Father's Day
I have decided to re-post my stories.
Pistol © Her Player
Kitch © Bemani Dog
WARNING: This contains graphic depictions of heterosexual sexual acts. Minors ought not to read this story. If you are not of a legal age to view this material, you should back away from it. You have been warned.
Sweat was dripping from their bodies. Pistol had her mate right where he wanted her. She was slowly rolling her hips back and forth, plunging herself backward onto Kitch's throbbing shaft repeatedly, her paws resting on his strong chest. Both were panting, the two having been making love for some time now, ever since they woke with the morning sun.
The coyote woman rose up and raised her arms, stretching a bit with her paws behind her head, putting her lean body on display above the rottweiler's form as she rocked. He smiled and licked his lips before letting his muzzle gape and his tongue loll out the side with his ecstatic panting, watching as the sunlight from the shaded window behind her silhouetted her body, making her look absolutely angelic whenever she was atop of him. It's the details sometimes that make lovemaking perfect, and that's exactly why he positioned their bed opposite that window.
The two have been married for nearly three years now, and were totally inseparable, frequently literally as often as they had sex. Sometimes it was kinky and elaborate, other times quick and vigorous; but this time it was just simple and passionate, as it often is.
It was always enjoyable, perhaps the secret why the two were so in love with each other. But this morning, it was particularly special. It was Father's Day. Although they had not had pups yet (Pistol was still on the Pill, wanting to enjoy her husband a while before fully settling down), they knew the day would not be long in coming before the faint padding of little paws would grace their house's halls. To add to that, Pistol was nearing the end of her heat cycle (not suppressed by her choice of Pill), which made both call in sick from work all week the previous week.
But, for now, it was simple pleasure. Pistol was bucking backward on Kitch's cock harder and quicker, both of them grunting softly as they rose toward a new crescendo. Pistol hit it first, her second of the morning, and feeling Kitch's knot swell at his base, she forced herself back and took it inside her vulva with a yelp from both. That was enough to push the rottweiler over the edge, the canine male howling as that shaft lurched deep inside her, gushing his warm ropes of semen up against the back of her tunnel. Pistol laid forward against Kitch's chest immediately, making sure it stayed deep inside as it accumulated.
Both canines writhed against each other's bodies, riding through their orgasms together, then collapsed, panting softly and shuddering. After a few moments to collect their breaths, Pistol whispered in her mate's ear, "Happy Father's Day, stud."
Kitch chuckled softly, turning his muzzle to lick softly along his mate's cheek. "Some day, honey. Some day."
They drifted off to briefly nap through the tie.
Not long after, Kitch stirred a little when he felt, in lieu of his mate's weight atop of him, two smaller weights at either side of his stomach. He awoke to the smell of breakfast. He opened up his eyes and smiled to Pistol, who was sitting beside him, then sat up to eat his breakfast in bed: A tall glass of milk, sausage patties, bacon, and a solitary fried egg, sunny-side up?
This isn't how he usually eats eggs, he hates runny yolks. He eats them either scrambled or over hard. "Honey, you know I don't like this. Mind explaining yourself?"
Pistol leaned in and flipped up one of the rottie's floppy ears, whispering to him as he drank some of his milk, "You can't exactly eat them fertilized, darling."
At that, he spit out his milk, getting it all over his platter and the bed, and turned his muzzle, milk on the fur around his lips, toward his mate. "Are you telling me something, Pistol?"
The coyote smiled, blushing a little bit, as she looked into her mate's brown eyes. "I got off the Pill before this heat. That was your present, Kitch."
The rottweiler's smile widened, and then he tackled Pistol, knocking over the tray and rolling off the bed with her, landing on his back. He rolled her to her back and kissed her deeply. As they made love with renewed vigor on the shag carpet, Kitch's breakfast, scattered all over the bed, slowly got cold, the spilled milk and broken egg yolk drying into the fabric together.
One year later...
Again, Kitch looked up in awe as Pistol's body was silhouetted by the sunlight behind her, her golden fur glowing around the edges. She rocked slowly, having recovered from her pregnancy and looking and feeling like her old self once more, except for the extra bounce made my breasts made slightly more swollen with milk. It was their first time making love since she gave birth three months before, and it was just as passionate as before.
Just as their voices began to rise with their passion, a white box beside the alarm clock on the nightstand blared to life with the sound of a young male pup crying for his mother. Shortly after that, a second voice, also male, joined in. With a sigh, Pistol begrudgingly pulled off of Kitch's slickened penis and stood, putting her robe on loosely. "Guess it's never going to be the same, ehh?"
Kitch still smiled consolingly. "We'll find the time for it, hon."
Before leaving for the nursery, their pups still crying on the baby monitor, Pistol leaned in and kissed Kitch on the cheek, whispering in his ear, "Happy Father's Day, darling."