Poodle-wacky

Marielou loves that pink poodle. The reason becomes clear the moment its belly unzips: a toy waits inside, snug in the fur. Her toy. She lifts it free and presses it to herself, thighs already parting. I reach for the soft toy and she grins, guiding my hand lower. I slide the poodle against her, fur brushing slick skin. Every press draws a soft sound from her throat. She rocks into it, slower, deeper, and I match her rhythm. Her breath hitches. Mine does too. We keep the little dog between us, working it until she shudders and pulls me closer, mouth hot on mine.