Who's a Good Girl?

by S.B.

Tags: #dom:female #f/f #femdom_hypnosis #mind_control #petplay #sub:female

Janine Weathers hates dogs with a passion, but can’t stop dreaming about them. Dr. Vanessa Madsen helps her realize why.

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Janine Weathers dragged herself out of the last classroom of the week, not even bothering to see where she was going. She opened her leather purse in the middle of the long hallway that led to the teacher’s lounge and pulled out a packet of doctor-prescribed nicotine gums. Their flavor was atrocious, but not as rough as dealing with the consequences of smoking two packs of cigarettes on a good day. As she chewed on one, she felt a small buzz running through her brain that was sure to disappear in a couple of minutes. Excess dopamine was a bitch she wasn’t on good terms with anymore.

The Math teacher had fifty-three Springs on her legs though she looked at least a decade older. Some people blessed by the genetic pool had the luxury of aging gracefully, but not her. Janine had been average-looking her whole life and was now decaying faster than she would ever admit out loud. The reasons for it were unknown, and it was better they stayed that way. She already had too much stress in her life.

Gossipers inside the school grounds were always pushing the narrative that she hated her students, yet that couldn’t be further from the truth. She only hated the dumb ones and all the young boys and girls that spent most of their lives glued to shining rectangular screens, looking for attention and validation from strangers online. The rise of social media would always read like a horror story to her, and she didn’t like those either. A widow for three years, she had taken on the habit of her dead husband as a foolish attempt to keep him close, though she was almost over it now.

Janine finished chewing the unsavory gum and spat it in her right hand before disposing of it in the nearest trash bin. It was time to head home again.

Or maybe not.

She was reaching for the last door that marked the divide between her college self and her true persona when a warm, feminine hand touched her right shoulder. Turning on her flats to see who was greeting her, she smiled when she saw the familiar face of the school’s therapist/counselor, saying,

“Good afternoon, Janine. Are you keeping well?”

“Oh... hello, Dr. Madsen. Yes, thank you. Just finished for the week and ready to unwind now.”

Dr. Vanessa Madsen gently drew her hand away and nodded, “Unwinding is good. I could definitely use that myself.”

“Rough day?”

“Certainly not the best.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“That’s okay but thank you for the concern.”

Dr. Madsen wore a classic three-piece black suit with slim-fit pants, a buttoned vest, and a single-breasted blazer. The voluptuous mid-thirties brunette rocked such attires with unmistakable grace, always drawing the eye of anyone that crossed paths with her. It was part of her trademark image, combining both elegance and power in one extremely alluring package. Janine loved the way it looked though that was yet another something she could never do. Growing in an old-school family dominated by “traditional values” brainwashed her into wearing skirts every single day of her life. Sometimes, they had a splash of color but, more often than not, gray won the competition.

“Are you sure you’re doing well?” Dr. Madsen insisted.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You look more tired than usual, almost as if you’re not getting enough sleep lately.”

“Ah. Yes, that’s true,” Janine shrugged. “The dreams are back but we can talk about them next session.”

“Or we can do it now if you’d like.”

“I appreciate the offer, but what I would really like to do right now is get some rest. Next Tuesday, okay?”

“As you wish but should you change your mind in the next ten minutes, I’ll be in my office waiting for you,” Dr. Madsen waved her goodbye. 

Janine silently watched her for a few seconds and headed outside. The sky was clear for the moment though weather predictions heralded an oncoming storm. A weekend of rain and hail was not what she wanted, but perhaps what she deserved. She walked along the parking lot, stopping three times in less than a minute to look at her surroundings.
“Where did I put the car again?” she muttered, a question for which she had no real answer. A dog barked in the distance and the teacher suddenly winced, the hairs on the back of her neck in full alert mode. Janine tapped her heels and found herself going back inside the main school building. On second thought, she would take on the generous doctor’s offer before doing anything else. It was the best thing to do.

* * *

Dr. Madsen feigned surprise when the quinquagenarian knocked on her office door, nine minutes and a half after their brief conversation. The programmed response worked every time, becoming stronger the more it was activated. Consciously, Janine didn’t want to be there, but part of her mental responses was operating on auto-pilot now. 

“May I come in?” the teacher asked shyly. 

“Of course. I’m glad you changed your mind,” Dr. Madsen replied. She stood by her desk, a tome on neuropsychology in her right hand. “Do you mind locking the door so we’re not disturbed?”

“Not at all,” Janine reached for the lock until she heard the corresponding ‘click’. Like any other session, doctor/patient confidentiality applied even though their meeting wasn’t an official one.

“Thank you,” Dr. Madsen laid the book face down on the desk. “Please, take a seat, relax for a moment and tell me all about the dreams you’ve been having. Are they the same as before?”

“Not quite, no.”

“But they still involve dogs?” the therapist assumed her normal stance behind the desk, legs crossed.

“Yes,” Janine sat on a small sofa in front of her and trembled.

It was always dogs, the animals she feared the most. While pretty much everyone else in her circles, including close relatives, loved them like crazy and were always babbling about how sweet and adorable their four-legged friends were, Janine did whatever she could to stay clear from them. She couldn’t stand their wet snouts, their slurping tongues, and whip-like tails. A dog’s fur coat brushing against her legs was worse than having a hundred spiders crawling all over her. Dogs were simply the worst and couldn’t be anything other than that.

Why she despised them so much was also a mystery. As far as she remembered, she had never been bitten by one as a child nor did she have any other traumatizing experience involving them, but her genetic composition told her loud and clear dogs were the spawn of Satan and had no place in her world.

It was therefore quite disturbing that most of the time she spent sleeping usually ended in dreams about dogs. Big dogs, small dogs, and every other size in-between. Dogs running around in her modest apartment in Richmond, Virginia, destroying everything in their path... being chased by them across deserted streets on a full moon night... finding herself locked in the back of a giant truck with nothing but yellow and green eyes staring her down before being consumed in a sea of growls... the variations were countless, all of them terrifying. 

However, in recent times, approximately two or three months after the beginning of the year, the ghastly fantasies were sometimes accompanied by other constructs, images that were on a completely different level of ‘disturbing’ for in them she wasn’t being haunted by dogs - she was one!

“Could you repeat that, please?” Dr. Madsen asked.

“I am a dog,” Janine replied, and hearing her own voice proclaim such an abhorrent thing made her body spasm.

“You’ve been dreaming you turn into a dog?”

“Not physically... At least, I don’t think so. It’s more of a mental thing. I act like a dog, jumping around, licking everything it moves, and eating from a plastic bowl on the floor. I can’t stop myself from doing things like that. I try to think of stopping, but then I realize dogs don’t think and everything goes blank. It’s so weird. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“I see. So… in those dreams, would you describe yourself as someone else’s pet?”

“I suppose so,” Janine scratched her nose.

“And how does that make you feel, Janine?”

“As I said, it’s weird.”

“Weird because you don’t like dogs?”

“Of course, Dr. What else would it be?”

“That’s what we’re discussing here, isn’t it? If you’re acting like a pet in your dreams, then surely you must have an owner there, too. Who is it? Do you know?”

“I...”

“Yes, Janine?”

“I’m not sure, but why is that important?”

“We’ll get there in a moment. For now, I just want you to focus on those images you see when you’re asleep. Deep inside, all pets really want is to be loved and nurtured by their owners, to be safe around them, knowing their needs are being taken care of. A pet without an owner is a terrible thing to see, for all their love and affection is wasted hoping for something they lack and defines the very core of their being. That goes for many animals and not just dogs though those are definitely the neediest. That’s why you see them rejoicing when they see you, whether you’ve been an hour or just a minute. Time plays differently for pets. There is only ‘time with their owner’ and ‘time without’, and the latter is usually excruciating, something they hate to see happen despite being powerless to stop it. Unlike cats, domestic dogs are never independent creatures. They always need to bask in their owner’s presence, for it completes and gives meaning to their existence. They even allow themselves to be trained to fulfill that goal. Curious how that is, isn’t it?”

“If you say so, Dr.,” Janine frowned, unsure where she was going with that line of reasoning. Before she could ask something else, Vanessa continued,

“For many years, people believed only humans could dream, but dogs do it, too. Their sleep cycle doesn’t differ much from ours, with alternating stages of deep sleep and Rapid Eye Movement. It’s hard to assess whether they can remember their dreams or not, but I think they do. I firmly believe that one thing dogs most dream of is their owners, and how happy they are when they listen to them and are lulled by their gentle voice while having their ears or back scratched. They melt at that thought and even drool involuntarily, yearning for the dream to only end if they can experience it all over again for real. I also believe that dogs dream awake too, just like we do. If a dog is completely focused on you, then it is as if it’s entranced. Entranced dogs are the best dogs, for they are more obedient and ready to accept their programming. Entranced dogs listen attentively and fall deeper with each breath they take, eyes locked on their owner, brain shutting down, down, down... going into trance is just like dreaming, and dreaming of trance states is a trance state as well. Drop now, Janine. Drop now. Remember how your dreams of being a pet affect you and let them surface right here, right now. Drop. Sleep. Dream. You are a good pet that already came to me when I instructed your subconscious to do so. You will do it again and obey me now. Deep sleep, Janine. Deeply asleep and now completely controlled by the sound of my voice and the dreams you’ve been having. Who’s a good girl for me?”

“I am,” Janine slurred, eyes slightly reddening. A long, winding tunnel now stood between the sofa and Dr. Vanessa’s desk, everything else in the office becoming vague and indistinct. “I am a good girl.”

“Yes, you are, but not as good as you’ve been before today, or how good you can still be. Dogs don’t talk, dear. They don’t know how to do that. Good girls listen and understand everything they’re told, yet only bark and whine in response. You are a good girl. Don’t speak again until I give the order.”

Janine lowered her gaze, ears drooping. Humbled and saddened by her owner’s decision, she was like a Basset Hound ready to implore, the complete opposite of the somewhat distant and stern figure her students were used to seeing in the classroom. In this altered state of mind, the equations at work could only be solved with complete obedience.
 
“Good girl,” Dr. Madsen clapped and opened the bottom drawer to her right to show her a box of juicy, bone-shaped doggy biscuits. “Do you want a treat, pet? Do you?”

Janine laid her arms and legs on the sofa and spun around two times, almost losing balance and crashing hard on the floor. Her tongue laid loose, salivating at the idea of being rewarded so soon.

“Not yet,” the therapist slammed the drawer shut and got up from her rotating chair. “There are still things we need to discuss first.”

Janine cocked her head to the left, remaining in that position until her owner fully emerged from her preferred spot. The human version of the Math teacher only cared about the clean-cut of Dr. Madsen’s suit, but doggy self nurtured an intense attraction for her shoes. They were black, like the rest of her ensemble with low square heels for maximum comfort when walking. They were also brand new.

“You still haven’t kissed these, good girl. Come on now. Listen to your Mistress and obey.”

The older woman jumped from the sofa, scratching her worn-out nails on the varnished floorboards, and paid her sincere respects licking each sole three times before snuggling between her feet. Good girls always did that, whether in dreams or not. She was a good girl.

“Yes, that’s it. You’re so sweet, little pet,” Dr., Madsen slid the left shoe across her dog’s torso and didn’t stop until she mewled with pleasure. “Listen well, now. You must not allow yourself to be perturbed by your dreams of subservience. Hypnotized bitches dream as much as dogs, but your fantasies are even better for they’re memories of me, of what I did to you, and what I’ll potentially do the next time we meet. It doesn’t matter if in that dream you’re in a cage by my bed, being leashed around for my family to see, or waiting at my feet until I’m ready to let you return home. You are my pet, my good little older bitch, perfectly conditioned to do my bidding. You are what you dream, for your dreams and memories are mine. You can’t fight this reality. It is imprinted on you. Good girls obey. Well-trained dogs are the same as well-trained slaves.”

“Tonight, you’ll dream of being my horny and obedient pet again. And tomorrow. And the next night. And the night after that. Every time you feel your eyes are ready to close, the dreams will automatically take over, overriding any thought or any wish going through your mind. No thoughts are allowed. There is only perpetual bliss and the euphoria of the realization that you obey. Good girls always obey their owners. You are and will always be a good girl for me. Show me you understand.”

Dog-Janine barked three times and rubbed her imaginary snout up and down her legs and then fell backward, belly completely exposed. A pair of hardened tits begged for attention while her half-open mouth waited for the promised treat. Dr. Madsen pressed the bottom of her shoes against her achy breasts and threw a bone up in the air. It landed right between the teeth of the thankful bitch, who happily chewed on it until only a lonely crumble rested on her drooling chin. Nicotine gums definitely tasted like shit in comparison.

“How grateful are you, bitch?” Dr. Madsen asked, turning around and dropping her pants on the floor. Her laced-up ass, toned to perfection after an exhaustive training regimen at the gym, now called for the ultimate proof of devotion. Good girls went deeper for their owners every time they dreamed of them and ate their biscuits with undeniable satisfaction. Good girls also feasted on sexy butt cheeks, licking the crack and the skin around it until their tongues grew numb. She was a good girl.

* * *

“... and that’s why you shouldn’t be bothered by what goes through your mind when you’re asleep anymore,” Dr. Madsen concluded, snapping her out of trance. Only twenty minutes had passed according to the clock on the wall, but time flows differently in a dream, anyway.
 
Janine was back on the sofa, a clawed hand scratching behind her right ear. The aftertaste of the dog biscuit still lingered on her wet lips, but all other memories were fading away like a warm breeze on a summer’s day or a distant howl heard in a parking lot.

“I hope you’re feeling better now. This improvised session was one of our best,” the therapist said.

“It was?” Janine laid her arms to rest and noticed the odd drooling stain on her skirt.

“Oh yes. You even dreamed again and liked it. You’re so lucky to have such wonderful dreams, Janine.”

“Hmmm... thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

“I... I think I should be going home now.”

“I think the same way and there’s nothing better than you and I thinking alike, right?”

“Yes, Dr. Madsen,” Janine hesitantly got on her feet. Her breasts were sore, and an irregular bruise was starting to take shape below her right calf. “Everything is hazy now, but it must have been one hell of a dream.”

“And they will only get better,” Vanessa thought as she guided the older woman out of the office and back into the world of bipedal, stressed creatures. Good girl. Bitch. Mindless fucktoy. Janine was whatever she made of her and the living proof that old dogs could definitely learn new tricks.

Outside, the skies were getting darker, a thick layer of clouds passing over the school grounds. The storm was coming sooner than expected, yet there was nothing to fear. When the first lightning struck, covering Richmond in rain, Janine was back in her place, dreaming of being on her hands and knees again, chasing a squeaky penis toy for her owner’s satisfaction. The other dogs of her darkest visions nodded in approval and howled at the moon.
 

((I hope you had fun with this little tale. I always do when writing. Want to have more fun with me? Support my site - https://www.sbspellbound.net - through my patreon page - https://www.patreon.com/sbspellbound - and it can be yours, because you’ve yet to see everything I can create. Feedback is always welcome at my e-mail address, too: sbstories@hotmail.com. Thanks in advance.))

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