Men With Guns

Men With Guns

By Boot Boy
01-Jan-2001


Ever since I moved to this neck of the woods, I have always been intrigued by Bud, my next door neighbor. Every summer, he takes off for a week or so, all decked up in forest camouflage gear, hip-high rubber boots, a vest with lots of pockets, and his gun. Now, since we live in Montana, it's not really unusual to see guys carry guns, but hunting expeditions rarely last more than a week-end, so I decided to ask him about it.

"Oh, I'm just going up to meet with a group of buddies and shoot some birds and stuff. One of the guys owns a huge piece of forest land, so we all go up to his place, grab some picnic equipment, and spend a week in the wilderness, hunting with his dogs. If you like hunting, it's really a great experience."

Well, I don't really care for hunting, but I do care for the idea of picnicking with a bunch of rough rubber-booted men out in the woods and everything it may entail! "How many guys go?"

"There's about fifteen of us. It's kind of exclusive, so we don't let anybody bring in their wife or kids, unless the kid has been formerly accepted and is old enough."

"Gee, that sounds real nice! I'd love to take off for a week and live like a woodsman with you all! Do you think there might be a chance I can go with you?"

"Well, I guess I can ask the guys if they would accept you for next year. I'm afraid it's too late for this year. Do you have a rifle? Can you use it?"

"No, but if I have a year to learn, I should be OK, right? You can teach me when you come back."

"I guess. Listen, I gotta go now. I'll see if they are open to the idea. I guess you could go out and buy some gear for yourself in the mean time. If I'm going to teach you how to hunt, you gotta be prepared."

"Great! I will. Thanks, Bud. I hope you have a good time."

"Sure thing! Take care man."

And with that, he straddled his motorcycle and left. I forgot to tell you that Bud was a biker, didn't I? Well, that's probably the first thing that attracted me to him. He's really a piece of hunk when he wears his shiny black leather chaps and boots. Even without them, come to think of it! Bud's blond, bearded, blue-eyed, probably 6'2", 190 lbs, and works construction, so he's got real-defined muscles all over! Woof! He lives alone, but I don't think he's gay. Too bad, because I wouldn't mind swinging on his joint!


Anyway, true to his word, Biker Bud and I spent several week-ends that summer to teach me how to shoot a rifle. I had bought some hunting gear similar to his, and it was fun to take off on his bike with our hip-high rubber boots at three or four in the morning! I can tell you that by the time we got back to his place, we were really sweaty and stinky! I didn't mind pulling Bud's boots off, and he didn't mind pulling mine off, but it sure stank of stale foot odor in that small living-room of his.

Of course, I'm rambling because I really wanted to get him in the sack, but he never even hinted at anything, and I didn't want to risk our friendship. He had, after all, managed to convince his buddies to let me join their hunting club, and that's why we were spending so much time together.

The following summer was soon enough upon us. Bud and I had planned to drive up together to the guy's place; John was his name. With two of us on the bike, there wouldn't be much room for extra clothes or anything really,
but we thought it would be OK.

So, on Friday afternoon, we geared up, boots up to our crotches, and set off. It would be a four-hour ride, and I was looking forward to rubbing my crotch against Bud's leathered ass the whole way. He had decided that it would probably be cold, so he was wearing his leather motorcycle pants instead of his cammies inside his rubber boots. I thought it was a wise idea, so of course I had done the same, but my pants were dark brown. Hopefully, it would look enough like hunting gear that the other guys wouldn't comment on it.


We got there right on time, and I was introduced to John and the other guys. As I was hoping, they were all rough-looking men who probably held blue-collar jobs, except John I guess since he could afford the huge place where we were now. It was a large ranch with a kennel and stables off to the side, a garage with room for several trucks, and a large house big enough for a family of thirty even though, as far as I could tell, he lived on his own except maybe for a few guys on staff. Come to think of it, there was no woman anywhere to be seen, so I was wondering whether John might be member of the club, and I don't mean the hunting club!

Still, he had had somebody prepare a great meal for that first night and put us up in some sort of dormitory he had on the premises. There were eighteen guys this year, so I guess he was used to having large crowds.

The next day, at 3 a.m., we all set off in five different trucks loaded with picnic gear, dogs, food, you name it. It was really well organized.

It was still dark outside, so I couldn't see much of the landscape, but we were indeed in a dense forest and saw several animals on our way to the marshes where we would start our hunting.

My riding companions were Bud, of course, a huge black guy named Elvin who was in the military, and a red-head named Kevin who, I think, was a cop or something like that. Later on, we would be sharing our tent with Steven, a white-haired guy who wore glasses and was an architect, and with Lenny, another black guy with a goatee. I think that Lenny worked with Bud on construction.

Our first day was absolutely glorious. We got to stomp with our big rubber boots in the marshes, shooting ducks and geese. I even shot a goose and was congratulated by the guys around me with pats on my back. I guess the not-so-glamorous part of the job was that I had to clean my goose for dinner that night, but I managed, and we roasted it.


I wish I could convey the fun a bunch of guys can have together in the woods. The sitting around the fire, chomping on meat and burping without having to apologize. The pissing in the wind, standing next to another hunting buddy, occasionally letting your spray hit his rubber boots for fun. The farting in each other's face and the hopeless attempts to keep a straight face while apologizing profusely. The smell of rubber boots in your tent, hung upside down over your bed so that critters wouldn't get inside them. The skinny-dipping every two or three days, when the smells were getting so strong that they would probably tip even the dumbest animals off. The dampness of the socks you have to put back on every morning because you couldn't bring replacements.

It was all idyllic to me, until that last day. John had suggested we try to get us some larger game, a buck or something, because, since we would be driving home that evening, it would be easier to clean and store. We had all agreed and were looking forward to roaming the woods.

We had set off all together, standing side by side to cover as large an area as possible. John and a few other guys were leading the dogs. I was between Bud and Kevin while Steven held our dogs.

After maybe a couple of hours walking with as little noise as possible, one of the dogs started whistling, so John gave us the signal to let them loose so that they would force the game out of its hiding place.

From that point on, it all went very fast. The dogs ran forward into the underbrush and barked at something in there. Soon, we could see the antlers of a magnificent deer that tried to escape. The dogs were surrounding him, trying to force him to run towards us. I saw an opportunity and cocked my rifle, aimed, and fired.

We heard a yelp and even louder barking. The deer had managed to flee away from us. Everybody was staring at me, holding my gun, smoke still coming from the end. I blanched. I had shot one of the dogs! I ran towards the underbrush, followed by the others, and came upon the animal. I had hit him in the head, so there was really not much to look at. At least he had not suffered.

"John, I. . . I don't know what to say. I'm really, really sorry!"

"You bastard! Don't you know enough to wait for a clean shot before you fire your gun, stupid fuck? You killed one of my best dogs."

"I am sorry. Really. I'll buy you another one."

"Buy me another one? Asshole, do you think hunting dogs are that easy to find?"

"Hey, stop the name calling, all right? It's only a fucking dog for God's sake. I will get you another one."

I could see John turn beet red right before he lunged at me, hands open aiming for my neck. I tried to punch him and soon we were grappling in the dirt, rolling one on top of the other, trying to punch the other in the face. John was a big guy, but I'm no weakling either, so I got a few good punches in and received another good few before the other guys managed to separate us. I had one guy holding each arm and another guy had placed his arm around my neck to prevent me from struggling.

John was fuming. He went on calling me names until Bud approached him and whispered something to his ear. I don't know what he said, but John turned to look at him and started to smile. Then he said something back to Bud who took off with five other guys towards the trucks.

About five minutes later, Bud and the other guys had returned with what looked like miles of rope. I started to protest but was pushed face down in the dirt while all six of them jumped me. One of them placed his boots on either side of my head and knelt on my back while two guys pulled my arms back and tied them, wrist to elbow. Then, another guy straddled my ass and sat there while two other guys bent my legs back. The guy sitting on my ass wound some rope around them several times and finished by tying the rope to my arms, effectively hogtying me.

During all this, I was struggling, twisting, yelling, kicking, spitting, and doing anything I could to get free, but I couldn't fight six guys. I was soon tied up in a neat little package, totally helpless, at the boots of seventeen burly hunters, some of them professional cops, soldiers, guys who knew how to neutralize other guys.

Since I hadn't stopped shouting, I felt one of them come behind me and pull my head back and wind some duct tape around my mouth. He effectively and efficiently cut off any sound that came out of my throat. Then they all backed off me, and I was lying on my stomach, trying to breathe through my nose, wiggling from side to side until a boot came down forcefully on my back, forcing me to lie still.

Raising my head, I could see John remove the collar from the dead dog. He approached me and squatted near my head; all I could see were the folds of his rubber boots in front of my nose.

He said, "OK asshole. Bud had a great idea. Since you killed my dog, you're going to replace it." And with that he tried to buckle the bloody thing around my neck. Of course, my neck is much bigger than a dog's, so he was soon strangling.

"Shit, I guess I'll have to get you another collar!" he said and then he tied the collar at the top of my arm. "That'll do for now. Now, guys, we gotta take this animal back to the truck."

The six guys who had tied me up grabbed me under the arms and at the ankles and carried me back to the truck, roped as I was, head hanging down between them. Once there, they dumped me onto the bed of a pickup where we had brought the dogs. There were cages in the back, and I saw Kevin open one of them. I couldn't protest, but I started wiggling to no avail, alas. They were going to shove me in when John interrupted them.

"Hang on a minute! This piece of shit is an animal now. We can't have him wear clothes." And with that, he grabbed his Bowie knife and started slicing through my clothes. He first inserted it on top of the sleeves of my vest and ripped them, so that the vest fell apart in two pieces. Then he attacked my shirt and undershirt. In the mean time, Elvin was unbuckling my leather belt. As he saw John approach my leather pants with his knife, he said, "Hey boss! These are nice leather pants. It would be a pity to damage them."

"Don't worry Elvin," John answered. "We'll probably be able to reuse some of the leather to make his new gear." And with that he sliced along the seams on either side of my body, pulling the leather out of my boots as he went along. As for Elvin, he had looped the belt on itself and slipped it around my neck as a collar. I saw him wink at Bud as he was tightening it.

When I was naked, except for the ropes, the belt around my neck, the dog collar on my arm, and the rubber hip boots that had been pushed down, somebody put some more duct tape on my head to cover my eyes and my ears, and then I was slid into the cage. I could hardly hear them anymore, but I did hear John say something like "let's go back to hunt!" and soon everything was quiet.


The worst hours of my life ensued! As I was, lying on my stomach, I couldn't breathe, so I tried to turn on my side. But then, it was worse because I couldn't rest my head on the floor. Turning on my back was OK for a few minutes, but most of my weight rested on my arms and ankles in that position, and I soon felt horrible cramps in my hips. So it was back on my stomach.

I must have twirled like that for several hours. I mean, we had gotten up at around 5 a.m. and spotted the buck a couple of hours later. After my stupid shot, it had probably been an hour or so when we fought and they tied me up, so I guess I was in the cage by 8 a.m. By the time the truck started, I had probably been left alone for twelve hours. Well, let me tell you that after twelve hours compressed in a tightly roped package in a cage, you don't want to be bumped for a couple of hours, and still that's exactly what I've got. Once they had all the dogs back in the cages surrounding me, they set off, and I got knocked around all the way home.

Once there I assume they pulled into the garage. They let the dogs out and probably took them to the kennels, unloaded the trucks, slammed the doors, and left me to stew the rest of the night. At least, one of them came back and stuck something under my head so that I would be more comfortable.

"Here you go, doggie. I hope you're not too upset I suggested that to John, but you know I couldn't fall out of favor with those guys. They're my best buddies. You hang on in there. I'm sure you'll get used to it after a while. We've been talking about how we're gonna change you, and I think we came up with a good plan. It'll be a while before we get started, but you don't have to worry about that anymore. You got all the time in the world, right?"

Darn! It was Bud, that bastard! I could hear him laugh as his voice faded away. What plan was he talking about? And what did he mean by "all the time in the world"? Was that twisted fuck John going to keep me here forever? I really started to panic. I was shaking my head left and right and started to hit the bars of my cage but to no avail. All I got out of that little exercise was that I realized that the thing under my head seemed to be an old rubber boot stuffed with old socks, judging my the smell of it. Those fucking hunters had probably stuffed all their week-old socks in a boot to keep me company! I was not amused any longer!


I suppose I eventually fell asleep because I was totally disoriented when I felt a pair of hands pull me out of the cage. There didn't seem to be as many guys as earlier because there wasn't so much noise. Sure, I had my ears covered with duct tape, but I am pretty sure there were fewer guys. Anyway, they dragged me along the bed of the truck and onto a gurney I guess because soon afterwards, I could feel wind on my naked body as I was wheeled out of the garage. I didn't dare wiggle because I was afraid I would fall off, so I kept to myself as they took me to another building.

Wherever we went, I could smell strong dog smells, so I assume it was the kennel. I wish I didn't have that darn tape over my eyes!

Once stopped, I felt them slide me onto another surface on my stomach. As I was held in position, they began to strap my body down on the bench, tightening belts on top of my head, on my neck, around my chest and waist, and right over my thighs. I could hardly move an inch in either direction when they were done.

Then, somebody untied the rope holding my ankles to my arms and started to free my legs. It was a relief to be able to lower my legs at last. As they were removing the rope, I could feel that there was a strong pair of hands on either side of me holding my ankles so that I wouldn't kick. When the rope was off, they pulled my boots and my socks off and strapped my legs down to the bench.

As this was happening, I felt something cold and hard touch the back of my head. It turned out to be a pair of scissors that they used to cut the tape around my eyes and ears, but they left the one on my mouth. If they hadn't, they would have heard me crying loud enough to be heard miles around as the tape pulled off the little hair I had on my head and my bushy eyebrows!

A gloved hand grabbed the top of my skull to make me look up. It was John.

"OK, asshole! Today is the first day you take the place of my prized dog, Butch. My buddies and I are going to have to spend some time training you, but believe me, in a couple of months, you'll be as good as Butch was. For now, though, you are a piece of shit, and you'll be referred to as such.

"We don't have all the gear ready for you yet, but we'll get started anyway. Doc here went home yesterday so he could grab his electrolysis tool. That's a gizmo that will burn off all your hairs and prevent them from ever growing back. That's all we've got to play with you today, so that's what we'll do.

"Tomorrow, Kevin has said he would come back with a pair of leg braces. That'll allow us to get you started walking on all fours. We're sorry we can't get you in gear right away, but it'll probably take a week or so to get everything customized. To be honest, we've never done that before, so we don't really know how long it's gonna take to have you fully transformed."

John's features turned into a broad smile as he was saying this. My eyes were darting from one to the other of the guys, and all of them had smiles on like kids who were about to pull the wings of a butterfly to see if it could still fly, or something stupid like that. Besides John, there was Bud (bastard!), Elvin, Steven, and "Doc" Sam or something like that. I didn't realize he was a doctor. He was a short but extremely muscled Asian guy who had a beard, which is rare for Asians. He was holding a thing that looked like a syringe.

"Shall we get started?" he said. John nodded, and he disappeared from my field of vision. I soon felt a tickling sensation on my ankle. He had decided to start at the bottom and work his way up. One by one, he would burn every single hair on my body. For about ten minutes, he worked on my ankle and calf while explaining to the other guys how the thing worked. The stinging sensation had built up, and by now my skin was starting to burn. Still, I think he was only a couple of inches above the ankle. How long would the process take? I started to sweat bullets, and John, who was still holding my head up with his gloved hand, was staring directly into my eyes, trying to impress his mastery or some other kind of bullshit like that. I couldn't read his thoughts, but I really think he believed that he could get into my mind and impose his will. What a bunch of baloney! That fucker would never break me. He could hold me prisoner, but at the first
opportunity, I would run away.


They all got a turn at cooking some of my hairs that day! And the five days following that. That first day, they left me tied face down on the bench with my arms tied together in my back, wrist to elbow, and my legs spread wide. They hardly finished the back of my left leg. John had done the last part, starting to remove the hair on my left butt cheek. He seemed to enjoy that. He was talking to me and slapping my right cheek practically all the time while he was doing it. He called me a puppy, a dog, a dick head, a cum wad, and so on. His epithets would become increasingly more insulting and graphic: boot licker, cock sucker, ass wipe, shit head, and so on. As far as I was concerned, that asshole could say what he wanted.

My mind was way away from the here and now. I was worrying about losing my job. Then I was thinking about the cops who would get into my house when I was reported missing and would find all my toys. Then I was thinking about what my mother would think when she saw the seventy pairs of boots in my closet. It's funny the things that go through your head when there's nothing to do!

True to his word, Kevin showed up the next morning with a pair of prisoner transport braces, but John decided that he wouldn't use them until I was completely shaved, at least below the belt, so I spent a couple more nights strapped down on the bench. I would undergo electrolysis for about twelve hours a day, and then I was left alone. They had stuck a tube through the tape in my mouth (scraping my lips raw in the process), so they could feed me, but all I got was liquid. It was probably a high-protein shake or something like that.

It's only after three days that they had finished my legs, so they put the braces on me. Locked in the bent position, the braces kept my legs rigidly bent at the knee, so that I couldn't extend them. They were still working on the electrolysis, and I was hair free from the tits down by the end of that day except for my crotch. Bud had spent a lot of time zapping the hairs around my nipples, and Elvin had done the honor of doing the tops of my hands. I wondered why they would do that before doing my crotch, and I soon found out. One of them forced my hands into a fist and wound about a mile of duct tape around each one. When he was through, I bet I could have stepped into a boxing ring without trouble! There was so much duct tape on my hands that they looked like balloons.

So this time, instead of leaving me on the bench, they untied me and put me on all fours on the floor. John grabbed the end of my belt that was still around my neck and used it as a leash. He tried to force me to walk about in the kennels, but with the leg braces, I could not bend at the knee so I could only pull them with my arms.

"Shit, that's not very good is it?" he said. "We have to find a way to keep him on all fours but have him be able to walk."

"Well," said Doc, "I think that we should make him walk like most animals, on the ball of his feet. This way, we would leave the ankle free, so that he can bend it, but keep his leg secured to prevent him from standing up. I think that will work. Let me try something!" He lowered the bench where I had spent so many hours to about eight inches off the floor and asked John to lead me over it.

John had to literally drag me by the collar to position me because I didn't take too well to being talked about in the third person as though I was an animal. A dog I guess. Jeez! That was one of their tricks to transform me into a dog. Treat me like one!

Anyway, after a couple of boot kicks in the ribs and on the ass and a near-strangulation, I straddled the bench. Doc raised it until I was lying on it, my hands going down straight to the floor, and they strapped me down once more. Kevin removed the braces, and Doc got behind me and pulled my legs back so that only the ball of my feet would touch the floor. Well, I didn't like his manipulations, so I kicked him. I guess I must have hurt him because soon enough, John was whacking into my back and ass with a quirt he had grabbed from the shelf behind him while Steven and Elvin were holding my legs down. As for Bud, he had sat his ass on the back of my neck and had placed his boot heels on my hands, thus totally immobilizing my upper body.

I was trying to cheer myself up by looking at old Doc try to stop the blood flow coming from his nose. Apparently, I had caught him with my foot in the face, and that had given him a nose bleed. Unfortunately, the pain on my back and ass were getting too strong to ignore. I am into SM, so I can usually take a good whipping, but that fucking John was whacking with all his strength, punishing me. There was nothing erotic about it.

It must have lasted half an hour or more. I'm not sure. My ass was still being whipped while Steven and Elvin were placing my legs in position for Doc to do his measurements.

When done, the braces were put back on, and I was freed from the bench. John forced me to crawl into a cage, and that's where I spent the night, unable to extend my legs. Bud had brought back the old rubber boot pillow and another boot, which I recognized as one of the hip boots I had worn to come here. He, or someone, had sliced the rubber covering the toe off, so that only the canvas lining showed there. He explained that the boot was full of water, so if I wanted to drink, I had to suck on the toe.

I glared at him! He knew full well that I couldn't suck on anything with the tube duct taped in my mouth. He must have understood because he said, "Oops! Sorry! I guess you can't suck with that tube in your mouth. Well, let's see if we can do something about that. Come over here."

I was wary and instead pushed myself back into a corner of the cage.

"Oh, come now, doggie! I won't hurt you. Get on all fours and approach me."

I shook my head. "Forget it, asshole!" I was thinking.

"Come the fuck over here or you'll regret it!" Bud shouted. I still did not respond, so he stepped out in a fury only to come a couple of minutes later with a long stick. A cattle prod!

He walked directly behind the cage and, even though I had seen what he was carrying and was hurrying to get into place, he zapped me on the ass.

"Aaargh!" I wailed through the tube.

"You bloody cocksucker! When I say something, you do it! Got it? (zap) You think I haven't figured out why you always hang out with me? (zap) Do you think I haven't figured out that you're a fruit? (zap) Well, I have, and I thought it would be neat to have a fruit to use and abuse. (zap) A helpless faggot to do my bidding. (zap) That's why I suggested to John that you become his dog. (zap) Believe me, I'm going to visit here a lot from now on so I can get my rocks off at your expense! (zap) Now, get your fucking head against the bars!"

I was already in position. Had been for the last three or four zaps! Once more, Bud turned around to get something from the workbench and came back towards me. His dick was out of his pants, and he held one of his hands behind him.

Before I could see what he was holding, he squatted in front of me and placed the cattle prod behind my neck, pulling on it to hold my head still between two of the bars in front of the cage. Then he quickly retrieved the thing he had put on top of the cage: it was a funnel. Without ceremony, he stuck the end of the funnel in the tube in my mouth, raised himself up and started to piss. He had to hold the cattle prod with both hands now because I was trying to pull away from the flow. The piss was so acrid, I was coughing, and it bubbled back up in the funnel. It even splashed back onto Bud's leather pants.

"You fucker! Take advantage now that you cannot lick it up, but you'll soon learn to swallow everything without losing a drop," Bud said.

When he finished, he removed the prod from behind my neck and zapped me once more on the ass, just for good measure and because I had spilled some of his piss. He pulled the funnel out of my mouth and left, hardly taking the time to put his dick back in his pants.

I was having mixed feelings about that scene. Yes, I had wanted to make it with Bud, and yes, I usually am the bottom in my scenes, so drinking Bud's piss should have been great. I wouldn't have minded being forced either in another setting. The only thing wrong with the scene was that I hated electricity, so I hated the cattle prod. I guess that's the only thing that destroyed the idea that I had been in a hot sex scene with a demanding Master. No, I had only been abducted by a bunch of bullies and forced into some disgusting act by one of them.


It was John who got the privilege of defoliating my groin, right after Bud had finished zapping all my beard, moustache, nose hairs, eyebrows, and eyelashes. I was glad there was no mirror in the kennel because I am sure I must have looked like a freak totally shaved from head to toe. They had soaped and hosed me down every morning since I had been put in the braces, so my skin was a bright pink. I must have looked like an earthworm with four legs.

The duct tape on my face had been gone for a while now, so they had been using a huge ball gag to keep me quiet. Obviously, they didn't care for my conversation. Besides, it kept my cheeks inflated and my lips jutting out to facilitate their work. My hands were still taped though.

I had learned to do a little better on all fours, but with the rigid braces on, I still couldn't move very fast. In my cage at night, I could only manage to go forward to be able to suck some liquid from my boot toe (they removed the ball gag at night). I say liquid because Bud came by every now and then to mix his piss with the water in my boot. I don't know whether anybody else knew about it, but he was the only one to do that. (Bastard!)

Anyway, that last night when the electrolysis was finished, I was slowly dragging my sore body to wrap my lips around the rubber boot. I always had to strain my neck to reach it. I was really thirsty; having that big ball gag jammed in since this morning had really made my mouth dry, so I sucked on the boot for all I was worth, coercing the pissy water inside through the lining at the toe so that I could drink. I must have sucked for ten minutes when I started feeling really tired. Within seconds, I was slumped on the bottom of the cage, legs and arms spread, passed out for the rest of the world.


I woke up to a severe sensation of burning behind my knees. I cried, but the ball gag was back in my mouth and only an "mmmphhh!" sound came out. A man with a welder's mask appeared in my field of vision, and when he raised his mask, I was surprised to recognize Lenny's face. "Hi guy! Don't worry, we're almost done." He was holding a blowtorch in one hand. "I just finished making your permanent braces based on Doc's measurement, so I came this morning to weld them on."

He flashed me a huge smile, and at that point I wanted to knock those superb pearly white teeth of his down his throat. I tried to shake my head, to protest, to get off that bench, but as usual they had strapped me down pretty tightly, and I was unable to do anything. Lenny just kept on smiling and gave me a pat on the butt. "Don't worry, man!" He doused me with a pail of cold water. I could hear a hissing sound coming from behind my head. "I have protected your skin with some asbestos, so you are not burnt. Just a little overheated. Here, let me pull them off, and you'll be as good as new." I felt some sort of fabric scratch the back of my thighs.

When he was done, he resumed his conversation: "Perfect! I think you'll find that these braces are much nicer than the ones you have been wearing. You should be able to move your foot up and down. Try to do that now." Of course, stubborn as I had decided to be, I wasn't gonna give him the satisfaction of obeying.

"Come on man, move those feet so that I can tell if everything's OK back here!" Still, I didn't budge. Suddenly, the door slammed open, and I heard a familiar voice.

"Is the dog giving you any problem, Lenny?"

"Hi Bud! I want him to move his feet to make sure the braces fit OK, but he's being stubborn. Did you guys wash his brain or something so that he cannot understand us anymore?"

Bud started laughing. "Now, that would be an interesting concept! Make him dumber than he ever was. Shouldn't be too hard!" I was fuming!!! "No man! He's just a stubborn son of a bitch, so you got to use some extra persuasion every now and then." The "now" and "then" parts of Bud's speech were of course punctuated by a mighty discharge from the cattle prod on each butt cheek.

Lenny saw me tighten every single muscle of my body, but I had anticipated that and did not give them the satisfaction of hearing me yell. Still, I was soon flapping my feet so that he could assess the fit of the braces.

Lenny and Bud were commenting on them. I wish I could see the darn things! Lenny was explaining, "You see, Bud? Doc's design surrounds the kneecap to hold it in place and climbs up the thigh and down the calf to hold the leg bent at a rigid angle. Shitheap here is gonna have to live with his legs permanently bent at that angle, but he can move his foot up and down. There's a cup of sorts that encloses his heel. That's studded inside, so that if he tries to stand on his heels, it will be very painful. But the cup shouldn't touch him, so long as he stands on the ball of his feet. Ingenious, no?"

"Sure is! And with that angle, you say he's gonna have his back parallel to the floor just like a real dog?" asked Bud.

"Definitely! That was the point. If we had left him in Kevin's braces, he would have had to rest on his knees, and because the thighs are shorter than the arms, he would have had his ass lower than his head. This way, he is more or less even with the floor."

"So what's next?"

"Well, we gotta do his hands now. Will you help me?"

"I'd love to watch!" said Bud with glee.

They were at it again! Chatting about me as though I could not understand them. Treating me like a dog. As they were talking, they were strapping my legs on the sides of the bench, and then they moved near my head, freed my arms only to move them up above my head, strapping them once more flat in front of me.

Lenny retrieved the asbestos and wrapped it around the top of my hands and wrists. Then he had Bud hand him another set of metal restraints. He was working in silence, but this time I could see what he was doing. I could also see Bud's amused face from the corner of my eye as he was sharing his attention between Lenny's hands and me.

Lenny forced me to make a fist with my hand (aided by Bud's cattle prod on my asshole this time) and slid it into the device that looked like a metal ball, but in fact was shaped after a dog's paw. My folded knuckles were individually inserted into a metal chamber that had been padded with rubber. Once my fingers were trapped in place, it looked as though I was wearing a metal gauntlet that covered my hand and went up to my elbow. While Bud held the gauntlet in place, Lenny folded another piece of metal that was hinged below my knuckles. As that piece was closed, my thumb was crushed into the palm of my hand, but there was some sort of rubber padding inside as well. However, I was totally unable to move my thumb once the device was in place.

While Bud held my arm down, Lenny went to the work bench and removed a vice grip from it. He secured it to the bench and then turned my arm sideways and forced it between the jaws of the vice. After tightening it, he signaled for Bud to back off while he started to weld one side of the device in place. They then turned my arm around and welded the other side. Then, on with the dousing and the other arm.

It took them quite a long time to manage to pull the asbestos off my arm, and Lenny was cursing himself for being too kind and using the thing in the first place. Bud was encouraging him, saying that I was just an animal and didn't deserve his favors, blah blah blah! And I was laughing in the ball gag, imagining Bud buried in mud up to his neck, my boot toe crammed into his mouth to keep him quiet while I pissed on his head.

Well, of course they did manage to get the thing off, so they called John to come in and check on their work. When John arrived, he was wearing riding breeches and spurred boots, so I guess he had been riding his horses while Lenny and Bud were taking care of the dogs. I'm telling you this to explain that he was carrying a riding crop. He told Lenny and Bud to let me off the bench, took hold of my belt/collar/leash combo, and used his crop quite liberally while he made me walk around the kennel.

Because I could not bend my knees, I could only use the joints at my ankles to move forward, and that quickly became excruciating. On top of that, the bloody cup that covered my heel was filled with metal studs that were rubbing against it, so I had to walk on my toes.

The only good thing about the design was that my wrists and knuckles were comfortably held in place, so I had no problem moving my arms. Not that they asked for my opinion, but if they had, I would have told them that.

So, once again, John had to use his crop a lot on my ass to make me move. I really wasn't being stubborn this time, and I was trying to make him understand that, but I really couldn't move any faster. Even when Bud took his belt off and started whacking into my ass with all his strength, I couldn't move any faster.

Fortunately, Lenny was my buddy this day. He tried to reason with my two drivers and explain to them that the braces didn't seem to work. "Maybe he's got too much weight on his toes. I don't think he can walk that way all the time," he was saying.

"Nah! He's just a lazy son of a bitch!" That was Bud, of course. "I'm gonna get my cattle prod to make him move." The bastard was still belting my ass as he was saying this!

"No man! I really think we should come up with another idea. I think he should be able to move his knee a little bit."

John agreed with Lenny. "You know, Bud. I think he's right. Would you go get Doc, so we can get his opinion?"

Bud answered, "OK, Boss!" and took off. Now, that seemed strange that he would call John, "Boss" and respond to his orders so quickly. Do you think John had hired Bud for something?

I didn't have time to think about it at that time because Bud came back with Doc right away, and Doc agreed that it was too awkward for me to walk in that position. They had to let me be able to move my knee.

"That's fine and dandy," said Bud, "but now that the bloody things are welded on him, how do you suppose we take them off?" I must say he had a point there. But Lenny persuaded him that, because the design left the kneecap exposed, he could deepen the opening around the knee a little so that I would be able to bend my leg a little bit by sticking my knee out of the hole.


And so it came to be! I was strapped on my back on the bench for one more day while Lenny was busy sawing, filing, doing who knows what to the metal braces. I never got to see what he was doing because Bud had decided that, to keep me still, he would spend his day sitting on my chest, with his ass crack riding my chin. He still wore his black motorcycle leather pants, and he had probably had them on ever since he had taken me up here. I could smell the odor of his unwashed ass through the leather, that's to say it was pretty strong! Of course, the farts he let go in my face every hour or so weren't much fun either, but I couldn't complain with the ball gag in my mouth.

Lenny worked way into the evening while Bud was sitting about, shooting the breeze (from his ass to my nose) and smoking a cigar. At least, when he was done, I was able to walk much more easily, and John and Doc seemed satisfied at the modifications. They were so excited, that they made me walk all the way to the house and had me spend dinner under the table. They removed my ball gag and fed me scraps, but when I bit Bud's fingers, I was gagged once more. That was after Bud knocked my face about a few times and kicked me with his boots up to the point where I almost puked. He kicked my ass all the way back to the kennel, holding my belt leash so that I wouldn't squirm away. He had put the motorcycle boots on this time, so that really hurt! I guess the upside was that I really got proficient at walking on all fours with my new braces that evening!

Once back at the kennel, he forced a huge tube down my throat. That tube was somewhat flexible, but the top part, the part that I had to hold between my teeth, was really hard, and I couldn't bite into it. Two thick leather straps extended from the sides of the tube around my head, and another one was passed under my chin. He padlocked everything behind my neck. There was no way I could spit that thing out.

Then, to my puzzlement, he dragged me to the house, and I was used as a urinal by everybody this evening. They had placed me in the bathtub and had used rigid restraints to keep my arms and legs spread. It was very painful to stand on my toes and knuckles like that. Every time they came into the bathroom, they grabbed my ears and pissed down the tube. I couldn't shake them off even though I tried. That only earned me a slap on the face.


I had to piss several times in my cage that night. By daybreak, I had hardly slept and was lying in a pool of piss, shivering as I was trying to warm myself while cuddling against my rubber boot pillow. I couldn't even bring my legs up in a fetal position because of those darn braces. They would take some getting used to, I knew that now! I couldn't even kneel properly.

I was surprised to see all seventeen guys file into the kennel this morning. Apparently, something big was going to happen to me today, and they all came to watch.

Bud opened the door to the cage and John motioned me out. After my trial by piss on the day before, and my restless night, I had not much fight left in me, so I got up on all fours and came out of the cage. As soon as I was out, the whole group closed in on me, just in case I had a mind to dash off or something. Kevin was removing the belt from my neck as John started to talk.

"Today, gentlemen, we are gonna turn this piece of shit into a fine dog. My dog! He will take Butch's place, whom he shot to death without remorse." I grunted at that point because I had apologized and had shown remorse in my mind, but Bud was ready with his trusty prod and jammed it into my neck. The strong shock he delivered sent me twitching and trying to catch my breath, to the amusement of everyone present. I was gesticulating, trying to knock Bud's boots with my metal-sheathed hands, but he quickly understood what I was trying to do and produced a pair of cuffs, which he expertly put on my hands. Even Kevin the cop was congratulating him for his adroitness.

John resumed his speech. "OK guys! Let's get on with the program. That dog is ready to be suited up. Who wants to do the honors and tie that piece of shit to the bench on his back so that we can start dressing him?"

Practically everybody was volunteering, but in the end, it's Kevin, Lenny, and Doc that got me. They hauled me off the floor and put me on my back on the bench, as John had suggested. Old Bud sat on my chest, as was his custom, while the other guys were strapping my upper body down. My hands being cuffed in my back, I had to lie on them, but at least they weren't cutting into my metal-sheathed wrists.

My legs were left dangling off the edge of the bench, held in place by Lenny and Doc. John moved between my legs, but I couldn't see because of Bud. Then I felt the unmistakable caress of a rubber suit being slid up my legs. The latex was really heavy and, the more John pulled it up, the tighter it became. I didn't feel it much around my braces, but as soon as he began rolling it up my thighs, I could tell that it would really be a second skin.

When he reached my thighs, John signaled to Bud to stand up. He was still straddling the bench, but I could see between his leather pants. All I saw for a while was my denuded crotch because Lenny and Doc had pulled my legs up, so that John could slide the suit over my ass. When they dropped me back on the bench, John got busy sliding my cock and balls into a built-in sheath. The sheath was open and glued to the belly part of the suit, but the balls were in their separate bag. Bud bent over and was holding a neoprene ring wide open while John pulled my balls through it. With sadistic pleasure, Bud released the ring to snap against my balls, sending a jolt of pain as they were tightly squeezed down.

"OK. Lenny and Doc, you can strap his legs back down so that we can finish him up," John said. No sooner said than done, and now Kevin and Bud removed the straps that held my upper body against the bench. Bud put his hand on the back of my neck to hold me painfully bent over while Kevin undid the handcuffs and moved them in front of me. Then, they hooked the cuffs to a chain that was hanging over the bench and pulled until I was practically standing with my legs still tied down.

Once I was immobile, John continued to smooth the suit up my belly and back, pulling and tugging this way and that until he was satisfied there was no air bubble left. I was starting to sweat profusely!

As he reached my armpits, he indicated to Kevin to let the pulley down, and I was once more lying on the bench with Bud sitting on my crotch. (Why did they always get that fat oaf to sit on me?)

It took three guys to hold my arms when Kevin took the cuffs off, because I had regained some of my fighting spirit and was starting to buck to push them off me. Still, they managed to put my arms in the sleeves of the rubber suit that ended, as you may have guessed, in closed mitts, only those mitts had little rubber claws in them and really looked like dog paws. I must say, I was impressed. I later noticed that my feet too had small claws and kept my toes together like a dog's.

Finally, they turned me on my belly and strapped me down for the last details. Needless to say that as soon as Bud had removed the tube gag from my mouth, he got a piece of my mind, and so did all the others. Those bastards only stared at me with amused looks as I was calling them all the names in the book, and some other names I made up on the fly. They probably knew that this would be my last diatribe for a while.

When I had run out of steam, John placed his hand on the back of my head and pushed it down towards the mask attached to the suit. Bud, as expected, had taken his seat on my back, so that I could not buck far enough to get John's hands off me. The strong odor of rubber was soon engulfing me as I was forced into the weird mask.

Doc squatted in front of me and, as John held my head down, positioned the muzzle part over my nose, making sure that the mouth hole was in place. The muzzle was really a snout! A dog's snout! As he pushed it against my face, I could feel my nose being squeezed into a rubber indentation in the snout, but the rest of it seemed to be made of a hard rubber part and stuck maybe three inches in front of my face. The mask had been hollowed between my nostrils and the nose holes that were placed at the end of the snout, so that the air I was breathing was heavily rubber-scented. Underneath, my chin had been trapped in another rigid piece of rubber that extended somewhat and that made it really hard for me to open my jaw.

As Doc smoothed the mask over my face, John was pulling it over the top of my head. The eye holes were relatively easy to line up, but once in place, they stopped for a while. Doc was squeezing my face in his hands to keep me from displacing the hood while John was bringing the sides up. I was startled to feel rubber plugs get into my ears as he was doing this. They had decided that dogs shouldn't be able to hear human speech, so they were going to make me deaf! Fat chance, I thought since I have a very keen sense of hearing, but still I was pissed off by that! Who had had this idea?

Sure enough, as soon as the plugs were in place, John started to pull the zipper that was at the top of my skull down. The hood got so tight that the plugs were now deeply embedded in my ears and, indeed, I could hardly hear them anymore.

Once the zipper done, Doc used some liquid latex to paint over it and hide it. He covered not only the zipper on the hood, but also the one going from the back of my neck to my tail bone. Bud had to get off me for this, so I could breathe a little better, but there were six guys holding me firmly in place. Doc waited for about ten minutes and repeated the process. I think he did three layers. I was really sweating like a pig in that rubber suit now, but I guess there would be no taking it off for a while.

After the final layer had dried, they strapped me down again, and Lenny came over with the asbestos again. He wrapped it around my neck and then grabbed a collar. The collar was shaped like a posture collar, but it was even more severe looking. With it on, my neck would be permanently bent backwards, which I guess would be OK since I was to spend the rest of my life on all fours. It was covered with brown studded leather, probably a piece of my former pants. However, as Lenny started to put it in place, I could tell that it was metal. They had made a leather envelope for it to make me look more like a dog.

Anyway, Lenny placed the collar and proceeded to weld it in place. This time, instead of dousing me, he let Bud piss all over my head and neck to cool the metal down. They were also better at removing the asbestos!

It was Kevin who sew the leather covering of the collar in place. It's funny but, as my situation was becoming more and more hopeless and irreversible, the only thing I could think about was that I had finally fallen at the mercy of a cop who knew how to work leather! Believe it or not, I could feel my dick hardening in the sheath!

I guess they wouldn't have noticed it, if it hadn't been for the other final detail they had to do. After gluing the eye and mouth holes to my skin with more liquid latex, John moved back down to my ass. He had them undo my straps so that he could pull me off the bench with my ass hanging out. That's when he noticed the head of my cock sticking out of the sheath.

"Hey guys! Turn him over! I want you to see this," he said. Bud and Kevin grabbed me and turned me over, and soon everyone was laughing, looking at the oozing pink head of my cock contrasted over the slick black rubber that had become my new skin.

"Looks like he's finally getting into being our rubber dog, isn't he?" Bud said. John approved and promised him some good times with me and everybody in the audience. Kevin put his big rubber boot on my crotch and crushed my cock head under his heel. I was squirming on the bench, but this time I didn't really want to run away.

Anyway, John told two guys to hold my legs up, and he squatted between my legs. There was a big ring attached to the suit over my asshole, and he was trying to insert it. The thing was probably five inches across, and it took him quite a while. I was yelling as loud as I could since I wasn't gagged anymore, that is until Bud sat square on my face and muffled every noise coming from that end. Fortunately, John managed to insert the ring and turn it inside by butt until it was parallel to my asshole. What that accomplished was that my asshole was now lined with rubber and, because of the size of the ring, I would be unable to eject it. On the other hand, I shivered when I realized that they would be able to fuck my rubber ass without problem.

I also noticed that there was a flexible tail sticking out above my ass, and that it had the shape of a cock at the end. I was soon to find out why that was. . .


Turns out that John had organized another hunting party, and that is why the whole club had come. As soon as I was prepped, they put me on all fours on the floor, plugged the cock on my tail into my ass, and attached a leash to my collar. John was leading me as Bud was zapping my rubber ass with the cattle prod. Stupid fuck, I thought. He didn't realize that the rubber insulated me from the electricity. Anyway, I played along and squirmed when I felt the prod.

I guess the joke was on me. Because I couldn't hear him press the button, I sort of squirmed randomly, but he soon caught up on the fact that I wasn't squirming when he pressed the button. Kevin butted in to explain what was happening. Well, that didn't go down well with Bud. As they were loading me in the truck with the other dogs, he told the guys to wait a minute and went back inside. He ran back to the truck with a wooden paddle, and he gave me ten strong strokes with it. The other guys thought that it was a good way of hazing me into my new job as a dog, so I got ten from everybody.

God that hurt! I was literally weeping by the fourth guy and collapsed when the tenth got started. I never passed out, but I felt like a mass of jelly as they went on tenderizing my backside.

Finally, they loaded me in the cage with the other dogs, and we set off for another week of hunting. Only this time, they were the men with guns. I would be at their boot, scampering about in a rubber suit, unable to hear what they were saying.

And that was how this week was spent: on all fours, able only to respond to the pull of the leash, the kick of their boots. the slap of their belts, the swat of their paddle. Of course, I couldn't keep up with the dogs, but still they sent me ahead of them, forcing me to grab the bloody birds with my mouth and dropping them at their feet.

Because I wasn't doing as well as the dogs, John decided that I had to make amends somehow, and he was the first one to make me lick his muddy boots clean. With the fucking collar on, it was completely impossible for me to lower my head. John had to keep his boot straight and slightly elevated so that I would be able to slide my tongue up and down over it while doing push ups. He also had to turn it for me to be able to get at every side because I couldn't turn my head either. And the rubber snout made it really hard to open my mouth and get my tongue anywhere near his boot. I had to practically bite on the boot and flick my tongue up and down, then move up or down an inch or so and do the same. Undeniably the most strenuous bootlicking session I had ever had.

To make things worse, Bud, that bastard, had placed his boots on my back and used me as a footstool during the whole ordeal. He was joined by Kevin shortly after I had started on the second boot. They enjoyed resting their boot soles flat on my back so that I would carry even more weight. I guess John didn't mind their leaving muddy boot prints all over my new rubber suit.

I'm glad they lost interest with my bootlicking after that first pair because I was sputtering and trying to get the dirt out of my mouth for ten minutes afterward. That rubber snout really made any mouth action hard and was giving me cramps in the jaw because the rubber was so thick and hard to hold open.

It's Lenny who gave my mouth the hardest work out that night! As John was inspecting his freshly-cleaned boots, Lenny came over and placed a leash on my collar.

"Hey John, do you mind if I take the dog for a walk?" he asked.

"Go ahead Lenny! It's time for walkies anyway, right?" He addressed that last remark to me, or so I gathered when he flattened my snout with the sole of his boot and pushed me back.

So, off I went with Lenny. Bud had magnanimously handed him the paddle, and he used it sparingly when forcing me to lift my leg to pee. He obviously enjoyed my ordeal. I peed all over myself of course, but with the rubber on, I didn't really care. Still, as I was squatting to do number two, he took position in front of me and took my snout in one hand while he was unbuckling his pants with the other. Here we go, I thought as he was soon slapping my rubber face with a huge ebony club that was curved downward. I had never sucked a black guy before, but I didn't have much choice when he pried my mouth open and plunged his tool in deep. I retched and gagged as soon as he hit the back of my throat and almost fell in my own mess, but he placed both hands on my ears and started pumping.

He definitely had the dick of death! That curve in it made him hit the front of my wind pipe each time he dove in deep, causing me to gag. He must have pumped for thirty minutes, bruising my throat with his big dick head. When he finally shot his cum in my mouth, I was totally hoarse and incapable of talking even if I had wanted to. He heard my raspy sounds and decided to piss down my throat, "to moisten my gullet" as he put it. We were cheered by all the guys when he dragged me back to camp, and there were a lot of questions as to why it had taken me half an hour to take a dump.


John was also the first guy to fuck me during "hunting" camp. I put "hunting" in quotation marks because, once he had fucked me, John decided that everybody had to have a go at my rubber asshole, so there wasn't much else anybody wanted to do after that.

I got gang-banged for a week, licked knee-high and hip-high rubber boots hundreds of times, drank all the piss that I hadn't licked off a boot, sucked on a hundred and twenty inches of cock flesh each night, not to mention the seventeen pairs of big gamy feet and seventy toes to shrimp! I also got my snout stuck up stinky assholes or raunchy armpits, so that all I could breathe in was whatever rank smells were there. They even had decided to put a sock around my snout so that I would breathe through it while I slept. And that was only at night!

In the day time, I dragged my rubber hide in the woods, sniffing around in the dirt because they wanted me to act like a dog, but all I could smell was dog pooh and piss. Once, I made the mistake of uttering a human sound, and that cost me another round of ten paddle swats by every hunter around. Except, this time it was ten paddle swats per syllable I had uttered. Thankfully, I probably used a couple of choice four-letter words, so it was only two syllables, but my hide will remember it for a long, long time. Not only was my butt very bruised, but they had raised countless welts that kept rubbing against the tight rubber. Even after the week, my ass still hurt. Still, to my credit I must say that I never did bark after that, even though they probably wanted me to. I just kept quiet.


Being the dog of those seventeen big-booted hunters that week really humbled me, but unfortunately that was only the beginning. When we got back to John's place, I was unceremoniously pushed into the kennels with the other dogs, and that's where I have been living since.

Bud, as I had suspected, had become John's estate manager, so now he does most of his work on horseback, with me crawling behind, attached by the collar to the saddle by a long leash. I'm glad he's a good enough rider that he never had the horse take off at a gallop! He says that it's not much more different than riding a bike. Consequently, he has decided to have a pair of leather breeches and a leather shirt made for him, and he wears those with high black leather riding boots, complete with spurs.

The spurs are not for the horse but for me! He wouldn't scrape me with them since he might tear my rubber suit, but he enjoys having me lick them. He has me do them while he sits on the horse and has his boot in the stirrup. I have to open my rubber snout behind his heel to be able to get to the spur with my tongue, and my snout inevitably ends up stuck between the boot and the stirrup! He loves that! As soon as I am trapped, he moves his foot up and down to scrape the inside of my mouth with the rowels of the spur. That also often dislodges the mud that got stuck to the stirrup, so I get to suck up that mud in addition to whatever's on the spur.

He also often turns his foot out, so that I have to turn my body to keep in line with the spur. That puts my butt under the horse's belly. Do you know how much a horse pisses? It's amazing! Bud always loves to hear the strong stream of Theo's piss (that's his horse) on my rubber back. Bastard!

Of course, when we go back to the stables, after he has unsaddled and brushed Theo clean, he has me lie on my belly out in the yard, usually with a horse pie under my nose, and pulls up a chair. A chaise I should say. He sits in there and sticks the toe of his boot in my mouth while he lights a cigar. His cigars last about an hour, and while he smokes, I am lying in the dirt with my snout caught onto his leather boot toe, my tongue caressing the sole of his boot as though he could feel it! Actually, he claims that he can feel it because he always tells me to really press hard with my lips. He says it tickles. I, for one, must say that I love to feel his toes wiggle through the layers of leather and rubber that line my mouth! I must be falling for the bastard!

As for John, I have more or less become his bitch. He uses me sexually in the morning and the evening, otherwise he leaves me in the kennel. I serve Bud in far more ways than I do John. With John, it's usually always the same: pull the plug tail out of my ass and stick his cock instead. Then, when he's done, put the plug back and have me suck the remnants of his cum with my mouth.

He also enjoys when I lick his feet while he watches TV, but I have spent more hours on Bud's boots than John's feet. In fact, I have spent far more hours in Bud's boots. The bastard ties one of his boots du jour to my snout every evening, properly stuffed with his rank socks, so that I spend all my nights with his smell for companion.


Well, that's about it for my story! I once made the mistake of being seduced by a man with a gun and asking him to accept me in his group. He has accepted me, all right! Only catch: I cannot leave! They've turned me into a rubber dog and a servant to their rubber boots. I still have the urge to run away every now and then, but with my legs and neck welded in metal, a thick rubber suit glued onto me, and a dog mask on my head, where would I go? The freak show?