Author’s note…this is only the second chapter, and Groucho’s first appearance for Wicked Wednesday. Just to catch my readers up to snuff, he is not an average beagle…in fact, he was once called Grant and had a seven-figure paying job before his girlfriend poisoned him and he was reincarnated as her dog…well, at least that’s his side of the story.
So, without further adieu, I would like to invite all of you over here to. Climb in…get comfortable…and tell me, what other writer takes you inside the head of a dog?
I don’t fucking think so, Groucho thought and eyed the bath. He then looked up at the lady.
“Come on, Groucho, get in the tub,” she cooed.
No! Don’t make me get the toaster.
Yeah, I remember that voice. Usually ended up with make-up sex on the couch. You, me and those legs…please, can I play with those legs again?
“GROUCHO! Wendell will be here soon. Get in the fucking tub!”
Wendell Clark? Is there hockey on TV tonight? He shook his head. Wait, that’s not right. Clark was your date the other night. Wendell Clark hasn’t played hockey in…um…wait a second…you slept with Clark the other night. Tonight it’s Wendell?
She held up a kibble snack.
He munched on his kibble…in the tub…as she suds-ed his fur and then sprayed him with the shower head.
We were great together, you know that? Me and my cock…I called it Richard. Not sure why I called it Richard, but it seemed funny at the time. King Richard the Upright! Watched it infiltrate so many castles to bring maidens to pleasure. Nice benefit that it gave me pleasure storming those gates.
She whistled while she washed him. Pulled him out on to the mat and went to work on him with a pink towel.
He sat, leaned forward and licked his own balls. You gave great head, too. You were better at it than I am.
Then she was gone out of the bathroom at near sprint.
Groucho followed to her bedroom and watched her change into the slinky dress, as he used to call it. Her little black dress with a low-cut neck line and high cut skirt. It always reminded him of the scene in The Private Eyes when Trisha Noble described her clothing to Don Knotts and Tim Conway…and, like them, it left him drooling.
“What do you think?” she asked Groucho.
Yeah, I’d do you. He jumped up on to the bed and lay his chin on top of his paws. I remember the taste of that pussy. It was so…
There was a knock at the front door.
Groucho jumped up barking and charged to the door. Pizza man! Feed me!
It was not the pizza man. It was Wendell with slicked back black hair and a black t-shirt that was a little too tight showing off his well muscled beer-belly.
You can’t sleep with this buffoon.
With how she kissed Wendell, Groucho quickly realize that he had no choice in the matter.
Please don’t make me watch.
At least they put the hockey game on the TV for him, which he did watch from his couch perch with chin on paws…his signature move. Unfortunately, on the carpet between Groucho and the TV…they made love.
Would you two knock it off! If I miss another goal I will bite his fucking ankles!
Then inspiration struck and his ears popped straight up. Quickly he was up on all fours, jumped down from the couch and made his way around to the tiny kitchen. Don’t mind me, I’ll be right back.
As expected, the closet was open and a bottle full of cleaning solvent was at the bottom on the floor.
Quietly padding back the living room with the plastic bottle between his teeth. Eyeing the two wine glasses, however, he got confused. Which one is hers? Aw fuck, I don’t care. The lady moaned her pleasure.
Oh fuck. How do I open this thing?
“What are you doing with that?”
Those naked legs that went on forever were standing over him. I miss those legs.
She grabbed the bottle from him and walked to the kitchen.
Groucho, bounded after. Feed me?
Returning the cleaning bottle to the closet, this time she closed it. Crouching down, she wrapped her right hand around his snout and pointed with her left finger as though that would get her point across better. “Bad boy. You could have hurt yourself.”
Yeah, like that was my plan.
Standing, she left the kitchen and this time closed the door behind her leaving Groucho alone in the kitchen.
What about the hockey game? Well, at least I don’t have to watch you two any more. He circled and was about to drop onto the linoleum until something on the counter caught his eye…in one single jump he was up on a kitchen chair and up to the table. One further jump and he was on the counter.
Two thawed out raw steaks glistened, just waiting for him.
His tongue slapped across his mouth. Not my fault they are here. The first steak was gone in two minutes. The second he savored an extra minute. Getting back down to the floor he accidentally knocked into the open bottle of red wine that spilled onto the floor. Guess I should clean that up.
Finally, he circled twice…plopped down and fell asleep. He dreamed, that night, of those legs…and thanks to the wine, he did not truly remember her yelling at him when she brought Wendell in to the kitchen to start dinner.