The next month and a half of my captivity was relatively mundane and normal. Or you know, as normal as being kidnapped and forced to be a pet can be. Master and I settled into a pretty standard routine. Every morning I ate breakfast around 9:00. Sometimes he got up earlier though. Then we would work out for at least 30 minutes. After that, the next few hours were basically free. Master set up restrictions on my tablet so that I couldn't use email or message anyone. And he blocked a lot of websites and apps. I could watch Netflix, YouTube, etc., and play games or read but I had yet to find anything that would let me contact the outside world. But at least I had something to do now.
Bear and I also became fast friends. I brushed him almost every day. He had long fur that got tangled very easily, but I made sure he was shiny and clean. I liked having something to be responsible for. And Bear loved the attention.
Master worked a little bit every day. He sat in his office and typed away. Sometimes he would move my bed next to his desk and have me keep him company while he researched and wrote. I became his unofficial editor and partner. I proof-read new chapters and gave advice on the writing. It surprised me when he first asked if I would help him. First of all, he asked me, not commanded me. And second, he actually seemed to appreciate my criticism. I came to enjoy our little work sessions. It kept my mind stimulated.
He went to town or other places a few days a week or saw friends on the weekends. He never took me with him of course. He said that although I was mostly obedient at home, he couldn't trust me out in public yet. When he left, he locked me in my cage under the bed. Those were the most boring times. I could only read and watch stuff for so long before I got antsy. But luckily, it wasn't for too long.
There were a few times that he brought friends over. I think they were the people he talked about before, the ones that share his lifestyle. But he always locked me in the cage when they came over. I could hear them downstairs, laughing and having a good time. Occasionally, some of them brought their own pets and I could hear sounds of sexual activities going on. One time, I overheard a girl ask "Can I please suck your cock, Sir Daniel?" My heart dropped to my stomach and I instantly felt jealous. I wanted to protest, to call out, but I was gagged, and after a second, I reprimanded myself. I thought 'why should I care? Better her than me!' But I still felt relief when Master denied her services. But I digress.
Typically, in the afternoons, he would continue training me. Sometimes it was just going over positions, which was always easy. He also gave me a few bartending lessons, which I actually enjoyed. He said that I would be serving his friends sometimes, so therefore I should be proficient at making their favorite drinks. I didn't like the idea of that, especially if it meant being naked in front of them like I was for Master. But I didn't argue much; he said it would be a while before he was going to make me do that.
The rules were also sinking in more. After the first week which was full of whippings for speaking without permission, I got pretty used to just whining or using expressions to communicate. I rarely spoke out of turn now. Actually, I didn't really speak at all unless we were working. We started to form our own little language. He would talk and I would listen and respond with actions or noises. Sometimes he would make me bark but I loathed to do it. It always took a firm hand to make me "woof."
But other than that, I rarely hesitated when he ordered me around. Typically, the commands were simple. Go do this, go get that, go lay down, etc. He had a pretty strict reward and punishment system and I quickly found out that life could be relatively painless if I did what he asked.
Strangely, but thankfully, he hardly trained me sexually or even used me. He hadn't fucked me yet, and he didn't even make me touch him other than when we were in the shower. I didn't understand what he was waiting for. He did tease me sometimes. He liked to stroke me with the crop all over my body. My tits, my legs, my pussy. And I hate to admit it, and I never admitted it to him, but I actually kind of liked it. It was calming and gentle. I could often feel myself getting wet and warm, but thankfully, he either didn't notice, or chose not to comment.
He had also been training me in different bondage and shibari positions. At first, I was really high strung and anxious when he first started tying me up. I thought he was going to use me or hurt me, but he mostly just took pictures. I always wore a black masquerade mask when he did this, because he posted them online. And of course he couldn't have anyone recognize me. Another thing I didn't want to admit was that I actually thought I looked very beautiful in bondage. I always liked the aesthetic before I came here and wanted to try it. Sometimes, he dressed me up in flowing gowns or lacey lingerie, which I thought looked stunning.
One of my favorite bondage sessions happened after the first blizzard of the season came. After it settled down, we ventured outside with some rope and the camera. Thankfully, he let me wear boots and a fantastic winter gown. He had gotten it specifically tailored for me and I loved it. It was emerald green and made of crushed velvet. It had long sleeves with a high collar neckline. It was an A-line style that I thought was a little too long, as it dragged on the ground, but Master said it was intentional. He tied me up in some simple arm bondage and took photos from all angles. Then he tied me to a tree with my arms held above my head by a branch. He taught me how to pose in bondage and had me adjust often for a new look. When I saw the final pictures, I was shocked that I was the subject. I looked like the bondage models I always admired.
Master was very adept with rope. He wore black leather gloves whenever he tied me. He seemed very confident even when he was improvising. He also was very attentive, always checking if I was safe, making sure my limbs weren't cold, keeping me hydrated. His hands in their leather gloves were warm and soft. I loved when he stroked my face or my back or really anywhere when he wore them. It was calming and something about the gentle human contact made me simmer.
I suppose there were worse Masters to end up with. At least he didn't want to permanently harm me. He did, however, push my limits in bondage. He took advantage of the flexibility caused by my daily yoga and bent me into many positions.
I found myself deeply enjoying our bondage sessions. If we were at it long enough, I would go into a calm, almost trance-like state. It was so easy to relax and let go. Some of the positions required active participation though, so I could not always zone out.
I always got hot and frisky, but I tried not to let it show. He often tied a harness around my hips and fed the rope through my legs. He would tie a knot right where the rope covered my clit. This drove me mad. I was always trying to hump it discretely. The pressure felt so good. And this was a fantasy of mine, so I let myself secretly enjoy it.
I was letting myself secretly enjoy a lot of things. Frequently, when I was showering alone, I would masterbate in the hot water because my hands were out of their paws whenever I showered. I would make myself cum while imagining myself in bondage. At first, I felt guilty and disgusted with myself, but after a while, I said fuck it. If I'm horny, I'm horny. No sense in fighting it. I don't think Master had any idea I was doing it. If he did, I felt like he would say something. It seemed like the kind of thing he would want to control.
I also let myself enjoy being massaged in the shower, or having my hair brushed and braided. I liked sitting on the floor with my head resting on his leg while he pet me slowly. I reasoned that if I was going to be in this situation for the long term, I should at least enjoy the little things while I worked on an escape plan.
Oh yes, I was still planning on escaping. Sure, Master wasn't a horrible companion, and the situation could be far more dreadful. At least I wasn't locked up with nothing to do but wait until he came to abuse me. He was actually a fun conversationalist with witty humor. He was intellectual but not pompous. Overall, he would be an ideal companion were he not a kidnapper. But my family still never knew what happened to me and I was not a willing party in this relationship.
The other reason I knew I had to escape was one that I didn't admit lightly. I feared I was forming a bond with my Master. I knew I was enjoying his dominance a little too much, and I relished in the attention and praise he gave me. I never shared my emotions, and I remained as stoic as I could while still bending to his will. I tried to be mechanical, tried to just do what he said to avoid punishment, but I was starting to catch myself going out of my way to earn his praise. I knew I had to get out of here before I was mentally fucked forever.
Today started out pretty normal. I drank my protein smoothie from my doggy bowl and worked out for an hour. Then I played around on my tablet for a little while and snugged with Bear. Around 1:00, Master came out of his study and clipped a leash to my collar. I set down my tablet and sat up.
"Alrighty, training time, Cleo. Heel." He ordered. I crawled beside him as usual and he led me down the hallway, but surprised me when he took me to the bathroom instead of the playroom. I got nervous and started to think he wanted to do some kinda pee fetish stuff. I was not into that at all, and prayed he wasn't either.
"I'm gonna take off your cuffs and stuff and then you'll get in the shower." He informed me.
Still not entirely sure what was going to happen, I said "Yes, Master" and held up my wrists. He took off my mittens, cuffs, and collar and set them on the counter. I crawled into the shower and sat and watched him. He pulled a long tube with a nozzle on the end and a bag of clear liquid out from under the sink. I immediately knew what he intended to do and I started scampering out of the shower, trying to get out of the bathroom before he could start giving me an enema.
"No no no, I don't need that. I'm all good down there, I promise!" I protested as I tried to squeeze past him and out the door.
He laughed and put his leg in front of me. "Hush, it's not because I think you need it." He grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me into the shower.
"Agh, then why are you doing it?!" I squirmed under him and tried to pull away but he smacked my ass roughly.
"Bad girl. Stay." He reprimanded me. He then pushed me down so that my chest was on the ground and my ass was in the air. He knelt down on one knee and then put his other foot on the back of my neck.
He began to spank me roughly. "No. Talking. Without. Permission." He spanked me between each word. I yelped and wiggled underneath him.
"Puppies don't talk. What do puppies do?" He asked me.
"Puppies bark and whimper, Master!" I squealed.
"That's right. Now bark for me." He ordered and spanked me again.
As quietly as I could I said, "woof."
It was a half assed effort and I knew I was gonna get spanked again.
"I said BARK." He slapped me directly on the pussy while of course elicited a yelp.
"Arf arf arf arf!" I squealed. "Ruff ruff!"
