When you were a kid did you ever have your own dog?  I don’t mean the family dog; I mean your own dog, one that you fed and took care of and was loyal only to you?  Did you train it to do some neat tricks like stand on its hind legs and dance or snatch a cookie off of its snout on command?  Were all your friends envious because they never had such a cool pet?  Well, I didn’t have one either.  Sure, Dad had a little punter dog that sat on his lap and growled menacingly anytime I approached.  It would shit on the floor and then hike its leg and piss on me when I was down cleaning it up.  It snapped and snarled and just generally made my life even more miserable than it already was and I hated the little son-of-a-bitch with a passion usually reserved for schoolyard bullies or ex-wives.  It wasn’t until I was nearing thirty that I got my own dog.

            Tilly was of indeterminate heritage but I’d guess that she was some kind of Labrador-Shorthair cross.  She was yellow in color but didn’t have long hair like a typical Lab and was also somewhat smaller, maybe thirty pounds.  I paid sixty-five thousand dollars for her in 1980, which was a hell of a lot of money even if the purchase price did include four acres of land, an old farm house, small barn, and a worn out John Deere tractor.  The old couple’s health was failing and it was time for them to move into an assisted care facility, and they made it clear to me that caring for Tilly was part of the sale.

            Tilly was just a year old then, perfectly housebroken, and as sweet and adorable as the dog I always wished for when I was a kid.  She slept indoors but was trustworthy enough to run free outside when ever she chose to do so, and the first modification I made to the house was to install a pet door in the back so she could come and go as she pleased while I was at work.  It soon became apparent that she was also perfectly at home in either the front seat of my pick-up truck, so she usually went with me whenever I measured for or installed the cabinets that I made.  The rest of the time she usually kept me company in the barn, which I had converted into my cabinet shop, or in the house.  She loved people but also put up a defensive front when someone came into the yard, and after a month she seemed to regard me as her main man, master, and best friend.

            I didn’t learn of her special talents until the night we had a thunderstorm.  They are common in Eastern Washington in the summer and I woke up at the first rumble of thunder and stayed awake as the storm came closer.  Tilly didn’t like the thunder and as soon as the storm came close she quietly padded into the bedroom and jumped up on the foot of the bed.  I was going to scold her and send her back to her customary place by the stove in the living room but I fell back asleep before getting around to it.  I awoke the next morning with a boner, as usual, and when I rolled over I realized that Tilly had slipped under the covers and was now in bed with me.  Before I could shoo her out she nuzzled my balls with her warm nose and deftly licked them several times.  I had heard the old joke about the fag in the bar with a dog that could give blow jobs, only the fag had to show him how one more time, but knowing that dogs had evolved with the ability to kill with their mouths there was no way that I was ever going to let one get a hold of my dick.

             “Down, girl,” I said, pushing her away.  She came right back and started licking my balls again, and this time included my dick.  I finally rolled over, spread my legs, and let her have her way with me.  She started at my asshole and worked her way up to and around the head of my cock, returning frequently to my balls, repeating the long, slow licks with her supple tongue until I exploded in one of the most intense orgasms that I’d ever experienced.  I had been blown many times before, during, and after my five-year marriage, and had experienced some of the most exotic whores in the world during my Vietnam tour, but I had never got off just by having my cock and balls licked.  Except for occasional masturbation I had been celibate for over a year and now the thick ropes of my pent up jiz almost covered my belly.  Tilly didn’t even hesitate:  she licked it up greedily, as if it were her favorite doggy treat, then jumped down and retreated to her own dog bed in the living room while I made the morning coffee and took a shower.

            Was it wrong? Yes.  Did I make her do it?  No.  Did I make her stop?  Hell no.  These thoughts and many more coursed through my head that day as I went about my work.  I told myself that because there hadn’t actually been any sexual penetration that it wasn’t really bestiality, as if that made the perverted act any more palatable.  I finally dismissed it and resolved to get out and socialize more often, and perhaps even develop a relationship of some kind with some gal.

            That night Tilly slept on her own dog bed, and it was only when she heard me stirring that she made her way to my bedside, where she looked at me as if waiting for an invitation to perform.  I sent her back to the living room before climbing out of bed.  She was only a dog, but for some reason I still didn’t want her to see that I had an erection.  My resolve had faded by the next morning, however, and I allowed Tilly another of my most excellent orgasms.  It was like I was a young boy again and had just discovered masturbation:  I knew it was wrong, and vowed to never do it again, but was somehow powerless to stop.   When I was a kid I eventually learned that everyone else was doing it too and I finally came to the conclusion that jacking off was perfectly normal, but now there was no way in hell that I could convince myself that getting head from a dog was a normal, healthy, adult activity.

            I did restrain myself somewhat however, and only allowed Tilly to service me twice a week.  Eventually we both came to look forward to Wednesday and Sunday mornings and I think she was as eager to please me as I was to get my rocks off.  After a few weeks I managed to pigeonhole my feelings of guilt only to have them surface at odd times.

            “Hey, Jeff,” a friend asked one day.  “Did you see that gal Fred’s been hustling?  Christ, what a dog.  He could do a hell of a lot better than that.”  I don’t remember how I responded but I sure as hell remember my face turning red.

            “What’s up Jeff?”  John asked one day on the street.

            “Same-old same-old,” I answered, “How about you?”

            “Just fucking the dog,” John answered, using the tired old saw that perfectly described being unemployed.

            Even though I was embarrassed by my behavior, it didn’t faze Tilly one bit.  She continued to be just as enthusiastic as she was that first time, and although I now took longer to pop she responded by working even harder at getting me off.   She almost acted as if she didn’t have anything better to do.

            I may have been a little bit kinky, but deep down I was still a man and I sometimes flirted with a lady who worked at the lumberyard.  I went to high school with Charlene way back when but we didn’t really know each other then.  She was now divorced, same as me, and was also seeking companionship.  I didn’t get serious or anything and we just flirted a little during my frequent visits to the lumberyard until the Saturday evening I stopped at Safeway and saw her messing around under the hood of her car.  “Big problems?”  I asked.

            “I think it must be the Brain Box,” she answered, referring to the electronic ignition modules that cars had just came out with and that no one knew anything about.  “I’ll probably have to get it towed.”

            “You need a ride home or anywhere?”

            “Well, I was going to call a cab, but if you’re asking, yes.”  She put her groceries in the back of my truck and climbed in.  She invited me in for a cold beer, and the next thing I knew we were upstairs rutting like a couple of hormone-fueled teenagers.

            I got home just after midnight, patted Tilly on the head, and went straight to bed, thoroughly pooped.  Tilly came in the next morning as usual, ready to rock, and took one tentative sniff at my bespoiled crotch before tucking her tail between her legs and slinking out the door.   I was just about spermed out after the night with Charlene and didn’t really give a damn, so I got up, took a shower, and went to make the coffee.  Tilly was nowhere to be found but she had left her calling card on the kitchen floor.  It was the only time she had ever shit in the house.

            She was gone all of that day and when she came home that night she still seemed to be pissed at me and she sulked for most of the next two days, but Wednesday morning she was back at my bedside.  I willed myself to refuse her but I finally relented and was treated to her best performance ever.  It was kind of a boast to my ego having two bitches compete for my affections, so I did nothing to discourage her but the next Saturday evening I was back in the sack with Charlene.

            I made one concession to Tilly this time, though, and took a long and soapy shower before going home.  Tilly met me at the door, stuck her muzzle in my crotch, and retreated to her bed.  The shower ruse might have fooled a human, but not a dog.  She ignored me the next day and Monday, but back at my bedside Tuesday morning.  Thus it was that I spent the rest of the summer being shared by two bitches:  Tilly on Tuesday morning and Charlene on Saturday night.  Charlene never suspected my infidelity and Tilly came to accept it, and if I hadn’t been so brash as to introduce the two of them to each other things might still be okay.

            I liked Charlene and wanted to take our relationship up a notch, so I invited her out to my place one Saturday afternoon.  “That’s Tilly,” I explained as the dog came bounding happily up to my pickup.  “She came with the place, so I’m kind of stuck with her.”

            “She’s a real cutie, aren’t you, girl,” Charlene cooed, patting Tilly on the head.  Tilly issued her standard greeting to all people, namely, she stuck her nose in Charlene’s crotch, but then abruptly backed up and snarled.  It was the first time I’d ever her act that way.

            “Tilly!”  I exclaimed,  “Be nice now, this is a friend.”  She backed off and sat down but was still obviously wary of this creature that I had obviously been intimate with.  I gave Charlene a tour of the small acreage, my cabinet shop, and finally the house.  The last room we visited was my bedroom, and Charlene plopped down on the edge of my bed, stripped off he sweater, and started in on her bra.  It was an offer I couldn’t refuse, but before we got much farther Tilly padded into the room and jumped up on the bed between us. 

            “Down, girl!”  I scolded her, and then explained to Charlene, “You know how jealous you girls get.

            “Yeah, I guess so.  She sure doesn’t seem to like me, does she?”

            “She’ll get over it,” I answered, “After all, she’s just a dog.”  I put Tilly outside and closed and locked the bedroom door, the first time I’d ever done so.  “Where were we?”  I asked Charlene as I stepped out of my jeans.   Tilly whined and scratched at the door and even barked a couple of times as we went at it on the bed, but she finally gave up and let us fuck in peace.

            I knew that there would be another pile of dog shit on the kitchen floor, but for now I other things on my mind.  My couplings with Charlene usually involved a fast hard furious fuck, a half hour of rest and sweet talk, and then a more leisurely gentle copulation like the women read about in their magazines.  It was during this half hour period that it happened.  Charlene was beside me on the top of the bed, gently fondling my still flaccid cock, when the window shattered inward and a yellow thirty-pound projectile jetted into the room.

            Tilly was on the bed in an instant and stuck her nose in my still damp crotch.  This was no casual, exploratory sniff, nor was it one of her loving lick jobs.  Instead she took both of my testicles into her mouth.  I screamed, and Charlene screamed, but nothing could deter the scorned bitch.  She clamped down, shook her head as if killing a rat, and quickly as it takes to tell it she castrated me.

            The authorities wanted to have Tilly put down, claiming that a dog that would bite off her master’s balls was a danger to the community, but I hired a lawyer to fight it.  Charlene is history, of course, but Tilly and I are still together.  She still gives me lick jobs, and I still enjoy them, but there’s no way I’ll ever let her suck me.