A woman is seeking advice from our readers when his billionaire boyfriend expresses an unexpected request before marrying her. Requesting to remain anonymous, the woman explain that his boyfriend wants her to have sex with his dog before they get married.
I remember everything: his first text and how I spent several minutes screening his profile before finally responding. It was clear he was rich. In almost every picture on his page, he was in a boat. Or on a beach. Or in a fancy restaurant.
It happened really fast. In days, he told me he liked me and wanted us to be friends. I knew this was a lie. He wanted something more, as he had made two jokes about his dick and how he loved the warmth of vaginas on it. However, I agreed to be friends with him.
I liked him. Everything about him. From his looks to the tone of his messages. The only thing I seemed to not like was that he stayed three cities away.
I asked how he would make this weird friendship he wanted to happen with that much distance in the way. His response was: “I own a jet. I can be where you were before you’re done taking your bath.”
Though this made me laugh hard, it struck hard. In a good way, though, the way one is supposed to strike a woman if she is to ever consider being in a relationship with him.
On the morning we met, it rained. But not one drop of rain touched my skin. There were aides to walk me from my door to his black Benz. He turned to look at me and smiled.
“You look better than your pictures.”
I couldn’t look at his eyes. My anxiety had won. So I looked away and said: “Thank you.”
“It is okay. Don’t feel shy. It’s just me.”
His voice sounded as though it had been passed into a device that fine-tuned it. So pure it made my pants wet. I knew we were going to have sex. And we did. Soon after our date at a restaurant where we were served shrimp and fine wine, a date where I said little to no words, he drove me to his hotel.
Because he owned this hotel, his room was on the topmost floor. There was a jacuzzi there that overlooked the city. I sat at the edge of his bed and watched him able this way and that. He took off his watch and placed it on the table, then began to unbutton his shirt.
“Let us go to the jacuzzi.” He said.
I nodded. Now, he could see that I was really shy. As though he read my mind, he walked over and pulled me by my hands. I fell into his arms, and he laughed. He would lead me to the jacuzzi, and there, he would tell me about himself—about his love for pets.
“I love my dogs.” He said, going on to tell me how they mean the world to him: how he would do anything to make them happy. This made me like him even more. A man who takes good care of his pets is sure to be a good guy. He would love me, I thought.
When we had sex, it felt as though my soul was being pulled out of my body. I admit I had seen the sex coming and prepared for it. I had even snuck a condom into my bag.
I, however, never expected it to be this good. My legs quivered as orgasms shook them. He came on my butt, his semen warm.
He would clean it off and fix me a meal. As I ate, he begged me not to leave yet.
“Stay three more days.”
It sounded like a good deal, so I did stay.
On the third day of my stay at his apartment, I saw his dog. His assistant had flown the German Shepherd over.
He hugged it passionately and turned to face me, a certain childlike innocence on his face: “Here is my baby. You are one now, too.”
I giggled. “How?”
“Will you be my woman?”
Although I wanted this really bad, I put up a front to not seem desperate. I mean, he ticked all my boxes: good looks, money and fame, good sex, and a voice that made me wet.
“But we just met?” I said.
“That doesn’t matter, does it? I heard you mumble ‘I love you’ when we fucked.”
I could feel my face grow pink. “You did?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess I’d think about being your baby.”
He stayed in my city for a month after we met. I visited him pretty often. In this month, we grew closer than ever. I bathed his dog and took care of his needs.
It became clear to me this was meant to be.
So when he hinted that he would want to marry me, I wasn’t surprised.
“Maybe we’d be better off there in my city. Maybe you may have to leave here and come be with me. For as long as you want.”
I giggled. “So what are you saying?”
He put his cup of coffee to his mouth and didn’t say a word for five seconds.
“I am saying I’d want to marry you. I’d want you to own everything I own. This hotel. The one in my city. Everything. I’d want this to continue.”
At this, I giggled. Coffee touched my tongue. I put the cup down.
“Took you that long, didn’t it?”
At this, we laughed, and I continued: “I don’t see why it can’t happen. My friends like you. My family does. I am marrying you.”
“It isn’t that easy. I promise. It isn’t.”
I still cannot believe he is serious about this.
He is asking me to have sex with his dog.
On the day he asked me to marry him, he said: “I see the way my boy looks at you. It is clear he wants to fuck you.”
When I laughed, his eyes firmed up, and he said: “I am serious.”
He is really serious.
He is asking that I sign an agreement to continue sleeping with his dog if he is to marry me. He says the marriage will happen a day after the agreement is signed.
What should I do?
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