I met him just as I was graduating from Mrs. Strongbow’s
Academy for Pooches and Paws.
Graduating first in my class was what probably caught my master’s ever
so critical eye. He’s a stickler
for always doing your best.
From the very first moment, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Mr. Alexander Lipshitz. His
strikingly handsome, marginally wrinkled face, and even his hunched back had a
charm that struck a match to my budding libido. Mr. Lipshitz may have been bald, but who needs hair? I had
enough fur for both of us. Three
squares a day and a warm place to sleep.
That’s the ticket! Maybe a
ball or two to chase. A walk each
day would be nice, but who’s quibbling?
My palpitating heart only asked that he pet me and love me.
Mr. Lipshitz is a man of means. Running water.
Space heater. The whole
shebang. His company, Pile-o-Shitz
Industries is a force to be reckoned with and over the years has made him
hundreds of dollars.
In fact, when he first brought me home, it was a little
intimidating to see him open a can of dog food himself and spoon a dollop
straight into my watering mouth.
So sensual! I wanted to
lick his hand, but he shied away.
Not being touched is one of his big no-nos.
He’s very clever and refined, from the way he delicately
chews his hangnails to the way he swipes the tip of his tie across his gently
weeping nostrils. And his twisting
of the can opener, making supreme use of his opposable thumbs, filled me with awe.
I could name a thousand dogs who would like to be his bitch. Why oh why did he pick me? I may be beautiful, but I’m utterly
useless. Then again, no female
could ever be beautiful enough for this prime perfection of maleness.
That was before I’d seen his darker side. I knew I’d have to learn to love that
part of him, too. But, the thought
made my legs shake like I had to wee-wee very badly, although I didn’t have to
wee-wee.
I’d learned to dance on my hind legs, chase my tail, sit,
rollover, and other useful measures to gain praise and dog biscuits. I figured
that should be sufficient for anyone other than a diehard dog abuser.
However, I had no idea how addicted my new master was to
attaining perfection. I soon found
out. “I hope you understand I
don’t do love and there are certain rules.”
I understood, but I looked up at him mournfully. He doesn’t do love? Pity my poor heart.
“Stop looking at me with those eyes,” he said, with an
expression of mild irritation.
Since those eyes are the only ones I have, I looked down at
the floor. Apparently, that was
downcast enough to please him. He
cut up part of his steak, placed the bits on a plate and set it on the
floor. That was kindness itself as
I’m only a foot and a half high at the shoulder. Paws on the table and getting my tongue within striking
distance is a feat I’ve not yet mastered.
As I gobbled away, he continued speaking. “There are rules.”
“Hummm,” I answered, swallowing another hunk of delicious
meat.
“You must agree to the rules.” I waged my tail.
“No biting. No
crapping on the carpet. No muzzle
to the groin. No shedding. No leg
shaking.”
That got my attention.
Holy cow! No shedding? He
thinks it’s a doggie trick to let clumps of fur fall everywhere? Roll over. Speak. Watch me
not shed? Shedding took centuries
to perfect. And, the leg shaking
was going to be hard to control when his dark side came out and I felt like
peeing and crapping and drooling, one at a time and in unison.
“No sitting on furniture,” he continued. “No licking your chute-of-love in
public. No licking private parts
when you meet another dog. No
chasing cats unless I give the kill order. No fleas. No
worms. No skidding across the rug
on your rump. No looking sad. No
getting fat.”
So far there was nothing I couldn’t live with, although that
last one was a doozy. I hope he
realized a girl can’t stay young forever.
“I know you can dance, but you must learn to tango, samba,
moonwalk, and all the moves on Dancing With the Stars.”
Difficult, but doable, given time…. like a hundred years.
“Failure to obey will be punished.”
Yeah?
Yeah? What kind of
punishment? Huh? Will it hurt? Will I scar?
Will I secretly like it?
Will we be naked? Well, I
know I will be.
“I will use various forms of punishment, depending on my
mood and how much you have displeased me.
There’s the face slapping. The eye gouging. The tail pulling. Garroting
with my silk tie. Hours of
rap music. The sweet joy of whips
and chains and suspension with nipple clips.”
Dear lord. What
next? Riding crop across my six
perky breasts? Full anal insertion
of a cattle prod? Gonna have to be
careful around this guy or I could end up a stuffed ornament for his entryway.
I pictured him telling dinner guests: She was a good
dog. Died with a cattle prod up
her ass. Look, you can still see
the handle.
“By the way, I take it you’re a virgin.” That little remark
awoke me from my reverie.
I wagged my tail, hoping against hope that he was not going
to unzip and plug the leak in my dyke himself.
“We’ll have to fix that. I know you can be a good bitch.”
The raw words got my legs shaking like an epileptic mutt at
the base of Mount Vesuvius.
“I told you no leg shaking! Now I must punish you.
This does not give me pleasure.”
The drool coming out the edges of his mouth and the sick and
sudden smile told a different story and not one with a happy ending.
He took the end of my leash and applied a fast pop to my
backsides. OOH, I winced.
“You’ll learn to love this.”
My ass had its doubts and the doubts multiplied like rabbits-in-heat
with each crack of the leather strap.
After awhile, he gave it a rest.
I noted the front of his pants looked like he’d been nose raped by a
slobbering bulldog.
“A virgin,” he said, as if it hadn’t been said before. “We’re going to have to find you a
stud”
Holy shit! Wait just a cotton pickin’ minute! A stud is a male horse, right? A horse would turn my bubbling brook
into a flooded Mississippi delta. We’re
not just talking a little bit of innocent deranged S&M between consenting
animals. I could end up walking
bowlegged for the remainder of my very short life.
“Let’s see.
What’s your preference? A
Chow on a footstool? Hand assisted
fondling with a Chihuahua?
Punished by an oversexed Great Dane? Taught your lesson by a Pit Bull with a mean streak?”
Bob, I think I’ll just stick with what’s behind door number
one and remain a virgin ‘til my pipes rust.
The momentous day came and it turned out my partner was to
be a nice, friendly Labrador. He
and I just nodded, as my master put straps around my four ankles and fastened
the straps to the floor. I could
probably have moved, but my feet wouldn’t be going with me.
Next, my master moved the lab into position, donned a latex
glove and helped the lab slide into me.
It didn’t hurt too much. In
fact, it felt kinda nice. That was
until my master wrapped a strap around both of us dogs and cinched it
tight. We weren’t going anywhere, and we’d be going there together.
That was bad enough, and I know the lab must have felt like
Fido the Rodeo Dog in a pig-riding contest.
Then it happened.
My master unbuckled his belt and pulled it off. Wrapping the buckle end around his
hand, he began flailing away at the lab’s already nervously twitching behind.
“Move that ass, son!” he whooped. “Ride that bitch like you mean it.”
At that point, the lab probably would have fucked a
muskrat. I know I would have.
Again and again the belt came down. “Plow that field! I wanna see you lay some pipe!”
He was laying pipe, all right. I could testify in a court of law that pipe was being
laid. The field was also being
sufficiently plowed to feed several African nations and the entire Indian
sub-continent.
The next thing I knew, the act was over. I didn’t feel the lab being unstrapped,
but one look at him told me he wouldn’t be fucking again anytime soon.
After the lab had left, my master praised me. His yellow-toothed grin showed his delight. He patted my head, gave
me a cold drink of Fiji water, and brought a vet in to examine me. It was Sunday. The vet must have cost him a fortune,
unless of course it wasn’t really a vet, but just another perv who wanted to
admire my Carlsbad Cavern.
Next a dog groomer from the most expensive salon came in to brush out my
coat and do my nails.
“This is such a cute doggie,” she crooned, patting my head,
while my nails dried. “I don’t
believe you’ve had one last three days before, Mr. Lipshitz.”
I’d lasted three days?
Wow! I was so proud of
myself. Bet those other bitches
were whiners, with worms, who couldn’t moonwalk.
All in all, it hadn’t been that bad. In an odd sort of way, I enjoyed being
mounted by a stranger who was strapped to my back and whipped half to
death. My only thought was, what
would the suspension and nipple clamps be like?
My master soon answered my questions. “I’ve decided not to use the nipple
clamps. Instead, I’m going to
introduce you to the pleasures of anal play with a reptile.”
You've challenged Iowahawk for master of the Interwebz satirical book parodies category.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Ed. Glad you enjoyed the little romp...
ReplyDelete