“She’s made a terrible mess. Is she always this much of a messy puppy?”
Head down, hiding my shame-face behind my hair I hear her confirmation, yes, I can’t be taken anywhere, so poorly trained.Looking down between my legs I can see my swollen cunt and a puddle of guilt….
I can feel the wetness of my lips exposed to the room. She’d stripped my sopping leggings after I’d cum. My dress is too short to be decent and my arms are still tied behind me, I have no way to cover myself so I’m forced to kneel in my own filth, all eyes in the room on me.
I hadn’t meant to lose control, so lost in the freedom of flying whilst suspended with rope I slipped into a highly responsive state of arousal. One easily tipped into orgasm with the right pressure on my neck, pushing that button, struggling against the restrains until…gush…every touch on my sensitive skin producing a reaction. My orgasms looped until her instruction to stop. To control it, to be good, to behave.
Focussing on her words and my will to obey I reigned it in, brought myself back into the room to focus. Calmed myself as I was lowered down.
Her slaps against my naked cunt had made the final puddle. The one wet against my knees. The one I’m forced to lap up, her hand in my hair pushing me down, my cheek slick with my own juices as clean up my own mess from the wooden floor.
The lead clips to my collar with a loud metallic snap. I’m led across the room, paraded like a show dog, to receive my punishment. I can’t bring myself to look up, to see the audience watching my humiliation but I know they’re there and it makes me squirm. This was all very unexpected, unplanned, a spontaneous display of a power dynamic developing so organically.
She attaches my leash to the wall, the heavy chain weighing down my neck. I stay crouched on all fours. She tells me I need to stay there, learn my lesson. If she’s going to adopt me she wants to know I’m well trained.
From the simplistic headspace of puppy I only want to be good. She’s so beautiful, so lovingly cruel. I so want to make her happy. I want to be a good girl. As she moves away I try to follow, I want to be near her but the chain yanks me back down to the floor. Ruffing in objection attracts her attention.
“Oh no, that chain is far too long, that will never do…hand me some of that rope….” The chain is replaced with a shorter rope, pulling me close to the wall, giving little space for manoeuvre.
In a cheeky moment of insolent inspiration I gnaw at the rope to get free. Pulling at the knot with my teeth and seeing it give a little, patting at it with my paws to encourage release. Her scold of “Bad puppy!” comes with punitive action; the ball gag fixed securely in place stops me chewing, mittens placed over my paws makes me scowl, but she doesn’t give in, reading me well, knowing I love the humiliation in equal measure to hating it.
She ignores my whimpers as she removes my dress. Pulling it up and over my head in one fluid movement, shhhing my objections. I am now completely on show, exposed in a room where others are simply relaxing, having drinks. I’m on all fours, naked, gagged and bound to the floor.She tells me I will stay there and be a good girl whilst everyone enjoys their drinks. “We can just ignore her now, or she’ll never learn. She can’t have attention all of the time”
Still unable to lift my head, too embarrassed to look up and see them looking back at me I keep my eyes down, making a clumsy attempt to roll onto my back, nearly garrotting myself in the process. I wriggle against the floor, paws in the air, lost in my own puppy world of quiet until I hear her voice…..
“I love that you’re naked and we’re sitting here fully clothed”she chuckles, clearly relishing the power of this new development. Miss Kitty’s switchy evil twin has discovered her potential, her genius reaching levels of diabolicalness and her humiliation play taking a step up as she bounds across the room to place my sodden knickers over my face. The wet cold fabric clings to my hair and skin. I can only imagine how I look right now and the very idea makes me squirm. I hate it. I love it.
I quell the thoughts threatening to invade my quiet “Fuck, you barely know these people now you’re naked puppy on the floor being punished…how do these things happen…?” with one simple fact, I want to be her good girl and to be good I must be quiet and I must be patient then I will be rewarded. So I wait, gently wagging with the knowledge I’m obeying like a good puppy.
My growling isn’t appreciated as she starts to loosen the restraints and let me free. I’d forgotten myself, she doesn’t like my growls, she wants me quiet so even though I’d done so well and been so patient I’m reprimanded and tied back down, even tighter than before, with instruction to “Stay”. Disciplined for my own benefit. “I don’t want you to be a growly puppy, I want you to be good….”
With my behaviour to her liking I’m given permission for cuddles, freed from all restraints and bounding up into her arms I snuggle and wag. She strokes my hair and can’t stop beaming. With the odd sneaky verbalisation and pawing in the direction of the kitchen I make her aware that my mouth’s sore from the gag and puppy needs a drink, pretty please, I’ve been so good.
“Well, if you want a drink, you’ll drink it like a good puppy” she smirks, an evil plot dancing in her eyes.
The bowl is placed on a tea towel on the floor, ready to catch the drips which flow freely as I make my first attempt to slurp, human snouts not designed for bowl drinking. I’m filthy, again.
“Look, her ears are getting all messy” gentle fingers pull back my now dripping locks and fasten a pony tail at the back of my head. Not that it makes my attempts to drink any easier.
Even though my failure makes me giggle I still can’t bring myself to look at anyone else in the room. The audience to my ordeal, their presence making it both hotter and more difficult. I refuse to give up in front of them, I will be good, I will show them how I obey her. “If you can’t drink it nicely, I’ll make you…” she threatens.
I believe her, the power horn is written all over her face and I know my correction will be cruel. I try and try again to drink it nicely but it’s impossible without getting the liquid up my nose, it drips off my eyelashes.
I barely make out the scolds as she dunks my head repeatedly into the bowl; reprimands along the lines of “I told you so…” delivering on her promises. She pushes my face into the liquid repeatedly until I can take no more, the alcohol burning my eyes.
She helps me clean off but keeps me on the floor. “You can sit down there at our feet” she instructs as they continue their drinks and chats, the occasional hand straying down to give me strokes.
Good puppies get rewards, well behaved girls who demonstrate improvements get to sit on the sofa, which eventually I am, pulled in for cuddles and strokes with all. Trained in how to please her, “Good girl”.