Into the Dog House Ch. 03

Gregory was directed to sit on his knees on the ground by Rachel's feet. On her lap, she arranged her containers of takeout, filling the room with the sugary smell of pancakes and syrup, and the savoury smell of bacon and sausage patties. Her choice of dinner was a little heavy for Gregory's preference, but it had been some hours since he'd eaten, and he could sense himself salivating.

On the TV, Rachel had hit play on her dating show, and happily started on her dinner.

It needed saying again: this was not entirely how Gregory had seen the evening going, kneeling passively at his girlfriend's feet while she ate a dinner for one and watched TV, seemingly ignoring him. He cock was still straining against the cock cage he was locked into -- and he hadn't counted on being in that situation either. Even if his hands weren't trapped in these leathery puppyplay mittens, the dangling lock behind his balls only had one way out of it, and that was through the key that Rachel was wearing.

Rule-making had been haphazard. Gregory knew that Rachel did not want him to talk -- certainly not like a person, with words, but seemed to delight in him making humiliating dog sounds. She'd broadly told him she wanted him to behave like a good doggie or she might not let him out of his cock cage -- and he took that to mean that her emphasis was on doggie more than good. No talking, no standing on two feet. Stay in character.

What that meant for right now, Gregory didn't know, torn between watching the TV show along with her as he might have done normally, or watching her for clues. He found himself doing the latter, and absently tracking the movement of her fork and knife as she worked through her dinner.

"Hungry?" Rachel asked, and Gregory snapped his focus up to her face, startled to see her focus set on him and not the TV. "You want some?"

He stomach immediately rumbled.

Setting aside her fork, Rachel delicately picked up a piece of sausage between her fingers, holding it up. "Here you go," she said, raising it up. "Up, come get it."

Gregory looked at the food she was holding, several inches over his head from where he had knelt and sat on his heels. Uncertain, he unfolded himself up, still on his knees but stretched, tipping his head back. Rachel teased the piece of food just out of reach, giggling.

"That's it," she said, voice pitched high. "Beg. Tongue out, paws up. Come on, you know what begging is."

Reluctantly, Gregory drew his hands up to fold them up near his chest like begging paws, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out. For good measure, he whined needily, and then tried not to flinch as he felt Rachel drop the piece of sausage into his mouth, barely saving himself from choking.

"Good boy," she enthused, her hand ruffling his hair. "Now, sit."

Swallowing his reward, Gregory settled back down again. Over the course of her meal, Rachel fed Gregory bits of food -- a scrap of bacon, a small piece of pancake, nothing substantial. When she felt his teeth brush her fingertips, she drew her hand back with an ah! sound, making him beg again for these scraps to show his obedience.

And each time, just a little pulse of arousal clenched around the base of his cock. It was a low-grade feeling, intensity waxing and waning, but always re-sparking at each little measure of control she exerted. Each time he knelt up, and felt his harnesses constrict over his body, or the nametag dangle at his collar. The slender harness around his head and face, constricting and pulling at the motions of chewing.

He wondered what was going through her head. To be fair, Gregory often wondered this -- they weren't winning any prizes for ideal communication even when one of them had been forbidden from speaking human language. In lieu of being able to read her mind, he swept a look over her. Her nightdress was opaque enough that he couldn't see through it, but he could see the subtle outlines of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric. Her cheeks were still warm, and he could see that she was keeping her thighs closed tightly together -- maybe because she was managing food on her lap, or because she was conscious of how he was sitting where he could get an easy view of her up her skirt, but maybe also it was because she was also feeling this and was trying not to show it.

This tension, this constant simmer of interest. Just the thought of her possibly slick beneath her lace and between her pressed thighs made his cock twitch helplessly in its cage.

"Here you go," she said, finally, offering him her empty fork. At first, Gregory was puzzled, until he realised what she was asking him to do -- clean off the thin sheen of syrup collected there. He leaned in, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he darted his tongue out to press the flat of it against the tongs, licking up the sticky residue. He felt a small curl of satisfaction as she bit her lip, turning the fork around so he could get at the other side.

Maybe now she'd be done fooling around, Gregory thought -- but his hopes were quickly dashed as she lay the plastic containers on the ground at her feet. Syrup, grease, and a few errant pieces of uneaten food lay at the bottom.

He glanced down at it, then back up at her, letting uncertainty manifest on his face. Her own soft expression hardened just a little, tipping her head as she made hard eye contact.

"Go on," she said, voice dipping back down out of that cutesy high register. "Clean mommy's plate."

The smallest sound left his mouth, the beginning of a word, of a protest -- but it halted at the end of his tongue when Rachel fingered the little key she was wearing in silent, implicit warning. If he was asked the question, Gregory knew he'd express doubt that she'd really keep his cock locked up against his wishes -- but it was as though his body didn't believe that. As the tip of her nail toyed with the key, he felt a wash of hot, physical longing.

He permitted himself a put upon sigh, but moved before she could say anything, tipping down to lower his face to the plastic containers. He was reminded of dinner at his parents, setting down a gravy-smeared plate under the table for Lucy, their German Shepherd, and the thought made him shiver as he tentatively began to lick up the greasy leavings of his wife's dinner.

It was a strange sensation. He became aware of the click and chime of his collar with his movement, and the inevitable raise of his bare ass into the air. It was easier to maintain his balance with his knees spread, and so the air conditioned temperature of the room ran a slightly chilly finger up his perineum. He felt the wire-threaded tail at his harness belt wave over his ass.

Beyond his own body, he was aware of his proximity to her -- her feet nearby, her over him, his inability to watch what she was doing or even check that she was even enjoying this as he focused instead on lapping up syrup and salt. Beneath the sound of the television was the wet rasp of his tongue and awkward swallowing, effortlessly animalistic.

Halfway done, he registered the sound and sense of Rachel standing up from the couch, and moving away. He continued his task but strained to listen, almost certain she was still in the room -- standing behind him, perhaps. Yes, looking at him. She had even paused her show, silence now heavy in the room besides the sound of his eating. Enjoying the display of her husband eating off the floor.

Or not enjoying it. Self-consciousness trickled through Gregory's system, feeling her gaze on him like an itch without being able to tell what thoughts existed behind such a gaze. Maybe she was testing him, seeing how pathetic he was.

Finally, the last lick of sugar and salt left the container, and Gregory pushed himself back up onto all fours, twisting around to look at Rachel. She was standing in the middle of the room, obviously having decided to get a better view after all -- and her cheeks were pink, eyes bright with desire. Her hand had wandered to her abdomen, pressing gently against her nightgown as if she'd been tempted to plunge her hand beneath its hem, while the other continued to toy with the key on her chain.

But it was that keen look in her eyes that was captivating. It had been a long time since she'd looked at him that way.

Gregory moved, shifting his legs with the intent to get to his feet -- and Rachel jerked a step backwards, her hand snapping from her body to point at him. "No," she said. "Bad."

These two words, in simple combination, drove him back down onto all fours.

And that lustful look hadn't left her face. Gregory knelt in place, frozen and waiting to see what she wanted. Slowly, she reached for the chain around her neck, and slipped it up over her head. The key dangled from her hand, gleaming on her knuckles.

Another prolonged moment stretched by, before Gregory decided to move -- and this time, he stayed on all fours. She said nothing this time as he approached, keeping his eyes on her until he closed in enough that he could kneel. Leaning in, he nudged the bridge of his nose against the hem of her nightgown, and he heard her gasp above him. He nudged again, letting his mouth brush her thigh.

Yes, she was aroused. He could smell it, that musky, rare scent that made him salivate more than food ever could. He gave a soft groan, and pressed his face further between her thighs, a little higher, a nuzzling action that was a little less direct than what he might have done before, like kissing and biting. He licked at her skin, tasting salt and slick, and Rachel gave a small moan, her hands coming down onto his head.

She was pushing him back, but he could feel the tentativeness, and ignored it, insisting his head up under her nightgown. She was bare beneath it, with nothing to stop him from running his mouth up from her thigh to her pubic mound, nuzzling up against blonde hair and soft, wet skin.

"Gregory," she said, a breathless squeal, holding onto his shoulders as he took a taste of her in a small lick, right at her clit.

More forceful, she pushed herself back from him, nightgown slipping off from over his head and covering her once more. She reached out, gathering his face into her hands as if to prevent him from trying again, a laugh in her smile. How captivating, to bask in her glow, that Gregory barely noticed as she ran her thumb over his mouth, barely noticed that he automatically licked her hand.

Out the corner of his eye, he noticed the necklace she was still gripping, tilting his head down. The key dangled within reach, and he imagined simply taking it to grant his own relief -- at least, he imagined it until he felt twin twinges run up the back of his hands, from where they were still forcibly compressed into fists.

No, just like the big cage, he would need his wife's help in letting him out of the little one.

He gave a whine, nudging her hand with his nose, licking her knuckles. The instinct to speak had finally burned off after having obeyed this long, getting uncomfortable with inhuman sound-making, and with the taste of her on his lips and the constant ache settled in his own trapped cock, it was getting easier to simply demean himself to a purpose. Rachel giggled, lifting up the key like she had her pieces of sausage.

"You want?" she asked. "Then beg."

Gregory knelt up, bringing his paws to fold at his chest. His legs were already spread, exposing himself and his suffering. Fluid beaded at the tortured tip of his cock, and he could feel the whole thing twitch in its constraining apparatus as he became conscious again of her gaze landing between his legs, and the way she ran her tongue across her bottom lip.

He whined, conveying all the desperation he felt, naked on his knees save for steel and leather, gazing up at the woman who held his key.

She jangled the key between her fingers, taunting him. "Good boy," she said. "Now lay down."

With a subtle groan, Gregory sank forwards onto hands and knees, stiffly settling into something like child's pose.

"Roll over."

Feeling a fresh burn of humiliation run through him, Gregory complied. He rolled sideways on the rug until he was on his back, gazing up on her, pushing himself until he was again on all fours a couple of feet away from where he started.

"Play dead."

And back again he rolled, and this time stayed on his back, keeping his paws folded up at his chest like he figured she would like, and opted to keep his knees bent as well, sock-covered feet hovering off the floor. Rachel paced around him, moving from where she was standing at his head until she stopped to stand between his feet, gazing down at him.

That hungry looked had returned to her face, and it sent a warm shiver through Gregory at the knowledge that his wife was truly enjoying him like this -- demeaned, submissive, subhuman.

Rachel knelt down, and gently cupped his caged dick in her hand. Gregory gasped but bit back any further sound, thighs falling further apart with the unconscious desire to push himself up against her hand, but lacking the leverage. Her gaze had torn itself from his face and was now focused purely on his caged cock, looking it over, tugging it in her hand to inspect what she had done to him. Her thumb brushed against the leaking tip, which he felt like an electrical spark of sensation.

"Looks painful," she murmured, that studious grip shifting into something softer. She also did not look up at Gregory for an answer, so he didn't give one, focused anyway on the warmth of her hand wrapping around his cock, the gentle squeeze she gave it. By now, the strain of an attempted erection was causing a dull ache where it pulled his balls tight to his cock, pushing his cage to sit high on his groin.

He lowered his heels to the ground, giving into the urge to push his hips up against her hand, a useless attempt to eke out some satisfaction. Rachel relaxed her wrist under his motion, giving nothing for him to rub against, and she giggled at these small, pathetic attempts.

"Shh," she soothed, giving his cock another squeeze. "You've been so good for me. Be good some more."

She gently manipulated his caged cock and balls, lifting them so that she could more easily tease a finger along his perineum, beneath the hang of the padlock. It was torture, all of it, and all Gregory could bring himself to do was stay laying on his back, legs spread and knees lifted, mittened hands hovered out of the way, refusing even to let himself speak. In truth, it was maybe more interest in his cock -- his body -- than Rachel had displayed throughout their marriage.

He felt a tug, and heard a quiet scrape of metal. He lifted his head to see she had both hands between his legs, manipulating the lock to his cage out of sight. The tight grip of the steel suddenly came loose, and he gritted his teeth as Rachel carefully pried the cage off of him.

The rush of blood through suddenly unconfined flesh was heady enough to make him groan out loud, relaxing out of his 'playing dead' pose in a half roll aside while Rachel stood up over him. She whistled, sharp, smiling down at him when he snapped a look up at her, startled.

"Who's such a good boy," she said, pitching her voice high again, bending at the waist to lean over him. Her breasts pushed the hem of her nightdress, the kind of mock-innocent view she would never treat him with by accident. "Is it you? You want a treat?"

So it wasn't over. With the absence of the threat of the cage looming over him, it was half-tempting to call it quits -- but his hands were still trapped in their mittens, and while he couldn't imagine her not having mercy on his bondage situation, he did, fundamentally, want a treat. And he could absolutely imagine her denying him one if he broke character.

Gregory pulled himself to hands and knees, letting his tail wave back and forth as he felt his cock continue to stiffen where it hung beneath him. Rachel patted his head with a skritch behind the ears, then ran her hand down his back until it met his tail. She toyed with it a moment before murmuring, "We can do better than this," but rather than explain, she gently swatted one of his ass cheeks, and started walking out of the living room.

She looked back over her shoulder, and gave another quick whistle. "Heel, boy," she said, before looking ahead on her way to their bedroom.

With a jangle of leather and metal buckles, Gregory hurriedly pursued her on all fours.

***

It wasn't very late in the evening. Outside, the sky had only started to darken, and Rachel tugged the blinds closed, and switched on the lamp, casting dim golden light around their bedroom. She placed the cock cage and the corresponding key on the bedside table, and without fanfare, she gripped the hem of her nightdress and pulled it up off of her body.

Naked, quite suddenly, bathed in that golden light. The evidence of her arousal gleamed damp between her legs, her nipples standing stiff. Longing filled Gregory's body as he gazed at her, her petite dimensions and soft skin, and by the time she padded back to where he was kneeling near the foot of their bed, his cock was at attention, pressing up from his groin.

She took his face in her hands, gazing down at him warmly, fingers curling to skritch under his jaw as she might a dog. It felt good.

"This is fun," she said. "I don't know why, but I like this, Greg. It's like you belong on your knees."

She slid her hand around to his collar, picking up the nametag and turning it around. She gave a small chuckle at the sight of his name etched into the metal, and then turned it to see her phone number on the back. She drew in a shallow, sharper breath.

"Like you belong to me," she added. She gently pressed the backs of her fingers to his mouth, and Gregory gently licked them, unable to take his eyes off her all the while. She murmured, "Such a sweet boy," while pressing her thighs tighter together as if to relieve her own ache.

She drew back, climbing onto the bed. He went to follow, but she reached back, pushing his shoulder.

"You wait to be invited," she said. "Sit. Stay."

Trying to ignore the increasingly urgent situation of his own arousal, Gregory knelt as he'd been shown. Their bed was low enough and he was tall enough that he could see over the edge of it clearly, treated to a particularly luxurious view of Rachel's ass as she crawled away to the other end.

She reached for the bedside table, opening her designated drawer, fishing out a small object. Then, staying in position, on all fours with her ass pointed towards him, Rachel spread open her legs, giving a clear display of her shining wet pussy. A gentle buzz filled the room, and Gregory watched as she reached down underneath herself and between her legs to slide a silver bullet vibrator through her folds.

His own quiet groan was lost beneath her louder moan while she indulgently drew the toy over herself, pressing against her clitoris and sliding deeper. She spread herself open with it, trailing the shine of her own juices around her hole, dipping the vibrator inside of her, then along her inner thighs, then back to teasing her clit, methodically working herself wetter just a few precious feet in front of her husband's face. Those few precious feet being the forbidden territory of their marriage bed.

Gregory didn't even think of the unfairness of this rule, that he had to be invited up onto the bed. Maybe simply due to the temporariness of the situation, but more likely, it was the deep swell of arousal he was riding at both the sight in front of him as well as his inability to interact with it. Without thinking, he went to wrap his hand around his cock, and shuddered when his closed fist was denied the ability to open, only clumsily nudging himself with his paw.

But he stayed where he was, silent save for his heavier breathing. It rang through his head, her claim that he belonged on his knees, that he belonged to her, and there was no room to absorb it any deeper than the way these words put heat in his blood, and made him ache to prove her right.