Just Another Saturday
Some people ask me how I could live with, much less love, Desiree. It's not a question I can just answer; to understand, you have to know us, know our life.
Take last Saturday for example.
I woke up around two in the afternoon, Desiree sound asleep beside me. The curtains on our bedroom were dense enough to leave the room in twilight, so her curly red hair looked more like a pool of blood on the pillow. That thought made me want to spoon her and touch her forever, but I didn't want to wake her up. Like me, she had a long day ahead of her. All I did was nose one of her big pink ears and pet her side before slipping out of bed.
First the bathroom, next a jog around the neighborhood, finished with a cleansing shower. I pulled on my uniform and had a breakfast of a smoothie and some water on the way to work.
My partner was waiting on me, sipping a cup of coffee. A few inches shorter, several years older, and a dozen pounds heavier, the raccoon wore it all with a bitter pride. He was good at what he did, but you had to be.
"Calib," he greeted, wiggling his fingers at me.
I grinned, wagged, and returned the favor as I climbed up into the passenger seat. "Marcus. You ready to roll?"
"Yup."
I grabbed the radio and told Connie we were ready to go. It didn't take long for a call to come in.
We were the first to the scene. The mother was in hysterics (they always are), but the kid was oddly calm. Gunshot to the shoulder, point blank. Just another reason why I'll never own a firearm. Fortunately he'd be okay - we stopped the bleeding on the way to the hospital, and he said it didn't hurt, just like when SpiderTiger gets shot. I guess even little badgers are made of tough stuff.
The second vic an hour later wasn't so lucky. They called us just after the cops released the scene. Woman slipped in her tub. We carted her as far as the medical examiner's office.
Right after our dinner break a house fire call came in. We let the older horse go after we made sure he just had singed fur and some smoke inhalation.
Then came the car crash. We rushed both people to the hospital, but while we managed to keep one breathing but unconscious, the other was DOA. Nothing I could've done. Internal bleeding, probably. This is why anyone in my car has to wear a seatbelt.
By the time I got home, I was beat. Desiree had gone to work a few hours ago, so the place was empty. On the bedroom door was a note. "Puppy, We're out of milk and toilet paper, pick some up. Kisses, Des."
With a sigh I ordered dinner (Chinese) and drove to the grocery down the street. I pulled up right behind the linsang, paid him, put everything away, and took a nap. After an hour I was up dealing with the trash and setting out Desiree's clothes for her shower.
You're thinking I'm some kind've housewife, I know. But really that's part of what makes me happy. See, some paramedics after a while take to drinking, or building little models, or something to deal with the stress of all that blood and life that slips through your fingers if you're not fast enough, or the patient's not lucky enough. For me it's Desiree. I like having someone who I can take care of. Before I showed up she couldn't manage money, or well - Des is just very disorganized and let's just say she's better off now. That makes me feel proud.
She was later than usual, but I'd been given fair warning. Still I was a little anxious by the time her key hit the lock, so I met her full on with a hug when the door opened. Though anything I was going to say got snuffed out when the muggy scent of sex all over her punched me in the nose, forcing my ears and tail down. It was then I got a good look at her high heeled boots and tube top.
Pulling back, she gave me a small smile. "Sorry puppy." The real apology was in her green eyes. It was my own fault; I knew she had a long night tonight. Giving her ear a nose, I shooed her towards the bathroom.
I should probably explain: Desiree's a prostitute.
For about fifteen years now, prostitution's been legal in this state. It's regulated: weekly checkups for the girls; mandatory rubbers; usually ran out of a brothel. Some of the brothels even allow clients to meet the girl off-site, but this requires extensive background checks, a fancy GPS collar for her, and check-in phone calls back to the office.
The way I see it, selling your body for sex is like selling your body to provide security or build houses. Yes, sex is intimate. But once upon a time, the only people who you protected or who you built a house for were those who you had intimate relationships with.
Despite that, we have rules. One is that I don't want to smell her clients, so she usually does a quick workout at the brothel gym and an once-over shower to get rid of the mess. Another is that outside of work, no other lovers. Sure, we've very rarely invited someone home we both thought was attractive, but it's just me and her. Also no kissing clients.
By the time she was out of the shower, I had dinner warmed up and on plates. She came to the table in just a long t-shirt (one of mine), some undies, and a towel wrapped around her hair. The snowy color of the terrycloth matched her pretty white fur, much like the pink panties went along with her naked tail. For some reason, the towel-around-the-hair always looks so cute to me, and half the time I think she does it just to see me wag my tail at her.
Stepping over to me, her arms went around my shoulders and, squeezing, I got a kiss. It was nice and soft. All the heat from the shower left her real warm, so it was like hugging a pile of fresh laundry. Pulling back just enough, Desiree lifted her lips up to suck on my nose. With a bark I tried to pull my muzzle out of range, and we had a little game of gotcha.
We separated, she giving my chin a nip before settling down at her plate.
A minute or so of silent eating went by. "You okay?" She asked.
All ready forking a piece of sesame chicken, I peeked up. "Rr?"
"You look a little worn out," she explained around a chopstick full of broccoli.
Just nodding, I sipped at some water and smiled weakly. "I know your client held you over, but you look beat up too."
She shrugged while stuffing rice into her mouth. Even if she was nice and petite, Desiree could eat. Some times she doesn't have a lot of opportunities at work. "Yeah. It was a party."
That's right. That'd explain why she didn't have time to clean up at work. "Were you the busiest?"
"No," she said with a full mouth, taking a long pull on her glass of milk. "I was playing second fiddle to Monique, but I'm still sore all over."
The House that Desiree works for offers Party Packages, which has some options for how many girls you want over, charging by the hour rather than by the act. Included is the services of security guards who come to make sure everybody plays nice with the girls. I trust Bianca, Desiree's boss; she knows her stuff, and prostitutes are a lot like cops: it's a duty to look out for your coworkers.
The conversation shifted to other stuff. That was about as in-depth as we went when it came to work. Mine's depressing and we both still feel kind've weird talking about hers. At first I was curious. That was until she told me about the guy who had her act like his teenage daughter's best friend and took her out for a day long date so he could pretend she would fall for him and have sex with him.
When she took up the dishes and started washing, I snuck up behind her and, turning her head to me, licked her muzzle clean of the brown sauce and rice sticking to her wet fur. Mm. She giggled and pushed me away, even if her rope of a tail hugged my ankle. "Eef, dog slobber!"
"Don't you like my slobber?" I gave big sad eyes.
Turning back to the sink, her smile was only catchable in her voice. "I do - but I get enough of it from your kisses!" Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, "Did you set the TiVo?"
"Always do."
I went and got down into my boxers and sprawled out on the couch, waiting for her. As soon as she came in, I turned on the TV and started fiddling with the controls. Then she stole the remote, and with a laugh I pounced her. We rolled around on the floor until her towel fell off, and she wrapped it around my head.
"Hey!" I retaliated by tickling her.
That made her let go. "Squeak!"
After some more tickling for good measure, I flopped onto the couch. She slipped into the bathroom before coming back to plop on my lap with a cute pout and a brandished hair brush. As soon as I got the show to play, I started to comb her hair. Since it was something I loved doing, there wasn't much of a complaint from me. After I was finished brushing, my fingers took over, just caressing through the long, lush curls, dragging my nails through the fur of her scruff in the process.
This was actually our Thursday ritual, but since my shift was shuffled around that day, we made due tonight. Really we could've watched it Sunday, since Sunday and Monday were our weekend, but both of us were eager to watch "Saviors". You know, "Protect the schoolgirl, protect the world"? We were pretty addicted.
Throughout the show, I held her against my body, nosing the line of her neck. She melted, especially over the stroking along her belly and sides. I just needed to hold her like a wiggly teddy bear.
Wiggle she did too - her butt rubbed over my lap absently. Eventually she had something firm to sit on. The only acknowledgement I got was a rueful smile over her shoulder.
Another odd thing about us is that I've not got a huge sex drive. I get really needy now and then, but on a day to day basis, it's just not much of an issue. In a way, Desiree being a working girl helps out our relationship - she's a little on the more needy side than me, and work gets that out of her system for the most part.
But often clients don't accommodate her needs, and that's where I come in.
After the time the teaser for next week's show was over, she leaned back, laying her head on my shoulder to peer up at me sidelong. "I want to go to bed." The comment was innocent enough, especially with a tired sound followed by her nosing at my cheek.
TV and lights went off, door got locked, and all those other odds and ends had to be taken care of before we crawled under the sheets.
Desiree flopped on her back while I spooned her side. I stroked her tummy, eliciting a little squirmy giggle. "No tickling, I'm tired."
"You're worn out, not sleepy," I said, "You could lie around and veg for a while."
With a shrug she just pushed her head up under my chin. To which I stuffed my nose in her ear and snuffled, drawing out a giggle, before I started to lick along the interior of the pink cup.
That garnered a shiver out of her. She pushed at my head away faintly and sighed. "Not tonight, I'm sore."
"Where?"
Brushing a bang out of her eyes, Desiree ummed, "My neck, my thighs, my insides..."
I gave her side a nudge. "Roll over."
"No puppy," she whined, a hint of exasperation filtering into her lips. "Not in the mood to make love."
I propped up on an elbow and peered down at her with a smile. "You, not in the mood?" With a quirked brow, I reached up to ruffle her hair. "Just roll over, okay?" That little plea was chased with pleading dog eyes and a 'trust me' look.
Desiree rolled her eyes and made a big production of getting onto her stomach.
I slid to straddle over her back. First her hair got stroked, just smoothing it out, moving it off her neck. That's where my fingers started; cupping the sides, I gave a gentle squeeze, grinding the heels of my hands down into the tense muscles underneath the fur.
"Ooh," she breathed. "That feels much better."
Without a word I kept at her neck, letting my fingers ripple together, before paws wandered lower. That spot where shoulder and neck met was the next target, though it received a more pointed treatment; my nails digging in and, squeezing hard, I tugged out before pushing right in again as my thumbs sunk into the back of her neck. It was like trying to squeeze a bag of sand. Either she had given enthusiastic head, or a lot of it. "You weren't kidding about being sore." She grunted in acknowledgement while I kept it up.
From there, my paws drifted to the middle of her shoulders. The collarbone got my fingertips, while I grinded the heels of my pawpads into the back of her shoulder. Squeezing, I tugged the muscle up, then out, before letting it go back. That became the rhythm, and as I kneaded, my thumbs pushed between her shoulder blades.
Beneath my hands, Desiree tried to pull away, and then pushed up some. For my troubles I received contented mouse noises.
It took me about five minutes to work myself down her back, prodding here and clawing there. I put my upper body into it, rolling the heels of my palms across her lower back like I was using a rolling pin.
"Ow!"
My bent ears perked and I sat up. "What?"
"Gymnastics injury."
With a lolled tongue, I reached back and tugged her tail. "You were in gymnastics?"
Letting loose an exasperated hurmph, she peered over her shoulder. "I told you that like, a hundred times. Junior high and half way through high school? Made it to state my freshman year? Broke my hymen tumbling? I know I've told you that."
"Oh. Yeah, that sounds familiar."
She glared.
Tickling didn't save me, so I just nosed at her neck and sought forgiveness with light licks. "Okay, okay." Her tail wound around my ankle, giving it a weak squeeze.
"So," I asked, just running my fingers up and down her back through the t-shirt, "How did you hurt yourself?"
"You know the pummel horse?"
I nodded.
"Got going really quick on that, hand slipped, handle poked right in there."
The wince I gave garnered a "Yeah."
Avoiding her injury, I continued down her back. Eventually I had to scoot downwards, straddling her thighs. That long, pink tail was my next stop. Had there been fur it would have been harder to massage, but with it just skin and muscle, I could grab hold and squeeze, or pinch it between two fingers and grate them back and forth. Avoiding the sensitive base, I went higher, up until I started nosing at the very tip.
Once more she was wiggling and sighing. Then I went lower, worrying her hips, the very topmost part of her upper thighs.
That's when I cupped her butt. I love Desiree's butt. Like the rest of her, it was small and tight and worked like a machine.
At first it was like any other area, me squeezing it and rolling the muscle through my fingers. But then I started showing her how much I liked that tush, paying close attention to those spots that she liked touched, the ones that drew more than the regular reflexive twitch. Soon she was flexing and spreading her thighs a tad, and how could I forget the trickle of arousal sneaking through her panties.
"Calib," she warned, though my tail wagged when I caught breathiness to her tone.
My paws moved lower. Starting in on the backs of her thighs, I worked one, then the other, taking my time to stroke along the fur as much as I massaged. Eventually though, I began to creep along the interior of her legs, pushing them apart so that I could press along the inside and roll the muscle in tight circles.
She writhed. Not only was it a source of tension, but a place of pleasure, exploited when my thumbs glided along the upper spots. The smell of her crawled up my nose, forcing me to pant just a little.
Finally I settled my palm along the crotch of her panties, pressing down to pet with firmness behind it.
"Calib," she warned again, but this time the scolding was at the edge of her voice, forced out by a low tone of enjoyment.
Smiling up at her, I bumped my nose against her tail. "You said you were sore there. I should finish up the massage, don't you think?" All ready I was peeling her panties off.
With an exasperated sigh that was mostly for show, she gave in; hiking her hips up was all the permission I needed to keep going. I took my time sliding her undies off until I freed them from her ankles, then they were over by the dresser real fast. My paws crept back up her legs.
Grabbing the lowest part of her butt, I started stroking with just my thumbs, smoothing them through the bare skin of her crotch. Desiree keeps shaved down there, but above there's a little straight line of red fur that looks like an exclamation point. Already she was getting a little moist, especially by the time my fingertips started sliding along her pout, up one side then down the other.
Heat came off her like a sheet-covered vent, and I warmed my hand on it. The soft leather of my pawpad just barely grazed her as I stroked the whole of her, then pushed forward solidly and began to work her, putting the pressure straight down from my shoulder through to the heel of my paw.
In moments she was pushing back against me, breath whistling through her nose.
Balling my paw into a fist, I started dragging and rolling my knuckles against her, poking at one lip in particular, then the other. I even went so far as to catch the skin between two knuckles to tug. Keeping on, I twisted a knuckle into her little button, dragging a sudden squeaky grunt out of her.
One finger went in, tracing her interior a moment before a second one joined it. From there I rubbed in tight little circles, working deeper into one side, and alternated in another direction. Outside of her, my thumb kept up the screwing press, especially onto her button when my wrist turned. Lewd little noises escaped, making me loll my tongue. The scent had my tail beating against the bed; she was hot. I just wanted to roll around in that smell.
Sliding up the bed, I nestled in behind Desiree after coaxing her onto her side. She arched her leg up, letting me worry away at her insides. I started licking along the back of her ears and neck, occasionally biting her scruff. While not a dog or cat, that was still a nice spot, one that drew hot gasps, especially when I started jerking my head side to side like I was playing tug of war with it. The growl was just for show, but she still squeezed my hand with her thighs and moaned.
I wanted to get her off. For me it was like the massage: just for her satisfaction. Without me, it'd be uncommon for someone to look out for her enjoyment. Many guys could have her body, but I was the one she came home to care about, the one who mattered.
"Calib." This was a different kind of warning, but I didn't need it; I knew the signs. Her thighs squeezed together, the thin length of her tail curled in on itself before slapping the backs of her thigh. Panting, her back arched and she went to just grunting out squeaks and other noises that remind me of a chew toy.
With a long, low moan she came. She was so pretty when she did too - her face crinkled up all cutely, while she tried to bury her nose in her chestfur and her ears went to hide in her hair. Throughout the squirming I just kept petting her, kissing her neck.
We laid there together, breathing in the collective scents, though after a minute I buried my nose in her hair to nuzzle. I crushed her against my front like I was trying to smoosh us into one person, the warm hold receiving no complaint.
Nothing was said about the erection pressing up along the back of her thigh. If I didn't worry about it, she wouldn't feel guilty about not dealing with it. I understood she'd seen enough penis for one day.
When she could move, Desiree rolled over. She shakily planted a hand on my chest and, hoisting up, kissed me. With the sex poured down the drain for the most part, it left our mouths to just gently play, tongues dancing and lips brushing. I don't know how long we laid there and just licked one another's snout, me doing a lot of nosing in the process, but eventually I'd matted most of her maw down with spit. She pointed this out with a fake scorn and just rubbed her face into my chest to get it all off.
We settled into just stroking one another, fingers gliding through fur, absent touches over ears, then stilled to just nestling against one another. It didn't take long for us to relax, and from there we sank into drowsiness.
"Love you," Desiree murmured.
It made me feel at ease. I nosed one of her ears. "I know. I love you too."
Sleep came pretty easy after that.
I love Desiree because she's a person, and lets me be me, and we're together. She isn't her job. Nor am I mine. But we're us. That's all that matters.