Chapter 11

I'd come down with a pneumonia, or so I was told, and I was distinctly uncomfortable lying in my Master's bed. I had little choice though, my Master made all my decisions and I lived with them. The doctor visited me often, every two or three days for very nearly two weeks and I think he wanted to remove me to a hospital, but reluctantly agreed that I would recover well enough in my Master's bedroom if we were careful and attentive.

I felt weak and I had fevers coming and going, violent coughing spells at night, and I was unhappy and lonely, missing my brothers terribly. Master was good company though, and he spoiled me, worrying over the weight I was losing and spoon feeding me soup and warm milk, or hot chocolate and toast occasionally.

We had little to do except sleep and talk. Master would read to me, which I enjoyed because I'd never been much of a girl for books and it was strange to find that I enjoyed the stories Master would read each afternoon. I especially found Hemingway to be stimulating for some reason, listening with rapt attention while I imagined the scenes and characters in 'For Whom the Bell Tolls' and while I didn't really understand the story, I understood well enough the feelings behind it and I would cry sometimes, so that Master would put his book down and lie down beside me, holding me until I stopped.

The talks we had were simple ones really, nothing more than everyday conversations that anyone might have. He would tell me about my brothers, or about his work being a lawyer for the Indians. I would tell him how much I missed being outside and I tried to persuade him to take me for walks, but of course he wouldn't. Master barely let me out of bed for the first week, and I really was pretty sick then anyway.

It seemed a long time before the doctor finally pronounced me healthy again, although he seemed somewhat doubtful. Not about my body, which he said was remarkable, but more over my mind, I suppose. He also found that remarkable, but not in an admirable way, not like he appreciated my body. He didn't understand why I would want to live the way I did, nor did he appreciate my piercings, especially the ring in my pubis, although he could find no flaw with it. All my piercings had healed perfectly, the way my body was recovering quickly and almost effortlessly from the infection in my lungs and the deep cuts along my sides.

I was even regaining weight as my appetite had returned with a vengeance. I felt fat and lazy by the time the doctor paid his final visit and I was anxious to get back to my own room and exercise with my brothers. The days were growing warmer and I missed the sun and my morning baths. But my Master didn't let me go right away, he kept me in his room even after the doctor had agreed I was fine.

"No. Lie back down, Dare," my Master told me after he'd shown the doctor out.

I was on my feet; shrugging out of the nightgown I'd been forced to wear for the doctor's visits. I didn't like the way it felt, the way it seemed to cling to me. And the panties as well; they felt constricting and unwelcome. The tightness of the waistband around my body chafed my skin. Master had bought them for me soon after he'd moved me to his bedroom, but I hadn't really understood the reason. He'd removed my collar as well and I wanted it back more than anything else. When he told me to lie down and didn't retrieve my collar immediately, I was confused and slightly annoyed. I did as I was told though, wondering what this was about.

Master removed his clothes as well then, undressing while I watched and I thought I understood finally. He desired me, that was all, perhaps as a woman, even though it seemed to me that I was much more attractive as a dog. Still, the idea of my Master wanting me was a tonic to my nerves and I relaxed, smiling just a little as I waited for him.

He did make love to me then and it was much as I remembered it to be from my previous life. Master was quiet and gentle, touching me all over and spending his kisses on my body as if I were a real woman. He kissed my breasts, sucking and teasing my nipples while I writhed and cradled his head. It was good like that, the sucking part especially, but I missed the rough tongue of my brothers and the way their sharp teeth grazed my flesh when they kissed my breasts.

Master fingered my sex and kissed his way down there as well, using his mouth on me and it was pleasurable, but I confess I made more noises than I needed to. It was so unlike my brothers, it seemed Master's tongue was too small for me, barely able to slip between my labia, and it was impossible for him to delve deeply between my folds the way I liked. So I pretended it was good, imagining myself with Bandy or Bush, and remembering the way they would lap at my sex until I was quivering with orgasmic pleasure.

When my Master made love to me, it was enjoyable only because I held so much devotion for him. I felt very little really, although I was tight enough for him I think, having not been fucked for several weeks. I moved with him, lifting my hips and wrapping my legs around Master's waist, moaning and gasping at the right moments and clutching him to me when he came, wishing I might have cum as well, but I didn't. I wanted too much to return to my room and I felt uneasy about that, guilty for being so selfish.

"You don't have to go back..." Master said.

We were laying side by side, him on his back and me on my right side, facing him with my arm over his chest and my leg on his thighs. I could feel his sperm leaking out of me and it seemed there was very little there.

"I don't want to go back," I answered, wondering why I would ever want to leave him or my brothers.