If you don’t know who this is, I highly recommend looking her up ;) (also worth noting this contains bestality, so if this isn’t your kink, I recommend moving on. Or give it a shot, who knows. Maybe you’ll like it anyway). To be clear, this is not a fan-fiction of her specifically, but the inspiration is clear. Look for Part 2 coming soon, where things will heat up a bit more. For now, enjoy Part 1:
The directive was to teach them English. It’d been done before, with other animals. Chimpanzees, gorillas, elephants; they could understand the rudimentary concepts. Food, water, sit, stand, come, etc. Even some crocodiles learned to respond to certain commands, or at the very least, their own name. This, however, was a different beast.
Their brains are larger, and the cerebral cortex is proportionately larger still. Perhaps this meant the way they integrated information would breed layers of complexity previously unfathomable to us. To be sure, however, the prefrontal lobe is smaller, so perhaps our task was unrealistic. Still, to NASA the idea was worth exploring, and given the animals’ behavioral complexity and propensity for fun and play, we thought it worthwhile to run the experiment.
I was assigned to Peter. He was a bottlenose dolphin, roughly eight feet in length, young, and healthy. I was only twenty at the time of assignment; a recent graduate in Marine Biology and Behavioral Psychology. I’d been referred to NASA by a professor who’d maintained a certain eye for me during the course of my studies. I knew why. I was thin and petite, with short chocolate hair and big blue eyes, and the blouses I wore, no matter how big or baggy, couldn’t hide my generous bust. So he tutored me, often late into the evening, and sometimes until sunrise. That’s how I secured that referral, and that referral was the payoff for my late night study sessions with him.
I was skeptical of the program, of course. I knew dolphins, understood their behavioral patterns. Frankly, my knowledge almost made me apprehensive. Male dolphins were sexually aggressive, manipulative, and often dangerous. The realities of dolphin behavior didn’t exactly match National Geographic’s convivial depiction of them. However, I knew they could be tame and docile; knew they were largely innocuous when trained properly.
I spent the first few weeks with a dolphin trainer, learning the basics. We interacted with a pair of female dolphins, mostly for my sake, to acclimate me to their behavior. They were, as expected, docile, playful even. We worked in a shallow pool above their aquarium, which the dolphins could access. It was no more than a few feet deep and perhaps twenty-by-twenty meters wide. I learned how to command them, to move them throughout the pool, to jump or wait for food. This was, of course, the easy part. I was told that Peter understood the same commands, so transitioning would not be difficult. In a sense, they were right. However, in many ways they were wrong.
When I met Peter, I was immediately struck by his awareness. Like the female dolphins, he had access to a shallow pool above his aquarium, and the moment he swam into it from below, his eyes found mine. I knew he could tell something was different, though I couldn’t articulate just how I knew. It felt as though he understood not just that he had a new trainer, but that perhaps there was something fundamentally different about my purpose there. Whether my intuition was true is, of course, something I will never truly know. But still. I will never forget that feeling.
That first day was mostly about proper introductions. I waded into the water and he swam over and brushed up against me. His skin felt so smooth and cool, though his presence felt warm. I could tell he felt immediately comfortable with me, and I felt the same way. He was expressive and cuddly, often nuzzling his nozzle against my face. I had to giggle in those moments. I knew then that, no matter how difficult the task was ahead, that at least I was working with an animal whose company I enjoyed.
The first week I tried to teach him basic nouns. I would show him an apple, and say the word, and then have him raise half his body from the water. I would then repeat the exercise with a different fruit. Later, I would hold an apple and say “orange”. If he raised his body, he would not be rewarded with food. However, if he raised it when the word aligned with the correct fruit, he was rewarded. This was, of course, a monumental task—it was unclear whether he could even understand the basic concept of yes and no.
One day the following week, we encountered some difficulties. Peter was frustrated and refused to take part in the exercise. I tried a few commands, none of which worked, then grabbed a ball and attempted to play with him. When that didn’t work, I even tried offering fish without any contingencies, but even the prospect of a free meal didn’t entice him. Frustrated myself, I decided to wade into the water. Immediately Peter came over to me.
At first, he nuzzled me, which was surprising. I assumed he was angry, that if the way down into his aquarium hadn’t been shut, he’d have left a long time ago. But now he felt gentle and affectionate. I smiled and gave his snout a kiss, and rubbed his sides and belly. And that’s when I felt it.
He swam up to me sideways, exposing his belly. Something hard, yet curiously soft, slipped in between my legs. It briefly touched the black swimsuit fabric protecting my labia, and groped a little. Before I understood what was happening, he made another pass. This time, it groped a little more, and his pelvis gently rocked a few times as his member slipped in and out of my thighs.
Flustered and unsure of what to do, I removed myself from the pool, and quickly ended the session. I do not know if Peter was angry or relieved, but something had shifted between us that day. What I didn’t know was just how far that shift would go.
***
A week has passed since that first incident. Peter was on good behavior for the most part. He greeted me enthusiastically every day, and spent long hours playing along with my programs. Despite his congeniality, his development appeared to stagnate near the end of the week. In the beginning, and to my surprise, there was a strong correlation between him rising out of the pool, and the accurateness of the fruit presented to him. Occasionally he would fail to pair an object to the correct word, but this happened infrequently. However, as the week continued, his progress slowed. By Friday, he got it wrong fifty percent of the time.
Initially, I wasn’t sure what the problem was. In the morning, I tried playing catch, rewarding him with fish every time he caught the ball or threw it back accurately. This seemed to amuse him for a while, but by midday he seemed disinterested; melancholy, even. By midafternoon, he refused to budge. He floated near the closed exit to his aquarium, towards the back of the pool. Despite my commands and increasing frustration, he never moved.
At this moment, an instinct worked its way to the back of my mind. I knew Peter, like most dolphins, was a social animal, and like most social animals, he probably needed his fair share of touch. So like the week before, I waded into the pool.
Immediately he came towards me. His speed was rather shocking, and for a moment I braced for impact. But when he got close, he slowed down. Soon, he was nuzzling up against me, and I again found myself giggling, kissing his snout, and rubbing his sides. For a few minutes, we played in the water a little. Teasing, he splashed me with his fins, and I splashed back. It felt good to laugh and play and I imagine it felt good for him too. It was then that I realized how starved for touch Peter must have been. He shared his aquarium with no other dolphins, and only occasionally was he moved to another tank to play with others.
I grew sad upon this realization, and softly placed my arms around him. I hung there, floating a little with my feet off the floor, eyes closed. We stayed like that for a few minutes.
Gently, he moved, and I opened my eyes and let go. He swam away from me a little, and I swam out into deeper water after him. Quickly, he turned around, and swam back towards me. When he got close, he turned his belly towards my chest.
Truthfully, I believe a part of me knew this would happen again. Perhaps I knew the moment I stepped into the water. A part of me was willing, despite how peculiar it’d felt the week before.
As he passed, I allowed my legs to open just a little. His member slipped between my thighs. It wiggled a little, and after a moment, I felt it grope at my buttocks. I knew his penis was prehensile, but I was not prepared for the way it moved between my legs, how it prodded and poked my rear, almost like a tentacle. I was also not prepared for how large it was, and how hard, yet how flexible and soft. His movements were slow and languid and gentle, to my surprise. I had read about how aggressive dolphins were, seen it even. But Peter was an exception.
For a moment, I thought to leave. The way this must look, I thought. What if someone saw this? But, another part of me simply thought this is natural. Peter is an animal, just like me, and he has needs. Perhaps if I let him relieve himself, our lessons will bear more fruit. And besides, it’s not like it’s sexual on my end.
So, I let him slip in and out of my thighs. I let his member grab and grope the fabric of my swimsuit, and all the while I simply waded there. This continued for a minute, and it wasn’t so bad. It almost felt good between my legs, and I felt more connected to Peter, like I was taking care of him, and he felt safe enough with me to be taken care of in that way. But after a minute or two, he hadn’t orgasmed yet, and I began to worry.
I was worried this would frustrate him. Or, perhaps I was worried I would be caught. It was near the end of the day, after all, and perhaps someone would end their shift early and come check up on us. To hasten Peter’s pleasure, then, I did something impulsive. Without thinking, I sat lower on his member, and squeezed my legs tightly against it.
In that moment he grew more erect. The smooth surface of his penis rubbed against my swimsuit, rubbing the labia beneath. Instantly my heart skipped and my cheeks flushed, and my breath fluttered. It felt warm down there, even in the cool water, and for only a few more moments, Peter thrust and thrust, and his member groped harder and harder. After only a few seconds, I felt a warm jet against my lower back, like the soft jets of a Jacuzzi. Then, Peter stopped thrusting and his penis grew limp.
For a moment, I felt safe and comfortable. We floated there for another moment, reconnected, eyes closed. Then, we disentangled, and I gave his snout a kiss.
I left the aquarium that day confused, but strangely optimistic. Peter was like us in many ways; an animal with needs and desires, whose needs and desires could easily be met, and that made the task ahead seem less impossible. However, as I would soon find out, Peter’s urges would become more and more difficult to assuage.
***
The next Monday was as it’d been earlier in the week prior. He was attentive, playful, and full of energy. His answers were correct well over 90% of the time, and I began to think it might be time to move on to more intensive exercises. Nevertheless, something felt different. His attentiveness seemed more pronounced, his eyes always seemed fixed on me. Not like a predator, however. His gaze was gentle, but firm and resolute.
Tuesday morning came along, and the second I walked into the room, I noticed something was off. Peter was floating in the back of the pool, either completely unaware of my presence, or disinterested in it. I called to him and he did not answer. I threw the ball in the water, and he did not answer. I sighed; I knew what this was about.
I almost wonder if I’d known this would happen this day. Normally, I wore a black one-piece that covered my arms and most of my legs. Today, I’d brought a red lace-up ruffle top and red bikini bottoms. It almost felt absurd, having my breasts more exposed this way. But I figured it was harmless; there was no need for professionalism when I worked alone.
He shot over to me the second my foot hit the water. As I waded out he again nuzzled up against me. I smiled and kissed his snout, and clung to him as he took us a little further out. When we’d reached the middle of the pool, he broke free, and exposed his belly to my chest. He looked at me the whole time, just as he had the day before, and I did not feel afraid. In fact, as his member slid between my bare legs, I felt just the opposite of afraid.
This time, I immediately squeezed my legs tight against his penis. Instantly he grew more erect. Whether it was the gesture, or whether it was exposure to my bare skin, Peter’s thrusts became harder and more deliberate. I’d read before that female dolphin pheromones were similar to humans, and I wondered whether my skin played a role in his increased arousal.
We stayed like this for a minute, while Peter rocked slow and hard between my legs. His member again reached and prodded at my almost bare bottom, sometimes working its way between the strings of the bikini. I could feel the smoothness of his member between my bare legs, brushing gently, yet firmly, against my unexposed labia. Again my cheeks flushed and my heart fluttered.
I believe Peter sensed my excitement well before I cared to admit to it, because in that moment, he grew harder and longer. Unaware of even myself in this moment, I let my body rock gently against his penis, and I squeezed and pulsed with my legs. My heart raced a little as I squeezed harder and harder. Peter’s member pulsed and throbbed too and his tip found its way in between the fabric of my bikini bottom. I responded in kind, squeezing harder still. I let myself rock a little more, and after rocking and rocking, I suddenly felt that warm jet, this time between my legs and inside my bikini bottom. There was so much of it, so much so I almost couldn’t believe something was capable of ejaculating that much. Pulses and pulses of warm liquid poured into my bikini, and rushed over my labia, bathing it in his warm fluid.
When we separated, I almost couldn’t believe what had happened. I told myself, of course, that this was strictly for purposes of the program. Peter had an itch to scratch, and if he would not cooperate unless that itch was scratched, then it was my duty to scratch it. This is what I would tell myself the next day, and the next day, and the day after that.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/u92uu7/margaret_lovatt_inspiration_piece_part_1_of_2