Peanut Butter

by Tasty Little Pop Tart

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual, Zoophilia, Bestiality, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Megan hates dogs, with good reason. That's why it's such a shock when she couples with the dog next door, and then goes out to find a pet of her own.

Based on the Story:

Abby's K9 Lust by Doggie2

To begin with, let me tell you something about myself. I'm a divorcee, recently out of yet another unsatisfactory relationship. Our last time together, "Ralph" tied me down to my bed, stuck all four of the pillows beneath my hips, gagged me with my own panties and bra, and then instructed his dog Rodney on how to make love to his girlfriend. I kicked the son of a bitch out of the house.

One afternoon a month or so after the assault, I was in the kitchen, making a pitcher of Lipton Iced Tea. I glanced out the back door, having seen something from the corner of my eye. It was Loopy, the next door neighbor's dog, a large Black Lab. He was chewing on a rawhide bone, his energetic tugging motion what I'd seen peripherally. I flinched, reminded of that night I'd been with another dog. My mouth pressed into a thin line as I walked to the back door and began to shut it. Loopy looked up.

"What do you want?" I mouthed at the foul beast. "To lick my pussy? To stick that disgusting piece of meat up my cunt? Well, dream on, asshole. It ain't gonna happen." I had just closed the door and turned away when I heard a scratching sound. It couldn't be, I thought. He wouldn't dare. Apparently, he would.

"You must be kidding me?" I accused.

The stupid dog sat on my back stoop, staring up at me. Of all the nerve.

"Get off of my property," I commanded. With my right hand, I shooed him away. He wouldn't go. He just sat there, staring up at me. I crossed to the kitchen phone, picked it up, and dialed the house next door. On the third ring, it picked up.

"Hi. This is the Dawsons. We're out right now, but if you'd leave a name and message, we'll get right back to you. Honest," Ron Dawson promised me.

Not knowing exactly what to say, I hung up. Then I called back and properly prepared, left a short message telling Ron that his dog was at my house, sitting on the back stoop. Only when I hung up the phone and turned around, Loopy was not sitting on the stoop, but standing inside the back door, panting happily.

"You must be kidding me," I said again. "Get out of here, Loopy. Shoo." But Loopy was going nowhere. He dropped onto his rear haunches and continued to look up at me and pant.

"This is bullshit," I grumbled. I returned to the phone, hit redial, and told Ron Dawson where his dog was now. "You really need to come and get him," I warned. "You know how I am about dogs. I hate them, Ron."

I feared them more, especially males who could threaten me with that thing between their legs. I put my hand to my mouth, momentarily reliving that night, flashing back to the horror. But I was not tied up. My behind was not elevated on pillows. I was not naked and spread with peanut butter in my genitals.

Angry, I sat down at the table and eyed the dog. I couldn't touch him. I wouldn't touch him. I hadn't touched a dog since that night, nor would I. I reminded myself that it was only a month ago, and that I'd not had the occasion to touch another dog. Only a month ago, I thought. Was that really possible? My labia itched, and I crossed my legs uncomfortably. Perhaps, I thought, I should get the dog some water.

I ran fresh water into a bowl, and then, in a act of compassion, cut up two Oscar Meyer all-beef franks and put them in a second bowl next to the first. Loopy wolfed them down with such dispatch that I took pity on him and cut up two more, and then two more after that. Disgusted with myself, I sacrificed the final two in the pack, which he wolfed down with equal dispatch. Then he looked up at me, expectantly. Shaking my head, my eyes happened to alight on the unopened bottle of peanut butter on the counter. I had meant to throw it away. I had no use for peanut butter. Then the most godawful idea I'd ever had in my life swam into my head. I stared at the bottle, as though mesmerized.

"Oh, please don't tell me you're thinking this," I whispered. Horror washed through me, head to toe. My hands were shaking and shivers like cubes of ice ran up and down my spine. I gulped, and followed my outstretched hand to the counter.

In the living room, I sat down on the couch, unzipped my slacks, and then zipped them up again. I was not doing this in slacks. Not when I had to remove them in order to prepare myself. No, this was a job for a dress.

Placing the unopened bottle on the end table, I turned and followed my breasts out of the living room. I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, went over to the closet and opened the door. Undressing to my underwear, I picked out an appropriately baggy sundress, and slipped it on over me head. On second thought, I removed my brassiere from beneath the dress and let it drop on the floor atop my discarded slacks. I wondered if I should remove my panties as well, decided I darned well should, and slid them down my thighs to my ankles, stepping out of them. I looked at myself in the full length mirror.

I'm not a bad-looking woman. I am 33 years old, have light brown hair and Hazel eyes. I have a nice smile, and generously full lips. My face is egg-shaped, tapering from a wide forehead to a dainty, dimpled chin. My cheekbones are high, but not prominent. My breasts are just the right size, my waist is slim, and I have nice hips and legs. I get plenty of looks, especially in something like this sundress, which accents my figure.

Smoothing the sides of my dress, I took my gently swaying and bouncing breasts back downstairs. Loopy waited for me in the living room.

"I have a treat for you," I said. Before saying anything else, or doing anything foolish, I returned to the kitchen and the back door, looked outside to assure myself the Dawsons had not returned home. They had not.

Why, oh why had I left a message?

I closed the door, locked it as an afterthought, and returned to the living room where Loopy waited for me, patiently sitting on his rear haunches and panting. I sat down on the couch, raised my dress, and exposed my baby-bare genitals. Loopy trotted over.

"Do you like peanut butter?" I asked. Removing the lid, and peeling back the safety barrier, I held out the jar for Loopy to sniff, which he did, energetically. I stole the bottle back before he slobbered all over the contents. Carefully, placing the lid and barrier aside, I fingered out a blob of JIF and applied it cautiously to my labia, filling the space between the lips and carefully covering my delicate clitoris. Loopy barked his approval, bounced his head up and down half a dozen times, and unbidden, began to lick me clean.

"Oh, my God," I moaned. Shivers like electrical charges ran up an down my spine. My thigh muscles spasmed, jerking my legs closed, or trying to. More muscles jumped in my legs, making me flinch and start pitifully. I looked down, only to discover that Loopy had ingested most of the peanut butter already; his sandpapery tongue was now rasping directly across my excitable clitoris. I shuddered and fought to keep my thighs from snapping shut. It was a loosing battle.

Then I did a second, supremely stupid thing: I invited him to jump onto my lap. He compromised by straddling my hips with his front paws. This left him close enough, however, that I could reach between his rear legs and find what I was after. I touched his sheath, fingered it gently, began to rub up and down its length until I could feel a swelling begin. I switched my fingertips to the slick wetness of his penis as it protruded from the sheath, kept massaging and stroking and fingering until the erection was the size of a man's cock. Wrapping it with my hand, I urged him closer, even as I slid my behind off the edge of the couch, offering myself. Loopy accepted my offer gratefully. His thick penis touched the cleft between my widespread legs, bumped it gently, bumped it hard, and then, with my encouragement, he shuffled forward on his hind legs and pushed gently into my aching vagina. It enveloped him fully, the entire length of his cock buried, right up to the frightening, and oh-so dangerous knot.

Mustn't let that get in me, I admonished myself. The last one had got in, and Rodney very nearly ripped out the throat of my vagina trying to get out. Besides, I didn't want to be locked to this monster for twenty minutes after he'd finished up with me. Oh no, no, no. I didn't want that.

Loopy did what dogs do, and I leaned back into the cushions, grasping his forelegs and closing my eyes, smiling happily. I'm afraid and embarrassed to admit I did everything I could with my body to make Loopy's time with me as satisfying for us both as possible. I know for a fact that dogs are predisposed toward human females, but only with proper encouragement, direction and training. Loopy needed very little encouragement and training.

I began to orgasm, though it was a slow and steady climb to the top. My muscles began to twitch and my heart-rate quickened and my breathing became labored. My head fell to the side and I bit my lower lip blissfully. I felt none of the panic and fear and self-disgust that I had tied down to my bed. Well, a little of the self-disgust, but I was in charge this time, not bound hand and foot and offered like a sacrificial lamb. In some ways, this was so much more satisfying than spreading my legs for a man. There was no demand for the use of my mouth, no worry about anal sex; I would not have a cock ripped out of me at the last moment to decorate my face or invade my open mouth. When Loopy came, it would be between my legs, right where I wanted it.

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Story tagged with:
Consensual / Zoophilia / Bestiality /