Free Pets: Bach's Story by Darla Phelps Page B

bonds.
    “Pani,” he warned.
    She glanced back at him with her huge and uncertain eyes.
    Lowering the pan, Bach first cupped her womanhood, and then he spanked it. Just hard enough to make her jump and gasp.
    “Go potty, Pani, or Papa will have to spank you again.” His fingers clapped five times in not-so-gentle succession against the fleshy folds between her legs. “You’ve already earned yourself more than you want to take, I promise you.”
    Other than her name and the one she knew to be his, he knew she didn’t understand a word of what he was saying. But when he flattened his spanking palm over her small bottom, her whole body stiffened in anticipation of another swat. Then Bach tapped the pan between her legs again. Her head bowed and she whimpered once, before urinating, the trickle of fluid pattering softly against the metal bottom. Her face flushed miserably, and she didn’t look at him. But when she was done, he didn’t take the pan away, either.
    “Come on.” He shifted the pan between her thighs and tapped the dusky rim of her bottom hole with one finger. “I know you have to. You haven’t gone since I brought you home.
    You’re going to be uncomfortable enough in a few minutes. You don’t want to make it worse.”
    He knew she understood him when her face flushed even redder than her sore buttocks.
    He waited patiently, holding the pan beneath her while she didn’t move. Just when he was about to lay a motivating swat upon her, he saw the tiny brown bud of her anus begin to work.
    When she was done, Bach carried the mess from the living room, returning a short time later with a warm washcloth in his hand. He cleaned her from front to back twice before dropping the cloth in the bathroom clothes hamper. At the sink, he mixed together a solution of soap and lukewarm water, pouring it into a Gerfel-brand personal cleanser. It was really just an oversized metal and glass syringe, with a long, narrow nozzle that was capped at one end with a removable rubber plug and a rotating handle at the other. Eight complete turns would push a rubber plate through the syringe, emptying it. After rinsing out the metal pan, he took it and the syringe back to the living room.
    He spread out a towel on the floor between Pani’s splayed legs, and another behind her just in case. From the open stretch kit, Bach took a tube of clear lubricating gel and applied a liberal dab directly to the end of the nozzle as well as to that nervous brown bud, winking as it was between rosy cheeks that were trying so desperately to clench together to hide it.
    “This isn’t going to be comfortable,” he said as he uncapped the end of the nozzle and tucked it right up to her anal opening. “But I want you to be all cleaned out for Papa.”
    Despite her instant clenching, the nozzle slipped effortlessly past the dusky rim and deep inside her bottom. Because she was so tiny and the syringe was not made for pets, he only pushed it halfway inside her, before eight slow turns of the handle gradually forced the soapy solution up into her bowels.
    Pani’s whimpers turned to growling groans and, despite the discomfort, her bottom automatically struggled to hold onto the solution. With the syringe nozzle deeply imbedded, he sifted through the stretch kit, picking up and discarding different sized vaginal as well as anal inserts until he found one no bigger than the thickness of his thumb. As he withdrew the nozzle, he quickly replaced it with the insert, effectively plugging the mixture within her with little more than a slick pop as it forced her body to accept it. She stiffened sharply, squeaking her indignation at being so invaded, though the gag all but swallowed the sound.
    Bach tapped the plug all the way into her and held it pressed as deep as it would go with the tip of his finger against the wide black base that parted her buttocks. When he was sure it would stay and that Pani couldn’t expel it before he deemed it time, he took his