by Mark Andrews
Whether the government knew what went on inside it, I had no idea but I thought it difficult to believe they didn’t. Some of the most powerful men in the Middle East were behind this sport and I was sure that meant they were in high places in the government as well as industry.
The building contained a track. A dog track, but not for canines. Now, as I saw the ‘dogs’ training, I understood what I had got myself into with my stubbornness and my refusal to go to bed with Masoud all those months ago.
I was going to be turned into a dog, almost literally.
The car and trailer had pulled into the vast warehouse and I had been allowed to crawl out, a reverse of the method I had used to get me into it. I could now see the track up towards the other end of the enormous open space under the vast roof high above us. Around the three sides away from where I was now standing, tiered stands would permit spectators to watch the races on the track.
I was led up to the open end and now stared in a sheer funk as I watched various groups of human dogs being trained.
They were on their hands and knees - literally! What I mean is, they couldn’t be anything else for their legs had been removed. Their lower legs, that is. On their hands they had what looked like dog paws and the stumps of their knees were also fitted with a sort of shoe that was made to resemble a dog’s foot.
It was bizarre - and absolutely horrific. And then, with a jolt to my stomach that almost literally had me reeling and was just as bad as if Masoud had actually kicked me there, I realised that soon, I too, was going to be one of them. Masoud was going to have my legs removed so that I too would be able to bound around that track, competing in the outlandish races they must stage there to satisfy the jaded tastes of the ‘dog’ owners.
“Well, and what do you think of my little pets, now, English scum?”
Masoud had arrived and had walked up behind us.
“I am sorry for what I said earlier, Master,” I said, ashamed of my cravenness but desperate to prevent what I now knew was coming if I was left in that terrible place.
“Yes, no doubt you are, however it is too late for apologies now. Soon your legs will be removed and you will join my other dogs and those of my friends who enjoy the sport. Perhaps I may even be able to persuade the surgeon to take off your legs without anaesthetic ... As you then writhe in agony, think back to that time you so callously refused my favours - and spat in my face yesterday.
“Hang her up by her heels - while she has them - until the surgeon is ready to perform the operation.”
And with that he turned on his heel and left. I was taken down to the floor below and there I discovered a whole community devoted to the modification, training and support of the dozens of human dogs who were being housed in the building. Masoud and his father owned a couple each but others, male as well as female, were kept and trained there as well.
All had had their lower legs removed and were trained to move only in the hands and knees position. I was to discover I was never ever allowed even to learn how to stand up in the erect position once my legs had been removed and from then on moved about just like a real canine.
As with the harem part of the palace, there were all sorts of rooms for our training, feeding, and cleaning including some accommodation for the live-in trainers. We of course, slept in kennels.
I was indeed hung up by my heels for a few days, only being lowered to be fed, washed and to pass my wastes. Masoud was angry with me and I was going to suffer for my rash behaviour.
But then the surgeon, a different one this time, arrived and while he absolutely refused Masoud’s request to take off my legs with full feeling left in them, I was certainly left conscious and partly sensitive to what he was doing to my legs.
I won’t go into the details of the operation. As with the modification of my clitoris, I couldn’t see much of it anyway. What I ended up with was a stump. A rounded stump which, when it was properly healed, would be fitted into my new ‘feet’. Yes, a rather large replica of a dog’s hind paws.
How did I cope with the mental trauma of losing my legs to that madman’s whim? Not well. I fought tooth and nail, well as much as they let me, anyway. Masoud came down often before the operation, during it and afterwards, to gloat over my fate, to finger my body and its obscene penis and to inform me that he was going to win many trophies from my success as a racing dog.
I had decided not to antagonise this man any further. He had already shown how ruthless he could be and I hated to think what he might do to me next if I kept resisting his wishes.
They had taken me off the aphrodisiac once I arrived at the kennels, as they called this place, but its effects were still exciting my libido for a few days and as I stared at the males amongst the dogs racing in their strange gait around the track, my little bud hardened a shade further and my vagina leaked copiously. Each of the males was erect and the girls were clearly also excited but their trainers and handlers were careful not to let them near one another.
It seemed they believed an enhanced sexual energy could be diverted into performance on the track and this was the reason for the aphrodisiac, at least there. Back in the harem, no doubt it was to make the boys and girls more ardent in their attentions on Masoud’s body.
Anyway, once I was taken downstairs and strung up to dangle from the roof upside down, I had plenty of time to watch what was happening around me. I could see the kennels into which the dogs were chained at night, the concrete square where they were hosed and the row of dog bowls where they fed. I also noted their fine bodies, of course. Perhaps not the exquisite beauty of Waleed’s male harem (the only one I had seen back in the palace) but very handsome and each with a very, very respectable penile member which, as I’ve already said, were almost constantly erect.
The girls were similarly attractive but there is one thing I haven’t yet mentioned and now I understood why my rectum and anus had been prepared back in the palace.
They all wore tails. Dog tails. And they had to wag them every time their master or trainer or handler appeared. I shuddered as I understood the depth to which these poor boys and girls had been reduced. They didn’t wear dog masks over their heads but they did have dog tails and paws on their hands and the stumps of their thighs and they weren’t allowed to talk - ever.
No, we had to bark and yelp and if we had something really important to say, had to yelp in a certain way that amounted to a request for permission to speak. If it was granted, the reason had to be pretty damned important for the consequences for any frivolous use of this ‘privilege’ was to have your voice box removed. Yes, the larynx was taken right out and then we couldn’t speak, at least not out loud. A second offence earned the removal of the offender’s tongue.
They didn’t fit me into my tail until after the operation but a few days after it, when the doctor decided I was fit enough, my legs, my thighs, that is, were raised to the vertical and spread wide - now I understood the reason for ‘splits training’, and then the long tail was pushed into my well-prepared anus.
The exterior portion was very lifelike, its skin resembling my own and as it poked out, I suppose the casual observer could be forgiven for thinking it was a real tail, that had somehow sprouted from my rectum.
It was held in place with a long dildo that had a large inflatable ball some four inches from its tip and it was only removed to allow me to pass my wastes. At all other times, including sleeping, it stayed in there and became a very real part of me.
At first, though, it was quite horrible. Not so much the physical sensation of it inside my body for the dildo machine back in the training room at the palace that had trained my backside had done its work very thoroughly. No, it was the idea of having a tail poking out of my body that was so awful. And of course, once it was there, I had to learn how to twitch my rear so that it wagged like a real dog’s tail every time one of our masters came i
nto our presence.
They were quite ruthless in their training in this as well as every other aspect of our lives as human dogs. They used the carrot and stick method that has proved so effective over the years. If we pleased them, they might tickle the girls’ clits, yes, many of the girls had the penile-like extensions to theirs as well, and masturbate the boys’ cocks.
But if we erred or were slack in our approach to our training, then they came down on us like a ton of bricks. They didn’t cane or whip us. That would have left lash marks on our skin and above all they prized our beauty. Instead they used a version of the electronic prodders used by farmers as goads for their beasts.
These comprised a handle that contained the batteries and the electronic works, a metal rod about eighteen inches long and then the lethal end-piece that looked like a carving fork - but wasn’t.
Once they had fingered the button that activated the thing, it took only a second or two to charge those prongs and then, no matter where they shoved it onto our naked bodies, boy did we feel it. Usually, they aimed for the new clits on the girls, or the testicles on the boys and believe me, once you have felt that shock to those so sensitive areas, you don’t err twice, not knowingly, anyway.
And then they declared me ready to begin my training.
Chapter 4
It was a few weeks after the operation, time in which I had the opportunity to contemplate the full horror of what they had done to me.
They had maimed me. Quite unnecessarily removed my lower legs for their own depraved delight in using and abusing foreign human slaves for the bizarre sport of human dog racing.
For the first few days I felt only despair that my life as a proper human being was over but then my natural resilience kicked in and I thought over all those magnificent men and women who had lost their legs in accidents and had become fully functional - starting with Douglas Bader, the World War II flying ace who had overcome all the odds to become a pilot once more.
Yes, I would survive and what’s more, I would be a champion racing dog. Not for Masoud’s glory but for my own determination to be the best at whatever I tried my hand at. Once that decision was made in my heart and mind, I never had another moment’s worry at my loss.
You may also be wondering how my stumps were ready for the dog’s paws so soon after the operations? It was ingenious, really. Those doctors, depraved and all as they were, certainly knew their stuff. The paws didn’t actually rest on the stumps at all. Not the early ones anyway. They fitted up over the stumps and were moulded around the lower part of my thigh muscles, gripping them perfectly, once they were wrapped around them, anyway.
They weren’t belted. They were made to really look like a dog’s paw and the fastenings were made of Velcro, which gripped my flesh very firmly. The pads of the paws themselves, both for my hands and feet, were soft, just like a real dog’s and then there was the hollow part that expanded so that it met the muscles of my thigh and was hairy. Indeed, the way the smooth skin of my upper thigh muscles then turned into a hairy dog’s paw was incredibly realistic.
It was the same with the paws that fitted over my hands. Thank heavens for small mercies they didn’t remove my hands as well as my legs and feet. I suppose that was something.
Anyway, as I took my first experimental steps on my new paws, down on the ‘hands and knees’ position, I found there was no pain on the stumps of my thighs and I could actually move quite fast.
I was then taken up to the track to watch in more detail as the other dogs were put through their training regime. You mightn’t believe this, but I was actually interested to see how fast they could run (is that the right term, I wonder?) around the short track and was startled to see they were able to keep up a quite fast clip, especially those who had been in residence for a while.
We newcomers still had to learn to use the muscles of our shoulders, backs, bottoms and thighs in a quite different way but once we did, our times began to improve markedly and our legs and arms became whirlwinds of speed.
From that moment on, my world became one of exercising in the kennel equivalent of a gym, where we kept up a routine to make the muscles we needed for racing strong and supple. Of course they also made sure that the rest of our bodies retained their pleasing, athletic shape. We spent a couple of hours in the morning in the gym and another couple in the afternoon. The rest of our time was spent on the track.
A stranger to the scene would have been absolutely astonished to see us performing. All of us were incredibly handsome or attractive human beings who had been turned into human dogs. We all wore very realistic-looking paws on our hands and the stumps of our legs and those dreadful tails sticking out of our backsides.
In every case, these matched the skin of the wearer and even more than the paws, marked us as human dogs. As we moved, they wagged from side to side very realistically and, as I said earlier, we were encouraged by their electronic prodders to constantly do this to make us look even more like dogs.
Our owners delighted in coming to watch us. During the late morning and the afternoon hours there were always half a dozen or so of them there to watch us perform. I suppose I have to admit that the sight must have been absolutely incredible. Of course any normal human being would be outraged at the sight of handsome and beautiful young human beings who had been so desecrated by the removal of their legs and in the case of us girls, by the terrible extensions to our clitorises that made them so prominent and of course shamed us horribly.
But I suppose, that if I had been able to set aside such outrage, I too would have to have been intrigued and perhaps even excited by the spectacle we presented. Human beings have incredibly complex psyches. We are excited by the strangest and most bizarre of scenarios. Whether we will admit it or not, we delight in the misfortunes of others. Sadism lurks in all of us. And, I suspect, so does masochism. If the constraints of common decency, morals, religious ethics and the laws of the land are removed, we tend to break down into brutal savages. We have only to look at the excesses of the various world wars and other conflicts even as late as the 20th century, to see the evidence of this.
My studies in social anthropology had underlined this to me very forcefully. I was only too aware that so-called civilisation is a very thin veneer over an otherwise quite brutal persona in us human beings.
For this reason, the rational part of my mind was able to accept and understand the motives behind our masters’ actions in enslaving, modifying and training us to be human dogs. The emotional part however, never ever did. Nothing can excuse what they did to us and while vengeance is a terrible act, I never cease to be thankful for the efforts of that small group of men in the top secret special command under the personal control of the Prime Minister, who effected our rescue and, without any compunction whatsoever, would have slit the throats of our trainers and got us out of there.
But that was a long way in the future.
In the months that preceded our rescue, I learned to be a top-class human dog. I even won a few trophies for Masoud.
I will now detail a typical day in my training regime.
As you will have realised, we slept in the kennels. We had to back into them in a similar manner to that which I used to get into my stone cell or the dog trailer. Each kennel had a silvery chain that was secured to its back wall and was long enough to allow a part of its length to emerge out of the entry. A small self-locking clip provided the means to secure us in our kennels for the night. These could only be opened by using a special key.
Once each of them had been locked to our rings (I should stay here that each of the males had a similar ring either through his foreskin or, if he was circumcised, a Prince Albert ring that went right into the slit at the end of his penis and then out through the fraenum on its underside), we were required to back right into the kennel and could then settle down to sleep.
The floors of the ke
nnels were lined with a sort of blanketing. It was therefore vastly more comfortable than my stone cell in the harem cellar had been. I could rest on my side or my back and had a lot more freedom of movement than in the past.
Of course we still were not allowed to converse with the other dogs in the kennels. I have already indicated the penalty for such an attempt and they were quite ruthless in executing it. There were already three human dogs whose larynxes had been removed, although, so far as I could tell, none had had his or her tongue amputated. I was certainly not going to become the fourth voiceless one amongst us. I became almost paranoiac about not communicating with any of my fellow human dogs.
Because of this, I never came to know any single one of them. I felt for them, loved them all and tried using body language to convey my sympathy with them but never words or even ideas. As I have said before, each was either handsome, beautiful or extremely attractive in physical appearance. They were all young, I think from late teens to early twenties but certainly not past middle twenties.
In the morning, we were aroused at six, lined up to past our wastes and were then cleaned, fed and ready to begin our training for the day.
At the trainer’s whistle, we had to scurry out of the kennel and kneel there on all fours, waiting to be released from our chain. We then had to form a line and move single file into what passed for our toilet and then squat, still in our line, over a slot in the floor and then pass our wastes, both liquid and solid. To do this of course, they had to remove our tails but that was simple enough, although they had to be careful to lay them down in order, so that after we had been cleaned, the correct tail was reinserted into its owner’s rectum.
