Secret in the Cellar · Part 2

Secret in the Cellar · Part 2 (2/2)
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b hanging over the edge of the footlocker, and she reached out with a hand to feel what it was.

True to her hopes, it felt like a tail. Oblong and furry, she could feel some sort of structure inside to give it shape and form. She wrapped her hand around it and gently tugged. To her surprise it didn't slide freely. There was a possibility that it was caught on something, or more likely something else was laying on top of it.

The thought of feeling around for what was on top of it was quickly followed by that of spiders. She shook off the chills that ran over her skin before giving the tail a sharper pull. The tail came this time, and something fell to the ground. There was a loud clatter. A stack of unused honey frames slide off the stack of things to her right, crashing onto the floor in front of the washing machine.

The voices upstairs went quiet, and her heart pounded in her throat. She felt her ears turn towards the floor above her as she strained to hear what was going on above them. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few seconds, her aunt Megan spoke.

"It was probably just the dog, rough housing. He loves to crash around. Don't worry though, there's nothing down there for him to hurt."

Mack hadn't realized that she was holding her breath, but she let is out in a sigh of relief. Her relatives soon went back to gawking over pictures and she turned her attention back to the tail. The reason it had been so hard to slide and made so much noise she realized was because it was attached to something large made out of curved sheet metal. As she curiously lifted on of the hinged leafs she realized that it was lined on one side with the same black polished rubber the hood was. The hourglass had a banana-shaped protrusion. She ran her fingers over it, feeling the alternating stripes of rubber and metal that ran from the base to the tip.

She was really thrown for a loop on this one. What kind of contraption was this, and how was one supposed to wear the tail attached to it? She picked it up, working the hinged sections. Near the top of the bottom half of the hourglass was an oval shaped hole a couple inches wide. Above it, in the exact middle of the hourglass was another slim hinge. She picked it up by the top and bottom halves, letting the middle hinge fall in the center.

She gasped when she realized what it was. The tail was attached to a pair of metal underpants. Round latches similar to those on the hood and the collar adorn hinged leaves on either hip. She stared at the striped banana, now realizing where it was supposed to go. She was just starting to wonder how perverted this costume really was, when she remembered the ears on her "head", and she wondered if this was an unusual solution for making a animated tail?

Her excitement and curiosity eventually got the best of her. Her friends were pretty upright and straight-laced folks. They probably didn't even know about such perversions, the same adult attractions that she had recently discovered and had attracted her like a beetle to a streetlamp. Besides, if this tail acted as great as the ears did, then she wanted to at least try it out.

She quietly untied her shoelaces and slipped off her shoes and pants. Then, with a nervous look around, she slid her panties to the floor before kicking them to the side with her pants and shoes. She scooted the pile over to where her phone lay on the floor.

She knelt over the metal underwear before dribbling a little spit onto her fingertips. She wiped it on the tip of the banana-shaped protrusion before picking the contraption up. The phallus was instantly very slippery, as if it had previously lubed and had just dried out, but she payed no mind to it in her excitement. She held held her breath, gasping as the cold object was pushed into her. She had to stop and wipe some more spit on it several times before she could work it all the way into herself.

Supporting the front pate against her she lifted the back half with the tail up and, holding both halves with her elbows, pushed the two leaves just over her hip together until the latch clicked. There were what appeared to be two large bands that hung from small metal pistons that attached to the very bottom of the garment. She wrapped one around her thigh, finding it to fit snugly but comfortably, snapping closed with another round-knob latch. After latching the other side there was a quiet beep and a soft red flash emitted from somewhere behind her. Instantly the tail seemed to come to life, lifting slightly from where it had hung lifeless and began to wag softly from side to side, as if to mimic her excitement. The feeling of the heavy intruder inside of her felt awkward, but not uncomfortable. Actually, she might even go so far as to say it felt… good?

She tried to slide her fingertips under the belt to touch the dildo and was surprised to find how snugly the contraption fit. Despite being made out of rigid steel and lined with rubber she didn't feel any discomfort. It conformed to her body like a second skin, so much that she couldn't get more than the very tip of her finger between her and it. Well, she might have been able to if the thigh bands hadn't prevented her from spreading her legs all the way to either side.

She wiggled her torso around a bit, then crawled in a small circle. She had expected to feel some restriction from something so ridged, but was surprised that it didn't pinch. It remained firmly clamped around her pelvis, artfully curved to allow her legs and torso free movement nearly any way they were meant to bend. Her tail began to wag again, the joy welling up in her at such a wonderful (albeit very bizarre and a little creepy) discovery! She wanted to romp in circles, barking and yipping with doggish happiness. She had enough self control to remain silent, but she made a little play-bow before bounding to the side.

Her balled up "paw" of a hand crashed into something and sent it skittering along the floor as her heart froze in her chest.

Above her she could still hear voices talking in the living room above, and she sighed, realizing that she had been holding her breath. Her attention turned back to the floor, and the collar she had just smacked.

She picked it up with renewed interest. Her friends obviously were into some very strange things, but none of them seem malicious. She tried her best to not think of who might have worn the equipment she now donned before her, but if her aunt enjoyed dressing and acting as her uncle's pet then who was she to judge? Besides, hadn't she wished herself countless times that she could be the family dog? How often had she envied Ernie, the Australian Shepherd mix, in his carefree life while she grew up?

She turned the collar over in her hands, holding it close to her face in order to see it better in the dim light. It seemed wider than she remembered, yet felt impressively light. A deep channel was cut along the inside diameter of the collar, matched by a much smaller, parallel channel immediately next to it. Inside the channels were several impressions she couldn't make out, but in the large channel near the back of the collar was a large hole that went all the way through the metal. She fingered the latch knob before sticking her finger through the hole in the back.

An idea forming, she felt the diameter of the collar around the base of the mask and then compared that to the width of the channel. It almost seemed like this was supposed to fit around the base of the mask, but why? The heavy collar that was already around the hood was more than enough to strengthen the fabric and hold it securely closed. She ran her nails along the narrow channel and then it dawned on her. This mated and concealed the seam between what must have been the rest of the costume and the head, cleverly disguising it's self as a fancy dog collar!

She lifted the collar to her neck, eager to test her hypothesis. She fit the hole over the knob on the hood and was pleased to feet the collar of the hood slide neatly into the groove. She guided the collar around her neck until the ends met behind her neck again, closing with a small "click." She crawled around on all fours for a few more seconds, pretending to smell something on the ground before she giggled inwardly. She was acting every bit like a child, and she loved it.

Something large and dark loomed in front of her, and she picked her nose off the ground and looked up. What she had thought was a desk earlier she could now make out to be a very large sheet metal cage. Holes big enough to stick her thumb through ran along the top in several rows. The wood panel she had seen was actually a solid metal door, propped open with a small piece of wood. This must be the human "dog"'s kennel, she realized.

She swallowed a chill of uneasiness and continued sniffing the ground, heading towards the open door. She felt like she had to prove something to the uneasiness that had suddenly sprouted, as if showing it up would make it go away. The floor was a durable fabric over some solid padding. It reminded her of the tumbling mats she had used in a gym class when she was growing up, but the fabric gave her a lot more traction than the slick surface of those mats. She carefully crawled almost all the way into the enclosure when her hand brushed against something furry in the black. She froze, her mind racing about what sorts of private and kinky things might lurk in the darkness of someone's private cage.

Gingerly she reached out a hand, slowly moving it forward until she felt the object again. It wasn't just her imagination, it was furry, much like the mask she was wearing. She picked it up, and while doing so brushed against something that felt the same. Puzzled, she carefully snatched the other item as well before backing out of the kennel. Out in the less-dim darkness of the little area she had been in she turned the objects over in her hands. The bottoms had thick, coarse rubber soles, and each was tipped with four stubby plastic claws. About four inches from the "toes" the object terminated in a metal cuff, similar in design to that of the hood. Just below the cuff on opposite sides was a single dew claw, indicating which paw was for which side.

She lay them on the ground and stared at the paws for a moment. They definitely were not designed to go on her feet, which left her hands. Instead of gloves, however, these did not look like they left any freedom of movement in her fingers. The wearer's ability to grasp appeared to be zero to none, and she briefly wondered how someone was supposed to get them off again once they had them on.

A finger traced over the textured, hard rubber paw pad, and she remembered the knobs on everything. She touched one of the paws' pads to the other's latch and twisted, watching the knob turn easily with it. She shrugged. If it worked, why not? Once again she found herself thinking about putting them on, as if each additional garment freed her that much more from the burdens of humanity.

Already this far, so why not? She thought with a sigh.

Carefully she worked her fingers into a paw, feeling them stick to the familiar rubber lining that mimicked that of the hood. About half way in she felt holes for individual fingers, and she carefully lined hers up before sliding them in. The paw forced her fingers to curl in on themselves, until she found her hand committed to grabbing some sort of stiff, spongy lump. She closed the cuff around her wrist and then put her "paw" on the ground. Her knuckles were on the ground side, smashed in between the pad she was forced to grasp in the palm of her hand and the sole. She tried crawling a little on the paw, and noticed that the pad effectively cushioned her weight and was actually more comfortably than just her bare hand, though she wondered how comfortable it would be to be unable to move her fingers for a length of time.

She rolled the other paw over and held it still while she tried to get her other hand in. It was difficult: the stickiness of the rubber lining and the slick fur on the outside made it nearly impossible to hold the glove still with her "paw" and shove her hand in at the same time. Finally her fingers reached the holes, and she lifted it up to her muzzle. Grasping the cuff with the "mouth" of the hood, she was able to bite the cuff and work the mitt the rest of the way onto her hand. She closed the cuff with her paw and as it clicked shut she silently hoped she'd be able to get it off again.

There was a commotion upstairs, and she felt her ears snap up to focus on the spot. There were a plethora of footsteps and chuckling. Lots of muffled voices together, making it difficult to hear what any particular one was saying. She caught the phrase "must be leaving" as what sounded now like a stampede of Hippos made their way through the living room to the front door.

Her heart stood in shock for a moment before she remembered her duties to the other organs.

"It's ok," she thought to herself, "they'll be outside talking for at least ten minutes, and it's probably just a few people. I've got plenty of time."

She pressed her left paw pad on the knob of her right paw and twisted. Nothing happened. She tried twisting the knob in the other direction, and felt the knob stay rigid as the pad slid over the top of it. She repositioned her paws and tried again, turning it in the first direction again until the knob bottomed out and she felt it slide against her pad.

She became aware of the quickening beat within her chest as she failed for a fourth time to open the latch that held her hand captive. She repeated the same process on her left paw with the same result. Doing her best not to panic she sat on the ground and clamped the small knob the best she could with her feet and tried to twist it again. She felt the knob spin freely again before bottoming out. Once it stopped she couldn't get it to turn further to matter how hard she pressed with her feet.

She held the knob in the back of the hood's maw and bit on it, trying to get a better grip on it. She felt the frame around her own jaws vibrate as the "teeth" slipped over the coarse pattern on the metal knob. In frantic desperation she shoved her whole wrist into the muzzle, cramming it until the maw had her own mouth forced wide open. She tried to get her own teeth on it, and ended up biting her arm with the costume jaws in the process. Not to be deterred, especially as she heard only two sets of footsteps reenter the house above her she tried again, working through the pain as the surprisingly sharp teeth dug into her arm. She ran her tongue over the knob in desperation to at least touch it with her mouth, and she froze.

Her tongue ran back over the face of the knob, as if it were unsure that it had really felt what she thought it had. Sure enough, there was the rectangular cut-out. She even felt the small metal door push in at the pressure of her tongue. Her heart plunged to her bowels and sat there, quivering in a dark corner. There was no doubt about it, in the middle of the knob there was a key hole.

There was no removing the paws, nor anything else she was wearing. Even if she somehow managed to find something to cut the mitt away from the metal cuff that encircled her wrist, there would be no way to use it without the use of at least one hand.

"Have you seen Mack?" The voice was Tony's. She franticly glanced around the small area, searching for a place to hide, and escape route, anything.

"No," Megan replied. "Last I saw her she was looking for the bathroom. Carl said he helped her dodge the album embarrassment, but didn't know where she went. Her car is still here though, so I'm sure she's" her friend tapped her foot on the floor twice, "somewhere."

"You're kidding me. How? You're sure?"

"The garage side door's been sticking. Maybe it wasn't latched? And I know she was down there. I've heard something get knocked around, and then there was the sound of stuff falling over, but the dog is in the den."

Mack groaned, and she looked at her pile of clothes near her phone. She could still scoop them up into her arms, and perhaps her mouth. She was fairly certain she could still open the door, even with her paws. From there she could hide in the garage until nightfall, then escape outside and run. Eventually she might be able to find someone who could help, someone who could cut her out of the costume that now entrapped her.

She stood up, and briskly walked towards where her belonging's lay. She made it almost all the way to the pile when she was sharply jerked backwards off her feet by her neck. She tried to stop herself, but it was too late. The rest of her body kept moving forward, feet first, and she landed on the concrete floor with all the grace of an airplane landing with the wheels up.

She groaned, her body complaining from the impact. She scooted backwards, and the collar released the choking pressure it had on her neck. She suddenly remembered the pair upstairs, and did her best to quiet her breath to listen. To her relief they didn't seem to have heard anything.

"Well," said Tony's voice, "she didn't come running up here mortified, so she's probably taking a nap in the cool air. I doubt she even-"

"Or," interjected her friend, "she got herself into trouble, and she can't come upstairs."

"That's even if she's still down there. She might have left and gone outside again. Who knows, maybe she's out walking trails."

Mack rolled over and got back on her hands and knees. She reached up with a paw behind her neck, and felt it catch on something thin extending from the back of it. She crawled a few "steps" away from her belongings, giving the line slack enough until she could turn around and hook it with a paw, bringing it around to in front of her face.

It was a cable, fairly thin in gauge, and coated in black plastic. It ran towards the cage, vanishing into the bowels of its black interior. Her heart kicked into overdrive again. She was a rat, scurrying around in a place she didn't belong, and now she was caught in a trap that wasn't even set.

There were voices overhead, but she was too caught up in her predicament to pay any attention to them. Suddenly there was the sound of the door at the top of the staircase opening, and a single pair of footsteps coming down the stairs.

Mackenzie gave her pile of belongings one last longing look. Her underwear and shorts were displayed. She wished in vain that she could replace it with anything else of hers.

The footsteps reached the bottom stairs and she gave a panicked glance around before diving into the only hiding place available. As she plunged into the safety of the darkness she felt her foot strike something hard and wooden, knocking it loose. There was a solid "CLACK" and with it what little light there had been vanished from the cage.

She spun around, only to find the view through the cage door replaced by a solid sheet of black, perforated by a triple row of quarter sized holes near the top. She could hear shoes on the concrete, and she peered out the holes near the top to see what was going on–to watch her shame and doom unfold.

The messy hair of her friend's mate could be seen bobbing along the top of the honey supers. There was a snap, and with it the entire basement was flooded with what Mack felt was a brilliant light. Everything was exposed in the light, and she was slightly glad the cage door was closed, preserving what little remained of her modesty.

She prayed he would search the rest of the basement first, or at least take a few seconds to glance around for her before walking her way. He didn't. Instead she watched in horror as he stopped at the gap and looked at her shoes and clothes on the floor. He nudged her cell phone with his foot before stepping through the opening.

She watched him cast a glance towards the foot locker. He pressed his lips together before his eyes moved on to the cage. She quickly scooted back, as far into the corner as she could in order to hide in the dark, but the man's eyes looked directly at her, as if he had no difficulty penetrating the darkness, as if nothing could be hidden. He gave a tired, sad sign. The kind a father gives when some great disappointment comes from a child. She sank lower. If her face could be seen, it would have been a brilliant red. Even though the lower half of her was all but naked the costume was suddenly oppressively hot.

He walked up to the side of the kennel and crouched down, his face close to the holes. When he spoke, his low voice sounded heavy.

"You knew better."

"Plea-" She had meant to beg for forgiveness, or maybe just to be released, but she didn't make it past the first syllable of "Please" before pain exploded from her throat. Her muscles convulsed in blinding quick spasms, slamming her neck like Joe Louis on a speed bag. She collapsed to the ground, pawing at her throat. After a couple of agonizing seconds the pain stopped, and she was left gasping for breath on the cage floor.

"You're a dog Mack, your hood won't let you make any noises that don't fit what it considers 'canine'. We'll talk about this in a bit, but know that you are safe, and that neither Megan nor I will harm you." He stood back up and turned, then glanced back at the cage and let out a short "Heh" half under his breath. "Megan was saying she felt the house was too empty without a second…"

He calmly walked back to the stairs and began to climb them again.

"Megan!" He called, "Remember how you wanted another dog?"

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Secret in the Cellar · Part 2 (2/2)
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