There's a Good Dog... Read online

  There’s a Good Dog...

  Chris Middlehurst

  There’s a Good Dog...

  First published in 2017 by

  AG Books

  www.agbooks.co.uk

  Digital edition converted and distributed by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  © Copyright 2017 Chris Middlehurst

  The right of Chris Middlehurst to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  “Go on, son! Fetch the ball! Go on, son! Fetch! Fetch!”

  Get it yourself, you lazy bastard. Why do I have to do all the running?

  “Go on, Ezra! Go on, son! Go on!”

  Ugh. The pain.

  I don’t remember running much. You might say I’m more of a streetwise kind of thing. A junkyard animal, perhaps. Though I’ve never been to a junkyard and I have no intention whatsoever of frequenting one. But you wouldn’t catch me running in fields of green or any crap like that, you know. For a start, I hate running. You might have guessed that by now. It’s bad for me, you see. Just like exercise, cats and cheap food. Gives me an allergic reaction and I get an awful pain in the side of my stomach and it only goes away when I stop, you see. Some people call it a stitch: I call it a fucking caesarean birth.

  “That’s it, you silly thing. Try and hold them all in your mouth, why don’t you?”

  Does he really think I’m that stupid? Can’t he see I’m trying to see how many balls I can fit into my mouth? He looks at me like I’m subhuman. Right, that’s it. Time to show him who’s the head honcho in this dirty playground. How many times must I remind him? Does he think I enjoy doing this? I stare back into his eyes and let out the biggest turd that I can manage. I thought my anus was going to snap into two halves like a knife slicing a melon and a giant hand peeling the two pieces apart slowly, carefully, waiting for the sound of the ccccrrrrrrrrrrr as the pieces slowly fall to the side of the chopping board. Snap! The short sharp crack of the wishbone of an overcooked seasonal turkey. My knees shake with the effort and my face twists into a triangular smile, the sides of my eyes stabbed by the cheekbones. My erection bobs up and down, poking against my belly and sending waves of electric radiation pleasure through my spine.

  Ooooooooh. Yeeesssss.

  I see him grimace with disgust and pull out the flimsy blue bag that he has kept in his sports jacket pocket the whole time we’ve been out. I want to laugh. He’ll need a bigger one than that that’s for sure. Either way he does it his fingers will smell of the stuff, even if he double-bags it. That’ll teach him to pick his nose when he thinks I’m not looking, the fool.

  Aaaah.

  Still haven’t finished. I feel a quarter of my body flop out onto the wet dewy grass. I almost have to stand on my front two legs to prevent myself from sitting in the stinking mound that I’ve made. I almost lose my balance and fall backwards on top of it but I’m an agile little thing you see and I gracefully bypass the turd by forcing the remaining three quarters of my body weight forward so that it looks to him like I’ve skipped out towards him so that he finally sees the giant brown hill that I’ve made. Ta da! Hey, arsehole! Look what I’ve done! Should I pose for the papers?

  I sit next to it, my tale thumping up and down on the ground, tongue stretched out beyond my mouth as far as possible so that he thinks I just want him to throw the ball at me again.

  In a way, I’m quite worried. That’s a hell of a lot of shit right there. What if I ejected some of my vital organs? My heart, perhaps? Nah. That tore out my rectum years ago. I wonder how much of me is left inside. There’s a hell of a lot of me that’s going to end up in his little blue bag. I almost feel protective of it now as I see him move his hands reluctantly towards the mound, the bag wrapped over them in a flimsy attempt to avoid getting them dirty. I feel almost protective of my dump now. Here you. That’s my pile of shit. Go pick up your own.

  “What you barking at, you dumb little shit?”

  You, you cunt. I bark back.

  “Here, you want to pick it up yourself, you mangy little cur, you?”

  That hurts my feelings, Greg. Oh well. I wag my tail at him to show him that he can say all he wants about me: I’ll never pretend to understand what he’s saying. Something red darts in front of me. A little blob. Ooh, a ladybird. I try to touch it with my nose but it smudges instantly. That’s odd. Ooh, there’s another one. Here, little ladybird, come and climb on my nose. I won’t bite. Yet. Here, there’s a good girl. There’s a good girl.

  Aw. Smudged again. Is my nose as sharp as all it’s cracked up to be? I feel a tingling down the inside of my back leg. Is he tickling my balls? Oh no. Just a few more ladybirds traveling down my body. Must be nice, being a ladybird, but they keep smudging into the grass into little liquid blobs. Then they just sit tight and watch me with their microscopic eyes. Aren’t they supposed to move? I thought the little fuckers had legs.

  Only when I look up do I realise. Those aren’t ladybirds. Greg is beating my back sunburnt red with the leash buckle. But I don’t mind. My anus is still so numb from my most recent toilet break that if it wasn’t for the legless-ladybirds-cum-drops-of-pumping-blood trickling down my leg I might never have noticed. But some other man walking his eight rescue lapdogs down the lane we’re at does and Greg looks like he’s in big trouble. This is a big fellow, alright. If it wasn’t for one of the sexy lapdog sweethearts staring at me with those watery bulbous eyes it might have seemed like I was enjoying the beating if you looked between my legs. To be fair it was fun at first but now that Greg’s stopped and is waving his doggy bag and leash at the big fellow like a deranged electrocuted scarecrow turns out I am starting to feel the stabbing pain of the lashes on my back. Still, she is one sweet lapdog. So skinny I bet she lives off carrot salad. Look at her! Playing stupid and darting her eyes this way and that like she doesn’t know I’m staring straight at her! Boy oh boy, what I could do to her hind flanks and make no mistake, I would. But I still feel quite numb. Maybe later.

  “Come on, you good for nothing little shit! See the fine mess you’ve got me into!”

  Trying to be cruel, eh? Ha. But I know he’ll be the one scrubbing my paws and legs like a galley slave before letting me back in the house. That’s something I always look forward to. The way he squeezes my paws like a wet sponge and rolls my soaked body in the pink plastic basin by the front door before he wraps me up in a towel like a pampered Maharajah and scrubs me dry hard as sandpaper central. I feel all warm and clean afterwards, mind. Not like him. Not like Greg. He’s the one who smells of wet dog by the end of it all, not me.

  He yanks me by the neck, almost hooking my ear with the leash catch instead of the collar. I feel like a sex slave on sodomy row with a gang of horny hyenas ready to take me up the back alley of Anal Boulevard. Once he fixes it firmly to my collar he tugs me violently, lifting me up on my two hind legs. I let out a scream that shows the big fellow I’m just a sweet little poochie-pooch. But
mainly I do it so that sexy lap can see my piston pointed straight at her adorable pneumatic receptacle. This is for you, baby. I feel so proud displaying it I even tug at Greg deliberately so that he’ll lift me up a second time. Yeah. Get another good look at it, sweetheart! This is what you’re missing.

  She turns her head away and sniffs at a dandelion, poking it with her nose. Is this lapdog lesbian or what? Maybe she just can’t see it. She does have a lot of dirt around her eyes. Her goody two shoes rescue-dog-collecting owner can’t be that thoughtful after all. Maybe he rescues them for his own depraved gratification. Watches them go blind with their own eye sand. God knows why he can’t even see that she’s practically tripping over her front two legs with the amount of dirt and dried mucus blocking her sight. Maybe he let them get covered deliberately so that he wouldn’t have to see his actions reflected in her eyes. Lap dogs have a way of doing that. Their eyes are like wet mirrors when they’re clean. I’ll bet that’s why she won’t look at me and my beautiful specimen. I bet it’s the RSPCA dog protection fraudster right there pretending to kick off on animal cruelty with Greg. Humans are all the same. Take Greg’s missus for example.

  Chapter Two

  She tensed for a moment, hissing between gritted pearly teeth. Then her body flapped violently against mine and spit bubbled at the sides of her mouth, eyes wildly roving like a dying fish on dry land.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  As she pushed and pulled me inside outside inside outside of her faster faster faster faster than a merry-go-round but just as dizzy her legs clamped around me like some fleshy seat belt with me strapped in for the ride to end in blood and screams. Her breasts came in and out of focus as I bounced up and down on top of her up and down on top of her. When I scratched her - it was an accident I swear Shirley I swear! - she pressed me harder and harder against her with tears of joy or was it pain welling in her eyeballs and whispered with wild eyes full of fear and joy laughing like a raving maniac lighting a cigarette while showering under the nozzle of a petrol pump.

  “Silence, you hairy horny barking fool! Do you want us to get caught?!”

  Her gasps only got me more excited and I groaned more softly but no less persistently as I felt the whole of my body mass fall down from my head to the bottom of my abdomen, then down further until it all teetered right on the edge of my cock. She shivered and lolled her tongue drinking the sweaty air as the blood from the scratches formed a gloopy red C around the sides of her breasts.

  “That’s it! Come in me, baby! Come in me!”

  Her eyes rolled back into their sockets like olives bobbing in a brine jar and turned to moist white. Then her body jerked about like a headless insect still waving its antennae in the air. The bed shook, knocking the alarm clock off the bedside table. She felt blindly for the sides of my mouth with her probing fingers, then stretched the flaps of my fleshy lips back into a grotesque smile exposing my gritted teeth. She continued to push my head back, arching my body backwards onto her chest, pulling me deeper inside her, painted nails pushing eyes apart like some childish imitation of a Chinaman. The whole of my lower body was flapping uncontrollably against her own, two pleading fish caught together in the cruel fisherman’s net.

  “Please! Please! Please!”

  Her eyes rolled back into place as she fixed my gaze directly like I had the lapdog. Her limbs flayed about out of control punching odd aerial patterns into the bedsheets like an inflated dinghy thrashing about in the sand. She whimpered imploringly, eyes popping, mouth twisting into a slow-motion O, then into a grimacing [] as I exploded inside her.

  “Whhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  I could see the blood vessels tearing through her neck as her body flapped and thrashed and expanded out of control. Her electrocuted pelvis whirred and buzzed against me, kindling the translucent fires of white flame that leapt out of her like a wild beast set free as a shower of hot mucus emptied out of her and whipped me in the chest. Then what felt like a tube of hot toothpaste was slithering down the side of my legs and onto hers, then onto her shuddering belly and irrigating into her belly button. These short, slightly curled strands of dark hair clung to her skin like seaweed to a rock and at that moment I felt thirsty and began to lap up the silky water collecting on top of her salty flesh. But she screeched a high pitch and like a tasered piggy squealed it tickles and threw me off her just as I was gently nuzzling the sides of her ribcage that was splitting through her plump flesh that gave a cameo every once in a while if she really made the effort to show it off to herself.

  As I flew through the air for the third time that evening and crashed onto the floor next to the lone teddy bear choking silently in the dust I heard her whimper softly as she so often did at the end of these sessions, kicking the bedsheets back and still writhing like the wound-up alarm clock buzzing in protest on the floor begging to be hammered still by its furious insomniac owner.

  “There’s a good dog...there’s a good dog...”

  After that, she would kneel on the bed and stretch her anus out towards me with her two feet. I would jump up onto the bed until I was right behind her, still shining in her ejected fluids. And mine, of course. Though I always tried to wipe myself first on the poor dusty teddy bear. It made it so much more satisfying to me, as if I would do that to a real full-sized one: Ha. Take that, bear!

  Once I was up on the bed, she would arch her abdomen backwards like a coiled spring, gently guiding my snout into her bum and rubbing my face against it. I didn’t want to do it but she’d only hold me in there longer if I resisted so just to get it over and done with as quickly as possible I would pull out my tongue half an inch and brush it all over the walls of her anus. At times like these she would purr and moan like a sleeping cat and I would feel my jaw muscles beginning to tense and tingle but then just before I’d involuntarily bite out a steak-sized chunk of her peachy arse she would sense me getting restless and gently guide my snout out of her smelly hairy prison. It was hard to come to this arrangement when we first met but I soon got the hang of it. First she would paint around the edges of her hole with smelly dogfood paste. She even stuck a chicken bone up there once to try and tempt me. But she needn’t have bothered. I didn’t mind it so much but sometimes she’d hold me down there and fart right in my face. Maybe she thought I’d like that because she’d seen me sniff and play with my own shit when she’d taken me out walking in the park. Doesn’t she know there’s a difference between sniffing your own and being forced to sniff someone else’s? It was the part I gradually grew to dislike the most about her during our little meetings. Her and her sanctimonious assumptions. I preferred it when she would sit upright in bed and cuddle me against her warm breasts and rock me against her like a holy baby in some religious painting. But she’d quickly tire of all that holier-than-thou stuff and soon she’d be forcing my two front legs onto her lower back and reaching for my balls with her head, weighing them like scales with her tongue until I got so hard my eyes went blurry. Then she’d stop and kick me off the bed, throw the covers off herself and fall asleep like nothing had ever happened between us. And I was stuck with the sticky dusty bear again. There were times like these when I would climb up onto the bed and watch her dream of dogfooleries with her mouth wide open and I always thought if I could just summon up the faecal demons within me to drop a giant turd inside her mouth I would do it right there and then. But there was some part of me that always grimaced at that image. Maybe it was the thought that she might actually enjoy it. Come to think of it, was she really asleep or was she just waiting for me to do it? I was too innocent at the time to know for sure and just like a good doggy dog dog I’d jump back off the bed and quietly wait until Greg got home.

  Greg. Shit. Here he comes with the leash. He can’t possibly expect me to go out now. Not in my condition.

  “Come on, pooch! It’s time for your walk! I know you want it!”

 
Greg. I’d shit in his mouth. He seems to think like so many other of you dim-witted dog owners that we actually like to be walked. Well maybe the other braindead creeps but not me, buster. Greg’s the one who likes to be walked three times a day, not me. It’s dog owners that like to be walked and believe me it’s getting to be a fucking nightmare. Especially after my body is so sore from licking and humping I can barely lift my tongue above my lower jaw, never mind chase a tennis ball at ten o’clock in the night-time. I feel like I’ve been skinned with a vegetable peeler.

  “That’s it, Ezra! There’s a good boy! Come on, Ezra! There’s a good boy! There’s a good boy! Hep hep hep! Bye, Shirley wifey wife wife!

  He motions to his wife, who raises a lock of her hair with her hand and squints her eyes like she has just woken up.

  “I’ve only just woken up. What time is it?” What an actress! That Shirley should have been in the pictures.

  “Just taking the woofie woof woof for a walkie orkie orkie round the parkie! Won’t be longy ongy!”

  “Er...okay. Have fun, you two.”

  Oh, have fun, eh? That’s a good one, Shirley. Listen, why don’t you go back into bed and dream on about flying dog cocks and electric tongues and giant pizza cutters and whatever else you Ow!

  “Come on poochie pooch pooch! It’s WALKING time!”

  Greg is such a moron, and I used to live with a beagle so that’s saying something. Ow!

  “Come on! It’s WALKING time!”

  Stop saying that! Tugging me on the leash again that clumsy bastard! If only he knew what his “wifey wife wife” got up to with his “woofy woof woof” while he was out on his bowling green pretending to mingle with the locals who all secretly despise him, maybe he wouldn’t be so condescending. I almost feel tempted to tell him, but how? Climb up behind Shirley and rub against her rump? I know her style. She’d act all surprised and shocked and scream “Help! Help! The dog’s gone mad!” and he’d go berserk and strangle me or worse have me put down or even worse have me neutered.