If Sam had a standard product, 702 and 534 were probably quite close to it and he expected he’d get a reasonable sum for them when they were sold. However, Sam was a businessman and always looking for ways to enhance his product and therefore his profit margin. He constantly sought new approaches, perspectives and angles to the training of his dog-slaves. As a result he’d become adept at identifying and anticipating the tastes of his clients, understanding their underlying preferences and exploiting them and, occasionally, even inspiring new ones. One of the conclusions he’d drawn was that although they, like himself , were sadistic in their pleasures, this was coupled with and driven by an overpowering urge to dominate. They enjoyed the breaking of others to their will, the infliction of physical, but also mental pain and discomfort on others. This basic trait was then influenced and shaped more subtly by other characteristics and factors so that some enjoyed younger, others older victims, while still others might enjoy the enslavement of street whores or doctors or athletes. The psychology behind such preferences was no doubt complex and not something Sam had any interest in untangling. But years of talking and negotiating with the people who bought his products had taught him to look for angles which could be exploited.

The three bitches who occupied pen 13 were an example of that. Apricot, Pixie and Babbette had become a poodle, a chocolate labrador and a spaniel following their capture, but as humans they had all been lesbians with an aversion to males that bordered on androphobia in some cases. That, he knew could drive the prices he could ask through the roof. To the right buyer they’d be worth perhaps double what the likes of 534 or 702 could fetch. It also drove the techniques he used to break them which had, in the past, proved sufficient in the past to break even the most strident former bull dyke down to abject canine slavery.

Sam could hear the commotion from pen 13 before he arrived; a series of growls, yips, gasps, grunts and strangled sounds which cut across the ambient noise of the kennels.

When he reached the pen, the scene that met him more than matched his expectations. Dominating the front of the enclosure just inside the door was Jacko, the current guardian. He was a sizeable animal, a crossbreed, with a well-muscled, powerful physique and the black and tan markings and demonic pointed ears of his Doberman dam. Sam was enormously pleased with the animal as he represented the pinnacle so far of the guardian dog training programme, seeming to possess all the qualities those efforts aimed at in spades. He was physically impressive and could be intimidating to a grown man let along a near helpless dog-slave. His intelligence was also significant and he appeared to understand what was required of him almost instinctively, responding to even unpredictable situations and dog-slave behaviours decisively. Further, he had responded well to socialisation training and had a strong sense of hierarchy and was tyrannical with the dog-slaves in his charge, yet docile and biddable as long as he was handled firmly and authoritatively.

Currently, Jacko was mounted on a dog-slave poodle with a cream-coloured short wooly coat, his hindquarters pistoning rapidly back and forwards as he thrust deeply inside her. Jacko must have weighed close to 100 pounds and Apricot the poodle looked crushed beneath him. As Nick had said she’d been starting to feed when Jacko’s attentions had begun and Sam could see some of the feed slop smeared around her mouth and snout. However, she’d not had long to enjoy her only meal of the day for Jacko’s weight had forced her down and forward, haunches raised, her forelegs spread wide and her breasts smearing back forth in the feeding bowl as her whole body was impacted repeatedly by the dog’s powerful thrusts.

Until three weeks ago, Apricot had been Tabitha Young, a 42 year old journalist and author of numerous articles and one or two books which promoted her strongly held, radical feminist political agenda. She had also been the author of a blog which had proclaimed rather more extreme views and included entries which discussed a diverse range of subjects including the evolutionary obsolescence of the male gender, matriarchal political systems, the benefits of enforced male chastity and sterilization and the removal of a male voting privileges. It had all made very interesting reading to Sam and she was immediately flagged as a priority for the snatch team. That didn’t mean that they’d rushed the job, quite the contrary. Instead, as with most of their targets, they’d done their research gathering as much information as they could about her before making their move. They’d taken her in her north London flat where she lived alone. She’d then spent a week in processing before being placed in pen 13.

That had been almost two weeks ago and since then the former journalist had been subjected to the regime of pen13. For the most part it was quite similar to the general treatment and training meted out to the rest of the dog-slaves, with one or two exceptions. All, of course, wore dog suits appropriate to their new breed. For most dog-slaves, the vaginal opening’s of their suits were kept squeezed shut for a high proportion of the time, as was the case for 534 and 702 currently. Regularly, every week or two, the apertures were left open constantly for around a week or so. This was intended to simulate the bitches being ‘in heat’, a measure which he was sure the dog-slaves quickly came to understand. During this time each was frequently sprayed with the synthetic pheremones Sam’s more conventional business used to interest studs in their intended breeding partners while their vaginas were kept packed with lubricants. The result was predictable and it wasn’t unusual for a dog-slave to be knotted several times while ‘in heat’. For the inhabitants of pen 13, the regime differed in that they were kept ‘in heat’ constantly, always vulnerable to the attentions of their canine guardians. To aid the process their clitoral, urethral and anal devices were of a more advanced type than the standard, each containing a small chip which activated its functions at random intervals and for random periods of time. Normally, this was at a low intensity, sufficient to arouse the dog-slaves body without pushing her over the edge into orgasm. As a measure, it was intended, as was so much else to emphasise that literally no bodily function was under their control, to keep them constantly on the edge of arousal with their juices flowing, the scent of which added to the interest of their dog guardians.

In the rear part of the rectangular pen Sam could see the remaining two bitches huddled uncertainly around the low baskets that had been their beds for the night. Both had long chains dangling from their collars attached at the other end to one of the floor rings. As a general rule, only the guardian dogs remained unleashed in the pens when unmonitored. Although the scene before them was a frequent occurrence in this pen, the two bitches were obviously distressed by it, moving skittishly towards the rear of the pen and trying to cluster together in atavistic attempt to generate some sense of security.

Apricot’s head was orientated towards him and he could see her eyes were screwed tightly shut. He imagined her face would be distorted into a grimace under the covering snout. She was emitting involuntary guttural grunts as air was forced from her lungs under the repeated impacts of Jacko’s haunches, her mouth was held partially open; presumably Nick had adjusted her gag to allow her to eat as it would have been in the closed position for the night. Sam tapped the tablet screen. Since she’d arrived, it said, the poodle had become been mounted by Jacko four times and once by Duke, his opposite number. Nick had been right, the dog did like her. Sam could only wonder at how degraded the former radical feminist must feel. Not only were her feminine charms firmly under male control, a control much more direct than any of her writings had claimed existed in human society, but she was thoroughly subject to male exploitation and not even by human males. It was perfect and Sam felt his dick harden and lengthen under his overalls.

But now the sound from the poodle altered, suddenly starting to grow, to a high pitched, panicked keening from the back of her throat. Jacko’s ministrations had suddenly changed, his pace slowing and becoming less regular, more intermittent. Sam smiled, he’d seen similar reactions before, even in experienced dog-slaves, which Apricot wasn’t. He knew that the impressive knot at the base of Jacko’s equally impressive member was now expanding and the poodle could feel it stretching her still further.

Suddenly, Apricot eyes snapped open wide, in response to a final thrust from Jacko and, focussed on Sam’s boots through the wire mesh of the pen. Until then, the poodle had been unaware of his presence and passive, seemingly just clinging on and enduring her guardian’s onslaught, but Sam’s presence changed that. He saw a moment of realisation flit across her eyes before they narrowed and a desperate, incandescent fury filled them as she forced her head back to bring his face into her field of vision.

“ ‘oo….uu…..’uck…..’ucking…..shh…..shick……cock…..shhucker!” she shrieked, shrilly, her words mangled by the long period of disuse of her voice, the restraint of her snout and, Sam thought, the strain of accommodating about eight inches of Jacko’s member including a knot the size of a snooker ball.

He wasn’t bothered by the abuse, it was what he would expect and had heard similar many times before, it was the fact of speech itself that had to be corrected. Apricot hadn’t been in the kennels long enough for the connection between attempted speech and inevitable, painful punishment to become ingrained and that needed work. But Sam knew he couldn’t use the preferred means; a jolt from the shock collar, to achieve that as doing so would affect Jacko, connected as he and the poodle were, and Sam had no wish to spoil the dog’s fun or affect any future performance.

“I..uggnnnhhh…!” Apricot had drawn breath and started to launch into another blistering tirade, her eyes blazing with hatred, when Jacko responded. One of the functions he was trained for as a guardian dog was to recognise and prevent human speech in his charges. Generally, it was something of a hit and miss affair with most of the dogs, but usually they achieved it well enough to keep their dog-slaves too terrified of them to make much noise at all let alone attempt to speak even when they had the opportunity. Now, Jacko snarled deeply, pushed his body forward over the dog-slave’s hindquarters and seized the back of her neck in his powerful jaws. This, and the shift in the dog’s weight, shoved Apricot’s head down and forced her torso against the concrete, driving her breath from her and ending her verbal attack before it began.

Jacko and the other canine guardians often used this technique for immobilising recalcitrant dog-slaves they was attempting to mount and as a result the back of the dog suit necks had been reinforced to avoid damage in the latest designs. Sam wondered, if the dog had interpreted Apricot’s outburst as resistance and acted accordingly or whether he really had recognised it as speech. It didn’t really matter as the poodle was now completely still, her eyes tightly shut, all defiance seemingly extinguished as the dog’s continued to hold her neck and she made strangled whimpering noises, the dog’s jaws clamped forcefully on her neck and his low growling in her ear.

Sam looked away for a moment. Racks of equipment; leashes, dildos, gags, muzzles, crops and other implements useful for the handlers of dog-slaves hung at intervals from racks and shelves mounted on the bars of the pens in the aisles between them for the convenience of the kennels’ staff. Sam reached for the nearest, selected a few items and quickly unlocked the door to the pen and stepped inside.

“Good boy, well done,” he said in a low voice, soothing Jacko, until his growling ceased. “Good job boy, now leave her be.” Sam crouched by Apricot’s head as the dog released his grip on her neck.

Her eyes, nestled among the short wooly fur of the poodle snout-mask, were tear-filled but bored into him with venomous hate, but she remained quiet, the side of her head pressed against the concrete, wary of her canine master’s response should she break silence. Sam brought a gag, one of the items he’d collected, into her field of view; a stubby, four-inch long shaft of glistening silicone, shaped like the canine penis already inside her, it’s surface a mottled pink and entangled in a network of slightly ridged reddish veins. Apricot’s eyes hardened and he saw her lips tight in a determined closed bunch.

Sam did not react directly. Whether she liked it or not the gag was going into her mouth and he had vast experience with rebellious dog-slaves, so he simply brought out the remote. Although Apricot was not yet conditioned by its use, she had sufficient experience of the shock collar to know what it meant and her defiance crumbled once more and her lips parted. That was all Sam needed and the gag was quickly in place, with just its base protruding. Holding it. he quickly worked the little pump dangling from it, inflating the gag’s knot and preventing her from expelling it easily while he scooped up the wire muzzle he’d collected and fitted it firmly over her snout. He then fastened the clips attaching the base of the gag to the inside of the muzzle and pulled the leather straps together behind the poodle’s head, tightening them until panicked guttural noises indicated it’s tip was lodged firmly in the back of her throat. He made a mental note that he must speak to Etienne, one of his staff who specialised in such matters, about training her to take larger phalluses orally with more practice.

Checking his work, Sam was happy. The gag and muzzle were firmly in place and Apricot was still making slight choking sounds as the silicone shaft rubbed slightly on her palate. Her mouth was stretched tightly around the implement and her ring gag exposing her lips under the snout’s covering. He could see the tattooing that had been undertaken during her processing. He must remember to complement Bill or Penny, whoever had done the work, Sam thought. Tattoos intending to enhance the canine appearance of the kennels’ human inhabitants were standard, but the poodle’s mouth was exceptionally well-done. Her lips were now mostly a deep black colour, with occasional pink blotches, their edges irregular, while the small areas of skin around them that were visible through the snout-mask’s narrow opening had been coloured to match the tightly curled fur of the suit she wore.

Satisfied, Sam stood, and saw that Jacko was shifting, attempting to swing a hind leg over Apricot’s back and rotate his body. Gently, Sam helped him until his was facing away from the bitch, his haunches pressed against hers and his cock still firmly lodged inside her. The two were nicely tied, Jacko panting a little and shifting his feet, Apricot, head down and still.

Sam was pleased with the result, it was an excellent learning experience for the bitch, she’d been penetrated and forcefully controlled by her canine master, her own will, her human pride and dignity thoroughly trampled. Such things had no place in the kennels or in a dog-slave. But Sam knew more could be gained from the situation. He could see that Apricot was remaining as still as she possibly could, doing nothing to increase her degradation, trying not to feel her violation and the dog’s cock buried inside her.

It was a common behaviour among dog-slaves in such situations and overcoming it by forcing a more active role played a significant part in breaking many of them. This was particularly so in pen 13 whose occupants had been so averse even to human male contact and especially penetration in their human lives. Accordingly, Sam again reached for the remote in his pocket and, pointing it at Apricot pressed a series of buttons. Immediately he saw the bitch stiffen as the vibrator inside her clitoral cap kicked into life at a fairly low, but insistent speed. Low, desperate squeaks were now issuing from the poodle’s throat. A few more buttons were pushed and the squeaks become a muffled howl of despair as her urethral plug sprang into action alongside its neighbour, followed by the tail plug’s hidden motors. After a few seconds, Sam knew she’d be unable to help herself; few dog-slaves could and sure enough her haunches began to twitch and thrust involuntarily around the canine member filling her.

Leaving Jacko to his conquest, Sam turned his attention to the two other dog-slaves in pen 13 who were now huddled together towards the back of the pen. The nearest was Babette, the spaniel, who who trying to shuffle away, her long ears flopping, bushy tail sweeping to and fro, her neck chain grating on the concrete. As she turned he could see two steel spheres about the size of cricket balls dragging behind the dog-slave, a light chain attaching them to clips on her labia, which were distended as she tried to pull the heavy weight with the sensitive flesh. There was nowhere for her to go and Sam picked up the neck chain where it lay and pulled her towards him, tottering and sliding on her stubby legs.

Babette was the longest serving resident of pen 13 at over four months. Once, she had been Leah Fitzwallace, a graphic designer and almost a stereotypical butch lesbian, with a stocky build, short hair, several tattoos and numerous piercings through seemingly any fold of skin she could find. All that was gone now after her time in the kennels and Sam felt she was more than ready for sale. He pulled the leash upwards, the pressure on the collar pulling the dog-slave’s fore legs off the ground so he could inspect her.

The tight suit showed she had lost weight during her time in the kennels, revealing a curvaceous figure with full breasts and an even more impressive rump. The breasts were too large to be completely free outside the suit without dragging on the ground when she was all fours so a larger portion of them were held tightly within it with the suit’s apertures clamped tightly around the exposed portion. The nipples were almost two inches long now, prominent even against the large aureoles which covered the ends of her breasts. A droplet of milk trickled from them and into the long fur of her belly. She had the big brown eyes of a spaniel and Sam wondered which of his staff had spotted that when choosing her breed. Now they looked at him, wide and anxious over her snout, as she whined beseechingly through her close mouth. She had learned that attention was something to avoid in the kennels but if it came it was best to be utterly subservient.

Crouching, he hooked a hand into her collar to hold her in place. The dog-slave’s fore legs waved aimlessly, and she squeaked slightly as her head was forced up. Sam could see her labia were significantly enlarged, red and puffy and currently stretched backwards and slightly apart by the weights she dragged, exposing the silver of her clitoral shield. She stiffened and grunted around the gag as his fingers touched her, passing over the alien hardness of the shield and urethral plug to push inside her open, moist cleft. Sam sunk first one, then two fingers into her, forcing them apart to widen and explore the hole as she groaned at the intrusion. She was very slick, the result of the recent activation of one or more of her plugs he thought.

Babette groaned as his fingers were pushed to their knuckles inside her and she writhed, impaled and helpless. Then he felt her shift, still groaning as she began to move her hips back and forth. He chuckled. Leah Fitzwallace, former vocal lesbian activist, was attempting to fuck his fingers. Was it an attempt to find favour he wondered or had the frequent use of her hole made this an involuntary, automatic response? Frankly, Sam didn’t really care. The fact she was doing it at all, showed how broken down she had been by her training and that was good enough for him.

Sam withdrew his fingers and stood, lowering the dog-slave back to all fours. Babette was actually something of a problem as there was no prospect of a sale for her as yet. Not that it mattered too much; she’d been useful in the Nursery Programme over the last month, but she might also prove a good training subject for young guardian dog prospects. Perhaps he’d keep her as a long term kennel dog-slave.

Pixie, the remaining dog-slave, was now a chocolate labrador but had once been Ananya Dhawan, a girl of third generation Indian descent. She was in her mid twenties and, her notes said, had had a traditional and sheltered upbringing, working as an administrator in her father’s transport company. Her photo showed a striking, attractive young woman with an angular face, dark eyes that were almost black, full lips and smooth, flawless skin the color of coffee. Her parents had been the midst of arranging an advantageous marriage for her, but the snatch team’s research and surveillance had shown that unknown to them, she’d had a lesbian lover; a white girl her own age. Their emails suggested a torrid, intense affair over which Ananya had been prepared to break with her parents and refuse their proposed marriage in order to be with her lover. All that had become academic when the snatch team had bundled her into their van and sedated her late one evening as she left her lover’s house.

That had been a month or so ago and since then she’s been subjected to the tender care of Jacko and Duke, a blow from which she had yet to recover. Unlike Apricot and even Babette in her early weeks in the pen, Pixie had never been defiant. Instead she was constantly nervous, and skittish. It wasn’t surprising really, and not an uncommon reaction in those dog-slaves who had been passive and unassertive in their human lives. He guessed she’d been the femme half of her relationship with her lover.

Now she had moved away from him while he was examining Babette and was huddled in the rear corner of the pen. She even attempted to avoid him as he stepped towards her, brown tail swaying back and forth as she tried to move down the side of the pen on her stubby ‘legs’. Sam guffawed at the sight, bent to pick up her neck chain and placed his foot on the back of the dog-slave’s neck, forcing a muffle yelp as he pushed her head to the floor. Holding the chain tight, Sam crouched and, taking hold of the nearest leg, pushed it upwards until Pixie collapsed on her side.

A low growl and a series of anguished squeaks and groans made Sam turn his head back to Jacko and his helpless conquest. The ministrations of Apricot’s various inserted devices had had their effect and pushed the dog-slave over the edge into orgasm, stimulating her beyond endurance. As he watched her haunches flexed repeatedly as if trying draw as much of Jacko’s impaling member into her as possible, while her stubby ‘forelegs’ shifted and scrabbled involuntarily and her hooded and muzzled head shook from side to side. He could hear the horror and fury in the high pitched and guttural sounds she was making and knew that her human pride that so wanted to ignore the intrusion, to endure it yet remain apart, had taken another damaging blow. Jacko, still panting and shifting in tie, merely growled in annoyance at the disturbance.

Pixie whimpered at the sounds her kennel mate was making and Sam turned his attention back to her. He could see tears in her dark eyes showing through her mask and feel her body shaking as he examined her. The dog suit apertures had been cinched tight around her small breasts, transforming them into fleshy purple knobs. Pixie had been subjected to the same regime of hormones and pumping as her pack mates, but the effects had been fairly minimal; a little enlargement of her breasts and a trickle of fluid, but nothing more. Her breasts did however seem to have increased in their sensitivity he noted as he squeezed one in his hand making her writhe and attempt, vainly, to pull away from him. He could see her nipples were inflamed, the brown flesh tinged pink. As with most, Pixie was subjected to an ongoing process of nipple enlargement and the inflammation was the result of the regular application of vacuum pumps. It looked sore, but the programme was having an effect; her little nubs showing definite signs of lengthening.

Abruptly, Pixie stiffened and groaned and Sam caught the sound of a low buzzing. He smiled to himself as he felt the bitch’s nipples stiffen and lengthen still more in helpless response to her clitoral shield as it sprang randomly but insistently to life. Pixie whimpered and began breathing heavily through her nose, twisting her haunches in an attempt to push her thighs together. In response, Sam simply tightened his grip on her leash and, releasing her breast, grasped the paw shaped pad on her hind leg pushing it upwards again, spreading her thighs to their fullest extent. Like the other bitches in Pen 13, Pixie’s vulva was on full display through the aperture in the suit. Currently, it was stretched around a faux dog phallus, the protruding base of which was clipped tightly to the piercings which held her clitoral shield to keep it in place. The residue seeping from around the intruding device, smearing over lips and encrusted in the fur of the dog suit’s inner thighs suggested Apricot was not alone in receiving the attentions of her canine guardian. Sam guessed the culprit must have been Duke before he’d gone ‘off duty’ and that Pixie had been plugged by one of the night shift.

As abruptly as it had started, the dog-slave’s clitoral shield stopped buzzing and Pixie groaned behind the gag and muzzle, her frustration and total humiliation almost palpable. Sam chuckled; despite themselves, few dog-slaves could help but feel frustrated under this sort of regime. Many became hypersensitive, their pussies oozing continuously as they were maintained in a state of constant arousal. All of which helped keep their canine guardians interested, generating a vicious cycle of arousal and knotting that helped break down their resistance and habituate them to their new lives as nothing more than chattel animals.

Sam stood, pulling the leash chain roughly and forcing Pixie to struggle back onto all fours. He released her and she shuffled away from as quickly as she could, instinctively joining Babette who huddled in one of the rear corners of the pen her head hung low. Jacko and Apricot remained tied together at the front of the pen, the dog-slave seemingly once more in the throes of orgasm. She looked a complete state, twitching uncontrollable, grunting and squeezing, smearing food from the bowls on the floor around her. It looked like the tie could continue for a while longer so Sam collected his tablet and the other items he had brought with him and left the pen, pausing only to lock the mesh door behind him.