Good Dog

Good Dog

She rattled the leash as she led him out of his cage into the living room. The feel of the collar around his neck was tight, the leash going taut as he struggled to keep up with her; crawling on all fours, the carpet abrading his knees and palms.

She was nude except for her boots: high heeled, black patent affairs that came almost to her knees. Down low as he was, he could smell her sex, ripe and musky and close.

She stopped in front of the arm chair, turned to regard him. “Stop!” she said firmly. “Sit. Stay.”

He obeyed, sitting on his haunches and looking up at her expectantly. He made a soft “ruff” sound. She bent forward and caressed his hair.

“We’re not going for a W-A-L-K right now, Rex. You’ll just have to hold it.”

Rex uttered a plaintive whine, and she snapped her fingers. “Stop!” she said firmly.

He grew silent, staring up at her desperately. He had been in his cage for three hours, had eaten his dinner from a bowl without the benefit of hands, and licked his mouth clean while she watched him. He had lapped water from another bowl, his chin dripping. Now that water filled his bladder, straining it even s his cock hardened with each stern command she gave him.

“You’re a very good doggy, so far,” she said. “You’ve responded very well to your training. But do you know what a good doggy does for his Mistress?”

He cocked his head, looking blankly up at her; he knew better than to respond verbally or even to show any understanding. When he’d done that to her questions before, he’d gotten the newspaper across his ass. It still stung.

She smiled and sat down in the armchair, luxuriously sinking into the red velvet fabric. Her legs spread, she cocked her knees over the arms of the chair, revealing her trimmed pussy. She nudged her body forward until her ass was at the edge of the chair, her vulva lips spread and her cunt glistening luscious in the candlelight.

Then she began to wrap the leash around her hand, slowly pulling him toward her.

She drew his face between her spread legs, cinching the leash tight and pressing his mouth to her cunt. Obediently, he began to lick. She moaned softly. When he began to suckle her clit, she snapped: “Bad dog! Lick!” and he returned to licking. Dogs did not suck. They could only lick. He licked obediently, rhythmically, as deeply as he could, from her moist entrance to her swollen clit. His bladder throbbed as his cock grew still harder. He licked fervently, and when he went too quick he got a gentle swat across the shoulder. Dogs had to be trained not to hurry. She moaned louder as he licked her more fully, drooling everywhere, servicing her with a canine whimper.

“Good dog,” she cooed as her hips began to grind against him, pressing her sex more firmly against his face. “Gooooood doggy…”

She was intensely aroused to begin with, so within minutes he found her rhythm and was swiftly bringing her toward orgasm as his cock pulsed in agony. His bladder full, all he could think of was servicing his Mistress so she would take him for that precious W-A-L-K, allowing him to relieve himself.

She snuggled herself down further on the chair, tightening her grip on the leash. “Don’t stop,” she said breathlessly. “Don’t stop, little doggy!”:

Then she came, and he lapped at her enthusiastically as he listened to the cries of her orgasm. Her back arched and she squirmed, her thighs coming together around his face as she pumped her lips. He rode her obediently, taking her to her peak and then feeling her relax under him.

When she was finished, she pushed him back, away from her sex. His mouth dripped with her juices. She leaned back in her chair and smiled at him.

“Ready to go for that W-A-L-K now?” she asked.

He knew better than to respond directly. Instead he yipped and reared back on his haunches. But he knew there was no way he could relieve himself with his cock as hard as this. With a smile, she seized a rubber glove from the chair-side table and, deftly negotiating her grip on the leash with her left hand, snapped the glove onto her right.

“Roll over,” she said firmly.

He did, his legs in the air, his cock standing straight as she came out of the chair and crouched over him. Her rubber-sheathed hand wrapped around his cock, and he yowled, almost forgetting himself with a moan as she stroked him once, twice, three times very, verrrrry slowly – then began pumping him faster as he approached his release, his bladder pressing painfully the whole time.

When he came, he almost called out from the pain of his pleasure forcing its way past his swollen bladder. But he remembered himself at the last minute and barked.

He barked and howled and rolled back and forth on his back as he shot his come onto his hairy belly. Crouching, she smiled and finished him off.

“Good boy,” she sighed. “Good doggy. Come one. Time for that W-A-L-K.”

He obediently got back onto all fours, not even caring that as he did he dripped cum all over his carpet. His cock still hurt from the pressure in his full bladder. She unraveled the leash and began to lead him through the house.

As she lead him toward the front door, he felt a sudden wave of fear and shame, and responded with a plaintive whine. Even spent as it was, he felt his cock stir with the fear that she would make him pee in the front yard.

She chuckled, as if reading her pet’s mind. She took a right turn at the kitchen and led him toward the back door.

“Don’t worry,” she sighed. “I don’t think the world’s ready for your brand of canine.”

As she lead him into the chill of the back yard, toward the bushes, she laughed again.

“Besides,” she said as he lifted his leg next to the foot of the azalea tree, “I didn’t bring any bags.”

His canine face turning red, he let himself go, a hot stream into the thick underbrush through the tightened channel of his painfully softening cock. His Mistress watched as he went, her face bearing a luxurious expression of abject pleasure and pride.

“Good dog,” she sighed as he went. “Gooood dog.”

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