Puptastic by Cam

 Puptastic by Cam

I get home and throw my keys into the bowl by the door.  I notice there's a note on the table, on lavender-coloured paper, and neatly folded.  With trepidation, I pick it up, feeling the smoothness of the paper between my fingers. I carefully unfold the sheet, turning it round so the impeccably neat handwriting on it is the right way up.  Not that it matters.  I can read upside-down with aplomb.  I managed to embarrass my old boss several times by reading papers he had carelessly left on his desk that he didn't want anyone reading.  I put that thought aside and look properly at the paper.  There is but one word delicately embossed in dark ink onto the page.

"Walkies"

I feel a flutter of elation, a stiffening and a surge of blood in my crotch.  Followed almost immediately by a feeling of trepidation.  Walkies always means one thing.  Trembling almost imperceptibly, I fold the paper and put it back down on the table.  I begin to strip off my outdoor clothes. When I'm naked, I take my collar down off the hook by the door and walk to the bathroom.

I briefly shower, clean myself thoroughly, and dry myself off before fitting my collar and clicking the lock shut.  I have to be ready before Mistress gets home, so I hurry myself and head for the playroom, where I pick up a butt plug with a long rubber puppy tail attached.  I take some wipes and clean it - not that it isn't already scrupulously clean - lube it and squat, pushing it slowly into my ass until the bulge fits inside me and it locates itself home, filling me uncomfortably but not painfully.

I leave all the restraints alone - I know Mistress will choose them when she arrives.  All I do is fit my puppy hood, making sure the laces are tightly knotted at the back of my head.  I take a blindfold from the row of pegs on the wall and head for the lounge.

In the middle of our lounge is a table.  It used to be a large, industrial cable spool.  It looks a bit like a gigantic sewing machine bobbin, make from rough wood and topped with a thick layer of safety glass.  I tidy away the books and magazines on top, and place down a thin cushion - always careful with my knees.  I know Mistress will tease me about it later - 'old man' she will say - but she knows my problems and allows for them.  My dodgy knee and an annoying propensity for sore throats are my only major medical faults, thankfully.

I turn on the radio, soft and low but audible through the hood to entertain me while I wait.  I climb onto the table, kneeling on the cushion while I attach the blindfold to the puppy hood.  When I'm satisfied I can't see anything, I settle down on the table on all fours and begin my wait.

I don't have to wait long - fortunately the radio show has given me something of a sense of time - about twenty or so minutes.  The news is about to start when I hear the door open and shut again with a bang.  Clearly no-one with you, but I remain on display, not moving from my perch.  Sometimes Mistress has done that - brought someone home while I've been displayed in some way.  There are few things we find more erotic, although it isn't something she does often - its rarity making it all the more special.

Mistress doesn't seem about getting straight down to business today either.  She practically ignores me while she flicks through the post - dropping most of the letters noisily on the table next to me.  She opens one.  I can tell from the pause that she reads it briefly, then tosses that down on the table too.

I'm half expecting a slap and am surprised when it doesn't come.  She turns; I hear her shoes click across the floor as she heads for the bedroom to change into something more comfortable.  Something appropriate for a trip to the local park.  Probably a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt. Nothing fancy.  Mistress doesn't need to dress up to be dominant.  I wait patiently while she readies herself, wondering what sort of mood she will be in - she has said nothing to me so far.  I'm getting worried she's in a bad mood.  That usually spells trouble for me, even when I've done nothing wrong.

Oh my god! Have I done something wrong? What could it be? But the note....that's the sort of note that means play, and Mistress just doesn't play when she's furious.  So it can't be that bad. But she hasn't spoken. Maybe that's the mindfuck.

Yes, that's it. The mindfuck. Or maybe it isn't....

I'm still working this out when Mistress returns to the lounge and clips a leash onto my collar.  I feel her fumbling with the d-ring and bolt snap, hear it click softly into place and feel her warm hand on my shoulder as she guides me down off the table.  I melt at that touch, knowing that there won't be much of that this evening.  She leads me off into the playroom, gently tugging the leash to let me know which way and how fast I should crawl for her.

She binds my arms and legs - making me rest on my elbows and knees and half drags, half hauls me onto a small wheeled platform, specially built for the task she has in mind.  I know these movements, I know these restraints, this pattern of events.  I resign myself to what's about to happen, and my head sinks down between my shoulders.

Mistress senses this.  She crouches down, lifting me gently by the muzzle. "Pup," she fixes her gaze on me.  I try to look at her through the eye patches, but just see inky blackness.  We both know I cannot see, and yet the gesture is somehow meaningful, a connection.

"You'll do me proud, won't you?"  I nod my head and she stands up, briskly taking hold of the leash and pulling me on my trolley out the door. She doesn't need to hear or see my response.  She knows the answer, and I know she knows.  So all I do is think it.

"Yes Mistress."

And so, pulled along behind her, we make the short walk to the park.

I don't know where in the park we are, but I can feel the warm afternoon sun on my back, smell the freshly-cut grass and hear the distant birdsong.  We can't be near the lake - there's no sound of geese or splashing from the pedal-powered boats they hire out of a little blue shack by the water's edge.  I remember the afternoon Mistress had me pedal her out to the island in the middle of the lake.  We end into the spinney on the island and I spent the rest of the afternoon lapping at her cunt.

 A rough piece of string around my neck - the sign.  I wonder what she's written on it this time.  She'll show me later, when her fun is almost over - showing me the sign will be part of that; part of it it me knowing what she told the parkgoers to do to me.  I know she'll be watching, but always from a bit of a distance - a bench or a blanket.  Maybe she'll buy a soda from the kiosk and sip it while she watches.

She doesn't have long to wait today.  Very quickly, I feel a tugging - the tail in my ass is being pulled.  I try to relax and let is be pulled out.  I can't move. I can't resist.  I just have to kneel here on all fours, like the pup I am and let whatever other puppy owner is passing by who wants to let his or her hound have some release have their way with me.  I'm still groaning inside while I force myself to make enthusiastic panting sounds, yipping softly occasionally.  My yaps turn to grunts and squeals of pain as the cock enters my ass.

I try to struggle free, to get away but my restraints are too good - Mistress is too well-practiced in this.  I know she's watching me from afar, enjoying her free show. The pain is intense, each thrust ramming into me, digging deep into me. But fortunately, as I've learned, the big ones often don't last long.  He twitches inside me, one last, deep thrust...and his cum spurts into me, filling me with his seed.

I feel my own precum dribble out of my cock, dripping onto the platform, as he pulls out, wiping his cock off on my thigh.  I shake and tremble slightly, full of adrenaline and wanting so much to be back home, showered and clean again.  But of course Mistress will leave me ...ow!

Something is shoved into my ass again.  Thick and hard...slipping into place with his cum as lube.  The tail plug has been replaced.  I can feel someone at the string around my neck...fiddling with the sign as cum dribbles down the back of my leg.

I remain standing there on my trolley, on all fours, plugged, covered in cum as I listen to whoever has just fucked me disappear out of earshot. I wish silently for Mistress to come and get me, letting out a soft whimper as I miss her touch.  But she’s not coming back any time soon.  I get the feeling it will be a long afternoon…

(part 2 to come next time)