by Mark Andrews
I had no idea of course of my relative speed with respect to those of the other of my companion dog-slaves. Our trainers never discussed our progress with us. We were animals: dogs, in their eyes, incapable of understanding human speech.
They carried this fiction to the nth degree. Almost never did our trainers converse with us and of course, if we as much as uttered a word, we faced the dreadful punishment I have already described.
The race meeting was scheduled for two o’clock in the afternoon. They were to be six races, each with five contestants. This of course meant that most of us dog-slaves would be taking part.
The stands were full. There did not appear to be a vacant seat to be had. I wondered briefly how they vetted the men they allowed to come and watch us race. I suppose they did; while they were all arrogant beyond belief, I am sure that arrogance would not extend to allowing word of their secret human-dog racing to get out.
They alternated the races between female and male. I was surprised to find that I was not in the first race, having surmised that newcomers would always be placed here. I wondered if perhaps my times had indicated that I might warrant a later race. I think this may have been the case.
Each of us dog-slaves was allowed to watch the races. Inside the track, opposite the bottom of the ‘U’ that formed the spectators’ stand, they had built a platform with steps leading up to it. There was room on this for all of us human-dogs. We were brought up from our kennel floor by our trainers, on leads clipped to our clitoral rings of course, in proper single file, to climb up the steps and take our places, squatting like real canine dogs to face the leaders of this bizarre club, who were sitting in the best seats at the base of the ‘U’.
Just before two o’clock, the first five girls were taken down the track and lined up. They didn’t bother with a starting gate arrangement, nor did they have a rabbit running around on a track to lure the ‘dogs’. At least they gave us that concession, small though it was.
The bell rang and they were off!
Opposite and around us on both sides, the Arab spectators all stood up as one to watch the race. So did we. While waiting for the first race to begin, we had been sitting as a dog does, on its haunches with our thighs out before us. Now, as we wanted to see the five girl-dogs run their race, we got up onto all fours and craned our heads around, just as the hated men in the stands around us were doing.
Of course they had money on us. As I was later to find out, a great deal of money. If a particular human dog didn’t race to expectations, he or she could expect a lot of grief. All of us therefore gave them everything we had and the results were really quite incredible. Bizarre, as I keep saying, but quite definitely remarkable. I am sure you wouldn’t believe just how fast we could trot around that track and I say again our thighs and arms moved so fast as not to be distinguishable except on slow motion film.
A male race followed the first and then it was my turn. My trainer led me down to the starting position opposite the bottom of the ‘U’ and I was lined up with the other four girls. The bell rang and we were off. I knew how to pace myself but I also knew I had a lot of stamina nowadays. Their trainers certainly knew their stuff and the combination of the gym work and the countless hours on this track, each and every day, had turned me into a near facsimile of a real dog. No, we couldn’t match a greyhound, or even a terrier for speed, but we were certainly faster than you might think.
But then, while the races and their bets on them were interesting enough for our owners and their friends, it was really the fact that they had been able to enslave Christian, or at least non-Muslim humans and turn them into dogs and then race them naked, that so delighted these jaded multi-millionaires.
I watched my competition carefully, keeping up the ungainly steps but always looking for an entry to the rail. I got it after we entered the first straight, the girl on my inside faltering for a step and I took my opportunity and moved into her place. All I had to do now was to keep it and to prevent anyone coming around on the outside.
Yes, it was a spectacle, as I had seen in the first two races. Stark naked, beautiful or handsome girls and boys, down on their hands and the stumps of their knees, their girls’ breasts swinging from side to side, the boys’ genitals doing the same and all of our tails gyrating madly as our limbs drove us to try and win.
I had by now gained a few more inches and was out in front - but not by much. The race wasn’t even half run yet and anything could happen as we began to tire. I was glad I wasn’t even feeling a little tired. Over the last month or so, I had trained to the best of my ability for this. Not because I wanted to please Masoud, but because my very hide depended on it. They punished failure ruthlessly and a dose of their prodders to my vagina - and especially to my little fake penis - would do wonders to my will to succeed!
I kept my lead and actually improved it around the next bend and down the last straight so that when we rounded the last bend and approached the starting/finishing line, I was a half body length in front of my nearest rival.
They actually presented trophies to the winner - Masoud, that is, not me. All I got was a lump of sugar from my owner but I could see he was pleased with me.
Over the next few months, I competed in more races and my times improved even more. So did my wins. In fact, I won every race I competed in except one and that loss was to a superbly built Amazon of a girl. She was black and was as good an athlete as any black Olympian I have ever seen - and that’s saying something for the black races seem to have an edge in the athletics department. She was also about the most beautiful of all of us two dozen or so girl-dogs and I warmed to her the moment I first set eyes on her. We became good friends, as much as friendship was possible there.
Remember, we couldn’t talk to each other, not even to utter a ‘good morning’ or ‘hello’, and if they found us trying to communicate in other ways, out would come their prodders or they might even tell our owners about it and then we might face losing our voice-boxes or tongues. But as much as was possible I let her know I liked her and she reciprocated. As it happens, she was also English and Melanie and I are together now, but that is in the future so far as my tale is concerned and I will leave the circumstances until the proper time.
What I have to tell of next is even more bizarre than what had happened to me thus far. You don’t believe me? Believe me! Yes, being stripped, depilated, my joints stretched and twisted to unbelievable positions, my legs removed and then turned into a human dog by the addition of paws and a tail was bad enough, but what I now witnessed was definitely worse than all those things put together.
I had noticed some of the girls’ bellies were beginning to swell visibly and from the way their trainers constantly took their rectal temperatures and felt and palpated their bellies, I knew they were carrying babies. How they had been mated was unclear and of course, since speech for us was a no-no, none of us who were thus far still ‘heifers’ in the sense we had not been mated, we were kept in the dark.
But then, one day, the vet arrived on a day not in his usual schedule and a girl whose belly was now straining out very visibly was led off to another room in our cellar. When we came back to our kennels, I was shocked to see her surrounded by six tiny puppies, all trying to suckle at her breasts!
The penny dropped with an almighty thud. She had been carrying those puppies in her belly! She even treated them as a mother would, pulling them in close to her body for warmth and comfort and when, a week or so later, they removed them from her, she cried piteously.
And then Masoud arrived. “So, you, English slut, have seen one of my bitches carrying her litter?” it was a rhetorical question and I just hung my head in fear and shame. Fear that I was going to be called upon to do the same thing; and shame that I didn’t have the courage to stand up to this man any more.
He went on: “Very soon now, you too are going to be impregnated with the fe
rtilised eggs of a bitch. I have decided you will carry five Afghan Hound puppies ... Be warned, however. If you even try to resist your impregnation, or to damage them once they are growing inside your belly, I will have you spayed: your womb and all its attendant organs removed, your lovely little penis removed, your vulva modified to remove your pubis and your vagina sewn up permanently so that you will look like a male castrate ...”
He said these words slowly and deliberately so that I had no doubts that he meant them. I shuddered as I knelt there on all fours, staring up at him and trying desperately to keep my face neutral.
Actually, I was trying to imagine what my lower belly would look like without its pubic mound and labia but I couldn’t. I don’t think the message that I was soon going to be carrying a litter of puppies had actually sunk in, but it did now and my thoughts shifted to absorbing the concept of me as a human female carrying a litter of canine puppies. My mind couldn’t cope with the weird idea and I think I came near to fainting.
Masoud stared down at me, glorying in his triumph over my misery and defeat.
It didn’t happen for a few more days and in the meantime, my rigorous training schedule was kept up.
But then Tareef, my trainer came to fetch me from the gym. He snapped his lead to my clit ring and tugging on it, led me out of the gym and along the passage to the little theatrette.
Inside was Masoud, his father and a few friends whom I knew by sight but not by name. They were seated in the middle of the front row of easy chairs and were chatting to each other and to the Vet who was dressed in surgical gear in readiness for what he was about to do to me.
The low tables that had graced the little turntables were now gone. Instead, one of them had a strange-looking frame on it and as I stared at it, I realised how I was going to be secured for the impregnation, which was clearly why I was there.
There was a sort of pillory set down low at floor level. It was obviously going to secure my thighs but it was the distance between its pair of holes that had me worried. They had to be three feet apart, I was sure. Once more I would just about be doing the splits once my paws were locked into them. A few feet forward of this arrangement there was another pillory, also at floor level although this set had the holes much closer together, perhaps six inches apart.
I realised that once both sets of paws were locked into them, my bottom would be poking up into the air, almost vertically, and my anus and vagina would both be on open show to the men in the chairs over yonder.
Tareef led me up onto the little stage and, after opening the two pillories, led me inside the frame. The holes in the rear pillory were aligned in a horizontal plane so that my rear paws sat normally on the floor of the turntable, although pulled wide open, of course. He gestured to my hands - my front paws, actually - and I obediently placed them side by side in the two holes, these ones aligned vertically of course. Once he had locked both pillories, I was there for the duration but to ensure my bottom stayed in the right posture, he produced a belt which he threaded through a lug in the base of the frame, placed over the small of my back and then buckled through the hasp, pulling it down tight so that my back curved into a real bow and my hips were indeed pointing skyward.
It is perhaps the most shameful position a girl could be placed in but worse was to come.
They now proceeded to cane me. Yes, really. Apparently the Arabs believe (and they may well be right for all I know) that a well-warmed bottom makes a girl more fecund. What that had to do with this case, where my own eggs were not in question, is moot, nevertheless, they apparently always caned a girl-bitch thoroughly before impregnating her - and afterwards as well!
I don’[t know how many strokes Tareef gave me. It had to be a couple of dozen, I know. Each was delivered hard - very hard - and then he waited for the pain to sink in before delivering the next. I screamed at each one, of course. This was permitted and even encouraged for our masters delighted in our suffering and in the sight of our so well-toned bodies reacting to the pain of that rod. It really was a cane. Rattan, I think they call it. It originated in South-east Asia, I think, and it grows to extraordinary lengths which makes it easy to harvest. They cut it down near the base, then pull it out from the surrounding jungle, cutting it into suitable lengths as they go. It is very hard but also springy: a perfect medium to inflict extremely painful punishment on our bottoms.
When it was over at last and I was sobbing fitfully, the Vet busied himself at his little table, carefully transferring the liquid containing the fertilised bitch eggs (or are they already foetuses?) into the huge silvery syringe. It was like one of those monsters used to inject an enema into a person’s rectum and it had a flexible metal tube on its end instead of the more usual nozzle.
He held it up for his audience to see and they clapped him approvingly. He then turned to me while I watched him desperately over my shoulder. I knew there was nothing I could do to prevent this operation and if I had even tried, I faced the loss of my womanly parts and the removal of my vulva and the closure of my vagina - permanently. No, resistance wasn’t an option as far as I could judge.
He inserted the tube into my vagina and kept pushing it in. When some five or six inches was right inside me, he took up another gadget, this one a vibrator unit that clipped on to the tube and whose business end fitted over my enlarged clit.
When he had switched this on, I knew I was in deep trouble. The sensory nerves in that modified organ kicked in straight away and within seconds I was in the throes of an extraordinary series of orgasms that would keep me up on a sexual high for the whole two hours they kept me in that undignified and so humiliating position.
Only then did he begin the slow transference of the minute fertilised eggs. He certainly took his time while the vibrator continued to stir my libido and the red-hot pain in my bottom also contributed to a weird pleasure I couldn’t even begin to explain. My rear was on fire. It hurt like hell, but I knew that for some reason it was adding to the fire in my loins as well.
Once he had depressed the plunger all the way, the Vet allowed it to drop down and hang down between my well-spread thighs so that the vibrator unit could continue to pleasure me. He then went up and joined the audience who took coffee and cakes served by Tareef.
By now I could understand Arabic very well and as I listened to their comments on my body and particularly my well displayed sexual organs and anus (from which still protruded my horrible tail, of course), I cringed in more shame.
“A very well-developed physique for a bitch,” said one to Masoud.
“She started off with a pleasing body but Tareef here has done wonders with her musculature. Still eminently feminine but about as athletic as any man would want, eh, Ali?”
“Oh yes, and such powerful thighs ...”
“Well, as you know, she’s a champion already. Only lost one race and that was to your Melanie, Abdul ...”
His friend grinned. “No-one will ever beat that black bitch,” he asserted, paused a moment and then spoke again: “Actually, I am thinking of having her mated with your Morinaga, Ali. He is about as good an example of the Japanese race as you could get and I think the offspring, hopefully twins or triplets, will give me a start on a whole new slave-breeding program.”
I shuddered as I thought of the beautiful Melanie forced to take the powerful young Japanese boy’s seed and then bear the ensuing foetuses to time. Would she be locked down as I now was and the handsome Japanese boy made to rape her? I guessed so.
Abdul then asked his friend what I was like as a sex partner. Masoud grinned. “For an infidel English slut, not bad at all, especially as she was a virgin before I took her cherry. She behaved just like a wanton slut, of course. These untrained Christians are nothing more than hussies who hide their impure thoughts behind a cloak of respectability. Nothing like our well-trained Muslim women.”
The doctor put in
his bit, too, reminding them that I was to be worked hard, very hard, right up to the time I was ready to drop the puppies ...
They continued on, discussing my breasts as to their shape, size and capacity to produce milk and, with another shock, I realised they were now going to milk me after my puppies had been taken away from me. From what I gathered that day, human milk is much favoured among rich Arabs.
But it seemed they actually had machines to extract the milk from those of us who were lactating! Can you imagine it? Girls being machine-milked so that those bastards could sip our offerings!
Now and then one of them, led by Masoud, would come up on to the stage and squat down to examine my pulsing clit and vagina at close quarters, wondering how many of the tiny eggs would affix themselves to my womb and begin to develop into puppies.
I just wanted the floor to open up and swallow me - even if it meant a descent into Hell. I really was that ashamed and humiliated by the events that now had me performing as a very real bitch.
Eventually, however, the two hours was up and the Vet came down to remove the tube and its dangling syringe from my vagina, then nodded to Tareef, who nodded back and took up his cane once more.
I screamed as I realised what he was going to do, wiggling my bottom from side to side to try and avoid the rigours I knew were about to descend on me once more.
“Look at the slut,” chortled Masoud to his father. “Doesn’t even realise her gyrations are going to help send the eggs down to her womb.” I was shocked. I was about to cease my actions when I realised that if I did he would know I could understand him and his friends. I didn’t want that. I didn’t know if it would be of use to me in the future but any weapon is a bonus in the circumstances I was now in.
