Justin Caas - The Third Sex

I lapped at her body appreciatively, explored the sweating limbs with an active tongue, especially between her legs and right up into her anus. Repulsive? To a normal male, perhaps, probably most likely; to a dog, not in the least, the smells were all delicious and tasted even better. I moved on to the couch and attempted to mount her. Flora playfully wriggled free, looked at me coyly over a fleshy shoulder. So I went back to licking and when an opportune moment arose, mounted her again, this time succeeding in penetrating her before she again disengaged herself.

We are supposed to indulge, within reason, the whims of clients who want to play games. In this case I had no problem with her coy pretence at modesty and playing hard to submit. This whole routine was very much a part of my own canine nature and I merely went back to lapping at intimate parts and waiting a suitable opportunity. The mount and disengage played out several more times before I saw the ideal moment. I grabbed her quickly plunged in to the hilt in a single thrust and her squeal of protest was indication enough that she had at last admitted defeat. To make sure, I grabbed her tightly and began the familiar rapid thrusting. To the side, Carl had become quite uncomfortable, shifting uneasily as, to my surprise, Madame Flora managed to disengage herself and the penis came free, bloated and dripping before I hastily mounted her again and this time entered her fully so that she no longer had a choice but to remain passively while she was thoroughly impregnated with the seed of life.

Carl again had an accident in his pants as he witnessed the scene and by the time Becky arrived shortly afterward for her second mating, Carl’s earlier urges had diminished to the point where he was no longer interested in a further display. I smiled quietly to myself. Becky was more relaxed and spontaneous this time, but my private preference was for Fat Flora who satisfied more thoroughly some inward pagan urges that appealed to the very ancient part of my brain.

Unfortunately for Carl, the next two clients over the next two days both objected to his presence in the room and he was obliged to be content with listening carefully at the door in the hope (futile as it happened) of gleaning some erotic insights into the activities within.

Carl became moody and uncommunicative but I insisted he join me for coffee. “What is it?” I asked, over the fragrant brew. But I had a fairly good idea that Carl was just frustrated at having no outlet for his voyeuristic tendencies. Carl was not very good at being subtle. Most men don’t do subtle very well, at least compared to women and in his forthright way it came out. Carl was longing to return to the leisure activities he had enjoyed so much with the previous Stud.

I asked, “What about women? Surely there are plenty of women even in a small town who would welcome your attentions?”

“It’s not the same,” Carl replied moodily. “It’s just that…oh hell, I can’t explain it. It’s different and even Andy said it was better than he’d expected, and there’s not much else to do is there? I mean how often can you drink coffee during the day.”

“Perhaps a lot more often than you can manage a mating.” I teased.

“I’d be happy to prove you’re wrong,” Carl said, the challenge clearly in his eyes.

I shrugged. “If it improves your mood. I wouldn’t want you to sink into clinical depression.”

Carl brightened immediately. “That’s a very wise choice. You’ll see.” He finished his coffee with alacrity. “Better be getting back don’t you think?”

I had to laugh. Carl was so transparent. Carl closed the front office. We went through the cleansing routine, entered the consulting rooms. “What now? You’re the expert here, apparently.”

“Nothing to it. Just lie back and think of England.” Carl explained. He was already erect in anticipation as he caught sight of the smooth female outline between my legs. “No, wait. You sure it’s up out of the way?”

I nodded, couldn’t help a smile at his eagerness. It had taken a couple of attempts to fit it into its upper pocket before I exited the cleansing room, muscles a long time unused. It actually felt strangely empty inside, sort of flat. Carl proceeded with confidence, inserted a finger, felt up close to the entrance, located the tip, pressed against it. I was surprised he knew about that. But of course, if Andy was the name of the previous Stud, he’d have had plenty of opportunity to explore such details, probably knew more about the finer points than I did. The pressure of his finger against a little hollow at the tip send a wave of pleasure coursing through my body and almost at once the familiar ejaculatory response—the ejaculation of lubrication, not of fertilisation. Once he felt everything was good and ready down there, Carl positioned himself, sank down with a sigh of utmost satisfaction, as if his whole life had been leading up to this moment—and slid into the warm embrace.

It was a strange sensation. Being filled. But even stranger and quite unexpected, was the sense of submission, of receiving, of giving up control to another. Perhaps these were some peripheral aspects of how a woman might feel, perhaps not; neither males nor Studs could ever really know, because their whole makeup and purpose was different from a woman’s. But on the level of sensation alone I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting much. The interior of the sheath is not particularly well equipped with nerve endings and nor is a vagina. But as he thrust, Carl’s penis came into contact with the underside of my own, the sensitive side and the pressure against it was doing its best to build up the tumultous waves of orgasm and fertilisation itself.

Carl was lost in a world of his own and totally given over to his own pleasure which, from his ragged breathing and redoubled efforts, was now reaching its own climax. My own response was instinctive because the slow ride to ecstasy had already begun and now would not be denied. I gripped Carl at his buttocks, pulled him in deeper, harder, moved my own body in the instinctive end stages, felt Carl spray inside me and moments later began to pulse rhythmically.

“See. I told you it was good.” Carl had a smug expression on his face.

“I bow to your superior wisdom,” I replied, with only a trace of irony. Indeed, I had learned something new, and quite unexpected.

Now that Carl had established a routine of mating me once a day, the bookings picked up remarkably. Suddenly Carl found that yes, we could arrange an appointment today after all as there’s been a cancellation.

So in choreographing the whole thing, Carl had proved to be a lot smarter than I’d given him credit for.

I was now forty-one and officially retired from the Ministry. The pension for life was not lavish, but adequate. But then nothing about the Ministry is extreme, all aspects could be properly described as merely adequate, so it was not unexpected that retirement should also fall comfortably into this mindset.

How I would spend my retirement had been decided years earlier by Juicy Lucy, now a handsome woman my own age. We would live in the farmhouse, which over the intervening years had been slightly enlarged and significantly redecorated, a suitable home for Lucy and her seven daughters. Gretan’s grave had not been marked and had long since ceased to carry an overtone of that dismal time. Further trees were planted and the fields carried cattle and a couple of young mares for the children to ride.

That was another thing. Each year or so when my tours of duty returned to our hometown I became better acquainted with my growing retinue of daughters. In the beginning and in my conversations with Lucy it was always her daughters, but as time went on, slowly and in subtle ways it became our daughters. Of course in a strictly physical sense it was true to say our because they were as much mine as hers. But Lucy, both astute and patient, had the future mapped out long before I was even dimly aware of it. So by the time the word our took on its full and proper significance I was already reconciled to the fact that living with Lucy and her seven daughters was the only feasible option, anything else was unthinkable.