The Kennel

Phoebe smiled. “Soapy, I think I’m going to leave Nolan down there in the Kennel for another week.” The now platinum blonde giggled, and her full breasts bounced a bit in the violet halter top. Soapy tried not to drool behind the counter. Damn she’s looking good he thought, just like the tramps in my Narcotics Anonymous meetings.

 

“But I thought your original bargain with Nolan was he stayed a week, wasn’t it, Phoebe?” Jesus, Soapy thought, Nolan had actually agreed to stay in the Kennel for a week if she’d let him suck on her tits for twenty minutes, something Nolan should have been allowed to do anyway…he had a right as her husband.

 

But Phoebe hadn’t allowed Nolan to touch her precious boobs in over a year, and Soapy had seen quite a lot of them in his employment at the leather BDSM store. The Little Shop (“We Serve the Pervs”) had lots of people like Phoebe and Nolan coming in and out, and Soapy had gotten quite used to this.

 

So from what Nolan had told Soapy during gruel time, Phoebe had agreed to this bargain, but she’d not really let Nolan enjoy her naked, pure pink nipples (Soapy had sucked them, as had many other men). Instead Phoebe had dunked a brassiere  in urine and put it on and made Nolan suck her boobs through that till all the urine was gone, and the bra was dry.

 

Good God! And then Nolan had been locked in the Kennel. He’d been miserable through the last six days, and was looking forward to leaving the cage, and he’d asked Soapy how many days were left every morning, before Hydrotherapy.

 

Soapy felt a little guilty, because he’d had Phoebe AND their 19 year old daughter Clarice to  his little apartment, fucking them both every which way, and Nolan wasn’t really a bad guy, and quite wealthy.

 

“I know the agreement was for a week” Phoebe said, breaking Soapy’s reverie. Phoebe smirked, her glossed lips crinkling a bit. “I have a new um, friend coming over a lot now, our oldest son’s soccer coach, and Nolan would be in the way. I think Nolan needs more training.” Phoebe bent over the counter and Soapy took a quick intake of breath…what a cleavage.

 

“Nolan’s on Code Orange right now, isn’t he? Move him to Code Blue, take away his radio privileges and make him take two hydrotherapies instead of one, put it on our Visa…oh, and three extra days. Then two days on Code Purple… Got it?”

 

Soapy noted all this on a pad. Whatever else, the customer was always right at the Little Shop. And as Code Purple cost three hundred a day, what were you going to do? The Little Shop’s proprieter gave Soapy a 5% commission as well as his salary,  so he had to look out for his best interests. And of course he might get to visit Phoebe and Clarice again…

 

Phoebe gave Soapy a nice tongue kiss and pirouetted out of the Little Shop.

 

Soapy tired to focus on inventory taking, but it was hard. Out of  the Concord state prison for nearly a year, all he could think about was what he couldn’t have. Codiene, Dilaudid, Demerol, Dolophine, Dexedrine, Seconal, Benzedrine, Percodan,Valium, Fioranol, heroin, Percocet, morphine, Tylenol 2,3,4,5… Oxycontin and all the other powders and pills Soapy had been “free” from since his reform. And instead he had to concentrate on how many dildoes were in stock at the Little Shop.

 

The door to the basement opened, and Plato, one of the huge blacks came up. “You got the cattle-prod, Mist’ Soaperstein?” Plato grinned. “Bubbles be acting up again. You know what work for him.”

 

Soapy sighed and handed Plato a large bag. “And don’t forget the new package of fire ants has come in from the Cricket Farm, Plato. Don’t over-use the cattle prod on him, it’s not safe is it?” Plato’s response was just to laugh uproariously and go back down stairs with the evil cattle prod.

 

Masochism mystified Soapy, who had spent nearly thirty years seeking drugs to make him feel great…why would people want to feel worse?

 

Soapy looked up, somewhat disgruntled as the bell to the Little Shop rang, and a very tan middle aged couple came in, accompanied by a fetching strawberry blonde. Before they approached the counter, the man whispered to the girl, who laughed and tossed her red curls. She gave the older woman a spiteful look and flounced to the back, where she fingered leather vests with interest.

 

The older woman looked at the floor, and the two older people came to the counter. Soapy chuckled, thinking that people shouldn’t bring their kids to kink stores. This would be a disruption to the inventory that he was trying to take.

 

 There was a missing dildo, but someone had spirited it out without Soapy realizing it…how? An idea popped into Soapy’s head, and he became somewhat nauseous. Soapy looked up at the approaching couple with a game face.

 

“How’re you doin’” the man said in a Southwestern twang. Wonderful. Soapy, who had spent a month in an Austin hoosegow once on suspicion of having burgled a drugstore was already put off.

 

The man grinned, showing extensive tobacco stains on his molars. There goes lunch, thought Soapy. “I’m Garland-Fitzhugh Simms, and this is my wife Jody, and we’re wondering if the Kennel has opened yet. We read about it in the online Little Shop newsletter?”

 

Jody smiled at Soapy, and he tried to smile back, but it was somewhat of a grimace. What a nice lady, with a degenerate husband. She must wonder what sort of person Soapy was for working there. He had to start television-repair school at night or something to get out of this dreadful industry.

 

“Is-is the Kennel not up yet?” Jody asked, toying with some new models on the counter nipple clamps display. As she lifted one wicked looking pair of clamps, Garland-Fitzhugh grinned again.

 

“Them clamps would make you howl, baby…we might git um.” Jody blushed and her eyes closed for a moment. Soapy felt sorry for her. She wasn’t bad looking, about fifty, with a fairly good figure and stonewashed jeans over her shapely bottom.

 

“Yes, the Kennel’s done” Soapy hastened to say, “And there are already um residents, occupants—“ Soapy didn’t know how to describe the inhabitants of the Little Shop cellar.

Soapy thought of the basement filled with twelve cages with naked people in them, at least one of whom he had to deliver a Wall Street Journal to every morning.

 

“And it’s true—you serve ‘em gruel three times a day, and the hosin’ down in the mornin’? We saw a picture of that on the Internet.” Garland-Fitzhugh’s tobacco stained grin seemed to tilt, like a jukebox as he thought of the “hosin’”

But politeness reigned for Armistead St. Leger Soaperstein, clerk to the perverts. “Yes sir, the gruel’s Quaker Oats, actually, and we give the Kennel participants  what Mistress Georgette calls hydrotherapy, with a fire hose, in fact.”

 

Soapy’s mind wandered back to six a.m. when he’d gone downstairs with Mistress Georgette and Plato and Cato, the huge blacks. Soapy had prepared the  fire hose as Georgette and the Negroes had  walked around banging the cages briskly with rubber South African riding whips.

 

The screams of “Get up, scumbags” had invaded Soapy’s ears as they did every morning, and usually he couldn’t calm down until around nine-thirty in the morning.

 

One of the longer term Kennel residents, Mister Shimmelfarb had had a bit of trouble waking up this morning, and Mister Shim’s mother had authorized Code Purple treatment. This authorized Cato to drag the skinny accounting exec out of the cage by his pubic hair, and to bitch-slap him awake.

 

Cato had whipped poor Shimmelfarb’s narrow ass for about ten minutes as Soapy had had to endure Mister Shim’s New Jersey tones howling “Jay-zus! I’m wakin’ up, please lay orrff “ But the rule was that everyone must be awake at five-forty-five when the Hygiene Crew came down, so they could leave their cages, not lollygagging around, and Cato, who was not much for words, had meted out  strict justice to Mister Shimmelfarb.

 

Cato had also skull-fucked Shimmelfarb’s fat lips to a quick cum before tossing him with the others by the far wall of the basement. Then Soapy had turned on the high powered fireman’s hose—the water bills were incredible—shooting the high pressure stream, knocking down the six naked, trembling people as Georgette and Plato had tossed soap flakes all over them, creating a sort of lava lather.

 

Not much of a group this week, four men and two women, and “Bubbles” who was a pre-op something or other. All seven of them were flabby and out of shape, watching their skin bounce as the brutally cold water hit them almost made Soapy ill.

 

Last week Miss Yates, the model everyone called “Eyesore” had been there, and Soapy  had really enjoyed making her perfect 36C breats bounce with the cold water. At first Soapy had tried to be nice to her, but she’d obviously been so much more attracted to the brutal black men, that Soapy had finally just been really nasty.

 

Soapy had really enjoyed it when Georgette had ordered the Eyesore to lick his boots, and especially when Miss Yates had given Soapy an “around the world” in the Little Shop attic. But most of the slaves were not too cute.

 

After the hosing of course, the slaves were ordered to lick up all the lather and clean up the hosing area before returning to their cages for the morning gruel.

 

Soapy tried to explain the whole thing in a monotone, and Garland-Fitzhugh seemed quite happy.

 

“That’s real good” said Garland-Fitzhugh enthusiastically. “Y’all are strict with em? I’d love to watch the water knockin’ people down!”

 

Soapy watched with distaste as Garland-Fitzhugh spat some tobacco chaw on the floor. He tried to continue the discussion. “Uh, we have a system of codes of strictness.” Soapy pulled out a sheet and handed it to the Texan couple, who viewed it with interest, as the little strawberry blonde came away from the vests casually and joined the perusal.

 

The sheet read:

 

“WLECOME TO THE LITTLE SHOP HOUSING KENNEL!

PARK YOUR SUBMISSIVE WHILE ON VACATION, WITHOUT WORRYING THAT SUBBIE WILL GROW ‘SLACK’!

 

IN ADDITION TO THE VALUABLE BEHAVIOR-MODIFICATION CODES THAT YOU SEE BELOW, WE ALSO HAVE NIPPLE-WEIGHT TRAINING EXERCISES, LESSONS IN FORCED EDGING—“

 

“What’s that? Forced Edging? Garland-Fitzhugh asked Soapy, looking up from the sheet. Soapy made a face. “Um, that’s when guys are made to jerk off without having a release…they have two or three hour sessions of jerking off at a time…frustrating, I guess.”

 

Garland-Fitzhugh laughed. “No relevance to us, I guess.” Jody said nothing, but the little strawberry blonde laughed out loud. “You’re right about that, dude…guess we could have Fatso here—“ she prodded Jody, whose lip began trembling—do herself with a vibrator.”

 

Oh, thought Soapy. She’s not their daughter then…or if she is, that’s waaay perv.

 

Garland-Fitzhugh read on—

“THERE ARE ALSO PAIN TOLERANCE EXERCISES, HELPING THE SUBMISSIVE TO WITHSTAND MORE PAIN WITHOUT MAKING EXCESSIVE NOISE. HERE IS A TESTIMONY FROM MISTRESS OLIVE B. FROM BRISTOL, RHODE ISLAND.

‘MY HUSBAND LANCE WAS SUCH A WHINER WHEN I BEAT HIM, EVEN IF IT WAS JUST USING A LIGHT SPRUCE SWITCH. BUT AFTER MY LOVER AND I WENT TO CANADA FOR A MONTH AND LEFT LANCE AT THE LITTLE SHOP KENNEL ON A CODE BLUE, WE CAME BACK FOR A DIFFERENT SLAVE.  NOW I CAN THRASH LANCE WITH A BULLWHIP AND HE JUST STANDS SILENTLY, SOMETIMES TEARING UP A LITTLE. YOU PEOPLE ARE A MIRACLE’

 

HERE ARE THE LITTLE SHOP KENNEL BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION CODES. YOU CAN LEAVE YOUR SUBMISSIVE UNDER A SEVERE CODE, LIKE ORANGE AND LET HIM/HER GO BACK UP TO A WHITE OVER A PERIOD OF DAYS. OR, YOU CAN SURPRISE YOUR SUB WITH A SCHEDULE OF SURPRISING ALTERNATING CODES AS THE DAYS PASS. IT WILL NOT BE BORING FOR YOUR SUB!

 

CODE WHITE-GRUEL THRICE DAILY WITH TWO PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH SNACKS. COFFEE W/MILK, SUGAR FIVE TIMES DAILY. NO PHYSICAL PUNISHMENT. CAGE TREATMENT IS 18 HOURS A DAY WITH 3 TWO HOUR BREAKS FOR EXERCISE AND RELAXATION IN THE KENNEL LOUNGE. CHAIRS PROVIDED FOR CODE WHITES IN LOUNGE BOOKS, SMALL TELEVISION AND CAGE LIGHT PERMITTED IN CAGES. ONLY THREE HYDROPTHERAPY SESSIONS WEEKLY, FOUR SLEEP LATES PERMITTTED. CAGE UNLOCKED (HONOR SYSTEM) FOR UNLIMITED LAVATORY STRIPS. OCCUPANT ALLOWED TO MASTURBATE TO FIVE ORGASMS WEEKLY—COST $74.99 PER DAY.

 

CODE GREEN—GRUEL THRICE DAILY, WITH ONE PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH SNACK. COFFEE W/MILK,SUGAR THREE TIMES DAILY, WATER TWICE. CORPORAL PUNISHMENT BY DISCRETION OF MONITORS BUT ONLY WOODEN PADDLE (NOT SPENCER) CAGE TREATMENT 20 HRS A DAY WITH 2 TWO HOUR BREAKS. NO CAGE LIGHT, NO TELEVISION/RADIO. ONLY READNG DURING 2 HOUR BREAKS IN LOUNGE. CODE GREENS MUST SIT ON FLOOR IN LOUNGE DURING BREAKS. FIVE HYDROTHERAPY SESSIONS WEEKLY, TWO SLEEP-LATES PERMITTED. OCCUPANT NUDE IN CAGE, LOCKED TEN LAVATORY TRIPS DAILY. THREE ORGASMS WEEKLY, COST $99.99 PER DAY.

 

CODE RED—GRUEL THRICE DAILY, 1 PIECE OF FRESH BREAD SNACK. BLACK COFFEE TWICE DAILY, WATER TWICE. RANDOM CORPORAL PUNISHMENT WITH REGULAR AND SPENCER PADDLES—“

 

“What’s a Spencer paddle?” asked Jody faintly. Before Soapy could open his mouth, Garland-Fitzhugh gave a stained grin. “It’s a paddle with holes all through it, darlin’—because, uh—“

 

The little strawberry blonde interrupted the vague Garland-Fitzhugh. “Because the air sails through the holes and you can hit faster…we have one, honey…I used it on Fatso here last week!” The post-adolescent giggled and Garland-Fitzhugh laughed heartily. Jody looked pale. They returned to the flyer—

 

“—SPENCER PADDLE PUNISHMENT SEVERAL TIMES PER DAY, NO MARKS. CAGE TREATMENT 22 HOURS PER DAY, 4 HALF HOUR BREAKS (COUNTING MANDATORY HYDROTHERAPY AND INTAKE OF MISTRESS GEORGETTE’S URINE IN THE ENCHANTED LAVATORY) NO READING DURING OTHER BREAKS, NO LOUNGE ADMITTANCE. OCCUPANT MUST PERFORM CALISTHENTICS UNDER THE WHIP WITH MASTER CATO UNLESS MEDICAL EXCUSE. ONE RANDOM MIDNIGHT SURPRISE DOUSING WITH IMPORTED RED FIRE ANTS PER WEEK. DAILY (7) HYDROTHERAPY SESSIONS AT 6 A.M. NO SLEEP-LATES. OCCUPANT NUDE WITH 24-HOUR NIPPLE CLAMPS, CAGE LOCKED WITH SEVEN LAVATORY TRIPS TIL TEN P.M., THEN OCCUPANT MUST HOLD THEIR BOWELS. PUNISHMENT FOR GOING IN CELL BEFORE 6.A.M.RELEASE, VERY SEVERE. ONE ORGASM PER WEEK IF ATTITUDE GOOD—COST $124.99 PER DAY.”

 

“That one might be good for the Pig here!” the little strawberry blonde chortled, as she casually cuffed Jody on the side of the head. Garland-Fitzhugh snorted. “No, there’s even better stuff, listen to this!”

 

CODE YELLOW—GRUEL THRICE DAILY, ONE PIECE OF STALE BREAD SNACK, BLACK COFFEE ONCE PER DAY, RANDOM CORPORAL PUNISHMENT WITH REGULAR AND SPENCER PADDLES, DOG-WHIP AND SMALL #2 CATTLE PROD—“

 

“Oh, dear.” Jody said.

 

“ NO MARKS. CAGE TREATMENT 23 HOURS DAILY, EXCEPT FOR FIFTEEN MINUTE HYDROTHERAPY AND DISCIPLINE BREAKS FOUR TIMES DAILY. THREE RANDOM MIDNIGHT SURPRISE DOUSING WITH HONEY, RED FIRE ANTS, AND BEN-GAY PER WEEK. ALSO MORNING HYDROTHERAPY EXTENDED. NUDE IN CAGE AT ALL TIMES, WITH NIPPLE CLAMPS AND FIVE INCH DILDO-BUTT PLUG IN AT ALL TIMES EXCEPT FOR CHAMBER POT BREAKS. CAGE LOCKED 24 HOURS PER DAY, OCCUPANT MAY HAVE CHAMBER POT IN CELL. CHAMBER POT CHANGED TWICE DAILY. NO ORGASMS—COST $149.99 PER DAY

 

CODE BLUE—GRUEL TWICE DAILY FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCH. DINNER IS ONE PIECE OF STALE BREAD ROLLED IN MISTRESS GEORGETTES CIGARETTE BUTTS. (EATING DINNER IS MANDATORY) NO SNACK. CORPORAL PUNISHMENT WITH REGULAR AND SPENCER PADDLES, DOG-WHIP, RATTAN CANE AND MEDIUM #2 CATTLE PROD. LIGHT MARKS. CAGE TREATMENT 23 HOURS DAILY EXCEPT FOR FIFTEEN MINUTE HYDROTHERAPY AND DISCIPLINE BREAKS. ONE TEN MINUTE BREAK (MANDATORY) WHERE RESIDENT IS BOUND AND MAULED BY DIAREAH SUFFERING LITTLE SHOP WILD FOREST HOG. (INCISORS REMOVED) NIGHTLY DOUSINGS WITH HONEY, BEN-GAY RED FIRE ANTS AND BITING CRICKETS, TO BE WASHED OFF IN MORNING HYDROTHERAPY. ALSO AN HOUR OF HEADPHONES WITH THE RAP MUSIC OF ‘PALEFACE KILLER MARCUS J’ (CD CAN BE PURCHASED UPON DISCHARGE) OCCUPANT NUDE IN CAGE AT ALL TIMES WITH NIPPLE CLAMPS, TEN INCH DILDO-BUTT PLUG (VIBRATING) AND 18 HOURS A DAY BLINDFOLDED. CHAMBER POT CHANGED ONCE A DAY, OR OCCUPANT CAN CONSUME OWN WASTE AT MASTER’S DISCRETION. NO ORGASMS—COST $199.99 PER DAY.

 

CODE BROWN—GRUEL TWICE DAILY FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCH. DINNER HALF A PIECE OF STALE BREAD AFTER BEING USED TO CLEAN ENCHANTED LAVATORY. ALSO ONE ZIP-LOCK BAG OF COMBINED MASTER PLATO & CATO’S SEMEN. MANDATORY SNACK OF CODE YELLOW’S CHAMBER POT HOLDINGS. CORPORAL PUNISHMENT WITH BULLWHIP. SERIOUS MARKS.  ALL ELSE SAME EXCEPT THAT OCCUPANT MUST ALLOW BUTTOCKS TO BE USED FOR OCCASIONAL LITTLE SHOP DARTS TOURNAMENTS. NO ORGASMS—COST $249.99 PER DAY.

 

CODE PURPLE—“

 

Jody gasped and dropped the sheet. “I-I don’t know that I want to read anymore.”

Garland-Fitzhugh, however picked up the sheet and continued perusing it, the little strawberry blonde at his side. Soapy at this point was unpacking a St. Mark’s Cross that had just been shipped to the Little Shop from Bavaria. Soapy looked keenly at Jody. “Well, I can’t blame you for not wanting to read it. It’s not my idea of a vacation.”

 

Garland-Fitzhugh patted Jody’s cheek. “But honey, I cain’t just leave y’ on yer own while I go to Ber-muda with Jillian here. I’d be worried about you, y’know?” Jillian smirked and Garland-Fitzhugh tapped Soapy on the arm. “I’m a dentist back in Laredo? And Jillian here is my hygienist? Real purty but hard t’ get t’ know, we not speakin’ the same generation language.”

 

Jillian smiled at Soapy. “Garlie did take me to a Goo Goo Dolls concert in Houston.”

 

“Yeah, but I want to do more for you, baby.” Garland-Fitzhugh said earnestly, as he nibbled the girl’s multi pierced earlobe. “I’m taking Jillian to th’ Kay-Ribean Islands for her twentieth birthday?”

 

As Jody sobbed silently, Soapy wiped his brow. “That’s awfully good of you as an employer, Mister Simms.”

 

Garland-Fitzhugh postured generously. “Way-ul Jillian is real good with the patients, and she sucks mah dick five times a day—“ the girl playfully slapped Garland-Fitzhugh on the arm—“ en whut a pair of pink ass-cheeks she got! And so I want to give back, like the Communists say.” Garland-Fitzhugh began industriously poking tobacco off his gums with a solid-gold toothpick.

 

Jody wiped her tears and smiled bravely. Soapy was fascinated with Southern middle aged women and their frosted hair, and hers was no exception. But he felt sorry for Jody, especially when she said “Couldn’t I just visit my mother for a week, Garland-Fitzhugh, honey?”

 

Garland-Fitzhugh dropped the toothpick back in his breast pocket. “You know hon, I would go for that? But you’re kinda slackin’ off lately, and lotsa attitude? You whine when I make you take yer punishments in the front yard, cause you’re PTA president, an you say that the Garden Club will come by, see you with your panties down, my cane across your flabby butt? And Sonny Boy, said you didn’t suck his friends off when he came by last weekend? When Jillian and I were in Vegas?”

 

Jody screamed, “Sonny’s our CHILD! Or at least my stepchild, Garland-Fitzhugh!”

 

Garland-Fitzhugh turned to Soapy. “Sonny’s mah son from m’first marriage? Niice boy. Newland th’ Fifth. Mah Daddy was called Trey? Sonny’s a real nice boy, wish you could meet him. Doin’ agronomy at A&M back home.”

 

Soapy took a Tums as he watched Jody’s face collapse.

 

Garland-Fitzhugh turned to Jody, who was now weeping anew. “Sonny and his friends came over and you gave them some beer, but when Sonny wanted you to do a little mouth servicin’ you said it was inappropriate or some shit you got from them therapist talk shows? And you’re just a worthless slavehog, honey. Who you think you are?”

 

Jillian slapped Jody across the face, laughing. “Get your clothes off and kneel, you old bitch! We’re signing you up for the Kennel if I have to use my savings for it!”

 

Soapy went to the front of the Little Shop and locked the front door, drawing a curtain. As Jody disrobed, with tears streaking down her face, Jillian grabbed and twisted her ear.

 

Soapy began processing the order for one week at Code Purple for Mrs. Josephine Simms, watching out of the corner of his eye as Jody’s husband and his mistress tried out the new shipment of canes on her old, wrinkled ass. Soapy whistled. Maybe Grandma Cohen was wrong. Maybe there is something worse than dying with  a needle in your arm.