Straight Female


Lisa

I suppose that it was pure chance, a lucky throw of the dice, and a case of right time, right place, in which I met Lisa. The circumstances were hardly usual; in fact shock was possibly the first reaction she evinced from me. Definitely, shock. Intrigue and wanton lust also added to the brew of emotions that she caused. The experience of her was a life-changing event, one that would never ever diminish in the memory and would alter my perspective on life from that time onwards. I had been called by a man who's name reminded me of an out-board motor.

Mated with Bruno.

Before you tell me, I know it can't happen. I know it is an impossibility to breed, but call it poetic licence, call it fantasy, but whatever you call it, enjoy and forget the physics for a while. His powerful forelegs clamped her heaving hips in a tight embrace pulling her to his furred underbelly and preventing her release. With each thrust of his canine hips, his cock drove deeper into her belly causing her to whimper with the pain of having this monstrous dog cock search out the neck of her womb. The Doberman was her master now in more than just the physical sense. She had invaded his territory and offered her sex to him in an effort to placate his feelings of territorial violation.

Meeting of minds

He padded into the room, paused and glanced at the people, who stared back at him with baleful looks. The room held three strangers; his mistress and a fourth, shadowy figure in an alcove that he couldn't quite make out. His olfactory senses informed him of the charged atmosphere. Mingled with the familiar aroma of sex and pheromones was apprehension, even a little fear. The perfumes worn by them did little to hide the musk of sweat and aroused glandular activity. His nose told him of these things, it never lied. Two women sat on the red leather settee. A blond haired woman, dressed in some sort of loose gown printed in gaudy colours sat nearest the door. She it was exuded the apprehension.

Moon Phases

Six months earlier. It was at a beach party that Jack was turned. Someone, an acquaintance, invited him and a few bottles, to the dunes on the South Kentish Sea front near Dungeness. As usual, he drank a bit too much, but he was sure afterwards, that his drink was spiked. Certainly, he had a metallic taste in his mouth the next morning and a monumental headache, the like he had never experienced before. He was also quite photosensitive to the point of almost being blinded by the sunlight. He was alone and all that remained of the previous night's party were a few dying embers in the fire, and a few beer bottles and cans scattered around.

My first time

"Ah, I remember it like it was yesterday". The old dog lowered his greying muzzle onto his forepaws, eyes unfocused and milky with cataracts. His ears hung like limp washing, a sigh escaped from relaxed jowls as he recalled the memories. What had been brick-red fur was now faded, but offered warmth and protection to the young pup, who listened and waited for his mentor to relate the tale. "We were a family pack in those days, an Alpha male and Female, a male who had seen about ten seasons, a female of about twelve seasons and an older female who had seen perhaps sixteen or so. We lived someplace else then, in a huge house out in the country with loads of land and trees.

Painted Student

Lunch time in the refectory can be hectic. Students and staff share the same facilities, queuing for hot meals or paninis and coffee. It isn't the largest room in the college so, the tables and chairs can become precious, especially when they are pulled out of their serried ranks into group patterns so friends can socialize while they eat.Today was just like any other at lunch; hectic. The place heaved with a mass of young people whose voices joined in a cacophony of noise. The smell of food being cooked and coffee wafted on a warm breeze that circulated the canteen.The scrape of a chair on the herring-bone parquet flooring drew a glance from me, focusing my attention for a brief moment.

Rambo

Oh! Fuck this, thought Rambo. Rain was hitting him like miniature scythes, bouncing off of his head and back, running into his eyes, dripping of his black and white coat, matting his fur into sodden strands that looked like a Rastafarian hair do. A cold wind kept blasting him from any directions it felt like and it was as much as he could do to keep from shivering to bits. The weather wasn't the worst of his problems though. The flock of belligerent, bastard sheep that were as pissed off with the rain and cold as Rambo was, just would not do anything he tried to lead them into. A limited vocabulary of understanding, after a fashion, can be established between a sheep dog and his charges.

Retribution

It took Jon nearly a year to arrange it, but now his careful planning and meticulous timing was coming into fruition. Having past the wrought iron gates and driven down the gravel drive with tufts of grass growing through it, the end game was now in full swing, like a run away juggernaut, it was unstoppable. He could picture when it all started, the re-run going through his minds eye as he drove towards destiny. It seemed that it had been one of those days; one of those occasional days, when anything and everything that could go wrong, would go very wrong. The car had stopped for some inexplicable reason, probably electrical.

Role play

Occasionally, just occasionally, role play in the bedroom takes on a whole new intensity and, instead of role playing; the person becomes the role and is taken to another dimension. Occasionally, what starts out as a fantasy, stitched into a session of sex, soon becomes a situation, where anything becomes possible. Where inhibitions are left behind and the participants are removed from the real world of stresses and strife to a place, totally overtaken by the acts of present and future, lust and promise of fulfillment. The following is one such event; where the players become the played and all plans become secondary to the unfolding events, where the scene is the lasting real part of a fiction.

Sal's lover

Sal's love. Brrrrb. Brrrrrb. Sal picked up the wall phone on the second ring and tucked it under her chin. "Hello." Her hands were covered in flour and a stray lock of hair got pushed back with her wrist. "I know what you did last summer." The heavily disguised voice announced through the earpiece. "Josh! Hi how are you? Where are you?" Her pleasure at hearing his voice was evident in the immediate flush to her cheeks and breathlessness he always caused. "Hi-ya Sal; I'm downtown and around for a few days; Just wondered if you fancied a meet sometime over the next day or two. I still know what you did last summer though." He laughed in his easy manner; oblivious of the effect he had on her.