Wednesday, August 16, 2017

"Hound Dog Says Hello" A non-alpha male story



Sweetie;
You should be getting this letter by airmail about two days before you leave Rome.  It’s Monday over here.  Send me a text when you get this so I know you have it and you’ve read it.  I did get your email, you’re coming back on United 3455, at Hart Jackson field 6:35pm.  I’ll be there.  I lost a couple of pounds while you were over there.
I’m writing this to you on expensive paper, with a good pen, because I want you to have this in your hand and read it to me Thursday night when you’re back with me.  I want you to read it when you’ve almost, not quite, taken off all your clothes.  When you’re almost not quite down to your panties.  Leave those on for me.  I’m sitting at that little wooden table in the back patio and I’m imagining you with those silly Betty Boop panties, with the ridiculous little ribbon bow on the top, as if they should be untied like the ribbon embracing a precious gift which of course they are.   And promise me, sweet woman; promise me you won’t let any of those idiot Italians talk you into waxing your cave woman black bush off.  I’m a bush guy, you know that.  God and the Virgin Mary put that bush on earth just for me to nuzzle my face into and thank God I’m your Hound Dog.  Leave it where it is, oh please.
I’m sitting at the table with a beer.  Thinking about the shadow of your bush behind your Betty Boop panties is giving me a hungry hard on.  I miss you so much I want to take out my dick and look at it standing up in the morning air. I have the celibate patience of a monk.  You’ll be here soon.
I’ll want you to be holding this letter as you’re coming out of the shower with your bathrobe on.  What is it about pink you like so much?  Maybe you should have curlers in your hair, yes, there is something so sincerely, gorgeously trashy about a beautiful woman, her face naked and vulnerable without make up, with plastic curlers in her hair, something Freudian and wrong, like fucking your stepmother.  And you’ll come out of the shower with this letter and I’ll come to you with a little fear in my eyes, a little hesitation and gently trap you and push you against the hallway wall and hold you there. I’ll press my face into the damp space between your neck and your shoulder and breathe your scent.
And you’ll hold up this letter and read out loud –
“  ---- Oh wait, my hair is a mess.  Get off me.  Did you know I fucked the big Italian grocer I met in the hotel?  He made me come twice. He fucked me so long I couldn’t walk. He had this big uncircumcised dick that felt so good when he put it in me.
And –
“Wait wait.  My hair is a mess.  Do you still want to go to the bed?  Can you wait?  Oh, I’m not in the mood right now, do you want to talk?  Do you want to have a big fight first to get the blood going?  Wait, wait.  Oh don’t ---- “
I’ll breathe the scent of you and lick your skin until you stop talking and go quiet.  Until you feel the dream.  I’ll rock you back and forth, as though we were dancing and then reach between us and feel for the knot of your rope belt and pull it open.  Your robe will fall open and I’ll see just the hint, just the sides of the globes of your breasts, but not yet revealed, the stars of your nipples still hidden behind a cloud, and I’ll ask you – how was your trip?
By this time my cock will fill and rise up hard and I’ll push it up against your belly so you can feel what I want.  So you’ll know how things stand.  I’ll press my lips under your chin and you’ll turn your head like you do and I’ll kiss you behind your ear because we know what that does to you.  That’s when I’ll reach inside your robe and move my hands over the top of your skin, just barely enough to feel the heat and I’ll find your breasts and move my hands light over the curves of your breasts, lift them like warm soft birds, palm the tops of your breasts, but I’ll make your nipples wait.  I want them hard. I need to see them hard.
This is where you take off your robe and let it fall.  This is where you’re under my spell.  This is the part where you’re not thinking about the bed anymore, the bed is too far away.  The walk is too long and filled with danger and distraction. No, you’re thinking about the floor because you need it now.  This is the part where you read out loud from the top of page three -
“ --- Get on your knees.  Get down on your fucking knees right now.  DO IT!”
I’ll kneel down like I’m praying to you, which I am, and my face will be level with the little Betty Boops in front of my eyes.  You can step your feet apart, making a little room there, a little thoughtful accommodation for me.  A silent come on.
I’ll press my face between the tops of your thighs, warm, thick, damp from the shower and now from something I can smell behind the thin cotton Betty Boop cloth.  I want that smell.  The hound dog in me nuzzles close, hard deep, pushing your legs apart more.  I want that smell, that damp.  Little curly hairs peeking above the cloth.  I breathe you.  I inhale you.  I kiss the cotton of you.  I feel the wiry wool of you against my nose and lips.  And here’s where you say -
“I own you, lover.  I own you.  I own your cock. I own your soul.”
Yes ma’am.  I’d say that’s about right.
While I’m in there, muffed tight between your thighs, breathing you in, sniffing for signs of guilt - have there been any visitors in there while you were gone?  And here’s where you say -
“ ---  I fucked everybody.  I loved everybody.  And now I’m home with you.  Hound dog. --- ”
I know.  I know.  We had that conversation.  Every man wants you, every man who sees you wants you - but I’m the one who gets to have you.
Now’s where I look up at you, faithful dog looking up at his owner, looking up past your belly to your half closed eyes, seeing your innocence, or a good imitation, seeing the hard bullets of your nipples blooming out past the wide moon-curve of your breasts.
Without taking my eyes off you, this is the part where I loop my fingertips into the band of your panties, tug them slow, and slow to your knees.  You’ll think I’m taking them off, but I’m not, you have to wait.  Just your knees.  Just to see the thick black delta of your big bush sparking wet from the shower and something else below.  Hello bush.  
Primitive and wild, it stops my will.  It stops my breath.  Every time.  Like a mountain range with a river canyon of pure pussy running down the middle.  You hypnotize me with your bush..  Enslave me, willingly.  In this hairy moment I would do anything you ask.  Buy you a house.  Kill.  Swear you my soul.  Please please please.  Let me.
I huff my face into the deep valley of you, lick the wet cleft and pray to you.
Here’s where you say -  
“Do me.”
Here’s where you stand bowlegged with your thighs apart, I dive in, and you bring them together, smothering me in woman flesh, gathering my hair in your fist, saying things my covered ears can’t hear as I move the tip of my tongue, finding the tip of your clit, taking it between my lips and giving it a little suck.  Then another little suck.  Setting up a rhythm, a back beat as you start squirming your hips and I know animal sounds are coming from you up above but I can’t hear and I’m not listening anyway, because there is only this.  All the world and all my being reduced to this.  This wet valley.  This damp forest.  This slick oyster flesh. This invisible little man in the little canoe I’m rubbing with my tongue tip, like that time you took my hard dick in your fist and squeezed the shaft while you sucked on the knob, and then rubbed the purple knob of my cock with your wet palm until I thought I was going to have a heart attack because the pleasure was blowing my brains out.  I want to do that to you.  I want to make you feel so good it hurts. I wantto hear you plead for more.  I want your knees to fall apart because you want to come so bad and I’m not letting you.  And that would be the moment when I press the flat of my tongue against your pussy lips like a big wet ice cream cone and stroke UP and then stroke UP and then stroke all the way UP and feel that lovely curly hair in my mouth.  Breathe.  Exhale.  Breathe warm air on your skin.  Pick up your clit and hold it between my lips.  The tongue goes in.  The tongue goes out.  The tongue goes in.  The tongue goes out.  A shudder against my lips.  Lightning in the dark.
That’s when I pull your panties down and off and fling them into eternity.
That’s when you let go of my head and say ---
“Bed.  Now, boy.”
And I say – “No.  No bed.  You don’t get to have a bed.  Beds are boring”
And you say -  “Mommy needs to fuck goddamn you!”
And I say – “Do it here.”
And that’s the part where you put your hands on my shoulders and shove me backwards and I land on the carpet on my back.  And that’s where you say -  “Mommy needs to fuck.  Take your dick out!  Mommy wants to come.  Now, stay there.”
And then, and then that would be the part where you step over me, stand right over me with your feet stepped way apart each side of my head, thighs clenched and straight as a ballerina, posing over me with your fists on your hips like I’m about to get raped by Wonder Woman.  I look up and the ceiling is blotted out by the towering hulk of you and the sky and heaven and the starry Universe are blotted out by the heaven shadow of your wet pussy right above my view.  Further up past the round of your belly, the hard bullets of your nipples blooming out a mile over the wide moon-curve of your breasts. 
You’ve got that wobble in your knees.  You got that dreamy look in your eyes way up there that says you need to lay.  My woman needs to lay.  Maybe across the bed, maybe the floor, but my woman is coming down, she needs to lay, she needs to lay her lips where she wants them to go, to finish what we started.  Your knees bending, your thighs thickening, hips coming down, heaven descending on me, your pussy licking Hound Dog.  Here.  Come here to your man.  I’m not going anywhere.  Now you’re really home. 
Lips on lips.  Rocking your bush against my nose.  Pulling back.  Forward hard again, rocking your bush against my nose, again, again.  Each time harder.  Each time a little more insistent.  Demanding all of it from me.  Each time more, the body taking over.  Stay there.  Because I want it – I'm your pussy licking Hound Dog and I want IT – give it all to me.  I want to know the hard rider in your loins. Because I’ve been waiting for you and I’m the man who wants everything you got.  Make it hurt if that’s what it takes to give it all to me.
And when you feel it, when you feel like you’re about to lose your shit, about to go faint and scream for God when you feel it radiating out from you and it’s going to happen – its got to happen – let fall this letter.  Let it fall your white flag of surrender and I’ll bring you over all the way, I’ll bring you home.  All the way home.  I’m waiting here for you.
Your Loving, Pussy Licking Hound Dog


8 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Hi Sacchi!

      Thank you. I had fun writing it.

      Garce

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  2. What a marvelous build to this, Garce.

    I love how you tackle the D/s elements. They seem to go back and forth to a delightful extent.

    And- Woof!

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    Replies
    1. Hi Daddy X!

      Woof! I do like ladies body hair. Weird.

      Garce

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  3. Beautifully-described scene, Garce.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Hi Jean!

      Thanks for reading my stuff!

      Garce

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  4. This is gorgeous, desperately erotic...and so true!

    This REALLY should be published.

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  5. I love the hound dog imagery. I love how he teases both of them with images of her fucking other men, when she's probably been saving it for him all along...or has she? Hot stuff!

    ReplyDelete