Becoming a dog to a BBW Mistress – part 3

dominatrix put a gag on a hanged slave

To the beginning

The sound of my domme car returning does not awaken me. It is only the sound of her keys clanging as they turn in the lock, quickly followed by her footsteps on the stairs that break my sleep. Groggily I open my eyes, wishing my hands were not trapped in the mittens and I could rub the sleepiness from my eyes. I am completely oblivious to just how long I have slept, except that it appears to be late afternoon.


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“Did you have a good nap puppy?” She asks, rhetorically of course, as I am forbidden to answer. “Mommy had a very productive afternoon. I got a lot of important things done. I also brought a friend of mine home to see you. I want to show off my new pet. Let’s bring you down to make friends.” She unlocks the kennel doors and I slowly rise to all fours and stick my neck out of the door, allowing her to attach the lead to my collar. I am mildly aroused at the thought of being paraded in front of one of her friends. The exhibitionist in me is excited by the prospect of prancing about naked in front of another woman, even in such a humiliating posture, and I would be more than happy to entertain my Mistress’s friend sexually as well. The thought of being ordered to serve two women is having a powerful effect on me and I can feel my cock stiffening. I proudly descend the steps ready for my role in this impromptu “dog show.”

But the figure that greets me in the living room causes me to do a double take. It is not what I was expecting at all. The man sits back casually on the sofa, his tall black leather motorcycle boots facing me and his long, blue jean covered legs are stretched out straight. He wears a plain white T-shirt that emphasizes his muscular chest and powerful biceps which contrast sharply with his steely grey hair and salt and pepper beard. I feel a moment of panic before slowly calming down and excepting that for this weekend I am at this woman’s disposal, to be shown off to whomever she pleases.

His bitch, his piece of meat

“So, this is the new bitch huh?” The man smiles pleasantly at her, his eyes lingering on me as he looks me up and down.

“Yes, not a bad specimen for the internet is he?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know about that. I can’t tell very well from over here.”

She tugs my leash hard and jerks me over towards the man. He sits upright and leans forwards she hands him my leash. He jerks it hard and directs my head away from the couch, toward my Mistress’s feet while his other heavy, calloused hand grabs my hip and pulls my ass close to his knees. He moves his hand over my ass and I squirm slightly, uncomfortable with the implications as the stranger fondles my buttocks.

“Hmmm, nice tight buns. I like that at least.” He observes pleasantly as he kneads my bottom in his hand. Then he grips my collar directly with one hand, forcing my head down and holding me still while he slaps his powerful hand down on my right buttock. I can imagine the crimson palm print that resounding thud must have left on my backside.

I direct what must look like pleading puppy dog eyes to my Mistress, expecting her to protest this unearned punishment, but my fleeting look at her round face reveals a smile of pure pleasure. He spanks my bottom a few more times, alternating from buttock to buttock. After only a half dozen heavy blows my ass is stinging so much that I am dreading each further blow. He then proceeds to rub my rump, his big hand traveling across my now sensitive rear until his giant thumb comes to rest against my tight anal bud.

“I bet this is nice and tight too.”

“It certainly is.” My Mistress replies, all smiles.

“I’d really like to stuff these buns someday.”

“I think that can be arranged. But I’m exercising prima nocte. You’ll have to wait until after I’ve exercised my first night privileges and taken his virginity.”

The man’s thumb is busy prying its way to my sphincter even as my Mistress speaks. I’m shuddering as I listen to the conversation in which they are discussing the use of my body as casually as if I am a piece of meat at the butcher’s. Privately I make up my mind that after this weekend I will not contact this woman again and thus avoid being forced into homosexual servitude.

The man seems to tire of my hole and I feel his hand slide down and grasp my scrotum. He makes a tight ring with his thumb and finger and pulls down on my balls.

“Not too big. But I’m sure you’ll find a lot of ways to have fun with these.” He squeezes the sack tight at its base and prods my testicles with the tip of his pinky. “If I were you I think I’d attach the leash to these instead of around his neck.”

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“Oh the dog is coming along quite nicely with my training methods. Let go and I’ll give you a little demonstration.”

The man releases his grip on both my collar and my balls and as my Mistress calls me to her.

She snaps her fingers, “Sit.” and I obey. “Roll over.” I go through the motion. “Play dead.” I lie on my back, knees up, feet in the air, arms hanging above my chest.

“That’s a pretty picture with the bitch on her back and her legs sticking up in the air.” The man mocks.

She snaps again. “Go sniff Ken’s crotch. Show him what a good dog you are.”

Reluctantly I obey, crossing on all fours to where the man is sitting up now, watching intently. Slowly i edge my head between his thighs which he spreads wide for me in anticipation. I go through the exaggerated motions of flaring my nostrils and breathing heavily a few inches from the zipper of his jeans. He suddenly closes his legs, trapping my head between his thighs. My Mistress laughs mirthfully at my predicament. I can see the growing bulge inside his jeans as the man grips my ponytail and drives my face right into his crotch. I can feel his hard cock pressing through his jeans and rubbing against my face.

“Feel that dick bitch. Feel it. Boy, I bet your dribbling over that bone. That’d be something for you to chew on. And when I fuck you boy you’re going to yelp like the bitch you are.” He’s rubbing my face into his prick as he torments me and the only response from my Mistress is a bit of a chuckle.

“I really should put him out though. I’ve been gone an awfully long time. The little mutt is probably ready for a pee.”

The man grunts, reluctantly letting go of my hair and taking me by the leash once more. “So you’re making her squat in the backyard like a proper bitch?”

“Of course. A dog like that certainly can’t be trusted not to drink out of the toilet.”

“Good for you. It’ll put the boy in his place. Control all the basics at first: food, sleep, shit, piss and you’ll soon be in total control.”

Beat the shit out of me

“That’s certainly the idea.” She takes my leash from Ken’s hand and the two of them make the trek to the sliding door, prodding me along in front of them.

While the routine should be familiar by now I find the man’s presence intimidates me and I feel doubly humiliated as my Mistress prods me to complete this most personal of bodily functions before the eyes of a total stranger. “Go on dog, we haven’t got all day. Show the nice man how you pee.”

I’m probably blushing when I eventually manage to release another golden stream. My piss splashes to the earth with a hiss, watering the grassy lawn.

“And now how about number two.” Ken remarks jocularly and to my growing horror while giving my ass another heavy-handed slap.

My Mistress pauses as if considering, and then remarks in an agreeable tone, “Why not, its probably been about a day for him now.” She jerks my chain hard, “You heard the man, squat!”

I close my eyes and wish that I was somewhere, anywhere, else. I realize that this whole adventure is a total mistake. How could I have let my horny imagination lead me to this degradation? I am convinced that I have allowed myself to be led about by my dick and it has now led me to my downfall. I consider protesting, in a moment of panic, but I know that I am better off playing along. My ordeal will be over in another 24 hours.

I move my arms forward and squat back, my heels resting on the soft earth. But nothing happens. I realize that there is no way I can defecate in this unfamiliar posture, much less do so as part of a command performance before a total stranger. Once more I consider protesting, but again I reject the notion, determined to bear the entire ordeal that I have voluntarily submitted to, but resolved that this must be the first, last and only time.

“Perhaps he needs some encouragement.” Ken suggests jauntily.

“Why not, go ahead.”

I hear the unmistakable sound of the man unbuckling his belt and expertly snaking it from the loops of his pants. Mere seconds later I am flinching as the doubled up strap smacks against the curve of my ass. I hunch closer to the ground, involuntarily attempting to shield my rump from the strapping, unaware of how much I must truly resemble a cringing dog.

“Come on dog, we haven’t got all day.” The man orders brusquely, his baritone voice resounding with a crisp air of authority. His free hand grabs my hip and pulls my ass back up a bit so that I cannot evade the blows that rain down. I make a good faith effort despite my embarrassment to carry out their commands, but nothing passes from my body. The beating only undermines my concentration, making a difficult task an impossible one.

“The whelp must be constipated.” Ken suggests cruelly. “I’d recommend a nice big enema tonight.”

“I had already planned on one.” She replies.

“The sooner he learns he has absolutely no control over his most basic bodily functions the more malleable he’ll be.” The man advice as he pulls his belt back on his pants.

“Well dog, you’ve certainly disappointed me. But never mind.” My Mistress scolds as she pulls me back into the house by my leash.

“Shall we get down to business?” asks Ken.

My destiny

“By all means.” She leads the way, the man walking and me crawling behind her to the dining room table where I see my wallet, a folder, several pens and a pair of metal handcuffs resting. The man seats himself at the table.

“Since we’re at the table, show us how you beg you miserable dog.”

On her command, I sit back on my heels and hold my elbows into my chest and my mitten trapped hands up and out. She stands behind me. Her large body pressing up against my bareback. Her ample breasts just barely brushing the back of my head. She reaches over me to grab the pair of handcuffs from off the table. She closes the metal cuffs on my forearms, just above where the leather mittens end. Once I am safely locked she removes the bondage mittens.

“Though I certainly believe men like yourself are no better than dogs, I’m afraid we need to square away a few details that will involve you having to use your hands for a few minutes.”

This is an unexpected twist that I ponder as I flex my hands feeling my hands breathe in the air, free of the sweaty confines of the black leather.

“You’ll be happy to hear that I decided last night that you were indeed suitable for my purposes and have made up my mind to keep you. There are now just a few housekeeping items we have to take care of. The first is your car. Since slave owns no property we need to dispose of it.”

I am in shock – barely comprehending her words. I hear them, but they make no sense to me.

“Besides, your disappearance may raise some questions. I think I have a plan which will take care of most of the details, but the sooner we put some distance between your car and myself the better. We fetched it from the parking lot this afternoon and took it to a junkyard owned by a mutual friend who has no problem getting rid of it for us. But I actually think it’s better to leave a paper trail rather than just compacting it, in case anybody noticed us this morning. So you’ll be selling it to Ken for a pretty nominal fee. The paperwork is right here and ready for you to sign.”

She picks up a pen and a piece of paper and stoops down to it on the floor in front of me. At first, I am willing to dismiss this all as some sort of elaborate mindfuck, orchestrated to intensify our play, but I am beginning to have my doubts when I notice the paper is actually the deed to my car which Iso stupidly kept in my glove compartment. I realize that she is not lying, at least not the part about having gone back to the parking lot to collect my car.

She bends down, her round face hovering just above my own as she jabs a fat finger at a line on the paper. “Ken just needs your signature right there so that our friend Paul has all the proper paperwork.”

“You must be joking right?” I ask.

Her reply is swift, she grabs a fistful of my hair and with her face still leaning into mine she hisses menacingly: “You know better than to speak. Remember your lesson, dogs don’t speak.”

I gulp hard, intimidated by the tone of her voice. Her fist still pulls hard at my hair, but even though i am wincing I summon up the courage to resist.

“This isn’t funny. This is over. I am getting up and getting the fuck out of here.”

She slaps my face with her free hand, while her other hand tightly gripping my head ensures I cannot to turn away and deflect the blow.

“It doesn’t look to me like you’re in a position to go anywhere,” She mocks me contemptuously, the simple gesture of her hand encompassing my cuffed wrists and embarrassing nudity.

“You fucking bitch. You’re psycho. Get the fuck off of me.”

“Now you’re getting feisty huh?” Her lips drip with malevolent sarcasm.

“I don’t care I’ll fucking scream you fucking bitch!” My voice is raised now, desperately trying to convey that for me the game is over. I am getting up, putting on my clothes and going home.

The man, who up until now has been motionless, his face obscured from my view by the table top, stands up. For a fleeting second, hope wells up inside of me. I think he may actually put an end to this madness. But even as I try to struggle to my feet I feel him crouch over me, like a wrestler and clamp one of his huge calloused hands over my mouth and nose.

With my nostrils pinched tight I am forced to open my mouth wide to gulp for air. Before I can even think to bite down on the man’s palm I feel hands (I’m not even sure whose in the blur of the moment) taking advantage of my open mouth to slip a red rubber ball gag under Ken’s palm and press it hard into my mouth. I have no choice but to stretch my mouth wider and take the gag. I feel my Mistress tightening the straps and buckling it closed. For a few seconds I can not breathe at all and then the man releases his hold on my nose, assured that the gag is firmly planted in place.

“Really! I didn’t expect such an outburst from you. Not after all those naughty e-mail stories about being abducted, kidnaped, forced into slavery, owned and stripped of free will. Isn’t this exciting? I’ve given you what so few people ever obtain, the opportunity to live your darkest desires. I’ve made your dreams come true.”

Her words torment me. I recognize their fundamental truth even as I rebel against them. How crazy it is that I ever should have longed for such things and written such words. What had I been thinking? What have I gotten myself into? Deprived of speech I can only shake my head in a vehement “No!”, begging her to end this charade with my puppy dog eyes.

“Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.” She hands me the pen again, which I had dropped in my struggles.

Feeling the writing utensil in my hand the truth begins sinking in again. This is real. For her, it was not a game. She has concocted some plan to make me disappear. She wants to own me. She will use me. Perhaps share me with this man. The horror of it all washes over me. I am really no longer in control at all.

I take the pen and scratch it across the entire form. The pen presses so hard it actually tares the paper. It is a final fuck you, a refusal to comply, a statement of resistance.

She picks up the form. “I guess you’re set on doing this the hard way. That’s fine with me. I’ll work you over until you’re broken and then I’ll build you up again, just the way that I want you. This isn’t important.” She crumples up the paper in her hand. “On Monday we’ll get another copy of the registration. By Tuesday night I’ll have you begging to sign anything.” “You sound pretty confident.” Ken smiles. “I can’t wait to get a look at the whelp on Tuesday. I’m sure you’ll have him cringing like a proper dog by then. Is there anything else that I can do for you tonight? I mean if you’d like a hand . . .” Ken is leering at me suggestively, obviously eager to get carte blanch approval to lay his hands on me.

“I’d prefer to handle him myself. Call me selfish. But there is one thing before you go, help me get him straight-jacketed, that’ll make him a bit easier for me to manage.” My Mistress disappears downstairs, returning a few minutes later with heavy, black leather, a straight jacket. She sets it on the table and spreads it open. She then proceeds to unlock my handcuffs. Ken is waiting expectantly, standing behind me, his strong hands holding me at my elbows in a vicelike grip, one leg wrapped in front of me, the other foot standing on one of mine. I make a pathetic effort to struggle as she slides my arms into the sleeves. Though the man must adjust his grip so she can pull the jacket on up it is already too late. It only takes a few moments of rough handling and I am overpowered. Ken is much larger than me and uses his strength to trap me in the jacket. Once I am securely fastened she trips me to the floor and kicks me in the ass until I am sprawled out face first, on my belly.

“Stay.” She orders and then escorts her friend to the door. I can hear them talking, saying their goodbyes in the other room, laughing pleasantly with one another, deliberately I suspect, speaking in hushed tones so that I will not hear their words but cannot doubt that they are at my expense.

I contemplate scrambling to my feet and trying to make a dash for the door, but I am too stunned. I cannot imagine forcing my way past them and I am not sure how I would feel being on the streets of this strange town naked except for these collars and pads and the straight jacket.

I hear the door close. The sound of a car starting and the heavy footsteps of my Mistress as she returns to me. She stands towering over me and nudging her shoe in front of my face, resting it centimeters from my gagged lips announces:


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“Now Mister, I’m going to make you regret that little display.”

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