stream. The sticky dog sperm gushed into her like water from a sun-heated garden hose that'd suddenly been turned on full force.
"Whaaaahhhhhhh!" she shrieked, throwing back her head with the incredible pleasure of it as the geyser-like gush of scalding dog cum blasted directly into her pear-shaped uterus, filling that most feminine of all her female organs gloriously full and then making it swell up like a balloon to take the rest of Bobo's massive load.
"Ohhhhh, My Goddd!!" Marge groaned, her glassy eyes bulging in ecstatic disbelief.
This was wonderful! It felt too Godawful good to be true! But it was true, and the illicit pleasure of having her womb bloated by the inundation of Bobo's canine semen thrilled Marge to the core of her passion-wracked being. The supreme joy of this blatantly obscene union with her big dog plunged Marge nonstop into a second climactic paroxysm, the intensity of which made her first, toe-curling cum feel like a tiny tickle by comparison.
"Nnnaaaaahhhhh-gggaaahhhhh!!" came her guttural groan of complete fulfillment, as the agony/ecstasy of her spine-wrenching orgasm blanked out her mind.
"Hoooo, hooooo… oooohhhhhhHHHHH!!"
Her head snapped from side to side, her shoulder-length brunette hair fanning the air.
"Aaaaggggghhhhhhhhhhh!!"
The features of her lust-contorted face were twisted into a mask of unadulterated bliss. Her own son wouldn't have recognized her if he'd walked in the door at that moment, as Marge's landlady was now doing.
"Uunnn, uunnn… ohhhh, gawd, gawd… aaaahhhhhhhh!!" Marge bleated, and bowed up, quivering and jerking, before she fell back limply and lay there sobbing out her inner bliss while her pleasure-soaked body shuddered helplessly.
After her long, satisfying orgasm had run its course, Marge heaved a final sigh and opened her eyes. The sight of her plump, gray-haired landlady standing just inside the door ripped the fatuous smile off Marge's face.
"Oh, My God!" Marge gasped. She shoved Bobo away and whipped down her dress to hide her naked loins. "Missus Nelson! I know what you must be thinking, but please don't…"
"Oh, for goodness sakes, child!" Mrs. Nelson scolded in a grandmotherly fashion. "Why should you care what I think? Don't apologize to me. After all, I did sort of sneak up on you, though I didn't mean to." She paused and giggled like a young girl. "But you really ought to be more careful in the future. Close the door, at least, honey, or a show like that is just liable to bring some horny salesman bursting in to rape you."
Marge was flabbergasted. She'd expected the woman to rant and rave and order her out of the apartment.
"That certainly is a nice red pecker," Mrs. Nelson commented as she watched Bobo flop down on the floor and bend his head back to lick his semierect penis. "And from the way you were carrying on, I'll bet it must have felt every bit as good as it looks, too, hummm?"
A stupefied nod was the best Marge could do, for the permissive attitude of Mrs. Nelson – who was pushing seventy and looked to be the archetype of grandmotherly sweetness and purity – left Marge stunned speechless.
"I made a stew this morning," Mrs Nelson said as she returned her attention to Marge. "If I do say so myself, it turned out exceptionally well. I noticed you come in a while ago, and I thought you might like a bowl of it. You haven't had your lunch yet, I hope?"
Marge shook her head. She still couldn't believe this.
"Good!" Mrs. Nelson exclaimed. "Let's go into the kitchenette and chat while you sample my stew. Do you have crackers? I'll trot back for some saltines if you don't."
"I, uh, have some crackers," Marge, who was simultaneously slipping her feet into her shoes and shoving her soiled panties out of sight under the couch, replied haltingly, for she'd stocked up on groceries the previous evening.
They sat down on opposite sides of the table, Mrs. Nelson beaming approval as Marge dug into the big bowl of delicious homemade stew.
"I had a German shepherd like yours once," Mrs. Nelson said with a sly wink. "He's long dead now, of course, but King sure helped me stay true to George during the war."
Now Marge understood why Mrs. Nelson hadn't been shocked. She flashed the kindly old lady a grateful smile, because her voluntary confession made Marge feel much less guilty about succumbing to bestiality herself.
"Sometimes I wish I had another one like King," Mrs. Nelson went on. "Not all dogs will do it to a woman, you know."
At your age? Surely you're not serious! Marge felt like saying, but apparently the old lady meant it, so Marge stifled the urge to laugh. "I could loan you Bobo," Marge said jokingly, never dreaming the sweet little old lady might take her up on it.
But it wasn't a joking matter to Mrs. Nelson. The old gal had snow on the roof but there was still plenty of fire in her furnace. "I was hoping you'd say that!" Mrs. Nelson gushed. "Oh, God love you! I'll take him to the house with me if you don't mind. I want George to see me taking him on. Don't worry, honey, I won't tell George about you. The poor dear. He hasn't had a good hard-on in more than a year. It used to give him such a thrill to see King and me going at it. Who knows? I might just get two good screwings today, and wouldn't that be like old times! I think I'll take Bobo and hurry home now," she said, and got up from the table. "No, no, don't get up."
"Have fun," Marge called after Mrs. Nelson as the excited woman entered the living room to collect Bobo on her way out.
"You can be sure I will," Mrs. Nelson called back. "My pussy's all aflutter just thinking about it. Come on, Bobo, you're invited to a party at my house. Oh, yes, you gorgeous animal, sniff me, if you want to. Do you like the smell of it? Yes? Ha, ha! We're going to have us a real good time, Bobo, just me and you and George, and I'll cook you a nice, juicy steak afterward. Would you like that?"
Leading Bobo by his collar, Mrs. Nelson started out the door, then paused and called to Marge, "By the way, honey, I almost forgot to ask. Did you get that job you were telling me about yesterday?"
"Afraid not," Marge answered. She was entering the living room to see Mrs. Nelson out.
"Well, don't look so glum about it. There'll be other jobs. Plenty of them for a pretty young woman like you. Say, wait a minute… can you cook?"
"It's about the only thing I can do well," Marge admitted. "That, and keep house."
"Then I know… yes, I'll phone him and recommend you, if you want me to. My sister's boy. He's got a drive-in restaurant not far from here. Within walking distance, in fact, and when I talked to Sis on the phone yesterday, Jim's cook had just up and quit on him with no notice. Jim was having to run the front and do the cooking, too, and he's got a real good business going there. Pays his help mighty good, too. If he hasn't hired another cook yet, I'll bet he'd just be tickled to death to give you a try. That is, if you think you might be interested. I don't mean to meddle, and I imagine working in a kitchen might be…"
"God, yes, I'm interested," Marge interrupted. "Call him, Missus Nelson! Please call him now!"