It would have been too easy to label everything that has happened as Stockholm Syndrome. Or maybe some other mental health disorder emanating from four days of mental and physical abuse. I suppose that any shrink would have had a field day with me on the couch, analyzing all the repressed desires and latent tendencies that went into consenting to this elaborate and demeaning roleplay.
For the entire week, I had agreed to behave like a dog.
I had thirty minutes or so to clean out my bottom for the tail-shaped butt plug that was almost permanently inserted in my ass. I showered (a luxury compared to being hosed off in the yard), did my make-up (creating whiskers and button nose), and put up my hair in juvenile poofy pigtails.
And in less than the time allotted, I had already shaken off any semblance of who I was and returned to the pet pad and blankets that I had slept on through the night, waking only to hear my husband fuck the secretary one more time.
I'd barked softly at the door, letting out small, quiet yips, hoping that they would again bring me in the room to act as little more than a fluffer. I knew enough about erotica to have an idea about the whole cuckold fetish and know that I was experiencing the reverse. There was something so sensual about the infidelity, about knowing what a stud my husband was that made me quiver with anticipation every time I thought about him driving his dick into her sweet pussy.
I'd come so far from his first suggestion.
Originally, I had agreed to this idea under duress, convinced my husband would leave me after sending a bunch of nude pictures to a coworker. Of course, it got back to Scott and everyone in the office, until I thought I might have to quit my job and start over. I guess the starting over part actually happened.
Our sex lives had been suffering after ten years of marriage. Part of me wondered if this was just the worst sort of sadism, to push my limits, to have me broken so completely no one would want me.
Only he seemed to want me...
Warmth and affection, filtered through these tiny touches began again. I had started the violation, even if he had escalated it, but now we were almost equally culpable in what was happening. Sure he had fucked another woman, but so had I. Tiffany had made me spend the night, fucking me with a collection of toys, proving to me her superiority.
Not that I wasn't pretty.
Blonde, petite, breasts that were enough to grab, but nothing I could be too cocky about. Tiffany was different, dark-haired, curvy, with wide hips and large, hypnotic breasts. It made me weirdly proud that my husband could seduce such a girl.
I started to feel that this submission was my way of equaling Tiffany's natural gifts. Though I didn't have her natural dominance and overwhelming allure, I would do whatever they told me. Now that we both had stepped outside our marriage, anything seemed possible for the day. I would do whatever they thought for me, no matter how humiliating or degrading, relishing in my new role as a submissive slut.
I didn't have a firm concept of the time, but more than anything I needed to empty my bladder. I whined at the door a little, trying to get their attention, but I had an idea of what they wanted. Before putting me to bed, they'd laid out newspapers on the floor, TIffany telling me that they might not be able to get to me in time before I had an accident.
As I tried to squeeze my legs shut, needing to let loose, I had the feeling this might be their intention. Maybe it was just an excuse, a rationalization for making myself go on the newspaper, but after clenching for an eternity, I gave in to the desperation.
Keep in mind, even with my puppy paws, padded gloves without fingers that velcroed over my wrists, I easily might have made a human decision. I could have used my mouth to free my hands and sat down on the toilet like an actual girl. Instead, I whimpered, whined, and threw my head and shoulders against the door a few times before I finally gave in.
The distinctive sound of my urine dripping down onto the newspaper reminded me of Chinese Water Torture, the sound of each droplet striking the paper hammering into my brain how deep my depravity went. In the closed room, I could smell my urine wafting up from the long streaks over the scattered pages of the Houston Chronicle,
Then I just had to live with the shame, every second my nostrils reminding me what I did squatted over in the corner of the room until Daddy and Mommy decided to let me out.
"Oh poor thing, she had an accident Daddy," Tiffany said.
I should have scowled. I'd been left there for the night. Instead, I rushed up to my Mommy's feet, giddy to see her just like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home. I wallowed in her attention, rubbing my mouth and nose up against her porcelain thighs. I started licking at her without really thinking of it, my head craning until I parted the barely closed nightgown and tasted her pussy...
Sticky and sopping with my husband's cum.
"Don't worry, you'll get your turn today," Mommy cooed.
She patted my head as I licked desperately at her pussy, the tail protruding from my bottom wagging with excitement. I forget myself, devouring her dripping pussy, so thrilled that my husband had spent so much of himself inside her.
I would have kept at it, had she not pulled me back by my collar.
"Okay, okay, good girl," Mommy said. "It's okay, Daddy and I have plans for you later."
As surreal as it may sound, I was already strangely accustomed to my morning routine. I ate my breakfast (eggs and bacon) from a dog bowl on the floor, gulping down water from an identical dish next to it. Then I was walked into the backyard where I peed on our tree before they took me to work.
There had already been some sort of agreement made with the owner of our reality company. Mr. Johnson had cleared out the staff and scheduled appointments only with those who were in on the act. I knew every hand, every face as they degraded me, so far only by doing the odd roleplay scene. I would have to fetch several toys: a knotted up rope, a tennis ball, a squeaky stuffed animal. They would pat my bottom, mocking me, running their hands over my nipples.
Worst of all was seeing the glee my crush took at doing the same thing. Ryan didn't want me because of some emotional connection. Like every other man in the office, he treated me like I was just for fucking and tossing aside, another conquest.
But I was used to being degraded with this now-familiar task. The only part of my day that still frightened me involved the walk from the driveway to the car, where I would be paraded out as the pet for every neighbor to see.
It's not like I knew any of them; well except the neighbor who had helped my husband spank me. Even so, the fact that everyone around would know exactly the way I was used still rocked me to the core. I shuffled quickly towards the car, the cool air-hardening my nipples, worried as always about being approached by the police and charged with indecent exposure or worse.
The hardest part was crawling into the backseat. I needed to cheat a little, using my arm for a little leverage. My butt hung out of the car for a second while I clumsily almost lost my footing, exposing me for just a moment longer. Then Scott and Tiffany were in the car, talking absently while driving me towards the office.
"So they did finish it?"
"Exactly to her size," Scott said.
"Do we have to wait?" Tiffany said. "I'm ready right now.."
"You just got fucked," Scott said. "I'm sure you can wait a little."
I wondered what they could mean, but I did remember Mr. Johnson measuring me like a perverted tailor, making sure he got everything from my breasts to my ass. I couldn't imagine how that would matter and blissfully went back to enjoying the ride.
I did dog things. It was becoming so much more natural, soothing even. I looked out the window, seeing people on the street, not caring whether or not anyone noticed me nude in the backseat of the SUV. The trip passed quickly enough, then I was led into the backdoor of the office.
