I hear the beeper on my collar emit one loud "tweet!" One? Damn it. Two would at least be a known quantity; just 100 strokes, barely takes a minute and George, formerly my Rottweiler but now apparently my master, is more than happy to make them quick. But one; he'll know that it is a time thing, not a speed thing, and we could be at it for awhile.

It all started because I was pissed off. What pissed me off, you ask? Stupid porn stories.

Not that that's at all fair. Hey, I read them and they are really exciting. I enjoy lots of different scenarios, including "dog fucks the living daylights out of someone." Well, I'd been enjoying one particular story in this genre, where the daughter of the family is left alone with the dogs, and inadvertently gets serviced by them all. Loved it. Came hard. Seriously, I had to wipe down the wall behind my workstation afterwards. But in the post-excitement mood, I said to myself "dogs don't do that. They just don't." And it kinda brought my mood down, so I really didn't fancy that genre much for awhile.

But could they, I asked myself? Sure. You've seen Lassie. Dogs can be trained to do pretty darn much anything. "I'll bet I can train a dog to fuck a person until the cows come home and then some," I said to myself a week later when I was locked back up. And why not? I've got pretty much infinite privacy at home these days, and plenty of time to myself, and no risk of dating taking up my time. I have to admit here, I wasn't planning on this for me, but it was probably a fantasy in my mind. On the surface I had thought of getting myself my own slave girl on Collarme.com or from a Munch, and she'd be my 24/7 stay at home puppy.

Why time, and why locked up? My former lover moved away, but agreed to stay on as my key-holder. Randi is a stunning Filipino-American woman. Full, dark lips, skin like a creamy latte, tight, strong and fit. Stunning on the surface, and beneath an aggressive personality to match.

We were lovers for several years, and it was one of those great Switch relationships that, depending on our moods and energy level, could go from vanilla to Dom/sub and back without a hitch. We both found it very fulfilling, and that old "sex bucket list" got covered and then some.

Eventually, she became much more dominant, in part to help her in her career in sales. A woman can pull a lot of emotional strings when she knows how to look for cues, both in men and women. I found myself on the bottom a growing majority of the time, which evolved to what amounted to 24/7.

She realized, once she got me to stop "topping from the bottom" that she was not just benefitting from the personal growth, but she *liked* it...a lot. I soon enough found myself with a PA and nipple rings, which she put to good use. Our final evening, which was mostly typical, began with a coded text at 4pm, and went from there as follows:

"In" (We are eating in, I expect to find my place set when I arrive)

"Hall" (Place your mat in the entryway, and lock yourself there, as I want to see you when I arrive. Trust me, this beats "Table", where I'll sit and suffer in front of her as she slowly eats and torments me...that can take hours.)

"Cane" (The bamboo cane should be beside your body, as it is what I intend to use).

"Plug" (The solid plug..."inflate" would mean the inflatable, etc)

"Ring" (For the type of gag)

"P/W" (get out the parachute and the weights...drat. That explains the solid plug, so the inflator won't interfere with stretching and caning my testicles)

As simple as that, and I'd be out the door at 5pm and heading home, with a half-hour to an hour or more (so...a half hour but with an indeterminate wait) to prepare. Occasionally, she'll go out to drinks with friends or clients at the last minute...but that first text is the only indication I will get. I've found myself self-bound until 2 in the morning some evenings before my Randi returned, but thankfully that's uncommon.

Dinner was easy; I always set up the night before, so the sesame-glazed Ahi was grilling, the wine breathing, and a light salad was on the table in minutes. A veg/juice drink for me, then off with my clothes and off to the bathroom.

My diet is pretty carefully controlled for health and cleanliness. Randi isn't a big fan of cleaning up "issues", so my breakfast and lunch are followed by a good dose of fiber. By 5pm, it's already on its way out, and a quick enema takes care of the rest. I replace my "day plug" (with the 1 inch neck, basically unnoticeable anymore) with my "play plug" with the 2.5 inch neck.

Leather Collar, customized to say "Randi's Toy" locks to my neck. Leather cuffs at my wrists and ankles locked as well. Now I'm naked except for my comfortable, care-worn leather, my Lori's #12, with it's 0-guage PA, and the stirrup piercings through my nipples, and the plug that I can finally, deliciously feel.

My "Mat" is just a section of 3' x 6' plywood, with d-rings adorning its lightly padded surface, and rubberized back. It is light, strong, and when I'm on it, it may as well be bolted to the floor. This way, in our small condo, instead of a dungeon, we have a mobile play structure. I have installed suspension rings (for hanging plants) by windows in many of the rooms, but the Mat gets far more use.

I double check the dinner on the table, putting her plate on a warming tray, setting the candles so she can light them (romantic and OUCH at the same time). Nothing is awry, so I move to my mat with minutes to spare.

Per her instructions, the cane is placed next to the mat, facing the front door. My ankles clip to rings on the middle-sides of the mat. The gag goes in, is and locked. Next a chain is strung from one nipple-stirrup, through a d-ring, and clips to the other nipple stirrup. Now face down and kneeling on the mat, I use a final lock to cuff my hands behind my back. Even the smallest amount of freedom, such as if I were not gagged, and I could make my way out of this. As I am, I'm trapped.

This night she returns at 7pm. Not terribly late, but my neck already hurts. As the door opens I raise myself so that my nipple-chain is taught. It's tough to hold that position for long, but it is expected that my face will be up and my eyes down as she enters the room.

Enter she does, black boot heels clicking their way towards me, and Randi then moves right past me without a glance, and into her ground floor dressing room (a closet that I extended for her). She emerges, her work attire gone, and it its place her red kimono through which I can see the outline of her garters and a hint of the lace of her bra.

She lights the candles, turns the lights down with a verbal command (thanks, Apple!), and settles down at the table. I hear the wine pour, and a soft exhalation of breath. Randi must have had a long day, which I'll likely hear about later, because more often than not she'll have taken a moment to say hello with her crop.

Tonight, she takes her time at dinner. From my angle in the hall, I can only see her feet, clad now in maryjane-style pumps with a modest heel.

Dinner apparently over, she tops-off her wine and lightly glides to me, as I raise myself again. She gets on her hands and knees and forces her naked sex in my face. Through my ring, I service her as best as I can, as she sighs and relaxes and lets my tongue relieve the tension of the day. I start at her thighs, then move my way in. She adjusts her hips to direct me, and I finish by giving a bath to her tender rosebud.

Satisfied for the moment, she crawls over to my side, removes the T-shaped key from around her neck, and removes my chastity. She hangs the parachute from my momentarily-relieved balls, adds the weights, and then threads a lock with a chain through my PA, clicking it shut and attaching the chain to the d-ring on the Mat that holds my nipples. She then grabs the bamboo and moves behind me.

I feel her reach around and remove the lock from the gag. "Thank you Randi." I say, with soreness in my jaw and cotton-mouth. And, no, her name isn't "Mistress". She explained to me one day that having "Randi" be her name of dominance helped her emotionally in sales meetings. When a client would assume a mocking tone and say "Really, Randi, we know you can do better for us," it helps immensely that it triggers her dominant side. She's led her company over the past year in keeping the price points up, as well as the cocks of all those customers who respond to her poise and dominance and are just so eager to sign anything, if only to please her.

I feel the weights on my balls swing, and then the cane comes down on the inside of my thigh. She knows this is the worst, and she aims for the bruise on each side that is visible and present most days. She'll move on if I say "please", but I refrain as I can take it today, and I know she loves it. She cracks the bruises several times, then moves to other areas. The bottoms of my feet, my ass, my balls, even the chains that hold my nipples and my penis in place. Satisfied, she moves back to the bruises and swipes hard. It only takes a dozen or so, each separated by as much as a minute, and my body starts to shake uncontrollably. I'm deep in sub-space, and want each strike, but my body is at its limit and I start having minor convulsions as the pain throbs and peaks in-between blows.

Satisfied for the moment, she breathes another deep sigh, and pauses to watch my body as it shivers from the stabbing pain that will keep shooting through me for some time.

I hear her rise, and move the china cupboard. A glass is placed on the table, wine is poured, and the glass is placed beside my head. My wrists and PA are unlocked, and she says "bedroom", and vanishes into the house with a soft clicking of heels.

I free myself from the Mat, put away the toys, and take a sip of the wine in contemplation. It has been a good day for her; a bad day and she would have used the strap-on, fucking me in lieu of some bastard that she'd want to get back at for some slight. Unfortunately, not tonight, as I enjoy the milking and I can't assume that I'll come. The bedroom is a very good sign though.

I go to the bedroom, and Randi is sitting on the edge of the bed, now nude. Glowing and lovely and soft and feminine, the thin strip of fur that she leaves above her shaved sex glistening with the dew of a quick shower. She reaches out a hand to me and we roll into the soft sheets, and I take her like it was the first time. I haven't come in a week, and with her thighs around my waist and our tongues intertwined, I don't last long.

"Randi, that was wonderful. How was your day, love?" I then move down to bring her to another orgasm, my fingers in her ass and my tongue inside her sex.

"I've been promoted. I'm moving."

I stop, temporarily shattered. We hold each other and cry. We spend the rest of the evening talking and making love and talking more.

When she left, moving up to Napa from Fremont, she agreed that she would hold the key to my chastity. The arrangement is very generous on her behalf because, frankly, she doesn't get a whole lot of benefit from the long-distance relationship.

My understanding is that she has the occasional vanilla boyfriend or kinky play-partner, but that her primary outlet was several once-a-week slaves. Some in chastity, some she'd just show up and beat for an hour. Apparently, from the scant details she shared, this was quite lucrative as it was usually older, wealthier men with refined tastes that were willing to pay a thousand dollars for an hour of a thirty-ish, stunning exotic dominatrix to whip them to putty. Even better, a few of her slaves were senior people in her client companies. She didn't push the ethics of the situation...but she always got the meetings she wanted.

Once every few weeks I'd drive up, buy her a nice dinner and have a great night on the town, and in exchange she'd unlock me, usually for a few minutes in my car when I'd drop her at her home, or if she was really feeling like gifting me, she'd make me stand naked in a darkened park or similar almost-public place. I'm terrified of exhibitionism, and she knows it feeds my excitement. I'd get to come there and then, well, then it is back in the cage. Every few months we'd take breaks and I'd be "free", thus the come on the wall...but those were few and far between. I was happy, and constantly horny.

I do engineering as a career, which is how I met Randi in the first place, as her field support person as she went to pitch clients. I was stunned by her poise, her mid-thigh skirt and jacket whose hem went past her skirt, the blouses she wore that you'd have to peek inside the jacket to see making her seem almost naked. She liked my skills, my body and the fact that I could get the clients laughing with us while she pitched. It was a good partnership, both at work and beyond. She changed companies, but kept me on in her bedroom.

So my first challenge was engineering. I figured I needed a human dummy of some sort, and some trigger mechanisms.

My first dummy was not the smartest design. I used a blow up doll (it has all the right holes!), and filled it full of expansion foam. Note to self: expansion foam needs air, or it won't dry. That was an incredible mess.

I still liked the foam idea, so I just got a cheap cat suit on EBay. Note to self: a cat suit doesn't have a lot of structural integrity. After making a shapeless, sticky balloon on the first try, then creating a framework of PVC pipe for the second attempt and, ruining that, I was almost ready to throw in the towel.

Then I got back to basics. An Asian clothing boutique nearby was closing (as they do every couple of months it seems) and they had plenty of mannequins. They can be pricey, but they had one with a broken foot that was headed toward the dumpster. Score! I just cut the legs off at the knee, drilled a 3" hole where the anus would be, inserted a Fleshlight, and I had my fuck-doll.

The next task was to decide on a dog. It needed to be big enough to service a person and smart enough to train. Enter George. While doing my engineering on the bitch, I had looked for a few months until a decent puppy came in at the shelter, and George had a new home.

What I had in store for George was essentially obedience training. One whistle, and I'd tap the back of the dummy. If he got down, it'd be another single whistle until he'd stay up for the 3-whistle 'done' and a dog biscuit in his bowl. The next step was getting him to move his hips in a domination-fucking motion. Then to get him to get his cock into the sleeve (that was pretty much the hardest part). Then to train him that 1 whistle meant 'mount and fuck, wait for 3', while 2 whistles meant 'limited strokes, the faster the better because you'll get your 3-tweet-treat faster'. I started at 10 to get him to learn to differentiate between them, and then slowly moved it up to 100 strokes.

We spent a couple months training pretty much every night. His fuck-doll-bitch, who by then I called 'lucy' (with the lower case intentional), began to get some tech upgrades.

The first upgrade was her tail. I had thought that a bitch-plug-tail would be a fine idea...but then it made no sense. I'd need to unplug lucy for George to get access. Instead she got a modified 2-strap dildo harness. I figured this would mean that once lucy was replaced by a real woman, she could go with her pussy plugged 24/7, with her ass as George's target. To this I added a mechanism which I now wear, to my pride that it works so well, and to my shame that it is a lasting symbol of my bitch-hood.

The tail mechanism was a rigid lever, padded and covered with fur. It attached to a wide plate on the back of the harness, where it was kept erect by a large and powerful spring. When pushed down against lucy's back, it would turn a gear that would lever the butt-plug, itself on a curved steel arm, out of lucy's ass and pull it to one side, laying flat on her ass-cheek as she was fucked. Release the tail, and the spring would re-erect the tail and shove the plug back into lucy's anal fuck-hole. It was then a simple matter of training George that he had to push that tail down to mount his bitch.

The tail was connected to my next improvement. I didn't want this to be just a treat for George, but a something more basic and fundamental. I got a rotary dog feeder, put a switch on the tail and a controller on the feeder, a Bluetooth communications controller on lucy's collar, and a pressure switch inside the Fleshlight. A simple matter of programming later and periodically during the day, lucy's collar would tweet once or twice. George would mount on cue, and the switch on the tail would let the controller know that any pressure in the Fleshlight was George, not the plug. Then it was a matter of either time with pressure in the tube (somewhat random), or the number of pressure surges if it was a two-tweet session (again, somewhat random, between 50 and 200...biased towards 100).

The system would automatically activate several times a day, and when complete, George (who was always hungry) would get three tweets indicating the moderate amount of food that had been deposited in his bowl.

Mounting without the tweet-signal would yield no result, and this I thought important. What if my mom came to visit and dropped an ear ring, and George decided that she was on all-fours and thus fair game? No, this had to be signal driven. That worked partially, but on occasion George would mount anyways just to find out. I got him a citronella collar with a remote and included that in the system. If he mounted and activated the tail switch without the system's instructions, it would give a little spray of citronella (which he really, really hated).

It worked wonderfully. I had a USB camera installed at home and established a secure link to it. From work I could watch George fuck lucy daily to my delight, as I could override the controller at any time and insert an extra session. Caged as I usually was, my cock ached with wonderful pain and frustration to see George master lucy on demand.

I continued to do upgrades. One special one was a hole drilled in the end of the Fleshlight. I would occasionally override the random time, and George wouldn't get his '3' until I saw his come emerging from lucy's belly button, where I put the drain. I admit I tasted it on occasion...come on! I had to! Salty, bitter and sour at the same time, with a little sweetness from his natural lubrication. Mostly, it tasted like milky dog-piss...but I am so horny most days that I would have done anything kinky.

lucy's wardrobe also got upgrades. Pony and dog costumes, school girl, my bondage gear, lingerie. Whatever struck my fancy. The one thing I made sure to do was to scent it all. I eventually dappled it all with George's spunk, so that he'd know the smell of his bitch. It was a little rank, but stored in a locker in our shared garage, it didn't stink up the house any worse than a single guy living with a big dog would. I did find the occasional dog pissing on my garage wall, however!

One fateful Saturday morning, I was in the tub with my ass full of a large dildo suction-cupped to the side of the tub. Why? Well, three weeks without an orgasm, and I need the occasional milking, don't you? So, I'm sliding up and down the cock, my own caged manhood quivering with delight and pain as the head tried to rip itself free from my 0-guage PA, and I thought "George! Man's best friend! He can do this for me!"

"Sure," you might say, "that was always your plan." At that moment, it was clear to me that it was the whole reason behind my work. Yes, I'd had lots of fantasies leading up to this, and in a real way lucy was my (and George's) 24/7 slave, even if she wasn't real. But right then, I knew I wanted to take my rightful place and get some relief, courtesy of my good buddy George.

It wasn't so easy, though. First I needed my own bitch-suit. I went over several designs until I came up with a workable self-bondage dog-slut solution. $10 got me a sweatshirt from the Wal-Mart on Monterrey Highway. A little sewing, a zipper in the back, thick silicone oven-mittens (as elbow cushions), and I was locked in tight. A pint of George's cum all over it, and he'd know the smell and what it meant.

Here's how it worked. I cut off the sleeves at half-length, and sewed them closed with the silicone at the bottom as cushioning. My elbows would go in, doubling my arms up and making my hands useless and inaccessible. I cut the back in half, and installed a fat, heavy plastic zipper that started mid-back and went to my neck. I cut a large V out of the front, and sewed elastic straps going across to keep the fabric tight, but leave access to my entire front. I then added two elastic straps from the waist, between my legs and back, to keep the suit from coming off.

For the mechanical aspect, first I'd set the auto-feed-fuck system, with a dual release timer system that was partially separate. One release timer was a mechanical clock that would, after a given period of time (targeted at the max hours, typically 10) release an arm from the wall that would descend to horizontal and that I could use to unzip the zipper on my back, by means of a ring on the zipper and a hook on the arm. There was also a blade (essentially a seam-ripper) on this arm in case of emergencies that I could rub against and cut the suit off.

The second release timer was electronic and was tied to the system governing the fuck-instructions and could be manually set for a number fucks or hours, or could be put on fully random (3-10 hours). After the given number of fucks or hours, a second, identical arm would deploy and free me from my sexual servitude. If the electronic system failed, the mechanical served as a backup.

Once the trap was set, I'd first dress for the occasion. Most times I'd wear stockings and garters along with some high-heels. I was replacing lucy as George's bitch-slut, and I had to dress the part to be the part! Seriously, my need for femininity in my isolation really brought out the "dress up" in me.

Chains to my nipple piercings were added, typically with a little weight. Then the dildo harness would go on, complete with bobbing tail and plug in my ass. I'd of course remove any butt-plug I had in at that point. Yeah...I was still using the 2.5-inch head in my ass with a 1' neck pretty much 24/7. When I went jogging, I'd often put in a 2' head heavy steel model for the feeling of weight and motion. During a long lockup I'd do anything, literally, for some stimulation.

I'd then get down on all fours and thread chains from rings at my elbows to a metal slip-knot around my cockhead. Finally the collar locked around my neck...lucy's old collar, incidentally...clipped onto my cockhead as well. A full hood, and bit gag were preferred, sometimes with a dog-face on it for kicks, or a ring gag if I wanted to be able to service George and clean him in-between sessions. The first time I was a little scared, so didn't even go for the gag.

I would then hook the zipper onto the automatic, computer controlled arm, put my elbows into the sleeves, which doubled my arms up and would keep me from using my hands, and pull and wiggle until I was fully zipped in. I'd then use my head to push the arm up, and the system would be activated.

There I was. I remember the first time. The arm went up and I felt the butt plug. I wiggled my tail and felt the spring push and pull the plug out, fucking me by way of my motions. George was intrigued...sure, he knew it was me, but he could smell his bitch and see the tail. We sniffed each other a bit and made our way, very slowly, around the house.

The chains from my elbows and neck to my cock were very limiting. Any stretch too far, like reaching up with my head or elbow to pull down an arm, or trying to run from George, would immediately choke my cockhead viciously. So I was stuck on the ground, waiting to see if it all worked.

I didn't need to wait very long, although it seemed like an eternity. My collar came alive with two tweets. George looked at me, paused, then in a flash, he was on my back. A speed-fuck, what an introduction! I felt the quick strain at my waist as the tail was pushed down, then the emptiness as the plug pulled from my ass. Quickly, wonderfully replaced by George's instantly hard cock.

It is remarkable how well Pavlovian training works. 'Hard cock in lucy means food. No cock, no food.' George's whole body was trained to shove that cock out as fast as possible, especially with two tweets, because the faster he fucked, the faster he was fed.

On my maiden voyage as his bitch, he was no slouch. Instantly he was deep inside me. I could feel him go in straight to the knot. I was surprised at first, but quickly started pushing back. I could feel his smooth slickness jack-hammering in and out. I could feel my 'switch' hanging from my cockhead, waiving in the air as he fucked me. Instead of a pressure switch I had moved to a momentum switch, like on an iPhone, on my cock, since my body couldn't be modified like a Fleshlight with a pressure switch installed inside. Back and forth for a given number of times, so long as the plug tail is out, and George gets his treat!

Before long at all, *my* collar (no longer lucy's, or maybe this was the moment I became her?) gave three blasts, and George jumped off with audible 'Pop!' as his large, swinging cock pulled from my ass, and scampered off to his reward. He used my tail as a lever to push off me, causing it to go back erect even faster than the spring would have done. I, in turn, was frozen as the tail swung up, stabbing the plug back in my ass, like an immense, unmistakable 'period...you're done, thanks for playing, bitch!' to that first fuck.

It took me a few moments to grab my breath. My cock throbbed. My ass throbbed. I was a bitch, and I loved it. I could see the milk-not-come dribble in a long stream from my somewhat relieved cock, as George's large, thick shaft was more than adequate to give my prostate the massage it needed. I had been well fucked, and well milked, all in less than three minutes.

What was I, *lucy* to do? lucy used to just sit there; she was after all just plastic. I ambled slowly after George, and lay down next to where he was just finishing his treat. He turned to me and licked me. First my face and neck. I couldn't move much, but did my best to return the favor. My tongue went out to his and licked it and his face.

He then went after the sweat on my nipples, and I was instantly on my back quivering like a puppy! The pain and ecstasy were fabulous, as his rough tongue further hardened my already erect, excited buds.

Finally, he went for the pre-cum from my poor, caged bitch-clit. Oh, that was so delightful. It was the first time in over a year that anyone's tongue had touched it. Randi wouldn't anymore, not even with her hand, God forbid her mouth! I so wanted to come at that point, more than I had in the past year, perhaps ever before or since. The long rough strokes ripping across my bitch-hood, poking and darting into every crevice. Never before had I been so deep into sub-space, so turned on, so owned, so loved and cared for. I took it as long as I could until I cried out from pain, as he had practically removed the skin that was accessible through my cage. He heard my 'yelp' and backed off, and I closed my legs in fatigue and relief. He licked my cheek once more, and ambled off to the living room for a lie-down.

I nodded off, and came to with the sound of a 'tweet'. Ugh. So tired. The sound of claws scampering across the kitchen tile and George was on me, but I was still lying down. He looked confused, tried to mount me, then backed off and started growling.

This I had not planned on. George was big, strong and determined. I was helpless and in the way of his treat. I quickly got back to my knees and elbows (with some serious pain as I strangled my cock several times), and George was on me in a flash, his full weight and speed to mount nearly crushed me, as his front paws pulled at my hips and his weight thrust me forward, my cock-wire tightened and I was is pain again.

I shoved back quickly, and he was back inside, this time with a long, slow motion, that really let me feel the depths to which he was capable of going. I immediately fell into a rhythmic panting, then started tightening and loosening my sphincter, letting him in then trying to hold him. As he quickly got the knot inside, I was able to finally grab it with my sphincter and hold it. From there the strokes got shorter, with the knot putting pressure on my prostate and really milking the heck out of me, letting me feel the warmth of the pre-cum as it pumped its way out through the pressure-gate of my piercing.

We alternated like that for several minutes, me holding him in, then releasing his knot for long, achingly beautiful strokes. He soon began to quiver, and I didn't have to hold him anymore as he held his cock deep inside me and the cum started to pump and pump. I felt the warmth filling me. I knew he could cum a bucketful, but I'd never thought of what it would really feel like. For the record...hot, filling, and like success. I was a good bitch at last, and that throbbing cock proved it. The throbbing receded, but he still held me, just as he was trained to. Don't pull out until the whistle blows! I wanted to collapse and I wanted to fuck more, but I just sat there with my ass high in the air, supporting my master and his thick, wonderful shaft in my finally fulfilled ass.

After George finally pulled out, I laid there with my ass in the air, not wanting to move or spoil the moment. The path that led me here was over a year in the making, further if you count my submission to Randi. I had gone from a passionate play-partner to an ass-fucked slut. I loved it, but seriously, I really needed to get a new girlfriend!

Then my collar beeped again, and all thoughts of stopping my descent vanished in a haze of joy and submission.