The Rewards . . .

That night her beloved Fluffy did indeed lock on to Becky's smell the moment BJ waddled through the door. She hadn't gotten a lot of sleep, but Fluffy did manage to give her the previous night's allotment of cock, plus another back-peddling tow around her bedroom. His bloated peach-size knot tied-in so tightly, it stretched out her protruding vulva to their insufferable limit.

How she managed to survive the assault on her puss she didn't even know. It was but a blur. What she ate, what she did, what she'd said, or what it was about her underpants that troubled her mother so. Complaining as she was about her messy Jake-boy undies, and if she didn't take better care, she'd haul out her girl undies again.

----

When she arrived at work the next morning he was again taken aback by the visiting party that awaited him. Mrs. Olson, the owner was there, of course. As was Ms. Max, but unlike Edith Olson, she chose to stand back in the shadows quietly keeping to herself, privately holding close to his vest all she'd seen, all that she knew.

Standing next to Edith Olson was Debra Abernathy with Bucky at her side. To say she was astounded by the transformation she saw in the dog would have putting it lightly. And when the somewhat bowlegged and slightly hobbled BJ approached, she was giddy as a merrymaker singing his praises.

BJ earned 500 bucks for that fuck which pleased Mrs. Olson all to hell, but not so much her. The whole affair left her with a nasty taste in her mouth and feeling a little like a cheap whore. That is, until Mrs. Abernathy boldly proclaimed she was going to do all she could to inform the world about the "Safari Kingdom's brilliant young dog whisperer."

Debra Abernathy was just the woman who could do it to. A titan in heels, she not only had the influence and power, but had the wherewithal to push he agenda through. So no one was the least bit surprised when later that day a reporter and photographer turned up to get the featured story that would appear in the morning edition of the Middletown Gazette.

"A dog whisperer! My, but that does have an intriguing, if not mysterious ring to it, young man." The reported, Alice McDuffy, said to BJ while scribbling down her every word.

"Just the sort of thing that attracts the public's interest don't you think, John?" she asked her accompanying photographer who was busily seeking to capture 'his' image from every angle.

"You can say that against," the photographer laughed while flashing a picture. "This one leaves Mr. McConaughey's alien abduction story in the dust."

-----

Once BJ's story hit the front page of the Morning paper it didn't take long for the deluge of inquiry to pour in. By midday next day, the pet shops phone was literally ringing off the hook and the store was swarming with the inquisitive. There were plenty of buyers to. Buying everything from Parakeets to Guinea Pigs and yes, plenty of dogs too. In fact, within 2 days all 15 dogs she had available were gone, plus 12 more Ms. Olson had purchased to replenish her stock.

In short, business was smoking! It couldn't have been better, and what of BJ? Well, her good fortune continued to rain down upon her like diamonds from the heavens. The biggest, bluest diamond of them all was offered up to her the next morning when Mrs. Olson called BJ into her office.

In her hand she held up a can of Beefy-Boy Chunks Gravy dog food bearing a stylish new label. A prototype, the can of dog food had a picture of him hugging a very contented looking Collie on the label. The whole of it designed to go with a new marketing campaign that featured BJ as the spokesman for the product, the slogan, "I Love it!" encapsulated in the speech bubble gushing out from her lip-licking smile.

Now all she need do is sign the contact and 10 grand a month would be BJ's for the duration of the marketing campaign. Mrs. Olson was darn right giddy over the offer, as BJ would have been if not for that idiotic slogan that looked for all the world as if it were he who was declaring her love for the taste of Beefy-Boy and not the Collie.

"But Sweet Pea," Marge, her mother tried to reassure her. "Aren't you always telling me how much Fluffy loves it? And didn't you once tell me you thought it would make a great hash to go with your morning eggs?"

"Mommm!" she gasped. "Dang! It was a joke, I was kidding!" She dismissed her mom's remark as just another air-headed comment, a spin-off from her bimboified, vacuous brain. Still, she was right about one thing. It was an unparalleled opportunity she couldn't let pass. So with her mother standing at her side, she signed on the dotted line.

At home everything was turning up roses for him at well. His mother was treating BJ like the star she had always dreamed of becoming. The fact is, she pampered her daughter silly, and nightly at dinner, she'd endlessly play the News segment that had been broadcast on local TV, featuring her/him as the "Remarkable Dog Whisperer, and her wondrous talents."

At work, Mrs. Olson was no less exuberant, praising him ad nauseam and catered to his every whim. Not so with Ms. Max however. She remained as adamant as ever that BJ avail himself to every opportunity to "talk" to the dogs. All done to establish a 'collaborative relationship' you understand. A relationship in which each strived to meet the needs of the other, and when necessary, broaden the lines of communication to address those special needs between a dog and his bitch. A need for his services that seemed to be expanding exponentially each day, thanks to Ms. Max's keen observations and astute analysis of the dog's problem.

"Poor fella, just have a look at him," Ms Max would sum up her observations. "New place, new faces, everyone tugging on him, no one listening to him, the poor guy really could use a hug and a good 'talking to' to set him out on the right foot."

All of which made sense to BJ. The dog did look a bit unsettled and in need of a little TLC. So as far as BJ was concerned, Ms. Agnes Max's observations and follow up analysis seemed pretty solid. Where they differed was in his prescribed remedy for the problem. A solution that had BJ shaking in fright, wishing she'd never dreamt up all this dog whispering business. But with so much invested, and with nothing less than her reputation at stake, there was nothing for her to do but follow through on her commitment. Like now, as Ms. Max brazenly asked BJ, the 'him,' to hand over his Jockey underpants so he could give Thunder a "good talking to."

"Come on, boy, crawl in and talk to the poor bastard before he explodes. See there, boy . . .," she'd said, pointing at the howling, hyper-excited caged goliath inside, his unsheathed cock already hanging down to his knees.

"Tis, tis, tis, Oh my, how the poor boy suffers. But I don't have to tell you that, you already know the story; New dog, new place, new faces, everyone tugging on him, no one listening to him. Poor boy, how agonizing!"

"The same with Dozer, poor devil, the wait has just got'ta be killing him. First Clash, then Thunder, now Gunner. All I can say is, that dog in going to be in a world of hurt by the time you get around to talking to him. That is, unless you wouldn't mind holding another one of those group talks for the fellas again. You know, to speed things up so Dozer doesn't have to wait so long for his talking to."

"Well, what do you say boy, huh? Up for it? Hell, I could even throw Bane into the mix which ought to be a quadruple shit load of fun."

----

A Mother's Never-ending Wisdom . . .

It had been a long, hard, and brutal 8 hours of talking to the animals that day. While BJ did manage to talk her way out of a tag-team cage match with Bane topping the billing, she did do Dozer and Max by days end, making her walk home a particularly agonizing one. Her ass had not been altogether turned inside out, but as inflamed as it was, it felt a raging bonfire gone out of control. All the way home all she could think about was a hot bath with added salts to help relieve the swelling, and hopefully, rid herself of the funky smell of doggy spooge that stuck to her like an indelible stain. A stain that had even infiltrated her clothes, and drew frequent comments from her mother about the curious smell that permeated the air about her.

The thought of that hot bath is what kept her slogging forward, with shoulders arched back, her hands clutching her super-heated buns until reaching home where she found her mother waiting for her with an unexpected surprise - a surprise that was tantamount to his worse dream come true.

"Look, Baby Cakes, it's Bolt!" she said, bubbling with glee, standing as she was on the porch with both Fluffy and the neighbors dog at her side. "The Johnson's asked us to look after him while they're away on vacation."

BJ knew Bolt, of course. He wasn't so much a family dog as he was a "pay for hire gunslinger," or so he was dubbed by Mr. Johnson, a man whose work necessitated the need for a "bite-first-ask-questions-later" patrol dog around.

Still in all, he was a smart, well trained dog and quick as a whip when it came to learning new tricks too. But he was also a dog with some serious impulse control issues as well. Like going after anyone that came near the yard, or whenever he spotted a bitch in heat. Just a whiff would send his unmanageability quotient rocketing skyward maddeningly off the charts. A big problem for a girl, circa boy, whose bottom was still reeking the smell of dog cum and the bitch scent that saturated the air about her.

"Mom, please, for goodness sakes, keep him away from me!" He stood his distance, though regrettably, downwind of the trio, two of whom were already sniffing the air.

"My goodness, Lamb Chop, what in the world is your problem?" she asked, wrinkling her nose, again getting a whiff of that most peculiar smell. "You sound like you've had a particularly hard day."

"Just keep him away. It's not fair to Fluffy," he thought to use his nightly bed-mate as an excuse. "Do you think he likes having another dog around to gobble up all the goodies?"

"Well, Sugar Plum, for your information they've been getting along like the best of pals so far. But if you foresee a problem that I don't, you can take them to your room to have a nice long talk with them. Take all the time you need, Sweetie. You know, to assure them no one is going to favor one over the other, and that everyone has equal access to the goodies."

"Mom, I could talk to that mean old dog until I was blue in the face and he wouldn't hear a darn word of it," he said in a huff.

"He isn't mean, Cupcake, just rambunctious. But either way, it's for you three boys to work it out," she followed as she unclipped his leash setting him free. In a single leap and a bound, Bolt had BJ's leg wrapped up in his front paws and began humping his leg like a sex starved chimp.

"Oh my!" Marge Dunwoody gasped though her hand covered mouth as she watched her mortified daughter, circa son, shuffle off toward the house, dragging her leg behind with the humping dog still attached. And bringing up the rear was Fluffy, with his tail and his cock each wagging equally enthusiastically.

"Well, I guess Ms. Max was right," Marge though to remind herself of what Ms Max told her on the phone. "A dog whisperer's job is never done, ma'am. But rest assured, your 'son' has got the skills, the talent and the tools to get the job done. Just point the way and in a minute, 2 tops, he'll have them rambunctious horndogs locked onto him and tied in to the conversation like chat-starved mates."

Ms. Max was certainly the knowledgeable professional, that much she felt certain. And though much of what he had to say was scurrilously cryptic, Marge, the ditzy blonde, saw it all as high praise for her hired help, aka, her gender bending daughter.

But then again, she really didn't need anyone to remind her of how proud she was of her daughter. She was a great kid who couldn't give enough of herself to those who needn't her the most. Whether they had 4 legs or 2, no matter their needs she was willing to get down in the muck and do what she must to engage in a dialogue to help anyway she could.

Something that was foremost on her mind as she entered the house a few moments behind the tussling trio, catching a glimpse of the boys just as they passed through BJ's bedroom door. She would have liked to follow, but thinking it best to keep out of the way, she remained where she stood at the end of the hall with an ear to the goings on. "Just to see if everyone was playing nicely," she told herself, knowing as she did how 'rambunctious' a hound Bolt could be.

For what it was worth she didn't hear much of anything other than BJ must have been speaking in tongues. Just a mix of incoherent babblings and a whole lot of "Ooh's," "Ahh's," and "Eeee's," between. None of which made much sense to her at all.

The boys seemed quite tuned into it though, responding to his incoherent rumblings with yaps and howls as if understanding every damn word of it.

Still she stood and listened to see when the real communicating would start. And she hadn't long to wait. A minute more and the scuffing sounds of a playful romp between pals broke out. Again, she couldn't discern all that much, but from the sounds of huffing and snorting dogs, BJ's squealing and the "knocking" sounds of bodies colliding into furnishing, she hadn't a doubt that both man and beast were communicating on an altogether different level.

"What fun," she muttered doltishly, and not unlike a brain-dead twit. Still, she felt a comfort knowing the talk session was getting on so very well. "Something good would come of it," Marge determined, and now feeling assured, she thought it time to continue on to the Living Room to enjoy the comforts of that glass of wine and the evening sitcoms.

By the time "Tahitian Sunset" came on, that glass of wine had suddenly grown to half a bottle. But no matter how many glasses she had, nothing could drown out the squealing and barking and smacking sounds of body parts that roared with a rumble throughout out the house. And by the gathering of neighborhood dogs milling about outside the patio window, it was clear those boisterous sounds were being heard outside the house as well. Some were yapping, some were trying to hump a neighborhood chum, while still others had their snouts pressed to the glass as if sniffing out a scent.

"Sheesh! Quiet you silly dogs," she called out, sounding every bit the dimwit on par with those know-nothing dogs.

Of course the scolding did little to deter that horde of rabid dogs, but as the hours grew late and they grow weary they vanished into the night on their own. In fact, she was about to leave for bed herself when at last BJ hobbled in. Still walking bow-back with her/his hands latched on to his super-heated buns, she-he hobbled over to the sofa and very gingerly sat down beside her.

"Oh, poor baby, is your bottom hurting you?" She asked, again sounding earnest and genuine, though still looking on doltishly, and all too much like a moron who hadn't a clue.

"Yes mom, a little I suppose," she managed to croak out."

"Oh my, it sounds like you're about to lose your voice," she expressed her concern. "All that talking has worn you down, hum?" She asked as she wrapped her arm around BJ' shoulders to give 'her- him' a hug.

"Mom, please," BJ said with a wince.

"Oh dear, but you do look stiff and sore. You've had a rough day, haven't you, Pumpkin?"

"Yes mom, its like no matter how many dogs there are for me to talk to, Ms. Max always has 10 more lined up waiting their turn. It's like never-ending, and all that work isn't at all easy on my knees or my back and ah, other things," BJ ended abruptly, a bit red-faced, looking away.

"Oh, my goodness. I had no idea Ms. Max was such a taskmaster. Well, let's see if I can help relieve what ails you. Are you hungry?

"I bought you your favorite onion soup and sour dough croutons at the store today. I know how much you love them."

"Yes mama, that might help," she said with a wince while shuffling her bottom in effort to ease the pain.

"Good," she beamed wide-eyed and bright, and then bounced up and went to the kitchen to fix him a bite.

For a short while she busied herself with the preparations and when done, she set the soup along with a card upon a tray and brought it in.

"Oh yeah, almost forgot," she said as she sat down beside BJ, placing the tray upon her lap. "I bought you something else today too," she beamed while pointing to the card she'd placed on the tray.

"I saw this while standing in the checkout line and thought it was so cute I simply had to buy it to show you."

"Here you go, have a look," she said, holding out the card with a picture of a mama chipmunk with her young one hanging on to her leg. As fat around as she was tall, she had a pair of blue button eyes and fury brown splotches about her snout that looked like freckles. But most striking of all was her smile, fronted by a pair of huge buck teeth that glistened like diamonds.

She was a funny looking roly-poly with a goofy face that had BJ beaming as well, but when it came to that vicious little Tasmanian Devil gangling down off her leg, well now, that was another matter entirely. The little fur ball that was one part fur and 9 parts teeth, and had all 20 of those gleaming white choppers embedded in her leg, all but severing it in two!

"I don't get it, mom." BJ managed to cough up, saying as much as he was asking, seemingly a bit perplexed by the odd juxtaposition.

"Don't get it?" She asked, pointing at the words captured within the speech bubble.

"Yeah, I read it. 'Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em'. So? What's that suppose to mean?"

"Well, actually it's kind of hard to explain," she said in earnest, now sounding more the meddlesome mother. "It's one of those 'good and the bad' sort of things. You know, the yin and the yang, the pleasure and the pain. I mean, it's like her baby means everything to her. He's more important to her than the air she breathes, and nothing in the world gives her greater pleasure than to tuck him in and give him a kiss in each and every night. But in order to enjoy that wondrous pleasure, she had first to endure the pain he puts her through the day long. Thus she can't live with him, and she can't live without him."

Feeling reasonably comfortable with her answer, she sat there beaming and waiting for the bulb in his head to light up in kind. But it didn't, and it wasn't until she saw his brows crease down still further that she thought to give up on the wait.

"Well, I thought it was funny. But what does a young girl, er, boy, like you know about the pain, the suffering, the sacrifices we moms make just to share a moment of pleasure with the one we love.

"Oh, I see," BJ finally brightened up. "She's saying that she might not like being dumped on, but she's willing to endure the shit he heaps on her because of all that he gives to her."

"Yeah, well, I guess that's one way of putting it. Another way might be the way you choose to deal with all the aches and pains and misery that are a by-product of your work. Rather than tell Ms. Max to ease up on your butt, you say nothing and endure the torment regardless, simply because you 'get off on' her busting your butt."

"Get off on!" A troubling phrase to be sure, and the fact that she chose to use it caused BJ to worry.

She looked questioningly at her mama, but she couldn't get herself to meet her eyes. So worried over what her mama might know, nowhere was the courage to face her. It would have been tantamount to looking her own demons in the eye. Something she couldn't do. Something she dare not do without in the bargain, losing the one thing she wanted most. The thing she both feared and by equal measure, longed for - That sweet aftermath that followed the suffering she/he endured.

Or, as her mother's card expressed so elegantly: "The thing 'she' couldn't live with, the thing 'he' couldn't live without!"

"Well, you might not want to speak up and tell Ms, Max she'd better lighten up, but I can and will."

"No mama, please don't!" she cried out, all but shedding the tears.

"Why not, Baby Cakes? Is all that hard, butt-busting work you do talking some sense into those know-nothing dogs worth the all the agony?"

"Mom, I, ah, I ah . . . , "she stammered and fretted and wrestled with her feeling, trying to find a way to explain it all away. "Mom, I'm really not all that sure. I'm thinking maybe it's sort of like that card," she said, pointing at the mama chipmunk. "That pleasure and pain thing you were talking about. Where the mama chipmunk can't live with it, can't live without it."

"Well, I guess there's a little of that in me too. Sometimes it hurts so bad I feel like I'm being ground down to dust. But afterward . . ., Oh mama, when the dog and I find a way to communicate our wants, needs, and desires between one another, there's nothing I would trade for it in all the world. "It just ties it all together for me in a way that makes me feel whole."

"Oh my," she gasped, "I wouldn't have thought. But then what do I know about such things. Alright I'll leave it for you and Ms. Max to settle on your own. In the mean time, I think it's time I haul out the rubbers again. Having to replace your ruined undies is putting a strain on my pocketbook. Plus, they're light yet aerate enough to keep your button fly Jeans dry when rolling around in the muck talking with those dogs."

"Thanks, mama," she again said with a wince while lifting her bottom to easy the pain - the some total of his day's work with Thunder, Clash, Gunner, Dozer and Max at work, and Bolt and Fluffy at home.

"You're welcome Honey Bunny," she offered a motherly smile.

"Now tell me, will Bolt, our guest for the week be sleeping inside or out tonight?"

"Mom, I don't think Bolt is going to sleep outside, not now," she said, rolling her eyes, where upon hearing his name, Bolt, with Fluffy following came prancing into the room with their dicks swinging, and tongues wagging.

And then, in less than it took for BJ to embrace her mother's look of awe, Bolt jumped up and began humping her leg.

"Sorry, mom," but Bolt and Fluffy need to talk."

"Oh my," her mother sighed. "I guess you're right. He'll be staying inside tonight."

"Yes, mom, I'm afraid a Dog Whispers job is never done . . ."

---

Das Ende

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