Collared & Leashed

Willie

Willie

I do not understand why I remain so erect. It’s all I can do to restrain my hands from reaching around and stroking myself to relief. Just crawl into a corner and feel the wondrous pleasure of having my all too experienced right hand extinguish the lustful fire.

Hours into the party, Chloe finally tires of walking me about, though I do not tire of gazing at her exquisite form. She leads me to a table and taps away with the walking stick as the leash directs me to step onto a chair and then up to the surface of the table. Though the leash is not tied off, the chair is slid away and without it I cannot return to the pool deck without jumping...an impossible task with limbs bound. So perched on the table I spend the afternoon where all can view my painted nakedness. An abrasive woman occasionally reaches out to caress and knead my scrotum, but otherwise the attention thankfully somewhat wanes.

But then this Miss Judy woman, earlier fervently snapping away with camera, steps through an opening in the back fence and returns with a bowl. It is filled with water and I quickly realize there will be more exhibition of canine behavior.

She kindly places the bowl before me on the table and I find that I am indeed thirsty.

“Drink up, Willie. Later I’ll take you for a walk.”

The meaning of the words did not fully register as, without thinking, I lower my head to the bowl. Of course my snout hits the bottom of the bowl before my lips came near the level of the water. I had forgotten about the mask’s most prominent dog-like feature, a long spotted nose with faux nostrils.

Miss Judy laughs, also not anticipating my predicament.

“Well, you cannot go long without something to drink.”

She seems genuinely concerned, as opposed to the other partygoers, and signals to Miss Nancy, the cosmetician. She approaches.

“Willie really should be offered liquids,” Miss Judy lectures. “And flaccidity will need to be induced at some point.”

Miss Nancy smirks, uncaring about the male organ dysfunctioning in such a luridly pleasing manner. But the message is received. Two hands move to my neck and she gruffly tugs and removes my mask!

I am stunned as for the first time my identity is revealed. In a small college town, I am sure to later come across one or more of the gathering of women who are frolicking about the pool, imbibing wine, exchanging stories mainly derisive of the male gender, and mocking my nakedness with impunity.

“Drink, Willie. I’ll get my makeup kit.”

I am thirsty, and as dozens of pairs of eyes look to examine my look of sheepishness and humiliation, I find my head dropping to the bowl, hiding my face to inhibit any mental recording of my features. My lips find the water and I begin to suck. And then I find the ruse behind Miss Judy’s kindly offering.

“Doggies lap, Willie. They cannot suck with their lips.”

I feel a firm hand grasping my dangling, swollen pink sac. The pressure slowly increases until I properly lap the water. Even Miss Judy seems to have a streak of disdain for the male.