Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Dogs don't live long enough and it's so upsetting when they die. A shy young man is persuaded to find an alternative.

I've always been shy and maybe rather obsessional. I got a job with a fabrication company in their stores and worked my way up until I was head storekeeper by the time I was thirty-one. I did try to date, but somehow it didn't work. The girls were all nice enough, but always wanted to change me, or the way I did things. You know, 'Aisle Altar Hymn'? Some were untidy, or wanted me to buy a more sporty car – my old Morris Traveller fits my need and personality perfectly – and who would want to live without Bach, Mozart, or the other greats? So, in my twenties I acquired a dog, a Cavalier King Charles spaniel bitch I called Cora. She was perfect; good company, a reason for pleasant exercise, a joy to watch as she scampered in the park ... and she loved me unconditionally. Sex? Porn, and Rosie Palm. Never had a headache, never on her period, never needed to wash her hair.

Cora did, though; need to wash her hair, that is. Her long, silky liver-and-white coat collected mud and wet like a sponge, but she was very well behaved when I had to bathe her after a wet walk in the park. Afterwards, once she was dry, she'd curl up on my feet or my lap as I listened to my music and if she was on my lap I'd play with her soft, silky ears.

The problem with dogs is they don't live as long as people. Some pedigree dogs are prone to medical problems mongrels usually don't have. When Cora was ten, she slowed down a lot and the vet said she had heart failure. Diet and pills kept her going another six months, until the vet said it would be a kindness to put her to sleep. I held her head and stroked her ears as I had so often as the vet injected her. When she was dead, I wrapped her in her blanket and carried her home, tears streaming down my cheeks. I buried her in my back garden and went about my life.

My friend Eric picked up that I was down and sympathised when I told him about Cora. "Will you get another dog, Pete?"

I shook my head, not in negation, but uncertainty. "I don't know, Eric. I'm not sure I could cope with the loss in ten years, fifteen years, whatever."

"What about different pets?"

"What? Cats? Rabbits? Fish?"

"I wasn't thinking in those terms. You didn't like the girls you went out with because they tried to control you, right? So you gave up."

"I suppose, but..."

"What you need is a pet sub."



I stared at him. "I've read about that. I thought it was all made up. It's real?"

"It's real."

"I don't want to tie someone up, or whip them."

"You don't have to. Some subs really want you to hurt them. Some don't. I'll lend you a book and you can read about it. If you are interested, you'll need to know what to say, what to ask, what to look for. You obviously don't want a masochist, but a slut might suit you, if she's the right one." I was shaking my head. Was I entering the x-files or something? "Don't dismiss it out of hand, Pete."

"I'm not. I'm just wondering if I've swapped dimensions, or something. I'll read your book, Eric, and think about it."


Eric called round a couple of days later in the evening and handed me a substantial tome. He couldn't stop, so I said goodbye and took the book to my favourite chair, selected a relaxing classics CD, started it playing and sat to read "Exploring the Dark Within."

Some of it was horrifying to me, some repulsive, some abhorrent, but... "Your kink is not my kink, and my kink is not yours, but all kinks are okay." That was weird, but I supposed that as long as everything really was consensual – that the pain slut really did get off on being whipped or pierced or whatever, and the humiliation slut really did enjoy, well, being humiliated – I supposed it was okay.

Eric and I were drinking in our favourite watering hole in Derbyshire. "I read your book, Eric."


"And I suppose if I can find the right person, it could work."

"Wednesday night, come with me to 'The Dungeon'. I'll introduce you to an acquaintance of mine, Madame Katalinka. She operates a sort of ... rehoming service. Subs go to her for all sorts of reasons and she puts them up, gets them checked out. Then she's very careful about who gets them. If you're interested, you'll need identification and proof of residence, that sort of thing, and she'll check you out, call after the ... adoption, I suppose you'd call it. There's an admin fee. Not a purchase, but to cover some of the costs she incurs by doing what she does."

I had forty-eight hours to get notarised copies of my birth certificate, driving licence, Council Tax demand and to worry about what I was doing. I consoled myself that going along did not commit me to ... adopt ... a pet sub, any pet sub. Eric warned me, though. "You're going to have to be hard-hearted, Pete, at least at first. They're going to look at you, the way that spaniel of yours used to, but you must choose carefully."

Madame Katalinka was ... impressive. That's the word. She was tallish – five foot ten – her dark hair cascaded down her back in waves. She was wearing a dark outfit that exposed her substantial breasts to below the areolae, emphasised a narrow waist and round hips, reached the floor on one side and her hip on the other. Eric nudged me as she approached and we both stood. I bowed reflexively and she held out her hand. I took it and kissed the back of it lightly.

"Eric ... so good to see you," she said as I was doing so. "And this charming gentleman must be Pete Welham. Please, gentlemen, be seated." I pulled out a chair for her. She smiled and majestically lowered herself into it as I held it before seating myself. "Mister Welham, Mister North has told me a little of your situation, but perhaps you could tell me in your own words what you're looking for?"

I took a deep breath. "A pet, to replace my dog. One that will give me company without conditions, but one who won't need to be beaten or tied up. A pet to care for and nurture."



"No ... do you require sex with your pet?"

"Ah..." I should really have thought that through. I said so. "I hadn't thought about it. As long as she was agreeable, that would be an excellent bonus."

"Oh, I think you'll find that most of the pets who will fit your requirements will expect and even require intercourse, and regularly."

I swallowed hard. "I see."

"Do you want to proceed? You are not committed until you commit."

I took a deep breath. "I think I'd like to meet some of the ... pets ... who are looking for a new home."

"This is how it will work. Rather than you wandering round looking at pets in cages, they will come to you, give their name, age and the number of previous Masters. They should then give a brief run down of their needs and hopes and any skills they bring to the relationship. If you decide you want to adopt one, you will need to complete a couple of forms and produce some ID, which I think Eric will have explained. I will monitor progress over three months, at the end of which if both parties are happy, you're on your own. You can, of course, come back. If you return your pet after the three months, however, unless there is a powerful reason otherwise, you will not get your adoption fee returned. Similarly if I find out you have abused your pet."

"Fair enough."

She turned to Eric. "How is Lara? I haven't seen her here for months."

"She's fine, but with only a couple of months to go with her pregnancy she's finding it hard to get around. You know how it is, I suppose."

"Not personally." Madame Katalinka chuckled, but I thought there was no humour in it. "I will have to visit for a chat. It's so hard getting away from here, though."

"Lara would love to see you, I'm sure."

She left us, and I began to look around at what was going on. Two girls and a young man, wearing very little, were dancing on a small stage; a very erotic and suggestive dance. Around us were odd sights; young and not so young men and women, almost naked, wearing collars and sitting or kneeling next to people I assumed were their master or mistress. Even they, the masters and mistresses were dressed, shall I say, unusually. But I didn't have time to analyse any of that, because a young blonde woman, in nothing but collar and thong, approached me and knelt. "I am Susie. I am twenty-six. I have had two masters since taking the collar, and am skilled with mouth, cunt and anus. I sometimes misbehave in order to be spanked."

She was very pretty, but I didn't want a pet who would deliberately misbehave to provoke me, so I thanked her and sent her away. One after another, others came; ranging in age up to early fifties, but all attractive in different ways. None of them, however, struck a chord. Some, I wanted to help, but that wasn't enough. I was almost ready to give up and go home.

Then I saw her. Maybe five foot two or three, a little plump, but her figure well defined. Her breasts wide, low, mounds with no sag and small nipples, her waist, her bottom, perfection. She had brown hair which, however, had widely differing colours in from almost blonde through tan to almost black, and it was gathered into bunches each side of her head so it resembled the floppy ears of a spaniel. She knelt, and spoke in a quavering voice. "I'm Coral..."

Was the name a coincidence? Her appearance? "Look at me," I said.

She looked up, briefly and her eyes were large, dark brown and glistening, on the verge of tears. "I'm twenty-two, and I've had one master..." her voice caught.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Heterosexual / Fiction /