45
Valerie stood up and went into the bathroom leaving John/Frisky on all fours in front of the mirror. He dropped his sore ass and lowered his head. The old carpet absorbed his emotional outburst in the form of tears.
This happened. There was no going back before it happened. John/Frisky would have to live with this for the rest of his life, either as a man or a dog/slave. He would never look in a mirror again without seeing his own face while being defiled, reduced in stature to a plaything for real human beings.
Now, listening to Valerie in the bathroom, door wide open as she unbuckled the strap-on, humming some unfamiliar tune, he felt abandoned without her encircling him, smothering him, making a safe space for him to be a dog/slave. Even after the violation of his body he craved Valerie's touch to assure him that everything was okay. But he lay on the floor discarded like a broken toy.
Walking back into the bedroom carrying her purple tote bag she continued to hum, the musical tune still unrecognizable to John/Frisky. She stopped and looked down at him. "Do you feel as pathetic as you look?" she giggled as she put the tote down on the bed and retrieved her purse.
"Oh, shit," she exclaimed. "I missed two calls from the school."
John/Frisky laid there on the musty carpet feeling dirty and used. Valerie sat on the edge of the bed redialing the last call.
"This is Mrs. Hagan, Amy's mother. I missed your call."
"Yes, Mrs. Hagan," the lady's voice over the phone speaker said, "Amy threw up and now she's in the nurses station. Would you or Mister Hagan like to come take her home?"
"Mister Hagan is out of town on business. I'll have to come get her."
"She's doing fine right now, but misses her mom."
"Poor dear, tell her I'm coming as quick as I can."
"See you when you get here."
"Well, crap," Valerie said to no one in particular. "So much for going straight home." She plopped the phone on the bed and sat back down by the purple tote. She rubbed her hands up and down her legs in part to message out her recent exertions, also in part to stimulate her thought process of what to do with Frisky/John.
She looked at him lying in the same position on that nasty, old carpet as when she first pulled out, stood up and left him. Did she wear him out? Or did she break through barriers he couldn't himself? Or never would have?
Well, damn, she couldn't go pick up Amy with a chained up dog/slave in the back seat. Taking it home and putting it back in the kennel first would take too long. She could call Manuel, but on second thought, no. Then there was always Francy she could rely on. After all, it was her grandmother's house she would be leaving Frisky in. But she had the same concerns about Francy as she did Manuel, each having access to a helpless, defenseless, submissive dog/slave. Although whatever might happen would be good for her designs for Frisky, Valerie already felt she had gone a little too far a little too fast.
"I got you something..." Valerie chimed.
The dog/slave didn't move except for his torso breathing in and out. So she dug the item out of the purple tote bag anyway. "I asked Manuel if he could get your measurements for me. After all, who else would be better at judging size. Right?"
If that was a joke, Frisky/John failed to see the humor in it. Or perhaps he just didn't understand the context of the statement. That is until he felt himself being rolled over onto his back and a hand encircling his scrotum once again. He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to look at the great bitch who threw his precious, fragile manhood he had worked so hard to prop up and remain intact out the window. Valerie didn't have to do what she did, but she wanted to. Just as she was doing now.
Her hand was gentle, slipping a second ring over his flaccid member and struggling to do so with his balls. "Well," she said, "if it's as hard to get off as it is to get on, I'll have gotten my money's worth." It was obvious to John/Frisky that she was becoming frustrated, the hand and the fingers forfeiting his comfort for more assertive measures. He gritted his teeth as she finally let up, accomplishing what she had tried so hard to do.
"These things seem quite full, Frisky," she said. "They didn't want that ring to go over. Don't you wonder what I'm doing? You have permission to speak."
He didn't want to. There was little more to be said. His main goal was to focus on not letting her soft fingers and mauling of his genitals to reward her with an erection. Which, of course, worked out better for her as he felt a cold, metal shaft engulf his penis.
