Becoming Diesel’s Bitch

Akiko
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One night while we were lying on the floor drinking wine, smoking marijuana and listening to music he had a silly idea and I went along. I had a bit too much wine. I was too agreeable. I couldn’t really believe he would let anything happen. He was just testing me. It started out with me lying naked on the carpet and him getting the dog to sniff my cunt and lick me. He put peanut butter on me, spreading it on my throat to get the dog to lick me there. Jurgen said I was offering the dog my throat to show I was no threat.

I looked into its inhuman eyes as it watched my throat hungrily. The dog held me down, its paws on my shoulders as it lapped up the peanut butter. Jurgen then smeared the peanut butter on my chest to get the dog to lick my breasts and on my face to get the dog to “kiss” me. He spread the peanut butter on my butt and soon had the dog nuzzling and licking its wonderful tongue up the crack of my ass. I was shivering. It was intensely exciting and frightening. I had never been so close to the big dog before. I felt exposed and vulnerable.

This was the most wicked thing I had ever done. I was covered with dog saliva. Jurgen was pleased. He spread the peanut butter on my cunt to get the dog to lick me energetically. The dog growled as it licked me, its warm, rough tongue getting so deep inside. I have to admit that vigorous, warm sandpaper tongue was exciting. I held myself very still while its muzzle was between my legs and it growled menacingly, but that incredible tongue would lap and lap and lap.

The licking frenzy was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The dog was tireless and eager. I shuddered and Jurgen laughed as his dog brought me to an awesome orgasm. When the peanut butter was gone, Jurgen spread more on. After awhile, the dog was not interested in the peanut butter, but continued tonguing me. It was incredible, relentless and after a while I was raw and aching from the tongue.

“He knows his way around females. He’ll figure it out. Whether it’s a blonde or a Rottweiler, a bitch is a bitch,” Jurgen said as he watched his dog licking me, then circling my body, whining. It seemed confused, agitated.

Jurgen said something in German and the dog was suddenly on me, its forelegs tight around my waist, its hind legs digging into the carpet. It was humping frantically. I felt the length of its cock against my belly and I panicked. I screamed to get it off me. Jurgen grabbed the dog’s collar and pulled it off me, it was still straining to get to me as he pulled its heavy body away.

I had to take deep breaths to calm down. My heart was pounding out of control. We were playing a dangerous game, playing with one of the most profound taboos. The dog was agitated, growling and whining, trying to get to me. I could see its erection sticking out hard from between its rear legs. It was incredible that an animal, an alien species, could get sexually excited over me. I was scared, yet thrilled. I felt wicked. Jurgen had no conflicting feelings. He was hot. He loved it. I wanted to make sure he understood I did it for him.

“That’s what you wanted? You liked seeing that, right?” Jurgen’s voice was strangely husky. I could see he was incredibly excited.

“You were beautiful. You should have seen your face when you were cumming. God, you’re hot. Sometimes you need to do what you don’t want to do to show love. Sometimes you have to do something that frightens you to grow as a person. You impressed me.”

As he held me, I thought about what I had done, remembered how warm that dog’s prick had been against my stomach. I could still feel it. Diesel had made quite an impression. I was still shaking. As wild as the dog was, I felt safe with Jurgen there. He would protect me. Jurgen made love to me on the floor, saying it excited him to see his dog licking me like I was its bitch, that it turned him on to smell his dog on me. While Jurgen made love to me that night the dog pranced around us, whining nervously, sticking its cold nose in between us. I thought that was strange.

When I went to leave at the end of the night I found my beautiful suede coat was ruined. It had been ripped and chewed, but, something far more ominous, it was reeking of dog urine. It had been marked. I was no dog psychologist, but I knew in my heart that it was very angry with me and it was sending me a message. I did not say anything to Jurgen, though. The coat had been a gift from him and I did not want him to be upset. But Jurgen’s game did not end there. The very next time we got together he made me offer my leg to the dog to hump, which it did quite vigorously. Growling and wolfing as it did. He had been training the dog to do that before I came over. And it did not end there.

While we were cuddling on the floor, sipping wine and smoking marijuana on our next Saturday night date Jurgen called his dog and commanded Diesel to lay down next to us. Jurgen had waited until I was really high on the marijuana and he had the dog roll over on its back, exposing its belly, which Jurgen said the dog would never do for anyone else. The dog watched me as Jurgen had me lean over and look at the dog’s thing. It started out innocently enough with me tickling and rubbing the dog’s belly. The dog liked that, whining and growling softly as my hand gave it a soothing belly rub.

Jurgen told me to touch the dog’s penis. “Just touch it,” he insisted. “See what happens.” I did. The dog was on its back, its hind legs splayed as I put my finger down there timidly, gently stroking its hairy sheath. Jurgen closed my hand down over the hairy sheath and made me stroke it. His voice was hoarse. I could tell he was really getting into this. It was a very intense moment.

My heart was beating wildly. I was afraid the dog would bite. “Now kiss it!” Like Diesel, I was trained to obey him. I had several glasses of wine and I was pretty high on marijuana. Nothing seemed real. I was giddy and stupid from the joints he had me smoke. I was giggling. Soon my face was between the dog’s furry hind legs, inches away from its penis. I stuck my tongue out and gingerly licked it, then with Jurgen’s hand pushing on the back of my head, I gave it a kiss.

I was amazed to see the glistening grayish pink penis emerge from its sheath right before my eyes. My face was down there between the dog’s legs as its cock slide smoothly from its sheath. It was bigger than I had imagined. It was a little like watching the slimy aliens emerge from the shells in the Alien movie with Sigourney Weaver.

I tried to back away, but Jurgen held me firmly in place so that the pinkish grey canine cock emerged slowly toward my mouth. I was fascinated by what I was seeing. The dog’s cock was as big as any man’s, and very long. I noticed it was bent as it reached its full length and at its base featured a large bulb wider than the shaft. It was much different from any man’s penis I had ever seen.

“Kiss it,” Jurgen said in a low, husky voice. “Kiss your dog, lover.”

I closed my eyes as Jurgen made me kiss that thing. I couldn’t believe it was really happening. I couldn’t believe I was really doing that. The dog was very aroused. I could feel it was very tense and anxious.

“Now lick it, bitch. Taste it.”

Diesel held still and Jurgen was silent as the tip of my tongue came in contact with the dog’s erection. This was so forbidden! I could smell the dog, it coarse hairs brushed my nose. The pungent taste filled my mouth. An erotic stickle warmed my belly. On Jurgen’s instructions, I then knelt on all fours. Jurgen was excited. He said we would just see what the dog would do. I felt the dog sniff me, sticking its cold nose in my crotch. Then it began licking me with its warm, rough tongue. It felt like sandpaper on my pussy.

The dog circled me, sniffing. I knew I was in trouble from the way its ears were perked up and the hair on its back was up. The dog got more excited and started growling a low throaty growl, sometimes making a whining noise. I made myself hold still. I was doing this for the man I loved. I was showing him the totality of my devotion to him. Jurgen said something in German and the dog responded immediately with a yelp and climbed on my back. Its paws digging at my shoulders, its nails raking my back as the dog tried to get on me. It was struggling to get a hold
of me, growling, digging its hind feet into the carpet.

I was relieved when it gave up and slid off me. The dog was not finished with me though, and it circled me, licking my face and growling as it passed my head. When it got behind me again Jurgen repeated his German word and the dog mounted me again.This time its front legs locked around my waist with amazing strength. Its grip was like steel. Its big chest rested heavily on my back, its muzzle was on my shoulders and I felt its drool on my skin as the huge dog started to frantically hump me. I couldn’t believe this was happening, but I braced myself against its weight, waiting for it to be over. Its claws scratched my butt, stinging me.

I was not ready for what happened next. I hate to think Jurgen intended it to happen. Things just got out of control. I did not think it was possible, but I felt its cock against my thigh. It was hard, wet and long. It was also incredibly warm. I started to wriggle and cry, but the dog growled meanly until I held still. It was getting desperate. I felt its warm tip touching my pussy and I thought I would die.

If I thought the man I loved would intervene to spare me the indignity of being raped by his dog, my hope was shattered when Jurgen reached between us and helped guide the canine cock into me! The big dog was straining and digging into me, jabbing its warm penis into me, driving deep into me, as deep as any man had ever gone. I was stunned and confused by what was happening. I felt paralyzed by my fear.

I was surprised at how wonderfully warm the dog’s penis was inside me. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Its front legs tightened around my waist and I felt like I was in a vice as the dog humped wildly into me. I was in a fog. I heard the sounds of the dog’s tags jangling as it humped me frantically. The buckle on its collar was scraping painfully along my back. Diesel was growling and wolfing as it strained into me. It’s back feet treading the floor.

I felt the dog pressing deeper into me and realized Jurgen had his hand on the dog, pressing it down. I winced as I felt that last inch, that swollen bulb on the base of its cock, enter me. Jurgen knew exactly what he was doing. The dog’s chin and massive chest rested heavily on my back. I could hear it panting, its drool on my skin. That strange penis pulsated inside me. Jurgen never made a move to stop his dog. I had enough. I got panicky.

“Get him off me!” I begged in a shrieking voice.

Jurgen did nothing. “You might want to keep the knot out. Otherwise you might get hurt,” he said in that husky voice.

I had not thought about the knot. I reached down between my legs and touched the canine prick ramming into me. I felt its hardness and heat and then I felt the knot. It seemed huge! It felt like it was the size of a tennis ball, certainly more than I could handle. In panic, I clenched my muscles tight and pushed against it with my fingers.

I was gasping and crying. It was like it was not really happening. I could not believe it was me this was happening to. Behind me, I could hear my lover’s voice encouraging his dog. “Atta Boy! Good Dog. Get her, Diesel!”

The big dog was out of control. I tried to calm the dog down with a soothing voice, but there was no calming this dog. It was an animal, not a man, not a lover who cared about my feelings. The dog did not care if it hurt me badly. There was no reasoning with the beast. Instinct drove it to drive its knot into me and it certainly wasn’t going to be gentle with me. I was clumsy and outmatched. With a searing pain and suddenness that made me scream, the knot was inside me.

Suddenly, the dog froze on me. I felt its muscles tense. That dog’s penis pulsed strongly three times inside me. There was an incredible sensation of warmth and fullness inside me. The dog had been frenzied, and fast. It had only been on me a few minutes before its come was oozing down my thighs. I thought it was over, but Jurgen knew better.

He warned me not to move. I felt the dog’s cock swelling inside me, growing bigger and thicker. Its forelegs still gripped my waist as it rested its massive chest on my back. The dog was panting quietly. I could feel its heart beating against my back. I remembered how it took three men to keep Diesel from damaging the brood bitches it was bred with. Now I was the brood bitch. There was an insistent sense of fullness inside me as the thickened dog cock filled my womb. I had never felt anything like that before.

“You better not move.”

After awhile, the panting dog raised one hind leg over my hip. I felt that thick knob at the base of its penis inside my vagina as it shifted its position until the dog and I were locked together back to back. It was that swollen knob that held me to the dog.

“That’s the tie, honey. Don’t fight it. Stay still if you don’t want to end up in the hospital,” Jurgen said in a low whisper.

I was terrified, humiliated.

I stayed “tied” to that dog for several long minutes before its cock slipped free. I was a mess. I was trembling. My back was scratched from the dog’s clawing and I could feel the dog slobber in the scratches. I looked down and saw blood on my thighs. I worried about infection.

I couldn’t stop trembling. I crawled away and knelt next to the sofa, shivering as I tried to compose myself. I felt sick to my stomach. I needed reassurance from my boyfriend, but Jurgen was across the room hugging his Rottweiler.

“Good dog!” Jurgen shouted, rewarding the happy beast with a cookie and patting its head. “Good work!”

I felt ashamed and abused. I was also aching and scared. I wiped away the tears and found my glass of wine. I needed something to get the bitter taste out of my mouth and soothe my stomach. I was sore and bloody.

“You were beautiful, Akiko,” Jurgen said, as he rubbed his dog’s head affectionately. “I always wondered what that would be like. Incredible.”

Like Diesel, Jurgen’s praise washed away my bad feelings. I desperately needed to be held by Jurgen, to sleep in his arms, to be kissed and reassured that he loved me. Jurgen did not hug me, though. He did not want to confuse his dog. Jurgen would not let me clean myself. He thought the dog would want to do that. The dog was agitated, pacing the room, growling and barking.

“The dog’s jealous. You’re his bitch now.”

To emphasize that point, Diesel came over and very aggressively licked me clean.

“Sleep with your lover tonight,” Jurgen said when I tried to get ready for bed. He made me sleep on a blanket on the floor with the dog. I laid curled up with the dog all night. The dog wanted its space and was not at all affectionate with me the way it craved affection from Jurgen. When I got cold and moved closer to the dog in the middle of the night for its warmth it responded with a warning growl. It was crazy.

In the morning Jurgen scraped oatmeal into the dog’s bowl and said, “Here’s your breakfast.” He said I had fleas and smelled like a dog. He only called me by one name after that – bitch. I was Diesel’s bitch, exclusively Diesel’s bitch. As if on cue, the dog tried to nose its way into my crotch. I slowly backed away and the dog whined as I closed the door. I went back to my apartment the next day, locked the doors, took my phone off the hook and kept the lights off. I filled the tub with scalding hot water and made myself sit in it for hours as if I could sterilize my body from that forbidden act. I sat in the tub and cried out of shame and hurt. I felt abused and betrayed.

I loved Jurgen so much. I wanted to marry him. He was just looking to find a woman to sic his dog on. I could not really hate Jurgen, though, and after a while I started to think about the incredible warmth of the dog’s cock inside me and I found myself touching myself until I orgasmed in the water. The orgasm was a intense physical relief from the stress that had built up inside me, but it did not relieve me of my guilt. I still felt so evil.

I did not go to see Jurgen after that. I was too humiliated and repulsed by what had happened. I stayed at my apartment, eating whatever I had in the refrigerator because I could not bear to go outside. I slept a lot. I was like those bitches after Diesel had finished with them. I was exhausted and sore. I was relieved, though, that the bleeding had stopped after the first day. I took several baths a day, brushed my teeth and gurgled with Listerine every hour and dabbed Miss Dior perfume all over me. I was sore and worried. I missed Jurgen. I had loved him more than any man.

I stopped going to work and I did not even care when my boss called me to tell me I had been fired. I was numb.

After more than a week — the longest stretch I had gone without my Jurgen in more than a year — he sent over a romantic card, a dozen beautiful roses and a dog biscuit. The dog biscuit was humiliating, but the roses were wonderful. I missed Jurgen. He was difficult to please, but he was the most exciting man I had ever known. I wanted to be with him. I made a covered dish of Jurgen’s favorite beef stew, dressed the way he liked me — in a short denim skirt and halter top — and went over to his house. The dog was tied up out back and started barking loudly and straining on its chain when it saw me.

Jurgen hugged me and kissed me on the forehead. He patted me on the top of the head, jokingly. He said he was glad to see me. He sat me down on his sofa and poured me wine. We ignored the incessant howling of the dog as best we could as we talked. The dog was going crazy. Finally, Jurgen went outside. He had not said anything to me, but I knew he was letting the dog in. I could hear its nails clattering frantically on the tile floor in the kitchen, and those damn tags jangling. I tensed. The dog yelped and made a beeline for the living room where it smelled me. The dog was beside itself with excitement. Its stub of a tail was wagging wildly. Diesel’s ears were up and the dog was whining and shaking at the sight of me.

“He’s glad to see you,” Jurgen said calmly. “Diesel missed you.”

The dog moved on me immediately, burrowing its snout up my skirt. Its wet nose pressing against my thighs. With its muzzle in my skirt, the dog started growling menacingly and nipping at me. I was terrified.

“It knows what it wants!” Jurgen said, smirking as I cringed, shrank back and parted my legs, afraid of being bitten by the frantic animal. It got its teeth into my panties and began shaking its head, backing away, tearing my panties right off me.

“I taught him that while you were away,” Jurgen said proudly as the dog burrowed its snout back up my skirt, its rough tongue now licking at my vagina. Tears of humiliation streamed down my face.

The dog gripped the hem of my skirt in its jaws and dug its claws into the carpet, straining as it backed away, tugging me off the sofa and toward the floor. It was growling, its teeth bared. I looked to Jurgen for help, expecting him to call off the dog with a few harshly spoken German words. Jurgen said nothing. He just watched with an amused smile on his face. Our eyes met and he just shrugged.

“Say something! Make it stop,” I whispered pathetically. “Call your dog off me!”

“I’m not getting involved. This is between you and the dog,” the man I had loved so fiercely said just before he turned his back on me and walked out of the room.

As the dog used its power to drag me onto the floor I heard the refrigerator door open and the unmistakable sound of a beer can being opened. I had twisted around as the dog dragged me from the sofa and I was on my hands and knees, trying to get to my feet and the dog had worked itself into an absolute frenzy. The dog’s snarling face was inches from mine. Its lips were back, its teeth bared. Saliva dripped onto the carpet. I was shivering with terror.

“If you don’t want your throat ripped out in the next ten seconds, Akiko, I recommend you slowly lay down on your back. Very slowly.” Jurgen’s words were calm and softly spoken.

I had no choice. I did as he said, going onto my back in slow motion. The dog was still snarling and baring its teeth inches from my face. The hair on its back was raised. Its ears were flattened. I was in trouble. “Offer it your throat, Akiko.”

I didn’t move. I thought about the woman jogger and her four hundred stitches. I tried not to imagine what that must look like. Four hundred stitches. I thought about the teen-age boy who had been mauled just the other day. I tried not to think about that snarling dog baring its teeth and slobbering in rage at me at that moment.

“Offer the dog your throat. Show him you are submitting. If you don’t, you will be torn apart. I know what I am talking about.”

I raised my head, presenting the angry dog with my throat. I couldn’t stop shaking. I was so vulnerable at that moment to a frenzied animal that was capable of killing me in a moment. When the dog’s jaws closed down around my throat and growled I peed on the carpet. I knew I was dead. But the dog did not bite down. It held my throat in its jaws and growled.

“He just establishing its dominance, Akiko. That’s its nature. If you are going to survive, you must be totally submissive,” Jurgen said. “The stud dominates the bitch. Welcome to the animal kingdom.”

When the dog finally released my bruised throat, Jurgen told me to lick its mouth. “That is all submissive behavior the dog can understand,” Jurgen told me as I desperately lavished the dog’s mouth with my tongue.

“You have to understand Diesel will never tolerate any sign of equality or dominance from you. Do you understand? This is not a poodle. You must be totally submissive to it. Or suffer the consequences.”

As Jurgen calmly sipped his beer, I obeyed every instruction he gave me and carefully wriggled out of my damaged skirt and torn panties, slipped out of my halter and got back on my hands and knees, presenting myself to the eager dog. It mounted me with urgency.

“What Diesel wants, Diesel gets!” Jurgen said smugly as Diesel got me.

“Good dog, Diesel!”

After the dog had ejaculated inside me and its cock swelled to fill my womb, Jurgen got up and turned on the television set, clicking restlessly through the channels. “You should be grateful,” he said to me while I knelt back-to-back with his dog, my head resting on the floor, enduring the “tie” that follows mating, waiting several long minutes for that dog’s cock to shrink enough to slip out of me. “People pay me a lot of money to let Diesel fuck their bitches. You get it for free.”

When the dog’s penis shrank and slipped away, Jurgen gave the dog a cookie and a big hug, rewarding it for what it had done to me. I knew he was training the dog, teaching it that by fucking me it was pleasing its master. That was powerful motivation for Diesel. In fact, it was what motivated me, too. Jurgen told me things between us could never be the same. Yes, he loved me, more than ever. He said I never looked so beautiful or sexy as when I was with his dog. Not many women would do that and I was special. But he did not want to confuse his dog. I could no longer be his girlfriend, I was now the dog’s bitch. And like Diesel, I was Jurgen’s pet. But in the dog’s world, a bitch is a bitch, and I rated beneath both males in that household.

Jurgen never let me forget what I had done. I had let him push me too far, farther than he could stomach himself. He would scrape food into the dog’s bowl and make me eat on the floor next to the dog, calling it a romantic dinner with my lover. I was there to serve at the dog’s pleasure only. He joked cruelly that I might have a litter some day. He called me a brood bitch. When he had his next ritual with Diesel, making the dog present his paws and muzzle to Jurgen, he had me kneel next to him and had the dog sit close to me. After he went through the ceremony declaring the dog’s paws and muzzle to belong to him, Jurgen placed the dog’s paw against my lips and told me to lick it. When I did, Jurgen announced in his most authoritative voice, “Diesel’s bitch.”

He had me sit still while he had the dog’s paws rest on my shoulder and he repeated the announcement, “Diesel’s bitch.” It was official. For Jurgen, and for the dog, that little ritual carried all the authority of a wedding ceremony.

Things were different. The way the dog looked at me after that. It always wanted ME. It was humiliating to be wanted by a dog. Jurgen made me walk the dog at night. Jurgen called them “romantic walks” with my lover. I never took the dog on those walks, the dog took me, straining its massive weight on the leash to set the direction and pace.

If I lagged behind or started off in the wrong direction, the dog would snarl viciously. It was clear who was dominant in our relationship. Diesel was the alpha dog. On those walks, Diesel would go wild if another dog came near me. He would lunge at it, snarling viciously, its teeth bared. It would not allow any other male dog around me. It was jealous, protecting its property.

Jurgen said the dog was his best friend and he always let me know he loved that dog more than me. He said the dog only loved its master, not me. Jurgen said the relationship between Master and Dog was so strong that no bitch would ever come between them. If Diesel were ever to injure me, Jurgen said he would not hesitate to let me bleed to death and dump my body and not risk his beloved dog being destroyed. That chilled me, but I had no reason to doubt him.

Jurgen would no longer have sex with me. He said he would not put his cock where a dog’s cock had been. He said he did not fuck dogs. And I was a dog now. I was beneath him. He would not even kiss me. We did not go to the movies or out to dinner. I was hurt. I had not given up my dream of marrying Jurgen. He is an unusual man and I tried so hard to be the unusual woman that he would want.

“You don’t understand dogs. They are very simple. Obedience. Loyalty. Courage. He thinks you are his now. You are his now. Think of it from the dog’s perspective. If I made love to you now, I would become his rival. It would ruin our relationship. Diesel’s and mine. He would not trust me. I’m his master. He would be confused.”

When I protested, saying we could make love at my apartment and the dog would never know, Jurgen said it would smell his scent on me and feel betrayed.

“That would be unfair to the dog,” he said, closing any further discussion on that topic. “And by the way, from now on, keep off the furniture.” He was serious. I was not allowed to sit on the sofa, lay on his bed or eat at the table ever again. After all, what would Diesel think?

While cleaning the bedroom I found some Camel cigarette butts with telltale red lipstick marks in the ashtray on the nightstand. That was the brand Jurgen’s old girlfriend, the one with the bleached blonde hair and rose tattoo, smoked. That confirmed my suspicions. I had smelled her perfume on his pillow case when I did the laundry, but I was still devoted to Jurgen and even though it hurt, I continued doing everything I could to please him.

Jurgen wanted to keep his precious Diesel on a regular schedule so it would continue to perform for what he called “the paying bitches.”

Jurgen decided when I could see him, and his dog. He insisted that I come over to his house twice a week for “dates” with Diesel, never more, and never less. He made me dress up for those dates and he trained the dog to “ask” him before it mounted me. And I was instructed to come over four evenings a week to walk the dog.

When I was at Jurgen’s house I was there to see the dog, not him. And the dog and Jurgen decided if there would be sex. Once the dog decided, there was nothing I could do. I was not allowed to say no. When that dog stuck its nose in my crotch I was expected to be completely pliant. But Jurgen kept tight limits on my visits.

“If the dog had his way, he’d be fucking you ten times a day! You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

He made me say yes.

From then on, my Saturday nights belonged to Diesel and Jurgen. Instead of sex with me the way it used to be between me and Jurgen, Jurgen would have me wear a sexy nightie and have me lay on floor and let dog into room. He would sit on the sofa and watch it fuck me. The dog had a ritual of sniffing me, growling and licking my face before it mounted me.

Jurgen always rewarded with praise and its favorite cookie. I learned the German command Jurgen uttered before the dog mounted me that first time was “Get girl”, the command he gave Diesel when it was breeding a brood bitch. After that first night, though, Diesel did not need his master’s command to mount me.

As we got more comfortable with each other as lovers, the dog and I found new positions, and it would take me on my back and fuck me in the missionary position, its paws on my shoulders, licking my face with its big red tongue, biting my throat and growling as it jabbed its penis into me. Just like a wife grows accustomed to her husband’s preferences and manners in bed, I got quite familiar with the dog’s rituals and habits. I could sense when it was about to ejaculate inside me.

I learned that by pressing myself back into him, I could relieve some of the pressure from the heavy dog’s humping into me. And I developed a technique of resting my face and one elbow on the floor when I was being mounted so that I could free one hand to press against my vagina to protect it somewhat. The massive dog outweighed me by more than twenty pounds and when it got really going on me, of course, it was more than I could support and he would break me down beneath him.

As a lover, the dog was unlike any man I had known. Diesel was a quick, powerful, dominating lover, and it was never satisfied with just once. It had to have me at least two or three times before it would leave me alone. The dog always left me scratched and sore, aching and thrilled. Jurgen made me talk to the dog the way I had talked to men in bed while it mounted me, whispering that I loved it, encouraging it, whispering come on, love, the way I used to talk to Jurgen in bed.

I also became more skilled at playing with the dog’s penis, learning to lure it out of its sheath so that I could kiss it, suck it’s long, crooked erection and lick the reddish bulb at its base. Jurgen was thrilled when I actually succeeded in making the dog cum in my mouth. The dog’s cum was more fluid and pungent than the men I have tasted, and its three powerful ejaculations produced more cum than I could swallow.

Jurgen was thrilled by the lewd sight of his dog’s cum drooling down my chin. Jurgen said there were not many women that could do that with a dog! After awhile Diesel liked me doing that so much the dog would sometimes demand I suck its cock on our dates rather than mate. 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 teeth marks. Even my underwear had teeth marks. 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 trained me as much as he had trained 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. 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 when 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 “Akiko” 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 “Akiko” 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 when 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 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 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 Akiko or treated me with any respect, not even Jurgen’s friends. They all called me bitch, sometimes “Akiko 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 Akiko,” right along 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 a while, 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 naïve, 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 pestered 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 worn 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 backto 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 done 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 when 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.

The End.

xxx-fiction-story-disclaimer3

 

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