A Dog/slave Weeend

26

Valerie came back into the living room with a belt. A man's belt. Her husbands belt. She held both ends of the leather strap in her right hand, the other hand playing with the looped end. She reached down until he could feel the leash being re-attached to his collar. Then a pink slipper bared down on the back of his neck until he was eye level with bright pink polished toenails peeking out of the left pink slipper.

Head down, ass in the air, he was prone to...

Whack!

John lurched forward instinctively to escape the sting. Valerie's foot held firm, the leash tugging on his collar.

He watched her pink tipped toes twitch slightly re-balancing for the shifting weight above.

Whack!

The sharp melody of impact on his bare skin echoed in the open room.

John lost count after the third harsh bite of the leather.

Again and again the belt repeated itself over the same area across both butt cheeks, sometimes injuring new territory at random to expand its target area. Of course John knew they were not calculated impacts, just wild swings in a general area Valerie could not miss.

His head firmly held in place on the floor, the pain in his ass overwhelming him, the true understanding of complete helplessness washed over him. John had little choice but to resign himself to the brash assault by this woman, and in so doing realized he had to relinquish resistance to her. The moment he did, the belting stopped. All that was left were its flaming tracks of pain.

The weight of Valerie's foot removed itself from the back of John's neck, the chain leash dropped onto his bare back. Her pink slippers flip-flopped away in the direction of the master bedroom. John held his position for long moments unsure of what to do. After all, what could he do? He was unsure if it was that realization that had sparked the swelling of tears in his eyes or the lingering pain.

Slowly, quietly John dropped to his right elbow and then rolled down onto his side. How could Valerie feel herself to be so familiar with him that she could open up such a whirlwind of aggression on him? Perhaps it wasn't a feeling of familiarity, but a feeling of superiority.

His blurry eye's darted about the living room of the grand home, lingering on pictures. Pictures of Valerie and Randy, Valerie and her children. Valerie, Randy and their children. Randy's parents. Valerie and Ashley's parents.

How could John ever supply this kind of family life for Ashley when he was in constant confusion about who he himself was? What he was? Valerie had been right about having to fantasize about dog play in order to perform when simply making love to Ashley. She deserved better...

It must have been thirty or forty minutes until Valerie graced him with her presence once again. This time tan sandals adorned her feet as she walked by him to the kitchen. She rustled with the bag.

"Come, Frisky. Chores!"

John got up to his paws and on all fours made his way into the kitchen. What had she done for thirty minutes in the master bedroom? Admonished herself in the mirror for being so bold as to literally beat his ass? Did she shower off to relieve her anger? Was she masturbating in there? Another attachment for his head harness dangled in her fingers.

Valerie again began attaching a broom to the head harness this time. "If you're wondering where your girlfriend is to save you, she's not coming this weekend," Valerie taunted. "If you were that important as a boyfriend, she would have been here by now bringing the keys to unlock you from your imprisonment down on all fours. Don't you think..?"

Yes, he thought, if Ashley cared about him she would be here rather than phoning it in. Had Ashley given up on him? Had he used up all of her good will toward making a relationship work with such a broken person as himself?

Valerie shook the brush to assure its connection to his mouth. Her eyes reflected no regret of her harsh treatment toward him. If anything, there was a spark of superiority beyond her usual arrogance.

"I want this kitchen floor swept. Make a nice, neat little pile in front of the garbage can. When done, come and get me, Frisky, and I'll dispose of it."

The entire kitchen floor? With his mouth? She wasn't kidding. Valerie leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded as he began to drag the broom across the tile with his head. She laughed as she turned back to the counter, poured herself a cup of tea, and left. The TV came to life in the living room.

This was how the world worked. The haves and the have-nots. He was a have-not. Not that if he straightened his life out, his personal mindset, he couldn't achieve greatness too. But John wasn't like other people. His slate of mental issues were hurdles no mere mortal could surmount. He put on a good show for society, mimicking human behavior as he saw it. He even went so far as to copy even the things he didn't understand, just to fit in. And with all of his effort, he still didn't. Was this what Manuel was talking about? Slavery?

With back and neck hurting from the sweeping, John had a tidy little pile of hair, dirt and food bits ready to go into the trash. If he went and got Valerie now she would just put him back to work in another room, but as it was he could just rest for a few minutes. But if she saw him not working what would she do to him? So he crawled to the living room.

"Got it, Frisky?" Valerie said taking another sip of tea while suspiciously looking over the glass at him. Then she got up leading the way back to the kitchen.

"Clean? You call this swept?"

Oh, God...

"My seven year old could pay better attention and do a better job!"

Why had John expected anything other than this reaction?

Valerie stomped over to the small pile of debris ready to be tossed in the trash and kicked at it. Not that it made much more of a mess of it, but that wasn't the point. "Again! Do it-- Again!" Her elegant finger pointed straight down at the mess under her foot. "You want to live like a real person does, but deep down you are no where good enough to be one of us."

She meant it. Every word. Valerie's voice seeped like a black, liquid goo into the cracks and crevasses of his fragile self esteem. Making it ten times worse was the inability to verbally counter her statement as a form of self defense. Her word was final. Those thoughts put out into the universe as a matter of fact.

"Again," Valerie said. "Don't come and get me until you are positive you can deal with the repercussions for the quality of your work." She walked away on two feet.

John again started where he did the first time on the tile. Sweeping slower to assure everything got swept up that could be. Man was not meant to bend so far down with their face. He began to detest his body structure when he realized how easy this would be for a biological dog. The dog/slave in him rose up, no longer being a part of his personality repressed for the sake of society. For his family. Or for Ashley. The dog/slave in him accepted the pain in his neck, in his back as his punishment for being biologically built like a human.

The bristles of the brush attachment drug across the floor. The television played in the background. Each spot on the tile was brushed over at least three times to get it right. Valerie stepped into the kitchen setting the cup down on the counter without saying a word or even looking over John's work. Ignoring him completely she went in the master bedroom.

John looked over his work. The pile of dust and dirt piled twice as high as it was the first time. He didn't want to stop and claim victory just to feel the wrath of Valerie again. But he did. He didn't know what more he could do to clean her kitchen floor.

Valerie stepped back in the kitchen and paused when she saw John sitting there as if done. Her pink painted toe nails were in contrast to the pile of dirt and hairs she straddled. "Is this your pile?" she asked. John didn't look at her, just at the dirt and nodded up and down. "Are you proud of your little pile of dirt?"

Should he be? He wasn't sure of the answer. Perhaps he should be due to the amount of work he had to put in to accomplish it.

Retrieving a dust pan from a nearby utility closet, her knees popped as she knelt down positioning the pan in front of the neat, little pile of dust. "Come," she commanded as John shuffled forward and began to brush the dirt into the dust bin. Her right hand held loosely to the handle as John brushed, and brushed and brushed until she was satisfied it was all picked up. She silently rose and dumped the contents of the dust pan into the garbage.

Before he knew it, John watched Valerie lock the gate to his kennel and wander back down the trail. She was dressed to go out in public, donning her wedding ring once again for all to see, the rock looking more like a ball and chain than anything.

A car started and drove off down their long driveway leaving John to enjoy the slight breeze and the comforting shade of the leaves canvasing the kennel area despite the gag muzzle still strapped to his head..