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From: np98rb@mail.telepac.pt (Christine & David Stevenson)
Subject: The Governor's Wife - part thirty-seven
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Warning: This story is about non-consensual domination. It is
fiction, and erotic - despite or perhaps partly because it is
non-consensual.
- - - - - - - - - - - - cut-here - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Governor's Wife
by Victor Bruno
Part Thirty-seven
Hettie opened one of the drawers in her dressing table. She took
out a dog collar and something which Frank did not at first
recognise. Hettie smiled as she fastened the dog collar around
his neck. "Going to be a good dog today, are we?" she asked.
"Yes, Mistress," answered Frank miserably. The humiliation of
being reduced to animal status was already searing him.
Hettie's palm smashed across his face again.
"Forgotten so soon?" she rasped. "Idiot!"
"Woof!" said Frank, tears filling his eyes.
Then, to his horror, Hettie pulled something over his head.
Something which had eye-slits and a large opening at his mouth.
He realised it was a mask. A dog mask!
"Take a look at yourself, Fido," said Hettie, beginning to
giggle. Frank began to walk across the room.
"No .... no ...." said Hettie. "Fido goes down on all fours. We
know that surely?"
Frank got down on all fours. Could degradation go further? Then
he continued across the room until he came to the full-length
mirror. In that he saw Fido. An idiot, Pluto-like dog's face
stared back at him. A stupid, grinning face.
Hate and fury were like hot knives in Frank's belly. How, oh how,
could she do this to him? Did any man deserve to be so treated?
"Good dog," said Hettie with a laugh. "Now run down to the
kitchen and wait for me there. You'll find a nice basket under
the table. You can curl up in that."
Shamed and humiliated to the depths of his soul, Frank scuttled
from the room.
How was it possible he could still keep his reason, he wondered!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When Hettie came down to the kitchen, smartly dressed in a white
blouse and a pair of tight black jeans, Frank was curled up in
the basket. He dare not be anywhere else.
"Hey, this won't do," cried Hettie gaily, "Fido welcomes his
Mistress. Come along, out of that basket."
Frank got out of the basket and scrambled over to Hettie's feet.
"Wag that arse .... to show you're pleased ...."
Frank wagged that arse, the sickness of despair rising in him.
"Fido would like a tail, wouldn't he?" said Hettie winsomely.
How did one answer that?
"Wouldn't he?" Insisted Hettie.
"Woof!" said Frank.
"Well, he shall have one," said Hettie.
Hettie's trousered limbs disappeared and a few moments later,
Frank uttered a shocked scream. Something cold and hard had been
thrust up his anus! It was some sort of metal tube, three or four
inches long. He felt sick .... dirtied and despoiled.
"Ugh .... ugghh .... uurrrfffff ...." he choked.
"Wag again, Frank," said Hettie.
With tears of self-pity in his eyes, Frank wagged again. He
realised that something was attached to the end of the tube. A
tail. He could feel it flicking against the backs of his thighs.
"You'll greet your Mistress like that every time she comes into a
room," said Hettie. "Unless I tell you otherwise. Understood?"
"Woof!"
"Back in your basket now ...."
Wretchedly Frank trotted away and did as he had been told. Just
like a good dog should!
Humming contentedly, Hettie prepared herself a light breakfast.
Frank continued to lie there, still feeling sick to the depths of
his soul. He was being pushed to the limits. But he knew the
alternative. It wouldn't last for ever. One day I'll get a laugh
out of all this, he told himself. Him, a dog! Who would ever have
believed it! But nothing made Frank feel much better. And that
thing stuck up his arse was the greatest humiliation of all.
Breakfast finished, Frank watched Hettie go across the
kitchen.... and saw her take out two bowls from the cupboard. He
began to feel sicker than ever. One of the bowls she filled with
water; into the other she spooned some 'Doggo Meat Chunks'.
The bowls were set down on the floor.
"Come on, Fido, breakfast's ready!"
Reluctantly, Frank got out of the basket. He couldn't have felt
less like anything to eat, let alone dog food!
"Eat it all up, said Hettie.
Frank turned his head away from the bowl, to indicate as best he
could that he was not hungry.
"Fido doesn't want it, is that it?"
"Woof! Woof!" answered Frank.
"No? But Fido will eat it up, all the same. Because Mummy's got
something for naughty, disobedient dogs who don't eat up their
food. Look, Fido ...."
Frank raised his absurdly masked face and saw a short, plaited
leather dog-whip in Hettie's hand. "It hurts, Fido."
Crack!
The dog-whip lashed sharply across Frank's rump and he let out a
bellowing howl of pain. It certainly did hurt!
"Now eat it up. All of it. And no mess, boy."
His gorge rising, Frank bent forward and began to nibble at the
nauseous, strong smelling dog-food. He could feel Hettie's whip
lying lightly across his rump and he knew he would feel it again
if he stopped for one moment. And he didn't want that.
Frank managed to finish the bowl without being sick.
"There are some bits on the floor, Fido. Lick them up."
Frank did so.
"Now lick the bowl clean, Fido."
Frank did so.
"That's how I always want to see your bowl, Fido. Good dog. Now
you can have a drink."
Frank drank. And was glad to be able to do so. At least it washed
the remnants of the foul stuff down.
"Back to your basket, Fido."
Like the whipped cur he was, Frank sidled back to the basket
under the table. As he curled up, his 'tail' draping his thighs,
he not only felt physically sick, but mentally and
psychologically sick.
Quite, quite defeated.
Above him, he listened to Hettie humming happily as she attended
to some minor chores about the kitchen. At least, thought Frank I
am escaping those kind of duties, and others more arduous. But
would it not have been infinitely more preferable to be on two
feet and doing something human?
It certainly would!
"Come along, Fido ...."
Frank tumbled out of the basket and followed his Mistress out of
the kitchen on all fours. He was actually beginning to get used
to the uncomfortable posture and style of movement. Not that it
felt any less degrading. He followed the black jeans into the
living room.
"You can lie there," said Hettie, indicating the rug with her
foot, "while Mummy does some correspondence. Isn't Mummy kind to
let you lie there? Wag your tail, Fido, and lick Mummy's foot....
to show how much you appreciate it."
With bitter gall rising in his throat, Frank swung his backside
to and fro, again feeling the tail flicking from side to side.
Then he tongued the leather of one of Hettie's shoes.
"Good dog," said Hettie complacently. "Lie down there now ...."
Frank curled up on the rug. There were tears of misery and
despair in his eyes.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
http://www.mschristine.com/bruno.html
Victor Bruno Books
mailto:VictorBruno@MsChristine.com
for the Bruno Book List
_________________________________________________
Christine & David Stevenson
Authors of the Fem Dom Training Program
Warning! Turns your wife/lover into a Dominatrix.
Email enquiries to:- program@Ms-Christine.com
http://www.mschristine.com/program.html
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
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