Good Girl

So Donna had to work last weekend. I'd been looking forward to spending time with her, have a nice dinner, maybe see that play that's being held at the theatre by the park... but no, it didn't happen and I was disappointed. She promised that she'd make it up to me. She will. You see, she's more than just my girlfriend, she's my submissive, and tonight, I'm going to turn her into my lap dog.

I'm at the pet supply store, and I can barely contain my erection as I look at all the wonderful paraphernalia I can use on her. First on my list is the wire cage. She ought to be able to fit into this one, and I can secure it with one of my warded padlocks. Here's a nice stainless steel doggie dish, the kind that doesn't tip over. It's got two sides, one for food and one for water. Perfect. She already has a collar, of course, but it's a nice leather human collar, meant for a slave girl. She needs an actual dog collar, because tonight she's my doggie bitch.

One of these 15" jobs should do, but it's a little long. I'll need to trim it down and punch a few more holes to make it fit her. I briefly consider a choke chain, and oh my god this one has little spokes on the inside! No, I can't use this thing- it's meant for an animal with actual fur and lots of loose skin around its neck. This would injure her. The smoother choke chains are no better. They're still not safe and I don't think I could even get 'em over her head. Never mind. I'll yank her around by the hair if I want it to hurt. And if I want something cold and uncomfortable against her skin, I'll use the chain leash, not one of these nylon or leather ones. The doggie collar with the heavy ring in front is perfect. She gets the humiliation of being deprived of her regular collar, and I get her on my leash anyway.

Other stuff... oooooh chew toys. Some of these would be perfect to gag her with, if I rigged them with a strap to go around her head. This one's the right size for a bit gag. "Nylabone." Liver flavored. She'll hate that. Hee Hee Hee. I'll get this rope one, too, a rag-bone for her to bite down on when I'm spanking the crap out of her. Oh, shit, a little squeaky rubber hamburger! I'll leave that in her cage. How fucking humiliating. And you know, some of these things look like they'd work pretty well as dildoes. Look at this one. Budda-Bone. Christ. There's one, the "Galileo," that's going right up her ass.

My cell phone rings. It's Donna.

"Hi, sweetie, I was just thinking about you."

"Aw. That's nice! I ought to be done around five-thirty today. So, if I go back to my place and take a shower and change, I can meet you for dinner by, say, quarter to seven? I was thinking about Thai."

"Actually, dear one, I had something else in mind."

Dead silence. Just for half a beat, until she realizes what's up. I'm sure she can hear me smiling.

"Hang on a minute." She mutes the phone with her hand and excuses herself, there's a rustling as she moves until she has a little privacy. Then, "You... you're not going to punish me for standing you up last weekend, are you?"

"Just be at my place no later than six fifteen. Come right from work."

"Honey, I had to work. I couldn't help it."

"Donna."

She sighs. "I did say I'd make it up to you."

"You certainly did, dear one."

"i was bad, wasn't i?"

"You tell me."

"i was a bad girl and i need to take what's coming to me."

"That's right."

"Master will give me what i need."

"Yes I will."

"thank you, sir. i'm looking forward to it, sir."

"I'm sure you are. Six fifteen, not one minute later."

"yes, sir. thank you, sir."

We hang up. I love the way we can slide into and out of our playtime-roles just like any other part of everyday life. I also love the fact that she's getting all hot-n-juicy anticipating an hour or two chained to the block by her wrist and ankle restraints. Or maybe she's imagining that I'll have her trussed up in rope. She's almost certainly thinking about the flogger and the crop. Oh, I just LOVE surprising her.

Alpo. Oh God, Alpo. Mighty Dog. Purina. Jesus Christ. I'm almost ready to come in my pants. There's a stake and a runner-line to tie her up outside in the back yard. A pooper-scooper. It's a good thing for her that I live in an apartment. If I had a house, I'd make her do it for sure. Hmmm. Kitty litter? Nah, that's out of theme. I'll leave that whole aspect of it alone, this time.

There are a few other things I need at the grocery store, but before I go, I see one of those machines that lets you carve your name and address on a tag for your pet's collar. I pay for the gear (and thank the stars that I didn't go to the Fetish Emporium or XXX-World this time, 'cause those places cost a fortune), and I also get some tokens for the tag machine. I go over and type in "DIRTY BITCH," which the machine engraves into a large bone-shaped tag. I also get a different one for her regular slave collar, which I'll give her when the evening's festivities are complete.

In the elevator in my building, my neighbor Sylvia from down the hall looks at my stuff and raises her eyebrows.

"You're getting a dog? We're not supposed to have them in the building."

"Oh, I know. All this stuff isn't for me. It's for Donna."

"Oh. What kind of dog is she getting?"

"I'm not sure. I know she likes Golden Retrievers."

"They're pretty dogs. Sweet, too. Good with kids."

"Are you asking if I'm going to make an honest woman of her, again?"

Silvia blushes a little.

"Sorry. I know it's none of my business. It's just that you two are so great together."

"Oh, I know it. And don't worry, she's as honest as the day is long."

She smiles and the elevator opens. She carries my groceries for me while I lug the big cage and bag of doggie stuff. Silvia's a nice lady. I'd even call her a friend, but I have to be careful around her. I get the feeling that she'd be really freaked out if she knew what goes on between me and Donna. So far, Silvia only knows that Donna likes to be "a little loud." Early on in our relationship, before I started using gags regularly, Silvia told me that she almost called the cops about the yelps and screams coming from my apartment, until she cornered Donna and asked if she needed help.

I'm almost disappointed that Donna's not late. It's only eleven minutes past six. She's flushed and a little sweaty, carrying the nylon bag containing her collar and restraints. I can tell that she practically ran here. She drops to her knees, spreads them as far as her skirt will allow, straightens her spine, casts her eyes down and raises her arms, folding her fingers together behind her neck with her elbows wide open like wings.

She's too well trained. It's definitely time to shake things up a bit. I stand in front of her, not speaking. She knows she's not allowed to speak first when we're playing. She also knows I'm sprouting wood right in front of her and I'm very likely going to make her suck me off as soon as I get her out of her clothes.

"Normally, Donna, I'd ask you if you were ready for your punishment, and you would say 'yes, sir,' and I'd get you naked and choke you with my cock and make you eat my come. Then, I'd tie you up and whip you and eat you out until you come really hard, and then I'd fuck you. That's not going to happen tonight."

She almost starts to speak, but I grab her face with one hand and squeeze her mouth into an astonished pucker. I force her to look me in the eye, which is not something I usually do.

"Last weekend, you blew me off. I know you had a good reason, but reasons don't matter. That's NOT the kind of thing that you do. You're a BAD GIRL. You behaved like a bitch, and so now I'm going to treat you like a bitch. Don't try to respond, or tell me you understand, because a bitch is a DOG, and DOGS CAN'T TALK."

I let go of her face and step aside. She sees the cage and the bowl and starts to shudder, her eyes shiny with tears.

"Dogs don't wear clothes, either, bitch," I whisper in her ear.

Her hands come alive, struggling out of her work clothes in a hurry. She must have already taken off her panties in the car on the way here, anticipating our regular arrangement. As soon as she's naked like an animal, she reaches for the nylon bag with her collar in it. I kick the bag out of the way.

"That's your human collar. You won't need it. You'll wear this one."

I hold her new doggie collar in her view, just long enough for her to read the "DIRTY BITCH" tag. A soft yelp comes from somewhere deep in her throat as I buckle it roughly around her neck and push her down onto all fours.

"STAY."

I take my dinner out of the bag it came in- it's carry-out Pad Thai, of course, even though Thai isn't my favorite, and we both know it. Before I put it on a plate, I pick up her bowls, run water in one, and put it on the floor next to the table. She's smiling. Then I take out the can of Alpo and her smile vanishes like a fog in the wind. It's not really Alpo. I took the label off the Alpo and glued it onto a little single-serving can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, but she doesn't know that, does she? I pop the top and dump the can into her dish, then set myself up with the Pad Thai and a drink.

"Eat up, girl. It's suppertime."

She crawls over and reluctantly sniffs her dish. She looks up at me, hungry for the peanutty noodles on my plate.

"Don't beg for scraps until you've cleaned your dish."

I try not to stare in amazement as she obediently lowers her head. She lets out a sob of genuine human desperation before she finally leans down into the bowl and starts licking at her "dog food." After a moment, I'm sure she's figured out this particular mindfuck and she's chomping away, stopping only to lap up some water. I settle into my spicy noodles and when I'm about halfway done, I feel the weight of her head as she rests her chin on my lap. She's looking up at me with her big, sad puppy-dog eyes. There's brown sauce all over her face. Her bowl has been licked clean.

"Atta girl. Now beg. BEG."

She leans back on her haunches and tucks her hands down as she holds her wrists forward. It's the right pose, but she's looking at me quizzically. I notice that she's got some sauce or water in the longer strands of her hair, where they dangled down into her bowl. Her face is still a mess.

"Not bad, but you're posing. Convince me that you mean it."

She opens her mouth and lets her tongue loll out, panting in short, rapid huffs. There's a little bit of voice behind each pant. I keep looking at her, making her put on a show. She smacks her chops and whimpers. Good. She blinks and her breathing is getting faster. Then, she opens her mouth again and lets a trail of drool slip down her chin. Brilliant. That deserves a noodle. She wolfs it down. I dangle the next one above her head. She almost rises to get it, but I put one hand on her head and shove her back down.

"NO. Keep begging. BEG."

She looks at me, eyes wide as she settles back into her doggie posture, remembering that she can't stand. Her mouth opens and a sound comes out:

"Whuuuf!"

It's not a dog bark. It's a human bark. It's not a word, it's somewhere between a startle and a cough. She looks as surprised as I do. I don't think either one of us knew she really had this in her. I let one end of the noodle fall into her open mouth. The other end swings down and sticks to her chin and jaw. She slops it into her mouth with all the right noises, not using her hands. I dangle the next noodle over her head.

"Speak!"

"WhUUf!"

"Good girl."

She gets that noodle and I put the rest of my plate on the floor next to her bowls. She eats the rest face-first, and goes back to lapping her water to wash it down. It's not the spiciest Pad Thai I've tasted, but the effect certainly does build up after a while.

I turn on the TV and put myself down in the couch. Donna crawls over, expecting to cuddle up next to me.

"NO. You're a mess." I jump up and grab a paper napkin, wiping the goo off her face in rough circles. "Besides, you know you're not allowed on the furniture." I grab her by the collar and lead her to the cage. At the door, she balks.

"C'mon, get in there."

No movement. She pulls back at her collar. She's ready to start her struggle.

"Do you need to go OUT?"

She pops her eyes wide open and a look of horror shoots across her face. Would I walk her, naked on a leash, out into the street and make her pee on a fire hydrant? Would I really do that?

"Walkies?" I say, jingling her leash.

"smoke," she says.

Now there's a word I haven't heard in a good long time. If she says "fire," then the whole scene stops, we bail out of role and I start attending her like the good boyfriend I am. But "smoke" means "whoa, that's my limit right there, so tread lightly!" If I don't hear that word once in a while, I'm not doing my job as a Top. I should consistently push against her boundaries at least a little, open her up and constantly expand her experience. So tonight, I'm on the right track. But no walkies, not this time.

"Okay, get into your cage. You're going in if I have to fucking drag you."

She is putting up a fight, pulling away and whimpering. She really likes this. I eventually wrestle her in through the little door and slam it closed. Once she's in, she tries to turn around. It's a little small, so that's not easy. I know she wouldn't even think of using her fingers to work the latch open, but we both know she COULD. So, I throw the padlock on it as a little extra mindfuck as I walk away to take care of the dishes. As I finish rinsing 'em off and shut off the water, I hear her little rubber hamburger squeaking away.

I sit and watch TV for a while, ignoring Donna in her cage. She seems content to play with the squeak toy for a while and be a good dog. When I get up to go pee, I retrieve her nylon bag from where I kicked it and put her new tag on her slave collar, being careful that she doesn't see it. I leave that in the bedroom and go back to the couch. After a total of about forty-five minutes, Donna starts to whimper and whine. Okay. Time to play.

"What are you complaining about, bitch?" I walk over to the cage and she eagerly paws at the wire mesh, panting. She's good. If she had a tail, it would be wagging.

"You want to come out of there?"

She whines and somehow thumps. Her eyes are shining and she's panting again.

I take out my keys and open the lock. "Okay," I say as I throw the latch and open the door, "but just so you know, in another few minutes you'll wish you were right back in there." She's already bounded out through the door by this point, and is stopped by worry.

"You see, you ran away from me last weekend." I clip her chain leash to her doggy collar and drag her into the bedroom. She's fighting it, trying to dig her claws into the carpet, but we both know she can't win. "You're a BAD DOG." I jerk her head down until it's almost touching the floor, and secure the leash to the foot of the bed so she can't get her head up.

I roll up a newspaper from the table. This won't hurt her nearly as much as the crop, but at least it's new, and in theme. I grab a fistful of her hair along with the back of her collar, stand alongside her and wallop her ass again and again with the newspaper. It makes a lovely WHOK WHOK WHOK WHOK sound, louder than I expected, and it seems to make up for its lack of "sting" with plenty of "thud." She's making raspy sobs, feeling her collar drawn tight against her throat, feeling her hair pulled and pinched, and feeling the whupping her poor ass is absorbing. If she had a tail, it would be tucked down between her legs.

"BAD DOG." WHOK, WHOK, WHOK, WHOK, WHOK, WHOK, WHOK, WHOK.

The newspaper is starting to fall apart. Her ass can take this kind of abuse, but the paper can't. I drop it and continue with my bare hand.

"BITCH." SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK.

"YOU DON'T" SMAK, "RUN" SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, "AWAY!" SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK!

Tears are pouring down her face. She's almost choking. Her whole body is covered with sweat and she's heaving like a racehorse. She's almost there.

"I LOVE YOU." SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, "SO DON'T," SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, "FUCKING," SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, "RUN," SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, SMAK, "AWAY!"

It's not a doglike scream that comes from her mouth. She's not in control anymore. I jam the Nylabone gag between her teeth, stretching her lips tight, and secure it behind her head with a hard knot. I reach back to check her and she's wet as a goddamn tidal wave.

"Jesus Christ. Look at this. You're in heat. My bitch is in heat. No wonder you've been acting up. No wonder you've been such a bad fucking dog. You're a bitch in heat."

I get the Galileo. It sinks into her cunt all the way, drawing a monstrous groan from my lovely bitch. I jam it in and out of her, making sure to hit all the good angles. The bone actually seems to absorb some of her cunt juice, and it makes a wonderful splorching sound with each plunge. Between her sweat and her cunt juice I think her asshole might be wet, but I'm sure it's not wet enough. My other hand reaches for the big bottle of K-Y liquid.

I notice that if I pinch down on the Galileo, I can feel that it's just a little bit spongy, and there are hard bits inside, giving it texture. Neato! I slop up Donna's butthole with the KY, sticking in a finger to get the inside, too, and I pull the Galileo out of her gaping pussy. She whimpers, then feels the pressure against her ass. She leans forward and relaxes, pushing out with her ass, opening it up. As I work it in, she can't help but pinch back on it every so often and she actually almost squirms her ass away, once.

"Take it. Good girl. Take it."

She's a good girl. She takes it, all the way up to the joint at the end, which I leave dangling out of her. Then my left hand goes under her pelvis, palm up, with my thumb going into her cunt. I press my thumb down, in towards my palm, putting a lot of pressure on her delicately ridged G-spot. She grunts. That's almost enough. My right hand goes under her, too, and I pinch her inner pussy lips together and pull on them. I work both hands back and forth until I feel her ready to go.

"NOW. Go NOW."

Her orgasm is a gasping, heaving, bucking of her entire body, and I'm rewarded with an entire handful of cream, which I smear across her face. I take the Nylabone gag off and she licks my palm clean, cupping my hand in both of hers. I unclip her collar and undo the buckle on her doggie collar, too. I hold her, close, wrapped up tight with her until she seems like she's able to form coherent thoughts again.

"You're my Good Girl. Here. You've earned a present."

I take out her slave collar from where I stashed it while she was in the cage. She opens her eyes and sees the new adornment: a bright red valentine-shaped doggie tag that says "GOOD GIRL." She squeals with delight and gurgles and coos as I buckle it around her neck.

"Now, go to the bathroom and clean yourself up a bit. Bring in some paper so I can take the chew toy out of your bottom and replace it with my cock. Your Master needs to come now, so be quick about it."

"Sir, yes! Yes, Sir!"

I send her off with a lighthearted smack on the ass. She'll spend the night here, chained by one ankle to my bed, home, safe, and secure. She's my Good Girl, and I won't let her run away again.