A Visit to the Pet Shop

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Big Dicks

(This, my second story, like my first, has been written about, and for, a lady I’ve met in a chatroom (right here at Lit, actually). Believe it or not (and, trust me, I’m struggling to) she is exactly as I describe her and every bit as gorgeous. She’s a 24 year-old teacher from London and so has brains as well as beauty.)


The couple who entered the pet shop would have drawn appraising glances wherever they went, but today, one small detail ensured they drew a good deal more interest than that. I say ‘couple’, but most people would have assumed, because of their age difference, that they were a proud father and daughter, or a fortunate boss and his trophy secretary … but for that ‘one detail’, that is.

The man was smart, grey-haired and almost certainly in his fifties. He was of average height and build, and had dark, intelligent-looking eyes. Casually dressed, he wouldn’t, on his own, have attracted much attention from anyone … except perhaps for those eyes. The young woman with him, however, was an entirely different matter. Quite simply put: she was stunning. She looked to be in her early twenties, had thick lustrous blonde hair that cascaded down past her shoulders and a figure that would cause traffic accidents wherever she went. She was wearing a buttoned, light-toffee coloured blouse, a bright red, slightly flared, just-above-the-knee length skirt, and a pair of very slender-heeled red stilettos. Ah yes: there was also the little matter of the ‘one detail’ that I previously mentioned: the one that really set her and her partner apart: you see, around her neck she was wearing a matching red leather collar with a fine red lead attached, which the man was casually holding in his hand.

The large shop was a labyrinth of aisles, the dividing walls festooned with all manner of paraphernalia, and it smelt, like pet shops the world over, of that peculiar cocktail of dried animal food, sawdust, leather, and the scents of strange animals.

The couple made their way in a deliberate fashion to the rear of the store and began looking at the dog supplies. Well, actually, it was the man who was doing the looking, whilst the blonde stood passively by his side, her eyes generally cast down at the floor. Now and again, she’d shoot an expectant, almost nervous-looking, glance at the man, but he ignored her, intent on his task.

The shopkeeper, a tall heavy-set man with thinning brown hair and a kindly face, had seen them come in, and had watched them go to the back of the shop. Under normal circumstances, he would have quickly approached them and enquired if they needed assistance: but this situation did not appear to fall under his definition of ‘normal circumstances’; so he was reduced to just standing and staring.

The man turned away from his inspection of all the equipment and caught the shopkeeper’s eye. The store man was just about to look away guiltily when the man called out.

“Do you think you could give us a hand?” he said.

Slipping easily into character, the shopkeeper called back “Certainly, Sir,” and walked towards them.

When he reached the couple, the man asked”Do you have any large dog bowls?” Then added, with an indulgent smile to his blonde companion, “I should think we’d need two, don’t you, my dear?”

The shopkeepers became visibly flustered and the colour rose in his cheeks. “Yes, sir. Of course, we have: they’re just here,” he said, indicating a large selection right beside them. He couldn’t understand how the man had failed to notice them.

“Ah, yes,” said the man, “Let’s see …” and he began examining the bowls. He picked up a red plastic one and held it up next to the blonde’s face. “This one goes rather nicely with your lipstick … but plastic’s so tacky, isn’t it? So: I don’t think so,” and he put it back. Next, he settled on a shiny silver one with the word ‘DOG’ printed on it in black letters. “This is much nicer. I don’t suppose you have one with ‘BITCH’ on it, do you?” he asked.

The shopkeeper laughed nervously and looked from the man to the girl and back.

“No: I’m afraid not: there’s not much call for them.”

“No matter. I think we’ll take two of these silver ones. Would you like that, pet?” he asked the girl, with another kind smile.

“Yes, Sir,” she said quietly, looking into his eyes.

“Fine: we’ll take two of these, then,” he said to the shop man. “Could you hang onto them for me? We still need to find one or two other things.”

The shopkeeper said that of course he would, and took the bowls.

“Do you sell dog food?” the man then asked.

“Yes: it’s just over here,” answered the bemused assistant.

The man stepped over and began studying the tins.

“They’ve even got some with wine in! Isn’t that delightful! … You always like beef, don’t you, dear? Shall I get that?”

“Yes: beef’s OK, Sir,” the beautiful blonde replied, with a defiant look at the flustered shopkeeper.

“Beef it is, then,” said the man, handing a tin to the sweating shop assistant. “We don’t know quite how long we’re going to be out for, you see,” he added, as if by way of explanation. Then he turned to the assistant pendik escort and said “She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?” tenderly stroking the woman’s cheek as he spoke, which brought a dazzling smile from his lovely companion. “I’m thinking of showing her, you know. Do you think she’d get Best in Show at Crufts?” he asked with smile.

Having no idea how to answer, the assistant just mumbled something about being sure she would. The poor man was very agitated and was continually glancing around the quite shop.

“But you can’t really tell from what you’ve seen, can you?” said the man. “She has fabulous legs, don’t you, my dear? … Why don’t you show the man?”

With only the merest hesitation, the young woman slowly pulled up her skirt until her dark stocking tops became visible.

“Don’t stop there,” snapped the man, sounding irritated. “You know the tops of your thighs are the best bits.”

Immediately, the blonde tugged her skirt up till the hem was level with the bottom of her crotch, glancing at the man for his approval. But, seeing that he was still stern-faced, she quickly pulled it right up to her waist.

The shopkeeper looked as though his eyes might pop from his head; beads of sweat ran down his forehead and his mouth hung open. He was transfixed by the sight in front of him. Her legs were indeed perfectly curved symphonies of flesh. Her silky-smooth, pure white thighs were thrown into mouth-watering contrast by the dark bands of her nylons below, and the diaphanous black panties above: a vanilla sandwich any man could spend a lifetime devouring, and, no doubt, many women, too. Her pubic hair was clearly visible through the gauzy material of her pants. And was that just the beginning of a slit? He thought it was.

“They’re very firm: her thighs,” said the man. “Go ahead: feel them.”

After glancing around, and swallowing a number of times, the assistant reached tentatively forward and brushed one of her white thighs with his fingertips.

“No! Not like that,” snapped the man. “You can’t tell anything like that. Take a good grip of one, man! That’s the only way to tell.”

With a glance up at the woman, who was just standing there, her skirt up around her waist, in the middle of a shop, as if it were the most natural think in the world, he slowly slipped the fingers of one hand between the blonde’s thighs, about three or four inches blow her crotch. Then, using his thumb, he grabbed her soft flesh and squeezed it.

“Harder.” said the man.

When the assistant complied, the woman gave a small gasp.

“And higher. She’s better at the top.”

Slightly releasing the pressure on her thigh, the shopkeeper slid his hand upward. This time he needed no more directions. He slid his hand right to the top of her legs: to the junction between them, and pressed the side of his hand hard into her crotch. She gasped again. It was hot and damp there: a humid little hothouse. He could feel her labia being crushed by the edge of his hand.

“Grip her thigh and see how firm it is if you move your hand backwards and forwards,” said the man, quietly.

The shop assistant realised what he was being directed to do, and, slowly, her white flesh grasped tightly between his fingers, he began sawing his hand backwards and forwards. As he did so, he pressed his hand as hard as he could up into her genitals. He could feel her swollen lips rolling over one another beneath the slippery nylon. And soon, he became aware of the slightly cool sensation on the edge of his sawing hand that told him it was now wet. He was still gripping the flesh of her thigh hard: pinching it; but he’d almost forgotten about that, so focused was he on her leaking, steamy crotch: her trickling, dribbling cunt. She wasn’t standing passively now, the blonde: she was rocking her hips back and forth in time with his movements. Without even consciously thinking about it, he picked up the tempo, his hand sliding easily under the lubricated silk and between her satiny thighs. She had her eyes closed now, and was making tiny mewling sounds, like a small animal trying to escape its fate. The assistant was panting, too.

Suddenly, the man looked around and said “Have you got any riding crops?”

As if he’d just had a bucket of water thrown over him, the shopkeeper whipped his hand away and stood up. The woman yelped and staggered forward on her high-heels, almost loosing her balance, and, in doing so, let go of her skirt, which fell back into place.

The man looked back at her with a scowl on his face. “Did I tell you you could cover yourself?” he said in a cold voice.

“No, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir,” she said, looking at him anxiously. Then, without another word from him, she quickly pulled her skirt back up to her waist. One of her thighs had red finger marks on it, which, no doubt, her owner would think went well with her lipstick. The man nodded.

“Crops?” he prompted.

“Oh yes, Sir,” said the shopkeeper, startled into action, “They’re over here.”

He kept glancing at his hand, which he held awkwardly in front of him, as if he desperately wanted to examine it: perhaps smell it; possibly even taste it.

“Oh, escort pendik just a sec,” said the man, “Before we leave this section: I’ve just thought of something else: do you have any ‘pooper scoopers’, I think they’re called.”

The shopkeeper looked as though he might collapse.

“Yes: here,” he said faintly.

“Fine. Just give me one of the most popular ones, would you? One likes to be a responsible citizen, doesn’t one.”

As the assistant collected a pooper scooper, the man tugged on the blonde’s lead and led her to the riding crops. “Come on,” he said, “Over here.”

He spent a couple of minutes swishing the crops through the air with his brows knit in concentration, before turning to the assistant with one in each hand. “It’s between these two, but I just can’t decide: this one’s more springy, but this one has a larger tab at the end…. I don’t think that there’s anything for it but to try them out.”

The shopkeeper stared at the woman, but she was concentrating intently on her master’s words. She now had a very high colour and a slightly feverish look in her eye.

“Bend over that counter,” the man said. “And make sure your skirt’s out of the way.”

Obediently, she did as she was told, ensuring, as she did, that her skirt was completely raised at the back. In fact, a thin strip of white flesh was even visible between her bright red skirt and the top of her transparent panties. The curves of her buttocks were very apparent through the almost nonexistent material.

“Do you think you could give us a hand, old chap?” the man said, addressing the shopkeeper. “We don’t want to damage those pretty little knickers, now, do we?”

Less hesitant than he’d been before, the assistant reached forward and took the sides of her panties between his fingers and thumbs and slowly pulled them down. Despite being so tight, they slid over her smooth hips with ease, making a quiet swooshing sound as they slipped down. He carried on pulling them until they were just below her crotch, then he stopped.

“Just a bit more, I think,” said the man.

The assistant did as requested and tugged them lower. The crotch of her pants stuck to her cunt as he tried to get them lower. They were glued in place by her secretions. Eventually, almost with a ‘twang’ they came loose and slithered to halfway down her thighs.

“She’s made quite a mess of those, hasn’t she?” said the man, with a rather distasteful smile. “She’s very good most of the time: but you can see why I’m going to need these, can’t you?” he said, swishing one of the crops. Then he said “Open your legs a bit.”

The woman opened her legs as wide as the knickers around her thighs would permit. Her anus was now visible: a perfect little pink asterisk. The top of her vagina was visible too: it was slightly open, and glistened in the shop’s lights.

“OK. Ready, my dear?”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied.

He swung one of the crops vigorously down through the air and there was a load ‘crack’. The woman jerked and cried out. A few seconds later an angry red wheal appeared on one of her buttocks, exactly reflecting the shape of the crop.

“OK. Remember what that felt like: now I’ll try the other one … Ready?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said again, her head bent down onto her arms that were resting on the counter.

The second crop whistled down through the air and landed with another ‘crack’. Again the blonde jerked and yelled, but the shopkeeper couldn’t help notice that she had closed her legs and was rubbing her thighs together in a rhythmical squirming motion. Within moments, a matching stripe appeared on the other cheek. Her two white buttocks now had parallel red stripes bisecting them diagonally.

“Which hurt most?” asked the man.

“The second one, Sir.”

“And which one should we buy?”

“The second one, please, Sir,” she replied.

With a broad smile, he said approvingly “Good girl.” But then, after a second, added “But haven’t you forgotten something?”

“Oh yes, Sir! I’m sorry, Sir,” the woman said with a gasp. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

“That’s alright,” said the man, still beaming, “I’m pleased with your choice of crops. And, anyway, I’m sure you won’t forget again, will you?”

“No, Sir,” she dutifully replied.

“Alright: you can stand up, now. I think we’ve just about finished in here. Keep your skirt up. But don’t pull up your pants: I think you’ve made those far too messy to put back on properly. Leaving them halfway down your thighs will be a reminder to you how you’ve sullied them.”

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Don’t let them fall down, though, will you?”

“No, Sir, I won’t.”

The man handed the crops to the shopkeeper, indicating which one he wanted, and then they made their way to the till to pay.

Moving back into the main body of the shop made the shopkeeper visibly more nervous, but the blonde, on her leash, walked brazenly up to the counter with her skirt up around her waist and her knickers halfway down her thighs. When they arrived there, the man said suddenly “But you haven’t felt her breasts, have you? I’m so sorry: pendik escort bayan I do apologise. They’re nearly as firm as her thighs. How could we have overlooked that?” Then, turning to his pet, asked sternly “Why didn’t you think of it?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Well don’t just stand there: tuck your skirt into your waistband and open your blouse.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Quickly, she did as she was told with her skirt, and unbuttoned her blouse.

“Pull it out of your skirt! He can’t get at them properly like that, can he?”

“No, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”

She pulled out her blouse and opened it wide, revealing her pink-tipped breasts in all their glory. She was breathing heavily again now.

“Well? Ask the man. Ask him nicely,” said her master.

“Yes, Sir,” she said, then, turning to face the man, added “Please would you feel my breasts, Sir?”

“Tits,” corrected her owner, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Sorry, Sir. Please will you feel my tits, Sir?”

With a glance at her owner, the assistant stepped forward and took one of her heavy breasts in each hand. He started weighing them and squeezing them. The woman had closed her eyes again now, and her mouth was open.

“You need to be firmer than that, especially with the nipples. Doesn’t he, my Love?”

“Yes, Sir. Yes please, Sir.”

He began squeezing her swollen breasts harder, and, on receiving no complaint, began mauling them. He took her stiff nipples between his thumbs and fingers and crushed them; then he tugged them out in front of her as far as he could; next he twisted them; and then he nipped them between his thumb and finger nails. Her face was contorted: screwed up in a grimace; her lips drawn right back from her teeth and her breath whistling in and out between them. Her hips were moving backward and forwards: her naked, moist cunt being ground between her now soaking thighs; the swollen lips slipping and sliding over each other; her clitoris poking out: seeking attention.

After a minute or two of staring, trance-like, at this obscene spectacle, the man interrupted them.

“Well, I suppose we’d better be going: we’ve quite a bit to do yet. I’ll just pay for these, then, if that’s OK.”

Reluctantly, the assistant let go of her juddering breasts, causing the woman to cry out in anguish. She stood there, cutting a forlorn figure: her slick thighs still rubbing together; her breasts still slightly swaying from being released. She was panting and shaking, and watery tears were running down her cheeks.

As he turned towards the counter, the man seemed to notice for the first time a display of rubber bones. He picked one up and examined it. Then, looking up at the assistant, said “It might be an idea to get a couple of these: it’s difficult to keep her amused all the time, you know. They have so much surplus energy at that age. Would you see if these ones are the right size?”

Not for the first time, the shopkeeper looked completely bemused. Then the owner pointedly looked at his pet’s groin and then back up to the assistant’s eyes.

“Oh. Right,” said the shopkeeper, hurriedly grabbing one of the bones and knocking about a dozen more to the floor as he did so. The bones were pink, about eight inches long, and had a knob at each end, like the bones from cartoons.

As he turned back to the woman, he suddenly became aware of two men standing a few yards away, their mouths open, staring at the scene in front of them. By the look of the shopkeeper, the man thought that he might have a heart attack and wondered briefly if he’d be deemed culpable, if the store man did. He decided to step into the breach.

“Would you like to serve these gentlemen first?” he said “We don’t want to keep anyone waiting”

After a second or two’s stunned silence, during which the assistant stared back and forth between the various protagonists like a startled rabbit, the men both started speaking simultaneously: verbally falling over one another. One said “No you go right ahead: finish what you were doing!” And the other said “No! We’re not in any hurry: we’ve got all day.”

It was hilarious, actually.

Then the man said “That’s very kind of you. If you’re sure it’s no problem, I think we’re almost done here, anyway.” Then turning back to the shopkeeper, he said “Just put it in once. Then pull it out.”

The woman looked distraught, gave a small whimper, and stared pleadingly at the man.

“Go on then.” he said.

The woman leaned back against the shelving behind her, thrusting her hips forward and opening her legs. The shopkeeper placed his fingers either side of her sex and spread it, her vagina peeling open like a juicy ripe fruit. He placed the end of the bone between her lips and began pushing. As he pushed, he twisted the bone back and forth, screwing it slowly into her. The woman responded by forcing her hips forward trying to engulf her prize. Inch by inch, her cunt ate the bone, consuming it, until only a couple of inches protruded. The assistant was shaking; and both the watching men looked as though they’d forgotten how to breathe. Then, slowly the shop man pulled the bone out. The woman followed it with her hips, desperately trying to hang onto it, but to no avail: it slipped out, wet and shiny, into the assistant’s hand. The woman whimpered again and looked imploringly at her master.

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