The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica. Volume 3

Making Woofie by Lilian Pizzichini

He was silky and smooth and brown as an otter. Furthermore, he was the best lover she had ever had. So Bella wasn’t surprised when the puppies she bore him were the colours of chocolate and liver. They had been walking in the countryside. Timothy, her boyfriend, was wading through the thicket in waterproof trousers. He always made sure he had the right gear. This made Bella wonder what he saw in her because she had got it wrong again and was wearing shorts; purple satin, crotch-hugging, disco diva shorts. Practical yet comely, Bella had figured, with plenty of room for manoeuvre. Even so she could tell, from his glance at her bare, plump legs that they were hardly the thing for a hike through autumnal woods. Her vision of a verdant landscape – a glimpse of lush valley through leafy bowers – left no room for nettles, awkward stiles or clinging mud. But she was stomping down the lane bravely, splashing her legs with clomps of earth. She liked to think she was at one with nature; she liked even more to get down and dirty. Dirt made her feel alive, unlike pristine Timothy who was striding far ahead, walking stick in hand.

He looked as though he were about to take command of an army and invade the scene that splayed out before him. He stood atop a grassy mound, his binoculars at the ready for a rare sighting of some bird or other. Bruno – the faithful hound – romped backwards and forwards between them, appeasing his master and waiting for his mistress to catch up. Bruno, unlike Timothy, was always pleased to see Bella and didn’t give a fig what she was wearing. He loves me for me, she told herself, and ran to him.

Her enthusiasm was contagious and Bruno knew exactly what to do to engender more. He rolled onto his back, legs akimbo, in a tacit plea for attention and tickles. His tongue lolled sideways and his eyes rolled into his skull. The delirium caused by her fingers as they roamed across his belly, combing through the thick mud clogging the hairs on his tender skin, was too much for him. She paused at the slick tassel that signalled his penis. It lurked deep in his hindquarters and Bella often wanted to give it a little tug. She really shouldn’t go further. But she was feeling rebellious. Why shouldn’t she give pleasure to one who gave pleasure to her? A green eye peeked at her from underneath a floppy brown ear; his torso was rigid with expectation. She passed the palm of her hand down the length of his hairy penis and cupped the purple plums at its base.

“Here, Bruno. Chase the stick,” Timothy shouted. One long arc and Bruno was gone.

“Labradors are known for having a prolonged puppyhood,” Timothy explained to Bella, searching her face for signs of eager attention. “Their attitude completely disregards their physical maturity. Take Bruno; at two years old he is still very much a puppy, and attendant with that, has a puppy’s exuberance and energy. Labs don’t start settling down until some time between two and four years of age.”

You boring bastard, thought Bella.

Stick in mouth, Bruno yelped with joy as he threw himself at Timothy’s feet awaiting further orders. But Bella noted that he turned his face towards her before their execution. The stripes of mud on his nose, ears and noble forehead were hardening as it dried.

“He looks like a Masai warrior,” Bella mused, “daubed for war.” She didn’t share her aperçu with her boyfriend because she knew he would look at her strangely. He’d already said, with the air of a savant, that she was a psycho-traumatic unit in the hospital of the mind. He was always saying things like that. He was pretentious.

The indefatigable Bruno was true to his nature and retrieved the stick once again. Bella ran into a copse, beckoning him to follow her and disregard his master. Now that his blood was up, she knew what would ensue. Bruno galloped after her, barking and wagging his thick, stubby tail. His eyes were sparkling, the stick forgotten. His tongue was long and bubble-gum pink. She watched saliva cascade in bubbling streams over his serrated black lips. She loved his exuberance. It matched her own. Bruno and Bella, the perfect couple with their dark looks and sea-green eyes. They emerged in a vast, ploughed field where corn had been sown and the sky lay heavily above them. Husks were on the ground and Bruno rootled.

Bella needed a pee. She rolled her shorts down to her ankles and squatted underneath a bush. Her urine formed a puddle between her feet. Bruno smelt that something interesting was happening. He came up behind her and she felt a cold nose investigate her bottom. It was moist and left a damp trail between her buttocks. His whiskers tickled her cheeks, his nose probed her anus and his tongue swept the length of her welcoming slit. It felt good and right and Bella liked it.

Bruno was excited now. He could smell sex. As Bella rose to her full height, he saw his chance and grabbed hold of a leg. His forepaws were surprisingly muscular underneath that velvety pelt. He was no puppy now, Bella thought. He was bucking against his mistress’s leg. A spurt of warm, sticky liquid shot up the inside of Bella’s thigh. She wiped herself briskly and pulled up her shorts. She was just in time.

“I’ve spied a great spotted woodpecker,” Timothy cried. “You know, Dendrocopos major. It must have been a male with that scarlet nape-patch. I must make a note in my book.”

Bella held Timothy’s binoculars while he pencilled in the details of the bird’s undulating flight in the notebook he kept for such sightings. Bruno raised an eyebrow. Such an expressive face, marvelled Bella. Now it was betraying a quizzical air as he sat at her feet. He had paused from licking the mud from her boots to observe the self-absorption of his master.

Six weeks later and Bella was the proud mother of six Labradors crossed with Caucasian. She had left Timothy before the birth, giving no reason, and had taken a flat with a large garden for herself and her litter. But all was not well. You try raising four dogs and two bitches by yourself. Bimbo, Bimba, Baby, Bubber, Biba and Boyo needed their father. So Bella stole him one day while Timothy was at work.

Bruno loved his new home, and what’s more, he loved making love to the new mother. She had not been rent asunder by the birth. The little darlings had slithered out, wet and winsome.

She was ready for more sex with her beloved quadruped. All the more legs to wrap her thighs around, she reckoned. And this time it wouldn’t be a rush-job, a crude knee-trembler in the woods. It would be slow and languorous and stretched out on Bella’s king-size bed; the lighting low, the music moody. She wanted to feel the length of his big, rough tongue lapping the contours of her body. She wanted him to make her come with a few rapid strokes along her clit and vulva while she plunged her hands into his sinewy back. She grasped his shoulders and, as though it were a distant rumble of thunder, heard her blood coursing as she orgasmed. Now it was his turn so she took his sausage dick and guided it into her hole. Bruno howled with joy and relief.

The lovers enjoyed a post-coital dinner of steak tartare and pommes frites eaten from the same plate, their jaws mashing and munching side by side. Their bliss was complete.

The telephone interrupted their drowsy canoodling in the specially extended dog basket Bella had had made to order. It sat under the wooden table from whence Bella scattered spare scraps of meat to her doggy brood. A voice rang through the kitchen.

“Bella, I need to talk to you. Bruno’s gone. He’s missing. Someone’s stolen him.”

Bruno’s ear cocked at the sound of his master’s fretful voice. He emitted a small, sharp whine. Bella patted him and rolled over to sleep. When she awoke, her man was gone.

“Bella, it’s okay. He’s come back,” Timothy’s voice told the answer machine the following day. “He must have found his way home by himself. Good dog,” he exulted, and Bella heard a bark of compliance.

Bloody men, she thought.

She wasn’t a woman to take her troubles lying down. Her pups needed a father so she would supply one. The home check was a piece of cake; of course she met the requirements. All she had to do now was to choose her future partner.

A gallery of strays and waifs greeted her with sniffs and snufflings, yelps and eager tails. The white-coated attendant guided her down the aisle. She pointed out an angry-looking bull mastiff.

“Heathcliff came in as a stray two months ago. He is our grumpy old man,” she laughed coyly. “He loves going for walks and spending as much time as he can patrolling his kennel yard.”

Never mind that, what’s his cock size? Bella wanted to ask.

“Next up is Alfie. He is a Boston Terrier mix. Unfortunately he is epileptic and has cardiac and respiratory problems. He needs medication twice a day.”

Bella was beginning to despair when she spotted a young, blond Labrador smiling at her.

“Aah, Billy…” said the guide, following Bella’s ardent gaze. “He has had two homes but didn’t behave appropriately so he was returned. He is a very dominant boy who…”

“I’ll take him,” Bella barked.

“But he hasn’t been neutered yet.”

And indeed he hadn’t. Bella could see the pink tip of Billy’s member protruding above a mound of bristling hair. It was like a salmon leaping out of the water; untouched, virgin game, waiting to be plucked and plundered. Bella knew that Billy possessed the loving disposition and lust for life that only she could appreciate. She could tell it in a glance. His eyes met hers – they spoke of devotion. He was gagging for it – that wide, wide mouth promised licks and nibbles galore. She would let him bite her nipples and ferret in her undergrowth. They would go for walks and bring up her babies. They would eat from the same bowl. They were in love. She was sure he nodded and stamped a paw in approval of the short, thick chain she held in her hand. She couldn’t wait to slip the halter around his ruffled neck. Once again, Bella was captivated, but this time, he wouldn’t escape.