Phoenix Rising

by Anais Ninja

  * * *

  I sat up immediately, and it took a moment before I heard the knocking at the door. It opened and Mia walked in, holding a mug of coffee with both hands, just like she’d held the bowl in my dream. I stretched and rubbed my eyes, pushing the sheets aside. My chemise had ridden up over my hips while I was sleeping, and my sex was exposed. A sudden feeling of modesty made me tug my chemise down between my legs.

  “Here,” Mia said, handing me the mug and sitting down on Dana’s bed. “Good morning.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking a sip.

  “I’ve got to run some errands today, and Dana’s got dance class this afternoon,” Mia said, “so you’re on your own today. I hope that’s okay?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’ve got another tennis lesson at two,” she said.

  “Oh, right.” I’d forgotten about that. An hour with Jean-Paul, sexy Jean-Paul, the tennis instructor. That was something to look forward to.

  “I’ve laid those tennis clothes out on my bed, and there’s a spare key on the table in the front hall.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I need to ask a favor of you,” Mia said.

  “Anything.”

  “Could you walk Schultzie for me? About three or four should be fine. His leash is hanging up in the kitchen.”

  “I’d be glad to,” I said.

  “Thanks, Annie,” Mia said, leaning forward and kissing me on the cheek. “There’s pancake batter in the fridge, and ham and cheese if you want some lunch. I’ll be back by five.” She kissed me again and left. I drank some more coffee before getting out of bed and heading to the bathroom to shower.

  After breakfast, I spent the morning in the backyard, practicing my swing with the tennis racket, hitting imaginary balls back to Jean-Paul. I pictured him returning my volleys, his muscular legs flexing as he covered the base line, his bronze skin shining with perspiration. I lost my concentration a few times, and lost my grip on the racket, sending it flying into the grass. Even though there was no one to see me, I felt embarrassed anyway, blushing as I went to retrieve the racket.

  Two o’clock couldn’t come fast enough. I was so eager to take this lesson that I got dressed an hour in advance, heading into Mia’s bedroom and donning the tennis outfit she’d laid out for me. I put on the short white pleated skirt and the sleeveless sweater, drawing the ruffled tennis panties up my legs. I still thought they looked ridiculous, like something a little girl would wear, but Mia had insisted I wear them that first time. I still didn’t see the difference between someone seeing these and seeing my plain cotton underwear. I thought about grabbing a pair of David’s gym shorts to wear, but I liked the skirt; it showed off my legs even though I still had that New England winter pallor.

  Screw it, I thought as I laced up my sneakers. I had this feeling that Jean-Paul had the hots for me, just from the way he flirted, the way he held me as he showed me how to swing the racket. I figured I could wear sweatpants and we’d still end up in the shower together after the lesson. That’s what I was thinking as I counted the minutes before I walked over to the courts.

  I got there early, fifteen minutes before my lesson was scheduled to take place. Jean-Paul was on the court, showing a woman in her thirties how to backhand the ball, standing behind her and holding her arm as he slowly moved it through an arc. She was wearing a short white tennis dress, and the hem was riding up over her bottom, exposing the curves of her cheeks. I wondered if she was even wearing underwear beneath her dress. Jean-Paul whispered something to her, and she giggled and pushed her ass against his groin. He laughed and they went through the backhand stroke a few more times before he jumped over the net and served the ball to her. They volleyed back and forth a few times, and then the woman’s lesson was over. She and Jean-Paul spoke for a while and then she collected her things from one of the courtside benches, slipping a vinyl cover over her racket.

  “Anne,” Jean-Paul said, walking over to where I was sitting. “So nice to see you again.”

  “Thank you,” I said, standing up. His soft French accent was making my legs feel rubbery.

  “Are you ready for me?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Are you ready for your lesson?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Fine, we will go over what I showed you last week.” I followed him on to the court and he watched me swing the racket a few times, correcting my form, reminding me to follow through. He held me by the hips as I swung the racket, and I had a hard time keeping my mind on my grip, my form, the proper technique with his hands on me. I wanted him to take me right there.

  It was all over too quickly. After the brief refresher, we hit the ball back and forth for a while. Jean-Paul lobbed the ball softly, hitting it right towards me instead of running me around the court. My serves were better than the week before, and I managed to get the ball over the net with some consistency. I could have stayed on the court all day, watching Jean-Paul as he chased my volleys around, but our hour was finally over. He bought me a soda and we sat on one of the benches, just talking about tennis while I got lost in his big brown eyes.

  “So, I will see you next week?” Jean-Paul asked me.

  “I’m going back to Boston on Sunday,” I said. “I guess not.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” he said, draining the rest of his Coke. “You have been a pleasure to teach.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, I must shower now,” he said, holding out his hand. I took it and gave it a little squeeze, and then he left, heading into the clubhouse. I sat on the bench for a while, staring at my feet, feeling depressed over the fact that there would be no more lessons. The hell with it, I thought, getting up and walking into the clubhouse through the back entrance, the one Jean-Paul had gone through.

  The door led to a locker room, a men’s locker room judging from the scent of perspiration and liniment. The room was empty, and I heard the sound of running water. I followed it, peeking around a tiled partition.

  Jean-Paul was standing under the shower, his bronze skin slick with lather, rubbing a bar of soap over his thigh. My heart started to thunder in my chest. I stepped back, the image of his beautiful bronze skin burned into my mind’s eye. I caught my breath and tried to think of something, anything, some way of having him, just once, just for a while.

  I put down my racket and started to take off my clothes, stuffing them into an empty locker near the shower. Then I tip-toed into the tiled chamber, the running water masking my steps. Jean-Paul was lathering his back, and I glided behind him, taking the soap from his hand.

  “Quelle? Anne!” he shouted, nearly jumping out of his skin. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be in here!”

  “Shhh...” I said, taking the bar of soap and running it over his chest. He grabbed my wrist, holding it tight, and I nearly dropped the soap.

  “You mustn’t,” he said.

  “I want to,” I whispered, reaching down to touch his flaccid cock. Even soft, it was big, bigger than I expected, with a purplish head that peeked out of his foreskin. I circled it with my fingers and felt it stir as I began to stroke it.

  “I cannot do this,” Jean-Paul said. I looked at his left hand, the one that still gripped my wrist. There was no wedding band, not even a tan line from one.

  “Why not?” I asked him.

  “Because I am gay.”

  “You’re what?”

  “I have a boyfriend, Anne. We have lived together for five years.”

  “But the women...the way you flirt with them?” I cried. “The way you touched me.”

  “All part of the job, I am afraid,” he said, releasing my hand.

  “I don’t believe you,” I said, dropping to my knees and pouncing on his penis, taking it into my mouth, licking it, sucking it, ravishing it. He stirred again, but he didn’t get hard.

  “Anne,” he said, softly.

  “Shit,” I said, under my breath, releasing hi
s cock and letting him help me to my feet. He pulled me closer and held me as the water fell over our bodies. I felt so humiliated. I felt like crying.

  “You must go before someone sees us,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault,” I said, looking up at him. “You are the way you are.”

  “I am glad you understand,” Jean-Paul said. “You are a very beautiful girl. Perhaps if things were different...”

  “Thank you,” I said. I gave him a quick kiss on the lips, surprising him, and then I left, grabbing a towel from the rack outside the shower and quickly drying off. I dressed fast and left the locker room before anyone could catch me there and walked back to the house.

  It was a long, lonely walk. When I got back to the house, I changed into a sweatshirt and sweatpants. I should have taken a shower, as I hadn’t even had a chance to use the soap when I was with Jean-Paul, but I just didn’t care. I put Mia’s tennis clothes in with the laundry and picked up Schultzie’s leash, calling him in from the living room. He bounded off of the couch and came over, sticking his nose in my crotch and sniffing loudly.

  “Cut it out,” I said, snapping the leash to his collar and pulling him away from my cleft. “Let’s go.” We walked for about an hour, through the meandering streets of Rancho Paradiso. I watched a construction crew for a while, as they nailed plywood sheathing to the bare beams of a house. A few of them had their shirts off, their skin tanned from the bright Arizona sunshine. For a second I thought about going over there and letting them have their way with me on the unfinished floor of the house, but the dog began to whine and strain on the leash, eager to continue his olfactory tour of the neighborhood’s fire hydrants.

  We circled back to the house, and I let myself in with the spare key, detaching the leash from Schultzie’s collar and hanging it up in the kitchen. He followed me into Dana’s room, taking his usual spot next to her bed as I laid down on the cot.

  I felt tired, disappointed, and most of all, horny. The sight of Jean- Paul lathering his bronzed back, the water coursing over his firm buns, his muscular legs, lingered with me like the remnants of a dream. I pulled my sweatshirt off and wriggled out of the loose pants, lying on the cot in my panties and staring at the ceiling.

  I closed my eyes and tried to picture us together, our soapy bodies coming together, slick skin gliding over slick skin, his cock hardening and pressing against my mons. Instead, I began to imagine Jean-Paul with another man, just as bronze and well-built as he, the two of them kissing under the running water, grinding their hardness against each other’s muscular thighs. The other man began to kneel at Jean-Paul’s feet, taking his hard cock in his mouth, squeezing the tennis instructor’s buns as he sucked him. I couldn’t see the other man’s face, just the back of his head bobbing back and forth as Jean-Paul ran his hands through the man’s dark, curly hair.

  I opened my eyes and sat up. That should have been me sucking him. Despite how I felt at having my bold advances rejected, I was still extremely horny. I felt empty, unfulfilled. I’d been so sure that he liked me, that he thought I was sexy, that he wanted to make love to me, my disappointment was compounded. Fuck it, I thought. I’d just have to take matters into my own hands. I skinned off my panties and laid back on the cot.

  With my mind’s eye, I tried to interpose myself between Jean-Paul and his male lover, imagining myself kneeling at their feet and sucking both of their tools, trying to fit both of them in my mouth at once, cupping the two sets of testicles that dangled beneath, just as I was now cupping my breasts. As I reached between my legs, I tried to picture myself laying on a bench in the locker room, Jean-Paul between my legs, entering me as his lover squatted by my head, offering me his long, tanned penis to lick and suck. I swirled my finger over my clit, probing my passage with my other hand, imagining the two men taking me at the same time, two hard, veiny shafts sawing in and out of my mouth and pussy, making me come, filling me with their hot semen. Afterwards, Jean-Paul’s lover knelt between my legs and licked his boyfriend’s semen from my pussy with long, wet strokes of his tongue. I could almost feel it, and I started to quiver on the creaky old cot as I pictured him licking me clean.

  I heard a sniffing sound and felt something cold and wet against my pussy. It was Schultzie, attracted by the scent of my sex. He licked me with his long pink tongue, over and over, and though I knew I should push him away, it felt good. Really good. I scratched his furry head as I let him taste me. If Jean-Paul didn’t want me, at least the dog did.

  Schultzie hopped on to the cot, sniffing my belly, licking between my breasts. I must have tasted salty from the traces of perspiration that hadn’t been rinsed from my skin under the shower. His long cock poked out from between his legs, red and wet and hard. Schultzie put his paws on my shoulders, scratching me as he tried to stab me with his penis, his hips moving back and forth. But he couldn’t reach my sex while I was still flat on my back.

  “Ow, stop it,” I said, pushing him away. His claws had hurt, and I felt a welt begin to rise on my skin. He was persistent, though, putting his front paws up on the mattress and repeatedly thrusting his cock into empty space.

  I thought about Dana, seeing the dog hump her the day before, how his furry belly rubbed her back as he slipped his cock in and out of the gap between her thighs. Even though I’d just pleasured myself, I felt horny again thinking about this. That first chapter of The Happy Hooker came to mind once more, how she’d let the dog fuck her out of boredom and frustration. I was frustrated, all right, but did I really want to do this? I had a vibrator, and I knew David would be home in a while, and then my father after that. I knew neither of them would reject me as Jean-Paul had.

  But there was something in the back of my mind, something that made me reach out and take the dog’s cock in my hand. He began to pant and hump faster, grateful to have something to rub against. A thin fluid began to seep from the pointy tip of his long red spear, lubricating my fingers as they glided over his smooth shaft.

  “Okay, Schultzie,” I said. He let out a little woof at the sound of his name. “We need to do something about those paws, though.” I thought for a moment and then I took off my socks, terrycloth tennis peds with the fuzzy little pom-poms on the backs. I slipped them over Schultzie’s front paws, and I was surprised that he didn’t try to shake them off. I slid down to the end of the cot so my ass was right on the edge.

  “C’mere, boy,” I cooed, pulling him closer, putting his paws on my shoulders. I could feel him try to enter me, his thin semen dripping over my cunny. I spread my legs and guided the tip of his cock inside me, and he began to hump faster, harder, driving his long dogcock deeper into my hungry hole.

  “Good boy, good boy,” I said, feeling his cock expand inside my passage. His furry belly rubbed against mine, and I stroked his back as he pumped my tender pussy. Schultzie began to lick my face as he fucked me, and I pulled him closer, eager to feel more of his penis inside me.

  I felt like such a slut, a dirty little girl, letting a dog have his way with me, filling me with his hot meat and his warm semen. So much fluid dribbled from his cock that I could feel it squishing out of my cunny with each thrust of his long red pole, dripping down my ass cheeks and soaking into the sheets. He began to feel even bigger, fatter than a human penis, filling me completely even though his cock seemed smaller than a man’s. I began to sense my pleasure rising, spurred on by the knowledge that I was giving myself to an animal, not a man, not a woman, but a hydrant-sniffing crotch-nuzzling dog, a dog who was making me his bitch.

  Schultzie was humping faster now, panting as his loins moved back and forth, his tail curled over his back. I wrapped my arms around his furry body and held him close as I began to come, shuddering beneath him, rocking my hips as fast as I could, not nearly in time with his rapid pace. I squeezed my cunny muscles around his cock and I heard him whine, a low guttural note as semen began to pour out of his penis, flooding me with warmth. He stopped humping and laid on top of me, licking my face
as I stroked the fur on his back.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” I said, turning my face away from his wet tongue. “Time to get off of me and go lick yourself or something.” I pushed him away, thinking that he’d just slip out of me, but we stayed connected. It was like he was stuck inside me, and he didn’t seem to be getting soft. I pushed harder, but he started whining pitifully. Reaching down between us, I tried to pull his cock from my pussy, but it wouldn’t budge. I felt around it, forcing my fingers between his dogcock and my labia. There was a bulge in his cock, just past the entrance to my passage, and it felt as big as a baseball. I tried getting my fingers around it, but Schultzie just whined. I stopped trying to pry his penis out of me, not wanting to hurt his tender part.

  I tried wriggling around beneath him, hoping to dislodge his member, but we ended up slipping off of the cot together, still joined at the crotch as we fell to the floor. Panic started to set in, and I wondered how long it would take for him to get soft. Maybe there was something so totally incompatible about our parts that we’d have to be taken to a hospital or a veterinarian to be surgically separated. As if my day hadn’t been humiliating enough, it was about to get worse. I heard the front door open and slam shut, followed by footsteps in the hall.

  “Please don’t be Dana and Mia,” I said to myself. “Please don’t be them.” Another door opened and closed, and then I heard someone in the bathroom, running the shower.

  “Davy! David!” I called out. “Help me!” The bathroom door slid open.

  “Annie! What th’...?” he blurted.