Jojo

I was outside doing some minor gardening when Angela arrived home. Angela was a twenty year old blonde. Hazel eyes, nicely shaped body, and a pretty face. Last, but by no means least, she had a magnificent rack, high and firm, leading the way when she walked. (I'm only guessing about the firmness as I've never had the pleasure of finding out personally.)

She drove up in her little sports car and just sat there, not moving. Looking a little closer I could see she was crying. I strolled over and opened the driver's door.

"What's wrong, Angela?" I asked, injecting sympathy into my voice.

"Jojo is dead," she wailed and the silent tears became a full on crying jag.

It took me a while to remember who Jojo was and then I remembered she had a rat-sized dog with a penchant for trying to bite ankles. Why losing that mutt was a crying occasion was beyond me? I'd have thought a celebration was more in order. Still, the girl was upset so I had to do something.

I coaxed her out of the car, extracting her keys at the same time. I led her inside and had her sit on her couch, sitting next to her with an arm around her.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

She shook her head in refusal so I just sat and waited. After a while she started talking.

"Jojo was sick last week," she said. "I took him to the vet who gave him some medicine and also drew some blood for pathology. Jojo was fine after taking the medicine but the Vet called me earlier asking me to bring Jojo in for a follow-up. No charge, he said, so I took poor Jojo over. That rotten man took Jojo from me, excused himself and went into the back room to give Jojo an injection. Poor Jojo dropped dead on the spot."

"That's terrible," I said, and I did feel a little shocked. "What did the vet say?"

"He claimed that Jojo had a contagious disease and had to be put down as people could get it. He said it was a disease that dogs caught from pigeons. Jojo has never played with a pigeon in his life."

Maybe not but I'd wager it would have eaten pigeon poop. Little dogs like that eat everything.

"Didn't he even discuss it with you?"

She shook her head mournfully.

"He said health regulations were very firm on this point. If your dog has Chlamydiosis it is immediately euthanized. They don't ask the owner as it saves a lot of trouble."

I bet it did. If Angela thought the vet was going to kill her dog she'd have grabbed it and run. It would have required a SWAT team to get it back.

I wasn't stupid enough to say that, I just sympathised for her loss, giving her a chest to cry on. She leaned against me and sobbed, mourning the loss of her beloved pet.

I held her and stroked her back, brushing up and down, trying to give her the comfort she needed. Somehow or other she wound up in my lap, holding onto me. This change of position also meant when I stroked her back I found that the down stroke travelled further than I expected.

In short, my hand was now stroking and cupping her bottom at the end of the downward stroke.

She didn't seem to be objecting at all. She stopped crying and was breathing a little more heavily than before, but that was the only reaction. She remained right where she was, content to have sympathetic company for the moment.

Or maybe not so content I found as she took hold of the arm that was cuddling her and moved it down until my hand was covering her breast. It was both soft and firm.

I stroked her breast, not grabbing but gently brushing my hand over it. I could feel her nipple pressing up, even through her bra and blouse. After a while my fingers flicked out, undoing her buttons.

A slight adjustment and my hand moved through the gap and covered her other breast. Once more I stroked her, another nipple tightening. More action was required so the hand on her bottom moved up, going under her blouse until it reached her bra. A simple flick of my fingers opened the catch and the bra loosened.

The hand on her breast moved, releasing her breast, then sliding under her bra, covering the warm treasure that was there. After that I paid attention to both breasts, caressing them and teasing her nipples.

My free hand was back stroking her bottom, sort of. It pushed its way under her panties, moving between her legs, manipulating the soft flesh there. I lifted her a little, pushing her panties down. She was breathing a little deeper and didn't seem bothered by my intrusions.

She was breathing a little more heavily, her grief temporarily forgotten as sexual interest arose. She became a little more aggressive, undoing my zip and reaching in to see what she could find. She didn't scream and run so I suppose it was to her liking.

I was paying serious attention to her vulva, fingers moving through the folds of flesh until they found her passage, where they immediately trespassed.

After a bit of mutual petting I turned, pressing her down onto the couch. I pushed my trousers down out of the way, following that up by removing her panties completely. I pushed one leg off the couch leaving her completely exposed.

I was now ready and she wasn't protesting in any way. I simply lined up and proceeded to enter her. Apart from a slight gasp she just lay there letting me come. As soon as I was fully inside her I started to move.

Neither of us had a sense of urgency. Angela just wanted relief from her grief and I was giving it to her. I, on the other hand, was selflessly doing a good deed and saw no need to rush. We just moved gently together, letting our emotions quieten down, being replaced with a calm acceptance.

I'm not sure how long it took but eventually Angela was showing signs of excitement. Taking this as my cue I started driving in harder, Angela responding nicely, clinging onto me as we moved. I picked up the pace again and she matched my rhythm, now giving excited little cries as we moved.

Her arousal was complete, washing away her grief for the time being, and I gave her everything I had. It didn't take much longer before she cried out and climaxed, with me quite happy to do the same.

After we separated she snuggled up to me, a sad smile on her face, but the tormented grief was gone.

"Poor Jojo," she sighed. "He was getting old but I never expected him to be gone so soon." She heaved another sigh.

I stayed for another half hour while she reminisced about Jojo and the fun they'd had. I suspected Jojo had probably kept a running count of the number of ankles bitten, but I didn't mention that.

At the end of the half hour she thanked me for listening to her, saying she felt much better about everything, and then ushered me out.

She hadn't said one word about how I'd helped assuage her grief. Did that mean she didn't want a repeat? I didn't think it right for me to pursue her for a rematch but if she suggested it? Who was I to say no?