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Fit To Be Tied For a woman -- at least for this woman -- no more lustful, beautiful, or sexually fulfilling experience exists than being tied by a large male dog. By "tied," I mean the insertion of the dog's knot, the swollen area of his cock that swells even larger after insertion into the vagina. I have often written about this experience before (in "A Woman's View" series, etc.), but I'm never quite satisfied that I have described it the way it really is, the way I feel it and would like my readers to feel it. Being tied is such a wondrous way for a woman to be held, cherished, and totally possessed that I yearn to do justice to the experience, to explore and re-experience every nuance of the experience -- yet I'm not sure that this is even possible by way of words. When I was a very young girl and awakening to my first feelings of sexual longings and possibilities, I never dreamed in my wildest fantasies that the overwhelming, utterly transporting and transcendent event of sexual orgasm could be such a totally life-changing, body-blossoming -- yes, and addictive -- explosion of growth and sensory awareness. I'm not saying that a man (or another woman) cannot bring this about in a woman. For me, however, it did not happen in all its joyous fullness until, in my late twenties, I began mating with canines. Perhaps to place such emphasis upon the wonderful climax, the orgasm that shakes a woman to her roots and causes her to cry out in helpless irrationality to this wolf-like mammal that has entered her body and clasps her tightly, is a false emphasis. More than the orgasm, as shaking and earth-shattering an experience as that can be, it is the experience of being tied to a dog, the locking of loins, the total oneness with this beautiful four-footed creature that the knot-tie symbolizes and makes possible. That's the most of paradise on Earth that a woman (at least this woman) can handle. Even for me, the sight of a woman and a dog copulating is one of the most beautifully haunting visions I ever hope to see. I love to watch some of my woman friends doing it, and I love to see myself in mirror or photograph doing it. This sexual coming together of two unique individuals and species moves me so intensely that I invariably shed a tear. The happiness and pleasure they lavish on each other just overflows. For the women I know who have opened themselves (literally!) to this experience, there was never better, more abandoned sex than this -- nor more feelings of sweetness and emotional closeness than with a canine partner. So many women have told me, "Nan, this is the level of sensual, passionate, emotional experience I had sought all my life in sexual relationships, and now I at last I find that it is real, it is heaven." Others tell me, "I now know what a real and physical love relationship is all about." Yes, some have sneered at these women and myself for claiming such supposedly "perverted nonsense" as the truth. And to such people our "bestial" relationships may indeed look like something unholy and perverted. All I can say is, they haven't been tied as we have to the animal kingdom in a bond of utter love and lust, and so they cannot know whereof they speak. More than ever, I am convinced that male dogs and women have a special though often repressed affinity for each other, as I have written in a previous posting. I have seen too many women all but present themselves sexually and symbolically to male dogs to believe otherwise. Often a woman will not even be aware of her behaviors around a male dog -- behaviors that shine most obviously to a woman who recognizes the feelings that lie behind such obvious "flirtings." And I think it's a lovely and wonderful and endearing tendency we share as women, this longing -- repressed though it often is -- to hold these fiercely beautiful predatory creatures, loving and subdued at last, in our bodies' clasp, surrendering our female hearts and bodies to the tie, the wondrous physical tie between us. I can best illustrate these feelings, I guess, by describing a recent transcendent experience of sex that I had with Mike, my golden retriever and partner of some six years. As such, it wasn't that unusual an experience for us -- yet its very "everydayness" surely gives some inkling of the truly boundary-shattering type of loving that has, for us, become almost conventional. In the many accounts I have read in White Shadow and other places of the dog-woman sexual experience (most of them, I realize, are probably fantasy), the author very quickly cuts to the climactic scene -- but in real life, I find the foreplay experience between my dog and myself to be wondrously erotic. Last Friday night I came home from work quite tired after an exhausting day and week. Mike greeted me as I entered the house, bathed my face in tongue greeting -- and suddenly my fatigue vanished. It was just me and him -- him eyeing me and tugging at my slacks, me caressing his fur, beginning to pant slightly, feeling my nipples rise, a sudden dampness between my legs. He knows my slightest movement, all my odors, what they all signify, and the language between us. He knows. His cock, oh his beautiful monster, is already half exposed, hanging out beneath his belly. I don't know how he makes me so hot, but he does. I'm stripping off my clothes and kissing him, sucking his tongue. He is dancing foot-to-foot, strutting, impatient to mate, wanting me with all his canine intensity. His desire for me fuels my own need; I love to be wanted like this. His big purple cock laced with dilated vessels -- how can I possibly take it, I always wonder -- drips juice as my scents season the air. He smells my ripe readiness, and on all fours I strut out my butt, can't help it when he's so close. I quickly glove his forelegs with socks to guard my back and sides from his passion on me, and he prances and licks and whines, knowing totally what this means and promises, his big thing bouncing under him, flicking penis juices on my hands. I lick off his "raindrops," then just briefly mouth the end of his now-very-hard cock and feel a lovely squirt of hot, so-slippery pre-cum against my tongue. I swallow it and smile at him. Then I tease. I bitch-strut the room, thrusting my breasts and butt -- it feels so good to do this, wantonly, openly, letting go all the repressions of the day and week, becoming woman in ways I don't dare to do in the dress-up world I inhabit day-in day-out. Mike is so steamed up that his beautiful muscular haunches are involuntarily thrusting in the air. I eye his lovely balls, they look so heavy and full. I dance around him, feeling hot and flushed, my nipples itching, my wetness beginning to stream down my thighs. I kneel. Mike circles me and paws my bottom in his lovely gesture of familiarity and matehood. He nuzzles my bottom, my vagina. I feel his little snorts of breath as he inhales the breath of my womanhood, kisses my labia with his tongue, sending ripples and shudders all the way to my scalp. I wiggle my butt to break the spell -- still teasing -- turn around, and take his beautiful cock, long and slick, into my hands. I caress it lightly, so hot and rigid in my hands. An odor emanates from it, a very sexual musky odor that permeates my membranes, erects goosebumps on my face and neck and breasts, makes me moan. His pheromones, his hormones meeting mine. I lick the hard, hot length of it and again sip its trickling tip. If this is forbidden taste, I am a lost soul! I caress the length of his cock with my lips, and then make a wet, warm tube of my mouth, embracing his warm, trembling body in my arms. His wetness fills my mouth, overflows onto my chin and cheeks. His odor fills my nostrils, inflames me to my core, and I become conscious of a feeling of hollowness deep in my belly. I can smell myself too, feel the sopping wetness between my legs, drenching my pubic hair, coating my upper thighs. I can't control my sighs and moans. I kiss his mouth, give him mine, and lick his wet tongue. Then his tongue is in my mouth, sliding, slick, moving inside my cheeks, tasting his own penis juices, spilling his saliva till it bubbles from my lips. It is time. I turn on all fours and present to him, lifting my rear, spreading my knees. He mounts my back, and his haunches grind against my hips. A fountain of pre-cum erupts against my vagina and splatters on my thighs. He surges against me so strongly that my teeth shake. Very quickly (he no longer needs my hand guidance) his hot hardness is in me. My nipples look absurdly large, feel ready to burst; my breasts itch and tingle, feelings accentuated by the pressure of his forelegs against my sides. Something feels electric in my very core. I shift my butt, and he grasps me tighter, his haunches slapping my rear. I feel his knot slide into me, wet sucking sounds, and then his dark-furred balls are pressing against my labia, his knot pulsing and swelling in my vagina. We are one organism now, tight clasped male and female, a dog and a woman doing their age-old creative dance together. He fountains my excitement and I feel my head thrashing, feel a drool of his saliva on the back of my neck, his furred chest weighing on me -- and inside me, a sensation of surging, jetting heat, rousing little prickles and tickles and sudden hot flushes so deep inside. I hear myself moaning, like sounds somehow outside myself, almost a frenzy of sounds. My pleasure is so intense it verges on pain. The pressure of his love clasp between my legs mounts. I shift against him again, and his response is to grasp me even tighter, and I feel another hot, internal surge so forceful that it makes me gasp. I feel big with him, so utterly carnal and ravished, yet feel that this is so "right," somehow, this big dog locked into my body and pouring his seed, literally erupting semen into my system, internally bathing me with his precious reproductive fluids. What I am feeling, I know, is the sexual happiness of a woman -- call it ecstasy, bliss, what you will -- but it feels so right, so beautiful that this is happening. I don't know what my lover makes of my moanings and head tossings beneath him, but he is surely used to them by now, and I want to convey to him somehow -- yes, to this dog -- the intense pleasure he is giving me. I want him to feel my body as a marvelous kiss of his own, a lovely caress and licking and fondling of the beautiful penis and knot I hold in me. I yearn, I ache to give him back an ounce of the pleasure he lavishes in me, and my hands move to my sides where I clasp his mittened paws and caress the strong forelegs embracing me. I reach an arm behind my shoulder, caressing his lovely head. Weeping, I whisper, whisper words of such intimacy, words that cannot here be revealed, words that surely few humans have ever uttered to an animal, at least in this day and age. But I am a woman, and he is my lover, and he has tied me to him. This "revery" basking period sometimes lasts for -- how can I say how long, time becomes the last thing on my mind. But it has a duration, and the sweetness of it is simply indescribable. It is the part of intercourse that joy between the sexes was meant to be, surely. But sooner or later I feel the sensation of a large, sputtering fuse in me, scattering sparks and bits of hot metallic spray. I feel explosion imminent. I pant, inhaling huge gasps of air as my orgasm wells up and begins. The heat of his organ, the sizzling sensation like lava squirting and shooting, overwhelm me, and I feel my entire "interior self" gathering, gathering, then seizing, seizing. I hear a scream -- it's me! -- and I'm suddenly a mass of trembles and shudders and shocks and buzzes and vaginal farts and grabbing sensations. rising, rising -- and then waves, seismic shocks, radial tsunamis, thundering breakers, rolling out in all directions from my center, raising my scalp, goosefleshing my toes, spasming my feet up and down against the floor, jerking me like a marionette within the still-tight clasp of his marvelous paws. And so, climax. But there is more than that. More that is quieter, full of smiles and caresses and tongues and the warmth of our bodies pressed close, my nipple itch buried in his chest fur. We together, Mike and Nan. Separate beings, yes -- but not always and not for too long apart.
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