The Homecoming

Time lost its meaning in the shed's damp confines. Exhaustion claimed Eamon, and he drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, his body aching from the suspension. He was startled awake by the screech of the shed doors. Doris stood there, silhouetted against the grey morning light, Derick a hulking shadow behind her. She held a leash in her hand.

"Time to meet your new family, pet," she grunted.

Derick cut him down, and he collapsed in a heap on the floor, his muscles screaming in protest as they were finally allowed to relax. Doris loved animals, she explained, her voice a low, constant rumble as Dereck worked. And Eamon was going to be her new puppy. To that end, he needed to look the part. She produced a series of thick leather harnesses, intricately buckled and strapped. They locked around his thighs, his calves, his chest, holding his limbs in place, forcing him into a permanent crawling position. His hands were secured in mitts that looked like paws, rendering them useless. Every buckle was locked with a small, brass padlock. He tested them; there was no escape.

Doris then produced her prize possession: a thick rubber dildo, unnaturally large and veined. From its base sprouted a long, black, imitation tail, tufted at the end. She lubricated it with a greasy, unidentifiable substance from a tin. Without preamble or ceremony, she positioned herself behind him and shoved the dildo end deep inside him. Eamon cried out, the sound muffled by the gag, his body arching against the invading coldness. It was a violation, a final, brutal removal of his humanity.

The ball gag was unbuckled. His jaw ached as he worked it, trying to feel something again. Before he could draw a proper breath, a new gag was forced into his mouth. It was a rubber bit, shaped and coloured like a dog's bone. It was attached to a full head harness, complete with floppy ears and a snout, buckled tightly at the back of his head. His world was now reduced to the smell of rubber and the taste of his own drool.

His leather collar was replaced with a thick, heavy metal one, cold and unforgiving against his skin. Derick grabbed the new collar and dragged him from the shed. His knees scraped over the rough ground as he was pulled towards the back of the garden. There, nestled against a crumbling stone wall, was a rickety wooden kennel. It was little more than a weathered, grey box. A thick, rusty chain was attached to the concrete post the kennel was built around. Derick padlocked the end of the chain to Eamon's new collar. It gave him just enough leeway to crawl out of the kennel and a few feet into the mud.

"This was his new home," Dorothy explained as she stroked the top of the harness with a certain amount of affection. Eamon was confused by that statement did that mean he had been abandoned by his mother and sister, or did she mean just for the week?.

Derick took great delight in his role as trainer. He'd kick Eamon's water bowl over, just to watch him try to lap up the muddy puddle. He'd throw a stick, yelling "Fetch!" and laugh when Eamon could only crawl uselessly. Food was a bowl of dry, tasteless kibble, placed just out of reach. He couldn't eat until Derick or Doris decided to remove the bit and head harness, an act of mercy they seemed to withhold for their own amusement. His hands were useless in their paws, and he was allowed- he was forced to push his face into the bowl, the dry crumbs scratching his throat.

The second night, the heavens opened. Rain lashed down, finding every crack and seam in the old kennel. Water dripped onto his back, his legs, the floor turning into a muddy, freezing slush. He shivered uncontrollably, his teeth chattering behind the bit, a miserable, broken creature.

In the morning, he was a shivering wreck, his muscles cramped, his skin clammy and cold. Doris clucked her tongue in mock sympathy. "Oh, the poor little thing is cold," she said. "Derick, bring him in to warm up by the fire."

Hope, foolish and fleeting, surged through him. Derick unchained him and dragged him into the cottage. The warmth of the large fireplace was a balm on his frozen skin. But this was no act of kindness. Dereck released him from the crawling harnesses, leaving only the mitts on his hands. Then dragged him to the fireplace. His arms were stretched up and out, his wrists strapped to the heavy wooden mantelpiece. They forced him to stand, his body pressed close to the roaring fire. The heat was intense, a different kind of agony. He squirmed, trying to pull away, but the straps held him fast. He could feel his skin beginning to burn, smell the few hairs he had on his body singe, and feel a searing pain that made him moan and thrash.

"Nice and warm?" Doris asked, poking the fire with her stick, sending a shower of sparks against his legs.

After what felt like an eternity, they turned him around. The relief of his front being away from the fire was short-lived as the intense heat seared his back. He screamed, a raw, guttural sound, as it felt like his skin was blistering.

When they finally let him down, he collapsed onto the floor, his body a canvas of red, angry pain. But they weren't done with him. They dragged him to a heavy wooden table and bent him over it. Derick held him down, his weight pinning Eamon in place. Doris picked up a thin, whippy cane. The first stroke landed across his already burned back, and the pain was blinding. It was a white-hot line of fire that eclipsed everything else. She beat him methodically, her arm rising and falling with a steady rhythm, each stroke a new explosion of agony. He sobbed, his body bucking and writhing.

When she finally stopped, he was a blubbering mess, tears and snot running down his face. She pulled him upright, and he collapsed against her, his face burying itself in her ample, soft bosom. She held him, rocking him back and forth, making soft, clucking sounds of comfort. The contradiction was maddening. The pain, the degradation, followed by a twisted, maternal tenderness. He cried himself into a state of exhausted shock in her arms, his mind finally breaking under the weight of it all.

He woke to Derick strapping him back into the harnesses, turning him back into a dog. The cycle was complete. The pain and the humiliation were his new, permanent reality.