A Slave's Tale

by straypup

email straypup40@hotmail.com

[ WARNING: This document may contain explicit sex or sexual themes involving bondage, sadism/masochism, nonconsensual activities, and other content that you might find objectionable. If you are easily offended or underage, do not continue reading.]

Part 5

My Master’s Dog

I knelt on my wooden sale block miserably, stunned after the announcement of my purchase by "Mr. Davis". Naked except for a steel collar, a dangling silver leash, and a red ribbon tied into a bow around my neck, I had just been sold. This can’t be happening to me, I thought frantically, it can’t be happening. It’s all just a bad dream...

It was at that moment that ‘Mr. Davis’– indeed, the man who had previously shown so much interest in me as I stood on display– entered my glass display case, accompanied as before by a representative of the auction. As I stared at him blankly, unable to think of any response, he approached me slowly, reaching an arm out to my head. I automatically shied away, but there was only so much room on the small block I was crouched on.

Desperately, I raised up my arms to fend off his touch, and at that moment I felt the body-wrenching electrical agony of my collar sweep across me, more painful than anything I had ever experienced. The pain soon passed, as quickly as it had come, and I found myself curled into a tight fetal position on the block. My new owner had his hand on my head and was patting me lightly. Too frightened of the collar to move even the smallest amount, I fearfully lifted my eyes.

Mr. Davis, while patting me thoughtfully, had leveled a disapproving look at the attendant. "That was unnecessary," he said sternly. "That level of shock is too much to be used so casually, and it is no way to train an animal."

The attendant blinked, and then nodded quickly. "Of course, sir," he said apologetically, "the boy is yours now and you may discipline him as you see fit." Again he reached for his wrist, where the controller for my collar was, and I instinctively compressed myself into a tighter curl in anticipation of the pain. Instead of shocking me, however, the attendant quickly unfastened the small watch-like controller from his wrist, and handed it to my buyer.

Looking no less stern, Mr. Davis wordlessly pocketed the small device. His pats on my still fearfully paralyzed body had become long strokes down my side, perhaps meant to be soothing. Abruptly, he stopped, and with surprising ease, he slipped one arm under me and gently lowered me to the ground at his feet, still balled up. Taking my leash and wrapping all but a short lead around his wrist, he gave a small tug at my collar. "Up," he said gently.

Still stunned somewhat from the pain, I looked up at him blankly. Giving another tug, he repeated the command. Taking a deep breath and relieved at the absence of the pain controller, I hesitantly began to rise to my feet. As soon as my head rose above the buyer’s waist, however, I felt a quick but painfully sharp pinch on the back of my neck, and then a hand forcing me back down again.

"Up means all fours," my new owner said firmly, "Hands and feet, knees bent a little," he said, nudging my legs into position with one foot. "Good dog." At that my eyes widened incredulously and I stared up at him aghast. Too often I had been referred to, directly or indirectly, as a dog or pet. I helplessly acknowledge dthat I had indeed become a slave, but I was still human. They might be in control, I thought desperately, but I was no more an animal than they were!

My shock was clearly evident, and my owner’s face took on a look that seemed inexplicably soft, stern, and oddly appreciative all at once. He knelt down on one knee at my side, lifting my chin up to meet his look with one hand as he ran the other down my back and over my ass and thighs, until returning it to the base of my spine. I couldn’t tell whether his touch was admiring, possessive, or both.

"You will be my dog," he told me, almost gently. His gaze intensified, and he looked at me then almost earnestly. "I had one, many years ago," he continued, "a real, biological dog. I miss him occasionally, even now– there was something about his companionship, his complete obedience and attention for me that was comforting. I’m a solitary man, you see, by choice. Dealing with other people, their weak minds, their petty egos– spending any great amount of time with people unsettles me."

I could feel the hand on my back begin to run up and down my spine– I was being petted, like a dog, for the first time. "You will be different," he said, smiling at me with a touch of soft fondness. "I’ve heard about other Masters and Mistresses who have been using their slaves as pets– real pets, not simply sexual playthings. I didn’t believe it was genuine at first, until I met one while visiting a friend, and I was very impressed. It was kept, nearly all the time, as an animal, and you could tell it had begun to adjust to role."

"You," he said carefully, "Will go further.. you will go all the way. Even to my friend, I think his pet was still a human slave in his mind. Yet his example showed me that it is possible. You will not be human to me, not even for a moment– you have been a dog to me since the moment I decided I would buy a pet, before I met you. I like dogs," he said thoughtfully, "and so you are a dog now. I know you are smarter than a dog, I know you are shaped a little differently, and capable of performing in certain ways that, ah.. a dog cannot. That is good– you will stay my hound, and you will keep your other traits, but even them– your mind, your body, will be domesticated as well."

As I stared at him, more shocked, and now horrified than before, he knelt in silence for a moment. Giving me a last hopeful look, my owner rose to his feet at looked down at me. "You are just now a puppy, and I cannot expect you to understand this or accept it yet, but you will. I am your Master now," he said sternly. "Like it or not, you will adjust and with training you will be happy as my pet– you have nothing to worry about, no job, no needs, no desires– only to please me, to be a worthy dog."

As his word began to sink in, I looked at him, aghast, and frantically began shaking my head. His pet? His *dog*? Trained like an animal, to please him?! "No," I stammered helplessly, "no!" At once I realized that I had spoken aloud, and crouched lower, expecting the shock that for the last week had always accompanied any noise that I made. Instead, I received a harsh look from my owner and I felt his hand lightly slap my rear.

"The first step in your training," he said in a very commanding tone, "Is that you may not speak except to address me, as your master, and only when allowed.. When you have learned that and have grown, pup, we will take your speech entirely. Dogs do not have human voices." He turned to the attendant, who had watched the scene with a look of profound curiosity. "He will need to be chipped, and I have several specific instructions for that. I also want his ability to speak eliminated as soon as possible."

The attendant frowned slightly. "Dr. Carols will implant the standard tracking and identification chip," he said, "And she can do something temporarily about his– ah, its– voice, sir. If you have additional specifications, she will do what she can, but keep in mind that she is not trained as a veterinarian."

"No," Mr. Davis said, "His appointment with the vet is a local one, with Dr. Tailor. Dr. Carols will, however, be able to accomplish the basic modifications I require."

"Of course, sir," the attendant replied, "I had forgotten that Dr. Tailor operated so close to your home in the States– very convenient. Shall we return to the processing center, then? While Dr. Carols implants the permanent tag, we can finish the paperwork. You’ve chosen to register it with us as a pet, and I can give you the records we have of its previous life and its new pedigree at the same time. Have you thought of a name yet, sir?"

My owner glanced down at me thoughtfully. "No, not yet," he said with a note of disappointment, "I will try to come up with something by the time I take him to the vet. Something traditional. Fido perhaps? Or something softer, more gentle.. Tawny, for his fur? I will think on it."

Fido? Tawny? My *voice* removed? I’m now to be tagged and then taken to a *vet*? "No!" I exclaimed again, "I am not a dog!"

I did not receive a light slap, this time. Instead, I felt my entire body jump ahead an inch or two as I received a powerful and painful swat on my ass. Looking around desperately, I thought about lunging for the exit, but my ‘owner’ was still firmly holding my leash in one hand. I thought about lunging at him then, but that thought did not last long. I was younger than him, certainly, but he was larger than I, and clearly much, much stronger. My thinking was abruptly cut off by another smack on my rear, followed by another and then another in quick succession. Whimpering, I tried to cover my behind with my hands and felt a hand deftly grasp one of my nipples and sharply twist it. Another head firmly pushed my head down until my forehead touched the ground.

I ‘stood’ there shakily on all fours, head prostrate on the ground and my reddened ass elevated slightly, helpless. "You have a command and you will follow it, pet," my owner said sternly. "Now, who am I?"

Fighting back tears, I weakly shook my lowered head. I could not say it. Another terribly forceful slap landed on my rear, jolting my head against the ground, and then another. "Answer me, pet," he said, once again in his stern-yet-gentle tone. As two more sharp strokes of his hand bruised my ass, I could feel the pain breaking me, and I sensed my complete helplessness.

"Master," I said softly.

I could feel him smiling down at me, pleased. "Good boy." He carefully lifted my head up and placed me back in the all-fours position. Patting my head approvingly, he flicked the fingers of his other hand lightly on my injured rear. "Tsk," he said concernedly, "you will have to learn to obey faster, pet."

[This story is (c) copyright straypup, 1999-2000. Textual modification or commercial use of this story is prohibited by the author. If you have any questions, comments, encouragement, or criticism, email him at straypup40@hotmail.com]