My entry in the
Pink Orchid 2022 for Women-Centric Erotica
story event for women-centric erotica
One
I can barely remember how I started my little one-girl business now. Back in those days, goofy, skinny little Leah, barely sixteen, was often seen being dragged around the village and surrounding areas by our Border Collie and Doberman. I think my Mum started it when she asked me if I'd take a little Scottie belonging to an elderly neighbour along with our two as she was unwell and unable to get out.
I didn't want any payment for it as Dougie was a sweet little thing, but Mrs. Hope insisted on giving me a few pound coins for my troubles. She was also the village gossip and soon word got around that Leah was willing and able to take anyone's dogs for a walk after school. Before I knew it, I was in big demand and gave my informal little group of pooches the name of 'Paw Posse'.
Even when I got a bit older, I never thought of stopping it. I loved it too much and as I approached the end of my school life, it helped me relax from the pressures of exams. Seeing mad animals running around the countryside always gave me a lift and made me forget the tribulations of revision and sitting in serried ranks with sharpened pencils and calculators at the ready.
A few weeks before the exams and soon after I had turned eighteen, a new lady moved into the village, just around the corner from our house. Within days, Mrs. Hope reeled in another fish for me and I added Hugo, a very distinguished looking Afghan to my roster, which now covered everything from Poodles to Great Danes.
Hugo was like his owner -- aloof and haughty looking. We barely exchanged pleasantries as I picked him up and dropped him off, but she paid me by bank transfer on the nail, so I was happy. I only knew her as Mrs. Franklin and it seemed strange to be calling a neighbour in her early thirties 'Mrs', but if that was the way she was, I didn't let it bother me.
As each exam came and went, I should have been more and more relaxed but a fear was growing in me. I hadn't the first idea what I wanted to do with my life and was torn between going to University and taking a gap year -- maybe get by with the dog-walking and do a couple of temping jobs to pay for a few months of travel at the end of it. The money wasn't stellar, but the dozen or so hours I did each week paid my Mum some subsistence money and I had enough left over for new clothes and nights out.
Once the exams were done, I finally got my belated eighteenth birthday party some six weeks late. It was in a marquee in the village pub garden and it was great fun with friends and relations from all over the country, some of whom I barely knew existed. Previously I had been quite shy, but the confidence the dog-walking had instilled in me brought me out of my shell and I revelled in being the centre of attention.
I ended the night hidden away with a distant cousin a little older than me, petting heavily. Just as I thought I may get my first decent lay at the ripe old age of eighteen, he was whisked off home and I was left high and dry -- as ever.
The next time I saw Mrs. Franklin, she was much friendlier than previously. Her slightly hooded blue eyes smouldered into mine. "Thanks for the invite, Leah. It was a lovely night. Looks like you had a great time!"
I wondered if she had seen James and I together. We tried to be discreet, but it was inevitable someone may have seen us copping off. I didn't mind if she had -- it was hardly a porn movie -- just a bit of snogging and a few roaming hands. But I had to admit, he did feel good pressed against my midriff and had the chance arisen, I would certainly have allowed him to press somewhere a little more intimate.
As I handed Hugo's lead to her, she reached into her bag. "Just a little something to welcome you to the adult world. Don't know too much about young fashion these days, but it seemed a nice website."
I took the envelope she proffered with genuine thanks and hurried home to see what she had bought for me. At first I was a little shocked, then thought that maybe it was just an innocent mistake. Although I had seen some girls wear the sort of thing the company offered, I never considered them myself. It specialised in wet-look clothing -- stretch leggings and shiny tops with bare midriffs and puffed sleeves. The models looked outrageously beautiful and I tried to imagine myself dressed like that and the reaction I would get in the village or Amberdown, the local town a few miles away.
Despite the exotic look, the stuff was relatively cheap, so her fifty pound gift card went quite a long way. By the end of my browsing session, I had bought myself a few items from the less racy end of the spectrum but I suspected I would turn heads for the wrong reasons in my new leggings, which were sleek, shiny and very tight. The rest of my hoard would have to remain well hidden and I had no idea when or if I would ever be able to wear them out.
Maybe if I got a boyfriend, it would be a special treat for him in private.
I usually wore jeans when out with the dogs, but when I next picked up Hugo, I thought I would let her see at least one of my new purchases. Again, maybe I was just naïve in those days, but I should have had some doubts at the way she looked at me when I turned up in them. Back then, I took it to be mild embarrassment. Now, when I recall that look and think of what we have done since, I realise that it was a look of pure lust. It was a very deliberate act when she chose the website, and later she revelled in admitting it.
Thereafter she was a different person - always complimenting me on my hair, my nails, a new bracelet or pendant. She became very touchy-feely and what had before been a pale imitation of a smile was now genuine and warm. The smile lit up her face which was framed by short, beautifully coiffed almost white-blonde hair that was cropped into her neck and fell in soft folds around her ears and was teased into little peaks around the crown.
In the end, it was Hugo I had to thank for it all. Until that day, he had been one of my model charges. Whereas the others would go mental when off their leads, he held his head as if to say that he was better than them and a very refined dog indeed. He seemed to look at other dogs in disdain as they sniffed and licked at each other's private parts, as though he were above that sort of thing.
I was walking with my friend Janie and her dogs one day when a sudden, impromptu sniff-fest erupted. She was a little more experienced in life than me, and while I had managed three horizontal liaisons, she was well into double figures and was quite happy with her boyfriend.
She looked at the sniffing dogs in disgust. "God, Leah -- if we did that we'd either be called sluts or get arrested!"
Hugo seemed to hold the same view and avoided any unwanted contact. I never had an ounce of trouble with him, which was more than could be said of the rest of Paw Posse, so it came as a very nasty surprise when he darted off through a farm gate later that afternoon. I could smell the manure from where I stood and it made me gag. I gagged even more as I looked over the stone wall into the farmyard to see him happily rolling around in cow poo.
Fresh cow poo. Very runny cow poo. And Hugo, the aloof Afghan hound who belonged to one of my best customers was, not to put too fine a point on it, covered from nose to tail in cow shit.
