The Kennel Master Part 3 by Honorius

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Chapter 5

“Morning, Sam!” A cheery female voice pulled his attention from the tablet as he stood outside pen 15.

“Oh, hi, Emily. How are you?” A young woman was making her way down the aisle between the two pens towards him with two leashed dog-slaves and a German shepherd preceding her. For the most part Sam’s operation concentrated on female animals; there were other dealers who specialised in males and training them wasn’t his forte. However, his staff were an innovative bunch and as a result of ideas they had had and developed he did have several product lines of male dog-slaves, aimed at specific niche markets. Emily was working on the latest such line which was entirely her baby and the two dog slaves she held were part of that.

Sam stepped back against the wire mesh of the cage behind him as Emily and her charges drew level with him. She barked a command and the two dog-slaves halted immediately, dropping their heads to the floor, their rears raised and moving to and fro making their tails wag in an approximation of canine devotion. The German Shepherd looked up at its mistress and simply sat obediently, waiting.

“They seem to be making progress nicely; you’re doing well with them” Sam observed, “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to really touch base with you recently to see how things have been going.”

“No worries, and thanks, Sam, I’m certainly pleased. My methods may take a while, but they’re pretty effective.” Emily replied pointedly with wink.

“OK, OK, I stand corrected!” laughed Sam, “never let it be said I can’t change my mind.”

Emily was a relatively recent addition to his training team and young to boot. He’d recruited her after encountering and getting to know her in several different hard-to-find chatrooms and forums of dubious legality. She was only 19, which had given Sam pause for thought, but she displayed a maturity, self-discipline and originality well beyond her years. She’d been a veterinary student appropriately enough but had dropped that immediately as when Sam had offered her a job. Physically, she was a slim, waif-like girl with long dark hair and a smooth, innocent face with a scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, an appearance that really didn’t match her talents. Sam had to admit he had judged her book by its cover as it were, assuming her youth and relative lack of experience implied a lack of judgement and innovation when she’d come to him asking that the snatch teams captured a few males for her to work on. Initially he’d dismissed her, advising that she gained more experience with him before she branched out. But she’d persisted, arguing forcefully that Sam’s perspective on his business was inherently limited by his male gender and that with the addition of a female approach new markets could be identified and developed and profits increased significantly. She’d even done her research among his client base, finding potential buyers who met her criteria and making initial enquiries. In the end he’d been forced to concede she had a point and allowed her to experiment with one of her ideas.

She’d insisted on youthful subjects and had helped the snatch team she worked with in developing their targets. The result had been three dog-slaves, all of whom had been captured about 6 weeks ago and had been under her tutelage ever since. Before their capture all three had been developing into what Emily referred to as alpha males; young, arrogant and imbued with masculine self-confidence and innate superiority. Kyle Benson was the eldest at almost 18, a starter level career criminal, implicated in any number of low-level crimes, especially, burglary and mugging, but never convicted by the system. After his time with Emily he now answered readily to ‘Sparky’. His two pack-mates were both a few months younger. One had been James Miller, a keen sportsman and captain of his college football team, the other Oliver Robbins, a straight A student with a talent for mathematics and an ambition to become an engineer. Now they were Bucky and Beau respectively and all three now wore the golden-furred dog-suits which proclaimed their new status as labrador dog-slaves.l

Emily argued that young males like these three, with their natural strutting arrogance, were intimidating, especially to younger females or those new to a slave owning environment. She felt that a product that demonstrated how such a male could be brought under firm control would be invaluable to the confidence of such women, enabling them to achieve their ambitions and exert their will. In a way, she had said, she thought her product would make an ideal ‘starter pet’ to enable confidence and handling skills to be built with a docile subject.

Much of what Emily did with her new charges was no different to the regime the bitches were under; they were totally depilated, wore the appropriate dogsuits, were fed and exercised in the same way and were under the care and subject to the attentions of a canine guardian. But Emily had made a few adjustments and additions to the standard treatment. All three dog-slaves were fed high dosages of viagra in their food and water and their tails had been adjusted so that the insert was long enough and shaped in such a way that it constantly massaged their prostates with every movement. The result, given their youth, was a state of perpetual physical arousal, something Sam could attest to glancing down at the two prostrate dog-slaves. Both were facing away from him, their heads down and stubby hindlegs spread widely, their hairless appendages, protruding from apertures in their dog suits were rigid and swaying to and fro as they wagged their tails.

Another of Emily’s wicked innovations was also visible as a mixture of hard black plastic and shiny steel clamped around and partially encasing the base of their shafts and their scrotums. He could see the device was extremely tight, sinking well into the soft flesh, dividing and squeezing both testicles so they were stretched through two small apertures and constricted until they looked like dark shiny plums. Sam knew the device was an idea of Emily’s, something she’d had his technical staff manufacture for her. She employed it as a consequence for anything she perceived as a lack of effort and enthusiasm from her charges, using a little screwdriver which tightened its grip one tiny increment at a time. Emily claimed she’d had the idea when she’d read about a technique Native Americans had used on captured enemies. It had to be painful for the dog-slaves and eventually would result in effective castration, but that was all part of Emily’s plan. She believed, and Sam thought she was probably right, being slowly and helplessly castrated by a female would have a deep and permanent psychological effect and ultimately contribute to making them docile and compliant; a perfect pet for a youngster just starting out learning how to handle slaves.

Although she’d never directly explained the process to them, her dog-slaves obviously understood the rules, having learned by experience over the last weeks. They were obviously effective too; both the dog-slaves at their feet remained docile and in position, their tails wagging as they obviously knew was expected. Sam smiled at the evil genius of Emily’s setup as the motion was obviously having an effect; both rigid cocks were leaking copious amounts of fluid which was beginning to spatter in droplets on the concrete beneath forming an arc that mirrored the dog-slaves’ movements.

“Where’s Beau?” asked Sam, having noticed that one of the three was missing.

Emily chuckled, “oh, Ben volunteered to bring him out in a minute once he’s finished with his own dogs, but I suspect he may be pausing to have a little fun himself.”

Ben was another of Sam’s trainers, a solid and reliable member of the team and very gay. He tended to be in charge of most of the few male dog-slaves that the outfit had trained to date. However, he lacked Emily’s obvious flare for innovation and Sam wondered if he resented Emily’s new independence.

“I think he’s just jealous!” laughed Sam. “Is he a problem? Is he interfering with your progress?”

“Oh no, not at all,” said Emily. “In fact, I think its beneficial. It’s useful to not just have Czar here to handle that side of the training.” She indicated the German shepherd at her feet who was guardian canine to the three young dog-slaves.

The dog had shifted from its sitting position to all fours his snout pushing between Sparky’s legs, nosing the two purple testicles to one side and sniffing the oozing member. The former delinquent whimpered slightly at the contact, but dutifully widened his legs allowing its canine master easier access. Czar’s long tongue flicked out pinkly and caressed the dog-slave’s angry red shaft, lapping the slimy fluid and prompting an anguished groan.

“Not that Czar’s complaining,” chuckled Emily, “his three bitches keep him very satisfied and he gets constant treats to boot! They’re on tap as it were!”

Czar had now turned his attention to Bucky, his tongue lapping rapidly and enthusiastically over the dog-slave’s engorged member. Bucky must have been more aroused than his packmate as he immediately began trembling heavily, strangled sobs issuing from his restrained mouth.

“Hang on…” said Emily and yanked Czar’s leash, pulling the dog back just as Bucky convulsed, a jet of sticky, pale fluid spurting in a line a across his previous emissions.

“Would you mind?” she said, looking at Sam and holding Czar’s leash. Sam took it and pulled the canine guardian back as Emily clipped Sparky’s leash to the wire mesh of the nearest pen. Czar whined and looked longingly at the mess on the floor under the dog-slave’s body.

“Bucky’s always had a bit of a hair trigger, something that Czar enjoys and sometimes exploits, the clever pooch! He’d have been no good to a proper girl, but I think I’ve found his real purpose in life,” Emily said in a matter of fact way.

She yanked at the leash attached to Bucky’s collar, snapping a command as she did so. Sam had no idea what language Emily had used but Bucky understood it readily enough, scrambling up quickly onto all four ‘legs’ and turning. There was the barest reluctant pause before the dog-slave lowered himself again, his snout bending towards the spattered patches of fluid on the floor as his pink tongue emerged past the inbuilt ring gag to begin lapping at it. Restrained as his mouth was, Bucky found it difficult to use his tongue efficiently but did his best, angling his head and using its tip to scoop the gelid mess into his mouth. Sam could just hear the dog-slave breathing heavily and gulping convulsively, suggesting he was exerting everything he had to stop himself gagged in disgust as he licked at the sticky fluid on the floor.

Emily chuckled evilly, looking down at the dog-slave’s efforts, “he’s not a quick learner, you’d think he’d be used to cleaning up his mess by now. He’s still slow at is”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry, Emily,” replied Sam, “the longer he has to work on it the better for his training in my view. I’m really happy to see how things are getting on, I haven’t really had a chance to chat and catch up properly since they were brought in. I’ll admit at the time I was dubious given the resistance they were putting up – especially that one,” Sam indicated Sparky who was currently still head down, rump in the air with tail wagging, his purple erection and balls swaying back and forth under him. It was a vey different picture to even a couple of weeks ago when the former delinquent had done all he could to resist, fight and injure his trainers.

Emily laughed, a light tinkling sound, much at odds with the devious cruelty she displayed with her charges. “Yes,” she said, looking down at the two dog-slaves,”he took a little breaking in, but I knew I’d do it. Just thank you for letting me prove it to you.”

“No problem, I’m really glad I did.” said Sam.

“Actually,” she said,”look.” She indicated Bucky who was still busy lapping the sticky puddle on the floor. Sam could see what she meant; the dog-slave’s member was still oozing and dripping.

Unhooking Sparky’s leash, she pulled it sharply upwards and towards her, forcing the dog-slave up onto all fours and turning him towards her. She uttered a command sharply pointing towards Bucky and Sparky and the dog-slave turned, lowered his head and pushed it underneath Bucky’s stomach. Sam could see him pause as though nerving himself before he turned his head, but Emily saw it too and lashed out with the end of the leash catching the dog-slave across his stretched, purpled testicles, making them swing like ripe fruit. The dog-save yelped and jumped, almost collapsing on his side in pain, but managed to force himself to stay on all-fours. But the blow had the desired effect and he quickly turned his head taking Bucky’s erection into the snout of his hood. Bucky stiffened and groaned, but continued his lapping of the floor.

“He still has a way to go yet it seems,” mused Emily almost to herself. “I suspect he’s not used to anyone else but me and maybe Ben being present for this sort of thing, though Lord knows, he’s well-practiced.” Almost casually, she began to pull Sparky’s leash firmly to the side, forcing the dog-slave’s snout further and further onto Bucky’s cock until it had entirely disappeared. Choking sounds emanated from Sparky’s throat while Bucky whined, but still persisted to clean up the floor with his tongue as his haunches twitched involuntarily.

“My you should see the filth this one used to write in his texts and emails to his friends. All about what he’d done, or was going to do to the various ‘bitches’ he claimed to have had.” Emily said in a conversational tone, she evidently meant Sparky to hear. She pushed one leg forward, the toe of her Wellington, lifting the dog-slave’s genitals. It was quite an impressive organ, long and thick, the effect spoiled by its hairlessness, dark colour and the fiendish clamp which held it in its grip. “I wonder what they’d say if they could see him now, swallowing cock”

“Perhaps we should track one down to show her?” Sam grinned, “it wouldn’t be difficult.” Emily was a natural he thought; she knew exactly what buttons to press. Sparky made a sound that would have been a sob, Sam thought, if it hadn’t been stifled by Bucky’s erection lodged in his throat.

Sam was impressed with Emily’s easy handling of the two young dog-slaves. She had made him painfully aware of his own biases with her success. He hadn’t really thought about it consciously, but he’d never really believed that males could be subjugated to the same extent as female and so had inherently never thought there could be much of a market for them, other than as toys for gay masters. Now he could see he’d been wrong; here were two youths who, their records showed, had been red-blooded, heterosexual alpha males until a few weeks ago. That had all been taken away from them by a slip of a girl more or less their own age; someone that, until recently, they would probably have viewed more in terms of sexual conquest or prey; certainly not someone who was even their equal, let alone superior. Building on and adapting his own techniques Emily had broken all three, reducing them to obedient animals at the mercy of their constant forced arousal, fearfully licking and sucking each other on demand and playing bitch for their guardian canine.

Emily continued to hold Sparky’s leash pulled to the side as she chatted to Sam. The dog-slave was breathing heavily, snorting through his nose his stubby legs shifting and twitching as he fought for breath.

“I really don’t know why he’s making such a fuss,” said Emily conversationally, “he did this only last night for Beau. Possibly, it’s Bucky’s shape he’s having trouble with; he is quite thick.” She giggled like a schoolgirl.

“They do this regularly then?” Sam asked, unfamiliar with the fine detail of her regime.

“Yes, usually about once a day or so. I think it’s important an important part of breaking down hetero males like these; their identities tend to be built on foundations of sexual prowess. Attack that and everything is fatally weakened and crumbles.” Sam had learnt that Emily liked little more than to propound her theories to a listening audience.

“And the guardians?” Sam asked, “how do they do with them?”

Emily gave and amused snort. “Well it’s not their favourite, as you can imagine, but all three are knotted regularly. I tend to put them in heat for at least several days a week” She winked lasciviously.

Sam smiled. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know I’ve had a couple of solid enquiries about them from folks you queried during your research.”

“Really?” Emily exclaimed, “who was it?” She sounded excited.

“Durand, you know the Argentinian?” Emily nodded and Sam continued,”Yes, as you know he has has a ranch out in the Pampas. It’s a lovely place and he keeps a stable of ponies of the two legged variety. Anyway, he has a teenaged daughter I think who is interested in his hobby, but he thinks she needs to start with something smaller and more docile. He thinks these are ideal.”

“Oh that’s fantastic! What did you tell him?” gushed Emily.

“That I’d be happy to do business with him when they’re ready. When do you think that’ll be?”

“Oh just a week or two and I’ll be happy. Can we find out what other requirements he has?”

“He said he’ll be over in a week or two and we could talk in person. I’ll make sure you’re in on it if you like.”

Emily nodded, “good idea. If his daughter wants any surgical alterations, that’ll add time obviously.” She paused, seeming to remember Sparky’s predicament and yanked his lead in the other direction. The dog-slave almost collapsed, gasping and sobbing for air as she pulled him away from Bucky who had finished cleaning the floor and had returned to the default position of head down and tail wagging.

“Yes,” said, Sam, “there may be, but that’s fine, he’s over for a while and is more than rich enough to fund it.”

“That might be the way to go with Sparky. I think removing those,” she nudged his tortured scrotum with a toe making the dog-slave flinch as he struggled to resume his tail wagging, “and maybe a significant reduction of that unsightly, great member to a more elegant little clit, might be the icing on the cake for him.”

Sparky was shaking and making a choking, sobbing sound, but his fear held him in position, his tail wagging to and fro.

Sam nodded, “you could be right, but we’ll see what Durand and his daughter want and what you think closer to the time.

“Well, you’ve made my day! Thanks Sam,” she said holding her hand out for Czar’s leash, “but I’ve taken up enough of your time and I need to get these out for some exercise. Could you tell Ben to hurry it up if you see him?”

“No problem, I’m on my way that way and I’ll let him know.” As Emily gathered the leashes and ordered her charges to begin moving, Sam turned and walked up the aisle between the pens in the direction from they had come.

Chapter 6

Sam could see that many of the pens were empty as he walked down the aisle, their occupants, dog-slaves and guardians having been removed for exercise or some other purpose. The last in the left hand row was occupied however. In it he could see a single dog-slave bitch, a foxhound by her black and brown markings and the large floppy ears. She was lying on her back on the pen’s concrete floor just the other side of its mesh front. He could see a chain leash running from her collar to a ring in the floor, presumably fixed there by Ellie or Nick when they’d passed this way earlier during feeding.

Sam called up his inventory schematic and consulted it with the tap of a couple of buttons. The foxhound was dog-slave 188, aged 24 who had been acquired by a snatch team about 10 weeks before while out celebrating in Bournemouth just before New Year. At that time her name had been Tori Reinhard and she was an American in Britain visiting a friend for a few months. She was a little unusual among the dog-slaves as she’d been taken by a snatch team before all the research on her had been complete simply because a good opportunity had presented itself. The team had been undertaking surveillance during what it euphemistically called ‘field research’, something Sam often teased them about, claiming it was simply a term they used as an excuse to have a good time at his expense. In fact, it served a useful purpose enabling his field staff to monitor those tagged for possible capture and identify other likely prospects while they were out, relaxed and having a good time with their guards down. Usually the team simply watched, avoiding police, taking pictures, identifying those they came into contact with for future investigation and gathering intelligence.

On this occasion, two of the team had been in the same bar as the girl and the female operative had even had a brief chat with the American in the ladies’. The team’s report highlighted the awful weather that night; a full-blown storm with high winds and heavy rain. The tide had also been high, the wind driving the occasional wave over the sea wall. In all, it was a night in which people stayed inside, or spent as little time outside as they possibly could; perfect for a snatch team’s work. And then Tori had played right into their hands; she’d left the bar, calling to her friends that she was just going out for a breath of air and would be back soon. She’d walked, somewhat tipsily, out into the deserted streets and headed down the road to the sea wall behind the beach where she’d stood watching the waves. At that point the snatch team’s leader had made a snap decision. and decided that conditions were perfect. In the event it had involved the simple application of standard techniques they practiced constantly. The team’s female member, who had already spoken with the target, simply approached her pretending to be out of the bar for the same purpose and injected her with a fast-acting sedative. The team’s van had merely slowed as it drove past on the empty street to pick them up and Tori had simply vanished from the world. The papers had said she’d been caught and swept out to sea by one of the waves breaking over the seawall. That’s where her handbag had been found after all.

It was quite probable, Sam thought, that 188 would have preferred that to her current situation. As her record attested, she’d proven one of the more difficult bitches to break in. When she’d been taken she’d been a strident, loud and quite spoilt princess from California, who’d relied on her wealthy parents for everything and done little work in her life. Sam’s impression was of what Europeans saw as a stereotypical American, brash, overbearing and over-privileged. Her sense of entitlement and pride had been enormous; there had been little humility in her and this, combined with an inherently strong will had been difficult to overcome; she had fought and resisted her handlers at every step.

But Sam enjoyed such challenges; they were what he lived for and 188 had provided him with a great deal of pleasure as a result. The initial responses he and his handlers had made to her resistance had been relatively minor, just slight intensifications and additions to the regime in which she was held. They’d begun by increasing her programme of nipple stretching in tandem with her induction into the Nursery Programme and then quickly begun to apply the same techniques to her clitoris when she continued to hiss and curse them from behind her snout gag whenever it was loosened. A reduction in feeding was also attempted, but to no avail; her resistance and attempts at human behaviour continued. Then she’d managed to head butt her handler in the face one morning when he’d been inspecting her nipples. That had resulted in major changes; she’d been moved to a pen she shared only with her canine guardian and the frequency of her ‘in heat’ periods had been increased while the gaps between them decreased. That had finally had the desired impact and 188 had steadily become more docile and was now a much-improved bitch

The dog-slave’s new compliance didn’t mean that her adjusted training regime had been relaxed at all; it remained much the same. She was still the sole charge of her guardian; usually a bulky bull mastiff named Trajan. The dog was young, still in the first year of his work as a guardian, but he was intelligent and fierce; one of the reasons 188 had been placed in his charge. He should have been out of the pen being exercised, but Sam assumed he had been left with his charge for now as he was evidently busy. Trajan was bent over his bitch’s prone form, lapping energetically at the milk oozing slowly from her breasts. 188 had been in his charge for almost two months now and, despite her fighting spirit, had quickly learned a healthy respect for the mastiff. As a result, she was trying to remain as still as possible under the dog’s ministrations, holding her short forelegs and hind legs as widely splayed as she could to facilitate his access with her blunt snout pointing at the ceiling.

As Sam watched, Trajan paused his lapping and brought his front paw off the ground to press heavily on the engorged, soft flesh before him. New milk to spurt forth in a jet across the dog slave’s belly and the floor. It was obviously painful as 188 arched her snout backwards, the movement rattling her heavy chain leash, but could made no sound herself, other than a long snort as she expelled air through her nose. Trajan growled at the movement and his bitch quickly froze again.

Trajan consumed the newly expelled milk rapidly, but continued his attentions, now beginning to sniff further down the dog-slave’s body, his nose pushing between her legs. The crotch aperture of the 188’s suit was currently open suggesting she was ‘in heat’. Sam consulted his tablet and sure enough, she’d been open for the last four days which had resulted in two known knottings. Currently, he could see she was not plugged as Pixie in pen 13 had been, so it was probable that none of those had occurred in the last 24 hours, though it was not impossible. The dog-slaves spent hours alone in their pens with their guardians and it wasn’t possible, or desirable, to monitor them constantly. Trajan could easily have had his way during some of that time, it wasn’t as if 188 could tell anyone!

As the dog continued his sniffing, Sam could see 188 was holding herself rigid, her disgust at what was happening to her was almost palpable. Subtly, and possibly involuntarily, her hindlegs were closing slightly, the white faux paws on their stubby ends pointing ridiculously upwards. Trajan had obviously noticed the same thing as a looked up and suddenly snarled. 188 immediately pushed the offending limbs as wide as she possibly could, even arching her back slightly to push her pussy upwards affording her guardian even easier access. Sam could hear her making repetitive, slightly squeaky snorting sounds through her nose which he realised were sobs when he caught sight of the tears glistening in the brown fur of her snout around her eyes. He almost felt sorry for her then. He knew he could not imagine the degradation of being transformed from a privileged, wealthy young woman with the world at your feet to the literal plaything of a dog in the space of a few weeks.

If he was honest, he almost admired her fight; most dog-slaves, though they perhaps attempted to retain some form of human dignity somewhere deep inside themselves, crumbled much more quickly under the constant degradations and debasements he and his handlers inflicted. The feeling quickly passed however and Sam smiled to himself. There was a market for most things if you could find it and buyers wanting to own a bitch who had previously been part of the upper echelons of global society were pretty plentiful. In the end the former Tori Reinhardt was a commodity. He wondered of one of his Saudi Arabian clients, a collector of formerly American animals, might be interested in her. The man was a cliche, but a rich one with a stable of ponies and a pack of dogs, all former American women and Sam was OK with that.

Trajan was now exploring his bitch’s pussy with his tongue, lapping wetly around its folds and crevices. The effects of the dog-slave’s disciplinary regime on her vulva were readily apparent. Sam hadn’t been present when 188 had been processed but the photos in her file showed a neatly trimmed pussy, the inner lips just visible between the outer as a pink, fleshy frill. The last ten weeks had changed that and now her labia were puffy and enlarged from constant stretching and a prominent, deep red colour against the short white fur of her hindquarters. Most changed was her clitoris, the hood of which had barely been visible in the original photos. Now the little bud was much enlarged, encased in a tiny steel collar which held its hood retracted and the fleshy nub exposed and vulnerable, stretched until it protruded from the the end of the tube like a little pink mushroom. Sam was impressed; the latest measurement suggested it was about 20mm long and collar was lengthening it still further. Trajan was nothing if not enthusiastic and none to gentle with it. His snout was forcing itself between the bitch’s labia, tongue darting deeply into her hole there, rubbing against her exposed nub. To her credit she remained as still as she could under the circumstances, but could not help but twitch and wriggle under the dog’s onslaught which was consequently punctuated by growling.

Sam closed the window on the tablet and turned to leave. He’d best get someone to take both the occupants of the pen out for some exercise soon he thought as he moved on, remembering his promise to ask Ben to bring Beau out to Emily.

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