At Jurgen's insistence, Diesel and I mated face to face. Jurgen positioned me on the edge of the sofa and placed the dog's forepaws on my shoulders. The big dog lapped my face excitedly with its warm sandpaper tongue while Jurgen had me guide its warm erection into me. I pressed my palms against its wide muscular chest while the heavy dog humped into me in a bestial imitation of the missionary position. The dog was heavy on me and its big, broad chest reminded me a bit of Jurgen's chest on me when we used to make love.

Once I was Diesel's lover I could see that dog had a personality. It was much like Jurgen in many ways, not only was its muscular, chesty physique much like its master's, but its arrogant swagger and dominating personality was a canine version of the man I loved. Both dog and man treated me about the same, it seemed.

After several weeks of the Diesel "dating game" I came down with a severe bladder infection and spent a Thursday night in the emergency room. Before writing out a prescription for antibiotics, the doctor quizzed me about my sex life. He joked about the newlywed disease, but frowned when he saw the scratches on my back. He never said a word about them, thank God. I had no idea what I would have told him. When I told Jurgen about the infection he told me to stay away from the dog for two weeks. He did not want me infecting Diesel with anything! He would never believe the dog infected me.

The big dog required lots of exercise. Jurgen let it run loose in his big back yard, but he also took the dog for long walks every evening. Sometimes he would invite me along. He often liked to send me out alone with the dog for walks that sometimes covered several miles over two or three hours, again, the dog decided that too.

On the evenings I walked alone with Diesel, Jurgen would give it a German command, "No girl," meaning the dog could not have sex with me. On those walks I was instructed to wear jeans so I would not be accessible to the dog. Jurgen was the only one who could say no to Diesel. When the dog stuck its nose in my crotch and started growling I was not allowed to say no. "Resistance would be ill advised," Jurgen said as he watched his dog push me down on the floor.

Sometimes Jurgen would go with us and he would have me run alongside the dog down on the bike path. Jurgen always insisted I wear my hair in a pony tail for my runs because he liked to see my hair swinging from side to side as I ran.

Jurgen liked provoking his dog around me, to keep me on edge more than anything else. He thought it was funny. He would tell Diesel that this black Lab or that Siberian Husky was going to get me and the dog would go into a jealous frenzy. "He's going to get her! He's going to get your bitch!" Jurgen would whisper to Diesel whenever another dog came near me and the big dog would react with a frightening frenzy, its ears would go up, the hair on its back would rise and it would snarl, bare its teeth and strain against the leash.

On a raw winter day Jurgen made me wear a short skirt and no panties and we went for a long walk with the dog. It was windy and cold, but the dog did not mind. It loved the outdoors. Jurgen told me to start running. I had trouble in the snow and ice. Jurgen waited a full minute, then he let the dog loose. I heard its tags jangling and its barking as it ran me down. Diesel lunged at my back and knocked me down, scraping my knees on ice. The dog mounted me and raped me in the snow in broad day light while Jurgen watched. I was shivering and bleeding. The dog wanted to get loose and stepped over my back, turning itself around over me, but we were stuck and Diesel and I laid butt-to-
butt in that awkward "tie" for several freezing minutes, but the dog, of course, did not care about my discomfort. It was a lot like its master in that regard.

I stunk of wet dog. My clothes were ruined and my ankle was sprained. The dog was happy and it ran around barking. As I limped next to him Jurgen said I made an excellent bitch. Maybe he would hire me out to other dog owners, he said with a laugh that chilled my soul. That was something he would say from time to time and it bothered me.

That dog dominated my life. Jurgen made sure of that. My shoulders constantly ached from the strain of supporting myself against the lunging weight of the big dog. My back was constantly marked by the deep red scratches inflicted by the dog's nails during our frantic lovemaking. I could not wear a bathing suit all summer because of the scratches. My clothes were getting ruined by the dog. I hardly had anything that was ripped by Diesel's sharp teeth. When I was going out in public I had learned to examine everything I wore for teethmarks. Even my underwear had teethmarks. Everything in my life seemed covered in black dog hair. My favorite halter was ruined by stains from the dog's slobber. Other clothes were marked by muddy paw prints or worse. The dog had chewed up my favorite green plaid jumper because I had not been able to get out of it fast enough. Another time the big dog has knocked me down and rolled me around the ground in its backyard run, getting its manure all over me. I was disgusted, but Jurgen just laughed and said the dog was "marking" its property. I started wearing extra perfume because I was so self conscious about smelling like a dog. Jurgen would not let me wear old clothes to his house. He insisted I dress nicely for my "dates" with Diesel, and usually had me wear a sexy negligee on Saturday nights.

While cleaning his house I made a chilling discovery in his bedroom closet. A dummy. This was different from the "intruder" in the barn that Jurgen used to train Diesel to attack. This one obviously had been for training, too, but for a different kind of lesson. This dummy was smaller, just my size. It had a chestnut brown wig and it was dressed in one of my skirts and sweaters. It had a mouth drawn on its face with my lipstick. It even had my earrings. The dummy was a grotesque sight. When I got close, I could smell my perfume on the dummy. The dummy was in pretty rough shape. My clothes were torn and smelled of dog. And the stuffing was coming out at the neck where the fabric had been ripped by the dog's teeth. One arm was torn nearly off. The eerie sight of the dummy disguised as me made me shudder. I realized Jurgen must have gone to great lengths to train his big dog to be my lover. I had images of what the training must have been like. I realized, too, that he had been training me as much as he had been training the dog.

One Saturday he decided he wanted to test the dog's endurance and he let Diesel know he wanted it to fuck me over and over again. Five times the dog mounted me and stuck its penis into me. Jurgen was thrilled and let his dog know. He told me I was what was known in the trade as "a receptive bitch." He said it as a compliment.

Whenever I was around other dogs, they went wild picking up the smell of the other dog, and the smell of canine sex on me. Once a big Retriever knocked me down in the park and started sniffing me while its bewildered owner pulled him off me, apologizing profusely, saying his dog had never acted like that before.

I had always been fascinating by the mating ritual, but Jurgen would never let me watch Diesel impregnate one of the pedigreed Rottweiler bitches. He said I would be jealous seeing my lover with another bitch and my presence would distract the dog from its duties. Diesel's mating and his show appearances were a mystery to me. I was not allowed to attend because I would be a distraction.

On the dog's fifth birthday I bought Diesel a new collar. Jurgen was touched and pleased that I would do something like that without him ordering it. He gave me the dog's old choke chain and told me I had to wear it whenever I visited the house.

Jurgen loved his role as master. And I was giving him an authority he never had with other woman. I thought he appreciated that, and he did keep telling me how unique I was.

Jurgen was a master manipulator. He knew what he had to do to control me. He showed just enough interest in me, enough consideration, to give me hope. On my birthday he told me to wear my black dress, what he called my "fuck dress", and he would take me out for drinks to celebrate. We sat in the darkened lounging drinking and talking, almost like old times, when Jurgen gave me a little gift wrapped box. I was sure it was the engagement ring I wanted so badly. My heart was pounding as I unwrapped the box. It was not an engagement ring. It was a dog tag. Jurgen had a tag made up with "Julie" engraved on one side and "Diesel's Bitch" engraved on the other. He went down to the town hall and got me licensed as a dog, registering me as a Rottweiler bitch. He added the license to the "Julie" tag on my collar, so the tags jangled when I moved, just like Diesel.

Jurgen enjoyed doing everything he could to push me into the role of his dog's bitch. He loved using that word around me. He gave me Diesel's cast off dog brushes and made me throw out my hair brushes. I had to brush my hair with Diesel's old dog brush. Jurgen made sure I carried a dog's brush and a rawhide bone in my purse. Jurgen had a color photograph of the dog enlarged and framed and ordered me to put it on the nightstand by my bed. Jurgen made me give him back my picture of him.

"You're lucky. Diesel is going to show you a purity that you will never know again with any man." Jurgen told me. "But don't forget, you're its bitch. Dogs don't love bitches the way you would like. It is not their nature."

The dog treated me differently, like I belonged to it. That dog could not get enough of me. It went crazy whenever I was around, wagging its stub of a tail, whining, and trying to nose its way into my crotch. The big dog was always prancing around, jumping on me, trying to knock me down. It acted the way dogs do when they want to play or be fed, except this dog wanted to fuck me. Under Jurgen's rules I could never resist, I could never say no. It was the dog's decision. When I was in the house and it was tied up outside it would howl incessantly until it was brought in to be with me. Those brown dog eyes watched me intently where ever I went.

Diesel certainly did not regard me as Jurgen's peer. One morning I walked into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea and when I opened the cupboard door for a cup the dog went wild, its back arched, its ears raised menacingly and it barked furiously, chasing me away from the cupboard. Jurgen found me backed into a corner crying as the angry dog snarled at me. Jurgen was furious -- with me.

"You can't help yourself to anything in this house. You fuck the dog. You walk the dog. That's it! Stay off the furniture. Stay out of the cabinets."

Jurgen lectured me on and off the rest of the day.

"I am the master. You are not. You are the bitch. The dog cannot think a bitch, whether it's you or a Rottweiler, is its master. That can't be changed. The rules have to be strict. It is all about dominance and submissiveness. That is what the dog understands. You are the bitch. You are submissive. He is the stud. And I am the master. Black and white."

The incident left me shaken and in tears. I was hurt by Jurgen's reaction and surprisingly I was hurt by Diesel's attack.

Jurgen did not let go of his anger at me. He was fuming. I had violated a rule by acting as a person in his house in front of the dog.

"There can be no ambiguity here. The dog's mind cannot handle ambiguity. You can't be a person and a dog. There is no crossing the line. Remember, you are the one who will get bitten."

I could only nod.

To punish me in front of the dog, Jurgen gave Diesel my beautiful leather purse as a chew toy. That had been a Christmas present from my mother. It broke my heart to see the dog tearing it apart.

One task I was permitted to carry out was to clean the two kennels in Jurgen's backyard. The second kennel was for the visiting bitches for the mating. I was in Diesel's kennel, bending down to pick up his turds in my gloved hands when I heard Jurgen's voice. He said two words in German that I recognized immediately as his command "Get Girl. The dog immediately had me down on the ground, growling and biting at my sweat pants as it carried out its instructions in typical frenzied canine fashion. I was menstruating and that seemed to excite the animal even more. When Diesel broke free of me Jurgen was standing outside the kennel with a camera in his hand and a big smile in his face. He tossed the dog a cookie, gave it a "Good boy," and told me to clean up the mess.

I accepted what Jurgen and Diesel wanted of me. I no longer thought about men. I think I was trying to prove to Jurgen that I was loyal. I even stopped referring to the dog as an "it." In my mind Diesel had become a "he." I even started wearing the choke chain around my neck in public. No one could possibly know its secret, and people regarded it as a bizarre fashion statement. It actually looked interesting when I wore a sweat shirt and jeans. I began to regard my adventures with Diesel as exciting and special rather than anything freakish and unnatural. Just as Diesel went from being an it, to being a dominant "he" in my mind, I accepted that I was a bitch, something submissive. No one called me Julie or treated me with any respect, not even Jurgen's friends. They all called me bitch, sometimes "Julie bitch", sometimes "The Bitch." I did not mind.

Having sex with a dog was an unnatural act, one of the most forbidden acts possible. Jurgen made sure I knew how few women would do such a thing, yet the fact that it was so forbidden, so unnatural was probably what made it seem so exciting and intense for me.

I think Jurgen was playing God. He enjoyed the power of manipulating genes and directing the breed, he was directing a great experiment with nature, combining two species. I know he kept all sorts of notes and records and photographs of my "relationship" with Diesel. He was pushing me into this unnatural relationship under the guise of anthropology. Of course, I believed Jurgen. I was blind, I loved that man so much. I would do anything for him, even give up my humanity. I worried sometimes about going to Hell.

He kept meticulous records of every aspect of Diesel's life. He had records of the dog's weight, what it ate, as well as records of its showings in competition and its stud work. Looking through the stud files I saw Jurgen had carefully recorded every encounter I had with his dog, listing me as "Bitch Julie," right alongside the names of the female Rottweilers that Diesel was paid to breed.

Jurgen documented our love affair by taking pictures of me with his dog. Whether I was out for what looked to be a routine walk with Diesel or if I was mounted by the dog with its glistening penis penetrating me, Jurgen had pictures. He had one photo of me naked with my choke chain and tags enlarged to go side-by-side with a color portrait of Diesel that he kept in his bedroom, even though I told him I was so embarrassed if someone saw it. Of course, that was the purpose.

One evening during a walk in the park a black lab ignored Diesel's growling and barking to circle me. I froze as the strange dog sniffed my rear. Suddenly Diesel lunged at the animal and the two huge dogs were snarling and tearing at each other with their teeth. I had to let go of Diesel's leash and stand back out of the way. There was nothing I could do, but watch. It was an eerie feeling to watch two huge dogs go at each other so violently, knowing that they were fighting over me. It was not unlike having two men in a bar fight over a woman, I suppose. And like a woman watching her boyfriend in a barroom fight, I cried at the sight of my lover bleeding and stood by praying he would win. The fight ended with the black lab running off all bloody and crying. Diesel was triumphant and knocked me down right there to demonstrate that I belonged to it. I had to take Diesel back to Jurgen with a torn ear and bleeding from a few other bites. The dog was not badly hurt, but Jurgen was furious that his prized dog had been damaged.

It had been so long since I had gone out with a man. I regarded my sessions with the dog as real dates after awhile, just like Jurgen wanted. The dog consumed my social life. It had been months since I had been held by a man, kissed human lips. My body began to respond instinctively to the dog. Soon the warmth of its pulsating penis inside me, the frenzied high-speed humping and the friction it generated was enough to give me genuine orgasms. As my body was trained to respond sexually to the dog I worried that I might never respond that way to a man who was not capable of the frenzied, inhuman humping and lacked the incredible warmth that Diesel had. I felt guilty about thoughts I was having about the big black Lab that I crossed paths with occasionally after its fight with Diesel and wondering what it would have done to me if it had won.

I never gave up hope of my relationship with Jurgen returning to what it had been before we started playing this weird game with the dog. But Jurgen took it so seriously. It was not a game to him. I was naive, I guess, but I believed I was doing this for him. I did start to get suspicious that he was seeing another woman at times.

Jurgen always pestered me for details about my affair with Diesel. He wanted to know every detail, what it felt like, how did it compare to a man, what did I like best. I told him the warmth. It had gotten so I craved its warmth inside me. Afterward I found out he tape-recorded those conversations.

Where I was concerned, the dog enforced the rules. If I dared break a rule and sit on the sofa Diesel would go wild, growling and barking, sticking its snout inside my skirt. If I wore panties, it would growl and nip me there, trying to tear them off to get at me. Jurgen had trained it to do that. I always wound up being pulled away from the sofa and knocked to the floor to have sex with the dog.

After several months, Jurgen worried that I was ruining Diesel for breeding, that the dog was losing its enthusiasm for other bitches, that it only wanted me. He cut back my "dates" with Diesel to one day a week, which the dog did not like, and Jurgen cut back my "romantic" walks with the dog to twice a week so Diesel could focus on his stud duties. He started talking about hiring me out to other stud dogs for entertainment. He mentioned that idea more than once. Jurgen was getting worried that I might not be good for his dog.

The dog continued to give Jurgen trouble. I had gotten to know Diesel quite well and suggested that it was not me that was upsetting the dog, but that it was angry because its time with me was being cut. That did not matter to Jurgen. The issue is over who is in control, he said. "I am the master and I will not be argued with."

When Diesel failed to mate with one brood bitch that came all the way from Texas, Jurgen ordered me to stay away from him and his dog for a week to punish the dog. During that week of exile, Diesel was excluded from a dog show when it got aggressive with a judge. Jurgen was beside himself with anger. He was afraid of losing control over his dog. He called and told me to stay away until he decided I could come back.

I told him that taking me away from Diesel would make the dog worse, but he did not care what I had to say. I was not dominant. I was surprised I had tried to talk Jurgen into letting me see the dog.

I went back to see Jurgen without waiting for him to call. Jurgen was incensed that I would disobey him. He raised his hand to hit me, but stopped when Diesel growled menacingly at him. The dog was in its fighting stance, its back arched, hair up, ears perked and teeth bared. The dog moved protectively in front of me. The expression on Jurgen's face was incredible. He looked stunned. I saw something in his eyes when he looked at me at that moment that chilled my soul: pure hatred. I left with the two of them facing each other. I hated to see that. I would rather Jurgen had hit me. I knew something terrible had happened. I called Jurgen several times, but he never picked up. I left messages on his machine. Finally, after four days of calling he called me. His message was simple: "Stay away from me and stay away from my dog."

I was restless. I was surprised at how much visiting Jurgen and his dog had become a part of my life. After several restless days I finally got out, going shopping for new clothes, flirting with guys again and going for longer and longer runs. After two weeks the scratches on my back were almost healed. I felt like I had broken the dark spell that man and his dog had cast on me. I even had a date with a real guy who had been pestering me for months to go out. We went to the movies and kissed in the car. I was feeling normal again. It felt good to talk to a man again.

Weeks went by. For the first time in more than a year my life was not dominated by Jurgen's strange sexual needs or his dog. I was surprised and relieved when I realized I had not thought of them in days.

I got my hair cut short. That was something I had wanted to do for a long time. I was sick of wearing my hair long. I had been wearing it long all my life and I wanted a change. Jurgen of course had not allowed me to get my hair cut during his year as my master. But I was not wearing my hair to please him anymore. After more than a year of having Jurgen decide everything for me down to the length and color of my fingernails to what I ate for breakfast, it felt strange to make a decision for myself. It was liberating to walk out of the hair salon without the weight of all that hair. I also bought a real hairbrush and put it in my new purse.

It took awhile for Jurgen's spell over me to break and for me to emerge from his dominance. It was hard at first to order meals for myself without thinking of him. I spent hours in front of the mirror examining my body, thinking about what I had become. I felt guilt, shame, revulsion. I felt sick to my stomach at times. I took several showers a day and went on shopping sprees to buy new clothes. I threw out anything with a dog hair or bite mark on it. I went to church every Sunday morning. I was desperate to get back to who I had been before I crossed paths with that man and his dog.

Then after six weeks Jurgen called. His terse message on my answering machine got my heart racing. He said I was to show up for my regular Saturday night date, just like we had been doing for the past year. "Be ready for a night of passion!"

I hesitated. I had finally put them behind me, or so I thought. I didn't know what to do. The guy who had taken me to the movies the last two weeks had made reservations for the two of us Saturday night at a romantic restaurant. He had potential. He really liked me. Why would I go back to Jurgen and his dog?

I went in through the side door and went straight to Jurgen's bedroom, which was part of our Saturday night routine for more than a year. He had a sexy lavender nightie laid out on the bed for me to wear. It was sheer and flimsy. It looked beautiful on me, but I knew the dog would tear it off me as soon as it saw me, especially after being without me for the longest period in more than a year. I had prepared myself for an especially rough evening by lubricating myself with KY Jelly. I heard the dog howling wildly in the backyard. Its howl had an unusual wolf like sound to it, but I figured that was because it was especially horny after two weeks. I checked myself in the mirror, more for Jurgen, obviously, than the dog, and put on my collar.

There was another man in Jurgen's living room. I was embarrassed. I started to hide, but Jurgen waved me into the room. I was so self conscious standing in that lavender nightie and choke chain in front of that stranger. I knew immediately the man's presence was no accident. He was a breeder, too, he said as he leered knowingly at me, looking at the tags hanging from my collar. He said he bred German Shepherds.

"Do you like German Shepherds?" The man seemed to be smirking at me as he asked the question. "They are beautiful animals. I have a wonderful male. Big. Handsome dog. A little on the wild side. But that makes them more interesting, don't you think?"

I did not know what to say to the man. Jurgen was silent. My heart was pounding. In a minute Diesel would be in the room. The stranger reached out and examined the tags hanging from the choke chain. I reddened with embarrassment as he read out loud the inscriptions on my tags. I heard the dog's bark again, but it was not the familiar bark that had been a part of my life. There was something slightly odd about the jangling of tags. When the dog entered the room, it was not Diesel, but a stranger, a huge German Shepherd. It immediately circled me, sniffing at my butt and growling.

"Perhaps we should leave you two alone," the stranger said.

That was so many years ago, a lifetime ago, it seems. Diesel is an old dog now, or maybe dead. I am a typical suburban soccer mom with two wonderful kids, a loving husband and a cat. I don't drink. It took me a long time, but I finally stopped smoking, too. I never miss going to church on Sunday.

To this day, I get nervous whenever a big dog shows any interest in me. Even when I am walking through the park with my kids, I am afraid when a dog comes near me. I am afraid they somehow know they can fuck me.

On my birthday I still receive a gift from Jurgen. An unsigned card and a dog biscuit.