Snuggly Husky

Wet. Face is wet. And warm, you think to yourself through the haze of sleep, mostly in that order. You wonder why, but after a few more damp, lapping motions against your cheek, you come to.
"Wakey wakey! Wake up, you lazy butt! I need you to make breakfast!"
Ah. Right.
Drawing from the deep abyss of annoyance that reveals itself to those kept from a peaceful waking, you imbue your voice with all the gruffness and brevity you can muster. "What day is it?"
"Uh, Saturday?"
"Hrmf. What time is it?"
"Quarter past nine!" that voice announces, all too cheerful in the wake of the cruelty commited against you.
Mother of god. Quarter past nine, on a saturday. A SATURDAY. And you were awake. Worse, you had obligations to remove yourself from the heaven of a warm bed. Obligations pushed upon you by a merciless, early-bird tyrant attempting to rouse you with the tsunami resulting from repeated application of her tongue to your face.
Even with your eyes closed (because opening them would be an admission of defeat, which would surely mean getting out of bed) you can tell your attacker is on your right, kneeling down at the bedside. With a grunt, you roll slightly away from her, shifting weight onto your left shoulder. "We're closed weekend mornings. Breakfast is served after ten."
Even angled away, her tongue slathers your face in hot, drippy saliva, drying with a tingly sensation as the morning air gets to it. "Aww, come on! I want bacon! You promised bacon!" she whines. An actual whine, high in pitch and tugging to the heartstrings.
"Mph. Make it yourself. I'm asleep."
In answer, her paws flump down onto the bedsheets, weighing down on your waist. When your head turns back and your eyelids grind open, you're greeted with puppy eyes and a pout that'd melt a golem's stone heart.
Her name is Phoebe, and she's a morning girl, for sure. Almost makes you wonder why she chose you.
Long, silver hair, actual gleaming silver, that might look elegant - regal, even - if it wasn't fluffed up like a bear's post-hibernation bedhead. Standing proud atop that bundle of tangles and curls: ears of equally silver fur, peppered black the higher they went, though never without that sprinkle of salt, just like her paws, her mane, and her white-tipped tail. Tall and athletic, with a well-developed figure, though at this waning time of winter, her natural muscle was hidden almost everywhere behind a layer of chub. And of course, eyes bluer than blue. The kind of deep blue that gave the feeling of falling into the sky if you stared too long.
And right now, they're pulling the heartwrench look on you like their owner's life depends on it.
You resist, but not much, even for a token effort, making a few noncommital noises to make it seem like you're actually debating the issue with yourself. "I'll make you bacon," you say, watching her face light up, "if I get ten more minutes."
"Hm..."
"With you in bed with me."
She smiles, shuffling over and folding her arms on the pillow in front of you to rest her head on them. "Okay, but ten minutes only! After that, I'm carrying you out."
With her face so close to yours, you shift towards her under the covers, craning your neck slightly so that you can touch your nose against hers. She shivers slightly at the feeling, smiling and closing her eyes. "No promises," you smile sleepily back at her. "You're like a water bottle that hugs back. I start cuddling you, I might not be able to control myself."
"Then I'll just have to cuddle you harder!"
With a leap and a flourish of the covers, she throws herself into the bed, not even waiting for you to move aside, and thoroughly crushing you under her speeding mass. And then, with a giggle, she settles atop you, all warm and soft and perfect in every way.
The air leaves your lungs as she presses her chest into yours, unabashedly rubbing her cheek against your own. All thoughts of breakfast seem to have vanished from her mind, whisked away by proximity to you.
Under the covers, you can feel her legs rub against your own, fur below those delicious thighs tickling the skin all the way down to your toes, currently engaged in their own wrestling match against the digits of her paws.
Hands at her back, you slide the overlarge t-shirt up and up, exposing the curves and contours to roaming fingers, travelling the length of her spine in a series of bumps, and up between the valley of her shoulder-blades. Leaving your left hand just shy of her fuzz covered neck, your right travels further, through the soft forest of her mane, and all the way over to her silky, tangled head of hair, where your fingertips settle right at the base of her ears.
It's the perfect cradle for her head as she leans down to cover your entire face in more sloppy doggygirl kisses, forcing your eyes shut with her tongue.
As such, she takes you by surprise when the lapping assault gives way to her lips pressed against yours. You tense up in surprise, but only a little bit, and let her slowly guide your mouth open, lips parting as that same tongue slips in, intruding until it finds your own tongue. There, it starts teasing, tugging dexterously until it's coaxed out of the safety of your own mouth.
You don't even mean to let out a moan; the combination of her paws tickling between your toes, her shirt-covered breasts heaving against your chest, and her tongue dancing and sliding over your own is too much for your sleep-addled mind to bear against. Instead, you just lazily scrunch your fingers open and closed in her hair, scratching her head in small, repetitive motions. She returns the moan into your mouth, melting down on top of you with her eyes rolling back in her head. If her tongue wasn't already locked in combat with yours, she'd have it laid out over your face as she smiled dopily.
When she eventually breaks away from you, it's with a few seconds of panting and a string of saliva connecting your mouths for a small instant.
Her sense returns, and the glaze in her eyes vanishes. Slowly, she regains her focus, smiling down at you, before opening her mouth to say:
"You have terrible morning breath."
"You too. Plus, you've been covering my face in it, so I don't think you have any right to complain."
She answers by throwing herself right back into the kiss, holding your head firm between her paws to give her all the leverage and control she needs to take command.
"Pffhhbhh?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Mmph," she replies, though you're not really sure what exactly "mmph" might mean. But by the mischevious little glint of lightning in her eyes, it's clear that she has no intention of stopping anytime soon. And so, you lie there, pressed into the pillow and mattress while she eagerly forces herself on top of you, ravishing your face, grinding more-or-less her whole torso into yours while that tail flicks away the bedcovers.
You've long since learnt to roll with the punches, so to speak, letting her ceaseless output of energy just wash over you while you administer the occasional ear-scratch or head-rub. Today, though, you decide to follow up on your earlier warning, and clutch at her back with both hands, the lower one cupping the dock of her tail.
Before she can interject with anything more than a muffled "hhm?", you press her to your body, plant your feet, bridge with all your might, and roll the two of you over on the bed. You barely manage to shoot up Phoebe's weight enough to twist her over, but with a thrust and a burst of strength you finish the movement, listening to her bark out a "wan!" as you pin down her supine form.
She squirms her tail into a more comfortable position between her legs before looking up at you, hair a mess, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Have you been practicing that?" she asks, cocking her head to one side.
"One of us needs to stay healthy," you say, poking the pudge of her belly with a forefinger.
"I am healthy!" she protests. "It's just winter chub!"
"Really? Doesn't seem like it." Just to drive the point home, you pull up her shirt and grab at a handle of flab just below her not-quite exposed breasts. Of course, there's the solid sheet of muscle and wire hidden just beneath, but you entirely fail to mention that. After all, why not tease her a little bit more? "Yup. Seems all soft to me."
"I am not all soft!" Phoebe yaps, pouting vigorously, crossing her fuzzy arms over her chest in protest.
"Sure?" you ask, releasing her skin and moving your hand up and under her shirt, pushing her arm away so that you can press the tip of your forefinger right atop the stiff little nub at the peak of her breast. "Because you feel really soft over here."
Phoebe lies there in silence for a second or two, trying to hold her ground with a frown on her slowly flushing face. But as you gently tease her nipple with a small rolling motion, feeling that softness give under the pressure of your finger, a smile starts to slowly light up her features.
"You are such a pervert."
"And you're an enabler. Now take off your shirt."
"Nah. You got me here, you do it."
Why bother objecting? With her shirt already hiked up most of the way, you tug it free of her chest entirely, exposing the two large, round, bountiful breasts that somehow still retain most of their perkiness with their owner on their back. Monstergirl magic.
Letting your palms run fleetingly over their tips, you shimmy the shirt up over her arms as she lifts them, tugging it over her head, then clearing her paws with some difficulty, before throwing it to the bedroom floor.
She shivers a little in the cold morning air, hunching up a little as you throw off your own shirt. With her in just her panties, and you in your shorts, the chill starts to seep in earnestly.
As if you needed any more reason to pick up the bedcovers and lie back down on top of Phoebe. You settle atop her, drawing the sheets over you again and shuffling down with her, into the cozy darkness, until the thick comforter falls over your heads, blocking out almost all the light from inside. The little bed fortress heats up quickly, and your eyes soon adjust enough to the faint golden light to make out her silhouette wriggling beneath you, with those piercing blue eyes gazing back at yours.
God, she feels so soft. Every bit of her, from her paws, her thighs, her arms tickling at your waist, her abdomen and her perfect chest, all the way up to the tufty silver mane around her collar. You grind yourself against as much of it as you can, feeling her rock her hips in response. Every breath turns the cuddle cave into a furnace, and already you can feel sweat mixing between the two of you, wet and slippery.
Phoebe lets out little huffs of concentration, and when you look down, you realise that she's actually more than halfway through slipping down her panties, bending her legs at the knee to try and tug them down past the fur of her calves. Seeing her struggle, you pull away from her and awkwardly try to climb down her a little, sliding your chest against hers as you make the journey down to her legs.
Without much room to move, it's a chore to slip yourself over Phoebe's body enough to hunch over on your knees, the space under the covers heating up with every breath made. But you make it up, with the husky-girl presenting herself to you in full view, from her head to her legs, and the cute, puffed vulva between them. Everything seems a daze as you cradle one of her tickly, fuzzy legs under you arm, fingers at the back of her knee, tugging down the disrobed pyjama panties from the fur of her foot. Finally, they slip free, and you toss them to the mattress, your shorts quickly joining them as you wriggle them free.
"Okay, so where were we?" you ask.
"You were calling me fat," she says, pouting and puffing her cheeks out.
"I was calling you soft. Totally different thing."
"And you were poking my boob."
"Naturally."
Her face relaxes back into a smile within moments, as always. It'll be a cold day in hell when Phoebe can't find something to smile about. And right now things couldn't be warmer as you bound back on top of her, naked and exposed and feeling every point of contact against her in perfect tactile clarity. The world around you narrows down from the cuddle bunker under the sheets, to just you, her, the distance between you, and the cocoon of covers slipping over your sweaty skin. Fur tickles your shins as you settle atop her, from legs to chest, leaving only your feet and elbows to alieviate the weight of your body slowly crushing her into the mattress, sandwiching her like a hotdog in a bun. Her nipples graze the skin of your chest, breasts acting like pillows to prop you up and give you the perfect amount of leverage to loom over her, letting your gaze settle onto hers.
The atmosphere is hot and heavy, and even in the under-covers darkness, Phoebe's clear blue eyes are pulling you closer to her, that sensation of attraction, of falling into the sky. With a fang-like canine, the husky-girl pulls at her bottom lip, wetting it as your mouth draws closer still. Her eyes close, her paws wrap tightly around your back, and you feel yourself stiffen as you're caught between yourself and her, grinding against you.
Then, your lips meet hers, and-

GGGGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRWWWWWWWWWWWWWLLLLLLLLLLLL...

You stop mid-kiss. You open your eyes. Phoebe opens her eyes and looks at you. Slowly, silence settling on the little cavern, you pull away and raiss an eyebrow as Phoebe makes every attempt to avoid meeting your line of sight.
Seconds pass, until you work up the presence of mind to ask: "Was that your stomach?"
"Uh-"
"Because holy hell, that was loud."
"I'm just hungry, okay?!"
You wouldn't see it if she was blushing. But you're fairly certain she's blushing. The paw she brings up to cover her cheek certainly isn't helping to alleviate your suspicions.
"It sounded like a motorcycle engine..."
"I can't help it!" She throws a pout your way, along with a weak bat of her paw against your chest. "I said I was hungry when I woke you up."
"So why didn't you make something before you woke me up?" you ask.
At that, Phoebe's sweet little smile returns as if it never left. "Because breakfast tastes better when you make it."
You actually find yourself checking to make sure your heart hasn't stopped right then and there. Because, let's face it, could sweeter words ever actually exist?
Through some herculean feat of willpower, you maintain your external composure, relieving a fraction of the warm feeling inside you with a smile. "Oh. Well, okay then. Guess there's no choice but to make it now. But first..." You grind yourself playfully against her, sandwiching your growing erection between yourself and her delightfully soft tummy until you're at full mast. Phoebe's breaths come light and rapid, your tip slipping against her navel and your chest rolling against her breasts. "How about we finish up here, get washed, then have breakfast?"
Thick thighs and fluffy legs lock themselves tight around your butt, keeping your crotches pressed firmly together. "Can't we wash after breakfast?"
With the hand not making its way to Phoebe's ear to stroke and caress, you cup her cheek and play with the locks of hair fallen across her face, propping yourself up on your elbows. "We could, but we'd smell pretty bad during breakfast. And I was thinking about having a big, cosy breakfast today. Lots of blankets and sitting in front of the TV. What do you think?"
"Mmm..." Phoebe rubs herself against your hand. If the initial idea hadn't sold her, then the feeling of her ear between your finger and thumb certainly had. "Okay. But it'd better be a big breakfast."
And with that, she lunges out for you, engulfing your head between big, soft paws, centre pads squishing your cheeks. She resumes the kiss broken with her growling stomach, pulling at your lips with her own and guiding your head into the best places to let her tongue cover your face. You slip down her body a few inches, feeling every inch of your erection slide slowly down the tufty bundle of fluff at her mons, made slick with sweat. Before falling too far, Phoebe squeezes you with those powerful legs again, and your tip ends up pressed against her entrance. Soft, puffy, searing hot and heavenly lips cradle it on either side, wrapping around it and temping your body with the promise of more.
And so, with Phoebe biting your lip, staring lovingly into your eyes and clamping down on your body, you thrust slowly, gently into her. Her lips part to bliss layered upon bliss; moulded, squeezing, clasping heat pulling you down into rapture, familiar and tender. Inching closer and closer to hilting, letting Phoebe relax and slip around you, your hands slide to her face, cupping her cheek with the right while the left digs lightly into her scalp. She lets go of your tongue, grinning dopily while her own lolls from her mouth. "Haah... Yeah, keep doing that! Scratch my head!"
Pressing your hips into her until she's taken you in up to the base, you heed her breathless words, burying your fingers into her hair and gently, firmly grating your nails against her head. Phoebe's eyes practically glow and sparkle like blue candles in the half-light, and the spasm of pleasure that erupts through her body ends with her squeezing you like a soft, lubed, muscular vice. You pump out of her, as much as her leg-lock will allow, before groaning under your breath upon re-entry, feeling every millimetre of comfort and love around yourself with every millisecond you spend grinding back up against the husky-girl again.
In the next minute that follows, you almost don't want to move. The temptation to remain in this perfect moment is enough to stay you as Phoebe twitches and milks you gently down below. You catch her eyes as she catches her breath, and you swear she's just short of showing hearts in her eyes as she smiles at you. Those paws still swamping each side of your face, she pulls you down into her, your nose muffled into the bouncy locks of mussy hair at the side of her head.
"Y'know, you're right about mornings like this. There's something about doing it this early, before we've even showered. It's kind of dirty-"
"But also kind of comfy, right?" you ask. The scent of her hair fills your nose, and it's not the scent of shampoo or showers or anything like that. It's her smell, raw and animal and spicy, without anything to mask it from you. Breathing in deep, you let it fill your mind as the vibrations of Pheobe's words tingle against your chest and whisper over your ear.
"Yeah." Her legs give you a loving little squeeze right as her milking movements pass suddenly over the tip of your shaft. "Like when you get in bed, but before you start falling asleep. You- mmhm- just want to stay all snuggled up forever." And with that, you feel yourself rocked back and forth like a teddy bear in her grip, feeling her rub as much of her body over you as possible without letting you slip apart down there.
Locked in that tight embrace, you do the only sensible thing and cuddle her right back, shuffling your free arm between her sweat-covered back and the bedsheets sticking to it until she's scooped up in your hug. After a few seconds, a few breaths, a few moments of focusing on the feeling of Phoebe's breasts rising and falling against your chest, you begin slowly thrusting back out, back in, back out, and back in again. Against every screaming nerve and feral instinct in your bones, you keep it slow, letting the pressure just barely build with each little yip and "wan!" Phoebe lets slip.
In and out, in and out... Just letting yourself drift together with her, sinking under the surface and letting the waves wash over you both...

GGGGRRRRRRWWWWWLLLLL!

You can't help but laugh gently into the crook of Phoebe's fuzzy neck even as you tenderly squash her pelvis down into the softness of the mattress, filling her up to her limit with your length while her fur engulfs your face.
"I can't help it! Just ignore it, okay? Let's keep going and we can eat later," Phoebe moans, barely on the edge of continence as you deliver a particularly powerful thrust in response to her massaging touch.
"Hey, just look on the bright side," you smile. "At least you didn't fart."
"You are just the worst person. I can't believe you're still bringing that up!" The indignation in her voice only makes you laugh, Phoebe doing her best to put on a frown while you share each others' company in the most intimate way possible.
"And I still can't believe you farted when I put it in you!"
"It was one time!"
"It was loud! And hilarious!"
Instead of a rebuke, you hear a little rumble break out in her chest, growing into a contagious little giggle that keeps her from saying anything for a good few seconds. "Yeah, okay, it was." Her tone softens again, barely above a whisper as the hot, heavy atmosphere reasserts itself upon your lovemaking. "Hey, if it happens again, just ignore it. You know I wouldn't interrupt this for the world," she mumbles
Just at that second, a devious little plan enters your mind, put into action immediately as you maneuver yourself so you can whisper straight into her salt-and-pepper patterned ear. Slowly, barely noticable for the first few seconds, you start pumping in and out, more for her pleasure than your own. "It's fine. I'll make us breakfast after we get washed, okay?"
"Mmmm..." You can all but see her with her eyes closed, the cute, contented smile on her face growing wider as you slowly build her up.
"Just think about it," you grin, feeling her ear bat against you as your breath tickles against the sensitive hairs. "We could stay in this morning and have the biggest breakfast ever." You can't tell if the loving squeeze she gives your member as you pump in and out of her is in response to your words, but you carry on anyway. "That cookie cereal you love so much," you continue, moving a hand to her soft, perky breast. You grope and squeeze gently, doing your best to cup as much of her boob as possible, before relenting and concentrating your touch on the sensitive tip of it. Her stiffened nipple rolls back and forth between your thumb and forefinger, amplifying the moans and wet contractions Phoebe looses upon you, in time with every squeeze and slight tug you subject her to. "Full milk, and sliced strawberries sprinkled on top..." She shivers pleasantly at that, and though it could just be your imagination, you could swear the tip of her breast was just a slight bit more slippery and lubricated than a moment ago.
"Ohhhh," the husky-girl moans out, laughter threatening to start up again. "You are so evil..."
You smile down at her, but gasp when she suddenly tenses, squeezing every inch of you down there in the tightest, most perfect vicegrip imaginable, thrusting up and down with just enough speed to put you on the brink of pain, but submerge you in pleasure. Instinct takes over, and you pound right back into her, hilting her and going even that tiny bit further, as deep as your bodies will allow. Only practice and experience keeps you from fully losing your sense, stopping you from cumming in her right then and there.
Instead you do your best to keep talking, hellbent on teasing her and driving her over the edge first. "Evil? I'm just talking about what we'll have for breakfast. Is that so bad? I thought you liked pancakes-"
"Nnghhate you so mu-uh-uh!"
"-All drizzled in maple syrup, with more sliced strawberries on them, and then we can have a few sprinkled with sugar, and a bit of lemon juice, and some with blueberries and cream..."
Her grip around your abdomen tightens, paws at your back threatening to crush your ribs, while her legs coil around your waist and squeeze like their owner's life depends on it. Phoebe's beyond sense, pulling you into her and milking you desperately, craving release and losing herself in the sensation. Up and down she pumps you, pushing you bodily in and out of her with wreckless abandon, making you slip in and out, over heat and wetness and fur and skin, all drenched in sweat and pre and lubrication.
Your efforts to remain composed are failing, the walls set up in your mind crumbling as the huge wave behind them starts to churn and boil. When you speak, it's through ragged breaths, but you're determined to see your breakfast-themed pillow talk through to the end. "I can make eggs, too, y'know. Fried eggs, boiled eggs, however you want i-" Her paws fly from your back to your face, grabbing it and pulling it to hers so she can quite literally force her tongue into your mouth, running her claws lightly through your hair and rubbing circles into your scalp with her pawpads while she moans through every kiss and lick she presses onto you. Her lips pulling and sucking against yours are rapture, pure and simple, every word you try to make devolving into "hmms" and "mmms" to blend with her own vocalisations. Lost in her embrace, you can't tell how long you spend like that. Maybe a minute. Maybe more. However long you can last with only a few rapid inhalations through your nose when her assault falters, only to pick up again.
One hand tweaking and kneading a breast, while the other sinks into the mattress as leverage, you pull yourself away, hearing her whine as the saliva between your lips breaks apart. You move yourself down on her, from her face to her neck, burying your nose into that thick silver mane of fur, before setting your teeth to the skin just below  and nibbling right at her weak point. Like any canine monstergirl, she loosens her grip on you in subjugation, but the twitching down there only intensifies, automatic contractions doing their best to extract your seed from you, anticipating the moment when it'll come spurting out.
Between every suckle and bite, you continue, losing coherence in your words at and alarming rate while her paws trace delicately over your head. "Bacon, as well. All meaty and greasy," you murmur, feeling the heat and pressure build up. You're beyond the point of no return, and judging by the way Phoebe's rocking her hips and panting for air, so is she. "Bacon sandwiches!" you gasp out. "With ketchup and barbeque sauce!" Oh god, you can feel it coming. Her softness, her smooth skin and thick legs locked around your back, her breasts, one in your hand and the other against your chest, her soft fur and silky hair, the heat and sound, all of it comes together, senses pushed into overdrive.
With one final effort, you push yourself back up, place your forehead to hers and stare her straight in those lightning blue eyes, thrusting your hips in perfect harmony with her own movements. All the searing heat and slippery fluid working itself over every millimetre of your shaft comes to a perfect head of sensation, her orgasm closing in, right as you whisper to her:
"Bacon and peanut butter."
With those words she clenches down on you, perhaps hard enough to break a lesser man. You feel the surge of orgasm electrify every nerve in her body, as she clasps you, quivering and thrusting and squirting. For just a second she lets out a howl, before stifling it in your mouth, eyes scrunched shut while she rides the wave of bliss crashing through her. And right as that wave collects itself down between her legs, you feel yourself release with her, seizing up, tensing as that same lightning runs through your veins, breaking the dam within your balls and letting loose spurt after spurt of hot semen, flooding Phoebe's insides.
Even after you've shot yourself dry you continue to thrust, prolonging each empty pulse of pleasure as long as possible, your hands travelling over the contours of her breasts and neck, over her cheeks, all the way up to her ears. For minutes you just lie there on top of her, basking in the afterglow, letting that golden feeling fade in every part of your body before you even consider doing anything else. Phoebe has the same idea, her lips still glued to yours, though through a kiss much more tender and slow than the ones you shared before, gently milking you and massaging your member with that degree of control and care only she could possess. Her paws follow your hands, still smoothing the fur on her ears and playing with her wild sprawl of hair until those claws wrap carefully around your fingers, pulling your hands onto the pillow at either side of her head. Taking the cue, you pin her paws there, worming your fingers between each digit until your hands are fully entwined with her own paws. You hear her giggle at the gesture, and, breaking the kiss, you look down to see her smiling back up at you.
"So," she begins. "Bacon and peanut butter, huh?"
You lean down and kiss her on the nose, letting her lick your chin on the way back up. "Yeah. Sound good?"
"Are you kidding? You better have a full tub of the stuff, otherwise I'm shedding on your clothes," she grins.
"Sure, if you want me to get the vacuum cleaner out."
"Bully," she yips, puffing her cheeks out as she turns her head. With a sniff of her nose, she looks back at you, adding: "And you smell."
"You too. Come on, let's get showered. Then I'll make you breakfast."
And with that, you and Phoebe throw the bedcovers aside, signalling the start of the weekend winter morning.