Two hours, alone with my thoughts...

Victoria shrugged off her work clothes and dropped them on the bed, utterly unbothered by the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to put on anything else until Samantha got back. (Unless there was an emergency, or someone at the door, or she just got too cold.)

My body is strong, but my mind is weak.

Hot water poured from the shower head, hammering down onto Vicky’s flesh. Sighing with satisfaction, she rubbed soap over her body, lathering up her abdomen, her arms, her tits and her ass. She couldn’t stop herself from teasing between her legs, gasping as her fingers stroked through her folds, already lubricated well enough by the shower. Her practiced hands soon brought her to the edge, but no further.

I’m a good girl. Good pets don’t cum.

Towelling herself off, she returned to the bedroom and collected her favourite dildo, as well as the accompanying rope. Sliding the purple prosthesis into her cunt, she let out an ecstatic moan, and then got to work tying the simple harness that would hold it in place.

I’m happiest when I’m full.

She checked the time. Still another hour and a half until her Master returned. Fetching a bag of chips from the kitchen, Vicky went through to the living room and emptied the bag into her personalised dog bowl, positioning it near to her pet bed in front of the couch.

I’m a dumb, muscly, subby little hypno-bitch.

Lying down on the bed, she covered herself with a pale pink blanket (which Samantha had got for her in case she got cold while lying around naked), and reached out to grab two objects from the coffee table. As one hand lifted the remote and turned on the TV, the other stuffed her rubber pig chew toy into her mouth. It made a satisfying squeak as her teeth clamped down.

Good pets don’t think. Good pets obey.

Vicky made a few poorly-aimed swipes at the chew toy with her left hand, batting it but failing to dislodge it, and shook her head back and forth a little as she bit down on it, snuffling excitedly as she did so. A short while after ‘Puppyfest’ (which had been a good six months ago now), she’d asked Samantha to put some canine compulsions back in her mind - just while she was at home, and particularly when she was on her pet bed. By now, she barely even noticed them.

Weak, and dumb, and helpless...

Composing herself, but not taking the chew toy out of her mouth, Victoria flicked through the TV channels, finally settling on an episode of The Simpsons. Snuggling down under her blanket, she slid a hand between her legs and idly prodded at the end of the dildo, squirming as it inched around inside her. She flexed her jaw, making the pig toy squeak softly again and again. The pet bed was soft and comfy beneath her - she was so used to lying on it, it hadn’t crossed her mind for even a second to try to sit on the couch or the armchairs.

I obey my Master.

She faintly longed for the comforting presence of her Master, and wondered how she’d be when she got home - or who she’d be. In the course of exploring her gender identity, Samantha had been experimenting with using different names and pronouns depending on how she felt each day. She’d been going by Samantha and she/her when she left that morning, as she did on days when she felt ‘mostly female’ - and also as default or ‘umbrella’ pronouns, just for the sake of convenience and avoiding confusion. (She’d made it clear she would never be angry or upset about being addressed by she/her, even on days when it didn’t suit.) More manly mindsets called for the use of Matt and he/him, which often also entailed being hypnotised to perceive himself as physically male. If neither felt quite right and it ended up as a they/them day, they simply went with Sam as their happy medium name.

He’s the champion, and I’m weak and feeble.

Victoria didn’t mind having to juggle her partner’s names and pronouns - her malleable mind had adapted to doing so pretty quickly, in fact, even unconsciously modifying her mantras accordingly. Her heart swelled with pride in her partner, for being brave and bold enough to play around with such things while figuring herself out. And if anything, it made her more attractive. Vicky found it strangely deeply hot that the person she loved could be a woman, a man, neither, or a mixture of both, at any given time.

Master is all-powerful, and I’m their helpless foot bitch.

The only thing Samantha hadn’t changed was her title - she still got a hell of a kick out of being Master. Vicky liked it too. She was really pining for her Master now, wanting her home with her, her dainty foot stroking her hair or pressing into her face... But Vicky could wait. She was a good, patient pet.

I need to hold my Master’s hand. I’m lost and helpless without her.

Other than her owner’s current absence, Vicky felt pretty much perfect. She was a deeply hypnotised slave girl, a domesticated pet. She was so well-trained, she’d follow all her rules and protocols even with her Master nowhere near her, unlikely to return home for at least another hour. And she was so weak-minded, she’d give in to all the urges that had been hypnotised into her without even acknowledging them, because they were just normal behaviour for her at this point.

My body is strong, but my mind is weak. I’m a good girl, and I obey my Master.

She truly couldn’t think of any way her life could be better than it was right now. Well... she could think of one way. But she had some ideas about what to do about that - almost a plan, in fact. It would take some time and some careful planning, but she felt sure she could pull it off. With a collar made from her assorted triggers and suggestions buckled around her brain, wrapping her mind in a comforting embrace of love, submission, humiliation and arousal, there was nothing she couldn’t do.

I belong to Master forever.