The Dominant Male

enthusiastic response had The Craftsman leave, returning with Jessie walking to heel.
    He had her Sit! in the middle of the room, and handed the lead to Cathy, saying, ‘Show her off to Denise, she’ll want every last detail.’ Denise and Steve surrounded her, stroking her, marvelling at her.
    The scene took Cathy, our friend and I back to how and why we’d originally met.
    Catch up with these folk later…
    Steve and Denise were new to us, but our friendship with The Craftsman and his bitch had started some weeks earlier with an email out of the blue, as so many interesting episodes do these days:
    My husband has made a few jokes over the last few months about his being my dog; I laughed them off, but the other day, after yet another remark like that, I confronted him and asked him if he was serious. He said, ‘yes.’ I think he means it, can you help?
    My answer was:
    ‘Yes, but only if both of you really want to do it, but I’d want to meet you both in person soon, I’ve had too many long email correspondences that went nowhere in the end.
    It turned out they were fairly local, fifty or so miles away, so they came to dinner the following Friday evening. Angharad was Welsh, long dark hair, no more than five feet tall, nice figure, by far the more talkative of the couple. Ian was quiet, tall – about five feet, ten inches – and, slim, with a blond pony-tail. Over dinner it came out that both were in their mid-twenties, with no children ‘for a while yet,’ and comfortably off, both working together in their own joint business. He was ‘creative’, she the organiser type, largely run from their own very private house and garden.
    We didn’t broach the reason for their visit until after dinner, as we’d previously agreed. We just ate an excellent meal, drank some wine and chatted. As our maid, Rosie, cleared the table we moved into the living room, and poured more drinks all round.
    On a laptop, I had some photos of people I’d trained as dogs; bitches, dogs and trans bitches, for them to look at and comment on. There were pretty girls without a stitch on, naked men on all fours showing themselves to be fully equipped, ‘Shep the Sheepdog’ in an all-over dog suit and lastly Cutie, my poodle.
    Cutie’s outfit was very different. She had wanted people looking, pointing, laughing at her, making fun of the ‘silly pink poodle’ she wanted to be. So together, we’d designed an outfit for that purpose.
    Her lower legs were in a brace, knee to toe, that kept her on all fours. Her bum was in an exaggerated, padded pair of pink fake-fur knickers. Hanging down from her chest were the most enormous pair of boobs you can imagine, with bells on rings in the nipples. Her shoulders too, were covered in pink fake fur. Her fists too were encased, with a fringe of pink fake fur at the wrist, echoing the pink fake fur on the back of her lower legs. Her dark, permed hair hung down either side of her head in bunches like a poodle’s ears. Everything was locked on with cute little chrome padlocks.
    In reality the outfit usually failed in the original intention; at scene events I’d taken her to, everyone had just taken this lovable, cute, pink poodle to heart. They always said how adorable she was, fussing and petting her whenever they could; though a few scene newbies and the occasional outsider did have the desired reaction of cruel jibes, jeers and snide laughter that she craved.
    Anyway, they both liked the naked puppy-girls a lot. Angharad was particularly intrigued by the puppy-boys. They passed over the sheepdog pretty quickly and both were curious about Cutie; Ian being the more intense in examining every detail.
    My partner, Cathy, then invited Angharad upstairs for a girl-to-girl chat, leaving me with Ian, as we’d planned beforehand. I asked Ian if he still wanted to be his wife’s dog – ‘Yes, I do,’ was the instant response. I went on, ‘her dog, or her bitch, like Cutie?’ The answer was slower in coming, more hesitant, whispered, but heartfelt; ‘her bitch, like Cutie. Is that possible?’
    I explained that the exaggerated bottom was created by Cutie wearing a nappy under the knickers. If he wore something similar it would camouflage his boy-bits. The locks meant that she couldn’t release herself, or be released by anyone else. The nappy meant she couldn’t break the scene by demanding a toilet break; though she was far too proud to use it! It didn’t hurt that the bulk of the nappy