Into The Dog House Ch 08

"Do you have it?"

The car had been quiet up until that point. Not silent. The low crackle from the radio, the occasional work story shared back and forth. Rather than being the heavy, despairing silence that the air between them had a way of thickening with, Gregory imagined this type to be anticipatory. Rachel was driving, which was a little unusual, but not as unusual as the cage in his pants.

A pending kind of quiet. Eager, even if they weren't really going anywhere special. Just somewhere to talk. And he'd imagined Rachel would wait until they got there.

So he almost replied by asking 'have what?' before he stopped and glanced over. Her hair was clipped up and her sunglasses had thick frames, and he saw his face's reflection bend into view when she glanced at him, and showed a smile.

"Or did you leave it at home?"

Gregory had locked himself up about a day and a half ago, hiding the key away on the windowsill. After a week of chastity followed by much needed release, the next day hadn't been too torturous, and Rachel hadn't asked about the key that he knew she hadn't found yet and wasn't even able to reach without finding something to climb up on. This morning, going out into the world again, knowing what they were out here to do, her pointed question made him shift in his seat.

"Didn't think it would be that kind of picnic. Why?"

"Just making sure I know the lay of the land."

Outside, town had given way to greenery. Between them, they both had a thorough collective knowledge of the local hiking trails and quiet parks -- the ones amateurs and weekend runners favoured, the ones with and without kids, the trails that tended to have a lot of irresponsible dog owners. Picking a good spot for a picnic was about compromise -- did you mind the company of strangers in service of a nice view? Or could you skimp on the scenery for the sake of a quiet atmosphere?

Rachel steered them off the main road they were on. "My mother liked telling me to always make sure I have clean underwear on," she said. "In case of an accident."

"My grandma liked that one. I figure EMTs have more to worry about in the moment."

"But it makes me wonder what about chastity devices. Do you think there's any data on how many guys people've pulled out of emergency situations who had their dicks locked up?"

"Well, if you could avoid crashing the car on this straight road in broad daylight, I'd appreciate it."

Rachel shrugged. "Doesn't have to be my fault. Someone else takes us out, or a deer throws itself under the wheels. Car flips or wraps around a tree, we're hospitalised. I wonder if they would cut you out of it. Or maybe you'd have to call someone to find the key in our place, if you're conscious." She stayed looking at the road, fingers drumming the wheel lightly, and he felt his skin prickle all over beneath his clothes. "Sure you don't want to tell me? To be on the safe side."

Gregory shook his head. "I'll take my chances."

"Mhm." She stayed looking ahead as she said, "Take it out."

Protest welled on the tip of Gregory's tongue before he swallowed it back, considering the secondary feeling that swept through him -- warm, humid, direct. A glance outside, he waited for a car to pass -- not that they'd see anything, but all the same -- and slowly unbuckled his belt. He let it stay loose in his jean loops, undoing buttoned and zippered denim, revealing grey cotton beneath. He glanced at her, but she was silent, eyes on the road.

He lifted his hips to push his jeans down a little, and then stretched his underwear down to reveal himself. Steel glinted in the daylight over pink flesh.

And Rachel didn't look, only waiting for him to stop fidgeting before adding, "Play with it."

They were meant to be setting down parameters. They weren't even playing right now. He could probably zip back up, tell her they weren't doing this yet. Instead, Gregory's fingers were already in his mouth, coating them with spit, and then more easily teasing at sensitive skin, rubbing his circumcised head while he squeezed the small handful he made in his cage.

He felt the car accelerate by a playful nudge, and he panted out a protest, "Rachel--"

"It's something to think about," she said, cutting him off. "The consequences of our choices. Where we leave our keys. How long a man should be stuck in a steel cage -- like, the big kind. Where an explicit video might go of a sex act in a work bathroom, if a marriage fell apart."

The subtle tease of Gregory's finger pressed firmer. "I trust us."

"That's very sweet of you." Now she glanced over, down at his hands, at him. "Is that what's exciting you? How trustworthy we are?"

"I'm-- nngh. You told me to play with myself."

"I know. And I take it you don't want me to publish that video you sent me on Facebook."

"Jeez, Rachel."

"But imagine if I did."

Hot, the spike of shame and arousal. It traveled from somewhere low in his groin to the tip of the finger teasing himself. The idea of exposure, of a grainy video of him kneeling on the ground in the bathroom, gyrating his hips to make his caged cock wiggle around because Rachel had told him to. Pervert. Freak. Tiny dicked cuck. He felt the muscles through his thighs tense, a preparatory spasm for more--

With a stubborn, swift movement, Gregory pushed his caged cock back into his underwear, closing the denim over it with a rattle of belt buckle. "I'll factor that into negotiations," he grumbled, willing that burning, prickling feeling that travelled up the back of his neck not to manifest as flushed skin. "Limiting the amount of publishable content."

Rachel laughed, carefree in a way that chimed a little oddly against his own mood--heated, apprehensive, hopeful, cautious. Maybe she wouldn't take this seriously. Maybe she knew, as usual, how the day was going to end, while he didn't.

"Put something on the radio," she invited, instead. "Before we get ahead of ourselves."

He filled the car with throbbing EDM, the kind of music he liked to work to, or work out to, and once again tried not to think about the cage he'd placed himself into, and the key on a high windowsill.

***

There were a couple of spots that they'd wanted but were occupied -- no families, at least, but a small gaggle of weed-smoking teenagers or college students, hard to tell, and then a picnicking couple who smiled apologetically as they moved on by with their own basket and rolled up blanket. They avoided the lake, knowing that runners tended to favour the long winding pathway that curved around it, and retreated deeper into the reserve, breathing heavier as they trekked up some elevation, and then entirely off-trail.

Finally, Rachel stopped, glancing around and squinting through sunglasses. There was no noise, not even distant traffic, just wind in trees, twittering birds.

"Here."

They stamped down some grasses and spread the blanket, chatting as they settled, took out tupperware, sprayed their bare arms down with sunscreen. The conversation had that bland, inoffensive pattern of two people who were past the excitement of dates, all habit without instinct, but it wasn't so bad. Here, she tossed him an olive, clapped when he caught it in his mouth. There, a lapse in the patter, and a shared smile through the comfortable silence.

And if this were any other picnic date, Gregory would think: maybe they would kiss. They certainly would not fool around. She would want to read in the sun while he listened to some podcasts. They would go home. And maybe that's not so bad.

"So," said Rachel, dusting off her hands of sandwich crumbs over the grass. "You wanted to talk about last week."

"Kind of. I want to talk about the future."

"Okay. Floor is yours."

Gregory shifted out of his slouch, legs folded, back curved forwards. It felt a little like all the talking points he'd practiced had skittered out of his brain like cockroaches when the lights come on, but there was nothing for it.

"I liked last week," he said, slowly. "But not all of it."

Rachel had mirrored his pose as they settled, but she leaned back on the heels of her hands, more easy, more open. Her t-shirt hugged her petite frame, riding up enough to expose a strip of skin between it and her shorts. She hadn't taken off her sunglasses, but he could see through the tinted lenses enough to know she was looking at him with intent.

"I didn't like not knowing what was going on," Gregory continued. "Or like you only wanted me at all when I was in dog mode. We barely communicated as husband and wife, even when I was texting you. Even when we weren't playing, we kind of were, or I was still subordinate to you. Or invisible."

Rachel tilted her head. "And you didn't like that."

"No, I didn't."

"Hm."

"Let me put it this way," Gregory tried again. "It was a turn on, sure. The idea of it, that kind of extended play, sure, yes. It's a fun fantasy. But I missed you. And it hurts to think you didn't miss me."

Rachel crinkled her brow above her sunglasses. "Do you think that I want just any man to do what you did?"

"No, but--"

"Say I had a dog. A real dog. A dog I've had for years. I know his quirks, his personality, what he likes, what he doesn't. He's loyal, and good--most of the time. Then one day I lose him. Do you think I go, oh well, I can replace him. No sweat. He's just a dog."

"This isn't what I mean."

"He's

my

dog, Greg. I love him. I love you."

He wanted to argue. He could imagine this conversation going completely sideways, completely evading what he had wanted to say. But it was hard to focus, when his cock had started aching in its cage, already primed from touching himself in the car. Hard to focus when she talked so forcefully of this hypothetical dog, compared her love for it to him. His hands curled into fists, willing his body not to flush with--

--what is this feeling, anyway? This one that kept surfacing, ever since they began this? It felt like embarrassment, except it was good. Except it made him salivate, squirm.

Maybe she noticed, or maybe his silence felt like encouragement, as she said, "I'm going to say some things. And I wanted you to think about how it makes you feel."

"Okay."

"You're a good boy," she said, straightening up, taking off her sunglasses. "And I want to make a good life for you. One with rules. Like, you don't get to wear clothing anymore unless I say you can, like when you have to go to work or the gym and pretend to be a man. But not with me you don't. And you don't get to go on the furniture, not unless you're invited. That's for people, not animals like you."

His mouth had already gone dry. He watched, silently, as she reached for the picnic basket, picking up her book, and setting it aside, reaching for something underneath.

"Your diet is going to be appropriate for dogs. Dog food and kibble, and maybe some supplemental elements to make sure you're healthy. If you need to relieve yourself, you have to get my attention so I can let you go. You don't get to make human sounds, only dog sounds. You'll learn obedience, and be punished when you slip up."

With a familiar jangle, she took out his collar, the nametag glistening in the sun.

"Whether you breed or not is up to me. I'll decide when you can. Or I decide you never get to again."

She tossed the collar on the blanket between them.

"And all of this only comes into play as long as you're wearing this," she said, with a nod down to that simple strip of leather. "And you decide when it goes around your neck. But I decide when it comes off."

He knew he'd lost. He knew that blood had rushed up into his face, was trying to get into his cock. He knew his eyes must be dark and that his expression must be stupid. But he took a breath, and said, "And how do I trust that you take it off? That you even want to?"

Rachel smiled, a small and thin smile, and reached out. She gripped him by the chin, gently, rubbing his cheek with her thumb. "If I decide it never comes off, then it never comes off," she said. "How does that make you feel?"

It was a rush, words that felt like a tangible grip around his heart, his cock.

"I don't know if I can do that," he said, quiet.

Rachel studied him, and then nodded. "Okay," she said. She dropped her hand. "I won't ask for that leap of faith, today. What limits do you need?"

And this, too, was a rush -- like being gripped by the throat and suddenly released. Being able to breathe, but being unsure of what to do with the cold air in his lungs.

"Um," he said. "People have safe words. We could have a safe word."

"Okay," she said, again. "What's your word?"

"Is that okay?" he asked. "Is that--is it going to ruin it for you?"

Rachel shook her head. "Not for me," she said. "I worry it'll ruin it for you, to be honest. But we should try stuff out. I like it better than a schedule, anyway. We can push ourselves how far we want, which might change, day in and day out. Tell me what it means when you say your safe word. What I should do."

"It'll mean that--I'm not a dog anymore. If I'm wearing gear that restricts me, you have to take it off immediately, no questions asked."

"And if you're gagged?"

"I can still make myself heard, I think. You'll have to be forgiving if it comes out mushy."

"Okay. What's the word, Gregory?"

Gregory thought about it, his gaze tracking down to the collar lying on the ground, his name engraved into the metal. The feeling of putting it on the first time, the feeling of wearing only it, the feeling of finding himself unable to take it off once his hands were trapped. He caught his breath.

"'Birthday'," he said.

Rachel's smile was sudden, a grin, real mirth crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Okay. Birthday it is," she said. "What else?"

"It has to stay private."

"Define private."

"Our friends and family can't know. It can't impact my work."

"Well, yeah. I agree. But," Rachel said, before he could say more. She twisted around where she sat, extending a leg, pressing her sandaled foot against his thigh. "You liked it when I was on the phone with my friends, my family. You liked kneeling in the bathroom at your work and wagging your tail for me." The sole of her sandal slid down further, nudging against where his trapped cock was beneath his cargos, mimicking that waggling motion.

"Yeah," Gregory said, staying still, pretending she wasn't teasing him. "We just need to be careful."

"I can be careful. What else?"

"I still want to be intimate with you outside of this."

Rachel's foot stopped its gentle nudging, and let up on the pressure. "Intimate like how?"

"Just--normal stuff. Kissing. Sex."

She bit her lip, leg retracting, considering him, a squint in the sunlight. "And how would it feel," she said, slowly, "if I said we didn't have sex outside of this? That this was the only way I'd allow us to be intimate like that? That I only want you when you're wearing a collar, and doing what I say?"

"But I don't--"

"Tell me how that makes you feel. And I want you to be honest."

Gregory bit back the responses he wanted to give, his hands curling back into fists. He wanted to say that it was unacceptable. That it was unfair. That it felt like she didn't want him anymore, that she just wanted a sex toy.

But he didn't. He could feel his heart beating again, a heavy rush of blood. It was so demeaning. He was so horny. And these feelings only burned brighter when she gave him an indulgent smile.

"It turns me on," he said. "I get off on that idea, yeah. The fantasy. But my heart is a whole organ too."

"Then let's table that for now," she said. "We're talking about puppy mode, not human mode. My sexual availability notwithstanding, I want you to put the collar on now, Gregory."

That jerked him back into the present, and he frowned. "But that's meant to be my part."

"I know," Rachel said. "And you can refuse. It won't ruin anything. We can kick back for the rest of the day or we can take this home. But that's what I want, right now."

Gregory glanced around the clearing. No one had come by, and they were past that prime hour of good solid sunlight. There was a non-zero chance that someone could come by, but Gregory hadn't protested how long it took for them to find this place -- for its privacy, its quiet.

He hadn't made stipulations about the setting. She'd asked him to define privacy, and he talked about their inner circles, not locale. He could say something to that effect now. He could refuse to put on the collar. He could wait until they were home and then do it, and trust she wouldn't take out frustration for him having denied her.

Instead, he nodded to her. "You do it. Put it on me."

***

She had him kneel up, and stood behind him, carefully looping the leather around his throat. She fastened the buckle at the nape of his neck, checking by tucking her fingers between it and his skin to check its tightness, rather than asking him. He knew what would come next, but he still felt it like a physical twinge when she said, "You know the rules."

Messing around in public wasn't totally new. A dirty makeout out of sight, getting handsy, a quick blowjob somewhere risky. Getting naked, also not new. A skinny dip, or a college dare to streak around the dorms. But getting completely naked

to

mess around was new, and Gregory felt his palms begin to sweat as he stripped out of his clothing, staying on his knees. Sneakers, socks, then T-shirt, smart watch, then cargo pants, and finally his briefs, putting everything in a pile until he was left only wearing his collar and the cage around his reddened penis.

Rachel was efficient, like she'd been anticipating this activity. She gathered his clothing and stuffed it into her half-empty backpack, zipping it closed, barely looking at him as he stayed kneeling on the blankets. Not allowed clothing, not unless she said.

Next, she turned to the picnic basket. She took out her book, laying it aside, and then continued to dig, and pulled out the leather mitts she'd apparently stashed away. He didn't convey his surprise, only put out his hands, and felt a new layer of sweat break out as she fitted his hands inside them, fastening them. Not to be caught out, Rachel kept a hold of his hand as she affixed a small padlock to one mitt, and then the other, scrambling the numbers with a brisk twist of her fingers.

It meant he couldn't use his mouth to undo the mitts, which meant he couldn't use his hands, which meant he wouldn't be getting into her backpack for his clothing without a great deal of effort -- and just like that, he was solely at her mercy, thanks to a couple of changing room padlocks she could have picked up at the gas station earlier that day.

She seemed to catch the look on his face, because she laughed, bright and ready. "It's going to be a sad day when I run out of little ways to surprise you," she said, bending to retrieve the can of sunscreen from the basket. "Now, kneel up so I can spray you down."

Gregory knelt as instructed, thighs apart and arms raised, allowing Rachel to spray down his body, her hand following along after each cool stripe of sunscreen to ensure coverage. Her palms effortlessly glided along his skin, heedless to whether she was rubbing his shoulder, his ass, or his bound cock or soft belly. The breeze on the air felt cooler for it, seemed to probe and tease at his naked skin.

She gave him a pat on the ass to indicate she was done. "Now, it's time to tire you out so I can get some me time."

Tossing the spray back into the picnic basket, she wandered out onto the grass. Her legs, bare from the midthigh and down, had been spray tanned sometime recently, and he could make out the charming little details of where hair was attempting to grow back after she'd gone over it with a razor, small dots on smooth skin. He noticed the sheen of sweat shining up around her inner thighs. The instinct to lick it clean drove him to crawl out onto the grass, but she was faster than he was, walking a few feet out and bending to pick something up.