Junie faces her fears.
Given the smile on his face, I think it worked, and I order a third cocktail.
I am so fucked. I am a single mom, two kids, lots of working dogs, a large house with an equally large payment, and ordered child support that never comes, and I am so tired.
Heading home the backroads, so as not to be a menace to anyone, I am thinking. Well, I can sell the trailer. There's that. I don't own anything on contract, except the house - everything else, I'm studious about paying up front with cash. I could get rid of my horse, but I would rather sell a kidney first. I'd take up prostitution, but the hours and the pay suck - how do I go from $1,000.00 per 8 hours for standing in high heels and lecturing to $15.00 for a blowjob in an alley?
Yeah, the economy sucks and I'm fucked.
Pulling into the driveway, I punch the garage door opener. I can't park in the garage due to the amount of gear and dog kennels, but it is the easiest way to deal with a persnickety front door lock.
There are only a few boarders here anymore. The economy is hitting their owners hard, too, and instead of a full kennel, it's hit and miss.
I top off their water, refill the auto feeders for the morning, scrape a little poop, scritch an ear, croon a few soft words, and done. They are already bedded down for the night, and I don't want to work them up.
The kids are with their dad this holiday weekend, so I'm looking at three days alone. It will be chores, training, kennels, dogs, the horse, laundry, paying bills - although, paying bills may have to cease in the near future, which pains both me and my future credit score.
I grab a quick glass of wine, and head straight to bed. It's been exhausting, and the alcohol is kicking in. I think I need it today, and I'm grateful this came on a kid-free weekend.
Stripping down, I really don't give a shit tonight about getting stuff into the laundry, so leave a pile of clothing, a la Hansel and Gretel, on the way to my bed. Time to turn in...
I am asleep for no less than 15 minutes when a text comes in from Him.
"Monday is a holiday. I already checked your Outlook. You are not working. You will be working for me. Be here at 9:30. Wear stockings, plug, heels and a coat. Nothing else."
Two minutes later, this:
"Add - pick a collar from your dog collection. It better be used. Also, bring leash. And horse crop that I saw you use last Saturday with the Percheron."
Yes, Sir. Of course, as always. I aim to please. Please aim well.
Another message comes in.
"Hey, Kay - can't bring Tasha any more; Gio got laid off. Hope you understand. Thanks!"
Drifting back off to sleep, I am plagued by the loss of this contract. I am worried that if I am having to search for more work, it will cut into the regular schedule with my Dom. He will not be pleased. Another dog out of the boarding/training income stream. I cannot afford to lose my house.
I put the phone on "airplane mode" and pour another glass of wine, and begin a booze-induced sleep...
Except, at exactly 2:47 am, I wake up. A dream... a possibility.
I'm a sub. I will always be a sub. I will never NOT be a sub.
But... what if I could provide a place for Doms and subs, or Owners and puppies, to use for training?
I have so many empty kennels...
Streaking naked out of bed, I run to the garage. I don't need to count the 11 kennels, plus the three in the living room. There's the vet and grooming table, complete with head hook, Oster clippers, dental picks, and dremel. There is the whelping box. There is the Ray Allen K9 bath on legs, and overhanging water supply and lowering drain. There is the heated blow dryer, scissors, clippers, and warming kennel. There is the wall of flat collars, slip collars, whale tail collars, prongs, pinches, e-collars, choke chains, and muzzles. There is the treadmill, and the breeding stand, which is sometimes affectionally called the "rape stand."
There is also the usual coffee and water stand area. A small refrigerator and lockers available.
Oh my God.