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Irving liked to consider himself a rational man, governed by his faith and strict adherence to the social order. Over the course of their journey, Irving had also understood that he had needs beyond the scope of food and shelter, the needs of a man. They were easy enough to ignore at first - he was practised in the art of prayer and finding comfort in the spiritual after all - and when he suffered from a moment of weakness that prayer could not rid him of, he turned to hard labour. His desire was a formless, uneasy weight on his shoulders, one that seemed especially present when he was miserable, always a step ahead of him. He was certain of one thing: if he let his condition spiral out of control and keep him from sleep and the comfort of faith, he would soon join the brave men resting in the belly of the terror. Given that he had exhausted every available option to cure what ailed him, his decision to seek the help of his fellow lieutenants had been a purely rational thing. It wasn’t too different from the way they sat together when it came to discussing matters concerning the ship, weighing his options and scratching one idea after the other. For a while it seemed hopeless, each road taken ending in a string of no’s and a final, firm no to Edwards’ suggestion of self-abuse, the one thing he would not entertain on principle. At one point, they seemed more defeated than he was, melting into their seats, until George shot up, bristling with inspiration. His plan, simple as it was, sounded reasonable to one who had nowhere else to turn. George suggested they put on a play. Through the rehearsal of a domestic scene between wife, husband and pet, Irving could gain a better understanding of what it was his body desired and return his mind to what society deemed moral and acceptable. What John described had reminded him of how Neptune had been known to beg for pieces of red-hot coal from the stove for weeks on end until the fateful day one of the cooks had humoured him. If a simple creature like Neptune could experience a change of heart after being granted what he had been begging for, he believed Irving more than capable of leaving the scene inspired, in much the same way. Between assuming the role of a dog for an hour and begging them for a swift and merciful death, John preferred to do as George saw fit.
It was a scene like something straight out of the books that George kept telling him about, perfected to a degree that put John's ever-wandering mind at ease. Everyone was dedicated to playing their part, but George had taken it a step further, ditching the formal attire for a wedding band and dress that felt like it had been made just for him, down to the lovely shade of blue that matched the blue of his eyes. Perhaps it was the candlelight, or the late hour, that made catching glimpses of the dress over Edward's broad shoulder so thrilling that he nearly forgot what his role in this arrangement was.
“Sit.”
The order came and passed him by, unable to pry his mind away from the exposed collarbones for long enough to dignify it with a response. Repeating himself was below him, considering that a playful smack against the chest had the same intended effect. 'Apologies,' he muttered under his breath, clearly flustered by his own incompetence. It was far from the first time he had pictured John kneeling at his feet like this, but it was the first time he was faced with the impossible task of slipping the collar around his neck without forgetting himself. Worse than his fear of what he might do with the power granted was the realisation that John would let him do any of the horrible things going through his head. From the moment the collar settled heavy around his throat, John surrendered to the role of pet, looking up at him through eyes glazed over with barely contained lust. As tempting as it was to ruin him where he knelt, he knew better than to mess with George's belongings.
Compared to the life of a lieutenant, she felt as though the life of a newlywed on her honeymoon was the closest thing to heaven she was ever going to experience. Nobody expected her to keep books on a dozen different men; the state of some ship in the Arctic did not concern her, and any unease the tight lacing of her bodice might have stirred up was quickly forgotten over a simple glance at her new pet. Even while engaged in a riveting discussion about the proper placement of napkins at the table, John stuck by her side, resting its head where she might reach down to pet it, only pausing to work its hand over its erection when it believed she was not paying attention. She was tempted to say that she had not seen John this happy in a long time, but the simple truth was that she had never seen it at peace like this. Even with its face buried in the fabric of her dress, she could tell it was melting into every slight touch, barely able to suppress the pleased noises it wanted to make when she dragged her nails over the nape of its neck. Such a display of obedience deserved a reward in her opinion, leading her to pick up the best piece of the Christmas pudding with her fork, an offering John accepted with a wistful sigh.
“Darling, please.”
To say Edward sounded exasperated did not begin to cut it. It was so far removed from the pleasant 'yes-ands' she had gotten used to over the course of their lunch that her head shot up in time with John's.
“Is something the matter?”
His smile had been replaced with a frown that made her hold onto John like it was an actual dog, finding comfort in its presence and its warmth against her leg.
“Yes! It's just not right, letting it eat from our cutlery like that.”
Relief washed over her as she realised this was part of playing his role as husband, the stern but well-meaning type that would not allow her to suffer the humiliation of having to eat with her animals like a commoner. Her gaze dropped to John just in time to watch a beautiful shade of dark red lay claim to the tip of its ears and the bridge of that well-defined nose. Something about being defined as an “it” seemed to speak to John as much as putting on the dress spoke to her.
“It's behaving so well, it deserves a treat.”
Standing her ground was very new to her, and she decided that she liked how it made her feel. For the time being there was nothing Edward could say or do to sway her opinion. John was so well-behaved that it knew to wipe its drool on the cuff of its shirt without being told to and did not dream of humping her leg no matter how much it wanted to. Another piece of food was offered to her pet from the fork, which it hesitated to accept, casting a glance at Edward that made the whites of its eyes show like that of a fearful dog.
“Don't you think you're spoiling it? He's not done a single thing to please you or me.”
Pretending that it was not capable of following simple conversations, much less making a case for itself, appeared to make its need grow beyond what was bearable. Its cries were skilfully muffled by burying its face in the fabric of the dress, hips stuttering against thin air in a desperate attempt to relieve the tension building in its gut. To make a point, she licked the fork clean before using it to waggle it at her husband.
“I'll have you know I was very happy with it touching itself underneath the table.”
Even while he was upset at her, he looked very handsome. It was a shame that John was the subject of their play - she was beginning to imagine what it would be like if he had to bend her over the knee for talking back at him.
“That is quite enough. Give that here.”
Judging by the look on Edward's face, ignoring his request was ill-advised, and though she liked her chances at beating him, she had a feeling what John needed was something only he could provide. A gentle woman such as herself had no chance at disciplining John after all.
“It's never going to learn its place this way, you know?”
He took the leash from his wife in order to force it forward, anticipating more pushback than he ended up receiving. It made an effort to keep the leash slack, crawling towards him on all fours, eyes burning holes through his chest with how blatant the need in them was. Yet another gentle push introduced its face to his crotch, half pulling and half letting it nuzzle the outline of his hard-on with the bridge of its nose, dampening the dark fabric with spit. He resisted the urge to interrupt the aimless teasing in order to savour the feeling of its mouth trying to drain him through layers of fabric.
"I think you'll find it's quite capable of learning without punishment.”
He yanked on the collar, forcing Irving to look up at him. His lips, reddened by the constant drag over rough fabric, quivered ever so slightly over the sudden loss of contact.
"Are you? Why don't we put that theory to the test?”
He pinched it by the ear and delivered it, still crawling on its hands and knees, at George's feet. Something about parading it around the room like an unruly animal made Edward harder than he ever had been in recent memory, making his desire to escalate its punishment that much worse.
"Do go on. Don't make my wife regret defending a stupid mutt like you.”
Between the three of them, the words sank in fast, like a knife into the first catch of the day. Instead of shimmering scales, light caught on the tears beginning to form in George's eyes. In less than a single sentence he had laid waste to the fine line that separated play from reality, welding the two together in an instant, making their marriage as real as the ground beneath his feet.
John exercised some caution in approaching its other master, in large part due to how anxious it was to prove itself, pushing her dress up in order to reveal the bare skin of her thigh, which it adorned with featherlight kisses leading all the way to her cock. In all of the time it had known about its tendencies, it had given exactly one earnest blowjob, and its success had less to do with its skill and more to do with the fact that its lover got off on what a bloody virgin it was. A decade had passed since. What it lacked in experience was made up for by how determined it was to please George, pushing past its inhibition to take her into its mouth. It took a moment and several filthy moans from its mistress to encourage it in order to find the right way to apply its tongue in a way that made her hips snap forward on their own accord. George was nice to it, too nice; it began to feel like this was something it wanted more of.
“See?” she asked Edward, a little out of breath. “It is being so good for me.”
She didn't tug at its hair or collar, letting John take it at its own pace, drumming a steady beat on the arm of her chair, joined by a faint hum in the rare moments she was not wasting her breath on making him the loveliest compliments. What little penetrated the thick fog inhabiting the space that was once dedicated to its brain seemed so sweet it felt impossible to believe. Someone else had to be her precious puppy, her good boy; it hardly felt what little it could give was enough to warrant such a reaction.
“It can do better than that, and you know it.”
It was cruel, overshot the mark of this exercise, and was exactly what its depraved mind needed to hear. He pushed John's head all the way down, watching on as his wife thrust into the tight heat, a smile playing on his face. Without proper training or time to get accustomed to her size, every inch to the base was a struggle that it took with as much grace as a man in its position could. Its body retaliated against the sudden intrusion with such vigour that it took all its concentrated effort to draw a single shaky breath through its nose, sustaining it just enough to allow George to spill down its throat. With the iron weight of a hand clamped around its neck finally released, it was free to come up for a shuddering breath, letting itself fall back on its elbows in an attempt to give itself time to come down from its dizzying high. Edward, who it had almost forgotten about in the aftermath, gathered the leash around his hand, forcing it to sit up on its haunches.
“She didn't say you were done now, did she?”
Sharp pain bloomed across its right cheek where the back of Edward's hand struck it down, deprived of an opportunity to react.
“God, you're pathetic.”
The way John looked at him, teary-eyed and desperate to please, caused Edwards' arousal to reach a fever pitch. The feeling spurred him on to pull his cock out of his pants, delivering himself on the still-white tongue with an anguished grunt. Against its better judgement, John did as a good pet ought to, latching on to the still-tender cock just to feel him throb against the back of its throat. In all of their planning they had neglected to consider one simple but crucial difference between man and dog - Neptune knew better than to beg for pain, John did not.
Slowly but surely, George beckoned it back to the firm ground of reality, one tender gesture at a time. She sacrificed her cloth napkin to wipe the spit from the corners of its mouth, making sure to avoid the small sliver of lip that had been split open by Edward. The smile on her face did not quite reach her eyes.
"He got you good, didn't he?"
She masked her concern well for the most part, keeping busy by taking care of it. It was impossible to restore its hair to the way it looked upon entry, being soaked with sweat at the root as it was, but it was content letting her brush some strands out of its face. Once she discovered that it quite liked the feeling of her perpetually cold hands against the sore parts of its face, she let them linger on his skin, cooling the slight bruise building on his cheek.
"It'll take a while to break you in, but this was a step in the right direction.” She made it a point to dip forward and whisper, so her words were only for it to keep. “I'm proud of you.”
Apart from the pain that came with being roughed up like it had been, it felt perfectly fine - buzzing with warmth from the pinched ear to its groin. If anything, it believed that a greater beating than the one it ended up receiving might have done the trick to turn it away from sin, instead of closer towards it. Regardless of the state of its soul, it was relieved that George was satisfied with it, turning its attention to the one man who had grown so awfully distant while George laboured to fix what he believed he had broken.
Though it was a bit of a struggle on sore knees, John reached out to capture the corner of his pant leg, a small bid for attention. He looked down at it like he had just shot a man, his mind too busy spiralling out of control to enjoy what John was trying to do for him. 'Apologies, John, I got ahead of myself,' he muttered under his breath as he took another step back. Even as he removed himself, he could tell that John expected some kind of punishment, another blow to the face or a kick in the ribs, flinching ever so slightly each time he moved. To think that John struggled with his desires when they paled in comparison to the brutality he wished to inflict on him was making him sick.
"I'll get you something for your lip, John."
He was well aware of the fact that his lip had already stopped bleeding, as much as he was aware of the fact that any excuse to get out of the room was good enough for him. The door shut behind him in time to cover the sound of him retching, panic closing up his chest until he surfaced above deck, back to the relative comfort of the cold arctic night.