Cynophobia

or

Fear and Loathing in Dog Cages

This story is based off of and inspired by the image "Cynophobia", by Danaume, as well as by the short description, by Dabler595, that accompanies it, which one may find at this link:

http://www.hentai-foundry.com/pictures/user/Danaume/197739/Cynophobia

An account (free, and totally worth getting) at HentaiFoundry may be needed to view it.

If you're just here for the doggone dog on dog-girl sex scene, please proceed directly to parts 8 or 9.

1 - The Attack

A shrill, high pitched scream of pure panic and terror rang through the house. Mr. Matheson, who had been on his favorite recliner, having a nice, lazy, Sunday afternoon nap, jolted out of his seat at the sound. He stumbled up and looked around for a moment, confused, his body ready for action but his brain still catching up, when the second scream, one that was even more panicked and insistent than the first, tore trough the air.

It was coming from the back yard.

Mr. Matheson leapt forward at the sound of the second scream, sprinting towards the rear of the house and the back yard. His heart surged, racing as adrenaline flooded into him, as he burst out of the home. From the amount of noise being made by whoever was screaming, he expected to find a scene of mayhem and chaos, perhaps even a pool of blood and a body or two.

What he found instead was his teenage daughter, cowering on top of the picnic table, as the neighbor's dog frolicked and ran around the yard, happily exploring and snuffling everything he came across.

"Samantha, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Mr. Matheson exclaimed, his voice a little rough from fear and the short, rapid sprint.

"What on earth are you yelling about?" he asked.

"Daddy!" Samantha cried. "Make him go away! Make him get out of the yard!"

The girl was covering her face, cringing really, with one hand, while the other pointed towards the object of her apparent fear: the neighbor's dog.

Said dog was currently rolling and squirming happily on the lawn. His short tail was wagging, and his whole body was wriggling in delight, at the feel of the cool, green grass against his pelt of short fur. When he noticed that Mr. Matheson's attention was on him, he issued forth a little joyous bark towards the man, his mouth open in a doggy smile, and wagged his tail and squirmed his body all the harder.

Terrifying.

"Oh, of course." Mr. Matheson said, as his body deflated from its adrenaline fueled fight or flight instincts.

The neighbor's dog had jumped the picket fence, yet again. His daughter, who had probably been sunning herself on the grass, if her bikini top and brief, cutoff shorts were any indication, was scared of dogs. Naturally, instead of doing the reasonable thing and simply retreating into the house and asking someone else to deal with the canine intruder, she had utterly panicked and started screaming bloody murder.

Granted, the dog was quite large, probably even heavier than Samantha herself, but that was no reason to startle ten years of her father's life from him, and make half of the neighborhood think that someone was apparently being brutally murdered at the Matheson house.

"Samantha, come down from there." Mr. Matheson said, frowning at his daughter, his irritation as being so rudely shocked awake from his nap obvious. "And quit your hysterics. I know that you don't like dogs, but there are limits, young lady, and you are testing them."

Actually, saying that his daughter didn't like dogs was something of an understatement, sort of like saying that the ocean was a bit wet. Samantha was absolutely terrified of the animals, even of the smallest, most harmless of terriers, and couldn't stand to be near them at all.

"Daddy, please!" Samantha said, her voice tight with worry and fear. "He'll get me! Get him out of the yard first!"

"Oh, for goodness sake." Mr. Matheson said, rolling his eyes.

"Bruno, here boy!" he called, a moment later, to the dog.

Bruno perked up at once, and leapt up, his tail wagging so hard that his whole rear end was moving in time with it, and raced towards Mr. Matheson. The dog ran several excited circles around the man, his clawed paws digging into the turf and kicking up bits of grass, before he finally came to a halt before him.

As Mr. Matheson reached down to pet the dog, Bruno bounded up on his hind legs, planted his front paws on the man's thighs, and stretched up to give the man's face a doggy kiss, slobbering all over him.

Samantha cried out again at this, clearly expecting the dog to do something like go for her father's throat.

"Daddy, watch out!"

"Blech!" Mr. Matheson spat, half amused and half disgusted, as he wiped the dog spit from his face with one hand and ruffled the happy dog's ears with the other.

"Bruno, you are a menace!" he said, his tone light and clearly not serious.

Mr. Matheson then spent the next minute or so rubbing and petting the ecstatic dog all over, ignoring his daughter's continuing stream of fearful warnings and cries of alarm.

"Alright, boy, lets go." he finally said, hooking a couple of fingers under the dog's collar. "Lets get you back home."

Mr. Matheson led the dog towards the neighbor's fence, which really wasn't tall enough at all. The young dog had the power and energy, with a lot left over to spare, needed to make the short jump over it whenever he felt like it. Samantha, still crouched on the picnic table, was almost directly between Mr. Matheson, Bruno, and the fence, and he and the dog passed within just a few feet of the girl on the way.

Samantha looked increasingly alarmed as the dog approached, and started begging and pleading with her father.

"Daddy, no! Keep him away, please!"

Mr. Matheson paused, sighed, and gave his daughter a level look as he held firmly on to the wriggling dog's collar.

"Samantha, Bruno isn't going to hurt you. I know that you're scared of dogs, but this is ridiculous." he said.

"Daddy, please, get him AWAY!" she cried in response, backing as far away as she could from them while still staying on top of the picnic table.

"Samantha, why don't you try coming down from there and petting Bruno?" her father asked. "I guarantee that he won't hurt you, promise."

The girl's only response was to start hiccuping in fear, her chest hitching rather alarmingly. It looked like she was nearly in tears.

Mr. Matheson shook his head, clearly disappointed with his daughter. He then led Bruno to the fence, hoisted the heavy hound over it, and received one last doggy lick to the face for his trouble.

"There, you're safe now." Mr. Matheson said to his daughter, his words dry. "Really, Samantha, this is getting to be a bit much. We need to do something about this irrational fear of yours."

"Daddy, he's huge!" Samantha replied, as she cautiously descended from the picnic table. "He could eat me in, like, two whole bites."

"Daughter mine, if I've said it once, I've said it a million times: please don't exaggerate. It just makes you sound silly."

"Oh, ha ha, dad, very fun.." Samantha started to reply, shaking her head. She interrupted herself though, giving out a frightened squeak, her eyes widening dramatically. Then she darted towards the house's back door, in full, rapid retreat.

Mr. Matheson turned around, unperturbed, to see what had startled his daughter so.

Bruno's head, peeking over the fence, was what. The dog let out a happy bark, pleased with himself, as Mr. Matheson snorted in amusement.

"Yep, we need to do something about that girl." he said quietly to himself, as he walked back towards the house. "I think I know what might help, but I'd better have a talk with her mother about it, first."

2 - Facing Your Fears

Mr. Matheson brought up his idea at dinner that evening. His wife, who had cooked the excellent meal his family was currently engaged in eating, looked up curiously as he cleared his throat. Christopher, his son, looked at his father as well, his expression mildly interested. Samantha, who had been picking listlessly at her food, and who still seemed to be a bit shaky and traumatized by her encounter earlier in the day, also looked up.

"Samantha, your mother and I had a talk this afternoon, about your reaction to Bruno." he said.

The girl shuddered at the dog's name, clearly uncomfortable talking, or even thinking, about him.

"From what we understand, most fear stems from ignorance, from a lack of understanding." Mr. Matheson continued. "People are scared of the dark, for example, because they can't see what might be in it. Shining a light into that darkness, though, illuminating and revealing the unknown, makes that fear go away."

"If one comes to know and understand something, even something that might seem terrible, then one is much less likely to be so afraid of that thing afterwards." he finished, looking pointedly at his daughter, and then to the window overlooking the neighbor's yard.

"Um, okay, I guess.. I guess that makes sense." Samantha slowly replied, looking warily back and forth between her parents.

"So, if you spent some time trying to understand dogs, how and why they act the way they do, then you might not be so afraid of them, right?" Mr. Matheson asked.

"I know all I need to know about dogs already!" Samantha replied, heatedly. "They're big, they're mean, and they're scary."

"And, they've got huge teeth!" she finished, pulling on the corner of her mouth with a finger, revealing her own teeth, in demonstration.

Mrs. Matheson sighed, then spoke.

"Dear, take your finger out of your mouth. That's disgusting."

"That is exactly the kind of response that has your mother and I so worried." Mr. Matheson said, looking serious. "You're blowing your fears about dogs all out of proportion. Dangerously so, even."

"Daddy, please." Samantha said, with a small, derisive snort. "I think that's a bit of an exaggeration."

"Dear, you screamed so loud this afternoon that your father thought you were being murdered." Mrs. Matheson said, reasonably. "He could have tripped and broken his neck while he was sprinting out to go "save" you. And from what? From a friendly dog, one that was still a puppy less than a year ago, that wouldn't hurt a fly."

"He got there just in time!" Samantha said, her face growing red. "B-Bruno could have killed me!"

Christopher rolled his eyes and snickered at this, chuckling softly, his opinion on Bruno's dangerousness quite evident.

Samantha rounded on her younger brother, glaring at him furiously.

"Oh, what do you know, you little..!" she started to say, before being cut off by her father.

"That's enough." he said, firmly. "Samantha, you can't go on like this, reacting completely irrationally and panicking every time you come across a dog. Your mother and I have discussed this, and we think that if you took some time to really understand dogs, that you might be able to overcome your fears about them."

A look of sheer terror crept slowly across Samantha's face, as she looked at her father in growing horror.

"You're.. you're going to get me a dog, aren't you?" she asked, her voice small, almost whimpering in fear.

"What? No, no, nothing like that." Mr. Matheson replied, shaking his head. "How would that help?"

"No, Samantha, YOU are going to be the dog."

Both Samantha and Christopher blinked at this, apparently completely nonplussed by their father's casual statement.

"Um.. what?" Samantha ventured, after a moment or two. "What do you mean?"

"I think that if you spent some time as a dog, living as they do, you might understand them better." Mr. Matheson said, nodding at his daughter. "You might even lose your fear of them entirely."

"I.. what?" she replied, her evident confusion only mounting.

"I talked this over with your mother, and she agreed with me: we think that this might be the best thing for you." Mr. Matheson explained. "I had her pick up a few things for you, to help you adjust to being a dog, while she was out shopping earlier today."

"You're.. you're going to make me into a dog?" Samantha asked, disbelievingly.

"The family dog, yes." Mr. Matheson agreed, nodding again. "Hopefully, after being a dog for a while, you'll have more empathy, and feel much less fear, towards other dogs."

"Oh, that makes sense." Christopher said, nodding his own head in agreement.

"It.. It does?!" Samantha asked, looking incredulously at her brother.

"Of course it does, dear." Mrs. Matheson said.

"But, I don't want to be a dog!" the girl cried, wringing her hands.

"Well, of course you don't." her mother replied, shaking her head. "That's what we're trying to fix, isn't it? Your irrational fear of dogs and anything to do with them."

"But.. but.."

"No 'buts', Samantha. It's settled." her father said, firmly. "This is your last meal as a girl, as a human. After dinner, your mother is going to take you to the laundry room and put your new doggy accessories on."

"Then, after that, you're going to stay a dog until you've lost your fear of them." he finished.

Samantha looked at her father, stunned, her mouth hanging open.

"How long do you think that will take, dad?" Christopher asked, absently, as he resumed eating dinner.

"Not too long, I think. A few days, or a week, or two, probably." Mr. Matheson said, waving his hand in a vague, dismissive manner. "Or a year. However long it takes."

"But.. But I.. don't want.. to be a.. be a.." Samantha said, weakly, her shock at her sudden demotion to family pet quite evident on her face.

"It's decided. No 'buts'." Mr. Matheson said again, his tone iron. "Now, eat your vegetables, Samantha."

"This really is for the best, dear." Mrs. Matheson said to her daughter, reaching over to pat her on the arm.

"And besides, you'll make such a beautiful dog!" she continued, smiling fondly at Samantha.

As the rest of her family returned to eating their meal, Samantha sat rigid in her chair, still not quite believing the conversation that had just taken place.

Surely, she thought, surely they couldn't be serious.

3 - The Transformation

They were serious.

Mrs. Matheson led her daughter, who was still stunned enough to not resist her mother's commands and instructions, to the laundry room after the meal was over.

Her mother had a bag, which had the logo of a local pet store emblazoned across it, sitting on the washing machine, waiting for her. The very first thing that Mrs. Matheson pulled out of the bag was probably the most shocking to Samantha. It was a dog collar.

It was HER dog collar.

Samantha started trembling all over at the sight of it. Her mother mistook Samantha's trembling for excitement, and beamed at her daughter, proudly showing her the thing which would render her from a human girl to a mere pet.

"I got you a nice one, dear. It was very expensive, but I think that you're worth it." Mrs. Matheson said, setting the collar aside.

She then pulled out more things from the bag. There were what appeared to be crude, mitten like gloves, as well as a fluffy, dog-like tail attached to some sort of large, black, pear shaped object, and finally, several straps and odd flaps of various sizes, thicknesses, and designs. Everything seemed to be made out of the same heavy, brown leather.

"Paws first, I think." Mrs. Matheson said, sorting through the pile of pet gear.

"Mom.." Samantha started, sounding more than a little lost and out of her depth. "I don't want to be a.. be a dog."

"Well, I wasn't so sure about this idea myself, dear, but you know your father." Mrs. Matheson admitted. "Once he gets set on something, there's no changing his mind."

"And, you have to admit, he made some good points, too. You really do need to learn to relax around dogs, Samantha." She finished. "I mean, having my daughter scream and go into hysterics every time she sees a chihuahua is a bit embarrassing for for me. Surely you can see that, right?"

"But.."

"No. No more 'buts', like your father said, dear." Mrs. Matheson said, firmly. "Now, let me see your hands."

In but a pair of moments, Samantha's mother had the vaguely paw shaped leather mittens on her daughter's hands. They had straps that, when secured around Samantha's wrists, locked them into place tightly.

"How's that, too tight?"

"I guess they're.. okay?" Samantha answered, uncertainly.

"Good. Now, try to take them off."

Samantha, who was already growing to dislike the feel of the rough leather against her slim, un-calloused fingers, eagerly complied with her mother's instruction. Unfortunately, the gloves allowed her almost no finger movement, and she was unable to so much as budge the straps securing them to her wrists.

"I.. I can't!" Samantha said, alarmed.

"Perfect, then." her mother replied, satisfied. "Lets get the rest of these things on you."

"They sell this kind of stuff at the pet store?" Samantha asked, shaking her head in consternation at the pile of gear that it seemed she would soon be wearing.

"Oh, they had quite a large selection, actually. I got just the basics for you." Mrs. Matheson answered. "The clerks there were very helpful when I told them what I needed. Such pleasant girls."

"They even told me that, if you don't work out, they could sell me a replacement for you, quite cheaply." she continued. "Apparently, they're a bit over stocked at the moment."

Samantha eyed her mother, her expression a mix of surprise and disbelief. Before Samantha could ask for clarification on just what she meant, though, her mother gave her daughter a new instruction.

"Okay, now, down on your hands and knees, please."

"W-why?"

"Well, dogs don't go around walking on two feet, do they?"

"I have to be on my hands and knees the whole time?!" Samantha asked, her tone outraged and offended.

"Yes.. er, no. What I mean is that you'll be walking on your paws and knees. Dogs don't have hands, after all." Mrs. Matheson explained.

Reluctantly, Samantha complied with her mother's command, and knelt down on the floor before her. Samantha's face flushed with embarrassment as she looked up at her mother's form, which loomed tall above her, from her new, lowly position.

"Good. Now, hold still."

Samantha's mother then slipped two wide, heavy straps around her daughter's legs, and used them to secure her ankles to her thighs. This left Samantha balanced on only her knees and her new paws, with her bare feet wiggling uselessly in their new place at the bottom of her rump.

"Hmm." Mrs. Matheson hummed, looking at the remaining items in the pile of gear. "I think that the gag is probably the best thing to do next."

"And before you ask, yes, you have to wear it." she said, looking down at her daughter severely. "Dogs don't talk."

"Mom, please.." Samantha begged, looking up at her mother hopefully.

She was, somewhat ironically, unconsciously making puppy eyes as she did so.

"Shush. Hold still." Mrs. Matheson commanded.

The gag was a deep red ball, which was mounted on yet more leather strapping. Without any ado, Mrs. Matheson simply inserted it into her daughter's mouth, lifted her medium length hair out of the way, and tightened it's straps securely around the back of her head.

"There we go. Now I don't have to listen to any more whining." Mrs. Matheson said, sounding somewhat relieved.

Samantha whimpered at this, her large eyes still begging her mother to undo what she had done.

"Well, except for that kind of whining." Mrs. Matheson said, laughing lightly. "But that's okay, because that's the proper way for a dog to whine when it wants something."

"Okay, just ears, tail, collar, and leash to go."

The ears, which turned out to be the odd leather flaps, mounted on what was essentially a hair band, slipped onto Samantha's head easily enough, but the tail came as something of a shock to the girl. It quickly became apparent that it didn't simply strap on to her.

Samantha first knew something was wrong when her mother started cutting her clothes from her, using a pair of large scissors. Samantha squirmed at this, but her mother simply ignored her daughter's feeble protests, and snipped her bikini top, cutoff jean shorts, and finally even her panties cleanly off.

Soon enough, Samantha was as bare as the day she was born and flushed beet red with embarrassment, gagged, naked, and kneeling at her mother's feet.

"No, dogs don't get to wear clothes, either." Mrs. Matheson said, answering the obvious question on her daughter's face. "Now, turn around so I can put your tail in."

Samantha complied, slowly, looking over her shoulder the entire time, her worry easily readable on her features.

Then her mother stuck the bulbous, rubbery end of the tail into her bottom.

It was, thankfully, already lubricated. Due to it's shape, it slipped into her rear entrance without too much fuss, though it's size still stretched her out far more than she could have prepared herself for. Her shriek of surprise at the intrusion was muffled by her gag into a simple, yipping sound of protest, and she collapsed on to the floor afterward, shaking. The girl's hips squirmed and rolled, in a futile effort to dislodge the tail now set deep into her bottom.

"There we go. Just one last thing to go, Samantha, and then you'll be a dog."

Mrs. Matheson picked up the collar and showed it to her daughter again.

"The girls at the pet store said that this is the perfect collar for a new, untrained dog." she said, stroking the heavy, strong leather proudly. "It even comes with a remote control of some kind."

"Well, lets get it on you. We've spent enough time in here; I'm sure that your father and brother are eager to see just how well you've turned out." she continued. "Lift your head up, dear."

Samantha just shook her head at her mother, her eyes beginning to water, as she looked up at what was about to become the only symbol of her status in the world.

"Now, now, don't be like that." her mother chided. "It really isn't as bad as you seem to think. Just imagine, in a few days or so, you'll probably be cured of your silly fear of dogs completely, and you'll be able to go through the rest of your life with a new, improved outlook and a better appreciation for them."

Samantha looked up at her mother for a few more moments, her eyes still begging, then gave up, her body sagging limply in defeat.

Mrs. Matheson patted her daughter on the head, stroking her hair for a moment. Then, she slipped the collar around Samantha's neck, threaded the end through the buckle, and cinched it secure.

The collar wasn't too tight, but it certainly wasn't going to slip off over the girl's head; it was obvious that it wouldn't be coming off anytime soon.

The last thing Mrs. Matheson did, after attaching a leash to Samantha's new collar, was to collect girl's discarded clothes and casually dump the now unneeded and useless scraps of garment into the trash bin. Then, tugging on the leash firmly, she left the laundry room and Samantha behind, and led the family's new dog out into the world.