A Dog/slave Weeend

36

There were long moments of silence between Valerie and John/Frisky as she drew from her joint, smoke reaching his nostrils through the doggie hood she had locked on his head. Finally, since it seemed to him that the Great Bitch Valerie had no aversion to his using human speech at this time, he simply asked, "Why..?"

She giggled. Then was silent.

Shortly after John/Frisky had lost track of his thoughts once again and forgot he had even asked 'why,' Valerie responded through the murky but comfortable haze of the marijuana. "Have you ever wondered why a good looking girl like Ash is still single?"

John/Frisky scrambled to get his thoughts back to his question.

Without waiting for a reply Valerie answered her own question. "She chases off all of the men she gets involved with. She just keeps taking and taking, more and more. She's a control freak."

"You are too," he said, preparing to reap her wrath.

Another giggle. "Yep. Only I recognized it. Masked over the top of it. I give Randy the space and control he needs to be a husband and father. And I bite my tongue, my lip and everything else to keep the peace." Valerie sat for a moment, then added, "It's not perfect. He calls me out sometimes to curtail my issues."

"Ashley can be a handful..."

They both laughed.

"Randy and I have been on the verge of divorce several times. But I always manage to rope my control issues in."

John/Frisky rattled the shackles and locks holding his front paws directly to his back paws in front of himself. "Rope..."

Again they both shared a laugh.

"Okay," she finally said, "Now we're just being silly. Don't forget your place, puppy."

This brief mutual reciprocity was too good to be true John/Frisky knew, and hushed himself up.

"Ashley doesn't want you to be Randy, she just wants a man like Randy. But she's taken control of where you work...worked... Took control of your paycheck and paying the bills. You stand down while she makes most of the major decisions. You've lasted with her longer than any other guy." Another slow, smooth hit on her joint. "But," she held her breath and then breathed out, "But she doesn't want her control so obvious that you are her dog/slave. No, no, no. She wants a prim and proper hubby."

John/Frisky shook his head slightly under the hood in agreement. Valerie got back up on her feet, knees popping in protest. She shuffled out of the shoe closet for a quick moment coming back with a small, black ashtray in the palm of her hand. She let herself back down to sitting next to him. "Let me ask you," she said, shifting her weight onto her shoulder against the wall, "you used to look at yourself in the mirror and call yourself ugly. Didn't you?"

It was true. Yes.

"You're not a bad looking guy," she said. "Quite handsome, in fact. But you're so reserved. So held back by your own lack of confidence. You will never be a man like Randy."

Again, true. John/Frisky admitted he would never be any more of a man than he had fought tooth and nail against his issues to actually become.

Valerie put her joint out in the small ashtray, the dying embers releasing their final gasp of life in a puff of smoke. She put the palm of her hand against his cheek. "It's alright not to be like Randy. Or even a man Ashley wants. You've lived a life of rejection, uncertainty, and internal turmoil, fighting against your true nature. What you are."

He wanted to fall back into the depths of the dog mask, the deepest, darkest part so that he could just disappear.

"This last week has been fun for me. Maybe I did take a few liberties with your bondage and obvious mental space. It's been good for me to have a place to channel my control issues. And it's eased up Randy and my relationship on another level."

With one eye closed John/Frisky looked up and out the eye slit as if it were the mouth of a deep, dark well high above him, the outside world unaware of him down in its depths.

"Of course, I couldn't tell him what has changed all of a sudden." Valerie dropped her hand, grabbed the ashtray with the unsmoked portion of the joint resting at an angle, and carefully she stood back up. "Are you getting hungry, boy?"

"Uh-huh," John/Frisky mumbled.

"Well, I can't take you out to the kennel until after the kids bedtime." She reached down, raked across the top of the hood with her fingernails, and stepped out of the closet saying, "I'll be right back."

But she wasn't. In fact, John/Frisky thought that he had actually dozed off for awhile waiting for his captor to come back with promised nourishment. He thought he could hear Valerie through the walls, muffled yells in a mommy's voice.

She did come back, setting a purple, plastic bowl down in one of the shoe holders. She then unfolded a newspaper and laid it out on the floor. Valerie reached in her pocket, pulled out a small key and reached around the back of Frisky/John's head. With a snap the lock opened. Valerie unlaced the string opening air pockets in the hood until it lifted easily from his head. "Now," she said, holding another key up between her thumb and forefinger to his eyes, "I'm going to unlock you so you can get on all fours and eat. You stay in here. No noise, Frisky. No nothing. Understand?"

John/Frisky nodded.

"Good boy." She dropped the purple bowl down to the floor in front of him quickly returning to her towering position over him.

The bowl contained half eaten cold bacon strips, scrambled eggs, two slices of toast, a piece of pizza with two small bites out of it, and a partly eaten apple that has since gone brown.

"Mmmm... Nummy," she laughed, turned and left leaving the light on and the door closed tight.

What he really wanted, he realized, was a bowl of water.

Not much more happened that night in the way of verbal exchanges between the two. Valerie had decided before taking Frisky/John back out to the kennel she would make use of his tongue one more time. Her toys for when Randy was away were becoming further and further shoved to the back of her panty drawer. For this she was not upset for a living, breathing tongue could do for her things the plastic and battery powered could not. Things like completing a power circuit of electricity of which she could draw upon whenever she needed. It wasn't sex. Certainly more than mere oral pleasure. Much more.

Not needing to see if the gate to the kennel cage was locked when he woke because he watched her re-lock it last night, John/Frisky rolled over and decided to catch another few minutes of blessed sleep. The war-torn blanket he lay upon insulated him from the ground as it had chilled off the night before.

In and out of sleep like the random thoughts randomly assembling themselves for his inspection, he wondered if this was what retirement felt like. Not worrying about another day at work, trying to blend in, not make anyone mad at him for stupid mistakes due to his inability to focus for long, he felt little anxiety if any at all. He was secure in his bondage. Very secure. Focusing on the subtle taste of his Owner still fresh on his lips the subtle noise of the morning meal rolling up the walkway made him sit up.

"Morning, dog," Manuel said to no particular caged animal in general, as there were two others. Tails wagging in contradiction to his own lack of one, the other dogs welcomed their breakfast. Then it was John/Frisky's turn.

"You missed supper, dog," Manuel said, "You eat in the house?"

"Yea."

"The madam herself feed you?"

"Yea."

"She spoil you," he said through the chain link fence, dumping another spoonful of dog food-- or was it refried beans or chili-- into John/Frisky's bowl. "Ruin you. Make you bad dog/slave."

Slowly lifting his locked paw and chains John/Frisky said, "I'd hardly call this role play. Whatever she makes me, it's for real. It's not as if I can just waltz out of here."

"No, you can't," the Mexican chuckled. "And there is always time to fix you."

"Where..." John/Frisky started to say, thought better of it, then declined to ask any further as it wasn't his place as a dog.

"...Is the Hagan lady?" Manuel finished for him.

John/Frisky was almost embarrassed for even thinking it, much less starting to ask it.

Manuel bent down and slid the food and water under the locked gate. The grind of the metal dog bowls over the loose dirt somehow made the food less appetizing. "She drops her children off at school this morning after having me load her golf clubs in the Cadillac." He stood back up and adjusted his pants about his waist. "Probably going to lunch, too, with her friend. Not my place to know. Nor yours."

"So tell me," John/Frisky hesitated to ask, but did anyway, "how can I... You know... Be a better dog/slave?"