It was the night before Christmas, and alone by the fireplace sat a young woman, on a comfortable rug, gazing forlornly at the dying lost and delirious sex. The smoldering embers glowed in her green eyes, and the reflections of the tiny golden flames danced on the wine-glass she was nursing in her hands, as well as the empty one sitting, unused, on the wooden floor. Sighing, the red-head sipped her drink, then put it aside. She was not the only creature stirring, however: somewhere next to the couch behind her, two dark, brown eyes opened as slits, and a tail began to wag, ever-so-tentatively, at the familiar sight of the lonely, feminine figure.
As the large dog struggled to his paws and stretched, the woman called to him. Glad to see I’m not the only one still awake. Malamute answered only by sitting down on his haunches, quizzically cocking his head. I mean, I know he’s tired and all. But I really just wanted him to.
Perhaps, she realized how unproductive it was to vent at this poor canine. But it seemed to take a load of her narrow shoulders, so she continued regardless. It’s been month since we’ve last. I thought, tonight, of all nights. I mean, look at the getup I squeezed myself into to try and get him to notice me. And to top it all off.
She posed sexily for her bemused canine companion, actually enjoying herself a bit for the first time that evening. They’d happily explored every nook and cranny of this spacious house. That kind of drive couldn’t last forever, of course. And her attempt to rekindle it, tonight, had failed.
She felt it: an unpleasant tightness in her tummy, aching for release. This, added to the noticeable buzz of one too many glasses of wine, lowered her inhibitions enough that she decided to take matters into her own hands. When she opened her eyes again, a curious malamute, whom she had momentarily forgotten was even there, was standing directly opposite her, staring. Despite him being just a dog, the masturbating girl couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious.
She was about to get more than she bargained for, however. Somehow, the way the dog was attentively watching her turned the usually shy, reserved girl on. Slowly, tail wagging cautiously, the dog approached. The girl saw this through a haze of yearned for pleasure, and though part of her urged her to stop fingering herself at least long enough to halt the incoming animal, she didn’t do so in the end. And then there was a chill, a cold nose pressing into her folds, followed by a wave of toe-curling pleasure washing over her. Arching her back and gasping in suprise, the shocked and inebriated woman didn’t even realize what had happened right away. It was like her mind rejected the lewd reality of what she had allowed to happen.
And then it found, perchance by accident, the hard little nub that was her already-stimulated and exposed clit, scraping over it, as if in slow-motion, with inch after wet inch of delightful doggy-tongue. And she knew it was a dog, doing this to her. But she found she didn’t care. Opening her eyes and lifting her head ever-so-slightly, the panting girl was immediately touched by the sight of her concerned pet standing over her, whining softly and nudging her arm with his nose. She felt a surge of love and appreciation for this animal, deeper and more profound than ever before.