From Claire to Pipsqueak: Part 1

Story by: Brentwood

Original Concept and Artwork by: NimbleTail

            It had been one year and 364 days since Claire had become a service animal.  She’d spent those nearly two years assigned to a disgusting pig of a man doing whatever sick acts his perverted mind could conjure.  The final day of her service was no exception.  She bobbed her head back and forth in a steady rhythm, making her bright red, stubby pigtails bounce with each motion, as her lips and tongue glided across his thick, slimy shaft.  After all that time she probably should have been used to servicing with her mouth, but she wasn’t.  She hated being on her knees in such a vulnerable, submissive position.  She hated being forced to look up at him with her big blue eyes during.  He wouldn’t even give her the dignity of looking down at her with contempt for the way she was acting; rather he looked at her with a kind of patronizing expression as if she really were a stupid animal doing something cute.  She hated his sweat, how bad he smelled, how bad he tasted, and the way his coarse hair sometimes brushed her cheeks when he brought his fat thighs together to trap her.  Most of all she hated when he would cum regardless of whether it was down her throat or on her face. 

            Claire kept her hate as buried as best as she could, so as not to upset the “Pet sitter” system contained in the “adorable” pointy dog ears pinned to the top of her head and in the leather collar around her neck.  It was always reading her thoughts and always ready to issue a shock if she got out of line.  She tensed when she felt her owner’s heavy hand clap onto the back of her head. 

            “Don’t struggle!”  She still had to consciously remind herself. 

            His stout fingers laced their way through her hair as he forced her face into his crotch.  His rough, thick pubic hair scratched her little button nose as his bulbous head thrust into her protesting throat.  She gagged, but didn’t dare fight him.  Her whole body trembled as she choked and sputtered for air she could not get.  His cock swelled and twitched in her tight windpipe.

            “Here it comes, girl!”  He groaned as he pumped his sticky, foul-tasting gunk down her stretched throat.  He held her against him, his hairy scrotum plastered against her chin, until he finished and released her with a deep, satisfied sigh.  Claire pulled back while gasping for breath and licking at the roof of her mouth to try to rub away the horrible fishy taste off her tongue.

            “Finish, girl.”  He ordered, pointing to the glistening tip of his cock.

            Claire sighed inwardly and meekly licked the last few drops off the tip, trembling with disgust as she did.    

            “Remember to say thank you!”  He said as he ruffled her hair.

            “Bastard…”  She thought bitterly.  Claire gulped, her cum-filled stomach was churning, his flavor was still on her tongue, his musk in her nostrils—she felt sick, but she managed to reply with a half-hearted, “Woof…”  In addition to reading her thoughts, if her collar detected anything but “pleasing puppy sounds” she’d get a shock. 

            Her owner laughed as he pulled himself up from his worn, stained easy chair and walked toward the kitchen, “You know, Pipsqueak, I really do spoil you…”  She could hear the electric can opener working.  “I really shouldn’t let you have dessert before you have your dinner!”   

            Pipsqueak…she hated that name, but “Claire” was far too dignified a name for a lowly service animal now wasn’t it?  Pipsqueak, as she had been told, was the “perfect” name for an undersized, skinny runt like her.  Her Owner lumbered back into the room with her now-familiar plastic dog dish, heaped with a brown, gelatinous canned dog food.  He tossed it recklessly in front of her, causing some of the mess to spill over the side.

            “Oopse, spilled some!  Pipsqueak, be a good girl and lick that up!”

***

            Two years before she was staring down a bowl of dog food, Claire Sanders was in a very different situation.  For twenty three years she had led a charmed life with access to the best schools and social circles.  Eventually she got a great job at a top investment firm largely due to her parents’ money and connections, but also due to her ruthless personality. 

            After only a year with the company, she’d already gotten two men fired by falsely accusing them of sexual harassment.  It wasn’t personal.  It really wasn’t as far as she was concerned.  She did it to advance her career and they were simply in her way.  Her ambitions didn’t stop there, however.  Though she had a substantial trust fund and her salary was extremely generous, Claire wanted more and so she began embezzling funds from the company.  Everything had gone her way for her whole life, so when her boss, Rick Porter, called her to his office that morning, she had no reason to believe that all of that was about to end. 

            When Claire entered his office Rick was sitting behind his desk in front of a large picture window overlooking the city.  He was a tall, handsome man, in his mid-thirties, but Claire was too busy picturing herself sitting behind the desk as his replacement to notice.  He looked up from his work and smiled warmly, “Ah, Claire, thanks for coming so quickly.  Sit down, please.”  He motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk. 

            Claire nodded and took a seat.  “When this is my office,” she thought, “I’ll have to do some major redecorating…”

            “Ms. Sanders, I want you to know how impressed I’ve been with your work over the last year.  The Anderson and Reynolds portfolios look great and both clients have told me how pleased they are!”

            Claire smiled and shifted in her seat.  She liked the praise, but she already knew that her work was great and she didn’t need compliments from a low-level stepping stone like Rick Porter.  

            “But you didn’t call me up here just to tell me that did you?”  She asked. 

            “No.”  Rick said.  “About the Anderson and Reynolds portfolios…”

            “What about them?”  Claire interrupted him. 

            “We’ve discovered some anomalies…”

            “Anomalies?”  She interrupted again. 

            Rick paused and gave her an uncharacteristically stern look, “Certain funds appear to have been transferred to places unknown.  It happened on your watch, Ms. Sanders and furthermore we have documentation…”  Rick handed Claire a stack of documents with passages highlighted. 

            Claire’s heart sunk, but the realization that she had been caught and the consequences of that hadn’t quite entered her mind.  As she skimmed the highlighted words she saw quickly that she wasn’t going to easily be able to talk her way out of her situation, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying.

            “Mr. Porter, this had to have been Tom Johnson’s…”  She began, invoking the name of her predecessor. 

            “No.”  Rick shook his head.  “Check the dates.  This all happened after you replaced him six months ago.” 

            “Well, still I—”

            “No.”  Rick cut her off, “It’s an open and shut case, Ms. Sanders.  I called you in to tell you, not to discuss with you.”

            “What does that mean?”  Claire asked, dumbstruck. 

            “It means that if you plead guilty to a host of crimes and tell us what you did with the money you might be lucky enough to get a twenty year sentence,” Rick smirked.

            Claire felt her heart go up into her throat.  “Twen—Twenty years?”  She choked. 

            “If you’re lucky,” he repeated.  “If you’d been in the business even just five years ago you’d probably of gotten away with a slap on the wrist, but…white collar crime is taken so much more seriously now—and rightly so!”   

            Claire shook her head as her vision blurred with tears.  “No, this has to be a nightmare!  At least twenty years?”  She thought as she began to take frantic, panicked breaths.  Claire was too upset to notice how amused Rick seemed to be about the whole affair. 

            “Claire!”  Rick’s voice cut into her miserable thoughts.  He was suddenly standing next to her with his hand placed reassuringly on her shoulder.  “Claire, calm down.  There may be a way out of this for you.” 

            She looked up at him with wide eyes, “P—p—please!”  She struggled not to sob.  “I’ll do anything!”

            Rick handed her a colorful flyer.  In big bold text at the top it read, “Do your part.  Serve society.  Become a Service Animal today!”  Underneath there was a cartoonish picture of a pair of smiling service animals on their knees.  Since service animals had become a thing, Claire had never paid them much mind.  Being over twenty when the service and laws were enacted, she was exempt from the draft certainly had no intention of ever volunteering.  Besides that, service animals were still fairly rare, though their ranks were growing for a variety of reasons as she had heard.  The two “animals” looked ecstatic and dumb with their open-mouthed, drooly smiles, their tongues sticking out and their eyes wide and bright.  Adding to their already ridiculous appearance, they wore furry dog ears on top of their pigtailed heads, collars, paw-like mittens on their hands and feet, and clearly had tails attached to them, although Claire could not see exactly how.   

            Claire did a double-take at the poster.  “Me?  In the animal service?”  She thought incredulously as her eyes scanned the other text on the poster.  Her eyes locked onto the words “two year contract.” She looked up at Rick, “So...I’d only have to do it for two years?” 

***

            Claire frowned, but she did as she was told.  Nimbly, she lowered her face to the floor as her rear raised up in the air. Slowly she stuck out her tongue and began to lick up the greasy, foul smelling food, running her tongue along the dusty floor, before turning her attention to the bowl.  She grimaced as she noticed that there was dried food encrusted on the rim from previous feedings.    

            “Come on,” she told herself.  “This will be the last time you’ll ever have to eat this crap!”  Claire had been trying to decide what her first real meal would be once she was done with her service.  Visions of green salads, shrimp, filet mignon, tiramisu, white wine filled her mind, but she couldn’t quite decide what she would pick.

            “Face down, ass up, Pipsqueak!”  Her owner ordered with a stinging slap on her behind.  “I won’t have the HPPS coming down on me because they think you’re underfed when I give you back!” 

            Claire gritted her teeth and plunged her face into the bowl and began to gobble the slop down.

            “Come on!  Show some appreciation!”  Her owner ordered with another swat to her pert upturned butt causing her to inhale in surprise and forcing some of the slop up her nose.

            Claire gobbled faster and more noisily.  “Asshole…”  She thought.  Claire sounded and felt like a pig, but that seemed to satisfy him.  She was just licking up the last of it—he liked the bowl to shine afterwards—when she heard a knock at the front door.  She watched her owner lumber to the front door and open it.

            “Rick!”  Her owner said.  “Come to see Pipsqueak one last time?”