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So I got promoted at work recently, which requires me having to learn a bunch of new stuff. Which is super cool and going to be amazing when I start taking on these new responsibilities.

But I’ve got to say that like all the emails about “Ivy’s training” and “training Ivy for her new role” and “Ivy getting the requisite training to be comfortable in her new role” are uh…doing stuff to me.

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Sweetheart’s trying so hard to be a big girl.

But, gosh, if learning to be a big girl doesn’t hurt.

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Piss Shy, Part Three

Disclaimer: The content of this story is a little bit harsher and a little more intense than most of the experiences I have written about on here. Please keep in mind that I had safe words – “yellow” for slow down or do less, “red” for stop. The things I did were done willingly and enthusiastically, even when I demonstrated reluctant or fearful behavior. I like to be scared and I like to feel psychologically exhausted, and this experience allowed me to tread some harsher waters. So, I hope you’ll stick along for the ride.

I hitched up my skirt and started rubbing my clit, I hadn’t worn panties that day, a fact that I was now grateful for as I considered the humiliating possibility of having to lower them around my knees. Despite the fact that I was petrified that someone might see, even if it was nighttime, and despite the fact that I was humiliated, or maybe because of it, I was soaking wet. 

The door swung open and Flint walked past me, gesturing for me to follow. “Very nice,” he said, and I tugged my skirt back down and shuffled after him. “Now clean that up, fingers in your mouth. It comes out of you, it goes back into you.” I nodded, shoving my fingers into my mouth. We got in the car, buckled up, and headed off to his partner’s house.

“So,” he asked while we waited at a stoplight. “what are the tallies for? What happens when you hit eight?”

For the thousandth time that hour, my cheeks burned. “Eight ounces in a cup. Each tally is an ounce. And at eight, I…” I sucked a deep breath in through my nose and glanced out the window, “I drink a cup of my own piss.”

It was something Sir had come up with. I would be lying if I didn’t say I wasn’t five thousand percent reticent about it, but I also would be lying if I said I wasn’t secretly, deep-in-the-stomach, vaguely intrigued by the idea. So, I agreed, totally reluctantly, and hoped that I’d never do anything horrible enough to get up to eight tallies.

But, now I was at two. One quarter of the way there. 

“That’s disgusting,” Flint said through a grin, chuckling and shaking his head. “I bet you want to make sure you don’t get any more tallies tonight, huh? You’d better be on your best behavior.”

I nodded, “yeah. I’d like it if you were able to tell him that I was a good girl tonight.”

“Well, that’s entirely up to you, isn’t it?” He patted my knee. “By the way, I like the way you trail along to keep up with me.”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Sir says I’m supposed to heel.” This got another laugh out of him.

When we reached his partner’s place, I got out of my seat and noticed I’d dripped right onto the seat. Before Flint could see it, I wiped it up with my hand and licked it off of my palm. 

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Sir says once his schedule has calmed down in the next few weeks and I’m out there at his place, we’re going to get serious again about my training. I’m super, super nervous and really excited about the whole thing. I wish it were May already.

One thing in particular is that Sir has totally listened to my feedback and seems to be taking some really important strides in making this productive for both of us. I expressed that in the past, when he gave me tasks, I didn’t like how he sort of left me with the presumption that I’d just do them without checking in. It made me feel a little neglected, and he promised that this time he would be more active in ensuring I was doing the things he asked of me regularly.

Moreover, he promised to be a lot less lenient and to let me get away with a lot less. So, I’m super nervous and excited about that.

Eek.

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Me: You’re trying to turn me into a regular whore.

Sir: A regular whore, as opposed to what? A special kind of whore? Don’t be silly, sweetheart.

“Woof Woof” by Ivy Kink

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So yesterday was kind of a weird day and I neglected to share an excerpt from my collection as I have for the last few weeks. This one is the last one before this Thursday, when I am going to reveal the title story and launch the indiegogo (as suggested by some amazing followers), where you can donate to this project and preorder the collection. Thank you for your amazing support so far and I’m super excited and here you gooo.


It took forever to get him to bark properly. 

She had never wished to coerce him, both because of her recognition of the necessity of willing, enthusiastic consent and the unparalleled satisfaction she felt when attaining it. And so she told him, in a way that made him cringe with its vague menace, that he would bark when he was ready.  

He had accepted the leash and collar gamely, feigned reluctance over eating from the bowl on the floor with insect-wing transparency, hesitated at first at the prospect of a tail until curiosity and subsequent pleasure got the better of him.  

“I wouldn’t even know what to sound like,” he insisted, grasping for excuses. “I mean, you don’t actually want me to bark, do you? Like, woof woof?" 

She snorted. "Go find me a puppy that says ‘woof woof’ and maybe I’ll let that fly.”

He attempted to make himself bark, but the results were halfhearted and self-conscious. “Don’t force it,” she said gently, her plump lower lip grazing his earlobe in feather-soft contrast to the seven inches of silicone prodding into his stomach. She leaned back up, grasped his hair firmly and rubbed his lips across the tip. “Why don’t you busy your mouth with something it likes to do?”

He tried again a few nights later, curled up at her feet while she watched the news. It was gruff, almost a cough. She grinned and eased one of her feet out of her espadrilles, arranging her toes over his lips as if they were a row of teeth. “That one was cute,” she murmured, applying pressure to his chin with her heel until he dipped his head back. Now eye-to-eye with her, he could see the way her features had softened in genuine admiration for his efforts. “It came close, pup, but don’t try so hard.”

It was the fact that she had wanted such an earnest bark out of him that made the act so difficult. She didn’t want to degrade him so much as to bury him so deeply into this role that he could no longer extricate an act of devotion from an involuntary reflex. He wasn’t simply to play puppy anymore, although there was always something solemn in the playfulness that indicated that it had never been merely a game to either of them.

One morning, he walked into the kitchen to find his food in a bowl on the floor, a porcelain container of water alongside it. By the still-dirty cup of the blender in the sink and the mush his food had been reduced to, he assumed that she had ground up a second set of the eggs and sausage that sat in front of her into a parody of dog food.

“You’ll eat it, won’t you?” She was sitting at the kitchen table, an unmasked look of self-doubt in her eyes. “I haven’t gone too far this time?”

He sank to his knees and studied the food once more. Sure, he had eaten off of the floor. But never quite in this capacity, never with the humanness blended right out of his meals. “I’ll eat it,” he replied and her face softened. 

Lowering his head, he extended his tongue carefully as to ensure his face would not be covered in the mess of egg and sausage. He heard her rise from her seat and caught, out of the corner of his eye, the flash of her white slippers, followed by her knees settling onto the laminate tile. “You know,” she began in a way that seemed rehearsed, trembling with the jitters of an opening night, “that’s not how puppies do it. Their tongues go down, not up, that’s why they’re messier than cats.” 

Her hand settled into his hair and she applied pressure, shoving his face into the food. He felt the thick mush cover his cheeks, his chin, even his forehead. 

And there, suddenly, he felt it, caught in his throat like a hiccup. 

A Blushy Submission in my Inbox: Dearest Mr. Craftsmate, and Ivy

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Mr. Craftsmate,

I’m sorry to hear that you’re having such difficulty house-breaking little Ivy. I’ve never had a new pet myself, but I understand that this is likely a very trying situation for you, especially since she’s at an age where she should have been properly trained some time ago. Hang in there though, persevere, and I’m sure you’ll have a pet to be proud of in little time.

Fortunately, in this internet age, there is a wealth of training advice available. For example, I found this schedule that may help you organize Ivy’s day so that she can most easily adapt to her new routine. I’m sure she will enjoy having so much free time.

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Otherwise, if she continues to be a difficult learner (puppies are like people, in that some of them are slow to adapt, or perhaps are entirely affable, but just not that bright) you might consider one of these things:

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Apparently they can be dangerous if worn around the neck, but I would bet that a creative mind such as yours could devise some means of securing it around one of her hind legs, and keeping it from sliding down. This could aid in consistency of training as you would be able to correct unacceptable behaviour just about anywhere. 

Finally, it may be worth purchasing a supply of these:

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as even the best trained pets sometimes have accidents when they get too excited in a new environment. I’m sure Ivy will appreciate the gesture, as not only will they protect her from the shame of making a mess in Mr. Penthouse’s living room, her bare bum will have at least a little cushion on the hard floor.

Wishing you patience in this difficult task. Please do us the courtesy of frequent updates, as I know there are many of who would be all too happy to offer congratulatory words as Ivy reaches new milestones in her training. Good Luck!

W.E.

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likeabikeseat reminds me a lot of my dom. Both are harsh to the point of perfectionism. And both scare me soaked.

likeabikeseat:

their progress is pathetic.  stronger measures will need to be taken.