I’m in Trouble

by Cropsncuffs

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© Copyright 2007 - Cropsncuffs - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; F/m; bond; susp; pony; bdsm; toys; cons; X


Ok, I’m in trouble. Well, not right now. Right now I’m nice and warm, but I’m not sure what’s going to happen soon. You see, I’m in a dog basket. A nice big, well padded dog basket. And I can’t say it’s exactly uncomfortable. At least, not yet. But I’d better not get ahead of myself. You see it’s not as if I mind being here. In fact I was rather enjoying at it start with.

My name is, well, that’s not really important is it ? Suffice to say that I live with my loving partner who is also me talented and oh so devious lover. His name doesn’t matter either I suppose, and the reason I’m in this basket is all my fault. You see, we have always enjoyed our little games. Well, I’d never thought about the boss and slave games until he came along, and then he opened a Pandora’s box of pleasures in me. I wouldn’t have believed  last year some of the things we’ve done together. And loved every moment of it.

Now I work at the stables. I manage them in fact, which means I know all the comings and goings, and when things will be quiet and private. And that’s when we like to play. I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve had it away in the hay loft or in the newly applied hay of an empty stall. And it’s not as if I’ve ever been short of offers. There is something about my figure in a tight pair of jodhpurs and high boots that does something for a certain sort of customer. Add my nasty looking whip and some nearly foam at the mouth. I’m a tiny little thing, but I’ve got tits like you wouldn’t believe. Mum always said I should have gone for Page Three, but that’s not my style. I may willingly admit to being a bit of a pervert, but the thought of having my chest spread across the pages of a newspaper (If you can call the Sun that) did nothing for me at all.

Add my flaming red hair, pale skin and big blue eyes to that and the guys just stand and stare. I could have nearly any of them, but there’s only one man for me, and I hope he will be back soon.

He damn near took things too far last month. We were in one of the buildings at the stables and he had his way with me. Before I knew what was happening he had ropes about my wrists (I do love a tight set of ropes) and had the far ends around a block and tackle near the ceiling. I was still woozy from his energetic rodgering when I figured would what he had in mind, and by that time it was too late for me to object. He hauled on the rope, and up went my wrists. And the bastard kept on pulling until my bare toes were barely touching the cobbled floor. I’d never been so stretched before, and as I started to object he stuck a spare bit in my mouth and secured it with some odd scrap of tack he had found lying about. All I could do was glare and watch his amusement as my teeth and lips moved silently around that big rubber bar.

Then he picked up my whip and walked round behind me. I made desperate sounds from behind that big bit  as I realised that time was marching on and that the last group that had gone out were due back again soon. I had nearly forgotten my jods and panties down around my knees when that whip hit me across the arse like a thin line of fire. I screamed past the bit like you would not believe, while down below things moistened up very nicely. Then he hit me again, and again, the blows coming just far enough apart to allow the raw heat to dissipate before the next blow fell. I was in agony and heaven at the same time, and at the back of my mind I could hear the hoof beats of the last group coming back. A group I was supposed to be there to welcome.

He had me dancing on the end of that rope, the bastard. Then, through the haze of confusion, I felt my jods and panties slipped smoothly off my dangling legs and his strong arms about me, lifting me onto his mighty erection and fucking me there and then. Still hanging from the ceiling and with the riding group going past the lower windows. And I could hear them talking, wondering where I was.

And there I was, being shagged mercilessly less than ten feet above their heads, my head hanging back and my long red hair trailing behind me as passion and orgasm ruled my body beyond everything else. Then he let me down gently and laid me ever so tenderly in the straw before dashing down stairs to welcome the group back. He didn’t actually work at the stables, but everyone knew him, and they accepted his excuses for my absence. While I was lying in the straw and plotting my revenge. Which is how I ended up where I am now. In a large dog basket wondering what will happen next. But that’s getting ahead of myself again. My revenge.

I had it all planned. He was coming to the stables immediately after the group left, so we would have a couple of hours to do our thing. Only this time I intended it to be very much my thing. I had plans.

It didn’t take much to persuade him to strip off in one of the stalls, and he took it all in good stead when I had him kneel down and snapped on the cuffs. Silly, fluffy Ann Sommers cuffs, that he always found funny. Only I’d been busy. The Silly pink fluff might have been the same, but under the pink were a quite new pair of cuffs. A proper locking pair that you can’t get out of without the key. And I had the key.

Now I’d spent an awful lot of time in the tack room going through the odd scraps of strapping and buckle that had accumulated there over the years, and the result, after a lot of trial and error, was a damn passable human bridle. He realised things were not going to go his way when I came up behind him and started to roll that lovely mass of worn leather straps down over his head. He opened his mouth to protest (A silly mistake, he should have known better than to open his mouth with something on his head). The bit dropped into place between his lips, and before he could spit it out I had the first of the straps buckled, and it was then he found out about the cuffs. Sure, he doesn’t mind being the sub, but he likes it to be on his terms, and the moment I saw his fingers running around those nicely disguised cuffs I knew I had got to him. As his fingers desperately sought the release catches he knew had to be there, but that I knew were not, I had nearly all the straps fastened. And he was mine.

I took a couple of paces back and smiled at him. He was glaring at me from out of that delightful web of leather, his head wrapped from several directions, and there was no way he as going to get that lot off without some serious help, and he wasn’t getting any of that from me until I had had my fun.

I clipped a lunge reign to his head harness and jerked him to his feet and led him to the entrance of the stall. He pulled back as he started to realise what I had in mind, the fury in his eyes tempered by a look of fleeting unease as he realised that I was the one in change this time. I pulled in the rein harder, and when he still held back I scooped up my conveniently placed coaching whip and slashed it across his muscular buttocks. He yelped through the bit gag, and for a fleeting moment I thought I was being too mean, then I thought about that day dangling in the attic, and the blows he had landed on me, and I pulled harder on the lunge rein and forced him to follow me. Out of the stall, along the corridor and out into the fresh air.

He fought me hard at the door to the outside,. Pulling so hard on the rein that he almost had me over. But I braced myself and treated him to another cut of my whip before I managed to drag him out into the sunshine.

“Now Isn’t that better ?” I asked him “All nice and healthy in the fresh air”

I never thought I would ever see fear in the eyes of my lover, but I saw it then. Well, it was too late to back out now. I drove him out into the lunging ring and set him running in a wide circle, carefully playing out the lunging rope yet keeping him tight enough in to me so he couldn’t evade the stinging touch of my whip. And I used it regularly to keep him moving, making him raise his knees high like some prancing pony at a show. And I’d never been so turned on in my life. Standing there in my riding gear with my naked lover at the end of my lunge. Forced to do my biding, and not able to do a damn thing about it. I should have known that he would look for his revenge afterwards, which is how I ended up here. In the dog basket.

It wouldn’t have been so bad had the group not come back early after one of the horses threw a shoe and my lover damn near didn’t get back out of sight in time. And it was nearly half an hour before I could get back to the stall he was hiding in and release him from that bridle. And the sex we had there and there was so wild and furious that I was sure he would forgive me for my techniques. But I was wrong. Very wrong.

We made love last night. We nearly always do, we’re that sort of couple. When we are together it’s either boring or hot randy sex. And that night he nearly shagged me senseless, and I was on that mystic cloud nine as I drifted off to sleep in his arms, a mistake I’m now paying the price for.

When I woke up I could feel something irritating my neck, and I absently scratched at it before my fingers met leather. Rough leather. Smiling to myself I ran my fingertips around it and found a large buckle and square metal studs. A collar. So it was going to be that sort of game was it ?. I sat up in bed and looked at myself in the big mirror across the room. The collar was black with gleaming studs, just like the one was had bought for the dog last week. I had jokingly admired it then, and he must have sneaked back and bought another for me. The horny bastard.

Watching my reflection I ran both hands round the collar getting more turned on by the moment. Then I felt him stirring and nuzzled up against his chest, purring the way I know turns him on. The affectionate pussycat act that goes so well with a couple of very interesting outfits I keep for the colder winter nights when he can have me lie in front of the fire and stroke me lovingly.

I felt his arm move, his widely spread hand running up and down my spine at a slow and steady pace. I sighed contentedly, and snorted displeasure as I felt him slip out of the bed and make his way to the bathroom. I had my eyes closed  when he came back and thought nothing of his gently rolling me over onto my front and straddling my narrow waist under his strong thighs. And I was still too spaced out to wonder too closely what he was doing when I felt something come to rest on the top of my head, and only started to take a sudden interest when I felt a strap pass under my chin and clinch tight, forcing me to keep my mouth firmly closed.  I started to buck under him, but I knew it was no use. He was too strong for me if he wanted to make a straight fight out of it.

And in a matter of moments other straps joined the first until my head was firmly wrapped, and something was very definitely wrong. I couldn’t lie down in the pillow anymore. There was something both in front of and on the sides of my head, and my head suddenly felt heavier than it should have done. The faint snap of a small padlock told me that whatever he had fitted me with was staying on until he chose to let me loose. Which was when I understood that this was his form of revenge. Usually, locks and keys were no part of our play, but I had broken the rules with those cuffs, and now I was going to pay the price.

He allowed me up, and in the fleeting glimpse I got of his face he was smiling his nice, warm, turned-on smile I can come to know and love.

So, with no small amount of dread, I looked in the mirror and almost came on the spot. I had seen the wrap-around muzzles in magazines many times, but never one like this. This one had a snub rubber dogs muzzle sticking out the front, and two big floppy puppy ears. I tried to speak to him, but the rubber strap across my chin kept me nearly silent. Only a high whimper escaped. A painfully doglike whimper. And he smiled some more.

He picked up a leash from under the bed, and I could only accept meekly as he clipped it to my collar and gently but firmly led me off the bed onto the floor.  I adopted the all-fours position I knew he would expect, and I could feel myself  getting damper by the minute. Just as experiment I pulled at the leash, and gave my head a hard shake to see of the muzzle moved. It didn’t. Whoever had made it knew their product perfectly and it stayed exactly in place. So I was the dog until my lover let me be otherwise. Fine with me. I could be a good dog, at least for the moment.

I allowed him to pull me tight into his leg, and I let my chin rest on his thigh while making big doggie eyes up at him as he stood over me. God I wanted him there and then, but I knew that there was going to be more to his game than this. He was too devious a bastard to let me get away with it this easily. And I was right.

He led me downstairs, and for a moment I thought he was going to make use of the big puppy cage we had bought when we got Winston, our puppy. He had once locked me in it and forced me to give him  a blow-job before he would let me out. Then he had made me reach out to him through the bars, and he snapped cuffs on my wrists so I couldn’t get my hands back into the cage to protect myself. And he got his hands everywhere. That had been my first time in hard bondage, and I nearly shouted the house down. Ah happy memories, but I am getting away from the story again.

He led me down the stairs, and stood by the dog basket. Winston’s dog basket. A big, plastic thing with padding and a pile of blankets to keep him comfortable. Then he pointed at the basket and gave the leash a firm tug. I pulled back for a moment, and he raised a short riding whip he just ‘happened’ to have left by the basket as a threat.

Still so turned on it hurt I climbed into the basket and sat up on my haunches, hands up by my chest in the begging position. I did my best to look appealing, hoping for an energetic shag, but all he did was smile and ruffle my hair as if I really was his puppy. Then he pushed me gently down into the lying position, and I curled up like I thought he wanted me to. Just like Winston used to do before he grew.

My lover took the leash and twisted it swiftly around the trim on the edge of the basket, and as my mind was on experimentally pulling at it, I was too slow to stop the cuffs closing about my ankles, anchoring my feet to the back of the basket. He patted my head lovingly, then patted my arse with the full spread of his hand and wished me a good night. Then he was gone. Which was when my troubles really began.

At first I was pissed off that he had left me there. All alone and frustrated, my hormones raging and me with no way to satisfy them. I’m sorry, but when your lover is in the house, your own fingers just don’t cut it. Then I realised when Winston was so happy to be left in his basket all day. It really was rather comfortable. The padding was deep, and the blankets made it far warmer than I had expected, and for the first time I started to drop off to sleep. I was nearly nodded off when I head the door open and the clatter of claws on the kitchen flooring. Christ, Winston was loose.

Now, I suppose I should explain about Winston. He was a rescue dog, just a puppy when we first got him, and he had grown into a perfectly formed 9 stone Rotweiler. And he was about to find his mistress in his dog basket. Well, nearly his mistress. I couldn’t speak to issue his usual commands, and my face must be nearly unrecognisable under the rubber muzzle. And I couldn’t even get to my feet and turn him away with both ankles and neck fettered to the edges of the basket. His basket.

I started to turn to face him when I felt his first paw resting on my flank. A firm, wide paw that seemed to be telling me to stay where I was. A clear ‘don’t move’. Then I felt his big muzzle sniffing me. Sniffing me all over as he tried to figure out who or what was in his basket, and what he should do next.

He obviously decided that I was not much of a threat as he climbed over me into the basket. For a fleeting moment he paused astride me, and a delightfully kinky wave of arousal washed over me as I found myself with a huge Rottweiler standing over me as if he owned me. Then he settled down to sleep alongside me, throwing one paw over my waist as if to keep me in place. Telling me I was his to do with as he pleased. 

And now I’m just waiting for the morning. When Winston wakes up, and finds that there is still a very pale, very helpless girl in his basket. A girl unable to give commands or fight him off. I just hope he’s not an early riser.