“Oh, shit,” I hissed. I grabbed his hand to stop him; I was about to cum.“You OK,” he asked.“Yeah,” I panted. “I was getting’ close.... I don’t want to shoot, yet.”He smiled. Our fingers were buried deep. He wiggled his fingers; they tickled my prostate.“Stop! Stop!” I pleaded. “You’re gonna make me cum.”“Go ahead,” he cooed. “Show me what you got.”My hand was still on his. I pulled back on his hand, then slammed it back to my ass. I pounded my hole with our fingers. I raised my legs. A scorching sensation in my lower gut was telling my brain there was nothing I could do to stop it. The way his hand ran along my hindquarters creates a tremor along my tail and it lifts up and I begin to hold it tight against my back. “Jasmine”, my friend asks inquisitively, “are…are you?” He seems to trail off in his thought and that’s when his hand came lower and ran across my girl entrance. The touch of his hand made me whimper not with discomfort but with a new profound longing. It was. More

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