Joypopping

There’s a reason why I do it.

I’ve dressed in a skin-tight, white nylon suit with black spots, and I’m wearing fur-trimmed suede boots and a pair of soft velvet gloves backed in mink. I’m a showgirl, and I have long legs with slender muscles, and narrow hips, and a flat stomach, and perky breasts capped by thick, pink nipples. I have long blonde hair with sunshine highlights, and I’m wearing a domino mask reminiscent of a Dalmatian, and there’s a red collar around my neck with a gold ring attached to a long leather leash running with silver wire. For most of the month I’m a showgirl—a classic beauty—but tonight, I’m just another bitch waiting her turn to get fucked.

What have I taken tonight? Whiskey and weed before arriving at my husband’s kennel club. I dropped a pill of ecstasy on the drive to the event, and by the time that we had arrived, the weightlessness of the drug had taken me. The chemicals created a tingle throughout my body, and they splashed skin my with a cool wash of air that that wouldn’t drift away. My breathing had deepened, and my eyes had opened wide, and the colors and the lights and all of the beautiful things bore an ethereal shine that left me in awe.

We stood in the club’s showroom, standing on the runway of purebred champions and surrounded by empty bleachers where admiring fans would sit and gaze upon the manicured coats of four-legged gods. 

My husband stood behind me, dressed to match with a masculine Dalmatian mask. He had one hand on my leash and the other over my shoulder, holding a joint smelling of thick West Coast Kush laced with ketamine. About once a minute he’d bring the joint to my lips where I’d puff until I couldn’t puff anymore.

My turn to take the center of the showroom floor was coming soon.

Gathered around us were our masked friends, the men dressed to match their women, who wore skin-tight nylon and Lycra and spandex, some with tails, some without, and some with fur and some without, but every bitch in the house wore a leash.

The room lights brightened as I pulled more of the laced weed into my lungs. My mind blinked and moved above and behind me, watching things with faraway eyes. The soothing tunes of Bon Jovi and Fleetwood Mac, Bob Dylan, and other rockers with thought-laden music that put our minds at ease faded away from my hearing.

I puffed from the joint, and pleasure electrified my body. My spirit shook, and my pussy gushed with sticky love. The fragrance between my legs bloomed and my husband whispered that the scent of my cunt had made him hard.

A woman, whom everyone had gathered around, was yelping and whimpering as a large, glossy-black Doberman Man pumped at her pussy from behind. She wore a suit that matched her stud husband-hound, and the thick white, human cock that opened her silky muff swelled with a passion that made her grimace in the agony of pleasure.

The ecstasy rolled through me, and even with my eyes open, I saw all of the colors that my mind could imagine zoom past me. Voices took on a distant tone, and as I watched people walk and shift, the ghosts of their afterimages followed after them.

A tug on my leash made me walk forward, one leg in front of the other, my thighs sliding as I cat-walked for the crowd. My husband tugged down on the leash, and I flowed forward, my knees bending and my waist doubling and my palms hitting the artificial turf beneath me. I crawled until my husband gave me a command, and then I stopped, and I waited for what was to come.

A husband walked around me, dressed as a stud Dalmatian, and showing off his large cock to the crowd. I heard their soft clapping as my mind detached further, and the doggy-masks of the women watching me blurred and came to life. Some barked at me, some tilted their heads in a curious manner, and their masters touched their bodies and groped their privates beneath their nylon skins.

Fingers ripped at my Dalmatian bodice, tearing a hole that exposed the wetness between my legs. A rough tongue pushed against my labia, covering my entire pussy with warmth and saliva and breath, and then it thrust into me and forced a low-throated moan of “Oh my god” from my lips.

The E hit me again, peaking and I arched my back. Sweat drenched my body, and two large hands pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me to tense my arms and brace myself against the floor. Fingers rubbed the wet lips between my thighs, and then the thick crown of my stud husband’s erection pushed against the juicy slit leading into my body.

“Uh,” I groaned, and I followed that groan with a long moan as a meaty shaft of dog-dressed human dick pushed my walls apart and stretched my hole open until I had to spread my knees on the ground.

I heard heavy breathing above and behind me. Everything brightened, and I spread my knees wider, presenting my vulnerable pussy to the beast mounting me. He sped up. He was my Human-Dalmatian and he fucked his large cock into my pussy hard enough to make me gasp and fast enough to make me pant.

His balls battered my cunny lips. My husband had more than enough cock to bring out the animal in me. I whimpered and moaned, and whined, I barked like a bitch, and I pushed my hips back against the dick that pummeled me without mercy.

I opened myself, and I gave into the drug high and the sex and the freedom of depravity. The E merged with the ketamine, and my insides burst with mind-breaking pleasure, and as my Human-Dalmatian pulled his cock from me, a wet mess of cum spilled to the floor.

I told you that there was a reason why I did it, and now you know.