THE DOGS
PROLOGUE
High School football games had gotten a lot more popular since Submission. The football hadn’t gotten any better, but the cheerleaders had.
It was easy to tell, and very charming, which of the senior cheerleaders were feeling the slowly increasing pulse of their obedience. The keen, sharp desire to please men. No matter what. Without thought or question, with every inch of their selves. Although they wore off-limits red, on bracelets and rings and chokers and hair ties and armbands and scarves, their bodies didn’t care.
“You can tell, right? Even in the same outfits, doing the same routines,” Peter told Thomas. “Look at redhead in the back there. She’s lost in it. Her coach should drag her off the field before she fucks the quarterback, and the running back, and the damn referee.”
Redhead did wear the same cheerleading outfit as everyone, and a very bright red necklace. But Thomas agreed—it was obvious. Her face was flushed a bright, pleased pink, from the greedy male eyes watching her thighs flash and her hips sway. There was a certain happy sashay to her routine—not quasi-athletic, or dance-adjacent, but designed to attract male notice, attention, interest.
Commands.
And there were more obvious tells, like how hard her shirt had to work to cover up two ballooning tits. Submission wasn’t just the mind. The whole body got into it. Whatever would make men happy. Big boobs were always welcome..
The two men watched the show.
Thomas leaned back and glanced to the side. The band was about to go on, and there were still pre-Submission girls in that, carrying flutes and dressed in ugly polyester. It was possible to look around and see... normal. Or at least, before Submission. The coach was pissed at the refs, the football players only had eyes for the game. And even most of the cheerleaders were below eighteen, and just intent on doing jumps and twirls and feuding with the others. For as long as they could.
Even as Redhead, and a number of others, fucked themselves on the field with just hungry male eyes.
The trick, regarding normalcy, was to avoid looking at the crowd.
The wives and girlfriends wore what pleased men, even on a frosty night. Bare legs, thighs casually open. Especially tonight, since it was nice for men to keep their hands warm between thick girl legs, or even with a few fingers buried up in their warm, wet property. If he listened past the announcer and the game there were plenty of throaty moans to hear, girls sighing with relief, or even slurping on a rod. There were lots of men watching the game with their partners underneath a blanket, sucking away. And that was in the stands, to the public. Underneath the bleachers was a forest of fondling.
Thomas’ son was on the field, assisting the Band. Owen was two years out of High School, and so was Peter’s daughter.
The one being sold to him.
“So, lets talk about Cass,” Peter said. He put an arm around Thomas, slapped him on the shoulder, familiar. Thomas was familiar with this routine. Peter was one of god’s salesmen. He was gearing up to sell.
“She getting along okay?” Thomas said. “I heard she’s, you know, doing the seclusion thing. The monastery of the mind, one of those girls. Like those celebrity girls.”
“Ahhhh, you know. She’s a fighter. Like me. So, of course, fight fight fight. She’s got herself convinced she can beat it. And that’s damn dangerous, you know? She’s thinking you can train like it’s, I don’t know, judo. Or karate or something.”
He trailed off. In part because redhead had fallen out of time with the other girls. She was swaying her hips, and shaking her plump ass, and doing whatever she could to please the men in the crowd with the curves of her body. She was listening to orders far more powerful than the beat over the PA or a mere cheerleader routine.
“Well. Good for her,” Thomas said. He leaned forwards, and watched the redhead yank down her top, to show off her pale, perfect tits. The crowd barely reacted. They were great titties, with rosy, erect nipples, but there were lots of those to go around. “Don’t know how well that works but... I respect it. Really.”
“Yeah, yeah. She’s great. It’s not gonna work, but she’s fighting. Hard as hell to fight. If it was me, and I was a girl, man, I wouldn’t last the bus ride home. I’d be sprawled in the aisles, you know?”
Peter shrugged. It was rough on the girls, turning into obedient male slaves. Toys for male pleasure. But there was no point dwelling on it if you were a man.
After all, you were a MAN.
“Anyway. I was thinking, heck, maybe lets do the smart thing with a guy she knows, I know. A guy who won’t put the collar on too tight, let her read books. Name came into my head right away. I’m looking right at him.” Peter put his arm out and mimicked a gun, and pointed at Thomas’ only son. “BANG.”
Halftime sounded. The cheerleading coach ran on to collect her wayward member, who was giggling and rubbing both boobs, beaming at the scattered applause. She’d obeyed the ultimate command, to please men, and even without a direct command the reward was immediate and limbic. She was feeling very good.
Owen and the band marched out, stiff in their polyester uniforms.
“So the thing is, Owen is...” Thomas wasn’t sure how to put it. “I guess he’s old-fashioned, you know? A couple of his other friends, you know, girl friends, got... I mean, one has a new name now, doesn’t even Owen, the other is on her second or third kid already. And, you know, it’s just the two of us.”
Peter made an understanding noise, and gripped Thomas’ shoulder again.
“He’s saying,” Thomas said “I don’t want to be a slaver, that kind of stuff. So. I certainly know that arranged marriages are... I’m not saying its a bad idea.”
“All the better that he’s reluctant!” Peter said, bobbing his head. “That’s all the better. Heck, I don’t want Cass to be a SLAVE slave either. Protector. That’ll be it. You can sell Owen on, Knight in Shining Armor.”
Thomas looked over in the stands, at Peter’s wife, Alyssa. He’d seen her on the way in. She wore a gaudy rhinestone choker and a crop top that read BUTT SLUT. All her bottom curves were on display—the back half of her ass, underneath a short vinyl skirt, and the perfect swell of the underside of her tits. She was in a section of the stands, and, in a way difficult to describe, was the main attraction. Friends that weren’t quite as sexy whirled around her. She had the reddest lipstick on of all.
Cass’ Mother.
Everyone in town had fucked Cass’ Mom.
Everyone.
She was the Grand Prize on every town raffle. She’d gotten more rustling security in the parks, by sucking off the mayor. Sometimes she just went to the mall with some friends and started an orgy in the food court. Everyone who was everyone had coated Alyssa with pearly white jism.
Before Submission she had been a doctor.
The band struck up a ragged version of Hey Jude. The band hadn’t gotten any better during Submission. All the conscientious girl flutists that should’ve been section leaders were struggling with new desires to please and obey men, instead of get good with the flute. And why bother? In a few short years it was all going to be washed away, into a river of pleasure...
“Your business doing alright?” Peter said, after a long moment. “I mean, hell, I’m sure it is, you’re an ant, people always need numbers guys.”
Another pause. Peter had gotten to be one of the town’s more successful businessmen by mastering the long pause. “You know, I was looking for a new numbers guy. Mine buried himself in trim, got like four girls, doesn’t leave a lot of time for bookkeeping.” Long pause. “Be nice to have it in the family.”
His son did his very best to coordinate the horn section. He’d said, I don’t want to own ANYBODY...
Ypsi Community scored again to make it 35-3.
“What’s Plan B? For Cass?” Thomas asked.
“You’re Plan C,” Peter said. “Plan A was a cure. And turns out the girls are just getting even more... Submissive... as time goes on. So that’s out. Plan B was her doing the rapunzel, girl in a tower routine. I can tell you, that’s not a long-term plan. I’m on C.”
Owen, also, was spending too much time in his room, on his computer.
“I’ll talk to him,” Thomas said.
Peter bobbed his head, pleased. “Good! Good. You know,” he said. “I know a place we can send them. Couple’s therapy. Could be good. Ease them in. I bet its hard on the kiddos, getting hitched like this. Hell, I’ll tell you, I’m thrilled. It’ll be good to see Cass with someone that lets her keep her, you know, name and personality and all that. It’ll be good for both of them. Owen and Cass.”
Slaver and Slave, Thomas thought. He glanced at the clock. 8:02 p.m., he’d bought a slave for his son.
Elsewhere, Redhead was rubbing herself in the gym shower, trying to calm down, and forget the pull of countless male eyes. A saxophone player had been told by her boyfriend to cum on the field at the end of the first song, and was swelling up with an orgasm. Alyssa, chit-chatting with the other Moms, readying herself for a memorable half-time routine, stuck a finger inside herself to make sure she was nice and wet. A different cheerleader, horror-struck, felt the first tingling need to show off her own nice boobs to a bunch of guys. One of the former teachers, now enslaved to a different teacher, wrapped her legs around a guy she’d just met, and felt him pulse his cum into her. Dozens of different women in the stands diligently flexed their muscles to keep their pussies nice and tight.
And Cass was sold into slavery.