Beastiality

I had decided that Jurgen was the man I wanted to marry and I was smart
enough to know that he could never love a woman who did not share his
passions for his way of life. That included his trucks, friends, and
most of all, his dog. It was obvious the way to this man’s heart was
through his dog. And it was a very big dog. I was young and naive. To
me, he was the most gorgeous man alive!

Jurgen had a nice, lean muscular build and looked wonderful in a tight
tee shirt and faded blue jeans, which was what he wore around his
house. He was the sexiest man alive, as far as I was concerned. I loved
his piercing grey eyes, his big strong hands, his charming smile. I was
infatuated. He was so romantic and exciting. He enchanted me like no
man ever had. He had a dark side that I found exciting. He was not like
any man I had ever known.

On our first date he took me to a wonderful restaurant high up the
tallest building in the city. We had the best table and a wonderful
view of the city lights. At dinner he noticed my charm bracelet. He
asked me to explain the significance of the charms. He seemed
fascinated by my explanation of how the charms represented the essence
of my life. In fact I had worn it deliberately that night hoping he
would ask so I could tell him about myself. I wanted him to know. I had
been given the bracelet by my mother on my sixteenth birthday and had
been collecting charms from friends and family ever since.

I showed him the little diploma my father had given me for my high
school graduation, the ballet slipper from my years of dancing, the
winged Mercury foot my father gave me after my cross country season.
Gifts from boyfriends.

He asked me about my background, my heritage he called it. I told him
about my Spanish and French relatives, but he was most impressed that I
had a Mohawk Indian grandmother. He said I had good bloodlines and he
said that of all my attributes, he was most impressed by the bone
structure in my face. He ran a finger along my face, praising my
cheekbones, my mouth and my big green eyes. He pinched my lower lip
between his thumb and forefinger and gently pulled it out, telling me
he liked the way my lower lip was naturally pouty. You have good
genetics, you know. You were designed to be attractive to men. Every
feature was genetically designed to excite men physically, to invite
sex. You were meant to be bred!

That was a rather curious thing.

I kept quiet when he lit up a cigarette after our meal.

I was an adamant nonsmoker. I always despised smoking. I always found
the odor of cigarette smoke nauseating and I had no interest in ever
putting one of those things to my lips or inhale that smoke into my
lungs. I found the whole idea of smoking to be incomprehensible. It was
a dirty, disgusting habit. I hate cigarettes. Hate them! When I was
little I watched my aunt died of lung cancer. Cigarettes are immoral. I
object to smoking on political, philosophical, health, hygienic.
economic and social reasons. There is no reason at all to smoke. It is
stupid. For stupid people.

Jurgen listened to me rant against cigarettes with a condescending
smile, then slowly blew his cigarette smoke into my face. It was a
deliberate, dramatic gesture. I felt humiliated. He was mocking me, but
he seemed intrigued that I had never smoked a single cigarette in my
life. He asked me many questions in an incredulous tone.

“Weren’t you ever tempted?” he asked.

“Never.”

“You never smoked one, not one? In all your life? Everyone sneaks a
cigarette in junior high!”

“Not me. I don’t even date a man who smokes. At least I never did.
Until you. I plan to convince you to stop!” I told him.

“Lips that touch tobacco, shan’t touch yours, huh?” he said with a wry
smile.

“Something like that. I never thought it was cool. I never wanted to
have a cigarette dangling from my lips. Wouldn’t you rather I smell of
lilacs or Poison? Rather than Camels?”

At one time he reached out and touched my lips, very lightly, with his
fingers and said they were virgin and pure because they had not touched
a cigarette.

“Good for you! It is a vile, dirty habit.”

“Cigarettes enslave people.”

“That’s right,” he said agreeably. “You would not want to be a slave to
cigarettes, sacrificing your lungs so some corporation can make a
profit.” Jurgen seemed to be thinking. He had a strange look on his
face. That was before I knew how Jurgen’s mind worked.

“I bet you have the prettiest, pinkest, sexiest lungs on earth,” he
told me as he blew a big puff of smoke into my face.

He found my attitude amusing. He said it was sad that I did not even
try smoking. That I did not know what I was talking about, but he was
fascinated by the fact that no cigarette had ever touched my lips. He
considered me some sort of virgin and a challenge. He teased me, blew
smoke in my face and vowed he would get me to smoke.

“I smoke,” Jurgen said firmly. “You will have to accept that. It is
pathetic that you don’t even know what you are talking about.”

Jurgen had some unusual quirks, but I was willing to put up with
anything imaginable for this man. I was willing to change, and deep
inside I was confident he would make some changes for me. For one
thing, he smoked. Never in my life did I think I would have ever loved
a man who smoked. But I did. Jurgen was a man’s man, who liked dogs and
hunting. Jurgen was not like any man I had ever known. He was a bit
older. He liked guns, worked on Jeep engines, drove a pickup truck and
often wore the same flannel shirt two days in a row. He was a weight
lifter and had the hunkiest chest I had ever seen. He also had a
master’s degree in European history. He was, by far, the smartest man I
ever dated. Jurgen had some quirks about sex, but those were exciting.
I willingly followed him where he took me. I let him know I was open
minded and he could do anything he wanted with me. He appreciated that
about me, he said, after going through a series of prudish women of
kissed with clenched teeth and would not roll over in bed.

Jurgen insisted Diesel was unique. It would kill in a minute to defend
its master or its home, he said. But that was its nature. He had raised
Diesel from a puppy and was confident he knew his dog.

During my first tour of Jurgen’s place, he took me out to the garage to
introduce me to what he called “The Intruder” and to show off the power
of his big dog. “The Intruder” was a man-sized dummy dangling from a
chain hanging from a rafter in the garage. When Jurgen said something
in German to his dog, Diesel went absolutely wild, leaping for the
intruder’s throat. The dog was in a frenzy. It was a growling, hair-
raising, teeth baring savage. If the intruder was a person, it would
have been dead. It was a horrifying demonstration. Jurgen was beaming
with pride.

I loved that man so much, I only saw the greatness in him.

I wanted to be his wife. There was nothing imaginable I would not do
with this man. What he wanted of me was unimaginable. I had it bad.
Jurgen made me feel the way I did over Tommy Saunders back in the
eighth grade. I found myself whispering our names in my mind all the
time, Jurgen, Julie, Jurgen, Julie. It became my secret mantra. I was
convinced that the alliteration was proof that we were meant to be
together. I found myself writing our names over and over, and writing
my name as Mrs. Julie Goetz , Mrs. Jurgen Goetz, and Julia Marie Goetz
just to see what it looked like. It looked right to me.

Jurgen always said he loved the way I kissed. He had never had a woman
who kissed with such abandon. That was something guys have always liked
about me. I had no secrets from Jurgen and told him the story behind my
kisses, how in my sophomore year in high school I used to get a pass
from study hall for the library, but sneak off to the back of the empty
auditorium where I would give “French lessons” to senior boys. My
kisses were always open mouth with my tongue wriggling around inside
their mouths or sucking their tongues into my mouth, topped off with
licking their lips and faces. The guys loved it. Those French lessons
got me into a lot of trouble. They got out of hand when word got out
and guys I did not know would show up in the auditorium. I got scared,
but there was nothing I could do, but go through with the lessons. It
started out with me and a guy I liked meeting secretly in the dark
shadows of the auditorium. Then he begged me to kiss on of his buddies
and within weeks it was an open secret among all the guys. Some days I
would have as many as six guys, including steady boyfriends of other
girls, taking turns kissing me back there. I would go from boy to boy
with my open mouth, tongue wriggling kisses. Some of the guys tried to
go farther than the kisses and would paw my breasts or grab my ass with
their hands and press me against them. I got a bit of a reputation from
that, but Jurgen said it was all part of my passionate nature. Jurgen
said my kisses were sexual experience by themselves and kissed for
hours until my lips were swollen.

I had told Jurgen about those French lessons and all about my life
before him. He had demanded to know every detail of my sex life and he
was constantly asking me for every story of every sexual experience I
ever had. Of course, his life remained a mystery to me.

Jurgen said the way I kissed was an indication of incredible passion
inside me. He was going to develop my wildness while I was planning to
civilize him. I did get him to the ballet once and a few times I read
him poetry and once I played my flute for him. I thought I would get
him to stop smoking for me and dress better. For his part, he was
insistent that I dress to please him, and he was constantly pushing me
to be more wild sexually. In the struggle between the two of us, he was
always the stronger personality and he always prevailed. I found myself
abandoning my efforts to make him into a sensitive male and becoming
more wildly erotic to make him happy. It was my kisses that made me
special to him and the way I would hang on to him.

He was constantly testing me, constantly making me prove my love to him
or prove that I was different from other women. It seemed like my life
revolved around demonstrating to him that I was “the one woman” for
him. The harder I tried, the more indifferent he acted, and that
indifference drove me crazy, making me go to further extremes to win
his approval. I see now, of course, that that was his strategy and,
blinded by love, I was falling into his trap.

He was incredibly imaginative when it came to sex.

One memorable evening Jurgen had incense burning in his living room,
romantic music on his stereo and several candles burning as he spent
more than an hour just brushing my hair and kissing me, telling me how
much he loved my long brown hair. It excited me to hear him say the
word “love.” I told him I loved him with all my heart. He would not say
he loved me, but he did say he loved my long hair. I was sure that it
was hard for a man like Jurgen to say he loved a woman, but I was
confident I would soon hear those words. He made me promise never to
cut my hair.

He had some expensive German white wine bottles just for the occasion.
After a few glasses I began to feel the soft warmth of the alcohol
enveloping me, lulling me. It was a nice sensation.

When he was finished brushing my hair Jurgen undressed me and gave me
an incredible, luxurious back rub, then he painted my fingernails and
toenails. He put a beautiful diamond necklace around my throat and
brought out a delicate gold ankle bracelet and put it around my ankle
while he stroked my legs. He then brought out eight gold and silver
rings that he put on the four little toes on each foot. It was like he
was decorating me!

He had me stretched out rug. I felt absolutely sinful. My naked body
adorned with all that jewelry made me feel like an exotic Egyptian
slave. After the wine and the massage, I was in a strange, languid
mood, reveling in my love for Jurgen and I watched my man get up in the
flickering candlelight. I remember how strange the shadows were as he
stood over. Suddenly I was being burned all over my belly and my
breasts. He had taken the candles and was drizzling the hot wax on my
body, enjoying the sight of my naked body writhing in shocked pain. I
screamed as he dripped the hot wax over my breasts and around my belly
button. He was aiming much of the wax at my nipples. I twisted and
turned over to escape the hot wax and he dripped it onto my shoulders,
down my back and all over my butt, making sure it went between my
crack. He manipulated the pain of the hot wax by holding it close to me
or further away.

When he had poured the last of the melted wax over my body, Jurgen
knelt down and kissed and licked my burns, which were not very serious,
but bad enough to leave red marks in places. He took ice cubes from the
wine bucket and rubbed my flesh with them, making me shiver with the
cold. I was trembling from the shock and the pain when he started
making love to me.

It was an incredibly sensual evening and he made love to me in the most
soothing, erotic way. I was so wound up I cried when he brought me to
the most delicious orgasm of my life.

All the while his dog was sitting across the room watching us. It was
very attentive. I was certain it was watching me. Occasionally it
whined, but Jurgen would not make the dog leave. I felt like we were
being watched the whole time we made love.

He was unlike any other lover I had known. Men are always so gentle and
loving with my breasts, especially my nipples, kissing and licking and
sucking them. But he was just the opposite. He was mean to them.

He did not like his women to wear bras.

He had this intense fascination with women’s nipples, more than
breasts, it was the nipples. My nipples are small, the size and color
of old copper pennies and very sensitive. He seemed to disapprove of my
nipples. They were inadequate. He kept telling me about his old
girlfriend, Linda, and comparing me to her. She had such nice breasts,
he said, full, and nipples the size of silver dollars. Not half-
dollars, I remember him stressing, but SILVER dollars. Mine were just
pennies to him.

Where other men would roll my nipples between their fingers, he would
pinch and twist them, making me wince and cry out. He would sneak his
hands into my coat when we were in the car or in my sweater when we
were at the movies and do that to me until tears rolled down my cheeks
and I could not make a sound or embarrass myself in public.

He liked to torment my nipples in all sorts of devilish ways. For my
birthday he gave me a very beautiful panty and bra set that he had
carefully inserted little circles of fine sandpaper in the tip of the
bra so that my nipples rubbed against the fine grit when I wore the
bra. It took a while before I felt anything but suddenly the agonizing
burning set in as the sand paper rubbed my nipples raw until I worried
they were bleeding. He thought my reaction was all very funny. I had no
idea what was happening to me. The rule for me after that was that if I
wore a bra, it had to be with the sandpaper inside, irritating my
nipples so the pain would make me think of Jurgen. He was a genius in
making him dominate my body and mind twenty-four hours a day no matter
where he was.

My nipples were constantly tender and sore during that time. I remember
being at work and feeling the fabric rubbing against them, the hurt
constantly reminding me of my lover. I worried that I would not be able
to respond normally to a man ever again, that I would always need that
burning pain to orgasm.

Jurgen was an incredible lover. I loved being beneath him, running my
fingers through the coarse curly chest hairs, feeling the hard muscles
of his wonderfully broad chest against me. I felt dwarfed by his
masculinity. He was unpredictable and at times maybe a little
dangerous. That danger made him even more exciting to me. Adding to the
danger was Jurgen’s insistence on unprotected sex. The first time we
made love he felt my diaphragm inside me and made me take it out. He
said he would never make love to me with that inside me or if I used
any birth control. I had never had a man treat me like that. It was
exciting to see him take my diaphragm in his hands and tear it in two.
I liked the idea of risking pregnancy for him. It was an opportunity to
demonstrate the depth of my commitment to him. Every time we made love,
I was showing him I was willing to have him impregnate me. There was
nothing I wanted more than to be the mother of his baby.

I don’t know what kind of father he would have made, but Jurgen was
certainly good to his dog.

Jurgen loved that dog more than anything. Even its name — Diesel —
seemed to represent everything masculine. Everything about the
Rottweiler was big. It had a big head, a massive chest, a thick neck,
and it was all muscle, one hundred and forty pounds of canine
masculinity, or “stud muscle” as Jurgen called it. The animal
outweighed me by more than twenty-five pounds. Except for that red
tongue lolling out of its mouth, the dog reminded me of those body
builders on the cover of men’s magazines. The damn dog intimidated me.
It intimidated everyone, everyone except Jurgen, of course. He made no
effort to make me at ease around the animal. It seemed dangerous, on
the verge of being out of control. I stayed close to Jurgen whenever it
was around. The dog did not like strangers and Jurgen made sure it
regarded me as a stranger. When I was at Jurgen’s the dog’s brown eyes
never left me. The dog seemed arrogant and aloof to me. It strutted
around. If a dog could swagger, that dog swaggered with its massive
chest thrust out. The only person who could make the dog act like a dog
was Jurgen. To everyone else, the dog was a spoiled bully. I hated the
dog, but I knew right away that the way to Jurgen’s heart was through
his dog.

I told myself the dog would get used to me. It would just take time. I
loved Jurgen so much, I certainly was not about to let an unfriendly
dog get between us. Jurgen warned me to keep my distance and never make
a sudden move when the dog was around.

“He doesn’t make friends easily. He’s not a Lab,” Jurgen said. He’ll
tear out your pretty throat.

Jurgen had photographs of the dog hanging on his walls, files and file
of records tracing its lineage back to some famous dog in Germany.
There were certificates, ribbons and trophies all over the living room.

Jurgen said his dog was handsome, strong, brave, loyal; better than a
person, according to my lover. It was a stud and people came hundreds
of miles away and paid Jurgen hundreds of dollars to breed their female
Rottweilers with Diesel. The dog was scheduled for months in advance,
according to when the female dogs were in heat. At least every other
week, Jurgen’s canine stud muffin had a “date.” Jurgen was obviously
proud of his pet’s sexuality. Jurgen bragged that it took three strong
men at breeding to keep the dog from hurting the female.

Several times a year Jurgen took the dog to shows. He spent more of his
time and money on that dog than anything else, including me. He gave it
everything. Jurgen’s life revolved around that dog. We could not even
watch television together without listening to the annoying sounds of
that big dog noisily crunching its dry dog food and lapping up water
with its big tongue. At least I found it annoying. Jurgen did not mind.
It made me uncomfortable when we would be nestled on the sofa together
whispering and kissing and his big dog would start licking its genitals
with an incredibly disgusting slurping sound. Jurgen seemed to enjoy my
reaction.

The dog was extremely loyal to Jurgen and from the start it regarded me
as its rival. The dog was trained to be safe around people, except me.
It was trained to guard him and his house. It would be friendly if its
master gave approval to certain people. He never gave it that approval
for me, no matter who much time I spent with him. The dog had no
respect for me, and that was the way Jurgen wanted it. I did not like
the way it looked at me, always watching me, always growling, always
waiting for me to make a wrong move. It scared me.

The dog was especially trained to obey only its master’s commands,
which were always in German. I could not even understand what my
boyfriend was saying to his dog. The dog seemed to think that I was a
rival for Jurgen’s affections, that I was a threat to it. I always
tried to be friendly to the dog and never show it my fear. That was
what I had been taught when I was little. Dogs can smell fear, I had
been told.

Jurgen would not allow me to pet his dog or even to have eye contact.
He was to be the dog’s only source of affection, praise and food. If I
were to give the dog a treat or pet it I would be confusing the animal
and jeopardizing Jurgen’s authority over it. Authority was all-
important to Jurgen. He had a ritual that he performed every other day,
making the dog sit before him and hold direct eye contact with Jurgen
until he gave the dog permission to look away. The dog seemed to be
intimidated by Jurgen. Then Jurgen made the dog present its muzzle to
him and he would grab the dog’s snout and, in a very solemn voice, say
My muzzle. Then the dog would present its paws and Jurgen would say My
paw. It was Jurgen’s way of reinforcing his control over the big dog. I
felt privileged to even be allowed to witness those intimate moments
between Jurgen and his dog.

Smoking remained an unresolved issue between us the first month or two
of our relationship. He would stiffen and turn mean when I tried to
coax him into putting out his cigarette and I was annoyed by the sight
of the ashtrays in his house. He knew it bothered me and that made him
more determined not only to keep smoking, but to turn me into a smoker.

Jurgen’s friends were very important to them. He went out a lot with a
small group of friends and it was important to him that they like me if
I was going to fit in. In fact, it was clear that he wanted them to
want me, to envy him for having me. I had to be as unique a woman as
Diesel was a dog.

All his friends, I called them “the dog people,” smoked. And he had a
bunch of them over at least once a week to watch football or play cards
and talk about raising dogs, hunting dogs and running dogs. They were
crude and old fashioned, but basically friendly people. They always
smoked and drank. They argued about which breed was the best, what was
the best method of training dogs, what was the best dog food. Dogs were
their favorite subject. And they all seemed to respect Jurgen the most
for his accomplishments and they all talked admiringly of Diesel,
Jurgen’s big Rottweiler. It became one of my roles to play hostess to
his friends, to entertain them, feed them, make sure they had their
drinks and, of course, to clean up after them. I always hated being
around guys who smoked, the way the stink would cling to my hair. But
Jurgen smoked and I loved him. He was the only man who smoked that I
would go out with.

Jurgen was especially concerned with my appearance when his friends
were over. He insisted on picking out my clothes. He liked me to wear
sheer blouses with no bra so the guys could see my nipples. He liked
men looking at me. And he wanted me to act provocatively. He liked me
to tease them and make sexual innuendoes. He liked me to touch him and
sit in his lap in front of his friends. He embarrassed me terribly the
first time he had them over to meet me by telling them all the story
about my “French lessons” back in high school.

The first time I realized how difficult Jurgen could be when he gave me
a sheer blouse and insisted I wear it to meet his friends, the people I
called “the dog people.” They were having one of their weekly parties
and Jurgen wanted to introduce me to them. He wanted me to make a good
impression. I tried the blouse on, but was embarrassed to see my bra
was clearly visible through the fabric. He did not care about my
embarrassment and insisted I wear the blouse, but without the bra.

At first I was outraged and humiliated, but he coaxed me into going to
that party in the blouse showing off every detail of my breasts and
nipples for his friend. That was the whole idea. He wanted to show me
off, to give his buddies a thrill. He was the one thrilled.

He had insisted I wear the clothes he picked out for me. A black blouse
so sheer that it was virtually see-through, a pink mini-skirt and black
stockings with pink high heels. It was his fantasy outfit. I bought a
pretty pink lace bra that was cut daringly low so my nipples peeked
through the delicate lace. I knew he would like the effect, and the
blouse was so sheer it demanded a beautiful bra. I felt hot. Jurgen
would be so pleased. I knew he would not be able to keep his hands off
me.

Jurgen was not pleased, I had never seen him angry before and the sight
of his cold dark eyes and the clench of his jaw frightened me.

No bra.

Don’t be silly, Jurgen. The blouse is beautiful. I love it. I really
do. But it shows everything. I am practically naked. I don’t want your
friends to see my nipples.

That’s the idea. Get rid of the bra.

I don’t want your friends to think I am cheap.

They’ll think you are sexy. They’ll know my woman is one hot bitch.

I stiffened at the word. He liked to call me that when we made love. It
turned him on to call me his bitch. He was my Alpha Dog. It was our
secret game. But now he used it with a special harshness. He was
extremely angry.

Lose the bra and make me proud, bitch, his voice was stern. The way he
called me bitch sent a shiver through me. In a strange way I found it
exciting when he called me dirty names. No man had ever talked to me
that way. Only Jurgen. He used that word a lot. Bitch. Sometimes he
called he slut or whore, not only in bed, but routinely. Coming from
him, for some reason I never understood, it was all right. It was
exciting to be his bitch.

He unbuttoned the blouse, slowly and methodically, one button at a
time. The vein in his neck was pulsing, the smell of his cigarettes and
beer on his breath. I stood still, afraid to move. He opened my blouse
wide and grabbed the bra in his fingers between the cups, pulling it
away from my skin. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it
with his thumb, letting the flame flare up close to my face. I stopped
breathing as he put the flame to the beautiful lace. I could feel the
heat of the flame against my skin and smelled the burning material as
the bra melted away beneath the flame. Jurgen was rough as he pulled
the slender straps away from my shoulders and burned them off with the
flame until he had completely burned the bra off me.

“You have wonderful breasts. You are such a beautiful, sexy woman. I
want to show you off. I want to see men looking at you, wanting you.
You like to be noticed, to be talked about. Admit it. All women do, You
like men wanting you.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it scares me.” I realized my eyes were tearing
up. My lip was trembling. I worried about my mascara running.

“And you like to be scared. It turns you on. I know.”

“I’ll be friendly. They’re your friends. And I love you.”

“That’s right. Just be yourself.”

“I feel like you are putting me on display, like you re giving me
away.”

“These are my friends. I want them to meet you, he said in a wounded
voice that tugged at my heart. I want them to be impressed with my
woman. Excuse me for that.”

In the hallway outside the apartment door Jurgen gave me a kiss on the
forehead and last minute instructions.

“Show them how much you love sex. I want them to see your smile and
your tits. It will make me so proud to have my friends wanting my
woman. You know what I mean?”

I nodded, but said nothing.

“I mean I’ll be proud when they want to fuck my bitch. When they want
to fuck you.”

“That scares me.”

“That’s just the way it is. Humor me. I am Alpha Dog.”

I did not like what I was hearing.

I grabbed his hand just as he was going to knock on the door. I hugged
him, pressing myself against him erotically and gave him a passionate,
deep kiss. Just tell me you love me, I whispered. I want them to know
you love me.

“You know I do.”

I looked around the cramped, dirty apartment. There were only three men
and two women waiting for us. I expected more people.

“Where is everybody?”

“This is all,” one of them said, looking me up and down appraisingly.
“Are you disappointed?”

The men were drinking beer and eating peanuts and chips. They had a
stereo blaring so loud I could barely understand what people were
saying. The men had obviously been drinking before we got there and
they were in a good mood. Everyone was smoking. Two ashtrays were
overflowing with stinking butts and ashes.

Jurgen had brought a bottle of his German white wine, which had become
my favorite. I was drinking a lot of wine since I met him and he always
encouraged me to drink, saying I was more fun when I was tipsy. I
gratefully accepted a glass, happy to have something to do with my
hands. I occupied myself by sipping the wine slowly, constantly. At
first I tried holding the glass in front of my breasts to block their
view, but I felt like they might think I was trying to attract their
attention to my breasts. As I sipped my wine, Jurgen refilled my glass,
keeping it full. I was so nervous, I kept drinking until it was too
late and I realized I was getting myself drunk.

At the party everyone stared boldly at my breasts and snickered. I was
very self-conscious, wishing I could hide. I drank to take the edge off
my anxiety. Jurgen talked about my breasts right in front of me. The
men were friendly. I kept quiet and stayed by Jurgen’s side, avoiding
eye contact with the men. I was aware of them nudging one another and
whispering about me, eyeing my breasts, my legs. I felt so naked. I
crossed my arms in front of me to cover my breasts. The men, Jurgen
most of all, enjoyed my discomfort. When they whispered amongst
themselves I knew they were making lewd jokes about me and when they
laughed, they were laughing at me. I just drank my wine and pretended I
did not notice the men.

I realize he was telling them about our fight over my bra and was de
scribing to them in a low voice how he had burned if off me. One of the
men had the charred pink lace bra in his hands. They were passing it
around, laughing. They were clearly amused by the story.

If it had been any other man I would have been furious and demanded to
be taken home. That would have ended our relationship and any respect I
had for the man, but with Jurgen I did not feel that way for some
reason. I accepted the situation, pretending I was not aware of what
was going on.

I crossed my legs and watched their heads move in unison as the men
shifted their gazes from my breasts down to my legs.

Jurgen was happy. He was solicitous, affectionate.

“I am so proud of you,” he said, squeezing my knee. His words touched
my heart and I smiled. I craved his approval.

The more I drank, the more I relaxed. Soon I was laughing with the men.
I uncrossed my arms and gave them all full, uninhibited views of my
breasts. I even bantered, teased the men, making eye contact and
giggled at their lewd comments about me. They became progressively more
suggestive as they tested me, seeing how far they could go, how far
Jurgen would allow them.

As Jurgen grinned proudly, I got in the spirit of the evening.

One of Jurgen’s friends, a rough looking talkative guy named Bone, who
was drinking Jack Daniels straight, kept staring at me strangely.
Jurgen had sat me down in the empty chair next to Bone. He was older,
fifty something, a bit gaunt and grizzled looking.

He told me he had heard a lot about me from Jurgen.

“So you must like dogs, if you like Jurgen,” he said, downing a
glassful of whiskey. “You better learn to love dogs, especially Diesel
if you are going to be Jurgen’s girl. That man is devoted to his dog.”

“I know. He loves dogs!”

“Jurgen does not like many people, and he does not usually trust a
woman. He prefers the company of a good dog.”

Jurgen was eavesdropping on our conversation from across the table. He
smiled.

“There is a purity about a dog that women can’t match,” Jurgen said in
a loud voice that quieted the rest of the room. “A dog will
unquestionably obey its master. No matter what. A woman, no matter how
much she thinks she loves the man, will argue, will question every
instruction. In the end she will only do what she wants, ruled by her
self interest. A dog cares only about its master.”

“I have high standards for women,” Jurgen went on. “Perfect
temperament. Beauty, boldness. Submit to voice control.”

“Like a dog,” Bone added.

I assumed they were all joking, but I feared there was an edge of truth
to their jokes. I realized Jurgen’s comments were directed to me and my
resistance to go braless for him. He was giving me a message. I did not
miss his point.

“We are careful to select brood bitches for their characteristics,
should be as careful selecting a girlfriend,” Jurgen said. “I make it
clear what I expect from my woman. Julie knows. She has no illusions.
And the benefits make it worthwhile. Right, bitch?”

I blushed.

“He’s had a lot of girlfriends over the years,” Bone said. “Women like
him. But they all get tired of competing with dogs for him. They think
all the work, money and time devoted to these dogs is pointless and
worthless. If they think that for a minute, they can’t last long with
Jurgen.”

I laughed. I once dated a mountain climber who complained that women
left him because they could not compete with mountains, and a wrestling
coach who lost his wife because she did not want to compete with his
wrestlers for his time and attention. I would not be like that.

He told me about Jurgen. He admitted Jurgen could sometimes be hard for
people to understand. Some people at least. “Once you do understand
him, know him, he is a tremendous guy. You need to be especially
committed to him.”

Jurgen bragged to his friends about my never having smoked a single
cigarette in my life, never inhaled a puff in all my years. My adamant
position on smoking made me a target for him for the months that we had
been dating. Half the time Jurgen lit up a cigarette I think he did it
just to annoy me.

“I think you’ll smoke a cigarette for me,” Jurgen said to me in front
of his friends. ” Do it for me, babe. It is important. I want you to.”
It was a showdown. I knew that Jurgen would be incredibly angry if I
embarrassed him in front of his friends and refused him, and I had
already made him angry with my reluctance to go braless to that party.

I figured it wasn’t worth it. I loved the man. I trembled as I put
Jurgen’s half-smoked cigarette to my lips. I was aware of the circle of
amused faces watching me. I inhaled and coughed.

Jurgen beamed. “One phobia down!”

“Anal sex is next, honey,” his friend, Pete, shouted from across the
table. Jurgen laughed.

I was awkward and clumsy. I did not know how to hold the cigarette and
the men all laughed at the way I inhaled it. I did not even know what I
did wrong. I felt foolish and stupid. After three cigarettes I felt
more comfortable. I stopped coughing and I felt more polished holding
the cigarette and putting it to my lips.

The men approved. Jurgen seemed quite pleased.

“You’ve come a long way baby!” I heard one of his friends say somewhere
in the haze.

“By God, she’s a natural,” the bleached blonde said mockingly.

They gave me drink after drink. When I could not work the lighter
anymore, Jurgen announced it was time to go home.

“I think she’s about ready,” I heard him tell his friends when I had to
ask someone else to light my last cigarette. I had smoked eight
cigarettes and drank four glasses of Jack Daniels. The room seemed
tilted and the faces of Jurgen’s friends all seemed strange and huge. I
was stupid drunk. I could not walk without help. I smelled of
decadence, a mixture of whiskey, cigarettes and perfume. My scent
excited Jurgen.

That night he made love to me while I lay motionless beneath him, my
stomach turning over and over. But I was pleased I had done that for
him. I had demonstrated my love.

I remember him telling me how proud he was of me, that he was going to
make me a completely different woman.

“You don’t know what you are capable of,” he said. “You don’t even know
who you are, yet. But I am going to show you.”

In the morning he gave me a cigarette before I even get out of bed. The
idea of someone smoking as soon as they woke up always disgusted me,
but I lit the cigarette, inhaled deeply and savored the menthol. It
tasted good. I smiled at Jurgen. He had succeeded in breaking down my
refusal to smoke cigarettes. My lips were no longer virgin to tobacco
and my lungs had been filled with smoke and nicotine flowed through my
blood stream, just as he had told me it would. But that was not his
true objective. It was unspoken, but after I had smoked that first
cigarette, I was a smoker. Jurgen wanted me to smoke every day. It was
his decision, not mine.

After that he insisted I smoke with him all the time to keep
demonstrating my love for him. I smoked alone in my apartment,
practicing so that when I smoked in public I would look smooth and
comfortable with a cigarette in my hand.

One day he ordered me to go and buy cigarettes. I felt so scared
standing nervously at the convenience store counter, working up my
courage to order a pack of cigarettes, trying to act calm so the clerk
could not tell. I had never expected to do that in all my life. I felt
like a shoplifter. I felt so wicked. My heart was pounding. I felt like
I was making a drug deal. I was embarrassed and excited. It was a
thrill, a rush, just to buy a pack of cigarettes… I giggled when I
got back. Jurgen said he was proud of me. He was expanding my horizons.

“I know that was hard for you. The point is you see you are capable of
doing things you never thought you would. That is the point of our
relationship. Otherwise, I might as well spend my time with someone
else.”

I didn’t want him to do that!

Smoking narrowed the difference between me and him and me and his
friends. They were more accepting, more friendly. I became one of them
when I smoked. It made all the difference. Before I smoked, they saw me
as an outsider, someone who thought I was better than them. Stuck up.
Now I was one of them.

The weekly gathering of his friends became “smoking parties” focused on
me. Jurgen liked making me the center of attention. But at the same
time that he liked having men wanting me, he made sure they all
understood I was “off limits.” He was very possessive.

He made me carry his cigarettes in my purse and to always have a
lighter ready for him. He called me his cigarette slave in front of his
friends. He would have me light his cigarettes and whenever any of his
friends wanted to smoke it was my responsibility to pull out my lighter
and light their cigarettes. They would send me out to buy him and his
friends more cigarettes, something that they knew I found humiliating.

One of his closest friends, Gene, a guy in his sixties, who had a
particularly bad smoking habit since he was ten, loved Marlboro s.
Jurgen had me sit with Gene at the next meeting of the dog people. Gene
held up a half-smoked Marlboro with a wet sloppy filter and demanded
that I finish it. I put that wet soggy cigarette to my lips while they
all watched. I tasted his saliva and smoked. They all got quiet. It was
intense, strangely erotic for me. And for them, too. I could see it in
their eyes. It was an intimate and forbidden act with another man. They
had all broken down my moral resistance. What could be next? Group sex?

“I like you wicked,” Jurgen told me.

Jurgen made me put my hands on the man’s shoulders and kiss him.
Someone took a picture of me with the cigarette in my mouth. I felt
lightheaded, giddy and silly.

Jurgen made me take turns smoking each of the men’s cigarettes, then
kissing them deeply. It was like those French classes in high school.
And it was like group sex. I felt whorish and cheap. But it was
exciting, definitely forbidden. One guy put his hand on my leg under
the table, but I never told Jurgen.

All evening I had to put cigarette after cigarette to my lips, light it
and inhale deeply to get the cigarette burning, then hand it to Jurgen
or one of his friends, whoever wanted to smoke. They laughed at my
awkwardness with the cigarettes and would make me take a second or
third deep puff before they deemed their cigarette ready. They thought
it was sexy to see my lipstick on the filter.

“Those lungs aren’t so pretty and pink any more, bitch,” Pete said. “We
re going to give you lung cancer.”

I could not be sure if he was serious or not.

From then on I had to buy him and all his friends their cigarettes —
with my own money. I had to carry packs for all his friends at all
times. My purse was filled with Camels for Bone. Lark Box for Joe.
Marlboros. Kools. I had to buy myself a bigger purse. And I smoked
pretty much anything. They called me the cigarette bitch, or the
cigarette whore, the tobacco slave. The nicest thing they called me was
the pack horse. And every night they would send me out on cigarette
runs. And generally every night they would all sit at a table and they
would demand that I smoke a cigarette from each one of their packs, one
after the other. On those nights they insisted I always have a
cigarette going.

I sampled all their brands and settled on Newports as my brand.

One night Jurgen casually told me to buy and extra pack for his nephew,
who was just sixteen and too young to buy cigarettes on his own. I
objected. I felt it was immoral, practically child molesting. He
insisted. I felt humiliated and he ordered me to hand the pack to the
kid and light one of his cigarette the way I did for his friends.

He told me the kid had a crush on me and he made me go to the movies
with the kid to give him a thrill. The kid held my hand and after the
movie he kissed me, saying he was looking forward to “dating” me again.
Jurgen made me buy cigarettes for the kid and his friends.

My throat burned. I developed a cough. My clothes stunk. My hair stunk.
My apartment reeked of cigarette smoke. The ashes made my car filthy.
After awhile I did not care. Then I got so I actually liked the smell,
it gave me comfort, and then after awhile I never noticed the smell
that I used to find so nauseating. I spent so much money on cigarettes.
I woke up and had a smoke before I could think about eating. I got
irritable and jumpy if I went an hour without a cigarette. I felt a
sense of unease and insecurity when I was down to my last pack and such
a sense of comfort when I opened a brand new carton. There was
something satisfying, something exciting about smoking, especially
under those circumstances.

Jurgen had turned it into something sexy.

Before long I was smoking two packs a day, every day. Smoking my first
cigarette before I got out of bed in the morning and the last one in
bed before falling asleep.

I lost weight. The pounds just came off. I was too skinny. The
cigarettes had sapped my appetite and ruined the taste of food. I did
not care.

One time I stopped outside the grocery store to take the last desperate
drags on my cigarette before going inside. As I stood next to the trash
can hungrily inhaling the precious puffs of that cigarette I looked up
and saw a well-dressed woman watching me with an unmistakable look of
disgust on her face. The woman wrinkled her nose and walked by me. I
knew what she was thinking, but it was too late. She didn’t understand.
I just wanted that nicotine in my bloodstream. I saw the men looking at
each other with that knowing look and they laughed. At me. That was
what they had reduced me to.

Jurgen had enslaved to cigarettes and he was proud of it.

Jurgen was surely and deliberately breaking down all my moral standards
that had shaped my life. When he found out I did not like something, he
made it his mission to break down my objections. He made me eat oysters
and sushi when he found out I did not like that kind of food. He made
me drink whiskey with him and spend time with his friends, especially
the ones that made me uncomfortable. On election day, he insisted I
vote all Republican, which made me probably the first person in my
family not to vote Democratic in all of history!

I convinced Jurgen to take me to the New Year’s Eve party my boss was
throwing at a downtown bar for the people in my office. I was proud of
my boyfriend and I figured it was my turn to show him off to my
friends. It was bitterly cold that night, the temperature was something
like eight degrees below zero. I cared about what those people thought
of me. I mean, I had to work with them every day, so I was sure Jurgen
would not humiliate me the way he did around his friends. Because of
the cold, I was wearing wool slacks and a black turtleneck sweater,
which was appropriate for an office part. Jurgen refused to be seen
with me unless I wore what he told me what to wear: a very short black
corduroy skirt with big brass buttons up the front and a lovely, but
very sheer, white blouse he had bought me for the party. No bra and a
thick gold chain necklace. And open toed high heels. I had wanted to
wear slacks because of the severe cold, but he would not allow that! I
also wore a beautiful green suede leather coat with a white fur trimmed
hood. I loved that coat. It was very expensive and expensive to clean.
He had a nice suit and a beautiful full length brown coat and gloves.
We could see our breath in the car and I shivered all the way over. He
made me drive. He liked me to drive because he could do things and I
was in no position to resist. It was a game he liked to play. I did not
know where we were going and he made me park the car blocks away.

When I stopped the car he made me take off my coat and he made me
remove my pantyhose and panties. It was soooo cold. He made me walk
several blocks like that. My feet were numb. I was shivering by the
time we got to the party. He had that big warm coat and gloves. I never
really got warm. Jurgen liked the way the cold made my nipples stand
out against the fabric of the blouse. I know my friends from work
thought I was strange that night. I could tell the way they looked at
me. The men ogled my breasts and the women looked daggers at me. After
the party Jurgen made me get in the back seat and take my clothes off
and lay down naked on the cold upholstery so he could open his pants
and make love to me in the freezing cold. It was sooo cold, but I was
thrilled to show him how far I would go for him. He had no respect for
my limits. He always told me that. He said I needed to be pushed to new
limits.

Jurgen lived a very ordered life. The more I stayed with him, the more
I was surprised at how ordered he was. It was more than just putting
the cap back on the toothpaste. It was clear to me that if I wanted a
place in that life I would have to adapt to him. He was very unyielding
in so many ways. He always went to bed at eleven thirty and he always
woke up at five thirty every morning. And he never lingered in bed. I
do not know how he did it. It irritated him if I did not get right up
and he could not stand to let me sleep in. In Jurgen’s life, I soon
learned, everyone follows Jurgen’s rules. So I went to bed at eleven
thirty and I got up at five in the morning so I could brew his coffee
before he woke up. Jurgen had taught me how to make the coffee his way
and how to make his breakfast the way he liked it. And, of course, he
got very upset if I did not keep his kitchen in the exact order he
liked.

Adding to the tension and sense of danger for me was the constant
presence of that big dog. Diesel did not seem to like me at all.

I knew how dangerous Rottweilers can be. I read in the newspaper how
drug dealers use them for protection in the big cities, how they are
used for dog fighting because of their viciousness. Jurgen showed me
the terrible newspaper clippings about the little boy who had been
killed by three Rottweilers while he waited for his school bus. Jurgen
made sure I knew about the woman jogging on the other side of town had
been attacked a month ago. She had required more than four hundred
stitches. I thought of that woman a lot. I jog, too. At least I tried
to, but the smoking was making that hard for me.

One of Jurgen’s friends, an interesting guy named Pete, showed me his
hand where his own Rottweiler bit off three fingers. He said
Rottweilers had to be treated with respect and raised by people who
knew what they were doing. But he said that if he saw a Rottweiler show
the slightest aggressiveness or out-of-control behavior, he got rid of
them because they were so dangerous. He had the Rottweiler that bit him
destroyed because he could never trust the dog again.

Pete told me stories about how he had one dog that killed two bitches
that were not receptive to his advances. But the dog was sweet around
people. I think he was trying to warn me.

I also met one of Jurgen’s old girlfriends, Jean, who seemed kind of
amused by me. We could not have been more different. She seemed hard-
edged with stringy bleached blonde hair and a big rose tattoo on her
right calf. Jean was a chain smoker and she drove a pickup truck. There
was an instant dislike between the two of us, but she did tell me that
if I wanted to keep Jurgen’s interest she said I would have to be
willing to jump hoops for the man, and to never make him choose between
me and his precious dog. She said that was why they broke up. She
wasn’t willing to play second fiddle to a dog for any man. When she
talked to me it seemed that she was smirking at me all the time.

One afternoon I came out of work and found Jurgen had pasted a “I Love
My Rottie” bumper sticker on my car. I remember feeling that Jurgen was
“marking” me in some strange way. In fact, I felt flattered. It was
like he was declaring me a part of his world.

After several months of dating every weekend, Jurgen encouraged me to
spend my time at his house and to bring my clothes over. He did not
want me moving in completely, but he wanted me to almost live with him!
I was thrilled when he cleared out a dresser and space in his closet
for my clothes. It was romantic for me to hang my dresses and tops
alongside his slacks and shirts in his closet and to fill drawers with
my things, to sort our laundry together and see my panties and bras
mixed in the basket with his boxer shorts and socks. It was very
intimate. I told him many times I loved him and wanted to have his
baby. He did not discourage me from talking about marriage, but he
never brought it up I felt that someday it would happen.

He liked having me there to do things for him and I loved to do things
for him. Sometimes he would get a craving for a nice salad and I would
go out into the kitchen and make him the most wonderful salad just to
his specifications. Sometimes I would sit next to him and feed it to
him forkful by forkful. I had never been so in love, so devoted to a
man before. I brought my favorite plants from my apartment to brighten
up his house, even my most favorite asparagus plant which had grown
huge under three years of my loving care.

I devoted myself to Jurgen. I cleaned his house the way he liked it
cleaned, washed his clothes the way he insisted, made his meals the way
he liked, and I was thrilled when he allowed me to balance his
checkbook and pay his bills. I felt really close to him when he allowed
me to deposit my paycheck into his checking account. It meant I had no
control of my own money and I had to ask him before I bought anything,
but it made me feel so close to my man.

Jurgen put me to work washing and waxing his Jeep and his Dodge pickup
truck. When it was cold he made me fill up the three heavy kerosene
stoves he used to heat up parts of his big house. That was back
breaking to lift and carry those stoves once they were full of fuel,
but Jurgen never offered to help. He liked watching me struggle. I
recognized it as just another test.

I felt like I was his wife in many ways. In his mind, I was his bitch.
I felt so domesticated. Jurgen was very demanding and very possessive.
He was very detail conscious and everything had to be done his way or
he would get very angry. Something in Jurgen’s dominating personality
filled a need of mine. The more dominating he was, the more determined
I was to please him. I realize now that he was a control freak, but I
did not care, I just wanted to know what to do to make him happy.

I lived in constant fear that he would lose interest in me. He was a
hard man to please. I had never dealt with such a complex person in all
my life.

Life with Jurgen was full of rituals and games. Some were fun. Some
were strange. He had strict rules, rules that he expected me and the
dog to follow precisely. The dog had been trained to follow his rules
since it was a puppy. Diesel was programmed. It was more difficult for
me. Jurgen always said dogs love rituals and Rottweilers especially
needed structure.

He expected to be obeyed. He had me keep a notebook filled with lists
of foods that he liked, recipes he wanted me to memorize, brand names
he liked, directions on how to grind his favorite coffee beans and
daily schedules he expected me to follow. He did not like the way I
folded towels and taught me the right way to fold them. He eased up on
his ban on bras for me, but the rule was whenever I wore a bra, it had
to be with that sandpaper tormenting my nipples. He said he wanted the
irritation to remind me of him all the time.

When I got dressed nicely to go out, in my high heels, Jurgen would
give me paper towels and send me on “poop patrol” into the three
kennels and stand outside watching me in my dress and heels bending
down to pick up dog shit while the dogs growled suspiciously at me.
Jurgen would go out with me and make sure I picked up all the turds. I
think that chore was the most humiliating of all, but I saw it as a
special opportunity to demonstrate my devotion to him.

Meals with Jurgen were always special. When we went out to restaurants
he always ordered for me. I never had any say what I ate, except that
he deliberately ordered food I did not like, even liver and onions
once. Yuck! He said eating out with him was not for my pleasure, but
his entertainment and he took pleasure in making me eat food I would
never eat with anyone else. It was part of his power over me. He always
made me eat it all, too. It was always my opportunity to demonstrate
the depth of my devotion to him.

When it was time to feed the dog, Jurgen would stand in the kitchen and
order Diesel to “stay” while he filled the bowls with food and fresh
water. The dog would wait patiently for Jurgen’s approval to eat. I was
not allowed to feed the dog, and I was never to give it a command.
Jurgen forbade me from speaking to the dog or to even have eye contact
with it.

It was important for Jurgen to be in control, not only of his life and
his dog, but to be in control of me. And changing me was essential to
controlling me. He started talking about tattooing me. And he had to
control what I ate, what I did and he took special pleasure out of
controlling what I wore, right down to my underwear. I had no say in
such matters.

One day while we were shopping at the mall, Jurgen saw a knife he
wanted. It was very well made, he said. It was also expensive. It was
big, and very sharp with a mean looking serrated blade. He told me to
buy it for him with my credit card since I could not pay cash because
he had not given me any of my money.

When we got out to the car he drove out to the back of the parking lot
by the garbage bins and put his arm around my shoulders while he held
the knife in front of my face with his other hand. He was very intense
and had a strange look in his face as he told me how much he liked the
knife. He pressed the blade against my face, then ran it along my
throat. I knew he would not hurt me, at least I hoped he wouldn’t. He
could have killed me if he wanted. He knew that he had that power over
me, which is what I think that knife was all about. I could feel my
heart pounding and I was barely breathing when he moved the blade
downward and I couldn’t believe it when he sliced through my sweater
and bra, then up through my skirt until I was sitting there in the car
with all my clothes sliced away. He pressed the blade between my thighs
and I remember fighting the urge to pee when I felt the cold steel down
there. The whole thing was very arousing for Jurgen and he made love to
me right there in the car in broad daylight. It was an awesome
experience. I was surprised at how exciting it was. He made me carry
the knife in my purse for him after that.

After one of those parties of the dog people, Jurgen started talking
about Bone, and how the old guy really liked me, wanted to make love to
me, in fact. And Jurgen thought it would be a great adventure.

I was shocked and would not even consider the idea. I told him it would
never happen.

“I can’t. I don’t love him. He doesn’t love me.”

“That’s the whole point,” Jurgen said. “You’re going to for me, because
I want you to.”

“I can’t make love to someone I don’t love.”

“It’s sex. It’s not making love.”

“Don’t make me do this,” I said in a begging voice. “Please. Not that.”

“Do you think Diesel loves all those bitches he breeds with? He does it
because I decide he will. Are you less loyal to me than the damn dog?”

Jurgen called it a favor for a friend. He said the guy had not had a
woman since his divorce and he was worried that Bone was getting
depressed. He wanted to give me to his friend to lift his spirits! How
thoughtful.

I could tell Jurgen was annoyed with me over my prudishness. I was
shocked and sickened by Jurgen’s suggestion that I make love to his
friend. I guess I should not have been so surprised. Bone kept eyeing
me like the dirty old man that he was, and he would touch me sometimes
when we were alone together. Jurgen never stopped bugging me to make
love to his friend. It was probably inevitable I would give in. I
always did. Jurgen had so much power over me. After a month of
incessant badgering, I gave in.

The favor was rather involved. It included a four-day weekend trip to
Nevada to be Bone’s date at his son’s wedding. The idea was to make his
ex-wife jealous when she saw Bone walk into the reception with what he
called a young babe. Like everything else in my life, Jurgen had
choreographed everything I said and did. He had picked out my clothes,
told me what to say and do. Jurgen did not go with us, but he never
relinquished control. Bone drove a rusted old Chevy pickup truck that
was raised up off the ground and had oversized tires. It was a struggle
in my heels and short skirt just to climb into the cab. During the
drive over he had his big hand on my thigh practically every mile of
the trip. I was surprised that Bone’s son was younger than I am by a
few years and I felt all his relatives eyeing me disapprovingly. Bone
introduced me as his college girl, and made me tell people about my
college degree in English. I felt foolish and self conscious, but Bone
was beaming with pride. Who would have thought ole Bone would have
gotten himself a college girl, he told people over and over.

I played my role as Bone’s girlfriend that weekend just the way Jurgen
had told me to. I hung on him like an adoring groupie. I laughed at his
stupid jokes and I nibbled his ear when his ex-wife was watching.

After the wedding I went with Bone to a seedy motel. I had a horrid
time. I did not like it at all. But I did what Jurgen had told me. It
had been more than four years since Bone had seen or touched a naked
woman. He was like a starving man given a steak. He was ravenous. I
understood it had nothing to do with me. He would have been just as
excited for any woman. While he had me down between his legs, nuzzling,
licking, kissing and sucking his penis, like I had been told to, he
laid back and called Jurgen on the telephone to share with him what I
was doing. I did not realize what Bone was doing until it was too late.
I was ashamed and embarrassed to listen to Bone describing in the
crudest terms what I was doing and what it felt like to the man I
wanted to marry. I did everything Jurgen had told me too. I thought of
Jurgen the whole time I was with Bone. Bone enjoyed himself and came at
me two more times that night. I could not sleep. I hated myself
afterward.

When I came back to my apartment I knew immediately I had made a
horrible mistake. My pillow had been chewed to pieces. The apartment
had been closed up while I was gone and it stank horribly of dog urine
and there was a huge stain on my bed and on the carpet. It was obvious
Jurgen had brought Diesel into my apartment while I was gone. He was
marking his territory — me — with his dog. I never got the stain out
and no matter how much scrubbing I did, I never got rid of the odor. It
was obvious Jurgen had Diesel deliver a message.

Despite his promises that he would not hold it against me, I could tell
Jurgen never trusted me again. I felt he had set a trap that I could
not escape. He would have been angry if I had not let Bone make love to
me, and he felt I betrayed him when I did. It was a test I was doomed
to fail no matter what I did.

Jurgen could not contain his rage at me for having made love to another
man. He did not seem to understand I did it for him. He had insisted.
But he got violently angry at me. He called me a whore and said I had
turned him into a pimp. I begged his forgiveness. I apologized over and
over. It was not logical. Jurgen had almost forced me to go with Bone,
but afterward he acted as though I had betrayed him. I accepted the
responsibility and the blame. I had to make it up to him. If it had
been any other man but Jurgen I would have left him before it ever
gotten so weird, but I would have done anything for that man. It was
extremely difficult after that night with Bone. My relationship with
Jurgen seemed to be very precarious after that. Things were never the
same between us again. There was an edge of meanness in the way Jurgen
treated me. I should have left him then.

I drank more wine, smoked my Newports incessantly and smoked marijuana
whenever I could. I was always a little tipsy and I started having
problems at work. I was more desperate than ever to be whatever kind of
woman Jurgen wanted me to be.

What was happening to me? I would look in the mirror and not recognize
myself. My hair was losing its body. I was getting strung out. My eyes
were red. The smoking, the stress, the drinking was all taking its toll
on me physically. Jurgen was actually changing me. The things he had me
doing to please him were not the things I would have ever thought I
would do. I had lost control of the kind of person I was. Jurgen was in
total control.

As difficult, though, as Jurgen was to please, his dog was always
harder to deal with. When it wanted something, the dog just stared at
me until I jumped up and got whatever it wanted: fresh water or to be
let outside. It would just sit there, watching me intently, its head
moving if I moved, never taking its dog eyes off me. With Jurgen’s
encouragement, the dog clearly regarded me as its slave. In its dog
eyes, I was only there to serve its needs. Diesel regarded itself, with
Jurgen’s blessing, as my Alpha Dog and me as its bitch.

The dog was trained to get out of Jurgen’s way if it was laying in his
way, but I always had to step around the animal if it was sleeping in
my path. Jurgen had trained the dog to let him walk through doors first
as demonstration of his dominance over Diesel, but I was never allowed
to go before the dog. I was not even allowed to turn the lights on or
off in his house because Jurgen did not want the dog to think I had
that sort of power. When we went anywhere in Jurgen’s Jeep I had to
ride in the cramped, crude back seat so that Diesel could ride in the
passenger seat because the dog liked to stick its head out the window
and feel the wind against its face. The message the dog was given was
that I had no power over it.

I was mortified one afternoon when I went to the bank and opened my
purse to have a dried dog turd rolled out on the counter in front of a
grossed out teller. Jurgen just laughed. He had planted it in my purse.
I found those disgusting things all over my apartment. I would find
them in my bed, in my pockets. He had tucked them into my dresser
drawers with my underwear and lingerie, taking away the perfumed
sachets I kept with my clothes. I have always taken very good care of
my clothes and love to smell nice, but Jurgen was on a campaign to make
me carry a subtle smell of dog with me. I had assumed they were
Diesel’s, but he told me the turds were collected from the bitches’
kennels. I was a bitch and he wanted me to smell like one to his
precious dog! In a way, he was marking me. He said the scent would make
me more acceptable to the dogs. I was not so sure.

One time Jurgen caught me offering Diesel a piece of chocolate in a
pathetic attempt to make peace with the dog. He yelled at me, making
the dog bark at me. He called me a “stupid cow.” He made a big deal out
of it, accusing me of trying to poison his dog and he made me sit there
and offer the dog chocolate again and again while he taught Diesel to
refuse my offer. That night after we finished making love, he gave me a
pillow and a blanket and told me to sleep on the floor with the dog. I
curled up under the bed while Diesel slept on the floor by his master’s
side of the bed. Jurgen said I was an undisciplined bitch.

There was a constant tension between me and the dog. I was allowed to
water it, let it out, bring it in on its whim and pick up its turds,
but the dog seemed ready to bite me if I did not behave properly. The
threat of the dog turning on me gave both the dog and Jurgen authority
over me in the household. There seemed to be a definite sexual edge to
the way the man and his dog related to me.

Jurgen had me do chores in the kennels where the visiting bitches
stayed. I could feed the bitches and clean up after them. Jurgen told
me to watch them, to learn how the female dogs behaved. Diesel was
quite physical with them and he usually left them exhausted and
bleeding. I spent one weekend nursing and comforting one pathetic bitch
that had been injured by Diesel. The poor thing bled all weekend and
when it wasn’t sleeping, it just whined sadly. The mating was a
success, though, and Jurgen was thrilled when he was told the bitch was
pregnant.

One day a friend of Jurgen’s came over with his wife, to test drive a
pickup truck Jurgen was selling. They were “dog people”, too, and had
known Jurgen for years. They had brought their dog, a big black lab to
check out the truck.

I was proud of Jurgen. He looked hot that day in a black tee shirt,
tight jeans, dark sun glasses and black cowboy hat. I watched the other
woman flirt with him. The woman was pregnant. She was rough looking,
not at all feminine. I did not feel threatened, just proud that I was
Jurgen’s woman.

I couldn’t believe it when they told us to ride in the back of the
pickup with the two dogs. The woman was at least seven months pregnant
and she looked tired, but she merely shrugged and climbed up awkwardly
in the back of the truck. The two dogs leaped eagerly behind her, and
crowded close to her, wagging their tails and licking her face. I was
surprised at the twinge of jealousy I felt at the sight of the woman
affectionately petting the big dog. I was practically engaged to the
dog’s owner, and after four months the Rottweiler acted like it would
rather bite me. I climbed into the truck and crouched down in the
corner near the cab. The dogs ignored me as they crowded affectionately
around the pregnant woman.

The men thought it was funny to have us riding in the back of the
truck. Jurgen and the woman’s husband were laughing as the driver took
a turn too wide and too fast, making us slide across the truck bed. It
was cold and windy. I was shivering and my lips were trembling, but the
pregnant woman seemed quite content as she rode with her arms around
the two big dogs. Diesel eyed me warily from his position across the
truck.

We had been traveling for twenty minutes or so down the rough country
roads. A sudden, sharp right turn sent me flying across the truck bed.
I put my hands out to catch myself, but the momentum sent me right into
Diesel. The dog yelped angrily and bit at my wrist, before the woman
grabbed its collar and pulled it back, scolding the growling
Rottweiler. I was stunned and yelled. The dog let go of my wrist and
sat back down by the woman. It was woofing at me excitedly. I held my
arm, but I was not bleeding.

The woman crossed over to my side of the truck and examined my wrist
with a concerned expression.

“You are lucky he did not break the skin,” she shouted over the road
noises.

I just nodded, too upset to speak.

“Lady, you d better learn to get along with this dog. What did you do
to make him hate you so?”

“I don’t know. It has never liked me.”

“Diesel’s a good dog, if you give him a chance. You better learn to get
along with him or find yourself a new boyfriend.”

“I’d appreciate it if we did not tell Jurgen about this. It is nothing
really. The dog probably thought it was being attacked. I mean the way
I was thrown into him. He was just reacting.”

“I don’t know, lady. Jurgen might want to know. If he has an aggressive
Rottweiler he really needs to do something about it before something
happens, you know? For the dog’s sake. He’s got to think of the dog.”

Her logic seemed twisted to me, but it was much like the way Jurgen’s
mind worked when it came to his precious Diesel I thought as I rubbed
my wrist. I get bit and everyone is concerned about the dog!

“Biting puts the dog at risk,” the woman said, reinforcing her lack of
concern for me. I had to go away for a week to see my mom when she had
her operation. Jurgen made it clear that he did not like me leaving,
but I had to be with her. I have always been a good daughter. When I
came back to my closed-up apartment I was stunned by the nauseating
stench and mortified by the huge dark stains on the carpet, on my
bedspread and even on my white terricloth robe. It was obvious that
Jurgen had brought his dog to my apartment to urinate on my things to
teach me a lesson. Once again, I felt “marked.”

Jurgen enjoyed playing his weird games, making me and the dog fetch
toys. At first it was just me and a playful game that led to me and
Jurgen wrestling around, giggling on the floor as a prelude to making
love. He especially liked it when I would lick the palm of his hand
like a dog. The games were a relief for me because no matter how angry
he was they were important to him. After my weekend with Bone he
brought the dog into the games, using a toy that belonged to Diesel so
it would growl and nip at me. If we got a hold of the toy together the
dog would growl menacingly and bare its teeth, scaring me into
releasing it. Sometimes the dog would get my slender wrist between its
teeth and growl, but not bite down. I knew that dog could easily have
ripped my arm off and I would go stiff with horror, waiting for Jurgen
to call his dog off me.

The dog barely tolerated me when Jurgen was around and ignored me when
he wasn’t. There was a constant tension between me and the big animal.
It clearly did not like me, regarded me as some kind of rival. In its
way, the dog recognized me as a threat for Jurgen’s attention.

Jurgen let the dog gnaw on my pink rubber vibrator and when it was all
chewed up and wet with dog slobber, he used the dildo on me, getting
off on the dog’s slobber mixing with my own feminine juices. As he
fucked me with that chewed up dildo, Jurgen made he say over and over
that I loved his dog. I should have realized he was marking me inside
and out for Diesel. At the time I was just thrilled that Jurgen was so
incredibly passionate for me!

Whenever we made love. Diesel was never far away. The dog slept on the
floor in Jurgen’s bedroom and I always felt it was jealous of me
sleeping in his master’s bed. Sometimes when we made love I got the
sense that Jurgen was putting on a show for the dog, positioning me for
the dog to see me in a provocative or vulnerable position, to hear me
moan beneath his master. It was like Jurgen was showing off in front of
his dog!

As Jurgen pushed me further and further into his strange games, he
helped me overcome my inhibitions with expensive wines and one night he
introduced me to marijuana, which I discovered had a very strong affect
on me, leaving me giddy and languid after just a few puffs on his hand-
rolled joint.

I played the games for Jurgen, to make my lover happy. And we did have
fun for awhile. I thought he would stop it before anything really
happened. I thought it was a game. I never objected to the dog being
around because I knew how much the animal meant to Jurgen and I did not
want him to think I would ever make him choose between me and the dog.
I was flattered in a way that by having the dog around when Jurgen and
I were intimate, that he was allowing me to share in his close
relationship with his dog.

Jurgen pushed the games further and further.

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 he 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 awhile 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 demonstrate 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 greyish 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 much 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 a 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 down 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 prepared 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 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 dog 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, Julie,” 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 awhile 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 gargled 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 am 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,
Julie, 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, Julie.”

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, Julie. 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 down 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 rather than 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 come in my mouth.
The dog’s come was more fluid and pungent than the men I have tasted,
and its three powerful ejaculations produced more come than I could
swallow. Jurgen was thrilled by the lewd sight of his dog’s come
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 teethmarks.
Even my underwear had teethmarks. Everything in my life seemed covered
in black dog hair. My favorite halter was ruined by stains from the
dog’s slobber. Other clothes were marked by muddy paw prints or worse.
The dog had chewed up my favorite green plaid jumper because I had not
been able to get out of it fast enough. Another time the big dog has
knocked me down and rolled me around the ground in its backyard run,
getting its manure all over me. I was disgusted, but Jurgen just
laughed and said the dog was “marking” its property. I started wearing
extra perfume because I was so self conscious about smelling like a
dog. Jurgen would not let me wear old clothes to his house. He insisted
I dress nicely for my “dates” with Diesel, and usually had me wear a
sexy negligee on Saturday nights.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jurgen was a master manipulator. He knew what he had to do to control
me. He showed just enough interest in me, enough consideration, to give
me hope. On my birthday he told me to wear my black dress, what he
called my “fuck dress”, and he would take me out for drinks to
celebrate. We sat in the darkened lounging drinking and talking, almost
like old times, when Jurgen gave me a little gift wrapped box. I was
sure it was the engagement ring I wanted so badly. My heart was
pounding as I unwrapped the box. It was not an engagement ring. It was
a dog tag. Jurgen had a tag made up with “Julie”