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Rambo
by Robin (robin2003@clara.co.uk)

***

A humorous account of how things can go wrong on the 
farm. (MF-teens, humor, beast)

***

A day in the life of a sheepdog.

Oh fuck this! Thought Rambo. Rain was hitting him like 
miniature scythes, bouncing off of his head and back 
and running into his eyes. A cold wind kept blasting 
him from any direction it felt like and it was as much 
as he could do to keep from shivering to bits.

The weather wasn’t the worst of his problems though. 
The flock of belligerent bastard sheep that were also 
fucked off with the rain and cold just would not do 
anything he tried to lead them into. A limited 
vocabulary of understanding after a while can be 
established between a sheep dog and his charges. 

Currently, he was asking them in as nice as possible 
manner, to please go through the gate and into the next 
field. The sheep, or rather one or two of them who 
always caused the trouble, were saying in less than a 
nice way, fuck off and leave us alone.

Nothing for it, Rambo bit the worst offender on its 
foreleg. The Ewe jumped with all four feet in the air 
and landed on top of Rambo, flattening him. The rest of 
the flock meekly walked into the next field, laughing 
their wool off. The bitten ewe had other ideas it 
seemed, because without further ado, she righted 
herself and ran at Rambo with her head down. At the 
last possible moment, Rambo side stepped her and 
watched as the velocity of her rush took her headlong 
into the gatepost. 

Rambo stood over the stricken Ewe, wondering what to do 
about it when Gary, his master and sometime shepherd, 
walked over to the scene. Dreamily, Gary looked down on 
the sheep and the guilty looking Rambo, then, as if 
nothing was there to be seen, he continued to walk into 
the next field, oblivious of what his eyes were 
frantically trying to tell his brain. It was very 
quickly obvious to Rambo, that Gary would be no use at 
all.

It had been the case for two weeks now. Gary’s thought 
processes were some place else. All through the sheep 
dipping, Gary had been half-heartedly yelling cum-bye-
ere (and only God knows what that actually means) and 
whistling sets of orders that would have directed the 
sheep into the nearest ravine if Rambo took any notice 
of the commands. Gary’s thoughts were firmly ensconced 
in Betty. 

Betty lives on a neighbouring farm, is nineteen and 
smitten with Ronan Keating and Gary, in that order. 
Gary and Betty had known each other since they were in 
nappies, but both had been away at college. 

Their minds had been filled with alternative farming, 
organic crop rotation and hallucinatory drugs. But it 
was the filling out of bodies that had been the key 
factor, namely, Gary now sported a nicely grown eight 
incher, which proudly made itself known to the world 
every morning. Betty had grown a nice set of thirty 
sixes in a d cup coupled with a thirty-four inch hip. 

Gary, or more importantly, Todger, his pet name for his 
pride and constant joy, stood no chance and love hit 
the neural receptors with a hammer. Gary could think of 
nothing else now, especially as he had actually almost 
got her horizontal in her dad’s barn.

Rambo didn’t like Betty too much. Sure she was okay as 
far as humans went, but the effect she had had on Gary 
upset his whole equilibrium. The silly bugger couldn’t 
tie his shoe laces without a thought or memory of Betty 
come rushing in and his little brain cells would go 
into overdrive and blood start to rush to his loins. 
Coherent thought left through his ear and an empty, 
lust filled body would be the prize for the day. Rambo 
had had enough of watching his master go down the tubes 
every morning.

Somehow, they got through the day. Apart from the one 
mishap with the ewe that was still concussed and kept 
calling Rambo luv or dear, with a wistful look in her 
eye, the day went accident free. No thanks to Gary! 

Dinner was a desultory affair; Gary sat mooning at the 
food on his plate. Sometimes he actually picked up a 
fork, but then he would push the potatoes around and 
shift a few of his sprouts before dropping the fork 
forlornly back onto the stained tablecloth. Rambo, ever 
the optimist, thought he might have a chance of nabbing 
the lust-locked youths dinner, but his Mum soon 
scotched that when she hit Gary around the ear and 
scolded him into eating the congealed mess.

Some time later, Gary got ready to go and see Betty. It 
amazed Rambo that this normally scruffy fucker suddenly 
started to wash. More amazingly, he scrubbed the area 
behind his ears, a place that only got wet when it 
rained. Toe nails, fingernails and even nasal hair all 
got trimmed. Clean clothes came out of the closet, 
smelling of mothballs and being half a size too small, 
but nevertheless, wrapped around Gary’s spare frame. 

Copious amounts of some foul smelling alcohol based 
liquid was tipped from a bottle and splashed liberally 
under arms, around his neck and massaged into Gary’s 
torso. Rambo couldn’t read the bottle, one because the 
writing was upside down, and two, dogs don’t read too 
well, but an educated guess lead Rambo to the entirely 
correct assumption that Old Spice was the flavour of 
the month.

At last, Gary, having inspected himself from every 
conceivable angle, was ready. He took the bit of string 
that served as a dog lead and with a cheery wave, set 
off for Betty’s farm.

Betty’s dad was a better farmer than Gary’s. The 
obvious wealth was plain to see in the quality of the 
farming equipment that littered an otherwise, very tidy 
yard. The chickens that ranged free had a certain 
haughtiness to them. They fetched a better price than 
Gary’s old mans, probably because the silly sods 
strutted their stuff with their chests all puffed out, 
therefore developing better breast muscle tone and 
therefore, being plumper. Stands to reason dunnit?

Betty answered the door, all breathless and eau d 
cologne ified. Rambo wasn’t sure whether to throw up or 
sit and grin at her. He chose the latter and got a pat 
on the head from her as a reward.

Give me a sec. She asked Gary, all husky and sexily. 
She had been practicing the Marilyn Monroe sound and 
pout in front of the bathroom mirror for the last hour. 
The emphasis was on the word give, and sounded like an 
invitation to bed. The desired effect took Gary to a 
new height of anticipation. With any luck, tonight 
would be the night they actually had sex, without Gary 
flooding his pants with sticky goo. He felt sure the 
double scotch he had downed would help in this 
department. Privately, Rambo had his doubts, knowing 
his master as he did. He also thought knocking one off 
the wrist wasn’t such a good idea either, but who could 
tell with these silly sacks of shit.

Well, the evening went reasonably well. Rambo had only 
had to nip her infuriating pet poodle once to stop it 
sniffing his bollocks. The poodle, mollified, had 
scooted back to the farm with her pom-pommed tail stuck 
up her arse. Inevitably, Gary and Betty ended up in the 
barn. 

All evening, the tension had been building. Rambo was 
aware, oh so, painfully aware, that these two were 
heading towards a sexual encounter. He could pick up 
the heightened temperature of their bodies. The 
pheromones the two were giving off buzzed around his 
nasal cavity like angry wasps in a jam jar. It was the 
hand holding and occasional clinches that really gave 
the game away though. 

Each clinch had her cardigan raise a little higher and 
one more button undone on her blouse. Rambo couldn’t 
see the problem, if they wanted to fuck each other’s 
brains out, why all the prelude? If it had been him and 
some horny bitch, he would have shafted her there and 
then. None of this screwing around, just how do you do 
and wham, straight up the kisser until he was stuck 
good and fast. Fuck all this messing around. 

Anyway, they ended up in the barn. Rambo, who by now 
was getting quite interested in the mating habits of 
humans, was tied to a post. Much to his disgust, he was 
unceremoniously tied to a fucking great big post, 
totally out of sight, and very likely, totally out of 
mind. He had been feeling like some thing spare at a 
wedding for some time, but the ignominy of being left 
all alone with nothing but three feet of rope and a 
bloody great big oak beam to look at was a little too 
much for his delicate senses. He did what any self-
respecting dog would do. He lay down and went to sleep. 
That’ll show the fuckers.

A little while later, Rambo jerked awake. Had he heard 
a shout? Or was it a moan or what? His ears perked up 
and his senses became alive. Then the sound came again, 
it was a sob. Jezzzusss, what the fuck is going on in 
there, he wondered to himself. Betty sobbed again and 
then whimpered, quite loudly, and then plaintively, she 
cried help!

Well that was enough for Rambo. He jumped up and 
started to run toward the sorry sound of distress. 
Three feet of rope soon runs out. It ran out and 
Rambo’s feet left the floor as it jerked him over 
backwards. His eyes bugged for a second as the noose 
like quality of the rope tightened. Almost choked out 
of this life, Rambo finally found his feet and trotted 
back to the post where he was tied. Rescue formed 
largely on his mind. 

A good sheep dog is trained to respond to the plaintive 
cries such as lost lambs and stuck ewes often give out, 
especially in winter, especially when they have put a 
foot in a frozen puddle, but being the stupid buggers 
they are, have left the foot in the puddle too long and 
got frozen in.

He worried at the knot. It was one of Gary’s specials, 
a badly tied slipknot. It only took him a second or so 
to undo it. Then, once free, he took up the rescue 
mission again and ran headlong into the next byre where 
they were.

The scene that confronted Rambo took a little while to 
come to terms with, it also defied explanation. It was 
like one of those, ‘What happened next’ episodes where 
the most outrageous sequence of events led to some of 
the most unlikely results. Rambo stood and took it all 
in.

Gary was laying, face up and clearly unconscious, a 
little way away. His trousers were around his ankles 
and his cock stood rigidly to attention like a guard 
outside Buckingham Palace, complete with helmet, all 
shiny and unused in battle. To Rambo’s relief, he was 
alive. At least he was breathing and was still nicely 
warm, so a logical assumption was that he would most 
likely survive.

Betty on the other hand, was in some distress. Well 
actually, she was out of her dress and everything else, 
but her head had gone through two of the wooden struts 
that formed the feeding trough. She was stuck, by the 
neck and ears, totally naked on all fours with her pink 
arse up in the air. Her mewling was beginning to grate 
on Rambo’s nerves.

What was he to do? Gary was not going to be of any use 
in this situation, when was he ever? And she was 
completely screwed. It needed some thinking and her 
constant caterwauling was not helping the situation. 
Besides, the pheromones hadn’t gone. If anything, the 
level had reached plague proportions. Gary was 
completely oblivious to them, Rambo was being driven 
nuts by the olfactory assault, Betty was in a state of 
arousal, probably brought on by her situation in part, 
but more because she was a woman and these little 
pheromone buggers affect woman greatly.

Rambo did what a dog should do. Lassie would have 
barked once at the girl, letting her know that he was 
going for help and that his barking at anyone around 
would instantly tell them there was something wrong in 
the barn and people needed help. Not Rambo, he stuck 
his nose straight up her twat and took a good long 
sniff of her heightened arousal. The effect was 
electric.

Betty would have screamed, but just at that moment, a 
bridle that had become partially dislodged when she had 
her head thrust between the struts, fell, landing on 
her head and somehow, wrapped its self around her and 
successfully, gagged her. Touch, thought Rambo who by 
now, had taken to giving the pink pussy a right good 
old tonguing. 

Betty quivered, she shook and she screamed in a muffled 
sort of way. Rightly or wrongly, Rambo took this to 
mean, carry on, that’s really nice. He did just that 
and gave her a really good long lick that started at 
her little bush and stopped just past her anus.

But even dogs are not immune to fatigue, after many 
long minutes of lapping her up, his tongue became 
tired. So without further ado, he jumped her and, after 
a few abortive attempts, managed to stick his already 
stiffened cock straight into her well-juiced cunt. 
BINGO!!!

Rambo shagged her, stuck as she was; he shagged her 
until he thought his balls would drop off. But with 
control, showing Gary, had he been awake, just how a 
master should hold on to the point of orgasm until the 
right moment and then and only then, fill the bitch up 
with puppy making seed.

Rambo kept up the pace, pushing himself into her at an 
even rate. His knot was nudging the walls of her pussy, 
but not quite getting there. This was a little 
frustrating and Rambo, if he was to really get off, 
needed to be fixed. He pulled out of her and gave the 
slick lips of her cunt, the benefit of some good old 
dog saliva, distributed with care and attention by his 
now revived tongue.

Lubricated to the point of positively dripping, Rambo 
went at it again, only this time; he was well off aim 
and shoved it hard and fast into her pooper. All the 
same to him and off he went pumping away like Arnold 
Schwazzanigger on crack cocaine.

All of a sudden, his fist sized knot slipped into her 
and that, as they say, was that. Rambo shot all of the 
saved up cum he had, plus some that was hanging around 
and a good deal on account into her guts. Ahhh!!! He 
thought, that’s fucking better. Then he thought, Oh 
Fuck! And then OH FUCK!

Her sphincter had closed around him and he was more 
locked than Hannibal Lechter. It was going to take a 
super-canine effort to get him self out of this one. 
Instinctively, he placed his back feet down and pulled, 
but to no avail. Then Rambo noticed two conveniently 
positioned posts. Bracing his forepaws on one each side 
of the stricken girl and digging in his hind feet, 
Rambo gave an almighty shove/pull. The result wasn’t 
quite what he had in mind, but all the same, it had the 
desired effect.

Her head popped out from between the struts with such 
force, that she and the dog, still locked in carnal 
knowledge, flew backwards at a rate in a parabolic arc. 
Gary, who had all this time, still remained unconscious 
and in a state of erected ness, was in the flight path.

Betty’s father came into the barn at about that time. 
His eyes wouldn’t believe what they were trying telling 
him. His brain went on holiday. His daughter, his 
beautiful daughter, had a dog, wedged up her arse and 
she was laughing manically. The dog was in some obvious 
distress; his cock was bent double and still stuck into 
his beautiful daughter. 

But worse, the dog had some ugly looking farm oaf stuck 
up his back passage; all of the eight inches was rammed 
into the dogs bum. It was obvious to Betty’s father 
that the oaf had obviously had too much of this carnal 
depravity and had passed out. His daughter on the other 
hand, had obviously been tricked into this situation 
and her mental condition had deteriorated as a result 
of it.

Betty’s dad got the hose out and showered them with 
freezing cold water. He didn’t listen when his former 
daughter screamed at the now wide-awake oaf. He didn’t 
listen as the oaf tried to explain, but he was totally 
shocked when his daughter picked up the dog and walked 
out of the barn, never to be seen again.

Word has it, that she is raising sheepdogs over the 
other side of the hill and has never married. Purely 
conjecture though.

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 29