THE LADY OF THE MANOR: PART TWO

Although there was no sign of it down in the deep recesses of the Inferno, morning had arrived. The hapless intruder had hardly slept; his cock had remained rigid and aching against the unforgiving metal bars of his cage, leaking onto the cold floor beneath him while dreams of the Lady of the Manor had pushed into a state of desperate, denied arousal.

He heard those infamous footsteps - the sharp click-clack of stilettos against stone - and there she was: leather-clad legs that made her presence felt, high-heeled boots that could crush him, and a riding crop that dragged slowly along the bars with a screech that made his balls tighten.

“Well,” Lady Phoenix said lightly, tilting her head as she observed him curled inside, naked and trembling, “did my guest sleep with that pretty cock hard for me?”

She crouched slowly, bringing her face level with the cage. The faintest, cruellest smile touched her glossy red lips as she noted the dried trails of his frustration on his thighs.

“I think not. You’ve been dripping all night, haven’t you, you filthy thing?”

The cage door unlocked with a deliberate, heavy click.

“Out. Crawl.”

There was no hesitation this time. He moved quickly, instinctively, emerging onto the freezing floor with his knees spread. She watched closely, evaluating - not just obedience, but the way his erection swung heavily between his legs, desperate for attention.

“Good,” she murmured, circling him as he remained on all fours. “You’re learning that your arousal belongs to me now.”

From a velvet-draped table, she produced his transformation kit: a leather puppy hood with a removable muzzle, padded knee pads, paw mitts that buckled tight to render his hands useless, and a significantly larger tail plug with a thick, wagging golden tail.

“First,” she commanded, tapping his lips with the crop, “the hood. No more human face. You don’t get to have the privilege of being human today.”

She fitted the hood over his head, tightening the straps until the leather moulded to his skull, leaving only his eyes and mouth exposed—for now. The world narrowed to the scent of leather and her intoxicating perfume. The muzzle clipped on with a decisive snap, forcing his mouth open slightly, rendering speech impossible.

“Knees and hands,” she ordered.

She buckled the thick pads onto his knees, then the heavy mitts onto his hands, transforming his fists into paws. He was reduced to beasthood, crawling awkwardly, his cock bobbing lewdly with each movement.

“Now for your tail,” she purred, gripping the base of the plug currently seated in him. “This one won’t do. Too small. You need to feel owned every time you clench.”

She pressed the thick, bulbous head of butt plug tail against his wet, twitching hole.

“Push back, Runt. Take it like a good breeding pup.”

The plug forced his entrance open, settling deep inside him with a pressure that made his eyes water and his cock leak a fresh bead of pre-cum. She gave the tail a sharp tug, ensuring it was seated properly, then watched it sway as he trembled.

“Perfect,” she growled. “Now you look like the bitch you are.”

She produced a studded collar, different in style from yesterday’s: thicker, with a metal tag in the shape of a bone that read RUNT.

She fastened it tight around his neck, close enough to restrict his breathing slightly.

“This,” she said, adjusting it with precise care as he panted through the muzzle, “is who you are today. You’re no longer an intruder. You’re not even a man.”

Her fingers slipped beneath his chin, lifting his gaze to meet her cold, burning eyes.

“You’re my pup. My Runt.”

She clipped the lead to the collar.

“You must be thirsty after that uncomfortable night in the Inferno, but pups don’t get to drink from champagne flutes. They drink from bowls.”

She led him—the plug shifting maddeningly with each crawl—to a corner where a metal dog bowl waited. She stood over it, her leather-clad legs straddling the dish. With deliberate slowness, she unzipped her catsuit at the crotch, revealing her glistening cunt.

“Head down, mouth open,” she commanded, gripping his lead to pull his face close. “Good pups drink their Mistress’s morning nectar. Every drop, or you’ll be punished.”

The stream started hot and forceful, splashing against the bowl with a loud hiss. Lady Phoenix’s golden nectar filled the dish, steaming in the cool air. She directed the last spurt across his muzzle, marking him with her scent.

“Drink, Runt. Lap it up like the animal you are.”

She released the muzzle strap. Humiliated and harder than he’d ever been, he lowered his face to the bowl, his tongue darting out to taste her waste, her ownership. He lapped noisily, the strong taste flooding his senses as she held his head down by the collar, making him consume every humiliating mouthful until the bowl was clean and his chin dripped with her golden tribute.

“Good pup,” she cooed, stroking his hooded head as he panted, his face burning with shame and arousal. “Now you’re properly marked inside and out.”

She led him through the manor’s heavy doors into the morning light of the grounds. The grass was wet and cold against his padded knees, the tail plug visible to any distant gardener as it swayed obscenely from his exposed ass.

“Training time,” she announced, producing treats from her pocket - not dog biscuits, but sugar cubes she’d soaked in her own juices that morning. “Beg.”

He sat back on his haunches, his paws raised in supplication, his cock standing rigid and red against his stomach. She made him hold the pose until his thighs burned, then dropped the treat into his open mouth, her fingers lingering on his tongue.

“Fetch.”

She threw a rubber ball deep into the garden. He scrambled after it on all fours, the plug pounding his prostate with every awkward, bounding step, his balls swinging heavily. When he returned, dropping the ball at her boots, she lifted her heel and pressed it against his straining erection.

“Roll over.”

He exposed his belly and his vulnerable, caged arousal to the sky. She crouched, her fingers trailing down his stomach to his still-caged weeping cock.

“Good puppies get belly rubs,” she purred, her hand cupping his balls possessively. “But they don’t get to cum. Not yet. Not until you’ve earned your keep.”

She walked him on the lead around the estate - “walkies” - forcing him to crawl through mud and gravel, punishing any hesitation with sharp smacks of the crop against his plug-filled ass. When he tried to speak, to beg for mercy in human words, she immediately brought the crop down hard across his butt cheeks.

Crack.

“No!” she snarled. “What did we discuss? Humans talk. Pups bark.”

She yanked his lead tight.

“Try again. Tell me you’re grateful for your walk.”

He forced a whimpering bark from his throat, then another, degrading himself completely until she smiled, satisfied.

“That’s better. Again. Louder.”

He barked like the animal she’d made him, loud and desperate, his cock dripping a constant trail of pre-cum on the grass beneath him. She rewarded his vocal submission by allowing him out of his cage to hump her boot - not to completion, but just enough to prove his complete submission.

For the next few hours, he existed in this state: hooded, plugged, drinking from her body, crawling, barking, existing solely as her pet. She used him as furniture, resting her boots on his back. She edged him repeatedly, bringing him to the brink only to deny him, locking his cock back up in its cage again.

“Speak,” she commanded. “One chance. Do you wish to return to the world of men? Or do you stay as my Runt, permanently?”

His voice was hoarse, broken, his body covered in her marks, his ass gaping and trained around the constant plug, his mind fogged with the high of submission and denied orgasm.

“I want to stay,” he rasped, his eyes wet. “Please, Mistress. Let me stay. Your Runt. Your pup. Forever.”

Lady Phoenix smiled, genuine pleasure lighting her cruel face. She stroked his hair, then gripped it hard, forcing his face onto her boots for a final polish before he was shown to his new bed, thankfully not the cold floor of her cage, but a blanketed dog bed in a wooden kennel. Home sweet home for the Lady of the Manor’s new pet.