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The Heat of Passion

By Xerox2

My wife dove face-first into her dish and devoured her entire steak in a matter of seconds. It seemed like our anniversary dinner was going well. Sure, the candles and red roses set the mood, but it was clearly my cooking winning me points tonight. That was good. Our marriage was crumbling.

Everything had to be perfect.

I leaned over and wiped a bit of sauce from the side of Anna's muzzle. It was amazing how quickly a fully grown rottweiler could wolf down a filet mignon.

Now before you start judging, let me explain. Yes, my wife was a dog, but I didn't marry a dog. No, Anna and I once had a very normal -- and very human -- relationship until our brief encounter with the supernatural eight months ago.

We were driving back home from Cambridge that fateful day. Considering we had left my in-laws behind, I thought the day was looking up. How wrong I was. The visit had left my wife in a nasty mood, and, when someone cut me off on the road, she shouted at them out the window.

"Don't be such a massive bitch!"

The next thing I knew my wife was gone, and there was a full grown female rottweiler in my passenger seat panicking and tangled in the seatbelt. I might have actually had a minor heart attack. It's a miracle we didn't get in an accident.

That was eight months ago. The initial panic lasted shorter than you'd expect. We settled into a life of adaptation as routine. And, although we would never officially admitted to ourselves that we had given up looking for a cure, we followed fewer and fewer leads each and every day. If you think turning into a dog sounds impossible, I assure you that finding a way to turn back is doubly so.

This extra-romantic evening was Anna's idea. Projects to adapt the house to my wife's life as a dog were put on pause, as was searching for a cure. This was a night for us to make new memories and enjoy our time together as a couple.

My wife huffed a heavy breath through her snout and looked away, no doubt embarrassed at having broken the world-record time for complete consumption of her steak.

I smiled, "I guess the cooking video I followed deserves a thumbs up?"

Anna nodded. She reached over to the iPad sitting next to her on the table and started writing with her paw. This was one of our adaptations. She used a claw tip and some software to draw one letter at a time. With the aid of autocorrect and predictive text, communication was surprisingly easy.

"I wish you could really smell it like I do. It is fantastic," her tablet spoke in a nearly-human voice.

"I bet." I speared a hunk of meat with my fork and took a bite. I wanted to ask her more about what it was like having her sense of smell, but decided against it. I generally tried to avoid mentioning things that highlighted her condition, and that rule went double for tonight. It was a shame because I was extremely curious how she had managed to fasten a bow to the top of her head before dinner tonight. Sure, it was a bit crooked, but I'd be hard pressed to do the same even with the aid of thumbs.

"How's the wine?" She asked, writing as she took a few laps from a small bowl of water near her plate. Wine was one of many foods we had learned was a no-go for dogs.

"Oh, it's not that good. You aren't missing out." That was a bit of a white lie; it wasn't actually that bad. Normally I wouldn't be drinking with Anna around, but I desperately needed help relaxing.

My wife licked the extra water from her lips with her long, canine tongue. A few drops splattered onto the table, but I pretended not to notice.

"There's a new girl in marketing. Started today. Vanessa, I think. Seems like a pleasant person to be around."

"Does she seem like a baby talker?"

"She will absolutely pet you when you come with me to work. No question. I'll tell her to take it easy, though."

"I'm starting to like the petting. It's the goo-goo talk I could do without." She took a break writing to lick some juice off her plate, then continued. "Can't they tell I'm a fully-grown adult?"

"I think they can, but people talk that way to, you know. . . People who look like you."

"It was supposed to be a joke."

"Oh, I get it now. Ha!" I faked a small laugh and used my napkin to wipe a bead of sweat from my brow.

The rest of the meal went smoothly. Anna took it slow with her mashed potatoes, and we finished up at roughly the same time.

"Dinner was fantastic, honey. Thank you!" She wrote, following it up with a squiggly drawing of a heart.

"Thank you for joining me." I smiled. "I'm excited to see what you have planned for your half of the night."

"Close your eyes. I'll bark when you can open them," read the tablet's emotionless voice.

I shut my eyes tight and waited. She hopped down from her chair, landed with a heavy thud, and made her way into the living room, toenails clicking against the linoleum as she went. I heard some rustling and tapping coming from the other room. A few minutes later her nails came clicking past me and into the kitchen. There was a scrape, then a clatter. I wanted to open my eyes to see if she was okay, but I didn't. The freezer door opened and shut, and something fell to the floor with a thunk.

Finally, she gave a powerful bark, and I opened my eyes. She was standing in front of me with her lips pulled back. I knew she was attempting a smile, but it's difficult to look past the 50 kilogram Rottweiler baring its teeth and see a happy young woman.

She turned toward the living room and beckoned me with her head. As I followed, I caught a glimpse of the spade-shaped canine snatch that resided between her legs. She never wore clothes, so I had seen plenty of it before, but it always gave me a terribly uneasy feeling. To me, the puffy, alien shape of it had become something of a symbol of our marital troubles. It seemed even more swollen and prominent than usual that night, though it might have been my imagination.

She turned and stood proudly in front of the television. There was a movie paused on it.

"A movie? Very nice."

She dashed over to the table and grabbed her tablet between her teeth. We had put it in a rugged carrying case so she wouldn't accidentally break it.

"And ice cream!" She wrote.

She was right. There was a pint of ice-cream, a spoon, and a small bundle of napkins -- only slightly damp with saliva -- on the coffee table.

"What's this? Peanut butter? That's my favorite! How did you get this?"

"Two hour delivery and I put it away before you got home." Her tail wagged happily behind her.

We settled onto the couch together and started Anna's movie, The Shape of Water. For the unfamiliar, the movie is about a woman who falls in love with a sea monster.

I wondered what life would be like if my wife had been turned into a sexy sea monster instead of a dog. It would probably be even less convenient than things already were. We'd have to move to a flat with a full-sized tub, for one, and there was no way we could go on walks together.

On the other hand, if she were a sexy sea creature, I might still be attracted to her. And somehow it seemed like a romantic relationship between a human and a monster would be more acceptable to the general public than a human and a dog, even a human-minded dog like my wife.

The sound of my wife panting brought me back. Damn. I must have set the heat too high. I reached over and pulled the plastic off the top of the ice cream.

"Want me to get you a bowl?" I asked

She shook her head.

"You aren't going to have any?"

She grabbed the tablet off the coffee table and wrote, "I'll have a few licks from the container."

"But I'll be eating out of that."

Anna rocked her head in a small circle to mimic rolling her eyes.

"My mouth is clean. It's like sharing an ice cream cone."

"Oh that's fair. Okay then."

She wasn't wrong about her mouth being clean. She only ate human food, and I brushed her teeth twice a day.

So we shared the ice cream as we watched the movie. Her tongue was big enough that each lick smoothed the entire surface until I broke it by taking a scoop with my spoon. It felt wrong to be sharing food with a dog like that, even though it made perfect logical sense given the context. Still, we finished the pint in no time.

A few minutes later, Anna scooted up next to me. With the way she was sitting, she was almost taller than me. Her warm, furry flank pressed against my arm, and I wrapped it around her and rubbed absentmindedly. As the movie's climax approached, she leaned her head onto my shoulder.

The movie came to an end. The screen turned black, credits rolled. Anna lifted her head off my shoulder, but instead of standing up, she turned and pressed it gently against my cheek. I made a kiss sound with my lips and smiled. I figured the night was over at that point, but my wife had other plans. She placed her paw on my inner thigh, shifted her head so she was facing me, and pressed her muzzle against my lips.

Surprised, I pursed my lips and kissed. Anna and I hadn't kissed directly on the lips like this since she had been transformed. It was an extremely strange sensation, very different than kissing another human. She was doing her best to purse her lips, drawing them up like dogs do when they're about to bark, but nothing quite fit together. My bottom lip brushed against the sharp little teeth at the front of her mouth and the tip of my nose pressed against the front of her cold, damp snout.

I was in shock, lips frozen together. Anna seemed to be trying to make the kiss work, tilting her head and moving her lips into different positions, every one of them feeling totally alien and bizarre. I opened my mouth to protest, and her long, slimy tongue pressed past my lips and slid across the roof of my mouth.

Finally, I pressed my hands against her chest and shoved her away. She watched, shocked, as I screwed up my face and spat.

"Gah, honey! Geez! A little warning next time?"

She nodded, paused, and leaned in for another kiss. I held up my hand and shook my head.

"No. Wait. I don't know if I can do this."

She tilted her head questioningly.

"I can't snog a dog! It's simply too weird."

She pulled back, hurt. I immediately regretted what I said. My mind raced to find a more tactful, sensitive way to say it but came up short. The words hung in the air as she reached over to her tablet and started writing. After a moment she turned it to me so I could read the words on the screen.

"I'm not a dog. I'm your wife!" She turned off the computerized voice so I had to read it. That meant she was upset.

"I know, I know," I said, making eye contact with her. "What I meant was that you're trapped in the body of a dog. It's hard for me to ignore that when we're touching."

She huffed and wrote "I've been like this for eight months. We haven't been intimate once since I changed."

"Intimate?" I balked. "That would be... beastiality!"

She shook her head and wrote slowly, choosing her words carefully. "No, it wouldn't. We are in a unique relationship. There aren't labels for us. Beastiality doesn't fit because I'm not some dumb animal. I'm an intelligent and emotionally mature human. I know what I want!"

"Listen, I've heard of adding a dog to the household before trying for kids, but I don't think this is what they mean," I said, venturing a smile. She narrowed her eyes, unamused. "Besides, what would people think?"

"No one would know except me, your wife!"

I pictured myself having sex with her. All the images in my head looked more like beastiality with a dog than intimacy with my wife.

"We can have a healthy relationship without sex," I insisted.

She shook her head. "Not the relationship I want to have. I want a husband, not a caretaker."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm still your husband."

"Being a celibate caretaker is different than being a husband. Just look at what happened in Ethan Frome!"

Another literary reference. It was clear what she was doing with her newfound free time. I sighed. "Never read it."

"Well it didn't turn out well for him!"

"Look," I said, placing a hand on her furry shoulder. "I promised to love and care for you for the rest of my life, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Rest of MY life you mean. I might only live another 10 years, considering the average for rottweilers!" She wrote, paw shaking a bit.

"Don't talk like that! We'll find a cure."

"A cure?! You couldn't even find the watch your mum forgot last time she visited!"

"You didn't happen to come across it, did you?"

"Yes. I put it in the dish by the door."

"Thanks, love."

We sat quietly and stewed for a moment.

"I think what bothers me most, is that you never complain about anything." Anna finally wrote.

"What's the point of complaining about things we can't change?"

"You're closed off. I don't know what bothers you anymore. I can't help you live a good life if you don't let me. You're stealing away my opportunities to contribute!"

This entire discussion caught me completely off guard, but I got the feeling she was thoroughly prepared. It felt more like an ambush than an argument.

"You want me to complain?" I said, raising my voice. "How about this? Everyone we know thinks you're dead. I have to pretend not to know where you are, and I'm a terrible actor! Half of them think I killed you!"

She let loose a whine and started writing on the tablet. Her emotions were clearly affecting her penmanship, and she had to delete and rewrite a few words.

"I just want love and romance and passion in what's left of my life."

"Yeah? Well I want to be married to a normal human woman, not a beast of a dog that sheds a pound of fur a day!"

Anna stood up and slammed her paw onto the tablet, knocking it to the floor. She turned to me and barked furiously, loud enough that I felt it reverberating in my chest. The sight of a fully grown rottweiler that angry would terrify anyone; it's instinct. I jumped back and tumbled off the couch, banging my tailbone painfully on the floor.

She seemed startled by my extreme reaction and stopped barking. For a moment, our flat was silent. Then she collapsed onto the couch and started making a whining, moaning sound. I scrambled to my feet and reached out to comfort her, but she barked and shooed me away with a paw. She clearly wanted to be alone right now.

I frowned and made my way to the kitchen, looking for something to do to fill this awkward time. I spent a few minutes rinsing off the dishes and putting them into the washer. I cleared the table, emptied out the vase and tossed the red roses into the trash.

Anna stayed on the couch, paws crossed over her eyes, breath coming in sobs. It was terribly pathetic.

I felt like an ass. My words had wounded my wife, and there's no worse feeling than truly hurting the woman you love, even if her crying sounds more like a high-pitched whine. But as horrible as I felt, I couldn't imagine what I could have done differently. Surely she didn't expect me to lean into the idea of sex with a dog! It was frustrating.

I brushed my teeth, took a shower, and tentatively invited my wife to come to bed. She shook her head, so I slept alone.

Later that night I woke up to the sound of licking coming from the living room. Anna did not typically lick many things, so I tiptoed over and peeked around the door frame. She was sitting, curled around with her face buried between her legs, tongue lapping across her puffy canine folds. It took me a moment to realize she was masturbating. I had never seen anything like it before, so I stood, mystified, and watched it happen. It didn't look very comfortable, contorted as she was. Still, it was more than she was getting from me.

Not wanting to be seen creeping and ruin the evening more than I had already, I left her to her sad wank and went back to bed. I wondered if rubbing one out myself would cheer me up, but I couldn't do it. I wasn't in the mood. Instead, I laid back, closed my eyes, and counted licks like sheep.

I had been hoping for a different end to our anniversary, to say the least.

(_@_)-_.

I woke up to a ray of sun splashing across my face. I rolled over to say good morning to my wife, but she wasn't there. Right. Remembering your wife slept out on the couch because of how big a cunt you were is not a great feeling. I ironed out the talking points of my apology as I got dressed.

Anna, it turned out, was doing the same. I opened the door to find my wife sitting on the floor, waiting, her tablet on the ground in front of her, screen filled with the text of her own apology letter.

Looked like we were both pretty eager to get this unpleasantness out of the way.

Her letter was brief and to the point. She said she misread the vibe of the situation last night and was sorry for surprising me with her proposition. She was sorry for ambushing me with tough questions and accusations that I was unprepared for. In turn, I apologized for being rude and admitted that she made a few good points I hadn't considered. We accepted each other's apologies, agreed to restart the discussion soon, and got on with our morning. Whew.

Breakfast was the first order of business. I washed my hands as Anna fetched the ingredients and placed them up on the counter. Truth be told, it might have been quicker had I simply done it myself, but she insisted on helping. Were I in her position, I'd take a break from all the work and live a dog's life, gladly. I took an extra long moment to dry my hands as she gingerly lifted the carton of eggs into position. Then I got to work making scrambled eggs and toast for the two of us.

After breakfast, it was tooth brushing time.

"Alright, let's see those pearly whites," I said as I squeezed some toothpaste onto her brush. It was incredible how wide she could open her mouth. I could fit my entire head in there! At least it made dental hygiene easier.

Her bone-crushing maw made the purpose of her breed clear. The fact that my wife's body had been shaped by years of selective breeding, that her form was more design than accident, made me a bit uncomfortable. I think I would have preferred her as a mutt. She'd be more like me that way. One naked glance in the mirror was enough to put to rest the notion that my parents had considered what awkward proportions their partnership would produce.

Next, it was our morning walk. I fastened my wife's collar around her neck and wrapped the harness around her hefty body. She hadn't lost any weight when she transformed. Any loss in height was made up for by extra muscle mass that strained and flexed under her loose skin as she adjusted her stance.

Considering her proposition last night, it was unfortunate my ideal woman was more tits-n-ass than best-in-show.

I gave some more thought to my wife's desire to get intimate as we started our walk. Lead laws were in full effect around the city, so I had keep her on the harness no matter how degrading she found it. We used one with a retractable tether that I kept unlocked. It wasn't like I needed to control her or anything. She decided where we went on our morning walks, and most of the time I felt like I was the one on the leash.

I wondered, if I did decide to fuck her, would she want to wear her collar? Would she want me to wear it? She had always said she wanted to try out bondage.

The park near our flat was one of Anna's favorite spots. She loved it as a human, and maybe even more now that she was a dog. She darted to and fro, smelling all sorts of things. Benches, backpacks, and people were her favorites. Sometimes she'd sit and eavesdrop on a conversation or stare at another park goer for a while. She passed as a normal dog very well. Looking at her, you'd never know she had the mind of a fully grown woman.

Normally I spaced out as I followed my wife around the park, but today I was tying my mind in knots trying to wrap it around the idea of having sex with her. Was it beastiality? My gut said yes, but what did that word mean anyway? Why was it wrong to shag animals? I hadn't given much thought to the idea. Usually if there was a topic everyone seemed to agree on, I'd go along with whatever the general public believed. Much less work that way. Now I was discovering that I really was quite bad at difficult ethical dilemmas when they had the nerve to confront me. For the first time in my life, I found myself regretting getting my degree in statistics instead of philosophy.

I absently watched a pigeon fly back and forth between a tree and a rubbish bin, gathering little fibres of plastic.

My thoughts needed structure. If I was sharing a pint with some bloke and he told me he was dead set on fucking his dog, I'd try to convince him not to do it. I could come up with some good arguments, but none of them applied to my situation. Unlike my imaginary mate's dog, Anna was intelligent and consenting. That was probably the most important difference. And sure it was unnatural, but so are underground electric trains and pharmaceuticals and living in twenty storey buildings, and nobody cares about any of that. Was having sex with a sentient dog any weirder than setting the table for her, or sharing ice cream with her, or arguing about politics?

But I still had my reservations. Even if it wasn't strictly immoral, I couldn't just --

"Fuck that dog!" shouted a man, bringing me back to the present. The voice belonged to a portly fellow in a track jacket who stormed toward me, dragging a frightened looking bulldog behind him.

Anna dashed back to me, tail between her legs, and positioned herself so I was standing between her and the furious man.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"I'd say so! That bastard dog of yours snapped at my Brutus! He coulda taken his head clean off!" The man's head was beet red, veins bulging. He looked as if he were ready to pop. "If you're going to have a beast like that, you oughtta keep an eye on him!"

Brutus the bulldog was crouched behind the man's knees, shivering. I looked down at Anna. She tilted her head, the equivalent of a shrug.

"Well I'm sure if she snapped at your dog, she had a good reason to."

He crossed his arms and frowned. "Don't you try and blame this on Brutus. He's a big softie. Wouldn't nip at his own tail."

I sighed. "Well, I don't know what to tell you. She doesn't do well around other dogs."

Other dogs had a bad habit of being aggressive and violating her personal space.

"You should train her to be friendlier then. No offense, but there's no such thing as bad dogs, just bad dog owners." The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a clicker. "Look here. You have one of these? Makes a supersonic sound only the dogs can hear. Drives 'em nuts."

He pressed the button. Anna and Brutus flinched.

"Alright. That's quite enough of that." I said crossly.

"How about we let them meet again, and see if that helped anything?"

Anna winked her left eye at me. That was how she said "no" when shaking her head side to side would be too conspicuous.

"I think not."

"It's either that or I'll complain to that policeman over there. We can't have aggressive dogs running wild."

I frowned. Getting the authorities involved was the last thing we wanted.

"Fine. Let's get this over with. Just be nice, Anna."

We stepped aside and watched the two dogs carefully. Anna stared straight ahead and stood as still as a statue. Brutus approached cautiously and immediately ducked behind her to sniff at her bum. Anna's tail immediately curled between her legs. I gritted my teeth. She hated when dogs did that.

"That's it. Easy, Brutus." The man cooed. Anna sat down and looked up at me with her ears folded back. The bulldog leaned down and pressed his face into the dirt to get a sniff.

"That good enough for you?" I asked.

"Yup! See what a little discipline can do?" He smiled.

Then, just as we were about to be on our merry way, Brutus jumped up, straddled Anna's behind, and started humping away. Of course Anna, bum firmly planted on the ground, was in no danger of actually being penetrated. Still, I could tell she was actively resisting the urge to reach back and bite the little bugger's head off. He managed three or four thrusts before his owner yanked him away.

"Brutus, you cheeky cunt! Bad dog! Take a lady out to dinner first, won't ya?"

The pair of them looked at us. Brutus's little red pecker slowly disappeared back into its home. I cringed.

"Alright. That's enough of this," I said, turning away. "Good day!"

"Sorry about that!" The owner called after us. Then he said to his dog, "You don't have the goods to please a lady like that anyway, Brutus. She's out of your league."

Anna and I regrouped in a discreet spot behind the groundskeeper's shed. I tried to apologize, but she brushed it off, writing in the sandy dirt that it was no big deal and reassuring me that she was about as offended as I would have been had Brutus humped my leg. I nodded and we finished up the walk without any further incidents.

My poor wife couldn't catch a break. First she gets turned into a dog, then the anniversary dinner goes south when I refuse to get intimate, and now this business during the morning walk. She deserved better than this.

As we climbed the stairs back to our flat, I resolved to do it: I was going to shag my wife.

The world wasn't going to come to an end if I gave it a shot. Besides, she fucked me when I was the ugly one in the relationship. It only seemed fair to return the favor.

I broke the news as soon as we got home. It was out in the air now, and there was no taking it back.

"If you're still interested," I added.

She ran in a little circle, grabbed her tablet, and wrote, "I am! How about after work?"

I smiled and winked as I grabbed my briefcase. "It's a date."

I didn't get a lot of work done that day. I spent most of my time researching dog reproduction on my phone, quickly hiding it away each time a coworker showed up to ask a question.

Demystifying the ins and outs of dog sex did not exactly get me in the mood for that evening. I wished I could be as turned on by my wife as Brutus seemed to be.

I stopped in at an adult boutique store on the way home from work. It was my first time in a sex store, and I felt exceedingly awkward. I didn't have anything specific in mind, but I had a feeling I would need some help tonight.

I stood and stared at a wall of vacuum packed dildos and butt plugs. They had an incredible variety, from uncannily realistic to artfully abstract. I considered picking one up as a backup just in case my own John Thomas decided to call in sick that evening, but I sprung for a cock ring instead. I hoped "studded for her pleasure" lived up to its packaging.

The woman behind the counter scanned my item with the same zombie-like apathy that I'd expect from any retail worker. She seemed non-judgemental, which was nice. I also grabbed a packet of "Male Potency" supplements. I used to wonder who was stupid enough to buy those, but I was desperate to get my hands on anything to inspire confidence. I swallowed them before I left the store and threw away the wrapper.

I found myself a nice secluded corner seat on the tube and pulled out my phone. I wasn't the kind of bloke to look at smut in public normally, but that's exactly what I did. The plan was to have some sexy images fresh in my mind that I could picture while I gave the dog a bone.

I popped in my headphones and went to my usual site. The first video I watched was a busty redheaded woman giving a blow job, then one with a black woman riding a guy in the reverse cowgirl position. The people around me gave me some very strange looks, but I knew they couldn't see the screen. It was only when I stood up to leave the train that I realized I hadn't plugged in my headphones all the way. Just my luck.

Finally, I was home. I stepped through the door and placed my briefcase next to me. My wife came over to greet me like normal. I crouched down, but instead of giving her a peck on the side of her muzzle, I planted one right on her lips. Her eyes went wide. Nailed it.

"Good evening, honey! Did you have a good day?"

She nodded, tail wagging happily behind her. She often reassured me that she had complete control over her tail, but I didn't believe her. I'd grant her having a poker face, but a poker tail? No way.

I kicked off my shoes and hung up my coat. Neither of us mentioned the the elephant in the room as we settled in. We both knew we'd end up shagging at some point, but it was important that things seemed organic. This wasn't only about sex, but the romance our marriage lacked.

Some people have a gift for making things come together just the way they want and having it look like an accident. I am not one of those people. I brewed a bit of tea and chatted with my wife as I brainstormed organic ways to get intimate. The spaghetti approach seemed to work well in Lady and the Tramp, but we were fresh out of pasta. I wondered if it was pure happenstance that they had started sucking down the same strand, or had the Tramp planned it all along? He was a tramp, after all.

Physical contact struck me as a good first step. I poured the camomile tea into a mug (for me) and a small bowl (for her) and joined her on the couch. We surfed the web and chatted. Anna showed me a Pinterest page full of custom dog outfits and costumes. One picture she particularly enjoyed depicted an afghan hound dressed in a ornate gown, complete with petticoat. She couldn't possibly be hinting that she wanted to wear something like this, I thought. She hadn't worn anything that fancy when she was a human, perhaps other than on our wedding day.

We sat together for a while, first apart, then closer, and soon she was leaning against me. We were watching a cooking video on my laptop when we both turned to look at each other and bumped our faces together. It was awkward, but I knew it was probably the best chance I had, so I leaned in, pursed my lips, and gave her a gentle kiss right beneath the nose. I lingered there for a moment before she slowly rocked her head forward and pressed her lips back into mine. Perfect. We were in business.

We started slow. It was a very cautious but mutual snogging session, the kind you might have when you're just getting into it with a girl for the first time. Each little motion and idea was wordlessly proposed, tested, and accepted or rejected. I pinched one of her big, floppy lips tenderly between mine. She had to open her jaw to reciprocate, but she was gentle. I opened my mouth a bit as well, letting my inner lips brush against the delicate fur around her mouth. It tickled a lot. I held back a sneeze.

The experience wasn't as completely off-putting as I anticipated. It wasn't as exciting and pure and simple as it would be with a beautiful woman, but it was certainly more interesting. We were exploring the act of passionate kissing like a young couple whose parents were out of town. Everything was new; there were no tried and true routines. Yes, it was a dog's mouth, but there was a definite intelligence behind it. And it was more than that. I recognized the rhythms and the motions she was making. They were more than simply intelligent. They were my wife's.

Not long after I introduced tongue to the equation, my wife pulled away and wrote on her tablet.

"Are you sure about this?" She asked.

I opened my mouth to say yes, paused, then said, "No. But I'm willing to try it."

She smiled her fang-filled grin and wrote, "Why don't you go take a quick shower while I get ready?"

I had no idea what she had to "get ready," but I nodded and made my way to the bathroom. I closed the door, stripped naked, and ran a hot shower. I was thankful to have a moment to center myself before the main event. Everything was going well so far, but the slightest faux-pas could ruin the mood. I stripped naked and stood under the stream of hot water.

I recalled each of the porno vids I had watched earlier, as steam started to fill the room. I repeated each scene in my head like I was prepping for an exam. There was the that showed the woman's bum from behind while she masturbated with a dildo. Another had a woman sitting on a bed facing the camera, using her fingers to toy with her fanny as she stroked her breasts. Then there was the one with the butt plug, and that other one with the guy who was talking dirty. A flash of embarrassment hit me in the stomach as I remembered the looks all those people in the tube were giving me. I tried to put it out of my mind and get back to the porn, but I got distracted wondering how long exactly I should be staying in the shower.

My dick was standing at half-mast, probably not hard enough for penetration. I reached down and gave it a couple of calming strokes. Penises are simple creatures. They like straightforward situations and thoughts, not the cocktail of anxiety and sexual imagery that flowed through my brain. I took a couple of deep breaths and focused on just one video: the redhead. I pictured the curve of her narrow waist giving way to her perfectly plump ass cheeks. I remembered the subtle way the lips of her pussy gripped at the dildo as she pulled it out, as if begging for more. The moans she made seemed so real, like she wanted to be quiet but she just couldn't help herself. There, that did it. My cock was hard as a rock and ready to go.

Would it be weird to leave the bathroom with an erection? Was that a bit too forward? I thought about the cock ring in my pants on the floor. Now would be the time to use it, but it would seem pretty odd if I came out wearing only that. I filled my lungs with the warm, humid air and pictured all the nagging voices inside of my head being pushed out as I released my breath.

The one voice left behind said, "just towel off, get out there, and shag the dog like you said you would."

A peculiar sight greeted me as I stepped out of the bathroom. The curtains were drawn and the lamps were out, leaving the flat almost completely dark. The only light was a glitter of gold coming from the cracked bedroom door. I threw my towel back into the bathroom and pushed the door open.

Inside, the room was awash with the golden glow of hundreds of Christmas lights. They were strewn haphazardly across the carpet, but a path to the bed had been kept clear. It gave the impression of aeroplane runway lights beckoning me to come in for a landing. Red rose petals speckled the path.

My wife laid on our bed, waiting for me. She was on her belly, legs folded under her, head tilted downward but turned toward me, half-lidded eyes trained on me. She winked and gave a slight nod of her head, signaling me to come over. It was certainly the most seductive thing I'd ever seen a dog do.

I started toward her, catching a whiff of the rose petals. She must have fished the flowers from last night out of the trash and pulled the tree lights out of storage while I was at work.

I laid down next to her and we started where we left off on the couch. The only difference was the occasional brush of fur against areas of my body that were typically covered. Each touch of bristly hair against my lower stomach or inner thigh sent alarm bells through my head. "Warning! Inappropriate contact with pet!" they said. I did my best to ignore them as I set to work.

I reintroduced the tongue. A few gentle licks against her upper lip and the back of her teeth, and the next thing I know my mouth was half full of her giant, meaty tongue. I could tell she was holding back too. It was no contest. Her mouth was as clean as a human's, I told myself. Her tail thwapped against the sheets. At least she seemed to be enjoying herself.

We tongue-wrestled for a couple long minutes. We hadn't had a marathon snogging like this since before our wedding, and frankly it was in danger of getting boring. As the one with manual dexterity, I felt it was up to me to keep things moving along. I slid my hand off the side of her muzzle and traced my fingers down through the fur of her back. Thankfully she didn't attempt to mirror my action. I was going to wake up with enough scratches as it was.

My hand reached the point on her lower back where a standard pet should come to an end, but this one didn't. I stroked down beside her tail and tried to cup one of her ass cheeks. She hadn't exactly been well-endowed in the bum department before she was a dog, but now there was fuck-all for my spread fingers to squeeze. I stroked my hand down farther, aiming between her thighs. My fingertips brushed against her twat. It felt very much as I expected based on its looks: soft, squishy like a breast, not totally devoid of fur. What I didn't anticipate was how hot it would feel.

How alive.

"It is a strange fate we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing." Boromir said that in Lord of the Rings. Distracting thoughts. I brought myself back to the here-and-now and played my fingertips across the warm, puffy flesh. Anna licked the nape of my neck sensually as I stroked my finger across her pussy, letting it sink a half centimeter between the soft lips. The opening was more Y-shaped than ring-shaped, but it felt forbidden all the same.

Just then Anna suddenly shifted away and stood up on all four legs. Of course I had ruined the night. Had I been too forward? I started to sit up, but she pressed a heavy paw against my chest. Her dull claws made little divots in my pale skin and transformed her request into a demand.

I scooted up the bed, wiping the moisture on my fingertip onto the sheets as I went, and laid back. My wife pressed her snout between my thighs and nudged, indicating that I should spread my legs. I did just that, leaving my not-quite-erect penis and balls out in the open. She stood between my legs, looked down at my cock, and licked her lips once, big tongue sliding all the way from the left of her mouth to the right in an exaggerated motion. I couldn't take my eyes off those teeth of hers. I knew full well how quickly she could swallow a sausage. Of course, she wouldn't do anything like that to me. At least, not on purpose. I leaned back, closed my eyes, and clenched my jaw as she huffed a hot and humid breath against my junk. I couldn't believe some people let their normal, non-intelligent dogs this close to their privates. Insanity!

She hovered her nose in front of my penis and sniffed. I had a feeling she was trying to be subtle, but I felt the rapid little puffs of air tapping against my most delicate bits. I, on the other hand, was holding my breath. She started slowly, sensually touching her nose to my leg. She used her tongue to draw a wet line up my thigh, right to my bushy pubes. They had really grown out of control. I haven't trimmed them since before her transformation. Undeterred by my lack of manscaping, she moved down and gently lapped at my penis. I sighed in relief. The touch was gentle enough, and warm. She licked again, then again. My penis, pushed by her passionate tongue, flopped to one side then the other and started to swell.

I tried my best to imagine a beautiful woman going down on me, but I couldn't quite make the pictures in my head match up with the sensations I was feeling. What sort of woman would forego kissing and sucking a penis and resort solely to licking? Besides, none of the women in my fantasies had monstrous tongues that could fondle both my balls and my shaft all at once, and that was most certainly what was happening. But whether it was Kate Beckinsale or Lassie down there, my cock seemed not to care. It was hard as a rock now, resting against my belly. My wife did her best to keep it interesting, despite her handicap. She licked up and down my shaft, wide tongue nearly enveloping it, then gave attention to my balls before working the head.

Bless her soul, I thought, she's really trying.

Her steak-sized tongue continued its creative interpretation of fellacio for a minute or two. I knew from experience that my attempts at talking dirty were about as sexy as a bad comedy set, so I let my breathing and moans do the talking. A few of my pleasured gasps were quite real, but I was in no danger of cumming. In fact, I started to worry that she'd get bored or that I'd get distracted and start thinking about Lord of the Rings again. Trying to exert such control over my thoughts was impossible. It was like attempting to fall asleep by clearing my mind. Even thinking about the plan made it impossible to achieve. Was it like this for Frodo, trying not to think about the ring of power? I shook my head and opened my eyes. Time for the main event.

Anna noticed my movement and looked up at me, mouth open, tongue hanging out, shiny strand of spit connecting it to the tip of my dick. I leaned in, kissed her on the lips, and guided her down to the bed. She got the hint, rolled over onto her back, and spread her legs wide. To me, she looked a lot more like a dog wanting belly rubs than a woman presenting herself for sex, but laying that way, her intentions were clear; it was impossible to take her the wrong way. Then again, was there a RIGHT way to take a dog? Taking her from behind seemed the most thematic, but she clearly wanted missionary. Perhaps all positions counted as doggy style if one's partner was a dog.

I stared down at that meaty, puffy spade between her legs. Even in the dim light, I could tell it was definitely bigger than usual. Moisture glistened in the crease of her opening. I could almost feel the heat of it from where I was sitting. My heart pounded fast in my chest. I hoped it was nerves and not those shady supplements I had swallowed earlier.

No more delays. I crawled over her and got into position. There was a bit of maneuvering to figure out a comfortable set-up.

"Oop, sorry. Maybe if you put your leg -- There we go!"

She ended up positioned like she was laying down on her stomach, only flipped onto her back. Her back legs pressed up along my ribcage, her forelegs rested on my shoulders, and our faces were lined up perfectly. Now I really could feel the heat from her pussy radiating against my cock. I reached down, swallowed, and guided my slobber-covered dick into her eager snatch.

Like the rest of the night, the sensations only served to highlight how inhuman my partner was. My penis slipped easily through her opening. Her puffy canine labia were themselves a few centimeters deep. Lacking any muscles to clench or squeeze, those hot lips caressed my dick passively as I pressed deeper. Not far inside, I encountered the tight, muscular passage of her vagina proper. I paused there for a moment, not wanting to hurt her, gently rubbing my bell-end against the mouth of that tight channel. She ran her tongue up along the side of my neck again, sending a shiver down my spine. She was ready. Reassured, I pressed in. The sensitive head of my cock rubbed against the deliciously ribbed walls within. I shuddered in pleasure.

As stupid as it sounds to say, I underestimated how fantastic it would feel to sink my dick into a pussy. It hardly mattered to my cock that it was a dog's, or even my wife's. It was happy enough that it wasn't my hand again. As I started to build my gentle thrusts into a rhythm, electric waves of pleasure flowed through my body, my dick's way of showing its gratitude.

Her canine sex took more and more of my maleness each time I rocked my hips, until finally those pillowy labia pressed against the skin of my groin. I closed my eyes and pictured the women from the porno vids, pretending that I was fucking a human pussy. It was fantastic.

I ignored my wife's hot panting breath against my face and imagined that the gorgeous redhead was laying under me, gasping with joy. Those hard blunt nails against my stomach were the straps of those kinky knee-high leather boots she wore. The bristly hair against my chest was just a fur blanket partially covering her smooth, freckled skin. And the tail curling up against my ass cheek was. . . I clenched my eyes shut and struggled to find a comparison. My wife's tail shivered and undulated between my legs, caressing my balls and wrapping itself halfway around my thigh. There was no mistaking it.

My imagination, already stretched to its pathetically meager limits, began to fail. That gorgeous redhead, the one that looked nothing like woman I married nor the dog below me, dissolved like smoke.

I opened my eyes. My wife's toothy maw hung open, heavy tongue spilling from the side, dripping drool onto the sheets. Everything got very real very suddenly. I was balls deep in a dog. It was like a light switch being flicked. One moment I was horny and having surprisingly good sex, the next I was drowning in shame. My penis started to deflate while I was still inside her. The tight walls of her pussy that had just seconds ago had been giving me so much pleasure now felt like they were squeezing the blood from my cock back into my body.

I tried to thrust again, but my dick bent up inside her as it became limp. Anna pulled her tongue back into her mouth and looked up at me.

"Oh god," I thought, "She's noticed!"

I tried to bring back the image of the redhead, but it was long gone. I was done for. I would have to pull out, sit up, and explain to my wife that I couldn't give her what she wanted. Maybe we could try again later and I could use the cock ring or talk to a pharmacist about Viagra. Still, it wouldn't be the same. She would know I found her too beastial. Too inhuman.

I sighed and started to sit up, but just before I pulled my penis from her, something stopped me. It was a glimmer of gold. There, on my wife's paw, wrapped tightly around one of her stubby digits was her wedding band. She hadn't worn it since her transformation. I opened my mouth to say something -- exactly what I wasn't sure -- but before I could, she craned her neck up and pressed her lips against mine.

It wasn't a lusty, horny kiss. No, this one was caring and understanding. It was patient and kind. It was the kind of kiss that spoke its own language, and in the voice of my wife, the love of my life, it said, "I appreciate you and what you're doing. I love you no matter what."

I know it sounds sappy, but I swear it's true.

So profoundly intimate was this kiss, it spirited the two of us away to our own private plane of existence. And when we came back to earth, all that shame and doubt within me was nowhere to be found. Instead I was filled with confidence and a renewed sense of purpose. This creature below me was the woman I loved. It didn't matter if she was trapped in a dog's body. In fact, it was all the better! No man alive had a more exotic or unique woman than me.

This surge of positive emotions triggered another sort of surge down between my legs. My flatlining dick suddenly had a pulse! It grew harder with each beat of my fluttering heart. My wife's snatch went from desperately hanging onto my limp dick to eagerly accepting and massaging my revived erection. I started undulating my hips once again, picking up speed as pleasure once again washed over me. Anna relaxed back onto the bed, letting loose a canine groan of ecstacy.

Watching her lose herself in the sensations of our lovemaking was incredibly sexy. I no longer saw some dog when I looked down at her. I saw my wife. The unique sensation of her snatch gripping and milking my shaft was mind-boggling. I pulled my cock out until only the very tip of my penis was being squeezed by her plump lips, then plunged back in. Her amber half-lidded eyes rolled back in pleasure.

The part of me that cared what other people might think about this experience was dead, and I was glad. Spitting in the face of some of society's most deeply-held cultural norms was empowering. In the haze of my newfound lust, the taboo made it all the better.

We fucked for what felt like an eternity, but given my track record it was probably only a few minutes. We rutted like beasts, nipping each others necks and moaning loudly. If someone was outside listening, I'm not sure they would have been able to tell who was making which sounds.

I was so absorbed in my own experience that Anna's orgasm snuck up on me. Her snatch clamped down on my cock and held fast, almost painfully tight. She threw her head back against the sheets as her lengthy contraction gave way to a series of pulsing spasms. I was unlike anything I had ever felt. I didn't even need to thrust as her passage gave my dick the best massage of my life. It was as if she was somehow both pushing my cock out and pulling it deeper simultaneously.

Her climax showed no signs of subsiding as I felt my own happy ending fast approaching. I was possessed by an overwhelming urge, an unstoppable desire, to be as deep inside of her as I possibly could. I wrapped my arms around her and hilted myself, squeezing her luscious, swollen spade between us. My balls pulled up against her fuzzy behind as my orgasm built. Normally my climax would peak quickly, but this time it took forever. The pleasure grew and grew, blasting through any barrier it came across.

Finally, I came.

Every muscle in my body spasmed as my orgasm finally peaked. Each pulse of my climax filled her with cum that my body had been stockpiling for who knows how long. I didn't feel a drop spilling out of her opening. She took it all.

I slumped over my wife, panting and drooling, perhaps even more than her. Once my heart rate started to drop and my vision returned, I pulled out and rolled onto the bed beside her. We laid together on top of the sheets. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from us. I was more relaxed than I had been in months. Later, Anna would tell me that she felt like she regained a part of her humanity that night.

As we drifted off to sleep, she turned her head and gave my cheek a small lick.

"I love you too," I whispered in response.

And though we'd shared those words many times since her transformation, this was the first time we both truly believed that they were true.

Fin.