Big Dog Afternoon

Bob finished his third set of behind the neck lifts when Olivia sauntered down the stairs.

"All pumped up and nowhere to go?" she asked in that clipped New England contralto he found so damn sexy because of its very strangeness.

"Male version of those 'robics what keeps your derriere tight, your sweet belly slim, an' gives you them horse ridin' thighs."

Olivia tossed back her cascade of soft, dark curls and straddled the bench in front of him. "Do go on. I love it when you talk dirty. Especially about me."

"Much as I regret to say this," Bob observed in his slow Southern drawl."Y'all might not want to get too close to me just now. I've been sweatin' like a big dog."

A long, slender finger traced its way around Bob's jaw, down his throat, between the exertion hardened pectorals and down hard ridges of belly to the quickly filling front of his shorts.

"Like a big dog, you say?" She traced his arousal through the thin material between his thighs. Abruptly, she stood. "Hold that thought," she called as she swayed back up the stairs.

Bob swore, good naturedly. He shed the constricting garment and equally binding jock strap, then picked up the hand weights to begin arm curls. Bob glanced at the stairs and swore again. What he really wanted was a shower and Olivia, or better yet, a shower with Olivia. But, when they had first gotten together, Bob had sworn to himself he would not let himself go like so many of his friends down home after they had gotten married. His passion for Olivia had become his religion and paid off in the kind of coital bliss about which most people only ever dreamed.

Bob sighed as he pumped the iron until the sweat in his eyes caused him to seek the towel on the wall.

"So tell me," he heard her say. "What would a big old Southern dog such as yourself do should he encounter some sleek rich bitch poodle on the street?"

Bob turned to her. His appreciation made itself known by the increasingly pendulous weight at his groin. Olivia had parted her hair in the middle and tied it on either side of her head with pink ribbons. A tight pink sleeveless crop top sweater stretched tight against the firm lushness of her dusky breasts. She wore nothing else.

"What kind of dog did you say you were?" she asked, dropping to her hands and knees.

Bob crawled over to her. "Ah ain't nothin' but a hound dawg."

"And just what would your typical hound dog do in the presence of a lady of refinement and noble breeding?"

"Well," Bob drawled as he circled her. "First off, Ah'd be a gentleman an' make the lady's acquaintance." He brushed against her thigh, his stubble raising goose bumps off the smooth olive toned flesh.

"How would you do that?" she inquired.

"Sniff her butt." He caressed his way over to the slender division of her ass. The taut buttocks tightened against his face.

"That's all? Just sniff her butt?"

"Why, no, ma'am," Bob protested. "If'n I liked what I found, I might even lick it."

He drew his tongue languorously around the curve of her ass, over the slight dip and around the other mound of slightly quivering flesh to the soft ridge between her cunt and anus. A little faster, he drew his tongue up, caressing her dark outer rim. Olivia stifled a sigh of her own as he began the circuit again, firmer and faster, moving ever closer to the spicy opening until he was nipping at her satiny skin, and drawing his insistent tongue directly over Olivia's anus as it puckered involuntarily, then relaxed into a more open position.

So it surprised him when she whipped around and nipped him on the shoulder, drawing the barest trace of blood with her sharp, white teeth which she bared at him.

"What?"

"Maybe this fine bred canine isn't too sure she should consort with a mongrel of uncertain antecedents. Maybe she's been warned about the dangers of associating with someone of a lower station."

Bob eyed her narrowly. He heard the bitterness and hurt in what might have been, under other circumstances, caustic and withering words. He remembered she had taken a telephone call earlier and realized it was probably her parents deigning to contact her. The tone of the game changed, as Bob realized her anger was very real, but not directed at him.

"Well," Bob growled," this ol' hound dawg'd just hafta show that bitch whose territory she'd wandered into."

With that, Bob flung himself on Olivia. They rolled across the carpet, biting and sucking at whatever flesh they could reach. Olivia's nails dug deep into Bob's shoulders even as his large, powerful hands tangled themselves in her hair.

Bob pinned her hands and straddled her. Olivia squirmed and cursed until he lowered his mouth to her gracefully arched throat and bore down into its very center with his teeth.

She stopped moving at the sudden pressure and whimpered. Bob eased up, letting his tongue soothe her swanlike neck, up under the jaw and around her chin until his lips rested lightly upon hers. Olivia opened her mouth and sucked him in, swirling her tongue around his, lightly flickering around the inside of his lips and drawing slowly across the roof of his mouth.

Bob broke the spell by releasing her hands and drawing the sweater up over her head. He began an agonizingly delightful trek down to Olivia's trembling teats, gently rolling one small brown nipple between his lips, then licking his way in a spiral up the other breast until he sucked in the other, hard and deep. Olivia panted, and crushed his head into her chest.

He broke away and let his tongue meander along her rib cage and down to her pouting navel. He licked her hard belly button almost reverentially, treating it as if it were a second clitoris. Olivia moaned and began pushing his head lower.

Bob followed her lead, but in his own way. He gently sucked in her mound and massaged it with his mouth as his hands found her lower belly and began kneading her uterus into contraction. He lowered his mouth further and lightly began tracing her outer lips through the veil of black curls demurely concealing the rapid blossoming of her inner lips.

He could barely hear her urgent, whispered pleadings through the roar of blood in his ears from his own unspent urgency. Bob forced himself to slow down, to wriggle his tongue through the channel between her inner and outer lips until he caught the hard nub of her clit.

Olivia's thighs locked themselves around Bob's head and she forced him over until she was kneeling with her full glory exposed to his oral caresses. Olivia pleaded with him not to stop, to suck in her clitoris. Bob tasted that slight change signaling her teeter on the brink of orgasm.

He pulled away despite her sobbing protests and knelt behind her. Her hands clawed into the deep shag of the carpet and she wept with gratitude as he slid his hard, throbbing cock deep into her. Already, pre-orgasmic tremors were rippling up and down what seemed the eternal length of him. She thrust backwards, again and again, waiting for his answering plunges.

Instead, Bob grasped her shoulders and pulled her up from the carpet until she was once again on all fours. She cursed at the loss of penetration until he bent his supple waist around her quivering buttocks and thrust in again, hard and fast. His hands spread her ass apart and she could feel the wiry scratch of his dark blonde pubic hair against the sensitive corona of her anus. He thrust again and again, hard and fast, pumping her with every inch he could force into the slick and narrow channel. Olivia threw her hips forward and her pelvis back onto him, feeling his scrotum thump against her mound.

They fucked. And as they fucked, they were no longer just fucking each other. He was fucking every snob and snot that had made his life miserable at Harvard Law, who had sneered at his lack of proper manners, his old clothes, his ten hours a day, six days a week labor as a house remodeler to put himself through school.

Olivia fucked them, too. She fucked every one of the rich, arrogant bastards and bitches who lived off of mommy and daddy, whiling their way through an assortment of parties and casual affairs barely interrupted by studies and dedication to the idea that law maybe meant something more than a ticket to the good life and the style to which they were accustomed and wanted to be accustomed while pontificating about the assholes on welfare who really didn't want to work and needed to be made to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps.

Bob's cock swelled until he thought it would burst, his balls filled with fluid seeking escape from the confinement of his endurance, even as he sought release from the demons of inadequacy that haunted his nights with this incredibly beautiful woman and his days trying to help people caught in the trap of laws made by those who lacked empathy for anyone without a country club membership, BMW, and million dollar stock portfolio.

Olivia's groans became shrieks against a system she sought to escape in the love of this good man and her drive away from the sheltered life she had lived under the careful guardianship of parents ashamed of their immigrant, rag picker antecedents. The unbearable pain of pompous attitudes against which she had to fight in order to share the practice of law for the downtrodden with her husband in such a way as to give them some hope of finding true justice turned to a pure howl of pleasure at the thought that, together, they made a difference, just as together, they fucked in a hot-blooded, sweat filled passion unimagined by men and women who spent cold nights in chill mansions that reflected the arctic wastes of their hearts.

Bob could hold it back no more, and with his hands gripping her thighs, he pulled her legs off the floor and plunged into her so deeply she felt as if she would split apart. His semen spewed into her, igniting the growing furnace of her desire into a series of rippling spasms that burst the bonds of her mind and body into an explosion, rocketing her to ever greater plateaus of pure physical pleasure until they both collapsed on the carpet, spent and achingly sensitive to every fiber beneath them, every cell and hair of their own bodies, and each others, locked in tight embrace.

"Damn fine dog, if you ask me," Olivia muttered, raising herself from Bob's shoulder. "He ought to hire out for stud."

"The hell he will, bitch," Bob laughed. "This ol' big dog don' sell out for no damn dollar bill. He only gives it to the one he wants. An' then he gives it all."

Olivia nodded, kissed him. She struggled up on arms still trembling from the physical demands of effort and orgasm until she straddled his hard, heaving belly.

"What you doin'?" Bob asked.

"Why," Olivia replied, glancing at him over her shoulder. "This very satisfied rich bitch thinks she might just like to lick that big ol' dog's delicious balls."

Then, as she lowered her head between his strain aching thighs, it was Bob's turn to howl...

END