TRAINING BEGINS (II)

I continue to recount my training as a slave by order of my Master. If someone is bothered by scat, it's better not to read this.

Half blind from the contrast between the darkness inside the vehicle and the still strong light of the prolonged summer evening, I got out of the large trunk as best I could, crawling like a large, fat, hairy sixty-year-old baby without clothes, until I could feel the pebbles on the path with my bare feet, where the van had finally parked.

The young Master looked at me and I could see, with intimate satisfaction, with soothing emotion, that this old greasy body pleased the Dominant.

That had been my dream: to please the future Master.

I know I don't have a physique that pleases most people. But even the ugliest dog can find a young Master who feels tenderness for his pet.

And I thought I noticed that my future Owner felt that affection, that tenderness, for the abandoned dog that, it seemed, he had just adopted and taken home.

But the tenderness for a submissive is not the same as for a lover or friend. It is and must be different. Very different. Confusing the roles is fatal for everyone, including the Master.

Fortunately, the young Master knew his role well... and mine.

And he demonstrated it quickly.

I was still standing next to the rear door of the van, uncomfortable because I wasn't used to going without shoes or socks (the syndrome of the soles of the feet of the wealthy, who can't even tolerate the coarse sand of some natural beaches) and everything was digging into me, forcing me to keep moving my feet and legs like in a stupid dance.

The Master interpreted that maybe I was urinating. Which wasn't false either: with the computer failure, I hadn't had time to go to the bathroom since lunch...

Before I could say anything, the Master looked at me and said: "I am now your Master. You will address me as Master. But you don't speak unless I ask you first. You only obey. And enjoy. I've been following you on 'your master' and I already know what you like."

While he was speaking, he was holding something in one of his hands, but I hadn't been able to see it well. When he approached, I recognized it and got an erection again (with the nerves of getting out of the van, I had lost it). It was a dog collar, made of black leather, used, real, not from a sex shop.

And from the collar hung a strong and long steel chain, and with it, he pulled me to, as he said, "Let's go to the bathroom".

A few steps, which seemed like many to my delicate soles, which couldn't tolerate the irregularities of the ground, we arrived at a wall where there was a hose with a faucet, and under it, on the dirt floor, a metal grate partially covered a large drain.

"We've arrived," he said.

I looked at him, without raising my gaze much, but showing that I didn't know what to do.

And he continued the se...