Taboo: a forbidden romance

Taboo….a forbidden romance.


Chapter 1

My well-read school friends called me Rebecca of Ivy House Farm. They said I reminded them of the famous American story book of 1903 where my namesake lived at Sunnybrook. I was a born and bred a farm girl and I grew up to love zoos. These days, everyone knows me as Becky so welcome to my world,
When I was fourteen I endorsed the English writer, D H Lawrence, as my literary mentor. He wrote gritty novels and my favourite will always be Lady Chatterley’s Lover. In the book, Lawrence’s heroic lover tells his aristocratic lady-friend she had the best bit of cunt left in England. My husband said Lawrence could have been describing me but modestly, I wouldn’t lay claim to having the best, but I was quite happy accepting I had one of the biggest. So please; don’t be afraid to read my story. I’ll begin about twenty years into my life; at the time I got married.
James, my husband, was a student of Sex Psychology at our region’s university. I was working in the law and met him through our mutual and professional interests. James was studying the work of Havelock Ellis, author of the Psychology of Sex; the man who taught much of the world about zoophilia.
My law firm dealt with divorces which occasionally handled marriage breakups involving animals; notably when the wife preferred her dog to the husband. James often came on board to advise in divorce proceedings and that’s how we met.
After our wedding in 1967, “The Summer of Love”, we honeymooned in North Wales. Our destination was a hill farm hosted by fellow conspirators of James. Farmhouse holidays were the fashionable trend and provided good cover for our exploits. Our hosts owned a Pyrenean Mountain Dog called Shane.
Our first night in Wales was the second day of the honeymoon. We arrived on a cloud of passion having broken the journey halfway across England with an overnight stay in Leicestershire. At Market Harborough’s historic coaching inn, The Three Swans, we were given the bridal suite with its four poster bed.
During the evening meal a musical duo entertained us. Their set piece was Horst Jankowski’s 1965 hit, “A Walk in the Black Forest.” James loved it. He said it was written in praise of my mass of auburn pubic hair! He spoke from passionate experience!
We made it to Wales the next day where me met Shane in the morning. He was a splendid specimen and wouldn’t leave me alone. He ignored all the admiring guests who were fascinated by his sheer size and gentleness. He followed me everywhere and took every opportunity to nuzzle into the crotch of my figure hugging ski-pants. At one stage he stood upwards and put his front paws on my shoulder. He sensed what had been going on with me the night before. I embraced him and looked into his beautiful eyes and read his canine thoughts. I knew then he wanted me. To Shane, my pheromone secretions had signalled a bitch on heat.
In Wales, we had total anonymity! We had confidence in our hosts, Mr & Mrs Jones, who agreed we should take Shane for a walk. For three years James and I had enjoyed requited love so we were well prepared for our mission. I changed into a wide dress having discarded my undies.
Shane was ready and able for anything. The farm was abundant with outbuildings and we soon found privacy in a hay store. We fastened the door and James created a bed by arranging a few bales. Shane weighed something in the region of a hundred and fifty pounds pounds, the weight of an average healthy young guy while I weighed in at a strong one hundred and eighty. I needed strength to take on this boy.
He followed my every movement. I sat on the edge of the impromptu bed and lifted my dress to encourage his exploration. Once my thighs were parted he moved in so slow and gentle it was Heavenly as he nuzzled into my snatch. I felt I could have ridden his nose but I just parted my labials and held onto his head, encouraging his tongue to set about me. I had to lay back as my mind signalled an approaching orgasm. I’d never had a tongue this big at work on me.
The first stage of his boner emerged and equalled the size of James when fully erect! I’d never seen a dog’s cock this size and he was far from being swelled to full size at this stage. James helped lift his front feet onto the bales, just under my armpits. I stretched my arms to embrace and pull him down on to me. The tip of his shaft was now perfectly in line for penetration and once there I expected it to swell to full size.
I was well versed at missionary style with a dog but I needed assistance with this big feller. James parted my outer lips and carefully steered more than half of Shane’s length into me but it was enough. The sensation as he slipped in and ballooned inside my channel made me feel as big as a pit-hole. I’d never had anything this size before yet I wanted it even bigger! I lifted my legs over his back to hold him in a wrestling grip. My vaginal spasms came into play so the boy had no need to thrust into me. I was wanking him! I orgasmed instantly and far more noisily than usual while he stayed in place and shot as though he would never stop. His seed went beyond my cervix. I had completely fucked him!
Having penetrated me a little more than halfway his knot was safely on the outside so he soon slipped out and slumped to the floor. The hotness of his semen was phenomenal and it began pouring from me, endlessly.
James had been harbouring his own erection all this time so just took over where Shane left off. I was so slippery and gaping it took him an eternity to orgasm but it was worth it. It had taken fourteen years to reach this moment in my life where I was in a gratified zoophile marriage.
In the beginning I was the only child in a farming community. Our nearest neighbours were my Aunt Evelyn and uncle Walter. Evelyn was my mum’s sister and her husband Walter, my dad’s cousin. People never went far to find partners in those days. Eve and Walter lived with my widowed grandfather who kept a big black Labrador called Nick. He was grandfather’s gun dog.
I was fascinated by Nick. He was big and clumsy yet so gentle whenever I went to Aunt Eve’s house. I was a little more than five then and Nick’s big tail would wag so furiously he’d almost knock me off my feet.
Nick would push his wet nose under my dress and nuzzle the gusset of my knickers. Aunt Eve would scold him but I enjoyed it so much I’d encourage him. When aunt Eve was out of sight I’d lift my dress, just enough to make it easier for Nick to explore. I would drape the hem over his head to trap him. His nose tickled and felt lovely in a funny kind of way but after a few snuffles he’d come out and wander off. The wetness of his nose left my panties very damp. Mum always made sure I was properly dressed but I longed to leave off my knickers one day!
I had seen Nick snuffle under mum’s clothes. I realised it wasn’t unusual as mum never became angry with him. She would push her hands down till he came out from under her dress. I think she liked it.
I grew to enjoy Nick’s attention because I was berated at home for touching myself. I never knew what was wrong with feeling my crotch. According to the generation of my parents, everything inside knickers was dirty and unmentionable. They had some strange ideas.
Being raised on a farm I understood more about animals than people. I witnessed inseminations and was often present at the births of cows and pigs. Sometimes our sows gave birth to more babies than they had teats so I had to feed the spare ones with a child’s bottle.
Aunt Eve and Uncle Walter had no children. We never visited them after tea because mum said they might be playing on the floor with Nick and mum would often make comments about him. I learnt he was a “whole” dog, because he was able to father puppies. It made sense because one day when I went to Eve’s she was busy at the sewing machine, repairing her dress, while sitting in her undies. Nick was under the table with his nose resting on her thighs, sniffing at the hairs sticking out from her knickers and she didn’t get angry with him. She didn’t know I was watching.
Sometimes I overheard tales of curious things in our village. I learnt some women were getting poked and there was always somebody “having it away” with someone else. It was an intriguing childhood.
Uncle George, dad’s brother, reckoned most women’s ailments could be cured with a jolly good poke. Mum was never keen on Uncle George and said he needed a bit and bridle. They were parts of a horse’s harness which kept it under control, especially if it was a stallion. Poking seemed very important so observing animal husbandry became my favourite subject.
About this time I learnt about an unusual happening at our farm. Before grandad retired he had to sack Charlie Sparkes, the cowman. He was very reliable by all accounts, caring and giving the best of everything for the animals in his charge. But Charlie had to go for committing a serious crime; I learned.
Charlie’s wife had died some time before his unceremonial dispatch. When Mrs Sparkes passed away the animals became Charlie’s whole reason to be living. They responded to his daily attention as he fed and watered them. They recognised his voice and would come running when he called them by name. He spent much of the day with them; cleaning their stalls, helping with the milking and closing them in on cold nights. It was then that Charlie went beyond the call of duty.
One female calf, Dotty, became his favourite. This particular young cow was in the best of health, being raised to have calves of her own one day, to enable her to keep giving milk. This is what dairy farming was about.
Dotty was more developed than the rest. Charlie would wash and caress her where she enjoyed being touched and she looked forward to the attention. This was grooming in the purest sense and it was showing in her development. Her udder was already forming ahead of the other calves because Charlie had been gently fondling her where it made her feel good. She was having orgasms! Believe it or not, cows have a clitoris!
The uninitiated may know that Charlie was fingering her big fanny. But in proper terms it was her vulva and it was far more luscious than the counterpart of the average human. It was inviting and more than deep enough to take Charlie’s full erection. Dotty had become Charlie’s surrogate wife.
The quietness of the cowshed in the early evening became the marital bedroom. Charlie was at home with the atmosphere; cows chewing their cuds; totally ignoring him while he was having his way and being no threat to any of them. The suction from the calf’s vagina would draw every drop of semen Charlie could muster. He was being fully satisfied and could do her no harm.
Unfortunately, the visiting vet on his routine calls thought otherwise. He noticed the animal’s advanced development: the growing udder, the luscious vulva; all too good for a young calf of Dotty’s age. Sex is wonderful; like the line from one of my famous songs; “It’s the reason to be living.” But for Charlie there were no passionate excuses: he had to go and in my innocence it seemed so unkind.