She had grown comfortable and safe within her environment. The cinderblock walls around her and the bars of the cage that contained her were now her home. Early on she used to keep track of the days by the sounds of the steps overhead and the long intermittent silences in between. She knew that a series of two of those silences would occur between his visits. That must be a day she thought. She had come to understand the silences were likely the time he was either sleeping or gone from the house, probably at work.
Really, she lost track a long time ago but instinctively she knew when the time was drawing near for him to come to her. In the time between visits she would nestle herself in the cage he kept her in. In the beginning, she would fight it, desperately trying to find a way out. It was futile. No amount of yelling, screaming, pounding on the bars, nor yanking on the lock would prove to be successful. Eventually, she grew tired and gave in to the inevitable. She was stuck, captured, possessed. Convincingly she told herself it wasn’t so bad. She was fed enough to be comfortable and the room, although it had no windows was warm. Considering the lack of sufficient clothing she was thankful for the warmth.
At times it was quite difficult to wait for him to come and allow her to visit the ensuite bathroom. Early on there were times, only a few, that she could not wait. The ensuing punishment for such mishaps taught her quickly to learn how to make sure she could wait….no matter how long. She learned to simply keep her back to the room while she lay in her cage so as not to see the ensuite, so close and yet so inaccessible without his allowance of its use. The bathroom thing was what made her wonder the most just how long she had been staying down here or was it up here; she had no idea. Just how long had it taken for her to train her body to deny itself of such natural functions. It didn’t matter anymore. It had been long enough for her to realize that. That and the reward of a shower for being able to hang on, as opposed to the denial of one if she hadn’t. It no longer amused her how now the little things mean so much to her….a a shower, the use of a toilet, the touch of another human being.
She could sense the time was here. He would come to her very soon. Oh how she looked forward to those moments. In the beginning, her heart would pound with sheer panic when she heard the clank of the locks opening behind the door. Her heart would still beat harder in those moments now but more in anticipation. She heard the familiar sound now and the slightest of smiles graced her lips.
“Hello my pet,” he pleasantly cooed as he walked through the door, ’how’s my girl today?’ Why he asked amused her in away. He knew she gave up speech and language a long time ago. Perhaps she simply forgot he figured, although she always seemed to understand what he’d say. Her communication now days consisted simply of various grunts, groans, purrs and the like….and of course, the sobs and screams that were inevitable at his hands. Long ago she gave up wondering why he did the things he did to her. She just knew to accept them. A part of her grew to enjoy it; it was the only attention she received. He knew this and teased her often.
“Oh, come on now girl, why the tears? You know you like it, don’t try to pretend differently. Your body tells me so,” he’d quip. “As long as your body keeps betraying you like that my little pet, I promise to keep giving you what you obviously want.” And with that he’d always chuckle to himself, amused by his own joke.
Today was a good day. She was happy to see him and he could tell by the way she sat up when he walked in; up as much as one could in that cage. He never stopped admiring his handy work. The hard work and effort he’d put into building that thing, just for her, was evident to him each and every time he ran his hands over it….and she always watched. She watched his every move, always. She had become, over time, fixated on him. He was her entire world and that was exactly what he wanted. Sometimes he was certain that he could almost hear her purr as he slowly sauntered around her cage, chattering away to her but mostly to himself. He often wished he had noticed the day she said her last word so that he could have marked it on a calendar. Once in a while, when she would make one of those sweet little murmuring sounds while she fixed her gaze on him, he’d get a slight tingle through his body. In those moments he sort of missed the sound of her voice. Then he would remember back to some of the vile things she uses to spit at him. Her rage with him had run deep, very deep. Those were the early days though and for the most part he didn’t miss them. As much as he longed for the sound of her words he didn’t miss having to punish her for such terrible disrespect of him. He truly didn’t enjoy it at all. It wasn’t like the other stuff. “Now that stuff, that stuff is fun,” he thinks with a grin.
He’d continue talking to her as he walked away venturing into the ensuite to run the shower for her. He looked after his pet well.
Once the water was on and the towels laid out he’d come back and unlock her cage. It really was a work of art and very comfortable too. No barbaric dog cages for his pet, nothing but the best and he was very proud of it and of himself and in fact, also of her. She had learned to behave whilst he went about unlocking her from the cage, no more half-crazed, wild ambush attacks in an attempt for freedom. Secretly he was very impressed at how long it took to untrain her of this nasty habit of fighting back. Her strength and determination had always impressed him even as it frustrated him. Oh how he hated having to punish her like that. Never in his entire life had he ever heard another human being screech such unhumanly sounds like the ones she made when he had to teach her a lesson. She’d never know it but he would often break out into tears of his own once back upstairs and alone. He really did feel badly but it had to be done. She needed to learn, to conform, to submit to his will. And learn she did.
But that was a long time ago, so long ago. She was such a good little thing now. He was as pleased with her progress as he was with his own patience.
“Come now,” he called to her, “come clean yourself up and do your business you filthy thing you”. She would always grunt in embarrassment when he said such things. He remembered how proud she was before he claimed her. Always primped and made up. No need for such things now, no one to impress but him and to him she was beautiful as she was because she was his. He just enjoyed teasing her.
It was odd how he always gave her privacy in those moments. Very odd considering some of the vile, humiliating things he always had planned for his visits. She had given up on modesty far too long ago to even remember it existed. She had grown to accept that he knew every physical fiber of her being so there was no point in trying to pretend otherwise. Besides, with no mirrors she had no idea what she looked like anymore anyway. How she appeared relied solely on what he said. If he said she was ugly and shameful looking she believed it and sulked accordingly. When he said she was pretty, beautiful even, she postured with pride. When he was pleased with her so to was she.
Upon exiting the ensuite she never knew what to expect. The unknowing would always make her shake a little with both fear and excitement. That and the fact she knew she would eat if she complied easily, had made her a most willing victim. The exhaustion of fighting back from the torture and the ensuing, seemingly endless amount of time without food or water, had taught her that to resist was pointless. Some may have felt it not worth surviving in such an environment but she had learned it was her life now, her world was his world; his fantasies her reality.
When she came out she could see the room laid out, preparations made for the coming endorsements. He always had a plan. Her only plan was to comply, do as told and all would be ok. She knew that somehow he would never quite go too far even though it always seemed like this time would be the time it would be just a little too much to bear.
Some rituals, like the showering beforehand, never changed. She stood there, clean bodied and wet haired and obediently waited for him to come to her…and come to her he did. As always, he walked toward her stopping only when he was a mere inches from her face. Then, as always, as she tipped her head up to gaze into his eyes, his hand would glide up and reach gently into her hair and rest at the nap of her neck. The sweet, gentle kiss would always follow. She would dream often of that kiss, the silken feel of his lips to hers, his warm breath fanning out over her face as his tongue would slip between her parted lips. Somewhere in that moment is when he always startled her blissful state with a stark, violent jerk of her head as his hand forcefully gripped her wet hair and his chuckle would turn to a menacing growl.
“BITCH…. my lovely bitch,” he snarled as he dragged her, by her hair, across the room. “Come along we have work to do, lots of time for that later,” he’d say with a laugh, a frightening, spine-tingling laugh.
She knew if she could just get through it he’d look after her; lovingly hold her and tend to her wounds once he was done inflicting them. She could sense that this time would be one of those really difficult, long lasting times and it worried her but she would get through. She would look at him with pleading eyes and pray that he would show her some mercy….she knew he would not. But she knew that after, he would allow her to curl up into him and he would stroke her hair as he mused about anything that came to mind. She didn’t care, she didn’t listen…she simply hung on to the sound of his voice as she would fly and drift and stare at her cage. The lovely, comfy little safe haven where he would eventually toss her and sit across from it and admire her. She would be able to feel the contentment that matched the calming gaze he would bestow upon her but for now she would have to wait because first would come the pain, the tears, the blood, the fear, the……
Sleep does not come as easily for me as it does for the dominant Goddess I now serve. Curled up with no room to move and as the minutes ticked by even the blanket feels less comforting, the floor of the dog cage seems to press through more and more. I remember my many nights of insomnia and try to remember my favorite techniques for lulling myself to sleep. But I was never one for counting sleep. My favorite technique always involved grasping my stiff column between my hands and stroking myself off in rhythm to fantasies of being enslaved. These memories awake my pines and I find it hard and stiff against my body in the cage. I am tempted to masturbate but I stifle the urge, fearing to wake my slumbering Mistress. Resistance is difficult and does nothing to help me sleep. I spend a fitful night wishing I had the room to toss and turn. It is only when a pre-dawn glow begins to creep beneath the curtains that a torturously light sleep envelopes me.
But I am not lucky enough to be allowed to sleep in. My Mistress raps on the cage around 9 in the morning and I quickly wake up, in typical male fashion, with an erect and throbbing cock and an urge to pee.
Out if the cage, boy
“Ready to go out for your morning walk boy?” She asks me. This time I remember not to speak and whimper my urge instead.
“Good boy. Sleeping in the cage has certainly improved your behavior.” She throws open the door and I crawl out stiffly, even arching my back in true canine style to stretch and then waiting patiently as she reattaches the lead to my collar. She towers over me but I avoid making eye contact, in proper dog form I keeping my eyes even with her knees which are just covered by the house dress she has slipped on.
I happily follow her down the stairs, willing to wag my tail if I could, despite being sourly in need of sleep I am more desperately in need of relief for my straining bladder. This time when she draws open the screen door and guides me out to the fenced-in lawn I have no reluctance about lifting my leg and sending a jet of piss streaming onto the lawn. My Mistress notes this with satisfaction and pets my head and calls me a “good dog” before leading me back into the house for breakfast, which consists of ‘dry food,’ – a bowl of granola that eats sans milk or silverware and a bowl of water. I know I will be suffering caffeine withdrawal symptoms, most likely a splitting headache without some coffee, but I suspect the punishment I would receive for protesting this turn of the game would be even more painful.
When I have finished breakfast my Mistress disappears into the shower while I curl up just outside the bathroom door and despite the hardness of the floor find myself drifting desperately back towards sleep. I am awoken when she opens the doors, wrapped only in a towel and returns to her bedroom to dress, commenting on the way that I am already getting underfoot and tripping her up like a real dog as well.
Dildo puppy training
She emerges a few minutes later in a silky house dress announcing: “Now let’s begin to train the puppy. Puppies need lots of play and exercise to wear them out.”
She leads me down to the living room and pulls out the drawer of one of the end tables from which she fetches a large flexible dildo.
“We’ll use this nice bone as an incentive.” She holds the dildo up by its head. “Now puppy sit.” She jabs her finger at the ground indicating that she wants me down. I play along, lowering my butt to my heels.
“Good dog.” She throws the dildo across the room. “Now fetch.”
I return to all fours and traipse across the living room to where the dildo has rolled to rest at the foot of the sofa. I bend down and gently grasp the sex toy between my teeth, picking it up and trotting back to my Mistress’s side.
“Good doggy, now give Mommy the boner.” I let the phallus drop from my jaw into her outstretched palm. She tosses it across the room again, this time toward the opposite corner. “Fetch.”
We repeat the same game for several minutes. She throws and I humbly retrieve in true canine fashion until at last she seems to grow bored and suggests a new game.
“Tug-of-war for the human doggy. I want you to play it by sucking. No teeth.” She presses the tip of the rubber cock to my lips. I slowly part my lips and take the dildo, sucking hard at a thick (albeit fake) cock for the first time in my life. Her hand plunges it in and out of my mouth. She is firmly in control, fucking my mouth far more than I am sucking the toy.
“Doggy has to play better, now show a little more enthusiasm for Mommy.”
She’s ramming the dildo hard, several times provoking a gagging, choking rebellion from the back of my throat. I can feel the mushroom shaped tip hitting the back of my throat.
“Suck doggy, suck.” She gives my ass a loud smack to emphasize her displeasure with my lackluster performance.
I put more effort into fellating the dildo, sucking in the walls of my mouth, trying to induce an appetite for the rubbery column.
“Hmmm.” She sighs, grabbing my hair and forcing my head to bob up and down even as her fist pumps the toy in and out of my mouth. I surrender to the experience as her “cock” violates my mouth. “That’s better, now let’s change the game a little more.” She suggests, leading me by my sucking mouth latched to the toy, back across to the couch where she sits down.
Time for a face fuck
“Give me the toy.” I let go entirely and she takes the object in her hands, fumbling in the end table again she retrieves a condom and proceeds to open the package and roll the rubber down the length of the toy. Then she presses the flat base and sculpted scrotum to my mouth. “Get a firm grip.” She instructs me.
Then she spreads open her robe and leans back on the couch while thrusting her big open cunt forward. Her crotch rests at the edge of the couch and she guides the condom covered tip of the dildo to the lips of her sex and slides it into her body. For the first couple of thrusts, she handles the dildo herself while pulling the back o my head as a sort of non-verbal instruction. The rules of the new game are not hard to figure out and soon I build up a rhythm, awkward as this task is, pushing the dildo in and out of her pussy with my mouth. At first, she tugs at my hair to guide my pace, but once the tempo is set she leans back and begins working her clit with her fingers.
Her pussy seems huge from down on the floor and it hungrily sucks up the rubber cock. I am plunging it almost to the hilt, my lips nearly touching her netherlips with each thrust. I can smell the must scent of her cunt; I’m hungry to plant my tongue inside her and taste her again, but the dildo forms a frustrating and impenetrable barrier, a gag repressing my tongue. I sink my teeth deeper into the base and push hard while I observe up close the furious motion of her fingers.
She reacts enthusiastically to my efforts and grips my head again, pushing me down on her faster and harder. I can’t breathe from my mouth and as the exercise makes me want to pant I find it harder and harder to draw sufficient air through my nostrils. I’m hoping she’ll cum soon, but that huge gaping mouth of her pussy just keeps sucking at the stiff phallus. I wish it were my cock, hammering into her, enjoying the warmth of that sucking cavern. I watch her fingers rubbing faster and faster against her clit and then I feel her body tense and spasm. She’s cumming now I realize, but my labors are not to end so easily.
For only a moment she holds my forehead pressed against her belly, her fingers still cruelly entwined in my hair, the dildo buried almost to the hilt in her palpitating pussy. Then she begins the exercise again. Fast and hard from the beginning this time. My jaw aches and I want nothing more than to let the dildo fall to the floor. But I know that I am here to please her and that such a lax attitude could only earn her disfavor. If it were my cock I would have cum by this point and the exercise would be over, but the dildo does not grow tired, it can not orgasm or wilt. She begins pushing against it. I can feel the weight of her body, the force of her motion as the base of the dildo presses back, stretching my jaw. Unable to breathe well I feel as if I will soon choke and then her body shudders again in a second spectacular orgasm.
The dildo is drenched with her fluids when at last she takes it from my mouth. She runs her fingers playfully through my hair for a moment or two as our breathing slowly returns to normal and the glow gradually fades from her body.
A few minutes pass before she returns to her feet and announces, “Now that I’ve worn you out perhaps you’ll be a good puppy. But I’ll put you in your kennel just in case seeing as you aren’t properly housebroken yet.” She loops her fingers under my collar and draws me back in the cage before dressing to leave. I settle in as I listen to her footsteps descend the staircase and a few minutes later I hear the electric garage door open and then her car pulling out of the driveway.
The curtains are open and the sun streams into the bedroom warming it as the dust particles dance in the golden rays. I am tired and in spite of the cramped conditions I feel drowsy and before I know it I am asleep.
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.
“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.”
“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.
“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:
I met her on the internet and shared my fantasies with her. Dark dreams about being dominated by a BBW mistress that have eaten away at me for years. She helped me realize them but it was not an easy process. In order to learn to serve her, I had to be broken into the femdom dynamic.
We agreed to meet. She instructed me only to tell friends and relatives that I was going out of town for the weekend. She gave me directions on a place to drive to, somewhere between the towns where we each lived. She describes a parking lot where I am to leave my car. A bus that runs further out of the town and a stretch of woods a couple of miles down the road with a little gravel pullover and an old hiking trail. She has told me of a bridge and a little clearing, a visible landmark a half mile along the trail. Once I arrive there at the designated hour I have been told to place the two items I have been ordered to bring on myself. The first is a leather blindfold. Once in place, my world grows dark. Her second instruction is that I am to handcuff myself to one railing of the bridge with metal police handcuffs. For safety reasons I have been allowed to retain the key in case she is prevented from making our rendezvous.
The little bridge in the woods is to be our auction block. She has informed me that she will come here at her leisure and inspect me. Blindfolded, I will not see her, the choice in this matter is entirely hers and not mine in accord with one of my deepest desires. She may reject me or choose to play with me on the spot or even take me home with her for the weekend. It is to be her choice. But I had already made the mistake of entrusting her with my darkest desires, my need to be deprived of choice and self-control and also of confiding my fear and trepidation, my reluctance to let go and surrender this control. That night she would make the decision for me, it was to be, without me anticipating it, my journey into a life of slavery.
Feeling Mistress’ power for the first time
But I am getting ahead of myself. In the woods, I waited until at length I heard the sound of footsteps on leaves. Then I felt her hand for the first time, pulling at my ponytail and heard her voice ordering me to “Stand up tall, spread eagle, legs apart.” and felt her foot kicking at my ankle.
I struggle into position. Then I hear her urging me to hold very still. Then I feel the flat edge of the steel blade of a knife pressing against my cheek. It is cold to the touch and sends a shiver racing up my spine. She brings the knife to the back of my neck and then I feel the blade as it tares the back of my old black t-shirt from the collar to the hem. The two halves of my shirt part, clinging at my arms, my back bare and exposed to the night air. She pressed her hands to my shoulder blades and runs her fingers approvingly over my back.
The knife travels to first one arm then the other and finishes the task of ripping my shirt to shreds so that it no longer clings to my body. She moves down to my jeans, her hands stroking my crotch before fumbling with my belt buckle and pulling it off of my pants.
The strap of my own belt cracks across my back.
“You have a nice strong back. I’m going to mark it now so that there can be no doubts about who is in charge. I want to see how well you can take a beating as a boy in my house can expect to be beaten often.”
The belt thuds across my back bringing welts to the surface.
“You may moan or scream but do not speak. You have not yet earned the right of speaking to me. “
After a good fifty strokes, she stops and unbuttons my button fly jeans, easing them down off of my narrow hips until they hang awkwardly about my ankles.
As instructed, I am without underpants, so now aside from my pants resting on my shoes I am completely exposed.
“What a nice butt, let’s bring some color to those cheeks.” And the beating starts again, this time with my buttocks as the target. I squirm a little at first, but learn not to once she wraps my ponytail around my fist and forces my head down to the railing. She holds me like this while lashing my ass with my own belt.
Once my bottom is blushing red she stops and while still holding my ponytail with one hand, slides a finger from her other hand it to my mouth.
“Suck it boy. Get it nice and wet. Suck it hard. “ I slurp at her finger, sensuously caressing it with my mouth the way women had sometimes sucked my cock. She stabs her finger in and out as if it were a weapon.
“I hope you got that wet enough.” She hisses and removes it from my mouth only to place it against another opening.
“Tsk, Tsk, what a tight boy pussy. You may not be suitable after all.” She spreads one cheek with one hand, nails digging into my flesh, while the spit-lubricated finger burns its way past my tight sphincter. My hole yields unwillingly to her violation at first, but with rising courage, I press my rear towards her and fuck her probing finger back.
“That’s better you little slut. God, you need that ass fucked slut. Show me how bad you want it. Fuck my finger. The dick I’m going to stick into you is going to be so much bigger than this.”
Her words are my first indication that I will be leaving these woods with her. That I have been accepted. Straining against the discomfort I redouble my efforts to please her, rocking back and forth faster and harder.
She smacks my ass hard with her free hand and extracts the probing finger from my tight hole, quickly snaking it between my thighs and seizing me by the balls.
A big woman needs a big cock
“They’re small, but they hang nice and low. They’ll probably hang a little lower after a few sessions with the weights. But those sorts of improvements will help you understand that you’re hole and balls and you’re entire body belongs to me.” She gives a squeeze that leaves me wincing and panting in pain and then slides her hand up the underside of my cock.
Her free hand is wrapped back around my ponytail and her lips are quivering so close to my ears that I can feel her hot breath. She stroking my cock now. Hard squeezes, a tight yet arousing grip.
“Let’s see how big this dildo gets. I want to see if it’s too puny to satisfy my appetites. I want it hard for my inspection.”
And I am getting hard, aroused by the feeling of her large breasts pressing through her shirt against my bare back and the hand the job she is giving me. But it must not be growing stiff fast enough for her because she is yanking my hair harder and urging me on with a torrent of abuse.
“Well that might be big enough to satisfy my ass when I’m in the mood, but I have a much bigger dildo then this that I use all time. Surely you can do a little bigger than this, the way you bragged to me in those pathetic e-mails. Show me, I’m a big woman you know, I need a big cock to satisfy me. If you ever earn the reward of being allowed to satisfy me personally that is.”
Her words have a stimulating effect on me. The more she treats me like an animal at auction or a piece of meat to poked and prodded the harder I become. My erection juts out now.
“Oh now that’s better. It just might do. Maybe with some more modification, a little pumping, a few piercings to add to my pleasure.”
She runs her thumb over my spongy crown and feels the tip moist with precum.
“I think that’s enough. After all, you haven’t earned the right to cum yet either. Kick off your shoes.”
Awkwardly I step on one heel and push until my foot flies free and shake off the shoe. Then with even more difficulty use the freed foot to extract myself from my remaining show.
“Now your jeans.”
Still cuffed to the bridge I manage to free my ankles and find myself standing nude except for the blindfold and my socks. I realize she has bent down scooped up my pants and shoes when I hear her extract the handcuff key from my front pants pocket. She twists the key into one of the keyholes and my wrist springs free for a just a second before she grabs it and pins my arms behind my back. The still cuffed wrist is brought away from the railing and I am quickly re-cuffed with both my arms behind my back.
“Hold these.” She orders and I feel my shoes pressed against my hands. I grab them and hold one dangling from each hand. “And now this.” She adds and drapes my jeans over my bound wrists.
She turns me around by my ponytail and points us back in the direction of the road.
“Now move.” She punctuates the command with the sting of my leather belt whipped against my lower thighs. She steers me along the trail by holding onto my hair and urges me forward by strapping my thighs. It is a long slow walk back out to the road with my feet stumbling over the stony path, crunching among the leaves and tripping over roots. Unaccustomed to traveling over this sort of terrain without shoes my feet are sore by the time we reach her car.
She opens the passenger side and guides me by my ponytail until my head rests against the seat.
“Lift up your feet” she orders. “I’m not letting you into my car with those filthy socks.”
I lift first one and then the other and feel her tug them off of me. I am wondering what would happen if some car passed us now and saw my naked body hanging half out of the car. But I know that this must be a fairly deserted stretch of road even by day and that even if a car did pass quickly in the night it would see only the car at the side of the road. Not the powerful woman forcing her naked slave into her car from between the far side of the pull off and the entrance to the wooded trail.
I am forced down into the wheel well of the car on the passenger side and hear the door slam shut behind me. A moment later the driver’s side door opens and I feel the seat move as she sits down in front of the wheel.
“Now be a good pup on the drive home.” She coos, pulling my head by my ponytail so that it rests in her ample lap. I hear her turn the keys in the ignition, feel the movement of her thighs as she feathers the gas. Her left hand hold my head steady, grinding my face against her crotch. I am quickly lost in the twists and turns of the car as we travel this way for the better part of an hour.
Becoming her dog
She does talk to me. Telling me what is in store for me for the next 48 hours. The first lesson in dehumanization. I will spend the rest of the weekend as a dog. Forbidden to speak, to get up off of all fours, to eat with utensils or drink from a glass.
At last the car slows, turning into what is evidently her driveway, and I hear the sound of the electric garage door raising, the car pulling in and at last, coming to a complete stop.
She gets out of the car first and then opens my side and guides me out by the nape of my neck. I clamber awkwardly down, placing my feet on the garage floor first.
“Bad dog!” She laughs, slapping my ass. “A well-trained dog would never leave the car hind legs first.”
The cement floor is hard and cold beneath my knees and elbows, but my guided trip across it is short. I remain thoroughly disoriented by the blindfold, but once she opens a door and guides me through it I realize that we have emerged into some sort of backyard through a door at the rear of the garage.
“Now to hose you down and clean you off a little before bringing you into the house.” My new owner informs me as i hear the familiar sound of a key turning to open the flow of water to a garden hose. I am still caught off guard as a spray of cold water hits my naked ass. She hoses over my body, soaking my hair, spraying under my armpits and then setting to work on my ass and crotch. At first, the squirting is playful, a mist of water over my dangling testicles and flaccid cock. Then, maliciously, I feel the pressure building up until she is pounding my genitals with a hard jet of water. I squirm involuntarily and receive a reprimand, a sharp slap to my wet rear and a command to sit still. The hard jet of water is directed between my buttocks until the stream is pushing against my tight rear hole. I feel her fingers, wet from the spray, peeling apart my buttocks, probing for my asshole and redirecting the stream right on its target. The pelting water has almost the intensity of tiny pebbles hitting against the sensitive flesh.
“There we go.” She says, shutting off the water and releasing a satisfied sigh. I hear her vanish into the garage for a second when she returns it must be with a large beach towel as I feel her beginning to dry me off. The towel tosses my head of thick wet hair and brusquely wipes down my body, the pace slows to linger over my cock and balls alone where I can feel her hands gripping me roughly through the terry cloth fabric and squeezing my organs.
I am led back into the garage and commanded to “Sit!” Kneeling back on my heels with my arms straight in front of me I attempt to imitate a canine posture as best I can.
“Now for your collar puppy, so everyone will know who you belong to.” I feel a leather collar slide over my neck and feel my freedom slipping away from me as she jerks it tight. Then my ears detect the sound of metal wrestling against metal and of a padlock sliding shut. She pats my head comfortingly.
“And now, to help you out a little bit. Give me your right front paw dog.” I obediently extend my right arm and feel her slip an elbow pad, like those used by skaters and skateboarders, up my arm. “And the left.” she prompts, repeating the process. Then, moving behind me, she commands me to extend my rear legs one at a time and feel her slide the knee pads home. I am grateful for the consideration she shows me by supplying these small comforts.
Next, she produces a pair of leather bondage mitts. She places one of my front paws into mitt and buckles the straps tight, effectively depriving me of the use of my opposable thumbs and reducing me to an animalistic method.
“Good puppy,” she says, rubbing her hands behind my ears and then she attaches a lead to my collar and drags me back into the garage and across the floor to another doorway, where she guides me into a hallway and up a short flight of steps. I can feel the cold texture of linoleum under me and correctly surmise that I have been led into the kitchen.
“Sit.” She commands and obediently I squat on my haunches. I hear more fidgeting sounds, the sink running, an electric can opener whirring. Then two bowls are placed before me.
“Time for you to eat and drink. You must be a hungry dog and this may be your last chance before tomorrow morning.”
Since I cannot see she grabs my ponytail and forces my face down into the dog dish filled with water. The water goes up into my nose and wets my mustache and goatee. I quickly adapt to this new game, slurping up the refreshing water.
“And now for your food.” I am instructed, as her fist again wraps around my hair and uses it as a handle to plop my face ungraciously in the food. It’s a mess, I can feel the slimy food clinging to my face. For a moment i feel an urge to vomit, convinced I am really covered in canned dog food.
Clearly disappointed in my sudden lack of enthusiasm she grinds my face into the mush and in a far more severe tone orders me to eat.
“Come on you filthy bitch, eat up your supper, I don’t have all day.” She punctuates her command by pressing my face harder against the dish and giving my ass a good hard slap with her other hand.
I struggle to work my jaw and take a bit of what I still believe to be dog food into my mouth. The first gulp I reluctantly swallow. By the second or third I realize that there is something familiar about the taste, that I am actually gulping down cold canned soup, some sort of beef stew of or the like. The experience is till unpleasant with the cold soup sinking heavily into my belly and as many chunks ending up plastered to my face as sliding down my throat. But I am held in position until the dish is done and ordered to lick the bowl clean.
“Look what a mess you’ve made you filthy beast.” My Mistress chides as she roughly scrubs the food off my lower face with a damp clothe. She takes delicate care only when it comes to wiping a few particles of food off of the leather blinders.
I am allowed one last refreshing gulp of water and led off into the living room, my Mistress fiddles with the TV and VCR for a couple of seconds and then leads me over to the couch. I hear her situating herself comfortably and then she orders me to lie at her feet. While my Mistress amuses herself with a movie I remain submissively at her heels, able only to hear the dialogue. Throughout the movie, I am ignored except for a few occasions when my Mistress, remembering my presence, runs a foot absentmindedly over my ass.
A couple of hours later the movies begin to rewind and my Mistress stirs again. I hear her yawn and inform me that it is time for my “walk before bed.”
I listen as she stands up and gathers up my leash and feel the jerk on my collar as she drags me through the house, we pass through a room and I hear the unmistakable of a sliding door traveling along its track.
“Now watch your step.”
I fumble along beside her feeling as if I am crawling out into nothing, but there are no steps, just a little lip between the house and the grass which feel damp under my shins. She leads some ways across a lawn which i have not yet succeeded in visualizing, but I can hear the outdoors sounds like katydids chirping and feel a slight breeze.
“Well dog, don’t keep me waiting, lift your leg and pee, this is your last chance for the night.” Her voice is stern with more than a hint of impatience. I’d like nothing more than to obey her command, the coffee i drank during my hour-long drive to our rendezvous point was begging for release throughout the movie. But being unaccustomed to watering a lawn on demand I find I have suddenly become pee shy. A situation my new owner does not seem to have much sympathy for.
She gives a hard pull on my hair and whispers venomously, “Well, go on damn it, piss for me bitch.”
Foolishly I fail to stifle my urge to protest as she tugs at my scalp, “Please Mistress I can’t . . .”
“What’s this,” she quickly cuts off my protests mid-stream, “bitches don’t talk, they bark, they whine, but they do not speak. One more word out of that pathetic mouth and you’ll be kept muzzled for a week.” Her words are punctuated by a kick in the ass followed by several hard slaps. “Now do it, bitch.”
I strain to release the water, a panic washing over me, I can feel myself becoming sweaty, my tenseness makes it harder not easier. Eventually, as I strain I begin to feel a weak trickle of urine escape my penis, falling in droplets on the ground. The stream gathers strength and soon becomes a steady jet vaguely smelling of coffee.
As it peters back down to a trickle she brusquely commends me, “That’s better, see you really did have to go, now if you’re all down, let’s get back in the house, it’s almost time for bed.”
I am led back across the lawn by my tightly jerked collar until we reach the house and then only assisted by the command “paw up,” as I am driven back into the house. Guided through a long room to a carpeted staircase which i clamber up with difficulty, assisted only by tugs on the chain lead and smacks across my bottom. At the top of the stairs, we proceed down a hall and turn off into my Mistress’s bedroom.
Owner’s bed duties for the pet
I can feel and hear as the leash is unclipped from my collar. And then I hear the soft rustling sounds of a woman undressing. She hooks her fingers under my collar just behind my neck and pulls me over to her bed. I hear the mattress creak under her weight as she sits down and she prods me with an “up.”
“Now you’re not housebroken yet so you can’t sleep in a bed. But Mommy would like to reward you for being a good dog. And I do know how much doggies like to sniff crotch. So why don’t you show me how well you can lick.”
She uses her fingers, hooked between the leather collar and my neck, to guide over the bed. My hands brush up against her large thighs. Ever so slightly I can begin to smell her musky wetness. She leaves me a little further up and then pushes my head down. My hands wander, trying to find a place to rest. I wonder if I am allowed to touch her with them. I finally manage to plant my hands on either side of her wide hips, I can feel the cool of her flesh as it brushes against the insides of my arms.
My forehead rests against the roll of her belly now and the insides of her thighs rub against my neck. My faces are pressed against her crotch where I can feel the ever so slight stubble of her shaved sex.
“Go on lick.”
My tongue finds the slit, slowly tracing a wet circle around the outside of her nether lips. I pry her vulva apart with my tongue and then slide it into the warm opening tasting her juices. I fuck her with my tongue, sliding it in and out. She seems to tense a little and then relaxes, pressing down a bit to meet the thrusts of my tongue.
I slide it out of her and clamp my mouth against the opening, breathing deep, letting the air whisper over the sensitive flesh. And I search a little above with my tongue, letting it wander until I find the tiny knob of her hood. I inch my mouth up, wrap my lips about her clit and begin to suck. I imagine it as a tiny penis and try to do everything to her that I remember being done on me in the very best blow jobs I ever received. I suck gently but constantly and aggressively.
I feel her move to adjust herself and feel the weight of her legs as it comes to rest over my back. Her heels grind against my back and she grabs a painfully tight fistful of my hair and grinds my face hard against her pussy.
I increase my performance, fluttering my tongue over the clit even as I suck. Flickering it in the manner I imagine a snakes tongue to move. I am pleased as I hear the sighs of pleasure that escape her lips. She is very wet now and I can feel the wetness seeping into my goatee, running over my chin.
I continue working my mouth around, sucking, flicking my tongue and occasionally shifting just enough to probe her inside for a second or two too. Losing myself in the bliss of my task I gradually slide my hands until they are grasping her large buttocks. I hold on to these and use them as a handle as I go up and down on her clit. Her hands in my hair effectively regulate my rhythm to her pleasure.
Even as my tongue begins to fatigue I begin to feel the indications of her mounting orgasm. I can feel her body clenching and unclench involuntarily and the moans of pleasure she emits. She pulls my hair harder and forces my mouth harder against her cunt. I enjoy the sensation as she bucks against my mouth, her hips grinding upwards to embrace my lips. I feel her fist tighten as she orgasms, then relax and push me away from her pelvis with a sigh.
She shifts her body further on to her back, I can feel the mattress roll under her weight. She rubs her ass against my face.
“You’re not done yet.”
I kiss her fleshy buttocks and brush my lips over her backside searching for the valley between her ass cheeks.
“You’re not there yet dog. Come on, you know where to stick your tongue.”
Enthusiastically my tongue finds and plunges into her dark earthy hole. With the first couple of licks my stomach is in revolt and then I relax, overcome by excitement. My tongue fucks her asshole in a steady rhythm and i feel my cock stiffening once more. Her large buttocks press against my face and I can once more hear sighs and moans of satisfaction.
“That’s it puppy, lick my ass, kiss it good.”
I am lost in submissive heaven, the humiliating aspects of this shore render it all the more arousing for me, my tongue circles the sphincter again and again and then thrusts back through the tight hole. My revery is interrupted only by a sharp yank of my hair that redirects back to my owners wet cunt.
“That’s it. I’m feeling so insatiable tonight. Make me cum again you lucky beast.”
It takes much longer to coax an orgasm this time. My tongue is fatigued feeling almost as if it will fall out of my mouth by the time she grips my hair even harder and thrusts her pelvis up into my mouth.
Her grip relaxes and she strokes and pets my head for a few minutes as her breathing calms. At last, she sits up and grips the D-ring of my collar back in her fingers. I follow her off of the bed, stumbling a little as I make the journey down to the floor. She crosses to the wall and flicks off the light switch. A fact of which I am barely cognizant under the blindfold. Then she leads me back across the floor.
“When you’re properly housetrained you might earn the privilege of sleeping in my bed. But for now, this kennel will do nicely.” She unhooks my blindfold and for the first time in what must be nearly six hours my vision is returned to me. In the nearly dark room, I can just barely make out the wire bars of a large dog cage that has been set up near the foot of the bed.
“Go on, in you go.” She swats my ass to direct me into the cage.
I duck and just barely managed to squeeze low enough to enter it. Once inside I do not even have room to turn around. I just barely have room to lie down by turning on my side in a curled fetal position. Mercifully there is a thick, soft blanket covering the floor of the cage, but the metal sides press against the flesh of my broad shoulders. I can watch as she picks a thick padlock off the top of the cage and locks the door shut.
I can just barely make out my Mistress for the first time. A large shadow looming over me as she pats the cage and returns to bed. I hear the creaking of the box springs and after a few minutes, her breathing slows to the steady soft sighs of a sleeper.