My Dog

by Amy Flanagan

Let me tell you about my wonderful new pet dog, Pinky.

I have to begin by explaining that she's only been a dog for a few months. Before that, she was my lodger, and the most gorgeous redhead that you ever did see. We met at a support group for the recently bereaved. We had a lot in common, being both in our early twenties, and having both lost both our parents in the last few years. Being only children, we were both rather alone in the world. Amazingly, she had no boyfriend; despite her stunning good looks, she was just in no mood to have one following her crushing bereavements. I owned a large detached house that had been my parents'. It was too big for just me, and I needed some company, so it was with the greatest of pleasure that I persuaded her to move in.

With her looks, I naturally wanted to get to know her very well, but to my acute disappointment she was dead straight and not at all interested. Yet I often lay in bed at night fantasising about her, and wondering if something would give me an opportunity.

Tracey had only been living with me for a few weeks when I received an official-looking letter. It was from a large firm of solicitors in London, inviting me to visit their office to learn something to my advantage. Well, to cut a long story short I travelled down to see them. Dumbstruck, I found that I was suddenly a very rich young lady. A cousin of my father's, someone I had only ever met at my father's funeral, had left me a very handsome legacy. Together with what I'd inherited from my parents, I reckoned that I might never need to work again.

Naturally, as soon as I got home I rushed in, eager to tell Tracey my wonderful news. But I stopped short when I saw her sitting in a chair, head in hands, crying. I rushed over to her and threw my arms around her. "What's the matter, Tracey," I asked.

"My firm ... it's gone bust ... I'm out of a job ... and not a penny in redundancy ... what am I going to do?" she stuttered out between great wracking sobs.

A plan began forming in my mind. "Don't worry, dear," I said soothingly. I've got my job, and what I've inherited from my parents, and we'll manage until you can get another job." I gave her a big hug, and she gave a wan smile through her tears. My news would be kept quiet.

The girl now had nobody. She had no relatives, no job, and no boyfriend. If something happened to her, then apart from myself, who would know? Who would care?

The next morning, I apparently drove off to work as usual, but once I was clear of the house I phoned in to say that I had a domestic crisis and would need a few days off. My boss was most sympathetic. He was a very nice man and I didn't like to mess him around, but I had no need of the job any more and if my plan worked, I would resign.

Rather than working, I spent all day shopping, at an interesting variety of shops. Normally, I'd have been horrified at the lavish amounts I spent, but now I had a fortune and could easily afford to splash out recklessly. Coming home at the usual time, I left my purchases hidden in the boot of the car and prepared supper. It was a curry, so strong-tasting that Tracey would never notice the flavour of the extra ingredients in her share. Sure enough, she ate it all up, and was soon out like a light.

A few hours later, Tracey slowly came round. She must have been puzzled by her inability to move or to see, and by the strange feeling in her mouth. I don't know how long it took her to realize that she was securely and stringently hogtied, with her wrists and ankles almost touching and her knees tightly tied together, and lying face down on a hard bare concrete floor. Of course she couldn't see a thing, because there were large cotton wool pads over her eyes, securely taped on and held in place by a long elastic bandage. Anyway, the room was completely dark. The feeling in her mouth was caused by her own panties that she had worn that day, stuffed well in and held in by the sticky tape sealing her lips shut, reinforced by another elastic bandage. She couldn't utter a squeak, not that anyone outside my cellar would be likely to hear her if she could shout. And apart from her bonds, she was stark naked.

By the time I made my regular visit to see how she was, she was writhing frantically around, struggling to no avail to free herself from the carefully tied ropes. I smiled, knowing that there were no knots within her reach, and anyway her fingers, firmly wrapped up in sticky tape, would be quite unable to undo anything. She could not have known, thoroughly blindfolded as she was, that I had switched on the light; she must have been quite unaware of my presence until she felt the stiletto heel of my leather boot pressing firmly into her back. "Hello, there," I said sweetly.

At once, Tracey stopped struggling and began a series of mumbles. They were quite incoherent, but I assumed that they were urgent requests to be untied. "I'm not going to untie you, my little one, not now, not ever," I continued in the same sweet tone. "You're mine now, for as long as I want you, all mine. And I'm sure that I'll want you for an awfully long time. Maybe for you it'll be an awful time too, but not for me."

As soon as what I had said registered with Tracey, she stiffened and renewed her struggles. I laughed. "You need something to take your mind off your situation, I think. Try these." I rolled her over onto her back, and grabbed one of her breasts. Despite the gag, she managed to make a fair amount of sound as the sharp teeth of a crocodile clip bit into the tender area around her nipple. I wasn't worried - nobody could hear. She made just as much noise when I fastened the second clip onto her other breast.

"Right, don't go anywhere. I'll be back in a few hours." With that, I went upstairs, leaving Tracey comprehensively bound, gagged and blindfolded, and utterly helpless.

In due course, I returned, with a drink and some soft food. Of course, she was still exactly as I had left her. "Now, Tracey, I'll remove your gag and feed you, but I've got a whip here," I told her. I cracked the whip a few times to make my point. "If you make so much as a peep, I'll re-gag you and see how much noise you can make." I gave her a few light flicks, and unwound the bandage that completely covered the lower part of her face. She winced as I pulled the sticky tape off her lips, and her mouth opened. I pulled out the sodden panties. She starred to say something, but I flicked her with the whip, a bit harder this time, and she stopped.

Cradling her head on my lap, I carefully poured water down her throat and fed her plenty of nutritious pap; then I gave her some more water. Her needs satisfied, I stuffed her mouth with her still-unwashed panties from the day before, and re-sealed her mouth with tape and a bandage. Again I left her, but returned a while later to find her out cold again from the knock-out stuff in the pap. Slicing off her bonds and laying her on her front, I got to work to transform her into my pet.

Superglue on her hands stuck her thumbs securely to her palms, and held her fingers in tight fists. Plenty of sticky tape wrapped tightly around each fist made assurance doubly sure. Maybe it was overkill, but I then put each fist into a heavily padded bondage mitt, pulling the straps tightly around her wrists and securing each strap with a little brass padlock. Her hands were now utterly useless.

I put a strip of wood on the inside of her right arm; it reached from her wrist to her armpit. A couple of turns of tape held it provisionally in place. I then added a strip on the outside of the arm, and two more, one down each side. They were all secured with lashings of tape. Her left arm received the same treatment. Both of her arms were now held absolutely rigid; she would be unable to bend her elbows at all.

A very wide leather belt went round her waist. I pulled it tight and buckled it on the last hole. That was far tighter than she would ever wear a belt by choice, and compressed her abdomen into a splendid wasp waist. The belt had a number of metal loops attached; these would come in useful later. Padded knee pads went on each leg; I had no wish for her to scrape her knees crawling around on the concrete floor.

I spread her legs wide, and carefully smeared grease all over a large vibrating butt plug. As she was unconscious, she could offer no resistance as I worked it inside her. Nor could she do anything to stop me as I turned her over onto her back - her crocodile clips were still in position - and forced an outsize vibrating dildo into her other aperture. Once she was comprehensively plugged, I secured a leather crotch strap to the front of her belt, turned her over, pulled it tight and fastened the other end to the back of the belt. Small slits in the crotch strap would allow me access to the switches on the two vibrators, but it was impossible for Tracey to force them out.

Next, I fastened leather straps tightly around each of her thighs, just above her kneepads. They were joined by a chain. I folded her legs until her heels pressed against her bottom, and held them in place with leather straps buckled tightly around her thighs and shins. A pair of thumbcuffs held her big toes together.

Moving round to her head, I removed her gag and blindfold, replacing them with a head harness, pulling all the straps on it as tight as they would go. The harness included a stiff wide collar round her neck. The blindfold in the harness was heavily padded, and quite as effective as the previous one. Her mouth was held open by a ring gag in the harness, securely wedged round her teeth so that she could not spit it out or rotate it. Over that gag went a second gag. This was a leather strap to which was attached a large flat rubber tongue. On its underside were sharp studs that would press on her own tongue if she tried to move it.

Turning Tracey onto her back again, I proceeded to the key stage. I had a steel ring with four straps attached. Raising her stiffened arms to the vertical, I joined her wrists with two leather straps connected by a chain, and then attached two straps from the ring to her wrist straps. More straps went around her elbows and were joined by a short chain; this would ensure that she could get no leverage to force off the wooden strips. Lifting her folded legs, I attached the other two straps from the ring to the straps just above her knees. Finally, short cords joined the ring to the crocodile clips on her nipples. I lay her on her side and waited for her to recover consciousness.

Gradually, she came round. She soon realised that, while she was not so tightly trussed up as before, she was still pretty helpless. Her new gag was less effective than her previous one, and she was able to get out a few pathetic grunts, but I ignored them. Wrapping my arms round her oh so tightly belted waist, I managed to lift her to her knees. "Put your hands on the floor now, Tracey - by the way, I'm changing your name to Pinky," I said. Reluctantly, she did so, and just about managed to stay in position. I fixed a cord to the back of her head harness and passed it through the loop on the back of her belt. As I pulled it, her blindfolded head was pulled backwards until her face looked straight forward, if "looked" is the right word for someone totally blindfolded. I fastened the cord to hold her head in position. Her arms, locked into rigidity, were far longer than her thighs, so her back sloped sharply downwards. There was not much I could do about that, but it scarcely mattered.

I clipped a leash to the front of her collar, and pulled. Slowly, reluctantly, she tried to crawl forwards on her hands and knees - and promptly fell over. I managed to hoist her back up again, and kept her at it, with the frequent help of the whip, until she learnt to move as well as possible. She could only take small steps, due to all the straps and chains confining her limbs, and any false move would cause a yank on the cords connected to the crocodile clips - with very painful results.

Reaching through the slits in her crotch strap, I switched on the vibrators and made her try again. The vibrators distracted her badly, and made things even more difficult.

Well, that was a while ago, and since then Pinky has been great fun. Of course, all the bondage is permanently in position except for an occasional renewal of her hand bondage. She never leaves the cellar - well, she could scarcely climb the steep steps out, especially as she's blindfolded. Just to be on the safe side, though, she's chained to a ring screwed into the wall most of the time. I have to remove the crotch strap every day, remove the butt plug and clean her out; she also has a nice big litter tray for other toilet activities.

Then whenever I feel like it, I go down to the cellar wearing only a black suspender belt, stockings, high heels and long gloves. I managed to carry a small armchair down there. I sit on it with Pinky in front of me. I wrap my legs round her head and pull her close to me, having removed her second gag so her tongue is free. Then, with a little help from my whip if necessary, she ... aah! ... aaahh! There's a lovely doggy ...


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