Pleasing Tippy

by

Silverwolf ©

Pleasing Tippy

Exhausted, I closed the door behind Tippy as we returned from a long cold day at work. Tippy ran immediately to the rug by the cold hearth, signifying her weariness by curling her fine tail over her tiny wet nose and closing those sweet brown eyes that lit my life. No rest for the wicked, I thought and turned to the fridge to prepare dinner. While she continued dozing, I mixed up her “doggie salad” of raw lean beef, fresh tomatoes, onion and garlic and made myself the same after sautéing the beef in butter. I placed her dish in the microwave to take off the chill, sprinkled olive oil and vinegar on both, and called her to the table. She ate at my feet tonight, though on special occasions she would allow me to put her in a booster chair at the table. I finished ahead of her, as usual, and sat waiting at the table smoking till she licked my leg telling me she was done. Sliding my chair in, I followed her swaying gait to the living room where she resumed her sleeping pose by the fireplace.

Still the weary worker, I arranged some short logs in the hearth over a pile of dried mint and lavender kindling. I love the smell the herbs make as the wood begins to catch. The house filled with the potpourri scent, a fragrance that would last all night, as the wood began to crackle and I stretched out beside Tippy on the rag rug. She opened one eye as my fingertips lightly brushed her folded ear, sneezed softly and thumped her tail once on the floor. I kissed the top of her pretty head, stood up though I didn’t want to, and went in the bath to undress. Tippy didn’t join me in shower, which wasn’t normal or unusual, and after toweling off I threw on a blue terry bathrobe and returned to the living room.

I settled into my chair, the terry bunching against the leather upholstery requiring a few minutes readjustment, and picking up the TV remote, reconsidering and dropping it (I don’t often watch the TV), and instead clicking on the radio to listen to NPRs old-time radio shows, I picked up last nights book and thumbed it open to a previously dog-eared page. The Jack Benny show was replaced by Burns and Allen and I realized I’d not gotten through the first paragraph of the page in David Simons “Homicide”. My ears barely heard George Burns’s latest analysis of Gracie’s unusual family as my eyes kept drifting to the rug and the perfect beauty who lay there. I didn’t question my love for her back then, or my lust for her body. Indeed I still don’t. I wondered that night though, how could such a wonderful being exist with me for a mate, and how could anyone else look at her and not see and feel what I felt. I thought, for perhaps the thousandth time that day, “God, what a sexy, intelligent bitch she is!” and grabbing a pillow from the bed, lay beside my lover feeling the warmth of the fire in the hearth mix with the fire in my soul as I bent to kiss her perfect head again.

Opening both soft brown eyes this time, she yawned stretching and curling her thin long tongue, smacked her mouth shut twice and accompanied that with two thumps of her tail. She scooted her small form close to my side, lay her head on the pillow by my shoulder and rolled and twisted her body onto her back, spreading her hind legs apart next to my hips as her forepaws curled down toward her white curled chest. My left arm encircling her, I kissed her again and got a lick on my mouth in return, then lay on my back against the rough textured rug and gently rubbed her warm belly. She turned her pretty nose up as I lay back, kissing my mouth hesitantly again then settled her soft head in the bend of my shoulder letting her face lay against my chest. I shifted slightly, pulling her body closer to mine and sliding my left hand lower on her stomach. Raising her chin enough to flick her tongue at my chin, she whimpered low then snuggled her face into my chest hairs again. I brushed my fingertips across her plump vulva, the feather-light touch making her contract those muscles that caused her pussy to twitch and jiggle delightfully.

A small forepaw curled around my elbow. She pressed her cheek into my chest, rubbing her cold nose in my hair. I ran my hand back up her tummy to twirl my fingers in the curls of her chest and she dug into my arm. She slid her paw onto my forearm, digging into the flesh and pushing against it, guiding my hand down to her tummy again. I chuckled, bent my neck to kiss her ear, and slid my hand down to massage her lowest pair of teats. Like little BBs when I first touched them, rubbing and lightly pinching them rolling between two fingers would cause them to harden and swell. She curled and released her toes, digging my arm then letting go over and over as I worked her teats and stroked the narrow valley below them leading to her hood. Every stroke made her vulva twitch, made her claws dig, made my arm sore, made me smile.

I ran my middle fingertip over the fold of her opening. She thrust her hind paws up and out, clasping my hand between her thinly furred thighs. As my fingertip left her flesh, she’d relax, replaying the scene with each brushing touch.

NPR slipped into band music, and feeling warm moisture on my fingertip I slipped into Tippy. Her walls squeezed my knuckle, held then slowly relaxed. Her thighs went down and out; her paws drawing back toward her body as I slowly slid my finger in and out of her lips. I could see that plump, soft hood stretched smooth by my finger, and could see the growing knot of her clit swelling inside it near where the vulva joined her stomach. I loved looking at that anatomy of hers, and she loved having that swelling piece of flesh stroked. I moved my fingertip to just inside her, sliding the index and ring fingers along each side and parting her vulva. I rubbed her with my middle finger, guiding it with the other two, and catching the little flap of flesh below her urethra with the tip. She raised her ass from the rug, releasing my arm and grabbing her left hind leg with both forepaws, and began slowly humping. Her head was raised, neck taut, just above my chest, her halting puffs of breath hitting my face. Her thrusts grew more rapid; she stopped breathing, then let her lungs out in a drawn, deep moan, and let her leg loose.

Relaxed again, her head dropping weakly to my chest, she licked my right nipple as I slid all three fingers deeper moving them alternately back and forth in her vagina. She was squeezing lightly now, her breath in still trembling puffs as she licked me though her paws hung limply in the air. I kept stroking, rubbing her clit, her hood and vagina from inside and using my thumb to rub her outside where that swelling stretched her vulva. She stopped licking my chest and closed her brown eyes as the terry cloth robe slid apart at my waist and my erect penis rhythmically slapped the belt. I kissed her ear and lay my head back, closing my eyes as well as I drove my three fingers more rapidly into her flesh. I felt her body curl under my arm, her ass still raised but her chest resting now on my hard abdomen. I felt first her cold nose, then her warm tongue touch my head. Her licks were as slow as my strokes of finger had started, moving around and along my head, then dancing lightly up and down my shaft. My penis’ jumping back and forth irritated her and she growled. I moved my free hand to its base for her and plunged my fingers as deep in her as they’d go, curling and stroking where the tips touched her walls. The licking grew faster, yet always lingering on me. She began humping again, slowly and given her new position not very hard. Her tongue worked faster yet, and in her excitement her fangs glanced the tip and sides of my erection. My moans now mixed with her insistent whimpers and with a sudden flex of abdomen and buttocks I came. She still humped lightly as she cleaned me off, my fingers slowly bringing her down, then lay her head on my chest again after kissing my chin. I drifted into sleep contentedly with her head resting across my neck and my fingers still deep in her sex, still happily pleasing Tippy.



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