A short story by Alex Jordaine. Alex Jordaine is the UK’s leading Femdom writer and author of the highly acclaimed ‘Mistress’ series of novels. He is regarded as one of the foremost writers of the genre (Romance Reviews Today says Alex Jordaine’s work “gets a Multiple O’s rating. A real BDSM lover’s dream”). Alex was a regular contributor to Europe’s leading fetish magazine, Secret, and his work has also been anthologised in several collections of gay, lesbian, spanking and general themed erotica. He is a regular contributor for the Filth blog so be sure to keep checking back if you love his writing as much as we do.



“I simply must have it.” Vicky remembered saying that to herself as a child, her face pressed up to the window of the pet shop and her birthday money clutched in her small hand.

Now she was having the exact same thought, standing outside a very different kind of shop and looking at one particular window display that couldn’t help but put her in mind of that very special time in her life.

When she had been a young girl she’d loved her puppy dog with all her heart. That little dog with his cute waggly tail had been the centre of her world from the moment she’d set eyes on him in the pet shop and she’d been utterly inconsolable when, less than a year later, he’d been run over by a truck and killed.

Was she, she wondered vaguely, starting somehow to fetishise that early childhood experience? Was that what this compulsion she felt right now was all about?

She gave herself an instant response: Who gives a fuck? Get back in your box, Doctor Freud.

She walked through the entrance of Fettered Delights, knowing exactly what it was she was going to purchase. She’d find out what it was going to cost first, though, just as she’d done all those years ago at the pet shop.


Vicky thought Michael’s confession to her was downright pathetic. As far as she was concerned he didn’t have anything to confess. She’d told him he was allowed to have sex with slave Zoë yesterday evening before she’d left them on their own together. If Zoë hadn’t got permission from her owner, Mistress Caroline, that was a matter between her and Caroline – who’d doubtless give her merry hell for such flagrant insubordination.

The point was that Zoë was the miscreant, not him. So why was he so anxious to “confess”?  It was almost as if – perish the thought! – Michael wanted to be punished. That was OK, though. She’d been to her favourite fetish store that day and bought some new toys, all with the same distinctive theme, and she was dying to try them out. Michael had given her the ideal excuse, not that she needed one. He was feeling guilty, convinced that he’d been a bad boy, was he? He so much wanted to be punished, did he? Fine, she wouldn’t disappoint him … but she would surprise him.

Vicky sat naked in her black leather armchair and Michael was on his knees before her. He was naked, too – but for his puppy restraints, that is: His wrist and ankle cuffs were linked by lengths of chain through rings on a tight leather ball strap. He was on all fours and his cock was fiercely erect and throbbing.

In actual fact, he had no alternative but to be on all fours – either kneeling, as he now was, or on his back. This was because his current restraints rendered any other option out of the question. Michael tried to keep his breathing steady as he waited for his Mistress to make a start.  But he was singularly unsuccessful. There was no getting away from it: he was panting like a dog.

“I’ve heard about some degenerate women using their pet dogs for self gratification,” Vicky said, running her fingers through her short dark hair. “Let’s see how I get on with my little doggie.”

She spread her legs wantonly wide apart, revealing her freshly shaven sex in all its splendour, and gestured to him to scramble forward a little and go down on her. Michael brought his lips to her sex and immediately she began to groan with pleasure. He then started licking her pussy until she was squirming with delight, both of them all the while imagining that he really was a dog involved in this perverted act.

After a decent interval – well, an indecent one anyway – Vicky told Michael to stop what he was doing. “That’s too depraved for words,” she said, although she did remember a weird incident with her little dog when … but let’s not go there.

“Use your fingers now,” she ordered, leaning forward and unbuckling his wrist cuffs so he’d be able to kneel up and comply with her instruction.

Michael first sought out her clitoris with the fingers of one hand and began gently circling. Then he worked two fingers of his other hand in and out of her wet pussy while continuing to massage her clit. He carried on pleasuring Vicky in this way until her body trembled to a powerful climax.

“No canine could do that,” Vicky said, her eyes aglow, adding briskly, “And that’s the last time you’ll be able to either.” She leaned over to a side table and took hold of two of the pile of leather items on its top, some of which Michael recognised, most of which he didn’t – like these. She put the black leather fist mitts over his hands and padlocked them into place.

“That should give you paws for thought.” She laughed and then constrained him still further by re-buckling his wrist cuffs, which as with his ankle cuffs were still attached by chains to his ball strap.

“Now, you’ve admitted to me that you’ve been a bad dog,” she said, putting a leather puppy head harness with a muzzle over his face – Oooh, she liked that. “Yes, you’ve been a bad dog and it’s time for you to be disciplined, isn’t it, boy?”

Michael the doggie wagged his doggie head.  

“I’m going to start by giving you a hard paddling,” Vicky said, getting to her feet and picking up a red leather paddle from the side table. “This is not going to be easy for you. You’re going to have to be dogged to withstand the pain. Get it? Dogged!”

Oh the hilarity! Vicky the punster paused briefly to admire the muscular curve of Michael’s bare backside – he had a really nice ass. Then she lifted the paddle high and swung it down forcefully. It landed with a resounding Thwack! and he jolted forward as the stinging pain bit into his rear. This caused an echoing flash of pain in his groin when the chains pulled on his tight ball strap. But that was just the start.

The dominatrix went on to paddle him ever more harshly and did not stop until his rear was as red as her paddle. By the time she’d ceased paddling Michael both his backside and his groin were in agonising pain and he was trembling convulsively.

“Calm down doggie, everything’s all right,” Vicky said, giving a good imitation of someone who actually gave a shit. “Good boy, good boy.”

She stroked his neck almost tenderly before buckling a puppy collar around it and attaching a puppy dog lead with a leather hand loop to that. She then took hold of the hand loop and led him, crawling around the room for what she called his “walkies”.  

Michael was taking all this like a man, correction, a dog. In truth he found this completely unexpected new experience of abject humiliation at the hands of his ultra-cruel Mistress intensely erotic. She was treating him now not even as the lowliest of humans – as she usually did – but as a dumb animal. And he loved it, loved the sheer degradation of the experience. He was acutely aware of the pain he was still suffering from that brutal paddling but he was even more aware of the aching hardness of his cock pressing against his belly.

Pain was about to take precedence again, though – and with a vengeance, because Vicky then picked up an outstandingly vicious instrument of discipline. It was a cat-o’-nine-tails, made of heavy leather and – wait for it – pieces of bone.

“This is the only bone this pooch will be getting,” she announced, waving the newly purchased whip in front of his muzzled face, tauntingly, and noting with gloating pleasure the way his eyes widened in terror.

“After your excesses with Zoë last night, Michael, we know just how much you love pussy,” Vicky continued. “But how will you respond to this cat? I wonder.”

With that she swung the cat-o’-nine-tails through the air with a sadistic flourish. When it landed, excruciating pain seared across Michael’s backside and his body burned like fury. Vicky brought the cruel implement down again. It was just as excruciating. She carried on thrashing him like this until the agonising pain he was suffering was almost unendurable. And then, to his immense relief, she put the cat to one side.

“Roll over and lie on your back like a good doggie,” Vicky told Michael next and when he did – on all fours, of course, because of his puppy restraints – his hugely erect cock reared obscenely in the air. She took hold of two savage nipple locks and when she attached them to his nipples the pain he experienced was acute, a lightening flash of agony. At the same time, though, it sent a pulsating tremor of pleasure to his hard cock, which began to drizzle pre-cum all over his belly in a constant stream.

Vicky told Michael to remain where he was on his back and to present his anus to her. He reached his leather paws down as far as his chains would allow and held the cheeks of his rear apart. Vicky knelt down, thoroughly lubricated a large puppy tail butt plug and eased it skilfully into his pouting anal hole. She pushed the formidable intruder slowly but surely deep into his body, causing him to groan with pleasure-pain as the muscles of his anus squeezed and released around it. “Doggie obviously likes that,” Vicky commented gleefully. “His little tail’s wagging…and so is his big cock.”

The puppy tail anal plug in place, she alternated between using a small but painful  flogger and the leather tip of a riding crop to beat the head of his achingly hard cock until he was yelping constantly with agony beneath his muzzle. And then it happened: excruciating pain suddenly turned into all-consuming ecstasy as Michael became overwhelmed by a massive orgasm, sticky wetness leaping and leaping from his punished cock until he was spent. Only then did Vicky stop beating him.  

“Good boy,” she said soothingly, rubbing his cum-splattered belly. “Good boy. Your Mistress is all finished now.”

Vicky was extremely sadistic at the best of times, as anyone who knew her as Mistress Victoria on the Brighton fetish scene would have readily confirmed. But, she had to admit to herself, she’d been excessively ruff, sorry, rough on her slave Michael on this occasion.

Then again, Michael had wanted to be punished, craved it in fact, and she’d only given him what he’d asked for – even if she’d done that in proverbial spades. No, all in all, Vicky reasoned, she and her pooch were a pair well met: he such a submissive masochist, she such a sadistic bitch. And anyway, life itself was a bitch, wasn’t it, and then you died…And then you died, little doggie, didn’t you, and then you went and died.

Michael looked up over his leather puppy muzzle at his outstandingly cruel Mistress and saw that her eyes appeared momentarily to have become spiked with tears. No, that made no sense, did it. He must surely have got it wrong. It had just been a trick of the light or something. It was either that, he said to himself, or he was starting to go mad, barking mad. Oh for God’s sake, she’d got him at it now.

– END –

Thanks for reading filthsters…we don’t know about you but we can’t wait for the next one. Find more from Alex Jordaine HERE or buy his latest novel HERE

Image lovingly borrowed from https://www.flickr.com/photos/mindonfire/

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