First time in submitting a story - hope it suits...

Love letter

Oh my sweet love…

I know this means little to you. I know you don’t really understand the meaning of love in human terms.

I know that your only interest is in my care for you, and that you make little distinction between the food I lovingly prepare for you, the walks I take you on, and the times when I get on my hands and knees and offer myself to you.

It doesn’t matter to me. I love you enough for the both of us. Being your bitch is enough for me. Your unconditional acceptance of me and my body is enough for me to take as love.

Yes, much of that lies in the training, but you have trained me as much as I have trained you. Do you remember the first time, both of us unsure of how to proceed? You spent so much time kissing me with your huge, flat, wet tongue that I wasn’t sure you would ever do anything else, and I wasn’t sure that I cared whether you did or not. I just lay there, naked and on my back, my legs spread wide in case you should turn your interest to my cock. You didn’t, except when I patted my lower belly to draw your attention to it, but you soon returned your attention to my face and mouth.

A far-away part of me thought that it was pretty weird, letting a boxer french-kiss me like this, but the more insistent part of me just knew that it felt magical. I’d kissed others before – men and women – like this, but never like this. Never had any tongue entered my mouth which was so huge, so powerful, so tireless, continually plunging into me, sweeping my mouth dry and moistening it again with its own fluids, again and again.

I think it was then that I knew that I would never be the same. That something was about to happen which would change me forever and which I was powerless to stop. The effect of those kisses was utterly hypnotic. I understood what they had meant, in those romantic stories I’d read that time in a holiday cottage in Wales when the rain was incessant and there was nothing else to do, when they had talked about being carried away by kisses, transported by them. It was more than just sexual – although I was certainly turned on so much I could hardly think, my cock painfully stiff – it was about you claiming my mind as well as my body. I realised that nothing a human could ever offer me would be as good as this. Either I had to accept a future as your bitch, or be forever disappointed with what I would be offered elsewhere. At that moment, I accepted. I was truly yours from that moment, long before your cock even touched me.

Perhaps I still had the chance to be myself again. Perhaps if I’d done what I wanted to and touched my cock, grabbed it in my hand and made myself come, I could have turned back, but for some reason I didn’t. Why didn’t I touch myself? God knows I had enough reason to – my cock felt like it was going to split apart, it was so engorged. But perhaps I had already surrendered myself to you, darling. Perhaps the first moment you touched me with that mighty tongue of yours you awakened the secret submissive inside me, the me that wanted to be taken, owned, and perhaps you told me to wait for your pacing. Perhaps I wanted to be a good bitch and let my lover come before I did.

But I knew that something had, to happen, darling, and so did you, even if neither of us knew quite how to go about it. I think that’s part of what makes me love you so much; the fact that, our first time, we were two virgins together, discovering each others’ bodies.

So I turned over, and as I did so, you started to rub yourself against my leg. You were giving me orders even then, telling me what you wanted to do. That made me feel even more submissive, but more than that. When I’d been with women before that, I was always the insistent one, making the demands and forcing the pace. Now it was you, demanding of me that I surrender myself to you, right now. That made me feel more than submissive; it made me feel feminine. I was trembling all over, partly with anticipation, partly with slight fear of what was going to happen, but also with the breathless, butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling that comes with a journey into an entirely new sexual world.

But I knew – in principle at least – what a good bitch should do for her master, so I raised my hindquarters to your mouth. And – ohh, I’m squirming with the memory – you licked me. And if your tongue had felt good in my mouth, it felt beyond description as it travelled across my backside, from my balls up to my puckered rosebud.

Thinking back, that was the moment of no return. Honestly, darling, even if someone else had come into the room at that moment, I don’t think I would have moved, just as long as you kept wetting me with that incredible tongue of yours. No, chains could have held me as tightly as your will did at that moment.

But it also drove me over the edge. I wanted more. I wanted you. I had to have you make me your bitch no matter what. Any thoughts of precautions or privacy had gone. I was just a hole for you and I needed filling. Reaching back, to grab one of your paws in each of my hands, I leant forward again, offering myself to you, and pulling your weight down on my back, and then was the moment. The moment I’ll remember till the day I die, and when I die I’ll be thinking of it. The moment when, my love, you took me and made me your own.

Your cock speared me, twice, on the back of my left thigh, in the place I later had a tattoo of a heart to mark it as sacred. But then, just as I was thinking that I might have to help you find the spot… you found the spot. Your cock was hard as iron, boiling hot and sharp-tipped, as it erupted into my virgin hole. Once, a shallow piercing, then out again, and just as I had time to feel the first twinges of disappointment, you returned for a deeper thrust. Again you withdrew, and then finally you came back for a third time, and this time you stayed in, getting deeper and bigger with each machine-gun thrust.

I think I cried out with each entry – or at least gasped – but my memory is hazy. All I could think was that I was finally yours. My anus was on fire, my back tickled with the rubbing of your short brown hair, I could feel your forelegs grasping me round the waist… and all I could think was how much I loved being used like this. At that moment, I had never felt so at one with the world, so happy, so right, as I ever had before. My head filled with images of my belly swelling with your seed, bearing you litter after litter of puppies, strong dog-puppies who would grow up to mate with their mother just as their sire had. I knew it was impossible; I didn’t care. At that moment I was in love and I knew I wanted nothing more than to serve you and be yours, as fully and as much as I possibly could.

That was a few years ago, darling. You didn’t knot with me, not that time, anyway. Shortly after that I moved to a more remote house, and you came with me. Our life changed the way I wanted it to, and I hope it was what you wanted too. But, as I said, you were never that demanding. As long as you had a long walk, a good meal, a comfy bed and a willing hole you were happy.

We tried new things, and our lovemaking (I never thought of it as sex) became better than ever. You were never too tired, or angry, or thinking about something else. I’ve tried to be your bitch as fully as I could, and I hope you understand that. I wore a succession of larger butt plugs for three months, just to stretch myself to take your knot. It was uncomfortable, and occasionally messy, but you know what? I was doing it for you, so I loved every moment of it. And my god… was it ever worth it when you first drive your tennis-ball sized knot into me – that moment of pain followed by the rush of realisation at what had happened. The tears streaming down my cheeks were nothing to do with the discomfort, they were there because of my feeling of what had happened to me. I felt truly your bitch and I squeezed my martyred ring as tightly as I could, wanting to never let you go, wanting to be impaled on your mighty shaft forever.

You know what, my love? I only come that way now. I’ve trained myself – or probably I should say you’ve trained me – to only come when your knot is inside me. The feelings I get when you’re in me like that are so intense, the orgasm you give me is so mind-blowing, that there’s no point in coming any other way.

Yes, we’ve tried other positions – me on my back, mainly, or me sucking your cock, but nothing is ever quite as good as when I’m on my hands and knees, submitting to my master, giving him my body as a dutiful bitch slave should.

I wanted to be yours as much as I could to repay you for what feels like your love of me. Whatever I want to try, you’re willing. A human lover might laugh at me when I put on the Victoria’s Secret lingerie, and make myself up like some slutty pick-up but you know it means you’re about to get to use your bitch, so it turns you on too. I know it doesn’t mean anything to you directly, but it’s an expression of me trying to be as much your bitch slave as I can.

I really do think of you as my master, darling. I know on a rational level that you don’t quite see it that way, but you do see me as your bitch. For a while I tried to live 24/7 as your bitch, sleeping in the same basket, eating from the same bowl (after you of course), but it didn’t really work – I have to live and work, you see. I dream of winning the lottery; setting us up in a completely secluded farmhouse, arranging for regular food deliveries and then shutting myself off from the world altogether, becoming yours completely, but until the ticket comes up I have to work, my angel.

But I do my best to serve you, and I hope you understand that. That’s why I bought this collar and lead. Not for your walks; these are different – soft pink leather and studded. These are for our full lovemaking sessions. We don’t get to do that all that often – I tend to call them our ‘Saturday Night Specials’ because of the amount of time they take to arrange, but they’re worth it. Not that we don’t have quickies – usually at least once a day, I’ll be on my knees for you. But a Saturday is different. I take my time, bathing, shaving my legs, chest and pubis, perfuming myself (not too much; you don’t like it) and dressing in seamed stockings, suspenders and five-inch heels. Maybe nothing else, or maybe a g-string if I’m feeling sexy. My male genitals are hardly kept in place by it, but that’s OK – it somehow makes me feel even more slutty; reminds me that, biologically at least, I’m male, and knowing that I’m giving myself to another male, and trying to be as feminine as I can to please him - well, it feels good. Sometimes I’ll place my cock in bondage; sometimes I won’t. Sometimes I’ll gag or muzzle myself, sometimes I won’t. I just try to work out what you’d like best, based on how you’ve been during the day.

But one thing’s always there – the soft pink collar and its lead. That has to be there, because of the one piece of training we did together. You know that when you see that, the tip of the leash hanging in front of my cock, then I’m offering myself to you. You know then that it’s time to grab the leash and pull me down to my hands and knees, in position for you. But you know that I won’t submit easily until you’ve dragged me by the leash down to the basement, and you know I won’t give in easily. It’s a game to you, and in some ways it is to me too – although you always win, my love, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Where this tug-of-war begins depends a lot on how much I feel the need to be punished. If I’m feeling like a bad girl, it’ll start upstairs, so you can pull me down two flights of stairs – the carpet on the stairs will burn me and then the wooden basement stairs will bruise me, and I’ll love it. Sometimes I’ll even attach weights to my cock, balls and nipples to make it more intense.

Do you remember the one time we argued, my love, and I hit you? You’d been jumping up to attack the neighbour’s son – well, I say ‘attack’; ‘rape’ might be closer to the mark. I struck you both out of need to show the neighbour that I was in control of you – even though we both know I’m not, my darling – but also from a spurned lover’s jealousy. How did you dare to give your attention to another?!

Well, they say the best part of arguing is making up, and I certainly made up for it. That Saturday’s fun started in the attic – three flights of stairs, my nipples and balls clamped and attached by cords to the furniture in the attic, so that when you finally wrestled me down the stairs, the clamps were pulled agonisingly from me. I’d managed to put ball mitts on myself, giving me far less control as I slid down the stairs, so I was far more burnt and bruised than normal. Did I imagine it, or was your tugging much more vicious than usual? Certainly when you finally had me in place, my well-lubed bitchpussy ready for you, you speared me with far more vigour than usual. I cried out, as I still do after all these years, and you took me hard and deep. To say I loved every last second of it, pleasure, pain and all, wouldn’t even begin to cover how I felt – but it didn’t end there.

To atone for our row, I’d decided to stay in the basement all weekend, and to make sure I chained my collar to a ringbolt in the floor, after freezing the key inside a cube of ice a foot square. The ice which trapped the key was also my only nourishment during the weekend. The only concession I made for myself was to keep the lights on – but that was denied me when the fuse blew shortly after you slipped out of me for the third time.

I lost count of the number of times you took me, there on all fours in the darkness. In the silent, warm darkness, I drifted into a different world, punctuated only by the regular visits of your demanding cock. At one point I awoke to realise that you were inside me, thrusting just as hard as if you’d never come in your life. I was sweaty and filthy – using a litter tray isn’t easy in the dark – but you didn’t care. In fact, your wonderful tongue came and cleaned me up. I wept as you did it – I felt such utter love, such a feeling of being owned, protected, possessed.

I came out of that basement a different person. I can’t quite explain it – I felt like before we’d only been playing but that now I was truly yours, body and soul. For the first time I genuinely thought of you -on every level - as my master.

I know how the outside world would see it, my darling, but I don’t care. They can think what they like, but I know what love is, and I know that what I feel for you is love.

Always

Your loving, devoted, humble, adoring, bitch.

Xxxx



(Postscript)

I wrote that three years ago, my love.

You died nine months ago. Easily, gently, like a leaf falling from a branch. For six months I wept, and then, finding my tears had run dry, I got on with my life.

Our boys still miss you. Perhaps less than I do, but they still miss you. I wish you could see them, my sweet, so strong and handsome. I know I’m only really their stepmother – and I still burn with jealousy at the thought of you mounting that stud bitch while I had to make polite conversation with the owner – but they’re ours.

They make love to me like you used to do; although with two of them to drag me into the basement and then fight over me, our play is even rougher than before – but you know that I love it. I think that Rufus junior is going to be the slightly more dominant one. It’s not like it used to be, when all three of you would take me in turn – they were very respectful then, and would never think of trying to cut the queue; not that I would have let them. I was your bitch first and foremost, my love, and I always will be in my heart.

So, my life and my heart go on, my darling. But I still come here every few days, to stand by your grave and talk to you while the boys hunt for rabbits. They’re still young enough to think they might find them. All that youth and vigour… it makes for exciting sex, certainly, but they still don’t have your finesse, you effortless way of dominating me and sliding that huge pole of yours deep into the very centre of my being.

Maybe one day. I must go, my love. The sky is darkening, rain is coming on; and it’s a Saturday night. The boys will want their dinner, and what comes after. But however it feels, I know it will never match our first time, my darling.

Sleep well, my love, until I join you.

X

That is a nice Love story. I enjoyed it. I Love my Buddies on many levels.

Thanks for taking the time to write.

i vote you your first 10.... and a :puppykiss:

That was a very nice read. I enjoyed your story. Thank you for sharing.

Aww pllease. No matter how we say this, your pet or lover just dont dig your ball ties and high heels?

Sweet tale of love and I respect that always, but don't confuse the rest with any approach to reality. WE may dig it, but Dogs just don't get stockings.

Nice sentiments anyway and well written.

Now there's an idea. Maybe in the next fantasy I write, they will... ;)

Thanks for the feedback, folks.