Mrs B: Angry Dogging facials

Mrs B is angry. We have been together for ten years by now. From that first time I stepped through her front door, into her home, we have rarely been apart. But I have never seen her like this before. She is, by default, a gentle, sweet-natured woman. But as we drive towards tonight's arranged meet, she is silent, looking out of the window at nothing in particular.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"We don't have to do this."

"I want to. Be quiet."

We drive on.

The previous weekend, she had been happy as we watched porn together. She was using her favourite toy on herself, an inflatable, black dildo, given to her by her trainer, Mr Barry. (See BDSM Birthday story.) It has a tube running from the base to a rubber bulb. This bulb, when squeezed, pumps air into it, making it swell and thicken. I watched her apply the lube, her fingers stroking up and down its length. A quick squeeze on the bulb, and it was rigid enough to push into her open cunt. As usual, I spent more time looking at her than the film.

We are watching a vintage Italian porno, 80s probably; a very beautiful, raven-haired woman is being gang-banged by the staff of her Italian villa. We both prefer the older porn; pubes were still in fashion, and the films always had a story. We love a good story.

Now I watch as Mrs B fucks herself. After a few strokes, she reaches for the bulb. She pumps it three times, and I watch as the dildo grows inside her, filling her cunt. Some more strokes, in and out, then another pause. This time, she pumps until she can take no more, her vagina stretched around the black latex that shines with cunt juice and lube. As she pulls it outwards, her fair pubes cling to its slick surface, then she pushes in again, as deep as it can go; filling her cunt to the max. She pulls it all the way out, and I look into her gaping hole as she rubs the tip over her clit. I glimpse her cervix before the huge toy fills her once more.

Mrs B's cunt is a thing of beauty. I spend hours just looking at it. She doesn't mind; she loves it. She just lies there, legs open, letting me look to my heart's content. Sometimes it has just been fucked, sometimes it is full of cum (mine or other men's), at other times it is just resting, waiting; closed up like a daisy's flower at nighttime.

I know the depth of it, the width of it. I know by the taste where she is in her cycle. I know that her right inner labia is a little longer than her left (I have stretched them both out and done a comparison). When it comes to cocks, I know Mrs B had preferred thickness to length, that is until her training. Recently, it must be said, she has been fucking a young lover with the biggest cock she has ever had. She loves it when he is inside her.

Her cunt is six inches deep; she can take seven with a push. She prefers slow fucking, but occasionally, if the fit is right, she enjoys a good pounding.

Her cunt is looked at online by people all over the world. At the time of this story, in the early days of the internet, over three million men and women have watched her in action on their laptops and computers, cocks in hand. The most up-to-date number is well over twenty million.

She has a map on the study wall, with pins in all the countries people have contacted us from, commenting on her body, her breasts, but best of all for her, they write about her cunt. The vast majority echo what I think; they speak of their admiration, their lust, and their frustration at not being able to see, touch, lick, and fuck the real thing. Many guys ask if they can meet up with her, but, of course, she is always fully booked. She has her lovers, her swinging friends, me, sometimes Mr Barry; and of course, her strangers. Always her strangers!

Sometimes the comments are ugly, ignorant, misogynistic. I delete those of the slut/whore variety before she can read the hateful words. However, the "Shave that bush!", "Oh man! Get a razor!" "Muff attack," ones I leave; they make her laugh.

Mr Barry had shaved her, as part of her training, but afterwards she let her bush grow back, knowing I love her muff. By now, six hundred and sixty-two men have been balls deep inside that cunt. I'm sure they'd be happy to set those knuckle-draggers straight.

I must say I don't understand this obsession with shaven havens. I get why the porn industry started wanting bald fannies; a better view and less chance of actors catching crabs. (I strongly disagree about the view!) But why would a woman want to look like a pre-pubescent girl and even more worrying, why would grown men want to fuck those young-looking pussies, rather than dip into a real woman? I'm happy for people to do whatever they like, but one final thought; even the Mona Lisa looks better in a frame.

And yes, she keeps a tally in a little notebook. She draws a neat grid on each page with columns. At this point the headers are: Date, H, O, F, and T, with another column for a grade of one to five. The H is for Hand Job, The O for Oral (given, not received), and the F is for Full Sex. I know, you thought it stood for Fuck just as I did, but like I say, she rarely uses bad language. The T stands for Teamed, her word for a gang bang; four cocks or more. More columns come later: A, and B. A for anal and B for BDSM. There are one hundred and sixty-six marked down in the O column. Each session is only added into the one column.

As Mrs B fucks herself with the dildo, she watches the Italian beauty get pounded in all her holes.

"I want that," she says. She was getting close to cumming.

"How many?"

"Don't care." She shudders and climaxes as the actress is covered in cum, one man after another.

I arrange it.

So now we drive on in silence. We get to the rendezvous and see the cars waiting. Six men stand around chatting, smoking their pre-sex cigarettes.

Without waiting for me to go and check things out, she gets out of the car, takes a cushion from the back seat, and walks over to the men.

This is not how we do this!

She puts the cushion on the hard ground and kneels down. She slips the straps of her top from her shoulders and bares her breasts.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to fuck." She didn't sound or look at all sorry. She was angry!

Cigarettes are flicked away as the men move around her. She reaches for the belt closest to her and undoes it before unzipping and opening the man's trousers. She reaches into his pants and pulls out his semi-hard cock. Her mouth gets straight to work as the others get their cocks out. Her mouth is full as she takes a cock in each hand and starts to wank them until they are hard. She then moves first to one, then the other, fucking them with her mouth. Then she turns and the other three cocks get the same treatment. This is not gentle, sensual sex. This is visceral and urgent. Mrs B is on a mission and she intends to get things done.

After five minutes of moving between them all, she takes hold of a cock and starts to wank it hard, licking his bell-end as her other hand strokes and squeezes his balls. She feels him tense, so she tilts her face and sticks out her tongue as her hand brings him off. He shoots over her cheek and face, and she licks the cum from his shaft. Then she moves to the next cock. One of the others says, "I'm cumming," so she offers her other cheek as he wank off over her, rubbing his cock on her cum-covered face. Semen is now dripping off her chin and spattering her breasts, but there are still four more loads to go. She goes at them, hard, they cum into her open mouth and over her face. She swallows it all down. More cum streaks her face and matts her hair. Finally, they are all seen to.

"Thank you," she says as she stands, picks up the cushion, and walks towards our car. I fetch her cum-coat from the back seat and hold it open for her. She walks straight past me and gets in. I raise a hand to the guys, throw the coat into the back, and get into the driver's seat. I look over to her, but she stares forwards, ignoring me. Her breasts are bare, her top round her waist, and there is jizz all over her face, breasts, and in her hair. Some of it drips off her chin into her lap, while rivulets slowly roll down her belly. She makes no move to cover herself, so I start the car and drive back along the lane, just hoping the police don't stop us.

Fortunately, the drive is uneventful, although there are double-takes from lorry drivers, high up in their cabs, as they look down and see a bare-breasted woman in the car overtaking them. In silence, we pull into our road, and she, finally, pulls her top up and covers herself. She doesn't want to scare the neighbours.

I park, and she gets out and walks up the path, opens the front door, and goes straight up the stairs, leaving the door open behind her. I follow, but with a look up the stairway, I decide to leave her be. I go to the kitchen and make a cup of tea. I wait to hear the shower turn on. It doesn't.

I drink the tea and move quietly to the stairs and listen to see if she is okay. I hear her crying.

As I walk into our bedroom, she is sat on the bed. Tears are running down her face, mixing with the strangers' semen that cakes her cheeks and stains her top.

She looks up at me for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

"I'm sorry!" she says between sobs. "I'm so sorry."

I sit next to her, put an arm around her shoulders, and pull her in.

"You've nothing to be sorry about."

She nestles in tight and sobs and sobs. I let her cry. After a while, her sobbing eases. I gently stand up and go through to the bathroom and turn on the shower. I take her hands and help her up, then I peel the top off over her head, take off her dress and panties, and lead her through to the shower. She steps in and stands there, head down, and lets the hot jets sting her skin. She has always been a water baby.

I quickly undress and join her. I hold her to me as the water washes over us, then I take a sponge and gently sponge the semen off her face, then her breasts and tummy. Her blond curls are matted, and her pubes stiff with cum where it has trickled down on our drive home. I shampoo her hair, then her pubes, and I then rinse off all the suds. I get out and quickly dry myself, as she lets the shower wash away her shame, or at least some of it. I fetch one of her favourite fluffy towels, and as she steps out, I wrap her in soft cotton. I sit her on the bed and, after turning off the shower, once more sit beside her and hold her. She cries, more gently now, as I kiss the top of her head and gently rock her.

I knew she hadn't been angry with me; she was angry at me. Earlier, I had come home and turned her world upside down. Change was coming, and that is something she has always struggled with. Ten years of catching up on my failed schooling, studying, passing exams so I could belatedly do the college course I wanted. More study, a starter job, followed by promotions. Now, after all those years of striving, I had landed my dream job. It was all for her. Just one problem: the job was in Bristol. It meant that for us to stay together, she had to give up everything that made her world safe. Just so she could be with the one who made her feel safest of all. Her job, her friends, and worst of all, the little house that was her refuge; her safe space. Her kitchen where she loved to cook, her garden where her green fingers busied themselves, the small sitting room where we would cuddle up and watch old films. Perhaps, worst of all, the bedroom where all those years ago, the first time I had set foot in her home, we had gone to bed and started off by fucking, but ending up with something else entirely. When we had finished, we rolled apart, both of us laughing.

"Okay," she had said, her breath coming fast. "I see."

"Yes," I had answered through a laugh.

"That's 'making love'."

"Yes."

"I've never done that before."

"No, me neither. Just fucking."

"Me too," she'd giggled, curling up against me. "It's wonderful."

"Yes," I had said. "It's wonderful," holding her tight.

Now we would be leaving this place. I knew we would make a new home together, but she was scared. Her anger was just fear.

"You know I'll keep you safe, always."

She looked up into my eyes. "I know." She moved closer, parting her lips, waiting to be kissed. I felt the heat of her mouth as I gently put my lips to hers. She pulled away and laid back, holding out her arms to me.

Then, for one of the last times in her little house, we made love.

And it was wonderful.