chapter 8

The doorbell rang whilst Ava was finishing her breakfast the next morning. Placed in front of her was an enormous plate of bacon, sausage, ham and black pudding, crisp and glistening with grease. She was nibbling toast from a side plate, ignoring the fry up with a self control that was rather singular amongst the residents of the house. Wearing a long, flowing, sheer robe over her negligee, she sipped the coffee Butler had prepared for her and went over her diary with a perfectly manicured nail. After a time, two sets of footsteps approached the kitchen, one the clipped stride of the manservant and the other scampering, on all fours. Butler entered first, holding a heavy black lead.

“Your puppy is back from the groomers, ma’am,” he said, as the sleek latex dog entered eagerly behind him. Ava smiled to see him straining at the end of the lead, trying to approach the table.

“Sit!” she commanded, and he dropped down at once, his eyes bright and excitable under his mask.

“What a good boy!” she said indulgently, picking up a strip of bacon from the plate and tossing it to him. He tried to catch it in the air but missed, and snaffled it up off the floor instead, sitting back up at once with almost comical straightness, the picture of a dutiful guard dog. He was an occasional visitor to the house, but despite his only sporadic play sessions with the mistress, his body was paying the price. He had softened up admirably ever since his first meeting with Ava, who had quickly determined that he would do literally anything for a strip of bacon. Ava let him sit like that for a moment longer before calling “Come, Butch!” and stroking his gleaming latex ears when he bounded to her side.

As Ava continued to eat her toast, Butch stared up at the plate of fried meats on the table intently, heavy tongue sticking out and wetting his lips. Ava ignored him, reading through her books casually, until he could take it no longer and began to carefully crane his neck to reach the plate. Lightning fast, her fingers whipped down and gave him a light smack on his snout.

“Butch! You know better than to eat table food,” she reprimanded him, and he settled back onto his haunches, whining. Ava smiled and stood up, one long leg sliding out of the opening of her robe like an unsheathing blade. As she walked to the counter, she clicked her fingers at her side and the puppy hurried to stay at her heels, his latex suit smacking as his chubby legs brushed each other. She reached into the cupboard and brought out two gleaming silver dog bowls, smiling at the excitement that the sight of these inspired in her pet, who was panting happily and uttering little barks at her feet now. Butler had been cooking breakfast for the residents for most of the morning, and there was a huge pan of porridge keeping warm on the stove which she piled into the bowl in front of Butch, staring at him with a warning eyebrow raised to remind him not to lunge forwards and eat before he was allowed. She picked up a bottle of syrup and poured it on top of the bowl from a height. Butch watched the stream of syrup for a moment before sticking his head under and lapping it up. Ava gave an exasperated laugh. “Messy puppy,” she said, fondly, “Eat, boy.”

The wet slopping noise of Butch gobbling down porridge from the bowl was only overshadowed by the furious, excited growls he emitted as he gorged. As the bowl emptied quickly, Ava strode back across to the stove and filled it again. Thick, creamy oats dripping from the mask, he dipped his head back in and carried on eating determinedly. His latex swaddled belly stretched shinily towards the floor as he knelt on all fours in front of his mistress. The sound of him licking the bottom of the bowl took a little longer this time, and when he finished he pressed his sticky nose against Ava’s leg and whimpered a little. She glanced up from her toast and stroked his head, making him whine excitedly.

“What’s wrong, pet?” she asked, “You still want some table scraps?”

She held up another strip of bacon, and Butch opened his mouth for it obligingly, his tail wagging back and forth atop his jiggling buttocks, at which point she snatched it away. “I can’t believe you still have an appetite after such a big breakfast! Let me get you some more.”

She filled the bowl with another huge mountain of porridge. The pan on the stove was empty now, and Butch sat in front of the bowl, staring into it with mild concern in the wide eyes which peered through his mask. He was getting extremely full, having already eaten enough to feed a family for breakfast. His mistress’s determined eyes gazed back at him, and he dropped his snout back down. Overfull and logy, each new mouthful of oats and cream now felt like a mouthful of cement. His gut sloshed with porridge and syrup. Every few bites he stopped, breathing heavily through his nose, looking up at Ava and whining. She simply watched him quietly, sipping her coffee, and after a few seconds of meeting her eyes like this he would inevitably dip his face back down and carry on, groaning slightly queasily as he carried on stuffing. Finally, panting, he licked the bowl clean and pushed it away with his nose.

“Oh, *good* boy, Butch,” she praised, “Come! Sit up!”

He dragged his belly across the room to her and attempted to sit up in that same straight-backed pose, hearing his latex creaking precariously as his gut sagged towards his forepaws. He panted wildly, tilting his nose up, inviting her to stroke his chin. He felt as though he was full up to the back of his throat, but as Ava’s fingers tickled his ears and chin and she offered him the bacon once more, he opened his mouth dutifully to accept his reward. The salt and grease cut through all the cream and for just a moment he forgot how stuffed he felt. For just a moment, at the sound of her praise and the sight of her smile, he grinned too and felt his tail wagging behind him. For just a moment.

Then Ava stood up from the table and placed the whole platter of meat on the floor.

“For being such a good puppy dog,” she grinned.

Butch swore, for just a moment, that he felt his latex ears droop.