Tables Turned

'Come join us. Imagine yourself comfortably seated in a soft, cushioned chair in a dimly lit corner of my living room. I myself am in the center of the room, seated in a chair appropriated from the dining room set, my legs languorously apart, my arms draped over the sides. It's a warm spring afternoon, and a light breeze lifts the gauzy curtain at the window in gentle gusts. Given the warmth, I'm sporting a sleeveless cotton top and shorts. What's that? Do we hear a sound coming from the hallway? It's a kind of a low thumping, and it comes nearer. Ah. Look who has arrived'.

Bobby advances slowly into the room on all fours. I consider, as I have each time I see him in this posture, how well it suits him - reduced, no longer to be counted among the upright. There is a look of meek passivity on his face. He stops, facing me, several feet away, head down, staring into the carpet. Yes, it suits me, as well, this facsimile of a base, subservient beast. He is naked but for the collar that he wears round his neck, and the leash coiled neatly and carried on his back. I let several minutes go by as Bobby remains motionless.

In time, I rise from the chair and walk slowly around him.

"Shithead." I say in a low voice. I note a light quiver in his body. This moniker always seems to find its mark, I muse, a small smile on my face.

"How is my little shithead today, may I ask?" standing directly before him. He stares down at my bare feet, my red-polished nails.

"I am well, thank you, Ma'am." he responds.

Ma'am. At first I thought it sounded odd and old fashioned, but I've come to favor it. It's become a requirement for little Bobby to end all of his sentences with it when he is given leave to speak to me. "Yes, Ma'am. No, Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am. I'm so sorry, Ma'am."

He's quite good at not forgetting. Of course, he knows where the belt is hanging within easy reach.

I step to the side of him and bend down a bit. As I suspected, his penis is swollen hard and bobbing about. He knows I am watching it.

Some weeks back, Bobby presented me with a lovely black riding crop. He had wrapped it in gold-sparkled tissue paper and tied a blue satiny ribbon into a bow around it. It has many fine uses, some of which Bobby enthusiastically promoted himself (more on this later, dear reader).

I went to where I'd placed it by my chair and returned. I held out the flat, shiny "slapping" end of it towards Bobby, and he gave it a soft kiss.

Sidestepping, I reached under him with the crop and gave the head of his cock a quick tap. As expected, it jumped to even further attention.

"What is this?" I said, a tone of authority in my voice. Bobby shifted about and began to blush.

"I have an erection, Ma'am. I'm sorry, Ma'am" he said, his voice quavering slightly. This little sign of insecurity (and a bit of fear) in his voice I had begun to see as a marker of how well he was responding to my presence. It never failed to please me, both intellectually and sexually.

I let the crop rest on the top of his shaft as I spoke.

"You're excited by something?"

"Yes, Ma'am." he responded. His breath caught slightly as I adjusted my grip.

I removed the crop, and, walking to the rear of him, I let it slide between his cheeks. I gave a light flick and brought the

business end down on his right cheek.

I continued to do this, alternating one side to the other, all the time monitoring the reaction of his male member. There was no abatement in its level of excitement. I kept at it with the riding crop, always striving for the best "whack!" sound. It's like any pastime, really, that requires finesse; like golfing or making an omelette.

"Explain yourself." I instructed.

"Ma'am, I am excited just to be on my hands and knees before you."

"Hmmm. You like being down there, little boy?"

"It's where I belong, Ma'am." he said, the quaver now more apparent.

"Like a dog?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Just like a dog!" Bobby said with real emotion. He gave a low sob to which I responded with several sharp slaps with the crop.

"Shut up, lowlife!" I said with vehemence.

I strode about him till I faced him. I grabbed a handful of hair and jerked his head up so that we were eye-to-eye.

"If you want to be my dog, you will obey my commands. When I tell you to shut up, do it! Get it, asshead!?"

Poor little Bobby quickly stifled his sobs and nodded vigorously.

"Yes, Ma'am! Yes, Ma'am!" he said.

"Jesus! If you were an actual dog, you'd be looking through the bars of a cage at the local shelter. Looking for a new owner!"

"I'll be good! I promise, Ma'am!"

"Show me how you beg." I said, first removing the leash from his back.

With admirable brio, Bobby raised his torso and brought his hands up in paw fashion. I stood before him enjoying the spectacle. He curved his fingers and made imploring gestures with them. He began to whimper.

Now, the sound of Bobby, (who in a previous incarnation was an obnoxious pain in my ass) making pitiable little whimpering sounds in his throat gives me the most exquisite full-body thrill, let me tell you.

While he was in the throes of his begging, I came up to him and brought my crotch close to his face.

"What does a doggy do when he's excited? He likes to sniff the object of his desire. Isn't that right?" I said coyly, rubbing the fabric of my shorts against his nose. As you can imagine, little Bobby was now in quite a state! He wouldn't dare make a move towards me, but he did begin to intermingle his fervid whimperings with respectful sniffs at my pussy.

"There's a good doggy." I said soothingly, stroking his cheek. "Yes. You're being quite good. Shall I take you for a walk? Would you like that, doggy? Bark once for yes." I said, playfully, and Bobby let out a joyful "arf!"

"Again." I said.

"Arf!" came his happy reply.

I giggled a bit as I attached the leash. Bobby the barking dog. I loved it!

I walked him about the apartment, Bobby following slightly behind me. We stopped at a window that overlooked the courtyard. Mrs Rafferty, the prim and proper lady who helped keep the garden in shape, was below cutting back one of the rose bushes.

Bobby could see over the windowsill, and we silently watched her. Mrs Rafferty is a retired librarian whom both Bobby and I had known since childhood. I petted Bobby's head and allowed him to kiss my hand.

"What would Mrs Rafferty think if, say, she found out you were not the charming, boyish fellow she's always delighted to see, but instead a whimpering, pussy-sniffing mongrel on the end of a leash? What do you think? She'd be surprised, wouldn't she?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

There was a screen in the lower part of the window, and warm air wafted through it, smelling faintly of herbs and flowers.

"Why don't you give Mrs Rafferty a friendly bark?" I suggested. " Go on. Get closer to the screen and give her one of your lively little barks."

Bobby edged closer to the window, and I tightened my hold on the leash.

"Arf!" Bobby barked.

Mrs Rafferty sat back on her heels and looked about.

"Again." I said. "Twice this time."

"Arf! Arf!"

Now the kindly lady was looking all about, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"That's a good dog!" I said, petting him.

"Maybe someday we could invite Mrs Rafferty up here and she can hear you bark in person. Maybe even walk you."

"Oh, Ma'am. Please. I would be so ashamed. Please, ma'am. Please don't."

"We'll see. I think it would be fun. There's nothing exactly illegal about me having you as my dog, you know. I mean, what's the worst she could do but storm off in a huff. And, well... possibly tell some of the neighbors."

"Oh, please, Ma'am! Everyone would know!"

I pulled up tight on the leash and yanked his head back.

"You're whining now. Do you know where that's going to get you? I think you know, little boy! Do you want me to get the belt? Because I'll put welts on your worthless ass in two shakes. Do you understand me!?"

I released my hold on the leash, and Bobby crumpled to the floor at my feet, shaking.

Yes, I thought. He does understand me.

I led the now sniffling and cringing Bobby back to the living room. We had a few things we needed to go over.