Date: Thu, 25 Apr 2013 16:05:09 -0700 From: DVNT Puppy Subject: Born to be Bred 4 As Coach removes the last of the restraints holding me to the bench, Mr. Slim takes a seat on the sofa and whistles for me. "Here, bitch. Come to Daddy." He gives me a sexy wink and pats his big bulge. "Master's got a treat for you. Come on. Come on girl." The dogcum is still farting wetly out of my hole as I crawl to the couch and nuzzle my face into his crotch, hungry for that big black cock. "How's my bitchbaby? Feeling good now? Feeling happy?" "She should be feeling a bit sleepy by now, Slim," Coach calls from the bedroom. And he's right. My eyes are heavy and my head feels foggy. I'm warm and comfortable and content and very, very drowsy. When I awake, I'm confused and disoriented. It's dark, and it's cold. People are talking nearby. There is music and drunken laughter. I'm curled naked on a woolen blanket that smells strongly of piss and motor oil. I hear footsteps and the creak of metal against metal. A door has been opened. The door of a car. No, a van. The backdoor of a van. Mr. Slim's van. How long have I been asleep? A big hand reaches in and grabs me by my left ear, pulling sharply and dragging me out into an alleyway. "Can't stay out here all night, bitch. Time for your coming out party." I reach for the blanket, which is falling to the street, but Mr. Slim swats my hands, rips the blanket away, and tosses it into the back of the van. "Please, Sir. Someone will see me." Before I can get my footing, Mr. Slim pulls me towards a staircase leading down into the back of a building. He let's go of my ear and gives me a shove. I fall forward, missing half the steps, and slam headfirst into the backdoor. I slip down kneeling on a rubber mat in front of the door. It reads "Kennel Club. Members Only." Inside I hear someone coming closer, complaining. "What the FUCK was that?" The door opens and loud, thumping music and the smell of stale beer spills out. In the red light cast by an overhead exit sign, I look up to see a man in the doorway. He's tall and black and muscular. His high leather boots reach up almost to his knees. Shirtless, and wearing only a red-leather jockstrap, his body is covered in tribal tattoos. The black swirling lines run up the sides of his dark, deeply cut stomach, over the twin globes of his shoulders and into his neck. His short black hair is shaved into a single line running down the center of his head, and a series of whitish scars run in parallel lines across his cheeks. His ears are heavily pierced, with a dozen silver ringlettes outlining each edge. I am so intimidated-and still on my knees-that I cannot look into his face. I staring at his huge leather-encased package. It juts out round and fat as a softball. Looking up tentatively, his huge nipples are two shiny black saucers. The center of each is a fat, distended nub, as thick as my thumb and nearly as long, pierced through with silver horseshoes. "Shit, you sure know how to make an entrance, boy." He looks past me as he pulls me up by the arm. "Late again, Slim. Shit, thought this party was never gonna get started." "Don't bust my balls, Tug. Lazy cunt wouldn't wake up. Fucking Ed put too much sleep juice in her bowl." Tug looks me up and down, his eyes narrowing. "Shit, she looks like happy hour at a fucking chemical plant. The bitch better look livelier when she's getting' plowed. And this hole better be legal." "Legal? Shit. Since when. . . " "How old are you, boy?" He asks. "17" Mr. Slim slaps my ass. "Uh, 18. I mean 18. 18. Sir." Tug laughs, revealing a silver grill, which shimmers in the dim red light from above. He reaches down and grabs my balls, squeezing hard. "Well, sure feels like they dropped, anyway." "Sir. Yes, Sir." I groan as he constricts my nuts in his vice-like grip. "Stop squirming. You gotta get used to being handled. But don't you worry now, your buddy Tug is a trained vet. Ole tug knows what he's doing." He lets go of my balls and I take a quick breath of relief. Tug jams his hands into my open mouth and starts probing. "No baby teeth. That's good." He laughs. "Spin 'round and grab them ankles like a good boy." I turn hesitantly and bend over. Tug kicks apart my legs and and with a sudden thrust, drives two fingers in. "Tight. Good and tight. For now, anyway." He slaps my ass, turns me, and sticks his fingers back in my mouth to clean as he talks to my Master. "She-it. It's like a fucking cumdumpster back there, Slim." "Big Show popped her cherry this morning." Tug looks me in the eye and grins. "Yeah, she's a good girl alright. Ain't ya, baby? Get a good taste of that sweet pussy." He addresses Mr. Slim as I continue sucking his fingers. "A-right. Let's get this party started. Take your bitch to the kennel and hurry on back." His words are still hanging in the air as Mr. Slim pulls me roughly by the arm and drags me away. We stumble through a series of empty hallways, down another flight of steps, through a cinderblock corridor, and duck into a passageway barely wide enough for two people. It's dark and cool down here and smells strongly of ammonia. We stop in front of a metal door. Mr. Slim opens the door and shoves me forward again. "Ok, bitch. Pick one and do it quick." He flips the light switch, and I cover my ears at the sudden eruption of noise. The room is lined with chain-link fencing enclosing a dozen or more pens. In each enclosure a barking, yelping dog paces back and forth, occasionally jumping and snapping. I sink to the floor and whimper almost silently. "Oh, please, no." The concrete is stained with rust and dog piss. It's cold against my knees. "Oh, please, Sir. No. I can't. Please." "Pick one." "Please, no. Sir, please don't make me." I wrap my arms around his legs. His trousers absorb my tears. "Sir. Please, I can't do it. Not again. It's so nasty. It hurts so bad." Mr. Slim pulls my hair. My head snaps back. He spits in my face. "Listen up, bitch. Your Master is doing you a favor. Whores don't never get to pick their dates. But Mr. Slim's giving his boy a special treat tonight 'cause he loves him so much. He loves his new boy. Ain't that nice? Ain't that a special treat, baby?" "Please. Please, Sir." I whisper, searching his eyes for some trace of mercy. He cuffs me on the side of the head with his open palm. "Pick, you fucking faggot." "Please, Sir. Please, don't make me." "Pick one now, bitch, or I'm opening all them cages. Give every damn dog a turn tapping your twat." He smiles now, patting my head and stroking my hair gently. "Which doggie do you like, baby? Pick your puppy. Go on and pick." "Please, Sir, I'm so sore. And it's so sick. I can't. Please don't' make me." "You got to the count of 5." "5" "Please!" "4" "No! Please Sir." "3. Better hurry, bitch. I can see by the look in his eye and by the set of his jaw, he's not kidding around. He's serious. He's sick, and twisted and serious, and I will have to choose or . . . "2" I scramble frantically across the floor to the first enclosure. A chocolate brown Doberman reaches his paw up to the chainlink, as though to pat my shoulder or shake hands. He has a sweet and innocent look. "This one. This one. Please, Sir. Just this one." Without a word or a glance at me, Mr. Slim unlatches the lock and releases the Doberman. As we head back down the corridors, the Doberman heels obediently at Mr. Slim's side, occasionally sticking its cold nose against my legs and nudging up between my asscheeks in a friendly, inquisitive way. The sound of music and men gets louder with each step. We climb the stairs and turn a series of corners, stopping in front of a black curtain where Tug is waiting for us. As we approach, I see he is grinning his silver smile and holding up a small pink pill. "Dr. Tug's got what you need. Gotta liven you up a little. Make you feel real good. Good and perky." He squeezes my jaw, opening my mouth, and pops the pill in. He pressing my lips shut with his fingers as Mr. Slim reaches from behind and pinches my nose closed. I struggle and thrash, but it's no use. The pill goes down. "That's the way, baby. That's the stuff. Give you 5 minutes, you be feeling real happy again. Ain't that right, Slim?" "Shit. Party pill like that gets a boy all kinds of horny. Now, go make Daddy some money." With another shove, I'm launched through the curtain and into the back of a barroom. There's a few dozen men standing around. I see them only out of the corner of my eye-- in torn jeans, and leather, and jock straps, with tattoos and piercings, and beers in hand. The crowd parts for us as we slowly pass through. Catcalls, whistles, and the sound of men barking and laughing follow my every step. In the center of the room, beneath two overhead lamps, is a pool table. A white chalk circle several feet out encircles it, and the men are crowded behind the line jostling for a good view. Tug steps forward and throws a thick quilted blanket--like movers use-over the table. He arranges it carefully, then pats the table. "Hop on up, babygirl." I turn, and Mr. Slim nods. "Do it." Obediently I obey, crawling up onto the table on all fours. The men whistle obscenely, and then a deep murmur rises in the crowd as Mr. Slim lifts the Doberman onto the table. "Hell yeah. It's Romeo." "Shit, that dog can fuck." "Big ole dick." "Gonna make the bitch holler and howl." Mr. Slim leans into my ear and whispers. "Hear that, baby. You got the pick of the litter. Romeo looks like a sweet pup, but he fucks like a demon. Gonna set that sweet ass on fire." Romeo circles me, stopping at my down-turned face. His tongue sweeps wetly across my cheeks and I can't help but look up and smile with childish delight. My Master is still by my side, whispering instructions, just audible above the rowdy din of the barroom. "Ain't that nice, baby? Romeo likes you. He wants to give you a big ole kiss. Go on and let him kiss you baby." Despite my fear and humiliation, Romeo's lapping makes me feel giddy as a kid in a candy store. It tickles like crazy. When I giggle out loud, his hot, flat tongue shoots forward, swiping the inside of my mouth. "Oh! Oh!" "That's the way baby. Keep that mouth open. Just like that." My skin is starting to tingle, and each time Romeo's tongue swoops into my mouth it makes me shiver all over. I want to feel that feeling again, so I open my mouth wide for him. Soon my own tongue starts to extend, responding to his. We keep kissing like this-mouths open and tongues probing--for several minutes, while little lusty shockwaves rush from my flushed face down my neck and across my back. I can feel the goose bumps rise up in undulating waves across my body. Must be the pink "party" pill. But I don't care. Makes me feel so fucking hot. Mr. Slim jumps onto the table behind Romeo. "Ok, bitch. Enough Frenching. Let's see what else you can do." Romeo looks up at my Master, his lips drawn back into a smile. Even his little black eyes seem to have a merry twinkle. Shit, he's a fucking hot animal. Fuck, I sure picked right. Mr. Slim reaches under Romeo's front legs and lifts him up almost standing. Romeo leans back comfortably against Mr. Slim's thighs, and I realize Romeo's done this before. His long muzzle is pointed up at the ceiling and his back paws are dancing gingerly, leaving little indentations in the blanket as he balances himself. "Romeo likes a lot of foreplay, baby. So let's see what you can do with them balls." Romeo's heavy, low-hanging nuts are like big brown eggs encased in a silky, mottled-brown bag. Mr. Slim sways Romeo a little from side to side, and I'm mesmerized by the gentle swinging of that sack. I crawl forward. The room becomes strangely silent: The suspenseful hush of men concentrating, wide-eyed and waiting. I can hear my heartbeat pumping in my ears. And that luscious tingle has reached as far as my toes. My hole is twitching expectantly, my pussylips pulsing. My tongue slips out, curling itself beneath Romeo's big balls, savoring the taste of musk and piss and doglust. I start licking in slow circles as Romeo squirms contentedly against my Master's thighs. My face nuzzles between Romeo's legs, nestling my nose among that downy-soft, sensitive skin. The heat from his underside envelopes me, and the richness of his aroma is nearly suffocating. I pull away and look out into the crowd. I lick my lips and smile broadly at them, at all these men who've crowded into the back of some bar to watch a horny teen slut servicing a dog. My attentive treatment of Romeo's balls is having the right effect: a red point has started peeking upward from his sheath, like a long, narrow arrowhead. The smell of his dogpiss is stronger, and it pulls my tongue like a magnet up from his swollen sack and towards the emerging shaft. I lick in long stokes now, from the root of his big bullnuts to the flame-hot tip of his dogdick. Each time I reach the top, I close my lips and gently, tenderly kiss that growing cockhead while looking up into the eyes of Mr. Slim, my Master. "Shit, you one horny bitch, ain't ya? Never seen a whore liked dogdick as much as you boy. You like that dick?" "Yes, Sir." "You a nasty little faggot?" "Yes Sir." "Tell me." "I'm a nasty little faggot, Sir" "You Daddy's dogwhore?" "Yes Sir." "Tell me." "I'm Daddy's dogwhore, Sir." "That's right. Keep licking that dogdick and keep talking, faggot." "I'm a nasty, horny dogwhore that needs to get fucked." "What's that bitch?" "Please Sir. Your boy needs fucking real bad." "Don't ask me, boy. I ain't the one gonna fuck that pussy. You wanna get fucked, you know who to ask." "Please fuck me Romeo. Please fuck your boy." I arch my back and start twirling my ass from side to side, begging Romeo with my body. Begging for my fucking. "Fuck your boy, Romeo. Please, Romeo. Fuck your bitch. Breed me, Romeo. Breed me. Breed your bitch." There's more to come. In the meantime, I hope you'll check out my other stories: Tommy the Tease and Lucky Bitch. And please drop me a line at dvntpuppy@hotmail.com.