bitches need training (with afullmargin)

[patrick1]

Bitches need training.

He was a compassionate man. There were dogs – bitches mostly – who were bred to be working dogs, but somehow failed the test, for one reason or another. To save their lives he would take them on, train them, find them a good home.

And his skills got known, and people would call on him to help them train their dogs and bitches.

And then there was Becky.

He'd met her years ago through her family and knew she was trouble.

So when she called him up, and said she was starting out in life in a new apartment and needed to train a bitch she'd got, to go with her new home, why didn't he say no?

He said 'Yeh. Come on over. Bitches need training.'

 

[afullmargin]

Becky had gotten the dog from her older sister, an almost two year old chocolate lab she had been raising affectionately called Queenie. She'd been told that the dog was already trained and would do well in her apartment - and while her sister couldn't keep her she had to promise not to give the damn thing away. From the moment the animal moved in, it had been nothing but trouble. Queenie required almost constant attention, and whenever Becky went out (which was pretty much daily between classes, her friends and trips to the bar) she'd come back to absolute destruction. The last straw was her favorite pair of heels chewed to shreds because she'd stayed out all night with a hookup - nothing like coming home after a walk of shame to a pair of $400 shoes in pieces.

Her mother gave her the trainer's number, she remembered him from when she was in high school - but only barely; he was an older man with a commanding voice that she seemed to recall him putting a few of her mother's horrible dogs through the rigors of training well enough. Setting the appointment had been a no-brainer.

After ten on a Saturday, the girl arrived almost fifteen minutes late with Queenie held at full length on a leash. Wearing a tight, black leather mini skirt and heels with her white button down blouse she looked like she was ready to go to an upscale bar and not a kennel. She had tied back her curly red hair into a high ponytail and wore smoky makeup with dark red lipstick to further the upscale slut look she wore with pride.

"Come on, you fucking bitch." She muttered at the animal, practically dragging her on the leash through the office door. "You need to learn your place."

 

[patrick1]

'SIT!'

The young woman, rather to his surprise, sat.

The dog didn't.

The young woman was impossibly attractive. He couldn't look at her thighs for more than a second. Oh no. He was going to get himself in a mess.

He held out the back of his right hand to the rather frantic dog. . 'Here, Queenie, here....'

He stroked the dog's head, making himself only glimpse the young woman in her short leather skirt and her challenging eyes.

''Queenie...'

He stroked the dog's head again.

He made himself look quickly at the young woman. Jeez, what was her name?

'Becky...if you want me to work with....with the bitch...I have this system called the clicker....it works only on rewards, not punishments...at least, not until the very last resort.'

Smile.

She's a pretty bitch.

And so is she.

'Queenie...' The dog was still licking the back of his hand.

'So? I could help you out with your problems with your bitch. Would you like me to do that?'

 

[afullmargin]

"I don't care how you do it." She smiled for a second before her lips twisted into a somewhat annoyed pout. "All I know is that if my sister hadn't told me she was trained I wouldn't have taken her - and if I hadn't promised to keep the stupid bitch I'd have beaten her with the leather pumps she ate."

Swallowing a hard lump of frustration, the girl crossed her legs at the knee, shaking her foot with obvious annoyance. "Mom said you're the best and if anyone can put her in her place it's you."

Becky sighed, looking him over as he continued to calm the dog - who amazingly seemed to respond to him far more than she ever had to her new owner. The trainer was tall, graying but not much different than she remembered him looking when she was a teen. Not that she had noticed, really, but she tended to catch the look of certain types... strong men, rough trade, experienced in life.

"Please." Her tone softened slightly, "Do whatever you need to do."

 

[patrick1]

Ah. To do whatever I need to do.

The dog yelped and he had to hold her by the scruff of the neck for a few moments while he found a treat in his pocket.

'Good dog,' he said, as the dog quietened with the treat, stroking her very gently but persistently. 'Good Queenie.'

He looked at the young woman, so deliberately provocative, so sure of herself. Oh dear: had he seen too much of life? He felt his own desire, like a stabbing pain at his eyes instead of a pleasure at his groin.

'Once a dog like Queenie is this old, it takes some time to get her back into line. It will require a series of exercises over a period of weeks. I personally don't advise punishment, but restraint, even severe restraint, and reward. Hey, but it'll cost you.'

He smiled, stroking the dog.

'But I could train the trainer. You, I mean. That way, it might be free.'

The dog growled a little. He stroked its head. Keep it light, keep it light.

'Feel in need of a little training?'

 

[afullmargin]

Becky frowned, and then sighed. It seemed like a lot of work for a stupid dog that was probably just going to end up going to her mother's anyway. "I don't know..." She replied coldly, and then looked back up at the trainer, maybe it wouldn't be so bad... Spend a little time with a sort of attractive older man, maybe learn something she could apply to training more than a stupid dog with a thing for eating shoes.

Gently tapping her crossed leg, she raised an eyebrow, her tongue rather deliberately tracing over her bottom lip. "Tell you what..." She rose up to her feet, heels clattering against the floor as she stepped close enough to smell his musk over the reek of dogs. "You show me how to work with Queenie and while you're training her - she stays here." Becky knew full and well as expensive as training was boarding was way out of her price range.

"I would be very grateful for the effort and to get the stupid bitch out of my apartment for a few weeks." Her voice dropped to a near whisper and she laid a delicate hand on his arm. "Very grateful to know that a big, strong man is taking care of her for me."

 

[patrick1]

Becky was so like a bitch. They prowl and growl, wanting to be free, wanting to be tamed, all muddled up in one body.

He was interested that he didn't want to fuck her. Maybe that was the game she wanted to play – to invite herself to fuck and be fucked, then say no – but he didn't want that. He loved the sleek shape of her. The parts of her she wanted to reveal and to conceal.

He wanted....

He stroked the dog's head when she growled. He caressed beneath Queenie's mouth. So many angry bitches just need restraint, and kindness.

Becky's hand on his arm. Such an obvious trick. Talking about a big strong man and all that baloney. Believing that was what was seductive about her. When it was something entirely different he saw in her.

What did she want? That was the thing about training a bitch. To get inside the mindset.

He thought: what's the worst that can happen? I've been to jail. Words aren't going to get me sent back there. She's the prettiest thing that's passed this way in a long time. I'm just going to go for it.

'Here's the thing Becky. Training and boarding - That would cost a lot. So my suggestion is...The price could be – for every day I board and train Queenie, for one hour in the day, you get to be trained by me as if you're a bitch. Naked, on all fours. Might put some order in your life. I wouldn't fuck you except maybe in the mouth. But I would be pretty mean, in a kindly sort of way. We could start right now...It's up to you...'

 

[afullmargin]

The girl stilled for a long moment, staring at him with the frank suggestion. Not that it was shocking... well, maybe not completely shocking. Her heavily rouged lips quirked into a much less innocent smile and she withdrew her touch. "I..." She laughed somewhat nervously, she'd never had a guy offer to not fuck her.

A slight blush, mostly genuine, colored her pale cheeks and she looked back up at him. "You could fuck me." She murmured quietly, not even believing for herself that she was giving it up so easy, "if you want to - I mean... I've never had a guy with experience before."

She didn't know what he meant to be trained, but she knew naked - on all fours... right where she liked to be when she was getting her way. Nodding slowly, she stepped a little closer and let her hand once more linger on his arm. "I'd be okay with that arrangement."

 

[patrick1]

The bitch was a sweet thing. Queenie.

He tickled behind her right ear, resisting the lure of the girl's hand on his arm.

'You're lovely, Becky. Don't get me wrong, you're lovely. But you're a dangerous bitch that needs some training.'

Stroking the head of the dog with his right hand, with his left he reached into the lower left drawer of his desk for a leash.

His own desire was a sad thing, but the girl was so pretty, and feisty, and obviously intelligent within.

'So if you're okay with that arrangement...'

As he stood, the dog barked. He tapped her face softly on the nose as he leashed her. 'Sh'.

Becky. The sheen on her skin. The scent of her.

'If you're okay with that arrangement, Becky, I'll take Queenie out back, to one of my kennels.

When I come back I'd like you to be naked, prostrate, on your back, ready to tell me about the mean things you've done in the last seven days.

If I'm happy with what you say, I'll make you come with a vibrator.

If I'm not happy, I'll pour tomato juice on your belly to shape the word CUNT, and take a few simple pictures of you, and who knows what I'll do with the pictures? Of you lying naked and prostrate on my floor?

There you are.' He stood up, with the dog on the leash. 'I'll be back in a few minutes. Feel free to run away. Or call the cops. Or do as I say....'

 

[afullmargin]

Becky swallowed audibly as she listened to the detailed expectation, her eyes wide. Admittedly, she'd never been talked to like that in her life, so frankly - so coarse and aggressive - but she wasn't about to let the old man get to her. If nothing, the challenge thrilled her even more than her own gambit - offering a fuck in lieu of payment was one thing... But what was his game?

It didn't matter, the girl wasn't about to back down from the offer. She was sure it was nothing she couldn't handle. He probably just wanted to push her around a bit, maybe call her filthy names and make her act like a bad girl - that was all easy.

"Of course, Sir." She smiled softly, watching him as he rose to his feet and walked away from her. "I'll be here."

No question, she had to rise to the occasion and play along - for the thrill of it if nothing else. The slightest bit aroused, and perhaps even a little wary, she unbuttoned her blouse and folded it onto his desk, following it with her bra. Moving more quickly, emboldened by the act of baring her breasts alone in the room, she slipped out of the leather skirt and left her panties on the very top of the pile. Her shoes neatly tucked beside the desk, she quietly stepped near the center of the room and knelt down.

She'd never been asked to lie on the floor before, fucked on the floor, sure - but to outright lie there and wait? Her breath quickening with some degree of anticipation, she slowly laid out on the cold floor - flat on her back with her legs together and her arms folded under her small breasts. Fuck it, she was a big girl - she could do anything.

Silent, forcing herself not to think about his threats, she waited for his return.

 

[patrick1]

He'd thought she'd run.

When he let himself back into the office, and saw her lying there, he thought: Brave girl.

Sexy girl.

He immediately knelt beside her, setting his package to one side, and scratched her under her chin as if she were a bitch, and said, 'Thank you. Brave girl. Well done.'

Gosh, she was lovely. All splayed out there, as if he could fuck her if he wanted.

He took out of the bag the three things: the big vibrator that was shaped like a microphone; the cattle prod; and the lotion. He set them out on the floor just above her head.

He opened the lotion, squirted some on his hands, and began at her feet..

'See, here's how it works with me. Legs apart so I can see your cunt, please. I could fuck you if I wanted to, now. But I'm not going to. I'm going to...'

He had already begun on her right foot.

'I'm going to rub bergamot lotion into your skin. All over your body. In the next sixty minutes. While I do that, you're going to to tell me about the bad things you've done in the last seven days. You can start in a moment.

I have the vibrator ready for your final reward.

And although I'm basically a reward trainer, I have this cattle prod. It can send an electric shock through your body. Why might I use that? Who knows?

Be honest with me,' he was working on her left foot now, massaging in the lotion. 'You can tell me anything. Nothing is off limits. But tell me everything. All the lies and deceit and small egregious insults and follies, the petty mean moments, everything.' He was rubbing lotions into both her ankles now. 'Begin.'

 

[afullmargin]

The girl went wide eyed, wondering just how deep she'd gotten herself as she listened to every word he said - her eyes locked first on him and then on that damn device. For the first time in a long time, she was afraid - worried that she couldn't give him what he wanted, and what he would do if she didn't.

Forcing herself to be calm, Becky narrowed her eyes at him and smirked - as though it were something she did every day. Confessions? She had enough to fill a book or five... there was no way she could make it through every lie and every insult... let alone petty deeds. Best start from the most recent and work her way back. "This morning..." She replied calmly, letting her body relax into the gentle massage - her eyes darting back to the older man.

"This morning I told my professor I couldn't make it to class because I was ill." She grinned, "But I've been fucking him all semester so I don't think he'll count the absence." Quickly moving on, she continued; "And last night I told a guy at the bar I was a lesbian after he showed me his dick because it was too small to bother with someone who didn't know how to handle it."

She was just getting warmed up.

 

[patrick1]

He worked his way up to her calves. He alternated between the left and the right, gently rubbing in the lotion.

He liked the feel of her under his fingers. Such a sexy animal.

And already she smelt like his animal, because of the bergamot on her feet.

'Bitches need training,' he said, feeling a little knot of tension in her left calf. 'You have a lovely body. It's just your mind that needs a little....shaping.'

He was up to her left knee. She was one of those young things that just assumed she would be physically fit all her life. He could feel it in her right knee, as he soothed the juice in. 'Make sure you get a little more exercise, Becky.

Now. You lied to your professor about being ill. But you fuck him. That's fine with me. Who are you harming?'

Working at her right knee...

'One day maybe you'll wish you had been to those classes....and you lied to the guy in the bar about being a lesbian...but why not be more lesbian? You would look sensational with another woman...Go on, Becky....appal me with your misdemeanours...'

Working up to her right thigh with the lotion, slowly, slowly.....

 

[afullmargin]

Confused, but enjoying the sensation of his hands on her, Becky rolled her hips just enough to get comfortable again on the cool floor. "I get plenty of exercise." She retorted with a slightly clipped tone.

Continuing, playing his game, she continued backward. "Before I went out last night, I sucked off my landlord and videotaped him calling me by his ten year old daughter's name." She smiled cruelly, it really was one of her more ingenious plans. "If he doesn't take care of another year's rent I'll show it to his fat cow of a wife."

 

[patrick1]

Her left thigh felt woinderful.

He rubbed at her right thigh to make sure it wsn't some kind of trick of her leftness.

How lovely she was.

'Be careful,' he said, 'maybe one day you'll grow into the body of someone you would once have called a fat cow. Be careful how you judge people.

But for now....welll done. You've got one over on the landlord, and perhaps saved his poor innocent daugther from something awful. Well done.'

His hands went from her thighs abruptly to her fingers, first the left hand, then the right.

'You have thirty-six of your sixty minutes left. I will make you stink of bergamot, and have given you a gentle massage. Tell me more, in return. You can tell me anything you like, of what you've done wrong in the last seven days....'

 

[afullmargin]

The odd smell hit her for the first time since the strange encounter had begun, finally overpowering the wretched stench of dogs - curling her nose slightly, the girl wiggled again under the older man's touch. For the life of her she didn't know why, but the fear and curiosity of the situation thrilled her - she'd never been part of anything like it.

Defiantly, she looked at him and asked; "What do you want from me, I'm a liar and maybe a little bit of a slut... But I've never done anything worse." She pouted, watching him work over her hands; "Every day this week I've let another sad man do whatever he wanted to me and in return, I get the world... And you know what?" She glared at him. "I love it. I love knowing that I can get anything I want AND get as much sex as I want."

She licked her lips, shifting slightly closer to the trainer; "And if that makes me a fucking bitch, then I'm happy to be one."

 

[patrick1]

'Yes,' he said, 'I'm happy you're a fucking bitch, be a fucking bitch, it's ok.'

Each of his hands on each of her nipples: very lightly, circling.

'It will end badly, such a story. You won't have thought about the future, only about what you can exploit in the present.' His palms just touching each nipple. 'And you'll have given great pleasure to others, rather than to yourself. You go right ahead.' The bergamot on her chest, he wanted to lick and lick and lick.

'You began wanting to tell me about all the bad things you'd done. And yet there seems so little. Go on, if there's more, tell me – in reality, or in your heart. You understand now: I may be the devil himself. Nothing will appal me....'

 

[afullmargin]

The devil she doubted, there was no such thing - only dirty men that were willing to worship and please her just to get their kicks. Even through the fear and the worry that she may have gone too far; she persisted.

"What do you want to hear, you sick fuck?" She growled, as menacing as a little girl cowed on the floor could be. Almost on instinct, her nipples stiffened against the demanding touch, a warm throb teasing her exposed sex. "I've fucked husbands and fathers - even told one little wifey her husband of thirty years liked me better because I let him spank me and fuck me in the ass and then I fingered her until she came like she never had before."

She moaned at the memory. "I'm only young once, Mister - I'm gonna use my body any way I please."

 

[patrick1]

'You sick fuck. That's lovely.' His hands moved to her shoulders, where he could imagine the most terrible tattooes. 'I like you to call me that. You sick fuck. Call me that any time you like.

You see, there is nothing in the world that will stop me wanting you, imagine that. You cannot stop me wanting you, yet in my own, sado fucking masochistic unfucking way.'

The tattoo around her collar bone might say that: YOU SICK FUCK.

Imagine, if she she were marked like that for life.

He smeared more of the bergamot into her neck.

'You will have a body like this to use for many years yet. Everything you tell me tells me you have given people pleasure even when you say wifey - you tell me of pleasuring her. In the midst of your anger you have been curiously kind. I would say: don't do yourself down. But go on. Try and find more bad things to confess to me if you want. I think there are another twenty-three minutes for today.'