Doggy Style 6

There was no way that Candy Shaw and I were going to be lovers. She was captain of our high school's varsity cheerleading squad and she dated the football team's quarterback. I was president of both the chess club and the engineering club, and at 18, I was still a virgin. A Jewish matchmaker would have paired me with some girl in eyeglasses who plays violin and appreciates Bach, and paired Candy with... well, yeah, the football team quarterback.

Then Candy asked for my help in designing and building her concept for a two-person mechanical costume to enter in the annual Springtime Tallahassee parade. Her goal was to entertain the crowd while bringing attention to the local dog shelter's pet adoption program. Okay, that was one thing we had in common: we both loved dogs.

She showed me concept drawings that were impressively well done, with top, side, front and rear views, replete with measurements and 3D sketches.

"It's a giant dachshund, see?" she said. "It telescopes in and out, like a Slinky toy."

"Clever," I said. "You made these sketches?"

"Yeah."

"Where'd you learn to make mechanical drawings?"

"I used to go to an engineering summer camp for kids."

"You did?"

She gave me a look. "You think I'm too blond for that?"

"Uh...no. Not at all."

"Anyway, will you help me build it?

"Sure. We can use my dad's warehouse; he's got a full range of woodworking and metalworking tools. It'll be fun."

Fun. Not sure if that was the best word. Horny? Intimidating? Because -- matchmaker be damned -- I didn't have a crush since sixth grade on some girl in eyeglasses who plays violin and appreciates Bach; I had a big crush on Candy Shaw. But I never would have guessed that she was interested in engineering.

After school and on weekends over the next three weeks we built Slinky Dog, a giant dachshund that we could walk inside of, our legs being the front and back legs of the pooch. Candy's original design needed only a little tweaking. We installed electric servos and mechanisms in the giant costume's framework that gave it moving features: rolling eyes, hinging jaw, lolling tongue, floppy ears that stand to attention, and a tail that wags.

With Candy in front and me behind, we walked with the 55-pound skeletal frame supported on our shoulders on thick padding; not heavy with the weight distributed between us. We practiced putting Slinky Dog through all its moves: first, Candy would turn Slinky's head, drop its jaw and let its tongue loll out. Then she would raise Slinky's ears. Next she would hop her legs apart and dip the dog's head low, imitating the body language of a puppy eager to play. Lastly, I would rush forward, telescoping the dog to a tight ball, and I'd flip the servo that wagged the tail.

The first time we tried wagging the 5-foot tail, its gyrating motion threw us off balance and we tumbled to the ground and got four skinned knees. The solution was for me to first stabilize our stance by holding tight to Candy's shoulders as we braced our legs.

We figured we'd complete the project with a week to spare before the parade, but as they say in engineering: "Everything takes longer than it takes." At 2 a.m. the night before the parade we finally finished covering Slinky Dog's framework with beige shag carpet. At 9 that same morning, a family-oriented crowd was already forming along the parade route, looking like a Norman Rockwell scene.

We'd been assigned a position in the parade behind a self-driving float and in front of the FAMU Marching 100, one of the best college marching bands on the planet. We both said at the same time, "The music's going to be good!"

Even though it was an unusually chilly April day, Claire was wearing a cheerleader's miniskirt and a bikini top and I wore a pair of running shorts and T-shirt, because we'd done a test run in the completed contraption and it quickly got stiflingly hot inside the carpet-covered beast. Plus it now weighed close to a hundred pounds, so it felt like we were each carrying a small child on our shoulders. Both of us wore a Camel water bladder, like a backpack, so we could drink on the go through a plastic tube.

We zipped ourselves inside. "Ready?" I yelled over the sound of the drummers behind us rat-a-tatting a funky cadence as the parade got underway. "Vamos!" Candy called back and stepped out in the stream. Through a mesh screen in the dog's huge eyes, she could navigate as she walked at the front of the giant costume. All I could see was Candy's bare back and her miniskirt riding her ass as she hammed it up, bopping to the funky music of the Rattlers. It must have appeared to the crowd that Slinky Dog's torso and forelegs knew how to dance while his hindlegs did not, which happened to be true.

At the frequent pauses in the parade, Candy would switch on the servo motors to roll the eyes and loll the tongue (laughter from crowd), raise the ears (bigger laughs), then she would jump her feet wide apart and bend forward low -- the "puppy-wanna-play" pose -- and I would scoot the long torso of the dog forward, telescoping its rump snug against its head (biggest laugh). I'd grab tight onto Candy's shoulders, flip a servo, and the tail would wag (cheers and applause).

I'd gone through half my drinking water before we got a third of the way through the one-hour parade. The enclosed space of the giant dachshund had begun to smell like our combined sweat. Every time she hopped her feet apart and bent forward the weight of her Camel backpack would tug her skirt up over the globes of her bubble ass, exposing her white cotton panties. Candy bending over was my cue to telescope Slinky Dog forward and to grab her shoulders, stabilizing us so that the tail could wag without throwing us off balance. By the second or third repetition of this routine, my cock had grown achingly hard. I swear it was an accident the first time my cock bumped Candy's firm ass. But when she didn't curse me or squirm away, I bumped her ass again on purpose. And again. The crowd laughed and applauded.

By halfway through the parade, we were both breathing hard and the interior of the giant dog had begun to smell like hot sweat and the dark perfume of Candy's pussy. The 100-piece FAMU band was playing Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get it On." We had not said a word. Not that we could have heard each other through the sousaphones blasting the bass beat. Now each time Slinky Dog squeezed forward I was grinding my cock against the panties stretched over Candy's ass.

As if my hands had a servo motor of their own -- unconnected to my higher brain -- I tugged my running shorts down, just in the front, until the elastic waistband fit snug under my balls and my cock stood free. By some unspoken communication, Candy pulled up the back of her cheerleader's skirt and tucked it under the water backpack. She bent forward to play like a puppy, and when I brought up the hind end of Slinky Dog, I yanked her panties to the side and my stiff rod mashed her soft slippery pussy lips. I gasped at the sensation of hot flesh on hot flesh. My fingers slid inside her luscious pussy for a moment, then with slickened fingers I gripped her shoulders and wagged my tail, and the crowd gave a big laugh and cheered. Then it was time to march on.

The next time Candy spread her legs and bent over, I rushed forward and thrust my cock to its hilt. We both gasped loudly. The band was playing "Come My Lady," and she did -- with that very first penetration. I'd like to say that I was in full control of my sexual excitement, like a Taoist master of the bedchamber, but the truth is, I would have come in another ten thrusts. But there wasn't time for ten thrusts. One ramming thrust, then maybe two or three more. Grabbing hold of Candy's waist or her hips so that our stance was solid and then wagging my tail. The moms and dads and kids would laugh and applaud. Then Candy and I would separate and continue moving down the street.

Over the next half hour, each time my hard cock plunged inside Candy's good-smelling pussy, the crowd seemed to cheer us on. And the wagging tail added a strong gyrating motion to our fucking that sent tremors of pleasure through us both. I'd plumb her slippery hole, and Candy would moan, "Wag the tail!" Then we would have to separate and the routine would begin again at the next pause in the parade. Candy came a second time before we crossed 7th Avenue, and again before we reached 4th. By thrusting only a few times and then withdrawing, I was edging -- on the cusp of an orgasm the whole while.

At last, when we reached the parade's end and stepped out of the flow into a parking lot, Slinky Dog's hind quarters rushed up to meet his head and he wagged and wagged his tail for several happy minutes, while I clutched Candy's hips -- for stability. I didn't need a cheering crowd when I finally exploded inside her, shooting jet after jet of cum; the fireworks were enough.

Candy and I are now in our second year at university, both majoring in engineering. She's gotten good at chess, but I still can't dance worth shit. This year we're going to the Ybor City Halloween Ball in an iridescent lightweight costume that gives us plenty of freedom to move and play inside it: a giant inchworm.