It started with an unexpected noise coming from somewhere in the bed with me. What happened next was shocking to say the least. No sooner had I heard the noise then, for lack of a better word I was pounced on. There he was, all his weight on top of me searching, probing. I was overwhelmed with his eagerness. He travelled from my head to my toes intent on reaching his goal. The feel of his breath was both warm and heavy. I held my hands over my face not so much from embarrassment but almost as means of protection. This only seemed to encourage him. He explored with his tongue, nipping me gently with his teeth, clawing at the bed clothes becoming more and more excited as I halfheartedly attempted to evade his advances. It was fun. It was exciting. It was not anything I expected to happen that night. It was becoming so wild that I worried that the we would awaken the children.
And then. That moment when the excitement reaches its peak. I know its all going to come to a glorious end. I want it to but again I don't. It's invigorating. The sharing of time with someone where the only goal is enjoying in each other's company made more special when there have been many conflicts between you. But end it must. And it does.
Finally I relent. I give him what he so desires.
I throw the dog the damn squeaky chicken that I rolled onto in my bed that I then hid from her to torment.
What did you think I was talking about?
Shame on you!
(for purposes of literary license the dogs gender was altered to fit the needs of the story)
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