Madame Isabella, the attractive, fifty-year old proprietor of the Elite Pet Training Academy, put the phone down. “Emily! We've got another booking!” she called.

Emily rushed in from an adjoining room. Aged just twenty, she was even more attractive and had only started at the academy two weeks earlier. But she was as keen as mustard and intent on showing her boss that she was dedicated to the job.

“Yes, Ma'am?” Emily asked. She had learnt on her first day that this was an establishment where there were strict rules, not least the one that required her to address the owner as Ma'am.

“A Mr and Mrs Bradshaw have a pet named Keith who's proving unwilling to learn a new trick. They've commissioned us to re-educate him.”

“Cool!” replied Emily. “Strange name, though—Keith?”

“What people call their pets is none of our business, Emily. Besides, people do give their pets strange names, nowadays. Personally, I rather like that name...”

“I agree, Ma'am. So, when he's coming, Ma'am?”

“Next week, but we need to pick him up in the van. I think you should do that, Emily, as it will be a good experience for you. I'll give you instructions nearer the time.”

“Wow, that sounds brill, Ma'am. I can't wait! My first pickup.”

“I'll finalise arrangements with Mrs Bradshaw, but he'll be staying with us for at least one night.”

oooOOooo

The day soon came for Emily to collect Keith, and she set off in the late afternoon. She had been briefed by Madame Isabella on what to expect and what to do. Emily was feeling confident, and Madame Isabella reckoned this confidence was well placed. She had found her young assistant was someone who paid meticulous attention to detail and Madame Isabella was sure that all rules would be followed.

It was 10 PM when Emily arrived back at the academy and pulled into the driveway. Getting out of the van, she was careful to close and lock the heavy entrance gates. The worst thing that could happen would be for there to be an escape, something that could destroy the firm's hard-earned reputation for training recalcitrant pets.

Leaving Keith in the van, she went inside the premises to find her boss. “Collection successfully completed, Ma'am,” she reported, triumphantly.

“Well done, Emily. Is he still in the van?”

“Yes, he's shut in the crate in the back.”

“Did he make any fuss?”

“No, he came along willingly. He's very sweet, but he did look scared, Ma'am.”

“That's good, Emily. They're usually the ones that are more amenable to being trained.”

“Mr Bradshaw warned him that he would have to behave... or else.” Emily then sniggered, adding, “Mr Bradshaw didn't expand what 'or else' meant, Ma'am.”

“Let's not allow our imaginations to run wild, Emily,” scolded Madame Isabella, but only gently.

“No, Ma'am, sorry,” replied Emily.

“Has he been trained to respond promptly to commands?”

“Yes, the usual ones, like heel, sit, stand, lie, come, walk, beg, fetch and drop, as well as a few special ones, such as squat and kneel. They're all listed in the paperwork, Ma'am.”

“Good! Let me see the paperwork, Emily.”

“Er... yes, Ma'am, here it is.”

“Thank you. I see his possessions are logged... collar, leash, locked cage, four locked paws and locked tail. Hmm... nothing else? No costume? Keys?”

“No, Ma'am... no costume. There's no key for his cage. Mrs Bradshaw said it was lost a year or so ago, so the cage never comes off. And I wasn't given the keys for his paws, Ma'am, so they can't be removed.”

“Probably just as well. And his tail?”

“I have the key, Ma'am. Mrs Bradshaw says he wears it 24/7 apart from when... well, you know, Ma'am, when he needs to do a number two.”

“That's enough detail, thank you, Emily. And it's in place now?”

“Yes, Ma'am. Oh, and his collar doesn't come off, Ma'am. It's been riveted on and would have to be removed by a blacksmith. At least that's what I was told by Mr Bradshaw.”

“Oh, that's interesting!”

“I thought so, Ma'am.” She then giggled nervously, feeling compelled to add, “Mrs Bradshaw also said he has a very small dick, and it had been difficult to find a cage that fitted! The standard ones all had too much room, not that he's very big, even when erect—or so she told me.”

“We really don't need to know that, Emily, especially as we're never going to see his dick, either flaccid or erect—nor will he, by the sound of things. Do try to stay on topic, please.”

“Sorry, Ma'am.”

“You'll learn, Emily, given time,” Madame Isabella chuckled. “Now go and get him from the van and lock him into a one of the bigger crates in a side room. Give him some water and biscuits. He'll need to get some rest overnight so that his training can begin tomorrow. For a first assignment, you've done well, Emily!”

“Thank you, Ma'am,” replied Emily, blushing.

“Tomorrow, you'll get to see some of my special training techniques! Keith will soon learn obedience, mark my word.”

oooOOooo

Keith spent the night in the crate in a small room. This was all a new experience for him. He had been with the Bradshaws for two years, after answering an advert in a specialist magazine for an “affectionate, housetrained, nonbreeding dog willing to be owned by a strict married couple living in a large property with huge, secluded garden”. He had jumped at the opportunity and his time with the Bradshaws had been happy. He had learnt lots of new tricks and had even earned privileges, such as sitting on the sofa on occasions.

But, a couple of months ago, his canine life had taken a dark turn when Mr Bradshaw had tried to teach him a new trick. Keith just could not bring himself to do what was required. Mr Bradshaw had warned him that unless he stepped up his game he would be sent away for lessons, but Keith never took the threats seriously.

He had been given one last chance a fortnight earlier and had failed. Nothing more had been said, so he thought that Mr Bradshaw had given up. It was therefore a surprise when a van arrived at his home driven by this extremely beautiful young lady who was warmly welcomed by the Bradshaws. She was addressed by his owners as Emily.

Mr Bradshaw instructed Keith to lie down and keep quiet while the paperwork was completed. Once she had signed, and taken temporary possession of him, Emily had come across to greet him, patting him on the head, while he looked up fearfully. “There's nothing to worry about, Keith,” she had tried to reassure him. “You're going away, but you will be back soon, when you've learnt a new trick.”

Mr and Mrs Bradshaw had then both stroked his head, before the latter remarked, “Be a good doggy, Keith. We can't wait to get you back.” He looked up at then, poignantly, but said nothing.

“Stand, heel,” Emily had sharply commanded, before she had led him, on all fours, to the van and helped him into the small cage in the back. “Good doggy, Keith,” she had said, warmly, as she clicked the cage door shut.

Keith had deduced what the new trick was he was being taken away to learn, and he felt scared, but Emily seemed kind.

The two-hour journey back to the training academy had, in itself, been an ordeal, and he had been bounced around in the cage, struggling to brace himself from g-forces as Emily swung the vehicle around tight bends on country roads. He had heard Emily tell his owners that she would use the backroads as on main roads and motorways there was always a remote chance of being stopped by the police for a routine check. Heaven forbid that should happen, she had laughed, and they had agreed.

Then, on arrival, and after a short delay, Emily had let him out of the van and led him, on all fours, to the room where he had been placed into another crate, albeit a bigger one, although not one tall enough for him to stand.

Now alone, in a windowless room lit only by a dim ceiling light, he could see there were two bowls, one with water and the other with what looked like kibbles. And in one corner was a big litter tray and in another was a large dog bed. Lying on that would be the only way he could escape the cold of the concrete floor.

Hanging from the ceiling, on a cord, was a ball and Emily had told him that in a dire emergency—and only in a dire emergency, such as needing to do a number two—he could pull that to summon help. She explained that although he only had paws, it should be possible for him to pull on the ball. If need be, he could use his teeth.

“Thank you—” he had begun to say, the first words he had spoken to her.

“No! Stop that, unless you want to be punished,” she had replied, forcefully. “Dogs do not talk. They bark! One bark for yes and two for no. Understand, Keith?”

Embarrassed, he gave a single woof to confirm he understood, and she returned a sweet smile, her point made. Emily, despite her pleasant demeanour, was in charge and expected to be obeyed, no matter how humiliating he found it. At least in his owners' home he was usually free to speak English, but not so here.

oooOOooo

Keith slept very little that night, partly because of discomfort and partly because he could not empty his mind of the training he was to undertake. Moreover, Mr and Mrs Bradshaw never allowed him to wear a watch, reminding him that dogs don't wear time pieces. Consequently, in the artificially lit room, with no windows, he had no idea what time it was, and the night seemed to take forever to pass.

Eventually, he heard the door opening and a brighter light was turned on. “Morning, Keith, wakey-wakey!” Emily cheerfully announced.

He didn't know what to do! Replying with one or two barks didn't seem appropriate, so he did nothing.

“Oh, Keithy, why the sad expression?” she asked, sounding despondent. “As long as you don't misbehave, I'm your friend, so don't you think you should greet me with lots of excited barking? That's what dogs normally do, isn't it, but obviously I don't want you jumping up at me and pawing me. Nor do I want any doggy kisses. Nor any sniffing, for that matter!”

There was nothing he wanted more than to paw, kiss and sniff her, but he got the message about greeting her, and started yapping loudly. “Quiet!! That's enough,” she laughed, kind-heartedly. “Good doggy!”

Despite his embarrassment at the way she was talking to him, he smiled back. He couldn't get over how pretty she was and he felt his penis trying to expand into its tiny cage. She picked up on his changed facial expression, saying, “Naughty doggy, Keith! Control yourself! And don't even think of humping my leg when I let you out of this crate!” She grinned as she said it, and he sensed that she was teasing and flirting with him, knowing he was powerless to do anything.

But if only he could do something—Emily had a figure to die for. She was slim and petite with a shapely bum and small pert breasts, just what he liked. She was casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but both were tight-fitting and served to accentuate her fit figure.

“You've not drunk any water, nor eaten any biscuits,” she lamented. “You must eat and drink, Keithy, if you're to be a big strong doggy. Have a drink now.”

His penis now throbbing, he bent down and lapped up some water from the bowl.

“Good boy, Keithy,” she said condescendingly, which only served to fuel his arousal.

“Your owners said you have a very small dick, Keith. Is that right?” she continued, changing the subject.

He felt his face flush as he looked up from the bowl and barked once.

“That's so very sad. A small dick isn't much use to anyone, male or female, is it?”

It took him a second or so to understand what she meant, and then he realised she was saying a small dick does not satisfy a woman. Red-faced, he gave two woofs to show he agreed it wasn't any use.

“Never mind, Keith. Mrs Bradshaw said you're nonbreeding, so you only need a dick to pee with and a small one works fine for that. It's the stud dogs that need the big ones, isn't it? And you're not a stud, are you?”

“Woof, woof,” he reluctantly replied. This was excruciatingly embarrassing.

“Let me get you out of there and then we can go for walkies in the grounds so you can get some fresh air and exercise.”

She unlocked his cage, and he crawled out. “Have you learnt to walk on two legs?” she asked, in apparent seriousness.

“Woof,” was his reply.

“Clever boooy!” she said, gently mocking him. “Beg!”

Red-faced, he squatted down and held two paws out in front. “Good booooy,” she remarked enthusiastically while reaching into her jeans pocket for a treat which she placed in his mouth.

“Let me clip your leash on so you don't run off, and then we'll go outside.”

She led him out into the open. “Do you need to do a wee-wee or a number two?” she asked. “There's a tree over there you can use. One bark for a pee and two for a two!”

He gave a single woof. He certainly did need to urinate but the thought of cocking his leg up against a tree appalled him, but he really had no choice. She watched as he struggled to manoeuvre himself into position and then waited patiently while he tried to pee, a problem exacerbated by him being partially erect inside his chastity device.

Eventually, urine dribbled out onto the ground. “Who's a clever boy?” she asked. “Now come for more walkies. Walk to heel!”

They did numerous circuits of the grounds, and each round took them over a gravel path which Emily insisted they treated as a busy road. "Stay! Squat!" she ordered, each time. “Good boy! Anything coming? No, nothing! So, are we safe to cross?”

“Woof!”

“Clever booooy! Walk!” She tugged at his leash to pull him up from the squatting position. Keith found this degrading, but it was little different to what he was used to at home, except that Emily was so much younger and far cuter than Mrs Bradshaw.

“Now we go inside,” Emily explained, taking him through a side door and unclipping his leash. There he came face-to-face with a stern-looking Madame Isabella. Keith's stomach sank on seeing her sour demeanour and he instinctively edged closer to Emily, hoping she would protect him...