young teens first sex
"Wow!" was all he managed to say for a while, then as Marcus made his way to the door, he tried again. "Hey, liten.... thank you. I mean THANK you! This was wild!"
"My pleasure." Marcus said, his hand on the doorknob. "Oh...wait!" Josh tried to get to his feet. "The money.... we haven't paid you your fee yet." Marcus looked over at Molly, his stomach giving him a little nudge as he looked at the well-fucked slut still under the dog. He'd forgotten they'd offered to pay him for this. "Forget it." he said.
Josh looked at him. "We agreed to a fee. I'd really feel like I didn't live up to my side of the deal here it..." Marcus shook his head. "Nobody has to pay me to fuck that hot slut!" He said, and with a smile and a nod of goodbye, the door closed between them.
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.