Ten rules I don't know (unfinished)

In the same vein as the ABCs of Fetish, this is told as if it was something I did, with the same nebulous couple that I served. This one is unfinished, though. If there is interest, I might take the time to finish it.

Day One
A new game. New rules.

Only I don't know them.

That's part of the game, they told me. I have to do as I'm told, and when I break a rule, I get punished.
They don't tell me what I did to get punished. All I've been told is that there are ten rules.

And the game doesn't stop until I guess all ten.

So I'm sitting here in my office wearing a diaper. Yes, a diaper. It's under my pants, and it doesn't make much noise when I walk. But the diaper helped me guess the first rule: I can't use the bathroom unless they give me permission.

I figured that out without punishment. I also figured out that I can use the diaper if I have to, but I can't change it. So I'm holding it in as long as I can, waiting until I leave for the night before I pee. My bladder already feels like it's going to explode, but if I don't make it, I'm going to stink.

I just received a text. It told me that I broke a rule today, and as punishment I have to go to the store where Trudy works and beg Trudy for permission to be her toilet. I'm not to leave until she does all that she wants to, and I'm supposed to ask her to spit in my mouth when I'm done. They want proof.
Which means I can't swallow. I have to keep her spit in my mouth until I can show them.

This is going to be a long game...

Day 2
When I got home last night, there were two shot glasses on the table. One of them had a clear liquid, the other had a milky one.

They met me at the door, made me show them the spit still in my mouth, then allowed me to swallow.
"Go drink the glasses," she told me. Then she put a finger on my lips. "Don't even think of asking what's in them."

So I took a deep breath and took down the milky one first. It was cum, which tastes very different cold.

The other was vodka. Wasn't expecting that.

I put the glasses away, cleaning them carefully, then doing the other dishes they had left for me. She sat at the table and watched me, chatting about her day. Occasionally she'd ask how it was not having to leave my desk for the bathroom. I told her it was convenient.

"Good. Then keep those on."

We ordered pizza for dinner. I was the table. The pizza box was so hot, I thought my skin was going to burn off- the t-shirt I had on wasn't enough to save me from the heat. But I didn't say a word, I didn't whimper, and when they were done, they threw the rest of the pizza on the floor for me to eat.

I ate without my hands, which made her happy. He seemed a bit disappointed, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him put his needle kit away. I was smiling at my cleverness, eating the scraps of pizza, when he came back into the room.

He didn't say a word, just threw a bucket of ice cold water over my back.

I couldn't help it, I screamed. My back had been so hot for so long, and the sudden cold was just a total shock. I nearly lost consciousness.

"You make too much noise," he told me, putting my hands into wrist protectors. I knew what that meant - my hands were going to be supporting my body weight. The bones in the wrists and hands aren't strong enough to really do that, but with good wrist protectors that distribute and take off a bunch of the weight, it is possible. These ones spread the weight all across my arms and even up to my shoulders.

So no worry about broken bones. But there was worry about what happened next.

He told me to open my mouth, and put a ball gag - larger than normal - in. Then he leaned real close and whispered to me. "Ever wonder what it was like to literally have the shit beaten out of you?" he asked.

Then he put on some padded gloves. Not for me; they were to protect his knuckles. He was going to get a good work out, and I was going to be his punching bag.

Every so often, when he stopped for breath, he'd sniff at the air. I didn't know what he was doing at first; my mind was a bit thrown off by the pounding to my stomach, my chest, and my sides. I was busy trying to get air in through my nose and trying not to pass out.

But eventually, I put things together. So about an hour after he started, my bowels loosened, and I shat myself. He beat the shit out of me. Literally.

I was permitted to change diapers after that, but was sent home without any kind of relief.
I do think I came up with a rule or two, though: don't use my hands to eat, and don't make noise.

I think my entire torso is bruised. Not that anyone here at work could tell.

Day 3
I know two rules. The first is that I can't use the bathroom without permission. The second is not to eat with my hands.

I have an idea for a third rule too. I think I'm supposed to stay on my knees (or lower) around them.

I figured out this third rule when they answered the door yesterday. I was still sore from having the shit beaten out of me, so I just stood there when she came to the door. She opened it, took one look at me, and then smashed her knee up into my crotch. There was an explosion of pain, then a long, drawn out pain that comes from getting hit in the testicles.

Her aim is perfect. She doesn't clip anything, she doesn't miss, and she hits hard enough that I couldn't stay on my feet if my life depended on it.

"Come in," she said to me as I lay curled up in the doorway. I crawled forward so she could shut the door, and she pointed once again at the table. There were two glasses there again. One of them had clear liquid, one of them looked like milk.

After a minute or so of hurting, I pulled myself to my feet and stumbled to the table. The first glass was spit. The second tasted like milk.

"Good boy," she said. Then slammed her knee into my crotch again.

After that, I was at least smart enough not to stand up again.

But it didn't take long to figure out what the second liquid was. I was sitting on the floor when my stomach turned.

She giggled.

I looked up at her, and she winked at me.

My stomach turned again. She giggled again.

"Before you ask," she said, "No, you can't take off your diaper. And you can't change it until you get home."

That's when it hit me.

Laxative.

Day 4, part 1
It's been a busy few days. I took Friday off so I could spend the weekend with them, trying to guess the other rules.

When I arrived Friday morning, I knelt at the door before knocking. I don't know if anyone saw me, but it doesn't really matter; I'd have done it with a camera crew over my shoulder if need be.

He put that commitment to the test when he came to the door, opened his robe, and had me suck him there in the doorway, in plain view for anyone to see. When he was done humiliating me with that, he patted me on the head and told me I could come in, but not to swallow yet.

So I crawled inside and he shut the door behind me.

"Did he do it?" she asked. I opened her mouth to show that I hadn't swallowed. "Good doggie," she said. "You can swallow. Then go to the table and drink."

There were two glasses on the table again. One of them was thick and brown, the other was just water. Well, not JUST water. There was a powdered viagra mixed into it.

And another in the chocolate.

They fed me dog food, then he left for work, and I was alone with her for the next several hours.

Once he left, I turned and asked her what she wanted to do. She slapped me. I asked her why she slapped me, and she hit me again. Hard enough that I think I tasted blood. Hard enough that I understood that I was not to speak.

She watched me come to the realization and smiled. "Good doggie," she said. "Now take off your clothes and put them in the garbage."

I was careful not to get off my knees while I stripped, and I knew better than to stop at anything short of complete nudity.

When I was done, she patted my head and put a thick leather collar around my neck. I heard the snick of a padlock, and knew that thing wasn't coming off any time soon.

About this time, the Viagra kicked in. I think. I know I was horny, and so hard I thought I was going to burst. She gave me her evil grin and went into the bathroom, ordering me to follow her.

I knelt in the corner while she showered. She kept looking at me to see if I was touching myself. So far, so good. I think that tipped me off. I had rules:

1. No eating with my hands
2. Stay on all fours
3. bathroom only with permission
4. no talking
5. no touching myself

I was halfway there. And, not coincidentally, I didn't know the half of it.

She sat on my back with her bare ass as she brushed out her hair and did her makeup. She put on her boots right next to my face, the leather so close I could taste it - almost.

Then she walked out of the bathroom, turned to me and patted her thigh. "Come on boy," she said, and I crawled out after her.

"We're having a party tonight," she told me. "You're the entertainment. You have until five o'clock to guess all ten rules if you want to avoid it." She smiled at me. "But I don't think that's going to happen. Is it little doggie?"

I was beginning to wonder about all the doggie comments, but when she pulled out the butt plug with the tail on it, and the padded mittens, I started to figure things out.

She let me suck on the plug for a little bit to give it some lube, then shoved it home. I twitched, and she slapped my raging erection. "You're not going to need that," she said. "We should put it away."

And then the diaper came out again. She cut a hole in the back for my tail, put it on me, then pulled a pair of lycra shorts over top of it (again with a hole for the tail; she's nothing if not thorough).

Once the mitts were on, I had no fingers, no thumbs. I couldn't get out if I wanted to.

And I didn't.

I was rewarded with the privilege of licking her boots clean while she watched television.

He came home a few hours later, about an hour before the party started. Of course, the party was just the START of the weekend.

Day 4, part 2
When the first guest arrived, I met him at the doorway, on my hands and knees. She told her guest that I was there for his pleasure, and that he should feel free to give me his coat. He draped it over my back, and I waited for orders to put them away. Every few guests, I was told to deposit the coats in the other room.

I figured out another rule, and was smart enough, after the first slap, not to look any of the guests in the eye, nor even raise my eyes in the slightest. I kept my head down, and concentrated on being a good dog.

Once the coats were away, the wine was passed out, and the music was playing, the guests were informed just what I was meant to be used for.

"The doggie is going to come to each of you and kiss your feet. If you let him, he will lick your shoes clean."

"Soles too," he said, and I knew that comment was just for me. I nodded, without even realizing it.

She laughed. "Yeah, soles too. Once he's gotten everyone, we'll go around the circle. You take him to the back room for fifteen minutes."

"And do what?" I didn't like the tone of voice the young man used to ask that question.

And worse, she shrugged. "I have no idea," she said. "And I don't need to know. All I know is that if he doesn't obey you, he's going to get punished. So he'd better please you all." She nudged me with her boot. I nodded again.

Then I began my rounds. A few of them didn't seem comfortable, and just had me move on after kissing their shoes. I still have no idea what most of them looked like; I was only able to judge by what they had on their feet.

The first ones that let me lick it clean was a pair of stiletto heels. I licked, then I sucked the heel.

Then I licked another pair, pushing my tongue into the treads of a pair of doc martins.

Then, eventually, I came to His boots. He leaned down while I was cleaning them and whispered in my ear. "It took me almost ten minutes to find it," he said, "but I did find some dog shit to step in. Just for you. Eat up, doggie boy."

Again... that was just the beginning. When I finished all the shoes, we started going to the back room....

Day 4, part 3
There were again some guests who didn't want to do anything with me. Some of them didn't even come to the back room. One girl just had me face the corner for fifteen minutes while she read a magazine. Another used me as a foot rest.

Two of the men wanted head; one of them rather aggressively fucked my face, enough that my neck hurt afterward.

But the really interesting one was the man who really got into the idea of me being a dog.

"Tell me about when you fuck another dog," he said.

I told him I'd never done that.

"I didn't ask you that," he said. "Tell me about when you do it. When another dog makes you his bitch. Because you would be a bitch. Wouldn't you?"

I nodded. He laughed. "Tell me about it," he said. "About the dog mounting you, about the way he fucked you."

I made something up. I told him about the dog's claws scratching my shoulders, about the pressure of his cock on my ass. I told him about the dog cumming way more than anyone else ever had, and about the knot that got stuck inside - I have no idea if any of that is true. Like I said, I've never had sex with an animal (nor will I), but what he wanted was the fantasy, and I'm obviously not above making up stories about things and claiming I really did them.

After a minute or so of description, of him prompting me about how the dog would always see me as his bitch, of the things I would do to serve my new dog master, he whipped out his cock and started to masturbate in my face. He had me keep talking until he got off, shooting his cum right in my face.
"Now lick it clean," he said. I leaned forward and licked the tip of his cock. "Not me, you idiot!" he pulled away from me. "I don't want to touch you. You're probably diseased. I meant lick the cum clean."

So I did, pulling it off my face and licking my fingers clean while he watched.

Neither of my owners came back for their fifteen minutes. As they knew, they had all weekend.

The party finally ended, and while I was exhausted, I did as I was instructed and knelt by the door. He told me to keep my mouth open, and my eyes closed. One by one the guests left, each of them spitting in my mouth before walking out the door. Some of them spat just a little, some of them made sure there was something there I would taste.

With them finally gone, she patted my head and told me I was a good doggie. Then she took off my diaper and shook her head. "Wow," she said. "Looks like you came quite a bit in here." She put the diaper on the floor, then put her boot on my shoulder, wrapped it around my neck, and slowly pulled me down onto it. She stepped on my head, grinding my face into the soiled diaper.

"You'd better be in this position when I wake up," she said, pulling her foot off me and walking to go to the bedroom. I heard them having sex a few minutes later.

And that's how I spent my Friday night. Naked, hideously erect, with a tail stuffed in my ass, a collar locked on my neck, my hands in mitts, and my face pressed into a soiled diaper, smelling my own cum and my own piss as both of them dried on my skin.

I didn't get much sleep Friday night. Maybe it was the tail in my ass. Maybe it was the collar, or the mitts on my hands. Probably it was the fact that the closest thing I had to a pillow was a soiled adult diaper, smelling heavily of my own cum and piss as it soaked into my skin and dried up.

Before I eventually drifted off, I tried to think of what the other rules might be. I have to be able to guess all ten before this game ends. Some of them I already know, or at least I'm pretty sure of:

1. I can't use the bathroom without permission. I can use the diapers they make me wear, if I want. But...
2. I can't change diapers without permission.
3. I can't use my hands. I think part of the theme here is that I'm a dog. It's not currently a concern; my hands are in mitts, so I couldn't use them if I wanted to.
4. Don't make noise. A good doggy is a quiet doggy. Part of this means I can't speak either.
5. Stay on my knees, or lower, around them. It took a knee in the crotch (twice) to teach me this one. But I've got it down now.
6. No touching myself. If I get any release, it'll be because they permit it, not because I want to. These mitts have tiny spikes, supposedly for traction. It doesn't hurt that they also stop me from touching myself. That's a sensitive area, and not one I want scratched up.
7. Keep my head down. Don't make eye contact with any human beings. I'm below them, just a doggy, so I should remember my place.

I did finally fall asleep trying to figure out the other three rules. I was right on the edge of figuring them out, I think. But then I was asleep.

Day 5, part one
She woke me up gently, nudging me in the side with her bare foot. She let me peel the diaper off my body, then helped me put on a new one. Again, there was a hole cut in the diaper and the shorts for my tail.

"Good morning doggy," she said once I was properly dressed, on my knees, and staring at her feet.

"Good morning mistress" I said. It was an automatic reaction. I couldn't stop myself. But I broke a rule, so she kicked me with the top of her foot, basically slapping me across the face with it. I almost said I was sorry.

"Kiss it for thanks," she said, then pointed her toes so I could kiss her foot properly. "Good dog."

She goes around the kitchen, making breakfast. It smells great, and I remember that I haven't eaten any actual food since the dog food in my bowl last night before the party. I stay still despite my grumbling stomach. A good doggy is a quiet doggy.

After a little bit, she puts two small bowls on the floor. One of them has clear liquid.

"I think you're going to have to mostly serve your Master this weekend," she says. "I just started my period." Then she puts the second bowl down. It's a red liquid. "So I won't really want to play much."
I look at the bowls and wonder if I can do this.

"Go on boy. Drink. Do it." The last words come out as a command, and so I lean forward and suck down the clear liquid. It's rum. That's good; might help with the second one.

I take a deep breath before going down to the red bowl. She puts her foot between my legs and teases me a bit. "Go on," she says. "Prove that you're a good dog."

I close my eyes, hold my breath, and go to drain the bowl. I've never done anything with menstral fluids, and I had no idea what it was going to taste like, but I was determined to be a good slave, so I went ahead and sucked it up.

It was cranberry juice. When I sighed in relief, she started giggling. "I just wanted to see if you'd do it," she said. "I would never have scheduled this weekend if I thought I was going to be indisposed. But you did good, doggy. Why don't you go into the bedroom and wake up your Master. I'm sure he'd like to wake up to you sucking on him."

So I crawled to the bedroom, where he was sleeping with sheets thrown off him. He was gloriously naked, but not quite hard. He stiffened up when I ran my tongue up his shaft, though. Stiffened up enough for me to put him in my mouth and start sucking.

As he made all those great noises, it occurred to me that this really would be a fantastic way to wake up in the morning. Then it occurred to me what most people usually have to do first thing in the morning.

Oh well. Not my first time drinking his piss.