I actually felt too sensitive to want to touch myself much, besides which, if I may put it overtly, I don’t like getting ass-leakage on my hand when he’s tied back there. I contented myself with easing my weight forward and simply allowing everything to relax. I let myself grow comfortable around the seemingly impossible girth of his knot, picturing how inseparably snugly he must be joined to me. Lad’s ejaculatory pulses kept up all the while, quiet and steady, as he covered me, held me tight, filled me and over-filled me. The smell in the room was really rich now. I licked my hand to see if there was still any taste of him left from earlier.
Everything was quiet, the lights were dim, and the air was warm and heavy. My body was limp, and I soon found I was having trouble keeping my eyes open. I don’t think I fell asleep, but I let my eyes close and my thoughts wander, disconnected and dreamlike. Happy images of past times with Lad came and went — not sex, mostly, but moments of companionship, friendship, shared joys, victories in competition, mastering new tricks, games of chase. Sometimes, from day to day, I wondered how sex could feel so easy and natural with a dog; as memories swirled in the fog of my post-orgasmic brain, it occurred to me that it felt easy because we were already close in so many ways. Putting our bodies together was just another step along the same path we were already traveling. An uncommon step, but a natural one, seen from the right perspective.
Unable, in this position, to give him a normal hug, I wiggled my ass and gave his knot a few squeezes. “Arf, arf,” I said, laughing a little at myself. “You like that at all?” There was no reply, but I think he liked it just fine.
I became aware that the wind was howling outside, which meant that the powdery snow on the ground would be drifting. I entertained the idea that our road might be drifted in and my family’s return would be delayed, but I knew that my father would cheerfully drive his old truck through drifts you’d need pitons to climb over, and there wasn’t going to be any delay.
No, they’d be back on time, and I thought it was important that they didn’t cap off their evening by arriving home to find me bent over the bed and ass-tied to the dog. You never know; it’s just within the realm of possibility that my mom might say, “Oh! That’s different,” and never speak of it again, but I saw no point in testing the limits of her confrontation-avoidance. It’s also possible that Lad would hear the truck pulling into the driveway and want to run to the front door. I have a much too vivid imagination, and the image of myself bouncing and dragging behind the dog like a wheelless cart as he bounded to the door was off-putting, even though I knew it was comically impossible.
Anyway, we needed to get separated in time… but there’s really nothing to do except relax and wait. By the clock, we had plenty of time and nothing to worry about, honestly, but this had already been a longer tie than the first. It was a nice little exercise in self-control to stay patient, breathe deeply, enjoy the feelings and think nice, loose, slippery thoughts. I took advantage of that vivid imagination of mine to visualize the scene from beneath us, looking up between his legs. The bed held the weight of my upper body as I reached back and pulled my cheeks apart, imagining how the tie between us would look from below.
Maybe that motion woke Lad out of his reverie, or maybe it was just time. He pulled back, but it wasn’t going to fit out yet. From my imaginary viewpoint beneath us, I would have just seen the curvature of his knot appearing, then disappearing again. From the suddenly much wetter feeling, there must have been a preliminary gush of escaping dog sauce, too. He’d been pumping it in there for fourteen minutes; there was a lot. My imaginary self watching from below was going to get her face glazed when the big flood came.
I was panting as Lad tugged again and again. It’s an accelerating process once it starts, though, and it didn’t take him long to get out. The last tug wasn’t even particularly forceful. He just eased backward. I felt a brief but eye-popping sense of widening, and out he went: knot, shaft, and tip, with a slurpy-suctiony sound and a fountain of dog cum that sprayed my upturned calves. My ass winked shut as his tip sprang out. He lifted one paw over my side, turned, and hopped off. One moment we were tied, the next we were apart, and I was acutely aware of the emptiness. Well, not total emptiness. I rocked my ass side to side — subconsciously trying to wag a nonexistent tail? — and the slosh of liquid told me there was still quite a lot of Laddie swimming around in me. He had been generous. I held it inside, a bit of lingering warmth.
I looked over and saw he was curled up in a comfortable-loooking ball. I really wanted to cuddle him, but he was cleaning himself up, and I needed to do the same for myself… and the floor. We can skip over the mopping up. When all that was taken care of, I sat on the rug with my legs in a V, and called him over to me. He lay down between my legs, tucked in neatly, with his chin on my thigh. I often give his coat a brushing when we’re seated like this, so it’s a familiar position for both of us. Having no brush handy, I just petted him, long strokes from ears to tail. He’s not always in a mood to sit still for very long, but that night, he obliged me for a while. He seemed contented.
“You sure love that ass, huh, boy?” He looked at me enquiringly, but decided I wasn’t saying anything comprehensible, and laid his chin back down again. I ruffled his fur. “I know you do. I love having you in me. Stay with me a long time, OK?” Any conversation afterward is always one-sided, but that’s not bad. He never says anything dumb or asks annoying questions, and I don’t want to talk that much anyway.
A text from my mom let me know that they were on the way home. I told her I’d be in bed. I took a few more minutes to clean up, then lay down under the covers. Lad hopped up and settled into the crook of my knees. I knew he’d probably get up when the family got home, and they’d let him outside. But I was sleepy, and with my head on the pillow and my boy nestled up close, I fell asleep quickly and didn’t wake until Christmas morning.
We spent Christmas Day as we have since I was small. It doesn’t have quite the same kind of magic as it did back then, but having the family all gathered for a morning together still feels special. Lad joined us inside after breakfast when we opened presents. He got some leftover scrambled eggs as a treat, then enjoyed poking his nose into wrapping paper and supervising all the activity.
Everything was as it should be on a Christmas morning, yet I was aware of a tiny degree of separation between myself and the rest of my family. I love my parents without reservation, and I don’t like lying to them, or keeping things hidden from them. I also love Lad, and all the things we do together. Those two facts don’t go well together. As time goes on, there’s more and more that I have to hide. Part of growing up, I suppose. My mom got Laddie a pretty red jingle bell collar for Christmas, and when I put it on him, I thought how it would jingle when he was slamming his body against mine. I kept that to myself. I also did not sing my improved lyrics to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” It was still a really nice Christmas, spent with everyone I love the most.
———-
When I was younger, one of my favorite books was Farley Mowat’s “The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be.” It still is one of my favorites, actually. It’s a very funny book, and as a kid I laughed out loud at Mutt’s misadventures, but it also shaped how I thought about the relationship between a person and a dog. You don’t own a dog. You work and play and grow with them. Lad’s lucky I didn’t name him Mutt.
The last chapter of that book is a hard one to read, though. Any story about a dog who is loved is going to be bittersweet, at best, if you follow it all the way to the end. I don’t think I want to write the last chapter between Lad and me, and I think this will be the last of these little stories. You can imagine a girl and her dog on unending adventures, playing in the barn, finding warmth on cold December days, greeting the first warm day of each new spring together, without end. And… you know.
Arf, arf.
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