Interview with the Breeder

Like many women, I went through a bit of a slut phase in my twenties. Nothing crazy, but I had fun. As my twenties waned, so did the wild times. Eventually I went back to school and became a dental hygienist. On weekends, instead of going out, meeting some junior advertising guy and getting fucked in his Queen bed, I stayed home, binged TV and went to bed early. When I finished my program I started at Dr. Koch's dental practice in town. It was nice to have set a goal, worked hard, and achieved that goal. And my new job was challenging, but rewarding. I finally felt like an adult. Then I went and did something really cliché: I married the dentist, and we became Dr. and Mrs. Koch. My husband didn't want his wife working, so I left my job and became a housewife.

I was bored out of my mind--I'd worked my entire life, and now having nothing to do was driving me crazy. I shopped, went tanning, and went to the nail salon, all of the things my husband told me I ought to do to fill my time. Meanwhile, our sex life dried up immediately. When I was home, I spent my time reading smut online and rubbing my clit raw, or otherwise wandering the huge, empty house that had suddenly become my home. How did I get here, I frequently asked myself. It wasn't the life I'd imagined when I was twenty-five, let alone thirty-five. And I was lonely. I couldn't believe how indifferent my husband was to my obvious isolation. What I needed was companionship. Someone actually excited to see me. I needed a dog.

Surprisingly, my husband thought it was a terrific idea. One of his acquaintances at the club had recently purchased a purebred Labrador for his family from a breeder, and he couldn't recommend her enough. His family was tremendously happy, and he'd been impressed by how thorough--fastidious even--the breeder had been. My husband was sold. If it was good enough for some lawyer at his club, then surely it was good enough for his family, price be damned. And it was pricey.

The website was barebones. There were photos of the various litters, with information about their pedigrees--so many cute yellow, black and chocolate labs. The first step was to submit an inquiry, so I sent one via the website and a day later I got a response, which read:

"Dear Mrs. Koch- Thank you for your inquiry. Please send me your availability and I will schedule an interview. Please expect to be here at least three hours. Sincerely, Deb."

It seemed preposterous to me to be interviewing to adopt a puppy, even more so that it would last three hours. I would've gone immediately to the closest animal shelter and gotten a mutt, but my husband was adamant that we use this dog breeder to the rich and the famous. I reluctantly sent a few suggested dates and times, and she accepted one of them, replying with her address.

I drove the hour outside of town, eventually finding her hidden drive on a tree-lined country road. As I steered my BMW up the long drive, the complex came into the view within the vast expanse of farmland. There were a few pods of barn structures with large chain-link enclosures scattered about the grounds that I had seen in the photos, and also a large facility that I took to be the grooming building the website had purported to be "state of the art." At the end of the drive sat the main house, a large brick colonial with grandiose columns. I parked the car and walked across the gravel.

"Hello, Mrs. Koch!"

Deb was scaling the steep hill between one of the barn enclosures and the main house, heading in my direction. She was a broad, stocky woman with short gray hair, wearing rubber Wellington boots and a forest green down vest. We shook hands, her grip clasping my hand firmly in her own.

"You're a few minutes late, so I decided to get some work done while I waited. Shall we get started?"

Her frankness disarmed me, but there was a kind, huskiness to her voice that made me wonder if I had misinterpreted her tone. She showed me in to her home, leading me to a study off the main foyer. Deb gestured to a leather armchair.

"Have a seat."

Deb shut the door and took her own seat behind a desk in the corner of the room. Behind me, dark wood bookshelves lined with old books covered the walls. Next to them was an oil painting of a man in a Houndstooth suit with a retriever by his side.

"Care for a treat?" she said, gesturing to a small plate of ginger cookies.

"Oh, yes, please. Why not?"

She rose from the desk and placed a cookie in my hand. I nibbled the edge of it and chewed tentatively. It was delicious.

"The recipe is a family tradition. We've got a few of them. Labrador's being another."

She nodded towards the portrait.

"Shall we start the interview?"

I quickly finished the rest of the cookie and sat up a little straighter, smoothing my skirt.

"To start, I'd like to know some basic information about you. Full name, age, whether or not you have children, your occupation...things of that nature."

"I'm not sure why my age is relevant?"

"I only ask questions that are strictly relevant, Mrs. Koch. I need your name because I don't care to call you Mrs. Koch for three hours. I need to know your age because these animals have a considerable amount of energy and I want to ensure an applicant is at a stage in her life where she can keep up. I want to know about any children because I need to be sure young kids won't mistreat the animal. They pull tails and whiskers, and can generally be quite rough. That is why I want to know."

The atmosphere in the room was tense. I felt guilty for having questioned her. I watched silently as she pulled her Wellingtons off and set them on the floor next to the desk.

"Maybe I should explain a little bit about my approach to dog breeding. Firstly, I believe that my responsibility to any animal I've had a hand in making extends to the entirety of its life. That means I do my due diligence to make sure an animal is well cared for, whether or not it's in my personal care. That also means I call every family periodically to check up on our dogs."

"Secondly, I believe that one must understand and accept the fundamental nature of an animal. I don't get mad when a dog pees on the floor, or gets up on the furniture. How would they be expected to know they're not permitted to do so, unless a human being intervenes and trains them?"

"That all sounds wonderful. An admirable, ethical approach," I said.

"Care for another one?" she said, tapping the plate.

"I shouldn't, but they're so good."

She stepped from the desk once more and placed another ginger cookie in my hand.

"My name is Megan Koch. I'm thirty-five years old. I'm married, without children."

"Do you intend to have children?"

Though I'd never allowed the thought to form in my mind, the way her question made me feel told me that, under no uncertain circumstances, did I want to have children with my husband.

"No."

"I'll need to meet your husband, too, before anything is certain."

"Deb--may I call you Deb?"

"Deb...Miss Benedict. Whichever you prefer."

"Deb...Miss Benedict, I know you're very diligent but please believe me when I say: this will be my dog. My husband will not be involved, whatsoever. He works long hours and is almost entirely uninvolved in anything to do with maintaining the house. I can't imagine that will change when the dog arrives."

"If the dog arrives," she said.

"If the dog arrives," I corrected myself. "But that's the reason I'm here. I'm not just looking for a dog. I'm looking for companionship. I spend my days all alone at the house."

Deb narrowed her eyes in contemplation. She helped herself to a cookie, holding the tray in her hand.

"Just one more left. Please finish it off," she said, placing the final cookie in my hand. I ate it eagerly--they were truly delicious. Whatever her family recipe was, I couldn't get enough.

"What's your activity level, Megan?"

She looked me up and down. In the year I had been married I had gained probably twenty-five pounds, and was feeling extremely self-conscious about it. Her eyes lingered on my thighs and I pulled the hem of my skirt subconsciously.

"This dog will need between one hour and eighty minutes of physical activity a day, Megan."

"I admit I'm not as active lately as I have been, but I am generally a very active person. I used to go to the gym daily, and I will have no trouble walking a dog eighty minutes a day."

Deb didn't seem like she was competing in any Triathalons any time soon, so why did I feel the need to convince her of my worth?

"Yes, of course. Many people find they actually lose weight when they get a dog, you know? Just one of the many benefits of ownership."

She pulled a legal pad from a drawer and took a few notes.

"Megan, how did you hear about my dogs?"

"My husband's friend Dewey from the country club said his family was very, very happy."

She smiled as she finished her notes.

"I pride myself on being an intuitive person. It helps me in my line of work to understand what an animal requires even when it's not able to articulate it. That goes for people, as well. Indulge me, if you will. I'd like to show you something."

Deb stepped back into her Wellington boots and opened the door, beckoning me towards the staircase to the second floor.

"Go on, Megan. I'm right behind you," Deb said.

I walked up the creaking staircase and stopped on the second floor landing. My heart was pounding and I didn't know why.

"First door on the left."

I opened the door to find a long, dark, rectangular room. Heavy curtains blocked all the sunlight from the windows. Deb flicked the lights. At the far end of the room there was a St. Andrew's cross, and beside it a padded bench that looked like a bit like a pommel horse.

"Deb...I..."

"Downstairs I'm Deb or Miss Benedict. In this room I'm just Miss Benedict."

"Miss Benedict...I..."

She patted me on the head.

"Hush, Megan. What did I tell you about being intuitive? You were right before, in the study. You're not just looking for a dog. You're looking to be treated like a dog."

I felt my adrenaline surging. Generations of evolution had developed the biological mechanism coursing through my veins, screaming for me to escape. Deb, or Miss Benedict, was blocking the door with her stocky frame.

"Calm down Megan. You're always free to leave. But you won't."

She stepped aside, clearing the doorway.

"Do you think you're the first one? You're a horny little trollop. I can see them from a mile away. You're languishing in that McMansion of yours, dreaming of being touched. Dreaming of being humiliated and fucked like a little slut."

"Deb...I'm not a lesbian."

"It's Miss Benedict in here, Megan. That's the last warning you're going to get about that. And you say you're not a lesbian now, but I'll give you the puppy of your choice from any litter for free and send you on your way right now...if you can prove to me your little slit isn't sopping wet as we speak."

She was right. My pussy was perhaps wetter than it'd ever been. Wetter than seemed possible. What was happening to me?

"You've immediately capitulated to every demand I've made so far, with only cursory resistance. And now I'm offering you the opportunity to be touched. There's no way you're going to pass that up. I'll prove it. I'll give you the most mind-blowing orgasm you've ever had. All you need to do is lick my boots."

I summoned every ounce of self-respect in my body to walk out the door, but it just wasn't enough. I needed it too much.

I dropped down on all fours and began to lick the toe of her boots.

"What did I just say, about the capitulation? Though I admit, this is quicker than I even imagined."

I felt her hand lifting the hem of my skirt.

"That's quite a bubble butt you have, Megan. I'm going to take enjoy marking all that real estate."

She swatted my ass with her hand and I felt each of her five fingers and her palm stinging my flesh.

"Get the other one, now."

I switched to the other boot, licking feverishly at the rubber.

"You're a hot little dish, Megan. Probably the hottest one I've had yet. I bet that big booty looked divine in scrubs. How was Dr. Koch supposed to resist? That's enough of that, by the way"

She grabbed a fistful of hair and tugged, indicating that I should rise to my feet. Miss Benedict unzipped my skirt and dropped it to the floor.

"Spread."

I spread my legs and she peeled the panties from my mound and pulled them down. She stuck a finger in my cunt.

"My word. It looks like there will be no free puppy for you, today. Take your shirt and bra off, and go climb on that bench."

"I thought you were going to make me cum," I whined.

"I'm certain I didn't specify a timeline. And don't you ever talk back to me again. Now get over there if you're even dreaming of cumming."

I stripped my top and bra and hurriedly climbed the padded bench.

"Look at that ass wobble. No surprise you love those cookies."

I blushed.

"Don't be embarrassed. It's an amazing posterior you have."

She issued a volley of thwacks on my ass, each blow ringing out against my skin. I'd been spanked by at least fifteen partners in my life, but none had done so with as much gusto as Deb (or rather Miss Benedict). When she was finished, every inch of my backside was stinging and red.

"I had to do a few extra for backtalk. But I am a woman of my word. Prepare to cum harder than you've ever cum."

I looked over my shoulder and saw Miss Benedict closing in on me with a huge strap-on. It slid in without resistance. Without resistance--that might as well have been the theme of the afternoon. It was bigger than my husbands cock--not the biggest dick I'd ever had, but damn near it. She started with slow, confident strokes, peppering my ass cheeks with ad hoc slaps. As her pace quickened, it filled my pussy completely with every pump.

"Are you my doggy? You're on all fours, you do everything I say, you go everywhere I tell you to go. Sure sounds like you're my doggy."

I was too horny to control my mouth.

"Oh God yes I am your doggy. Miss Benedict, you fuck me so well."

"Pathetic! You walked in here thirty minutes ago on two legs and you're already on your hands and knees getting railed. This might be a world record."

I couldn't tell if her cock felt good in spite of the degradation or because of it. It was impossible to extricate all of the things I was feeling. I was building to, as promised, the most powerful orgasm I'd ever experienced.

"Miss...Miss...I'm cumming,"

"Stop saying it and do it, slut. Do it for me," she said, pumping even harder.

What followed was an orgasm so powerful that my vision whited out for a few seconds. When I caught my breath I realized she was petting my hair.

"I think somebody earned another cookie."

I remained draped over the bench, catching my breath. Suddenly the cum covered strap-on was in my mouth.

"Here you go. You get to clean it for being such a good girl for me."

She shoved it deep into the back of my throat until I gagged.

"That's it. Good girl."

She popped it from my mouth and patted me on the cheek with the cock a few times.

"Catch your breath and let's go. We've got to continue the interview."