‘Lad & Me in the Barn’

Funny how things work out. You grow up reading books and fairy tales, watching Disney movies, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to have a summer Romance, to fall in blissful mutual love with someone dark and handsome and live happily ever after. Nobody tells you it could turn out to be a big, brainy border collie with a weird back-door predilection. And yet here I am, sitting on a towel with a slow stream of collie cream leaking out my ass, while I type out my thoughts. I’m not at all dissatisfied with things, it just isn’t what you expect, exactly, when you’re growing up. You know?

My name’s irrelevant, and you’ll figure I’m just making it up, but I’ll put it in anyway. I’m Amy. I guess I’m writing to work things out, or get them off my chest, to a certain extent, and it feels more real if I put my name on it. My fella is the unimaginatively-named Lad. It’s a flexible name. Sometimes he’s Laddie, or Laddie Boy, Laddie Bucko, Lad-old-Pup, or any number of other variations. He responds to all of them. He’s not a large dog by any means, but he’s big for his breed. He’s mostly black, a deep glossy black, with a white blaze on his chest, a little more white on his forehead and behind his ears, and a couple of spotty white socks. We keep that fur nice and clean and silky despite his uncanny ability to find mud, burrs, and various farmyard byproducts. Right now, he’s busily patroling the grounds. When he decides he has a job to do, he devotes himself to it very single-mindedly.

I picked Lad out as a pup, and as he grew up, we spent hours together — many hours working on obedience and tricks, and many hours just in each other’s company, walking around together as I did chores, brushing and petting him, or just sitting quietly. When you spend that much time together, working together, playing together, and touching each other, you just bond. He slid right into the role of “best friend” and I never really thought about the fact that petting and hugging him, or kissing his forehead and muzzle, were things that I wouldn’t do with a normal friend, not if we meant to stay just friends. They were normal things to do with a dog, all a part of the process of bonding and growing close together. I wouldn’t have ever described the process as “falling in love”, but by the time a year had gone by, I certainly knew that I loved him, and I felt loved. He filled a big place in my heart. I missed him and thought of him during the day when I was at school, and looked forward to seeing him when I got home.

The timing worked out so that he was growing into his maturity just around the same time I was. I started seeing flashes of pink under his belly every once in a while, and I felt some growing curiosity about that part of him. I don’t know how to account for the fact that one day, when I was petting him, curiosity boiled over and I reached down under his belly and stroked him along his sheath. First, it was a couple of light touches, just “innocently” brushing against it while I scratched his belly fur, but then I took it fully in my hand, and stroked. I felt him swell almost immediately, pulled my hand back, then reached in again and rubbed some more. He felt good and warm in my hand. His hindquarters started twitching, and the big swell at the base felt really interesting. Even though I knew a lot about dogs, I hadn’t known to expect that and wasn’t entirely sure what it was. I wrapped my hand around and felt the mass of it. I pushed the sheath back a bit and saw a few inches of pink, saw a little spurt of liquid, and then I got nervous about what we were doing and took my hand away. I casually scratched his neck and ears for a minute or two more and then walked away, trying not to look suspicious (although, if anyone saw me, I probably looked exactly like someone trying very hard not to look suspicious).

As I lay in bed that evening, though, the feeling replayed in my head, and I lay in the dark with my eyes closed, but my brain still agitated. I didn’t get to sleep easily, and I woke up early with the thoughts still racing around. And so, the next day at around the same time, I called him over to walk with me. We walked around behind a building where we weren’t visible from the house, and I didn’t make much pretense about why we were there. I reached down and started stroking right away, and I felt him swell in response immediately. That big bulge started to fill my hand up, and he started thrusting emphatically. I thought he must be feeling pretty good, and I liked giving him that feeling, so I kept stroking. The sheath slipped back, and I got my first view of his entire cock, knot and all. It looked strange to me, but it was a part of Lad, so it seemed sort of OK to look and to touch. He was jetting out spurts of liquid now. Some of it splashed his chest fur, and some of it went on the ground. I held on to him, stroked him gently, and watched him squirt for a long time. I knew I wasn’t doing anything all that different than what the AI tech would do when he takes care of a bull or stallion, but deep down I also knew I was feeling more than that. I was feeling turned on.

This quickly became a daily routine for us. My afternoon chores gave me a good reason to be in the barn for a while every day, and so every day Lad would get a hand job. I got used to how he liked to be touched, and was rewarded with more enthusiastic thrusting and humping. He got used to the routine and would zip over to our usual spot as soon as we went in the barn, and look at me expectantly, calling me over. Thoughts of dog cock started coming to me all through the rest of the day, most of all before bed time, waking up in the morning, and riding the school bus home, when I knew I’d be doing “chores” soon. It hit almost all my senses. I could imagine the pink length of it sliding out bright against his belly fur, the hot touch, the liquid squirting against my hand, Lad’s heavy breathing in the quiet of the barn, and his warm doggy smell overpowering the background smell of hay and twine and dust. Every time it came to mind I’d get wrapped up in the fantasy and every time, more and more turned on. Frustratingly so.

Usually I just bent down and reached under, and sometimes I’d kind of curl my free arm around his chest, too, and he’d grab that and hump against it. I liked that feeling; it was more exciting when he seemed to really get into it. But one afternoon, probably an early October day, I decided to lie down and slide underneath him. With my head up under his chest, and his hind legs straddling my waist, I was looking straight up at dog dick, and when I jerked him, the first jets splashed out onto my chest (getting my shirt wet) and onto my neck. I was holding him near the base, he was starting to thrust a little bit, and when I raised my head up just a little, he was aimed right at my face. What a view! It’s so weird, I don’t know why I’m wired like this, but I loved how it looked, I loved the feeling of the spray against my skin, and I wanted more. I raised up a little higher, scooted forward, and held the tip right in front of my mouth. Jets of dog cum — precum, I guess — were splashing off my face and dripping off now, and as he thrust and jerked around, the stuff was flying everywhere. I was nervous but I was also absolutely determined that I wanted to swallow him. My lips parted, I guided him into my mouth, and there we were. I couldn’t pretend anymore that this was anything but sex. I wasn’t just jerking him off; my face was getting dog-fucked. He felt the warmth around him, and my hand still around the base, and he humped like mad, not too deep, thankfully (I could control that with my hand), but I had all I could handle just to hold my position and keep from getting jabbed the wrong way as he fucked my face. One part of my brain thought it tasted weird, but a deeper part of me wanted more, and more, and more. He felt so powerful, hammering away at me. I’m not sure how long it lasted. Probably not long. Time went kind of fuzzy for me. He slowed down and stood still, but kept filling my mouth for a long time after, and I gulped and gulped.

Eventually I slid out from under, looking like a mess, and I couldn’t stand it; I unbuttoned my jeans and started rubbing myself. Even though I’d just been underneath my dog enthusiastically sucking him off, I was somehow even more nervous all of a sudden that someone would come out and stumble on me with my pants down. But I needed some relief. Lad, who had been curled around licking himself, came over and stuck his nose in where my fingers were and started licking me too. It was a swamp down there, and he got his tongue right in. I lifted up my hips and pushed against him, still rubbing myself while he stood over me. He gave me a few long, fast licks, then lay down and wedged his head between my legs and seriously went to work. Remember I said he really devotes himself to a job? I spread myself for him and squirmed around and he licked every bit of me. It was the first time I’d ever felt anything like that at all, and before long I was seeing stars. I was holding in the noises because I didn’t want anyone to hear anything suspicious, but when he tongued over my asshole a couple of times, I yelped (I was surprised, and couldn’t help it). He wouldn’t let up, either. Finally I had all I could stand, and I rolled away onto my side. He walked around to look at me, like he was checking that the job was done ok. Yeah, wow, thanks, boy. I scratched him a bit (which he likes, especially the chest fur) and gave him a big hug (which he doesn’t like so much, but tolerates) and then just buried my face in his chest fur for a while and breathed in dog while I cooled down. Then: jeans zipped up, back to the house, straight to the bedroom, avoid eye contact with anyone else until dinner time.