dWARNING: This work of Fiction contains Dark Themes, including Sexual Activity between Man and Boy, between Boy and Man, between Dog and Dog, as well as between Man, Boy And Dog… Yes, I know I’m a sick fucker! I know I should have my head examined! But the thing is, IT’S FICTION! None of this actually happened! It’s all made-up! No men, nor boys, nor dogs were harmed in the writing of this story. If this doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, then why the hell did you open the file? Don’t you read the tags before choosing a story? If you think you can handle it, by all means continue reading. If not, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Hope you enjoy!
–RogueRambler

Ok, let me start by telling you a bit about myself, which might help you understand how I turned-out the way I am. My father was a very rich and very powerful man. When I was a kid I never actually knew exactly what it was he did, but I did know that his job kept him away from home more than he was there. My mother died after battling cancer for almost two years, when I was still quite young. After Mom was gone, It seemed as though Dad was home even less than he had been when she was alive. I always thought that my father had issues about our home being the place were his wife died and while he never ever talked to me about it, my suspicions were mostly-confirmed when we moved from the penthouse apartment in the city, to our family’s estate on Lake Michigan. It was the day I’d finished grammar-school. I still remember that day like it was yesterday. I was so excited about starting high-school the following fall, I was floating on a cloud much higher than the ninth one. I got home from school and went into my bedroom. There, I found the housekeeper packing my things. . I didn’t even know my father owned an estate in Michigan, or that it had been in the family for generations. I couldn’t once remember anyone talking about the lake-estate and for that matter I wasn’t quite sure what exactly an estate was. But when the car pulled-up to the gates of the estate and I finally saw my new home (escorted by the house-staff, not my father–he was in Thailand on business), I knew I’d been there before.

I don’t know how old I was, but I do know it was way before I’d even started school, I had a memory of swimming in a pool surrounded by huge rocks… Of playing on a beach and building a sand-castle… And I remembered a man with long red hair and eyes the same color of green that surrounded the huge stone-and-log house… In my mind, I can still hear my mother giggling and I can see the big man throwing back his head and laughing… He had a deep, howling laugh and he had… …and he had a dog. A big dog. In fact, as I remembered it, the dog was huge, like that Big Red dog in the little-kid’s books. Except the dog in my memory was silvery-gray, like it was made out of metal, not flesh and its eyes were a vivid, bright yellow. I had no fear of the massive mutt, even though I have a very vivid memory of the dog yawning, opening his huge maw only inches from my face. I can still see the long white fangs, strands of dog-spit stretched between the dog’s meaty tongue and long, pointed teeth and glistening in the sunlight. But that tongue, that big, wet tongue, I can remember feeling that tongue slather over my body. I remember laughing my little ass off as that huge dog licked my face.
After my mother died, that became most precious memory,. I never really thought too much much about the man or the dog, or even where we were when the actual event happened. Most every time I relived that moment of my life, I zeroed in on the laughter. I can hear my own pig-like squealing, Mom’s song-like Ha! Ha! Ha!s (I love listening to her laugh) and the man’s savage, howling laughs. That memory has popped into my mind several times a week, ever since I can remember. I have flashes of memories before that, but none with such detail. When I really concentrate on it, I can even smell the dog’s breath, as it licks my face (and oddly enough, I can also remember smelling pee). But in the back of my mind there was always a sneaking suspicion that my first truly vivid memory might only be a memory of a dream. I’d always been afraid that I’d somehow created those images and sounds and even the smells, in my mind.
Spending as much time alone as I did, I had a fantastic imagination. With only the stodgy, old house-staff for company, there wasn’t anyone but myself to talk to and my mind was always wandering. I did have a few friends at the exclusive, private school I attended, but most of those kids were self-absorbed little ass-holes, something I figured-out only a couple weeks into my scholastic career. It didn’t take long for me to figure-out that I was, somehow, different than most the other kids. But I never really thought much about what those differences might be. I simply had the mind-set that I was different and knowing that, I lived my life. I tried to convince myself that I was different because of the death of my mother. However, deep down I knew that while having no mother at home might have contributed to my feelings, the differences between myself and the other kids went much, much deeper than that.

Like I said, I’d always feared that my memory of me and my mother laughing (well, the man with long red hair and I were both laughing too), had somehow been a dream and not a true memory. But as we pulled-up to the gates of the lake-estate, it was like I’d been struck by lightning. I saw the big stone-and-log house, surrounded green grass and a big, black wrought-iron fence around the whole thing. Beyond the yard and house was the big lake and I knew the beach I’d played-on as a tot cut a swath of sand between the grass and the water, though I couldn’t see it yet… I could remember running on that emerald-green lawn, chasing the enormous steel-colored dog and being chased by the huge dog. I could picture myself running in the sand with the waves of the lake lapping at my feet. This was where it all happened. I’d been here with my mom, the man with long red hair and green eyes and the huge yellow-eyed dog. And when the car-doors opened and I got a breath of the fresh lake-shore air, I felt as though I’d been slapped in the face. At that moment I knew it wasn’t a dream, or something I imagined.
When I turned to the house-keeper, an ancient woman who’d worked for the family since my father was a boy and asked her, “I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” The old woman reacted as though she’d been slapped in the face. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, but I knew she was lying when she added, “But it was your great-grandfather who built this place, so it’s been in the family for generations.” The house-keeper never volunteered information, unless she was feeling nervous.
“I remember,” I said, feeling as though she’d actually confirmed what I already knew was true. “I remember the swimming-pool, surrounded by rock.” We were on the opposite side of the house from the pool, so there was no way I could see it. “And there’s a statue, a…” it was a bit fuzzy, remembered staring up at something, shielding my little eyes from the sun. I wanted to say the statue I remembered was a dog, but the big steel-gray dog was already so alive in my memory, not still and cold like the vivid image that had just popped into my mind.
“It is a wolf,” came the crackling voice of the butler from the front of the car. “It stands guard over the lake-side entrance to the house.” I almost laughed at the searing glare the house-keeper threw (through the rear-view mirror) at the old man, but I was afraid if I did, somehow the butler’s words would cost him more, as I knew the old woman would give him a good tongue-lashing about confirming my memory.

The second the car had stopped under the awning I threw the door open and ignoring the yells of both the housekeeper and the cook, I started running, though a bit slowly at first, over the lawn in front of the house. I’d been cooped-up in the car for nearly five hours (spending most of that time trying to find creative ways to hide the little hard-on that kept popping-up and tenting my pants) and while it felt damn good to stretch my legs, I had to work myself up to my to a decent pace. I pulled in deep lung-fulls of air, tasting and smelling and feeling the amazing difference in the air. Fresh off the lake, the air was clean, crisp and it seemed to energize me in a way I never felt in the city. I ran and I ran, feeling even freer than I had earlier that last-day-of-school. Freer than ever. Finally I came to a corner of the house and ran around it at full-tilt. The sides of the house weren’t as long as the front, though I still ran quite a while before coming to another corner. I took that one at top-speed too, but what I saw made me slow my pace considerably. My eyes took control of my mind from my feet. I could see the beach and the pool and…
…And true to the butler’s word, there it was. Twelve, maybe fifteen feet high, staring out over the big lake, was a huge, tarnished, iron cast of a wolf. It’s stance was not necessarily threatening, nor was it overly welcoming either. Off beyond the wolf-statue was the swimming pool (though empty and dirty, not filled with shimmering clear water as I remembered) surrounded by boulders of stone taller than any man I’ve ever met. And I could just about pick-out the spot on the beach where we built the sand-castle so many years before.
So there I was, young dumb and full of cum (as they say), at the dawn of summer, living on a two-hundred acre estate on the shores of Lake Michigan. It was so far from anywhere that only standing at a window on the very-top floor of the house, could I see land that didn’t belong to my father. The house itself was incredible. It was a bit cold and dark, but walking in the main entrance was incredible sight. The large hallway stretched half-way to the back of the house, where it stopped and formed a loft for a great-room below, with floor-to-ceiling picture-windows looked out on the lake. In the entry-way there was a grand staircase off to the left and to the right were several huge oak doors leading to the library, the formal living and dining rooms and to the kitchen. Upstairs there were at least a dozen bedrooms and at least half of them had their own bathrooms. Not to mention the half-dozen baths and half-baths on the main floor. But the best room in the house was the great-room with the huge windows over-looking the lake.

I spent the next few days exploring outside the house and the nights wandering around inside the house. Outside there were acres and acres of woods, with a river on its last leg before emptying into the big lake, running right through the middle. There was an old horse-barn and carriage-house that hadn’t been used in years, as well as several tool and wood-sheds and a boarded-up well-house. Inside, among the formal rooms, I found dozens of little closets and cubby-holes and even a few hidden doors leading to hidden rooms or corridors between the rooms. The cellar was enormous and I had to wonder if it some of it actually ran under the yard. Though full of cobwebs, which I can’t stand, I found dozens of little rooms, some set up as workshops, others full of boxes and crates, there was a seemingly well-stocked wine cellar and what must have at one time been a root-cellar. But the creepiest thing about the whole basement was the huge furnace, which looked like an upside-down octopus, with a hell of a lot more than eight tentacles.
I’d been there about a week when Dad finally arrived. He spent most of the two days at the lake-estate on the telephone, only ate one meal with me and we talked for a total of twenty-three minutes. I know, I timed it. And as a good-bye, he gave my hand a quick shake and a promise that he would call someone in to clean and fill the swimming pool. While I hadn’t forgotten about my father’s promise about the pool, my father’s promises often went unfulfilled, so I hadn’t really expected anything. But every day I’d spend a bit of time out by the long unused pool, remembering a few seconds of time years before. I was in the kitchen eating lunch when we heard the truck pull-up in front of the house. It was a bit of a shock, since there was an intercom at the main-gate and no one had rung up to the house (so whoever it was must have known which numbers to punch into the key-pad at the gate, to open the monstrous iron contraption). I heard the buttler’s shoes clacking over first wood, then stone floors as he hurried for the front-doors. I heard the deep, cheerful voice of a man much younger than the butler, but I couldn’t quite make out any words. Then the door slammed and the butler’s footsteps sounded again. When he entered the kitchen, his crackled voice informed the cook, the housekeeper and me that, “It’s just Joe.” I knew by the tone of the sigh released by the housekeeper at the mention of Joe’s name, that she didn’t like him, whoever he was. Though, I had a sneaking suspicion, based solely on the ancient woman’s reaction, that I was going to like this Joe person.
“He is going back to look at the swimming pool,” the butler said, then, with what I swear was a bit of a grin on his face, the old man left the kitchen. I quickly finished eating and headed for the den. I doubt that the pool had been there when my long-dead great-grand-father built the lake-house, but his den had the second-best view of that part of the yard. The only room with a better view of the pool was the great-room, but there was no where for me to hide there. I took great care pulling the curtain back, just in case Joe happened to be looking in the direction of the window I was spying from.

There he was, wearing a bright-white t-shirt, faded-but-clean blue-jeans and black, leather cowboy-boots. His big arms were tight across his chest and his head was shaking slowly back and forth, surveying the area around him in seeming disbelief. The man was quite handsome. He had deeply tanned skin and a thick mop of dish-water blond curls. The jeans and t-shirt he wore were stretched tightly over his extremely well-muscled body. I wished he’d uncross his arms so I could see how big his chest would be. And as though he somehow heard my wish, he opened his arms and stretched them wide. Looking at the blond man’s massive chest, bulging at the thin t-shirt, I felt something start bulging between my legs.
My eye was caught by something dark moving toward the man from the side of the house. The man glanced toward the movement and a big smile appeared on his face. It took me a second to register that it was a dog. A big black and brown rottweiler ran up and stopped only a few inches from Joe. She reared back on her rear legs and easily put her front paws on the man’s shoulders. The man was laughing and the dog started to lick at his face. Then, well, it was sort of a weird angle, but I could swear I saw the man give the big black dog’s face a couple laps with his own tongue. I decided to go outside, out one of the doors furthest from the pool-area, then creep around the house until I could find a secluded spot to watch this incredible man, Joe.
I found a bush to hide behind, further from the pool than the den-window, but not looking through warped and dirty glass meant a better view. Joe walked around the pool a couple times, occasionally bending to his knees to feel something, or to get a better look. The big rottweiler trotted around him and like me, watched his every move. There was a big, wooden shed where all the pumps and filters were kept and after a bit Joe disappeared into it. I stayed put, wondering if it would be wise to unfasten my pants and play with myself. I’d been doing a lot of that lately. It seemed like my dick was always getting hard and I found the only way to make it go down was to make it pop-off. It had started getting hard the moment I saw the man and had been fully-hard before I found the bush to hide behind. And I’d been rubbing it through my pants almost that whole time.
Well, I’d sort of forgotten about the dog with my mind focused, as it was, on the hot maintenance-man. My dick was out and I’d given it several good strokes when Joe came out of the pump-room. He’d taken off his shirt and shoved it into the top of his jeans. He started stretching his arms, turning a bit so that he was facing me. I could see the muscles of his torso stretching and pulling at his skin, which was covered by a light coating of sun-bleached hair. Then he looked right at me. I swear he was staring me in the eye. And at that moment, I popped. I shot the biggest, gooeist, creamiest load of cum I ever had. I’d never felt a rush that intense in my whole life. Glob after glob spurted out of me. And with each wad I shot, my whole body clenched, seized, I could barely breathe. Then, just as I was feeling myself beginning to descend from the intense orgasmic-high, I heard one very loud, very sharp bark right behind me. I looked back and saw the big rottweiler sitting only a few feet behind me. At the same time, as though acting out of instinct, I shoved my still-dripping dick back into my pants. A glance back in front of me showed the man starting to walk toward me.

The dog didn’t move, but I could hear her snorting. I wasn’t sure what I should do. Stay down, hoping that the dog didn’t attack me, then feel like an idiot when the man finds me hiding behind the bush. Stand-up and feel like an idiot when I disclose my own hiding spot and hope the dog doesn’t attack. But my first thought was, luckily, to start wiping my semen from my hands. Then, just as he got close, I stood. My mind whirring a million miles an hour trying to figure-out what I was going to say to this gorgeous man.
I didn’t have to worry. A second after my head popped over the bush, Joe said, “Fuckin-A, you’ve got to be little Billy!”
First-off, I hate being called Billy. My given name is William Aloysius Stone. I’d I really would have prefer being called William, but that’s the name my father goes by (well, some people do call my dad Will). So, I just had everyone call me ‘Bill’. And I was about to tell the man, Joe, or whoever he was, that I wasn’t a Billy but he didn’t give me the chance.
He kept on going-on, like I haven’t heard it before, about how much I look like my father when he was a boy and as he spoke, Joe kept approaching me. Then he was right there and he held out his hand to me. There was nothing for me to do, but take it. All of the sudden I was being squeezed in a tight, full-body bear-hug. All I could see was the tight cotton stretched across the man’s chest and all I could smell was his sweat. My dick, which had definitely deflated quickly once I’d shoved it back in my pants, throbbed, as if it were about to expand again.
Then Joe’s big arms eased their clench and, a bit reluctantly, I felt myself being moved away from the man’s hard body. The man moved me as far from him as possible, with his big hands holding me by the shoulders and with a huge grin on his face, his eyes started moving up and down my body. I was petrified. There was nothing I could do, other than let myself be examined by the big beefy blond man. Then, with what I swear was a bit of a chuckle, he said, “I’m Joe,” and he released my shoulders. I slumped back, feeling a bit dizzy and afraid I might fall-over. “Used to hang-out here a lot when we was kids,” he continued, his deep, resonant voice seemed a bit higher than what it should be, due to excitement. “Shit, me and your daddy and your Uncle Riley used to…” But then the look in his eyes changed and his voice lowered, maybe a bit deeper than it was normally. “Well, I suppose you don’t see much of Riley, now, do ya?”

Ok, now I knew that there was a man name Riley, who had been like a brother to my dad and while talk of him was extremely rare, I’d figured-out that he’d been taken-in, or adopted by my grand-parents and raised with my father. I’d never really given him much thought and had never heard him referred to as my uncle. When he came-up, it was usually either the house-keeper or butler who spoke of him and he was usually simply called, ‘that other boy’.
There was a grunt behind me and Joe finally looked away from me to the big black dog. “That’s Pandora,” he said. I turned just as the dog heard her name and stood from her sitting position. With only a couple steps, she was upon me, sniffing wherever her nose could reach. And I have to admit, I felt myself throb again, when she shoved her nose right at my crotch. After a moment Joe said, “Enough!” in a deep, commanding tone and immediately the dog stopped sniffing me and sat at my feet. I looked down at her and in a squeaky voice said, “Hi, Pandora.” And I saw something white and gooey sticking to the dog’s big, black nose. My eyes still down, I looked to my own feet and realized that not only was my fly wide open, but there were still a few big blobs of cum still clinging my shirt and pants, as well as that clinging to Pandora’s nose. Though, just as I looked back to the dog, her big pink tongue snaked-up and the creamy-white glob of goo disappeared into her mouth. I was mortified. Joe had to have seen the remnants of my orgasm all over me and his dog. But if he did, he didn’t show it.
“Your daddy sure did let this place go to hell,” he said, looking over the property. I took the moment of his attention elsewhere to try and wipe the cum-spots off, or at least encourage them to soak more quickly into my clothing. Maybe he’d think I’d just pissed myself, rather than what I’d actually done.
So that was my first meeting with Joe and Pandora. They didn’t stay long that day, he said he’d just stopped by to see what all needed to be done, before actually starting the job. That night and over the next few, I thought about Joe a lot, especially when I was masturbating (which, like I said, I’d been doing quite a lot). When he started working, I’d spend hours down by the pool, watching him and playing with Pandora. I figured after the first time we met, I had no reason to hide to watch him any more and since my other choices of people to hang-out with were either the housekeeper, the butler or the cook, well, needles to say that I was usually somewhere around Joe, when he was at the estate.
Then one afternoon the cook brought lunch out to the pool-area for myself and Joe. “Hey Aggie,” Joe said and made the cook, who I’d only ever heard called ‘Agatha’ before and who I swear blushed at being addressed by the handsome man, “You think the old-man would blow his top if I left Pandora here with the kid for a few days.” Then to me, he said, “I gotta go out of town for a bit. Think you could handle watching her while I’m gone?”

I looked at the cook, who was still red in the face and gave me a look that was hard to read. I usually went to either the butler or the housekeeper if I needed permission for something. And I assumed that when Joe made mention of the ‘old-man’ I figured he meant the butler. Though when I went to him and asked if I could keep Pandora for Joe, the old man chuckled and said, “Sure, if you want. Your father always says you are the man of the house, when he isn’t home. And he isn’t due back for at least a week.”
Then it clicked. I remembered the first time I heard my father swear. It was soon after my mom got sick and someone suggested she get a little dog to keep her company while she was bed-ridden. To which my father responded something along the lines of, “There’s no fucking way I’m going to let some god-damned mutt bring who the fuck knows what germs in here. I swear to god I’d shoot any fucking dog that came in here!” So, from that I’ve always assumed that my father hated dogs, which was probably why I never asked him for one.
So the next evening when Joe left after working all day, Pandora stayed with me. The housekeeper was the only one who seemed put-out by the dog staying with us, which I really didn’t understand considering she didn’t have to do anything for Pandora. I fed her and let her out when she needed. I always made sure her feet were clean before she went inside and though she shed a little hair, I managed to keep her off the furniture in most of the house.
So that first night Pandora stayed with me, I tried to tell her to keep off my bed, but it was the only command I’d ever given her that she refused to obey. So, I figured that instead of getting myself off in bed, as I always did before sleeping, with a rottweiler who weighed just as much as I did beside me, I locked myself into my bathroom and jerked-out three loads all over the tile-floor of the shower, then went back to my bed where Pandora was already sleeping.
I remember thinking I was having one weird fucking dream that night, then waking suddenly and thinking I’d pissed myself. I usually slept naked, though I usually slept alone. I figured that if I was going to have to share my bed with Pandora, the least I could do was throw on a pair of briefs. So when I woke in the middle of the night feeling a warm wetness between my legs, I assumed that I’d had an accident, the likes of which I hadn’t had in ages. But a second later, I heard a wet smack, then felt something warm moving in my crotch. The light was dim, but a second after I heard the wet smacking noise again and saw the big, dark shape between my legs, it all clicked. And somehow I didn’t realize, until the dog’s face was once again buried in my crotch and that big, wet tongue was lapping at the cotton-covered bulge down there, that I was only seconds away from blowing another load of cum. One more lick from Pandora was all it took. I started shooting gobs of cum into my white briefs. When I started shooting, Pandora started licking between my legs with more fervor. I’m pretty sure that by the time I was done spilling my seed, Pandora had lapped-up my whole load through my underwear.

As my breath returned to normal and my body started to relax, the big dog flopped down right against me, with her back against my belly. My briefs, wet with a combination of dog-slobber and boy-cum, pressed tightly against Pandora’s haunches. I might have forgotten all about my canine-assisted nocturnal-emission, when I woke, if my underpants hadn’t been stuck to the hair on the big dog’s rump, when I finally went to roll away from her body.
The next afternoon was the warmest day so far that spring. Pandora and I walked deep into the woods, to the river that cut its way through, before dumping its cold water into the big lake. Cook had made me a couple sandwiches and given me a couple bottles of pop, which I carried in a back-pack across my shoulders. I found a spot on the river where, years before, the rushing water had worn away all the dirt from around the roots of a big maple tree. At some point, the tree fell on its side, though with half of it’s roots still firmly planted in the ground, directly beside the nourishment-giving river, the tree survived. Its branches were growing upward, rather than outward and it looked like there were several trees growing up from the horizontal trunk. I sat on the still-living, but fallen tree and ate half of a chicken-salad sandwich, giving the other half to Pandora. As she ate, I listened to the smacking sounds she made as she chewed then swallowed her half of the sandwich. The sounds she made were almost exactly the same as the ones she’d made the night before as she lapped at my crotch. The memory began a chain-reaction, which started deep in my belly. A tingling that soon hit my balls, then my dick and before long my whole body was tingling. Once my dick was bone-hard, I knew of only one way to remedy the situation. Pandora wandered over to the river’s edge to lap-up a drink of water and I unfastened my jeans and pulled my hard dick out of my underwear.

It didn’t take long for me to feel the pressure start to build between my legs. I sat on the horizontal trunk of the tree pounding my hard, little prick with my legs spread wide so I could feel the gentle breeze caressing my balls and butt. I was getting closer and closer to exploding, even though I clenched my muscles down there trying to prolong the moment as long as possible. I’d figured-out that the longer I could put-off shooting, the better it felt when I finally did. I was thinking about Joe, wondering what was really hiding under that huge bulge in his jeans. I could almost imagine his long, thick, veiny cock, hanging over a pair of plum-sized, hairy balls. It all happened in an instant. The gentle cooling breeze was suddenly replaced by a wet, warm sensation and then I heard the slobbery smacking sound. A second later my brain registered the change from warmth to the cool air on my nuts and the spot between them and my butthole and I started to shoot. And only a second later, the cool air on my wet crotch was once again replaced by a slightly-rough warmth.
I opened my eyes as the second wad of cum was spouting from my dick and sure enough there was Pandora between my out-stretched legs, her big pink tongue slobbering all over my balls and butt. As the third wad of cum jetted from my pee-hole, the big dog moved up a bit and afraid that my jerking fist might get her in the nose, I stopped stroking my spewing dick. Her big tongue lapped over the shaft of my dick, reaching up to my belly. Normally, after three or four spurts, my orgasm would begin to subside. This time, however, watching and feeling the dog’s big wet, pink tongue rasping over me, the fourth shot of cum I fired was more intense and contained more spunk than the first wad I shot. I wasn’t able to see how much cum I’d actually spilled, as the dog’s big tongue lapped the goo from my belly almost the instant it shot out of me. And it seemed the more Pandora licked me, the more cum I shot. It felt incredible. I’d never shot wad after wad like that, especially not without my fist furiously pounding my little prick. I shut my eyes again and let wave after wave of pure pleasure wrack my body, barely thinking about the fact that it was a dog licking my privates, which was spurring-on the most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced. When it was all over and my body began to relax and my breath started returning to normal, I opened my eyes again. Though my crotch and belly were glistening with saliva, I saw no remnant of the good quart of cum I must have shot. Though, looking at Pandora sitting there, I saw the last little glob of opaline goo being wiped from her snout by that big pink tongue.

Now, while I didn’t really think about the fact that it was the second time I’d gotten-off with Pandora’s tongue in my crotch when I was shooting my load, after all was said and done, I could barely get my mind to focus on anything else. I might have brought myself to the edge thinking about Joe and his hard, muscular body and the big bulge in the front of his jeans, but it was the sensation of that raspy, wet tongue between my legs that made me shoot-off like a machine-gun. I’ve already said that I’d always known there was something different about me, but I tried not to give it too much thought. That afternoon, however, it seemed all I could think about was why thoughts of that muscular man and feeling his dog lick my crotch turned me on to the extent it did. As Pandora and I walked back to the house, I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with me. Fantasizing about men, or other boys was bad enough and something I’d always tried not to give too much thought. But after the incredibly intense orgasm I’d just experienced, I couldn’t put it out of my mind. What kind of freak was I? That I was gay, well, at least I knew a word to classify those feelings within me, even if I’d never put too much thought into it. But these new thoughts about the dog… well, that was a whole different concept and other than silly jokes about hillbillies fucking their sheep, the thought of anything like that involving animals never crossed my mind.
So that second night Pandora stayed with me I decided to get naked, as I usually did before bed and instead of locking myself in the bathroom, as I’d done the night before, I started jacking-off in my bed. I’d barely been going at myself a minute before I felt the big dog’s weight shifting on my bed. Once again, Pandora got between my legs and started to lick my crotch. I pulled my legs up a bit and felt her tongue dipping down to the crack of my ass, before reaching my tight, little hairless ball-sac. Then, when I started to shoot she moved up a bit and once again I had to take my hand off my dick for fear of hitting her, as she licked my whole dick and belly, cleaning my cum from my body almost the instant it shot from my dick. I didn’t cum as hard as I had that afternoon, but it was damn close. And once I was done shooting, Pandora continued lapping at my dick and lower torso. Finally, I had to make her stop, as my dick was becoming so sensitive that her rough tongue was starting to hurt a bit as she licked me. But instead of backing-off, Pandora began to move up my body. Despite her size, she moved very gently up my body, licking my chest (and making my still-hard dick throb when her raspy tongue moved over my tiny, little nipples), then my neck and finally my face.
Back when I first shooting opaque, watery droplets of cum, rather than the dry orgasms I had as a little boy, of course my curiosity got the best of me and I tried a tasting the goo that spurted from me. I didn’t like it. But every so often, as I got a little older and my cum thickened and became creamier, I’d wipe my finger through it and try another taste. I still didn’t like the taste, but there was something kinky about licking my own cum from my fingers, that over-ruled the bitter taste and made me do it anyway. But that night, with Pandora licking my face, I opened my mouth to take a breath and felt her tongue slip between my lips and got a taste of my cum. My dick throbbed and my hips instinctively humped up and I felt myself pushing against Pandora’s slightly-furry warm belly. For some reason I didn’t mind the taste of my own cum when it was being delivered into my mouth by the big rottweiler, well, along with the feeling of her warm underside against my own chest and belly. I threw my arms around her thick neck and nuzzled my face into her muzzle, occasionally feeling her cum-flavored tongue reaching into my mouth, as she continued to lick my face.

Even though I’d just shot a big load of cum, my dick stayed bone-hard and it didn’t take long before I started feeling the need to get-off again. Now it wasn’t unusual for me to get myself off a couple times a night (or day), but usually I wasn’t ready to go just seconds after finishing myself off. It felt pretty good rubbing my primed, little prick against Pandora’s underbelly, so I didn’t try too hard pushing her off me, even though I was aching to grab my dick and pound-out another load. I was holding the big dog tight against me, feeling her warm softness from my crotch to my face, when I felt something rub against my dick and balls that felt not just warm, but hot. Hot and wet. I’d all but wrapped my legs around her haunches, trying to feel as much of the big beast as I could against me and it took me a couple seconds for logic to burn through the fantastic feeling of another warm body against my nakedness to realize where the soft, hot wetness I was feeling on my dick was. And once that realization hit me, I must admit that I was a bit taken aback. After all, I’d never dreamed that feeling my dick rub against the pussy of a big bitch-dog would ever be anything I’d get-off on.
With a bit of reluctance, I pushed Pandora off me and grabbed my dick. After a couple strokes I released my dick and without really thinking about what I was doing, I brought my right hand to my face and gave it a big sniff. I could smell the remnants of my load combined with the dog’s saliva, as well as another scent that was a bit more tangy, or musky. Even though I truly did know what that musky scent was, I tried not to think about it as my mouth opened and my tongue poked out and I licked the gooey mixture from my hand. Even without touching myself, my dick throbbed as I licked the pungent wetness from my palm. When I could taste no more of the bitter, tangy combo on my hand, I reached back down and gave my dick another couple strokes, before bringing my hand back to my mouth for another taste. After the third time I licked my hand, the taboo taste was all-but gone and all I wanted was more.
In the haze of lust, I’d barely noticed that Pandora had gotten off my bed and was standing on the floor a few feet from me. She was looking away from me, giving me a clear view of her backside. Her tail was standing straight up and wagging slightly and I could see her butthole and the gash below. Now, I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t noticed the furry mound between her hind legs before, but something was different about that part of her anatomy now. Instead of a furry muff with the line down the middle, that part of her seemed to be more fleshy. In the dim light of my bedside lamp, I could see deep pink tissue protruding and glistening just below her anus. Without giving my actions much thought, I moved around so I was sitting on the edge of my bed and much to my surprise, Pandora backed-up, so that her haunches were positioned between my knees.

Now, there are dozens of excuses I could make-up for what I did next. I was naive and had no clue what I was doing… I was so horny that lust, not logic, took over and I had no control over my actions… It was just a bit of playful experimentation… Or, maybe I really am a sick person and simply couldn’t resist the urge to touch the exposed, swollen, wet, shimmering, pink slit. Whatever it was that made me do it, well, what’s done is done. My fingers were still wet from licking the musky mixture of body fluids from them, so when the tip of my index-finger made contact with the distended, almost-mucoid tissue, it glided easily along the engorged surface. Even with the least-possible amount of my skin touching her, I could easily feel the extreme heat within Pandora’s body emanating through the puffy pink patch poking from her furry mound. Just as gently, I touched the other half of the elongated-heart-shaped snatch. Then, feeling a bit more of her on my fingertip, I ran my finger from the top to the bottom of the quivering gash.
I swear I didn’t push my finger in. It was Pandora. When my finger was about half-way back up the trench bisecting her two pussy-lips, she moved back and forced my spit-slicked finger right inside herself. I thought I felt her heat before. The big rottweiler was burning-up inside. I didn’t dare move my finger, knowing how sometimes, when I’d poke a finger into my butthole, it could really hurt bad. And I didn’t want to piss Pandora off. Now, maybe she started moving herself against me, or maybe I finally did break-down and start feeling around inside her a bit, but before long, though there was only one of my fingers inside her, I was grinding against her with the knuckles of all the rest, digging that one finger deep into Pandora’s womb. She made some whimpering sounds and a few low growls and she even looked over her back at me and bared her teeth. But I just knew that she wouldn’t turn on me. And I knew that she could, at any time she’d want, take a step forward and all contact would be broken between us. But Pandora kept herself back, tight against my hand. In fact I gripped her rear-flanks with my knees and thighs to keep her from getting too far back, as the angle of my hand was becoming weird and I couldn’t put too much pressure on my wrist. But, I did keep my finger buried deep in her snatch.
I fingered her a while, exploring her vagina inside and out. From how my finger slid around in the deep trench, I knew that I wouldn’t have any trouble getting two, or even three fingers inside Pandora. And I swear, the more I got inside her, the harder she backed herself up against me. Before I pulled-out and started licking the slippery slime from my fingers and hand, I’d had all four of my long, skinny fingers fucking Pandora, so deep that only my thumb stopped me from shoving my whole hand up her hole. And once I’d licked all the goo from my hand, I stuck three of my fingers back inside her for seconds. As I was scooping my third helping of the addicting juices from Pandora’s pussy, a nasty, evil thought occurred to me.

I gently yanked my fingers from the hot depths of the bitch and, shoving my fingers in my mouth to start sucking, I got up and walked to my bedroom door. Savoring the tangy taste of my first-ever finger fuck, I slowly opened the door and peeked up and down the hallway. All was dark, I heard no sounds and saw no one. Without a sound, I closed the door and, with a click, locked the bolt (I didn’t have a lock on my door, back in the city and had several times almost gotten caught jacking-off by one of the house-staff, who occasionally would look in on me in the night), because there was no way I wanted to get caught doing what I had in my mind to do. Pandora didn’t move, other than her big black-and-brown head, as she kept her eyes trained on me. When I went back to her, I walked right up to her and bent a bit, as I started rubbing her face and kissing her head. She greeted me with a couple laps of her big pink tongue across my face, then she moved her head down and started pushing her muzzle, as well as her tongue, right against my hard, little dick. I took my hands from her head and straightened-up a bit, though keeping my knees bent a bit, so that my crotch was on the same plane as Pandora’s mouth.
Now I know that, in a way I suppose, this was my first-ever blow-job. Not that Pandora actually sucked my dick. Not like another person could have, but Pandora wasn’t a person. With her mouth opened, she moved her muzzle against me, her tongue going wild and occasionally wrapping around the skinny shaft of my dick, pulling it into her mouth. While once or twice I felt my dick rub across a couple of her teeth, she never did bite down or use her fangs on my dick.
This wasn’t the nasty thought I’d been considering when I locked the door, but I was all-but helpless to stop Pandora from what she was doing, figuring that we still had another whole day and night together, before Joe would return to take her home. And the moment Joe popped into my mind, well, Pandora had just pulled my dick into her slobbery mouth again, but this time she sort-of pushed herself forward. I could feel her blunt, cold, wet nose pressing into the hot skin, from which and not all that long before, had sprouted a fuzzy patch of pubic-hair. I could feel the lumps of Pandora’s lower-canine teeth under her extended tongue, both of which were pressing against my young, hairless balls. The whole shaft of my dick was inside the rottweiler’s maw, surely it was her tonsils (do dogs have tonsils?) I could feel tickling my dickhead. And it was the most incredible thing I’d ever felt in my entire life. That, along with the thought of the dog’s master, well, I couldn’t help it.

I thought I’d shot a big load of cum earlier, when Pandora was licking between my legs. Before the first wad cleared my pee-hole, I was all-but doubled over with my arms wrapped around Pandora’s torso, pulling her tighter against me, trying to shoot my load deeper down her throat. Her tongue kept sliding around my balls and up the lower-half of my butt-crack, while my dick probed the hot, wet, softness of her mouth. I started to howl as my load spewed from my dick. Instead of individual jets of cum, like normally happened when I shot-off, there was only one powerful and drawn-out burst, more like I was peeing, instead of coming. I heard Pandora gulping, her tongue moving faster and with more intent over my balls and lower-crotch. I kept spraying more and more cum down the dog’s throat. Every time I’d hear her swallow what I’d shot inside her, I was spurred-on to deliver even more boy-cum into her gulping maw.
By the time I finally finished shooting my load, I was so drained that Pandora was supporting a good half of my weight, with me along her back, her head firmly planted in my crotch. It sure was a good thing she was such a strong dog. It took a moment for me to get enough control of my muscles to pull away from Pandora and get myself back on my feet. Her tail was wagging like crazy, as she licked and licked at her face and within her own mouth. I gingerly stepped to the bed and, with my feet still on the floor, I fell back until my back hit the mattress. My breath was coming in huffs and puffs, as I lay there having just shot the very first wad of cum I ever would into the body of another living being.
After several seconds I was over-taken by the post-orgasmic low and the reality of what had just happened hit me like a ton of bricks. My erect penis had just been orally stimulated, to orgasm, by an eighty-pound female rottweiler, who proceeded to ingest my semen, the only remnants of which was still clinging to the cap of my now completely flaccid dick. For all intents and purposes, I’d just been blown by a dog, who swallowed all-but the last drip of my load. What the fuck had I just done? What kind of freak was I? What would Joe say, if he ever found-out what I’d done with his dog? That was when I felt Pandora’s wet, hot tongue claiming the last drop of semen, from the tip of my dick. Then she started licking the sweat from my balls and trying to get her tongue between my buttcheeks.
“No!” I said with the most forceful tone of voice I could muster.
Pandora obeyed and backed-away from me. I closed my legs, pulled them up on the bed and within a few minutes, fell into the deepest sleep I’d slept since moving into the Lake-house.

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