Indecently indentured to dogs

I’ve been a devotee of bestiality since I was a teenager. I don’t know exactly why, but women fucking animals has always turned me on. Luckily, I’m a reasonably good looking man with the “gift of the gab”, so I have often succeeded in coercing women into trying some sort of sex with animals to appease my sordid cravings over the years.

Despite my off-color perversion. I fell in love with, and later married, a good catholic girl. Go figure!

Early on, she was a good sport about my obscene fantasies, trying the “animal sex thing” to make me happy in our first years of marriage. I even purchased a full grown male Doberman named Boer, specifically to service my pretty little wife at my pleasure. But sadly, bestiality often isn’t a catholic girl’s long term vocation. I had to respect her decision, naturally. And so my wonderful Doberman dog stopped being a stud and became merely a guard-dog for my home business, instead.

If my first great passion is bestiality, my second was my profession, hairdressing. I was a really good hairdresser mind you. Top awards for my final exams at cosmetology school and so on. But when it came to making real money, I couldn’t really cut it, pardon the pun. So, instead of running busy salons in major shopping malls or city centers, I ended up running my own salon, Mike’s Hair Studio, out of a back office area of my own leafy, suburban home.

The salon was all very professionally appointed. The latest quality fittings and fixtures and totally separate from my home’s living area, with a lovely view of my well manicured back garden. The most non-commercial aspect of my home hairdressing business was that my customers had to ring my front doorbell and wait for me to come through and escort them through the foyer of my home to the salon at the rear. I had little walk-by trade for the salon so I was never going to make big money. I had some regular clients, but it had taken years to build a cliental to the point where I was making a small, respectable profit.

Anyway, one day I decided I had finally reached a point in my business where I should think about hiring an apprentice.

I reasoned that there were a lot of men in my neighborhood who wanted cheap haircuts. It seemed logical to take on a young girl as a first year hairdressing apprentice, I could have her do the cheap work, pay a small wage and still make a small profit. I was sure most men would prefer to revisit my salon for a pretty girl to run her fingers through their hair instead of me. So I advertised for an apprentice in the local paper.

I’d booked a series of appointments and started interviewing. The fifth person I interviewed was Kelly. Kelly had the job the moment she walked through the door, I might add. I found her affable and enjoyed conversing with her, despite my being almost twice her age. It is SO easy to describe Kelly. Just imagine music diva Kylie Minogue.

Kelly had loads of vibrant young feminine sexuality. Long blonde hair, a fantastic figure, beautifully manicured eyebrows and makeup, the works. Kelly was only seventeen years old, going on twenty-five, and shorter than the famous Aussie superstar. Still, she had a great presence. Very petite, yet perfectly proportioned. Great tits, a super sexy ass and long, gorgeous, shapely tanned legs.

She wasn’t phased when I told her frankly, that I liked the fact she was a sexy blond, since I wanted to attract a larger male clientele to the salon. She told me they would be crazy if they didn’t come back to see her again! She also promised she’d do what ever I deemed necessary to gain an apprenticeship and assured me I’d be very happy with her. I hired her right then and there on the spot, telling her I’d see her the next morning and we’d see how things turned out.

Everything started out fine. Kelly started work thereafter, promptly every morning, six days per week. Since the salon was never really busy, compared to salons in commercial centers, I had plenty of spare time between appointments to train Kelly to do rudimentary haircuts on manikin heads, along with teaching the basic multiplicity of dispirit tasks the profession requires of novices as the weeks went by.

She’d really taken my comment about attracting males to heart. Almost everyday she wore mini-skirts, fishnet stockings, deep V-neck tops and flirted nicely with male clients. I noticed the rebooking count going up immediately. I knew it was all due to Kelly, I was very pleased, and found myself quite taken with my new young apprentice and her admirable young womanly charms.

Now bare in mind, I considered myself a happily married man, at the time, whom wished to remain that way. I’d never cheated on my wife in many years of marriage despite various opportunities. I’d even made this last point quite clear to Kelly at one time.

However, to be honest, I found myself wondering what it would be like to fuck Kelly more and more often as days went past. I began to notice behavior that drew my male attentions toward my enchanting young apprentice. Kelly’s clothes became more revealing and provocative from day to day. One of the perfumes she wore infrequently, once I mentioned I liked it, became her everyday choice. Kelly had been a novice ballerina at one time and when the salon had no clients about, she took to showing me little dance routines in the salon’s reception area. Well. I’m no great fan of ballet, but seeing Kelly’s gorgeous legs, raised on tip toe, prancing elegantly and flitting daintily as if floating on air. Any man watching would have HAD to think about fucking her.

My salon was small and I was always in earshot as she’d tell clients quite intimate details of her numerous, unsatisfactory dates with “immature” boys of around her own age. She’d be better off dating their fathers! She’d say. How boring lovemaking with young, inexperienced men was, and my favorite,

“I haven’t had anything running down my legs for ages!”

Naturally, she pricked my interest, not to mention my cock, with these naughty little confessions.

As time went by she started confiding more and more tidbits from her private life.

Apparently, she’d recently escape an abusive relationship with an older guy she’d run away from home with when she was only fifteen. I learned the man had been a real psycho-type according to Kelly. A frustrated ex-footballer, he’d never quite made it to the big league. However, I got the impression, in spite of some physically violent episodes, Kelly stuck by the guy because she thought she could change him if she loved him hard enough. And according to her, love him HARD she had.

She told of trying to leave him many times, but he’d had a sexual hold over her mind. In her own melodramatic words, the force of their orgiastic sex sessions enslaved her female brain. My take was, she’d break up with him just to enjoy the inevitable, heated makeup sex where he would reek his often brutal sexual revenge on her fine young body. Then one day, the guy had truly brutally raped and beaten her, left her tied to a mattress in a trailer-home for another two days before she’d managed to escape. Kelly had finally left him permanently out of fear for her life.

Now she confessed to being increasingly lonely without her old footballer boyfriend around to keep her “satisfied”. She also let it slip, she’d left a few other jobs in the past, due to complications with affair’s with her older male bosses, yes, even married ones! Truth be known, I felt a certain empathy for her former boyfriend’s ruff treatment of the young girl. Kelly was easily, the best looking, most flirtatious little cock-teasers I’d ever met. Despite myself, she was wearing down my resistance to her charms. I should have set her straight about our professional relationship, maybe even fired her. But I didn’t.

Instead, I found myself being drawn into a kind of spiraling, provocative game. Each day, I’d whistle my approval for what she was wearing. Compliment her on her cleavage or her sexy legs. I found myself allowing my pelvis to brush against her invitingly rounded ass from time to time as I squeezed behind her at the washbasins when shampooing clients hair and so on.

Her little ballet sessions became more erotic, she would do handstands now, parallel against a wall. Of course, her short skirt would fall down around her waist while she was perpendicular, giving me full view of her skimpily clad crotch, hips and oh so juicy young ass. Not exactly a maneuver from Swan Lake. Basically, she was spreading her sexy legs at my chest height and giving me a good hard look at her sheer panty covered cunt and super feminine ass cheeks. I told her frankly, she gave me a hard-on when she did it. She’d apologize profusely then, she was so sorry to have upset me. But, surprise surprise, it wasn’t long before she’d conveniently forget and do her little stunt again.

She was also inviting me to talk about my own sex-life more often. Despite my better judgment, I told her a few intimate details of my colorful sexual past. You know, girlfriends, what they liked to do, stuff like that. I didn’t mention bestiality. However, Kelly had told me her “kink” was being dominated by powerful men. What little fetishes did I have? I should have said none, or made one up. Instead, I said I couldn’t tell her because it was too embarrassing. Idiot! That was like waving a red flag in front of a bull with Kelly.

At first, she just kept urging me, when ever she got the chance, to tell her my “kinky little secret.” When begging didn’t work, she started to make guesses: Is it cross-dressing? BDSM? Was I bi-sexual? I MUST be secretly Gay, hairdressing, hello! I would have LOVED to set her straight on that last score. But that would have been playing into her hands. I was virtually certain. Kelly wanted to engage in a sexual affair but I was resisting out of devotion to my marriage.

Anyway. The next day, we had no customers booked into the salon for a whole afternoon. Kelly had been making a big deal about needing new shoes and suggested I close up shop for a few hours and drive her to a new shoe store in a neighboring suburb. In a “what the hell” attitude I agreed.

Shoe shopping, even with a beautiful young woman like Kelly was no fun for me. I was very relieved when, after an hour of indecision whereby she’d left the shop minus any new shoes, Kelly suggested we get a drink at a nearby bar and grill before heading home. No one in their right mind would ever ask Kelly for an ID, so soon we’d downed a couple of scotches over some pleasant chit chat around the bar. Kelly was really making a good show of being very tipsy on a small amount of alcohol I noticed.

Ever the dutiful husband, I told Kelly I needed to get home to my wife and I’d drop her at her place.

No sooner had we gotten in the car and started the drive home, than Kelly started talking about her love life again. I could guess by the way she was exaggerating her “drunken” behavior, slurring her speech and so on that she was determined to get really personal this time. She’d unbuttoned a few top buttons of her blouse and just by a turn of my head I could easily see almost her whole 38C-cup breasts encased in the very sexy, Victoria-secret-type bra she was wearing beneath. She’d also allowed her mini-skirt to ride up, drunkenly, along her lovely smooth thighs as she sat beside me in the passenger seat, revealing the luscious valley of her tawny thighs, almost to her crotch.

“I just don’t have any luck with men!” She announced sexily as she lamented her recent dating misfortunes, apparently some poor young guy had failed to feed her more mature sexual appetite again.

“I should get a big dog to protect me instead. A big male dog!” She slurred, “to LOVE me. What do you think Mike?” She spoke in caricatured drunkenness. I suspected immediately she was fishing for my “little kinky secret” again. And this time, I took the bait.

“I think that would do you good Kelly,” I told her seriously, “A dog would keep you safe from your old boyfriend if he ever comes back as well.”

“You have a big male dog Mike.