Man's Best Friend
folder
S through Z › Secret Window
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,506
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
S through Z › Secret Window
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,506
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Secret Window, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Man's Best Friend
Dogs. Mort had favoured them above their feline competition ever since he was a kid. His family had owned one of each so he'd had equal experience with both kinds of animal. The cat had always been so...humaniod at times. So much so that it disturbed Mort to the point where he hadn't been able to undress in front of the damned thing. It would sit on the fluffy bathroom rug and watch him as he pissed. It would look at him with those big, green, scrutinizing eyes as though it knew exactly what was going on inside his head and would glare at him menacingly until it got bored and decided to lick its ass. That was something that had always grossed him out a little. He didn't like cats much, and he'd always made his little sister do the cat boxes.
The dog, on the other hand, comes in basically two varieties, the first of which is the typcial intelligent, loyal, newspaper-getting, Timmy-saving, man's best friend. Well, most dog owners know that this particular variety only exists on television and in dog shows. In reality, dogs are relatively slow of mind who, like cats, will stare at you, unblinking, but will drool and grin dumbly up at you as they do so. This was why Mort prefered dogs. They simply seemed to expect less of him, know absolutely nothing, and generally didn't lick their own asses, though they never passed up the opportunity to sniff each others'. Yes, Mort was definitely more of a dog person.
+++
Chico yelped again as Mort's stiff six-and-a-half-incher plunged into her backside. He was nearing climax, and under no obligation to pull out once he achieved it. That was the benefit of the tight latex sock hugging his cock. The thing was ribbed, though he didn't really think the dog gave two shits about what kind of condom he used. He was only wearing it for its most primitive purpose: sanitation. He didn't think Chico had any doggie std's to speak of, but just in case she did, he wasn't about to catch them when it could have been so easily prevented.
He sped up ever so slightly, grasping the animal's furry hips and clenching his eyes shut in preperation of what he knew was coming. He wondered fleetingly if the dog knew too, or if Chico had ever mated before. Not with a human, almost definitely, but Amy's "little baby puppy" was getting upwards of ancient, and she'd been his ex-wife's bitch long before Mort had ever been considered as such.
The growl that ripped from his throat as he came should have made Chico feel right at home, and he shot his load into the condom. The dog gave a quiet whimper when Mort extracted his shrink-wrapped cock from her hole, and trotted away as soon as his hands had left her coarse fur. Apparently Chico wasn't one for pillow talk.
"You have my number," Mort muttered breathlessly as he let himself sink the rest of the way to the floor.
+++
Mort woke up slowly. He'd just been able to finish a dream peacefully, which was a rariety these days. He didn't feel particularly happy about it, considering the nature of said dream, which had left a bad taste in his mouth, and a funny feeling in his groin. It disturbed him, to be sure, and the fact that he was so lonely he was starting to have dreams about fucking his ex-wife's dog upset him. His dog. Chico was his now, and he supposed it was a good thing. Amy had let him keep her for the company, but the nature of the company he'd taken advantage of in the dream was just...Heh, man's best friend, indeed.
Mort shuddered. "What the hell?" he asked no one in particular, rolling over onto his other side. "If I can't have you, I can have your dog," he muttered, chuckling and shaking his head of tangled blonde hair. It resembled more an abandoned bird's nest on a windy day than a human head, but Mort didn't really care. You lose sight of things like that when you're alone and depressed, including your own physical appearance, and if he looked as much like shit as he often felt, he didn't even really notice.
Mort gathered his blankets around him in an attempt to bury himself in sleep's warm and welcome bosom, so that he might forget the crazy dream he'd just had. But the idea would not leave him alone, and he remained awake, thinking about it over and over again. His moans played like a broken record in his head, the images flashed in front of his open eyes like a video tape being constantly rewound, played, and rewound again. Unfortunately, the more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. He was so lonely, sleep deprived and attention starved that after about a half hour of silent contemplation, it hardly seemed wrong, at all. Irrational. He knew that. After all, it was very early in the morning...but was it such a far-fetched idea? Desperate teenage boys sought comfort from barnyard animals all the time...sure, it was illegal, but bestiality was a minor offense. And who said anything about being caught? Chico was a medium-sized dog, and he was a rather medium-sized guy. He wouldn't be rough with her, and if she showed clear signs of pain or distress he would stop, immediately...probably.
"Shit," he cursed, sitting up and flinging the covers off of him like a child in the midst of a tantrum. He opened the drawer on his bedside table and rifled around blindly for the box of condoms he knew were there, somewhere. They hadn't been used recently, obviously, or he wouldn't even be entertaining the idea of what he was about to do.
His fingers that held the single condom, still enclosed in its aluminum package, began to tremble as he opened the door to his bedroom. Mort squinted and strained his eyes against the darkness. Chico was not curled up in her chair in Mort's study, so she must be downstairs in her little bed. A lump rose in his throat and the butterflies in his stomach were the size of Canadian geese as he made his way down the stairs. He felt like he used to when he was a boy, creeping out into the empty kitchen his parents were asleep to steal a cookie from the cookie jar. Or later, when he was a bit older, taking the opportunity to utilize his father's porn collection on the living room couch in order to release some tension when no one was around. The feeling that what he was about to do was wrong, immoral, disgusting, and all at once pleasurable washed over him, sending shivers down his spine and a rush of hot blood to his nether regions.
He flicked his tongue over his dry lips and gave a sharp, loud whistle into the dark living room. "Chico?" he called as he unwrapped the condom, discarding the foil carelessly at the base of the stairs. "Here, girl!"
The dog, on the other hand, comes in basically two varieties, the first of which is the typcial intelligent, loyal, newspaper-getting, Timmy-saving, man's best friend. Well, most dog owners know that this particular variety only exists on television and in dog shows. In reality, dogs are relatively slow of mind who, like cats, will stare at you, unblinking, but will drool and grin dumbly up at you as they do so. This was why Mort prefered dogs. They simply seemed to expect less of him, know absolutely nothing, and generally didn't lick their own asses, though they never passed up the opportunity to sniff each others'. Yes, Mort was definitely more of a dog person.
+++
Chico yelped again as Mort's stiff six-and-a-half-incher plunged into her backside. He was nearing climax, and under no obligation to pull out once he achieved it. That was the benefit of the tight latex sock hugging his cock. The thing was ribbed, though he didn't really think the dog gave two shits about what kind of condom he used. He was only wearing it for its most primitive purpose: sanitation. He didn't think Chico had any doggie std's to speak of, but just in case she did, he wasn't about to catch them when it could have been so easily prevented.
He sped up ever so slightly, grasping the animal's furry hips and clenching his eyes shut in preperation of what he knew was coming. He wondered fleetingly if the dog knew too, or if Chico had ever mated before. Not with a human, almost definitely, but Amy's "little baby puppy" was getting upwards of ancient, and she'd been his ex-wife's bitch long before Mort had ever been considered as such.
The growl that ripped from his throat as he came should have made Chico feel right at home, and he shot his load into the condom. The dog gave a quiet whimper when Mort extracted his shrink-wrapped cock from her hole, and trotted away as soon as his hands had left her coarse fur. Apparently Chico wasn't one for pillow talk.
"You have my number," Mort muttered breathlessly as he let himself sink the rest of the way to the floor.
+++
Mort woke up slowly. He'd just been able to finish a dream peacefully, which was a rariety these days. He didn't feel particularly happy about it, considering the nature of said dream, which had left a bad taste in his mouth, and a funny feeling in his groin. It disturbed him, to be sure, and the fact that he was so lonely he was starting to have dreams about fucking his ex-wife's dog upset him. His dog. Chico was his now, and he supposed it was a good thing. Amy had let him keep her for the company, but the nature of the company he'd taken advantage of in the dream was just...Heh, man's best friend, indeed.
Mort shuddered. "What the hell?" he asked no one in particular, rolling over onto his other side. "If I can't have you, I can have your dog," he muttered, chuckling and shaking his head of tangled blonde hair. It resembled more an abandoned bird's nest on a windy day than a human head, but Mort didn't really care. You lose sight of things like that when you're alone and depressed, including your own physical appearance, and if he looked as much like shit as he often felt, he didn't even really notice.
Mort gathered his blankets around him in an attempt to bury himself in sleep's warm and welcome bosom, so that he might forget the crazy dream he'd just had. But the idea would not leave him alone, and he remained awake, thinking about it over and over again. His moans played like a broken record in his head, the images flashed in front of his open eyes like a video tape being constantly rewound, played, and rewound again. Unfortunately, the more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. He was so lonely, sleep deprived and attention starved that after about a half hour of silent contemplation, it hardly seemed wrong, at all. Irrational. He knew that. After all, it was very early in the morning...but was it such a far-fetched idea? Desperate teenage boys sought comfort from barnyard animals all the time...sure, it was illegal, but bestiality was a minor offense. And who said anything about being caught? Chico was a medium-sized dog, and he was a rather medium-sized guy. He wouldn't be rough with her, and if she showed clear signs of pain or distress he would stop, immediately...probably.
"Shit," he cursed, sitting up and flinging the covers off of him like a child in the midst of a tantrum. He opened the drawer on his bedside table and rifled around blindly for the box of condoms he knew were there, somewhere. They hadn't been used recently, obviously, or he wouldn't even be entertaining the idea of what he was about to do.
His fingers that held the single condom, still enclosed in its aluminum package, began to tremble as he opened the door to his bedroom. Mort squinted and strained his eyes against the darkness. Chico was not curled up in her chair in Mort's study, so she must be downstairs in her little bed. A lump rose in his throat and the butterflies in his stomach were the size of Canadian geese as he made his way down the stairs. He felt like he used to when he was a boy, creeping out into the empty kitchen his parents were asleep to steal a cookie from the cookie jar. Or later, when he was a bit older, taking the opportunity to utilize his father's porn collection on the living room couch in order to release some tension when no one was around. The feeling that what he was about to do was wrong, immoral, disgusting, and all at once pleasurable washed over him, sending shivers down his spine and a rush of hot blood to his nether regions.
He flicked his tongue over his dry lips and gave a sharp, loud whistle into the dark living room. "Chico?" he called as he unwrapped the condom, discarding the foil carelessly at the base of the stairs. "Here, girl!"