Mutts

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

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My new boy, Bubba, nearly pissed in his pants when he got up from the table to look out the window. As he peeked outside onto the back property, I thought it was a good of time as any to remind his flaky white ass that he just put down his sloppy John Hancock on the contract. He balked. Rambling on and on about some foolish nonsense about it not being legally binding. I reminded him I didn’t give a shit about the law out there. As far as I was concerned, my two hundred and seventy acres of prime North Cackalacky real estate was sovereign land under my thumb. I thought it was wise to also remind him of the unflattering pictures I had of his sweet-looking face dolled up so pretty under a red wig with his pouty lips wrapped around my mighty anaconda. That I had a few more pictures of him in a leather muzzle hanging by a suspended metal bar by fist mitts and stirrups showing off his swollen cunt hungry for some more pipe. My favorite of all was these pictures of him farting out a bubbly wad of cum from his gaping abyss with a ton of soupy white slime pooled on the floor beneath his sling.

All digitized and ready to be sent through electronic mail to his young wife and other snobby family members with the looming threat of them being sent out to the local newspaper for further embarrassment.

Even with the blackmailing hanging over their heads, the scenario always played itself out from this point forward: They look outside and see the well-trained dogs. The fear of God is ignited in them. They get frantic and scared. They try to run, thinking of clever ways to outmaneuver me. They think because I’m a short fucker they can somehow subdue me. They think because I’m such a big guy I lack agility. Then once I react with lightening speed to tackle their ass to the ground, then they want to act surprise and double down and get offended as they start to scream their fucking heads off hoping someone somewhere out there might hear their pitiful cries.

Back in the day, when I was a ruthless motherfucker, it was nothing for me to hold them down, rip their pants clean off their waist, and rape their sorry asses raw. No lube, no nothing. And if they weren’t already thoroughly ruined in humiliation, I would then put my big steel-toe boot to their bellybutton and take a long lingering post-nutt piss across their face and body, lock them up, and let them stew in it for about a week or so. They’d start to feel pretty dirty inside, pretty fucked up. They’d even take to tonguing a patch of skin just to feel an ounce of cleanliness. They’d get weaker and weaker with each passing minute. Couple that with thought of them having their sweet cherry busted wide open by the biggest dick this side of Interstate 40 in the most gruesome way to keep them company. Their initial anger over everything that happened quickly subsides to full submission needing desperately to find validation in this world. What better man to do that for them than the very man that broke them down in the first place?

This was back in the day, of course, back when I was horny and in urgent need to establish my black dominance quickly in these racist backwoods. These days, I try to impress my new pieces with my quick whip in tying their flailing limbs in elaborate knots that is as beautifully sinister as it is artistically admired.

Bubba was no different. I tackled his ass to the ground, tied his hands behind his back to his legs bent and crossed. He was still shirtless from our tryst earlier. I made the mistake of letting him slip back into his standard-issued camo pants, which meant after tying him up so elegantly I had to whip out my bowie knife to cut through them and his cheap jockstrap just to get him back naked. He shivered at the coolness of the wide blade against his alabaster skin and started to bawl those crocodile tears. I had to laugh at his pathetic ass when he followed through on his threat of peeing on himself, begging and pleading for me not to hurt him. I got tired of his mouth and slapped some duct tape over it for effect.

I walked away to let him ponder over my next move.

When I came back some time later, I came back in full leather regalia with a few things in hand. Bubba was in awe of my big Wesco boss boots, my dry leather chaps, and studded pouch that were all tongue-cleaned to like-new perfection by my last boy. My gear didn’t end there. I also sported my custom-made studded full body harness with matching wrist cuffs I got made down in Charlotte.

I came up behind him so he didn’t see me fitting him for his locking collar. He fought, but not nearly as hard as I would have expected out of an army man like himself. He well made up for his lack of it when I took some thick lube nearby and smeared it to see if it had that tight snap back I expected out of a recently deflowered twenty year old. Bubba didn’t disappoint–even after having his hole reamed by this thick twelve-inch donkey dick. But I got him good when I swiftly stuffed his tight chute with that black butt plug. It looked so damn funny with its dog tail end hooking up like that. Even funnier after I slap the canine-face muzzle on him and cut his wrists free to slip on his rubber puppy paws. His bare feet were still bound as I debated if I should spare his knees with any pads. As I weighed my options, I went ahead and locked his cock and balls to a chained leash. Before I even thought to consider what to do with his lower extremities again, I had already cut his ankles free and was dragging the poor sap across my wooden deck into the heavily shaded element.

He resisted me like most of my new pets. I don’t take it personally like I used to, though. I had to mature to the place in my life I had to accept it was just the fear of the unknown getting the best of them. So I’ve grown beyond yanking their chains and scrambling their delicate eggs anymore. I don’t have the fucking patience to listen to them yelp and regroup anymore after such a painful jolt. I know now as long as I get them to the top of the stairs without hurting them, I’m fine. It’s like something magical happens when I get them down that first step. I’m not sure if it’s them knowing they’re not alone in this seeing the other dogs or they’re so overwrought with fear that they need a master like me to navigate them through the ins and out of this tough terrain.

I led Bubba out onto the grassy lawn where I spiked his chain in the middle of the yard between four other rubber pawed mutts angered and watchful of his new presence.

Including Bubba, I owned twenty-nine naked dogs. With one free of my hand and four others chained to the old tree around him, I had two lapping up water from the doggie dishes, one eating out of a bowl, seven fenced in the doggie suites, eight running around the large shed out back intense with dogs fighting training, and six more dogs free to roam about the large property with their extra added bonus of any of them being able to mount any of the other dogs that were free of their tails or muzzles.

I had all kinds of dogs on my property from genuine virgins to total bareback sluts, barely legal to as old as Medusa, incredibly smooth to abominably hairy with just about all of them being white.

At the time, the twenty-nine dogs on the property were all male. I tried hard to keep the number well under fifty whenever possible. Next to finding willing strays in need of a place to call home, the number only spiked whenever I kept the dogs in mixed company. I hardly ever did that anymore after so many of the female dogs, or bitches, kept on turning up preggos by some anonymous breeders. It wasn’t so much as them getting knocked up as it was them coming back hoping to track down the father to hold them accountable. The way those bitches got mounted, it could’ve been several men, not excluding me and many legions of trained guests or even some of the dogs that were free to get at them while they were in heat. And given as many mutts as those bitches probably took on my land, there weren’t that many talk shows with that many DNA tests to find out.

To be fair and reasonable, over the course of the sixteen years I’ve had the place, I’ve had close to about sixty-five hundred dogs trample across my land. As I said before, several of them were strays, others faithful weekenders with a healthy mix of the kinkily curious and those seeking a simple do-as-the-fuck-you’re-told-life in between. Between maintenance and upkeep and the need to feed and house my dogs, the expenses have always been astronomical. Yet, I’ve always managed to make a hefty profit the way some of these mutts throw their money at my feet as if I’m some great cult leader bound to lead them to the promise man. Well, I like to think so. But that wasn’t to say I haven’t been forced to cut my losses a time or two to maintain, putting a few of my dogs down. Not by euthanizing them, of course. That would be inhumane. What I’d do however is adopt them out to some shifty-eyed trucker looking for man’s best friend to join him on his travels or auctioned them off at basement bargains to some needy dom, and those that weren’t gotten by these were means forced in the back of my sports utility vehicle to be taken to some remote place never to find their way back again.

I would like to say I got it like that: king of the heap with having so many dogs. Sure, I got a big black uncut dick that those white bitches and boys drool over every chance they get. Even though I own and dominate my piece of land like an emperor over his empire, I’m far from a true prize to the outside world.

I am neither handsome nor charmed. I am blacker than black, shorter than short, gruffer than gruff. I have a big flat nose and a hard rounded belly made for the ages. Big full juicy lips and yellow bulging bug eyes where the white tend to be. Next to my big dick, I have a wide chest and blocky arms I’m quite proud of; something of which I built up well after tussling with all these mutts all these years.

I could fit in well as a common thug on the streets of some big city up north, if I wasn’t corporate-trained and raised as a pariah in the black upper crust of rural western Virginia.

Enough about me. I got Bubba just the same. And with the gray clouds rolling in fast and his ass giving me no time to set up a temporary doghouse for him, he had to brave the element, come rain, thunder, or lightening.

He’s army, I reminded myself. He’s a tough mutt.

I walked over to one of the doggie suites nearby and took a dog out. I forgot what I named this particular mutt, so I don’t call him by name. He tried to go for my studded codpiece, so I grabbed his ball leash, tugged, and walked him under my deck and ordered him to lick my boots clean.

I took my stance near the bottom of the stairwell leading up to the deck. While he did this, I looked out at my many other dogs throughout the property. Because I still had on my leather gear and its incredible smell started to get to me with a lapping dog nibbling at my boots, I started to get that feeling again.

“Dino! Bunky!” I bellowed out into the pouring rain.

I startled the dog at my feet, but he was trained well enough not to lose his stride.

“Bunky! Dino!” I bellowed out again.

I knew those mutts hadn’t gone far. The collars around each dog’s neck prevented them from doing so, as each locked collar came equipped with a tracking device and a metal strip that prevented them from getting outside of the electric fence. I felt that fifteen acres was a wide enough cast for the privileged few to explore a slice of the majestic property, and enough of an ear range to come running whenever I called them in.

“Come here, boys!”

Dino popped out first behind the dog fighting shed. He looked around the corner of the house where I was and came running. Dino was an Irish thoroughbred with dull reddish brown hair. He always amazed me with the swiftness he moved on all fours, almost like he was naturally born that way the way his muscles bulged and flexed as he panted at my feet.

Bunky popped up from afar down near the creek. Rather than run, he sort of took these enormous leaps forward I would’ve thought would’ve hurt his knees and shins after some time. If it did, the good mutt never let on. Bunky was a German-Scottish mix breed that was both big and particularly hairy around the forearms with his meaty tits that craved attention and a loveable rotund breadbasket made for keg-guzzling, as he, too, made his way at my feet.

“Take this bootlicker out yonder and have some fun with him, won’t you, boy?” I barked down at Dino who pawed the leash and tugged the bootlicking mutt by the walls off into the rain. “And don’t forget to put him back in his cage after you’re done with him.”

Dino wasted no time running out to one of the oil dispensers scattered about the property and immediately mounted the howling dog just as the wind was picking up.

“Come with me, boy.” I winked at Bunky, moving over to the adjacent basement door.

I tried not to show favoritism towards any of my pets, but if I had to, my attention would most definitely have to go to the oversized dog. Hands down it was not only as my favorite pet currently on my property but also among my favorite pets of all time.

With his full gruffly beard and big ball of a build, even I would’ve never guess that much when he showed up at my place five years ago.

Bunky was one of those strays that heard about my place from one of my former pets he met out on the road. My dog sold Bunky on my utopia and he came springing at full speed from the Midwestern ranch where he hailed. Bunky unquestionably made his mark on me when he showed up on my doorstep, butt-naked with a collar fitted around his thick neck and his clothes neatly folded in a pile next to him. I wasn’t sure if I was impressed or if I wanted to burst out laughing. Either way, I simply refused to fuck the mutt after he treated me to a few outstanding blowjobs. At the time, I lacked the serious appreciation for a mature dog, making a mockery of them at every step as I equated youth and beauty and a tight ass with function. So I put him through the ropes transforming the man into beast without a tail or a muzzle and took him outside where I had twenty or so free dogs roaming around. I gave him a few simple instructions, and before long the mutt had a line of dogs growing from his ass. I left him be, giving it no second thought. When I looked outside of my bedroom window the next day, Bunky was still there where I left him white-knuckling the ground taking dog dick with some dried crud speckled across his beard.

“He ain’t moved?” I asked my then-midnight overseer as I made my way out into the yard.

“Not once, boss!” The overseer beamed in sheer amazement. “Not even to flinch or scratch or to give his arms and legs a break from their stationary position.”

I should’ve known the mutt was special back then. But with a yard full of virgins and wet bitches that needed to be plucked, I still didn’t bother too much with an old fart like him. Not even to clean him up. When some of my regular guests started to take pity on the cute mutt, they decided to clean him up and use him–and abuse him. I was floored when the waves of guess passed right by their favored usuals just to play with Bunky. My sex room was siphoned off for weekends on end with special reservations just to have Bunky. I got top-dollar offers from men and women alike to rent him out or to buy him outright from under me. I wasn’t convinced still he was anywhere as special as they were trying to make him out to be. But I was smart enough to be leery of selling him off after he handed himself off to me so willingly. My outlook soon changed when I came across Bunky lying back in a sling with some tit clamps on. He was doing the usual suck and fuck from both ends. What made it somewhat special was the earnestness in everything he was doing. While Bunky sucked one oral top off furiously, he reached back and started twisting the nipples of the top egging him on to drain his filthy load in his mouth. As for the top fucking him, he was doing everything in his power internally and externally to get him off. This while bathing in arches of golden piss, never once thinking of losing his stride in any of these tasks. An even prouder moment for me came when I saw him splayed out on the heavy worktable getting double-fucked in the rear. He was sucking off one of my guests while giving two more thorough handjobs. It wasn’t like he was insatiable or anything. It was like he had this job to do and he knew he had to do it amazingly well to ever do it again. And when I finally gave in to having the butch blob to myself, it was like his sweet mouth was made just for me. Everything I gave was both his pleasure and mine. There was no other way to explain it.

“You need to take a leak, boy?” I asked entering my cinderblock dungeon.

Bunky shook his head and whimpered.

“Then you know what to do then, boy.” I said confidently.

Bunky was loss for a moment, not sure what to do since there was so many things he knew I liked to do with him in the dungeon. So I made it crystal clear once I removed one of my boots for him. He looked at me with a smile in his eyes and cautiously fixed his way between the parallel bars and placed his forearms on the metal rack before them.

I took off my other boot and put both in front of his downward face. I let him look at them, giving him the wordless command not to touch them in any form. I went back to the back of the dungeon to retrieve enough rope from my huge spool to execute what I wanted to do. When I returned with the rope with another bowie knife to Bunky, he proved to be obedient in keeping his hands and tongue in his mouth and away from my boots. However, his nose was quite busy inhaling the foot funk that escaped its leather confinement.

“Good boy,” I patted the big mutt on the head.

I squatted, taking part of the rope and tying both of his meaty forearms to the metal rack beneath. After I had got him immobile from that end, I reached over behind me and scored his mouth with a ball gag. He waited with great reserve as I tied his ankles to the parallel bars he was in between and tied a rope high above his back to link the two. I took another piece of rope and tied it in the middle of that rope with more than plenty left to spare, squishing the top of my smelly boot and tying it to his face in a sea of elaborate knots across his big head.

“Mutts like you like sniffing smelly things.” I cackled swatting Bunky chunky ass with my hand.

I kept on hitting him there until I saw his skin flush red, and even then, I refused to stop until I heard a sniffling between his bouts of whimpering.

“Sniff good, doggie. Sniff good.” I mouthed encouragingly as my hand took a harder stance against his plump derriere.

I spanked Bunky for the longest time. His ass was fire-engine red by the time my hand got tired of slapping it, developing new calluses in the process. After I felt like Bunky was taking in my boot funk like the air he normally breathed, I rubbed my dick on the top of his crack and eased my way into it.

Bunky was a big boy with a fluffy of meatiness that only solidified his masculinity. It was because of the extra meat he had such a deep crack that even with nearly twelve inches of dick sprouting from my crotch, it was nearly impossible to give the boy every inch. But, with so much dick to spare, it only left out three or so inches after I got all I could inside of him. Of course, looking at him with my big boss boots attached to his face, I was in no rush to do that.

“Oh shit! Oh yeah…shit!” I groaned, feeling his warm asshole swallow up the best inches of my dick. “This is where it is!”

Even through the ball gag in his mouth, I could hear Bunky howl into the smelly boot. That really turned me on. Not the howling itself but knowing the only way he could take in air was inhaling the dried sweat collected at the bottom of my insoles.

I seemed to go crazy and the thought and decide to hold my dick right there inside of the mutt. Holding it there, sniffing my boot and having me inside of him only made the dog go bonkers, bucking back and rearing his rear ready for me to fuck him some more. As an owner of so many dogs, I don’t often liked to be run by my mutts, but this was an exception as I began to fuck him, ramming my dick into him as deep as I could.

“Oh damn! Open up that hole for me, Bunky.” I growled after some time, feeling like the more I drilled his hole the flatter his ass became. The more I felt this way, the more I plowed into him with relentless force extracting the real grunts and groans out of him through my boot.

“Just inhale, you no good mutt, just inhale that funky shit,” I barked.

The more I went at his hole the more the mutt showed me he wanted me to be inside of him. I gave him so much of me to the point I had his knees buckling underneath me.

“Damn,” I groaned holding his big ass up from the continuous fuck. “You got that kind of ass that makes a master want to paint your filthy walls white.”

I pounded and pounded some more, a good ways away from exploding when it proved too much for the boot-sniffer. Bunky started yelping and weeping and the next thing I knew he lifted up his legs and creamed down his thigh, only to be followed by a light trail of piss.

“Bad doggie,” I scolded him and chuckled behind closed lips.

That didn’t deter me. I kept right on fucking him for about a good fifty minutes longer with him letting me know at every stroke it was his pleasure to serve me like this, taking care of his owner this way, stroking my dick with his ass as if he was still going hard for his very first nutt.

“I’m going to paint those walls, mutt. I’m going to paint those fucking walls white!”

My load poured inside of his guts. It kept pouring and pouring until everything I had inside of my balls kicked out.

I took a long deep breath and looked at my mutt with my boot tied to his face. He was the prettiest dog I’d ever groom.

My attention soon waned as I pulled out of him. I moved toward the door underneath the deck and looked out at one of my many other dogs hungry for a sniff of my other boot.