Towser Dog Slave Part 1

TRAINING TOWSER


The man who told me this story as true was pleasantly high at the time; he is dead now and so cannot be questioned about it; but I had always found him to be truthful in whatever he told me. The story sounds somewhat like one of those passed around in dog-eared, hard-to-read dittographed pages, the kind we jerk off over before going on to real sex. So I don't know if this is true. I don't know if it is not true. If it is true, I don't know what part my friend played in it, if any, or how he came to know of it.


Jack was a high powered dynamic young executive just starting his own business. he had - or thought he had - little time to spend in frivolity and in playing games, in courtship. What he wanted was a steady dependable lover, one who would be understanding and ready to fuck when he(Jack) wanted to fuck, ready to be left alone when Jack wanted to be alone, ready to put Jack's business and pleasure first in all things at all the times. What Jack had, though, was Dennis; irresponsible cock-teasing Dennis who was habitually late, who always seemed to want to screw when Jack had to concentrate on business, who wanted to be alone when Jack found time to screw, who broke dates without warning. Dennis led the besotted Jack a merry dance for months.
Jack had allowed Dennis to set the pattern on their relationship early on, always forgiving, believing Dennis' promises to do better, and found that he could not change the pattern. That it could be changed he was sure, but he himself had not the time, or so he thought, to devote to making the change. Yet, it was either the pattern or say good-bye to Dennis, and besotted as he was, and as Dennis knew he was, he could not kick the younger man out of his life. Dennis had him utterly enslaved, ready to accept any crumbs from Dennis's table.
The idea first came from some talk Jack heard in O' Toole's Bar on one of his few free evenings out: Dennis had broken a date and Jack had savagely gone out drinking alone. In O' Toole's he overheard a few phrases which dropped the penny in his brain and gave him a new perspective. He asked a few questions of those he overheard. They answered, cautiously. Jack acted on this information. A few weeks passed. He made discreet inquiries and answered more questions. Finally he had the information and phone number he sought. He was reluctant to use it; but one weekend shortly thereafter, Jack came to his last straw.
At the start of the summer, Dennis and Jack had arranged to take a week's holiday together, leaving on a particular Monday morning. Apparently merely to demonstrate his power over Jack, on the preceding Saturday Dennis announced that he did not want to go to Fire Island after all, that Jack should cancel the house that he had rented, that they should go to San Francisco instead. Jack was lying next to Dennis when he said all this, his mouth still holding Dennis's cock, his own hard cock still unsatisfied. He objected, of course, but Dennis cajoled him as Dennis always did. But though Jack said yes to Dennis, this time inwardly refused; and while Dennis took his usual long shower, Jack made the phone call to the number he had got after those weeks of asking and waiting, a number that would answer 24 hours. His free had fisted his throbbing achingly hard cock while he talked.
A deep rumbling voice answered: "Allen's Pet Shop and Obedience School. Bruno speaking."
Jack hesitated; then, taking a deep breath, casting the die, he said, "This Jack Wilson. You were recommended to be by Frank Walton."
"Frank Walton. Oh, yes. He was satisfied with our service?"
"Yes. Yes, very satisfied. I have a pet that needs obedience training, a pet like Frank's."
"Oh. Would you describe the animal you want trained, Sir?"
"A white male human, 25, 175 pounds, 6', brown hair."
"Ah, one of those. We can certainly accommodate you. We have the finest trainer in New York City, actually in the entire eastern seaboard, Sir. But you do realize that some animals cannot be trained? Most can, but a very few cannot. If your animal refuses the training, we will release him and refund your money. But in our years of training we have had no failures."
"If he refuses training I do not want him at all."
"At the proper point in his training he will be told that you will reject him without this training. When will you bring him in, Sir?"
"Monday"
"Monday. Fine, Sir. We have a good man who will be available beginning on Monday, an Englishman who used to train the members of the Queen's Horse Guards."
Jack was afraid that Dennis might finish his shower before the conversation was finished and he mentioned this to Bruno who quickly asked him the remaining questions necessary, finishing with:
"Do you want your pet Dennis Wilson trained under that name or would you prefer a special name? Like Rex, or Fido?"
Jack thought a moment: he had not considered this earlier.
"Towser. My first dog was named Towser. Train him as Towser."
"Bring Towser to 300 Christopher Street, near Hudson Street, at 9:00, Monday morning, sharp. The door is painted black. Ring two short rings, open door, put Towser inside, close the door behind him." He laughed. "Don't enter with Towser or you might find yourself in training too, Sir."
He gave instructions about payment, asked more questions.
Jack was drinking a beer when Dennis returned, shower damp and gleaming. Jack's hard dick was dripping pre-cum as he lay on the bed, fisting it with one hand, the beer in the other, in his mind's eye a vision of Dennis on all fours, a dog collar around his neck, his mouth open to suck Jack's big prick. Jack was smiling.
"Penny for your thoughts," said Dennis
"I called the airlines," lied Jack. "Our business reservations are for Monday noontime. I have some business on Hudson Street at 9:00 we can do on the way to JFK, some people I want you to meet."
"Oh, baby, thank you, you're so good to me, I love you so much." Dennis smiled s he snuggled close to Jack. "I'm gonna be so good to you ..."
That weekend Jack let Dennis have his way in everything, hopeful it would be the last time Dennis would have his way in anything.
At 9:00 sharp Monday morning the cab waited ("This won't take long" said Jack) before Christopher Street address while Jack rang the bell twice and pulled open the door. The hall was dimly lit.
"You go in first," said Jack , holding the door.
"O.K. This place looks empty. Sure it's the right place?"
Holding his flight bag with the money hidden from him in it, Dennis entered.
"It's the right place." said Jack, shutting the door behind him, leaving Dennis inside. Jack returned to the cab which took him to the depot where to caught the train to Fire Island. he'd enjoy himself in the meatrack there while Dennis would start his training.
Inside, Dennis found himself alone in a dim hall. He tried the door which Jack had shut on him, but it was locked now. In a panic he pounded on it shouting Jack's name, but only silence was heard from the other side. He stopped and faced the hall when he heard a strange metallic voice. There was no one to be seen and he pressed against the door as the disembodied voice repeated its command: "Descend the stairs, dog."
He tried the door again, shouting, stopping and whirling to face the hall only when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
The hall went forward about ten feet and turned abruptly to descend a flight. Dennis saw on the wall a shadow of a human figure mounting toward his level, and then the figure reached Dennis' level and turned to face him. Dennis gasped: the big man was wearing only black leather: boots, pants with a bulging cod piece, narrow vest, a hood that had openings for the ears, eyes, nostrils, and mouth. It was padlocked shut on the right side of the neck. The huge arms and chest were bare, the powerful muscles gleaming in the light. The figure stepped towards Dennis and was swiftly joined by a second, even taller and more muscular, dressed like the first.
"You goddam dog," snarled the first, "whadda you mean by not obeyin' orders? Makin' us come all the way up the fuckin' stairs to drag you down so's you can begin your fuckin' trainin', you goddam son of a bitch. We got better things t' do, dog-face!"
Frantically, Dennis tried the door again before the two figures were on him, seizing him by the arms and forcibly carrying him and dragging him down the stairs into an empty room painted entirely in black. One of the giants locked the stair door behind them; ahead was another door, shut. They dropped Dennis on the floor roughly. The second man took a supple leather dog quirt from where it dangled against his right side.
The disembodied voice spoke.
"You, dog stay there on the floor where you belong. Do nothing until you are ordered to, and then obey instantly. Your life here will be easier if you realize that the quicker you obey an order, the more pleasant will pass your time. And do not talk back: You will speak only when you are told to speak. Paul, see to the bag.
The first man replied: he had taken Dennis' flight bag and had opened it. "Three books, a Trader Dick, pens, checkbook, the envelope that says 'Allen's Pet Shop for Towser.' "