Bubba's New Pup (part 1)

NOVEMBER 2, 2014
Commission: Bubba’s New Pup
Commissioned by Anonymous

Officer Nate Jensen climbed out of his patrol car, hefted his belt up, and heaved a sigh. At least the beat up truck had pulled over–half the time, these crazy rednecks would just hit the gas pedal harder, and make him chase them down. Usually they were high out of their mind on meth too–with gun racks hanging in the window. What a terrible fucking job–he’d always wanted to be a police officer, but if he could go back and tell his high school self that it would mean long night shifts sitting on the side of the road dealing with dumb, drugged out, aggressive rednecks, then maybe he’d have pursued something else. Still, no gun rack in this one that he could see–and hopefully the guy was just drunk.

He went around the driver’s side of the cab. The window was already rolled down, and sitting there with a shit eating, slightly toothless grin was a hefty bubba, hairy chest, mullet, and a ragged wifebeater. But what caught his attention most was this strange smell. It was dank, like pot, but even then, that wasn’t quite right. Some other kind of drug? He looked the driver in the eyes, but his pupils looked normal. What in the hell was it? “I…Could I get your license and registration please?”

“Sure thing, officer,” the man drawled, and leaned over to the glove box. Nate tried to keep an eye out for a weapon that might appear from nowhere, but that stink was still on his mind. Where was it coming from? He was taking deeper breaths through his nose now, trying to pinpoint what it was. He realized that the redneck was holding the paper and card out to him to take–had he really just zoned out? “Ya’ll right? Ya look tired, sir. Long shift?”

“Oh…uh, yeah. Just…just tired is all,” Nate said, and took the paper and license without looking at them. “Sir, I…uh…I can’t help but notice that there’s a strange smell in the cab of your truck. Have you been using drugs tonight?”

The redneck laughed, “Nuh uh boy! That’s jus’ me is all. I’m one stinky dude, right? I fuckin’ love it though–my pits ‘r so fuckin’ ripe, ya wanna sniff ‘em?” He hefted his arms up over his head, showing off his thick bush under his arms, and a unavoidable wave of the odor washed over Nate at the window. The license and paper tumbled from his hand, his jaw dropped open, tongue out, panting a bit heavily. “Yeah, that’s a good boy, come on, lean in here ‘n take a good sniff a mah pits.”

He tried to stop himself, he tried to scream. He leaned his hands on the sill of the window and pushed his head in, sniffing deeply, tongue out. Fuck, it smelled so fucking rank, how could anyone smell so fucking disgusting? The bubba grabbed the back of the officer’s head and pulled him in, pressing his nose into his pit, and Nate felt his body shake uncontrollably. It took him a moment to realize he’d just shot a load into the front of his uniform pants, but he couldn’t do anything about that, he had to smell, and lick, and lick and lick it all up like a good boy, a good boy, yeah…He was grinding his wet crotch against the side of the truck, humping it, eyes vacant, tongue running it’s way through the hairs. The bubba reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed a leather dog collar, and with one hand, draped it across the back of Nate’s neck. He felt it there and tried to pull away, but his body wouldn’t respond. The bubba took his time, drawing the collar together tight against Nate’s neck, and when it fastened shut, his body started sliding backwards, his legs collapsing under him, until he landed on his ass and back on the side of the road.

He had to get up. He had to get back to his car, or radio for help, but his legs weren’t cooperating. He tried to stand up, but didn’t quite know how to make his body work like that. It felt so much more natural to just stay on his hands and knees, and he tried to crawl towards his car, but the bubba stepped out of the truck with a leather leash, bent down, and clipped it to the collar around his neck.

Master, a voice said in his head, and he looked back at the heavyset redneck leering down at him, and that was the word that kept repeating in his head. Master master he’s my master obey master follow master obey obey follow serve obey… He tried to shake the thoughts out, tried to push back, but it felt like they were coming from inside his head, from some deep part of his own mind that he’d never noticed was there. He tried to shout, tried to call for help, tried to do anything, but what came out of his mouth instead was a series of barks and yelps and whimpers that he would have mistaken for a stray dog, if he hadn’t heard them come out of his own mouth.

“What do ya say, Copper? Should we head on home?” Master said.

Copper? Who was Copper? He tried to piece things together, and realized he was Copper. But he hadn’t always been Copper, right? He’d had a real name, a human name, he’d been…

Master tugged on the leash, and Copper crawled after him, around the back of the truck. He helped him up into the bed, where he saw a large animal crate with the door open. “Go on Copper, git in there boy.”

He whimpered, but did as Master commanded. Bubba leaned in, shut the door behind him, and latched it. “That’s a very good boy–yer gonna git a real nice present when we git home, Copper. Hmm…actually, how about I give ya somethin’ now? We’re a hour and a half away after all, ya’ll need somethin’ tah occupy yerself with til then. I wouldn’ want ya tryin’ tah git out a there, after all.”