Forever the Bitch

Two years had passed since the island.

Two years of walks, matings, knots, public breedings, and quiet nights curled between Titan and Rex.

Eva no longer spoke in full sentences unless Mistress asked her to.

Her voice—once trained to be high and feminine—had softened into soft whimpers, yips, and grateful whines.

She no longer stood upright except when Mistress commanded it for inspection or photographs.

Every day began and ended on all fours.

The estate had become her entire world.

The coastal path was now known locally as “the bitch trail.”

Neighbors no longer stared—they nodded politely, let their intact males off-leash when they saw her crawling, and walked on.

Some left treats at the gate—bones, raw meat, small envelopes with cash and notes:

“Thank you for letting Max breed her again.”

“She’s the best bitch we’ve ever seen.”

Eva’s body had adapted completely.

Her pussy—rebuilt, then used daily—was always slightly swollen, always ready, always glistening.

The beaded tail plug was permanent now (locked with a tiny heart-shaped padlock whose key Mistress wore on her necklace).

The dog-ear headband had been replaced with permanent surgical ear-pointing (small cartilage implants that kept her ears perked like a real dog’s).

Her collar was thicker, heavier—engraved on the inside with the words PROPERTY OF E.V. – MATING BITCH – DO NOT REMOVE.

She no longer had a human name in any legal sense.

Her passport, ID, and all records had been quietly changed years ago.

She was simply Bitch—or Eva when Mistress wanted to be affectionate.

The daily routine never varied.

5:30 a.m. – Wake-up.

Mistress unclipped her from the oversized dog bed where she slept between Titan and Rex.

Eva crawled to the kitchen, tail swaying, and ate breakfast from the same engraved bowl:

wet dog food mixed with Mistress’s morning piss and a small, fresh piece of her shit—stirred together until it was a warm, uniform paste.

She lapped it clean while the dogs ate beside her.

6:00 a.m. – Morning walk.

Naked except for collar, ears, cage (now decorative—her clit long since atrophied to a tiny nub beneath it), and locked tail plug.

She crawled the full three-mile coastal loop on all fours.

Titan and Rex walked beside her, leashed to her collar.

Any dog that approached—stray, neighbor’s pet, unleashed runner’s dog—was allowed to mount her immediately.

She presented on command: chest to pavement, ass high, tail lifted, new pussy open and dripping.

Most days she was knotted three to seven times before they returned home.

Cum ran down her thighs the entire crawl back.

Noon – Midday breeding.

In the garden or on the patio—open to the sky, visible from the path.

Titan and Rex took turns (sometimes both at once—one in her pussy, one in her mouth).

Mistress watched from a lounge chair, sipping iced tea, occasionally directing:

“Deeper, puppy.

Let him knot you properly.”

“Good bitch—milk him with your new cunt.”

Evening – Dinner & pack time.

Same meal as breakfast, eaten from the bowl while curled between her mates.

Afterward, Mistress sometimes invited neighbors or their dogs over for “playdates.”

Eva crawled to greet each new male, presented, and let him mount her while the owners chatted casually with Mistress.

Night – Sleep.

Chained to the foot of the oversized dog bed, curled between Titan and Rex.

They licked her clean—face, pussy, thighs—before settling protectively around her.

She fell asleep with their warmth, their scent, their quiet growls of contentment.

One year into the routine, Mistress stopped using Eva with human men entirely.

No more marathons.

No more bookings.

No more bulls.

Only dogs.

Real dogs.

Titan and Rex were her primary mates, but the neighborhood knew:

if a male dog wanted her, Eva was always available.

She crawled to the gate when summoned, presented on the path, and let them knot her in full view of anyone passing.

Some days six or seven different dogs claimed her before lunch.

She no longer thought of herself as anything else.

Not a sissy.

Not a girl.

Not even a pet.

Just the bitch.

Mistress’s perfect, permanent, public mating bitch.

One evening, after the sixth knot of the day, Eva crawled back inside and nuzzled Mistress’s ankle.

Her voice—soft, high, rarely used—was clear and simple:

“Thank you… Mommy…

For making me… what I was always meant to be.”

Mistress knelt, cupped her chin, and kissed her gently.

“You’re welcome, my beautiful bitch.

You’ll stay this way forever.

Crawling.

Presenting.

Being bred.

Every day.

Until the end.”

Eva whimpered happily, tail wagging, new pussy already wet again at the thought.

She crawled to her bed, curled between Titan and Rex, and fell asleep to the sound of their breathing.

Outside, the coastal path waited for tomorrow’s walk.

And the dogs—hers, the neighbors’, the strays—were always ready.

She was theirs now.

Completely.

Forever.

The End.