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DISCHARGE DAY
Jody’s knees hurt. One of the serious downsides about the
Kennel’s cages was, you didn’t get a metal thing to
kneel on in your four-foot cage, as animals did. This meant that the cage bars
on the floor dug into the
And oh, the repeated oral sex requests! Those
huge, black penises in and out of Jody’s mouth. What would the ladies
back home in the Laredo Junior League think? Jody listened to Paul’s snoring in
the crate behind her. That was awful, too. Paul really should look into sleep
apnea information.
Jody had horrible little bumps in her inner thighs from last
night fire ant dousing. She would have to see her specialist when she
got home, but what would she tell him? That she’d been to
“Having a rough day? Jody looked over at Clarence, in the
adjoining cage. He, of course couldn’t see Jody, as he was blindfolded, but he
sensed her moods. Clarence was a thirty-nine year old investment banker, but he
had an old soul, and Jody enjoyed talking to him.
When Soapy had noticed they seemed to get on, he had put
their cages together, perhaps to make the time go a little faster. Clarence was
on a Code Brown, which was much more intense than her Code Yellow.
He smiled and she laughed lightly. “Hell, the day’s just
started, Clarence. In five minutes we have our lovely Hydrotherapy.” Clarence
smiled as well. “Well, Hydro has one comfort, they let
me take the damn blindfold off. I’ve seen nothing since last night when I was
licking Master Plato’s toes. And Grant isn’t coming back for another week at
least!”
Grant was Clarence’s Master, a gorgeous young ex-forward for
the Sonics. Jody hadn’t seen Grant since the first day, when the young black
man had kicked Grant into the Kennel.
“Take off your crap bitch!” Grant had screamed, and Clarence
had ripped off his Armani suit as fast as possible, before Grant had peed in
his face and then threw him in the cage proffered by Soapy.
Unlike many of the Masters and Mistresses who dropped their
subs off at the Kennel, Grant was not leaving town or going on vacation.
Indeed, Grant’s entire life was a vacation, as he hung around Clarence’s
mansion in
“I think Grant is really gay, but won’t admit it to himself,
black guys are like that.” Grant had confided to Jody, who had tried to be
understanding. She was grateful to Grant, and almost wished she could keep up
with him when they left, but the Kennel was like summer camp, situational
friends never keep up. It was a shame, because their mothers had both gone to
Chatham Hall for prep school, and they both enjoyed watching “The View” though
of course on their codes, they didn’t get to watch anything, and Grant couldn’t
even see.
Now, Jody was too tired to talk much. “I can’t believe we
have we have to get up so early especially after last night’s dousing. You know
Missy Lonergan, she’s in a Code Brown cage over by the
wall??
Clarence tried to look at Jody under his blindfold. “Yeah,
she and her Master are from
“Well, Missy screamed hysterically after she got the ants and
the crickets and I don’t think she was able to calm down until around four. She
sure kept me up. Too high strung for the Kennel I guess.” Jody said leaning
over, and accidentally banging one of her nipple clamps on the side of the
cage.
Clarence began laughing softly--Mirth of any sort was
severely punished here--at the idea of a Kennel occupant being high strung.
Suddenly the lights went on and there was screaming and
banging. Soapy, the young man who Jody suspected had stolen the Darvons from
her purse, pulled out the big hose, and Cato, the huge
black, unlocked Jody’s cage door and dragged her out by her hair.
The next twenty minutes were incredibly awful, as always. Being set up with the other Kennel occupants against the far wall,
amid jeers from the blacks. And all four brothers were there today,
Plato, Cato, Myron AND Byron.
Then came the blinding, ice-cold shock from the powerful fire
hose, and as Jody was required to wear high spike heels during her baths, she immediately
fell over on her plump derriere, though she’d probably lost twelve pounds in
the last nine days, eating only gruel and the occasional bread.
Miss Georgette, the nasty vulgar woman who was the domme was
off today, but during the times that she’d forcibly peed in Jody’s mouth, Jody
had vomited up the little she ate, so she should be down to a size twelve by
the time she returned home.
After Jody fell down the second time, and the hose charge had
hit her full in the face, she was unable to arise until Myron came over with a
length of radio antenna. “Up you go, Miz Simms” Jody was having such trouble
arising, that Myron decided to help her.
He lifted the radio antenna. WHACK! WHACK! Two nasty welts
appeared on Jody’s doughy buttocks. SLAP WHACK WHACK! “P-please, Myron?” Jody
sobbed. “I’m trying to get up, it’s just so slippery.
Myron giggled and grabbed Jody by the ear and dragged up, and
sure enough, Jody got to her feet, though the high heels were gone. “You know you got to do yo’ treadmill now, Miz Simms.” Myron
laughed loudly and let go of Jody’s ear. He slapped her on her buttocks and she
squealed.
“You let yo’ shoes come off. Get down and pick them up in yo’
teeth, but get right back up again, girl!” Myron’s eyes meant business, and Jody
sighed and fell to her knees picking up the strap from one high heel, before
looking for the other one.
Jody vision was a bit
fuzzy as she’d not had her glasses or contact lenses for nine days. But after
Myron kicked Jody in the ass in one direction, Jody finally found the other
shoe.” Now pick them both up in your teeth like the dog you is, Miz Simms!”
This was a bit of an ordeal for the older woman, who had to
grasp one loopy strap in her teeth and then drag it to the other sandal so she
could get both in her teeth and pick them up. WHACK! WHACK! SWAP! Myron was
apparently impatient with Jody’s meager efforts and had landed three across her
broad back.
Jody grabbed the two straps in her teeth and lifted her head
but one of the shoes fell, and as she said “Oh shit!” the other shoe fell as
well. Jody surreptitiously tried to pick up one of the shoes with her hand, and
felt Myron’s foot stomp on it. “No, only your teeth, Miz
Simms. “Myron said kindly. “Don’t make me get the bullwhip. You is mighty tryin’ this morning.”
Around her, slaves were getting up and falling down, and Jody
could hear Missy Lonergan howling about the ACLU as Cato and Soapy were trying
to drag her to the stocks at the far end of the Kennel. Jody watched Clarence
getting a vicious thrashing from Byron, and he was so well trained that he
didn’t make a sound, but it looked very bad.
Finally Jody was able to nudge the two shoes together with
her chin. She did a big grab and grasped the straps of both high heels in her
teeth. Then Jody stood up carefully, looking to Myron for further instruction.
“Now you gwine to go to the treadmill, and run for
about half an hour. Mister Simms called a few days back from his vacation
and said you legs too fat, could we jungle bunnies work on you, and you know we
will!”
That was just like Jody’s husband, Garland-Fitzhugh Simms. He
would enrage the blacks with his racism, and they’d take it out on Jody while
he and his nasty little bimbo Jillian sunned themselves in the
Not only that, but during Jillian’s period, Garland-Fitzhugh
had actually sent Jillian’s bloody tampons, preserved in ice, for Jody to suck
during her snack time…God that was awful!
But, as Jody considered the humiliation and disgusting bloody
taste in her mouth, she did get excited…this had been her idea in the first
place…
“What do you mean, you want me to
spank you, honey?” Garland-Fitzhugh had asked her, thirty-three years
before…and she’d created a monster. He went from spanking her to whipping her,
and now she was his humble painslut.
As Jody climbed upon the treadmill, Myron dropped the radio
antenna and took a small dog-whip off the wall. He set the treadmill in motion
at 3.6, and Jody began walking slowly.
She was almost dizzy and still shivering from all that cold
water. Clarence, who was a recidivist at the Kennel, said that they always
turned the heat off about five minutes before the hosing was supposed to start,
even in February.
Myron’s long black hand came down
and upped the motion to 4.0, and Jody began walking a bit faster. “Thass right
you keep goin’ on.” Jody was really sick of Myron and his brothers, who seemed
to have energy for putting her through her paces. She wondered where the hell
the proprietor of the Little Shop had found them.
She’d hired a private detective to investigate the Kennel
when her husband had proposed sending her there…
Jody had discovered that Soapy, the diffident assistant
manager was a seven-time loser in various New England prisons for drug dealing
and forging prescriptions, as well as having been in fifty-two drug
rehabilitation centers and one hundred and three detoxification units.
She’d not learned much about the proprietor, but that Miss
Georgette, the head domme, was his ex-wife and he’d offered her the job in lieu
of alimony, which is probably why she was such an angry person.
Suddenly, Jody found herself almost falling on the treadmill
as Myron put it up to 7.5 all of a sudden.
Jody began panting heavily. Certainly she had not had any
cigarettes in over a week, but the toll of 30 years of Virginia Slims was
catching up, and she was having a very hard time staying on the treadmill.
It didn’t help that she still had the shoes in her teeth. All
of a sudden, Myron turned the treadmill up to 8.0, and Jody began falling back.
CRACK!
Oh, the searing pain. He’d just lashed her with the dog whip!
Jody tried to run ahead. CRACK! SNAP!
Jody screamed, and the shoes fell out of her mouth.
Myron roughly grabbed Jody by her left breast and dragged her
off the moving treadmill. “Get on your knees and pick up them shoes!”
Jody bent over to pick the shoes up and Myron beat a tattoo
across her buttocks with the dog whip. “Come on, girl, you got to get back on
that treadmill!”
Myron screamed,
swinging the dog whip so it cut a cruel slash across Jody’s left shoulder. “You
got some runnin’ to do, old thing. I’m turning it up to ten miles an hour, and you’re goin’ to run it!”
All of a sudden there was rescue. Soapy, the ex-junkie
assistant manager, came downstairs. “No, Myron, stop. Today is her discharge
day, and Jillian, Mr. Simms’s um, friend has requested that Jody have her hair
done.”
Jody was overcome with happiness, despite the horrible welts
and weals left by the vicious scourges of the dog whip. “Really?
Jillian said that?” Jody’s hair was a rat’s nest after a week and a half in
that goddamned basement.
She’d been getting her hair set and styled every three weeks
since puberty, even during the sixties, when everyone else seemed to be getting
it ironed.
Jody breathed exhilaration. Perhaps Jillian wasn’t so bad.
You’d never know it from the way she’d treated Jody, ever since
Garland-Fitzhugh had authorized her to give Jody punishments.
Whipping Jody at own kitchen table with a pancake spatula,
making Jody kneel on the jacks that Jody had kept since childhood, forcing Jody
to suck the penises of homeless men who Jillian had brought by from her
volunteer work at the Salvation Army…
Jillian had been incredibly cruel,
perhaps because Garland-Fitzhugh would not divorce Jody…after all, though
And perhaps this had enraged Jillian. But today she was
coming to pick Jody up, Soapy told her, and Jody was going to have her hair
styled!
She wasn’t going to be going to BriceChristophe, Jody’s
beloved stylist back in
No, Soapy said, a local expert was going to work with Jody’s
hair according to Jillian’s specifications.
“Your-your daughter?” Jody said,
staring at the pallid ex-addict.
“Well, yeah,
They were talking in the Little Shop lounge, and blessedly,
Soapy had requested that Myron bring Jody a cloak to cover her nakedness.
Soapy offered Jody one of his cigarettes, which she accepted
gratefully. “See, Jillian wants you to have a punk rock haircut—“
“A what? A punk rock
haircut?” Jody paled. “Jillian wants me to dye my hair like a—a—freak?”
Jody began feeling a bit dizzy. Oh dear. Dear, dear dear.
“Well, that’s the point, Mrs. Simms. You’re here voluntarily,
just like all Kennel residents. You signed a form.” Soapy wiped his forehead.
“The way the Kennel works is, if any occupant objects to their treatment, they
are immediately administratively discharged.
That’s because we can’t have people dictating what’s done to
them, as it’s the Master or Mistress who makes the decision.”
Soapy went through his pockets and pulled out a small pill
bottle. He took four of the pills and washed them down with a swig from a pint
of brandy. Soapy offered the pint to Jody, who snatched it and swigged,
refusing to give the pint back to Soapy.
“So that is usually the way things are handled. The um, sub
knows that he or she will be thrown out if they object, permanently, so that
way they can decide if they will stay according to their Master’s specifications.”
Soapy groaned.
“I-I hate this job,
Mrs. Simms, and I applied at Office Depot, but they claim I failed their urine
test. It’s not like the urine tests we have here, you know.”
Jody nodded dumbly. Soapy’s humor was falling flat on this
bizaare occasion.
Soapy continued. “So you are actually in a good place,
because you can refuse the hairdressing appointment with my daughter as you’re
being discharged already. If you want, I’ll even tell Jillian that
“No, I am a committed submissive.” Jody said woodenly. “I
have to obey.”
“Okay, if you agree to
have the hairdressing done, you really have to make
‘ Selma did get arrested last year for kicking her vice
principal in the stomach, but it was only because he called her a girl and
she’s a feminist and likes to be called a woman.”
“She-she sounds like a lovely girl.” Jody said weakly.
“Yeah,
Warming to his talk, Soapy continued. “And this will be a big
thing for
But as soon as Jody had heard the word “mohawk”, she’d fallen
over in a dead faint.
Three hours later, Jillian Abernathy waited impatiently.
She’d purchased a nice leather miniskirt in the Little Shop on her boyfriend’s
Platinum card, and put it on in the dressing room. Now Jillian was waiting for
Fatso, her boyfriend’s pathetic wife to come up out of the basement kennel
thingie.
“I hope it’s a good Mohawk, man.” Jillian said to Soapy.
“Well, my daughter did it, and I think she did a good job.” Soapy said
enthusiastically. “
“Jody did fairly well when
Jillian snorted. “Like I care? As if that
old hag’s hair matters?”
Soapy gave Jillian a disapproving look. “
Jillian giggled.
The door opened, and Myron, the huge black came up, leading Jody, and she
was a sight. Dressed in the taupe blouse and stone washed jeans she’d arrived
in ten days before, all looked normal, except of course for Jody’s hair.
Jody was bald on both sides of her head, and in the middle
were six large, thick spikes, making her look like a Daniel Boone Indian who
had just come back from Venus. Behind Jody came a young woman with purple and
yellow hair in streaks down her ponytail.
She was saying “—And you can
maintain the ‘Hawk with gel and regular ironing. I wish my mom would do
something this courageous for herself. I’m writing her at the Women’s
Jody smiled with courage and said “Thank—thank you, dear.”
Jillian began to laugh. She laughed so hard that she fell on
her new miniskirt. Jody, on the other hand, burst into violent tears.
THE END
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