Justin Caas - The Third Sex

Sally indicated that the guest room was the most private as it had a lock on the door. There was not much furniture in the guest room but a wardrobe, dresser with mirror and a bed. The windows looked over distant trees. I started to become aroused at the feminine smells that Sally was exuding. I slowly slipped my shoes and socks off, slipped my trousers and underpants down and stood before her with a contour much like her own. Sally gave a little gasp. “Oh, it’s so smooth. I can’t believe this!” and she stepped closer and forgetting for a moment any pretence at propriety, reached out a soft hand and caressed me between the legs. A moment later she apologised, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I hope you are not offended?”

I was about to say that’s alright, fondling me does a certain amount to get me going, but much faster is the way you are smelling right now so I spoke out loud, “Well you wanted to see it, so here it is!” I leaned back a little as a pink shaft, pointed at the tip emerged from the slit between my legs.

“Oh-my-god,” Sally breathed, a sudden flush to her face. “It looks just like a dog…Oh sorry, I…”

I laughed. “No need to apologise. It is a dog cock. I was bred from canine genes. A bit modified of course, but what you see is pure dog and with all a dog’s urges.”

That was taking a risk. But my sense of smell had never let me down and I knew that Sally was taking in my words with an undisguised lust. Time for action. This would tell whether she was all talk and looks or whether she secretly wanted more. Without warning, I grabbed her about the waist while we were both standing and began to hump against her. An ancient primaeval urge. Many women have fantasies about being taken against their will by a strong animal—not that they would want to do this in reality. But in fantasy it has all the ingredients of primaeval passion, submission to male animal lust and of course I’m-not-to-blame-because-I-could-not-stop-him, sort of thing.

Sally acted out what was evidently one of her own fantasies unexpectedly about to come true. With a helpless whimper she sank to her knees, mumbling something apologetic and at the same time self-recriminatory. I took no notice although I was keenly alert for any change of mood. I reached up, slid her panties down, bent her over on to her knees and with a low animal growl mounted her back and began to thrust. A moment later I dropped off, let her see how large and swollen it had become hanging down as I circled her on my own hands and knees. Another soft throaty growl and I jumped her again, gripping her around the waist and searching with slow hip movements for her opening. Sally froze, but I smelt no fear or hesitation, just excitement. Suitably reassured I thrust into her her and began a rapid humping as would a dog.

It lasted for several minutes with Sally alternately crying out and moaning while a wet stream ran down the inside of her legs. I didn’t want to get the bulge into her; a bit dangerous unless complete privacy and plenty of time are available. So I dropped off and watched Sally slowly recover. She seemed like a nearly drowning person coming up for air.

Well, she did ask to see it. It was a learning experience for us both.

Both Thomas and Pete periodically asked me about other occasions but I was reluctant to talk about it much, partly because it only emphasised the differences already emerging in our lifestyles. But anyway there weren’t as many such occasions as they might have thought.

The time of carefree freedom passed all too quickly. The Ministry notified me that I had passed the necessary genetic tests. It was time for the testicles to descend, a task I was not looking forward to. Following the Ministry’s suggestion I enlisted the help of Dr Fox with this procedure. It felt sort of familiar in an undefined sort of way. It wasn’t so much painful as uncomfortable. Apparently getting them back up inside was less friendly but I didn’t have to face that for a while—I hoped.

Six months passed before a further test of virility was ordered and for better or worse that was very satisfactory. I was told to report to medical rooms in one of the blocks which housed various health services and discovered that I had been assigned rooms labelled Fertility Clinic. There were apparently many of these around the city and most other cities and with typical government lack of imagination they all followed a similar style and layout—at least according to Nurse Bramley who greeted me as I stepped in the door. “Welcome to the clinic. Your first time I believe?”

“Er, yes. They didn’t tell me a lot at the Ministry actually, at least about what to expect in a working situation.”

Before me stood a pleasant woman in her mid-forties, a trim and athletic figure, plain but friendly face and dark hair cut short. She introduced herself as Nurse Bramley. “You’ll soon pick up the details. The hardest part is managing fussy, cantankerous or unreasonable clients.”

“Really? They didn’t say anything about that,” I responded doubtfully.

“Don’t worry, I’ll field all the initial inquiries and handle the paperwork. You must sight the medical certificate giving a clean bill of health and sign to that effect. There is also a standard disclaimer that you must jointly sign absolving yourself, The Ministry and anyone else they can think of, from liability of any kind including maintenance and child support, and also confers upon the client total rights to the child etc. Just make sure those two requirements are met every time.”

“Hmmn, I was told about that,” then as a thought occurred to me, “what do we do inbetween times? I mean there’s not likely to be a constant stream of customers is there?”

“We call them clients actually. More professional. As for how much free time you’ll have, every day is different. Bookings are made in advance. Some days there may be only one or two. Other days more. We’re on duty for eight hours and at a maximum you may see as many as sixteen clients, but it’s usually only half that number.”

Sixteen a day. That would take a bit of getting used to, I thought.

“Inbetween times we generally chat or you can read or do whatever you wish. Studs vary too. The last one here was nearing retirement and his hobby was sleeping between appointments. It made for a rather quiet day for me.

Oh, and as they’ve probably mentioned at the Ministry, if a woman asks for it she is entitled to have a husband or partner present, or alternatively myself. Will that bother you?”

I thought about it. “I can’t see why it should, might even be helpful if I get a cantankerous one, you can help me evict her.”

Nurse Bramley grinned. “I haven’t had to do that so far, but with human nature you never know. Incidentally your first appointment is at 10:00, I’ll show you the facilities.”

There were two cubicles set aside for hygiene. In an earlier era they might have been called ‘showers’ but these didn’t use much water. Just a fine mist. The whole body is cleansed by some form of ionic and other radiations. It is quick and simple. Step into the cubicle, raise arms above head, feet slightly apart. The process starts automatically. Thirty seconds later is complete. The client emerges clean, dry and refreshed. The Stud employs a similar cubicle reserved for his use.

As 10:00 approached and in answer to Nurse Bramley-call-me-Jean’s question I said, “Yeah I’m feeling a bit uneasy. First time nerves I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” At the moment I didn’t share her confidence.