The Dog Bridegroom
“OK, that’s over,” she said. “It was great! But we need to relax.”
It had been a long day and a longer evening. They’d listened to all six of Uncle Chuck’s toasts, until he finally fell face-down into his dessert plate. They’d shuttled back and forth between the two cousins who weren’t speaking, and by the time they’d left the reception the cousins were tearfully promising each other never to fight again. He had danced with his 82 year old grandmother; she had danced with her 11-year-old nephew. No he was pacing up and down the honeymoon suite, his black bowtie untied but otherwise fully dressed in his tuxedo. He seemed a bit at a loss, even nervous. It might have seemed silly; they hadn’t waited for marriage, they had spent many nights together.
But still, this was it: the wedding night. And here they were now, alone together. They were tired; he was a little drunk. She wasn’t, though he might have thought she was. And of course, he was sometimes nervous, anxious. She wasn’t. She could read his worries like a book: what if it wasn’t a great night? What if he was a disappointment? What if he wasn’t romantic enough, or manly enough, or whatever—what if there were no memories at all?
She had a plan to handle all that. If things went the way they should, he soon wouldn’t be nervous at all. Or ever again, really.
He went into the bathroom. This was her chance. Carefully she slipped off the wedding gown and hung it up. She stayed dressed otherwise—her lacy white bra and white silk step-in panties, the thigh-high white stockings, the wicked white stilettos she’d teetered down the aisle atop. And atop her head, the virginal white veil of bridal purity.
He liked high heels. What man didn’t? But he liked them ... a lot. She could tell. That had been one of the first hints that had convinced her this plan would work; that it would start their marriage off on not just the right foot, but under the best possible feet. But there were others hints. She thought now that she knew his nature—his feelings about sex and relationships—a little better than he did
She turned to face the bathroom door. After a few seconds, he emerged. He’d taken off his tuxedo shirt; his suspenders hung down at his sides. He yawned. Then he saw her, and his eyes widened; his pupils dilated; he looked again.
The outfit was carefully planned to be a heady mixture of innocence and seduction. The white veil atop her lush body, the 38D breasts barely held back by translucent wisps of lace, the complex wicked provocation of the shoes. And finally, the Mexican silver cross on a silver chain around her neck, dangling just above the cleavage—where his eyes had already been drawn.
“Sit down,” she said, patting the bed next to her. “We don’t have anywhere to go and nothing to do. Let’s relax a little. Let’s talk. We aren’t in a hurry.”
He settled in next to her. “Like the bra?” she asked casually.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. He did; she could tell.
Casually she fingered the cross, moving it back and forth as if unconsciously. “We’ve been together for three years, but there’s a lot of your life I haven’t heard about, so many stories you’ve told me part of but not finished. Tell me a story.”
Her voice said that she found him fascinting; meanwhile he seemed fascinated too—fascinated with her neck, her cleavage, her silver cross. She could see his eyes sliding back and forth ever so slightly as the cross moved. “Oh, um, sure,” he said. “There’s not that much to know about me, really, that you don’t know.”
“Oh, you had some adventures in your rowdy youth, I think,” she said, stroking her neck as if thoughtfully. His eyes moved up and down. “You told me you used to go to Las Vegas a lot, that must have been fun.”
“Sure,” he said. His eyes followed her hand. “It was.”
“You told me that funny story about being hypnotized by accident and turned into a dog,” she said.
He flushed slightly under her gaze. “Oh, that—that was nothing, we did a lot of wilder things than that.”
“Oh.” Her voice took on a disappointed tone. She looked away and took her hands away from the cross. “I’m sure they were, we can talk about them later then—maybe I should get into my pajamas.”
Looking away is behavioral psychology 101. Everyone likes attention, men like attention from half-dressed women, and he liked her attention most of all. She could read him—he wanted to keep her nearby, he wanted her to stay in the bridal underwear and heels, and most of all he wanted her to keep looking at him, not away. “Oh, okay,” he quickly said. “I’ll tell you about the hypnotist if you want.”
She turned and caught his eyes, while her hand went back to the silver cross. “You really fell asleep in the audience and found yourself onstage?”
“Yes,” he said, watching the cross.
“How did that feel?”
“Well,” he said, “the hypnotist had a great voice—kind of low and husky. She spoke slowly in this kind of . . . sing-song . . . and she was talking to the volunteers, with her back to the audience, and I was just watching them, they were getting . . . sleepy, and listening, but really I don’t quite remember, I just got . . I got . . well, the next thing I knew I was up onstage and she was telling me to open my eyes. She told me I was a dog . . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Really? That’s soo interesting? What did you do?
“ . . . I . . . ran down in the audience and tried to lap up the customers’ drinks with my . . . tongue. ”
“How did that feel?”
“ . . . relaxed . . . nothing worried me, I just wanted to listen to her voice . . . it seemed important.”
“Sort of like you do now?”
“ . . . Yes . . . .”
“It seemed important to listen to her and follow her suggestions?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “Important.”
“Her suggestions made you feel good? Relaxed? Focused?”
“Yes.” His eyelids were flickering slightly.
“Suggestions make you feel good,” she said. This time it was not question. She reached over and took his face in both hands, pulling his face toward her and fixing his eyes with hers. “They make you feel relaxed, focused, sleepy, don’t they? Nod your head.” She took her hands away from his face.
Slowly he nodded.
Her voice took on a soothing, sing-song quality. “They make you focus on my voice. Nod.”
He nodded.
Her voice got lower, more intimate. “They make you want to follow them, to obey. Nod.”
He nodded.
She was whispering now into his ear. “They make you relax, let go and . . . sleep. Sleepy, sleeping, sleep now . . . . SLEEP!”
With one hand she tapped his forehead and his eyes fluttered shut; suddenly he breathed out, his body slumped, and he felt backwards on the bed.
“Follow my voice down, focus, listen carefully, it’s very important that you follow every suggestion, you want only to listen and do what I say, it is so much easier to follow my suggestions exactly, without thought or hesitation, to let me tell you how you feel and what you should do, my words are your will, my will is your will, and as I count down from five you’ll go deeper until at zero you will reach the deepest level of hypnotic sleep. Now listen. . . 5 . . deeper . . 4. . . only my voice matters . . . 3 . . . only my suggestions matter . . . 2 . . only I matter . . . 1 . . . you will obey without thought or hesitation . . . Zero! You will follow my every suggestion in deep hypnosis.
“Nod your head.”
His head barely moved, but it moved. He was hers.
“Now,” she said, “you will answer my questions without hesitation or thought, you want me to know all about you, do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said faintly without stirring
“Good boy,” she said, patting him on the head. “Just obey. Now tell me, you told me the hypnotist turned you into a dog?”
“Yes.”
“How did that feel?”
“Just easy, relaxed, I just was a dog, I just wanted to obey, and when she told me to sit up and beg or fetch I just did it. Dogs don’t think. They just obey.”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s right, they just obey. You liked being a dog, didn’t you?”
“Yessss,” he breathed, and his body became even more relaxed, it seemed to melt.
“From now on, you will be my dog whenever I want, and it will feel wonderful,” she said. “You are strong, loyal, protective, attentive, and obedient. Nod.”
He nodded.
“I am your owner, I am your mistress, I am your alpha. You want to be in my pack, you can’t imagine leaving the pack, you must follow your alpha. Nod.”
Another nod.
“Because I am your owner and your alpha, you want to please me, to give me pleasure whenever I want, because my pleasure matters, and yours doesn’t, and you like that feeling, don’t you?”
Nod.
“Good boy.” She patted his head again. “In a minute I am going to wake you. You won’t remember falling asleep, you will just feel at ease, relaxed, easy, sexy, ready to please me in any way I want. Nod.”
Nod.
“And you will return to this relaxed state any time I tell you to sleep. Nod.”
Nod.
“Now sleep deeply until I wake you.”
She stepped into the bathroom. The next step was crucial; if she pulled this off, their marriage would be set in a pattern that would keep them both happy for a long time to come. He had to learn what it really meant to submit to an alpha mate; she had to show him that she could do whatever she wanted with him. Submission at this level would change things forever. Success depended on her being smooth, strong, and quick. This was the moment.
She had prepared herself. She took a deep breath and came out of the bathroom. He was still sleeping, dead to the world. It was one of the sexiest sights she had ever seen, because she knew he would wake and obey as soon as she spoke.
“Open your eyes! Sit up! You want to please me, you need to please me, it is all you can think of. Sit up! Now—kneel down. That’s right, KNEEL!”
He sat up, blinking in confusion, then slipped off the end of the bed onto his knees. Then his eyes focused on her—and they widened as he saw the strap-on dildo she had brought for the occasion—white, of course.
She grabbed the back of his head with one hand and snapped her fingers by his year. “You want to obey, you must obey. Suck my dildo. Suck it now!” she said. “You know how to give the best blow job in the world, you want to please me, blow me now!”
His eyes crossed slowly and his mouth opened in an eager, surprised O. She saw her chance and pushed into his mouth, holding the back of his head and saying, “Blow me, slave! Make me come!”
Watching him pumping up and down with his mouth and his hand was almost the sexiest thing she had ever seen. Her body shivered with a few tremors—then the earthquake of a huge orgasm as one of her deepest fantasies came true.
He was still kneeling, his mouth wrapped around the dildo. “Good boy,” she said. “Now look at me.”
He looked up at her. She took his face between her hands, fixed his eyes like an alpha staring down a submissive member of the pack, and began to talk. She had a lot to say, and he listened carefully.
Later that night he became aware that he was lying in bed next to his fiancée—no, now his wife, he though. Well, maybe she wasn’t his wife; maybe he was her husband; maybe she was his wife. Maybe he was her wife. Yes, that seemed right. He was her wife. He was confused but he knew he needed to listen carefully as she told him exactly what they would do the next day—that she would go shopping and he would follow along to carry the bags and pay for her purchases, that she would decide where and when they ate and what they did and he would trot obediently at her heels.
It sounded great. He wondered if she would put him on the leash. That would be fun.
Vaguely he remembered telling her about the hypnotist who turned him into a dog. He remembered how that felt. It was a good feeling. He felt it now. It was even better than he remembered In the back of his mind he heard her voice explaining why he felt that way.
The voice was true. Everything it said become true the moment it said it. The voice explained that the stage hypnotist had been only partly right. The hypnotist hadn’t turned him into a dog. Not at all. He wasn’t a man who turned into a dog. Now he knew with clarity, knew exactly who he was.
He was a dog. He had always been a dog. This wonderful woman had turned him into a bridegroom. Her bridegroom. He belonged to her. She was his alpha. He would trot behind her happily for the rest of his life.