Wednesday, January 09, 2013

Rubber-dog. #1: flogged

Gods, but it feels so good to have Him inside of me - to give myself to HIS pleasure.

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It's been a while since we played as Man and hound; tonight we are making up for lost time and opportunities.

Sir let me in - swept me up in a huge hug, then had me kneel and bow my head to the comforting snap of His collar padlocking around my neck. Then He sent me scampering up into the spare bedroom to shed my 'civvies' and transform my trembling body within a tight black skin of one-piece rubber, sox, gloves and puppy-hood. I could feel my reality shift as each layer transformed my body: my mind transformed in turn by my long dormant hypnotic programming as the rubber skin became my skin, the hood merged to my face to become my muzzle, my gloved hands slow morphed into paws... and the rubber came alive with an awakening tingle as His collar made me HIS and HIS alone.

His pup, HIS bootbrush - living only in the moment, living only for His pleasure.

Sheathed, contained - freed - I sink to all fours, tilt my head: listening for the jingle of chains and the creak of my Man's boots from down the hallway; I hear a questioning whine, and realise it is my own. The excitement of playtime flutters in my belly, and my rubber-paws dance upon the floor as I wait for His call. Then I hear a little whistle and try to scamper to Him (my usually fleet paws hampered by the big moto-cross boots I have worn for my boot-pervert Man); I know He can hear me clomping down the hallway, but He still gives a surprised 'There He is!' as I  poke my muzzle around the door of the playroom - which makes me grin and bark and go down on my haunches to playfully wag my tail.

He slaps His thigh - His body encased in His own layer of rubber: chaps and harness and beautiful fireman's boots - and I skitter across the floor to bury my head in His hands, trying to cover Him in licks and eager whining worship.

He strokes my head, runs His hands down over my back. I respond without thought: press up into 'Show!' with my legs braced, shoulders squared, head and tail held high. I feel a heady thrill as He gives my taught body an appreciate stroke and rumbles a deep 'GOOD boy!' 

He reaches down, pulls the crop from the side of His boot - then taps the end against the smooth rubber arching over His instep; I need no more urging, and sink my muzzle down to gratefully lick and lap at His boots - my rubbered rump raised high. I give a little rumbling growl of pleasure as His strong hands grasp and smooth the glossy tight skin of my arse - gently probe to feel the edge of the plug that fills and teases my hole.

The first sharp 'Crack!' of the crop across my haunches makes me tense and yelp in surprise - the rubber gently insulates my body against the worst of its biting sting, yet spreads its warming touch and percussive rhythm across my body. I let my submission grow, feel it transform the pain: transmuting each strike into the condensed force of my Man's love for His dog, and echoing the painful hunger and devotion I feel for Him in turn. The power and intensity builds until I am arching my back in pleasure and pushing my haunches up to meet each lash as it strokes across my glossy skin.

He raises me then - pulls me slowly up from all fours and my puppy-headspace to draw me into a deep enfolding embrace. His eyes shine with intensity and wonder as He cups my chin and kisses my face; He tells me that He has never beaten anyone as hard as He just has me - and thanks me for taking His pain so beautifully. I can only tremble and sob my own 'Thank you, Sir!' - and hold Him so tightly that He knows I am honoured to love and serve Him, however that may be...




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