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But when Helga suggested the idea, the pitbull couldn't quite refuse.\n\nYou can find stories like this early over on my [url=https://www.patreon.com/Ralanrwrites]Patreon[/url] and/or [url=https://subscribestar.adult/ralanr]Subscribestar[/url]. Top-tier followers get discounts on commissions. \n\nEnjoy!\n\nEdit: Renamed from Punching Bag Play because I was struck with lightning on a better name.", "description_bbcode_parsed": "No stranger to the ring, Rebecca knows how to take a hit and knows to avoid it if you can. But when Helga suggested the idea, the pitbull couldn't quite refuse.

You can find stories like this early over on my Patreon and/or Subscribestar. Top-tier followers get discounts on commissions.

Enjoy!

Edit: Renamed from Punching Bag Play because I was struck with lightning on a better name.", "writing": "Rebecca breathed in for four seconds, held for seven, and exhaled for eight. The cool air of the basement brushed against her nipples every time her chest rose. They were tight in anticipation and excitement for what was to come. She repeated her exercise, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. \n\n\nIt was easy to lose track of time in the home basement. The dungeon of her mistress’s mistress. Helga removed any obvious clocks and the egress windows were covered, leaving the room bereft of natural light. Fluorescent bulbs illuminated the playspace, revealing gym matting across the floor, furniture fit for torture that was either left out on display or pushed aside for space, and tools of pain and pleasure hanging from the walls. \n\n\nShe paid them no mind when arriving, focusing on stripping herself and locking leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles. When naked save for her chastity belt and restraints, the pitbull took to a kneeling position with her back straight, head down, and hands paw side up resting on her thighs. A modified nadu position if she remembered right. Her mistress, Amethyst, taught her the Gorean positions. Most of which she looked up to for practice. \n\n\nBut Amethyst wasn’t here. She was off on vacation with her mother, enjoying a tropical cruise. Rebecca was at the mercy of the house mistress, the woman her owner would eagerly debase herself before. A woman who happily made the vole cry out in pleasure before the pitbull, as if to say she could never bring her mistress to such heights.\n\n\nHer breathing skipped. Rebecca tensed, shuddering at the heat budding behind her shield. The pair she let keep the key liked to deny her for days at a time. They’d tease her throughout, calling her their special cuckpuppy as they made her watch their lovemaking. She didn’t deny enjoying it. The humiliation of cleaning off used fingers was too much of a thrill.\n\n\nThe basement door slammed shut, snapping Rebecca’s meditative focus. Each descending step rocked her body as though she were being trampled. She did not raise her head when they reached the bottom, nor when Helga passed by her to grab something.\n\n\nIn her position, Amethyst would have grinned and said something antagonizing, using her bratty nature as the spark to ignite their play. Rebecca preferred obedience to brattiness. Her nubby tail rebelled against her, wagging enthusiastically before the sow’s strong palm patted her headfur. \n\n\n“Good girl,” the pig said. Rebecca’s ears raised in praise, catching no backhanded compliments. That was for later, now was the prep stage. \n\n\nThe smooth surface of a ballgag braced the back of her skull. Helga rested on one knee, both hands holding the pitbull’s head by her sides. “Are you sure you want to do this?”\n\n\n“Yes, mistress.” Already at the edge of subspace, Rebecca fought the urge to look her mistress in the eye. A good slave showed reverence. \n\n\n“And your safeword?” Helga asked. \n\n\n“Watermelon, Mistress.”\n\n\n“Good girl,” Helga said, “Show me your safe signals.”\n\n\nHolding her right hand up, Rebecca closed it into a fist save for her thumb and pinky finger. She’d seen actors use the symbols in old movies to indicate phone calls, but never in real life. The pitbull opted to give it another purpose, one Helga praised with a soft kiss against her skull. \n\n\n“Open,” Helga commanded with a soft pat on her submissive’s cheek. She wedged the ballgag deep into her maw, locking the straps tight enough so that the pitbull’s tongue couldn’t push it free. Next, she asked for each arm, securing them to a chain above her head. A motorized pulley slowly lifted Rebecca to her feet where Helga strapped a spreader-bar to her ankles. \n\n\nNow she saw her porcine tormenter. Rather than the leather vest and harness of her butch biker look, Helga covered herself in a black spandex sports bra and gray sweatpants. An unusual look for an unusual session.\n\n\n“Did you know that Allison hates masochists?” Helga asked, rhetorically Rebecca assumed, as she strapped on fingerless boxing gloves. “Not the fake ones who get in over their heads. She loves them. Says their ‘oh shit’ moment is a gusher for her. But real masochists? She abhors them.”\n\n\nThe scratch of velcro sticking together brought back painful memories. Fights in the ring her deadbeat father made her do. Trails so debilitating that she dissociated herself to keep her pacifism. But Rebecca wasn’t wearing gloves. The chains holding her arms up didn’t have the slack to let her guard. She was open. Defenseless. \n\n\nHer tail wagged on.\n\n\n“She tells me, and I’ve known her for years so I’ve heard this more times than you could imagine, that being a sadist means she enjoys the suffering of others. She revels in it.” Taking a stance, Helga threw three quick jabs into the air. Rebecca spent enough time fighting and watching fights to tell Helga knew the basics of boxing. What she lacked in technique she made up for with power. \n\n\n“So when she meets someone that likes getting hurt, who wants to be hurt, it’s a turn-off. There’s no suffering for her to enjoy. Says a lot about how much Jack loves her given he isn’t a masochist.”\n\n\nRebecca wasn’t paying attention when she nodded. Her focus latched onto the solid definition of the pig’s arm muscles. Thorny vine or chain tattoos coiled around thick biceps and strong triceps. Helga kept herself hydrated enough to leave her strength unnoticed at a glance. But in motion, even past her prime as she claimed, the pig was a warrior. \n\n\n“Yet you seem to be the exception,” Helga said between breaths. Rebecca’s face flushed red, ears in attention while the pig continued to shadowbox. “She can’t quite place her finger on why. She gives me contradictory bullshit like how much she loves your eagerness, or how far you’re willing to push.” \n\n\nHelga stopped. A sheen of sweat covered her forehead. “You wanna know what I think?” She asked, thumbing the two keys hanging from her necklace. Rebecca nodded, realizing too late that the pig was being rhetorical. Her mistress snorted, brushing her sweat away, “I think she’s got a little crush on you.”\n\n\nRebecca wondered who could have a crush on a punching bag. A pain doll. She was meant to be hurt. To elicit screams from pain cast down from the owner to friends of her owners. \n\n\nThose thoughts were stowed aside when Helga raised her arms up to a fighting stance. The pitbull tensed her stomach, hardening herself for the upcoming onslaught. Helga smiled, then jabbed forward. \n\n\nThe impact pushed Rebecca back. The pitbull’s teeth dug fruitlessly into her gag from the solid strike. Her body curled as much as the chains allowed. Her bindings made the attempt worthless, leaving her stomach exposed. Helga waited for the canine’s breaths to steady before she threw another strike. \n\n\nRebecca knew she was holding back, just as she knew the gloves were for her protection. She’d seen Helga’s fists break jaws and draw blood. The pig knew just how hard to hit, to land soft strikes that’d leave bruises like paint across an open canvas. She had the body of a brute with the discipline of a master. \n\n\nShe paused, letting Rebecca hang at her chains and soak in her aches. Sore muscles echoed from her abdomen, rippling with each gagged breath. They would feel worse later, possibly swell with a purple marking underneath her fur. Her tail wagged at the thought, turning to a blur when Helga’s gloved hand grabbed her tit. \n\n\n“So small,” her mistress teased, letting the small fatty lump slip from her grip time and time again before she squeezed. Pressure stifled the pitbull, her head waving about to alleviate the pain. The pig laughed. “Like little bug bites. Maybe if we bandage them they’ll shrink back down.”\n\n\nShe bit them. Not enough to bleed but the stabbing sensation made the difference negligible. Rebecca’s nails dug into her paws, leaving imprints similar to Helga’s bite mark. Her hot tongue lathered her areola, flicking the tight nipples with each pass until the pig let go. The lukewarm air of the basement dungeon felt like a winter’s chill in the absence of her mouth. Not done, Helga cupped the tit one more time and brought the bottom of her fist down on it like a hammer. Rebecca heard the wet impact reverberate off the stone walls.\n\n\nSmack.\n\n\nSnack.\n\n\nSmack.\n\n\nTears stained her cheek fur. Helga focused to the left breast, repeating the right’s torment whilst leaving the aches to build like fire. Rebecca threw her head back, her body burning with both the yearning for more and the desire to stop. She lingered in the blissful masochistic hell, caught balancing on the rope she was so tempted to jump off. \n\n\nSmack.\n\n\nSmack.\n\n\nSmack.\n\n\nBlubbering whines seeped through Rebecca’s ballgag as Helga stepped back to admire her work. Her chest throbbed, each rise with her breath igniting the dull pains of imprinted flesh. The glove’s thick padding gently braced her face, turning the pitbull back to the caring green eyes of her mistress. Rebecca blinked once, feeling the older woman look for something. She knew the look, the concern that she’d gone too far. Rebecca raised her thumbs on both hands, letting Helga know she was fit to continue.\n\n\nThere was a hint of sadism on Helga’s face when she smiled. Rebecca couldn’t quite describe it, not in the moment. It just reminded her of the near orgasmic look Allison had whenever she made the pitbull scream loud enough to warrant their sound-proof playroom. \n\n\nHelga wiped beads of sweat from her forehead, casting them over the pitbull with a flick of her wrist. Rebecca tensed. Each breath stifled by the gnawing aches across her body. She forced herself still lest she let pain surge through her. Badges of her duty. Marks of masochistic pride. \n\n\nHer mistress stripped and pressed the sweat-drenched garments over Rebecca’s nose. She reeled against the stink. Remnants of her mistress’s effort swallowing her senses. Attempts to shake it off were made fruitless thanks to the elastic band she’s strapped on.\n\n\n“Not a fan?” Helga jeered, twisting open a water bottle. “I thought you worshiped the ground I walked on? Or are only my carpet-muncher’s footsteps worthy of your affection?” A soft laugh followed, silenced by a refreshing gulp. Rebecca pressed her tongue against the ballgag on reflex, tasting the salty sweat seeping into her maw. \n\n\nSomething clicked. Rebecca froze, her ears perked high. Pressure relieved itself from the chastity shield, slinking under her legs until free. The air of the room braced her cunt like a summer breeze. Her arousal dripped carefree, hitting the mat in droplets. Pit, patter, pit. \n\n\n“Oh god,” Rebecca thought, “She’s actually going to do it. I’m not ready. I’m not ready!” Despite her internal screaming the pitbull’s legs made no effort to collapse for protection. Helga pulled her garments free from her punching bag’s head, giving the terrier a full view of the now naked pig woman. Sweat glistened across her pink skin, pooling between her breasts and folds of healthy fat. \n\n\n“Thirsty?” Helga shook the half-empty water bottle in her hand. Rebecca nodded, eager to embrace the secondhand kiss of her mistress. Once free from her gag her mouth hung open in shock as the pig guzzled the bottle. Strong hands clamped it shut before she could whine, pursing her lips for another kiss. Her eyes widened in surprise as water seeped into her maw from the pig’s kiss. What she failed to swallow streamed down her lips, matting her sweat-drenched fur. \n\n\n“I wish she was here,” Helga whispered after locking the gag back in place. “Watching me use you like how you like this. She can’t hurt you like you want. She can tease you, taunt you, humiliate you, and these are things a pathetic cuckpuppy like you loves. But the physical pain, the torment rewarded by endorphins telling the body that everything will be alright, is beyond her desires. She’s spank you. Hell, she’ll use the crop. But she’ll never do this…” \n\n\nAs she spoke Helga trailed her hands over the fresh bruises across Rebecca’s body, gently but firmly prodding them. The pitbull’s body pulled away as it should, reflexively fleeing from pain. It was her mind that forced it to stay still, her curiosity and desire for the sensations rummaging through her bludgeoned body. Swerving behind her, Helga pulled Rebecca’s head up by her bunned headfur and pointed forward.\n\n\n“I’d have her right there. On her knees, naked save for my collar and belt. No other bondage to pretend like she’s being forced to watch. I’m sure she’d smile when I’m not looking, a small rebellious grin to live up to her bratty persona. Not that it’d change anything. She’d be a bystander to our little exercise session, waiting on hand with a water bottle and a towel like a good slave.”\n\n\nHelga’s description shimmered into vision as a lust-born mirage. The hazy image of a tan-furred vole kneeling across the room. Gold nipple rings large enough to slip a finger through dangled with soft breaths as she puffed out her chest. Though she bowed her head Rebecca caught a glimpse of a smirk across her mistress’s face. Bratty rebellion meant only for punishment. That was the kind of slave her mistress was. So proud of her position, yet far above the pitbull’s station. \n\n\nA quick pat on her tush pulled Rebecca back to the present. “But she isn’t here. Maybe when I’m done I’ll text her a picture of the results. Think she has cell service on that cruise?” \n\n\nRebecca muttered something, forgetting that her gag made all questions rhetorical. Helga ignored her, circling for another round of shadowboxing. Heavy breasts swung with her hooks and jabs, wild like the ancient warrior women. The pitbull tensed, her nubby tail becoming a blur in anticipation of the next onslaught. \n\n\nHelga ducked low, swerved, pulled back, and threw her punch. Pain exploded from Rebecca’s cunt. She keeled over as a wave pulsed across her body. Her legs convulsed, struggling to stand upright while her arms pulled her up in reflex. Not even the gag stifled her scream, a painful whine mixed with the throaty cry of a climax running down her legs. \n\n\nIt hurt.\n\n\nBy god, it hurt.\n\n\nHer rational mind scrambled to pull her away. It told her that no one could take the pain, even if Helga held back more than she already was. Her curiosity wasn’t sure. It whispered into her cropped ear like a twisted vizier, asking if the pain was true or just a figment of her imagination. After all, no one was supposed to get hit in the cunt. The question grew louder as the pain faded. Teeth gnawed into her gag with every heavy breath to soothe the agony. \n\n\n“Are you alright?” Helga asked, slipping off the authoritative mask for a second.\n\n\nRebecca nodded. \n\n\n“Do you want to keep going?” \n\n\nRebecca raised her thumb. \n\n\nHelga’s gentle whisper turned harsh. “Good.” The glove wet with Rebecca’s arousal braced the pitbull’s chin, arcing her up to face devilish green eyes. “Did I give you permission to cum?” \n\n\nRebecca shook her head.\n\n\n“I thought so. That calls for a punishment, doesn’t it? Maybe we can discuss it after I finish my workout.” \n\n\nA volley of controlled blows fell upon Rebecca. Helga hammered her cunt, stomach, tits, thighs, and ass, always aiming for a safe spot. Aches burned like wildfire. Lactic acids coursed through her legs but she kept standing. Her body screamed for an end with each hit but morbid curiosity demanded more, shedding its mask to drown her in its true name. Her masochism. The barbed hook pleasure plunged deeper into her body with two more orgasms before the pig was spent. The scents of arousal and exhaustion permeated the dungeon, followed by their heavy breaths and the groaning of her bindings. \n\n\nHelga stopped as suddenly as she started. The pig watched Rebecca hanging by her arms, weak and shaking in the painful ecstasy. “Fuck…” The sounds of velcro ripping scratched the pitbull’s ears. The gloves were tossed to her feet. She looked up, mewling at the idea that the session was over so soon. \n\n\nShe was mistaken.\n\n\nHer mistress took to a foldout chair she dragged before the canine. Spread legs revealed lips puffy with need. Rebecca felt her clit burn in pain and desire at the sight of her mistress’s folds. Thick pink fingers slipped between them, tentatively spreading her pussy before sinking inside. \n\n\nHelga bit her lips, stifling her moans for the slow finger fuck. Rebecca watched her mistress pleasure herself with wide eyes, ears flicking at the soft swearing and heavy breaths. She’d never seen the woman masturbate, always having her or Amethyst on hand when pleasure was needed. They were eager to give it. Even now Rebecca’s tongue slammed against her gag to offer it. \n\n\nThe sow laughed. “I’m getting rusty,” she said, resting her wet fingertips on her thigh. “I’m too used to having your mistress between my legs like how I trained her. Do you want to take her place?” \n\n\nRebecca nodded violently, struggling against her bonds in vain. Helga snorted, getting up to lower the pitbull to her knees. She waited patiently for her mistress to remove the gag, but Helga sat back to her seat and returned to toying with herself. She spoke up as if Helga forgot though the gag stifled her words. Sadistic green eyes stared down at her, unbreaking while she toyed with herself. \n\n\n“Why should you?” She finally asked, huffing at the rising pleasure. “Amy’s purpose is to eat my cunt. She knows it’s what her mouth is good for, and knows that I love shutting her up with it. That’s why she loves to talk. But for you it’s special. You don’t get Amy’s cunt unless I say so, regardless of her authority. Did you think mine was any different? That you could taste it whenever you wanted?”\n\n\nShe rubbed Rebecca’s nose into the folds as if she were some feral caught pissing on the carpet. “No. No this is a reward for mutts like you. Do you think you deserve a reward for cumming without permission? How many times did my fists get you off? Enough to make them glisten in the light.”\n\n\nTears stained her cheeks at the realization. Rebecca buried her snout into the cunt, going as far as to rub the gag against the folds. Her mistress pulled her away, laughing at her pathetic attempts to taste the pig’s cunt. “It’s cute that you’re desperate.” Helga spat a wad of saliva over Rebecca’s forehead. “But ask yourself, how am I supposed to punish a masochist? You get off if I hit you. Best to deny you what you crave. And, if we’re being honest,” she leaned down, breaking into a whisper, “We both know a cuckpuppy like you loves this.”\n\n\nShe did. Even now her nubby tail wagged blurred in motion, as it had every night she was the cuckquean of her two partners. She couldn’t describe why she loved it, and attempts to explain it fell by the wayside. All that mattered was now, with her nose stinging with Helga’s scent and her ears reverberating the wet noise of masturbation. \n\n\nHelga’s breathing climbed. Deep breaths turned quick, subtle groans turned to soft swears and insults that made Rebecca’s exposed cunt itch. The pitbull whined into her gag. The pig answered with lip-biting silence and a spray of fluid painting the younger woman’s muzzle. \n\n\n“Fuck…” the pig collapsed against her seat. An exhausted if satisfied smile crossed her face as she languished in place. \n\n\nRebecca waited with patience, ignoring the pain in her arms or the smell overwhelming her nostrils. Her mistress’s juices acted almost as an aphrodisiac, but she knew to wait for her to continue. She hoped the session was not yet over. But then again, Rebecca rarely ever wanted them to end.\n\n\nDrenched fingers patted her cheeks. Helga’s face carried a soft serenity. As if she could read her mind, the pig leaned down and whispered they weren’t done just yet. “After all, how many times did you cum? Seems unfair for you to have more than me.”\n\n\nGrabbing a vibrator from the wall, Helga let it whir to life. Rebecca arched her back, eager to see her mistress’s pleasure. To be humiliated again and again. The perfect punishment for a masochist. \n\n\n\n\n***\n\n\n\n\nThe polyester beans shuffled under her weight whenever Rebecca twitched in the beanbag chair. The pitbull moved for comfort, adjusting to the chill of the icepacks and all the bruises she carried. The bruises on her cunt were the most egregious. Not because Helga hit them worse, her ass suffered that fate. She just didn’t like ice against her clit. \n\n\nRebecca chuckled to herself. There was still some pain she hated. \n\n\n“What’s so funny?” Helga asked, handing the pitbull a cool bottle of water from the basement minifridge. \n\n\n“Nothing important.” \n\n\nThough intending to take a sip Rebecca drained half the bottle. Helga whistled. “You sure I’m the only one who got a workout?”\n\n\nThe pitbull smiled. “Getting hit is exhausting work. You should have seen me back when…” Memories of her mixed-martial-arts days trickled back. The weight of her strikes, the impact rippling across her bones, and the aftershock of aches from bruises to lactic acids burning through her legs. She was a pacifist and reminded herself every day, but the truth of what she used to do still hung across her soul. Her demons told her it was her fault, that she should have stood against her father sooner. \n\n\nThey fell silent under the blanket that was Helga’s arm wrapping around her. The older woman sat down hard enough to nearly launch Rebecca off. “You ok?” she asked. \n\n\n“Yeah, yeah.” Rebecca turned away out of guilt for making Helga concerned. “So how come you didn’t go with Amy on that cruise? It’s not because of me, is it? I can take care of myself.”\n\n\n“Amy was specifically invited, not Amy and the girlfriend that's older than her mother.” Helga snorted. “Besides, would you really want me to leave you alone?”\n\n\n“I’d have Allison and Jack to play with.”\n\n\n“That’s not what I meant.” Helga pulled Rebecca to her naked lap. “Would you want to be coming back to the house for a full week by yourself, getting pictures of us on vacation?”\n\n\n“It would be like an intense cucking session.” Rebecca snickered, earning herself a soft bop against the nose for her playful insolence. “But if it made you happy, I’d be ok.”\n\n\n“The thing about relationships, Rebecca, is that you can’t just put your partner’s needs over your own all the time. I want you to be happy. Besides, Amy and her mom have a healthy relationship so why get in the way of that? If I were there, she’d be playing up the brattiness. I love a good brat but I’m not going to spank someone when their mother is close by.”\n\n\nRebecca laughed. “Amy might like that even more.”\n\n\n“She would. I’d safeword it. Speaking of Amy,” Helga pulled out her smartphone, unlocking it to reveal several images of their third partner relaxing on vacation. Trekking through tropical islands, lounging on the cruise deck, and at least one picture of her showing off the trampstamp tattoo she had certifying Helga’s ownership. \n\n\n“I literally told her to pack one-piece swimsuits for that.” Helga sighed, “Her mother must be mortified with all the staring.”\n\n\n“She’s an adult, like me.” Rebecca looked up to her sow mistress, eyes bright with an idea. “Maybe we should punish her? Give her a picture of our session?” \n\n\n“If I’d known you’d suggest that I would have taken pictures. However…” Helga raised the phone high above their heads. “Give me a smile.” \n\n\nUnderneath their selfie they attached the caption ‘Had an intense session. Miss you.’ The phone buzzed with responses after Helga sat it down. Rebecca reached to answer, but Helga pulled her away.\n\n\n“Let her stew on it,” Helga mused. “It’ll be more fun that way.\"", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Rebecca breathed in for four seconds, held for seven, and exhaled for eight. The cool air of the basement brushed against her nipples every time her chest rose. They were tight in anticipation and excitement for what was to come. She repeated her exercise, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.


It was easy to lose track of time in the home basement. The dungeon of her mistress’s mistress. Helga removed any obvious clocks and the egress windows were covered, leaving the room bereft of natural light. Fluorescent bulbs illuminated the playspace, revealing gym matting across the floor, furniture fit for torture that was either left out on display or pushed aside for space, and tools of pain and pleasure hanging from the walls.


She paid them no mind when arriving, focusing on stripping herself and locking leather cuffs around her wrists and ankles. When naked save for her chastity belt and restraints, the pitbull took to a kneeling position with her back straight, head down, and hands paw side up resting on her thighs. A modified nadu position if she remembered right. Her mistress, Amethyst, taught her the Gorean positions. Most of which she looked up to for practice.


But Amethyst wasn’t here. She was off on vacation with her mother, enjoying a tropical cruise. Rebecca was at the mercy of the house mistress, the woman her owner would eagerly debase herself before. A woman who happily made the vole cry out in pleasure before the pitbull, as if to say she could never bring her mistress to such heights.


Her breathing skipped. Rebecca tensed, shuddering at the heat budding behind her shield. The pair she let keep the key liked to deny her for days at a time. They’d tease her throughout, calling her their special cuckpuppy as they made her watch their lovemaking. She didn’t deny enjoying it. The humiliation of cleaning off used fingers was too much of a thrill.


The basement door slammed shut, snapping Rebecca’s meditative focus. Each descending step rocked her body as though she were being trampled. She did not raise her head when they reached the bottom, nor when Helga passed by her to grab something.


In her position, Amethyst would have grinned and said something antagonizing, using her bratty nature as the spark to ignite their play. Rebecca preferred obedience to brattiness. Her nubby tail rebelled against her, wagging enthusiastically before the sow’s strong palm patted her headfur.


“Good girl,” the pig said. Rebecca’s ears raised in praise, catching no backhanded compliments. That was for later, now was the prep stage.


The smooth surface of a ballgag braced the back of her skull. Helga rested on one knee, both hands holding the pitbull’s head by her sides. “Are you sure you want to do this?”


“Yes, mistress.” Already at the edge of subspace, Rebecca fought the urge to look her mistress in the eye. A good slave showed reverence.


“And your safeword?” Helga asked.


“Watermelon, Mistress.”


“Good girl,” Helga said, “Show me your safe signals.”


Holding her right hand up, Rebecca closed it into a fist save for her thumb and pinky finger. She’d seen actors use the symbols in old movies to indicate phone calls, but never in real life. The pitbull opted to give it another purpose, one Helga praised with a soft kiss against her skull.


“Open,” Helga commanded with a soft pat on her submissive’s cheek. She wedged the ballgag deep into her maw, locking the straps tight enough so that the pitbull’s tongue couldn’t push it free. Next, she asked for each arm, securing them to a chain above her head. A motorized pulley slowly lifted Rebecca to her feet where Helga strapped a spreader-bar to her ankles.


Now she saw her porcine tormenter. Rather than the leather vest and harness of her butch biker look, Helga covered herself in a black spandex sports bra and gray sweatpants. An unusual look for an unusual session.


“Did you know that Allison hates masochists?” Helga asked, rhetorically Rebecca assumed, as she strapped on fingerless boxing gloves. “Not the fake ones who get in over their heads. She loves them. Says their ‘oh shit’ moment is a gusher for her. But real masochists? She abhors them.”


The scratch of velcro sticking together brought back painful memories. Fights in the ring her deadbeat father made her do. Trails so debilitating that she dissociated herself to keep her pacifism. But Rebecca wasn’t wearing gloves. The chains holding her arms up didn’t have the slack to let her guard. She was open. Defenseless.


Her tail wagged on.


“She tells me, and I’ve known her for years so I’ve heard this more times than you could imagine, that being a sadist means she enjoys the suffering of others. She revels in it.” Taking a stance, Helga threw three quick jabs into the air. Rebecca spent enough time fighting and watching fights to tell Helga knew the basics of boxing. What she lacked in technique she made up for with power.


“So when she meets someone that likes getting hurt, who wants to be hurt, it’s a turn-off. There’s no suffering for her to enjoy. Says a lot about how much Jack loves her given he isn’t a masochist.”


Rebecca wasn’t paying attention when she nodded. Her focus latched onto the solid definition of the pig’s arm muscles. Thorny vine or chain tattoos coiled around thick biceps and strong triceps. Helga kept herself hydrated enough to leave her strength unnoticed at a glance. But in motion, even past her prime as she claimed, the pig was a warrior.


“Yet you seem to be the exception,” Helga said between breaths. Rebecca’s face flushed red, ears in attention while the pig continued to shadowbox. “She can’t quite place her finger on why. She gives me contradictory bullshit like how much she loves your eagerness, or how far you’re willing to push.”


Helga stopped. A sheen of sweat covered her forehead. “You wanna know what I think?” She asked, thumbing the two keys hanging from her necklace. Rebecca nodded, realizing too late that the pig was being rhetorical. Her mistress snorted, brushing her sweat away, “I think she’s got a little crush on you.”


Rebecca wondered who could have a crush on a punching bag. A pain doll. She was meant to be hurt. To elicit screams from pain cast down from the owner to friends of her owners.


Those thoughts were stowed aside when Helga raised her arms up to a fighting stance. The pitbull tensed her stomach, hardening herself for the upcoming onslaught. Helga smiled, then jabbed forward.


The impact pushed Rebecca back. The pitbull’s teeth dug fruitlessly into her gag from the solid strike. Her body curled as much as the chains allowed. Her bindings made the attempt worthless, leaving her stomach exposed. Helga waited for the canine’s breaths to steady before she threw another strike.


Rebecca knew she was holding back, just as she knew the gloves were for her protection. She’d seen Helga’s fists break jaws and draw blood. The pig knew just how hard to hit, to land soft strikes that’d leave bruises like paint across an open canvas. She had the body of a brute with the discipline of a master.


She paused, letting Rebecca hang at her chains and soak in her aches. Sore muscles echoed from her abdomen, rippling with each gagged breath. They would feel worse later, possibly swell with a purple marking underneath her fur. Her tail wagged at the thought, turning to a blur when Helga’s gloved hand grabbed her tit.


“So small,” her mistress teased, letting the small fatty lump slip from her grip time and time again before she squeezed. Pressure stifled the pitbull, her head waving about to alleviate the pain. The pig laughed. “Like little bug bites. Maybe if we bandage them they’ll shrink back down.”


She bit them. Not enough to bleed but the stabbing sensation made the difference negligible. Rebecca’s nails dug into her paws, leaving imprints similar to Helga’s bite mark. Her hot tongue lathered her areola, flicking the tight nipples with each pass until the pig let go. The lukewarm air of the basement dungeon felt like a winter’s chill in the absence of her mouth. Not done, Helga cupped the tit one more time and brought the bottom of her fist down on it like a hammer. Rebecca heard the wet impact reverberate off the stone walls.


Smack.


Snack.


Smack.


Tears stained her cheek fur. Helga focused to the left breast, repeating the right’s torment whilst leaving the aches to build like fire. Rebecca threw her head back, her body burning with both the yearning for more and the desire to stop. She lingered in the blissful masochistic hell, caught balancing on the rope she was so tempted to jump off.


Smack.


Smack.


Smack.


Blubbering whines seeped through Rebecca’s ballgag as Helga stepped back to admire her work. Her chest throbbed, each rise with her breath igniting the dull pains of imprinted flesh. The glove’s thick padding gently braced her face, turning the pitbull back to the caring green eyes of her mistress. Rebecca blinked once, feeling the older woman look for something. She knew the look, the concern that she’d gone too far. Rebecca raised her thumbs on both hands, letting Helga know she was fit to continue.


There was a hint of sadism on Helga’s face when she smiled. Rebecca couldn’t quite describe it, not in the moment. It just reminded her of the near orgasmic look Allison had whenever she made the pitbull scream loud enough to warrant their sound-proof playroom.


Helga wiped beads of sweat from her forehead, casting them over the pitbull with a flick of her wrist. Rebecca tensed. Each breath stifled by the gnawing aches across her body. She forced herself still lest she let pain surge through her. Badges of her duty. Marks of masochistic pride.


Her mistress stripped and pressed the sweat-drenched garments over Rebecca’s nose. She reeled against the stink. Remnants of her mistress’s effort swallowing her senses. Attempts to shake it off were made fruitless thanks to the elastic band she’s strapped on.


“Not a fan?” Helga jeered, twisting open a water bottle. “I thought you worshiped the ground I walked on? Or are only my carpet-muncher’s footsteps worthy of your affection?” A soft laugh followed, silenced by a refreshing gulp. Rebecca pressed her tongue against the ballgag on reflex, tasting the salty sweat seeping into her maw.


Something clicked. Rebecca froze, her ears perked high. Pressure relieved itself from the chastity shield, slinking under her legs until free. The air of the room braced her cunt like a summer breeze. Her arousal dripped carefree, hitting the mat in droplets. Pit, patter, pit.


“Oh god,” Rebecca thought, “She’s actually going to do it. I’m not ready. I’m not ready!” Despite her internal screaming the pitbull’s legs made no effort to collapse for protection. Helga pulled her garments free from her punching bag’s head, giving the terrier a full view of the now naked pig woman. Sweat glistened across her pink skin, pooling between her breasts and folds of healthy fat.


“Thirsty?” Helga shook the half-empty water bottle in her hand. Rebecca nodded, eager to embrace the secondhand kiss of her mistress. Once free from her gag her mouth hung open in shock as the pig guzzled the bottle. Strong hands clamped it shut before she could whine, pursing her lips for another kiss. Her eyes widened in surprise as water seeped into her maw from the pig’s kiss. What she failed to swallow streamed down her lips, matting her sweat-drenched fur.


“I wish she was here,” Helga whispered after locking the gag back in place. “Watching me use you like how you like this. She can’t hurt you like you want. She can tease you, taunt you, humiliate you, and these are things a pathetic cuckpuppy like you loves. But the physical pain, the torment rewarded by endorphins telling the body that everything will be alright, is beyond her desires. She’s spank you. Hell, she’ll use the crop. But she’ll never do this…”


As she spoke Helga trailed her hands over the fresh bruises across Rebecca’s body, gently but firmly prodding them. The pitbull’s body pulled away as it should, reflexively fleeing from pain. It was her mind that forced it to stay still, her curiosity and desire for the sensations rummaging through her bludgeoned body. Swerving behind her, Helga pulled Rebecca’s head up by her bunned headfur and pointed forward.


“I’d have her right there. On her knees, naked save for my collar and belt. No other bondage to pretend like she’s being forced to watch. I’m sure she’d smile when I’m not looking, a small rebellious grin to live up to her bratty persona. Not that it’d change anything. She’d be a bystander to our little exercise session, waiting on hand with a water bottle and a towel like a good slave.”


Helga’s description shimmered into vision as a lust-born mirage. The hazy image of a tan-furred vole kneeling across the room. Gold nipple rings large enough to slip a finger through dangled with soft breaths as she puffed out her chest. Though she bowed her head Rebecca caught a glimpse of a smirk across her mistress’s face. Bratty rebellion meant only for punishment. That was the kind of slave her mistress was. So proud of her position, yet far above the pitbull’s station.


A quick pat on her tush pulled Rebecca back to the present. “But she isn’t here. Maybe when I’m done I’ll text her a picture of the results. Think she has cell service on that cruise?”


Rebecca muttered something, forgetting that her gag made all questions rhetorical. Helga ignored her, circling for another round of shadowboxing. Heavy breasts swung with her hooks and jabs, wild like the ancient warrior women. The pitbull tensed, her nubby tail becoming a blur in anticipation of the next onslaught.


Helga ducked low, swerved, pulled back, and threw her punch. Pain exploded from Rebecca’s cunt. She keeled over as a wave pulsed across her body. Her legs convulsed, struggling to stand upright while her arms pulled her up in reflex. Not even the gag stifled her scream, a painful whine mixed with the throaty cry of a climax running down her legs.


It hurt.


By god, it hurt.


Her rational mind scrambled to pull her away. It told her that no one could take the pain, even if Helga held back more than she already was. Her curiosity wasn’t sure. It whispered into her cropped ear like a twisted vizier, asking if the pain was true or just a figment of her imagination. After all, no one was supposed to get hit in the cunt. The question grew louder as the pain faded. Teeth gnawed into her gag with every heavy breath to soothe the agony.


“Are you alright?” Helga asked, slipping off the authoritative mask for a second.


Rebecca nodded.


“Do you want to keep going?”


Rebecca raised her thumb.


Helga’s gentle whisper turned harsh. “Good.” The glove wet with Rebecca’s arousal braced the pitbull’s chin, arcing her up to face devilish green eyes. “Did I give you permission to cum?”


Rebecca shook her head.


“I thought so. That calls for a punishment, doesn’t it? Maybe we can discuss it after I finish my workout.”


A volley of controlled blows fell upon Rebecca. Helga hammered her cunt, stomach, tits, thighs, and ass, always aiming for a safe spot. Aches burned like wildfire. Lactic acids coursed through her legs but she kept standing. Her body screamed for an end with each hit but morbid curiosity demanded more, shedding its mask to drown her in its true name. Her masochism. The barbed hook pleasure plunged deeper into her body with two more orgasms before the pig was spent. The scents of arousal and exhaustion permeated the dungeon, followed by their heavy breaths and the groaning of her bindings.


Helga stopped as suddenly as she started. The pig watched Rebecca hanging by her arms, weak and shaking in the painful ecstasy. “Fuck…” The sounds of velcro ripping scratched the pitbull’s ears. The gloves were tossed to her feet. She looked up, mewling at the idea that the session was over so soon.


She was mistaken.


Her mistress took to a foldout chair she dragged before the canine. Spread legs revealed lips puffy with need. Rebecca felt her clit burn in pain and desire at the sight of her mistress’s folds. Thick pink fingers slipped between them, tentatively spreading her pussy before sinking inside.


Helga bit her lips, stifling her moans for the slow finger fuck. Rebecca watched her mistress pleasure herself with wide eyes, ears flicking at the soft swearing and heavy breaths. She’d never seen the woman masturbate, always having her or Amethyst on hand when pleasure was needed. They were eager to give it. Even now Rebecca’s tongue slammed against her gag to offer it.


The sow laughed. “I’m getting rusty,” she said, resting her wet fingertips on her thigh. “I’m too used to having your mistress between my legs like how I trained her. Do you want to take her place?”


Rebecca nodded violently, struggling against her bonds in vain. Helga snorted, getting up to lower the pitbull to her knees. She waited patiently for her mistress to remove the gag, but Helga sat back to her seat and returned to toying with herself. She spoke up as if Helga forgot though the gag stifled her words. Sadistic green eyes stared down at her, unbreaking while she toyed with herself.


“Why should you?” She finally asked, huffing at the rising pleasure. “Amy’s purpose is to eat my cunt. She knows it’s what her mouth is good for, and knows that I love shutting her up with it. That’s why she loves to talk. But for you it’s special. You don’t get Amy’s cunt unless I say so, regardless of her authority. Did you think mine was any different? That you could taste it whenever you wanted?”


She rubbed Rebecca’s nose into the folds as if she were some feral caught pissing on the carpet. “No. No this is a reward for mutts like you. Do you think you deserve a reward for cumming without permission? How many times did my fists get you off? Enough to make them glisten in the light.”


Tears stained her cheeks at the realization. Rebecca buried her snout into the cunt, going as far as to rub the gag against the folds. Her mistress pulled her away, laughing at her pathetic attempts to taste the pig’s cunt. “It’s cute that you’re desperate.” Helga spat a wad of saliva over Rebecca’s forehead. “But ask yourself, how am I supposed to punish a masochist? You get off if I hit you. Best to deny you what you crave. And, if we’re being honest,” she leaned down, breaking into a whisper, “We both know a cuckpuppy like you loves this.”


She did. Even now her nubby tail wagged blurred in motion, as it had every night she was the cuckquean of her two partners. She couldn’t describe why she loved it, and attempts to explain it fell by the wayside. All that mattered was now, with her nose stinging with Helga’s scent and her ears reverberating the wet noise of masturbation.


Helga’s breathing climbed. Deep breaths turned quick, subtle groans turned to soft swears and insults that made Rebecca’s exposed cunt itch. The pitbull whined into her gag. The pig answered with lip-biting silence and a spray of fluid painting the younger woman’s muzzle.


“Fuck…” the pig collapsed against her seat. An exhausted if satisfied smile crossed her face as she languished in place.


Rebecca waited with patience, ignoring the pain in her arms or the smell overwhelming her nostrils. Her mistress’s juices acted almost as an aphrodisiac, but she knew to wait for her to continue. She hoped the session was not yet over. But then again, Rebecca rarely ever wanted them to end.


Drenched fingers patted her cheeks. Helga’s face carried a soft serenity. As if she could read her mind, the pig leaned down and whispered they weren’t done just yet. “After all, how many times did you cum? Seems unfair for you to have more than me.”


Grabbing a vibrator from the wall, Helga let it whir to life. Rebecca arched her back, eager to see her mistress’s pleasure. To be humiliated again and again. The perfect punishment for a masochist.




***




The polyester beans shuffled under her weight whenever Rebecca twitched in the beanbag chair. The pitbull moved for comfort, adjusting to the chill of the icepacks and all the bruises she carried. The bruises on her cunt were the most egregious. Not because Helga hit them worse, her ass suffered that fate. She just didn’t like ice against her clit.


Rebecca chuckled to herself. There was still some pain she hated.


“What’s so funny?” Helga asked, handing the pitbull a cool bottle of water from the basement minifridge.


“Nothing important.”


Though intending to take a sip Rebecca drained half the bottle. Helga whistled. “You sure I’m the only one who got a workout?”


The pitbull smiled. “Getting hit is exhausting work. You should have seen me back when…” Memories of her mixed-martial-arts days trickled back. The weight of her strikes, the impact rippling across her bones, and the aftershock of aches from bruises to lactic acids burning through her legs. She was a pacifist and reminded herself every day, but the truth of what she used to do still hung across her soul. Her demons told her it was her fault, that she should have stood against her father sooner.


They fell silent under the blanket that was Helga’s arm wrapping around her. The older woman sat down hard enough to nearly launch Rebecca off. “You ok?” she asked.


“Yeah, yeah.” Rebecca turned away out of guilt for making Helga concerned. “So how come you didn’t go with Amy on that cruise? It’s not because of me, is it? I can take care of myself.”


“Amy was specifically invited, not Amy and the girlfriend that's older than her mother.” Helga snorted. “Besides, would you really want me to leave you alone?”


“I’d have Allison and Jack to play with.”


“That’s not what I meant.” Helga pulled Rebecca to her naked lap. “Would you want to be coming back to the house for a full week by yourself, getting pictures of us on vacation?”


“It would be like an intense cucking session.” Rebecca snickered, earning herself a soft bop against the nose for her playful insolence. “But if it made you happy, I’d be ok.”


“The thing about relationships, Rebecca, is that you can’t just put your partner’s needs over your own all the time. I want you to be happy. Besides, Amy and her mom have a healthy relationship so why get in the way of that? If I were there, she’d be playing up the brattiness. I love a good brat but I’m not going to spank someone when their mother is close by.”


Rebecca laughed. “Amy might like that even more.”


“She would. I’d safeword it. Speaking of Amy,” Helga pulled out her smartphone, unlocking it to reveal several images of their third partner relaxing on vacation. Trekking through tropical islands, lounging on the cruise deck, and at least one picture of her showing off the trampstamp tattoo she had certifying Helga’s ownership.


“I literally told her to pack one-piece swimsuits for that.” Helga sighed, “Her mother must be mortified with all the staring.”


“She’s an adult, like me.” Rebecca looked up to her sow mistress, eyes bright with an idea. “Maybe we should punish her? Give her a picture of our session?”


“If I’d known you’d suggest that I would have taken pictures. However…” Helga raised the phone high above their heads. “Give me a smile.”


Underneath their selfie they attached the caption ‘Had an intense session. Miss you.’ The phone buzzed with responses after Helga sat it down. Rebecca reached to answer, but Helga pulled her away.


“Let her stew on it,” Helga mused. “It’ll be more fun that way."", "pools_count": 0, "title": "Punch Puppy", "deleted": "f", "public": "t", "mimetype": "text/plain", "pagecount": "1", "rating_id": "2", "rating_name": "Adult", "ratings": [ { "content_tag_id": "4", "name": "Sexual Themes", "description": "Erotic imagery, sexual activity or arousal", "rating_id": "2" } ], "submission_type_id": "12", "type_name": "Writing - Document", "guest_block": "t", "friends_only": "f", "comments_count": "0", "views": "199" }