Dead Dog Girls Don’t Bark
Chapter 1
Tiffany felt like she was waking up from a dream. She could still see the dream in her head, but she couldn’t see the dream in her eyes.
That was strange. Her eyes always saw the dream. And the dream was always the same.
It was a dream about dog girls. And Tiffany had been dreaming about those dog girls, non-stop, every day, for years.
To call it a dream didn’t do it justice. It was better than a dream. It was like a movie. A movie that was projected not only onto her wide unblinking eyes, but also projecting onto the cerebral canvas of her imagination.
It wasn’t actually a projector though, It was a laser. A laser inside Tiffany’s skull, aiming images transmitted by directed light right into her cerebral cortex. The laser in conjunction with the 3-D goggles that were constantly attached to Tiffany’s face ensured that all she saw were the dog girls.
Happy little dog girls. All of them serving cock. All of them getting fucked in their happy little dog girl pussies, mouths, and assholes. On loop twenty-four seven and three hundred sixty-five days a year for Tiffany’s viewing and brainwashing pleasure.
But of course, Tiffany didn’t know about the laser in her skull. She didn’t know she had goggles attached to her face either. And she certainly had no idea that she was being subjected to hardcore pornographic brainwashing.
Poor Tiffany. There was so much she didn’t know…
Like for instance, she didn’t know why she had suddenly been submerged into darkness. Why had the all-so-familiar and all-so-comforting dog girl “dream” been taken away from her? She wanted the dream back. Seeing nothing but infinite blackness was frightening. Especially when that blackness was accompanied by unsettling silence.
You see, the laser and the VR headset didn’t just indoctrinate Tiffany with imagery, the devices also pumped audio into her ears and brain stem. Audio that was as every bit just as lewd as the visuals worked into Tiffany’s brain and eyes.
The sexual imagery of the dog girls being fucked was accompanied by the sounds of the men doing the fucking groaning and cursing obscenely, while the dog girls they fornicated with whimpered and barked submissively. There were also the exaggerated sounds of sex, if you will. Too cartoonish to be real, but synched to the sexual action with maximum stimulation for the viewer in mind. Such as the squish-squish of penile in vagina plowing, or the slurp-slurping sound of an overly lubricated and hungry dog girl’s anus getting pounded by a man’s cock, and of course the gagging and gurgling of fellating dog girls. Again, the sounds were almost ridiculously laughable, but when you were hopped up on as many sex drugs as Tiffany was, those sounds were a symphony of octaval beauty to your ears
But as much as Tiffany loved the sexual soundtrack, it was not the sex sounds that her ears were missing most. It was the absence of “the voice“ that disturbed Tiffany the most. That lovely, soothing, hypnotically robotic voice that repeated the same thing over and over and over again.
“Daddy doggy. Doggy daddy. Doggy girl, doggy girl, doggy girl.“
Those were the words of “the voice.” The only words the “the voice” ever said. Just like the sexual images Tiffany was subjected to, the voice repeated this refrain over and over again. Without stop or pause. “Daddy doggy. Doggy daddy. Doggy girl, doggy girl, doggy girl.”
That was all there was to the voice, no variety in its verbiage, or word use. Just the phrase, “Daddy doggy. Doggy daddy. Doggy girl, doggy girl, doggy girl,” repeated on an infinite loop, blaring from the earmuffs of Tiffany’s VR set, and beaming through the light of Tiffany’s internal laser skull. The soundtrack of Tiffany’s life.
But just like the visuals had ceased, so had the sound. Tiffany’s world was darkness and silence now.
But why? Tiffany asked herself. Why was there no sound? Why couldn’t her eyes see the happy dog girls having sex with their daddies? Why couldn’t she see those beautiful thick cock rods pounding into dog girl cunts, mouths, and asses? Why couldn’t she hear those wonderful words of “the voice” on repeat? Something was wrong. Very wrong. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew deep down she was not meant to have a moment’s freedom from visual and auditory stimulation.
And now because she couldn’t see or hear anything, her brain was doing a funny thing. It was… thinking. That’s when Tiffany had an epip[hany: Oh my god! I’m thinking.
Tiffany hadn’t had a coherent thought in years. And that she was now having one was both exciting and frightening. Exciting, because, thinking and thoughts are natural to human beings, and Tiffany’s rediscovery of the capacity for thought after having been deprived of it for so long, was something akin to a dehydrated desert wanderer stumbling upon an oasis in the mids of a sea of dry and arid sand dunes. So on one hand she was filled with the joy that comes from the rediscovery of something so essential to human function. But on the other hand, there was fear, because just why in the hell had her brain been turned off? And for how long had she been like this?
She tried to remember the answer to those two last questions, but her brain was a long unused muscle and the act of thinking hurt her, like the act of walking will hurt someone who has been bedridden for a long time.
Her brain felt foggy and blocked. Her mind was jumbled with bits and pieces of happy little dogs getting fucked that came to her in flitting flashes amid questions about her predicament. But the questions kept getting interrupted by the searing sex scenes.
It was so hard to think, so hard to remember how she had gotten like this. And worst of all of her questions and thoughts, even the flashing imagery of the dog girls was hard to keep into her mind’s focus. It was like everything that entered her brain was fleeting and ephemeral as wisps of smoke in a cyclone.
All of her questions and thoughts would dissipate as soon as she formed them in her mind’s eye, constantly being interrupted by images of dog girls, like a TV signal on the fritz or lightning flashes striking in the night of Tiffany’s dark and vacant mind.
As soon as she would get a glimpse of the dog girls, they would disappear back into blackness. And as soon as she thought about where and who she was, she would instantly forget the purpose or subject of the question. In short, Tiffany’s brain was struggling and as she tried to get it to function, a slight migraine was forming in her head.
A headache, darkness, and silence, this was the sum total of Tiffany’s existence for a good couple of minutes. Then suddenly a new and very different image came to Tiffany. One much more clearer and one that stayed. It was the image of an operating table. An operating table in an operating room.
I remember the operating table, Tiffany said to herself. But when and where did I see it?
But the image and all thoughts of the operating table eventually faded away, just like every other thought Tiffany was having at the moment. And she forgot about the operating table the moment her mind returned to darkness.
The headache was getting worse. Tiffany didn’t know it, but the migraine was a side effect of her dog girl programming being turned off. Dog girls weren’t meant to be without the visuals and the sounds for this long. It hurt them. And Tiffany was feeling that hurt bad.
Oh damn! My fucking head is killing me, she lamented. The headache \was making it nearly impossible to think. But only nearly.
Without any intentionality on her part, the visuals of the operating table came back to Tiffany. And once again, it had staying power.
Is this a movie like the dog girl movies? She wondered for a brief second. But the answer came back to her right away. An answer she provided herself. No, this isn’t a movie. This is a memory. I’m remembering this operation table, not being shown it. That is a memory!
She was correct. It was a memory. A memory so powerful, indelible, and traumatizing that it fought past her migraine and brain fog, and forced itself to be reckoned with.
Yes, there was an operating table, once, Tiffany remembered. She remembered she had been led to the operating room by some nurses. A doctor had been there too.
Yes, this was a memory. Something that had actually happened. Not like those damn dog girl images. Those were fake. This operating table had been real. And she had been scared when they took her there – took her there against her will.
The thing that stood out most to her in the memory she was currently experiencing, was the amount of fear she had as she was being dragged kicking and screaming into that operating room. Even though it was just a memory, even now the fear was as palpable as the pain of the migraine that was currently throbbing incessantly in her head.
She remembered doing everything within her power to avoid getting on that operating table. She had fought like a wild cat. Scratched a nurse, bit another, and kicked one in the balls. Oh, she had put up a fight that day. One that was worthy of a ballad.
But in the end, the nurses, all of them men, had been too strong for her. She was just an eighteen-year-old girl against four strong men. Despite her worthy accounting of herself, the combat was never in doubt. The nurses were eventually able to grapple, grip, slap, and punch her into submission and immobilization. Once softened up by the physical aggressions of the male nurse’s burly and rough hands, they carried her naked and beaten body like a ragdoll, and rudely slammed her down onto the operating table.
Once she was on the table, the four men, each with one of her limbs in their firm grips, held her solidly in place, while the doctor poked a long menacing needle from a syringe into her arm.
Not long after the needle punctured her skin, and a serum was pushed through it and into her veins, a stupor came over Tiffany. Whatever was in that injection made her feel weak and nauseated. The men then let go of her limbs. Seeing that she was no longer held down, she tried to take the moment as an opportunity to escape. But the effects of the drugs she had just been injected with were too strong and enervating. She couldn’t lift her arms. They felt too heavy. Just like her eyelids. They felt like they weighed a ton.
Tiffany knew at that moment, she was losing consciousness. She fought to stay awake as best as she could, but the narcotic was too powerful. The room began to get fuzzy and the last last visual that came to Tiffany’s eyes, her last waking memory, was of the same doctor who had injected her, standing over her with a bone saw in his hands. And then after that, everything went dark.
Suddenly, that frightening memory of the bone saw and the operating table, was pushed from Tifany’s thoughts as the migraine reasserted itself in the battle for Tiffany’s attention with painful prominence. To Tiffany, it felt like a parade of kiloton bombs exploding in her head.
But Tiffany was a resilient girl. Her life force was returning to her after being so long subjected to pornography and her aural conditioning. And that renewed energy gave her the strength to ignore the migraine. Not completely of course, but enough to try and get control of herself.
Yes, control. I need to get control.
Get a hold of yourself, Tiffany.
So putting all of her mental faculties into use, Tiffany tried to get control of her situation. Yes, she was in darkness, but she could still understand some things about her situation. For instance, she could feel she was low to the floor. Low to the floor like a crawling baby or a… dog.
So I’m on my hands and knees? She said to herself.
It was the first time since she had been struck by the darkness she was able to understand something about her situation. Obviously, it didn’t make any sense to her why she was on her hands and knees. But that was able to tell that much about her situation was a victory, albeit small. She just needed to start stacking up the victories and soon everything would be okay.
The next step was obvious. Get off her hands. Yes, I’ll stand. That will be my second victory.
She almost smiled at how well she was reasoning.
You got this, Tiffany. Just stand up and you’re almost out of this mess, whatever or wherever this mess is.
So with that goal in mind, Tiffany made an attempt to stand. But something felt off about her hands and knees than the position she was in. It was like her hands and knees were numb or something.
And it wasn’t just her hands and knees that felt weird. Her pussy felt extremely weird too. It was leaking uncontrollably and begging to get fucked. Tiffany had never felt so horny before in her life.
Oh god, she wanted a cock in her cunt in the worst way possible. In some ways, the horniness she was feeling was even stronger than the migraine pain. Yes, the horniness was actually pushing away the pain, replacing it with insatiable sexual urges.
Damn, she needed a cock, and needed one now. And she didn’t care who’s cock it was or where they even put it. She’d let a dog jump on her and fuck her in the ass right now if there was one around.
Wait! Did I just think about fucking a dog? What the fuck is wrong with me? I should be standing up, getting off this floor, not thinking about fucking dogs.
Get a hold of yourself. You need to stand up.
So stand she did. Or at least, she sent the electrical impulse through her nervous system to stand. A thing she had done thousands if not millions of times in her life. But for some reason, her body wasn’t cooperating with the directions her brain was giving it. She was still on the floor. Still on all floors.
Over and over she gave commands to her body to stand, and nothing happened.
Then the ghastly truth hit Tiffany.
She was telling her hands, wrists, and fingers to push on the floor to stand. Telling the balls of her feet to dig in to the floor, in order to stand. But with great horror, Tiffany suddenly understood, she was giving direction to limbs that she no longer possessed.
That’s why her hands and knees had felt so weird. It was because she didn’t have any hands or knees!
Her arms had been amputated at the elbow and her legs at the knees and little metal stumps had been grafted onto the sliced off areas.
Tiffany didn’t just panic at this realization. She full-fledged freaked out.
She opened her mouth and screamed.
But it wasn’t a scream that came out of her mouth.
What came out of her vocal cords was: “Woof! Woof!“
What the fuck was that? A dog? Is there a dog in the room with me? A perplexed and reality-denying Tiffany asked herself in a flurry of questions.
She knew damn well that it wasn’t a dog in the room that had made that barking sound. She knew it had come from her own voice. But she didn’t want to believe it. So she engaged in self-denial, hoping this nightmare would fade away if she continued to deny its reality.
Tiffany opened her mouth again, this time trying to call out for help. But the only words that came out of her mouth were: “Woof! Woof!“
Tiffany began to shudder and shake in a nervous breakdown as she understood the truth. She was the one doing the barking!
She cried out again to make sure that the sounds were indeed coming from her. Once again her voice pronounced the same two words: “Woof! Woof!”
Now Tiffany was deathly frightened. The reality, no matter how much she wanted to ignore it was too distrbing to ignore. She was an amputee, with the voice of a dog.
And as soon as she realized that about herself, a door in her mind was opened, and another memory rushed upon her.
She saw it as clear as day.
She was in the backseat of a car with her parents. She had just turned eighteen. They were taking her to the Female Processing Center. She was going to be a wife. A wife, like her mother. But when they got to the Female Processing Center the people there gave her bad news. They had too many wives this quarter. This meant she was going to have to be eliminated. Eliminated – that meant killed. Tiffany didn’t want to die. She told the man at the Female Processing Center that she couldn’t die. She was young. She was eighteen. She was supposed to be a wife like her mother. Have children like her other. Live like her mother.
But the man at the Female Processing Center didn’t care about that. She was marked for elimination, he kept repeating. There was nothing he could do for. Except allow her choice of death. Poison? Gas? Something more exciting and thrill seeking?
Then her dad spoke up “What about a dog girl? Can she be a dog girl?” her dad asked in desperation. He didn’t want his daughter to die. He loved her. And he was grasping at a straw to keep her around..=
Yes, most certainly,” the man at the Female Processing Center said. “She would make a fine dog girl, she certainly has the body for it,” he said with a suggestive wink at Tiffany’s father.
That wink disgusted both father and daughter. Most men turned their daughter’s into dog girls so they could have hot obedient pussy at their beck and call. But this was not Tiffany’s father’s motivation. He was trying to save his offspring’s life. Having her around as a dog girl was better than not having her around at all he reasoned.
But Tiffany had no desire to be a dog girl. She wanted to be a wife. A wife like her mom. Her mom had been married to a good man like her father, and she always knew that she was destined for the same thing.
But somehow that dram was being pulled away from her, by this shit man at the Female Processing Center. A shit man who said she would make a fine dog girl because he obviously wanted to put his dick in her.
But Tiffany didn’t have a choice in the matter. Women didn’t get to choose. Either they were eliminated, or the man in their family signed papers for them to be a dog girl… or something even worse than a dog girl… …
In Tiffany’s case, her dad signed the dog girl papers. She told her dad she didn’t want to be a dog girl. He was crying. He said, he knew she didn’t want to do it. But she had to do it. This way, they could all still stay a happy family, he had said.
He hugged and kissed her on the cheek as he explained hid reasons to her. But for Tiffany it felt like a knife in the back. She knew her father thought he was doing the right thing, But dog girls were barley even human anymore. How could he be so naïve?
Tiffany began to cry too, just like her father. She remembered thinking about how awful it was going to be to become a dog girl. Dog girls got their arms and legs cut off into little stubs. And even worse than that, Dog girls were given special drugs to keep them constantly horny. And then they had a VR set put over their eyes
The VR sets pumped nonstop images of dog girl sex into the poor young women that were made into dog girls. Tiffany didn’t want anything like that to happen to her. No, she wasn’t going to live like that. She preferred death. It was too late though, the people at the Female Processing Center told her. Her dad had signed the papers.
She remembered trying to fight them. Trying to fight the nurses. Trying to fight her father. She had too much dignity to let them turn her into a dog girl. She meant to fight until they killed her. But Tiffany was not the first fighter that the Female Processing Center had dealt with. And in the end, the male nurses were too strong for the eighteen-year-old girls.
They took hold of the struggling Tiffany and dragged her to the operating room. She put up a fight till the very last moment. Till they strapped her down on the operating table and then slipped the needle into her arm. That was the last thing Tiffany remembered and now here she was. Now the truth of her situation hit her:
OH MY GOD! They turned me into a dog girl!
Now it all made sense. That’s why she didn’t have legs and arms. That’s why she was horny as fuck. She was a fucking dog girl.
As the truth dawned on her, Tiffany flailed her little limbs and shook her body. Unaccustomed to walking on her limbs by conscious choice, having only previously used them while drugged up and under VR indoctrination, Tiffany did not have the necessary dexterous control for walking around her little stumps. A disaster result was produced by her inexperience.
In her panicked paroxysm she flailed so wildly, she ended up flinging herself onto her back. And once she was on her back, she did not possess the body control to roll herself back onto her four stumpy limbs. The poor girl was stuck on her back like a turtle, uselessly gyrating her little stubby limbs in the air and howling for help.
Howling and whimpering was the only autonomy left to Tiffany and she exercised it for all she was worth. Crying out and baying like a beaten and starved dog as her stubby little limbs waved futilely in the air.
Then suddenly she felt a hand. The hand rubbed her belly and scratched one of her tits. Oh, how that felt good. She recognized the hand. It was her mother’s hand. She couldn’t see, but she knew the feeling of her mother’s petting hand. She had felt it so many times before that she knew its caress right away.
Her mother’s hand began to stroke up and down from her navel to her tits, cupping a breast for a moment before gliding back down to her belly button. Over and over again. Her mother’s hand repeated this caressing motion. Tiffany felt calm flooding over her. Then the hand went down below her navel and between her thighs, touching lightly at her clit. Oh, that felt even better than having her belly rubbed. Yes, her mother’s hand was magic. It played expertly with her clit and Tiffany’s fears melted into pure pleasure. She panted happily. Then she heard her mother’s voice as her clit was rubbed.
“There there, Tiffany,” her mom said. “Mommy’s here. Calm down. Mommy’s here.”
Oh yes, tickle my clitty, mommy. Tickle my clitty, just like that. Tiffany tried to express those exact words with speech, but instead, all that came out of her mouth were happy yips and pants.
“She likes when you rub her clit,” Tiffany heard her mother say.
“They all do,” a gruff voice that Tiffany had never heard before replied. “Alright, almost got the new program uploaded… should be coming online now.”
Suddenly a panoply of images snapped back on in front of Tiffany’s eyes. The images were split screens of happy dog girls getting happily fucked in their mouths, pussies, and asses.
Oh, sweet joy! Tiffany was looking at happy dog girls again. How wonderful!
They were all so happy. All smiling, winking at her, grinning at her, lolling their tongues in cock drunkenness. And “the voice” was back too! “Daddy doggy. Doggy daddy. Doggy girl. Doggy girl. Doggy girl.“
But most importantly, Tiffany’s ability to think was fading away. No more thinking about operating tables. No more thinking about fear. Just the infinite bliss of being a dog girl.
She then felt herself being picked up by a pair of strong masculine hands. These weren’t the hands of her father. These hands were different. Oh, who cared if it was her father or a stranger holding her? The most important thing was that the dog girl videos were back and that wonderfully reassuring voice:: “Daddy doggy. Doggy daddy. Doggy girl. Doggy girl. Doggy girl.“
As Tiffany was carried through the air by the pair of strange hands, one last thought entered her head before her brain melted back into mush from the mind-numbing sensory overload being pumped into her eyes and ears: Being a dog girl was the best thing ever!