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A Dog's Life

By: Tallus



A Dog's Life By Tallus

So, bitch, you think you have a dog's life? Do you? Do you really? Let me tell you about mine. My husband treats me like a dog. I mean that literally.

Routine morning, are you ready for this? I cook breakfast for him. Today it was eggs, bacon and toast with coffee. I do not eat with him. While he eats his breakfast I sit at his feet and wait for him to finish while my breakfast grows colder and colder. When he is done, he leads me by my leash, yes, my by my dog leash which is attached to my dog collar, to my bowl in the corner. He fills the bowl with eggs and bacon and splashes coffee on the linoleum.

"Go to it, girl!" 

I eat from the bowl. I cannot use my hands because it makes him angry and he punishes me.

After breakfast, with the coffee slurped from the floor and egg on my face he leads me outside to our screened in porch area where we have a sandbox. It looks like a neighbor should be able to see in because I can see out. But I have tried it and the sun reflecting off the screen makes it impossible. This is good because what happens each morning is humiliating enough.

I lift my leg like he taught me and urinate in the sand. If I need to shit I have to squat and do that too. Since he works and I don't and I can use the toilet when he's gone I wait if I can.

While he dresses for work I clean up the breakfast dishes and scrub the floor where the coffee was. He doesn't insist on this but I'll be having dinner the same way and I want a clean floor. As soon as he's ready for work he calls me into the bedroom. He opens his pants and I suck him off. I suck his dick every single fucking day, day in, day out. He varies the routine only by where he ejaculates on my body. He likes to shoot in my face and sometimes on my breasts or pussy lips.

When he leaves I shower, shave off any body hair and dress. I sometimes grocery shop, I sometimes sunbathe, I sometimes just watch TV. I eat lunch like a normal human being and pass my day pretty much how I like. At five p.m. I am at the door wearing only my dog collar. He rarely allows me to wear anything when we are in the house. When I'm on my period I can wear thick white briefs and a pad but tampons are out of the question.

He comes in from work after five and attaches the leash to my collar. He takes me out to use the sandbox. I have to stay until I pee and if I take to long I am punished. I drink lots of iced tea in the afternoons. He takes me back inside where I mix him a drink and sit at his feet while he tells me about his day. He does not give a shit what I did with my day.

I make him dinner and then I eat mine from my bowl. Some nights he takes me out like a normal human being. I don't have to wear a collar and be led around by my neck but he does decide what I will wear out. The list rarely includes panties. Usually we stay in and watch TV. When he is done watching TV he leads me crawling on my hands and knees to the bedroom. Most nights he fucks me, sometimes I blow him instead depending on his mood.

Sex isn't varied very much and I never orgasm with him. Since I have the days to myself I often use a vibrator to get myself off. He will only fuck me from behind because, he says, "that's how you fuck a dog." He enjoys fucking me up the ass quite a bit and he does it often. It hurts a lot and I beg him to stop and that thrills him to no end. When I'm on my period he takes me to the shower stall and puts me on my hands and knees and ass fucks me. He refuses to use my pussy when I'm bleeding.

So, you say, life at home is one thing but you get out, he takes you places and it could be worse, couldn't it?

It's worse. Wednesday night is poker night when he and his best buddies play cards to all hours and torment me. Example, last Wednesday they made me lick vodka out of my dog dish until I was fairly drunk. Then my darling husband tied my leash off short to the coffee table and they took turns ass fucking me in the living room. When the booze caught up with me my beloved mate for life walked me to the sandbox and showed them how I peed every day. I ended the night crawling from lap to lap under the poker table sucking their cocks. I did it without much enthusiasm.

The next day after my breakfast and walk, and after I'd sucked his dick, he told me he was unhappy with my lackluster performance the previous evening and would punish when he got home. I was nervous and scared all day. He is not the gentle type.

After we visited the sandbox when he arrived home, and after his drink and his dinner, and after I cleaned up he led me crawling down to the basement. he led me right to the special kennel.

I hate the special kennel. Upstairs, at night, he puts me in the roomy kennel with my blankets and locks the door. I sleep in the plastic kennel in the closet unless he lets me sleep with him. The special kennel is a plastic and wire cage that is very snug and very uncomfortable. On Thursday, to begin my punishment, he led me into the kennel and secured the door behind me.

Here's the set up. My head sticks through a window at one end. My back nearly touches the ceiling as I crawl on hands and knees and my sides literally brush both wire mesh sides. The floor is hard plastic and hurts my knees. The half-door in the rear presses against the backs of my thighs and squishes me into the cage. My ass protrudes from the rear.

He sometimes puts rods through behind my knees and hips and another under my breasts and he did so that Thursday. The knee rod locks my legs in place, the hip rod keeps my ass still and the one under my breasts pushes me up against the ceiling and makes breathing more difficult. He wasn't done, of course. He tied my wrists to the sides of the cage and fit a collar around my neck, stretching it and holding my head stock still.

Before he started he had me suck his dick. He didn't cum, he just got hard for fucking me later. Then he fit a muzzle on me. Sometimes he likes me to wear the muzzle around the house. It is a leather harness that fits over my head and holds a two inch dildo in my mouth. He made it so I could not control the drooling and would often coat it with honey and make me crawl around the kitchen drooling all over the place.

It did a great job muffling screams, too.

He sat in a chair in front of me with a leather covered paddle in his lap with which he would soon beat me and explained why I was being punished. My lack of enthusiasm for drunkenly blowing his poker buddies embarrasses him and showed a certain lack of respect. I should give this serious thought, he said.

Then he went behind me and blistered my defenseless ass with the paddle. He hit me and hit me and hit me. He took a seat in front of me again when he was done and waited for most of the sobbing to stop. When my tears were at least under control he went behind me a gain and fucked me. I barely felt him inside of me. 

Through with that he let me watch him, through my tears and pain, lubricate the shock cylinders.

They are a simple creation of his. The little machine he made is basically a timer which releases a current of electricity through wires into the metal cylinders on the ends of the wires. The shock can be adjusted and so can the interval between shocks. He inserted the metal cylinders in my anus and vagina and hit the switch.

"This will give you time to contemplate your misdeeds," he said and left the room.

He would have set up random shocks, I guessed, and I was right. His purpose was to keep me from sleeping. The shocks were not especially painful but the fired at random and kept me from getting a wink of sleep. The pain of being held for hours in a rigid position was enough by itself to cost me any sleep.

Friday morning he came for me and it was as if nothing happened. My body hurt all over and my ass was bruised and hurt. We went through our morning routine, however, and he went to work. I took a warm bath and slept all day.

I'm not sure I want to tell you the rest. That was humiliating enough. But I went this far so I'll tell two more things and then I'm done with this. First, like any other master with his dog this one likes me to do tricks for him. I'm not kidding. I roll over on command. I play dead. I give him a paw and shake. I fetch a fucking rubber ball he throws for me. Not enough I suck his cock every day, not enough he ass fucks me on the shower floor, not enough he makes me sleep in a cage, I have to fetch a fucking ball and drop it at his feet.

I'll tell you the worst thing now. Weekends are the worst. I'm bred on the weekends. You heard me right. He has friends stop by and he leads me to them on my hands and knees. Then he turns me facing away from them and they get behind me and fuck me like a dog. That's right. A guy comes over, I hear them talking in the living room. I have to stay in the kitchen or the bathroom on the weekends; I'm not allowed in the carpeted rooms in case I have an "accident." 

He comes in for me and takes my leash and leads me crawling to the fat slob who's come over for this purpose. They discuss what a fine bitch I am. Then he lets the guy fuck me while he sits there enjoying the show. Some guys like football my guy likes to watch strangers fuck me like a dog.

So your asking: Why would you let this guy treat you this way? What would posses you to put up with this crap? 

I'm going to tell you my innermost secret now, okay? It was my idea. That's right! My idea and I like the lifestyle strange as that may seem to you. And if you jinx it for me you're going to find out that this is one bitch who's bite is worse than her bark.

Now back off, okay? I hear my master whistling for me.

A Dog's Life



On a cold wet day in January she opens her front door, steps outside, locks it, and walks into the rain. The water runs into her hair and down her face. It drips and hits her skirt. She shakes her head, wipes her hand across her chin. Her skin is cold. 

At work she sits and turns on her computer and adjusts her chair - a ritual she does unthinkingly every day. It's not that it gets moved - just that she likes the familiarity, the routine. She makes coffee. Strong, black. She stirs it slowly with a spoon, even though there's no sugar in it. She doesn't take sugar. It cloys her teeth. It sits heavy. It's not something she needs. She drinks the coffee. 

She works. She writes, she thinks, she speaks on the phone. At ten minutes to twelve her phone rings once more - she answers. She speaks a few words. She hangs up. She looks around her - nothing is out of the ordinary. Nobody has noticed - but how could they? There is nothing to notice - nothing is out of the ordinary. She is just an office worker speaking on the phone. For a second she panics that someone - management - may be listening. Then she calms herself - of course they're not. Are they?

At noon she stands, puts on her coat, walks out. The office is empty anyway - meetings. Outside, she hurries and waves at a cab or two. Eventually one stops. She says something to the driver and climbs in. He drives off. She plays with her phone, not concentrating. When they stop she is surprised - here already. Where did the time go, where had her mind been? She feels dislocated - almost as though this isn't her at all but someone else. Who it might be is, however, out of her reach. A part of her wants it to be someone else - she shouldn't be doing this. It's...dangerous, she knows. It scares her. She can't not do it, nonetheless. She can't just walk away. 

She lets herself in. The flat is warm and quiet. She goes to the kitchen and drinks water from a glass. Her mouth is dry. She doesn't know if she is alone. She thinks she might be, but isn't sure. She wants to be sure and she isn't. 

She walks into the bedroom. It is dark with shadows - the curtains are drawn - and seemingly abandoned. She looks at the bed and then, from behind, strong hands grip her arms just above the elbows and push her forward. She doesn't make a sound - she knows better than that. Her face hits the bed, her arse forced into the air and her legs straight. She can breathe, but only just. Her heart beats. A warm feeling of fear hits her. Her stomach contracts. She can see nothing much, and then something tight and constricting is forced over her head and she can see nothing at all. Whatever it is has only one hole, which is roughly positioned over her mouth. She gulps in air. She loses direction - which way is which? The material on her face is tight, smooth. Her senses are dulled yet sharpened. Every hair on her body responds. 

Hands at her skirt, pulling the hem upwards. She shifts her legs, spreading them slightly. The hands are rough, strong. She can't move. Her legs are exposed, then her arse and suddenly her skirt is over her hips. The hands shift, to her forearms. They are pulled behind her, roughly, and she feels pain. Something is wrapped around her wrists and pulled tight. Thin rope or ribbon bites, her skin retracts. The hands let go - yet she can't move her arms. 

Silence. Nothing - not a sound. Then a rush of something - air or something else, something unknown - and a searing pain explodes across her arse. She wants to gasp but holds it. Silence is her only aim. Total silence. That, and taking what comes. Whatever comes. 

Three more times she senses or feels or hears movement and three more times her arse is whipped in quick succession - which is cruel. So that's how it will be today - cruel. She feels herself respond - her body reacts. She is wet now, she knows. Her belly contracts - is she allowed? Yet? It doesn't matter any more, because thinking about it makes it only worse. She tries to picture something - anything - to take her mind elsewhere but all she can see is her own body, dripping. 

The hands are back and she is forced to roll over. Fingers at her shirt, first pulling it from the waistband of her tangled skirt and then at the buttons. Roughly it is unfastened then pulled backwards and down her arms to the wrist where it sits, useless, against her restraints. She pictures her bra - pale and plain. She should have worn something else - something sexier. Something she knows would bring pleasure, bring compliments, bring relief from further pain. She thinks she hears a sound - it might be disappointment. She understands. She has made a mistake - despite all the teaching she has been given and despite all the time spent on her, she has made a mistake. She bites her lip and determines not to do it again. She contracts inwardly - she is as useless as she is told. Inside the hood she screws up her eyes. She will pay for that, she knows. 

Fingers she can't see pull her head upwards slightly and then something tight and wide is wrapped around her neck and secured, pulling the hood ever tighter. There is a metallic click and then she is dragged by the neck, first to a sitting position and then off the bed altogether and onto the floor. Her hands behind her, she falls painfully onto her face and is then pulled up to a begging half crouch. 

Walk, bitch. The first words are loud, dominant, shocking. She crawls forwards, her face dragging as she fights to move. Her head hits something - something cold and hard. Ceramic. It moves . Her bowl. She lifts her head slightly. 

Eat. She eats. She can't tell what it is - but she eats. It is cold and has no real taste. It covers her face, and swallowing is hard, and when she feels the loose end of her lead crack across her bare arse she knows she must have spilled some, missed some. Her arse stings and feels hopelessly vulnerable. There for anything. Ready for anything, and what can she do about it? Nothing. 

She empties her bowl, licks it as clean as she can without seeing. It is removed and then, almost kindly, another is put in it's place. 

Drink. The word is gentler, warmer. She laps at the water. It eases her throat and slides down. She is thirsty and empties the bowl and it is replaced. 

Drink. 

Three times she drinks and three times her bowl is replenished. There are more words but she can't hear them, only their gentle, soothing tone. She empties the third bowl. 

Now, down. Lie down. Good dog. 

She relaxes onto the floor. Her covered face slides across the carpet. Her breathing is loud in her ears, echoed and yet constrained by the hood. Her senses are alert but limited to the gap between her eyes and the material which holds her. She thinks it is leather, maybe rubber. It doesn't give, doesn't let her skin breathe. She begins to sweat. Beads of it run down her face and she is reminded of the rain. She wants to scratch herself, wipe herself. She is helpless. 

Fingers at her neck, stroking. Absent mindedly stroking. She can sense them but knows they have no meaning for her - they aren't for her. They scratch, stroke, occasionally pinch her skin. She still hasn't made a sound - something of which she is proud. It might make up for the bra. Might - but she doubts it. 

She lies still on the floor. She is waiting her next instruction but aware it could be hours away. Fingers still at her neck, her back. They touch her bra. Her spine. She drifts off, relaxing. She drifts off, content. 

She snaps awake. She doesn't know why - nothing has changed. She is a little cold - she can feel a light breeze on her bare back and skin. Then the fingers are at her wrists and she feels her arms freed. 

Sit. Good dog. She gets onto all fours. Her lead pulls at her neck. She walks. Round and round she walks on all fours, pulled lightly whenever she slows. Her knees ache. Her arms ache. Her neck droops. She needs to piss. Suddenly the three bowls of water come back to her - her thirst, her greed. Round and round they walk, until the only thing she can feel is her full bladder and her desperate need to piss. She feels it well inside her, push against her belly and almost dribble out of her. In the end she can't wait any longer. She spreads her legs slightly and stops walking and her bladder protests one more time - she can't do this to herself, the sense of dislocation, of being someone else but her, erupts - and the relief comes and she squirts piss through her knickers and feels it run, warm, down her legs. The relief is immense - almost sexual. Her muscles twist and contract - just like they do when she is allowed to orgasm - and she can't stop. Her piss runs out of her and won't stop. She can smell it. She can almost taste it. She shrinks - she knows she is disgusting. Not even dogs piss down their own legs. 

Oh for fuck's sake. She feels her neck jerked upwards. You dirty bitch. 

She is dragged to the bed. Rough hands spread her legs. A towel or cloth or something wipes furiously at her legs, at her piss-stained cunt. Fingers probe her, cleaning and upbraiding her all at once. She whimpers inwardly - still no sound, still she clings to that hope. The lead flogs down on her arse once more, twice more, and then hard across her hips and between her legs, catching her hard little clit with a whipcrack and she fails at last; she gasps with the pain and the humiliation. She makes a sound. 

The flogging stops. The room is silent, ominous. She strains to hear - anything will do but it is reassurance she needs and it doesn't come. Instead her soaking, stinking underwear is pulled aside and she feels a heaviness behind her on the bed and fingers and then a thick and hard presence at the entrance of her cunt and then a cock she doesn't recognise slides into her. Hands grasp her hips, pulling her backwards and further onto it. She rocks back, opens herself. Whoever it is begins to fuck her. He slides almost out of her, almost gently, and then confounds the care he seems to be taking by pounding back into her so hard she fears she will split. She doesn't know how much of this she can take - but knows she doesn't have a choice. 

Movement in front of her, the heavy bed again. She is suddenly scared, confused. Hands take her head and lift it, fingers probe the hole over her mouth and then, shockingly, she feels another cock forced into her mouth. She opens wide, her lips forced apart. She tastes salt and feels smooth skin and a slight stickiness and then she has the sense of being speared. She has a cock in her cunt and another in her mouth and they are fucking her so hard she doesn't know whether the pain is from her stretching cunt or from her gagging throat. She senses their urgency, focuses for a moment on the cock in her mouth and uses her tongue and wets it with her spit, and then her senses are dragged back to her cunt and her wetness and her mouth stills. Sometimes it stills so much that she is slapped, across her cheek. She is trying, but it is too much. Tears prickle. She is slapped some more. She sucks, and sucks, and the remorseless fucking goes on. 

They stop. Both of them, gone. Her hood is ripped off. Light blinds her - she can see nothing still. She is still on all fours, by the edge of the bed. Her eyes accustom and there in front of her are her two cocks, her two tormentors. She hears sounds, movements, guttural voices. Her head is forced backwards, her mouth falls open, and one after the other those two cocks come on her face. She feels the warmth and the stickiness and it runs over her lips and her chin and drips onto her breasts. 

Stay there, don't move, lie down. She does as she is told. Her breathing slowly returns to normal. She wants to wipe her face but dare not. She licks her lips and tastes one or both of their come. She swallows a little.

Leave it bitch.

Strong hands again, first slapping her face then her breasts. She is picked up, four hands. They carry her then lift her and drop her into the bath. There is no water and she clatters into the bottom. 

Sit there. Wait. And shut up. 

She sits silent and still. Still her face is covered in come, drying now. Then she feels water splash on her. On her feet, on her breasts, finally on her face. She feels it and raises her head. It washes over her, relents, stops. Then again, exactly the same. She hears laughter. 

That'll teach the bitch not to piss herself. 

Back at the office she adjusts her chair, makes coffee, answers her phone. She works, writes, thinks. Occasionally she looks around - nobody can see anything out of the ordinary. She is just like any of the rest of her colleagues, nothing out of the ordinary. She stretches slightly, lifts herself out of her chair. Her arse stings slightly, her skin tight. She wonders why. She wonders why. She licks her lips but all she can taste is her lipstick. She smiles. She will kiss her husband later, and all he will taste is her lipstick. 



A Dog's Life Ch. 01



"Will you please sit down? Honestly, the way you've been pacing and fidgeting would make coffee nervous. Come sit over here."

Gretch moved her long legs enough to leave me a place to sit on the other end of the couch. Without another word, she flipped through channels with the television remote until she found an old episode of Law and Order. I hate that show, and I would have loved to watch the NBA playoffs, but she wanted Law and Order. I sat down and waited.

I had reason to be nervous. It had been nearly a week since Gretchen found the laptop I use to look at porn sites. I have an intense fetish for female domination, and it was all there, including the charges for web cam visits with an Asian dominatrix. All she said at the time was, "I need to think about this." I'd been waiting since then for a reaction.

My wife has a well deserved reputation for being stoic. Believe me; you don't ever want to play poker with her. Gretch is of German ancestry, hence the thick, golden blonde hair she often wears with the front braided to hold her hair back from her wide forehead, rosy cheeks and soft pink complexion. Her softly delicate nose and a perfectly formed little mouth give her an almost cherubic air about her. 

She isn't what one would call a big girl; more like strong, with a fit and naturally athletic body. Unlike her, I have the body of an old British rock star, slim and petite for a man. Nevertheless, it's her incredibly unique blue-green eyes which define the beauty that is my wife.

I've never been sure if she is aware that she rarely makes eye contact with anyone. Her eyes are always looking elsewhere or looking at her perennial crossword puzzle book. Even with her eyes closed, she's a beauty with her soft blonde eyelashes and firmly determined little mouth. But when she finally looks at you, the effect is dramatic.

There have been times when I have fallen into those lovely pools of aquamarine. Her sweetness and charm can be a powerful intoxicant, but just as disarming is the twinkle in her eye and the slight curl of her lips when she is amused.

Gretchen speaks softly, so I must strain to hear her. This is difficult when she is looking down at her crossword or gazing out of the window. I must be diligent, however; she might be commenting on a commercial on TV but she could just as easily be telling me something important.

Long before the discovery of my secret laptop, I learned to dread the times when she looks up suddenly with lips pursed, brow furrowed. When Gretch is cross, her emotions are displayed in the smoldering anger in her eyes. 

I have listened to her arguing on the phone, then hanging up while softly speaking a string of German that is disturbingly pleasant. I don't have to speak German to know that she's pissed off. 

She has given me "the look" before, but I have never angered her enough to merit a scolding in German.

She swung her long legs back onto the couch. I felt like a schoolboy as I couldn't help admiring the view from the short denim skirt she wore. Gretchen is thirty-eight, but she could easily pass for a woman much younger, and this after giving birth to our three children.

She placed her bare feet into my lap, saying, "Make yourself useful and rub my feet."

I have many fetishes and I'm not into feet, per se, but I hadn't touched my wife in over a week. I was both horny and terrified as I waited for her wrath to come. 

It felt wonderful to be useful. It was nice to do something to please her, but I glanced at her and found that she was paying no attention to me or my ministrations. 

This stoicism which is always so frustrating was driving me crazy. Suddenly, I wanted more than anything to kiss her pretty pink toes. I had barely tightened my grip on her insoles, preparing to raise them to my lips when she said softly, "Do you think you deserve to do that?"

Thinking quickly, I replied sincerely, "I don't deserve anything. I have disappointed you and I feel terrible." 

She swung her bare legs back so that she now faced forward on the couch with her feet resting on the plush carpet. "Take off your clothes, and then come sit in front of me."

In all of this time, I still hadn't caught a glimpse of her big blue eyes. She seemed to pay no attention as I stripped and knelt on the floor in front of her. She extended one pretty foot. I didn't need an engraved invitation. I held her foot reverently, lovingly placing soft kisses to her toes.

She said my name and I looked up to find her staring at me. There was that smirk that told me she was enjoying my predicament. She leaned forward, smiled and softly whispered, "Who told you that I was disappointed in you?" Before I could answer, she leaned back and shoved her foot into my mouth as far as it could go.



She withdrew it slowly while I strained to devour as much of her foot as possible. She thrust her big toe into my mouth and told me to suck it gently. I was eventually rewarded with the task of sucking all of her pretty toes. I heard a soft chuckle, but her eyes were on the television.

By now, my cock was so hard that it bounced lewdly in front of me. I knew it would be a mistake, but I was willing to risk begging her for sexual release when she said, simply and quietly, "Don't get any on the carpet." 

I gazed up to be sure I understood correctly, but her eyes were on the crossword puzzle in her lap. I grabbed my cock and began masturbating furiously. 

It took seconds to bring me to a mind shattering orgasm. I carefully deposited my semen to form a pool on the top of her feet and toes. I looked up to her for approval. She was looking me straight in the eye. I knew that look; I'd seen it many times when she was doing business for her family's construction company.

"They say that the sanest moments in a man's life come right after an orgasm, so I want you to listen while you lick my feet clean. I've had time to study your laptop. While I don't approve of you jerking off to pictures of women dominating men, you crossed the line when you contacted that Asian woman. What were you thinking? You know very well that you have been a kept husband for too long. You are aware that 

you wouldn't last a day if I threw you out."

She was right about that. In fact, if I hadn't met Gretchen, I don't know where I'd be today. 

I got a job with her family's construction company when I graduated high school, but it didn't take long to see that I was all thumbs and too small when it came to hard manual labor. I'd never learned any office skills, so my future was looking bleak when Gretch showed up one day at the construction site. 

It was love at first sight, which isn't surprising for me, but Gretchen had fallen for me, as well. I wasn't the only guy to notice that her denim shorts were getting shorter every day. 

Her tool belt was slung low on her hips, her faded work shirt tied in front to reveal her taut belly and soft cleavage. She could have been one of the girls in those glossy calendars that you find in garages and auto repair shops everywhere.

The next year was a whirlwind of courtship, culminating in my asking her gruff old grandfather for Gretchen's hand in marriage. To the chagrin of everyone, including the many guys that dreamed of being in my shoes, I found myself married to a beautiful, intelligent woman with an impressive income from the family business. 

It was the guys on the crew, the guys who laughed at my ineptitude, who began to call me Lucky after I married the boss's daughter. I'd be a liar if I said that I got no pleasure from their sour grapes, but to me it was payback, especially for Danny. I accepted the name with pride.

*****

Gretchen shook me from my reverie when she placed her other foot to my mouth as she spoke to her crossword puzzle. "I don't need a degree in Psychology to see why you enjoy being dominated sexually. The little Asian women are the antithesis of your own wife. 

"I think you are hiding your feelings of inadequacy. You are well aware that you are hen-pecked by a strong willed woman who controls your life with her purse. Isn't this so?"

"I've always been grateful for the life you have made for us, Gretchen, but it is your love that controls my life. I won't deny that I have always felt this need to surrender myself sexually."

"So, you jerk off to petite Asian women that you pay to humiliate you. Does that help you forget that I have always been the head of this household? When you pay her, do you forget that the money you give her is mine? Answer me!"

I looked up and saw the fury that blazed in those eyes. I cringed and as I did, I realized that I've always cringed when she directs her anger at me.

"I, I don't know what to say, Gretchen honey. I love you so much and I always will. I can't control these dark feelings. I'm truly sorry, but I don't think I can promise to just forget about these desires, no matter how it displeases you." 

Again, that curt retort, "I will let you know what displeases me. I have plans for you, Lucky, lessons to be learned. You will learn to behave, I can promise you that. 

"I have some ideas, but I will give you two orders for today. First, and this goes without saying, you will do as you're told. Second, the vault is off limits to you from now on. You will never enter the vault again."

I should explain about the vault. When we bought our home, we bought a small two bedroom single story on an extra large lot. Having a construction company at our disposal, we planned to add more if and when the time came. 

The time came when Gretch was pregnant for the second time. Our first daughter was followed by the twins, Ray and Sue. 

We decided to let Ray have his own room and let the girls share the master bedroom because of its size and private bath. We began work immediately on a master bedroom for us.

Gretchen loves the smell of freshly cut wood and getting her hands dirty, so she threw herself into her project with enthusiasm. The family often joked about her "projects." 

Gretchen was never one to do a half-assed job on anything. To the contrary, you could call her projects overkill. The result was the room which came to be known as "The Vault."

The name is appropriate. The room is nearly a third as large as the rest of the house. It's windowless, completely soundproof with a combination door lock and a second door that leads down to the garage below. 

When the inside door next to the original master bedroom is opened, a recording of a cocktail party plays so that even if one enters the vault from inside the house, no sound from inside can be heard. 

There could be twenty people in the vault and no one in the living room would be aware of their presence. It was a great place to get away from the kids. 

It has a full kitchen, bath and, unknown to our children, the fireplace conceals a door that opens a third way to the alley in back. Add a couple of nanny cams for the living room and the kitchen to keep an eye on the house and it became the ultimate hideout. I suddenly realized how much I would miss it and worse, what may be going on inside. I was pondering this when Gretchen simply said,

"Go to bed. You'll sleep in Ray's room tonight and shut the door behind you." I reached for my clothes and she simply said, "Leave them" She returned to her crossword, as if the conversation had never taken place. 

It was only nine o'clock and there wasn't a stick of furniture in Ray's old room, nothing but the single bed without pillows or sheets. I lay there and wondered what my wife had in store for me. 

I was afraid that I had become one of Gretch's projects.



A Dog's Life Ch. 02



When I awoke the next morning the imprints of mattress buttons were imprinted on my face. I ignored my thoughts on where I was and how I got there because I needed to pee badly. 

First thing in the morning, every morning, so I rushed out to the hall bathroom, only to find it locked! My urge to pee intensified and I began to panic. 

I ran down the hall to the girls' room and found that it was also locked. I knew the vault was out of the question, so I ran for the last remaining drainpipe in the house. I stood naked in front of the kitchen sink and read the note: 

"Don't even think about it! Take the kitchen trash out when you go. Remember, you are naked. You can't get dressed because all of your clothes are in the vault, so pay attention! You never know when someone might stop by."

I flew out of the back door and nearly fell off of the cement steps as I ran to take a leak. I stumbled out to the yard. It felt strange to pee in the backyard. 

It didn't matter because our backyard is very private, but I watered the bushes while I breathed a sigh of relief. Once I finished, I headed back to take out the trash. The door was locked! I tugged on the piece of paper stuck in the doorjamb and read the note:

"I thought I told you to pay attention. I'm not surprised that you would fail to notice that I tightened the spring that shuts the back door. I'm wondering if you remembered to take out the trash..."

We live in an arid part of the Pacific Southwest, where the temperature can drop from 100 degrees during the day to 40 degrees at night. I spent the first few hours sitting in the sun, trying to keep warm. It wasn't long before I was searching for any shade I could find.

I didn't hear her open the backyard gate, so I was startled from my reverie by the sound of her voice.

"Here you are, exactly the way I expected. Did you remember to take out the trash?" 

I lowered my eyes as I told her that I'd locked myself out before I could complete the chore. 

She grabbed my ear and led me crawling behind her to the center of the yard.

Swat! Down came her open hand on my ass. There came another swat and then a dozen more. I was close to tears. She stopped abruptly and ordered me to stay on my hands and knees. After a moment, I heard her voice next to my ear.

"That was for not taking out the trash. This is for locking yourself out of the house."

I struggled to hold my place on hands and knees while she sprayed me with the garden hose. The first few seconds brought a stream of the hot water warmed by the sun all day. Suddenly, the water turned ice cold and I trembled and shivered from the icy water.

"I want you to stay just as you are until you are dry. Knock on the door when you're ready to come inside."

It was getting late and the sun was fading. When I no longer shivered and I was finally dry, I stood up and went to the back door and knocked. She opened the door, looked me over and then rubbed my head.

"Your hair is still wet. Assume your position and wait until you are completely dry. If you knock on this door and fail inspection, you'll spend the night outside." 

She shut the door while I went back to wait on my hands and knees for my hair to dry.

"Sit down;" she said as she finally let me into the kitchen, "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

I sat at the kitchen table and watched her as she prepared the salad. She'd changed her clothes into a man's undershirt and a pair my boxer shorts. I admired her backside, her firm bottom and gorgeous long legs and wondered if she knew how badly I wanted to kneel behind her and bury my face in the cleft of her ass.

Dinner was uneventful, just our normal routine but for the fact that I was stark naked. I offered to clean up and wash the dishes, but she told me she could handle the chore. 

And then, remarkably, she snapped her fingers. I looked up to see her standing before the kitchen sink. Her eyes were on the dishes, but her finger pointed to the floor behind her. Her boxer shorts lay in a pile at her feet. She deftly kicked them out of the way. 

I didn't stop to wonder if she'd read my mind. I fell to the floor behind her and was prepared to dive into her when she curtly said, "No licking, no sucking; I want tender kisses on my cheeks. Of course, if you'd rather not..."

I was following orders to the letter when she turned away. A short, "Stay" and I knelt where I was until she returned to the sink. I resumed my task until she said, "Come." 

I followed on hands and knees and began kissing her ass again. I focused on the spot where her butt cheeks meet her thighs and brushed my lips across their silky soft skin. 

The sight of her naked bottom as she stood on tip-toe to place pots and pans on the top shelf of the cupboard was more than I could stand. I don't know how I was able to do as I was told and not search out her soft blonde pubic hair and taste her power over me.

She was busy with cleaning her kitchen when she simply said, "Go to bed. You'll sleep in the girls' room tonight."

"Are you going to join me?" I asked plaintively. Gretchen sighed.

"You are not permitted to ask my intentions. Go to bed."

Seven o'clock in the evening, and I was sent to bed.

If I thought sitting in the backyard all day was boring, being confined naked inside the house was an eternity. 

After a few days, I wondered if Gretch would be angry if I cleaned the house. Just as all of her many talents, she takes pride in her domestic abilities. 

It occurred to me that Gretch was always on me to scrub the kitchen and bathroom floors, which I would do, grudgingly and sloppily. When I was finished that day the kitchen gleamed with its new coat of wax and the tiles in both bathrooms sparkled.

I had no idea where Gretchen spent the day. She might be home, hanging out alone in the vault. She could also be with someone. I knew my wife occasionally enjoys doing something outrageous just to stir things up a bit. 

I could only hope that exposing me to her friends wasn't on her list. Well, a least the terror of being caught naked helped to pass the time.

When she looked at my work, she nodded her approval but added, "You'll probably want to clean the carpets, as well." 

And so a new routine was introduced to our household. Our routine consisted of me waiting on pins and needles for her next instruction. 

Sometimes, I was allowed to place tender kisses on her bottom as she worked in the kitchen. 

Occasionally, I was allowed to jerk off onto her milky white bottom as she lay on her stomach on the couch, but usually, if I was lucky (no pun intended) I was allowed to jerk off onto her feet. She ignored me and watched television while I stroked my cock until I shot my load onto her pretty feet.

There were times when I would look up to see her breathing heavily and I would cum in seconds, my semen getting all over everything.

There were occasions when she would stare down at me with a wicked grin and watch while I furiously jerked off my rapidly wilting penis. 

It was the times when I found myself licking my semen off of her feet when she would speak to me, giving me orders for the next day, or some other announcement. 

One night, she told me that I'd been called for jury duty. My heart leaped at the thought of getting out of the house until she informed me 

that she'd taken care of the summons so I wouldn't have to serve. 

Another night, while I was licking the last of my cum off of her feet, she made a startling announcement. 

"I've been thinking, Lucky, that having your naked ass on the couch might be a bad idea. I know you keep yourself shaved hairless and clean, but accidents can happen to anyone, and there's also your dripping pre-cum to consider."

I was overjoyed with the prospect of finally being allowed to wear clothes in the house. She dashed my hopes as she continued. 

"So, I've decided that you will no longer be allowed to sit on the furniture. It will do you good and the carpet is plush and well padded. Don't look so disappointed, Lucky, it won't be so bad, you will see."

With one gesture of her hand, I lay flat on the floor on my back. She stood over me, legs spread and hands on her hips. She gazed down at me in triumph and slowly lowered her pussy to my mouth.

"Forget about my clit, Lucky; you could never find it anyway. I'll take care of my orgasm. Your job is to lick me, lick me with your flat tongue and lap up my juices like it was ice cream melting on a cone."

This is how things were in our household. As for my submissive fetish, I was still waiting for that deliciously nasty wave of shame that washes over me in my fantasies. I learned quickly that jerking off onto her firm bottom was going to be the best orgasm I would have for the time being. I was fine with that. I love to kiss my wife's beautiful ass. I especially love the times when she allows me to lay my face against her soft yet firm bottom. 

I wished she would allow me to worship her bottom completely, diving into her cleft and seeking out the warm wetness of her sex. I would have begged her happily, but I feared her scorn. I would have to settle just to place my lips on her soft skin.

Life wasn't all submissive bliss. It bothered me that while I performed for her, while I followed her orders, I was never sure if each task was a reward, a punishment, simply for her amusement or maybe training for the future. There was no way of knowing and Gretchen wasn't showing any emotions at all.

Another thing that Gretch would do is send me to bed without warning. We could be watching television, when she would quietly say, "Go to bed." Without a word or a kiss good night, I had to go to bed and close the door, which locked me in the room until Gretchen let me come out.

There were times when she would disappear into the vault and leave me on my own. On one occasion, I thought she'd gone to the bathroom. When I saw her again, three days later, she offered no explanation where she'd been. She could have gone to Vegas, for all I knew. She could have a dozen guests in the vault and I would never know.

I was acutely aware of the sound of a certain truck that often drove down our street at night. I could never catch a look, but I knew that sound, and it could only come from Danny's truck.

Danny worked for her family's construction company. He not only made life hell for me as a trainee, he was livid that Gretchen had chosen me over a strong, handsome man like Dan Reynolds. He would love nothing better than steal Gretch away from me. That's why the sound of that passing truck was so concerning. 

I made up my mind that I had to know for certain whether or not the truck was Danny's, and if it made the turn onto the dirt road behind our house. 

Listening for the truck and taking a last, furtive glance for Gretchen, I quietly slipped out the front door and stood on our porch. It was freezing cold and as hard as I tried, I just couldn't crane my neck enough to see the corner. The truck was coming, so I tentatively stepped off of the porch and down to the front walkway.

It didn't matter whose truck it was, because Gretchen had come up behind me and grasped a firm hold of my left ear. She pulled my ear so that we were face to face. She hissed a stern string of German that made my heart pound. 

Her last words were spoken in a quiet, amused tone with a wry grin which seemed uncomfortably cruel. Then she said curtly in English, 

"I'm not going to tell you again; what happens in the vault is of no concern to you."

Gretchen spied one of those throwaway newspapers rolled up with a rubber band. She picked it up and began a staccato of swats to my ass and legs. I hopped and jumped, but I could not escape her swats. I was concerned that our neighbors, although few and spaced apart, were watching and listening to a wife beating her errant husband. 

She was still chasing my jiggling ass while she dragged me into the house by the ear and led me to the kitchen. She swatted relentlessly with that rolled up newspaper. It was surprisingly painful, enough to chase me right under the kitchen table in an effort to avoid her. 

Suddenly, she dropped the newspaper on the floor and walked out of the kitchen. I wasn't sure what to do, so I remained under the table until she finally returned and said, 

"What are you doing under there? Go to bed." I started to pick up the newspaper to put in the trash when she said without looking up, "Leave it."

She was waiting for me when I came out of the shower. She told me to extend my arms and ball my hands into fists. She quickly wrapped each fist with cloth tape so that I was unable to use my fingers or thumbs. She covered each fist with a sock and said, 

"Keep these on and keep them clean. She walked out without another word.

It was nearly twenty-four hours before she finally unlocked the door. I was long past being bored and anxious; I was starving! She had with her a large mixing bowl and a smaller bowl filled with water. She took them both to the bathroom and called for me. Gretch nodded towards the two bowls and pointed to the floor. 

I dropped to my knees and discovered that the larger bowl contained my favorite dinner of pot roast with roasted carrots, potatoes and gravy. Unfortunately, my favorite peach cobbler was sitting on top. 

As the ice cream melted into the pot roast, Gretch turned and said as she was leaving, "I want that bowl licked clean. You will be fed every evening and I want to see your bowl clean enough to use again by the next evening." 

She left me wondering how to eat my dinner without the use of my hands. 

I finally accepted the inevitable and dived face first into the bowl. My bandaged hands were useless for anything but keeping the bowl from sliding away from me. I used my tongue in an attempt to separate the dinner from desert, but it was no use. I wondered how I was going to clean the food off of my face. 

I was terrified of the wrath a dirty towel might incur. I found that by sitting and wiping my face against my knees, I was able to lick clean the remnants of my dinner. This took some time and patience, but I had nothing but time for the week I spent listening to the sound of lumber being unloaded and power tools making their precise cuts.

I'm not sure what day of the week it was when she finally came for me. During that time I'd taken the habit of dropping to my hands and knees whenever Gretch came into the bedroom. 

She told me to follow her and I did on my hands and knees. It took a while, but I became used to applying weight to my balled fists.

Once in the kitchen, Gretch used a dish towel to blindfold my eyes. With gentle prodding and quiet instructions, she led me on all fours into the backyard.

"I've been doing some thinking, Lucky; whatever decision I make about our future together, I've decided that it isn't fair that I have the vault to myself, so I've built you a place you can call your own." With that, she removed the blindfold.

It was a doghouse.



A Dog's Life Ch. 03



It was a doghouse. It dominated the right corner of the backyard. There was no mistaking the classic Snoopy doghouse, painted in the same colors as our house, with a peaked roof and a door with a curved top. If there was any doubt of its tenant, LUCKY was painted over the door of the man-sized doghouse. 

Gretchen never referred to it as a doghouse—only a private place where I could be alone. I knew this wasn't the case, or she wouldn't have attached a wide leather collar that she placed around my neck. I looked down and there, set in cement in the center of the yard was a pile of rusty chain.

"I doubt that you will ever make the mistake of running off again, but just the same, this will remind you why you need to pay attention and do what you're told. I considered one of those new electrical devices, but I prefer the more traditional method." 

It was unlikely that I would forget the chain attached to my collar, for it was large and strong enough to pull a truck. The links were an inch and a half long and a quarter inch thick. I struggled to keep up with Gretch as she led me around the yard. 

"This is where your food will be placed," she said while indicating the back porch. The chain was just long enough for me to climb the three cement steps to reach my dinner.

"This isn't much of tree, but since it's the only tree in the yard, this is where you can lift your leg," she said. "You can do your business back in this corner. I want to see you lift your leg and pee on your tree." I hesitated and she said, "Now."

Just like a dog, I lifted my leg but, try as I may, I just couldn't pee.

"That's okay, Lucky, you can just stay as you are until you're finally able to pee."

Without another word, she ruffled my hair and left me chained to the center of our backyard with my own private doghouse, the house with my name painted across the top of the door.

I was afraid that I would collapse before I could finally piss on that damn excuse for a tree. It was the sound of the sprinklers going off that enabled me to pee. It was just as difficult to aim my stream so that it hit the tree. I thought I heard Gretch's soft chuckle before the back door closed softly.

I can't imagine why anyone would want to live in a doghouse, but if one must, this is the one. Truth be told, it's quite comfortable inside. While it isn't tall enough for me to stand, there is a single bed on one side of the door and a number of necessities for living outdoors on the other. 

There are no blankets or pillows, but it never mattered because Gretchen had thoroughly insulted the walls and roof. I eventually found that the floor had a heating element which kept the doghouse cozy at night. I found the pair of knee pads and wondered if I should feel grateful or scared.

There is a light, and a nightlight to use in case of an emergency when Gretch turns out the night. She could probably listen to me because she always said "Good Night, Lucky," to me over a small speaker installed in my new house.

As the summer progressed, I listened to all of the night sounds. It was interesting, the way my senses seemed to become more acute. I could listen to three dogs barking clear across town, having a midnight chat. Sometimes I was so lonely that I was tempted to bark and so enter their canine conversation.

I wasn't going to mention this part because it shows the amount of control Gretchen held over me, but I might as well write it all down. 

Lying outside my doghouse one day, I saw a stray cat about to use our yard as a litter box. I'd begun to chase after it barking when I realized the insanity of my actions.

I've no doubt that there are people who would love to be in that situation, but this wasn't my idea of being dominated. Nevertheless, my love for Gretchen conquered my fears. I felt a deeper sense of submission because if this is what she wanted, it was my desire, as well. 

Was this going to be my life? Was I regulated to remain in the doghouse forever? Truth be told, I made up my mind, then and there, that if being a dog would make Gretchen love me, I was happy to become her dog. 

The worst thing by far during my summer in the doghouse was that dammed, infernal chain! During the intense heat of the day, the only place to be was in the doghouse. 

The problem with staying inside the doghouse was the chain, which stretched from the center of the yard to the collar around my neck and became so hot that to touch it was to be branded. 

Gretch never considered this hazard while she clapped her hands and whistled for me to come running on hands and knees. But not even Gretch could remain impassive when the links of the chain nipped my balls as I scrambled to greet her.

She had me lay on my back while administering first aid and spoke to me softly, tenderly. She remarked that my balls were already shaved so the Band-Aid would stick. When she was finished, she ruffled my hair and said, "Now, leave that alone, Lucky. You wouldn't want me to attach a plastic cone around your neck, would you? 

I spent a lot of time listening for the sound of Danny's truck, knowing that it was impossible to tell if he parked in our garage. Gretchen had thought of everything when she designed the vault. My doghouse was a simple task for her. 

I could only imagine what might be going on inside the vault. I learned what a cuckold is from Internet porn and it was never a part of my fantasies or fetishes. The thought of Gretchen with another man was bad enough, but this was the man who humiliated me on the construction site. 

This was the man who more than once came up from behind and yanked my pants down in front of the entire crew, Gretchen included. 

This was the same man who put me in a headlock and paraded me around with my jeans and underpants around my ankles so that everyone had a chance to examine my diminutive penis and balls.

One evening, as Gretchen was setting out my bowls, the unmistakable sound of Danny's truck passed by. Gretchen looked up quickly with an annoyed expression that changed when she looked down at me. 

She was silently defiant. She was taunting me, daring me to ask the question that preyed on my mind. When I said nothing, she closed the door behind her and left me to my supper.

I was nearly asleep in my doghouse bed when I heard the sound of people talking. Confused, I looked about and realized that the voices came from the intercom speaker. I heard the unmistakable voices of Gretchen and Danny Reynolds. 

It suddenly struck me that this was coming from inside the vault! I wondered if the intercom had been accidentally switched on or if Gretchen wanted me to hear their conversation. 

"Damn, baby! You're lookin' hot tonight. I could eat you with a spoon!"

"Thanks, Danny; you always look nice, even when you're working on a house. Do you like this new nightie?"

"Nice, very nice, but you know I like satin. This doesn't look like satin."

"That's because it's silk. You said you wanted deep purple with black lace, so it was silk or nothing. Don't you like it?"

"To tell the truth, Gretch, it looks better than satin, but I like the way satin feels when you stroke me with the panties to get me off."

"Did you notice that the little bow on the front of the panties unties and opens the slit down the front? I love it! I can't wait to feel your big cock fucking me through these silky panties."

Gretch was never one to make much noise in our lovemaking, so it was even more emasculating to hear her going on and on about the size of his cock and how it was three times the size of my own. 

I didn't have a pillow or blanket, and I couldn't put my fingers in my ears. I couldn't bear to listen to my wife fucking the man I loathe with such unbridled lust. I breathed a sigh of relief when the intercom was turned off.

I was still crying softly on my little bed when the back porch light came on. The last thing I wanted to do was crawl to her on all fours, but she clapped her hands, whistled and called for me, so I had no choice. I didn't have time for kneepads because it was difficult to slip them on with my bound fists, so I scurried out to meet her at the porch steps. 

She stepped down and told me to sit. During this whole time, Gretch was covering her pussy with her hand. I sat back on my haunches, hoping to please her, and raised my hands to the level of my chest.

"Tilt your head back and open your mouth, Lucky." I did as I was told. I knew what was coming, but that didn't help my fear and dread. She spread her legs and thrust her pelvis forward until she straddled my head. Her pussy hovered inches above my open mouth. 

It was difficult to see in the dim porch light, but I sensed her clenching her pussy until two dollops of what I knew was Danny's spunk dropped into my mouth.

"Swallow," she said, and I did, tasting the salty, oily sperm for the first time in my life.

"Eat it," was all she needed to say. I never dreamed that someday I would be reluctant to lick my wife's pussy, but tears streamed down my face as I lapped up the remains of Danny's cum. Nevertheless, I licked her pussy clean. 

She looked down at me sternly, almost angrily and said, "I hope that answers your question. Now, get back in your house." With that, she went back into the house and probably back to her vault. 



A Dog's Life Ch. 04



A rare break in the summer heat brought the temperature down to eighty degrees the next day. Gretchen came out and set up her lawn chair and her beach umbrella. She had her crossword puzzle book and seemed settled in for the day.

"Lucky!" she called, "Come and keep me company. There's enough shade for the both of us." Sure, there was, I just needed to lie down on the grass beside her to stay out of the sun. 

That was the moment when the emotions of spending an entire summer sleeping in a doghouse finally came to a head. I covered my face with my bound hands and began bawling like a baby. Gretch didn't say a word; she merely waited until I had cried my eyes out. Her eyes never left her puzzle as she spoke.

"Well, Lucky, you've had quite a summer. Tell me, is this the kind of role-playing you had in mind?"

"Not at all," I sniffled. 

"But you wanted to surrender, to submit completely to a dominant woman. Isn't that what you said?"

"I never dreamed you would take it to such extremes. I don't know how I've made it through the summer."

"But you have made it, and that was because you had no choice. You wanted to please me. You've always wanted to please me, long before we started this silly business. You should have known that I wouldn't be happy unless I took it all the way; that's just me."

"And now you don't love me anymore," I blubbered. She stroked my back softly.

"Lucky, of course I love you. I've never loved you any more or less than I do at this moment."

"You had sex with Danny." She gave a long sigh.

"Danny is a unique situation; you have no reason to worry about him. However, we both know that you are lousy in bed, and not just because of your tiny cock. You have no technique, no imagination, which is why I find all this fetish nonsense such a surprise.

"It's true that I had sex with Danny, and I want you to know that I will take a lover if and whenever I feel like having a real man inside me. I love you dearly, Lucky, but I love you like a faithful pet. You make a better puppy than a lover. If you don't want to be my little puppy, now is the time to say it. Don't worry about money; I wouldn't turn you out without at least finding you an apartment and a car."

"I want to be with you, Gretch, as much as I want you to be with me. Please, let me stay! I'll do anything, be anything you want me to be, just let me stay with you!"

"There are many types of dogs," she continued. "Some are very useful, like police dogs or guard dogs. Seeing Eye dogs for the blind are also intelligent and the dogs they use for security at airports save lives.

"But most dogs are just pets, and that's not such a bad thing. Pets bring love and comfort into a home, but sometimes that cute puppy grows up and becomes too unruly to be in the house. Some dogs are eventually turned out into the backyard. They become backyard dogs, Lucky. They live their entire lives outside. 

"Sometimes it isn't enough to be shut up in the yard. Some dogs need to be chained, as well. Are you ready for that, Lucky? Are you prepared to be a backyard dog for the rest of your life? Do you love me that much?"

This was the first time Gretchen acknowledged that everything she made me do all summer revolved around dogs. I cringed at the word, "dog." It was the way she said the word that made me shudder in fear and, I must admit, excitement. My dick was as stiff as a twig. At last, her despotic demands had become my desires. I didn't hesitate to answer.

"Gretch, honey, I am yours to do with as you please. Make me into whatever you want. I'm happy just to be with you. I'm content just to love you as much as ever, if you will share that love with me."

"That's nice, Lucky. Well, since you've spent the entire summer as a dog and you want to remain as my pet dog, there is only one thing left to complete your training."

Gretchen shifted in her chair so that she was sitting facing me. Her legs were smooth and tan. She looked down at me and finally, after enduring an entire summer of wondering just what was going through her mind, she gazed down at me with a look of satisfaction.

This is going to sound strange, considering all of the humiliating, emasculating tasks and punishments I experienced that summer, but I knew that the act she wanted me to perform would seal her dominance over me. 

She was staring down at me with an amused but stern smile on her face that grew crueler as I performed my final task to become her pet. Her eyes never left mine as I performed for her.

All things considered, it should have been nothing for me to straddle myself over her right leg. She became quietly verbal as she gave me instructions. Her eyes held me in her power, her voice brought me chills.

"That's it, Lucky; wrap your forearms together under my knee. You know how, don't you? Everyone knows how a dog masturbates. Look at me! You'd like to be a dog? You want to be my dog, and be treated like a dog for the rest of your life? 

"Then do it, hump my leg! Fuck yourself on my leg; rub your pathetic doggy dick against me until you shoot your useless sperm all over my leg! Faster, you stupid dog, and keep your eyes on mine. You will have plenty of time to stare at my legs when you lick up your doggy juice. 

"There it is, Lucky, there's the face I want to see. You look just like a dog about to ejaculate."

Living in a doghouse? Not fun. Eating out of a bowl without hands? Not a treat but better than lifting your leg to pee on a tree. 

Nevertheless, all of these things could not compare with the act of humping myself against her leg. Every time she said the word, "dog," I felt that wave of shame, only now the shame was real and not a product of my imagination. 

Gretchen's habit of taking something to its limit had created a reality far superior to my fantasies. Nothing on the Internet could possibly compare to the scenarios Gretchen had spent the summer honing to her perfect specifications.  

At her encouragement, I rocked my pelvis faster and faster, grazing the tip of my penis against her leg until I found one small spot she had missed while shaving her legs. I rubbed the tiny head of my dick against those short little bristles of hair until I came, spewing a copious amount of semen onto her leg. 

As cum burst from my dick, she ordered me to howl. I howled like a dog and not just for her amusement. I howled in sexual ecstasy, I howled in utter humiliation. I howled in surrender to the one who feeds me. I howled to please my owner. 



A Dog's Life Ch. 05



I awoke the next morning and did my usual morning routine, after which I lifted my leg and peed on my piss tree and then crawled to the porch to see if she fed me or if I must wait until suppertime. The bowls were empty, except for the key to the lock on my collar and a note from Gretchen.

"Go inside and take a shower. Use the master bedroom. You will also find your clothes waiting for you on the bed. Get dressed and wait for me in the living room."

My legs were shaking as I entered the house. I realized that I hadn't stood in nearly three months. I was pleasantly surprised when I entered the girls' room. Gretch had turned it back into a traditional married couple's bedroom; complete with a king sized bed. I checked the closet and found not only my clothes but hers, as well.

I felt like a new man as I sat on the floor and waited. Gretch's orders did not include sitting on the furniture, so I waited, wondering what she had in mind. She soon opened the door of the vault and came in the living room with a pleasant morning greeting and a soft kiss on the lips.

"We've got a very busy day ahead of us, but first I want to show you something. Come out to the backyard with me."

So we stood in the middle of the yard and I waited for her to tell me what was going on. She produced a device that looked very much like a TV remote control. She pointed it at my doghouse and the entire structure began to move. With a grating noise, the doghouse turned until the back was facing the front. To my amazement, the doghouse was now a very well built storage shed!

"Before you thank me, I want you to see this." She pointed the device at the structure and we watched it rotate again until it was a doghouse once more.

"Keep this in mind," she said. This is all it takes to turn the storage shed back into your doghouse. I can put you back here anytime I please. It might be a punishment, or I may just want to play with my little pet. Now, we're going downtown for breakfast.

"We have much to do and you will need specific instructions." She returned the doghouse to facing the back corner and said, "Let's go; I'll drive."

We did a little shopping before a wonderful lunch at a little bistro. Throughout the day, nothing was mentioned about the events of the past summer. It was nice. I loved our new relationship, but I was hoping that Gretch apparently didn't see this as a 24/7 arrangement. She dropped a bomb, however, and it was a big one!  

"You'll never guess whose birthday it is today," she said over coffee. My ignorance must have shown on my face as she continued.

"It's Dan Reynolds' day to be the birthday boy."

"Wonderful," I said sarcastically and chanced a question. "Where is it going to be held; in the vault?" I expected a scolding but got a sly look from Gretchen.

"Nope, they're throwing it in the yard." She meant the office and lot of the family's construction company. I was irritated, because everyone knows what a dirt bag bully Danny is and I couldn't believe they were doing this, and I told her so.

"I should explain," she said. "It's a surprise party, and it's being covertly thrown by Dan's former wife and her two sisters. Dan is apparently way behind with his child support payments. 

"Everyone else thinks it will be the usual bratwurst and beer with Grandpa's Um-pah band and polka dancing followed with cake, presents, and the Birthday Song. You know, just the usual routine.

"Dan is tolerated by most, disliked by everyone but those desperate housewives who couldn't resist a strong handsome man. Most of the guests would have rather been anywhere but here at Danny's party. 

"Dan might be an asshole, but he's a master carpenter and cabinet maker, and since our company does restorations and room additions exclusively, Dan is a definite asset to the company. 

Lucky, as you know, the bottom fell out of the local housing construction boom. Because our company specializes in renovation and restoration, we are the only company with steady work. He knows my Grandfather would never fire him. He's been with the company since the beginning. And for all these years he's taken the opportunity to make everyone else miserable. 

It occurred to Gloria, Dan's ex, that it was a two sided sword. "If Dan left your company, he'd be lucky to find a job hanging drywall."

Apparently, Dan had been a dirt bag all of his life. Hmm, I wonder if he's spoken to his former sisterss recently. Gretch had more:

"Did you listen in when I piped the audio in from the vault? The silk panties and nightie we were discussing was Dan's. Danny was wearing the nightie, not me. That was a recording I made weeks ago. 

"It took another two weeks before he would admit that he was into more than being stroked through satin panties. You should have heard him! I'll let you listen to the rest later, but he finally broke down in tears and admitted that he liked to dress up as a woman. 

"He got down on his knees and begged me not to tell anyone that he was a closet transvestite. He lives in fear that he will be exposed. We've been playing dress up since then. He looks ridiculous in his little French maid's outfit, but he does a wonderful job keeping the vault clean.

"Today is his birthday and Danny's past and his selfish ways will soon be addressed, but we need you to do something for us."

"Anything, if it will make Danny's birthday a big surprise! What do I have to do?" Gretchen pointed to the old trees in the back corner of the lot.

"Good, then you see the six chemical toilet booths under the shade?

You will find him in the one with the "Out of Order" sign on the front. He doesn't know it's there and he's terrified that one of the crew will open the door."

"The door locks from the inside; why doesn't he just leave?"

"My guess would be the handcuffs, not to mention the outfit he's wearing, but we need a little insurance, and that's where you come in. We need you to keep him company until sunset."

"Not a problem," I said. "What do you want me to do with him?"

She smiled. "You can do anything you want; that's what he is expecting. What he doesn't know is who will come to unlock the cuffs and bring him his clothes and the keys to his truck."

"Have fun, but keep him occupied until dark." 



A Dog's Life Ch. 06



I took my time walking down the row of port-a-potties slowly and rapping on the door of each one. I gave two an extra rap, just to increase his anxiety. I finally got to the last one with the Out of Order sign and gave the door a good rap. I heard a plaintive voice.

"This one's occupied!"

"How can it be occupied? The sign say's, Out of Order."

"Well, it is!" he called.

"Hey man," I said, "Are you all right in there? Who is that? Open the door, dude." 

God, I was so loving this! 

"Hey man, do you need a doctor or something?"

"No, that's okay, I'm fine, really!"

He wasn't expecting me to grab the door and throw it wide open, and there he stood. He was a sight to behold! I don't know how Gretchen managed it, but Danny stood in the booth, dressed in sexy bra and panties, along with a garter belt and stockings. I could tell that Gretch had picked them, because Gretch always buys the best. 

He tottered in gold satin high heels. His arms were handcuffed behind his back.

He wore a blonde wig and full, gaudy makeup. His earrings matched the ring in his navel and the rhinestone necklace around his neck. They swayed when he turned and found me. 

He said "Oh, thank God, it's you! Lucky, your wife is crazy!"

"Before you say anything more about my wife, you should remember why she sent me here." Dan's eyes grew wide, his false eyelashes fluttered.

"I'm sorry, Lucky! I didn't mean to offend Gretch, but I've been in here all day! I'm just happy you're here. She said she would send someone to rescue me. I'm just glad she sent you!"

"Gretch also told me that you would be willing to do anything to get back your clothes and truck keys."

"I will, Lucky. I swear to God! Please get me out of here!"

"When you say anything, Dan, does that include sucking my cock?"

"Yes, yes, I'll do it! Please let me suck your cock, Lucky!"

"Danny, are you begging me to let you suck my cock?"

"Yes, I'm begging! Please, please, Lucky. I'm begging; please let me suck your cock!"

"Step back so I can close the door." He backed away and I closed the door, leaving it slightly open. Danny was about to object, but thought better of it and shut his mouth.

"Do you want me to sit down on the toilet seat, Lucky? There's room for me on my knees if you want it that way instead."

"Here's the thing," I sighed heavily, "I've never been crazy about blowjobs. They seem like a waste of time to me."

"W-what d-do you have in mind?" Dan asked.

"Oh, I think you know, Danny boy. Turn around and stand in front of the toilet, eyes on the wall." When he was in front of the toilet, I used his cuffed wrists to bend him over at the waist. 

I yanked his panties down and hung them on the toilet paper dispenser. I kicked his high-heeled feet and forced his legs open. His breathing was labored as he waited for the inevitable.

"Danny, the first thing you said when I opened the door was that you were glad that it was me. What did you mean when you said that?"

"I just figured that maybe you're the only one besides Gretchen who knows about my dres—the only one who knows about all this."

"Oh, I think it was something else, Danny boy. We've known each other a long time. You've taken my pants down enough times to know that I have a small dick. I'm thinking that if worse came to worse, you'd rather get fucked by a small dick. Isn't that so, Danny boy?"

"That doesn't matter to me. I don't want to get fucked in the ass, but I need you to fuck me so I can just get to my truck and go home! I need you to fuck me, Lucky! Please fuck me, please!" 

"All right, Dan, you've convinced me that you need a good fucking. The problem is that we both know that you would barely feel my dick up your ass, so I've brought something to help."

When I gave him a slap on the butt with the handle of the hammer, he tried to turn around, but I grabbed the handcuffs and pushed him back to his bent over position. I tapped the handle on his lower back as I spoke.

"Do you remember the time when we were all taking lunch and you came up behind me and grabbed my underwear with the claw of the hammer? That was the all-time worst wedgy ever! You said so yourself.

"Well, Danny boy, this is that very same hammer, and guess what I'm going to do?"

"Lucky please, please don't fuck me with that hammer!"

"Too late," I said. I noticed the two dispensers on the plastic wall.

"I know the green stuff is soap," I said, "But what is this pink stuff?"

Danny said meekly, "I think it's hand lotion."

"Oh, how lucky for you! Get it? Lucky, as in, this is your lucky day!"

I grabbed his cuffed hands and bent him forward until his head was pressed against the wall above the toilet seat. I applied a copious amount of the lotion onto the wooden handle. 

The hammer's handle still had its smooth coat of varnish, so all I had to do was make sure I didn't puncture his lying, bullying, stinking guts.

"Danny, I want the truth. Have you been fucking my wife?"

I teased him with the end of the handle, circling his asshole with the edge of the end. Without warning I shoved it in about six inches and then quickly removed it entirely. He howled in pain, despite the fact that the intruder was gone. 

He was gasping and whimpering, but he managed to say, "Yes, yes, I had sex with Gretchen, but it was only one time! The rest of the time we just played dress-up! Please Lucky! Please don't put that thing up me! I'll do anything!"

"You've said that before, Danny, that's why I'm fucking you with your own hammer. While you've been crying and begging, I pushed it to hilt up your ass."

Sure enough, that's what I'd done. Danny was plugged with the entire length of a claw hammer up his ass! I waited until he relaxed a little.

"Have you done this before, Danny? You've got a hammer up your ass and you seem to be taking it well. Let's see what happens if I give it a turn." 

The handle, with its flat sides and round edges, made a sucking sound as I twisted the hammer. I have to confess that I also loved the sound of Danny's keening whimpers. I loved the sound of his shrill voice pleading to stop, but I wasn't finished with him yet.

"I can't quite get the correct angle, Danny boy, so I need you to put your head in the hole." 

Before he could object, I maneuvered him so that his head faced down in the toilet hole, his shoulders rested on the seat, which left his ass in a perfect vertical position.

I'd planned to tell him just what jerk he was, but with his head down in that hole and his incoherent babbling, he couldn't have heard me anyway. 

I fucked him for over an hour. I would give him a few minutes to rest before shoving the handle back in his ass, pumping it up and down as if I were unplugging a drain with a plumber's plunger. I rotated it around like a joystick until his asshole became a gaping red hole wide enough to hold a baseball. 

I left the handle protruding enough to grab the top of the handle and rolled it rapidly between my palms the way a child would mold clay. I will never forget how his body shuddered and went limp as I fucked his ass. 

His asshole was so loose that I could place the wooden end of the hammer just inside his ass. I then let go of the hammer and watched it slid past his sphincter and down Dan's hole. 

I held him up out of the hole with one hand and gave him another minute of running that hammer in and out of his gaping asshole. I looked at my watch and then removed the handcuffs.

I stood outside of the john and watched him clean himself. He looked up expectantly and I tossed him the truck keys.

"Um, Gretchen said that you would bring me my clothes."

"She did? She didn't say anything to me. They must be in your truck." He timidly asked if I would go and get them.

"Sorry, but I was paid to fuck some faggot's ass. I don't know anything about clothes. I gotta run, Danny boy. Thanks for the fuck. We'll have to get together again soon. I might even let you suck my dick." 

I laughed and added, "Don't hold your breath, Danny boy; I'm not into faggots, especially sissy faggots that dress like girls and take it up the ass in a port-a-john. 

"Sorry Danny, but I just don't like fags, and that's what you are, isn't it? But consider this before you answer, you are twice my size and you've got a hammer. Now, tell me why I'll never let you suck my dick."

Talk about a whipped dog! He dropped the hammer and stared down at his high heels and said, 

"You would never let a sissy faggot like me suck your cock."

"That's right, sissy. Now I really have to go. You can keep the hammer. After all, it's your hammer."



A Dog's Life Ch. 07



"How did it go?" Gretchen asked when I returned to the car. "Did you have a good time with the birthday boy?"

"Birthday girl is more like it. There's just one thing I'd like to know, when you were in the vault with Danny, you kept talking about his big cock. From what I've just seen, it doesn't look very impressive."

She laughed, "That was for you, silly. As for his housewives and divorcees who use him to cheat on their husbands, they would rather be caught cheating with a guy with a big cock than a small one."

"I'll be damned! So, Danny is also a member of the small dick club!"

Gretchen patted my knee and said, "Honey, I hope you understand, but when it comes to small dicks, your's is in a class of its own.

"And I mean that literally. I searched the Web and found a few really small dicks, but they were all attached to big, fat, gross men. I've never seen one on a man your size and honey, it's adorable! 

"You are adorable, with your skinny legs, your sweet cheeks and tiny penis! Why, the first time I saw Danny pants you in the yard, I wanted to put you in my pocket and take you home with me. I've waited for years to teach Danny that no one can bully my little man. That's my job!" 

Blushing, I asked, "What do we do now?"

"We wait until dark. He won't come any sooner, but you can bet that he wants out of here as soon as he can get to his truck. We'll see him first from here, so keep a look out. Then, we signal the others."

I'd spent that summer chained up in the backyard, so I learned to appreciate all of the sounds and smells as day turns into night. I could also discern the precise moment when it is truly night. Five minutes later, I saw him heading towards the office. Gretch flashed her parking likes briefly. 

A few seconds later, the headlights from all of the trucks and cars came on, lighting the entire yard. There was an immediate shout of "Surprise!" and then it was stone silent for a long pause before everyone, including all of the people who had grudging agreed to come to Dan's party, burst out laughing.

It was impossible not to laugh at Dan as he stood in front of his truck dressed in pink satin bra and panties, garter belt and stockings. His garish makeup was smeared and he held his shoes and wig with one hand while he frantically and repeatedly pointed the button to unlock his truck.

"Let me guess," I said to Gretch, "Those aren't his keys, are they?"

"Gretch smiled and said, "I don't think it matters anymore. Take a look."

Panties or no, the party was beginning as usual, with Grandpa's Um-puh band playing as Dan was lifted and carried around the yard. Strings of Christmas lights came on, along with colorful paper lanterns. The long benches were set out and the beer was already flowing.

"Let's go have some fun. I just love birthday parties!" 

Gretchen's family is famous for their block parties, which is what every party eventually becomes. We don't mind; there's always more than enough bratwurst and beer, and it's also a great way to stay on good terms with our neighbors. 

The police always show up around ten. Once someone fixes them a plate and they've had their fill of bratwurst and beer, they turn on the sirens and drive away. It's usually around midnight by the time everyone has gone home. That's the time when an intimate party of friends and family retire to the office.

But meanwhile, the party outdoors was still going strong. Once the guests had a few beers in them, the talk of Danny's attire was forgotten. The accepted rumor was that he lost a bet. 

Danny participated in the activities even though he was the picture of defeat. Always known for his dancing skills, Danny was forced to dance every polka. He was surely feeling the results of the severe assfucking he so recently received. The long day was beginning to take its toll on poor Danny; he could barely blow out the candles on his giant birthday cake.

Gretch and I were sittingn chairs watching as Danny's former wife was making the rounds with a basket of tickets and a roll of stubs. I asked her what they were raffling. 

"Nothing valuable, just the privilege of giving Danny his birthday spanking." I began reaching for my wallet when Gloria said, "Save your money, the raffle's rigged." She giggled and went on her way.

"I'd sure hate to be in Danny's shoes today!" I said. "And I thought I was the town pervert!"

"What makes your situation different than Danny's?" I didn't like the edge to her voice, but I was too relaxed to realize the importance.

"Well, now the whole town knows that Danny is a closet queen. He'll never live it down and he has no place else to go."

"You and Danny have something in common. Apparently, each one of us has a little kink to their libidos, and many people, especially men, look for ways to act out their particular fantasy. There aren't many men who get to actually live their fantasies."

"Can I ask a question?" I asked.

"I see no reason why not; what is it?"

"Why a dog; what made you decide to treat me as a dog and not something else? I would have obeyed you regardless of your wishes."

"I wanted to build the doghouse," she smirked. "Besides, it seemed like a fun way to spend the summer. I also figured that if your love was strong enough that you would spend your life as a dog, I couldn't lose. As for the idea, I was sitting on the front steps one night and I heard the dogs barking."

So, my midnight buddies had ratted me out!

"All of the things I've had to do, especially treating me like a dog, did you enjoy doing that to me?"

"Not at first," she said. "I wanted you to experience true female domination; I wanted to take you past your limits. I never expected to enjoy watching you lift your leg to piss on a tree. Now, it's my turn to ask, did you enjoy being treated like a dog?"

"No, not at all, but mostly because I didn't know how far and for how long I would have to stay chained up in the backyard. I'm just glad that it's over."

"Lucky, I thought I'd made it clear; you are mine to do with as I please. I have no desire to treat you like a dog, but I think that knowing that I can make you do this will keep you in line.

"You've had hours to do nothing but think, to ponder, to wonder; how much time did you spend thinking about your Internet porn?"

"I didn't think about that stuff at all," I admitted.

"That's because Internet porn is just for show, play acting for an hour and then zip your pants and go about your normal routine. It pales in comparison to the real thing, doesn't it? 

"Only you know how long you've entertained these kinky thoughts of yours, but your biggest fear, and the most intense emotion was for me to discover your secret. Danny's fear was to be publicly humiliated. As we speak, Danny is living his ultimate fantasy."

"I could do the same to you in a minute," she said. "All I need is this." She dug into her purse and produced a green tennis ball. There was a wicked smile on her face. My heart began racing.

"Are you telling me that if I threw this ball and told you to fetch, you wouldn't get down on all fours and go chasing after it and then drop it at my feet?"

I caved instantly to her power. "Woof," I said softly.

She held it in front of me and said, "You don't have to crawl, but I want to see you fetch this ball. Go get the ball, Lucky! Go get it boy!" 

She threw it toward the corner of the lot. I jumped up and started after it, but I couldn't see where it went. Isn't that the purpose of the ball's green color, to be able to see it better? Then, I heard a sound I'd never heard before. Gretchen was laughing!

I've seen her smile, watched her grin and even an occasional chuckle, but there she was, laughing like a hyena! I didn't have to ask what she found so amusing. I saw the tennis ball, still in her hand. Gretchen made me fall for the oldest dog trick in the world!

I stood there, flabbergasted. I should have been angry, but the sound of her laughter and the love displayed on her beautiful face are the reasons why I played along with the joke. She laughed uproariously as she pretended to throw the ball. I had almost resigned myself to being teased when she actually threw the ball! 

"Nobody is paying attention, Lucky. Go fetch my ball." She was still laughing as I walked across the yard in search for her green tennis ball.