This is an adult not intended for the squeamish. For those
without a strong stomach, it may make you physicall ill. Please
read at your own risk.
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Dog Breath
by
Dafney Cecil Dewitt
Outside the house, it is cold and still dark. A broad beam of
light from the kitchen windows cuts through the gloom. A light
splattering of rain drops taps against the windows. It is going to
be another dark wet day. Inside the kitchen smells of coffee, and
heated maple syrup. Standing at the kitchen sink, Donna Fuller is
making pancakes for breakfast. She's a tall housewife with
medium length hair, and well-shaped breasts. Her pink robe is
tightly cinched around her small waist. Donna Fuller seems pure
and innocent. She is a attractive making breakfast
for her family. The evil inside her rises slowly to the
surface like bubbles of putrid air. When the bubbles burst,
Donna's mind wanders and her nightmare begins.
The voices return.
They tell Donna that the large bowl of pancake batter looks like a
bowl full of cum. Lifting the wooden spoon, Donna lets the batter
drip into the bowl. She fights the thought, but gives up. With a
sigh, Donna stops stirring the pancake batter and sits down at the
kitchen table. Her long legs spread apart with knees bent out.
She feels awkward. With her left hand, she covers the top of the
coffee cup, feeling the moist heat while her right hand works
out-of-sight between her legs.
Like an addict hooked on drugs, Donna has resorted to masturbation.
It is a act of desperation fueled by the frustration of sexual
failure. But in the quiet of early morning not even
self-manipulation can stimulate release. Like an addict hooked on
drugs, she dreams of more.
Without warning, the voices get stronger.
Her hand trembles.
Her desire wanes.
She gives up.
It isn't working.
The voices take over.
"Begin action," the voices say, soft as a whisper,
Donna calls out to her husband and kids. "Let's go! Your breakfast
is ready!"
Her husband, Bob is the first to the table followed by Cindy and
Tommy, the twin teenagers. The baby, Leslie, just 8 months will be fed after the others leave.
Cindy picks at her pancake like a bird while Bob wolfs down large
pieces dripping with maple syrup. Donna watches the amber colored
syrup drip onto his plate. She is mesmerized by the dripping
fluid. She wants to put her hand over his plate and let the syrup
fall onto her fingers. She wants to stick out her tongue and lick
the sweet off her fingers. She wants to suck her fingers off
in front of her husband, Bob, while the children watch. Just as her
hand moves forward toward the dripping syrup, her son, Tommy
interrupts.
"Mom!" complains Tommy, "Why does it always have to be pancakes on
Thursday?"
"Stop your whining, and eat your pancakes before they get cold,"
Donna scolds. She is angry that Tommy has broken the spell, but in
her heart, Donna holds a special affection for Tommy. He's
becoming a man, he's starting to rebel, but she still controls him.
A woman controlling a bursting with sexual energy. The
thought fills her with promise.
Donna smiles at Tommy.
For Bob, Cindy and Tommy, the voices don't seem to exist. They eat
breakfast without concern. Only Donna is worried. She is anxious to
get her husband off to work and the kids packed onto the school bus
before something bad happens.
Before the voices, Donna understood the difference between love and
sex. Now she isn't certain of anything. She loves her husband.
Bob, but hasn't had an orgasm in over six months. In her most
intimate moments, in the privacy of her own bedroom, she has been
unable to climax.
As if reading her mind, Bob looks up.
"Heat me up a little, sweetheart."
Donna pours the coffee quickly. Bob is a kind and loving husband,
but he has a quick temper. He expects a good breakfast with good
service. She does not want to make him angry.
The voices are like seductive whispers. Gentle at first. Promising
to make her happy, to give her new powers. The power to fill the
sexual needs of her dark side. But this sexual thrill is fulfilled
at the expense of control.
Cindy pushes away her plate,
"Sorry, Mom, I have to watch my weight."
Before Cindy stands up, Donna runs her hand over Cindy's pony tail
and re-ties the ribbon which was starting to come undone.
Cindy never eats enough. Donna suppresses the urge to yank Cindy's
pony tail down until her head is forced between Donna's splayed
legs. Eat your Mother" Donna says to herself. She smiles benignly
at Cindy.
Donna attends to her like a waitress. She feels like hired
help, a servant. She wears an pink bathrobe instead of a white
waitress's uniform. Underneath the robe is nothing but a stained
nursing bra and panties.
While Cindy shuffles off to the bathroom, Donna bends down beneath
the kitchen sink to fill the dog's food bowl.
There is a rushing sound in her ears as she bends over. It sounds
like muffled laughter from a room full of people.
Donna is forced to submit. Without submission she is denied
pleasure. Without pleasure her love is empty. Donna aches to
be filled. She craves fulfillment. In her quest for satisfaction,
she risks exposure as the price of pleasure increases.
Her robe falls open exposing her hanging breasts. As she hesitates
before closing her robe, Donna feels a distinct sexual surge. She
looks up and sees her son Tommy look away as she cinches the pink
belt more tightly around her waist.
As Tommy turns to leave, he thinks
"What a slut Mom's turned into, what a tease."
He averts his eyes from his mother's exposed and leaves the
kitchen quickly before saying something out loud that he might
later regret. Someday he vows, he will get even.
"I'm going out to the garage to feed Bowser", Donna announces.
No one hears her. Her husband, Bob is in the bathroom brushing his
teeth and Cindy and Tommy are collecting their school books.
Stepping down into the early morning darkness of the garage the
sudden coolness lifts up under her robe making her nipples harden
as she yells out "Here Bowser - Breakfast time!"
From then on everything happens in slow motion.
A tall skinny teenager with a forehead full of angry pimples
and pale dead blue eyes rises from behind the car. His eyes
are blank, empty looking, and he has a faint wisp of a mustache.
Donna stares at him uncertain what to do. It is the eyes that hold
her attention. They appear dull, lifeless, and dead. It is some
time, before she notices that the black object in his right hand is
a Sony camcorder.
The voices command her, "Obey the boy."
Moments later, Bowser bounds out from behind the car. His penis is
red, engorged, and dangling below his belly almost scraping against
the concrete floor. The must have been exciting him.
"Jerk off the dog," the tells Donna, raising his camcorder.
Bowser, a large black Doberman, lunges towards her. She pats him on
the head with her left hand and sets the food bowl down on the roof
of the car. With the food out-of-reach of the dog, the is
demanding that Donna satisfy the dog's other hunger.
Donna looks into the dead pale blue eyes as if there has been a
misunderstanding.
"Jerk the off," the demands.
Donna hesitates. This boy, no then her own son Tommy, is
demanding she the dog. This is disgusting. Donna
resists the urge to slide her hand around the dog's angry dick
and pump him to a climax.
Kneeling beside the dog, Donna watches as the unzips his pants
removing a pale flaccid cock.
"Wanna suck my cock?"
"No, please..." Donna begs shaking her head sideways.
"Then do the dog."
"OK."
Donna slides her right hand under the dog's belly, slowly
massaging, rubbing his already engorged penis. It is hot, and
very stiff.
Her hand pumps.
The dog's dick responds to her stimulation. She jacks him off into
the empty water bowl. Her actions are mechanical and pre-rehearsed.
She knows what the voices want. Donna feels like she had done this
before. Her hand knows what to do, but her mind remains blank.
Donna watches as the dog's throbbing penis spits out a long stream
of yellow-white into the green plastic water bowl. It squirts
out in a gooey ribbon.
"Breakfast time, here Bowser!" -the voices, echo in her mind,
mocking her own voice.
"I'm not a dog", Donna blurts out unexpectantly, expressing her
thoughts out loud.
The lowers the camcorder and stops recording.
"I could fuck you like a dog," the brags.
"You wouldn't," says Donna.
"Why not?"
"My husband," says Donna glancing toward the house.
Laughing at her threat, the waves his flaccid penis in front of
Donna's face. He is about to rub his cock across her lips when the
voices speak.
"Do you like fresh in the morning?" say the voices.
"That's disgusting! I never ..." Donna falters for a lack of words.
"You never tried cum?"
The pale eyed boy, puts away his penis, zips his pants, and raises
the Sony Camcorder to his face.
Donna looks at him saying nothing, her mild filled with the image
of dripping pancake batter.
The voices command her. "Take the bowl and pour the into
your mouth, but don't swallow."
The voices have spoken. She already knows the consequences of
disobedience. They will humiliate her, debase her, punish her
beyond wildest nightmare, and with no remorse.
Donna makes no response. She seems frozen in time. Her eyes glaze
over.
She thinks to herself. "How did I ever get myself into this
situation?"
"Is there any way out?" Her thoughts dart about in confusion.
Just a few feet away, her husband is brushing his teeth. Tommy and
Cindy are getting ready for school, and she is about to drink fresh
dog cum.
"My, God" she gasps, "Please, let me do something else". Donna
turns to face the pimply faced boy. "I'll do anything."
She instinctively drops to her knees, begging, looking toward the
blue eyed with the pimpled forehead.
"I'll suck your cock," says Donna.
In response, he zooms the camcorder in on her upturned face, but
remains silent.
Donna fumbles with the boy's zipper. She removes his long pale
cock, and is poised to put it in her mouth.
She is waiting for a sign. Some sort of acknowledgment that she is
making a sacrifice. She is not going to suck this strange boy's
cock without his consent. The least he can do is offer a word of
encouragement.
The starts peeing.
It splashes against her face and soaks the sleeve of her bathrobe
before Donna pushes it away. A long yellow stream of hot flows
onto the floor making a faint cloud of steam where it hits the cold
cement floor.
A pool of collects under the right front tire of the car.
The pale eyed boy, puts away his penis, zips his pants, and raises
the Sony Camcorder to his face.
"Drink the cum," repeat the voices.
Donna tilts the green bowl toward her open mouth saying "My God,
I'm a slut"
Her eyes are open as the sticky fluid coagulates into a single pool
of goo, as she slowly tilts the bowl toward her lips. When the
fluid reaches the lip of the bowl, she has to open her mouth wider
and raise her head up to keep the from dribbling down her chin.
Just before the slimy drips out of the bowl onto her
upturned tongue, Donna repeats her self-debasement, "I'm a slut".
It tastes repulsive to her. Hot, wet and slimy it rolls off her
tongue onto the under side of her mouth like a fat garden slug.
Donna starts to gag. She resists the impulse to vomit by turning
her head down so the won't slide down her throat. The fresh
dog fills her mouth with a pungent odor making Donna's eyes
water. To settle her stomach, she tries to pretend her mouth is
filled with pancake batter.
The voices calm her. They are condescending.
"That's a good girl" "You're a good Mommy." "Now be a nice wife,
and say good-bye to your husband and kids."
She turns automatically toward the kitchen door like a zombie.
Back in the kitchen, Donna's world explodes into activity. Cindy
yells out a quick "Good-bye, I love you Mom!" Tommy avoids looking
at Donna shouting out a quick "Bye!". Donna remains silent.
Afraid to talk. Bob is busy stuffing his cell phone into his
briefcase. No one notices that Donna is white as a sheet and
appears to be in shock. For a moment, she grows angry that no one
in her pays attention to her predicament.
"They don't really care about me at all," she thinks. She is
numb-struck by an overwhelming sense of abandonment.
That feeling is quickly replaced by fear. Bob is at the door
expecting a quick good-bye kiss. With a feigned confidence Donna
offers her cheek to Bob. Expecting and hoping for a a quick
good-bye kiss on the cheek. She desparately needs to spit out the
dog cum. She feels confused and lost as Bob ignores her cheek and
turns his face toward her lips.
"How about a little exchange of body fluids ?" he jokes.
She keeps her lips tightly pressed together. His lips press
against hers. He keeps her from moving by placing one hand behind
her head, forcing her lips to his.
My God! Donna thinks. What if he sticks his tongue into her mouth
and tastes the pungent goo? How will she explain it? Will
he ever forgive her? Why is she doing this to him?
Gradually his tongue begins to snake its way between her lips past
the pale pink lipstick and into the hot wet mouth. In just another
few seconds, it will penetrate her. Their tongues will intermingle
with the gooey cum. Standing in the doorway of their
home. Kissing her husband good-bye, Donna will share her secret.
Donna is in a panic. Maybe she should the cum. She
feels her stomach heave at the thought. If it's already in her
mouth why can't she just ? Her mouth is filling with
saliva behind her tightly clenched teeth.
Donna has decided. She will it. Maybe, she really is a
dog slut.
Before Donna swallows, Bob suddenly releases her from the kiss.
"Hey! Your sleeve is all wet," he complains. Donna takes the
opportunity to back up. "I accidentally dipped it in the dog's
water bowl," she mumbles between clenched teeth. "Yeah, well, just
don't get it on me," says Bob looking directly into her eyes.
Carefully avoiding the wet sleeve, Bob grabs her short hair
twisting her head toward his for another kiss.
Bob has a quick temper and tends to grab what belongs to him. He
likes to take what is his.
If only he knew, Donna thinks, her mind in a panic.
Her hair caught in his hand, twisting her head toward him, Donna
knows that Bob is serious. He wants some tongue. A little French
kiss in the morning to warm him up. For Donna this is a real
dilemma. She wants to submit. She wants to suck her husband's
tongue into her mouth. But if she does gives her husband the kiss
he wants, what will he do to her for giving him a mouthful of cum?
Their lips touch.
Twisting her head against Bob's grip, Donna suddenly breaks out of
his embrace. The pulling on her hair hurts.
She backs up.
"Sorry, bad breath." Donna mumbles, hoping her apology will be
enough.
"Dog breath!"
The voices shout so loudly that Donna is afraid her husband will
hear.
Bob grabs her left and roughly pinches the nipple twice,
angry at being rebuffed.
"Dog breath!," shout the voices.
Bob leaves vowing silently to teach his a lesson.
There is a sound of light laughter in Donna's ears. She feels
faint. The moment passes.
Her secret is safe.
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Do you want more? Have some ideas on where you want this to go?
Let me know at DafneyDewitt@hotmail.com
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