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My Wife is a Bitch
by Silver Dragon (silver-dragom@bookandpoems.com)

***

The little dog's long leash hobbled her on all fours. 
It was funny how it happened, but not to her. Her dog 
Buddy, however, loved it. Then came another accident, 
and then one more. Then came her girlfriend. (MF, 
reluc, beast, bd)

***

All homes in our neighborhood are ranch style, as is 
ours, or maybe not. It definitely started out that way 
and it still looks that way. Or it would if it wasn't 
for a small addition that the previous owner graced the 
house with, a second floor mansard which sits like a 
pimple in the middle of the house, as incongruous as a 
top hat on a teenager on his walk to school.

But if opportunity knocks you open the door. In this 
case it was the chance to buy the place from the widow 
after it had been on the market for several months. 
There were lookers, but not serious lookers. In fact, 
some even laughed. They came, they looked, they drove 
away. We made a ridiculous offer, at least that's what 
the real estate guy said it was. I could not help but 
point out to him that it was for a ridiculous looking 
house. The widow decided to take our ridiculous money 
and we owned our first home.

The yard was already fenced on all sides so we felt 
comfortable having Buddy, our dog, roam the back yard. 
We also liked the protection that a roaming shepherd 
provided. When I just classed Buddy was a shepherd, I 
meant this in a general way; he was a generic dog that 
looked as if in his gene pool the shepherd genes had 
the majority.

If he had any faults, it was his extreme friendliness. 
He was of the opinion that a greeting was not a 
greeting unless it was accompanied by a kiss and a lick 
across your face. Naturally, to get to your face he had 
to rise up on his hind legs, which made him unsteady, 
so he had brace himself against falling forward. The 
best way to do that, his dog brain reasoned, was by 
putting his paws on your shoulder. It was definitely a 
most friendly gesture, but we did meet a few people who 
felt otherwise.

What to do with the playhouse on top of the house was 
never a riddle. It just screamed to be a den with a 
computer and some other paraphernalia we males need in 
our life. It even featured a small fridge so I didn't 
have to holler to my wife to bring me a beer, which 
also meant that she didn't have to negotiate the steep 
steps up from the kitchen. I love my wife and I don't 
want to burden her if there is another way. Having a 
fridge I could keep my beer close at hand where it 
belonged.

Now that you have met my house and my dog, I want you 
to meet my lovely wife Susan. Because she is slim, with 
a B cup, she can be mistaken for a teenager until you 
get closer. She has perpetually smiling eyes, shapely 
long legs, and a well modulated ass. Her auburn hair 
pronounces "I promise to be a fun person". 

Her disposition is the problem. While she can have a 
temper she normally is calm and steady, with an 
unusually well developed sense of humor. In other 
words, the ideal wife, lover, partner, and team mate. 
So then, what is the problem?

Despite all the praise I heaped on Susan and that 
praise was well earned, despite all that, she is a 
bitch. I don't know if there is a connection with her 
period of bitchiness and those wonderful days you girls 
have every month, or is it some kind of frustration, or 
just orneriness that lives deep down in her and has to 
be aired from time to time. 

All I can say is that she becomes almost impossible to 
live with until I put her on my knees and spank her 
like an unruly child. After that she is her sweet, 
lovable, and loving self again. I read up on that 
condition on the Internet and it seems that there are 
quite a number of women afflicted with this condition.

Last summer I was working on a project in my den while 
Susan was downstairs, probably waiting for me to come 
down so she would have an object to throw her verbal 
venom at. But I stayed in my safe haven and avoided 
being the victim of another of her bitchy periods. I 
thought it was about time for another spanking, but I 
figured I'd rather wait till tomorrow.

It was getting stuffy in the den and I went to the 
window to open it and let fresh air in. Susan was on 
her hands and knees on the lawn, pilling weeds. She 
wore her usual short housedress, probably without bra 
or panties as was her habit at home. They are too 
confining she had told me when we started dating, and I 
never complained. 

Suddenly a little brown dog appeared from nowhere. He 
dragged a long, thin rope after him, which probably was 
his leash. He was running with exuberance along the 
fence, across the lawn, then back to the fence, even to 
Susan for a fleeting visit. 

She finally caught the end of the string and called 
him. Now he started running in circles, under her 
belly, then to her front, then as far away as he could, 
returning again. Susan soon had string wound around her 
hands and her wrist and when the dog did a final run 
away from Susan he pilled the string tight. I could see 
that now both wrists were tied together, and the more 
she struggled to free herself the worse the situation 
became. The brown dog was tired out and plopped onto 
the lawn, keeping the leash tight.

I stared in disbelief and was ready to run down to help 
her when Buddy came to investigate and sniffed around 
her rear where her dress had ridden up to expose her 
ass. She wiggled her ass to keep his wet nose away, but 
he was determined and probably felt that this was an 
invitation. Her pussy smell must have been overpowering 
to him. It became obvious that his hormones had started 
their dance because I could see the results. His 
erection waved under him, long, hard, and red. I did 
not believe this could happen, but it did.

Buddy mounted her and almost immediately found his 
target. Now it was too late to come to the rescue. 
Pulling the dog away would certainly have been a 
traumatically painful experience, even if he would have 
let me pull him off. So I watched helplessly as my wife 
was fucked on the lawn in broad daylight, I could only 
hope that no one would come through the gate. Such as 
the meter reader who was due today. I finally had an 
idea. I grabbed a blanket and ran downstairs.

Fortunately I still had a little of my mental faculties 
working and grabbed our digital camera off the living 
room table where we normally keep it. I approached the 
tableau quietly and slowly. I didn't want to startle 
the dog. As I got close I could hear Susan moaning, 
followed shortly by her usual "Oh god... Yes, YES, 
TES!" that I have heard many times. It is her prelude 
to the final act. SUSAN WAS HAVING AN ORGASM. I stood 
rooted to the spot for a minute when she started again 
on another climax. She had her eyes shut tight and did 
not see me taken numerous pictures in rapid succession 
from all angles.

I counted four climaxes, waiting for Buddy to finish. 
Aster the last wave had subsided and she returned to 
reality she looked around and was mortified to see me. 
I got down on my knees and tried to comfort her, but 
she was all spit and fire as if the affair had been my 
fault. I kept quiet, untangled her, draped the blanket 
over her and then stood guard at the back yard gate 
until Buddy disengaged himself. She made it back into 
the house in record time. Later, coming out of the 
bathroom, she made a beeline to the bedroom to change 
her clothing.

When she returned to the living room she accused me of 
having stood next to her all the time and not helping 
her, maybe even encouraging the dog to mount her. After 
a short while I had had enough, I yanked her on to my 
knees and gave her a well deserved spanking, during 
which she started to simmer down. When I was finished 
she contritely kneeled in front of me on the carpet and 
told me she was sorry to have been so angry and 
spiteful and asked me to forgive her. This was the 
usual routine. 

Having seen and heard that spiel many times before I 
could only tell her that I loved her. I pulled her to 
me and we hugged and kissed for several minutes. Then I 
asked her, "Do you know how bitchy you were the last 
three days?"

"Yes, I know, I was a real bitch."

"You sure were. And now you are also a different kind 
of bitch. A real bitch. A bitch to a shepherd dog. So 
from now on I can call you a bitch any time if I want 
to, and it will fit."

I could see in her face that she was relieved I could 
joke about the affair. She was not quite sure how she 
should feel about what had happened. It bothered her 
that she had been fucked by a dog, she felt dirty, 
abused, and soiled; but what bothered her most of all 
was that she had enjoyed it to the point of having had 
several orgasms.

There was an unspoken agreement to write this off as a 
one-time happening and not to talk about it. But that 
was difficult because there was a very obvious change 
of behavior in Buddy. Every so often he would pester 
Susan by lightly taken her leg in his mouth and not 
wanting to let go when told. Susan usually had to use 
force to dislodge him.

It was about a month later, after Susan had had her 
monthly spanking that we were playing around in the 
living room. Susan had gotten very excited and horny 
and was attacking me and we rolled off the couch. She 
wound up with her ass high in the air and me doubled 
over her head. She wiggled to get free and I am sure 
her ass wiggled also. At any rate, it seems that Buddy 
remembered that signal and was on her in a flash. It 
all happened so fast that I didn't even know he had 
mounted her until he was humping her.

There was no way out. Susan by that time had learned 
the hard way about an excited dog penis and the 'knot'. 
All I could do was sit in my arm chair and watch the 
show. I also told her that she might as well let go and 
enjoy. Later, after clean-up and a bit of rest, she 
allowed that it was much better than the first time, 
she really enjoyed herself. There was an undertone in 
the way she expressed herself, which hinted that 
another bout might be welcome.

A week went by without Buddy being obnoxious and Susan 
hoped he had quit grabbing her by her leg. But she was 
wrong. Our neighbor Doug, who is a veterinarian, 
stopped by with his wife Julie one Saturday afternoon 
for a drink before going back to his office to check on 
a dog with a rare condition. We were standing in the 
kitchen sipping our wine when Buddy started in on Susan 
again. He was really determined to pull her outside. 
Doug had a quizzical look on his face and did not make 
a sound. We finally dislodged Buddy and retired to the 
living room, closing the door behind us. Doug still had 
that strange look on his face as he kept looking at 
Susan.

He finally asked, "did the dog do this also when he was 
a puppy?"

"Oh no," blurted out my wife, "he started that only 
about a month ad a half ago. Can you tell me what is 
going on with the dog?"

Doug did not answer right away, just kept looking at 
Susan. The silence hung heavy in the air until he 
finally spoke up. "I know of only one case in my own 
practice. But it does happen more often than one would 
expect but, it is not talked bout except among 
professionals. It simply means that he considers Susan 
his personal bitch, which does not happen without a 
very, very good reason. Why don't we wait till later 
and I explain it to Susan."

"No, I will explain right now." So I told him the 
story, but not Susan's reaction. I could see mirth in 
his eyes but he dared not laugh. Julie looked at Susan 
with wide open eyes, eyes whose pupils had dilated 
considerably. It was a week or two later that I found 
out the reason for that.

Not long after Doug's explanation Buddy surprised Susan 
again in the living room while she was on the carpet 
looking under the couch. She had dropped her pencil and 
thought that it had rolled under there. Buddy jumped on 
her back quite forcefully, which caused her to lose her 
balance. As she tried to straighten he mounted her, his 
weight keeping her from standing up. This was the third 
time and this time she submitted and did not struggle, 
what else could she do. She hollered for me though, to 
keep her company.

This time there was no question, Susan enjoyed herself. 
She made mewling sounds, she squealed, she whimpered. 
As her tension mounted she arched back at Buddy, she 
clenched her fists, she threw her head from side to 
side. I watched with amazement as her whole body 
started to shake, she was breathing hard, her breath 
coming in short bursts. 

As her first climax mounted she let out a loud shriek, 
then whimpered a short while before going into her 
standard routine of "Oh God...Yes, YES, TES", signaling 
the beginning of her climax. As I stood at her side I 
thought I felt a presence, it was just a feeling at 
first. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw 
some movement. I turned and there was Julie standing 
next to me. She had her right hand under her skirt, her 
eyes were glazed over, and her mouth was slack as she 
took in the scene before her. 

I do not know how long she had been standing next to 
me. She was shaking slightly and I actually felt sorry 
for her, so I went into the kitchen and fixed her a 
vodka martini, her favorite, to calm her nerves. She 
stayed put, she didn't scream, she didn't flee the 
devil's den as most women would have done. I began to 
wonder.

When it was over and Buddy dismounted, but was still 
attached, she went over to kneel quietly next to the 
exhausted Susan and tenderly stroked her friend's hair. 
Susan was quiet for a few minutes, resting her body. 
When she turned to Julie she smiled at her and just 
said, "Hi Julie, what a ride. Let me catch my breath 
and I'll tell you how Buddy got me this time." 

A light went on in my brain. Girls talk among each 
other, and from what I had just heard, Susan must have 
told Julie all about her encounter with Buddy on the 
lawn. No wonder that Julie did not scream. But why was 
she so upset. Or was she upset? And another light went 
on. If the light that went on was correct, then it 
would also explain why Buddy behaved so strangely when 
Julie visited yesterday.

Then another light bulb went on in my slow brain. If my 
wife can be a bitch to Buddy, I certainly can be a 
friend, a buddy, to Buddy, and help him out taking care 
of his two bitches.

END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 64