Pussy Hound

Kate reminded everyone that they were making progress. "Listen, ladies, let's not get discouraged. Hound sex is out there. We've just got to figure out how to find it. We still don't know if guys like Brian are one in ten or one in a million. I mean, are we looking for needles in a haystack, or what?" Everyone agreed that was the question at hand.

Beth had a different contribution to make to their collective research. She was hosting this afternoon's gathering, and she had decided not to stand on ceremony and helped herself to three glasses of Merlot before anyone else had arrived.

"Well, that's very nice for you two," she said with heavy eyelids after Stacey and Sheryl finished recapping their failed encounters for the group. "No one fucked me and no one ate me since we were at Stacey's." Not wanting to sound morose, which she most definitely did not feel, she added, "but I did have a very nice time with my new vibrator the other day, thank you very much."

The ladies nodded appreciatively, not only because they supported each other's masturbatory indulgences, but also because Beth was famous among them for her large and exotic collection of dildos, vibrators, plugs, prods, pokers, and other instruments of self-induced pleasure. Beth knew how to show herself a good time.

"I also had a very interesting conversation with a gentleman of my acquaintance," she added. "I called my friend, Steve, and told him I needed to ask him some things about sex. He was happy to oblige, and we talked for more than an hour."

Beth gulped more wine. "So I ask him, 'Steve, what's the deal with guys going down on women? How come it always seems like they can't wait to get it over with and start screwing?' And Steve says, 'because we can't wait to get it over with and start screwing, Beth. Eating pussy is something guys think they have to do, especially if the girl gives the guy a blow job. We may be selfish but we're not stupid.'" There were nods of recognition around the room, and wine glasses were drained and refilled.

"So I'm thinking, I get it, you know? I don't like it, but I get it. Then I try a different approach: 'Steve, would you ever just eat a girl as long as she wanted without fucking her, too?' I could practically hear him rolling his eyes on the other end of the phone. 'Oh, sure, Beth. I'm one of those sensitive guys who just cares about your needs. Look,' he says, 'if I ate out a girl as long as she wanted my jaw would fall off. In my experience, women seem to have an infinite capacity for oral sex. You love it. You can't get enough of it. Not many guys have the patience for that, you know?'"

Beth, Stacey, Kate, and Sheryl all exchanged glasses and shared the same unspoken thought telepathically: what . . . a . . . fucking . . . asshole.

Beth read their minds: "Come on, you guys, give him a break. He's just being honest, okay? Like it or not, this is useful information." They didn't like it, but she had a point.

h

"I have a suggestion," offered Faith. As the only one in the group who had ever met an actual Hound, her status among the group - and the envy with which they regarded her - had risen considerably. "Sheryl and Stacey were on the right track, even though they came up empty. Maybe we just need to go about it in a more disciplined way. Let's figure out how we'd know a Hound if we saw one, and then come up with some kind of questionnaire to collect that info."

Inasmuch as everyone was more than a little drunk by this time (Beth having had to open an atypical fifth bottle), Faith's idea was met with a chorus of good-natured abuse. The barbs ranged from ridicule to dirty jokes:

Stacey: "I'll know a Hound when I see his head between my legs for more than 30 seconds!"

Sheryl: "Should we knock on doors holding a clip board and ask if the gentleman of the house is home and could he spare a few minutes for a survey about muff diving?"

Kate: "We could wear horn-rimmed glasses and white lab coats with nothing but French lingerie underneath. When we took off our glasses and let down our hair, they'd say, 'My, God, Miss Tuttle, you're beautiful!'"

Faith shrugged them off, telling them they were just jealous. After the shrieking subsided and tears of laughter were wiped away, Sheryl, of all people, allowed that Faith might have a point. "Okay, okay, let's get serious for a minute. Faith's right: we are trying to find guys who match a certain profile, so we have to know what we're looking for and then we have to ask around until we find it."

She pulled out The Surrender from her bag while she continued talking. "We're not just talking about guys who don't hate giving head. We're looking for guys who love it. Listen to this," as she read this passage from her new heroine:

"A man can acquire such wisdom at the source of a woman's orgasm: how to slow down, speed up, be consistent, be nonlinear, be persistent, be unpredictable, be patient, be outrageous, be generous, be witty."

"See," she went on. "They 'live to dive.'" She paused a moment, thinking deeply. "You know what I just realized, they're probably just as frustrated as we are! Here you've got these guys who might not be the hottest studs on the planet, and they love to do something they know women love and most men just put up with. How do Hounds let women know that they're Hounds?"

The insight struck home with everyone in the room. This was starting to get weird, but interesting. Kate's living room was full of attractive and highly sexualized women who loved to get laid on a very regular basis, who appreciated a redwood of a cock as much as any female on the planet, but they had discovered that they all suffered from a lack of oral satisfaction. Then, in a startling book that had only been recently published about, of all things, anal sex, they discovered that there were heterosexual men whose first desire was to give as much head as humanly possible. But it was frustratingly difficult for these women to find these men, and it stood to reason that it was probably just as difficult for these men to find these women. Very weird, they all thought, but such a tantalizing dilemma should have an equally tantalizing solution.

h

"How do you find guys who like to eat pussy?" asked Kate. "They don't exactly have signs on their heads, do they?"

Kate wondered aloud, "Why do Hounds like to eat women out, anyway? Isn't it kind of gross?" Everyone looked at Sheryl, the only one among them who'd had sex with her own kind, and they all burst out laughing. "Yeah, Sheryl! Isn't it disgusting?"

Sheryl was not to be made fun of. "You don't know what you're missing. It's divine." She gave each girl an intent look that dared each of them to call her bluff. Stacey made a mental note to take her up on it, and let Sheryl know with her return gaze that she was willing.

Sheryl wasn't prepared to wait. She refilled everyone's glass and announced last call. Everyone started packing up as they drained their glasses, while Stacey said she'd stay to help clean up. Beth and Kate exchanged knowing glances, but said nothing.

Once Sheryl and Stacey were alone, they skipped the pretense and got right to it. Stacey told Sheryl that she'd wanted to do this for a long time, and Sheryl brushed aside Stacey's long blond hair and kissed her passionately. Stacey felt a little faint, but then recovered to pull Sheryl down to her on the couch. Sheryl just said one word - "bedroom" - and led the way.

Sheryl removed her blouse and her bra, and pulled Stacey's mouth to her stiffening nipples. Stacey gratefully took one in her mouth, and pinched the other one roughly. Sheryl moaned, and Stacey lapped her friend's small breast with the flat of her thickened tongue. Stacey climbed on top of Sheryl, pressing her pubic bone into Sheryl's crotch. Sheryl took Stacey's ass in both hands and squeezed hard, which made Stacey gasp. She gasped a second time when Sheryl reached under skirt and pressed her finger under her panties and onto her asshole.

Stacey drove her wet tongue into the warm, negative space of Sheryl's open mouth and Sheryl reciprocated with matching fervor. Stacey felt no reservation and widened her mouth to receive the other's tongue as it searched and prodded into the dank space.

Stacey unzipped her skirt and pushed it awkwardly to the floor, kneeing Sheryl in the groin in the process. Stacey apologized profusely by covering Sheryl with kisses, which Sheryl accepted hungrily. As Sheryl's finger invaded her ass, Stacey spread her cheeks wider to diminish the natural resistance. Both cunts were soaking by now, and Stacey peeled off Sheryl's skirt and soiled underwear, while pushing her ass back farther onto Sheryl's embedded finger. She arched her back and lifted her head to the ceiling, indulging in the invasion, before extricating herself and lowering her head to Sheryl's waist.

Stacey had never been this close to a vagina before and she was struck by its ugly carnality. It was puffy and brightly pink, practically giving off steam. She reached out with her tongue, and got her first taste: it was acrid, pungent and fragrant all at once, and she dove in purposefully. Sheryl's reaction was immediate and gratifying, as she lurched to absorb the intensity of the assault, and Stacey locked her hands around Sheryl's hips, preventing her escape.

Stacey's tongue reached deep inside the cavity, which was as slick as silicon, and greedily licked the swollen lips of Sheryl's pussy. Stacey understood why this strange ritual was called "eating out"; she wanted to chew and swallow the soft wet tissue, to make it unbearable for her first female lover. Stacey attacked this new sex organ lovingly, reveling in its sloppiness, the sour taste of it, the replenishing wetness. She licked up to the clitoris, which was as hard as her own nipples, which she pinched so hard she had to stop and let the pain pass. Sheryl was desperate to be licked more, much more, and she spread her thighs as far apart as she could to bring Stacey's face and tongue as deeply into her as her anatomy would allow.

Sheryl was now bucking wildly, unable to tolerate the pleasure, which Stacey could read as clearly as if she were the recipient herself. Stacey found herself concentrating with what seemed like molecular intensity, trying to take in all available information about what Sheryl was feeling. She found it easy to do so, understanding instinctively what to do with her tongue, how to suck with her lips, how hard to press with her chin, how to pull up the hood of skin with her fingers to fully expose the clit to the assault of her tongue, stiffening it to make the pressure exquisite and intolerable, making Sheryl try to push her away, even as incoherent sounds escaped from her throat, confessing that Stacey must not stop, whatever she did.

The flood of liquid that gushed from Sheryl made Stacey unbearable happy and proud. She somehow knew how to increase Sheryl's pleasure and amplify her orgasm, without distracting her from the intensity of the experience. Sheryl's hips lifted off the soaking wet bed, smearing Stacey's lovely face with her cum, indulging selfishly in the complete spasm that she had become, her fingers tangled in Stacey's tussled hair, Stacey's mouth open wide, her tongue fully extended, working Sheryl's slit, mistreating Sheryl's clit with her thumb, absorbing the fluid, making her produce more, receiving every signal, every tremor, understanding every unspoken word.

Sheryl collapsed when she had finished, exhausted, spent and absurdly satisfied. Stacey rested the side of her face on Sheryl's pubic hair, gasping for breath, feeling just as overwhelmed. Giving this impossibly luscious woman oral sex had opened a whole new understanding of how her own vagina received and dispensed pleasure. Stroking her friends silky legs with an intimacy she had not expected to feel, she realized why oral sex was so precious, so important, so divine.

She knew what Hounds knew.

h

Faith thought that maybe they could figure this out from the Hound's point of view. What did it mean that there were guys who would rather eat than fuck? Some of them were probably troubled little boys who needed to degrade themselves sexually, but if there really were a lot of men who loved to give oral, then it probably didn't make sense to assume that all or even most of them were abnormal. Hell, some women loved to give blow jobs and some hated it. Different strokes, so to speak. If Kinsey taught us anything, it was that normal sexual variation had an enormous range. A lot of people engaged in practices that others judged "deviant," which made no sense when you think about it. Mathematically, if a large minority of people thought cocksucking or assfucking was just fine with them, how could it be abnormal?

So if we don't assume that Hounds are sick or weak men looking for humiliation, what would explain their love of pussy?

Bentley seemed to have the answer: a Hound was a man "with his whole consciousness poised on his tongue." Just like men who had a special gift for fucking, who could last forever and cum multiple times in one night, whose fortunate lovers were never deprived of a satisfyingly volcanic orgasm, Hounds had a preternatural ability to give and receive oral pleasure. Just as they were exceptionally good at giving sexual pleasure with their mouths, they probably were just as good at receiving it that way. In all its forms, great sex involved two-way stimulation. It was impossible to think of superlative sexual performance that did not involve heightened personal satisfaction. Like musicians with better hearing and athletes with more than ordinary shares of natural talent, Hounds must be endowed with attributes that gave them much greater appreciation of the joys of immersing themselves facially down there.

One other Hound characteristic seemed logical. There probably wasn't any reason why a guy couldn't be outstanding at both intercourse and oral sex. But according to Bentley, Hounds have a preference for oral. That must mean that they were better at oral. Even if Hounds weren't necessarily bad lays, it wasn't unreasonable to think they weren't as good as guys who weren't as devoted to oral. It stood to reason: we like what we're good at and we're good at what we like.

That meant, she thought, that if we're looking for Hound sex, then we're probably looking for sex with someone different from the normal kinds of guys who interest us. Did Hounds look the same? Maybe not. Act the same? Probably not. She couldn't say she knew what the differences would be, but it made sense that they'd have to find some way of figuring out what the special characteristics of Hounds were before they could expect to hunt them down and lure them into their panties.

Faith was starting to get a headache. Sitting around theorizing about the psychological makeup of the elusive Hound was interesting enough, but she doubted she was going to solve the puzzle by just thinking about it. The answers were out there, as they used to say on The X Files, and they had to get out and start asking questions.

Just then, Faith realized something that now seemed blindingly obvious that hadn't occurred to her before. At some point they'd need to ask men in some way or another if they had Houndian tendencies, but why not start out asking other women if they had any Hound experiences or, better yet, if they knew any Hounds?

h

For Kate, the idea of finding a man who only wanted to have oral sex represented an ideal approaching perfection. She would, she understood, be doing him a favor by making her cunt available for needs he had a hard time filling elsewhere, and the sex would be oh so much more casual than full-out intercourse. Hell, she wouldn't even have to get fully undressed if she didn't want to.

On her fifth call, Kate spoke to Ellen, a friend from work. By now, Kate had overcome her awkwardness about the reason for her call, and quickly got to the subject at hand: did Ellen know any men who preferred giving oral sex to having intercourse?

"Oh, yeah," Ellen replied without hesitation, "my husband." Kate was stunned, but managed to ask Ellen to tell her more.

"Oh, it's great. Dave goes down on me every time we have sex. He'll practically eat me for hours. I love it and he seems completely satisfied, too. We screw once in a while, and we like that, too, but the oral is amazing. You can't imagine how good he is at it. He's always been that way."

Kate agreed that she probably couldn't, but said she'd love to find out, dropping a none-too-subtle hint. Ellen cut her off: "Forget about it, Kate, he's not available."

"Okay, okay, I get it," Kate quickly replied, trying but failing to sound nonchalant. "But what's the deal? Why does he like that more than intercourse?"

"Oh, I don't know," mused Ellen. "I guess I take it for granted at this point. Dave is a pretty quiet guy. He's more of a thinker than a doer. I used to be surprised at how soon he would start going down on me whenever we had sex, and how long he would stay down there. He takes his time and really gets into it. It doesn't bother me at all that we don't fuck that much. He's way better at oral sex than regular."

That was interesting, thought Kate. "If you don't mind me asking, what's he like screwing. I mean like, how big is he? How strong is he? How long can he go?"

"Oh, I don't mind, as long as you promise not to tell anybody. His penis is very average, maybe a little smaller, not enough to matter. Don't get me wrong, it feels great inside, and he stays hard for a good long while. He's no porn star, though. I don't think I've ever had an orgasm with him just from intercourse. He wouldn't last that long. And he's no hard body, either. Hell, neither am I. But he's unbelievable at giving head. Gold medal every time, never fail."

"But don't you ever miss getting laid?"

Ellen started to answer, but then stopped to think. "You know, I was going to say no, but I think it's just that I've gotten used to going without. I guess I wouldn't say that I miss it, but now that you mention it, some quality screwing sounds pretty good." Ellen was making herself wistful and, maybe, a little sad. "But that's not an option."

"Why the hell not? I mean, I get it that you're happily married and all, but come on. What if you could get laid without Dave finding out?"

"I'd feel incredibly guilty, that's what. I love Dave to death. Why would I do that to him?"

"Are you sure he'd object? What if he could get some action, too? Maybe a different pussy to eat, every now and then?"

Ellen wasn't stupid. "Hey, Kate, I'm not stupid, you know. You're just trying to get me to share Dave."

"Damn right I am," Kate said without hesitation. "Come on, Ellen, don't be so fucking selfish. If I hook you up with some hardcore stud, why not ask Dave if he'd like to do me? What's the harm?"

Ellen said she'd think about it. In fact, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

Kate was getting more than a little fed up hearing about how great Ellen's husband was at oral sex, particularly since she was being so stingy about sharing him. Didn't Ellen realize that Kate was conducting important scientific research? She thanked her friend and did not look forward to seeing her in the office the next day. But she had collected some valuable information.

h

Stacey found a girlfriend who'd picked up a Hound at a health club a couple of years ago. Tanya was a gym rat who loved to wear skimpy workout clothes that showed off her muscles and her hotness at the same time. She was one of those disgusting women with thin, sinewy arms, slim thighs and exceedingly ample but entirely natural breasts. The men couldn't take their eyes off her in the club, and she enjoyed watching them watch her in the full-length mirror.

Not surprisingly, health clubs being the sex farms that they'd become, Tanya was hit on constantly, and she took up more than a few of the finest on their offers. It was a satisfying sex life. There was one guy, though, a regular, who would just smile shyly and go about his business. He was nothing special to look at, on the short side with thin hair on top, and he seemed to readily accept the notion that there was no point in getting worked up over Tanya, who was way out of his league.