CHAPTER ONE

Crawling lethargically from her hot, stuffy kennel, Mary emerged into the fierce Californian afternoon sunlight and cowered instinctively as the sun's rays fell upon her back like the heat from a furnace. She had suffered agonies from sunburn in the first weeks of her captivity, but now the generous coating of dirt she'd acquired protected her fair skin from its worst effects. At the end of her chain she squatted to urinate, the liquid vanishing immediately into the parched, hard-packed soil. Drearily she looked around her at the familiar vista; the blank brick walls, broken only by the outlines of other, vacant kennels identical to hers, of the small yard she'd woken up in. She knew exactly where on her rambling old property she was; her house was no more than fifty yards away through the maze of barns and outbuildings which had been so useful as quarters for her canine guests. Her water dish was dry; her food dish empty except for the hard, dried crust of food around its edge on which the flies were perambulating, as they did upon the turds she'd deposited earlier that day. In a day or so the sun would dry them to a husk, then to a powder, and their constituents would form part of the dusty ground. Even the cramped and sticky heat of her kennel was preferable to this, and she padded slowly back inside to turn around and lie down, her head propped on her mitted hands, staring vacantly out into the glare of the sunlit yard. She found herself whimpering again; she had not expected it to be like this.

Only now was she beginning to realise that she'd always had reservations about the whole thing, but when Elizabeth, her long-sought for and newly acquired Mistress, had taken her up on her vaguely expressed desire to live and be treated like one of her own dogs for a whole month, and offered to install herself and her two live-in female slaves in Mary's large, remote farm-house for the duration, to look after her and her dogs and to conduct her affairs while she was temporarily out of action, the other woman's forceful personality had seemed to leave her no choice but to go through with it. And indeed, that first awakening from the sleeping draught administered to her by her Mistress had been delicious; to feel the collar around her neck and the weight of her chain, and to feel the warm, rough dirt under her naked skin. She had even gazed in delight at the thick leather mitts on her hands and savoured their animal-like helplessness.

But that now seemed a long time ago; surely the agreed month of her imprisonment must be nearly over? She had, at the beginning, made an attempt to keep some sort of record of the number of passing days, but the materials available to her were too limited, and her mitted hands too clumsy, and in the end she lost count completely. In this she was not aided by the sheer monotony of her new existence, where every day was exactly the same.

But surely the end was near, - and she cheered up a trifle when she recalled that her period hadn't started yet - when she would be able to stand upright, wear clothing, and above all to shower or bathe, for she was only too aware of her grimy, rank-smelling body and her long dirty hair, now matted where it fell around her shoulders with the food she couldn't prevent it dipping into when she ate from her bowl.

She dozed off, to wake to her ever-present hunger and thirst. The light had become grey and muted as one of the area's frequent thunder storms rolled in from the Pacific. She whimpered deep in her throat. As a human being she had enjoyed the spectacle of these late-afternoon Summer storms, seen from behind a large, reinforced plate-glass window in her air-conditioned living-room, a cold glass of Chardonnay in her hand and a delicious dinner cooking on the stove. Now, as an animal chained to a kennel, she saw them from a different perspective. True, she wouldn't be thirsty when it passed, for both her food and water bowls would be brimming, but the torrential rain would churn the surface of the patch of hard-packed earth her chain restricted her to into evil-smelling mud, and whenever she had to leave her kennel – and she would have to leave her kennel to empty her bowels and bladder - she would track it in and onto the thin layers of smelly old carpet she slept on.

The first loud crack of thunder from overhead made her cower in her kennel, as terrified as her own dogs would be at this very moment. The shocking glare of lightning pierced the gloom, and the rain hissed down, the heavy drops sending spurts of dust into the air until the ground became too wet to support them. The faint breeze, warm and humid until then, changed into a howling gale, driving sheets of rain down the length of the small yard, the spray from their passing soaking the bedding at the front of her kennel. The wind became cold, and the rain changed to hail as the centre of the storm passed over. Mary cowered deeper in her kennel as the hail hissed down to cover the surface of the yard in a thin mantle of white. Some of those hailstones were big and heavy, capable of rebounding from the ground and stinging her unprotected skin painfully as she'd found out though bitter experience.

The storm passed as suddenly as it begun; the hail abruptly stopped, and the mutter of the thunder retreated up the valley. The sun came out, but Mary resisted the temptation to slake her terrible thirst from the bowls the storm had left brimming with rain water. The ground was a mess of thin, smelly mud, but the sun was drying it rapidly; soon she would be able to go out and drink without getting the slimy stuff over her mitts, knees and feet.

The sounds of gurgling water draining from every surface ceased, the ground dried, and Mary scrambled out to her water bowl. Going down on her elbows, her forearms on the ground on either side of the bowl, she lowered her head and sucked and lapped noisily at the heavenly water, her dirty hair falling like a curtain around her head.

Raising her head at last, she shook it violently from side to side, scattering the excess water from her face and hair. The storm had cleared the air; the sun, though it shone as brightly as before, seemed to have lost its killing heat, and a cool breeze brought welcome relief to her sweaty body. The refreshing coolness made her restless; for some minutes she walked back and forth outside her kennel, her chain dragging along the ground behind her. Finally, with her arms and her knees shrieking for rest, she stopped and took up one the few positions she could now adopt without pain.

Her mind seemed unusually clear and she found herself remembering, with increasing uneasiness, the train of events which had led up to her present state.

It had all so seemed so easy at the time. She had been talking to Elizabeth on the Internet for a month, happy and excited to have found a Mistress at last, and longing to meet her. Her Mistress had been supportive and co-operative in discussing Mary's inmost fantasies, often suggesting exciting refinements of her own, and when Mary, after some hesitation, had mentioned her desire to live for a time like one of her own canine boarders, Elizabeth had offered to come over forthwith and make her fantasy into reality forthwith.

So far, so good; she thought. She'd half believed nothing would come of it, but Elizabeth, accompanied by two younger woman she'd casually introduced as her permanent live-in slaves, had driven up the very next morning in her huge SUV.

Events had followed a whirlwind course; in no time at all the details of Mary's ordeal had been settled, and the running of her business by her briskly efficient Mistress taken into her capable hands. Elizabeth had run Boarding Kennels of her own in the past, or so she'd said, and her confident manner had over-ridden any objections Mary may have had at the time. Acquainted in a remakably short time with all Mary's affairs, she had announced, in a manner that brooked no dissent, that she was ready to take charge that very moment, and that Mary should commence her month's 'holiday' as a dog that very afternoon.

It was as though she been hypnotized, thought Mary, carried along helplessly by the older woman's forcefulness and efficiency. Only six hours after their first meeting – their only meeting so far, she remembered now – Mary had woken up chained to the kennel where she'd been ever since. For the first time she wondered why Elizabeth had found it necessary to drug her at all; she could have been led on a leash to her temporary home, Had something been done to her which had necessitated her unconsciousness? She recalled awakening with a slight headache, which had soon abated, and with a slight soreness of the throat which passed in a day or so, but nothing else seemed to have changed. Unless, she thought, the restrictions on the bodily positions she could adopt, and the terrible pain which struck her if she tried to stand, or even to raise any part of her body more that about three feet from the ground. And it was the same pain which prevented her from moving any part of her body past an invisible line about twelve inches beyond the semi-circular limit of her six foot chain. For the first time she methodically explored in her mind the limits on her actions enforced by the pain which would punish her if she attempted to go beyond them. Apart from being unable to stand, or to extend any part of her body much beyond the end of her chain, her posture was limited to lying down, standing on all fours, and sitting with her legs folded under her with her buttocks resting on her heels and her hands on the ground in front of her knees to support her upper body. She had learned quickly that attempts to sit on her buttocks, or cross-legged, or in any manner adopted by human beings, brought instant, paralysing pain, and she wondered how this had been achieved. True, she vaguely remembered Elizabeth making some reference to restricting her possible postures to those of a dog, and of agreeing enthusiastically with her that this would lend authenticity to the experience. But how on Earth had Elizabeth done it?

The air was turning colder now as the sun set, and she crawled back into her kennel. Elizabeth wouldn't send a slave to water her that evening; she would guess the rain had filled her bowls. It would be tomorrow morning when Mary received the next visit from anyone at all, and that would be the slave sent to feed her. And what food! She'd expected to be fed the same stuff as the dogs, and so she had for the first few days. But then her daily meal had consisted of a thick, sour-smelling porridge, coarse, tasteless and gritty, along with uneaten scraps from their meals. She remembered her disgust and horror at the prospect of eating the smelly mess the first time the tall slave had slopped it into her feeding bowl from the battered plastic bucket she used to feed the dogs, but now she salivated at the thought of filling her belly. Hastily she wrenched her thoughts from the subject of food to the conduct of the only people she'd seen since her ordeal began – Elizabeth's two slaves who fed and watered her.

Two young women of about her own age, one short and dark, the other tall and thin, they had treated her with a casual brutality from the beginning. The very first time the short slave had come to her that first evening to water her, Mary had come out and greeted her in a playful fashion, jumping up at her as a dog might do. Her reward had been to be seized by her collar, her head forced down by the pressure of hard knuckles grinding into the back of her neck, and several unbelievingly painful blows from the short whip both slaves carried dangling from the leather belts they wore around the waists of their sleeveless russet dresses. Since then she'd given them both a wide berth, skulking fearfully in her kennel whenever they appeared with her food and water. And then there was the behaviour of the dogs, some of them old and regular residents well known to her, whenever they made of their rare appearances. After some initial confusion, they were beginning to regard her as an equal – if not an inferior – and she was frightened of them, tethered and defenceless against their powerful jaws and sharp teeth. Twice Bonny, in her human existence a favourite German Shepherd bitch of hers, docile and friendly, had interrupted her over her morning meal to examine the contents of her food bowl, poking her long muzzle into it and warning Mary off with a snarl and a show of long yellow teeth. Once the tall slave had arrived with her water bucket along with Duke – a young black Labrador – on a leash, and had let him lap from her bowl. Mary remembered her feeling of disgust as she been left to stare at the water the dog had left for her – but she had drunk it all the same.

She stirred restlessly on her thin, damp bedding; it was dark now and she could just make out the faint scattered glow from the house lights where Elizabeth was, no doubt enjoying a dinner cooked by her slaves. She was beginning to hate Elizabeth, suspecting that she actively enjoyed keeping her as a captive animal, dirty and stinking, outside in the darkness. Her thoughts returned to herself. She'd expected to be played with, and to be exercised, and experience all the activities she provided for her canine boarders, but instead she was kept chained up in this dreary place, a forgotten and neglected animal. How she wished her ordeal would end! Surely she MUST be released soon?

CHAPTER TWO

As one hot, lonely, monotonous day succeeded another, Mary became increasingly impatient and uneasy. She knew by now that the agreed upon month's confinement was long past, for her period had come and gone. One morning she made up her mind to speak for the first time, to accost the slave who would be coming to feed her, and to demand to see her Mistress. When the slave appeared, the food bucket swinging from her hand, Mary came out of her kennel, and, not without a tremor of fear, opened her mouth and spoke. Or that was what she'd intended, but the reality was somewhat different. She expected her voice, unused for so many days, to be rusty, but to her surprise and horror, try as she might in the short time the slave took to slop her food into her bowl, she could make no sound except a thin breathy whine which the slave, after giving her a brief dismissive glance, ignored as she strode away.

Mary sat for some moments before snuffling down her food; afterwards she lay in her kennel and experimented with her voice. To her dismay she succeeded only in producing only the whine she'd already uttered, though she could also whimper softly through her nose. Remembering the sore throat she'd had in the beginning – and Elizabeth's insistence on her being drugged into unconsciousness – a horrible suspicion dawned in her mind. Repeatedly she told herself that this just couldn't happen; repeatedly a tiny part of her mind told her pitilessly that it could; that there was no reason at all why she should not be kept like this indefinitely. Swiftly she scanned this horrifying possibility for any flaws, only to conclude that there were none. With few acquaintances locally, and no living relatives, no-one would even notice her disappearance, and with Elizabeth in complete control of her affairs, even down to her bank accounts and all her official documents, a pretence that she was living normally could be kept up, her customers and their dogs accommodated, her taxes and the local tradesmen paid, and so forth entirely as normal.

In a sudden panic she wrenched at her mitts with her teeth. With the use of her fingers she could free herself in seconds, but the tough leather remained unmarked. She threw herself against her chain in mounting fear and rage, over and over again until she was exhausted, her hot, sweaty collar still firmly around her throat, the muscles of her neck and shoulders aching and sore. Her whole body drooping in defeat she entered her stuffy kennel and lay down. For what seemed like hours she wept desolately until she sobbed herself to sleep.

For several days she existed in a state of apathy, moving from her kennel only to eat and drink, and to empty her bowels and bladder. Only the twice-daily visits from one or the other of Elizabeth's slaves broke her dreary routine – of her supplanter herself she saw nothing. On the occasional appearance of an unsecured dog she kept to her kennel; the animal would sniff at her bowls and sometimes lap at any water in them, otherwise they ignored her.

One day, after she'd been fed, both slaves returned to the yard. Glad of some relief from the endless boredom of her existence, she sat before her kennel to watch what they were about. The short, dark slave pushed before her a wheelbarrow from which they took an oblong steel frame of welded bars, a large hammer, and three long steel pegs, sharpened at one end. To Mary's concern they advanced upon her, and though she immediately scurried into her kennel she was dragged from it by her chain. The tall slave dragged her to one side and held her collar firmly while the short one hammered the steel spikes into the wall; two, one above the other, on one side of her kennel, the other spike on the other side at about half the kennel's height, before lifting the heavy steel frame and dropping the welded loops on one upright over the upturned lugs of the spikes on that side. She swung the barred door – for that was what it was – closed, and its simple latch engaged with the lug of the single spike on the kennel's other side.

Mary saw with horror what was only too likely to be her fate, but first there was another ordeal.

The tall slave released her iron grip on Mary's collar and stood back. Mary went to scuttle into her kennel, but the closed door defeated her, and she turned to confront the two slaves. The tall one sat upon the wheelbarrow, yawning delicately; the short one stood just beyond Mary's perimeter and took a long whip from her belt.

Mary crouched fearfully under the slave's dispassionate regard. Then: 'Princess! Here!' she heard the slave snap as she stabbed her finger down at the ground at her feet. Mary gazed at her in incomprehension and fear. The slave swung the whip, and its lash fell upon Mary's back. The pain was unbelievable, and the first blow was quickly followed by another. The short slave sharply repeated her command; sobbing with pain and terror, Mary scrambled over to her feet. 'Princess! Sit! came the curt order, and she obeyed, trembling with fear The slave walked a few feet around the perimeter Mary's chain confined her to, and repeated the command to come to her.

'Princess! Come!' 'Princess! Sit!' was repeated over and over again, her slightest hesitation or clumsiness punished with another agonizing blow from the whip. Finally the short slave lowered her whip. Mary cowered to one side as she came forward and swung open the newly fitted barred door to her kennel, and when the command 'Princess! Kennel!' was given she scrambled into it thankfully, with a painful farewell blow from the whip to speed her progress.

The slaves wheeled their barrow away, leaving Mary sobbing in terror and exhaustion in her kennel. The whip had raised painful weals on her back, buttocks and thighs, and some – the most painful of all - had curled around her trunk to land on her ribs. But in spite of her pain she dozed off eventually.

The pressure in her bladder woke her around mid-day, judging by the shadows in the yard. She rose to all-fours, wincing at the returning aches and pains in her back. She went to crawl forth into the noontide glare, only to be stopped at once as her head collided with the hard steel bars of her kennel door. For several seconds she pushed against the door hopelessly before turning her attention to the simple latch when held it closed. A small child, even an ape, could have released herself in seconds, but, as she soon discovered, the clumsy paws her hands had become were useless. She whimpered at the pain in her bladder. Finally, inevitably, she squatted and urinated onto her thin bedding before lying down apathetically on the warm dampness. Not long afterwards the tall slave came into the yard. Her whip in her hand, she opened the door of Mary's kennel and summoned her forth to repeat the events of the morning before shutting her up again. The short slave came in the early evening to water her as usual, but first she put Mary through what was becomimg a familiarly painful routine of commands and blows from her whip. Finally she let her drink before whipping her into her kennel and shutting her up for the night.

CHAPTER THREE

The next few weeks were a nightmare for Mary, allowed out of the cramped cage that her kennel had become only to eat and drink and to be lashed through an increasingly complicated series of commands, each of which had to be obeyed instantly and without hesitation. 'Here!' 'Sit!' 'Lie down!' 'Stand!' (on all-fours) 'Kennel!' 'Here!' 'Sit!' over and over again. Worst of all were the words 'Bad dog!' always followed by a severe beating from the short, flexible riding crops they carried. Sometimes both slaves trained her at once, one on each side of her kennel, alternating their commands until her arms buckled under the weight of her upper body until she could scarcely crawl, sobbing in pain and terror, between the two of them. With growing horror she realised the purpose of all this. They were taming her like an animal; they would not be content until they were convinced that fear and pain had engrained the habit of obedience so deeply in her brain that defiance was unthinkable.

Meanwhile conditions in her kennel had become indescribingly filthy. Although she tried to time the elimination of her bodily wastes to coincide with the short periods when she was allowed out of her kennel, she was seldom successful, and even the slaves grimaced in disgust at her smell and the filth on her body.

But, to her surprise, she began to pride herself on the speed and accuracy with which she obeyed the endless series of commands she was given, and sometimes she even completed a session without punishment. And she was beginning to actively enjoy the sessions now that she was confident of her ability to obey; besides, they provided a welcome break from the monotony of her filthy kennel.

It was late Summer verging on early Autumn when she saw Elizabeth for the first time since she'd been confined. Lying in her kennel one morning after she'd been fed, idly watching the flies clustering about her food bowl and the turds she had deposited by it while she ate, she became aware of the entrance of the slaves, the tall one carrying a folding canvas chair which erected in the shade a few feet from Mary's kennel. The short slave took up her usual stance, her whip ready in her hand. They seemed to be waiting for something or someone, and to Mary's astonishment Elizabeth herself strolled across the yard and seated herself in the canvas chair. Mary had no time for her then, for her kennel door was swung back and she heard the usual 'Princess! Here! Sit!' from the short slave. Once again she was put through her exhausting routine; on this occasion so faultlessly that she incurred only the usual encouraging flicks from the slave's whip. Finally ordered to 'Sit!' 'Stay!' she was able to see her Mistress rise and walk to within a yard or so of her.

Holding a delicate scented handkerchief to her nose the older woman stared down at her. Mary looked up at her Mistress through the filthy curtain of hair which fell over her eyes. An impossibly elegant figure, cool and composed in her thin flowery dress, seamless stockings and chic cream leather shoes, Mary was only too aware of the differences between the graceful woman standing before her and the dirty, smelly beast that was herself, collared and chained at her feet among her own ordure.

Elizabeth uttered a soft command to the short slave, who took something from a pocket on the front of her and tossed it carelessly within Mary's reach. Then they left her, all three of them, their Mistress in the lead.

Mary looked after them for some time, vaguely puzzled by something she couldn't quite grasp. Then she realised that, for the first time for weeks, she hadn't been shut up in her cramped kennel immediately her training session had finished. Delighted with her freedom, she walked up and down the full twelve feet her chain allowed her, automatically turning just before her chain checked her at each end of her walk. The muscles of her arms and shoulders had become so much stronger and more developed from her being kept on all-fours for so long that she was able to walk back and forth for quite some time before feeling in the least tired, and it was only when she knocked aside with one knee the object the slave had thrown to her that she remembered its existence. She stopped to peer down at it, recognising it at once as a common reward for dogs – a pale bone-shaped toy made of hard, compressed cereal. Lowering her head, she took it up experimentally into her mouth. Its faint saltiness burst upon her sensation-starved taste buds like a bombshell, and she lay down and began to lick and chew on it with gusto. It would last her a long time, she thought with pleasure, her short, blunt teeth would make no impression on it, and would be days, perhaps weeks, before she licked and nibbled it out of existence.

There followed a marked improvement in her treatment and in the conditions in which she was kept. She wasn't shut up until nightfall that day, and the very next morning, after a training session in which she performed faultlessly, she was ordered to 'Lie down! 'Stay!' away from her kennel while the tall slave, her long nose wrinkled in disgust, removed the sodden, stinking scraps of old carpet and replaced them with a thick absorbent pad which Mary recognised as the kennel bedding she'd used for her dogs. It wasn't new, being both stained and smelling strongly of dog, but it was a vast improvement on her previous bedding. One day shortly afterwards the tall slave marched up to her bearing in her hand not her usual whip, but a short, thick, leather leash. Commanding Mary to 'Sit!' she clipped it to her collar. Then she loosed the chain and led Mary off across the yard. Mary was stunned by the immensity of the yard after so many months confined in such a tiny space as her chain confined her to, and she padded obediently along by the slave's knee, occasionally feeling the brush of the hem of her dress upon her back and flank. The tall slave led her up and down, round and round for an hour before chaining her to her kennel; that evening, after she'd been watered, the short slave repeated the process. Tired and happy, Mary lay down on the warm, comfortable pad in her kennel and fell into a deep and contented sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

These excursions continued for several days on leashes of increasing length. So delighted was Mary to be free of her hated chain that she gave them no excuse to tether her again prematurely, instead she obeyed instantly the slightest tug on her collar, and when she was taught to come to heel she understood and complied so readily that she was rewarded with another of the cereal dog bones.

Then, at last, came the great day when she was led from the yard for the first time. The short slave, using the short leash, led her into the much larger neighbouring yard flanked by the barred dog runs she'd constructed for her paying guests. She was halted to enable her handler to chat to her taller colleague who held two matched Boxer dogs on long chain leashes. All three 'animals' were ignored by their handlers as the dogs sniffed Mary thoroughly all over. She stood passively as they poked their cold, damp noses into all the crevices of her body, and she was becoming alarmed by the obvious interest in her vagina that was being shown by one of the dogs in particular when the tall slave, noticing the antics of her charge, pulled him brutally back and brought down her crop on his haunches before leading both of them away.

Mary was led on. Her memories of what had once been her own property were quite fresh, and she soon recognised that their destination was the small paved area at the foot of the patio overlooking the garden. She was right. Her handler led her through the gate and ordered her to sit. Elizabeth sat on the patio in a wicker chair, sipping tea and reading a book in the warm Winter sunlight. She lifted her eyes from her book and regarded her slave and her charge lazily. For the first time since the fateful day of their first meeting Mary heard her Mistress speak.

'Is the bitch thoroughly trained, Eva?' she enquired.

'Yes, Mistress!' the slave replied respectfully.

Elizabeth turned dispassionate eyes on Mary, siiting obediently by her slave's knee.

'Clean it up,' she said, 'and put it in one of the runs for now. It must have more exercise.'

'Yes, Mistress, ' the slave said softly.

Elizabeth returned her eyes to her book in dismissal. Eva led Mary away and tethered her on a short chain over a drain. First she cropped her hair level with her ears, leaving a fringe over her forehead to protect her eyes against flies. After sweeping up the matted tresses, she began to wash Mary down with warm, soapy water. Excited by the prospect of being clean again, Mary co-operated eagerly, spreading her legs to enable Eva to wash between her thighs, and changing her position willingly at the slave's urging. Over and over she was washed down until the water ran clean and clear from her body and Eva was satisfied. Then she was dried off with coarse sacking and led back into the main yard where she was ushered into one the vacant runs and the short running chain linked to her collar. The door was closed and barred on her, and she was left alone to study her new surroundings.

There was little to surprise her, for she had designed them herself. Fifty feet long and six feet wide, the run was one of a dozen such, side by side. The lower three feet of each barred partition and door was protected by thick steel mesh to prevent inmates from snapping at each other through the separating bars. Each run had a sturdy wooden kennel at its far end, each shared a feeding and watering trough with its neighbour, and each had a steel pole welded low down along one side with a chain four feet long which slid along it on a large steel ring. The run Mary had been put in hadn't been cleaned out for her occupation, and several old dog-turds littered its surface; but compared with her old accommodation it was heaven. But the excitement of the day had tired her and, after lapping water from the shared trough separated from the neighbouring run by the bars, she padded down the run to her new kennel, her chain rattling along its pole beside her.

CHAPTER FIVE

Over the next few days, her morale improved by cleanliness, exercise and the diversions now available to her in watching the activities in the yard, she became less passive, and her mental processes, in virtual hibernation for weeks, came back to normal. The prospect of escape began to occupy her mind. If she could succeed in persuading Elizabeth that she was thoroughly tame and resigned to her condition, she might be occasionally taken out of her pen for a walk. True, she'd be kept leashed at first, but she hoped to convey the completeness of her training by being let off the leash and returning on command. She would become trusted to return from greater and greater distances, until, one day, she would make a break for it. With this in mind, she set out to win the trust of her captors by behaving as much like a docile and obedient dog as she could.

For a few weeks she was taken from her run only for her weekly wash down; unlike the other dogs – as she was beginning to mentally refer to them – she alone was left in her run when they were walked in shifts by the slaves. She took to sittting by the door to her pen whimpering pathetically whenever the dogs on either side were taken out for exercise, and in the end her patience was rewarded.

At first she was taken out for short walks alone by her Mistress in the hour before dinner. She'd be led to the paddock and walked up and down on the smooth turf kept short by the sheep occasionally stationed there. Sometimes Elizabeth would sit and play with her, ruffling her hair with a gloved hand, and saying 'You're a GOOD bitch, aren't you, Princess?' at which Mary would nuzzle her hands and feet, or flop over onto her back, her legs in the air in submission, waiting for her belly to be scratched. So determined was she to be taken for an ordinary dog that no abasement, no indignity was too much to bear. She took to behaving as a bitch whenever she was in proximity to her kennel-mates, steeling herself to sniff at their crotches and lick their muzzles, and enduring the same attentions from them in return with every appearance of pleasure. Once she met again that same Boxer who had shown such an interest in her before. He was no less interested than previously in her genitals, and she went as far as to lower her head and project her haunches upwards at him in obvious invitation, confident that his handler wouldn't allow him to mount her as he so obviously intended.

(For some time afterwards she was aware of oddly ambivalent feelings about this episode. On the one hand she recoiled in shame and horror at the prospect of being violated by a dog; on the other she felt a secret regret that he had not been allowed to mount her. She was, after all, a healthy young female animal with a high sexual appetite; in happier days she'd had many affairs, though always conducted discreetly in locations far from her own patch).

This state of affairs continued as Winter gave way to Spring. Mary learnt to come to heel on command, and obeyed so consistently and promptly that soon she was often taken from her run and walked unleashed for her exercise. Her plan was another step nearer to success. But first there was a distressing interlude.

Spring is traditionally a time when the sap rises, and sexual activity among animals increases. Mary was no exception, and she took to wriggling her raised buttocks only half in play before the eyes of any of the dogs who expressed an interest in her, however slight. Of course she had no intention of allowing any further developements, but in view of this activity what happened next was entirely her own fault. Eva took her from her run one afternoon and led her into a barn where she tethered her on a short chain in one of the sheep pens before leaving her alone. Mary wondered what all this was about; she was chained in a corner of the pen, her head held down by the shortness of her chain, unable to look behind her. Eva returned to thrust a long steel pole transversely under her belly and clamp it to the horizontal metal rails on either side of her. She departed again, and this time Mary was left for quite a long period. Her position was uncomfortable, unable to move more than a few inches forward or back, and with the steel bar under her belly preventing her from lowering her haunches. Eva returned at last but only to put down on the floor just outside the bars in Mary's view the object she had brought with her before departing yet again.

Mary examined the gadget on the floor, amusing herself by trying to work out its purpose.It was a simple enough contraption consisting of a single steel bar about seventeen inches long with a padded piece of 'C' shaped metal welded to each end, facing outwards. The bar was hinged in the centre, and the two halves of the thing were folded together.

Her thought were interrupted by the characteristic sound of her Mistress's stylish leather shoes on the rough concrete of the floor. She became aware of Elizabeth's presence and her subtle fragrance, and she felt her long, delicate, gloved hand ruffle her hair.

One of the slaves entered the pen and stooped behind her. She felt the padded steel of one of the 'C' shaped extremities on the flesh of her lower thigh just above her left knee, then the pressure of its mate in the same position on her right. The slave rose. Placing a foot above the hinge in the steel rod, she pressed down and locked it in place, forcing Mary's knees and thighs wide apart.

Then she heard the clicking of claws on concrete, and heard her Mistress say 'That one first, I think!' The gate of the pen clicked open behind her, then clicked shut. For several seconds there was silence broken only by the rustling of straw as something moved about the pen. Then she felt the soft warmth of a dog's breath against her flank. A cold nose probed her genitals and a warm, wet tongue licked her cleft. The dog 's breathing became heavier. She was aware of the sudden descent of a tanned arm and of something warm and greasy being applied to her vagina. The arm was swiftly withdrawn, the dog sniffed at her vagina and gave an excited little yelp, then she felt its broad front paws scrabbling on her back. Its weight forced a grunt of surprise from her as it pressed down on her shoulders, then she felt the sudden splitting pain of its entry. She found herself panting in sequence with the dog as it drove into her, and she felt the continual jolts of its shaggy thighs against the backs of hers as it pumped its seed into her in a series of hot ejaculations. Finally it subsided, panting like a steam engine, its front legs dangling over her shoulders in exhaustion, its hairy body heavy on her trembling back. It was allowed to lie there for a short time before being dragged off by its collar, and she heard it being led away. Feet rustled though the straw behind her and she felt hard plastic-gloved fingers explore her vagina. Then it began again. This time the dog was smaller and less shaggy, and it possibly enjoyed foreplay more than its forerunner, for it spent some time licking her face and breasts before turning its attention to her genitals. But the final result was the same, though less painful, and when the dog was finally removed Elizabeth stayed for a few words with Eva before departing.

The dazed Mary was led back to her run. Once chained to the steel pole and the door to her run barred behind her, she walked slowly, her thighs still spread to ease the soreness in her vagina, to her kennel where she collapsed in exhaustion upon her smelly bedding.

CHAPTER SIX

There she lay for a long time, unable to come to terms with what she undergone. Finally, in the early evening, thirst drove her from her kennel. She padded up her run to the trough as fast as she could, in order that the dog she shared it with wouldn't take all the water that Eva had just splashed into it, ignoring the soreness between her thighs and the pain of the stiffening flesh around the gouges her sexual partners had made on her back with their blunt claws. Her Mistress was standing at the end of her run, immaculate in cool white linen. But Mary could spare her only a glance before she lowered her head into the trough and sucked and lapped away in competition with the large Labrador bitch in the neighbouring run. But she heard her Mistress's words to the tall slave at her side, although she didn't gather the full meaning of them until much later that evening as she lay sleepless in her kennel.

''That bitch seems none the worse for mating, Belle,'' Elizabeth remarked lightly.

''She will be sore for some days, Mistress,'' replied her tall slave.

"No matter!'' came the languid reply. ''I shall have it mated every month from now. See to it that suitable dogs are provided. And see that their claws are closely clipped; I will not see it injured again in that way.'' (Here she obviously must have indicated Mary's lacerated back, for she went on). ''See that its back is cared for; I will not have it infected. A great pity that those sexual unions I allow it must remain fruitless,'' she mused, half to herself, ''but just maybe....?''

Her voice trailed off and she left them, her tall slave, Belle, following shortly after.

The bitch in the next run sniffed excitedly at the mesh dividing their runs. Perhaps she caught the scent of the dog semen drying on my thighs, thought Mary drowsily. Even after several hours she could feel the slimy stickiness high up between her legs as she limped up the run to her kennel in the darkening light.

Waking later that night, she crawled out into the moonlight to relieve her bladder, wincing at the aches and pains of her abused body. Too mentally restless to sleep, she lay down on the hard ground outside her kennel and gathered her thoughts.

Hatred of Elizabeth boiled in her veins. She writhed in shame and humiliation at the memory of her standing, so cool and elegant, looking on as she, Mary, was mated like a beast in a concrete pen. She recoiled in disgust as she recalled the feeling of the dogs' hot sperm being thrust deep within her, and of her own excited panting as the dogs took her. And that was a problem, she decided dispassionately; like it or not, there had been some parts of the experience she'd actively enjoyed. Clinically she dissected her feelings about the experience, discarding any vestiges of shame and guilt. She HAD enjoyed it, she thought, and from Elizabeth's last words she could expect it to be repeated at monthly intervals. On the plus side she had gone a long way in convincing her captors of her docility, and she could go still further. She could, once her body had healed, continue to shamelessly sexually tease any dog she came across. Only she would know she was simulating desire. This conduct, she thought, would reinforce the impression of acceptance and resignation she wished to convey. Meanwhile her Mistress had been good enough to order the scratches on her back treated. She pondered Elizabeth's remark about the regrettable fruitlessness of her impregnation by the dogs for a moment before dismissing it. She and the dogs were of different species; it would be impossible for them to beget offspring on her.

She turned her thoughts to her long-term project of escape, and dreamt pleasureably of what she'd do to her tormentor once the tables had been turned on her.

She was kept penned for a week while her body healed. Every morning Belle or Eva would rub soothing ointment into her back, and she was fully recovered when she was taken out for the first time to be washed down and sprayed with the deodorant used on the dogs before they were returned to their owners. Clean and relatively odourless for once, she was led to the foot of the patio and her leash handed to Elizabeth herself. She was clothed with her usual extravagant elegance, and she carried a parasol in her white-gloved hand to ward off the sun as she led Mary off into the garden. Mary padded along meekly at Elizabeth's side, occasionally catching a faint hint of her fragrance as they progressed though the shady paths. Then, as luck would have, Mary became aware of a familiar sensation in her colon. Nothing could be better, she thought with mounting excitement; this would go a long way towards establishing her credentials as the dog they imagined they'd transformed her into.

First she checked on her leash, causing her Mistress to stop and frown down at her.

'Whatever's the matter, Princess?' she heard her say irritably.

For answer Mary adopted a squatting position, making her intentions clear.

'Oh dear!' she heard Elizabeth sigh before tugging on Mary's leash and leading her off a few feet to a patch of bare soil. There Mary squatted and opened her bowls noisily, even remembering to try to turn around and sniff at her deposit before she was dragged away. Elizabeth increased their pace. Mary grinned to herself, imagining the older woman's lips compressed in a grim line of annoyance and embarrassment at the actions of her dog, the more so because the wretched bitch couldn't fairly be punished for succumbing to a natural function.

In the paddock Mary was unleashed to run around on the grass while Elizabeth promenaded the perimeter, her parasol elegantly held above her head and shoulders until Eva came out to spread a cover over the seat of the rustic bench which had been provided for her Mistress's comfort in a shady corner. There she sat, reading a book she'd brought in her fashionable reticule, and delicately sipping the iced tea her slave had brought.

Mary was enjoying her temporary freedom. She could move astonishingly fast and nimbly on all-fours after months of practice, and she had learnt to straighten her long 'hindlegs' and run on the balls of her feet and the tips of her mitts. Of course her forward vision was severely limited in this stance, and for a moment she wished her arms were longer or her legs shorter before sternly dismissing the notion. She would not be a four-legged animal for ever!

The faint sound from the silver whistle her Mistress had taken to wearing as a pendant reached her ears. She turned immediately at the summons and ran back as fast as she could into the scented shade where her Mistress sat. Panting, she lay at her feet. At a signal from Elizabeth, Belle clipped her leash to her collar and tied her to a leg of the bench downwind of her Mistress. She had brought out a plastic dog bowl full of water, and she set it down on the grass before the grateful Mary. Remembering to nuzzle the slave's hand in thanks before drinking, she lapped away noisily under her Mistress's amused gaze.

Aftewards she lay down, and was about to doze off when the arrival of Eve bearing more iced tea and a plate of thinly-cut cucumber sandwiches aroused her. Mary came alertly into a sitting position, her eyes on her Mistress as Elizabeth ate, occasionally giving a sigh of resignation as she sliced off the crusts which Eva, as usual, had forgotten to do.

Almost without thinking Mary padded to the end of her tether where she folded her legs beneath her. Then, balancing on the balls of her feet, she raised her upper body. Her arms crooked at the elbow, her mitted hands dangling from her wrists in front of her breasts, she stared up at her Mistress and whined beseechingly.

Elizabeth stared down at her in surprise.

'Oh!' she exclaimed in delight. 'She's begging! What a clever little dog you are, Princess!'

She took from her plate a sandwich crust and fastidiously extended it in her gloved fingers. Mary took it neatly between her lips, careful not to let them touch the pristine material of her Mistress's gossamer-soft silk gloves, and swallowed the morsel in a gulp. It was only a scrap of buttered bread with the faintest tang of tarragon vinegar from the cucumber, but to her it tasted heavenly, and it was with real enthusiasm that she begged again and again until Elizabeth, smiling indulgently, threw her the whole of the last remaining sandwich. Despite her attempt to snatch in her jaws as it flew past her head she failed. Turning with alacrity, she went down on her elbows and took the fragments it had split up into on landing into her mouth directly from the ground. She was well aware of the impression that she was presenting to Elizabeth, her head down as she snuffled up the scraps she'd been thrown, her rump thrust indelicately high into the air – the very image of an animal gobbling up its food from the ground – and she was glad of it.

When she turned and resumed her begging position Elizabeth laughingly showed her the empty plate.

'All gone, Princess!' Elizabeth told her with a smile, and Mary fell back to all-fours with a whimper of disappointment.

Her Mistress rose, untied the leash from where it had been secured, and led Mary slowly from the the paddock and into the main yard. There Mary took advantage of another opportunity to reinforce the impression she wish to convey. With an excited whine, she darted off to thrust her nose into the crotch of an unsuspecting spaniel lying tethered to the fence. Elizabeth was obliged to drag her off by her collar. 'Bad dog!' she was told, and she cowered instinctively in terror. But the voice of her Mistress had been soft and indulgent, and the expected whipping was witheld.

Elizabeth herself took her to her run, and with her own hands clipped the running chain to her collar before ruffling her hair in farewell and barring the run door on her. Mary lay down where she was, separated from the neighbouring bitch by the steel mesh, and waited for Eva or Belle to bring them water.

Mary was pleased with herself. Her display of acting during her latest excursion had been exemplary. Methodically she enumerated her successes. One: like a dog, she had shamelessly emptied her bowels at the end of a leash, then turned to sniff at them and been dragged away by her disgusted Mistress. Two: like a dog,she had begged for scraps from her Mistress's plate. Three, like a dog, she had shown herself unable to control her sexual urges. A very good day's work, she thought complacently, resolving to keep up the good fight at every available opportunity.

CHAPTER SEVEN

There was more. While allowed to run loose in the paddock, she'd been able to investigate the possibilities of escape from it. She'd obviously be unable to open the gate, and the gaps between the wooden rails of the fence surrounding it were too narrow for her to get through them, but she'd been able to find a place where she could wriggle under the fence. Her goal was within reach; with growing excitement she began to list the ideal conditions for her escape, and the measures she would take immediately after her initial move.

The best time would be in the evening, she thought, to give her the cover of darkness as soon as possible. And it must be her Mistress in charge of her at the time. Elizabeth would never run across the field in her absurdly fashionable shoes after her, nor would she fling her pampered body into the scrub in search of her. With relish she imagined Elizabeth's anger and growing fear. She knew her own property much better than did her captors, and once she was in the trackless scrub that stretched for miles around she would be undetectable, and she knew every dry stream bed and the directions in which they ran. They would believe that she would make for the track that joined the county road three miles away, thinking it the only exit from her property, but Mary knew of another. Once on the county road she would have ten miles to walk to her nearest neighbours, taking cover along the way if necessary, unless some rare motorist could be persuaded to stop and pick her up - and somehow she imagined that the spectacle of a collared and naked woman crawling on all-fours along the highway would excite the curiosity of the most phlegmatic driver! The best thing her captors could do if - when! - she escaped was to leave before the police came for them, she thought with a smile. Patiently she awaited her opportunity.

She was mated again. This time she was not tethered helplessly at the dog's mercy, instead her Mistress, absurdly clad in a top designer's ludicrous version of working clothing – a delicate pink denim bib and brace coverall over a pink silk shirt, with pink bootees on her slender feet – held her on a leash in the sheep pen when her sexual partner to be, a large black Labrador, was led in and held leashed by Belle. This time the dog wore leather mitts over its front paws and Mary entered into the spirit of the occasion energetically, sniffing the eager animal's genitals, and teasing it unmercifully by crouching before him in blatent sexual invitation while he strained at his leash to get to mount her.

But in the end, as she known – and even guiltily looked forward to – her leash was shortened and the dog was allowed to mount her. Once again she bore the weight of his body as he pumped his semen into her; once again the beast's exhausted panting stirred her hair as he lay, spent, on her back before being dragged off by his handler. She herself was loosed from her leash and left in the sheep pen. Water was sloshed into its trough, and she was left alone.

She felt much less discomfort than before; maybe the dog's member had been smaller, or – and she shuddered at the thought – her own vagina had become used to a dog's organ. And the mitts on his forefeet had helped too. To her horror she found herself dwelling pleasureably on her recent mating, and killed her thoughts on the instant. She would NOT become used to being a female animal!

She was left in the pen all night, and fed in it in the morning. But for some reason she wasn't let out later as she'd expected. Nor was she released the day after nor the day after that. At first she enjoyed the novelty and comfort of her new surroundings.

Its 250 square feet provided enough space for her to exercise in, and the thick straw on the floor was much more comfortable to lie on than the thin dog sleeping pad she was used to. The barn was warm at nights and cool in the daytime when a refreshing air current blew though it when the doors at each end were opened. And there was the added bonus of not being on a chain too. But she couldn't get out – she was as helpless as any four-footed beast in a stall. Her clumsy 'paws' wouldn't allow her to operate the simple latch on its gate, nor could she get through the gaps between the horizontal steel bars of its side.

As the weeks passed she continued with her campaign of convincing them of her harmlessness. Whenever one of the slaves, or Elizabeth herself, came near her pen she would run to them to be petted, making little whimpering noises; and if a slave led a dog past her pen she'd make blatent sexual advances to it. So successful was she that her next mating was conducted with both she and the dog completely free in her pen. Elizabeth and Eva leaned on the fence and watched as she teased the dog, making it chase her around the pen, and continually plumping down on her buttocks to frustrate it. When she finally took pity on it and allowed it to mount her she co-operated enthusiastically, thrusting her upraised haunches back against its pumping thighs. Afterwards she trotted over to the exhausted animal and nuzzled it affectionately, even going so far as to lick its sticky genitals.

When the dog had been led away and she was alone, she lay sated on the straw enjoying her feeling of pleasurable tiredness. If that didn't convince them, she thought, nothing will! But deep down a tiny past of her mind worried about how normal she was beginning to find this experience; how she was even now anticipating the prospect of being mated again. Was it possible that her deliberate impersonation was becoming real? Would she miss having sex with dogs when she finally escaped?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Some days later she was introduced to a new acquaintance. Elizabeth entered the barn one after noon, impeccably attired as usual in one of her chic, expensive, impossibly feminine outfits, bringing with her a tall, angular woman of her own age clad in sensible tweeds and thick brown brogues. Mary was at the bars, having her head scratched by Elizabeth's gloved fingers – and thinking guiltily about how much she was coming to enjoy being petted like this – when she half-heard a conversation which, although it didn't register at the time, was to have a significant effect on her future.

The tall woman spoke in a gruff voice with a clipped British accent, using short, broken sentences. Leaning over the fence she said, ''This the bitch?' she enquired brusquely. ''How many bitches like Princess did you think I owned, Samantha?'' Elizabeth replied with her typical silvery laugh.

The other woman snorted. With a decisive movement, she swung back the gate of Mary's pen and marched briskly in. Mary cowered instinctively from this formidable woman. She, for her part, looked around her in disgust.

''You should clean this pen out more often, Lizzie!'' she barked at her friend. ''An' clean your dam' bitch up too! I can smell the thing from here!''

Before Mary could fully savour the pained look on her Mistress's face at being addressed as 'Lizzie', her tall friend competently snapped onto her hands a pair of thin plastic gloves and addressed her brusquely.

''Here, girl!'' she ordered, and Mary came obediently to her large feet.

Samantha stooped over her and began to run her large, capable hands all over Mary's body. She stood quite passively as the hard, gloved fingers squeezed her breasts, palpated her stomach and groin and parted the cheeks of her buttocks to probe within. Samantha ended by ruffling Mary's mop of hair roughly before marching out of her pen as briskly as she'd arrived.

The women moved a few feet off to converse, allowing Mary to hear only fragments of their talk; the gruff voice and the silvery alto in conterpoint.

''... Healthy enough little thing ... so you ... suit my purpose? ... course ...whenever ready ... about a week ... fertilise ... my lab ... check them ... plant 'em ... about ... Wednesday ...first signs ... three weeks ... usual symptoms ...''

The two women moved out of earshot all together, leaving Mary to ponder their Delphic conversation. She dismissed it from her mind quite quickly; no matter what its import there nothing she could do about it.

The long days passed without further incident. Mary persisted in her animal-like behaviour in order to lull her captors into a false sense of security, but to no immediate avail. Her spirits sank; surely Elizabeth didn't intend to keep her in this pen forever?

Something new happened at last; one morning Eva entered her pen, clipped a leash to her collar, and led the more than willing Mary out to be bathed.

Afterwards she was led to the foot of the patio where Eva sat upon the lowest step and ordered Mary sharply to 'Lie down, Princess!'

Mary lay quite comfortably on the hard, warm flagstones, enjoying the fresh scents of her - of Elizabeth's! - garden, and nuzzling the slave's foot in gratitude, and for the faintly salty taste of her skin.

The clipped voice of the angular woman rang out clearly from above. ''Bring her up!'' it ordered. Eva rose and tugged on Mary's leash. Mary followed her obediently, up the steps, and over the sun-warmed wooden floor of the patio, then into the house itself, for the first time she had woken up chained to her kennel so many months ago. She recognised her surroundings immediately; she was in her own living room, still tastefully furnished as she had left it, and she marvelled at the softness of the thick carpet under her knees, which had known only hard earth, concrete, stone and turf for so long.

Meekly she padded by Eva's side across the living room and into the large and sunny kitchen. The large wooden table she remembered was still there, and also present were Belle and Samantha, while Eliazabeth herself, perfectly coiffed and attired as usual, leant elegantly against the frame of the door leading further in to the house. She sensed Samantha looming over her as she was led towards the table, and quailed as the tall woman stooped over her. A long arm fell swiftly, and a plastic-gloved hand slapped her painfully on the rump, making her utter a startled yelp; the pain of its landing temporarily disguising the sharper pain of the hypodermic needle penetrating her skin. Even as she recognised the prick of the needle for what it was, the effects of the drug made themselves apparent. Her muscles seemed to turn to water, though she still stood easily on all-fours, and her mind seemed to disengage itself from her body, floating above her, singing in senseless happiness.

She felt two pairs of strong arms lift her up, anfd then the scrubbed wood of the kitchen table under her as she was gently deposited on it. Elizabeth was summoned to hold her collar while the two slaves gently spread her knees apart. She felt the brush of Samantha's coat-sleeves against the flesh of her upper thighs and the slick plastic of the fingers of the woman's surgical gloves in her vagina, then the hard cool touch of steel amid the clink of metal instruments being picked up and replaced in a tray. Vaguely she heard Samantha talking, her words disjointed and indistinct.

''Eight – maybe four viable – feed two – pick best – other - 'ating bitch?''

Then she was lifted down and led back to her pen where she fell instantly into a deep and refreshing sleep.

She stayed penned for many days, and she'd almost given up hope of things ever changing, when one morning the last vist was repeated.

Once again she was carefully bathed; once again she was led into the kitchen, drugged, and lifted unresistingly on to the table. Then, as before, she stood passively, lost in the vague euphoria conveyed by the drug, as Samantha probed at her genitals.

Again she idly picked up fragments of her conversation with Elizabeth.

''Taken...developing..... exercise...early weeks...food and water...about two months...call me when...delivery problems...''

CHAPTER NINE

Back in her familiar pen, she slept as long and deeply as before, waking in the late afternoon to find that she had been given food and water while she was asleep. After eating and drinking her fill, she was debating whether to go for a walk round and round her pen to work off her unusual restlessness when her dilemma was settled by the appearnce of Belle to take her to the patio where the end of her leash was handed to her Mistress. Just as once before, she was led through the scented garden and into the paddock where Elizabeth removed her leas. With an excited yelp of gratitude and joy, Mary ran off into the seemingly limitless expanse of the small paddock, leaving her Mistress to walk languidly to her saded seat and take out a book.

Mary ran round and round for some time; then she rolled over and over in the sweet-smelling grass, delighting in its coolness against her skin, so used by now to the coarse prickliness of her straw. Panting, she sat up and raised her right 'foreleg' to lick her forearm.

She turned her head to see the departing back of a slave, going back to the house after having brought her Mistress a jug of iced tea. Unbidden, the thought came to her mind that her hour had come at last. Stealthily, she padded off to where the gap under the paddock fence had been the last time she'd had to opportunity to look.

It was still there! She turned to search for her captors. Both slaves were out of sight; only Elizabeth, seated far away on the other side of the field, engrossed in her book, was visible. Mary hesitated, steeling herself. This opportunity might not occur for some months. Conditions were ideal; her Mistress two hundred yards away; her slaves even further – Mary could be under the fence and into the sceening shrubs in seconds; in minutes she would be unfindable. And she had a full belly too! The chance was too good to miss; after a final glance at Elizabeth, she scuffed away the undergrowth and debris with her front paws and wriggled under the fence. Seconds later she was out of sight in the dense scrub.

Scrambling on all-fours through the low, brittle scrub, Mary grinned to herself, imagining the hated Elizabeth's fury and panic at her escape. Who knew? She might even be obliged to get her her hands and clothing dirty, helping her slaves to pack up and leave – much the best thing they could do now. She chucked vengefully at the thought of Elizabeth's pampered and expensively scented body dripping with sweat and panting with exertion as she made her way steadily North-West, away from the main track to the county road her captors would soon be anxiously patrolling, and towards the old and forgotten one she alone knew about.

Half an hour later she was forced to stop in order to defecate. As she did so, she swore that this would be the last time she'd have to squat and open her bowels in full view like an animal. When she found outside help Elizabeth would rue the day when they met!

Pleasant visions of her tormentor sobbing her repentance to an unsympathetic Judge and Jury occupied Mary's mind until she realised that the light was failing, and that further progress would soon become difficult – if not impossible. She was tired, too; even after more than a year confined to all-fours her arms were aching with the strain of supporting her upper body, and even her leathery knees were painfully sore. And the first of the dry water-courses she meant to follow hadn't yet appeared.

She stopped and looked around uncertainly in the rapidly failing light. She wasn't covering nearly as much as ground as she'd imagined she would - dreaming of her escape in her captivity – and she'd badly overestimated the speed she'd be able to move at though the dense scrub.

There was nothing else for it, she realised reluctantly, but to find somewhere to sleep the night away - unless she could make progress by moonlight – and she had no idea of the present phase of the moon, having been kept under the roof of the barn for so long.

Immediately fresh difficulties presented themselves: where was she to sleep? And how was she to hide from the wild animals of the district? Coyotes, feral dogs, the occasional wildcat – all had sharp teeth and claws against which she'd have no defence. There would be rats, and snakes too ; and she shivered at her thoughts. But there was nothing else for it, and she curled up on the hard, sandy ground and attempted to sleep.

She lay awake for a long time, starting in terror at every rustle in the surrounding scrub, imagining every moment some predator leaping out to them to fall on her with tooth and claw. Or worse, some stealthy snake slithering over the ground towards her attracted by her body heat.

In the end she fell into an uneasy doze, broken by her occasional fits of alarm at the sinister noises in the scrub around her. Once the despairing scream of a trapped rabbit brought her to full, trembling consciousness, but, in the end, it was the growing cold which made further sleep impossible.

She curled herslf into a ball as tightly as she could and lay there waiting for the dawn, breathing out through her mouth into the hollow between her tightly folded arms and her breasts to conserve as much body heat as possible.

Never did any creature, human or animal, greet the dawn as fervently as did Mary. The sun climbed above the horizon even as she watched, and soon she was basking in its increasing warmth. She was cheered to see, from where the sun rose, that she was headed in the right direction, and, after emptying her bladder, she trotted off purposefully North-West, doing her best to ignore her growing thirst.

At about mid-morning she reached the dry water-course she'd been aiming for. Despite her aching arms and sore knees, she gazed down at it in delight. Painfully climbing down onto its sandy bottom, she trotted up-stream with renewed hope.

Long before noon the torrid heat of the sun forced her to stop. She lay panting under the shade of the overhang of the bank and tried to calculate her progress. At least she knew where she was; she recognised the gaunt outline of a skeletal tree nearby. She groaned as she remembered previous excurion into the scrub; the tree was about two and half miles from the house. The journeys had used to take her two hours, but that had been on two legs, with thr advantage of being able to see over the the tangles of scrub around which she now, on all fours, had to find a way around. And the stout boots and thick jeans she'd worn had protected her from the briars which, in her present nakedness, she had to avoid. For the first time her resolution began to fail her; she had still three miles to go though the trackless brush – and she must find water soon, or she would die. Telling herself that the way would easier now, along the sandy floor of the dry stream, and that some pool would still linger trapped among the rocks further upstream, she fell asleep.

She woke in the mid-afternoon. The sun had lost some of its heat, and the increased length of the shadows cast by the shrubs gave her welcome shade as she trotted upstream. After half a mile she had a stroke of luck – a small pool of muddy water, a remnant of the last storm, trapped in the exposed roots of a gnarled old thorn and protected from the sun by its shade. Animals had been using it as a watering hole, for Mary could see their paw prints in the sand around it, along with their droppings, but they wouldn't be around now, and Mary lowered her head and filled her belly with the murky liquid. She paused to add her own droppings to the collection and trotted off again with renewed energy.

Disaster struck an hour later. As the water course climbed and narrowed, it became choked with rocks which she was obliged to climb over slowly and painfully, losing yet more time in the process. Then she rounded a bend to find the way ahead completely blocked with debris washed down by the last flood. The solidly wedged collection of branches and scrub was impassable, and the walls of the low ravine too steep for her to climb. She was obliged to go back a quarter of a mile to a place where she should mount the left-hand wall and retrace her steps by following the rim of the streambed. The going was harder, with thick scrub growing right down to the banks, and she had to make frequent detours around them.

Then she came to a major obstacle. A huge bank of brambles stretched ahead of her. Patiently she turned to her left to go around it. But it stretched on longer and longer, forcing her further and further to the South, and when she did finally round it and begin her weary journey back to the streambed it was beginning to get dark. Still she trotted on, until, amost as she was despairingly thinking she'd never reach it, she tumbled over the bank and landed on her back in the soft sand of the dry streambed.

Righting herself, she stood panting with exhaustion, appalled at the nearness of her escape. If she'd broken an arm or leg, she would have died out here. Despite her weariness she continued through the darkness, aided by the ease of movement along the empty water course. It was broadening as it widened, and her heart leapt. She must have crossed the low ridge her prevous path had been climbing; now she was going down into the shallow valley at the bottom of which the County road ran. All she need was to follow this dried-up stream and it would fun into the small river which drained the valley, and which ran along the side of the road. There would be water there, and momentarily she quickened her pace. But she was much too tired to continue, and she lay down in her tracks and slept, confident in the knowledge that tomorrow would see her free.

After a broken and unrefreshing sllep, she woke shivering with the pre-dawn cold. When the sun had finally risen, she lay for a time warming herself in its weak rays before getting painfully to all-fours. With some effort she placed her front paws on the top of a small rock and raised her upper body to scan the way ahead, fully expecting to see the line of trees that bordered the river in the distance. But the scrub was usually high and dense in this area, and she could discern nothing. There must be water nearby, she thought. Heartened by this conclusion, she trotted doggedly onward through the cool early morning air.

By mid-morning she knew she was lost. Any traces of the water-course had long gone as it widened out into theis sandy, scrubby plain under the pitiless sun. Wearily, Mary raised her head. There, in the hazy distance, was a dark line of taller vegetation promising the shade she must have soon. When she reached it, she collapsed in exhaustion and fell immediately into a deep slumber.

She woke in the mid-afternoon. Dazed with thirst, she staggered to her feet. Hunger as well as thirst was weakening her now as she made her painful way though the thick scrub. Finally she collapsed in exhaustion.

CHAPTER TEN

They found her within thirty yards of the main track to the road not a quarter of a mile from the house. Unknown to her, she had travelled in a circle.

Mary was next aware of becoming conscious back in her pen. Eva was kneeling by her side, dribbling water from a bottle into her mouth. When she saw Mary's eyes open, the slave sighed with relief. Belle hurried in with a plastic dish and began to feed her carefully with tiny scraps of some sweetish, jelly-like substance.

They left her when they were sure she'd gone some way towards recovery, and she fell into a deep and refreshing sleep.

She slept for many hours; it was dawn when she woke, and she got to her feet and padded over to her trough. It had been filled with food and water, and she spent a long time with her head lowered into it, eating ravenously. She still felt very weak, and she lay down and slept some more, a cycle which repeated it self for the next few days until she was fully recovered.

Then Samantha came again. Once more she was led out and washed, once more she was drugged and examined on her old kitchen table.

Back in her pen, she recalled the fragments of conversation she'd heard from Samantha and Elizabeth.

''.... no real harm.... dehydration but....recovery....she'll be OK...about six or seven weeks now.....bound to notice....later stages....plenty food...no mating until....''

Elizabeth came to see her the next day. Flanked by her two slaves, she stared down at Mary for some time before speaking.

''I blame myself, of course,'' she said. ''I should never have let it wander off and get lost like that. In future it must be tethered or leashed at all times, even when it's in its pen. Fetch a long chain,'' she ordered Eva.

The slave hurried off without a word to return quickly, a chain looped in her hand. Seconds later Mary was tethered to a rail of her pen by a six foot chain.

''It shall be exercised – always on a leash, remember! - twice daily for the next four weeks. If it seems weak or in distress it must be taken back and penned immediately. Do you both understand?''

''Yes Mistress!'' came the two separate and respectful replies.

When she was alone, Mary pondered the episode with mixed feelings. While she was immensely relieved not to be punished for her escape, she could not help feeling a little annoyed that thay hadn't even seen it as that. Her attempts to make them see her as a docile animal had, perhaps, been too successful, she thought; they seemed to think that she'd wandered off by accident. Now Elizabeth was going to have her kept on a leash all the time for her own good!

She walked to the end of her chain to test its security with the result she expected, before turning to her usual pastime - lying on the straw and staring out into the barn, or watching the flies buzzing around her trough.

The new tether chain restricted her movement in the pen, and she was glad of the twice daily walks, boring though they turned out to be. Every day, in the early morning and evening, she was led from her pen by one of the slaves on a leash so short that she was unable to lie down. Her movements closely controlled, she was led through the yard and into the paddock to be walked back and forth for half an hour. Then she was chained up in her pen and fed.

This went on for some weeks, then she went through three successive days on which she was violently sick on awakening. She put it down to the the tainted food that she was fed on, and thought no more about it. And then she noticed her increasing appetite. The slaves kept her food trough filled, and she could eat as she wanted whenever she wanted to. She noticed too how tired the walks were making her, and then how difficult it was becoming to walk. Samantha visited her, and gave Belle a large cardboard box from which the slaves sprinkled a white powder into her water trough twice daily.

It must have been some sort of tranquillizer, for when - at last – it occurred to Mary that she was pregnant only a tiny voice deep in her brain protested its outrage from within her indifference.

She was no longer walked, spending most of her time resting, and only rising to eat and drink, and to empty her bowels and bladder. Her belly was huge, and her swollen and painful breasts were begining to leak. Samantha came, and hovered anxiously over her for a long time.

And then, lying in the dirty straw of her pen, Mary gave birth. She felt little or no pain in her somnolent, drugged state, and two hours after she'd gone into labour she opened her eys to see two tiny, mewling, blind puppies lying in the straw before her eyes. She was vaguely aware of the presence of people standing at the rails of her pen, and for a moment she muzzily wondered what to do. Then, out of some primitive impulse, she began to lick the slimy little bodies, relishing their faint saltiness, to soft sighs of relief from her audience. She was lying on her left side, and one of the pups crawled, mewling frantically, the few inches to her lower breast. There it quested wiith its blind head until its wet, warm little mouth clamped onto her nipple. Gently, Mary lifted its fellow in the crook of her arm and put its mouth to her upper breast. Later when each had drunk its fill and both little bellies were distended, Mary curled her body carefully around them. She heard the soft footsteps of the watchers leaving as she fell asleep.

Apart from eliminating her wastes, and making frequent visits to the trough to slake her vastly increased thirst, Mary didn't leave the puppies for an instant. Her newly-discovered maternal instinct was such that she'd glare at anyone who came into the pen and curl herself protectively around the little squirming bodies until they left. They fed ravenously, and they grew with astonishing rapidity. After about a fortnight they were both tall enough to suckle side by side directly from her breasts as she stood over them on all-fours. By now they were clearly Dalmatian puppies, a dog and a bitch, and Mary could see a glance that they were of the highest pedigree. But soon their teeth on her teats became too painful for her, and they were weaned on dog food mixed with the pig meal that Mary was fed on. After another two weeks or so, they were taken away and she never saw them again – except, perhaps, the male, and she may have been mistaken in that. But that was months in the future; for the present she continued to lactate, and every morning or and evening one of the slaves would vacuum-milk her, the milk being poured into her trough for her to drink later.

After her puppies were taken from her, she sobbed for a long time. She missed them dreadfully, but after a few days they began to take her out for walks again, and gradually she forgot the tiny bodies nestling so trustfully against hers.

As the hormones of motherhood left her, she began to realise exactly what her role had been in the whole affair. For once she'd had been on full alert when Elizabeth and Samantha had discussed the event while at the rails of her pen, and she had heard every word of their conversation – although it hadn't fully registered until later.

They had both been in relaxed mode, as if some difficult project had been successfully completed, and Samantha was scratching Mary behind the ears the whole time.

''That went well!'' she heard Samantha say.

''Two thousand dollars, I think you said?'' enquired Elizabeth delicately.

''Out of the ten thousand you'll get for two pedigree Dalmatian puppies!'' exclaimed Samantha. ''And it's not as if she costs you anything to keep!''

''I still think the procedure's over-complicated,'' Elizabeth complained. ''Taking the eggs from the donor bitch, fertilising them from the male's contribution, then implanting them into this bitch's womb. Can't you just implant the eggs, and have the dog impregnate them normally?''

''Of course I can!' snorted Samantha. 'But it'll be a bit hit or miss whether the dog will fertilise them at the first attempt! And I'll need dozens of eggs! Though it would be a lot simpler; cheaper too – and it could be done,'' she added thoughtfully.

''Well!' said Elizabeth. 'Try that next time! How many litters can it give birth to in a year, anyway?''

Samantha paused for a moment in calculation.

''Technically; three,' she said at last. 'A litter every four months. But we'd be much better off having a litter from her every six months; she'll last much longer.''

''Is it possible to get it to carry more than two pups?'' asked Elizabeth eagerly.

''Restrain your greed, Lizzie!' laughed the taller woman. 'She's only got two udders! She can only feed two pups!''

''Oh!' sighed Elizabeth in disappointment. 'And how long will it be able to go on breeding?''

Samantha paused again before replying.

''About twenty years for a bitch of her species,'' she said slowly. ''Before her 'equipment' is worn out. Yes; I know her womb and uterus make giving birth to such tiny ceatures with their streamlined heads a doddle, but she will wear out eventually.Still, that's four perfect pedigree pups a year, at an average price of seven and a half thousand dollars each,,,,that's...er..''

''Six hundred thousand dollars!'' broke in Elizabeth, the greed in her voice evident. ''For the price of a few sacks of pig meal! What a good idea of yours that was, dear!''

''Well, said Samantha, a trifle defensively. 'I was so tired of trying to produce pedigree puppies from bitchs so inbred over the generations that they couldn't give birth. Whole pedigree breeds can vanish! But we'll try your idea next time. Now she'll need building up and plenty of exercise. And try not to let her wander off again! Maybe I should blind her for you? That would stop her.''

''If it becomes necessary,'' said Elizabeth indifferently. ''Now let's go and have tea.''

Mary lay motionless in the straw, the full horror of her situation slowly sinking into to her appalled mind. Not content with stealing her money, her business, and her house from her, Elizabeth had finally stolen her body, too.

A picture of her future life appeared before her in all its hopeless, endless, helplessness and misery. She'd be a brood bitch, a surrogate mother for endless litters of expensive pedigree puppies for the financial benefit of Elizabeth and her friend for as long as her body could carry them. And then? Well, when she was of no further use to them they could have her put down. Or they may just put her away, to spend the rest of her life chained and forgotten in some kennel, never to be free again.

EPILOGUE

Elizabeth sat in her wheelchair in the garden. Still elegantly dressed, still sharp of mind, her body was beginning to fail her now. Fifty and more years had passed since she'd found this place, and now she could hardly remember living anywhere else. Of the two slaves she'd brought with her, Belle was long dead, and Eva was a crippled old woman like herself. They'd been good slaves, she recalled with a smile; but she'd replaced them easily enough. And to take her own place as Mistress she had her adopted daughter, Camille, who was running the business now. She smiled once more at the memory of her success in producing pedigree puppies from human surrogate mothers. What had been the original bitch's name, she wondered vaguely? Well, it didn't matter now; it had been a long time ago. Now the breeding business had three – or was it four? - surrogate mothers at any one time. They didn't seem to last as long these days, though; maybe Samantha had been right all those years ago; perhaps three – or sometimes, four – litters a year was too much for their abused bodies. But it brought in more money, and fresh bitches were easily to be got once they had decided that any healthy woman of child bearing age would do. A few more disappearances of lonely women in California was neither here nor there, and perfectly easy to achieve providing one did ones homework on the prospective victims. Once here, blind, deaf and dumb, crouched naked in the breeding cages they would never leave again, they were easy to handle. (Sometimes Elizabeth wondered what feelings their victims entertained when they woke for the first time in their new homes. Terror and horror, she supposed; but their was nothing they could do about it!) Five or six years of intensive breeding and they were quietly and humanely put down, and other bitchs would take their places.

The sight of a barefoot slave trotting along the path towards her brought Elizabeth out of her reverie.

''You!'' she commanded sharply. ''Slave! Come here! What is that you are carrying?''

The girl – for she was no older – dropped to her knees at Elizabeth's side.

''It's a collar, Mistress,'' she replied timorously.

''Where did you get it?'' Elizabeth asked sharply.

''I took it off the old hu-bitch in the stable yard, Mistress,'' the slave told her. ''She's dead.''

''Give it to me!''

Elizabeth turned the old collar in her gloved hands, squinting to make out the name engraved on the disc which swung from the tarnished 'D' ring. 'Princess' it read, and the name rang a faint bell in her memory. She wrinkled her nose at the collar's smell.

''Leave it with me!'' she snapped at the kneeling slave before dismissing her with a curt gesture.

She was still musing over the news the slave had brought when two silent, deft slaves arrived and placed a table by her side, and a comfortable chair for their younger Mistress, for it was Camille's custom to take iced lemonade and cookies with her adopted mother at this hour.

Her daughter arrived and greeted her with a dutiful kiss on the brow before taking her seat. A white-gloved slave stepped silently forward and filled their glasses.

''What's that, Mother?'' enquired Camille, carelessly indicating the collar lying in Elizabeth's lap.

''It was Princess's,'' she replied. ''She's dead.''

''Princess?'' Camille wrinkled her smooth brow.

''My first ever human bitch,'' Elizabeth told her.

''Oh!'' exclaimed Camille lazily. ''You mean the old hu-bitch that lived in one of the old kennels in the stable yard? Wow! She was chained up there when you first took me in – and that was twenty years ago!''

''She was a good bitch,'' Elizabeth told her, ransacking her memory. ''She gave birth to more than forty litters. And her last litter was the best – two greyhound pups with all the speed and strength of their sire and dam. I kept part-ownership of them, and made a lot of money racing them. Her last litter was – let me see – thirty years ago.''

''You didn't have her put down when she couldn't breed anymore?'' asked Camille vaguely.

Elizabeth laughed.

''We weren't as well organised then!'' she said with a smile. ''No, I just told one of the slaves to take her from her pen and find her a kennel somewhere. I never bothered to find out where she was being kept, and I never saw her again – nor even thought about her until today. Thirty years she was kept chained to that old kennel; and it had been twenty years before that when I buckled this very collar around her neck.''

''Well,' remarked Camille carelessly. ''Her old collar will do for another hu-bitch!''

When her adopted daughter had gone, Elizabeth sat for a long time among the scents of her garden, thinking about the past – and about Princess. She remembered the naive young woman – what had been her human name? - who had invited her here and given her the opportunity to build a very profitable business – with the unintended gift of her money and property. And of her body, of course!

And in the end, her very existence forgotten by her usurper, her unwilling benefactor had spent fifty years of her life as a dog, and the last thirty years chained to a kennel. Elizabeth shrugged; she'd only been an animal, after all.

But she'd been a good bitch.