French - My Black Lab Takes Me For The First Time: Part 1
A tremendous clap of thunder destroyed what tenuous grip I still had on sleep. I got up to look out the window to see rain coming down sideways, lightning split the predawn sky. I looked at the bedside clock; 5:03 a.m. The thought crossed my mind that it was an odd hour for a storm.
I slipped back into bed. French, my Black Lab, whimpered, looking at me from the foot of the bed. I reached down to comfort him, whispering quietly to him.
Martin, my husband, rolled over and snuggled up behind me. The room flashed with lightening followed closely by violent, sudden thunder. Windows shook. A crashing sound from outside. Seemed the storm was right over top of us.
After a little while, the thunder became more distance and the rain poured down, thrumming against the roof. Flowing water rattled the downspouts.
Martin snuggled closer, spooning me. His fingertips began caressing the swell of my hip as he kissed my shoulder through my nightshirt. I could feel his erection pressing into he cleft of my ass. I glanced at the clock; 5:37. Martin should be getting ready for work.
Martin and I have been married almost ten years, we're in our early thirties. He is a sweet, sweet man but not exactly a sexual dynamo. I love him, I love making love to him and I get off most of the time (usually with an assist from my vibe). But he is average size and not, well, aggressive. I wouldn't want someone who is always aggressive - I've had boyfriends like that. But, once in a while I missed being completely dominated.
He shimmied the hem of my shirt up over my hip. I lifted my knee slightly and he began rubbing the slick head of his cock against the folds of my vulva. His hips flexed and he was inside me.
He pulled the covers back, lifted my leg and rolled on top of me burying his face in my neck. He began to hump into me with force and speed, grunting and sucking on my neck. Suddenly he stiffened and was coming in me.
He lifted his face to mine and kissed my lips, twice, three times, then rolled off and out of the bed. Within seconds he was in the shower.
This sudden event of intercourse was unlike him. He was normally a very deliberate lover. There was always plenty of preparation and foreplay. He took his time and was very gentle and attentive. He always made sure I got off and would linger with me after, caressing me, placing little kisses all over me. There was never anything rushed or urgent when it came to Martin.
Oddly enough, this brief fit of unusual passion had enflamed me. I had gone from a dead sleep to having a sweet, glowing ache in the pit of my belly. My fingers played over the wet and swollen creases of my pussy, smearing his slippery effluence through the folds and ridges, over the tingling bump of my clit. I could feel my heartbeat in my perineum.
The thought of him continuing to forcefully and aggressively fuck me to orgasm sent tingles through me. The thought of him doing that with a big, thick cock made my head swim.
I sat up and considered fishing my vibrator out of the nightstand. Best to wait for Martin to leave for work then I could enjoy a proper finish.
Pale, early light began to suffuse the room. French was lying at my feet looking at me, his big head cocked to one side, sniffing the air.
"Hi Frenchy boy." I said. "Weird, huh?" He whimpered. I reached to scratch his ear and his face turned and licked my fingers, his long hot tongue lapping at the odor they carried. I pulled my hand back, suddenly embarrassed.
He stood and walked over to me nuzzling his head into my neck, prancing around me. He whined, sniffing me. He began to pant. His big body tilted into me, knocking me off balance. I giggled.
"What is it boy?" I laughed and reached up with both hands, digging my fingers into the fur of his neck.
"The storm gets you all out of sorts?" I said.
He made a fool sound and tried to step over me, knocking me over onto my side. He began licking my hips and thighs. I struggled into an upright position and pushed, mightily, to nudge him away.
"French man, what the hell?" I said, and sat up. He foofed again. "Alright, alright. Breakfast, I get it. Come on." I said and rolled out of bed. He padded close behind me to the kitchen.
French is a rescue. Mostly black Lab but maybe something else. He has a head that looks a little like a Doberman but bit blockier and he's almost ninety pounds - big for a Lab. The vet pronounced him perfectly healthy when we got him and there was no story about what, exactly, we were rescuing him from.
He may have been stolen and abandoned by someone who needed a hunting dog for a weekend. Seems likely he was trained as a hunting dog or something because he minds commands brilliantly. He's very well behaved other than one annoying trait he can't seem to break.
Martin calls him a crotch-sniffer. It really doesn't matter who you are, stranger, friend, mother-in-law, stuffing his nose in your crotch and sniffing vigorously is his trade-mark greeting. It's completely embarrassing at times and completely annoying at others. But that's French. And he's such a good boy, you just can't stay mad at him.
He seems happy all the time. Sure, French has his moods but happy is default and always just under the surface.
They told us he was three when we got him about three months ago. He's not exactly a puppy anymore but still very ... puppy-like. He loves to play, he fetches the hell out of a ball, loves to swim in the lake and sometimes just runs and runs and runs.
Honestly, we didn't plan on a dog, we planned on kids. But that hasn't worked out yet. A dog seemed inevitable so when my friend told us about French and it seemed like fate.
As it turned out, French is my dog. Despite all my begging as an only child, desperate for a companion, my parents never relented. So, oddly, the whole pet thing was new to me and a dog, well, I wasn't at all prepared for how emotionally connected I'd become. We're inseparable.
I work from home so French and I are always together. When I'm not home, he waits by the door. When I work he lays under the table at my feet. At night, he sleeps on my side of the bed. When he wants something, I'm the one he asks - so to speak.
He's never more than ten feet from me it seems. I talk to him all day. Sometimes he talks back. And I can't understand how I ever got by without him.
Anyway, French followed me into the kitchen. I scooped some of his ridiculously expensive gourmet kibble into his dish. He stood by the door to the kitchen and just looked at me. That head tilt again and another 'foof.'
"Coffee?" I said, looking right at him. "Good idea, Rachel." I said to myself and walked over to the cupboard to make some coffee.
I'm not tall, five feet, two inches, actually. I'm not exactly tiny either. I mean I'm not big, about 125, and I'm what my mother used to call "hippy." Again, not fat, in fact, my waist is rather narrow, I just have shapely hips and breasts.
So whenever I can avoid putting things like mugs or coffee or filters on a shelf I have to reach for, I opt for a shelf I have to bend for. It may not make sense to anyone else, and Martin grumbles about it all the time, but it's what I like. What can I say?
I pulled the coffee container from the sideboard then bent over at the waist into a cupboard under the kitchen counter to grab filters. As I bent, the hem of my nightshirt, one of Martin's old t-shirts, rode up my ass exposing my crotch. And just like that, French's tongue was on my pussy.
I was so stunned I froze for just a split second. His cold wet nose was in my ass and his long, hot tongue was lapping between my legs. Three or four strong, stunning strokes covered me from my clit to my anus.
It was literally stunning. Not just the sudden presence of a foreign and animate object between my legs but also because it was so hot and wet. I don't mean hot like burning hot, just hot like fever hot. Hotter than my skin. Nice.
I shrieked and spun around sending coffee filters in a fluttery arc across the kitchen. I looked down to see French looking up at me with what looked like a smile on his face, his was tongue out, his mouth was open, panting.