As my body goes slack, my husband strokes his paw gently over my rump. I had expected him to do...whatever it is that men do to virginal girls...from where he was standing, but I suddenly feel the feathertick shifting under me as he climbs up behind me. "You're so beautiful," he says to me.
"A woman's body is weak," I object. "That's why we must walk on all fours, Husband."
He leans over my body and kisses me, and he starts to convulse. Is he crying? No, I hear him laughing. "Matilda, don't even try," he says in a manic titter. However, he is stroking my back as he giggles, from behind my shoulders back to my rump. I like the feeling of it, and I like how he does it alternating with both hands. He then collapses on me, still giggling. "You want to know something crazy?" he asks.
I stammer, "w-w-what's that...dear?"
He stretches forward, and he whispers into my ear. "Sometimes, I wish I could go around like a female, too...only sometimes...but...oh, when I was a kid, I pretended, and took off my clothes and ran on my hands and feet." He giggles again as he snuggles me, "and...and my father caught me once at that, and he beat me so hard, I thought I was going to die...so..." giggle "...so I found this house where boys like me met sometimes, and some of us pretended we were females."
I'm stunned. What my husband is saying sounds so dirty. It sounds so sinful. I...I realize...I kind of like it. And then something dawned on me. "So you like...what you've just done to me? Done to you?" I tilt my head back curiously.
He smiles and nods, and he ruffles my headfur. "You little masochistic tramp," he growls. "I know your filthy, little secret! And you know mine."
I turn my head forward again and stick my nose in the air. "W-w-w-well," I say, with every bit of dignity I have in me, "I-I-I am stunned and disgusted th-that you would reveal such a...such a..." My words are cut off as he takes me by the hips and plunges his barbed penis into my virginal sex, and I let out a feral growl.
My husband does so much better than rut me like an ordinary man would, though. He makes slow, sweet and wonderful love to me.
However, In my mind, I imagine that I am him, having this done to him by other males, and I imagine loving it. I imagine abandoning all morality, like the people of Sodom, and slamming my hips back against the other male. However, as roughly as I slam my hips back, the other male softens himself against me and somehow keeps up the same smooth, sensual pace. In time, I tire, and I let him take control again.
I don't know how, but I end up on my back, and I am staring up into my husband's eyes, with my paws pulled to my chest, as he gently makes love to my womanhood, smiling sweetly. As I look into his eyes, realizing he's as much of a sinner as me makes me feel closer to him. I start feeling something pagan growing in me. It's what I see between our servants: I just realized it was there, really. The camaraderie. The friendship. It's earthy and unpretentious. It's free.
Salvation can go take a hike.
And I wish...