So. What would I say to a closeted slut who would never admit - maybe even to herself - that she's turned on by the idea of a dog mating with her? What would I say, to make her admit the humiliating truth?

Would I tell her, in some clinical tone, that the average volume of a human male's ejaculate is 3.7 millilitres? That's almost a single teaspoon. After a week of no ejaculation, that number climbs to 5ml - one teaspoon.

And would I then tell her that the teaspoon of semen that I left upon her face, sloughing from her sticky eye lashes, contains at least fifty-five million individual sperm cells? Probably many more though - I came... heavily.

Would I use strange vocabulary, and mention things like "progressive motility" and "morphology"? Would I tell her that of the fifty five million sperm sliding from her face, that forty percent are progressively motile - are strong enough to drive themselves forward toward a waiting ovum? Would I explain the morphology - or, the range of abnormally shaped tails and acrosomes - of human sperm, and how abnormal shapes would prevent a given sperm cell from fertilizing her? Would I mention liquefaction- the rate at which semen shifts from a sticky gel, to a liquid- and explain to her why that my load is now more like water? Would I tell her that this happens to mobilize the sperm, helping them to adequately travel to her ovum?

Would I tell her that, given all of this, we can estimate that upon her face she wears around 15 million viable sperm cells - cells that would be swimming toward her fallopian tubes as I spoke, if I'd inseminated her pussy instead?

Maybe I'd have her tell me which of my features our child would have - if I'd came inside of her.

But I didn't... Because my dog's knot is tied inside of her cunt instead.

She's ass to ass now, with a panting German Shepherd. And as I'd press her trembling hand upon her lower abdomen, halfway between her sex and her navel, would I return to my clinical exposition?

Would I tell her that, even as I speak, her vaginal canal - even though it struggles to contain the thickness of his knot- is unconsciously contracting and letting go of the dark-veined dog cock planted within her, literally milking the semen from her mate?

Would I then provide the statistics - that while a human male can a drop 5 millilitres of semen upon her face after a week, healthy German Shepherd can produce up to thirty millimeters - per day?

Would I tell her that this equates to two billion sperm cells? Two billion - thirty six times the amount upon her sticky face. And, while forty percent of my jizz on her face was progressively motile, a healthy German Shepherd's sperm boasts a progressive motility of over seventy percent?

Would she want to know that a German Shepard's morphology has a rate of around four percent, compared to the nine of an average human, meaning that, compared to her stranger, more of the Shepard's sperm is inappropriately shaped to penetrate her ovum?

Would I tell her that a dog's ejaculate liquefies at a rate almost four times faster than a human's - three minutes, to twelve? And that that's partly the reason those thin, beaded ropes are drooping from the gaping mouth of her sex?

Or would she not care about any of that, and instead simply want to hear- as I took her forefinger and began tracing it in serpentine lines over her uterus - that, even now, her mouthing cervix was submerged in a dog's genetic material, drawing his sperm into her womb by the millions with every unstoppable contraction.

That, before she was freed from his pink, veined knot, two billion of his sperm would be writhing within her uterus, that knot forcing her body to take nearly all of him.

I would briefly tap her finger against her abdomen in 4/4 time - in rough time with her cervical contractions - making her count. One million. Two million...

And I would remind her that, of those two billion sperm deep within her, seventy percent have the strength to reach her ovum, and ninety six percent are shaped such that they can penetrate her when they reach her, which means...

I would have her look at me now, unblinking, as I held her hand firmly against her, and have her repeat what I would tell her next:

That two billion of a German Shepherd's viable sperm swim within her belly. That they swim outward from the throat of her cervix like milk expanding in water, which grows and thickens until the mass reaches the slender mouths of her fallopian tubes.

The weak, the unhealthy, the unviable, have now been left behind. Seventy percent remain: one billion, four hundred million potent sperm remain, coalescing at the passages to her ovaries. Seven-hundred million at each.

I would again take her finger, begin slowly tracing a line upward, outward, from her womb, and begin describing the journey.

Here, at the start. His sperm are jostling, fighting, pushing the weaker and the less worthy aside.

Here, a quarter way through her fallopian tube. Tens of millions of his sperm are leading, each determined to be the one. The rest struggle to catch up.

Here, halfway, the lead widens, a string of the strongest seven million of her mate's gametes plugging her tube, single mindedly surging towards their prize.

Here, three quarters of the way. His strongest sperm have reached her ovary.

Here, I'd punctuate with a gentle tap. I would have her tell me explicitly where the dog's sperm has reached.

"My ovaries."

And I would describe then, the writhing tails and angled heads of white descending upon her ovum like straight-line fire from an AK-47. I would have her- still knotted - tease her clit as I told her about millions becoming tens of millions as the slower gametes caught up, piling upon their target.

I would describe the resistance of her egg against the writhing legion; about how biological markers along its shell knows that these are not human, are not to be let in. About how millions are turned away, their heads sliding along the spherical egg shell, their mindless tails propelling them hopelessly far away.

And I would describe how, strong as her sacred ovum was, it was inevitable that amongst the millions, one was stronger. I would tell her that it's approaching her egg. I would tell her that it is there...

That the shell of her ovum is giving slightly beneath the sperms head, driven by a powerful thrust of its thick tail. That the shell is giving more. And more. That she is about to be fertilized by a dog's sperm.

I would have her say it loudly, breathlessly, with eye contact, as she traced circles around her slick clitoris; that she was about to be fertilized by a dog.

And then, I'd tell her that she was. That the shell is giving way to its conquerors angled head; that with one last, powerful thrust, the bulb of genetic material was driven deep into the center of her ovum, the breach closing behind it and catching the tail, ripping it from the head.

Outside of her ovum, the tail spasms in death, drooping from the closing like a string. But on the inside, there is the chaos of life, the torn head spewing a cloud of chromosomal DNA into her own.

Strands of the Canine genome split, before tearing hers apart in kind, his chromosomes pack-hunting hers; finding hers; forcing her genetic material to partner with that of her mate, until her X chromosome- the last to be mated - is at last subdued by his Y.

And then I would tell her that which she already knows. That she was inseminated by a dog. Mated, by a dog. Bred, fertilized, impregnated, knocked up by a dog.

That she was now and forever, the property of a fucking dog.

Mostly looking to talk with ashamed girls about how much this turns them on more than full on roleplay, but more than open to playing with the right gal. Impreg kink best be strong with you.

Now put on your cutest outfit and come get fucked by my dog.