My Life with Diesel by Julie Marie (Zoo sex-woman/dog, D/s)


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.

O