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A Woman's View, Part II What is it like being tied to a dog by his penis knot during intercourse? This is one of the most frequent questions I've been asked, especially by women, after my previous postings: "A Woman's View" and "Letter from Don". Being tied is to me the highlight of my sexual relationship with my beautiful golden retriever and lover Mike. To me, this is the main event, the reason why, the source of sexual joy and passion both for me and, I'm sure, for him too. The knot itself, when swollen with dog lust, can be a rather intimidating piece of work, especially on a dog with large "equipment" (the size of dog provides only a roughly general index to the size of his erection, I've found -- I was once tied very tightly by a beagle). How can that thing of tennis ball size or larger possibly go into me -- and why would I want it there? Well, to begin with, Mike's knot is usually not that big when he comes knocking at my gate (or, more accurately, comes barging in -- Mike never needs a second invitation when I "present" to him -- that is, lift my gorgeous fanny in front of him). His first thrust makes me gasp, its hotness and hardness always catching me by surprise even though I'm dripping wet with anticipation. His objective is to push that monster knot into me, and to help do it he provides plenty of slippery juice which, along with my own wetness, soon slides it in. Now I can feel the warmth of his big balls pressed close. Once lodged in my vagina, his knot grows. I can feel him swelling my labia, pushing against my clitoris, locking me tight as my entire body seems to clasp around him. Then, as his knot begins to pulse and I feel the heat from his first jets of semen spread deep in my belly, is when our lovemaking really begins. The feeling of pressure, both from his swollen knot and the increasing amounts of semen pressing into me make my belly begin to swell, often visibly -- my "Mike pregnancy" I call it. "God, he had such a load I thought it was going to come out my mouth," one woman wrote me. "You could see my stomach bulge, I swear, and when he finally pulled out there was cum all over the place. I am sure glad we did it in the garage." It's a blissful feeling in itself, entirely apart from my orgasms, this feeling of tightness and pressure against him, such a feeling of wholeness and oneness, simply a male and female being together in the closest possible way. This is when I often begin to sniff and cry because these moments seem so beautiful to me, his desire for me as he grips me in his strong forelegs so wonderfully tangible in my body -- and my desire for him so evident as my vaginal walls contract and embrace and kiss and bathe his male bigness in my most intimate womanhood. All this I can feel, every trickle and squirt and spurt that he gives me, because his body heat is hotter than mine. He is doing his best to impregnate me with little golden retrievers, but since his sperm and my eggs are not on genetic speaking terms, I must be content with the glorious impregnation of his love. And I feel myself, in every waking hour, pregnant by him in this manner. In my job I must travel frequently and be away from him often. And very often, when away, I yearn for him, literally ache for his body, the grip of his strong paws, his beating heart on my back as he clasps me, the thrust of his muscular haunches, his fur against my hips and thighs, the juicy slap of his body against mine -- and the tie, the tie, the tie that binds us so closely. Am I in love, would you say? And often, dining out or partying with an often very charming and sexy gentleman during these times away, I am thinking instead of him, my canine lover at home, thinking of his body, the feel of us moving together in sexual union, the sweetness and ecstasy of our connectedness -- and wondering if he is fantasizing about me too. My party companion, of course, doesn't dream of what's going on in my head. And if he and I should by chance find ourselves later that night in a bed together, even then I am yearning, longing, for Mike, my sexual master. Once a woman has experienced this kind of love, as I've said before -- really experienced it to its literal fullness -- there is no way she can just put it out of her mind or not desire it again. By its very nature, the sex between dog and woman has duration. Owing to the tie, it cannot be "wham bam thank you ma'am". He is with her for some time, and for most of that time he is a very powerful and intense sexual performer. A lover who gives a woman five or six shuddering or shrieking climaxes in the space of half an hour or so is not apt to be forgotten. He is, on the contrary, apt to be yearned for in one's needy hours. So the tie, my friends, is dangerous -- it may remove you from your own kind, to some extent; it will definitely enlarge your horizons (as well as your labia). But I do understand how nervous a woman can be when first visualizing the act with a dog partner. That knot can look very intimidating, and it can feel pretty uncomfortable too until one relaxes and just surrenders sexually to him. We women are built to handle much larger than a knot in our nether regions, after all. One must reconcile to the idea that, during intercourse, one becomes wholly his. He insists upon it, demands to possess one entirely, and one will not coax or train him otherwise. Generations of strong hunting canines power this driving haunches seeking to plant his seed in one's body. If a woman can arrive at the attitude of complete submission, of joy in the fact that he considers her a worthy and desirable female to mate with, then -- and only then -- does the feeling begin to delight. Delight so overwhelming, sometimes, that she will find herself sobbing in ecstasy, striving for new exciting ways to please him with her body. Jennie is one of my human friends, one who knows exactly what I'm talking about -- for Jennie is also a fond lover of canine masculinity. I was the one who introduced her to this pleasure. She was a very nubile 19 when that happened (now she's a nubile 21), blonde, real peach, baby fat in all the right places. We worked together in the same office. The way it happened was this. One time when I had to go away, I asked her to take care of Mike for me. She came over to my place and I started telling her all the stuff about what to feed him and when, when to take him for a walk, etc. etc. -- and it was like speaking to a wall, albeit a very pink and precious one. She was totally focused instead on my love's big juicy penis, which had become erect almost the moment she stepped into the room (I later found out she was ovulating that day). She couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Finally, in exasperation at her inattentiveness to what I was saying, I blurted out, "So go ahead and kiss it." "Oh Nan, I couldn't do that," she says. "Kiss that thing, are you kidding?" "No, I'm not," I said. And I licked his erection a few times just to put a glow in his eye. Ms. Peachy's eyes bugged wide. She swelled her perky bosoms and decided she'd, well, try it. Once she had her lips on it, of course, she couldn't stop -- "He's just yummy, Nan!" She coaxed him to serious orgasm, thick white jets of his semen all over her face, in her hair, down her shirt while I watched his big balls jump and pulse. I licked some of him off her face and drenched my panties in the process. I don't know what there is about him that inspires all this female lust -- I guess his passion and obvious lust for us. Now I'm a pretty jealous gal and normally don't like sharing the love of my life with another woman or even a female dog, for that matter. And I'm not normally bisexual -- but Jennie does turn me on to some extent. A few days after my return from the aforementioned trip, I invited her over again. I knew something had happened between them because when she came in the door she took one look at Mike and started peeling her clothes. He grinned at me, the cur. Neither of them asked me anything, oh no, they didn't need me. She sticks her pink perky ass in the air, Mike rises nobly to the occasion and is atop and inside Ms. Peach in about 3 seconds. I marvel at the motions of his muscular flanks and haunches as he drives into her -- I don't get to see this with him and I unless I use a mirror -- and it gets me very steamy. Jennie is moaning and whimpering, hanging onto a chair as he pushes -- and I get sort of under them both and start fondling and kissing her rather lovely breasts. Also, from that angle, I can see Mike's penis pushing in and out of her, his body smacking wetly against her. I watch him push his knot into her. She's strutting her breasts at me -- extremely pink-nippled now -- so I know she's OK with that too. I know Mike is squirting in her like crazy right now -- and sure enough, she starts oohing and aahing and swinging her head and butt all over the place and says, "Make him quit, make him quit," when that's the last thing in the world she wants. In fact she's trying to back into him -- her slim little belly is developing a decided bulge with the pressure of his semen load in her. He finally jumps up on her calves, and then all hell busts loose. She comes and screams and comes and screams again. Mike, so nonchalant, licks her neck -- this is what women do under him, he knows --they scream, so what! By this time I'm so wrecked myself I'm kissing her lips like there's no tomorrow and we're both in a total sobbing frenzy of lust -- I had always thought I was the only female who ever went berserk like that. She's sucking my nipple like a little pink puppy and my orgasm shatters the night sky -- I literally become the fireworks. Next thing I know, she's embracing me on the floor -- Mike is off her -- and she's gushing him out all over herself and me too, and he's tonguing our backsides like Mr. Mop, and it tickles and we're laughing so hard we pee. Oh my -- adventures at Swan Manor, I guess! Anyhow, when she leaves, she's even pinker and bouncier than when she arrived, and I -- the ancient 30-year-old -- am wiped out. Yes, I was once Ms. Peach but have, um, ripened somewhat, as it were. Our dogs seem to keep our figures blossoming, however. Jennie and I go for long walks sometimes, and we're always looking for handsome guy dogs to ogle. The best ones are usually on leashes, being taken for walks by people. Maybe these dogs can smell the state of our lascivious souls -- or our panties or something -- because many of the males seem to give us more than a passing glance. "Ooooh, I can feel his tongue on my clit!" Jennie will squeal when we get past, and we explode into gales of laughter, two crazy, dampish gals strutting their stuff for every big dog in sight. "Is he still looking at us?" one of us will ask. "He is? Oh my god, he is!" And on and on, silly stuff for grown women -- but we love it! About twice a year we go visit a big kennel some distance away, and we're like two kids in a candy store, giggling and ogling the shepherds, danes, labs. retrievers, and rotes. Sometimes we spot a delicious hunk only to discover that "he" is a female, who eyes us disdainfully. The males smell us coming, though -- poor sex-starved guys -- and some of them get pronounced erections when they check us out behind their fences. By the time we finish a walk-through, maybe smooch through the fence with a couple and wiggle our fannies at 'em (if nobody's looking), Jen and I are just streaming down our thighs (though lately we've taken precautions by bringing some maxipads!). Then it's a relatively silent trip home, both of us thinking about our beautiful dogs and aching for their powerful embraces, their warm bodies pressed tight against us. And later we'll talk for days about some of the dogs we saw at the kennel and daydream about being with them -- not necessarily even to mate with them, just to be close and caring next to them. (Incidentally, men e-mailers ask me so often about where to meet women who are into canine relationships. Kennels are an excellent place to find us, guys.) And we always get back to the tie. If it were not for the tie, the wonderful tie, I would probably have no interest in mating with dogs. The tie makes it all loving and sexy and complete. When Mike "dismounts" me, I know I have been lovingly, most thoroughly mated. I feel like a woman renewed. I feel satisfied and sweet and serene, even though my belly may do flipflops for awhile and I may drip him for several hours if I'm not careful. The tie, how I love it, how fulfilling it is to a woman, what a beautiful way of uniting two lovers together. If male dogs didn't exist, some woman would have to invent them. But they do, they do exist -- and this woman, for one, is so happy that they do.
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