Legally speaking, there is no such thing as Luxury Dogging. Shagging in any car smaller than an SUV just hurts your back. For fuck's sake get a caravan before it's too late.
Why have you searched the URL for a site called LuxuryDogging.net? Are you alright?
Perhaps you searched it because you want to read the delusional ramblings of one of your fellow unmedicated, amoral hedonists?
Maybe you wanted to buy nothing, nothing at all, a sweet deal consisting of everything that exists multiplied by zero?
Could it be that you just wanted to let the fool that created this know tus opiniones importantes?
No. It's none of the above. You know, and I know, that the reason you typed this into your browser and hit "Enter" was your latent desire to engineer a situation in which you are burying yourself into your mam's hairdresser with impunity on the backseat of a Vauxhall Corsa whilst the local butcher watches on, balefully, awaiting his turn with the excited impatience of a dog being made to sit for a treat. Well, there's no other way to put this; you are sick. SICK. You ought to keep that fantasy to yourself, mate. You've put me off my tea, now. Sickening. Get off of my ironically-named site, and get yourself into a mental health program – there is no place for you here.