[center][b]Good Enough For Her[/b][/center]

[center]By Kaydrien Iceclaw[/center]



“Susan, I don’t think-“

“You don’t think what, piggy boy? Don’t think you’re handsome enough for me?” The lovely blue-eyed mink compresses her face into mine for a vicious kiss, sucking down my tongue like she plans to suspend her whole weight from it. When she pulls away she almost takes it with her, filling the air with the loud [i]SQLK[/i] of suction yanked away by force.

“I, well…” She presses one pale white finger to my lips to cut me off (although really more of its surface rests on the bridging septum between by nostrils).

“You’re plenty good looking, Melvin. I could just eat you up.” Susan giggles light and airy, like tapped crystal, and gives me a peck on the forehead. “Mmm, there’s an idea. I could slather my big pig up in barbecue sauce and lick off every inch.”

I shudder, because that actually sounds really good and also because the girl on my lap has the lewdest, huskiest, most purring bedroom voice and I sometimes think she could talk me right over the edge and into needing a change of underwear if she made a real effort at it, no touching required. I don’t dare give her the idea.

She’s got me pinned to the chair by most of her weight, her knees on either side of my hips with us front to front and her dress- too short but what fool would I have to be to tell her to hide more of those luscious legs- is wrinkled and pooled over both of our waists. 

“I mean-“ And of course she interrupts me again, because she won’t hear any objections from the likes of me.

“Don’t go fishing for compliments, pretty piggy. Buff boar. Handsome hog. Sexy swine.” I can’t keep any protests up under the way she’s tickling my chin and that [i]voice[/i]. “Just let me take care of everything.”

I really don’t think she’s right about any of that. Okay, I’m not bad looking for a pig, and I have been assured that some ladies go for that too. I’m definitely not ‘buff’ though. I just don’t carry around the pudge some boars do, is all; still too huskily built and big-boned to pass as ‘slim’ no matter how much I were to exercise or diet. And I don’t have the genes for the bodybuilder look. I guess my hazel eyes are nice. 

It’s just, I’ve heard those reassurances too often for them to ring true to me.

Susan, though, she’s walking the walk as much as talking the talk. Her feet tap teasingly at the outsides of my knees to the same rhythm she’s humming while she snakes one hand down under the hem of that dress to attack the button and zipper of my slacks. She’s into them and rubbing around the outside of my jockstrap fast, rubbing away at my sheath and balls.

“Mmmm. That’s a good porker. Let’s see if you feel as good as you look.” Our eyes never leave each other, locked like a pair of those super-powerful magnets you see on internet videos, while she pulls the fabric aside to let my balls fall out of the cradling embrace of my underwear into my pants proper. She kneads them appreciatively against my seat. “Mmm. Yeah. I could use your nuts as a beanbag, big boy.”

“That’s-“ Not even slightly true. Okay, I’m carrying around a couple tennis balls masquerading as testicles, easily visible if I wear pants that are too tight. Speedos are totally out of the question for me; I’d just have one nut hanging out on either side or look like I had them in a bag. But you need to realize I’m [i]just average[/i] for a pig. Maybe even a little on the small side. It’s not a big deal, and definitely not enough for seating of even her slim (but gorgeously proportioned) hips.

Obviously I’ve lost talking privileges though, because her lips are pressed hard against mine and she’s pulling my arms forward to loop around her lower back. Then she dives right back into exploring my crotch region, pinching at the tight skin of my ballsack while the other hand goes for my sheath and what’s already poking out of it.

“Yeah. That’s what I want. And you’re going to give it to me, right now.” She’s [i]hungry[/i] only coming up to give me that ultimatum after she’s run out of air and then some.

“…Are you in heat?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Susan nibbles on my ear while she threads one forefinger through the center of the corkscrew shape I have for a cock, making me whimper in need. “I’m gonna use this curly hose to put out the fire either way. Have any problems with that?”

“No.” I can’t muster the strength for more than one syllable, and it’s obvious that ‘Yes’ isn’t an acceptable answer to the white-furred beauty on top of me.

“Good.” She rises on her knees, guiding me into her while pulling the bridge of her panties aside to grant entrance. I’m sure those panties must be totally soaked, just like my dick, and sheath, [i]and[/i] jockstrap, and a good portion of my balls are from the instant she pulls me in, dribbling and gushing all over me.

Once my tip’s inside her hot entrance she confidently lets that be, using her arms to pull me in for another tongue-knotting session while she lowers herself onto my woody. She’s twirling her hips counter to my natural spiral on the way down like a screw being turned the wrong way, for maximum friction. Her downward and sideways movements timed just right against each other so that I slide in with agonizing slowness instead of slipping out from the contrary circling motion.

I can’t last long like that and she knows it by the moans I’m pouring right into her throat, the minx. So when I’m bottomed out in her and she pulls back up to cradle just my tip inside, Susan doesn’t start all over again with the counterclockwise slow drop like I’m almost certain she wants to. She drops right down with gravity onto my spring, making me gasp while she pulls her face back to better watch my expression. I’m sure it must be suitably ridiculous for her tastes.

“Good piggy.” Susan’s riding me hard with no mercy or gentleness, letting my cock coil and uncoil against her insides like a slinky poured down a hundred flights of stairs. This would be genuinely painful if she weren’t so sopping wet with feminine lubrication. The sublime slickness lifts me up toward paradise instead. “Fuck me like a barn animal. Rut me, fill me, scrub me out and start all over again.”

The dirty talk is too much for me and I cum. Of course, she doesn’t stop, humping up and down onto my spurting cock with even more force now that I’ve started to shoot. I scream from the overstimulation overriding everything else, too frazzled to use my grip on her hips to stop her.

Susan starts screaming too, about the same time I finally stop. Mostly my wordless cry ends because she’s pumped herself down onto me one last time, no longer pushing every nerve beyond overload, but partly because I ran out of air ages ago and the stop lets me realize I’m not actually making any noise anymore. 

I call the sound she’s making a scream, but really it’s more of a chattering throaty [i]something[/i] that would sent me right over into another orgasm if I weren’t still cumming in her. In her, and some splattering out around me to wet my sheath and underwear and balls and soon my pants to boot: The pig balls aren’t decorative. I’m going to keep cumming for half an hour at least, assuming she doesn’t start riding me and set me off all over again. I’ll need to push fluids after to keep from dehydrating, and even with the leakage Susan’s going to look gorged at the end of it.

“Um. Ah. Your order is ready, sir and madam.” That’s the snazzy-dressed waiter, I think. A little hard to tell through my daze and the white ferret-family femme fatale still clenching hard around my pumping cock. I make myself look up at the crisply dressed and extremely flustered otter bearing the serving tray.

“Mmmmmah.” Susan plants one more kiss right on the end of my snout, making me blush. “That sounds wonderful. I was just thinking I’d worked up an appetite.”

“Ma’am, you are aware that you are, em…” His discombobulation is such that I want to step in and rescue him from the casual seductiveness of the mink on my lap, but the attempt comes out as a weak wobbly moan. It’s not as if I’m capable of saving myself from the temptress, let alone anyone else. That goes for fancy waitstaff darkening the tip of their tent with pre, too. “In flagrante delicto? Here? In, ah…”

She cheerfully dismisses his vague gesture at the other patrons, variously frozen with forkfuls of dinner halfway to their mouths or pressing napkins concealingly over their groins.

“And how.” Susan agrees. “Just put both plates on this side of the table, will you? I’m not done getting filled up. And my lovely man here needs his strength too, of course.”

“Ah…” In his total bamboozlement, the lutrine complies, neatly sliding two plates and a bowl onto the table just on the other side of my lover. He thoughtfully retrieves her silverware from the other place setting for her, and reverts to script for lack of anything better. “Please enjoy your meals.”

“Thank you, I’m sure we will.” Casually, as if it weren’t a feat most gymnasts couldn’t pull off, she lifts one leg, toe pointed ceilingward with her high heel shoe still clinging to it, and rotates it right past the front of my face so she can face the food without ever getting off of my cock. The extra stimulation makes me groan and pump enough semen into her at once to feel her bulge out a little through her stomach fur.

Someone, I don’t see who, gives a hearty [i]Woooo![/i] of approval before being shushed by whoever is at their table. Susan is undoubtedly grinning smugly at that bit of applause.

“Come on, eat up.” She twirls a generous portion of sauced pasta onto her fork, lifting to her mouth to chew with an expression of bliss. Her other hand reaches down to pet at my churning pumping balls through her skirt. “It’s delicious, and I want you full up for round two.”



[center]The End[/center]