An original story based on a real-life experience.
Sherri turned off the living room TV and yawned as she
walked into the kitchen to fetch a bedtime Diet Coke,
her firm breasts outlined under her t-shirt as she
lazily stretched her arms upward. As she opened the
refrigerator door a blast of cold air raised goosebumps
on her bare legs; just panties and a shirt was Sherri’s
standard nighttime garb.
The noise of the refrigerator door was followed almost
instantly by a high-pitched “Oooeek! Oooeeek! Oooeek!”
from a large cage on the kitchen table. “Oh, Rambo,”
Sherri scolded. “Hungry again? Honestly, sometimes I
think you’re nothing but a lettuce factory.”
Before opening her Coke she reached into the vegetable
bin and tore a hunk of lettuce off the head stored
there. Sipping the Coke with one hand, with the other
she opened the cage and tossed the lettuce in to the
delighted guinea pig.
Rambo was no ordinary cavy. A rare Inca Blue, he had
earned the dozen or so ribbons and trophies above the
fireplace before retiring from the guinea pig fanciers’
shows at the ripe middle age of four. As for his name,
he had earned that during his stud days.
Normally male guinea pigs are peaceful animals, even
during mating season; but Rambo had made short work of
another male who had foolishly been left in a common
cage just before one of the females went into heat. The
hapless male’s throat had been ripped as if by a
wildcat. After that, proud Rambo always had his own
cage, kept far away from other males during breeding
season.
Sherri finished her Coke and addressed her prized cavy.
“Rambo, don’t tell me you’re going to get fat and lazy
now that you’re not chasing the women any more! I’m
going to have to put you to work killing mice to keep
you in shape!”
Rambo had made short work of the lettuce, so Sherri
opened the cage and lifted him out, holding him at eye
level and talking to him as she walked into the living
room: “Such a beautiful sleek pig-pig, I’ll bet the
girls have been crying their eyes out since you retired
from the breeding business.”
Sherri had never been able to take guinea pig sex too
seriously, since the females when they were mounted
made precisely the sound that that fat guy in
“Deliverance” had to make when the two hillbillies
caught him and corn-holed him. But Rambo… sometimes
she could swear he took an almost human pleasure in the
act, and the knowing gleam in his eye when she finally
removed him from the breeding cage had sometimes given
her the tiniest shiver at the bottom of her spine.
Now she stroked his back slowly but firmly, from head
to rump, and he began to vibrate the way guinea pigs
do, with a kind of silent purring. “Poor Rambo, how
long has it been since you had a cavetti, six months
now? That’s five years in people years, poor dear.”
Suddenly she noticed that Rambo was no longer just
vibrating; he was beginning to hump lightly and thrust
his pelvis as he would when introduced to a female.
“Silly Rambo, do I smell like a guinea pig in heat?
What’s making you so excited, precious?”
Just then Rambo raised his eyes to hers and gave her a
glance so full of meaning and desire that Sherri could
no longer doubt what her virile Inca Blue wanted. Could
a human really…? But she loved Rambo, more than she
had loved most of her boyfriends after all, so…
As gently as she could, Sherri reached underneath
Rambo’s rounded rear end and began to stroke his
testicles with infinite tenderness. Most novices had
trouble even sexing guinea pigs, but long experience
had taught Sherri were all the relevant parts were. She
put her skill to use now as she felt the onset of
Rambo’s tiny erection, large though, by guinea pig
standards.
She licked her thumb and forefinger to add lubrication
as she began to stroke him from base to head. Rambo was
beginning to make the low squeal-growl that was his
trademark sound of copulation delight. He raised his
eyes again to hers–and the meaning in them now was
pure love.
“Oh Rambo, Rambo, I know!” cried Sherri.
Slowly she lay back on the sofa and raised the firm,
sleek animal until he was poised just over her lips;
then she poked her tongue out and began flicking it
back and forth over Rambo’s throbbing guineapighood.
After a few moments of teasing she took the organ into
her mouth and began a gentle sucking. At first Rambo
thrust as he would while mounting, but he suddenly
realized that he could let Sherri do the work and
stayed still, squeal-growling in an increasingly
fervent tempo.
He was close to cumming, Sherri knew; but she wanted to
give him something more than he had ever dreamed
possible. She thought about what worked with human
males, and then she had an idea. Her finger was much
too big, but there was… yes!
Sherri stood up and cradled Rambo as she walked toward
the bathroom. At first the guinea pig looked puzzled
and looked dazed, but then he evidently decided that he
could use a brief rest and began purr-vibrating again.
Sherri opened a bathroom drawer and found what she was
looking for, a rubber syringe from an earwax removal
kit. The tip was just the right size. Luckily she had a
small jar of Vaseline, too; she coated the syringe
carefully before returning with Rambo to the sofa.
She lay back and began again to tongue Rambo, who
quickly regained his erection. His squeal-growls came
faster and faster as Sherri moved her lips back and
forth, back and forth. It was time… now!
With her free hand Sherri carefully but quickly
inserted the rubber syringe into Rambo’s anus until she
knew it was massaging his prostate. With that, Rambo
gave a low growling squeal, a full octave lower than
she had ever heard a guinea pig make, and came into her
mouth in a shuddering, powerful orgasm. From Sherri’s
limited experience with human males, she knew that this
was no ordinary guinea pig orgasm; the volume of liquid
she felt now would put her ex-boyfriends to shame.
Sherri swallowed — salty but fresh, the taste was —
and tenderly licked Rambo’s still throbbing organ as it
slowly, slowly retracted into his fur. At the same time
she reached into her panties and stroked her engorged
clitoris; she was so excited that it was only moments
before she came in a rapid tremble, barely able to keep
from shaking Rambo too hard. At the movement from
Sherri, Rambo opened his eyes and stared into hers from
six inches away — just stared, and purr-vibrated. And
then slowly, peacefully, he sank into a profound
guinea-pig sleep.
“Now isn’t that JUST like a man to fall asleep,” Sherri
scolded as she cradled Rambo between her breasts with a
sigh. “What makes him think I’M done for the night?”
Ah, but there was always tomorrow…and the next day…
and the next…