“Bedtime, BJ!”
“Okay Mom,” BJ, our multi-persona, gender bending male impersonate called back, putting aside the glue and the parts of the model plane ‘she’ was working on. Turning around in her seat, she looked down at the foot of her chair where Fluffy, the family poodle sat waiting for her to finish. “Hey, boy, you ready for bed?”
Wagging his tail, Fluffy looked wildly excited, hardly able to contain his anticipation. “Oh, yes you are, yes you are,” BJ, our male impersonate teased, leaning down nuzzling up again Fluffy’s snout. Her giddy smile was bursting with exuberance, while Fluffy’s tail thumped wildly against the floor, showing his excitement for what he knew would be coming next.
Rising up from her hobby desk, BJ turned off the bedroom light to ready herself for bed. Then under the soft, warm glow of the night light, she quickly peeled off her button fly Jeans and Hell Boy Tee, then pulled back the covers and jumped into bed followed by Fluffy. A jump Fluffy made with a single bound from 5 feet back, landing square atop the pillow upon which BJ rest her head. Leaning up, she reached out to cradle Fluffy’s head in her hands and kissed him softly upon his snout.
“That a boy,” she cooed and ruffled his ears while looking down beneath him. The tip of his cock, already poking out from its sheath glow a molten red, and from out the tip, glistening droplets cascaded down like raindrops upon her Dyno-Boy bedspread.
It was a sight that warmed her heart, and gave rise to her own sense of excitement, in the guise of a tingling sensation that radiated from out her loins, followed by a build up of moisture that dampened the crotch of her Jockey’s.
As she sat and watched that gnarly length stretch and bloat and throb like a time bomb ready to explode, the throb of her own heart followed an equally fiery pace. Like a racecar pace, zooming off the charts nonstop and until, at last, the metamorphose complete, she expelled a sigh of longing as she watched all 8 plus inches bob and weave and danced about like a prize-fighter showing off the wares to his admiring audience.
Yes, that’s right, 8 inches is a venerable package for any dog to carry much less a poodle. But then again, Fluffy wasn’t your typical poodle. A Poodle and Lab mix, Fluffy was a 2 foot tall, plump 85 pound bundle of mongrelized poodle hair. Colored a grungy brown with a pair of inordinately large canines that protruded hog-like up and over his upper lip, he was an eyesore that only BJ could love. But more importantly, he was her buddy, her nighttime bed mate who among other things had one hell of a huge libido. Like insatiable, as hungry as a slot machine into which our multi-persona, gender bending male impersonate, would endlessly dropping in the coins night after night.
Now, you’re wondering why any mother would even think about allowing such a freakish aberration the likes of Fluffy into the house, let alone sleep in her daughter’s room?
I mean, it does make one wonder, no? Was she like a fruitcake or something? Or was she some sort of eccentric, or deviant, or just your average, run-of-the–mill intellectually deficient moron who is but a step away from being institutionalized?
Or, perhaps, she was just a mother who is just astute enough to know there is nothing smart about stepping in between a girl who thinks she is a boy and her dog!
Me? Well, at this point in my telling of this tale, I honestly don’t know where she sits when you take in the full scope of things. I like to think she is both astute and wise enough to manage her parenting well enough. But on that, we’ll just have to see.
----
Managing the Household . . .
As we all know, a dog in the household is not to be ignored. They require a constant eye and a ton of attention, least you have them shitting in the corners, chewing up your favorite slippers, or humping your pillow. And, in that regard, Marge Dunwoody was no less diligent, making it quite clear to her ‘BJ’ that she wasn’t about to tolerate any of that.
“If you want him to stay inside then he is yours to take care of,” she would tell her BJ, though in truth she really didn’t have to. While a tedious job to be sure, BJ took to it quite readily, if for no other reason than to insure her mother didn’t discover the post-coital mess left behind upon the bedding when she awakened the girl, boy, dog slumbering trio in the morning.
“Gosh darn it, it’s you who makes the mess and it’s me who has to clean it up,” BJ would mock a frown.
“But that’s okay, I don’t mind,” she then smiled warmly, with eyes bright, while rubbing her hand along Fluffy’s underbelly, then moving it down a few inches further, she’d palm that jerking, bouncing, throbbing bone that she was going to come to know far more personally in a minutes time.
And sure enough, in less than a heartbeat, BJ heard her mom, Marge, walking down the hall toward her bedroom. Fluffy’s nightly cue that it was now time to broaden the lines of communication with his bitch. Only now in a far more basic, primal way to satisfy his urge to fuck her.
“Nighty-night, Honey Bunny,” her mother called out as she turned off the hall light before closing her bedroom door.
“Night, mom,” BJ called back, then again looked a very anxious looking Fluffy in the eye. “You ready big boy, ready as me?” she whispered with a grin that added a few watts of brightness to the night light.
“Come on, Fluffy,” she followed as she turned around and flopped down atop her pillow head down, ass up. Fluffy hadn’t to see more. In a flash, he jumped atop ‘Jake’s’ ass, and wrapped his paws around ‘Barb’s’ hips, and in less time than it took BJ to wipe the smile off her face, Fluffy powered-up, took his paw off the clutch, and drove our gender bending male impersonate head-on into the headboard. CLUNK!
“Ahhh, shit! Easy boy, easy,” she vented a muffled cry, suffering the trauma of Fluffy’s claws and the brutal, rapid fire assault on Jake’s ass.
“Awk! Ouch! Ow-ow-ow!” BJ rasped gratingly as Fluffy punched out a plum-size hole down to her core with blitzkrieg speed. Like a knife through butter, he powered through the indefensible and rode roughshod over her, using his cock and the full weight of his 85 pounds to bully and batter his bitch into submission.
It was a mugging, plain and simple. Every fucking stroke felt akin to a punch in the gut, steeling away her breath, leaving her gasping for air adrift a sea of pain for 3,5,7 minutes nonstop and until at last, all that changed. On a turn of a dime, all the torture and pain gave way to a joyous flutter deep inside BJ’s belly, and a blast of cum from Jake’s wiener halfway across the bedding.
“Aaaaaaah!" she blissfully sighed, basking in the sweet aftermath. “That a boy,” she purred, once Fluffy had turned around, his peach-sized knot tying them together butt to butt. And that’s how they’d remain, locked in their nightly bond savoring the pleasures that come after an earth-shaking fuck.
But that’s how it went. First the insufferably painful assault on her person by that mixed breed entity known as Fluffy, followed by the pleasures that would be hers once she’d given up, given in and surrender to the suffering. The pleasure and the pain! The two sides of the same coin. The two contrary, yet interconnected forces that pulled upon our sweet lil’ gender bending male impersonate with equal gravity. No matter the enormity of the anguish she suffered, it all occupied the same place in her head. A place that both stoked his fear, and by equal measure, it was also a place she wanted to be - needed to be - to make herself feel whole. Full stop!
------
We’ve met BJ the girl BJ the boy Fluffy their dog, and now it’s time we meet mom . . .
“Good morning, Lamp Chop. You look like you had a great nights sleep.”
“Yes mom,” BJ replied, her breath smelling like shit. Taking a seat at the kitchen table, she dove head-long into her morning bowl of flakes, intentionally avoiding her morning kiss.
“What? No kisses and huggies this morning?” Marge, her mother, feigned a pout.
“Please mom, I’m trying to eat,” BJ managed to cough up through a mouthful of soggy flakes.
“Did you clean up, before you came down?”
“No, mom, after I eat,” BJ grudgingly replied, a tad agitated by the pestering and prying.
“That’s fine dear,” she managed to concoct a smile while her nostrils continued to sniff the air, trying to discern the origins of that obnoxious smell.
“You know, you could have at least taken the time to give the bathroom a visit before you came down,” she said with a wince while brushing a strand of Poodle hair off her daughter’s Hell Boy Tee shirt. I mean, passing on a bath I can understand, but the bidet?”
“Jeez mom, will you quit it!” BJ huffed in exasperation. “I told you, those are for girls!”
“Oh, its Mr. Mister this morning is it? She asked in earnest, yet sounding every bit the meddlesome mother who was venturing into a territory she didn’t belong. But that was Marge Dunwoody. Call her a doting mother, or if you like, a brain-dead twit who hadn’t a clue. You can because she was all of those things and more, and you never knew which one you were going to get until she opened her mouth.
“Okay, Mr. Mister, you made your point. Bidet’s are for girls not for boys. Sorry, forgive me. It’s just that sometimes in this crazy world it’s hard to tell which side of the mirror you’re looking through; especially for a single mom who is raising a daughter, or even a sometimes daughter.”
“Yeah, well, I guess so,” BJ, our gender bending male impersonate grudgingly replied, then in effort to let her know that she’d heard her plea, “Okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you, Honey-Bunny.”
“Darn, mom, I told you, it’s BJ, not Honey-Bunny. Now, shush, I’m trying to listen,”‘he’ said with ‘her’ eyes fixed on the news program playing on the TV across the way.
“Yeah, well, thank you anyway,” she mumbled off to the side, then looked down when Fluffy nudged her, wanting to be fed.
“Good morning pretty boy. You look so happy and content this morning,” she said while ruffling his ears, and sounding as bubbly as an uncorked bottle of sprite.
“You’re my sweetie, oh yes you are . . ,” she pampered and babied him. “My BJ takes such good care of you, oh yes she does,” she cooed, she teased, “only you look pretty hungry.”
“Honestly, with all the horseplay - the silly rough and tumble games you ‘boys’ play before bed - it’s a wonder you’ve yet to die of starvation.”
“Are you going to feed him or should I?” she then asked, looking up at her daughter, her son, only to find his eyes still glued to the TV.
Looking to see what was consuming all of his attention, she saw a man dressed like a cowboy and holding the reins of a white spotted Appaloosa who called himself a horse whisperer. According to the tall, lean cowboy, he possessed the unique ability to talk to horses. A claim he was well prepared to defend when asked by the reporter standing close by why folks shouldn’t think this all a scam.
“Tell me, Cowboy Jake,” asked the woman reporter holding a mic up to his face. “What is it about the way you talk to your horse that differs from how my unenlightened twelve year old daughter speaks to hers?”
The gentleman cowboy had a good laugh at that. “Good question,” he replied, quickly taking on a more serious demeanor as he spoke about where the differences lie. Explaining to her that it was his in-depth understanding of those differences on the physical level, and more importantly, on the subliminal level that he alone was tuned in to. The singular gift belonging to him alone, and gave voice to the previously unheard.
“If a horse prefers oats over barley, your daughter might not be able to discern that, whereas I can. No trial and error, no hit and miss. They tell me and I respond directly to their wants, needs and desires.”
“It works the other way around as well. If I’m uncomfortable with his gait, I just tell him and he endeavors to meet my wants, needs, and desires in a like manor.”
“You use the word ‘tell’ as if horses can actually understand the mechanics of our language,” the lady reported followed up, her question spurring the interest of Marge, BJ’s mom, who was quick to add an exclamation point to the reporters pronounced skepticism.
“Gotcha!!” she smirked like a cat with a mouthful of canary.
“Well you see, Ma’am, it’s like this,” Cowboy Jake replied. “Plain and simple, they can and do talk. And if you know how to listen they will tell you all you need to know. Not only that but you’ll find them remarkably articulate as well. Of course you’ll not see their lips forming the words, ‘I want oats’, but I can read their wants as clearly as if they had.
“Allow me to demonstrate, he then said, turning toward the white spotted Appaloosa. “This beautiful animal is named Duke and belongs to Mrs. Jones who has secured my services to help settle him. As she can verify, we’ve never met before.”
“Yes, that’s true,” a woman’s voice could be heard from behind the camera.
“Why thank’ya mam,” he tipped his cowboy hat toward the woman standing off camera.
“Now watch! He then followed while combing his fingers through Duke’s mane. “Duke, tell the nice lady how old you are,” he instructed, and the horse responded by striking the ground with his hoof four times. “You’re four, is that right big boy?” To which the horse nodded his head and curled his lips as if speaking.
“You like your oats don’t you boy?” He then asked, and amazingly, the horse nodded to the affirmative.
“My, he does sound convincing.” Marge was quick to brush aside her initial skepticism. “You know, in a way, that sounds a lot like you, BJ. Only you don’t talk to horses, you talk to dogs, like Fluffy. Which to me is pretty much the same, and while the two of you communicate in ways I’ll never understand, no one can deny it bonds the two of you together as tightly as twins. I bet he makes good money selling a service like that.”
“Think so, mom?” BJ, our gender bending male impersonate asked through a mouthful of soggy flakes.
“Oh yeah, it kind of makes him a star too. You know, with pictures in the paper, talk show interviews, the whole lot. He could name his price, I’m sure.”
“A star!” Now that was a word that caught BJ’s attention. For a 16 year old about to graduate without a prospect in sight in either of the two world’s BJ lived, the possibility she might be able to earn a living doing what she loved to do, and become a “star” too, well now, that lit up her world like a search-light lighting up a night sky.
“Gee, mom, imagine me, BJ Dunwoody, the dog whisperer! It sounds so cool! Do you think I should talk with the school counselor about it? Maybe he can help me find someone with an interest in hiring someone like me. You think?”
“Hum, yes, you’re right! That fits you to a tee,” Marge lit up with a smile. “But you needn’t ask your counselor. Why not go see Mrs. Olson, the owner-operator of ‘Safari Kingdom Pet Emporium’ on you way back from school. She always has a sign in the window needing some sort of help or another.”
“Gee-whiz Mom, thanks. That’s a great idea. I’ll take along the letter of recommendation from Mr. Green.”
“Absolutely, and don’t forget to dress smartly. First impressions are important you know.”
“You want me to dress smartly?”
“Yes, you know, fashionably.”
“Mom, please!” She huffed.
“Oops! Sorry, I mean dapper, like a smart dressed boy!”
--------
Safari Kingdom Pet Emporium . . .
Jake, BJ Dunwoody stood outside the Safari Kingdom pet shop window watching the dogs on the other side of the glass excitedly jumping about in response to his madcap antics. Dressed in his brown khaki shorts with a pith helmet to add just the right touch, BJ felt as ready and prepared to win over Mrs. Olson’s heart as BJ would ever be.
Entering the shop BJ found Edith Olson behind the counter having just sold a canary to a lady customer. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Olson. My name is Jake Dunwoody and I would like to apply for a job.” BJ then added a smile meant to win over her heart.
“My, young man, if you don’t sound the well mannered one,” she gleamed, pleased by his manner, and if not for the fact that the slim, rosy-cheek apparition standing before her looked more a girl dressed as a boy, she would have hired him on the spot, carte blanche.
But even though she wanted to, needing the help as she did, she instead just stood there rubbing her chin, hem-and-hawing it over, and asking herself what it was she was getting herself in to.
That is until her worry in the abstract, gave way to the precedence of her real world needs.
‘Boy, girl, what-the-hell, I need a poop scooper, not a rink master,’ she said to herself. ‘Besides, it is the age of the ‘can do women’ after all is it not?’
“Why of course, young man, you look a hearty fellow. Now, may I ask your age?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m 16. But I have a work permit, and as I graduate next week, I’m looking to set out on the right foot. I’ve also have a letter of recommendation from Mr. Green,” BJ said, handing her the letter.
“Well, I’m certain this letter expresses nothing but the highest regards for your achievements,” she said without bothering to read it. “But what I’m most interested in is why you wish to work here?”
“Oh golly, Ma’am, I want to work here because it’s perfect for me. I love pets, dogs the most. I love being around them. I love taking care of them. I like buddying up with them like the best of friends should. But must importantly, I know how to talk to them.”
“Talk to them? She asked, seemingly caught a bit off balance. “Yes, well, of course, everyone feels as though they do. But I suspect you meant to say you know how to get them to do what it is you want them to do.”
“Yes ma’am, but to me it’s more in the way of a collaborative relationship in which we both try to meet the needs of the other. If he wants a lick of my ice cream cone, then we sit down and talk to him about it until both our needs are met.”
“Well that’s interesting. You actually hear what they’re saying, do you?”
“Yes ma’am. I’m a dog whisperer. I’m not a professional or anything like that. But one day I will be, maybe even one of the best, a star!”
“Oh my heavens young man, such high expectations. But a dog whisperer?” she again asked, looking rather puzzled.
“Well, I can’t confess to knowing much of anything about that young man, but if our star-to-be doesn’t mind starting out small and mucking around in the trenches with an old shopkeeper like me, then welcome aboard. I’m pleased to have you.”
“Wow! Holy smoke! Good golly, thank you madam, you won’t regret it. You’re going to have the happiest, most satisfied dogs in the whole wide world, I promise.”
“Very well then. Now, if you would go out around back you’ll find the shelter where we house our pets for the night. That’s where you’ll meet Ms. Max. That’s Agnes Max, the gentlewoman who manages the shelter and cares for our pets. Like the eight scallywags you see in the front window along with the other dozen scallywags we rotate in and out daily.”
“Those are the dogs you will be helping Ms. Max care for. That would includes tending to their feeding, cleaning, exercising, picking up after them and what have you.”
“Mind you, they can be a raucous bunch. More than enough for two workers, so if you don’t mind the hard work, Ms. Binx will get you started.
---------
Work Begins . . .
The dog shelter around the back was a white with red trim building built to look like a small house. With a gabled roof, skylights and windows, flower pots on the sill included, it looked quite the charmer. Then when you add in the fenced-in doggy playground that fronted the 20 by 20 shelter, the facility made quite the idealized setting.
However, quaint as this little house appeared on the outside, inside was an entirely different matter. Not in a bad way, it just looked so run of the mill, Kennel-like, with rows of cages lining the walls, a grooming table and a cement basin embedded in the floor for bathing the dogs. It also had a strong stench when the dropping hadn’t been picked up, as well as a small office from which Ms. Max emerged when BJ entered.
That would be, ‘Ms.’ as in she bowed to no man – and ‘Max’, as in brawny, big-boned, and mannishly large woman who was made to look all the more butch by the suspender pants, red black checkered flannel shirt, and steel-toe lumberjack boots that she wore.
“Hello? Ms. Max? Is anyone home?”
“Yeah boy, I hear you,” she grumbled as she walked out her office pulling up her suspenders and wiping the perspiration from her brow.
“You’ve come to pick up Blackie?”
“Blackie?”
“Yeah, kid, Blackie, that mean bastard over in the front cage.”
“No, I’m your new helper. I’m here to work,” BJ said while peeking in to see the “mean bastard” inside. Only the bubbly, tail wagging black Labrador she saw inside didn’t look so mean to her at all.
“Work, huh? What’s your name?”
“BJ!”
“BJ? That ain’t no name,” the ol’ batty grumbled, as she took in the sight of him, pink socks and rosy cheeks, et al.
“Yes, Mam, I mean, no mam, I mean that’s what my mom and teachers and everyone else calls me, and now Mrs. Olson calls me BJ too.”
“Yeah, well, okay, I just hope you got the muscle on those weenie li’l arms of yours to hold your ground around here better than that lazy fart you’re replacing,”
“Yes, mam, I don’t mind hard work, and I love working with dogs,” he said, beaming a huge smile.
“Huh! Well we’ll see. Starting now I guess, since I’ve got to leave you along for a bit because I got me a doctor’s appointment on account of my hip. It’s been acting up pretty bad, so you’re going to have to work through the schedule on you own till I get back.
“Here’s the schedule,” she then said, handing him a clipboard. “And there’s the clock,” she then pointed to the clock on the wall. “And over there are the scrubbers, towels and the pail to clean up the droppings. So you better get to it.”
“Yes, mam. What if the phone rings? Do you want me to answer it?”
“The phone doesn’t ring here. The calls come through the shop and Mrs. Olson tells me. Besides, I told her I’d be out on account of my appointment so she hasn’t a whole lot to say. That, and the fact she can’t leave the store unattended means you’re on your own.”
“No problem, Mam, I’ll get it done,” BJ, the boy followed, perusing the schedule until a matter of importance came to mind.
“Oh yes, one more thing before you go. The schedule says I’m to clean the floor, bathe the dogs, manage the scheduled outside playtimes, and at closing time, bring back the dogs who are on show in the shop window. But it doesn’t say anything about Blackie.”
“That’s because he’s a special order. A dog we got for a guy who wanted to buy a hunting dog. Only the first day out the mean bastard took a chunk out of his ass the size of a lamb chop. Now we’re waiting for the pound to come pick him up, no doubt to put him to sleep.”
“Oh, how horrible. I don’t see anything wrong with him. I think he was just scared. You know, new place, new faces, everyone tugging on him, no one listening to him. I bet I could get him settled in.”
Yeah, kid? What’cha got that I ain’t got. A magic wand stuck up your ass, or maybe it’s just your shit always comes out smelling like roses?”
“No,” BJ cracked a smile. “But I can have a talk with him and try to work it out.”
“Talk to him? Shit! Good luck with that, boy. But if you find you have the time, have at it. Just don’t let him out. Got me?”
“Yes, mam, I’ll be careful with him, promise.”
“Good! Now that you’ve been warned, I’ve got to get going. I’ll be back before closing.”
“Talk to him?” Ms. Max, that diesel truck of a woman grumbled under her breath as she hobbled her way out the door. “Just my luck,” she sighed, sounding a bit peeved. “I need help, competent help, and they send me another freaking dimwit who’s even dumber than these know-nothing dogs.”
-------
Blackie: The adventure Begins . . .
It was approaching closing time when BJ, our gender bending male impersonate completed the list of scheduled tasks. With all the dogs clean, fed, and set for the night, BJ turned his attention to Blackie.
The big black Labrador looked the paragon of submissiveness, with his eyes shining bright and his tail thumping out a rhythm against the bars with excitement. All harmless enough, reinforcing all the goodness BJ saw in him.
Kneeling down on all fours in front of the cage BJ, the boy, reached in to ruffle his ears.
“You okay, boy?” BJ asked, now enthusiastically engaged, the dial on his ‘boy to girl mode meter’ turned up full volume and resulting in Blackie’s heightened excitement as evidenced by his increased hopping and dancing about, as well the sudden emergence of the shiny red tip of his cock from its sheath.
“Oh yeah, you’ve a happy fella, I can see that,” BJ then followed, only now, with the dial on his ‘girl to boy mode meter’ set to super charge volume, adding extra spark to ‘her’ voice.
“What’s that, boy? You need a hug?” BJ, the she, spoke to him as if expecting an answer, and more surprisingly yet, the big Lab responded with an antsy whine as if he had.
“What’s that? You need to know that there’s someone who cares about you?” BJ, the she, then followed, now finding Blackie’s building excitement spreading through her as well.
“Yeah, well, I can’t let you out because Ms. Max told me not to. But if you want I can go in so we can buddy-up and talk for a bit.”
“But you’ve got to promise you’ll behave, okay buddy?” She then asked as Blackie’s antsy whining and dancing about reached a fevered pitch.
“Yeah?” She answered herself. “Okay, I’m coming, I coming, buddy,” she responded excitedly as she hurriedly unlatch the cage door to do what she felt she need do, to open up a line of communication between them.
‘And, why not?’ she thought, and ‘he’ acknowledge, ‘I’ve still got my underpants on, and even Fluffy knows my butt isn’t on the menu when it’s covered up.’
So both BJ the she and BJ the he did just that after discarding her smart khaki shorts, and then scurried in to give Blackie the hugging embrace he so desperately needed. Only as her butt passed threw the door, the gate lock lever snagged the waist band of her underpants, pulling them down and over her rump. But worse yet, it pulled the door shut behind her, the lever locked in position.
It had all happened so fast, so quickly, BJ, the girl, hardly had to time to consider the circumstance before Blackie jumped over her back and landed square atop her ass. Then with claws dug in deep, he pulled his bitch in and powered up those massive thighs and struck like a lightening bolt, driving all 8 + inches of that bloated monster down to ‘his’ core, and like an arrow, near through ‘her’ heart.
“Ugh!” Our gender bending male impersonate huffed a puff, expelling the last of the air still trapped in her, his, lungs. Breathless, windless, with mouth frozen open in awe, there was nothing to be done but hold on for the ride.
And oh, what a painful, gut retching ride it was too. Starting on the first powerful stroke that Blackie drove down and through the fluted rim of her anus with reckless disregard to all but his want to satisfy his primal urge. Each violent thrust executed with all the precision of a great machine, only this particular machine exhorted its exhaust from out his snout.
BJ, the she, was immersed in a fog of pain, her only lifeline, the electrifying feeling of that pummeling cock stroking that sweet spot up Jake’s ass. That special spot that caused ‘her’ to gasp, and ‘him’ to struggle just to catch his breath. A feeling that was growing all the more intense as that rutting dog built up steam, pummeling faster and faster for 3,5,7 minutes and until, at last, those deep guttural rumblings turned to snorts and grunts as he shot a torrent up jake’s ass - A shot that caused Jake to shoot off a blast nut juice of his own, and ignited a tingling, throbbing ecstasy deep in her belly as well.
It took over 30 minutes for that peach-sized knot to finally pop free. And when it had, it was accompanied by a gushing geyser of cum that puddle around her knees.
It was the worst of all circumstances that smelled of trouble. What was ‘he’ going to say to Ms. Max upon her return? How could he ever hope to explain away being locked in the cage with the dog bare ass naked, the floor a swamp of cum? How could he ever hope to cover ‘his’ misdeeds?
“Nothing,” BJ, the she, answered herself. So, instead of busting out in tears, BJ just lie there with Blackie sprawled out over top ‘her’ back in post-coital bliss, dreaming about his two-legged bitch.
“Oh well,” BJ the she and the he heaved a sigh and fell back on his usual refrain, “What’s got be, has got to be.”
------
An Hour Later . . .
"Youhoo, I'm back boy," she said as she stepped through the door, then with a heavy stride her lumbered over to her office without even bothering to look for her hire help.
"The Doc put my hip back in place, but he said he wanted to see me again tomorrow. I hope that works for you, boy," she then said while hanging up her coat and putting away her purse.
Of course, BJ had neither the mind nor the want to response, but Blackie did, in the form of soulful moaning whine that sounded near spiritual.
Looking that way, Ms. Max finally spotted BJ, the new hire, locked in the cage.
"Oh my," she then fretted. "Sorry about that, boy, I should have warned you. Those damn latches spring shut like a mouse trap.”
"Oh well, my bad," she then followed as she walked over to undo the latch showing nothing but indifference, as if finding her new charge buried beneath a dog lying in a puddle of cum and locked in a cage was an everyday sight.
Once more, she showed not a hint of disgust, anger, nor did she look disconcerted in the least. Rather, her response, or what there was of it, was a literal clinic in hear-no-evil, see-no-evil. Looking over, under and around the obvious, but worse yet, it all came off as all too methodical, her actions all too calculated!
An aloofness that began the moment she freed the latch, and then on her way back to her office, she simply called back over her shoulder. “It is 5 p.m., the shop is close. We’ll see you bright and early in the morning,” she said, then nothing more as she closed she behind . . .
-----
Reaping the Rewards . . .
The next day BJ arrived at work early and eager and ready to give it all a fresh start.
Dressed in his safari khaki’s and his head all but buried beneath his pith helmet, BJ, our multi-persona, gender bending male impersonate looked bright and chipper, if not a bit bowlegged thanks to Blackie and Fluffy, but eager and raring to go nonetheless. As he entered the yard behind the shop he saw Ms. Max outside the shelter talking to Mrs. Olson, the pet shop owner, and another gentleman he’d not met as yet.
“Good morning, BJ, “Mrs. Olson greeted him. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Davies, the gentleman who had purchased Blackie. He’s come to take him back home.”
“Really?” he screeched out jubilantly, though a bit leery, worried as he was of what Ms. Max might have said to her about all that had transpired the day before. But, when BJ looked her way and saw nothing but smiles, he guessed rightfully that all was well.
So shrugging off the fears, BJ again greeted Mr. Davies with the warmest of smiles. “Oh, how wonderful, Mr. Davies, you’re doing the right thing. Blackie isn’t a mean dog, not at all. He was just scared and felt like no one was listening to him.”
“Well, apparently you listened,” the very appreciative Mr. Davies pat him upon the shoulder. “From all I can see he looks an entirely different dog. And from what Ms. Max has told me, I have you to thank for that.”
“Oh, you needn’t thank me. All he needed was someone to talk to. You know, to listen to him and work things out.”
“Well kudos to you young man. You did a splendid job and ought to be proud.”
“No problem, sir. It really was all my pleasure,” BJ beamed as the two of them shook hands, looking quite proud of him, herself, if not feeling a bit martyred by the pain still radiating up from her ass.
After Mr. Davies and Blackie departed, Mrs. Olson smothered him in her bosom. “Good job young man. I’m proud of you. I won’t ask how you managed to work the miracle, but it certainly merits giving that dog whispering business a second look. In fact, if you’re up for it, I’m thinking about doing just that, starting with my neighbor, Mrs. Abernathy.”
“The unfortunate woman recently inherited her daughter’s dog when her granddaughter developed an allergic reaction to his fur. He’s a big dog but quite friendly with those he knows, while on the other hand, he’s quite aggressive toward those he doesn’t. And as we live on a busy street, his barking and threatening to snap at folks walking past makes for quite a problem.”
“Obviously, something must be done, and she’s willing to pay handsomely for the help. I’m hoping that might be you. Given your talents I think you’re the perfect person to ask to help her. Plus, in never hurts to lend a helping hand to a woman of standing in the community, especially one who is the editor of the Middletown Gazette.”
“I’d love to, Mrs. Olson. It sounds like a great opportunity, and my type of dog. A dog in a new place surrounded by new faces who feels put upon and hasn’t a soul to talk to.”
“Very well, then I shall ask her if she can bring him in this afternoon.”
-----
The Plot Thickens . . .
By noon, Ms. Max was already on her way to his follow-up appointment with the doctor. Limping rather badly, she didn’t look well. Unlike Debra Abernathy who swept across the yard in a pair of cut-throat heels with Bucky, the dog she had inherited in tow. And yes, Bucky was a very big dog. A jet black Doberman, he stood a smidgen above BJ’s hips and undoubtedly bettered her 105 lbs. Just the thought of taking him on left her quaking in her sneakers, especially after taking note of the size of his balls. Like tennis balls ricocheting off the wall, his low hanging balls ricocheted back and forth off his knee caps (patella) with an audible “thwack!”
“Are you BJ Dunwoody? She asked, taking his hand. “Yes, ma’am, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“My, what a polite young man, and quite photogenic too,” she smile, then leaned back and framed a square with her fingers as a photographer might in framing a picture. “Oh yes, quite photogenic. Mrs. Olson should start thinking about adding your lovely smiling face to her weekly ad in the paper.”
“Although I’m beginning to wonder if dear Mrs. Olson might have underestimated the size of my problem. Bucky must out weigh you by the better part of 30 pounds.”
“It’s not the size that matters, Mrs. Abernathy.”
“Oh my, where have I heard that one before?” she giggled. “But no matter, Mrs. Olson says you up for it, so you must be up for it. Just promise me you won’t let the brute push you around, okay young man?”
After her departure BJ placed Bucky in the empty cage once occupied by Blackie. The dog responded well to his lead, and while he didn’t push, pull or bully BJ around, it was quite obvious that Bucky was unlike any dog ‘she’ had yet to meet. It could be seen in his steely, unflinching eyes, and when BJ got down on all fours to “talk” with him, it could be seen in his stance that was unnervingly motionless, showing not a lick of emotion. That is, until our gender bending male impersonate looked down and saw the gnarly, spider-veined length swaying to-and-fro between his knees like a foot long Bratwurst.
“Oh gawd,” she gulped, now knowing what that ‘talk’ with Bucky was going to mean to her ass. But that’s what she was here to do. What she’d already done countless times before with Fluffy, then Blackie, and as she would do now with Bucky to open up a dialogue with him, the first step in establishing a “collaborative relationship.” Of course it was going to be hellishly painful, and yes, she’d suffer. But he also knew that the pain was something she had to endure if he wanted anything positive to come from their dialogue.
That’s just the way it worked, and in her mind’s eye it all made perfectly good sense. But when she unlatched the cage door to crawl in, this time sans underpants, the ‘good sense’ part of the equation somehow didn’t add up. Especially when she found herself nose to cock, that throbbing foot-long monster already dribbling pre-cum on the floor beneath her chin.
As that steely eyed dog just stood there gawking, sizing her up, her eyes moistened when she thought about her beloved Fluffy, and what it would mean when he got a whiff of the remnants of Bucky’s sperm that would surely still be dripping from her gaping puss when she got home.
“Would it piss him off? Or would it excite him?” she wondered like it had last night when it was the remnants of the Blackie’s cum filled his nostrils? An odor, a taste, that so inflamed his passions that he fucked BJ three times over the course of the night, the third time resulting in their almost getting caught. The time when ravaged by thirst, Fluffy ran off to the kitchen to drink from his bowl, towing her along behind by his knotted cock. All the way there, and all the way back BJ was made to scurried quickly behind like a back-peddling spider crab to lessen the pull on her puss, finding cover back in her room just as her mother stepped out of the bathroom.
Yes, it had been a long and pain-ridden night for BJ, as it probably would be again tonight once Fluffy got a whiff of Bucky’s tailings.
Just bringing it back to mind pained her as much now as it did then, but when Bucky’s dripping, drooling, throbbing cock on the spur, sprang up and slapped her across the face with a wet sounding thud. It was awakening to be sure, a warning as to what was to come.
And a true harbinger it turned out to be. Beginning the moment Bucky jumped over her back and fired up the power-train. Then faster than a heartbeat, that rutting dog struck her dead center, a hole-in-one. And then, with his ‘hot rod’ fully embedded, fired up and ready, that rutting dog revved up his engine, popped the clutch and pushed the pedal to the metal – Vroom!
That first stroke drove her puss and knees up off the floor, driving her forward until her face slammed up against the metal bars. “Poof!” The impact plunged the air out of her lungs, and 3/5ths of a second later, he was pounding her like a blackjack wielding thug, his baton plunging down to the depths on every fucking stroke for 3, 5, 8 minutes nonstop and until, busting a nut, the brute howled like a coyote baying at the moon.
“Talking to him, huh, boy?” Ms. Max chuckled, finding BJ face to the floor and her puss hung up midair, still tied to Bucky’s knot. “Oh yeah, that is quite the silver tongue you got there girl. Talk to the animals, indeed!”
BJ looked up, but hadn’t the words to speak. However, the tears were now gone, and in their place was the glassy-eyed look of contentment. Like a girl basking in the sweet aftermath after an excruciating ordeal, savoring the pleasures that followed once he’d given up, given in and surrender to the suffering.
To be continued......
