On the sun-baked terrace of my isolated farmhouse in rural France. Tuesday, July 11, 2006. 45 years old. Husband gone. Boys grown and gone. Alone with Tom, Catherine’s four-year-old Labrador. Three weeks of him as my companion. Hot morning. Sanded beams in the shed. Fresh salad lunch. Fed Tom his kibble. Coffee time. Second cig of the day. Lounging in deck chair. Salopette off. Just panties and bra. No neighbors for 300 meters. Free.
Tom sprawls at my feet. Watches me drop sugar in cup. Hungry eyes. Spoon to his mouth. He laps clean. Reach for cup. He crowds between table and chair. Spill hot coffee. Splashes high on thighs. Soaks panties right over my clit.
The Awakening
Instant. His cold nose jams my pussy mound through wet cotton. Rough tongue swipes. Licks the coffee. Holy fuck. Two million volts surge from cunt to nipples. Body locks. Tremble hits. He laps again. Wave two. Gush inside. Third lick. Pussy throbs. Clit sparks. Can’t move. Forbidden fire.
The Raw Act
No more spill. Tom pulls back. Begs with eyes. Pulse races. Pour again. Straight on panties. Legs splay wide. Wait. Nose dives. Tongue assaults. Tits peak hard. Fumble bra open. Pinch rubbery nipples. Twist. His muzzle grinds. Teeth tug fabric. Cunt leaks.
Hike one foot on chair edge. Yank panties aside. Bare slit exposed. Dump rest of coffee on pussy lips. Boom. Naked contact. Tongue rasps skin. Nuclear meltdown. Lips part. Clit swells rock-hard. Nose bumps brutal. Spasms clench belly. Hold lips wide. He burrows deep.