It shouldn't happen to a dog

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Rick Mathews was a smooth-talking double-glazing salesman, who could talk his way into any deal, and virtually any female's bed.But he certainly wasn't expecting the latter when he visited Lady Markham at her country mansion.

It Shouldn't Happen to a Dog
by Lindale

"That's a large dog, Fiona," I said, nervously nodding down to the floor of her lounge into which she had just shown me, where a huge dog lay flat out. Fortunately, he seemed fast asleep. "He's not dangerous is he?"

"I'd rather you called me Lady Markham," the woman said. "He's a rather large Neapolitan Mastiff and no, he's not dangerous. He's dead."

"Dead!" I stared again at his body and cautiously sniffed the air. "Did he die recently?"

Lady Markham sniffed, in a rather different way to me, as though I was a turd she'd just discovered on her lounge carpet. "Two months ago. He was such a wonderful companion to me. I've had him stuffed so he'll always be with me."

"That's nice," I said, trying not to let the relief show in my voice. Personally, I prefer my dogs hot, in a bread roll with plenty of mustard, but thought it politic not to say so. "Now, I take it you've had chance to read through the estimate we sent you for your double-glazing. Do you have any questions about it?"

"You do like dogs, don't you, Mr Mathews?"

"Oh, yes," I hastened to reassure her, deciding not to suggest she call me Rick. "Unfortunately, I live on my own in a flat so I really don't have the opportunity to keep one. You're so fortunate living on this lovely country estate." And stonking rich, no doubt, I thought. So just sign on the dotted line.

"I am indeed," she agreed. "I have a stud kennels here. I'm trying to breed larger sizes of Neapolitan Mastiff, and Oscar was my prize dog. He and I spent so much time exploring the estate together and he enjoyed getting his nose into things. Dogging, I suppose you call it."

I tried not to explode with surprise. Whatever word she had meant to say, dogging was certainly not one of the occupations of Lady Markham of Wenlock. She must be fifty if she was a day; more likely over sixty. I'd never been good at estimating women's ages; especially positively ancient ones. But in her check jacket and matching skirt, she looked the very pillar of respectability – very much the Lady of the Manor.

"Right," I said in a non-committal tone. "Now about the estimate…"

"I should explain that Oscar is not really stuffed," she unhelpfully clarified.

"He's not?"

"No. They created a moulded plastic body – 3D printing, I think they call it, nowadays – and his skin was put over it. But it means they can make his shape exactly the same dead as he was alive. Wonderful, isn't it?"

"Modern technology," I said, adding with my usual sales flourish, "Which is, of course, fully integrated into our double-glazed windows. The plastic we use is the latest, heat-insulating design…"

"The problem is," Lady Markham interrupted, and I paid careful attention, since I knew I could counter any technical criticism she might have of my company's windows. "The problem is," she repeated, "that he doesn't move."

"No, well it's a bit difficult if he's dead," I replied.

"Oh, no," she countered. "I explained what I wanted to the taxidermist and he understood exactly. He made it so that the skin can be unzipped from the plastic body and put over a live body."

I hesitated. "But that would mean," I cautiously said, "that you'd need a dog just the same size and shape as Oscar, and clearly he was a dog in a million." Hell, he was more the size of a small pony than a dog.

"Obviously, that was going to be very difficult to achieve," she said.

"Right," I said, wondering where this conversation was going. Did she want our company to provide her with a new dog as a sweetener? Whilst we were expecting to make a hefty profit on this job, I guessed that buying thoroughbred dogs would certainly eat into it.

"So I accepted that the resemblance might not be perfect when my taxidermist said that with a dog of Oscar's size, he could design it so the skin would fit over a person. They'd have to be the right-sized, of course."

"Right," I repeated. "So do you have someone in mind who's going to be wearing the skin?"

"You'd be perfect for it," she said. I think my mouth must have gaped open, as she added, "I realised as soon as you walked into the room. You're just the right size."

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head, "you're saying you want to take the dog's skin off the mould it's currently on and get me to wear it?" I had a wide grin on my face to show I understood she was making a silly joke.

"Yes," she said.

That wiped the smile off my face. She was a total loony. "I'm sorry," I said. "I don't think I'd be able to do that."

"Fair enough," she said, closing the folder containing my company's quotation and holding it out for me to take. "Goodbye, Mr Mathews."

"Er… Wait."

She looked at me expectantly.

"Can you explain again what you want me to do?"

"Certainly, Mr Mathews. I want you to put on the skin of my lovely Oscar and pretend to be him for a while. I would very much like to relive his company again."

I looked again at the dead dog. "But it probably won't fit."

"I think it will, but there's only one way to find out."

"You mean try it?"

"Of course." She still held my company's folder in her hand and she moved it so it hung above her wastebin."

"OK, I'll give it a go," I said. After all, the whole idea was preposterous. There was no way that dog skin would fit over a man.

"Excellent," she said, putting the folder back onto her desk and walking over to the dead dog and going down on her knees.


Ten minutes later, she'd removed the giant dog's skin and was holding it up before me. It looked even bigger now than when it had been lying on the floor. And it wasn't just skin; much of the meat beneath had been left attached so you could see how when it fitted over a man, it would form a doggy shape.

"I think you're just about the right size," Lady Markham said, a smirk of satisfaction on her face.

It was true; I've always been a bit of a squirt and, end to end, we were about the same. "But quite a different shape," I argued.

"I think my taxidermist has allowed for that when he did his work. Still, there's only one way to find out. I'll leave you for a few minutes. You need to remove all your clothes and insert your legs into the lower half and pull it up to your waist. I'll come back in, then, and help with the rest."

She handed me the skin and marched out of the room. "Don't take too long over it," she bellowed as she departed.

I felt the skin in my hands. The taxidermist really had done a tremendous task. Parts of the skin were so thin, they were like hair-covered tights, whilst other parts still had lots of meat around them. It was weird; I should have felt revolted by the whole idea, but instead I was becoming quite intrigued. Could I really look anything like that magnificent beast which had been lying on the floor just a few minutes ago? "Naw, impossible," I muttered to myself.

"How are you getting on?" Lady Markham yelled through the door, breaking me out of my reverie.

I hurriedly removed my clothes, deciding to leave on my underpants, partly because, for some stupid reason, I had a massive boner. There was a zip which was open right down the front, from throat to groin. I pushed the top of the suit backwards, sat down and cautiously thrust first one leg then the other into the rear legs of the skin and pulled it up to my thighs. My feet wouldn't fit right down into the ends of the legs, so it meant I'd be on the balls of my feet when I stood up, a task I found particularly difficult as the skin didn't bend at the knees. I had to push myself upright using the arms of my chair.

"Have you finished?" Lady Markham marched into the room, regardless of whether or not I was decent. "I thought I told you to remove all your clothes," she bellowed, seeing the top of my underpants. She delved into her jacket pocket and produced one of those knives they use for pruning flowers. Her hand roughly grabbed the top of my underpants, yanked them upwards and with the knife, she slashed through first the left side, then the right. With another enormous yank, she pulled the pants out from the skin, almost taking my testicles with it.

"Ouch!" I yelled. "That really hurt. And you've ruined my underpants." I pointed at the shredded garment which she'd thrown to the floor.

"Perhaps that will teach you to do as you're told," she said, slipping the knife back into her pocket. She reached behind me and pulled the skin up my back until it was level with my shoulders. "Push your arms into the sleeves," she ordered. "You'll have to curve your fingers so they fit into the gloves at the end."

As I pushed my arms into the sleeves, she helped it over my shoulders until I could feel the dog's large jaw resting against the back of my neck.

"My hands aren't going all the way in," I said, realising they were only partway down the sleeves.

"It's designed that way," she said. "The point is that human legs are longer than their arms. If dogs were designed that way, their bodies wouldn't be level with the ground. So you have false extensions to your forelegs. Now let's get the head in place."

She put one hand over my shoulder and pulled the dog's head forward, whilst the other hand pushed hard backwards on my forehead. After some heaving, the dog's head came over my own head with a rush and slipped over the front of my face until I was totally engulfed.

"Open your mouth," she ordered. "Let's get the jaw in place.

I couldn't see anything at this point but I obligingly opened my mouth and she shoved something right inside so I couldn't close it again. Presumably the inside of the dog's mouth was now inside mine. Yuk.

I felt her pull open the jaws and fiddle around inside. "Stick out your tongue," she said. "I'm afraid you won't be able to bite like a normal dog. After all, I wouldn't want you biting me." She guffawed.

"I cnt thee," I said as I stuck out my tongue. I could feel something enveloping my tongue which wasn't very pleasant. I tried to pull my tongue back, but instead it was sucked forwards. It felt like my tongue was being pulled out of my mouth.

"Uuh!" I went, the only noise I could make.

"Just a minute," Lady Markham said, "and I'll adjust the head so you'll be able to see."

She gave an enormous heave on my head which twisted it upwards. Unfortunately, it pulled out my tongue even further. I could now see, but my tongue was being ripped out.

"Thoppit," I said. "Ith thainful."

"Oh shut up moaning," she said. "I'd better turn on your bark." She fiddled around my throat and clicked something.

I was about to say that I'd changed my mind about the whole thing; that she could stuff her double-glazing order, but with my first syllable, I barked. "Woof!"

At least, some electronic gubbins in my throat converted my voice to a loud bark and anything I might mutter was drowned out.

Stop it, I wanted to say. "Woof, woof."

Let me out. "Woof, woof, woof."

"For heaven's sake, stop barking," she snapped. "I'm doing everything as quickly as I can. Now you'd better lie on the couch for the next bit."

She gave me a pull and a twist at the same time and I flopped down onto the couch. She grabbed the zip pull beneath my throat and pulled it downwards. As I struggled to get out of the position I was in, I found the skin enveloping me, my arms prevented from moving as they normally would, and of course, my hands replaced by paws.

"You need to bend your legs up more," she said, grabbing hold of both my legs under one arm and forcing them towards my belly, whilst continuing to pull the zip downwards.

Since I couldn't bend my knees, it really felt as though she was trying to break my body in half. Oh! Oh! "Woof, woof."

"There," she said. "That's the zip sorted." I tried to push my legs straight, so they were in line with my torso, but the constricting shape of the skin forced them to maintain a right-angle with it. Imagine a corset with a ninety degree bend in it. That's what this was like.

"I just need to sort out your bollocks."

Oh but... "Woof, woof."

She reached down to where I'd already noticed a slit through the material which I'd assumed would act simply as a fly opening. Instead, she split it apart and roughly grabbed my tackle and pulled it through the slit. "Rather spoil the line, wouldn't it," she said, "if we had a man's cock pushing out there. Fortunately, I still have Oscar's cock and bollocks all ready to provide the disguise." She actually held out the item in her hand, a rather stubby, hair coloured cock with small balls. "These will fit over the top of yours."

But they won't fit in there. "Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof."

"For heaven's sake," she yelled. "STOP BARKING!" She accompanied it with a smart slap on my bum.

"HOWL!" I went. That slap, which shouldn't have hurt at all, was unbelievably painful.

"Ha," she said, with a self-satisfied grin. "I'm going to teach my dog obedience if it kills him. I had the taxidermist embed some drawing pins into the skin on the rump. Normally, the points are buried in the dog's rump, but give it a smack and they stick into your flesh. So just learn to be obedient and you won't experience that again. I don't want any spurious barking, just because I order you to do something you don't want to do. Now keep still whilst I fit your new cock and balls."

I shut up as she fumbled around with my cock and pulled the dog's genitalia over my own. My cock, which had long ago lost any thoughts of an erection, now seemed trapped in a tiny container.

"Right. You'd better try standing up," she said. She roughly pulled me sideways off the couch, fortunately legs first and I tentatively tottered around. "Not bad," she observed. "Of course, you're much more stable with four legs."

If you want to fully appreciate my position, try standing in front of a mirror next to a chair. Bend over as far as you can to rest your palms on the chair seat. Now look in the mirror. If the chair height is right, your back is horizontal and you're starting to resemble a quadruped. Now imagine you're covered with an animal skin and you realise my position. Given that, in this corset-like skin, I couldn't stand upright, the only sound I could make was to bark, and that with my paws, I couldn't get my fingers to the zip and you realise the hopelessness of my situation. I only hoped she didn't want to play this game for too long but in the meantime, I had no choice but to comply.

"I think we'd better go walkies," she said. She observed me and added, "You're allowed to bark once or twice in anticipation when I say walkies."

I sullenly kept quiet. I wasn't playing her stupid doggy games. She stared at me and then grinned. "We'd better put you into your lead. You'll like that."

No fucking way. "Woof, woof-woof, woof."

Her grin turned into a smile. "There. I knew you'd start to get excited by the idea." She went out into the hall and came back a moment later dangling a lead and harness. I moved as rapidly as I could away from her, but there was nowhere to go. She wedged me against the couch with her knee and in a second the harness was fastened around my chest, and the other part of it – a choker – was around my neck.

"It's Ricky, isn't it? Come on then, Ricky. Walkies."

I stubbornly stood my ground. Let her try to pull me outside. She stood next to me, the lead held tightly and then stepped forward. The choker tightened around my neck; tighter and tighter. I was being throttled. I either walked or I died. I walked.

"Good, Ricky," she smiled. "You've learnt your first lesson. Do as your Mistress commands or you're in trouble. Do you understand, Ricky?"

Yes. "Woof."

"Good boy."

She led me out of the back of the house and into a yard area, gated at the one end, so even if I was able to slip the leash, I had nowhere to go.

"Now it's fine if you want to weewhilst we're walking, Ricky, but I really don't want you to do any messy poo. Do you understand?" She secured my lead to a ring fixed to the wall, and then walked around the back of me so I couldn't see what she was doing. I felt her pass the end of the lead under my rear leg, wrap it around again and then she secured the free end of the leash to the same ring on the wall, pulling it tight so I was tied, front and rear ends to the ring. I twisted my head around as far as I could to see what she was doing. She seemed to be fiddling with a hosepipe.

"So in order that you don't do any nasty poo," she said, "we're going to clean you out with this." She showed me the end of the hosepipe with a long, thin sprinkler attachment. With horror, I knew exactly how she was going to clean me out.

No! "Woof!"

I could feel her fumbling with the thing around my arsehole. Get off! "Woof, woof." I was clenching my buttocks as tight as I could but she was forcing it inside, by wriggling it about. Once she had it past my ring, I could feel it sliding deeper and deeper inside me.

"That's fine," she said. "I'll just secure it to your harness so it won't slip out, then turn on the hose and retire to a safe distance."

You can't fucking do this to me! "Woof, woof, woof-woof, woof, woof, woof, woof."

Whether she understood or not, she sadistically smiled at me to indicate that was exactly what she could – and was going – to do. She strode off, out of sight and I heard her turning on the tap. I could feel cold water filling my bum. It was so cold and my bum was inflating like a balloon. It was hurting so much, it felt like I was going to explode.

And then I did. Not literally, of course because my body stayed intact, but I felt everything burst out of my arsehole as my bum deflated.

OK, I'm done. "Woof-woof, woof, woof." I could feel the hose starting to fill my bum up again with icy cold water.

Hello. It's finished. "Woof-woof, woof, woof." Still my arse inflated. Oh, fuck, I thought.


She must have let it go through four or five cycles of absolute hell before returning to look at me.
"Excellent," she said, after the next explosion. "The water coming out now is so clear, I could put it into a bowl and get you to drink it.

"Don't worry," she said, laughing at the expression on my face, whatever that may have been. "I know that doggies like you don't have the stomach like my Oscar had."

She bent over to pull the sprayer thing out of my bum, and then used it to spray down my rear end, presumably removing the residue of my explosions.

"And now," she said with her stupid smile, "my Ricky has a nice clean inside. So let us go for a walk in the park."

She owned about fifty acres of mainly wooded estate, with her manor house set more or less in the middle, and her stud kennels to the rear of the main building. But we set out at a brisk walk across the lawn at the front of the building. With my legs unable to bend, I had difficulty in keeping up at first. She 'encouraged' me by keeping me on a short lead and choking me whenever I lagged behind. Actually, once I'd sorted out the coordination of my front and rear legs, it wasn't so bad, and by the time we'd reached the trees, I was managing quite well.

She slowed down a little, presumably to allow me to sniff the trees, which I had no interest in doing. Experiencing life at that height was certainly a new experience, as of course, was being led on a chain, unable to speak except in dog language, and not knowing when it was all going to end. I sincerely hoped we would finish as soon as we came to the end of the walk. I had a first date that evening with a fabulous woman, who I reckoned was a dead cert to be bedded. I'd be bloody furious if I didn't get to that.

I think it was the smell of the wet woodland; I suddenly realised I needed a pee and with that, realised I was going to have to do it in front of her, cocking my leg up a tree. For a few minutes I concentrated on holding it back, but I knew I had do it now as I'd have no opportunity when I was back at the house. Embarrassing to do it now, but even more embarrassing to do it on her lounge floor. There'd almost certainly be some severe punishment to go with it.

I stopped besides a tree and she obligingly stopped as well, staring down at me with a smirk on her face. This was the ultimate put down; cocking my leg up a tree and peeing whilst observed by Lady Markham. I'm not just Lady Markham, she was saying, I am your mistress, and don't ever forget that.

There was nothing for it. I lifted my leg and weed, and she looked down on me. That was surely the ultimate put down: watching someone whilst they peed up a tree. I finished and we carried on walking.

"Oscar and I had such wonderful fun in these woods," my mistress was saying. We'd reached a little clearing and a large tree provided a natural seat for her but not, of course, for me. She sat down on it and pulled me towards her with the leash until my head was between her knees. She spread her knees more and lifted her skirt a little. That's when I realised she wasn't wearing any knickers and I had a clear view of her bush.

Oh my God! Suddenly, everything somersaulted around. This wasn't just a dotty old woman with some kind of obsessive dog love. This was one crazy woman with a weird, out of this world, love of bestiality. And I was now her beast!

"Oscar loved aniseed," she said. "I hope you do, too." She pulled a plastic bag of aniseed balls from her pocket, extracted one and put her hand beneath her skirt. From my position, between her knees, I could see her slide it up her legs to reach her bush, and then thrust it deep inside her pussy.

Suddenly I was on her wavelength. OK, she was a crazy sex maniac, but I understood sex. Hell, I was in my element. All I had to do was to perform and I'd had plenty of experience at that.

I thrust my head forward between her legs, as would any dog chasing the aniseed. Ever since having the dog's head forced over mine, I'd been experimenting with one of the few parts of my body over which I had absolute control - my dog tongue. My own tongue had been sucked inside the false one by some kind of valve mechanism. And it hadn't taken long to realise that as I moved my tongue, the extension to it moved too, in a similar way. Curl my tongue up, and the end of the false tongue curled up; flop it down and the false tongue did the same. There was no doubt now which part of my anatomy I needed to use and I went into action, bringing some very encouraging remarks from my mistress.

"Oh, Ricky," she murmured, and then, "Oh God! Yes. Yes. My God, that's good."

Was it possible I was giving her more pleasure than Oscar had when he was searching for aniseed? And when she'd talked of dogging, earlier, was it really possible that was exactly what she'd meant?

Any doubt over that was quickly resolved as she pushed me away in order to stand up, pulling a small aerosol can out of her pocket.

"You probably don't need this bitch-on-heat spray, Ricky," she said. "But it certainly gets me in the mood." She lifted her skirt and liberally sprayed it between her legs. Then she turned her back on me, bent her body over the trunk and flipped her skirt over her bum, exposing her quim framed by two rounded buttocks.

By this time my cock was trying to get a raging hard on, but was still constrained inside the small dog cock. God knew how I was going to service her, but I was going to have a bloody good try. The first problem, which I'd never before experienced, was how to stand up and get my cock in the right place. As a human, it had never been a problem, and when I'd occasionally seen dogs at it, they hadn't seem to have much difficulty, either. But when it's your first time on four legs, standing up is incredibly difficult.

I gave an experimental push with my forelegs and leapt about one inch off the ground. I stepped back a little and then combined my little push with a rush forward and that was a bit more successful, but not enough.

"For heaven's sake, Ricky. Get a move on with it."

I repeated the last operation with a bit more gusto and managed to get my chin (do dogs have chins?) over her back and then by stepping forward with my hind legs, I worked my way up her body, using my forelegs to stabilise myself. Hell! No wonder humans are the superior race; the effort needed to even have a bonk was a party stopper.

With my cock still being horribly constrained within the dog cock, I thought I might have difficulty getting it in. After all, I couldn't even give it a bit of guidance with my fingers, but in fact it slipped in quite easily. As it did so, something strange happened, as though the constraining dog cock had split wide open. It was like passing from hell into heaven. I could feel my own cock expanding to fill that wonderfully plush centre of heaven.

I gave one slow thrust and I heard my mistress give a moan of total abandonment. Another really slow thrust and then, to my absolute shame, I was ejaculating into that pleasure orifice. Even when I'd lost my virginity, all those years ago, I'd lasted considerably longer than that; indeed, the sixth former I was shagging claimed she had a nice orgasm, although I think that was probably to boost her street cred as much as mine.

Ever since, I'd made certain I gave as good as I got. No woman had ever complained about feeling dissatisfied after I'd shagged her, which is why I reckoned I'd had so many women throw themselves at my feet.

Now, two small thrusts and I'd jerked off. She gave a shake of her hips to free my penis and I could feel it already shrivelling up in self-disgust.

I slithered off her body and back onto all fours. She tugged my lead to pull me closer, and then bent over me to fiddle with my cock. Was she making a valiant attempt to make it erect again? I heard something click and I realised she'd forced it back inside the constraining dog cock.

"That was very satisfactory," she said with a nice smile. Clearly, she'd never been properly shagged by a stud like me, if she found that satisfying. "Walk," she commanded and I had the usual choice of doing as she ordered or being throttled. I walked.


As we returned to the house, a small car was rolling up. "Oh, look, Ricky," she said. "My niece, Sarah has arrived. She always loved tormenting my dogs when she was little. I wonder if she still will."

Great, I thought. That was all I needed. A rather attractive woman was getting out of the car, not that I could have any interest in that, any more. Unless it was a case of like Aunt like Niece. Hmm.

"Hello, Aunt," she called across to us. "That's a funny looking dog, you have. Looks a bit of a crossbreed of a Neapolitan Mastiff." I suddenly stopped walking. I recognised that voice.

"Something like that," his mistress admitted, giving my lead the tug which said, walk or throttle to death, the choice is yours. "I got him from a rescue centre," she added. "He's called Ricky."

"Ricky?" Sarah paused and then added, "If only it really was Rick. I still feel crushed the way he promised undying love to me, marriage, babies and everything, until I signed the contract for his company's double-glazing system, whereupon he immediately buggered off."

I looked up into the face of my mistress. She was smiling down sweetly at me and my blood froze. This wasn't going to be an afternoon's miserable game. This was a personal vendetta.

"People like that should have their balls cut off," my mistress said. "But having a dog called Ricky was the next best thing.

"Or do I mean it the other way round?" she grinned down at me.

"Sorry, Aunt?" Sarah said.

"I want you to think of this dog as being Rick. Get all that hurt you have inside you out into the open. Treat this dog as though he is the lover who jilted you."

"Sounds good," Sarah said. "Anyway, talking about having balls cut off, isn't Ricky dangerous to have around the kennels? You never know when he might sneak in when one of the bitches is on heat. Aren't you going to get someone to cut his balls off?"

I shuddered at the casual way she said it.

"Don't be silly," my mistress said. "I never employ people to do that job for me. I always do it myself with this." I glanced up to see she had pulled her little pruning knife out of her pocket.

"Ouch!" Sarah said. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Not unless I cut my thumb on the blade," my mistress replied, and they both broke into peals of laughter – a joke I found not at all funny.


"I need to pop out this evening, after dinner," my mistress said to Sarah. "You'll be all right on your own, won't you? You can have a little play with Ricky."

"Mmm," Sarah said. "But I'm feeling quite tired after the journey. I think I might get an early night. Can Ricky sleep in my room?"

I perked up then. Did Sarah want servicing the same way as my mistress had? I guessed my mistress didn't expect me to show any monogamous behaviour. Dogs would fuck anything that came their way, just as I had done.

"Of course," my mistress said. "But don't let him misbehave. Throw him out in the yard if he does."


So, I was led up to the guest room where Sarah had installed herself and she tied my leash to the bedpost of one of those old-fashioned four-poster beds.

"Woof," I appreciatively said, as Sarah turned towards me, unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the ground. It was me who, just a month ago, had coaxed Sarah into wearing stockings and suspenders. She had felt it uncomfortable at first, but had quickly got used to that when she realised how much it aroused both me and her. Clearly, my lesson was still with her as she had a black lace suspender belt with six suspenders holding up patterned stockings. It looked so erotic I started to have an immediate boner, until the constriction around my genitals stopped any further action. Hell! I was so ready to give her a dog fucking. My penis felt as though it would burst out of the constraining dog's prick, but it just could not. I simply had to have sex with her, but I couldn't. Oh fuck. "Woof, woof."

"Do you think I'm sexy, Ricky?" Sarah cooed. "Do you want to give me a dog fuck?" She slowly unbuttoned her blouse, displaying her small pert tits covered by a lacy bra. She reached behind her back and unfastened the bra, letting it fall to the ground revealing her rosebud nipples, just waiting to be sucked. "It's a good job you're on a leash, Ricky, because the other Rick would have been all over me now, the dirty beast. All he wanted was to get his little prick inside me. Anything else would have been simply a prelude, a necessary process to go through before ejaculating inside me. But I know you have other desires."

She had that wrong, I thought. Everything was a prelude to ejaculating inside you, so can we just fucking get on with it?

"Like aniseed," she said with a smile, bringing out my mistress's pack, selecting an aniseed ball from the pack and rubbing it over each of her nipples.

"Woof, woof, woof, woof," I said encouragingly. OK, I'd been here before. I knew where we were going.

She smiled back at me and sat down on the bed where I could just reach her. I stuck out my tongue and started licking the aniseed off her left nipple. My cock was giving me agony. I could feel the blood surging through it, wanting to grow but unable to.

"Mmm, that's nice," she smirked, flopping down backwards on the bed placing her nipples out of reach of my tongue. She pulled her legs up onto the bed meaning every other part of her body was out of reach.

I desperately wanted to continue the action, but my leash was uncompromising. I couldn't touch her. Then I realised that if I went around the bottom of the bed, I'd be able to reach her. "Woof, woof!" I said, racing around the bed and coming to a sudden jerk as the leash tightened around my throat, throttling me once more, and still not able to reach her. But the action of being pulled backwards by the leash lifted my two front legs off the ground, and I recognised I could use that action to get my two front paws up on the mattress. I stepped back a few paces, then lurched forward again, but this time, as my front paws lifted off the ground, I swing sideways and continued to walk forward with my rear legs. Success, I had my front two paws on the bed and I could lean over her to lick her right nipple once more.

"What a clever boy, Ricky," Sarah smiled, turning over slightly so I could put my tongue to her other nipple. I obliged, giving long licks to each nipple in turn until Sarah started gasping with each lick.

Oh God! Please let us move onto fucking now. "Woof, woof."

She must have understood me, for she swivelled around, lifting one leg over my head so she was straddled either side of me. I tried to leap up onto the bed and take her but that bloody leash prevented it.

"I know what you want," she said, smiling at me.

Yes, yes, yes. "Woof, woof, woof."

"You want more aniseed, don't you?"

No, I want to fuck you. "Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof, woof."

But she was already taking out another aniseed ball and placing between the lips of her vagina. I bent my head to her and did my duty, my cock throbbing with desire, pain and frustration.

It took over twenty minutes before I brought her to a crashing orgasm, and in return I expected her to comply to my needs, as women always did. Instead, she just turned over and was about to fall asleep.

No! "Woof!" I raced around to the other side of the bed to get her attention. To make her realise my needs were unfulfilled.

"Oh Ricky, shut up. You've had your aniseed. Now just be quiet."

Quiet! You must be fucking joking. "Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof-woof, woof."

"OK, you've had your chance. I'm taking you out to the yard. You can spend the night there."

She was up and putting on her dressing gown, untying the leash from the bedpost and I was given the normal alternative: walk or choke. I walked, crying in frustration. I was being taken outside with a cock throbbing like crazy and no orifice to put it in. As a dog, I couldn't even take the obvious step to relieve myself. I had no hand to do a hand job, and although dogs could always lick their balls, my conversion hadn't given me that dexterity.


"Ricky. Don't make that noise."

And she accompanied the words with a sharp smack on my rear. Shit! The drawing pins.


Although her next smack on my rear was far harder, I managed to stop myself from making a sound.


"I didn't tell you yesterday," my mistress said to Sarah over breakfast next morning, "but I managed to find the latest address of your Rick."

Oh shit, I thought. She'd been through my wallet.

"I went round there last night," she continued, "and apparently he's seen the error of his ways and joined a monastery, one of those incredibly strict orders where they're not allowed to go outside."

What the hell was she talking about? Me? Join a monastery?

"Rick? Join a monastery." Sarah was as incredulous as me. "You're crazy. He'd never do that."

"I think he was pushed into it by some girl's relative. In any case, he's sent a letter of resignation to his boss, with immediate effect, telling them to give any excess pay to charity

Oh fuck! I thought.

"He also left his company car in their car park."

Oh bollocks!

"He also wrote to his landlord telling him he was giving immediate notice, to keep all his possessions, and to take any rent owing from his credit card," she continued.

No! Not that thieving bastard.

"Personally, I think that was very reckless. I wouldn't have trusted my credit card details with that horrible man. I'm sure he'll run up an enormous debt on it.

You bastard! "Woof!"

My mistress looked at me and smiled. "That's right. You tell 'em, boy." Suddenly, I realised my dog's life was not a temporary fit of revenge, from which I'd be released this afternoon. No. I was a dog for life. This was my lot for evermore!

"I can't believe this has happened," Sarah said. "Are you sure he hasn't just changed address to run away from a commitment he's made to some woman?"

"I don't think he'd give away all his personal possessions and give up his job if that was the case," my mistress said, adding, "But enough of all that talk. It's time to completely forget about Rick. I'm entering into an agreement with a breeder of large Neapolitan Mastiff in the States. I'm going to exchange some semen samples with him."

Sarah wrinkled her nose. "Ugh! How disgusting. I hate the idea of semen. How are you going to collect it?"

Huh, she had a nerve, I sullenly thought. I could still remember her with her mouth so full of it, it trickled down her chin.

"I quite agree about the semen," my mistress said. What a hypocrite. "But I have an idea of how to do it. We can have a go at it this morning, if you like. I'm going to get Ricky to collect it for me."

"Ricky?" Sarah looked puzzled. "He's a dog, not a bitch. How's he going to collect semen?"

My mistress smirked. "I shall tuck up his boy bits, flush out his bum, stick a female condom up his arse and then spray him all over with this bitch-on-heat spray. When I let a dog onto Ricky, he may think Ricky looks a bit strange but the smell will be unmistakeable. He certainly won't be averse to using the only available hole."

Oh my God! Just when I thought it couldn't get worse, I realised I'd only had half the story.

"Oh, Aunt," Sarah said. "If only he was the real Rick. Wouldn't that be the prefect retribution for him?"

My mistress looked at me. "Absolutely perfect," she said.

Later as we went through the walk or be throttled thing on the way to the kennels and being fucked by a giant Neapolitan Mastiff, my mistress bent over and whispered in my ear. "Don't worry, Ricky. After you've been serviced by my biggest dogs, I'll still need a regular dog fucking."

Oh good. "Woof, woof." It had been almost twenty four hours since I'd last ejaculated, which was almost unknown in my normal life. My cock was really desperately needing to explode, preferably inside a vagina, but even a hand job would be good. Fucking my mistress once a day would prevent me from unbelievable frustration.

"I find the need usually comes on when I'm mid-period, as I was yesterday. So shall we say the same again in one month's time."

I lifted my head and let the sound come out. "H-O-W-L-L-L-L."

"Or maybe two," she added.


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Dog Grr Role

Patsy Cline said it best, "Craazzy!"

Angela Rasch (Jill M I)

A dog's life (to be)

Always glad to see a new contribution from your twisted view of the world. Depraved, but fun and enjoyable.