Dana & Duke

Dana unlocked the front door and led Duke, a brindle and white Great Dane, into her living room and through her house to the back door. She turned him loose in the spacious back yard and watched him for a few moments, loping around, sniffing and marking as he went, then returned to her car for the rest of his things; food, bed, bowls and toys. She had agreed to dog sit for her older brother Dan while he and his wife Sara went on vacation to Hawaii, but she didn't realize how much stuff that would have to be brought to her place. For a fit twenty five year old, she had to struggle to carry it all in. Dana thought it was strange how Sara made such a big deal about leaving Duke, like he was a child or something. ‘He’s just a dog,’ she thought then putting it out of her mind.

Dana removed her suit coat, placing it over the back of her couch and stepped out of her heels. She unzipped her pencil skirt and removed her blouse, adding them to the pile, and then sat down at her computer to check emails. The week was only half over and she was ready for the weekend to be here. Aside from a couple junk emails she deleted, there wasn't much to look at. The only one she opened was from her friend Karen who usually sent her unusual things. The subject line read “Eye Candy” and the body had several pictures of a muscular young man in various stages of undress. Dana felt a familiar tingle growing in her loins as she continued to scroll down. In the last three pictures, the man was totally naked and his thick cock stood fully erect in the final one. Her finger made slow circles around her throbbing clit as she massaged it through her rapidly dampening panties and nylons. She was drawing closer and closer to a powerful release when Duke’s thunderous bark broke her concentration.

She pushed back from her desk and looked down the hall toward the back door. Duke sat on the porch with his ears pointed up and starring inside. Dana rolled forward again, hoping if she ignored him that he’d find something else to do. She returned to her nagging clit and quickly regaining the ground she lost from the interruption.

“WOOF!” Duke barked again.

With a heavy sigh, Dana dropped her head and went to let the persistent hound in. When she opened the door, Duke burst in, knocking over her laundry basket and nearly flooring Dana in the process. 

“Duke!” she said in a frustrated voice, “Why did you have to go and do that?”

Duke was prancing back and forth around her as she bent over to pick up the scattered clothes. He was sniffing the air then poked his cold nose in between her legs from behind.

“Stop it Duke,” Dana said, pushing his head away with one hand.

She had gathered the last few garments and was about to put them in the basket when Duke’s broad tongue ran up her wet crotch.

“DUKE!” she shouted turning to face him as a shiver ran through her, “What do you think you’re doing? That’s a bad dog!” pointing a finger while she scolded him. His ears dropped and he hung his head and whined. At the sight of this, Dana’s tone softened and she knelt down to rub Duke’s head.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you but that wasn’t very nice.”

She stood and filled one of his bowls with food then headed for her room to get cleaned up, collecting her work clothes on the way. The light on Dana’s answering machine was flashing, so she punched the button as she passed. Karen’s voice sprang from the speakers.

“I thought you’d be home by now. I hope you liked the email I sent you. I’ll be flying in on Friday at 9:30 pm. Don’t forget to pick me up. See ya then.” 

Dana was happy to hear that her grade school friend was going to be able to visit her over the week end. They hadn't seen each other in a long time; about a year or so. It was around the time Dana had broken up with her last boy friend and Karen came to console her in a very intimate way. Dana had her first and only girl/girl experience with Karen during the summer before they went to college, up until that time. Dana had always preferred men but Karen went both ways with equal enthusiasm. 

She continued to her room and tossed her clothes on the bed. She stared the shower then removed her bra, panties and hose, leaving them on the floor at the foot of her bed. Thoughts of the muscular hunk were lingering in her mind along with Karen when she stepped into the warm flow of water.

-------------------------

Still towelling herself off, Dana nearly tripped over Duke who was lying on the floor in front of the bathroom chewing on her discarded panties.

“What the hell…,” her words trailed off as she noticed her shredded panty hose next to him as well, “It’s a good thing for you that these weren't expensive!”

She yanked the torn panties from his mouth and picked up the ruined hose and threw them in the trash in the bathroom.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked ushering him out of her room and closing the door.




The remainder of the week passed without incident, and Dana was thankful. The rocky beginning she and Duke had that first night raised her stress level beyond belief, but now the two of them had figured out each others boundaries and were getting along well. Dana even looked forward to Duke’s enthusiastic welcome when she got home from work. He’d roll on his back so she could scratch his chest then race around the room and flop at her feet for more. 

Tonight, though they didn't get a chance to play since Dana wanted to get ready for Karen’s arrival. She sat briefly at her computer and saw a new email from Karen. It was more pictures of the young stud but this time he wasn't alone. The pictures showed him having sex with a pretty blonde with long hair and big boobs. She was surprised because at a glance, the woman looked a lot like her. Dana scrolled through the pictures of the couple in various positions but when she reached the one with the woman on her hands and knee and the guy stabbing his big cock in her from behind she stopped and starred. Dana envisioned him driving his cock into her and a flood of desire filled her with wanton need. Her hand went to her already wet sex, pushing into the waist bands of her hose and panties, as she fingered her stiff clit with a vengeance. 

Duke stood nearby and nudged her arm with his nose. She gave him a quick pat on the head with her free without taking her eyes off the images on the screen. She slouched in her chair a bit, turning sideways so she would have room to stretch out her legs. Dana felt herself drawing nearer to orgasm. Duke nudged her again and moved between her out stretched legs. When Dana briefly removed her hand from her dripping pussy, Duke ran his tongue over the growing wet spot.

“Duke no…Ohhhhh,” Dana started to scold him but her orgasm cut her short.

He lapped at the wetness in her underwear and she wanted him to stop but it just felt too good. Duke continued to lick her crotch through the entire duration of her orgasm but when she began to recover, Dana pushed him away.

‘What have I done? I just let a dog lick my pussy! There must be something wrong with me because I enjoyed it,’ Dana thought to herself. She felt depraved and dirty but the lingering pleasure tempered her disgust. Duke move forward again but she held him back. Dana stood and was about to go get cleaned up when the persistent animal licked her again. His tongue pressed against her throbbing clit and even though it was covered by her underwear, it sent a violent shiver through her. Now her mind was contemplating an even more wicked idea, removing her undergarments and giving him better access. The thought made her shudder but was it from the depravity or the desire to experience it? She wasn't sure.

Dana’s thumbs went into the waist bands of her hose and panties, pushing them down to her ankles. She untangled herself from the garments and stood before the magnificent beast with her legs spread. She patted her abdomen and Duke stuck his nose right into her wet sex. His tongue cleaved into her moist folds making her toes curl.

“OH my GOD!” she gasped feeling his tongue dragging over her erect clit. On the next pass it snaked inside her and her knees nearly gave out. 

Dana looked at the clock on her desk. It read 5:47 pm. She needed to leave for the airport by 9:00pm to pick up Karen so she had time to indulge her lustful cravings. Dana led Duke to her bedroom and sat at the foot of the bed with her knees together. She was trembling with excitement. Duke sat before her, his tail thumping on the carpet. She eased her legs open and Duke pushed them wide as he moved in. He rapidly lapped at her pussy, his tongue exploring every inch of her exposed sex, plunging in to scoop out more of her honey or scouring over her sensitive clit. Dana fell back onto the bed gasping and crying out in total ecstasy. In moments she was consumed by a monstrous orgasm. She pinched her nipples and writhed on the bed from his ferocious oral onslaught. As her orgasm subsided she had to push him away from her hyper-sensitive pussy. She was still breathing heavy when she sat up and saw Duke pacing back and forth in front of her. He whimpered then tried to get at her wet valley once more. 

She closed her legs tight and pushed him back saying, “I can’t take any-more of your tongue right now.”

He continued to pace then suddenly jumped up, putting his front legs on the bed and almost knocking Dana backward. As she tried to get him off the bed, she felt something hot touch her knee. It was his cock, partially exposed from its sheath pressing against her leg, squirting his warm pre cum on her thighs. Duke jumped down and Dana could see 4” of his inflamed cock as he went back to pacing. She couldn’t believe how big and thick it was and how it was making her pussy burn with desire. It was then her mind came up with the unthinkable, letting Duke fuck her. He whined and she looked back into his eyes. She could see his frustration and it made her melt inside. She took his head in her hands and kissed him between his ears.

“I guess I owe you for what you've done for me,” she said as she got onto the floor beside him.

Dana wasn't sure what to do next. She was afraid his massive bulk would be too much for her to support on her hands and knees so she laid her upper body on the bed and kept her knees on the floor. Duke jumped to his feet and started licking her dripping furrow again. She swayed her hips side to side in hopes he would mount her, which he did. His front legs closed around her waist and he made slow, jerky, probing thrusts, seeking entrance to her inner depths. His cock sprayed pre cum on her and poked at her legs, ass and thighs but he hadn't found what he was looking for. She was thinking that this wasn't going to work when the tip of his fiery cock entered her welcoming pussy. Before she could react, Duke pulled her backward as he made rapid powerful thrusts, impaling her fully on his rigid member. Dana’s hands clenched the sheets and her mouth opened as it if to cry out but no sound escaped. The sudden intrusion of eight thick inches of hard dog cock into her tight pussy, took her breathe away, and a bit of pain mixed with a whole lot of pleasure had a hand in her silent scream. 

Duke thrust into her with a speed and force that could not be believed by the young woman. It was all she could do to remember to keep breathing. Duke’s head rested on her shoulder as his hammering thrusts continued to drive him deeper into her. A deep guttural groan filled the air as Dana came harder than she ever had in her life. Her eyes rolled back and she was close to passing out when the quaking tremors rumbled through her body. She was aware of something slapping at her flared lips but in the haze of orgasmic rapture, she didn't seem to care until Duke forced it inside her.

“Uuuuhhh!” she grunted as his knot passed the tight ring of muscles guarding the entrance to her pussy.

It really didn't hurt do to the overwhelming pleasure she was receiving but she could feel it swelling along with Duke’s massive cock. It was stretching her to her limits and filling her completely. The tip of his cock was pressing into her cervix and the knot felt like a large orange inside her, throbbing against her g spot. A gush of liquid heat sprayed into her womb as Duke began to cum. She came again too! Her shrieks of ecstasy muffled by the sheets she was screaming into. Duke was no longer thrusting, just rocking his hips side to side. He had released his vise like grip on Dana’s waist and stood on the bed with his front legs on either side of her rib cage and his back legs on the floor. 

Once again Dana regained her senses and tried to control her breathing. The tugging of Duke’s knot against her opening as he moved kept her in a heightened state of arousal. She expected the enormous amount of dog cum, flowing into her uterus, would be leaking out of her by now but the knot had her sealed up like a cork in a bottle. Minutes passed then Duke turned and stood ass to ass with her, continuing to pump his hot seed into her heavily work pussy. Each time he shifted she had an orgasm. Some were small but when she would touch her aching clit, she would explode.

She looked at the clock on her night stand with blurry vision and could just make out the time; 6:20. She had been tied with Duke for over twenty minutes and he continued cumin. It had diminished in force but she could still feel it squirting into her pussy. Also she could feel his cock and knot gradually shrinking but it was far too large to be pulled out yet. Dana was exhausted but totally satisfied as she lay with her eyes closed basking in the after glow of the most intense sexual experience she ever had. There cam a low rumble from Duke. She felt it more than heard it along with him tugging at her.

“Duke stay!” she said after a sharp gasp but didn't lift her head, “Good boy…stay.”

A moment later the rumble returned but this time she heard it. Duke had let out a low growl and the tremors carried to her through the union of their bodies and she moaned in pleasure, but when he tugged at her again she turned to look at him. He was starring at the bedroom door. Dana saw to her horror Karen standing in the doorway; eyes wide and mouth a gape. 

Relationshipsofadifference

Relationships of a difference:


It’s an odd time to be writing about sex. Not at all like the late 1960s
and 1970s, when the air was charged with sexual curiosity, women’s
lives were changing at the rate of a geometric progression, and the exploration
of women’s sexuality – well, it ranked right up there with economic
equality.
Today’s sexual climate is somber. Gone are the lively debates and writings
about sex as part of our humanity. The toll of AIDS, reports from the
abortion battlefield, and the alarming rise of unintended pregnancies make
sex seem more risky than joyful.
By their sheer numbers young men and women twenty years ago made
sex a burning issue; later when the time came to go on to more “serious”
business, they put the sexual revolution to bed. Implicit in the prim set of
their lips today is that they overdid it twenty years ago; like good Calvinist
children the Establishment now punishes itself for its former naughty excesses
and righteously turns its back on sex. Because they are still the majority
who make the rules and write the headlines, they assume they speak
for everyone.
They know little of the women in this book.
These women are for the most part in their twenties, the generation that
followed the sexual revolution and the initial momentum of the women’s
movement. Their voices sound like a new race of women compared to those
in My Secret Garden, my first book on women’s sexual fantasies, which
was published in 1973, and is now in its twenty-ninth printing. While they
have all read that earlier book and taken heart from it, these young women
accept their sexual fantasies as a natural extension of their lives. Given the
unique period in women’s history in which they grew up, how could it be
otherwise?
For them the explosive emotions we unleashed in the 1970s are still very
much alive. There has never been a sexual hiatus, a cooling-off period. Sex
is a given, an energy not to be deferred for “more important things.” Their
sexual fantasies are startling reflections of their determination to abandon
nothing.
Here is a collective imagination that could not have existed twenty years
ago, when women had no vocabulary, no permission, and no shared identity
in which to describe their sexual feelings. Those first voices were tentative
and filled with guilt, not for having done anything, but simply for daring to
admit the inadmissible: that they had erotic thoughts that sexually aroused
them.
More than any other emotion, guilt determined the story lines of the fantasies
in My Secret Garden. Here were hundreds of women inventing ploys
to get past their fear that wanting to reach orgasm made them Bad Girls.
All in the privacy of their own minds, where no one would know. But in the
mind of the symbiotic child, mother did know. The daughter could be
grown and with children of her own, but if she had never emotionally separated
from that first person who controlled her totally, how was she to
know what was mother’s opinion, what was her own? It was as if mother
continued to sit in judgment throughout the daughter’s life, wagging her
finger at the daughter’s every sexual move and thought.
The most popular guilt-avoiding device was the so-called rape fantasy –
“so-called” because no rape, bodily harm, or humiliation took place in the
fantasy. It simply had to be understood that what went on was against the
woman’s will. Saying she was “raped” was the most expedient way of getting
past the big No to sex that had been imprinted on her mind since early
childhood. (Let me add that the women were emphatic that these were not
suppressed wishes; I never encountered a woman who said she really
wanted to be raped.)
Anonymity also helped. The men in these fantasies were faceless strangers
invented to further insure the women against involvement, responsibility,
the possibility of a relationship. These males did their job and left. Being
fucked by the faceless stranger made it doubly clear: “This pleasure is
not my fault! I’m still a Nice Girl, Mom.”
Certainly sexual guilt hasn’t disappeared, nor has the rape fantasy.
There is something very workmanlike and reliable about the traditional bullies
and bad people whose intractable presence allows the woman to reach
her goal, orgasm. But most of the women in this book take guilt as a given,
like the danger of speeding cars. Guilt, they’ve learned, comes from without,
from mother, from church. Sex comes from within and is their entitlement.
Guilt, therefore, must be controlled, mastered, and used to heighten
excitement. If there is a rape fantasy, today’s woman is just as likely to flip
the scenario into one in which she overpowers and rapes the man. This sort
of thing just didn’t happen in My Secret Garden.
Fantasy is where the sexual drive does battle with opposing emotions, the
selection of which comes out of our individual lives, our earliest sexual
histories. What were the forbidden feelings we took in as we grew? In these
new fantasies, the emotions that most often dictate the story lines are anger,
the desire for control, and the determination to experience the fullest sexual
release.
Admitting to anger is new for women. In the days of My Secret Garden,
nice women didn’t express anger. They choked on it and turned whatever
rage they felt against themselves.
Anger is still a difficult emotion for women to voice in reality, primarily
because we get no practice expressing it in that first, most important relationship,
opposite mother. But women today at least know they are entitled
to anger, and fantasy is a safe playground where they can show rage at all
the obstacles that stand in their way, beginning with rage at the enormous
difficulty in being sexual plus all the other things a woman today must be.
These new women have no models, no blueprints. They have to make themselves
up. One of the ways they try out new roles is in their erotic dreams.
Don’t misunderstand me; this is not just a book about angry women.
These are women’s voices finally dealing with the full lexicon of human
emotion, sexual imagery and language. Anger is inextricably involved with
lust in reality as well as in the erotic imagination. Men’s sexual fantasies
are also filled with rage at war with eroticism. They take a different story
line from women’s largely because of men’s earliest experiences with
woman/mother. But rage is a human emotion, and though history until recently
tells us otherwise, it is not exclusive to one sex.
I will never forget these women, for they have swept me up in their enthusiasm
and taught me too. “Take that!” they say, using their erotic muscle
to seduce or subdue anyone or anything that stands in the way of orgasm.
They take the knowledge won by an earlier generation of women
who couldn’t use it themselves, still being too close to the taboos against
which they rebelled. These women look mother square in the face and have
their orgasm too.
I have always believed that our erotic daydreams are the true X-rays of
our sexual souls, and like our dreams at night they change as new people
and situations enter our lives to be played out against the primitive backdrop
of our childhood. An analyst collects his patients’ dreams like gold
coins. We should value our erotic reveries no less seriously, because they
are the complex expressions of what we consciously desire and unconsciously
fear. To know them is to know ourselves better.
Like the X-ray of a broken bone held up to the light, a fantasy reveals the
healthy line of human sexual desire and shows where this conscious wish to
feel sexual has been shattered by a fear so old and threatening as to be unconscious
pressure. As children we feared that the sexual feeling would
lose us the love of someone upon whom we depended for life itself; the
guilt, planted early and deep, arose because we didn’t want the forbidden
sexual feeling to go away. Now, it is fantasy’s job to get us past the

fear/guilt/anxiety. The characters and story lines we conjure up take what
was most forbidden, and with the omnipotent power of the mind, make the
forbidden work for us so that now, just for a moment, we may rise to orgasm
and release.
Here, for the first time, these women’s voices make it undeniably clear
that our erotic fantasies have changed in juxtaposition to what has happened
in the past years; they are not simply masturbatory diversions, derivatives
of Playboy cartoons, but brilliant insights into what motivates real
life – clues to our identity as valuable as the dreams we dream at night.
This is not a scientific report. I am by choice not a Ph.D., having decided
long ago to retain the writer’s freedom. Also, it has always been my belief
that women tell me things they say they’ve never told a living soul because
I am Nancy to them and not Dr. Friday. This book, along with My Secret
Garden and Forbidden Flowers, its sequel, represent a unique chronicle of
women’s sexual fantasies. Before My Secret Garden was published, there
was nothing on the subject. The assumption was that women did not have
sexual fantasies.
The sexual fantasies in Women on Top cover the years from 1980 to the
present. They were selected from interviews and letters written to me in
answer to an invitation to women who wished to contribute to a future book
on women’s sexual fantasies. The request was printed in the back of My
Secret Garden and Forbidden Flowers. I gave a P.O. Box number and
promised anonymity.
My contributors and I may form a special population: I am sufficiently
fascinated by sexuality to write about it, and they to read my books and
then write to me for reasons ranging from the desire for validation of their
sexuality – “I am signing my real name because I want you to know I exist!”
– to the exhibitionistic pleasure of seeing their words in print. But
there can be no doubt that those who have written speak for a far larger
population.
I have chosen to arrange the fantasies in three chapters which denote the
themes that most frequently turned up in the thousands of letters and interviews
I collected since my earlier books: women in control, women with
women, and sexually insatiable women. I’ve arranged them in chronological
order so that we could see how changes in the real world influence the
erotic imagination.
Let me tell you how I came to this subject. In the late 1960s I chose to
write about women’s sexual fantasies because the subject was unbroken
ground, a missing piece in the puzzle, and I loved original research. I