I looked around the room as I entered the bar. What was I doing here? I hadn't come to a bar in years. Certainly not one like this. A meat market. I ordered a Long Island Iced Tea, stronger than I should be drinking I suppose, and barked like a dog.
That caught me totally off guard. Tourettes Syndrome? Generally it doesn't just happen to a 28 year-old out of the blue. But there it was – one quite audible woof. Get a grip, Anna. I looked around sheepishly to see if anyone would fail to pretend they didn't notice.
Great. A fat, greasy man was looking at me from down the bar. Looking hungry. This I did NOT need. Not to be hit on in this sleazy bar, not to have someone coming on to me, trying to touch me, seduce me. Someone wanting to run his coarse hands over my tits and down my ass, press his wet tongue past my lips, grind his hard cock into my wet pussy.
Oh my god. I was really, really horny. That guy was coming over, and I wanted to fuck. Just fuck. I couldn't wait for him to put his hands all over me.
What the fuck was going on? He was not only not my type, he was actively repulsive. He looked like he hadn't washed this week. And I'd have fucked him right here at the bar.
He said "you come here, often," or some such line. My logical mind said fuck off you greasy little turd, but my mouth smiled and said "any minute now." He put his hand on my shoulder, slid it down my back. I leaned into him, my lips wet, my pussy throbbing, and asked him if he had a room here.
We started making out in the elevator. He started fingering me, sucking my tits through my blouse. I came right there, above the third floor. When the door opened and someone else got on, I couldn't even restrain myself. I was all over him, my hand down his pants, holding his hard cock, whispering to him how good he was going to taste, how much I wanted him in my mouth. He tried to stop me, but I couldn't. If he had let me, I'd have taken him right then, in the elevator, with this maid watching.
We got to his floor, and to his room, and by the time we were to his bed, I had my breasts free, and my skirt was flying across the room. My mind screamed condom, and I managed to whisper the word, but he acted like he didn't hear, and I didn't repeat the request. He entered me and my body sang and my mind spun down and we fuckedfuckedfuckedfucked. My god, I've never experienced anything like that. I was a machine, thrusting thrusting. Trying to get him deeper into me, digging my nails into his naked flesh. I came and came, and when he came it was heaven and I was laughing and crying and thanking him, and dripping joy all over the sheet.
And my new lover, whose name I didn't even know, fell asleep and started snoring.
I lay there, stunned by the ferocity of my lust, and the intensity of our sexual moment. I had never, ever done something like that before. And I hadn't had unprotected sex since I was fourteen. Even then I knew better. But I also had never had an experience so raw, so ecstatic. This was, without question, the best sex I had ever had, ever dreamed of.
I got out of the bed, peed, wandered through the room. His pants lay across the other bed, the pocket contents scattered across the bed and floor. A garage door opener lay on the floor between the beds. I picked it up, idly pressed the button.
And barked.
What the fuck?
I looked at the device. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a standard opener. And it made me bark like a dog.
It was hard to concentrate on the problem – I was getting really horny again. I rubbed myself with the device, getting really wet. Damn. I was going to fuck this guy again. It made sense; the fucking was so good the first time. Why was I wasting time with this damned button when I could be riding my fat stud over here? I went and started to wake him up.
Around two that morning, mister lover snoring like a bandsaw, I sat on the edge of the bed, shaking. What if this motherfucker had AIDS or even just herpes? Why was I so drawn to him?
And began to wonder if the button and the fucking were related.
I grabbed the opener, found my clothes, and snuck out of the room.
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The next few days felt surreal. It was obviously just a coincidence; it was clear the box controlled me. So I barked. I can't explain that but it doesn't make any more sense to say that a button makes me bark. In fact that was pretty fucking crazy. But it didn't make any more sense to put that evening's festivities off to a whimsical urge. I had been completely out of control.
Something in the drink maybe.
As time passed, I discarded the button-operated love slave theory for something like rohypnol. Something the guy slipped me.
But it left a nagging feeling.
Eventually, I put the clicker away and got on with my life.
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Odd event of the week number two: I got an invitation out of the blue for a party at what seemed to be a fraternity. I was twenty-eight years old, and completely out of the college scene. How on earth did they get me on their mailing list?
Even stranger, I was tempted to go. Even if it was a mistake, it was the first frat party I'd ever been invited to. Well, formally invited to, I'd had frat boys shout all sorts of obscene invitations as I walked past over the years.
So on the night of the party, I agonized over my wardrobe, decided on jeans and a Politically Correct Message t-shirt, and headed over.
It was packed, and loud, and I began to regret my decision. I didn't know anyone, of course, and even if I did I wouldn't be able to find them. I tasted the punch, winced at the proof, and grabbed some pretzels to nibble, and barked.
This time, I heard several other women bark with me.
Damn. Time to go. Several of the guys around me were leering at me, coming towards me. I started for the front door. The room was crowded, and it was slow pushing past all that flesh. And the closer I got to the door, the less I wanted to leave.
