A Kennel Opens

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

For Women

This economy is killing me. Or as the general parlance goes, “it fucking sucks.”

“I’m sorry, Kay, but we really just cannot afford to continue your contract.” He looks genuinely pained, but I am looking for any falsity, pretense.

“I’d be willing to cut my rates, as I have the last three years, but the margin is getting smaller,” I offer.

He smiles. “I appreciate that, really, more than I can say, but seriously, I think we’re looking at bankruptcy here. I have nothing to barter. There’s nothing left.”

Well, damn. This is one of my last few consulting contracts, and I really need it. This is going to hurt.

A little background: I’m a former military and law enforcement trainer. I still do a lot of consulting for those agencies, but retired a few years ago. One of my specialties was the use of animals in force use, whether tracking a subject, transporting gear, finding evidence. As government contracts have tightened, I have expanded into service dog work, search and rescue, horse training for law enforcement and more.

Unfortunately, even those contracts and consulting gigs got tighter still, so I eventually went into training in the civilian sector.

And now I’m watching my last, and most lucrative, contract dissolve before my eyes…

I stop at the local bar on the way home. There are a few friends in the crowd, and we quickly gather round. We talk shop, dogs, politics and more.

As I’m downing my second cocktail, savoring the celery salt, Marcus asks me about dog training. Slightly buzzed, and with the noise of the crowd, it’s hard to make out what he’s asking, but I smile politely, nod appropriately, then suggest he bring Taffy up next weekend, and we’ll work on it. Given the smile on his face, I think it worked, and I order a third cocktail.

I am so fucked. I am a single mom, two kids, lots of working dogs, illegal bahis a large house with an equally large payment, and ordered child support that never comes, and I am so tired.

Heading home the backroads, so as not to be a menace to anyone, I am thinking. Well, I can sell the trailer. There’s that. I don’t own anything on contract, except the house – everything else, I’m studious about paying up front with cash. I could get rid of my horse, but I would rather sell a kidney first. I’d take up prostitution, but the hours and the pay suck – how do I go from $1,000.00 per 8 hours for standing in high heels and lecturing to $15.00 for a blowjob in an alley?

Yeah, the economy sucks and I’m fucked.

Pulling into the driveway, I punch the garage door opener. I can’t park in the garage due to the amount of gear and dog kennels, but it is the easiest way to deal with a persnickety front door lock.

There are only a few boarders here anymore. The economy is hitting their owners hard, too, and instead of a full kennel, it’s hit and miss.

I top off their water, refill the auto feeders for the morning, scrape a little poop, scritch an ear, croon a few soft words, and done. They are already bedded down for the night, and I don’t want to work them up.

The kids are with their dad this holiday weekend, so I’m looking at three days alone. It will be chores, training, kennels, dogs, the horse, laundry, paying bills – although, paying bills may have to cease in the near future, which pains both me and my future credit score.

I grab a quick glass of wine, and head straight to bed. It’s been exhausting, and the alcohol is kicking in. I think I need it today, and I’m grateful this came on a kid-free weekend.

Stripping down, I really don’t give a shit tonight about getting stuff into the laundry, so leave a pile of clothing, a la Hansel illegal bahis siteleri and Gretel, on the way to my bed. Time to turn in…

I am asleep for no less than 15 minutes when a text comes in from Him.

“Monday is a holiday. I already checked your Outlook. You are not working. You will be working for me. Be here at 9:30. Wear stockings, plug, heels and a coat. Nothing else.”

Two minutes later, this:

“Add – pick a collar from your dog collection. It better be used. Also, bring leash. And horse crop that I saw you use last Saturday with the Percheron.”

Yes, Sir. Of course, as always. I aim to please. Please aim well.

Another message comes in.

“Hey, Kay – can’t bring Tasha any more; Gio got laid off. Hope you understand. Thanks!”

Drifting back off to sleep, I am plagued by the loss of this contract. I am worried that if I am having to search for more work, it will cut into the regular schedule with my Dom. He will not be pleased. Another dog out of the boarding/training income stream. I cannot afford to lose my house.

I put the phone on “airplane mode” and pour another glass of wine, and begin a booze-induced sleep…

Except, at exactly 2:47 am, I wake up. A dream… a possibility.

I’m a sub. I will always be a sub. I will never NOT be a sub.

But… what if I could provide a place for Doms and subs, or Owners and puppies, to use for training?

I have so many empty kennels…

Streaking naked out of bed, I run to the garage. I don’t need to count the 11 kennels, plus the three in the living room. There’s the vet and grooming table, complete with head hook, Oster clippers, dental picks, and dremel. There is the whelping box. There is the Ray Allen K9 bath on legs, and overhanging water supply and lowering drain. There is the heated blow dryer, scissors, clippers, and warming canlı bahis siteleri kennel. There is the wall of flat collars, slip collars, whale tail collars, prongs, pinches, e-collars, choke chains, and muzzles. There is the treadmill, and the breeding stand, which is sometimes affectionally called the “rape stand.”

There is also the usual coffee and water stand area. A small refrigerator and lockers available.

Oh my God…

What if I don’t actually count on dogs any more, but could turn all this into a fetish retreat?

I sit in the dark for another four hours, contemplating all the issues, possible problems, potentials.

And, so, at the break of dawn, I am at the computer, on Craigslist. Personals section. Keywords “fetish” and “puppy play” and so on.

“Grand Opening: Sudsy Buds! A self- and full-service dog grooming, boarding, and training facility!

Got a dog, bitch, or puppy who needs cleaning, grooming or otherwise sprucing up? Got an old dog that needs to learn some new tricks? Got a dog that is showing a need for training?

We’re your answer!

We have kennels, whelping box training, grooming, bathing, training, refreshment training, and more.

Disclosure: We do not offer breeding bitches, but do have an on-site training bitch.

Disclosure: We use a variety of training methods, ranging from gentle (and frankly, mostly ineffective) like the Halti, chest harnesses, positive reinforcement (which works with gentle and malleable pets) to use of e-collars and prongs and discipline, including isolation. All methods are, of course, discussed with the Owner, and are approved before use.

Since training facility is in private home, please call for availability and pricing. Custom plans offered. Referrals welcomed. All dogs must be vetted.”

I review quickly, make sure there are no spelling errors, and hit “submit.”

It is done.

Now… now, time to clean the kennels, rehang all the collars appropriately, wipe down anything that might be dusty, and add some booze to the coffee and observation area.

This could be what saves me…

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir