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The Jilted Wife comes home

About three days of wild abandon passed by. Three days in which Roger was constantly alternating his attention between three demanding pups that were trying to put their little paws into and onto everything they could reach, and one extremely horny youngster, that was shoving her muff into his face whenever possible.

On the fourth day, Freya's heat finally seemed to calm down a little, allowing Roger the first full night's sleep in quite a while. Perfect to catch up. And catch up he did, completely missing the cats that yowled directly in front of his window at about one in the morning and sleeping almost completely without ever moving a muscle, besides breathing. Exhausted from the days of exertion, he didn't stir, when the key clicked softly in the lock of the front door downstairs, followed by a dull thud and a brief, whispered curse.

He didn't hear the slender figure that took off her coat downstairs, smiled briefly at the messy surroundings that the pups had left on the sofa and the floor, and proceeded to climb the stairs.

It was almost four o'clock as the slender gray-furred figure entered into the bedroom she shared with her husband and silently got undressed. There was an ear-twitch from Roger as a brief gust of air tickled along his head, but he didn't stir as Stephanie carelessly dropped her clothes on the floor. Instead, he just kept on snoring softly.

Stephanie sighed, as she loosened the clasps of the bra that held her enormous rack of tits in check and gave a tiny little moan as the pressure loosened, allowing her nipples to fill with blood and send tingling spasms of thrill through her body. It was too small. She really had to remember to get herself some bigger ones. The cloth brushed briefly over her exposed nipples, causing them to harden and sending a jolt of need into her ovaries. There the signal was passed on and Stephanie moaned softly with need as she hooked her fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled the cloth off her vulva. There was a mild sucking sound as the cloth reluctantly parted with the swollen lips of her enormous, heat-swollen puffy spade and a shudder tingled up from the sensitive area, causing the Weimeraner to freeze as a wave of pleasure rippled through her.

Inwardly she cursed as she examined her swollen spade in the half-light of the few rays of moonlight that managed to get through the curtains. Damn that stupid bastard and his fucking hormone injections!

Ray had obviously miscalculated the dosage. Again! Weimaraners were a lightweight build of canines. Lanky and slender, usually extremely leggy, with almost perfect model figurines. She required less than half of the dose he had probably shot into her ass almost a week ago. She had told him so, repeatedly. But apparently, he still had added more in his surefire way of "just making sure". No matter what he handled, it was always topped off or buffed up with a small extra on top, even if it wasn't necessary. As expected, it hat worked a little too well. She had not just been horny, she had been completely off the rockers after that last video. Or was it two? Ah, she didn't even remember. All she had cared about, was being bred. "Fucking Ray", she whispered, shivering a little as a sudden burst of need ran through her body. Unconsciously she dipped her hand down to scratch the itch, but her fingers didn't seem to want to end it there.

She was revisiting the past again, now shuddering softly as one spike of lust chased the next, causing a chain reaction in her body, fueled by memories that she sought to put out of her mind. But... just like it happened with memories you'd rather not think about, her body forced them on her even harder: For the first few days she had been willing, no, had needed to fuck everything that was in sight. Everything that had had an even remotely dick-shaped outline had been in her muff. Vegetables, Dildos, actual cocks and of course those stupid mutts that Ray had schlepped in. Ferals. An Irish Wolfhound and a Great Dane, which had both fucked and seeded her in tandem. Ah, who was she kidding? She had loved them, even if she tried to pretend otherwise. She loved Great Danes, Irish Wolfhounds, Rottweilers, Tibetan Hounds and, on a special place in her heart, were Saint Bernard dogs. There was just nothing better than those big fat lumps of skin and muscle advance on her from behind, drool all over her behind and then clumsily try to mate her, almost fainting from the exertion and then plugging her with that huge knot, just before they fainted from exhaustion, spurted their big, white, creamy, fertile load deeply into her nethers.

Stephanie shuddered as she thought about the enormous dicks that seemed to have filled not just her pussy, but her entire being, scratching the itch and filling that deep, desperate void that, sometimes dwelled inside her. A kind of need, that Roger simply wasn't able to serve. A need, that she had to have ferals for. Rutting her like the mindless animals they were, playing with her that delicious game of hide the sausage and playing pregnancy roulette, if she wasn't careful. Ah, nothing was quite as wonderful as a stupid mutt, fucking her from behind while she was shackled to a breeding rack, helpless to obey and be bred like some common garden bitch, ravished by a common mutt, that just happened to walk by before the actual stud with a pedigree arrived to do the deed, thereby sullying the bitch. It was a wonderful feeling. To be filled up to the brim with spunk, each load so thick, that they reminded her more of mud than actual cum.

A loud snore cleaved the pictures of lustful breeding in twine, allowing Stephanie to pull herself back to reality. She noticed, that three of her fingers were wedged deeply inside her muff and she had been rubbing herself right here in front of her husband, just because of a memory!

Damn Ray and his stupid hormone injections! If he hadn't overdone it like this, maybe she'd still be there, being fucked by mutts and being filmed enjoying it. But this time, he had gone too far.

Stephanie sighed needily and tore her fingers out of her soaking muff, then stalked over to the bed, light-footed and almost invisible in the grayness of the bedroom. With ease she slipped onto the soft cloth, taking care to approach Roger with her rear, not with her face.

A large part of the reason she had married him was his ancient, basically completely feral breeding instinct. It was an inheritance from an actual feral wolf or husky that had made an appearance somewhere, one or two generations back in Roger's family tree. And with them came a few more practical things that seemed to have skipped a few generations, only to surface now in the Husky she loved so much. It made him near feral in his breeding instincts. A feral, stuck in the body of an anthro. It was perfect, really. Like any feral, he could be overwhelmed by the scent of a breeding bitch. Sometimes it went so far, that she had to pinch him hard to draw his attention away from a breeding bitch. For example, if they were out and someone walked their unfixed dog by. It was perfect, really. She loved those greedy, blank stares that he could get, right before a rut.

Tail raised high into the air, Stephanie slowly moved back on the bed on her hands and knees, taking care to extend her rear to make it easier for Roger. Swollen muff stretched toward her sleeping husband, Stephanie waited until the intoxicated scent of the bitch in heat would wake him, bypass all his senses of logic and reason and dip directly into his breeding instincts.