[about this version of the text]:
[15 september 1998]:
hi, everyone...it's been quite some time since i've picked up my writers quill...well...you know, my keyboard. in that time i've got a job, the edge, a life...etc. basically my time hasn't been my own and thus, writing has come in sporadic bursts. i'm still working on a few ideas, but nothing is set in concrete.
this story, god's dog, was originally intended as a look inside an s/m relationship between two men where one was the dog and the other was the owner. that particular version of this story is still in draft. i don't know when it'll be finished, if ever, but this is another facet of that idea. up until now, in all of my vore stories the principle characters have enacted a gentle sort of swallowing.
i like that sort of thing, the idea of mutual consent, etc, but i don't feel that one can adequately describe the dominant/submissive roles in a swallowing scene without at least touching on the s/m nature of the genre. this is my stab at that element of vore...
anyhow, i'm rambling now and i'll bet that you're more curious about the story itself than my brooding, so i'll quietly close the door on the house and let you find your feet with sir matthew and his dog.
i hide in the shadows as night falls. when sir matthew returns he will no longer want me. i have violated his sacred trust, as his boy i have been disobedient, as his dog i have...run the gamut, i think might be the right set of words.
the house, at twilight, is an eerie place to be...shafts of sunlight pour through the branches of the trees and are turned to smoke plumes by the many dust particles...almost making every room that faces the light of twilight like part of a huge cathedral. i try not to think of stained glass, sacrifices and altars as i walk further and further into the house.
where do you hide when you've done evil and you know that god will punish you?
right now he's in a taxi headed here, i know. i was supposed to meet him at the airport and i never did...i'd been up for the better part of last night working on my university thesis. when morning broke, [i was up late enough that i caught the first rays of sunlight] i finally fell into bed...i slept through his plane landing on the tarmac, i slept through his disembarking the plane...in short, i wasn't there when he walked through the glass doors that lead to home and now i will pay. disobedience implies disrespect...and disrespect is not tolerated.
i want to crawl into a hole, but, right now, probably the best place for me to be is either my kennel, or waiting for him at the door...
picking the one that might imply more servitude, i crawl into my kennel and lie in wait, shivering at what might come, trying to anticipate what kind of blows might rain down on me.
minutes later i hear a car approaching and the clattering of heavy feet on the front porch...the key turning in the lock as he unlocks the door. the summons comes.
one whistle and two claps. the signal says i should go to him, but i can smell the heat of his anger and the leather belt that is strapped around his ample waist and i want to face neither. i whine and crawl out from my kennel. if i had a tail it'd be between my legs now...as it is, i stoop to nealy crawling on my belly to face him...eyes wide open and staring up past the vast gut to the stern eyes of my owner. looking down at me he closes the door behind him and puts all his suitcases on the floor.
i need not be told. slowly, he removes the belt from around his round middle and lifs it high. obediently, knowing my crime, i turn my behind o face him and wait.
[16 september 1998] the blow never comes. instead, his deep sonourous voice travels down to me as i cower on the floor.
"i think...yes...i think that since you don't want to be near me, i have another punishment in store for you...and with this punishment you will *always* be near me, dog." i cringe. he's never talked like this before. fear washes over me and with the fear comes a desire to be away.
he's dangerous like this and i want no part of it. i scamper, knowing that it won't let me get away fast enough and so i do something i've never done before. ignoring all my training, all the canes that have been broken across my back, all the leather belts that have been applied to my rear...everything, i have the audacity to stop kneeling...very slowly i raise myself to my legs and then, in slow-motion i'm running, running for the back door. heavy treads start to follow me and that deep voice is yelling.
"no!" he yells, "you're not getting away from me..." the back door, jesus, the back door is locked the back door is locked and only he has the keys.
i turn to face him and see the determination in his eyes, the steel-grey eyes that i've come to trust...now all i see is something...an animal...a thing i've never seen before. a transformation is taking place and i don't want to see the end-result.
i know there's no way to shoulder past him, so i don't even attempt that, instead i try to slip past him and head for the front door. very slowly the door comes closer, ever closer and yet it remains so far away...i can hear him turning, i can hear him running.
in that instant that the door comes within reach i know i'll never get there. he's bigger, stronger and far more used to this happening. two huge bear-arms grip me and his silver-bearded mouth is at my neck, nuzzling gently. at first i don't realize what he's doing, until an almost-growl of pleasure escapes him.
"mmmm...you smell sweet, boy...could that be your natural odour, or your fear? i'm fairly sure it's your fear...and i want to taste it..."
at first...at first his words don't sink in...i'm struggling in his grip and he's stripping me, getting all of my clothes to fall to the floor at his booted feet...all the way through this process he's llciking at the back of my neck making gentle, satisfied noises. "good enough to eat...yes..." he says, nibbling at an ear.
the vice-like grip tightens as i thrash for freedom...ever since high-school i'd always been able to scream, but now...that opportunity for help was fading fast...that and i was pretty sure that it wasn't going to help any. i'd long-since learnt that the house was sound-proofed. no sense in practicing s/m and having the neighbours knowing you're doing it, right?
[13 january 1999]
i can't see, so much as as feel as his mouth expands... now he's not just cupping my ears in his mouth, he's got the whole of the top of my head in it...sucking past the hair on my head his wide mouth makes it's way down to my forhead...as horrifying as it is, i realize that he *is* carrying out his threat to eat me...only...it's not a threat...it's a promise.
and i remember the wall...
downstais, in the cellar. i remember being in there once and seeing the pictures on the wall. not just one, or two, but possibly a dozen. young men, all of them, with my build and my looks. he'd called them past lovers. each picture had a frame, each frame had a date, each date was incomplete. there'd been diaries, each diary tracing the entry of one of the young men into sir matthew's life. they'd been training manuals of a sort...but each diary had stopped with the date on the plaque. like a litany the names danced before my eyes, stephen, alan, michael, jeremy, ford...
all the diaries said one thing, that each 'boy' had moved on, in time, but he hadn't said exactly what moving on meant. now...for the first time, i realized that moving on meant they'd died...or had been assimilated into the gut of this large man. he'd swallowed ten or more young men...
i tried pleading...tried pointing out that i knew what he'd done and that he couldn't get away with this... but i knew that was fallacy the moment i uttered it, he knew his business and knew it well. he'd simply claim to the police that the young man had taken off and hadn't told him where he was headed...i'd be impossible to mount a search with as litle information as that.
he opens his mouth and pulls back, his jaws resuming their normal shape and size.
"are you done fighting, boy?"
i thrash, uselessly in his arms.
i start crying and in an incredibly tender moment he wipes the tears away from my eyes.
"listen to me, boy...i can't have you knowing what you do, that and you disobeyed and i've layed down the law as far as punishment goes...and this is my punishment...you will be with me all the days of my life...i'll never forget you. i've never forgotten jeremy...or michael...or ford, i just incorporate them into everything i do...and they sustain me...they make me stronger."
i sniffle..."i could...help you catch boys...if you want? i cou-"
"no," he says, "you'll warn them and they'll leave before i'm ready for them and then i'll just take it out on you. and...besides, you may wind up in my gut then, rather sooner than later, no. now don't fight. you're just going to lose anyway."
before resuming his meal he hugs me tight and says, softly, "i love you, boy...like i loved all the others...this is just the ultimate expression of my love...to have you within me."
i try to slip out of his grasp, but he's too strong and too fast...instead, i get an admonishing glare. "no, boy. no fighting."
i just sniffle.
i feel his great belly move beside me..."now i'm hungry... and i'm going to eat you...it's been a good three or four years."
his mouth opens wide and envelopes the crown of my head, while his tongue slips and bathes my forhead warmly... he makes satisfied noises around me, sucking me in, down past my forhead. his mouth covers my eyes and i begin to whimper and beat against his chest. he does nothing, just takes it all as he sucks me in...his tongue descending into my mouth when it gets there, forcing itself inside me. i realize that his name isn't master for nothing. he knows exactly what he's doing...has done it before so many times that he ought to be an expert at this...devouring.
my bearded chin slips into his mouth and now his own mouth is like a collar around my neck...i'm a dog again. as a dog i'm meant to be obedient...why can't i be obedient in this one last service? like he would when i was his dog, he strokes my back, softly. good dog...good...god. if i am his dog...then for a long time now he has been my god. the one i'd obey beyond the call of duty.
as i'm thinking all of this he's made his way down to my chest...down to my nipples. my arms are being pinned to my sides as he sucks me deeper into himself. the odd thing is that not once has he bitten down...he wants me inside him whole...and that makes sense, because no matter how much he'd beat me, he'd always bandage my wounds afterwards...he'd always keep me whole no matter what he did to me.
slowly he keeps swallowing me down into himself, tasting me as i go down, his tonuge running up and down my body, sometimes in my belly-button sometimes further up, now the top-half of my arms can't move at all...he's slowly covering me with himself...like he'd done when i was his boy...when you're his boy he's your whole life, he's the only thing you think about...he surrounds you, comforts you, hurts you, takes you place you'd never think you'd go, but he's always there.
down his mouth moves...down...until he cups my genitals. his swallowing pauses as he starts to stimulate me, drawing my penis up out of it's reverie...beneath me he lets go of my back as a big hand moves down to his own large member, i can't see what he's doing, but i can feel a big paw undo his jeans...i don't hear them slip to the floor, but i feel the first shudders as he starts to pull at himself while his tongue darts around my own penis...then he's pressing roughly against my erection, forcing it down into the cushion of his tongue. forgetting where i am i start to thrust against him, warmth envelopes my penis as his tongue curls around it, he's had practice at this and his mouth is like an extension of his hands...wrapping...
that's always been his way...even when he's getting pleasure he'll reciprocate and give pleasure back...in his way he's not so much like a master as a father... he doesn't fall as our rythms fall out of synch...then in synch...inside his throat i close my eyes as i spurt into his mouth...washing him in my semen. from here the slide down his throat is easier...my hands are now inside him...wrapped against my body, slowly he sucks me feet inside him...toys with my toes one last time as he closes his bearded mouth.
for a few seconds i'm caught in his throat...then that opens up and i empty out into his stomach...which has expanded, but is still infinately too small...on the outside i feel a massive paw stroke me. if he speaks will i hear him? for a long while i don't find out, instead i'm privy to his ministrations of his barrel-like penis as he coaxes it into life...i feel him sit down, heavily...feel his hand stroking his gut...feel the rocking motions outside of his body...hear his heart speed up...speed up...speed up...
i don't feel the semen shoot up onto his stomach, but i know by the slowing down of his body that he's done. it's dark here...dark and warm, but frightning...he never said that servitude could be this frightening... he never...
the shock of what has happened hits me...rains down on me as his fists might have done in other circumstances, breathing heavily i realise that there's no getting out of this situation, there's no road back, there's no safeword that can save. i've performed the ultimate act of service, i've given my life for my master. the shock finally saves me. giving up on my futile struggles, i pass out and never wake up again...
the thirteenth plaque has no dates and no picture, the diary that accompanies it has a section torn out of it. a large man dressed in a business suit is standing over a fireplace, stacking pages on the ready pile of logs. removing his cigar from his mouth he tosses it down onto the unlit pyre and walks away.
god has redeemed his dog.
[14 january 1999]
this took so long to produce because of the job...and because from 'validation' onwards i wasn't sure of where to go. i knew what i wanted to achieve, to contrast the servitude with the swallowing, i just wasn't quite sure of how to do it...the answer seemed to come as i was writing the last part of the story...if i could point to actions that sir matthew was performing [while swallowing his boy] and then contrast those with actions he'd performed in the past [in the standard s/m vein] i'd have what i was after...
regarding the titles of parts one, two and three...the first two should be fairly self-explanatory. [violation being not obeying orders, validation being the following of orders [even after a struggle]]
it's the third one that might not make sense entirely... to my liking sir matthew is a man of routine, there's very few grey areas in his life, but this last boy is potentially one big, grey area for him...it probably isn't made clear in the story, but one reason for this is that he possibly had to deal with this particular boy for longer than he's had to deal with some of the others...what he had in this case was an incredibly obedient young man...it took three or four years for the actual slip-up to occur.
the desecration in this sense is not doing what he'd usually do once he'd finished with a young man. [that being having a picture mounted in a frame with his date of eating and finishing the final diary entry for that particular boy.]
possibly in this sense, because of the large grey area that this has left with him, the dog's god is changing his outlook...is redeeming himself.
hope you enjoyed it...*hugs*
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