PB-135 Angie's Dog Orgy by Janet McCoy


Chapter 1


It was almost one a.m. The dance floor was crowded, swollen with an
erotic jostling of squirming loins and legs and asses. Angie had been
dancing almost nonstop for the last two or three hours. She loved
dancing--it made her feel so alive, so sexy. It was dancing that let her
express all the latent urges and frustrations that smoldered beneath the
surface of her seemingly calm and self-confident appearance. She let
herself go on the dance floor as she did nowhere else, sensuously
writhing her hips and buttcheeks in their flesh-hugging trousers with
the rhythmic abandon of a well-trained belly dancer. In fact she had
taken belly-dancing lessons for a few months. But, like so many of her
fleeting fancies, that one had soon fallen by the wayside.

At last the hot, urgent number that had been throbbing on for the last
fifteen or twenty minutes, hypnotizing the dancers in their own private
fervor of rock ecstasy, came to an end. Though Angie knew that her
forehead was beaded with a light film of sweat, that her throat was
parched, that her exhausted limbs longed for a moment's break, she
remained standing, waiting for the next number to start, airily
oblivious to the entreating looks of her tired partner.

Angie and her date, Dave Wagner, had exchanged scarcely more than a
handful of words since they'd entered the nightclub. And that was just
fine with Angie. She had had little enthusiasm for Dave's advances so
far, but the handsome real-estate agent had been persistent so, equally
bored with the prospect of an evening at home in front of the TV, Angie
had agreed to come dancing. When she was dancing, it didn't really
matter who she was with. She could enjoy herself just grooving on the
hard, insistent presence of the music, her head empty of anything but
the beat, her body leading an existence all its own, flying with the
band, turning on to their wavelength--and moving.

From time to time she emerged from her private world to note admiring
glances from the men dancing nearby. Their admiration gave her a feeling
of power, of confidence. She didn't need them. She was operating on a
plane far away from them. But still she enjoyed the titillation of their
heated glances on her full swaying tits that moved freely under the thin
covering of her Indian cheesecloth blouse, on her rounded ass grinding
sensuously inside her clinging, modishly long jeans. She had left her
shoes under their table, and even her bare feet on the cool dance floor
felt incredibly sensuous as her toes gripped the tiles in methodical
response to the beat.

The band had struck up another number, only this time it was a slow
mournful ballad, the first of the evening. Angie was disappointed and
turned to return to their table, deciding that this was as good a time
as any to enjoy a drink and a rest. But before she reached the edge of
the dance floor, Dave had grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards
him, enclosing her in a tight embrace and a slow waltz rhythm.
Resignedly she acquiesced, burying her blonde head in her partner's
shoulder and gradually letting herself drift with this more subtle call
of the music.


End of Page 1. See pb-135.txt for full story.