Dog Instincts The New World of SwapTech chapter 12 by deleted_user

Dawn crept in, but Rufus-the-woman showed no sign of human awakening. She bounded around the house on hands and knees, ass high, sports bra askew. Mark tried to corral her for "walkies"—leash clipped to a makeshift collar—but she tugged him into the backyard, sniffing grass, then rolling ecstatically.

Back inside, mishaps escalated. Rufus knocked over a lamp, then "apologized" by nuzzling Mark's crotch through the robe. Rough tongue lapped once—wet, insistent—against his clit. Mark staggered, moaning despite himself. Shadows surged, wrapping her wrists, but she just wagged harder, pressing closer.

Lisa watched, amused, until Rufus turned on her—leaping to lick stellar-veined breasts, tongue circling a nipple. Lisa gasped, knees buckling. "Fuck—her tongue's rougher than before."

The day became a comedy of errors: Rufus humping pillows (then Mark's leg), shredding laundry into nesting material, begging belly rubs that inevitably slid hands toward slick pussies. By afternoon, both Mark and Lisa were edged to insanity—pussies dripping, nipples raw—from "accidental" licks and nuzzles.

Evening brought the peak: Rufus curled between them on the bed, head in Mark's lap, tongue darting out to lap at his folds while Lisa ground against her thigh. Pleasure built uncontrollably—dog-simple, relentless.

They came together, hard, shadows and stars exploding.

Rufus whined happily, oblivious.