Poet & the Witch of Highway K Ch. 02

After a two-hour drive through sleet and snow, the animal and I pulled up to my place around four in the morning. It hadn't moved except to snuggle closer when I would roll down the window to smoke.

Inside, I found the animal to be a male puppy, short haired, square muzzled, gray brown in color, with paws...well, let's just say I was glad I wasn't going to be required to buy him shoes. Later, the vet reckoned he was about 4 months old, healthy, and for me to expect a large dog. That vet was a master of understatement because what I got was a genuine fucking monster.

I woke with the dog standing on my chest, a yard of tongue cleaning my face and a whine that threatened to change into a howl.

Being still dressed, I got him outside. He did the standard dog thing, smelled everything and then pissed on it to show that he was boss. He ranged out pretty far for a young dog in a new place. He got as far as the spot where I had first seen his mother and then made a beeline back to the house.

And that is pretty much the first step in a routine that we have kept to this day, which is going on three years.

He ate like there was no tomorrow, sniffed around a bit, then curled up in the exact same spot as his mother.

I headed for the shower, with my aches and a cup of coffee to keep me company.

I sat down in the tub, my heels up against my ass and chin on my knees and hoped the hot water raining down on me would work its magic.

It did...in an unpredicted way.

A slideshow of images and sensations began to flash behind my eyes.

A hallway, a room, various stages of being undressed, flat on my back, someone sucking, biting, licking my neck and chest, a sagging belly over my face, a wet pussy sliding over my nose and onto my mouth, being made to suck and lick, more sucking and teeth on my thighs, balls and cock, being smothered, coarse hair in my mouth. Slack breasts and belly up and down, up and down as they rode my cock. Parts of the show began repeating, almost as if it was more than a one-act play. Laughing the only sound. Being put in my truck, driven down the road and made to move behind the wheel. Laughing slowly receding.

The book flipped back to the beginning. Luckily, the cooling water jerked me away from a repeat performance.

Wiping down the mirror I found hickeys covering my neck and chest, my nipples red and swollen. Almost afraid to look, but knowing I had to, my lower stomach, upper thighs, cock and balls was a mass of hickeys and human bite marks.

I sat and stared at the dog, smoked two bowls, took three of the pain killers left from my shoulder surgery, and took a bunch of pulls off a bottle of Jim Beam while I waited for the water to get hot again. It wasn't the pain. It was the show.

Part of me was raw when I started that second shower. All of me was raw when I finished.

The next morning I loaded up the dog and took him to Linda's house. I made sure to wear a wool scarf, because while we both know that we're not an exclusive couple, in my mind it doesn't pay to broadcast other friendships.

Linda agreed to watch the dog and hinted at some slap-and-tickle when I got back, but I begged off.

He was chasing her cat around the house when I left.

I drove up and down Highway K I don't know how many times before I realized that I should've brought the dog.

Linda told me that when he wasn't chasing the cat he would sit by the back door and whine. Maybe it was my imagination but I sensed a feeling of relief as the door shut behind us.

I made the little son-of-a-bitch earn his keep when we got back to Highway K.

Rolling down the passenger window, I wound him up saying stuff like, "Find your mama boy. Where's Fetch?" and so on.

He took me right to it.

I got out to look. The mailbox and post was lying behind a drift and some scrub was pulled across the drive.

The old bitch didn't want to be found.

On the way home he let me know in no uncertain terms that he didn't like pickles on his hamburgers.

Seven days later the dog and I made another trip to Highway K.

As we pulled up to the house, Wilda was at her place on the porch holding a shotgun with Fetch sitting beside her.

As I climbed out of the truck she called to me, "What do you want, boy?"

I walked slowly towards her, looked into her blue eyes and said, "More."

She began her laugh and began walking to the door with a small come hither wave of her hand.

Fetch stayed outside.

I sat at the table watching her go through her ritual, but when she slid the mug to me, I unzipped my jacket, pulled the 45 from the shoulder holster and chambered a round. Pointing it at her I said, "Your turn."

She shot a glance towards the shotgun. I stood and quietly said, "You won't make it. Drink up, girl."

As she sat in a zombie like state, I emptied every container I could find into a trash bag, pulled every plant from it's pot or from where it hung drying, drug it all out into the yard and burned it as the light of day began to fade.

She put her coat on with a little help and walked slowly out to my truck with just a suggestion. I grabbed a heavy quilt from her bed and put both dogs in the house.

I drove about 10 miles and left her sitting on the side of Highway K with the quilt over her shoulders. I picked that spot because it was about a quarter click from the entrance to a hospital.

I headed for home after collecting both dogs, but not before lighting a candle and turning on the gas for one burner of the old stove.

I know that some of you wonder why I didn't just give as good as I got. The only answer I can give you is that I may be a lot of things that you wouldn't want your mother, sister or daughter to be around, but I'm definitely not a rapist.

I can imagine that some of you think I should have gone to the law. With what, a sore cock and a puppy dog?

I'm far from being a religious man, but I'd like to leave you with a saying and my thought on it. 'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord'. While that may be true, it sure seems as though the Lord uses the hand of man to extract that vengeance on more than a few occasions.

I figure I cut out the middleman.