The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It’s a Dog’s Life

By Ben Dmywill

EPILOGUE:

Week Three

Two weeks ago today I woke up with Dianna’s little practical joke. I don’t know how she did it, and she had me good and fooled for quite a while. But I just can’t believe… the idea that I would allow… that I could ever… that those pictures and that videos were me. Not possible. Not possible.

I did some looking around on the internet and found some articles that seem to prove my new theory. Kind of. Sure, Dianna’s not so good with computer stuff, and the quality was really top notch. (maybe not quality. Accuracy… Believability… damned believability…) Whatever, it just can’t be real. I can’t wrap my brain around what that would mean. So she had to have faked it all. The pictures, the DVD, the pregnancy tests.

But that still doesn’t explain the dozen or so pregnancy tests sitting in my bathroom trash can, all purchased since that Saturday. Some with pluses, some with double-lines, one even had a god damned smiley face. But regardless of the brand or system, they all keep telling me the same thing: I’m pregnant.

Week Four

I keep having the same dream. Same nightmare. I dream that I have this huge belly, like something from a horror show. I have six titties running down my chest and stomach. I’m trying to work at my desk here at home and I can’t concentrate with the feeling of things wriggling around inside me! I look down and I can see their heads. So many of them. So many heads… That’s where I lunge up from my bed, covered in sweat and panting from the image. I’ve had it every night this week, and whenever I wake up I instinctively reach for my extra titties. When I find them not there I’m both relieved… and sad? I remembered when I was a little girl and my mother explained why our mutt had had so many puppies that all looked different. Each time a dog is mated, she can get pregnant.

Each time. Twenty Fathers. Twenty puppies.

Week Five

Three days ago I felt something flutter.

Not a movement, really, or a shift. Just something inside fluttered.

I pushed it out of my mind and decided it was nothing to worry about. Two days later I felt it again, even more clear, but I ignored it. Chalked it up to mexican food; a bad burrito. Nothing. But then this morning I stepped out of the shower and when I saw myself in the mirror I was shocked. My nipples and my areolas are huge. The circles are the size of saucers, and the nipples like marbles. And they’re dark, so dark. I can’t wear my white bra because my dark nipples show right through! Not only that, but below my boobs I can see it. A bump. A very distinctive bump.

A baby bump.

I want to ignore, to deny, but there’s no use anymore. I am pregnant, just like the tests and the dreams have tried to tell me. And now I know it’s not a normal pregnancy. It takes way longer than a few weeks to show with a human pregnancy, which blows away the tiny hope I’d had that Dianna’s farmer friend Jensen had fucked me while I was out and impregnated me, just so Dianna could mess with my head. I’d been avoiding this, but I finally looked up “gestation period of a dog” on the web, and as each detail rolled by my stomach fell further and further.

Nesting, solitary behavior, more hungry than normal – check, check, check. This was exactly the description of my last couple of weeks. The dark, large nipples and areolas are right on schedule. The last thing I read panics me the most: “Normally the bitch won’t show until three weeks out, on or about the sixth week. However with extremely large litters she may show up to a week earlier.”

Once again I leaf through the damned scrapbook, and each of the fathers with whom I was mated. And the words “larger litters” echo through my hollow chest. Twenty fathers.

Week Six

I find myself standing on Dianna’s front porch. I’m still not sure this is a good idea, but I don’t know what else to do, and she’s the only person who already knows what happened to me. And she owes me. I knock on the door and wait, and finally she opens it, standing there looking more than a little surprised to see me. I shift for a moment, my trenchcoat staying closed before me. Before I can plan what to say my anger gets the better of me and I erupt.

“I’ve been calling you for days!” I yell at her. “what the hell is wrong with you that you—”

SLAM! Dianna shuts the door in my face! I’m shocked, but only for a moment and this time I pound on the door with my fist! When she opens it again I rip into her once more. “How DARE you???” I scream. “What kind of a—”

SLAM!

I take a few minutes to decide if this is just a mistake and should I leave. But standing there I’m still faced with the same question: who else can I turn to? The answer is still and again nobody. Only Dianna. At last I compose myself some and knock again. When she opens the door, smug now, I am quieter but no less angry. “I will try not to yell,” I fume, “but I expect you to stop slamming the door in my face. I have to say, it takes some kind of a bi—”

“Bitch???” Dianna cuts me off, thrusting a framed photo from behind her couch into my face. “Is that what you were going to say, Daisy? A bitch? Because I only see one bitch around here, and I think you JUST might know her!” Dianna forces me to stare hard at the large, color shot of me rutting back against the huge mastiff named Tank. This is a shot I’ve not seen before; something she kept in reserve, and in this one the look of absolutely wanton lust on my face is undeniable. I’m in complete ecstacy as this huge dog humps me hard. The image shocks me to quiet. “What the hell do you want, Daisy?” Dianna asks, pleased to see the effect of the picture.

After standing quietly, looking at Dianna’s wood porch, I finally mumble the words “I need your help”

“Excuse me? I didn’t hear you.” Dianna replies.

Clearing my throat I reply, louder, “I need your help.” At the same time I pull open my coat. There, peering out through the gap in the coat, is my baby bump, even more pronounced and obvious. The smile that smears itself across Dianna’s face sends me flashing back to a long submerged memory, and for just a second I’m back in the pen, my face covered in dog food and the meat and gravy flavor coating my mouth. I swallow hard, wondering once more if coming here had been such a good idea. As if in answer, Dianna backs up and opens the door to me, waving me inside with a generous but calculating smile.

“I don’t know what you did to me,” I start, still clinging to the impossible idea that this is all a hoax she’s perpatrated on me, “but it’s out of control and I need you to stop it.” Dianna approaches, laying her palm across my round belly. She’s rewarded by a light movement from inside me and laughs out loud in response. My face flushes with shame. “Please, Dianna. Undo whatever you did.” I plead.

“Sorry, sweetie, but it’s way too late for that. You’re gonna be a mama!”

I glare at her. “You and I both know that’s not possible. It can’t be possible I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re doing all of this with your… your…”

Dianna whirls to face me, anger splashed across her features. “What, my crazy cult magic? Boy, you never learn, do you! I should just send you right back out that door…”

I step forward, scared. “Don’t do that!” I emplore to Dianna. “Look, I just don’t know what to do here. I don’t know what’s gonna happen. Can you help me?”

“I can, but we do it my way.” Dianna replies.

“What does that mean?” I ask, still worried. Dianna snaps her fingers, points forcefully to the floor and orders “Down!” Without a moments thought I drop down on all fours once again, standing obediently before my master. It takes only moments for a collar and leash to find their way around my neck, and I remain obediently still as Dianna dials the phone.

“Jensen? Yeah, it’s Dianna. You have GOT to come over here and see this…”

The sun sets outside as I find myself laying on an old blanket on Dianna’s kitchen floor. I lie on my side, my skirt and underwear discarded and one leg in the air. Before me kneels Jensen, the breeder that Dianna had worked with to provide so many eager mates for my damned humiliation. Trapped by the obedience that has once again gripped me I can only lie there as his hands finish their examination, squeezing and pushing on my belly, on my large, heavy titties, even sliding fingers up into my pussy and feeling around. Finally he’s finished and he turns to Dianna, ignoring me like he would any other dumb pet.

“Yep, she’s definitely pregnant.” He smiles, wiping his hand off on the edge of the blanket. “And by the feel of things we’re talking a big litter.” The words send a cold panic down my spine. “I feel at least a half-dozen heads in there, which probably means we’re lookin’ for at least 8 or 9 pups.” He and Dianna both look at me, still lying there on my side waiting for my next command. “Damned if this isn’t one of the most amazing things I ever seen.” He smiles, marveling at my total lack of control.

Dianna serves Jensen dinner on plates on the table, placing a full bowl of alpo on the floor beside me. “Eat.” She commands, and I do as commanded, slurping up the meat and gravy on my hands and knees. As they eat, Dianna and Jensen discuss what is to come in my pregnancy and what to do to be prepared. Neither gives me any further attention.

Week Seven

I’ve been here in Dianna’s house for a week. She’s explained to me that when she gave me back my humanity weeks ago she left some commands that would let her return me to this obedient form any time she wanted. I’m still a human, not that she treats me like one. She treats me like a bitch, saying “since you can’t seem to stop being a bitch you might as well live the part!” After Jensen left the first night she had me remove all of my clothing and I’ve remained naked ever since. My boobs and belly have expanded even further, making it tough to crawl around as they sway below me.

Dianna has taken lots of pictures.

She’s been keeping me on a steady diet of dog food and water, and she forces me to sleep on the floor by her bed. I’m not allowed to speak except in an answer to a direct question, but rarely does she ask me anything because “bitches don’t answer questions.”

I wish I’d never come to her. If only I’d had somewhere else to go.

But all of this degradation I could handle, if only to get this over with. It’s the times I catch myself enjoying this new existence that really frighten me. For instance the other night I was sitting on the floor beside her, seated on the couch, and she happened to reach out and scratch my head. And I LOVED it. For a full five minutes I sat there enjoying the scritches. When she stopped I looked at her face, and saw a look of sheer glee on her face. Only then did I notice that my damned ass was rocking back and forth like a wagging tail, and my damned tongue had slopped out of my mouth again.

Yesterday she came home from running errands in town and I couldn’t help myself – I rushed to the door to meet her as soon as I heard the car. The desire to greet her at the door was overwhelming! When she came in she said to me “Daisy girl, I’ve got a surprise for you. Yes I do! Yes I do!” and, god help me, I followed her into the livingroom to see what it was. So eager! She pulled the surprise out of the bag, ripping it out of the packaging out of my view, but when she presented it to me I didn’t understand what it was, at first. It looked kind of like a tail? But with a big ball on the end of it? Then my master- damn it! Then DIANNA told me to stand, which I did on all fours like the bitch she’s made me, and she moved behind me.

I felt her pull my ass cheeks apart, and the next thing I knew she forced that tail, that assplug with a tail, into my tight hole. She’d lubricated it so as not to tear anything, and there I stood. She brought me to the mirror so I could see her improvement: I was naked, on hands and knees and with a goddamn tail jutting out of my ass. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it as it stood there. Wagging enthusiastically.

I wish I could fight her! I wish I wanted to fight her more…

Week Eight

Two weeks now naked and on my hands and knees, wearing only a collar and my new tail. The tail betrays me regularly, wagging as she loads my dish with Alpo; wagging as she takes me for a walk in the woods behind her house. Wagging when she deigns to look my way. Against my own will I’ve begun to crave her attention; her approval. And when she gives it? That damn tail wags.

But that’s not enough for her – oh no. The night after I received my tail she started something new. Now instead of sleeping at the side of her bed, she’s moved my doggy bed into the living room right in front of the television. When she shuts down the house for the night she commands me to my bed, which I obey eagerly damn it all, and she starts the tv. She starts the movie. On a loop. Every night for the last week I’ve spent each night watching myself lose all humanity as I’m fucked by dog after dog. Now when I close my eyes I see myself shoving my pussy back hungrily around cock and cock and cock. At first I tried to sleep facing away, tried to drown the sound out. But it haunted me, and despite my best efforts I couldn’t resist turning back to watch.

On the third night I climbed into my bed and Dianna turned on the tv and the movie. When she turned to look at me her face broke into a satisfied smile, which at first I didn’t understand. But then I felt it – my tail betraying me once again. I sat before her, eagerly awaiting the show while my plugged ass wagged enthusiastically. “Good girl.” She purred, giving my head an adored pat. “I know, it’s so much fun to watch, isn’t it? You have a good night. Have a good time.”

Now, after a full seven nights of this show on a never-ending repeat I know it by heart. I can close my eyes and tell you exactly which of my mates I’m receiving based only on the reactions I’m having. I know the difference just by sound between my orgasm with Tiger vs. Beau or especially my beloved Tank. It was both a hot and cold dagger to my heart when I realized one night that I looked forward to the arrival of Tank in the movie like a girl anticipates her favorite hunky idol. I had a big crush on the mastiff!

Today Jensen the farmer will come to check on my pregnancy. In the last week my belly and my titties have grown so large and pendulous that I have to keep my back very straight to keep them from touching the ground when I walk. On our jaunts through the woods the grass grazes my sensitive nipples, at least once forcing me to stop while an unexpected orgasm shot through me. My master stood and waiting for me to be finished. She’s so very good to me.

And in my belly I feel things moving all the time.

Three days later

I’m confused, but I don’t know if I would be if only my mind weren’t so fuzzy. Today master came home from errands in town with farmer Jensen, and she had items from my house. Not many – a pair of jeans and a t-shirt which she told him were for “if Daisy ever has to go into town”; some papers she said were “statements” of some accounts that I owned; all the gifts she’d left me when I woke up almost 7 weeks ago. I heard her telling him that that she’d packed up my other things and sent them to a thrift store in Mexico, burned all other papers, broke a lease, sold a car, quit a job… These are words and ideas that I feel like I should recognize and they flashed familiar for a moment. But just as I felt like I was grasping what it all meant Farmer Jensen pulled out a fabulous toy and I was too enthralled with chasing after it to think anymore about what my master called “tying up loose ends”

This morning, before she left for town, master layed me down and took all the fur from my pussy. I had fur there, but now it’s like the rest of me: smooth. She said something about how it’s necessary, but she also laughed as I obediently raised my leg to give her a good view. I love to make my master happy. She has also been milking my heavy, full breasts for days now, taking their juice and putting them in the cold box. I don’t understand what is happening anymore, but I know that as long as my master is here I don’t need to understand. She’ll understand for me.

Three more days later

Master keeps telling me it’s ok, it’s ok, but I don’t feel right! I’m… afraid? Something is happening. In the last day or so I felt it coming on, and I instinctively found a place to be. A blanket on the back porch, near the wood box. Today it’s different, and she pats my head and rubs my belly and uses the voice that always reassures, but I’m still afraid.

Farmer Jensen has just arrived and his hand dissappears up inside me, feeling around. I want to snap at him, but master says no and I always obey my beloved master. So I let him fill me and I lie obediently. He says to my master “it’s time – they’re comin’.” And she smiles. She puts something shiny on some legs next to us and says to me “smile, bitch!”

Suddenly I’m feeling pain, but I know its ok. I know now this is what I’ve been dreading, been waiting for, been anticipating. After pain for I don’t know how long the first of my puppies emerges from my smooth pussy! I bite off the cord connecting him and chew through the slick sack surrounding him, eating the sack down quickly. Then I begin to lick his soft, furry body, adoring him already, but have only made it once over him when I feel the pain again. My master takes my puppy and finishes cleaning him as my next puppy arrives.

Over and over I repeat this process. Farmer Jensen stands beside another shiny thing on legs, smiling and calling out after each arrival. “Six! Seven! Eight – oh, this one looks just like Killer!” I have no idea how long it takes, as I am awash in the pain and elation of each birth, but at last I feel things change. The pain does not build up again as I swallow the sack from my latest baby, who is the spitting image of his father, Packard. Each of my nipples has been suckled on by as many puppies who can, but master and Farmer Jensen have also been feeding my puppies from bottles that contain the milk from the cold box. I lie back, my pussy aching and wide, with three puppies, each as different from each other as could be, clawing onto my chest to get to my titties.

I’m a mama of 10 sweet little puppies. I love them and lick them and cherish them, and I cherish my master for giving me my children.

Six Months later

I am happy. Life is good. I spend my days in the yard, playing with my toys and sniffing the yard smells and playing with Gretchen, my first puppy with Sven, Tippy, my second puppy with Ahloot and Panzer and Sherman, my first and second puppies with Tank. My other puppies, 15 in total, have all been given good homes. Two of them live with Farmer Jensen. At night we love our master and she loves us and feeds us. She sometimes gives my children a bath, but she never bathes me. Instead she has Farmer Jensen bath me. When he washes me he takes me to his farm, to a large tank he has there. He mounts my face and then he mounts my pussy, and then afterward he washes me clean. When he first bathed me I was confused and pulled away, but over time master has assured me this is what she wants, and I will do anything to please my master.

After all, she does so much to please me. In a few days we return to Farmer Jensen’s land so I can mate with his pack again. My favorite thing, and it always makes my master so happy too. And I’m so very, very happy. Thanks to my master I’m the happiest bitch in the whole world.