Chapter 6

“Hold your pussy wide so I can take a picture, Mrs. A,” one of the guys behind us requested from behind us. Lunch was thankfully almost over.

“I can’t,” she shouted without looking behind her.

“Why? Is your pussy broken?”

“I’ve got my paw-pads on. Mrs. Jordan can do it for you if you are too afraid to touch me there,” She replied politely. Students were sometimes pretty crude when they talked to Mrs. Andrews -especially when describing her “fat pussy lips” or tight asshole. She would always reply by diligently offering to let them look as much as they wanted, and tried to take most of it as a compliment.

“Yes, women’s pussies have an odor. Go ahead and sniff, mine is no different than any other woman’s pussy,” she might say or “Thank you Jordan, yes – I know I have a tight asshole, thank you for noticing. It is very elastic and stretches, and yes I clean it out daily.”

I could tell the boy who asked if her pussy was broken was not afraid at all of getting in trouble. He came up behind her. I didn’t have to see him do it to guess how wide he must have pulled her pussy lips. I could tell from the way Mrs. Andrews eyes popped wide open, and how she pursed her lips and froze in place that he hadn’t been gentle.

I was terrified he’d do the same thing to me. I wasn’t terrified like I thought I was in any danger. I felt this humiliating dread that I’d be asked to do the same thing and Mrs. Andrews would see the same reaction on my face.

Mrs. Andrew’s reaction was a mixture of surprise, shock, and amusement. I was afraid I would look like a silly girl who secretly enjoyed being touched and exposed this way – which is how I came to see myself. I know I talk a lot about being shocked, and frightened – but I was actually enjoying these experiences – especially when I did them with Mrs. Andrews or Katie.

However, the one request per student seemed to apply to both of us and he couldn’t ask until every other student that wanted to make a request had a turn with both of us. One student could use me or her and despite the fact that I was younger – Mrs. Andrews was far more attractive and perhaps willing to accommodate the weirder requests.

One of them asked her to ‘blow him a kiss. This was apparently a trick she had done before the program. She puckered her asshole, opened it slightly with just her anal muscles and pushed a little air out of her pussy.

“Kegels,” she snickered after he was gone. She explained those were exercises she did with her pussy to keep it in shape.

“Why do you need to keep your pussy in shape?” I asked naively.

“Sex,” she smiled.

“Did you have a lot of sex before you started the puppy student program?”

“With my husband, Yes,” Jen seemed to feel the need to qualify the fact that she wasn’t a swinger -or if she was, she didn’t trade partners anymore.

“How does he feel about all of this?”

“My husband met me at college, and he knows my job. I was always nude at home so my kids have never been shocked when they see mommy naked.”

“Kids? Aren’t you a little young for kids of your own?”

“I am twenty-nine,” Mrs. Andrews seemed flattered. I thought she was twenty-two at most. “It’s been a little weird getting used to the cage. My kids think it’s awesome that mommy can’t bust their chops about cleaning their rooms.”

“You can’t tell them what to do?”

“I can, but it sounds strange coming from the girl on all fours in the cage. Their Dad has to pick up the slack,” she explained it like it was just something they’d have to get used to and a totally normal, everyday situation. I wanted to ask more questions about if he got jealous of Mr. Jordan, or whether her dad punished her like my mom was allowed to punish me at home, but there wasn’t time.

Craig came over and groaned that I had wasted a lot of food by not cleaning my food.

“Ashley is just getting used to the program, you have to mix in some school lunch, Craig.”

“I was trying to spare her the disgusting blue-mystery meat. Dog food is preferable to this crap,” my handler seemed dead-serious but I would eventually understand that was Craig telling a joke. “Speak!” he told Mrs. Andrews.

Mrs. Andrews eyes grew wide. It wasn’t the shock and bemusement from earlier. An indignant expression spread across her face and I thought she would protest. Mrs. Andrews took a deep breath as if trying to summon her patience and then didn’t talk. Craig told me to speak as well, and I offered him a little “Yip” to let him know that I understood.

I was surprised she obeyed him. I later learned that he was within his rights to give me alternative discipline but had chosen not to do that – most likely because we had to go outside to go poopy.

Mr. Jordan and him walked us outside near the flagpole. There were students coming and going between lunch periods in the quad. The sun was shining, the grass was nice and green. The flag pole was surrounded by pretty flowers.

We crawled naked outside and on to the grass. “Milk, Milk, Lemonade, around the corner fudge is made,” an underclassman that I had known for eight years teased us and watched from a distance.

“Ruff, Ruff!” Mrs. Andrews offered him a bark that was neither angry nor inviting. He laughed and ran away. She was still under Craig’s orders not to talk.

There was a statue of Theodore Lyman next to the flag pole. He was some old civil war mucky-muck. I didn’t know if he fought for the south or the north. At this stage, it probably didn’t matter. Mrs. Andrews lifted her leg and pissed all over it – spraying it yellow. The piss ran down on the cement and some got on her leg but she didn’t seem to mind.

I saw some students laugh and watch. She looked up at them and barked. They laughed even harder. Then she took a shit where she was crawling without squatting low. She spread her legs slightly so that her entire pussy and asshole was exposed and farted out a big turd.

Mr. Jordan waited for her to finish turtling out a smaller one and picked them both up with one smooth motion. He left Mrs. Andrew’s ass unwiped and a little grungy. He walked her back inside while students roared with laughter over the stinky mess she made. I was a little surprised he didn’t bag up her poop when she finished.

My mom insisted that my brother always bagged ours up when he took us for a walk.

I didn’t want her to think I was a total crowd. I had been peeing by squatting. It was still a humiliating activity, and I had to expose my entire pussy when I sat up and spread my knees. It was dog-like but it wasn’t quite as vulgar as lifting my leg like my sister and Mrs. Andrews.

A wave of bravado washed over me, and I directed my stream on the base of good old Lt. Colonel Theodore Lyman. I imagined the austere ceremony they had at the installation of this fine statue and how none of these people could have imagined naked girls would one day be lifting their legs to have a piss directly on his boots.

I wish I could have hit his boots – they were far too high. I did aim, and I managed to drench the side of my leg to the furious laughter of students who were thrilled that I had done what Mrs. Andrews had done.

I wasn’t sure if she noticed or even realized I was trying to demonstrate a growing willingness to engage in the puppy program. Mr. Jordan never looked back.

I pooped a little. I assumed Craig wasn’t bringing me back into school if I didn’t. He dutifully cleaned it up, wiped my ass with a tissue, tossed that in the bag and then walked me back into school. I wanted to thank him for cleaning me up, but he had ordered me not to speak.

The rest of the day I enjoyed being in Craig’s classes. He didn’t talk much in class, but if he was in them, it meant he was incredibly intelligent. He didn’t give me permission to speak. On the odd chance that someone had a request in class, or the hallway, he stopped and said nothing.

One boy removed my tail, and I held my mouth open wide to signal he could put the tail in my mouth. He was so disgusted and scared when I chomped down on it like a growling dog that he ran off. I thought he may have either pissed himself or even jizzed his pants and I was kind of flattered.

Craig said nothing. I thought he might laugh but he didn’t. He waited for a moment and removed the tail from my mouth and then shoved it up my ass, twisted it slightly and made sure it was in securely before continuing to walk me.

My new handler was a fascinating enigma to me. Craig was very intelligent but said very few words. I assumed he must have very deep thoughts and not share them.

He was also strangely patient, and he wasn’t. What I mean by this is that he never seemed like he was hurrying anywhere. Yet, at the same time I constantly felt he was judging how slow I was at navigating stairs or keeping up with his pace. He stopped without complaint when someone wanted to pet me. Yet, he never seemed curious enough about the experience to even talk to me.

I was so desperate to talk to him. Craig was the kind of boy I would never have spoken to before I was in PSP. It wasn’t’ because he wasn’t attractive. I was simply too shy to talk to most boys and he was older and much bigger than me physically. I was now desperate to find out what made him tick and why he behaved as he did.

As we left for the day, a teacher came walking up to me at the end of Craig’s final class. His name was Doctor Faraday. He had a Ph.D and he was the type of person who let people know it. He wasn’t a medical doctor. I am not sure what his doctorate was in.

“Can I pet It?”

Craig didn’t have to give me any orders. I was on a leash and I rubbed against the Doctor’s feet.

“It seems more like a cat than a dog,” Faraday said. Craig didn’t respond. I realized I was purring and brushing my body up against his legs. I stopped and sniffed his fingers while the teacher stroked my hair.

Faraday was a lean man with a thick mustache and glasses. He was probably around forty something. The instructor seemed like someone who knew he was the smartest man in the room when he entered and that elevated him about everyone else. It rubbed me the wrong way, but at the same time I admire and respect very intelligent people.

“It seems to like the condition of being a dog,” the Doctor observed. It was then that I realized his pronoun for me was always as an IT and never as a HER. “Masturbate for us,” he told me as he looked down his nose at me. All the other students had already left. I felt a chill run down my spine.

I didn’t know what to say – I was supposed to bark. I sniffed his hand when he placed it under my nose. I wasn’t sure if I should lick it as well.

“She doesn’t play with herself, the PSP program is total abstinence,” Craig offered politely. He spoke in a very neutral, curt manner.

“I find it hard to believe that a pretty little thing, like this doesn’t rub her slimy little nubblies,” Faraday had an eccentric manner of speech Referring to one of the most intimate parts of my body as a ‘nubbly’ was a good example. He liked to call everyone in the class ‘Buckaroos’ or ‘Spanglers’ depending on his mood, as an example.

I shivered a little at the thought that my pussy was probably glistening with wet cream – because of the sensation of being naked while being stared at by two older men.

“I need to get going,” Craig finally said in a tone that suggested he was done with this encounter. Faraday politely fucked off and Craig led me out of the room. I stuck my butt up and wiggled it like a cat as I left. It really stuck in my craw that the teacher referred to me as an ‘It’. I felt it was more humiliating than anything I had endured that afternoon – at least it was the last thing for that day.

Craig drove a very beat-up white Chevy Cavalier circa 1982. It was full of junk in the back; tubes, hoses, tires. “You can stand up and stretch,” he removed my paw-pads when we got to his car. Most of the students were gone or leaving by now. They didn’t hang around after class as the parking lot emptied.

I was thankful to have worn them because the pavement was very hot. I had tried to keep my knees off the pavement, and just crawl on my feet. “Take your plug out and hand it to me and I’ll lube it up,” he said.

I wanted to correct him and say that that my tail was not a ‘plug’ but it really was essentially a butt plug with the tail added on. I suppressed the urge to speak or correct him. Obeying him this way was constantly reinforcing the sense that I was less a teenage girl and really a dog on some level.

It was strange to stand up – almost alien to me now. I felt unbalanced, ungainly and awkward. I felt like I was breaking some rule. I tried to pantomime my hands around my butt as if it was hot – perhaps on fire and I couldn’t touch it.

“Speak,” he curled his lip impatiently.

“I can’t take my own plug out, Sir.”

I don’t know why I called him Sir. It just felt kind of right to say that.

“Oh right, come here,” he yanked it out of my ass, slid it through my mouth once, wiped it dry on my hair and then produced some lube from his backpack and began to oil it up.

“Thank you for all this today,” I said.

Craig didn’t respond. He looked at my plug and carefully applied lube to all of it. I waited for him to respond.

“Do you not like me or something?” I was afraid I had done something to offend him.

“I like you just fine as a dog. As a person, you talk too much, think too much, move too much. You are like a human squirrel. Get in the car. Curl up in the front seat. I’ll move some of this junk tomorrow so I can transport you properly.”

I was going to apologize for whatever I had done that was ‘squirrelly’ but he ordered me to ‘speak’ before I could form a thought and I barked a single acknowledgement of his order. Craig didn’t snicker, or look sadistic like Katie’s handler often did. His expression suggested he really did think of me as a dog and nothing else and was mostly unmoved by my condition or behavior.

I wondered for about the comment that I was squirrelly and if anyone else thought that. I would spend the entire ride home, hunkered down in the chair, trying to process what I might have said or done around him that was too much talking or movement.

Craig didn’t listen to the radio while he drove – because of course he wouldn’t. I wanted music to fill the awkward silence. My hands were sweaty from the paw-pads I wore all day, but I had two fingers and a thumb. I didn’t dare reach up and turn on his radio, though – that wasn’t a thing dogs did.

“Dogs generally put their nose out the window and enjoy the breeze,” he finally said as we neared my house. He rolled down the window and I stuck my boobs and face out the window and we drove down the street. It was exhilarating. Dirty old men watering their lawns, joggers and the like saw me. Most flashed smiles – it wasn’t unusual to see a nude girl in a car.

However, I think it was just the fact that I seemed elated and carefree and that no one yelled at me to cover myself that brought out the smiles. There was a harmless flirtation to it all. I didn’t feel like all eyes were on me even though men were staring at my tits while we drove 15-20 MPH through my neighborhood.

Once we arrived at the house, Craig patted my bottom ONCE. He seldom touched me, and only to attach the leash or tail. This was deliberate and served no other purpose. I didn’t want to read more into it than it was. It might have even been an accident.

He walked me up to the door. My mom answered when he knocked. She had a thousand questions for him and invited him inside. “Oh my, a boy! That’s a surprise. I assumed Ashley would have a female handler. Was she well behaved? Do you want to come inside?”

Craig declined with a minimal response and left my leash in my mom’s hands.

“Well, he doesn’t talk much,” Mom observed to me spryly. I was at her feet in our front door. There was no way I could live down sticking my ass out of our front door. I think I had to just embrace it. I barked once to let my mom know I was in speak mode. Mom told me that I could talk.

My sister was already home. She was dashing around a little obstacle course Calvin and Bobby constructed for her out of household objects – jars, picture frames, that sort of thing. He was chuckling and laughing while my sister played the dumb bimbo trying to complete his obstacle course.

The first thing I noticed was that my sister’s nice tits were bruised from rug burn. The second thing I noticed was that she had the word SLOW written in red marker in big letters on her butt cheeks. SL on the left and OW on the right.

Mom didn’t say anything about it – so I didn’t either.

“This is Calvin, your sister’s handler,” Mom introduced me. Bobby was on the couch watching as well. He was an older boy, kind of big, slightly handsome but with an aura of mischief around him.

“Hi Ash,” my sister giggled as she had the time of her life, dodging around furniture and racing while he urged her to move faster. “Tee-hee, I can’t do it, Calvin!”

“Go faster, you dumb bitch,” he teased. His words were mean and hurtful but he said them like he was joking. My mom looked offended, but she didn’t say anything since Katie seemed to be having fun.

“What are you doing?”

“I have to do laps, it is a reasonable request,” Katie answered as she rounded another corner. Her tits were jiggling and her ass was shaking as she bounced.

“Tell her what you get if you do well?”

“Treat-O!” she opened her mouth wide and he threw a marshmallow into her mouth. She had to jump up and catch it when he threw it directly at her head. Katie wolfed the marshmallow down and did a barrel roll on the carpet as she worked her way through a plastic tunnel they had made out of some paper.

I felt silly watching my sister struggle through it, dragging her tits. Bobby giggled and warned her she wasn’t going to make it. He was checking the timer on his phone.

“Yes!” Katie had sweat dripping down her forehead, she really put a lot of effort into running the course. She sat up and begged for a marshmallow at Calvin’s feet when she finished.

“Two minutes and thirty-two seconds!” Bobby announced with a thrilled expression. Calvin laughed wickedly.

“No! that can’t be right! Why didn’t you tell me I ran over by thirty-two seconds?” My sister looked terrified.

“Come here, you know what happens to S-L-O-W puppies,” Calvin squeezed a big gob of mint-flavored toothpaste into his palms and rubbed his hands together wickedly. My mom watched this unfold but did nothing.

Katie presented her pussy to him with only a trace of reluctance. Calvin yanked out her tail by the base of the butt plug, and my sister opened her mouth obediently. Then her handler dropped it in her mouth so she could chomp down onto it. He reached under her pussy and began to rub her down with toothpaste right there in front of the rest of us.

It wasn’t masturbation. It was more like when Mom shaves us and makes sure she covers every fold of our pussy with shaving gel.

Katie’s eyes glazed up a little, and a tear ran down. She didn’t look like she was having fun, even though she smiled around the thin tail she was holding in her pretty mouth. “Watch her dance,” Calvin told Bobby and me.

It took only a few seconds before my sister was bucking and shaking her ass like she was losing her mind. There was nothing erotic about it. Instead, she helplessly flailed about shaking her pretty pussy and grinding her face and tits into the carpet – knocking over even some of the obstacle course while the guys laughed.