The phone was far more effective than the alarm clock. The shrill tone was enough to wake even a sound sleeper like my Master. Master's arm made me safe and contented and my aching nipples and ass were constant reminders that I had been well used the night before. I had been up for some times because of the discomfort before the phone rang. My restless hands stroked his chest and abdomen, raking lightly with my nails. After his promise last night that more was to come, I could hardly stand to sit quietly and wait. Rubbing my face against the hair on his chest, I licked and suckled at his skin. His laugh rumbled against my tongue while he listened to his caller. A good pinch to my bum, and I was sent to the floor to wait patiently. Not much chance of that, of course. I slid off the bed with a pout and turned on my hands and knees three times before I curled up on the floor with my tongue lolling from the side of my mouth. I heard the smile when he said, "good puppy." Wagging my bum and heading to the closet on all fours with a bark, I decided to demonstrate what a good puppy I could be.
Master was sitting at the side of the bed when I came back into the room, still talking on the phone and idly stroking his cock. It caught me by surprise again—the pleasure of looking at him. My eyes raked him from head to toe and I licked my lips loudly and mouthed "yum". He is powerfully made and so damn male. His thick cock stirred at my blatant admiration, although the phone kept his attention. Tearing my gaze from it, I turned on my hands and knees to show him my surprise. The leather flogger brushed my thighs and made soft noises when I wagged my new tail proudly. The handle stretched my ass nicely, though not as well as his cock. Even with the generous lubricant it was slightly uncomfortable, but that would pass soon enough. With all the enthusiasm of a puppy, I pranced to Master and nuzzled his thigh. When Master ignored me I panted loudly and growled in my throat, grabbing and shaking the bedclothes to get his attention. I was laughing when he ended the phone call saying, "the dog needs to go out, but there will be an answer by e-mail in the morning."
I was not laughing when he told me to fetch his sneakers and the leash. Wrinkling my nose, I moved on all fours to rummage through the closet. The tail swished back and forth and distracted me repeatedly. When I came back Master was sliding his shirt over his head and I could tell by the expression on his face that I had annoyed him. I dropped the tennis shoes at his feet and smiled hopefully, before going back to the closet for the leash and collar that hung on a low hook. Maybe the fact that I played fetch with my mouth would return the smile to his face. When he sent me to fetch a newspaper, I knew that wasn't the case. I moved as quickly as I could, crawling to the chair where the newspaper was usually dropped after we spent a Sunday morning devouring it. Fast, was all I could think by then, move fast and please him. The newsprint was yuck in my mouth. I bumped my shoulder in a doorway on the way back but didn't stop until I had dropped the paper at his feet. The sneakers weren't on yet. It made my belly hot and tight, seeing his bare feet and jeans. That is so damn sexy to me for some reason. Not that his feet were pretty, they were just his and that is always enough to arouse me. Without being asked I turned so that my ass and the silly tail were high in the air and my nose was pressed to the ground. I did not have to force the little shiver of fear than ran down my spine. I was not worried about the paper swatting me. No, I was worried about the frown on Master's face and why it was there.
"Slave, do you want me to tell you that you are cute with that tail?" I nodded yes and whimpered in my throat, wiggling so the leather made a swooshing sound. "Whiny puppies are never cute," he reprimanded. Ah, I crossed a line when I interrupted the phone call. Ashamed that I had forgotten my place, I waited patiently while he sat and tied his sneakers-- sighing that I couldn't watch his bare feet anymore. The smacks with the newspaper were more noise than pain, but I whimpered and wiggled obediently. When he put the newspaper down I turned and licked his sneakers-- wiggling my whole body and promising with my enthusiasm to be good. Master laughed, a real deep-throated laugh that boded poorly for me. "You don't really think that was your punishment do you? Bring me the leash, slave and a garbage bag from under the sink."
I moved the leash a few feet, so that he could easily reach it and made haste to the cabinet under the sink. Impatient with the dog game, I opened the door with my hands and pulled a trash bag out of the yellow box. An icy fist grabbed my stomach and I gagged a little on my own fear. Only my desire to please him allowed me to move quickly back to the bedroom with the offending item between my teeth. When he took the bag from my mouth I could see how very serious he was. "Are you ready, bitch?" I nodded, and quietly whispered yes. Putting me in a hood was one of his most effective punishments. I hate the feeling of being closed in. The plastic bag was far more frightening to me than the hood he used in the past. When I looked at the floor it wasn't so bad. Of course, Master told me to raise my chin and look forward. His fingers probed until they found my mouth and I instinctively recoiled. Master took no notice as he ripped an opening in the plastic. The space was widened until my mouth and nose were exposed. My body visibly relaxed. The hole was pressed around my nose and two strips came off a tape roll (oh, I know that sound well). The sticky strips held the plastic at my chin and the bridge of my nose. If I hadn't been the bitch in the bag, I would have applauded his cleverness.
I didn't protest when he moved behind me. It felt like the bag was tied in a knot or bunched high between my shoulder blades. Familiar cuffs were put onto my wrists and I was unresisting as my hands were pulled tightly together at mid-spine. There was muttering about puppies and collars before the plastic was wrapped snug around my throat. And then it was very, very quiet-- my chance to adjust to the hot sack. Already my hair was slick with sweat and alarm skittered like a living thing across my skin. Fear filled my mouth with the taste of bile and sawdust. Without my hands, I was completely vulnerable. It did not matter that Master had used the same bondage on my wrists before with blindfold and gag. The small opening for breath was new and frightening. The hot bag blinded me and crinkled ridiculously every time I moved my head. It forcibly brought home that I was owned. My body, my pleasure, even my thoughts were subject to Master's needs and demands. It was the way things were. The way I preferred them. My anxiety receded some as I assumed the familiar posture. I spread my knees wide and arched my back, emphasizing Master's ass and tits. This was what I wanted: to be Master's, to be completely devoted to him. Owned by a man strong enough to impose his will on me so that my own wants melted beneath the compelling heat of his need.
That man was in front of me again, fingers resting at my lips. I obediently licked at them, savoring the salty taste. I had given myself completely to this new game; there was no need to explain. Master knew. He shocked me then, with a kiss pressed hard to my lips and a sharp tug at the ring above my clit-- the piercing I got for him, to show that I was his own. I was pulled to my bare feet and led through the house by his hand at the small of my back. The silly tail made soft noises and tickled my thighs. We were all the way to the smooth tile of the laundry room before I realized what felt so odd. Something kept brushing my knees and thighs. A familiar jingle of metal was enough to tell me the leash was attached to my hood ring. That realization hit me only a moment before the back door opened. 'I have to take the dog for a walk." He'd said that. I thought it cute. Nothing seemed cute to me now.
Even the insistent tug at my crotch couldn't compel me to move. I didn't know my jaw was hanging open until master offered to put something in it. I pressed my lips together so fast that I bit my tongue. I don't know how my shoes ended up on my feet. He was speaking, and I struggled to focus on the words, in spite of the fact that the door stood open. It is odd, that I could tell a thing like that. There was not a smell or a temperature change, but I could feel that there was open space where there should be none. "Do you know what I have in my pocket, slave? I'll bet you are ready to feel them again." I had no idea what he meant, but answered 'yes sir' just before he took my right nipple between his thumb and forefinger and attached the toothed clamp. My knees buckled and I gagged on the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. His hand on my elbow steadied me. I thanked him in a breathy whisper. Impulsively, wanting to please, I begged him for the other. And screamed with the pain once both my nipples were clamped. Clenching my jaw, I rocked and moaned my way through red waves of sensation. The metal teeth were efficient and very tight. It was agony. Not the exquisite pleasure of pain that Master usually gave me. No. Those clamps were discipline and the hurt was horrific and not sexual at all. I was on my knees then; unsure of how I got there. Gasping and panting, with my wrists behind my back, the tension between the two clips was unbearable. I tried in vain to bring my shoulders forward and ease my suffering. His calm words and sure hands soothed me through the worst of it. Calling me his bitch, his whore, his pain slut, stoking the flames of my devotion until I accepted his correction. Rubbing my face against his familiar thighs, I felt the slick plastic on my cheek instead of his jeans. My thank-you was high and breathy, and sincere. Sweet god, I love when he hurts me beyond what I think I can bear.
Back on my feet, I stayed bent slightly at the waist. It eased the ache some. Master would have none of it though, and chastised me about my posture. When I stood straight; trembling and sweating, He tugged slightly with the leash and invited me to shake my tail outside. Hissing and whimpering, I took a few tentative steps. One foot in front of the other, that was all I could think… step, step. Not the tearing at my nipples or the burn in my shoulders. I didn't think about the humiliation of standing in the backyard with a flogger shoved up my ass and a leash attached to my pussy and that hot, nasty bag over my face. I could not think of anything except obeying Master with one foot in front of the other. Worshiping him with my obedience.
His hands forced me to my knees, and grasping my hips, he made me move forward until there was a tension on the leash. The other end had to be attached to something. No matter how I held my head, I couldn't see what that was. The grass itched under my knees. I was vaguely aware that my nipples had adjusted to their particular torture if itchy grass had my attention. "Open." And then more insistent, "Open." Confused at first, I opened my mouth wide. The thin whip slid across my tongue. I licked and kissed the leather. And then it sliced like a razor across my ass. There was nowhere to go and no way to resist. The leash jerked back each time I moved. It held me as surely as an umbilical cord while Master laid his stripes on me with a maddening thoroughness. He had the patience of an artist. Each brush stroke was a searing thread leaving a delicate line of blood red. He ruthlessly prepared his canvas; moving up my back in increments until he reached my shoulders. My arms and hands were indiscriminately marked as well. In the end, he would break me. Then, from raw flesh Master would create a beautiful work that pleased him.
