The mastiff was named Samson.

Samson was going to get lucky.

The woman who lived in the converted farmhouse was named Molly Turner. She was entertaining her good friend, Claire Dupont, at the moment. They were sitting in the spacious kitchen, with the copper pots hung on pegs on the wall but the appliances all modern, drinking coffee and talking about their love-lives.

That was why the mastiff smelled hot cunt.

The women were horny.

"I get so damned frustrated, sometimes," said elegant Claire. Claire was a tall, slender blonde with lovely long legs, a taut ass and a tiny waist. She had blue eyes and a wide, sensual mouth that seemed to have been designed for sucking on a prick. Claire did not look like the sort of woman who would have to remain frustrated for long, should she want to take a lover. She was the sort of woman into whom any man would love to sink his prick.

"Yeah, me too," Molly agreed.

Molly was a nice contrast to Claire. She had long, dark hair and flashing brown eyes. She was more rounded than Claire, and softer, with tits like twin balloons – balloons that had been blown up via the stiff valves of her nipples – and a round ass that counterbalanced her tits. Like Claire, Molly could have had almost any man, had she chosen to. A glance from her flashing eyes, the way she sometimes slid her tongue across her lower lip – Molly could drive men wild.

The girls did not know yet that they were driving a frustrated bull mastiff wild.

They sat there with the coffee cups steaming on the table and their cunts steaming between their legs.

The two women had recently moved into two converted farmhouses that were located next to each other on the lane. Their husbands were partners in an advertising agency and, having been successful, decided that they should seek the idyllic life of the countryside instead of living in the crime-plagued city.