And Your Little Dog, Too
It was stupid to be jealous of Sue. Betsy knew that.
More than stupid. It was weird.
She’d never been jealous before, not really. She just wasn’t the jealous type. Even when her ex had cheated on her—it had been the betrayal that had stung, not any fear of being replaced, or fury about having ‘her man’ stray.
And she knew that Dan would never cheat on her. He was the most loyal, loving husband she could imagine.
On paper, it made no sense. She wasn’t the jealous type, Dan wasn’t the kind who would cheat.
But god…there was just something about Sue.
Betsy had been the one pushing her husband to make friends at work. He’d hated his high-paying job for so long—she should have been thrilled that there was someone at Invotech that he actually got along with.
But here she was, jealous of her husband’s workmate.
And for no good reason! She’d never even met Sue!
It was the way Dan spoke about her. No, more than that—it was the way he went out of his way to do special favors for her. He’d sometimes stay late at work; not for his projects, but to help Sue with hers. On more than one occasion, they’d had to cancel date night so he could assist Sue.
Once, they’d been in the middle of a date when he’d gotten a call. Betsy hadn’t been able to hear Sue’s voice on the other end of the line, but she could imagine it—it would be sickly-sweet, she somehow knew. That kind of voice that men loved, but which drove her up the wall.
She’d asked Dan how old Sue was, and he’d seemed confused by the question. “Young, I guess. Just a kid.”
Betsy could picture her now. Blonde, probably. And busty. Always wearing tank tops, and button-up shirts with the first few buttons undone. She’d probably put her hair in pigtails, if she could get away with it.
She just hated her. They’d never met, she had no reason, but she hated her.
Dan had ended the call, and looked at Betsy with an apologetic look.
“Sue?” she’d asked dryly.
“Yeah,” he’d replied. “Her car is out of gas—she…—“
“Go,” Betsy had said with a wave. She couldn’t tell her husband not to rescue his workmate-in-distress, could she? What kind of wife would that make her?
She was a good wife. She had no issue with her husband having friends.
And then there was Atwood.
“Why are we taking the dog?” Betsy had asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Sue’s new landlord doesn’t allow pets,” Dan patiently explained.
“I get that,” Betsy replied. “But why are we taking the dog?”
“We’re the only people Sue knows who own a house,” Dan responded, and suddenly…they had a pet.
He’d explained that it was temporary, that Sue had a new place lined up. But in the meantime, her small yappy dog, ‘Atwood’, was clattering across the floors, filling the house with his doggie smell, and acting as a beacon for Betsy’s hate.
She liked to say that she didn’t hate anyone, but that clearly wasn’t true. After thirty-odd years of avoiding it, Betsy now hated two beings: Sue, the bitch her husband worked with, and Atwood, her little doggie.
Again, it didn’t really make sense. Objectively, Atwood was as good a dog as one could hope for. He made it clear when he wanted to go outside for a walk (a task which seemed to entirely be Betsy’s responsibility, for some reason) and he was perfectly trained. Sit, stand, shake hands, play dead.
‘Stay dead’ had done nothing except confuse him…but even Betsy had to admit that wasn’t really the dog’s fault.
Her husband seemed to be spending more and more time with his workmate, which meant Betsy was frequently alone in the house, staring at the stupid mutt, practically glowing with hate.
She didn’t know a thing about dogs. He seemed like a…medium-size dog? Larger than a chihuahua, smaller than Clifford. He had floppy ears, and brown fur with specks of white.
Betsy despised him.
“Stupid dog,” she muttered, as he pranced ahead of him on his leash.
“Idiot hound,” she spat, as she poured him another bowl of food.
“Get a job,” she hissed at him as he stared at the door to the back yard, wanting to be let out.
On more than one occasion, she was awoken in the middle of the night by him racing from one end of the house to the other. By the time the adrenaline faded (her half-awake mind consistently assumed it was an intruder of some kind), she’d lose at least an hour or two of sleep, and stumble groggily into work the next day.
Eventually, she had enough.
“The dog has to go,” she panted.
“The dog,” Betsy grunted. “I want to get rid of it.”
“Can we talk about this later?”
“No,” Betsy moaned, moving her husband’s hand to her breast. “I want to talk about it now.”
Dan shot her a puzzled look. Pulling his wife off him, he moved to the side of the bed.
“Why’d you stop?” she pouted.
There was a pause, as Dan caught his breath.
“Betsy,” he finally said. “I don’t want to talk about Atwood halfway through sex.”
Betsy rolled her eyes. She loved her husband, but he could be such a prude sometimes.
“Fine,” she said, crawling across the bed. “We’ll talk about it later…”
As she slipped her husband’s cock into her mouth, staring up at him seductively, she realized she could taste her own wetness. With a smile, she closed her eyes and orally pleasured her husband until he unloaded into her mouth.
But they didn’t talk about it later. For whatever reason, the topic only occurred to Betsy when they were making love.
Something they were doing a lot more of.
They’d always had a great sex life, but ever since Dan had begun spending more and more time with Sue, it had escalated. Not that Betsy was complaining—she’d always had a higher libido than her husband. In the early days of their marriage, it had even caused some problems.
But this? This was an aspect of her husband’s infatuation with Sue that she liked. And it also served as even more evidence he wasn’t cheating on her—there was no way that he’d have the energy to keep Sue satisfied and take care of her as often as he was.
He wasn’t home much, but when he was, they were almost always in the sack. He’d come home from Sue’s weekly poker night, reeking of cigarettes (neither of them smoked, but Sue’s entire gang apparently did), and drunkenly grope her. A part of her knew she should be annoyed, turn him down…but instead, she’d just roll over and let him have his way, timing her orgasm to match his.
Thoughts of Atwood came to mind almost every time Dan entered her. Atwood. That damn dog. She was sick of taking care of it—feeding it, bathing it, picking up after it. She felt like she spent more time with Atwood than with her own husband.
Gotta talk to Dan about this, she’d think, each and every time, but she never did. It was like her orgasm completely wiped it off her mental todo list.
Sometimes she’d wake her husband up with a blowjob. As her head bobbed up and down, she’d remember.
Atwood. Atwood. Atwood. Talk to Dan about Atwood.
But as he unloaded down her throat, her fingers dancing between her legs, she’d completely forget about it and go and make him some waffles.
As soon as he left, the dog would wander in and she’d remember, cursing herself for not talking about it while she had the chance.
One night, as she was pacing back and forth, waiting for Dan to get home, she had a brilliant idea.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Betsy purred. As soon as he’d walked through the door, she’d pulled him into the bedroom and straddled him.
He was hard, of course. He always was, after staying late with Sue.
“The, uh…the dog.”
Betsy beamed. If Atwood was in the room while they made love, his presence would remind her to bring it up.
Of course, she couldn’t tell her husband that. She didn’t want to have that conversation, not yet. Not until after he’d taken care of her needs…and she’d taken care of his.
“I think he gets lonely,” she lied. Dan shot her a strange look, but before he could ask any more questions, she pulled down her top and moved his mouth to her hard nipple.
Sue’s tits are probably bigger, she couldn’t help but think as he sucked on them.
That was a strange thought.
She pulled her breast out of his mouth, and slithered to her knees. Her husband stared down at her lovingly as she moved his thick cock to her mouth.
Sue’s probably better at giving head, too.
Betsy shook her head, trying to clear it of these odd, obtrusive thoughts.
After just a few short licks, she decided to skip straight to the main event. Why not? She was soaked, and Dan was hard as a rock.
Groaning with pleasure as she lowered her wetness onto her husband’s, Betsy was determined not to think of Sue. Not to think of her younger body, how much more lithe and supple it probably was than hers. Dan’s eyes were tightly closed, and Betsy refused to wonder if he was imagining his workmate in her place, picturing Sue’s body wrapped around his instead of his wife’s.
To distract herself, she glanced around the room. To her surprise, Atwood was staring right at them.
She’d heard of this. Dogs were social creatures—they liked to keep tabs on what was going on. He’d probably never seen two people have sex before, and was just observing the proceedings.
Betsy stared into the little dog’s eyes as she raised and lowered her body on her husband’s rod, shudders of pleasure passing through her.
God she loved being fucked.
Of course, there was no guarantee that Atwood had never seen people have sex before. But he was Sue’s little dog, and Betsy was sure that Sue was a slut. Why else would she spend so much time with a married man, flaunting her body, getting him all riled up?
Maybe Atwood had watched people fuck before. Maybe he’d watched Sue.
Maybe he’d watched Sue fuck Dan.
An involuntary groan left Betsy’s mouth at the thought. It made no sense, of course—her husband would never cheat on her, not even with a little slut like Sue.
Still, it was surprisingly hot to think about…
As Betsy stared at Sue’s stupid dog, she started imagining it. Her husband, pumping his hard cock into Sue’s willing, perfectly-shaved pussy. Months ago, before her landlord had made her get rid of Atwood.
The dog watching as they did.
“I’m cumming,” she moaned, and immediately began trembling, her pussy repeatedly contracting around Dan’s erection.
“I’m not there yet,” he grunted in response.
Gotta stop thinking about Sue, Betsy told herself, but it had been oddly cathartic. Cumming while thinking about the other woman…it somehow seemed to rob the harlot of some of her power.
Besides, her husband was faithful. It wasn’t even a question—it was a fact.
And so Betsy closed her eyes, and focused on the sensations of her husband inside her. His long cock, filling her up again and again. His hands, urgently grasping her back. She pictured what they were doing—him, laying on the bed. Her, riding him like her life depended on it.
Atwood, watching from the side.
“Almost there,” her husband gasped, and she opened her eyes. Atwood was staring straight at her.
Did he know? Did he know they were about to cum?
“Now,” Dan exclaimed, and—almost involuntarily—Betsy found herself cumming. For the second time that night, an orgasm washed over her as she made eye-contact with her rival’s pet dog.
As her pussy clenched around Dan’s cock, he jerkily thrust inside her. She could feel his dick throb as he came, filling her with his seed.
I bet he doesn’t do that with Sue, she thought proudly.
A puzzled expression came over her as she realized where her mind had wandered once more. Of course he didn’t cum bareback inside Sue. He didn’t cum at all inside Sue. They were just friends. Dan would never, ever cheat on her.
Why did these strange thoughts keep entering her head?
She was still puzzling it over as she got up to let Atwood out of the room.