'That's a fine bunch of bitches you got there, Jim. Which one you figurin' on entering in the dog show?' Jim nodded, to show his appreciation for Mark's compliment, then pointed to the far right.

'That one over there.'

'The Spic?'

'No, no. The one behind her there, over close to the tree, just finishing up taking a leak.' Even as he spoke, the woman once known as Marsha Banks was indeed peeing, her left leg held high as the stream of yellow watered the large maple. She had been a professional writer of educational material once, things the company sent off to high schools as instructional guides.

She had in fact been the best at this sort of thing and her star had indeed been on the rise. But that was before she had been stalked and eventually captured by Jim. He had approached her as she prepared to enter her car, hitting her on the back of the head so hard, he was afraid he had killed her.

When she awoke she had a throbbing headache and no clothes. She soon realized she was penned in a large backyard. Across and behind her knees ran rigid plastic sheathing. The sheathing prevented her from standing upright; she could walk on all fours, could--with effort--reach about a 3/4 standing position, but only for a moment or two, the strain being too much to maintain. Other than that, she was untouched.

Several hours passed before Jim left his house and entered the pen. Marsha backed up as he approached. Jim smiled reassuringly. 'Don't be frightened. No one going to hurt you, girl. You must be getting a might hungry by now. Here, have some of this.'

Jim was a generous trainer. Others might feed their bitches regular bagged dog food but not Jim; he always gave all the table scraps he could find to his animals. He also made sure they had water, shade, and decent shelter. The dog house -- which Marsha had not even noticed yet--was a good 6 x 6 feet in size, and nearly 4 feet tall. Such houses don't come cheap but that was the sort of man Jim was.

Jim knew it would take time for the bitch to adjust. It always did, especially the bright, pretty ones, like Marsha.

As he always told his friends, 'Damn education is what really messes 'em up. Teaches them to be something they aren't. Then I get stuck with the job of retraining them. All I can say for sure is, this job was a lot easier in my daddy's day.'

Two weeks. It took exactly two weeks for Marsha to even begin to come around. Wouldn't eat for the first four days.

Always kept her distance whenever Jim came around. Tried repeatedly to walk upright -- her only hope of escaping, she realized -- until she was so exhausted she fell asleep outside her dog house, even in bad weather. Her beautiful hair looked straggily and she grew increasingly dirty. Fact is, by the end of that second week she was a complete mess. Marsha came to realize this and it was this fact -- that she was totally abandoned and at the mercy of this stranger and to top it all off, she was a physcial wreck -- that broke her spirit. Marsha learned to settle down.

Jim saw the change and moved to take advantage of it. He entered the pen, walked right up to her and looked her over. At such close range, he could see just how messy she had become. 'Hell, I'm raisin purebred dogs here, not pigs.' He put a collar around her neck and a leash. He pulled gently on the leash and led Marsha towards his house. She meekly followed, her dirt encrusted hair hanging in clumps on either side of her face, matching her gait and keeping movement with her large, swaying tits.

He led her up to the back porch and tied his end of the leash to a railing. He went inside for a minute and returned with dog shampoo, a brush and a hose. The other end of the hose was attached to the kitchen faucet. He knelt down beside Marsha and let the water run over her beautiful body. He lathered her up good, and scrubbed the accumulated crud off of her body. He sprayed her clean of dirt and suds, then dried her off. 'There you go, girl. Now you lookin' pretty as a picture again.' He patted her ass and walked her back to her pen. Marsha sobbed but did not protest.

Marsha of course had not completely given up. She had simply realized that any escape was going to take lots of time and lots of thought. But as the time and the thoughts went by and no possibility of escape appeared, she gradually grew accustomed to being treated as a bitch. Over several months, Jim spent an increasingly amount of time with her, teaching how to walk properly, to sit up and beg, with tongue panting and eyes wide opened.

He taught her to catch a frisbee with her teeth; he particularly enjoyed watching her leap for the object flying towards her, her arms moving up, her tits flopping wildely, her fluffy pubic hairs clearly visible. Jim felt he had indeed lucked out when he had acquired Marsha Banks.

After six months, Marsha could be said to be completely broken in. She shit and pissed out in the open without giving it a thought; she drank and ate from her doggie dishes as though she had been brought up that way. She moved around the yard, looking for things to capture her attention.

On bad nights, Jim had taken her into the house and let her curl up on his lap while he watched television. He stroked her body, giving special attention to her ass and pussy. He liked stroking her pussy until it became sopping wet. Jim would laugh then, and move his fingers up into her cunt hole, all the time praising her as the finest of doggies.

He did not even feel the need to break her down by reading newspaper articles to her about her former life: how her boyfriend had become engaged to another woman, or how the company had given her job away. Or how her old apartment had been rented out, or how her credit rating had been ruined by non-payment of bills. None of this was necessary, Jim realized. Marsha was doing just fine, just fine.

Over a year's time Jim acquired several more bitches. A young Hispanic girl with the shiniest black hair he had ever seen; two black women in their early 20s, college girls whom, he was delighted to find out, had been on the cheerleading squad. He found another white bitch, one with flaming red hair. But she caused so much trouble with the other dogs, Jim had to have her put to sleep. One good thing came of this: the other new bitches immediately took the hint.

A week after showing off his kennel to his friend, Jim entered Marsha in the local dog show. She had lived up to his expectations, taking home the blue ribbon. As she jumped out of the car (he no longer had to keep her on a leash all the time) Jim whistled and motioned for Marsha to come in the house.

Marsha crawled over to Jim and gleefully followed him inside. Jim led her to the livingroom and snapped his fingers, indicating she was to jump up onto the coffee table. He patted her head with one hand and undid his pants with the other. 'Damn but we showed them, didn't we girl? I knew you could do it! And we are going to do it again next year, aren't we? Damn right we are!'

He now moved up behind Marsha and gently slapped the underside of her cunt. She obediently lowered her head, her big tits stroking the table. At the same time she lifted her ass. Jim moved his cock into position and slowly drove the long hard shaft into Marsha's cunt. She groaned as he began to methodically fuck her.

'Know what else?' he panted. 'You're a certified purebred now, with a blue ribbon to boot. It's time we bred you, girl. Time for you to have your first litter.'

Marsha responded by rocking her head back and forth, still groaning as the man emptied his cum into the most wonderful bitch he had ever owned...


  • Anonymous said:
    2 years ago
    Best petgirl training story I've read.