troublesomeraptor
Tourist
Hey, creatures. At my desk eating a bowl of cereal.
Lemme tell you about a thing I did, so that you don't do it, too.
Our dog's a very good dog. Medium-sized, behaviourally well-trained, a couple of years old and extremely handsome.
I'm lucky to have a great relationship with him where he retains his agency, yet responds to commands. We've engaged in casual sexual encounters from time to time; it's an irregular thing, but I'm careful not to let him get away with trying to start things first and lose my control over those encounters.
He asked for sex tonight. Well, fuck it. Who hasn't entertained the fantasy of oral knotting?
The mouth is warm and soft; his size doesn't seem impossible to manage. I felt I could entertain some light deepthroat and still breathe, while nursing on that knot. It'd be a treat to calm him down, and a major life experience for me. I've had sex with a lot of different species, but rarely so intimately.
Setting things up was sloppy and crude. He grew increasingly enthusiastic as I showed my interest, mounting at my legs and hips as I tried to sort things out. But eventually, as I've trained him from time to time, he jumped up to a place where I could kneel beneath him.
That sheath, shaking heavily under his legs? Wow. Hell of a view. I encouraged his forepaws up to my shoulders, and slid further beneath him. We'd tried a few times, but his enthusiasm for my hips kept him bouncing around. He didn't quite want to stay still! But, hey - I wanted to try an oral knot. I disengaged and started again each time, cajoling him into position and taking things slow --
-- until finally, he got it. The first thrust flew straight into my mouth as he mounted my face. The sheath slid back from his cock, the growing length spilling out of him. Holy fuck, the baculum's firm. It jabbed at my cheek, my gums, straight into the side of my mouth. Damn, that stung. I disengaged, coughed, worked us back into position. He was slower, this time; we got the position just right. Fuck.
It happened, folks. First thrust was right into the back of my mouth. He slid into my throat like a bat out of hell. Lowered his weight over my back and begun thrusting like -- well, like a dog. Y'know how it is.
I've given head dozens of times. I know my way around it. The breathing cycle, managing my gag reflex. I knew what was up.
I could feel every thrust; felt like a few every second. The tip slid down my throat with each one. The sheath slid back further every time. The knot released itself, swelled free from his fur, pushed between my lips. He didn't stop. His weight was on top of me and I clutched his hindpaws, prayin' suddenly that he wouldn't jump around or move too-suddenly with that blade jammed in my throat.
Deep, shallow thrusts. This was unlike our other encounters; my other orifice(s) don't have this degree of sensation within them. I could feel -everything-. Every heartbeat in that cock, the movement of every thrust, the way my throat muscles were forced to part and spread every time he slid back into them, and the swelling pace of his knot growing - and most of all, that my breath was compromised, that his baculum was fierce, that his pace was furiously needy and utterly unrestrained. My mouth was just a hole.
The knot grew. His pace didn't relax. And he thrusted, over and over. I was tied. I did it, folks; not a world first, but I'll be damned if you've met someone who lived this fantasy. That's me; I did that.
And - well, with the baculum stabbing the back of my throat multiple times a second. The knot, jamming up my mouth. This warmth, this closeness, this fur; and yet, this sex was impersonal. I had casually handed a beast power over my insides at one of the vital points to my life.
I was orally tied, and I know the feeling. It's exactly what every fantasy you've ever imagined will be, but that's just the basic wish-fulfillment of it. The true reality of that situation was absolute peril on top of the wish-fulfillment. My eyes were watering and my mouth was occupied with a massive, firm orb of hot dog flesh, incompressible and stabbing.
I hung in there, but I'm not insane, and I possess enough strength to enforce my will upon other beings. I had to tap out. I stood up -- the dog still tied in my mouth, lifted up by my shoulders in a kind of crazy fireman's carry. He clung to my back, still trying to thrust as I stood up with seventy pounds of rather large dog curled over my face. I negotiated my mouth free from his knot as carefully as I could, taking care of both of our vital places - and I breathed. Or, I tried to. Instead, I vomited - - not from within my guts, but from just my throat. A torrent of blood and mucus poured out of me - the pinkish-red of abraded interior musculature with the vicosity of scraped-free cilial gunk, shot through with the dabbled dark-red of haemoglobin. No retching required; no diaphragm action; just a pouring pulse of blood.
I placed our dog carefully back down, rubbed his head to reassure him. Not his fault. I was woozy - adrenaline, probably - and knew I had to investigate my wound. Cuddled my dog, took him out to the back garden to give myself space to work on myself. Cleaned the inside of my mouth with damp rags. Grabbed the isopropyl alcohol and gargled it - painful as hell, but I gained an additional sense of the location and scale of my wounding from observing that pain. The back of my throat - palette, well behind the uvula - was scrubbed raw and bloody. There's a laceration in there somewhere, making these cornflakes hard to eat.
But hey, it washes down the flavor of dog cum pretty good.
Practice safe sex, guys.
Lemme tell you about a thing I did, so that you don't do it, too.
Our dog's a very good dog. Medium-sized, behaviourally well-trained, a couple of years old and extremely handsome.
I'm lucky to have a great relationship with him where he retains his agency, yet responds to commands. We've engaged in casual sexual encounters from time to time; it's an irregular thing, but I'm careful not to let him get away with trying to start things first and lose my control over those encounters.
He asked for sex tonight. Well, fuck it. Who hasn't entertained the fantasy of oral knotting?
The mouth is warm and soft; his size doesn't seem impossible to manage. I felt I could entertain some light deepthroat and still breathe, while nursing on that knot. It'd be a treat to calm him down, and a major life experience for me. I've had sex with a lot of different species, but rarely so intimately.
Setting things up was sloppy and crude. He grew increasingly enthusiastic as I showed my interest, mounting at my legs and hips as I tried to sort things out. But eventually, as I've trained him from time to time, he jumped up to a place where I could kneel beneath him.
That sheath, shaking heavily under his legs? Wow. Hell of a view. I encouraged his forepaws up to my shoulders, and slid further beneath him. We'd tried a few times, but his enthusiasm for my hips kept him bouncing around. He didn't quite want to stay still! But, hey - I wanted to try an oral knot. I disengaged and started again each time, cajoling him into position and taking things slow --
-- until finally, he got it. The first thrust flew straight into my mouth as he mounted my face. The sheath slid back from his cock, the growing length spilling out of him. Holy fuck, the baculum's firm. It jabbed at my cheek, my gums, straight into the side of my mouth. Damn, that stung. I disengaged, coughed, worked us back into position. He was slower, this time; we got the position just right. Fuck.
It happened, folks. First thrust was right into the back of my mouth. He slid into my throat like a bat out of hell. Lowered his weight over my back and begun thrusting like -- well, like a dog. Y'know how it is.
I've given head dozens of times. I know my way around it. The breathing cycle, managing my gag reflex. I knew what was up.
I could feel every thrust; felt like a few every second. The tip slid down my throat with each one. The sheath slid back further every time. The knot released itself, swelled free from his fur, pushed between my lips. He didn't stop. His weight was on top of me and I clutched his hindpaws, prayin' suddenly that he wouldn't jump around or move too-suddenly with that blade jammed in my throat.
Deep, shallow thrusts. This was unlike our other encounters; my other orifice(s) don't have this degree of sensation within them. I could feel -everything-. Every heartbeat in that cock, the movement of every thrust, the way my throat muscles were forced to part and spread every time he slid back into them, and the swelling pace of his knot growing - and most of all, that my breath was compromised, that his baculum was fierce, that his pace was furiously needy and utterly unrestrained. My mouth was just a hole.
The knot grew. His pace didn't relax. And he thrusted, over and over. I was tied. I did it, folks; not a world first, but I'll be damned if you've met someone who lived this fantasy. That's me; I did that.
And - well, with the baculum stabbing the back of my throat multiple times a second. The knot, jamming up my mouth. This warmth, this closeness, this fur; and yet, this sex was impersonal. I had casually handed a beast power over my insides at one of the vital points to my life.
I was orally tied, and I know the feeling. It's exactly what every fantasy you've ever imagined will be, but that's just the basic wish-fulfillment of it. The true reality of that situation was absolute peril on top of the wish-fulfillment. My eyes were watering and my mouth was occupied with a massive, firm orb of hot dog flesh, incompressible and stabbing.
I hung in there, but I'm not insane, and I possess enough strength to enforce my will upon other beings. I had to tap out. I stood up -- the dog still tied in my mouth, lifted up by my shoulders in a kind of crazy fireman's carry. He clung to my back, still trying to thrust as I stood up with seventy pounds of rather large dog curled over my face. I negotiated my mouth free from his knot as carefully as I could, taking care of both of our vital places - and I breathed. Or, I tried to. Instead, I vomited - - not from within my guts, but from just my throat. A torrent of blood and mucus poured out of me - the pinkish-red of abraded interior musculature with the vicosity of scraped-free cilial gunk, shot through with the dabbled dark-red of haemoglobin. No retching required; no diaphragm action; just a pouring pulse of blood.
I placed our dog carefully back down, rubbed his head to reassure him. Not his fault. I was woozy - adrenaline, probably - and knew I had to investigate my wound. Cuddled my dog, took him out to the back garden to give myself space to work on myself. Cleaned the inside of my mouth with damp rags. Grabbed the isopropyl alcohol and gargled it - painful as hell, but I gained an additional sense of the location and scale of my wounding from observing that pain. The back of my throat - palette, well behind the uvula - was scrubbed raw and bloody. There's a laceration in there somewhere, making these cornflakes hard to eat.
But hey, it washes down the flavor of dog cum pretty good.
Practice safe sex, guys.
