Late on Thursday afternoon, after I successfully hunted down my evening meal -- three scents this time; nutmeg, mint, and garlic, Mary put me in the dog pen for the evening. Said she was going out. Didn't say where, or what for, or for how long.
I heard the car head out the driveway, then down the road. I listened until the engine noise faded to silence. I was just the dog, I had to remind myself. It was normal for the owner not to tell their dog where they were going, or when they would be back. Don't take it personally I told myself. Think of something else. I knew I was due a random electric shock in the balls. That was all too easy to think about. My scrotum had already tightened in anticipation, as if trying to shrink away from the electrically conducting mesh that surrounded it. Think of something else then.
I focused on tomorrow morning's adventure instead. My Friday grooming appointment with Karen's Kennels was going to be a first for me as a human pet. I got a little fantasy going about how it might play out. In this fantasy, the young, lovely and voluptuous Millie, my trainer and handler during my original two day stay at the kennels, would groom me, slowly and sexily, and give me a good time to finish. A very good time. She'd pay particular attention to grooming my pubic hair before finishing me off with the 'relief' that I had been waiting a week to enjoy. She'd lather one hand with cream and slowly stroke me, teasing me a bit, before finally allowing me a glorious ejaculation.
Then Millie would put me back in my dog suit, pulling my balls and cock through into their separate tight openings in the suit so they were once again exposed to public gaze though the fine electric conducting mesh that enclosed them. There to suffer another week of sexless, doggy torture.
Working through a few variations on the fantasy kept me going through the evening and into the night. After the random zap to my balls hit, and I had recovered, I crawled into the little doghouse at the back of the pen, feeling a bit sorry for my doggie self. I had only my fluffy toy for company. I gave him a name; Sharkey. I described my ever more elaborate grooming fantasy to Sharkey. I was now giving it to Millie doggy style, I told him. Millie was down on her hands and knees, her soft pink shorts pulled down, exposing her ripe round ass. I, a big black furry dog, was mounted up behind her, my fore paws pressing into her back, all set to violently penetrate her from behind with much growling and grunting, when the glow of Mary's returning headlights reflected across the yard. I heard the car door slam shut, then the front door. Then silence. She wasn't going to say goodnight to her pet dog. Wasn't going to check if he was okay. I settled in for a long Thursday night in the doghouse, refining my good time fantasy with Millie. Adding exotic details.
That grooming fantasy never happened though, because I never did get to go back to Karen's Kennels. Never had that hot, exciting, if imaginary, rendezvous with Millie. Next morning, the scheduled Friday grooming session did happen alright, it just didn't happen at the kennels. Instead, Karen's mobile grooming unit came to me. Apparently that is the most popular option for dog grooming these days, human play puppies included. The dog groomer, driving their mobile grooming unit, arrives outside your home and gets to work on your dog.
For me, the important thing about that particular day, that particular Friday, was not the grooming session. What was more important about that Friday was that it was to be my last day as a dog. Pity that Mary's expenditure on the dog grooming session would be wasted. But, thems the breaks. Have to look at the bigger picture. By ten o'clock on Friday night I would have completed one week as a dog. That was my core contractual agreement with Mary completed as far as I was concerned.
While I had to admit that, of late, Mary was being nicer to me, as her pet dog, I still wanted out. Maybe she got a fright after she saw me get badly zapped in the kitchen on Thursday morning, followed by her witnessing my little 'accident.' Might have finally realised how harsh an electric shock to the testicles really is. Might even have taken pity on poor ol' Useless.
She announced, after I had recovered from my 'accident,' that she would push out the random zaps to one every three hours for the afternoon. She added that on Friday morning she'd suspend the zapper while I was getting groomed. Making it sound like she was doing me a favour. Good of her, indeed. Didn't want to get cited for cruelty to human pets, more likely. Mary went on to promise that after my grooming session, she would reduce the random zap frequency to one shock every four hours. Basically, that would be one zap in the morning, one in the afternoon and one in the evening.
Only half as bad as once every two hours, but still bad. Because a zap to the balls is a zap to the balls and it hurts. It is always at the back of your mind. You have this little mental clock going. Tick, tick, tick, zap? No. Tick, tick, tick, zap? No. Tick, tick, ti..ZAP!!!. Aaagggghh. You are constantly trying to remember where you are in the slot, if you are coming to the end of the time slot and the zap hasn't happened, then you know you must be about to be zapped. At that point it totally takes over your life. You are waiting to have your balls fried, and can think of nothing else. So for that reason alone, I still considered it reasonable to bring the whole pet play thing to a halt come Friday night, no matter now nice Mary might decide to be to her pet dog.
I was also deliberately ignoring the time added on by Mary. All those added penalty days and weeks of dog life. They were just so much faff as far as I was concerned. Not part of the deal. I had said I wanted to do a week as a dog. By ten on Friday night I would have completed a week as a dog. I didn't feel obliged to complete another twelve weeks as a dog just because Mary said I should.
Having survived the original agreed time of a week, it was only proper I argued to myself, for me and for Mary, to bring the pet play experiment to an end. I had a plan. I would bite my way out of the dog suit sometime after ten o'clock Friday night. That was the first step in my escape plan. And the rest of my plan was taking shape. Keep it simple is the golden rule of escape plans. This is not going to be one of those prison escape movie extravaganzas. No extensive secret tunnelling under the wire, no elaborate disguises. Just three steps. One; bite through and remove my front paw mitts. Two; reach behind my back, unzip the dog suit and take it off. I was unsure if the dog head harness could be simply unbuckled at the back or if it was locked in place. No matter. Its removal was not critical to the plan. With or without the head harness, I was getting out.
I'd leave on my hind paw mitts on as footwear. Running away in bare feet, over rough ground, in the middle of the night was not a good plan. Three: unbolt the gate to the pen and head off into the bushes, naked, save for the doghouse blanket which I would bring with me. Human again and free again. Job done. Now I could have left the dog suit on, but decided against it for two reasons. The first was cosmetic. I felt that when I confronted Mary I wanted her to see me as a human, even if a naked human. Whereas with the dog suit and the big tail waving at the back I'd still seem like a dog to her. The second reason was more practical. With me still in the suit Mary would be able to remotely activate the cock and ball shockers. No doubt would set them to the maximum level, red, before zapping me. That would probably knock me unconscious. So simply by her pressing a key on her phone I'd be rendered helpless. I'd wake up hours later in dog prison somewhere remote doing twenty years as a dog for attempting to escape my dog life. So no dog suit then.
