This request was for me to finish an old story. The original story is here: Ten Rules I don't Know (unfinished). Someone read it, and wanted to know the other rules. Wanted to know how it ended.
So here, to answer that request, I present to you....
Ten Rules I don't Know (conclusion)
Day 5, part two
As I wipe a bit of errant cum from my
lips, I turn my eyes immediately to the floor. My master pats me on
the head and calls me a good dog, then goes to get in the shower. I
stay where I am, thinking about the rules.
There are ten of them; that much I
know for sure. They told me that there were ten when this all
started, five days ago. So far, I have seven of them down, though I
have no idea if they're correct. What I have so far, though, is:
- I can't use the bathroom without permission. Or maybe at all. I can use the diapers they make me wear, if I want.
- But I can't change diapers without permission.
- I can't use my hands for anything, including eating. They're still in the mitts from last night, so it doesn't much matter.
- Don't make noise. A quiet doggy is a good doggy. No speaking, and no screaming or whimpering.
- Stay on my knees, or lower.
- No touching myself. Any release I may get will because they permit it, not because I want it. I can't rub myself against something.
- Don't make eye contact with human beings. I'm below them, I'm a doggy.
That's all I know. There are three
more, but I have no idea what they might be. They must be rules I
have been following so far. Otherwise, I would have been punished for
breaking them. My Master and Mistress have never been even the
slightest bit hesitant to punish me until I figured out a rule.
Last night, we had a party. I woke up
exhausted, but still committed to this game. It won't stop until I
either use my safeword or guess all ten rules. I have no intention of
using my safeword.
So it's about figuring things out.
Mistress calls me back out to the kitchen, and I crawl out to her. Is
crawling one of the rules? I could try walking hunched over, or on
just my knees, to see if she punishes me. But honestly, it's just
easier to stay on all fours and be a dog for them. Maybe it has to do
with eating or drinking anything they put in front of me. They have
been giving me a variety of liquids to drink. Like the bowl of rum I
drank before I went in to wake up master.
It's starting to kick in. Hard to
focus, hard to concentrate. I'm not sure I'd be able to walk straight
even if I were allowed to. It's all I can do to crawl to her feet and
kneel there, waiting for orders.
“How are you doing, doggy? Have you
figured out all the rules yet?” she laughs. “Of course you
haven't. There hasn't been a chance to learn them all, has there? By
my count, you've only come across nine of them. What's the last rule,
puppy?”
Nine? I only have seven. I missed
something. I think back on the last five days. On the beating master
gave me, on the slaps and knees to the balls from mistress. I think
back to serving as a coat rack at the start of the party, and then
how I kissed everyone's shoes, and finally how I was used by each of
them. But no rules seem to come from any of that. I think I have the
eighth one. Eat or drink anything they put in front of me. It sounds
like it's just a rule of being obedient, but I think it has something
to do with the doggy thing. Dogs will eat anything.
She grabs my hair and pulls my head
back. I quickly close my eyes, knowing that this will not be an
excuse to let me break any of the rules. “I asked you a question,
puppy. Open your mouth.”
I open my mouth, and she hocks a big
loogie into it. I don't swallow it. I know better than to swallow
without permission.
Is that a rule?
“Keep it in your mouth,” she says.
“And figure out how to please me in this situation. I told you to
answer me, but you're not allowed to speak. How do you obey me and
follow the rules at the same time? Just so you know, if you guess
wrong I'm going to take you out for a walk, dressed the way you are,
all around the block.”
Normally, I'd think she wouldn't do
that. But she might. All other rules seem to have gone out the window
in what was originally just a weekend but is now stretching to a full
week. So how do I respond? I'm not allowed to speak. But she asked me
a question and she wants an answer. What do I--
I bark. I bark like a dog, seven
times. Somehow, I do it without too much of her spit coming out of my
mouth. Some of it lands on the floor, but the lion's share remains on
my tongue. I can taste it clearly.
She lets go of my hair, after giving
it one last tug, and laughs at me. “Good doggy,” she says. “You
may swallow, then lick up what you spilled.”
I swallow her spit, then bend down to
lick the floor. She sighs. “We probably should have cleaned that
before you came over. Or any time in the last month. I wonder what is
caked onto the floor you're licking. No, don't stop. I want you to
make a nice clean patch for me.”
I fight down the urge to say 'Yes
Mistress' and just keep licking, pressing my tongue against the
linoleum and wondering if she is telling me the truth. The floor
tastes fine.
I can't believe I just thought that.
So. When I speak, I must bark. Be a
doggy. That's a rule, definitely. Eight down, two to go.
But wait, doesn't that contradict rule
number 4? A good dog is a quiet dog. But then, when I am commanded to
speak, I suppose it makes sense. So when commanded, I must bark like
a dog.
“I think you enjoyed the idea of
going for a walk,” she says. “that's the only explanation for why
you would do something so ridiculous and stupid as to bark like a
dog. You're a human being, aren't you? I mean, it's a bit hard to
tell right now, but you are. Or maybe I should say, you were.”
“That sounds more appropriate,” he
says, coming out of the bedroom still toweling off from the shower.
“He certainly doesn't seem human anymore, does he?”
“No, not at all. But we can't just
take him for a walk, can we? Not dressed like he is.”
I can hear the taunting in her voice,
and I know they have another surprise for me. More surprising than
the tail in my ass that I've been wearing for the past few days. More
surprising than the diapers, or the hand mitts.
He goes to the hall closet and pulls
out a box. Inside is a leather mask, a full face hood. But it isn't a
blank hood like the one we usually use, meant to just dehumanize me
and to trap me in darkness. This one is shaped like a dog. Like a
puppy. The jaw moves up and down, and opens enough to give access to
the ring that will be pressed against my lips. So enough that my face
can still be used as a fuck toy.
“Come here, boy,” he says, and I
crawl towards him. For some reason, I wiggle my butt back and forth a
little bit, making my tail wag. She laughs hysterically, he just
smiles at me. When I get to his feet, he pats me on the head, then
starts putting on the hood. Then he pulls out two knee pads and has
me roll onto my back so he can slide them onto me. When he's done, he
attaches a lead to my collar. Then he walks me to the hallway mirror
and sits me in front of it. “Stay here until you are called for,”
he says. Then he walks away. I can hear them having breakfast.
I look at myself in the mirror. I
really do look like a dog. I have a diaper on, underneath tight lycra
shorts. I don't have shoes on, but I am wearing knee pads. I have
mitts on my hands, making them paws. I have a muzzle and doggy ears.
I have a collar and a lead. I look more dog than man. My skin is a
mottle of healing bruises from when master literally beat the shit
out of me.
So. New rules. Eat whatever I'm given.
Bark like a dog when I have to speak. What could the last rule be?
Day 5, part three
They left me in front of the mirror
for what felt like hours. I heard them eat, then lounge together on
the couch watching television. It was loud enough that I could hear
it, but not loud enough for me to work out what they were watching. I
couldn't quite make out any words, just the voices. I overheard
mistress on a phone call with a friend, and heard her say something
about a club. From that, I figured out what we were doing that night.
When they finally came and got me, I
followed along the lead without resistance. I got a little nervous
when they took me out of the apartment and into the hall, more so
when they waited for the elevator. I was near panic as they tugged me
through the garage. But no one else was around. No one saw us.
At the car, they had me get into the
trunk. There was a blanket there, but it smelled like dogs. They
insisted, so I got in and lay down on top of it the best I could. It
was a cramped trunk.
I heard their muffled voices talking
and laughing, then heard them get in the car. Soon, we were on the
road.
They drove carefully. You have to be
very careful when there is someone in the trunk. It's a dangerous
place to be. If there's an accident, the person in the trunk could
end up dead. And if you get pulled over, it will be very difficult to
explain to the police.
They pulled over after a few minutes,
then came to let me out of the trunk. “We're getting on the
highway, puppy,” she said to me. “Get in the backseat. On the
floor.”
I crawled out of the trunk and around
the car. I realized as I did it that they hadn't found some secret
place to do this. Anyone could have seen me. The sun was shining. We
weren't even parked in shade. I got into the car as fast as I could,
and hunkered down uncomfortably in the back seat.
They started driving again, and soon
we were on the highway. I tried to listen to their conversation.
“I told him there's no way he could
have guessed all ten rules yet,” she told him. He chuckled.
“How many does he have?”
“I don't know. Seven or eight, I
think.”
“Do you think he'll ever figure out
the last one?”
“I doubt it.”
That made me think. They say I've gone
through nine of them, but not the tenth. And they say I won't be able
to come up with a tenth. I'll never get that rule down. What's a rule
I'd never get?
I thought about it, and about the
rules I'd learned so far. The seven I was pretty sure of; eat or
drink whatever is put in front of me; bark when I have to speak.
That's nine. So what's the tenth rule?
“Do you think you'll get it, puppy?”
She turns around and looks at me, one hand gently tracing a nail down
my back. “Or are we going to rent you out at the club? Should I let
people fuck you in the ass, and pull your lead back so you choke
while you're getting fucked? Should we drip wax onto your body until
it's completely covered? Should we let you sit in the bathroom and be
a urinal for the whole night? Maybe we should let you go home with
someone else. Do you think that will teach you the last rule?” she
laughs. Then she drags her nails, sharpened more like claws, down my
back. It feels like my back is bleeding, but I know it's just
scratched. I make sure not to make a sound, biting my lip behind my
mask and fighting the urge to whimper.
What rule would I never guess? What
hasn't come up yet? I've done everything they wanted. And I would do
anything they told me to. I'm obedient. I'm a good dog. I would obey
every rule they gave me. There isn't anything I can think of that I
wouldn't do. I have hard limits, but they've always respected them.
Is that the last rule? To give up my
hard limits? I don't see that as being likely. They've never
expressed any problems with my hard limits. Most of them would get us
all arrested. And they wouldn't suddenly stop respecting those hard
limits just to keep me in their service as their dog forever.
Wait. To keep me in their service
forever.
I sit up in the seat and clear my
throat. I haven't spoken in days. “I have them,” I say.
“You'd better,” she says, staring
daggers at me. “Otherwise, you're breaking one of them.”
“Two of them,” I say. I take a
deep breath.
“If you're wrong, we're pulling over
at a gas station and you're going to fuck whoever else is there,”
he tells me, not taking his eyes of the road.
“Yes Master,” I say.
“Proceed then.”
“Rule one: I am a dog. I can't make
eye contact with human beings.”
“Correct.” He almost sounds
disappointed. “Continue.”
“Rule two: a quiet doggy is a good
doggy. No speaking, no screaming, no whimpering.”
She sighs. I must have that one right
too.
“Rule three: If I am required to
speak, I must only bark. Rule four: As a dog, I must stay on my knees
at all times, always being lower than humans. Rule five: I must eat
or drink anything I am given without hesitation or question.”
She shakes her head. Then she sighs.
“Correct,” she says. “What else?”
“Rule six: as a dog, I can't use my
hands for anything, including eating. Rule seven: I can't use the
bathroom, only the diapers. Rule eight, I can't change diapers
without permission. Rule nine: I cannot touch myself or try to
relieve my sexual tension. If and when I do cum will be because you
permit it and cause it, not because I want it.”
“Close enough,” he says. “That's
nine. What's the last rule?”
“That I can't stop being your dog
until I figure out all ten rules.” I say. “I was so stupid not to
see that sooner. You practically told me that one before we started.
In fact, you did tell me that
one before we started.”
“Good boy,” she says to me. She
smiles and reaches back to caress my leather clad face. “I'm so
proud of you,” she says. “We'll pull over soon and get that mask
off you. I have your clothes in a bag here.”
“Wait, what? Why?”
“You guessed all the rules,” she
says. “That means the game is over.”
“I don't want it to be over,” I
say. “I want to propose a new rule.”
“This ought to be good,” he says
from the front seat.
“Two new rules, actually.”
“What are they?”
“Rule eleven: the game only ends
when we want it to.” I say.
“And what's rule twelve?”
I shrug. “I have absolutely no
idea,” I say. “But I bet it's something really, really obscure.”
They laugh together.
“Good dog,” she says to me. “Now
lay back down. We have a few hours before we get to the club. You are
going to be such a star tonight.”
I climbed back down to the floor,
smiling behind my mask.
I was a good dog.
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