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Message-ID: <37540asstr$1027696203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: profnjax@aol.comnocrap (Profnjax)
Subject: {ASSM} Life in the Yard, Part 4 (MFmf/F/Dogs, Rape, Humil, Satire
Date: Fri, 26 Jul 2002 11:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Life in the Yard
(MFmf/F/Dogs, Rape, Humil, Satire)
by Chris

Part 4

    
Hi.  Lizzie again.  It hasn't been that long since the last time.  Really, it
hasn't.  

Just thought I'd say that.  Thought you might have been worried about me.

I was worried about me, to tell  you the truth.  That last one was just so
negative, wasn't it?  Sad.  And I feel bad about that.  Bad about leaving that
way.  So negative.

But hey, you know that's not me.  Well, it was last time.  The puppy thing.

But I've grown since then.  I really have.  You'll see.

I just got all tangled up in that puppy thing then.  Got mangled.  Wore me out.
 Wore me down.

But hey, I'm over that now.  Moved beyond it to a whole new level.  Really
positive.  You'll see.

Yeah, I sound delusional, right?  You're saying, the girl has really lost now. 
What can be positive about living as a dog?

Well, we've been through that.  So, I shouldn't have to go through all that
again.  Besides, as I say, I've moved to a whole new level.  

And, no silly, not a delusional level, where I think everything's positive. 
Gotta tug the positive out of negative.  That's still true.  Always true.  

But the negative and positive, that's all relative, and that's true too.  And
so is what is true.  

See what I mean?  No delusional thinking there.  Just the circle of life.  Life
in the yard.

But I'll get to all that big-picture stuff, thinking out of the box, in the
yard. And I really will this time too.  No leaving things suspended in the
negative, like last time.

Nope.  This time we'll really get there.  But, first let me tell you how I got
there.

No, not how I got out in the yard, silly.  You already know that.  

How I got from the vicious circle of negatives, where I left off, to this
virtuous circle of postives, where I am now, through the circle of life, life
in the yard.  Where negatives turn into positives turn into negatives turn into
positives, and on and on forever, 'cause it's all relative.  But we'll get to
all that.  You'll see.

We'll start off where I left off last time.  The puppy thing.  Well, right
after it really.  But things were really negative then, as you know.

My daughter had just pulled the puppy off my face.  And she had help from
Lancelot and Gallahad who were barking and growling at me.  Everyone thinking I
had abused the puppy instead of the puppy abusing me.  But me thinking,
knowing, thinking I knew, like I was telling you, that it was really the other
way around.  That the puppy was abusing me, though nobody believed that.

So see?  Everything relative there, depending on your perspective.  But
relative in what was, overall, a really negative thing for me.  Really, really
negative.

But I got beyond that.  You'll see.

But where it was right then, was Lancelot and Gallahad helping my daughter
"rescue" the puppy from me in this really weird, ironic ethic of dog chivarly. 
Almost the reverse of human chivalry, actually.  Or the inverse, or something. 
Really perverse though.  Or at least I thought so at the time.

With Lancelot and Gallahad barking and growling at me, my daughter pulled the
puppy off my face.  Now, I was gonna be shown that a bitch like me must know my
place.  

That's what Lancelot and Gallahad showed me.  Showed my daughter and the puppy
too.  My daughter cuddled, cooed, and comforted the puppy, and they stood out
there in the yard and watched what happened to me.  

In fact, because it was an all-day event, the whole family got to see.  Some
neighbors too.  

That's right.  It was quite a public spectacle.

At the time it was happening, I was preoccupied with Lancelot and Gallahad, as
you'll see.  And that, and a sense of overwhelming shame when I thought of all
the people watching and seeing, prevented me from paying much attention to the
audience.  Made me shut them out in shame.  

I'll just say this now because I won't talk of them much again.  The people,
that is, and how they reacted to what they saw, or what the think they saw
anyway, and what I heard from them.  

On and off, I heard appalled gasps and groans of disgust.  Snickers and
chuckles.  Scoffs and laughs.  Astonishment.  Amusement.  Ridicule and
contempt.  It was all there.  Like there used to be at public executions or
lynchings.  But, this time, for the dogs and me.  

My husband, his young lover, my son, daughter and the puppy.  Shuffling in and
out of the house for refreshments.  Pulling up chairs.  Calling friends and
colleagues. Yep, some of  my former associates were there to watch this too.

Even inviting the neighbors over.  Or maybe neighbors invited each other.  You
could hear what was going on for a block or more I bet.

Family and friends and colleagues and neighbors all come to watch the show. 
See what's happening to me.  See what's going on in the yard.  Or think they
see, anyway.  

See?  They didn't really see what was going on in the yard.  All this people
gathered there to watch.  They were all around the yard.  All watching.  But
they didn't really see what was going on at all.  But, you'll see.

It started as a kind of paternal protective thing.  About the puppy.   But it
was a male competitive, possessive thing too.

Adult male dogs get jealous.  Even of puppies.  And certainly of each other. 
And, not to seem too narcissistic about it, but they get jealous over me.  Not
just me.  But definitely me.  It's part of life in the yard.  Flattering in a
way, for sure, but battering too.  But this started about the puppy.

Partly out of paternal-protective instinct, and partly out of
competitive-possessive instinct, Lancelot and Gallahad punished me and ravished
me at the same time.  I mean, it was about both ravishment and punishment, and
I got both from both of them at the same time.  Lancelot and Galahad.  First
time they'd done that.  Gang bang me both at the same time. 

Oh, they'd both had me whenever they wanted me. But they'd taken turns. 
Lancelot first, of course, as the alpha male.  Unless he wasn't that interested
and didn't want to mount me at the moment.  Then Gallahad could have me first. 


Of course, once Gallahad had me, Lancelot would take a turn at me, too. Got
horny watching the other guy humping me, like any guy would. 

But, a male, competitive, possesssive thing, too  When Lancelot got sloppy
seconds he always insisted I give him twice the service.  Fuck me first.  Then
suck him off.  

Took a while to get him up and going again.  And the taste and smell were hell.
 But hey, he was the alpha male and I was his bitch.  Gallahad's bitch too. 
But Lancelot's more.  And that was the point to the fuck and suck when Lancelot
decided he'd give me a go after the show from me and Gallahad.

Anyway, what was I saying?  Oh yeah.  Bitch lessons.  My final test by Lancelot
and Gallahad after my slut-mut lapse with the pup.  The gang-bang fuck-suck. 
It was actually more than that, but that's how it started out.  Sucking
Lancelot and fucking Gallahad at the same time.  And like I said, first time
with both of them together, front to back, like that.

There was no foreplay, whatsoever.  Not even the greedy, degrading doggy stuff
that they pass off as foreplay.  No snout sniffing around in my snatch.  Not
even a token lick.  Just suck and fuck.  

Mount the bitch from the front and from behind.  Stick one dick her mouth, the
other dick in her cunt. Paw and claw and hump away.  A few annoyed snarls and
growls at each other over my back when their snouts got too close to each other
and they had to deal with the smelly breath and sloppy drool they threw in my
face all the time.  But, for the most part, a more collaborative and mutually
possessive than competitive endeavor.  

If I had been a real anthropologist, and more objective at the time, I'm sure I
would have found a lot of good research material.  As it was, I was merely a
former feminist attorney who'd not quite learned what it meant to be just their
bitch, and was being given a remedial co-tutorial in canine ethics and gender
politics.   

They got my attention, and I was a quick learner that day.  But, hey, I was in
detention.  In their dog house.  And it was one of those dog-day-all-day
lessons they intended as a rite of passage. Using my passages. Or last rites,
which ever came first.

As it turned out, I did.  Wouldn't you know it?  Not that either of them cared.
 Not the sensitive-male types by a long shot.  

And speaking of long shots, I got a mouthful from Lancelot.  And throatful and
bellyfull.  

I have to swallow.  Licks my face and lips if I don't.  And dog-drool facials
and slurpy lippies do not usually meet the bourgeois standards of my more
refined tastes.  So, even though Lancelot does not really tell me to swallow,
I've gotten the message very clearly from earlier oral encounters, thank you
very much.

Anyway, while Lancelot was humping and pumping away at my obsequiously sucking
mouth and swallowing throat, Gallahad was humping and pumping it into my
quivering cunt.  Yeah, I came.  Came pretty quick.  But Gallahad's fuck wasn't
over and he didn't give a shit if he'd set my clit off or was about to rub it
off.  In fact, both were good prospects as he got me off, made me sore, got me
off again, made me more sore, and on and on like that for who knows how many
times and God knows how long.  Hey, who's counting anyway?  And no clocks in
the kennel.  Dog-day afternoon.

Anyway, Gallahad took a long time to cum.  And then there was still the
all-but-little matter of the knot.

Yeah, you know about a dog and his knot.  If not, just let me say for now that
it's big if it's a big dog--and this was a Great Dane so he had a great big
dang knot--and that regardless, it stays hard and in you for a long time.  

So hey, that's sounds good, huh?  Keeping it up.  Staying power.  Performance
with endurance.  Hmph.

That may sound better than that whimpy little premature ejaculator you've had
dribbling and shriveling in your bed.  But when you're a bitch, and you got big
dogs that ruthlessly and relentlessly batter and stretch your every labial and
vaginal tissue.  That make you feel like all those tissues are ripped up and
ripped off.  That still swell like a speculum from hell and stay stuck in you
while they paw and claw you. That use that massive, invasive appendage still
stuck inside you like a towbar to swivel you and then drag you around the yard
like a rag doll . . .  

Well, just let me say that, when that happened to me, I developed a whole new
appreciation for the whimpy little dick that squirts too quick and shrivels too
soon.  That I was so quick to ridicule before, in my previous life, when I was
only a bitch a colloquial, more casual way.

Anyway, as I say, Gallahad had me.  And I had more than my fill of him, for a
long, hard, sore time.  And while he was dragging me around the yard like his
little rag doll, Lancelot lost his languid afterglow.  And, he saw that the
Gallahad drag-and-wag the-bitch show was running long.  And Lance got in a
alpha-male, competitive-possessive mood for an encore.  

Sore as I was, I was even grateful to still be stuck with Gallahad.  He was
still big and hard.  And I was hurt with him stuck in me.  And I hated being
wagged and dragged around.  But at least he'd spurted.  Was spent.  Would only
require a little more patience. Not the resiliance and endurance a re-engorged
and regenerated alpha-male would desire.  And if an alpha-male--hell, any
adult-male--dog desired to mount his bitch, then, for the bitch, it was
required.

Well, Lancelot was already pissed now that his alpha-male need and seed was
restored to its rightful, mightful state, while Gallahad was still stuck in his
pitiful bitch.  Worse, Gallahad had dissed him by dragging me into and through
where Lancelot had pissed to mark his imperial territory.

Before they could share their bitch in a collaborative, suck-fuck, front-back
double-mount.  Now, though, Gallahad's excessive enjoinment with me and his
intrusive encroachment on Lancelot's territory, with me in tow, raised the
issue of whose bitch I was in a very incisive and divisive way.  

I had, of course, been their bitch.  A bitch to both of them, in turns.  And,
as long as turns were taken in the proper order, whose property I really was
did not come into dispute.  I was Lancelot's first and Gallahad's second.  But
the distinctive, collaborative, spontaneous, simultaneous double-mount
suck-fuck they'd just improvised had already made the latent
competitive-possessive issues precarious.  And now Gallahad's obstinate knot
and his dissing of Lancelot's pissing palace--and all when his was again ready
to grant me his royal seed--made the competitive-possessive isssue manifet and
quite contentious indeed. 

With his lance a lot ready, and full of beligerence, Lancelot galloped over to
Gallahad with some loud barks, angry growling, and enough snarling nips to warn
Gallahad that Lance's bite would be worse than bark if Gallahad's impudence
wasn't tempered by appropriate deference. With gruff but brief indignant growls
imparted as a necessary but token gesture to injured male pride, Gallahad did
indeed bow his head and back away as quick as he could.  

Problem was, he was still stuck in me, so I went with him.  Which was kind of
like retreating in battle, but looting as you go.  At first assuaged, then
enraged, Lancelot lunged at Gallahad, with more barking, growling, and nips.  

Problem was, with me dragging behind the Gallahad, Lance had to go over me to
get to him.  Which meant plenty of gratuitous paws and claws on the tits of the
bitch in contentious dispute.  Me.

Fortunately, for him at least, in all the commotion, Gallahad finally had lost
his erection, and I was let go.  No longer stuck, I just wanted to get away. 
Nevertheless, I let my good sense of my place as a proper bitch hold sway.  
Managed to duck my head back under Lancelot.  Find his stray, half-stiff dick,
and proceed to suck away.  

I thought that would rectify the situation.  Pacify the enraged inter-male
rivalry.  Gratify the enlarged alpha-male ego.  Satisfy the engorged tool of
his urgent need and generous seed.  All at the same time. 

 I didn't like it.  Sprawled on the ground, groveling under Lancelot.   My head
bobbing between his  hind legs.  Frantically slurping and gulping away.

But I was pretty damn proud of myself.  Being humiliated by two infuriated
dogs.  Dominated by both ot them. Them aggravated over how I was to be divided
between them.  And I'd been submissive, but also innovative.  And just
assertive enough to spontaneously and ingeniously resolve the whole thing.

That's what makes humans superior to other animal species, right?  Big brains
and lots of guile.  And I threw in some femine wile too.

Boy, was I wrong.  I guess I'll never get these guy things right.

Lancelot didn't do what I expected.  You know, just give all the bark and growl
and snarl a break.  Sit back.  Smugly enjoy my gobbling display of his property
rights.  Let me suck his big dick.  

Instead, he barked and growled and snarled at the already vanquished Gallahad
even more.  Pulled his dick out of my mouth.  And pissed in my astonished face.
 

So astonished that my mouth stayed open and his piss strayed in there too.  Not
sure how much lattitude bitches were allowed in canine water sports.  And, by
this point, not in a position to show him attitude anyway.  So I just kept my
mouth open for whatever spurts Lance might have left.

Pretty distasteful.  And I was still so uninsightful about it all that I even
tried to lick and suck his dick, oblivious to the obvious fact that no
self-respecting alpha-male would have fornicated where he'd just urinated.  So,
rejecting my pitiful gesture, Lancelot got me get me back on all fours and gave
me another powerful fuck.  Then, towed on his knob, hauled me through a careful
sampling of Gallahad's special piss spots.

I was wondering if there was any motorized yard tool for this sort of thing. 
Thought about calling Sears.   Doubted they had clerks who took barks by phone.

And that's where I had my epiphany.  Yep, that's right.  My epiphany.  Right
out there in the yard.

Over in the corner, in fact.  By the fence.  Under this knarly bush I planted a
few years ago that never grew like I wanted it to.  Gallahad's idealized piece
of well-fertilized real estate.  

And Lancelot was dragging me through there.  And I was thanking my bald head
for not having hair to get all tangled up in the knarly branches of this bush. 
And sniffing hard.  Wondering about shit.  My mind wandering to thoughts of
gooey dog turds on my ultra-sensitive head.  Thinking that would be carrying
the tingly sensations a little too far.   

And that's when the revelation hits me!  Plop!  Just like that!  

Remember from college science classes professors talking about the importance
of the serendipity factor in scientific discovery?  Yeah, I know, went in one
ear and out the other for me too.  But here I  was.  These dogs dragging me
around to dip me in their piddly.  And suddenly I think, serendipity!
And then this revelation hits me. All of a sudden.  In an instant of insight. 
Like a spash of cold water on my face.  Or warm urine, as the case may be.

But see, that's thing about the serendipity factor.  Can happen any time, any
place.  It's just there, just like that.  Your doing some routine lab
experiment.  Maybe about something else entirely.  And this totally unexpected
thing happens.  And it's a major new scientific discovery.

Or, in my case, your getting fornicated by dogs. Dragged through places they
urinated  Wondering about where they defecated.  Pondering some deeper stuff,
too.  Like the metaphorical, colloquial and literal meanings of the word
shithead.  And then, all of a sudden, it hits you.  This big insight.  This
major revelation.

My revelation started with realization that I was only a tool of communication
in this really elaborate fornication-urination ritual that Lancelot and
Gallahad were going through about domination.  And I thought, cool!

Yeah, I know.  Like, duuh!  But stuff like epiphanies and revelations can be
like that.  Especially when you throw in a serendipity factor.  Like you
discover something already knew.  Or should have known, but didn't really know.
 Or didn't see it that way before.  You know what I mean?

So, anyway, I thought,  OK.  So, I'm gonna be like just this yard tool, right? 
But, you know, like in all this intricate fornication-urination communication
about domination, you know? So if I just play it cool.  Just kind of lay back. 
Yeah, OK, or squat back.  But still keep my concentration.  If I just like do
this cool zen yard tool thing, you know, I could learn lots of stuff out here
in the yard.  

I mean, there's a lot more to dog life than I thought.  Like, you know, a
complex canine culture here.  I mean, these male dogs have this really weird
way of talking to each other.  Like, fucking and sucking and pissing and
shitting?  That's all talking for dogs when they're using it that way.  Using
me anyway. And like it works just as good as all that barking, yelping,
howling, growling, whimpering, whining stuff, you know?

I mean, remember college lit class?  I know, I know, but bear with me here.  

Anyway, remember all that stuff about post-modern literary theory and discourse
analysis.  I know, went in one ear and out the other with me too.  But you
never know when this shit can come in handy.

Anyway, this was another epiphany, revelation, I had.  I know, had a shitload
of 'em that day, didn't I?

Anyway, what was I saying?  Oh yeah,  post-modern lit theory and discourse
analysis.  Remember the stuff about priviledged discourse and how everything is
relative?  

Yeah, I know, Einstein's Theory of Relativity and physics.  But let's not get
too carried away here.  Just stick with, you know, privileged discourse and
cultural relativity, OK?

Well that applies to dogs too, right?  I mean, like, who's to say people
culture is superior to dog culture, right?  It's like, all relative, and we
shouldn't privilege one culture or discourse over another, right?  

And, bear with me now, 'cause this is where it really gets deep, OK?  So,
applying the same principles, within dog culture, we shouldn't privilege one
form of discourse over another, right?  OK, so then that means we shouldn't
privilege barking over yelping.  Or howling over growling.  Or any of that
stuff over whimpering or whining, right?  So, same principle, we shouldn't
privilege any of that stuff over forms of dog discourse like fucking and
sucking and pissing and shitting, right?  I mean, like, it's all, you know, dog
discourse, right?

I know, I know.  You're gonna throw nips and bites in there too.  And you're
right.  Same principle.

But I don't wanna go that far with this.  Not yet, anyway.  

I mean, I'm the one that's gotta live with these dogs out here, OK?  You can
talk about it being relative, sitting there in your house or office or school. 
 But a dog bite hurts like hell, you know.  And I'm gonna respect that, OK? 
Some discourse, you just got no recourse.

But, as, like, a cool zen yard tool, you know.  Just lettin' it happen.  Goin'
with the the flow.  But being, like, really in the know now, about this dog
discourse.  Staying really aware of all this stuff, right?  Well, it gives,
like, being a shithead a whole new meaning, you know?  I mean, like, you can
really spread this discourse stuff around.   

So anyway, of course, in dog discourse, all the posturing and gesturing are
important too, as kind of modifiers and clarifiers of what they are
communicating.  In my case, as their bitch, alot of my posturing and gesturing
involves serving the dicks and receiving the fluids of male dogs.  Getting
myself in the place to do this.  Letting them know that I know my place. 
Letting them know that if they want to show me and my place off to put other
dogs in their place, hey, that's OK with me.

I mean, I got my place in this dog discourse, but it's not a very privileged
one, you know?  Like, about the level of a shithead, right?  

That's what you're thinking, I know.  But see, that's an oversimplification. 
It doesn't allow for any personal growth with my self-actualization. 

I mean, the point here was I was discovering what a rich culture these dogs
have.  And what a stupid bitch I'd been.  Before I became their bitch.   For
not discovering and knowing all this sooner. 

I mean, I used to be a pet and property owner here.  And I didn't know shit
about all the stuff that was going on between these dogs in my own backyard.



When I found that out, I felt bad about it.  Guilty.  And really stupid.

And I realized I had a real opportunity here, out here in the yard, to really
learn something.  Apply a lot of shit I got in college that I'd forgotten.  Had
no appreciation for at all.  Apply that stuff out here in the yard.  As a bitch
and a cool zen yard tool.  Get real existential about it.  And get a real
education, first-hand or first-paw.  Really improve myself, if I took advantage
of it.

And that's when I saw, for the first time, the big picture of my life in the
yard.  I'd still been thinking about it too negatively.  Way too negatively. 

With all the learning I'm doing and all the education I'm getting--and for free
too; no job, I'm not paying for it--I should consider being put out here a
privilege.  A real privilege.

Yeah, now you see where I'm going with this?  It's, like, all coming together
now, right?  No privileged discourse, except relatively speaking, OK?  So, my
place in this dog discourse is actually, like, relatively privileged compared
to what a dumb bitch I was about all this when I was at the firm or at home,
before  I discoved life in the yard.

And, right then, as I was thinking all that, I did.  I really did.  And then I
started watching the dogs much more closely, to see what they were teaching me.
 I wanted them to know I was going to be a serious student, a good learner.  I
wanted them to know I was sorry for not appreciating all they could teach me
before.  I wanted them to know I was really getting into yardlife now.

So, with this revelation, this new realization, and new dedication, I returned
my attention to Gallahad.  Close attention this time.  With a whole new
appreciation for the complications of dog culture in the yard, and the
education I was getting

I could see pretty quickly that Gallahad was properly humbled.  He only
grumbled while Lancelot's seeded and soiled yard tool (yours truly) was dragged
through his bush territory.  But Gallahad was stubbornly determined not to let
being vanquished indicate that he'd relinquished all dog dignity and male
pride.  So, once Lancelot let me go, Gallahad mounted me again and gave me
another ride.  

But then things got more complicated, and I was really glad I was developing a
more sophisticated view of them.  Because what Gallahad did next was really
subtle.  Really intricate and complex.  Requiring a lot of insight and finess
on his part.

See, it was a dog's version common, complex male rituals that take different
forms in different cultures. Male rituals where competitive rivals show each
other dominance and deference at the same time, you know?   And Gallahad did
this to make sure they'd sorted out all this status stuff.  That things were
settled between them, you know? 

First, he dragged me over to a special territory of his that was left
unspoiled.  He waited real patiently to shrink and disengage, OK?  Then he
soiled my face to mark his property, right?  Then he sniffed around until he
found a territory belonging to Lancelot.  And then barked and growled and
snarled at me until he got me to crawl over there to await Lancelot's next
turn, with the property they would share.  Me, their bitch, the yard tool.

I mean, was that cool, or what?  See how subtle and complex that was? 

I mean, without living in the yard, who would have known all the meaning there?
 And I was a main part of it!  Their main communication tool and their property
too.  And, I don't mean to sound self-centered about it, but none of this
subtle and complex communication could have occurred without having my face
there for them to piss on.  

And, you know, once I understood this, understood the importance and
significance of my place in all this, I felt really honored to be there.   And
more relaxed too.  I mean, I'd never have to worry about saving face here out
in the yard.   And once I get a little better at this stuff, I'm sure they'll
be smothering me with attention and yet not require any mothering from me at
all.  Life in the Yard.  Who knew it could be this good?  I'm feeling so
positive out here.  I really am.  See?

The End. 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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