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Chapter four!

It's amazing what sort of ideas will go through your head when you're dangling, naked and humiliated in some could-be sadist's closet. A considerable amount of time passed, leaving me in solitude to contemplate how far I'd thought I'd fallen. My ass hurt, both from my spanking and having my tailhole stretched by a dry glove, my head throbbed due to deyhdration, and my pride was absolutely in shambles. The worst of my plight, however, was something going on downstairs.

Throughout our latest interaction, Conner's presence, and my impending arousal had kept my bladder off of my mind; but now that he was gone, and my boner had faded, the urge to urinate had come back in full force. The pressure mounted steadily, and unable to do anything to stave or possibily relieve myself, it was only a matter of time before I would be forced to piss all over the floor. While the thought of inconveniencing him in such a manner was a minor victory, the naughty-dog implications, and possible further humiliation was something I'd REALLY rather not deal with. So I held off for as long as I could, trying fruitlessly to keep my mind on other things.

Conner rejoined me before the inevitable, unfortunately. There was no moment of impending doom this time; no stomach jumping into throat, no icicles forming in my guts, et cetera. His coming and going was finally starting to become routine.

"I see yer just as cheery as ever, puppy," he said, smiling his unassuming smile, and lingering near the still open door. The light from outside the closet made me wince again, having grown so accustomed to the murky darkness. I just snorted, adjusted my stance, and did everything I could to keep the floodgates closed. He must've noticed my discomfort.

"'s a matter with you, big boy?" the biker asked, with what looked very much like genuine concern. Of course I didn't buy into that. Regardless, he moved a bit closer, shifting a sort of gym bag over his shoulder. I couldn't even guess at what he had in it. "You're lookin' a little ancy." Despite myself, I scrambled for an answer.

"My legs are goin' to sleep." The line sounded flat, and completely unconvincing even to my own ears, so I continued; which did little other than further digging myself a hole. "'s bad for circulation, bein' stuck in one place like this."

Conner nodded thoughtfully. "You're right, it is. But I don't trust ya enough to let ya go just yet." I remember how the sudden cynicism in his gaze gave me a bit of a start. "...plus, I don't think my big, bad sled-dog is tellin' me the truth." He started to move closer. My heartbeat intensified.

"Get the FUCK away from me," I growled, though by this point I was aware that it wouldn't do any good; and it didn't. He stepped right up against me, keeping his head tilted back to look at my face, and started touching my belly. Gently, teasingly applying pressure with dextrous fingers, first on my sides, then moving steadily inward, and downward. I squirmed, and I whined -- in a much higher voice than I'd have liked it to be. The pressure was getting intense. I felt my belly swelling up

"Huh-uh." He shook his head in a negative, his voice taking on that chiding tone one uses when doting on a tyke. Or a beloved puppy. "Poor Barri's gotta piss, doesn't he? Alla that booze he was drinkin' last night, and nowhere to put it, huh?"

I couldn't even protest. Not with him touching me like that. Every poke, every prod needled my nethers painfully. Before too much longer, I found myself dribbling. Hot, musky piss dripped down over my balls, staining my white fur an incriminating yellow, and pooling on the ground between my feet. The scent of my accident, to my own nose, was overpowering, and shameful.

Whining pitifully, I clenched my muscles as hard as I could to stifle the flow. It would've been a futile gesture were it not for some unexpected aid.

"Lookit you," Conner grunted, lowering his hand, and grasping my dripping sheath tight enough to completely close me off. It sent a hot stiletto of pain through my lower abdomen, and I tried to double over to somehow stave the bite. That only made him squeeze tighter, forcing my sheath shut even as pee spattered his glove. I vividly remember the way it beaded up, and ran off the shiny material. Like water on a rainjacket. Must be waterproof, I thought. Goodness only knows why.

"Alla that alpha-dog bravado, and you can't even hold your piss right," my tormentor teased, giving my piss-discolored junk a solid shake for emphasis. "Ya sure SMELL like an alpha-dog, though. Phew!" He waved the air in front of his nose. The powerful scent of my urine had always been a point of pride for me. Good for marking. Made me seem badder to other canines. It just embarrassed me when this human talked of it, though.

Indeed, the air was rank with the heady scent of my accident, and I squirmed tiredly, trying to get him to let me go so I could at least finish. Eventually, with a little tongue-click that very plainly said 'typical mutt' to my ears, he rolled his eyes, and stepped away, leaving me to finish my business under his watchful eye.

There was no holding back this time. No slow leak, no drooling down my already soggy sack, no toe-curling strain. None of that. About half a second after he released his hold, I gasped, and emptied myself out. A high, arcing stream that spattered the door in front of me, staining the white finish a sickly, dripping yellow and providing further evidence of my humiliating accident.

The stream eventually tapered off, painting a dotted, splattery line back to me, joining the sizeable puddle at my feet before finally, mercifully ending. The entire ordeal left me exhausted, and it felt like he was going to let the silence drag on forever. That would've been the better alternative.

It was about then, I remember, that I felt crushingly helpless. I'd never had anyone treat me like this before, and beyond cheesy revenge scenarios, I couldn't imagine why anyone would WANT to. This guy was a stranger to me, and yet I found myself entirely in his power. I knew then, whereas previously I'd maintained some unconscious hope that if I could throw a big enough tantrum he'd release me, that he wasn't going to let me go until HE was done with me. That's a terrible feeling.

"Sucha bad dog, Barri," he scolded me, shuffling his feet, and carefully avoiding the puddle I'd left on the floor. "As big as you are, and STILL not properly housebroken." It was a blatant misconception. I'd been housebroken for over twenty years. He moved in close to me again, I felt the material of his jacket against my side. The smooth, leather material felt oddly cool sliding against my fur coat. "Suppose we'll hafta do something about that. Can't have you ruinin' my floors, stinkin' up my house."

I snorted, but didn't have it in me to say anything else. My pride had been trampled underfoot, and I just wasn't feeling up to it anymore. The resigned, defeated feeling, almost as if I thought I DESERVED this, bothered me. I didn't wanna talk to him, though. Reeking of pee or no, I wanted him to leave me alone.

He didn't. Before long, I felt his hands on me again, one of them massaging my inner thigh, and the other fondling my dripping balls. Again, the gloves struck me as a strange sensation. The cool softness felt wonderful on my otherwise overheated body, and before too much longer, I found myself getting aroused again. I hated the treatment, hated Conner for taking such liberties with my body, but I'm definitely a guy where it counts. A little rubrubbing on my sac, and I have a hard time thinking too hard about anything else.

"Pooor Barri," he crooned, snugged right up against my side. I wriggled weakly the other way, but he insisted, the hand on my thigh pulling around to cup and pat the ample curve of my still warm ass. "Really, if ya weren't so BAD, we wouldn't hafta do this. Ya could be outside with me, snoozin' away at the foot of my bed, keepin' me company like a proper pup. But can't have that, can ya? Heaven forbid ya be the sweet, affectionate pup nature intended ya to be..."

That last sentiment, and perhaps the rueful way in which he conveyed it, puzzled me. Surely he couldn't care. He had his way. What more did he want from me? Regardless, the notion wormed its way into my mind, and wouldn't let go. During his little monologue, he continued to tease my balls, occasionally slipping up to give my sheath a firm squeezing, undoubtedly feeling my dick flex and pulse inside the fuzzy confines.

"If you'd just relax, puppy, you'd figure out that this doesn't hafta be as bad as you're makin' it." Of course I didn't buy completely into that logic, but it instilled further life into that aformentioned, festering thought. One such squeeze, though, brought my dick out of hiding with a lewd, squelching noise. Suddenly I felt cool air on the tapered head of my shaft. "...but if you're gonna be naughty, then I can handle that too."

With one hand still squeezed tightly around my sheath, the opposite palm smeared itself around my soggy package. Before I could react, he reached up, and wrapped that hand tightly around the end of my snout, covering my nose with the smelly, dripping leather glove, and holding my mouth shut. Immediately I started to struggle, growling and whipping my head back and forth, but he held on, forcing me to inhale the pungent aroma of my embarrassing little accident. In essence, he was rubbing my nose in it.

"BAD dog!" he shouted up at me, punctuating the maligned adjective with another firm squeeze and shake downstairs, coaxing more and more of my slippery dogcock from its nest. "The hell's the matter wit' you, pissin' all over the floor like that? You KNOW better than that. I'm SURE someone in your life taught ya better 'n that." The odor burned my nose, made my eyes well up with tears, and made me feel terrible about myself.

As far as I'm concerned, he held me for far too long; but I must concede that it did get the point across. By the time he let go, I was panting for breath, and a few tears rolled down my cheeks from being forced so close to my own, decidedly masculine stench. I hung forward in my bonds, my mouth open wide, and my ears pinned flat against my skull.

Meanwhile, he continued to squeeze and pull on my dick, making me realize that while I was busy being humiliated like a naughty pup, he'd brought me up to full length. Maybe he'd follow through this time. Er. Not that I WANTED him to, you understand. In case you've somehow forgotten, gentle reader, I still wanted the fucker dead.

Unfortunately no act of God would come so cheap. One of his gloves twisted around the middle of my dick, gripping and massaging the skin expertly. You'd think he'd done this before. The other wrapped up the area that would soon be swollen up by my knot, and squeezed, simulating a tie. It made me growl and arch my back, my cock jumping in his hand, flexing and spattering his already stained jacket with slick, translucent pre.

As before, I didn't WANT to get turned on, but there's only so much a guy can do.

"Yer pretty easy to get worked up, big dog," he stated casually, treating the whole thing with bizarre disregard. Meanwhile, my slimy, red dick continued to harden and flex. "I dunno if that'd be the case, though, if ya knew what I had in store. Daddy Conner 'll take care of ya. I'm sure, before long, you'll learn to love it."

I couldn't wait.