Heavy Petting

He slides his fingers into her swirl of hair. Cut new and neat, cropped tight like fresh grass. He walks her to the table, shined flat wood on four legs. He yanks down her clothes, metal clicks on metal, he pulls his zipper and pushes inside her.

He puts his paws on her hips, the small of her back, her flanks and her nape. He rustles up the skin. He's spends time and she's breathing hard. He asks her if she's had enough. With an elegant ripple she slides him out and twists on her toes to face him. She sits up on the table. Crooks her toes like claws around the edge of the wood and widens out her thighs.

She lays there legs bent like a bullfrog, glistening and damp like water rushes. He slides back into her and pushes until dank watery white gushes from her loins. The floor gets wet, like she's dropped a glass. She coats his groin and his thighs. Her face twists in feeble disgust and pleasure and concentration. They carry on like this for some time, her intermittent spurts slickening the deal.

She arches her back, she slides him from her and sits up. He goes to shoot some rum into a glass and she chases round his feet like a dog. She slumps to the ground, exposes him again and begins to suck on him. She looks up, doe eyed and wistful, fingers in her knickers, fumbling and sucking him wet. He watches her, palms resting on the counter top, ankles shackled together by his south gone denims.

She pleasures him 'till he shakes, she holds his thighs and feels the muscles contract under her palms. She coats her throat and face with his ghostly mess. Mewling sick and satisfied and lost. She snakes up to standing, holds him in her hand and lays her head at his chest. His heart beats, her small paws reach to his face and she kisses his mouth.