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Jealousy
by Friar Dave (friar_dave@mhbbs.com)

***

A man has an obsession for a pretty Latina woman, that 
burns whit hot when he finds out that she was once a 
pre-teen porn star and then they opportunity to see some 
of her videos together. (MF, ped, exh, beast, latina)

***

I'd actually known Inez in a casual way for about a year 
before that last afternoon. I first bumped into her -- 
literally -- at a farmers' market in Union Square on a 
mid-October Saturday morning. I was carrying a sizable 
pumpkin destined to give its all for the furtherance of 
merriment and atmosphere at a Halloween party. She was 
crouched low to examine some unusual apples from 
Upstate. She backed into my path and stood abruptly, 
nearly knocking the pumpkin out of my arms. Being not 
nearly as dumb as I look, I did everything I could to 
prolong the conversation.

After all, Inez was one helluva sexy package and a 
powerful argument for the colorblind miscegenation of 
her native Venezuela, with her ochre-highlighted hair, 
her glowing, swarthy complexion and her lush lips and 
big brown eyes. 

But as pretty as she was, the truth is that it was her 
body that aroused my instant attention and lust. 
Standing there on a mild autumn day in her spray-on 
jeans and a black body-stocking, Inez's figure was 
testimony to her heritage and her then-current job: 
personal trainer to the rich and healthy. She had 
strong, curvy legs, rounded hips, a shockingly tiny 
waist and breasts that were simply perfect. Her tits 
were bounteous, rounded mounds that stood high and proud 
on her ribcage, defiantly braless and defying gravity.

As it turned out, we did have some things in common, 
among them, an appreciation for fine coffee and wines. 
And I happened to have an invitation to a private wine 
tasting the following Friday.

I gave her my phone number without asking for hers -- no 
sense in pushing it -- and told her to call if she was 
interested.

And so it went. We would go to wine tastings together, 
or visit one of the coffee bars then springing up around 
Midtown like so many mushrooms after a cloudburst. In 
all, we saw each other every two or three weeks. We 
would chat about this and that and the other. Bit by 
careful bit, she let me learn about her.

I don't want to imply that she didn't talk or tell me 
anything. She readily told me what it was like growing 
up with her brothers and sisters in a middle-class 
suburb of Caracas. She freely talked of college 
(journalism, Northwestern, '88). She spoke at some 
length -- and with great animation, in fact -- of the 
difficulties of getting a decent job in her chosen 
field.

But she didn't give much away (to be generous in 
characterization) about her current personal life. She 
lived in a studio in the Village and did the personal-
training bit to cover most of her expenses in between 
the rare freelance article, she liked to rent videos and 
read books and listen to music, and that was just about 
it.

I was making no headway with her, and my condition 
(acute lust) was worsening. And there was no way she 
didn't know the effect she had on me.

For instance, the evening we stopped into Starbuck's 
near the UN. With the wind chill, the temperature on the 
icy street felt like 10 below zero. As soon as we got 
inside, Inez whipped off her big down-filled parka and 
sat, beaming and grinning and thoroughly enjoying the 
fact that I could not stop glancing at her braless, 
glorious tits and wildly hardened nipples -- which were 
clearly displayed through the thin white Lycra top. I 
asked if she wanted to borrow my sweater. Her smile 
broadened, displaying all of her perfectly even, white 
teeth.

She glanced down at her nipples, than looked me right in 
the eye and said, "Oh, no, I'm not cold anymore," as if 
daring me to say anything, And then there was that 
February evening after a wine tasting at the Water Club. 
We'd wandered up to the second floor and were looking 
across the East River at Brooklyn as the sun was 
setting. It was that delightful moment when darkness had 
already enfolded the ground, but the sun's rays were 
still turning the jets over JFK and LaGuardia into 
golden flecks of graceful wonder. I pointed this out to 
her, standing behind her. 

She leaned back against me, and of course I slid my arms 
around her. She covered my hands with hers at her waist 
and whispered, "Oh, this feels so nice." I can still 
feel the warm, taut weight of her against me, and I can 
still recall precisely the delicate scent she wore: 
something with sandalwood in it.

But that night, as on every similar occasion, the moment 
of contact was fleeting, if intense -- and clearly 
terminated. We almost never touched, and any suggestions 
that I take her home or that she visit my apartment were 
politely declined. She was civil but coolly made it 
clear: It wasn't going beyond casual companionship.

And it wasn't as if I didn't know she had other 
activities. About half the times when I'd suggest going 
somewhere, she'd decline, pleading other commitments, 
usually without elaborating. On one occasion -- which 
promised to be a truly spectacular wine tasting -- she'd 
finally told me that she also picked up a little extra 
by looking in on and walking pets for neighbors who were 
out of town. In fact, a colleague in the Village 
reported having seen her on several occasions walking 
various dogs, ranging from a pair of perfectly coiffed 
toy poodles to what he called a "mastiff the size of a 
Volkswagen."

I found it difficult not to wonder about those "other 
commitments." She made it clear she lived alone and 
equally clear that she didn't have a steady boyfriend. I 
wondered if she might be lesbian -- or if some awful 
event, like an assault, had made her wary of getting too 
close. To anyone.

I don't want to sound like I was pining away with 
unrequited lust for Inez and never had any outlets, 
because that simply wasn't the case.  As a fairly 
successful account exec in my mid-30s, fit and civil and 
not too hard to look at, I was not exactly doomed to a 
monastery. Not at all. Paula stopped by twice on her way 
from Philadelphia to her family's place in New 
Hampshire. And there was Reena, the tall, lavishly 
upholstered designer from our art department, who 
decided to favor me with a weekend fling before settling 
down with her long-time boyfriend in his new location: 
Los Angeles.

And, of course, there was Julie.

Now, I am an unabashed tit man. In fact, I like to think 
of myself as a connoisseur of mammaries. There's an old 
adage that anything more than a mouthful is wasted, but 
it's not true for me. What I can't get into my mouth is 
subject to my fingers, not to mention my eyes. I can 
appreciate the beauty of a shapely ass, the promise of 
lovely legs, but...ahhh -- tits!

Julie hardly had any tits. She was slim in the extreme, 
to the point where if she ever lost weight, she'd become 
waifish. Julie was Vietnamese by extraction (she'd been 
born and raised on the Left Coast) and about 15 years 
younger than me -- but for some reason, the first time 
we looked at each other, we both knew we were going to 
be fucking very, very soon. Two hours after we met -- in 
a housewares' store -- we were in my apartment and 
stripping each other as fast as we could.

Julie was never nude with me, but she was almost always 
naked.  Standing five-and-a-half-feet tall, I guess she 
weighed about a hundred pounds -- and it was all lean 
and strong and lithe. She had very sparse, straight 
pubic hair, no hips and tits about the size of ping-pong 
balls topped by the most incredibly tiny and sensitive 
nipples I'd ever encountered.

Julie and I fucked liked bunnies almost every Sunday for 
the three months while she stayed with relatives in 
Manhattan and took summer courses at Columbia. She'd 
ring my intercom at noon, and by 12:15, we'd be naked 
and sweating and having the time of our lives. She could 
cum like very few women I'd ever known: incessantly and 
variously.  Sometimes she came just sucking me off as I 
toyed with her nipples.  

Every now and then she would get, as she put it, "fuck 
crazy," and then she'd really let go, demanding that I 
pinch and pull her nipples, or use my teeth (carefully) 
on her clitoris or even ram my erection up her ass. 
(Which was really an amazing sensation; as tight and 
warm as her narrow pussy was, her ass would coat my cock 
like hot, newly poured rubber. And she would cum.) 

Sometime between seven and eight every Sunday night, 
Julie would clumsily stagger into the shower and, after 
drying off, dress herself, brush her hair, give me a 
daffy grin from the door of my bedroom -- where I'd 
usually be laying inert, too spent to do more than wave 
-- and then let herself out.

To this day, I don't know exactly what the chemistry was 
between us, but it was pretty powerful.

Nonetheless, the woman I craved was Inez, and I was 
getting nowhere fast. In fact, I didn't even know where 
to find the map. But that would change -- unfortunately.

I was in Amsterdam -- for the first time -- on business, 
and it was a particularly grueling job this time. 
Concorde to Paris, then Airbus to Holland, straight into 
five hours of meetings and presentations, followed by 
negotiations over dinner, then back to the client's 
offices to draw up a draft agreement. 

I was one of the walking wounded when I finally got to 
my hotel at what was, by my internal clock, seven in the 
morning. At eleven (local time) the next morning, I was 
awake and restless -- You know: wired and tired -- and 
still had six hours to kill before heading back to Paris 
and the trip home to New York.

I figured it would be a shame to be in Amsterdam and see 
nothing of it. So I went for a walk. It was a gray day, 
but Amsterdam was still a lovely city for walking.

I found myself in the red-light district and decided to 
take a peek inside one of the notorious sex shops. I'd 
heard wild stories. What I saw within 15 minutes of 
browsing convinced me they were all true. You could buy 
anything there -- literally. Not just gay and lesbian 
and fisting and bathroom sports films; they had tapes of 
people puking on each other and piercing parts of their 
bodies. They had films of little kids fucking each other 
and being fucked by adults (and none of the kids on the 
covers looked particularly enthusiastic about toiling 
over the genitals of paunchy, middle-aged people).

And they had animal tapes. Men and women fucking and 
being fucked by dogs, goats, sheep, pigs, snakes, horses 
and donkeys. Even eels.

One of them caught my eye. A lithe young woman with 
breasts large enough to be squashed on the blanket-
covered bale on which she lay was clenching her fists in 
the cloth and her face was contorted in what appeared to 
be a scream. Which was understandable, considering the 
size of the donkey dong quite clearly burrowing into her 
from above.

But the face sent a chill through me. It could easily 
have been a young Inez. I examined the box. The writing 
was in French, German, Dutch and Spanish. No English. 
Which was fine, because my French and Spanish were more 
than adequate.

"`New from South America, long out of circulation of 
young slut who fucks dogs, donkeys and even a pony!'"

The store employees were very helpful. They explained 
the Customs inspections and cheerfully transferred that 
tape and another featuring the same Inez lookalike to 
NTSC videocassettes on which the first 15 minutes showed 
the standard boring tourist pitch about the beauties of 
Holland. Lots of tulips, wooden shoes, canals and 
windmills.

I went back to the hotel, claimed my single suitcase and 
headed for home. The Customs inspectors at JFK asked if 
I had anything to declare, I pointed to the tapes and 
showed the receipts, and they stamped me through in no 
time.

At home, on Manhattan's East Side, I showered and called 
the office, leaving my boss a voicemail message. Too 
tired even to investigate the blinking light on my 
answering machine, I fell into bed for a few hours. When 
I woke, I was totally disoriented about the time. I had 
to squint to see the p.m. indicator next to the "11:13" 
on the clock. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I padded 
into the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of Evian and wandered 
back into the living room. I was too wired to sleep but 
too foggy to read.

I remembered the tapes. My curiosity overcame my 
reluctance, and I popped the first into the VCR. I fast-
forwarded past the fake tourist pitch and cut to the 
chase.

One thing was clear: This was no high-budget production. 
It was obvious the feature had been shot on videotape. 
Even so, not much time had been wasted on outtakes. Or 
plot. The titles flashed by -- "Animal Slut!" -- and 
then I saw a few quick shots of a big luxury car 
entering a ranch. A Rich Man climbed out of the back as 
the chauffeur opened his door. 

Then came the girl. She was wearing a schoolgirl's 
outfit -- plaid skirt, white blouse, knee-socks -- and 
her hair was in pigtails around that un-made-up face. 
Except for the fullness of the blouse, she might have 
passed for a freshman or sophomore. She made a great 
show of being shy and polite. Then there was a single, 
brief close-up on her face.

It was Inez.

I watched, slightly stunned, as two of the helping hands 
from the ranch greeted them and led the trio of guests 
inside. Very quickly, Inez was being fondled and stroked 
and stripped. In a matter of seconds, it seemed, her 
compactly furred snatch was being expertly licked by the 
chauffeur while the two helpers attended to her 
wonderful tits and she sucked the Rich Man's cock. When 
the Rich Man mounted her, she quickly overcame the 
affected pain of defloration and soon was begging for --

"Mas! Mas! Yo quiero MAS!"

The chauffeur gave her mas and then both of the helping 
hands. She wasn't satisfied.

That's when the chauffeur brought in the dog. He sniffed 
at her soaked pussy and began licking it. She jerked and 
moaned. The helpers bent her over a glass coffee table 
on which a pillow had been placed. The dog, a big mixed 
breed that appeared to have a lot of collie in him, 
obviously knew his business. 

In seconds, he was over her and his furry loins were 
thrusting. The perspective abruptly cut to beneath them, 
because there were plenty of good close-ups from beneath 
of that dog cock pumping in and out of her lightly 
furred pussy.

Suddenly, the dog hunched forward and seemed to vibrate 
against her.  The base of his cock began to swell inside 
her pussy. And kept swelling. And swelling. I'd read 
about that knot, but never imagined they got so big. It 
had to be at least three inches across.

The perspective shifted, and there was Inez, screaming 
and writhing as the dog caught a tie with her. She 
screamed about being split, about him scalding her 
pussy, about cumming too much to breathe. I doubted she 
was acting. All the time, the dog was holding on to her 
with his front paws, his head was lolling on her 
shoulder, his mouth was open and his tongue was hanging 
out.

There was an obvious cut in the action, because then the 
screen showed the dog pulling out of her and licking 
between her all but inert thighs before sitting and 
licking his own cock clean. The closing shot was a slow 
zoom between her trembling legs. There, beneath the twin 
quivering bumps of her perfect, tight ass, her cunt was 
clearly draining -- and just as clearly still distended.

After that, the camera followed her into the barn where 
she took on a ram, and then the biggest damned Great 
Dane I'd ever seen. For this one, she was on her back on 
a bale of hay. When the dog came in her, Inez's feet -- 
wrapped high around his haunches -- twisted and her toes 
curled. Her orgasms were anything but faked on this one, 
too.

At this point, I was staring at the screen, my mouth 
open and my cock rock-hard. By the time the film ended, 
I knew I was going to be choking the chicken. I was 
right, but it didn't provide the needed relief.

Eventually, I did fall asleep, but I had dreams that 
were quite clearly influenced by the tape. With the same 
effect.

As I dressed for work, I knew Inez and I were going to 
have to talk about this.

It was the first time she'd ever been to my apartment. 
Maybe she felt more at ease about it because it was the 
middle of the afternoon.  Maybe it was my tone of voice 
in telling her that I really wanted her to come over for 
a little talk. There was a brief interlude of chit-chat 
while I uncorked and poured some wine: How was your 
flight? How was the weather? Are you over your jet lag?

They don't call it "small talk" for nothing.

I told her I'd bought some videotapes while I was there 
-- the kind of tapes that are difficult to find here.

Her expression never changed. She took a sip from her 
wine glass and put it on the end table. Her big, dark 
eyes dropped, then her gaze was back in place, meeting 
mine.

"You saw my films?"

I nodded. "Two of them."

She took a deep breath. Inez was maybe a shade over 
five-five and had a small frame. She had 
disproportionately large breasts, probably a C cup or 
larger (by my expert judgment) when she deigned to wear 
a bra.  Inez taking a deep breath would be enough to 
distract a man in any case. Inez braless and taking a 
deep breath in a burgundy leotard was mind-boggling. 
Especially for a tit man.

"I was promised..." She shook her head. "It makes no 
difference. You have questions."

I nodded. "When?"

"About... 10 years ago." Which would have made her 17 at 
the time of the barnyard romps.

"Why?"

She snorted. "Why? Because I wanted things, pretty 
things, and I..." She shrugged. My eyes followed the 
jiggling of her tits for a moment. "I have no regrets, 
though. How'd you like them?"

"I was surprised," I said. "I never really got too much 
out of the idea of watching a woman with a dog or any 
other animals, really. I bought them because I thought I 
recognized your face."

"What surprised you?"

"That it aroused me so much watching you orgasm like 
that, over and over, with the dogs and the horse and 
all. You weren't faking, were you?"

She shook her head. "I wanted to do it, but at first I 
was inhibited about doing it in front of a camera. 
Especially with animals." She paused. "So they gave me 
some pills that made me -- more relaxed about things. 
Anyhow, I'd like to see the tapes."

After a few seconds, I remembered to close my mouth. 
"You're kidding. You never saw them?"

She shook her head, her mouth filled with wine. "I was 
underage to see such things. The law wouldn't want me to 
lose my innocence by seeing such things. Can I see 
them?"

I took a deep breath. "Sure. I'll give them to you."

"No -- I want to see them with you, see how you react 
seeing me with a dog. And men." There was a clear 
challenge in her tone and posture.

She refilled her glass -- nearly emptying the bottle in 
the process -- put her feet up on the coffee table and 
took a sip, watching me over the rim of the glass. Her 
eyes were huge and liquid brown and knowing.  She 
lowered the glass. "Well?" She smoothed the calf-length 
plaid skirt, accentuating the length and shapeliness of 
those fine legs.

"Now?"

"Why not?"

"Do you always answer a question with another question?"

"Do I?"

Game, set and match. With more than a little unease, I 
rose and loaded the first tape into the VCR, then sat on 
the couch a foot or so from Inez, maintaining what had 
become her comfort zone around me. But as the crude 
titles flashed, she glanced at me. "Why are you all the 
way over there? Come closer."

By the time young Inez on the screen was at the center 
of a swarm of men, her breathing was shallower and her 
nipples were clearly swollen inside the burgundy 
leotard. When screen Inez was being fucked by the second 
helper, the genuine article on the couch with me was 
twisting her hands in her lap and shifting from side to 
side. And then the first dog was fucking his knot into 
her.

"This is really hot!" she breathed. She grabbed my hand 
and used it to pull her shirt to her thighs, then jammed 
my knuckles against the soaked crotch of her leotard. 
She ground her pussy against my hand, moaning softly. 
"Oh, yes, I remember how it filled me..."

"Wait'll you see the Great Dane," I muttered. My cock 
was as stiff as a piece of iron.

Watching her younger self with the ram seemed to take 
some of the edge off for her, but when she saw the Great 
Dane hunching his massive hindquarters, she fumbled the 
snaps open at her crotch and dragged her panties out of 
the way. "Put your fingers in me!" she hissed, forcing 
my hand against her wet crotch -- not that I put up any 
resistance. I extended two fingers and they slid into 
her pussy. She was a steamy, swampy morass inside. "He 
was so huge!"

I reached over to tweak her nipples through the leotard. 
She shivered.

"Fuck me," she said softly, urgently. "Fuck me hard! I 
need to be fucked!"

I looked at her, a bit surprised. Not that Inez never 
used such language -- it was rare, but she did when the 
situation merited it, such as in discussing the job 
market or Rush Limbaugh's relationship to accuracy -- 
but her tone was different. So was her face, especially 
her eyes. She seemed utterly consumed by lust, as if 
another Inez had emerged from some inner hibernation.

"Come on, fuck me, give it to me! Ream me out!" She 
said, her voice hoarse and her tone throaty. She pulled 
my hand from between her legs, drew her knees up to her 
chest and stripped off her panties. She sat her heels on 
the edge of the couch cushion on either side of her hips 
and thrust forward with her cunt. "Give it to me, you 
fucker!"

Her eyes never left the screen, where young Inez had her 
legs up and over the Dane's back, holding on for dear 
life as the huge beast shagged madly into her. She 
grabbed my hand by the wrist and thrust it frantically 
against her cunt. I easily slipped a third finger into 
her slick, hungry pussy.

"More! Give -- me -- MORE!"

She moaned and jerked when my pinky slid into her open 
pussy. Holding my forearm in both her hands, she jerked 
my fingers back and forth in her cunt as if she was 
holding a dildo. "More...more...more..."

On the screen, the overheated young woman lay back, arms 
wide to each side, head bobbing and shaking loosely 
while her hips shook in time with the thrusts from big 
dog. On the sofa, the overheated young woman was jabbing 
my hand in her crotch and ramming her cunt with my 
fingers.

"MORE!"

More? Inez had a very petite frame, and it simply didn't 
seem possible. On the other hand -- so to speak -- the 
young Inez on the screen was taking a dick as thick as 
her arm and loving it.

"Give... it... to... me!" she grunted.

I folded my thumb across my palm and watched in 
astonishment as she drove my hand slowly into her cunt. 
It was difficult getting the wide base of my hand past 
her pubic bones, but she kept pushing her twat forward 
while driving my hand inward. I used my free hand to 
pull her pussy lips clear, and I watched and felt my 
hand slide wrist-deep into her molten pussy.

"Yessss!" She began bucking her hips, fucking my hand 
inside her cunt and arching her pelvis downward to rub 
her clitoris against the side of my wrist. "Fuck it -- 
fuck it -- fuck it!"

On the screen, young Inez was screaming and cumming 
abundantly beneath the almost motionless dog: tie time. 
On the sofa, Inez was softly howling and cumming 
abundantly. And when Screen Inez had finally taken all 
of the dog's hot and copious jism and seemed sated for 
the moment, Sofa Inez was far from finished, now 
pounding my hand into her. I was worried about hurting 
her. She wasn't worried about anything. While the 
Energizer Bunny might have kept going... and going... 
and going, this sexy South American bunny kept 
cumming... and cumming... and cumming.

"I want to suck your cock, swallow your cum, make you 
cum in my mouth, drink you down..."

The thought had a lot of appeal. However, given that I 
was somewhat less well-endowed than the Great Dane, 
getting my cock to the level of her mouth simply wasn't 
feasible while my hand was buried in her snatch. I 
pointed out this logistical dilemma to her.

"Don't care -- gotta swallow it, taste it." She pulled 
my hand back through the tightest part of her cunt. Her 
eyes rolled upward in their sockets, showing the whites. 
With a flick of her foot, she pushed the coffee table on 
its casters back from the sofa, then crouched in front 
of me. She unzipped me, pulled out my dick and promptly 
sucked it to the back of her mouth. While the screen 
behind her shifted to a shot of her on her hands and 
knees, presenting to a donkey who was being ably 
assisted by a chunky brunette, Inez gobbled my prick 
noisily, slurping and sucking very, very hard.

But Inez was not content, not by a long shot. She groped 
behind her back with one hand until her fingers found 
the empty wine bottle. She set it on its base on the 
floor between her legs and lowered her pussy onto it. 
She took the neck into her cunt and started rolling her 
hips -- all the time sucking away at my dick -- and 
gradually drove the bottle into her pussy all the way to 
the top of the main label.

The deeper she took the bottle, the deeper she seemed to 
hunger for my cock in her throat. Her head went lower 
and lower and then my glans was jammed through the 
constriction at the back of her throat and into her 
gullet. She was groaning and the vibrations were doing 
nothing to calm the bubbling in my nuts.

Inez started bobbing her head and hips simultaneously, 
backing my cock out of her throat until only the knob 
was in her mouth as she raised her hips till maybe half 
the bottle's neck was still in her pussy.  Then she'd 
drive her mouth back down on my cock until her nose was 
buried in my pubic hair while forcing her cunt down 
around the bottle.  And none of this was happening 
slowly. She was bouncing on that bottle and bobbing on 
my cock. And cumming.

"Oh shit!" I moaned, and my balls lurched. She held my 
prick-tip in her mouth and vacuumed the cum up out of my 
balls. I spurted long and hard and then again, and Inez 
swallowed and sucked for more. The more I came, the 
crazier she seemed to get and the more of the bottle she 
absorbed into her vagina. By the time I was dried out, 
the top of the "Chateauneuf de Pape" identification was 
hidden inside her still hungry cunt.

She wasn't done with my dick, though, and kept sucking 
as urgently as before, her tongue moving against the 
underside of my cock and making me want to scream with 
that familiar post-ejaculation hypersensitivity. I just 
couldn't give any more or take any more.

"Enough," I gasped.

Her eyes suddenly focused, and her mouth-work halted. 
She let my limp dick ooze out of her mouth -- and 
stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as she came yet again. 
This time, though, she'd had enough and slowly dislodged 
the bottle from her twat. It came out with a little 
pussy fart and a slurp. She set the bottle out of the 
way and sat heavily on the floor, knees pulled up with 
her arms around them. She panted rapidly for a few 
moments. So did I. Neither of us spoke audibly, but our 
eyes were in alignment.

"Geez, am I sore!" she remarked, climbing unsteadily to 
her feet. Her knees visibly wobbled. She placed a throw 
pillow on the sofa and sat carefully next to me. She 
took my hand in both of hers and examined it. "I can't 
believe I did that."

"Me neither. Especially when you grabbed my forearm and 
started using my hand like a dildo."

"Hmmmm. How'd you like it?"

"It was an amazing turn on."

"Really?" She seemed to be pondering that.

"And you couldn't get enough into your sweet pussy to 
scratch the itch, either."

She seemed to be thinking about something as she 
distantly said, "So I guess you know, now."

"I'm not sure," I suspected, though.

"Danny, I really like you, and I really like your 
company and going places and doing things with you."

"You just don't find me attractive."

"No! That's not it..."

I stood. "Hey, my ego can handle the hit. Would you like 
some more wine?"

She giggled and blushed. "Not the same bottle?"

I shook my head. "I have a lovely Riesling."

"Please."

I went into the kitchen. A moment later, she stood in 
the doorway, watching as I uncorked the bottle and took 
down a pair of glasses. "I do find you attractive. It's 
just that -- well, now that you know about me, how can 
you respect me? How could you treat me?"

I stared her in the eyes for a moment. "The same, but 
with more touching... I hope."

Her eyes became wet. "No," she said. "No, you couldn't. 
You couldn't kiss me without knowing what had been in my 
mouth. You couldn't put it in me without remembering the 
dogs and goat and donkey. And yet you couldn't be with 
me without thinking how so many months passed when I 
would not do with you what I would do with animals."

I poured some wine and tried to smile gently. "Of course 
I could, Inez. That was a long time ago." I handed her a 
glass. She sniffed it, swirled it expertly and took a 
sip, aspirating the wine against her palate.

"This is lovely," she said. She abruptly upended the 
glass and drained the wine. "Danny, you're wrong."

"No, I know myself and..."

"Not that. About the time. It wasn't a long time ago."

"But you said it was 10 years ago."

"For the film, yes. But I haven't stopped. I still do 
it, every chance I get."

The numbness started in my belly.

"Men always get possessive and demanding, wanting to 
trade attention or favors or companionship for sex, then 
acting like they own me. But the animals put no 
conditions on their affections. I prefer it -- I enjoy 
it more than I've ever enjoyed any man...or woman. I can 
just let go and indulge myself. I love the feeling when 
a big dog gets his knot in me and starts swelling and 
squirting. Nothing has ever given me as much pure, 
hedonistic pleasure -- and with no strings, no worries."

Her nipples were hard inside the leotard.

"I don't need men -- or women -- for sex, Danny. And 
that's why we can't see each other again. Because I know 
what you'd be feeling every time we were together." She 
put her glass on the counter. "I'm sorry it has to be 
this way."  She looked truly sad. "Tell me one thing?"

I nodded mutely.

"What do you feel?"

I took a deep breath and moistened my dry lips. 
"Jealousy."

She inclined her head slightly. "Thank you for being 
honest. Good-bye."

I stood, rooted in the kitchen, as she went into the 
living room. I heard movements, then the door opening 
and closing. I slowly raised my glass and sipped the 
wine. It was, indeed, lovely. And I felt totally 
detached, numb, as if I were moving in a dream. I went 
into the living room and locked the door -- and noticed 
that the tapes were gone.

I never saw them -- or her -- again. But I cannot forget 
what happened that afternoon.

And, to my surprise, I still cannot erase the images 
from those films from my memory. To this day, when I see 
a pretty girl walking a large dog, I remember what Inez 
told me and all-too-vividly recall the scenes from the 
tapes. I become aroused and feel a quick rush of anger.

No -- not anger.

Jealousy.

END

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is 
meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in 
real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real 
life" can look forward to many unproductive years 
getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their 
local prison system.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 69