Animal porn blog

I’ve had pets all my life - cats, birds, lizards, turtles, snakes. My Dad was constantly bringing home new creatures for me to mother, and by
the time I hit puberty my room more resembled a zoo than anything else. The one pet I never owned, and thus wanted dearly, was a dog. A
German shepherd attacked my Aunt Donna at age 12, leaving scars on her face and psyche that never faded. Mom, a witness to her sister’s
attack, was also traumatized, and thus the subject of dog was a closed one in my house.

Naturally, the moment I moved out into my own apartment, I begin searching for a canine companion. My reasoning followed that a young
woman living alone should have some sort of protection. I would never keep a gun in my house, so a dog - one big enough to frighten, but
sweet and loyal enough to quell my mother’s fears - was the perfect choice.

This line of reasoning, however, was a front, and I knew it. I wanted a dog because as a child I’d watched my friends jealously as they
tossed a Frisbee or ball to their waiting pups, wrestled and petted them while the dog’s big pink tongues hung out of their mouths and their
eyes danced with joy. I wanted a dog because cats won’t fetch, turtles won’t cuddle, and you can’t walk a fish.

A walk through the local Humane Society shelter made me want to cry. All the dogs looked so alone, so in need of my love and attention,
but I could only pick one. I’d seen nearly all of their animals, from dachshunds to St. Bernards, and felt on the verge of giving up when I saw
my Puppy.

A yellow Labrador mix, Puppy wasn’t more than four months old. "He’s gonna be a big one - look at dem paws!" the handler advised me as he
lifted the floppy little dog up and into my lap. Puppy sized me up quizzically - his calm demeanor a far cry from the spastic behavior of the
other dogs - then buried his muzzle into my neck in a show of pure affection. I’d found my dog.

That man knew what he was talking about! Within a year, my little puppy grew from lap-size to chair-size to floor-size. When he jumped up,
his paws found my shoulders with ease. Yet he (thankfully) stayed calm, almost introspective. He never pooped in the house, never chewed
the furniture. No name fit him, so he became Puppy, a moniker made all the funnier to all my friends by his size.

Oral sex has always been my favorite. From my first experience as a teen in a boyfriend’s room, I’ve been hooked on the feeling of a
well-placed set of lips and tongue on my nether regions. I’m attractive and outgoing, and usually have no trouble getting a date. However,
after the breakup of a brutal nine-month relationship, I found I couldn’t push myself to go out anymore. I needed time, to work it all out in
my head. More than ever, I needed Puppy’s unconditional love and support.

One Friday night, I sat alone sipping wine and watching a movie on cable. Puppy curled up beside me, taking my most of the couch. When he
turned to get comfortable, he scratched me with his toenail. Suddenly livid, I yelled at him, "Get down, Puppy!" He jumped quickly from the
couch, looking back sadly, then went to his water dish and lapped its surface. Realizing I overreacted, that I wasn’t mad at puppy as much
as I was upset with my loneliness and confusion, I opened my mouth apologize. Before I could say a word, I became entranced by the
motion of Puppy’s tongue on the water.

More than a little buzzed, and desperately horny for the first time in months, I imagined how that long, flat tongue would feel on my pussy.
The more I watched, the more aroused and curious I became. I needed to know what that felt like. But how?

I retrieved the peanut butter - extra smooth, the only kind I’ll eat - from the cabinet and sat back down on the couch. Puppy, with his dog’s
knowledge of food containers, came trotting quickly back on the couch and placed his head in my lap. I smiled at him, rubbed his ears. I
opened the peanut butter and stuck my finger inside, offering it to Puppy. He sniffed it curiously, then lapped away until every bit of the
spread was gone and my finger was sticky with his saliva. His tongue was rough - too rough, I wondered. Only one way to find out.

I parted my robe, and - with a different finger, so as not to "contaminate" the tub of peanut butter - I slathered a bit of the stuff on my
pussy. Puppy went straight for me without hesitation. His tongue was rough all right, and I almost regretted my actions, but the quick stiff
licks all over my pussy felt incredible. I couldn’t believe how good it felt. He moved his head away, finished, and I spread more on my lips.
Puppy’s head disappeared, his tongue whipping my clit like crazy. This time he didn’t stop, as his eating had started me moistening. He licked
away, trying to eat every bit of peanut butter, every drop of my juice. I pushed my back into the couch, savoring his tongue, his hot breath
on my crotch. I started to come, and Puppy didn’t stop licking me. The orgasm expanded, rose, until I thought I would lose my mind. I
pushed Puppy from me and laid, satisfied, on the couch.

A little embarrassed, I turned to Puppy as if to apologize. There wasn’t a need for anything of the sort; he looked at me with his big brown
eyes, licked my hand, and let me pet him. Though I don’t think he understood what he had done, he did know that it made me happy. If only
men, I thought bitterly, were more like dogs…