Master Karl inserted a funnel gag into its mouth, strapping it around the head. He bound the arms behind the back in leather cuffs shackled together with an S clip, separated and secured the legs with a spreader bar attached above the knees, locked the neck in a thick steel collar and then connected that with a short steel linked chain clipped to an iron ring on the floor so it couldn’t escape from a prone position. He allowed it to kneel on a cushion, although he could just as easily have made it kneel on the floor without protection for its knees, but today he was feeling mildly compassionate. Every dog deserved some comfort; he chuckled through a puff of cigarette smoke. And it was going to be there a while.
The first thing he poured into the funnel was a glass of cold water, giving it time to swallow. Master Karl patted its head, and then went about his business with some paper work on the table by the window. He lit another cigarette even before finishing the one he was already smoking, and he screwed open a bottle of beer. Twenty minutes later he poured down another glass of water, a larger one, and he heard the gulping sound in the throat. This went on for an hour or so: fussing with paper work, lighting cigarettes, chugging back beer, a phone call now and then, including one yelling match with his divorced wife during which he raised his voice and called her a ball-busting cunt, and finally a mumbled conversation with his buddy Jacinto that ended “Okay, if that’s what you want, bro, see you there.” He then turned his attention to the shackled beast on the floor. Sometimes he spit into the funnel or flicked his ashes and washed it down with his beer.
After two hours, Enzo squirmed in the restraints, his knees aching even on the pillows, needing to relieve himself, but of course could not and would not without permission. He wasn’t unhappy; in fact he had discovered some satisfaction in being restrained, the freedom of movement taken away for a specific period of time, the chaining an integral and natural part of his submission to Master Karl. As physical discomfort increased, however, he twitched with anxiety, maybe even incipient panic. Swallowing became painful as water or beer poured down his throat as he struggled to prevent choking and sputtering. An instinctive resistance still mulling about his bones and cells and DNA, a human resistance, he understood, that had to be altered and ultimately eliminated. He tried to repress these feelings, for they could lead to questions about purpose and trust, which would only intensify unease and possibly annoy Master Karl, and there would be no accounting for the consequences. No, he wasn’t comfortable but even thinking of his own comfort constituted a violation of sorts, a violation against Master Karl’s will and whim, a subtle challenge against the Master’s wishes. As he watched Master Karl fidget on the seat, ruffling papers, putting out half-smoked cigarettes and lighting another, his caged cock strained against its restraint. He followed the outlines of the young Master’s muscles. Years of bodybuilding had created a body that made cunts and fags cum in their pants, except he was not allowed to cum anywhere unless Master Karl allowed it, not even when the former student, now his Master, fucked him, fucked him hard, and his entire body blazed in frustration and heat and brought him to the edge over and over and over. He realized with an animal passion that he needed to be whatever his master, the soldier, wanted him to be.
Enzo thought he gurgled a mild protest, but the funnel gag kept it lodged in his throat. Then Master Karl towered stood over him, unzipped his jeans, pulled out his semi-erect and tantalizing cock, and pissed slowly and steadily into the funnel, allowing Enzo to gulp it down. When the steaming yellow liquid welled up in his mouth, Enzo coughed and sputtered. Master Karl smacked the side of the dog’s head with a rolled up newspaper, and finished pissing. He followed that with more water, the dog swallowing as fast as it could, its belly beginning to swell, Enzo the person trying to plead and beg for permission to piss himself, but the gag choked back his words. Despite the water mixed with Master Karl’s piss gurgling back up into the funnel, it did not overflow this time and Enzo was pleased, a pleasure mingled with ripples of fear, that he had achieved the task of consuming all the liquid. Enzo could feel his kidneys practically working overtime and his bladder was beginning to ache. But he knew perfectly well that a well-trained dog was housebroken and did not befoul the master’s quarters.
Three hours passed and Enzo’s entire focus was directed towards his bladder, how to control himself. Master Karl grabbed his arms and with his assistance, Enzo was relieved to be allowed to stand, the collar freed from the floor ring, his blood flowing through his legs, still constrained by the spreader bar. His arms kept shackled behind its back, it began shaking in a kind of constrained piss dance which made Master Karl laugh out loud before smacking it across the head again with the newspaper roll. Then he smacked the other side for good measure, and the dog heard the anger in the master’s voice. It yelped inside its skull, but nothing Master Karl could hear. Despite the blow, which it knew it deserved, it looked with fond eyes upon Master Karl, hoping his former student would see both desperation and love, and show mercy.
“Get used to it, fuckpig. It pisses when I give it permission to piss.” Master Karl blew smoke into the dog’s eyes, a cruel gesture, and the consequent watering of the eyes was not entirely an automatic reaction to the smoke. He unlocked the spreader bar and forced it on its knees again, and led it to the dog cage in the bedroom, a cage large enough to hold a German shepherd. Enzo remembered going to the pet store with Master Karl to purchase it, perfect for training purposes and transporting animals from one locale to another. Master Karl removed the funnel gag long, kicked Enzo’s ass while it crawled and wedged itself within the bars, locked the door, then reinserted the gag in the animal’s mouth from outside the cage, the funnel extending between the bars. And he poured another quantity of water down its throat.
If it didn’t try to move; if he, if it, if it kept still, if he kept still, if it, if he, if it kept still, if he kept still like a well-trained dog, if it did not move, the pressure on its bladder would ease. His mind ranged wildly between animal and human and he/it didn’t know yet where he/it felt completely what he/it should be. At one time he had been the master’s history professor in college, and the master had been a hulking muscle jock student with an attitude who had sat in the front row, legs spread, and the professor couldn’t help sneaking looks at the bulge between the strong legs and he knew that the student saw him. And it began there, well, it began when Karl came to his office for help with an essay. How long ago? It seemed like yesterday, but between the time he had assigned an A for a paper that he himself had mostly written, and this moment with a collar around his neck, about a year had passed.
The temptation to piss in the cage was enormous, but Enzo knew, could it know? How did a dog know, could it determine such things if it wasn’t what it used to be and had ceased to be Enzo, the student’s professor? It knew that of all things pissing in the cage would have been a serious, most grievous offence against its lord and Master, it knew like a well-trained dog not to piss in its own sanctuary. Moreover, doing so meant disobedience and violation of the strict prohibition against pissing without permission; such an action would have displeased its Master:
“You piss in the cage, bitch, I’ll string you up and flog your ass till it turns purple. You won’t be a dog bitch then but a crying screaming piece of human shit begging for mercy. You got that?”
A hateful idea, it knew Master meant what he said since he had been flog several times to the point of excruciating and ecstatic pain, so it tried to remain still, its stomach distending, its bladder screaming. Master returned to the room and pissed again into the funnel. The sensation of the piss, hot and acrid gushing into the mouth and down its throat almost made the dog vomit, but it controlled itself and obediently swallowed, its throat working instinctively. To his credit, Master controlled the flow so that the dog was able to gulp it down readily enough without spilling it out. That was immediately followed by another bottle of beer, the taste almost indistinguishable from Master’s piss, at which point the level of liquid in the system was rising up the oesophagus, and it had reached the point where it could take in no more liquid.
Through the window it could see the moon. It was a hot August evening, late, because the moon, almost full, blazoned against a black sky. If there were also stars, they weren’t visible. He resisted the urge to howl but sensed that, if it had, it would have been an instinctive and therefore natural. Master removed the funnel gag, and opened the cage door and helped the creature stand. He unlocked the spreader bar and freed the arms, and removed the gag.
“Don’t you dare piss, bitch. Get dressed.”
Slowly, as if remembering or trying to remember how a human being dressed itself, it obeyed, each movement painful and risky, lifting an leg or lifting an arm mechanically as if in imitation of something it had seen, but slowly, nervously, because it could hardly refrain from pissing, and was terrified of even so much as a dribble or leaking cock. When it bent over to put on its pants, liquid surged up to its throat and pressure on its bladder almost making it burst, it forced itself to plead.
“Please please, Master Karl, please, please, please let it relieve itself, it needs to piss so badly.” Its words sounded human, real words, neither growls nor barks. Master Karl smacked its head with the roll of paper. “Shut the fuck up. Did I say you could speak?”
It could hardly walk, its eyes tearing up. Like that irreversible moment when ejaculation begins and can’t be stopped, the moment would come when the dog wouldn’t be able to stop itself from pissing, and would have to face the consequences.
Master Karl led the animal through the empty corridor to the elevator, which they took down to the first floor lobby. Enzo’s car was parked on the road in front of the apartment building. Master Karl got behind the driver’s seat and the dog, struggling in pain and unbearable tension, crawled into the passenger side.
“You want to piss, bitch? Speak.”
“Yes, Master, please, yes, fuck, it hurts.”
“You want to piss now, bitch, in the car.”
“No, please, yes, fuck, help me, Master.”
“You’re my fucking dog, is that right?”
“My pig, too, right, if I want you to oink? My fucking pigshit, right?”
“Yes, yes, whatever Master says.”
“Say it, say what you are, a fucking brain dead stupid ass professor begging for his student’s big dick like a fucking faggot… wait, no, not a teacher anymore but a pure pig fuck hole, no better than slave cunt, aintcha, Just a brainless piece of fuck meat I own. My well-trained bitch. ”
“Master’s pig, his brainless slave cunt fuckhole, Master’s piss pig, your dog, your bitch, oh, please Master, it hurts.”
“Now one last thing. A well-trained dog doesn’t bark without permission. Now shut the fuck up and bark when I tell you to bark. Bark to show it understands.
He pulled away from the curb, the dog wiggling in the front seat, crossing its legs, practically yelping for permission to release its bladder, wondering why they were taking the car, why it couldn’t piss behind the apartment building where the janitor kept the trash cans. Losing any coherent sense of what he was as a human being, his mind swimming in a pool of piss, it couldn’t think of anything except release, of the sweet pain of release. And if in the midst of drowning in his own piss, Enzo remembered that he once had a an entire life remote from this excruciating moment sitting next to Master Karl, a life before the student had enslaved him, the urgency bellowing in his bladder collapsed such memories like a tidal wave against bamboo huts. The past no longer existed. A dog remembered its master, a loving dog, a faithful dog, obeyed its master. That was the only memory that would serve any purpose here. It would only be human again when Master Karl wished it to be. And his entire past sank, eliminated as if evaporated against a black hole of space, where not even the moonlight shone. His human self was diminished into nothingness and was unaware of motion and sensation, not even the piercing pain in his bladder, for he was eliminated from the world now, separated from what he used to be, until he…it… was smacked across the side of the head with the rolled up newspaper.
“Wake up, cunt!”
As if dredged up from a grave, it rose into full consciousness, bereft of self and yet light of spirit, nothing existing except the pressure of the bladder and the need to follow Master Karl out of the car, and obey Master Karl who wore a leather jacket and construction boots that he, slave Enzo, bitch and pig and dog and cunt, loved to lick. He had first licked the student Karl’s boots in his own office a year ago. Yanked by the chain attached to the dog’s neck, it could scarcely prevent piss from leaking out of its dick. The Master stopped the car, getting out, dragged it out of the passenger seat, pulling it deeper into a deserted, badly-lit area that could have been a yard behind a deserted warehouse, or an alley way, how the fuck would a dog know? Its head seemed detached and its mind utterly dissipated. High blank walls rising on either side or above trees, and another dog snarled not far away, and out of the depths of shadows emerged Jacinto, huge and black, an ebony god, and the dog heard Master say something, it heard the word Jacinto, but the pain in its abdomen obscured the words and its mind, lost or scattered, was incapable of forming words. Out of the darkness a dark huge shadow emerged, the figure of another human.
Jacinto grabbed its neck and pushed it down, its left leg scraping against an abrasive tree trunk, or was it a brick wall, or the corrugated metal of a fire hydrant? Both men grabbed its waist and legs and pulled off its human clothes, and the cool night hit the groin like a shard of ice, and the bladder nearly exploded and piss surged up its throat.
“Raise your leg and piss like a fucking dog.”
It didn’t protest. It couldn’t speak. It wasn’t Enzo who might have protested, who might have spoken, for Enzo had made a career out of human speech, had celebrated language and had amazed students with verbal dexterity, but Enzo didn’t exist here. He heard the other dog bark a full-throated, almost snarling kind of bark as if it were watching this other, strange dog trespass on to its territory. Woof, woof. Kneeling, securing its position with its front paws, pebbles or rough gravel scraping the sensitive skin, it raised a hind leg and pushed down as if to unleash a flood. At first pain, sharp and streaking, nothing came, but it tried as the men’s voices spoke over its back and it caught whiffs of cigarette smoke, and then almost with a screech, the guttural high pitched sound of an animal in agony, the dog involuntarily barked as the piss splashed against the tree or the wall or the hydrant, it didn’t know, and Jacinto and Master Karl stood over it, watching, smoking, laughing. How long it took to empty the bladder, the dog didn’t know, and what sense of time could a dog have anyway, but by the end tears flowed from its eyes like a human being’s, and its knees felt wet, and speech still did not come, and all it could think of was Master, let Master lead his pet away out of darkness into the light.
The dog raised its head as much as the collar would allow and saw the light of the moon. The moon seemed pocked and dirty like a piece of dried rotted meat a dog would find in a trash can, and it became aware of hunger in its stomach, and if allowed it would have scavenged in the dark, searched garbage cans for that discarded meat, scraps of food rejected by human owners. Often it ate from a bowl under Master kitchen table. The moon was a light, yes, but there was no need to howl at it. The dog sensed the big dark man bending over him, picking up the leash before he hoisted it off its knees and slung it over his muscular shoulder. So taken by surprise, head hanging down towards the human’s buttocks, its thighs locked under an arm, it tried to protest, even yelped and barked, woof, woof. All to no avail, the desire to protest dying as quickly as it had risen, it hung down, its front legs trailing along Jacinto’s back, its head near the man’s hard and big ass. And its latent human nature could not but help to derive great pleasure from the touch of the hard muscles, the body of an alpha fucker and trainer.
“How long can I keep it, Karl?’
“Just bring it back to my place by six. I’ll be home by then. We can do something later.”
“Gotcha. That gives me time. Anything goes?”
“Whatever the fuck you want, do it. Just don’t break its jaws or anything, bro. It sucks real good. Ass needs more work. But you can have fun training it. Remember, the bitch is my dog.”
“No fear, man. I’ll treat it just the way you do, but it’s gonna feel some pain that’s for sure.”
“Don’t you shame me, bitch. Do what Jacinto demands and do it well, bark for us, bitch.”
He nodded eagerly, and barked to say yes, yes, yes. A good dog obeys its master in all things.
Jacinto unloaded the animal in the back seat and ordered it to stop whimpering. He then shoved two fingers in the dog’s mouth and made it gag a bit, but he probed and the dog instinctively began sucking on them and however much of a canine it was becoming it still possessed the imagination of a human being and it imagined the fingers as cocks, two cocks plugging his open mouth.
“Shit, you’re one hungry bitch,” the man said.
He did not throw human clothes into the vehicle. “Lie quiet,” the man ordered, pulling out his fingers, and the dog obeyed, and picked up the scent of piss on its skin. It heard the familiar voice of Master Karl, and its heart yearned for Master’s touch, but it seemed far away, as if the Master called from a distant window opened on a dark night, muffled by fog. Its body jerked in automatic reflex the way a dog bolts at the sound of its owner’s call, his torso twitching. In its capacity to understand like a dog, it understood that it would be returned to its master, that it had not been entirely abandoned, and it sensed that in pleasing this new man Jacinto, it would also be pleasing its true Master. And those black muscles made its mouth water the way it used to when it was completely human. It barked quietly in the back seat of Jacinto’s car, little bow-wows signifying both anxiety and contentment, knowing by now that it could receive a blow to the head with the dreaded newspaper roll if it irritated a real man.
“Oh, yeah, you might want to give it something to drink. I’m sure it’s thirsty.”
The dog raised its head, its eyes catching the light of the moon. It heard its master’s laugh and that other dog growling somewhere in the dark. The man in the front of the car turned around and patted its head. Licking its paws in the back, its ears twitching to the sound of Master Karl’s diminishing voice, the dog folded itself on the back seat as the man turned the key in the ignition and drove away, and it settled into a kind of comfort, knowing that its purpose was to obey and please and get fucked and fucked again, any way its owners pleased, now and forevermore.