“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 he 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.
-----
I really didn't understand all the implications when Mom, after not feeling well for a few weeks, went to see a doctor, came home and told us the diagnosis. Actually she explained it to Dad when he came home from a trip and Dad tried to explain it to me. She had pancreatic cancer, which was a death sentence, not that he was that direct with me. She was supposed to have six months, but after just three months and mere days before my eleventh birthday, she passed away. I finally understood what Dad meant when he said, "She has six months." Before then, I had no idea what the significance of "six months" was. I knew she was in a lot of pain and didn't seem to be herself at all, but I figured she'd soon get better with all the pills she was taking. What did I know?
Dad really had his hands full now. Working as an OTR trucker, he was on the road more than he was at home. I was too prone to mischief to not be left in the charge of a sitter, like mean old Mrs. Larson. But she'd had enough of me by the time Mom passed. His solution was to ship me off to my grandmother, who could then keep an eye out for me after school. He put the house up for sale, pulled me out of school and moved me in with Grandma.
This was okay by me, as my grandmother tended to spoil me rotten. But best of all, I could see my Uncle Ray just about anytime I wanted. He was my dad's younger brother and was always fun to be with. A confirmed bachelor, he nonetheless had his own place away from the prying eyes of his mother, but still close enough to walk over for supper or to take care of something for her. He was a very good amateur photographer and even had a photo of a puppy and a kitten snuggled up together published earlier that year in Popular Photography. This was just before the internet came on the scene and well before digital cameras were available.
Grandma's house had only two bedrooms. I moved into Dad's room, where he stayed when he was in town. It's the same room he and my uncle shared growing up. That was okay by me, as I didn't like the parlor sofa/sleeper all that much. It wasn't ideal, as Dad snored and kept me awake, but Dad wasn't there that often, not much more than he was at home before Mom died. To me, the only down side of the move was that I transferred into my new school so late in the year that I didn't make any close friends.
I particularly liked going over to Uncle Ray's when Dad was in town. He had all sorts of nudie magazines to fire my imagination. I wasn't to reveal the existence of these magazines to my grandmother, but neither he nor Dad gave a wit if I poured over them while they drank and yucked it up after work. My hands down favorite was "Clothes Free" a nudist magazine with lots of black and white photos of naked people, men, women, boys and girls of all ages, shapes and sizes. Everything was shown, from bare butts and sagging tits to free swinging soft cocks. I would imagine myself being one those lucky boys having the greatest time of my life running around outside naked. At night I'd abuse myself mightily to the memory of those images if Dad wasn't asleep in the bed with me.
Soon after school let out for the summer, Uncle Ray announced that he was taking a driving trip during his two weeks off. His plan was drive down to Bowling Green, Kentucky and take in Mammoth Cave National Park, then swing east to catch Cumberland Falls, thence over the Cumberland Pass where Daniel Boone opened up the western wilderness to settlement, then a few days exploring Great Smoky Mountains National Park, then up the Blue Ridge Parkway, maybe visit several Civil war battlefields in Virginia, hit Jamestown and Yorktown, then head home. It was okay with my dad and Uncle Ray asked me if I wanted to go with him. Did I!
**DAY ONE**
So two weeks later, we were on the road. Uncle Ray didn't particularly like driving on Interstate Highways. He said that there was nothing to look at, so we mainly drove on two lane highways, even if that took longer to get from Point A to Point B. It took all day to get to Bowling Green, where we had supper and then found a motel for the night.
After lugging in our stuff, the first thing Uncle Ray does is send me off to fill the ice bucket for him. That would be my daily chore throughout the trip as Uncle Ray liked his whiskey and water at night. I brought him the ice and he fixed himself a drink, then sent me off to get my bath and get ready for bed. Like most eleven year old boys, I slept in my tightie-whitie briefs. Fresh from my shower, I returned to the room and flopped down on my bed for the night. Uncle Ray then went and took his shower.
When he came out, he didn't have a stitch of clothes on. Naked, he fixed himself another drink and stood about drinking it while talking to me about the cave tour he planned for us the next day. It was quite the display of male flesh. I'd seen my dad half naked any number of times and briefly fully naked too, mostly when we were changing into our swim suits at the municipal pool. I'd never really seen my uncle with no clothes on before and I had to look. It was like that nudist magazine, except he was live and in living hcolor. His uncut cock fascinated me the most. Me, I had been circumcised right after I was born, which was the custom then. My dad was uncut too, but I'd only glimpsed it briefly now and then, but here, I could look and look.
He finished his drink and exposition, then climbed into the other bed. He lay there uncovered for quite a while, talking about whatever with the lights still on. Out of the blue he asked me, "Ricky, do you want to beat off? It's okay if you do, you know. Your dad told me about your mother catching you whipping the lizard, so I know you do it. All boys do it and so do men. I certainly do it, especially if I hadn't any other action recently.
"So, do you want to beat off?
"If you do, just get rid of that underwear. It's only in the way. Besides it's much more comfortable sleeping nude."
Stunned that he's ask or suggest something like that, I remained silent.
"Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to whack off," he said looking over at me. "After that drive today and the fact I haven't gotten a blowjob in weeks, I really need to unload my balls." With that he starts fondling himself to an impressive erection. He began the old up and down, but soon stopped to smear his pre-cum over the knob of his cock. He then spit into his hand and began jerking himself off with his fist. Pretty soon he was shooting his junk all over his beer belly.
He stopped ejaculating, stopped fist fucking himself and lay quiet for a moment. He let out a long sigh. Then he turned to me and said, "Go get me a wash cloth, Ricky, so I can clean up."
I did as he asked, brought him a clean wash cloth and watched him wipe his grey-white cum from his hairy body. More or less clean, he handed the wash cloth back to me. Naturally I got some on my hand. Ewwww...
"Now take that and rinse it out real good," he instructed. "It's not polite or sanitary to leave a dirty wash cloth for the room maid to have to pick up."
As I walked away with the cummy rag, he added, "Be sure and get yourself a wash cloth in case you need it later tonight." I did exactly as he told me.
When I climbed back in bed still in my underwear, he said, "I suppose you want some privacy when you beat off tonight." With that he turned out the light, plunging the room into semi darkness. Once I figured he was asleep, I slipped my undies off and went after it, using the wash cloth I'd brought back with me to clean up afterwards. That was a better solution than using my drawers, only to have to slip them back on wet and clammy. In fact, I left them off completely. Uncle Ray was right, it was more comfortable to be completely bare when sleeping.
**DAY TWO**
In the morning he commented about my lack of dress. "I see you took my advice and took off your underwear. Now be sure and rinse out your washcloth."
He was in no hurry to get dressed and shaved naked. The very last thing he did was to get dressed. Then it was out of there and on to the Cave.
We took the all-day tour. The cave was immense and awesome! No, wonder it was called Mammoth! We saw a few cave formations in one part of the cave, but it was mostly bare rock that went on and on and on, seemingly forever. The guide told us that they didn't exactly know how big the cave was. Maybe it did go on forever. We ate down in the cave and took a short boat ride where the cave was flooded.
After the tour, Uncle Ray secured us a room in the lodge for the night. Then we took a short hike to where the River Styx flows from underground into the Green River. Later we ate in the main dining room, took some photos of the raccoons that hung out begging and then retired for the night.
Just as the night before, I got a bucket of ice the first thing. Then, while Uncle Ray had his first drink, I took my shower. Coming out in my BVDs, he looked at me, reached out, pulled out the waist band of my underwear and let it snap back in place, saying, "What's this?"
"My underwear?" I replied.
"That's your choice, Ricky. You can wear them at night or not." Then he went into the bath to take his shower. Like the night before, he came out naked. Fixed himself another drink, then stood about talking to me about the cave tour.
And while he did, he began fondling himself. Soon he had a stiffie.
"You're so big," I said looking at his erect dick.
"You'll get just as big someday, Ricky," he said proudly. "But you don't have to be big to have fun with it." With that he began openly stroking himself. He took it all the way and shot off in his free hand. Releasing his now drooping pecker, he smiled at me, then strolled into the bathroom to wash his hands.
Coming back out, he saw me still lying about in my underwear. "Okay, fair is fair," he said. "I let you watch me jack off, now it's your turn to let me watch you jacking off."
When I failed to move he said, "Look, it's just you and me for the next two weeks. I'm not going to tell your grandmother about us masturbating. Your dad... believe me, he doesn't care. He's a guy and guys jack off. It's just the way it is, so..."
I slipped my drawers down and off.
"That's better. Much better," he said.
It was really odd lying there nude, playing with myself while he stood there watching. But, fair is fair, and at eleven years old, I had a keen sense of fairness. It's not like he'd tell anybody.
I had a good squirt and he tossed me a wash rag to mop it up with.
"Ricky, how long have you been shooting off?" he asked sitting on the side of my bed and watching me clean up.
"I don't know. Six months maybe."
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, it does."
"Best feeling in the world," he added.
"Yeah, I guess."
"You guess? Tell me one thing that feels better than an orgasm."
"An orgasm?"
"Yeah, that's that intense tingling feeling that sends your nut juice flying," he explained.
"Oh. Nothing, I guess."
"Then you guess right...
"Look, on this trip, you can jack off as much as you want, whenever you want... within reason. No one's going to know, except you and me. As for me, I'm going to jack off every night. Helps me get to sleep.
"Now, let's get some shut eye. Tomorrow we're going to do the Wild Cave tour and we need our rest." He patted me on the head, rolled into his own bed and turned out the light.
**DAY THREE**
The Wild Cave tour was a blast! Wearing a hard hat and with just a flashlight, you had to crawl around on your belly in the mud in a lot of places. In one spot, Uncle Ray nearly got stuck. There were only guys on this particular trip, so the guide suggested that if he could, he should just unfasten his pants and squirm out of them. He did and got a lot of ribbing from some of the other men about losing his pants. By the time we came out into the daylight once again, everyone was a muddy mess, but we all had grins from ear to ear.
We got back to our room and cleaned up. Uncle Ray wanted an early before-supper drink, so I slipped on some shorts and got the bucket of ice. And like the two nights before, he stood around nude while having his drink. Then he sprawled out on a bed and began whipping it. This time I didn't wait for him to finish, dropped my shorts and whacked off with him. As I openly did it, I felt liberated, all shame I had previously felt in beating off alone in the dark was exorcised. Was this trip fun or what?
We cleaned up again and went and had our supper. Then it was time for a quiet stroll about the grounds. Once it was too dark, we retired for the evening.
We already had our shower, so it was just a matter of stripping naked and brushing our teeth. Then after Uncle Ray had his second drink, it was beat off time again, with me in my bed and Uncle Ray in his bed. Once again we both slept soundly.
**DAY FOUR**
Next morning he wanted to beat off before we got moving, so we did. Then we dressed, had breakfast, checked out of the Lodge and were back on the road, heading east. We arrived at Cumberland Falls in the early afternoon. Plenty of time to see the falls and grab a bite to eat for supper. Then we headed out east again.
It was nearly dark when he stopped at this run down looking motel located outside a small hillbilly town. I waited in the car until my uncle secured us a room. The room wasn't nearly as nice as the rooms we had stayed in before and unlike the other rooms, this room only had one bed. I headed back to the office to get Uncle Ray's bucket of ice. There I encountered the "manager". He was a scruffy looking man, with really bad teeth and a two day old beard. He didn't say anything, but he grinned at me while looking me over, like he was sizing me up for his supper.
When I got back to the room, Uncle Ray was already naked for the night, and was examining the door to the adjoining room. He opened it, saw that the other door was closed and locked, then shut the door. "This is an exterior door," he declared as he shut and locked it from our side.
I had no idea what difference that made so I asked, "How do you know that?"
"Simple. It's a steel door like that one," he said pointing to the main door. "And it has a peep hole. Guess someone broke the pass-through door and they replaced it with a spare exterior door."
Satisfied that there was nothing to the peep hole, he sent me off to get my bath. While I undressed for my evening shower, he fixed himself a drink.
So I'm in this tub shower with moldy title and a moldy torn shower curtain, and he rips the curtain open and joins me in the shower. This was quite the surprise, as I'd never showered with anyone before. He took the tiny bar of soap provided and proceeded to wash my back and wash my ass. It was really weird feeling his soapy hands on me like that. Then he had me wash his back and buttocks. That was fun. We then each washed our own fronts and dicks.
The threadbare towels hardly dried us, so we just hung about air drying while he had another drink. Then it was time for bed. I climbed onto the springy bed and he joined me, but left covers off.
"This is cozy, don't you think?" he said. "That shower was real cozy too. We'll have to do that again, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess," I replied thinking about how his hands felt on my ass and how his ass felt in my hands.
"What'cha say that we do it a little differently tonight?" he said.
"Do what?" I asked.
"Beat off, of course!
"Now you seem to have gotten very comfortable around me, Ricky, so if you want, I'll show you a way to beat off that feels even better. You game?"
To be continued...
