Betty's besties

The healing process for Betty’s extensive modifications had been meticulous, with Shannon tending to her piercings and tattoos with unwavering care. After months, Dave’s aftercare instructions had paid off: the piercings were all fully healed, the labia and clit piercings taking the longest time. The tattoos had settled into Betty’s skin, vivid and permanent. Betty, now accustomed to the constant presence of a medium anal plug, at home with its dog-tail attachment, moved through her days in a submissive haze, her body a living canvas of her best friends’ wicked imagination. At class, she sometimes could hardly focus on her studies, bored by the challenging subjects and rather eager to be back under safe control with some thrilling demands or even surprises by her besties. Fortunately, most often a piece of mind had settled in her, a tranquility over her two-faced life with submission on one hand and meeting the expectations of an industrious colleague student. Frankly, she didn’t have much of a choice to cater to one or the other. Her besties kept Betty safe from any advances, distracting new social contacts, and her family at bay. Her broken habit of spending hours on her phone screen had made place for playful exploring her deeper desires, remembering the scenes with Laura and Shannon she had been the core part of, as well as fantasizing about possible new scenes, sometimes with her besties, other times in fictional scenarios. Betty found herself sometimes posing her bottom close to Shannon more often and longer than necessary. She sometimes even provoked Laura with a few playful words or just a bratty look right before getting fed her mush, not because she liked Laura’s mocking comments or even a disgusting add-on to her food with near certainty, but because of the satisfaction Laura seemed to get being a little bit nasty, which strangely enough quilled a thirst in her victim. Both her besties’ treatment, one kind and one harsh, seemed to nurture her submissive side in a balance Betty loved.

Laura and Shannon, eager to resume the old pace of their forest adventures, planned their next meeting with Dave and Brutus. They hadn’t shared their intentions with Betty, keeping her in the dark to heighten the surprise and her surrender. On a springy Saturday morning, they loaded Betty’s dog cage into Laura’s hatchback, her hair braided into pigtails to the side, easily revealing her tattoos and the cow tags on her ears. Her gear was already locked in place, including the new bright-pink “bitch” collar with its blinking LEDs, her limbs folded into the thickly padded dog legs, and the snout mask with the large ring-gag, forcing her jaw open and rendering her speechless. The chain connecting her septum piercing to the snout’s external ring dangled, ready for control. Betty’s muffled hums betrayed a mix of anticipation and nerves, but her trust in her owners kept her compliant, her locked restraints leaving her helpless to resist.

They drove to the familiar secluded trail, where Dave and Brutus waited, the Great Dane’s sleek black coat glinting in the broken sunlight. Dave greeted them with his easy smile, his command of “Brutus, sit” met with instant obedience. “Good to see you folks,” Dave said, his dark eyes flicking to Betty’s adorned form. “She’s looking… ready.”

Laura grinned, her phone already out to record. “Oh, she is. We’ve got something special planned today.”

Shannon, holding Betty’s leash, tugged gently, guiding her to a soft patch of moss off the path. Betty crawled carefully, her bells jingling, her body hyper-aware of her vulnerable state and the permanent transformation. Unbeknownst to her, Shannon had applied a generous amount of lube to the plug earlier, ensuring enough remained for what was to come. The trio had consulted Dave during their visits, confirming that Brutus’s size, while intense, wouldn’t cause any serious harm, still mitigated by her plug training. Now she removed the plug with a silent plop, satisfied to see some lubricant already involved with the Betty’s sexy butthole.

Without warning, Dave commanded, “Go, boy.” Brutus approached Betty, sniffing her intently before mounting her from behind. This time, Betty was expecting the incoming weight and her limbs trained as much that she could more easily carry it. For her it was another gesture of domination on top. If put into her dog gear, being sexually labeled in ink, her genitals denied, and led on a leash into the empty but still publicly available wild wasn’t enough. Now, she was going to be fucked by that monster of a dog Brutus again, something seen as so shameful and demeaning by the vast majority of people. Still, here she was, getting it all, accepting herself … enjoying being the center of attention again, entertaining her besties and this stranger Dave. A strong shiver struck her body and took it hostage, as the action began to commence without delay.

This time, Betty was sure her black lover would only enter her butt as her moist front entrance was locked. Surprisingly, Brutus had to probe very little this time to put his key into the hole. Betty’s muffled gasp echoed through the ring-gag as the Dane’s big cock found her lubed anus, the penetration sharp and still overwhelming compared to the medium plug. Laura’s camera zoomed in, capturing the explicit moment of Brutus’s thrusts, the angle clear and deliberate. Betty’s body tensed, her eyes wide behind the mask, but her arousal was undeniable, her hips instinctively pushing back to meet him, succumbing to her longing for a little pleasure, pain, the whole dose of humiliation not only being mounted, but actively engaging in it. Used to presenting a show for her exquisite audience, she wanted it to be a good one, making her besties happy, making Dave happy, and even Brutus. After a few moments of confusion, her mate adjusted his thrusts to his target helping.

Laura, with a wicked grin, circled to Betty’s front and swiftly removed the snout mask, revealing her ring-gagged face, drool glistening on her chin and her eyes wide. The camera didn’t stop, capturing Betty’s shaking head staring into the camera as she moaned louder, the bestial act now paired with her exposed identity. Her eyes flickered with a mix of humiliation and heat, her body surrendering to the intensity. Then she tried to look away until Laura corrected that with a quick command.

Shannon, shook with laughter. “Look at our grown-up pup!”, she called, her phone recording from another angle. “Taking Brutus like a champ!”

Dave chuckled, his tone proud. “Brutus is loving this. Good boy!”

Betty’s moans grew louder, her face flushed with shame and pleasure, her hips moving receptively despite the anal pain, only pausing occasionally. The animalistic pounding didn’t stop, increasing in speed, Brutus’s thrusts unreserved as he claimed her. The Dane came with a few more solitary thrusts, filling Betty’s belly with his seed.  When he finally dismounted, retracting his cock took even longer than last time, Betty more open and acceptance to the silence letting her mind realize and echo what she just had done and experienced. Finally, the knot plopped giving Betty another sharply painful moment.

Laura acted quickly, inserting a larger plug to fill the gaping hole, its dog-tail attachment swaying. Betty’s muffled protest—sharp and pained through the gag—was ignored, her discomfort evident but overshadowed by her submissive compliance. The plug trapped Brutus’s cum inside, a degrading reminder of the act.

Shannon knelt beside her, stroking her back. “Good girl, keeping it all in,” she cooed, her voice dripping with affection and control.

They let Betty rest briefly, her body trembling, before leading her back to the path, the snout mask left off for the return. Shannon clipped a chain to Betty’s nipple rings, the jingle bells clinking, and attached it directly to her septum piercing at this occasion. The dual control—breast and nose—made Betty’s steps falter, each tug a humiliating thrill.

As they walked, Laura’s eyes caught something on the path—a fresh dog turd, unmistakably Brutus’s, its placement too convenient. She exchanged a knowing glance with Dave, her acting exaggerated as she pointed it out. “Oh, look, pup! Your lover left you a gift!” Her tone was playful, but the setup was clear—Dave had tipped her off, ensuring it was safe and not wild game feces.

Laura raised her phone, zooming in on Betty’s ring-gagged face. “Sniff it, pup,” Laura ordered, her grin wide.

Betty hesitated for a half-second, her eyes pleading, but a sharp shock from the remote-controlled labia rings made her yelp, her body jolting. Laura’s enthusiasm was infectious, her fingers dancing over the phone’s controls, hinting at stronger shocks to come. “Now, pup.”

Betty obeyed, crawling forward and lowering her face to the turd, her human nose brushing against it, then pressing into the soft, foul mass. She sniffed deeply, mimicking a dog’s curiosity, her face scrunching with disgust but her body complying.

Shannon’s hand petted her head gently, a reward for her obedience. “Good girl,” she murmured, but her grin widened, her eyes expectant.

Betty, catching the cue, extended her long tongue and licked the turd, exploring its sides with slow, deliberate strokes. The act was vile, her muffled whimpers mixing with the trio’s laughter, but she pushed through, her arousal betraying her disgust. Three cameras captured every moment, the footage a testament to Betty’s deepening submission.

Satisfied, Laura reached into her bag, pulling out a dog fouling bag. She scooped up the turd, holding it up like a trophy. “This’ll spice up your mush, pup,” she said, her voice teasing but firm. “You better show some gratitude for your lover’s souvenir—smile for the camera, show us how passionate you are.”

Betty’s eyes widened, but she nodded, trying to smile with her eyes, her bells jingling as she tilted her head. The humiliation was crushing, the warmth between her thighs betraying any inner reluctance. Laura and Shannon laughed, their affection clear as they praised her.

“That’s our good pup,” Shannon said, ruffling her hair.

They parted from Dave and Brutus with a wave, reinstated the snout-mask, and headed back.

At the apartment, Laura removed the anal plug as promised. “Lick it spotless while relieving your ass,” she ordered while holding a bowl ready to catch, “And we’ll mix the rest from your anus into your mush. You’ll eat it like a good, obedient bitch.”

Betty’s face flushed with shame as Shannon mixed it into her tasteless mush, serving it in her bowl. “Eat up, pup,” Shannon said, her voice soft but commanding.

Betty knelt, lapping at the mixture, the taste only slightly different to the usual, neutral taste. It was mainly the knowledge what was in there which triggered her shame. Nevertheless, she obeyed anyway, her mind drifting even deeper into what that made her into, accepting her fate and even embracing it with some lust, as there were limited channels into which she could funnel her unfulfilled libido.

The footage from the hike was reviewed that evening, Laura and Shannon huddled around Laura’s laptop, their laughter mingling with awe at Betty’s performance. The close-up of Brutus’s anal penetration, Betty’s unmasked face contorted in shock and pleasure, and her degrading interaction with the turd were all captured in vivid detail.

Betty, curled on the couch, listened quietly, her mind still soft from the day’s intensity. The humiliation of being recorded, of pushing her boundaries further, had settled into her bones, a strange comfort in her surrender. She didn’t protest, her trust in Laura and Shannon absolute, even as they planned the next steps in her training.

“This is gold,” Laura murmured, saving the files to their private archive.

Shannon confirmed, “She’s so deep in this now.”

“Our slutty, obedient bitch.”, chuckled Laura.

That forced Shannon giggle in agreement: “Our pup is total slut, I have to admit now. I think you shouldn’t call that out as often, Laura. She needs some time of comfort and peace from that.”

“Alright,” Laura gave in, “But then in between you should also call her what she really is: an obedient bitch in heat, fucking dogs, and eating turd. You know she craves it and we should support her in that. Don’t you think she deserves a hard slap on the ass or two?” Laura gave Shannon a provoking look. “Don’t you think she would even like that!?” And she whispered: “I think you would even enjoy doing that.”

Shannon didn’t reply but with a joyful look of being caught and accepted as she is.

Betty’s diet remained dominated by the mush, the occasional addition of Brutus’s souvenirs or bitter pastes a constant reminder of her role. Shannon balanced this with moments of tenderness, feeding her sweet treats when her mood dipped, cuddling her after intense sessions. “You’re our perfect pup,” Shannon would whisper, stroking her pigtails. “We’re so proud of you.”

One evening, as Betty knelt eating her mush, the jingle bells on her nipples clinking softly, Laura activated the clit shield’s shock function, a low buzz that made Betty gasp. “Just a reminder who’s in charge,” Laura teased, her grin playful. Betty’s muffled moan was all the response they needed, her body arching slightly, her submission a living, breathing part of their bond.

Laura leaned back, her eyes gleaming with ideas. “She’s doing so well,” she said to Shannon, her voice low. “Let’s keep pushing—our bitch is ready for the next level.”

Betty, hearing their words, felt a thrill ripple through her. Her body, marked and controlled, belonged to them, and the promise of deeper degradation, of new humiliations, only tightened the invisible leash binding her to her best friends’ loving, wicked world.

The unmasking during Betty’s last hike marked a turning point, a fleeting exposure that Laura and Shannon decided not to repeat. From then on, they reverted to using the snout mask with its ring-gag, ensuring Betty’s face remained hidden during their weekend rituals. The home treatment and hikes continued with unwavering consistency, each Friday after college to Sunday noon a dedicated time to transform Betty into their obedient bitch, meeting Dave and Brutus on their secluded forest paths. Betty’s body adapted to the routine, her submission deepening with each outing.

Betty was nearly fully adapted to the medium plug, when in a mild rain dripping through the tree tops and turning the trail into mud, they met not only Dave and Brutus but also a large, brown Mastiff on a leash named Cactus. Dave had phoned Laura and Shannon about this in advance, a unique dog-sitting opportunity with owner’s consent. The three dog owners had a casual conversation, as if it was just another calm Saturday, nearly a relaxed church Sunday, while guiding her dogs around for the looming action. Brutus had the pleasure to mount Betty first with his known vigor, nearly finding the rear entrance right away, while Dave had to order and hold the massive muscle-body of Cactus at bay. Betty was used to take the Dane without any lube now, and her hole was gaping sufficiently to even make it much easier, through it was still shaking up her inner body, making her physically tremble from the pounding, embracing her social disgrace.

After seeing him spasm with some final thrusts, Dave gave his Dane plenty of time to retreat. Then he let the uncontrollably drooling Mastiff go. He ran a straight line to Betty rear, already doing his sniffing part on the way, not making any stop before mounting the bitch. His weight seemed only slightly higher than Dave’s. Despite the snout-mask, the audience could easily witness Betty’s discomfort and worry while the new performer was probing her ass cheeks with a significantly thicker hammer. But there was no escape nor any attempt of, no plea with sound or look either. The first hit into the whole put made his bitch tense her muscles but no prevail. The Mastiff struck with much more force, though with big pauses in between, like a battering ram. It also increased it speed, switching his hammering up with short intervals of flickering fucking. Obviously, the two lovers had quite different styles. All the while, huge amounts of drool splattered over Betty’s head and shoulders, slowly dripping down her mask, arms and chest. When Cactus was done, he violently pulled away from his knot until it forcefully plopped out and freed him, splattering some seed on the ground. Laura rushed to plug the dribbling hole with a new large plug while the Mastiff peacefully trotted back to Dave, completely disregarded his affair.

“He will be gone back next week already,” Dave announced, “but if you are ever interested in getting one for yourself, I can recommend a very good family breeding Danes and Mastiffs, coming at the according premium costs.”

“Interesting idea.” Laura admitted, more to her besties than to Dave.

“Probably not any time soon,” Shannon revealed, “we have no more room, time, nor fortunate for another dog.” She petted Betty’s back, soothing her shaking mind.

“Could you arrange for a group of dogs for a good shagging of our bitch?”, Laura dared to ask, obviously shocking Shannon who still didn’t intervene.

Dave hesitated to answer first, a bit surprised: “Sure, I think. I know a guy or two in that direction. A lot of my customers are quite excentric, special, or both. As long as you are never judging, that can be arranged. The video proofs should be a good door opener for you. But it’ll either cost you or you have to make a kind of copyright arrangement, agreeing to everything being filmed.”

“Sounds very doable. We’ll think about. Thanks.”, Laura spun Betty’s roundabout of thoughts and emotions.

The mating with Brutus became a regular feature, less painful as Betty grew accustomed to the anal plugs Laura and Shannon used to stretch her. The cameras capturing every thrust and moan encouraged the besties to care for different scenery and variances, like having Betty rest her belly on a tree chunk or attaching her leash to different objects, being even more hindered from walking away, as if she ever attempted anything like that. Once the put Betty on her back with her bottom being lifted up on a trunk for Brutus to reach her rear, resulting in her seeing her lovers face during the act, but also being licked by and drooled onto her face. Another time, Dave had brought a kind of tight, wooden box for Betty to get in, only her rear sticking out and then held in place by closed hatchets. It deprived her of the usual senses other than the direct mounting, turning her into a half-wooden, half-flesh fucking rack for her lover.

The tradition of using Brutus’s cum persisted, left inside her with a plug until she was instructed to lick it clean, the rest mixed into Betty’s tasteless mush. Occasionally, Laura would incorporate one of Brutus’s turds, either smeared into her mush or fed directly as a humiliating treat, the foul taste pushing Betty’s limits but reinforcing her role. The variations kept her on edge, never knowing what to expect, her muffled whimpers through the ring-gag a mix of protest and arousal.

Laura and Shannon embraced their roles as ambitious dog bitch trainers, using every tool at their disposal—painful tugs on the chains connected to her nipple or septum rings, sharp shocks to her genital or anal devices—to hone Betty’s endurance and physical fitness. They pushed her to crawl longer distances, her muscles straining but growing stronger, her bells clinking rhythmically. Their training extended to dog-like behaviors, each command designed to deepen her submission.

“Fetch,” Laura would call, tossing a stick or a rubber bone, and Betty would scramble to retrieve it, her locked paws fumbling but obedient.

“Heel,” Shannon would order, tugging the septum chain, and Betty would fall in step, ignoring the discomfort of thorns or rough terrain.

The simplest human foods—grapes, chocolate, or even plain bread—became coveted treats, dangled as rewards for flawless obedience. A single shock to her labia or a harsh pull on her nipple rings ensured instant compliance, her hesitation vanishing under the threat of pain. Her besties tested Betty’s obedience relentlessly, pushing her to endure humiliation without flinching.

One Saturday, Laura led her to a clearing with a small ant hill, commanding her to “sit” directly on it. Betty’s eyes widened behind the mask, but a quick shock to her clit shield silenced any protest. She lowered her ass onto the mound, her muffled whimpers rising as the ants swarmed, biting her sensitive skin. “Stay,” Laura said firmly, her phone recording, and Betty obeyed, her body trembling but unmoving until they allowed her to rise.

Another time, Shannon took her to a new path where strangers—carefully vetted by Dave for their consent and discretion—passed by, watching her crawl in her gear. Betty, unaware of the setup, flushed with shame but followed commands, her submission overriding her fear of exposure.

These tests, repeated to ensure her thoughtless obedience, were confined to their weekend sessions, giving Betty time to recover from Sunday noon to Friday for her college life. Yet, her submission began to bleed into the week. At the apartment, she responded to Laura and Shannon with a deference that hadn’t been there before, her eyes lowering when they spoke, her movements softer, as if anticipating their commands. They took special care to protect her, ensuring her tattoos remained hidden under clothing or her choker. Her piercings, like the nipple bells or cow tags, were removed for classes. Her besties encouraged Betty’s comfort with the visible irremovable septum piercing. Now it helped, that they had reduced her social contacts to meeting her classmates during the lessons. On the other hand, Betty’s new attitude towards her besties made it easier to ignore or rather accept any bothering remarks or visible gossip in her periphery. Any rare moments of exposure, such as a playful reveal of her collar for their mutual amusement, were carefully orchestrated with Betty’s consent.