My jollities in town have some purpose, however – to find a girl. A loving, lustful, leery lass who doesn’t just sate me, give satisfaction, but takes me beyond to the little death the Chinese are so fond of. Pleasure is merely the pursuit of death after all, the desire to reach a state of perfect equilibrium where one has no desires anymore. I like to take this process to an extreme, by extending it from the physical (seeking absence of hunger, sex drive, thirst) to the metaphysical. This is the purpose of the terrible risk I have taken today – by disobeying my mistress and escaping my bondage, I have assured myself of punishment when I return, tail between my legs, tomorrow night. This is the price of temporary annihilation.

Seeking these things in a modern city such as Edinburgh is difficult. I have to find a girl of a certain type, convince her to spend the night with me, and convince her to do the things I like. I have, at best, 24 hours to achieve this.

First stop is the high street then. Princes Street on a Saturday afternoon is rampant with the pretty girls, of all races, creeds and colours, a crucible of promise. With the elegant Georgian buildings that one side of the esplanade, the other side opening out onto the free heights of the Castle and the blemished Old Town, sick with a thousand years of vice and hypocrisy, it is perfectly poised between two different worlds. However, the reason I come here is not to look at the view, but to lure some female that this sliver of commerce has attracted.

Looking around, I see many interesting girls from many parts of Europe. Not just native girls, but Braque Du Bourbonnais, Braque D' Ariege, Cão da Serra da Estrela and best of all Owczarek Podhalanski (a particularly nice type of girl with Eastern European passion, and aristocratic aloofness). I trail a few, smelling their scent, enjoying their musky, perfumed odour before settling on a bewitching girl as my mark: Perro de Presa Canario. This female has Latin motions, purposeful and swift, coupled with a haughty and delicate air.

I follow her a little, perhaps for an hour. If she notices me I see no sign, she is calm as a still sea. I keep this up for an hour or more, being careful to observe the habits of my mark. I scrutinise her like some syphilitic pirate, casting my eye over her costly cashmere overcoat and soft leather straps. I watch her enjoy some matured Mediterranean meat, drink cold, icy water and lick her lips with the relish of the ruined.

It isn’t long before she tires of the delights of the town centre, and leaves for the weary walk home, to a nice, ruffled bed (I imagine). Time for our lives to cross, I think. I fall back, perhaps 50 yards behind, and trace behind her for the next couple of miles. I can tell she has some way to go, she is not expensive enough for a Georgian townhouse, too expensive for the inner city – she is a creature of the suburbs. These run of the mill girls are often sneered at, as middle of the road, middle browed & middle class, without the brute passion of the working class or the sophistication of the upper, but any connoisseur well knows their merits, knows they combine the best of all the worlds. Her still appearance, I think, conceals strong, unstoppable tides, which when on the rise will drown those out of their depth.

Attack.

Running swiftly upon her, I take her with a grab at her neck. Some say I am rather wolfish, and though for the most part I keep these behaviours quiet, now is the moment to slake them. It is a struggle; she bitches and writhes, slipping away from my jaws and down an alleyway. Chasing, I am losing myself to instinct. The brief, close up smell I had, my nostrils buried in her nape, is a powerful aphrodisiac and steels me for a weary pursuit.

It is passionate stuff. I can hear others commenting on this chase across the city, and she is sometimes vocal, testing my resolve, feeling me out through her submissive testing. Running away is a powerful statement.

I catch her a few more times. By now we are in the docklands, divorced from human oversight on this Saturday evening and free to indulge. I catch her some more, but she is powerful, passionate, she escapes my clutches at each instance. I know I have the better of her though, I know it is just a matter, as always, of time.

Consummation.

At last the bitch is mine. It happens in a flash, really – we are both tired from the chase, and when she finally submits to me, I grab her, bite her neck and back, feel her rump against my stomach as I take my dues. Some people, naturists and the like, think the woods and open wilderness is best for trysts, but if you ask me rough trade is best dealt with against concrete walls, the contrast of flesh and hard, unforgiving stone and metal is like love and lust. She is whimpering terribly now, but I wont relent however much she struggles. Not until I am sated will my teeth stop biting and my limbs cease clawing over her small, struggling body.

Spent, I leave her and run, run home where I must go for regeneration, and punishment for the night’s activities. My mistress is harsh when I have been out on the town like this, she will chain me up and remove my freedoms for a week or more, but I know if I am good I will get this chance again. My mistress always forgives.

And so home, home to my kennel and tartan blanket, and fireside spot. It is all worth it, these luxuries are good but not enough. I hope I see that girl again. It can be lonely being a family pet, you know?

Woof!