Part 3

After reading my previous postings, so many e-mailers have asked me how I began having a love and sex life with dogs - how it all started - that I thought I'd write about that. I've already told a handful of inquiries some of the story, but now I'll detail it further.

I was 27 - about 4 years ago - when I first experienced being mated by a dog. I will never forget him, a big black Lab. Joe, my boyfriend at the time, and I had talked about doing this for some time. I had long been fantasizing about it but was still feeling rather leery of actually doing it. Finally I resolved to give it a go. Joe helped us. I played with Mr. B (that was the Lab's name) and let him sniff and lick me until I was very squishy indeed. Then I kneeled and spread my knees and, with Joe's help, Mr. B mounted my rear. I felt him inside me, very hot and rigid and juicy, and he just kept driving, knew absolutely what he was doing. I had to hang onto Joe or Mr. B would have pushed me clear across the room!

Then I felt this enormous knot sliding into me. It pulsed and swelled even bigger inside my vagina, sort of uncomfortable until I just relaxed. We were locked tight together, and every time I shifted my weight or moved my fanny, he'd grip me harder with his forelegs around my waist. Then I began to feel his ejaculations - oh my god, my belly started doing flip-flops and I felt my body clasping and sucking against his hot penis. I felt the heat of his forceful squirts radiating through my belly and down my thighs, thought my nipples would burst. I was panting and so excited, Joe was kissing my lips and I was kissing his penis too part of the time. Finally the pressure made my belly start spasming uncontrollably, Mr. B was still coming in me, and I absolutely lost it. Electric orgasms washed over me in waves from earlobes to toenails and I sobbed, Joe said I screamed. Mr. B wouldn't let me go. Joe was so excited he orgasmed all over my face, almost drowned me, so here I was crying, gasping for breath, blowing semen bubbles, such a total mess and so blind and blissed out I thought I would die.

Joe held me in his arms, tried to quiet my hysteria, I don't know for how long. Next thing I remember he was literally carrying me like a little girl to our bedroom and there made love to drenched Nan. What a wonderful, totally mind-blowing introduction to canine sex.

Next morning I had a super clean-up job to do - the bed, the floors, even the walls. After Mr. B let me go, it seems, I literally showered just about everything in sight - the knot doesn't let anything escape! - though Mr. B had already licked and cleaned up a lot of it. I felt sort of strange, almost shy around him that morning, after the way he had made me feel. I didn't think I could ever treat him again as just a pet - and I was right.

I've never had a regret about doing this. Mr. B that night made me feel so absolutely fulfilled as a woman it's hard to describe. This event was such an utter revelation to me - that a dog could not only have powerful sexual desires for a woman but could perform intercourse with her, resulting for her in feelings of immense pleasure and such deep, sweet satisfaction.

I immediately sought more information about what I had just experienced. I didn't find much; later there would be resources on the internet, but at the time such resources were scarce. Joe and I talked about it constantly, and he arranged further sessions between myself and Mr. B whenever possible (neither of us owned the dog). Oh, that wondrous dog, my first canine lover. He taught me so much about sex, about my own capabilities - and yes, about the extent of my lust. I could hardly wait for the occasions when I could strip for him, offer my body to him without reservation, feel the strong grip of his forelegs as he mounted me and tied me tightly to him, feel the hot rush of his juices in my body, thoughout every fiber and crevice, feel the pressure of my ecstasy mount until it spilled over the top and I kicked and thrashed and moaned and sobbed beneath him as orgasms shook and shuddered me. I felt my body clasping his big squirter in multiple interior seizures again and again, and he moaned and whimpered too with the exquisite pleasure my body gave him - which further compounded my own sexual elation. A dog! Mr. B!

Joe went wild too, watching us - and some of the nicest times between Joe and I occurred in bed after I had coupled with Mr. B. I would still be in a state of weeping euphoria, my belly doing flip-flops, my swollen labia dripping and occasionally erupting little squirts of Mr. B"s semen, my nipples on fire - in short, a total mess of a female - and Joe would rub my belly, hold and rock me gently, crooning and kissing me softly, helping me wind down from the marvelous plateau (usually adding his own semen to me in the process!). Later, after Joe and I split up (for various reasons, none of them involving dogs), I really missed this lovely afterglow time.

Today I find that I can't maintain a relationship with a man if I feel I can't share with him this aspect of my life. I go strictly by intuition in this matter. I want to be able to share with him this joyous element of my existence. Some men will go along with it for awhile but become edgy and impatient when they discover that this isn't just a temporary "crazy" phase Nan is experiencing. No, as I keep emphasizing from the bottom of my heart: Once mated, really mated, to a canine partner, a woman can never be the same. Oh sure, she may forsake such relationships for various practical reasons of convenience, but - despite a load of possible guilt feelings - she will never forget the certain him who, though a dog, once made her feel more of a woman than any man ever did. She will dream and daydream about the event, even as she tells herself it is a sordid, sinful thing she did, an act she should despise and despise in herself for ever desiring. She may even physically ache for the feel of a dog's body, a deep, inner yearning she can neither ignore nor satisfy.

I know all this not only because I experienced such feelings at a low point in my life - but because I frequently hear from women who are still fighting this battle within themselves. Nobody knows the percentage of dog-owning women - especially single women - who often or periodically offer their bodies in sexual love to their canines - but I personally believe (to judge from my mail) that the figure is much higher than one would guess. Such a relationship must necessarily be guarded, must be one of the most intimate, closely held secrets of a woman's life. She cannot take chances on sharing it with even close friends, for fear of being labeled a pervert of some sort and of being ostracized. And she must make very careful preparations not to be disturbed or discovered by anyone during the actual event of intercourse with her dog. Yet even these constraints cannot deter her desires and needs as a woman, and she is willing to chance the dangers of discovery simply for the wondrous rewards of uniting, of ecstasy, of love. I feel such empathy for these women, though I personally know few of them. Even I myself, who have publicized details of my canine love life far and wide on the internet, am extremely reticent and careful around home. Most of my friends and acquaintances, as well as my own family, simply could not deal with such knowledge, and I take great pains to insure that they never will be confronted with it.

But back to the "story of my life." Mr. B soon disappeared from my life; his owner moved away, and I've never seen him again. Those first weeks without him I felt destitute and empty. I felt I desperately needed another dog. For a period of several weeks (my "promiscuous" period) I formed a real attachment to stray dogs. Something about their wild, usually unkempt appearance turned me on. I'd go roaming the streets at night, wearing a skirt but no panties so a dog could smell me approaching easier. I found several dogs this way, found to my delight that, once beyond the rather hasty preliminaries, they needed me as much as I needed them. Most of them were so wise - they knew just what to do and how to proceed. The only tricky thing was watching out for somebody discovering us, for we usually copulated on the ground behind a bush or parked car, and once the dog tied me, as he usually did, I couldn't get loose for awhile. Once a policeman did discover us - fortunately the dog, a big rangy mutt, released me quickly - the cop thought I had been attacked by him and wanted me to go to the hospital, but I refused. After one of these stray-dog encounters, with my back and sides scratched up and dog juices running down my legs and filling my shoes, I'd squish home in a haze and a daze of happiness, a dirty wild child (almost 30 years of age!), my longings satisfied, my womb warm, my breasts tingling delightfully. Oh yes, and sometimes I'd be itching with fleas!

I haven't had a stray dog in a long time, but I can still drench my panties thinking of those days and some of those strange, furtive encounters. Today a person observing this clean, attractive, well-dressed woman, walking to work or having lunch in the cafeteria would hardly identify her as that street slut with filthy hands and knees who was so passionate for a dog she couldn't wait to hoist her bare fanny to any passing stray. I can hardly believe it myself.

Then one night I got turned around real quick - by a dog. He was a yellowish, evil-looking cur who was skulking around in an alley. I saw he was a male. As I approached him, he growled and looked as if he might attack. I went back into the alley, away from any likely intruder, and he followed. I turned my back to him and lifted my skirt, got down on hands and knees in the dirt and presented to him, wiggling my bottom at this terrible creature. He was about Airedale size, his fur matted and ragged, his eyes red-rimmed, his odor awful. He approached and I felt his nose and tongue on my backside, then wetly between my legs. I flipped my ass again and he mounted me. I felt his hot penis slide into me, felt his hindquarters pumping furiously as his forpaws scratched my sides and his hot breath panted hard above me. Groaning in pleasure, I opened to him. It felt blissfully familiar, and I ignored the hurt of his scratching (I don socks on my lovers today). My itching nipples seemed to burn holes through my t-shirt. "Tie me, oh tie me!" I begged aloud, but he just kept driving, grinding me into the dirt, shoving and pushing, scraping my skin, gripping me ever tighter in his filthy paws. Finally I felt a big ball of a knot nudging me, then it slipped into my vagina, and almost immediately a flood of heat surged through my body and I knew I had a bellyful of puppies. But then, when he was just beginning to make me happy - this awful dog! - the brute pulled out of me, nipped me hard on a buttock, and walked away. I couldn't believe it -- never before had a male dog treated me that way. I stared after him, frustrated, weeping, so mad I was practically spitting, calling him every evil name I could think of while his hot semen streamed down my thighs and my body ached for relief. He disdained to even look around - he had taken me just long enough to shoot his balls off once, then bit me and left. I hated him, I loathed him, I wanted to beat him, stone him, kill him. I sort of staggered home, where I showered off his and the alley filth and examined my wounds - bleeding paw scratches all over my back and sides and a bleeding booty where he'd bit me. "Okay, Nan," I told myself, "that's enough slumming." I went and got a tetanus shot and never went looking for skanky junkyard dogs again - even though I felt pretty desperate sometimes.

But that foul brute, it turned out, taught me an important lesson. He taught me respect, taught me to become much more sophisticated and systematic in my search for canine partners. Foreplay became important to me - fondling, kissing, tasting, playing, tussling, letting a dog identify me as a physically desirable partner. Whereas previously my main interest had been focused solely on a dog's penis and size of his knot, I began to look more at the whole animal, how friendly he was, how totally attractive he was as a dog and a male, how attracted he seemed to me. I developed a sensitivity somewhat similar to the normal antennae of heterosexual women toward men. Yes, a handsome male dog can cause my heart to flutter and my legs weaken - and often such a dog is completely aware of this. I know he is by the intensity of his stare at me - I just sense it, somehow - and the feeling is often confirmed as I see the beginnings of an erection swelling from his loins. I deserved that treatment I received from the alley dog - I had approached him without respect, with only my own needs in mind. He

disciplined me hard, taught me that even his scuzzy self was worthy of regard, that as a privileged receptacle for the living seed of a noble race, I had better mind my manners and my attitudes. I have tried to do that ever since - the protocol of sex with a dog is always important - and have never regretted it.

One of the most important items in that protocol is his tongue, a versatile, marvelous sex organ in itself. Today the sight of a male dog's tongue can get me steamy and aroused - it's a lovely, pink, penislike organ that can by itself fulfill a woman's sexual needs by its licking, probing, caressing. For me, an important part of foreplay is kissing and French-kissing my dog. This may sound repulsive to some people, but I have learned to love it, love the intimacy of tasting, kissing, sucking his tongue. My golden retriever Mike has taught me to become even more of an oral, osculatory person than I was before. I love his mouth, his taste, and he loves my lips and mouth as well. Kissing Mike is a delightfully wet, erotic experience. Sometimes, seeing a strange male dog with tongue draping from his mouth, I feel almost shy and embarrassed because it seems so overtly and explicitly sexual a sight. I realize that's entirely my own reaction unshared by most people; it results from my own sexual interactions with dogs - but I can't help it. I know what a dog's tongue can do to me, the thrills of intense cunnilingus that can open me so wide for him.

After my promiscuous period, I'd go to kennels, borrow a dog for a few days just to see how well we adjusted together, coax him to mate me if he would, then try another, maybe six or more different ones in as many months. So I guess I was still being promiscuous - but more systematically, at least. Not all male dogs, I found, can be taught to desire a human female - and not all of those that can are able to take her the distance, as it were. But many can and, if given the chance, will. Like human males, male dogs come in all sorts and degrees of intelligence and ability. I've learned over time to spot a good prospect from a dismal one and am rarely wrong, though I'm no longer promiscuous.

I love looking at dog pictures too. Oh dog, I want to say, do you know what you have done to me, how dear you are to my body and soul, how beautiful a thing it is to be mated by and with you? I do not want to be a female dog for you, a bitch, but a bare, warm, human woman receiving your body into mine in an act of love so strong and sweet that it causes me to swoon. Thank you for your warmth next to me, your lovely fragrant kisses, the cascading sperm from your body in my belly. Thank you, oh thank you, my love. Thank you, Mr. B. Thank you, Mike. Thank you, all my sweet, irrepressible lovers who have known me and tied me to you. And yes, thank you, Mr. alley dog, wherever you are.