Lucy was beginning to panic. I cupped her face with my hands and offered my chin to be licked. This is the comforting technique recommended by L. S. Bleatie in her seminal new book Cats Get AIDS, And Dogs Don’t. Ms. Bleatie also opines that one should put duck fat on one’s chin and lower lip, but I eschewed this unnecessary frippery. Lucy had always shown a great affection for the salts and minerals to be gleaned from the skin on my chin.
My prize bitch sniffed at my nose, and stopped shuddering. Already, her eyebrows unfurled, telling me that she was now sufficiently relaxed. I signalled for my assistant Carl to continue. Carl cautiously released his grip on Buster, while holding the plastic funnel at the ready with his left hand.
I kept an eye on the saliva that dangled from Carl’s mouth. I often remind myself that Carl is a man and should therefore be trusted to use the responsibility that God has, perhaps unwisely, given him. Today of all days, he must be trusted to neglect his urges.
“Is this alright, Madam Joolip?” he queried.
“Yes, it is good, Carl. I will tell you when to let go of the acorn-tickler.” I intoned warily.
“I’ve got a marvellous hold on him, here, Madam. The new gloves are working like a charm!” yelped Carl excitedly.
“Yes, I can see they are, Carl.” I responded.
I should say that ‘acorn-tickler’ is a name Carl and I use for the bulbous element of a dog’s penis. The official term, according to Dr. Shreddie’s hugely important reference work Zoo Fuck – A to Z, is the ‘nun’s choke nut’.
In this particular six-monthly artificial insemination ritual, I was determined to avoid the emotional embarrassment that Lucy often felt. Not for the first time, I noticed that sex puts a distracted look on a dog’s face. And already, although we hadn’t even begun to juice the choke-nut, both Buster and Lucy looked distinctly sheepish. A dog that mounts a bitch often struggles and thrusts blindly before penetrating, and in many cases, depending on the breed, has only a few seconds before losing its balance. This often means that the animal loses much of its natural dignity. But I also think that I would be unnerved too, if I had Carl watching me. Not only is Carl extremely interested in bolting his root, so to speak, but he is also from the North. Lucy could definitely smell this. Her lip curled markedly at one point, and I saw her glance at him as if to say, “You better not touch me, you northern tosser.”
A dog’s penis does not swell up until after penetration. Given this, a lot of people ask me how dog sex works. Well. A dog has a real bone in its penis, which provides rigidity regardless of sexual stimulation. Some people are surprised to learn that almost all mammals have a penis bone, or baculum. In fact, the chimpanzee also has a penis bone, and we are always told that this ridiculous and obviously immoral primate is our closest evolutionary relative! Ha! Pure drivel! When I am watching television and am forced to witness once more the dreadful state of modern culture, I like to meditate on the fact that the human reproduction system is much closer to that of the graceful horse than it to the filthy monkey. No. The horse is more truly our relative. There are no vulgar bones here. It is equipped with proud, hydraulic paraphernalia, like my late husband Reginald was. He had absolutely nothing in common with a fucking Bonobo monkey. He was a horse, and one of the finest breeders of spaniele francais ever to grace my vulva.
I awoke from these reflections when Lucy’s whiskers began to twitch terribly. I realised to my horror that Buster had escaped Carl’s grasp with the supple movement that only a pure breed can execute, and had successfully docked with his paramour. But in four decades of breeding, I have also developed instinctive speed, and was able to pinch above the acorn-tickler and prevent expansion. Within seconds, I had grabbed the funnel from Carl’s fumbling palm, and after a moment’s manual manipulation, managed to direct most of the first burst into it. My thighs tingled, as they always do.
I was cross with Carl, who was snivelling and groaning in the corner, and would have to punish him later, possibly with the attachment. Lucy yelped and I rewarded her with a treat. For a while I sat and admired Buster’s sublime masculine beauty. He and Lucy had jointly ascended to mountainous heights and been embraced by a sacred mist that no-one could witness with them. They were Mary and Joseph, and I would be their Gabriel. It is this moment that the Lord, our most holy breeder, has intended me for. All shall be well, I thought, all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.
Artificial Insemination
Lucy was beginning to panic. I cupped her face with my hands and offered my chin to be licked. This is the comforting technique recommended by L. S. Bleatie in her seminal new book Cats Get AIDS, And Dogs Don’t. Ms. Bleatie also opines that one should put duck fat on one’s chin and lower lip, but I eschewed this unnecessary frippery. Lucy had always shown a great affection for the salts and minerals to be gleaned from the skin on my chin.
My prize bitch sniffed at my nose, and stopped shuddering. Already, her eyebrows unfurled, telling me that she was now sufficiently relaxed. I signalled for my assistant Carl to continue. Carl cautiously released his grip on Buster, while holding the plastic funnel at the ready with his left hand.
I kept an eye on the saliva that dangled from Carl’s mouth. I often remind myself that Carl is a man and should therefore be trusted to use the responsibility that God has, perhaps unwisely, given him. Today of all days, he must be trusted to neglect his urges.
“Is this alright, Madam Joolip?” he queried.
“Yes, it is good, Carl. I will tell you when to let go of the acorn-tickler.” I intoned warily.
“I’ve got a marvellous hold on him, here, Madam. The new gloves are working like a charm!” yelped Carl excitedly.
“Yes, I can see they are, Carl.” I responded.
I should say that ‘acorn-tickler’ is a name Carl and I use for the bulbous element of a dog’s penis. The official term, according to Dr. Shreddie’s hugely important reference work Zoo Fuck – A to Z, is the ‘nun’s choke nut’.
In this particular six-monthly artificial insemination ritual, I was determined to avoid the emotional embarrassment that Lucy often felt. Not for the first time, I noticed that sex puts a distracted look on a dog’s face. And already, although we hadn’t even begun to juice the choke-nut, both Buster and Lucy looked distinctly sheepish. A dog that mounts a bitch often struggles and thrusts blindly before penetrating, and in many cases, depending on the breed, has only a few seconds before losing its balance. This often means that the animal loses much of its natural dignity. But I also think that I would be unnerved too, if I had Carl watching me. Not only is Carl extremely interested in bolting his root, so to speak, but he is also from the North. Lucy could definitely smell this. Her lip curled markedly at one point, and I saw her glance at him as if to say, “You better not touch me, you northern tosser.”
A dog’s penis does not swell up until after penetration. Given this, a lot of people ask me how dog sex works. Well. A dog has a real bone in its penis, which provides rigidity regardless of sexual stimulation. Some people are surprised to learn that almost all mammals have a penis bone, or baculum. In fact, the chimpanzee also has a penis bone, and we are always told that this ridiculous and obviously immoral primate is our closest evolutionary relative! Ha! Pure drivel! When I am watching television and am forced to witness once more the dreadful state of modern culture, I like to meditate on the fact that the human reproduction system is much closer to that of the graceful horse than it to the filthy monkey. No. The horse is more truly our relative. There are no vulgar bones here. It is equipped with proud, hydraulic paraphernalia, like my late husband Reginald was. He had absolutely nothing in common with a fucking Bonobo monkey. He was a horse, and one of the finest breeders of spaniele francais ever to grace my vulva.
I awoke from these reflections when Lucy’s whiskers began to twitch terribly. I realised to my horror that Buster had escaped Carl’s grasp with the supple movement that only a pure breed can execute, and had successfully docked with his paramour. But in four decades of breeding, I have also developed instinctive speed, and was able to pinch above the acorn-tickler and prevent expansion. Within seconds, I had grabbed the funnel from Carl’s fumbling palm, and after a moment’s manual manipulation, managed to direct most of the first burst into it. My thighs tingled, as they always do.
I was cross with Carl, who was snivelling and groaning in the corner, and would have to punish him later, possibly with the attachment. Lucy yelped and I rewarded her with a treat. For a while I sat and admired Buster’s sublime masculine beauty. He and Lucy had jointly ascended to mountainous heights and been embraced by a sacred mist that no-one could witness with them. They were Mary and Joseph, and I would be their Gabriel. It is this moment that the Lord, our most holy breeder, has intended me for. All shall be well, I thought, all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.
