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Dogging Tales.

Chapter 1: Brad and Angie.

"You ready yet, babe?" Brad called as he paced impatiently. Why did Angie need so much time to get fucking ready? It irked him because surely all she had to do was brush her hair and pull a short dress on?

In the bathroom, sitting on the commode, Angie rolled her eyes. "Unwad your knickers, you impatient prick! I'm still waiting for the last of the douche to run out of my ass!"

"Oh," Brad replied. "You've decided to let a watcher have your ass then?"

Angie exited the bathroom, still drying her hands. "You suggested it the last time we went dogging."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure I said you should take on three of them at once—ass, cunt, and mouth."

"Yeah, not sure I'm ready to be that slutty yet."

Brad casually fingered his wife's dripping cooze. "Of course you are. You're creaming on my fingers just thinking about it."

Angie giggled as she thrust her twat at her husband's fingers. She said, "Maybe one for my mouth and pussy simultaneously, but not three at once. I might next time if we go out after dark."

Brad shrugged, accepting her decision. "I've got the camera. Have you got the masquerade masks?"

"Yes, I've got some lube in my purse, too. You know? Just in case."

Brad slapped Angie's barely covered ass as she pushed past him in the doorway. "You're going to do it. Your inner slut is raging at the moment."

"Maybe," Angie replied, dragging every syllable out. She giggled again, and her eyes sparkled as she considered what they were about to do. They got in Brad's Mondeo and left for a new dogging spot Brad had found. As Brad drove, Angie remembered when they started dogging together.

Her and Brad's sex life had become staid and boring after nearly ten years of marriage. They didn't want kids, weren't allowed a dog in their rented unit, and couldn't stand cats. Their friends all had babies or toddlers, so they didn't go out much. They also both had high-stress jobs that left them exhausted every night, so they no longer entertained at home.

After Angie slapped Brad's hand away for the fortieth time in as many days when he tried to interest her in sex, he grumbled, "What's the point of us even being married? We don't go out. We're not having kids, we're not intimate, and we never fuck anymore. At least if I were single, I could go to a bar and pick up a fuck." Brad got out of bed and stormed out of the room.

Angie lay on her back, staring at the ceiling for over an hour. She wondered how things had gotten so bad. It started when they wanted to buy a house. To get enough money for the deposit, they'd cut right back on the things they did for fun. They made their lunches every day and took them to work instead of meeting at a café like they did before. Because when they left their offices to meet and eat their lunches, they always bought coffee, they both ate in their break rooms separately.

Friday and Saturday nights that used to be spent at their local pub or eating at a restaurant were now spent at home drinking tea in front of the TV. They'd eliminated virtually all alcohol from their lives, choosing to save that money instead. Brad no longer brought home a joint occasionally, and Angie stopped buying ecstasy for them to share.

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