Why must I be like that? Why must I chase the cat? Nothin’ but the dog in me.

It was a matter of seconds before I had her damn near painted on jeans off of her.

“Hands and knees.”

I’m not really sure my descriptions can do her body justice, any more than I could adequately describe the Mona Lisa to a blind man. Her proportions were… hell, she had a beautiful ass with wide hips that somehow didn’t make her look bottom heavy. Those pale white cheeks had a sprinkling of freckles on them and just the slightest bit of jiggle when my palm marred her pure white skin with an angry red handprint.

She whimpered some more and backed her ass up, wiggling it invitingly. I could see her pussy, glistening in the harsh LEDs of the kitchen’s track lighting, already red and puffy with need.

Like a bitch in heat.

The first thrust took her by surprise, and she let out a little yelp, followed by a groan of satisfaction as I sunk home.

Yips of pleasure interspersed with growls and groans lay down the soundtrack for the debauchery we preformed, my hips pistoning against that shapely ass. It was only a matter of minutes before I was ready to pop.

She was howling her ecstasy as I pulled out and yanked her around to face me by her neck. As my own orgasm overtook me and I plastered her face with my release it was to the sound of… applause?

I turned to the kitchen door to see Anwyn and Cheri standing there holding up sheets of paper with numbers written on them like Olympic judges. Anwyn’s showed an 8. Cheri’s was printed with “5.3 for lack of biting”.

Is it possible to really die of embarrassment?

(Title: “Atomic Dog” by George Clinton and Parliment Funkadelic)