Unlocking My Private Locker: The Vet’s Deadly Ritual with Sandra
I unlock my Private Locker. Deep in my mind’s vault. This one’s buried deepest. The night I broke every rule. For Sandra. Her massive body. Her dying dog. My hands on death and desire.
Never do home euthanasias. Too risky. Clinic only. But she begged. Good intentions hide real urges. I showed up at 8 PM. Kit in hand. Poisons ready. Rang the bell.
The Opening: Breaking the Lock
Old dog in the hall basket. Weak barks. Sandra opens door. Silent. We prepped this. She strokes his head. I jab intramuscular sedative. He sinks. Peaceful.
Wait ten minutes. I pace her living room. Her space: light, delicate. Books, shadows playing. Her body? Heavy. Thick everywhere. No grace. Tracksuit baggy. Ass like an elephant’s. I shake the thought.
Check back. She’s crouched over him. Arms engulfing. Breathing shallow now. Soon, IV kill shot. But her tear-streaked face hits me. Eyes lock. Raw grief. Pulls me in. Unites us with the dying beast.
“Is he gone?” Monotone voice. “Not yet. One more dose.”
“Time to prepare.” She stands. Leads me to bedroom. “Put him on the bed.” She vanishes to bathroom.
I curl him on the sheets. Foetal. Peaceful pose. She returns. Transformed. Silk tunic flowing. Hair loose. Face serene, lit soft. Priestess vibe. Body fills room. Heat. Scent. Overwhelming.
Kisses dog’s forehead. Farewell. Then behind me. Head on shoulder. Arms wrap tight. Warmth seeps in.
“Feel death? How do you serve it?”
“Passeur. Ferryman.”
“Close eyes. Forget my size. Surrender.”
She undresses me. Slow. Her belly presses my bare ass. Hand on my twitching cock. Dog sighs. Inhibitions fade. Her touch erases duty. I’m hers.
The Intimacy: Raw Union Against Death
She drops tunic. Nude. Massive. Unashamed. Lies on bed. We clasp hands. Over dog. Her nod. I find vein. Needle in. Blood drops. Push plunger. Last breath. Rigid. Then limp. Gone.
We’re two now. Free. She covers him. Head out. Strokes forehead. Presses to my side. Skin hot. Alive.
Bed again. Her body calls. Primal. Instinct hits. Cock throbs. She eyes it hungry. Makes space. Hand guides me down.
Kisses soft. Build. Tongues dance. Hands roam. Her fingers know my spots. Back. Ass. Squeezes. Matches my hips. Vents roll. Breasts mash my chest.
Eyes open. Watch pleasure build. Moist. Pulsing. Hers quicken my pulse.
“Give me your essence. Flood my belly. Breasts. Life juice.”
Words ignite. Her hand joins mine. Strokes fast. Tense. She fingers base. First spurt arcs. Hits belly curve. Pools navel. She milks each pulse. Waves crash. Jet on tits. More. Endless. Finger slips between cheeks. Heightens bliss.
Collapse on her. Cum-slick breasts. She whispers. Fingers her clit. Against me. Breath races. Body quakes. Eyes lock. Climax rips her. Long. Deep.
We hold. Still. Her face glows. Fulfilled. I get it. Right place. Right urge. Death defied.
She sleeps. I linger. Dress. Pack tools. Wrap dog tight. Carry out. Close door.
Exceptions dangerous. But this? No regret. She swore off dogs. Left me alone. Better than death’s grip. In her arms? Maybe crave more exceptions.
Locker seals. Lighter now. Secret shared. Adrenaline lingers.
