Briskly he turned around and walked on. I gasped. I never ventured far, too afraid of what might happen when I wasn’t back in time, but a different path each day. The other hand left my tit, reached for my crotch. “Mount.” Instantaneous was that command and the dog obeyed. Coffee before shower, before getting fucked. The man closed the door and sat down on one of the dog beds. He laughed. One hour left. The touch sent shivers down my spine. Then I reached for the shampoo, washed my long ginger hair. The dog’s breath was warm in my crotch. I held out my hand, let him sniff. Unsure what was expected of me I stood still, looked to the man on the dog bed. I felt them react, harden. There was a picture of a dog on the package. The man closed the door and sat down on one of the dog beds. I still did not enjoy it. The towels were soft and fluffy. I could bear it. That felt good, more than good. The monsters in the films usually killed their prey. A soft touch, not as hard as he would do it. Carefully I removed the stubble, felt with my hand if I had missed any. Prey? I had adapted to his schedule, developed a routine.
