Patrice Leigh, better known as Trixie, was bored. Her Daddy had gone to work, she'd done all her homework and now she sat flipping through the channels trying to find something to ease her tedium. It wasn't even 7 o'clock yet and she didn't have to be in bed until 9 and all that was on were some boring game shows and the news since her Daddy wouldn't get cable nor dish TV. Ever since her Momma died her Daddy had kept her locked away like some little china doll that he didn't want accidentally damaged. He'd started keeping her close after the incident the previous year with an older boy. Somehow Butchy, a 16 year old ninth grader, who'd been held back a couple of times, had induced her to go under the bleachers with him.

At first she'd gone along willingly, because she did kind of like the older boy, but then as he got forceful, she got scared and tried to fight him off. She was only a small eleven year old girl and he did what he wanted with her. She'd felt a sharp, stabbing pain when he penetrated her, however, after a few minutes of his cock sawing in and out of her, the pain was practically gone and she'd begun getting a nice feeling down there. Just as she was beginning to get into his rhythm, his thing began throbbing and she felt him pee all inside her. She'd cried out in a mixture of disgust and lust, a lust she didn't then understand. As he pulled out of her, she moaned in pain, the self-same disgust overlaid with a previously unknown frustration. As he pulled his pants up, he threatened her and told her not to say anything to anybody or she'd "get it good."

When her father came to pick her up at the usual time, the dried virginal blood mixed with Butchy's crusty semen was a dead give-away. He'd rushed her to the Emergency Room and the police soon had the boy collared and in jail. As of now, he was still in jail. The aunt and uncle with whom he'd lived, had refused to bail him out and, later, he'd been tried as an adult and sentenced to 60 years with the possibility of parole after serving a third of his sentence.

Trixie sighed and got up. She might as well take a shower and go to her room. She had a couple of chapters to go in Moby Dick and she didn't have to be done with it for another two whole weeks. She sighed, she was already almost done with it. She guessed that she might as well get a head-start on the book report for it and turn it in early - get some extra credit. She also felt particularly horny, not quite understanding why, and wanted to get a good cum. With her small nimble fingers, she'd become quite expert in pleasing herself since Butchy had broken the ice.

"C'mon, Bronson," the girl old called her huge Mastiff, "we're gonna get a bath and do some reading in bed."

The nearly two-hundred pound animal pricked up his ears at the word "bath" and yawned, stretching as he got up and padded silently along behind her. He was almost two years old and already a huge animal. Trixie's Daddy had gotten him a couple of years after her Momma had died and the animal adored her. The smell of her was intoxicating to the stud dog. It drove him wild, at times, as he tried to reach the source of her delicious aroma. He also knew very well what "bath" meant. Trixie had taken to bathing with him as a puppy and he loved playing with her in the tub. Occasionally, she'd let him sniff at and take a quick lick of her pussy. It was never enough for Bronson, but it was better than nothing. He loved the way she hand-scrubbed him, especially when she washed his doggy crotch. She wasn't at all shy about scrubbing him there. She loved how his big canine penis pushed out of the sheath, looking so red.

Tonight, Trixie smelled particularly inviting. Without realizing it, Trixie, an early bloomer, was about to begin menstruating, although she wouldn't begin bleeding until the next day. Cal having no idea when girl's began bleeding, had take the precaution of talking to her about the birds and the bees and girls' menstrual periods several years previously. He'd also talked to her about boys penises and why they got stiff - she'd already experienced that first hand with Bronson, he was close enough to a boy - and what happened after a boy pumped his stuff into a girl who was old enough to menstruate. He knew she was getting close to that age and had taken another precaution and stored a box of sanitary pads under the bathroom sink beside the toilet paper. Anyway, Bronson, with his exceptional smell, knew what was coming and it made him almost uncontrollable. Had he not learned early on to obey Trixie, he would have knocked her down and tried his best to mount her. As it was, he was barely under his own control. His breed was intelligent, protective and very obedient, so only his training kept him in check.

In the tub, he obediently stood as Trixie washed him, enduring the foul-smelling shampoo she loved. He didn't like its smell, but he loved her so he put up with it. She scrubbed him down all over, saving his underside for last. This time, she got butterflies in her tummy as she gently washed his balls and his doggy prick and balls, noticing keenly how soft and wonderful they felt. She also noticed that tonight, he seemed to be particularly excitable, his blood-red cock, running out of it's sheath as she gently massaged the furry cover. She'd never really noticed how pointed the tip was. It wasn't rounded like Daddy's and it had a knob kinda set back from the tip or head, but the tip wasn't big enough to call a head, she decided. His near leg came up as she caressed more of his prick, finally running her hands over his straining bare, red prick.

"It's so smooth and silky," she murmured to herself, "nice."

She continued stroking and caressing, thinking that this was how Daddy had been doing his before he'd spotted her and ran her out of the bathroom the other day. Bronson's head hung half-way down, his tongue almost lapping the wet tub as he whined and whimpered happily. A part of Trixie's mind watched her hand jacking Bronson off, the rest of it occupied with the simple pleasure she felt at holding him nearly helpless in her hand. Without warning, he yelped as if in pain, jerked and spurted. His prick drew back then shot forward as he sent her another cumming spurt. Trixie gasped and, without thinking, quickly caught as much of his spermy cum in her cupped hands as she could. The dog was young, so he had a copious amount of doggy cream in his balls and he continued to squirt, his cock stretching each time. Trixie had a good handful by the time, he finally relaxed and dropped onto the wet ceramic with a happy sigh.

Trixie stared at him for a couple of minutes, recalling the frustration she'd felt so long ago. She didn't realize it, but deep in her mind she felt the effect of another man having left her totally dissatisfied and frustrated. Now what. She had a dog lying in the cooling spray of the shower and a double hand-full of his doggy cream. She sighed and shook her head again. Then, as she was about to turn her hand over and rinse it off, she stopped and stared at it. Her horny frustration played in her mind, turning and twisting her thoughts in a different direction. Still lost in her lust-induced feelings, she brought her hand up to her nose, sniffing at what Bronson had left there. Once again her mind was on lust-control and she cautiously stuck out her tongue and dipped it in the white cream in her palm. She sat back and sucked it down, smacking her lips lightly as the salty-sweet taste tantalized her pallet.

"Not bad," she murmured taking a bigger lap of the doggy sperm in her hand, "not bad at all," she pressed her lips to her palm and slurped it all up, smacking her lips and rinsing her hands off in the spray. Once done, she twisted the faucet knobs until the spray ended in a slow drip. Daddy had to fix that, she remembered he'd said.

"Come on, Bronson," she stood and stepped out of the shower, "gotta dry off."

She grabbed a towel as Bronson stood up and obediently shook himself off then sat patiently as Trixie dried herself off, waiting his turn. Once dry, she threw the towel over him and dried him off. Once he was dry enough, she sent him on out and, as he went out and into the back yard to do his business, Trixie blow-dried her hair, brushing it briskly. She heard Bronson arguing with the neighbor's cats and, although they usually played together, the dog always made sure that they stayed on their side of the fence at night. When she was done, she slipped into her bathrobe and let Bronson in. Climbing back upstairs to her room, Bronson, already in bed, lifted his head to watch her walk in.

"Just like all the men I know," she mock-fussed at him, "just lay around and take up space, huh?"

Trixie grabbed his huge head by the ears and waggled it around, Bronson's tongue flopped around uselessly, doing the doggy version of a happy grin. She smiled fondly down at him and scratched the side of his neck where the hairs came together like two waves meeting. He panted happily and pawed at her hand, pretending to try to fight her off.

"Silly puppy," she giggled and stepped to her computer desk.

She booted it up and down-loaded Moby Dick, it was on a PDF file so she quickly found her page and started to read. Bronson, got off the bed and dropped in a pile at her bare feet. She lifted them to give him room, then rested them on his big shoulder. He enjoyed the feel of her bare feet on him. She always ran them back and forth along his side, massaging him pleasantly with her toes. He groaned in pleasure and rolled onto his back as she dug her toes into his chest, scratching him gently with her toenails.

A few minutes later, he half-sat up. He couldn't stand lying there with that wonderful smell filling his nose. This time he was a little more circumspect about how he approached her. He was, after all, a highly intelligent animal and stalking was in his genes. She sat with her ankles crossed under her, her robe undone and hanging loose, baring her sweetly blooming little body, from her small burgeoning breasts all the way down to her sparsely haired pussy. Bronson initially rested his head on her crossed ankles, his snout so-o-o close to the source of the wonderful aroma he couldn't resist. Trixie had been rubbing her pussy gently as she read. She was still very hot and horny. Unable to hold back, Bronson sent his long tongue on a quick trip. Her pussy was so wet, so ready and so inviting.

Trixie gasped and fumbled as she tried to grab his head and push him off. Her trembling hands slipped on his short hair and Bronson pressed his advantage, snaking his long tongue deep into Trixie's quivering pussy. Trixie accidentally banged her head against the desk-top and she saw stars for a couple of seconds, falling fell back in her chair. As her legs involuntarily spread, she threw her hands out, grasping ineffectively for Bronson's head. Bronson pressed his advantage and continued slurping, rising up and planted his front paws on her thighs. His cold, wet nose pressed hard against Trixie's very stiff clittie. With her head still ringing, she gave a little moaning cry and her creamy juices gushed, delighting Bronson. As he sat up a little higher, he pressed his snout tighter to her deliciously creaming pussy, his nose on her clittie sending the young girl into a paroxysm of lust. She suddenly didn't want Bronson to quit. His long, larruping tongue seemed to dig all the way into her belly, his cold, wet nose rubbing her clittie and making her cum over and over. She finally managed to grip his head and pull him off. Bronson willingly stood back, tail wagging a mile-a-minute as he licked his chops, begging for more with an eager whine.

"No, Bronson," Trixie panted shivering exquisitely, "that's enough. I can't take anymore, honey-doll."

At the word "no," Bronson sat back wagging his tail and still licking the delicious flavor off his chops. Trixie had to go pee badly. She pushed Bronson back and stood, tottering unsteadily into the bathroom. Bronson followed obediently behind her and dropped to the floor, resting his head on his paws and watching her. She smiled hesitantly at him, having a little trouble peeing with him watching as she recalled the intimacy of a few minutes before. She finally shrugged, he'd already been in there with his tongue anyway, and let it go. Bronson heaved a big sigh as he got the smell of her hormone-laden piss. With his tail thumping hopefully on the tiled floor, he rolled onto his side, his thick red prick poking out of it's sheath once more. Her eyes went wide as she realized that the dog was lusting for her.

"My, my, Bronson," she smiled, not at all displeased with her realization, "whatever are you thinking of in that little doggy head of yours."

Trixie leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees as she let her back-end loose. She grunted with relief as a few fat turds slid out of her gaping asshole and stared at the short length of Bronson's bare prick. It was only the tip, the big knob was still in the protective sheath, but she was getting horny again. Bronson's earlier tongue-lashing seemed to only have given her an itchy need deep inside her.

"If only you weren't a dog," she sighed, "but then, if you weren't a dog, you wouldn't be here, would you?"

Bronson raised his head and Trixie reached over and scratched him behind the ears, his tail thumped even faster as he whined. Bronson wanted something else. She didn't know what he wanted, but he had some definite ideas. Suddenly, he jerked up onto his feet and spun to face the bathroom door. Then with a joyous bark, he ran out, heading for the kitchen door, leaving Trixie to wipe and clean herself off. Daddy must have gotten home. Was it eleven-thirty already? Seems like it was still early. As she adjusted her robe and tied it around her, she went over the afternoon and evening.

Got home at three-fifteen, did homework, must have been five when she finished, watched TV came upstairs around eight, read for a while, Bronson did . . . licked . . . well - Bronson made her happy - must have been . . . okay. It must be eleven-thirty then, she decided as she headed for the stairs. A quick glance at the wall clock at the head of the stairs confirmed it. Eleven-forty-five. After walking sedately down the stairs, she rounded the hall and saw Bronson and Cal rough-housing and playing tug of war with an old piece of rope.

"Trixie!" Daddy spotted her and smiled, dropping the rope and holding his arms out to her.

"Daddy!" she squealed and ran into his embrace, "you're home."

"Well . . . yeah. It's just something I do every night," he grinned.

He wondered why she was suddenly so affectionate. She usually only gave him a peck on the cheek and brought him a fresh cup of coffee.

"I, um, I forgot to make coffee," she confessed blushing.

"That's okay, hon. I can wait a little while. Are you okay?" he dropped into his chair, examining her closely as he pulled her to him and felt her forehead, feeling a little extra warmth, "feels like you got a little temperature," he leaned back and took a closer look at her face.

"I have been feeling a little head-achy," she nodded, "since yesterday."

Her father dug back in his memory, finally pulling out and dusting off a memory of her mother feeling warm and having a slight head-ache whenever she was about to start her period. Just in case she was, he asked her where her sanitary pads were. She thought back and said that they were in the bathroom.

"Well, keep them handy," he smiled, "I think that you may be getting ready for your first period," he tapped her nose teasingly.

"My first . . . what?" her mind reverted to school - first period? English Lit?

"Period. Remember when we talked about having babies and women menstruating?"

"Y-yeah . . ."

"Well, I think within the next day or so, you're gonna begin having yours. You haven't starting getting cramps in your belly yet, have you?"

"N-no?" okay, no English Lit, more like in SexEd - a menstrual period.

"Good, when you start getting some cramping, you need to put one on or you'll get blood all over the place, okay?"

"Okay," Trixie nodded.

"Now, go make me some coffee while I go potty."

"Okay," she padded into the kitchen as Cal headed up to the bathroom.

His little girl was growing, there was no doubt about that. God, she was already on the verge of menstruating. Tonight, he'd finally noticed that she was no longer his flat-chested little baby. Her breasts had to be almost a B-cup. He sighed, a training bra wouldn't be large enough, then - but she was barely eleven! Fuck. They just seemed to start earlier and earlier. He wished his wife was still alive to tell Trixie about these things. Oh, well. Tomorrow was another school day, but he decided to keep Trixie home. If she'd been feeling bad since yesterday, and if she was like her mother, she'd start bleeding sometime tomorrow - today! It was after midnight. He'd call Mrs. Trayne from next door, when he left for work in the afternoon and have her pop in to check on her. Maybe she could stay with her a while.

When he came back down, he told Trixie to stay home from school the next day because he thought that she might start bleeding then and that Mrs. Trayne would be keeping an eye on her most of the evening.

"Wake me up later if you have any trouble, okay?"

She handed him his coffee and he kicked on the TV to watch his favorite late-night talk show and watch the re-run of the evening news. She re-filled his coffee and settled down on his footstool for a few minutes. He chuckled and playfully covered Trixie's eyes as they watched Bronson lick his crotch, then scratch his shoulder and behind his ear.

"You know, you shouldn't bathe Bronson every day," he sipped and caressed her head, "it tends to dry out his skin. Drys it and makes him scratch that much more."

He looked at Bronson. Bronson suddenly aware that he was the focus of attention, looked back at him alertly. He'd quit scratching. The spot on his shoulder was an old scar that often itched, but his fur looked glossy and healthy and his eyes were clear.

"What do you wash him with?" he sipped his coffee.

"Well, I use the stuff you got me for horse manes. You said it'd keep my hair nice," she gave a huge yawn.

"Oh. Well, I guess it won't do him any harm then. It's pretty good stuff."

"Yep," Trixie nodded, rubbing Bronson's chest with her bare toes, "want another cup?"

"Sure, then you better get to bed. You may be getting out of school tomorrow, but you still need to get to bed. You shouldn't have stayed up so late."

"Oh, Daddy," she made a little face at him and he smiled fondly at her.

She brought him his cup of coffee, set it on the table beside him and kissed him goodnight. Bronson got up shook himself off, yawned and put his forepaws on Daddy's knee for a good night scratch before bounding off after Trixie. Before going to bed, Trixie pulled a sanitary pad out of the box and put it on the night stand, then pulled on a pair of clean panties. She was a little shocked at herself as, while she nuzzled him like usual, she thoughtlessly opened her mouth to his long, licking tongue. Still, it was nice, a little like the hot dogs he'd had earlier for a snack. She giggled and told him to lie down and go to sleep. He obediently moved to the foot of the bed, turned a few times, then lay his head on his paws and stared adoringly at her as she slipped under the covers. The delicious aroma of her pre-menstrual pussy wafting deliciously to his nose.

The next morning Trixie awakened on her back, having tossed her covers back in her sleep. She lay with her legs wide apart and a cold muzzle pressed against her panties. Bronson's warm tongue licked insistently, trying to get his tongue in her as he licked her panty covered pussy, nuzzling her as he tried to get past the barrier to his pleasure. Trixie pinked a little, then she smiled shyly and pushed her panties down. Bronson, on his belly, his legs tucked under him, immediately jumped to his feet and buried his tongue as deep in her pussy as he could get it, licking her out as if he was dying of thirst. Trixie gasped and arched her back in enthralled pleasure. God, he had a lo-o-ong tongue. His nose again pressed against her clittie and she grabbed his head, holding it as she rubbed his nose against it.

"Ooh-h-h, honey-doll," she crooned happily, "um-m-m, that is so good!"

Bronson whined from the pain of her grasping hands, but didn't stop licking and slurping her delicious inner cream. Pressing his snout harder against her, he tried to reach deeper into her. He wanted that delicious mucus off her oozing cervix. She felt his tongue twisting and digging deeper into her, pressing it against her resilient inner flesh as his cold, wet nose warmed against her clittie. His hot breath whuffling and snorting on her literally sent her up the wall with the sheer heavenly delight of it.

She squealed and came hard, shuddering deliciously as she dropped back on the bed. Bronson pulled himself forward, trying to get his entire muzzle inside the tight confines of her pussy. Had it been pointed instead of more or less flat, he might have succeeded, but then she heard footfalls in the hall and she quickly pulled her covers over them both.

Cal was only going to the bathroom. She shivered with delicious fright until she finally heard the commode flush and the footfalls heading back to his bedroom. Then she threw the covers back, threw her knees wide and watched Bronson going at it. The sight of his delving tongue and the thrill she felt as he sank his larruping tongue deep in her, drove her up into the air once more as she came again, immediately followed by another orgasm then another.

"Oh, Baby-Baby-Baby-Bay-bee-ee!" she whimpered, "ooh-h-h! Ooh-h-h-h, yeah! That's my pretty boy."

Having cleaned all the gushing cream out of Trixie, Bronson pulled his tongue back and gently licked her vulva, running his long tongue from her clenching asshole up along her slit and over her stiff little clittie. Trixie whimpered, helplessly grasping air with her hands, clenching them white-knuckle tight as he lifted her into another hard orgasm.

"Oh, Gaw-wd!" she gasped, cumming again.

She gave a crooning sigh, shuddering as she lay back against her pillows, pulling Bronson's head out of her crotch and bending to his muzzle. His tongue worked as he licked his chops, getting all the flavor from around his mouth. Without a second thought, Trixie pressed her mouth to his. Bronson eagerly licked her face and, as she opened her mouth, sent his deep-searching tongue into her ardently receptive mouth. As he licked the inside of her mouth, she suddenly wondered if he'd like some of the same thing from her.

She pulled back and looked. His blood-red prick hung several inches out of it's sheath, stretching beyond the knob. As she examined it from her sitting position, she thought back on her first, ugly experience with Butchy. She remembered that the only ugly parts were when he ripped into her virginity without giving her any satisfaction and, with that thought in mind, she rolled an obedient Bronson onto his back. As she gently massaged his balls, his prick slipped all the way out of his furry sheath. Her mouth watered as she remembered the taste of his warm doggy cream the night before. She thought back to when Butchy had squirted his cum inside her. With eyes glazing slightly, she brought her face close to Bronson's red, obscenely bare cock. Without conscious thought, she sucked his pecker into her mouth. Bronson whined and kicked his back legs, not trying to get up, just lying there, gulping his tongue and panting heavily.

Dimly Trixie thought of Butchy and how much Bronson's panting sounded like his. She closed her eyes and gave herself completely over to the animal feelings of lust as she enjoyed the feel, the texture and . . . the taste of his prick. Having gone this far, the next step was easier. She rolled Bronson onto his feet and, getting on all fours, grabbed his red, throbbing prick and pulled him to her. Bronson quickly got the idea and mounted her, wrapping his paws around her waist. As he humped, Trixie pushed her ass back and guided his long prick into her warmly receptive cunt.

"Oh-h-h, f-f-fudge!" she gasped as he rammed into her, "oh, oh, ohdarn!" she moaned low in her throat.

Bronson whuffed and panted, humping in and out of her, ramming his thick, doggy prick in and out of Trixie's creaming cunt.

"Oh, Baby," she crooned, "ooh-h-h, Bronson! Thatta boy. Ooh, it's so good, Honey-Doll," she encouraged the fucking dog.

The feel of his knob, that delicious inch or so behind the tip of his cock, felt heavenly. It rubbed on just the right spot, gasping with sudden pleasure as she came hard around Bronson's plunging prick. Her cunt tightened involuntarily, almost cramping as she fell forward, crying softly, her cream running down the insides of her thighs. Trixie buried her face in her pillows, muffling her involuntary moans and shrieks of lust and delight. She turned her head and took a breath, looking into Bronson's face with heavy-lidded eyes. She loved the dog, she realized, loved how he fucked her, loved the way he gripped her waist as he banged into her.

Once again, she came, not as hard as before, but it was a delicious cum, nonetheless. She realized that he'd already given her much more than that darn old Butchy who'd cum so quick had. Bronson rocked steadily into her driving her lust higher and higher. She felt a little twinge deep inside her, never understanding that it was the pointed end of Bronson's prick penetrating her cervical entrance. Just as she reached the pinnacle and was about to cum, she felt Bronson's hot cum squirt into her. It felt so hot and good that the little twinges in her womb only helped send her over the cumming edge. She had to bury her face in her pillows again as she let out a keening, growling cry of lust. Bronson whined and whimpered, also meeting her cries with a high, almost squealing yap, his paws gripping her waist tightly.

Trixie moaned and let her knees slide back as she flattened on her tummy. Bronson came down with her, his knob swollen so big that he was unable to pull out as he continued squirting into her, jerkily pumping his doggy sperm into her incompatible girl womb. He licked the back of her head as he lay atop her - resting - his cock throbbing, his hot doggy semen pumping directly into her deepest uterine womb. Trixie sighed and closed her eyes. She loved the throb of his cock as his cum filled her. It felt like a little pump as it throbbed, squirting and squirting and squirting. She loved the wonderfully full feeling of his cum over-filling her hot cunt. It made her paw at her pillows helplessly as she half-passed out from the pleasure.

Bronson, her wonderful lover - her dog - lay atop her occasionally nuzzling and licking her neck. The swollen knob slowly shrank until Bronson at last pulled out, rolled heavily onto his side and hiked a leg up, licking the remains of their tryst off his prick and balls. Trixie's cunt still throbbed pleasantly from the solid fucking Bronson had given her, his cum draining as she felt the twinges deep in her womb. At first they felt like a small pleasant throbbing, but that feeling slowly changed as she began to cramp.

"Oh, God," she moaned rolling onto her side and pressing her tummy.

Bronson jumped to his feet and leaned over her, snuffling and whuffling at her hips and asshole, licking gently as he caressed her, trying to soothe her.

"It's okay, Honey-Doll," Trixie moaned, "I think I'm starting my periods."

She caressed and stroked his muzzle and head, letting him continue his tonguing caresses. He dropped down onto his belly and rested his head on her hip, looking deeply at her with his expressive brown eyes.

"You're a wonderful guy, you know," she whispered scratching him behind the ears and caressing his muzzle gently.

Still holding her tummy, she reached over to the bed side table and got the wrapped pad. It had some simple instructions on the side and she carefully read them. It seemed simple enough - open the package, press pad to vulva and attach ends to pad belt. What pad belt? She read a little farther finding that, failing to have a pad belt, pull panties on tightly to keep the pad from sliding. She nodded at that.

"I thought these things had a sticky thing on the bottom to keep them in the panties," she puzzled, turning the package over, "oh, well."

Bronson's cum still oozing from her pussy, she ripped the package open and unfolded the pad. Holding it against her vulva, she grabbed her panties and pulled them up tight against it, lying back on her pillows. Her Daddy had said that if the pain got bad, to go in his medicine cabinet and get a couple of his extra-strength aspirins, that they would cut some of the pain. She grabbed her TV remote, fluffed up her pillows and pushed herself back against them, leaving the recovering Bronson lying on his side. When she was comfortable, she flipped the TV on and watched a couple of soap operas. The cramps weren't really all that bad. As it turned out, she was one of the lucky girls whose monthly cramps were bearable. She was getting into one of the morning game shows when Bronson opened an eye and peered up at her. She smiled down at him and cooed, scratching his chin and caressing his muzzle lovingly. His tail thumped on the bed as he opened his mouth and panted happily. A few minutes later, she had to go pee.

"Be right back, lover. Don't go 'way," she giggled, patting his neck as she slid off the bed carefully, not wanting to get blood on the sheets.

In the bathroom she pulled her pad off to piss. It came off her vulva stickily. Looking at it, she saw a lot of Bronson's cum and a few spots of blood. Daddy had said that it would take at least a whole day, maybe two for all the blood to come out and that she'd have to change the pad at least daily, if not several times a day, so she dug out a fresh one. She could smell Bronson's cum wafting up from her pussy. She threw a wash cloth in the sink and turned on the hot water to wet it, then pressed the used pad to her nose. Besides the smell of blood, she got the newly acquired headily intoxicating aroma of Bronson's semen. She pressed her lips to an un-bloody spot and licked it gently. It tasted as wonderful, although there was a faint undertone of bleached cotton. She sighed and wadded up the used pad, tossed it in the waste basket and took the wet towel, shutting the water off. Much as she liked the smell of his fresh cum, she didn't want her Daddy to smell it and maybe take Bronson away, so she soaped the wash cloth and scrubbed her pussy clean. Kicking her panties aside, she pressed the pad to her vulva and pulled on a fresh pair. It was an older pair and were a little tight, so she figured they ought to hold the thick pad up.

As she came out of the bathroom, her belly rumbled and, although she wanted to climb back in bed with Bronson, she - and he - needed something to eat. Cal's footsteps outside made up her mind for her and she grabbed her robe, calling to Bronson as she tied it around her small waist and glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven. No wonder Daddy was stirring, a few more hours and he'd be heading off to work. Then she remembered that he'd said he'd have Mrs. Trayne look in on her. Oh, well, maybe she could tell her that she was tired and going to bed early - but then, Mrs. Trayne wouldn't let her take Bronson into her bedroom. She always claimed that dogs carried fleas and fleas carried diseases and that he shouldn't sleep in her bed because he'd pass the fleas on to her. She sighed again. She and Bronson bathed every night and he darn sure didn't have any old fleas. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Trayne was probably the one that had fleas. She always smelled like she needed a bath.

"Good morning, Hon," Cal, sitting at the table, smiled as she rounded the kitchen door.

"G'morning, Daddy," she smiled pressing a hand to her unsettled tummy.

"Are you feeling all right?" he was suddenly concerned.

"I'm okay, Daddy," she smiled dropping her hand, "I feel a little feverish, but it don't hurt too much."

"That's good," he patted his lap and held an arm out to her, "have you started yet, did you get everything figured out okay?"

Trixie nodded, climbing up on his lap.

"Yes and yes," she smiled wanly, "but I can feel the cramping, but it doesn't hurt that bad, Daddy. It's mostly a very uncomfortable feeling, kind of like a upset tummy, but nothing really bad, is that good or is it bad?"

"Well, from what your mother used to tell me, a lot of women never get any bad cramps and some don't feel much more than an upset stomach. Maybe you're one of the lucky ones. However, she did say that she sometimes didn't feel much of anything and there were other times that she hurt really bad, so maybe this first one is gonna be pretty mild, hm?"

"Yeah, maybe . . ." as she thought about it, she looked up at him, "Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Could you tell Mrs. Trayne not to bother stopping by," she wrinkled her nose, "she smells and makes Bronson sleep on the floor outside my room."

Her father laughed and hugged her, kissing the top of her head.

"I suppose I could," he grinned, "you sure you're gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, besides, I'll be sleeping anyway, so there won't be no need for her to stop in. She always fusses about dogs. I don't think she likes them much."

"No, I don't suppose she does. She loves her two cats, but I don't guess she cares much about dogs."

"Thanks, Daddy," Trixie slid off his lap and padded to the refrigerator, "want a couple eggs? There's a couple left-over pork chops and I could fix you some hash browns to go with them."

"Now, that sounds like an offer I can't refuse," he chuckled.

Bronson thumped his heavy tail on the floor as he heard "pork chop" and whined hungrily. Trixie looked at him and laughed shaking her head as she pulled the eggs and pork chops out, setting them on the counter. She did a quick job of grating and rinsing a couple of potatoes and a few minutes later, the potatoes were done, the four pork chops were nuked - there had been four - and the eggs were done. She scrambled a couple more and put a pork chop on a plate with the eggs and set it on the floor for Bronson. He had his dog food, but she couldn't see her lover getting less that she got.

"You know, you treat that animal as if he was a real person," Cal chuckled, "I'm surprised you didn't give him some buttered toast, too."

"Oh, no," she shook her head, swallowing her partially chewed pork chop, "bread constipates him."

"Well, excu-u-use me," Cal laughed.

Trixie smiled happily with him. She loved her Daddy, but he didn't always understand her. They had a little quality time as they ate, bantering back and forth about school, work and menstruating in general. When they finished, Trixie cleaned off the table and excused herself to go upstairs and put on some clothes. She once again felt a little sticky between her legs and wanted to check her sanitary pad. Bronson followed her, the exquisite smell wafting back making him drool. He wanted to lick it up, wanted eat it. It was blood and blood was good. He wagged his tail, hoping she'd let him lick it off. Once in her bathroom, however, she closed the door on him. She didn't realize how much he wanted it, but she didn't want to have him nuzzling her there until she'd cleaned off. She quickly washed herself off and went back downstairs.

"Daddy?" she called as she started the water to do the dishes.

"What's that, sweetie," he looked up from fixing his lunch.

"Well, um, the instructions on the pads say that I need to hook them to a sanitary pad holder or a garter belt and I just have it on with my panties holding it up . . . won't I need one? Or would it be easier to get tampons?"

Cal didn't immediately answer wondering how she'd learned about tampons and, come to that, he hadn't really given her any big instructions on wearing the sanitary pad. All he remembered telling her was to put one on.

"I'll, uhm, I'll have to find out, uhm, and, uhm, I'll, I'll . . . hm-m," he paused, "I'll have to get someone who knows to tell you about it."

"I could get my Phys Ed teacher to show me. She usually helps all of us girls when we have, um, problems."

Cal breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay, that sounds like a, uh, like a good idea," he made a mental note to call the teacher in the morning and ask for her help.

Trixie finished washing the dishes as her Daddy went back in his room to dress and get his work-boots on. Before he left, he told her that he'd talked to Mrs. Trayne and she would stop in later for a quick check on her, just to make sure she was okay. He assured Trixie that the old lady would only come by once. When her Daddy finally went off to work, she curled up on the couch with Bronson and watched some TV. Around six o'clock, as Trixie fixed herself a sandwich, Mrs. Trayne tapped on the kitchen door.

"How are you doing, darling," she spoke in the high, syrupy voice she reserved for the ill and the elderly.

"I'm doing fine, Mrs. Trayne, would you like a sandwich? I'm fixing one for myself and Bronson."

"Oh, no, no, no, darling. I just ate and I'm not hungry," she continued in her syrupy voice, "I brought you some chamomile tea. It's always good for making one feel better."

Mrs. Trayne clattered around, finding a tea pot and pouring some water in it as Trixie, poured herself a glass of milk, watching her closely. Bronson positioned himself between Trixie and the neighbor lady, smelling her cats on her and very wary of her because of that. They both watched the old lady as she put the water on to boil, dug out a couple of coffee mugs and dropped a tea bag in each. She was apparently meaning to stay for a little while. Trixie hoped that she wouldn't make it too long, she wanted to cuddle with Bronson for a while before heading for bed.

While waiting for the water to boil, the old lady sat as Trixie ate, and chattered away about things that Trixie had no interest in. She did, however, give her some helpful hints on handling her periods before she left an hour or so later.