How?
Dogstyle!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Double-Jointed Joint
Dogstyle!
To Regina Blue it summed up Don Hermano Diego del Campion, third cousin to the dead King of Spain, fourth cousin to the Spanish royal heir apparent to Franco, descendant of Russian Tsars, German Kaisers, Austrian Archdukes, French Kings, and -- strongest bloodline of all — Spanish nobility. The Duke de Mula, Colonel del Campion of Spanish Intelligence . . . Falangist Gestapo Head of the Basque Provinces . . . The Beast of Bilbao . . .
But he hadn’t been the Beast of Bilbao in the days when Regina knew him. He’d been the playboy Duke back then, Spanish nobility’s gift to the jet set, a gay dog who popped up in more gossip columns than Liz and Dick. Besides the accident of birth, racing cars and roué romance were his main claims to fame. Workingmen envied him both cars and paramours; shopgirls sighed over his good looks.
Not that he was really handsome. His body was too slight, too aristocratically small-boned, too delicate to measure up to conventional standards of masculine good looks. But his haughtily chiseled features, his cultivated, upper-class Castilian accent, his carefully nurtured reputation—not to mention his wealth-— more than made up for any lack of brawn and insured his status as a sex-and-romance symbol.
There was more to the symbol than to the reality. True, a constant procession of beautiful girls passed through Don Hermano’s boudoir portals. True, he did make love to them. But never more than once!
That was the clinker. Nor was it his choice. It was the girls, each of them, who turned their back on seconds.
The reason?
Dogstyle!
Which was also the reason the playboy Duke sought out professional companionship.
Dogstyle!
Not, perhaps, what one might imagine it to be.
Dogstyle!
A perversity of rank—a rank perversity—which Regina Blue was not likely to forget.
“Put up your Dukes!” Regina had challenged the man who had lured her to Biarritz with promises of introductions to wealthy nobles who would pay lavishly for her favors. He had. And foremost among them was Don Hermano, Duke de Mula.
Don Hermano had paid handsomely for the privilege of taking her to the Riviera for a week. He had a secluded villa there, in the hills overlooking the sea. It was staffed by discreet servants—locals who went home when their day’s work was over. Thus Regina and the Duke spent their evenings alone.
It was on the very first of those evenings that Regina became aware that the Duke possessed a certain anatomical peculiarity. Perhaps it was the result of some stray Romanoff gene handed down to him. (They do say the Romanoffs were peculiar.) Or perhaps it was a deformity—if such it could be termed-—-passed on by the Hanovers. (There was more than hemophilia to the House of Hanover.) Or maybe it was a Windsor forebear, or a Tudor ancestor who was responsible for it. (Royal English inbreeding has produced many a mutant, Crookback Richard among them.) On the other hand, it could have been pure Spanish—-or just a fluke.
To Regina, who had once played Eliza Doolittle to an anthropologist lover with delusions of Professor Higgins, the Duke’s physical oddity was the mark of a throwback to an evolutionary era which preceded the Spanish Royal Family by at least a few hundred thousand years. The anthropologist, who had kept her in high style for three months before leaving for Bora Bora, had amused himself by instructing Regina in the development of the male sex organ in mammals and then humans. In particular, he had explained the evolution of copulation from back-to-back to front-to-front.
“Most four-legged mammals, including most breeds of dogs, find it natural to make love back-to-back,” the anthropologist had told her. “True, observing dogs in our society, the most common lovemaking position would seem to be front-to-back—the male mounting the female. But this is misleading. Front-to-back is really a courtship maneuver. For actual copulation, the most natural position is back-to-back. Ask any dog-breeder.”
“Oh, I will, I will,” Regina promised.
“Now there’s a very good reason for this,” the anthropologist continued. “For one thing, in most four-legged female animals, the vagina is placed well to the rear. In the male, the angle of erection is also naturally rearwards. More important, the genitalia in four-legged males is different in one important aspect from that of humans, who walk on two legs.”
“And what would that be?” Regina successfully hid a yawn.
“The penis pivots.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s as if the organ were double-jointed. When erect, it’s capable of full three-hundred-sixty degree mobility-—almost double that of modern man. That’s the sacrifice Man made to become civilized.”
“Well, we all have to make sacrifices.”
“Yes. Way back there when Man evolved from a four-legged crawler to a two-legged thinker, he mutated into a face-to-face lover. Once his penis was as freewheeling as the dog's. But—-alas!-—no more.”
“And that’s what they call penal reform,” Regina had summed up.
But Don Hermano, Duke de Mula, was unreformed. His masculine organ was as freewheeling as any Cro-Magnon cooker spaniel. In short, what Regina was quick to notice that first night in his Riviera Villa, was that the Duke had a double-jointed joint!
“My dear,” said the Duke, arranging various furry animal hides in front of opposing mirrors angled to-wards the floor, “you’re in for a rare treat.” The Duke had never been able to bring himself to accept the fact that the ladies to whom he made love did not look on the experience as a “treat.”
“Oh?” said Regina, stretching her nude body languidly. “And what would that be?”
“We’re going to make love dogstyle.”
“I’ve done that before.”
“Not like this you haven’t,” he assured her.
He was right. Regina had never before experienced anything like “dogstyle” with the Duke. And when the eternity of that week was over, she vowed she never would again. The man who would become the Beast of Bilbao would always remain the Cur of Cannes in her memory.
He bade her get down on all fours and then assumed the same position himself. He circled her, sniffing, poking his cold, wet nose into the most intimate orifices. He drooled openly, and his rough, wet tongue rasped over her skin and under her body. It was-—Regina never thought she’d have occasion to use the word professionally, even to herself—uindignified. But there was worse to come.
The Duke backed off on all fours behind her, and then suddenly pounced. He nipped her derriere with sharp teeth. Regina yipped and scrambled away. “Behave yourself, Duke!” she admonished. “Be a good clog.”
“Grrrr!” He dived low and snapped at her breast.
Regina made low, whining sounds, trying to placate him.
“Arf-Arf!” He bit her on the thigh.
“Gloryosky, Duke!” Regina bounded away.
Growling low in his throat, he cornered her. Regina sat up and begged. He tossed her a yummy. “Roll over,” he instructed.
She rolled on her back, arms and legs stuck up in the air and bent at the elbow and knee. The Duke circled in on all fours and licked the entire surface of her body.
“I never made it with an Irish Setter before,” he told her, nuzzling her reddish hair.
“I’ve known lots of wolves,” she replied, “but never one like you!”
He made her turn over on all fours again. Then he sprawled over her, his front paws squeezing the firm globes of her free-hanging breasts. Regina told herself this was it, but she was wrong.
He bit her ear and bounded away again. He came in behind her, sniffing and licking the entire area of her hindquarters. Then Regina, watching the multiple images in the facing mirrors, saw him turn around and back up until his backside was pressed solidly against hers.