Stray and Arrow, i


Bestiality, encounters

Summer is great in Vermont for a dog lover like myself.

This might not seem like something you would think about, but it has worked out quite well for me in picking up strays. When I say, 'picking up strays' I mean do you come here often and what is your sign, but it comes out more like, come here boy, who's your owner.

It's kind of a scam, that I came up with about 10 years ago when I found some bestiality stories on the net. After reading them, my first thought was they were made up. That said, I could get the idea out of my mind. I was 20 and living in a small town you either screw every woman in town or you are too painfully shy. And worse -- if you are gay, you just think you are never going to have sex. I am sure I could have found a gay man, but the problem in a small town and with the gossip mill is you protect what little personal privacy you can.

It was your typical right place at the right time, not any genius on my part. I found my first love when I was driving around on a Sunday afternoon. I was just killing time and taking a break from the heat in my apartment. It was a second floor of a duplex that got kind of warm in the afternoon, so I would hop in my car that had a/c and drive the country roads. Wandering on a dirt road was a collie that seemed lost.

I was in the middle of state land, with a campground a couple miles away, so I knew it wasn't a dog that lived in the area. Where ever he lived he was far from home. There was a chance he was from one of the various summer homes in the area, but if that was the case he was likely lost in unfamiliar surrounds. I rolled down the window of my truck and started to talk to the dog. It was hard to tell who was more afraid of who. I stayed in the truck thinking a strange dog was likely to be mean.

He kept his distance from the truck, sniffing. I had a couple Slim Jims (C) and guessing he might be hungry I peeled the vacupak off and held it out. Cautiously he came up to the truck and snapped the beef by-product out of my hand. I realized a couple things right then: the dog was starving and my only danger was he might snap a figure off in grabbing any food from me.

While he gulped down the Slim Jim he was parallel to my truck and that is when I knew he was a he; neutered, but a neutered male. When I gave him the second slim jim he warmed up to me considerable. I got out and check his tag. It had a phone number on it from Burlington. This was before I had a cellphone, so I had to head back to my apartment to call his owner. But before heading home, I hit the Burger King drive thru, earning me a new best friend.

At my apartment it occurred to me this was an opportunity to try out a little dog love. I fondled 'Ben' in the privacy of my apartment, but I got little response from him, though it was apparent that once I earned his trust, I might be able to enjoy a little doggy style --- that if he had the functioning equipment. I still wasn't sure if the stories were true, but I did have a plan to see if it would work.

It was the perfect way to hook up with a dog, since a couple circumstances prohibited me owning a dog. I probably didn't have the time, but the main factor was that living in an apartment I was not allowed to have a dog. The landlord probably doesn't like that I keep a dog in the place, until the owners pick the beast up, but then the landlord really wouldn't want to know that before I make the call to the owner, I let fido hump me silly. There are things people don't want to know, and they are better off for it.

It really was a lucky day. Three hours after I called, Ben's owner had found my place and was reunited with her dog. It seems while camping, Ben had took off after a rabbit and must have gotten lost. The owner was so happy that she gave me a check for $50.

Searching for lost dogs was not as good as having a furry stud living with you 24/7, but if you have a rocky life, make a rock garden.

The long and short is that in the last five years I found that dogs will mate with a willing human (always having a stash of beef jerky doesn't hurt) and if you are cunning you will meet a few one or two night stands that stand on all four. It's a long shot, but finding willing cock that doesn't complain about your lack of housekeeping skills is always a long shot.

There is no way I could depend on lost dogs to provide me with complete satisfaction. Without going into too many details, I get laid about four or five times a month with two-legged lovers. This comes in two forms: a couple times a month I head to the bars up in Burlington and the other being chubby divorcees.

Working in the restaurant business there is always a busy Friday night, margaritas and overweight, insecure divorcees. Variety is the spice of life and I have a wide palette. When it comes to women, especially the chubbers, my ace in the holes (so to speak) is the queer card. Once the women find out that I go to Burlington twice a month to get laid, they want to show me how Bernie Sanders is wrong.

At first I was tightlipped about why I went to Burlington, but I soon learned that there is something in women that gives them the need to show you the benefit of vaginas over penis. What ever the psychology of it all, the profit for me is the women do everything they can from one end of a bed to the other, to show me the joy of sex with a woman. I often wonder why these women are divorce, but suspect that if they served up the same dishes to their ex-husbands that they do for me, they wouldn't be depending on tips from tourists to survive.

Last month there was a redhead that thought if I screwed her in the ass, I would give up the male on male action. I let her think that she couldn't compete with dick, but what she and all the rest never figure out is the two-legged species can't compete with doggie dick!

Knotting, continuously cumming, hairy doggie dick. Really! Perhaps it is redundant, but how would I explain that the Dalmatian last week had the stamina that they will ever comprehend. And though Arrow (the Dalmatian) was way too hyper for me to put up with on a daily bases, he (and eventually his owner) was sublime. Let's face it, 'animal desire' is best left to the animals.

Let me start back on Saturday afternoon. It was one of my two out of three weekends off and it was summer. (Summer has the highest yield, when it comes to lost dogs.) I was listening to Vermont Public radio. Car Talk was on. It is my main source for bestial pleasure in the summer. Because the station covers the whole state, it is the place people call to list a lost dog. About 10:30 a.m opportunity struck. They announced there was a lost Dalmatian, answering to the name 'Arrow,' in the Northern Arlington area.

Fortunately I am prepared for lost dogs. I keep treats in my in car and usually have some hamburger in the freezer. Today was special since I had a steak I had thawed out for supper. Also, I have made good use of sporting good store where they sell Redi*Doe deer lure.

I find that if I spray some 'deer lure' on me, it is a dog aphrodisiac. It's weird, the deer lure is basically estrogen laced deer urine. You'd think that a dog would see me as something to chase and kill; not to see me as a piece of ass --- ripe for the taking, but they do. I use this sparingly, since if I spray it on around an 'active' dog, it is hard to settle him down for the ride back to my place. Worse, if you get some of this on yourself in a multiple dog situation, the results are not pretty. Not to mention whey you are out in the wilderness -- around wolves -- it's best not to smell like a deer.

Let me take a moment to tell you the irony of it all. At this point I called the station and asked them for some more details. The weekend DJ recognizes my voice, since I am always calling for more information and he makes some jokes about me selling the dogs to Chinese restaurants. I tell him the truth, which to him is the best joke he has heard this weekend: "No no, I am going to eat the dog up myself." He laughs, never know the thrill involved with earning the trust of a stud, so you can perform fellatio, enjoying the streaming cum that comes form the furry lord.

The weekend announcer thinks I just look for the dogs to earn a reward, or that I am some idiot that has no life and wants to save the world --- one dog at a time. He might be right, about the idiot part. He is definitely right about the 'reward' part, but for me it isn't the money that is the reward.

I sort of have a reputation, a good reputation, for connecting lost dogs with their owners. When master or mistress gets their dog back, they are always surprised how sedate the dog is --- largely due to the three or four orgasms I have induced in the beast before calling the owner. No one has put two and two together to know I mainly only go out looking for male dogs. Or how --- be it man or beast --- sex has a calming affect (it's not music that calms the savage beast)!

The DJ tells me that I might not want to turn the boy into dinner. When I ask why he tells me that there seems to be two reasons. One is financially good, the other is just plain excellent. The first is the woman that owned the dog was crying because she so loved her dog and offering a $200 reward. The second was the other reason she was crying: it though Arrow is a AKA registered stud and earns twice the reward amount each time he impregnates a bitch, but simply the woman misses her dog.

Before our conversation was over, I was half way to the area that he had be told Arrow had run away from. The cellphones didn't always work every where, but I was sensing this was the mother load when it came to a good doggie fuck.

One of the tricks I have learned in the last couple years was to find the shortest distance home for the dog. I know it sounds far fetch, but dogs always head for home. If the dog is from Florida and gets lost in Vermont, it will head south, and vice versa. Since the owner was from New York City, I knew Arrow would be heading south, southeast.

I was thinking of Mrs. Jones --- my geometry teacher --- as I triangulate where I thought Arrow might be. My truck was loaded with dog treats and estrogen. I knew if the dog did stud service he would go crazy over any scent of female. And -- eventually -- if I was wearing the scent of a (female) beast, I was getting laid.

And it WAS my lucky weekend. Arrow was about five miles from where he had been lost, but four hundred miles from NYC. I had with me the steak I was going to grill for dinner and I dropped it by the front of my Subaru Outback and backed up, giving him room to check it out. (I was saving the deer lure for my place). He hadn't been lost for very long, so his appetite wasn't that big, but it is hard for any dog to resist raw steak. Three sniffs later and his craving for red meat took over. In a low soft voice I started to talk to him. He was clear who had provided him with the meat, though he didn't realize in return I was expecting his meat.

Once he had devoured my dinner, I started to wrestle with him. The contact gets a dogs comfortable with wrapping their front paws around my torso and thumping. You know the saying, friends first makes the sex better. A Dalmatian would not be my first choice for a lover, even with a nice cock like Arrow. I know it is stupid, but the spots, especially around the eyes make the Dalmatian look like a psycho to me.

I grabbed his collar, attached a leash then check the tags. This was Arrow, just in case I had any doubt. AND it was my luck day. Arrow was truly a stud. Sex was a regular part of his life, that was clear. On the tag was contact information. His owner owned a stud farm and had a sense of irony. The name of the place was: "Knottingham Farms: Dalmatian Breeders."

I wondered how many pups this guy had sired. Already, in just me rubbing his belly, his cock had peeked out of its sheath and t here was a lot to peek out. I had a month worth of treat, but no lube or I might have let him sodomize me right there. I was tempted to suck off Mr. Pedigree right there, but I knew there was a certain risk. As a dog predator, I have learned not to count (i.e. fuck) your booty until you are back to the hideout.

When it has been announced that a dog is lost, it means people --- especially the owner --- is looking for the beast. Since it was Saturday, there was a chance the owner was still in the area. Cabins are rented Saturday to Saturday, so there as a 50-50 chance the owner was still in area. Even if she had checked out at 11 a.m, it was likely she would still be searching. Not to mention if they had checked in today, the owner would be out on the prowl.

I led Arrow with the leash into the back of the Outback, giving him a piece of rawhide to pacify him on the ride back to my apartment.

I am not sure if it was a metaphor or an allegory to drive back to my place and hear Arrow gnawing on the chewy, know it was like sexual angst gnawing at my desire. It s kind of peculiar when you know you are going to have sex with someone, before they know it. Not that they don't have a say in the matter, but you are the first to recognize the prognosis of a situation. You can't force a male dog to stick his cock up your anus, if the dog doesn't want to ---- fortunately for me, usually it is an opportunity that few dogs want to pass on (if you set the mood right).

As soon as we were back to my place, I let Arrow out and he instantly lifted a leg and sprayed out a gallon of piss. Then he yanked at the leash, trying to inhale the neighborhood.

Once inside I knew not to rush. I unleashed Arrow and let him sniff out every room in the place two or three times. It's a small place, but this Dalmatian was hyper. Knowing that a way to a man is through is stomach, I opened a can of Alpo from my cupboard and put it on a plate (might as well let him feel like a king). While he devoured, I was able to put snow booties on his front paws. The booties are to protect animals feet in the cold weather, but I put them on to protect my flesh. I could probably endure the rough play, but it is harder to explain to people why you are covered with scratches, especially the owners.

While he finished his meal, I went back to my bedroom. Disrobing as I went. In my room I took the deer juice and sparingly dripped a trail from my cock to my greek rose. I sealed the Redi*Doe in a zip-lock bag. I took some lube out of my night stand.

I waited, fingering my rosebud with lube. I knew he had a sizable cock and I wanted it. I wanted to be ready to take it and as hyper as the Dalmatian seemed to be, there wasn't going to be much foreplay. I was able to squeeze all my fingers into my opening. I could hear the food bowl scoot across the kitchen floor. Then I heard bootie pads tapping in the hall.

A moment or two later, Arrow strolled into my boudoir. One appetite had been satiated and his belly was filled, now his nostrils were grabbing onto another appetite. I patted the bed and he jumped up on the bed, licking my face at first. His cock was slipping out of his sheath and rubbing against my cock. I had the proverbial instant hard on. Arrow found his way to my erection and he sniffed at the Redi-Doe. He began licking my cock, crotch and ass. I was pleased to see he took a certain delight in the semen that was dribbling from my penis. I returned the favor and reached down this erection, grabbing some of his doggie spunk.

He nipped my cock and I regretted putting the lure on my penis. Like a good lover though, he licked me back to comfort. My cock was erect and I was excited, but I was nothing compared to Mr. Pedigree. This dog was all about sex --- he was a fuck machine. As he inhaled the deer lure and licked it up, his hips were humping air.

The good news was he was ready to copulate, the bad news was fellatio was out of the question during our first go 'round, until he injected his ejaculation into my ass at least once. I rubbed his ears as he licked me and screwed air.

"You want to fuck a man," I cooed and he looked up. It kind of surprised me. "you like to FUCK?" I asked.

He fucked his hip more and barked. He knew what 'fuck' meant. He knew what it meant very well. It was clear that while Arrow earned his owner money stud services, the stud enjoyed his work.

I was a little nervous though, it seemed that maybe Arrow was a 'barker.' As I mentioned I do not have a place that allows dogs. My landlord tolerates 'overnights,' since I had explained to him that my hobby of looking for lost dogs, but I am sure if the dogs ever made too much noise, that would be the end. I almost had enough saved to get a house in the woods, but until then I needed to be careful. There was no slowing this guy down. He was humping he in the missionary position, without even getting close to my ass. The cock to cock action was stimulating and I could feel his cum seeping onto my belly.

His back was nearly folded in half as he was dry humping my pelvis and he was panting. It was a weird position I could not remember being in before, but I wasn't enjoying it. A couple things weren't working for me. One was that with his tongue out, swiveling his hips over me he was drooling all over my face. The second was only about every 10 thing hump was he making contact with cock. As exciting as that was, it wasn't worth having my face covered in slime.

I pushed Arrow back and he jumped off the bed. Oddly enough he just kept humping air, I was thinking this guy was horny! (Thank you Redi-Doe!)

"Come'ere boy," I called him and he jumped back on the bed. I had rolled over and Crouched on my knees, with my face against the bed. I pulled my ass open with my hands. Arrow sniffed my asshole, then started to lick it. I didn't want him to lick away the lube so I gave him some verbal encouragement.

"Come on boy, fuck me, fuck my ass."

Again, the word 'fuck' got him excited. Just as Reddi*Doe an aphrodisiac for his nose, 'fuck' was erotica for his ears. He was on my poking his cock at my ass like a sewing machine.

"HEEL." I commanded, and like an obedient soldier, he stopped. It's funny how all that obedience school training hold a place in a dog's brain. It doesn't supersede copulating, but most times it will slow him down. It gave me a chance to grab Arrow's cock, slide my hand to his knott and aim. I knew I wasn't going to get him to enter me slowly, but I wanted him to make it

As soon as his cock was liked up with my orifice, Arrow became an obedience school drop out. To make sure he knew what to do I whispered: "Fuck fuck fuck," and got the hint.

He did what dogs do best - copulate, hard and fast. Until you have been truly fucked by an over-zealot canine, you don't know the definition of featherbrained, where your mind (and body) floats away on a downy cloud of pleasure.

The dog was a pro, I mean a real cocksman.

Arrow surprised me though. I thought he was going to drive into me like a a maid churning butter, but he didn't have that consistency. He would hump me in random thrusts: 10 times then a pause; two times and a pause; then 30-ish (one loses count in the excitement of the game) and a pause. The inconsistency was part of the pleasure, the anticipation and know know when he would plunge into me was driving me mad.

His fucking was so deliciously wonderful I didn't even realize I was still holding his cock in my hand. It might have been the explanation for his erratic thrusts, it did keep me from being tied. I took my other hand started stroking myself and came hard in just a minute.

My sphincter, in harmony with my dick spasms, started to clench.

This kind of startled Arrow and he let out a little yelp. I thought I might have hurt him somehow, but this big brute was also getting off. I could feel his knott starting to swell. He stopped humping me, but continued to push forward, trying to get the knott in me. I held him out and he gave up. He must have been spent because he pulled out and jumped down from the bed. I dropped flat, exhausted, to the bed. I was just able to lift my head up to see Arrow cleaning himself.

The sun had set while we romped. My rectum was stretched and filled with Arrow's spunk. It was nice to just lay there and let my body tingle. I knew I should get and call the number from Arrow's tag, but I couldn't let a sweet nookie stud like Arrow go after only one act of carnal delight.

end of part i.