Niasan & Duncan – 7. Successfully Soothing Some “Symptoms” Sans Stress

Waking up near Niasa can often be quite an experience. Sound sleeper that she is, she’s usually the last to wake up. She’s also quite the cuddler, which means that, many mornings, I’ll have to untangle myself from her big, strong arms -and sometimes also her big, strong legs- so that I can leave the bed and get started on breakfast. On occasion, her cuddling will be served with a side of squeezing or groping, depending on whether she’s dreaming, and whether the dream is scary or fun. One time, I even woke up to Niasa chewing on my hair. Seriously: my hair was stuck between her teeth, with her saliva dripping down my neck. I still have no idea what she was dreaming about -she couldn’t remember when she woke up.

But the most interesting mornings are the ones where Niasa wakes up first. Those can go several different ways. Most of the time, she’ll at least try to be respectful of my sleep, and wait until I wake up on my own. This usually translates to her staring at me as I sleep, or using her AR lenses to get some work done. The former used to freak me out in the first months of our relationship -which I’m pretty sure amused her-, but now it’s just part of my morning routine; in fact, I miss it on the very rare nights where we don’t sleep in the same bed. Other times, usually the weekends, she’ll stick her nose against my neck, breathe me in deep, sigh contentedly, and go back to sleep.

Some mornings, however, Niasa will get a little impatient and try to wake me up instead of waiting. Most of the time, it’s because she’s hungry, and doesn’t want to eat breakfast alone. Thankfully, when I say that she wakes me up, I don’t mean that she pokes me or shakes me awake. She’s usually a little more subtle about it. We’re talking kisses, gentle whispers in my ear… Or, you know, sucking my cock or sitting on my face. Or both at the same time. Niasa is a Hellhound, after all, and I am but her humble husband, a position which sometimes involves being her boytoy. A chore, to be sure, but I’m nothing if not mindful of my duties.

And then, there are those mornings. Those mornings that are the prelude to a very, very special day. Those mornings where I’m glad I do some cardio training regularly, and thus am prepared for what’s coming.

I knew this would be one such morning before I even opened my eyes. Call it an intuition, developed after several years of dating, then being married to Niasa. It allows me to pick up on little signs, like a certain tension in the air, the ambient temperature being higher than usual, and Niasa on top of me, stradling my hips, staring intensely at me -so intensely that I know she’s staring even with my eyes closed. I can tell one of her paws is planted right next to my head.

“Come on, wake up,” I hear her grumble under her breath.

“I’m awake,” I mumble, stretching my arms, then rubbing my eyes.

“Ah! About fucking time.”

She briskly grabs something in the nightstand’s drawer. I realize my intuition was right when I see what it is: a condom. Niasa and I never use those, or in fact any form of contraception. Ever since the birth of our twin daughters, we have both opted for a more permanent form of contraception.

Well, we almost never use those. Except during those very, very special days.

The code red days.

In case you don’t know what that term refers to, let me just say that code red days are further evidence that nature really isn’t all that beautiful, and that the miracle of life and the ability to give birth have some serious downsides sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean regularly. Monthly.

Yes, exactly. That.

While that is already an issue with many Human and Humanoid women, Hellhounds seem to have it particularly bad. During this time (which thankfully only lasts a day, sometimes two), a slew of problems befall them. The gravity varies from Hellhound to Hellhound, but it is a pain for all of them. Mainly, they become more sensitive to light and smells. Much more sensitive. I fully expect someone crazy or unaware enough to point a flashlight in their faces or to cook goat cheese near them to have a closed casket funeral. Then, there are the migraines. They don’t last long, but are apparently pretty debilitating. There’s also the cramping, which can get bad enough to prevent any movement. Sometimes, you can also expect vomiting, to the point of bruised ribs. And, of course, there are the mood swings. Yes, surprisingly enough, spending an entire day nursing a killer headache and vomiting everywhere, while also waging war with your muscles every time you need to move, can have a negative effect on your mood. Funny that.

An enjoyable time all around, really. And while I don’t personally suffer any of these symptoms, it certainly gives me no pleasure to see the woman I love having to go through this -especially on a regular basis. Thankfully, a few years after we moved to San Francisco, Jacinda found a very good endocrinologist that had some knowledge on the obscure and apparently complex subject of Hellhound’s hormones. Dr Janice Zhao (pronounced “Ja-oh”, I think) got her on a hormonal treatment that made the whole thing a lot more tolerable. No more skull-crushing headaches, no more muscle-twisting cramping, and no more vomiting. In fact, this almost magical pill takes care of all of the biggest symptoms.

That is, all of the biggest symptoms except one. Well, two, if you count the, err, you know, the blood. But, although it is a pretty big symptom, it is one I don’t mind handling. As I said, I’m nothing if not mindful of my duties.

My lovely wife’s claws fidget as she unrolls the condom over my cock, making me quiver a bit.

“You ready?” she says, her fangs clenched.

I’m about to inquire about the necessity of foreplay, but a glance at her pussy tells me she took care of that while I was still sleeping. Not for the sake of efficiency, I’d expect, but because she was getting really antsy. That hypothesis is confirmed when I barely answer yes and she immediately lowers her hips, bringing me almost entirely inside her.

A moaned breath leaves me. “Good morning, love.”

“Morning,” she says between her teeth.

And that’s it for conversation, on to the shagging. While my wife is usually not one for subtlety, she’s a lot more urgent during those days. She growls, she claws, she hammers my hips so hard the friction might set our love nest on fire. An outside observer might show concern, or perhaps call law enforcement on what they’d perceive as the assault of a poor innocent man by some feral beast, and they wouldn’t be completely wrong. Sex and violence are closely interconnected for most Hellhounds, and my wife is certainly no exception.

Thankfully, I’m well into that too. You don’t marry a Hellhound unless you like it rough -really, really rough. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that my wife is hot as Hades either. I don’t just mean that figuratively, by the way: her body temperature -normally higher than that of a Human- seems to gain a few degrees during those days. Especially down there. 

It doesn’t take long before our tryst goes from good to great, then from great to orgasmic. I take a deep breath, my hands tightening their hold over the sides of her bust. At the same time, Niasa’s growling turns into swearing. Her claws dig into the bedsheets, which are thankfully made of tougher stuff. And then comes that blessed moment when her tail perks up, her back straightens up, she throws her head back, and howls.

“Fuck,” she grunts as she comes down. “Shit, this is going to be a long day.”

She sounds more coherent now.

“Do you feel better, love?” I say.

“Kinda.” She breathes out of her mouth.

“Are you sure? You still sound… erm, a little frustrated.”

“You ever been super hungry, so goddamn ravenous you’d eat just about anything, but dinner is like five hours away, and all you’ve got in the meantime is a potato chip? I mean, the potato chip may be delicious, and you may love the way it smells and feels inside you, but it’s not enough to sate you. You want -no- you need the whole damn bag.”

“Ah, right.”

She sticks her paw against the side of my throat, her clawed fingers looking for my pulse.

“I’m giving your heart two minutes to calm down, then we’re fucking again,” she says, her voice tense and fast-paced. “Then, we’re taking a shower. We’ll be fucking. Then-”

“I’ll make you your special breakfast,” I say, lifting my hand to brush her cheek. 

She mellows down a little. “Chick-choc nuggets?”

I nod.

“Good. Yes. Then, you’ll come back here and feed me. Actually, we’ll have breakfast first. I’m too fucking hungry.”

“Yes, dear,” I say, smirking.

Yes, my wife is the bossy type. And I don’t mind. On occasion, some people -usually men, but not only- ask me why I don’t mind that she “wears the pants” in our relationship. I usually answer: “the tits, of course”. If someone takes that answer seriously, it is a good sign that I shouldn’t associate with them. The real answer is that I don’t mind because she doesn’t actually wear the pants. Yes, my wife often makes decisions for the both of us, but only because I agree that she should, and solely with the caveat that I can put my foot down if I don’t agree. She doesn’t wear the pants, and neither do I. We’re partners, equals. That’s how relationships work, in my opinion -at least, that’s how they should work. Some people don’t seem to understand that. Maybe this is a consequence of how, for the longest time, society has-

“Time’s up, let’s fuck.”

Our second round of lovemaking is, well, more loving. This time, she hugs me as we shag, her paws running over my shoulders and the back of my neck as she kisses me deeply. She does that thing I really, really like when she draws circles with her hips, her kegels offering my cock the most wonderful of massages. The first time she pulled that on me, I lasted a grand total of fourty seconds. Rather embarrassing, as you’d imagine. Thankfully, through a combination of being quite horny and her strange powers I still to this day don’t quite understand, I got back on that horse in no time.

As often when she kisses, her long tongue invades my mouth, ensnaring my own vocal organ. Simultaneously, her hands grab my wrists and pin them down over my head. Complete with her legs blocking mine, I can barely move at all. Her body covers every inch of mine, her massive tits pressing against my chest. This is something she really likes to do: entrapping me. Overwhelming me. Having me completely at her mercy. I won’t lie, it’s working for me too.

In the early stages of our relationships, I sometimes wondered if I was really into this sort of thing, or if I was just playing along to make my then-girlfriend happy. As a matter of fact, my lovely Hellhound once suspected as much -and even felt guilty for it, though pregnancy hormones played a role in that. It is true that “happy wife, happy life” is a philosophy I strongly believe in, and I was never much into that sort of thing before meeting Niasa. Not that I had really tried, mind you; I was usually more on the dominant side with my previous partners.

But I quickly realized that it was a mixture of both: I love being dominated, and I especially love it when my wife does it. I can’t completely explain it -nor do I really care to. It might be love, it might have to do with the unique experience we shared the day we met, or it might just be that we are very compatible.

Damn. The way her claws dig into my skin as she gets closer to cumming. The way she growls. The way her facial lines shine brighter. The way her moves become brisk and fidgety. And -bloody hell- the intensity in her eyes. There is truly nothing more beautiful to me than my Hellhound when she’s orgasming. Well, tied for first: can’t forget about the birth of our twin daughters. But much like a starlit night, this is a beautiful scene I see regularly yet never get tired of.

She kisses me again, ravenous and wanton, then howls her orgasm above my head. My body shivers, and I cum as well seconds later. Niasa drops down on the bed, so heavily I bounce almost an inch off the mattress.

“Goddamn it,” she mutters.

“What’s wrong?” I say as I get rid of the condom.

“Ugh. Nevermind. I’m being bitchy.” She shoves her face in her pillow and growls. “Stupid fucking period, fuck, goddamn.”

“Is it your headache?” I ask softly, brushing hair off her forehead.

“No. Yes. I mean, yeah, my head hurts, but it’s manageable. I just- Ugh. Can you get me my food, please?”

“Of course, love.”

I lay a kiss on her cheek, pat her arse, and leave the bedroom. Oops. I get back in the bedroom, grab some clothes, and leave the bedroom again.

It’s half past seven when I enter the kitchen. The girls are up, and eating their breakfast. Jacinda is staring off in the distance, clearly not completely awake yet. Nova is reading one of her many, many books. This one looks to be about 18th century North America, judging by the illustrations. Nova responds first to my “good morning”; Jacinda notices her lifting her eyes from her book, and greets me in turn.

“How are my girls doing?” I say, planting a kiss on each of their foreheads. As I do, I see their nostrils twitch. Just like their mother, the twins have a very good sense of smell. I also notice their eyes spotting the scratches on my arms.

“We’re good,” Nova says. “Are you okay, dad?”

“I’m fine. Your mom’s just a little sick today.”

“A little sick,” Jacinda snorts. “Dad, we’re teens now. You can just say she’s on the rag.”

I sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Although I don’t really like that expression.”

“How about “Aunt Flo’s visiting”?” she suggests. “Or “it’s red tide”? Or the “having the monthlies”? Or “Shark week”? Or “the English have landed”? Or “I’ve fallen to the Communists”?”

“Or “the painters are in”,” Nova says. “I like that one.”

“I heard “the decorators are in,” Jacinda says. “Oh! How about: there’s a red storm a-brewing? I just came up with that one.”

I raise a hand to stop this conversation before it can go any further. “How about: “it’s lady time”, alright?”

“Lady time sounds like we’re a bunch of soccer moms having tea and crumpets while discussing gardening and shitty romance novels,” Jacinda says. She slaps her paw over her mouth a second too late. “I mean: steamy ro-

“One dollar in the swear jar,” I say. She grumbles.

“You should read one sometimes,” Nova says. “I think you’d enjoy it.”

“Pshh. What am I, an old lady?” She sniffs. “They’re all the same anyway.” Putting on a breathy voice, she goes: “Brenda is a simple and honest shop-owner trying to get over her breakup with Dylan, who was an abusive douche. But then she meets Darryl, a multi-billionaire businessman and playboy. He’s an abusive douche too, but that’s okay because he’s got a big c-” She glances at me. “C-credit card.”

I chuckle as I turn on the stove. Chick-choc nuggets are a “recipe” (I employ that term lightly) I came up with after two or three years of living with Niasa. They’re basically chicken nuggets with a dark chocolate coating, occasionally with some seasoning and spices. It’s, um… Well, Niasa seems to very much like it, especially during her lady time. And I, her loving husband, would never criticize her tastes.

“Are you going to be fine on your own today, pups?” I tell the twins.

“I have classes all day,” Nova says. “I’ll be fine.”

“I only have classes in the morning,” Jacinda says. “Guess I’ll hang out at the aquarium in the afternoon. What with it being Shark week and all.”

I fix myself a quick breakfast -tea and fruits mostly- while I cook enough nuggets to fill a bucket. I toss in some carrots, some lettuce, and a little corn so she’ll have some veggies. In addition, I fill a thermos with tea, and pack a couple of bottles of water.

“All right, I’ll see you this evening. Have a good day in school, pups.”

“Bye, dad,” Nova says.

“And have fun,” Jacinda says, heavy on the sarcasm.

Niasa is still in bed when I get back, laying on her back and muttering swears at the air, her eyes closed. Her nostrils flare the moment I pass the door, and she rolls on her side, her tail wagging. The first smile of the day appears on my wife’s face as she grabs the bucket of chicken I hold out to her, nearly tipping its contents on the carpeted floor. She shoves an entire nugget in her mouth and starts chewing loudly. I sit besides her as she munches on her nuggets, going through them like they’re going to expire soon.

Seeing my wife enjoy my cooking is another show I’ll never tire of. It’s hard to decide which part I like the most: the happy sounds she makes, the wagging of her tail, or the way her ears flop.

“Thank you,” she joyfully mumbles, crumbs falling off her lips and onto the mattress as she does.

“Of course, love.”

I take to massaging her shoulders as she eats. Massaging a Hellhound is an excellent way to bulk up your fingers: anything short of kneading into their skin with enough strength to break a soda can will only tickle them. She leans into the massage, but says:

“Is that really where you want to touch me?”

“No, but I’m trying not to poke the bear.”

“Oh, but the bear wants to be poked,” she says. “In fact, the bear might be offended if you don’t.”

“Ah, all right. If you force my hand…” I go to cup her large, beautiful tits -with great reluctance, as you can imagine- to massage them as well.

“I do like it when you force your hands…”

Of course. My fingers sink deeper into her flesh, once again enjoying the firmness of her perfect breasts.

“My neck would like some attention too,” my wife says. “Actually, hold on.”

She drops the bucket on the nightstand. It seems she has eaten all of the nuggets, but left the lettuce untouched. Figures. At least she ate a few carrots. Niasa stands up, takes me by the hand, and leads me to the en-suite bathroom. As we walk in, she glances at the shower, then at the large bathtub, then rubs her belly with a groan.

“Hey, could we have a bubble bath instead of a shower?” Niasa suggests.

I hesitate a little. Not that I dislike bubble baths, or the idea of sharing one with my very hot and very willing wife, not at all. But the thing is, were we to have one, there is no way we would be out of here within half an hour. And today is a workday; rather late in the morning, too.

“Err… Don’t you have work to do? Or a meeting?”

“I already called in sick. No way I’m looking at a single line of code when bright lights make me want to puke my guts out.”

“Well…”

Before I can hesitate for an additional millisecond -or even answer at all-, she switches to sad puppy mode, flopping her ears, lowering her nose, and speaking in a whiny voice. “Come oooooon, darling. I want a bubble bath. My joints hurt and my stomach is killing me. Don’t you want to have a bubble bath with me? Please?”

“All right, all right, stop.” I place my hands on her cheeks and kiss her. “Sure, let’s have a bubble bath. Seriously, I was going to say yes, love. You don’t need the upsell.”

“I know.” She flashes a smile. “But I love how you fold like a lawn chair when I do that. That and when I blow you. Always good to know my man is wrapped around my finger.”

“Am I?” I say as I turn the taps on. “Do you remember what you promised in trade for tasting my homemade milkshake again?”

She plops her well-shaped arse on the edge of the bathtub, and watches it getting filled, smiling unabashedly. “Heh. Yeah. Your milkshakes bring all the girls to their knees, darling.”

“Or on all fours, in this case.” I raise an eyebrow. “I may be wrapped around your finger, but you’ll recall I was holding you on a leash.”

She laughs, making her beautiful eyes shine. “Fair enough.”

The tub is barely half-full when she decides to lay down in it. It will always amuse me how she basically turns into a child as soon as she gets into a body of water, no matter how small. She plays around, hums happily, splashes water everywhere -mostly at me, to encourage me to undress faster. Of course, our fun becomes a lot more mature as soon as I join her in the water, sitting just beside her. She turns my head towards her and kisses me, then slides her paw between my legs. My cock reacts promptly to the solicitation of her clawed fingers. She starts slowly, once again, teasing me with her caresses. Her tongue does the same thing, licking my upper lip, as if it was suddenly too shy to enter.

Teasing is another thing my lovely Hellhound is really fond of. It’s a control thing too. She loves making squirm, pant, moan, and, of course, beg. Holding me in the palm of her paw, ready to do anything she wants to get that sweet, sweet release. Obviously, I’d do anything she wants anyway, but like she said she just really likes having me under her thumb. Speaking of thumbs, the way hers rubs the head of my cock is amazing.

She flashes me a smile, and kisses me again. Her lips go from mine to my neck, then to my collar bone, my torso, and continue going lower. She moans in delight as the head of my cock disappears in her mouth, as if my member was her favorite treat. At first, she only sucks the top part of my dick, while her tongue wraps around its length, sliding deliciously up and down. But after a minute of this wonderful torture, she suddenly drops her head, pluging it under the water, and swallows my cock entirely. I quiver when I feel the head hit the back of her throat.

“Oh, gods, Niasa…” I groan, my hand encroaching in her mane.

Then, she does a quick move of her tongue, and I’m a goner. I lay down against the tub, and let myself go in her mouth. My Hellhound dutifully and gluttonously swallows, then, without giving me another break, sits astride me. Her paw finds my cock again.

“Let’s get you ready for round three,” she says.

Her tone is getting curt again. The window her previous orgasms gave her has been very short indeed. She presses her toned, muscled, and wet body against mine. My face naturally finds its place between her massive tits, my forehead resting against the patch of fur right on top of them.

I grab her ass while her legs fold against the sides of my torso. Inch by inch, she lowers herself down, letting my member fill the furnace of her snatch.

“Hmmm… Yeah,” she moans in my ear. “Fuck, I’ll never get tired of this feeling. Your cock was made for my pussy, darling.”

“Other way around, love,” I say, thrusting myself into her.

“Fuck! Hmm.” She looks down at me, brushing my hair. “Hey now. You don’t think you can take the lead on this one, do you?”

“What if I do?”

I thrust again, making her moan.

I get my answer immediately, as she retaliates by using her kegels, massaging my cock to sap my will to resist. I gasp.

“You don’t,” she says.

“Mmh, okay, maybe not,” I say with a shiver.

Our hips begin moving in unison, as we tango in the hot, bubbly water, her red-orange eyes locked into mine like she’s trying to hypnotize me. I grab her arse, my fingers kneading into her muscly buttcheeks. Niasa bites my lip, murmuring as she does. If I know my Hellhound -and I do-, that means she’s enjoying herself, but wants more. So more it is. I grab the base of her tail and massage it. She reacts promptly, growling and wiggling in my arms.

Yet something is wrong. I can tell she’s getting close -very, very close, judging by the way her claws dig into my back-, but I read frustration in her body language. I decide to double my efforts but, strangely, she only gets more frustrated as I bring her to the finish line. She growls, and punches the edge of the bathtub.

“Gah! Damnit.”

“What’s wrong, love?” I say, confused. “I thought you… Didn’t you…?”

“Yeah, no, yeah, I came, but it…” She grunts in exasperation.

“Yes?”

Niasa drops her head against my shoulder. “Ugh. Okay, this is gonna sound stupid and weird, but… I feel like I didn’t come hard enough.”

“O-Okay?”

“Like I said, it’s stupid and weird, but I just- It’s good, but it doesn’t feel… intense enough. It’s like… Fuck, it feels like the last time I masturbated.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” Niasa quickly says. “It’s my goddamn hormones being assholes again. They’re like addicts asking for more.” She punches the tub a couple more times. “Fuck, this sucks.”

“It’s all right, love,” I say. “Let’s just try something else. Ah… Normally, I’d suggest going down on you, but…”

“Yeah, I get it. I wouldn’t be down for that either. I mean down… Yeah, you know what I mean.” She tuts. “Okay, okay, so…”

“How about we try something else?” I say, scratching the back of her lupine ears like she loves.

“What did you have in mind?” she says, her eyelids at half-mast.

“Oh, nothing… Just maybe…”

My mouth wanders from her lips to her neck, until I reach that very special place just before the nape where I know her skin to be extra sensitive. You see, after years of being happily married to a very sexually active Hellhound, I have come to know every single one of her weaknesses. Her clitoris and her G-spot are obvious guesses, but she also has a place on her tail where she likes being groped, a tit more sensitive to my tongue than the other, and that spot on her neck where my teeth have the magical power to make her all wobbly.

She moans, then yelps as I take advantage of her vulnerability to reverse our positions, with her on the bottom and me on top.

“What did I say about taking the lead?” she says, her fake anger making me laugh.

“Was it something along the lines of: “Please do, master”?”

Before she can snark back, I attack her left nipple with my tongue, then my teeth. At the same time, I grab her wrists and hold them above her head. Niasa giggles, and lets me take over the show, only pretending to resist to make it more fun. I nudge her thighs open, and guide my cock back inside her pussy, before shoving it whole. When I said I liked it rough, I meant it both ways: receiving and giving. And in that spirit, I quickly start to slam my hips into hers, again and again. My Hellhound gasps, then grabs me by the shoulders.

“Hmph!” she says. “That’s a nice little massage, darling, but I was under the impression that you were going to fuck me.”

“Cheeky bitch,” I retort.

“Puny Human,” Niasa spits back with a toothy grin.

Puny Human? I suppress a smile. What is she, a villain from some B-series fantasy movie?

“I’ll show you puny,” I say.

Grabbing her by the nape, I forcefully turn her around, bending her over the edge of the tub. Her tail rises, tauntingly swatting me in the face. As often, I take a moment to appreciate the nice, bubbly shape of her arse. And by appreciate, I mean I take a good look before I spank it.

“Ouch!” she fake-moans. “I think a mosquito bit me!”

That’s on me, I’ve been too gentle. I strike again, hard enough to make her gasp this time. It’s a bit of a shame that her skin is too dark to turn red, I would love to see my handprint on her butt. My sixth sense tells me she’s about to say something sarcastic again, so I immediately spank the other cheek, the slapping sound echoing across the bathroom. She doesn’t scream, but her breathing becomes more laboured. Oh, what the hell, I give her a third one, because I love the sound of it and the sight of her arse bouncing.

“Anything else to say?” I ask faux-affably.

She exhales, and licks her lips. Then, she raises her tail, curling it against her back. Her  thighs spread a few inches. She mumbles something I can’t make out.

“What’s that?”

Her paws reach for her buttcheeks, and spread them, revealing her pussy’s purple, puffy lips, and her arsehole of a darker color.

“Fuck my ass,” she says, her voice low and breathy.

I chuckle darkly, then grab her arse with both of my hands, removing her paws, and massage them. She sighs from my ministrations.

“Oh, is that what you want?” I ask. “Do you want me to fuck your ass?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

My thumb teasingly rubs the edge of her little hole, making her pant in frustration. “How much do you want it?”

“A lot,” Niasa says, her jaw clenched.

“You can do better than that.”

To encourage her -and not at all to piss her off further-, I place my cock against the crack of her arse, and start rubbing it up and down.

“Ugh, seriously? I give you permission to use my backdoor, and you need some coaxing?”

Tssk, tssk. She’s getting off-topic. Another spank will get her back on track. Holy crap, she actually yelped at that one. That makes me happy. Not out of male pride or sadism, not at all. You see, I’m no weakling, but there’s no way I actually hurt my Hellhound. Like the rest of her kind, she’s made out of tougher stuff. I’ve seen her take an Angel armed with a sword, and barely groan from the blows she received. She didn’t yelp because she’s in pain. She yelped because she’s getting into it.

“Please,” she says.

“Please is a good start.” I prod her arsehole with the tip of my cock. Not an inch goes in, but a quiver still goes up her back, and she swears under her breath. She’s getting tense. Good.

“Please fuck my ass,” Niasa moans after a barely a second of hesitation. “Please, I’m begging you, please, fuck my ass.”

“Almost there, love.”

“Please, please fuck my ass… master.”

Really into it. That’s my wife.

I grab my cock and press the head against her little hole. She squirms as the first inch enters her, followed by another, then by the entire head. I know that kind of squirming: my Hellhound thinks I’m going too soft on her. She’s right to protest: I’m doing it on purpose. Enough teasing, though. I grab her by the hips, and shove my full length inside her. Niasa arches her back and roars in pain. This is where experience comes into play: in the first years of our relationship, I would have stopped and apologized. But I’ve come to know my Hellhound well enough to know this is exactly what she wants. I mean, there’s a reason she didn’t use lube.

So instead, I move my hips back, then slam into her again. And again. And again. Gods, she’s tight. I have to deploy Buddhist monk-levels of focus as I build a rhythm inside her, fucking her hard without cuming early. Niasa grunts with every stroke, bucking her hips and spreading her legs a bit further to give me more room. Her tail flails uncontrollably, whipping my torso; I grab it and pull on it. Her paws tighten their hold on the tub’s edge.

“Hah! Fuck!” she screams. “Yeah! Harder, master! HAH! Rougher!”

I start really giving it to her, my hips making a slapping sound every time they slam against her arsecheeks.

“That’s it!” Niasa moans. “C’m’on. Claim my ass, master! FUCK! Rough me up! Show me I’m yours!”

Really, really into it. When my habitual domme of a Hellhound switches to sub, she goes the whole mile.

Her grunts get louder and more animalistic, yet once again my husband-sense picks up some frustration. She needs more. Thankfully, I married someone who doesn’t shy away from telling what she wants, what she really, really wants.

“Choke me, master,” she grunts.

Huh. That’s not something we try often. The last time was on our wedding anniversary several years ago. It got mixed results, in large part due a lack of experience on my part. As it turns out, there is an art to properly choking your partner during sex; you don’t just grab the throat and squeeze. Thankfully, the Internet has helped me learn from my mistakes.

I let go of her hip, and place my hand on the right spot on her throat, before applying enough strength in my fingers that it becomes painful for me.

“You’re mine, bitch,” I snarl.

“Aaaaaah!”

Niasa goes crazy -crazier. She fucks me back harder than I fuck her, the sounds she makes are now positively feral, and her claws are definitely leaving permanent marks on the bathtub. I choke her harder still -as she would put it, if she can make sounds at all, then it’s not hard enough-, and pull more strongly on her tail to tame her down.

A powerful shiver runs up her back, and almost makes me fall, but I hold down to her.  Her mouth opens wide, but, unusually for her, she doesn’t howl, scream, or grunt as an obviously powerful orgasm washes over her. Her arsehole tightens, milking my cock, and I cum immediately.

My wife remains immobile for a second, her fur raised all over her back as if she had been shocked by lightning, then drops down, hanging over the edge of the tub. Her head hits the floor with a small thud.

“Ooooooh…” she mumbles.

“Are you okay?”

“Gimme a minute.”

I help her get back in the tub, laying her against me as I sit back down. She nuzzles my chest, and sighs both happily and wearily. I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

“How was that?” I say softly in her lupine ear. “Did I do a good job?”

“Mmmyes.” Her eyelids drop. “Not bad.”

“Not bad? You want to go through another round?”

Gods, I hope not. This would kill me. Perhaps literally.

“Hmmm. Not yet.” She yawns. “Wifey worn out. Sleep now.”

“Oh good. I earned a few hours then.”

My wife makes a weird sound, halfway between a grunt and a purr. Her ears flicker like they often do when she goes to sleep. It’s only then that I come to the realization that I’m trapped under my over two-hundred pound heavy Hellhound, and unable to free myself. I can’t move. At all. Hmm, and I didn’t bring my phone either. This is going to be fun. Oh well. With a bit of luck, the water should be cold enough to wake her up soon. Oh, but, um, do I want my wife to wake up annoyed while she’s having her period? No. No, I don’t think I do. I open a tap to get more hot water in. With a little smile, I fold an arm behind my head as a pillow. Niasa sighs softly, moves her head to get more comfortable, and places a paw over my stomach. Her eyelids flutter and her nostrils flare a bit. 

Ah, well. Guess there are worse places to be. But we should really think about getting a TV installed in here.

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